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ur-local-ghostie · 2 years

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Drink the Poison Yourself

short scene from my sil fic :}

TW: captivity, non con touch (not sexual), chained, forced to drink something, slapped, uh it involves sauron and he deserves his own warning so: sauron (i think that’s it but let me know if i missed any! and i’m sorry if i did, mate, that’s on me)

@outofangband

“Drink it.”

Maedhros shuddered, keeping his mouth closed. He did not know what was in that black vial and he did not want to find out.

He could practically hear the Maia’s smile. It sliced into the darkness with all the precision of a drawn blade. Pointed teeth. Soft lauher, all the more sinister for its gentleness.

Resistance was futile and they both knew it.

Maedhros became achingly aware of the pain stitching its way up his back. Of the throbbing in his wrists, the unrelenting steel digging into his skin.

And the bottle hovering between him and the Lord Mairon.

Maedhros shuddered again, shaking his head. He didn’t dare open his lips to protest.

“I would drink it if I were you, Neylafinwe. I promise, it is better than the alternative.” The Maia took hold of the elf’s jaw with a cold hand, wrenching it upwards with a cruel twist.

Once, Maedhros would have snapped at such a touch. Pulled away. Snarled. Cursed. Not at all kingly behavior, but a certain indignation could be expected.

Not anymore. Now, Maedhros’s gaze was blank. Even as Mairon’s hand traced his jaw– the only reaction was a slight tremor. An inward shiver. The pain had long ago numbed the horror and disgust.

His only defiance was in his refusal to drink the vial.

His lips remained in a thin line.

He would not.

He did not doubt that the alternative was worse and he did not really think he could get away with this refusal but there it was. Glaring in the shadows.

Mairon hummed thoughtfully. “Will you not? Oh, your majesty,” there was so much sarcasm and venom imbued into those two words. It made Maedhros flinch. “This is why we cannot trust you to behave yourself tonight. You foolish elf, thinking you have a choice.” Another soft laugh, his nails digging into Maedhros’s face.

Maedhros straightened, flames flickering in his eyes. His throat burned with disuse and he knew he’d regret it– but he spoke. Bitterly. Summoning dormant strength and forgotten splendor into his words.

Foolish elf, indeed.

“Sauron,” he rasped. “Get thee gone with thy poisonous words. I’ve heard thy orcs babble clearer. Drink from the vial thyself, and I hope it chokes thee–”

That was as far as he got.

A sharp, backhanded slap cut him off.

And the mouth of the bottle was forced between his lips.

He tried to twist away but the Maia’s grip was unforgiving and did not slip.

His head was tilted up against his will and the contents of the vial coated his teeth and the inside of his mouth. It tasted strangely like old leather.

Maedhros gagged.

After the initial shock, the liquid burned. It scorched the inside of his mouth, leaving an aftertaste of acid. It closed up his throat and made his eyes water.

A searing, numbing pain.

Desperately, he fought to spit it out. To no avail. Mairon’s hand clamped over the elf’s mouth until he swallowed it.

Then, and only then, did the icy touch leave the elf’s skin.

Maedhros dry-heaved. Choked. A fit of coughing overtook him and wracked his entire body. It was while he was coughing that the effects of the liquid took hold. It worked faster than any alcohol. More painfully.

A blinding darkness stitched its way along the edges of the elf’s eyes. His limbs ceased to obey him and his head rolled forward, eyelids closing against his will.

It was so dark.

A darkness without an end.

A darkness that carried the smell of acid with it.

Burning.

Something was burning.

The white sails of the boats were soot-colored, the flames rising. The smoke rose higher. The boats were burning.

A pitiful cry slipped out before he could stop it.

And Mairon laughed. A light hand ran over the top of the elf’s head, carding through the uneven strands. The red was as bright as any fire. He said as much.

Maedhros was too far gone to feel the touch. He could barely make sense of the words.

Still, Mairon went on. “Pray, kinslayer, that the Lord Melkor is not too generous with the company tonight. There are many who wish to see you. Among other things.”

That was the last thing Maedhros heard before the darkness took his senses from him completely.

Still the ships burned.

#silmarillion #sil #the silmarillion #maedhros #mairon #tolkien #sauron #silmarillion fanfic #angst #uh #lots of angst #angband

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nuagenoye · 2 years

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I am late for the first Day of @feanorianweek .

