Navigation

multi-story arcs
previous next

Translations

tôren - my brother

tôr dithen - little brother

tôr iaur - older brother

Namárie, nildonyar - Farewell, my friends

Gohen: Redemption

Beta: Ilye, Fimbrethiel

chapter two

They woke late. It was a day off for them both. Sundays were lazy days, even for them.

The two Elves had a routine, a sense of domesticity to their daily lives. Maglor brewed tea in a press while Erestor separated the trash into the recycle bins. Erestor chose some eggs from their refrigerator, stocked with organic, locally grown foods, and Maglor prepared whole grain toast. The food would not nourish them, of course, but the bounty of this world was not to be denied. They chatted idly, scrambling eggs in a bowl and pouring tea into delicate china cups.

It was almost normal.

Maglor shooed Erestor to the small terrace outside their living room. He slathered the thick pieces of hot bread with cream cheese, piled a tray with their breakfast fare, and joined his lover outside. The sun had risen, though Maglor could smell rain still in the air. Erestor squinted as he looked into the grey sky. He lowered his dark gaze to the tall Noldo setting the table.

"It always rains here," he said, lifting the tea to his lips.

Maglor sighed and sat down. "You didn't like LA. You didn't care for Chicago. And let's not speak of how you behaved in Miami."

Erestor set his cup down firmly. "Well, those poor dolphins! What did you want me to do? "

The elder Elf lifted a berry from the tray and threw it at the indignant librarian. "Eat your breakfast."

They ate in silence, looking out over the city. When Maglor finished his second helping of toast and eggs, he spoke. "What do you plan to do with your day?"

"I am not sure. There are books I should catalogue," Erestor said, pouring them each another cup of tea. "But, I know how you feel about my books."

Maglor smirked into his cup. "Yes. I feel about them as you feel about the television in the living room."

Erestor scoffed. "Come now, Maglor. Why on earth would you need such a big thing? Your genitals are perfectly satisfactory, so I am not sure why I had to sacrifice most of my wall space for that monstrosity!"

"That television does have the History Channel on it. I got the extended cable package specifically for you, you know," Maglor shot back.

"Of course! And it has nothing to do with the fact that you can watch Queer as Folk on no less than eight different Showtimes!" Erestor stacked the tray and re-entered their apartment. "For someone so revered for his poetry and music, you are a historical dud."

Maglor laughed, closing the doors behind him. "I am a historical dud? I wrote of the plight of the Noldor, don't forget. I recorded our histories until I felt smothered by it! You, though -- you hide in your archaic books, never seeing the world around you. Times have changed, and you either change with them, or you are left behind."

The younger Elf slammed his hand on the counter. "I would not be here if it were not for you!" he shouted.

"No! You would have died in that pit! You would have wandered about Mandos' Halls for an Age and then be reborn into the perfect world you have so idolized in your mind! This song and dance is becoming old, Erestor." Maglor walked up to Erestor, forcing the dark eyes to meet his. "We have survived. Be content with that."

Erestor pulled from Maglor's grip. "Content with what? This?" he asked, gesturing about them. The rooms were an eclectic mix of modern and antique -- a meshing of the old world and the new. The massive plasma television had an early-century radio resting atop it; the sofa was supple leather and beside it was a table Erestor had picked up in the early 1600's, the controls for the television and DVD player resting carelessly on the dull surface.

Maglor rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. "Really, Erestor. Every decade or two, we go through this. And always on the same day." The elder Elf leaned in, his face near the shocked librarian's. "Oh yes. I know what day this is, lover. It's the day--"

Without thinking of his actions, Erestor swung his hand, palm open, landing a solid blow to Maglor's left cheek. They stared at each other in stunned silence, the sound of the strike resounding in their ears.

"Do you feel better now?" Maglor asked, his eyes cold and distant. "Can we return to our lives or will you wallow in your self-pity?"

Erestor looked away, swallowing hard. "Forgive me," he whispered. "I did not mean--"

Maglor held up a hand. "Yes, you did. I'll be at the club; I need to go over some records and the payroll."

Without another word, the elder vampire donned his jacket and walked out. The door did not slam as Erestor expected, but fell silently closed, which was almost worse.

