And Soon It Will Be Morning by Himring

They lay cocooned, sharing the warmth of their bodies, not entirely awake nor sleeping, not thinking much, together. Somewhere outside, very softly, came the sound of a single sleepy chirp, as of a bird about to start up the dawn chorus but thinking better of it.

‘Findekano’, said Maedhros quietly, not stirring.

‘Already?’ answered Fingon, lifting his head, but even as he spoke, he was moving, disentangling himself from the bed clothes.

They had allowed the fire to go out. The draught seeping in through the shutters was as savage as an orc attack. Fingon grimaced as he set his foot on the icy flagstones of the floor.

He began dressing, careful to restore his appearance as much as possible to what it had been last night, before they had walked through the door. Maedhros sat up and watched him for a moment; then he quickly slipped into his own robes and began rearranging the bed to remove traces of recent occupancy—only the more obvious ones, not enough to withstand thorough scrutiny. He went on to sweep the hearth, artfully leaving a sprinkling of cold ash to suggest an air of neglect.

Meanwhile, Fingon had finished and came up to him. ‘Let me?’ he said.

Maedhros straightened and, with a few deft touches, Fingon tidied up his hair and clothes. Maedhros gently ran the tip of his finger along a neat braid in thanks. At that, Fingon’s lips parted a little, but Maedhros denied himself, denied them both, for it was time to go.

When they reached the door, they both simultaneously turned and looked back into the room, then at each other. They did not smile—not quite. Maedhros locked the door from outside.

Returning to the royal guest rooms, Fingon glanced into the mirror. So strange—despite his efforts, it should somehow have been obvious where he had been, what he had been doing, but it seemed that it was not. He undressed again. The easiest way to give his bed the appearance of having been slept in was to lie in it until he was expected to get up—until it was time to meet his cousin again by daylight.

After a while, there was movement in the castle kitchens. Naurthoniel, muttering to herself, was kneading and slapping dough. Her minions, tousled and yawning, trickled in, one by one, and set about the business of baking the castle’s daily bread.

A while after that, Maedhros, now washed and changed, was seen on the battlements, asking the night’s guards for their news and doing his regular morning patrol of the walls. The first blush of dawn coloured the sky beyond Mount Dolmed. The day in Himring had officially begun.

Chapter End Notes

The words of the title occur in the lyrics of the song "Memory" in Cats. I didn't think they were quite that distinctive, but Google obviously thinks they are...

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