#maemags

by whatisleftofmybrainworms (@whatisleftofmybrainworms)

How long ago had he realized his sister was who he belonged to? In their childhood, when the entire world seemed to be just their parents, and the two of them? Or maybe when they first spent time apart, her absence breaking his heart like nothing else? But most likely it had been during those latter years of youth, when Maedhros had first told him that she was in fact a maiden, giving him the courage, nay, the knowledge to be a man. Were they not linked together from then on, as a man and a woman, even more intertwined than husband and wife? What a pleasure it had been, to first kiss her.

Explicit, No Archive Warnings

In everything that does not concern Kano.

This headcanon has part one and part two, but all that is important to know is that Maedhros is asexual, though capable of something akin to attraction toward Maglor. Therefore, CW: incest.

After Angband, Maedhros thinks of himself in the past tense. He sees in himself only a weapon against the Enemy. He is disciplined, impeccably efficient. When endurance is required, he endures. When food is offered, he eats. When sleep is possible, he sleeps. Maedhros remains vigilant at all times, never allowing himself weakness.

Kano’s faithful eyes follow him, year after year.

Maedhros knows that behind that quiet, desperate devotion lies guilt — the belief that Findekáno did what Maglor should have done. Maitimo would have tried to draw his brother into conversation. Maedhros merely concludes that Kanafinwë’s unconditional loyalty makes him a perfect ally.

Except — Maglor rides to Himring far more often than necessity demands.

Maedhros permits it, so long as Kano remains sensible when they are alone: speaking little, sitting comfortably nearby, playing his lute. They often fall asleep like this, making their way to bed only in the middle of the night. Once, Maitimo wakes with his face buried in Maglor’s hair.

It feels like the curls of a life long gone. For the first time in many years, Maedhros feels pain.

Maglor has long since become a warrior. He dresses as they all do, wears his hair as they all do, smells as they all do. Well, perhaps Maglor still smells better than most of them. But he no longer smells like Kano.

Brusquely, almost cruelly — lest he begin thinking about it — Maedhros orders Maglor to find his old floral perfume and wear it whenever they are alone. Then he demands the old hairstyle again, instructing him which jewels to braid into it. He buys silks that he cannot truly afford and silently leaves them before Kano. He asks Curvo — strictly for himself, of course — to make some new ornaments.

Macalaurë never objects. He blooms with every new request, happy to bring Nelyafinwë even the smallest comfort. Maedhros knows that such unquestioning obedience, too, is born of guilt.

Maitimo would have wondered whether he was manipulating Kano.

Maedhros buries his face in those dear curls and wraps his arms around Maglor — broader now, yet still as slender as ever — under the pretense of sleep.

No one else ever sees the Lord of the Gap with his hair unbound, dressed in a frivolous nightshirt, wearing Curvo’s earrings, carrying the scent of Aman flowers.

Now that no woman would ever willingly come near Maedhros, he almost regrets never having married.

He keeps Kano ever closer to his heart. He has become a monster in every sense of the word; yet one thing has never changed: only with Kano has he ever been capable of this. No one had ever learnt that shameful secret. The family knows that Nelyafinwë simply has no interest in love.

Maglor whimpers quietly in his arms as Maedhros’s ruined face disappears beneath the blankets, hiding against his stomach. Maglor strokes him with unbearably gentle fingers, as a wife might have done.

“Is this how it is meant to be?” Maedhros wonders. “Is this what it feels like?”

Within a matter of months, he finds something resembling peace between Maglor’s thighs. He loves drowning in silk and skin, tracing the length of elegant legs — legs that might have belonged to a wife — and pressing his face against something that could not have.

“I’m sorry, Nelyo,” Kano tries to turn away, remembering that Maedhros has no interest in love. Maedhros’s hand closes firmly around Maglor’s hip, holding him still.

So, you’re going to talk to your younger brother about how you’re going to handle the regency, since your older brother (and king) has been captured by enemy forces and you have no idea whether he’s alive or not, nor are you sure if you’ll be able to keep the rest of your family in check while you rule your people. You decide to seek support. Back in Valinor, Tyelkormo had a more manageable temperament, but now he’s become more unpredictable and volatile, and it seems his ego knows no bounds—especially now that Nelyo is gone.