Here our dear Neylafinwe with a too shy silmaril from me.

It is a very quick drawing but I hope you like it :)

#feanaro #silmarillion #silm elves #digital art #digital illustration #tolkien art #the silm #silmart #feanor #feanorians #feanorianweek #maedhros #maitimo #neylafinwe

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weezlbot · 2 years

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Oath of Feanor, Maedhros and the Void

This may be an unpopular opinion, but I don’t think Maedhros and Maglor (or any of the Feanorians) got banished to the Void upon death.

I was rereading the passage in the Silmarillion dealing with the Oath of Feanor, and it says thus:

“They swore an oath which none shall break, and none should take, by the name even of Ilúvatar, calling the Everlasting Dark upon them if they kept it not; and Manwë they named in witness, and Varda, and the hallowed mountain of Taniquetil, vowing to pursue with vengeance and hatred to the ends of the World Vala, Demon, Elf or Man as yet unborn, or any creature, great or small, good or evil, that time should bring forth unto the end of days, whoso should hold or take or keep a Silmaril from their possession.” (Tolkien)

The oath doesn’t say anything about voluntary relinquishment of a Silmaril, which is what Maedhros and Maglor did. It really only says “the silmarils are mine and my kin’s to have and use and if you use them or touch them or look at them, you can get fucked and also I’ll kill you.” The Void is stellar for angst, but I really do think that it would be within the bounds of the Oath for them to get Mandos. Mandos himself also says, “your houseless spirits shall come then to Mandos. There long shall ye abide and yearn for your bodies, and find little pity though all whom ye have slain should entreat for you.” (Tolkien). He says himself that they’ll go to Mandos!

Anyway, this has been a small essay on why I think that, if the published Silmarillion is to be believed, Maedhros and Maglor wouldn’t wind up in the Void. I haven’t read HoME yet so I don’t know if there’s something there that says the complete opposite, though. I’m just raising some points from the Silm.

#maedhros #maglor #russandol #maitimo #neylafinwe #finwe #feanor #silmarillion #the void #silmarils #unpopular headcanons #makalaure #tolkien #elves #arda

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ibrithir-was-here · 3 years

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Been listening to both The Dancing and the Dreaming and thinking of Russingon, and that merged with the wedding scene from Prince of Egypt, so here, have some post rescue Wedding Happiness

#my art #tolkien #lotr #silmarillion #russingon #Maedhros has to wear his wedding ring on the opposite hand #maybe it influences human wedding band customs later?😗#Maedhros #fingon #maitimo #findekano #russandol #neylafinwe

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ffeiyen · 3 years

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Ah, a floating head. How delightful.

#sjsjs this took way too long #I disappear for weeks only to cough this up #please accept my humble offering #silmarillion #maedhros #neylafinwe #feanorians #silm art #tolkien

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deadelvessociety · 4 years

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The Fëanorians and Random Headcanons

• Maedhros goes swimming in winter and his skin ends up being redder than his hair every time. • Maglor screams whenever someone throws a bug at him. • Celegorm dyed the dog pink, and sequentially his hands too for a week. • Caranthir broke his leg from trying to jump from the great tree in Formenos’s courtyard and grab a vine hanging high above the ground, just to impress a crush. • Curufin once swallowed a ring because someone told him he couldn’t, and he was drunk. • Amras is in a competition with Amrod for most ridiculous hairstyle at a formal function. He's winning with a cone seashell design • Amrod is completely willing to shave off his hair to win buuuut Fëanor convinced him not to, so now they're working together on trying to create a replica of the Two Trees out of his hair, lights and all. • Fëanor needs glasses and has run into more doors, windows and people than he'd like to admit, and often nearly starts fights because a tree wouldn't answer him why he wasn't looking where he was going. • Nerdanel has gotten in one yen alone something like 23 hairbrushes and combs stuck in her hair. She's considering going bob, shoulder bob at the longest. Fëanor often has to intervene before she takes scissors to her curly mane in anger, which currently reaches her lower back. • Celebrimbor is partially deaf and is easily startled, which leaves him very embarrassed when a pretty elf tries to talk to him and he nearly jumps a foot in the air when he finally notices them. He rambles when he’s nervous.

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jouster-ari · 4 years

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hey i know we dont rlly talk but i judt wanted to check up on you, are you doing alright?

