When one of the healers brought a platter with food into Curufin's room, she was surprised to find her king there rather than the ill-mannered Fëanorian with his enormous dog. Finrod in his turn was surprised to see what was on the platter. For the attendant there was a bowl of hearty stew and a chunk of bread, for the patient a bowl of light broth. He raised an eyebrow at the healer.

"Does he not need to take medicine along with his food?"

"He does, my king. A tincture was added to the broth."

Checking that, Finrod did taste a hint of characteristic bitterness in the soup. He still wondered though.

"That's not a very efficient way of administering it."

The healer defended herself.

"It's the only way that works. We've honestly tried everything else, but short of his brother forcefully shoving the herbs down his throat and almost throttling him to keep him from retching, there is no other way he'll take the medicine without spitting it out. The taste is very hard to mask."

Finrod was aware that the herbs used in treating fever tasted rather terrible; even with copious amounts of honey or sugar mixed in it, the medicine was still notably bitter. However, a moderately conscious person could generally be convinced to take it for their own good despite the bitterness, and patients who were too far off to reason with tended to not care about the taste. Of course Curufin had to be an unfortunate exception to the last category… He nodded to the nervous healer.

"I understand."

When she left, Finrod set to feeding Curufin. It turned out to be a more difficult task than he had expected though, and when after an hour his cousin had barely eaten even half of the broth, he decided to change his approach. If this was how the medicine had generally been administered it was hardly surprising the fever didn't break; Curufin received only a fraction of the necessary dose... With a plan in mind, Finrod cleared himself a table in the healing halls' apothecary and set to work. After preparing all the necessities for the medicine, he sent someone to the kitchens.

"Please get me a roll of sugar paste. The one the cooks use to decorate pastry for feast days, I know they always keep some on hand. Tell them it's for a medical emergency."

A little later he had an entire bowl of small balls with a core of concentrated medicinal mixture, each wrapped in an even layer of sugar paste. Finrod felt a little proud of the idea. Curufin wouldn't taste a thing of the herbs unless he chewed them, yet he'd still get a high dose of the medication. Now he only had to get his stubborn cousin to swallow them…

… … … … … …

This of course turned out much harder than it looked. Frustrated, Finrod frowned at the barely conscious Fëanorian, who despite his state of diminished awareness still managed to keep him from feeding him the new concoction.

"It's like you know I'm trying to give you medicine. What are you, a ten year old elfling?" He sighed. "Being sick clearly does nothing for your character."

It wasn't an entirely fair assessment, but Finrod would be the first to admit that exasperation did nothing for his character. He quietly observed Curufin. The Fëanorian was deathly pale, the only colour in his face being the feverish blush on his cheeks. His silver grey eyes were glazed and faraway, the light of the trees unnaturally bright in them. His brow was furrowed as if in pain, and he weakly twitched as shivers ran through his body. With a heavy heart, Finrod could see why the healers felt his cousin was a lost cause. Curufinwë Atarinkë had always been a powerful presence, sharp and bright like his father, dominant and authoritative with a treacherous edge. Yet now he looked… breakable. A vulnerable, fragile thing in need of care and protection. It was almost surreal.

Finrod gently smoothed the lines of pain and fear in his cousin's face. He could feel his mind, grasping blindly in the midst of dark fever dreams, lost and frightened. If the fever didn't break, there was little chance of him surviving…

"Your brother will murder me if you die while I knocked him out. I hope you realize that."

Just as he wanted to pull away his hand, Finrod's eye fell on the dish of medicine. Glancing back at Curufin, a sudden, crazy plan formed. He rolled one of the sugar-coated balls between his fingers.

"If your brother ever finds out I tried this he will probably murder me as well, but then at least he can't fault me for not trying everything."

With that, he popped the thing in his own mouth and bent over the Fëanorian, pressing a soft kiss on his lips. Sensually running the tip of his tongue over them, he tried to pry them apart with gentle persuasion. Much to his surprise Curufin quickly yielded to it, warm lips parting with a shuddering sigh. Finrod deepened the kiss in response, the sweetness of the medicine's slowly dissolving sugar coat mingling with the unfamiliar, strangely enticing taste of his cousin. It was a pleasant kiss, warm, slow, and attentive. He almost felt regret when he slyly slipped the drug in Curufin's mouth and broke contact as soon as he swallowed it.

Despite the fevered haze in his eyes, Finrod could swear Curufin gave him the exact same betrayed expression as his brother had. It was almost funny. Almost. The taste of him lingered though, soft and slightly salty on his tongue… and as he licked his lips, some disconcerting part of him really wanted to kiss the Fëanorian again, and properly this time. The king of Nargothrond dazedly shook his head to himself.

"I… probably should not have done that."

