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phynckeTitle: Of Love’s Recovery
Chapter: Four
Author: phyncke
Beta: khylea
Characters: Fingon/Maedhros, Glorfindel/Aegnor, Fingolfin, Turgon, Caranthir (mention)
For: Ardor in August 2011
Warnings: AU and NC17 in this chapter
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they are the property of JRR Tolkien and his estate. I have borrowed them for my own amusement and for yours I hope.
Summary: Maedhros is rescued from Morgoth’s captivity on Thangorodrim and must find recovery in body and spirit by Mithrim Lake…
Aegnor and Glorfindel arrived early the next morning, with the contraption fashioned for Maedhros’ arm. Where once his right hand had been, there would be a leather piece for protection. In battle, it could also be fitted with blades so his arm would not be useless. He could fight with it and be as deadly as if he had a hand.
“We measured you while you slept because we are clever like that and wanted to surprise you.” The Sharp Flame grinned.
“See the workmanship on the leather? It is quite beautiful.” Glorfindel turned it over so Maedhros could see it. The embossed detailing was of Elven design with the stars and patterns of the House of Fëanor, unique to their family and so he would wear it with pride.
“It is lovely, truly.” Maedhros smiled.
“You cannot use it yet. Nice as it is.”
“Why ever not?!”
Glorfindel answered, “You are to learn to fight with your left arm as well as you did with your right, and then you can use this device in addition. Once you have mastered that fighting technique, you will be twice as deadly as before, we reckon. None will match you and the enemy shall tremble in your path.”
“It will not be easy. You will be frustrated.” Aegnor added.
“But I will do it.” Maedhros finished for him, as this was a sound plan and he knew they were right.
“So, prepare to be soundly thrashed,” Aegnor laughed merrily.
/---/
The days settled into a predictable pattern. Maedhros diet was supplemented with drinks but the mainstay became solid food of more variety – plain meats, unadorned vegetables – but real food nonetheless. This pleased him and he joked to Fingon that his feast would have to be planned sooner than later.
He sparred and practiced as much as possible with both Glorfindel and Aegnor. His right arm was strapped to his side and he used only his left to do battle with. At first he knew only defeat after defeat. He could not coordinate and repel an attack so armed.
“I cannot!”
“It is not a matter of choice, Maedhros. You must learn this. You can ill afford to give up.” Glorfindel urged him. “Again.”
Aegnor raised the wooden practice blade, giving him time to get ready.
“Just meet my attack. I will go slow now. One.” He brought his arm up and over. “Two.” And down where their swords met. “Three.”
The clattering sound of wood on wood met their ears.
“Good!” Glorfindel shouted his encouragement.
Maedhros knew they coddled him, but it felt good to simulate battle. It was apparent that Aegnor moved slowly but that was so that he could gain coordination with his left hand; step by step until he could fight more rapidly and with greater force. They repeated and repeated the exercise that day until luncheon and Fingon interrupted them.
“He must eat! Time for a break you two. Away with you, unless you mean to stay and join us for the nooning meal.”
Food was carried in on platters to be set on the table, enough for all of them to eat, fresh cooked poultry, vegetables and crusted bread from King Fingolfin’s kitchens. All agreed to pause for sustenance. Fingon handed them all cloths to wipe the sweat and exertion from their skin.
“This looks gooood, Maedhros. Real food now? No more drinks?” Aegnor asked.
“I still have the drinks along with this food, to gain strength and weight.”
Glorfindel sat behind one of the set places. “This looks good to me.” He piled his plate with all manner of goodly sustenance – meat, legumes and broke off a large piece of the fresh baked loaf. Taking a bite, he chewed and spoke at the same time.
“You are doing well, cousin. You must practice daily to gain speed and strength.”
Aegnor added, “We will work with you until you are ready and can defend yourself, have no fear.”
Maedhros ate silently as Fingon brought his drink over. His thoughts were his own though it was clear from his expression that he held little hope of being a warrior again. As Fingolfin’s son sat down to join them, he posited,
“This will take some time, just as the eating did. You must be patient and all will be well. You can work with the sword on your own, wield it while also working with Glorfindel and Aegnor. In this way you shall become adept again.”
“There, as he has said, all will be well, Maedhros.”
They finished the meal in silence, none needing to speak more than what was said. They were family after all and good friends. After a short respite for digestion, they continued their work of the morning well into the afternoon.
