Citius, Altius, Fortius -- 14-16
Feb. 28th, 2009 07:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
zhieTitle: Citius, Altius, Fortius (14-16/25)
Author: Zhie
Summary: An autumn tale that follows Fingolfin’s children through small adventures and first loves. Gen, het, and slash all rolled into one.
Rating: Some scenes NC17, mostly PGish
Characters: Fingon/Maedhros; Turgon/Elenwe; Aredhel/Celegorm; Argon; their parent-folk, cousins, and other family members
Archive: http://phoenix.zhie.us
Disclaimer: Tolkien’s characters are property of his estate; I’m just playing with them and will return them when I’m done feeding them cheesecake.
Author Notes: Written for NaNoWriMo 2008. Bunniverse compatible.
-We Can Dance If We Want To- (14)
The woods held many memories, some good, some bad. Most of them were good. Fingon smiled as he trudged through the piles of fallen leaves that littered the ground. This deep into the forest, there were no clear paths between the trees. Here and there, Fingon saw different places where a particular hunt had ended or begun. Sometimes he would pause and reminisce for a little while before moving on again.
The trees became denser, and he ventured into territory that he had hardly ever before, even when hiking instead of hunting. Twigs snapped under his feet as he pushed aside low branches in order to move forward.
He could hear music now, he was sure of it. Earlier, it was questionable, but now he was certain. There was someone humming and singing little nonsense words. The voice was feminine, and unknown to him. Fingon continued to seek out the sound, and when he pushed his way through a few more haphazardly growing trees he found himself standing on a ledge looking down upon a gathering. A fire was lit in the midst of the crowd in the ravine below.
It was a large area below. The rift was wide; much too far to jump even with the best horse. At least a hundred people were milling about. Some were dancing, and some were simply admiring the trees that had fallen into the depths or had managed to grow there. None of them were talking, at least not with their voices, save for the one he had heard singing.
Sitting on the back of a deer, the great Lady Nessa hummed and mumbled a song to those gathered about. She, and the rest, were all stripped of any normal clothing. Some wore long strips of shimmering fabric around their arms or waists, and others had flowers adorning their hair and bodies. Many of the dancers displayed intricate paintings on their skin as they frolicked around the fire.
Fingon was mesmerized by both the sight and sound. He carefully crouched down and moved closer to the edge. Now he could hear the faint sound of drumming, flutes, and horns. They came from further into the woods, as if others had dispersed themselves elsewhere. Nessa coaxed her mount toward the flames, and slid off the stag’s back as the drumming became louder. She joined the other dancers, though she far outshined the rest.
Wishing to see more, Fingon positioned himself on his belly and peered over the edge. Something made him want to join them, but the idea was out of the question. These were the lady’s chosen ones, the maia who followed Nessa in all endeavors. There was no place around the fire for a lowly elf such as himself.
A sudden pressure on his back made him panic. He tried to get up, but someone had planted their booted foot squarely between his shoulder blades. “Just what do you think you are doing?” demanded a booming voice. Fingon swallowed hard as he watched all motion below stop and all eyes focus upon him.
“Uh... I... I just... uhm...”
“Brother, let the poor little elf up,” scolded a voice below. Fingon sought out the voice, and saw Nessa walking around the fire with her hands upon her hips. A garland of flowers encircled her neck and covered her breasts, while another adorned her head. Beyond that, she was bare, and Fingon looked back to the dirt on the ground before him to keep from seeming unseemly.
The foot was lifted up, and a moment later Fingon was pushed over onto his back. He stared up to find a bit of a frightful scene. The great hunter Orome stood over him, scrutinizing him. Just behind the Vala was his snow white horse, looking more curious than his master. “When I ask a question of someone in my woods, I expect to be answered.”
“Sorry, sir,” replied Fingon as he hastily scrambled to sit up. Fingon was hoisted up by the front of his shirt, and he gulped at the glare he was given.
“Leave him be, brother,” said the Valier below. “He looks so pale he might well faint.”
“I will not be disrespected,” said Orome as he let go of Fingon. The elf stumbled backward, but caught himself before slipping down off the ridge. “Now, I asked you a question.”
Fingon’s chin trembled. He never expected to be in such a position. The lord of the forest seemed much taller than he really was, and much angrier than he could ever remember. Few times had he had direct conversation with Orome, though often enough he, his siblings, and his cousins had hunted with him. He wondered if Orome recalled this, or if all elves perhaps appeared the same to him. “I... I am sorry, sir, I have forgotten what it was,” he stammered.
“He asked what you were doing,” stated Nessa. “I think, brother, that this little one is simply lost.” The dancers cleared out with a wave of the lady’s hand, romping away into the depths of the forest. Even the stag, with some coaxing, stamped his foot and sauntered back through the brush. “Come down here, little one, and be comforted. No harm shall come to you.”
Fingon wished he could run away instead, but he carefully stepped down the slope and made his way down to the bottom where Nessa was awaiting him. All the while, he could feel that he was being followed, though he could not hear the steps of the Vala or the horse behind him. When he reached the clearing, just before the fire, he stopped.
Nessa held out her hand. “You wandered into the forest tonight, but no meeting is by chance. I wonder why Father has sent you here.”
Hesitantly, Fingon took hold of Nessa’s hand. He was pulled by her toward the edge of the fire. His steps were slow, and his feet dragged. “I should go,” he said abruptly as he attempted to yank his hand from her grasp.
She held tight for a moment and then let go. Promptly, Fingon tripped backwards and felt his back his something hard before a strong hand pushed him forward again.
“My sister is right,” said Orome as Fingon turned to see what was blocking him. “No one walks at random through my woods; no one happens upon such things without purpose.”
“It really was an accident!” exclaimed Fingon. “I swear, I promise, no one shall no! I will tell no one!”
He turned upon feeling someone grasp his hands, and he was at once face to face with Nessa. “Dance with me.”
Fingon gulped audibly. He was standing much too close for decency sake to the nude Valier. Her flowers had shifted so that her crown was lopsided and almost falling off her head; the ones around her neck no longer left anything to the imagination. “Uhm... I really should go.”
Nessa looked past the elf to her brother. “You are scaring him.”
“As I should be,” answered Orome simply.
“Will you tend to my dancers for me? I wish time alone with this one.”
Orome was obviously not pleased, but he did not deny his sister’s request. “As you wish.” He lifted a strap over his head and settled onto the ground a great horn. “Blow this if you need me, and I will come.” Then Orome departed with his steed Nahar, to leave Fingon alone with Nessa, a fire, and the Valaroma.
