I'll Be Yours If You'll Be Mine by NelyafinweFeanorion

---

Chapter 37

---

 

In his fury, Maedhros had forgotten that at his parents home he shared a room with Maglor. He flung open the door of their shared bedroom, momentarily shocked at the sight of his brother seated on his bed, headphones on, pen and notebook in hand.

Maglor glanced up as the door slammed open against the wall and met his brother's eyes. He pulled his headphones off, tossed them down on the bed and stood up. "What happened?" he asked, walking to stand in front of his older brother. "Maedhros?" He tentatively put his hand on his brother's arm, feeling the rigid muscles beneath his fingertips. "Maedhros, what's going on?" he whispered.

Maedhros took a deep breath and then spoke. "It seems Father has taken exception to my relationship with Fingon."

"What?" Maglor's grip tightened on Maedhros' arm. "Why?"

"Because Fingon is Fingolfin's son," Maedhros said, his scowl deepening. "And that's not an acceptable match for a son of Fëanor, it seems."

Maglor stared open-mouthed at his older brother, finding himself uncharacteristically at a loss for words. He had known, of course, that Maedhros and Tyelko were both dating Fingolfin's children. It had come up the night of the snowstorm. He had heard that name often enough in the years after Finwë's death and Maedhros' ordeal.

He knew there was a deeper, unmentioned history between his father and Fingolfin but Maglor had not comprehended the depth of his father's disdain.

"What did you say?" he asked Maedhros, his hand still gripping his brother's forearm. Maedhros' face was pale, his jaw clenched tightly.

Maedhros snorted. "Likely not what you would expect me to say," he admitted. "I told him that it was his problem if he didn't like it. There is nothing he can say to make me stop seeing Fingon,"

"I would expect you to say that," Maglor said. "I know how you feel about Fingon. And how he feels about you," he added softly. "What did Dad say to that?"

Maedhros moved to sit down heavily on his bed, Maglor dropping down next to him, their shoulders and knees brushing. "He said Fingon was not welcome here, not welcome under his roof."

Maglor sucked his breath in. He had expected some bluster from his father but this was worse than he had anticipated. "And?" he questioned gently.

"And I told him if Fingon is not welcome, then neither am I. He can think about it overnight. If he still feels the same way in the morning then I am packing my bags and going back to Formenos. I'll come for Christmas Day but I will not spend another night under this roof," Maedhros said.

A chill went through Maglor. Maedhros was right-he had never expected such open defiance from his brother. He reached out to grip Maedhros' hand tightly. "Good for you," he said, the fierce pride he felt for his brother visible on his face.

Maedhros gripped his hand back briefly then dropped it to hug Maglor, resting his head on his younger brother's shoulder. Maglor wrapped his arms around the still-tense form of his older brother. It took more bravery than Maglor had in him to stand up to Fëanor when he was in a fury.

Maglor could feel the slow burn of a matching fury rising in him. How dare Fëanor say such things and to Maedhros, of all people? His father had never seen Fingon and Maedhros together-he hadn't seen the light of hope and joy rekindled in Maedhros' eyes. And now he never would-he had tossed away the chance. It infuriated Maglor.

He tamped his indignation down for the moment and concentrated on gently stroking circles on his brother's back, murmuring incoherent words of comfort, remembering how many times Maedhros had done this for him, for all of them.

Maglor's own anger was usually slow to burn, rare to flare. But he felt incandescent with rage on Maedhros' behalf. Once roused, Maglor's anger was implacable. He would not stand by and see Maedhros-and by extension Fingon-treated this way. He kept murmuring soothing words until his older brother leaned back, silver eyes heavy-lidded and weary.

"I don't even know what to say, Maedhros, just that he's so very, very wrong."

"I know he is, Maglor. But what's worse is he's not even giving Fingon a chance-he's just dismissing him," Maedhros said, leaning back against the headboard. He pulled his legs up and wrapped his arms around them, resting his head on his bent knees.

He looked so young like that, Maglor thought. How many times had he seen Maedhros draw up into himself, in just that way?

Maglor's resolve grew. "Do you need some time alone, Maedhros?" he asked. "I can go down and sit with the others for awhile."