Yeah! Wow that's really sweet of you, thank you so much! I'm isolating with my mom and sister (could be better, could be worse) and I really really miss my gf but we talk every day and I'm putting together a care package to leave on my porch for them to grab. My dnd group is having sessions on discord so that's fun, but all my classes got canceled with NO online work so I am bored out of my gourd sometimes. aLSO THE WITCHER IF YOU COULDN'T TELL AAAAAAA

Thanks again for checking in!!

#personal shit #neylafinwe

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armenelols · 3 years

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Memes about the names in Finwe's family tree part 5 493 829 418

#I'll never stop making fun of them #Love those names tho #curufinwe neylafinwe nolofinwe arafinwe telufinwe #And guess who?#Turkafinwe #And surprise #Kanafinwe #Gee #Finwe #House of Finwe #house of feanor #silmarillion #history of middle earth #Noldorin royality #Tolkien #sons of feanor #Noldor

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shitty-tolkien-aus · 3 years

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We don't know when any of the Feanorians were born.

What if Maedhros was, like, eighteen when they went to Formenos.

Most of the sons of Feanor were teenagers when they declared themselves rulers of a new continent

#silmarillon #sons of feanor #not sure if this is actually shitty #free to use #this one either goe complete farce or high tragedy nothing in between #also we do know when several Nolofinweans and Arafinweans were born #so all their cousins are centuries older #look me in the eye and tell me that would stop Feanor from naming his eldest Neylafinwe though #we all know it wouldn't #on the tragic end though consider Alqualonde #and/maybe/ Celegorm was of age but the younger four certainly weren't #they weren't when they swore the oath either

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fuckingfinwions · 3 years

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Anaire first heard about her family’s fracture from the potter.

Well, that wasn’t strictly true,. She heard about Feanor’s death the same day as everyone else, it was the only thing anyone was talking about.

She didn’t attend the funeral, as she felt no sorrow at his death, but her cook brought the news. Apparently, “the king’s reclusive brother” had been at the funeral, his first formal appearance since Feanor took the throne. Maedhros’s coronation was two days later, and Anaire scrambled to get an invitation. He would be addressing the whole city afterwards, a great speech in the town square, but she had no interest in that. What she cared about was the ceremony for the council, in front of a few hundred nobles. Unless Maedhros wished to pretend Nolofinwe was dead, her husband would have to formally cede his claim the throne. She would see him, hear his voice for the first time in decades.

Still, Anaire was cautious. Argon, for all he wished to meet his father and siblings, was not allowed to attend. She sent him out of the city entirely, to a cousin of her mother who lived halfway up the Pelori. Though none but her and Nolofinwe knew the truth, the resemblance would be unmistakable if they were in the same room. Anaire herself dressed finely but not extravagantly, in hopes of blending into the crowd, and promised herself that she would not cry out no matter what horrors she saw.

After all that effort, she only saw Nolofinwe for less than half an hour, across a crowded room. Anaire recognized the robes he wore; the had been sewn for Aredhel’s first begetting day. She supposed they had been in storage all this time, too fine for a servant but too festooned with his emblem and Finwe’s for anyone else to wear. He stepped forward, and she held her breath, not wanting to miss a word out of her husband’s lips - and hoping, perhaps, that he’d finally denounce his tormentor.

But Nolofinwe only said “I, Nolofinwe Arakano, son of Finwe Noldoran, acknowledge Maitimo Neylafinwe as the rightful King of the Noldor. King Nelyafinwe inherits his right from King Curufinwe, who inherited it from King Finwe the Wise. Myself and my house have no claim on the throne, nor shall we attempt to usurp the proper order.”

Nolofinwe left the stage, and rather than returning to his seat, seemed to be walking out the hall entirely. Anarie wondered if it could really be so simple. Was this all Maedhros demanded? Could she have her family back under one roof tonight, as long as they avoided politics for the rest of their days? She gathered her purse and started to stand up, ready to follow her husband.

Nolofinwe saw her though, and shook his head sadly. He glanced towards the doorway ahead of him, and Anaire saw that it was flanked by royal guards, one of whom already was unclipping something from his belt. Nolofinwe mouthed “Them, not me,” and went through the door, the guard reaching for his wrists and pulling him around the corner.

