Prompts: 'Friendship' and 'Death'
A/N: This is very angsty. Poor Maedhros.
Maedhros searched the battlefield desperately, feeling his heart pound loudly in his ears, He didn't call out for Fingon, he knew his friend was dead, he merely wanted to find the body and prayed it would be at least recognizable. He stumbled over a helm and struggled to catch himself before he fell into a pool of blood. Suddenly; on his hand and knees with his hand buried in blood; he froze. 'A mire of his blood...' Dread filling his heart, he turned and his arm trembled. The body was barely recognizable, but he could see enough of the face to know that it was Fingon. If that hadn't been enough, he would've identified Fingon by the blood-caked blue and silver banner of the house of Fingolfin wrapped around his torso. He crawled over and collapsed on his half cousin's broken chest and sobbed; hand tightly clenching the banner and his stump pressed against Fingon's shattered skull. He could feel blood pouring onto his face, but he didn't care. He just wanted to be close to Fingon.
Maedhros sat very still for hours, silence broken only by the occasional racking sob. As the hour became late and the sun crept behind the mountains, Maedhros began to mindlessly plead with Fingon's body, begging him to come back to him though deep in his heart, he knew that Fingon was dead and no amount of pleading or begging would bring him back into Maedhros' empty arms.
Maglor found him there, hours later. Centuries after the War of Wrath, he would admit to one person that he had always thought that Maedhros had lost the last trails of his sanity that day.