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Fingon couldn’t recall a time when the sight of Maedhros hadn’t made his heart beat a little faster. His first memories of his beautiful redheaded cousin was from when he was ten years old and Maedhros was thirteen. This was the first time Fingolfin and Fëanor had decided to have a family holiday together and let their kids get acquainted. Fingon was told there were cousins around his age, Celegorm was born the same year, Maglor was two years older, but the moment he laid eyes on the lanky redhead he knew this was the one person he wanted to spend time with. Luckily, Maedhros was kind-hearted and used to younger children and didn’t mind acquiring a small, dark-haired shadow.
Throughout the following years their fathers got closer to each other, and the cousins ended up spending more and more time together, at beaches, garden parties, ski resorts and Christmas parties. Then, when Fingon was seventeen, came a new addition to the extended family: a hitherto unknown uncle named Finarfin who had four children of his own. The oldest, a golden-haired boy named Finrod, was sixteen, and so beautiful that Fingon felt a first stab of real fear and jealousy. What if Maedhros liked this new cousin more than him? He’d known for a while that his feelings for his cousin were not quite like the feelings he had for, say, Maglor or Caranthir. Maedhros, however, had never given any signs that he felt more for Fingon than a deep friendship. He worried about it for a while, then realised that Maedhros treated Finrod the same way he treated Turgon, and Caranthir for that matter. It was just Fingon that got his special smiles, just Fingon who could make him laugh so much he cried and complained of cramping stomach muscles.
Then Finrod and Caranthir had struck up a rather odd friendship. Sunny Finrod, who, with his unbounded enthusiasm and optimism, mostly reminded Fingon of a golden retriever, and Caranthir, dark and moody, prone to outbursts and mood swings, and more like a black panther than anything.
Still, the two of them could often be seen at family gatherings, heads together, discussing linguistics, philosophy, economy, architecture, embroidery… the thing that brought them together seemed to be their mutual curiosity, but Fingon’s sharp eyes spotted what no one else’s did. What kept them together was attraction and, later, love. At the yearly Christmas party at the grandparents’ house he mentioned this to Maedhros, who gave him an astonished look and nodded thoughtfully. “Yes. Father will just have to accept it.”
“What, that Moryo is in love with his cousin or that the cousin is male?”
“Yes.”
Fingon sighed in exasperation.
“Then again”, Maedhros said with a mysterious smile, “Father should be used to it by now.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I had that talk with him years ago. He wasn’t thrilled, but…”
Fingon stared at his tall cousin, heart almost beating its way out of his chest. “What did you tell uncle Fëanor exactly?”
“I told him I was attracted to males, and one in particular. I told him I was in love with the most beautiful man in the world, who also happened to be my cousin.” Fingon felt like he had been punched in the gut. Had he somehow missed something… it wasn’t Finrod, but who was it then? Turgon? He stared at Maedhros, vision blurring with tears, while he tried to make sense of what his cousin was saying.
“Oh Finno… no, Fin, darling, don’t cry… it’s you, you daft creature! I told Father I was in love with you!”
“Why didn’t you say anything before now?”
“Because you were still underage. And now… you’re not, and I can say it. I love you Fingon. I have for many years now. There’s never been any other for me, just you…”
Fingon was still crying, only now it was happy tears that poured down his cheeks. “I’ve loved you since… since I met you the first time. I didn’t know it at the time though. Oh Mae… what are we going to do?”
“We’re going to talk to your parents. Are they…?”
“They know. Dad is very perceptive. I don’t think they’ll be surprised if we…” Maedhros gave him a loving smile and wrapped long arms around him. When their lips met for the first time, Fingon thought he could happily die just in that moment. Fingon Nolofinwion, dead at the tender age of eighteen, cause of death: happiness.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Fingon sighed and came back to the present. Here he was. He’d survived, had reached the venerable age of twenty-five, and tomorrow he was going to marry the most wonderful man in the world. Maedhros came out of the kitchen, carrying a tray with fresh cookies and two glasses of milk. He set the tray down on the coffee table, sank down on the couch next to Fingon and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “Some milk and cookies to help us sleep. Lord knows I need my beauty sleep. You’ll be gorgeous as always, sleep or no sleep, but I have the wrong colouring.”
“Your colouring is just perfect”, Fingon smiled, then buried his face in Maedhros’ neck. “I love you so much. I can’t believe you’re mine. Sometimes I think I’m going to wake up and this was all a dream, and I’m still fifteen and never been kissed.”
Maedhros carded his fingers through Fingon’s dark curls. “You’re twenty-five, you’re beautiful, you’ve definitely been kissed and tomorrow you’re going to be kissed breathless. Now, have a cookie.”