Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Celegorm was sure this was a good plan.

He was dying in Valinor, they had taken away everything from him because of the unsound idea that he was somehow dangerous.

The absolute nerve of those cosmic bastards. He felt like a showpiece in his own home, a symbol of the Valar’s control over all of the creatures that lived with them. That they held all the cards and they only reason they were able to live again was by the grace and power of them, the almighty picked by the blasted father of all himself. Celegorm spit over the side of his boat at the thought.

Someone should remind them that they aren’t actually gods , Celegorm thought to himself as he checked one of his sails. Because they have obviously forgotten.

And because they were under the full grace of the gods, many of the noldor had been forced to comply with obnoxious restrictions. For years his father was not allowed to touch a forge, nor Curufin, not even Celebrimbor.

Cele ‘I renounced my entire family’   brim ‘was tortured by the blasted werewolf fucker and still didn’t give up’ bor. Talk about unfair.

Eventually though, they were allowed back because the Valar suddenly remembered that his father (, his brother, and nephew) were the only reason for any useful invention in the whole of Aman. That gave everyone hope for better times for all of us, because it wasn’t just their family (though in Celegorm’s opinion it was the worst on them) the Nolofinweans and so many of the Noldor who went with them were also subjected to the same restrictions. Eventually, so slowly everyone got back what they most wanted. Caranthir was slowly working his way back to being head of everything fiscal, the twins were able to hunt, Aredhel got her son back, and was able to be a mother again, Mae finally got to marry his ‘one true love’ (as he had called it), everything was going great...for everyone else.

Celegorm was still barred from hunting, from doing anything fun. Orome practically had him under lock and key, he was so horribly trapped he felt like he may go crazy.

Y’know again .

He would painfully admit, he understood some of the why, but he thought after getting the good old Este seal of medical approval he could have been able to run, have fun, feel...normal again. Well, as normal as he could have been. But no, he was the only one out of all seven brothers who the world seemed to decide couldn’t be happy.

Well, that wasn’t completely true.

They didn’t know the happiness of the brother number two.

Because they didn’t know where he was.

It was one of those topics that the family couldn’t make light of, Celegorm had noticed. Mother worried, Father was guilty on top of worried, Maedhros was always suspiciously silent, Curufin and Caranthir tried to act like that they didn’t start developing a hatred of music because they missed him, while the twins openly spent hours in his dusty old room just talking. And what of him ? He missed him sure, but he wasn’t going to cry about it, he knew Maglor was much stronger than his brothers gave him credit for. If anyone was going to survive it was going to be him. That doesn’t mean, he thought it would be forever.

He knew Maglor would come would to them sooner or later.

“ Of course, Maglor would have to have the most dramatic death ,” he remembered saying at dinner. “ After Mae’s own show of damnation, Maglor would have to try and outdo him. What do the stories say? He screams on a beach forever? Someday he has to get tired and just fade right? And then he’ll come back .”

If looks could kill he was sure Elrond and Maedhros’ looks would have sent him back to the grave twice over. Canaethor broke her characteristic charming silence, to growl at him.  “ That is not how fading works, you idiot .”  

All and all, not his smartest move. But it hardly mattered, he knew he was right. Just like how he knew running off was the right move. It had been a year in the planning how to escape from his jailers, steal a boat, and then paddle out to Middle Earth. It’d be easy.

As he looked out over the endless sea, he smiled, everything had gone as planned. That was, until his sunny day suddenly turned dark. Though Celegorm didn’t worry, it must have only meant that he had left whatever plain of alternate existence Aman existed on to the regular world, though this thought changed when he heard the harsh laugh of familiar spirit. The silver-haired elf whirled his head around to meet the stormy sea green eyes of Osse.

“My, my, my, what is this,” he started as the storm grew louder and the sea got stormier. “A little doggie so far away from home?”

“What do you want?” Celegorm asked. He wasn’t afraid of Osse. The worst the chaotic Maia could do was kill him, and that was fine, he did it once and he’d come back again.

“Nothing,” he replied, “yet.”

