Firelight
Maedhros woke suddenly, icy fear pressing down on him. Pulse thrumming he lay caught in stillness even as the dream faded beyond memory. The ghost of his right hand ached with cold.
The chamber was smothered in shadow. Darkness pooled in corners disguising their emptiness. What thin light trickled through the shutters to reveal warped shapes which flowed from unidentifiable objects.
Fingon lay sprawled on his side facing him, glassy eyed and breathing softly. His dark hair had begun to work its way of its sleeping braid to curl around his face. One arm lay trapped beneath his torso while the other reached up to lie open-palmed on the bolster between them. Maedhros drank in the sight of him for a few moments before forcing himself to move, first flexing his fingers, then rising to sit on the edge of the bed as chill air crept between the sheets.
Leaving his false hand in its place on the night table he padded over to the hearth and stoked the fire back to life, adding another log atop the coals for good measure. It took a little while for the fire to take to the new wood but soon flames licked across it, brightening the room with tongues of light that danced with the new shadows they bred.
"Russ?" came a drowsy voice from the bed.
"I'm here." He turned to see Fingon shift beneath the covers. Returning to the bed he shuffled back beneath their mound of blankets.
"Your feet are cold," muttered Fingon as Maedhros settled himself back beside him.
"You can reach all the way down to my feet?" he said smiling.
"I can when your legs are bent you over long heat-sponge," Fingon grumbled pressing his nose into Maedhros' neck in retaliation.
"My apologies," he said laying a kiss on his cousin's temple. Soon Fingon's eyes unfocused and breathing slowed as sleep fell over him once more but Maedhros lingered in wakefulness a while longer listening to the fire pop and the wind pluck at the shutters of the window.
Fingon | Findekáno
Maedhros | Nelyafinwë Maitimo Russandol