"I don't want to chase you out-this is your room too," Maedhros mumbled.

"I don't mind and I'm thinking you need it more than I do right now."

Maedhros closed his eyes. "If you really don't mind, yeah, I'd like a few moments to myself."

"Consider it done," Maglor said, rising to his feet.

"Thanks, Maglor. You don't have to stay away all evening. Just give me about a half hour, ok?"

"Whatever you need. I'll take my phone-if you need more time just text me." An idea was taking shape in Maglor's head, focusing his anger on a singular point.

"Thanks," Maedhros repeated, opening his eyes and giving him a wan smile. "Go help Tyelko out. The others are killing him in Diplomacy."

Maglor sighed. "They always do," he said, a ghost of a smile on his face too. It faded at Maedhros' sudden look of alarm. "What? What now?"

"Tyelko," Maedhros said.

"What about Tyelko?" Maglor asked.

"Dad's going to find out Aredhel is Fingolfin's daughter-he's bound to," Maedhros said. "You know Tyelko isn't going to take an admonition from Father to stop dating Aredhel any better than I took the one about Fingon."

"Decidedly worse, I'd say," Maglor agreed, a shiver of dread coming over him at his volatile brother's likely response.

"I'll have to warn him," Maedhros said, starting to shift off the bed.

"Stop. You need to take care of yourself. Leave this to me. Ok?"

"You're sure?"

"I've got this." Maglor tugged on a lock of Maedhros' hair. "I promise."

"Ok," Maedhros leaned back. "Thanks, Maglor. Don't let Tyelko freak out."

"I won't. Promise."

He shut the door behind him. He had absolutely no intention of joining the game or finding Tyelko right now. Maglor had one ultimate destination and that was a conversation with his father.

Apprehension swept through him but for once his anger was more than a match for it. He was resolved to confront Fëanor, even though direct confrontation was definitely not his style.

He made his way down, taking the back stairway to avoid his brothers. There was no sign of his parents in the kitchen. Maglor peered out the window: lights were on in his mother's studio and in his father's study. So they weren't together it seemed.

He really did not want to be sidetracked by his mother right now. He would lose whatever nerve he had built up to confront his father, if he stopped to talk to her. Silently, Maglor made his way to the laundry room, sliding boots on and grabbing a random sweatshirt from one of the hooks. With any luck it wouldn't be one of Tyelko's sweaty ones.

He slipped out the back door, darting a glance at the windows of Nerdanel's studio, the blinds still open so he could see in. She was pacing. Good thing he had avoided her; the expression on her face was stormy, to say the least. Maglor doubted Fëanor's would be any warmer.

He trudged across the freezing backyard to his father's workshop. He took a deep breath to steady himself, just outside the door to Fëanor's study. Maglor gave a single warning knock but opened the door seconds after. He wasn't going to let his father send him away.

Fëanor glared at him from behind his desk. "What is it, Maglor? I'm not much interested in company right now."

Maglor stepped into the space, his eyes never leaving his father's. "I need to speak with you."

Fëanor pinched the bridge of his nose. "Maglor. I am really not in any frame of mind for conversation tonight. Is everything all right or can this wait until morning?"

"No, actually, everything is most certainly not all right," Maglor said, using all his vocal training to keep his voice strong and steady. Fëanor raised his head to look at him inquiringly.

Maglor clenched his fists to keep his hands from visibly shaking. He levelled a steely-eyed glare at his father, who momentarily seemed taken aback by that. Good.

"It's not all right for you to question my brother's choice of partner. It is not all right for you to pass judgement on his relationship . . ." Maglor flung his hand up sharply in warning when Fëanor made to interrupt. "No, you've said quite enough tonight, Dad. I've got something to say and I need you to listen." He kept his hand up, internally floored by his own boldness. But this was for Maedhros. "It is not all right for you to pass judgment on Maedhros' relationship," he repeated. "But it is completely unacceptable when you haven't even met Fingon. Haven't even taken the opportunity to get to know him."

