Unhinged by ford_of_bruinen

Unhinged

Originally a birthday present for the wonderful Keiliss

Read Unhinged

It was not the first time he cursed the fact that fireplaces, by practicality, were placed on the far end of the room in regards to the bed. It had been a good hour since one of the girls had slipped into his room, believing him asleep and quietly lit the fire, trying to chase the cold out of the room. In fact he had been awake, his bones aching too deeply for a restful sleep and the remaining chill in the chamber did nothing to improve on matters.

 

Sighing he rubbed the palm of his hand firmly over his stump. The lack of discomfort still surprised him. A boon due to the joy of scarred and deadened nerves he suspected. Wincing he forced himself to sit and stretching, he could hear his spine crack for every inch he moved. He cursed to himself, using a language neither his mother nor father would have approved of, as his shoulder dislocated. It was not an unusual occurrence since his saving from Thangorodrim, years of abuse had made his right shoulder weak; maybe it was just as well he no longer needed it to hold much strength.

 

He reached for a robe at the bottom of the bed and awkwardly wrapped it around himself, not bothering to fasten it completely before he limped off to find Maglor. The limp too would fade as the day wore on but mornings were always stiff and uncomfortable.

 

The noises of the household hummed around him, the soft footfalls of servants, the clang of iron against iron from the training grounds and somewhere close the slow calculated lament of a harp. He rolled his eyes, it was early for the harp to sing a tune like this and from experience he knew he would find his brother in a fey mood, whether from spirits or yet another discarded lover he could not say.

 

Knocking on the door to his brother's chambers he entered, not bothering to wait for a reply and found his eyes narrowing at the sight.

 

Maglor was indeed bent over the harp, one hand occasionally pausing to scrabble at the pieces of parchments surrounding him. There was an odd discordant tone in this lament, a strain of frustration or confusion perhaps that made him uncomfortable as did the thin golden wire carelessly forgotten upon a table. It should not have surprised him, following the discussion they had on his return, Maglor these days, in a deeper cynicism than ever, had a tendency to meddle and to do his best at breaking other's beliefs or morals. Still he wished in this case that his brother would have left things well enough alone, there was a debt here and Maglor's actions had made it deeper.

 

'For once, could you not have left the innocence in place,' he asked tiredly. 'His feelings were hurting neither you nor me.'

 

Maglor jumped slightly, running a hand through his tangled hair, too engrossed in his music to have noted Maedhros' arrival. For a moment an odd, almost rueful, expression fleeted across the hard face before he shrugged. 'The boy was wilting before my eyes, all too eager for a chance to imagine himself in your bed.' He struck a particular discordant note on the harp, making Maedhros wince. 'You should thank me for doing him a favour.'

 

'Damn you.' Maedhros' temper was fraying, it happened too easily these days, another gift of Morgoth's hospitality. 'Did my debt to him ever come into your mind, after this I may as well give him the crown for all the good you done us.'

 

'You came at this ghastly hour of the morn, bearing neither spirits nor wine, to pester me about my distractions?' Maglor's voice was sarcastic. 'I think not, especially as it is too early for rumour to have reached you.'

 

 

 'My shoulder unhinged again,' he replied shortly. 'But I find the temptation of fratricide too strong to ask for you aid.'

 

'Go to our cousin, brother, I am certain he would be all too happy to help you...adjust...yourself.

 

The fey, mocking sound of his brother's laughter followed him, even as Maedhros left, slamming the door behind him.