第 72 页

“Hrggh.”

“I’ll get those chocolate and raisin rugelach you like.”

“Frmgh. Fine. Bye.”

Finrod rose from Turgon’s bed, removing himself from Ulmo Junior’s baleful gaze, and walked on quiet feet down the hallway to Bëor’s room where he knocked lightly on the doorframe.

“Bëor?”

“Mm. Yeah?” Bëor opened his eyes, registered Finrod as a ghostly shape in his doorway, and waved a sleepy hand from the blankets. “Tha’ you, Goldie? Wha’ssup?”

“I had a dream.”

“Nightmare?”

“No. Not…Not like that. But disturbing, nevertheless.”

“Mmk.” Bëor shook his head, messy hair falling into his eyes, but he was already sounding more coherent. “Get in, Goldie. Your feet’ll freeze ‘n’ fall off otherwise.”

Finrod crept under the covers next to Bëor, who seemed to be generating heat like a large, heavily furred thermonuclear reactor. It was profoundly reassuring.

“Now tell me about your disturbing dream, and why it disturbed you.”

“I had a sex dream about Carnistir,” whispered Finrod, resting his head on the pillow next to Bëor’s. “He’s…he’s the brother of my current…of who I’m seeing…well, he’s…”

“I know who he is.” Bëor rubbed sleep out of his eyes and dragged a large hand over his beard. “He was your last partner, huh?”

“Sexually, anyway. What does it mean that I’m dreaming of him? Does it mean I still want him? Does it mean I’m going to…to…” Finrod swallowed hard. “…to cheat on Curvo and sleep with Carnistir again? What if I’m just destined to want what I don’t have, just like Artanis said, what if the sex is more important to me than I thought, what if it’s like…like an addiction, and I can’t stop, and I keep hurting people, and…”

Bëor held up a hand. “Slow down, Goldie. You’re movin’ too fast. Look, almost ev’rybody has sex dreams about their exes. I have, even when I know I have no effing desire to be back with them, right? Sex dreams don’t mean anything, god, if they did that would mean I secretly wanted to have sex with that wacky old enviro professor with the nose and the funky smell.”

Despite his anxiety, Finrod laughed. “Really? You had a sex dream about – ”

“Ugh, let’s not talk about it. Point is that it doesn’t mean anything. And you having a sex dream about an ex is pretty logical, really. It’s still in your subconscious, just your brain barfing up memories. Yeah, you probably are still attracted to him, you may still want him some – it’s not like you two split up ‘cos you didn’t like fucking him anymore – but this is your brain at its basic processing and boner level. Your body gets turned on and wants shit, your brain looks for recent material, bam, there’s Carnivale, or whatever his name is. But your normal, awake, conscious Ingo mind knows that you want your boy, and presumably want to be faithful.”

Finrod smiled shakily. “I guess so…”

“You’re not destined to keep cheating or whatever.”

“I’m worried,” whispered Finrod, “I’ve messed up so many times, what if I mess up now? Curvo’s still young, and the physical component is complicated, and I just don’t want to hurt him. I don’t want to screw him up, I want him to be happy and secure and comfortable, and I tell him the sex isn’t important, but what if my body and subconscious want it bad enough to do something stupid anyway, but I mean, god, I cheated in my past relationships and sex had nothing to do with it, so maybe I’m just a cheater, maybe it’s just in my makeup – ”

“You talked about this with him?”

“No.” Finrod turned his face into the pillow. “I mean, I’ve told him I’ll go as slow as he needs with the physical stuff, and that’s true, and that I’m in no rush, but what if I told him that and it’s not true?”

“I mean, if you’re really hard up, just take care of yourself, like.” Bëor made an illustrative gesture.

“Yes, of course, but what if – ”

“If you get tempted to cheat,” said Bëor seriously, “you call me, and I’ll talk you down. And maybe you should think about talking about this stuff with your boyfriend.”

“It’ll scare him off.”

“I guess it might.”

“I feel like such a twisted pervert,” said Finrod, into the pillow. “Why can’t I just control myself?”

“You having a stronger sex drive than him doesn’t make you automatically a twisted pervert. And you are controlling yourself, dude, having a sex dream about someone else isn’t actually doing anything wrong, or even a sign that you want to. You don’t want to hurt him.”

“I didn’t want to hurt Amarië, or Carnistir either. But I did, without even thinking twice.”

“Then maybe this is the difference,” said Bëor, propping himself on an elbow and swallowing a yawn. “You finally are starting to think twice. Maybe this is you getting your shit together. He knows your history, right?”

“Yes. And why he still wants to be with me after all that, I don’t know… But I guess I act the part, for him. I’m older and more experienced and that makes me responsible, and I’m trying to go carefully this time, and so I…”

“So you do that thing where you look like you have everything totally under control but underneath you’re scared to death.”

