Five Gold Rings by Lifetime by AdmirableMonster  

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ConanLovesSocks

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The next months were—difficult, but not exactly bad.  Mairon spent a few weeks in a hotel with his father.  There was some legal stuff to be taken care of.  He texted Tyelpe just a few things, here and there, just silly pictures of birds he saw outside, or dogs that people were walking.  He didn’t feel up to more.  He was afraid of even having a conversation, and he needed—time.

He found a therapist.  He dealt with setting up his own bank account.  He spent time with his dad.  He set up a new phone account and migrated his contacts—the ones he cared about.  Aulë, Tyelpe, a few others.  He sent Hal and Mags a thank you gift of some  particularly nice sake, hoping they would appreciate it, praying Maglor wouldn’t be offended. He got a terse ‘thanks’ from Mags and a slightly longer note from Hal.  He loves it and he’s embarrassed because he doesn’t think he did enough to be thanked for.

Autumn crept by; the leaves fell from the trees.  The temperature plummeted, and Mairon’s world—didn’t stabilize exactly, but the rocking grew less violent, for lack of a better metaphor.  Winter came again, and with it, the first flakes of snow whirling in with grey clouds and shortening days.  Christmas loomed on the horizon, and Mairon, staring down at his now-filled sketchbook, knew he couldn’t wait any longer to see him, anyway.

It might not go anywhere romantic.  He was pretty sure he was okay with that, if Tyelpe wanted to stick to the weird, off-beat friendship they’d developed.  And he knew it would be better to have a conversation over text or over the phone first, and it would definitely be better not to do anything highly dramatic over the holidays so he didn’t put pressure on the other man or anything.

Tyelpe sent him a family photo of Fëanor, his ex-wife, and all eight sons lined up in a row underneath the lights of Union Station. 

> Everyone’s in town for the holidays.  Looking forward to a tremendous number of arguments.

> Conan is always there if you need him as an escape.

“Fuck it,” said Mairon, and yielded to the impulse to book a plane ticket.

* * *

Christmas itself seemed like a bad idea, but Mairon forgot, as always, to account for the way the airlines liked to screw him over.  He landed in O’Hare on what was very technically Christmas morning, by about an hour.  He checked into a hotel near the airport and crashed for ten hours, then woke up at noon and tried to figure out what he should do.

He could just wait.  He was late for when he’d planned to be in town, and he could just let Tyelpe have his damn family Christmas and show up on Boxing Day or something.  That would be the smart thing to do, wouldn’t it?  He wrestled with himself.  Tyelpe’s last text had sounded kind of like a plea, hadn’t it?  But no matter how Much Fëanor and his entire family were…they were still family.  Mairon was a friend and, currently, nothing else.  He probably shouldn’t intrude.

At 3:45 PM, he decided he would at least try to intrude.  He grabbed an Uber, miraculously remembering Tyelpe’s address, and made his way over.  Nearly an hour later—ugh, Chicago traffic—he was outside, and getting no response from buzzing the bell.  It was Christmas, but Tyelpe’s apartment was tiny; what was he going to be doing in it?  Mairon covered his face with his hands.  Go back to the hotel, he told himself.

His phone vibrated.

> If you happen to be planning on doing something unbearably stupid and romantic, I don’t need to know about it, and I’m definitely not sending you the address where the Clan is eating dinner tonight.

Maglor.

Mairon stared down at it with a stupid grin on his face.  Then he pulled open the Uber app on his phone again. 

When he got to the restaurant, it was snowing again, fat white flakes swirling down out of a sky lit to rose-pink by the lights of the city reflecting off the clouds.  The restaurant was sleek and modern, a high-end Chinese place playing cheerful Christmas music, the doorway festooned with yellow-white fairy lights.  Mairon hovered near the entry-way, arrested and unsure, not quite able to get up the courage to go inside.

