Lullaby

Canon-compliant.  Maedhros is not completely heartless, no matter how much he might pretend to be.  Quenya names used (Maglor = Makalaurë, Maedhros = Nelyafinwë, Nelyo).  I've had this in my head for half a week at least, and it's been driving me crazy because I got to it and I didn't know how to start it even though I had it all playing out in my head.  But I think it turned out okay, just short and sweet.  References "Villain" and is sort of tied in with "Repeat" but not really.  Takes place in the late First Age (a few months post-Third Kinslaying).

Disclaimer: I don't own the Silmarillion

Pairings: none

Characters: Maglor, Maedhros, Elrond, Elros (mentions Fëanor (roundabout), Irmo and Morgoth)

Warning: canon-compliant, fluff?, mentions war, death and premeditated mass murder, probably unstable mental conditions

Song: Imaginary

Words: 959
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lullaby (noun): a soothing refrain; especially: a song to quiet children or lull them to sleep
http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/lullaby

The twins had been restless.

It wasn't entirely unexpected.  They had been completely uprooted, taken from everything they had ever known--home, life and parents--by wild-eyed, blood-soaked strangers with gleaming swords and dark eyes.  And though it had been months since their arrival in the household, they were no less leery of the wandering souls that took to the halls than they had been in the beginning.

Especially Nelyafinwë.  Makalaurë understood--truly, he did--for he had feared for his own life at his older brother's hands before.  Should he choose, Nelyafinwë could be more terrifying than the visage of Morgoth himself!  Yet in the back of his mind there were always the golden memories of being tucked into bed, of hugs that encompassed and soothed and warmed even the bitter chill of starlit eyes.  It was the dichotomy between the shadow that existed now and the wholesome older brother that had doted upon him then.

But no matter his brother's actions, Makalaurë could never forget being comforted in the dark by a soft voice and warm hands stroking back his hair.  That was how Nelyafinwë lived in his memories, the father who tucked him into bed and kissed his brow goodnight.

These two had no such experiences, no such memories.  They saw the towering demon with flame-hair and cold, distant eyes, and naught else.  And they took to avoiding Nelyafinwë at every turn, staying well out of the other Fëanárion's way, skirting around the possibility of a vicious temper or spontaneous violence.

They came to Makalaurë instead.

"We cannot sleep" was often their primary complaint.  Nightmares, the second brother was all too familiar with.  And the second brother desired nothing but to help, but to leave behind the sins of the past and begin anew.  To become something better, something that the Nelyafinwë he recalled in his dreams would be proud to call brother and son.

And so, tonight as many nights before--as many nights before Nelyo had done for him--he bundled the little ones into their cocoon of covers and sheets, stroking his fingers through downy locks and over soft, chubby cheeks.  So young and so sweet.  So innocent and untouched by darkness.

And he sang.

Lullabies he remembered from childhood, from his mother in the sweetest, faded reckonings and from his brother's off-key voice before bedtime.  The words were as second nature to him, the musician, and their themes were well-woven into the story of the rise and the fall, more so now than ever before, a lighter chapter to combat the horror and tragedy that had overgrown and choked out any happiness he could recall.

Soft and sweet melodies rising away towards the stars.  Makalaurë closed his eyes and let them carry him away from this hellish reality, away from desolation.

At least, until he felt the touch of a hand on his shoulder jolting him back to bitter tangibility.  His voice cut short in his throat, squeezed into silence as he looked up and up into eyes at once familiar but all the same those of a stranger.  Eyes that he could recall glittering with needy thirst for blood, with a lust for vengeance and vindication that made him shudder in fright and despair.

On the bed, the twins were fast asleep, their eyelashes resting on soft cheeks, lost in the gardens of Lórien, far away from death and blood.  Unaware of the monster lurking in their midst.

But Makalaurë could see that those darkened eyes were soft now.  Soft and calm as still waters, gleaming oddly in the night.  Reflecting starlight as Maitimo knelt beside him and red curls spilled over his lap.  Against his hip, the older brother rested his temple and released a gusty sigh. "Do not stop, Laurë.  Please."

Please, sing me a lullaby.  How often he had once begged his older brother, even knowing Nelyafinwë's voice, low and running over him as a soothing breeze, oft missed notes and wavered tremulously in the dusk.

It had once brought him such comfort.  And who had there been to give that same gift to his fatherless older brother?

Relief pounded in his chest, relief that something inside the shadow of Nelyafinwë still desired--still needed--soothing.  Still required a gentle touch and remembrance of sweet and familiar words lost deep in the past.  Still had that spark of familiarity and tenderness.

And though none had ever done as such before for his brother, Makalaurë greatly wished to be that catharsis the other needed, to push away the nightmares he knew sent Nelyafinwë screaming hoarsely with terror into the early morning.  No, the twins were not the only ones within their broken household to suffer in sleep and dreams, nor who needed his voice to exorcise inner demons.

"All right," he whispered.

Makalaurë tangled his fingers into the sea of curls, combing through waves and waves of softness as they parted.  And he continued to sing, ignoring the trembling form pressed against his body, the hot liquid soaking through his tunic to skin underneath.  Looking away from the pressure and tension seeping out of open wounds until the shaking shoulders ceased and there was restful breathing in tandem with song.

And he kept singing.  Because Makalaurë knew he wasn't the only one who wanted to fly away, who wished for days long past and green, days before blood and lost innocence.

Days without the necessity of pride and strength and ruthlessness on the field of battle.  Just comfort and simple pleasures.  Just the soft stroke of familiar caresses and the lull of age-old words rocking them into sweet dreams of a hopeful tomorrow.
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I couldn't get it out of my head.  It started with a prompt of the Tolkien prompt fill for the Hobbit kink meme and went from there.  Of course, it got out of hand and doesn't fit with the fill at all, but that's beside the point.  It just mentioned Maglor singing to the twins, and thus this happened.   I'll have to write more Maedhros-twin interaction eventually, though, because they obviously aren't oing to be frightened of him forever, and by "Panic" it's pretty clear that he has a soft spot for the both of them. 

The other part of this piece came from the song mentioned.  Imaginary by Evanescence has an interesting and rather angsty but at the same time hurt/comfort-esque feeling to it, and thus both managed to work their way into my story.  Originally it was just all going to be angst, but it turned out much less angsty than I had originally predicted, almost hopeful but at the same time hopeless.  Ne~  Too much contradiction.  Forget me trying to explain.

And now I must be on my way.