faderift | (Deserves it! I daresay he does.)

Entry tags:

{ maedhros }

(Deserves it! I daresay he does.)

WHO: Maedhros & Semi-Open
WHAT: The grumpy Forgemaster is suddenly missing - or, at least, rarely seen. If you do spy him, you are in for a mild surprise.
WHEN: During the second part of the illness plot.
WHERE: Kirkwall - in/near his room or out in the gardens.
NOTES: He's blue - and not just emotionally.

I.

All of his work stopped holding sway over him the moment he looked down and saw that his hands were a pale shade of blue. Maedhros knew, from his conversation with Beleth, that he was likely ill. Quite ill, in fact. Yet, until this moment, it hadn't seemed to matter. Fear made his chest clench and he dropped his tools without any regard to where they fell. In the next moment, he had left the Forge, cloaking himself as best as he was able.

He needed to find his family. He needed to...

Not be seen. Eru knew his vanity was nearly nonexistent after the variety of tortures Morgoth had exhibited on his body, but he was blue. As such, he kept to the shadows and cursed each inch of his incredible height. Oh and every strand of his copper hair that had escaped his hood.

His hands shook as he opened doors, searching silently for familiar faces.

Eventually, his will-power would fade and he would bar himself in his room. Even there, he kept himself cloaked. On his door, there was a simple note:

Unwell. Stay away.

II.

Occasionally, he had no choice but to take in some fresh air. Elves were not meant to be cramped indoors and he had never imprisoned himself so. Despite his size, he found a way to slip through a window and into a garden nearby. There, he would sit and let the wind soothe him as much as it could.

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Two days after he locked himself in, there was a knock at the door. Or at least one could call it a knock; it lacked the decisive thud usually associated with the sound.

After a few minutes of being steadily ignored, a voice laced with exhaustion came from the other side. "Maitimo, either let me in or I am going to find that battering ram."

He glowered at the door; he had no desire to answer any knock. His skin had become progressively more blue, clashing abominably with his fiery hair. But there was more to his poor mood than that.

Fingon had been missing. After they had...been together...in the Forge, his cousin had departed abruptly. All Maedhros had were the marks left on his skin.

Until now. He jerked and stood up, knocking over his chair. He strode to the door and unlocked it shakily, readjusting his hood haphazardly.

"...it's open." he turned his back to the barrier, "Finno?"

"Yes."

Fingon's voice had a ragged edge to it, and if Maedhros were to turn around and face him, it would be clear that he was leaning slightly on the wall.

"Meant to come back earlier, but I was exhausted. Just got in." He entered the room slowly, hanging his own cloak on a hook. The skin beneath it was a pale blue, verging on white, but Fingon shrugged it off. He'd already noticed.

The sound of that voice caused him deep concern. He wasn't mad - how could he be? - but he was sickened and scared of how he had acted...and how he looked. Fingon had such a kind impression of him and Maedhros did not want that to change.

He had yet to notice his cousin was similarly afflicted.

"...are you feeling well?" he bit a blue lip, worrying it between his teeth, "There is some ale on the table and some bread if you are hungry."

A sigh. “I haven’t eaten much,” Fingon admits after a moment. “But I’ve not been hungry, either. Perhaps I should eat anyway....”

It’s hard to work up an appetite, though.

“Has there been any word from the healers about progress here? I’ve only been able to keep up with what was said on the crystals.”

"Then you need to eat." he moved away from the firelight and took up his seat by the window, "I have been told that if we subject ourselves to being tested upon, they might be closer to a cure."

The idea clearly unnerved him. Such a situation was his worst nightmare. He had a difficult enough time interacting on a simple basis with others that were not his kin.

His breath caught in his throat as, at last, he glanced at Fingon.

"Your beauty has not changed." and, as strange as it seemed, he meant every word.

"You do fuss so," Fingon sighed, his gaze following Maedhros the entire time. Maedhros avoiding fire wasn't so strange these days but there was something odd about this....

"I'll talk to them in the morning, then." Elros was charming and Maglor a bard; once the latter was stopped from wandering distant beaches or however he'd been punishing himself for the past few thousand years, he didn't worry about them not being noticed, or lacking human company. But he would have to speak for Maedhros- should have been speaking for Maedhros, damn it- and so he would.

Fingon's eyes widened as he looked at Maedhros, at the contrast between his warm hair and chilled skin, and on hearing his cousin's words let out a sudden, shocked laugh.

"Ai, Maitimo, you can be ridiculous sometimes." He smiles helplessly and rises to sit beside the window with him.

"I have always liked seeing you in blue, but this wasn't really what I intended."

"You are not invincible." he knew that intimately and he wished he did not. Someone like Fingon should be above injury and illness, but he was probably incredibly biased.

"No -" he jerked, distressed, at the idea of Fingon, Maglor or Elros being used, "We do not know what uses they could find for our blood, Finno. You forget how different we are from these Elves. Some of them prize us."

If his face could have paled, it would have upon having his cousin's full attention. He knew he looked like something that had drowned. Not like Finno...

He looked like a frost king, though Maedhros knew he wouldn't appreciate the comparison.

"Why?" his brow furrowed, "I know it looks horrible." and he felt wretched too.

For a number of reasons.

"Are you leaving me?" the question came out suddenly, unexpectedly and Maedhros tugged his hood back over his head to hide most of his features.

Maedhros is terribly biased, let all the world take note.

"I am aware of that, strange as it may sound," Fingon replied, absently running his fingers though his hair. "And I know there are risks to us in these lands as well. But we do need to speak to these people, and to have some idea of what is going on around us. Talk alone harms no one."

Fingon would rather have laughed off the subject, and joked to hide the discomfort. A frost king was as dead as a drowned man, after all- he had seen corpses enough to prove it.

But that wasn't what was needed right now. "How you look does not much concern me. What caused such a change, though, worries me a great deal. Maitimo-"

He sighed at the question, and reached over to touch Maedhros' cheek. "Oh, sweetheart. That isn't what I intend at all. But there is a conversation we must have, now, and I would rather not speak to a hood. Will you take it off and look at me?"

I.

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I

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II, a friend in the garden (hopefully)

;;

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