Balance
Author: Taelle
Fandom: Silmarillion
Pairing: Fingon/Maedhros
Rating: PG-13
Time: somewhere in the late III- early IV century of the First Era.
Thanks to Lara for beta-reading this.
-----
Sometimes in his dreams Maedhros touched him with his two hands. He leaned into the touch, accepting it, and yet knowing something was wrong. The right hand lay on his shoulder, holding him close; and the left stroked along his back, tangling in his hair.
"Did we go back?" he asked Maedhros, for they had often stood like this beneath the trees in Aman.
"We can never go back," Maedhros answered, and he knew it was true. He knew that forest, too - it was the one where they had met sometimes, slipping away from counsellors, warriors and brothers. "We can never go back, Fingon. Open your eyes!"
He looked at Maedhros, startled, for it was not him but Maedhros who had his eyes half-closed as if a dream took him too far away.
"Open your eyes!" Someone's hand shook his shoulder, but it wasn't Maedhros. His friend always tried to keep his movements careful, afraid to give in to his temper. "Please, sir, wake up already!"
Suddenly his eyes did, indeed, open, and he wasn't in the forest any more. He lay on the bed in his private chambers, and his chief counsellor leaned over him, sighing gratefully when he noticed Fingon was awake. Apparently, some letter had arrived during the night which required a response from him directly, and as soon as possible.
After that the day rolled on in its usual fashion, barely leaving him a moment to sit down in the dining hall and eat hurriedly whatever happened to be in front of him on the table. He answered questions, wrote letters and met guests, almost managing to forget about the touch of two familiar hands on his skin. Almost. Until, late at night, he was left alone again in his chamber.
He had this dream again, together with the curious awareness that this could not be. Because they had never visited this forest before Thangorodrim. He banished this voice of reason, though, and took Maedhros by his right hand, and walked with him through the forest.
Next morning, coming out of his dreams, he still did not know the reason for them, but the memory of Maedhros's presence stayed with him, and made the day easier.
Three days after that he got the letter. Oh, of course he got many letters every day; but his secretary knew better than to open *that* one. The letter, carried, probably, by a series of messengers going in this direction, waited on his desk. When Fingon sat down to work in the morning, it was the first thing he noticed.
Still, he kept it unopened for some time, going through the rest of the mail and watching the letter out of the corner of his eye. He knew what was in it, after all. Since there were no disastrous news lately, there was only one thing that could be in the letter.
When he finally allowed himself to open it, he found out that he was right. Maedhros had found an occasion to come half-way to Hithlum again. So it was back to that forest, a quiet corner of some outshoot of Dorthonion that they'd taken for their own through all these years. Fingon suddenly thought of his recurring dream, and then made himself remember that the elf who would meet him there was not the same as in the dream. Could never be the same, never touch Fingon with his two hands.
Once, long ago, soon after they came back from that mountain, Fingon had tried to apologize. At least, he had started to do so, but the right words had been amazingly hard to find. The whole time he had fumbled Maedhros had been staring at him with those clear grey eyes, silent and attentive. Fingon meanwhile had been trying to figure out if Maedhros had hated him for what he had done and had just been searching for right words too, words to tell Fingon of his hate.
So he had finally fallen silent, expecting Maedhros to say it now, to tell him why he hadn't touched Fingon since they had come back. Maedhros had not said anything, though. He had just put his left hand on Fingon's shoulder, and it had been enough.
Maedhros *had* talked to him afterwards, but he had not seemed to be able to find words either. "It's a small price," he had managed finally. "I was ready to pay a higher one to get away from there."
That had been the end of the discussion. Fingon was glad not to think about it any more. only sometimes the dream came to him, the dream where Maedhros was touching him with his two hands; and lately it started to come more and more often. Perhaps he just had been missing Maedhros, but it seemed dishonest somehow to wish for what couldn't be, as if in his mind he were reproaching Maedhros for what had, after all, been Fingon's own fault. So he awaited their meeting with certain trepidation.
All the previous times he had joined some travelling party for at least a part of the way. Today, though, Fingon chose to travel alone, deciding not to inflict his strange mood on others and not be distracted with talk and niceties. Even though to be alone was far from the main goal of his journey, it would surely do him good to have some time to himself.
The time he spent on the road, though was not given to any deep thoughts but to memories of previous meetings and of dreams. Still, Fingon imagined that the task of being polite to his companions would stretch his abilities beyond measure.
When he saw the place of his destination, Fingon made himself stop this train of thoughts. Meetings with Maedhros were rare, and he did not wish to waste any time with pointless worries. What if Maedhros was already there.?
