consumedbyfire | Open rp post

It was snowing again. Memories couldn't be ignored even with the weight of the kingship on his head and shoulders. Fingolfin walked through the halls of his home, checking on all who lived within the immediate walls of the stronghold. A permanent shiver worked hard to run through him and make him shake when white fell from the sky, but he never gave in. A good thick robe and thick soled boots on his feet would hide what did get through.

Fingolfin paused at one of the balconies looking out over the land, then to the railing. Drawn to stare out over at the white wash of all that could be seen. To the river just in sight. He would not give in even to the winter, though it was not so cold here. And they had supplies, and access to more. No one went hungry. He wasn't willing to send people out too long outside of hunting and defense.

A sense behind him had him smile suddenly and turn his head a little. "My shadow has returned," he greeted softly.

The snow didn't hold as much darkness, pain, and grief for Maedhros, but he knew how Fingon felt about it. They were able to get away though, and he was quick to draw Fingon into his arms- watching the snow drift down from the safety of a warm room with a fire crackling behind them. It had a deadly beauty to it, the cold, and he couldn't imagine Fingon's trek through a frozen nightmare.

Centuries passed even in Valinor, but eventually the eldest of Feanor's sons let himself do more than just answer Mandos' summons. He was reborn, returned to a body whole and healthy, if so very young. Barely a teenager, by elven standards.

He made some people nervous, but he understood and left them alone. He had faced it all and survived. Had let himself heal, in time. So much time.

Now he walked paths of home, hair just as red as ever and feet bare to the ground. He spent more time alone than he had when he'd last been in Valinor. But Tirion still felt like home. His half-uncle had accepted him, which was more than he'd expected until those arms had opened and warm rooms had been offered in the Noldoran's own home.

But there was one person he knew had been reborn for some time now, that he hadn't dared approach yet, despite wanting to. Instead he'd tried to hide, to stay away as much as he could.

Maedhros was glad he and Fingon had gotten an apartment together while they finished school. No little brothers barging in at the worst times, demanding attention for this or that. Fingon's music was always nice to listen to and relax with.

Now if classes would only make a little more sense! He came home, quietly closing the door with a sigh to lean back against it, letting his bag drop down to the table. A hand came up to tug the tie off the end of his braid. "You home yet, Finno?"

(With the ponies settled, Tambë walks back to Astaldo, reaching for his hand with a shy grin. He motions at a ladder.)

Climb to the top and there is a cozy nook we can use. (But he realizes they will need to be quiet.) You go up first, love.

Maedhros had been away for...months. It felt far longer. He'd rode hard to make it before the paths were too snowed over for travel, but made it just as the blizzard threatened just steps behind.

He handed the reigns of his mount to the handler, making a quiet request the loyal beast be given special care for having carried him so well, so far, through such difficult conditions. Then he was escorted to Fingon's halls.

Niceties. Formal greeting and request of shelter through the harsh winter snows. A feast was planned for that night and finally he could sneak away to warm up. Sink into a steaming bath with a sigh, eyes closing. He knew Fingon would join him when he could, either before he was done, or after.

He was tired, true, but never too tired for Fingon.

Not long after Elrond had sailed to Valinor, and a bit after he'd arrived (giving him some time to get reacquainted with his wife and start to know some more distant relatives) he learned of a particular reborn he'd heard many stories about, both growing up and during his learning after to become a Loremaster.

Findekano. Fingon. Once High King. Cousin to his foster fathers.

He went searching, following directions the Nolodoran gave him, and eventually heard music that seemed to call to him. He knew better than to ignore such a sign and followed it to a room. There, he found an elf that matched many descriptions and images he'd heard and seen of Findekano.

Elrond paused at the entrance, entranced with the beautiful sound and now without any hurry.

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I do what I want XD <3

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