Maedhros Nelyafinwë Maitimo Fëanorian ✧ Russandol (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
castintoflames) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
driftfleet2017-07-14 07:57 pm
castintoflames) wrote in driftfleet2017-07-14 07:57 pm
Entry tags:
(Open)
Who: Maedhros & Open
Broadcast: Fleetwide
Action: Huntress
When: Backdated slightly for gifts.
(Joy and grief are mingled in what he receives. Maedhros has set his focus on others either enjoying what they received or despairing over them. It's easier, isn't it?
A breath before the plunge.
He sets a portrait on a table, shakily touching each face with exceptional tenderness. There is a dark father, a fiery mother and seven sons. Maedhros himself is frozen there embracing two little brothers who share his hair color. They are undeniably twins.
Six births and he remembers all of them. The young bright faces are both beloved and shunned. He rests his chin on his arm, peering at them - making himself do so before he speaks, voice rough.)
These are my brothers...my father...and my mother.
(The clanking of a chain comes next and Maedhros lifts a pair of manacles. Heavy manacles. The sort to hold a strong Elf fast. He says nothing about them, but the fingers of his only remaining hand slide over the metal, remembering.
His last gift is nicer and he drops the manacles in favor of it. It is a crimson tunic with fine golden threading and black accents. It may or may not be the tunic he wears in the portrait.
Nicer, yes, but it causes a pang still.)
My mother made this for me. She wished for me to be a fine prince.
Broadcast: Fleetwide
Action: Huntress
When: Backdated slightly for gifts.
(Joy and grief are mingled in what he receives. Maedhros has set his focus on others either enjoying what they received or despairing over them. It's easier, isn't it?
A breath before the plunge.
He sets a portrait on a table, shakily touching each face with exceptional tenderness. There is a dark father, a fiery mother and seven sons. Maedhros himself is frozen there embracing two little brothers who share his hair color. They are undeniably twins.
Six births and he remembers all of them. The young bright faces are both beloved and shunned. He rests his chin on his arm, peering at them - making himself do so before he speaks, voice rough.)
These are my brothers...my father...and my mother.
(The clanking of a chain comes next and Maedhros lifts a pair of manacles. Heavy manacles. The sort to hold a strong Elf fast. He says nothing about them, but the fingers of his only remaining hand slide over the metal, remembering.
His last gift is nicer and he drops the manacles in favor of it. It is a crimson tunic with fine golden threading and black accents. It may or may not be the tunic he wears in the portrait.
Nicer, yes, but it causes a pang still.)
My mother made this for me. She wished for me to be a fine prince.
action
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(Would have been special.)
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I will remember everything I can for you.
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They need not know it is you, brother.
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: action
I'm... surely not...
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I... how would they even know what I look like!