The club was empty except for the bartender, who was in the back, taking stock of their supplies. Maglor sat at the bar, hunched over the highly polished surface, staring into his empty tumbler.

"'I would not be here if it were not for you!'" he sneered, imitating Erestor. "Perhaps not," he mumbled drunkenly. "But, had it not been done, you never would have met him, would you?" Maglor picked up the half-empty bottle, focusing on the black Bushmill's label. "I am a historical dud? No, my dear Erestor, I think I am a well-rounded individual. I can appreciate a twenty-one year old whiskey, after all." He went to pour more of the amber liquid into his glass, but stopped himself. "Fuck it," he said, bringing the bottle to his lips.

As he sunk further into his alcohol-induced stupor, his mind began to wander. Maglor did not like to become this drunk; to become so drunk would mean his memories would surface. His memories were not something he cherished.

No.

They were meant to be forgotten. But, this afternoon, the whiskey helped him take a giant leap into his past.

Maedhros looked at him over the rough table. Chill wind blew through the open window, and the sound of screaming children assaulted his hearing. He sighed and covered his face with his hands. "We are the last, tôren," he whispered.

The elder Elf nodded. "And we will not survive under this oath, Maglor."

"What do you suggest we do?" Maglor fixed his grey gaze on his brother's. "A foolish decision, was it not? We have watched each of them die, and I am sure we will see each other die as well, before this curse has run its course," he laughed bitterly.

Maedhros looked out the window, his eyes far away. "We could just stop."

Maglor's brow furrowed and he looked at Maedhros in confusion. "What do you mean 'just stop'?"

Those haunted eyes turned to him, a sad smile on the proud face. "Who says we cannot just not do this anymore? We have seen the folly that has led our father and brothers to their doom, and we can choose not to follow them. We can make amends, tôr dithen, and regain our place!"

"Maedhros, I do not think it is so simple..." Maglor said hesitantly. "We swore, tôr iaur; we took an oath."

"Our father took an oath, Maglor. We and our brothers followed him out of loyalty. And look at the reward their loyalty has given them! I choose to be loyal to myself!" The tall Elf leapt to his feet and crossed to the window in a single stride. "Do you hear me?" he bellowed into the night. "I renounce my loyalty! I renounce my oath!" Maedhros turned flashing eyes on his brother. "You see? I am still here! I am free, tôr dithen! Now, do you join me, or join our father?"

Maglor let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Just words. Nothing mystical or sacred loomed about their fates. They were just words! "Aye, brother, I will follow you. I renounce my oath," he said softly, forcing the statement past the sudden lump in his throat.

Maedhros turned back to the window and Maglor closed his eyes, letting out a long, shuddery sigh.

"So be it."

Maedhros spun around and Maglor's eyes shot open, only to find his sibling's vacated seat now occupied.

And there was no mistaking who sat in the wooden chair.

"Námo," Maglor whispered, his heart beating swiftly with fear.

The Vala's bright blue eyes were fixed on Maglor's large grey ones. He wore only a simple tunic and his dark hair was free, hanging to his waist. "Aye, Kanafinwë." Námo turned then to Maedhros, seeming to ignore Maglor. "Nelyafinwë. Just as proud as you always were. Melkor did nothing to quell that fire that burns brightly in you."

The copper-haired Elf stared defiantly at Námo. "Why have you come, Lord of Mandos?"

"Why, to grant your request," Námo replied, blinking as if in surprise. "You have asked to be released from your oath. And so you are. You need no longer fear sharing the doom of your brothers."

Maedhros smiled ferally at his brother.

"However," Námo continued, "your choice is not without its consequences."

"What consequences?" Maglor asked with a slight quaver in his voice. He watched Maedhros' smile fade from his lips, and saw the first hint of true fear in his brother's eyes.

Námo's demeanor stiffened. "You have a very large debt to repay, Kanafinwë. You both do. You wish to make amends? You will have that chance, but only on my terms. You and your brother have spilled rivers of Quendi blood; now that blood must be cleansed from this world."

"And how are we meant to do that?" Maedhros snapped.

"By drinking it, naturally."

Maedhros pounded the table with his fist. "What madness is this? Speak not in riddles!"

