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

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Chapter 36

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Maedhros was still unsettled by his conversation with Fingon. He had not intended to keep his acquaintance with Fingolfin under wraps. He had realized who Fingon's father was early on, when they had first exchanged information about their families, months ago at Himring. He had not mentioned it then-it would have brought questions Maedhros would not have wanted to answer. At that point he considered Fingon an exceedingly attractive but temporary distraction-an intriguing, compelling one-but still just a distraction, both emotionally and physically, with no intention for long term.

It was a connection he needed from time to time. With that short-term viewpoint in mind, what did it matter that he was Fingolfin's son?

At that moment, Maedhros had not comprehended the depth of his attraction or the magnitude of his eventual deep emotional bond with Fingon. By the time he realized how singularly significant the relationship had become he had completely forgotten about his oversight at not mentioning his previous acquaintance with Fingolfin.

If Maedhros had learned anything these past few months though it was that Fingon craved his openness and honesty. Fingon wouldn't push for it, but he wanted it just the same. In comparison to Maedhros, he was an open book-earnestly revealing his heart to Maedhros in a way that was unexpected but endearing nonetheless.

A few weeks ago this same conversation about Fingolfin might have made Maedhros doubt himself or would have led to him wallowing in guilt or regret. And even though he might harbor some regret at his oversight, he was not about to let himself dwell on that mistake-they had dealt with it, cleared the air and now could move on. Moving on had always been somewhat of a challenge to Maedhros.

It was a testament to how much they trusted each other that he was able to move beyond that conversation this time. Maedhros was prepared to do anything to prove he merited Fingon's trust.

There was quite a bit he hadn't told Fingon; details of the kidnapping that were still challenging to talk about, his self-recrimination at allowing it to happen at all. Those moments in the hospital when his parents' discord had once again erupted; the resolution Fingolfin had calmly and steadily recommended that Maedhros and Nerdanel had wholeheartedly supported, despite Feanor's vehement disagreement. There was so much. Even though he had given Fingon the big picture there was still so much he had not shared, hadn't even thought to share.

It was probably time to try counseling again. He had considered it, in the years since the event. The initial attempt had not been good, likely dooming any subsequent endeavors. Perhaps it had been too early, perhaps the therapists hadn't been right for him, perhaps Maedhros had not taken it as seriously as he should have-thinking he could manage on his own, as he always had. Fingon had suggested trying again. Maybe it was time.

It felt good, he admitted to himself, not to have the weight of subterfuge anymore or the voice of self-doubt in his head all the time.

He looked at his watch-time to get home. He drove down the street, reaching the roundabout near the park. It still surprised Maedhros that Fingon's parents and his own lived so close to each other-opposite ends of Thargelion Park to be exact.

It was even more surprising that he and Fingon had never crossed paths until Fingon's trip to Beleriand Books. But even though their homes were so close they had not attended the same schools. Maedhros' parents had home-schooled them all up until the age of ten. Fëanor always said the foundation for learning was what was most important; a thirst for knowledge and the skill of critical thinking were of paramount importance. Once that foundation was set, the rest followed and the environment was irrelevant, if one had drive and intellect.

Fëanor had enrolled them in the public school system at age eleven. The boys had all attended Himlad High School-Amrod and Amras were still enrolled there now.

Fingon, on the other hand, had attended a small, exclusive, private high school-Vinyamar Prep.

Fëanor had no use for Vinyamar.

"Elitist and vapid, " Fëanor had declared, years before, when Maglor had tentatively asked why they did not attend that school-with its lovely buildings, broad vistas and heavily endowed arts, science and literature programs. Maedhros, sitting next to his brother, couldn't think of anything that was unfunded at Vinyamar.

"An exemplary education can be obtained at any school," his father had said. "What matters is the will and follow through." His brow had furrowed in disdain as he continued. "And you can screw up an education, even at the best school. It's what you put into it, that manifests in what you get out of it." Fëanor had snorted in derision. "Those parents think they can pay to make their kids look good on paper. All they are doing is giving them a false sense of the world, their children rubbing shoulders with others just as shallow as themselves. That's not how the world really is."

