prismatica | {Video; UN: elvenking}

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{Video; UN: elvenking}

{He is a king without his elegant trappings - but, really, he doesn't need them. The robe he wears catches the light with the smallest of motions, glittering faintly as if precious jewels are woven in the fabric. His hair is bound into a single thick braid that lays against his back and his circlet is elsewhere - as are his rings.}

How many parents reside in Lunatia? Are you separated from your children if so? {The flickering light on the table before him is all the illumination he requires as he works on a sketch. The drawing depicts trees and a variety of animal life beneath their mighty boughs.}

My fear for my son increases by the day and I have found no relief for it. I hardly realized how helpless I could feel as a father.

{His attention shifts from the sketch of the forest to a second sketch of a face much like his own - yet different enough that it must be his son.}

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[ Have some music, Thranduil! Maglor's working, but as he plays music...he'll just...share it with his lover/mate/whatever the heck they are. No words, only the soft thrum of strings.

He also misses his children. Perhaps just a little more now, with Arwen's arrival. ]

{The music earns a sigh and he relaxes back in his chair, closing his eyes. He doesn't need to see Maglor to know his gift, his talent...

Those fingers working on strings as beautifully as they had worked on him.}

I want to spend the evening with you.

[ He hears that sigh and knows he's succeeded. He plays tirelessly, the quiet noise of a busy cafe in the background, but his music seems to dominate despite the quiet volume of it.

The comment has him chuckle a little. ]

You know where to find me.

{To think he is relying on the kindness of a Fëanorian! Oh how far he has fallen. And yet he doesn't mind.}

In my bed?

[ Is it reliance when they both seek it out? When they both feel that need? ]

Tonight. And over the next few days, by the feel of it. Might want to clear your schedule, Elven King.

{He has yet to question how Maglor feels. The curiosity has barely begun to flicker within him and he is almost fearful of giving it any attention whatsoever.}

Do you think I have a crowd waiting to bed me?

Are you looking for compliments?

[ His music takes on a playful quality. ]

I am the one you requested.

Am I not deserving of compliments?

{He laughs lowly and picks up a third sketch, beginning to work on it slowly.}

Why would I request you, I wonder? Are you handsome? Smart? Talented?

Perhaps you do have a crowd wishing to share your bed.

Perhaps I am the one who chases them off to keep you for myself. I am Feanorion, after all, and we do not share treasures easily.

[ Maglor smirks, knowing it'll translate to his voice. ]

I thought I was the one over nine thousand. Perhaps you should have a healer look at you.

I must admit the idea is rather frightening. I am relieved I have someone who can keep them away. {A treasure is he? Thranduil makes a soft amused sound.}

You have not seen enough of me to make that decision.

{And now he sounds...sadder.}

I did not know you were a healer too!

[ That...has him blink. Then frown at his device, and his music trickles off. Quiet sounds indicate he's moving, and the sounds of the cafe fade to silence. ]

Thranduil? What is wrong? Are you wounded?

{Oh Maglor. This day was bound to come, but Thranduil feels wholly unprepared.}

Would you like to see the horror a dragon can wrought?

[ Now he's really really really worried! And it's bleeding into his voice. ]

I would see whatever you wish to show me. You have seen my scars - you know them all.

Where are you? [ This last is almost growled with his urgency. Don't make him sniff you out and find you himself. ]

Maglor...

{He beckons him with his tone - hoping to calm his fear.}

These are old scars. Elrond saved my life, however he too wondered how I survive as I am.

{Through sheer stubbornness.}

Come home; I will not reveal them any place others can see.

[ He fails - until Thranduil reveals that Elrond had done all he could. It soothes Maglor just enough he doesn't go tearing the city apart. It's enough that he takes a breath and sits on his sudden, unexpected terror. ]

...I am not far.

[ Home.

But that's what it's become, hasn't it?

Maglor doesn't hang up, finding he needs some connection as he walks quickly through the levels before stepping inside - only then ending the feed as he goes looking for his mate. ]

Thranduil?

{Maglor's worry reminds him how precious their bond has become. He too would panic if something ill befell the Fëanorian prince. What they have isn't superficial or based only on sex. Not anymore.

He too keeps the connection open, unsure how to comfort the other yet sensing that he needs to know he is alive.}

Breathe... {Thranduil knows Maglor's chest must feel tight with anxiety. He must soothe that tension away if -

If the other wishes to remain with him after he sees.

Hearing his name, he sucks in a soft breath and hurries to Maglor, gently gathering him into his arms.}

I'm here.

[ Oh. Right. He draws in a shuddering breath at the order, jaw stubbornly holding back the unexpected urge to sob. He knows Thranduil's alive. He knows. And yet...

He's Feanorion. Irrational is part of their charm. And Thranduil is his. Nothing is allowed to harm him.

But he's not ashamed to walk right into his mate's arms and hold him tight, burying his face against Thranduil's neck and taking a deep breath. ]

{There is the breath he requested! Thranduil smooths over Maglor's hair and turns his head to kiss his temple. It has been a long, long, long time since someone cared about him to this degree.

He mustn't do this to Maglor ever again.}

Will you forgive me for causing you panic?

[ Of course he obeys.

Maglor's eyes are pressed closed as he inhales the familiar scent of trees and fine wine that is pure Thranduil. Slowly starts to relax as the other's heat sinks in. As the panic slowly eases with the touch of lips to his temple.

