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The small door shut behind Fingon. In Maedhros’ hand, the cold light of a small Feanorian lamp lit their dismayed frowns.
Silence filled the cupboard. Fingon settled in, surrounded by dustpans. “How did it come to this?”
“I suspect foul play,” said Maedhros. They grimaced at one another.
“It cannot be my brothers,” said Fingon. “Although Turukano has been insufferably offering me tips for anal sex.”
“Tyelkormo seemed to find the idea of me being sexually interesting to someone shocking,” said Maedhros, flatly, and yes, Fingon had to agree that was almost worse.
“Did your father - ?”
“Lecture me? Yes. Extensively.”
“Mine lasted two hours,” said Fingon. “He gave up on berating me for my ‘newfound lack of subtlety in this time of heightened tension’ and started asking for my opinion on wedding venues halfway through.”
“At least your father supports it,” said Maedhros. “Mine congratulated me for seducing you away from your father’s faction, and warned me not to fall for any of your father’s tricks -”
“I can scheme my own tricks!” protested Fingon.
“- And he started saying something about how with you imminently marrying into our House your father’s faction would have to fall in line, then realized that if I ever inherit the throne it puts you on it right besides me, and started cursing your father’s schemes again instead.”
“If I ever find out who started a rumor about us dating I will punch them,” said Fingon. Then, “And why am I the one marrying into your house?”
“Obviously I cannot marry into yours,” said Maedhros.
Fingon glared at him. Maedhros’ mouth pursed stubbornly, and he glared right back. Fingon’s fists tangled in the collar of Maedhros’ shirt, but before he could do more than shake him and disturb the perfection of Maedhros’ braid, light flooded the cupboard.
They sprung away from each other at once.
“Oh, Valar!” The maid who opened the door pressed a hand to her heart. Her face darkened with embarrassment, but amusement colored her voice as she said, “Terribly sorry, your highnesses! But I need the dustpan - yes, the one you are sitting on, Prince Fingon. Didn’t mean to interrupt. Might I suggest one of your bedrooms for dalliances instead? Much more discrete places.”
T-minus Seven Months Until Wedding
“You could have gone after Aikanáro instead,” said Maglor. “He’s more comely, and we aren’t actively feuding with his house either. Finrod would be even better, but you aren’t a curvy blonde with opinions on theology, so I don’t think you’re his type.”
“I do not care for your opinions on our cousin’s attractiveness,” said Maedhros.
“Obviously not,” said Maglor. “Else you wouldn’t be fucking Fingon.“
“I’m not.”
“You can stop denying it,” said Maglor, with the grandeur of a great gift being bestowed. “We all know you’ve been doing it. Who is the House of Finwë to get in the way of true love, even when it's so peculiarly closely related? Mother has intervened with father on your behalf. It’s the most I’ve seen them talk since Ambarrussa grew old enough to walk and father started making us carry swords.”
Maedhros threw a pillow at his head. While it did stop the overly sappy ballad Maglor was humming, Maedhros just went back to sulking into his bed.
“When did you start the affair?” Maglor settled onto the pillow, grabbed a lute, and strummed the opening tunes to Finambos’ Hairy Chest. “Don’t tell me. I don’t actually care. But can you officially claim it was a decade ago, when you took that week-long hiking trip to the Pelori with him? There’s this betting pool. Findarato bet his amethyst moon lute and - stop throwing bedding at me! I’m trying to have a heartfelt brother-talk!”
T-minus Six Months and Twenty-Nine Days Until Wedding
“Do you think I can disown myself?” asked Maedhros.
“That’s new heights of desperation,” said Fingon, almost sounding impressed. “It has been one day since I last saw you.”
“I’ll marry into your house,” said Maedhros. “I’ll marry into Arafinwë’s house.”
“I’m getting dumped for Aikanáro?” Now, Fingon sounded distinctly indignant.
Maedhros’ eyes lost some of their wild tinge. “Why is everyone suggesting I fuck Aikanáro?”
“You aren’t Artanis’ type and the others are engaged or married,” said Fingon. “Although I think Eldalote likes you enough to share Angrod. Why are you desperate to flee your house?”
