Collateral

Mellow Soulmate AU.  It's the first time Amrod meets his son, and the rift between them is wider than he had expected.  All Sindarin names (because I'm a lazy ass).  This is, of course, related to "Cheat", "Divided" (and its substituents), "Catatonic" (and its substituents), "Overflow", "Caring" and "Shame".  So if you aren't familiar with them, this won't make a lick of sense.  With that over, I thus present (finally) more father-son confrontational family-angst.  I waited forever and a day for this prompt to come along, and my best friend gave it to me.  Takes place in Mirkwood in the Fourth Age (post-Legolas departure).

AN: dedicated to my best friend, who so kindly provided a prompt that has nothing to do with food

Disclaimer: I don't own the Silmarillion or LotR (but I do own Valthoron)

Pairings: Amrod x Thranduil

Characters: Amrod, Valthoron (OMC), Thranduil (mentions Fëanor, Eru and several of the Fëanorions (depending on your interpretation))

Warning: non-canon compliant AU, slash, past m!preg, past non-con, very dysfunctional family and relationship, mild mention of violence, something vaguely resembling the shovel talk

Song: What Lies Beneath

Words: 1,331
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collateral [damage] (noun): injury inflicted on something other than an intended target; specifically civilian casualties of a military operation
http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/collateral%20damage

It hurt more than he had expected--hurt, hurt, hurt so badly--to feel the searing brand of ambient fury which engulfed his progeny at the very sight of his face.

But it was not unexpected.

In any operation, there were always unintended casualties.  Well he remembered the days of war in the First Age--spent wandering through ashy, devastated lands once populated by farmers and villagers now decimated beneath dragon's fire and merciless armies.   Spent fleeing across thousands upon thousands of leagues of land torn apart beyond all recognition as the enemy hunted southward ravenously.  Spent languishing in terror and guilty conscience even though he knew there was nothing to be done--no force that could then counter the power of the Dark Lord as he raised hope and prosperity to the ground.

There had been charred bodies and mutilated bodies and half-eaten bodies of men and women who had never hefted a sword or marched into battle in their entire lives, their corpses numbering in the thousands left out in the sun to rot and attract flies and vermin.  But no matter the horrors of such a sight and the despair at being too weak to put a stop to the atrocities, they had not been unexpected.

If he was truthful, Amrod had not expected such collateral damage from the Kinslayings.  Man, woman and child--all were the intended victims of the Oath of Fëanor.  Not one was to be spared out of kindness, shame or guilt, not when they dared stand between the brothers and their goal.

But here stood before him the proof.  The accidental influence of one foolish act thousands of years ago in the name of vengeance and birthright.  The example.

With his fiery red curls blown haphazardly over wild, infuriated blue eyes.  Prince Valthoron.

His son.

And they were meeting for the first time.  Face-to-face.  No hiding in the deep shadows.  No stalking through the forest.  No spying in the recesses of night's veil.

Just as Amrod had always suspected, the hatred that ran hot through the blood of the Dispossessed was no less potent within the veins of his son than it had been in the veins of his father.  The boy looked ready to unsheathe his blade and cut down his sire.  Said sire suspected that, had Thranduil not been hovering nearby anxiously--clearly upset and exhausted--Valthoron might have attempted to slaughter him as viciously and painfully as possible just for daring to breathe.

And he wouldn't have tried to stop the boy.

"I know that Adar has forgiven you."

Instead, he stood and waited for the venomous words to come.  What could he possibly say to his own child when he knew he was deserving of every ounce of anger and fear slicing throbbing holes through his very spirit?  That he was sorry?  The very thought was bitter with twisted amusement.

It would have been a cheap and empty apology.  Sorry wouldn't fix all the wrongs that had been dealt.  It would not take away Thranduil's unwarranted pain or Valthoron's violent conception.  It would not take away the fact that this child had been born from shed blood and heinous crimes rather than through love and devotion as he should have been.

It hurt to look upon the creation marred by his own two hands so unintentionally, but Amrod did not allow himself to look away.  He would not be a coward seeking mercy in avoidance.  He would not pretend at innocence.

"But I will not forgive you, murderer."

Eru! it was like being stabbed!  No poisoned blade had ever caused pain such as this--almost enough to drag forth tears and tighten his throat.  But Amrod did not even allow his stoic features to twitch or wince at the shock of pure agony fluttering up his spine and prodding through his ribs towards his heart.  If it pleased Valthoron to see him suffer this little bit--And what was this compared to what he had heaped upon others?--well, he would be a hypocrite to say that the same vindictive wrath did not satisfy his own bloodthirsty righteousness.