The Vala stood up slowly, and the room seemed to grow darker. "I speak only the truth, Nelyafinwë, literal and complete. Your body and that of your brother will no longer find nourishment from the food and drink of your kin, but only by consuming their living blood!"

Maglor stared in stunned silence. Even Maedhros stepped back in shock. The elder Fëanorian recovered quickly, though. "I see your truth now, Vala! We escaped the prison of your Doom, so now you revenge yourself by inflicting upon us this... vilification, this filth!"

A smile crossed the Vala's usually impassive face. "Why this reaction? You have preyed upon your kin for centuries; now you merely have to do it yourself instead of commanding armies to do it."

Maglor could sense Maedhros was about to unleash another tirade against the Vala, and he gently laid a hand on his brother's thigh to silence him. His eyes silently pleaded with Maedhros not to risk angering Námo further. Maedhros nodded reluctantly, and stood behind Maglor's chair while Námo continued to lay out the nature of this punishment.

He reiterated that they could still eat and drink the food of their youth, but that only by drinking the blood of living Quendi or Atani would they be able to sate their hunger. They would become creatures of the night, able to move about by day like any other, but not without some measure of discomfort and weakness. The night, though, would be their domain, and they would dominate it utterly. "Lest you think that I am without concern or compassion, I will not abandon you to this fate as you are," he explained. "I have petitioned the other Valar for such gifts as they might bestow upon you at this parting. For you see, as long as you shall bear this mark upon you, you shall never be permitted to return to the Blessed Realm."

The two Elves gasped at this. Their father may never emerge from the Halls of Waiting, but he at least had a hope of once again walking the shores of Valinor. Maedhros gripped Maglor's shoulder, but could not bring himself to say anything at this pronouncement.

"Manwë grants you the speed of the winds; Tulkas, the strength of the mountains; Aulë, sure-footedness and agility. Oromë will give you the claws and fangs of a predator, and Varda will light your eyes in the darkness of night. Vána confers upon you eternal agelessness surpassing even that of your race. Yavanna's gift is a friendship with the birds and beasts of Arda. Estë seeks to ease your guilt at feeding from others by bringing pleasure to both you and your victims during the act. Vairë gifts you with the ability to cloud the memory of those around you, while Nessa bestows the power to influence their emotions with voice and music, and Irmo offers passage through his realm into the dreams of others. Nienna regrets that her gift does not compare to others', but has vowed to protect you both from the weariness of spirit that the long stretches of time would otherwise burden you with.

"Understand that the path you will walk," Námo continued, "will be longer than any who have come before or will come after you. Not only will you be ageless, but because of my gift to you, death will only find you in the primal fires of Arda or should a shaft of cold steel cleave your heart."

Maglor and Maedhros shared a quick glance. It was not lost on them whose name was missing. Ever the friend of the Teleri, Ulmo was unlikely to grant them any assistance. More probably, judging by the look on Námo's face, the Valar had had to restrain him from creating some worse punishment. Maglor had to admit a small amount of relief at that; there were doubtless worse fates to which they could have been condemned.

His message delivered, the Vala's stern composure began to crumble. He walked around the table and embraced Maedhros firmly, then pulled Maglor to his feet and did the same to the younger Elf. When he stepped back, tears glistened in the corners of his eyes. "Whether you believe it or not, the journey we send you on is far better than the one your brothers have chosen. Namárie, nildonyar. I fear we shall not meet again while the world yet remembers you."

Námo walked out the door and was gone.

Maglor stared blearily at the bottle still in his hand, still half full. "And we never did," he growled out, drawing back and throwing the bottle into the far wall.

"That was a hundred dollar bottle of whiskey you just shattered."

The drunken vampire looked up to see his dark lover standing in the doorway, arms crossed and eyes veiled. "No," he replied. "That was a five hundred dollar bottle of whiskey I just shattered." Maglor stood when Erestor slowly walked to his side, his eyes cast to the floor. "Why are you here, Erestor?"

"I came to ask you to come home," Erestor said quietly. "It is late."

Maglor laughed. "'Late'. You say that as if it means something to us. Do you mean you want me to come back to that farce we call a home and argue with you as if we were a married couple?"