“My parents are talking again.”
“Congratulations?”
“My father is now in full support of our union, regardless of logistical issues involving the crown or who marries who.”
“Somehow, I doubt that.”
“So did I!” said Maedhros. “But I was a fool. I was an idiot. I thought the worst he could get was when he threw Curufinwë a week-long pre-wedding festival, or when he had the Cloth-making guilds create those nine-layer gowns for Carnistir and his wife, or that concert he set up for Makalaure - “
“I still can’t see the problem.”
“It’s a state wedding, Nelyafinwë. It’s a marriage between heirs of high princes, Nelyafinwë. We will invite all of Valinor, Nelyafinwë, and the Valar too - my opinions on Manwë aside, we must invite Aule. Every detail must be planned to perfection, Nelyafinwë, and we cannot let Nolofinwë’s house dictate it! Now spend three hours telling me all your thoughts about napkin folds.”
Fingon patted his shoulder.
Maedhros looked close to tears. “I don’t have opinions on napkin folds.”
“You do though,” said Fingon. “You hate it when your brothers just scrunch it up.”
“That’s manners,” cried Maedhros. “Not table-wear design!”
T-minus Five Months Until Wedding
“We have been informed to direct our questions to you,” said Eönwë. “As your fathers are, as King Finwë told us, ‘exiled to individual ends of the palace to calm down and aren’t seeing visitors’.”
Maedhros and Fingon shared a look.
“You understand this is a grave offense,” said Eönwë. The Maiar always had peculiar give-aways as to their otherness, even one who spent as much time amongst elves as Eönwë did. In this case, it was the eyebrows, which tried to go for stoic neutrality and instead just furrowed heavily, then raised back up, then went down again, as if he couldn’t decide to project anger, sternness, or confusion. “Every elf should be the same as one’s own kin. And your fathers are, of course, actual kin.”
Maedhros and Fingon shared a second, slightly more agonized, look.
“Is this about us getting married?” said Maedhros. “Because we haven’t actually been doing anything, so the Valar don’t need to get involved.”
“And even if we were,” said Fingon. “By the laws of our people, we are not so closely related as for it to be taboo, and you should not have any reason to protest, seeing as we aren’t already married to anyone else. There has been a lot of debate recently. We can bring you the abstract notes from all the genetic analysis papers. And the political theory debates. And the ones about aesthetic design and what shade of purple our combined heraldry should be, if it pleases you.”
Do not antagonize Manwë’s Herald! cried Maedhros through osanwe. Fingon’s lips set into a mullish line.
Eönwë’s eyebrows settled into confusion. “... You are aware your fathers drew swords on one another, correct?”
“Oh, is that what this is about?” asked Fingon, suddenly much more amenable. “I thought it was another problem about elves marrying whoever they want to.”
“Every time you bring up marriage I desire to flee Tirion,” said Eönwë flatly. “But the issue of your fathers - “
“Yes, well, it’s more surprising it took this long,” said Maedhros, then winced at the sharp look Eönwë leveled at him. “I mean. They’ve been at each other's throats since the idea of us marrying entered their minds. And now they’re haggling over marriage contracts, so it was only a matter of time.”
“I do agree they’re being extreme about it,” said Fingon. “Most people just punch it out.”
“This is normal behavior?”
“Define abnormal behavior,” said Fingon.
“It’s complicated,” said Maedhros. “Proper division of estates and properties need to be considered, amongst other possessions. Jewels. Furniture.” He cast his mind for more things. “Who gets to claim any children for their house.”
“We’re having kids?” asked Fingon, intrigued.
“Hypothetical children,” Maedhros amended.
Eönwë stared at them, his eyebrows doing complicated movements across his forehead, and looking increasingly tired by their presence. Rude, since he was the one who called them to audience.
“If I understand correctly,” said Eönwë. “Your fathers threatened to slit each other’s throats, in public, surrounded by most of your extended family, because they were arguing about property?”
“And hypothetical babies,” said Fingon.
