Red Crow by Lferion

Needful Embrace

A sanctuary after storms.  - 1000 words including the poem.

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Prompts - L:O5 Fable, A:I3 Art Deco, P:B4 Dizain, F:N3 FRSP-Only One Bed

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At present, there was only one bed in Maedhros's small house. He - they - had plans for more: for Elrond and Celebrian, should they choose to travel to him at some point; in hope of brothers, perhaps someday; for Nerdanel; in the unlikely but not impossible event of formal visitation too long to be conducted on the porch, the courtyard he had mentioned once to Fingon, that was now a detailed plan and a large pile of suitable stone awaiting their hands. Their major building project for the autumn. They would start in the morning.

Eventually, there would be a room -- several rooms, a suite -- entirely for Fingon's use and comfort. It might even have a bed also, a decorative, practical element amid the long lines and subtle geometries of shape and space and color that Fingon liked. That room would not exist until Maedhros knew he would be able to build it properly, to a standard he considered sufficient. It was slow, and time-consuming, building - making - doing everything himself when Fingon was not here, but he had nothing but time, now.

An Age of abasement, apology, reparation, restitution. At the mercy of a great many people who firmly believed he deserved no mercy. As, indeed, he believed himself, though Elrond emphatically did not. Nor did Fingon. Their mercy, like their love, their forgiveness, was a gift they freely gave him, irrelevant to desert, or expectation, or anything else. As his love for them was given. None of that applied to those he had wronged who had not chosen mercy, but justice as they saw it. Just deserts. The third time he had been deposited back on Elrond's doorstep injured (but not bleeding), consciousness fled (but in no danger of dying) Elrond had laid down the law as to what was and was not reparation or restitution. Lady Elwing had backed him up, if only to save Elrond the trouble of putting him back together repeatedly. Or renew the possibility of anyone seeing him as a martyr.

It was several yeni since he had apologized to the last person on the list, who, contrary to expectation, had been both forgiving and kind, They had not minded when Maedhros had wept unstoppably for an hour, but had handed him a large linen napkin, put a blanket over his shoulders, and let him be, until the storm passed and Maedhros could appreciate the soft rug under his knees, the pleasant proportions of the room, the rain-and-gardenia scented breeze coming in through the wide thrown windows. He had left that house with a fresh gourd of water and a leaf-wrapped packed of new bread, not yet believing the task was done.

It had been no hardship to follow Elwing's instructions completely, fleeing to the mountains as far as possible from the shore, Tirion, Valmar, even Formenos, stopping near the edge of reasonable habitability, within a day's walk to a small hamlet and the thread of a path that had led him here. There were a few people he wanted to be able to find him, the mail service not the least.

It was quiet here. Beautiful in some of the ways Himring had been beautiful, if with rather more trees, and considerably less ice. A woodcutter's son in a fable, hair like the fallen leaves of autumn. It had grown back to a good length -- Fingon liked braiding it, and Maedhros had always enjoyed Fingon's hands in his hair.

Here it was the beginning of Autumn, and his loved-and-beloved was in the one bed in the house with him. One season out of eight. Fingon's situation was much more complicated than his, and the Lady Elwing was not his Queen, though the Council of Queens acknowledged her right and judgement in the matter of the Feanorians. Fingon was not a Feanorian, only married to one, and he had been long dead by the time Elwing was born. Other people had prior claim on him. Claims that required he speak and teach, reside in Tirion, attend upon the court as recorder and clerk, being seen to be princely and royal and properly respectful of his place and responsibilities and the grace of the Council who allowed him those perquisites. He had pleasant rooms, nice clothes, appropriate jewelry, a harp to play, a horse to ride, a body-servant who adored their job, a workroom for crafting, respect in the sparring ring, the archery butts, a place in the Hunt. One season in eight in Alqualonde, under the direction of Olwe's Queen, condition of being allowed to Return. With the Return of his spouse, entirely unlooked for, it had been eventually hammered out that spousal right required they be allowed time together, Maedhros, by Elwing's Judgement, could not come to or be in or even near Tirion, where Fingon's responsibilities (his choke-chain, as some called it) lay. Therefore, Fingon must be allowed to go to Maedhros. One season out of eight was agreed as technically fulfilling spousal right. And they could write to each other as much and as often as they liked. Unsealed letters, naturally.

Fingon had tucked himself tightly to Maedhros' side, head resting in the hollow of his shoulder, one hand curled around a hipbone like a rope in a blizzard. He would relax in a day or two, but Maedhros had never minded being Fingon's pillow and safe place. As Fingon was his.

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You lie beside me love, in this our bed
However many nights I lie alone
And over me I see your black hair spread
A comfort and a promise nightly shone
Our love is not for others to condone
But Eru's only -- our commitment made
Beside that long-drowned lake, hearts unafraid
I chose my friend - I did not wed a prince
My love you are, my firm foundation laid
My solace and my shelter known long since

Change black to red, and every word here writ
Is true for me as well, most definite.

-- Couplet added in Fingon's distinctive hand

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