AN: This story is made for Marja, who asked for a Maedhros/Fingon fic, and that she shall have! – to clear one thing up here, I am NOT trying to stay close to canon. It’s not AU, it’s just fan fiction. I messed about with all the nifty first age elves for the sheer fuck of it! Thanks to Uli (Ford of Bruinen) for her priceless help when I had my canon stuff upside down!

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I try to laugh about it

Cover it all up with lies

I try and

Laugh about it

Hiding the tears in my eyes

'Cause boys don't cry

Boys don't cry

The Cure – Boys don’t cry.

Chapter 1 – Hiding the tears in my eyes.

Finwë had called for a family feast, ignoring his sons’ objections, and had gathered his children under the same roof. Fëanor came last, proving to be a magnificent sight as he rode into the courtyard with his family, one elfling on his saddle and another on his wife, Nerdanel’s. This would be the first time Amras and Amrod would see their kin. But absolutely not the first for Maedhros, Maglor, Celegorm & Caranthir; and Curufin had met them once, even if he was on his way to become a young man. The house of Fëanor did not often attend family gatherings, but this time Finwë had insisted, and Fëanor given in. He had told his eldest son that he would bring home an addition to his household. Fingolfin’s eldest son was ready to leave home. He had an adventurous spirit, and so Fingolfin had gone to his father, and asked for advice. Finwë loved all his children, and had therefore decided that Fingon should go and spend some years in the house of Fëanor, perfecting his fascination of birds of prey into something practical, like hunting. Finwë had thought that this might improve the foul air between his sons, and so Fingolfin had reluctantly agreed, promising that he would decapitate his half brother if anything befell his child. And Fëanor had bee equally reluctant to having to feed one of his bastard brothers’ children. But in the end, Finwë had gotten his way, as always. And now Fëanor was here with his sons, to attend the feast and bring home Fingon.

As they dismounted from their horses, Fëanor grabbed his eldest son’s arm. Even if Maedhros was a young man, he was already well on his way to being both taller and broader than his father. And the giant red-haired elf looked upon his father with defiant grey-green eyes. “Father,” he said.

“Keep from Finarfin. I do not ask you, I command you,” Fëanor said with a hushed voice. “I will not have my father’s wrath upon me, because you cannot behave.”

“Understood, father,” Maedhros said, as he nodded slowly, his fiery red hair swaying softly with his movement.

Fëanor reluctantly let go of his son and turned to pick up Amras, while Maedhros took his horse’s reins and led it over toward the stable and his brothers, who had gathered there. Nerdanel came and stood beside her husband, clad in male garments, as she found it difficult to ride long distances in a gown. “They are only competing, my love,” she said softly. “It is but natural.”

Fëanor’s annoyed expression disappeared and he smiled at his wife. “I suppose you could be right, but they are adults now, and they cannot fight like two cocks every time they are in the same pen.”

“Maedhros is a wise child. You should have more trust in his word,” Nerdanel argued, as she kissed her husband on his cheek before she started to walk up to the main house, carrying the half-asleep Amrod. Fëanor followed with a very lively Amras who wanted to know the name of every elf they passed.

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The feast was beautiful, and lasted for two days. By the end of the second day, Fëanor could see that his eldest sons had had it with Finarfin. Maedhros was sitting at a table drinking heavily with Maglor and Celegorm. But the ice hard grey-green eyes were darkened with anger and followed Finarfin wherever he went. Finarfin himself seemed pretty aggravated, but less drunk. Fëanor looked over at his father, knowing that things were about to get ugly. He knew this feeling his son had, for he too harboured it in his chest, to eliminate the competition. He knew that his wife opposed, but Fëanor could not help but be slightly proud of his sons, that they had inherited this much of his inner fire and fighting spirit. He found it healthy that they would take on the challenge that Finarfin clearly threw at them.

Fëanor’s line of thought was disrupted as his fourth son, Caranthir, came to his side, whispering in his ear. “Father, they will release an onslaught soon. I can feel it in my bones. I know my brothers.”

Fëanor nodded.

“But father…” Caranthir said with a slight accusation in his voice. “Only you can stop them.”

But Fëanor seemed to have lost interest in his sons’ actions. His eyes followed a fair blond lady who swept across the floor to greet his brother Finarfin with a courteous blush. “Tell me, Caranthir, who is that lady standing with my brother?”

“That is Lady Eärwen,” Caranthir said softly, “daughter of Olwë, of Aqualondë.”

“Ah,” Fëanor said with a slight smile. “So the fight is over her, is it not? Has the fair Teleri maid caught your brother’s eye?”

“I believe that is the truth, aye,” Caranthir said with a goofy expression.

“Then let the cocks fight. If it is about a female, then your brothers will not interfere. This is for Maedhros to deal with, and for the fair lady Eärwen to choose between the two,” Fëanor said. He was inwardly pleased that his son would have such exquisite taste in women, for the lady was indeed very beautiful, and seemed as if she were born to be the wife of royalty.

Then Eärwen left Finarfin’s side and minutes later came past where Maedhros was seated with his brothers. Fëanor watched as Maedhros spoke with the Teleri lady, clearly aggravated by something, and then the golden-haired lady suddenly fled the table. Maedhros leaned down and whispered something to Maglor, who nodded; both stood. Maedhros stomped outside and Maglor went to Finarfin.

Fëanor grinned before he turned and causally bushed past a distressed Caranthir.

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The next morning the Fëanorian household assembled in the courtyard, ready to depart. Maedhros had been reluctant to go outside, knowing the scolding he would get from his mother, and the ice cold silence he would receive from his father, while he would most probably have to listen to a snickering Fingon the whole way home.

Stepping outside in the sunshine, he shut his eyes and groaned. He had a headache from the abyss. Feeling sorry for himself, he pulled the hood of his cloak up over his head to obscure his features and hide himself from the world. He was hung over like nothing else, and the fact that Finarfin had thrashed him badly only added to his headache in more than one way. Sighing, he saw Maglor standing out in the sun holding the reins of both their horses. Waiting. The whole courtyard seemed to hold their breath, as the tall hooded figure strode across the stones. Not daring to look up, Maedhros just went to take over the reins of his horse, and stood waiting for their father to mount. Nothing happened. Fëanor stalled for some reason, and Maedhros still did not look up, gazing fixedly at the toes of his black riding boots. He heard Fëanor ask Celegorm where Fingon was, and what kind of undisciplined child he was, keeping his uncle waiting in this heat. Celegorm argued that he saw Fingon earlier talking to Finwë and they both left to some unknown destination outside. Fëanor sighed and ordered Celegorm to seek his cousin, and bring him here. Maedhros heard Celegorm’s heavy boots ring across the stones as he ran to the house.

Maglor and Caranthir started some small talk; Maedhros still said nothing. Not until he felt a hand on his shoulder, and knowing by the feel and weight of it, it had to be his mother. “Look at me, child,” she said softly, and Amrod, wrapped around her leg, repeated “look at me, me.” Maedhros slowly lifted his head, and looked directly at his mother’s mortified expression. “Mother...I...” he started, but just lowered his head again, looking at the ground, away from his mother. “Look at me, Maedhros!” she commanded with a harsh voice that would have made Fëanor himself listen, even if he did not want to. And Maedhros lifted his head once more, looking at his mother as she pulled down the hood. She grabbed his chin hard and turned his head from side to side, to see the extent of the damage that her brother-in-law has done to her son. “You are a fool, Maedhros, and a drunken fool, I might add!” The tall red-haired elf closed his eyes and drew a shuddering breath. “Yes mother,” he whispered. This was the worst that could happen. He was being told off in the middle of his grandfather’s courtyard like some snot-nosed elfling. Amras had fallen silent and did not torment his brother with the repeating game. He could sense that their mother was close to blowing up. Nerdanel crossed her arms across her chest, looking very displeased. “What was that all about? Why did you have to get in a fight? At all times and places! You should know better! Did we not pay for the finest tutors to attend to your education? You should behave like gentleman, not like some barbarian!” When Maedhros just nodded and was about to repeat ‘yes mother,’ Nerdanel in all of her fiery red fury snapped and slapped her son across his already abused cheek. “Don’t ‘yes mother’ me! We were attending a feast in your grandfather Finwë’s honour, and what do you do to honour him? You pick a fight with his youngest son, over some stupid lass from Aqualondë. She is not even marriage material. Girls like that never are, son!” she raved.

