Though Maglor was able to get to sleep after his night terror - and the fraught revelation from Finarfin on the terrace - he didn't sleep well, and woke up in the twilight before dawn feeling exhausted, like he hadn't slept at all.
He woke up to the bed being empty - neither Finarfin nor Maedhros was there. Finarfin was an early riser most of the time; dawn was his alone time, which Maglor understood and didn't begrudge him, needing space himself sometimes, especially when the creative muse was upon him. Sometimes Maedhros also woke up early to exercise and train, or just go for a walk or a run. It was also important for the sake of keeping their incestuous, same-sex trysts private, that they weren't all up and about at exactly the same time. Nonetheless, there was something about waking up alone that felt off this very early morning, like the way the air changed before a storm. Maglor knew he was probably reading too much into it, after the emotional upheaval of yesterday, twice over. And yet...
Maglor got dressed and brushed his hair, and as he looked in the mirror, he stopped and stared, noticing how much he resembled his father. He didn't look as much like Fëanor as Curufin had, it wasn't an exact resemblance, but it was close enough. And while it was far from the first time that he'd seen the resemblance - and other people had remarked on it - now it bothered him in a way it hadn't before. He put down his hairbrush, remembering all the times Finarfin had told him you remind me of your father or you're so much like your father.
And the clincher, You come by it honestly.
It had become part of Maglor's daily routine to put the plug up his ass and wear it under his clothes, and as he held it in his hand and watched it glow in the twilight - like one of the Fëanorian lamps - Maglor realized this plug had been up Fëanor's ass... and that thought thrilled him rather than horrified him, it was like having his father inside him. He knew now that Fëanor had been submissive, like him, and while Fëanor had mostly taken it - like him - Fëanor had sometimes fucked Finarfin at his request... like him. Maglor wondered what Fëanor's cock felt like, and his own cock began to harden. Once again thinking about Fëanor submitting to Finarfin - being spanked, flogged, whipped, tied up, teased, fucked. Once again wondering how things might be different if Maglor had joined in, dominating Fëanor as he did Maedhros. If things would be different.
It was, of course, far from an unselfish desire to save his father. It was pure, raw lust.
Craven lust. He felt like he had crossed a line, thinking about his own father like this - aching for what could have been. Fucking his uncle, fucking his brother, was bad enough. This... was sin beyond sin. He was sure that once Finarfin felt it across their bond, Finarfin would be shocked and disgusted, and perhaps worry if he might prey upon Elrond and Elros. Maglor had no desire for boys, only men - strong, muscular men with big, hard cocks - but even so, he knew if the situation was reversed he'd have the same concern.
So now two thoughts weighed heavily upon him. The first was wondering if Finarfin desired him at all, truly, or if he was a good enough substitute for Fëanor, if it was Fëanor that his uncle really wanted, if Finarfin could pretend it was Fëanor when they made love. And the second was fear that sooner or later, Finarfin would sense how much Maglor was aroused by sexual thoughts of his own father, and would reject him... possibly even send him away, like he had Nerdanel, but for different reason.
Maglor dropped the plug like it was on fire, and it did not shatter as it hit the floor, it only rolled. Fëanor had designed his creations to be strong - Maglor remembered when Nerdanel threw things, screaming.
Maglor picked the plug up from the floor and rested it next to his hairbrush. He looked out the window - he needed to leave before Finarfin came to unlock the bedchamber and let the servants in for their daily cleaning.
He needed to just leave. At least for a few days, though Maglor was tempted to go away for a long time, out of the pride of knowing he was being used as a replacement Fëanor, and the shame of lusting for Fëanor. Maglor felt like a mess, he wasn't sure when he'd stop feeling like a mess, and he didn't want to upset the boys - children knew more than they let on, he and his brothers had certainly been aware when Fëanor was not doing well, even though Fëanor tried so hard to hide it from them. As guilty as he felt, the small voice in the back of his head arguing you're abandoning the boys, you're being irresponsible, he felt like it would be even more irresponsible for them to see him in such a state.
Maglor went to his own bedchamber and began to pack. His heart beat faster - he was sure Finarfin would try to stop him if discovered, because Finarfin had enough decency not to let him die out in the wilderness. And that was precisely why time was of the essence. He needed to leave, now.
Even so, Maglor knew he owed it to Finarfin to at least leave a note and explain. He had to be careful about his wording in case one of the servants found it first, not wanting to put his uncle or brother in danger, but he had to say something.
Maglor got out a parchment and quill, sat with his thoughts, and began to write.