“Come. We shall dance, you and I.”
Fingon was pulled again toward the flames and was unable to withstand the sudden strength that Nessa exhibited. He was led by her around the fire, his movements jerky as she displayed a grace unseen in the Eldar. There was no music except for that which she created with her voice, and Fingon breathed a sigh of relief when they stopped.
Nessa let go of his hands and circled about him. “I expected more from you. You are built for dancing.”
In the emptiness of the cavern, Fingon’s laughter rang out and echoed down the ravine. “No. I do not dance.”
“Well, what do you do with a body like that, then?”
Fingon put his hands on his hips and frowned. “What do you mean by that?”
“Look at yourself. Lean, a little too skinny almost – you should really put a little more meat on your bones. What are you, then, a swimmer?”
“Certainly not,” said Fingon. “I am... I used to be a gymnast. Now I just teach others who are training to be one.”
“A gymnast?”
“You know.” Fingon shrugged. “Like this.” He stepped back until he had a clear space and then he did two cartwheels in a row. This he followed up with half a backflip onto his hands. He walked back to her upside down before righting himself again. “I can do more than that, but you get the idea.”
“Indeed.” Nessa circled him again. “What do you have against being a dancer, then?”
“Nothing, except that I am not a dancer,” explained Fingon.
Nessa paused in front of him. “I see.” She reached forward and took hold of his shirt lacings and began to untie them.
Immediately Fingon jumped back. “What are you doing?”
“Undressing you,” answered Nessa nonchalantly. “Obviously, your clothing is hindering your ability to dance with me.” She tried again and received the same reaction. “Something wrong?”
“Yes!” Fingon stepped back a fair amount now. “I would prefer not to be stark naked in the middle of nowhere with someone I hardly know and... well, honestly! How can you dance like that?!”
Nessa furrowed her brows. “Like what?” She looked down at herself. “Oh... yes, the flowers do get in the way sometimes, but I really do like them very much.” She chased after him until she had him backed against the steep slope.
“Ai!” Fingon stood against the cool earth, roots poking at his back. “This seems rather unnecessary! If you really want me to dance, then leave my clothing be and I will!”
Nessa stood back triumphantly. “I accept your offer.” She took him by the hand again and brought him back to the fire. “Go on then,” she prodded.
Fingon took a deep breath and looked down at his feet. “I need... music or something.”
“Not really,” argued Nessa, but she took his hands in hers again and started to hum as she once again led him around the bonfire. Again, Fingon’s feet found it difficult to match the moves of his mentor, but he tried. She let go the third time that they made it back around. “Try closing your eyes,” she suggested.
Fingon shut his eyes and listened to the words that Nessa sang. He followed the sound of her voice and just moved as he felt he should. Words of encouragement were mingled in with the song, and he quickly found his own rhythm. Far off, drums and flutes entered into his mind, and he danced with abandon. With no one to see him, his confidence grew and he began to add in gymnastic elements as he went.
“Now you are getting it!” Nessa grabbed Fingon’s hands and he opened his eyes. “A little rough around the edges, but we can fix that in time. Now tell me – was that fun or was that fun?”
“That was fun,” admitted Fingon bashfully. He averted his eyes away from the lady again and said, “I guess you were right. Nothing happens accidentally. This has really helped lessen my stress. Thank you.”
“Oh, you thought you came here to relax? Oh, no, no, no,” admonished Nessa. “You came here to learn.”
“I did?” questioned Fingon.
“Yes. I am sure of it.” Nessa smiled and retied the lacings that she had tugged on earlier. “You and I have a lot of work to do, but it is going to be well worth it.”
And with that cryptic message, Nessa winked at Fingon and pranced off down the ravine, humming to herself as she went along.
-Seasick- (15)
Life was different on the ship. Many of the daily things that Celegorm took for granted, such as sleeping in or having an extra helping of dessert, did not exist. The ship had a very structured schedule. Everyone was expected to do various chores on a daily basis. His skills had made him invaluable in the kitchen, where he prepared breakfast, lunch, and supper regularly. His lack of other skills placed him in charge of the scum buckets and the chamber pots.
It turned out that the latter was not very difficult, since there were only two on the entire ship. Most of the time, the sailors walked out onto the edge of the masthead and relieved themselves right into the water. They had teasingly told Aredhel that they would have to somehow find a few more buckets for her to use while she was aboard. It made Celegorm’s jaw drop the next day when he walked out onto the deck before anyone else had awoken to see Aredhel squatting on the masthead.
Today, he had been brought a new delicacy: Squid. It was something he had never cooked before, but was willing to try. The challenge had been figuring out just what was edible, and what was not. Aredhel took to laughing at him when she came into the galley for bait to see him nibbling on some part of a tentacle. “I am glad not to have your job,” she said.
“Likewise,” he agreed. Few knew how afraid of heights he was, but Aredhel was one of them. “I wonder if I can just ‘accidentally’ drop this overboard. It is all chewy, and not in a delightful taffy sort of way.”
“Yuck. What about looking in one of those books over there?” asked Aredhel, pointing to the cookbooks that were stacked under a counter.
Celegorm looked over his shoulder. “Firstly, they smell moldy. Secondly, a ellon using a book to cook from is like an ellon asking for directions when he is lost. It never happens.”
As Aredhel giggled, everything in the kitchen suddenly jostled about, including the elves standing in it. “What was that?” she asked as once again it felt like the boat was knocked into.
The pair raced up on deck, where they joined the entire crew. “Sharks!” shouted the cabin boy.
“Thank you, captain obvious,” snarled the quartermaster as he pushed the youngling aside and peered down over the railing. “Six or seven of them by my count.”
“Four more on this side,” announced another crew mate.
“They must smell the catch,” said the cabin boy. He was leaned over the rail to get a better look. One of the sharks decided to leap at him, and he was pulled back just in time by the captain, who shoved him down onto the deck.
“They must smell an imbecile,” scolded the captain. “Unless you want to be shark bait, boy, stay back!”
A distressed cry came near to the ship, and everyone looked out to see a very large creature floundering around. There was a little blood in the water, and the sharks were beginning to circle it. “What sort of fish is that?” questioned Celegorm.
“Not a fish,” corrected the first mate. “That thing breathes air just the same as you and I. It hardly stands a chance,” said the sailor sadly. “Looks like the mother abandoned it.”
