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Chapter Text

Angband was far more frightful than Fingon had anticipated. Oh, he had seen the dread ship out at sea and felt discomforted by her towering black masts designed to suggest spikes stabbing into the heavens, the thick, noxious, black smoke pouring from her chimneys that stained the sky, but now, sneaking around her port, he could feel her radiating malice, malevolence in her very make. A great feeling of foreboding bubbled up, hot within his chest, turn back, turn back, turn back! but Fingon tramped it down.

Beside him, Beren seemed to feel much the same, the whites of his eyes showing like he was a frightened horse. Even Luthien, who in ethereal grace seemed above petty fears, took rapid, shallow breaths. Finrod alone seemed unaffected. He placed a comforting arm on Beren’s shoulder. His white teeth flashed in a bright smile of encouragement. Huddled together under the carnivorous shadow of the ship, the three prepared to go aboard.

On the deck, the sounds of drunken ruckus reached their ears, Angband’s captain and crew celebrating another victory. She was a smuggling ship, but instead of rum and contraband, she dealt in marine life. Operating by a law unto herself, Angband scourged the seas, capturing gentle sea turtles, baby whales not yet weaned, and beautiful exotic fish while her crew hacked away chunks of colourful coral reef. Her cargo was transported to black markets and auctioned off as food, pets, and decorations

Her captain, Melkor, boasted an impressive list of deeds, chief among them that he had seen and killed mermaids. It was said he kept the skeleton of one and was searching for more. That was where Luthien and her group came in. A woman of many skills, she had recruited a small, vigilant band to help her sneak onto Angband and set the creatures free. As a marine biologist, Fingon had been recruited by his doctor cousin Finrod, who had been roped in at the request of his military friend Beren, who would do anything for Luthien. Everything had been planned to a tee. Luthien would slip on board first and distract Morgoth and his crew. Finrod, Fingon and Beren would have an hour and a half to sneak on board, free as many poor creatures as they could, destroy the horrid tanks to prevent Melkor from catching more, then escape into the night. Luthien had a contact on the inside who agreed to disable the cameras and help them where he could.

Luthien looked at them intently. She tapped her wrist; they were to give her a twenty-minute head start. The three men nodded their understanding. Beren yanked her close to him and kissed her deeply. She kissed him back, putting forth all her love, fear, and hope. Finrod sighed dreamily. Fingon himself was moved and inspired in the face of such devotion. Still, a small, jealous part of his heart retched. Do they have to be so in love?

Beren pulled away and allowed her to slip away. She was off, running on feet light as a breeze, her gauzy dress billowing out behind her, midnight hair streaming, lithe, dancer’s body strong and confident. She looked like a goddess, which was exactly what they needed. Hope hinged on her ability to captivate the crew with her dance and song. So enchanted they needed to be that they would drink what was given and fall into a stupor. 

The night was so still, clinging to them heavily. Time drug but still it was too soon when the noise of the party decrescendoed to a frightening silence and Beren’s old-fashioned watch beeped. 

Fingon, Beren and Finrod set off, melting into the shadows. They wore balaclavas and gloves, dressed all in black. Luthien had taught them to move as silently as a shadow, and they entered the unlocked gangway. 

The gentle rocking of the waves soothed Fingon, keeping fear at bay.  Inside, Angband was dark, with shallow emergency lights shining yellow.  Fingon expected it to resemble movies of pirate ships, evil showing in dripping pipes and gashed walls.  Instead, Angband was clean, everything had a place and nothing needed fixing. True evil was a perfection.  The three parted ways, though Baren and Finrod went together, as they were assigned to the bigger animals that needed two to lift them. Fingon ducked into a room, lined with glass tanks filled to the brim with fish. He threw open the hatch window and a waterfall of colour cascaded into the murky harbour, as he poured tank after tank of fish.   

The gloves made his hands sweat, and his breath was moist against the balaclava. He checked his watch, forty-five minutes to go. He still had a few more rooms and then he needed to make it to the car park. Each of them had their own getaway car, Fingon’s a five-minute job from here, manned by Thorondor, an old friend. He made his way down the corridor. With each room he emptied, his fear grew, and he was shaking.  Angband, for all its sterile perfection, felt alive, made so by the suffering held in her bowels. Such despair seeped into him, making him tremble. 

The next room he came to was completely dark, no emergency light. Shadows loomed and lurched like they were alive as the ship stirred with the waves.  Fingon could hear things clank together and just barely able to make out the dark sharps of unidentifiable things hanging. A mechanical whirl could be heard, and Fingon’s heart took off.  I’m in a horror movie, he thought.  I’m the protagonist of a horror movie. I’m black, I’m supposed to be too smart for this! I need to leave.   His feet were bolted to the floor, his legs chained.  Be a man, he commanded.  Move. He swallowed, and a song fell from his lips. It was a silly little song, not designed to inspire bravery, but it still made the debilitating fear flee. “But I would walk 500 miles…” his voice sounded too tiny and frightened in the darkness, so he cleared his throat, commanded himself to be a man, and forced himself to take a half step. “And I would walk 500 more,” again, another step was forced, “just to be that man who walked,” he was truly moving now, “1000 miles to fall down at your door.  Da da da daaa!”

Something hummed the final notes back at him and Fingon leapt out of his skin.  “Who’s there?”

He fished his phone out of his pocket, something he really should have done earlier, and would make a faster appearance when he retold the story. He turned on his flashlight. The light darted across the room, and there, in the actual flesh…well, scales, was a merman. 

The merman was squished in a cylindrical tank, about four feet high.  The whirling sound Fingon had heard was its filter to keep the water clean.  The merman’s back was pressed against the glass, his tail folded in front of him, the fins at the end forced the opposite way by the lid of the tank.  He had clearly tried to open it, for his hand was jammed in between the lid and the lip of the tank.  It was a frightening purple. 

The poor creature was incredibly long, perhaps ten feet from head to tail and far too long for the tank. At first, Fingon thought he was dead, so battered was the merman, but the dead couldn’t sing. 

“Da da da daa,” Fingon sang softly.  The merman’s head lolled against the glass, and he squinted at Fingon.  His grey eyes shone, illuminated from within, and he parted his split lips.  A raspy imitation came back to Fingon. 

“Hey there,” Fingon said breathlessly, “hey there, pretty thing, did you like my song?” Though starved, battered, and misshapen, the merman still had his species’ famed beauty.  His tail, broken in several places to allow him to fit in the dreadful tank, shimmered blueish green, thousands of tiny scales catching the light of Fingon’s phone. Long red hair floated in the water, thick and luxurious. 

The merman stared at him, eyes blown wide, gills at his neck fluttering frantically.  “Can you speak?” Fingon tried to sound gentle and soothing; it felt like he was talking to one of his horses during a storm. 

Fingon placed his gloved hand up against the tank, hoping the merman would take it as a sign of comfort. Instead, the creature flinched, banging against the glass.

“Thank Eru,” a voice came behind him.  Fingon spun around to be met with a wall of muscle and truly atrocious blond hair.  His fists flew, clipping the man across the jaw. “Hey, don’t find me, I’m on your team.  It’s Gwindor.”

Gwindor.  Luthien’s contact.  Fingon quit swinging and took a step back.  “Right. Sorry about that man.  You scared the shit out of me.” 

Gwindor glared, rubbing his jaw.  “My fault, really.  You were right to react.  You can’t be too careful, not on Melkor’s ships.  Not when you’re planning on stealing his prize.”

He looked at the merman sadly, who, recognising the voice, thrashed in his watery prison, making noises that sounded a bit like a dolphin’s chirps and squeaks. 

“Help me get this off him,” Fingon said, scrambling up a few steps to the top.  In the middle of the lid was a small hatch to drop food. Gwindor and Fingon lifted the lid.  Even with the two of them, their arms strained to move the heavy glass. The fact that the merman had moved it even a little by himself spoke of a frighting strength or a horrific adrenaline. Fingon shuddered to think what could have brought it on.  With a groan, they removed the lid, and the merman yanked his hand down with a cry. 

“Easy Red,” Gwindor said.  He looked at Fingon. “What do you have to transport him?” 

“What do I —nothing.”

Gwindor gave him a disbelieving look.  “Hey!” Fingon defended, “You didn’t tell Luthien he was here. These are catch and release waters.  We’re here to make Morgoth uphold the release.” 

“We can’t set him free.  Look at him. He needs help.”

Fingon took in the merman.  His nose was broken, a few of his gills sewn shut or shredded. The outline of an eye branded onto his back, a long vivisection-like scar running from his chest to halfway down his tail, ribs twisted, and his tail broken. He was so painfully thin.

“We’ll take him to my place,” Fingon decided, ignoring Gwindor’s protests.  “I have a saltwater pool he can stay in until he’s healed.  My cousin’s a doctor; we can fix him.” 

Gwindor was forced to agree.  He and Fingon found towels in a cupboard and soaked them through. Fingon reached into the tank, grasping underneath the merman’s narrow, emaciated shoulders, and lifted him.  The merman started shrieking, voice shrill and panicked, thrashing about despite his broken body.  Gwindor was by his side in a moment to help. “Easy Red,” he cooed, lifting him up and wrapping the sodden towels around his tail. 

Out of his confinement, the merman let out a breath, relief shining in his face as his tail was unravelled and his arms no longer pressed against glass. 

Fingon held him, one hand under the arms, the other underneath the tail, like they were knees.  Still, so long was the merman that his fins dragged against the floor. Thankfully, unlike a dolphin, he didn’t weigh much, a bit heavier than a normal human. 

“Easy does it,” Gwindor continued, wrapping the merman’s arms, littered with bruises, welts and burns, around Fingon’s neck. His head lulled against Fingon’s shoulder, hair and skin soaking Fingon’s clothes.  

“I’ll help you get him to the car—Red don’t!”

White hot pain erupted in Fingon’s shoulder.  He yelled, nearly dropping the merman who had sunk his shark-sharp teeth into him, barely missing jugular.  Gwindor yanked the merman off by his hair.  Teeth bared, the merman snarled and hissed.

“I’m trying to help you, you stupid fish,” Fingon screamed at him.

“He’s just scared,” Gwindor was shouting, over and over, while the merman piercing shriek shattered eardrums.  The three were in a competition to see who could be the loudest.  The merman managed to wrench free of Gwidor’s hold, snapping at his fingers before clamping down onto Fingon’s neck.  Fingon howled.  Only a miracle prevented him from dropping the merman.  Gwindor tangled his fist in red hair and gripped the merman’s jaw with his other hand and pried him off. 

“Put him down,” he told Fingon, muscles straining as he kept the merman’s face away from Fingon.  Fingon was only too happy to comply.  The tiny part of his brain said to drop the creature on the ground, but he didn’t, placing him as gently as he could. 

His knees gave out and he sank to the tile floor, scooting away from the rabid sea sea-beast.  Blood ran in rivets down his neck, warm and unpleasant.  The sight of red pouring from his neck made his stomach churn.  He yanked the balaclava off and pressed it against the wound, swaying slightly. 

“We’re going to have to gag him,” Gwindor snarled.  He muttered curses under his breath, going again to the organised cupboards filled with instruments of torture and cleaning supplies, and other odds and ends, until he came back with a muzzle.  The merman saw it, a plaintive whimper bleating out.  The fight left him, and he sagged, trying to make himself small, hands over his head. 

In the face of such learned fear, Fingon’s anger fled.  “Do we have to?  You said he was just scared.”

“Gwindor’s face was hard.  “Do you want him to rip your throat out?”  He bent over the merman, who obediently went limp, in a desperate attempt for mercy. He trembled, a soft keening sound escaping from his throat. 

Gwindor fit it over his face.  It was leather that covered his nose, chin, and parts of his cheeks, holding his jaw in a painful clamp. Across the mouth were enough holes so he could at least breathe and make his sad little sounds. It broke Fingon’s heart.  Gwindor fastened the buckles, and the merman bowed his head, defeated. 

“Let me look at your neck. Mairon has a med kit around here somewhere.”  He found it, then dabbed disinfectant before bandaging it.  “It’s a clean cut, didn’t hit anything major. He wasn’t aiming to kill. Sorry about that. I didn’t think that with me here he’d do that. Thought he trusted me a bit. He’s just scared.”  He cast a sad look at the merman, who didn’t move. 

“Right,” Fingon agreed.  “It would be scary.” 

Gwindor helped Fingon pick up the merman. “I’ll lead. Some of the passages get confusing. What about your friends?” 

“Gone, by now.  We all agreed to leave separately.” He checked his watch.  “I’ve got fifteen minutes to get to Thorondor. He’ll wait five minutes after our agreed time to meet, and then he’ll leave.”

“Will make it,” Gwindor said grimly. 

They stepped into the cool night air, the light breeze a blessing against Fingon’s sweaty skin. The merman twitched, looking round with fearful eyes.  He whined a question, the only sound he could make with the hate muzzle tight around him. 

“Shh,” Fingon hushed him.  “We don’t want to be heard.” 

The merman didn’t understand, whining stronger as he walked away from the ship, away from the sea.  His fingers dug into Fingon’s shirt, lightly scraping the skin.  His eyes darted back and forth, rolling in fear.  He’s never been on land before, came the sudden thought.  The merman kept looking at the sea. His cries grew louder like he was trying to call.  Panic swelled in Fingon’s belly.  What if someone heard him?   

“Mairon’s coming,” Gwindor said, voice low. 

Fingon’s blood froze.  “What?” He whispered. 

“Not you,” Gwindor hissed, waving him off.  He made eye contact with the merman, placing his finger on his lips.  “Mairon’s coming, Red. Shhh.” he said again.  “Mairon,” and pointed behind them.  The merman’s eyes bulged and he became deathly still.  “Shhh,” Gwindor said, “Mairon.” 

The merman didn’t make a sound.  And Fingon and Gwindor were able to sneak away from Angband with none the wiser. 

Thorondor had the car running. His expression betrayed no worry that Fingon had only a minute to spare before he would have had to have been left. Instead, he flicked blond-brown hair out of his eye.  His black eyes narrowed at the sight of Gwindor. 

“Who is this? I’m not an uber” He saw Fingon’s merman and pursed his lips.  “Is that a…no, absolutely not, you are not bringing that into my car.  Fingon, stop, I just got it detailed, now it’s going to smell like, fish, you will pay me back, do you hear.”

Fingon rolled his eyes.  “Good to see you too.”  He jerked a shoulder at Gwindor, who was opening the back seat.  “This is Gwindor, he’s a friend.” 

Thorondor’s sharp nose crinkled as he watched Fingon slide into the back, letting the merman’s tail, bundled in the sopping towel, stretch over the leather seats. The merman was still too long, and his fins awkwardly drooped to the floor. 

Gwindor climbed into the passenger seat, mumbling sorry to Thorondor.

“This is the last time I help you,” he groaned, and slammed on the gas, peeling away with a screech of tyre. 

The merman jumped, trembling redoubled, and buried his head against Fingon’s neck with a soft cry.  It took all his willpower not to flinch, but only leather, not sharp teeth were pressed against him. 

“Slow down, will ya?  I think he’s afraid of the car.” 

“Then he can walk.”

“That’s not nice, Thor.”  Fingon said, noting the way Thorondor’s dark brown hands clenched the steering wheel so tightly they whitened.  His heart softened at the only fear his friend would allow himself. 

Fingon stroked the merman’s hair, murmuring softly in his ear. “You’re okay. It’s just a car. You’re okay.” It didn’t do anything to soothe the merman. He trembled hard, chest heaving as he struggled to breathe around fear and the gag.   

Gwindor looked back at them.  “It’s okay, Red.  It will be over soon.  You’re safe now.”

They pulled onto the freeway and tears pricked at Fingon’s eyes as the adrenaline left. He’d done it; it was over; he was going home and Morgoth would be none the wiser. Much to his shame, he started to cry, overcome with relief.  He hadn’t realised his muscles were clenched tight, but they relaxed and he suddenly felt exhausted.  Neither Gwindor nor Thorondor said anything, allowing him his moment.  Fingon felt he deserved it, he had risked his life, risked capture, and now it was all over. 

“Where am I taking you,” Throandor barked at Fingon when he was calm again. 

“Home, just like the plan.  Gwindor, do you have a place to go?” 

“I hadn’t really planned on leaving…” A look of profound sadness overcame him, and he trailed off. “I’ll take you where you need,” Thoronder said, flatly, “so long as it’s not hours away.”

Gwindor thought for a moment, before saying, “I’ll meet up with Luthien.” 

That reminded Fingon to message the group chat. He awkwardly fished his phone from his back pocket, rousing the merman.  He shied away from the phone, jumping when Fingon started typing and letters appeared on the screen. 

Finno: Headed home.

They had all agreed to sound as ambiguous as possible, in case anyone should see.  For a few agonising seconds, there was no response, until Luthien’s message sprang up on WhatsApp.

Beren: Us too. 

Luthien: Great job, my friends. <3

               I’m very proud of you. 

Finrod: Love you all!  <3

Fingon let out his breath. Then sent a private text asking Finrod to come over tomorrow and bring any medical supplies he could, as Fingon had something cool to show him. He slipped his phone back into his pocket. 

“Texted everyone.  They got out safely.” 

“Good,” Thorondor said.  “How’s Ariel doing?” 

“Don’t call him that. It’s not his name.  Speaking of which, what is his name?” 

Gwindor shrugged.  “I don’t know.  I don’t think he can speak Sindarin.  He just squeaks and clicks like a dolphin.  It’s probably a language, but no one could make sense of it.  Mairon and Melkor always called him,” his voice got stuck in his throat.  Gwindor coughed and then said, “I just use Red, seems to suit him.”

“Because of his hair?” Fingon laughed.  “That is so unoriginal.” 

In the review mirror, he could see Gwindor roll his eyes.  “What would you call him them? Carrottop?”

“That’s even worse!  You need to stop.  Besides, he’s too coppery to look like a carrot.” 

“Could call him copperhead.  He bites like one.” 

“That would be mean.”  He played with the merman’s hair.  “Don’t listen to him… Coppertop,” he decided suddenly.  “He’s being ridiculous.”

“So, Carrot top is a no, but Coppertop is just fine?”

“Yep!” 

Grwindor laughed, and some of the years seemed to leave him. 

Fingon traced the scared skin of Coppertop’s arms and back.  “What happened to him?”  

Gwindor’s good mood evaporated.  “Two months ago, we were cruising off the coast of Tirion. Hundred times I’ve been out there, but this time, there were mermaids.  Dozens of them.  They tried to drown us.  Melkor had us put stoppers in our ears, but there was one that was so powerful; his voice pierced through the earplugs.  He could only do it one at a time though, but still, it was impressive, he led many men into the water.  Gothmog threw his harpoons and nets, Thuringwethil sat up in her loft, shouting where to strike.  One of them, a little thing, not full-grown I imagine, got caught in a net.  He had to be Red’s brother; they had the same hair.  Red swam toward him, screaming like a banshee. Gothmog lassoed him and pulled him aboard.”  In a damp, emotion-choked voice, Gwindor said, “Red managed to free his little brother. Glad about that.” He shook his head.  “The group disappeared after that.  Just abandoned him.

‘Melkor was delighted.  He kept Red in a tank on the main deck.  He was a pretty thing, lean muscle, elegant, barely a mark on him.  Strong too.  Some of the men assigned to feed him tried to make him perform, like a seal at one of those parks or something.  They got too close and Red yanked one in and drowned him.  No one could get him to let go.”  A proud chuckle escaped him.  “Red knew what he was doing.  At night, he’d scream bloody murder at the top of his lungs for hours so no one could get a wink of sleep. Drowned several more people, and bit off a chunk arm.  It was so bad they had to cut it off.  He banged into the side of the tank so many times and with so much force, it broke.  Water and glass were everywhere.  It cost Melkor quite a bit money to fix it. 

‘That lasted two weeks before Melkor had enough.  He gave Red to Mairon, to tame him. You should have seen the way that bitch’s eyes lit up.  Mairon kept in in a much smaller tank and took him out to play every day.  Laid him on a steel table and carved into him, to see how he differed from humans and animals.  Mairon would see how cold he could freeze the water before Red froze too, then did the opposite, boiling the water to see how long Red could take it. He rigged something up to electrocute the water once. Valar have mercy, the experiments I saw him do; he sewed his gills closed, ripped out his teeth which would grow back like sharks’. Starved him and would leave him out of water for hours to see how long before he dried up and died. Eru the screams were terrible. I wish I could forget. 

‘Red was with Mairon for a month before Mairon thought he was tame and let his guard down.  Red got the jump on him.  Pulled him into the water and kept banging Mairon’s head against the floor of the tank.  The only reason Mairon survived is because Gothmog had a cattle prod and held it against Red’s flesh until you could smell it burning.  Mairon escaped and put him in the tank you saw.  Broke his tail in several places so he could stuff him in.  He fed him even less, and only rotten fish.  And, you saw what happened to his hand.  Red tried to push the lid off.  I don’t know if he needed air, thought he could escape or what, but he wasn’t strong enough and it slammed down on his hand trapping it there.  That was about five days ago.  Mairon hasn’t let anyone near him since.  I heard him tell Melkor Red would stay like that until the bruises from the beating Red gave him faded. I just to be his keeper or sorts, but I guess he saw that Red seemed to be attached to me, so he switched over to one of his closer men.”

Fingon pulled Coppertop closer to his chest as if that could protect him from the torture he’d endured.  “How could they be so cruel to you?” 

Hearing “Mairon” affected Coppertop greatly.  His long ears twitched and his breath came fast. The mask kept him from breathing fully, which made the panic worse.  He didn’t seem able to move, but lay trembling against Fingon.  His throat hitched, boding heaving, but the mask kept him from getting sick. 

“Coppertop,” Fingon begged, “please stop.  It’s okay, he’s not here.  He can’t hurt you.”  He rubbed Coppertop’s back firmly, hoping to soothe.

Gwindor realised his mistake.  “Ah shit Red.  I’m sorry.”

“Can he understand us?”

“I think he understands tone, more than anything.  But he knows certain words, and he definitely understands names.”

“Kinda like an animal then,” Thorondor supplied. 

“That’s not nice,” Fingon snapped, which made Coppertop flinch, a tiny whimper bleeding out. 

“Oh no, Coppertop.  I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to get angry.” 

Helplessness needled at him, pricking his heart, stirring up anger.  He was supposed to help, it wasn’t supposed to be like this, but it was like he was staring at a plain of nothingness, unable to find anything that would work and sooth Coppertop.

A car swerved in front of them, and Thoronder slammed on the horn.  Coppertop cowered against Fingon, in a full-blown panic attack.  He couldn’t breathe through his nose or open his mouth wide enough, which made him panic more.  His hands clawed at the mask, and he thrashed widely. 

Fingon waded into the fray, fighting against Coppertop's hands so he could reach the buckles.  It fell away with a snap, and Fingon tossed it to the floor.  Gwindor didn’t say anything, but his face was tight.  “It’ll be fine, Fingon assured him. Coppertop took in gulping breaths that rocked his body, while Fingon thumped him on the back. A swell of pride filled him when Coppertop calmed, placing his head back on Fingon’s shoulder.  Fingon tensed, waiting.  Coppertop’s gleaming eyes latched onto Fingon’s neck, but he didn’t bite.

After an hour and a half of driving, they pulled off at a rest stop that overlooked the sea, so Thorondor could switch out the license plates.  All precautions were being taken and then some to ensure Morgoth could not trace them. 

Fingon legs and butt felt numb from holding Coppertop, so Gwindor took Coppertop from Fingon allowing him the chance to stretch and walk around.  Coppertop didn’t’ want to let go of Fingon, but Gwindor firmly pried him off, ignoring his whine. “Come on Red, give the lad a break.  I won’t hurt you, you know me.” 

He leaned against the car, letting Coppertop enjoy the sea breeze.  The air felt good, fresh; the sound of waves soothing.  He bent over to touch his toes, revelling in the stretch of his legs. 

A low hum came from Coppertop, spilling into a sad, desperate song.  He sang for a minute, then stopped, listening intently. 

Fingon didn’t dare breathe but tried to listen for whatever Coppertop was calling.  There was nothing.  Coppertop tried again.  A third time.  The fourth had less of a melody and was pure desperation. 

He’s calling for his family, Fingon realised.  Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.

“Time to go,” Thorondor said.  He was watching the few cars on the road.  “I don’t want him out here too long, someone may see.”

“Take the front, Fingon,” Gwindor said, “I’ll handle Coppertop.”  The stirrings of jealousy prickled, but Fingon only smiled and thanked him.  He was Coppertop’s friend long before he met you, he tried to remind himself. 

Gwindor tried to slide into the car but Coppertop protested.  He made his little clicking sounds and strained toward the ocean.  When Gwindor didn’t budge, his hands frantically grasped at Gwindor’s face, the right ones bloated and purple and stiff, but still Coppertop muscled through, trying to force Gwindor to meet his eyes.  Gwinodr steadfastly ignored him.  Coppertop grew desperate, scratching at Gwindor, begging. 

“No,” he said in a strangled sort of voice.  “You can’t go there.” 

Gwidnor tried to close the door, but Coppertop slammed his head against Gwindor’s nose, breaking it.  He sang his song again, as loud as he could, pleading for his family to come rescue him. 

“They’re not coming, Red.  Stop it. Stop it, you fucking fish.”

Gwindor was trying to keep Coppertop’s teeth away from him, face growing red in anger born from hurt. “I’m trying to help you. Stop this, you’re going to hurt yourself. Don’t make me muzzle you again.  Please.”

“Give him back to Fingon,” Thorondor snapped.

“I can handle this!” Gwindor snarled.

“I said, give him back to Fingon.  He likes Fingon.”

“He likes me.” 

Coppertop snapped at Gwindor, teeth almost sinking into his arm.  Gwindor slipped out of the car, leaving Coppertop flailing.  “Fine,” he snarled at Fingon.  “You help him.” He climbed into the front, slamming the door.

With blood pounding in his ears, Fingon approached the car.  “Shh, shhh,” he said, sliding into the seat.  He didn’t feel afraid, not for himself, only an empty feeling.  He pulled Coppertop to him.  “Shhh. Shhh, there’s a good fish, deep breaths.”  Coppertop looked at him with his shining eyes wide and pleading.  “We’re going to get you home, deep breaths though, deep breaths.”  He massaged Coppertop’s head, running his fingers through his hair.  Coppertop stared out the window.  He pointed; face twisted in pain.  I need to be out there.  You need to take me to the sea, Fingon imagined him saying.  I want to go home.  Fingon’s face was wet with tears, and he buried his face in Coppertops hair

They pulled away, and Coppertop wailed.  Fingon sobbed.  “I’m sorry,” he whispered.  “I’m so, so, sorry.  We will send you back though, I promise.  I’ll get you back to your family.  We just have to fix your injuries.

Coppertop wrapped his arms around Fingon’s neck.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gwindor unbuckle his seat belt, ready to intervene if necessary.  But, though the arms tightened around him painfully, Fingon didn’t get the sense Coppertop was trying to hurt him, only cling to him for comfort.  He rubbed his back, cooing nonsense at him. 

“He likes singing,” Gwindor said suddenly. “He used to hum to himself sometimes, after a brutal session on Marion’s table. He stopped, though; it made Mairon beat him harder.  But, if I sang to him, he seemed…less miserable, and sometimes he’d sing back.

Thorondor turned on the radio, flipping until he found pretty classical music. 

Coppertop’s head shot up, and he looked around the car, trying to find the sound. When nothing revealed itself, he tried to make himself appear smaller, looking fearfully reverent, like an angry Valar had appeared before him.     

Gwindor turned the radio off, but Coppertop didn’t relax.  So, Fingon sang to him, and, very, very, faintly, Coppertop sang back.  

Rosy fingered dawn rouged the night sky, turning it from black to deep purple. They passed through Tirion, the houses shuttered in sleep, roads empty.  The car rumbled down the country roads, headed home. Every time Fingon blinked prying his eyes back open took a great concentration of will. Gwindor’s head banged against the window, and he snapped back to attention with muttered curses.  Only Thorondor remained steadfast, eyes locked on the road, hands never wavering.  

Coppertop head kept nodding but he wouldn’t let himself slip into sleep, despite this being the first time in months he could truly rest in safety.  His hair was dried now and ran soft as silk between Fingon’s fingers. “You have lovely hair, Coppertop,” he murmured with an exhausted sigh.  “Is it the salt water?”  His thoughts floated about, much like seaweed in the sea as the day’s harrowing events leached the energy from him.  “My hair takes hours to do.  Should I cut it short?”  He tried to imagine himself with short hair, he’d look older, quite dashing, distinguished. However, the image rippled, and he saw his mother, fingering his braids, “You have such a boyish charm,” she cooed with a smile.  “You’re such a happy baby.”  He decided to keep the braids.  

Coppertop’s nails dug into Fingon’s neck.  Fingon looked down at him, dismayed to see him chewing his lip, eyes screwed tightly shut.

“Coppertop?  Are you okay?” 

Gwindor turned to them quickly.  “Is he okay?”  

“He seems to be in pain,” Fingon cried.  

Gwindor thought for a moment, then his eyes grew wide with understanding.  “He’s drying out.”    

“Ah shit!  Thorondor, drive faster!”  

“Not a chance.  Will get pulled over and they’ll see Ariel.”  

“Mandos damn it all.”  Fingon no longer felt weighed down with exhaustion, but fear for Coppertop ran like electricity through his veins. “Hang on Coppertop, please,” he begged, smoothing down his hair.  “Where just fifteen minutes away, you can make it.” 

He and Gwindor sang loudly, hoping to chase away Coppertop’s pain with distracting songs.  He writhed in agony, and with a gasp, flung his head back, banging it against the window.  

They pulled into Fingon’s driveway.  Gwindor hopped out of the car before it was in park, pulling open the door for Fingon.  Coppertop made a valiant effort, but in the end, he was howling, face as red as his hair, tendons in his neck straining.  He writhed and screamed and Fingon almost dropped Coppertop several times.  

When Fingon’s father had purchased the house, there was an attached conservatory, but at his children’s insistence, he had built a massive inground, saltwater pool. Fingon moved as fast as he could.  Gwindor grabbed his keys and opened the door.  In less than a minute, Fingon was in the conservatory.  “Don’t put him in the deep end,” Gwindor warned.  “His tail’s broken; he won’t be able to swim.”  

Fingon plopped Coppertop in the water at the shallow end of the pool.  His pained screams cut off, as he was submerged beneath the water.  Fingon and Gwindor stood at the edge of the pool, panting, watching with a small fluttering of hope that they were not too late.  

At the bottom of the pool, Coppertop lay still, gills gulping wide.  Cautiously, like he was in a dream, afraid to believe it was real, he spread himself out.  The width of the pool was long enough that he could stretch his hands and tail out and still not touch the side. His face turned and beneath the water, Fingon could see the rapture on his face. Coppertop turned towards the deep end, moving toward it, but as he flicked his mighty tail, a plaintive wail burst from his lips.  But he didn’t stop, instead, pushing himself up from the bottom, floating, using his good arm to propel himself, never moving his tail.  When he was in the deep end, he let out a breath and sank to the bottom. 

Beside Fingon, Gwindor sighed, face marked with joy.  “He hasn’t had this much room since he was taken,” he said in a hoarse voice.  

Fingon too, was infected with Coppertop’s delight, confused at how overcome he was by the happiness of a creature he had only known for a few hours.  

They watched him stay at the bottom of the pool, until Thorondor persuaded Gwindor to leave, so he could drop him off at Luthien’s and then go home himself.  

“Here’s my number,” Gwindor said.  “Text me sometimes, about how he’s doing.” 

“I will,” Fingon promised.  

Alone now, Fingon slipped to his bedroom, stripping his bed of pillows and blankets, before trudging back to the conservatory.  Coppertop hadn’t moved; he was sleeping now.  Fingon organised his things on the floor, then fell asleep, watching the blue-green scales shimmer in the light of the rising sun.

Chapter Text

Maedhros awoke to such slight discomfort it hardly registered as pain. Beams of dancing light pierced through the blue of the water. He lifted his head, realising just how much room was afforded to him.  A gust of hope swelled painfully in his chest, though he tried to quell it. Hope was far more painful than anything Mairon did to him. 

A human’s voice rang out, and Maedhros could see a dark shape above the water.  The events of the past night, hazy and hard to grasp, slipped through his memory like water through his fingers.  He’d escaped Angband, that much was certain. He remembered Gwin—the traitor, Maedhros amended viciously. The one who pantomimed kindness then muzzled you though he wasn’t even around to order it.  That eel of a man who denied you the ocean, denied you going home, and didn’t even bat an eye. 

The utter ignominy of the times Maedhros felt grateful to that one for sneaking him a piece of fresh fish, singing to him, sitting by his tank, and talking, weighed him down like an anchor.  Maedhros even comforted that poisonous octopus when he came, reeking of alcohol, blubbering about a Gelmir.  Maedhros had pressed his hand against the glass, trying to Sing comfort, like Maglor. Despite it all, stupid, trusting, foolish, little Maedhros was betrayed.    

There came that droning voice, ripping Maedhros from his thoughts. Ah yes, Maehdros’ lip curled, the new one.  He had been caring, touching Maedhros so gently, the first kind touch Maedhros had felt in weeks. He took Maedhros off that ship. He seemed distressed at Maedhros’s distress. He let Maedhros stay in this large pool.  But Maedhros knew it wouldn’t last.     

“Come and get me,” he whispered, hunkering down to strike, squaring his shoulders to appear larger. If the human wanted Maedhros he would have to enter the water.  I’m safe. They can’t hurt me when I’m this deep underwater. Surely, the size of this tank far exceeded the capabilities of whatever little contraption Mairon used to put him to torment in water, his own element. Surely if this human wanted him, he would have to come in, and then Maedhros would drag him underwater and that would be the end.  He would show his strength; they would not keep him and gloat

The human called for him, unrelenting.  Maedhros grit his teeth.  Would he not shut up? He pressed against the edge, stealing his resolve.  The human would grow angry at his disobedience, and the sweet tones would turn pitiless.  He tried to comfort himself with the thought that he had already endured so much, there was nothing new they could do to him, but Mairon had proven that a lie.   

Hesitation plagued him. The pain was always worse when he fought.  Did he really want to go back to that?  The very thought made him tremble. Should I obey or fight back? Atya would fight, he would want me to fight. He hardened his heart against the fear. He was a son of Feanor, he could endure, he would endure anything done to him with the dignity befitting his station. How hopeless everything was though, he just wanted it to stop, he wanted to go home, he didn’t want to hurt anymore, but all that loomed in front of him was pain.

Wait, he told himself. Think this through.  He wasn’t cruel last night.  If you’re good, he’ll stay kind. The humans onboard Angband were cruel, delighting in his torment.  He shouldn’t trust anyone, even if the one from last night seemed so kind. But he was so kind.  He rescued me. And Fight or submit the choices whirled in Maedhros’ mind.  

The human called again, and Maedhros decided. It was a risk, but it would be so much easier to submit at first and fight later if need be. If he proved himself amicable, a good pet, there might be more kindness, more trust.  If he fought now, there would be no kindness, even when he surrendered to their will.  No, best start with obedience and if that didn’t work, fight. He pushed himself off from the bottom, careful not to move his aching tail. Slowly and awkwardly, he propelled himself to the surface.

The little human, face still sleepy, grinned widely with his soft, cute teeth, chattering away like the gulls that nested on Maedhros’ favourite sunning rocks. His voice annoyed Maedhros. Unable to tread water, Maedhros clung to the edge, right hand throbbing. He never should have tried to lift the lid. He was so stupid. His whole experience aboard Angband had been nothing but a lesson in humiliation; how weak he was in the face of humanity.  He cringed remembering how Mairon tore screams from him as easily as Maedhros tore through fish, the shameful way he begged for respite, how he tried to obey, though he couldn’t understand and the despair when he wasn’t good enough to please them.  His father and brothers would not have behaved so.  His grandfather had fought before they killed him. But Maedhros was weak.  Even now, he knew he would do anything to avoid going back to the ship.  He could pretend he was trying to make the smarter move and plan long-term, but really, he was just trying to avoid pain.

The human still chattered away, gesturing animatedly towards the shallow end of the pool. Hot shame curled in his gut as Maedhros used the edge to drag himself where commanded. A creature of the deep, prince of the waves, obeying a human master, what would his family think?  

Maedhros followed him to the shallows, scrutinizing the human. He was a tiny little thing, probably six feet. He was almost the size of the Ambarussa, and they had yet to reach their majority.  Still, he was fascinating. Thick, muscular legs, partly covered by some loose garb. Humans, he found, had disposable cloth skin they often changed daily. This one wore dark blue. His limbs weren’t particularly long, and his shoulders were awfully narrow. He wasn’t built for swimming, but he did move on the land with grace, every step confident and firm. 

He beckoned Maedhros closer, cooing at him, but Maedhros stayed several feet away from the edge. The human smiled and his voice grew even softer.  He sounded like Celegorm talking to one of his pet seals.  Maedhros did not move, keeping his face impassive. Hopefully, he looked intimidating but not frightening.  The human sighed then walked away and out of the room. Fear swelled up, white hot and blinding. “Where are you going,” he called.  I need to keep an eye on you.  Why did he leave?  What was he getting?  He was annoyed that Maedhros wasn’t coming closer, so he was going to find something to make him come closer.  Maedhros gulped, feeling miserable.

Minutes passed and the human returned, carrying a tray, but instead of the glint of a knife blade, Maedhros could see brightly coloured ceramics filled with food and drink.  The human cocked a finger, and slowly Maedhros approached.  He went until the terror was too much and he couldn’t make himself get closer, though he wanted to.  The human spoke, holding something round and red.  He tossed it to Maedhros who made no effort to catch it.  It bobbed in the water and Maedhros grabbed it.  “What is this?” he said sniffing.  It didn’t smell bad.  The human held one too and took a bite.  It was food. Maedhros ate it in three bites, hardly tasting.  The human laughed and handed him something soft and spongy, a brownish crust and white insides. Maedhros ate that too, not registering the taste, but only the absence of rot.  He ate until he could eat no more, stomach uncomfortably full.  He couldn’t remember the last time he ate something that didn’t reek and actually filled his belly.

“Thank you,” he said, remembering his manners, and his human beamed at him.  He beckoned Maedhros closer, and emboldened he obeyed. He was at the edge now, close enough for his human to touch him. He did, but not in the way Maedhros thought he would. Instead of grabbing his hair, he took his left hand and wrapped it around the cup. He guided it to Maedhros’ mouth, pressing it to his lips. His human forced Maedhros to tip his head back, and a splash of sweet and tangy liquid exploded into his mouth.  Maedhros jerked back, eyes widening and he licked his lips. His human laughed happily, so different from Mairon’s snickers or the Moringotho's cackle.  He grinned, asking Maedhros a question.  

Though he didn’t understand, Maedhros could hazard a guess and nodded.  “Yes, that was good.”

Another question, and his human held out the glass.  Maedhros took it, trying to work out how to properly tip it back but the sweet orange liquid spilled into the water.  Please don’t hurt me, please don’t hurt me, Maedhros pleaded, but with the good sense to keep it in his mind.  He wouldn’t, could not, afford to shame himself in front of his saviour.  No weakness, he would never let himself be weak again. 

His human didn’t strike Maedhros, instead grabbed hand again, placing it around a new cup, guiding it to his mouth.  Maedhros drank half, then shyly offered the rest to his human.  That elicited yet another grin and dark fingers brushed some Maedhros’ hair behind his ear.  

His human pointed at himself, making the same droning noise over and over.  Maedhros cocked his head, trying to understand.  

“Fingon,” he said, pointing at himself.  Maedhros narrowed his eyes in concentration, parsing out the sounds.  Fin-gon. It was his human’s name.  On Angband no one bothered introducing themselves to their captain’s plaything.  It was only through days of listening that Maedhros was able to put sounds with faces.  But of course, his human, Fingon, did not see Maedhros as just a thing.  Fingon thought he deserved to be treated with dignity.  His human was better than Angband’s crew.

“It won’t sound the same when I say it,” Maedhros told him, “but I understand.”  

He gestured at Fingon.  “Fingon,” he said a few times.  Fingon’s face turned serious, head cocked as he listened to Maedhros.  He pointed at himself and raised an eyebrow.  “Fingon,” Maedhros said.  “I know you’re Fingon.”   Fingon did seem to recognise his own name coming from Maedhros’ and he beamed again.  Then, he pointed at Maedhros.  “Coppertop,” he said enough times so Maedhros could understand.  

Is that something good, Maedhros wondered idly, or has he found some horrid thing to title me?  

Fingon chattered away, sometimes lowering his voice and slowing down his speech. Maedhros knew it was an attempt to soothe him, but instead of feeling angry at being cosseted, he felt touched.  It was annoying, but a welcomed relief from what he had been experiencing.  

As Fingon talked, Maedhros’ eyes grew heavy.  He was so exhausted. But sleeping was out of the question. It was still too soon to let his guard down. However, he can’t contain his yawn. Fingon stopped mid-sentence and mimed sleeping, making questions noises.  Maedhros shook his head.  “No, no, I don’t need to.”  

Fingon raised an eyebrow.  “I don’t,” Maedhros snapped. Fingon pointed towards the deep end and made a shooing motion.  Well, Maedhros reasoned, maybe it would be okay to rest in the deep. Keeping an eye on Fingon he paddled out, sinking to the bottom. He wiggled around until his back touched the wall of the pool, then curled up as tight as he could. He was asleep within minutes.  

He awoke a few hours later, to Fingon calling him again. Everything ached, but he forced himself to rise and make his way to the shallow end where Fingon sat on the edge waiting.  His face was very tight. 

“What happened,” Maedhros demanded, his first instinct to protect.  Then, he remembered this was not one of his little brothers needing help.  If Fingon looked upset, something bad was going to happen to Maedhros, not him.  

“Are you sending me back?” He didn’t mean to ask that, and he closed his mouth fast, pinching at the skin of his right hand, the sharp pain grounding.  

Fingon spoke soothingly to Maedhros, offering his hand. He ran his fingers through Maedhros’ hair, scratching gently at his scalp.  Maedhros knew he was shaking and tried to stop it, but he couldn’t. This went on for a while, until Maedhros relaxed enough to lay his head against Fingon’s knees.  Fingon cooed, and then called for someone.  

A tall, thin man walked in.  Only Fingon’s hand on his shoulder, a command to stay, kept Maedhros in place. Awe lit up the man’s serious face.  Awe like the Moringotho, awe like Mairon, awe like Gwindor and the rest of the crew when they saw Maedhros. Awe like Fingon, when he first saw Maedhros in that watery hell.  The man’s hands were large, and automatically he reached out.  Maedhros flinched, and Fingon pulled him closer. Don’t fight, don’t fight, not yet. Be patient, Maedhros reminded himself. He could hear someone whining, him, but he couldn’t stop, and he couldn’t stop staring at the man whose hand hovered over his tail.  

Fingon snapped sharply, demanding Maedhros behave. However, it was the man who blinked a few times and looked chastised.  He spoke to Maedhros, voice low and soft, like Fingon’s, and withdrew his hand, having never touched Maedhros.  Fingon squeezed him, then went back to petting his hair.  

As Fingon and the man spoke, Maedhros studied the two. They had similar noses and eye colour, a sense of deep comradery between them. The man’s hand rested on Fingon’s shoulder.

“Are you his father?”  

There was a slight twitch of the man’s stern but kind mouth. Fingon babbled happily, then titled Maedhros head up so their eyes met.  He was telling Maedhros to do something, but what?  Fingon frowned.  He spoke, stopped, and pointed at Maedhros.

“Do you…you want me to talk to you?”  

Both humans smiled at him, so Maedhros, never one to talk much owing to several loud family members, found himself talking. His first thought was to talk about his family, but they shouldn’t learn about them. However, an idea sparked in his mind. On the off chance these humans could understand him, what better way to garner safety and help than by sharing the horrors of Angband.

“We went after them,” he said, forcing his voice to be firm, “because maybe two or three years ago, not long at all, they captured my grandfather.  They hauled him aboard the ship, and when my father went to attack, they dashed his noble head against the side of the boat, over and over,” his voice wobbled, “until his brains were e-e-everywhere and he was dead.”  

Fingon sensed his distress and cooed at him.  Maedhros pressed himself against his knees.  “Atya swore revenge, so we waited and planned.  We gathered a force large enough to sink the boat.  My father, all my brothers except the two youngest, who stayed back with my mother, and our fiercest followers tracked the boat and made our attack. My youngest brother wasn’t supposed to come, but he did. One of them caught him in a net. They were going to haul him abroad.”  Panic laced his voice as he remembered the sheer horror of seeing Amrod struggling to get free, his young voice high pitched with fear calling for Atya and Amras. Maedhros saw it and had only one thought.  “I left my post to free him.  I wasn’t fast enough.  I don’t even know if he’s alive,” a wail was building in his throat. 

“Maedhros!” Amrod screamed, voice cracking.  “Help!” 

Blood stained the water, swirling in horrific billows around Amrod as he thrashed, trying to escape the tangling net.  Headless of the harpoons and chaos, Maedhros barrelled toward his little brother.  

“Mae,” Amrod whimpered, “don’t let them get me.”  

 Maedhros didn’t respond, focused on cutting Amrod free with the knife he had strapped to his arm.  They started to pull the net up.  Amrod’s eyes bugged out, his mouth open in a soundless scream.  He snaked a hand through the rope and clutched at Maedhros.  “Help me!”  

Maedhros snarled, hacking at the ropes with one. He clung to the net with the other and he and Amrod were lifted out of the water.  His little brother’s blood dripped onto his face.  “Come on, come on,” he growled and at least enough of the rope was cut.  He and Amrod tumbled into the waves, red bubbles frothing around them.  Amrod sunk toward the bottom, a gaping wound in his chest.  Maedhros reached for him, planning to take him out of the fray, but another net was thrown.  It tangled around Maedhros, coarse rope biting against his skin.  This time, the crew wasted no time, hauling him up.  

