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

---

Chapter 38

---

The door clicked shut. Maedhros closed his eyes and dropped his head back down onto his bent knees. He took a few deep breaths; in and out, in and out.

He had expected his father to have an opinion-there was little Fëanor did not have an opinion about, especially when it concerned his family. Maedhros had anticipated the Fingolfin connection to be a stumbling block for his father, no matter how hard he had tried to ignore that realization. Perhaps he should have acknowledged it earlier and told his father himself, rather than having Fëanor discover it on his own.

No. He stopped himself. He was not going to shoulder all the blame for this situation. His father's reaction was just that-his father's. Maedhros would not take responsibility for it. Playing alternative scenarios in his head was pointless. He was at a crossroads no matter what and would have ended up here regardless of the path.

He had known this confrontation was coming, he could admit that. It was inevitable. The truth was that he had not wanted to be the one to initiate it. Years of dealing wth conflict had simply made him more eager to avoid it.

He was just tired of it. Tired of the years of arguments. Of being the buffer. Weary of always trying to keep the peace; the burden of gauging his family's undercurrents of temperament and reacting appropriately was exhausting. It was no wonder he excelled at Diplomacy-he'd learned negotiation and soothing words kept the conflict at bay. Most of the time.

Maedhros ran his hands through his hair and leaned back to drop his head against the headboard of the bed. He didn't know what morning would bring. What he did know was that his parents were at this very moment quite likely embroiled in one of their heated exchanges.

He didn't live here anymore so refusing to stay under Fëanor's roof if Fingon wasn't welcome was more symbolic than realistic. But it would give his father a clear understanding of Fingon's importance in Maedhros' life.

As he sat on the bed, debating with himself if he should start packing now or hold off until morning and Fëanor's decision, Maedhros comprehended that even simple disdainful tolerance from his father was not going to be enough.

He wanted his father to truly see Fingon. Not as Fingolfin's son, not as a troublesome nuisance, not as a temporary distraction to his oldest son. He wanted Fëanor to see him for what he truly was-the brilliant, creative, kind, and valiant man that Maedhros loved.

Thinking of Fingon brought a smile to his face. He couldn't see Fingon letting Fëanor intimidate him. He had dealt with Maedhros' issues head on-Maedhros knew he was more alarming mid-nightmare than Fëanor ever could be awake.

He glanced at his phone. It wasn't that late. Fingon would likely be with his family but a quick text shouldn't be too distracting.

MAEDHROS: Hey. Hope you're having a good night.

It didn't take long to receive a reply.

FINGON: Had some rough spots but better now. You?

Maedhros paused before replying. This wasn't a conversation to have via text, especially not now, when he still didn't know quite how the situation would resolve itself.

MAEDHROS: Some rough spots here too.

FINGON: Should I call you? I've got the time.

MAEDHROS: No, hang out with your family. Nothing that can't wait for later. You have plans for tomorrow?

FINGON: Car shopping with Dad in the morning :-) Want to join us?

MAEDHROS: No, enjoy the one-on-one time with your dad. Remember Subaru's are reliable cars and have great resale value.

FINGON: You are such a dork. But you're my dork.

MAEDHROS: Takes one to know one. You're my dork too. Have fun with your dad.

FINGON: Good thought on the Subaru. I'll need something that handles well in the snow for those drives out to Formenos. ;-)

Maedhros couldn't help grinning. It seemed Fingon was intending to continue his overnights, even after his internship started. Thinking back to his initial reluctance to have him spend the night at all Maedhros was thankful Fingon had been so persistent. Even after just a week sharing his bed, Maedhros found himself missing his presence at night.

Not just at night. What would it be like to continue to wake up to Fingon every morning? To eat breakfast together, cook dinner together, spend every evening at his side?

He shook his head. He'd let himself get distracted and had not answered Fingon's last text.

MAEDHROS: You handle everything well.

FINGON: I know what I'd like to be handling right now.