Hántar,
By the time you get this letter I will already be gone. I don't know where I'm going - though not to Formenos, I have no desire to see the woman calling herself my mother - and I don't know how long I'll be away. I just know that I need some space, after... everything. I'm sure you know why.
Please look after the boys and Nelya for me. I'm sorry.
-Kanafinwë
Maglor took off the two-stranded collar-necklace he usually wore, with the key to Finarfin's bedchamber, and he left it on the note, so it would be very clear to Finarfin what was going on. Then he strapped his harp on a sling, put on the sack with a few changes of clothes, a tent and a bedroll, and climbed out the window.
Once Maglor was farther inland, walking through the thick, misty evergreen-and-birch forest, it began to rain. Maglor was usually in tune with the weather and could feel the change in the air well in advance; he frowned as he realized his mental state was so disturbed that the rain came as a surprise. He felt completely off balance.
All the more reason why the boys don't need to see you like this. Or Nelya - he's having a hard enough time after what our mother said, without seeing you losing your mind.
The rain fell softly, and then harder - it was really coming down. Maglor briefly considered turning around and going back to the palace, but he had been walking for long enough that it would still be a long walk back, and by the time he got there it might stop... and he was sure by now one of the servants had found the note and given it to Finarfin and if he came back now he was going to have to have a talk with Finarfin that he wasn't ready for.
The ground was getting muddy, and Maglor's clothes clung to him; his mass of wet hair weighed heavily. It was miserable to trudge through the pouring rain like this, and the discomfort reminded Maglor of the Flight of the Noldor, though the far north had been much, much worse with cold and bad weather. But it was enough that Maglor began to set up his tent, hoping to be able to wait it out.
The rain reminded Maglor of tears, and tears silently spilled down his cheeks as he worked on his tent. He knew he was inflicting this exile on himself - Finarfin hadn't asked him to leave; even if he was a substitute for Fëanor, he knew Finarfin would probably be upset that he had left - but he still felt incredibly lonely. It was as if the world was crying with him.
And then he heard thunder. It was in the distance, the storm wasn't close yet. It still made Maglor jump, not wanting to be out here when lightning struck trees. And that, too, echoed his internal state, the rage against Nerdanel that he was directing at himself, feeling like an idiot for not seeing Fëanor and Finarfin's relationship sooner, feeling like an idiot that Finarfin would actually truly want him. Nerdanel's words from yesterday rang through his head:
I wish I'd left you in the woods to die of exposure, Maitimo, just like what I heard your worthless brother Tyelkormo did to those boys Eluréd and Elurín!
They'd been directed at Maedhros, and yet still wounded him as well, knowing their mother also held him in contempt. Arafinwë pities me. I am pitiable.
Suddenly, Maglor heard crying. It wasn't his own. It was muffled, coming from several meters away, but Maglor's sensitive hearing still picked it up.
Against his better judgment - knowing it could be a trap, that some of the Teleri still held a grudge and were out for blood - Maglor walked in the direction of the sound of crying, until he came to a tree with an empty noose hanging. Waiting.
Maedhros was leaning against the tree in the fetal position, sobbing.
"Nelya," Maglor breathed, not able to believe what he was seeing.
Maedhros looked up, surprised, and then he glared. "Did you follow me out here?"
"...No?" Maglor realized then that was why Maedhros had woken up before him. He wasn't training early in the morning... he was running away.
Running away to hang himself. Maglor glanced at the noose again, and then back at Maedhros, who looked away. "Nelya... are you..." He couldn't make the words to finish the sentence.
Maedhros glared. "Go away, Káno."
"I will not." Maglor stepped closer. "You are my brother. I didn't follow you, I didn't know you... were... going to do this... but damn you, I will not just go away and let you do this to yourself." Maglor reached out a hand. "Come on. Let's go home. Let's talk about this. I know that bitch hurt you." Maglor's other hand clenched, nails digging hard enough in his palm to draw blood as he seethed with murderous rage at Nerdanel's vicious words. "Don't let her win, Nelya -"
"She. Already. Won." Maedhros let out a shuddery sigh, and then wept harder, covering his face with his stump. "She already broke me, long before I was chained to that cliff and broken some more, came back wrong, not just this..." Maedhros waved his stump. "But here." He put his hand on his heart, then pointed to his temple. "I made myself the big damn hero, first to try to get her to love me, try to win her respect... and when that didn't work, to look out for all of you. Like the other parent you didn't get to have. And I can't be strong anymore." Maedhros sobbed. "I can't. I..."
