driftfleet | Open, Fleetwise, 001

Entry tags:

Open, Fleetwise, 001

Who: Fëanor and YOU!
Broadcast: Fleetwide
Action: HS Marsiva
When: Morning

[A hand reaches out to grasp a mechanical limb before grey eyes even blink open to stare suspiciously. Fëanor feels rested, energized even, despite the most recent long hours spent over the forge's fires working on his masterpiece.]

Who dares...?

[Awareness flickers through him and the elf pauses. He sits up from the bed, though doesn't immediately move to get off, nor release the robot's 'arm'. An impatient hand reaches up and shoves a lock of black hair that had gotten free of the loose braid back behind a pointed ear and he studies the robot a bit more closely.]

Do you have a name? Are you a thinking creature? [A pause and he absently hums, head tilting a little in thought.] I think not in the ways of Arda.

['Bot, be glad he has no tools on him.]

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(He is not keen with technology, especially when stressed. Thus he puts the communicator a short distance away and turns his head.)

You look...young, Atar. Time fools us all by taking us from different...moments. I am over four thousand.

[The frown darkens.]

Do not turn from me.

[His Nelyo wouldn't. His firstborn was always the first he turned to if he needed something done when he was too busy to do it himself.]

I am as I am. There is no other way I can be.

Answer my question, Nelyo. I wish to know.

(He is ashamed of his scars - his burns. But he cannot deny Fëanor anything, truly. Slowly, he turns his head and reveals a face that has withstood torture and healed...as best as it could.)

I am sorry.

(His father needs him. He will need him more. Maedhros will be there for him - unquestioningly.)

There have been battles. I was captured by the Enemy and he did with my body as he pleased.

[His breath hisses out and fingertips touch the screen. Fury flares through him, burning hot and fierce.

Someone had hurt his child.]

...You survived.

[He hopes Maedhros did at least. Words which he intends to imply that is no small feat against any strong enough to catch and hold an elf.

His fingers slowly withdraw to clench in his lap.]

Has he been made to pay for what he did?

(That fury; that rage. He lets himself feel it. They share that flame and it is strange that Maedhros finds comfort in it.

But it is Fëanor. His father.)

Through that, yes. (He chooses his phrasing carefully.) He is one of the Valar. His brother has imprisoned him in the Void. Belatedly.

[Were he a dragon, not an elf, fire would be breathed and leaking from nose and ears. His eyes are pale with his fury and he nearly snarls.

One of the Valar had hurt his son.

A remembered rumor eases the tide of fury back, allowing intelligence to step in.]

The first of them? Melkor? He should have remained there until the end of days. [Yes. Just for what's been done to one elf ~~that he knows about~~. And?]

(There is love in those fierce words and Maedhros's ears color.)

We call him Morgoth for his foul deeds. He has an apprentice too - a Maiar that has been given many monikers for his deeds as well.

(Both of them toyed with him, scarred him, stripped away his grace and dignity. The Maedhros who entered Angband was not the Maedhros who was rescued on an Eagle's back.)

I agree. Many have died because of his deeds.

[Simply put, Fëanor loved his sons with all that he was. He just goes overboard sometimes...

A scoff meets Maedhros' words and he folds his arms against his chest, legs bending comfortably at the knees and crossing, back stiffly straight.]

They deserve no names. I would go to Manwë and tell him to not release that darkness again. [But he can't, can he?]

(His lips twitch into the faintest of smiles.)

He has seen the truth of his brother. (Surely that is enough? Famous last words.) Father, what do you recall? What is your last memory?

[Congrats, Mae! You have mollified your father...a little. Which is A Feat.]

As long as the lesson is not forgotten. [He's watching you, Manwë.]

I have been spending some time in the forge of late. [too much time? naaaaaah.] I am sure I am close to success of my greatest work.

(Fire to temper fire? Who knew that could work?! Though, in Maedhros's case, his words are affectionate - not fiery. There are times he can find his calm in Fëanor's presence.)

Ah... (There is pain and he closes his eyes.) The...Silmarils?

[His gaze softens a little in wonder, followed by an abrupt little grin.]

Is that what they come to be called? [The light vanishes just as quickly when Maedhros' pain comes clear. Puzzled.]

...They have caused you grief. They were meant to bring light and joy...

(He nods, stiffly, unable to meet Fëanor's gaze.)

They were coveted by many. ("By you most of all.") I fear you come to love them more than us.

[That is hard news to swallow. Fëanor frowns.]

I cannot fathom loving any thing more than you.

(Maedhros looks ill as he utters those words.)