Erestor was silent for a moment while they stared at each other, but he finally broke the eye contact. "You are my lover."

"No, I am your corrupter -- or did you forget that?" Maglor demanded, grabbing Erestor's shoulders and shoving him against the bar. "Tell me, is your pain so much worse than mine, Erestor? You wouldn't know, now would you? You have never asked!" Maglor spat.

"Maglor," Erestor began in a soft voice, becoming pliant within Maglor's grip. "With you, I forget the pain for a while. Do you never find a respite from the pain when you are with me?"

Maglor made a sound that was between a sob and a groan as he captured Erestor's lips in a brutal kiss. He swept past the younger Elf's lips and tasted him deeply; it was a taste uniquely Erestor, of cream and vanilla, even after the slighter Elf had fed. Maglor fumbled with the buttons on Erestor's jeans while Erestor did the same to his. "Up," Maglor panted against Erestor's lips, and the librarian braced his arms on the bar top, lifting his body off the floor so Maglor could strip him of his pants.

The moment the dark jeans hit the floor, Erestor's bare legs snaked around Maglor's waist. Maglor pressed the head of his shaft against Erestor's backside.

"Wait!" Erestor cried, reaching behind the bar and grabbing a bottle of olive oil. "I cannot tell you," he said, pouring a small pool of oil into Maglor's hand, "how much I appreciate you deciding to serve cold foods in this place."

Maglor coated his length and smiled down at his lover. "You were just tired of walking out of here with a sore bottom."

Erestor groaned and clung to the counter as he was penetrated roughly. "You should try it sometime," he managed before Maglor began thrusting quickly within his body.

"I have," Maglor whispered, bending down and kissing Erestor again. He took the Elf's hard flesh into his hand and stroked firmly; this was not about tender lovemaking. This was simply how they made up after an argument.

Erestor reached his climax first, crying out his pleasure into Maglor's waiting mouth. He trembled in the older Elf's arms as Maglor withdrew and plunged back in with violent force, spending himself deep in Erestor's passage.

They rested like that, Erestor hanging onto the bar, his legs tight about Maglor's waist, and Maglor's arms around Erestor's back, still joined together. Maglor raised his head, kissing Erestor softly on the lips. "Yes," he said. "You ease my pain."