“Cryptic.”

“I know? Aren’t I so mysterious?” Osse says as he flipped his hair, landing water straight into Celegorm’s face causing him to blink hard and cough. “But I guess, if I am being honest, I should stop you.”

“I dare you to try,” Celegorm started regaining his composure and reaching for the hilt of the sword at his hip.

“My, my, my,” he said again as if amused, “you shouldn’t have that.”

He pointed to his bow and arrow on the floor of boat, “or that.”

Then he spun to a bunch of other things he’d taken. “Or that, or that, that, that, and definitely can’t have that. One might think you were running away.”

Celegorm looked at him hard, he wasn’t up for games, a at least not Osse’s. “If you're gonna take me in, take me in already. I am prepared to fight.”

Osse blinked, “Oh I have no intention in taking you in.”

“What?”

“There would be no fun in seeing you locked up again. Trust me, Valinor bores me to death too.”

Celegorm narrowed his eyes, “Then, why are you...”

He was cut off by Osse’s wet and webbed finger brought to his lips, “because I think we can help each other.”

“Help each other?” Celegorm asked slowly. “How so?”

“Let’s just say this, my wife has infected me with a certain fondness for this pathetic creature and lately they have just got something they really wanted, and my wife has already given quite a bit of gift, and me, being cursed with chaotic sense of competition inside my heart, wants to outdo her just this once.”

“And you need me to do that?” Celegorm asked, not understanding anything of what the Maiar was saying. “Be your present to this creature.”

“Well, I just needed one of your lot. And you're the only one who was brave enough to escape so...you’ll do.” Osse said with truthfulness, but with a rather bitter look down of Celegorm’s form.

“And what will give me if I do this?”

“Get you alive to shore.”

Just as Celegorm was about to laugh, his boat was hit with a wave that sent him spiralling to the floor. Osse was the one laughing instead.

“You really can’t hate mortal world weather, so unpredictable; I swear it has a mind of its own, little doggie.” Osse said as he finished laughing.

“Can’t you stop it?” Celegorm asked as another wave hit the boat and it started to rain and thunder.

“We have very little control here anymore,” Osse said as if he found it funny, “Ever since Numenor. But I can save you from dying in this storm if you just say yes.”

Celegorm looked up at the Maia, his face still smiling, “who is this creature?”

“They are my friend.” And Osse would say no more.

Eventually as another wave almost sent him over the side trying to save his bow and arrow from falling over it, Celegorm said; “Yes, I will help you.”  

Osse smiled, “excellent.”

And just then Celegorm’s boat was hit by one of the biggest waves the elf had ever seen, and the world went dark and silent expect for the soft laugh of the damned ocean maia.  Celegorm was sure he was tricked, until he opened his eyes and wasn’t in Mandos. He was soaking wet, still stuck in the rain, on a beach his boat and all his things sprawled on it by some miracle.

Everything in his body ached as he got up, his throat hissed with lack of air and his head was banging. As he rose, he found out something even worse, his leg...it was mangled.

He swore. He may be alive, but Celegorm knew he had in fact been slightly tricked. Osse had promised him he’d be alive.

He never promised he’d be in one piece.

Though there was one consultation.

Far off in the distance there was light, if he could just make it there, he knew he be okay. He didn’t know why he did, but he felt it in his heart.

So slowly he made his way to the light, he used a piece of wood from his broken boat to help him up to the source, which he now saw was a small house. Everything about it had this feeling...of safety to it. He wanted to trust it almost, which was ridiculous, because he swore this feeling was familiar, but he had never seen this house before in his life, and Celegorm never trusted easily. It kind of reminded the silver haired elf of Elrond actually, if he be so bold. Something about the younger elf radiated home, safety, family, and a whole bunch of other cheesy set of nouns and adjectives that made Celegorm laugh. But he approached the house anyway, and prayed to whoever was listening, that the men inside would be hospitable. Maybe even attractive.

