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zhieFIC: Citius Altius Fortius (20-22/25) NC17; Fingon/Maedhros; Turgon/Elenwe; Aredhel/Celegorm
Title: Citius, Altius, Fortius (20-22/25)
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 (Once Nuinzilien helps me defeat the evilness of grammar and plotholes with her awesome beta skillz)
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.
-Howl at the Moon- (20)
Celegorm sat up abruptly. There was a howl, and it was closer than he liked. “Aredhel!” he hissed as he pulled out the dagger he had. “Aredhel, I hear something!”
In a flash, Aredhel was awake and clutching the spear that Celegorm had made for her. “I hear it, too. They sound close by.”
“Too close.” Celegorm gathered up their meager supplies in the middle of one of the cloaks, pulled the corners together, and hoisted the hastily created sack over his shoulder. “Can you climb that tree?” he asked, pointing to one with a thick trunk.
Aredhel nodded and yanked the other cloak from the ground. She jumped up to grab hold of a branch and swung slightly to gather the momentum needed to swing up on the next try. “Quick, toss me the gear!” she said as the sound of hungry wolves came nearer.
Celegorm hardly had time to do so before the first member of the pack emerged from the bushes. The wolves approached with menacing looks in their eyes. It was hard for Celegorm to stand his ground against them with naught by a small knife to fend them off, though he knew that turning his back to them was suicide. “Aredhel, can you get a good shot at them?”
“I can try, but I would have to drop the supplies,” she said. “Let me see if I can get to the rope for you.”
“That is not going to help,” warned Celegorm as the wolves started to close in, blocking him off from anything but the tree. “We should have kept the fire going,” he said.
One of the wolves leaped, but his aim was for the tree and not Celegorm. Aredhel screamed as the wolf managed to get a grip on the branch she used to climb and hung on. It scrambled onto the narrow branch and licked its lips.
Celegorm was now caught in a difficult position, for if he attempted to go after the threat to Aredhel, he left himself open for an attack. In his current spot, however, he was of no use either. As Aredhel shrieked again, he made his decision.
Celegorm turned, ran, and jumped up. His left hand took hold of the wolf’s back leg, and he pulled it down onto the ground with him. He tried to roll away from the whimpering, snarling animal, but he found himself cornered against the trunk by three more. His knife was no longer in his hand, knocked away some metres from him. He attempted a lunge, but one of the wolves pounced him. He was knocked backwards flat onto the ground, and as the wolf stood over him with a happy look, a bright light filled the clearing, blinding him.
“Away with you, foul creatures of the forrest!” exclaimed a terrifying voice. “Be gone with you, and come here not again!”
The wolves, including the one that was threatening Celegorm, tucked their tails and ran back from whence they came. Celegorm sat up thankfully, and found Melkor standing in the clearing with a rod of ebony in his hands.
Once more, Melkor struck the ground with his staff, and the bright light dissipated. “Are you hurt?” he asked as he offered Celegorm a hand in getting up.
Celegorm pushed himself back up with aid from the tree trunk. “How did you do that?”
Melkor withdrew his hand. “The wolves fear the power of my staff. I merely conjured a vision, seen to you and your companion as light, but seen to the wolves as something to fear. They know I can do much more with my weapon, and they are wise enough not to stay and find out what I might do.”
“It is quite fortunate for us that you happened to be in the woods,” said Celegorm.
“Fortune had little to do with it,” answered Melkor. “Your fathers have been looking for both of you for many weeks now. It is known by all that you are to be brought to them.”
“You are capturing us?” asked Aredhel, who was still up in the tree with the supplies.
“Capturing you? No, my dear, I am going to return you safely. Do you not miss your family? Do you not wish to ease your parents’ fears?” wondered Melkor.
Aredhel looked worried, but Celegorm shook his head. “Certainly not. They deserve this, after all they have put us through. Let them wait. We will come back when we want to return,” said Celegorm. “Are we not adults? We are old enough to make our own decisions.”
“I see,” said Melkor. “I will not force you to return, but you should know that you are missed by your families. The worry of your father is exceptionally strong,” he said to Aredhel. “Your father speaks of ways he shall protect you once you have returned.”
“Just another reason for us not to,” said Celegorm. “He will lock you away and take even more of your freedoms from you,” he warned.
It seemed as if Aredhel was torn, but her will was strong and she said, “I do not wish to return yet.”
“Neither do I,” said Celegorm sincerely. “We will not come willingly, Lord Melkor.”
“As you wish,” Melkor replied. “Do be careful of the wolves,” he said as he disappeared back into the woods.
Once the Ainu was gone, Celegorm helped Aredhel down from her perch. “Maybe sleeping in the trees at night would not be such a bad idea.”
“I would be afraid of rolling out of it,” admitted Aredhel. “Then again, falling out of a tree would be far preferred to being eaten by a wolf.”
“Those wolves seemed hungry,” said Celegorm. “I am concerned about them. Normally, wolves will run from us, no matter how in need of game they are. This pack seemed especially vicious.”
“I suppose different packs act differently,” Aredhel said. “There are some horses that act one way, and some that act another. Wolves cannot be so different.”
Celegorm nodded. “Still, we should be on guard.” The supplies were redistributed and everything was accounted for, with the exception of Celegorm’s knife. “Can you help me check for it? I dropped it earlier when I was fighting the wolves.”
Though he and Aredhel searched for nearly an hour, neither were able to find the fallen knife. To add to the matter, the spear that Celegorm had fashioned was now split down the middle on one side and would not last much longer. “I wish we had brought real weapons with us,” announced Celegorm as he gave up on an attempt to fix the broken spear. It was thrown to the ground as the pair both looked up and in the same direction at the same time. “Did you hear that?”
“Horses.” Aredhel grabbed what she could manage, while Celegorm hoisted the rest up with him as he hurried her toward the most likely candidate for the tree they could fastest climb. They reached the upper branches not a moment too soon, for into their clearing rode a hunting party, and among them, cousins and siblings.
Their tree had shed most of its leaves, but had a trunk thick enough to aid in covering them, and many branches to allow them to blend in. They dared not say a word to one another as they helplessly watched those below.
“I thought I heard someone talking,” stated Artanis matter-of-factly. “I was certain of it.”
Turgon was there also, as were Felagund, Caranthir, Curufin, and Ehtele. It seemed that Ehtele was rather bored to be with the party, for his gaze wandered about aimlessly, and Artanis’s batting eyelashes went unnoticed. Caranthir looked rather restless and was already pushing his horse ahead of the others.
“You heard nothing, cousin. Perhaps a woodland creature,” he reasoned.
“No, I heard voices,” she argued. She loved to argue when she could.
Curufin rolled his eyes. “There is no one here. Voices in your head, maybe?” Her cousins all chuckled, but Felagund stared them down.
Ehtele yawned.
“I think we have lost the trail of that silver fox,” said Turgon. He glanced upwards, and focusing upon the spot where his sister and cousin were hiding, he squinted just a little. Aredhel and Celegorm held their breath.
“Something the matter, Turgon?” asked Felagund as he pulled his horse closer.
Turgon turned his mount and shook his head. “No, I thought I saw a woodpecker, but it was nothing. Shall we continue on?”
“I heard someone talking,” insisted Artanis as they started to reassemble the party.
“Of course you did.” Caranthir rode by and patted her braided head as he passed by while some of the others laughed.
Felagund placed his hand upon his sister’s shoulder to keep her from starting another argument. As he did so, something on the ground caught his eye. “Halt!” he cried out, and the rest pulled back on their reins. “There is something in the leaves,” he announced as he dismounted. He dug into them and came up with the knife that Celegorm had lost.
“That knife has father’s mark upon it,” said Caranthir. He, too, dismounted, and joined Felagund in examining the blade. “It must be Celegorm’s – father made one like this for each of us. Celegorm must have dropped it.”
“He would never by so clumsy,” defended Curufin. “Perhaps he was attacked.”
“There are signs of a struggle,” remarked Turgon as he circled the area upon his mount. “These marks are fresh,” he said, pointing to the tracks from the wolves.
“Let us take a good look around,” suggested Artanis. “We may find some clues as to what happened.”
“Or, we may waste our time looking for them,” said Caranthir. “Honestly, if they do not want to be found, we will not find them.”
“I wonder – if we find them, can we turn them in to grandfather to collect the award?” wondered Turgon.
“Always the opportunist,” scolded Artanis.
A rustle of leaves made all of them turn, and Caranthir saw it first. “There is our fox! Onward!”
The rest followed, except for Curufin, who pulled back a little. “I hope my brother would have the sense to come home eventually,” he said wistfully. He glanced up at the spot that Turgon had looked to and added, “I would hope my cousin would knock some sense into him if she had to.” Then Curufin rode off to join his cousins and brother in the chase.
Celegorm waited until the coast was clear before he climbed down. “I hate being up so high,” he complained as Aredhel landed on the ground beside him.
“We had best leave before they come back,” suggested Aredhel.
“I wish they had not taken my knife,” complained Celegorm. He picked up the few other items that had been unseen, and they hurried off the path before they could be spotted again.
