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)
voidtreckerexpress2019-10-27 10:00 am
castintoflames) wrote in voidtreckerexpress2019-10-27 10:00 am
Entry tags:
[Closed]
Who: Maedhros, Fëanor & Tony.
What: Mae is getting a much needed gift.
Where: Tony's cabin? Maybe? I will change if necessary.
When: Day 29
The note he had received would have put him on edge coming from just about anyone else (save his family). Fëanor being included in the missive definitely helped further ease his misgivings and Maedhros prepared himself as best as he was able. He had been eating better (thanks to certain threats about being force fed), so he looked less like a wraith, however there was simply nothing he could do about his scars. As it stood, mirrors were no longer friends of his.
Ten or so minutes later, he walked into the cabin indicated on the note, his right arm tucked neatly under a cloak.
"You summoned me?"
What: Mae is getting a much needed gift.
Where: Tony's cabin? Maybe? I will change if necessary.
When: Day 29
The note he had received would have put him on edge coming from just about anyone else (save his family). Fëanor being included in the missive definitely helped further ease his misgivings and Maedhros prepared himself as best as he was able. He had been eating better (thanks to certain threats about being force fed), so he looked less like a wraith, however there was simply nothing he could do about his scars. As it stood, mirrors were no longer friends of his.
Ten or so minutes later, he walked into the cabin indicated on the note, his right arm tucked neatly under a cloak.
"You summoned me?"
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"Come inside, Nelyo, we have something for you."
We.
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Either way, when Feanor's eldest comes in, Tony gave him a warm smile. "You're looking less like an elven zombie, Maedhros. It's good to see you. Please, make yourself at home. Care for some coffee?"
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"Don't call my son a zombie, Tony."
Fëanor has spent enough time with Peter to finally get updated on all the possible pop-cultural references. (How can you NOT know what Alien vs Predator is?!! was probably a thing on more than one occasion) To the Universe's detriment, most likely, because he finds them quite funny. He knows what a zombie is. That is not a compliment.
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"No one likes to remain a corpse if they can help it." he feels a strange heat on his cheeks at the warm welcome and he sits down, reaching for one of the cups, "I've never had it. Is it alcoholic?"
Fëanor's outrage strikes him as amusing and...familiar. He has been called far worse than a zombie and he assumes that somehow refers to the dead. Yet having his father defending him feels nice.
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"No, coffee is usually alcohol free. It's like.. tea only with a bitter bean. It can be an acquired taste so if you don't like it, you won't offend me if you don't want to drink it." If nothing else, it was nice to have in one's hand when nervous or feeling out of sorts- but he doesn't mention that aloud. "Feanor and I have been working on something for you. It's what people in my world would call a prosthetic, or a medical replacement for a foot or arm or some other limb that has been severed for whatever reason. In this case, obviously, we made you a hand. There are two pieces to it, the hand and a device that will read your thoughts to move it. It may feel snug at first but we want it to be secure, not painful. Do let me- us- know if we need to do any adjustments. Feanor?"
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He takes the artificial hand from Tony. It turned out surprisingly good even for his impossible standards. Of course, it could have always been better. If only they had access to better materials and equipment. A forge, better steel instead of this reclaimed trash, real crystals for the controlling device...though he was able to force what he had into crystalline structure good enough to function as he wanted so maybe... In the end, all that matters is that it's good, operational. Perfect it is not but working.
As Fëanor approaches Maedhros the tiny metal plates of the controlling device start vibrating recognizing the patterns they were tuned to seek. Too weak still to cause any visible effect but a first sign that the concept itself was right.
"Do you want to try it on or should I help you with it?"
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"I didn't ask... What you made for Kano was more than enough." but Eru help him, he can't hide his interest. He watches the prosthetic and shifts in his seat, blinking up at Fëanor.
"I...will need help."
Securing it at least. He has gotten pretty good at using his teeth, but it's not comfortable and, more often than not, whatever he is securing ends up crooked. Pulling his arm out from under the cloak, he holds it out, revealing that the wound is remarkably clean. Fingon had done a fine job - quick and clean - though of course the agony of it had rendered him unconscious. Elves aren't immune to such things, unfortunately, yet surprisingly few of them lose limbs.
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He stayed back as Feanor helped his son. There wasn't space in this room to offer much else in the way of personal space, but he could at least be a step or two behind the tall men and be uncharacteristically quiet during this awkward part.
Besides, his role here was mostly finished. He would need to make certain everything worked properly but for now, he could let a father do what fathers do.
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It's far from perfect, far from what Fëanor whishes he could make for his son if only he had at least proper materials. But it is a working replacement. It may lack the sense of touch but it would allow Maedhros to grab a cup, hold a book, or even a sword if need be. And Tony was a great help in making it happen. Fëanor is constantly surprised by the sheer breadth of topics this man has at least some knowledge about.
He finishes the adjustments by putting the earpiece where it belongs and moves away.
"Now you can try it," he says. "Just think what you want to do. It should react to your intention."
That's his part. Made using the same principle he used when he made the palantiri recognize their owners. A cruder solution yes, the steel is not crystal so he had to compromise, but it's working and that should be enough.
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With this hand, he might be able to hold a hammer or chisel.
His one bright blue eye follows Fëanor's movements, learning how to secure the hand to his arm. He glances at his father with mild uncertainty before focusing his thoughts on the fingers. Close. Open.
And they do. Wonder conquers the uncertainty and Maedhros lifts the hand closer to his face, examining it, inch by inch.
"I do not know how to thank you...both of you..."
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"You just did," Tony answered, his tone warm and perhaps just a slight bit of emotion peeking through the edges. He tried to get rid of that emotion before either of the elves noticed it by clearing his throat. "Do let me know if anything needs adjusting."
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"Come here," he says and pulls Maedhros into a hug even if it's awkward and not exactly comfortable given how little space is there in the cabin. "You've grown too tall for me to hug you properly," he grumbles ruffling his son's hair even if he has to reach up to do so.
It is nothing less than a miracle to him. Apart from its obvious usefulness, those pieces of expertly crafted metal mean something else. They mean there is hope. Hope that not everything in him is corrupted. That he still can make things that aren't tainted. Not everything he does brings suffering.
This does not erase the past but maybe he has a future now. Whatever it may be. He looks across the room at Tony.
"Thank you."
Hover for translation.
"Merin sa haryalyë alassë nó vanyalyë Ambarello, Atar."
Maedhros doesn't believe that Fëanor should be constantly punished for what occurred on Arda.
"Anar caluva tielyanna." he raises his head slightly to look at Tony, both eyes, the grey and the blue, fixed on the man, "Rare are your talents. Do not forsake them."
Ty!
He gave a warm smile when Feanor spoke to him and soon enough Maedhros was also addressing him. "So long as they help others instead of hurt them from now on, I won't. I promise." He wondered what he might be able to do for Curufin. He'd done two rather large projects for two of the three elven brothers, it seemed unfair. He would have to think about that for a while. He was pretty certain that by doing things for his sons, it was the same as doing these things for Feanor directly. The man was a good father and that was simply how a father thought.
"I've been working on improving my swordplay. If you wish to try out your hand later.. I might go easy on you." He joked.
I sorely need a refresher on my Quenya asap ;)
Fëanor will never cease to be amazed by the faith his eldest still has in him. He didn't think, or hope even, he's ever going to see any of them again. Not before the very foundations of Arda crumble to dust. Even less, that they would want to speak to him.