The waves were a dull roar in the background, unimportant, as they often were, in the face of more pressing concerns.
Such as a particular Sindarin minstrel, sitting on Maglor’s lap, and distracting him far more pleasantly than usually happened when he was near the sea.
Daeron was, as they had discovered recently, a very enthusiastic kisser, his hands always roaming and grabbing. His left was currently tugging on Maglor’s hair, his right holding the cloth at his back and using it to pull him closer, closer, even as he pulled away to breathe.
Maglor opened his eyes again, Daeron was leaning on him, his face so near his own it was hard to distinguish his features.
The sea, roaring behind him, hands holding him, someone clearly not of the Noldor in front him, hot, quick breathing against his face. This was familiar.
It was a sunny day, though, this was not Alqualonde, this was not Sirion, his mind was tricking him, he was with Daeron, they were safe.
Someone was pulling on his hair, he heard a whimper.
This couldn’t be happening, not again. Where were his brothers, some of them had to be nearby.
Why was the ocean so loud? He couldn’t hear himself think, he needed to think.
Moving, that was important, but he couldn’t move. Someone was holding him down.
He tried to move away, hoping that he was wrong, that he’d be lucky. Their hold only tightened. Why didn’t he have weapons, why couldn’t he think of how to free himself?
Where were his brothers? He needed them. He was trapped.
Someone was screaming. Someone else was shouting his name.
It wasn’t his brothers, but he knew the voice. Daeron. What was he doing here?
“-aglor, look at me! Look at me, focus on me, and breathe.” Daeron. He took a deep breath, unsure of why he was obeying.
The sea air was clean and fresh, the stench of blood and death he had been expecting completely absent. He breathed in again.
He was on a beach, Daeron straddling him, and staring at him, obviously well on his way to being terrified. This was the worst possible thing. How could he react like this and expect Daeron to willingly stay near him? What if another time he hurt him, or someone else?
A hand on his chin, making him look up. When had he dropped his gaze? A soft kiss on his forehead, “Maglor, I’m here, it’s fine, it’ll be fine. Just look at me, I’m here for you.”
So many people had said that, and look where he was. But apparently he was incapable of learning.
He smiled, not too obviously fake, hopefully, and pushed against Daeron, softly kissing him, “Thank you, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
