Sing, O Muse by queerofthedagger

When it happens, Maglor is entirely unprepared.

He and Maedhros are out hunting for the first time since they moved East, spring finally spreading across the cold north. Both the Gap and Himring are still more construction than actual stronghold, but the winds have changed and the sun offers tentative warmth, and so, they had thought, things were looking up.

It made them careless.

Maglor should have been prepared. It is nigh on unforgivable that he is not. But he is not, and so the Orcs break through the treeline just as Maedhros turns his back, and everything descends into chaos from there.

They are surrounded and separated within moments. If they had been prepared, they would have been fine. If they had seen this coming, if Maglor was not so distracted by Maedhros fighting in his periphery, by their guard trying and failing to break through to him—

If Maglor had been prepared, they would have been fine. But he was not, and so the Orcs fall not as quickly to his blade as they ought to.

They might not win. They might lose, the possibility crystallising like all his most well-worn nightmares come true.

And so he does what he promised himself never to do, by some tenacious remnant of hope that there might be one thing of himself not to be sacrificed to this accursed land. He does what he promised not to and raises his voice in song—after all, what is the point of keeping a part of himself untainted if it means accepting the grim resignation on Maedhros’ face as the Orcs swarm him?

And so Maglor sings. Sings of jagged mountain tops and their breaking, of tearing earth asunder. Sings of loss and guilt and the bright, dazzling rage of it, sinking into the hollow spaces between bone and sinew. He sings of blood, the price its drawing demands, and how it feels on your skin once it cloys. He sings and sings and sings, until the world goes still and he no longer feels like breaking open, like spilling all his failures across the frozen ground until he finds his brother’s mangled body at the end of them.

The world has gone still, and when Maglor drags himself back from the brink, he surveys the result of it all.

It has, he notes with strange detachment, been far more effective than he thought possible. Songs of Power are nothing new, but in Valinor, they are not used for this—for violence, for the breaking of things, for anything but delight.

He had expected them to give him an edge. He had not expected to level the battlefield and the forest, everything but Maedhros who remains, untouched and staring at Maglor as if he has been awoken from a long and terrible sleep.

Even their horses are gone. Maglor’s throat feels as if he has swallowed glass.

If he had known. If he had so much as suspected, he might—he could have—

“Makalaurë,” Maedhros says, his voice cutting through the silence.

He looks like he wants to say more, but behind him, even parts of the forest have been levelled, and Maglor—

Maglor crosses the distance between them, across the bodies of Orcs and crumbled weapons; invades Maedhros’ space, one hand to the ruined face of him, and pulls him down into a kiss that tastes of blood and ash and promised spring.

They have not touched since Fingon had brought Maedhros back. Maglor knew he had no right, no matter what they used to be to each other—his hands too stained, too useless. He had not dared to lay them on Maedhros again, whether in affection or to help with the healing, to help with all that came after; endless hours on Mithrim’s shore as Maedhros clawed his way back to mastery of his sword and body.

Maglor had not touched him. After all, what use had he been? But now—now—

Beneath his touch, Maedhros freezes. Reality comes back in increments and then all at once.

Maglor pulls away, shame and guilt trying to rise before he meets Maedhros’ eyes, sees the familiar consideration in them. Finds that he cannot move back any further, Maedhros’ hand having found his waist, holding him still.

They hover there, a breath of space between them. There is a small crease between Maedhros’ brows and blood on his cheeks, and after moments or an eternity later, he hums. Lets his gaze drop back to Maglor’s mouth and leans down, kissing him lightly once, twice, before pressing close.

He licks into Maglor’s mouth, slow and deliberate; sinks his teeth into Maglor’s bottom lip, just this side of too much, and it is this, more than anything, the familiar, sharp pleasure racing down his spine, that finally makes Maglor believe that this is real. That Maedhros means it.

He pushes closer, makes a noise so far removed from the famed minstrel that at any other time, he would be embarrassed about it, and cannot bring himself to care. He is flying, higher and higher as Maedhros keeps kissing him, precise and devastating and wonderfully, shockingly alive beneath Maglor’s hands.

When they break apart, both their breathing is going fast. Around them, the forest is still quiet, almost peaceful in its desolation.

Maedhros runs a thumb across Maglor’s jaw, tilts his head. “I was not aware Songs of Power could do that.”

There is no accusation in it, no question. Maglor shrugs and says, deliberately light, “Me neither.”

Maedhros’ eyes alight on him. “Why would you have—you should not take such risks, Káno.”

“I should have taken more of them,” Maglor snaps, his voice like gravel. “I will not lose you again, Nelyo. I cannot.”

For a moment, it looks like Maedhros is about to say more, and Maglor knows exactly what it would be; that Maedhros is not something that needs protecting. That Maglor needs to take care of himself. That he should not worry, should not punish himself so.

In the end, though, Maedhros merely pulls him close once more; presses his lips to Maglor’s forehead, the corner of his mouth, his lips. Exhales against him, slow and steady, as if their falling back together is as much relief to him as it is to Maglor.

Perhaps it is; perhaps it is not. Maglor does not have the answer.

What he does know is that there is no world where he will not forge his voice into a weapon to sink all of Beleriand if it means he may keep his brother safe.

Chapter End Notes

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