Maedhros flushed. His usual facility with words was no match for that kind of comment from Fingon.

MAEDHROS: Like I said-you 'handle' everything well. Any chance of you being free tomorrow afternoon?

The reply was immediate.

FINGON: Tell me where and when.

MAEDHROS: Just text me when you're done with the car stuff. We'll figure it out from there.

FINGON: Will do. I miss you.

MAEDHROS: Miss you too. Good night.

FINGON: Good night.

FINGON: Love you.

MAEDHROS: Love you too.

It still astounded him, how natural it was to say those words now. How real they were. He savored looking at them one more time before dropping his phone on the bed and wrapping his arms around his knees again.

It would be so much better when Fingon had a car. No more relying on the train schedules. Maedhros had never minded driving back and forth to Tirion to take him home but it would give them far more flexibility with their schedules if Fingon had his own car, especially for the nights he would have to spend at his apartment to do work for his internship.

An idea started to take form but his thoughts were scattered as a knock came on the door and Maglor poked his head in a few seconds later.

"Too early?" Maglor asked. "You didn't text so I thought it would be ok to come back up."

"No, come on in," Maedhros said. "Did you talk to Tyelko?"

Maglor settled on his own bed across from Maedhros and shook his head. "No," he admitted."He's with the others and it would be awkward. Plus we don't need him blowing up tonight. I'll talk to him tomorrow morning, when I can catch him alone."

"Or I can," Maedhros said. "If I'm still here, that is." His fingers picked at a loose thread on his sleeve.

"I don't think it will come to that," Maglor said. "Dad's stubborn but you know family always comes first, no matter what. He's not going to risk losing you over this. He'll settle by morning, you'll see." Maglor had no intention of letting Maedhros know he had confronted their father on his own. There was no need for him to mention it but he could still offer some verbal reassurances

"I'm not so sure," Maedhros said. "This Fingolfin thing is a big deal to him."

"Why is that, Maedhros? I've never understood it. I thought they grew up together," Maglor questioned. "At least that's what Grandpa said. Grandpa liked Fingolfin. He trusted him with all . . . all the legal work, you know?"

Maedhros wrapped his arms around his bent knees again, leaning back against the wall so he could face Maglor directly. "I don't know all the details," he confided. "Just a few things Grandpa said on occasion. I picked some up from Dad, when he was ranting about Fingolfin years ago and the rest from Mom." He rested his chin on his knee. "It goes back to Grandma Miriel, I think."

"Doesn't it always?"

Maedhros made a noncommittal noise before speaking again. "It wasn't just her. I guess Fingolfin's father died a few years later. I think Grandpa was really close to him. And to Fingolfin and his mom, after he died."

"What do you think happened?"

"I don't know for sure," Maedhros replied. He narrowed his eyes and frowned at Maglor. "But I suspect something happened between Grandpa and Fingolfin's mom. Or maybe Grandpa was just spending too much time with them. And Dad didn't like it."

Maglor looked unimpressed. "He's held a grudge all these years because of that?"

"If he saw it as replacing Grandma Miriel, yeah, he would," Maedhros explained.

"Replacing?" Maglor's eyebrows drew together in thought. "Oh."

"Right."

"But what would Fingolfin have to do with that?" Maglor asked.

"Got too close to Grandpa? I don't know."

Maglor hummed thoughtfully and leaned back against the wall by his bed, mirroring his brother. "Still think he's held onto it too long," he finally said. "It not relevant anymore."

Maedhros quirked an eyebrow at him. "When's that ever stopped Dad?"

---

Nerdanel was still in her studio, the lights blazing bright as Fëanor walked up the path to the house. He rubbed his cold hands together. He had left Maglor and taken himself to the garden; walking in the deep snow, alone with his thoughts, until the frigid wind and cold overcame him.

He could tell Nerdanel was still furious-the expression he glimpsed on her face and the rate at which she was pacing clearly confirmed it. They had exchanged some heated words before he had retreated to his study.

