winterborn

Author: Az
Email; Az.ombie@gmail.com
Homepage: http://www.nad-no-ennas.net
12 - AN: Happy valentines all of you! I made you a little romantic chapter here, and thanks to HEL for having it ready for me on time, even if she was drooling on the keyboard half asleep.
Betaed by; Half elf lost, she who can beta while asleep
Rating: R
Disclaimer: none of these characters are mine, sad but true.
Summary: Amrod and the prisoner gets a bit closer, Maeglin gets told off by mother, and Maglor does something he never thought possible.
Warnings: angst (implied violence) & Fluff
Pairings: (over all) Amrod/Elured Maedhros/Fingon Maeglin/Maglor & Maeglin/Eöl implied

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Chapter 12 – I am the Lover in your bed

(inspired by Sleeping beauty – by Miranda sex garden)

Amrod went to the prisoner on a more regular basis. And he had thought his slip-up forgotten, until one day when he brought the huddled prisoner some food and a new blanket that looked absurdly out of place in the grey prison cell. And as the prisoner took it and with a smile wrapped it around his cold, damp skin, he suddenly said, “Tell me friend, which of the names you gave me would you have me call you? Is it Amrod or Varlin?”

Amrod was lucky he was with his back to the prisoner, for he could not have blushed more, even if he had wanted to, “Does it matter?” he whispered.

“Yes” the prisoner said.

´Caught at his own game, Amrod sighed, “I cannot tell you.”

“So one is false and one is true?” the prisoner whispered.

“Aye” Amrod said softly, as he turned to the prisoner, “you seemed to have good use of the blanket.”

“Oh yes” the prisoner said, “Say, where did you get anything like this?” he ran his fingers down the richly embroiled edge.

“It was from a friend of mine; he didn’t need it anymore,” Amrod lied. This was his own blanket, but he could just sleep under Amras’ as he did so often anyway.

“Did you steal it?” the prisoner said and arched a perfect, dark eyebrow.

“By Eru, no!” Amrod chuckled, “he got one that he found prettier.”

After some silence, the prisoner whom Amrod only knew as Idun had finished his leftovers from the night before. “I have a surprise for you today,” Amrod said with a big grin.

“Oh?” the prisoner looked up at Amrod with his eyes sparkling with mirth for a second. “What is that? The key perhaps?”

Amrod shook his head, “Nay, I have arranged for a bath for you,” he said. “We can use the bath at the barracks, so long as I follow you with a guard, and you do not have your shackles taken off.“

The prisoner nodded, listening to the proposition “So how am I to get off my clothes, let alone bathe, if I have to keep all the restraints on?”

Amrod squirmed in his seat somewhat, “Me” he admitted in the end, “I would bathe and clothe you.”

The prisoner’s eyebrows almost reached his hairline, hearing this “You? Go with me to the bath? And scrub me down?”

Amrod nodded.

“Very well,” the prisoner said, “I accept, for Eru only knows how much I need a bath. I do believe that there are things living in my hair by now.”

“Wonderful” Amrod said with a smile, and rose to his feet. Banging on the door, so a guard would look in to the cell. “We are going to the barracks baths, fetch the guard that is to go with us,” he said to the guard. The guard left and Amrod turned towards the prisoner and smiled.

Amrod cringed inwardly as they had to walk up the stairs and across the courtyard, for the prisoner kept stumbling in his restraints, and finally fell in a heap. Amrod pulled him back up and they walked more slowly to the door. As they stood in front of the entrance to the barracks baths, Amrod looked up and saw Caranthir standing on his balcony, looking down at them. He was whispering something to Celebrimbor who was clinging to the large elf’s hip. The elfling turned his head and smiled, waving madly at Amrod. Amrod made sure that the prisoner was inside the door before he turned around again, and waved back with both arms, seeing a big smile on the elfling’s face.

Once inside, they cut off the prisoner’s clothes. As he tossed them away, Amrod noticed the filthy rags had once been the purest dove-blue silk. Smiling to the prisoner as if nothing had happened, this only increased his suspicion that this beautiful youth was indeed the infamous son of Dior, son of Luthien Tinuviel. And heir to Menegroth. Caranthir could never know this.

Amrod dismissed the guard and shrugged off his robe and boots, leaving him standing only in his black leggings and a thin tunic he wore under his robes. The prisoner’s eyes widened, but Amrod just rolled up his sleeves. “Do not worry, my friend. I merely don’t like to get my clothes wet.” The prisoner seemed to relax at this, so Amrod started with one bucket of water. “Sit down on the floor for me, so I can try and rinse your hair” he said. Watching the young elf wince as he sat down, Amrod moved around him, and what he saw there made him pale. Those angry red marks down the spine looked like burn marks. He must have gasped, for the prisoner tried to turn in his seat to see what was wrong, but Amrod just took a deep breath and poured the water over the young dark-haired elf - he could do this! Inside though, his anger at his brother was steaming.
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Maedhros was in his office and had just had a light meal brought to him. He tried to work, but found his stomach kept growling. So he had decided to take a pause and had moved out onto balcony to eat. He suddenly heard light footsteps against the stone floor in what had once been his father’s study. Believing it was Maglor who often came to join him, he called out, “Kana, I am here.”