"But their music program . . ." Maglor had started to say.

"Do you feel your music instruction has been inadequate, Kanafinwë?" Fëanor had asked. Time to be wary, when Father used one of their Quenya names.

"No, no, not at all," Maglor said rapidly. "It's just that they have such a lovely conservatory, soundproof practice chambers, an acoustically superior auditorium. Himlad doesn't have any of that."

"Do you not study with the best musicians at the Tirion Conservatory?" Fëanor asked. "Are those not the best facilities available?"

"Fëanor," Nerdanel had said warningly.

"I'm asking him a simple question, Nerdanel." Fëanor looked at his son. "The best musicians at the best facility, am I correct?"

"Yes, Father," Maglor whispered.

"Himlad is preparing you for the real world. Not everyone looks like you in the real world. Not everyone has the advantages you do. Others can't afford the vacations to Alqualondë, the ski trips to the Pelóri. Access to private music instruction or language lessons is something that is not accessible to everyone." Fëanor's eyes softened as he looked at his two eldest sons, seated in front of him. "I can provide all of that for you and more. But along with the luxuries and private lessons, I also want to provide you with a realistic outlook on the world around you. You have classmates who won't be able to attend college-who can't attend-despite their desire to-due to grades or finances or simply because they need to enter the work force now to keep food on the table at home. That may not be your lot but you would do well to understand and respect those whose lot it is. You have the privilege of your birth but I do not want you to ever be complacent about it."

Fëanor's expression turned serious again. "I can give you the opportunity to pursue the interests that fascinate you. I can provide whatever Himlad lacks, as far as your education is concerned. If I sent you to Vinyamar or Serech I wouldn't be able to as easily give you the glimpse at the reality your classmates at Himlad live every day."

It had been a valuable lesson and one that Maedhros carried with him as his education progressed-to Cuiviénen, to grad school, to the reality of being a business owner.

But despite Fëanor's valid points, Maedhros had come to realize that characterizing the entirety of the student body at Vinyamar as elitist and vapid was not only unfair but also untrue. Maedhros had met his share of graduates from that school over the years; Fingon, Turgon and Aredhel were just the most recent acquaintances. He found his father's assessment short-sighted and judgmental, not that he would tell him that.

He pulled into the garage at his parents' house, shaking his head to clear it. They would all be home this evening-there would be no time for quiet introspection tonight.

Maedhros walked from the garage into the laundry room. He could hear his brothers' voices from there. He stepped into the kitchen, smiling at the sight of his mother, hair disheveled, moving from oven to stove to refrigerator. "Need any help, Mom?" he asked.

"Oh, you are home!" He was enveloped in a hug, his mother tiptoeing up to leave a kiss on his cheek, before stepping back. "Did you have a nice night with Fingon?" she asked him, a mischievous gleam in her eyes as she studied his face.

He could feel the warmth come over him. Damn it. The ridiculous ease with which he flushed was really a problem.

It just made Nerdanel chuckle. "I'll take that as a yes." She gave him a knowing look. "I know Maglor worked your shift for you, you know." She squeezed her son's arm. "I'm so happy you've found someone you want to make time for, Maedhros. Now, I am ever going to get to meet him?"

"Thanks, Mom. Yes, I'm sure you'll meet him sometime over break, after the holidays. I'll come up to Tirion or you can take a day and come to Formenos."

"I'd like that," she said. "Now go find your brothers and see if you can settle them down. It sounds like a riot in there, not a board game. Dinner will be ready soon. I'm waiting for Maglor to get back." She looked at the clock on the wall. "Shouldn't be long."

"Are you sure you don't need help?" Maedhros asked. "Hiding in here sounds far better than refereeing a dispute between that lot."

"You should be used to it by now," Nerdanel said.

"That's the problem," Maedhros said. "Where's Dad?" he asked, stalling for time.