Again, he cut at the ropes, but the knife handle was slick with blood and slipped out of his frantic grip, following Amrod down into the depths. Maedhros flung himself against the net, trying to fight the pull, watching in horror as Amrod, his youngest brother, his baby, sank to the bottom of the ocean, bloodless and barely breathing while he was pulled up into the air.

 He was spilled out onto the deck, snarling and trashing. The crew gathered round, poking at him with some sort of metal stick.  Maedhros had barred his teeth, snapping like a rabid animal.  They’d hooped and hollered, egging him on, dancing out of the way when he stuck, until finally, the Moringotto appeared. 

Maedhros pushed himself up on his arms and had to tilt his head up to see him.  “Vile creature,” he spat. “I, Maedhros, son of Feanor, son of Finwe whom you brutally slaughtered will tear you fucking limb from limb!”  He lunged at the monster of a man, but he laughed. He snapped and the men fell upon him, tearing the jewels from his battle braids and pinning him against the deck.  Maedhros could hear the sounds of his father ordering a retreat. The Morringotto bent down, and Maedhros felt fear then, as he stared into pale blue eyes. 

Fingon was shaking him by his shoulders, and Maedhros stared at him, eyes wide. He blinked, and Fingon’s face collapsed with relief.  He must have been silent for some time, trapped in the memory.  “I’m sorry,” he said weakly, trying to gather his bearings.  “I don’t know what came over me.”  He cast a shy glance at Fingon.  Don’t be mad at me, he wanted to say.  I’m sorry I stopped talking.  Fingon placed a kiss on the crown of his head.  “Ooh,” Maedhros murmured.  “You’re so nice.”  

His father brought them food, the smell of fish strong.  Maedhros wiggled happily, mouthwatering. When was the last time he’d had good fish? How kind Fingon is. Maedhros snatched the fish from the plate, ignoring the long-grained rice, pipping hot vegetables, and pushed himself away from the humans and ducked underwater.  The fish was dead, but that was fine, he ate it anyway, scarfing it down before someone took it from him. It wasn’t raw, but cooked, and while he didn’t love the taste, it was bearable.  He popped his head back up, to see Fingon looking distressed.  He offered another fish to Maedhros, tossing it into the water, so Maedhros could eat his fill a safe distance away.  

Full, he slunk back to Fingon, who offered him a cup of clear liquid.  “More juice?” Maedhros asked excitedly.  Fingon helped him take a drink, and Maedhros grimaced, spluttering.  “Is this…water? What have you done with it? It’s not salty!”  

Fingon looked at him in shock, and tried to have him drink more, but Maedhros turned his face.  “I don’t like it.”  Fingon didn’t force it, but took the cup away, confusion plain.  “I didn’t mean to insult you,” Maedhros said quickly.  Who was he to refuse something Fingon gave him? Yes, Fingon was much kinder than Mairon, but that didn’t mean Maedhros had the right…how badly had he messed up?  He hunched his shoulders, hoping to look small and cute.  “I’m sorry,” he said.  “I’m sorry.  I’ll be more respectful. Give me another chance?”  

Fingon flicked water at him, exaggeratedly playful.  “I don’t understand you,” Maedhros confessed sadly.  “You never get upset.  Why?” 

Fingon didn’t answer, but he did yawn. The sun was setting, orange rays stretching over the trees.  

“I’m tired too.”  

Fingon chattered slowly, then disappeared.  Maedhros watched him go, panic rising.  Don’t leave me.  I need you.  You’re the only thing keeping me sane.”  Nearly an hour later, he returned, dressed differently again, hair wrapped in a black bonnet.  Relief bubbled out of Maedhros in the form of a wide smile.  You came back. 

Fingon snuggled into his bundle of blankets and buried his head under a pillow.  He was going to stay.   Maedhros rested his arms on the edge of the pool, head pillowed upon them, watching the easy rise and fall of Fingon’s breathing.   He watched until his eyes grew heavy.  He slipped underwater, ready to go to the deep end, but his body ached.  Even his one-handed paddling made his ribs hurt. With a soft cry, he remained in the shallow end. Sleep did not come easy, the two feet of water barely covering him, offering no protection. He tucked his right hand under his chin, left arm wrapped across it.  It was somewhat comforting.  Eventually, he fell into uneasy sleep.  

In the morning, he awoke to two voices.  Fingon, and a friend.  The friend looked at Maedhros, slack jawed, his blue eyes wide in wonder.  Fingon seemed pleased, glad his pet was worthy of admiration.  Fingon’s friend had hair of sunlight, blinding and bright. 

Fingon beckoned him over, and Maedhros went. He ground his teeth through the pain.  Everything hurt, much worse than yesterday. It took him several minutes to slog through the water to where Fingon waited. Finally, there, he rested his arms on the ledge, head resting on them.  Fingon praised him, patting him on the head for his troubles. He lay exhausted and defenceless between the two humans, unable to do anything but tremble in fear and pain. The two looked him over, talking between themselves. The unnamed human bent down and Maedhros hissed at him, showing off his sharp teeth. The human yelped and jumped backwards. Relief sprang forward in Maedhros’ heart, but it turned cold when he realised Fingon had jumped away from him too, rubbing his bandaged neck.  

“I’m sorry,” Maedhros hoped he looked contrite.  “I’m not going to bite you, Fingon,” he said gently, like he was talking to one of his little brothers when they were scared.   

Fingon’s face changed from fear to joy, recognising his name.  It was fun to watch him babble excitedly to his friend, hands dancing.  The friend was introduced as Finrod, and Maedhros knew he would get those names mixed up.  

The two talked for a moment, then looked back at Maedhros.  Finrod disappeared, then came back carrying instruments Maedhros was familiar with; Mairon’s tools. “No!” he screamed, breath coming too fast. Headless of the pain from his broken tail, he threw himself backwards, trying to drag himself to the deep end of the pool.  If he could stay there, he’d be safe.  It hurt too much, though, and Maedhros collapsed in the shallow end having not even made it two feet away from the humans. 

Fingon called for him, voice low and soft and kind.  “No,” Maedhros moaned, “Please don’t. Fingon, please don’t. Not you too.”  He cursed himself. Hadn’t he learned not to hope?  

Fingon was approaching him, still on the side of the pool, and Maedhros’ arms curled reflexively above his head.  “Please, please, please,” he whimpered. 

“Coppertop,” Fingon said gently.  “Coppertop.”  Maedhros looked at him, with eyes bulging in fear.  “You were so nice yesterday,” he blubbered.  “Please don’t do this to me.”  

Fingon sighed.  His hands were in tight fists, knuckles white.  He was trembling too, as he stepped into the pool.  “Come closer and I’ll be sure to rip your throat out,” Maedhros tried to snarl, but it came out tiny and pitiful.  Fingon took a step and Maedhros flinched, and Finrod shouted demands for him to leave Maedhros alone and come to safety.  Fingon waved him off.  He gave a frightened smile at Maedhros, and started singing.  Gently, he lowered himself down, and sat in the water, little waves lapping at his chest.  

Maedhros watched him, so terribly confused and afraid. “Coppertop,” Fingon sang, and beckoned Maedhros to come close.  Shyly Maedhros approached him.  Fingon didn’t move, but allowed Maedhros to come to him.  Slowly, he raised his hand, and were Maedhros hale, he would have darted away.  Instead, he cowered, eyes closed, expecting a blow, but Fingon only touched Maedhros’ hair, twirling it around his fingers.  Maedhros looked at him, and Fingon smiled.  

He said something soft and low. “Please don’t hurt me,” Maedhros whispered.  Fingon’s hand moved from his hair to his shoulder, and Maedhros couldn’t breathe.  He stared wide eyed and Fingon, like a little fish trapped by the gaze of a hungry barracuda.  

Fingon’s fingers brushed against a long scab on Maedhros’ shoulder.  Fingon spoke to him, face earnest and open.  He showed Maedhros a small pot, dipping the fingers of Maedhros' good hand into the jelly-like substance.  Maedhros sniffed it, the smell sharp.  Fingon guided Maedhros' fingers to his own neck, removing the bandage. The fresh bite wound pulsed red and angry. Firmly, he placed Maedhros’ hand against the wound. 

Finrod covered his eyes with a howl, but Fingon ignored him, showing Maedhros how to put the ointment on. He hissed slightly, and Maedhros jerked his hand back, frantically offering apologies. Fingon patted his check, sighing happily.  He said something to Maedhros, and pointed at the bite, glistening now with a thin sheen of whatever it was. Fingon gave him a thumbs up, then dipped Maedhros’s fingers back in the jelly, and pointed at a mark on Maedhros’ arm. Maedhros dabbed at it.  There was a sharp burst of pain, but then it faded, seeming to soothe the ache that was there. Fingon rubbed some on the mess of burning tissue from Gothmog’s electric prod, since Maedhros couldn’t reach. Maedhros collapsed against him, resting his head against Fingon’s neck like he had in the car, relishing in the way it burned and cooled, taking a sliver of the ache away. Fingon laughed softly and said something to him.  Then Maedhros was lifted out of the water.  He started to panic, but Fingon squeezed him tightly, petting his hair.  

They layed him on the cool tiled floor. Fingon kept petting his hair, muttering soothing sounds.  Though Maedhros was so frightened, he knew what was coming, he simply stared at Fingon, resolving to endure.  He could endure for Fingon, who was so nice to him.  This was a way to repay Fingon, by enduring whatever experiments they had planned.    

Finrod smeared sharp smelling salves all over his torso. It burned, but not like the acid Mairon had poured on his hip one day, or the bite of the knife.  Some of his worst wounds were wrapped tightly in white cloth, his broken ribs bound.  Maedhros felt stupid as it all came together.  They were trying to heal him.

“I’m sorry,” he told Fingon.  “I’m sorry I doubted you.”  

The work was long, but the two men routinely placed Maedhros back into the water, never letting him get close to drying out, and thanks spilled from Maedhros lips like a fountain.   

But, when Finrod touched his tail Maedhros jerked, whimpering.  “Don’t touch it,” he begged.  Mairon was obsessed with his tail, cutting it open, bending it about, plucking off the scales, sometimes just running his fingers over it, the gentle caresses searing.

Finrod tried to touch his tail again, and Maedhros hissed.  “No,” he tried to say firmly.  “Leave it alone. I don’t care if it’s broken, I don’t want you to touch it.”  By their expressions, he knew he did not paint an intimidating picture.  

The two spoke for a minute then put Maedhros back in the water. They sat on the edge, flicking water at him with their legs. Fingon pointed at his feet, wiggling his eyebrows. He eyed Fingon warily.  “Am I allowed?” He asked, Fingon took his hand and placed it on his knee.  

His father was the true scientist, but all his children had inherited his curiosity, to some degree.  Maedhros slid his hand up and down Fingon’s leg.  He didn’t have scales, but little hairs, and his toes were much smaller than Maedhros thought they would be. Finrod allowed him to touch too, and they were remarkably similar. Maedhros stared spellbound watching them move their feet. The whole foot could rotate quite a bit more than Maedhros’ tail and fins, pointing left and right, up and down.  He touched the pad of the foot, and Fingon giggled. They were incredibly sensitive, Maedhros gathered.  

The two let Maedhros explore, and when he was done, they pulled him out of the pool to finish fixing him.  Fingon’s hands hovered over Maedhros’ tail, and he made a questioning noise. Swallowing hard, Maedhros nodded.  

Maedhros didn’t have much to fear, because they were not so much interested as they were clinical. They didn’t stroke his fins, or dig their fingers in his genital slit, but only focused on finding the breaks. Maedhros’ panic passed enough so he could watch them work.  Finrod put a splint all down the length of his tail, immobilizing it.  Maedhros had seen something similar done from his brother Tyelko, who could always be counted on to get into some trouble, but the humans’ splint seemed far more primitive that what he was used to.  

That done, they moved on to the last thing, his hand. It throbbed constantly, and was a very ugly purple, bloated like a dead fish.  The nails had fallen off, and even a light touch sent pain shooting up his arm.  

Finrod gave his diagnosis. Fingon shouted at him, face twisted in distress.  By now, Maedhros was exhausted again, body weak from Mairon, and overwhelmed by the past forty-eight hours of escape, a whole new world, and the extensive medical assessment. “Don’t be upset,” he said blearily, brain foggy. 

Fingon petted his hair and started singing softly. He pointed at something outside of the windows, and Maedhros, dazed, tried to see where he pointed.  There was a sharp bite in his arm, and Maedhros looked over to see Finrod removing a syringe. Maedhros grew heavy and fell asleep. 

Maedhros woke in the water, cradled in Fingon’s arms.  Fingon sat in the water, leaning against the side of the pool chatting with Finrod.  

“Finnngonnn!” Maedhros said happily, a wide smile on his face.  Fingon looked down at him and Maedhros beamed up.  “It’s my Fingon!  I’m so happy to see you.  I looooove seeing you.  You make me happy.” He nuzzled into Fingon’s chest.  One of his long braids tickled Maedhros’ nose.  Maedhros went to grab it, but his right hand was gone.  His eyes grew wide and he looked at Fingon.  “My hand disappeared!” he said breathlessly.  “How did that happen?”  With exaggerated movements he lowered it back in the water, promptly forgetting about it once it was out of sight.  The braids were his focus again.  Fingon was trying to talk to him, but Maedhros shushed him, fingers of his left hand trying to cover his mouth, but missing it entirely.  He was finally able to grab one of the braids, looking at it intently.  He tugged it and gave Fingon his best smile.  “When I go home,” he told him, “I’m going to tell everyone about how you braid your hair.  Rows and rows of little braids.”  He sat up so he could get a better look.  “I’m going to call them…call them…. Fingon’s braids! Everyone’s going to do their hair like this in honour of my Fingon, ‘cause you saved me.”  His head lulled about, it was very hard to keep it steady.  Maedhros laughed.  “Fingon’s braids,” he cooed, over and over.  

Fingon did not seem as pleased as Maedhros thought he should be.  He kept looking at him worriedly, trying to keep him from moving around.  

“No, no,” Maedhros said when Fingon tried to settle him against his chest.  “I gotta count how many braids there are so I can make sure everyone does it right!”  He poked Fingon in the check.  “Your skin is much softer than mine. That’s not good if you want to live in the ocean.  You have to be tough!”  Fingon wrestled his hand away from his face. Maedhros entwined their fingers.  “I like your soft skin. I like your colour. You’re very, very, very, attractive,” he realised suddenly. “If you lived with me, you’d have to fight off allllllll the mermaids, and some of the mermen.  Everyone would want you.  But you’d want me, right?  Cause you saved me, and took care of me?  I would take care of you,” he said earnestly. “I like it when you’re here.  You make me happy. You saved me, you must stay here and keep me safe.  What if Mairon or the Moringotho find me?  I need you here.  I’ll make it up to you, I promise. Whatever makes you happy, I’ll do it!”  

Fingon swayed side to side.  “Don’t do that!” Maedhros said alarmed, trying to steady him, only to realise that he was the one swaying.  He let Fingon pull him against his chest, and tried to nuzzle closer. “I’ll be good,” he said sincerely.  “I’ll be good for you. I’m your pet merman, you’re my Fingon.  We have to be good for each other.” 

Since Fingon was holding him close, in a way that made him feel very safe, Maedhros decided to sing for him.  “So you can feel safe too!”  Maedhros didn’t like to sing for others.  Maglor was the singer in the family, the most powerful siren of their generation and one of the only one’s born to Finwë’s line.  He had an ear for music, and didn’t find Maedhros’ voice to be up to par. But, Maedhros was determined to try for Fingon.  He sang, but kept forgetting which song he was signing, and would switch half way in a verse. Fingon laughed.  Maedhros stopped singing.  “Your laugh sounds like music,” he said dreamily.  Fingon patted his head.  He pulled Maedhros right arm out of the water, bandages clinging tightly to a stump.  Maedhros looked very hard at it.  “Where’s my hand?” he said, surprised, not remembering he had already seen this. Fingon took the bandaged stump in his hand, kissing it.  He looked at Maedhros apologetically, deep sadness on his face.  Maedhros mind floated for a bit, as he stared, trying to make sense.  “You cut it off, didn’t you,” he realised. Anger grew, deep in his belly, but not at Fingon, or Finrod.  “You had to cut if off because of him” he couldn’t say the name. “He’s ruined me. I thought I was stronger.  I thought I could endure.” His heart ached.  “I am weak. Pathetic. He defeated me.”  He pulled his arm close to his chest, nestling against Fingon’s chest. Fingon spoke to him, voice low and soft and slow.  He stroked his hair.  Maedhros closed his eyes, hating himself and world.   

Maedhros spent much of the next few days sleeping. He’d never been so exhausted before in his life, but a voice that sounded like his mother’s told him it was just his body’s way of healing. A few days after the medical examination, Maedhros could make it back to the deep end where he would sleep, back pressed against the edge, head pillowed on his left arm, stump tucked under his chin, body slightly curled around it.  In the morning, Fingon called away from sleep and up to the surface with a chipper. “Coppertop,” to check his bandages and give him food. Maedhros felt bulky, like a whale on land, and he had to find ways to drag himself through the water with his tail bound in a splint and his hand gone. 

Humiliation and anger burned deep, though Maedhros tried to banish the feelings. He was healing, this sort of movement was expected of him. Every time he popped his head above water, Fingon’s smiling face greeted him, and the dark feelings were chased away by his smile. 

“Good morning,” Maedhros said, panting a bit from the excursion.  Fingon always met him at the shallow end.  Fingon greeted him, probably good morning in his language. Maedhros presented his arm, and Fingon unwrapped the bandages, rubbing ointment on it, checking that the wound was healing well. It throbbed, the pain keeping him up at night. Back home, he would have been given a medicinal drought to soothe the pain. Here, they did not have anything. Or, a horrid thought taunted Maedhros, they want you to be in pain to keep you weak.

Sometimes, Maedhros couldn’t look when Fingon tended to the wound. The angry red skin held together by frightful jagged black stitches made his stomach roll. Fingon cooed at him, then wrapped the stump back up.  He checked a few of Maedhros’ other serious wounds, face tight in concentration. Maedhros held himself very tight, during the process, trying not to tremble or whine, as Fingon touched him.  If Fingon caught onto his fear, he’d make sad, distressed sounds and Maedhros felt guilty.  It wasn’t Fingon’s fault, he didn't even look like Mairon, but his stupid, shattered, mind wouldn’t cooperate, and if he didn’t keep it under tight control, Fingon’s form would flicker, shifting between him and a slighter, paler, figure with longer hair and Fingon’s kind, helpful touches would become far more sinister.  

Fingon finished the examination, gave Maedhros a comforting smile and a pat on the head. Breakfast was then brought out, more of the soft, white, sponge, this time with a thick, purple, sweet smelling spread. There were the yellow, fluffy, clumps, and a strip of meat.  All things Maedhros had tried and enjoyed.  He munched on breakfast, Fingon eating too, while talking animatedly.

It reminded Maedhros of mornings with his little brothers, them talking away while Maedhros listened. Thoughts of his brothers made it hard to swallow, so Maedhros focused on Fingon’s face.  

After breakfast, Maedhros was always exhausted, and slept in the shallow end.  Fingon disappeared, never returning until he brought lunch.  Maedhros forced himself to stay awake after breakfast one day, thinking if he did, Fingon wouldn’t leave him.  But, Fingon waved goodbye and left.  Always though, Fingon came back for lunch. 

Fingon never seemed to be pleased with the little amount Maedhros ate. “It is good,” Maedhros mumbled through his sandwich. It wasn’t a lie, per se, but Maedhros missed the fresh fish, clams and oysters, seaweed, and kelp. The food Fingon fed him, while some of it good, rolled about in his stomach, making it cramp.

After lunch, Fingon disappeared again.  Maedhros would be left alone until one of his family members came in to entertain him.  Two days after meeting Finrod, Maedhros was introduced to Fingon’s family.  There was his father, whom Maedhros had already seen, a very tall brother and his wife with their little daughter with adorable chubby cheeks, a sister, and another younger brother.  They all took turns caring for him in the afternoon, because Fingon had taken to disappearing after lunch too.  Today, it was Turgon and his little daughter came to see him.

 “Ariel!” She cried, trying to pull away from her father’s hand.  Fingon’s brother Turgon was nice enough, but he never let go of his daughter when they came to visit.  

“I don’t hurt children,” Maedhros promised.  “Adults, yes, but children, never.”  It hadn’t made a difference.  Idril dragged her father over and plopped down in front of Maedhros.  She giggled and handed him a four pronged, tiny, trident.  

“Thank you, little one.”  Idril looked at him expectantly.  

Maedhros cast a quick glance at Turgon to see if he could shed light on what he was supposed to do.  “I don’t have anything to spear with it, I’m sorry.”  

She mimed brushing her hair.   “You brush your hair with this?” Maedhros asked incredulously. “But it’s so tiny.” He had a longer protest planned, but her little face squished itself up unpleasantly, her chubby cheeks growing red, her blue eyes sad.  

“Oh silly, me, of course you do!”  And he brushed his hair with a fork.  Idril was delighted.  She laughed and babbled at him.  Maedhros forced himself to stay animated, it used to come easy, and continued fighting against his hair with a fork.  This can’t be right, he thought.  It keeps getting stuck, and I don’t think it’s getting the tangles out.  We use forks to eat clams and oysters.  

Eventually, Turgon took pity on him, singling he could be done. Maedhros tried to give the fork back, but Idril shook his head.  Maedhros gave her a soft smile, closed lipped because his sharp teeth scared her.  “Thank you, I’ll treasure it always.”  

Turgon face was twisted in disgust as he looked at Maedhros.  Maedhros swallowed hard, the familiar fear a reminder that this could all be taken away.  The large pool, the constant food, the kindness, and the gentleness, if his humans were displeased with him in any way or just wanted a new kind of fun, he would lose everything.  Turgon shook his head, lips pursed, and called Idril away.  She waved goodbye, and Maedhros did too.  

When Fingon appeared for dinner, Maedhros approached him cautiously.  He didn’t seem upset, had Turgon spoken yet? Did he disagree with Turgon’s disgust?  His stomach gurgled, and the food, long, thin, wiggly thing covered in red sauce with chunks of meat did nothing to settle the nausea.  It made it worse.  On top of it all, Maedhros had trouble figuring out how to work the fork for the dish.  

That was another adjustment.  Even though he had nothing to do, he hadn’t realised how much he used both his hands to swim, to touch his hair, to eat. When Fingon let him go home, if Fingon let him go home, it would be even more evident that Maedhros was a useless cripple who could do nothing. He held the fork, which apparently humans used to eat with too, not just brush their hair, fighting angrily with his food. Stabbing yielded nothing, and Fingon effortlessly twirled it onto his own fork, but Maedhros was still trying to learn to use his non-dominant hand. Eventually, Fingon’s good will ran out, because he snatched the fork from his hand, and fed Maedhros himself.  Pet, pet, pet! A voice screeched in his mind, and Maedhros burned with shame and anger.  He probably did this on purpose.  He likes seeing me weak and helpless, he thinks it’s cute.  He knew I wouldn’t be able to eat this on my own.  He set me up. 

Maedhros ate less than normal, in part because of the humiliation, but also because the food made him sick.  Some of what Fingon brought him hurt his stomach terribly and Maedhros was tormented by the humiliation of uncontrollable vomiting and shitting himself for half the night.  That was the hardest to bare. It was clear Fingon did it on purpose, but Maedhros couldn’t figure out what why.  It wasn’t every meal, only some, but there didn’t seem to be a pattern.  It didn’t make sense, because this was the only way in which Fingon was cruel, and he wasn’t even there to witness the effects.  Unable to stomach another bite, Maedhros turned his head.  Fingon didn’t force this issue.  

After dinner, he would find some way to entertain Maedhros, introducing him to the wonders of the world. Fingon perched on the edge, dangling his feet in the water, gently splashing at Maedhros.  Maedhros flicked water back.  “Just wait until my tail is healed,” he said, narrowing his eyes playfully.  “You’ll be soaked.”  

Fingon, smart thing that he was, caught the tone and rolled his eyes. From behind his back, he pulled out a plastic bottle and presented it to Maedhros to drink.  Every day, he always gave him some new snack to try.  “I want to colourful little chewy monsters, instead.” He mimed chewing.  Fingon had given him a treat, tiny, colourful, gelatine monsters only a few centimetres high.  Maedhros loved them and Fingon used them as rewards to brighten Maedhros mood or encourage him to be brave. 

Fingon sighed, they had been through this a lot.  He pointed at the drink. “I’ll try this if you give me the chewy things,” Maedhros sign-songed.   

With another roll of his eyes, this one less playful, he showed the small golden packet of Maedhros’ favourite snack.  

“Thank you, Fingon,” he said, stressing Fingon’s name, because it made the human happy to hear his name. Right on cue, Fingon smiled, embarrassed and pleased.  Anger averted, Maedhros sipped at the drink.  Sweet and overly fizzy, it felt like his mouth was being attacked.  It went up his nose, burning.  Maedhros coughed and made such a face that Fingon laughed so hard he fell over.  

Maedhros hadn’t the bottle back, still grimacing.  “What is that?”  

Fingon took a long swig and winked at him.  

“When you let me go home, I’m going to make you try jellyfish, see who’s laughing then, hmm?” 

Fingon opened the packet of gummy bears and tossed them at Maedhros.  Maedhros dunked them underwater, so they’d get the salty taste, then ate them one at a time.  “When you visit me, make sure you bring these.” 

Now that Maedhros had been here a few days, Fingon no longer slept in the conservatory.  Instead, he’d kiss Maedhros good night on the head once the sun set, and left. Maedhros wanted him to stay.  Instead, he had to consign himself to nights alone and in pain, Angband sailing into his nightmares, the Moringotho and Mairon at her helm.  He’d wake screaming, confused and frightened.   But with the rays of the warm, bright sun came Fingon and he could breathe again as the day started. 

Chapter Text

Alqualondë Marine Life Centre, colloquially called The Haven and named after the gulf that bordered Tirion, had been Fingon’s dream job since he could remember.  It was the most successful rescue and rehabilitation centre in Beleriand.  During his undergrad, Fingon spent hours studying, forgoing parties, friends, family, and sleep.  It paid off.  His final year of undergrad, he did his internship at the Haven.  By the end of his stay, he had so dazzled the higher-ups they offered him an entry level position.  Though far below his capabilities, Fingon jumped at the chance.  

While doing his graduate work, he cleaned tanks, mopped floors, and worked his way up the ladder.  Within months he was working with the diagnostic techs, and by the time he graduated, Fingon was assistant to the senior animal care officer. Now a year out, he had proved his worth, working the best position, weekdays from 9:00-18:00, though he could always be counted on to pull longer shifts or come in on his off times if there was an emergency. 

He loved his job, but this Friday, there was a spring in his step as he clocked out. 

“Heyo Finno,” Carfamaew bounded over to him, blowing his messy hair out of his eyes.  The junior worker’s shirt had come untucked, and the leg of his trousers damp with water.  An infectious grin split his face. 

“Hiya Cara, looks like you had a rough day,” Fingon laughed, swiping his backpack full of research he wanted to review in his downtime from his locker.  

Carafameaw’s grin grew brighter.  “Not really!  Arodfaw let me feed the baby seal, Mornhendi, and she splashed me.”  

“That’s cute.”  

“Mmm hmm.” Carafameaw always moved in a rush, excited to get to the next thing.  He almost slammed his locker door on his hand, had Fingon not caught it.  “Thanks, Finno, you’re the best.  That woulda hurt.  Hey, a couple of us are going out to the pub, celebrate the weekend and all that. Can we count you in?”

“Su--” Fingon started, automatically, but bit it off as green-blue scales glittered before his eyes. “Sorry, Cara, not today. Got a thing at home. Maybe next weekend.”  

Carafameaw's smile dropped in disappointment, but by the time they made it outside, he was back to his happy self.  

“Have a good weekend, Finno,” he waved as Fingon made his way down to the underground metro.  It was only about a 30-minute train ride to his house, but time dragged.  He looked forward to spending the weekend with Coppertop.  The merman spent most of the week sleeping, recovering from his ordeal, but yesterday he seemed much spunkier. Even better, Fingon seemed to be growing on him.

After he and Finrod patched him up, he was terrified Coppertop would be angry or worse, traumatised by Fingon. The day before Finrod came over for Coppertop’s check-up, Fingon had catalogued the merman’s injuries and texted them to Finrod so he could be prepared. Finrod had brought horse tranquillisers, suspecting they’d need to cut off Coppertop’s hand.  That would forever haunt Fingon’s memories.  Coppertop lay dead to the world, knocked out cold. Fingon held the arm still while Finrod cut.  The crunch of bone made Fingon retch, and blood spewed everywhere. It coated his face, got in his nostrils, and sometimes he could still taste it. He managed to stay strong until Coppertop’s arm was bandaged, and then he was sick all over the floor. Finrod made it outside, but barely. Coppertop slept for a long time, long enough for Fingon and Finrod to clean everything up, dispose of the hand, and argue about if they should keep the wound dry or not. 

“He really shouldn’t get it wet,” Finrod said.

“He has to get back in the water,” Fingon countered.  He played with Coppertop’s hair.  “Shouldn’t he be up by now? Are you sure we didn’t give him too much?”

“I don’t know!” Finrod sound close to tears.  “I’ve never done this before; I’m still in med school.” He’d never seen his cousin so distraught.  Normally,  nothing could chase away his smile and carefree joie de vie.   “What if I duct taped a bread bag over his arm?  And you could watch and make sure he doesn’t pick at it or tear it.” 

Fingon thought for a moment.  “I think he’d be fine to get it wet.  He’s a mermaid. What if for them, it's bad to let wounds dry, just like for us it’s bad to get them wet?”

Finrod had no counter, and he helped Fingon put Coppertop in the water. 

“Don’t get in with him,” he groused.  “Do you see the teeth on him? You already got bite once.  When he wakes up, he’s going to go crazy and eat you.” 

“No, he’s not.  He’s going to wake up scared and in pain.  He’ll want someone to comfort him.”  And it seemed true.  Coppertop finally woke and didn’t rip Fingon’s throat out. 

“What have you done to him?” he asked in alarm when Coppertop gave him a dopy grin and almost fell over. Fingon just wanted him to relax and not strain himself.  Finrod let out a relieved laugh.  “Oh, thank Eru.  He’s just reacting to the tranquilizer.  He’s like you when you got your wisdom teeth taken out. 

“I was not this loopy.”

“Auntie Anaire says differently. When it wears off, are you going to give him anything? I can’t get you any high dosage pain killers.”

“I don’t think we should risk giving him anything else.”

“Poor thing’s going to be in a lot of pain.  Morgoth and Mairon really did a number on him.” 

Fingon felt himself shrink.  “I don’t want to risk giving him something that might kill him.  I have no idea how he’ll react to painkillers, even something like aspirin.  He’ll have to endure.”  Coppertop chirped confusedly, looking at his hand.  Fingon pulled his head down onto his chest, covering Coppertop’s eyes so he’d forget about the hand.  Coppertop squeaked sleepily, going soft and pliant, nuzzling against Fingon.  He’s going to hate me when he finally understands we cut off his hand.

But, against all odds, Coppertop didn’t. Though he still kept his right arm cradled against his chest, he didn’t seek revenge or fall into a depressive spiral.  He did flinch if Fingon got too close without warning or held himself rigid for the first few seconds when Fingon touched him. But, always relaxed, chirping and trilling and squeaking happily whenever Fingon came to see him. The fact that he allowed Fingon to feed him last night was a sign of real progress.  Oh, Fingon had felt terrible, he hadn’t thought that spaghetti would prove a problem.  Watching Coppertop struggle hurt his heart, but being allowed to help him eat, Fingon was honoured by Coppertop’s trust.  

Fingon had roped Argon, still in high school, and Aredhel to care for Coppertop when he was at work. Aredhel was on spring break, and complained bitterly about having to work, but it was all for show.  Even Turgon, when he brought his daughter by to see her grandparents, helped care for Coppertop. 

Idril loved Coppertop; she was convinced he was her favourite Disney princess come to life.  They tried to explain to her that Coppertop was male, and that his name wasn’t Ariel, but her four-year-old mind latched onto the idea and wouldn’t let go.  Coppertop liked her too; whenever she came in, he would wiggle adorably to make her laugh. 

Fingon arrived home, dropping his bag at the foot of the stairs, though he knew his mother would scold him for it later.  He didn’t even bother to change out of his work clothes, just beelined for the pool.  

Turgon met him at the door to the conservatory.  “We need to talk,” he said with no preamble, in the characteristically blunt way he’d done since childhood. 

Fingon searched his face, trying to gauge where this would be. As children, he and Turgon looked so similar, they were often taken for twins. Even now, they looked similar, same jaw, same eyes, and still his little brother was copying his hairstyle, though Turgon had a grudge against so-called unnecessarily flashy things like hair beads or golden hair wire. 

Even years later, it galled Fingon to have to look up at his younger brother. He raised an eyebrow, annoyance fading when Turgon chewed his lip and couldn’t meet his eyes.  

“Is Coppertop alright?”  

Turgon nodded.  “Did something happen to Idril? Elenwë?”  He gave Turgon a hard look. “Are you okay?”    

“Yes, the girls are fine. I’m fine too.  It’s just the pool…”  His hand crept to the back of the neck and he stared up at the ceiling.  “So, umm… it’s getting dirty.  Coppertop, it’s not his fault, but...look, he’s not a robot, he’s got to relieve himself, and it’s starting to contaminate the pool. I noticed a few days ago when Idril and I brought him lunch.” 

“Mandos,” Fingon hissed.  Eru, he was so stupid; why didn’t he think of this before?  He’d been forcing Coppertop to live in his own filth.  Thinking back on it, even his captors had a filter for his cage. How could he do this to the poor thing? On top of it all, he’d made his overly prim and proper brother uncomfortable, which normally would be a benefit, but today it made him feel worse. 

“It’s not filthy,” Turgon offered.  “I’m probably overreacting.” 

“No, no,” Fingon snapped. “You’re not. This is my fault.  I’ll think of something.  He’s not ready to be released yet, but we can’t clean the pool every day.  Let’s see, at work, we have filters and protein skimmers and all that…and you’ve already thought of something, haven’t you?”  He read his brother correctly.  Turgon’s eyes had lit up, and he fumbled in his back pocket, drawing a bundle of notes.  

“I had some ideas on building a filtration system. Something high-powered like what you use at work to keep the tanks clean. He showed Fingon his notes and designs.

“When did you have time to write all this?” 

“Your pet merman is not the greatest conversationalist. It would take a few days, maybe two weeks, but I could design a filtration system. It’s just one merman, and it’s a pretty big pool.  We wouldn’t have to do deep cleans that often.”  

“And,” Fingon said, excitement rising to match his brothers, “there are plants we could put in the pool that help clean.”

“You’d have to put sand in.” 

“Coppertop would probably like that.” 

The two talked excitedly for a few minutes, until Fingon remembered he had an injured merman living in squalor. “I’ll start tomorrow,”  Turgon promised, heading off to collect his wife and daughter so they could head home.  

“Coppertop,” Fingon called, and a red head popped above the water.  Coppertop smiled at him, slowly making his way over.  Fingon surveyed the pool. The water was still bright and clear, Coppertop was the only one living in it, but there was slight buildup, dark and slimy-looking along the edge in the deep end.  It reminded him a bit of some of the tanks he’d seen dolphins rescued from. 

“I owe you an apology,” Fingon said, cupping Coppertop’s face in his hands. He didn’t miss the way Coppertop froze, eyes widening.  Coppertop shuddered, but the fear, though never truly gone, diminished.  He looked quizzically at Fingon, who smiled sadly again and stroked his hair.  “I didn’t think; I forgot you would need to extract waste.  That was a stupid thing to forget. But we are going to make things better. After dinner, we’re going to the bathtub!  That will be fun, almost like a sleepover.  

“It’s very awkward to have to think of your bathroom habits, though,” Fingon told Coppertop.  “I don’t mind at work, but…you look so human it’s a bit embarrassing. Not an excuse, but that’s why I didn’t think of it earlier.”  He took out the notebook where he recorded notes about Coppertop. Cheeks hot, he wrote: excrement much the same consistency as dolphin. He snapped the book shut and made his way over to the merman. He told Coppertop about his day, asked if Coppertop was getting enough sleep, and promised to do something fun with him that weekend.  Then, Argon came saying it was time for dinner.

His mother insisted he eat dinner with them, though she let him eat dessert with Coppertop. He brought Coppertop his dinner.  “Here you are, lemon chicken tonight.”  Coppertop sniffed it, taking tiny bites.  Fingon balanced the little notebook on his knees.  He was keeping a record of Coppertops quirks, his likes, dislikes.  So far, he only had that Coppertop did not like spaghetti and loved gummy bears. The merman had pretty good control over his emotions, except the few times panic had overtaken him during the medical examination.  Other than that, he projected a stoic face, seeming mildly happy or contentedly natural. He was not a picky eater.  Fingon was in anguish trying to decide if to give him fish or not. On the one hand, Coppertop did live in the ocean, but on the other, what if he was a “fish are friends, not food” type merman? Thankfully, it was mostly out of his hands.  His mother didn’t cook it often, Aredhel was allergic to most fish. Coppertop didn’t seem horrified that one time, but there hadn’t been another opportunity to test it, and the merman was excellent at never letting his calm facade drop, even for things he disliked.

Coppertop ate about half the chicken, a few bites of the steamed vegetable medley, and the entire piece of bread.  “Don’t you want more?” Fingon said, waving the fork around.  “Open up for the aeropl--I mean boat!” Coppertop arched his eyebrow and chirped.  You’re ridiculous, he seemed to say. Fingon zoomed the fork about, teasing.  “Open wide,” he said playfully.  Coppertop pursed his lips together like he was trying not to laugh, and pointedly rolled his eyes. Fingon laughed when he batted his hand away.  “Alright, my cranky fish, you don’t have to eat.” He patted Coppertop’s head. “I wish you would eat more though,” he muttered to himself.  Or at least give me some inkling of what you like to eat. 

“Alright, ready for phase two?” He looked down at Coppertop, who lounged against the side of the pool, waiting to see what Fingon had planned for them next.  His bandaged stump was, as always, curled tight against his chest.  The last time Fingon had jumped in the pool with him, it had ended with Coppertop in pain.  Taking a deep breath and praying he didn’t set off a panic attack for either of them, Fingon stepped into the pool.  

Coppertop tensed, holding himself as tightly as Fingon was.  Fingon gave what he hoped was a non-threatening smile.  “Come here, you.”  He went to scoop Coppertop up, but the merman squeaked and pulled himself away.  Fingon waded after him.  “Coppertop,” he tried to soothe, “don’t be frightened, I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.”  

The water hugged his knees, and he slipped, crashing into the water with a curse. He came up spluttering, water dripping down his forehead, droplets clinging to his hair.  A few paces away was Coppertop, watching.  He cocked his head, chirped.  What are you doing?  He wiggled forward, long ears, which were probably the most expressive part of him, twitching. He looked like he was trying not to laugh.  

Fingon figured he looked ridiculous.  He got to his knees and held out a hand.  “C’mere, Coppertop.”  Coppertop flicked water at him, eyes bright.  He wiggled, which Fingon thought was adorable.  Honestly, the merman is entirely too adorable.  That was the only word for it.  His little chirps, clicks, trills and squeaks were the cutest thing Fingon had ever heard.  He thought about recording it, and then, when work got stressful, listening to it.  Coppertop’s innocent reactions, his confused head tilts and when he scrunched his nose after trying something new also played at Fingon’s heart.  “You’re too cute. Do you find us humans as cute as we find you?”  

Probably not, he had to admit sadly.  Not after Angband.  But maybe he found Fingon’s family cute.  He tried to grab Coppertop again, but the merman shifted away.  He wiggled again and splashed Fingon.  Thank Eru he thinks this is a game and not that I’m trying to get him.  Fingon was, but not in a malicious way.  He always worried about traumatising his merman; that was the last thing he wanted to do.  

Hoping to keep the jovial atmosphere, he stuck his tongue out.  Coppertop clicked, grinning, and splashed him again.  Even with one hand, he could send powerful waves at Fingon that always hit him square in the face.  Fingon lunged, slowly, because Coppertop couldn’t swim well with his broken tail, and he wanted the game to feel fair.  Coppertop scrambled out of the way.  They played for a while, Fingon chasing Coppertop around the pool.  Eventually, Fingon was out of breath, and Coppertop was panting like he’d run a marathon.  Swam a marathon?  Maybe that was better.  Now, it was time to move him.  

Coppertop splashed Fingon again.  Fingon turned his back.  He ignored Coppertop for a while.  Coppertop huffed, but curiosity won out, and he approached Fingon.  When he got in range, Fingon pounced, wrapping his arms around the merman.  “Got you,” he cried smiling wide.  

Coppertop gave him a long-suffering look, and Fingon remembered Gwindor, whom he still needed to text, said Coppertop probably had a brother.  “You’re handling me, aren’t you?”   He booped Coppertop’s nose.  “You let me win, didn’t you? Am I just your silly, pet human?”  

Coppertop trilled and booped Fingon back.  “You’re adorable. Now, let’s get you out of this dirty pool.”  He pulled Coppertop toward the edge, then scooped him up.  Coppertop paled, eyes closing as he swallowed hard. 

“Don’t be frightened,” Fingon soothed. Carrying Coppertop was going to be a workout.  His arms were sore for days after the rescue, and he’d probably be sore again tomorrow.

Coppertop squeaked, eyes wide in alarm when they left the conservatory. “We are going to the bathroom; you’ll have to live in the bathtub for a little while.”  Coppertop clung to him, frantically looking around.  

“This is a hallway,” Fingon explained, hoping to help soothe him. “These are pictures of my family.  Aren't we lovely?  Ugh, I did not think this through; these stairs are going to be hell.”  

Coppertop’s long tail dragged against the floor.  In the hallway, a multicoloured runner led them to the stairs.  The delicate looking, but surprisingly tough membrane of Coppertop’s fluke dragged across the rug. He let out a surprised huff, eyebrows drawing together.   “That’s a rug,” Fingon told him.  Coppertop’s nose scrunched, and he chirped to Fingon.  

Slowly, and with a fair bit of cursing, they reached the top of the stairs.  Fingon’s arms and legs burned. Coppertop flopped in his arms when his fluke touched the carpet of the bedroom.  He paled, but did it again so his tail brushed against it.  “Do you like carpets?  Does it feel soft to you?”  Fingon eyed the bed, an idea forming. “How’s your tail?  It’s pretty damp.  Ehhh, I was going to do laundry today anyway.  Check this out, you’re going to love it.” He dropped Coppertop onto the bed.  

Coppertop didn’t squeak like Fingon hoped he would, but he still seemed fascinated. Fingon grinned as he watched Coppertop run his fingers against the duvet.  He lay his head against the pillow with a happy sigh, stretching himself out like the world’s largest house cat.  His tail drooped over the edge of the bed, though it didn’t reach the floor.  “That’s a bed. It’s for sleeping,” Fingon explained. He searched his room for other things to show.  “It’s lovely.  Some mornings, I don’t want to get out of it.”  

He flashed the overhead lights.  Coppertop was not impressed; he shot a glance at Fingon with a slightly annoyed chirp.  

“Here are a few of my trophies from my very successful rugby matches.”  Coppertop ran his finger over the little figurine, head cocked as he observed. Fingon helped him sit up and then brought him item after item.  

Coppertop was not impressed by Fingon’s laptop; Fingon’s swivel chair demonstration only got a small but amused chuckle, nor did he did not care about Fingon’s graduate dissertation.  He was, however, fascinated by the illustrations in Fingon’s marine biology textbooks.  When Fingon opened the closet and showed him some of his clothes, Coppertop was very intrigued.  

Fingon let him feel different fabrics, making sure to choose different colours, textures, and items.  He thought about raiding Aredhel’s closet for even more variety, but didn’t want to deal with her wrath.   Fingon held out a t-shirt.  “Want to try it on?”  

Coppertop reached out with his right hand, face shuttering to blankness when he caught sight of the stump.  Fingon lowered his eyes. “Sorry, Coppertop.  But we had too.  Finrod said there was no way we could have saved it.”  

Coppertop took a deep breath, shook his head, and stretched out his left hand, grabbing at the shirt.  He got lost in it, trying to poke his head through the arm hole, squeaking loudly.  Fingon helped him get situated, snickering. Coppertop stuck his tongue out, and the two dissolved into giggles.  

Next, he showed Coppertop shoes.  He grew quite attached to one of Fingon’s smart Oxford wingtips.  Shyly, he pulled it to his chest, chirping.  

“Do you want it?  What if you take this tennis shoe? I’ve just got a new pair, and these are so worn out I can’t use them anymore, so you’re welcome to have them.”  

Coppertop was obviously a fish of high class, because he let the ratty shoe fall to the floor. Eww, Fingon could practically hear him say.  Fingon pried the dress shoe from his fingers.  “Fine, next pay cheque, I’ll buy a new pair and you can have this one.  But until then, give it back.

“Okay, enough of this, time to get you in some water.”  He helped take the shirt off and took Coppertop into the adjoining bathroom, and put him into the tub. As expected, he did not fit.  “I guess you’ll have to splash water on it when you start to dry out.  Is that okay?” It has to be; there’s not really a better option.  Coppertop’s breath started to come shallowly, his eyes glazing over.  Fingon knew he was thinking of his tiny tank onboard Angband.  “It’s not going to be like that,” he said.  He went to rub Coppertop’s shoulder, but stopped midway.  He was panicking, and there was a high chance he would react on instinct and bite.  

Instead, Fingon turned on the tap, and Coppertop nearly jumped out of his scales. Fingon filled the tub as high as allowed, saying nonsense in a soothing voice.  Coppertop cupped the water and sniffed it, making a face.  He looked at Fingon, hurt and confusion written plainly on his features.  