He hadn’t prayed this much in a long time, but as he knocked on the door three loud times with what was left of his fast fleeing strength, he prayed harder than he ever had. He almost laughed from happiness when the door opened, the smaller figure held a candle in one of their hand, but it was far too faint to see their face and their long hair made it even harder.

The figure something in a language that Celegorm did not know, his voice was raspy but held a musical hint to it. A familiar musical tone, that made Celegorm jump and drop his support which made him fall to the ground.

The figure gasped and seemed to say something along the lines of an apology, and came down to help him up. Then just at that moment a flash of lightning came and the both of them saw the other clearly.

Celegorm’s eyes widened; the figure was familiar.

The figure was Maglor.

He didn’t know if he wanted to laugh or cry, but before he could do or say anything, Maglor screamed.

And the world once again went black.

Chapter Text

When Celegorm woke up he was no longer cold or wet, but his headache and general achiness had not gone away, instead it had become worse in some places, such as his leg, and vaguely numbing, such as his headache. The faint light of early dawn seemed to sneak into the room through the cracks in the (mostly shut) window as well as the faint smell of the sea.

He must’ve been in the house from last night, and its inhabitants by some grace (or some bad judgement on their part) had taken him inside. He slowly rose from the bed, and he finally got a better sense of his room. It was homely but small; nothing like his room back in Valinor, which he had dreamed of, though he never would admit.

It had a bed, which was dressed with hand-stitched blankets, some furs, and way too many pillows;it had a small table to the side of bed with a glass of water on it, and, on the other side of the room, near the fireplace, there was a patch of furs and rather oddly thrown about oddities, such as papers, and tools, and instruments. But none of that really caught his eye, what did was what hung on top of the fireplace. Something painfully familiar.

It was a colorful banner cut into four squares: two blue, and two silver.  In the uppermost right was a magpie and in the lowermost left was his father’s star. This was Maglor’s sigil. And before he could do much more than gasp, the door creaked open and the devil in question appeared.

Maglor looked nothing like Celegorm had imagined he would look after all this time. He had imagined a rather decayed thing with monstrous teeth, translucent skin, and all the other indicators of a faded creature on the cusp of death. Instead, the Maglor before him wasn’t exactly his former self,but certainly none of the things described. His skin was far from translucent (and seemed to have gotten darker), his freckles seemed to have tripled so that he could rival Caranthir, and he was dressed, not in shambles and rags, but in clean clothes that had that dramatic flare when they blew in the wind when he walked.

He smiled at him, “Good, you’re awake.”

Celegorm said nothing. This didn’t seem to bother Maglor. He set something down on the table.

“I brought breakfast--it’s probably not good as home, but it will do.” He said, still smiling.

Again, Celegorm said nothing, only then did it bother Maglor.

“You come all this way for whatever reason and you have nothing to say,” Maglor teased as he moved to the fireplace and threw new wood onto it and got it to light. “You really haven’t learned any manners.”

“You're alive,” Celegorm said finally.

“Of course, why wouldn’t I be?” Maglor asked tidying up the things littering the room.

“You're not faded,” Celegorm almost whispered.

Maglor seemed to roll his eyes. “Fading does not exist.”

“What?” Celegorm asked incredulously.

“It doesn’t exist, but really you should eat. You’ll feel better once you eat, brother,” Maglor said with a paternal tone.

But Celegorm couldn’t stop looking at him, it was like seeing a ghost of the past. Maglor seemed to notice this too and smiled awkwardly, putting down the pile he had collected on the ground and walking over to the bed, sitting down on the edge of it.

“It is a little odd for us to see each other, isn’t it? I am sure we will have much to talk about, but you must eat, brother.”

“I...I--,” Celegorm started but couldn’t finish. He couldn’t say what he wanted to say yet. He couldn’t say “I’ve missed you.” So instead he said; “My Valar; I can’t believe you’ve gotten skinnier.”

It was clear that wasn’t what Maglor expected, but he began to laugh. It was something Celegorm then notice, he had forgotten what it sounded like.

“Well, that’s one way to put it,” Maglor said as he finished laughing and brought a hand to Celegorm’s face. It felt rough--harsh,as if burnt.Suddenly his blood ran thin. “We have much to discuss.”