He wasn't. Fingon entered the secluded wood knowing that he was alone in there. He dismounted and let his horse go - it wasn't her first visit here, either, and he knew he would find her later in the nearby meadow. Then he went further in, settling beneath a tree startlingly like the one they were under in most of his latest dreams. He stretched his legs, leaning his back against the warm gnarled trunk, and half-closed his eyes, remembering the dreams again, and Maedhros's touch.
He came back from the dream to feel a hand on his shoulder. Opening his eyes, he blinked and saw Maedhros sitting next to him, his left hand touching Fingon.
"I haven't heard you arrive," Fingon said quietly.
"I noticed that," Maedhros answered with a teasing smile. "If you'd rather dream, I could go for a ride, perhaps, or visit the closest Edain settlement."
Fingon shook his head. "I missed you," he said seriously.
The look on Maedhros's face instantly turned serious too. "I missed you too, my friend. It's been too long."
"It has," Fingon agreed. "But we can't just walk in the forests for days any more."
"No, we can't. But." Maedhros paused. "I refuse to let a single concern dominate all my life. I need you to balance me, Fingon. You know that."
Fingon knew that, indeed. It was always one of Maedhros's fears that he would become as obsessed with something - anything - as his father had been. They had not talked about that in a very long time, but this was one topic where, Fingon believed, they had already said everything that needed to be said. So he just embraced Maedhros and whispered, "If you need me, I'm here."
Except for that one time you needed me and I was not able to do enough for you, a voice in his head whispered, but Fingon chased it away.
Then they both fell silent, for no words were needed when they were that close; and Fingon forgot about his worrying dreams thanks to the reality that faced him.
Afterwards, though, when he felt Maedhros's fingers playing with his loosened hair, he remembered again. "I dreamed of you," he said quietly.
"Was it a good dream?" Maedhros answered, never stopping the movement of his hand.
"Yes. Probably. I do not know. We were here. and I felt both of your hands touching me." He paused, afraid those words would wound Maedhros.
"Did you? I feel it too sometimes, you know," Maedhros said. "Men say it is quite common to feel a lost limb." He leaned to look into Fingon's eyes. "And if I feel it, why shouldn't you?" he added with a small smile. "It is not the worst thing in the world to share."
Fingon breathed out slowly. Maedhros's answer was not what he had expected to hear, and yet. it made perfect sense.
Seeing the change in his face, Maedhros smiled wryly. "Fingon, Fingon, it's not like you to get upset and worried so needlessly."
"Perhaps," Fingon told him with an answering smile, "it's just another way for me to balance you."
Author: Taelle
Fandom: Silmarillion
Pairing: Fingon/Maedhros
Rating: PG-13
Time: somewhere in the late III- early IV century of the First Era.
Thanks to Lara for beta-reading this.
-----
Sometimes in his dreams Maedhros touched him with his two hands. He leaned into the touch, accepting it, and yet knowing something was wrong. The right hand lay on his shoulder, holding him close; and the left stroked along his back, tangling in his hair.
"Did we go back?" he asked Maedhros, for they had often stood like this beneath the trees in Aman.
"We can never go back," Maedhros answered, and he knew it was true. He knew that forest, too - it was the one where they had met sometimes, slipping away from counsellors, warriors and brothers. "We can never go back, Fingon. Open your eyes!"
He looked at Maedhros, startled, for it was not him but Maedhros who had his eyes half-closed as if a dream took him too far away.
"Open your eyes!" Someone's hand shook his shoulder, but it wasn't Maedhros. His friend always tried to keep his movements careful, afraid to give in to his temper. "Please, sir, wake up already!"
Suddenly his eyes did, indeed, open, and he wasn't in the forest any more. He lay on the bed in his private chambers, and his chief counsellor leaned over him, sighing gratefully when he noticed Fingon was awake. Apparently, some letter had arrived during the night which required a response from him directly, and as soon as possible.
After that the day rolled on in its usual fashion, barely leaving him a moment to sit down in the dining hall and eat hurriedly whatever happened to be in front of him on the table. He answered questions, wrote letters and met guests, almost managing to forget about the touch of two familiar hands on his skin. Almost. Until, late at night, he was left alone again in his chamber.
He had this dream again, together with the curious awareness that this could not be. Because they had never visited this forest before Thangorodrim. He banished this voice of reason, though, and took Maedhros by his right hand, and walked with him through the forest.
Next morning, coming out of his dreams, he still did not know the reason for them, but the memory of Maedhros's presence stayed with him, and made the day easier.
Three days after that he got the letter. Oh, of course he got many letters every day; but his secretary knew better than to open *that* one. The letter, carried, probably, by a series of messengers going in this direction, waited on his desk. When Fingon sat down to work in the morning, it was the first thing he noticed.
Still, he kept it unopened for some time, going through the rest of the mail and watching the letter out of the corner of his eye. He knew what was in it, after all. Since there were no disastrous news lately, there was only one thing that could be in the letter.
