Category: Tolkien-Universe
Rating: M
Couples: -
Warnings: AU, blood, mentions of torture, character death, Loss of bodily autonomy (no Non-con)
Chapter: 43
Copyright: Characters & places © By Tolkien Estate, Plot & OC´s © by me
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It took him three days, to finish most of the implements. He had been forced to dip out once in a while, either because he had to ask Nelyo for explanations which was horrifying for everyone and a few times to visit the leather-worker in the small village on the other side of the river.
He had spend the nights at work as well, the last words of Sauron echoing in his mind. He did not know what kind of punishment it was that Curufinwë had to endure, he wanted to pre-empt it.
"I suppose these are adequate." The Maia declared when he delivered them to the throne-room. "Though if you don't mind a short delay?"
He was still covered in the grime of the forge, having barely slept and he felt distinctly unwilling to drag this out. But he could hardly risk the Maia changing the deal somehow.
"Master, I brought him." Fëanáro wheeled around to the open door, where the vampire was pointing over her shoulder at a frame that towered over her.
Ñolofinwë stood stiffly in the opening for a few moments, before sinking through his knees before the one holding their kin.
"Consider it my magnanimous disposition, Fingolfin..." Red hair became red flames, sparks raining down around them. "That I will give you one offer. You killed twenty of my children. Your brother sold himself to keep me from avenging myself on the descendants of Finwë after his children. Twenty hours - one for each - of use of these, and I will consider that debt of blood fulfilled."
"And my brother is free?" Indis' eldest son breathed.
"And he's free."
"Deal." Fëanáro flinched a bit, because he had seen enough people come from under Angband's main torturer to not like the prospect of his brother joining their number. But he could hardly refute the offer in his stead, if this was the only chance they'd get at receiving Arafinwë.
He felt faintly sick while looking at his craft now.
"Let us deal with this then, shall we?" The Maia rose from his seat. "Can I borrow your arms to carry your work upstairs, Fëanor? Then you can leave with your favorite."
He had no way to refuse, so he carefully gathered them up again while his brother stood beside him. He knew Nolo would be able to endure it, especially for Ara's sake, but...
Neither son of Finwë had a way to delay the inevitable as they followed upstairs, to the top floor of building.
Both Curufinwë and Arafinwë were awaiting them there. Their brother was kneeling on the ground in front of the large window, wrists chained to the floor. To his horror, he found the source of the flesh he'd been gifted... in the large embedded gems on his sibling's thighs, and the still healing wound on his son's back where he was resting in front of his uncle.
"Ara..." Their golden brother was even more heavily decorated that he'd been in Angband, looking at them in melancholy.
"Brothers..." Indis' youngest whispered weakly, eyes settling on the bundle in Fëanáro's arms. He flinched a bit, ducking down over his nephew.
"You can put them on the table there." Sauron swept a hand to a table beside several modes of restriction as he headed to his two last captives. "Do be careful with his back, it's a bit sore."
He bit down his retort, as that might well result in something that would kill his brother. Instead he gathered up his fifth son, soothing him softly. It took him a moment to realize that the only of the seven to give him a grandchild was clinging to his brother.
"Tell me you didn't." Curufinwë brokenly whispered into his neck.
"Of course he did." The Lord of these lands leaned down low. "What's a brother for a son, after all?" The same command phrase that had 'freed' Morifinwë now freed Curufinwë, leaving him once again a desperately bleeding child in his arms. "Shall we then, Fingolfin?"
"Where do you want me?" The currently-absent High King of the Beleriandic Noldor straightened as his elder brother clutched his son close.
"Where-ever you want Verloren, I suppose."
Fëanáro froze at the top of the stairs at that declaration, wheeling around. "What!?"
"Oh come now... I am magnanimous, not cheap." The Maia's fingers dug into their brother's golden hair. "It's hardly a prize to pay, to ask Fingolfin to suffer for a few hours for his brother. Twenty hours of use, I asked. I never specified it would be me using them." Cold dread settled in his stomach, worsened by the following sentence. "Twenty hours of use, by Fingolfin, not on Fingolfin." The patting of the head was almost mockingly gentle. "You can start with whichever one you want."