But soon the sound of a loud clang and swears came from another part of the house, and like that Maglor was upright and rushing to the door. “I will be back--almost a whole age and he’s still useless in the kitchen sometimes. But eat , brother, I mean it.”

And he was gone once again.

Celegorm hand went to the side of his face that Maglor touched.

Maglor still has scars; Maglor is alive; Maglor isn’t faded; Maglor is here.

It’s a lot to take in but Celegorm’s tummy rumbled, the silver-haired elf picked up his breakfast and started eating.

Which was much better than thinking.

It wasn’t much later when Maglor came back in, his obvious annoyance at whatever was beyond the door masked weakly by the smile he kept on his face.

“Sorry about that,” Maglor started as he looked at the finished (or, rather, half finished ) food. “At least you’ve eaten some of it.”

Celegorm decided to cut to the chase; “You said we had much to discuss, let’s discuss?”

Maglor sighed, his smile falling, “I did say that, didn’t I?”

Celegorm folded his arms and nods, “ya did.”

“Fine, what do you wanna know?”

“Where are we?”

“Men call this island England.”

“Where the fuck is that on the map?” Celegorm asked. He wasn’t a scholar by any means, in fact, he was probably the least inclined out of all his siblings to be interested in any field--but he had seen maps and there was no place in Middle Earth named England.

“Well, you must all still be looking at rather outdated maps, I’m afraid,” Maglor said twisting his hair with his fingers. “The world has changed much since the War of the Ring. Human society does not stay stagnant like yours.”

Celegorm blinked at Maglor’s use of the word ‘yours.’ Doesn’t he mean ours?

Sadly, without meaning to, he ended up saying that out loud and Maglor’s look turned stormy and hard to read.

“I know my words, brother, it’s always been my way. I do not use them lightly,” his older brother said, his words came out sharp and biting. And then he composed himself, the friendly mask finding its way to his face, and he acted as if the last sentence had not been there. So he continued in a friendly tone; “so if you were hoping to steal off to Gondor, Dale, or some other lesser known kingdom of men on one of your maps, you’d find yourself very lost.”

Celegorm sighed and let himself lay back, “wonderful. Just great.”

“I take it all your plans are ruined?”

“Very much so.”

“So that means you can leave sooner rather than later? Fantastic,” Celegorm head swiveled to the new voice at the door. The owner of the voice is an elf , was the first thing Celegorm noticed. Quickly followed by Celegorm noting the rather unfriendly and angered look he was giving him which wasn’t all that surprising: a lot of people gave Celegorm that look (even before all the murder).

He was never the most popular with the elder crowd.

But, other than his race and demeanor, Celegorm noticed he was lanky, rather skinny-- looked like a right breeze could tip him over--and he definitely wasn’t a fighter. His skin was pale, like the color of milk--almost like Elrond’s--and his eyes were a brilliant shade of tree-green with small specks of brown (or maybe that was just the anger), and his hair a long silky auburn that reached down to his knees.

Maglor looked tired by his mere presence. He said something in that language that Celegorm didn’t know and the other replied back in a heated and much more understandable tone.

“I am not starting a fight for no reason, I don’t want him here.”

“Dairano, my love, please .”

Celegorm had gone to go get what was left of his drink from breakfast, an actually really good cider, and was drinking when the words my love had escaped his brother’s lips, to which promptly did all that cider come rushing back out to land squarely on Dairano .

“Wait! You're him?”

The elf--disgusted already by being doused in cider--give him a more heated look. “Excuse me?”

“You're Maglor’s husband, the one Canaethor wouldn’t tell us about. You're him!”

He narrowed his eyes, and did not answer him, but his silence spoke for him. He went back to talking with Maglor.

Well, not so much talking as fighting with Maglor.

