#blessed hands

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Full Disclosure

Findekáno finally talks to his father about his big secret...but it doesn't go exactly as planned.

for @absynthe--minded, inspired by Blessed Hands!! <3

Rating: M | No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Fingon & Fingolfin, Maedhros/Fingon Characters: Fingon, Fingolfin, Maedhros Word count: 2.6k

Ms.Atlanta Thick~Dream~/Love Goddess Yvette “Dream” Johnson is expanding her YONIverse/Universe! First thing’s first...

“I do,” Súlwë said, stretching out his hand. “Give it here, I’ve earned it.”

“Oh, you have?” Aicatillë asked, glancing at him with a wry smirk dancing over his lips. “What, praytell, have you done that justifies first drink?”

“Hah,” the nér said, shaking his head as Amdis passed him the narrow bottle. He uncorked it and took a long drink of the clear liquid within - if it burned him, he didn’t let it show. “I spent all afternoon watching the worst actors in all of elvendom pretend they weren’t madly in love with one another.”

“Are they still carrying on like they’re complete strangers?” Amdis asked, taking her place by the fire. The three eldar had congregated in an empty outbuilding that was intended to eventually hold whatever tools the forge could lend their camp, sitting on stools around a fire that blazed merrily in a low pit scraped out of the earth. Súlwë was the one who’d taken to using this place for solitude, and he’d lost no time in inviting the others to join him when it became clear that there was at least one thing they could all discuss easily.

“Worse,” Aicatillë said, gesturing for the bottle. “Good friends. The best. Intimate bosom companions.”

“Absolutely not anything more, even when you walk in and one of them is half-naked and hiding in a closet,” Súlwë added.

“Oh no,” the guard said. “You’re not serious.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN!

FUCKING FINALLY!!

oooh okay so

the Fëanárion guards did see Sorontar land and take off again, despite it being dark as fuck - there was no moon, but there was some starlight, and very little light pollution, and there was the massive lake like a mirror. That being said, when they brought their concerns to Tyelkormo, who’d been out hunting in the night and neither saw nor heard any trace of the eagle, he dismissed them as having been awake too long and/or drunk. Not out of rudeness (though yes, a little out of rudeness) so much as a certainty that he would have noticed if anything unusual happened.

Tyelperinquar heard the rumors, because they spread to the forges, and he’s not stupid. At all. He knew Finno learned about Maitimo’s capture, because Ambarussa said so at dinner that very night, and he managed to learn from Moryo that Nolofinwë had sent a clandestine letter inquiring after Maitimo’s fate and making thinly-veiled “if you kidnapped my son I don’t care if you’re my nephews I’ll beat the shit out of all of you” statements, and he knows Findekáno is mysteriously back from wherever he went. He’s put two and two together, though at this point he’s fairly certain Maitimo died before he could convalesce. He’s also not said anything, guessing (rightly) that Tyelkormo would ignore any order given by Káno and sneak into the Nolofinwëan encampment and either steal Maitimo’s corpse, kidnap a still-living elf, assassinate Findekáno, or all of the above.

“You know, you have a bedroom, or at least I think you do,” Lalwendë commented, looking up at her brother from her seat.

“I do,” Nolofinwë replied, “but consider: I’m not tired, and I don’t want to sleep.”

“I am considering that,” she said, and for a moment her mind went dark with the memories of the frightful nights immediately after Findekáno’s disappearance, “and the various points of data are leaving me distinctly displeased.”

“You sound like my wife.”

“I ought to. She is my best friend.” The nís sat up properly, watching her brother’s chest rise and fall. He was sprawled out over the arms of his chair in a way most unbecoming for a High King, watching the fire crackling in the hearth. They’d come to the study more or less independent of anyone else, drawn together as they so often were by their mutual unspoken need for company. “She’d want to know what was troubling you.”

“She would,” Nolofinwë agreed, “but she’d also proceed to tell me what the trouble was before I even knew.”

“Turukáno?”

“What else?”

“What do you mean to do? He can’t be allowed to go on like this.”

Her brother sighed, shaking his head. “I haven’t the faintest idea. Not least because contradicting him means discussing something I have no right to speak on.”

“Oh?” she asked, voice carefully neutral. “And what would that be?”

Nolofinwë twisted himself around in his chair, fixing her with an extremely unimpressed look.

“‘He’s family, Atya,’” he said drily. “‘I love him as part of this family, Atya. That’s the only thing that’s going on, Atya. We absolutely certainly definitely are only very good friends.’”

Lalwendë chuckled, raising a hand to cover her mouth.

“Be quiet,” she chided, “or else someone will overhear and know what sort of High King you really are.”