When he finally allowed himself to open it, he found out that he was right. Maedhros had found an occasion to come half-way to Hithlum again. So it was back to that forest, a quiet corner of some outshoot of Dorthonion that they'd taken for their own through all these years. Fingon suddenly thought of his recurring dream, and then made himself remember that the elf who would meet him there was not the same as in the dream. Could never be the same, never touch Fingon with his two hands.
Once, long ago, soon after they came back from that mountain, Fingon had tried to apologize. At least, he had started to do so, but the right words had been amazingly hard to find. The whole time he had fumbled Maedhros had been staring at him with those clear grey eyes, silent and attentive. Fingon meanwhile had been trying to figure out if Maedhros had hated him for what he had done and had just been searching for right words too, words to tell Fingon of his hate.
So he had finally fallen silent, expecting Maedhros to say it now, to tell him why he hadn't touched Fingon since they had come back. Maedhros had not said anything, though. He had just put his left hand on Fingon's shoulder, and it had been enough.
Maedhros *had* talked to him afterwards, but he had not seemed to be able to find words either. "It's a small price," he had managed finally. "I was ready to pay a higher one to get away from there."
That had been the end of the discussion. Fingon was glad not to think about it any more. only sometimes the dream came to him, the dream where Maedhros was touching him with his two hands; and lately it started to come more and more often. Perhaps he just had been missing Maedhros, but it seemed dishonest somehow to wish for what couldn't be, as if in his mind he were reproaching Maedhros for what had, after all, been Fingon's own fault. So he awaited their meeting with certain trepidation.
All the previous times he had joined some travelling party for at least a part of the way. Today, though, Fingon chose to travel alone, deciding not to inflict his strange mood on others and not be distracted with talk and niceties. Even though to be alone was far from the main goal of his journey, it would surely do him good to have some time to himself.
The time he spent on the road, though was not given to any deep thoughts but to memories of previous meetings and of dreams. Still, Fingon imagined that the task of being polite to his companions would stretch his abilities beyond measure.
When he saw the place of his destination, Fingon made himself stop this train of thoughts. Meetings with Maedhros were rare, and he did not wish to waste any time with pointless worries. What if Maedhros was already there.?
He wasn't. Fingon entered the secluded wood knowing that he was alone in there. He dismounted and let his horse go - it wasn't her first visit here, either, and he knew he would find her later in the nearby meadow. Then he went further in, settling beneath a tree startlingly like the one they were under in most of his latest dreams. He stretched his legs, leaning his back against the warm gnarled trunk, and half-closed his eyes, remembering the dreams again, and Maedhros's touch.
He came back from the dream to feel a hand on his shoulder. Opening his eyes, he blinked and saw Maedhros sitting next to him, his left hand touching Fingon.
"I haven't heard you arrive," Fingon said quietly.
"I noticed that," Maedhros answered with a teasing smile. "If you'd rather dream, I could go for a ride, perhaps, or visit the closest Edain settlement."
Fingon shook his head. "I missed you," he said seriously.
The look on Maedhros's face instantly turned serious too. "I missed you too, my friend. It's been too long."
"It has," Fingon agreed. "But we can't just walk in the forests for days any more."
"No, we can't. But." Maedhros paused. "I refuse to let a single concern dominate all my life. I need you to balance me, Fingon. You know that."
Fingon knew that, indeed. It was always one of Maedhros's fears that he would become as obsessed with something - anything - as his father had been. They had not talked about that in a very long time, but this was one topic where, Fingon believed, they had already said everything that needed to be said. So he just embraced Maedhros and whispered, "If you need me, I'm here."
Except for that one time you needed me and I was not able to do enough for you, a voice in his head whispered, but Fingon chased it away.
Then they both fell silent, for no words were needed when they were that close; and Fingon forgot about his worrying dreams thanks to the reality that faced him.
Afterwards, though, when he felt Maedhros's fingers playing with his loosened hair, he remembered again. "I dreamed of you," he said quietly.
"Was it a good dream?" Maedhros answered, never stopping the movement of his hand.
"Yes. Probably. I do not know. We were here. and I felt both of your hands touching me." He paused, afraid those words would wound Maedhros.
"Did you? I feel it too sometimes, you know," Maedhros said. "Men say it is quite common to feel a lost limb." He leaned to look into Fingon's eyes. "And if I feel it, why shouldn't you?" he added with a small smile. "It is not the worst thing in the world to share."
Fingon breathed out slowly. Maedhros's answer was not what he had expected to hear, and yet. it made perfect sense.
Seeing the change in his face, Maedhros smiled wryly. "Fingon, Fingon, it's not like you to get upset and worried so needlessly."
"Perhaps," Fingon told him with an answering smile, "it's just another way for me to balance you."