/---/
Fingon was aware that Maedhros no longer possessed his own sword. It had been taken from him when he was imprisoned on Thangorodrim. He sparred each day with wooden practice swords or with one of metal lent to him by Glorfindel or Aegnor, but his cousin would have to have a new, finely made sword forged for him. This he would carry once he was fully healed and ready to rejoin his brothers. That day neared and so the King’s son took the measure of his patient’s arm to commission the blacksmith in the making of a weapon formidable enough for the eldest son of Fëanor. He assisted in its crafting, in both design and element, putting much of his love for his cousin into the blade.
A grand sword was made in secret, as Fingon planned for the right moment to present his cousin with this mighty gift.
/---/
Maedhros practiced each night under candlelight, dressed only in light pants, moving back and forth across the room as he wielded the practice weapon they used. He worked, with Aegnor and Glorfindel by day but at night, would perform his own exercises alone to increase the benefit.
“I wonder if you would do better with a real sword, cousin. There is only so much you can do with the weight and ballast of the wood sword.” Fingon arrived with something wrapped in a blue cloth, setting it on the table.
“My own was taken from me. That was a worthy blade, made by my father.”
“You are going to have to let that one go Maedhros, and allow another weapon into your heart…one to replace it.”
“True, best not to be melancholy about the other.” He finished his routine and stood, breathing deeply from the exertion, muscles taut and skin flushed.
“Best not, and I am hopeful that this one will suit you. I had a hand in its design and forging and it is made for you.” Fingon pulled aside the dark blue velvet of the covering and stood back as Maedhros drew beside him. The inconstant light of the candles glinted on the metal, giving it a hallowed look as it lay on the table.
“This is beautiful and finely made. I would be proud to carry this, Fingon. I thank you.”
The straight edge of the sword gave way to a finely worked hilt with patterning after the fashion of the House of Fëanor. It was fitting that the eldest of that house would carry such markings on his weapon though it was elegantly done and intricately etched into the metal.
“I hoped you would like it.”
“I love it.” He picked up the sword in his left hand and swung it experimentally, feeling the weight and heft of the ballast. “It is perfect, in fit and everything.”
“I am glad.”
He let fly with a phantom thrust and could well imagine battling with this against Orcs and other foul creatures of the enemy. It was a fierce weapon, sharply honed and would do much damage to the fell monsters.
“This is a goodly weapon.”
Maedhros placed the blade back on the cloth, fingering the hilt and its fine workmanship for one last time that night.
“They are making you a sheath for it and I have also commissioned a few knives for you as well. You will need them. Your right hand will also be fitted with blades. Aegnor’s idea is a goodly one, that. No question there. You will not be helpless.” He touched his cousin’s shoulder. “You are near to ready, Maedhros. You cannot put off your brothers much longer.”
He lifted a strand of Fingon’s long, dark, mahogany, hair. “But I can yet awhile. I would not send for them until I am fully trained by our cousins.”
“As you wish, they will blame me and my father for the delay, not you, I think.”
“I will explain it to them and the issue of the kingship.”
“There is that.”
“And there is this,” Maedhros leaned forward to kiss Fingon firmly on the lips, melding their mouths together. He had thought of little else for some days now. As his strength had returned, so had his libido and the ever-present desires he felt for his cousin. He reached his hand to caress and touch the back of his head and deepened the kiss. He was glad to note that Fingon did not pull away, but reached for him and touched his hips, bringing them closer together, confirming their mutual desire. He could feel the heat through his clothing.
“I am not weak any longer, Káno. You do not have to worry for me.”
“I know.”
Maedhros unbuttoned his cousin’s shirt skillfully with his left hand, moving it off first one shoulder, then the other, to drop on the floor. Fingon’s torso was now bare and glowed in the shimmering light and he could touch him, feeling the strong muscle and sinew. Making love was different without his right hand, but not impossible. He still found the pleasure in touch, and the warmth of skin. He aroused a pert nipple and leaned forward to bite and suckle.
“Mmm.” Fingon moaned as Maedhros’ hand quested beneath the waist band of his pants to stroke his cock. It felt good, more than good. He had suppressed his desires to care for him, but now that he was hale and hearty, they could give in to their passion. They moved to the bed and lay down, continuing their love play in earnest on the comfort of the luxurious coverlet.
“You are beautiful, my cousin. I love the dark, nighttime of your hair against your beautiful skin.” He tugged Fingon’s leggings down, freeing his arousal to his attentions and again began caressing him as he rested on his right side and worked with his left hand.