“Your pool’s being cleaned,” Fingon said, stroking his hair.  “You just have to stay here, maybe two weeks, max.  It’s better here. Now, I can change the water every day. You won’t have to live in filth.”  He awkwardly scratched his head, unable to meet Coppertop’s eyes.  “Again, I am so sorry about that.”  

Coppertop squeaked, gesturing to his tail. He pushed at the edges of the tub.  He tried to keep his voice steady, Fingon could tell, but a hint of panic bleed through.  

“It will be okay, Coppertop, I promise. Hey, I know! Distraction!”  He pulled out his phone.  “We’re putting aquatic plants in the pool, how about we pick some out that you like?”  

He sat beside the tub, showing Coppertop his phone.  He scrolled through types of plants.  Coppertop was amazed, squeaking and clicking and thrilling.   

“Would you like this one?”  He raised an eyebrow, hoping Coppertop understood the questioning nature.  Coppertop looked at the plant, frowning exaggeratingly.  He must not like it.  Fingon showed a few more, same reaction.  Great, he thought defeatedly, he doesn’t understand and I’ll have to choose plants for him and he’ll be upset.  Still, he continued to scroll through the aquatic plants, caused it kept Coppertop busy and away from moping.  Coppertop clicked, jolting Fingon out of his stupor. I like this plant, Fingon imagined him saying, as Coppertop chattered for a moment, most likely explaining it to Fingon.  “That one’s going in the cart!”  They found several more that elicited the same reaction.  “They’ll be here in a few days. How about I bring them up to show you when they arrive?”    

Coppertop smiled at him.

____

That night, Maedhros lay in the dark, confused.  He could have sworn things were going well.  Fingon seemed satisfied with him, the tank was nice, Maedhros did everything he could to keep his human happy, they’d had fun together, yet now he was stuck in this tiny, porcelain tank.  His nose crinkled in distaste.  He could hear Fingon in the other room, breathing slowly, asleep. Maedhros rested his head against the edge, feeling miserable. He lay like that for hours, unable to find the energy to move, until he drifted into sleep.

He was dropped into water, head over tail.  Bubbles raced to the surface and Maedhros twisted, trying to wrestle his bearings into line.  He frantically looked around, the jeering, intrigued faces of the crew and the Morningotto’s smirking face bobbed before him.  They were all staring at him, and hot anger burned in his throat.  He darted away, only to slam hard against something.  He blinked in surprise, then whirled around the escape in another direction, only to slam into something again.  He tried over and over, but no matter where he turned, he hit something hard and impenetrable. Panic rose in his chest, and he pressed his hands against the invisible barrier.  He was in a tank. Outside the humans were laughing at him.

Maedhros woke with a gasp. Slowly, the world came back into to focus, he was alone, no one was watching, he wasn’t trapped, he was with Fingon in…in this tiny tank.  Maedhros grit his teeth.  Water pooled on the floor, displaced by his thrashing in the throes of a nightmare.  With a sigh, Maedhros collapsed against the edge, draped over it. It was very melodramatic, more appropriate for Maglor’s fits of pique, but Maedhros didn’t care. He let his arm trail against the floor, wishing he felt sand.  This is what you get for trying to be good, for catering to their whims.  You should have drowned him when you had the chance. 

He couldn’t fall back asleep, he didn’t want to, so he was awake when Fingon stumbled in, rubbing his eyes.  

“Coppertop,” he babbled happily, utter joy in his eyes.  Maedhros softened. How could he want to kill this happy little human? He’s not trying to be cruel to you, Maedhros reasoned, violently squishing down thoughts that said otherwise.  He loves you; you’re his pet. He’s just put you here because…because…just because. And you are going to be okay with that.  At Fingon’s smiling face, Maedhros couldn’t help but smile up at him. He didn’t want to be a pet, but he knew first hand things could always be worse.  “‘Morning, Fingon.”  Fingon's smile grew even wider, he loved when Maedhros said his name.  He spoke, turning on water from a small stand, splashing it on his face. Maedhros watched him groom himself, the ritual fairly similar to what he and his brothers did at home.  He wondered if humans used jelly-fish soap.   Fingon dried his hands, his hands going to the waistband of the checkered sleep-skin.  His eyes met Maedhros', and his skin darkened.  With a garbled shriek, he awkwardly hurried out the door.   

“Hey, come back,” Maedhros called, confused.  Several minutes later, Fingon returned hair damp and smelling strongly of a sharp, fresh scent. 

“Did you go swimming without me?” Maedhros narrowed his eyes. That’s not fair.  Why should you get to swim when I’m stuck here?   Fingon brought over breakfast, yelping when his feet got wet.  He sat on the white stool he’d shown Maedhros yesterday, the one that made a whooshing sound.  Maedhros eyed it warily, hoping it didn’t do it again.  

Fingon held out breakfast, fruit, and a piece of sweet bread with rows of square divots where dark, amber liquid pooled.  It was far too sweet, but Maedhros ate it without complaint.  Fingon rewarded his troubles with a smile.  “Do you want some,” Maedhros held out an apple slice, one of his favourite fruits.  Fingon clucked his tongue and took it.  He said words, probably thank you. Maedhros managed a few more bites of the sickly-sweet bread, which was actually growing on him.  Whatever was on top of it made his face sticky, but with a bit of water and scrubbing, it went away.  

He ate all of breakfast, and Fingon scribbled in a bright red book. There was a silver star on the cover.  

“What are you doing?”  

Fingon looked up and turned the book around.  He sat down on the floor near the bathtub so he was closer to Maedhros.  He flipped the pages and then showed Maedhros how he marked on it.  

Fingon raised an eyebrow, and held out a plastic stick with a dull point at the end.  Maedhros was intrigued.  Fingon’s thin fingers covered his, showing him how to hold the utensil.  With just a little pressure on the page, ink bleeds onto the page.  

“Oh wow,” Maedhros said, sitting up so he could see better.  He dragged the pen across the page, watching the trails of ink follow.  “This is amazing.  Oh, I wish Atya could see this. He would love it.”  He made swirling lines until most of the page was black.  

“Show me again, please,” he said handing off the pen.  Maedhros watched in fascination as Fingon made small ordered marks on to the page. He glanced shyly at Maedhros, then flipped to the back of the book.  Maedhros’ brow furrowed as slowly the pattern of the lines revealed themselves.  It was a merman sitting on a rock, oddly familiar.  The tail curled to the bottom of the page, long and covered in tiny scales.  Long hair, and lots of it, spilled across the merman’s shoulders, coming down to touch his hands, but one was missing.  “It’s me,” Maedhros breathed; with utmost care, he delicately traced the picture with his finger. “This is me…it’s so…it’s beautiful.”  The picture had Maedhros looking out at the viewer, eyes sharp and hard, but his mouth was soft, almost turned into a smile.  Maedhros looked noble and kind.  

Fingon made a questioning sound, and flipped the page.  There was a diagram of Maedhros’ tail, little notes surrounding it.  The next page was just doodles of Maedhros’ face.  Sometimes he was smiling, sometimes he looked intrigued, and there was one where he looked sad.  

Fingon looked at him shyly.  “I like them,” Maedhros said, making sure to smile.  “I’ve never seen anything like that.”  He blinked at Fingon.  “I didn’t know you could do this.  I’m, I’m very impressed.”  Fingon beamed.

______

Fingon devoted his entire weekend to doting on Coppertop.  Saturday afternoon, Turgon started draining the pool, so Fingon brought Elenwë and Idril to see Coppertop.  

“We’re seeing Ariel?” Idril refused to hold her mother’s hand, instead looking up at Fingon with big blue eyes.  He caved and let her ride on his shoulders.  

“His name is Coppertop, but yes, we’re going to see him.” 

“No, it’s Ariel!”

Her chubby face broke into the large grin when they entered the bathroom.  “Ariel!”

Coppertop sat up straighter, eyes softening and a real smile on his lips.  He chirped happily.  Idril raced over on little legs, and her mother had to scope her up before she could climb into the tub with him.  

“You can’t get in with him, dear one.  Do you see the bandages on his tail?  He’s hurt.  You’ll have to play with him outside the tub. 

“Okay Amme,” she waddled over the where Coppertop’s tail lay draped over the edge of the tub and kissed it.  

“Now you'll feel better!”  

Fingon and Elenwë exchanged a look, heart melting.  Idril fished her colouring book, Animals of the Arda, out of her backpack.  It was Little Mermaid themed, and she proudly showed Coppertop.  “Look, it’s you!”  

Coppertop smiled indulgently.  Fingon wondered if he’d find it funny if he knew what Idril was saying.  He did seem to have a sense of humour. Idril spent the afternoon colouring while Elenw spent time with Fingon’s mother and sister.  

Fingon dried off Coppertop’s hand and placed a colouring page on a clipboard.  “Don’t get it wet, or you can’t play.”  Coppertop cocked his head, confused.  Fingon ripped out a page, dunking it in the bathwater, which made Coppertop squeak indignantly with a small flinch. He pouted, looking very hurt. 

“Sorry,” Fingon said, though he wasn’t sure what he was apologising for.  “But see, I can’t colour on this page, but I can colour on the dry one.  Do you understand?”  

Coppertop eyed the crayon in his hand, and moved the clipboard a little farther away from the water, and made a mark.  He looked at Fingon and Idril questioningly. They both nodded encouragingly.

“What do you think, Coppertop? Do you like my dog?” Fingon asked some minutes later. It was purple with blue spots, curtesy of a bossy four-year-old telling him how to colour. Coppertop tilted his head, brow furrowing.  

“Arf, arf,” he barked.  Fingon blinked in surprise.  “Yeah, that’s the sound a dog makes.  How’d you know that?”  

Coppertop pointed at the picture and barked again, raising an eyebrow.  Fingon had learned over the past few days that meant he was asking a question.  “Yes, it’s a dog.  Arf.  Arf.” 

“Arf! Arf! Arf!” Idril barked, and soon all three of them were barked and laughing.  

Coppertop held up a crayon, chirping as he glanced between Fingon’s dog and it.  He raised his eyebrow.  

Fingon pointed at Idril, whose blonde head was bent over her colouring page and shrugged.  What can you do?  Kids have funny imaginations. Coppertop’s eyes light up in understanding.  He chirped at Idril. 

“That my name?”  she asked Fingon. She pointed at herself.  “I’m Idril.”  

Coppertop made the same distinct squeak as before.  

“I think it is,” Fingon told her.  

“Yay!” She squealed, clapping her hands.  

Coppertop squeaked again.  “I think he wants something.” 

With wide eyes, Idril stared at him intently, practically vibrating in excitement.  Coppertop held out his crayon, which she took.  He pointed to the box spilled out on the floor, tilting his head again with a smile.  

“He needs you to pick another colour for his fish.”

After colouring, they ate lunch together.  Coppertop continued to be a picky eater, but Fingon was going to use his time in the bathtub to figure out what foods Coppertop liked to eat, the merman’s refusal to express preference be damned.  So far, he had gummy bears, fruit, and waffles, which, he suspected meant Coppertop like bread. 

Once lunch was over, they had time to read Idril’s favourite book.  Now that her mother was gone, Idril climbed into the bathtub.  Coppertop froze, his breath coming fast. Fingon was just about to swipe her up, but then with a trembling hand, Coppertop patted her head.  She snuggled against his chest.  “Read!” she demanded.  

Fingon didn’t think Coppertop would hurt her, he seemed to like her very much, but while reading, Fingon kept an eye on him for signs of distress or pain. She was very wiggly and he was still recovering.  There were none, Coppertop stroked her hair, and trilled animatedly to her about the pictures. Fingon snapped a picture on his phone.  

Idril and her family left for the evening.  Fingon used Turgon’s old bedroom to shower and get ready for bed, gave Coppertop a kiss goodnight, and left the merman who appeared to be trying very hard not to sulk.

On Sunday, he greeted Coppertop with a cheery, “How would you like a bath?  Oh, don’t give me that look, I know you’re already in the tub, but you can still get clean.”  He pulled on his mother’s purple kitchen gloves and pulled the drain. His parents said if it was at all possible, to only change the water once a day to save on their water bill, which was already shaping up to be very high this month.  Coppertop hunched his shoulders, hiding his face behind a curtain of hair. 

“Don’t be embarrassed, Coppertop,” Fingon said warmly.  “That’s why you’re in the bathtub and not some kiddie pool.  This way, when you have to go, it’s easier to clean up.  I don’t mind, I promise.  I don’t think any less of you, you’re still super scary, super tough, and super cute.”  

Coppertop was not soothed and wouldn’t look at him while Fingon scrubbed out the tub.  Once it was all clean, he filled up the water, slightly warmer than normal.  He handed Coppertop a washcloth.  “Do you know how to use this?”  He poured soap on it then handed it over. Coppertop scrubbed at his arms and tail, looking over at Fingon for approval.  Fingon gave him a thumbs-up.  He had a handheld showerhead, so he sprayed Coppertop off. Coppertop lifted his hand, letting the water bead on his fingers.  He looked very happy.  

“Now let’s handle your hair.  I’ve raided Amme’s and Aredhel’s bathrooms, so we got lots of good stuff.”  He ran his hands through the thick, red hair.  “After I wash it, no need for you to stress yourself trying to do it one-handed today, I’ll brush it out for you.  Maybe we can curl it.”  Fingon’s thought process was that Coppertop would feel better about having to stay in the tub if he felt clean and styled.   

He handed over the shampoo bottle, watching with amusement as Coppertop sniffed it.  His nose scrunched in pleasure at the smell.  He squeezed it, jumping in surprise when the shampoo squirted out.  Fingon couldn’t help but laugh at the mermaid blinking in surprise.  Coppertop looked at him quizzically, cocking his head. Then, before Fingon could stop him, Coppertop flicked out his pink tongue, lapping the shampoo off the lid.  

Coppertop gagged, and Fingon howled with laughter.  “You silly fish,” he panted.  “You don’t eat it.”  

Coppertop pouted, staring up at Fingon with wounded eyes.  “I’m sorry!” Fingon melted.  “Of course you didn’t know.  I shouldn’t have--gaggh!”  Coppertop had squirted shampoo at him, aim impeccable, it managed to get into his mouth.  Coppertop chortled as Fingon coughed.  Fingon flicked him on the forehead with his forefinger.  “You’re the worst,” he rasped.  “Manwe on a mountain, that’s disgusting.  Let me go get us something to fix the taste.” 

He brought them lemonade, both gulping it down.  Then he got to work lathering the tea-tree scented shampoo into Coppertop’s hair.  A contented sigh escaped Coppertop, who closed his eyes, leaning into the touch.  Likes his hair played with and head massaged would be going into the book.  

Fingon also applied a hair mask.  While it set, he watched a few videos on how to curl hair. Coppertop didn’t seem interested in the videos, eyeing the phone with the same weary caution he used for the toilet. After applying conditioner, then hair oils, Fingon brushed it out with 100 strokes.  It dried soft and silky.  

“Alright,” he said, plugging in the extension cord.  “Here goes nothing.” 

Gingerly, he wrapped a small strand of hair around the curler. He grinned at Coppertop, who tried to touch it.  “No! It’s hot!”

His shouting made Coppertop jump, and the iron grazed his cheek.  Coppertop yelped.  “Shit, shit, shit,” Fingon hissed and Coppertop tried to jerk away.  Smoke was starting to rise from his hair, and Coppertop’s alarmed face would have been comical if he could have understood the situation.  Fingon managed to unwind the hair before it burned off.  He left behind a very messy curl.  Coppertop looked gutted, and Fingon could only grin sheepishly.  “Sorry. Let me try again, it will go better.” 

Coppertop tried to shy away, but he couldn’t get very far.  “Give me just a few more tries, and if it still scares you, we won’t do it anymore. Promise.”  Coppertop complied, but he wouldn’t look at Fingon.  “I’m still learning, fish stick. Give me a chance.” 

He’d accidently burnt Coppertop again, this time getting his long ear. The only thing saving Fingon from a heart-wrenching betrayed look was that he’d accidently burnt his finger too.  After the third burn, Coppertop seemed to realise Fingon was just incompetent.  He chirped, the sounds short and angery, at Fingon, who could only buy his forgiveness by shoving a handful of gummy bears at him.  Coppertop glared, popped one in his mouth, and gestured for Fingon to continue. 

Nearly an hour later, sporting several burnt fingers and Coppertop with a few small burns on his ear, Fingon surveyed the result.  The first few curls closest to Coppertop’s face were sloppy; those were his first try, but the rest looked good.  He’d chosen “Beach style curls,” and they were loose and wavey.  

“You look beautiful,” he told Coppertop, holding up a mirror.  Coppertop eyed himself critically, poking at the limp curls framing his face.  He managed to pull them back behind his head one-handed, and squeaked at Fingon expectantly. Fingon tied them back, and then Coppertop seemed pleased with his appearance.  “You’re a vain little thing, aren’t ya?” 

Coppertop trilled, like he was saying yes, I take great pride in my looks.

“As you should.  You’re very handsome.  Nice, clean skin, good bone structure.  The scars make you look badass.  Scars are good, sexy.  Girls like ‘em and guys will be jealous.”  

Coppertop tried to give him a gummy bear as a thank you.  “Oh, you don’t have to,” Fingon waved him off.  Coppertop had been holding on to them for several minutes now, and he didn’t relish the idea of eating one.  Coppertop insisted, and with a grimace, Fingon popped the warm, overly handled candy into his mouth.  

“Thanks,” he grit out and waved off Coppertop’s attempt to give him another.  “Alright, I have to leave you for a little while; I’m going to eat dinner with my family, but I’ll bring yours right up.  Maybe I can read you some of my old textbooks?”  

Fingon brought Coppertop a bowl of chicken stir-fry.  He entered the bathroom to find the merman staring off into space.  “You okay there?”   There was no response.  His glowing eyes stared straight ahead, mouth open slightly as he breathed in rapidly.  “Coppertop?” 

Coppertop’s lips moved as he mouthed words.  “Coppertop,” Fingon snapped, properly frightened now.  With a flinch, the spell was broken, and Coppertop turned his luminous grey eyes on Fingon.  He bobbed his head.  Fingon copied the moment with a damp smile.

“Thank Eru you’re okay. I was worried there.”  He placed his hand on Coppertop’s head, waiting, as always, to see if the merman would accept it.  He didn’t want Coppertop to feel forced to let him touch, but he didn’t want to deny him affection either.  Fingon hoped this was a good compromise.  Coppertop didn’t protest or shy away, so Fingon ran his fingers through the thick strands of hair.  The curls were starting to fall out, damped by the bathwater.  Coppertop’s eyes saddened when Fingon took his hand away, or so he thought.  The merman’s face was impassive, but friendly.  

“Ready for dinner?”  

Coppertop nibbled at his food, allowing Fingon to coax more bites than normal.  Finally, a third of the way through, he gently pushed Fingon’s hand away, chirping softly.  “You’re sure you’re full?”  

A little squeak.  

“Okay.  I’ll just set it here.  Point if you want more.”  

Fingon spent the rest of the evening reading to Coppertop, who rested his head on the edge of the tub, watching contentedly. “Now, I’m going back to work tomorrow.  I don’t think I’m going to come home for lunch.  I don’t really have enough time to get the train here and back, eat, and look after you.  But I will take a shorter lunch break so I can come home earlier.  Sound good?”  

Coppertop frowned, eyes locked on the bonnet keeping Fingon’s hair neat for bed.  He trilled, fingers dancing towards Fingon’s wrist, before he snatched his hand back.  

“It’s alright, Coppertop,” Fingon said, placing a kiss on his brow. Coppertop grew noticeably morose when Fingon left him for bed, and had even started to learn the difference between Fingon’s daywear and nightwear.  “I’m right in the other room.  If you need me, I’ll come right over.” 

He couldn’t prove it, but he suspected Coppertop had nightmares.  So far, he hadn’t woken Fingon up, but Fingon had hopes they would either stop or Coppertop would grow comfortable enough to call for Fingon.  

“Sleep tight,” Fingon told him, leaving the door open about an inch. That way, if Coppertop needed it, he could call for Fingon, but still had a medium of privacy.  “And remember, if you need me, I’ll be here.  

_______

Fingon had started leaving again for hours.  This time, he didn’t come back to feed Maedhros lunch, though he did arrive home earlier than last week.  Or so Maedhros thought.  It was hard to keep track of time now a days. Maedhros missed him.

Alone, he had to swallow down the panic of being trapped in such a tiny tank.  Everything ached, his stump, his cramped bones. He tried singing to himself, but then he would picture Maglor’s pained face. “Maedhros, do you seriously think you’re carrying a tune?  Stop that, you’re hurting my ears.”  Before, he would have laughed and sung louder, but now the thought made him dissolve into pitiful whimpers. He missed Maglor.  He missed all his brothers, and his parents, but he especially missed Maglor.  Maglor was his best friend.  With a sigh, Maedhros banged his head against the wall until he could breathe again. 

He wiggled around, trying to get comfortable, splashing water onto the floor.  The water made his skin itch. 

Fingon's mother brought him food today. She sighed and clicked her tongue at him, mopping up the spilled water. 

“You wouldn’t have to clean up after me if you’d put me back in the big tank,” Maedhros reminded her, voice souring. 

She ignored this, smiling at him and humming. She put the plate in his hand.  Maedhros dashed it to the ground.  She looked at him, startled, and shouted angerly.  Maedhros shouted back. "I don't want it.  I hate it!" He snapped at her, hoping to catch a finger. Throwing up her hands, she fled the room, looking more annoyed than fearful. Maedhros splashed more water onto the floor, this time on purpose.  

As he waited for Fingon to come home, he bobbed his head.  It was comforting in a weird way. Sometimes he’d push at the edges of the tank, muscles straining, but the walls didn’t budge. Over and over, he replayed the past few days, trying to find what he’d done to deserve this.  Nothing. Apparently, Maedhros was just fun to torment.  

After running off his mother, the next day it was Fingon’s sister who brought him food. Aredhel, he thinks her name is.  She doesn’t give Maedhros the plate, but instead hands him the beef in bite sized pinches.  “I am not a child,” he snarls at her.  He throws the piece at her.  “Leave me alone!” Aredhel glares and throws it right back, hitting him in the head.  Maedhros blinks, surprised and then laughs.  Aredhel rolls her eyes, and offers him another bite.  This one he takes.  He lets her feed him a few pieces before his stomach rebels.  He’s soiled the little tank, and Aredhel makes a face.  It makes Maedhros wish he were dead.  Aredhel tries to say something to him.  “Please leave me alone.”  For a moment, he thinks she’s listened.  She's left the room, and now he’s alone, and he feels so terribly lonely.  Fingon, come back, please.  Please send me home or at least to the big tank.  He’s on the verge of making himself sick, but then Aredhel comes back.  

“I’m sorry for the way I treated you.” Maedhros tells her.  “And your mother.  I’m sorry.  I should not have done that.  To either of you.”  I just want to go home, he almost says, but bites his tongue.  Instead, he says “My mother would kill me if she saw me act like that.” He chuckles a little to get rid of the ach in his heart. 

Aredhel smiles at him and holds up a little bottle. Inside is something, and it’s the same colour as his tail.  She keeps up a steady stream of conversation, much like her brothers and takes his hand, gentle but firm, and Maedhros’ heart jumped into his throat. He was too afraid to yank it out of her grip. That was his only hand now.  What if she cuts off this one?  Don’t be ridiculous, he reprimanded himself, Aredhel and Fingon, and his mother have been nothing but nice to you, you fucking ungrateful sea urchin.  Aredhel paints his nails, which he doesn’t like, mainly because she's holding his hand, but when she’s done, she paints her own nails, and that’s fun to watch.  She blows him a kiss when she leaves, and Maedhros gives her a small grin.

Once Aredhel left, Maedhros banged his head against the wall and forced himself to list all the things he was grateful for.  

They feed me every day

They don’t hurt me 

They try to entertain me

They like me

I like them

They’re kind to me even when I’m mean to them

However, Maedhros was selfish, and all too quickly, the list morphed into everything he hates 

They won’t let me go home 

They’ve trapped me in this little white tank 

They’re mocking me, feeding me things so I’ll make a mess, and humiliate myself

I’m so hungry

Everything hurts

They won’t let me go home, they won’t let me go home, I want to go home, I want to go home, Maedhros forced himself to think of something different.  It was much better here than Angband. He likes it here.  He does. 

That night, Fingon brings his mother to see Maedhros.  She doesn’t look mad, but watches Fingon pet him.  Fingon tries to read to him from the book with the pictures that remind Maedhros of home.  It’s his favourite, but he can’t concentrate on it. He casts surreptitious glances at her.  “I’m sorry,” he finally blurts out, bobbing his head.  “This is your home and I treated your poorly.  I’m sorry.  It won’t happen again.”  He reaches out to her, and she lets him take her hand.  He kisses it, hoping she sees it as an apology. 

She pushes a strand of hair behind his ear and kisses his forehead. She smells nice, warm, and nothing like his mother, but Maedhros misses her so much that he almost cries out Amme.  He locks his jaw, trying to keep his face impassive, but she must see how miserable he is, because she pulls him against her chest.   Maedhros; breath stutters, and he sinks his teeth into his lip, trying not to whimper.  I want my Amme.  She doesn’t let go, and know one needs to know that Maedhros is comforted by her. 

Idril and Elenwë come the next day, and it’s like a light has pierced through the storm clouds.  “Ariel!”

“Idril!”  Maedhros returns, face aching from the force of his smile. Idril toddled over, but her mother swept her up.  Idril pouted, squirming in her mother’s lap as Maedhros ate.  Lunch was some sort of meat in a hard shell, with cheese, tomatoes and lettuce sprinkled on top.  It was spicy and sat heavy in Maedhros’ stomach.  He ate three bites, and his stomach rolled dangerously, so he decided he was done.  He may have made a mess infront of Fingon and Aredhel, but he would not humiliate himself in front of Idril. 

Once he finished, Idril was allowed to come over to him.  “Hello there, pretty baby,” he said, booping her on the nose.  Idril laughed, her chubby fingers poking him hard in the nose.  Maedhros laughed.  

“Your hair looks so beautiful today.  You look like a grown-up lady,” he gave her a pat on the head, and she squeaked happily.  “What have you brought me today?” 

Every time she visited, the little four-year-old brought something new for Maedhros.  Today, she had little dolls, and they played for until Fingon came home.  

Maedhros hoped Fingon couldn’t tell how happy he was at his return.  He bobbed his head rapidly.  “Fingon, you’re back,” he said, relieved.  I missed you, he wanted to say, but he swore to behave like a true son of Feanor. 

As always, Fingon spent the evening with him before going to sleep. Every night, Maedhros hopes, irrationally, he knows, that Fingon won’t leave, won’t turn out the light.  That they can stay up forever, listening to each other talk.  But Fingon needs sleep. Last night, he came rushing in, blearing eyed when Maedhros started wailing, convinced Mairon was in the room with him.  Fingon mumbled soothing words, perched on the edge of the tank.  However, he was exhausted and fell asleep himself falling off the edge and on top of the water.  He’d made a dismayed sound as he took in his drenched sleep clothes, and Maedhros sent him back to bed, pretending to be fine.    

As custom, Maedhros was given a pat on the head, and Fingon went to bed. In the dark. Maedhros banged his head against the wall a few times, not as hard as normal, so as not to disturb Fingon.   Then bobbed his head until he felt better.  Without meaning to, he fell asleep. 

There was blood in his mouth, but it wasn’t his.  Maedhros grinned up at the humans anxiously huddled beside the tank.  “Who’s next?”  The man whose throat he had just ripped out laying on the floor, gasping, and carrying on.   “I thought you were stronger. I thought,” Maedhros mocked, teeth bared, making sure everyone could see the blood and flesh clinging to the sharp teeth. “I thought you were going to beat me? Come now, aren’t you going to make me perform tricks? Aren’t I supposed to be your performing seal?  Not so tough now, are you? Pathetic,” Maedhros snapped with a roll of his eyes.  Under lowered brows, he glanced at the little group.  He lunged at them and they scrambled back, away from their wounded comrade, even though the glass protected them from Maedhros.  Maedhros though, mistimed his lunge, he was still trying to adjust to the clear walls, sometimes forgetting just how close they were. He slammed into the glass and it rattled.  He liked the way it made the humans flinch, so he tried again, throwing all his weight against the tank.  Again, it rattled.  I can break this, Maedhros realised.  Over and over he slammed himself against the glass. The humans screamed at him, but were too frightened to do anything.  Headless of the bruises he was amassing, Maedhros threw himself against the wall until it shattered.  He went whooshing across the floor on a wave, shards of glass scratching his arms, tail, and face. For a moment, he blinked, stupid and dazed.  The blond man--Gwin…Gwindor that was his name, came running in.  He snapped at the men and knelt beside Maedhros, his hands everywhere as looked for broken glass.  Maedhros tried to shake him off, but when one of the other humans moved, he grabbed a nearby shard.  Gwindor scrambled away from him.  The glass cut into his hand, but Maedhros didn’t feel it.  

One of the men had gone and fetched the Morningotho.  The captain stood in the doorway, his ever-present red-headed shadow behind him, eyes gleaming in anger.  The Moringotho snapped, commanding his men who approached Maedhros warily.  He swiped at them, nicking their ankles, sometimes their thighs, but eventually they pinned him face-first against the floor.  One of them dug his boot into Maedhros' back, another kicked his ribs. Maedhros flailed, but there were at least ten men wedged together, pinning him to the floor.  

The Moringotho’s boots appeared before him.  Maedhros hissed and tried to bite at them.  It earned him a kick in the mouth.  The Morningotho was speaking, voice deep and overly emotive. It was a ridiculous display of power' Maedhros refused to be humiliated.  The smaller feet of the first mate quickly came pattering over.  There was more of the Moringotho’s droning voice, and then the first mate bent down so Maedhros could see him out of the corner of his eye.  

“Fuck you,” Maedhros’ snarl turned into a yelp when someone bore down on him.  

The first mate grinned at him, reaching out to pet his hair.  Maedhros’ head was yanked up, and a muzzle was fastened over his mouth.  The first mate kissed Maedhros on the top of the head, and Maedhros shivered.   Ulmo protect me, Maedhros prayed. 

He was hauled away to another part of the ship and jammed into a smaller tank.  It was only half a foot longer than he was, only about a meter high.  Maedhros’ shoulders touched either side.  He frantically scratched at the mask, trying to take it off.  He banged on the edges of the tank, but without room, he couldn’t amass enough force to break it.  

In the corner, the first mate sat watching him.  

Though in reality, several hours passed before he was taken out of the tank and several men had to help, in the dream, Mairon walked over and pulled Maedhros out himself.  He was strapped down on a metal table, a bright light shining overhead.  Atya, Maedhros begged. Atya, please come help me.  I need you.  Atya! With a flick of the knife, Maedhros was opened up.  

He screamed.  

Fingon came barrelling in, hitting his knees with a heavy thump beside Maedhros.  He babbled frantically at him but didn’t touch him.  Maedhros sucked in breath, trying to get enough air.  Fingon’s here.  I’m safe. I’m safe.  Fingon’s here.  I’m Fingon’s now.  Fingon won’t let Mairon get me.  Fingon saved me.  He couldn’t get himself to calm down. 

Fingon cooed words Maedhros couldn’t understand, which only made it worse.  “Please.  Please, Fingon, l don’t…I want…”

Fingon sat himself on the edge of the tank and swung his feet over.  He tucked them underneath Maedhros’ tail, letting him lean against his legs. Maedhros buried his face in Fingon's knees, trembling hard enough to give himself a headache. Fingon cooed at him, petting his hair.  It was nice, and he stayed until Maedhros could breathe again.

________

On Thursday,  Fingon raided the guest room and moved the TV into his room. He knew Coppertop was struggling.  His nightmares didn’t seem to be letting up, and he Fingon hazarded a guess that he wasn’t sleeping. face drawn and pale except for the circles under his eyes, so dark it made them look bruised. Bruises had appeared around the crown of his head, which worried Fingon.  Coppertop snapped at everyone, and there were reports of violent outbursts.  Fingon refused to let anyone call his outbursts tantrums.  “He’s stressed,” he told his parents firmly.  “He’s stuck all day in a tiny bathtub, he can’t understand us and is trying to understand a whole new world, not to mention he was literally tortured.  He’s going to act out, but he’s going to get better.”  His mother wanted proof, more worried for Fingon than angry with Coppertop, so he took her to the bathroom to let her see that Coppertop really was a good fish most of the time.  True, Coppertop did not act up to form that evening, but he didn’t behave like the feral sea monster he had earlier that week.  His apprehension worked in his favour because Anairë came away full of pity and firmly on Fingon's side.   

Turgon was almost done with the pool, and Fingon was begging Coppertop to hold on for just a little longer. You’ve lasted almost a week, buddy, you can do it. Everything is about to get so much better, I promise.   He thought maybe getting out of the tub for a few hours might settle Coppertop’s nerves.  

A movie seemed like the perfect distraction. He found his chosen movie on Hulu and made popcorn.  His mother insisted his mattress needed to be protected. So, he found a tarp they used when camping and placed it across half of the bed.  Then, he covered it with fluffy blankets and all the spare pillows he could find.  It looked like an extremely cosy nest, if he did say so himself.

He had to keep himself from skipping into the bathroom, he was so excited.  “I know you’re bored in here, Coppertop, and I’m sorry I spend all day at work, but let me make it up to you. C’mere.”  He scooped Coppertop into his arms and carried him to the bed. “Let’s watch a movie, that will be fun.”  

Coppertop fiddled with the blankets while Fingon wet a few towels to wrap around his tail.  Coppertop moved the pillows and blankets around, flinging his upper body down on them, bouncing a little.  He did it repeatedly, chirping happily at Fingon. 

“Stop that,” Fingon said, whacking him with a pillow. “That’s basically jumping on the bed, and my mom will come up here and yell at us.”  

Coppertop did stop, but only to sniff at the popcorn. Then he tried to take the pillowcase off the pillow.  “By the Valar! Fish, would you settle?” 

Normally, Coppertop would give him a look and roll his eyes. After all, the tone was far too playful to be annoyed, but this time, Coppertop cringed away.  He trilled out apologies.  

“No, no,” Fingon said worriedly, “don’t do that. What happened? Are you okay?  Don’t be scared. I’m not going to hurt you.” Barring the time, I cut off your hand.  And burnt you with a curling iron.  And kept you in my bathtub. And am apparently starving you. I know you’ve lost weight since I rescued you. How's that for a hero…okay, Finno, time to stop, think of something else.   

Coppertop’s wide eyes flicked fearfully towards the bathroom, then back to Fingon. “There’s nothing in there that can hurt you, you’re okay.” He managed to soothe Coppertop, who gave him a small smile.  Fingon made sure his grin was large, without a trace of negative emotion.  “Now, how about we watch a movie.  You up for How to Train Your Dragon? I think you could relate.  

He turned off the lights, leaving only the glow of the TV and the glow of Coppertop’s eyes.  

 “I know it’s animated,” Fingon explained, “but I thought you’d like the colours and how expressive everyone, even the dragon, will be. I think it will be easy for you to follow, even if you don’t know what they’re saying.”  Coppertop watched, eyes wide and glued to the screen. Fingon mentally patted himself on the back.  However, it was far too early for congratulations.  Coppertop was enraptured because he thought it was a threat.  His eyes narrowed frantically darting around as he tried to take in it all. His mouth was set in a grim line, teeth slightly bared.  He looked like a killer.”  

One of the dragons lurched at the screen, and Coppertop screeched, lunging at Fingon, knocking them both onto the floor. Fingon’s nose slammed into the hard floor, and he cracked his head hard enough to see stars.   “Oww, what the hell? Coppertop, stop, you’re going to re-open your stitches!”  

Against his back, Coppertop’s mouth was open in a soundless scream.  He pulled himself together and wiggled about until he covering  Fingon, shielding him.  He cooed softly in Fingon’s ear as he kept alert, waiting for the movie to attack them.  

It was a loud part, and Coppertop crawled off him, pushing Fingon, trying to get him under the bed.  He kept looking over his shoulder, snarling and snapping with razer-sharp teeth. He’s trying to protect me!  Fingon thought giddily.  He likes me!  I’m his friend! Someone he wants to save!  Focus you idiot!

“Coppertop, it’s okay.  It’s okay.”  He rolled away and got to his feet, ignoring Coppertop’s squeaks of protest. Coppertop tried to grab his ankle and pull him back down, but Fingon dodged.   “I’m just going to make everything better.”  

Coppertop protested louder, sounding frantic.  

Fingon turned off the movie and sat down beside him.  “See, it’s off now, we’re safe.  You were so brave, trying to protect me. Thank you, dear one.”  

Coppertop wasn’t convinced the danger had passed.  Fingon put him back on the bed. Coppertop wiggled around until he could pull Fingon into a tight hug. Both arms went around Fingon. He rested his chin on Fingon, his hand carding through Fingon's braids and his stump rubbing Fingon’s back.  The stitches had reopened; Fingon could feel something wet soaking through his shirt. Coppertop rocked them back and forth, chirping low and soft. 

“There, there, Coppertop, it’s over now.  I’m safe, you’re safe.  You were so brave.”  He nestled in closer to Coppertop, trying to show he was being comforted in hopes it would calm Coppertop down. “You were so brave, my knight in shining fish scales.”  

Coppertop rocked them, voice hitching occasionally. “Hey, you overgrown limpet,” Fingon said gently.  “You remember this song? But I would walk 500 miles and I would walk 500 more, just to be the man who walked 500 miles to fall down at your door. Da da da da.”  

He squirmed around until he could see Coppertop’s eyes. They were so wide, pupils blown. “Da da da da,” the merman hummed managed to hum back. 

“There’s a good boy.  All is alright now.”  Coppertop gave a frightened smile and loosened his grip. Still grinning, Fingon got out of bed and brought over one of his brightly coloured marine biology books.  “Want to look at this with me?”  Coppertop leaned on his shoulder, watching intently, chirping appreciatively at the diagrams.  “I should make one for you, shouldn’t I?”  He checked his phone, 23:30.  

“Alright Coppertop,  it’s bedtime for us. Let’s put you in the bathtub, hmm?”  Now that Coppertop was calm, Fingon rebandaged his stump and then brought him back to the tub.

Coppertop whined, face pitiful as Fingon left.  He closed the door slightly so Coppertop had some slight privacy.  “I’ll see you in the morning.  Sleep tight.” 

Fingon lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, miserable.  He just realised how much he was going to miss Coppertop when he went back home.

Chapter Text

Maedhros lay in the little tank staring up at the ceiling.  It was dark; Fingon had turned the light out before he left, but Maedhros’ eyes were built for darkness.  Back home, even fathoms below, the water appeared full of light. So, in the dark of this little hellhole, he could still make out the slightly textured surface of the wall, his eyes straining to find patterns to entertain his slipping mind.  He couldn’t see as well as he should, though.  Maedhros hoped that was because he wasn’t underwater and wasn’t yet another thing wrong with him.  These days, he was more wrong than right: terribly ugly from his time aboard Angband, missing a hand, his sleek, lithe, graceful body wasted away, his broken ribs distorting his skin, stretching it thin, and of course, his one beautiful tail--ruined.  And everything itched.  Maedhros couldn’t stop scratching at his arms, his stomach, his tail.  His skin was red and flaky, and his tail!  His beautiful tail.  Scales were starting to fall off.

Maedhros’ heart had broken when he’d woken up one morning and shifted a bit to see dozens of his scales at the bottom of the tub.  With a trembling hand, he scooped them up.  Thankfully, most of them came off the underside of the tail, and he was able to hide it from Fingon.  There wasn’t a logical reason for this.  Fingon would probably help.  No, Fingon would definitely help.  Maedhros knew Fingon would eventually catch on.  He suspected Fingon was already suspicious, as he would glance at Maedhros’ tail, brows furrowed in confusion.  But he didn’t want yet another weakness revealed. It was Fingon’s fault that he was here in the first place.

Maedhros flung his head back so his temple cracked against the edge of the tank.  He couldn’t make up his mind whether he hated Fingon or not.  

He wasn’t as bad as Mairon, but he was not as kind as Maedhros thought.  First, the food that made him sick, then being removed from his nice, large tank to this tiny thing, and then whatever just happened with the monsters and the noise.  Did Fingon and his family trap those things in the thin little box? How did they fit?  Was Maedhros next?  

The next morning, when Fingon bounded in, chattering happily, Maedhros forgave him.  Just in time, too, because Fingon’s schedule changed again about a day after the box attacked them, meaning Fingon was back to spending hours upon hours with Maedhros.  

One morning, Fingon came in with a big grin on his face, bubbling over with excitement and carrying a tray. He sat himself down in front of the tank, not seeming to realise he had plopped himself in a puddle. 

He showed Maedhros the tray, breakfast, but it looked different.  The plate was empty, but the tray was packed full of little, see-through containers with various foods.  

Fingon chattered, pointing at each food, then pointing to Maedhros.

“I hope you don’t expect me to eat all that,” Maedhros said, finally managing to get a word in edgewise.  He meant it playfully, but there was still a bite behind the words.  He really shouldn’t complain about the food.  He tried hard not to let it show in front of Fingon.  He should be grateful, because even when he hated the taste, even when it made him vomit or soil himself, he was being fed regularly. And sometimes Fingon would take a bite of Maedhros' food, which led him to believe it wasn’t rotten.  It was much better than Angband.  There, they starved him until he was dizzy.  Even as hungry as he was now, it was nothing compared to the ship .  Whenever he was allowed to eat there, the fish reeked, tasting putrid.  No, Maedhros was not going to complain about taste now.

Fingon grinned at him and held out a container, raising an eyebrow.  It was strawberries.  Maedhros did like those.  He took one, and when Fingon smiled encouragingly, he tried to take the whole container.  

Fingon laughed at him, shaking his head.  He dumped the container on his plate.  Then he offered Maedhros the next container. This had an egg in it.  Maedhros thought Fingon overcooked his eggs.  Back home, he and his brothers dined on raw shark eggs, much to Curufin’s disgust.  He would probably like the eggs Fingon brought him. “I’m really okay with just the fruit,” Maedhros tried to tell him, watching his face intently.  Fingon looked even happier than when Maedhros had eaten a strawberry.  The egg was not put on his plate; instead, Fingon offered him a piece of bread.  Maedhros liked bread and took the bite Fingon offered him. He wouldn’t mind a little more, but Fingon didn’t offer. The fun was over now, the game becoming annoying.  

Fingon offered him some of the meat, little sausage rolls and strips of bacon.  Maedhros bypassed the fork and snatched the sausages, shoving them into his mouth.  Fingon watched horrified, and Maedhros gagged at the taste.  Fingon’s face twisted in a look very reminiscent of Maedhros’ mother when she was annoyed with him.  Embarrassed, Maedhros swallowed down the bites.  

“Sorry,” he said, smoothing down his hair awkwardly.  Fingon spoke earnestly, and Maedhros suddenly felt guilty.  “I know you’re not starving me.  I was just…I don’t really know why I did that.”  He looked up at Fingon apologetically.  Fingon shook his head, not looking pleased.  He cupped Maedhros’s cheek, his face serious as he spoke.  Maedhros felt ridiculous. There was no reason he needed to eat so uncivilised.  Fingon obviously had something planned.  A worry wormed its way into the back of Maedhros' head; normally, he was more rational, normally, he thought things through.  

“Let’s continue.  Go ahead and offer me food if you still want to play.  I’d like to play, I promise.”  He mirrored Fingon, cupping his cheek.  “I do,” he took a deep breath.  “I do trust you with this.”  

Fingon grinned, then offered him the choice between two containers.  The greasy bacon and sausages, or a little bowl of something white and creamy.  Maedhros sniffed it; he thought he remembered eating it.  It was slightly tart but sweet at the same time.  He dipped his finger in it, then tasted.  Yes, he did like it.  He went to do it again, but Fingon scolded him with a laugh.  He spooned some out onto the plate.  

Then, finally, the plate was offered to Maedhros.  Maedhros ate everything, licking his lips happily when it was gone.  Fingon grinned at him, going off on some joyful tangent that Maedhros listened to happily.  He bobbed his head rapidly, unable to stop until Fingon flicked him on the forehead with a laugh.  

Fingon spent the entire day with him, for which Maedhros was glad.  Whenever he left, a crushing pressure rose in his chest.  It was becoming harder to make it disappear. Maedhros would bang his head against the wall or the edge, sometimes not realising it until a particularly sharp hit would bring him back to awareness.  

Despite the desperate itch of his tail and being unable to scratch it, and how cramped and electric Maedhros felt, having Fingon around helped.  Fingon was joy personified. Maedhros didn’t mind life so much when Fingon was with him, but whenever he left, Maedhros slipped very quickly. 

Fingon stayed with him for two whole days, and then he left.  Maedhros expected it, tried to prepare, but wound up slipping into despair.  The first day, Fingon had been gone for an hour or so; it was hard to tell without the sun, when there was a knock on the door.  

Someone popped their head in.  It took Maedhros a moment to realise, but when he did, his blood ran cold.  Mairon grinned at him, perfect, straight, dull teeth flashing.  

“Did you miss me, my pretty?”  

Maedhros' throat jumped; he tried to speak, but all that happened was a strangled sound.  

Mairon rolled his eyes, face dripping with disdain.  “This is the great sea-king’s firstborn?  His heir?” He stepped inside, his knee-high boots gleaming in the light.  The heels made a sharp clack against the floor.  That sound was sometimes the only warning before Mairon would be upon him when Maedhros had lain trapped on the table.  The sound produced almost as visceral a reaction as seeing Mairon.  