Maedhros did nothing to defend his honour. He knew his mother was right, and he also knew better than to disrupt her in one of her fits. Maglor was the one to save him, as he stepped in and gently said, “Mother, I think he has had enough. Soon you will draw a crowd.” As Nerdanel looked up at her second-born son, she tried to control her anger, and nodded. “I think he knows it was a very foolish act, is that not right, big brother?” Maglor said as he looked to Maedhros, who nodded. Maglor smiled. Point proven!

Then they heard voices, and as they all looked up toward the large double doors to Finwë’s house, they saw Celegorm return with Fingon, Turgon and Fingolfin.

As they reached the Fëanorians, Fingon stared at Maedhros. His nose had to be broken, and his lip cut. But it was hard to distinguish from the other bruises he sported. Fingon was shocked. Who would do such a thing?

Fëanor gave the reins of his horse to Caranthir, and walked over to Fingon and his family. He greeted Fingolfin first, then Fingon and Turgon. Both boys were staring starry-eyed at the handsome warrior who was like a dangerous electrical field, crowned by midnight black hair down to his waist, and steel grey eyes that seemed to measure everything and everyone up for size. Fëanor smiled and ruffled Fingon’s hair. “Is it true what I hear? That your mother is home, heavy with child?”

“Yes, uncle” Fingon said. Fingolfin cut in, smiling proudly, “The healer says the babe shall be born within this month.”

“Congratulations,” Fëanor said, smiling back, with a remarkably gentle, friendly smile. “Children are a blessing.”

Nerdanel resisted the urge to roll her eyes at her husband’s remark.

“Come now, young master Fingon, we should leave. We are already late,” Fëanor said kindly.

“A word with you, big brother,” Fingolfin said, stepping away from the crowd, leaving his sons to get Fingon’s things loaded onto a packing horse.

Fëanor came with his brother, who leaned in and whispered, “I would not have told you this, but since my son will reside with you for some years to come, then I thought you should know.” Fingolfin took a deep breath, this was apparently not easy for him to say. “Fingon is a good boy, never doubt his loyalty, but he is not as sharp as one might wish for.”

Fëanor blinked. “Are you saying your son is daft?”

“Nay, just different. I cannot put my finger on it,” Fingolfin admitted. “He will stay with those damned birds all day if one does not stop him. He seems to prefer falcons, to friends.”

Fëanor took his brothers hand, secretly gloating that his children perhaps were drunken brawlers, but they did at least know how to carry on a conversation with another elf. “Worry not, brother, my sons shall quickly lead young Fingon in the right direction.”

Fingolfin flinched, and Fëanor was amused. “Thank you,” Fingolfin said through gritted teeth. He regretted that he had ever agreed to this stupid arrangement, and now that his obnoxious big brother had this dirt on his family, gossip would no doubt run faster than a forest fire in August.

Stepping away from Fingolfin, Fëanor turned and looked directly into his eldest son’s face, giving him a displeased stare. He quickly made his way to his horse, and soon they were on their way.

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AN: story of the made up elf, Ciryatan! Well, I needed a twat, and what better way to do this than to type in some assholes name in an elvish name generator? So I typed in an ex bf, whom I happen to have a kid with, and who is an utter and completely fucktard, actually I typed in D***e Dingledick, and got Elrohir Ciryatan, but I just couldn't smother Elrohir’s name so, he seems like such a nice little elfie. So Ciryatan it is! – I’m so mature aren’t I? *Snicker* - oh extra note, I know that the Silmarillion says that Formenos was build by Fëanor and his sons, so that they could live there with Finwë. But.. I just stated in this fic, for the bloody fun of it that Formenos is already built, and that it is where Finwë already dwells, in case somebody doesn’t understand why they camp over night to get home from Finwë to their own house.

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Did I say something true?

Oops, I didn’t know I couldn’t talk about sex

[I musta been crazy]

Did I have a point of view?

Oops, I didn’t know I couldn’t talk about you

[What was I thinking]?

I’m not your bitch don’t hang your shit on me.

Madonna – Human Nature.

Chapter 2 – I’m breaking all the rules I didn’t make.

As the family slept, Maedhros stared at the flames. He couldn't sleep. His body was weary and exhausted. Looking over at their new addition to the family, he smiled, seeing Fingon with his arms wrapped around his pillow, as if he were seeking comfort in it. Other than this, he looked peaceful in his sleep. His bird had been locked in a crate; Fingon had been allowed to pick any bird of prey from Finwë’s roost, and keep as his. Maedhros was slightly jealous of this, he had never gotten presents like that from their grandfather, neither had any of his brothers. They had to be content with a friendly pat on the shoulder, or a wink. But a trained bird of prey! That was something else! Fingon, loved by all...even those without a heart, Maedhros thought to himself, with the bitter taste of childish jealousy rising in his mouth. Why did he and his brothers pay the price for Finwë finding himself another wife? Fëanor didn’t seem to bond too well with his stepmother, or the two children she bore, his half brothers. And that was really quite understandable to him, but what did all that maracas have to do with him and his brothers?

Feeling someone sit next to him he turned his head and had expected to find Maglor, but he stared right into his father’s uncompromising steel coloured eyes. “Father, why are you not sleeping?” he said softly, trying a little smile, but Fëanor's expression did not change. And then Maedhros got nervous; he knew how unhappy his father was with him, and just how naughty he had been. “I.. forgive me,” he whispered. “I know you won’t speak to me, but... I am really terribly sorry that I wronged you and embarrassed you by my foolish action.”

“Why did you not win?” Fëanor asked with a whisper. “How did that weakling, Finarfin, get the upper hand?”

“I don’t know, father,” Maedhros said, after a moment’s silence with them both starring into the flames of the dying fire. “She told me that she would marry Finarfin, and that he had said that I had lain with dogs, men and whores alike.”

“Ah” Fëanor said, poking the fire with a stick, so a cloud of tiny embers flew up in the silent warm night air. “Did you?”

Mortified, Maedhros whipped his head around, only to see his father’s smug grin. “No,” the red haired elf said, testing grounds for his forgiveness he added, “papa.”

Nodding slowly, Fëanor poked the fire once more. “Did you really fancy her? That Teleri lass?”

“I thought she was nice,” Maedhros admitted, “but I fear I am not a master in the art of wooing,” as he grinned and laughed mirthlessly.

“Maitimo,” Fëanor said almost tenderly, and Maedhros knitted his eyebrows, for seldom did his father use his mother’s chosen name, “You cause your mother grief, she cannot tolerate that you are such a lively young elf, with a healthy appetite for life and with zest,” Fëanor said.

Maedhros bit his lip. He had not intended on grieving his mother, or anybody.

“My father scolded me badly for your little adventure with Finarfin, and you heard your mother yourself.” He turned his head and looked at his first born son. “And so, my father told me that you should have responsibility, but it would be up to me to put you to good use, a good for nothing drunken princeling with a rotten attitude.” The raven haired elf smiled at his own words. “You have taken care of Celegorm and Curufin when they were younger, so I decided that you should be in charge of young master Fingon’s time at our house. Keep him busy, whenever he does not need to attend any other tutoring. And let that pompous fool Fingolfin see that we can take care of his son, and then my father might look upon us with milder eyes.”