-I Used to Roll the Dice- (21)
Turgon stood steadily at the entrance as he did every other day that he guarded the passageway for the female gymnasts. Today, there was something a little different. Gone was the sash that he had often worn. He had meticulously braided his hair and brushed the rest until it shined. Off to one side, there was a carefully wrapped package from the local florist.
Each lady was greeted with the same nod or polite congratulatory message. One competitor was singled out. Turgon spent his time looking for her as he idly addressed the others, and upon seeing her, hastily scooped up the package, unwrapped it, and hid it behind his back.
“For you,” he said as Elenwe and one of her teammates came to the entrance. He had stepped up to block their path, and they both looked a little perplexed at having almost walked right into him.
“I think he means you,” said the blond gymnast standing beside Elenwe. She gave her teammate a little nudge.
“Oh... um... thank you,” said Elenwe. She took hold of the bouquet, which was bursting with red roses. “This is a lot of roses,” she replied as she looked down at them.
“Two dozen, plus three extra ones. I bought all that they had left.” He clasped his hands behind his back and said, “You did very well today.”
“I placed sixth,” she said dryly.
“You placed in the top two percent,” corrected Turgon. “When you look at how many people were competeing, you did quite well!”
Elenwe looked at her companion for assistance. The blond only laughed and escaped around Turgon. “See you later, Elenwe.”
“Lantaquesse, get back here,” hissed Elenwe. She turned her attention back to Turgon, who had masterfully managed to stay right in front of her no matter how she moved. “Uh, thank you,” she said as she attempted again to move around him.
“You are welcome.” Turgon smiled and asked, “Would you like to go together after you have dressed?”
“Uh... go where?” asked Elenwe cautiously.
“To a surprise place,” he said. “I like you, and I thought I would take you somewhere special that I have not shown to anyone else.”
A smile appeared on Elenwe’s face. If it was someone else, she would have assumed that the overly honest confession and invitation were an attempt at humor. Coming from Turgon, it was the truth, and her curiosity got the better of her. “Tonight?” she asked.
“Yes, right after you finish here. You are not busy, are you? I asked your father and he said that you would be free.” Turgon’s face filled with concern.
Elenwe stared at him blankly. “You asked my father? What did you ask him?”
“Just that, and if you had any other prospective suitors,” said Turgon. “It is always best to know these things so that circumstances do not become uncomfortable for the parties involved. I like to do my research ahead of time.”
“Do you?”
“Indeed. I spoke to your father yesterday, and explained my intentions to him, and he said—“
“What intentions?” interuped Elenwe.
Turgon tilted his head. “I thought that was obvious.”
“Not to me,” Elenwe admitted.
“I intend to court you.” Turgon frowned, and caught sight of Thranduil attempting to sneak into the passage past him. “Excuse me.”
Turgon sidestepped into Thranduil’s path and gave him a good stare down. “Just wanted to make sure you were still paying attention,” said Thranduil as he backed his way out of the entrance.
“I am a wonderful multitasker,” Turgon reminded the younger ellon. When the ladies were once again safe, he returned to the task at hand. “I must complete my shift, but we will be free to leave following that.”
“Should I expect to be out late?” asked Elenwe.
“If you want to. It is up to you. If it were up to me, I could stay there for days – but you will have to make that decision when we get there.”
“Is it far away?” she asked.
“No, and that is the last clue I will give you.”
Elenwe headed down the passage, holding her bundle of twenty-seven red roses and wondering if it had been such a good idea to tease the guardian as her teammates had suggested weeks ago. She emerged later to find Turgon standing in the exact place she had left him. “I am ready,” she said.
“Excellent. I just need to wait for the rest of the competitors to exit.” Turgon stayed in his same position, while Elenwe nodded, coughed, and wandered awkwardly around the area. “So... do you... want to talk?” he asked when he noticed that Elenwe’s movements were akin to pacing.
“Sure. What should we talk about?” she asked.
Turgon thought for a moment. “Tell me how you became interested in gymnastics.”
“Well, my mother used to take my sister and I for walks every day when I was little. My sister was older, and my mother was making an attempt to get her out to meet people. She is really shy. Anyhow, we would always pass by the gymnasium, and sometimes if they had a demonstration we would go inside to watch.
“One day, they had a contest at the end of the demonstration. They had a balance beam and they wanted to see who could walk over it most creatively. I had no idea that it was a recruitment tool; I just begged my mother to let me try until she finally relented. Most of the girls trying were older than me, but they were all boring. They would prance across it, and maybe do a flip or try to somersault. When I got up, I was laughed at for being so little, but they let me anyhow.
“It was great, because there were still a few girls behind me waiting to go. They thought I was going to fall off right away, but I stayed on. I got up onto the beam by running up to it and doing a flip onto it like I saw the competitors do. Everyone else just climbed up, and not very gracefully. Not me. I never do anything in half-steps. So, I realized everyone was impressed, and then I started to do a cartwheel, but I stopped halfway on my hands. Then I walked across on my hands and did the rest of the cartwheel off the end. The rest who were waiting sneaked back to their seats and that was that. I won, and my mother was shocked to say the least.”
“I bet you must have impressed a lot of people,” said Turgon.
“I did. They offered me a year of free training at the gymnasium. My mother was very worried, that after the year I would be so excited and interested in it without a means of paying for it, but everything fell into place. My sister married the coach of the gym, and I never ended up paying for any of my training. I really needed less in terms of teaching and encouragement than most. I have an ‘innate grace’ as I was once told. I just needed the time and place to practice.”
“We can go now,” he said abruptly.
“Oh.” Elenwe watched the final group of competitors leave the area. “Sorry, did I bore you with that story?”
Turgon looked surprised. “No, not at all. I thought it was very interesting. I just thought you would want to leave this place, since we were done here.”
Elenwe tried not to laugh. “Of course. My mistake.”
They did not have to go very far at all for the place that Turgon had in mind for their first date. It was, in fact, near the place where he had retrieved the bottles of Airenen. There was a small and meager garden consisting of a few trees which had lost most of their leaves and some flowers which were covered in leaves. Beyond this, an iron gate, which was unlocked yet unopened.
“Where are we?” asked Elenwe as she followed Turgon to the gate, which he opened casually as if here before and often.
“The Eastern Regional Sedrynerin Theological Residence. This is where the monks live.” Turgon stood aside so that Elenwe could enter past him.
There was a long walkway, lit with lanterns that hung from posts imbedded in the ground. The path had ropes to keep those who entered on the path and off the grass. There were some elves tending to the inner gardens. Some were picking grapes carefully from vines, while others were lovingly pulling carrots and potatoes from the ground. Turgon waved to them happily, calling out to each specifically, wishing them well. All of them gave a nod or in the cases of the younger ones a small smile, and then returned to their work.
“Are we even supposed to be here?” questioned Elenwe.
“Everyone is welcome here,” explained Turgon. “Anyone can be here – you have never been here before?”
“No,” she replied, somewhat confused as they entered the actual monastery. The walls were tall and made of dark bricks. Inside, the halls were dim, but lit by torches that set in sconces along the walls.
Turgon took a moment to stop at an alter just inside of the main door. There was a table with pieces of coarse paper and charcoal for writing. He began to write out a list of comments. “They love to get suggestions,” he said as he finished and folded up the note. He placed it into the box and offered his arm to Elenwe. “Now, onto the best parts of the tour.”
The pair continued on, turned a corner, and climbed down a set of stairs, arriving in the basement. Here there were three elves in long robes silently standing at large vats with long wooden sticks that they were using to mix whatever they were making. “This is where the magic happens,” said Turgon excitedly. He brought Elenwe right up to one of the vats, which smelled heavily of alcohol. “This is where Airenen is made. Only these three know the actual recipe for it. So, if something happened and they all drowned at sea that the same time, the secret would be lost. I suppose that is why they never go boating together, or ever, for that matter,” reasoned Turgon as he took Elenwe to another vat. “This one is a cooling vat, after they put all the spices into it. And that one over there… oh, nevermind, that one there is just soap. They make soap here, too. I guess because that way it helps get rid of the smell of the liquor. Really would be inappropriate for them to go out and minister smelling of alcohol.”
“I can see how that would be a concern,” said Elenwe. She walked up to the one who was stirring the soap and asked, “What scent are you making?”
The elf said nothing, but looked to Turgon calmly and bowed his head slightly toward him.
“He cannot answer you,” apologized Turgon. “He, and his brethren, have all taken a vow of silence.”
Elenwe’s jaw dropped. “Should we be talking in here, then?” she whispered to him.
“Oh, sure. We never took a vow of silence. At least, I never did. I thought about it – I really agree with the rest of their teachings,” admitted Turgon. “My father was for it as well. My mother was a little concerned, but it was the silence that really was not going to work well for me. You see, I like to talk.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yes,” Turgon informed her. “Talking is a wonderful thing. Voice inflection, accents, different languages – talking is a lot of fun. I know some people disdain it, but as for me, I love it. I love debates, too,” he added. “I wish I had more opportunity to make speeches, but I never seem to get asked back to places… I think I must impart all knowledge upon them, and it makes other speakers look bad…” He watched her drift to the rows of bottles along the wall.
“Can I ask you what might be a stupid question?” Elenwe looked over her shoulder to see if Turgon was still paying attention or even in the room.
