Would love to request chubby nelyo? Heeheee
Ah, of course! The poor meow meow has been through enough, he deserves a treat (as part of treatment) 😭❤️🩹
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Fëanor: and if you have any suggestions, feel free to put them in the suggestion box.
Maedhros: that is a trashcan.
Fëanor: exactly
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This is so cute!
I know there is no consensus about the age gap between Maedhros and Fingon. Only that Maedhros is supposed to be way older because Fingolfin was second born to Indis, and Feanor was supposed to have "married early".
I think there are some versions where Maedhros and Fingolfin are similar in age, and it's implied Feanor called Maedhros "Nelyafinwe" to force a name change on Fingolfin.
However, I do like the idea that Feanor and Nerdanel were too busy with each other and their craft to have babies, and then Feanor had Maedhros just in time to make sure Fingolfin wasn't the first to give Finwe grandchildren. As a result, we have this pic where Maedhros and Fingon were babies together!!!
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There is a crib in the topmost tower of Himring.
The wood it is made of is polished and has elegant designs carves into it, small birds taking flight, flowers blossoming, the stars and the two trees all engraved. It truly is a fine piece, Feanor would have nothing less for his first child.
This was not the first time Fingon had seen it. He had first laid eyes upon it after being shoved into a storage closet in Feanor and Nerdanel’s townhouse in central Tirion after Maitimo’s parents had returned early from their date. The second time it had been in use by a small infant Tyelpe who was swaddled in blankets and pillows and attempted to pull on Fingon’s braids.
Seeing the crib again was would not be all that unusual. It was a family heirloom dearly held in his half uncle’s heart, it made sense it would be taken to Middle Earth.
Except that instead of being in an old storage room collecting dust or even in Tyelpe’s possession, as the youngest member of the House of Feanor, the Crib stood tall and beautiful against the wall in the small room connected to Maedhros’ bed chambers.
He walks closer to it, slowly and carefully as though something terrible may by hiding in it. Something terrible may indeed be hiding in it if Fingon’s suspicions are correct. Rarely is the truth kind but Fingon must know. He must know. It does not matter that the very thought causes his heart to seize in pain and his stomach to shift uneasily. He came here to Himring, the only part of Beleriand to not sink to the depths of the ocean, on a mission and he will not leave until he has the answers he seeks.
The small room, no, the nursery, has been very well preserved despite its age and the thick grey dust that makes a sheet over every object. Tapestries hang from the walls depicting scenes from fairytales that Fingon remembers being read in his own youth. The windows are tall and the curtains are light and flowing. Inside the crib are several different toys, a large fabric horse with actual horse hair sewn on it. A bunny with long ears one of which stand ramrod straight and the other which flops forward. A wooden figurine that looks a lot like Feanor. There are blankets too, rich luxurious things likely worth a fortune on their own in the war torn age of their making. It is the red blanket with a name embroidered in gold that attracts his attention the most.
Ereinion Gil-galad.
Any doubt is cast from his mind and Fingon falls forward onto his knees with a cry.
He had not believed the rumours at first, had thought the boy king a liar and a fraud had wanted to confront him as soon as he was released from Mandos but the gossips had been right. Gil Galad was his son.
Not only his son though. He pictured Maedhros, miserable and grieving, watching in the mirror as his stomach grew round with a child neither of them had expected. His eyes stung with tears that would not fall.
He had a child. He had a child. He had a child.
And his child had been dead for millennia.
The tears fell.
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(cws: torture, captivity)
Rule number one, Maedhros says, voice stern and eyes dark. Never get caught.
(Well, Finrod thinks, through the fog of visions and songs and pain, I failed this one.
He knows that much when his disguise is fallen, when he is grabbed and chained, and when Sauron looks at him with curiosity of a predator.)
Rule number two, Maedhros says, looking him straight in the eyes. If you are caught, stay low. Take no drastic measures.
(Finrod feels the pain and exhaustion and hopelessness that came with his defeat, and he suddenly remembers that he sang.
His mind races thousand miles a second. His cousin clicks his tongue in dissapointment.)
Rule number three, says Maedhros, and I want you to take notes.
Never let them know you're attached to something. They will find out, and they will wreck your soul the worst way possible.
(I am a horrible student, Finrod thinks, because he is chained and so are his companions.)
Rule number four, Maedhros says, and purses his lips. Be selfish. Your main objective is to survive. There's no place for compassion or empathy; only you, your life, and the cruelty of your captor.
(Well, Finrod thinks, looking at his company. In my defence, you suck at guides, Maitimo.)
~
Rule number one: you're a king. A fallen one, but a king nonetheless. Your company is your priority.
Rule number two: break. Give him a reason to believe he crushed you. Make him think your spirit is weakened. Make yourself thin, make yourself afraid. Make youself interesting.
Rule number three: take it all. No pain is worth your companion's suffering. No humiliation is worth them twitching in their own blood.
Rule number four: decieve. Don't cry when Hilie's back is whipped into bloody mess. Don't flinch when Edrahil takes another hit. Don't look at Beren as metal is burned into his skin.
Decieve. Make him mad. Make him look for your weak point elsewhere, because this one clearly does not affect you.
Rule number five: give them a chance to back up. They owe you nothing. This hell is not something they need to go through. If they back up, they will get a chance of quick death.
(They won't, of course. They never back up.)
Rule number six: wait. Wait for the right moment. Gather your strenght beneath the broken facade, beneath the paraded weakness. Snakes lay quiet. Snakes wait for their prey to wander too close.
Wait.
(The nightingale is close. The day will come again.)
Rule number seven: remember, it was never about you.
So, when time comes - bite.
Be quick, be reckless, be unpredicted. They will never expect you. They will never see it coming.
Your life was never a priority, so give it away as freely as a breath.
And, at last,
be faithful. After all, that's all what mattered in the end.
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