“How can you ask this of me, papa?” Maedhros said, clearly shaken by his fathers words. “You should not show me this trust. I cannot rise to the challenge! I...I… have disappointed you so many times, father!”

“Son,” Fëanor said as he laid his hand on his son’s, “your only crime is youth. You are my first born son, my pride. You cannot fail me, you just have to find a way to mend the rift you made yourself.”

“I shall try,” Maedhros said with a meek voice.

“No, you will succeed, because you must. To try is to fail, son! To be determined is to prevail.”

“Yes, father” Maedhros said with a more sturdy voice, nodding. “I shall baby-sit Cousin Fingon, and I shall make you proud.”

“Good,” Fëanor said with a smile as he rose from the log next to Maedhros. “Make me proud, Maedhros. Don’t suffer the humiliation of a second beating,” he stated with a soft tone as he turned to make his way to lie down in the tangled mess that was Nerdanel and the twins on a bedroll.

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Four months later it seemed like Fingon had blended almost perfectly into the Fëanorian household. There had been some early trouble with Fingon and Curufin. They did not take lightly to each other. But Fëanor put a stop to that, after he had listened to Nerdanel nag about those two bickering all the time. And so a strange truce came between them. Maedhros knew better, he could see that Curufin was scheming, but Fingon would hear nothing of it, poor happy Fingon, loved by almost all.

One afternoon Maedhros came to pick up Fingon at the bird pen. The large red haired elf leaned against the door frame. “So,” he said, “I thought we were going horseback riding this afternoon.”

Closing and locking the birds cage, Fingon turned around, blushing slightly. “Oh, I forgot, forgive me cousin Maedhros.”

“Forgiven, provided that you come with me now, that is. It is not healthy for a boy your age to stay so long with some birds instead of lasses your own age.” Maedhros grinned dirtily as Fingon blushed crimson. “Dear cousin Fingon, surely you must have noticed how they cast you longing looks across the room.”

“No, can’t say I have, cousin,” Fingon said, tucking a lock of wayward hair behind his ear in a nervous gesture.

Maedhros laughed softly. “Let us leave, the horses have been standing tied and ready for too long.”

They walked in silence on their way to the horses, turning a corner, Fingon took a step back, as Maedhros walked into a tanned slender elf, his chestnut hair tumbling down in lazy curls. The young elf was puzzled seeing his cousin’s behaviour. It seemed as if Maedhros was both bothered and flattered at the same time. “Ciryatan,” Maedhros said with a strangled tone. Looking up into the brown eyes of the other elf, Maedhros felt at loss. “I was on my way out with my cousin,” he said, and Fingon thought it sounded like an excuse for something else.

“I see,” Ciryatan said. Leaning against the wall in the narrow corridor. And with a warm smile, the tanned elf brushed some strands of red hair from Maedhros’ cheek. “Handsome lad, that cousin of yours,” Ciryatan whispered, “but not as handsome as you.”

Maedhros actually blushed, and Fingon was puzzled. Who was this elf? And why was his cousin suddenly acting like a squirming mass of nervousness? Maedhros who was always the rock.

Ciryatan smiled, and Maedhros cleared his throat. Then the tanned elf leaned in and kissed Maedhros on his cheek, and left. Fingon waited for his cousin to throw a fit and strike the other elf down, but nothing happened, Maedhros just straightened up and turned to Fingon and smiled, before turning around, walking down the corridor to where their horses were waiting.

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Standing behind a booth at the market, leaning up against a huge crate that from the smell of it was full of oranges, Maedhros looked up into the sky. Fingon had asked him question upon question about Ciryatan, and Maedhros had not known how to answer, because he simply didn’t know himself. He knew that his father too had lain with men, but somehow Maedhros had never thought it would be like this. Even if Ciryatan was fair, and he treated him with respect, they shared no tender kisses and softly spoken words, and Maedhros couldn't help but feel like meat on a stick. Was it supposed to feel like this? And just whom should he ask for advice? His mother would be mortified, and his father would be annoyed that he was this daft. Why was this so complicated?

Smiling as he saw a shooting star over his head, Maedhros arched his back and placed his hands behind him on the lid of the crate, letting his head fall backwards, looking directly up into the starlit sky. He did not see Ciryatan as he approached, until the tanned elf wrapped his arms around his waist, kissing Maedhros’ long, slender, pale neck. Maedhros chuckled. “You’re late,” he said.

“I know, forgive me,” Ciryatan whispered against the soft skin. “I feared you might have left.”

“I was about to,” Maedhros lied, closing his eyes in bliss as he felt Ciryatan’s eager hands push his tunic up, running across his warm skin. But as he felt the other elf try with one hand to unbuckle his belt, he froze. “No... We can’t, not here. Ciryatan! Someone might see.”

“Let them see,” Ciryatan mumbled, finally succeeding with his mission, pushing Maedhros’ pants down. And with a swift move turning him around, so he was leaning his upper body on the crate lid. “And what a vision it is,” Ciryatan whispered before he spit on his fingers as he pushed them inside Maedhros, loosening him for the upcoming intrusion. He leaned in over Maedhros’ back, whispering hotly in his ear, “the eldest son of Fëanor, all spread out, begging to be used, like a mare in heat.”

His words were far from kind, but a strange surge of lust welled up inside Maedhros, knowing he was on display for anyone who might chose to cross the market in Tirion by midnight, whimpering helplessly as Ciryatan relentlessly moved his fingers inside him. He did not feel like a vision, he felt humiliated and very naked. Until Ciryatan stopped his ministrations, and dropped his own pants. Maedhros could hear the belt buckle hit the stones, and closed his eyes shut, knowing what was to come.

Pain became pleasure, and soon Maedhros lost himself to the sensation of Ciryatan inside him, and a warm hand wrapped around his own erection, timing the strokes with the thrusts. And before he knew it, the first born son of Fëanor was reduced to a shivering mass of sweaty flesh, feeling Ciryatan bite down on his shoulder, before filling his insides with warm essence. And he remotely heard himself moan loudly as a warm white light engulfed his mind and body, and he too spent himself over the other elf’s hand.

They did not speak as they got dressed, nor on the way back to Fëanor’s house. This was what they had together, nothing more, nothing less.

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Fingon and Lindir were close in age, and as strangers in the Fëanorian household it was normal that they would befriend each other. Fingon found immense relief in his conversations with the silver haired elf. They shared a link he wished he had with his cousins. Curufin seemed to loathe him, Caranthir and Celegorm were friendly, but seemed to side with their younger brother. Maglor was a mystic aloof elf, whom Fingon only seldom saw, but his voice was always warm and his smiles genuine. And then there was Maedhros, the source of much confusion. He simply didn’t understand his cousin. Some days he seemed like he was his best friend, and the next day he would avoid him. Fingon didn’t understand the reason for this strange behaviour. He found the tall red haired elf strikingly beautiful. Lindir had laughed at him many times, when he talked about what he and Maedhros had been doing that day, and in the end Lindir had shaken his head in amusement so his long silver braid swung back and forth. “You are in love, dear Fingon, plain and simple.” Fingon had been struck, his heart had beat faster and he had wet his lips nervously. He had argued that he could not have fallen for Maedhros, one he was his cousin, two he was male, three he was his mentor. Surely Lindir must have read the signs wrong! But inside, behind all bickering and verbal argument, he knew Lindir was right. He harboured feelings that extended longer than one should towards one’s cousin.

