(Video)

[castintoflames]

(Someone is finally peeking out of his cabin, looking like he has been through hell. Greetings, world!)

What food do you recommend after feeling ill? (He is the color of snow except for his fiery red hair and his one blue eye. The grey eye, filled with shadow, only makes him look worse.)

Father? Mother? Brothers? Is all well? I am sorry for my absence.

Finno, what of you? You will not escape my concern, cousin.

(This is what you get when you are tortured extensively by Morgoth. There are times Maedhros's strength simply fails him and he can't find the energy to leave his bed.)

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[tinkerheart]

[He's there and looking like a ghost. At least he's conscious and coherent. Fëanor takes this as an improvement. So he does what a good father would do.

He kicks the little voice in his head telling him it is all his fault back into the deep, dark shadows where it came from. He knows it is. The fact of knowing does not make anything better. It is not helping. He'd deal with it later. Only after more important matters have been seen to.
Then he goes to the kitchen to pick up some light soup and thus equipped he goes to check on his son.]

Nelyo, may I come in?

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[castintoflames]

(The door is opened without hesitation and Maedhros welcomes his father with a kiss to his cheek. No, Fëanor will never be barred from his life; from his heart. He is his father's first fire and they will heal together.)

You do not need to ask.

(He looks tired, but he is upright, bathed and wearing clean clothes. His hair is still a bit damp and it needs braiding; not that he is concerned about it in the least. He can only focus on the necessities.)

[tinkerheart]

(Fëanor enters, carefully navigating the cramped cabin to put the soup on the table.)

You could have been sleeping.

(He follows with a kiss to his forehead. Even if he has to make an effort to do it. Well. His eldest was called the Tall for a reason. He notices the slightly damp hair and smiles. Eh...)

Do you have a comb somewhere here?

[castintoflames]

I have slept enough. (He bends to help his father, his eyes closing with a small, happy sigh at the kiss. Then he sits on the bed and pats the space beside him. Come snuggle, Atar.)

Yes. (Maedhros fumbles into a drawer and pulls out a comb. He hands it to Fëanor with a small blush.) I am making nests for birds.

(With his hair. It's funny. Ha ha?)

[tinkerheart]

Very well. You needed rest. (Fëanor sits down, right next to him.) You do?

(He takes the comb and starts his work of untangling all the mess. Maedhros has his mother's hair, and just like hers, they curl a little when damp.
So it is not an easy task. It takes patience and caution. Those might not the qualities his especially famous for but Fëanor has plenty of both for his son.)

Those must be some truly special birds that you try so hard to attract them.