“Of course. What is your question?”
“Why are we here?” She pulled one of the bottles that was crimson colored from the spot where it was stored. It was slightly smaller than a regular bottle of wine, but more ornately designed.
Turgon walked up to her and pulled the bottle from her hands. “I help them here. This is my other home, I suppose. My other job, without a doubt, but this is also something of a home for me. I wanted to join them, although, as you know, I would have ruined it in the first hour by talking – either to someone else or myself.” He replaced the bottle on the shelf. “I just thought… well, I wanted it to be somewhere special, so that years from now when we talked about it, you would remember this really interesting place. I guess because I thought, well, I hoped you might understand. Or, at least, not run away. You probably are bored of being here already,” he sighed.
“No, not at all. Just… curious,” admitted Elenwe. “This is just not the sort of place I would consider for a date. It seems so… religious.”
“Monasteries tend to be.”
Elenwe was unable not to burst out laughing. The monks, startled by this reaction, looked to one another in confusion. “Sorry,” she apologized to them and to Turgon. “I… yes, it is very religious. Very nice, yes.” She walked back to the vat with the soap in it. “Smells like lilacs.”
“It might be.” Turgon leaned over to get a good sniff. “Yes, definitely lilac. Maybe with a little vanilla in it?” He stood up and looked at the elf stirring the concoction. The elf smiled and nodded. “Nice. Very nice. Oh… is it alright if we… go up…?” Turgon waited for the monk to nod again before looping his arm around Elenwe’s. “I have another place to show you. You are going to like this one even more.” He began to leave the room but circled back around to select a bottle from the shelves. “We should take this with us,” he decided, and they left the basement and headed back up the stairs again. From there, Turgon took Elenwe to another flight, and then again to another, until they arrived at the top of the building. There was a set of doors at the top of a short flight, and these led out to a platform.
The platform was circular in shape, and had a low railing all the way around it. At the center of the platform, someone had set out a picnic blanket, a basket, wineglasses, plates, and a vase with a single blue rose in it. “Did you do all of this?” asked Elenwe.
Turgon blushed and shrugged. He watched Elenwe walk to the blanket spread across the floor and kneel down on the edge of it. She bent her head slightly to smell the rose in the vase. “I wanted to get a red one, but I was told that someone bought them out.”
Elenwe giggled and motioned Turgon over to join her. He did so, and opened the basket to pull out a corkscrew and reveal the treats within. “Are those chocolate covered strawberries?” she asked as the cork popped out of the bottle and shot over the side of the railing, arcing down into the pews below.
“Yes. I asked your mother what you liked to eat. Research,” he reminded her as she disbelievingly watched him pour the wine.
“You are incredible,” she remarked as one of the wineglasses was handed to her.
“I know,” he said as he lifted his glass up. “But then, so are you.” He winked and clinked his glass against hers. “Do you know what is even better than strawberries and chocolate?”
“What?”
“Look up.”
Elenwe did so, and gasped as she saw the view through the domed glass ceiling. It was Telperion’s turn to light the sky, and the stars glittered and gleamed brightly above. “They are so beautiful,” she whispered.
“They pale in comparison to you,” answered Turgon.
It was Elenwe’s turn to blush as she lowered her head and looked across the blanket at him. “Is it too early in our relationship for me to kiss you?”
“It is never too early for that,” declared Turgon as he leaned forward -- stars, wine, and strawberries forgotten.
-I’m Through With the Show- (22)
There was a note waiting for Fingon when he came to the gym that morning. He had been arriving early and staying late nearly every day he worked, and even came in a day or two when he had been scheduled not to be there. Somehow, he managed to have time for his dancing lessons in the forest. If anything, the busy schedule had kept him on track. It also kept him from being lonely at home, where the silence without Maglor there was a little creepy.
This morning, he could see that there was light in the office, but the door was closed. The note specified that he was not to stray too far or get too involved in anything, for he was expected to be available for a brief meeting at Ardim’s convenience. Fingon went about his morning ritual of opening the high windows and stocking the talc. He took a little extra time to go to his shelves and pack everything that was his neatly into two sacks. In the case that this was his last day, Fingon did not want to have to shamefully pack his things up after being let go.
Two of the trainees, a pair of Telerin brothers, entered and waved to Fingon in greeting as he turned around. As soon as they had stowed their things and changed into their gymnastic clothing, the brothers stretched and warmed up their muscles. The door had not yet opened by the time they were finished, so Fingon offered to give them some tips on the routines they were working on. Besides the individual competitions, there were group routines on the floor. Not every team participated in rhythmic competition, but those who did tended to get a higher amount of funding from patrons.
This routine used a staff as the apparatus. Though staves were less dangerous and therefore less challenging than swords, it meant that the routine could be faster and more intricate without risk of serious injury to either competitor. It began fairly simply, but as they practiced, Fingon suggested way to make things more interesting. A vault by one over the other, as the one without the staff did a back flip was the first addition. Next, they learned how to bounce the staff upon its end on the floor in order to pass it to one another while executing other elements. Before Fingon could teach them to pass the staff off as they spun it in their hands, he heard someone call his name.
He turned to see Ardim standing at the door of his office. There was a gymnast roughly his own age inside the office. As Fingon got closer, he recognized the occupant as someone he had competed against recently. It was not in the very last competition, but perhaps a year or two previously. “You wished to see me, sir?” he asked Ardim.
Ardim motioned into the office, and Fingon entered. He sat down next to the unknown gymnast when directed to and as Adrim sat down in his own seat. “Fingon, do you know Halkarinquë?”
“I think we might have met.” Fingon clasped Halkarinquë arm and asked, “Were you with the Empty Jug team?”
“Not for many years,” replied Halkarinquë. “I used to be; my father donates to the team. He runs a pub. I competed with One-two-three Jump until last year when my time ran out.”
“Ah. I know how that is,” answered Fingon.
“I am going to get right to the point,” Ardim assured Fingon. “I just hired Halkarinquë. He is going to be the new assistant coach.”
“I did not know there was another position open,” said Fingon, though he was fairly certain what was coming.
Ardim leaned back in his chair. “He is taking your position.”
Fingon said nothing, hoping he did not look overly shocked. Halkarinquë, on the other hand, looked mortified. “Oh... oh my... oh, I did not mean to—I did not know he was getting rid of you,” apologized Halkarinquë.
“I never said that,” interrupted Ardim. “Fingon, you have really impressed me with your change in attitude. I was seriously having doubts about you. I am glad you proved me wrong. In watching your work, I have determined that there is a place where you are better suited.”
“Where would that be?” asked Fingon cautiously.
“You are being promoted,” announced Ardim. “Congratulations. You are my new recruiter. You will canvas and test possible students. You will also attend competitions at the junior level to give us an advantage in knowing future potential students.”
“That sounds like a lot of traveling around,” said Fingon. “I would suppose that I would not be spending as much time at the gym.”
“Probably not,” Ardim admitted. “I think you would have to split your time between the gym and the recruiting, but I would not expect you to spend more than twenty percent of your hours here. Most of it will be on the road. I know that you are familiar with the different areas, so you seemed to be a good candidate.”
“Thank you,” said Fingon. “I appreciate your offer.”
“There is a ‘but’ attached to that,” prodded Ardim.
Fingon looked at the shelves of trophies with a sigh. “I really wanted to stick it out here and help the team earn a few of those,” he said with a nod toward the wall of awards. “But those are for them,” he said, his gaze turning toward the door that led to the gym. “My time here is done. I did my best, I tried as hard as I could, and now, I must move on. I do not belong here, as hard as I might try to fit in. It is not that I have somewhere else to go, but I know that I need to leave in order to find what I need.” Fingon reached for the chain around his neck, and as he lifted up the key, it was as if a weigh was lifted from him. “I am resigning, sir. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me someday.” He held out the key. It dangled and spun in front of him until Ardim reached forward and took the key in his palm. Fingon let go of the chain, and it spilled down. He stood up as soon as it was out of his grasp.
“It was a pleasure to work with you, Fingon,” said Ardim. “I hope you find what you are looking for,” he added as Fingon walked to the door.
“Thank you.” Fingon turned and nodded to Halkarinquë. “You are going to like it here. The work is hard, but so very rewarding. I am sorry we will not have the chance to work together.” He looked then to the coach and said, “I wish you luck at the competition this year, Ardim. Thank you again for the opportunity.”
As the door closed behind him, Fingon felt the lightness of his step. For once, he was free, and there was a definite happiness to him as he went to the shelf where his gear had been packed earlier. He gathered them up and hugged them to his chest as he took another look around the gym. There were some tumbling across the mat and others leaping and twirling from the bars. There was nowhere he would rather have been than on one of the apparatuses, but that was not what he would be offered anywhere. That time for him was gone. He did not know where the path before him would lead, but it would take him to a place that he needed to be.
He left the gym while humming a love song to himself, and smiled as he saw one of the young students in the outside practice yard where the younglings played. They were observed here to see which ones had the grace and ability to become professional gymnasts for the short time they were allowed. Fingon remembered the days when he was their age, and would scare his mother by climbing up the rope of the swing in order to reach the top of the set where the long post became his balance beam.