He and Lindir were seated outside a tavern in the market basking in the midday sun, as Fingon suddenly noticed the tanned elf he had seen Maedhros with. “There he is, Lindir, look!” he whispered with urgency, elbowing his friend.

Ciryatan walked past the two young elves, not even giving them a recognising nod. He and his blond friend, an elf Fingon had seen before in the Fëanorian court, just strode past them.

“I thought so,” Lindir said flatly.

“Why do you say that?” Fingon asked, looking at Lindir, as if he were trying to read the answer in his friend’s face.

“I overheard a conversation between him and his friend,” Lindir said with a weak blush. “I know my mama always told me not to eavesdrop, but sometimes it ‘does’ come in handy.” Fingon said nothing, he just scooted closer to Lindir, to hear what he had to say. “They were talking about a princeling, I actually assumed it would be young master Caranthir, but I was wrong, it seems,” Lindir said.

“Well,” Lindir continued, and looked at Fingon with his pale blue eyes, “that tanned elf, he spoke of this foolish, love-sick princeling... ack the rest is not interesting,” Lindir said, avoiding Fingon’s piercing gaze. “But I know that he thinks he owns his princeling, so he plans on bringing the other elf to a late night meeting as well, so they could share.” Lindir’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Surely that wanton princeling would not mind, were his exact words.”

“I have to find Maedhros,” Fingon stated as he rose. “He should learn of this.”

“I think he already knows,” Lindir said dryly.

“Still!” Fingon exclaimed appalled by the sheer prospect.

“If you do, then you’d better tell him why you care, or he will think you are meddling in his affairs out of viciousness,” Lindir said, smiling as he saw Fingon bite his lip.

Fingon nodded before he ran across the market place, heading towards his uncle’s house.

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I'm no angel, but please don't think that I won't try and try

I'm no angel, but does that mean that I can't live my life

I'm no angel, but please don't think that I can't cry

I'm no angel, but does that mean that I won't fly

If you tell me that I can't, I will, I will, I'll try all night

Dido – I’m no angel.

Chapter 3 – I can't shake the thought of you.

Fingon had tried to find his cousin, and had failed. Sitting down next to a barrel full of drainage water from the roof of the smithy, the young elf slammed his fist down into the dirt between his feet. Lindir had been right, he should have confessed his interest long before this, then Maedhros would most likely never have been in this mess. A little voice in the back in his head argued that he was wrong, that this was all one big mistake, and that he should just let his cousin do as he pleased, and go back to the tavern to Lindir in the sun, and watch the pretty girls walk by, whispering and giggling.

Just as he stood, he saw Maglor walk past him together with a girl he knew worked in Fëanor’s household. “Cousin Maglor!” Fingon said out loud as he rose to his feet, sprinting after the two elves, “Cousin!” he called louder, “wait!”

Maglor stopped and turned, smiling as he saw Fingon come running, “Ah, Cousin Fingon, I did not know you were this eager to join the daily grocery shopping.”

Fingon just smiled and bowed slightly to the girl. “I was not here to shop, cousin. I was searching for your brother.” He looked up at the towering elf that was Maglor. “Would you know where cousin Maedhros is this afternoon? I have searched everywhere, and he seems to have disappeared.”

Maglor chuckled softly. “He does that sometimes, my dear big brother.” Leaning in, he whispered to Fingon, “I bet you can find him on the hills by shore, where the heather stands thick.”

Fingon nodded eagerly, and flashed a smile at Maglor, knowing he had just received a very intimate piece of information from his cousin. “I shall be on my way then,” he said, brushing past Maglor and sprinting across the stones in his soft brown leather boots.

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Gasping for breath, he found the place that Maglor had talked about. Shielding the sun from his eyes with his hand, he could see a pair of knees in black pants sticking up from the heather. Walking there slowly he mentally prepared himself for talking with his cousin, but the thoughts still reeled in his head like chaotic butterflies, and Fingon had no idea what impact these words once spoke could have on his life.

Half asleep, Maedhros felt another presence, and slowly opened his eyes. Seeing his young cousin Fingon certainly surprised him. “Cousin Fingon,” he said, smiling, “how did you find me?”

Fingon returned the smile, and flopped ungracefully into the thick down of plants. “I have my sources,” he said.

“That source should not happen to be your dark haired, nose-picking cousin Maglor, should it?” Maedhros snickered. He crossed his arms under his head, so he could lie down and look up at Fingon at the same time.

“Mayhap,” Fingon said with a sneaky little smile.

“You have obviously gone through a great deal to find me this afternoon, so what did you want with me?” Maedhros said, sobering up a little, looking seriously at his younger cousin.

“I... Lindir.. heard, I mean...” Fingon stuttered, this was a lot harder than he had originally thought, “that elf whom you have been seeing.. he said some mean things about you.”

Maedhros smiled and propped himself up on his elbow, watching his cousin intensely. “Does he now?” Maedhros said softly. “It saddens me, but does not surprise me that he should think badly of me.”

Fingon slowly started to tell Maedhros what he had heard, and what Lindir had said. Maedhros smiled as he listened, but the smile never reached his eyes. Fingon could see the hurt in the green-grey eyes. At the end of his story, he noticed a little tick by Maedhros’ corner of his mouth. “Forgive me for bringing such ill tidings, cousin, but I was afraid you would meet with him again tonight.”

Maedhros sat up and wrapped his arms around his legs, resting his head on his knees, and stared off into the horizon, in silence.

“Cousin?” Fingon said scooting closer, seating himself next to Maedhros on the hill. Seeing Maedhros’ shoulders shiver, he wrapped an arm around them, and whispered, “Are you crying?”

Maedhros nodded slowly, turning his head from Fingon.

“Don’t, he is not worth it,” Fingon offered softly.

“Did you spy on me, cousin?” Maedhros whispered with a barely audible voice.

“No,” Fingon whispered back. “I wish I had, then I could have warned you sooner, instead of breaking your heart.”

“You didn’t break my heart,” Maedhros whispered and sniffled. He turned his head slowly to look at Fingon, wiping his face on his sleeve first.

Fingon just watched his cousin’s teary eyes, and before he knew it he reached up to wipe a tear away. “I...I...” Fingon said, feeling the confession of his own selfish love on the tip of his tongue. But the words would not form. Staring cross-eyed at his cousin’s full lips, wet from the tears that had run over them, he did something desperate. He shifted his weight onto his arm, and leaned in and kissed them. Feeling those moist warm lips against his made his heart flutter madly, and he vaguely wondered if love was some sort of temporary insanity.

Maedhros snaked an arm around Fingon’s waist and pulled him closer, feeling his cousin tremble as they slowly deepened the kiss, until it suddenly was a desperate battle of dominion.

Ending the kiss, they both just stared at each other, until Maedhros regained the use of his voice. “Why did you do that?” he croaked, visibly shaken from the act, but still with his arm in an iron grip around Fingon’s waist.

“Because...” Fingon suddenly felt nervous. He had just assumed that the attraction was mutual, how could it not be? After all, Maedhros had said he was his favourite cousin, and on many occasions called him fair and valiant. But now Fingon found he could not read the expression on his older cousin’s face. “Because I thought that you liked me as much as I like you,” he finally offered lamely.

“Like or lust, young cousin Fingon,” Maedhros said with a hard tone. “’Tis a dangerous game you play.”

“Both!” Fingon blurted out and then blushed. Then drawing up his courage, he looked Maedhros directly in the eyes. His cousin might be the son of Fëanor, but he too was of that bloodline, and he was not raised to back down so easily. “I think I am in love with you,” he said softly, watching as Maedhros’ facial expression changed from annoyed, to stunned, to a little smile.

