Caring

Mellow Soulmate AU.  Amrod discovers his son, Valthoron.  Quenya names used (Amrod = Ambarussa, Maedhros = Nelyafinwë, Maglor = Kanafinwë, Fëanor = Fëanáro).  This is tied up with "Cheat" and "Overflow" and all other pieces related to those (a.k.a. all pieces with the pairing Amrod/Thranduil).  More characterization of Amrod, who I have neglected.  I guess I've neglected Amras, too, but he doesn't show up here.  Takes place well after "Overflow" but before "Divided".  Set in Mirkwood in the early Third Age.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Silmarillion

Pairing: past Amrod x Thranduil

Characters: Amrod, Valthoron (OMC) (mentions Maedhros, Maglor, Fëanor, Thranduil and Amras)

Warning: not canon compliant, OMC, spontaneous children, past m!preg, past non-con, dysfunctional families, mentions war, insanity and mass murder

Song: Guren

Words: 1,047
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care (verb): to feel trouble or anxiety; to feel interest or concern; to have a liking, fondness, or taste
http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/care

Ambarussa had never intended to have children.

He wasn't like Nelyafinwë, who had practically raised six of his own already and had always been eager for more to join the ranks of his large family.  Nor was he like Kanafinwë, with all that innate patience and soft hands and intrinsic gentleness of temperament.  Always, he had been too fiery and too reckless, more interested in hunting and enjoying life as a bachelor than in finding a mate and starting a family, even before the Darkening and Exile.

Beleriand had not changed that.  Nor had the Halls of the Waiting.  Nor even had his second coming to Valinor.  If anything, seeing those smiling young children frolicking through their own green, ignorant childhoods had left him aching and bitter with envy, for they had what had been so brutally ripped away from him and his brothers at the sundown of the golden shores.  These little ones were sweet and innocent, had never seen their hands painted with scarlet--had never seen their father burn their brother alive and had never seen all the atrocities and carnage of war and vengeance.

No, he had most certainly not wanted children.

In some ways, he had thought of the return of the exiles to Middle-earth as a blessing.  To be away from all that held his jealousy and scorn but was so far beyond his reach--it might then all fade into the background, lend him some peace in his troubled mind.

But then there was Thranduil.  And then there was the redheaded young prince.

The undeniably Fëanárion prince.

With that same cleft chin of the father and those fell-fire eyes of the grandfather and that pure Noldorin stubbornness pounded into the very foundation of the bloodline.  A child of his bloodline--he could feel it in his bones from the very first he saw the child.

The child he had never asked for.

And yet...

And yet he found his jealousy faded into white when he watched the boy laugh and joke with his peers about a fire, carefree and with little burden.  Found that following the prince out on patrol in the darkness of Mirkwood soothed an itchy, restless urge that continued to endlessly poke and prod at the back of his mind.  That watching the back of his kin--no, more than his kin, his very blood--allowed him to rest at night without overwhelming, visceral worry.

The knowledge that the boy was his pushed away the hovering remembrance and the hatred lurking.  And it left behind a part of him that he didn't understand, intrinsically bonded more powerfully than mithril chains.

It was not long before he watched the boy ceaselessly whenever he had the time.  Before he spent his days wondering what the prince had looked like as a child with wild red curls and huge, gorgeous turquoise eyes--the perfect mixture of his parents.  Before he wondered if the boy was as hot-tempered as the worst of his sire's kin or if the boy was more like his "mother", with a cool outer shell that covered up a resilient and stubborn soul edged in icy resolve.

Without Ambarussa even realizing it, that boy quickly became the center of his world.  Of his hopes and his nightmares.

They had never met.  They had never spoken.  The sixth son of Fëanáro did not even know his son's name.  But none of it seemed to matter when he watched the prince sparring and chuckling with his comrades or practicing the bow in the utter silence and stillness of the forest.  None of that seemed to matter at all when he watched his child go off into battle--against spiders or orcs or any manner of dark creature--and waited with anxiety bordering on lunacy for the return of hair like a beacon of flame and brilliant starlit eyes.

He did the best that he could to make sure the boy was happy and safe.  He cared more than he wanted to admit even in his own thoughts.  At the same time, though, his ability to connect so closely with another was reassuring, although the bond was one-sided.  It meant that the senility inherent in the line of his father had not yet consumed his mind.  Wrathful lust for vengeance had not yet burned away all humanity left in his heart or his capacity to love and cherish.

All the young prince seemed to do was bring back light and contentment to the spirit that Ambarussa could not remember ever feeling, not even in the Noontide of Valinor in his hazy memories of sweetness and glory.  No amount of revenge or glowing rocks or satisfaction could make him smile the way his son could--without even trying or knowing.

Maybe he was more like to the father of his heart than the father of his blood--more like to Nelyafinwë than Fëanáro--than he had ever suspected.

All he knew was that he would never stop caring for this boy no matter the trials and tribulations of the long years.  No matter that he suspected the cycle of hatred still burned and bubbled in his son's veins and would rise as a monstrous fiend to rend him apart in spite should he show his face.  No matter that Thranduil feared him terribly and would never love him as two halves of one soul should love another, not after the horrible acts he had committed in his delirious terror.

Somehow, just the sight of his curls and grin on his lover's elegant features was enough to push all of that away.  This child was of the both of them, and he was perfect.

And even should one day those lovely, laughing eyes look upon him with loathing and that roguish grin bend downwards with scorn at his sight, it would be enough to just be near--to watch and listen and take in the essence of a creation more amazing than any which could have been sculpted or molded of precious metal and studded with vibrant jewels.

He would never stop loving his son.  He could not--not even had he tried.
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Not much to say here, I think.  Came out a little sappier than I had intended, but I think I can live with that.  I just wanted to touch on Amrod's POV once again and learn more about him if I could manage.  He's turning out to actually be the most bitter of all the brothers surprisingly.  Most of the rest of them have spouses, though, so I guess he's got a few more problems than most in that particular arena (if you aren't counting Caranthir or Aegnor, of course).

Anyway, the song I chose for today is Guren by Yasuharu Takanashi from the Naruto Shippuuden OST.  I wouldn't be surprised if you were sick of Naruto music by now, but I just can't help myself.  There is so much pretty Naruto music that I just have to use it.  Besides,  was listening to a "top ten saddest soundtracks from Naruto" YouTube video today, and this was ranked like 7 or 8 and I was like "oh, so pretty~" and decided to use it.  And it's got the right sort of atmosphere.  Sort of calm and soft but also sad and distant.

Ah, don't listen to the music dork.  I could go on and on for hours about any particular song, especially if I'm listening to it as I write.  Just enjoy this little inner monologue.