Fruit of the Family Tree by Rocky41_7

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Chapter I

Maedhros welcomes the newly-weds back to the estate.

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Maedhros had gone back ahead of them. He had not stayed for Oropher’s funeral nor for Maglor’s wedding, but he had kissed Maglor goodbye in their hotel room and promised to have everything ready when Maglor got home. Maglor had disposed of Maedhros’ bloody clothes and held Thranduil’s hand through the funeral service, watching tears slide unendingly down that stoic face.

            Now Maedhros emerged into the ghostly light of the foyer as Maglor explained to Thranduil about the decay of the house and why it had gone so long unfixed. He wore his auburn hair in a braid, wound into a tight bun on the back of his head, and a high-collared shirt with the wrist tightly buttoned around his metal prosthetic hand. As he had no taste anymore for shopping, he had gone on with the same outdated clothes that had been in the house when they returned to it, many of which had belonged to Father or Grandfather. At his forehead glinted a phenomenal jewel, bound on a golden chain and surrounded by several smaller, less impressive companions.

Bits of insulation and flakes of unknown origin drifted down through the hole in the roof, which had expanded over the years, and allowed for considerable weather damage to everything in its path. The wooden lions which had once so pridefully guarded the base of the stairs were mossy in some places, and the former red of the painted wood columns surrounding the foyer was more a muddy orange.

            “Unfortunately the damage from the intruders was never fully repaired,” Maglor was saying. “We lacked the time, Father being keen to be off to war, and when Maedhros and I returned here at last, we lacked the resources…But I have great hopes for my latest musical project,” said Maglor with some true brightness. “It shall be a grand spectacle, as soon as I can secure some financial backing for it.”

            “The rot has spread quite far,” Maedhros remarked as he approached them. A great ring of keys jangled at his waist, and just above it, an ornately decorated dagger hilt in its own belt. “Some rooms we have had to seal off entirely. Too unstable.” Thranduil was a tall Elf among his people, but even he had to look up to meet Maedhros’ cold gray gaze, which lingered on him only a moment before Maedhros turned to Maglor and pulled him into a one-armed hug, his good hand firmly on the back of Maglor’s neck. This position they held for an extended moment before Maglor wriggled free, slightly flushed, and smoothed the front of his shirt. He did not see how Maedhros held Thranduil’s gaze throughout their embrace.

            Thranduil looked from the ring of keys over to Maglor.

            “It occurs to me I have not a housekey,” he said.

            “Ah, well…”

            “You don’t need one,” Maedhros interrupted. “As I’ve just said, some rooms of the house are dangerous, and you won’t yet know which ones. If you need to be let in somewhere, I can let you in.”

            The subsequent silence was not wholly copacetic, and Maglor cleared his throat. Maedhros managed a rictus smile at his new brother-in-law.

            “Welcome to your new home,” he said perfunctorily. “How pleasant it will be to have someone else with us here. Maglor, may I see you in the kitchen? There is something which wants your attention.”

            “Yes, of course. Nodien will show you up to our room,” he said, flashing a smile at Thranduil as their one remaining staff member, an overworked caretaker, hauled Thranduil’s trunk over the worn front steps. “I’ll be just a moment.”

***

            Maedhros was drumming his fingers on the counter as the kettle warmed over the fire. Maglor’s hands danced over the back of a chair, but he did not draw it and sit. His nose twitched slightly; the house always smelled a bit mustier after returning from abroad.

            “Is something wrong?” he asked at last.

            “You went ahead with it,” said Maedhros.

            “…as I thought we had agreed upon.”

            “I maintain my earlier assessment. But it doesn’t matter now.” He took down a tin of tea from one of the cupboards.

            “He is young,” Maglor admitted. “But still an adult. And the situation was…workable.”

            “Only one person in all the world looking out for him,” Maedhros agreed. “And one with a sizeable checkbook, too. Have you gotten the paperwork?”

            “Thranduil is still talking with the bank. He should have them send it soon,” said Maglor. “It ought to arrive in a in a month or two after that, post depending. Oropher did quite well for himself.”

            “The man was practically a self-made king,” said Maedhros. “Not that you’d know it from looking at him.” Maedhros measured tea into the pot on the tray, and added a small spoon of powder to the cup with the dove-trees on it. “Well. Nowadays you wouldn’t know anything from looking at him.” Maglor winced slightly, but Maedhros’ back was to him and he didn’t see.

            “Now, if you keep being so gloomy,” said Maglor with forced and weary playfulness, “I will think you aren’t at all glad to see me.” Maedhros looked over at him.

            “Welcome back,” he said. “If you want a red bean cake, they’re in the basket there.” Delighted, Maglor opened it, only to find them stale and one on the edge molding. He replaced the basket lid without touching them.