Maglor dropped to his knees in front of his brother, and put his arms around him. "It's all right. I know. I understand. Let me take care of you, Nelya. Let Ara take care of you. Let's go home, let's..."
Maedhros shoved Maglor away, with a snarl. "Don't you fucking pity me."
"I don't pity you," Maglor said, frustrated, even as he himself felt like an object of Finarfin's pity. "I love you. I don't like to see you hurting like this, and I won't let you hurt yourself. How will Elrond and Elros react, when they know what happened? How will Ara react, to know he lost one of the last few surviving blood relatives he has? And what about me? I've lost all of my other brothers, and I was never as close to them as I am to you, you've been my best friend as long as I can remember -"
"And if you care, you'll let me go," Maedhros said, his voice shaking. "I don't want to suffer anymore. Let me die."
Maglor shook his head. He sympathized with the urge for the pain to stop, and he knew even if best outcome Maedhros came back to Alqualondë with him, there was a hard road of healing ahead, many more weeks and months of feeling this hurt, trying to push past it when it was doing everything in its power to drag him down. "I want you to come home with me... and try to live. Try to make a life worth living for, where the suffering feels further and further behind. I'll help you. Ara will help you." Maglor was willing to put aside his pride about being a substitute Fëanor if it meant saving his brother. "Please, Nelya."
"Fuck off."
That did it. Something snapped in Maglor's mind. He pulled Maedhros to his feet, grabbed him and tried to drag him away from the noose. Maedhros responded by butting heads with him, hard - Maglor yelped in pain - and then Maedhros shoved him down. For someone with only one arm, Maedhros had a tremendous amount of power in his push, and Maglor cried out as he fell to the hard ground, like being flogged directly against the bone. Maedhros began to walk towards the noose - he's really going to do it, he's going to hang himself while I watch, Maglor thought to himself, heart pounding. He looked around in a panic. He needed to act fast, and there was nothing large enough for him to throw or pick up and hit Maedhros with.
Maglor ran off - Maedhros paused, as if he was surprised that Maglor was really going away like he'd been told - but then he turned around again, continuing to walk to his noose. Maglor picked up the harp and ran back, and just before Maedhros could slip the noose around his neck, Maglor hit Maedhros with the harp, knocking him to the ground.
"I'm sorry," Maglor said, and then he hit Maedhros again, in the head, knocking him out.
For a moment he stood there stunned - and then fear came over him, hoping that he hadn't actually killed his brother. Maglor dropped down, felt for Maedhros's pulse, and nodded to himself as he felt it, and watched Maedhros breathing, more slowly.
His clothes and tent could be replaced. His brother could not, and he needed to hurry and get Maedhros back before he came to. Maglor put the harp sling back on, then he squatted down, counted to three, and lifted Maedhros up. Maedhros was taller than he was and heavier, and though Maglor was strong, it was still a lot. But Maglor was going to try, or die trying. He threw Maedhros over his shoulder, wincing, and began to head back the way he came, the weight of Maedhros making him lurch and stagger, having to pause every few steps to catch his breath. It was still raining, and the thick mud made the trek even harder.
"The things I do for love," Maglor muttered to himself, and in his mind's eye he saw Finarfin's eyes, full of panic and sorrow that both brothers were gone. Things were going to be very messy and complicated indeed when he returned, having to face Finarfin as well as figure out how to keep Maedhros from running off and killing himself, how to get him stable.
By the time Maglor approached the palace, every muscle in his body hurt, and he was shaking, gasping for breath. This had been the exercise of a lifetime. Guards immediately rode out as they saw Maglor on the path to the palace gates, as if they'd been informed Maglor and Maedhros were gone. Horns sounded, confirming there had been an alert, and a moment later Finarfin came barreling out, all dignity and decorum gone. He fell to his knees and wept when he saw the guards pull Maedhros from Maglor. Maedhros woke with a gasp, and then he tried to fight off the guard carrying him. "You fucking -"
The guards carried Maedhros inside, snarling and kicking and punching and swinging his stump all the way, and Finarfin and Maglor stood there, looking at each other.
"He left a note," Finarfin said, in that frosty, quiet monotone that let Maglor know he was angry. "And so did you, obviously."
Maglor looked down.
Finarfin put an arm around him and began marching him into the palace. "We'll talk later," Finarfin said.
That was exactly what Maglor was afraid of, but it was the sacrifice he was willing to make if it kept his brother alive... even as he felt like he himself was dying inside with every step.
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