A wary look briefly crossed her face but she dragged out a smile to answer him. He had caught the look though-too many years of carefully watching his parents for subtle and not-so-subtle clues to their frame of mind and mood. "He's in his study. Always working on something, you know how he is. He surprised me this morning-he's been mucking about in my studio for days and today he finally let me see the upgrades he installed."

"Upgrades?"

"Motions sensor lights, automatic blinds, automatic sinks. All things that will make the space so much more convenient. Your father knows me well," Nerdanel's eyes crinkled in the corners as her smile grew.

"That he does," Maedhros said, hugging her and briefly resting his cheek on her head. "So you really don't need me?" he asked as he released her.

"I don't. I rarely get the chance to do this for you all anymore. Let me enjoy it." She tucked a strand of his hair behind his ear. "Go to your brothers. I'm sure they'll be happy to see you."

"Depends on what game they're playing. If it's Diplomacy I'm sure they'd be happier if I stayed in here," Maedhros answered.

"You usually win that one, don't you?"

"Always the diplomat," Maedhros said with an inclination of his head.

"Get on with you then," Nerdanel said, giving him a shove towards the family room.

He found them all huddled around the table, voices raised. It had to be Struggle of Empires or Diplomacy, seeing as they were all playing, even the twins.

Tyelko spotted him first, as Maedhros silently leaned against the wall, a smile on his face at the sight of his younger brothers' vociferous debate.

"Maedhros get over here and help me!" Tyelko bellowed.

Diplomacy then, Maedhros thought, as all eyes turned to him. That game wasn't one of Tyelko's favorites. Likely because he was abysmal at playing it.

"Just lose with some grace, would you, Tyelko?" Moryo growled. "You can't just pull Maedhros in because you're losing. It's not a team kind of game."

"This game isn't over and I'm not going to let Maedhros sit by, in isolation, just because he's late." Tyelko said, then he turned to Maedhros. "You're late," he informed him.

"It's not even five o'clock. Maglor isn't home yet," Maedhros pointed out, not realizing the tactical error he had committed until it was too late.

"You're right. Maglor isn't here yet, is he?" Tyelko asked, far too smoothly, making Maedhros regard him with suspicion. "I could have sworn he wasn't working this weekend. In fact, I remember him saying just that. I'm sure I remember you saying you were working today, Maedhros." Tyelko's eyes were shining now. "Did something come up?" he asked, the phrase laden with innuendo. "Or maybe more than one thing?"

His comment was clearly wasted on his audience, as the twins looked puzzled, Curvo looked pained and Moryo simply rolled his eyes.

"Tyelko, I know you're trying to distract us all from the fact that you are losing abysmally but seriously?" Curvo drawled.

Tyelko was unperturbed at his younger brother's words. He had succeeded in getting Maedhros to turn that particular shade of red so his work was done.

"Come sit down, Mae, and tell me what you've been into, or rather up to today." He corrected himself with an unapologetic grin.

Tyelko really was incorrigible, Maedhros thought and not for the first time. He took a seat next to his visibly gloating brother and proceeded to kick his ankle. Hard.

"Hey!" Tyelko exclaimed.

"Shut up," Maedhros ordered, looking intently at the state of the game on the table in front of him. "You do realize you've made a complete hash of this, as usual?" he said, eyeing Tyelko's pieces critically, ignoring the twins' protests at his involvement.

"You're such a cheat, Tyelko," Amrod complained.

"You know he's useless at this game on his own," Amras added, glaring at both Tyelko and Maedhros. "Of course he's going to beg Mae to help him."

"I'm not begging," Tyelko growled back.

"Can't remember which supply lines are his and what alliances he's made," Moryo grumbled, just loud enough for Tyelko to hear. "You have to pay attention in this game."

"Shut up, Moryo. At least I'm not tallying up numbers and boring people to death during my turn," Tyelko responded. "Seriously, it takes you an hour to go through the supply line calculations."

"You don't have to play if it's such torture, you know," Moryo snapped.

