Pet Names

“What is Atar doing?” Fingon laughed as he looked at his father, who was pacing the floor. “Really, you would think that he had just found out that Uncle was now King of the Noldor, and not that his third son was just born a few days ago.”

Anairë looked at her son fondly. “Your Atar is just trying to think of a pet name for Argon, much as he did for the three of you.”

As she finished saying that, Aredhel jumped up onto the couch, only to squeal as Fingon caught her and dangled her upside down. When she finally finished laughing, she said, “But Amil, I thought I was the only one Ata had a special name for.”

Anairë shook her head, before laughing as Aredhel started to pout. “But I’m better than they are! They’re old and boys.”

“They used to be little, just like you,” as she heard this, Aredhel shook her head. Fingon and Turgon had always been old in her mind.

Fingon laughed, “Well, Turgon wasn’t just like you. Kid came out huge.” He looked around. “Where is Turgon, by the way? You would think he would at least come home after his own brother was born.”

“He is courting Elenwe, you know that. He promised he would be here at some point tonight.” Fingon snorted as he heard this, causing Anairë to frown at him.

“Half of our cousins have already come to see Argon, and he hasn’t yet.” As he finished, the door opened, revealing that Turgon had finally arrived. When she spotted him, Aredhel immediately dove off the couch to race towards him.

“Brother! You’re back!” She exclaimed, as he kneeled to pick her up and placed her on his shoulders. After Anairë had also hugged Turgon, and forced him to lean over so that she could kiss his cheek, Fingon finally stood up.

“Turgon! How are you?” He said, in a feminine tone. “Did you enjoy your trip to see Elenwe?” At this, he stood on his tiptoes and began to give Turgon a kiss on the mouth, causing Turgon to jump backwards.

“Fingon! What – why – why would you do that?” Turgon sputtered, trying to keep Aredhel from falling off.

Fingon gave an innocent look, complete with puppy dog eyes. “I just thought that with the amount of time you’ve been spending with Elenwe lately, you would miss being greeted like that.”

Turgon blinked several times, as Aredhel giggled, and Anairë shook her head. “Just stay out of my bedroom.”

“Brother! Do you mean to tell me that you and Elenwe have already been in a bedroom together? Is a wedding ceremony no longer needed? Shall I be expecting a niece or nephew in a year’s time?” he said gleefully.

“What? No – Fingon, don’t you dare open that window – no, Fingon if you-” Turgon finally tackled his brother to the floor, just as Fingon was about to start yelling out the window. When he finally had Fingon pinned to the floor (not that it had actually taken that much effort, and Fingon was now lounging there like it was normal to have his brother sitting on top of him), he continued talking. “No, we have not been in a bedroom together; I hope that one day a wedding ceremony with her will be needed; and you will not have a nephew or niece in a year.”

Fingon started to pretend to sob, “I’m sorry, I just thought that my little brother was finally all grown up.”

“Oh, just be quiet.” Turgon said, standing. When he had finished brushing imaginary dust off his clothes, he continued. “So where is Atar?”

Aredhel spoke, from her new resting spot on top of a desk, “Amil says that he’s trying to come up with a pet name for Argon, but pet names are supposed to be for just me, but Fingon said that both of you had them as children too, and he also said that you were a huge baby.”

Turgon blinked as he tried to process everything his sister had just said without a breath. As he did this, Anairë moved towards the door. “I’ll go fetch him, and Argon, if you two will watch your sister.”

“Yes, Amil,” They both said, Fingon adding, “We’ll tell her about our pet names as children, won’t we Pumpkin?”

Anairë left as Turgon began to turn bright red. “Pumpkin? Turgon, why did he call you Pumpkin?” Aredhel piped up.

Turgon refused to answer, shaking his head as he turned even redder. Fingon spoke up, “It was because Turgon was such a big baby that before Amil had him, it looked like she had swallowed a whole pumpkin. And when he was born, he had a single little tuft of hair on top of his head, just like a pumpkin stem.”

“Oh! And what was your name?” Aredhel was now very curious.

“His name was Peanut, because he was a scrawny little thing,” Turgon cut in.

“At least people don’t need a step ladder to kiss me, oh giant one,” Fingon spoke merrily, laughing.

At this, Turgon clutched his fists, “At least I’m not the girl in my relationship.”

Fingon finally lost the smile that he had. “What do you mean by that? Turgon, Aredhel does not need to hear your baseless worries about my conduct, and quite frankly, I’m tired of it.”

“I merely meant that you were so short, that anyone would mistake you for a girl.” Turgon smiled.

“Really? I thought you meant something different.” Fingon made to step closer, and Aredhel was poised to run for their parents, when the door opened and in strode Fingolfin.

“My sons! Poppet! How are you all?” Fingolfin laughed, not noticing the tension between his two oldest sons.

“We’re all fine, Atar. We were just discussing pet names. Have you found one for Argon yet?” Fingon said, breaking his stare off with Turgon.

Fingolfin sighed at this. “No, I’m sure one will come to me eventually. Unless one of you has a suggestion?”

“Pickle,” Aredhel said.

“Why Pickle, Poppet?” Fingolfin said, picking her up and holding her up.

“He tastes funny, like a pickle,” she stated, causing Fingon to break into laughter.

“When did you taste him?” he managed, in between laughs, as Fingolfin and Turgon just looked between the two of them.

“Last night, after he had his bath, I decided to lick him,” she said, as though it was perfectly normal behavior for a girl to lick her baby brother.

“You probably shouldn’t lick him again,” Fingolfin finally said. “And I don’t think Pickle would be a very appropriate name.”

Aredhel sighed, drawing it out as long as she could. “Fine…”

Anairë entered, carrying Argon. “And here we are. Would any of you like to hold him while I get dinner ready?”

Aredhel shook her head, racing out of the room. “I’m going to see if I can jump across the creek!”

“Oh dear, Nolo, could you go after her and stop her? I don’t want her to hit her head on any of the rocks,” as she said this, Fingolfin was already walking out of the room, only pausing to quickly nod.

“I’ll come help you with dinner, Amil,” Turgon said quickly.

She looked at him gratefully, before looking at Fingon, “Do you mind -”

Fingon didn’t even let her finish her sentence, before he cut in, “Of course not! You all go do whatever else needs to be done, and Argon and I will be fine.”

“Thank you!” she said, before leading Turgon into the kitchen.

“It’s just you and me, kid,” Fingon said, looking at his sleeping brother. “If we spiked your hair, we could always call you pineapple, I suppose. But people might think we were strange. Or you can be pipsqueak. I’ve always wanted a little pipsqueak, that’s what Caranthir calls the Ambarussa.”

Fingon rambled on and on, unable to stop himself. For some reason, he had the feeling that he wouldn’t get to spend much time with this sibling. “It’ll be alright, pipsqueak. I mean, we’re all insane, and Uncle is probably going to toss Atar off a bridge one day, or vice versa, but aside from that, it’s good.”