“The mother was probably killed by those beasts,” guessed the quartermaster. “If the little one was a bit older, it might stand a chance to either swim away or fight them.”
“There are too many,” said the captain sadly.
Aredhel looked on with dismay. “Is there nothing to be done to help?”
“If we drop nets, it means capturing a very unhappy shark in a net. Sharks are smart; it would be too dangerous to attempt, and it would leave nine more to get at the baby anyhow. To be honest,” admitted the captain, “it might be best to harpoon the whale and put it out of its misery before those monsters tear it apart.”
Celegorm squeezed Aredhel’s hand when she grabbed hold of his. “Nature is cruel, sometimes,” he whispered to her.
Just as the crew was readying a spear, something awesome happened. Another whale leaped out of the water several meters away and cruised across the surface. His horn shined brightly, and pierced the side of one of the hungry sharks. As the narwhal drew back, the mortally wounded shark began to sink in the water, but was descended upon by its brethren.
As the other sharks feasted on their fallen comrade, the whales made their escape to safer waters. Aredhel sighed softly and Celegorm turned his head and kissed her brow.
---
It took little for Celegorm to convince Aredhel to stay on the ship for another voyage. In fact, it took much more to convince her that it was time for them to move on. They had every intention to stay aboard for another trip out to sea, until they overheard one of the crewmembers chatting with a merchant who had come onto the ship to negotiate the next catch. Most of the talk was about salmon and crabs, but then there was mention of the news from inland. That was when Celegorm, who was unseen in the galley, really began to listen.
“What I heard was she was kidnapped,” he heard the merchant say.
“Well, then, it cannot be the two we have with us. If anything, she leads him around.” There was a pause, and then the fisher asked, “What did you say she looked like.”
“Same as any of those Noldor. Tall, dark hair, grey eyes. He is the one who stands out – very fair, I was told.”
“He would not necessarily stand out here.”
The merchant mumbled something Celegorm could not hear, and then said, “This one would. He is one of Prince Feanor’s sons.”
“Arrogant brat, then? This could be the one.”
“There is a reward for their return – King Finwe is trying to discretely find them, so his messengers have only been telling a few people about it. I only tell you because it seems as if they may be right under your nose.”
With enough evidence for Celegorm, he quietly put away the ingredients he had been taking store of and walked through a door that led to a passage that in a roundabout way got him into the rope storage that he and Aredhel had been using to sleep in. “Aredhel, wake up. We need to go,” he whispered as he rubbed her arm to wake her.
Aredhel stirred and sat up. “Time to go already?” she asked, feeling as if she had only just laid down for her nap.
“Time to leave the ship,” said Celegorm as he moved to the corner to shove a few things into a sack. Rope was helpful, and so was the set of fishhooks he had found in the corner when they took up residence here. The hammock was something Celegorm considered taking, but since he did not wish to be pegged as a thief, he left it.
Aredhel crossed her arms over her chest. “What? Why? I want to stay,” argued Aredhel. “I am having so much fun here.”
“But Aredhel—“
“For once, I have a real place. There is a real need for me!”
“But Aredhel—“
“When I am up in that crow’s nest, I can see everything! It is such a rush, and I love it. If you want to go back home, then go ahead, but I am staying here.” She stomped her foot against the floor for emphasis.
Celegorm had the thought for a moment to leave her, but as he heard the call above for the ship to get underway, he tugged on her arm. “Aredhel, you have to listen to me. Grandfather put out a reward for our return. If we stay, the crew is going to collect on the reward, and we will end up back home as soon as the ship arrives back next time. I do not want to go home; if we leave the ship we are going to go back to the forest.”
“Oh.” Aredhel leaped off of the hammock. “We have to hurry, then! If we do not, we shall have to swim back!”
Hastily, the pair gathered up their things and ran to the ladder. Above, they could see the crew moving around on the deck. “We are too late,” hissed Aredhel. “We will never make it off now without them seeing us!”
Celegorm heard the final call for boarding and then the sound of the ropes being untied from the dock. “Follow me. Stay close, and do not question me.” Celegorm climbed the ladder, and reluctantly Aredhel stayed close behind. They reached the deck almost simultaneously. The crew was rushing about, taking orders barked from the captain.
When only one rope remained tied to the dock, Celegorm pointed and ran for it. Aredhel followed suit. It took two long steps for Celegorm to cross the rope after jumping onto it. Aredhel took three, and in the confusion, dropped her shoes (which she had grabbed but not had a chance to put on) into the water.
“Mother is going to have a fit!” she exclaimed as she knelt down on the dock and tried to reach down to grab the footware.
Celegorm was five paces ahead before he noticed that Aredhel was lagging behind. He ran back and got her to her feet just as the crewmember who suspected them of being Finwe’s grandchildren stepped his foot onto the dock. “Come on!” shouted Celegorm. He pushed Aredhel behind him as the crewmember made a grab for her. Without thinking, Celegorm turned and launched a kick squarely at the chest of the sailor, causing him to fall backwards into the icy water. “Sorry!” he called behind him as he and Aredhel ran through the traffic of the seaport, and into the woods as soon as they could reach them.
-All Fingers and Thumbs- (16)
There was a definite lack of concentration on Fingon’s part the next day at the gym. He gave fewer pointers than he usually did, and instead of paying careful attention to the routines he found his mind wandered more to the events of the previous evening.
His lack of attention did not go unnoticed by the coach, and at the end of the day’s practice he was waved into the office. Wordlessly, he followed and shut the door behind as he entered.
“Fingon, there is something I would like to talk to you about.” Ardim perched on his desk and gave Fingon one of his serious looks. His hands were folded together before him, but as he started to get further into his speech, he gestured with them often, but gracefully. “You may have noticed that I am not one to give idle praise – if someone works very hard, I am more than willing to acknowledge it, but I find that one should strive to meet their goals without the influence of others in the form of kind yet untruthful words. Criticism, on the other hand, is very necessary.”
The coach stepped down and walked across the room to the display shelves that housed many trophies and awards. “Red Fern is not a very old team, but we are fierce. We do not always make first place, but we do our best.” He looked over his shoulder. “I do not think you have been doing your best, have you, Fingon?”
“I have been doing all that has been asked of me,” answered Fingon. “I come here on time, I stay late when there is a match the next day, and I help the team hone their skills. Are there other tasks which I have been remiss in performing?”