“W-wh-wh-wha…” 

“You can’t even speak!  How low this boy has brought you.” Mairon’s aristocratic nose scrunched.  “Look at you, lying in your own filth.”  His sharp eyes surveyed Maedhros.  “Would your father even recognise you?  His deformed, ugly, crippled son, acting as a pet?  At least you fought me.”  Mairon smirked.  “For a little while.” 

He bent down, and Maedhros flinched, cracking his head against the wall.  Mairon winced in mock sympathy.  

“Why are you here?”  Maedhros finally managed to spit out, though it lacked any sort of power or bite.  

“Because I told Fingon I missed you.  So, he said I could come play with you.”  

Maedhros shook his head frantically.  “He wouldn’t! He rescued me from you.” 

“No, he stole you for himself.” 

“Still,” Maedhros gulped, feeling braver, “why would he let you see me?  Wouldn’t he worry you would steal me?” 

Mairon didn’t grace that with an answer.  Instead, he ran his hand through Maedhros’ hair.  “I believe I owe you a punishment for what you did to me.” 

“You seemed to have healed fine.” 

“The crew mocked me,” Mairon spat in his face. “They laughed, saying I was so weak I let a half-starved animal bash my head in.  Captain chided me for my so-called arrogance in claiming I had you tamed.” 

“You stuffed me inside that tank!” Maedhros snarled.  “You crushed my hand.”’

“You did that yourself.” 

“I couldn’t breathe! The water, it wasn’t right. It was your fault I had to lift the lid.”

“You’re a fish, you would have been fine.” 

“You had half my gills sewn shut.  It was all your fault. Everything.” 

“Do you always blame your problems on others?” Mairon looked thoughtful.  “Oh,” he gasped.  “That explains why your family didn’t rescue you.  They were glad to get rid of a whiny brat.”

“That’s not true,” Maedhros hissed.  His chest rose and fell rapidly, but he couldn’t get enough air.   

Mairon gave him a pitying look.  “Well, it does seem Fingon has punished you enough.  He stroked Maedhros' tail, watching with delight as even under the slight touch, the scales fell away.  

“He’s not pun--” Maedhros’ voice hitched.

“Isn’t he, though? Punishing you?” 

Maedhros gave a defeated nod.

“Good, that’s one thing I won’t have to do.”  He unrolled his tool belt, looking at the instruments of torture like a lover.  “Where did we leave off?”  

Maedhros couldn’t breathe, couldn’t swallow, couldn’t escape.  He grit his teeth and lifted his chin, glaring at Mairon.  Do your worst.  I can take it.

Mairon laughed at him.  “You look like a toddler playing pretend. You’re not brave, Maedhros.  You’re a coward.  You’re weak, pathetic, a worm.” He twirled a thin prying knife between his fingers.  

“Are you like a starfish?  Will your hand grow back if we remove the stitches?  Let’s see, shall we?”  

He twisted the knife into Maedhros's stump, and Maedhros howled.  The new skin parted easily, and with his deft fingers, Mairon pulled on the arteries, stretching them out.

“Coppertop!” 

Maedhros kept screaming as Mairon dug his fingers into the open wound, feeling around. 

“Coppertop!” 

It hurt, and he tried to pull away, but Mairon’s hand didn’t move; it simply followed.  The water was turning red. 

“Coppertop!” Suddenly, Mairon’s hand was yanked away from the wound, and Maedhros was staring into the wide eyes of Anairë. She was holding his left hand, his own fingers wet and red.  The stitches of his stump had been ripped open.  Blood spurted weakly from it, and Maedhros could feel a few drops on his face.  

Anairë stuttered out his name, followed by more alarmed babbling.  “Where’s Mairon?” he whimpered.  

Anairë let out a sigh of relief.  

“Where is he?” His voice sounded panicked to his own ears.  Anairë tried to coo at him, but she sounded just as panicked.  Her bright yellow pantsuit was soaked with water and quite a bit of blood.  Mairon was nowhere to be found.  You idiot.  Maedhros thought, He’s not here. E ven if he was, you wouldn’t be able to understand him. It was all in your head. You did this to yourself.   

Maedhros stared helplessly at his bleeding stump.  Anairë bundled it in a soft towel.  She cupped Maedhros' face and forced him to look at her.  Whatever she saw made her cry, not just a few tears, but weep.  Maedhros awkwardly patted her on the head, then felt bad when his wet hand flattened her hair.  She sobbed for a few minutes while Maedhros tried to get a hold on his thoughts.  His brain felt full of cotton.  Anaire recovered faster than he did.  

She said something to Maedhros, then left, coming back with a drink and a few apple slices.  Maedhros couldn’t stomach the thought of eating, but she made him eat two and drink half of the juice before she showed him a needle and thread.  In a tight voice, she explained her plan, though Maedhros could only guess.  While she was talking, Maedhros offered her his stump.  She almost started crying again.  

It hurt, and unlike on Angband, he couldn’t scream; that would only upset her.  Anairë spoke in a soothing voice the entire time, though occasionally, it trembled or reached a high pitch.  When she was done, he had to eat a few more apple slices and drink more juice.  She wrapped the stump back up in a new towel and tied a clear bag over it.  She manoeuvred Maedhros so he was lying back against the wall, one of Fingon’s pillows making it more comfortable than normal.  Anairë was clearly commanding him to sleep, but he couldn’t.  Not with Mairon so fresh on his mind.  Still, he liked her singing lullabies to him and felt very comfortable, despite the throbbing pain.

Eventually, she had to leave, but Maedhros didn’t mind.  She left a little device that sang lullabies, and she checked in on him every hour until Fingon got home.  

-----

“Darling, your little friend has had an accident,” greeted Fingon as soon as he stepped through the door.  

The world seemed to stop.  “What do you mean?  Is Coppertop okay?”  Fingon started toward the stairs, his mother right behind him.  

“I left the house this morning to run some errands.  When I came back, I heard screaming, so I grabbed your father’s tennis racket.  Your little merman was having some sort of attack.  Poor little thing was pale as a sheet, and had torn open his, you know,” she gestured towards her right hand.  

“Sweet Eru,” 

“Now, darling, don’t fret.  I managed to calm him down and sewed it right back up.  Findo was at work, but you might call him and have him look at it.  Coppertop’s fine now, I’ve been checking on him.  I think he’s sleeping; he must be exhausted.” 

“What caused it?” 

Anairë frowned at him.  “I don’t know, dear. I wasn’t here. I think he had a fit of some kind and tore it open.”  

Fingon paused at the bathroom door, looking at his mother, feeling lost.  “Do you think I should call in sick tomorrow? Maybe stay with him?”  

Anairë opened her arms, and Fingon fell into them.  “I don’t know what to do, Amme,” he said, voice muffled by her shoulder.  “He hardly eats, hardly sleeps, and now he’s having fits that make him hurt himself.” 

“You’re doing the best you can, darling.  But maybe it’s time to think about taking him to work.  They’ll have a whole team of specialists.  The pressure just won’t be on you.”  

“Maybe,” Fingon said warily.  His stomach sank at the thought of sending Coppertop away.  But maybe it’s for the best.  

“You’re a very good friend to him.  He’s lucky to have someone who cares as much as you.”  Fingon almost snorted at that. He didn’t feel like he was being a very good friend.  She tucked one of his braids behind his ear.  “And no matter what’s happening now, I know he’s much happier here than on that ship.  But I do want you to think about taking him to The Haven.”

“Okay, Amme.  I’ll think about it.” And he truly would.    

A tiny squeak came from the bathroom.  Fingon took a few deep breaths, readying himself, and Coppertop squeaked louder, bossier.  “I’m coming!” Fingon tried to huff, wanting to sound carefree and teasing.  Instead, it came out strained.  He took a few cautious steps in the bathroom, Coppertop’s squeaking growing stronger now that he could see Fingon.

He plopped down in front of the bathtub, taking in Coppertop.  His stump was covered in a towel, and an old bread bag was tied around it to keep it dry. Since Coppertop was staying in the bathtub, his mother said it would be best to keep the wound covered, so it wouldn’t get dirty.  

“Poor fish,” Fingon sighed.  “You poor, poor, fish.  What happened, Coppertop?”  The merman tried to wiggle closer to him, hissing when he touched the edge of the tub.  Coppertop wouldn’t meet his eyes, trilling quietly.  Fingon smiled weakly and stroked his hair.  Coppertop hummed and leaned into his hand, eyes closed.  Fingon took his stump, peeling away the bread bag and the towel.  His mother’s stitches were clean and tidy.  There were far more of them than the stitches Finrod had put in, but they were tiny, and if they were anything like her normal sewing jobs, they would hold firm.  

Coppertop was now pointedly not looking at him, face bowed in shame.  “Hey,” Fingon said as softly as he could, “you don’t have to do that.  I’m not mad at you.” He rummaged in the drawer where he kept a bag of gummy bears.  He held a few out, wiggling his hand enticingly.  “You’ve had a bad day, how about a pick me up?”  

Coppertop ate two, refusing when Fingon offered him the rest of the handful.  “We gotta get your mood up, silly.

“Okay, I know technically we need to address this, but you can’t talk, so we’re going to have to go with that age-old manly trait of shoving down the trauma and moving on.”  He tried to make his voice animated.  “So, here’s what we’re going to do.  We’re going to have a perfectly normal and fun night.  We’re going to play, you’re going to eat some great food, and tomorrow I’ll see what it would look like for The Haven to take you in.  I think you’ll be happier there. I’ll still see you and take care of you, but you’ll have more room and better medical attention.”  Coppertop blinked sadly at him, still not meeting his gaze, nor fooled by Fingon’s tone.  So much for distracting the poor merman from his woes. It really sucked that Coppertop wouldn’t watch TV, even on the phone.  Funny videos always cheered Fingon up.  He racked his brain.  

“What if I teach you checkers?”  Coppertop’s long ears perked up at Fingon’s excited voice.  Finally, finally, he looked up at Fingon.  He cocked his head, intrigued.  Success! Fingon thought.  

“Yeah!  That’s a great idea.  Let’s eat dinner, and then we’ll play checkers.  It’s an easy game.”  

Fingon managed to convince his entire family to eat dinner in his bathroom.  Aredhel was back at college, Turgon had gone home to his family for the day, which meant it fell on Argon to take up the mantle of being a brat.  

“You want us to eat in the bathroom?  I thought you’re not supposed to eat where you shit,” 

“Argon!” Aniarë said.  “Language.”  

Fingon made a face at him.  “I haven’t used it since Coppertop moved in.  And, before that, I cleaned it super well.  Super-duper well.”  

“No one uses super-duper anymore.  Dork.” 

“Dork? You’re the one who does models and dioramas in his spare time.” 

“Hey, those are cool.” 

“Yeah. If you’re a dork.  Dork.”  

“Boys,” his father snapped.  “Haven’t we outgrown this?”  

“Fingon hasn’t outgrown anything since the secondary school.” 

“I happen to be quite tall for my age. 6 feet exactly.  You’re just a giant freak.” 

“Amme!” 

“Children. Keep it up, and you boys will eat outside.”  

Fingon cuffed Argon’s head when Anairë wasn’t looking, and they all made their way to the bathroom.  It was a tight fit, but Anairë had brought in the couch cushions from their outdoor patio, so at least they didn’t have to sit on the floor.  

Amme had made a steak salad. Fingon watched Coppertop intently, trying to see if there was anything he seemed to like more than the others.  Coppertop ate even less than normal, only half a piece of streak, and three bites of spinach, one little piece of chopped carrot, two croutons, a nibble of the feta cheese and a cherry tomato.  Fingon had no idea what that meant.  

At first, Coppertop eyed them all wearily, but by the end, he looked a bit more alert, watching them with bright eyes, smiling slightly as they talked over and laughed with each other.  

“Why do his eyes glow, Finno?” Argon said through a mouthful of food.  His father frowned at him.  

“I don’t know.  He doesn’t exactly tell me these things. But it must help him see, somehow.  Maybe because it’s dark under the sea?  But other creatures don’t do that, so who knows. It’s pretty, though.” 

“Yeah, in a creepy sort of way.” 

Fingon rolled his eyes.  He thought Coppertop’s illuminated eyes were beautiful…were cool.  “I wonder what he thinks of us?  With our non-glowy eyes and our weird teeth.  Have you seen his?  They’re razor sharp.” 

“How… human, for lack of a better word,” his father said, looking at Coppertop intently, “do you think he is?”  

“What do you mean?  Like, his biology?”  Fingon’s voice sounded a bit shrill.  His eyes were locked on Coppertop’s longest scar, which had to be a vivisection scar.  “I’m not cutting him open!” 

“Goodness,” Fingolfin was always very good at sounding scandalised.  “I just meant the way he thinks.  Is it more human or animal, or some third option?  He’s no animal, obviously, but do you think it’s disrespectful to…mermaids, men, merfolk, to humanise them?”  

“Atya!” Fingon was just as good as his father at sounding scandalised.  “He’s got a brain.  He’s smart.  And he displays all kinds of emotions.”  

“I didn’t mean it like that.  More like those shows Turgon used to love.  Where the aliens arrived and always looked down on the humans.  Maybe he’s far more advanced than us.”

Fingon didn’t like where the conversation was going.  He did everything in his power to make Coppertop feel like he was Fingon’s friend and equal.  He thought he was doing a good job.  But what if he was insulting Coppertop this entire time? 

“I think,” Amme butted in, “that he’s human in all senses of the word but physical.  Elenwë tells me about how he interacts with Idril and Fingon.  And he seems very smart and capable of reason, but no more so than any of us.  You all are letting your imaginations run wild. And Fingon, I know what you’re thinking, I can see it in your eyes.  You don’t talk down to him or dehumanise him…or should I say de-mer-ise?  It’s only natural to be a bit more animated than normal because body language is the best way to communicate right now. I’m quite sure he does the same thing, so you’ll understand him.”  She grinned at Coppertop, who was watching them all with great interest.  “You may not understand us, but you understand, right?”  

Coppertop’s brow furrowed as he thought, and then he grinned back at her.  

“See? Let’s not overthink this.  Now, who wants to help me clean up? Fingon, you’re excused…this time, since Coppertop’s had a rough day.”  

His father and brother grumbled a bit, but rose to help her. Fingon brought out the checkers set.  After two games of learning, Coppertop was beating him.  

“I do think you’re smart,” Fingon told him earnestly.  “I hope you know I think very highly of you.”  Coppertop blinked slowly at him and then jumped five of his pieces.  He gave Fingon a sly grin.  Yeah, Fingon thought, we could definitely be considered friends.  

_____

Dinner with Fingon’s family was a lot of fun.  Maedhros loved watching them chatter away, interacting with each other. It did mean he couldn’t eat much dinner, because he absolutely would not soil himself in front of them; it was bad enough they had to clean it up. But Maedhros’ appetite was fading, even though Fingon had started bringing more of his favourite foods.

Fingon left the plastic wrapped around his stump.  It provided some entertainment through the night.  Maedhros would dunk his arm underwater, and the towel would stay dry. When the novelty wore off, Maedhros kept himself up with his tail-wetting routine.  It wouldn’t fit in the tank, so periodically throughout the day, Maedhros would spend half an hour splashing water on it to keep it from drying out.  Fingon would place wet towels over it, which helped, but sometimes it was too much, and Maedhros needed his tail free.  

After that, he yanked on his hair.  Fingon had almost caught him banging his head against the wall a few nights ago.  He’d heard it and came rushing in, but Maedhros was able to dissuade him with a smile and a wide-eyed innocent gaze.  He was actually impressed by how well it worked.  Fingon probably let little siblings get away with everything if that’s all it took.  While banging his head was out, yanking his hair was fine, so long as he didn’t yank out any clumps.  What would it matter, though, you stupid fool? You’re already so ugly.  

The next morning, Fingon brought him breakfast: fruit and toast.  It smelled good, and Maedhros loved toast and fruit, but he couldn’t stomach the thought of eating.  He did try to eat a few bites, though, to keep Fingon from worrying, but it didn’t seem to work.  

Fingon gave him a clap on the shoulder before he left for the day, and Maedhros’ good mood immediately left.  He twisted and writhed, feeling cramped.  He longed to just be able to move, to stretch, to be able to swim. 

Fingon’s mother arrives with lunch, and she cleans up the water Maedhros has splashed on the floor.  “I don’t mean to,” Maedhros said, but he doesn’t think she would believe him if she understood.  He should have more self-control. 

As she is about to leave, Maedhros gathers up his courage. “Could you play music…like yesterday, please?”  

She fusses over him, trying to understand, and Maedhros feels incredibly stupid.  She can’t understand you, and now you’ve made her worry.  

“Never mind,” he mumbles, face feeling hot.  She fusses more, trying to get him to act out his request, but Maedhros won’t budge, and with a sigh, she leaves.  

Maedhros stares up at the ceiling.  He hears a noise, and his first thought is Mairon ! He squeezes his eyes shut, and he can’t breathe. No one’s here.  It’s all in your head.  Yesterday wasn’t real. Open your eyes and see that you’re alone. When he finally gets control over himself, he cracks open an eye.  He is not alone.  

“Atya!” He scrambles to sit up, water sloshing everywhere.  He’s so excited it hurts; his father has finally come to rescue him.  Feanor surveys him, and Maedhros does the same.  “It’s all in my head,” he mutters, but it’s more of a question than a statement.  Feanor snorts.  “You’ve never had that active an imagination.”  He paces across the floor, hands clasped behind his back.  

“How do you have legs?”  

“Maedhros, I’m an inventor.  I made myself some.” 

If anyone could do such a thing, it would be Feanor.  And Maedhros is far too easy to convince.  His heart feels like it’s breaking from too much joy and hope.  

“Is it really you?”  His voice comes out in a whimper, which makes Feanor’s lips twitch.  Maedhros must keep himself from flinching at the small sign of displeasure.  He reaches out, trying to catch hold of his father’s billowing shirt.  He’s never seen his father in clothes before.  “Atya,” he says, the word a comfort to him.  

“Is that all you can say? Atya, atya,” he mocks.  “You sound like a child.” 

Maedhros has never been so happy to be scolded before.  “I’ve missed you.” And then, the dam breaks and the words come tumbling out.  “Atya, I’ve missed you so much. You and Amme, and Maglor and all the other.  Thank you for finding me.  Thank you, Atya. I’ve missed you. I want to go home.  Please, let’s go home.” He has to get everything out.  Feanor must know how sick with longing and worry he’s been for them all.  And he’s going home!  In just a few short hours, he'll be in the ocean with his family!

Feanor holds up his hand, and Maedhros stops his babbling.  “I’ve been watching for a few days, trying to find a time to retrieve you without drawing attention.” 

Maedhros nods, head bobbing frantically.  That makes sense.  

“I’ve seen you with these humans.”  

“They’ve taken care of me.  Fingon rescued me.  From Angband.” 

“You’re pathetic, Maedhros. First, you get yourself captured.” 

“To help Amrod,”

“Whose dead now, no thanks to you.” 

MAedhros’ eyes widen.  “Amrod is--” he can’t say the word.  

“Yes.  And Amras too. He killed himself shortly after Amrod died.  He couldn’t live without him.”  

“No. No, that can’t be true.  Atya--” 

“Shut up.  I’ve lost two sons,” Feanor’s face crumples.  “My two little ones.  And then I see you.  Playing pet to the very same who killed your brothers.” 

Maedhros is still reeling from hearing about the death of his baby brothers.  His mind is spinning out of control.  

“Fingon didn’t kill them,” he manages to get out.  “It was the Moringotho.  He killed them.  Fingon has been nothing but kind to me.”  

Feanor spits.  “I’ve seen you with the Morningotho too.  That man killed your king.  More than that, he killed your grandfather. And you did nothing to them, but wail and scream and carry on and beg for it to end.”  

“I know,” Maedhros say, dazed.  He can’t focus, the world is muted, colours dull.  Feanor is yelling now, towering over him.  

“And you do the same thing with these humans.  You lie here all day long and beg them to treat you kindly.  You're dumb, stupid, weak!  They’ve taken advantage of you.  Where is your pride? Where is your strength? You were my heir, my son.”  

That brings Maedhros crashing back to himself.  “Were?” He stammers out?  “Atya…were?”  The panic is rising, a cold fear washing over him.  

“You’ve disgraced your lineage.  Do you think I would let Fingon treat me like this?  Do you think your grandfather would? We would have killed the Moringotho, or at the very least, escaped. We would not have lost our dignity in front of Fingon; your Haru and I wouldn’t have let him make us into a pet.”  Feanor’s face is red and twisted with rage, the likes of which Maedhros has only seen once, and then it was tainted with a horrifying despair.  

“I’m sorry!” 

“You’re sorry? I’m the one who’s sorry.  Sorry I had you for a pathetic excuse as a son.”  Suddenly, Feanor steps back, face calm as he smooths out his clothes.  

“Curufin is my heir now.  He’s always been better than you at everything.  And he knows it.  He is my true hair.  That is why he has my name, and you were named after the only thing worthwhile about you, your hair and looks. Do you understand?”  

“Yes, sir.” He can live with that.  He and Curufin had always had a strained relationship with each other; his younger brother despised him for being his father’s firstborn, and Maedhros worried he would never measure up to the golden child.  

Feanor heads for the door.  

“Atya? Don’t leave me, Atya!  Please!  Take me home! I want to come home.  I miss you; I need you.”  

“You’re not coming home, Maedhros.  I never want to see you again.  Your mother never wants to see you again.  Your brothers never want to see you again.  You’ve disgraced us.” 

“No Atya! Please, I’ll make it up to you.  Let me come home, even as a servant.  Please.  I need you.  I love you.  Please atya!

“Atya, atya, atya!” He wails over and over until he’s no longer begging a word, just some garbled sound.  No one comes to snap him out of it. 

________

Fingon volunteered to feed the seals today.  He needed a break from looking through a microscope and making notes.  The seals were always such happy critters, and they would be a welcome distraction.  Mornhendi, the youngest seal at the centre, was easily the favourite with her doleful, big, black eyes and lively personality.  Fingon snuck her an extra fish. He kept an eye out for his boss.  He had spent all night thinking about it, and most of the morning.  He was going to bring Maedhros to The Haven.  It was the right thing to do.  He’d have more space here, a 24-hour medical team and could finally get the help he needed. And Fingon could still see him. Fingon first had to weigh out his boss to make sure Maedhros wouldn’t be trapped here or experimented on.  

“How should we do this, Morni?  Say, hey Mr Olwë, I was just thinking.  Do you believe in mermaids?  Hypothetically, if you were to find an injured one, what would you do?” 

Mornhendi blinked her gobbler eyes at him and squished her neck in, making her look even more adorably round.  Fingon’s heart couldn’t take it.  “You’re so cute,” he tossed her another fish, and then gave an extra one to the other five seals so they wouldn’t feel left out.

“Mr Olwë, I was reading old reports, and one of them mentioned the old pirate stories about mermaids.  Do you think they’re true?”  Fingon paused, letting the imaginary man respond.  

“Hmm.  I agree. They don’t.  However, did you hear about Melkor?  There were all these rumours a few years ago that he caught a merman.  It really made me think.  If I found one, do you think I’d have the mental fortitude to let him go back to the ocean?  I hope so.  Do you think you could?  What if one were hurt?  Would you help it like you do all the others?  Would you set him free, or would you keep him here?  To study, or even just to enjoy?

“No matter what I say, Morni, he’s going to think I’m off my rocker.”  He hosed out the empty bucket, then set it back in the supply closet.  

As he was making his way back to the labs, he ran into his boss.  Olwë Falmar had worked at the Haeven for years. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man. Stoic, hard to read, but fair.  He was very hard to anger, for which many new interns thanked their lucky stars. He was flanked by the tallest man Fingon had ever seen in his life. He was incredibly beautiful, with a sharp nose, large eyes, and hair cut a little before his shoulders, styled in that bad-boy chic way that seemed to be the rage.  He dressed immaculately and all in black, except for his silver jewellery.  He would have been lovely, except for his thin lips, set cruelly on his face.  

“Fingon,” Olwë said tightly.  “This is Captain Melkor Bauglir, of the Angband.  Captain, this is Fingon Noldorian, our assistant animal care technician.  Our senior intends to retire soon, and I can safely say Fingon is expected to take his place.  

“My pleasure.  And please, call me Melkor,” he shook Fingon’s hand, bowing his head slightly.  “I trust I may call you Fingon?”  His voice was deep and smooth; a voice you wanted to listen to.  

“Aren’t you a notorious poacher?  What are you doing here?”

“Fingon!” Olwe snapped, but Melkor waved him off with a laugh.  “It’s quite allright.  He has fire,” his smile was oily.  “I like fire.”  

As soon as I get home, I am taking the longest shower, Fingon told himself.  He thought of Coppertop in his bathtub. Coppertop, who had nightmares that left him screaming, and would flinch if someone tried to touch him without warning.  Coppertop, who was covered in scars. 

“What are you doing here?  This is a rehabilitation centre, not a pet store. We rescue these animals. And, when we send them out, they're microchipped.  So, if something bad happens to them, we can rescue them again.” 

“Fingon,” Olwë snapped again.  Melkor just smiled.  “Don’t be so hard on the boy. I can handle a bit of heat.  My valiant friend, those are rumours. I am no poacher.  I am attempting to start up something similar to your fine establishment. I’m working against them. In fact, I myself have been a victim of these malicious persons.  Several exotic animals of mine, whom I was rehabilitating,” he tacked on quickly when Fingon glared, “were taken.  I’ve been combing centres like this one for weeks, hoping to find them here, and not on the black market.”  

“I have agreed to show the captain around.  See if he spots any he had rescued.” Olwë’s voice was tense.  He didn’t believe Melkor either, but he was too powerful to reset.  

“Are you looking for something particular?”  Fingon asked, shocked at his boldness.  You’re doing this for Coppertop.  You’ve got to know what he suspects.  

“Oh, many things.  But, yes, one particular fish.  He’s red and green. He was incredibly hurt when we found him.  It’s very important to me that he is found.  He is especially exotic, in the wrong hands, I shudder to think of it.” The man actually did a full-body shudder.  

“Well, even if he was here, wouldn’t you want to leave him with us? It doesn’t matter where they get the care, as long as it’s what they need, right?” 

“Oh certainly.  But, with this particular fish, I think with the resources I have at my disposal, I would be the best bet for its safety. I will leave no rock unturned, no cove unsearched, no expense spared.  I am that dedicated.”  

Fingon’s throat was stuck, and he could only nod.  Olwë, sensing Fingon’s disgust, went to lead Melkor away.  They were almost gone when Melkor turned back, levelling another oily smile at Fingon. 

“If you see something, Fingon, do let me know.  I am a just man; I reward well.  Just give me a call,” he slipped a business card in the pocket of Fingon’s work shirt, giving it a pat.  

“Will do,” Fingon said in a strangled voice.  “But, fair play to you, I probably won’t know what I’m looking for.”  

“Oh, you’ll know,” Melkor said, eyes lighting up with a frightening intensity.  “Red and green.  The most exotic creature you’ve ever seen.  And remember, my fiery one, I will reward handsomely if you get him to me.”  

Olwë and Melkor left.  Fingon managed to make it to the locker room when he collapsed against a row.  He was panting and shaking all over.  Melkor was looking for Coppertop.  Obsessively.  Coppertop couldn’t stay at the Haven.  Melkor would come back, he knew it.  How far was this man’s reach? He didn’t suspect Fingon, but was Coppertop safe at his home?  Was his family safe?  Maybe he should return Coppertop to the sea.  Immediately.  But Melkor was probably searching there too.  And Coppertop was still very injured, with no way to contact his family.  The sea wasn’t an option, at least not right now.  Maybe not ever.  Which brought up another problem. Fingon promised to get Coppertop home.  Eventually, Coppertop needed to go home; Fingon couldn’t cross the line from healer to capture.  But Melkor was looking for the merman.  Shit, Fingon thought.  Is Coppertop’s family in danger?  He couldn’t get a message to them. 

His thoughts were spinning out of control.  He didn’t remember going back to work. But Fingon did remember that as soon as the end of his shift hit, he was literally running out the door.  On the train, he was a nervous wreck, unable to sit still.  He got up a few times and paced the length of the car, squeezing by annoyed passengers.  When it reached his stop, Fingon ran the whole way home.  He didn’t stop until he was in the bathroom, out of breath, staring wild-eyed at a hyperventilating and pale Coppertop. 

“Was it Melkor?” Fingon shouted at him.  “Was he here? Did he hurt you?” 

Coppertop made a garbled, horrifying sound.  Fingon’s knees hit the floor, and he yanked Coppertop into a tight hug.  “You’re safe.  Don’t you worry.  I’m not going to let anyone hurt you or take you away.  I’m going to protect you.  I promise.  You’re safe, Coppertop.”  He was sobbing, Fingon realised.  Crying into the merman’s hair.  “I’m going to protect you,” he swore, over and over again.”  

_______

Fingon’s frantic appearance actually had a calming effect on Maedhros.  It snapped him out of his own panic.  In the face of Fingon’s naked distress, Maedhros had a goal, a purpose, a way to finally do something again.  And he was good at taking care of people.  He had six little brothers.  Or was it five now?  Surely not four. That wasn’t real.  Just like Mairon, Feanor had never come.  

“I’m going crazy,” Maedhros told Fingon.  Then, he dove into the project of calming Fingon down.  He played with his braids, he cooed nonsensical words, he hummed little tunes, including their special song, which did a lot in reviving Fingon.  When Fingon finally let go, Maedhros stroked his cheek.  

“You’re alright, my pretty little human. Maedhros is here.  I won’t let anything hurt you,” A stupid promise, what could Maedhros do?  “Don’t make such a fuss.  Everything’s okay.  You’re leaking, and that’s not good.” He booped Fingon’s nose, then kissed it.  “You need to drink some of that disgusting stuff you call water.  Did you know, at home, we drink coconut water?  It’s true.  We can go for months without it, but eventually, we will get thirsty and need it.  Atya would make it a whole thing.  We’d all go, just the eight of us, nine, when Haru was alive.  Maglor would sing, and Caranstir would whine, and then we’d spend the whole day in the soft golden sand, drinking coconut water.  It was nice to get away from court.”  

Fingon wiped his nose and babbled something to Maedhros.  He looked shocked, but happy.  Maedhros blushed.  “Didn’t mean to talk too much.”

Fingon grew more excited, waving his hand, a clear encouragement to speak.  So Maedhros did.  He couldn’t talk any more about his family, but he told Fingon about the different places he’d been in his travels, the bizarre fish, and birds he’d seen.  

Fingon listed enraptured, until his sniffling stopped and his face dried.  He disappeared for dinner, and then came back with Maedhros’.  Maedhros kept talking, feeling light.  Fingon remained excited the whole time, and he was like a ray of sunshine keeping Maedhros’ stormy thoughts of Feanor’s anger, Mairon, and his whole awful situation at bay.  

Fingon kissed him goodnight on the forehead and went off with a smile.  Maedhros lay content for a moment, but then fell.  

He was so happy just a few minutes ago, but he quickly sank into despair.  He thrashed about for a minute, miserable and uncomfortable. He heard Fingon's snores and froze.  He didn’t want to wake Fingon.  Why not?  The evil part of his brain questioned.  It was very vocal when Maedhros was alone, and it made him sick.  Fingon had taken him off Angband, Fingon kept him fed, and Fingon didn’t yank him out of the tank and hurt him. Fingon was fun to be around. But he keeps you here.  He’s not so good after all.  

“No,” Maedhros snarled in a soft voice.  He couldn’t bang his head in case Fingon heard, so he yanked his hair.  Use your brain, Maedhros commanded himself.  Are you not often concerned, Feanor’s most level-headed son?  Act like it, think.  Fingon has you in here for a reason.  Maedhros yanked his hair again, hard enough to make him gasp.  Mairon was right! He’s punishing me! Maedhros realised.  The thought made him nauseous, though it could have been the food.  For all that Maedhros got to eat more fruit and bread, though still was offered the heavy meats, slimy, wilted vegetables, and milk-based things that made his stomach roll.  Maedhros tried to eat only enough to keep starvation at bay, but even the little he ate tasted disgusting and made him sick.  Fingon would have to clean the little tank, wearing those purple gloves that made Maedhros burn with shame.  He’d look at Maedhros’s mess, make a little note in his book, and Maedhros wished Fingon would stab him with the pen.

Or maybe this isn’t a punishment but a test. He’s testing me to see how good a pet I’ll be.  I can do this.  I can be a good pet.  Or, if he’s punishing me, I can be better. Regardless, it’s all the same. I’ll be so good, Fingon will want to put me back in the big tank. 

He dug his nails into the still-healing flesh of his stump so he wouldn’t fall asleep.  That would just bring nightmares, and Maedhros needed to plan.  

The next morning, his plan was set, and he was ready when Fingon came in.  

“Good morning,” Maedhros greeted him first, with a smile.  That made Fingon very happy.  Maedhros knew Fingon liked the way his voice sounded, the noises he made, so while Fingon got dressed, Maedhros made sure to comment. 

“I like that blue on you.  It looks good!”  

“You take such good care of your hair. I think pearls would look very handsome in your hair.  

“Mmm, breakfast is delicious.” 

“Have fun today.  I will miss you.  I will be good while you are gone.”  

Fingon left in high spirits, and Maedhros congratulated himself.  Next, he had to wait patiently for lunch. Normally, he pushed against the edges of the porcelain tank, sloshing water everywhere, then Fingon’s mother would clean it up, looking annoyed, though she never took it out on Maedhros.  But, no doubt, she reported it to Fingon, which added time to his sentence here.   Nor did he bang his head against the wall.  He stayed very still, even though having the sides of the tank touch against his shoulders made his skin crawl. Even though the water itched and his scales were growing soft and falling off.  Even though he couldn’t fit in the tank, his tail stuck out awkwardly.  Even though he wanted to bang his head so bad that it made him twitch. 

Right on time, Fingon’s mother came in with his food.  She blinked in surprise at the dry floor.  “Hello,” Maedhros said.  She spoke very happily to Maedhros, who nodded along like he understood.  She presented him with his sandwich.  Gingerly, so as not to splash, Maedhros adjusted his position so he could sit upright.  “Thank you,” he said, taking the sandwich.  Normally, there was a lot of cajoling to get him to eat, but this time, Maedhros took big bites, humming appreciatively.  The sandwich tasted like sand in his mouth, and it hurt to swallow.  

Maedhros ate it all, counting another point for himself when she praised him.  

“I appreciate you feeding me.  It’s only right that I should eat all of it.”  His stomach gurgled, and he felt terribly sick.  He swallowed it down, seeking to distract her.  It cramped, and he hoped she would be gone by the time he had to relieve himself. 

“You may pet me, if you’d like.”  He hated it; even Fingon’s caresses were too much sometimes, but he was trying to be a good pet.  He leaned back a bit with a smile.  Fingon’s mother gave him a pat on the cheek, which wasn’t too bad; his own mother used to do that.

Maedhros goes back to keeping perfectly still, occasionally pinching at the stitches on his stump so he doesn’t fall asleep.  He drifts a bit, picturing riding on gentle waves, warm sun beaming on his face, his brothers laughing when he stays out too long, and his skin is as red as his hair. He always burns much faster than they do.  These thoughts make him sad, so he shifts, focusing on Fingon.

He hears Fingon and shakes off his stupor.  Excitement bubbles up in him.  Fingon probably spoke with his mother and is going to be very pleased.  

“Coppertop,” he says brightly.  

“Fingon,” Maedhros tries to match.  He pulls Maedhros into a hug, awkward because of the edge of the tub.  Normally, Maedhros nestles his head against him, or just stays stiff and still, but this time, he wrapped an arm around Fingon too.  “I’m glad you’re back.  Won’t you tell me about your day?”  

Fingon is surprised, but clearly very happy that Maedhros hugged him too.  He chatters to Maedhros, who occasionally makes a remark because he knows Fingon likes the way his voice sounds, adorable to human ears.  

Fingon disappears to eat with his family, and then comes back with food for Maedhros.  Chicken, bread, and a salad.  Maedhros eats it all.  When Fingon gives him the gummy bears, he gives Fingon a few of the red ones with a smile.  Fingon is confused, but happy.  While all of this is for Maedhros’ own benefit, he does like making Fingon happy.  Even when you put me back in the pool, he promises quietly, I will still do better to be a good pet.  I like seeing you like this, not so concerned or stressed.  

“You really are a good person,” Maedhros says, tugging on Fingon’s braids.  “I do like you.”  

Fingon laughed and gently tugged on Maedhros's hair.  “Would you like to braid mine?” he offers. He grabs three strands and puts them in Fingon’s hand.  

Fingon brushes Maedhros' hair, which feels lovely against his scalp.  He does it in one long, simple braid, much like something Maedhros would do when at home, when adventuring with his brothers.  “I wanted mine like yours,” he says lightly.  “But, if you like this better, then I’m glad to wear it.”  

Worry tickled Maedhros’ mind when Fingon changed into a loose t-shirt and shorts and started brushing his teeth.  But maybe he’s planning to spend the night in the conservatory too.  That would be nice.  

Fingon reads to him and shows him little pictures on his phone of sea animals.  Fingon is in some of the pictures, which makes Maedhros nervous. “How are you there and here?”  Fingon yawns and stretches, then kisses Maedhros on the head.  He says “good night”, heading off to bed, turning off the light and closing the door a bit.  

Maedhros’ breath comes out shallowly.  No, this wasn’t supposed to happen.  What did he do wrong?  “Fingon,” he says, a hitch in his voice.  “Fingon!”  

Fingon appears, concern written on his face.  Maedhros smiles, knowing it looks forced. He’s scared to ask, but he can’t stay here, not like this.  “Fingon, can’t I go back to the big tank?  I’ll keep behaving, I promise. Today wasn’t just a one-time thing, but I would really like to go back to the tank I was in before.  Please.”  He’s speaking too fast.  

Fingon coos at him, forcing him to lie down.  “No,” Maedhros says, a bit more forceful than he wanted.  He forces himself to relax.  “Fingon,” he says, because Fingon loves hearing his name, “Fingon, please may I go back to the big tank?” His fingers twist against his tail.  Fingon frowns.  Maedhros looks at him hopefully.  

He pats Maedhros's head, speaks gently and softly, checks the water, then leaves again.  

“Fingon?” Maedhros whimpers.  Fingon doesn’t return.  “Fingon,” Maedhros snaps.  “Fingon, come here.”  Nothing.  The anger and panic are building and then spilling over. 

“Fingon, let me out now!” Maedhros snarled.  He’s shouting, any and every horrid thing he can think of.  “I hate you!  You and your whole family.  You’re disgusting! All of you. I’ll kill you all, drown you. Rip your throat out and laugh as you bleed.” He trashes, trying to get as much water on the floor as possible. Nothing makes Fingon come back. He pulls at his hair, yanking it out of the braid Fingon did for him. He’s so overcome that he bangs his head against the edge of the tub until his vision swims.  He collapses against the edge of the tub, worn out.  “Please,” he begs, “please, what did I do? I’m sorry!”  He decides he hates Fingon. He’s not going to stay here.  He waits until he hears Fingon’s breath even out and drags himself from the pool.  Slowly, hand over stump, he drags himself across the floor, making only a silent scratching sound.  Moving across the floor helps the itch of his skin and tail, but his stump throbs.  Endure, Maedhros tells himself, endure.  He makes his way, painfully and slowly, past the bed.  He pauses, considering trying to pull himself up on it to scream and Fingon and show him why he never should have done this to Maedhros, but he banishes the thought.  

It takes him a moment to figure out the door.  He has to rear up, like one of those sea-snakes, stretching himself as long as he can and get the door open.  Fingon doesn’t wake.  

He makes his way down the hallway to the stairs.  He remembers being carried up them, and right now, there is blessedly only one way to go.  He ends up toppling down the stairs, lying winded and sore at the bottom.  It was then that Maedhros realised he didn’t really have a plan.  He had no idea how close to the ocean he was, nor how to navigate out of the house.  He lay in despair, before deciding he wanted to die making an effort to get back to his family.  

Hand over stump, he dragged himself along.  The stitches were coming undone, and there was a small trail of blood.  He was fast drying out, the familiar burn coming.  He wasn’t even outside!  As he rounded a corner, he saw a light.  Far too yellow to be the moon, he still went toward it.  Pain addled his mind, and exhaustion, when was the last time he slept, and he thought it might be the sun.  

He hissed in pain, moving forward much more slowly.  A figure, alerted by the noise, came out of the slight, shouting with a curse.  It was Fingolfin.  He stared at Maedhros in horror, backing away.  Maedhros bared his teeth.  Nimbly, Fingolfin jumped over him, scrambling up the stairs, shouting for his wife and Fingon.  

“No,” Maedhros whimpered, frantic energy renewed.  If he were caught now, there would be no more kindness, as sparse as it had been these last few days.  The sound of feet and shouting came closer, and Maedhros tried to crawl faster.  

“No, no, no,” he moaned.  

Fingon was by his side.  Maedhros flinched away, snapping.  “Get away from me,” he snarled.  Fingon scuttled backwards, face concerned.  

“No,” Maedhros screeched.  “No, you don’t get to be worried.  Not when you keep me trapped up there!”  He railed against Fingon until he was exhausted; he gave up, collapsing on the floor in a disgraceful heap of pain and failure.  Fingon touched his shoulder, face wet.  

Lank strands of hair fell about Maedhros' face as he stared up at Fingon.  He forced himself up on shaking arms.  “Please let me go home or kill me,” he whispered.  His head flopped and his arms gave out, but Fingon grabbed him before he hit the floor.  He pulled Maedhros to himself, rocking him gently.  

“It hurts,” Maedhros whimpered.  He shushed him and scooped him up, taking him up the stairs.  “No,” Maedhros wailed, pride and the promise never to appear weak again forgotten.  “Please don’t, please don’t.”  He tangled his fingers in Fingon’s shirt, resolving to never let go.  They were back in Fingon’s room, and he headed for the bathroom door.  “No,” Maedhros begged.  “Please, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.” He couldn’t take the tub, he couldn’t go back in, and yet it didn’t matter. “Don’t put me in there!” He screamed in desperation. In the back of his mind, he remembered doing something similar to Gwindor. He hadn’t won then.  They didn’t listen to him.  He could do nothing.  This was happening whether he wanted it or not, and the sheer helplessness hurt. “Help! Help me! Help!” He started screaming then, unable to speak, fear snatching the words, rendering him useless and primal.  He couldn’t breathe, no matter how much air he tried to suck in, and his heart felt like something was squeezing it tighter.  His vision swam, and he opened his mouth to beg or breathe, but nothing came out for a silent wail.  He clung to Fingon, trembling hard enough that Fingon had difficulty holding him.  No, no, no, nononononono. 

His vision blacked out, and when he blinked, he was lying on the bed, tail wrapped in towels, head in Fingon’s lap while he stroked his hair, his face, and his neck.  Maedhros grasped for breath.  His tail didn’t ache as much; the burn was never truly gone; he needed salt water, not fresh water or whatever water filled the tub, but it was bearable.  

“Don’t put me in there,” he blubbered.  Fingon pressed a kiss on his forehead, stood up, and approached the bathroom. “Don’t put me in there. I can’t go in there.  Please. Please. Please.” Maedhros screwed his eyes shut, finding it hard to breathe again, and the sharp pain in his chest was coming back.  He could feel the sides of the tub closing in on him, the bright light making him nauseous, lying in his own filth, unable to move.  Mairon and Melkor were there, laughing, and Maedhros had no idea what was real and what was not. “Nonononononono.” 

“Coppertop,” Fingon commanded gently, and Maedhros had to open his eyes.  Fingon caught his gaze and very seriously slammed the door to the bathroom shut.  Maedhros stared at him.  Fingon came beside the bed and knelt, taking Maedhros’ hand in his hands.  He spoke solemnly, forcing Maedhros to keep his gaze.  Maedhros pretended he was apologising and promising to never put him in there again.  

Fingon climbed into bed and pulled Maedhros against his chest, resting his chin on his head. Maedhros allowed himself to be comforted, though he didn’t fall asleep.

Chapter Text

Fingon woke with his cheek smooshed against Coppertop’s head. The tarp he put down to keep the mattress protected from a damp merman crinkles under the blanket he put over it so it wouldn’t annoy his skin. Red strands of hair clung to his sweaty face as he pulled away, a delicate connection breaking away as Fingon moved. Gently, Fingon detached himself from Coppertop, praying he was still asleep.  No such luck.  Fingon jumped when he looked down, and instead of seeing a sleeping merman, he saw a wideawake Coppertop staring fearfully up at him. “Hey there, pretty fish,” he says awkwardly.  Coppertop gives no indication he heard. He smiles sadly down at Coppertop. “Coppertop? Can you hear me?  Are you there, fish-stick? Did you get any sleep after…”  Shame and fear choke the words.  He’s going to have nightmares about last night; he just knows it.  He’d never seen anyone panic like Coppertop did.  It had taken Fingon hours to fall asleep, Coppertop’s horrific screams echoing in his ears.  When he lay still in bed, he could still feel Coppertop shaking in his arms.   Even behind closed eyes, Fingon can see Coppertop’s terror.  This morning,  Fingon can barely stand to look at him. 

Coppertop flinches hard when Fingon shifts on the bed.  Wasn’t that just a punch in the gut? Fingon snaps himself out of his pity party. This morning is all about putting last night's incident behind them.  Coppertop can wait for the pool to be fixed in the comfort of Fingon’s bed, able to spread out a bit more, surrounded by comforting blankets and as many plush pillows as Fingon can find.  Then, when the pool’s done, Coppertop can spend the rest of his recovery there, and nothing like this ever has to happen again.  

“Hey now, silly fish, I’m not going to hurt you.”  He desperately wants to reach out and touch Coppertop, providing a little comfort, but he knows that would be a terrible idea right now.  “Let me go to the bathroom, splash some water on my face, rewet the towels for your tail, and then we’ll talk, okay Coppertop?”  Coppertop shudders.  