His partner’s body was taut with passion, long muscles engaged yet he did not want to spend yet and so held back his climax. He wished for them to both give of their bodies this night in love making, and so would wait for that end. Maedhros was strong now and his lust was apparent as evidenced by the hardness against his thigh.
Fingon turned to whisper,
“I think you are strong enough to make love, Maedhros.” Letting his hands run over muscular shoulders as though to confirm that fact. Strength radiated from his body which had been much restored in the weeks and months since his rescue. No longer a shadow, no longer a wraith, he was healthy and vital, full of vigor.
“I do believe I am. Do you wish this, Fingon?”
“Yes, love, very much.”
On the side table was a bottle of oil, placed there by the healers as part of their routine to soothe and add moisture to Maedhros’ skin. It was scented with forest flowers and used on him daily as part of his dermal care. Some days, Fingon applied it and massaged him lovingly, for an hour or more. The Elf especially liked those times and found his cousin’s touch a transcendent experience. Fingon turned in his arms and reached for the familiar vial. He faced away from Maedhros but poured the thick liquid onto his hand, reaching back to work it tenderly over his partner’s arousal. He heard an intake of breath and then a soft moan and knew that his touch brought pleasure.
“Enough, Káno. I do not want to peak yet. Your touch is maddening.”
He stopped the caress with a chuckle, feeling his own phallus throb in anticipation of their coupling. It had been many years for them, since the beauty of Valinor and tranquil nights there. He found his desire as strong as when they were younger and now because of recent experiences, they were closer, kindred spirits.
Maedhros let his cock press between Fingon’s buttocks and past the ring of his anus, sighing as the other Elf’s tightness enveloped him. Gods, it felt so good. He steeled his mind and body, wanting this to last, for their play to be of some duration, to give this gift to Fingon for all he had done for him these past months, the rejuvenation, of both his body and spirit.
As he was breached, Fingon pressed back and consciously relaxed as he felt Maedhros’ length enter him fully. It had been many years since he had been thusly penetrated, and it felt strange and wonderful all at once. They paused fully joined, allowing time to adjust and recognize this moment, of love’s recovery.
Maedhros began to move slowly, with intention, feeling the exquisite warmth of his love surrounding him, enveloping him in a rapturous heat. Eyes closed, face nuzzled into dark hair, he thrust evenly, at a pace both of them could withstand and maintain.
“I love you, Fingon. No matter what happens, know this.”
Lying on his right side, behind Fingon, he reached for his lover’s left hand with his own, entwining their fingers, letting his callused thumb rub over the smooth palm. He could do naught but increase his speed, as passion took them higher and higher. His hips pistoned faster and with more force, a frenzy taking him. Elves may live forever but lovemaking is but fleeting and before too long, Maedhros felt the surge in his loins overwhelm him.
He called out as he spent deep inside Fingon, sealing their love with his climax. Release, and rejuvenation, all in one moment. He knew that his love had yet to culminate, and so caressed and stroked him firmly to completion, rewarded with a passionate cry and the spurt of his seed on the sheets.
After, they lay in the midnight hours, tangled of limb, finally sleeping the rest of those truly sated in body and mind.
/---/
Some weeks later.
“I love you, too, Nelya but it is time for you to go. You are well now.”
“I do know that, love. I have sent for my brothers. They will arrive soon.”
“Oh.” Fingon had not expected that. Somehow he thought they would go on this way forever and never part but that was not to be.
“We will meet again, as often as we can but I have an oath to fulfill and must away. You are heir to the throne now, a fact I must explain to my father’s other sons. They will not like that over much.”
Maedhros was truly ready to leave in all ways but one. He would bitterly hate to part from Fingon whom he loved as no other. While Aegnor and Glorfindel had trained him to fight with deadly accuracy with his left hand so he would not be defenseless in the wilds of Middle Earth, Fingon had brought back his mind and heart. It was a debt he could never repay but for the love he gave freely and generously.
“When they arrive, we will have your feast. I promised you fatty meat on the bone and all the trimmings to go with that. What better occasion than your reunion with your family?”
“A goodly plan. Let us send scouts so we know when they are near.”
They sealed the agreement with a long kiss and then went walking hand in hand by the lake as they liked to do in the evenings when the weather was fine.