Though it was hard for Celegorm to tell because they didn't really fight like mom and dad (which made the whole house shake with angry screeching tones). No, this was more subdued, but no less intense. One would say something and the other would gasp and then attack with bared teeth the other, somehow never raising their voices. Celegorm guessed maybe it was something to do with the fact they were both elves of the arts that they didn’t need to scream to make a point. Maglor was always good at breaking people down with words. But then Maglor started coughing and the fighting stopped and Dairano was at his side in seconds and, to the best of his ability, so was Celegorm, because the sound was horrible and the way Maglor looked as he choked was worse.

“Maggie, dear, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have.” Dairano started but was cut off by Maglor’s hand.

“Just--I don’t want to fight with you over this, Dae,” Maglor said his hands clasped in fists. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I am gonna either make lunch, or take a long walk.”

“Maggie...”

“Finish eating the rest of your food, Celegorm,” Maglor said ignoring Dairano’s soft voice and hand, which was reaching out to grab his as he moved quickly to the door. “I know how important it is to keep up your strength when you're ill.”

And then, once again, Maglor was gone with the soft sound of a closing door.

Though, the faint sound of coughing could be heard still and Dairano sighed and let his hand nit through his long hair in frustration. Celegorm didn’t know what to say. He had a lot of questions but instead of questions what came out was; “trouble in paradise, Dairano?”

Which was the wrong thing to say.

Dairano snapped his head to Celegorm and sneers, “Do not call me that.”

“But that’s your name,” Celegorm started, but was cut off by Dairano moving quickly to the door.

“My name, you spawn of hell, is Daeron of Doriath,” Dairano--no-- Daeron , hissed at him, “and I hate you.”

And then he left, slamming the door behind him, and Celegorm gasped like a fish on land.

Maglor married a Sinda.

Maglor married Luthien’s old lover.

Maglor’s husband hated him.

Suddenly, Celegorm was feeling much less safe than he was only seconds ago in this house, as if he was suddenly haunted by a ghost, and that ghost had just told him his name; Daeron of Doriath.

Chapter Text

Daeron and Maglor’s ‘kitchen’ wasn’t actually just a kitchen. It was really three rooms in one. Of course, It included their kitchen, which functioned on the the uttermost right of the room, with a cooking fireplace, tables for preparing and storing food, and a door leading out to where the animals and garden were. Near that was their dinner table, probably one of the more expensive things in their home, since it was relatively new. The old one had finally rotted and Maglor broke out some gold from his closet to buy them a new one and, despite his claim that he liked simplicity in his his domestic furnishings (to set their new home apart from their old world home) were his style, he surprised Daeron with this rather large and finely-made pure oak wood thing that was far too big for just the two of them. Daeron joked that with the size of the table Maglor had wanted to send him a message, Maglor had only shrugged, a hint of a smile on his face. ‘Maybe someday,’ he said. It had excited him. But now there no excitement in this kitchen but only the silent dread and simmering anger that reared its ugly head after the two had finished a fight.

It was here at that table Maglor sat still coughing, holding his hand to his face as if his only life line. Daeron could see the droplets of red that slipped through the cracks of his fingers. They seemed to glow in the morning sunlight that broke in through the open windows. There was no rain now, but Daeron still felt as if rain was beating down on him.

“Do you want help?” Daeron asked, placing his hands on Maglor’s shaking shoulders, the coughing finally seeming to cease.

“No,” Maglor said as he weakly shrugged off his touch as he reached for a towel on the table to quickly wash off his hand, in some vain attempt to stop Daeron from noticing the blood. It did no good, the blood was still visible. “I am still mad at you. I asked you to stay in the other room, let me handle things, and not start a scene.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not,” Maglor hissed, his throat still inflamed by the coughing.

Daeron was silent, it was the truth, Maglor always did read him like a book. He wasn’t sorry. He loathed their new house guest, he honestly did. He loathed a lot of that family, as much as he loved Maglor, if he was being honest, but Celegorm seemed to be sent there to torment him especially. He knew what he had done to Luthien and he saw red because of it  He had loved her so unbelievably deeply (still did, perhaps), just not--not how others seemed to think that he did.

