A/N Hey. Here I am: doing something I shouldn't be doing. :p Putting up another ongoing story. But there are like almost NO Maedhros and Fingon at a platonic level, and keeping it that way. So I decided to fix that, by putting up a drabble/oneshot/story thing that is clean in the sense of being non-slash.

There'll be plenty of stuff as time goes by: fluff, angst, tragedy (I will very likely write up some Thangorodhrim and make it a story inside a story), hurt comfort. A lot of topics. I feel like most of this will focus on the two in Beleriand, but there'll be some Valinor scenes too. Maybe some Mandos. Just random stuff: ranging from small snippets to story like chapters. I DON'T want to start another 20 billion other separate stories. ._.

So if you want pure friendship and brother affection: here you are, and more is coming. :) Gives a chance to expand on their characters and some interesting ideas. But for now, I hope this one chapter will suffice until I can get myself back into a writing spree. I hope to see you around. :)

Otorno is sworn brother in Quenya.

These days of quiet and bliss were rare.

Rare were the days and nights where everything had a semblance of right about it. Like the time before all this.

Fingon had been inaugurated as high-king a short time ago, yet with the destruction from the siege being broken, the grief over the death of Fingolfin still bearing down on his heart…The king had been wearied mentally and spiritually.

Maedhros came to pay his respects to his cousin and to the late Fingolfin. Those two alone showed him mercy that others did not, or were afraid to.

Indeed, what the torments of Angband did to his figure and spirit, who better to welcome him; save him, then an elf ravaged by the plague of the Helcaraxë?

Fingon and Maedhros both suffered irreparable damage to their bodies for going on this "quest": a punishment for going against the word and warnings of the Valar. For their loyalty in this act of defiance.

All the elder grandsons of Finwë had been blessed with the ability to cast illusions of some sort. Finrod alone sought to refine this gift back in Valinor…Even now, in his fortress of Nargothrond, he had it far better than his cousins did. The Valar blessed him in his endeavors, for his intents on coming to this hither shore were different. It was Finrod who taught Fingon to conceal the damage to his body: the cracks and blotches of blue skin scattered along his ear and the sides of face, and the two missing fingers on his right hand. It did not conceal the blue tint to his once silver eyes, however.

Maedhros wore his scars proudly without concealment, and the glow of his gold eyes struck terror into the orcs.

And there is one of their differences.

Fingon was not the spry and sometimes annoying elf-lord that he once was in the Blessed Realm. He wore the illusions, as if ashamed and in vain he tried to hide the scars from all eyes. Fingon had steadily grown quieter and progressively meeker as the years went by and the toils further weighed down on all the Noldor, but he remained all the wiser for it. All that had happened, while it grieved Maedhros too, it served to invigorate him; incite forms of controlled rage and give him life.

It was a curse at times.

The new queen pulled Maedhros aside earlier that day…

"Go out," she ordered…begged. "Bring Findë out to the field and simply be. Perhaps it can lighten his heart for the simple things: for your company. You are the only other one that visits on a regular basis."

And they did just that.

Fingon fell into a state of melancholy that evening, despite the pleasant day they spent riding and simply talking with each other. Fingon even dropped his illusions.

Maedhros sat against the base of a tree and watched the night sky. Fingon lay nearby in the grass, covered by his black cloak and asleep. The king's horse stood nearby to serve as a guard. No clouds were present: it was clear. The crickets chirped in the background and the breeze gently blew against the grass.

Maedhros hated silence. The silence allowed his mind to go places he would not go to if he were occupied. Guilt would bear down on his shoulders, he would stress into a near breakdown, and his demons would speak and whisper. He hated it, and it caused enough problems that Maglor had to check on him every now and then. A minstrel normally would play by his bedside…yet he was not in Himring.

Maedhros slowly turned his gaze to the shadowed mound that was Fingon. He no longer wore gold strands in his braids; instead they were silver.

"I am not worthy of the gold of the innocent," Fingon said out loud one day. "I have tarnished myself to be unworthy of that purity."

While he could not see Fingon's scars, Maedhros felt his heart twist at the mere thought of why his cousin even acquired them in the first place. No matter how much he seemed to repent of his actions at Losgar or at Alqualondë…there always was some reason to feel guilty or at unease.

A curse from the Oath. A nagging reminder that it still lingered, even in times that were supposed to be peaceful and without worry. Not that the present time was without evil…nay, the exact opposite was true.

Maedhros pulled his eyes away. After all that had been done, all that they did to amend the wrong…they never seemed to truly reconnect. It felt like it, it looked like it, yet sometimes it felt like he was a stranger, or vice versa. It would not have bothered him if Fingon were not like another younger sibling to him: this need to be familiar with family, this need for trust to be present.

