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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"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?"

The world knew, though they likely only guessed at the extent.

"We are rarities and our blood might..differ...in some key way." Maedhros scowled, his head aching. But he was accustomed to pain - he had lived in it constantly since he was captured by Morgoth's forces. Breathing in deep, he accepted his cousin's reasoning with a small sigh.

"As long as talk does not lead to action." he felt responsible for all of them - as silly as it might seem. He was alive; he could look after them. Except when it came to this damnable illness.

"Oh?" the sound was hollow. Fingon had loved him scarred too, though, hadn't he. A part of Maedhros longed to not be ugly within or without anymore. That desire would never be met. One way or another, he always ended up looking like a corpse.

"Mm?" he tensed and held his breath, his skin hot against Fingon's hand, "...if you wish." because denying Fingon anything was...impossible. He loved him too much. His hands shook as he lowered the hood, his bright hair escaping to fall against his back, his neck and his cheeks. While he openly flinched from any bright light, he did lift his head to focus on his cousin, expression solemn.

"All the more reason to be involved; we will all be in trouble if they develop a cure that cannot work on us."

Fingon gave him a look of sympathy. He knew how much Maedhros cared about protecting his loved ones, would not have wanted him otherwise- and it was always hard to feel helpless. He felt it as well, at times.

That wouldn't stop him from overruling Maedhros, though, if it was his cousin that needed to be protected. What was it that Maedhros himself had said once? A king is he who holds his own?

"We will see if action is needed, and then consider what steps to take," He offered instead. Until they had more information, it was best to neither agree to a move nor rule anything out.

Of course Fingon had loved him scarred- they had not been lovely, true, but they had shown his strength. His resilience in the face of a burden few others could carry. "Does that really surprise you? That I care more for your health that your looks?"

The hood falls, and Fingon's heart clenches at the sight. The last thing Maedhros needs is more weights on his shoulders, and if the issue were less worrisome he would wait. But they have behaved poorly, and this conversation is their punishment.

"The first thing I should say is that I'm sorry. I let my temper get carried away, I made the matter worse than it was, and I hurt you. For all these I apologize."

"I do not wish you to be ill." he spoke softly, sadly. For Fingon, for Kano, he would overcome his fears. They were worth everything to him. His blue gaze rose, briefly, to watch his cousin and then he turned back to the window, nodding.

"The Lady Beleth seems kind and she is trusted by Thranduil." he knew they would likely never be on even ground with the Elven-King, but his opinion held weight. Besides, after speaking to the Lady himself, Maedhros felt she was honest, at least.

He gripped his cloak, the blue on his cheeks intensifying as the blood pooled.

"No, but -"

Eru help him. He wanted to be the bright prince he had once been. The prince that had conquered Fingon's heart. Instead he had behaved like an animal, biting and tasting without much - if any - regard to his beloved's comfort.

Self-hatred wasn't new, but it was getting old. He jerked at the apology, looking perplexed.

"I was the one who made it...painful. I was the one who wanted to take you and mark you." he sighed lowly, "Even now I feel that desire. I always feel it when I am near you. But my love usually tempers it." he shrugged off his cloak, letting it fall over his chair, "You are bruised. I've never done that before."

"I know," Fingon told him, reaching out to twine their fingers. "I have never doubted that."

"Does she?" Fingon had met Beleth Ashara only once, and not as rapidly as Maedhros had upon their arrival. "Do you think she was the one who reported our presence to Thranduil?"

He wasn't going to hold it against her if she was, but neither had he forgotten that other surprise.

He looked at Maedhros sharply. "But what?" The sudden, jerky movement kept him staring at his cousin.

"Maitimo, love, listen to me. If I hadn't wanted you, you would have spent that night nursing a broken nose. That was foolish of us, and destructive, and irresponsible- but don't think I was anywhere I didn't want to be."

It was easy and natural to hold onto Fingon's hand. With their fingers linked, Maedhros could breathe a little deeper.

"She might have been." he did not look overly concerned one way or another, "If she did, she would not have known the consequences of her actions."

Few knew the true effect they would have on the residents of Arda. As much as he would like to keep it that way, he realized this world might push them to reveal their fiercer natures.

"I want to be how I was...when you and I first..." he trailed off, looking away. Cautiously, after a moment, he glanced back at Fingon, a gentle hope in his eyes.

"You wanted me?"

"No, she would not have," he had to acknowledge. "Do you think it petty of me to wish things had been otherwise?"

