This is, once again, pretty depressing, though not all bad. Fingon gets to rescue his cousin! Of course, I'm not sure if that's tragic or not... depends on how you look at it I suppose...
Well, anyway... Findecáno = Fingon and Maitimo = Maedhros, for those of you who aren't familiar with their Quenya names
Warning: blood, implied torture, implied slash/incest, dark themes, angsting
Disclaimer: Tolkien owns these people, not me *pout*
Never had Findecáno seen anyone in so much agony before. Standing below the precipice, below his cousin's limp, emaciated form, he felt on the verge of weeping. All the hatred which had built up in his heart and poisoned his lips to spew angry words melted away, cleansed straight from his body. He had known somewhere inside him that Maitimo suffered—he was a prisoner of the Dark Lord!—but until now it hadn't really sunken into his mind, hadn't become a reality.
Now it was a nightmare he couldn't wake from. He stared helplessly, hopelessly upwards, feeling as if he would never be able to move again. His feet felt swept from beneath him.
Maitimo… sweet Ilúvatar… what have they done to you?
That person up there who spoke with a wretched and cracked version of his cousin's rich tones didn't look like Maitimo at all. The tangled hair that hung around him was sheared and uneven, even gone in some places, with no hint of its former glory of copper curls. And his body… was tortured. It made Findecáno sick to even look at it, the way the sharp angles stuck out of sickly pale, stretched skin marked with a thousand different scars and bruises. There was no inch of perfection on his beloved now. All of that was but a glistening memory in the back of his mind, something which belonged to his extended boyhood glory in Valinor under the Two Trees. Any bliss he might have felt at seeing his cousin again vanished as well into abject misery.
But what struck him most were his cousin's eyes and raw voice. Maitimo sang his heart out despite his agony, as if it were the only thread keeping him alive. Findecáno was almost certain that, if it weren't for that spark of life, his cousin would have withered away already. And his eyes…
His eyes were frightening.
They weren't bright and silver and clear. They weren't Maitimo's eyes. They were dark and anguished, glazed in pain. The spark of fiery life for which the Fëanorions were known to bask and relish was conspicuously, painfully absent from his horrified gaze. And he was looking at Findecáno…
Looking at him as if he was seeing a dream. For a moment, Maitimo looked almost elated, almost ecstatic. His gangly frame bent into a shame which made bile rise in the back of Findecáno's throat, arching against the sharp rocks and then convulsing back into numbness again, too tired to move. Yet Maitimo never stopped staring at him, even when his voice faded away.
You are a dream, his eyes whispered. Have you come to save me?
Tearing his blurred gaze from his cousin's penetrating eyes, so alien to him, he looked up farther into the oppressive shadow of the Thangorodrim and shuddered with utter revulsion. His tears flowed freely, his mind too wild with anger and equal agony to bother stifling them. There was no one here to see but this shadow of his lover anyhow.
Maitimo was strung up by his wrist in a cuff of dark, sharp metal. Even from this distance, Findecáno could see the blood which twisted its way down his cousin's marred form in grotesque patterns. And the wrist where the cuff severed the skin was blackened with dirt and infection.
What have they done to you? Findecáno couldn't bear to look, nor could he bear to look away from the form above him, his heart pounding heavily in his chest.
He looked back to those eyes.
Save me, save me… Kill me… kill me… End my misery… They were pleading, weeping a steady stream of wasted tears that spilled down his cousin's dirty face and left blanched tracks over the sunken cheekbones. Findecáno, please…
Is this not what you came here to do, to save him? A fine shiver ran down Findecáno's back at the thought. Are you not here to save him?
No… His eyes snapped shut so as not to give in to the painful gaze that begged him for his mercy, mercy he should have been all too willing to give. I am here to bring him home, to heal the rift between our families, not to murder my kin, my beloved.
Liar…
That was what he told his brother, who had caught him sneaking away. He wanted to heal the rift between his father and his uncle's sons, for they were alone with naught but each other in this strange land, exiled from the only home they'd ever known. But he knew that that wasn't the reason he stood hesitantly beneath his cousin, whose suffering was so thick and tangible that Findecáno breathed it into his chest with every gasp of breath and felt it pang through him, echoing into silent screams.
Why was he hesitating? Maitimo was suffering, and there was no way he could reach his cousin, let alone free him from that cruel device which maintained his imprisonment on this barren spit of blackened rock and darkness. Had Maitimo not suffered enough of this to be granted mercy? Or did he truly believe that Maitimo should suffer this, that it was justice for his crimes.