"Wow, it's so good to be home," Maedhros sighed, flopping back on the sofa. He eyed Tyelko. "It wouldn't hurt to keep a closer eye on those supply lines, you know."

"Ugh." It was Tyelko's turn to flop back on the sofa, mimicking Maedhros' position.

"We're getting nowhere now," Amrod said. "This sucks."

"Thanks for bringing the game to a complete standstill, Tyelko," Amras chimed in.

Tyelko turned to face Maedhros and rolled his eyes. "Why do I even try?" he asked his older brother.

Maedhros returned his look, an amused expression on his face. "Because they would pester you no end if you didn't play."

"They pester me whether I play or not, the assholes," Tyelko noted. "Hey! Moryo-done with that supply line tally yet?"

"Fuck off, Tyelko." Moryo said, before returning to his terse debate with Curvo. "No, I already counted that one."

"No, you missed that one and these two as well," Curvo said, eliciting more curses from Moryo. The debate raged forth again, the twins joining in, to Moryo's frustration.

The overwhelming chaos gave Tyelko the opportunity to speak to Maedhros without being overheard. "Dad's in a funny mood tonight."

Maedhros felt his shoulders tense and his jaw tighten. "Funny how?"

"The not jovial kind. I don't know what's up exactly. He seems tense, quieter than usual, which is always unsettling. He kept asking where you were and when you were getting home," Tyelko confided.

"Oh."

"Thought you should have a heads up. I'd steer clear, if I were you."

Maedhros gave him a withering look. "How well does steering clear of Dad ever work, when he's determined?"

Tyelko grimaced. "Never. Usually just prolongs the agony. You're right. You may as well just get it over with." He looked at Maedhros curiously. "What have you done this time?"

"Damned if I know," Maedhros answered wearily. "How's Mom? She seemed ok in the kitchen just now." He thought back on that brief wary expression that had flashed across her face.

"Watching Dad like a hawk," Tyelko informed him.

Great. One of those nights. Maedhros was fairly sure his father had something to say about his failure to sleep at home the night before but there was no need to discuss his suspicions with Tyelko.

But he was twenty-nine years old, damn it. He wasn't seventeen. He could sleep wherever he damn well wanted-he didn't need to answer to anyone. He had texted Maglor, so someone would know where he was, but he didn't owe them more than that.

His attention was pulled back to his brothers. Moryo's tally was now complete and by the smug look on his face and the grumpy expression on Curvo's, it seemed Moryo's calculations had been accurate after all. Tyelko roared back into the game and in unspoken thanks for the warning Maedhros tried to help him.

The time passed, but even Maedhros' skills were not quite enough to pull Tyelko back from the brink. The game had come to another temporary standstill, Curvo and Maedhros debating a point, when Nerdanel appeared. She stood behind the sofa, bending down to kiss the top of Maedhros' head and ruffling Tyelko's unruly pale gold mane.

"Can I drag you all away from this riveting game so you can eat dinner?" she asked, her bright eyes darting around the room, from one son to the next, the fondness in her gaze unmistakeable.

"Please," said Curvo. "Anything to get me away from this disaster."

"Shut up, Curvo. You're winning." Moryo said.

"It's not as fun when Maedhros isn't playing for himself," Curvo complained. "It makes it too easy to win." That earned him shoves from both the twins but he kept on going. "Even Mae couldn't save your ass tonight, Tyelko."

"No one's going to bother trying to save your ass, Curvo, when I get hold of you," Tyelko answered.

"Come on, enough already," Nerdanel ordered, rolling her eyes. "It can never be just a game with you lot," she muttered.

"Is Maglor home?" Maedhros asked his mother.

"He just got here. He went upstairs for a minute but he'll be right down." She scanned the room. "Come on," she repeated. "Your game will be waiting for you after dinner." Her eyes landed on Curvo. "Go tell your father dinner is ready, Curvo. He's in his study."