“It is not that you have not completed the tasks, but that you are not putting in your full focus. Other things are clouding your mind. I do not know how the Whitecloud team functioned, but things are different here. I expect everyone’s commitment to be to this team. Only then can our best performance be given. Does that make sense to you?” asked Ardim.
Fingon nodded after a moment. “Is that all, sir?”
“No. I am going to be interviewing a few of your peers over the next week. They were all second choices when we first considered you, but seeing as how you lack a certain... quality that we were hoping for, we may replace you. Then again, we may not,” added the coach. “I guess what I am telling you is that if you are serious about staying here with Red Fern, now would be the time to show that.”
“I understand.” Fingon swallowed hard. “May I be excused?”
The coach waved toward the door, and Fingon slowly rose and left.
Even when he had been scolded by his father, he had never felt so talked down to. He waited until he gathered his gear and walked out of the gym and into the garden to slide down to the ground beside a tree. With his eyes closed, he willed himself not to get emotional over the conversation. A few deep breaths turned his embarrassment to anger. His desire to return home was returning, but his want to prove his father wrong was strong in him.
He allowed himself a few more minutes to calm down before he returned to his feet and made the short journey back to the house. By the time he was home, he had talked himself into leaving the assistant position, and then back into staying again. When he sat down for dinner with Maglor, he silently plotted to stay until he found another position at some other gym. By the time he had readied for bed, he had convinced himself that he was much too talented to work for someone else anyhow and should open a gym of his own. The next morning, he rose early, bathed, and headed back to the gym to prove how dedicated he was to his craft.
When he arrived, there was no one else at the gymnasium yet. Instead of waiting outside, he pulled on the chain around his neck and brought out the key that he had been given when he first accepted the position. It fit perfectly into the lock, and he entered the dark building. His first task was to climb the high ladder to open the windows. The windows were located high up so that no one passing by could look in and spy on the team to find out what they were going to be performing.
Once that was complete, he checked all of the trays and refilled the ones that were low with the white powder. He swept up the floor to keep things neat, and then, still finding himself alone, he went to the parallel bars and dusted his hands and arms with talc. The coach arrived to find Fingon attempting a rather difficult routine he had not practiced since leaving his former team. He was waved to, and the coach even looked a little surprised, as he entered his office.
The first student to arrive wanted to spend his morning lifting weights; the next walked in with the other assistant, and had already made plans to practice with him. It was not until Lintion jogged in that Fingon had someone to work with. Immediately, they sketched out a plan for the day and set to work. Lintion first worked his way through the routine he planned to execute for the upcoming meet, with Fingon simply watching. Next, they discussed Lintion’s weak points, and then worked on those problems with each individual event.
Lintion easily fixed his flaws with the rings, and had already mastered his routine on the parallel bars. His biggest problem was floor exercises. He agreed with Fingon to skip the event until after lunch, when the afternoon could be devoted to the task.
Once they finished the other events and ate a swift, light lunch, the pair returned to the matted area in the center of the gym. The apparatuses were located around the edges, and the middle reserved for floor. Lintion began his routine well, but halfway into it, lost track of where his boundaries were. Twice he landed out of bounds; more than once he took a step back across or on the line.
“Your elements were good,” said Fingon after seeing the routine for the second time that day. “However, you are reckless when it comes to figuring out where you are and actually hitting your marks. You seem to assume that you will just dazzle the audience and win with applause. The reality is that while your fans are watching your body twist and turn, the judges are keeping careful watch on your feet.”
“I am too tall,” bemoaned Lintion. “They should expand the boundaries for people like me.”
Fingon gave his young student a weary look. “That is the most bullshit excuse I have heard in a long time.”
The comment turned more than a few heads, including the coach. Most of Fingon’s critiques to this point had been praise-filled, even when the mood merited otherwise. Now, it seemed, that had changed.
Before Lintion could dispute this, Fingon left him standing in the middle of the mats. He walked to the bowl of powder and pulled it from its pedestal. He brought it back with him and used it to decrease the area by two metres on either side. “You will now do your routine within these confines. Each time you step out, you will owe me one lap around the gym.”
“Inside or outside?” questioned Lintion.
“I had not thought of the outside,” admitted Fingon, and Lintion groaned. “The outside, then. Now, complete your routine for me again.”
“This is impossible!” argued the younger elf. “There is no way anyone can do my routine in such a small space.”
Fingon stared at the impetuous gymnast for a full minute. No one in the gym seemed to even breathe. It was quite unlike Fingon to make such a demand, and yet, he had. “No one?”
“Seriously, unless they were... four feet tall, I suppose,” said Lintion.
With a snort, Fingon tossed the bowl onto the ground, spilling the talc over Lintion’s feet. He then walked to a stool and removed his shoes. Back to Lintion he returned, to step into the mess on the floor. Once his feet and hands were covered in powder, Fingon walked to the edge of the mat. He took a moment to carefully stretch his limbs and calm his breathing. Once fully focused, he began the routine that Lintion had shown him.
Instead of an imperfect series of elements, Fingon managed to masterfully complete each item with inches to spare. Even a midair double twist, which Fingon managed to turn into a triple, was managed without so much as a stumble or pause. When he finished the complete routine, Fingon walked back to the side and gave Lintion a shove in the direction of the mat. “I am two inches taller than you, and your routine is hardly challenging. Two laps for every miss,” he added before Lintion began.
That night, instead of leaving at the appointed time, Fingon kept working with Lintion past closing. It took sixteen laps before Lintion managed to stay inside the lines, and another four before the routine was executed without any misses and within the lines. When Fingon swept away the new borders and allowed Lintion the regulation space, the routine was beautiful, and Lintion, for all his complaining, was finally happy with it.
Clapping from across the gym was heard as Lintion landed, and the coach stepped out of his office to congratulate the youth. “You are shaping up well, Lintion. Keep it up.” He turned to Fingon and patted him on the back. “You, too. Good job.”
“Thank you, sir,” managed Fingon as the coach walked back to his office.
Author: Zhie
Summary: An autumn tale that follows Fingolfin’s children through small adventures and first loves. Gen, het, and slash all rolled into one.
Rating: Some scenes NC17, mostly PGish
Characters: Fingon/Maedhros; Turgon/Elenwe; Aredhel/Celegorm; Argon; their parent-folk, cousins, and other family members
Archive: http://phoenix.zhie.us
Disclaimer: Tolkien’s characters are property of his estate; I’m just playing with them and will return them when I’m done feeding them cheesecake.