“You have fallen in love with me, fair cousin Fingon?” Maedhros said sounding slightly amused.

“Aye” Fingon whispered, smiling as he saw Maedhros mellow.

“It is wrong, cousin. You should not waste your heart on me. Find yourself a pretty lass and dally with her,” Maedhros said seriously, but reached out and placed his hand on Fingon’s cheek, running his thumb over his cousin’s soft lips.

“I don’t want a pretty lass,” Fingon said firmly. “I want you. I care not if the world should cave in over my head for my wrongdoing, I cannot betray my heart.”

“You are either very brave, or very wicked,” Maedhros said, finally letting go of Fingon’s waist.

He was being let down, gently, but still! Tears sprang to the young elf’s eyes, and with a voice full of disappointment, he whispered “I should go.”

He made a move to stand, but his red haired cousin grabbed his wrist. “Stay,” Maedhros said with an unreadable expression, and Fingon sat again.

Staring into Fingon’s eyes, Maedhros tried to read the other elf’s mind. He saw nothing but awe and devotion in the deep pools of blue. Telling himself he was wrong, he leaned in to plant a soft kiss on his cousin’s lush lips. Fingon could have died from happiness as his cousin kissed him. He needed no words to know that he was not alone; Maedhros wanted him, as he wanted his elder cousin. And the young elf wrapped his arms around Maedhros’ neck, pulling them both down in the heather. He felt his heart racing, with Maedhros’ heavy body upon his, their passion building as the battle of their tongues grew fiercer.

Maedhros whimpered pitifully into Fingon’s mouth, as he felt the youth run his hand across his groin, coaxing his growing erection till it was painful. “No,” he half whispered, half moaned. “I will not bed you.”

“No?” Fingon whispered back, slowly removing his hand from Maedhros’ groin.

Maedhros pushed himself up on his arms, so he looked directly down into Fingon’s face; his red hair dangled across the fair skin of his cousin, and tickled his ears. “No, not yet,” Maedhros said softly. Seeing his cousin’s questioning glare, Maedhros lowered himself enough to kiss him tenderly on the lips. “You could steal my heart, cousin,” he whispered, “and I will not surrender this easily.”

“You are afraid?” Fingon asked, hooking a leg over Maedhros’.

“Yes,” Maedhros whispered. “Aren’t you? You should be.”

Fingon nodded a little, and smiled sadly. He wanted to stand and scream his love for Maedhros out over the rooftops, but he knew that even if the Valar was merciful, the people of Tirion were not. And they would have to hide in shadows forever.

“In a year, on this date,” Maedhros whispered, “meet me here in the heather, and I will be yours, should you want me still.”

“That is a long time to wait for another kiss,” Fingon said with a slight pout.

Maedhros nodded and smiled devilishly. “The next time we lie here, you shall have more than kisses from my lips.”

Fingon sucked in his breath, seeing the unpolished lust that shone from his cousin’s eyes. And he blushed to crimson. “Oh I hope so,” Fingon managed to murmur.

On the walk home, they talked and laughed. Fingon couldn't wait to tell Lindir about this. Never before had he gotten such an indecent proposal, not even in his hot, troubled dreams at night. And the look in Maedhros’ eyes told him he was dead serious. A year, he could wait a year. After all, he had never tasted another’s lips. The first to ever kiss them was his cousin, in that bed of wild heather. And so it seemed only fitting that the first to touch his skin like a lover, should be the same, after all... how could he miss something he had never had.

___________________________________________________________

Consider this

The hint of the century

Consider this

The slip that brought me

To my knees - failed

What if all these fantasies

Come flailing around

Now I've said too much

I thought that I heard you laughing

I thought that I heard you sing

I think I thought I saw you try

But that was just a dream

R.E.M – Loosing my religion.

Chapter 4 – That’s me in the corner.

Six months went by and Maedhros held true to his word, and did not as much as touch Fingon in more than a camaraderie way. They spend almost every waking hour in the company of each other, except when Fingon was attending classes or was with his bird. Maedhros never learned to truly appreciate that, and found that if he wanted to see a bird fly about, he would rather go look at the seagulls riding the surf.

Ciryatan on the other hand, did not take this lightly; he had thought something was wrong when Maedhros just did not show up. It was usually he who had the upper hand, to come and go as he pleased, and the red haired princeling would wait for him. For weeks on end he had wracked his mind trying to find the answer to this question. Until one day he saw Fingon and Maedhros in the stables. They did not know he was there, and thought themselves alone. Standing still in the door, he listened in on their conversation. Apparently Maedhros was making Fingon wait for something, and the young elf was frustrated that he had to wait. But wait for what? Ciryatan bit a nail, and held his breath, hoping that more answers would come his way. Apparently this amused Maedhros. He could hear that deep rolling laughter flow freely, and hear Fingon’s annoyed snort. Straining his hearing, he could hear Maedhros whisper seductively, ‘I shall be yours in time, my beloved cousin.’ Be yours? Would that mean? Ciryatan forgot to spit out the chewed off nail in sheer surprise! But that was wrong! They were blood relations. Had Maedhros really stopped seeing him, so he could instead offer himself to that little obnoxious child? The thought alone made Ciryatan so furious that he ground his teeth. As he heard the horses’ hooves clang against the stones in the courtyard, he knew they had gone. He turned the corner and walked into the warm stable. “You will pay for this, Fingon,” he hissed, kicking the open door to Fingon’s horse stall. “I will make you wish you never left your mama’s womb.”

_______________________________

Sitting around the long heavy table in Fëanor’s dining room, Maedhros seated himself next to his brother Caranthir. Caranthir was chatting away about how he and Celegorm had been out on an important errand that day. Maedhros thought nothing of it, and just nodded along with the conversation. But then their father entered, followed by the twins, who hurried to their seats as well. He looked awfully smug, even for Fëanor, thought Maedhros. “Family,” he said opening his arms, making a gesture to the table, sporting a big smile. “Today is a joyous day!” he announced. He walked around the corner of the table, kissing his wife on the cheek as he went. Stopping behind Maedhros’ chair, he placed both hands on his shoulders. “After a long search, we have found a suitable wife for you, my son,” Fëanor said happily, and kissed the crown of Maedhros’ head. “She shall arrive in two months, and the wedding will be shortly after that.”

Maedhros paled, not daring a look to his cousin. In the back of his mind, he had known this was coming. When he had heard that his uncle Finarfin had married lady Eärwen, he knew that he was next in line, but had prayed that it would take his father years and years to find him a wife. Or rather he had prayed that his father would leave him alone. “P-papa,” Maedhros said, his voice breaking. “Who, who is she?”

Fëanor smiled and gestured towards Ecthelion, who was seated in the far end of the table with Lindir and the other members of the household who had earned their seat at the family table, but were not blood related. “She, my son, is the daughter of my half-sister Findis, and sister to the young weapons master, Ecthelion. Her name is Ireth.”

Not comfortable with this conversation at all, Maedhros smiled at Ecthelion who seemed to beam with pride, and then turned his head and looked up at his father. “Papa, can we speak of this later?”

Fëanor noticed the weak blush on his son’s face, and smiled sweetly, thinking his son was just a little embarrassed, as this was an intimate issue. “But of course, my son,” the large Noldo said, leaving his son’s chair and returning to his own.

“Ecthelion, come here and sit by my brother’s son. You have rightfully earned your seat with the family.” Ecthelion stood, and strode with swift steps up to the chair next to Fingon and seated himself, with a slight nod to the other elf.

______________________________________________

Maedhros had spoken with his father, and was told that the wedding would be in two months, because he wanted to find a house for them that was close to where they lived, so he would not be separated from his family. Maedhros did not dare to oppose his father, but asked for the house by the cypresses at the border of the marsh. Fëanor had found it strange he wanted to be so far from his family, but Maedhros had pleaded so heartfelt, that Fëanor had allowed it.

