driftfleet | (Video: Open)

Entry tags:

(Video: Open)

Who: Maedhros & YOU
Broadcast: Fleet-Wide.
Action: Open to HS Bishop/whoever comes to visit?
When: Evening.

(Frustration is bound to get the better of Maedhros. He does not come from a patient family and the ships offer new obstacles to someone who is missing a hand. Currently, his hair is damp, his pale, freckled skin rosy from a fresh wash.)

Orro, none of this was made for one my size! (He tugs on a shirt that is not exactly the right length. It reveals part of his nearly-emaciated abdomen.)

Does anyone have suggestions? I can barely care for myself in these confines. (And that is...aggravating. Very much so.)

Atar? Toron? Cousin? (This is him waving the white flag for day to day tasks. Either he is going to cut his hair or have to (embarrassingly) ask someone to help him braid it.)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Good~]

Should we not? They should provide better for those they steal from home.

I cannot argue with your logic. (But that is no reason to destroy or make improvements, Atar!)

[...But improvements should be made! At least enough that his baby is properly dressed!]

I would hope not, though I can see why you might at times. [And he can't blame Maedhros, or Maglor for it.]

(He can't argue about being better dressed. This is just...awful and uncomfortable.)

This is not one of those times. (Help, Atar.)

[Not for long!

He smiles.]

And even if it were, I would act no different. [Meaning he's coming either way, Mae. Atar to the rescue!]

(Butterflies flap uselessly in his stomach. He wonders when he will stop being nervous to see Fëanor.

Likely around the time that he lets go of all of his guilt.

Sighing, he grabs a towel and pats down his hair as best as he can, frowning when that creates static electricity.)

[It takes longer than he'd like to navigate to his son's ship, dock, and head for where he knows he'll find Maedhros. But finally he makes it and knocks on the door.

The fact that the Bishop is a pretty ship doesn't help, but does remind him he needs to discuss just that with both his sons, and his nephew. This distance cannot be allowed to continue.]

(He has twisted his hair into a ponytail - with nothing to bind it - by the time Fëanor arrives. At the knock, he answers promptly and gives Fëanor a shy smile.)

Come in. (Stepping back, he invites his father inside.) Can I get you anything?

[He came armed! With brush and ties.

He hopes his sons eventually feel more comfortable around him again, but until then he will do his best to be better than before. To be the father they deserve.]

All I need from you, I already have. I am here to help you.

I am aware, but you would be upset with me if I was a poor host. (His lips twitch at the irony. Once, not very long ago, he did not have the time to worry about such things.)

You look good, Atar. It is enough for me to see you so.

[Fond mirth touches his eyes and he concedes the point. He reaches up to rest a hand on Maedhros' shoulder, coaxing him to take a seat.]

I am well, yonya. Adjusting to life among the stars. [SHINY THINGS TO FIDDLE WITH!] Come, sit, I will brush and braid your hair then we will see about suitable clothes for you.

(He tilts his head as he sits, resting his cheek on the back of Fëanor's hand.)

I do not know if I have any available. A lady is going to take me to a tailor on the planet.

(A tailor who is going to be quite shocked upon seeing him most likely.)

[Fëanor curls an arm around Maedhros in a small embrace, only a little awkward by the position.]

Then I will at least get your hair presentable for you. [As much as he'd rather handle it all himself, he can acknowledge that he's never been the fondest of making clothes.

He starts with ensuring his son's hair is tangle free before setting to braiding.]

A single braid today? [For ease of movement. He can't imagine only having one hand.]

(Awkward or not, the embrace is cherished with a smile. Maedhros's love for Fëanor shines brightly - a flame that refuses to die.)

Thank you. (He hates being vulnerable, but he cannot braid with only one hand. Thus that leaves him with two options: 1.) get help or 2.) cut his hair so it is short and manageable.)

Please. I do not want it to become tangled should I change clothes.

[Pulling himself from everything new there is to learn is, in a way, a large sign that Fëanor loves his sons above all else. Or should. Does.

Just to braid his child's hair? The fact Maedhros still lets him is plenty reason for him to come. He braids as he speaks.]

There is too much distance between us, and us to Kano. I have little attachment with my ship and crew, though they are...adequate. [And Maglor worries him greatly. Both of his sons do.]

I would have us both go to his ship, or he and I come to this one.

(His posture relaxes as he feels the braid and his eyes fall shut. Fëanor's voice is soothing and he gives a little sigh.)

I agree. Kano blames himself for not being here to help me. (Which he finds endearing and silly. However he would feel the same way if their roles were switched.) Adequate? Do not praise them overmuch now!

I like speaking with Findaráto, however Kano is attached to his crew. I would go to him.

[Their hair is important to them! He's glad he can still get Maedhros to relax, even with all that he has learned. Shamelessly, he takes his time in ensuring his son's hair is perfect.]

Then we will go to him. Your cousin will understand. [If any of his nephews or nieces have to be here, at least it's Findarato!

He grins down at the back of Maedhros' head.] The ship needs work, and I have done what time permits. But I have more important things to take care of here. [Family.]

(Maedhros isn't in any hurry. He doesn't often indulge in being cared for, but it is nice to have his father's attention. Fëanor is warm and real and alive. It gives him strength.)

He will and I will visit him as often as he likes. (A pair of blue eyes will peer up at Fëanor, curious and open as a child's. There is innocence yet that has not been touched by the Darkness.)

Can I help you?

If he wishes me to visit, I will as well.

[Gentle fingers stroke Maedhros' forehead before Fëanor leans down to press a kiss there. His son's love and loyalty even now leaves him in awe.]

You do simply by being yourself.

I hope he does. (His eyes drift closed under the affection and he leans back against Fëanor.) I would come to your ship if you asked it of me, but I do not wish for Kano to sacrifice any of his happiness. He has done that for me for far too long.

[Arms slip back around Maedhros and Fëanor rests his check on his son's head. If this is where his son wants him, this is where he will stay.]

I will not ask that of you. I only ask you to help me watch over Kano. And doing so nearby has ever been the fastest and best way to do so.

(He holds onto the arms with his hand, turning his head to press his cheek against Fëanor's chest. The steady thump against his skin is a blessing. Memories of being very small come back to him. How often had he fallen asleep listening to his Atar's heart?

Too many to count.)

I will gladly go to him. I will live with him if he needs it of me. He deserves all I - we - can give.

[Nerdanel had had a time in convincing Fëanor that the forge was not a good place for sleeping babies. In the end though, he'd been more interested in watching his sons sleep (usually on him) than even in his work.

He chuckles warmly.]

I think a single set of rooms for us three would grow crowded, though I would gladly do so. You both deserve all I can give.

(The sons of Fëanor and Nerdanel are comfortable in the forge even if it does not call to them. Maedhros slipped through his mother's grasp more than once to see his dear Atar.)

Unfortunately. (He smiles tiredly.) We have missed you more than words can tell.

[And they had always been welcomed there. Taught little things. Anything, everything, Fëanor had loved teaching his children.

Then, and now, if they still want him to teach them anything. If not, he'll just be there for them, however he can be. Try to undo some of the damage his future self did to his sons' bright flames.]

We will not be parted here. And if all goes as hoped, nor will we be parted on Arda.

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