	Navigation multi-story arcs previous next Translations tôren - my brother tôr dithen - little brother tôr iaur - older brother Namárie, nildonyar - Farewell, my friends		Gohen: Redemption Beta: Ilye, Fimbrethiel chapter two They woke late. It was a day off for them both. Sundays were lazy days, even for them. The two Elves had a routine, a sense of domesticity to their daily lives. Maglor brewed tea in a press while Erestor separated the trash into the recycle bins. Erestor chose some eggs from their refrigerator, stocked with organic, locally grown foods, and Maglor prepared whole grain toast. The food would not nourish them, of course, but the bounty of this world was not to be denied. They chatted idly, scrambling eggs in a bowl and pouring tea into delicate china cups. It was almost normal. Maglor shooed Erestor to the small terrace outside their living room. He slathered the thick pieces of hot bread with cream cheese, piled a tray with their breakfast fare, and joined his lover outside. The sun had risen, though Maglor could smell rain still in the air. Erestor squinted as he looked into the grey sky. He lowered his dark gaze to the tall Noldo setting the table. "It always rains here," he said, lifting the tea to his lips. Maglor sighed and sat down. "You didn't like LA. You didn't care for Chicago. And let's not speak of how you behaved in Miami." Erestor set his cup down firmly. "Well, those poor dolphins! What did you want me to do? " The elder Elf lifted a berry from the tray and threw it at the indignant librarian. "Eat your breakfast." They ate in silence, looking out over the city. When Maglor finished his second helping of toast and eggs, he spoke. "What do you plan to do with your day?" "I am not sure. There are books I should catalogue," Erestor said, pouring them each another cup of tea. "But, I know how you feel about my books." Maglor smirked into his cup. "Yes. I feel about them as you feel about the television in the living room." Erestor scoffed. "Come now, Maglor. Why on earth would you need such a big thing? Your genitals are perfectly satisfactory, so I am not sure why I had to sacrifice most of my wall space for that monstrosity!" "That television does have the History Channel on it. I got the extended cable package specifically for you, you know," Maglor shot back. "Of course! And it has nothing to do with the fact that you can watch Queer as Folk on no less than eight different Showtimes!" Erestor stacked the tray and re-entered their apartment. "For someone so revered for his poetry and music, you are a historical dud." Maglor laughed, closing the doors behind him. "I am a historical dud? I wrote of the plight of the Noldor, don't forget. I recorded our histories until I felt smothered by it! You, though -- you hide in your archaic books, never seeing the world around you. Times have changed, and you either change with them, or you are left behind." The younger Elf slammed his hand on the counter. "I would not be here if it were not for you!" he shouted. "No! You would have died in that pit! You would have wandered about Mandos' Halls for an Age and then be reborn into the perfect world you have so idolized in your mind! This song and dance is becoming old, Erestor." Maglor walked up to Erestor, forcing the dark eyes to meet his. "We have survived. Be content with that." Erestor pulled from Maglor's grip. "Content with what? This?" he asked, gesturing about them. The rooms were an eclectic mix of modern and antique -- a meshing of the old world and the new. The massive plasma television had an early-century radio resting atop it; the sofa was supple leather and beside it was a table Erestor had picked up in the early 1600's, the controls for the television and DVD player resting carelessly on the dull surface. Maglor rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. "Really, Erestor. Every decade or two, we go through this. And always on the same day." The elder Elf leaned in, his face near the shocked librarian's. "Oh yes. I know what day this is, lover. It's the day--" Without thinking of his actions, Erestor swung his hand, palm open, landing a solid blow to Maglor's left cheek. They stared at each other in stunned silence, the sound of the strike resounding in their ears. "Do you feel better now?" Maglor asked, his eyes cold and distant. "Can we return to our lives or will you wallow in your self-pity?" Erestor looked away, swallowing hard. "Forgive me," he whispered. "I did not mean--" Maglor held up a hand. "Yes, you did. I'll be at the club; I need to go over some records and the payroll." Without another word, the elder vampire donned his jacket and walked out. The door did not slam as Erestor expected, but fell silently closed, which was almost worse. The club was empty except for the bartender, who was in the back, taking stock of their supplies. Maglor sat at the bar, hunched over the highly polished surface, staring into his empty tumbler. "'I would not be here if it were not for you!'" he sneered, imitating Erestor. "Perhaps not," he mumbled drunkenly. "But, had it not been done, you never would have met him, would you?" Maglor picked up the half-empty bottle, focusing on the black Bushmill's label. "I am a historical dud? No, my dear Erestor, I think I am a well-rounded individual. I can appreciate a twenty-one year old whiskey, after all." He went to pour more of the amber liquid into his glass, but stopped himself. "Fuck it," he said, bringing the bottle to his lips. As he sunk further into his alcohol-induced stupor, his mind began to wander. Maglor