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b2mem2016-03-03 01:15 pm
maglor-20.livejournal.com) wrote in b2mem2016-03-03 01:15 pm
Entry tags:
'Seducere' by Makalaure
B2MeM Challenge: B2MEM 2011 March 1: Seduction
"Voltaire said that it's not enough to conquer: one must learn to seduce. Write a story or poem or create artwork where seduction plays a central role."
Format: Ficlet
Genre: Drama
Rating: PG
Warnings: Mature themes
Characters: Maedhros, Maglor, mention of Curufin
Pairings: N/a
Summary: Maedhros is a master of seduction.
He sits like a king and the scars on his face are badges of honour, not marks of failure. They are a reminder that he survived, by his own will or Eru's. On his right wrist is strapped a fist of steel, wrought by his brother in a sweltering forge behind the fortress. His velvet mantle, draped over his stern shoulders, could have been dyed with blood, and boots of rough, dark leather clamp around his calves.
His crown weighs down his uncle's head, but the advisors in the great hall have their eyes fixed on him; Maedhros does not need a crown to be a leader. He leads people astray from their own thoughts, steals them away from their grief.
On his right stands Maglor, his expression somewhere between grim and carefully blank. He may be the artist of the family, but he cannot lie as well as Maedhros can. He leans towards denial rather than lies, and that is his downfall. It is what prevents him from being –
"Someone will have to take the Gap," says a counselor silkily.
– this.
Maedhros only blinks. He does not have to look at Maglor to convince him. The command is there, unspoken between them, almost palpable, almost alive.
I know guilt and not blood flows through your veins, no matter which mask you don.
"I will." Maglor's voice does not waver.
That is right.
The people in the hall shift uncomfortably, some staring at the slate floor, others suddenly becoming engrossed in the papers in their hands. In a corner, Curufin looks like he wants to say something – possibly protest – but seems to decide against it. He crosses his arms over his chest and curls his lip.
You will obey –
(Maglor he cannot seduce; he is too broken for such a tactic. Manipulation is a fair substitute. He will not leave Maedhros' side. Fools will remain loyal.)
– me.
Maedhros rises, and the entire hall is at attention. He sweeps his gaze over the dark heads. Soldiers, every one of them, all but in name. Beams of pale sunlight force their way through the tall, glassless windows and touch their faces.
He suppresses a smile.
"Voltaire said that it's not enough to conquer: one must learn to seduce. Write a story or poem or create artwork where seduction plays a central role."
Format: Ficlet
Genre: Drama
Rating: PG
Warnings: Mature themes
Characters: Maedhros, Maglor, mention of Curufin
Pairings: N/a
Summary: Maedhros is a master of seduction.
Seducere
He sits like a king and the scars on his face are badges of honour, not marks of failure. They are a reminder that he survived, by his own will or Eru's. On his right wrist is strapped a fist of steel, wrought by his brother in a sweltering forge behind the fortress. His velvet mantle, draped over his stern shoulders, could have been dyed with blood, and boots of rough, dark leather clamp around his calves.
His crown weighs down his uncle's head, but the advisors in the great hall have their eyes fixed on him; Maedhros does not need a crown to be a leader. He leads people astray from their own thoughts, steals them away from their grief.
On his right stands Maglor, his expression somewhere between grim and carefully blank. He may be the artist of the family, but he cannot lie as well as Maedhros can. He leans towards denial rather than lies, and that is his downfall. It is what prevents him from being –
"Someone will have to take the Gap," says a counselor silkily.
– this.
Maedhros only blinks. He does not have to look at Maglor to convince him. The command is there, unspoken between them, almost palpable, almost alive.
I know guilt and not blood flows through your veins, no matter which mask you don.
"I will." Maglor's voice does not waver.
That is right.
The people in the hall shift uncomfortably, some staring at the slate floor, others suddenly becoming engrossed in the papers in their hands. In a corner, Curufin looks like he wants to say something – possibly protest – but seems to decide against it. He crosses his arms over his chest and curls his lip.
You will obey –
(Maglor he cannot seduce; he is too broken for such a tactic. Manipulation is a fair substitute. He will not leave Maedhros' side. Fools will remain loyal.)
– me.
Maedhros rises, and the entire hall is at attention. He sweeps his gaze over the dark heads. Soldiers, every one of them, all but in name. Beams of pale sunlight force their way through the tall, glassless windows and touch their faces.
He suppresses a smile.
-finis-
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Kaylee Arafinwiel
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So you see Maglor's taking the Gap as the result of emotional blackmail, as it were?
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Not as a headcanon. It's just an idea I was playing around with in this fic. :)
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I know guilt and not blood flows through your veins, no matter which mask you don.
What a powerful line!
Just out of curiostiy, is there a special reason you switched Maedhros' hands, or is it your personal headcanon?
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That was an unfortunate mistake. Fixed it. :D
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This piece has such an intense atmosphere, it's like Maedhros' sway over everyone in the room is an actual physical force.
Amazing!
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