voidtreckerexpress | (no subject)

WHO: Maglor and OTA!
WHERE: Coach B
WHEN: Bassoon Day 3, early morning
WHAT: Maglor's singing a rather painful song because certain arrivals have gotten him mopey again.
WARNINGS: See above? Probable mentions of torture, murder, dismemberment, etc...

One of the resident musicians has been having his usual trouble sleeping and has tucked himself away in one of the couches with his harp. Much as he does most mornings before the majority of people are up and about.

Maedhros is here. Alive. Full of regret for not thinking of him when it mattered most.

Curufin is here too, just as full of life as they'd all once been. He's discovered he's not angry with that little brother, but the memories of blood and war still pelt his mind just as fresh as if it had happened yesterday.

Maybe he should keep his silence, but the song he'd composed so his family's dark deeds wouldn't be forgotten East of the Sea begs to be sung again. They'd done too much evil for it to be forgotten or passed off as fantasy.

So his fingers strum over the strings of his harp and he raises his voice in an odd, almost sorrowful, almost light tone.

"Seven sons there were, fell and fair
Bright the light in their grey eyes
Swift their rage against the night
But where now the swift arrow, the bright sword?
Where have they gone, the brave warriors?
They are lost, lost, fallen to shadow
Fallen to flame and madness

"Oh, the blood on the sands, the tears on the ground
Fallen, fallen are they, lost forever
Oh! Fingolfin the mighty, puissant and great,
And Fingon the brave, slain at the gate
Gondolin's walls are broken and Turgon lies slain
Felagund lies silent, his death not in vain
And where are they now, Feanor's sons?
Hands stained forever, oathsworn?" *lyrics come from

bookwormfaith

There is more he sings, but it continues on that vein. Those who hear it will hear the rest as an impression of great grief and sorrow. Of regret.

Maglor won't- can't forget. So why should his family be so spared? He's not angry with his father. Not anymore. Now he's just grateful to see his father (and now younger brother, Curufin) alive and much as they used to be, rather than mad with the terrible Oath they'd sworn.

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But Maedhros is trying, and it starts to help each day Maglor sees him. Still, this morning has him blinking up at the much taller elf as the Noldolante trails off.

Images of the horrible past fade away, back to the memories where they belong.

"...Can't..." he eventually thinks to explain.

He slips into the compartment at last and kneels down beside his brother. He touches his cheek with the back of his fingers, frowning in concern.

"...would it help if I...stayed?"

He shifts to make space for his brother on the table's bench, harp slowly coming to rest, strings still, on his lap. His fingers and the palm of his right hand are once again an angry red, but Maglor doesn't seem to notice enough to care beyond giving the fingers a few stretches.

He leans into the gentle touch, thinking. "Maybe? I never sleep much." Hasn't, for more years than he's bothered to keep track.

"Kano..." he tuts and rises, joining Maglor on the bench. The best he can do for the poor irritated hand is to give it a gentle massage.

"My voice can't match yours, but I remember singing you to sleep after bad dreams." Maedhros had been an attentive big brother, hurrying to his brother's cradle sometimes before he began to cry.

Of course he claims it is simply because his brother is adorable - has been and will always be - but it goes deeper than that. Their connection is like light and shadow.

Maglor doesn't bother trying to keep his hand from Maedhros' grasp. The massage helps ease some of the ache. "It happens sometimes," he says simply.

He shifts to lean against his brother, if only because he can. And because he's missed being able to. "I like your voice," he immediately defends with a faint pout.

Their connection is incomparable. He'd been incomplete without Maedhros to stick to.

"These are angry scars. Anything will irritate them." he is careful with his thumb each time he passes over the old wounds, "I need to find a salve for you."

Or make one. He knows enough about herbs to attempt it. Maedhros flushes at the defense, biting the inside of his cheek.

His next words are sung and his deep voice is like the earth moving or a deep river rushing. He sings of sights that will, mentally, call his dear brother home. No more wandering. No more loneliness.

"You can look," he just doubts it'll help all that much. But if it helps his older brother, maybe that'll be enough.

He doesn't quite smile at the flush, nor is he given much chance to before Maedhros starts to sing. His eyes automatically slip shut and he curls against his brother, listening and letting himself drift.

How he feels doesn't matter enough now. Not when this song seeks to protect him.

"I will." Maedhros makes the two words a solemn promise and then he weaves his brother a song. He leans back a little to offer himself as a place for Maglor to rest. Meanwhile his words bring them back to Aman - to days when they were young and whole. Images of them playing around a fountain or darting through the trees pass between them.

He snuggles into his brother's embrace, taking the offer as he let himself listen and remember. Before all the darkness and pain. There's even a soft smile on his face as he allows the peace of those memories to sink in.

Maedhros will find he's put Maglor to sleep after a moment!

There is no pain in those memories - just children laughing and playing until the darkening sky calls them home. Maglor will likely see glimpses of himself in those visions - for he is seeing Maedhros's point of view - and he will feel the deep love his brother holds for him.

The song eventually ends and Maedhros smiles softly at the slumbering Elf in his arms. Good. His eyelids feel a bit heavy and he ends up closing them, letting himself relax fully too.

It's enough that even when his brother's song ends, Maglor stays asleep. Safe, wrapped up in the love of his brother's memories and the security of strong arms he knows better even than his own.