/---/
Epilogue:
Maedhros’ Reunion Feast was one for the histories as all of his brothers arrived to be met by the hale and hearty eldest son of Fëanor. They had expected the worst and found their brother in top physical shape, well recovered from his ordeal. All was made ready for a large meal that evening by the lake – fatted calf, fine roasted pork, venison with all the trimmings as Fingon had promised.
A meet was held with the newly crowned High King of the Noldor, Fingolfin, who explained to them all that their brother had abdicated the throne in favor of the eldest relation to their father. Caranthir was most vocal in his resistance to this idea but Maedhros explained to him that it was in fact, an accomplished aim and their uncle in fact had the crown on his very head. He urged them to accept their new King and pledge fealty to him as he had himself. Each did so with varying measures of reluctance and grumbling under the watchful yet patient gaze of their elder sibling.
The party which followed went long into the night, with all manner of feasting and dancing and carrying on. Wine flowed, elleths danced and lutes played, serenading those who gathered by Mithrim Lake to celebrate the life and rescue of one Maedhros, son of Fëanor.
“You have grease on your chin, cousin. It is amusing.”
“This is good, so good.” Maedhros took another large bite of the meaty, grilled pork rib, his face getting even messier.
Fingon grinned and saw Aegnor not too far away in much the same condition. Glorfindel tossed a cloth at his lover, bidding him wipe his face and hands.
“Give us a kiss, Fingon.”
“Not on your life.” The amorous foray was soundly rebuffed.
Maedhros pretended to mope, his handsome face feigning sadness whilst his blue-grey eyes held an expression of amusement.
“I am hurt, deeply hurt by this!”
Fingon relented, leaning in to bring their mouths together in a tender, most passionate caress. He also smeared his own face with greasy residue from the food his cousin had consumed.
“Disgusting.”
Maedhros smiled happily and continued to devour his meal. Later they would dance with abandon and even later they would make love long into the night. The next morning, the sons of Fëanor would depart Mithrim Lake to make their way in Middle Earth and off into inglorious history. Fingon never forgot the time he spent with Maedhros and they reunited in battle and love, yet again.
This is not really the end, but simply one small part of a greater story…and so it goes ever on and on...
(Finis)
=========
Notes
Nelya = short for Nelyafinwë, Maedhros’ Quenya name.
Káno = short for Findekáno, Fingon’s Quenya name.
Chapter: Four
Author: phyncke
Beta: khylea
Characters: Fingon/Maedhros, Glorfindel/Aegnor, Fingolfin, Turgon, Caranthir (mention)
For: Ardor in August 2011
Warnings: AU and NC17 in this chapter
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they are the property of JRR Tolkien and his estate. I have borrowed them for my own amusement and for yours I hope.
Summary: Maedhros is rescued from Morgoth’s captivity on Thangorodrim and must find recovery in body and spirit by Mithrim Lake…
Aegnor and Glorfindel arrived early the next morning, with the contraption fashioned for Maedhros’ arm. Where once his right hand had been, there would be a leather piece for protection. In battle, it could also be fitted with blades so his arm would not be useless. He could fight with it and be as deadly as if he had a hand.
“We measured you while you slept because we are clever like that and wanted to surprise you.” The Sharp Flame grinned.
“See the workmanship on the leather? It is quite beautiful.” Glorfindel turned it over so Maedhros could see it. The embossed detailing was of Elven design with the stars and patterns of the House of Fëanor, unique to their family and so he would wear it with pride.
“It is lovely, truly.” Maedhros smiled.
“You cannot use it yet. Nice as it is.”
“Why ever not?!”
Glorfindel answered, “You are to learn to fight with your left arm as well as you did with your right, and then you can use this device in addition. Once you have mastered that fighting technique, you will be twice as deadly as before, we reckon. None will match you and the enemy shall tremble in your path.”
“It will not be easy. You will be frustrated.” Aegnor added.
“But I will do it.” Maedhros finished for him, as this was a sound plan and he knew they were right.
“So, prepare to be soundly thrashed,” Aegnor laughed merrily.
/---/
The days settled into a predictable pattern. Maedhros diet was supplemented with drinks but the mainstay became solid food of more variety – plain meats, unadorned vegetables – but real food nonetheless. This pleased him and he joked to Fingon that his feast would have to be planned sooner than later.
He sparred and practiced as much as possible with both Glorfindel and Aegnor. His right arm was strapped to his side and he used only his left to do battle with. At first he knew only defeat after defeat. He could not coordinate and repel an attack so armed.
“I cannot!”