As soon as his hand touches the door handle to the bathroom, there comes a high-pitched, shrill, keening sound.  Fingons whirls around and sees the merman trembling violently.  His eyes roll, and he tries to throw himself off the bed.  “Coppertop don’t!”  Fingon dashes to the bed just as Coppertop hits the floor with a loud thud.  He wiggles on the floor, headed for underneath the bed. Fingon wrestles him back on, arms straining with the effort of lifting him.  Coppertop shrieks, but doesn’t bite. Fingon’s heart swells.  Coppertop still trusted him, still liked him, everything was going to be okay.   Then he sees Coppertop on the bed.  

Coppertop cowers, shoulders curled inward, tail twitching as he fights against the splints, trying to make himself small. He can’t meet Fingon’s eyes.  Shaking hard, he’s covering his head with his face, pleading with Fingon.  Fingon knows Coppertop’s begging him, because ever so often, he hears his name.

“You’re afraid of me,” he rasps.  “Manwe on a mountain, you’re afraid of me!”  Coppertop is white as a sheet and is trying to inch away to the other side of the bed.  

Fingon’s stomach jumps, and races into the bathroom, slamming the door to block out Coppertop’s fearful whining, before he could be sick all over the floor.  He barely gets the toilet lid lifted before he's heaving into the basin.  He glances over towards the bathtub, still filled with water.  “I didn’t mean to!”  He sobs to it.  “I swear I didn’t mean to.”  

He stays in the bathroom until he’s no longer crying and the nausea passes.  Fingon moves methodically, one step at a time.  Once he gets control of himself, he calls work to let them know he’ll be out sick.  It’s Friday, and now he has a three-day weekend to figure out the best way to help Coppertop.  Before he heads out, he looks at himself in the mirror.  He squares his shoulders, lifts his head, and marches out.  Coppertop needed him, and Fingon wasn’t about to let him down…again. 

Coppertop still made a desperate keening sound,  which almost sent Fingon back to the bathroom.  “Coppertop,” he said, voice small and pathetic.  He coughed and tried to sound soothing and confident.  “It’s just me, it’s just your Fingon.  I’m not ever going to hurt you.”  He made his way to Coppertop’s side.  “Calm down, my brave fish.  You can do it, take deep breaths, you’ll feel better if you breathe.”  It took a moment, but Fingon realised that this panic attack was not brought on by fear of him. Coppertop’s eyes were locked on the open bathroom door.  

“No, no,” Fingon says, “I’m not going to put you in here.” Coppertop doesn’t let up until the bathroom door is closed. “Okay, that’s good to know.  I can keep the door closed. That’s an easy thing. I’ll write that in your book, okay?  ‘Keep bathroom door closed.’

“It upset you that badly, huh?”  The guilt starts creeping in again.  “I am sorry, Coppertop.  I am so sorry. I’m so sorry I didn’t realise how much it upset you. I’m so sorry I didn’t realise how miserable you were in there….physically and mentally.  I’m not going to put you in the tub again, please believe me?”  

Now that he’s stretched out on the bed, Fingon can see all the signs.  The skin around the area where scales turn into skin and part of his lower belly is bright red, flaky, and hot to the touch.  He was allergic to freshwater. That’s probably why the scales are coming off, too.  There are bruises around his temples because he’d slammed his head against the tub.  Fingon should have known, should have predicted!  Hadn’t he seen dolphins rescued from abusive aquariums do the same thing?  They were wild creatures, struggling in the confines of captivity, just like Coppertop. 

Fingon feels even sicker when he realises that Coppetop’s recent head bobbing, which he thought was cute and had even laughed at, was a factor brought on by the stress of captivity.  He’d seen that at work too. 

You call yourself a wildlife preserver. You should be fired. You’re keeping a creature of the sea captive in your fucking bathtub.  No wonder he’s aggressive and crazy!  What a poor excuse for a saviour you are. 

Fingon pulled his desk chair over to the bedside.  Coppertop shot him a weary glance.  With a trembling hand, he grabbed the edge of the blanket and tugged it over his head,  burrowing underneath it.  Fingon could take a hint.  “Alright,” he said, voice breaking.  “You hide, if it makes you feel safe.  You stay under there as long as you need.  I understand.  I’m going to go eat breakfast, and I’ll bring some up for you.”  He paused in the doorway, “It’s going to be okay, Coppertop, I promise.” 

He went down to breakfast in a foul mood.  His parents were already there, their faces solemn.  “Finno,” Amme said, before he even had time to grab a piece of toast.  “Your merman can’t stay here anymore.” 

“What?” I must have misheard her. She’s been his biggest ally.  She wouldn’t kick him out! 

“Baby, after last night, there is no way we can keep him. For all that he looks human, he’s not. We’re out of our depth; we don’t have a good way to take care of him.  And now he’s getting out of the bathtub and going about our house.  If he wanted to, he could kill us.” 

Fingon’s about to protest, but Anairë barrels on.  “I’m sorry, Finno, but that’s a very real possibility.  You saw how he tried to bite us.” 

“Do you have any idea,” his father added, “how horrifying it was to hear the slithering noise, in the dead of night,  and see in your own house a creature with glowing eyes, crawling across the floor toward you, leaving a trail of blood?  Imagine if that had been your little sister who saw?  Or Argon?  It could have been you. You’re very lucky he didn’t crawl into your bed and finish the job,” he said, gesturing to Fingon’s neck where the bite mark still stood out against his skin.

“It’s not his fault!  This is a common behaviour of captive animals. Being cooped up in the tub stressed him out.  It also probably reminded him of Angand, where,  I’d like to remind you, he was literally tortured for at least two months.  Turgon’s working on the pool, and he’ll be much happier there.  You saw it, he wasn’t this messed up when he was staying there.  And I’m not keeping him forever; that would be cruel.  Just until his arm, tail, and everything heal.  Then, I’ll take him out to the ocean and set him free.” 

His parents looked at each other. 

 “Finno,” 

“Please trust me. Coppertop’s not dangerous, he’s just scared and suffering.”  He slammed his hands down against the table. 

“It’s not that we don’t like Coppertop”, Anairë said, though Fingolfin made an ehh noise. “Or that we don’t want to help him.” 

“I know he’s suffering,” Fingolfin adds, “And believe it or not, I do feel bad for the poor thing, and want him better.  He’s just too dangerous for the house.” 

“What happened to taking him to the Haven, darling?” 

“That’s not an option anymore,” Fingon replies curtly. 

“Why not?” 

“Melkor is looking for him.”  

That caused quite a stir.  He was worried his father would think their family was in danger and double down on sending Coppertop away. 

“Can we talk about this later?  Coppertop is probably hungry, and after his terrible night, I don’t really want to leave him alone. Please reconsider sending him away.  I know he’ll be better if he’s in the pool.”

“I don’t want him here,” his father said. “Not after last night, and not if Melkor’s looking for him.”  Fingon had never felt so angry with his father.  

“However,” Fingolfin continued, “I won’t make you send him away until we find a safe place for him.  He doesn’t have to leave tomorrow, but we all three need to look at viable ways to avoid Melkor’s suspicion, keep Coppertop contained, and find a place for him.”  

“Thank you, Atya.”  

Fingolfin sighed.  “I really thought fish were supposed to be an easy pet.”  Anairë wacked him hard on the shoulder with her napkin.  

His parents allowed him to leave, and he took up a plate of all of Coppertop’s favourite breakfast foods: a whole pitcher of orange juice with pulp, a bowl of strawberries, apples, and blueberries, and toast with grape jelly. 

Coppertop poked his head up from the nest of blankets when Fingon walked through the door.  He hoped to see just a tiny spark of happiness. Coppertop had always perked up when Fingon would come back to him.  He’d even settle for anger, so long as he didn’t look at him with fear.  No such luck.  

Fingon forced a smile.  “I’ve brought you breakfast. All your favourites. Come on, have a bite of toast.”  

Coppertop tried to curl into himself.  “No toast?  Okay, how about a strawberry?”  He brings it to Coppertop’s lips.  “Aren’t you hungry?”  Coppertop turns his head away.

“Okay.  I’m going to put it right here, on the nightstand, for when you’re ready.  How about you try to sleep?  I’ll sit right here, not touching you, and read aloud.  You just rela--” 

Coppertop starts shaking violently.  His eyes are unseeing, lost in another world, and a tiny whimper grows louder and louder until he is screaming.  The scream gets lost as he hyperventilates, chest heaving and his gills fluttering like he can’t make out if he’s on land or water.  Eventually, he vomits nothing but bile.  It sounds violent and painful.  Then, Coppertop stops, going absolutely still, except for the frantic darting of his eyes.  Fingon stares in helpless horror; he doesn’t know what to do.  Then Coppertop starts shaking and goes through the whole thing over again.  

They spend hours following the same cycle.  Fingon panics and throws caution to the wind.  With the constant vomiting, Copperto is running the risk of becoming severely dehydrated.  When he hits the part where he freezes, Fingon pets him, cooing in a soft voice, trying to get him to drink, eat, or, at the very least, lie down and sleep.  Coppertop won’t.  He turns his head at the fruit, can’t swallow the juice, so it dribbles down his chin, and every time Fingon lays him down against the pillows, he sits right back up, back pressed against the headboard.  Sometimes, he seems cognisant of Fingon, but that just brings new horrors.  Coppertop flinches whenever Fingon moves, cowers if he thinks he’s about to be touched, and stares at him with terror.  

His parents have fled the house, Fingolfin to his work, and Anaire to her volunteering at the hospital.  They texted him saying they planned to stay away until that evening and would intercept Argon on his way home from school.  Fingon is abandoned and alone. By lunch time, he’s exhausted.  Coppertop lies frozen, so Fingon takes that time to step away.  He hears Turgon letting himself in the front door.  Fingon is there when it opens.  

“How much time until the pool is done?”   He says curtly.  

“Hello to you, too,” Turgon snaps.  “I don’t know, maybe Wednesday.” 

‘That’s too long. It’s been almost two weeks.  What the hell have you been doing?” Fingon knows he’s growling, and Idril starts to cry.

“Don’t talk to Atya like that,” she beats her tiny fist against his leg, then hides behind her mother when Fingon turns his attention to her.  Great, another innocent I’ve traumatised.  Fan-fucking-tastic, Finno.” 

“What have I been doing?  What have you been doing?” Turgon says, ready to fight.  “Why aren’t you at work?  Which, coincidentally, is why it’s taking so long.  I have a real job, Finno.  I’m happy to help, but I can’t just neglect my responsibilities to play architect to you and your giant mermaid.  So don’t order me around with your stupid deadlines.  I’m doing my best.” 

He and Fingon are toe to toe, glaring. “Come on, honey,” Elenwë says with forced brightness.  Let’s leave these silly boys and go find Coppertop.” 

“No!” Fingon cries.  He can’t let Idril see Coppertop right now.  He’d scare her and probably break Copertop’s heart once he knew.

“Coppertop is sick.  Really sick.  That’s why I need the pool finished as soon as possible.”  

“We can take care of him!” Idril cries. “He needs chicken noodle soup.  Chicken noodle soup always makes people feel better.”  

Elenwë shakes her head.  “Let’s let Ariel rest today, honey.  He wouldn't want you getting sick, too.”  

Idril pouts, but eventually agrees.  “Give him a kiss from me, okay, Uncle Fingon? Promise?  Atya says my kisses always make people feel better.”

“I will, I promise.”  

Once Elenwë and Idril leave, Turgon rounds on his brother.  “What’s going on with the merman?  Is that what’s got you so upset?” 

He nods.  Turgon has always been there, and when he says “Show me,” a weight lifts. 

Fingon brings his brother upstairs.  “Hey Coppertop,” Fingon says carefully.  “It’s me.  I’ve brought Turgon to see you.  You remember him, right?  He’s the one who's fixing your pool for”  

Coppertop looks over at them, eyes fearful.  He starts squeaking frantically.  He looks small, even though his tail hangs off the bed and touches the floor. His skin is bright red, and he’s panting.  Fingon’s best guess is that Coppertop is too hot. He’s shown to be very similar to a dolphin.  He’s not sweating, so he probably uses water to regulate his temperature, Fingon thinks.  He’s tried covering Coppertop, head to fin, with towels soaked in cold water, but it only makes Coppertop panic more.  “Look at him,” he tells his brother, voice cracking.  “He won’t eat, he won’t sleep, and he’s scared shitless of the bathtub.  The only thing I can think of is to get him back in the pool as soon as possible.” 

Turgon no longer looks annoyed, but all business. “I'll have the pool done by Monday, at the latest.  That’s three days away.  Can he make it?  

They both glance at Coppertop.  “Sunday afternoon,” Turgon amends.  “I’ll have it done by then.” 

Turgon scurries off, and Fingon resumes his position by the bedside.  Coppertop’s chest starts heaving, and he makes an awful croaking sound.  “Coppertop?”  His shoulders shake, and if it weren’t for the lack of tears and the strange, retching, croaking sound, it would almost look like…”Are you crying? Is this how you all cry?”  He’s never cried before!   

Coppertop continues sobbing until they die down into soft whimpers.  He’s shaking and then screaming again, his adorable chirps becoming screams for mercy or help. Fingon doesn’t know.  Fingon slides out of the chair, kneeling beside the bed as Coppertop screams and cowers, arms raised to protect his head.  Fingon doesn't bother to try to snap him out of it.  It’s pointless.  “I’ve destroyed you,: he whispered, horrified.  “Sweet Eru in Valinor, I’ve destroyed you.” Fingon buries his face in his hands and sobs.  

________

Get up, Noldorian,” he commands when he’s all cried out. “Get up and do something.”  Fingon thinks for a moment, and then, even though it’s a long shot, he calls Finrod. 

“Heyo Finno!  Perfect timing. You caught me on my lunch break.  How’s my favourite cousin?”  

“Coppertop’s in a bad way.  He hasn't slept in days, and he won’t eat or drink, but he keeps throwing up, and I’m really worried. I think he’s been having panic attacks, and then today, he’s, he’s, he’s.” Fingon forces himself to take a deep breath, “I don’t know what to call it.  He doesn’t seem all that present, and he keeps screaming and crying.  And last night he tore open his stump.  Again. What if it’s infected? He pulled the stitches out of it three times now.  I don’t know what to do.” 

Finrod’s voice is calm.  “I can’t do anything right now, but I’ll come over after my shift.”

“Thank you.”  

“Of course.  When you can, I want you to text me exactly what’s going on, so I know what to bring. Are you okay?” 

“...yeah.”  

“You don’t sound okay.  Do you have someone there with you who can help?”  

“No.  Turvo’s working on the pool.”  

“You need someone.  You shouldn’t be there alone.  Is there anyone you trust to help you and Coppertop until I get there?”  

Fingon racks his brain, and then the answer comes.  There is one person.

_______  

“This is Gwindor.” 

Hi, it’s Fingon…from a few weeks ago. Why have a uh… mutual friend. Remember?  The umm… red-headed swimmer guy?”  

“Yeah, I remember!”  Gwindor sounds a lot less cold now.  “How’s Red? If you’re sending him back to the ocean now, I’d really appreciate being able to come say goodbye.   Although it’s only been a few weeks?  That’s a pretty quick turnaround. Are you sure he’s healed?” 

“Not exactly.” This was humiliating, and Gwindor was going to be so mad with Fingon when he found out.  But, one look at Coppertop, who's currently lying catatonic on the bed, and Fignon didn’t care anymore.  

“He’s really sick, I need your help.” 

“I’m on my way.” 

Gwindor arrived at Fingon’s house within the hour.  

“This house is a maze,” Gwindor grumbled as Fingon led him to the bedroom.  “Alright, Red, let’s see what that damage is.  I hear you’ve been a bit under the---holy shit, what the fuck did you do to him?” 

Gwindor rounds on Fingon, who forces himself not to get angry.  “He hasn’t been like this the whole time, just today.”  

“You had a pool!  Why is he in your bed?” 

“We had to fix the pool.  He was staying in the bathtub.”  He wishes he hadn’t said that at the look on Gwindor’s face.  

“You, the bath…why the fu…there is no way he fits in the bathtub.”  

Fingon feels very, very small.  “There wasn’t another place to put him that was safe or easy to clean.”  

Gwindor huffs in disgust and turns to face Coppertop. Coppertop stares at them with wide eyes.  He barred his teeth, snarling, before cowering away with a whimper. “He’s going to start screaming soon. “ Fingon supplied.  Sure enough, Coppertop’s cycle of horror started up.  

“He’s stuck in this loop,” Fingon said when Coppertop was done, lying shivering on the bed.  “He’s been doing this all day.” 

“Easy does it, Red, it’s me, Gwindor.  You remember me, right?  It’s Gwindor, your buddy, your pal.” 

Coppertop squeaked and let Gwindor approach him.   “You look terrible, Red. What’d this Eru-damned mother-fucking idiot do to you?”   

Fingon pursed his lips.  “I’ve done my best.” 

Gwindor doesn’t pay him any attention.  “Look at you, all skin and bones.  Have you even been feeding him?” He snaps, his head turned slightly so Fingon knew he was being addressed, but still not looking at him.

“I’ve tried.  He doesn’t eat a lot, but earlier this week, we were making progress in finding things he likes to eat.  The last few days, he’s pretty much stopped eating.  I’ve tried to get him to eat some fruit.  I don’t know a lot of what he likes to eat, but I do know he loves fruit.”

“And have you tried feeding him, I don’t know…fish?” 

Fingon worked very hard to keep the annoyance out of his voice.  You deserve this.  You’ve done a terrible job caring for Coppertop.  “He’s had a bit, but my sister is severely allergic, so we try not to keep it in the house while she’s here. She was here for spring break, but she went back to Uni on Monday.  My plan was  next time we do the big shop, to pick some up.” He’s rambling, but he hates the disgust and disappointment on Gwindor’s face.   

Gwindor’s lips were pressed so tightly together, they’d gone white.  “He’s a fucking sea-creature and you didn’t give him any fish?  I thought you said you were a marine biologist.  Look at him, he’s skinnier than when he was on Angband.”  Something catches Gwindor’s attention and his eyes grow comically wide. “And where the fuck’s his fucking hand?!?!”

“Finrod and I had to cut it off. There was no saving it.”  

Gwindor looks at him in disgust.  “So you just strapped him down and started hacking?  Like that crazy bitch?" 

“No,” Fingon said, matching his tone.   “Finrod’s a professional.  He found a way to put him under.” 

“Why is his head all bruised?  Did you do that professionally, too?”  He pulled the towel away from Coppertop’s tail, muttering under his breath as a handful of little scales came off. 

He whirls to face Fingon, face dark, but Fingon beats him to the punch. 

“Look, you can criticise me later, but right now, I would appreciate a little help.”

“Oh, I’ll criticise,” Gwindor promises.  He sits beside Coppertop,  ignoring the flinch. “Stop that, Red,” he said in his trademark gruff but gentle voice.  “Real help is here.  I’ve patched you up a few times before, remember?”  

Coppertop gave a pathetic chirp, hand reaching out to touch Gwindor.  Fingon felt like someone had stabbed him with a knife.  “Yep, that’s right,” Gwindor said, grabbing the glass of juice from the nightstand.  “I’m here to help you.  Now, let’s start with something easy; how ‘bout  a nice cool drink?” 

__________

Maedhros did not remember how he got on a ship.  He remembered Fingon putting him on the bed, then holding him through the rest of the night.  He remembered Fingon waking up and the fear that he would put Maedhros back into The Little Tank.  And then everything became fuzzy.  All he knew was that he was in Fingon’s bed, but they were on a ship.  The room rose and fell with the gentle movement of the waves.  It should have been soothing.  It was not.  

Fingon was trying to force him to eat, but Maedhros couldn’t stomach the thought of eating anything.  The waves bobbed them up and down.  Fingon held out a strawberry dripping with Maedhros’ blood. Maedhros turned his head. The waves took them down. Fingon cackled in his ear.  Maedhros turned back sharply, anger rising, but it was Mairon who looked down at him. He grinned, and his non-threatening teeth stood out stark white against blood red lips.  

“No, no, no, you can’t be here!  This is in my head! It’s not real!”  He tried to wiggle away, but  straps held him fast to the bed. Mairon guffawed at him, patting his cheek.  Maedhros strained against the bonds.  This wasn’t real; he was with Fingon.  

Mairon hummed to himself as he went over his instruments.  There were scalpels, knives, brands, and little bottles of liquids. He didn’t even bother to speak to Maedhros, though he screamed out protests.  

“Would you shut up!”  Maedhros turned his head, and Feanor swam up to him.  “Shut up, you useless fool, and take this with dignity.” 

“Atya, please  save me. Please. I’m begging you.  I can’t do this again!”  

“You will stay here, boy, until you can take whatever he does to you without complaint.  Then, I will let you come home.”  

Maedhros turned back to Mairon, feeling the panic rising when the man held up a knife. He reviewed it under the bright, ugly, artificial, yellow light.  Maedhros grit his teeth.  

“Finally,” Feanor snarled, “a little determination.”  

Maedhros forced himself to breathe, trying to glare at Mairon.  His long ear was grabbed.  Maedhros’s breath stuttered.  
“Be strong. Endure,” his father threatened.  The ball of panic was tight in his chest, expanding inch by inch.  Someone, please help me.  In slow motion, Mairon brought the blade down, but he ignored his ear and it swiped across his forehead.  Maedhros choked back his scream.  

“I think I heard a noise,” his father tsked.  “Did you?”  

“I did,” his mother said.  His whole family crowded around him and Mairon. “I hope he kills him,” Amras says.  “Nice and slow. Since he couldn’t save Amrod.”  

Mairon was chattering to the Morningotto.  Maedhros hadn’t even seen him come in.  The two men were unbothered by merfolk, focused only on Maedhros. 

Amras sat on Maedhros' right side, looking at his truncated arm. “This is disgusting,” he said, poking at the wound.  Blood seeped out of it.  

The Moringotho pointed at Maedhros’ stomach, and Mairon started carving it open.  Maedhros flung his head back and tried to keep from screaming.  “I will endure!” He wailed.  “I will, Atya. I promise.”  

“Oh, just die already,” Curufin said, and his father nodded.  “You’re weak.  You’ll fail.  And we won’t care at all.”  

Amras started chewing on his stump.  “Scream,” he said, lifting his head, blood coating his face. “Scream and fail.”  

“I will go home,” Maedhros shouted at them.  Curufin rolled his eyes.  Mairon pulled strings of long intestines out of Maedhros’ gaping stomach.  They glissened in the like rubies.  Mairon rubbed a hand over them, and Maedhros could feel it.  A short scream escaped, and his family’s faces lit up.  

“We can get more out of him,” Feanor said.  

Amme smoothed Mairon’s sweaty hair from his face, and Maedhros wanted to sob.  Amme comfort me.   “Here, darling,” she said to Mairon, “let me.”  And she took Maedhros’ intestines out of his hand.  Grinning, she looked at Maedhros and licked them.  He couldn’t hold back a whimper.  “Amme, please don’t.  Please help me.”  She bit into them. As she feasted on them, Maedhros screamed, as inch by inch his intestines were pulled out, so she could continue chewing the unbroken line.  

Amras continued to gnaw on his arm while Mairon moved on to Maedhros’ shoulders.  He was singing a familiar song, the one Fingon had sung to him.  Maedhros wanted to tell him to shut up, but everything hurt.  Mairon tipped a vial of burning acid on him, watching as it discoloured his neck and left shoulder, burning away the flesh. 

Feanor screamed how useless he was, telling him to give up and die.  Curufin’s leering face seemed inches from Maedhros.  He flung one arm around Mairon’s neck, and the other around Caranthir’s, the three of them singing “da da da daaa.”  

Celegorm pelted him with fish.  “Isn’t this what you wanted, Mae?  Come on, eat if you're so hungry!  I said eat.  Pick it up, you useless barnacle. Do it and I’ll help you.”  Maedhros whimpered and tried to do as commanded, but when he touched them, the fish turned to rot. 

“I’m sorry,” Maedhros tried to say, but he could only scream.  Everyone was yelling at him, tearing him apart, and he couldn’t breathe.  Please don’t hate me! I’m sorry.  I love you.  I’ll do better.  Please help me! He wanted to tell them, but they wouldn’t let him.  You should listen to them.  They want you dead.  Quite fighting and let go.  Everything was so loud, and it hurt, but Maedhros couldn’t move; the bands kept him firmly tied to the table.  He couldn’t believe he once thought it a soft bed.  Only hard metal touched his back. 

“It’s not real!” A voice cried, barely able to be heard over the din.  “It’s not real, Mae!”  Maedhros opened eyes he didn’t know he closed.  Maglor swam behind everyone, trying to push his way through. 

Maedhros' head lulled against a pillow.  How kind of Mairon to let him have this one comfort.  He watched Maglor fight to get to him. His family beat him back.  

“I love you. I want you to come home.  Please come home, Mae.  I miss you. I need you.”  

“Maglor,” Maedhros croaked.  

“Please don’t give up.  It’s not real.  You have to come back to me. 

It was very hard to concentrate, but Maedhros loved looking at him.  

“No,” Maglor commanded, voice a little stronger.  “Don’t fade away.”  

“They don’t want me anymore.”

“I love you.  I want you to come home.  Please come home, Mae.  I miss you. I need you.”  

“I failed,” he said brokenly.  “I screamed.  I can’t come home now."  Everything was so much quieter; they were less solid, their shapes wispy and translucent.  Maglor was by his side now. He didn’t touch him; Maedhros didn’t deserve his comfort, though he wanted it very badly.  Still, it was enough to see him.

“It’s not real! It’s not real, Mae. Please come home.” 

The Morningto and Mairon shooed Maglor away, and lifted Maedhros from the table. Mairon held him under the arms, and the Moringotho by the tail.  They walked him to the edge of the boat.  Below, instead of beautiful deep water, was The Little Tank.

“No,” Maedhros begged as they swung him back and forth.  They laughed and let go.  Maedhros screamed as he fell.  Not The Little Tank!  He slammed hard into the soft blankets of Fingon’s bed. Fingon’s concerned face came into focus.  He cooed at Maedhros, running a cold cloth against his head. Fingon bent down and whispered in his ear: “I’m going to keep you in that tiny tank forever.  You’ll never leave, but live there for the rest of your life as my favourite pet,” and Maedhros was convinced that was the worst thing that could ever happen to him.

Unexpectedly, Gwindor came up beside Fingon.  Gwindor, Maedhros thought with relief as he took in his weather-beaten skin, sad eyes and short, feathery blond hair, crowning his head.   Gwindor would understand. Gwindor had suffered under the Moringotho, too. The Moringotho had whipped him in front of Maedhros until his tan back was red strips of flesh clinging to exposed muscle.  All because he had been kind to Maedhros. Maybe Gwindor could help him escape, for real this time, and they could find his family. Gwindor could live on that abandoned island with the coconuts, and Maedhros would make sure he had the best fish, the nicest jewels and that the Moringotho would never touch either of them again.  So Maedhros let him approach.  That was a mistake.  Fingon hovered over his shoulder as Gwindor gently cupped Maedhros’s chin, tilted his head back, and wrenched his jaw open.  Maedhros shrieked and tried to get away, but somehow, between the Mairon and Fingon, Maedhros had grown weak.  Grwindor managed to pour a burning liquid down his throat. A strong hand managed to prevent him from spitting it out.  The next time Maedhros threw up, it didn't hurt as badly.   

Time seemed to pass slowly and quickly.  Maedhros would blink, and whole swatches of time would pass him, knowing. He’d only realise because Fingon and Gwindor would be in different positions, despite Maedhros never having seen them move.  He blinked again, and three people stood in the room: Fingon, Gwindor and the blonde one who looked like Fingon and had helped take off his arm. Or what is his hand?

He tried to bury himself under the sand, only to have it ripped away. Fingon was cooing at him, more words about the little tank, and how he was going to peel away all his scales, and how disgusting Maedhros would be, forced to live in his own filth.  Fingon’s mouth would move, and no sound came out, but then he’d give his adorable grin, and the voices started again.  

The blond Fingon babbled something to the real Fingon and Gwindor, and then Gwindor pounced, wrestling Maedhros flat against the bed.  Maedhros bucked and twisted, but couldn't shake the man.  Once it had taken dozens to pen him, now it only took one.  

“Get off!” Maedhros thought he said.  He made eye contact with Fingon.  “Help me!” He screeched, voice raw.  “Fingon, please, please help me.  I need you!   Aren’t you my friend?” 

Gwindor bared the back of Maedhros’ neck, and blond Fingon stabbed him with something.  Gwindor got off him, allowing Maedhros to curl up as tightly as he could, sobbing. The trio watched him intently, waiting for whatever they had poisoned him with to activate so the fun could start.

“It’s not real, Mae,” a voice floated in like a morning sea breeze. Maedhros could smell the salt, hear the gentle waves lapping. “It’s not real. Please come home, Mae.” 

The world went black. 

________

Fingon let out an audible sigh when the Benadryl shot did its job.  Maedhros’ exhausted mind finally shut off, and the merman could sleep.  Finrod had been a lifesaver.  After getting off from work, Finrod showed up with a Benadryl shot, bandages, and many other things tucked away in his black doctor’s bag. 

He blew some of his hair out of his face.  “Well now. That was a lot.”

“Any idea what’s wrong with him. 

“It seems like some form of acute psychosis brought about by the insomnia, compounded by a few other factors.  The brain goes a bit funny when it doesn’t have enough sleep.”  

Gwindor stood in a corner of the room, arms crossed, looking annoyed.  “Other factors?” 

“Yeah,” Finrod said absent-mindedly.  He was scribbling notes down on his clipboard, making calculations for the next part of their plan.  “I highly doubt he’s had time to process Angband.  That’s a big factor.  Then there’s the stress of a new place with a whole language and customs he can’t understand. Couple those with the fact that he hasn’t been eating or sleeping well, and it’s no wonder his mind just snapped.”

“And probably that your cousin’s been keeping him trapped in the bathtub, denying him good food and shit.  Look at him, it’s like he never left the ship!” 

Shame exploded, hot in Fingon’s chest. Copppertop really looked awful.  

Finrod frowned, thinking.  “I mean, yeah, the bathtub probably didn’t help but--” 

“It was the only place to put him while we fixed the pool for him.  And we’re working on the food. But those are the only two things I’ve done badly.”  

Gwindor didn’t look impressed.  Finrod’s eyes flitted between the man and his cousin.  “I’m sure this is no one’s fault.  Coppertop’s just suffering from severe lack of sleep.  It’s something fixable. And once he goes back in the pool--” 

“Which will be on Sunday.  This Sunday,” Fingon’s pipes up. 

‘Once he’s in the pool and rested, he’ll be much better, and any Angband stress will be easier to manage.”  

Fingon didn’t exactly believe him, but Finrod sounded so confident, and it was a lovely thought. 

“Now, though, we really need to focus.  He’s so big, he’ll burn through that Benydril shot fast.  Finno, Uncle Fingolfin gave you permission to use his sleeping pills, right?”  

Fingon’s father had insomnia and occasionally took pills to sleep.  It wasn’t every night, so Finrod proposed giving them to Coppertop, since he couldn’t get anything from the hospital without raising suspecion..  Finrod held the bottle, and the three crowded around him to read.  

“The starting dose is 10mg.  Coppertop’s much bigger than your father, though.  Do you have any idea of how much he weighs?” 

“When Red was first captured, the little cunt weighed him. He was about 113 kilos, and this was before they started messing with him.  I remember the bitch was shocked, because Red’s so long.  He thought he’d weigh more.” 

“Yeah, a 10-foot dolphin would be like 600, minimum.  Thank Eru Coppertop is just a hefty human.”  Fingon wondered if it was the tail.  Maybe it wasn’t bluberous, or maybe Coppertop’s bones were light, like a bird's. Mairon probably figured it out.  Fingon wasn’t going to ask what he found.  

“Okay, so,10mg probably won’t affect him much.  We’ll double it. 35 mg is the highest dosage given, so I don’t feel too nervous giving him 20.”

“Are you sure?’ 

“I’m sure it won’t kill him.  He did well with the tranquillisers, and those were for horses.”  

Fingon took a deep breath and sent a prayer to every Valar he could think of, saying two to Este. The whole reason they had kept Coppertop off of pain medicine was to avoid an overdose or it reacting badly with Coppertop’s biology.  

Coppertop twitched, and they hurriedly got to work.  

Gwindor pried open Coppertop’s jaw, whistling at the row of sharp teeth.  “It still scares me every time.  You know they grow back, right?  That little fucker must have ripped some of them out at least five times, and always within three days or so, it’d grow back.” 

“That’s horrid,” Fingon said, and shoved a paperback book between the sharp teeth.  The plan was that as soon as Coppertop regained consciousness, they would put two pills on the back of Coppertop’s throat, the book there to keep him from chomping down on their fingers.  Then, they’d remove it, force Coppertop to swallow dry and fast, then ply him with all his favourite drinks.  A cup of orange juice, apple juice, water heavily flavoured with blackberry-- which was the only way Coppertop would drink water--, and lemonade sat on the nightstand.  It was probably overkill, but the medicine distribution was going to be rough, and Coppertop deserved a treat.  

On the bed, he shifts, letting out a groan.  His eyes opened, and he made a confused sound.  The little gang moved quickly, hardly giving him enough time to register that his mouth was forced open.  

Fingon stuck his fingers in Coppertop’s mouth, his knuckles bumping against their sharp point.  Coppertop gags, making a strangled sound of panic, but Fingon has already placed the pills and has withdrawn his hand.  Gwindor snatches the book from his mouth, the paper shredding. He clamps his hand over Coppertop’s, gently rubs his throat, and blows in his face like Fingon had suggested.  It was a trick he learned from Elenwë when she had first started feeding Idril, though she had never covered her baby’s mouth.  Coppertop swallows reflexively, and then the three of them are bombarding him with pets, coos, and drinks.

“There’s a good boy, Red.  It’s all over now.  I’m proud of you,” Gwindor says while rubbing Coppertop’s shoulders and offering him a sip of the apple juice.  

“You did well. By far my best patient,” Finrod assures him, playing with his hair, and encouraging him to drink water.  

Coppertop is overwhelmed, Fingon can tell.  He blinks, confusedly at them, shining eyes as big as saucers, and he shies away from their touches.  His breath is coming out too fast, but thankfully, as the minutes pass, his whimpers don’t become screams.  He won’t let Fingon or Gwindor touch him, though sometimes he’ll look at them like he remembers they're supposed to be friends.

About half an hour later, he’s only had mild panic attacks, nothing like earlier, and then the medicine completes its job, and he falls asleep.  

Fingon text his parents to let them know that it’s safe for them and Argon to come home.  His father texts back.

Atya: Were you able to help the merman?

Finno: Yeah.  He’s sleeping now.  Thanks for letting us use your meds.  

Atya: What are fathers for if not to enable their children to abuse prescription drugs?  

I am very proud of you.  This hasn’t been easy.  Most people would have given up, or sold him off by now, but you’ve stuck by him, think or thin.  You’re a good man, Fingon.  

Fingon can’t bring himself to respond.  He doesn’t feel like a good man.  

Finrod takes the guest room, and Gwindor curls up in Fingon’s overstuffed reading chair next to the window. He’d offered Aredhel’s old room, but Gwindor refused, wanting to be close if Coppertop needed him.  

And he probably wants to keep an eye on me, make sure I’m treating him right, he thinks bitterly.  Though he knows he would do the same thing, were their positions reversed.  He strips the bedding from Aredhel’s room and sets up camp on the floor. It’s for his own safety, and as a way to not stress Coppertop.  He’s too depressed to cry himself to sleep.  

Coppertop sleeps through most of Saturday. Around lunch time, he’s awake for longer periods of time, and they actually can get a few sips of juice into him.  They give him another pill, in the same way as before, and he’s back to a deep sleep.  

_________

Maedhros wakes feeling more rested than he has felt in a long time.  He shakes the lingering grogginess away and peers about the room.  He’s on Fingon’s bed, surrounded by pillows and blankets.  Fingon is nowhere to be found.  Maedhros’ heart beats fast. His memories are hazy; anything he does remember makes no sense. He scans the room, surprised to see Gwindor asleep near the window, the morning sunlight dappled across his face. 

Maedhros manages to sit upright, where he sees Fingon, fast asleep on the floor, clutching a pillow to his chest, the blankets tangled about his legs.  

“Fingon,” Maedhros rasps, throat sore.

Fingon and Gwindor shoot up, and Maedhros jumps in surprise.  Fingon cautiously approaches him. Both of them are looking at him worriedly.  “What are you doing here?” He snaps at Gwindor.  Gwindor’s face falls.  Maedhros glares, warning him to keep his distance; he hasn’t forgotten that it was Gwindor who shoved him back in that moving box, despite Maedhros begging him.  He turns his head to see Fingon hovering several feet away from the bed.  “I’m still mad at you, too,” Maedhros hisses.

The humans stay away, looking guilty. Maedhros flings himself back against the bed with a sigh.  Fingon's voice is hesitant, and he points to the nightstand, where there are cups and fruit..  He shyly mimes drinking and eating.  The thought of food makes his throat close up.  It already aches, like a tide pool dried up by the hot sun.  A drink would be nice, especially when he sees the apple juice.  He shimmies to the side and reaches out, balancing himself on his stump.  

A sharp pain rips across his arm, and he collapses with a small cry.  Maedhros blinks in confusion. The stitches look fresher than he remembered.  Deep blues and purples spread across his arm. 

Remember, you idiot? You tried to crawl back to the ocean, despite not knowing how far away it is, nor any plan on how to get there.  And you didn’t even wait till you were healthy.  There’s that Feanorian genius. 

Fingon approaches his side, eyes lowered. “Stay away,” Maedhros says, firmly and with teeth, but not harshly. He hasn’t forgiven him for the little tank, nor Gwindor for the moving box.  He doesn’t know if he ever could. But still, Maedhros doesn’t like seeing Fingon all subdued and fearful.  A small part of him is glad, vindicated even, that Fingon is finally treating Maedhros with some respect, but a bigger part misses Fingon’s easy smiles and warm presence.  He’s really not bad, Maedhros likes the little human.  Even in that horrid little tank, there were some good moments. But he can’t stay in Fingon’s bed forever.  Eventually, they will have to put him back in there.  Already, he’s dreading the day.  

Maedhros can’t help but flinch if one of them moves too fast or makes a big gesture. Sometimes, they open the door where the little tank lies waiting, and Maedhros can’t breathe, convinced the time has already come.  But they don’t put him in there, and do their best to please him.  

Finrod, now Maedhros can remember his name, comes in, bright and cheerful as a bird.  He resets Maedhros' broken tail, tsking at him all the while.  The splints are tighter this time.  Finrod does a full physical, checking Maedhros all over. They try to get him to eat, but he can’t.  

When they changed out the towels, his scales came off in the hundreds. Maedhros had thousands upon thousands, too many to count, but bald spots were starting to appear.  Fingon looked as distressed as he felt.  

Gwindor’s face turned red, and he rounded on Fingon, shouting.  

“Leave him alone,” Maedhros snapped.  The two men glared at each other before falling on either side of him. Maedhros’ eyes flicked to his tail, now hidden from view.  The scales, however, lay scattered on the bed and floor.  Maedhros banged his head against the headboard.  Both Fingon and Gwindor caught him, hands braced on his shoulders and the back of his head. 

Gwindor firmly tells him not to do it again, like Maedhros were a child.  Fingon adds another pillow behind his head. “Don’t touch me!” He says, but they ignore him.   “Why won’t you put me in the big tank?”  Thankfully, his voice didn’t sound whiny, but firm and annoyed.  On second thought, annoyance won’t endear him to them.  He bobs his head, even though it made Fingon’s face fall, until the despair passes.

“Would you consider moving me back to the pool?”  He’s shaking, even though he’s not afraid.  He’s angry with them and does get nervous if they touch him, but he’s not really afraid of them.   He has absolutely nothing to bargain with, though, and that makes him shake..  “Is there some behaviour you’d like to see?  Something I’m doing wrong?”  His voice rose on the last word, so with a deep breath, Maedhros stills, closing his eyes until he was in control again. “Surely we could come to some agreement?”  It took everything in him not to beg. Please, Fingon, please put me in the big tank.  The bed is better than that little thing, but please, please, please, please, please, I want that one, is what Maedhros wants to say.  

_________

Gwindor doesn’t like seeing Coppertop this upset.  When he starts bobbing his head again, he grunts, “I’m going out.  I’ll be back in time for dinner.”  He’s rude, annoying, and so self-righteous, and is probably very correct in his assumptions about Fingon’s ability to care for Coppertop.  Who was watching the exchange nervously? If they were still friends, Fingon would assume it was because he didn’t like watching Gwindor snap at him.  But they’re not, so who knows why Coppertop is upset; he probably thinks they’re arguing about how best to hurt him. 

Fingon tries a smile, but Coppertop doesn’t react. “I know you don’t like it in here.”  Fingon thought for a moment, wanting to lessen the anger and fear. Surely there is something you can do.  He wished he could tell Coppertop that he would be going back to the pool. And soon.  If only there were a way to show…and then Fingon gets a bright idea. 

He scoops Coppertop up, despite the merman’s protests.  Coppertop starts shaking and hyperventilating like he did the night before, thrilling loudly and shrilly.  “Hush, you,” he says gently, “none of that now. This is a good thing, I promise. Coppertop,” he says firmly, and the merman quieted, “I’m not taking you to the bathroom.”  He made a big show of turning away from the bathroom door, marching them out of the bedroom..  

Coppertop immediately perked up, squeaking, looking up at Fingon with hopeful eyes.  Fingon hesitates at the door to he pool.  This could go so badly. Either Coppertop understands that they’re fixing the pool and he will soon get to go in it, or he will think Fingon is taunting him.  

Turgon’s there, a little wild-eyed, and his braids starting to fray.  He’s been working non-stop. “Hey Finn--oh, you’ve brought a friend.” 

“He wants to see how much progress you’ve made.”

“I’m glad he’s feeling better.” 

Fingon couldn’t meet his brother’s eyes. “Yeah, now that he’s out of the bathtub.  And Gwindor’s here to make sure his saviour is actually doing his damn job”. 

Turgon’s face twists.  “He’s stupid."

“I should have known better.  I literally work at a place where we rehabilitate and release ocean animals. I should have known not to keep him in the bathtub.” 

“It’s not ideal, but where else could he have gone?  He couldn’t stay in the pool while we worked.  One, people would have seen him, and two, it would have been dangerous, and three, he would have been in the way.  What else could you have done?” 

“You didn’t see him the other night.  Scared doesn’t begin to describe it.  It was pure,” he floundered for a word, but all he could come up with was “terror.  And, Gwindor keeps getting on my case about not feeding him fish. I never should have fed him human food. And, Atya and Amme want to send him away, but where can he go!?”  

Turgon took a deep breath and gave his brother a hug.  It meant a lot coming from Turgon, who wasn’t physically affectionate by nature.  Coppertop was squished between them, and he let out a muffled chirp.  Fingon gave a watery laugh.  

“What do the case studies say about feeding them?” 

“Wha--Turgon, there aren’t any. No one has ever had a merman, or if they did, they didn’t go around writing it.” 

“So how were you supposed to know that he was supposed to eat fish?” 

“You think there are grocery stores under the sea, stocked full of peanut butter and bread?” 

“No,” Turgon sounds a little annoyed.  “I’m just saying, there is nothing that says they live off fish.  Idril’s been really into mermaids now, so Elenwe has been reading her any books they find about them. In some books, the mermaids eat fish, but in others, the fish are pets and the mermaids survive off coconuts and seaweed. In some books, they eat humans.  There are literally no scientific studies on the eating habits of the mer.  You took a shot in the dark.  And he likes fruit and bread. So contrary to what Gwindor’s blathering on about, your merman doesn’t just have to eat fish.  He’s got no right to make you feel guilty.  Did you make mistakes? Yes, but you’re doing your best. I’d like to see that toe-rag take half as good care of Coppertop as you. ” 

“Maybe.”  If Turgon says he’s doing fine, there might be something to it; he doesn’t just dole out praise willy-nilly. 

“And,  I’ll talk to the parents with you. I mean, you’ve ruined their pool, might as well be for the long run.” 

“Speaking of which, tell Coppertop what you’re working on.” 

Turgon made a face.  “That’s stupid, Fingon.  He can’t understand me.”  

“Says the same man who made us talk to his newborn baby like she was a college professor.  Just do it.” 

Turgon huffed and led the way over to his hydraulic system.  He purposely gave an overly technical explanation, but Coppertop watched intently.  

Afterwards, Fingon put Coppertop down on the floor.  “See, you ginger dolphin,” he pointed to the mess, “we’ve got the pool all clean.” Sand had already been spread out, covering the blue tile bottom of the pool.  In the shallow end were a couple of small fake rock formations that would raise up out of the water so Coppertop could sun himself on them.  In the deep end, where he liked to sleep, were a few more rocks, placed about so Coppertop could squeeze between them, safe from the world.  “That was Atya’s idea. He suggested it way before you scared him.  He thought you might like a place to hide.”  Near the rocks at the shallow end was a full-length gold gilded mirror. “That’s Aredhel’s idea. She wanted to see if you’d set up there and brush your hair.  She thinks she’s funny.”  Also in the deep end, the plants Coppertop had liked were placed around the floor, several near the rock bed in an attempt to make it cosy.  

Coppertop took it all in, then looked at Fingon, head cocked questioningly.  

“Yep, that’s all for you. Turgon says tomorrow, the filtration system will be up and running.  Then, we’ll plant the plants, fill her up with water, and put you back in. You’ve been so patient with me,” Turgon snorted, but Fingon continued like he hadn’t heard, “and I’m sorry I’m still learning and making mistakes. I don’t want you to suffer with me, but look back with fondness when you go home. I’m trying my best, and I know that it’s not good enough, but I promise, none of this is malicious. I care about you and I want you to be safe and healthy and happy.”   He bent down and pulled Coppertop’s face to him, their noses practically touching.  “Please,” he said earnestly, trying to convey everything with just his eyes and tone.  “Please be patient, please endure just a little longer. It will all be over soon, and then you’ll have the nicest pool in the world. I’ll get you whatever I realise your heart desires, okay?  Just endure a little longer.”  