The meal had progressed without incident. Maedhros had been keeping a watchful eye on his father and he could sense some of his brothers doing the same. Fëanor was quieter than usual, perhaps a bit more acrid in his comments when he did speak but nothing they hadn't experienced before, when he had something on his mind.

Maedhros made it a point to help clear the dishes, trailing after Nerdanel to the kitchen. It appeared his father had a similar idea. Fëanor followed behind him, dishes stacked in his hands, no other brothers following. Nerdanel gave him a curious look. "These were the last of them," he explained, moving to the second sink at the island to start rinsing them off before placing them into the dishwasher, mirroring Nerdanel and Maedhros at the main sink.

"Would you like to see the upgrades to your mother's studio, Maedhros?" Fëanor asked, leaning against the countertop with his arms crossed, as he regarded his eldest son.

"Why, yes, I would," Maedhros said. He looked at his mother fondly. "You sounded quite excited about them, Mom."

"I am," Nerdanel said, tucking her arm around Fëanor's waist and resting her head on his shoulder. "Let's go look at them together, why don't we?"

He caught the quick look his parents exchanged, his father giving a minute nod to his mother. She let go of Fëanor and hooked her arm into Maedhros', walking at his side to the attached space she called her own, talking the whole time. Fëanor followed just a few steps behind.

Maedhros laughed as the automatic lights turned on at their entry and then obediently trailed after his mother as she showed him all the improvements. There was some back and forth question and answer with his father as he delved into more of the details about the methods and accommodations, due to it being a previously built-out space rather than a new construction.

Maedhros may have obtained his degree in Classics but he had received an eclectic education from his father in a myriad of things over the years; he was familiar with the terms and the skills necessary to complete the changes in this space. He and Fëanor had worked together at the Beleriand Books site, long before it opened, planning the layout and the amenities before Maedhros hired the contractors to do the actual work. Not that he and his father hadn't spent many nights and weekends working together there as well, long after the contractors had left for the day.

The lessons learned from Fëanor had been of use-Maedhros was a daily, hands-on presence at the job site and had caught quite a few minor oversights by the building team that he was able to correct before it was too late. And one or two major ones.

So far it appeared Tyelko's earlier concern was unfounded. Maedhros had followed his own advice-there was no use avoiding Fëanor when he wanted a conversation. It would only serve to annoy his father further, if Maedhros attempted to deflect him.

They had finished their tour and Maehdros had been able to examine some of his mother's sculpture works in progress as well. He was making his way to the door when his father's voice stopped him. "Maedhros. I would like to speak with you. I'd prefer to do it here, away from your brothers, if you don't mind."

So Tyelko had been correct after all. Maedhros turned to face his father. "That's fine," he said, darting a glance at his mother, fully expecting her to leave. Instead she leaned against her desk, arms crossed, a serious expression on her face as she regarded her husband. He returned her look but she continued to defiantly stare at him so he turned his eyes back to Maedhros.

"I understand you didn't come home last night. May I ask where you were?" Fëanor said.

Maedhros looked puzzled. "I texted Maglor I wouldn't be home."

"Yes, your mother told me that you had." Fëanor's gaze was stern. "But where were you?"

This was odd, Maedhros thought. But fine, if his father wanted it spelled out, he would be happy to spell it out for him. "Well, you know I've been seeing someone for the past few months." He waited for Fëanor to nod before continuing. "I had a dinner date with Fingon last night. We ended up watching movies at his place after and I was too tired and sleepy to drive home. I stayed there for the night," Maedhros explained. This was making him feel like a teenager again.

"I do expect notice, when the plan is for you to stay at our house, if those plans change," Fëanor said.

Maedhros looked at him, the confusion written on his face. "I did give notice, Dad. I texted Maglor. Was I supposed to text everyone?" He couldn't keep the annoyance out of his response.

Fëanor ignored his comment. "I haven't heard you talk about your boyfriend very much, Maedhros, and you certainly haven't brought him around at all." He leaned back against the sink, arms crossed, much like Nerdanel's.

