This is just sort of a little drabble I wrote... I'm doing this theme thing this year, so I figured I might as well post it just because it'll sit on my computer pointlessly otherwise, y'know...
Anyway... I happen to quite like the Silmarillion, and since I haven't written anything for it yet...
Warning: hints of slash content (if you don't know what that is, look it up, cause I can't be held responsible if you don't like it - thank you in advance)
Disclaimer: The elves belong to Tolkien, not me (*sadpasta*)
Btw... Findecáno is Fingon's Quenya name and Maitimo is one of Maedhros' Quenya names, just in case anyone who reads this doesn't know who's who (Oh, and Macalaure = Maglor)
Sitting at his cousin's bedside, Findecáno began to lose himself in thought. His blue eyes never left the pale, scarred face surrounded by a ring of fiery red hair which had been sheered away. It would have been impossible to untangle it all anyhow, but he lamented the loss nonetheless. His right hand stroked through what was left of it, enjoying the silky texture against his calloused fingers.
Maitimo shifted in his sleep, but didn't otherwise stir.
Staring at the planes of his cousin's face, strange thoughts came to him. His eyes traced over the dips beneath high, graceful cheekbones, dips that to him made Maitimo's face look sunken and thin. His strong jaw and chin were still there, but his lips were colorless. Lines of stress and pain had gathered around the corners of his eyes, lines that didn't even go away when he was sleeping. Findecáno traced his fingers over them, willing them away, but they never retreated.
Between the two of them, Findecáno had always believed Maitimo to be the stronger. His elder cousin had been everything he wanted to grow up to be. He was intelligent, revered, respected… He was full of lively strength. When he smiled, his whole face glowed in a way that made Findecáno's heart skip a beat, fluttering in his chest.
This Maitimo was very different. A dark auburn brow was furrowed sharply over his left eye in a way that was unfamiliar to Findecáno. It, like the pain-lines, didn't seem to ever quite disappear.
Always, he'd believed Maitimo to be the strong one, but when he'd finally reached the place where his dearest cousin had been waiting, chained up by his wrist and shuddering in pain, he'd found someone that barely resembled his strong Maitimo at all.
This new, strange Maitimo had asked to die. He'd wanted to die. Findecáno had seen it in his dull gray eyes. They had once been fiery silver.
But he hadn't died. Findecáno had rescued him, or at least, that's what he liked to believe. He hadn't asked whether or not Maitimo had wanted to be rescued. Sometimes, when he listened to his cousin's whispery voice or watched him stare at his right arm, the elegant hand and long fingers horrifyingly absent, he thought maybe Maitimo hadn't wanted to be saved at all. Sometimes, he'd look into his cousin's eyes—his once-lover's eyes—and Maitimo wouldn't be there at all. There'd be some broken elf there whose light had all gone out, who didn't burn anymore.
Macalaurë assured him there was a fire there still, though. Fëanorions, his cousin had proclaimed, did not lose their fire… ever.
"Thou art… still there… art thou not, Maitimo…?"
If anything, his dear cousin looked exceptionally breakable.
Long eyelashes fluttered as his cousin's eyes opened. Findecáno felt his heart jump once more at the sight for he fancied that a spark momentarily shuddered to life in those depths, making them glow before sputtering out again. "Findecáno…?" His cousin's voice was raw and unused.
"I am here," he assured quickly, squeezing his cousin's hand tightly, the hand that Maitimo had left, anyway.
Maitimo stared at him for a moment before sighing. He looked worn and tired, but Findecáno could hardly blame him for that. "I am glad… I had almost thought this all a dream…"
Again? Findecáno wanted to ask. But he held his tongue about it, knowing he had to be patient with his dear cousin. His old Maitimo would never have doubted himself so thoroughly. So much had changed.
"Of course it is not," Findecáno replied in a voice far more confident and haughty than he actually felt. "I did not wake thee, did I?"
Maitimo shook his head in the negative rather unconvincingly.
"Thou shouldst return to sleep," Findecáno admonished lightly. "Thou dost look very tired, dear cousin."
Snorting softly with laughter, Maitimo allowed himself to be guided back down onto the soft feather-down pillows. "Thou shouldst not mother me so much, dear cousin," he teased with a grin. It didn't reach his eyes; they never did.
"Rest," he ordered.
"Stay," Maitimo shot back, his remaining hand tightening around Findecáno's.
Findecáno allowed it, though he was a bit concerned. His old Maitimo would never have asked aloud; the Maitimo he'd grown up with was far too prideful for such behavior. No matter how much he tried, Findecáno couldn't help but continue noticing these things, these little quirks in the elf he'd grown up with, who was closer to him than a brother. This new Maitimo didn't have as much of the old one's strength. There was a strange fragility about him, as if he'd shatter into a million pieces with the slightest bit of pressure. It made Findecáno nervous. It shouldn't have surprised him that his cousin wasn't the same after being tormented in Angband for so long, after being hung from the Thangorodrim and losing his sword-hand, having it sheared off, but…
When he next looked, Maitimo was on the verge of sleep. "Ah, cousin, what would I do without thee?" It was said with drowsy seriousness. Findecáno guessed that Maitimo had not even meant to say it aloud.
Sad-eyed, Findecáno kept sitting by his cousin's bedside. Finally, he realized that between the two of them, he was no longer the delicate one. If anything, Maitimo—the one who he'd always thought of as a pillar of strength and determination—was the one who needed his help to keep from shattering now.
Well, I don't really know how good it is, but... *shrug* whatever, I guess
Review if you wish to