Coppertop’s eyes darted back to the pool, then to Fingon.  He let out a sigh and rested his forehead against Fingon.  He gave a low chirp, pulled away, and bowed his head, kissing Fingon’s hand.  It was his way of saying sorry. 

“You’re welcome, and I don’t forgive you because there is nothing to forgive,” Fingon said, taking the gesture graciously.  “I’m going to take you back upstairs now,  but you’ll get to come back soon.” 

_______

Maedhros stared at the ceiling, contemplating. The pool looks completely different. He may not be Curvo, but Maedhros is Feanor’s son; he knows when things are being tinkered with.   And Fingon showed it to him.  There’s a reason for this.  Maedhros forces himself not to hope, though. He does not care.  However, when Gwindor returns, and after Fingon scolds him for something, he waits for one of them to look at him.  Fingon does first, with the tentative, unsure smile on his face. “Fingon,” Maedhros says, like he’s comforting one of his little brothers.  “I,” he takes a deep breath.  Once he says this, there’s no going back; he has to mean it and believe it.  “I, I forgive you.  I’m not mad at you.  So long as you never put me in there again,” he smiles softly at Fingon, whose eyes well up with hope, “So long as you never put me in that tank again, I forgive you and we can still be friends. Just don’t put me in there.”  

Fingon returns the smile and shyly mumbles.  He hands Maedhros a drink, the apple juice.  He knows it’s my favourite. Maedhros latches on to this idea.  He cares about me.  He cares, so he’s going to be kind. Everything is going to be okay.  

Maedhros takes small sips, and Gwindor approaches him.  He’s not as hesitant as Fingon, but Maedhros still allows him to approach.  His voice is low and rumbly, vibrating in Maedhros' ears.   He holds out his hand to Maedhros, a peace offering.  His eyes, hooded and sad, are pleading.  “Be kind, Mae,” he hears his mother tell him.  

“I forgive you, too.” He doesn’t want to, but deep down, he knows Gwindor has done a lot for him.  He takes Gwindor’s hand, which earns him a smile.

They leave, but within minutes come back, Fingon carrying two plates of food, Finrod trailing behind him, carrying his plate too.  Gwindor’s hands are behind his back.  “What are you looking so smug for?” Maedhros teases, though he’s not sure if it comes out right. 

Gwindor wasn’t much for big displays of emotion, Maedhros had learned on Anband, but there were signs.  His lips keep twitching upwards as he takes in Maedhros, who was leaning against the headboard.  The humans pull up chairs, balancing their plates of rostbeef on their knees, all except Gwindor. Eru, I hate this meal, Maedhros thinks uncharitably. The beef and gravy hurt his stomach, and he hates the wilted vegetables that taste too bitter.  It’s food like this that makes him soil himself,  and one of them was going to have to clean it, while he spends the next few hours with his stomach cramping.

“Red,” Gwindor says, and Maedhros recognises that as Gwindor’s special sound for him.  His eyes flick away from the looming dinner back to Gwindor, who was standing at attention.  Trying to keep from smiling, he withdraws his hands from behind his back, and there in his hands is a whole fish.  Maedhros' eyes lock on it, and any dignity he had gained back is gone like ripples in a tidal pool.  

“Is that for me?”  Excitement laces his voice.  He wiggles happily, and Gwindor chuckles at that.  Maedhros wiggles harder, like an overexcited seal, when Gwindor hands it to him.  “You got me fish?  Oh, thank you!  Thank you so much.”  He stares up at Gwindor with unabashed adoration.  Gwindor’s ears pinken, and he ducks his head, rubbing the back of his neck.  

The fish was dead, but uncooked, and Maedhros rips into its belly, his teeth snapping the little bones. It tastes so good.  He closed his eyes in bliss, a happy hum escaping him.  Gwindor spoke to Fingon, sounding awfully smug, before taking his own plate and sitting down.  

Maedhros probably should have savoured his meal, but this was the best thing he had eaten in weeks, maybe months, and he tore into it with reckless abandon.  When he finishes, he licks the guts from his lips and sucks the remaining blood off his fingers.  

Fingon and Gwindor beam at him like he had done something wonderful, while Finrod’s face turns a little.  

“I’m sorry,” Maedhros says awkwardly, “I, uh, should have saved you all some.”  He cast a hopeful glance at Gwindor.  “May I have some more, please?”  

Gwindor shook his head and patted Maedhros' stomach.  He held up his hand, fingers splayed, then pointed at the sun. 

“I don’t understand.  I’m sorry.” Maedhros racked his brain. “You want me to wait…oh yes.  Wait.  I can’t eat too much too fast or I’ll get sick…or something like that.  But I can have more, right?”  

Fingon presses a drink into his hand.  “I have never had this much to drink in my life. I think I’ve told you, we normally go months without anything, and are perfectly fine.”  He sips the water that tastes of fruit, but isn’t juice.  “However, I’m not complaining.  I like all your drinks.” Except for the over-sweet fizzy ones, the plain water, and this dark, hot, bitter drink Fingon tried to give him one morning, but saying so would be rude.   

Gwindor finishes he plate, collects Fingon’s and Finrod’s, then disappears downstairs.  Maedhros eagerly awaits his return, hoping he has more fish.  He is not disappointed.  Gwindor comes back with a whole container full.   

When he steps through the doorway, Maedhros wiggles in happy anticipation, mouth salivating.  Gwindor hands him one, and this time, Maedhros is not so ravenously starving that he is actually able to enjoy the taste.  He takes a few bites and then holds it out.  “Would you like a bite?” he asks Gwindor, whose small smile is chased away by horror.  Maedhros is a little offended.  

He offers a bite to Fingon.  Fingon sends a pointed look at Gwindor and takes a big bite.  “It’s good, isn’t it? You know, if we had this, some of your bread, and a little bit of the uncooked green leaves, it would make for a delicious meal, don’t you think?”  

Fingon’s pretty, dark face turns a bit grey, and his smile becomes strained.  “Fingon, what’s wrong? You don’t have to eat it if it makes you sick.  I’ve been there, so please believe me, I won’t mind.”  

Finrod is speaking, his tone sing-songing and I told you so, it’s one Maedhros has used for his little brothers, and has had used against him.   Fingon swallows several times and drains half his glass of water. Finrod is trying not to laugh.  At that moment, his brother walks in, snapping in exasperation, and Finrod and Gwindor dissolve into laughter.  Turgon rolls his eyes, and Fingon makes a very bratty face and mimes punching him.  It’s achingly familiar, hurting just as much as it makes Maedhros happy.  How he misses his own brothers.  Maedhros lets out a small laugh. 

As Turgon speaks, Fingon grows more and excited, shooting very obvious glances at Maedhros.  They’re talking about him, and it sets Maedhros’ nerves alight.  He hates not being able to understand.  

Gwindor offers him another fish, and Maedhros eats it, even though he’s full, just in case he doesn’t get more for a long time, while he watches the brothers talk.  All the humans are excited now.  They chatter to each other and to him, but the only word Maedhros can understand is “Coppertop.”  

Turgan leaves, only after enduring a hug from Fingon.  After that, Fingon changes into his night skin, and Gwindor curls himself up on the plush chair.  Maedhros expects Fingon to crawl into bed; it is his bed after all, and he and Maedhros are on good terms again.  Instead, he kisses him on the forehead and curls up among a pile of pillows and blankets on the ground.  Maedhros is oddly touched.  

__________

Sleeping is still touch-and-go. Maedhros knows he needs it, but the threat of nightmares keeps him awake.  However, he really doesn’t want to stay up for days on end like he had been doing.  Instead, he says a quick prayer and takes a few little naps throughout the night.  On the nap right before dawn, he wakes up to find  Fingon already awake and far too excitable, in Maedhro’s opinion.  He bounces on his knees, chattering to Maedhros.  Maedhros was still trying to wake up and waved him off.  “Stop that,” he yawned.  “It is far too early for this sort of joy.”  But he liked seeing Fingon so ecstatic.  Gwindor grumbles at them both and pulls a pillow around his head.  Fingon throws one at him, and Gwindor is fully awake.  He glares at Fingon and nods Good morning to Maedhros.  

After breakfast, more fruit and juice, Fingon is practically vibrating in excitement. He shoos Gwindor out of the room, despite his protests.  

“What has gotten into you?” Maedhros teased, amused by his enthusiasm. Fingon jumped on the bed and climbed behind Maedhros, tying a silk cloth he was pretty sure he’d seen Fingon’s mother wearing in her hair, around his eyes.  

“What’s this?”  He wants to rip it off, but though his hand twitched, he didn’t touch the blindfold.  Fingon speaks in a soothing tone before picking him up. As always, the familiar swell of panic rose. “Not the little tank, please.” Fingon hums softly to him, and though Maedhros can’t relax, he does wrap his arms around Fingon’s neck and hums with him.  His fingers played with the blindfold. Fingon takes too many steps to mean they’re going back to the tub. In fact,   Maedhros recognises the cadence of going down the stairs.  “Are we going to the big tank?”  

Fingon grunts and shifts Maedhros, adjusting his grip.  There’s a bang, and the smell of salt water greets him.  Maedhros wiggles in anticipation. “We are going to the big tank!”  

Someone approaches to remove the blindfold, and Maedhros looks into the smiling face of Finrod.  He gave a big noise of exclamation, flinging his arms wide as he gestured to the pool with smug pride like he had done everything herself.  

Gwindor, Fingon’s parents, Turgon, Elenwe and Idril are there too, looking at him happily.  

Maedhros can hardly believe his eyes.  Clear water sparkled in the sunlight, colourful plants bobbed beneath the water, and there were rocks for him to enjoy. 

Fingon lowers him into the water. Immediately, Maedhros dunks underwater, lengthening himself out as much as he can.  His gills flutter, and he can breathe easily for the first time since Fingon removed him.  He sinks to the bottom, lounging in the soft sand. His hair floats around him, and he closes his eyes, luxuriating in the water.  His tail doesn’t burn or itch, and he can stretch out and twist without touching edges.  He drags his fingers through the sand, watching it puff out in little billows.  He pushes himself up. It’s hard to swim; he can’t move his tail, and his right arm is no help, but he can still awkwardly make his way over to the plants.   He stretches out again, rolling over in the water.  He plays in the plants for a while before moving to explore the little rock cropping.  They were far enough apart that he could swim around, but close enough together to protect him. He wiggles into one of the hiding spaces, deciding to stay there forever.  He knew he needed to go up and thank Fingon and Turgon and probably the entire family, but he didn’t want to leave the water, even just to pop his head out.  He can hear them talking, and they sound happy.  Taking a deep breath, he makes his way to the top.

All eyes turn toward him when he surfaces, and he suddenly feels self-conscious.  It's Fingon’s beaming face that gives him confidence.  

“Thank you, all, so very much.  I know I haven’t been my best these last few days, and I am sorry, but I hope you know how incredibly grateful I am.”  

They responded with happy coos.  Fingon nodded at him, and job done, Maedhros disappeared back under the water, uncontrollably happy.   

Chapter Text

Coppertop remained underwater for the rest of Sunday afternoon, which Fingon didn't begrudge him. Fingon watched him for a while, heart warm at Coppertop’s happiness. Coppertop lay at the bottom of the pool on his back, his long, dark hair floating around him (Fingon made a quick sketch; he looked so beautiful and ethereal like that), his long fingers curling against the sand, his face a picture of bliss. He floated through the water, not so much swimming as relaxing. He seemed to like playing in the seagrass. The rocks hidden underwater, making a small enclosure, offered enough room for him to wiggle into it comfortably. Which he did and didn’t come out. After ten minutes had passed, Fingon hoped it meant Coppertop was finally sleeping.

“We should give him privacy,” Gwindor said, eyes locked on the rocks. He didn’t seem eager to move. “Poor thing’s been poked and stared at for the last few days.”

“I could go for a snack,” Finrod piped up. “Finno, Turvo, what do you have for us?”

“Turgon is going home,” Elenwë said sternly, sliding under Turgon’s arm. “He’s been working non-stop for days, and this man needs a nap.” She gave him a peck on his cheek.

“Findo, help Gwindor and yourself to some snacks--get enough for me too. I’ll walk them out.”

“Bye-bye, Ariel,” Idril waved. Her bottom lip trembled when there was no response. “He’s sleeping, honey,” Elenwë scooped her up, and Fingon led his bleary-eyed brother away. “Remember how he was sick, honey? It made him really tired. He heard you in his dreams.”

“Okay,” Idril whispered, blowing a kiss in Coppertop’s direction, satisfied with her mother’s answer. Outside, Elenwë elegantly left Fingon and Turgon alone, seeing in Fingon’s eyes that he needed to speak to his brother in private.

“Turvo, I, I don’t know what to say. Thank you. Really, thank you very much. I don’t know what would have happened if you weren’t here.”

Turgon flashed him an exhausted smile. “You’re welcome.” His face grew serious. “I know we don’t always get along, but Finno, there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you. And, I know I’m shit at showing it…but I care about people…and fish, apparently.”

“I know you do, kid,” Fingon said, squeezing Turgon. “I’ve never doubted you had one of the kindest hearts buried under all that logic. Now, you need to get home and get some rest. It’s making you too sappy. I want my unemotional brother back.”

Turgon chuckles and takes a seat in the passenger side. “Don’t back-seat drive, now,” Fingon warns him. “And Turvo, thanks again.”

When he got back inside, he found everybody eating popcorn. The three men sat in the living room, while Finrod tried to encourage Gwindor and Fingon to get along.

“So, Gwindor, Luthien tells me you’ve been on the job hunt.”

Gwindor sat on Fingon’s parents’ luxury sofa, looking very out of place in his tattered, sun-bleached jeans, off-grey jacket, and worn, brown shoes.

“Maybe Fingon and I can help you. Between our two fathers, Luthien’s parents and Luthien herself, I bet we know everybody in town. What was your degree? Or did you go to a tech school? It’s not too important, but it would help give me a starting place, unless you wanted to completely shake up your career.”

Gwindor’s ears had turned bright pink. “I didn’t go,” he coughed, “to, uh, school. I have a hold-over job at a” he cast a side glance at the two cousins and mumbled something under his breath. 

Fingon and Finrod exchanged glances. “Where?” 

“At a grocery store,” he bit out. “I’m just a part-time stocker. I work the night shift.” He was very fascinated by his own hands, scarred and dry. He picked at a callous.

“Oh,” Finrod said brightly. He was completely unbothered by Gwindor’s embarrassment. “That’s really cool. You can tell us what food’s safe to buy.” 

“It’s really not that fucking cool. I used to work on the docks. Might not have gone to some fancy college, but I was good at that. It paid well and I’m pretty fucking strong, and I liked being near the sea, but with the shit-show on the Angband and with Red and all, I can’t go back and run the risk of running into Melkor or his pet psycho.”

Fingon decided that feeling some compassion for Gwindor’s plight would in no way impose on his hatred for the man. Finrod, however, always wanted to fix things. It was admirable, but sometimes got him in trouble when people mistook his passion for patronising. “You’re really good with Coppertop,” Finrod said, eyes lighting up in the way that meant he had an idea that was going to turn out to be a bad idea. He slid across the couch until he was shoulder to shoulder with Gwindor, who seemed to be looking for an escape route. He leaned away, but Finrod just leaned in closer, grinning ear to ear. 

“So, you like working with sea stuff?” 

“Findo,” Fingon said warningly. He remembered when he first met Gwindor. The man cared deeply, but he was beyond furious when Thorandor wouldn’t let him take a turn comforting Coppertop. Now, Fingon understood. He knew what it was like for a friend to be so terrified of you because of things you did, trying to help them. But then, he had only been focused on Gwindor’s red face, chest heaving like a bull, and how he’d slammed the car door so hard it made the car rock. He had a tempe,r and Fingon could see him taking offence with Finrod. He really didn’t want to see his cousin get punched. Finrod, however, had always been one to disregard common sense. He ploughed on. “Maybe you can work at the Haven. Finno’s always saying they’re looking to hire entry-level jobs, feeding, carrying, or transporting animals. It sounds right up your alley. And then, if you wanted, you could work your way up the ladder. I’ve heard they have some program where they help pay for schooling, right, Finno? And, you’d already have a buddy there!” 

Fingon cast his eyes to the ceiling, while Gwindor shifted in his seat. Finrod gasped like he had an epiphany. “Then you could see Coppertop all the time, and you and Fingon could get lunch together, swap ideas, that sort of thing.”

“That’s okay,” they both said at the same time, and glared at each other.

Finrod was unfazed. “Alright. No biggie. There are lots of things out there you can do, and I’ll help you find them. It just seemed that working at a conservation centre would be something you would be good at and have fun doing.”

Gwindor turned pensive, like he was actually considering it. In his head, Fingon was strangling his cousin.

After a few hours, Finrod headed home, and Gwindor was right behind him. Unfortunately, he left with Fingon’s phone number saved in his phone.

“I’ll be checking in.”

“Undersood.”

“Every day.”

“Alright.”

Gwindor’s eyes narrowed. “And I want proof of life photos. I want to see that you aren’t back on your so-called ‘helpful’ and ‘professional’ bullshit.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No. What if someone sees? Maybe they glance over your shoulder when you're looking at a picture, or you forget to lock your phone. Absolutely not. It’s too dangerous.”

“Fine,” Gwindor spat out the word like it physically pained him to agree with Fingon. Same here, buddy, Fingon thought with a glare. 

Gwindor was almost out the door, just a few more steps, and he would be out of the house. Of course, he paused at the last second, and Fingon bit back a groan. 

“Don’t put him back in that fucking tub.” 

“I won’t.” 

“And feed him fish, you brain-dead cunt, so maybe he won’t be as skinny as a tick sucking on a wooden cock.” 

Fingon tried to shake the image out of his head. “Will do.” 

Now on the stoop, Gwindor hunched his shoulders, sucking on his tongue. “I hope he doesn’t think I’ve abandoned him. He’s a sensitive thing,” he says with a soft, private smile that Fingon probably shouldn’t be seeing.

There are so many things Fingon can say to make it worse, or he can say nothing. But, without his permission, he heard himself saying, “If he does, maybe Finrod can bring you round sometime. 

Gwindor’s surprise will have to be Fingon’s reward. See, I can be the bigger man. I’m not that horrible. 

With that, Gwindor finally leaves, and Fingon shut the door so fast he almost caught his foot. Even with the snack, he’s hungry, and Coppertop’s probably hungry as well. In the excitement of the day, they’d all forgotten lunch. Even perfect Gwindor didn’t think of it.

With a sigh, Fingon plods into the kitchen. Argon and Amme are busy over the stove, making spaghetti.

“That smells good.” Argon, Amme, and, surprisingly, Aredhel, were the cooks in the family. Fingon and Turgon were utilised only to lick bowls and maybe stir when they were baking cookies. Fingolfin was banned from setting foot in the kitchen if even a mixing spoon was left on the counter.

Anairë turns to smile at him. “I’m so glad. It will be ready in ten minutes. Should I make Coppertop a bowl?”

“He hates spaghetti. And we’re feeding him fish now. He prefers that.”

In the fridge is half a container of fish.

“You should see the freezer,” Argon said, sneaking a spoonful of sauce when Anairë ’s back is turned. When Fingon opens it, every spare inch of their freezer is jammed full of fish and squid. Gwindor must have cleaned out some poor fishman’s stall. Or several stalls. 

On the fish in the fridge, there are sticky notes. One read:

Food for the merman.

Thaw before feeding

Do not give him frozen fish

Do not buy pre-frozen fish

Do not give him cooked fish.

Another sticky note read:

Yesterday he ate 3 fish, but he was starving.

He needs at least 9 fish offered to him every day. Provide more if he is still hungry.

Do not starve him. Feed him several times a day.

He was fed mackerel, codfish and herring. There doesn’t seem to be a type he can’t eat, but results are pending because most of the fish given to him by the psychotic bitch were old and had gone bad.

Fingon tried to keep from rolling his eyes. He crumpled up the notes and shoved them in his pocket. He would put them in Coppertop's notebook. Gwindor was an ass, and unfortunately, he was an ass Fingon would be wise to listen to.

“Are you eating with us tonight, dear, or Coppertop. Do you think he’d enjoy all of us there?” 

“I’ll eat with him tonight. I think he’s still recovering, so we might put a pin in a big family dinner until later.”

Balancing a plate of raw fish in one hand and in the other a plate heaped with spaghetti, bread, and green beans, Fingon sauntered into the pool.

“Coppertop! Coppertop, c’mere. I’ve got dinner for you!” For a minute, Fingon thinks he won’t come up, hopefully sleeping deeply. But then he can make out a dark shape, moving slowly and awkwardly in the water. Coppertop surfaced, only sticking the top of his head out of the water. The water lapped at his cheek and the bridge of his nose. He stayed several paces away from Fingon. “I’ve got fish. Your favourite.”

Coppertop’s eyes widened. He moved forward slowly. Fingon wiggled the fish’s tail, making it “swim” toward Coppertop. The merman’s eyes crinkled with mirth, but he didn’t come closer.

Fingon would not let that hurt him. Coppertop may have forgiven him, but he obviously, and rightfully, did not forget. If he didn’t want to get too close to Fingon, that was perfectly understandable. Fingon didn’t deserve to be disappointed by it.

Fingon tossed the fish over, and Coppertop ducks underwater, happily munching away. Fingon eats a very lonely dinner. He misses sitting beside Coppertop, watching him try a new food. He misses talking about his day, Coppertop’s bright eyes trained on him. He misses Coppertop’s little squeaks when he thought Fingon did something funny.

He ends up tossing Coppertop all three fish, one of which Coppertop squirrels away in his alcove. Hoarding food isn’t surprising, but Fingon makes a mental note to keep an eye on it. He doesn’t want Coppertop getting sick from eating bad fish.

“Well, g’night Coppertop,” he says thickly. In the bathtub, he always gave Coppertop a goodnight kiss on the forehead. This time, he gives a stilted wave and dashes out to the sound of a mournful chirp.

In bed, he buries his head under his pillow and tries to fall asleep.

_____

It takes a few days, but Coppertop eventually trusts Fingon again. He’s snuggled up with Fingon in bed, watching a movie--The Little Mermaid--so Coppertop can follow Idril’s stories. He’s curled under Fingon’s arm, head cradled in the crook of Fingon’s neck, squeaking about how crabs don’t really sing nor serve in advisory positions.

“It’s just pretend, silly shark. Don’t you have fantastical stories under the sea?”

“Yeah,” Coppertop chirps, “but ours are all about nice humans who save us and then take good care of us until we heal and can go home.”

“That sounds suspiciously like real life,” Fingon teases, flicking Coppertop’s ear.

“Maybe. If I were with Gwindor. But instead I got you.” Coppertop turned so he could meet Fingon’s eyes. His eyes were hard as steel and icy cold. Fingon swallowed hard.

“Coppertop,” he began, looking down in shame.

“No!” Coppertop trilled. He yanked Fingon’s head up. “Look what you’ve done to me! Look at your work. Aren’t you proud?”

Coppertop’s frightfully skinny, every scar bright red, and his stump looks painful. He’s wild-eyed and flinching at every loud sound. “I’m not.”

“I hurt all the time because of you.” The snarling fades, and Coppertop’s ears droop. He looks for all the world like a kicked puppy. “I wish I had never met you.”

_____

Fingon woke to the sound of his alarm. His pillow is damp, and his face sticky. What if I just hit snooze, he wonders idially. The thought of work causes dread to pool in his stomach. With a groan, Fingon washes his face. He should be glad to have his bathroom back. It’s far more convenient than having to use the guest one down the hall. But when he’s brushing his teeth, he keeps glancing over to the bathtub, expecting to see Coppertop. While he was in the tub, Fingon had brushed the merman’s teeth. That was a funny memory. Coppertop had tried to chew on the toothbrush, snapping it in half.

Fingon’s mouth opened and closed like a fish. “You just chomped that right in half!”

Coppertop was gnawing on the other end. “Am I going to have to get you a cuttlebone?” When he held out his hand, Coppertop gave it up easily enough. He cocked his head, red hair falling across his face. In a spare drawer, Fingon rummaged around and pulled out a new toothbrush.

“Watch me,” he says, handing Coppertop a toothbrush with toothpaste. Coppertop sniffs it, clearing his thinking of his experience with shampoo. Fingon gets his attention again and brushes his own teeth. He gestures to Coppertop. “Now you try.”

Coppertop copies, but gives up halfway to lick the toothpaste from the bristles, and then rubs the bristles against his right bicep.

“Okay, we’re getting off track. It’s not a massager. I’ll get you an exfoliating brush if you want, but this is for your teeth. I take it you guys don’t brush your teeth, but use some other way to clean your teeth.” He gently cups Coppertop’s jaw. “Can I see? I promise, you can do the same to me.” He takes Coppertop’s hand and places it on his own jaw.

Coppertop’s eyes dart around, brow furrowed as he debates letting Fingon do this and probably forcing down memories of a different, crueller human doing this. He makes his decision and meets Fingon’s eyes. There’s no fear, but perhaps a little nervousness. Coppertop opens his mouth. There doesn’t seem to be cavities or infection. Fingon makes a note to get him some durable teething toys and to check his mouth often until he figures out how mermans keep their healthy teeth. “Good job,” he says, letting go. “My turn.” He opens his mouth wide, feeling very awkward. Coppertop’s head tilts as he looks. He lets go of Fingon’s jaw and hesitantly touches his teeth. He goes slowly, eyes scanning Fingon like he wants Fingon to feel he can back out if he doesn't like anything. He lets out a soft click when he runs a finger across them. He doesn’t explore long. He takes his fingers away. Fingon snaps his jaw in an imitation of Coppertop and gives a wink. Coppertop rolls his eyes and flicks a little water at Fingon. He bows his head twice, which Fingon has learned is his way of saying ‘thank you.’

“You’re very welcome!” Fingon says with a big smile. “It was fun.”

From his look, he thinks Coppertop had fun too.

Fingon smiles sadly at the memory. They had some good times when Coppertop was in the tub. Surely the merman hadn't been pretending. But, if Fingon’s honest with himself, he has to admit that’s probably unlikely. If he’s honest with himself, Coppertop probably doesn’t even like Fingon. He’s just acting so Fingon will be nice to him. And for good reason. Eru, he’s probably done more to traumatise Coppertop than Angband. That poor fish doesn't deserve him. That morning, he prepares breakfast for Coppertop, but claims he’s running late and asks Anairë to give it to him. She agrees, watching him leave with a confused expression on her face.

At work, every animal he passes seems to judge him. His coworkers seem to know he’s a phoney. He tried to focus on his work, but every note he wrote down, he was certain was wrong. He’s probably misunderstanding the blood samples. Gwindor texts a little after lunch.

G-How’s Red?”

F-Doing Fine. He had fish for breakfast, and my mother gave him some for lunch too. Still in the pool.

He’s halfway through triple-checking his analysis of the blood sample of the newest sea turtle they’ve rescued, when Olwë called him to his office. The walk to his suite never felt so long. I’m fired. He found out how terribly I’ve been treating a merman, and I won’t be able to work here. He’s going to fire me and then take Coppertop away. Which would probably be for the better---shit, shit, shit! Coppertop has to stay with me, Melkor’s looking for him! Olwë can’t keep Coppertop here; he’ll be found. 

He’s a nervous wreck when he enters Olwë ’s office. Olwë is a tall man who bears a frightening resemblance to Beleriand’s king. Fingon always had a suspicion they were related, but why a prince would take up a position running a conservation centre did not make sense. Although if Fingon were related to King Thingol, he’d probably do anything to get out of the castle as well.

Olwë ’s office was nicely decorated. It overlooked the dolphin enclosure with a big bay window. Maps hung on every wall. One of Beleriand, their country, one map of the entirety of Arda, and then one of the Tirion ocean, its currents, reefs and trenches all depicted. He had a massive bookshelf made of pale wood. It was lined with books, as well as a few ships in bottles. 

His degrees hung on the wall behind him. He had received his doctorate abroad, in Numenor. Fingon once had aspirations of doing the same. Numenor was a country well known for its marine scene.

“Sit down, Fingon. How are you?”

“Yes, Mr Olwë, just fine.”

Olwë raised a perfectly sculpted white eyebrow. “Are you sure? You sounded really sick on Friday, and you look horrible.”

“Gee, thanks. I’m fine, though. I swear, it’s just embarrassing, personal stuff.”

Olwë shook his head. “I don’t understand you young people. All the drugs and music and sex. But your health, or lack of it, is not what I wanted to speak with you about. Is a Mr--” he checked something on his laptop, “Finrod Ingoldo Felagund Noldorian, related to you? He has the same last name, and I thought I remembered you saying you had a cousin or brother by that name.”

“Did he really list all his names?”

“He did.”

Fingon was at a loss for words. “I don’t know if I should admit to this then, but yes, he is my cousin.”

Olwë was always serious. It was Fingon’s goal to make him laugh, or at least change his expression. He thought he saw Olwë ’s lips twitch, but it could have been a trick of the light. “Wonderful. He was listed as a reference for a Mr….Gwindor Guillian, who applied this weekend. Are you by chance familiar with him?”

“In passing.”

“Hmmm. He has applied for the Alaquandale Corps position. His resume was quite usual. There is a several-year gap where he lists duties consistent with a deckhand, but doesn’t give the name of the ship or a reference. I had hoped to hear an unbiased opinion. Your cousin's review of him was rather…glowing. I suspect Gwindor asked his boyfriend to pretend to be a character reference.” 

Fingon broke into a coughing fit. Olwë offered him some water, which Fingon gulped down. “They’re not dating,” he said firmly. “They are not dating. Gwindor’s not Finrod’s type. Finrod…” If Finrod ever dated Gwindor, Fingon would be forced to commit a kinslaying. He didn’t want to do that to his favourite cousin. It would make Galadrial mad, and if she were mad, there was no mountain high enough to escape from her wrath. Besides, Finrod was quite devoted to Amaire. She was finishing up her degree in the south of the city. Finrod wrote her a letter every week and called her every day. They were nauseating together.

“But, from what I’ve seen of Gwindor, he’s very passionate about marine life.”

“Passionate.” Olwë rolled the word around like it was a pretty bauble being examined and found lacking. “Passionate is good and all, but I can’t hire passionate. Passion is not enough. I need competence.”

Passion is not enough. Passion is not enough. That’s me. I may have passion, but I don’t have competence.

“I think you’ll find him very competent,” Fingon said dully. “I worked with him on a personal project. He remained calm in a stressful situation, had great compassion for the wounded animal we were helping, and showed great initiative in its care.” Fingon gave a bitter smile. “He did better than I did. It’s only thanks to him that we were able to help.

‘I met him at his last job. He was a good worker. I think the only reason he didn’t put his captain as a reference was that the man is the vindictive sort, and didn’t appreciate Gwindor wanting to change careers. If he were contacted, no doubt the man would give an inaccurate and damning reference, just as punishment.”

“Hmmm,” Olwë says. “You said it differently than your cousin, but the main points are the same. You would recommend him for an interview?”

I would not. “I would.”

“Thank you. You were very helpful.”

Fingon didn’t have much longer on his shift. When he came home, he bypassed the pool again and crawled into bed. 

“Darling,” his mother poked her head into his room. “Are you alright?” 

“Just tired.” She came in and felt his forehead. “You don’t have a fever. Are you feeling sick?”

Fingon sniffled, holding back tears. “Just tired.”

“Do you want to go see Coppertop?” 

“Is he alright?”

“Yes.” He can hear the smile in her voice. “He is so glad to be in the pool. This morning, he was just swimming along, and he was very talkative. Lots of squeaking and chirping. I’ve never seen him like this.” 

That’s because he didn’t have to see me today. “If he’s alright, then I don’t need to see him. Would you feed him dinner, please?”

“Darling,”

“I’m really tired, Amme. Please?” His voice breaks. Anairë doesn’t push. She kisses his head. “If you want to come talk to me, baby, you can,” she whispered in his ear. Fingon refused to cry. 

_____

Tuesday is the same. He leaves Coppertop alone, gets yelled at by a coworker when Fingon asks the poor man to check his work…again, endures Gwindor’s caustic questions, and dodges his parents' concerns. The only change is that he can’t sleep and gets up at midnight to write his resignation letter. 

In the morning, he prints it off and leaves before his parents wake up. He gets breakfast in a little cafe. It’s a cinnamon roll. Coppertop would have loved this. The merman had a sweet tooth, and while figuring out what he liked to eat was akin to pulling teeth, Fingon knew without a doubt that his mer, no, that his prisoner loved bread. He cut the pastry in half, planning to take it to the merman before he caught himself. Unable to eat another bite, he threw what once would have been Coppertop’s half away and went to work. The letter weighed heavily in his bag. Fingon planned to drop it off on Olwë ’s desk before his shift ended.

The day dragged on, the hours going by at a crawl. Fingon can’t wait for the end of his shift, when he’s going to give Olwë the letter and then go home and hide under the covers. He's working on some tests for Olwë. It’s simple, something he’s done thousands of times, but he knows there’s a mistake. His coworkers are giving him a wide berth and refusing to check his work. “You know this stuff better than anyone, Finno. Why are you asking me? Do you seriously need eight pairs of eyes to look it over? We really only need to double-check it once.” I don’t know this, though. Fingon thought to himself. I thought I was good at this stuff, but I'm not.

“Heyo, Finno!” The bubbly voice of Carfameaw jolted him from his misery.

“Hey, Cara,” Fingon says tiredly. “How’s it going?”

Carfemaew looked at him, concerned. It was a joke between them to always rhyme their names with a greeting. “Alright,” he responded. “You okay? Really?”

Even though he was a monster, it wouldn’t do to unleash him on his coworkers. “Sorry, Cara. I was caught up in my work. I wasn’t thinking.”

“Oh…okay.” Carfemaew turns to go, but then spins around, slapping his forehead. “I almost forgot, I’m such a spaz. You’re father’s at the front desk. He wants to take you to lunch. Is it your birthday? You should have said something! We would have sang at the team meeting, and maybe we could have had cake, and I would have gotten you a present, and--” 

“It’s not my birthday. But, you said my father’s here?” Fingon knew how important it was to stop a Carfameaw train before it started.

“Yep. At least, I’m pretty sure it’s your dad. He said he was your dad. I can see a resemblance. You look just like him. Except for the eyes. You must get them from your mother. I’m the opposite; I look like my mother, but I have my father’s eyes. The nose is all mine, though. You know, in school all the kids used to call it a beak.”

Carfameaw says it with such spunk that Fingon isn’t sure if he’s bemoaning a childhood of bullying, or celebrating some weird game he played with his classmates. He tries to think of something to say, but Carfameaw is walking out, rambling on about how when he was in school, he wanted to be an actor. Fingon couldn’t make the leap from fathers to birthdays to noses to acting make sense, so he lets Carfeamew leave. Eru, every time that kid talks, I need a nap. I’m getting old.

Fingon put away the beakers and notes and went out into the lobby. His father was standing straight, hands behind his back, intently studying some of the diagrams on the wall.

“Atya, what are you doing here?”

He met Fingon with a grin. “I was hoping to take you to lunch. Do you have the time?”

Something was afoot, but he followed after his father. “How does Numenorian sound for lunch? There’s a new restaurant that just opened up: The Tastes of the Tars.”

“Whatever you want, Atya.”

Tastes of the Tars was a real swanky place. Five-point stars were everywhere, with stone statues of Numenorian leaders. Columns with scrolls at the top are scattered throughout the restaurant.  Fingon can’t tell if it's integral for the structure of the building or decorative. Instead of pictures, murals of the Numenorian coastline and vineyards are painted onto the walls. The plates are blue and white mosaics. The waiter, in a thick Numernorian accent,  suggests the lamb or roasted grape leaves stuffed with spiced fish. Fingolfin orders lamb and Fingon the fish. Their waiter leaves.  The new restaurant is busy, with a steady hum of pleasant chatter. Fingon is still waiting for his father to say the reason for the surprise outing.

Fingolfin did not leave Fingon in anticipation for long. “You’re not yourself, Finno. You’re mother and I are worried for you. You haven’t visited Coppertop in days. He’s asking about you. At least, we think so. Regardless, he chirps your name and constantly stares at the door.

Fingon sucked on his tongue. Probably asking if he’s safe from me and when he can go home.

“Is there a reason you’ve been ignoring him?” His father’s voice grows hard. “Did he hurt you?” 

Fingon laughs at the irony. Coppertop hurt him? It’s the other way around, Atya. All is says is, “It’s better for him if I have nothing to do with him.” hiping his father will understand.

Fingolfin raised a dark, bushy eyebrow. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.

Fingon’s face crumpled. “I almost killed him. All because I didn’t think. I’m so stupid.” He angrily slathered butter onto his cheese and bay roll, then started pinching off little pieces instead of eating them. “I put him in a fresh water bathtub. I didn’t pay enough attention to see if it was hurting him. I didn’t think to feed him fish. These are things I do every day at work and thought I did well, but when I was needed the most, I dropped the ball.

“I gave him a mental breakdown, Atya. All of this could have been prevented if I had actually used my head. Gwindor was right. I suck at my job, and I never should have taken Coppertop home.”

Fingolfin listened to the entire thing. He didn’t look at Fingon with disgust, nor was there pity. Fingolfin gathered his thoughts, put them in order, and said, 'Why didn’t you feed him fish and keep him in fresh water?”

Fingon drug his hands through his hair and yanked it hard. “I don’t know! I really don’t know. I’ve asked myself that a hundred times. The only excuse I can offer for the food was that I was so worried about traumatising him, that maybe I would feed him a beloved pet or something, that I went the opposite way. And even though he never ate much, he would still eat. It was like pulling teeth figuring out whether he liked or didn’t like something. But that shouldn’t have mattered, because I should have been smart enough to know a seacreature would want to eat fish.

‘And then, with the bathtub, there was no way to keep it filtered and treated when we had to change it every day. And, I would have had to move him when I shocked it, and that can take hours, so where could he have gone?” A horrible realisation dawned on him. “Why didn’t I use another one of the bathtubs? I could have switched him out every day. Kept him in one while treating the water in the other, then moved him the next day, rinse and repeat. Atya, why didn’t I do that?”

“You couldn’t have known--”

“That’s no excuse. With my line of work, I should have known.”

“You’re right,” Fingolfin said gently without a trace of judgment or condemnation. “You made a few serious mistakes along the way. But you were dealing with an unprecedented event. You did the best you could. And you did it all alone. Looking back, I wish your mother and I had helped you. We could have been there for you to bounce ideas off of. You shouldn’t have had to deal with a brand new species, one who had been stolen away and tortured on your own. Of course, you weren’t thinking clearly. You never had to deal with a new species that was incredibly humanoid and a victim of torture. Coppertop needed more than one person helping him. Had your mother and I put forth more of an effort, maybe Coppertop never would have gotten this bad.”

“You guys helped. You fed him when I was at work.”

“Like you, we should have done more. Should have known better than to let you fight it alone. Now, it’s time to learn from those mistakes. Coppertop’s not mad at you--”

“Well, he should be,” Fingon interrupted again.

“Well, he’s not. And consider that your punishment. Despite the harm you unintentionally did to him, he has forgiven you.  Trust me, I know it’s one of the worst punishments someone can give you, undeserved forgiveness.” His father raised an eyebrow, looking very smug, like he knew he had Fingon trapped. This was probably how his opponents felt in court. “And as the wounded party, shouldn’t Coppertop’s opinion be the only one that matters? You’ve never been callous to other people's feelings. Don’t let your guilt allow you to do so to his feelings. It’s up to Coppertop, and he’s already made his choice. You should respect it.”

“I feel like I’m being let off too easily. Or what if he’s only forgiving me because he’s scared that if he doesn’t, I’ll put him back in the bathtub or worse?”

“I don’t think he is. Call it a gut feeling, but I don’t think it’s an act.” His father’s gut feelings are what made him one of the top lawyers in Tirion, maybe even Beleriand.

“Put it to the test. Go see Coppertop. Your mother and I think he misses you. He watches the door all the time, and gets excited when it opens, only to be disappointed when it’s not you. I know you’ve messed up, but he’s still alive, still here--”

“You’re not going to make him leave?”

“So long as he doesn’t crawl out of his pool and go for midnight promenades, or try to drown anyone, or bite, he can stay. And you have an opportunity to make up for the past few weeks.”

“Alright.”

“That’s my boy. Now, do you think we should also order dessert? I want to try this baklava.”

Back at work, Fingon held the envelope, staring at it like it would give him the answers he needed. It probably would be better for all of Beleriand's marine life if he quit. But maybe he should give it one more try. Six months. If he still felt like a failure by then, if he hadn’t improved in Coppertop’s care, then he would quit.

Fingon shoved the envelope into the bottom of his bag. He didn’t take the train straight home. Instead, he made a detour at the store.

_____

Fingon pressed himself against the wall. Inch by inch, he moved his head so he could peer through the clear glass door into the pool and hopefully not be seen. No such luck. Coppertop was lying on his stomach, draped over one of his sunning rocks, watching the door intently, and had a full view of Fingon trying to surreptitiously take a peek. He looked glum, but when he saw Fingon, his expression changed. Fingon whipped back around, flat against the wall. He heard a large splash, followed by a moment of silence, and then loud squeaking. It was too late to turn back now.

He let himself in, smiling guiltily. “Hey, Coppertop. It’s uh, been a few days.” He stood halfway between the door and the pool edge, holding his shopping bags, trying to gauge if Coppertop was angry or frightened. 

Coppertop narrowed his eyes, glowering at Fingon, face like stone. The merman waved his left arm, beckoning Fingon over to him. Fingon approached and, with a flick of his tail, which had to hurt, Coppertop had doused him head to toe with water. Fingon spluttered. “Wha-what was that for?” 

Angry chirping echoed against the walls, and Coppertop tried to splash him again. “No Coppertop, stop! You’re going to hurt yourself. For Eru’s sake, just use your hands!” He paddled his hands in front of him, frantically, which made him feel incredibly childish. “Use your hands!” Coppertop calmed, but still didn’t look pleased. He looked hurt.  

“You’re mad at me,” he gave a wry grin, “I can sense these things, you know.” He bent down so he could be eye-level, preparing an apology for Coppertop’s stint in the bathtub and the subsequent panic attacks. But Coppertop had other ideas. When Fingon knelt, the merman launched himself haphazardly onto the edge of the pool, knocking Fingon down. Half in, half out of the water, he wiggled up against Fingon, pulling him into a one-armed hug. Coppertop’s wounded arm was kept tight against his chest, smooshed between him and Fingon. He chirped softly, snuggling up to Fingon so he could rest his head on Fingon’s shoulder, arm tight around him. 

Fingon stroked his hair, cooing softly. “It’s okay, my giant fish, the horrors are over, I’m going to take good care of you now.” As much as he loved that Coppertop felt protected in his arms, he felt too guilty to keep up the charade. Gently, he tried to pry him off. Coppertop lifted his head so they were eye level and let loose a series of scolding squeaks. He pointed at the door, face angry, but then hugged Fingon tighter and tried to bury his face in his neck.  

“Wait, wait, wait,” Fingon pushed him back so he could see more than just red hair. “Are you…are you upset because you missed me?” 

Coppertop tried to glare, but it was more of a mournful pout.

“I’m sorry, Coppertop.” Fingon really did feel awful; it was another mistake to add to his already too-long list, but he couldn’t keep the smile off his face. Coppertop did truly like him, despite the recent disaster. He still wanted to be friends. 

“I thought it would be better for you if I stayed away. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.” He wound Coppertop’s red hair around his fingers. Coppertop hugs him for a moment longer, nuzzling his neck, before he jumps away from Fingon and back into the pool, cheeks painted pink. 

Fingon can’t keep the stupid grin off his face. “I’ve brought you presents, Coppertop. I don’t want you growing bored. That’s not good for you.” One by one, he pulled the items out of the bags, Coppertop watching curiously. 

“First up, a giant turtle lounge float. You’re still going to be too long for it, but this was the biggest I could find…a little over two meters.” 

Coppertop blinked at it. Right now, it was deflated, folded up inside a small, square plastic bag. Fingon slid it over to him, letting the merman sniff and touch it.

“I’ve also got you a few dive toys. I’m thinking these will help you get some mobility back as your tail starts to heal.

‘This weekend, let’s try our hand at painting. Once I teach you, I’ll set up a little area, and you can do it while I’m at work.

'Here is a teething toy." It's really a ribbed silicone stick-like toy meant for large dogs, but Fingon made sure not to buy one that had pawprints or looked like a bone. He wanted to buy a baby teething ring, but they were too small, and he figured Coppertop's teeth were too sharp for a baby's toy. "You don't have to use it, but I don't know, you might be the kind of species to keep your teeth clean by gnawing on certain things, so I thought that it might help.  I'll watch, and if it doesn't work, or you don't like it, or you show me another way to keep your teeth healthy, we'll do that instead, promise." He should probably ask Gwindor. He would ask Gwindor. Tomorrow morning, on the train ride to work, he would text Gwindor. But not tonight; he was in too good a mood.   

“I’ve also ordered a speciality puzzle. It’s made of plastic and vinyl, so you’ll be able to do it underwater. As we think of more things, I’ll get those for you, too.”

Fingon had other things too: a syringe, a test tube, and a small container to collect faecal matter. He still wasn’t sure how he was going to get the last one, but his plan for the other two was to collect some water and run some tests at work while comparing it to what they had in their tanks. When Coppertop started looking a little less rattled, he was going to take a blood sample and look at it at work. He wished he had an ultrasound machine, but he would have to make do without. 

“Let’s blow up your floaty.” 