He inhaled the sharp, cold air. No matter. He needed to speak with her, despite her irritation. As her husband and as a parent as well. Too much had come out in the conversations with his sons tonight. Too much he could no longer ignore.

The physical signs of Maedhros' ordeal had faded quickly-the bruises and cuts improving by the time he had left the hospital, four years ago. The concussion had taken a few weeks more to resolve, the shoulder a bit longer. He knew the psychological effects had lingered beyond that. He hadn't realized how long.

Once the psychologist appointments had ended and Maedhros had moved back into the apartment he shared with Azaghâl, things had seemed to be back to normal.

Or so he had thought. Fëanor rubbed his freezing arms as he stepped into the warm house, his thoughts reaching back to that summer four years ago.

He leaned against the laundry room wall, his hands coming up to massage his temples, eyes closing as he concentrated. Maedhros had been quieter, for a time. He had spent less time at home but the demands of grad school had seemed the likely cause.

His eldest son had rarely spoken of the events of that summer afterwards. In the intervening years he had been just as reticent about attachments, Fëanor did recall that. But those years had been overshadowed by Maglor's misguided love affair and Tyelko's own romantic misadventures.

He wracked his brain for clues he might have missed. The sudden comprehension that Maedhros had deliberately put just enough distance between them in those intervening years, so that Fëanor would not recognize those very clues, struck him with a cold chill.

They had been so close again, working on the bookstore together, but that too now seemed a deliberate distraction. Fëanor had the self-awareness to know how he was during a project-focused, diligent, single-minded. He would not have picked up any subtle hints in that state.

He stomped his wet shoes on the rug. He needed to speak to Nerdanel. To unravel this knot of frustration, anger and guilt that was overtaking him.

He stepped to the doorway of her studio and paused on the threshold. Nerdanel caught the movement and paused her pacing, her eyes flashing to him. "Have you regained your common sense, Fëanor, or are you here to argue with me more?" she snapped.

He shook his head. "May I come in?"

She crossed her arms and leaned back against the counter, eyeing him with suspicion. 'Yes," she said.

He found the stool she used when sitting to sketch and he sat on it heavily. "Nerdanel, how did I miss all this with Maedhros?"

She studied him for a moment before answering. "I told you, Fëanor. You saw what you wanted to see, what he wanted you to see."

He looked genuinely puzzled as he asked the next question, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. "How did you miss it then?"

Oh. The breath went out of Nerdanel and her head began to throb. It was one of the questions she had been asking herself as she paced. Fëanor wasn't quite right. She hadn't missed it completely. Nerdanel had felt the distancing, had noted the spark missing from her son's eyes. She had watched him withdrawing, step by step, eventually building his new life in Formenos.

Nerdanel had reached out time after time, only to be met with polite resistance at her attempts to dig deeper. Eventually, she had lulled herself into the same complacency she accused Fëanor of embracing. Her nails dug into her biceps as she answered. "I just . . . I just let it go, didn't push as hard as I should have. It was a mistake on my part."

Fëanor nodded, the crease between his eyebrows growing more pronounced. "Maglor came to find me."

"Maglor? Whatever for?" she asked, although she already had a suspicion. She knew how close her two eldest sons were. Maedhros must have shared the details of the earlier confrontation with his brother. No, she amended; more likely Maglor had noticed his brother's unease and had pestered him until he shared the story. That rang true.

"To tell me what a fool I'm being over this whole Fingon business," Fëanor grumbled.

"You are, you know. Being a fool," Nerdanel pointed out. "What did you say to him?"

After the Maedhros encounter earlier she doubted Fëanor had been reserved in his conversation with their second son. Maglor was not typically the confrontational type. He must have been in quite a state to take on Fëanor, knowing he was unquestionably already in a foul mood.

"I told him I didn't know what to do," Fëanor admitted.