Anaire sat through the rest of the coronation without paying it much attention. If she paid too much attention to Maedhros, she would think about how he could’ve freed her family and had not; murderously glaring at the new king would draw suspicion. Instead she thought about Nolofinwe’s words. Presumably he was referring to their children? Had he somehow traded their freedom for his own? Or were they still captive, and he was begging her to save her efforts for them?

Anaire thought on this over the next week. She moved back into the house in the city center, as it was the only place her family would know to look for her, rather than the smaller home on the outskirts she shared with Argon. She waited for an piece of news or gossip, but there was no more about the secondary royal family than there had ever been. There were rumors about the sons of Feanor, that King Maedhros had stripped all of them from rank and then immediately given them titles. But the titles seemed to be fewer than he had brothers, rather than more as she would expect if Nolofinwe had bought status for their children.

So eventually, Anaire went to the pottery shop on the far side of town. The owner of the shop knew Aredhel was Anaire’s daughter, but had flatly refused to so much as let them go to dinner together, for fear of Feanor’s anger.

“She’s not apprenticing with me anymore. Said King Maedhros didn’t want her in the city, so she was going to Valmar. Apparently some Vanya named Elenwe was going to take her in. I don’t know why; there are a dozen better potters in the city, and someone who can clean a house can’t be hard to find either.”

The potter looked at Anaire to see how she took the news. She had never asked in detail why her student hated the palace so, but it hadn’t been hard to guess, sitting gingerly on her return and with rope marks when she rolled up her sleeves and bite marks when she tied back her hair. The potter hoped that this Elenwe would be kinder, but she very much expected Aredhel would have more of the same, and had no intention of discussing it with Aredhel’s mother.

However, Anaire was practically beaming. “Elenwe of the Vanyar? Well, then I simply must visit her, it’s been too long since I last traveled west.”

Anaire managed to compose herself for long enough to walk home, but she was overjoyed. Elenwe was Turgon’s wife, and Anaire had met her a few times. (Never with Turgon present, his absences form the city were far too sporadic for her to plan around.) Elenwe would look after Aredhel, even if there was no useful place for her in the household. And if Aredhel had mentioned Elenwe, that meant she was hoping Anaire would find her, that she thought it was safe to do so.

(Perhaps, even, there would be more of Anaire’s children there. Turgon for his wife and Fingon to lead the way on their journey. She had not seen either of them since they were children.)

- Anaire tells Argon it’s safe to come down from the hills

- They wait a month in case Maedhros is having Aredhel’s route watched

- Argon and Anaire travel to Valmar

- Introductions! Aredhel and Elenwe recognize Anaire. Anaire can kind of recognize Turgon.

- Argon is a surprise to everybody. Aredhel had relayed the “guess what we have another kid” message from Anaire to Nolo, but it was all couched in metaphor so Feanor couldn’t find out. “Tell your father I miss him very much, and the seasons seem to fly by without him to mark them even as the years drag on. It seems only yesterday it was sunny June, but now it’s dreary November and winter will be cold alone.” June and November were the months Anaire had bad morning sickness with Turgon and Fingon.

- Aredhel assumed this was some sort of code, but she’s not looking for more info about her family’s sex lives than she’s forced to know.

- Idril is around 5 or so years old. Argon is like sixteen. (using equivalent human ages)

- After initial introductions, Elenwe takes Idril to play in another room, so that the long lost families can reconnect

“So, how much does Argon know?” Turgon said to Anaire, who is apparently his mom?

“I’ve discussed the appropriate things for someone his age.”

Aredhel: “You realize that neither of us knows what that means right?”

Turgon nodded. “Elenwe and I decided that she would make all decisions about discussing sex, sexual development, and healthy relationships with Idril. Partially because I didn’t expect to see my daughter often, but also because my understanding of age appropriate information is very, very lacking.”

Argon: “I know that you two, and Dad and Fingon, were forced to work in the palace and not allowed to leave. I also know that you were - hurt - and that some of the ways you were corruptions of the marriage act.”

Aredhel: “Most of the ways we were hurt were sexual. And the groping wasn’t actually painful, but I sure as fuck didn’t want it.”

Argon: “I was being circumspect for your sake. I know what sex is, and you don’t have to talk to me like I’m a little kid.”

Aredhel looked at Anaire, who nodded in permission.