That turned out to be a far more challenging experience than Fingon anticipated. He started the mechanical air pump that his father had in the garage. When it hummed to life, Coppertop darted under the water with a frightened chirp. He popped his head up on the other side of the pool. “Fingon,” he chirped, face concerned. He waved his hand, Come here, wanting Fingon to come to safety. 

“It’s okay,” Fingon said. “Nothing to fear.” Coppertop’s face grew distressed, and slowly he made his way back over, teeth bared. Fingon brought the floaty closer. “It’s harmless. It’s not going to hurt me.” He held it up so Coppertop could get an idea of just how big it would be. Right as Coppertop relaxed, one of the turtle's flippers filled with air and stretched out suddenly, hitting Fingon in the face. 

“Stupid thing”, Fingon said, batting it away. Coppertop bared his teeth, snapping at the toy. He wiggled himself partway out of the water and in between Fingon’s feet, glaring and snapping at the turtle. He almost bit a plastic flipper, but Fingon yanked it out of his reach. 

“It’s not dangerous, Coppertop. Stop that.” Coppertop looked up at him with doleful eyes, then snarled at the toy. Fingon set it on the ground, far away from his rabid merman. “Come on,” he shooed Coppertop back into the pool. “I appreciate you protecting me, but I can hold my own against a floaty.

“While I air it up, how about you try out these diving rings?” He opened the package and pulled out a red one. “Look, a copper ring, for a coppertop!” 

Luminescent eyes widened, and he stared at Fingon with reverence. “Ummm, you don’t have to be that grateful. It’s just a cheap toy. I want you to have it; it’s the least you deserve.” He handed Coppertop the ring, who placed it on his head. 

Fingon pursed his lips together tightly and turned his face, but not before a choked snort escaped. Coppertop chirped, and he forced himself to look. Coppertop held himself with regal bearing, the ring perched haphazardly on his head. He grinned at Fingon, who burst out laughing. 

Coppertop’s expression fell. 

“No, I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you! You look very nice,” Fingon's protests were deemed insincere as Coppertop glared. He yanked the ring off his head, trilling angrily, and threw it across the pool. 

Fingon clapped. “That’s what you're supposed to do! Now you let it sink to the bottom and go get it.” 

Coppertop blinked in alarm at the change of attitude. His eyes shifted to the sinking ring, then back to Fingon. He ducked underwater, watching it fall. Then he popped back up, looking questioningly. Fingon mimed swimming and diving. Coppertop’s eyes darted about, brows drawn close together. He looked like he was trying to solve a complicated maths problem. He found the answer because he ducked back underwater and made his way to the ring. His swimming was disjointed, his torso doing most of the work and his left hand and arm working overtime, often forcing him to veer towards the right. The merman had to spend a lot of energy course correcting so he didn't wind up swimming in a circle. Fingon scrambled toward his bag and pulled out a foam kickboard. Coppertop would be heavy enough to weigh it down so he could swim underwater, but now he would have something to help stabilise his upper body, so he could paddle under the water. 

He brought the ring back to Fingon, an eyebrow raised…a question. Fingon nodded, “You did it right, good job.” He gave the other multicoloured rings to him. Coppertop strung them on his arm, the right, this time, and then pulled it back to his chest. 

“When the stitches are healed and the skin a bit tougher, we’re going to work on you using that arm again. You can’t keep it immobilised forever. And, you’ll be able to swim better.” 

He gave a highly embarrassing demonstration on how to use the kickboard on land. Coppertop’s lips quirked into a smile several times, though he did his best to look focused and serious. “Now it’s your turn.” 

Coppertop looked annoyed, but Fingon just beamed at him. “Nope, you have to look silly too. It’s only fair.” 

Coppertop tried to lie on it several times, growing agitated when it would slip out from under him. Once, it him in the chin. Fingon used that time to work on the floaty, to give him some privacy. As he turned off the air pump, he heard excited squeaking. Coppertop had managed to get it to stay under him and was now working out how to swim. It wasn’t perfect, but it did allow him to move a hair faster and with less effort. 

Fingon pushed the sea turtle float into the water. Now that its fins weren’t actively attacking Fingon, Coppertop did not seem as inclined to rip it to shreds, though he did eye it suspiciously. “It’s for you to ride on.” It took some finagling, but he managed to wiggle onto it without falling into the water. He pushed off from the edge. “See, it’s like a boat.” 

He lay back, enjoying floating around. The filtration systems created a small current that moved the float along at a relaxing pace. Coppertop swam after it, eye alight with mischief. He'd bump it, making it spin, and he tried to knock Fingon off several times. However, he quickly became distressed when even the leisurely pace proved too much for him, and he was panting and unable to keep up. Fingon grabbed him by the shoulder, guiding him so he could cling to the float and rest. When Coppertop got his breath back, he raised a questioning eyebrow and tried to clamber up. 

“Wait!” The sea turtle started to capsize. “I don’t want to get wet or fall in.” They were close to the sunning rocks, so Fingon grabbed hold of those, trying to anchor the float. “Now try.” 

The first two times, Coppertop slid off, as he didn’t have enough strength in his left hand to haul himself on top of a slippery plastic toy.

The third time, he got partway up and grabbed hold of Fingon’s leg, using that to help claw himself on. His fingers hurt, but more so, Fingon could feel heat rushing to his cheeks. He let go of the rocks and helped pull Coppertop aboard. 

Once on, Coppertop patted Fingon’s leg in apology, which made Fingon nearly jump out of his skin. The floaty was long enough that only a small bit of Coppertop’s tail, and he settled himself comfortably by Fingon’s side. Fingon pushed off from the rocks, and they floated around the pool. 

Coppertop hummed contentedly. “This is nice,” Fingon agreed. They floated until Fingon’s mother came to tell him dinner was ready. Coppertop watched him go, expression pinched. “I’ll come right back,” Fingon promised. “Don’t you worry.” He wasn’t sure how to explain that so Coppertop could understand, but he gave a valiant effort. 

His mother laughed as she led him down the hallway to their ornate dining room. “It feels like you’re a child again, and I’m calling you home from playing all day with your little friends.” 

“Yes, but I’m not a child. I’m a grown adult, Amme.” 

“You’ll always be my baby, though,” and she pressed a wet kiss on his forehead.

Maedhros waited patiently for Fingon to return. He’s placed his toys in his alcove, where they can be safe. At first, he thought the ringers were a circlet, crude, but similar enough to what he wore back home. He almost felt like himself, and then Fingon had laughed. Maedhros’ first thought was that Fingon was mocking him. Laughing at the fallen prince now decked in a ridiculous crown. It was a relief when Fingon didn’t understand and told him they were just toys. Once the rings are safe, he makes his way back to the shallow end so he can wait for Fingon.

Not on the rocks this time, he decides. Getting off of them was too much effort with a broken tail, and he wants to be ready as soon as Fingon comes in.

He doesn’t have to wait long. Fingon’s back, smiling and chattering away with Maedhros’ dinner of fish. Maedhros eats the first one far enough away that no one can snatch it back. There is a flash of hurt in Fingon’s eyes. Maedhros wants to smooth it away. Fingon’s done so much for him. He turned the big tank into a mini-ocean. Come on, Maedhros, he tells himself. You know Fingon’s not going to take your food. Can’t you do one small thing to make him happy and eat near him? With a deep breath, Maedhros doesn’t move away when Fingon gives him his second fish. Instead, he leans against the edge and takes a few bites. Fingon’s face lights up, and so does Maedhros’ heart.

“Want a bite? I don’t think you liked it last time, but that was codfish. I hated cod when I was little, and Caranthir still won’t eat it to this day. But, this is herring, you may like that.”

Fingon’s smile turns a little odd, and he waves Maedhros off, much to Maedhros’ disappointment. “Are you sure?” He has a burning need to share with Fingon; his tiny human didn’t have to go and make things so difficult. With a sigh, he finishes the last bites. 

Maedhros droops, exhausted and full. He has never had to be so animated in his life, and it still feels foreign. However, he’s sleeping now-- taking short naps throughout the day and night, he still can’t sleep regularly without nightmares-- and he feels he can finally think. Which leads him to recognise that he needs to do more if Fingon is going to understand him. Maybe, a persistent voice tells him in the back of his mind, had you been a little more expressive towards him earlier, you could have avoided a lot of trouble.

Fingon stays until he’s yawning every few seconds and starts to prepare to leave. “Don’t go,” Maedhros insists, though careful to keep from sounding like he’s begging or desperate. “We could float again. That was a lot of fun.” Fingon is not inclined to float again, as he waves goodbye, looking sad too.

“Stay then, if leaving upsets you so. I won’t mind, I like having you here.”

Fingon leans down like he’s going to kiss Maedhros’ forehead, but changes his mind at the last minute and pats him on the head instead and then dashes out of the room. 

Maedhros sighs. 

The next morning, Fingon arrives with the light of dawn. Maedhros is already at the shallow end to meet him. 

Fingon has brought more fish as well as breakfast for himself. Maedhros saw that Fingon’s plate was loaded with fruit, the overdone eggs, and toast with the thick purple spread Maedhros loved so much. As much as he was grateful for fish, he couldn’t help but wish he could have fish and fruit. And bread. He really liked bread. Even some of the chicken wasn’t too bad. 

Fingon spent most of breakfast talking instead of eating. It was fun to watch him; his face was so expressive, and he was full of smiles and silly looks for Maedhros. Maedhros tried to see if he could pick out certain sounds, but they all seemed to blend together. Back on Angband, he had picked up a few words, but the stress of the bathtub had driven them from his mind. He’s sure he could relearn them, though he doubts he’ll ever be able to understand their sentences. His father could do it. Before…everything, Feanor had been working on understanding the human tongue and was trying to recruit Maedhros in the project. Their trouble was finding examples, though on one memorable occasion, Feanor had taken Maedhros down to the docks and they had hidden under the pier listening to the humans speaking above them. Nerdanel was so angry when she found out where they’d gone. 

Fingon paused to take a bite of a strawberry. Maedhros loved strawberries. Fingon caught him staring. “May I have one, please?” He said, holding out his hand.  It feels rude and childish, but it’s the clearest way to be understood. Fingon bit his lip, mumbling something. Maedhros listened intently, but he only understood “Gwindor”. Maedhros sighed. 

Fingon was gnawing on his lip, brow furrowed. He looked miserable. “Hey, why so glum?” Maedhros shifted his weight so he could rest on his right forearm. Then, with his left hand, he cupped Fingon’s cheek and thumbed his lip. “Don’t do that,” he commanded softly. “You haven’t done anything wrong.” Fingon was staring at him, mouth opening slightly. Maedhros felt his face grow hot, and he yanked his hand away. 

“Sorry.” It was so awkward. Panicking and needing a distraction, Maedhros snatched a strawberry off of Fingon’s plate. “Mmm,” he said with a little laugh. Fingon swallowed hard. He shook his head, shaking away the spell. He looks at Maedhros, then at his plate, brow furrowed. He's talking again, eyebrows raised. Finally, he shrugged and offered Maedhros a few more bites of fruit and let him eat half his toast. Maedhros offered fish in recompense, but Fingon didn’t take it.

He left for the day. Maedhros spent an embarrassingly long time trying to crawl onto the oversized sea-turtle, but he managed it. He spends the rest of the morning floating around peacefully. 

When Anairë brings in lunch, she laughs happily when she sees him. She holds up a finger, a sign to wait, and dashes out. She returns, and music fills the air. Maedhros looks around, trying to find the musician. Anairë holds out a tiny device. So that’s where it comes from.

Anairë leaves the little device when she goes, and Maedhros spends his afternoon enjoying a float and music. 

He gets a surprise visit from Argon. The teen huddles in the doorway before taking a deep breath and marching over to the pool. It’s very reminiscent of Fingon. Maedhros slips off the turtle lounge; it’s much easier getting off than on, and meets him at the edge of the pool. It takes him far too long to swim over. 

Without any preamble, Argon shoves a shark at Maedhros. He chatters, hands flying around as he explains. Maedhros examines this new thing. It’s a little bigger than his hand, with a movable tail. It’s a passable attempt at a Great White. Argon takes it back, pointing out a tiny button on its belly. He flips it, and a small mechanical whirl starts up. The tail moves back and forth. Maedhros is very proud that he doesn’t jump, though he certainly doesn’t expect the movement. Argon plops it in the water. “Oh!” Maedhros exclaims. The little toy swims by itself. Maedhros tracks it with his eyes. “This is so cool.” He grins up at Argon. “Is this for me?” 

Argon gives him a thumbs-up. 

Maedhros names it Pityacarch. When Fingon arrives for dinner, Maedhros proudly shows it off. “This is Pityacarch. Your brother gave it to me. It’s silly, but I really like it. He even showed me how to work it, watch.” His fingers are long enough to wrap around the shark and touch the button. It wiggles to life, and Maedhros lets it go. “Curvo would absolutely love this.” And then Maedhros’ good mood is gone. He’s got to stop thinking of his family every time something happens. He’s trying not to think of them. 

Fingon brings Maedhros fish, but on the plate is also a roll, a small piece of beef, and some wilted vegetables. Fingon gestures casually to the food. Maedhros takes the bread and fish, ignoring the rest. Fingon pulls out the little book and scribbles something down. Maedhros scoots down the edge of the pool so he can peer over Fingon’s shoulder. “Do you have any more drawings? I wish I could do that. I’d make one of you.” Fingon chews the end of his pen before directing  Maedhros over to the rocks and arranging him in a certain way. He has Maedhros sit on the rocks, tail slightly bent, his left arm on the rock beside him, his right resting on his tail. He pulls Maedhros’ hair back so it falls down his back, except for a few tendrils which he puts over his shoulder. Fingon steps back to admire the pose. He gives an exclamation of approval and sits, notebook resting against his knees, pen moving. “Draw both hands,” Maedhros commands, but Fingon just thinks he’s complaining about the positions and shifts him over slightly to make it more comfortable. 

The sun warms his back, and he can watch the birds through the glass walls. There is a particularly fat and fluffy one. It hops through the land grass. Several minutes go by, and the bird flies away, so Maedhros watches Fingon. The gold in his hair glints in the evening light. He’s deep in concentration, glancing up at Maedhros occasionally, but not really seeing him. 

With a big stretch, Fingon finished drawing and stood up. Maedhros does a very ungraceful dive into the water, excited to see. Fingon shyly held open the book.

“You didn’t draw both hands,” he snapped. Fingon’s face fell. He looked at the drawing, his pretty eyes overflowing with confusion. Maedhros bereated himself. Stupid, selfish squid.  Fingon spent all that time working on this for you, and the first thing you say is an insult? He should put you back in that little tank until you learn some manners. Maedhros gulped, breath coming fast.  He shouldn’t have thought about the little tank. He holds himself rigidly, pictures his father’s disapproving look and his mother’s scolding and turns back to look at the picture, promising to give Fingon the praise he deserves. 

“No, no. Let me see it again,” he said, forcing himself to sound happy.. He snatched the book from Fingon and stared hard at the page. A very beautiful merman stared back. Maedhros felt sick. It was missing its hand, and Fingon had drawn the scars, but at least on this thing, they didn’t scream weakness. It was still beautiful. 

“I don’t look like that,” he said in a strained voice. “You’ve drawn me wrong. I’m ugly now.” He ran his hand over his stump, trying to soothe the hurt that flared up. Fingon took the book from him gently, setting it on the ground. 

“It was very good work,” Maedhros assures him. “It’s just too pretty. I’m not pretty anymore. I’ve seen myself in the mirror.” Fingon tucks a strand of hair behind his ear and boops his nose. “You have to think I’m pretty; I’m your friend.” Fingon lets out a huff at his tone and sits in the water beside him. “You're going to get yourself all wet.” Fingon nudges his shoulder playfully. Maedhros just pouts, still upset. He knows he’s being childish. Fingon tickles his nose with one of his own braids. Maedhros bats him away. “You’re being annoying.” Fingon’s grin gets bigger. 

“Can I see the picture again, please?” He points to the notebook. Fingon is clearly debating whether he thinks it’s a good idea or not. But he gives in. Maedhros looks at it. “You are too sweet for your own good,” is all he ends up saying. It really is a beautiful piece of work. “You were supposed to take a warts-and-all approach. But, I bet you're too talented to draw ugly things, aren’t you? That’s it.  You tried to make me ugly and crippled and weak and all, but you just have too much talent.” Fingon seems to be defending his picture earnestly. “Do you really think I look like that?” 

Fingon boops his nose again. Maedhros tries to look stern, but he ends up grinning. “Thank you for drawing me. I should have said that first.”

He tried to look and sound happy, but Fingon must have sensed his mood, because he climbed out of the water and brought over a bowl of the chewy monsters. Maedhros feels worse. “I really don’t deserve you.” But Fingon’s effort to make him feel better works, and he can feel the shame bleeding away. Now that Maedhros is in a slightly better mood, Fingon puts the book away and grabs the turtle lounge. He raises an eyebrow, and Maedhros nods his head. Together, they watch the sunset, floating gently, and eating the chewy monsters.

_____

Once again, they fell into a new routine. Five days in a row, Fingon would only spend breakfast and the evening with Maedhros; the rest of the day, he was gone, then for two days in a row, he would spend the whole day with Maedhros. On the days Fingon was gone, Idril and Elenwë visited him in the afternoon. They would colour and play dolls. Idril seemed to have a never-ending supply of dolls. They were all the same height and shape, but their skin colours and hair colours differed widely. Some had colourful hair, blues and pinks that Maedhros had only seen on fish. Some of the dolls had wings; Maedhros rubbed the thin, delicate fabric between his fingers. There was no way a creature could fly with these things. He would like to see these winged humans with pink and blue hair. All of the dolls had an obscene amount of day-skins and night-skins, and oddly shaped feet that can come on and off. Maedhros remembers the day Fingon put him in the tiny tank; he’d shown him something similar, except human-sized. It’s really fascinating that humans go about with fabricated skins. It probably is to protect their real, softer skin. But, he doesn’t think it’s just for practicality's sake, but is a bit like the jewels he used to wear. It’s meant to enhance beauty. Fingon mostly dresses for practical reasons, but sometimes, he’ll wear certain colours that accentuate his real skin colouring, his eyes, or his hair, and Maedhros thinks him exceptionally beautiful.

Part of the game with Idril and her dolls seemed to be to change their outfits every five minutes. Maedhros thinks they need more jewellery. Bangles and bracelets for their arms, necklaces and earrings, circlets and jewels to tie into their hair. At home, he would wrap strings of pearls about his waist. Some were just a short belt, but others draped down his tail, their strands varying in length.

There were even mermaid dolls. Their tails were hard and couldn’t be twisted; they could only move at the hip, which was very impractical, Maedhros couldn’t help but think. The tails were frightening hues of yellows, blues, pinks, purples and greens, sometimes all mixed together. Idril always wanted him to play with one that had bright red hair and a soft green tail. Maedhros supposed it could look like him. He almost had a heart attack when he accidentally pulled off the tail. Turns out, the mermaid had legs too, and the tail could slide on and off. Idril let him keep her. She sat in the small hole in his rocks with Pityacache and the rings. He names her Maitimë, and while she is not as fun as the little shark he enjoys chasing around the pool, she is very treasured, and he likes to look at her.

Despite being gone for most of the day, Fingon tries to spend most of the evening with him, which Maedhros appreciates. “Look what little Idril gave me,” Maedhros says one day, and proudly holds out a removable, little, shiny, silver foot. It fits perfectly in his hand. There’s a little strap across it so it will stay on her real foot. Judging by Fingon’s expression, Maedhros wonders if he didn’t have a hand in the gift of the shoe. 

Normally, their evening consisted of Fingon returning to say hello, Fingon spending time with his family, Fingon eating dinner (or watching Maedhros eat dinner), and then some time floating, with a handful of the colourful monsters as dessert, before leaving him for bed, and Maedhros tries to sleep, most nights with less than stellar results. 

The evening started off normally. Fingon popped in to say hello. He left, and after an hour or so, he returned with Maedhros’ dinner, fish, as always, and a little of whatever Fingon was eating. Today, it was chicken, which Maedhros sniffs cautiously. Sometimes, it’s too strongly seasoned, but not today, so he eats that. There’s soft, black bread, slathered with melted butter, which just may be Maedhros’ favourite part, excluding the fish, and there is a small salad. Maedhros has been trying to improve his dexterity with his left hand, so he eats the salad with a fork. It’s a bit similar to the bowls of seaweed he used to eat, so he doesn’t embarrass himself in front of Fingon. 

It's a pretty good meal, leaving Maedhros comfortably full. Fingon stretches. “Coppertop,” Maedhros catches, and then Fingon is off chattering like it’s a race. Maedhros knows he’s telling him to go get the float. It’s Maedhros’s job to get the floaty that is always stored on the edge of the pool on the deep end. It forces him to swim, and allows Fingon to watch him and note his progress. Maedhros hopes he’s doing well. With great effort, he makes it to the other side of the pool, panting heavily. Fingon had tied a rope on it, so Maedhros could wrap it around his hand, and still use it to swim, while also being able to move the giant sea turtle. 

He drags it to the rocks, so they can get on, but Fingon stops him. “Coppertop,” he says, and his tone, while still pleasant, is not as bright as Maedhros had grown accustomed to hearing. He turned his head. “Come---” There’s more to the statement, but Maedhros understood the one. ‘I know that!” He says excitedly, spinning in the water, his sign to Fingon that something good has happened. “I know that word.” He makes his way over, so Fingon knows he knows it. Fingon’s grinning, but it’s tainted with confusion. He doesn’t understand. Maedhros sighs. He’ll have to show off his understanding of little words some other time. 

“Aren’t you ready to float?” 

Fingon’s face grows serious. He gets into the water beside Maedhros. Panic starts to claw its way up his throat. Every time Fingon has gotten into the pool with him, it means something bad is about to happen. First it was his hand, and then it was the little tank. Maedhros doesn’t mean to, but he shies away. “What are you doing?’ He narrows his eyes so he looks more intimidating than fearful. “What’s in your hand?”

Fingon pats the water beside him, a clear invitation to come over, but when he shows what he has, Maedhros refuse to move. He recognises it as a tool Mairon used to use. A sharp mouth and a clear, tubular body. He’d stab it into Meadhros’ forearm or neck, and he’d either feel his insides turning to liquid fire, or he’d feel heavy and groggy, the world swimming. Either way, it was miserable, and he would not let Fingon do that to him.

“No,” he says with a firm shake of his head. Fingon didn’t move closer, but he did hold out the thing again, explaining it. Maedhros splashed him in the face, levelling a glare that would wrangle even his brothers into line. “No. Put it away. Are we going to float or not?” 

Fingon doesn’t move. He does smile patiently at him, though. Maedhros pursed his lips and clambered onto the floaty. It was not nearly as much fun without Fingon, and the whole situation was annoying. Fingon apparently planned to wait forever, but not in silence. He went on and on. Maedhros’ ears twitched. He would have slammed his hands over his ears--if he had two-- and if it weren’t so childish. Fingon was the childish one. Maedhros did allow himself a loud sigh and refused to look at Fingon. 

Eventually, Fingon ran out of things to say and started singing. He even sang their special song, which, despite the upbeat and staccato tempo, still made Maedhros feel calm.. It meant getting out of Angband. It meant safety, it meant…that Fingon wouldn’t hurt him. Despite their ups and downs, Fingon was not even close to Mairon. Hadn’t his little human proven himself trustworthy? Maedhros groaned and dove into the water, surfacing close to Finogn.

“If you hurt me, I’m going to rip out your pretty throat.” Fingon wrapped an arm around him, pulling him close, beaming at him with pride. Maedhros softened. “I won’t rip your throat. But I will take a nice chunk out of your arm.”

Fingon petted his hair before fiddling with his left arm, running his hand down the forearm until he found what he was looking for. He tied a band tight across Maedhros' bicep before putting the needle against his arm. Maedhros froze, shoulders achingly tense, every nerve alight. Fingon plunged it in, and blood filled the little tube. Not 30 seconds later, Fingon removed the needle. A small pinprick of blood welled up. Maedhros blinked. “That was it?”

Fingon gave him a tight hug, a pat on the head, and a red chewy monster. He got out of the pool to put the vial away, and then grabbed the floaty, carrying it to the rocks and climbed on. He patted the spot beside him. Maedhros happily snuggled up to him, squished together so there was enough room for both. Floating across the water, they watched the sunset.

Chapter Text

On the train to work, Fingon decided he should have driven. The vials of Coppertop’s blood weighed heavily in his bag. The other passengers could see them, or sense them or smell them. Endless possibilities of how things could go wrong assaulted his brain. What if there were a terrorist threat on the train, so all bags had to be searched? A test-tube of blood secured in a plastic bag, wrapped in an old T-shirt, definitely classifies as suspicious. Naturally, it would be confiscated, Fingon would be arrested, the blood would be tested, and obviously it wouldn’t show up human, so a tactical team would burst into his house, take Coppertop away, and then he’d never get home. Fingon would have to break out of prison, making him a fugitive, rescue Coppertop, and it would probably be much harder than getting him off Angband. Fingon would need a weapon, but his family didn’t own guns, just a sword that had been passed down for almost twenty generations. That would work, although Fingon didn’t think he was skilled enough to fend off the Beleriand military with just a sword.

He almost misses his stop; he's so caught up in the daydream. An old woman had to tug on his sleeve and croak, “Young man, isn’t this where you get off?” He exits the train without any incident and makes his way to the Haven. First step, complete. Now he must find time when the lab is clear and run some tests. Which leads him to problem two. What if someone walks in? Marine biologists are nosy, and Fingon can’t lie to save his life. They’d suspect something was up and look at the blood sample themselves. “What sort of animal is this?” would be asked, and the whole office would learn Fingon kept a merman in his pool. Everyone would want to see, and maybe that would be fine; his coworkers had hearts of gold; they would be sympathetic to Coppertop’s plight, but there was always someone who let their greed overtake their humanity, so Morgoth would be called. Fingon could picture Coppertop’s betrayed and frightened face as the crew hauled him back to Angband. His little squeaks would break Fingon’s heart. Of course, Fingon would rescue him, wielding a sword. That posed a problem, though. How was he supposed to carry Coppertop and slash through his enemies? Should Coppertop hold the sword? Did Coppertop even know how to wield a sword? Fingon made a mental note to add defence training to Coppertop’s day. That seemed logical. 

Coppertop with a sword opens up a rabbit trail. Fingon would love to see Coppertop as a medieval soldier. He could see it, red hair streaming out from underneath a gleaming helm, Coppertop, broad shoulder, straight-backed, tall (not that Fingon was familiar with mermen height, but surely Coppertop would be a tall human) with clothes dirty from battle, face stern, eyes flashing, sitting astride a massive war horse with his sword brandished high while his enemies screamed and fleed from his path at the mere sight of him. It made a wonderful version. Fingon tabled that train of thought and had to drink a glass of water to cool down. He had work to focus on.

Fingon considers himself very lucky, as more often than not, his work is equal parts fascinating and enjoyable. Currently, Olwë tasked him with analysing samples from an artificial coral reef. A few years ago, when Fingon was still an intern, the Haven received approval to sink a retired Navy ship a few miles off the coast of Alaqualendale, to start an artificial reef. Since it coincided with his graduation project, Olwë allowed Fingon to do some odd jobs for the Haven’s project, and he got to stand on the bow of a swan-ship and watch the old ship go down. Now Fingon served on the team that kept a close eye on the reef to chart its progress, the animals it attracted, and to make sure no invasive species were being introduced. Fingon was reviewing Dive Team A’s latest check-up and was scheduled to be a part of the next dive team in about six months. If Coppertop is still with him, and Fingon hopes he is and hopes he isn’t, then he’ll bring the merman some pretty shells, or shark teeth he’s found. 

The work is engaging and keeps him busy until lunch. Lunch on a Friday would be the perfect time to use the labs. Clutching his messenger bag to his chest, he walks quickly down the halls, constantly looking to make sure the coast is clear. It is during this looking around that he runs smack into someone. 

“Sorry!” Fingon yelps, voice far too high to be normal. He clears his throat. “Sorry.” Damn it, that’s too low! For Eru’s sake, Finno, don’t be suspicious! 

“Gwindor?” he questions, blinking several times to make sure he’s seeing things correctly. It is Gwindor, and Fingon's vision goes red. “What are you doing here? Are texts not good enough? Now you have to show up in person? Are you going to come to my house next? I know I messed up with the bathtub and food, but by the Valar, man, this is beyond the pale! Coppertop is perfectly fine!” 

Gwidor’s checks flush, his mouth opening and closing to respond. “I’m here for the interview,” he says, stumbling over the words.

“Oh,” Fingon says, taken aback. “Umm,” he forces a very awkward laugh. “Sorry then.” Now he’s able to take a good look at Gwindor, and he does look different. His messy blond hair has been combed slick back into a low, short pony-tail. Fingon can count the comb marks. Instead of jeans and that jacket that he kept on the entire two days he was at Fingon’s house, he’s dressed in black slacks, a white dress shirt with a starched collar,  and a green velvet suit jacket with golden fleur de lys sewn all over it. It is far too narrow in the shoulders. His shoes are green leather, with golden tassels. Fingon tries and fails to contain his smile. 

“Did you let Finrod dress you?” 

“Finrod offered his help, yes," Gwindor snaps. 

“That was nice of him, but word to the wise, learn how to say 'no' to Finrod Ingoldo Feagund Noldorian, and fast.” 

“He insisted.” Gwindor looked perfectly miserable, and Fingon was quite pleased to see his enemy like that. He looked nervous, too; a thin sheen of sweat was on his forehead. There were a million things Fingon could say that would make it worse and send him running to a new job. He would really like to do that. But, he even just thinking of doing so made Fingon’s stomach churn with guilt. 

“Don’t worry, just mention in the interview that Finrod was involved, and Olwë will understand. He’s quite familiar with my cousin.” 

“Olwe liked the jacket. He had one like this when he was young.”

Fingon lost all respect for his boss. He tries to picture pale, stoic Olwë dressing like Finrod does and starts choking on his smoothed laughter. 

“I’ve already had the interview,” Gwindor continued. “He said he would let me know next week.” 

“Oh,” Fingon’s smile froze on his face. Finrod will pay for this. “Good luck,” he says, still grinning like a maniac. 

“Thank you,” Gwindor says the words like they hurt. “How’s Red?” 

“He’s good.” 

He waits for some smart retort, but then he realises Gwindor has to be polite. He’s not hired yet, and it wouldn’t do to snarl at an employee right after an interview. Fingon can say anything he wants, and won’t get yelled at. He probably won’t even get a nasty text. Gwindor has to be on his best behaviour until he hears if he got the job or not. Fingon’s confidence grows. 

“He’s doing really good. He eats regularly and is putting on a bit of weight. He’s eating us out of fruit and bread; those seem to be his favourite foods. He likes,” Fingon cast a glance around, “human food.”  

“Ahh,” Gwindor says, looking pained. Fingon can see his jaw working as he thinks about how best to phrase his question. “You still…It’s best…If I may recommend keeping fish in his diet…”. 

Fingon gives his best you’re an idiot look. “Of course he eats fish. I’m just saying, he also really likes human food. So, maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea I had, feeding him some. And, no more panic attacks.” The more he talks about Coppertop, the happier he feels. “He likes floating with me, I’m teaching him to paint, and he gets so excited when I come home from work.” He wants Gwindor to know that Coppertop likes him, that Fingon is good for Coppertop. “He actually let me draw blood, and it didn’t faze him at all. I’m on my way to run some tests…Anything I should know?” 

Gwindor thinks. “I know they ran tests before, but I wasn’t told the results. Make sure he’s clean, though. He liked to inject Red with different things. Some of it would kill a person, but Red’s a lot heartier than a human.” 

“I don’t suppose you have the names of what he was injected with?” 

Gwindor shakes his head, and Fingon sighs. “Alright, I’ll see what I can do. You'd better text Finrod and let him know how the interview went.” 

They part, and, miracle of miracles, the lab is clear. Fingon runs several tests, comparing the numbers to those of a dolphin’s and a human's. So long as Coppertop is between that range, he’s going to call it good. Coppertop is, and there aren’t any traces of poison or drugs lingering in his system.. He’ll plan to check once more before sending Coppertop home. 

Headed back to his office, he runs into Carfamaew. “Hiya, Cara,”. The young man’s face splits into a big grin. 

“Heyo Finno! How’s work?” 

“Well, it’s Frid--” 

“It’s Friday! Are you going to come with us to the pub? Come on, it’s been forever since you’ve gone. Beleg and Mablung are going to be there. Say you’ll come with us. Please? We miss you.” 

Fingon wants to. He misses his friends. But, he has Coppertop to consider. 

“I can’t this time.” He wishes he didn't feel as disappointed as Carfamaew looks.

_____

Fingon will be home in a few hours. If Maedhros wants to sleep, he should do it now. Then, he’ll have a guarantee of escaping from the nightmares. Fingon will come home and call “Coppertop” and his voice will pull Maedhros back to reality.

Every time he closes his eyes, he’s back on Angband. Mostly, he’s reliving Mairon’s experiments, but sometimes the nightmares take darker turns, and he has to watch Mairon put his family or Fingon to torment. Ocasinoally, he’ll dream of his family is watching, trying to help help but unable. In the worst dreams, they cheer Mairon on.

Maedhros tries to stay awake as long as possible. It’s a bad idea. The last time brought hallucinations and delirium. He frightened Fingon and he frightened himself, and he swore he wouldn’t put either of them in that situation again. He knows he thinks better when he’s rested, and while Fingon is kind, his world is so foreign Maedhros needs all his wits if he wants to understand. But the thought of sleep sends fear coursing through him. However, he will not be cowed by things he has already overcome. Besides, Fingon will arrive soon and all will be okay.

With great unease, Maedhros tucks himself between the rocks. Before letting himself sleep, he counts his treasures. Maitimë, Idril’s shoe, the diving rings, a fork, one of Fingon’s writing thingambobs, and Pityacarch are accounted for. Six treasures safe and sound, like how he use to count his six brothers when they would camp away from the kingdom. Six all safe and sound and trusting Maedhros to protect them. He counts them again, remembering other things. It’s calming, and will hopefully bring good dreams. 

As always, Mairon took no chances and made Gothmog and Gwindor wrestle the mask onto Maedhros’ face and drag him over to the operating table. Heavy straps go across his chest, hips, halfway down his tail, and a small one right before the fluke, all bolted onto either side of the table to hold him still. 

Maedhros strains against them, but it’s no use. Gwindor squeezes his shoulder before he is ordered to leave the room. 

Please help me, Maedhros begged with his eyes. Since he’d been put in this new, smaller tank, Mairon has taken him out every day.  In the dark, Maedhros heard his shoes clack down the hallway. He only had a minute, but the fear built fast. The overhead light flicks on, blinding Maedhros. “Time to play,” Mairon called. Maedhros has learned those sounds, and they always mean he is going to hurt. 

Gwindor’s face twisted miserably, and he spoke to Mairon sounding despret. He touched Maedhros' shoulder and Maedhros forced down hope. Mairon’s golden eyes lock on the touch. His full lips curled into a snarl, maring his perfect face. Gwindor yanked his hand away while Mairon loomed, speaking angrily. Gothmog chased Gwindor out, and Maedhro’s heart plummeted.

In a routine burned in his memory, Maedhros watched Marion tie his hair into a low, messy bun. Maedhros imagined ripping it out at the roots, Mairon screaming,  and strangling the man with the long locks. Mairon's long, pale fingers ghosted over his shoulder, and he despite holding himself rigid, Maedhros shivered. He tried to make up for it by glaring hard. Mairon sauntered out of sight. The sound of things being pulled out of cabinets worm its way into his ears. Mairon always used this time to speak to Gothmog, before the clack of Mairon’s boots let Maedhros know he’s returning. Maedhros thrashed against the straps. He felt one give slightly, and he strains harder. It will break, Maedhros knows it will. He’s a crown prince; he is stronger than some human contraption. He can break it. 

The strap moved again, but Mairon saw.. “No, no, no-----” he clucked, followed by a bunch of words Maedhros didn’t know. He grinned at Maedhros and tightened the strap. Behind the mask, Maedhros snarled. “Take this off you coward. Then we’ll see what happens.”

As per usual, Mairon fixed something sticky and full of wires on either side of Maedhros’ head. They connected to something behind him that Mairon frequently consulted.  A cloth is wrapped around his bicep, and periodically it beeped and tightened, squeezing his arm then loosened.. Mairon tied a string tightly around the fluke of his tail. 

Within minutes, it grew heavy and painful as the blood flow was stopped. Mairon took notes, nodding appreciatively. He did other things that hurt, methodically hurting Maedhros’ skin with a flickering, orange glow that’s hot. Day’s before, he had frozen Maedhros tank, only taking him out with Maedhros was curled into a tight ball, trembling with cold, and almost blue. Mairon had been particularly interested in his fins, fingers, ears and nose that day. 

The experiments always lasted several hours. Mairon poured water over him so he could continue without stopping to put Maedhros back in his tank. His body itches, and everything hurts. When Mairon drags something along his skin, Maedhros screams and screams.

“Coppertop!” 

Fingon’s cheery voice pierces through the dream, and Maedhros snaps awake. Fingon’s here. He doesn’t feel any less exhausted. If anything, he feels worse, but’s all memories. They can’t hurt him now. It’s ridiculous to be frightened of them. Nothing from his past ever bothered Feanor.

Trying to be like his father, as if that will bring him to Maedhros, he takes a moment to get his breathing and trembling under control.  There’s no need to concern Fingon. When he can breathe, he swims over to Fingon, popping up beside him with an honest smile. “Hey,” he says, basking in Fingon’s look of joy. 

Fingon plops himself on the edge and dangles his feet in the water happily chattering about his day and feeding Maedhros the chewy monsters. It chases away the lingering fear of the dream. Occasionally, he’ll kick water at Maedhros’ face, and then adopt an innocent ‘who me’ expression when Maedhros glares. “You’re ridiculous,” Maedhros tells him fondly, and Fingon laughs.

He comes to the end of his day’s activities and looks at Maedhrros expectantly. He wants Maedhros to talk, to tell him about his day in the pool, show off the gifts he received. Maedhros hasn’t gotten any new treasures though, and there seems little point in describing his day to Fingon. Fingon  leaves the room for hours, like the rest of the family. Maedhros suspects Fingon leaves the house. How can whatever he does out there compare when Maedhros can’t even leave the pool. “It’s all the same,” he hopes he sounds unbothered.  “We eat breakfast together, you leave me and I wait for you to come back, someone brings me lunch, I wait for you to come back, and then you do!” He gives Fingon his best smile. “It’s my favourite part of the day.” 

‘Let’s not talk about it. You’re here now, and we should focus on that.” He points at Fingon, his sign to mean he wants Fingon to do something. “Will you move your feet, please? I want to see you walk.” He ducks underwater and taps Fingon’s ankle. Fingon kicks his feet, to Maedhros’ delight, and then pushes off the edge, walking around the shallow end of the pool, Maedhros almost literally on his heels. 

Watching Fingon walk is something Maedhros will never tire of. It’s amazing. So much goes into it. The muscles flex, and his little toes curl grip the sand. He walks slowly so Maedhros can get the full effect of the heel pulling away from the sand, followed by the toes until Fingon is balancing on only one foot, the other flat and sturdy on the sand. Despite seeing it thousands of times, the fact that Fingon’s legs can move independently of each other, is absolutely fascinating. His legs are so much more flexible than the armoured legs of the crabs. Maedhros pops his head up and nods his head twice--thank you.

It’s only fair to show Fingon something in return. Maedhros racks his brain. There is so little he can do. If he could, he would show Fingon how he can leap out of the water. With enough power, he can get high enough where his whole tail is out, and with an arch of his back, he can slip elegantly back into the water. Maedhros knows Fingon would be impressed by that, but his tail keeps him submerged and boring. Maedhros chews on his lip, thinking. 

While he’s thinking, Fingon jumps out of the water, walking along the edge of the pool. He’s going to check the filter, the rocks and plants, before he leaves for dinner--dinner, that’s perfect. Maedhros dives underwater, making his way towards the deep. He’ll show off his hunting skills. 

Thinking fast, he modifies his usual strategies to account for his hindered tail, missing hand, limited space and hunting alone. But, it’s not like he’s going to eat Fingon. It’s not about catching anything, it’s about looking impressive. For a moment, doubt plagues him. Exactly how impressive can a cripple actually look. He shakes off the thought.

As Fingon flitters from thing to thing, Maedhros stalks him, staying as close to the bottom of the pool as he can, a hairsbreadth away from the sand. His tail is dark enough to blend in with the water, but he still moves around the plants, letting their long leaves help hide him. When Fingon crosses to the other side, Maedhros trails him, moving slowly across the pool. 

Fingon finally realises he is missing. “Coppertop,” he calls, voice distorted by the water. “Coppertop, come----”. 

Maedhros creeps closer, slow enough that he doesn’t disturb the water. He hears Fingon huff and sees him fiddle with the filter, distracted. Perfect. 

Normally, from this distance, one flick of his tail would be more than enough to get him out of the pool. Broken as he is, it takes about three pumps to launch himself out of the pool and up onto the floor beside Fingon. His human likes out a cry of shock, and Maedhros grabs his prey’s ankles. “Caught ya,” he says with a smirk. Fingon’s panting, looking very surprised.

“Imagine that, but far better, and with more mer. My brothers and I used to hunt together, sometimes all seven of us. Celegorm was the best, even if Ambrussar insisted he cheated by using his pet. Celegorm has a leopard seal.  He’s a good seal far better behaved than Celegorm. Celegorm takes him everywhere and has trained him to hunt.. Even without Huan, though, Celegorm’s quite good. Probably the best tracker in the whole pod.” His chest hurts, like someone is crushing it. 

“They, uh, wouldn’t want me now,” he gestures to himself with a self-deprecating chuckle, “but, uh, I wasn’t half-bad before…everything. Although, there was a period of time when Celegorm refused to hunt if I came because he said my hair would give away our location. It doesn’t if you were curious.” He can practically see his brothers swimming before his eyes in tight formation as they go off hunting. The band around his chest tightens painfully. He wishes he could see them. He just wants to go home.

“Coppertop,” Fingon says. He gives Maedhros a searching look before playfully booping his nose and slinging an arm around Maedhros’ shoulders, pulling him to a side hug. He coos something into Maedhros’ hair, soft and comforting. 

Maedhros’ life could be worse. At least he has Fingon, and he likes Fingon.

Fingon pushes him gently into the water, miming swimming. “You want to see it again?” The pressure lessens a bit. Fingon was impressed. “Alright. You’ll have to move around.” He makes a shooing motion at Fingon, who takes a few steps away. Maedhros nods, “Just like that,” and he ducks underwater, stalking Fingon around the pool. 

It’s rather fun, and makes him feel accomplished. Fingon’s whole family has decided to eat dinner with him. It’s not every night, but they do it often enough.When Maedhros hears them coming he ducks underwater. He stalks them, jumping out much the same way he did for Fingon. He lands closest to Fingolfin. The man jumps backwards with a shout, clutching his chest. 

“Fingon!” The man snaps, descending into a scolding lecture. Maedhros purses his lips. “That’s enough,” he commands, as if he were talking to unruly nobles and not his saviour’s father. “Fingon didn’t do anything.”

Fingolfin turns to look at Maedhros, who gives him a pointed look. Fingon laughs with delight and gives him his dinner, adding an extra scoop of blueberries and two pieces of bread. As an extra, unintentional reward, he’s not having fish, but mussels and oysters. Maedhros wiggles appreciatively.

His faux hunting exploits continue, becoming a great source of entertainment for Maedhros. Anyone who entered the pool room was subjected to his whims. He stalked Fingon, Fingolfin, Anairë, and even Idril, who always laughes when he jumpers out of the water and makes funny faces at her.

_____

“Fingon, you must do something about Coppertop,” Finglofin says the moment he arrived home.

“What’s wrong with him?” he asks, kicking off his shoes into the hall closet and hanging up his messenger bag. 

“He’s creepy!” 

Fingon can’t help but laugh at that. Fingolfin is not amused. “I’m serious, Fingon, this has the potential of turning south fast.” 

Of course, at that time, Turgon who comes over every Friday for family dinner, inserts himself into the conversation. “Are we talking about the stalking?” 

“Yes.” 

“Oh good. Put a stop to it, Fingon. He’s doing it to Elenwë and Idril, and if you don’t tell him to knock it off, they won’t visit him.” 

“Come on,” Fingon rolls his eyes. “He’s just having fun. He loves Idril. He’d never hurt her. Nor would he hurt Elenwë” 

Turgon makes a face just like their father. “Really, Fingon? That’s your arguement? You work at a centre, you’ve seen animals turn on their keeper--on their human friends. Coppertop might not be an animal, but he is a creature trapped in captivity. His mind’s a ticking time-bomb, we’ve seen it in the bathtub--”

“That’s not his fault! You’d have done the same thing in his position.” 

“That’s what I’m saying! Merman or human or animal, captivity messes with the brain! This is someone who has lived their entire life in an ocean, he’s had more freedom then he knew what to do with. Now, he’s is a very small pool, bored out of his mind, and interacting on a daily bases with people he has no hope of understanding. I’m not blaming him, I like the big guy. But, let’s be real, he’s sort of our prisoner. He’s already started escalating the hunting thing. Didn’t you say he tried to pull you in?” 

“He is not, our prisoner,” Fingon snarls. “That is an unfair comparison. If anything, he’s a patient in a hospital doing inpatient care until he can go home. And for the love of Eru, he’s not hunting us. He’s just teasing. It’s all a game for him.” 

“It’s not that we’re accusing Coppertop of something malicious,” his father insists calmly before the brothers can start yelling, “nor do we think his mind’s going to snap and he’ll go on a killing rampage. But, as a predatory species, he can’t play those games with us. As someone we don’t understand him, we can’t trust him to play those games with us. I’m not telling you to mistrust him, or get rid of him or anything like that, but all we’re asking is that you tell him to find a different game. Just as a precaution.” 