Her eyes widened. Fëanor was never one to claim he had all the answers. He had encouraged his sons to question everything, as he did himself. He was the first to admit when he didn't know something, when the boys asked him a question, driving it into them that an honest admission of ignorance was far better than an incorrect or glib answer.

But on matters of the heart he was not so circumspect. His word had always been law to his boys. An admission like this, over a domestic issues, was unusual.

"I don't know, Nerdanel," he repeated. "I don't know so many things right now. So much I thought was true, was clear, was unquestioned, isn't so. And I'm not sure how to fix that." The frustration in his tone grew as the words left his lips.

She drifted closer, until she stood just in front of him. "What don't you know, Fëanor?" she asked.

He scrubbed his hands over his face then gripped his head in his hands, eyes downcast. "I don't know why I didn't see the pain in Maedhros still." His hands dropped to rest on his knees, his head still down. "I don't know that I can let this go about Fingolfin." His head tilted up until their eyes met. She was surprised to see tears in his. "And I don't know how my sons don't know how proud of them I am. How much I value them," he whispered.

"Oh, Fëanor," she said taking a step closer and putting her arms around his shoulders. Fëanor's arms wrapped around her waist as his head fell onto her chest. She stroked his hair as she resumed speaking. "It's not always as clear as you might think it is."

"But why?" came his muffled question. "Don't they see it? The whole world can see it. How could they ever think I would be disappointed in them?"

The conversation with Maglor must have been as intense as the one with Maedhros, more realizations and truths coming out. She shook her head. "They don't see it, Fëanor, at least not often enough," she explained. "That's what I see, what everyone else sees from you-your pride in them. But the boys don't get to see that side of you. They don't get to see the pride that's radiating from you."

He raised his head to look at her, the confusion apparent in his face.

She stroked his hair back. "They know you love them, they've never doubted that. But you rarely give them more than that. I know how much their achievements mean to you. You tell me, you tell your friends, you tell random people you meet. But you don't pass that along to them." She gripped his hair and shook it gently as she made her next statement. "You just raise the bar."

"I encourage them, Nerdanel. I rejoice in their achievements," Fëanor protested.

"No, you don't." She shook her head again. "You challenge them to do more, to work harder, go further. You delineate where they could have done better. You provide feedback and criticism. That's not true encouragement and praise. Not if all they see if you just raising the bar again."

"That's what Maglor said," he muttered. His lips compressed and he looked down again. "I never expect more of them than they are capable of."

Nerdanel turned his face up to meet hers. "Perhaps not, but I don't know if you ever let them know they are enough as they are."

"They are more than enough, Nerdanel. Each one is infinitely precious to me," Fëanor admitted.

She leaned down to kiss his forehead. "I know that. But you need to work on sharing that with them, my love. We've talked about this before. You may think you are. But from what Maedhros said earlier, and now Maglor too, it's not as clear to them as it may be to you." Her fingers grazed through his hair. "This is definitely a situation you must rectify, Fëanor. But for now Maedhros is the more pressing issue. We need to talk about him." She placed her hands on either side of Fëanor's face, locking her gaze on his. "What do you intend to say to him in the morning?"

His hands reflexively gripped her waist tightly. "I don't want him to go."

"You know what you need to do then," she replied.

"But Nerdanel!" The spark flared in her husband's eyes and she dropped her hands to his shoulders. "Don't give me that look, Nerdanel. I do know what I must do but it doesn't mean I have to like it." The forehead crease was back. "You know how I feel about Fingolfin, You know how I feel about her. I've no idea what this boy is like. . . "

Nerdanel cut him off. "And you won't know until you meet him. And you won't get a chance to find out if you try to intimidate him when you do meet him." She chewed on her bottom lip as she contemplated her next words. "I know how you feel about Fingolfin and Indis, Fëanor. I know how you feel about how the lawsuit played out, how the settlement was handled. But I have been remiss for letting you hold on to all this misguided dislike for so long."