Instead, he peered in through the window, into a high-ceilinged room with gaudy gold sculptures along the tops of the walls—dimly lit with those sort of fancy electric candles.  Well lit enough for him to see the long table full of food and surrounded by—well, not all the faces were smiling, but they were familiar enough.

Mairon ignored most of them in favor of the one he wanted most to see, the dark head bent over his plate, sitting a little too straight, as if he wasn’t quite sure he wanted to be here.  He was wearing something made of grey silk, which was all Mairon could see from here, and Mairon couldn’t—quite—get himself to walk into the restaurant.

Finally, he managed to pull out his phone and send a text.

> I’m outside.

There was a chance Tyelpe wouldn’t be checking his phone at fancy dinner, but the atmosphere seemed just tense enough that—

> Outside what?

> The restaurant you’re eating in.  Sorry for being creepy?  And Merry Christmas.

There was another too-long pause, and then he got another response.

> Do you want to come in?

> Do you want me to come in?

> Yeah

Mairon swallowed, tightening the scarf about his face.  The scars were still an angry red, although the stitches were out now.  And Tyelpe wasn’t pushing.  He was asking.  He was asking.  

Tyelpe wouldn’t care what his face looked like, Mairon was eighty percent sure.  And maybe he kind of deserved the final twenty percent anyway.  And even if he didn’t, he definitely wasn’t going to get what he wanted if he stayed out here.  So—finally, finally—he pushed the door open and headed inside.

He felt like everyone was watching him, even though realistically he knew that almost no one had looked up.  Just Tyelpe, who had looked up from his phone and was turned towards the door.  Just Tyelpe, whose face lit up when he saw Mairon, and who half pushed his chair back, then paused, gentling his body language a little.  Maglor, across the table from him, looked up with a lazy grin.  

It felt like time had dilated to an impossible degree, as if each step he took were miles and years long, but at the end of it was Tyelpe.  And then, suddenly, the years were over and he was standing right by Tyelpe’s chair, with melting snow falling from his hair.  Without thinking, he undid the scarf and hat and pulled them off, and—Tyelpe’s face changed.  Of course it did.  He should have at least told him.  Maybe Tyelpe was going to tell him to leave now.  Or—or—

Tyelpe reached out tentatively, not quite touching him.  “Hey?” he said questioningly, softly.  All Mairon had to do was turn his hand over and lift it so that their fingers were brushing.  It was like a little electric shock went through him when he did.

The chatter at the table had died, and now everyone was swiveling to look at Mairon, who was still just standing there, touching Tyelpe’s hand. 

“You look good with red hair,” Tyelpe told him softly.  Then his hand squeezed, just a little bit.  “Also—” his face went firm and blank and angry in a way Mairon had never seen it, and Mairon couldn’t quite tell what was going on in his mind until he said, “can I violently eviscerate the guy who did this to you?”

Oh.  Ow.  Mairon’s jeans were painfully tight in the span of two seconds.  He swallowed, once, twice, three times.  “I’d like that,” he said, finally, haltingly.  “I didn’t think you were so…violent.”

“Virtuous barbarian, remember?” Tyelpe grinned.  “Seriously, are you okay?”

Mairon considered this.  “Not entirely,” he said, truthfully.  “But I’m okay enough that I—wanted to see you.”

He got a faint, hopeful smile; then Tyelpe pushed back his chair and stood up.  “You flew all the way out from DC on Christmas?” he said.  “Because you wanted to see me?”

Jerkily, Mairon nodded.  “I—if I overstepped, I’m—sorry,” he managed.  “I meant to get here yesterday, but—airlines.”

Tyelpe shook his head, a faint blush adorning his high cheekbones.  

“Oh my fucking god!” yelled Maglor.  “Will you two please kiss already!”  The next sound was Hal shushing him loudly.

Mairon wanted the floor to open and swallow him up, but Tyelpe looked up with that same faint, hopeful smile.  “Can I kiss you?” he asked, exactly the same gentle way he had back in his studio apartment a year ago and change.