He definitely should not have enjoyed it so much…

… … … … … …

The medicine seemed to work, and the rest of the day Curufin slept, his fever relatively under control. That night however, Finrod was drawn from reverie by the sound of panicked, breathless gasps. Terror not his own gripped his mind before he could close himself to it, waking him more effectively than a foghorn next to his ear. In the bed, Curufin was shivering uncontrollably. His eyes were frightfully bright and wide in fear as he fought to breathe, hands clawing wildly at the sheets with every spasm that shot through him. Heat radiated from his skin like a fell miasma. Finrod instantly knew he had no time to lose. Yelling for the healer on night duty to draw a cold bath, he hurriedly stripped his cousin out of the sweat-soaked bedding.

"Breathe, Curvo. Please. You need to breathe."

There was fire in his cousin's mind, scorching flames that devoured him from within. Finrod could feel him scream inside his head, overcome with burning agony. He was so lost in the delirium that his body was suffocating itself, forgetting how to draw breath, forgetting everything except pain and panic…

"You NEED to breathe. Please!"

Before he even realized it, Finrod had drawn the shuddering elf in his arms and mashed their minds together, uncaring of the raging fire. Straining himself, he pulled what he could feel of Curufin close to him, forming a soft, safe cocoon for his cousin's tormented mind. Then, he calmly ordered with all the mental power he could muster,

"Breathe, Curufinwë. Now."

And Curufin breathed, his body obeying the simple command when his conscious mind couldn't. Seeing that the bath was ready, Finrod picked him up and carefully lowered him in the tub, not breaking their mental connection. When Curufin seized up in the icy water and tried to fight against the biting cold, he simply stepped in as well, taking him in a comforting embrace.

"Sssh… Keep breathing. I'm here. There is nothing else. Just breathe."

Finrod gently held him in mind as well as in body, letting the water do its work until the fire in his fëa died down and his skin no longer burned at the touch. The moment his temperature dropped and he broke free of the fiery delirium, a broken sob escaped the Fëanorian.

"F-Find-darato…"

He clung to him, and Finrod didn't have the heart to break the mental contact he so desperately seemed to need. He soothingly stroked Curufin's hair.

"Sssh. I'm here."

Coming out of the water, he wrapped Curufin in a blanket and shed his own sopping robes, uncaring of what the assisting healer might think. Sitting on the bed he cradled his cousin close like a child, letting his dark head rest against his chest while he softly brushed his fingers through his hair.

"You ought to take your medicine again, cousin."

He only got a soft murmur in response as Curufin nestled a little closer, curling up against him. Their minds were closely linked, reassuringly tangled with each other. Finrod knew, in the back of his mind, that this was too intimate a sort of contact for a healer to engage in with a patient, especially a patient not capable of conscious consent. But all the same, he didn't want to end it. When he had carefully probed for mental damage done by the fever, he had found injuries too old and extensive to be caused by merely a week of delirium. Curufin's very being was damaged; the Oath he had taken, the losses he had suffered and the deeds he had done in its name had left grisly scars on his fëa. Finrod tenderly kissed his cousin's head. For all that he abhorred the kinslaying and had suffered on the ice for Fëanor's insanity, he wouldn't deny one so broken a reprieve from his pain. He reached for the medicine dish on the side table.

"I wasn't kidding. We have to keep the fever down or you'll need another impromptu ice bath soon."

This time Curufin swallowed the sugar-wrapped medicine without problems. Finrod hastily suppressed the thought that this was a bit of a pity. Comforting a broken soul was one thing. Having disturbing thoughts about your incapacitated cousin was something entirely else…

… … … … … …

Celebrimbor, who had been woken for fear that Curufin wouldn't make the night, almost thought he was still dreaming when he opened his father's room in the healing halls. Comfortably cuddled up in Finrod's arms was his father, wrapped in a blanket, head resting against the blond's bare chest. The king was singing him a soothing lullaby while carefully working his fingers through his tangled hair. Curufin seemed to be completely relaxed under the tender ministrations, his eyes heavy-lidded and hazed in drowsy content. Finrod in turn was entirely absorbed in the task of combing the knots from his cousin's humid tresses, a small smile playing on his lips as he sang. It was an odd scene for sure, but also oddly… affectionate. Celebrimbor felt he was too much before he even set foot in the room. Before either of them noticed his presence, he quietly closed the door again. He wasn't sure what it was he had seen, but it sure as hell was none of his business.

Outside the healing halls, he unexpectedly ran into Orodreth, whose sudden appearance scared the living death out of him. He almost screamed when the lithe blond stepped out of a shadowy nook. His fright went entirely past the perpetrator though, who kindly nodded his head at him in greeting.

"Tyelperinquar. I heard about your father."

Celebrimbor smiled a little shakily.

"Ah, yes… It seems the healers were mistaken. I'm quite certain he will live."

Orodreth quietly nodded again.

"You must be glad."

Elves were all relatively light on their feet, but Angrod's son had a particular gift for creeping up on people. This generally by accident, for although the beautiful ellon was silent and so unobtrusive he could have been invisible, he didn't seem to have a sneaky bone in his body. In the dark he was more than a little scary though.