            “Did you really have to kill him as you did, by the way?” he asked with a sigh. “Thranduil’s been in a state about the whole thing. Surely you could’ve just cut his throat.”

            Maedhros shrugged. “I did the job. Why does it matter how?”

            “It was just rather…messy.”

            “And I do know how you detest a mess, brother dear. I’ve cleaned it up, haven’t I?”

            “You didn’t have to go to the funeral,” Maglor muttered. “Or take the boat back with him.” Maglor could not say being so exposed to another’s grief in such tight quarters was a comfortable experience, especially when the person in question reasonably expected his new and allegedly besotted husband to comfort him about it. And Thranduil possessed such a lovely visage, it was terribly dreary to see him look so depressed. Maglor had hoped he’d at least have a nice face to look at for the next few weeks.

He was on the verge of suggesting Maedhros had purposefully given Oropher such a violent and ugly death out of spite for Maglor insisting on Thranduil instead of giving way to Maedhros’ suggestion they look for someone else, but he knew no good would come of that, so he swallowed it down. Maedhros always threw a tantrum when he didn’t get his way, and he never responded well to having it called out.

            When Maedhros had fixed the tea, they went upstairs to find Thranduil examining his new bedroom. He seemed paler than usual, even, or perhaps Maglor’s eyes were still adjusting to the light of the house.

            “Tea,” Maedhros announced, setting it on the dresser. He took the cup with the dove-tree design and thrust it out at Thranduil, who seemed to hesitate before taking it.

            “Thank you.”

            “Isn’t this lovely!” Maglor chirped, never able to let an awkward silence go without making it worse. “Feel free to make whatever use you wish of the space…” It wasn’t as if Maglor spent time in this room. “It’s your room too, now!”

            “You never mentioned that you have a cat,” Thranduil said in his usual low, soft tone. Truthfully, it was one of the things Maglor had liked about him from the start. He was not a singer—not like Maglor—but he had a very pleasant speaking voice. It seemed calming, somehow.

            “We don’t,” said Maedhros, casting a pointed and displeased look at Maglor, who glanced away.

            “Did you see one?” Maglor asked while looking studiously at the wallpaper and not at Maedhros.

            “Out the window just now,” said Thranduil. “It’s not yours?”

            “Must be a stray,” said Maedhros.

            “Can we keep it?”

            Maedhros and Thranduil were both looking at Maglor, who took a too-large sip of tea which hurt his throat on the way down.

            “Ah, why not?” he said, smiling first at Thranduil and then slightly more placatingly at Maedhros. “One little cat wouldn’t be amiss.”

            “Drink your tea,” said Maedhros sharply to Thranduil, who stiffened. Maedhros softened his tone to add: “It will help with the ills of travel, and with the chill.”

            As Thranduil obediently raised the delicate white cup to drink, Maglor recalled walking through Thranduil’s solarium as he pointed out this and that to him, quietly extoling in his reserved way each and every specimen under his care. Maglor could not say he’d ever considered plants besides passingly finding this or that flower (usually embroidered on a coat or painted on a bit of porcelain) nice to look at, but Thranduil knew things about mosses and root systems and he seemed to find each as beautiful as a blooming rose.

            He’s too young, Maedhros had said back in Beleriand. But Maglor had insisted this was the right target. The notion of his age was absurd anyway—Maedhros had never cared about such things before, and Maglor tended to doubt he did now. Thranduil was an adult capable of receiving and controlling his father’s fortune, and that was what really mattered.

            Maedhros waited until Thranduil had drained the cup before he would take the tray and leave the room.

***

            Predictably, the travel and the grief and the tea made Thranduil weary, and he went to bed early, leaving Maglor free to scarper off to the room which had once belonged to Grandfather. He woke alone as he often did—Maedhros almost always rose before him—but the bed was still warm, which meant it couldn’t be too late. Sure enough, when Maglor threw himself restlessly out of bed to check the clock, it wasn’t yet 9 AM. But he couldn’t imagine trying to lay down again; he felt he must have eaten something the day before which disagreed with him, for there was an unpleasant twinging in his belly.

            He went down to the kitchen for a morning cup of tea and to reheat something for breakfast, and while he was eating he was joined by his new husband.

            “I must have slept very deeply,” Thranduil remarked as he drew up a chair. “I did not hear you come in last night, nor leave this morning.”

            Maglor smiled sweetly.

            “You were tired. I’m glad you got some rest. Do you want some fried rice? I’ll heat up some more for you.” He got up and went first for the tea kettle before hesitating and dumping some more of the rice into a pan to heat. Maedhros would make the tea later; it wouldn’t do for them to both dose him by accident.

            “Was the bed comfortable enough?” Maglor asked, because he couldn’t think of a less asinine conversation topic.

            “It was well,” said Thranduil. “Warmer with the cat.”