“I’ll even agree that he thinks it’s a game. Maybe he used to play it with his family. That’s fine, good on him, but it’s not a game we play, and he needs to respect that. Elenwë has expressed concerns about taking Idril around him.” 

Fingon’s anger is still strong. How can he explain that Coppertop’s just showing off? That when he catches Fingon, there is no malice; he eagerly looks at Fingon for praise, and when Coppertop gets it, he’s as happy as a clam. If they could see how the same creature that stalks them wiggles in excitement when Fingon climbs onto the pool floaty, and will snuggle up next to Fingon, then they wouldn’t worry. Still, he has to be diplomatic if he wants to protect Coppertop. 

“Alright, I’ll talk to him.” 

“Thank you.” 

To be fair, Turgon and his father try to make it up to him.  They ask how Coppertop’s getting on, if he’s healing well, if he likes the puzzle Fingon got for him, and how his painting lessons are progressing. 

“Idril wants to have a sleepover with him,” Turgon say. “She keeps trying to get Elenwë and me to leave so she can spend the night with ‘Haru and Haruni and Ariel.’ She has it all worked out, she’s going to sleep on the float. Don’t worry, Elenwë and I are talking her out of it. We’re exploring ‘boundaries’ and  how we can’t play with our friends all day and night. Sometimes our friends need space to hang out with friends their own age.”

“He’d like it if she floats with him though. He loves the floaty. It’s the funniest thing, seeing this massive, sharp toothed, beautiful creature float about the pool like he doesn’t have a care in the world,” Fngolfin says, “He’d share it with Idril. I think Fingon floats around with him sometimes, don’t you? Probably shouldn’t sleep out there. Grandpa doesn’t exactly want to set up camp all night  to make sure she doesn’t fall off and drown, but I bet Coppertop would be happy to push her around on the float during the day. Have you seen him swim? Even with the splints, you’ll be impressed. He’s healing well. Finno, stop pouting.”

Fingon is not pouting, he is contemplating, thank you very much. He doesn’t like Turgon and Fingolfin talking about Coppertop’s likes and what he will do, as if they know him. Based on their reactions to his innocent game, they clearly do not.

A shrill scream scream of "Idril" pull them from their conversation. Turgon races off to the conservatory, Fingolfin and Fingon right behind him. Please let Elenwë and Idril be okay. Please let Coppertop be okay.  

Little Idril is coughing, water streaming down her face, and she clings to her mother. Elenwë, who had never been a strong swimmer, is paddeling frantically. "Help me!" She shrieks. "Get Idril!" 

What happens next only takes about two minutes, but it feels like seconds.

Turgon dives into the water, heading for them. He can't grab both of them, but Elenwë shoves Idril into his arms. Fingon went to dive in to help his sister-in-law, but his father caught him. “Don’t get in! I'll find life persevere. It will be safer to pull her to the edge. I don’t want anyone else getting in that pool.  Where’s the merman? You're job is to find him.”  The bite on Fingon's neck throbs. Coppertop may be friendly, but fear has a habit of turning him deadly and drives sense from his brain. Fingon scans the water for Coppertop. How hard was it to spot that red hair? But the sea plants he had put there obscured his vision. He would tear them out after this. 

Turgon climbs out of the pool, Idril limp and hardly breathing in his arms. “Help Idril,” Elenwë babbles, starting to sink. Fingon sees a dark shape moving toward her. 

“Ahhh!” she shrieked, and Turgon shoved Idril into Fingolfin's arms, leaping back towards Elenwë. 

“It was just his fin,” she says, clinging on to Turgon. They bob dangerously as he gets is baring, and all the while Coppertop circles them. Fingon thinks of orcas toying with their prey before moving in for the kill. “Coppertop, come here,” he screams as loud as he can. He sees the merman’s head turn toward him, then back to the struggling couple. 

“Coppertop, come here, now!”  

The merman disappears, almost like magic, before popping up, right under Fingon’s nose, chirping loudly. “Fuck!” Fingon shouts, falling over. Coppertop laughed and splashed water at Fingon, squeaking happily. 

Fingolfin helped the soggy couple out of the water. “What happened?” He said, while Turgon yanked his wife and daughter close, kissing them and crying. 

“Idril fell into the pool”,  Elenwë pants. Her coughs bend her in half as she tries to hack up water. “She was running, she wanted to go grab some toy to show the merman, and she slipped. I jumped in after her. Then the Coppertop swam over, and tried to grab her.”

“This is what I was talking about,” Turgan snapped, glaring at Coppertop. 

Coppertop looked over at them, taking in the shaking father who had wrapped his daughter in a tight hug, sobbing into her shoulder. He tilts his head contemplating, and then understanding hits him. His glowing, grey eyes widened, and he hunchs his shoulders trying to look small. He squeaks at Idril and Elenwë, moving toward them, only to freeze under the heat of Turgon's withering gaze. He looks up at Fingon, face red in shame. Fingon sighs, giving his shoulder a conciliatory pat. 

“There, there, Coppertop,” he said shakily. “I know you weren’t going to hurt them.” 

“He wasn’t,” Elwenwe coughs. “That was my first thought, too, especially that new tic of his, but when I jumped in, he came over. Idril was almost at the bottom, and he brought her up to me. It was hard to stay afloat, so I accidentally kicked him. He went away. I think he thought we were playing a game, since I didn't let him help. It was an accident though, I didn’t mean to kick him, I was just trying to keep my head above water. He wasn’t going to hurt us, Turvo. If he wanted us dead, he wouldn’t have brought Idril up, and would have been at the bottom of the pool before you even got here.  He was trying to after you took away Idril. That's why he came back, I'm sure of it. But he didn't want to frighten us more.” She's rambling, clutching Idril and Turgon tightly. Her blonde hair is plastered to her head, and she looks very young.

Turgon breaths deeply and levelled a look at Coppertop. Coppertop shrank down until the water was up to his eyes, looking very much like a chastised child. “You’re sure he saved Idril?” 

Elenwë nods. Her blonde hair is plastered to her head, and she’s still shaking. She looks very young.  “Come here, fish,” Turgon says, waving Coppertop over. Coppertop casts a frightened glance at Fingon. “It’s okay,” Fingon makes a shooing motion. “Go to him.” 

Coppertop squares his shoulders and swims over, holding onto the edge when he appears before Turgon. Fingon can see him trembling a bit, though he holds himself well. 

“You,” Turgon growls, “are all sorts of freaky, and just plain weird. You may have Fingon wrapped around your fins, but I know you’re smart and dangerous. But, by all the Valar, am I glad you’re here. You saved my little girl.” He grabs Coppertop’s shoulder, and the merman's eyes go wide. “I may have fixed your pool, but  that’s not enough.I will always owe you a debt. If you need anything, if you want anything, somehow let Fingon know, and I will do anything in my power to get it for you. Thank you, Coppertop, thank you.” 

Turgon looks like he’s going to start crying again, and maybe hug Coppertop, and Fingon can tell his merman is not prepared for that. He still looks like he’s waiting for the axe to fall. 

“Turvo,” Fingon says, as Coppertop tries to duck underwater, held in place only by Turgon’s hand, which he could throw off easily, but is too afraid of frightening the humans to do so. “Tone.” 

“What?” 

“He can’t understand you, kid. He thinks you’re still mad. You have to smile and sound happy or he’ll worry.” 

Turgon gives an earsplitting grin, which almost frightens Coppertop more. His head snaps from Turgon to Fingon, back and forth, trying to make sense.  Elenwë laughs, a little hysterically. “O Elbereth,” She pushes Turgon away and kisses Coppertop’s head. “Thank you for saving our daughter,” she says sweetly, gesturing to Idril, who is in her lap. Idri’s pigtails are drooping with the weight of the water, and she refuses to let go of her mother, but she kisses Coppertop’s cheek. “Thank you, Ariel.” 

“I’m not kissing you,” Turgon says, but he gives Coppertop an awkward, ‘you’re all right’ punch on the shoulder. Coppertop seems to accept that he is forgiven. 

He doesn’t have to tell Coppertop to stop stalking them. After the girls’ near-drowning incident, he stops his game. He does find other ways to show off for Fingon. 

Despite the splints and his wounded arm always tucked close to his chest, Coppertop has grown to be a deft swimmer. Fingon loves watching. He wasn’t fast, Fingon wasn’t sure if that was by choice or necessity, as he had seen dolphins leisurly swim. He uses his upper body a lot, sort of like an orca. It was mesmerising. His back  bows and arches ever so subtly, and the pale, almost silken-like membrane of his fluke fluttered with the movement. He uses his arm to help stir and propel, and Fingon sees the muscle definition starting to come back in the arm and shoulder. He moves weightlesslys, gliding through the water. He twist and turns and will do flips  underwater. Fingon clapped like an idiot the first time he saw, though it was with true enthusiasm. Coppertop swiming is beautiful

_____

Fingon came home from work, and Coppertop was at the end of the pool waiting for him. His parents said Coppertop had gotten to where he knew what time Fingon would be home, and that’s why he was always ready to wait for him. It makes Fingon a little sad. Coppertop has started becoming actively distressed when he leaves for work, bed, or even just to step out to go to the bathroom. As lonely as Fingon has been feeling lately, sometimes it seems that he’s Coppertop’s only friend in the whole world, and Fingon always feels guilty for missing his friends. 

“How’s my favourite fish? Did you miss me?” He meandered over to the rocks. The days were long and warm, and Coppertop liked to sun himself in the evening rays while Fingon told him about his day. Today, Coppertop didn’t follow but swam out to the middle of the pool, beckoning Fingon. 

“C’mere, silly, I can’t go out there.” Coppertop swam a little closer and then darted back out to the middle, looking at Fingon pointedly. He pointed a Fingon, and then with exaggerated motions, swam to him. He looked up at Fingon, eyebrow raised. 

“Do you want me to swim with you?” He stuck a foot in the water, and Coppertop chirped, spinning around. 

“Alright,” Fingon says, feeling a bit giddy. “If that’s what you want. I mean, I don’t see why I can’t. I’ll swim with you. Let me go change.” 

He dashes out, Coppertop squeaking after him, confused and upset. “I’ll be right back!” He yells. He runs up the steps so fast that he trips, banging his knee hard. He’s so excited that he puts his trunks on backwards, and then he’s racing back to the pool.

“See,” he says, breathless. “No time at all.” Coppertop wiggles excitedly when Fingon steps into the water. Coppertop beckoned him, his squeaky whistling impatient. “I’m coming,” he said, walking towards the drop-off. His feet dragged in the sand, sending up little billowing clouds of silt. He froze, toes hanging off the drop. Coppertop was in the middle, treading water, frowning at him, but his eyes were very happy. 

Do it, you coward. He’s not going to hurt you. Trust him. He took a calming breath and swam out towards Coppertop. 

“I’m here, I’m here, quit your whining,” he groussed. Coppertop chirped at him. “You don’t sound very imposing when you make those sounds. They’re very adorable. You’re very cute.” That wasn’t entirely true. Coppertop was very imposing. He was frighteningly beautiful. Fingon admired his teeth, the power in his shoulders, and how stealthily he moved through the water. He looked forward to when the splints would come off. 

“What do you want to do? You’re in charge, you overgrown minnow.” He flicked a bit of water at him. “Hey, do you think I could teach you Marco Polo?” 

Marco Polo went over very well. A little too well. Coppertop caught on quickly, and he swam circles around Fingon. He was also startlingly good at locating Fingon. “Are you using ecolaocation?” 

Coppertop simply closed his eyes and chirped. Fingon dove underwater, trying to get away by Coppertop’s next “Marco.” 

“Polo,” he says, surfacing. Coppertop’s ears twitched, and he cocked his head. Then he sprang at Fingon with frightening accuracy, pulling him underwater, before quickly letting go so Fingon could pop up to the surface. 

Needing a rest, Fingon started swimming over the edge, but Coppertop darted in front of him, blocking the way. “I just need a little break, Coppertop.” He tried to swim around, but Coppetop kept moving. In fact, he was slowly backing Fingon back into the middle of the pool. 

“Coppertop, I’m going to the edge. Get out of my way.” Fingon forced his voice to remain deep and steady, but inside, he was panicking. He tried again, but Coppertop was faster. Fingon's fist shot out, and he tried to deck him across the jaw. Coppertop dodged it, then shot forward and grabbed Fingon. Fingon screamed, fists flying, but Coppertop trilled in his ear and petted his braids. Unable to do anything, Fingon collapsed against Coppertop’s chest. “I know you don’t want to hurt me, Coppertop,” he tried, knowing he wouldn’t be understood, but surely Coppertop could sense something. Coppertop squeaked and started swimming slowly. He twisted, so Fingon was piggyback. He kept up a steady stream of chirps and clicks. He’s trying to comfort me, Fingon realised. He’s not going to kill me, he wants to…play? Take care of me? This close, he could feel the power behind Coppertop’s tail. Coppertop swam him around the pool, then dunked underwater. Fingon clung tighther, and they reached the bottom. Coppertop took Fingon’s hand and used it to beat his shoulder. Then he shot to the top, Fingon gulped in air before back under he went. 

Again, Coppertop took his hand, hit his shoulder and took him back to the surface. They did this twice more before Fingon realised Coppertop wanted him to use it as a signal. This time, he pulled his hand free, let them stay under for a little longer, then tapped Coppertop’s shoulder on his own accord. Immediately, Coppertop brought him to the top.  

“You’re brilliant!” Fingon said. “Why didn’t we do this earlier?” 

Coppertop blows bubble rings for him and swims them through it.  He attempts a flip, off balance with Fingon’s weight and it Fingon laughs so hard underwater, that he gets water up his nose. Coppertop rushes him to the surface, holding him steady until he can breath again. When Fingon caught his breath, Coppertop glared, and based on his tone delivered a very firm scolding. 

“Sorry, Coppertop, won’t do it again. Let’s still play. Please.” Coppertop is convinced, and pulls them both underwater.. 

By the end of the day, they're both exhausted.“We’re going to sleep well tonight, aren’t we, Fishstick?” 

Coppertop follows him to the edge of the pool, watching him go with sad eyes. “Don’t worry, buddy. I’ll be back tomorrow. Promise. We’ll eat breakfast, I’ll go to work, and then I’ll come home and we can swim again.” 

The merman’s face goes blank, and his ears droop. “How about you work on your puzzle? Hmm? Just until you feel sleepy.” The special-ordered waterproof puzzle sits on the opposite side of Coppertop’s sunning rocks, still in the shallows, and is near the paints and canvas Fingon has set up for him to use as well. Coppertop swims over, wiggling in excitement.

“No, I’m going to bed. It’s okay for you to do this without me.” Apparently, it's not okay to do things without him, because Coppertop swims back over to Fingon. Fingon kisses him on the head. “Good night, Coppertop. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

As he heads out the door, he can still see Coppertop at the edge of the pool, watching the door intently, waiting for him to come back.

_____

Days pass, and Fingon comes home, swims with Coppertop, eats dinner, watches Coppertop eat, and then floats with him until bedtime. Even that simple plan is not without its problems. 

“Alright, Coppertop, I’m off to bed.” 

Coppertop squeaked, frowning. His thin fingers wrapped tightly around Fingon’s ankle. He looked up pleadingly. 

“I have to go, buddy. I have work tomorrow.” Coppertop pouted. It was so adorable, and Fingon was very weak. “Alright, five more minutes, and then I have to go to bed.” 

He got back in the water, letting the merman lead him to the deep. Coppertop blew bubble rings, somersaulting through the water, letting Fingon ride on his back. When they surfaced, he chirped constantly, playing with Fingon’s hair, petting his shoulders, doing all of Fingon’s favourite things. It was a clear attempt to entice him to stay. 

“Coppertop,” he said gently, only for the merman to dunk them underwater. Fingon punched his shoulder, harder than necessary, and was brought back to the surface. He let go of Coppertop to tread water on his own. 

“Coppertop,” he stated again, but Coppertop ducked underwater, swimming around Fingon’s feet playfully. He darted to his alcove, coming back with the mechanical shark. He turns it on, watching happily as it swims around the pool.

Fingon sighed and began swimming to the edge. Coppertop swam faster, creating a slight current under the water that pulled Fingon away from his destination. Now properly annoyed, Fingon took a deep breath and went limp, sinking. Coppertop appeared at his shoulder, grinning. Fingon glared at him. No, he hoped he conveyed. We are not playing. He was ignored, as Coppertop darted after his little shark. Fingon took this time to swim toward the shallow. Again, the merman tried to stop him, swimming underneath so his back touched Fingon’s belly, then lifted them to the surface, like a mother whale would sometimes do for her baby. Fingon instinctively wrapped his arms around his neck, and Coppertop trilled happily, chasing after his shark. 

“Coppertop,” Fingon said firmly. Coppertop chirped louder, ignoring him, but with some creative movement, Fingon managed to twist them around so they were face to face. “Stop it. We’re not playing. No, Coppertop, no.” Coppertop’s grey eyes flashed, and he wrinkled his nose. “Now, you can either take me back to the shallows, so I can leave,” he pointed toward the door, “or I will swim back alone, and you can stay here and not say goodbye. What do you want to do?” 

Coppertop looked panicked for a moment before swimming off to his cave. Fingon pursed his lips, deeply hurt, and made his way to the shallow end. It’s not like he knew what you were saying. He doesn’t understand. Coppertop appeared in front of him, showing him his toy. “No Coppertop.” The merman disappeared, then came back with another toy. “We’re not playing. I’m tired.” Coppertop gave up, his long ears drooped, and morosely, he followed Fingon to the shallows. 

“I don’t want to leave on bad terms,” Fingon said, now able to stand. He carded his fingers through Coppertop’s hair. “I promise to hang out with you tomorrow.” 

Coppertop’s fingers were twitching frantically. Then he lunged, wrapping Fingon in a tight hug. 

“Oh!” Fingon squeaked, happily. Coppertop had never instigated physical contact. He hugged Coppertop back. “There’s a good fish.” Coppertop didn’t let go. Fingon’s jaw worked. “Coppertop,” he tried hard to keep the annoyance from his voice. “I know what you’re doing. Let go.” 

The merman buried his face in Fingon’s neck. His fingers twisted against Fingon’s back, nails scarping him slightly. 

“What’s gotten into you? I know you hate goodbyes, but this is….excessive.” Coppertop looked at him with pleading eyes. He whimpered, then buried his face in Fingon’s neck again. Fingon pried him off. Coppertop deflated, sinking to the floor and didn’t move. Fingon had no choice but to leave him there,, but not without promising to return. 

Heart heavy, he showered, brushed his teeth, washed his face and went to the bathroom. As he went to crawl into bed, he just so happened to see the corner of the tarp peaking out from under the bed. He gnawed his lip as the pieces of the puzzle came together. Is all that he’s after sleeping here with me, he wondered. Does he just not want to be alone? It was worth a shot. Maybe if he was allowed to spend the night, it would help with the seperation anxiety during the day.

He placed the tarp on half the bed, raided the closet for pillows and blankets, made a nice nest, then went back to the pool. 

As soon as the door screeched open, Coppertop’s head popped out of the water. Relief spread across his face when he saw Fingon, and he trilled gratefully.

“You do know you’d be far more comfortable here, right?” Fingon said, dunking towels in the pool. Coppertop paled when they were wrapped about his tail. He looked at Fingon, equal parts scared and hopeful. 

He’d remembered to close the bathroom door, but still Coppertop’s breathing grew rapid and short. Fingon tried to move fast and placed him in the bed. “You have to be quiet. My mother would kill us if she knew you were in the bed. She allowed it before because you were so upset about the tub, but now that the pool’s fixed, she expects you to sleep in your own bed, so to speak.”

Coppertop chirped softly, finger pressed against his lips.  Fingon covered him up, changed into dry pyjamas and jumped into bed. “Sleep tight.” Coppertop smiled at him with big blinks, staring at him happily. Fingon closed his eyes, only to open them a moment later. Coppertop was still smiling and staring. With a sigh, Fingon rolled over, closed his eyes and fell into an uneasy sleep with someone staring at him.

When he woke, Coppertop was already awake, if he had even slept, and still staring. “Sleep well?” Fingon knew the answer was probably no. “Here’s our plan. I’m going to put you back in the pool. You can’t come to work with me. I’ll get dressed, and then I’ll come eat breakfast with you. Sound good?” 

That became their new routine. At night, Fingon wrapped Coppertop’s tail in wet towels, which lasted well through the night, and let him sleep in the bed. It was sweet, and did seem to help. Sharing a bed could be a bit annoying though.

Coppertop chirped and squeeked, poking Fingon. He wiggled around so he could explore the bed. He tried to pull the fitted sheet off the bed, humming in fascination. Fingon groaned and rolled over and put the pillow over his head. “Go to sleep,” he muttered. He felt Coppertop wiggle closer to him, and when he removed the pillow, he jumped; Coppertop’s face was inches from his. 

Coppertop snorted, trying to entice Fingon to play. “I have to go to work tomorrow. I don’t want to be tired. Don’t you ever sleep?” Coppertop looked exhausted. He was so pale, his eyes bruised. Fingon knew he had nightmares from the stint in the bathtub. 

Coppertop wiggled excitedly as Fingon shifted. Fingon pulled him into a tight hug. Coppertop squirmed with a confused chirp. “Nope,” Fingon said, “you’re wiggling privileges are revoked.” Coppertop huffed, but snuggled closer into Fingon with a happy chirp. Fingon held him tighter, resting his chin on his red head. “You are going to sleep tonight,” he said, voice low and gentle. He massaged Coppertop’s scalp, cooing softly. Coppertop tried to bat his hands away, but Fingon ignored him. He breathed deep and slow, trying to entice Coppertop to match his rhythm. He ran his fingers over bruised eyelids; each time, Coppertop was slower to open his eyes. After an hour, Coppertop couldn’t keep fighting and succumbed to sleep, Fingon not too far behind him. 

Coppertop woke them both up, screaming at the top of his lungs. “Calm down, Coppertop, please calm down, you’re okay, you’re okay,” the words spilled from his lips automatically as he tired to get his barrings.  Coppertop glanced around the room widely, before throwing himself off the bed. He hits the floor with a heavy thump and a squeak before he wiggles himself underneath the bed. 

Fingon lies there for a moment, heart hammering instide his chest,  trying to think of the best way to comfort him. Coppertop clearly needs space, so Fingon swings himself upside down, pulls up the dust ruffle, and is met with Coppertop’s pale face and too wide eyes. 

“Are you going to sleep here tonight, Coppertop? You can if you want.” Coppertop cowers, not quite recognising Fingon. Flashes of his day-long panic attack appear before Fingon’s mind. He can’t let it get to that point every again. 

“It might not be very comfortable down there. Hold on.” Fingon grabs Coppertop’s pillows and one of his blankets. He pops back down and smiles. “Here,” he says, placing the soft things in Coppertop’s line of view. “These will make you feel better.” 

Coppertop stares at them, and slowly, his hand creeps forward to pull the pillows and blankets close. “That’s a good boy. Do you want company?” Coppertop burrows under the blanket, not even a bit of red hair showing. 

“Alright, you just stay there, nice and safe. I’ll be up here, and I won’t let anything get you.”  

After that, Coppertop refused to sleep. Fingon won’t force him; he understands. However, Coppertop has decided that if he can’t sleep, then Fingon shouldn’t either. 

Coppertop poked him in the ribs, right as he was about to doze off.  “What now?” Fingon moaned, rolling over so he could glare at Coppertop. The merman smiled sweetly at him and pointed to the book on their nightstand, raising his eyebrow. 

“No. It’s almost one in the morning, and you have already asked five times. No. I know you understand that word. No, Copperotop. No book. No. I have to work tomorrow. You don’t have to sleep; I won’t make you, but you have to let me sleep. So, g’night.” 

He rolled back over. Coppertop started humming, a lively, joyful, loud song, more to himself than anything, and moved about on the bed. Fingon tried to ignore it, but he couldn’t when Coppertop’s tail, bundled in damp towels, hit him in the chest. With a snarl, he flipped on the light. Coppertop wiggled happily and stopped what he was doing. Fingon frowned. Apparently, the merman had decided that now was a great time to work out the mechanics of a bed, and had somehow managed to shift himself around so that his head was at the foot of the bed, and he was trying to take the fitted sheet off. 

“You’ve already tried that before. Stop it,” Fingon hissed. “Come up here now, and lie still and be quiet.” Coppertop rolled his eyes and went back to his investigation. Fingon’s mother insisted Fingon have a dust ruffle on his bed, and Coppertop was halfway off the bed trying to look at it. He lost his balance and tumbled head over tail onto the floor. Fingon smashed his face into a pillow and screamed. Coppertop did not appreciate the delay in rescue and started chirping. For a moment, Fingon thought about leaving him there. It would serve him right. 

Instead, he got out of his nice, warm, soft bed and stomped over. He stared down at the merman, who didn’t look slightly abashed at the trouble he was causing. It made Fingon so angry. 

“Listen here, you annoying shi--fish. I am tired. I spend all day at work, and then I come home and spend the rest of my time caring for you. And even at work, I’m caring for you, because most of my money goes to your toys and your food, and damn-it, you eat a lot. I carry you up and down the stairs, and my arms and back are sore. I quit going to Friday pub nights, so I could care for you. I do everything for you, and I’m not mad about that, but it would be nice if you showed a little appreciation. But you don’t! You won’t let me sleep, but you’re too scared to sleep alone. You never thank me for carrying you everywhere, and you cause problems but don’t seem to care, and I’m so fucking sick of it! For Manwe’s sake, would you, I don’t know, have a little compassion for me?” 

Coppertop looked taken aback at Fingon’s tirade. His nose crinkled, and then he glared at Fingon. “You know what, fuck it. Be that way.” 

He yanked Coppertop up and dropped him on the bed. “I’m sleeping in the guest room.” He flicked off the light and stormed out, making sure to close the door and lock it. The last thing he needed was Coppertop deciding to go for a midnight stroll and frighting his father again.

He got a few hours of sleep and woke up feeling incredibly guilty. When he opened the door to his bedroom, Coppertop was sitting up in bed, arms crossed, glaring. 

“Morning,” Fingon said, about to apologise, when Coppertop started up a barrage of squeeks, chirps, trills, and clicks. How he could make such cute noises sound haughty, Fingon wasn’t sure, but it probably had something to do with how high in the air he had his nose. 

The anger came flooding back. “I had every right to leave,” he shouted over Coppertop. Coppertop got louder, too. “No. Shut up! You’ve been super annoying for days now. I have to sleep, so I can go to work, which I do in part for your ungrateful ass! It’s not wrong for me to want to be able to fucking sleep in peace at night!” 

He and Coppertop scream at each other, which of course brought an audience. Fingolfin, Anairë, and Argon stood in the hallway, staring. 

“Lover quarrel?” Argon asked cheekily. Fingon buried his face in his hands. 

“Don’t you need to get ready for school?”   Anairë asks her younger son firmly. “You do,” she said without waiting for an answer. “So get to it.” 

“I miss all the fun stuff,” Argon huffed and disappeared back into his room. 

“Darling, is everything okay?” 

“Coppertop’s so annoying,” Fingon said angrily. “He won’t let me sleep. I do everything for him, and won’t let me have this one thing.” He wonders if he sounds petulant. He feels petulant. 

“Darling, maybe he needs his own bed. Wouldn’t you both be happier if he stayed in the pool?” 

“No,” Fingon said miserably. “He doesn’t like to sleep alone. He has nightmares, and he sleeps better if someone is there for him. I shouldn’t have left him last night. I just wish…I don’t know, he doesn’t seem to care about me.  And I know that’s mean to think, but…

“Oh, baby, no, it’s okay. Of course he cares about you. Sometimes you just need a break, especially when you’ve only been surrounding yourself with one person. You have to take care of yourself.” 

“But he has it so much worse than I do.” 

“And we will help him, I promise, darling. But you need to let go a bit. Coppertop doesn’t need to be your whole world. It’s not healthy for either of you. Here’s what I want you to do: go to your Friday night pub crawl.” 

“It’s just one pub, Amme,” 

“Well, go to it. See your friends. You haven’t seen them since Coppertop came. Your father and I will take good care of your friend tonight. Maybe watch a movie--” 

“He’s scared of movies.” 

“Then will find something he likes to do. Then tomorrow, I want you to do something out of the house.” 

“It seems awfully unfair to leave him here.” 

“It’s more unfair to him to spend so much time with him that you start to hate him.” 

“I don’t hate him, I’m just annoyed.” 

“I think a little time apart will do you good. Now, you get ready for work, and your father will put him in the pool. And Finno, dear, the next time you’re mad at your friend, try to refrain from shouting the ‘f’ word. Thank you.” 

Coppertop eyed them warily as they entered. Fingolfin hoisted him over his shoulder like a potato bag, and Coppertop let out a very undignified squawk. Fingolfin patted him on the tail. “My word, you’re a long thing, aren’t ya?” Coppertop looked at Fingon with confusion, as he was carried out. 

At his mother’s insistence, he ate breakfast with his family, but he did make sure to say goodbye to Coppertop before he left for work. Coppertop was not receptive to this change in schedule and made sure to let Fingon know. It had Fingon looking forward to their reprieve. 

“Listen,” he said gently, when Coppertop had finished. “I know this is confusing for you, and I understand that you’re upset. It must be scary when things change and you can’t figure out why. I know you must be so lost, so I don’t blame you for being upset. 

‘It’s just for today and tomorrow, though. But, Coppertop, you have got to change your attitude.” He cringed. That sounded too patronising. “But Coppertop, you have got to stop being so annoying.” That sounded too mean. I statements, a little voice sang in his mind.

“Coppertop, I get annoyed with your new bedroom habbits. I would like it if you stopped. I know, I know, you have it so much worse and I really shouldn’t complain. You’re trapped here all day, you can’t understand us, you’re suffering from the horrors of torture, I don’t begrudge you that. So, I’m not asking for you to kiss the ground I walk on or anything like that. But, if you could just be a little more compassionate and let me sleep, maybe say thank you once in a while, it would really help.” 

Coppertop glared, as if suspecting he was not getting the apology he felt he deserved. The anger rose again, but a single look at Coppertop doused it in compassion. He looked absolutely exhausted. “Fishstick. If you would sleep, if you would let us both sleep, we would get on so much better. Think on it, would you? I don’t want us to fight.” 

He left, glad to have work and looking forward to the night at the pub. Gwindor had gotten the job at The Haven, which wasn’t great. Now, instead of texting, he would find Fingon on his lunch break and demand his Coppertop update. He always seemed distrustful when Fingon said Coppertop was doing well, and always phrased his suggestions for Coppertop’s care as if Fingon were an idiot or worse, was purposely trying to make Coppertop’s life difficult. Fingon had made the mistake of saying Coppertop was struggling to sleep alone, and Gwindor had gone into a long spiel about the quality of Coppertop’s water and even went so far as suggesting that Fingon should get him a pet. “I’ve heard about these emotional support dogs or cats,” he says with great derision. Fingon had also made the mistake of saying that he wished Coppertop could get counselling. That had sent Gwindor into a rage and a very long rampage about how psycho-babble was a waste of time, what would some therapist who spent all day in a nice office with cushy chairs know about Angband? When Fingon mentioned it might help him with the, hopefully momentary, loss of his family, Gwindor was practically forming at the mouth at that. “Those fucking limp dicked shrinks have never lost anyone. How would they be able to help someone get over the loss of their brother, and living on that demon-possessed ship?” Fingon decided against pointing out that Coppertop hadn’t just lost his brother, but also his parents. Clearly, Gwindor had bigger issues at play, and that was for his friend Finrod to fight through. Fingon was already fighting with Coppertop, and throwing Gwindor into the mix would send him to therapy.  Fingon thought they were over the therapy stuff until Gwindor brought up the aquatic version. “What if instead of taunting him with a plastic pool floaty, you took one of the sea turtles here home to him?” 

That idea was nonsensical. The Haven would never let him take home a sea turtle, and even if he wanted to, his parents would have a fit. There was no explaining that to Gwindor, though.

“Fine. If you want him to have a therapy sea-turtle, then you have to pay for its upkeep while it’s at my house.” It was a low blow. Gwindor was in no position to pay for anyone’s upkeep. He could barely pay for his own upkeep. Gwindor had turned red in embarrassment, muttered that he’d keep thinking, and hurried off to mop. 

Fingon massaged his temples. Everything was topsy-turvy. Pragmatic Gwindor had lost his mind, and the normally loving Coppertop was throwing tantrums. Now that he thought of it, Argon, who normally had to be dragged away from the basketball hop by the ear, spent his evenings reading. Next, his parents were going to start fighting, and Aredhel was going to come home meek and mild.

He was relieved to get out of work, and everyone cheered when he showed up. As punishment for bailing on them for so long, he had to buy the first round. 

When he arrived home from the pub, tipsy and happy, his father promised to take him out riding. His parents assured him Coppertop had a decent night. They hadn’t watched a movie, but had put on an old-fashioned radio programme for him, which kept him suitably entertained. Coppertop slept in the guest room that night and wiggled away when Fingon tried to kiss him goodnight. 

“Suit yourself,” Fingon said, and then stumbled to his own bed to cry. 

_____

“Where’s Fingon?” Maedhros asked for the eleventh time that morning. He knew he hadn’t mixed up his days. Today and tomorrow, Fingon was supposed to spend the whole day with him. But instead, he’d eaten a quick and early breakfast with Maedhros and then left with his father. He hadn’t been back.   Anairë  sighed and tossed the ring into the middle of the pool. Maedhros ignored it. 

“No Fingon,” she said simply. 

“Why?” 

She didn’t understand and didn’t respond. Maedhros felt himself growing desperate. Where was Fingon? Fingon was supposed to be here. Why had Fingon abandoned him? The irrational part of his brain said that Fingon had gotten in contact with Maedhros’ family, and after swapping stories, decided Maedhros simply wasn’t worth it anymore. After all, his family didn’t rescue him from Angband, and Fingon wasn’t here like he was supposed to be. 

“I want Fingon,” he told   Anairë  . A more horrible thought than abandonment fluttered into Maedhros’ mind. Was Fingon sick? Or hurt? And that’s why he hadn’t been spending time with Maedhros. “Is Fingon okay?” 

“No Fingon”. 

“I know that. But why not?” Maedhros ducked underwater, hopping to organise his thoughts. All he could think about was Fingon. He’d broken their routine. He was supposed to be here. Maedhros needed him; missed him. I want Fingon. Fingon, where are you? Are you okay? In the back of his mind, Maedhros knew this wasn’t healthy. He should not be this obsessed with Fingon. They should be allowed to be apart. He found the rings   Anairë   had thrown and placed them on his wrist. 

Is Fingon ever coming back? Surely he will. If something were wrong with him, surely   Anairë   would be upset. 

He swam up to her and presented the rings. She smiled. “Where’s Fingon?” Her smile fled, and she threw her hands up with a big sigh and an eyeroll. 

“No Fingon.” She went on a long tirade, but Maedhroscould only stare blankly. She pointed at Maedhros, “Bad.” 

“Me?” He pointed to himself, and she nodded. “Bad. Bad Coppertop.” Maedhros froze, his ears drooped. “Bad? That’s why he’s gone? But how have I been bad?” He let himself sink to the bottom of the pool, thinking. I’ve driven Fingon away. But how? He racked his brain, reviewing. The only thing new in their routine was the swimming, and Maedhros was always careful not to frighten him, making sure he had lots of air. It’d been fun. After weeks of being dragged around by humans, being clumsy and ungraceful, now he was the one holding all the advantages. It was fun letting Fingon ride piggyback, and he’d get so excited and impressed with Maedhros. It had been fun. Surely he hadn’t misunderstood. 

Fingon had also been letting him sleep in the bed. Maedhros felt his heart sink. You idiot! That’s why you’ve driven him away. Dispair stole his breath away. How could you have been such a brat? Poking him, rambling on for half the night, being annoying. For Ulmo’s sake, you were worse than Celegrorm when he was a kid. Of course, Fingon had left. Celegorm had gotten on Maedhros’ nerves after just one day, and Maedhros had been harassing Fingon for several nights. He would never come back now. Maedhros sobbed out apologies to no one. Please let me have another chance. I’ll make it up to him, I swear. 

Fingon didn’t come, but Idril and her parents did. 

“Ariel!” Idril squealed, running across the room. She was dressed in skin-tight, green skin, with ruffles at the top and on her sleeves. On her pudgy arms, she wore the ugliest bracelets Maedhros had ever seen. They were plastic and puffed up, and brightly coloured. The whole get-up was very cute, though, and she flung herself into the pool with a whoop.  

 Elenwë and Turgon stood off to the side, scolding her. They too were dressed strangely, Turgon in similar shorts to Fingon when he went swimming with Maedhros, and  Elenwë wore something sleek and black. Turgon dived it, Idril cheering.  Elenwë slipped into the water in a much more controlled manner, letting out a shout and shivering.

They were a good distraction. Idril demanded rides, and Maedhros swam her around the pool until she was bored. She had funny eyes on today; they were suctioned to her face, and she would put her head underwater. The ugly bracelets kept her floating, but her parents and Maedhros kept a close eye on her. 

The four of them played Marco Polo for a while. Turgon was It, and Madhros watched him, ready to dart out of the way. Idril clung to his back and often gave away their position with her giggling. She only giggled harder when Maedhros would playfully shush her. 

“Marco,” Turgon called, eyes closed. He looked an awful lot like Fingon, Maedhros couldn’t help but think. Fingon really ought to be here. The distress was rising up again.

“Marco!” 

Idril jumped off Maedhros with a happy shriek. Maedhros swam up beside Turgon. “Is Fingon too mad to come back?” 

“Aghh!” Turgon exclaimed, jumping in surprise at Maedhros’ proximity. They were practically nose to nose. Maedhros ignored the outburst. “Just tell me when he’s going to come back. I want to apologise.” 

Turgon scolded him, pushing him an arm's length away. Idril plodded over, squeaking at him. From what Maedhros could infer, she was trying to speak his language. She wasn’t. 

“Ariel,” she asked, lower lip pouting. Turgon and  Elenwë were looking at him strangely, too. Maedhros dragged his hand through his hair, fingers snagging on tangles. He yanked, hard, and started swimming toward the deep end, mumbling about Fingon. 

Idril started crying and was taken away by her parents. Maybe she needed a nap, Maedhros thought. He remembered putting his brothers down for a nap. They were so cute. Sometimes, he could rope Maglor into helping him, and Maglor would sing while Maedhros tucked them in.

Maedhros bumped against the wall of the pool. It had the same effect as banging his head back when he was in the little tub. He did it over and over, the rough texture of the pool wall scraping his face and shoulders, the sharp bang of the impact a welcome relief. 

“Coppertop, come-----”.Fingon? It did look like Fingon. Maedhros hurried to the surface. “Fingon! I’m so sorry! I promise, ohhhh.” It was just Turgon and Elenwë. 

Maedhros made his way over. “Where’s Fingon?” He asked pathetically.  Elenwë patted the spot beside her, and Maedhros clambered up.  Elenwë mopped a small stream of blood off his temple. 

“I want Fingon. I’ll apologise. Please tell him to come back.” Please come back, Fingon. Please. I miss you. I miss swimming with you, and hunting with you all, and don’t you remember all the happy memories we shared? Remember floating? Remember that time we all went south and met Azaghal and his pod? Remember when Huan chewed the hammer Atya made for Amme on their anniversary? She was so mad, and all we could do was laugh. Remember when you taught me how to paint-I’d never done that before. Fingon and his family danced before his eyes. He’d probably never see any of them again. Maedhros started sobbing, chest hurting. 

 Elenwë made an alarmed sound and cupped his face. She cooed at him and patted the spot beside her. Turgon was fluffing up a pillow. He didn’t really want to get out of the pool, but they asked, and maybe he could make it up to Fingon by listening to his brother. Back home, his pod knew the best way to get Maehdros on their side was to do something kind for his brothers. 

The two of them helped him wiggle out of the water.  Elenwë guided him down onto the pillow and covered him with a blanket, and while gently stroking his hair. 

“I don’t want to sleep,” Maedhros insisted. “I want Fingon. Won’t you please tell him I’m sorry?” 

Turgon was sitting in a chair, reading.  Elenwë took out a device from her pocket, Fingon had a similar one, and soft music came filtering out. She took a seat beside Turgon and smiled sweetly at Maedhros. 

He lay his head down on the pillow, face hot, feeling like a child sent to nap time by his mother. The low rumble of  Elenwë and Turgon’s voices was soothing, though. And the music was comforting. The pillow was very soft. Maedhros didn’t mean to, but he fell asleep. 

It was Anairë  who woke him for dinner, and Maedhros felt like he could think again. “Where is Fingon?” He felt calm. He was even able to stay calm when she shook her head. Maedhros slipped back into the pool. He was fill, no longer as exhausted, and was now ready to think through his problems. There was a very strong chance that this change in routine was not going to last forever. Fingon was not the sort to abandon someone in anger. It was extremely likely he just needed a little space. Maedhros himself had needed time away from Maglor sometimes, and Maglor was his best friend. Fingon would return within a day or two. 

The sun had already set when Fingolfin entered the pool. He gave Maedhros a stern look and a stern talking to. Maedhros only understood “good” and “Fingon”. Fingon wanted to see him already? It hadn’t even been a full day. You may have overreacted a bit, he scolded himself. 

“I’ll be good for Fingon,” he promised. Fingolfin scoped him up in the same way as the last few times. It wasn’t horrible, but Maedhros preferred the way Fingon carried him about. Then the world wasn’t upside down. 

Fingolfin took him into Fingon’s room. Fingon came out of the room where the tiny tank was, and for a heart-stopping moment, Maedhros thought he was going back in it. Before he could panic, Fingolfin was placing him not on Fingon’s bed, but on one across the room. It was much smaller, and when he was placed down on it, it moved underneath him. Maedhros' tail hung off of it, but that was to be expected. It happened on Angband, and it made sense that it would happen here, too. Beds and tanks got smaller the worse you behaved. 

There is only one pillow and one blanket. Maedhros realises he has grown rather spoilt, as Fingon had surrounded him with soft, plush pillows. This is good for him. And, the pillow is still very soft and plush. 

Fingolfin shows him how to sit up and look out the window. There’s a big tree, which will mean birds, and Maedhors quite likes to watch the birds. As far as punishments go, this is really very minimal. 

Fingolfin wishes them a good night and leaves. 

“Fingon,” Maedhros called, frantically beckoning him over. As soon as he’s close enough, Maedhros grabs Fingon’s hand, kissing it over and over. “I’m so sorry. I know I was horrible. I’m going to do better. I’ll sleep more, and even when I can’t, I promise I won’t be annoying like I have been.” He keeps kissing his hand until Fingon gently pries it away with a gentle “Coppertop.” 

“I missed you so much. Fingon, you can’t leave me like that. I’m going crazy.” 

Fingon sits down beside him, and the bed bounces with the extra weight. Maedhros is momentarily distracted. He pushes on the mattress. It has much more give than Fingon’s. Fingon cups his chin and forces Maedhros to focus. 

“I’m sorry,” he starts again. “I didn’t mean to upset you. Thank you for coming back for me. I was so worried you hated me. I couldn’t live with myself if you hated me. I think my family hates me; I don’t know.” He’s rambling, and he’ll probably be embarrassed tomorrow, but Fingon can’t understand him, which makes it a little better. And, even though he doesn’t know what Maedhros is saying, he does listen. “It’s all gotten so muddled in my head. I haven’t handled captivity as well as I hoped, and I’m such a failure. I let Amrod get killed, I let myself get captured, I let them torture me, and now I can’t go a few hours away from you without driving myself insane. I keep wondering why they didn’t come from me. Some days, I’m glad they didn’t because the Moringotho and his crew are so much stronger than we are, and they would have been killed or worse, and I would rather never get to see them again if it meant they were safe. But sometimes, and it’s happening more and more often, I’m so angry at them for not saving me. Haru was only on the ship a week before Atya had us attack. But no one ever came for me, and I think that means they don’t want me anymore, and I don’t know what I did!

“Please don’t leave me like they did. I promise, I’m not as selfish as I have been acting lately.” He wants to blame it on being exhausted, that it clouds his judgment, but Feanor and Nerdanel did not raise their sons to make excuses. 

“I’ll try to sleep more. But I’m so scared. They’re there, every night, and I hate being back on that ship, even if it's all in my head. I don’t know what to do!” Maedhros has always been the one his brothers look to for help; he’s never really needed help before, and now that he does, he’s all alone. 

Fingon watches him with kind eyes until Maedhros can’t speak anymore, and he bows his head in shame. “Coppertop,” he says sweetly. He speaks in a comforting tone; it’s soft and firm, and he doesn’t sound angry. Maedhros buries his head in Fingon’s neck. “Please help me,” he whispers. 

Fingon lets him stay like that for as long as Maedhros needs, gently rubbing his back. The only reason Maedhros pulls away is because he hears Fingon yawn. He does look tired. Now is Maedhros’ chance to make it up to him.

“Go lie down,” he says, pointing to the bed. Maedhros lies down on the small, squishy bed. “Get some sleep. All our problems will be here in the morning.” 

Fingon kisses his head. Maedhros smiles. He still loves me. He watches Fingon crawl into bed and turn off the light. He’s facing Maedhros, still wide awake, and that won’t do. Very softly, Maedhros sings a lullaby Maglor had written when Curufin and his wife first had Celebrimbor. It works very well, even with Maedrhos singing, or perhaps Fingon is just exceptionally tired, because he falls asleep by the fourth verse. There are twenty-eight verses in total, along with a chorus every two, and a bridge. Maglor has always been verbose, and Maedhros sings it over and over until the sky turns pink with the morning sun.