The Death of Fingon

~Maedhros~

'

Slowly, tentatively, Maedhros approached the battlefield which was covered by both his enemies, his allies and his friends. He crouched down behind a bush, letting his eyes search for something – whatever, as long as he got to know the fate of his closest friend. He had only heard rumours of the end. Rumours of the fight against Gothmog and the fall of Fingon.

Carefully he slid out from behind the bush, ran a few steps forth, and then crouched down once more. The stank of death surrounded him, and flees seemed to be gathering around the dead bodies. And there were elves. Dead elves everywhere, laying there, under or over the corpses of the enemies. Orcs, wild men and other foul beasts. Bitterly, the oldest son of Fëanor thought that nothing of this would've happened if he just had seen the treachery before it was too late.

Swiftly he rose, ran a few more steps and then crouched down once more. As this he continued for a long while, until he suddenly spotted it, his back bowed as he was about to crouch down once more.

"It can't be..." It was only a breath, but it in the silence of the death it seemed as if it could be heard all over the battlefield. Then he gave up trying not to be seen, and ran toward a small rising. And there, laying in a dried pool of his own blood, his skin white and lips blue, Fingon was laying. His black hair was already stiff from the blood, and the once golden strands seemed reddish.

Maedhros sank to his knees beside his best friend's corpse, his mind whipped of every thought there could've been. "Fingon?" He knew it was childish, but there were no one to hear him. "Findecáno? Cousin?" Of course there was no answer. No other than silence. That was when Maedhros fully understood that his best friend was dead. He would never see him again alive. Not before many ages were far gone.

His body began trembling, and then he sank further down, putting his face to Fingon's long since frozen and cold chest, and tears flowed down his face. For a while everything went black for him, and he forgot time. He only hang on to his cousin, as if he was the last anchor in the world. And yet he wasn't.

Not before rasping voices of orcs were heard, Maedhros let go of Fingon, raising his head to look toward the source of the sounds. When he spotted the orcs, he got up from the ground, looking one last time at his best friend and cousin. "You'll never be forgotten, I swear," he whispered, and then he turned his back at the corpse and ran away from the battlefield.

When he returned to his brothers, they asked him where he'd been, but no proper answer would he give. Not before one night, when the stars were shining above the place they'd been living for a few months.

Maedhros was sitting at the root of a tree, looking at his sword which was laying in his lap, and Maglor was standing nearby, playing a tearful tune at his harp. Then the tones stopped flowing, and a few seconds later Maglor was kneeling in front of Maedhros, a hand at his knee.

"Tell me," Maglor whispered. "Did you return to the battlefield?" Maedhros turned his face away.

"That's none of your business," he replied shortly, without snapping at his younger brother.

"I know you did," Maglor then continued, a hand still resting lightly at Maedhros knee. "And you found something or someone. Don't tell me I'm wrong, for I know you well enough, brother."

"I didn't find anything," Maedhros said, bowing his head, still not facing Maglor.

"You didn't find anything living," Maglor corrected him. "You found the corpse of Fingon, didn't you?" Finally Maedhros turned his head to face Maglor. There was a mild expression of understanding, sorrow and love at the younger face. "You know you can tell me anything."

"I-I..." The words got caught in Maedhros' throat as he fought the tears. But it was hard, when looking into those silvery grey eyes of his brother. A soft hand was carefully placed against his cheek, and he leant into it, closing his eyes. He could tell Maglor had a small smile at his lips. Maedhros swallowed. "I found him." His voice was hoarse, and his throat burned from the unsheathe tears. "He was... dead..." The last word came as a sob as the tears began running down his cheeks. A few moments later the sword was put aside, and Maglor had taken him into a warm embrace.

"I know," Maglor whispered. "I understood it as soon as you returned, for you nearly never speak anymore." Maedhros let his forehead rest on Maglor's shoulder, his body shaking with quiet sobs.

"I-it's my fault..." It was hard to tell if it was a sob or a whisper, but it was said anyway. "I should've stayed by his side. I betrayed him!"

"No," Maglor said, a firm grip at his shoulders as he carefully held Maedhros a bit out from his own body, to have a better look at him. "You did what you thought was best-"

"I fled! I was a coward and left them when I should've stayed!"

"Russandol, calm down. You've chosen your fate, and there's nothing you can do to change his fate."

"Macalurë..." It was a heartbroken sob, and then Maedhros threw his arms around Maglor's neck, hugging him tightly, once more letting tears flow down his face.

A/N: I think there is a cuddle-story to come soon... One I've been thinking of for a while, so just keep your eyes open^^