Nothing was warm enough. Fingon put on layers of robes and though the prospect of camping out in front of the fire seemed appealing, he still had duties to his people. He had to make sure everyone was warm and cared for, helping his father as much as he was able to.
Once everything was finished, Fingon grabbed another robe but rather putting it on himself he instead made his way to where he saw his father go. He didn't want to go outside but it was peaceful and soft out here. Unlike the harshness of the grinding ice, where nothing was gentle. It had been brutal for them all.
He smiled as Fingolfin spoke up. He never had been able to sneak up on his father no matter how much he had stalked him since the day he could walk. "I brought you another robe if you were cold," he said as he stepped ward. Snow fell in his dark hair, leaving small white specks slowly melting.
His eldest had always been kind and cared more about others than himself. Fingolfin was so very proud of him- of all his children, but Fingon above the rest. He tried not to favor one child above the rest like his own father had, having learned that lesson first hand. There was no need for a repeat.
Of all his children, Fingon had been the one who followed his every move the most- when the boy wasn't being entertained by Nelyafinwë. He always knew when any of his children were near, even more so when they attempted stealth!
Fingolfin finally turned, gaze torn at the last moment and coming to rest on Fingon with a hand raised in invitation. "How can I be cold when I have such a son as you?" When Fingon was near, instead of reaching for the robe he curled an arm around his son's shoulders to hold him close.
"I thought you may want the extra layer," Fingon said with a smile as he was pulled closer. For those who had survived the ice, often the cold was imagined to be worse with the echo of vivid memories which did not fade with time. He relaxed in his father's embrace, wrapping his arms around him in return. The winter months always made him seek out his father's comfort more than usual.
Sometimes he could tell that he was more like his father than his other siblings but he didn't want to put himself above them. Argon, Aredhel, and Turgon all deserved love as well. "The fires are burning warm now, I believe we should have enough wood for at least a week if not a little longer now."
Fingolfin hugged his eldest close, warmer with the embrace than any number of layers could give. And he did love each of his children, fiercely and without reservation. He doubted none of them their ability to lead well should he pass.
He dropped a kiss to the top of his son's head then turned back to look out, arm still curled gently around Fingon. "And enough food to last the month." They had a large number of mouths to feed, but everyone helped out.
"I hear the patrols brought back word of a cousin of yours." He didn't look to see his son's reaction. Maedhros, for all that he was his father's son, was one he was proud to call family. "Is he well?"
"I am glad. We will be fine for the winter then," Fingon said with relief. Many of their people shared the same aversion to the ice and snow. Fingon did not wish to subject anyone to the freezing landscape if he had to. If it came down to it, he would go out himself instead.
Fingon couldn't stop himself from blushing. He tried not to keep any secret from his father but the matter of his cousin was not something he had ever told him directly. A part of him wondered if Fingolfin already knew and he couldn't deny it. "Ahh, he is doing well. He wanted to send word to see if we needed anything. He is doing well though, he is at Himring and is spending the winter with Maglor," he said in as carefree tone as he could muster, as if he was just merely talking about a cousin who was simply a cousin. A part of him did feel bad for not telling his father the truth and it wasn't because he didn't trust him but what would happen to their family. Though Feanor was dead, there was still the matter of Maedhros's younger brothers who would not be pleased. "He invited me to visit during the spring so we could coordinate efforts against the Enemy."
Fingon wouldn't be alone- Fingolfin would go with him if they needed anything before the snow melted. He finally reached for the robe after another squeeze, and slipped it on. "Yes. We will allow nothing less."
Ah ha! The blush gave his son away every time. It made it hard not to laugh. The smile was real, and pleased at the news. "I expect you will be busy writing a reply this evening. I hope you agree to visit him when the snow clears for travel." And he wasn't talking about Makalaure. He turned a somber look to Fingon then, apology there. "I would invite him here if it would not cause more trouble than any of us need. I would not have sent him away," but Maedhros had made that choice himself, for everyone's sake and what peace between them all that could be managed.
"It is only polite not to keep him waiting," Fingon insisted as he moved away slightly to let his father pull on the extra robe. The red color on his cheeks was not entirely the fault of the cold weather.
"I will visit him when the snow melts, if that is alright," Fingon asked hopefully. He would not go unless Fingolfin was able to spare him and there was not other pressing matters to attend to. He wanted to selfishly see Maedhros again but he could not abandon his family. "I know but he knows it is best if he stayed away," he said slowly. It pained him but he knew it was necessary.
"Only polite," he echoed lightly, fond amusement in his eyes. Fingolfin knew the difference between the red of cold and that of emotions. He reached out to gently tug on a gold-entwined braid.
