faderift | (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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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.

(Deserves it! I daresay he does.)

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