Month: May 2015

doegred-main:

misbehavingmaiar:

doegred-main:

*pales, gripping the side of the tub, while breathing slowly through his nose*

“Get. Out!”

The foundations of the room rattled and mortar dust sifted from the ceiling as Sauron’s fist collided with the wall, stones loosened as if a hammer had stuck them. His back trembled, taut and corded with unreleased tension. 

“Then we are both miserable fools! Useless relics with nothing else to sustain us than the hope of some… pyrrhic retribution for losses too great to be paid for.”  He laughed. “How far we have fallen…” 

The rage that had galvanized him moments before suddenly left him, cutting the strings of his vigor. Shoulders broad and gleaming as bronze grew slack, and the great Maia braced his weight against the wall, neither turning to his foe nor leaving as he had planned. 

The sudden sound and the violence of the movement made the Noldo jump to his feet, almost sliding on the pool of blood spilled by his enemy and him both. Still now he could feel a rivulet dripping his lips, falling in fat drops against the marble. Despite his body aching just shy of excruciating pain Maedhros forced himself to move, closing the bathrobe around his form again. His movements now made more curt by the effort to contain pain.

A part of him screamed at him to take the dagger in hand again, another knew better than to do so. Rage and hate still simmered in his gaze, fixed on the point where the knife had planted itself in the Maia’s flesh, like coals under ashes, flaring with the rhythm of pain thrumming in his right arm from the shoulder to what was left of his wrist.
He rose his hand to his face, lightly touching the wound before pushing wet, and now blood matted, strands of hair back.
The Fëanorion could feel the bruises blooming under his skin and over sore muscles, but more worrying yet was the strange way his enemy’s speech resonated with him. 
A part of him knew the instinct to fraternise with Thauron for what it was: desperation borne of the enemy’s ability to manipulate. Still what, despite everything, he knew to be true in his words, seemed to reach inside his defences, tearing an answer out of his chest.
His stance relaxed slightly as the Fëanorion grabbed a bedpost for support.

“Yes..” The tone was low, apparently calm with barely the hint of a defying growl. “We both should not be here. And while you are right..” Despite his efforts a strange vulnerability flickered briefly in his voice before the Fëanorion could stop himself. “.. what we lost is much.. Too much, and precious beyond compare. Yet.. one thing I have not lost is my memory Thauron.”

A bitter laughter carrying a hint od pain as the movement pulled at the wound. “More fool than us is whoever let us back into this world.”

Hah– Such camaraderie! A quick tussle, a dispute between enemies with more in common between them than their allies– he could almost have laughed and clapped Maedhros on the back as if they were kin. But he was through with half-friendships with elves. For a minute he’d dared to let himself grasp once more at that shadow of companionship, but memory proved too long for both of them. It would end in blood, as it always did; disguise or no disguise, stranger or old acquaintance. Yet the temptation to reach across the gulf was strong even so, and he turned to view the expression of his ageless enemy, assessing it for an opening. 

“That I don’t doubt for a moment. But as I recall that tenacious memory of yours led to a somewhat sticky end. What are you doing now with a renewed life? Besides unsuccessfully seeking vengeance in your nightgown against an unarmed foe?”