"With my blessing." The condition didn't need to be said- he knew his son wouldn't leave if he was needed. "It is best he does so, but if you can be spared I hope you can help him." And hopefully ease some of the pain each of them felt at their separation.
It was moments like these when Fingon could have sworn that his father knew the truth of what was between him and Maedhros. He hugged his father then, tightly as he buried his face against his father's shoulder. It had been his custom since he was a young elf and even now it was a comforting, familiar habit.
"Thank you, ada," he murmured as he looked up at his father. He suspected his father felt the pain he felt when he and Maedhros were separated. There had been many nights when Fingon had had to wipe away tears away quickly when his father had come into his room or needed him somewhere.
How could he not? Fingolfin had seen how worship had turned to friendship, then to love between the pair. He looked the other way, distracted people from happening upon them {and saw Maglor doing much the same} and did what he could to give them time alone. And he pretended he knew nothing.
He smiled then, and hugged Fingon tight with a hand cradling the back of his head- just as he always had. He also knew the pain of separation, but he could never blame Anairë for staying behind with those who hadn't followed them. She had been needed there, for all his heart had broken with the painful parting.
"I think music will bolster everyone's hearts. Will you play for us?" No thanks were needed, but he knew his son's heart. Music would help everyone. Then afterward, he would take himself away to his rooms and leave the door cracked open if his son wanted company.
"I will, that would be nice." Fingon suspected the music wasn't for others but for Fingon to have something to else to focus on aside from missing his cousin and the cold.
"We should get back in, it will be dark soon." And that meant it would get colder. "I am sure someone is making soup and there will be tea," he said with a smile, already brightening up. Tea, soup with bread was the best thing in cold weather.
He stayed close to his father as they went inside, Fingon nearly slipping on some nice with a panicked expression before grabbing his father's shoulder. It wasn't that he feared falling but he had a flashback to the grinding ice where any slip could mean death.
Fingolfin chuckled quietly and turned with him. "My wise son," he teased lightly, but meant it all the same.
His heart froze at the near-slip and he immediately grabbed for Fingon's waist to pull him to safety {all the way to the other side, with Fingolfin between son and ice}, panic mirrored. Even if Fingon hadn't fully slipped, if they'd been back in that nightmare he'd have courted death. He swallowed the fright with effort then let out a slow breath, arms still wrapped firmly around his son. "Wise you are, though perhaps a bit more care with where you place your feet is in order."
Fingon breathed hard, needing to cling to his father. For a few moments he had to tell himself they had made it out of the grinding ice, that he wasn't going to fall to his death.
"I am sorry-I will be careful," he promised once he was sure his voice wouldn't shake. He was in his father's arms and he would be warm soon enough. They had survived and it would be alright. He still helpd onto his father as they made their way inside, making sure to avoid any patches of ice this time.
It took more effort than he'd admit to not simply pick Fingon up and carry him to his room. Fingolfin forced himself to settle for simply holding on tight. He pressed a firm kiss to his son's forehead as his heart slowed. He'd lost one son already, he had no desire to lose any others.
It was hard to loosen his hold then, but he managed to keep it to just a hand on Fingon's shoulder, guiding him along deeper, to the warmth of the inner rooms. He squeezed his son's shoulder once they approached the kitchens, then gave him a very small push forward. "You first, my son."
Fingon relaxed slowly as they passed into the warmer areas inside. Now that they were out of the cold he felt more reassured that he wasn't going to fall, he was fine and his father was with him.
He smiled as they passed into the kitchen, taking a deep breath. "Are you hungry too?" he asked as he turned to his father. There was soup still on the fire as he grabbed some bread to tear off a couple pieces. He was still slightly shaken but his focus was on his father. He knew how heavily the kingship was since Maedhros passed it down to him much to the displeasure of his brothers.
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Once everything was finished, Fingon grabbed another robe but rather putting it on himself he instead made his way to where he saw his father go. He didn't want to go outside but it was peaceful and soft out here. Unlike the harshness of the grinding ice, where nothing was gentle. It had been brutal for them all.
He smiled as Fingolfin spoke up. He never had been able to sneak up on his father no matter how much he had stalked him since the day he could walk. "I brought you another robe if you were cold," he said as he stepped ward. Snow fell in his dark hair, leaving small white specks slowly melting.
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Of all his children, Fingon had been the one who followed his every move the most- when the boy wasn't being entertained by Nelyafinwë. He always knew when any of his children were near, even more so when they attempted stealth!
Fingolfin finally turned, gaze torn at the last moment and coming to rest on Fingon with a hand raised in invitation. "How can I be cold when I have such a son as you?" When Fingon was near, instead of reaching for the robe he curled an arm around his son's shoulders to hold him close.