She had been a sister to him, rest her heart, and he was once like a brother to her. They were raised together under the grace of her parents after the disappearance of his own, and they had once been inseparable--that was, until he had made the wrong move and had destroyed the relationship forever. Maybe he did love her once--or could have loved her eventually--but a certain someone had stopped that from developing. That still didn’t mean that he didn’t feel hatred for what Celegorm had tried to do for her, as well as the whole of business of the destruction of everything he had ever known . That definitely ground his gears, to put it in the mildest of common terms. As if sensing his train of thoughts, Maglor looked at him with those steely, cold eyes that he often did when he was upset or in a patrically self-hating mood.

“If you hate him for that, you should me too, Daeron.”

Daeron gaped, he had taken to wiping off the drying droplets of blood on his face and tried to retort but Maglor continued. “I was there too, I have even more blood on my hands.”

Shaking his head, Daeron asked, “why are you even defending him? Why bring up old wounds for him? Didn’t you say to me that you’d be happier never seeing them again.”

Maglor winced, “I was angry, and that was years ago.”

“And if I had asked you yesterday you would have told me without hesitation that you be exalted to never see them again. Why have suddenly changed your mind? You know what he is capable of.” Daeron said, holding Maglor’s face. He wanted to say more, he wanted to say ‘he is capable of hurting you!’ butr looking at Maglor’s face he stilled himself.

“God-dammit Dae, if that’s what it is, I assure you Celegorm is a good fighter but even he can’t fight with a mangled leg. I am more of a danger to you than him right now.” Maglor says, and finishes softly, “and forever.”

“See this,” Daeron almost yells, almost, “is why I don’t want him here.”

“What?”

“He’s making you take steps back and he’s been here for less than a full day.”

“What do you mean?” Maglor asked.

“You haven’t talked like this in years! Much less all this mess.”

“We were talking about the past just last night.” Maglor reminded him. Annoyingly.

“We were talking about our first date because you mentioned you were estimating our anniversary for it.” Daeron said, “but that’s besides the point; let me revise my statement; when have we--in years--talked about the kinslayings, or murders, or wars?”

Maglor was silent. They did avoid those topics--the messy ones, as they called them. It was easier to think of the future not the past, and the future was much brighter. At least that’s what they had told themselves.

“He is poison,” Daeron slipped his hands around Maglor’s shoulders to weakly embrace him. He decides to hold nothing back. “They are all poison, that is what you told me. They are like horsemen of rapture come to ruin everything.”

“You are so dramatic.”

“Is that not why you married me? But you under all my poetic pose, I am serious. They, he, is poison.”

Maglor sighed, “Maybe he is, but he is still my family, and I damned to forever love them no matter what they do to me, no matter how poisonous they are to me. I would feel this way about any of my brothers showing up here, but I know that because it is Celegorm, you acted so more foolishly than you would have had it been Maedhros or one of the twins. So what is that about?”

Daeron remained silent.

“It is Luthien incident isn’t it?”

The way his hands seemed to tense let Maglor know that he’d hit the nail on the head. “So that is it? Her.”

“Do not be jealous of the dead, my love.” Daeron teased trying to move away from the subject, as he placed a kiss on his neck. Maglor scoffed.

“I am never jealous. You are the jealous one.”

Daeron laughed, “Well, you're so beautiful, so many people wish to have you; I’m allowed to be jealous.”

“I only have eyes for you,” Maglor said as he twisted his head like an owl to look Daeron in the eyes. “You know that.”

“I know,” Daeron smiled and leaned in to kiss him, eyes closing until, abruptly, he felt Maglor’s hand in the way.

“I am still mad at you.”

“ I will never like him, you know,” Daeron said trying to nip playfully at Maglor’s fingers. He laughed.

“Darling, you don’t have to like him, I will never ask you to like him, be his friend, or even speak to him. I am not even sure of how my own feelings lay for him at the moment. That is why I told you to stay outside--so he wouldn’t bother you. All I ask is for civility, not making every moment a scene, not making me get so worked up every time you're in the same room. That’s all I ask of you.”