"Yes, of course."

Celebrimbor wasn't sure what to think of him. Orodreth had neither the steel of his father nor the fire of his closest uncle; with his delicate, feminine features and tranquil mannerisms he wasn't the slightest bit warlike. He was the sort of man his father tended to scoff at. But in the council meetings, Celebrimbor had observed that Orodreth was not the fool many took him for. He knew very well when he was being slyly mocked, passed by in decisions or done injustice. He probably knew much more than any of the more outspoken councilmembers suspected. And yet… he never defended himself and simply allowed everyone to walk over him. It was rather mystifying. The fair-haired lord gave him a small, polite nod, breaking him from his thoughts.

"I will leave you to your business. Good night, Tyelperinquar."

His voice was even, but there was sadness in his eyes. Celebrimbor wasn't sure why he spoke up.

"Wait. Please. I… I could use some company tonight. If you don't mind." Orodreth turned back, a raised eyebrow marring the impassive beauty of his face. Nervously, the young smith added, "And please call me Tyelpë. Everyone does."

The inquiring look eased away and turned to a slight, barely noticeable smile.

"You are free to join me. Do you enjoy the library, Tyelpë?"

Celebrimbor wasn't sure what he was agreeing to when he followed Orodreth to the great library halls of Nargothrond. But it was the middle of the night, and for whatever reason, he didn't want to be alone right now.

… … … … … …

Finrod held Curufin in his arms until the fever was down to manageable levels and he was sure there would be no relapse. By then the Fëanorian's whole mind was heavy with sleep, barely holding on to a scrap of awareness. From the way he dazedly smiled, Finrod guessed it wasn't a bad state to be in. He pensively caressed his cousin's face. Tiredness had smoothed out the sharpness of his features; there was no glint of calculation in his eyes now, no streak of arrogance in his expression. He looked almost... innocent, like this. Younger than his years. His likeness to Fëanor was undiminished though. Finrod hesitated for a moment, his fingers lingering in the tender touch. Curufin was the very image of his father, but he was also unmistakably himself. There was something in his features that was wholly Curufin and no one else. It was clear enough to him… yet somehow he didn't think many people saw it. The thought made him inexplicably sad.

With a sigh, Finrod started to mentally dislodge himself. It was bad enough that he had made and deepened so intimate a connection without permission; the least he could do was not indulge in it. And apart from all the ethical and consent-related issues he had conveniently ignored so far, if he remained this closely tangled with Curufin he was sure to fall asleep as well, and he didn't want to be found half naked in his sick cousin's bed. Never mind that there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for it. People would talk enough as it was.

"Findarato…"

Curufin's mental voice was dreamy and faraway, breaking through the comfortable quiet just when he wanted to let go of his hold on the older elf. He answered cautiously.

"I'm here."

"Please… stay."

It was nothing short of a plea. Finrod sighed again.

"Of course."

Though he mentally let go as soon as the Fëanorian was too fast asleep to notice, and properly redressed at the first hints of sunrise, he stayed by his side until the sun was well up. Then he relinquished his role to a very curious looking Celebrimbor, and dignifiedly walked back to his own quarters with nary a word. And if anyone wondered why his robes were wet and had a suspiciously dog-bite shaped rip, they didn't ask.

(Author's Apologies)

So, we have the first hints of Finrod/Curufin...

A small thing about Finrod's mind-powers and what the hell he is doing to Curufin. This is important later on. The whole mind-contact thing is normally not done without consent because it's far more intimate than just a mental touch or a shared thought. This is why Finrod doesn't feel entirely okay doing it. The only reason he could do it so easily here is because Curufin was completely terrified and his mental protections were torn to shreds in the fever. (As you may have suspected from the tone of this story, the intimacy thing is really important.)

On a side note, I wish Finrod was my healer. I would make sure to always be very, very reluctant to take my medicine. (Wouldn't we all?) xD

Oh, and also…

Suddenly…

Orodreth!

Like Suddenly Salad, but elvish. I don't know where he came from. I had never written him before, but all of a sudden he was there, popping up out of nowhere in this story like the unintentional creeper he is. Before I knew it I had this headcanon of him where he is beautiful in this really feminine way (which is saying something for an elf), and super unobtrusive, and kind of a doormat to everyone who is more confident and outspoken. Also, he has a really impassive face, a bit like a marble statue, which makes it really hard to tell what he thinks. (Which is why there is doubt among the nobles of Nargothrond whether he actually ever thinks anything.) He's a bit weird. I have no idea what other people's headcanons are for Orodreth -he's generally a bit of an ignored character- so... what do you think?

And of course, Celebrimbor is an awkward. He's almost as unintentonally awkward as Orodreth is unintentionally creepy.

Please review! My coming exam is going to be a nightmare, I can use all encouragement…