Eönwë somehow looked more tired. Maedhros was impressed by the breadth of his eyebrow communication ability. “They are aware that Valinor is replenished by the forces of nature and of the maiar inhabiting it, such that no inhabitant lacks in both basic necessities and opportunities for further enrichment?”
“Yes,” said Maedhros.
“It’s just more fun to argue about it,” said Fingon.
Eönwë stared at them for a long, silent moment. Elves could not quite perceive the metaphysical movements of the Ainur’s greater consciousness, but there was a distinct shifting of the weight of the world around them as Eönwë communicated, in Valarin metaphysical fashion, with the Valar.
“We have decided,” said Eönwë. “That as this is a matter of marriage, the Ainur agree to let Noldor authority resolve any subsequent issues that may arise, should this… ordinary argument turn abnormal.”
“That’s good,” said Fingon. “Just to be clear, you have no objections to us marrying?”
“No,” said Eönwë. “We have no new or unstated opinions on any elven marriage of any type. Please do not ask us again. Good-day!”
“That was odd,” said Maedhros, when the form of Eönwë flying off disappeared from the sky.
“I’m relieved it had nothing to do with us getting married. Mostly nothing. Nothing to do with the union.”
“You are too defendant of it.”
“It’s the principle,” sniffed Fingon.
“Do you think they know about the back-garden wedding-planning fistfights?”
“If they did, surely they’d be less concerned?”
“Should we invite them to one of the viewing parties?”
Fingon looked at him. Maedhros looked back.
“Do you think he’d come?”
“With the speed Eönwë fled?” Maedhros squinted into the distant, silver sky. “No.”
“His loss.” Fingon shrugged. “I hear they’re arguing about our betrothal gifts next. That should be fun.”
“We never did get betrothed, did we?” Maedhros realized. “They just jumped straight into marriage negotiations.”
“They betrothed us in their hearts, minds, and morning newspapers,” said Fingon. “Which is all that matters to them.”
“What about rings?”
“Who has time to make rings with all the kinky, frequent, and unsubtle sex we were having?” Fingon cast a look at him. “You want one?”
“If you don’t give me one, my father will use it against yours.”
“My father too,” Fingon sighed. Then, he said, “I want a jewel as large as my fist.”
Maedhros grimaced. “That’d be so ugly.”
“I also want that set of knives Curufinwe made for you that you hung up in your armory a few years ago, the ones with the turquoise on the handle.”
“As a wedding gift?”
“As a betrothal gift.”
Maedhros looked at him. Then, much more enthused to the concept of marriage, “Do you remember that large desk in your father’s study, with the Vanyarin engravings for focus and the secret compartments - “
T-Minus 4 Months Until Wedding
Maedhros got his desk. Reportedly, Fingolfin only agreed to give it away after he'd broken Feanor’s nose and they'd yelled nasaly at one another about the love and care of Crafts. The carpenter had, over the course of the past three hundred years, declared they were bored of standard materials and was making good headway into radioactive substances. Now, Maedhros was in full possession of a one-of-a-kind artwork of statecraft, and besides him, only his Uncle and the maker knew all of the secret compartments.
“We should get married more often,” he concluded. “Do you think if I proposition Aikanáro I can get Arafinwë’s scrolls on Lamp-Light marine biology with the original creature carcaces?”
“If you proposition Aikanáro I will stab you,” said Fingon.
“But think of the Alqualonde estates we could have! You could have a beach. We could get boats.“ Neither of them knew how to sail a boat, but that was besides the point.
“You’ve never even propositioned me. Your betrothed!”
Maedhros stopped caressing his new desk to frown at Fingon. “You’re getting too into this.”
Fingon used his newly ringed hand to send him a very rude gesture. It’s barely visible over the gargantuan jewel Maedhros did his best to make aesthetically cohesive with the rest of the ring, but somehow, the light glinting off the clear crystal only enhanced the rudeness.
"You do realize we're going to have to fuck to seal the deal?" Fingon hopped onto the desk and sat upon it. Maedhros tried to constrain an aneurysm and mostly felt constipated. "Call upon the One to unite our souls whilst in physical congress and all that."