“I assume your sex ed came from a different direction than mine did. ‘You know that thing the King does to Dad? If it’s between a man and woman rather than two men, babies can happen! Sometimes it feels good, sometimes it feels painful, and sometimes how good it feels is just another way you’re being twisted up to serve them. Also, the king started doing it to your big brother, so you’re being sent away from your family in hopes that this horrible sex thing will happen to you less.’ But I guess it worked, in that the potter at least was able to explain how women prevent babies in case any of them got the idea to try.”

Anaire was shocked. “I’ve never heard you mention this before. That was why you were apprenticed?”

Ardehel: “Yeah, Dad said I shouldn’t talk about sex with anyone outside the palace. They’d be horrified and try to do something, but they wouldn’t be able to actually help. Then King Feanor would be mad we told, and take his temper out on us, and honestly the difference between him not caring if we enjoyed sex and him trying to make it hurt was pretty fucking big. So I kept quiet. It seemed fair to tell you the broad strokes of what was happening to your kids and husband, but knowing details wouldn’t help.”

Anaire: “I wouldn’t cal the fact that you were in danger of being raped at age twelve a detail.”

Turgon: “She wasn’t. None of us were actually, Feanor didn’t keep very close track of us but dd ask Dad when our begetting days were, and get around to using us for the first time about a month after we came of age. I think Fingon had it worse honestly, he didn’t see it coming.”

Argon: “What do you mean, did he not know Feanor raped people?”

Turgon: “We knew he raped Dad, we walked in on them often enough in the middle of our chores. But he mostly ignored us when we were kids, other than making sure we were around to threaten Dad with. None of us expected that to change.”

Aredhel: “But once Feanor started paying attention, he didn’t forget. Fingon told me later that Feanor used his mouth ten times in that first month.”

Argon: “Wait, Feanor used his mouth - do you mean Feanor kissed Fingon?”

Turgon: “No, Feanor didn’t go in for the fake romance. He made had Fingon suck his cock, and came in it rather than in his ass. Which is generally less painful than unprepared anal sex at least.”

Anaire: “And Fingon and your father are still stuck there? That’s terrible!”

Aredhel shrugged. “I mean, Feanor’s dead, and now there’s only two people allowed to use them instead of eight. It’s better than it was.”

Turgon nodded. “Maedhros is one of the better ones who could have ended up in charge. He goes for his own pleasure rather than pain or humiliation, and he prefers sex in bedrooms - in beds, even.”

Argon, who has not learned nearly enough tact yet: “As opposed to-”

Turgon: “Busy hallways. Up against the wall. Down in the dirt in the stable-yard - or in the woods. Inside a moving carriage. In the middle of the room with nothing to brace yourself on, but not allowed to even fall to your knees.”

Argon: “Is it hard to stay upright during sex?”

Anaire: “Yes, and you don’t need more details.”

Aredhel: “Yeah, he presumably won’t be punished for not knowing them. So Argon, what do you do?”

Argon: “I don’t have a particular craft that calls to me, so I’m still doing general studies.”

Aredhel: “Which is what? I think some of the normal servant kids had education past age ten, but not most of them. Elves are smart enough that you can be literate and know the basics of history and all the math that’s practical by then.”

#servant nolofinweans au #timeline branch: Maedhros gets the concubines #not archived yet #sidenote now that it's her own family on the line you could probably get Nerdanel to help with a rescue attempt #get Nolo and fingon and Curufin and Celebrimbor all out at once #Nerdanel in my dark!Feanor stories tends to be sort of selfish / focused on a small area #what matters to her is whether her family is safe; she could care less about general ethics #outsider POV

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pandoratelenor · 5 years

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Reading silmarillion fanfiction is like

"there are only two character here, but the text uses 6 different names for them, both in dialog and in the non dialogud text"

You know, when a silmarillion fic basically is like:

"Neylafinwe" said Maglor to Maedhros. Neylo stood up. "Macaluare, hello", said Maitamo. "Kano have you seen this?"

I just realised silmarillion fics got the same many name syndrome as russian litterature....

Perhaps, silmarillion fics = the english language first major attempt at going all crime and punishment in different name forms för the same character used on the same page?

PS.

