Singing beside me in the wilderness by Elsane

Chapter 1

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“Fingon,” Maedhros said, bouncing his knee.

Fingon, his head in Maedhros’ lap, cocked an eyebrow, and showed not the slightest inclination to move.

“Lazy,” said Maedhros.

“Comfortable,” Fingon corrected. He grinned up at Maedhros briefly, before his gaze went dreamily back to the sky. Overhead the sunlight, long and golden in the late afternoon, fringed the beech leaves with glory.

Maedhros twined one of Fingon’s braids around his fingers and tugged it affectionately. It was beginning to come unraveled, but he could not fix it single-handed, not at this angle. He leaned back against the beech bole behind him, and watched the soft shifting breezes send bright sparkles over the lake below.

A lark chattered overhead. Maedhros poked Fingon in the shoulder.

“If you want meat for your supper, we should get up.”

“I can have meat to board in any hall in Beleriand, and better seasoned,” Fingon said, and lifted one hand to spread his fingers against the brilliant sky – “this fair afternoon I will not have again.”

“As you will,” Maedhros said, laughing. He was stuck.

Once, long ago and a world away, he had gone with Fingon to the woods far south of Valimar, wild and pathless and entirely free of families, households, the endless hammering of the forge. Hunting had been the object, but they had done very little of that, in the end. Swimming, and racing, had been better, and after the longest race he had ended up sitting against an ancient oak tree with Fingon drowsing in his lap. He had only half-admitted to himself what he wanted from his cousin. He had plaited as many braids as good taste could justify into Fingon’s hair and one or two more beyond, and in the eternal suspended half-light he had sat for hours with both of his hands twisted into Fingon’s hair, hardly daring to breathe; afraid any move he made would be the wrong one, would disturb whatever private and halting magic this was, irretrievably.

The ground had been much less lumpy in Valinor.

Fingon’s face was graver now, even at rest, and his shoulders were broader. Maedhros ran his hand over those shoulders, familiar, solid, well beloved, and, his throat full of something he had no voice to say, put his thumb on Fingon’s lips. Fingon’s dreamy gaze came back to him, inquiring.

“Sit up so I can kiss you.”

“Oh, well, then!” Fingon sat in one easy movement and looped his arms around Maedhros’ neck. He kissed him hard and quick, and lay back down, pulling Maedhros down on top of him. He grinned up at Maedhros, laughter in his eyes.

“I see!” Maedhros said, and bent himself to kissing the smugness out of Fingon’s mouth.