Chapter Text
"Is that new?"
In the process of reaching for another slice of bread, Hador paused to see what Fingolfin was talking about. On the other side of Hador, Fëanor also looked curious. Fingolfin pointed to Hador's wrist where a tattoo could be seen peeking out from under his shirt.
"It is." Grabbing the bread, Hador quickly put it on his plate and pulled up his sleeve so Fingolfin could see it. Fingolfin took Hador's wrist in his own hand, studying the new tattoo.
It was a solid ban of dark blue save for a gap right at the back of the wrist. In that gap was a little symbol of three straight lines that Fingolfin knew well. He gave Hador an alarmed look.
"I didn't know your wrist was troubling you so much," he said.
Hador looked a little chagrinned. "Maybe not so that a healing stamp was necessary but I do get the occasional twinge from all the writing you Elves demand."
He said it lightly, throwing an amused look towards Fëanor, who was always insisting that Hador write down more of his people's history and lore, and preserve their traditions in the written word Fëanor loved so much.
Fingolfin let his thumb slide over the healing stamp. Apparently seeing something in his expression, Hador quickly added, "Gundor did it. The practice is good for him."
"I see," Fingolfin said. He was aware that Gundor had followed his father into the healing trade, and was learning the tattooing art. Neither of Hador's older children had shown the talent for it so Hador was very excited with Gundor's progress.
But Fingolfin also knew that healing tattoos were sacred to Hador's people. He would not get a stamp -- even for the sake of helping his son -- if there wasn't an underlying need.
Fingolfin felt a twinge at that. Any sign of Hador slowing down reminded him too much of his lover's mortality.
There was nothing to be done about that, though, so he kissed Hador's wrist before releasing him.
Hador smiled before grabbing his knife to spread jam on the slice of bread.
Into the ensuing silence, Fëanor quietly cleared his throat. When both Hador and Fingolfin looked at him, he said, "Speaking of tattoos, I was hoping to partake in your services, Hador."
"You were?" Hador's surprise echoed Fingolfin's own.
Fëanor nodded, expression unreadable. "Indeed, I was thinking of getting something rather extensive."
"Really?" Hador's tone turned speculative. It wasn't every day that he got to tattoo an Elf after all. Tattooing was still an exotic concept to the Noldor.
For that reason, Fingolfin boggled at the very notion. "Since when do you want a tattoo?"
"Are you objecting?" Fëanor asked, studying his brother as he calmly sipped from his glass. "I've never heard you complaining about Hador's tattoos."
Fingolfin flushed. His brother knew full well how fascinated he was by the many symbols and images adorning Hador's body and the general tattooing culture of his people. There was always a little thrill when Hador peeled off his shirt at night, and Fingolfin could trace the different patterns on his skin.
They had never talked about it, but Fingolfin thought his brother shared his fascination. He had never considered getting a tattoo of his own though.
"Is there something wrong?" Hador inquired.
Shaking his head, Fëanor said, "I don't need a healing stamp, if that's what you are asking."
Hador asked, "Then what did you have in mind?"
Fëanor set his glass down and folded his hands in his lap. "I don't have a specific design. I have . . . an intention I wish to convey. So long as the intention comes across, you may choose whatever design seems best to you."
If the idea of Fëanor getting a tattoo at all was surprising, the idea that he would let someone else decide what would permanently grace his body completely shocked Fingolfin.
Hador glanced at him, clearly feeling just as surprised. He offered a little disbelieving chuckle. "That's quite the dangerous proposition. What if I decide to tattoo my name on you?"
"If that conveys my intention, so be it," Fëanor said, voice completely neutral.
"Are you serious?" Fingolfin asked. "You can't be serious."
Before Fëanor could answer, there was a hasty knock of the door, which opened before Fëanor could give leave. Fingon strode in with a letter in his hand. "A messenger has just arrived from Maedhros."
"Give it here," Fëanor demanded, although Fingon was already in the process of handing the letter over.
Fëanor tore open the seal, immediately engrossed in whatever word his son had sent from Himring.
While they waited for news, Fingolfin turned his attention to his son. "Have you eaten?"
Fingon nodded, but he did take the seat Fingolfin gestured to him.
It was only a minute more before Fëanor looked up, eyes locking with Fingolfin. "Maedhros sends news that he has managed to arrange a summit with the Dwarves. He asks for support. He thinks that a high ranking official from my court would send a good message to the Dwarves."
"And you want me to go," Fingolfin surmised.
Fëanor's lips twitched in what might have been a grimace or a smile. "Well, you certainly don't want me to go."
Fingolfin wasn't sure how to react to that. No one was more persuasive than Fëanor when he set his mind to something. But he had been very circumspect about such speech since the understanding they had reached at Linaewen. Fingolfin wished he knew what his brother was thinking, but he didn't dare ask.
Fëanor did not wait for Fingolfin to respond. Touching the letter, he said, "Maedhros has set the meeting for a year from now so we have time to plan how best to approach the Dwarves to win their support."
"In that case," Hador said, wiping his mouth with his napkin and setting it down on his now empty plate. "I think I shall take my leave."
Fëanor frowned, reaching out to grab Hador's arm. "You needn't leave. Whatever I have to say is open to you. You have my trust. I keep no secrets from you."
Hador smiled. "I needn't leave. I get to leave. I can't think of anything more boring than planning negotiations." He took the hand on his arm and kissed the palm. "Besides, I have your new tattoo to consider."
Fëanor didn't look happy but he did look appeased. "We'll discuss that later," he said.
Standing, Hador offered Fingolfin a kiss before departing.
"What tattoo?" Fingon asked.
Fëanor just shook his head, and did not answer. Their attention returned to Maedhros' letter, and Fingolfin forgot all about the tattoo.