They have an effect - a powerful effect on those who come into contact with them. They push all else out of your mind and every sacrifice is...acceptable.

[He hisses, fingers clenching in the sheets of the bed he's still sitting on.]

That should not be. Were they cursed by Morgoth? [Surely they had been, for them to have that effect!]

No. (He will not lie.) They contain the light of the Two Trees. The Valar are drawn to them with the same intensity as the Elves.

You create pure beauty, Atar, and all want it.

[Of course not. Maedhros is perfect. Scars and torture and pain aside, he is perfect.

His son's words stall his fury, his face pales. His son speaks praises, but condemnations at once.

Fëanor lowers his head for a moment, then lifts it back with a stubborn set to his features.]

If I can take back what I learn here, they will never be completed. The fixings will be scattered and never be remade. This is too high a price, even for pure beauty.

(Tears well in his eyes and he sobs brokenly, his legs unable to hold his weight. If it can all be avoided...

His brothers can live. They can be happy. They can grow old together and have family and children of their own.

Fëanor could be a grandfather.)

Please, Atar. I ask you for nothing else. You will be rewarded with your sons' smiles and each time you hold your grandchildren, you will see the Silmarils' beauty in their eyes.

Edited 2016-06-14 03:01 (UTC)

[To see his eldest break so...it stabs him in the heart. Fëanor swallows sharply, refusing to be anything but strong for Maedhros.]

Smiles and the joy of my sons and grandchildren are better than anything else I could possible create. [A hint of a sigh.] I would see you protected, Nelyo. I would see your fire bright again.

(After so much loss and pain, everything within him feels raw. He smiles and his face aches. When will he have comfort? Joy? Is that too much for him to ask?)

Then live with us. Live for us. I will protect you in return. (With all the strength he has left.) I did not think I would see you.

[The smile is the same, if a little painful and emotional around the edges. Time has not been kind to his precious firstborn, and Fëanor now knows it's his fault. He doesn't know all the facts, but he knows enough to painfully accept he was to blame.

But his son still loves him, and that means everything to him.]

I will. If it can be done, it will be.

[He smiles, forcing his fingers to relax with a slow flex.]

When I am free of this ship to travel, I will find you and prove to you that I am real. You will see me as often as you would like.

(There is a smile he loves. Memories of a bright, happy childhood follow that smile. He had laughed and played games with his precious Atar until the sun set. Fëanor had seemed tireless and so full of affection for his sons back then.

Maedhros knows that his father suffered from the Silmarils too. Perhaps he suffered the most. If some part of Fëanor remained sane...

He shudders and gives a soft smile of understanding.)

You alone can achieve it. I do not doubt you.

(Joy outweighs his uncertainty. He wants nothing more than to embrace his father and feel him whole.)

Every day, then.

[The days when Maedhros was so very small had been full of cheerful laughter and much play. The forge hadn't kept Fëanor away for long in those days. Then Nerdanel would become pregnant again and he'd fret and fuss over her, needing his firstborn near most of the time. He wouldn't make the mistake his father had, as much as he loves Finwë fiercely.

Then more babies, and he loves each of them.

He hasn't known the suffering of needing a jewel above all else. But he can see the effect of it on his son's face, and that's enough, now, to tell him he does not want this. And his Maedhros believes in him, and that's a balm to the pain of knowing.]

Then it will be done.

[Ah! Maedhros earns a laugh of delight.]

I will not deny you this!

[If it takes arguing with people until he is sent to Maedhros' ship, he will make it happen.]

(In those days, Maedhros had sensed his father's worry; he had sensed Fëanor needed him. So he had been as brave as any little boy could and, with each birth, he stepped in more and more to make his parents' life easier. (Of course it helped that he adored each and every one of his brothers.)

Yet there had always been time for just him and his Atar. They understood one another and Maedhros loved him fiercely. When the jewels interfered with their lives and Fëanor began to lose his grip on reality, that early, fierce love had kept Maedhros by his side.

And his brothers had followed suit. Love tied them together for the Oath, but then that emotion - so pure and good - had become tainted with madness and pain. Maedhros had enough time to understand where it went wrong and the part he played.

Love had blinded them and they had been too naive to exercise caution. As such, no, he did not believe Fëanor was fully to blame. Thus his love - while battered - had not been taken from him. Of all the Elves in Arda and the Halls of Mandos, Fëanor needed that love the most.)

I will try to remember...who I was...in return.

(He blinks and his smile grows at the laugh.)

Do not deny Kano his fair share. (But his cheeks are pink with contentment.) We are older, but our hearts are unchanged.

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