Author Notes: Written for NaNoWriMo 2008. Bunniverse compatible.
-We Can Dance If We Want To- (14)
The woods held many memories, some good, some bad. Most of them were good. Fingon smiled as he trudged through the piles of fallen leaves that littered the ground. This deep into the forest, there were no clear paths between the trees. Here and there, Fingon saw different places where a particular hunt had ended or begun. Sometimes he would pause and reminisce for a little while before moving on again.
The trees became denser, and he ventured into territory that he had hardly ever before, even when hiking instead of hunting. Twigs snapped under his feet as he pushed aside low branches in order to move forward.
He could hear music now, he was sure of it. Earlier, it was questionable, but now he was certain. There was someone humming and singing little nonsense words. The voice was feminine, and unknown to him. Fingon continued to seek out the sound, and when he pushed his way through a few more haphazardly growing trees he found himself standing on a ledge looking down upon a gathering. A fire was lit in the midst of the crowd in the ravine below.
It was a large area below. The rift was wide; much too far to jump even with the best horse. At least a hundred people were milling about. Some were dancing, and some were simply admiring the trees that had fallen into the depths or had managed to grow there. None of them were talking, at least not with their voices, save for the one he had heard singing.
Sitting on the back of a deer, the great Lady Nessa hummed and mumbled a song to those gathered about. She, and the rest, were all stripped of any normal clothing. Some wore long strips of shimmering fabric around their arms or waists, and others had flowers adorning their hair and bodies. Many of the dancers displayed intricate paintings on their skin as they frolicked around the fire.
Fingon was mesmerized by both the sight and sound. He carefully crouched down and moved closer to the edge. Now he could hear the faint sound of drumming, flutes, and horns. They came from further into the woods, as if others had dispersed themselves elsewhere. Nessa coaxed her mount toward the flames, and slid off the stag’s back as the drumming became louder. She joined the other dancers, though she far outshined the rest.
Wishing to see more, Fingon positioned himself on his belly and peered over the edge. Something made him want to join them, but the idea was out of the question. These were the lady’s chosen ones, the maia who followed Nessa in all endeavors. There was no place around the fire for a lowly elf such as himself.
A sudden pressure on his back made him panic. He tried to get up, but someone had planted their booted foot squarely between his shoulder blades. “Just what do you think you are doing?” demanded a booming voice. Fingon swallowed hard as he watched all motion below stop and all eyes focus upon him.
“Uh... I... I just... uhm...”
“Brother, let the poor little elf up,” scolded a voice below. Fingon sought out the voice, and saw Nessa walking around the fire with her hands upon her hips. A garland of flowers encircled her neck and covered her breasts, while another adorned her head. Beyond that, she was bare, and Fingon looked back to the dirt on the ground before him to keep from seeming unseemly.
The foot was lifted up, and a moment later Fingon was pushed over onto his back. He stared up to find a bit of a frightful scene. The great hunter Orome stood over him, scrutinizing him. Just behind the Vala was his snow white horse, looking more curious than his master. “When I ask a question of someone in my woods, I expect to be answered.”
“Sorry, sir,” replied Fingon as he hastily scrambled to sit up. Fingon was hoisted up by the front of his shirt, and he gulped at the glare he was given.
“Leave him be, brother,” said the Valier below. “He looks so pale he might well faint.”
“I will not be disrespected,” said Orome as he let go of Fingon. The elf stumbled backward, but caught himself before slipping down off the ridge. “Now, I asked you a question.”
Fingon’s chin trembled. He never expected to be in such a position. The lord of the forest seemed much taller than he really was, and much angrier than he could ever remember. Few times had he had direct conversation with Orome, though often enough he, his siblings, and his cousins had hunted with him. He wondered if Orome recalled this, or if all elves perhaps appeared the same to him. “I... I am sorry, sir, I have forgotten what it was,” he stammered.
“He asked what you were doing,” stated Nessa. “I think, brother, that this little one is simply lost.” The dancers cleared out with a wave of the lady’s hand, romping away into the depths of the forest. Even the stag, with some coaxing, stamped his foot and sauntered back through the brush. “Come down here, little one, and be comforted. No harm shall come to you.”
Fingon wished he could run away instead, but he carefully stepped down the slope and made his way down to the bottom where Nessa was awaiting him. All the while, he could feel that he was being followed, though he could not hear the steps of the Vala or the horse behind him. When he reached the clearing, just before the fire, he stopped.
Nessa held out her hand. “You wandered into the forest tonight, but no meeting is by chance. I wonder why Father has sent you here.”
Hesitantly, Fingon took hold of Nessa’s hand. He was pulled by her toward the edge of the fire. His steps were slow, and his feet dragged. “I should go,” he said abruptly as he attempted to yank his hand from her grasp.
She held tight for a moment and then let go. Promptly, Fingon tripped backwards and felt his back his something hard before a strong hand pushed him forward again.
“My sister is right,” said Orome as Fingon turned to see what was blocking him. “No one walks at random through my woods; no one happens upon such things without purpose.”
“It really was an accident!” exclaimed Fingon. “I swear, I promise, no one shall no! I will tell no one!”
He turned upon feeling someone grasp his hands, and he was at once face to face with Nessa. “Dance with me.”
Fingon gulped audibly. He was standing much too close for decency sake to the nude Valier. Her flowers had shifted so that her crown was lopsided and almost falling off her head; the ones around her neck no longer left anything to the imagination. “Uhm... I really should go.”
Nessa looked past the elf to her brother. “You are scaring him.”
“As I should be,” answered Orome simply.
“Will you tend to my dancers for me? I wish time alone with this one.”
Orome was obviously not pleased, but he did not deny his sister’s request. “As you wish.” He lifted a strap over his head and settled onto the ground a great horn. “Blow this if you need me, and I will come.” Then Orome departed with his steed Nahar, to leave Fingon alone with Nessa, a fire, and the Valaroma.
“Come. We shall dance, you and I.”
Fingon was pulled again toward the flames and was unable to withstand the sudden strength that Nessa exhibited. He was led by her around the fire, his movements jerky as she displayed a grace unseen in the Eldar. There was no music except for that which she created with her voice, and Fingon breathed a sigh of relief when they stopped.
Nessa let go of his hands and circled about him. “I expected more from you. You are built for dancing.”
In the emptiness of the cavern, Fingon’s laughter rang out and echoed down the ravine. “No. I do not dance.”