Maglor swallowed. Why was his mouth so dry? "I've met him. I've gotten to know him. And I can't imagine Maedhros ever finding anyone else even half as good as Fingon." Maglor licked his lips. Damn it, he was so parched but he kept on going, his voice rising in volume and intensity as the words tumbled out of him. "Fingon is caring, he is understanding, he is supportive. Haven't you seen how Maedhros has been? So empty? So detached? Did you even bother to notice how he is now or did you just rush in and crush his spirit without even a second glance?"

Maglor's cold gaze swept over his father. "He's happy, Dad. Something he hasn't been for a very long time. And he's happy because of Fingon." He took a step closer to Fëanor, a small part of his brain protesting at his audacity. "How dare you?" That same part of his brain progressed to screaming in warning but Maglor ignored it. "How dare you question his judgement, his choices, after everything he's been through?"

"Maglor, you don't understand. You don't know Fingolfin, you don't know that Fingon won't betray Maedhros' trust, that he won't hurt him in the long run," Fëanor said.

"I understand one thing, Dad. I understand that you are willing to jeopardize your relationship with your son because of an old grudge. A grudge I don't even understand." Maglor inhaled and then huffed the air out again. "Maedhros has been nothing but dutiful, loyal, supportive of you and Mom his whole life. And I do mean his whole life. You could do him the courtesy of supporting him for a change."

"For a change? How dare you even hint that I haven't been supportive?" Fëanor fumed.

"Because you haven't," Maglor said flatly. "Neither of you give him enough credit. Do you know what it's like to listen to you and Mom argue? Shout at each other? Hear you say unforgiveable things to each other? No, you don't." He shook his head at Fëanor's dismissive grunt. "You don't, Dad. Sorry to be blunt but you can't understand what that's like-you were too young when your mother died to have ever experienced something like that." He registered his father's look of shock. Fëanor's mother was usually a topic they all avoided.

There was no turning back now. "You have no concept of what it's like. But I do." Maglor paused to take a steadying breath. What he was going to say would no doubt bring him close to tears but he needed to stay strong while he said it.

"I do know. When I needed to be comforted, reassured, protected from that kind of thing it wasn't you doing the comforting. It wasn't Mom. It was Maedhros. Maedhros. My older brother, just two years older than me. He comforted me, he hugged me close when you and Mom argued, he covered my ears when you shouted at each other. Time and time again. And not only me-every one of my brothers too, again and again. But who did that for him?" His icy gaze locked on his father's face again. "No one. No one," he repeated. "Now he's finally found someone who will listen to him, who will hold him when he has a nightmare, who will comfort him when's he's upset and you dare question that? You dare deny him that?"

"Maglor," Fëanor's voice was softer but Maglor wasn't done.

"No, Dad. You need to hear me out. Fingon is the best thing to happen to Maedhros. They are good together and good to each other. If you can't accept that, can't give Fingon a chance, then I'm with Maedhros. I won't spend another night in this house either. If Fingon's not welcome, then neither am I," he said, unconsciously echoing Maedhros' earlier words.

"This is Maedhros' home, Maglor," Feanor said, an uncharacteristic wavering in his voice. "It's your home too, no matter what."

"Not if Fingon isn't welcome."

"Maglor." There was no force to his father's voice anymore. There was a tremble to it Maglor could not recall ever hearing before.

It almost got to him. Maglor hesitated for a moment but recovered. "I'm not the one laying down the ultimatums, Dad. That would be you."

"Maedhros' home is here," Fëanor repeated.

"You haven't made him feel that way, Dad. Not with what you said about Fingon," Maglor explained.

Fëanor's usually upright shoulders sagged and his hand covered his face. Maglor had never seen him look so defeated. It was so out of character for his father that Maglor found himself making his way to Fëanor's side.

Maglor hesitated to reach out, unsure of his father's response.

"Dad?" he said, his tone softer and gentler than before.

Fëanor reached to take hold of Maglor's shoulder, his grip tight enough to hurt. His father's eyes were closed.

"Why didn't Maedhros say anything, Maglor? Why didn't I know?" Fëanor asked. His father's eyes opened, stormy with emotion.

"Why didn't you know what, Dad?" Maglor questioned. "About Fingon?"

"No, about Maedhros. That he still had the nightmares." There was a haunted look in Fëanor's eyes.