did not like to become this drunk; to become so drunk would mean his memories would surface. His memories were not something he cherished. No. They were meant to be forgotten. But, this afternoon, the whiskey helped him take a giant leap into his past. Maedhros looked at him over the rough table. Chill wind blew through the open window, and the sound of screaming children assaulted his hearing. He sighed and covered his face with his hands. "We are the last, tôren," he whispered. The elder Elf nodded. "And we will not survive under this oath, Maglor." "What do you suggest we do?" Maglor fixed his grey gaze on his brother's. "A foolish decision, was it not? We have watched each of them die, and I am sure we will see each other die as well, before this curse has run its course," he laughed bitterly. Maedhros looked out the window, his eyes far away. "We could just stop." Maglor's brow furrowed and he looked at Maedhros in confusion. "What do you mean 'just stop'?" Those haunted eyes turned to him, a sad smile on the proud face. "Who says we cannot just not do this anymore? We have seen the folly that has led our father and brothers to their doom, and we can choose not to follow them. We can make amends, tôr dithen, and regain our place!" "Maedhros, I do not think it is so simple..." Maglor said hesitantly. "We swore, tôr iaur; we took an oath." "Our father took an oath, Maglor. We and our brothers followed him out of loyalty. And look at the reward their loyalty has given them! I choose to be loyal to myself!" The tall Elf leapt to his feet and crossed to the window in a single stride. "Do you hear me?" he bellowed into the night. "I renounce my loyalty! I renounce my oath!" Maedhros turned flashing eyes on his brother. "You see? I am still here! I am free, tôr dithen! Now, do you join me, or join our father?" Maglor let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Just words. Nothing mystical or sacred loomed about their fates. They were just words! "Aye, brother, I will follow you. I renounce my oath," he said softly, forcing the statement past the sudden lump in his throat. Maedhros turned back to the window and Maglor closed his eyes, letting out a long, shuddery sigh. "So be it." Maedhros spun around and Maglor's eyes shot open, only to find his sibling's vacated seat now occupied. And there was no mistaking who sat in the wooden chair. "Námo," Maglor whispered, his heart beating swiftly with fear. The Vala's bright blue eyes were fixed on Maglor's large grey ones. He wore only a simple tunic and his dark hair was free, hanging to his waist. "Aye, Kanafinwë." Námo turned then to Maedhros, seeming to ignore Maglor. "Nelyafinwë. Just as proud as you always were. Melkor did nothing to quell that fire that burns brightly in you." The copper-haired Elf stared defiantly at Námo. "Why have you come, Lord of Mandos?" "Why, to grant your request," Námo replied, blinking as if in surprise. "You have asked to be released from your oath. And so you are. You need no longer fear sharing the doom of your brothers." Maedhros smiled ferally at his brother. "However," Námo continued, "your choice is not without its consequences." "What consequences?" Maglor asked with a slight quaver in his voice. He watched Maedhros' smile fade from his lips, and saw the first hint of true fear in his brother's eyes. Námo's demeanor stiffened. "You have a very large debt to repay, Kanafinwë. You both do. You wish to make amends? You will have that chance, but only on my terms. You and your brother have spilled rivers of Quendi blood; now that blood must be cleansed from this world." "And how are we meant to do that?" Maedhros snapped. "By drinking it, naturally." Maedhros pounded the table with his fist. "What madness is this? Speak not in riddles!" The Vala stood up slowly, and the room seemed to grow darker. "I speak only the truth, Nelyafinwë, literal and complete. Your body and that of your brother will no longer find nourishment from the food and drink of your kin, but only by consuming their living blood!" Maglor stared in stunned silence. Even Maedhros stepped back in shock. The elder Fëanorian recovered quickly, though. "I see your truth now, Vala! We escaped the prison of your Doom, so now you revenge yourself by inflicting upon us this... vilification, this filth!" A smile crossed the Vala's usually impassive face. "Why this reaction? You have preyed upon your kin for centuries; now you merely have to do it yourself instead of commanding armies to do it." Maglor could sense Maedhros was about to unleash another tirade against the Vala, and he gently laid a hand on his brother's thigh to silence him. His eyes silently pleaded with Maedhros not to risk angering Námo further. Maedhros nodded reluctantly, and stood behind Maglor's chair while Námo continued to lay out the nature of this punishment. He reiterated that they could still eat and drink the food of their youth, but that only by drinking the blood of living Quendi or Atani would they be able to sate their hunger. They would become creatures of the night, able to move about by day like any other, but not without some measure of discomfort and weakness. The night, though, would be their domain, and they would dominate it utterly. "Lest you think that I am without concern or compassion, I will not abandon you to this fate as you are," he explained. "I have petitioned the other Valar for such gifts as they might bestow upon you at this parting. For you see, as long as you shall bear this mark upon you, you shall never be permitted to return to the Blessed Realm." The