“It is not a matter of choice, Maedhros. You must learn this. You can ill afford to give up.” Glorfindel urged him. “Again.”
Aegnor raised the wooden practice blade, giving him time to get ready.
“Just meet my attack. I will go slow now. One.” He brought his arm up and over. “Two.” And down where their swords met. “Three.”
The clattering sound of wood on wood met their ears.
“Good!” Glorfindel shouted his encouragement.
Maedhros knew they coddled him, but it felt good to simulate battle. It was apparent that Aegnor moved slowly but that was so that he could gain coordination with his left hand; step by step until he could fight more rapidly and with greater force. They repeated and repeated the exercise that day until luncheon and Fingon interrupted them.
“He must eat! Time for a break you two. Away with you, unless you mean to stay and join us for the nooning meal.”
Food was carried in on platters to be set on the table, enough for all of them to eat, fresh cooked poultry, vegetables and crusted bread from King Fingolfin’s kitchens. All agreed to pause for sustenance. Fingon handed them all cloths to wipe the sweat and exertion from their skin.
“This looks gooood, Maedhros. Real food now? No more drinks?” Aegnor asked.
“I still have the drinks along with this food, to gain strength and weight.”
Glorfindel sat behind one of the set places. “This looks good to me.” He piled his plate with all manner of goodly sustenance – meat, legumes and broke off a large piece of the fresh baked loaf. Taking a bite, he chewed and spoke at the same time.
“You are doing well, cousin. You must practice daily to gain speed and strength.”
Aegnor added, “We will work with you until you are ready and can defend yourself, have no fear.”
Maedhros ate silently as Fingon brought his drink over. His thoughts were his own though it was clear from his expression that he held little hope of being a warrior again. As Fingolfin’s son sat down to join them, he posited,
“This will take some time, just as the eating did. You must be patient and all will be well. You can work with the sword on your own, wield it while also working with Glorfindel and Aegnor. In this way you shall become adept again.”
“There, as he has said, all will be well, Maedhros.”
They finished the meal in silence, none needing to speak more than what was said. They were family after all and good friends. After a short respite for digestion, they continued their work of the morning well into the afternoon.
/---/
Fingon was aware that Maedhros no longer possessed his own sword. It had been taken from him when he was imprisoned on Thangorodrim. He sparred each day with wooden practice swords or with one of metal lent to him by Glorfindel or Aegnor, but his cousin would have to have a new, finely made sword forged for him. This he would carry once he was fully healed and ready to rejoin his brothers. That day neared and so the King’s son took the measure of his patient’s arm to commission the blacksmith in the making of a weapon formidable enough for the eldest son of Fëanor. He assisted in its crafting, in both design and element, putting much of his love for his cousin into the blade.
A grand sword was made in secret, as Fingon planned for the right moment to present his cousin with this mighty gift.
/---/
Maedhros practiced each night under candlelight, dressed only in light pants, moving back and forth across the room as he wielded the practice weapon they used. He worked, with Aegnor and Glorfindel by day but at night, would perform his own exercises alone to increase the benefit.
“I wonder if you would do better with a real sword, cousin. There is only so much you can do with the weight and ballast of the wood sword.” Fingon arrived with something wrapped in a blue cloth, setting it on the table.
“My own was taken from me. That was a worthy blade, made by my father.”
“You are going to have to let that one go Maedhros, and allow another weapon into your heart…one to replace it.”
“True, best not to be melancholy about the other.” He finished his routine and stood, breathing deeply from the exertion, muscles taut and skin flushed.
“Best not, and I am hopeful that this one will suit you. I had a hand in its design and forging and it is made for you.” Fingon pulled aside the dark blue velvet of the covering and stood back as Maedhros drew beside him. The inconstant light of the candles glinted on the metal, giving it a hallowed look as it lay on the table.
“This is beautiful and finely made. I would be proud to carry this, Fingon. I thank you.”
The straight edge of the sword gave way to a finely worked hilt with patterning after the fashion of the House of Fëanor. It was fitting that the eldest of that house would carry such markings on his weapon though it was elegantly done and intricately etched into the metal.
“I hoped you would like it.”
“I love it.” He picked up the sword in his left hand and swung it experimentally, feeling the weight and heft of the ballast. “It is perfect, in fit and everything.”
“I am glad.”
He let fly with a phantom thrust and could well imagine battling with this against Orcs and other foul creatures of the enemy. It was a fierce weapon, sharply honed and would do much damage to the fell monsters.
