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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"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."

He considers the image he paints a success, then. His lips twitch at the snort and he watches Fingon with a calm, loving gaze. There are few he will trust with his hair - especially since, while he was under Morgoth's care, much of it had been hacked off cruelly. But he will let his love cut off a strand or more if he so desires.

"Of course." he lets him rise, head tilting curiously. Absently, he runs his fingers over the strand of hair that has been cut.

"Finno..." his ears pick up the song and he knows what Fingon keeps in the box. He doesn't want to be given anything that is too dear, though they both know he will kill to keep it safe.

Maedhros opens his hands when instructed, a soft smile following the sight of the two perfectly wound locks of raven hair. He encloses them gently with his fingers.

"You have me now." he rises and draws Fingon into a sweet, light kiss, "I love you."

It would be very strange if Fingon were to give him some of the jewels kept safe in the box. Sapphire and diamond would suit Maedhros' coloring well, to be sure; but some of Fingon's jewels were inherited from his father and- well.

Fingon is not entirely sure which of the brothers Finweion would be more bewildered if he were to hand over his father's signet ring to Maedhros, but he is not truly eager to find out.

A lock of hair, though- a gift for a gift, intimate and personal in a way few others could be. A scrap of himself, for Maedhros to keep always.

"I love you too," he murmurs against Maedhros' lips. "I will love you forever."

No. He would insist on Fingon keeping those treasures. The sapphires and diamonds enhance his beloved's beauty far more than his own and they are reminders of family lost. Now the gold and the hair are perfect and already his mind is working on ways to incorporate them to his daily outfit.

For now, he tucks them safely into his pocket. The blue of his skin - their skin, rather - is forgotten as he enjoys the simple delight of Fingon's lips.

"Then you have nothing to fear. I will challenge all the dragons of this world and travel its lengths with you. We will leave our mark and I hope that, this time, it is not one bred of negativity and pain."

Fingon gives a small laugh, his eyes alight with merriment.

"Apparently I do have something to fear- that you will get to all the dragons before I do!"

His voice turns more sober, as he considers Maedhros' words more seriously. "No more pain for you, my Maitimo. Not while I have aught to say on the matter."

"You must be swift!" Maedhros buries his face against Fingon's neck, humming deeply, "I will find a blue one for you or maybe one with golden scales..."

How can he feel any pain when in such wonderful company? He endured before because of his Finno and he will endure again just to hear his voice.

"A dragon with my own colors? Ai, love, do you intend me to slay it or to keep it as a pet, as seems the fashion these days?"

He curls securely around Maedhros, keeping his cousin safe in his arms. Ill or not, blue or not, they are together now. And they will never be parted.

"I am open to both options." since they are not Arda dragons! Maedhros will likely spoil any dragon that reminds him of Fingon - though it feels wrong to say so!

"As long as it doesn't breathe fire." he relaxes into those warm, strong arms, placing lazy kisses against his cousin's neck.

It would certainly be a disconcerting sight, all things considered.

"I don't think you need worry about that," he promises, "If I ever tame a dragon, I will ensure that it is very well mannered."

But it's silly to wonder about dragons now, or even the sickness that threatens them. This is a moment for them.

"You would not have it otherwise." as wild as they can be, he knows Fingon can establish order. If Maedhros did not know before this that he is ridiculously head-over-heels for his sweet cousin, this would prove it.

Dragons. As pets.

Only for Fingon.

"How are you feeling?" he won't let them hide from the illness for too long.

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(Deserves it! I daresay he does.)

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