Daeron looked at him, those beautiful brown eyes--with the glistening hints of gold-- pleading with him, and he could never say not.

“Fine.”

“Do you promise?” Maglor asked.

“I do, I do,” Daeron took his hands in his and kissed them both. “I promise, my prince.”

Maglor lets out a breath, flushing at the frivious nickname, “thank you, Daeron. But let me promise you something.”

He blinked, “promise me?”

“Yes, I wanna promise that having my brother here will change nothing between us. We will still be Daeron and Maglor of the screeching beach. We will still play music together, go into town together, we can still be together .”

Daeron blinked, he had not thought of such a changes. “I know love. I wasn’t planning on changing because you're brother waltzed in unannounced.” Daeron paused. “Why is he there any way?”

“Well maybe if you hadn’t come charging in, I could have figured it out.”

“Ah, well, he is stuck here isn’t he? You have time,” Daeron said leaning up to kiss his forehead. “Now let’s clean you up.”

“What do you mean? I am very clean.”

“You still have blood on your hands and face from coughing,” Daeron said. Maglor weakly tried to hide his hands and shove his head to a side not showing blood but Daeron only shook his head to tell him it wasn’t going to work. “I’m gonna get a cloth.”

“What do you want for lunch?” Maglor called after him, examining his bloodied hands.

“What do we have?”

“Cheese and bread. Truly we live like Kings.”  

“You tell me, love, you were king.”

Maglor laughed, Daeron came back with a cloth from the herb closet. He dampened it, then set to work.

“I’m sorry I got you so riled up,” Daeron murmured.

“Hey, don’t worry about it. I’m the one who woke you up by screaming bloody murder.”

“You have a point there,” Daeron laughed, trying to make light of the abject terror he felt when he had heard Maglor scream. He had been half awake already when he felt Maglor move out of bed, and out towards their living room when he heard the door open, waking him up more; it had been ages since the last ‘incident,’ but he was always ready, and ready he had to be because it paid.  He came to see who was there he found Maglor cradling his half dead brother in his arms. “As much as I hate having him around, I’m glad it wasn’t another one of those episodes.”

“Believe me, I feel the same.” Maglor said, though Daeron felt like something was being held back..

“So,” Daeron started, “That lunch?”

“How about you get the wine, I’ll work on everything else.”

“You're an angel without wings.”

“So like a person?” Maglor said with a wink. Daeron rolled his eyes and went to grab his coat and bag before heading out, they had went through the last of their wine last night. It was amazing how much the two could still drink, all illnesses considered. But Maglor stood up, and put his hands to his hips. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Daeron thought, “do you want me to call for the doctor to visit for your brother?”

Maglor clapped his hands together, “Not what I meant, but I would’ve forgotten, thank you and, please?”

“Will do, better than me watching over him.”

“Yeah, he may end up dead then.”

“Or legless,” Daeron teased.

“Oh goodness, my family doesn’t need to lose anymore limbs,’ Maglor said with a bit of a scared huff. “Now get going, don’t want the office closing before we can get him help.”  

Daeron sighed and nodded, “Sir, yes, sir.”

But before he left, he waltzed back over to kiss Maglor right on the lips, “but I just wanted to remind you I didn’t forget.”

And the look of Maglor’s smile carried him as he walked out of the house and towards the familiar path to town.

Elsewhere, away from the happy couple, Celegorm was having a bit of a mental breakdown.  He knew Maglor was married. They had all known by now; Elrond had let it slip to the whole family one night, and Canaethor broke finally under mother and father’s intense parental gaze to confirm that Maglor had, in fact, had a secret husband, but, for some reason, Celegorm never found himself really believing it.

The Maglor he knew wasn’t cold per se, but he was never the romantic type. He was always into his music, and into protecting the family; he just never seemed to have time for any sort of romance.

But weirder things had happened. Celegorm never thought that Maglor could ever be a father, he didn’t even know he had wanted to be one, until he met Elrond, who sung his father’s praises (to a point). So, he should have assumed the husband thing had been real but the one thing he couldn’t shake, how in the Valar’s name did he manage to marry Daeron of Doriath, of all people. He hadn’t even known they knew each other much, let alone had the idea to...

