Turgon felt, quite honestly, that the scream he let out upon waking to see a shadowy figure at the end of his bed was more than justified.
Anyone else would have done the same.
The hand suddenly clamped over his mouth was unnecessary, but it did at least reassure him that the figure was not some strange malevolent spirit.
For a moment he half expected the figure to resolve itself into Aredhel, trying to convince him to sneak out with her before the Mingling, or little Maeglin trying not to admit that he had some worry or problem, even Idril perhaps with a night terror.
For the face under the pale moonlight to suddenly resolve itself into Fingon’s was slightly horrifying. Not least because it meant his brother had heard his (manly) shriek.
Turgon drew in a breath, ready to yell and demand answers, but the hand over his mouth rather ruined that plan. He settled for glaring instead.
“It’s good to see you too.” Fingon offered. “You and the third of our people you hid away in these mountains with no warning.”
Turgon could not respond nor defend his choices with that gave still over his mouth, so his did the incredibly mature thing and licked his brother’s palm.
Fingon pulled his hand swiftly away with a yelp of disgust.
“How did you get here?” Turgon demanded, “How did you know how to find us?”
Fingon grinned smugly, “Wouldn’t you like to know, little brother?”
Turgon growled in frustration. “That would be why I asked you, yes. No one is supposed to know where we are! That’s the whole point of this city!”
His infuriating elder brother just leaned against one of the bedposts and inspected his fingernails. “Shame. Should have tried harder to hide it then.”
Turgon took back every thought he had ever had about missing his kin. Siblings really were tbe worst.
