[ Curufin gazes at him in silence for a long moment. He remembers that terrible time, all those years ago, just after Fingon had brought Maedhros back from Thangorodrim, when it was not entirely clear that Maedhros would live, that he would have the heart to remain in that broken and scarred body, in that life of pain. ]
Listen, I'm coming back. But you just keep talking to me while I'm on my way, all right?
[ He's at the unfinished building that will be the new Guard Headquarters. They're using it already; they've moved the file cabinets and the furniture in. Curufin grabs his coat and picks up his weapons, slings them over his shoulders, and leaves. He keeps the phone in his hand, so Mags will catch glimpses of his face and of the houses around him as he walks. ]
How is he doing? The last time I saw him was ten hours ago.
[ It isn't long before Curufin returns home, disengages the wards, and enters the house. He drops his weapons and his coat on the couch, and comes to Maedhros' bedroom. He taps on the door gently and pushes it open. ]
Macalaurë?
[ He comes to stand by Maglor's side, laying a hand on his shoulder. ]
You can't hear him, you say. He must be sleeping very deeply. [ Curufin can't hear him either. But then, he and Maedhros don't have much of a history of mind-to-mind contact. Even if Maedhros were conscious, Curufin would have to try very hard to hear him or be heard by him. ]
Curufin squeezes that hand gently, responding to the faint smile.
"He does look peaceful. Perhaps he's dreaming of something positive. I hope so." Maedhros' face is relaxed, his lips barely parted, his eyelids closed softly over those dreaming eyes. His hair is scattered over the pillows, making fiery rivers amongst the white sheets.
Maglor's special talent is for hearing the music that every living being and every unliving thing makes, wittingly or unwittingly, as an expression of its unique nature. Osanwe it is not, but it can be used as an avenue of communication. Curufin knows this because of his own relationship with Maglor.
"You can't hear his Song at all? Or is it just very muted?"
Curufin smiles at his brother, tenderness in his eyes for Maglor's way of immersing himself in the Song of those he loves.
"That is very good. If you can hear him at all, then he must still be occupying his body. What is his music like, right now? Can you read anything from it, or feel anything?"
"Sorry, Macalaurë, this must be hard for you. I should not ask you to try to interpret his Song."
Because Maglor probably has terrible memories from when Maedhros leaped into that volcanic vent, leaving his terrified brother behind. Maglor, in his anguish, might have tried to reach out to find him, and. . . no, it doesn't even bear thinking about.
Curufin leans over and kisses the top of Maglor's head, and then squeezes his shoulder again.
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Date: 2018-01-16 07:35 am (UTC)Listen, I'm coming back. But you just keep talking to me while I'm on my way, all right?
[ He's at the unfinished building that will be the new Guard Headquarters. They're using it already; they've moved the file cabinets and the furniture in. Curufin grabs his coat and picks up his weapons, slings them over his shoulders, and leaves. He keeps the phone in his hand, so Mags will catch glimpses of his face and of the houses around him as he walks. ]
How is he doing? The last time I saw him was ten hours ago.
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Date: 2018-01-16 08:02 am (UTC)"Alright? I...he's sleeping still. No change. I cannot..hear him."
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Date: 2018-01-16 08:15 am (UTC)Macalaurë?
[ He comes to stand by Maglor's side, laying a hand on his shoulder. ]
You can't hear him, you say. He must be sleeping very deeply. [ Curufin can't hear him either. But then, he and Maedhros don't have much of a history of mind-to-mind contact. Even if Maedhros were conscious, Curufin would have to try very hard to hear him or be heard by him. ]
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Date: 2018-01-16 09:16 am (UTC)"Here, Curvo."
He nods, reaching a hand up to cover his brother's.
"At least...he looks peaceful."
It isn't proper osanwe that the too eldest have between them, but they were so long all each other had.
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Date: 2018-01-18 08:05 am (UTC)"He does look peaceful. Perhaps he's dreaming of something positive. I hope so." Maedhros' face is relaxed, his lips barely parted, his eyelids closed softly over those dreaming eyes. His hair is scattered over the pillows, making fiery rivers amongst the white sheets.
Maglor's special talent is for hearing the music that every living being and every unliving thing makes, wittingly or unwittingly, as an expression of its unique nature. Osanwe it is not, but it can be used as an avenue of communication. Curufin knows this because of his own relationship with Maglor.
"You can't hear his Song at all? Or is it just very muted?"
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Date: 2018-01-19 06:22 am (UTC)"I... no it's there. Very faint but..."
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Date: 2018-01-20 01:19 pm (UTC)"That is very good. If you can hear him at all, then he must still be occupying his body. What is his music like, right now? Can you read anything from it, or feel anything?"
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Date: 2018-01-20 02:14 pm (UTC)Maglor murmurs, voice the barest ripple of sound as he wanders.
"So faint...so far away..."
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Date: 2018-01-21 05:42 am (UTC)Because Maglor probably has terrible memories from when Maedhros leaped into that volcanic vent, leaving his terrified brother behind. Maglor, in his anguish, might have tried to reach out to find him, and. . . no, it doesn't even bear thinking about.
Curufin leans over and kisses the top of Maglor's head, and then squeezes his shoulder again.
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Date: 2018-01-21 12:23 pm (UTC)"I'm just... so afraid he won't wake up."