Not too long ago, Maedhros had agreed they would go along with this farce because their fathers seemed to bond over their mutual pride in The Best Wedding For My Eldest Or Kill You Trying. Now, he was in too deep to turn back. "I'd have to give up the desk," he realized wretchedly.
The look Fingon leveled at him was partly offended, partly exasperated, and entirely unimpressed. "I'm telling you we should try fucking and that's what you're worried about?"
"Oh," said Maedhros. "Is that what this is about?"
Fingon raised an eyebrow at him. He spread his knees. Intrigued, Maedhros stepped between them, his hands hovering before resting on Fingon’s waist. Fingon had no such hesitation as he pulled Maedhros closer to him by his coat lapels.
Fingolfin walked in at that moment. "Nephew, I think I may have left my - Oh God. On my desk? Wait for the wedding, at least!"
T-Minus 3 Months Until the Wedding
"I take it all back," said Fingon. "I'm annulling our contract and becoming a devotee of Varda and moving to Taniquetil to devote my life to star-study and prayer."
"They finally settled on a contract now?" asked Maedhros. "Who is marrying into whose house?"
"No one is marrying into anything if I've anything to say about it," said Fingon darkly.
"Can I keep the desk? I've grown rather attached to it."
Fingon snorted. "After all the sex my father thinks we've had on it, I doubt he wants it back."
"Everyone thinking we have been madly in love for centuries does have unexpected benefits." Maedhros leveled a sideways look to Fingon. "No, really, what happened?"
"We are being assigned chaperones."
Maedhros was speechless. "Is this because your father thinks we fucked on his desk?"
"That and the kissing on the balcony and the hand-holding in Grandmother's gardens and the fact we keep sneaking into each other's room."
"We didn't even do anything!" On the desk, at least. Maedhros had too much respect for it, even though it was so well made it could take a fucking.
"And now we won't get to do anything. I barely dodged Findaráto on the way here. And Tyelkormo is going to be joining any of our hiking trips."
"Tyelkormo?" Maedhros was horrified. "Could they not have made Makalaure go instead?"
"I vetoed him." At the look Maedhros gave him, Fingon crossed his arms. "He'll never shut up."
Maedhros sighed. "But he's so easy to manipulate and blackmail."
"If I have to listen to another drinking song about the size of my dick I'm going to strangle him with his lyre."
"Don't join in on the violence," said Maedhros. Eönwë was still avoiding Tirion as a whole. A few more curious Maiar actually did come seeking the treatises the Noldor had been writing. The last he checked, they seemed most concerned with how state involvement in the wedding implied their parents were scheduling the most momentous fuck of their lives instead of 'the will of their souls calling naturally upon the One'. A few of them had, not very discreetly, approached him and Fingon to offer their aid in helping them sneak away to find a good secluded corner to Unite Their Souls In Holy Matrimony.
On that note, "They never cared when they thought we were fucking before."
"Apparently grandfather is worried we're going to get ahead of schedule like all his children did."
That was even more insulting. "Grandfather assigned us a chaperone? He's from Cuivinien!"
"He likes weddings?"
They shared a grimace. Finwë’s entire line seemed to like weddings a tad too much. It was no wonder most of them just took matters into their own hands. The weddings were, honestly, just an excuse to party, wear even more elaborate robes, and get rancorously drunk for a week.
“Maybe we should get ahead of schedule.”
“What, no ‘let's respect Grandfather’s wishes, he must have his reasons’?”
“I’m not my father.”
Fingon laughed. “How convenient for me. I wouldn't want to marry him!”
“I wouldn’t want to marry your father either!” said Maedhros, also laughing. “Maybe we shouldn’t have let them plan our wedding.”
“I don’t care about planning a wedding,” said Fingon dismissively. “Now we just have to sneak out of Tirion, elope, and return and declare - “
“Oh, so sorry, we just got carried away?”
“Truly, just couldn’t wait!”
“The Maiar put the idea in our heads and it was too much.”
“The chaperones made us realize how much spending time together meant to us, and we couldn’t bear our souls being parted.”
