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“I can manage it if you can.”

It was far, far too comfortable in his bed.

Andreth shook herself and rolled away, and Aegnor blinked out of his doze. Not yet willing to get out of bed, but telling herself enough with the cuddling, Andreth sat up, naked against the pillows, and pulled out her phone to check her messages.

Aegnor glanced over at her and grinned. “Tits-out texting?”

“Balls-out bothering me?”

Aegnor made a face at her and reached over for his own phone, leaning across her lap in a not totally necessary sort of way and letting his arm brush across her breasts. Then he settled back and began flicking through his own messages.

They sat comfortably side by side for a while, listening to dry leaves flick against the window, until Aegnor’s phone buzzed with a new text. Andreth saw him read it, freeze, and then read it again, mouthing the words to himself.

“Holy shit.”

“What?”

“Holy SHIT.” Aegnor pushed the blankets back and half leapt, half fell out of bed, banging his knees on the bedframe. “Are you kidding me? Are you kidding me?”

“What?” Andreth had no idea if Aegnor’s reaction was elation or horror. “Dude – put some pants on and tell me what’s –”

“My brother.” Aegnor gesticulated like a madman. “That sneaky – I can’t believe it. Not a whisper. And. What. My fucking brother is getting – Oh, that motherfucker.”

“Getting what?”

“MARRIED.” Aegnor tripped over a pair of pants and lurched back up, wild-eyed.

Andreth’s mouth dropped open in shock, and then she paused. “Hang on, which brother?”

But Aegnor, apparently uncaring, had wrenched the door to his room open.

“Aiko!” Andreth let out an exclamation and tugged the blankets up to her chin as the door gaped open onto the living room.

Galadriel was sitting on the couch, but so was Finrod, and the two of them looked up as Aegnor burst out of his room, naked.

Both of their eyes widened, and then Galadriel stared pointedly at the ceiling while Finrod fixed his eyes on the opposite wall.

“You seem to have forgotten your clothes, Aik –”

“ANGARÁTO IS ENGAGED.”

Galadriel and Finrod’s mouths dropped open.

“HE TELLS ME THIS BY TEXT. I DIDN’T EVEN KNOW HE WAS DATING ANYONE.” Aegnor gestured wildly, apparently unable to lower his voice to anything but a disbelieving yell. “WHAT IS HAPPENING?”

“That’s…a very good question,” said Galadriel, as her eyes fell on Andreth, who was contemplating the merits of a precipitate nude exit through the window. “Gosh.”

Taking it slow, but it's not typical

Chapter Summary

In which we get some details, catch up with a couple old friends, find Bëor in a tight spot, and Nolofinwion feels happen. (Nolofeels? Nolofinwieels? Or: my life.)

Chapter Notes

0. Warnings for discussion of alcohol abuse and (non explicit) past trauma.

1. The hot for teacher reference is Snartha’s fault.

They had managed to get Aegnor to put some pants on, but clothing was clearly not his priority. He was pacing the living room, waving his phone around, interspersing ferocious texting with equally ferocious expletives.

Andreth, after a moment of internal agonizing, had decided to embrace the awkwardness of the situation and stay around for the fallout. She had made an effort to do better than Aegnor in terms of wardrobe, padding out of his room wearing both pants and a shirt, though it was noted that neither was hers. Carefully saying nothing at all, Galadriel patted the couch next to her and Andreth tucked herself against the armrest and tried to be inconspicuous.

“How can Angaráto hear you if you’re waving the phone around?” Galadriel asked, turning back to her brother as Aegnor made some incoherent noises and gestured with his phone again.

“I’m not on a call with him, the dick! He can’t talk right now because he’s with her family, but he’s texting me. Texting me! About the biggest news of his life, the rat.”

“I can’t believe he only texted you,” murmured Finrod. “Is he shunning the rest of us? And who is this girl?”

“Wait,” said Galadriel. “Before we go further….”

In twenty minutes, the circle of expectant audience had expanded to include Fingon, Celegorm, and Aredhel, all of whom had looked with brief curiosity at Andreth, and then turned their attention to Aegnor, who was still pacing around shirtless with his pants unbuttoned and exclaiming things like, “He’s doing this to fuck with me, I swear to god.”

“It’s obviously a prank,” said Aredhel, settling down in front of Andreth.

“It’s obviously a ‘condom-broke’ situation,” said Celegorm, leaning over the back of the couch.

“Shot-gun engagement?” Fingon looked intrigued as he shifted a pile of books and a dead plant to make room for him to sit by the window. “I could see it.”

“Who is the fiancée?” Finrod had his arms wrapped around his shins, chin propped on his knees. “Do we know her?”