I should hate him and wish ill upon him. If he had loved me…
But even as he said it to himself, it rang insincere, just as it had on the barren plains of the Helcaraxë. He should hate his traitorous cousin, but…
Put him out of his misery. You are not a cruel being, not like your bitter brother or reckless father. It is the least you can do. Be the man you thought he once was.
Though it made his body tremble from head to toe, he lifted his gaze back to Maitimo's, holding it steadily, unblinkingly. I will save you. And he raised his bow, aiming carefully. He needed to hit his cousin's heart, a clean blow. He wasn't cruel enough to want his beloved to suffer. He stared at the skin over Maitimo's heart, which was ridged from where his ribs struck a sharp relief against it, the place where he had often laid his head to listen to the steady pounding just to know someone else was there. He couldn't hate this elf, not even if he wanted to—and he had wanted to, so very, very badly—and he prayed that there would be mercy for Maitimo.
His lips parted soundlessly against the hot, sooty air. "O King to whom all birds are dear," he cried brokenly, almost sobbing with the sheer pain the words brought him, "speed now this feathered shaft, and recall some pity for the Ñoldor in their need!" It was the least he could wish for Maitimo, whom he loved with all his heart, that perhaps Manwë could muster some mercy for their rotten brethren. And he steadied his trembling fingers, staring wide-eyed, not at the place over Maitimo's heart, but into his relieved eyes.
End it… please… please, Findecáno…
Only the sudden rush of air at his back pulled Findecáno from his lover's eyes. For a moment he thought he was being attacked, a shadow looming over his shoulder, but when he glanced his breath was stolen.
So Manwë did hear my prayer then. A strange sort of relief flooded through him, breaking through his chest in a cleansing river. The ache lessened. Perhaps… perhaps there was a way and this was not the end…
The eagle behind him was huge, almost terrifyingly so, its head crested downwards towards him gracefully. But its huge golden eyes carried none of the malice Findecáno had seen in the eyes of those who meant him harm, and his hand stretched outwards towards it like he would a horse, yet curiously also.
"You can carry me to him, can you not?" he whispered. "Please, can you?" I do not know what to think, but I am desperate to save him.
Majestically, the creature lowered its body, its offer plain as day. Findecáno did not hesitate to leap onto the eagle's back, nestled amongst the soft feathers, holding tightly to them as the magnificent wings rose and gave them one mighty push, launching them into the sky. Maitimo… Maitimo, I will save you and end your pain… just hang on a bit longer…
Seeing his cousin up close was even more painful, but Findecáno forced back the bile that rose in the back of his throat at the raw sight of his tormented beloved. And from up close the pleading in his love's gray eyes was so much more potent and desperate. Limply, Maitimo reached for him, looking as if he expected Findecáno to be but a dream.
The eagle drew close to his cousin's hanging form, close enough for Findecáno to see the manacle which held fast into the rock, which tormented his lover. Not only that, but the infection-riddled wound was festered and rotting. I need to get him out of here…
"Findecáno…?"
Desperately, he ignored the pleas, the soft whispers and the hand reaching for him. Perhaps it was cruel, but he would not let Maitimo sway him, not in this.
You will not die here.
By all rights he should have left the traitor to rot, but he was here on a mission, and he would complete it. More than that… Maitimo was…
I love you, he admitted to himself shamefully, still searching for a way to free the mangled limb from its shackle. I cannot bring myself to despise you. I never could, Maitimo.
There was no way to get it off.
Anger and fear boiled in his gut. He couldn't have come so far, been so fortunate, only to have to murder his cousin in the cold blood anyhow! Surely the Valar would not be so cruel! There had to be another way!
There is… but… Shakily, Findecáno reached for his sword, hating the spark of relief that reached Maitimo's dulled eyes. For a moment he looked at the glimmer of hope there, hope that Findecáno would strike him down and put him out of his misery, free him from the nightmare which had encompassed all of their lives.
"Forgive me," he whispered. He turned away from the gaze and raised the sword while wrapping an arm around his cousin's shaking form, so light… too light for a grown elf. Looking upon his cousin's hand, he knew that Maitimo might not ever fully forgive him for what he was about to do, but…
I cannot…
He plunged the blade forward, trying not to be ill at the scream which split the air, nor see the bloody remains of the hand. Instead, he focused on the limp body which became a dead-weight in his arms, and dragged his cousin onto the mighty eagles back. His sword slipped from his fingers, and he cared not where it went, his trembling hands too busy stemming the flow of red blood that seemed to pour from the place where he'd severed his cousin's hand. He didn't dare look into Maitimo's eyes.