Where was his dad going with this? He'd never delved too much into the details of their relationships, not unless something was looking serious and so far only Maglor had experienced that, none of the others. Fëanor usually left this kind of thing to Nerdanel.

"I know I've mentioned him," Maedhros said. "As for bringing him around, we met at a busy time in his semester and things have continued to be busy for Fingon up until now. He's got a little free time over break, before he starts his internship. I told Mom I would bring him around, sometime after all the holiday fuss," Maedhros explained, focusing on keeping his voice steady and maintaining his patience with his father's questions.

"Satisfied now, Fëanor?" Nerdanel asked. "He's not been keeping him from us, they've just been busy."

Fëanor ignored her, keeping his eyes on his son. "So since I have you here, why don't you tell me a little bit about him?"

"Ok," Maedhros said hesitantly, still not sure what the point of this conversation was. "Fingon's in his last year of Architecture grad school at Cuiviénen. He's doing an internship with Barad-Eithel next semester. He hopes to work for them when he graduates. He's from Tirion." Ugh, might have been better not to mention that, Maedhros thought, irritated at himself. If Fëanor asked which high school Fingon had attended it would end up a diatribe about Vinyamar again.

"Did he go to high school at Himlad with you?" Fëanor asked.

Damn it. "No, he didn't. We didn't meet until this fall." Hopefully deflected.

"So where did he go to school?" Fëanor persisted.

May as well get it over with. "Ah, Vinyamar," Maedhros said.

"Oh. I see." Fëanor frowned, but the usual derogatory comments didn't come this time. That actually made Maehdros more apprehensive.

"Have you met his family then?" Fëanor asked.

And there it was. Maedhros suddenly realized Fëanor knew very well who Fingon was, knew exactly who his father was. This was why he was having this private conversation, this was why Fëanor had not been diverted by the subject of Vinyamar. The larger object of his disdain had overshadowed his dislike of the school.

He knew his father's intense feelings about Fingolfin, probably more than anyone in the family, other than his mother. He had been exceedingly naive to think it wouldn't be a big deal. Or maybe he had just avoided thinking of it at all. Maybe that was subconsciously why he hadn't said all that much, had not made firm plans to introduce Fingon to his parents. He had somehow imagined he could side-step this.

"I've met some of them," Maedhros answered, keeping his answer intentionally vague. But some inner part of him rebelled against that. He was not ashamed of Fingon; he loved him.

Maedhros had liked Fingolfin, even under the dire circumstances of their previous meetings. Fëanor's personal issues with Fingon's father shouldn't matter. He boldly continued. "But I already knew his father, from before." Maedhros said. "You remember I met Fingolfin years ago."

Fëanor actually looked surprised that Maedhros had brought the connection up himself. "He is Fingolfin's son, then?" Fëanor asked.

"Yes, he is," Maedhros was getting irritated now. His father needed to get to the point, if he even had one. "I assume we are having this conversation because you knew that already, am I right?"

A part of Nerdanel rejoiced at the steel in Maedhros' voice. This boy must mean the world to him, if Maedhros was needling Fëanor like this. But a part of her grew apprehensive. Feanor appreciated and respected straightforward speech but he did not take well to being taken to task. She hoped Maedhros had made his point and that Fëanor had understood it. Unlikely, but she could still hope.

"If I did not already know that, you just confirmed it for me," Fëanor said. Nerdanel sighed. This was not going to go well. The question was when was she going to have to step in, to keep things from escalating?

"Ok, so I've confirmed I'm dating Fingon, who happens to be Fingolfin's son. Why does that warrant a conversation out here, Dad? Do you have a problem with it?" Maedhros asked.

And it was Maedhros getting to the point first, to Nerdanel's surprise. She watched her husband closely for his response, her fingers gripping her upper arms.

"I most certainly do," Fëanor said.

"And why is that?"

"You know how I feel about his father. You know how Fingolfin failed my father, failed me, failed you in our struggle against Morgoth Industries. He betrayed our trust. How do you expect his son to be any different?" Fëanor said. "I can't believe you let yourself become involved with him."