“She’s this girl he met on the mountain, but I didn’t see her last year when I was out there.” Aegnor consulted his phone. “He sent a picture. DANG, okay, she’s hot.”

Andreth examined her nails studiously as Aegnor passed the phone to his siblings. It showed a pretty, round-faced girl with a mass of sun-streaked brown hair, her cheeks very rosy and her teeth very white, her smile infectious.

“She looks like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth,” said Galadriel, after some study. “What is she doing with Angaráto?”

“Well, so they spent a season working on the slopes together and started dating, but she comes from a kinda conservative family,” said Aegnor, taking the phone back and consulting his texts again. “Traditional, y’know? Anyway, sounds like they wanted to move in together, but her family was all ‘not without a ring’ blah blah, so he proposed to make it more conventional or whatever.”

“Hmm.” Finrod looked dubious. “That doesn’t sound like the best reason to get married.”

“That’s what I said,” said Aegnor, shaking his head in disbelief. “And he said it’s gonna be a long engagement, no rush, but he wants to spend his life with her anyway, so why wait to propose?”

“Is this the same Angaráto who broke up with a girl because she was a Giants fan?” Fingon was chuckling from the window seat. “Someone’s discovered commitment all of a sudden.”

“She’s pregnant,” said Celegorm, decisively. “Seriously. No way this isn’t a shotgun wedding.”

“I asked that. He said no. He also told me to shut the fuck up.”

Aredhel nudged Galadriel. “I totally thought you and Celeborn would be the first of us down the aisle, but your brother beat you out. All of us are going to lose money in our long-term betting pool!”

“Not me,” said Galadriel placidly. “I put money on either Aiko or Ango getting married first.”

“Me?” Aegnor stopped his pacing for a moment. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.” Galadriel brushed her hair behind her ear, her eyes only flickering slightly to the side, and Andreth crowded closer against the back of the couch. “I have amended my estimate a little, of course, but I think I shall still do well with my winnings from Ango’s engagement.”

“You always do,” muttered Aegnor. “You’re like a human magic eight ball. AHH, okay, update! He’s bringing her home for the holidays – so presumably he’ll be letting mom and dad know – and we’ll get to meet her then.”

“That is excellent.” Galadriel clasped her fingers together between her knees. “I look forward to it. And, not that it matters, of course, but this way father can focus all his attention on the new fiancée instead of ‘Why are you not putting your beautiful mind to better use than in retail, not that there is anything wrong with retail, I just feel there are bigger things in store for you, Artanis, you have to pursue them, Artanis, do not waste your potential.’ ”

“Doesn’t he know you can get him discounts at Forever 21 now, though? That’s got to make up for it at least a little.”

“So true. I’ll bring him a pair of 40% discounted cropped knit pants and I’m sure he’ll move on, yes.”

“Home for the holidays,” repeated Aegnor, who wasn’t paying attention, putting his phone away and finally remembering to do up his fly. “All right, guys, we’ve got a month plus to get ready for this ‘Eldalótë’.”

* * *

Beleg shifted on the lumpy bed as he heard his phone buzzing on the floor where he’d plugged it in to charge. Moving carefully so as not to wake Túrin, he reached over the sleeping form next to him and grabbed his phone.

What they slept on was in truth not a bed so much as a grungy mattress, thrown down on the floor of the room that Túrin had been given in the latest house they were staying in. They relocated often with Andróg’s crew, and Beleg had yet to figure out the pattern or logic for when they moved; it wasn’t as though he was privy to such decisions. He was still only tolerated by the rest because of Túrin’s dangerous glower at any hint of anything less; not, Beleg thought, that he’d willingly leave even if forced from Túrin by gunpoint. He stuck to Túrin’s side like a burr, day and night, trusting no one with Túrin alone, though he smiled easily enough at the others. His smile had little effect other than increasing the wariness and distrust with which he was viewed, but Túrin ignored all of this, and Beleg pretended to.

Túrin never bothered to try and wrangle them two rooms, and two beds were almost always out of the question, so a shared, dank mattress it was. Beleg knew this was supposed to be a slight, giving them the worst room and the worst accommodation, but he could admit to himself, in the moments before Túrin awoke, that he in no way minded. A shared bed felt more like a gift than an insult, despite the reek of old body odor and smoke that clung to the bedding.

Now he looked at his phone and his heart sank; it was a text from Mablung, again. Multiple texts, in fact.

Where ARE you?

Seriously I hear you say you’re fine and don’t want me to go to the police or anything

But do you see how that’s not totally reassuring?