After an afternoon of arguments, you think you’ve finally reached an agreement. He says he’ll give you his sword and swear loyalty to you; he asks only one thing of you. You ask what he needs, and then his eyes rest on your lips, and his face begins to draw closer. You want to pull away—you must pull away— but his grip on your waist is firm; his lips press against yours. He wants you to respond; he wants to deepen the kiss. This shouldn’t be happening—he’s your younger brother, and he’s kissing you. If Nelyo were here, he would have stopped him. Tyelkormo is wild where Nelyafinwë would have been gentle; Nelyo was always gentle.

You push him away after a few seconds, letting him have what he wants; he looks at you with what seems to be genuine confusion. This could ruin the entire afternoon you’ve spent fighting for his loyalty, so you swallow your pain and smile—you smile as he walks away, leaving you alone. You’re grateful; a tear rolls down your check.

Maitimo is full-time asexual and part-time kanosexual (it’s complicated)

This is part two of my maemags headcanon, where in childhood they imitate Fëanáro and Nerdanel. CW: incest (yep, now for sure), heteronormativity and casual homophobia.

Their childish games come to an end the day Fëanáro summons them for a serious conversation. Calmly but sternly, he demands an explanation for what he has happened to witness. Then, in the same measured, distant tone, Father explains that such things have no place between brothers. Gestures like these belong only between a man and a woman, and many of them only between husband and wife.

Fëanáro does not punish them. As Maitimo comes to understand later, he considers the incident a failure of his upbringing. He speaks instead of the care he must take to raise his sons into proper, decent men.

Yet those words sting. As though they — and especially Nelyafinwë, the eldest, the one who considers himself a man grown — is somehow not proper. Not decent. Not... a man?

From that day, Maitimo devotes himself to becoming everything a Noldo, a prince, a son, and an heir ought to be. He is always at his Father’s side. He weighs every word and every action, remaining courteous and gentle, yet unwavering in his principles. He trains in athletics, diplomacy, linguistics, and dancing.

And it does not take Nelyafinwë long to realize that one of an heir’s foremost duties is to marry and produce children. Courtship, moreover, is an essential part of noble etiquette — so Maitimo quickly adopts the habits of his peers, inviting young ladies to dances at balls and walks along the river.

He finds himself surrounded by companions and admirers, lords and ladies alike; yet his heart reaches for none of them, and never does his flesh stir. To those closest to him, Nelyafinwë quietly confesses: he is not made for love — certainly not for physical love. He is gently reminded that no one would wish to force him into marriage.

No, Maitimo’s flesh does not stir. Except —

He remembers that strange, intoxicating feeling. Kano’s laughter. The warmth of his lips. The slender curve of his waist. He remembers the aching heaviness in his groin — painful and sweet.

That phantom sensation — that unfortunate remnant of their childhood game — returns whenever Russandol sees Macalaurë with pearls woven through his hair. Whenever Macalaurë is dressed in flowing silks that leave his graceful neck and elegant collarbones bare. Whenever he catches the lingering scent of Macalaurë’s floral perfume. Whenever Macalaurë tries on earrings Fëanáro has newly designed for him. Whenever he watches exquisite bracelets, rings, tiaras, and shimmering golden chains winding across Macalaurë’s slender frame. Whenever he notices the cosmetics usually worn by ladies lending mystery to Macalaurë’s eyes or drawing attention to his lips.

“Is this what a worthy man is?” Maitimo wonders, and immediately swears he would not allow anyone to think of Kano as anything improper or indecent.

Certainly, some things are not the remnants of their old game — it is that Nelyo and Kano are simply close.

That is why Maitimo holds Kano in long embraces after every performance, presses kisses into his hair, or gallantly takes his brother’s hand to help him descend from the stage. That is why he brings Macalaurë flowers and gifts, even forging jewelry for him with his own hands, all the while suffering a ridiculous shame at the thought that Kano may not wish to wear such ordinary pieces when he could have anything crafted by Fëanáro himself.

Still, there is a joy he knew not beyond Kano’s embrace.

Still, Macalaurë’s slender arms wind around his neck with the same effortless grace, the same willing trust. He laughs just as brightly as before and still fits into Nelyo’s arms with impossible perfection. Maitimo spins him around again and again.

Only now there is nothing adolescent left in Kano. Only Kano is dazzlingly, otherworldly beautiful.

Perhaps he would rather escape to the company of his admirers and endure Nelyafinwë’s presence only out of kindness. Macalaurë gives no sign of it. He tips back his head, smells of sweetness and desire, and asks to be spun once more.

Maitimo hopes everyone around them is just as intoxicated, and yet, instinctively, tries to shield Kano with his own back.

