#tss2020advent7

[elesianne]

Tolkien Secret Santa Advent Calendar Day 7: Massage

A Silmarillion fanfic for @officialtolkiensecretsanta​ Advent Calendar

Summary: Fingon has ridden to Himring in unpleasant winter weather, and Maedhros plans to make him feel better.

Rating: At the upper edge of Teenage. There are references to sex and innuendo, but no actual sex.

Word count: ~780; Read on AO3 here.

'What horrid weather. I don't mind the snow but the wind made it truly unpleasant', Fingon grumbles, striding to the fireplace as soon as he steps into Maedhros's bedchamber. Maedhros can see him shivering again after the walk from Himring's great hall and its roaring fires to the room at the top of a tower.

Maedhros watches with half amusement, half concern, as Fingon lets himself crash onto the chair in front of the fire. Cold weather brings Fingon to bleak moods sometimes.

'I appreciate you making the journey here in the middle of winter', Maedhros says as he pushes the bed-furs and blankets to the foot of the bed and begins gathering the things he needs for his plan for the rest of the evening. Three kinds of oil, a soft towel.

'I missed you. I wanted to spend midwinter with you, even if it is the worst weather for travelling.' Fingon smiles at him over his shoulder, and what can Maedhros do but go kiss him before pulling back to return to his task.

He appears to have misplaced one of the oils. No matter, Fingon will surely not mind not having a selection of scents.

'Come here', he says, and Fingon comes.

'Not that I ever mind an invitation to your bed', he says with a yawn, 'but I must warn you, I am tired and stiff from my first rough ride of the day. The second is unlikely to be the stuff of your daydreams.'

Maedhros gives him a crooked smile. 'You surprised me by coming here before spring. It is more than I dared dream of.'

After another quick but passionate kiss he strips Fingon of his clothes, efficient but for a few lingering touches, a longer one at a new scar.

'Regarding your stiffness', Maedhros says, and rolls his eyes when Fingon snickers, 'I have a plan. Lay down on your front.'

'Certainly. That suits me well today', Fingon says, amiable but with a twinkle in his eyes.

'Are you comfortable?' Maedhros asks when Fingon has lain down, head pillowed on his arms.

'Mm. I would have liked a few more kisses, though.'

'Later', Maedhros promises, moving to sit on top of Fingon's thighs. He reaches for the chamomile oil and pours a generous amount on Fingon's back.

'My dear beloved', Fingon says with bemused, amused patience, 'I would not have thought that we were apart so long that you forgot that you need to take off at least some of your clothes, too, and that the oil goes… elsewhere.'

'Stop craning your neck', Maedhros replies. 'I'm giving you a massage.' He begins, spreading the subtly scented oil on Fingon's back, enjoying the warm expanse of firm muscles under smooth skin under his hand. He gave much better massages when he had two hands but he knows that Fingon still enjoys them.

'Ooh', Fingon groans in realisation and, Maedhros hopes, enjoyment. 'So you're taking care of my stiffness this way.'

'For a start', Maedhros says. He has six brothers. He can make dirty jokes with the best of them.

While Maedhros works his slow way across Fingon's back and thighs and arms, finding little knots of tension everywhere, they talk, updating each other on the more private things that they could not discuss in Maedhros's hall.

As the minutes pass and Fingon's tense muscles loosen one by one, his words grow slow and not twenty minutes later they come to a stop, the last few falling from his lips quiet and blurred.

'We'll talk tomorrow', Maedhros murmurs gently as he presses the heel of his hand to one of the last stubborn knots. 'Just relax, Fingon.'

Fingon mumbles something into the pillow. By the time Maedhros judges his work done, the mumbling has turned into snores.

'Darling', Maedhros says with amusement as he stoppers the vial of oil. He wipes the excess oil from Fingon's skin with the towel and covers him with the softest of the blankets and a warm pelt.

Maedhros goes to feed the fire so that it will keep them warm all night in spite of the icy gale outside, undresses and joins his beloved under the covers.

Fingon rouses when Maedhros lays his head on his shoulder.

'I am sorry that I fell asleep', Fingon mumbles, putting his arm around Maedhros, the weight of it warm and sweet on him as always. 'I didn't mean to divest you of a more shared pleasure.'

Maedhros kisses his shoulder. 'You didn't', he says. 'There'll be time for that kind of pleasure on days to come.'

'Mm.' Fingon turns his nose to Maedhros's hair. 'Yes. What better is there to do in winter, after all?'

*

A/N: Thank you for reading! If you liked this little fic, please feel free to comment/reply and reblog :)

Banner photo by Chelsea Shapouri on Unsplash.