Maedhros was avoiding Fingon, for he had no words for his cousin. There existed no excuse in the entire world that would ease their pain, and so Maedhros thought it better that they spent their time alone from now on. Sitting on the hill overlooking the ocean, he pulled the heather from the sandy ground in anger. The sun had set, and now a starlit sky formed over his head, but he was in no hurry to get home. Home meant Ecthelion making remarks about his sister’s fine figure, and large attributes, or his brothers elbowing him, asking if he would claim her on their wedding night, or upon her arrival.

Tossing a plant as far as he could, he cried out loud from sheer frustration. This was the place where he would have lain his cousin down and made love to him, gentle mind-numbing love. Not the place where he would spend his last night before his wedding. Ireth had arrived at Fëanor’s house, but he had not met her yet. His mother had chided him and said it was back luck, before she had shooed him out of the house, which was buzzing with activity, what with every elf in the household trying to decorate and make the wedding pretty.

“Cousin,” he heard a soft voice say behind him.

“Go home, Fingon,” he sneered. He had no need for Fingon’s torment too.

“No,” Fingon said, seating himself next to Maedhros. “You have been avoiding me, and I want to know why.”

“You know why,” Maedhros said with a voice full of regret.

“I thought you liked me. I thought we were friends,” Fingon said softly, placing a hand on top of Maedhros’.

Maedhros didn’t answer; he just wiped his tears with the back of his hand. “Please, cousin.. For the love of all! Go home” he whispered.

Fingon just sat silently in the dark and felt tears of his own fall from his cheeks onto his bare arms. “She is very pretty,” he finally whispered. “You will like her. She is even more becoming than master Ecthelion.”

Maedhros shook his head, before he turned around, and grabbing Fingon’s upper arms hard, he shook the young elf like a rag doll. “GO HOME!” he screamed. “LEAVE ME ALONE!” Seeing the startled and frightened look in his cousin’s eyes, Maedhros let go of Fingon. He looked hard at his young cousin, whose tears were flowing faster, in time with the hiccups caused by shock. “Forgive me,” Maedhros whispered. “I did not mean to frighten you, but please return home, and leave me to my own darkness.”

“Will you not share that darkness with me?” Fingon whispered as he hiccuped. “Maitimo.”

Hearing his mother’s given name spoken with such tenderness undid Maedhros, and he wrapped his arms around his cousin, crushing him in a tight embrace. “I wanted to, I prayed that you would not change your mind, even if our union would have to remain a secret, doomed to the shadows and the dead of night.”

“Taste me now then, lay me down in the heather and claim my body as yours,” Fingon whispered.

“No!” Maedhros shook his head. “I cannot claim what does not belong to me.”

“I do.” Fingon whispered as he wept. “I do belong to you. But it seems like you have made your choice.”

Maedhros didn’t answer, he just soaked Fingon’s light green tunic with his tears. “Share my darkness then, stay here with me till dawn,” he whispered moments later, as he let go of his death grip on his cousin. Laying down in the heather, he smiled as Fingon snuggled up to him, as a bitter reminder of what could have been.

“Will you leave these hills to be with your wife, and leave me untouched?” Fingon suddenly asked, running his hand through his cousin’s thick red hair. “Do you love me, cousin? If you do, do not leave me behind with such painful memories.”

Propping himself up on one elbow, Maedhros looked at his cousin in the dark. His face contorted in sorrow, as he placed a hand on Fingon’s chest, holding him down, as his other hand undid his cousin’s belt buckle. “Shhh,” he hushed. Crawling down to Fingon’s abdomen, he gently pushed the open pants away, freeing the younger elf’s hard erection. Keeping one hand on Fingon’s chest, Maedhros used the other to get a firm grip around the silky smooth flesh. He smiled as he kissed the head softly, hearing Fingon’s surprised yelp.

Maedhros removed his hand from Fingon’s chest and instead reached down between his cousin’s thighs. As he used his mouth and tongue to stimulate the erection, he pushed a finger inside; aiming straight for the spot he knew would drive his beloved cousin mad with need. And soon, he felt the muscles of Fingon’s thighs spasm, and that sweet voice that had raised itself in song for him so many times, now sung another tune, one of coming undone. Wrapping his legs around Maedhros’ torso, Fingon grabbed a hold of the thick red hair with one hand, and with the other he held on to the vegetation on the ground, crying out loud as he climaxed.

Maedhros wiped his mouth with his sleeve, and kissed his cousin’s softening member, his belly button and finally his lips, letting Fingon taste himself, before he flopped down on the grass next to his cousin. Neither of them spoke for the rest of the night, they just stayed there, lying together in the heather, arms and legs entwined, staring at the sky in silence.

___________________________________________________

Nerdanel cried, and Fingon was sure he could see Fëanor’s eyes get moist, seeing their son standing there in the beautiful garden, waiting for his bride. Maedhros was dressed in the finest fabrics, and his hair was braided with different flowers, all with a different meaning. Some were there for love, others for prudence, and then again some for fertility. Fingon noticed that Maglor send a nervous secret look to Lindir who was standing next to him.

“Forgive me for my ill advice,” Lindir whispered, taking Fingon’s hand and squeezing it.

“There is nothing to forgive, my friend,” Fingon whispered back, shifting nervously, looking transfixed upon Maedhros, who looked like he was about to bolt. And then Ecthelion and another male came, flanking an absolutely beautiful woman. Fingon knew exactly who she was. It was Ireth, the girl that Fëanor had chosen to be Maedhros’ bride. Rumours had it that she had been the only one willing to marry the strange tall red haired elf, but seeing her, it was hard to believe those evil tongues. She was beautiful and graceful. She must have had many a suitor. And yet she had married Maedhros, ‘his’ Maedhros. Fingon wished he could cry, but there were no tears left in him. He had waited patiently for the day when he would follow his cousin to their secret hill, but now this day would never come, and seeing Curufin’s gloating and hateful stare, Fingon went cold inside. What if they knew? What if they had not been as cautious as they thought?

With the wedding well over, the party began. And Maedhros was smiling, greeting everyone attending, his wife on his arm. His eyes locked with Fingon’s as he came to where Fingon and Lindir stood. Finarfin had not come, for Eärwen had just born him a son, and he wanted to be home, with his family. Fëanor had been furious when both his brothers had declined his invitations, but they both had very good reasons to do so. Only Finwë and his aunts had shown, and maybe that was for the best. Maedhros knew that his father and his brothers shared a rather tense relationship, and Finarfin.. If Maedhros had had his way, he would never have been invited to his wedding. “Cousin,” Maedhros said smiling. He turned to Ireth and said, “This is my favourite cousin, Fingon.” Ireth smiled. “Ah, you must be Fingolfin’s son then, the falconer my brother has spoken about”.

Fingon couldn't help but to be a little flattered that Ecthelion had actually mentioned him to his sister. “Aye, I am he” he said.

“Ecthelion said you are very talented with the birds,” Ireth said. Fingon had the decency to smile with a little embarrassment. “Your brother is very talented as well, lady Ireth. He should not praise me so.” Ireth just chuckled and smiled.

Maedhros looked up and saw his father standing with Maglor, the twins and Nerdanel, speaking with his aunt Irimë. “Excuse me, cousin,” he said, looking back to Fingon, not able to look into his eyes, not wanting to see the hurt and betrayal he found there. “I must speak with my father, I will see you again soon,” Maedhros said, and Fingon nodded. “Yes, until then. Fare well, and behave with the lady, cousin.” Maedhros laughed softly, and Ireth blushed.

