So You Can Hold It in Your Mouth for a Minute

by lukesguywalker

Summary:

Sometimes, Fingon doesn’t want the truth. Sometimes Fingon wants only to hear what he wants to hear, and to pretend for a night that everything is as it once was; like their past does not stretch out like a gaping chasm behind them, like their future rising to meet them does not cast shadows over everything it sees.

***

Maedhros does not lie to Fingon, except when Fingon wants him to.

Notes:

Written for SWG’s 7/4/2026 Instadrabble session for the prompt ’Our dried voices when / we whisper together / are quiet and meaningless / as wind in dry grass.’ This fic, like the last one, grew slightly beyond the scope of a drabble. What the fuck ever.

Huge thanks to HewerOfCaves and katyamola for the vibe checks and for helping me make sure that this even made sense! <3

Title is from Ada Limon’s poem Lies About Sea Creatures:

Sometimes, you just want something so hard you have to lie about it, so you can hold it in your mouth for a minute, how real hunger has a taste.

While Maedhros has never made it a habit to lie to Fingon, there are occasions when it is unavoidable.

Sometimes, Fingon doesn’t want the truth. Sometimes Fingon wants only to hear what he wants to hear, and to pretend for a night that everything is as it once was; like their past does not stretch out like a gaping chasm behind them, like their future rising to meet them does not cast shadows over everything it sees.

On those nights, Fingon is wont to say ridiculous things. He’ll say to Maedhros something like, tell me you’ll let me marry you someday, Russo. After the war has been won. Or, what do you think we would be doing right now in the West, if we had never left? Or sometimes— terribly, selfishly— he’ll say, you would do anything for me, right Russandol? Anything I asked? Tell me you’ll do anything for me. Promise it to me.

When Fingon gets like this, Maedhros cannot say any of the things he wishes to say. He could never say something like, we will not win, not without a miracle, and even if we did we could never wed, and it is unspeakably cruel for you to ask me to promise such a thing. He can never say, we are not in the West, and we never will be again, and it is pointless to dwell on false visions of a bliss that can never again be ours. And he especially cannot say awful things like, there is nothing in this world that I would not wish to give you if you asked, but I am bound to my Oath before life, before love, before even you. Even you, Findekáno.

So when Fingon says these things Maedhros can only press him down into the sheets and kiss his mouth, and swear to him that yes, of course you can marry me once the war is won. Come to me the moment the fighting stops. And, perhaps if we were still in the West and nothing terrible had ever happened to us, then in this moment we might be racing on horseback through the rolling fields south of Valmar and laughing together as the wind whips up our hair, or else making love upon the shores of that lake we liked, that hidden one a few leagues beyond the borders of Tirion. And, most unforgivably of all, Maedhros will promise that yes, I will do anything you ask of me, I will give you anything you could ever want. Ask for it and it is yours. Anything, Findekáno. Anything at all.

And Fingon will hold Maedhros close, and he’ll smile his stunning, heartbreaking smile, and they’ll both pretend for the night that he believes him.

Notes:

I'm on tumblr at @gaydhros <3

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 15 of (Insta)drabbling