They laughed. From the doorway Finrod exclaimed, “How romantic!”
Their laughter cut off.
If we rush him together we can knock him out and flee, Fingon said to Maedhros through Ósanwe.
We really shouldn’t have let our fathers plan the wedding, thought Maedhros back at him. It made them all too cavalier with casual violence on the negotiation table.
“Don’t look at me like that!” said Finrod. “I heard all you said - well, most of it. You run quite fast. I’m certainly not going to get in your way! Spending time pretending to babysit you whilst we all do different things is just going to get tiresome after a week.” He paused. “Also, Findekáno, you need to project better when you use Ósanwe. I can just pretend to have missed you entirely whilst you eloped, no knocking out required.”
Maedhros and Fingon shared a look.
“You’re lovely, cousin,” said Maedhros, already making for the door. “See you later!”
“Come back in time for the wedding!” replied Finrod cheerfully. “We’re all really looking forward to it.”
As they snuck out of the palace, Fingon said, “That was too good timing, don’t you think?”
“Does it matter? Come on, let’s leave before Tyelkormo gets it in his head he’s actually putting effort into this, instead of just doing it because he knows it will bother me.”
T-Minus 2 Months Until The Wedding
Maedhros and Fingon stood before Finwë, their hands clasped together, their eyes shining with their marriage clear for all to see.
“And that’s why we’ve also decided to form our own House,” said Maedhros; the end of a long speech he had refined and Fingon had made extensive commentary about. “To simplify matters of who lives where and answers to whom.”
“We are keeping the purple heraldry Aunt Findis designed,” said Fingon. “We’ve grown to like it.”
They waited expectantly.
“Well!” said Finwë. “At least you came back in time for the wedding. We were all starting to get a bit worried we’d have to suddenly turn it into a general purpose celebration.”
Maedhros and Fingon did not need to share physical looks now. They did so anyway. “You’re awfully cheerful about this,” said Maedhros.
“It’s great to see you take initiative,” said Finwë, smiling widely at them. “I was starting to worry you were being pressured into it.”
“And the chaperone thing?” asked Fingon dubiously.
“I admit, when my grandchildren proposed it to me, I was uncertain it would work. I’ll have to trust in their schemes more.”
“But! The wedding!” Maedhros sputtered.
At the same time, Fingon asked, “Grandchildren? Which ones? It wasn’t my siblings, was it?”
Finwë smiled benignly at them. “Much easier to plan them when we don’t have to account for the couple leaving mid-way to unite their souls. Sometimes they get so carried away we need to send someone to check on them. It can be quite awkward! Handling it beforehand is much neater. And you even returned in time for the actual event!”
T-Minus 1 Month Until The Wedding
“I still think this is someone’s scheme,” said Fingon.
“It doesn’t matter much.”
“My bet’s on Findaráto,” said Fingon. “He’s been too smug and supportive since we returned.”
“If we’re basing it on smug and supportive, I think we have to blame the Maiar.”
“Maybe they’re working together.”
Maedhros snorted. Below them, in the great palace courtyard, the decorations and seats and tables and great stage were being set up. That was for the outdoor venue. With both Fëanor and Fingolfin distracted by Maedhros and Fingon setting up their own House, Queen Indis had finally gotten involved in the actual celebration and turned it into an even larger event. After the elopement, there was no pretense: it was truly just an excuse to go crazy and party.
“Do you remember,” said Maedhros. “Before the engagement - how tense was it?”
“I nearly punched your teeth out,” said Fingon, “so yes.”
“Wait,” said Maedhros. “That day, when you had me pinned on the ground - “
“I was holding your jaw to check for bruising and that nothing got dislodged,” said Fingon, starting to laugh.
“Whilst sitting on my waist!”
“Straddling you after my victory!”
“In front of the whole palace.”
“I’m still blaming Findaráto for it.”
“Well, he is planning to use the occasion to propose to Amarië,” said Maedhros.
“A second wedding in less than a year? Let’s elope again.”
“Where to this time?”
Fingon threaded their hands together. “It doesn’t matter; wherever we go, nothing is going to separate us now.”