Maglor sighed. "He wasn't going to tell you about that, Dad. He didn't want you to know. He didn't want us to know, but we live with him, so it was hard to keep it a secret for long." Maglor ran a hand through his hair. He had come this far. He could keep going. "He would never tell you about it. He was going to fight it out on his own, you know that. He's never wanted to disappoint you, Dad."

"He never has," Fëanor said.

"Have you ever told him that?" Maglor questioned. He took another deep breath and briefly closed his eyes as he added. "Have you ever told any of us that?"

Fëanor snapped his head up, his hard stare on Maglor. "You know I have nothing but pride in my sons, Maglor. You know that." His fingers, still on Maglor's shoulder, tightened their grip enough to make Maglor wince.

It took all of Maglor's remaining strength of will to speak. He might never get this chance again. "We don't know that, Dad. Whatever we do, it's never enough. We're never quite good enough."

"I don't expect more than you are capable of," Fëanor argued, pulling his hand away from Maglor's shoulder and crossing his arms defiantly. "I've never wanted to indulge complacency."

"Complacency?" Maglor burst out. "How could you even think we could be complacent, when what we did never seemed good enough for you? It's not complacency. It's resignation. Two completely different things." He frowned. "It's the realization that we'll never do well enough to meet your expectations. So we stop trying so hard." Maglor ran his hand through his already unruly hair again. "We're not you, Dad. We never will be-maybe only Curvo will ever even come close. It's hard, never feeling like you're good enough, never fulfilling expectations."

"I never meant to make you feel that way," Fëanor said, the edge gone from his voice. "That was never my intention. I wanted to motivate you." There was an unfamiliar uncertainty in his expression.

"It's more than that, Dad. None of us want to disappoint you. Maedhros feels he's let you down, over and over. By allowing himself to be captured, by having residual, lingering issues from that, by taking the settlement when you wanted to pursue the case. It's all those things. It's weighed on him and maybe that's one reason he can't get past it."

Maglor clenched and unclenched his fists and then continued. "If that wasn't a heavy enough burden, now you've heaped your disappointment about his personal life on him too, at a time when he is finally getting a chance at happiness. When he finally found some hope." Maglor's steely gaze returned. "I'm not going to let you crush that hope. He's been trying to deal with this on his own for long enough. It's selfish of you to put your feud with Fingolfin ahead of Maedhros' happiness."

The stunned look on his father's face told him perhaps he had finally gotten through to him. "I didn't realize . . ."

Maglor closed his eyes and let his tense shoulders relax. "Well now you know, don't you?" He opened his eyes to regard his father again. "You said some harsh things to Maedhros tonight, Dad. Things I think you really need to think through. He's not going to back down on this."

"No, I suppose he isn't, not from what he said earlier," Fëanor admitted with a grimace. His silver eyes, so much like Maedhros' own, were clouded with regret. "I don't know what to do," he whispered.

These were words he had never thought to hear his father say. It appeared Maglor had gotten through to him, as astounding as that was.

"I can tell you what not to do," Maglor said. "Don't push him away."

"I'm not trying to," Fëanor whispered.

Maglor could feel his hands trembling, the delayed reaction to his confrontation finally catching up to him.

Fëanor took a step closer to him. "You've given me a lot to think about. I realize how difficult this must have been for you." Fëanor's eyes softened. "Don't hesitate to do it again, if I need it. Rather, when I need it," he corrected. "Ok?" Fëanor opened his arms and Maglor gladly went into them. "You are always enough for me, Kanafinwë," he murmured, the use of Maglor's Quenya name cementing the importance of that admission. "I will try to convey that better in the future. Do not doubt my love or pride in you."

He felt his father's lips brush his hair and then Fëanor stepped away. He turned to walk out, giving Maglor one last nod as he passed through the doorway. "I need to think, Maglor. Turn the lights off and lock up for me, will you?" Maglor nodded silently in response and then Fëanor was gone and he was alone.

Maglor's knees were buckling and he leaned heavily against the desk behind him. Somehow he had managed to do it and had survived.

He glanced at his phone. No texts from Maedhros and more than half an hour had passed.

Time to go check on his older brother. Talking to Tyelko could wait.