(Closed)

[castintoflames]

Who: Maedhros & Finrod
Broadcast: Nope!
Action: On SS Bishop.
When: Slightly backdated to a few days after Maedhros boards the ship.

Avoiding his half-cousin was cowardly and there was little he detested more than cowardice. Thus, after settling into his new, strange quarters, he sought Finrod out.

"Cousin? We have a conversation that is overdue, do we not?" he forced himself to breathe deep and stay calm, yet he dreaded what was to come, "I will tell you the truth no matter how difficult."

No longer would he run from the shadows. If he planned on staying at Maglor's side - and Fëanor's - he needed to be stronger. What had passed could not be changed, but the future was undecided. There was comfort in that.

He was free to be himself again - free of the Oath.

Comments

[castintoflames]

The Atroma could not erase all of his scars. They were too old, however the burns that would have undoubtedly covered him from head to toe had been healed. There wasn't a sign of them. Even the burns on his left hand - from the Silmaril's rejection - were missing. Yet Maedhros knew to his core all of it had happened; it wasn't just a bad dream.

"I'm sorry." his voice was hoarse and he finally looked at Finrod, gaze pained, "Your bravery is known across the land. We mourned you."

None of which would erase the horrors his half-cousin had endured. Licking his dry lips, he shifted and gathered his strength.

"Dior, the son of Beren and Lúthien, inherited one of the Silmarils. We were drawn to him through the Oath. Tyelko convinced me to attack Doriath. It was...a slaughter." but that was not the worst of it for him, "Dior Eluchíl had twin sons. I...do not know what became of them. I searched for them long in the forest. I fear they succumbed to wild beasts."

[faithfulwisdom]

He shook his head.

"Do not be sorry. I knew what I risked when I chose to aid Beren." Which did not mean, of course, that he was not troubled by all that had happened, by all that he had endured. Still, he had gone in with eyes open; the decision was his own and he did not regret it.

The rest of what Maedhros told him, though, struck him like a punch to the gut. For a long moment, he could do little more than stare in stunned horror.

"That Oath. Your damned Oath." There's sorrow in his voice, but also anger- a quiet, seething anger, kept under tight restraint. His hands tighten into fists, knuckles turning white.
"That is not the end, is it?"