Speaking in Tongues by downtide

Chapter 1

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I read the scroll twice in disbelief, and a third time just to be sure I had understood it correctly, then I hurled it into the fireplace and watched with smug satisfaction as the parchment was consumed by the flames.

"Idiot. If he thinks he can control us by making such ridiculous laws..."

"Hmm?"  Findekáno was sprawled on a bearskin rug, stretched out on his stomach and propped up on his elbows, reading a book. He looked up from his concentration and gave me a bewildered half-smile. "What was that?"

"Bloody Elwë. Thingol, whatever foolish name he's calling himself now. Thinks he can ban everyone from speaking Quenya."

"Oh. Yes. I got a message about that at Hithlum a month or so ago."  He stretched out on the rug and looked back at his book.

"You know they're calling you 'Fingon' now, and I, apparently, am supposed to be referred to as 'Maedhros'."  I glared at the flickering flames and the remains of the offensive scroll which had by now turned to a little pile of ash.

"Mmm." Findekáno nodded. "I quite like that. 'Maedhros'."  He got up from his place on the rug and stood behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. "It's just the Sindarin equivalent of Maitimo."

I shook my head and gave a disapproving snort. "Not quite. Apparently 'maed' doesn't just mean 'well-shaped'. It also means 'handy'."  I looked down at the place where my right hand used to be, and scowled. "I can't help but think it's some kind of crude Sindarin insult, and that every time they call me Maedhros, they're secretly laughing at me, and congratulating themselves on being so witty."

"I am sure it's pure coincidence," Findekáno replied with a smile, coming around to face me. "You are taking this whole thing too seriously."

"No, I..."  But I could not finish my protest because Findekáno silenced me with a well-placed kiss and a minute or two later I found myself lying beside him on the bearskin rug.  He always insisted that making love with me was so much more exciting when I was angry.