Fingon seizes him by the elbow.
They duck under the overhanging branches and stand together concealed within the canopy of luxuriant foliage. Sunlight filters through. Fingon looks upwards. A flash of memory, blue as a kingfisher’s wing...
‘Hold still for a moment!’
He plucks a spring-green oak leaf and, with a twist of the wrist, pushes it into Maedhros’s hair below his right ear, precisely in place. Maedhros briefly closes his eyes. He feels Fingon’s grip shift on his arm.
‘Can’t stand the sight of me?’
The warm clasp of strong fingers.
‘You dazzle me.’
Fingon leans in closer.
‘Not everyone likes me as much as you do.’
This time, he says it triumphantly; he glows with the certainty of it. Blue, blue as a kingfisher’s wing...
And Maedhros answers him softly: ‘They don’t.’