“Well, what do you do with a body like that, then?”
Fingon put his hands on his hips and frowned. “What do you mean by that?”
“Look at yourself. Lean, a little too skinny almost – you should really put a little more meat on your bones. What are you, then, a swimmer?”
“Certainly not,” said Fingon. “I am... I used to be a gymnast. Now I just teach others who are training to be one.”
“A gymnast?”
“You know.” Fingon shrugged. “Like this.” He stepped back until he had a clear space and then he did two cartwheels in a row. This he followed up with half a backflip onto his hands. He walked back to her upside down before righting himself again. “I can do more than that, but you get the idea.”
“Indeed.” Nessa circled him again. “What do you have against being a dancer, then?”
“Nothing, except that I am not a dancer,” explained Fingon.
Nessa paused in front of him. “I see.” She reached forward and took hold of his shirt lacings and began to untie them.
Immediately Fingon jumped back. “What are you doing?”
“Undressing you,” answered Nessa nonchalantly. “Obviously, your clothing is hindering your ability to dance with me.” She tried again and received the same reaction. “Something wrong?”
“Yes!” Fingon stepped back a fair amount now. “I would prefer not to be stark naked in the middle of nowhere with someone I hardly know and... well, honestly! How can you dance like that?!”
Nessa furrowed her brows. “Like what?” She looked down at herself. “Oh... yes, the flowers do get in the way sometimes, but I really do like them very much.” She chased after him until she had him backed against the steep slope.
“Ai!” Fingon stood against the cool earth, roots poking at his back. “This seems rather unnecessary! If you really want me to dance, then leave my clothing be and I will!”
Nessa stood back triumphantly. “I accept your offer.” She took him by the hand again and brought him back to the fire. “Go on then,” she prodded.
Fingon took a deep breath and looked down at his feet. “I need... music or something.”
“Not really,” argued Nessa, but she took his hands in hers again and started to hum as she once again led him around the bonfire. Again, Fingon’s feet found it difficult to match the moves of his mentor, but he tried. She let go the third time that they made it back around. “Try closing your eyes,” she suggested.
Fingon shut his eyes and listened to the words that Nessa sang. He followed the sound of her voice and just moved as he felt he should. Words of encouragement were mingled in with the song, and he quickly found his own rhythm. Far off, drums and flutes entered into his mind, and he danced with abandon. With no one to see him, his confidence grew and he began to add in gymnastic elements as he went.
“Now you are getting it!” Nessa grabbed Fingon’s hands and he opened his eyes. “A little rough around the edges, but we can fix that in time. Now tell me – was that fun or was that fun?”
“That was fun,” admitted Fingon bashfully. He averted his eyes away from the lady again and said, “I guess you were right. Nothing happens accidentally. This has really helped lessen my stress. Thank you.”
“Oh, you thought you came here to relax? Oh, no, no, no,” admonished Nessa. “You came here to learn.”
“I did?” questioned Fingon.
“Yes. I am sure of it.” Nessa smiled and retied the lacings that she had tugged on earlier. “You and I have a lot of work to do, but it is going to be well worth it.”
And with that cryptic message, Nessa winked at Fingon and pranced off down the ravine, humming to herself as she went along.
-Seasick- (15)
Life was different on the ship. Many of the daily things that Celegorm took for granted, such as sleeping in or having an extra helping of dessert, did not exist. The ship had a very structured schedule. Everyone was expected to do various chores on a daily basis. His skills had made him invaluable in the kitchen, where he prepared breakfast, lunch, and supper regularly. His lack of other skills placed him in charge of the scum buckets and the chamber pots.
It turned out that the latter was not very difficult, since there were only two on the entire ship. Most of the time, the sailors walked out onto the edge of the masthead and relieved themselves right into the water. They had teasingly told Aredhel that they would have to somehow find a few more buckets for her to use while she was aboard. It made Celegorm’s jaw drop the next day when he walked out onto the deck before anyone else had awoken to see Aredhel squatting on the masthead.
Today, he had been brought a new delicacy: Squid. It was something he had never cooked before, but was willing to try. The challenge had been figuring out just what was edible, and what was not. Aredhel took to laughing at him when she came into the galley for bait to see him nibbling on some part of a tentacle. “I am glad not to have your job,” she said.
“Likewise,” he agreed. Few knew how afraid of heights he was, but Aredhel was one of them. “I wonder if I can just ‘accidentally’ drop this overboard. It is all chewy, and not in a delightful taffy sort of way.”
“Yuck. What about looking in one of those books over there?” asked Aredhel, pointing to the cookbooks that were stacked under a counter.
Celegorm looked over his shoulder. “Firstly, they smell moldy. Secondly, a ellon using a book to cook from is like an ellon asking for directions when he is lost. It never happens.”
As Aredhel giggled, everything in the kitchen suddenly jostled about, including the elves standing in it. “What was that?” she asked as once again it felt like the boat was knocked into.
The pair raced up on deck, where they joined the entire crew. “Sharks!” shouted the cabin boy.
“Thank you, captain obvious,” snarled the quartermaster as he pushed the youngling aside and peered down over the railing. “Six or seven of them by my count.”
“Four more on this side,” announced another crew mate.
“They must smell the catch,” said the cabin boy. He was leaned over the rail to get a better look. One of the sharks decided to leap at him, and he was pulled back just in time by the captain, who shoved him down onto the deck.
“They must smell an imbecile,” scolded the captain. “Unless you want to be shark bait, boy, stay back!”
A distressed cry came near to the ship, and everyone looked out to see a very large creature floundering around. There was a little blood in the water, and the sharks were beginning to circle it. “What sort of fish is that?” questioned Celegorm.
“Not a fish,” corrected the first mate. “That thing breathes air just the same as you and I. It hardly stands a chance,” said the sailor sadly. “Looks like the mother abandoned it.”
“The mother was probably killed by those beasts,” guessed the quartermaster. “If the little one was a bit older, it might stand a chance to either swim away or fight them.”
“There are too many,” said the captain sadly.
Aredhel looked on with dismay. “Is there nothing to be done to help?”
“If we drop nets, it means capturing a very unhappy shark in a net. Sharks are smart; it would be too dangerous to attempt, and it would leave nine more to get at the baby anyhow. To be honest,” admitted the captain, “it might be best to harpoon the whale and put it out of its misery before those monsters tear it apart.”
Celegorm squeezed Aredhel’s hand when she grabbed hold of his. “Nature is cruel, sometimes,” he whispered to her.
