Category: Tolkien-Universe
Rating: M
Couples: -
Warnings: AU, blood, mentions of torture, character death, Loss of bodily autonomy (no Non-con)
Chapter: 37
Copyright: Characters & places © By Tolkien Estate, Plot & OC´s © by me
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Between being gifted flesh, and screams later that night... Fëanor decided he could hardly make matters worse by going for drastic measures to at least get one of the three out of there. He hoped...
"Between the Oath and the Silmarils, which do you value more highly?" He was once again alone, once again kneeling in front of the Maia. "In the manner of their price, that is."
"Mmmh... that is a question..." Gorthaur leaned back some, looking up. "Well, since there is no assurance the Oath would have even restarted had I restolen the gems, I suppose the Silmarils, because they actually still have some value. Of course, at this point, the price of them has grown beyond what they sold themselves for, I am certain you agree."
He resisted the urge to growl at the implication that one of his sons had not so much sold himself, but rather gifted himself. Taking a deep breath, he continued further. "And you make no difference between which of my sons has which price?"
"I am starting to think you are working up to some kind of offer." The Lord of these lands muttered, still a faint grin on his face. "But very well, I will indulge you. No, I do not. If you have something of worth, I will let you pick one son."
He'd carried the box with him since Beleriand, since Eönwë had slipped it into his pack, taking great care not to lose or damage it. Now he pulled it from his tunic, placing it in front of him.
"They had no right... to make that sale of themselves." He pointed out, with another sharp breath. "So I say unto thee, take these accursed things, and return unto me my son." He flicked the box open, bathing the room in light.
To his hidden delight, the Maia recoiled with a hiss. Then he barked a laugh. "I see thou hast learned the value of thy kin!" The redhead lunged forward, slamming the box closed, hiding the Silmarils from sight once more. "I will admit to not expecting this to be offered. To think thou went from sacrificing all thy kin for these, to sacrifice all these for one member of them."
He had agonized over it, quite a lot on the journey here. But the longer it had taken, the clearer his resolution had become. "It is folly, to consider any craft one can do higher than ones' kin. Now, as thou hadst declared the Oath of lesser value than the Silmarils, this ought to buy me that son at the least."
The hand on the box was faintly firelike, as was the face mere inches from his. Is this what Fingolfin had faced on Tol Sirion, he wondered?
"Very well, I can hardly claim that the Oath has increased in value to such extend as to surpass three Silmarils." He lifted the box, setting it on the armrest of the throne. "Very well, Fëanor, son of Finu. You have paid the price. Name your son." The grin was back, sharp and dangerous.
Still... He remembered Celegorm's report, and the fact that clearly several of the elves in here had paid for the information... "Morifinwë. I want Morifinwë." It ached, to leave the youngest of the three, but he could only hope that considering it had been Curufin that had demanded they take his brother first, he'd understand... that he'd forgive.
"Not your favorite?" Gorthaur laughed softly. "No desire for competition, I take it?" And before he could even answer that, the Maia laughed louder briefly. "No, no that's not it, is it? That is what dear IJzer told your thirdborn when he was sneaking about... Why he forgot I could hear... He felt he had to save his big brother, who was doing so well under me."
"I feel we have very different definitions of 'well' in this context." He ground out. "My son, please." It galled him, to have to remain this polite, but he had little choice in the matter.
"Yes, yes. Follow me." He was lead to the top floor of the building. "A pity you asked for him, I was halfway in a project."
It was an impossible feat of strength that kept him from attacking the Maia when he spotted his son. His fourth son was strapped down in a pose that had to be uncomfortable, back bend so his chest was on full display. He couldn't tell whether he was unconscious, or pressing his eyes closed in discomfort.
He wished he could not smell the blood.