            “Oh, did she join you?”

            “You saw her not?”

            “No,” Maglor said. “She must have gone by the time I came in, and returned after I went to sleep.” This made no sense even to Maglor when he thought about it for just a second, but he hoped Thranduil didn’t bother with thinking about the things Maglor said.

            He set a plate of warmed rice in front of Thranduil.

            “Here you go.” Thranduil caught his hand as he drew it back, and rubbed Maglor’s fingers between his, and looked up at him with something almost...as if he were asking for something. Maglor trembled lightly, and gave Thranduil’s fingers a squeeze before drawing his own back. “I’m afraid there’s not much variance in food here…it’s troublesome to get anything shipped to the house, you see.” He took his seat again.

            “We shall manage it,” Thranduil said with a shrug. “I thought I might look at some of the house today.”

            “You want a tour?” Maglor smiled.

            “I have not professional training, but I have practiced carpentry as a hobby,” Thranduil said. “I might be able to fix some of the problems around the house.” Maglor’s face went blank. He was realizing how poorly he handled his spouse going off-script by this point in his life.

            “Fix the house?” he said.

            “Yes. Nothing structural, of course, it would only be superficial…but it might make you more comfortable.” Maglor still sat dumb. “It is as you said before,” said Thranduil, his voice dropping to a still softer, gentler register. “We are to help each other now, as a wedded couple. This I can do for you.”

            “Yes…yes, of course,” said Maglor stumblingly. “Of course, take a look if it pleases you. I’m sure you will find no shortage of projects!” He let out a little laugh.

            There they sat until Maedhros came in and saw them at the table. His fingers brushed lightly against the back of Maglor’s shoulders, just enough pressure to remind Maglor he was there, as he passed by to put the kettle on for tea.

***

            Over the following days, Thranduil continued to bed early under the influence of his circumstances. Maglor could not say what he occupied his days with, besides playing with the cat and poking around what rooms of the house Maedhros hadn’t locked. Maglor spent his own days primarily concerned with his compositions, with which he had grown increasingly dissatisfied of late, and with Maedhros. However, he felt some responsibility for keeping an eye on Thranduil (and Maedhros continually reminded him that his spouses tended to get into trouble only when they were left alone too long), so he tried to check in a few times a day.

            However, he tried not to be caught in “their” bedroom in the evenings, lest Thranduil impose on him to stay. But he had gone in to make sure they had cleared the tea tray out from Thranduil’s last cup, and his no doubt confused husband was sitting up in bed with a notebook when Maglor came in, clearly dressed for bed.

            “Ah, I wondered if I had left my book in here.” Maglor couldn’t even really pretend he put effort into that lie, but as Thranduil was not expecting to be lied to, he didn’t quibble with it.

            “I have seen it not,” said Thranduil.

            “I suppose I shall have to look elsewhere,” said Maglor cheerily, heading for the door.

            “You might borrow one of mine, if it pleases you,” Thranduil offered. “Though I did not bring many with me.” They were heavy, which made for expensive travel costs, and they had departed Beleriand with very little time for preparations.

            “Oh, how kind. I think I’ll look for mine, though.”

            “You may read in here, if you wish,” Thranduil added. “It shan’t bother me to keep the light on a while longer.”

            “Oh, how generous. I wouldn’t want to keep you up. I know you must still be adjusting to the time change, and I still have to brush my hair and teeth and…” Maglor was reaching around for some other task that might be disruptive and believably part of a nighttime routine.

            “I could do that for you,” Thranduil offered. “Your hair.”

            “Oh.” Maglor blinked at him, and it was suddenly very hard to escape noticing that Thranduil was all but begging for his company. Maglor had seen so many people come into this house turned around and alone and bewildered and leave it not long after that it had grown disturbingly easy to simply disengage from their distress the same way one might tune out the irritating buzz of an insistent fly. “Well. Why not? What a lovely offer.”

            Thranduil set aside the notebook and sat up as Maglor brough the brush and comb over. Maglor took a seat with his back facing Thranduil, taking in a quiet breath as he felt Thranduil’s hands let down his hair. Such gestures had long carried a particular intimacy among the Noldor. Maglor wondered if Thranduil knew that.

            Thranduil’s hands were steady but gentle, carefully picking apart Maglor’s braids of the day before taking the brush to his long dark locks.

            “Do you use oil on this?” Thranduil murmured. “It smells quite nice.”

            “Do you like it?” Maglor smiled. “It’s one of my little indulgences.” This one Maedhros permitted, for he also liked the smell of Maglor’s freshly-oiled hair. Thranduil worked the brush and comb through Maglor’s hair, patiently teasing out any knots.

            “It has been some time since you sang,” he commented.

            “Has it? I suppose we’ve been busy, with the marriage and the move!”

