Just a tiny little ficlet written some time ago during a sunny afternoon. As usual, translated from Polish.
Insane
The stone walls, tall and massive, were almost ready. They surrounded a spacious square that was basically one big building site. First of all, Maedhros wanted to secure himself in case of an attack, and as his new household was going to face the peaks of Thangorodrim, it was hardly surprising that he had started from building the fortifications. The fortress at Himring was growing slowly, the walls of the first floor already growing from the ground and there were several houses built already to serve as temporary shelters.
Maglor was well familiar with such works himself. His own fortress was being built in the valley. The climate was not as harsh as on the hills, but they had encountered problems with foundations. Finally Maglor had decided to build a wall at the narrowest part of the valley and he set the fortress a bit higher, where the ground did not turn into swamp after every thaw.
The wall echoed the clinging of the parried swords. Maedhros had dragged Maglor at dawn, before the July sun started to burn. At first, the singer didn't mind stretching a bit after having spent a few days in the saddle, especially that he would please his brother.
Now he was no longer sure if pleasing was the right word. Maedhros was eager to show his brother the progress he had made since their last meeting. He seemed satisfied the first time he managed to disarm Maglor, who was not used to sparring with a left-handed opponent. However, after the first moment of surprise it was no longer so easy for the eldest son of Feanor. Maglor was quick to remember the treats of such opponent and he regained his footing. Soon the two elves were dancing on the yard. Maedhros's light sword allowed him swifter moves, but Maglor had more possibilities with his two hands.
Then something changed. Maedhros moved as if in a trance, his movements swift, his feet finding easily firm ground on the uneven square, where the wagons had made ruts after the last rain. They were both using blunt weapons made for training only, but Maglor feared that if he lost his concentration for the briefest moment, Maedhros could easily break his arm or ribs with the sheer force of his blows.
They shortened the distance and Maedhros surprised him again, using his maimed arm as well. They fell on the ground and Maedhros's arm tangled around Maglor's throat, but he loosened his grip before he could harm his brother. A few moments later it was Maedhros' sword that was set flying, but Maglor didn't win more than a few heartbeats.
The smile that appeared on his brother's face made Maglor shake, but he had no more time for contemplation, as Maedhros was not about to finish their training. They met again, their arms bruised, their swords colliding against each other time after time, in the endless dance where they both died and rose again, and each sparring was different than the previous ones.
Maglor was the first to break it. He let his sword fly away and collide with the wall, then turned back and walked casually to sit in the shadow. He took off his gambeson and wiped the sweat from his brow. While he opened a bottle with wine, Maedhros sent him an offended glance, then put aside his brother's disregarded sword and resumed his training alone.
The sun began to burn, the heat of the Summer coming here as well. Maglor took a few long sips and he watched his brother until he couldn't help it.
"Leave it, Maitimo. But for a moment."
"The Oath sets our goal." The eldest son of Feanor didn't lower his sword. He made another guard, parried an imaginary blow and whirled gracefully. His movements were fluent and agile; Maglor knew it was the result of hours of the deadly trainings.
"You cannot live on the Oath alone. You'll lose your mind."
Only now did Maedhros lower his sword and looked at Maglor incredulously.
"Brother, we are already insane."
The sword sang once more.
Feel free to tell me what you think, both good and bad things. I am not a child to get offended.