"How you feel about Fingolfin is your issue, Dad, not mine. Fingolfin was kind, informative and compassionate in his dealings with me. I don't know all the details of the legal wranglings but he must have had strong facts to back up his recommendations to us." Maedhros paused to frown at his father. "And even if that wasn't the case, Fingon is not his father. It really doesn't matter to me who his father is. I care about Fingon for his own sake." His eyes narrowed. "And as far as 'letting myself get involved with him'? I haven't 'let myself get involved' with anyone for years now, in case you haven't noticed. I haven't wanted to, haven't been able to. Fingon is the first person to come along who has made me feel like trying again, made me feel again, made me feel whole again. And your opinion isn't going to change that."

Nerdanel had taken a step forward as Maedhros spoke but stopped herself, before either of them noticed her. She could feel the tears come into her eyes at her son's words, at the depth of his emotions and the frank confession of what she had suspected but that he had not shared before. She would not interrupt. Fëanor needed to hear this and Maedhros needed to say it.

"How can you trust in him, after what his father did to us, to you, Maedhros? How do you know he won't do something like that to you, something to betray your trust? I think you are making a grave mistake. I can't condone this relationship. I can't support it. You should end it before it becomes any more serious and before you get hurt by this family again," Fëanor's words tumbled out, rough and harsh. "You need to end this relationship, Maedhros, the sooner the better."

Maedhros took a step forward, his hands clenched at his sides. Nerdanel found herself involuntarily reaching a hand out towards her son, even though he was across the room from her. "Actually, Dad, I don't need to do anything of the sort. In case you've forgotten I'm twenty-nine years old. When you were my age you already had three kids." He paused to let that sink in and Nerdanel could see a muscle clench in his jaw.

But he kept on going. "I am an adult. I've been an adult for awhile now, you know. I don't need your approval to date Fingon. I don't need your permission. I have a degree, I have a job, I own my own business. I own my own house. I am independent of you financially, thanks to the trust fund that Fingolfin set up for us from Grandfather and due to the settlement Fingolfin negotiated on our behalf with Morgoth Industries."

His eyes were cold as he looked at his father. "I do not intend to end anything. It's immaterial to me whether you trust Fingon. I trust him. I love Fingon. Finding him has unquestionably been the best thing to happen to me in the last four years, maybe the best thing to happen to me ever. I do not intend to jeopardize my relationship because of your unfounded concerns. Continue to hate Fingolfin, if that gives you some kind of comfort. But you don't get to dictate my feelings. Not this time." He locked eyes with his father and decided to keep going. He hadn't felt this angry with Fëanor in awhile and he was feeling bolder than he had in years. "I've been the dutiful son my whole life, done what you have wanted me to do since I was old enough to walk. I took care of my brothers, so you and Mom could work. I shielded them from your arguments, as best I could. I went to Cuiviénen, so I could still be close enough to help out at home. I've done everything you've ever asked me to do. I've only bucked your orders on two occasions-taking Fingolfin's advice on settling the suit and now, refusing to break this off with Fingon. I'm not backing down on this one, Dad. So you're going to have to deal with it."

"You are making a mistake, Maedhros. You will regret putting him ahead of your family . . ." Fëanor didn't get to finish his sentence.

There was a sensation building up in Maedhros, one he usually repressed around his parents. It was anger, pure unfiltered rage. He wasn't going to suppress it anymore. Not tonight.

"Putting him ahead of my family? You can't be serious. I've put our family ahead of everything my whole life, Dad. That's what we're supposed to do, as your sons, isn't it? That's the kind of loyalty you expect. I'm not putting Fingon ahead of my family, I'm putting him on equal footing because he's the person I want to be part of my family. He's someone I want to share my life with. I want to share him with all of you. Because I love him and he loves me."

"Does he though? Does he really?" Fëanor persisted.

"Fëanor, stop. You don't want to go there," Nerdanel finally broke in.