Part of Fingon still wished the could have kept their identities from others. Stupid to think of now, perhaps. But it might have protected Maedhros more.

"As you were in Aman, you mean?" He sighed, closing his eyes. "You aren't the only one who has changed since then, Maitimo. All we have seen and done... I want you to be safe and well and happy, my love. But I am not the boy I was there, either."

He laughed at the question. "Yes. Of course, I wanted to punch you as well, so you may take that as you will."

"No, love." he whispered, his voice gentle and infinitely affectionate, "But it would not have lasted. You, Kano and Elros could have hidden your identities, perhaps, but me -" he motioned at his hair, "I stand out like a flame."

Nodding, Maedhros looked up at him: "Finno, you are more beautiful."

He admired the ways in which his beloved had changed. He thought him brighter, sweeter, stronger for it.

"I am safe and I feel happier in your company." but he was not well. Neither of them were. "I deserved to be punched. I was behaving monstrously."

Even so, he held what they had done close to his heart.

"So you do, and I would not have you change that." Fingon combed a strand of that red hair back. "How could I? You were the light I saw by."

He laughed at that. Maedhros Feanorion, the dread lord of Himring, a terrible romantic- would anyone who didn't know him well have thought? "More battered, certainly. But I think I know myself more than I did in Aman. And that is something to be said for that."

Though the deaths along the way- Arko and Elenwe and so many others- those still haunted him.

"No one deserves to be punched, silly. You were acting terribly, true, but that didn't make my escalating the situation any better."

He eyed his cousin. "I know Makalaure and Elros approached you as well. Did those meetings end with shouting?"

He nearly went with the same way, but clearly that was exactly the wrong thing to say.

"We could try to dye it?" but he was still insanely tall - though less so - and he possessed - once more - all the beauty Fëanor and Nerdanel had given him. Even with dark hair, he would stand out, forever different from the other Elves of this land.

Who would have known? Fingon must bring it out of him and he was shameless in this pursuit.

"Each mark on your body enhanced your beauty. Do you remember how we used to count your new scars?" a kiss for each one until they felt less tender, "We both have tempers. It's strange... Yours has always entranced me."

Grabbing Fingon's hand, he pulled him towards him, set on drawing him into his lap.

"No, they ended...better. Kano and I managed to sleep and Elros and I took a nice walk." wherein he managed to understand his fosterling better, "I will take up carving again for their ships."

Maedhros received a small glare at that suggestion. "Never," Fingon growled, pinching a few strands possessively between his fingers. "Your hair is too lovely to change, and I will not stand for it."

Fingon did remember, very easily. "I do, and you are still tremendously biased, my fairest one." There was a grin in his voice at that, though it faded with his next words. "You are lovely even in your darkest moods. But I don't want to make a habit of that sort of thing... we could hurt each other so easily."

He settled into Maedhros' lap with a sigh. "I knew enough to guess at that. That's what I mean. I approached the situation in a way I should have known would be unpleasant. But once we were there, I didn't know how to stop it, even when I was yelling at you to calm down."

Letting his eyes fall shut, he added, "That's good. You could always use a few more projects."

He smiled in the face of that glare, touched that Fingon admired the rare hue of his hair. The touch also felt nice and some of his discomfort was eased momentarily.

"I have no desire to hide what I was given." by Nerdanel and by Mahtan. Licking his lips, he temporarily took custody of one of Fingon's hands. First, he kissed the palm; then each finger.

"I am not arguing with you." he was unapologetically biased when it came to his beloved. However he thought, personally, he was far less biased than Fingon presumed. His love simply did not know his own beauty or his own strength.

"Finno, the idea of hurting you sickens me. You know I would not go so far if I was not...under duress." his lips twisted bitterly. Even under duress, he should be stronger.

"I want you always. It burns like a fire within me. I am feverish now, but that is not so different from how I usually am in your company." Maedhros wrapped his arms around Fingon's waist, humming contentedly under his warm weight, "I admit I did not want it to stop. Once I kissed you..." he shuddered, "I love you. I was angry and too damn high off of my accomplishments to see the danger. I apologize for treating you - even for a moment - roughly."

He snorted softly. "Are you saying I'm too idle?"

“Good,” Fingon replied, still a touch possessive.

Maedhros was fooling himself if he thought Fingon had been the only one to admire that rare copper hair. Fingon remembered their youth well enough, when the maidens of Tirion had swooned for his well-shaped and oblivious cousin, and he remembered foo burning with an unspoken jealousy when any seemed interested in intruding on their companionship. But now they were older, and Fingon didn’t need Maedhros’ devoted attention to his hand to know that there was no one who could part them.