Like father, like son.  Twice over.

"Adar cares about you, and that is the only reason I hesitate to strike you down for what you have done to him.  What you have done to us."

To us.  The words came out harsh and low, shattered and trembling with pure emotion.  Amrod stared seemingly impassively at his offspring's shaking shoulders and grinding teeth--at the firm set of a sharp jaw and the narrowing of all-too-familiar eyes.  Every line of that body shuddering with anger.  With the need to rend and tear if only to release the tension that must be building and building into a mountain of frustration beneath the skin.  Itching and driving and egging...

But beneath the smoldering eyes lay a broken interior.  Little shards of glass reflecting.  Betrayed.

And it was so hard to breathe when he looked and saw.

Because he could tell that Valthoron was trying very hard not to cry beneath his gaze--not to look weak.  Amrod had expected fear.  He had expected anger.  He had expected hatred.

But he had not expected the grief in haunted turquoise pools, swirling and mixing into a potent concoction of guilt-inducing collage.  It was more than just what had been done to Thranduil.  This was not righteous anger, nor was it familial devotion.

The hitch in that breath so suspiciously like a sob.  The bitten lip slowly dripping blood to keep in bubbling cries.  The shaking hands biting crescents into pale palms.

And he realized he knew almost nothing about this child--his son.

There were pieces missing.

"But if you lay so much as a finger upon him with the intent to do harm..." Eyes flashed, and the madness and inherent vehemence was so familiar that Amrod almost shuddered in visceral reaction, remembering other eyes and other smiles and other threats...

"I will make you suffer."

The words echoed and lingered between them.  A steel wall that barred passage of camaraderie or affection or understanding.  A wall that touched the very apex of the heavens and was twice as broad as the endless sky.

Overcome with tremors, the child pushed past, near shoving him away before fleeing the room, an upset Thranduil hot on those heels.  But Amrod did not follow.  He would not intrude when he knew that Valthoron had gone to weep and scream and shatter furniture against the walls. 

Amrod did not even move.  But his smile was wistful and shaky.

"Silly boy..."

He had not expected this much collateral damage.  And he knew that this bond between father and son could not be mended through simple words or action.  Not through any amount of kindness or devotion.  Not even through the overwhelming amount of pure love he felt for the child who wanted nothing more than to spill his guts across the floor and dance in his blood if only to protect and avenge the only parent he had ever known and cared for. 

Were he truthful--and hopeless--Amrod would have admitted that he did not believe this bond could ever be pieced back together.  It had never even existed in the first place.  He was the father that had sired a child through rape and abandoned his family to die, and nothing could make up for that.

"As if I would try to stop you."

But his blood would not allow him to roll over and surrender--to give up without a struggle and fade away into darkness.  It took more than rejection to smother a spirit of fire.

Maybe there was nothing he could do to mix this mess.  To quell that explosive ire and bring this broken and dilapidated little family together.

But he was still going to try.
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As mentioned before, I've been waiting so long for this prompt.  I thought (a month or so ago) that "Contempt" might be the ideal prompt, but it just didn't fit right.  And then here was this.  And since I know next to nothing about the truth of many types of financial dealings (my mother manages multi-billion dollar real estate projects, so I should, but I don't LOL), I used the only definition of the word that I actually comprehend (i.e. the one with damage tagged on the end).

However, it then spawned this.  And I can't say its perfect, but it fell into place.  With one of my AO3 followers so enraptured with this pairing and story arc, I've been giving it a bit more attention (because comments = motivation), and we both had been waiting a very long time for these two to finally meet.  Until actually writing this, I honestly did not know how it was going to pan out.  Violence?  Shouting?  Attempted homicide?  But it was fairly tame in a roundabout manner.

Certainly, I expect they will be showing up again sometime in the future.  This is somewhere around the "last scene" of the arc, but we'll see if it progresses anywhere in the forward direction after this.  Maybe I'll get an inspirational prompt.

The song today, unfortunately, has little to actually do with the story other than its use in providing an atmosphere, though I suppose it could be interpreted to fit the piece if you really think about it.  What Lies Beneath by Breaking Benjamin actually reminds me more of Celegorm than anyone else, but I've drawn many parallels between interrelated characters before, and this story is no exception.  I compared--it's there for all to see.  So I guess maybe it fits better than I thought.