But when he saw who the figure was who emerged in the door he was not ready. “Mother?” he gasped and stood up to guide her to a seat, quickly moving to his own again. He looked down at his meal, “I did not know you were coming here, mother, I did not have any food brought for you, but I can have brought now here quickly.”

Nerdanel just smiled and shook her head, “Maitimo, my son. I am here on another business, I am not here to eat,” and when she saw her eldest son send his food a distressed look she chuckled lightly, “you just eat, you must be hungry.”

“Thank you, mother” he said, picking up some bread to dip in his soup.

Suddenly Nerdanel grabbed Maedhros’ wooden hand that was on the table next to his food, cold and useless. “Maitimo” she said running her long, slender thumb over the wooden knuckles. The sight of that alone gave Maedhros a bile taste in his mouth. It just seemed so wrong, for something as delicate as his mother to touch something that crude as his wooden hand. “With your father dead, you are in line to be the high king of the Noldor, this I know, and respect,” she started, “but you are still my son, and you ‘will’ respect my wishes,” she said with a slightly harder tone.

“Yes mother” Maedhros whispered.

“I want you to go to your cousin’s wedding.”

Maedhros must have looked at her as if she had fallen down from the moon, for she just patted his wooden hand, “and that is final.”

“But, mother, someone must stay behind and take care of matters,” he tried with a little agonizing voice, as if he were barely out of childhood.

“Amrod, Celebrimbor and I will stay behind” she said.

“But...” Maedhros whined.

“No, Nelyafinwë. You will respect my wishes and journey with the others to your cousin’s wedding” she barked, very unlike her.

The high king of the Noldor was brought to his knees; he could not overrule his mother, how could he possibly deny her anything, she who had to bury two sons and the father to her children?

“Yes, Mother” he whispered and placed his good hand on top of hers and his dead one. “I shall journey to cousin Fingon’s wedding if you wish it of me”.

Nerdanel nodded, “Good, my son” and smiled, leaning over the table to kiss the king’s forehead before she left.

Maedhros sat and looked into the empty space that she had occupied just moments before. How could he possibly tell her the truth; he was not welcome there. But his mother was a determined woman; she alone had had the ability to calm their father’s temper. And now Maedhros knew why - she had forced him. In her own way, she had left him no choice than to cross her, should he claim his right as the king.
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Maglor was in the library, not because he needed anything there, but simply because it was the most tranquil place in the entire palace. He picked up his lyre and his pen and parcel, walked over to the large desk, and sat down on the corner of it. Running his fingers over the strings, he turned to scribble something down on the paper and then returned to the strings. After sitting so for about an hour, he lost touch with the world and thought about the song he was making. He didn’t notice Maeglin had entered the room, drawn by the pretty tune. “You are magnificent,” the dark elf whispered.

Maglor was so startled that he nearly fell from the desk. “Maeglin” he said with a hand on his chest to steady his heartbeat, “you startled me.”

“What are you composing?” the dark beauty asked.

Maglor cleared his throat and answered, “It is a love song” – he hoped his voice didn’t falter too much. He put the lyre down on the table and walked over to pour himself some water. “So what brings you here at this time?”

“Your singing,” Maeglin admitted “I was on my way outside when I heard it from down the corridor, and I had to come see who had that amazing voice.”

“Thank you,” Maglor smiled and gulped down the water.

Maeglin walked over and picked up the paper from the desk. Maglor instinctively reached out a hand, but he stopped his move mid air when he saw that the dark elf already had already begun reading. “Oh Maglor, this is very beautiful” Maeglin whispered as he looked up from the paper and at the tall elf in front of him. “It’s filled with so much unfulfilled love and longing that it really touches my heart.”

Maglor blushed slightly and just barely croaked, “Oh.”

Maeglin put the paper down on the desk and locked his otherwise-elusive gaze with the son of Fëanor. Maglor could have groaned aloud as the dark grey eyes studied him with a curiosity that he found so sensual. “May I ask - Who is the lucky one you wrote this for?”

“I...I...” Maglor whispered, trying to tear his gaze from the dark elf’s eyes.

“Forgive me, cousin. That was rude of me to ask,” Maeglin said, and finally looked away.

Whatever possessed Maglor he did not know, but he took one step forward and raised his cousin’s chin with two long fingers, looking directly into those alluring slanted eyes again. “If you must know” he breathed, leaning his head closer to the dark elf, “it is written for you.”

Maeglin could have sworn he heard that the son of Fëanor had just told him that he had written a love song for him! Him?! Maeglin felt as if his legs would give out, and when he felt a pair of cool, silken, soft lips against his, he was reduced to a soft whimper.


-TBC-