(But he that sows lies in the end shall not lack of a harvest.)

[castintoflames]

WHO: Maedhros & Open
WHAT: Various prompts~
WHEN: Throughout the month.
WHERE: Kirkwall - Lowtown specifically - and near his Forge.
NOTES: Fëanorian insanity.

Lowtown

Children are drawn to him. Maedhros has fought the truth, knowing how undeserving he is, but eventually, the small souls of Lowtown win. It was inevitable. The twins had been as bull-headed, demanding affection that they richly deserved.

Just not from him.

"Á pusta!" he captures a small, giggling boy around the waist, "Show me what you took." he keeps the child far enough off the ground that all he can do is squirm like an overexcited puppy.

"I took it fair an' square!" the boy pouts up at the towering Elf, his pale face smudged with dirt. Maedhros tuts, pushes down his frustration and sets the child down gently.

"There is nothing fair about theft. If you continue on this path, I promise you a miserable existence." he then tells a tale he knows well.

His own. Three jewels and so many lives ruined. The value of something cannot be assessed by a stranger. Sometimes sentimentality wins out, though in the case of the Silmarils, they were basically priceless to everyone. Even though, now, Maedhros would gladly throw them into a volcano or two.

Without him following after. Old Elves can learn from their past mistakes - and a child can profit from that wisdom. If he listens.

"Do you understand?" he waits until he gets a small nod - and the return of one of his tools - before he lets the boy go. That one reminds him of Elros a little too much.

He will make a fine leader one day. Maybe. So much can interfere and if the boy doesn't make it into adulthood, all possibility is nil. Thus why Maedhros focuses on his work, reinforcing buildings that are in sore need of it and building new structures where materials cannot be strengthened.

Training Area

Every weapon he makes must be tested. Maedhros does not like traveling far for such an endeavor - thus he designates an area by his Forge for that purpose. He even has a wooden dummy that can easily be replaced once it becomes too full of nicks or holes.

On any fine day he can be found - shirtless - copper hair pulled back into a ponytail - sparring against the dummy, moving with a grace that is definitely beyond the scope of Men. He is also, of course, open to train anyone who desires it, but remember he is a tall, muscular Elf who has seen centuries of battles. While he has a rather soft heart in some cases, he can be a downright taskmaster in his domain.

Until he is approached, however, he will continue to test what he makes. The sound of a sword or knife cutting through the air and embedding into wood is strangely comforting for him. If any weapon fails to impress, it will be melted down. However if he is pleased with his work, he immediately fashions a scabbard from leather.

Comments

[mal_adjusted]

"Good because I couldn't if I tried." She stated firmly, even as she stepped forward to take the lighter blade from him. Surprise flashed over her face as she gripped it. "I ... hardly feel it at all. What is this made of?"

[castintoflames]

"It's not what it is composed of, but how it is made." Maedhros smiles somewhat mysteriously, "I learned how to form blades from my father. No one on Middle Earth is his equal."

[mal_adjusted]

"What is ... 'Middle Earth'?" Mal asked, giving the blade a few practice swings, after turning away from him. Just her luck she'd cut him accidentally open with this thing.

[castintoflames]

"The land I Sailed to when I was young." and the land he died on, "Relax your arm; you will have more flexibility if you stay loose." he has taught his share of young Elves and so the comment comes naturally.

[mal_adjusted]

"Ah!" Well considering how long ago THAT was ... she's sort of surprised the place is still around. She loosens her grip, holding it more like she would hold her staff.