            Thranduil brushed on in silence and then, in his ponderous way, said: “I should like to hear it again, when you have the time. If it pleases you.”

            “Of course!” Maglor could not help but preen at such a request. “I should be happy to. Always pleased with an audience!”

            When Thranduil had finished brushing Maglor’s hair into a fall of glossy waves, he bound it up in a loose braid for bed.

            “How sweet you are,” Maglor said with a smile, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “I knew I had found a good choice for my husband. Now, I must find my book!”

            And he made to Thranduil alone in the dark room once more, but paused at the door.

            “It’s rather cold in here, isn’t it?” he said. Thranduil shrugged.

“It is rather.”

“Do you want a larger fire? Let me.” Maglor went over to the hearth to add another log to the fire, but the cache was empty. “Hm. You need more wood. I’ll mention it to Nodien. And where’s your cat? Oughtn’t she be with you?” Thranduil shrugged again.

            “She comes as it pleases her,” he said. “Usually later in the night.”

            “I’ll leave a candle out for her then,” Maglor joked with a wink. “Sleep tight!”

            Satisfied he had done his duty, he took his leave, but found himself still thinking about the temperature of the room.

***

            Predictably, and yet somehow catching Maglor by surprise, Maedhros noticed the length of time it had taken him to go and check on their guest.

            “Here I had begun to think you had tripped on the stairs and broken your neck,” Maedhros remarked from the bed, where he was reading, wire-rim spectacles poised on the end of his nose. He wore them more and more often for reading these days.

            “Thranduil was in the mood to talk,” said Maglor, which was…possibly accurate. It was just that Thranduil’s “mood to talk” looked somewhat like Maglor’s “catatonia.” He had once in Greenwood tried to convince Maedhros that Thranduil’s disinclination for chatter also made him a good choice. Perhaps that was still true.

            “Hm, a few days at home married and you not in the bed once? I’m sure he wanted to talk.” There was a certain derisive note in Maedhros’ voice which made Maglor feel suddenly quite tired.

            “It was nothing,” he sighed, turning to the vanity to apply cream to his face and neck. “He is still processing his change in circumstances. This is not what he expected.” But that was always true.

            “So let him process it,” Maedhros said, looking back down at his book. “He doesn’t need you for that.”

            “I was gone not thirty minutes,” Maglor said, unable to keep the cranky note from his voice.

            “I know what you’re doing,” Maedhros replied, lowering the book to look directly at Maglor.

            “And what’s that?”

            “Do you really believe he would like you if he knew who you really were?”

            Maglor gripped the edge of the vanity. This conversation was not unfamiliar, but he hated it each time they had it.

            “Fortunately, I am not worried if he—”

            “If you weren’t concerned that he likes you, why spend money we most certainly do not have on that ridiculous plant encyclopedia you gave him?”

            “I was wooing him, if you recall,” Maglor said defensively, spinning around to face Maedhros. “Not that you would know anything about it. I always have to do the work with them. Do you know how hard it is? You have no respect for…I have to prostitute myself just to get our hands on some funding.”

            “Don’t make it sound like you’re performing more than you are. Besides, you enjoy the chase and the attention,” Maedhros snorted. “And it’s you or no one. You know that.” Sending Maedhros out to woo could only result in catastrophe. And possibly felony charges.

            “And it was a fungal encyclopedia,” Maglor muttered under his breath as he turned his attention to applying a different cream to his hands.

            “I’m sure the fungal encyclopedia will keep his affection after he finds out what you did to Elwing.”

            Maglor went rigid, and grasped that he had underestimated how off-put Maedhros was. This was a jab he only dredged up when he wanted to cripple Maglor’s ability to argue.

            “I…did…nothing,” he said haltingly, the rubbing of his hands becoming a compulsion.

            “Mm. Of course. I’m sure he would see it that way.”

            “Stop it.” Maglor was digging his nails into his hands, clawing at the slippery flesh.

Maedhros relented.

“This is what I mean when I say he cannot understand you,” said Maedhros. “He won’t. Not as I do.” He put the book on the bedside table and reached out to Maglor, who crawled over his own side of the bed to sit astride his brother’s lap. “It will be over soon,” Maedhros soothed him, smoothing Maglor’s hair behind his ears, though there was nothing left loose after Thranduil’s careful braiding. “Oropher’s should be the last of the money we need to finance your project. And when that’s done, there will be no more marriages.”

“No more marriage,” Maglor echoed in a whisper.

“No more people in the house.”

“No more people.”

“It will be just us.” Maedhros’ arms went around Maglor, pulling him into an embrace so that Maglor’s chin was pushed up awkwardly against Maedhros’ shoulder.

“Forever,” Maglor murmured.

“Forever,” Maedhros agreed, and the word seemed to echo into the emptiness of the house.

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Chapter End Notes

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