Celegorm had to stop his thoughts. The idea of Maglor having sex with any living creature scared him.

As he was lost in thoughts, he barely heard the loud crash of the boarded window opening. It had started to get stormy again, it seemed but maybe that was just what followed around the figure slowly becoming corporeal in the window.

“Well, little doggy, I see you're doing better.”

Celegorm was snapped out his thoughts then and looked at the ocean Maia. Then threw his cup at him. The greeting was earned.

“You spawn of Morgoth! You could have killed me!”

“Hey!” Osse said with a glare. “I saved you.”

“Tell that to my leg!”

“But are you dead?” Osse asked, as if that was any better.

Celegorm screamed and lifted his plate to throw it at him, when Maglor charged in pointing his finger at the Maia.

“You!”

“Me,” Osse said cheekily.

“Stop harassing my brother, you ill-begotten son of a kraken!”

“I was hardly harassing; he was the one who throw one of you're good teacups at my face,” Osse mumbled as he pointed to shards of once pretty glass. “Be mad at him.”

Maglor whipped his head around, shrilly screaming, “You did what?!”

Celegorm soon looked very sheepish, “sorry. Heat of the moment.”

Maglor scowled and bent down to pick up the pieces. His bones cracked when he did and Osse laughed.

“Old man.”

“Low tide smelling eel,” Maglor replied back, cradling the broken shards with silent sadness. “These were a gift from Daeron, for our four hundred thirty sixth reuniting anniversary present.”

Celegorm watched him sigh and toss the pieces into a bin the the corner of the room, he felt a unusual sense of guilt in his chest as he watched. He for once felt like saying sorry, which he did.

In his own way, of course.

“I shouldn’t have thrown it.”

Never including the actual words.

Maglor waved him away his anger melting into nothing, “there will be other cups, other anniversaries.” He sits at the other end of the bed, once more, Osse ever watching them. “I think I have some things to explain.”

“A bit,” Celegorm admitted. Despite that admittance, they sat in silence for a good five minutes before celegorm spoke again.

“So you and a Sinda, huh?”

Maglor laughed a little nervously, and played with a piece of curly hair. “Yes, well...”

“Was it after the kinslaying or before?”

“Before.”

“Makalaure, you dog!” Celegorm screamed, sending maglor into a laughing fit. “How?”

“Fingolfin’s fancy reunion feast.”

“That long ago,” Celegorm whistles. “So this tryst was a long one, huh?”

“I assume, I guess that is a theme in our family,” Maglor said wisely.

“I guess you're right,” Celegorm conceded, thinking of Maedhros and Fingon, who, now that he thought of it, he should mention. “You probably wanna know about the family back home?”

Maglor was actually silent when he asked that, opening his mouth, then closing it. Celegorm was worried he said the wrong thing until Maglor took a breath and nodded.

“I wanna know about everything, but how about we do that over lunch?”

“Lunch?” Celgorm asked, “we just ate?”

“So?” Maglor asked. “Never stopped us before.”

Celegorm shrugged; “That’s true.”

“Come on, I’ll help you up.” Maglor said pulling off his blankets off him. Celegorm finally got a good look at his leg for the first time since last night. It was even worse in the light, twisted in a weird way, very blue, and all around a horror to look like. Maglor seemed to see him looking at it and smiled sadly, “Don’t worry I had Daeron run and get the doctor.”

“The what?”

“A healer,” Maglor said, quickly, as he helped him up. “The kitchen isn’t far.”

“Wait,” Celegorm said as he got up, putting all pressure on his one good leg and his brother.

“What? Is something wrong?” Maglor asked in a scared and worried tone.

“What about him,” Celegorm gestured with great effort to the Maia who had been just watching them.

“If he would like to use the front door like a polite creature, he can stay for lunch.”

Osse’s face lit up but also seemed to melt and shrink away, leaving drops water around the windowsill and under it. Maglor scowled, “This is why we have so much water damage.”