A flash of blue light caught his attention and Maedhros looked up, and his heart lifted at the sight. While the stars were not as grand as they were before the sun and moon, these showers of starlight and the rare aurora were wondrous to behold.

This was a fair excuse to wake Fingon, instead of one of his selfish reasons (which Fingon always patiently dealt with). Maedhros quietly kneed his way over and shook the king by the shoulder. "Wake up, Findë," he called using the pet name.

Fingon from under the cloak swatted at the Fëanorion.

"Come on, you must see this before it vanishes."

Fingon grunted and gave a sharp inhale. He sat straight, all wound up. "What? Are we being attacked?"

Maedhros kept his tone calm and non-imposing, as much as his ruined voice allowed. "No, we are safe. Look up."

Fingon took a moment to come out of the realm of dreams completely. They did not sound peaceful from what Maedhros gathered. The king finally looked up and the worry that lined his forehead vanished, "Oh."

Maedhros also returned his gaze to the sky once Fingon did. In companionable silence, they watched the star-shower.

Many minutes passed before Fingon exhaled softly and Maedhros turned. The king had settled back down on the ground, hidden.

Maedhros frowned, "My lord-"

"None of that, Maitimo." Fingon cut him off. "Nothing has changed."

Maedhros felt the chastisement hit and he refrained from showing the bite. He bit his cheek and did not continue.

Fingon breathed and rolled onto his back. "Do not shut up because I told you not to address me a certain way. Speak."

Maedhros looked at nothing. "A thought, is all. Recall you the auroras at each mingling?"

Fingon looked detached. "Yes," he whispered. "A shame that we cannot relive the same things here."

Maedhros gave pause. "We might yet."

Fingon turned his head. "Give it enough time."

More silence.

The king sat up again and gave Maedhros a look. "Well, I suppose since you woke up me up, we best begin our journey back."

Maedhros despaired slightly as the illusions began to return." Findekáno-"

"Please, do not."

"You have no reason to be so closed off. It is not like you." Maedhros pressed and unwittingly made the problem worse.

Fingon's expression twisted as if struck. "I have no reason? Have you been blind to recent happenings?"

Maedhros shook his head. "I am aware." He sighed, and felt the guilt creep up on him as he realized his mistake. "You are right…" with that the lord of Himring got to his feet.

"Don't go…I didn't mean to leave right at this moment." Fingon stared imploringly, his sudden outburst forgotten.

Maedhros' heart clenched again. It looked far too similar to expression his brothers by blood would give: looks that expected him to fix it all.

'I have only served to break the glass further.' Maedhros thought regretfully. He knelt down again.

Fingon's eyes glistened. "This was never meant to happen, otorno." The elf remarked sadly. "There shouldn't have to be so many successions…Shouldn't be so much death in our house." Fingon looked desperate, "Maitimo, please: when are you going to get those gems back? When will this stop?" He paused, "…When can we go home?"

Maedhros bit his scarred lip. He could not answer any of those questions, could not fulfill those requests. He could not give Fingon…or anyone for that matter, the answer they wanted to hear.

Could not free them from this bondage they forced them into.

The Fëanorion held out the stump regretfully, and this time he let the emotion show. "I am sorry," he whispered.

Fingon revealed no further sorrow at this, like he expected it and only asked out of vain hope. He gripped the forearm, and if Maedhros still had the hand he would have done so in return.

The lord of Himring felt concern arise amidst the grief and guilt. Fingon seemed erratic and all over the place. Maedhros would not blame him, but it disturbingly reminded him of himself.

"Findekáno, what can I do?" he asked at last.

Fingon let go, "Help me…"

Maedhros accepted the vagueness. "You will have it. It is about time I repay the debt I owe you anyway."

"You are still my king, Maitimo." Fingon looked back up as he had his head bowed. "No matter how many times the crown is passed from one to another…I will do as you bid."

Maedhros kept his face neutral, not wanting to show the fear he had. Fingon was being too trusting…too loyal. He did not deserve that trust… "I know."

Fingon smiled ever so faintly but the sadness lingered. "Then there is no point arguing anymore. Let us be off before the dawn comes."

Maedhros bowed his head, "As you will."

"I said not to do that. Do I have to make it an order?"

Maedhros let himself grin as Fingon stood. "It would be an appropriate first command, Findekáno, though you would miss my nuisances rather fast."

"I would be un-adopting myself from your little herd if I ever issued such an order."

"It would not stop me from counting you as my eighth brother regardless."

"It would not stop me from considering you my older sibling either."