For the sake of convenience, I've used our own calender system for the months. (Revised)
Thank you, spired-ivory, for pointing out the mistakes and given your input on the sentence structure! I appreciate it!

(FA 5; February 7)

Perhaps it's desperation that's driven me to this point of climax.

I am simply keeping a journal in a tattered, bound book to preoccupy my thoughts as I think over how hopeless and daring this is, but I cannot simply abandon the one who has helped train me, teach me, and even raised me to some degree in which I became my own entity—proud, benevolent, and guided. But I cannot deny that I am also killer and accomplice, aiding the sons of Fëanor in their attempt to secure passage to Middle-earth.

How has it come to this again?

Oh, I remember.

My father persuaded me not to go, of course. Or, at least he tried to, but I was obstinate to my own ideals, my hopes for adventure. As if killing wasn't enough to send threads of adrenaline through my veins and arteries! However, I cannot simply label it as a need for something other than doing the same thing almost every day, such as routing an ambush set up by the orcs, for I am on a quest—no, a journey, to save Maedhros, one of my greatest, dearest friends of the golden ages in Valinor.

I know.

If I had suggested the idea to my past self, right after the Kinslaying, I would have slain myself, after passing the theater of war, without a thought. On that note, it didn't really count as a war, as the Teleri had nothing to defend themselves with but meager arrows, flimsy and meant for shooting down flying fish near the shore, not bigger adversaries with giant bronze sticks and heavy-duty plates of armor. Again, it should be said that I am killer and accomplice both.

How dare they make off with the ships and leave us behind to toil in the icy hell that is the Helcaraxë?

How can I put aside my resentment to rescue the one who unintentionally, but still did, betray me and my people? I know I've changed, for I start to refer to the Noldor as my people, and they are. Why did Fëanor have to bring so many of our kin into this sick, demented quest for his urgency to reclaim his jewels?

I don't know why I keep asking so many unanswerable questions.

All I understand of my seemingly irrational thought is that I wish to do two of many things.

1. Mend the rift between the house of my cousins and my own house.
2. Save Maedhros and demand an reasonable, educated explanation of why the hell he left me to die at the Helcaraxë, making me witness oh so many horrors while all he had to do was sail across an entire ocean, with the only thing possibly disturbing to him a fish being mauled by a shark.

But his brother, his young brother Amras, died. At his father's hands, burned alive on the very ships they took. I suppose I have no right to judge him so far, but I want an explanation.

On many a night and occasion, I would look at myself in the mirror and wonder who I truly am, if not Findekáno, son of Nolofinwë. News of our Kinslaying has reached Thingol's ears, so I'll probably be flayed by bare back if anyone else reads this journal and is a known hater of the Noldorin Kinslayers. Or, bluntly put, the murderers.

It's been only a week since I've traveled, but I see the heights of Thangorodrim even from here. The despairing, dark land that I will eventually have to cross shelters the horror that my cousin is imprisoned in. I can only hope that my will is strong enough to withstand the pulsating evil energy that Angband emits, even from where I stand, on a clear field in front of a row of trodden grass. Orcs have been here, raping the land and ravaging it.

They were distorted, it is presumed, from the original Elves that awoke here.

Either way, I find that most of my thoughts are centered on Maedhros, and the despair that he is most likely being hung by the ankle, or some sort of limb that would cause inordinate pain. If it was his neck, then this journey would have been all for nothing, and I might as well be dead for nothing except the satisfaction of seeing my half-cousin one last time. If he's even still hanging there.

I have a bad feeling, but I hope that it will become its worth.

Maglor, he came to me four days before I departed from Hithlum. There was remorse in his eyes, like none I have seen before. But it was specifically reserved for the Teleri, and bit of the portion for the Noldor who had been left behind. It makes me wonder; how is Uncle Arafinwë doing? He must be having one heck of a time, ruling what is left of the Noldor. Perhaps, one day, I will be able to return to Valinor and see my mother once more—the mother I left, the mother I love dearly, and the mother who wept for my siblings and I as my father agreed to follow Fëanor.

For now, I think I will rest in a tree and hope that an owl doesn't decide to defecate on me because one of my people might have accidentally shot a seagull in the fray.

Signed,
Fingon

Okay, so I was rereading the Silmarillion, and I came across the part where Fingon decides to rescue Maedhros. It inspired me to write this; basically a diary of how Fingon fares as he travels to Thangorodrim in hopes of rescuing his cousin...and demanding answers.
I won't deny it; Fingon isn't too happy with Maedhros, but he isn't the type who'd take in utmost joy at seeing Maedhros chained to a precipice by his right wrist.

So, if you were wondering, yes, this is a diary.
Oh, and would you mind pointing any mistakes out? Thank you!

Tell me what you think!

(*V*)