Fingon hated standing here exchanging pleasantries with Maedhros, but he had no choice. Destiny had made that decision for them.

After accompanying Maedhros to where his father stood, Ireth excused herself and joined her parents and brother at a table. Nerdanel came to Maedhros and cupped his face in her slim hands. “You look beautiful, my son, just like I had imagined. Doesn’t he look every bit royal, Fëanàro?” she said with a dreamy smile. Nerdanel was the only one besides Finwë that would even dare call Fëanor by that name. But Fëanor just came to her side and nodded. “You have made me proud, my son,” he whispered as he pulled his rather stunned son in for an embrace. Maedhros felt his eyes fill with happy tears. Never had he heard that from his father, and yet that was all he wanted to hear.

“Papa,” he mumbled, at a loss for other words. Fëanor let go of him, and kissed his cheek, apparently slightly tipsy and very happy. He grabbed Nerdanel and swung her around, before he sat her down laughing. “Stay here, I shall retrieve a drink, and we shall drink to our son’s happiness,” he said, literally beaming with pride.

Nerdanel chuckled and took Maedhros’ hand and pulled him along, to where his aunt Irimë sat. “Aunt Irimë,” Maedhros said, feeling slightly stupid, because his aunt was younger than he. She was about the same age as Fingon, and yet she was already betrothed. Sitting down, Nerdanel took Maedhros’ hand and placed it on Irimë’s slightly swollen belly. Smiling, Maedhros said “congratulations,” knowing his mothers intent when she was so eager to show off her sister-in-law’s pregnancy.

“My father has pushed the wedding, so we shall be wed as soon as Tîwele returns from the sea,” Irimë said. Looking at Nerdanel, Irimë returned her attention to Maedhros. “Maybe it will be your beautiful wife that shall be expecting when we meet next.”

Maedhros resisted the urge to roll his eyes, and just sat up, removing his hand from his aunt’s belly with a little pat. “Maybe it shall be so,” he said, seeing his mother smile at his words. He knew that once Nerdanel had a grandchild there would be no stopping her, but how could he father a child? He did not even want to kiss his poor bride. All he could think of was the texture of what his cousin Fingon had felt like under his hands and lips.

Fëanor returned with the glasses, and sat down next to his half sister. “I spoke with Findis; she is thrilled,” he said. “I want her to continue to be thrilled, Maedhros,” Fëanor said, lowering his voice so it got slightly darker and more threatening. “Promise me you will treat lady Ireth with the respect she deserves.”

“Father... Why...” Maedhros started, but Fëanor cut him off, handing him his drink. “You are a young man, son. Just as I have been,” he smiled smugly, “and I know what young men think of, promise me you will stray from any drink, fights and lovers. And devote yourself to your family.”

Maedhros could have punched his father right in that moment, how dared he? He who had forced this marriage down his throat. “Yes, father,” he just said, sipping his drink. “I will not disappoint you.”

“Good,” Fëanor said. And leaned back in his chair. Watching the party, smiling and waving at Maglor who stood with Lindir, Fingon and Ecthelion. At least he seemed happy, Maedhros thought to himself, knowing that it was he who had spread that smile on his father’s handsome face. Taking a sip of his drink, he pulled his chair closer to Maedhros. “Listen son,” he whispered. “Does your brother bed any of your cousins, or that Teleri elf?”

Maedhros would have dropped his cup, had he not clutched it till his knuckles went white. “Maglor does not tell me everything,” he said with a impressive even tone.

Fëanor looked thoughtful. “That will not do,” he murmured. “I have never seen him with any lass.” Looking up, he met Maedhros’ eyes. “Your brother is queer, but to bed his own cousins, I would not have thought that he would be so…” the dark haired elf searched for the right word “hmm... Struck.”

“Struck?” Maedhros said. “Forgive me, father, but Ireth is also our cousin, so why is it wicked of my brother to bed a cousin?” he asked, squirming slightly in his chair.

“Ecthelion and Fingon are male,” Fëanor just stated. “It is one thing, my son, to bed one of your own, but to allow yourself to think them capable of love, that is wrong.” Maedhros looked confused, and Fëanor chuckled softly, kissing his sons cheek once more. “You have lain with another man, have you not?” he whispered.

Maedhros didn’t trust his voice, or like the direction this conversation was going, so he merely nodded.

“Then you know what I mean. Men are takers, women givers. Two takers simply cannot make anything grow. That is a fact of life, no matter how sugar-coated the words may be.”

Maedhros must have looked dumbstruck, because Fëanor roared with laughter and wrapped his arms around his son again. “My son, my first born, my babe. You have a family now; you should not worry your head with your brothers’ trespasses. Think nothing more of it, go and attend to your lovely wife instead of sitting here listening to your slightly drunk father.”

Maedhros smiled, and right at that moment it was all worth it. Everything! All the heartache and unfulfilled dreams, just to hear his father praise him so, and embrace him as his equal. “I love you, papa,” Maedhros said softly, as he stood from his seat.

“I love you too, my son,” Fëanor said, leaning back in his seat once more, just as Amrod saw his chance to sneak his way to his father’s lap and snuggle up.

“Pitya,” Maedhros said, ruffling his youngest brother’s hair, turning and walking towards the table where Ireth sat, in deep conversation with her mother, Findis.

Much later, when the moon had risen, it was time for the bride and groom to retreat. Both Findis and Nerdanel had gone all teary-eyed again, but Maedhros was sure that it was because they had had a drink or two too many. Scanning the crowd, he saw Ecthelion and Lindir. Caranthir was there and so was Celegorm. But Fingon, Maglor and Curufin were missing. He decided to think nothing more of it, and with a slightly drunken smile, he lifted his bride and kissed her passionately before carrying her off to the house.

_______________________________________________________

How did it start?

Well, I don’t know.

I just feel the craving.

I see the flesh and it smells fresh.

And it's just there for the taking.

These little girls they make me feel so

Goddamn exhilarated.

I feel them up, I can't give it up.

The pain that I'm just erasing.

I tell my lies and I despise.

Every second I'm with you.

So I run away and you still stay.

So what the fuck is with you?

Your feelings I can't help but rape them.

I'm sorry I don't feel the same.

My heart inside is constantly hating.

I'm sorry I just throw you away.

Korn – Trash.

Chapter 5 – I'm sorry I just throw you away.

Strong arms pinned him down; Fingon had never thought Curufin to be that much stronger than he. The Fëanorian’s gleeful grin sent jolts of fear traveling up Fingon’s spine. “Cousin,” Curufin spat, “I have a little surprise for you.”

“Curufin, cousin, let me go,” Fingon heard his own much less powerful peep. But this just made Curufin’s gloating grin become even more hateful. “Let’s call it a wedding gift, from me to you, on behalf of my big brother.”

Fingon noticed a snickering in the background, and instantly recognised Celegorm’s voice. “Celegorm, Caranthir, help me,” Curufin called. “Hold him down.” The two elves came to their brother’s aid, and held down their cousin on the dirt floor of the falconry.

“Curufin? What are you going to do with him? You said you just wanted to spook him,” Caranthir said. “He looks plenty spooked to me.”

“Silence, brother,” Curufin barked. “Just hold him down as I ask you to.” Once they had a firm grip on Fingon, Curufin let go, and just sat triumphantly across his cousin’s hips. He crossed his arms as he looked down on Fingon, who was pale as a sheet. “Dear, darling little Findekáno,” he said with a dangerous edge to his words. “You look pale, maybe you do not get enough rest?”

Fingon wanted to scream and kick, but all that came out was “Cu-Curufin?”