“This is a goodly weapon.”
Maedhros placed the blade back on the cloth, fingering the hilt and its fine workmanship for one last time that night.
“They are making you a sheath for it and I have also commissioned a few knives for you as well. You will need them. Your right hand will also be fitted with blades. Aegnor’s idea is a goodly one, that. No question there. You will not be helpless.” He touched his cousin’s shoulder. “You are near to ready, Maedhros. You cannot put off your brothers much longer.”
He lifted a strand of Fingon’s long, dark, mahogany, hair. “But I can yet awhile. I would not send for them until I am fully trained by our cousins.”
“As you wish, they will blame me and my father for the delay, not you, I think.”
“I will explain it to them and the issue of the kingship.”
“There is that.”
“And there is this,” Maedhros leaned forward to kiss Fingon firmly on the lips, melding their mouths together. He had thought of little else for some days now. As his strength had returned, so had his libido and the ever-present desires he felt for his cousin. He reached his hand to caress and touch the back of his head and deepened the kiss. He was glad to note that Fingon did not pull away, but reached for him and touched his hips, bringing them closer together, confirming their mutual desire. He could feel the heat through his clothing.
“I am not weak any longer, Káno. You do not have to worry for me.”
“I know.”
Maedhros unbuttoned his cousin’s shirt skillfully with his left hand, moving it off first one shoulder, then the other, to drop on the floor. Fingon’s torso was now bare and glowed in the shimmering light and he could touch him, feeling the strong muscle and sinew. Making love was different without his right hand, but not impossible. He still found the pleasure in touch, and the warmth of skin. He aroused a pert nipple and leaned forward to bite and suckle.
“Mmm.” Fingon moaned as Maedhros’ hand quested beneath the waist band of his pants to stroke his cock. It felt good, more than good. He had suppressed his desires to care for him, but now that he was hale and hearty, they could give in to their passion. They moved to the bed and lay down, continuing their love play in earnest on the comfort of the luxurious coverlet.
“You are beautiful, my cousin. I love the dark, nighttime of your hair against your beautiful skin.” He tugged Fingon’s leggings down, freeing his arousal to his attentions and again began caressing him as he rested on his right side and worked with his left hand.
His partner’s body was taut with passion, long muscles engaged yet he did not want to spend yet and so held back his climax. He wished for them to both give of their bodies this night in love making, and so would wait for that end. Maedhros was strong now and his lust was apparent as evidenced by the hardness against his thigh.
Fingon turned to whisper,
“I think you are strong enough to make love, Maedhros.” Letting his hands run over muscular shoulders as though to confirm that fact. Strength radiated from his body which had been much restored in the weeks and months since his rescue. No longer a shadow, no longer a wraith, he was healthy and vital, full of vigor.
“I do believe I am. Do you wish this, Fingon?”
“Yes, love, very much.”
On the side table was a bottle of oil, placed there by the healers as part of their routine to soothe and add moisture to Maedhros’ skin. It was scented with forest flowers and used on him daily as part of his dermal care. Some days, Fingon applied it and massaged him lovingly, for an hour or more. The Elf especially liked those times and found his cousin’s touch a transcendent experience. Fingon turned in his arms and reached for the familiar vial. He faced away from Maedhros but poured the thick liquid onto his hand, reaching back to work it tenderly over his partner’s arousal. He heard an intake of breath and then a soft moan and knew that his touch brought pleasure.
“Enough, Káno. I do not want to peak yet. Your touch is maddening.”
He stopped the caress with a chuckle, feeling his own phallus throb in anticipation of their coupling. It had been many years for them, since the beauty of Valinor and tranquil nights there. He found his desire as strong as when they were younger and now because of recent experiences, they were closer, kindred spirits.
Maedhros let his cock press between Fingon’s buttocks and past the ring of his anus, sighing as the other Elf’s tightness enveloped him. Gods, it felt so good. He steeled his mind and body, wanting this to last, for their play to be of some duration, to give this gift to Fingon for all he had done for him these past months, the rejuvenation, of both his body and spirit.
As he was breached, Fingon pressed back and consciously relaxed as he felt Maedhros’ length enter him fully. It had been many years since he had been thusly penetrated, and it felt strange and wonderful all at once. They paused fully joined, allowing time to adjust and recognize this moment, of love’s recovery.