He loved the height, and somehow managed not to fall. When he was taken to his first tumbling lesson, he impressed his teachers by doing a back flip off of the top of the steps and landing on his feet. It became a weekly ritual, and then daily, and then he reached a point where he would train daily and stay for three months in the summer in order to more aggressively train.
When the money began to run out, the amount of training decreased, and he had switched gyms to one that was closer and less expensive. Then came the day he was recruited as a competitor. The hard work began to pay off as medals and trophies were won, and with them, the prize money that came with them. All of it had gone back to his parents, for they had been the ones to sacrifice when he had trained.
This did cause a small amount of hesitation for Fingon. He did not want to be a burden on his parents again, nor did he want to rely upon the generosity of his uncle. A plan began to formulate in his head as he recalled his own financial woes. As he walked away from the gym and toward the forest to meet with Nessa, he concocted in his mind a plan to become a freelance coach. If he did not have a gym to support, and did not have to pay for the costs of travel and uniforms and other such things, he could offer his services at a price affordable to talented future gymnasts who would not have the means to join a gym. He smiled to himself, happy to see the path before him taking shape.
---
During his walk back home that evening the same questions filled his head. He almost missed the horse that was tethered to the post by the side of the house, but doubled back. The blanket and saddle bore the crest of Feanor’s house, though the horse was one of his grandfather’s. A single horse meant a single visitor, and Fingon rushed inside to see if his presumption was true.
“About time you arrived!” Maedhros opened his arms as he stood up, and Fingon rushed into them. “I was getting worried that perhaps there was a monster in the forest that had taken to stealing elves. How are you?”
“Better now,” replied Fingon. He stepped back and caught the smirk on Maglor’s face. “This is unexpected,” he said. “Unexpected, but a wonderful surprise.”
Maedhros looked over his shoulder to his brother. “You did not tell him, did you?”
Fingon looked now, too, and saw that Maglor was packing things into various small boxes sitting on the dining table. “You are leaving. Did I do something wrong?”
“No, Fingon, it has nothing to do with you,” said Maglor somewhat apologetically. “I found out that I am not cut out to be a public performer. I have no idea how you manage it,” he admitted. “Everyone looks at you, and comments, and some of them are not very good comments, either. I just want to go home.”
“Should we help you pack things up?” offered Fingon.
Maglor shook his head. “I have to do this myself so that I know where everything is,” he said. “Go with Maedhros. He was in the middle of making supper when you arrived.”
Fingon did so, and helped Maedhros prepare the meal while Maglor hummed to himself and boxed up the rest of his belongings. “Father said to tell you that you are welcome to stay here as long as you like,” said Maedhros as they carried the food from the kitchen to the dining room. “He does not want you to feel as if you do not have rights to stay.”
“Actually, I do not think I have any right to stay, considering what the terms of our agreement were.” Fingon smiled sheepishly and said, “I quit the team today. I… well, there is something else I have taken an interest in, but I am through with gymnastics.”
Maedhros looked surprised, but Maglor nodded knowingly. “I could tell you were unhappy there,” said the harper as he settled the boxes in a neat stack at the door. “You hardly smiled when you talked about it, when you did talk about it.”
“What is this new venture?” asked Maedhros.
Fingon sat down between his cousins and across from the chair that the cat was occupying. “Dancing.” He waited for the laughter, but there was none.
“With a group or something?” Maedhros ladled the soup into bowls for each of them. “I remember seeing some plays a few years ago that had groups of dancers in them.”
“Right now, I am just learning,” said Fingon. “I have an excellent teacher.”
“Uh-oh – what is it going to cost you?” asked Maedhros.
“Nothing.” Fingon chewed his lip, unsure of how much information he wanted to give anyone on who his teacher was. “Apparently, my talent is what she is most interested in.”
“She?” questioned Maedhros, a hint of jealousy in his voice.
Maglor waved his hand at Maedhros. “You know he is devoted to you, Russandol. Most dance instructors are female; I would be more surprised – and more worried if I were you – if he had found a male teacher.”
“Good point.” Maedhros passed the plate of bread around the table. “When do we get to meet her?”
“I… I will have to ask her. She really prefers that the lessons be private so that I can focus on what I need to learn.”
“That sounds reasonable,” said Maedhros. “How long will it take for you to learn? Does she live around here?”
Fingon fidgeted, the questions from earlier popping into his head again. “I am unsure, and yes, she does. I need to find some sort of temporary occupation that will not conflict with my studies, and yet will allow me to repay my parents and your father.”
“You should talk to Felagund about that,” suggested Maglor. “He always needs scribes and runners for the library. He can never seem to keep any of them for very long; your penmanship is decent, and you are fast, so I cannot see how there would be a complaint against you.”
A spark of hope that perhaps everything would fall into place brought a smile to Fingon’s face. “I shall go to see him tomorrow. Will you come with me?” he asked Maedhros.
Maedhros shook his head. “I need to help little brother move his things back home. Technically, I should be at the forge, but father needed someone to come out here with him and he knew that I wanted to see you, so he made an exception. I am sure Felagund will be open to the idea. As I said, he can never seem to find anyone who is reliable.”
The rest of the discussion turned to Maglor’s brief adventure as a pub musician. Some of the anecdotes were hilarious, while others made Fingon shake his head or cause Maedhros to threaten harm upon the rude customers if ever he came across them. The night wore on, and Maglor offered a few songs. Fingon then impressed Maedhros with the harp skills that he had developed since coming to live at the lodge with his cousin.
“If dancing does not work for you, I think you might have a future as a harpist,” said Maedhros.
Fingon shrugged. “I could never be as good as Maglor is.”
“No one can ever be as good as Maglor,” corrected Maedhros. Maglor rolled his eyes modestly. “Honestly, you are the best, Maglor.”
“If you say so,” he mumbled.
“I do, and so you shall have to deal with that.” Maedhros laughed as Maglor stuck his tongue out at him. “I think I am going to wash the dishes while the two of you ready for bed – unless one of you really wants to wash the plates.”
Neither Maglor nor Fingon took up Maedhros’ second offer, so as Maedhros cleared the table, Fingon went into the bedroom to fluff the pillow and figure out just how he and Maedhros were going to fit into the little bed together. The bed that Maedhros had at home was three times the size of the one Fingon was standing in front of – twice as wide, and half again as long. Fingon had some difficulty sleeping in this one, and had to draw his legs up in order to keep them from hanging off of the side.
Several minutes later, Fingon had readjusted the room, and now the chairs from the desk and the one that was next to the door were at the end of the bed to extend the length of the sleeping space. He changed out of his clothes including his undergarments and slipped into a loose pair of sleeping pants. While Maedhros was still out of the room, Fingon knelt beside the bed and prayed for guidance. He was still unsure of his decision, and while he searched his soul to try to find out if he was doing what he was meant to, he prayed for the safe return of his sister and cousin, realizing that until now he had been focused very much on his own needs and desires.
There was a soft ‘snick’ as the door to the room was closed, and a rustle of fabric as someone behind him took off their shirt. Fingon stayed knelt on the floor, somehow knowing that the position hurried Maedhros in joining him.
“I like this,” purred Maedhros into his lover’s ear as he lowered himself down behind him. Maedhros spread his legs so that he was knelt behind Fingon but up against him, his erection pressed to his lover’s backside. A hand slid around the naked torso and slipped down into the pants that had been left untied. Nothing more was said as Maedhros caressed the soft flesh to hardness, and began to stroke the stiff, slender column.
Maedhros’ free hand came up and tenderly caressed Fingon’s chest, and moved upward to his neck, until finally reaching his cheek. There was a little game Maedhros liked to play, and though it scared Fingon a little, it caused great excitement for him as well.
The hand upon his cheek moved over his mouth, fingers covering it, and then shifted up so that the thumb and fingers pressed against his nostrils as well. All air was cut off, and as Fingon fought not to pant so hard, Maedhros used his other hand to grip him harder. A few moments, and the hand drew away. Fingon gasped for air while Maedhros danced his fingers across Fingon’s cheek and loosened his grip with his other hand.
This would continue for the next few minutes. Fingon would manage to catch his breath, and then the hand would force him to hold it again. He could feel Maedhros behind him, hard flesh rocking against his back. Now the hand came over his mouth again, and held more firmly this time. “Come for me, Fingon. I am not going to let go until you do.”
Although Fingon was used to the alternation between soft and rough, Maedhros had never before tried this tactic. It scared Fingon, who now felt more than just the tightness in his chest and the lightheadedness that followed. He shivered and moaned quietly behind the hand that held him, and fought to take in air. Maedhros yet prevented him, and Fingon wondered if he would pass out.
He closed his eyes, his body relaxing, and felt the hand that stroked him more acutely than before. Behind him, Maedhros seemed closer, seemed to penetrate him though the thin layer of the fabric of Fingon’s pants still separated them. The room spun, became brighter, and Fingon cried out though it was muffled as he climaxed intensely, the ejaculate running down his leg.
He gasped audibly as the hand uncovered his mouth, and he leaned back with a sigh and was held upright in Maedhros’ embrace. He could feel now that the back of his pants were damp, a situation remedied by his lover as they were both stripped of their clothing. Water from the basin was used to wash them, and Maedhros crawled into bed beside Fingon, the two intertwining limbs and sleeping soundly until morning.