"Don't want to go there? He needs to hear this." Fëanor turned his attention to her. "He's making a mistake. It's an infatuation and I can understand that, but that's why it needs to end now."

"It's not going to end now, Dad. You've heard what I said. I'm not ending this."

"Then know this, Maedhros. He is not welcome in my home. I will not have him under my roof," Fëanor thundered.

"Fëanor, NO!" Nerdanel strode across the room and grabbed Feanor's arm. "You know you don't mean that. Don't say things like that."

Maedhros cut across her words. "If he's not, then I'm not either. Don't expect to see me under your roof if Fingon isn't welcome here. Is that what you really want, Dad? Is it really?"

"I want you to listen to me and stop seeing him, Maedhros. That's all I ask," Fëanor replied.

"You ask too much," Maedhros said. His face was stern, his eyes frigid as they regarded his father. "Shall I go pack my bags then?"

"Maedhros, no." The words dragged themselves out of Fëanor, his composure shaken at his son's question. "That isn't what I want at all. Can't we talk rationally about this?"

"I have been talking rationally about this. You're the one making demands and letting your emotions rule your words," Maedhros said, knowing it would sting for his father to hear that. "I am done with this conversation. I have nothing more to say. Fingon is a part of my life, whether you like it or not. If having him in my life is so abhorrent to you, that you will not even consider meeting him or giving him a chance, then perhaps you don't want me in your life either. The choice is yours, Dad. I've given you my side of things." Maedhros looked to Nerdanel, not surprised to see the tears running down her cheeks. He was grateful she had not interrupted him, that she had not tried to stem his words. He had needed to say those things, even if she was hurt by them. Even if Fëanor was hurt by them. He had hurt Maedhros with his disregard of Fingon, sight unseen.

"What will you do now?" Nerdanel asked.

"I'll go to my room, if I am still welcome under this roof for tonight," Maedhros said to her. "Forgive me for not socializing with the family. I can't tolerate it tonight." He returned his gaze to his father. "If your feelings are unchanged on this matter in the morning I will pack my things and return to Formenos. I'll stop by on Christmas Day, for a bit, but I won't stay." His jaw tightened. "Let me know in the morning so I can plan accordingly." He turned and walked out of the studio, leaving his parents alone.

"Fëanor," Nerdanel started.

He raised his hand to stop her, his eyes burning with frustration. It took him a few moments to compose himself. Nerdanel had edged closer to him, her own eyes radiating indignation.

He put his hand down slowly and the torrent of words spilled from her. "How dare you even suggest Fingon won't be welcome here? Is your enmity with Fingolfin worth losing your son? Is it, Fëanor?"

"It won't come to that, Nerdanel," he said, rubbing his forehead wearily.

"It will, if you are stubborn enough to keep up this attitude," she retorted.

"I had not . . . " He uncharacteristically stumbled on his words. "I had not realized he had been so isolated still. I had not realized he felt so alone."

"Oh, Fëanor. You saw what you chose to see, Maedhros himself and whole again. And that's what he wanted you to see also. He's never wanted you to see him as less, as showing any weakness. I think that's why he's had such a hard time getting past this-he feels he failed you in some way, failed us, by letting himself be captured that day. He's wrong, of course, but his perception colors his view." She put a hand on Feanor's forearm. "He's found something with Fingon, something that has profoundly affected him. There's a spark in him that's been missing for a long time." She squeezed Feanor's arm harder. "It's never been easy for Maedhros, being the oldest, Fëanor. We've leaned on him and expected more of him than we should, we've not been fair to him. He's right about that. But now he's finally found something for himself. Can you not find it in yourself to let him have this, without your disapproval and conditions?" She did not notice the tears still running down her face.

"I don't know, Nerdanel, I don't know," Fëanor growled, frustration rising within him. He would have to choose-his bitterness at Fingolfin or his eldest son. It was not a choice, really. Fëanor's family meant the world to him. He would not fracture it, not even for this. But he had to think this through, he had to come to terms with it himself. And that would take some time.