Just as the crew was readying a spear, something awesome happened. Another whale leaped out of the water several meters away and cruised across the surface. His horn shined brightly, and pierced the side of one of the hungry sharks. As the narwhal drew back, the mortally wounded shark began to sink in the water, but was descended upon by its brethren.
As the other sharks feasted on their fallen comrade, the whales made their escape to safer waters. Aredhel sighed softly and Celegorm turned his head and kissed her brow.
---
It took little for Celegorm to convince Aredhel to stay on the ship for another voyage. In fact, it took much more to convince her that it was time for them to move on. They had every intention to stay aboard for another trip out to sea, until they overheard one of the crewmembers chatting with a merchant who had come onto the ship to negotiate the next catch. Most of the talk was about salmon and crabs, but then there was mention of the news from inland. That was when Celegorm, who was unseen in the galley, really began to listen.
“What I heard was she was kidnapped,” he heard the merchant say.
“Well, then, it cannot be the two we have with us. If anything, she leads him around.” There was a pause, and then the fisher asked, “What did you say she looked like.”
“Same as any of those Noldor. Tall, dark hair, grey eyes. He is the one who stands out – very fair, I was told.”
“He would not necessarily stand out here.”
The merchant mumbled something Celegorm could not hear, and then said, “This one would. He is one of Prince Feanor’s sons.”
“Arrogant brat, then? This could be the one.”
“There is a reward for their return – King Finwe is trying to discretely find them, so his messengers have only been telling a few people about it. I only tell you because it seems as if they may be right under your nose.”
With enough evidence for Celegorm, he quietly put away the ingredients he had been taking store of and walked through a door that led to a passage that in a roundabout way got him into the rope storage that he and Aredhel had been using to sleep in. “Aredhel, wake up. We need to go,” he whispered as he rubbed her arm to wake her.
Aredhel stirred and sat up. “Time to go already?” she asked, feeling as if she had only just laid down for her nap.
“Time to leave the ship,” said Celegorm as he moved to the corner to shove a few things into a sack. Rope was helpful, and so was the set of fishhooks he had found in the corner when they took up residence here. The hammock was something Celegorm considered taking, but since he did not wish to be pegged as a thief, he left it.
Aredhel crossed her arms over her chest. “What? Why? I want to stay,” argued Aredhel. “I am having so much fun here.”
“But Aredhel—“
“For once, I have a real place. There is a real need for me!”
“But Aredhel—“
“When I am up in that crow’s nest, I can see everything! It is such a rush, and I love it. If you want to go back home, then go ahead, but I am staying here.” She stomped her foot against the floor for emphasis.
Celegorm had the thought for a moment to leave her, but as he heard the call above for the ship to get underway, he tugged on her arm. “Aredhel, you have to listen to me. Grandfather put out a reward for our return. If we stay, the crew is going to collect on the reward, and we will end up back home as soon as the ship arrives back next time. I do not want to go home; if we leave the ship we are going to go back to the forest.”
“Oh.” Aredhel leaped off of the hammock. “We have to hurry, then! If we do not, we shall have to swim back!”
Hastily, the pair gathered up their things and ran to the ladder. Above, they could see the crew moving around on the deck. “We are too late,” hissed Aredhel. “We will never make it off now without them seeing us!”
Celegorm heard the final call for boarding and then the sound of the ropes being untied from the dock. “Follow me. Stay close, and do not question me.” Celegorm climbed the ladder, and reluctantly Aredhel stayed close behind. They reached the deck almost simultaneously. The crew was rushing about, taking orders barked from the captain.
When only one rope remained tied to the dock, Celegorm pointed and ran for it. Aredhel followed suit. It took two long steps for Celegorm to cross the rope after jumping onto it. Aredhel took three, and in the confusion, dropped her shoes (which she had grabbed but not had a chance to put on) into the water.
“Mother is going to have a fit!” she exclaimed as she knelt down on the dock and tried to reach down to grab the footware.
Celegorm was five paces ahead before he noticed that Aredhel was lagging behind. He ran back and got her to her feet just as the crewmember who suspected them of being Finwe’s grandchildren stepped his foot onto the dock. “Come on!” shouted Celegorm. He pushed Aredhel behind him as the crewmember made a grab for her. Without thinking, Celegorm turned and launched a kick squarely at the chest of the sailor, causing him to fall backwards into the icy water. “Sorry!” he called behind him as he and Aredhel ran through the traffic of the seaport, and into the woods as soon as they could reach them.
-All Fingers and Thumbs- (16)
There was a definite lack of concentration on Fingon’s part the next day at the gym. He gave fewer pointers than he usually did, and instead of paying careful attention to the routines he found his mind wandered more to the events of the previous evening.
His lack of attention did not go unnoticed by the coach, and at the end of the day’s practice he was waved into the office. Wordlessly, he followed and shut the door behind as he entered.
“Fingon, there is something I would like to talk to you about.” Ardim perched on his desk and gave Fingon one of his serious looks. His hands were folded together before him, but as he started to get further into his speech, he gestured with them often, but gracefully. “You may have noticed that I am not one to give idle praise – if someone works very hard, I am more than willing to acknowledge it, but I find that one should strive to meet their goals without the influence of others in the form of kind yet untruthful words. Criticism, on the other hand, is very necessary.”
The coach stepped down and walked across the room to the display shelves that housed many trophies and awards. “Red Fern is not a very old team, but we are fierce. We do not always make first place, but we do our best.” He looked over his shoulder. “I do not think you have been doing your best, have you, Fingon?”
“I have been doing all that has been asked of me,” answered Fingon. “I come here on time, I stay late when there is a match the next day, and I help the team hone their skills. Are there other tasks which I have been remiss in performing?”
“It is not that you have not completed the tasks, but that you are not putting in your full focus. Other things are clouding your mind. I do not know how the Whitecloud team functioned, but things are different here. I expect everyone’s commitment to be to this team. Only then can our best performance be given. Does that make sense to you?” asked Ardim.
Fingon nodded after a moment. “Is that all, sir?”
“No. I am going to be interviewing a few of your peers over the next week. They were all second choices when we first considered you, but seeing as how you lack a certain... quality that we were hoping for, we may replace you. Then again, we may not,” added the coach. “I guess what I am telling you is that if you are serious about staying here with Red Fern, now would be the time to show that.”
“I understand.” Fingon swallowed hard. “May I be excused?”