Title: Citius, Altius, Fortius (20-22/25)
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 (Once Nuinzilien helps me defeat the evilness of grammar and plotholes with her awesome beta skillz)
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.
-Howl at the Moon- (20)
Celegorm sat up abruptly. There was a howl, and it was closer than he liked. “Aredhel!” he hissed as he pulled out the dagger he had. “Aredhel, I hear something!”
In a flash, Aredhel was awake and clutching the spear that Celegorm had made for her. “I hear it, too. They sound close by.”
“Too close.” Celegorm gathered up their meager supplies in the middle of one of the cloaks, pulled the corners together, and hoisted the hastily created sack over his shoulder. “Can you climb that tree?” he asked, pointing to one with a thick trunk.
Aredhel nodded and yanked the other cloak from the ground. She jumped up to grab hold of a branch and swung slightly to gather the momentum needed to swing up on the next try. “Quick, toss me the gear!” she said as the sound of hungry wolves came nearer.
Celegorm hardly had time to do so before the first member of the pack emerged from the bushes. The wolves approached with menacing looks in their eyes. It was hard for Celegorm to stand his ground against them with naught by a small knife to fend them off, though he knew that turning his back to them was suicide. “Aredhel, can you get a good shot at them?”
“I can try, but I would have to drop the supplies,” she said. “Let me see if I can get to the rope for you.”
“That is not going to help,” warned Celegorm as the wolves started to close in, blocking him off from anything but the tree. “We should have kept the fire going,” he said.
One of the wolves leaped, but his aim was for the tree and not Celegorm. Aredhel screamed as the wolf managed to get a grip on the branch she used to climb and hung on. It scrambled onto the narrow branch and licked its lips.
Celegorm was now caught in a difficult position, for if he attempted to go after the threat to Aredhel, he left himself open for an attack. In his current spot, however, he was of no use either. As Aredhel shrieked again, he made his decision.
Celegorm turned, ran, and jumped up. His left hand took hold of the wolf’s back leg, and he pulled it down onto the ground with him. He tried to roll away from the whimpering, snarling animal, but he found himself cornered against the trunk by three more. His knife was no longer in his hand, knocked away some metres from him. He attempted a lunge, but one of the wolves pounced him. He was knocked backwards flat onto the ground, and as the wolf stood over him with a happy look, a bright light filled the clearing, blinding him.
“Away with you, foul creatures of the forrest!” exclaimed a terrifying voice. “Be gone with you, and come here not again!”
The wolves, including the one that was threatening Celegorm, tucked their tails and ran back from whence they came. Celegorm sat up thankfully, and found Melkor standing in the clearing with a rod of ebony in his hands.
Once more, Melkor struck the ground with his staff, and the bright light dissipated. “Are you hurt?” he asked as he offered Celegorm a hand in getting up.
Celegorm pushed himself back up with aid from the tree trunk. “How did you do that?”
Melkor withdrew his hand. “The wolves fear the power of my staff. I merely conjured a vision, seen to you and your companion as light, but seen to the wolves as something to fear. They know I can do much more with my weapon, and they are wise enough not to stay and find out what I might do.”
“It is quite fortunate for us that you happened to be in the woods,” said Celegorm.
“Fortune had little to do with it,” answered Melkor. “Your fathers have been looking for both of you for many weeks now. It is known by all that you are to be brought to them.”
“You are capturing us?” asked Aredhel, who was still up in the tree with the supplies.
“Capturing you? No, my dear, I am going to return you safely. Do you not miss your family? Do you not wish to ease your parents’ fears?” wondered Melkor.
Aredhel looked worried, but Celegorm shook his head. “Certainly not. They deserve this, after all they have put us through. Let them wait. We will come back when we want to return,” said Celegorm. “Are we not adults? We are old enough to make our own decisions.”
“I see,” said Melkor. “I will not force you to return, but you should know that you are missed by your families. The worry of your father is exceptionally strong,” he said to Aredhel. “Your father speaks of ways he shall protect you once you have returned.”
“Just another reason for us not to,” said Celegorm. “He will lock you away and take even more of your freedoms from you,” he warned.
It seemed as if Aredhel was torn, but her will was strong and she said, “I do not wish to return yet.”
“Neither do I,” said Celegorm sincerely. “We will not come willingly, Lord Melkor.”
“As you wish,” Melkor replied. “Do be careful of the wolves,” he said as he disappeared back into the woods.
Once the Ainu was gone, Celegorm helped Aredhel down from her perch. “Maybe sleeping in the trees at night would not be such a bad idea.”
“I would be afraid of rolling out of it,” admitted Aredhel. “Then again, falling out of a tree would be far preferred to being eaten by a wolf.”
“Those wolves seemed hungry,” said Celegorm. “I am concerned about them. Normally, wolves will run from us, no matter how in need of game they are. This pack seemed especially vicious.”
“I suppose different packs act differently,” Aredhel said. “There are some horses that act one way, and some that act another. Wolves cannot be so different.”
Celegorm nodded. “Still, we should be on guard.” The supplies were redistributed and everything was accounted for, with the exception of Celegorm’s knife. “Can you help me check for it? I dropped it earlier when I was fighting the wolves.”
Though he and Aredhel searched for nearly an hour, neither were able to find the fallen knife. To add to the matter, the spear that Celegorm had fashioned was now split down the middle on one side and would not last much longer. “I wish we had brought real weapons with us,” announced Celegorm as he gave up on an attempt to fix the broken spear. It was thrown to the ground as the pair both looked up and in the same direction at the same time. “Did you hear that?”
“Horses.” Aredhel grabbed what she could manage, while Celegorm hoisted the rest up with him as he hurried her toward the most likely candidate for the tree they could fastest climb. They reached the upper branches not a moment too soon, for into their clearing rode a hunting party, and among them, cousins and siblings.
Their tree had shed most of its leaves, but had a trunk thick enough to aid in covering them, and many branches to allow them to blend in. They dared not say a word to one another as they helplessly watched those below.
“I thought I heard someone talking,” stated Artanis matter-of-factly. “I was certain of it.”
Turgon was there also, as were Felagund, Caranthir, Curufin, and Ehtele. It seemed that Ehtele was rather bored to be with the party, for his gaze wandered about aimlessly, and Artanis’s batting eyelashes went unnoticed. Caranthir looked rather restless and was already pushing his horse ahead of the others.
“You heard nothing, cousin. Perhaps a woodland creature,” he reasoned.
“No, I heard voices,” she argued. She loved to argue when she could.
Curufin rolled his eyes. “There is no one here. Voices in your head, maybe?” Her cousins all chuckled, but Felagund stared them down.
Ehtele yawned.
“I think we have lost the trail of that silver fox,” said Turgon. He glanced upwards, and focusing upon the spot where his sister and cousin were hiding, he squinted just a little. Aredhel and Celegorm held their breath.
“Something the matter, Turgon?” asked Felagund as he pulled his horse closer.
Turgon turned his mount and shook his head. “No, I thought I saw a woodpecker, but it was nothing. Shall we continue on?”
“I heard someone talking,” insisted Artanis as they started to reassemble the party.
“Of course you did.” Caranthir rode by and patted her braided head as he passed by while some of the others laughed.
Felagund placed his hand upon his sister’s shoulder to keep her from starting another argument. As he did so, something on the ground caught his eye. “Halt!” he cried out, and the rest pulled back on their reins. “There is something in the leaves,” he announced as he dismounted. He dug into them and came up with the knife that Celegorm had lost.
“That knife has father’s mark upon it,” said Caranthir. He, too, dismounted, and joined Felagund in examining the blade. “It must be Celegorm’s – father made one like this for each of us. Celegorm must have dropped it.”
“He would never by so clumsy,” defended Curufin. “Perhaps he was attacked.”
“There are signs of a struggle,” remarked Turgon as he circled the area upon his mount. “These marks are fresh,” he said, pointing to the tracks from the wolves.
“Let us take a good look around,” suggested Artanis. “We may find some clues as to what happened.”
“Or, we may waste our time looking for them,” said Caranthir. “Honestly, if they do not want to be found, we will not find them.”
“I wonder – if we find them, can we turn them in to grandfather to collect the award?” wondered Turgon.
“Always the opportunist,” scolded Artanis.
A rustle of leaves made all of them turn, and Caranthir saw it first. “There is our fox! Onward!”
The rest followed, except for Curufin, who pulled back a little. “I hope my brother would have the sense to come home eventually,” he said wistfully. He glanced up at the spot that Turgon had looked to and added, “I would hope my cousin would knock some sense into him if she had to.” Then Curufin rode off to join his cousins and brother in the chase.
Celegorm waited until the coast was clear before he climbed down. “I hate being up so high,” he complained as Aredhel landed on the ground beside him.
“We had best leave before they come back,” suggested Aredhel.
“I wish they had not taken my knife,” complained Celegorm. He picked up the few other items that had been unseen, and they hurried off the path before they could be spotted again.
-I Used to Roll the Dice- (21)
Turgon stood steadily at the entrance as he did every other day that he guarded the passageway for the female gymnasts. Today, there was something a little different. Gone was the sash that he had often worn. He had meticulously braided his hair and brushed the rest until it shined. Off to one side, there was a carefully wrapped package from the local florist.