#as always I love reblogs <3 #tss2020advent7 #maedhros #fingon #russingon #tolkien fanfiction #silmarillion fanfiction #my fics

[thorinlandscaping]

Tolkien Secret Santa Advent Calendar Day 7: Yule Log

Ao3

Summary: Frodo closed his eyes and wished as hard as he could; I hope every Yule is like this from now on.

Rating: General audiences; Word count: ~750

A/N: Foreyule is equivalent to December, the 14th of Foreyule would be equivalent to the 8th of December which is when Yule log’s are typically lit. ‘Yuletide’ refers to the season around Yule.

@officialtolkiensecretsanta​

Frodo’s favourite time of the year had always been Yule, and his favourite part had always been the Yule log. Telling and hearing ghost stories around the fire with his parents and playing card games in Brandy Hall, winning and losing in equal measure; he held these memories close to his heart.

He had worried, slightly, over whether his uncle Bilbo would bother with a Yule log, or with Yule altogether. His uncle was notorious in the Shire for being one of the few Hobbits that never celebrated during the Yuletide, and he hadn’t mentioned any plans to change this to Frodo.

But, on the fourteenth day of Foreyule, Frodo returned home for dinner after a long day of fooling around with his friends to find his uncle, too, arriving at Bag End and lugging a large log behind him.

“Ah, Frodo!” uncle Bilbo exclaimed when he saw him, “Do this old Hobbit a favour and help me bring our Yule log in?”

Frodo blinked in surprise- they were going to have a Yule log?- before dashing over to help his uncle with an, “Of course, uncle Bilbo!”, grinning all the while. 

The two hobbits managed to get the log in the fire pit without much hassle, their only struggle being when Frodo nearly tripped over the carpet. 

“There we go, now we just have to light it. Now, let me get out the remains of my last Yule log,” Bilbo said, crouching by the fireplace and grabbing an old, bedraggled looking piece of burnt wood. Frodo was practically jumping in excitement. They were celebrating Yule!

“I’m sure you know I haven’t celebrated Yule in years, since my mother’s death, but I decided this year we could celebrate Yule together. I heard from some of your friends that Yule is your favourite holiday, so I couldn’t just ignore it,” uncle Bilbo said, standing up and dusting his pants off. 

“Thank you uncle! I’m sure it’ll be the best Yule I’ve ever had!” Frodo exclaimed. 

“Well, I’m not sure about all that, but I’ll do my very best to make it a good one. Now, would you like to light the Yule log? Here, here, take this. This was the last Yule log that was burned in Bag End, well, it must have been fifty-five years ago now! My mother found it that year,” Bilbo said, looking slightly wistful but happy nonetheless.

“Uncle Bilbo, thank you so much for this honour,” Frodo said smiling at his uncle.

“Nonsense, nonsense. Come now, enough dilly-dallying. It’s bad luck to leave the Yule log in the hearth unburnt! Light it, my young nephew,” Bilbo said abashedly, waving his hands about as if Frodo had offended him.

Frodo nodded and sat to light the piece of wood his uncle had given him, and then placed it into the fireplace to set the Yule log alight. It didn’t take long for the log to go up in flames and Frodo smiled all the while.

The two hobbits basked in the warmth of the growing flame for a while, a comfortable and relaxed silence settling over them. Frodo tended to the fire as needed, ensuring the Yule log didn’t extinguish itself right at the beginning of the season and giving them bad luck. 

After a while, Bilbo said, “Well then Frodo, now that all this lighting business is over, what would you say to a slice of fruit cake?” 

“What kind of hobbit would I be if I said no to fruit cake?” Frodo exclaimed. Fruit cake was his favourite cake, which his uncle well knew. His uncle laughed.

“Quite right you are, Frodo. I’ll go get us some now,” he chuckled, making his way to the pantry and leaving Frodo to watch the flames lick the log. His uncle returned quickly and handed Frodo a plate which held a (rather large) piece of fruit cake.

“Thank you uncle,” Frodo said for the umpteenth time that day, taking the plate and taking a seat in one of the chairs.

The two hobbits sat around the fire, eating fruit cake and trading laughter and ghost stories they’d heard in their years past. His first Yule in Bag End, Frodo thought, was going to be a good one. 

On the eve of Yule, after a couple weeks of festive tradition with his uncle, Frodo knew exactly what he was going to wish for as he lit the candles using the still-burning Yule log. 

Frodo closed his eyes and wished as hard as he could; I hope every Yule is like this from now on.

fin.

#tss2020advent7 #tolkien #lotr #frodo baggins #bilbo baggins #mywriting