two Elves gasped at this. Their father may never emerge from the Halls of Waiting, but he at least had a hope of once again walking the shores of Valinor. Maedhros gripped Maglor's shoulder, but could not bring himself to say anything at this pronouncement. "Manwë grants you the speed of the winds; Tulkas, the strength of the mountains; Aulë, sure-footedness and agility. Oromë will give you the claws and fangs of a predator, and Varda will light your eyes in the darkness of night. Vána confers upon you eternal agelessness surpassing even that of your race. Yavanna's gift is a friendship with the birds and beasts of Arda. Estë seeks to ease your guilt at feeding from others by bringing pleasure to both you and your victims during the act. Vairë gifts you with the ability to cloud the memory of those around you, while Nessa bestows the power to influence their emotions with voice and music, and Irmo offers passage through his realm into the dreams of others. Nienna regrets that her gift does not compare to others', but has vowed to protect you both from the weariness of spirit that the long stretches of time would otherwise burden you with. "Understand that the path you will walk," Námo continued, "will be longer than any who have come before or will come after you. Not only will you be ageless, but because of my gift to you, death will only find you in the primal fires of Arda or should a shaft of cold steel cleave your heart." Maglor and Maedhros shared a quick glance. It was not lost on them whose name was missing. Ever the friend of the Teleri, Ulmo was unlikely to grant them any assistance. More probably, judging by the look on Námo's face, the Valar had had to restrain him from creating some worse punishment. Maglor had to admit a small amount of relief at that; there were doubtless worse fates to which they could have been condemned. His message delivered, the Vala's stern composure began to crumble. He walked around the table and embraced Maedhros firmly, then pulled Maglor to his feet and did the same to the younger Elf. When he stepped back, tears glistened in the corners of his eyes. "Whether you believe it or not, the journey we send you on is far better than the one your brothers have chosen. Namárie, nildonyar. I fear we shall not meet again while the world yet remembers you." Námo walked out the door and was gone. Maglor stared blearily at the bottle still in his hand, still half full. "And we never did," he growled out, drawing back and throwing the bottle into the far wall. "That was a hundred dollar bottle of whiskey you just shattered." The drunken vampire looked up to see his dark lover standing in the doorway, arms crossed and eyes veiled. "No," he replied. "That was a five hundred dollar bottle of whiskey I just shattered." Maglor stood when Erestor slowly walked to his side, his eyes cast to the floor. "Why are you here, Erestor?" "I came to ask you to come home," Erestor said quietly. "It is late." Maglor laughed. "'Late'. You say that as if it means something to us. Do you mean you want me to come back to that farce we call a home and argue with you as if we were a married couple?" Erestor was silent for a moment while they stared at each other, but he finally broke the eye contact. "You are my lover." "No, I am your corrupter -- or did you forget that?" Maglor demanded, grabbing Erestor's shoulders and shoving him against the bar. "Tell me, is your pain so much worse than mine, Erestor? You wouldn't know, now would you? You have never asked!" Maglor spat. "Maglor," Erestor began in a soft voice, becoming pliant within Maglor's grip. "With you, I forget the pain for a while. Do you never find a respite from the pain when you are with me?" Maglor made a sound that was between a sob and a groan as he captured Erestor's lips in a brutal kiss. He swept past the younger Elf's lips and tasted him deeply; it was a taste uniquely Erestor, of cream and vanilla, even after the slighter Elf had fed. Maglor fumbled with the buttons on Erestor's jeans while Erestor did the same to his. "Up," Maglor panted against Erestor's lips, and the librarian braced his arms on the bar top, lifting his body off the floor so Maglor could strip him of his pants. The moment the dark jeans hit the floor, Erestor's bare legs snaked around Maglor's waist. Maglor pressed the head of his shaft against Erestor's backside. "Wait!" Erestor cried, reaching behind the bar and grabbing a bottle of olive oil. "I cannot tell you," he said, pouring a small pool of oil into Maglor's hand, "how much I appreciate you deciding to serve cold foods in this place." Maglor coated his length and smiled down at his lover. "You were just tired of walking out of here with a sore bottom." Erestor groaned and clung to the counter as he was penetrated roughly. "You should try it sometime," he managed before Maglor began thrusting quickly within his body. "I have," Maglor whispered, bending down and kissing Erestor again. He took the Elf's hard flesh into his hand and stroked firmly; this was not about tender lovemaking. This was simply how they made up after an argument. Erestor reached his climax first, crying out his pleasure into Maglor's waiting mouth. He trembled in the older Elf's arms as Maglor withdrew and plunged back in with violent force, spending himself deep in Erestor's passage. They rested like that, Erestor hanging onto the bar, his legs tight about Maglor's waist, and Maglor's arms around Erestor's back, still joined together. Maglor raised his head, kissing Erestor softly on the lips. "Yes," he said. "You ease my pain."