Each lady was greeted with the same nod or polite congratulatory message. One competitor was singled out. Turgon spent his time looking for her as he idly addressed the others, and upon seeing her, hastily scooped up the package, unwrapped it, and hid it behind his back.
“For you,” he said as Elenwe and one of her teammates came to the entrance. He had stepped up to block their path, and they both looked a little perplexed at having almost walked right into him.
“I think he means you,” said the blond gymnast standing beside Elenwe. She gave her teammate a little nudge.
“Oh... um... thank you,” said Elenwe. She took hold of the bouquet, which was bursting with red roses. “This is a lot of roses,” she replied as she looked down at them.
“Two dozen, plus three extra ones. I bought all that they had left.” He clasped his hands behind his back and said, “You did very well today.”
“I placed sixth,” she said dryly.
“You placed in the top two percent,” corrected Turgon. “When you look at how many people were competeing, you did quite well!”
Elenwe looked at her companion for assistance. The blond only laughed and escaped around Turgon. “See you later, Elenwe.”
“Lantaquesse, get back here,” hissed Elenwe. She turned her attention back to Turgon, who had masterfully managed to stay right in front of her no matter how she moved. “Uh, thank you,” she said as she attempted again to move around him.
“You are welcome.” Turgon smiled and asked, “Would you like to go together after you have dressed?”
“Uh... go where?” asked Elenwe cautiously.
“To a surprise place,” he said. “I like you, and I thought I would take you somewhere special that I have not shown to anyone else.”
A smile appeared on Elenwe’s face. If it was someone else, she would have assumed that the overly honest confession and invitation were an attempt at humor. Coming from Turgon, it was the truth, and her curiosity got the better of her. “Tonight?” she asked.
“Yes, right after you finish here. You are not busy, are you? I asked your father and he said that you would be free.” Turgon’s face filled with concern.
Elenwe stared at him blankly. “You asked my father? What did you ask him?”
“Just that, and if you had any other prospective suitors,” said Turgon. “It is always best to know these things so that circumstances do not become uncomfortable for the parties involved. I like to do my research ahead of time.”
“Do you?”
“Indeed. I spoke to your father yesterday, and explained my intentions to him, and he said—“
“What intentions?” interuped Elenwe.
Turgon tilted his head. “I thought that was obvious.”
“Not to me,” Elenwe admitted.
“I intend to court you.” Turgon frowned, and caught sight of Thranduil attempting to sneak into the passage past him. “Excuse me.”
Turgon sidestepped into Thranduil’s path and gave him a good stare down. “Just wanted to make sure you were still paying attention,” said Thranduil as he backed his way out of the entrance.
“I am a wonderful multitasker,” Turgon reminded the younger ellon. When the ladies were once again safe, he returned to the task at hand. “I must complete my shift, but we will be free to leave following that.”
“Should I expect to be out late?” asked Elenwe.
“If you want to. It is up to you. If it were up to me, I could stay there for days – but you will have to make that decision when we get there.”
“Is it far away?” she asked.
“No, and that is the last clue I will give you.”
Elenwe headed down the passage, holding her bundle of twenty-seven red roses and wondering if it had been such a good idea to tease the guardian as her teammates had suggested weeks ago. She emerged later to find Turgon standing in the exact place she had left him. “I am ready,” she said.
“Excellent. I just need to wait for the rest of the competitors to exit.” Turgon stayed in his same position, while Elenwe nodded, coughed, and wandered awkwardly around the area. “So... do you... want to talk?” he asked when he noticed that Elenwe’s movements were akin to pacing.
“Sure. What should we talk about?” she asked.
Turgon thought for a moment. “Tell me how you became interested in gymnastics.”
“Well, my mother used to take my sister and I for walks every day when I was little. My sister was older, and my mother was making an attempt to get her out to meet people. She is really shy. Anyhow, we would always pass by the gymnasium, and sometimes if they had a demonstration we would go inside to watch.
“One day, they had a contest at the end of the demonstration. They had a balance beam and they wanted to see who could walk over it most creatively. I had no idea that it was a recruitment tool; I just begged my mother to let me try until she finally relented. Most of the girls trying were older than me, but they were all boring. They would prance across it, and maybe do a flip or try to somersault. When I got up, I was laughed at for being so little, but they let me anyhow.
“It was great, because there were still a few girls behind me waiting to go. They thought I was going to fall off right away, but I stayed on. I got up onto the beam by running up to it and doing a flip onto it like I saw the competitors do. Everyone else just climbed up, and not very gracefully. Not me. I never do anything in half-steps. So, I realized everyone was impressed, and then I started to do a cartwheel, but I stopped halfway on my hands. Then I walked across on my hands and did the rest of the cartwheel off the end. The rest who were waiting sneaked back to their seats and that was that. I won, and my mother was shocked to say the least.”
“I bet you must have impressed a lot of people,” said Turgon.
“I did. They offered me a year of free training at the gymnasium. My mother was very worried, that after the year I would be so excited and interested in it without a means of paying for it, but everything fell into place. My sister married the coach of the gym, and I never ended up paying for any of my training. I really needed less in terms of teaching and encouragement than most. I have an ‘innate grace’ as I was once told. I just needed the time and place to practice.”
“We can go now,” he said abruptly.
“Oh.” Elenwe watched the final group of competitors leave the area. “Sorry, did I bore you with that story?”
Turgon looked surprised. “No, not at all. I thought it was very interesting. I just thought you would want to leave this place, since we were done here.”
Elenwe tried not to laugh. “Of course. My mistake.”
They did not have to go very far at all for the place that Turgon had in mind for their first date. It was, in fact, near the place where he had retrieved the bottles of Airenen. There was a small and meager garden consisting of a few trees which had lost most of their leaves and some flowers which were covered in leaves. Beyond this, an iron gate, which was unlocked yet unopened.
“Where are we?” asked Elenwe as she followed Turgon to the gate, which he opened casually as if here before and often.
“The Eastern Regional Sedrynerin Theological Residence. This is where the monks live.” Turgon stood aside so that Elenwe could enter past him.
There was a long walkway, lit with lanterns that hung from posts imbedded in the ground. The path had ropes to keep those who entered on the path and off the grass. There were some elves tending to the inner gardens. Some were picking grapes carefully from vines, while others were lovingly pulling carrots and potatoes from the ground. Turgon waved to them happily, calling out to each specifically, wishing them well. All of them gave a nod or in the cases of the younger ones a small smile, and then returned to their work.
“Are we even supposed to be here?” questioned Elenwe.
“Everyone is welcome here,” explained Turgon. “Anyone can be here – you have never been here before?”
“No,” she replied, somewhat confused as they entered the actual monastery. The walls were tall and made of dark bricks. Inside, the halls were dim, but lit by torches that set in sconces along the walls.
Turgon took a moment to stop at an alter just inside of the main door. There was a table with pieces of coarse paper and charcoal for writing. He began to write out a list of comments. “They love to get suggestions,” he said as he finished and folded up the note. He placed it into the box and offered his arm to Elenwe. “Now, onto the best parts of the tour.”
The pair continued on, turned a corner, and climbed down a set of stairs, arriving in the basement. Here there were three elves in long robes silently standing at large vats with long wooden sticks that they were using to mix whatever they were making. “This is where the magic happens,” said Turgon excitedly. He brought Elenwe right up to one of the vats, which smelled heavily of alcohol. “This is where Airenen is made. Only these three know the actual recipe for it. So, if something happened and they all drowned at sea that the same time, the secret would be lost. I suppose that is why they never go boating together, or ever, for that matter,” reasoned Turgon as he took Elenwe to another vat. “This one is a cooling vat, after they put all the spices into it. And that one over there… oh, nevermind, that one there is just soap. They make soap here, too. I guess because that way it helps get rid of the smell of the liquor. Really would be inappropriate for them to go out and minister smelling of alcohol.”
“I can see how that would be a concern,” said Elenwe. She walked up to the one who was stirring the soap and asked, “What scent are you making?”
The elf said nothing, but looked to Turgon calmly and bowed his head slightly toward him.
“He cannot answer you,” apologized Turgon. “He, and his brethren, have all taken a vow of silence.”
Elenwe’s jaw dropped. “Should we be talking in here, then?” she whispered to him.
“Oh, sure. We never took a vow of silence. At least, I never did. I thought about it – I really agree with the rest of their teachings,” admitted Turgon. “My father was for it as well. My mother was a little concerned, but it was the silence that really was not going to work well for me. You see, I like to talk.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yes,” Turgon informed her. “Talking is a wonderful thing. Voice inflection, accents, different languages – talking is a lot of fun. I know some people disdain it, but as for me, I love it. I love debates, too,” he added. “I wish I had more opportunity to make speeches, but I never seem to get asked back to places… I think I must impart all knowledge upon them, and it makes other speakers look bad…” He watched her drift to the rows of bottles along the wall.
“Can I ask you what might be a stupid question?” Elenwe looked over her shoulder to see if Turgon was still paying attention or even in the room.
“Of course. What is your question?”
