Harvest Dance by oshun
Fanwork Notes
Characters:
Arakáno - the Quenya name of Argon, the fourth child of Fingolfin. Not in The Silmarillion at all and dies virtually upon the arrival of the Noldor in Middle-earth. Without much canon to go on, I have felt free to give him similar looks and personality to his older brother and sister, Fingon and Aredhel, as presented in my "Maitimo and Findekáno" story arc.
Amrod - the youngest of Fëanor's sons; Amrod is the Sindarin version of Pityo the short form of Pityafinwë. I refer to him here as Pityafinwë/Pityo, which is appropriate to the time and place. (His twin Amros, only talked about in this piece, I call Telvo, short for Telufinwë.)
- Fanwork Information
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Summary:
Birthday story written in response to a solicitation of a request from minuial_nuwing. A mild slashy romp. Nothing serious. (All your fault, Min: When you challenged me to give you Arakáno/Amrod, you must have known it would come with footnotes.)
Major Characters: Amrod, Argon
Major Relationships:
Artwork Type: No artwork type listed
Genre: General, Humor, Slash/Femslash
Challenges: Gift of a Story
Rating: Teens
Warnings: Sexual Content (Mild)
This fanwork belongs to the series
Chapters: 1 Word Count: 374 Posted on 15 October 2007 Updated on 15 October 2007 This fanwork is complete.
Chapter 1
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Pulsing torches lined the forest glade. The harvest festival, held near a farming village just outside of Tirion, throbbed with music, laughter and quick, ancient dances brought from across the Sea. Lanterns strung overhead swayed in the light wind making the shadows move. Last days of summer idleness, back to lessons and the forge . . . Pityafinwë thought, wistful for only a moment. Won't do to let my thoughts go in that sort of maudlin direction. I should see him here tonight with any luck. He released a snort of a laugh at himself and his nascent sentimentality.
A warm hand closed around his upper arm. "Ah, Pityo, you are one of the few people I know who can stand all alone at the edge of a crowd and laugh at your own jokes."
"And you, Arakáno, are one of the few who sneak up behind me at festive gatherings for the sole purpose of entertaining yourself at my expense."
"But you are always amusing, sweet cousin. Where is your brother?" Arakáno's warm breath upon his neck sent a frisson of goosebumps across Pityafinwë's shoulders and down his back.
"Telvo? Oh, he found a hapless local girl--I meant a fortunate local girl--who is eager to keep him company. Want a drink?" Pityafinwë turned to lock onto those motivating pale blue eyes and extend a small container toward Arakáno.
"Don't mind if I do. Although, I have been warned. Curious to know if this pig slop is as harsh as I have heard." Arakáno brought the flask up under his nose and sniffed cautiously. "You and Telvo actually make this stuff?" Never short on raw nerve, he tilted his head back and took a long, deep swallow.
Pityafinwë watched him, delighted and appalled, utterly unable to control his grin. He really ought to learn to listen to warnings.
"Eru! Varda's frigid nipples, Pityo! What is this poison?"
"Just a little something to loosen you up." As though either of us ever needed that.
"Hmmm," Arakáno replied, opening his mouth to accept a hot but tender kiss, as his long black hair fell over his cousin's half-bared chest.
"These rustics do know how to celebrate, but I still think we should find a quieter spot," Pityafinwë whispered.
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