#apologies?

yk what I mean

(I get so excited at the slightest hint)

for @schittscreekdrabbleblog

Hurried

Okay. Clothes, personal items. His mother, screeching—he should—no. Focus. What about the apartment? Fuck. His 2013—no, don’t think. Pack. Sweaters. Into suitcases.

He doesn’t understand—bathroom, get the skin care—the counter, the cabinet. Whoa, glass against glass. Sounded bad. Shower stuff. Ew, wet, dry it off. Okay.

Closet. Quickly. Leave the hangers. Ugh! Even padded ones—you’d think someone would invent some fucking hangers that didn’t fucking tangle up your fucking shirts.

Hallway’s getting noisy. Okay, phone in pocket. Fill the black bag. Charger, cords, notebook, other notebook, Namiki pens, what else?

Summary:

Wow. You’re right, this is a revenge prompt! Absolutely angsty.

I have a hard time picturing a Maedhros who lets one of his brothers go for him, but let’s give it a crack. The most textually supported characterization we have is that Maedhros is dutiful and responsible, which really explains why he goes in the canon text. Let’s turn that upside down, shall we? Maybe Maedhros’ brother(s) — probably Maglor, but maybe several together — argue Maedhros around to not going because of the risk. The Noldor just lost their king, even if everyone secretly thinks it was for the best. They’re scared and unstable and stranded in a dark, strange place. Maedhros can’t die too.

So who do they send, if not him? I can see arguments for both Maglor and Celegorm. Maglor, because he’s the next highest ranking, and also the most clever and diplomatic of the rest. (I think not causing an internal crisis that offends two key allies is a low bar, but he clears it in canon, and several of his other brothers don’t!) Celegorm, because he’s a hunter who swore himself to Oromë, the great huntsman of the Enemy, and at this early point he’s probably the most capable at (a) not dying in general and (b) extracting himself if things go sour.

Or maybe, just so they can watch each other’s backs, Maedhros sends both of them.

And Morgoth captures them both, and having the next two heirs to the Noldóran gives him just as much leverage as holding the Noldóran himself. More, actually, because he can afford to be less delicate with them because he has an extra one. (Here are the clever hands of the your songbird brother, little king. He sang so prettily under my blades. Perhaps I should take the huntsman’s next; it would make him easier to handle. He does make such a mess when he sees things he dislikes.)

And if Morgoth can string up one Fëanorion as a symbol, then two are even better. And Maedhros? There’s not a damned thing he can do about any of it. The reason Maedhros sent his brothers — the precariousness of his own position — hasn’t improved; it’s worsened with two more heirs gone. They knew it; he knows it; but it doesn’t make it any better.

But the children of Nolofinwë are all stubborn, and more than one is stubbornly attached to Fëanor’s sons. So when Aredhel straggles out from the Helcaraxë with her family, she isn’t pleased at all to hear that her favorite cousin got himself captured. So Aredhel sets out instead. She isn’t Fingon; she leaves the harp behind, but she does take her bow.