What if I got it wrong?
And no poem or song
Could put right what I got wrong –lyrics, Coldplay, “What If?”
Fingon startled awake sweating, his legs tangled in rough sheets and heavy woolen blankets. The room had taken on a musty air of sleep—from his becoming overheated in a closed room? It must be the damp sheets he thought.
He sniffed at Maedhros, warm but not hot, fresh, sweet, sleeping like the dead. What an expression: like the dead? Their activities the night before had proved him very much alive.
“Hmm,” Maedhros muttered. “You’re awake?”
“I had a dream. I dreamed you stayed with me instead of going to Formenos. Then I realized I was dreaming, but I fell asleep again and dreamed that we both stayed in Tirion after everyone else left.”
“Whoa! And you think I have scary nightmares. Those kinds of dreams are the path to madness.”
“Oh, fuck you!” Fingon said, hitting him with a limp pillow.
“Poor thing! Let’s fix this snarled mess you’ve made of the bed, make it comfortable.” Maedhros shook out the sheet and straightened the blankets over them. Fingon felt loved and cared for. He always did in Himring.
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