“Why are we here?” She pulled one of the bottles that was crimson colored from the spot where it was stored. It was slightly smaller than a regular bottle of wine, but more ornately designed.
Turgon walked up to her and pulled the bottle from her hands. “I help them here. This is my other home, I suppose. My other job, without a doubt, but this is also something of a home for me. I wanted to join them, although, as you know, I would have ruined it in the first hour by talking – either to someone else or myself.” He replaced the bottle on the shelf. “I just thought… well, I wanted it to be somewhere special, so that years from now when we talked about it, you would remember this really interesting place. I guess because I thought, well, I hoped you might understand. Or, at least, not run away. You probably are bored of being here already,” he sighed.
“No, not at all. Just… curious,” admitted Elenwe. “This is just not the sort of place I would consider for a date. It seems so… religious.”
“Monasteries tend to be.”
Elenwe was unable not to burst out laughing. The monks, startled by this reaction, looked to one another in confusion. “Sorry,” she apologized to them and to Turgon. “I… yes, it is very religious. Very nice, yes.” She walked back to the vat with the soap in it. “Smells like lilacs.”
“It might be.” Turgon leaned over to get a good sniff. “Yes, definitely lilac. Maybe with a little vanilla in it?” He stood up and looked at the elf stirring the concoction. The elf smiled and nodded. “Nice. Very nice. Oh… is it alright if we… go up…?” Turgon waited for the monk to nod again before looping his arm around Elenwe’s. “I have another place to show you. You are going to like this one even more.” He began to leave the room but circled back around to select a bottle from the shelves. “We should take this with us,” he decided, and they left the basement and headed back up the stairs again. From there, Turgon took Elenwe to another flight, and then again to another, until they arrived at the top of the building. There was a set of doors at the top of a short flight, and these led out to a platform.
The platform was circular in shape, and had a low railing all the way around it. At the center of the platform, someone had set out a picnic blanket, a basket, wineglasses, plates, and a vase with a single blue rose in it. “Did you do all of this?” asked Elenwe.
Turgon blushed and shrugged. He watched Elenwe walk to the blanket spread across the floor and kneel down on the edge of it. She bent her head slightly to smell the rose in the vase. “I wanted to get a red one, but I was told that someone bought them out.”
Elenwe giggled and motioned Turgon over to join her. He did so, and opened the basket to pull out a corkscrew and reveal the treats within. “Are those chocolate covered strawberries?” she asked as the cork popped out of the bottle and shot over the side of the railing, arcing down into the pews below.
“Yes. I asked your mother what you liked to eat. Research,” he reminded her as she disbelievingly watched him pour the wine.
“You are incredible,” she remarked as one of the wineglasses was handed to her.
“I know,” he said as he lifted his glass up. “But then, so are you.” He winked and clinked his glass against hers. “Do you know what is even better than strawberries and chocolate?”
“What?”
“Look up.”
Elenwe did so, and gasped as she saw the view through the domed glass ceiling. It was Telperion’s turn to light the sky, and the stars glittered and gleamed brightly above. “They are so beautiful,” she whispered.
“They pale in comparison to you,” answered Turgon.
It was Elenwe’s turn to blush as she lowered her head and looked across the blanket at him. “Is it too early in our relationship for me to kiss you?”
“It is never too early for that,” declared Turgon as he leaned forward -- stars, wine, and strawberries forgotten.
-I’m Through With the Show- (22)
There was a note waiting for Fingon when he came to the gym that morning. He had been arriving early and staying late nearly every day he worked, and even came in a day or two when he had been scheduled not to be there. Somehow, he managed to have time for his dancing lessons in the forest. If anything, the busy schedule had kept him on track. It also kept him from being lonely at home, where the silence without Maglor there was a little creepy.
This morning, he could see that there was light in the office, but the door was closed. The note specified that he was not to stray too far or get too involved in anything, for he was expected to be available for a brief meeting at Ardim’s convenience. Fingon went about his morning ritual of opening the high windows and stocking the talc. He took a little extra time to go to his shelves and pack everything that was his neatly into two sacks. In the case that this was his last day, Fingon did not want to have to shamefully pack his things up after being let go.
Two of the trainees, a pair of Telerin brothers, entered and waved to Fingon in greeting as he turned around. As soon as they had stowed their things and changed into their gymnastic clothing, the brothers stretched and warmed up their muscles. The door had not yet opened by the time they were finished, so Fingon offered to give them some tips on the routines they were working on. Besides the individual competitions, there were group routines on the floor. Not every team participated in rhythmic competition, but those who did tended to get a higher amount of funding from patrons.
This routine used a staff as the apparatus. Though staves were less dangerous and therefore less challenging than swords, it meant that the routine could be faster and more intricate without risk of serious injury to either competitor. It began fairly simply, but as they practiced, Fingon suggested way to make things more interesting. A vault by one over the other, as the one without the staff did a back flip was the first addition. Next, they learned how to bounce the staff upon its end on the floor in order to pass it to one another while executing other elements. Before Fingon could teach them to pass the staff off as they spun it in their hands, he heard someone call his name.
He turned to see Ardim standing at the door of his office. There was a gymnast roughly his own age inside the office. As Fingon got closer, he recognized the occupant as someone he had competed against recently. It was not in the very last competition, but perhaps a year or two previously. “You wished to see me, sir?” he asked Ardim.
Ardim motioned into the office, and Fingon entered. He sat down next to the unknown gymnast when directed to and as Adrim sat down in his own seat. “Fingon, do you know Halkarinquë?”
“I think we might have met.” Fingon clasped Halkarinquë arm and asked, “Were you with the Empty Jug team?”
“Not for many years,” replied Halkarinquë. “I used to be; my father donates to the team. He runs a pub. I competed with One-two-three Jump until last year when my time ran out.”
“Ah. I know how that is,” answered Fingon.
“I am going to get right to the point,” Ardim assured Fingon. “I just hired Halkarinquë. He is going to be the new assistant coach.”
“I did not know there was another position open,” said Fingon, though he was fairly certain what was coming.
Ardim leaned back in his chair. “He is taking your position.”
Fingon said nothing, hoping he did not look overly shocked. Halkarinquë, on the other hand, looked mortified. “Oh... oh my... oh, I did not mean to—I did not know he was getting rid of you,” apologized Halkarinquë.
“I never said that,” interrupted Ardim. “Fingon, you have really impressed me with your change in attitude. I was seriously having doubts about you. I am glad you proved me wrong. In watching your work, I have determined that there is a place where you are better suited.”
“Where would that be?” asked Fingon cautiously.
“You are being promoted,” announced Ardim. “Congratulations. You are my new recruiter. You will canvas and test possible students. You will also attend competitions at the junior level to give us an advantage in knowing future potential students.”
“That sounds like a lot of traveling around,” said Fingon. “I would suppose that I would not be spending as much time at the gym.”
“Probably not,” Ardim admitted. “I think you would have to split your time between the gym and the recruiting, but I would not expect you to spend more than twenty percent of your hours here. Most of it will be on the road. I know that you are familiar with the different areas, so you seemed to be a good candidate.”
“Thank you,” said Fingon. “I appreciate your offer.”
“There is a ‘but’ attached to that,” prodded Ardim.
Fingon looked at the shelves of trophies with a sigh. “I really wanted to stick it out here and help the team earn a few of those,” he said with a nod toward the wall of awards. “But those are for them,” he said, his gaze turning toward the door that led to the gym. “My time here is done. I did my best, I tried as hard as I could, and now, I must move on. I do not belong here, as hard as I might try to fit in. It is not that I have somewhere else to go, but I know that I need to leave in order to find what I need.” Fingon reached for the chain around his neck, and as he lifted up the key, it was as if a weigh was lifted from him. “I am resigning, sir. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me someday.” He held out the key. It dangled and spun in front of him until Ardim reached forward and took the key in his palm. Fingon let go of the chain, and it spilled down. He stood up as soon as it was out of his grasp.
“It was a pleasure to work with you, Fingon,” said Ardim. “I hope you find what you are looking for,” he added as Fingon walked to the door.
“Thank you.” Fingon turned and nodded to Halkarinquë. “You are going to like it here. The work is hard, but so very rewarding. I am sorry we will not have the chance to work together.” He looked then to the coach and said, “I wish you luck at the competition this year, Ardim. Thank you again for the opportunity.”
As the door closed behind him, Fingon felt the lightness of his step. For once, he was free, and there was a definite happiness to him as he went to the shelf where his gear had been packed earlier. He gathered them up and hugged them to his chest as he took another look around the gym. There were some tumbling across the mat and others leaping and twirling from the bars. There was nowhere he would rather have been than on one of the apparatuses, but that was not what he would be offered anywhere. That time for him was gone. He did not know where the path before him would lead, but it would take him to a place that he needed to be.
He left the gym while humming a love song to himself, and smiled as he saw one of the young students in the outside practice yard where the younglings played. They were observed here to see which ones had the grace and ability to become professional gymnasts for the short time they were allowed. Fingon remembered the days when he was their age, and would scare his mother by climbing up the rope of the swing in order to reach the top of the set where the long post became his balance beam.
