#mae has a secret boyfriend (hint its morgoth)

[jengajives]

the much anticipated part three in which dinner doesnt actually happen yet

part one

part two

Just inside the metal door, there was a plaque that read “TAKE OFF YOUR SHOES OR I WILL KILL YOU” in elegant, cursive lettering, and Daeron spent a long time just staring at it trying to decide whether he found the joke funny or not. At the moment, being murdered here was a genuine worry of his. The thought of Fëanor bursting into the entry hall wielding a machine gun and unloading just because Daeron had forgotten to remove his sandals felt entirely plausible. Daeron was careful to leave the shoes neatly in the row near the others. After taking a moment to examine the gold-embroidered sneakers and a pair of dress shoes polished to perfection he finally managed to speak again. “Is everyone in your family obscenely wealthy?” Maglor glanced up. He’d taken a seat on a very uncomfortable-looking metal bench to unlace his boots. “I guess so, yeah. Curufin and Caranthir have the most because they’re actually talented, but the rest of us are just kind of leeches on Dad’s fortune. He’s got more than enough.” “Yeah.” Daeron glanced at the ceiling some thirty feet above his head. “I noticed that.” “Once I finish recording, though, I should be able to hop off the charity line.” Maglor tossed his boots carelessly into the pile. “I’m gonna make it big.” “I know you are, honey.” If he ever actually finished recording. Maglor was such a perfectionist; he’d been working on his album for years. Abruptly, from somewhere deeper in the belly of this beast, came the sounds of shouting. Daeron turned to see if he could place it. The entry hall was tucked just alongside a massive room that definitely could have fit Daeron’s entire apartment four or five times over. Slick laminate floors reflected the sunset that came in through floor-to-ceiling windows over looking the valley and the distant gleam of ocean. The furniture was of simplistic design but unmistakably expensive, and in the center of the room a massive fireplace was alight with a pale red flame. The far corner featured what seemed to be an indoor waterfall, cascading alongside an opening which Daeron assumed led down to other rooms. There was a glass and steel staircase suspended off the side of one of the walls, curling up to the second floor landing impossibly far above. Directly to his right, the floor stepped down into what seemed to be a lounge of some sort. Behind that, at the far end of the room on the same slightly lower level, there was a massive dining table set with at least twenty chairs. A couple of them were filled, though their occupants were too far away for him to make out. From this table came another shout. It was so echoey in the massive room that Daeron had absolutely no idea whether there were any words in it at all. “Oh, wonderful.” Maglor sighed as he shucked his jacket and tossed it onto the little bench. “They’re fighting already.” “Who’s fighting?” “Who do you think?” The new voice was drily amused and, thankfully, familiar as it approached from the side. Maedhros emerged from the lounge wearing a tired smile, with a baby standing on top of his feet. The little one clung to his left hand and the stump where his right had once been so it wouldn’t fall as he walked it forward with short, certain steps, and when he got close he carefully lowered the baby to the ground so it could start crawling around and babbling, as babies are prone to do. Daeron immediately gave a coo and stooped to pick up the kid. “Look at this little cutie!” “He’s Curufin’s” Maedhros said. He stuck his hand into his pocket now that he wasn’t using it anymore, and gave Daeron a warm smile. “It’s good to see you again. I’m glad Mags convinced you to come.” “He was the one that did the convincing, actually.” Maglor looked at the baby in mild disgust. “They put you on Celebrimbor duty?” “No, I volunteered. Didn’t want to listen to them scream about whatever economics thing they’re upset about.” “Good choice,” Daeron said as he wiggled a finger in front of the baby’s face. Celebrimbor had a ridiculously chubby face and a big smile that made his eyes squish down to nothing but the narrowest slits of silver. His dark hair was surprising thick for one so young. “He’s adorable.” “He’s good company.” Maedhros smiled again. Daeron was beginning to think the expression was a trademark to him- a tired smile that looked convincing, but with nothing at all behind it. There had always been something off about the eldest Fëanorian. Personally, Daeron thought it had something to do with the hand and the scars, but it was rude to ask and Maglor had never offered any meaningful insight on the matter, so he was left to speculate. “How long have they been going off?” Maglor glanced in the direction of the dining table and Maedhros only chuckled. “Not too long. Celegorm started it and then bailed, as per usual. Mom should concede here soon and it’ll probably be safe to go in.” “Big happy family,” Daeron observed absently, because he was too occupied playing with the kid to remember not to be rude. Luckily, Maedhros just laughed softly, which probably meant he hadn’t said anything too offensive. “You have no idea.” Daeron tickled Celebrimbor under the chin. He held the baby towards Maglor. “When can we get one of these?” Maglor gave a strained smile. “Must we?” “You don’t want a baby? He’s so cute!” “Sure, sure. You know I love kids. Nothing I love more than kids.” Maedhros chuckled at the two of them, but before he could say anything, something buzzed in his front pocket. Hastily he pulled it out and glanced at the screen, and his face went somewhat pale. “Sorry. I have to take this.” He hurried from the room and bounded up the stairs two at a time in what appeared to be desperation. Daeron watched him go. “Wow. What is that about?” “No clue.” Maglor shrugged. “He’s a weird guy. You know, not as weird as the others, but weird.” “Sure.” Didn’t really satisfy Daeron, but it would be a little much to ask more about it, so he just didn’t. Maybe he could pry after dinner, depending on if they had wine or not. He looked back at little Celebrimbor and was about to follow Maglor into the lounge when they were interrupted by another yell. The voice was clearer this time, closer, and when Daeron turned he saw a dark-haired man standing just outside the dining area, looking at them. He was speaking Quenya, which was irritating, but Daeron knew enough to understand him. “I thought I heard you out here, Mags! Is this your boyfriend? Come in here right now!” He had a playful tone, but it still seemed incredibly threatening. Maglor just smiled and motioned for Daeron to follow him. “Hey, Curufin.” As Daeron approached, the new Fëanorian gave him a shrewd, calculating type of look. He was wearing a gold chain and a flashy watch on each wrist, and his outfit was so disturbingly ugly it had to be designer. There was some sort of brand logo printed over and over beneath an obscure animal print on the shirt, but Daeron had no idea what it was. His hair was long and done up in loose, stylish locks twisted with gold. He was definitely looking at Daeron like he was a cut of meat. “Oh, dear.” Curufin’s lip curled. “Isn’t this interesting? Good to meet you, pal. It’s Curufin.” He held out a hand, and Daeron was disturbed by the amount of rings on each individual finger. Hesitantly, he accepted the handshake and made a reply in clunky Quenya. “Hello. My name is Daeron.” As he spoke, he shot a glare at Maglor. “They’ll speak Sindarin,” my ass. “You one of Thingol’s?” “Curufin,” Maglor said warningly. His brother only chuckled and motioned to the table. “Welcome to you both,” he said, with just a bit of malice in his voice. Daeron took a deep breath and turned to face the others.