The Threat of Spring by oshun
Fanwork Notes
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Summary:
My entry for day 14 of the SWG Back to Middle-earth Month challenge. The prompt is: What is your favourite season? . . . . how your character would appreciate (or not) the same things.
A ficlet wherein a grumpy Fingon faces spring, once his favorite season. (Fingon/Maedhros)
Major Characters: Fingon, Maedhros
Major Relationships:
Artwork Type: No artwork type listed
Genre: Romance
Challenges: B2MeM 2009
Rating: General
Warnings:
This fanwork belongs to the series
Chapters: 1 Word Count: 384 Posted on 15 March 2009 Updated on 15 March 2009 This fanwork is complete.
The Threat of Spring
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The second day of bright sunshine finally compelled Maedhros to roust Fingon out of the Himring fortress and onto a horse. It had not been easy. Fingon seemed more than content to loll about their rooms, despite having been cooped up all winter.
Although steadily working their way down the mountain, they had not ridden far when a sudden rain drove them to abandon their horses and seek shelter under a rocky overhang. They huddled together for warmth. Fingon was not talking. Maedhros’s mare gave him a baleful, disgusted glance from a short distance away. He turned and received a nearly identical one from Fingon, which caused him to laugh.
“It’s not that bad. It'll stop soon.”
“You think?” asked Fingon, lowering his brows, eyes burning into Maedhros like blue flames. “I’ve decided I don’t care for weather. Don’t like seasons either.”
“I remember when you claimed to enjoy the change of seasons. You said you liked Formenos because of the variety. So far away from the direct light of the Trees. You used to say that you especially liked the springtime.”
“Well, I lied. I liked Formenos because you were there. Anyway, Formenos did not have a real winter. Not like this.” He gestured sweepingly at the surrounding snow. “And the spring wasn’t much to speak of either. A few more flowers.”
The rain suddenly stopped and the sun broke forth with a vengeance from behind a cloud. Maedhros all but leapt to his feet and stepped out of their shelter.
“Get up, Káno. Come out into the sunlight. It’s much warmer.”
“Findekáno! Come out into the light,” Fingon intoned in a deep, ponderous voice. “Sounds like some stupid philosophical exhortation.”
“No. Not at all. Even though the air is colder up so high, we are closer to the sun and, therefore, it will quickly dry your hair and jacket.”
Fingon struggled to his feet and frowned up at the brightening sky. “Does this mean it's spring now?”
”I think not. We will probably have snow again at least a couple of times before spring. Ah! I'm slow. You’re grumpy because you’re leaving in the spring.” He pulled Fingon into a close embrace, brushing his hair aside and kissing the soft skin beneath his ear. “But I’m coming with you, love.”
”This time!” Fingon complained.
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