The coach waved toward the door, and Fingon slowly rose and left.
Even when he had been scolded by his father, he had never felt so talked down to. He waited until he gathered his gear and walked out of the gym and into the garden to slide down to the ground beside a tree. With his eyes closed, he willed himself not to get emotional over the conversation. A few deep breaths turned his embarrassment to anger. His desire to return home was returning, but his want to prove his father wrong was strong in him.
He allowed himself a few more minutes to calm down before he returned to his feet and made the short journey back to the house. By the time he was home, he had talked himself into leaving the assistant position, and then back into staying again. When he sat down for dinner with Maglor, he silently plotted to stay until he found another position at some other gym. By the time he had readied for bed, he had convinced himself that he was much too talented to work for someone else anyhow and should open a gym of his own. The next morning, he rose early, bathed, and headed back to the gym to prove how dedicated he was to his craft.
When he arrived, there was no one else at the gymnasium yet. Instead of waiting outside, he pulled on the chain around his neck and brought out the key that he had been given when he first accepted the position. It fit perfectly into the lock, and he entered the dark building. His first task was to climb the high ladder to open the windows. The windows were located high up so that no one passing by could look in and spy on the team to find out what they were going to be performing.
Once that was complete, he checked all of the trays and refilled the ones that were low with the white powder. He swept up the floor to keep things neat, and then, still finding himself alone, he went to the parallel bars and dusted his hands and arms with talc. The coach arrived to find Fingon attempting a rather difficult routine he had not practiced since leaving his former team. He was waved to, and the coach even looked a little surprised, as he entered his office.
The first student to arrive wanted to spend his morning lifting weights; the next walked in with the other assistant, and had already made plans to practice with him. It was not until Lintion jogged in that Fingon had someone to work with. Immediately, they sketched out a plan for the day and set to work. Lintion first worked his way through the routine he planned to execute for the upcoming meet, with Fingon simply watching. Next, they discussed Lintion’s weak points, and then worked on those problems with each individual event.
Lintion easily fixed his flaws with the rings, and had already mastered his routine on the parallel bars. His biggest problem was floor exercises. He agreed with Fingon to skip the event until after lunch, when the afternoon could be devoted to the task.
Once they finished the other events and ate a swift, light lunch, the pair returned to the matted area in the center of the gym. The apparatuses were located around the edges, and the middle reserved for floor. Lintion began his routine well, but halfway into it, lost track of where his boundaries were. Twice he landed out of bounds; more than once he took a step back across or on the line.
“Your elements were good,” said Fingon after seeing the routine for the second time that day. “However, you are reckless when it comes to figuring out where you are and actually hitting your marks. You seem to assume that you will just dazzle the audience and win with applause. The reality is that while your fans are watching your body twist and turn, the judges are keeping careful watch on your feet.”
“I am too tall,” bemoaned Lintion. “They should expand the boundaries for people like me.”
Fingon gave his young student a weary look. “That is the most bullshit excuse I have heard in a long time.”
The comment turned more than a few heads, including the coach. Most of Fingon’s critiques to this point had been praise-filled, even when the mood merited otherwise. Now, it seemed, that had changed.
Before Lintion could dispute this, Fingon left him standing in the middle of the mats. He walked to the bowl of powder and pulled it from its pedestal. He brought it back with him and used it to decrease the area by two metres on either side. “You will now do your routine within these confines. Each time you step out, you will owe me one lap around the gym.”
“Inside or outside?” questioned Lintion.
“I had not thought of the outside,” admitted Fingon, and Lintion groaned. “The outside, then. Now, complete your routine for me again.”
“This is impossible!” argued the younger elf. “There is no way anyone can do my routine in such a small space.”
Fingon stared at the impetuous gymnast for a full minute. No one in the gym seemed to even breathe. It was quite unlike Fingon to make such a demand, and yet, he had. “No one?”
“Seriously, unless they were... four feet tall, I suppose,” said Lintion.
With a snort, Fingon tossed the bowl onto the ground, spilling the talc over Lintion’s feet. He then walked to a stool and removed his shoes. Back to Lintion he returned, to step into the mess on the floor. Once his feet and hands were covered in powder, Fingon walked to the edge of the mat. He took a moment to carefully stretch his limbs and calm his breathing. Once fully focused, he began the routine that Lintion had shown him.
Instead of an imperfect series of elements, Fingon managed to masterfully complete each item with inches to spare. Even a midair double twist, which Fingon managed to turn into a triple, was managed without so much as a stumble or pause. When he finished the complete routine, Fingon walked back to the side and gave Lintion a shove in the direction of the mat. “I am two inches taller than you, and your routine is hardly challenging. Two laps for every miss,” he added before Lintion began.
That night, instead of leaving at the appointed time, Fingon kept working with Lintion past closing. It took sixteen laps before Lintion managed to stay inside the lines, and another four before the routine was executed without any misses and within the lines. When Fingon swept away the new borders and allowed Lintion the regulation space, the routine was beautiful, and Lintion, for all his complaining, was finally happy with it.
Clapping from across the gym was heard as Lintion landed, and the coach stepped out of his office to congratulate the youth. “You are shaping up well, Lintion. Keep it up.” He turned to Fingon and patted him on the back. “You, too. Good job.”
“Thank you, sir,” managed Fingon as the coach walked back to his office.
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Date: 2009-03-01 02:18 am (UTC)Annnd... before I even began reading, the title of chapter 14 had me singing and dance-partying in my seat.
Extra put-off-work time = bonus points. :D
I remember seeing bits of the first and last chapter during November. Very fun to see it all come together. It's always exciting in your humongous universe to see something from the - what is this, pre-first age? - tie in to things we see in the fifth age.
Namely here, Fingon's dancing. I really hope we get to see more of that - I love how you play with the Valar and Nessa just makes me grin. And I can't blame Fingon for almost wetting himself because of Orome. I totally would have fainted for sure.
Seems like Celegorm and Aredhel are just going to get themselves into more trouble than necessary, aren't they? I have the feeling that, even had the sailors turned them in, it wouldn't have been such a big deal. Because it always works out that when you do something crazy - like kicking a sailor in the chest and running - the alternative always tends to be something mild.
And Lintion - honestly, translating that as "son of lint" and snerking. I'm intrigued by Fingon's dedication, as I am sure I remember another snippet of him being replaced, so I'm curious to see how that comes to pass.
... *offers Fingon all the dairy products she had to throw out. Silly anorexic elf.*