I'll Be Yours If You'll Be Mine by NelyafinweFeanorion

---

Chapter 3

---

 

Fingon let himself into the apartment and groaned at the sight of his roommate and his brother sprawled in front of the television, snacks in various bowls around them and on the floor as well, both of them in the process of shouting at the screen.

He had already wasted too many hours today searching for that book in the store in Formenos. Well, not so much searching as enjoying the peace and quiet of the store itself and the conversation with the owner. He had work to do now though and there was certainly little peace and quiet to be had here.

He leaned against the doorframe and glared at Finrod and Turgon. "Seriously? You couldn't watch this at a bar?"

"It's Man U. versus Arsenal. No bar around here is going to show that!" Fingon's brother Turgon said, through a mouthful of popcorn.

"That's why we got my dad to pay for the premium cable, remember?" Fingon's roommate Finrod added.

"I've got to work on my project. I can't do that anywhere but here. Are you going to be here all night?" Fingon knew he sounded whiny but he really didn't care.

"It's Crystal Palace versus Manchester City after this, so yeah," Turgon answered.

"Haven't they already played these games today?" Fingon asked testily.

"Well, I wasn't going to get up at dawn o'clock to watch them," Turgon said, between sips of his beer. "So Finrod taped them and here we are."

"Fine," Fingon shook his head at them and went to his room. Days like this were the reason he had noise-cancelling headphones.

He was used to Turgon being irritating. Currently a senior at Cuiviénen, Turgon's schedule was pretty light for the fall semester. He had his own place on campus, being a Resident Advisor, but he had taken to hanging out at their place with Finrod a lot more since school had started this year. Fingon hoped that would change next semester when his brother had an internship and more responsibility. It wasn't that he disliked Turgon; it was just irritating to have him around as a distraction so frequently.

Finrod was Finrod. He was in his second year of a Masters in Romance Languages and at the rate he was going it was likely going to take him years. He might study during the week, but weekends were a different story.

Not too many years ago Fingon would have joined them—for the game, for the bar scene, for a night on the town in Tirion. But architecture grad school was nothing like college. If he expected to land a job with any of Tirion's prestigious firms he needed to stay focused.

Hours later he pulled off his headphones and meandered into the kitchen. It was dark outside but the glow of the television lit the living room and he could hear Finrod and Turgon talking, their conversation occasionally punctuated by a shout.

He heated up some left over lasagna, inwardly thanking his mother for her intermittent food deliveries, and then he walked out to stand behind the sofa.

"Hey," Finrod said. "Join us? You done with your model building for the night?"

"I've done as much as I can," Fingon replied, sinking into the recliner next the sofa, plate on his lap.

"Beer?" Turgon asked, reaching down to the cooler on the floor next to him.

"May as well. I'm done for the night," Fingon replied, deftly catching the can Turgon tossed at him. He made a face as he looked at the label. "Went all out, didn't you?"

"Hey, it's beer. Not worth the extra cash for the microbrew, beer snob," Finrod said.

Fingon settled back with his mediocre beer. Despite his earlier annoyance with them he was glad to now relax in their company.

Finrod turned to him at the half. "Did you find the book you wanted at that bookstore?"

Fingon shook his head. "No, they didn't have it. I didn't think they would but the owner said he would check around and let me know if he finds a copy."

"Redhaired fellow with the glasses?" Finrod asked.

"Yeah."

"It's a nice store. Nice selection of books, nice layout, nice looking staff," Finrod replied, raising his eyebrows at Fingon.

Fingon felt his face grow warm and was suddenly relieved that the room was so dimly lit. "I liked the layout," he said neutrally. "They've got a lot of space. I'll bet the rent is a bitch that close to the square though."

Finrod laughed. "Oh, he's got no worries about money."

"Who?" asked Turgon.

"The owner. Maedhros Finwëon," Finrod answered. "He's got cash to spare, especially after that settlement a few years ago."

"Settlement?" Fingon asked.

"Don't you remember the story? It's been a few years now but the settlement came out, what, two or three years ago? I think we were still in high school when the case was filed." Finrod reached for another beer as he spoke. "His grandfather owned Noldor Pharmaceuticals. He sold it around the time we were in high school and made heaps on it. Trust funds for all the grandkids, charitable donations all over the place, a wing at the med school named after him or something."

"So it's all trust fund money, then?" Turgon asked.

"Sure, some of it is. But soon after selling Finwë was hit by a truck as he was crossing the street. Hit and run but there were plenty of witnesses and the driver was found. Finwe's son filed a wrongful death suit against the trucking company and when it was settled they got millions," Finrod answered. "Don't you guys remember this? It was on the news all the time. I thought your dad's firm was part of his legal team."

Fingon remembered now. They had been in high school and his father had rarely been home for weeks on end. He never talked about the case but the evening news and newspapers had been full of photos of Finwë, his grieving family and Finwë's furious son. So that was where the money came from for Maedhros to start the bookstore right out of his PhD program, Fingon realized.

"I talked to him the day I bought that Esperanto book," Finrod continued. "He opened the store with some of the settlement money the family got."

Turgon turned up the volume of the television again, as Manchester City returned to the pitch and their attention was focused on the game once more, the bookstore forgotten.