1. Harvest Dance
Arakáno - the Quenya name of Argon, the fourth child of Fingolfin. Not in The Silmarillion at all and dies virtually upon the arrival of the Noldor in Middle-earth. Without much canon to go on, I have felt free to give him similar looks and personality to his older brother and sister, Fingon and Aredhel, as presented in my "Maitimo and Findekáno" story arc.
Amrod - the youngest of Fëanor's sons; Amrod is the Sindarin version of Pityo the short form of Pityafinwë. I refer to him here as Pityafinwë/Pityo, which is appropriate to the time and place. (His twin Amros, only talked about in this piece, I call Telvo, short for Telufinwë.)
Pulsing torches lined the forest glade. The harvest festival, held near a farming village just outside of Tirion, throbbed with music, laughter and quick, ancient dances brought from across the Sea. Lanterns strung overhead swayed in the light wind making the shadows move. Last days of summer idleness, back to lessons and the forge . . . Pityafinwë thought, wistful for only a moment. Won't do to let my thoughts go in that sort of maudlin direction. I should see him here tonight with any luck. He released a snort of a laugh at himself and his nascent sentimentality.
A warm hand closed around his upper arm. "Ah, Pityo, you are one of the few people I know who can stand all alone at the edge of a crowd and laugh at your own jokes."
"And you, Arakáno, are one of the few who sneak up behind me at festive gatherings for the sole purpose of entertaining yourself at my expense."
"But you are always amusing, sweet cousin. Where is your brother?" Arakáno's warm breath upon his neck sent a frisson of goosebumps across Pityafinwë's shoulders and down his back.
"Telvo? Oh, he found a hapless local girl--I meant a fortunate local girl--who is eager to keep him company. Want a drink?" Pityafinwë turned to lock onto those motivating pale blue eyes and extend a small container toward Arakáno.
"Don't mind if I do. Although, I have been warned. Curious to know if this pig slop is as harsh as I have heard." Arakáno brought the flask up under his nose and sniffed cautiously. "You and Telvo actually make this stuff?" Never short on raw nerve, he tilted his head back and took a long, deep swallow.
Pityafinwë watched him, delighted and appalled, utterly unable to control his grin. He really ought to learn to listen to warnings.
"Eru! Varda's frigid nipples, Pityo! What is this poison?"
"Just a little something to loosen you up." As though either of us ever needed that.
"Hmmm," Arakáno replied, opening his mouth to accept a hot but tender kiss, as his long black hair fell over his cousin's half-bared chest.
"These rustics do know how to celebrate, but I still think we should find a quieter spot," Pityafinwë whispered.
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.