“Fuck, please kiss me,” Mairon breathed, and Tyelpe was stepping forward, and he was stepping forward, and there were hands on his face, and he had a hand firmly on Tyelpe’s shoulder and one on his waist, and then Tyelpe’s tongue was in his mouth, and they were kissing, gentle and thorough.  Tyelpe was a solid weight against him, and Mairon never wanted to let him go.

They had to pause, flushed and gasping, to get their breath back, and Tyelpe said, “Let me get you a chair—have you eaten anything today?”

“No,” Mairon confessed, and Tyelpe smacked him, lightly, painlessly.

“You need to eat,” he said, and it made tears well up in Mairon’s eyes.

“Yeah, okay,” he muttered, and he let Tyelpe get him a chair and push him to sit down beside him.

“This is Mairon, Dad,” Tyelpe said, and Mairon froze, because oh God Fëanor—

He looked up hesitantly to catch a pair of snapping dark eyes that were even more intimidating in person.  Fëanor frowned, sighed, and inclined his head.  “Nice to meet you, I suppose,” he said, then looked away.  Something of a slight, maybe, but it was so much better than Mairon might have expected that he just went faintly limp.

“I think Dad’s tired of arguing,” Tyelpe whispered.  “He’s been fighting with Maedhros all summer, and then Maglor just showed up with his boyfriend—whom he’s apparently been dating for years—so I think we got lucky.”

“I’ll take it,” Mairon said with a sigh, paused to order the first thing off the menu he could think of, and then went back to looking at Tyelpe and wishing he were sitting in his lap right now.

“Hey, I, um,” said Tyelpe in a low voice.  “I’ve been working on something, and I, I think I’m ready to post it.”

“O-Oh?” Mairon tried to drag his mind out of the gutter and figure out why Tyelpe was talking about posting something.

Tyelpe pushed his phone sideways over to Mairon, who looked down to see an AO3 draft page pulled up on it.  The username was ConanLovesSocks, which made Mairon giggle and raise an eyebrow at Tyelpe.  “Conan love socks?”

Tyelpe’s ears went red.  “Long story, old campaign.  Not the point right now.”

Applying his attention back to the draft, Mairon stared at it and felt his own ears warming up. 

Rating: Explicit

Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence

Category: M/M

Fandom: Conan the Barbarian and Related Fandoms

Relationship: Conan the Cimmerian/Thulsa Doom

Characters: Conan the Cimmerian, Thulsa Doom, Ascalante (Howard)

Additional tags: Redemption, Attempted Seduction, Torture, Hurt/Comfort, Nonlinear narrative, Sometimes you just need someone to take a chance on you, This is unashamed wish fulfilment, The author appreciates your indulgence, Alternate Universe

Mairon’s eyes skipped across the stats line and down one more.  

Five Gold Rings.  

ConanLovesSocks.

Summary: A beautiful sorceror appears inside the walled kingdom of Aquilonia and presents himself to its king, promising gifts and gold. Despite the warnings of his advisors and his own suspicions, King Conan is charmed by the lovely Kuthulos. But the secrets locked in Kuthulos's heart are far darker than Conan could ever have expected...

“I, uh, it might be kind of weird,” Tyelpe said quietly.  “So if you don’t want me to start posting, I won’t—”

“Uh,” said Mairon, and his voice came out as a squeak that he had to quickly modulate.  “Does Conan put a collar on Thulsa Doom?”

Tyelpe coughed and squirmed in his seat.  “Um, no, not yet, but he, he could, if that was something that, uh, that you wanted.”

“I think that would be lovely,” Mairon purred, reaching over to squeeze Tyelpe’s hand.  “Virtuous barbarians take collars off if they’re asked to, don’t they?”

A much more tender, slightly solemn look flitted across Tyelpe’s face.  “Yes, they do, Mairon,” he murmured.  Then he grinned.  “Whatever you need, remember?”

Mairon nodded, a little shakily.  “I remember,” he said, and he squeezed Tyelpe’s hand and sat back as his food arrived to have a very nice Christmas dinner.