“Is my brother keeping you up at night?” Curufin asked sweetly. Seeing Fingon close his eyes and flinch, Curufin knew he had hit a nerve. “Ah, but I know, and so do my brothers.” Suddenly reaching out, Curufin grabbed a hold of Fingon’s chin, squeezing it hard. “You begged him, didn’t you? You got on your knees and pleaded for him to touch you.” Leaning down as if he were to kiss his cousin, Curufin spat in Fingon’s face, causing Fingon to whimper. “You are a filthy whore,” he hissed, “and you stained my big brother with your dirty hands, smothered with hundreds of men’s sweat and semen, and your lips, I can smell your breath from here, it smells like rot, from your decaying insides. You cannot be related to us. Your mother must have been a whore like you, and your father a sailor whom had not tasted a woman in months.”

Caranthir giggled nervously, only earning himself an angry hush from Curufin.

“Yo-you have had your fun, now let me go, cousin,” Fingon said, noticing his voice was full of unshed tears, being frightened by Curufin’s overwhelming hate.

“Fun?” Curufin roared with laughter. “I, dear cousin, am not even slightly amused yet,” and with that he grabbed Fingon’s hair and pulled his head upwards, knocking him out with three fast blows right to Fingon’s face.

As Fingon woke once more, he found his wrists bound. Feeling night air on his skin he reckoned that his tunic was gone, but his pants were still there. Tasting leather and blood, he opened his eyes. And gave a muffled yelp as he stared right into the hateful glare of Curufin once more.

“Good morning handsome, I trust you slept well?” He walked around Fingon, with his hands resting on the small of his back, as if he were inspecting something. “It’s a shame I cannot hear your pretty voice, but we wouldn't want all of my big brother’s wedding party to come running, not that they would run anywhere, those who are still standing are drunk as skunks.” Coming round full circle to Fingon’s front again, Curufin smiled. “You wanted loooove, didn’t you?” he said in a soft mocking voice, “and I will give you just that, and plenty of it.” Reaching up, Curufin grabbed the long end of Fingon’s belt, which they had used to muzzle him. Yanking it, making it even tighter.” Speaking of which, neither my brothers nor I would sink so low as to touch you, we might catch some illness, you see,” he smiled, “but I don’t think that the head master of the stable and his friends are as picky as us. After all, they will bed anything that breathes, and that includes you, for now.”

Fingon’s eyes widened by Curufin’s words, he could not mean this? He would not do this! He was just scaring him, no one would be this evil, this cold.

“Call Ciryatan” Curufin said loudly, directed at his brothers. And Caranthir got up and left the falconry. “Now that we have had this little heart to heart, cousin, I should perhaps tell you that running to my father will do you no good. You see, we will all claim that you got drunk with us, and offered yourself freely, but it was an offer we did not take.” Curufin smiled as his own genius. “Who do you think he will believe? You? Or us?”

Looking away from Fingon’s large frightened eyes, he saw Caranthir come back, and this time he had Ciryatan and four other elves with him. Curufin smiled. “There you are,” he said softly, and returning to Fingon’s attention he pinched his cousin’s cheek hard. “I shall leave the stage to you, dear cousin.” And with that he left and went behind Fingon.

Fingon could not hear where he had gone, even if he strained his hearing, but he heard glasses clanking as someone toasted.

Ciryatan did not waste time, and with Fingon’s belt used as a muzzle, all he had to do was to pull down the young elf’s pants with a swift move. And then removing his own pants, he tossed them over the beam that Fingon’s hands were tied to, which ran from one end of the falconry to the other, normally used for placing the falcons, but not today. Running his sweaty hands up Fingon’s flanks, he leaned in and whispered, “you have been very, very naughty.” He meant of course that Fingon had run off with Maedhros, but that did not even cross Fingon’s mind. It was a mess of cobwebs and butterflies, ready to get caught and panic, and as Ciryatan spanked his bottom hard, Fingon panicked, pure unleashed panic, thrashing in his restraints, screaming, kicking, crying. Anything to get away from this! His mind tried to tell him that this was not real, that it was a nightmare. But his body told him otherwise, and as Ciryatan rammed himself into his tight, virgin anus, Fingon roared with pain, not realising that he had emptied his bladder, and the urine soaked his pants on its way down his leg towards the ground. Nor did he hear Curufin’s thrilled exclamation of disgust over his inability to control his bladder.

Watching with growing interest, Curufin noticed that Fingon had fainted, and tossed his drink in his face, smiling to himself as he saw his cousin groan and drool stomach acid down his chin. “Don’t you just look lovely?” Curufin said.

Later when Ciryatan and his friends had gotten bored with the game, they put their pants on again and sat down on the floor to share a drink with the Fëanorians. Caranthir got up and cut down Fingon, who sagged in his arms. He gently laid his cousin on the dirt floor, and removed the belt, and the rope around his wrists, pulling Fingon’s pants up as best he could, before he joined his brothers and the violators in their drinking game.

Why Maglor had gone to the falconry he didn’t really know. He had heard voices and laughter, and recognizing the voices as his brothers, he thought he would see what they were doing, thinking that they were serving wine to the falcons or something similarly stupid. But what he encountered as he opened the door was something he could never have imagined, not even in his wildest dreams. His brothers, drinking with some other elves, and in the middle of the floor lay their cousin, soiled and unconscious, looking as if he were dead. Even his lips were deadly pale.

“What is this?” Maglor said, looking over at the drinking party. Ciryatan opened his mouth to speak in his drunken state, but Maglor’s anger rose and he hit the elf across the face, crying “get out! Leave me with my brothers.”

Ciryatan rubbed his abused cheek and slowly rose to his feet, dodging the second born son of Fëanor as he stood there fuming. As swiftly as possible, Ciryatan and his drunken friends had left the falconry, leaving Maglor with his brothers.

Curufin looked up at Maglor. “You are such a bore, Maglor,” he said with a wolfish grin.

Grabbing Curufin by the throat, Maglor pulled his younger brother to his feet. “Would you be so kind as to explain why our cousin is lying on the floor, soiled and deadly pale?” Maglor hissed.

Celegorm downed his drink quickly, and Caranthir cleared his throat, but remained seated. “Brother, I can explain,” he said with a strange strained voice.

Curufin gagged as Maglor squeezed even harder. Quickly Caranthir got to his feet and came to stand next to his taller, elder brother. “He was drunk, and he... he...” Caranthir said with a tiny voice, fidgeting his sleeve, “he offered himself to those other elves, the ones that just left.”

“Is that true?” Maglor growled shaking Curufin hard. Curufin clawed Maglor’s hand, gasping for breath, and when Maglor suddenly released him, Curufin sagged to the ground, coughing and spitting. “It’s-it’s true,” he said with a raw voice.

Maglor raised a brow. “You expect me to believe that our cousin Fingon came in here and offered his body to these... these... peasants?”

“Brother,” Curufin coughed, looking up at his big brother, obviously in pain, and very angry. “We did not touch him,” he hissed. “If you do not believe me, ask Celegorm, or Caranthir. We did not inflict this on our cousin.” Celegorm and Caranthir nodded vigorously. “If you do not believe me, smell him, he was so drunk that he soiled himself.”

Maglor faltered for a second. “And you, brothers,” he said, relaxing a little, “you did nothing?”

“But he wanted it! Who were we to stop him?” Curufin argued, still rubbing the bruised skin on his throat.

Running a hand through his long black hair, Maglor groaned. He knew they did not tell the truth; he could taste it in the air, but he wanted badly to believe his brothers were not capable of such an act.

“Curufin, you and Celegorm can carry him to the house. Caranthir, wake papa. And I shall fetch the healer,” he said, trying to take charge of matters.

His brothers nodded, and Caranthir bolted from the falconry, running across the grass, wet from morning dew, toward the house.

TBC