Maedhros began to move slowly, with intention, feeling the exquisite warmth of his love surrounding him, enveloping him in a rapturous heat. Eyes closed, face nuzzled into dark hair, he thrust evenly, at a pace both of them could withstand and maintain.
“I love you, Fingon. No matter what happens, know this.”
Lying on his right side, behind Fingon, he reached for his lover’s left hand with his own, entwining their fingers, letting his callused thumb rub over the smooth palm. He could do naught but increase his speed, as passion took them higher and higher. His hips pistoned faster and with more force, a frenzy taking him. Elves may live forever but lovemaking is but fleeting and before too long, Maedhros felt the surge in his loins overwhelm him.
He called out as he spent deep inside Fingon, sealing their love with his climax. Release, and rejuvenation, all in one moment. He knew that his love had yet to culminate, and so caressed and stroked him firmly to completion, rewarded with a passionate cry and the spurt of his seed on the sheets.
After, they lay in the midnight hours, tangled of limb, finally sleeping the rest of those truly sated in body and mind.
/---/
Some weeks later.
“I love you, too, Nelya but it is time for you to go. You are well now.”
“I do know that, love. I have sent for my brothers. They will arrive soon.”
“Oh.” Fingon had not expected that. Somehow he thought they would go on this way forever and never part but that was not to be.
“We will meet again, as often as we can but I have an oath to fulfill and must away. You are heir to the throne now, a fact I must explain to my father’s other sons. They will not like that over much.”
Maedhros was truly ready to leave in all ways but one. He would bitterly hate to part from Fingon whom he loved as no other. While Aegnor and Glorfindel had trained him to fight with deadly accuracy with his left hand so he would not be defenseless in the wilds of Middle Earth, Fingon had brought back his mind and heart. It was a debt he could never repay but for the love he gave freely and generously.
“When they arrive, we will have your feast. I promised you fatty meat on the bone and all the trimmings to go with that. What better occasion than your reunion with your family?”
“A goodly plan. Let us send scouts so we know when they are near.”
They sealed the agreement with a long kiss and then went walking hand in hand by the lake as they liked to do in the evenings when the weather was fine.
/---/
Epilogue:
Maedhros’ Reunion Feast was one for the histories as all of his brothers arrived to be met by the hale and hearty eldest son of Fëanor. They had expected the worst and found their brother in top physical shape, well recovered from his ordeal. All was made ready for a large meal that evening by the lake – fatted calf, fine roasted pork, venison with all the trimmings as Fingon had promised.
A meet was held with the newly crowned High King of the Noldor, Fingolfin, who explained to them all that their brother had abdicated the throne in favor of the eldest relation to their father. Caranthir was most vocal in his resistance to this idea but Maedhros explained to him that it was in fact, an accomplished aim and their uncle in fact had the crown on his very head. He urged them to accept their new King and pledge fealty to him as he had himself. Each did so with varying measures of reluctance and grumbling under the watchful yet patient gaze of their elder sibling.
The party which followed went long into the night, with all manner of feasting and dancing and carrying on. Wine flowed, elleths danced and lutes played, serenading those who gathered by Mithrim Lake to celebrate the life and rescue of one Maedhros, son of Fëanor.
“You have grease on your chin, cousin. It is amusing.”
“This is good, so good.” Maedhros took another large bite of the meaty, grilled pork rib, his face getting even messier.
Fingon grinned and saw Aegnor not too far away in much the same condition. Glorfindel tossed a cloth at his lover, bidding him wipe his face and hands.
“Give us a kiss, Fingon.”
“Not on your life.” The amorous foray was soundly rebuffed.
Maedhros pretended to mope, his handsome face feigning sadness whilst his blue-grey eyes held an expression of amusement.
“I am hurt, deeply hurt by this!”
Fingon relented, leaning in to bring their mouths together in a tender, most passionate caress. He also smeared his own face with greasy residue from the food his cousin had consumed.
“Disgusting.”
Maedhros smiled happily and continued to devour his meal. Later they would dance with abandon and even later they would make love long into the night. The next morning, the sons of Fëanor would depart Mithrim Lake to make their way in Middle Earth and off into inglorious history. Fingon never forgot the time he spent with Maedhros and they reunited in battle and love, yet again.
This is not really the end, but simply one small part of a greater story…and so it goes ever on and on...
(Finis)
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Notes
Nelya = short for Nelyafinwë, Maedhros’ Quenya name.
Káno = short for Findekáno, Fingon’s Quenya name.