She put a finger to his lips as he started to protest. "No, Fëanor. You need to hear me out. You are risking not only your relationship with our son but my relationship with him as well. I can't condone that." She moved her hands back to his hair, the soothing motions bringing him more comfort than he was willing to admit.

"I will tell him this is his home, no matter what," Fëanor said slowly. "It's the truth. I will tell him Fingon is welcome in our home." He grimaced at her stern expression and grudgingly added "And I will be civil when I meet him."

She rewarded him with another forehead kiss. "You can be so charming when you choose to be, Fëanor. Give the boy a chance. He must be something special if he's managed to break through Maedhros' walls."

"Maglor certainly seems to think so," Fëanor said.

Nerdanel's eyes crinkled as she smiled down at her husband. "He must be exceedingly special then, if Maglor approves, as protective as he is of Maedhros."

"I'll speak to Maedhros in the morning then," Fëanor said. "Unless you think I should speak to him now?" he said uncertainly.

"No, you're worked up and so is Maedhros. One of you could slip up and say something unfortunate. You both need a bit of a break tonight. Just remember to be kind, Fëanor. Maedhros has always wanted to make you proud, to live up to your expectations. Don't make him feel like he is lacking something, or lessened by this, ok?"

"Ok."

"Should I come with you when you speak to him?" she asked gently.

She could see the mutinous fire in his eyes, the defiant set of his jaw, but then his shoulders slumped and the fire faded. His head fell forward onto her chest again. "Please," he said.

Her arms tightened around him. "All right then." They stayed in that position for a few moments, Fëanor gently breathing in her scent, Nerdanel stroking his back softly. His hands settled on her hips and he shifted his head to look up at her.

"There's one more thing," she said reluctantly, hands coming up to cup his face.

"What?" he asked, a guarded look coming into his eyes.

"I need you to promise me you won't confront him."

"Confront who? Maedhros? I already told you I wouldn't," Fëanor said irritably.

"You can't do what you did to Maedhros," Nerdanel cautioned.

"What are you talking about?"

"Fëanor, Tyelko is dating someone new too," Nerdanel stated.

"I know. Some athletic girl. Just his type, sounds like. What's that got to do with anything?"

"She's Fingon's sister, my love," Nerdanel explained.

Fingon's sister. Which made her Fingolfin's daughter. Bloody hell. He pushed back away from Nerdanel, his eyes wide and the strain evident on his face. "Fingolfin's daughter?" His voice cracked as he said the words.

Nerdanel nodded, an uneasy look on her face. "Fëanor."

He put a hand up to stop whatever was forthcoming. "Let me catch my breath, Nerdanel. It's bad enough one of them is involved with a child of Fingolfin's. Now I have to come to terms with the fact that two of them are?" His eyes narrowed and he pressed his lips together. "Tell me this is it, it's just the two of them. None of our other children are dating Fingolfin's spawn are they?"

Nerdanel crossed her arms and glared at him. "You are not making progress if you refer to them as 'spawn', Fëanor. Stop it. And no, none of our other children are involved with any of his other children. Just these two."

Fëanor massaged his temples and squeezed his eyes shut. "How do you know this?"

"When Tyelko was telling me about her he told me she was Fingon's sister," she explained, wisely refraining from mentioning her eldest son's role as match-maker.

"All right then," Fëanor said. "My oldest son is in a relationship with Fingolfin's son. My second son is completely supportive of this relationship, threatening to leave the house as well, if I have objections to it. My third son is dating Fingolfin's daughter." His voice was toneless.

"Yes," Nerdanel agreed.

"And I am going to accept this and let them proceed as they see fit," he added slowly, his tone unchanged.

Nerdanel laughed. "Yes, yes you are." She pulled Fëanor into her arms and kissed the top of his head. "They're grown men, Fëanor. You had one son already when you were Tyelko's age and three by the time you were Maedhros' age. You're in no position to pass judgement."

His arms circled her waist again. "I suppose you're right," he conceded grumpily. "Now can we be done with this conversation and just go to bed?" He looked up at her expectantly.