Though, admittedly, the feel of Maedhros’ kisses on his palm was pleasant.

“I know you weren’t. Neither of us were ourselves, then, and suppose I could be flattered that I was still enough to drag a Feanorian from his forge. But I don’t want this to become a habit, for either of us. You’re not the only one who acted poorly, and I worry for that as well as for you.”

Fingon rolled his eyes. “You? Never. I’m saying that you need to go outside more, and enjoy yourself.”

"I will not dare cut it, either." he was oblivious to all romantic attention by nature - unless it came from a certain dark beauty. Once Fingon had come of age, Maedhros had been the one swooning, though he had fought the emotions initially.

He had no fight left him anymore. His lips brushed his cousin's knuckles last and he shifted to rest his head against Fingon's shoulder.

"How could you doubt you are more important than any forge?" he looked genuinely hurt by the insinuation, "I am fine." his mouth twisted, "I am in one piece." and he had the love of his life in his arms, "You have nothing to apologize for - what is done is done. The union was pleasurable even if we were misbehaving."

It wasn't hard for him to find a bite mark on Fingon's neck and he sighed, kissing the spot.

"We should venture into the forests one day."

"As you should not." It might be reasonable to cut a lock of Maedhros' hair, for Fingon to keep with him always, but the rest was best kept where it was.

Where he could keep stroking it, for example, as Maedhros' head rested on his shoulder.

"Ai, beloved," he pressed a kiss to the crown of Maedhros' head, "I know you do." Old fears and jealousies, the worry of standing second place in Maedhros' heart to father or brothers or shining jewels- was he still listening to them, of all things? Fingon needed to be rid of those, for both of their sakes.

"We should. This city can be oppressive, and the Gallows particularly so."

"Do you want some of it?" he raised a hand to touch Fingon's chest, "I could curl some in a locket. I worked on a necklace recently and I know how to copy a proper clasp."

The stroking was enjoyed greatly and Maedhros let down all of his guards, closing his eyes. He felt the kiss and smiled, the expression warming the blue of his eyes as he opened them again.

"I want to find a place for us; a place we can go if we feel too stifled." he leaned back and stroked Fingon's cheek, "You have a forgiving heart and I see how you step back to allow me time with Kano and Elros. I think you have always done so. I want to be with you - only you - for a day or two. We sorely need to be as one again."

"That would make me very happy," Fingon murmured. "I should have asked you for something like it before. Then I could have kept you with me always."

He watched Maedhros' limbs slacken, the tension uncurling from them, and a small smile passed over his face. It was good to seem him like this, willing to let himself be vulnerable for a little while. They'd need all their strength later- but that could wait.

"What are you thinking?" he asked, the smile growing brighter as he felt his cousin's touch. "You need them to be you. For that, I can be patient if I must."

"I should have thought of it sooner." Maedhros grinned, "I would have cut myself in half if I could have survived that way. Then one half could have been with you no matter what happened." he pulled his hair over his shoulder and produced a pocket-knife, "Choose the strand you like best, Finno."

It was good to be like this period. While he was thrilled to be alive, he had not missed the stress and tension of existing. Yet Fingon made it easy to bear - he had always had that effect on him.

"A camping trip. We can do some hunting too if you're up for it." he laughed at the wording, kissing those smiling lips tenderly, "You've been patient. I will come back to them."

Now there's a mental image Fingon will be living with for a while: somehow it manages to be hilarious and horrid all at once.

He allows himself one snort, then takes the pocket knife and examines Maedhros' long hair solemnly. The slice is quick and neat, barely noticeable unless one is looking, but at the end he holds a shorn lock in his hair.

And an idea occurs to him.

"Let me get up, he murmurs to Maedhros, "I need something." When he can leave, he heads for the dresser and removes a small box from the second drawer. The wooden box is his own work, intended to keep safe the jewelry he had on him when he exited the Rift-

-And it holds the golden wires, harder and more ornate than his ribbons, that go into the High King's most elaborate hairstyles.

Fingon has his back to Maedhros while he works, but the latter will hear the slight sound of cutting hair and snatches of a song used by the Noldor to work fine bits of metal.

"Open your hands," Fingon requests when he returns, and when Maedhros does he places two locks of hair, each bound by a coiled gold wire.

"I'd like that, Maitimo. I don't mind waiting, so long as I have you in the end."

(Deserves it! I daresay he does.)

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)