“Yes.”

“Story of adulthood, that,” mumbled Bëor, and rolled onto his back. “I know you wanna go carefully ‘cause he’s 18 and all…”

“He’s actually 19 now.”

“Much better. But just because he’s younger and less experienced doesn’t mean you shouldn’t treat him like an equal partner in this. Maybe you don’t have to be perfect around him. Maybe you can share a bit of this with him.”

“He’ll run.”

“Have some faith, little wiseass.”

“It’s myself I don’t have faith in,” said Finrod, and turned over on his side, curled up tight.

They didn’t say anything for a long time after that, and finally Bëor sighed and closed his eyes. “Feel free to stay,” he said, rolling over so they were back to back, and pulling the blankets up. “G’night, Goldie.”

“Good night,” whispered Finrod, but didn’t close his eyes. He stayed awake long into the night, staring blankly into the darkness, despite Bëor’s comforting heat and deep, even breathing.

Never let your fear decide your fate

Chapter Summary

Change is scary. Also sometimes it has teeth and will drop on you unawares and chew off your ear. In other news, Fingon is now established as a Steady and Responsible family member and we should all be alarmed.

“I just don’t know if it’s a good idea.” Turgon dropped a folded towel half-heartedly into the open box at his feet and then sat back on Aredhel’s bed, arms crossed and a worry line between his brows. “Have you thought this through?” It was a question he had asked his sister – and his brothers, for that matter – many, many times in their lives. Fingon sometimes said that it was Turgon’s role in life to ask the people around him if they had thought things through. Like, thoroughly, like all the possibilities, you know?

They usually hadn’t.

“Sure.” Aredhel grabbed an armload of books from the shelf by her desk and deposited them unceremoniously into another box. “I think it’s just the kind of thing I need.”

Turgon chewed his lip and smoothed the unfolded towel lying on the bed next to him. “But they’re not exactly…easy personalities to live with, you know? Tyelko isn’t the kind of person I’d recommend you being around if you want to avoid bad decisions, and Curvo is…Curvo is…”

“Curvo is dating your best friend.”

“Oh, like Ingo is known for his good decisions either.”

“Fair.”

“Those two are each a bit difficult in different ways, is what I’m saying. One of them is crazy and the other one is scary.”

Aredhel smiled and threw an old school notebook into the recycling bin across the room. “But the crazy one loves me, and the scary one is scared of me, so that shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Even so, these aren’t the kind of roommates I’d live with.”

“No one is asking you to.” Aredhel dropped a bookend, with a decisive thud, into the box.

Turgon jogged his leg restlessly, not put off. “Speaking of scary, what their father going to think about you moving into his house?”

“His sons’ house.”

“Same difference, and it's his name on the lease.”

“That’s just a technicality. Neither of them are speaking to him right now, so they probably want to see him even less than I do, which is a first.” Aredhel looked thoughtful. “If they stay estranged, I could go the whole summer without Uncle Fëanáro knowing I’m bunking there.”

“Yes, because we can always rely on Uncle Fëanáro to stay away when he’s not wanted.” Turgon sighed. “I know they’re our cousins, but – ”

“Cousins shmousins. They’re our friends.”

“If you say so, but they’re also…well. I know you and Tyelko are close, and have a history, but that’s not the same thing as finding a dependable and stable roommate. I don’t think you should rush into this. I think maybe it would be a good idea if you found a different living arrangement for the summer rather than jumping into this one.” Turgon uncrossed his legs, dropping one foot to the ground with an emphatic thump to punctuate his point.

“Who died and made you dad?” Aredhel grabbed the packing tape and began sealing up her box of books.

“I’m not trying to be dad – though for the record, I bet he’d agree with me – I’m just trying to get you to be reasonable about this! You need to be more – ”

“Yes, do tell me more of what I need to be.” Aredhel narrowed her eyes at Turgon who glared back at her. “You’re my brother, not my boss, and it would be nice if you could give me a modicum of credit here. I have thought this through. I’ve been unhappy in my current situation for a while now, and my best friend just offered me the opportunity to stay with him rather than staying here and getting more depressed and isolated. And anyway, it’s just for the summer, it doesn’t necessarily need to be permanent. Can’t you just be happy for me?”

“I – I want you to be happy, of course I do! But – ” Turgon gasped and broke off as something silent and dark landed on his shoulder. “Oh my god.” His line of thought completely derailed, he reached up to push Lómion off his shoulder only to have the cat bite sharply at his ear. “Ouch!”

Aredhel grinned. “See, baby agrees with his momma.”

“Irissë, he’s drawing blood!”