He burns and cannot bring himself to break the embrace. Macalaurë traces the line of his strong jaw with gentle fingers, and Maitimo knits his brows in silent torment. And still, obediently, devotedly, he lifts Kano’s hand to his lips.

It’s awkward until it’s not.

CW: (borderline) incest

Maitimo and Macalaurë play at being grown-ups, as all children do — only their game is more intereseting. They play at being their parents.

One day, Nelyo notices just how much they resemble Fëanáro and Nerdanel. Of course, he has always known that he takes after Mother while Kano is Father’s very image, but this is the first time he finds the symmetry amusing, the way they seem to mirror their parents so perfectly.

And so Maitimo watches as Father wraps his arms around Mother from behind, buries his face in her hair, encircles her waist, and gently sways her in his embrace. Later he goes looking for Kano in Kano’s room and finds him in his own instead.

The first attempt is rather too enthusiastic. He sweeps Macalaurë into his arms so abruptly that Kano startles with a little cry. Soon they decide to try again.

For some time they argue over which of them ought to play Mother — after all, Maitimo is so similar to her! — but Maitimo is also older, noticeably taller, already broader in the shoulders.

Kano fits into his arms with effortless ease. Just as effortlessly he tilts his head aside, allowing Maitimo to nuzzle against the curve of his neck.

Nelyo feels so grown-up. So clever. So strong. Perhaps even more so because Macalaurë truly resembles Fëanáro, and there is something strangely thrilling about holding a small, obedient, perfectly still Father in such a firm embrace.

Macalaurë, meanwhile, notices how Nerdanel casually lays her hand over Fëanáro’s and looks at him with a strange smile. The moment he and Nelyo are alone, he tries to imitate her — takes his brother’s hand and lifts his eyes, attempting to reproduce Mother’s enigmatic little smile. For some reason, they both burst into laughter.

Then he remembers how, just the other day, Father had spun Mother around the kitchen, and immediately insists that Maitimo do the same.

Maitimo can tell easily enough that this is Kano’s favorite game, and that Kano is shamelessly using their little performance as an excuse to be whirled through the air more often. For some reason, Maitimo never says this aloud. Instead, he obediently rests his hands on Macalaurë’s waist while Kano deftly loops his arms around Nelyo’s neck. Once again, Maitimo finds himself thinking how light Kano is, how graceful. For that one moment, Macalaurë is not an awkward adolescent.

Maitimo watches Father laughing as he catches Mother’s clay-stained hand and raises it to his lips, bowing ever so slightly, his free hand tucked behind his back.

He finds Kano by the gentle rippling notes of his harp, lifts musician’s fingers from the strings, and kisses them. Macalaurë blinks in astonishment, but does not laugh.

This becomes, without question, Maitimo’s favorite game. All at once he notices how beautiful Kano’s hands are — pale and fine, with long slender fingers, elegant almond-shaped nails.

Little by little, he forgets to imitate Fëanáro’s gallant bow and playful smile. He asks for Macalaurë’s hand again and again, caressing, kissing it. For some reason, Kano blushes and looks away.

Macalaurë watches their parents baking a pie together. Fëanáro wipes flour across Nerdanel’s dress, earns himself a smack to the back of the head — and then, immediately afterward, a kiss. Of course, Macalaurë thinks.

Kissing turns out to be difficult. It is damp and rather stupid. Kano declares that he cannot imagine why anyone would want to do such a thing. Nelyo replies that apparently all Elves either get used to how unpleasant it is... or —

In any case, they keep trying. They tease each other, interrupt themselves with laughter and playful bickering, and through careful observation, diligent practice, and endless corrections, they make noticeable progress.

At the very least, Macalaurë stops complaining that he cannot breathe — though whenever they finally pull apart, he is breathing heavily.

“Well,” Maitimo concludes one day, “it really isn’t that unpleasant.” Kano says they have simply gotten used to it. Kano is lying.

Some maemags for you all

Chapters: 1/7 Fandom: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Maedhros/Maglor (Tolkien) Characters: Maedhros (Tolkien), Maglor (Tolkien), Finarfin (Tolkien), Ilmarë (Tolkien), Eönwë (Tolkien), Ingwion (Tolkien), Original Orc Character(s) Additional Tags: devotional love, Codependency, Porn With Plot, Smut is only in chapter 1 and 6, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Maedhros Lives (Tolkien), Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Post War of Wrath, Suicide Attempt, The Oath as a third wheel, Brother/Brother Incest, Anal Sex Summary: