#techeron

Techeron: What’s wrong?

Faeron: I have this weird pain right above my eyebrow.

22. Hug (Sort of a continuation from the other 'Lothrandir leaving Isengard' prompt)

For the first time in weeks he was surrounded. By people. By voices. By the thrumming not of machinery but of hoofbeats, regular without incessancy. Laughter. Sunshine.

He'd been given a horse blanket and a spot close to the fire. With his hood up and his brothers' spare things, there was nothing to tell the Rohirrim he wasn't one of the dozens of less-remarkable Rangers milling around the camp at Dunharrow.

It did nothing, also, to hide him from his brothers.

"Lothrandir!"

He gripped his cup tighter as Techeron came into the firelight, breathless, uncowled and uncowed. His dark mood went unacknowledged, as Techeron seemed cheered just to have found him.

"Halbarad said you were well!" He seemed to be trying to fight down a smile. Irrepressible. "We could scarcely believe--"

A crack. Lothrandir was bone weary, battered, and barely able to sit upright, but he saw it. Techeron had one of the more celebrated poker faces in the Company, or rather, one of the most lamented. He felt, all of them did, but could hide it better than most. Was that the purpose of the attitude? Try to hide a grin so no one looks for anything else?

It was the eyes, he thought, bright. Lit up with the effort. Techeron had been the smallest of them, the old crew in Evendim. To ask Orchalwë now, he would deny strenuously anything but the stewardship and care of a green recruit, but not so when they were younger. The pair of them had thought to make a game of Techeron's first posting and learned his true mettle at their peril. Then, they had been inseparable until reassignment.

But that was years past, and the path of the Grey Company was the first he had walked with Techeron since. Lothrandir could still see the new oathsworn he and Orchalwë had sworn to as brothers. And he could not stand the thought- could not bear it- for Techeron to see him in this state.

"What a story it will make." Techeron picked up again, seemingly undaunted. "You've befriended one wizard and gotten the better of the other."

Lothrandir had not meant to flinch, but his mask was not so good as Techeron's. He was not used to the new Mithrandir, even after his departure. That had been hard to stomach. He did not like fearing retribution from the hand of a friend.

"Yes, well," he began, "I doubt many will find torture so interesting. Let us speak no more of it."

He'd punctured Techeron like a full waterskin. The deflated, wilting man beside him bore none of the false exuberance from a moment ago. Lothrandir swallowed and looked away. He didn't want Techeron to leave, no, he wished him never to have come. To never have asked and never necessitated this kind of answer. To have come later, when he was full-recovered and his old self, not trapped under so much weakness--

"I will leave." Techeron spoke abruptly. "I will go tend to the rations- it was my chore tonight. But... suffer me only a moment."

Lothrandir turned, eyes weary, to find Techeron lunging forward. He hugged like a drowning man, and it took all of Lothrandir's will not to cry out.

"I dared not hope you survived." Techeron said. He stumbled over a hitch in his throat as he continued, "I was not brave enough to lose you twice, brother." He jumped back looking pained, and before Lothrandir could stop him he disappeared among the tents.

reach of the white hand au 3/3

Techeron is happy to carry supplies, and Lothrandir considers the power of a helping hand

for instance, he's the master of reverse psychology. Rangers are shockingly like preschoolers sometimes, and can be tricked into all manner of good behaviors. the poker-face comes from years of being told the most bonkers things and having to react normally. he has the second most Disapproving Tone, topped only by Saeradan's.

24. hugging with height-difference

After a different hug...

He was completely clear-headed for the first time in weeks. This was it. This was the end of the world, more likely than not, and he was going to go out fighting. That was always going to be his end.

The hill was swarming with all his remaining brothers. They'd been driven back here by the enemy, by the... the fell-beasts, by the endless tide of foes. Aragorn was here, as was Gandalf. Without them, they would not have so bright a glimmer of hope in this dark hour. Lothrandir was grateful for them.

Things moved too quickly here at the end. There were eagles in the fray, creatures and allies of legend come to fore at last. Could this be how it felt at the last Great battle? With elves and men and folk too strange and mysterious to believe?

When the ground roiled like a vat of boiling tar, there was nowhere to run. Lothrandir threw himself down over his next nearest brother- Techeron, as it was- and braced for the worst. Rocks rattled about them and jumped over limbs and weapons. The earth trembled. He held on all the tighter.

And then the worst of it: cracking, roaring ruination. The Black Gate undone, the ground torn asunder. There were howls of pain and fear. Techeron gripped on like a nail grips wood, and they remained in a desperate huddle until the last rumbles of the world grew still.

Someone bolder than he picked their head up first. Much rejoicing was already on before he could open his eyes. Techeron was trying to break away and scramble to his feet. Lothrandir let him, rolling himself in an attempt to stand.

The air was still stale with the odors of Dagorlad, but there was something else. A breeze, an undercurrent of fresh air on the heels of this strange and wondrous upheaval.

It took him far too long to realize they'd won. He joined the others of the Company looking, staring at the devastation or the mountain still sputtering fire and ash. It wasn't until he spotted Daervunn swinging wildly, his feet clear of the ground, and Aragorn grinning ear to ear as he set him down that it occurred to him.

They were alive. They had won. Techeron was beaming at him. Pointing. Saying something about the mountain in the distance when Lothrandir threw his arms around him. Earlier than he thought and later than he ever dreamed this quest was at an end, but not them with it. The rest of Techeron's speech was lost somewhere in his collarbone as his brother's arms alternated between desperately squeezing and awkwardly patting his mid-back.

Lothrandir supposed he might be bruising ribs and pulled back. Techeron was beaming.

"Oh..." He said, tears brimming in his eyes, "...how I wish Orchalwë was here with us!"

Lothrandir laughed. "He'd scarce be able to talk for all his blubbering."

"And yelling. He'd have a thing or two to scold us for!"

Suddenly overcome, Lothrandir pulled Techeron back in. So, so much was gone, yes, but not everything. He had not lost his brothers, he was not the last of them, as the Wizard had said he would be. He did not rot in a tower, nor did he shrivel and die a husk of himself.

So many of his fears had come to pass. But not all of them. Like the sunlight pouring through clouds of ash, there was hope mingled in the grief. Not all was gone and sundered.

had to get it out of my system before we do Requests TM