A Disgustingly Adorable Interlude in An Otherwise Perfectly Sad Piece of Silmarillion Fanfiction by Agelast

Chapter 1

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Fingon frowned at the twice-revised budget. It was all-together grim picture of the Hithlum’s financial state. The kingdom was, in fact, teetering on the brink of economic collapse. After Dagor Bragollach, collecting taxes had become a very difficult business. The Eldar could generally be expected to elude death, but taxes were usually inescapable. But so many profitable lands — and tax-payers — had gone up in smoke...

Fingon put down his pencil and rubbed his eyes wearily. He was not, as a rule, the kind of person who enjoyed being behind a desk. In fact, he was quite unhappy doing so. His father, now, he would have known exactly what to do now. If only...

Even more distressingly, it seemed to be raining indoors. No, not raining. There was only a little cloud of moisture in the vicinity of his left ear. He felt a familiar and beloved - albeit damp - weight on his shoulders.

“Hullo, Ada,” said small voice. The child slid easily into Fingon’s lap, displacing some papers and crushing others. It took some time before Fingon was able sort things out and address his now-expectant son.

“Hullo, Ereinion. What are you doing this afternoon?”

A shrug.

Fingon wondered what he should do. The child should probably be learning something.

“Where is your mother?”

Ereinion grinned and popped the end of Fingon’s braid into his mouth.

With a sigh, Fingon got up and carefully set the child back on his shoulder. Ereinion clung to his father’s shoulder like a burr. (There was no point in trying to set him on the ground, he’d just kick up a huge fuss. There would be tears. There would be howling. It was best not to get into all that.)

They went off to look for Ereinion’s mother.

As they navigated the long corridors of castle, it occurred to Fingon that a bit of lecturing was needed.

“You shouldn’t chew at my braids like that, you know. It’s not healthy. Moreover, it is not the kind of behavior that one would expect from a Prince of the Noldor.”

Ereinion said nothing, but his hold on Fingon’s braid tightened perceptibly. Stars, he already has an grip of iron, thought Fingon, not without a little pain.

“But I will give you credit for climbing up that chair and taking me all unawares like that. That shows real promise, Ereinion. We shall make an excellent warrior out of you yet.”

He felt a very sloppy kiss on his cheek, followed by a very wet “Thanks.”

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Chapter End Notes

 

Fingon is Gil-galad’s father here. I know, I know, Orodreth was Gil-galad’s father at the last count, but I still like Fingon as Gil’s dad. (He’s just a lot more exciting than Orodreth.) It fits better, for me.

But if you are wedded to the notion of Orodreth as Gil’s dad, this fic could still work for you! Just replace: "Fingon" with "Orodreth", "Hithlum" with "Nargothrond", and "after Dagor Bragollach" with "after we expelled those rascally Feanorians from Nargothrond". Finally, replace "his father would have known what to do" with "his uncle would have known what do". And you are set! The sense of imminent, albeit slow-moving disaster remains the same. You can’t get rid of it, it pervades absolutely everything.