hello! for the fifty 'i found you' prompts, could you write 1 and Maeglin , 36 with peg-leg Eol or 37 with Drakmir? thank you!
Maeglin, #1: Giggling like a child, without a trace of past sadness
When Maeglin saw the gates, he began to smile.
When he walked to them and they opened for him, he began to laugh.
When the wide fortress doors opened and his father stood at the top, looking expectant, he almost jumped up and down with glee.
When Eol descended the stone steps and caught his son up in his arms, the laughter turned to tears.
“Welcome home.” Eol whispered into his hair and everything that Maeglin had left behind on the winding path- the fire, the betrayal, the poisonous fog and the long fall- it didn’t matter at all.
In Death, Maeglin had come home.
Peg-Leg Eol (AKA Blondie), # 36: Your eyes heavy, nightmares robbing you of sleep
Lindir knew it was a bad night when he opened the door in the wee late hours and saw Eol sitting up in bed, twisting wire. The crystal lamp beside him was blazing and his false eye was nestled in its box, the plate it set into in his face covered with a patch.
Eol didn’t look up until Lindir had stripped off his clothes and set his citar on its stand. Then he said, “I couldn’t sleep.”
Lindir laid out beside him atop the heavy blankets. He stroked Eol’s whole leg and waited.
“Everything was cracking.” Eol said.
Lindir laid his head on the other elf’s thigh.
“It was dark and cold and I was drowning.”
The wire was set aside.
“I was-” Lindir opened his arms and Eol slipped into them, pressing his good eye against the minstrel’s shoulder as though if he applied pressure it would stop the tears.
Lindir stroked Eol’s hair and murmured softly to him, sharing news from the Hall of Fire and easing away the death of Nan Elmoth as he eased away the repetitive fall from Carag Dur and the long, dark trek over the mountains.
Bit by bit Eol began to relax. As the ink of the night sky began washing out to gray he slept at last, curled up against Lindir’s side and the nightmares, for now, stored away.
Drakmir, #37: Angry at me, refusing to look me in the eyes
“Let her go.”
It is spoken with such plaintive desperation that Eol isn’t sure he hears it, at first. Then it comes again.
“Let her GO.”
He looks to Drakmir, to his man of smoke and mist, but Drakmir will not look at him. His steward’s eyes are fixed on a point just above Eol’s head and his pale hands are clenched tight.
“I can’t let her go.” Eol says. “If Curufin finds out-”
“Then you should have sent her away when she came!” The words are angry and they are poison and Drakmir has never, in over two hundred years of service, spoken thus to his master.
It is for this reason alone that he is not immediately dismissed. Instead, his Lord says, “She took Maeglin. What would you have me do?”
“The young Lord,” Drakmir says, “is wise enough to know when to return. Let her go.”
“I can’t.” Eol says.
“I know.” Drakmir replies, and turns on his heel. He strides out of the study as he has many times before and when the door shuts behind him it is with the same gentle click.
Yet somehow it seems to echo like a dropped rock in a mined-out shaft.