"I am sorry… so sorry…" He repeated the mantra again and again, bandaging the wound best he could as the bird carried them away from that Eru-forsaken spit of poisoned land. His heart pounded heavily in his chest.
He had saved Maitimo.
He is alive.
Exhausted, Findecáno clutched Maitimo close, using his cloak to wrap up his cousin's shivering, wretched form. Helplessly, he stroked his fingers through the tatters that remained of his lover's beloved copper curls, not caring in the slightest of the dried blood and grime which smeared over his hands and got caught beneath his fingernails. He was too euphoric with the feeling of having Maitimo with him again, a guilty pleasure that he shouldn't have been indulging in.
But he knew that he wouldn't be able to give it up. His father would consider him a disgrace and his brother would call him a traitor, but he would never be able to give up Maitimo, who he loved more than anything.
You will not die… His cheek pressed to the top of Maitimo's head as he gently cradled the broken form in his arms. You have the spark of life—of fire—within you burning so hotly. Maitimo may have wanted to die—sometimes even Findecáno wanted to, especially during the many torturous times when the Helcaraxë became too savage—but Maitimo was a survivor; he was strong and always had been. Findecáno didn't believe he would die, even if it meant living unwillingly.
Will you be able to forgive me…?
"Why?"
The dry, broken sound made Findecáno shiver. It didn't sound like the Maitimo he knew. It sounded like a tortured creature's voice, raw from screaming and disuse. There was none of that rich quality which had always made Findecáno think of rich velvet, but it would come in time.
Still, the question bothered him. "Why what?" he whispered against Maitimo's delicately pointed ear.
"Why did you not kill me? I would have thought…" Maitimo coughed, a gurgling sound that made Findecáno wince. "I would have thought… that you would relish…" Gray eyes fluttered slightly, opening to stare up at him widely. "Why did you…" Why did you spare me? You should hate me!
Why did I spare you…? I love you!
"I came here to find you and bring you home, to heal the rift between our families." The explanation was true, but it sounded hollow. Maitimo's eyes flashed and narrowed.
If you truly loved him…
"I wanted to die," Maitimo said bluntly, his brow twisting with agony. "Why did you not kill me?" The words were almost accusing, almost betrayed.
If you truly loved him… should you not have given him peace? It would have been the most precious gift you could have given him, to save him from this hell. Or do you truly hate him that much?
Findecáno denied it vehemently. He had tried so desperately to draw up malice from within himself, to hate Maitimo, to blame him for everything. If there was one thing he would have wished, it was for none of any of this to happen, that they could go back to the way they had been. If it had been him in Maitimo's place… He did not know the torments Maitimo had suffered at the hands of the servants of Morgoth, but…
He wanted… wants to die. What have they done to you?
"Kill me," Maitimo begged once more, his voice so soft against Findecáno's throat, and almost inaudible. Findecáno pretended not to hear.
Hands clutched weakly at his clothing. "Findecáno… please…"
"No… no." He silenced his cousin with his sharp reproof. "You will not die."
"Why…?" Maitimo stared at him. "Why not?"
"Because… because…"
The redhead's eyes began to drift close. "I do not understand…" he whispered, "why you would save a kinslayer like me."
"I already told you—"
"Liar." Findecáno flushed at being so easily caught. He had never been able to lie to Maitimo, not even as a child. He supposed Maitimo had had practice catching the lies of his younger brothers long before he'd come along.
Why did you not kill him?
He didn't want to wonder. He didn't want to know.
It was a moot point anyway! Circumstances had been in his favor; he had not needed to kill Maitimo, though for a long moment he had… he had honestly thought that he would have to shoot his cousin. Just the thought made his throat close and his eyes sting.
I cannot…
"I cannot lose you," he whispered. "I have tried so hard to hate you, but I cannot be without you…"
He didn't know if Maitimo had heard him, but his cousin did not speak again.
It was selfish of him, so very selfish, but he needed his beloved, no matter the cost to the other elf's fëa. He had had the chance to give Maitimo peace, to save him from the inevitable pain which would plague their journey from here forward, but he had not granted his cousin the coveted luxury, and not out of spite either.
No doubt I shall be praised for this, he thought to himself bitterly, holding his cousin close and closing his own eyes, leaning against the steadily moving body of their real savior. I wonder what they would think of me were they to know that the true reason I came all this way was pure selfishness.
He really did love Maitimo… but how much he could no longer say. Doubt had wormed its way into his heart. I did not love you enough to save you from our fate.
Poor babies... Maedhros probably would've been better off dying here than going through all the other shit that they had to go through... but this is how the tragedy goes~
Review if you wish to