Maedhros = Maitamo = Neylafinwe = Neylo

Maglor = Macaluare = Kano

#talking lurker #Tbh i am kinda starting to get fond of this tendency in silmarillion fics #Although when the switch between quenya and sindarin in the non dialogue text #And withiut havong switched pov #It makes my head spin

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ur-local-ghostie · 2 years

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Maedhros and Fingon

TW: general angst and recovery after Angband(i really don’t think there’s anything else but please let me know if i should add anything)

Characters: (I use their Quenyan names so i made a short list of whose in here so it’s not yk too confusing)

Findekano— Fingon, also called Kano or Finno (only by Maedhros though), is generally a sweetheart

Neylafinwe– Maedhros// Neylo, lefthanded because he doesn't have a right (hand), is kind of done with life, Finno’s half-cousin

Moriwfinwe– Caranthir the Dark (his dad thought he was being funny ok but my boy took it way too seriously), anger issues, middle child, the drama

Finedekano rapped lightly on the wooden door before opening it after a slight struggle. His arms were full of books.

“Neylo? Are you awake? I brought you some–” he stopped short, his sentence trailing off as he took in the sight in front of him, lips parting slightly in shock.

For there stood Neylo, swaying on his bare feet. The sunlight coming through the window flung freckles of gold across the bridge of his nose, in sharp contrast to his pale–almost translucent– skin. His fists were clenched at his sides and he spat out a single bitter word.

“U-bedo.” Shut up.

But not at the newcomer.

The object of Neylo’s ire happened to be Morifinwe. The fourth son of Feanor. Morifinwe scowled at his brother, crossing his arms, anger flushing his fair face.

All this Kano saw in a moment’s glance. And then the books fell from his hands, hitting the floor with a dull thud as he lept across the room. He reached Neylo just as the elf slumped, his green eyes glazing over.

“Neylo? Neylo!”

There was no answer. Kano carefully lifted Neylo’s bandaged arm and placed it over his own shoulder, supporting the elf’s limp body.

Neylo’s head sagged against him, pieces of choppy red hair falling into his line of vision.

An aching throb filled Kano’s lungs.

He turned on Neylo’s brother, taking a deep breath to keep from losing his temper at the younger elf, who had watched Neylo fall with vague interest and made no move to help.

“Mori. What happened? Why was he out of bed? You know the healers said he has not fully healed yet.”

Mori turned his cool gaze on the hand around Neylo’s waist and the other on his arm. He arched an eyebrow. “I did not know Neylo was your wife, Lord Kano.”

Kano flushed and he exhaled sharply, momentarily at a loss for words. He had forgotten exactly how biting Mori’s words could be. “For your sake and that of your brother’s, it mayhaps is best for you to leave,” he murmured.

Mori gave him a cold smile. “And leave you two alone?”

Kano did his best to resist the urge to scream, instead shooting the insufferable elf a withering glance and with slow footsteps, half-carried Neylo back to the bed. He carefully lay the elf down, trying to ignore Mori’s soft snickering in the background.

His brow furrowed as Neylo’s head rolled back onto the pillow, the golden light catching on the newly-healed scars that stretched across his face.

Kano drew the blankets over his cousin, covering the stump of Neylo’s bandaged hand. Yet Kano did not move and remained standing over Neylo, indecision and pain warring inside him. Then, with a tentative hand, he brushed a strand of red hair out of his cousin’s face.

“I did not think he would collapse like that,” Mori muttered beside Kano, making the elf jump a little. He held the books Kano had dropped.

Kano gave him a sideways glance. Mori’s dark head was bowed, but the hands clutching the books were strained, the nails biting into the covers.

“What did you say to him, Mori?”

Mori shrugged. “I told him that he lost a hand, not a leg. He should be walking again by now.”

A shudder of anger passed through Kano and he barely stopped himself from shaking the young elf. His tone, however, was measured as he responded. “You do not know what evil Neylo has suffered. Mayhaps you should keep that in mind.”

Mori stiffened. “I do not know?” he whispered to himself. Then louder, “Very well, lord. Here are your books. Since you seem to know so much more about my brother than I do, I will leave you to watch over him.”

Dropping the books onto the floor, Mori stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Kano stifled a curse and moved to follow him before he did something rash.

“--Finno?” the raspy question and old nickname halted Kano in midstep. He turned, dropping to his knees beside the bed.

“Neylo! Are you alright?”

Neylo pushed himself upright, his gaze wandering. “What– what was that?”

Kano sat on the edge of the bed next to him. Grabbing an extra blanket, he draped it over Neylo’s shoulders like a cloak.

“Do not worry about it. ‘Twas nothing.”

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