If I could just see you I’d feel better

And less convinced you’re being held hostage or something

Beleg hesitated, trying to figure out how to respond, and Túrin turned over next to him, wrapping an unconscious arm around his waist. Beleg closed his eyes. He didn’t sleep much these days, but Túrin did, deep and long with a furrow between his eyebrows and an arm thrown over Beleg.

Whatever else he did during the days, talking low with Andróg and moving houses every few weeks, looking older and harder and more closed off than ever, Túrin was still his old self in the night hours. He’d talk eagerly to Beleg, his eyes bright and clear and excited, his hands moving as he talked. Beleg would have stayed with him for anything, but especially for those times just the two of them, and for lying in the dark each night, listening to Túrin’s breaths.

He was well aware that he was being pathetic.

Beleg, srsly stop ignoring my texts

Because I don’t KNOW if you’re ignoring my texts

Or if you’re in actual trouble.

Túrin stirred and yawned, and absently tucked his chin against Beleg’s shoulder as he started to wake up.

Are you with turin

“Why does your phone keep going off?” Túrin’s voice was rusty with sleep.

Beleg fumbled for the volume keys. “It’s just my alarm.”

“Nmm. ‘s loud.”

Beleg typed hastily, holding the phone low.

I’m fine, I promise

Not sure when I’ll be back, but I really am ok

Srry to make you worry.

“Andróg said no contact with people back home,” said Túrin, who was fully awake now. His chin was still on Beleg’s shoulder, his arm over Beleg’s middle, and his breath was tickling Beleg’s ear. “They can use that to locate us. He said we should get rid of our old phones. That’s what I did.”

“I don’t take orders from Andróg,” said Beleg shortly.

“What about from me?”

“Are you going to order me to trash my phone?” Beleg rolled over so he could look Túrin in the eye. It brought them intimately close, their faces just inches apart, and Beleg was suddenly acutely aware of the warmth of Túrin’s skin, even through the thin tee shirt he was wearing. “Like you ordered me to start carrying a gun?” He was fairly comfortable around firearms, having competed in biathlons since he was twelve, but a handgun at his hip somehow felt very different from the smooth comfort of the light rifle on his back as he skied.

“No,” said Túrin, after a while. “I’m not going to order you to do anything.” He closed his eyes as Beleg drew in a breath. “I’m just glad you’re here.”

Beleg’s throat ached, and he yearned to close the distance between them, to run his fingertips over Túrin’s closed eyes to where his long dark lashes brushed his cheek; to touch his full lips, to tip Túrin’s chin up and lean closer, to taste his mouth.

But he didn’t.

His phone buzzed again, but he muted it without even looking at it, folding his arms around Túrin and drawing him close – but no closer.

* * *

Fingon and Finrod left Galadriel and Aegnor’s apartment together and walked side by side a while as they headed downtown to their respective apartments.

Fingon tugged his hood up over his hair and glanced at the dark sky. “Do you have plans for the night?”

“No,” said Finrod, putting his hands in his pockets. “I finished grading earlier and then I’d planned on seeing Curvo, but he’s got an assignment to finish.”

Fingon grinned, shaking a curl of hair out of his eyes, and looked sideways at Finrod. “I am not gonna lie, you and Curvo together still kinda blows my mind.”

“You’re not alone, there,” said Finrod softly.

Fingon nudged him. “You’ve had quite the year, haven’t you? Your Fëanorion fever might be even worse than mine.”

“Oh, Finno.” Finrod sighed.

Fingon ignored this. “Maybe it’s genetic, this need to get into Fëanorion pants. Do you reckon? Or maybe it’s their fault. I think it’s a trick they do with their eyes, actually. A hypnosis thing.”

“Or maybe we just like grey eyes.”

“That too.” Fingon laughed. “Our poor fathers must wonder where they went wrong that both of us ended up with our cousins at least once – and more frequently for some of us.”

“My father doesn’t.”

“Oh, right, of course not; not always-understanding Uncle Arfin, who puts even my dad to shame when it comes to being accepting…”

“No, I mean,” Finrod cleared his throat lightly. “My father doesn’t know. About Curvo, that is. He knows I ended things with Amarië, but that’s the last I told him about my love life.”

“What?” Fingon pulled up short. “Seriously? You and Amarië broke up a year ago. You haven’t told him about your new boyfriend?”

“No.”

“You’ve been dating for like 7 months!”

“And how long were you and Maitimo together before you told your families?” Finrod smiled crookedly at Fingon. “Glass houses, Finno.”

“That was totally different! Fëanáro had way more issues with my family than with yours, and shit was way more complicated back then, and I was like seventeen and an idiot– ”