He should let go. But he can't. He doesn't want to. Even though the sudden realize of just how much he cares about Thranduil sinks in and scares him all over again - how long until he loses this too? ]

...It is forgiven. [ Just a muffled answer. He's not crying, he hasn't cried in thousands of years. But there is the sense of it in his throat and chest. ]

{He holds him without showing any sign of wishing the embrace would end. After all Maglor has told him, a long embrace is perhaps what is needed. Thranduil wraps the other Elf in his arms and doesn't let their height difference stop him from kissing where he wants.}

I have considered never showing you, but that would be wrong. We have grown too close and you have shared too much for me to keep secrets.

{But it frightens him. Who would want to be with someone who looks like a badly burned corpse?}

It happened when I was fighting the dragons of the north. They control their flame well and there is no warning before the world catches around you. I was armored and that, perhaps, helped spare my life, however for years I begged Elrond for death.

The pain... I cannot describe it. I heard screaming without realizing it was coming from me.

{His throat feels dry as he recounts the tale, however he presses on.}

Elrond reminded me that I was a father frequently and that I must carry on. What choice did I have? My spirit remained with my body, but I must warn you...

You will be able to see it.

{His fëa shines through what is left of his broken body.}

[ Maglor simply straightens, picking Thranduil up off his feet, and heads for the couch before sitting, resettling them so they're still pressed tight together. He's not quite ready to let go, and listening to Thranduil, it seems maybe it's best not to.

'We have grown too close' to keep secrets. He draws in another breath, this one a little steadier as he holds his silence. Lets his lover speak at his own pace without pressure.

Maglor sends a fervent thought of thanks to his fosterling for saving this elf's life. Even as his heart aches in understanding pain as the horrendous tale is told.

'You will be able to see it.'

Finally he pulls back, though his embrace doesn't loosen at all. He meets his lover's eyes firmly and leans in to gently kiss his temple. ]

I am Feanorion, Thranduil. I do not release something that is mine lightly. I do not discard something just because it is tarnished in the eyes of others.

You have not burned me. I will not discard you.

{He has been lifted by Maglor before and while his proud side insists on an argument, he must admit - privately and to himself - that he enjoys it. After spending so many centuries - millennia - in a position of control, he likes relinquishing said control for a few moments.

Once they are settled on the couch, he finishes his tale, lightly stroking over Maglor's cheek. He isn't sure how else to warn the other Elf and he wonders if they should be this close together. What if Maglor is...disgusted? It's not as if Thranduil could blame him.}

I will not burn you. {He states lowly, stubbornly, a shiver climbing his spine when the other says he belongs to him. Well, maybe he does.

Thranduil takes a breath and closes his eyes, letting the glamor fall. His skin isn't just burned - parts of it are missing, revealing the muscle and bone beneath. The carnage continues down his throat and when he opens his eyes, one of them is a cloudy white. A shudder runs through him, cold and hard, and his breathing is shallow.}

[ And Maglor loves when Thranduil gives him this control without argument. He never abuses it. Never speaks of it. Knows for himself how heady it is to give that control up.

He leans just a little into the hand against his cheek. He believes those words, maybe he shouldn't, but he does.

And then the glamor falls and he draws in another, unsteady breath. His hands itch and burn in sympathy as he takes in the horrendous damage done. But he doesn't recoil in disgust and there is no pity in his eyes when Thranduil looks at him.

No. There's sorrow and anger - anger at the dragon who'd done this to his mate - in his eyes. And awe that holds him to silence. Thranduil trusts him with this. He knows better than to touch that ruined side. But slowly, he unwinds one arm from his mate's waist and reaches up to cup the unharmed side, making sure Thranduil sees. ]

Oh my Thranduil...How far...?

{The control is given precisely because he has come to trust Maglor. Said trust is also why he is willing to reveal this side of himself that he hides from everyone - even himself. The hand on Maglor's cheek remains, but as his wounds are revealed, his fingers tremble and he finds it impossible to meet the other Elf's gaze.

He can imagine the disgust, the horror and he wants to see none of it. Of course not seeing is rather easy when one of your eyes is blind. However the hand on his cheek shocks him into looking at Maglor - and shattering his plans - and what he sees...

No, he must be mistaken. His brow furrows and he tries to read Maglor's expression again. Where are all the emotions he thought he would find? Why does the understanding in the other's eyes make him want to cry?

Instead of answering verbally, he lets his robes fall open, revealing the scarring that travels down half of a chest, his arm, his side...}

Elrond did not leave my side.

[ He treasures this trust. Maglor will protect it and Thranduil to his last breath. This secret is not one he will share with anyone. He feels the fingers tremble and turns his head enough to press a gentle kiss to the palm, though his gaze does not leave his mate's.

And then the robes fall open to answer him. Still not disgust as he looks his lover over. Not touch. Not sure it would be welcome as he listens to the...reassurance? that his fosterling had tended this elf for so long and this was the best result? ]

...I had never wished you to understand. [ A breath. A sigh. ]

Does it hurt...when I touch you?

[ He's kissed and touched and nibbled on almost every inch of Thranduil, after all. Technically he knows the answer. He still needs to hear it. ]

{Video; UN: elvenking}

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