He loved the height, and somehow managed not to fall. When he was taken to his first tumbling lesson, he impressed his teachers by doing a back flip off of the top of the steps and landing on his feet. It became a weekly ritual, and then daily, and then he reached a point where he would train daily and stay for three months in the summer in order to more aggressively train.
When the money began to run out, the amount of training decreased, and he had switched gyms to one that was closer and less expensive. Then came the day he was recruited as a competitor. The hard work began to pay off as medals and trophies were won, and with them, the prize money that came with them. All of it had gone back to his parents, for they had been the ones to sacrifice when he had trained.
This did cause a small amount of hesitation for Fingon. He did not want to be a burden on his parents again, nor did he want to rely upon the generosity of his uncle. A plan began to formulate in his head as he recalled his own financial woes. As he walked away from the gym and toward the forest to meet with Nessa, he concocted in his mind a plan to become a freelance coach. If he did not have a gym to support, and did not have to pay for the costs of travel and uniforms and other such things, he could offer his services at a price affordable to talented future gymnasts who would not have the means to join a gym. He smiled to himself, happy to see the path before him taking shape.
---
During his walk back home that evening the same questions filled his head. He almost missed the horse that was tethered to the post by the side of the house, but doubled back. The blanket and saddle bore the crest of Feanor’s house, though the horse was one of his grandfather’s. A single horse meant a single visitor, and Fingon rushed inside to see if his presumption was true.
“About time you arrived!” Maedhros opened his arms as he stood up, and Fingon rushed into them. “I was getting worried that perhaps there was a monster in the forest that had taken to stealing elves. How are you?”
“Better now,” replied Fingon. He stepped back and caught the smirk on Maglor’s face. “This is unexpected,” he said. “Unexpected, but a wonderful surprise.”
Maedhros looked over his shoulder to his brother. “You did not tell him, did you?”
Fingon looked now, too, and saw that Maglor was packing things into various small boxes sitting on the dining table. “You are leaving. Did I do something wrong?”
“No, Fingon, it has nothing to do with you,” said Maglor somewhat apologetically. “I found out that I am not cut out to be a public performer. I have no idea how you manage it,” he admitted. “Everyone looks at you, and comments, and some of them are not very good comments, either. I just want to go home.”
“Should we help you pack things up?” offered Fingon.
Maglor shook his head. “I have to do this myself so that I know where everything is,” he said. “Go with Maedhros. He was in the middle of making supper when you arrived.”
Fingon did so, and helped Maedhros prepare the meal while Maglor hummed to himself and boxed up the rest of his belongings. “Father said to tell you that you are welcome to stay here as long as you like,” said Maedhros as they carried the food from the kitchen to the dining room. “He does not want you to feel as if you do not have rights to stay.”
“Actually, I do not think I have any right to stay, considering what the terms of our agreement were.” Fingon smiled sheepishly and said, “I quit the team today. I… well, there is something else I have taken an interest in, but I am through with gymnastics.”
Maedhros looked surprised, but Maglor nodded knowingly. “I could tell you were unhappy there,” said the harper as he settled the boxes in a neat stack at the door. “You hardly smiled when you talked about it, when you did talk about it.”
“What is this new venture?” asked Maedhros.
Fingon sat down between his cousins and across from the chair that the cat was occupying. “Dancing.” He waited for the laughter, but there was none.
“With a group or something?” Maedhros ladled the soup into bowls for each of them. “I remember seeing some plays a few years ago that had groups of dancers in them.”
“Right now, I am just learning,” said Fingon. “I have an excellent teacher.”
“Uh-oh – what is it going to cost you?” asked Maedhros.
“Nothing.” Fingon chewed his lip, unsure of how much information he wanted to give anyone on who his teacher was. “Apparently, my talent is what she is most interested in.”
“She?” questioned Maedhros, a hint of jealousy in his voice.
Maglor waved his hand at Maedhros. “You know he is devoted to you, Russandol. Most dance instructors are female; I would be more surprised – and more worried if I were you – if he had found a male teacher.”
“Good point.” Maedhros passed the plate of bread around the table. “When do we get to meet her?”
“I… I will have to ask her. She really prefers that the lessons be private so that I can focus on what I need to learn.”
“That sounds reasonable,” said Maedhros. “How long will it take for you to learn? Does she live around here?”
Fingon fidgeted, the questions from earlier popping into his head again. “I am unsure, and yes, she does. I need to find some sort of temporary occupation that will not conflict with my studies, and yet will allow me to repay my parents and your father.”
“You should talk to Felagund about that,” suggested Maglor. “He always needs scribes and runners for the library. He can never seem to keep any of them for very long; your penmanship is decent, and you are fast, so I cannot see how there would be a complaint against you.”
A spark of hope that perhaps everything would fall into place brought a smile to Fingon’s face. “I shall go to see him tomorrow. Will you come with me?” he asked Maedhros.
Maedhros shook his head. “I need to help little brother move his things back home. Technically, I should be at the forge, but father needed someone to come out here with him and he knew that I wanted to see you, so he made an exception. I am sure Felagund will be open to the idea. As I said, he can never seem to find anyone who is reliable.”
The rest of the discussion turned to Maglor’s brief adventure as a pub musician. Some of the anecdotes were hilarious, while others made Fingon shake his head or cause Maedhros to threaten harm upon the rude customers if ever he came across them. The night wore on, and Maglor offered a few songs. Fingon then impressed Maedhros with the harp skills that he had developed since coming to live at the lodge with his cousin.
“If dancing does not work for you, I think you might have a future as a harpist,” said Maedhros.
Fingon shrugged. “I could never be as good as Maglor is.”
“No one can ever be as good as Maglor,” corrected Maedhros. Maglor rolled his eyes modestly. “Honestly, you are the best, Maglor.”
“If you say so,” he mumbled.
“I do, and so you shall have to deal with that.” Maedhros laughed as Maglor stuck his tongue out at him. “I think I am going to wash the dishes while the two of you ready for bed – unless one of you really wants to wash the plates.”
Neither Maglor nor Fingon took up Maedhros’ second offer, so as Maedhros cleared the table, Fingon went into the bedroom to fluff the pillow and figure out just how he and Maedhros were going to fit into the little bed together. The bed that Maedhros had at home was three times the size of the one Fingon was standing in front of – twice as wide, and half again as long. Fingon had some difficulty sleeping in this one, and had to draw his legs up in order to keep them from hanging off of the side.
Several minutes later, Fingon had readjusted the room, and now the chairs from the desk and the one that was next to the door were at the end of the bed to extend the length of the sleeping space. He changed out of his clothes including his undergarments and slipped into a loose pair of sleeping pants. While Maedhros was still out of the room, Fingon knelt beside the bed and prayed for guidance. He was still unsure of his decision, and while he searched his soul to try to find out if he was doing what he was meant to, he prayed for the safe return of his sister and cousin, realizing that until now he had been focused very much on his own needs and desires.
There was a soft ‘snick’ as the door to the room was closed, and a rustle of fabric as someone behind him took off their shirt. Fingon stayed knelt on the floor, somehow knowing that the position hurried Maedhros in joining him.
“I like this,” purred Maedhros into his lover’s ear as he lowered himself down behind him. Maedhros spread his legs so that he was knelt behind Fingon but up against him, his erection pressed to his lover’s backside. A hand slid around the naked torso and slipped down into the pants that had been left untied. Nothing more was said as Maedhros caressed the soft flesh to hardness, and began to stroke the stiff, slender column.
Maedhros’ free hand came up and tenderly caressed Fingon’s chest, and moved upward to his neck, until finally reaching his cheek. There was a little game Maedhros liked to play, and though it scared Fingon a little, it caused great excitement for him as well.
The hand upon his cheek moved over his mouth, fingers covering it, and then shifted up so that the thumb and fingers pressed against his nostrils as well. All air was cut off, and as Fingon fought not to pant so hard, Maedhros used his other hand to grip him harder. A few moments, and the hand drew away. Fingon gasped for air while Maedhros danced his fingers across Fingon’s cheek and loosened his grip with his other hand.
This would continue for the next few minutes. Fingon would manage to catch his breath, and then the hand would force him to hold it again. He could feel Maedhros behind him, hard flesh rocking against his back. Now the hand came over his mouth again, and held more firmly this time. “Come for me, Fingon. I am not going to let go until you do.”
Although Fingon was used to the alternation between soft and rough, Maedhros had never before tried this tactic. It scared Fingon, who now felt more than just the tightness in his chest and the lightheadedness that followed. He shivered and moaned quietly behind the hand that held him, and fought to take in air. Maedhros yet prevented him, and Fingon wondered if he would pass out.
He closed his eyes, his body relaxing, and felt the hand that stroked him more acutely than before. Behind him, Maedhros seemed closer, seemed to penetrate him though the thin layer of the fabric of Fingon’s pants still separated them. The room spun, became brighter, and Fingon cried out though it was muffled as he climaxed intensely, the ejaculate running down his leg.
He gasped audibly as the hand uncovered his mouth, and he leaned back with a sigh and was held upright in Maedhros’ embrace. He could feel now that the back of his pants were damp, a situation remedied by his lover as they were both stripped of their clothing. Water from the basin was used to wash them, and Maedhros crawled into bed beside Fingon, the two intertwining limbs and sleeping soundly until morning.
