voidtreckernet | (Video)

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(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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Ginger-ale. Basic, simple rice dishes. Bananas. Tea. Applesauce.

I don't recognize the first or the last. But the others I can manage, thank you.

If you don't mind waiting a bit, I can make some applesauce for you.

I don't wish to impose. (But he is curious.) I do like apples.

About ten minutes after this transmission, there's a soft knock on the cabin door, and an apprehensive man on the other side of it, holding a tray with a steaming bowl of soup, a mug of brewing tea, and some fresh yeast rolls on it. The whole thing is carefully balanced atop a metal hand.

Maedhros isn't expecting the visitor and he opens the door, blinking uncertainly. He is a tall Elf - very tall by the standards of Men - but right now he is hunched, too weak to keep proper posture. The offering the Man bears leaves him speechless.

It is very kind.

"You didn't need to -" however he stretches out his hands, the natural one and the hand Fëanor and Tony had engineered, to take the tray, "Thank you."

I promise, you're not imposing. I'll even teach you how, if you're feeling up to it.

"I'm on kitchen duty this month," Bucky replies, offering a small smile. "You didn't look well, so I thought I'd bring some down," so he didn't have to go trudging down most of the length of the train. Whoever decided that food needed to be so far away from sleeping quarters had probably never been sick a day in their lives. "If you need anything else, you can call up to the kitchen car. I spend most of the day there right now."

[ One little brother comes knocking a little after this, carrying harp and carrying some of the items he's seen recommended. ]

Nelyo?

[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?

If you can get it, bone broth. Make it for my daughter when she's not feeling well. Might poke around the kitchen and see what I can make.

Freema used to make this drink. It's supposed to be helpful in rehydrating you, and it's a very pretty blue color. But I don't think we have the ingredients for it... I'm sorry. Are you ill?

What's the matter, my Maitimo? Where have you been?

[ WORRIED MAMA IS WORRIED ]

Does it require strength? I am blessed with more than my fair share of that. (He could crush an apple in his hand.)

"I think this goes beyond kitchen duty and I am grateful." Maedhros sits down with the tray on his legs, drinking thirstily for a moment. When he has his spells, he doesn't like moving; he doesn't like being. His body needs to make up for the loss.

"What is your name? I'm Maedhros Fëanorian, which means son of Fëanor." he bows his bright head, "Nerdanel is my mother, Maglor and Curufin are my brothers and Fingon is my cousin."

(Maglor is dragged into the cabin immediately, the door shutting firmly behind him. Maedhros rests their heads together.)

Hello, brother.

(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.)

You are very kind. (So many sweet passengers. Maedhros feels like he is taking advantage.) Is your daughter here?

What makes it blue? (That sounds interesting - if not a bit suspicious. Not that he will push a helping hand away.) I have...spells. There was a Dark Lord on Arda - one of the Valar. Valar are like...gods.

(He isn't sure how else to explain them, though in reality they are more like angels/demons.)

He captured me and tortured me for years. He broke my mind and body and sometimes...

My strength fails me.

Sick, Ammë. I couldn't get out of bed. (He should have called for her.) Morgoth has tainted me.

[Fingon's first response is brief- a reassuring brush against his mind, a message of don't worry, I'm right here.

Then he waits, an eye on Maedhros' door. There are already a number of people making their way there, after all, and it wouldn't do to crowd him. It's only later, when the rest have trailed out, that he slips in.]

Russandol?

(He is fed and looking stronger by then, his mind somewhat eased by Fingon's sweet message. All the same, he is quick to pull his cousin into his arms, burying his face against is neck with a happy sigh.)

I'm sorry. I'm feeling better.

(Darkness weighs heavily upon him, however there is a spark of light awakened by Fingon's presence.)

I forgot I was here.

[ Maglor leans against his brother for a moment before pulling away to set his bounty down before tugging his brother over to sit. ]

I brought entertainment, food, and me. I will make you rest if I have to.

[ Not an idle threat! ]

(He sits down heavily - as if some invisible weight is tugging at him. But having Maglor with him earns a small smile.)

How will you go about making me? I'm large and I'm stubborn.

[ He tucks himself in close against his brother's side, harp reclaimed but resting silent on his lap. ]

But helpless against my music, brother. [ Pride? Oh yes. ]

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