She traced a finger along his jawline. "Just one more thing," she whispered. "I'm not asking you to do it tonight but we need to talk about Fingolfin." She steeled herself to the stormy look he sent her way.

"I've nothing to say about him."

"Fëanor," she admonished. "That's not true and you know it." She tapped her forefinger on his forehead lightly. "It's been long enough. You need to talk this out. You need to let it out and then let it go." Nerdanel shook her head at his protests. "I don't know how serious these relationships are but you and I were married when we were younger than our two boys. You can't have all this bad blood with Fingolfin hanging over everyone. It's time to come to terms with it, like it or not." His flashing eyes met hers. "At least try, Fëanor. It's past time."

"I can't make any promises . . ." Fëanor said, his eyes scrunched and his jaw clenched. She didn't waver. He grimaced and shook his head. "I will try," he offered finally.

"That's all I can ask," she responded. "That you try." Nerdanel pulled him to his feet and wrapped an arm around his waist. "Let's go to bed. This night has been exhausting. You need to be up early to talk to you son." She looked up at him, a warning frown on her face. "I'd suggest you don't mention any of this to Tyelko. It won't end well if you do."

He nodded. "I've no stomach for an encounter like that. Maedhros and Maglor have been more than enough. I've never been good with Tyelko's rages and I've no interest in attempting to weather one of those now." Fëanor leaned down to brush his lips to the top of her head. "Thank you," he murmured into her hair.

"Don't thank me," she said. "You know what you have to do."

---

Fingon locked his phone and then unobtrusively slipped it into his pocket. He had joined the rest of the family to watch movies after his conversation with his father but he couldn't really concentrate on the film. His mind was drifting elsewhere. He didn't think anyone had noticed his few minutes of covertly texting Maedhros.

He glanced around and found Aredhel's eyes on him. It seemed she had noted his temporary distraction. He looked away from her.

They had not found time to have their promised private conversation after the events of the day before. Truth be told Fingon had been avoiding her. He really didn't want to endure another lecture from her. He wasn't at liberty to disclose much of anything and her insinuations about Maedhros frustrated him. Aredhel's own past experiences had not been benign and he understood that she was just trying to look out for him but it was still irritating, how quick she was to judge Maedhros without knowing all the facts.

His gaze darted in her direction again. She was still glaring at him. He rolled his eyes at her and turned his attention back to the nameless action movie on the television. Fingon couldn't remember what had just happened in the scene or who exactly the people were on the screen but it was better viewing than the looks Aredhel was giving him.

His kept his eyes on the television but his mind was still on Maedhros. He had learned enough about him over these last few months to know there was quite a bit unspoken in their text exchange. Fingon's 'rough spots' for the night were probably mild in comparison to Maedhros'. For Maedhros to even mention them meant they were likely quite significant.

Fingon wondered what had happened. He had been around the three brothers enough at Formenos to catch snatches of their conversations and references to their family. Maedhros had told him a little bit about the chaos that usually ensued when all seven brothers were under one roof. And he had hinted at the occasional volatile nature of interactions between his parents.

The holidays could be stressful he reminded himself. Grown children forced back into shared quarters. Lack of privacy. Intrusive questions from family. Forgotten quirks and previous quarrels rising to the surface due to the enforced proximity. That was probably what was occurring across the park with Maedhros.

He would find out more tomorrow. He was looking forward to even a few moments together. Fingon had not expected to miss Maedhros quite as much as he did. It was over two months since they had first met but the intensity of their interactions in the past week-the nights spent in Formenos, the visible manifestations of Maedhros' nightmares, the revelations of Maedhros' past that had surfaced, the initiation of their physical intimacy-all those things had managed to bring them so much closer. He missed Maedhros' warm presence, not to mention his physical touch. Fingon sighed, unaware now of Aredhel's continued attention on him.

Just a few more days and he would be back in that familiar bed in Formenos. And maybe, just maybe, he would be driving there himself for a change.