Remembrance Is All by Agelast

---

To The Immortal Memory of the Tea-cake

Fingon/Maedhros. Teen. For Oshun, who wanted Fingon/Maedhros, the boarding school AU. Let's make all the leaps necessary to make this possible. 

 

---

 

Fingon met a stranger on the steps to Maedhros’ room. His expression was black as a thundercloud and he growled as he passed. Fingon clutched the bannister and felt suddenly weak at his knees. He flew up the stairs and rushed into Maedhros’ room, not bothering to knock.

He expected... Well, he didn’t know what he expected, perhaps something hideous, unspeakable, but the room was exactly like it always did, with the table set for tea, and Maedhros at the window. He had his back to Fingon, craning his neck to the opened window, smoke trailing through his long fingers.

Fingon closed the door hurriedly, the slam echoing through the hallway. He knew there would be complaints, but he didn’t care. He locked it, and looked inquiringly at his friend. Maedhros turned, his face blank and his shoulders tensed. He relaxed when he saw that it was only Fingon, and stubbed his cigarette on the window ledge.

They both spoke at once.

“Who was that?”

“In trouble again, Nolofinwion? You’re not too old for a proper caning, you know.”

Maedhros tried to smile, but it didn’t quite make it his eyes. And before Fingon could answer, he said, abruptly, “Do you want tea?”

“Of course,” Fingon said, seating himself in the most comfortable chair. “Now, who was that … person?” Thinking back to his encounter on the stair, he could remember nothing of the man at all, except for the feeling one got when standing too close to a furnace -- a wave of overwhelming heat, and yourself, about to be set alight.

Fingon snatched up a tea-cake and crammed it into his mouth. He felt his heart rate slow down as the icing melted on his tongue.

Maedhros sat on the second-most comfortable chair, next to him, and slapped Fingon’s hand as he reached for a second tea-cake.

“Manners,” he said mildly, at Fingon’s wounded look.

“Maitimo,” Fingon said, exasperatedly, but allowed Maedhros to pour out the tea -- his cousin knew exactly how he took it -- and this afternoon, nothing was said about the dangerous amount of sugar and cream Fingon always wished to take with his tea. They drank quietly for a while -- with Fingon steadily, and rather nervously eating the tea-cakes -- until Maedhros spoke up.

“That was a colleague of my father’s. He wished to know why father declined to reply to his letters.”

Fingon narrowed his eyes and said thoughtfully, “Why go to you with your father’s business?”

“He thought I would be easily influenced,” Maedhros said, with a small sip of his tea.

“Ha! He doesn’t know you very well, does he?”

They shared a private sort of smile, and Maedhros asked what Fingon wished to speak to him about, if, in fact, he was not in trouble. Fingon put down his tea-cup on the table and stretched out, giving Maedhros a radiant smile. “Do I need a reason to visit my most favorite cousin in the world?”

Drily, Maedhros said, “If you want money, I’d advise you to write to your father.”

“But he says he won’t send more until the end of this month! It’s ridiculous, he gives Turvo and I the same stipend, as if I had the same expenses as a first-year! And you can’t say anything or else he’d launch into a long lecture about how in his day, he was quite content with school, with the regular beatings and the terrible food, the obnoxious instructors, all of it to build character and to learn to play the game. Horrifying. Anyway, I’ve written to mother for money instead, and besides, I did want to see you.”

Maedhros seemed a little stunned at this deluge of information, but he recovered admirably and said nothing. He finished his tea instead and gave Fingon a severe look, but that had no discernable effect.

Eventually, their talk, aimless now, turned to the subject of Maedhros’ soon leaving school. He planned to travel a while before taking his place at university, and his future seemed to stretch out before him, promising and bright. Fingon was at turns wistful and envious. “There’ll be no one for me to talk to when you are gone,” he exclaimed, getting up and beginning pace around the room. Maedhros rang for the tea-things to be taken away.

Fingon stopped in front of the window and looked out to the lush green courtyard below. Moodily, he ground down the cigarette stub he found there. He glanced back at Maedhros and said, “Filthy habit.”

“Mm, come here,” was Maedhros’ reply, and Fingon crossed the room and seated himself on the arm of Maedhros’ chair. One day, not very long ago, he had been absolutely smashed and kissed his cousin (his friend, his one-time idol) right on the mouth. To his ever-lasting surprise, Maedhros kissed him back.

Fingon pressed a hand against Maedhros’ cheek, which felt very hot. Maedhros’ face too, was quite red, which clashed sadly with his hair. They had only kissed a little, touched a little, but with more desperation than their usual wont. Fingon studied Maedhros’ face, tracing a finger down the bridge of Maedhros’ perfect nose.

Musingly, he said, “Do you remember what your little brother called you, last time I was in Formenos?”

Maedhros squirmed under him, and flushed even more. “Nothing!”

Fingon kissed his cheek, lingering next to Maedhros’ ear. “Ah, now I do remember. They called you strawberry-head!”

He laughed, and Maedhros wrapped an arm around him and said, gravely, “I am glad to see that you and Curufin share the same sense of humor. Never mind that he’s a child and you are...”

“I am yours,” Fingon said.

“Do I want you, I wonder?” Maedhros ran a hand through Fingon’s hair, and Fingon moved closer to him, if that was possible to do -- they were so close together already.

Fingon murmured into his ear. “What a stupid question. Of course you do, strawberry-head.”

He paused and looked up, suddenly feeling that he ought to bring up the subject of Maedhros’ strange visitor up again, but he quelled that urge. Here was an afternoon of perfect happiness before them -- Maedhros tugged at his hand, meaning to stand, Fingon let himself be led away -- he didn’t mean to waste it.

---

Chapter End Notes

Thank you, Elleth, for taking a look at this, and letting me use that silly nickname. ^^