“Down, kitten,” said Aredhel, and Lómion detached himself from Turgon’s earlobe and dropped to the ground.

Elenwë wandered in, a massive bundle in her arms and Idril tagging at her heels. “I come bearing bubble wrap!”

Aredhel peered over the massive swath of bubble wrap to Elenwë’s bright curls. “Why do I need bubble wrap? I’m moving, like, across town. The only breakable thing is Lómion.”

Elenwë clicked her tongue. “And all that nice dishware from your mom.”

“Oh, right.” Aredhel scratched her head. “I forgot about the kitchen and stuff.”

“See? I am a savior.” Elenwë attempted to twirl, tripped, and dropped the bubble wrap, which Aredhel immediately scooped up.

Idril padded over to Turgon to say hello with a head-butt to the shins, before starting to wash herself at his feet. Lómion watched her with wide, pale eyes.

“Hmm, what’s this on the floor? Something delicate and breakable! I’m on it.” Aredhel began busily enfolding Elenwë in bubble wrap.

“Don’t call me delicate, you – Oh, help.” Elenwë flailed at her, but Aredhel was too quick, and soon Elenwë was a helpless, laughing bundle swathed in bubble wrap.

Aredhel sat back on her heels, looking pleased. “Perfect! Now I can move you across town without bits breaking off.”

Elenwë kicked a leg free. “I’ll break your bits off if you don’t – mff!” Her threat was stifled by Aredhel kissing her soundly on the lips. They broke apart quickly though, Elenwë nudging Aredhel as Turgon averted his eyes and concentrated on folding another one of Aredhel’s towels.

Elenwë finally managed to extract herself from packing material and stood up. “Turno, I’ve been meaning to double-check with you that this really wouldn’t be an imposition or anything. Are you sure it’s okay for you to take Idril for the summer while I’m away?”

“Of course.” Turgon scratched Idril’s ears. “I like cats – Well, cats that aren’t hellions.” Lómion gave one of his silent meows. “Idril seems pretty low maintenance. And Ulmo Junior might be a curmudgeon but she probably won’t even notice; if it’s not actively depriving her of food she doesn’t care about much of anything. But why can’t Irissë take her?”

“I would,” said Aredhel ruefully, “but she and Lómion aren’t the best match.”

As if to illustrate her point, Lómion, who had been creeping up on Idril, gave a leap and made to attack her tail. Quick as blinking, Idril whipped around and cuffed him around the ears with one white paw. Lómion fell back, his mouth opening in a silent, complaining mew.

“I’ve told you before,” Aredhel scolded, bending down to scoop him up, “stop stalking her!” Lómion looked at her with large, betrayed eyes.

“It’s okay, she can take care of herself.” Elenwë tried to tickle Idril’s ears in passing as Idril did one of her quick, joyful sprints of the room. “Ireth, we really need to start packing up the fragile stuff, though, can you come take a look at all the kitchen things? I only have another hour and then I’ve got to get back to my own packing.”

“Yes, be there in a sec.” Aredhel tucked Lómion under her arm and looked back at her brother. “Turno, you don’t have to help me pack if you really disapprove so much. But I am moving in with Tyelko and Curvo, with your blessing or without it.” Despite the firmness of her words, there was no heat in her tone, and she looked at him with fond patience. “I appreciate that you worry about me, though.”

Turgon sighed from the bottom of his feet, and then pulled out his phone. “Okay, hang on.”

“What are you doing? Are you calling someone? Oh, please don’t try to get Finno to agree with you, he’d be on my side, anyway…”

“I’m not calling Findekáno. I’m calling Glorfindel.”

Aredhel blinked, taken aback. “Wait, why?”

“Because he’s the only person I know with a truck,” said Turgon, listening to the phone ring on the other end of the line. “And I know you need help getting your stuff over to the house. Shh, he’s picking up,” he said as Aredhel, looking touched, started to say something. “Hey, Glorfindel, it’s Turgon. How do you feel about playing escort today? No, not like that, hush, my sister just needs a hand getting across town to our cousins…”

Smiling, Aredhel crossed the room, bent to drop a kiss onto Turgon’s dark head, and then made her way to the kitchen to make the most of Elenwë’s hour.

* * *

Elenwë had been unsure, for many years, if she should continue with ballet. She had always felt that she couldn’t possibly fit in to such a world: she was too short, too far from slender or dainty, her curves too soft, her skin too brown. She did not look like the ballerinas she had grown up watching, worshipping, or dancing beside.

Then she had gone to college, and in her sophomore year, auditioned for the dance ensemble. There she had met Amarië, who had told her about the studio where she took ballet classes, the studio where their troupe sometimes met, the studio at Deer Hollow where the founder of their ensemble taught. And there, Elenwë had met Nessa.