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Sometimes he could tell that he was more like his father than his other siblings but he didn't want to put himself above them. Argon, Aredhel, and Turgon all deserved love as well. "The fires are burning warm now, I believe we should have enough wood for at least a week if not a little longer now."
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He dropped a kiss to the top of his son's head then turned back to look out, arm still curled gently around Fingon. "And enough food to last the month." They had a large number of mouths to feed, but everyone helped out.
"I hear the patrols brought back word of a cousin of yours." He didn't look to see his son's reaction. Maedhros, for all that he was his father's son, was one he was proud to call family. "Is he well?"
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Fingon couldn't stop himself from blushing. He tried not to keep any secret from his father but the matter of his cousin was not something he had ever told him directly. A part of him wondered if Fingolfin already knew and he couldn't deny it. "Ahh, he is doing well. He wanted to send word to see if we needed anything. He is doing well though, he is at Himring and is spending the winter with Maglor," he said in as carefree tone as he could muster, as if he was just merely talking about a cousin who was simply a cousin. A part of him did feel bad for not telling his father the truth and it wasn't because he didn't trust him but what would happen to their family. Though Feanor was dead, there was still the matter of Maedhros's younger brothers who would not be pleased. "He invited me to visit during the spring so we could coordinate efforts against the Enemy."
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Ah ha! The blush gave his son away every time. It made it hard not to laugh. The smile was real, and pleased at the news. "I expect you will be busy writing a reply this evening. I hope you agree to visit him when the snow clears for travel." And he wasn't talking about Makalaure. He turned a somber look to Fingon then, apology there. "I would invite him here if it would not cause more trouble than any of us need. I would not have sent him away," but Maedhros had made that choice himself, for everyone's sake and what peace between them all that could be managed.
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"I will visit him when the snow melts, if that is alright," Fingon asked hopefully. He would not go unless Fingolfin was able to spare him and there was not other pressing matters to attend to. He wanted to selfishly see Maedhros again but he could not abandon his family. "I know but he knows it is best if he stayed away," he said slowly. It pained him but he knew it was necessary.
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"With my blessing." The condition didn't need to be said- he knew his son wouldn't leave if he was needed. "It is best he does so, but if you can be spared I hope you can help him." And hopefully ease some of the pain each of them felt at their separation.
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"Thank you, ada," he murmured as he looked up at his father. He suspected his father felt the pain he felt when he and Maedhros were separated. There had been many nights when Fingon had had to wipe away tears away quickly when his father had come into his room or needed him somewhere.
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He smiled then, and hugged Fingon tight with a hand cradling the back of his head- just as he always had. He also knew the pain of separation, but he could never blame Anairë for staying behind with those who hadn't followed them. She had been needed there, for all his heart had broken with the painful parting.
"I think music will bolster everyone's hearts. Will you play for us?" No thanks were needed, but he knew his son's heart. Music would help everyone. Then afterward, he would take himself away to his rooms and leave the door cracked open if his son wanted company.
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"We should get back in, it will be dark soon." And that meant it would get colder. "I am sure someone is making soup and there will be tea," he said with a smile, already brightening up. Tea, soup with bread was the best thing in cold weather.
He stayed close to his father as they went inside, Fingon nearly slipping on some nice with a panicked expression before grabbing his father's shoulder. It wasn't that he feared falling but he had a flashback to the grinding ice where any slip could mean death.
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Fingolfin chuckled quietly and turned with him. "My wise son," he teased lightly, but meant it all the same.
His heart froze at the near-slip and he immediately grabbed for Fingon's waist to pull him to safety {all the way to the other side, with Fingolfin between son and ice}, panic mirrored. Even if Fingon hadn't fully slipped, if they'd been back in that nightmare he'd have courted death. He swallowed the fright with effort then let out a slow breath, arms still wrapped firmly around his son. "Wise you are, though perhaps a bit more care with where you place your feet is in order."
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"I am sorry-I will be careful," he promised once he was sure his voice wouldn't shake. He was in his father's arms and he would be warm soon enough. They had survived and it would be alright. He still helpd onto his father as they made their way inside, making sure to avoid any patches of ice this time.
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It was hard to loosen his hold then, but he managed to keep it to just a hand on Fingon's shoulder, guiding him along deeper, to the warmth of the inner rooms. He squeezed his son's shoulder once they approached the kitchens, then gave him a very small push forward. "You first, my son."
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He smiled as they passed into the kitchen, taking a deep breath. "Are you hungry too?" he asked as he turned to his father. There was soup still on the fire as he grabbed some bread to tear off a couple pieces. He was still slightly shaken but his focus was on his father. He knew how heavily the kingship was since Maedhros passed it down to him much to the displeasure of his brothers.