The air was warm in his lungs and against his skin, and Maedhros took another deep breath. An almost painless breath. It was remarkable to begin to feel the world again, to be undistracted by pain and heartbreak. Somehow, mere days were undoing what had felt like an eternity of torment. His back felt the soft mound of the pillows beneath him, not the lash and his broken flesh; his legs felt the blankets move over them as he stretched, not the snap and the white-hot pain of being pulled apart on the rack. So complete was his calm, part of him wondered if he might open his eyes to see Fingon sleeping beside him, lightly snoring in their bed in Tirion, his dark hair fanned around him in the silky bedsheets. As if everything that had come before had been nothing but a long and terrible dream.
Soft hands gently skimmed up the side of his body, along his ribs, his chest. Parted over his shoulders and brushed up against his jaw. Finally there was space for something besides pain inside him, space for his heart to beat a little harder, for his muscles to flex and begin to move in response.
"Maitimo," that voice moaned against his ear, before a cold mouth pressed against his throat.
Fire spread across his flesh, incinerating everything inside him, silencing his voice just seconds after he could scream.
Fingon lounged in the grass, a small apple in his mouth, looking up at Idril as she glided between their golden-haired cousins, offering to fill their cups from the pitcher of flavoured water she carried. She looked so at home here, not least of all because she was surrounded by other fair Vanyar Elves. Turgon had been wise to move her here; she was so cherished and doted upon by the children of Finarfin, who all possessed their father's kindness and wisdom.
Everyone had their mending in their laps, the needles in their hands, but were slow to work in the glorious warmth of the Sun smiling down upon them on the hill. Finrod was laughing with his youngest brother, Aegnor. Their middle brother Angrod was bent over his work, but listening to a story his son, Orodreth, and his sister, Artanis, were crafting a sentence at a time, taking turns. Idril had invited Fingon and Aredhel for a quiet afternoon, their days apart already too many for her, for which Fingon was immensely grateful. He never would have broken Turgon's wish to be apart, but at Idril's invitation, he had not hesitated at the opportunity to see her. He had been unsurprised, but still sad, to find that Turgon had left to go riding before his siblings had arrived. A day in the sunshine with his golden extended family was exactly the cure for the dark thoughts that had been lingering in his mind ever since the night Maglor had come.
Her hostess duties done, Idril sat down between Fingon and Aredhel and shared a beaming smile with each of them. Before she could stretch out on the grass, Aredhel's increasingly frustrated cursing called her over to her aunt's side. Idril took the garment and needle into her own lap and started working without issue, and Fingon made a face at Aredhel.
"Sing," Idril said softly, her gaze flicking up from her work to Fingon.
"And what shall we sing?" Fingon asked her, to which she shrugged.
Fingon had had a certain song on his mind ever since he heard Maglor playing it on the harp those nights ago. Hesitating only to marvel at how easily the song swelled in his breast after so long without the joy of music, Fingon raised his voice. Luckily his unpracticed singing was soon joined by his cousins. They had hardly finished one song before Finrod started leading into another.
Idril looked like she could burst with happiness. Fingon wondered if they continued for long enough, she might sing. Just imagining it brought tears to his eyes.
"Lord Fingon!" Elbereth, one of Maedhros' healers, came running up the hill.
Fingon whipped around and had to only look at the gravity in her expression to follow her. He even overtook her as they sprinted down towards the lake.
"He still won't let anyone near him," Logon, another healer, said from his post outside the tent. Fingon brushed past him, leaving both the healers outside.
As intended, the tent was still dark even in the middle of the day, but the air was warm and close. Maedhros' cot was empty, the blanket gone. Fingon circled the cot, following the sound of erratic breathing. As he came around the head he found Maedhros sitting in a tight ball on the ground, the blanket wound around his waist and his legs, his hand and his bandaged wrist pressed against his temples, visibly shaking.
"Maedhros," Fingon said softly as he knelt an arm's length away. He could see how hard Maedhros' worked to breathe, his whole body wracked with effort and yet his breaths were shallow, far too little to calm him. Maedhros' eyes were wide and wild like a cornered animal, possessed with terror. Possessed… and Fingon knew whose hands were wrapped tightly around him. Staring at the burn on Maedhros' throat, Fingon tried to bury his rage and show only calm.
"Maedhros," he said again, holding up both his hands to show his pure intentions, "it's all right. You're safe now. It's just you and me here."
Maedhros' eyes, dark with the width of his pupils, finally lifted up to Fingon's face. The bruises and cuts that had been healing these past several days seemed suddenly so vivid on his pale skin.
"It's all right," Fingon said.
Maedhros' gaze relaxed a little, but he still struggled to breathe.
"What do you need?" Fingon asked. "Can I get you some water? Are you in pain?"
He only shook his head.
"Can you tell me what happened?" As if it were catching, Maedhros' unrelenting fear began to reach into Fingon and unsettle him. The last time Maedhros had been so struck with terror he had dreamt of Morgoth's chamber and what he had seen.
"I'm all right, Maedhros," Fingon said, slowly turning over one raised hand and extending it halfway to Maedhros.
As he glanced down at Fingon's offered hand, Maedhros' eyes filled with tears that spilled fast and hard down his face. Just watching him made tears burn in Fingon's eyes. His hand was still stretched uselessly before him, longing to touch Maedhros for his own comfort.
Maedhros folded over his knees and wrapped his arms around his head as he began to weep. Already weak and barely breathing, his sobs made their way violently through him.
Though it was hidden now, all Fingon could see was the handprint burned forever onto Maedhros' throat. The work of Mairon reaching from Thangorodrim still to torment him. Fingon tried not to imagine it—but he had Maedhros' own words in his head of being taken to Mairon, trying to provoke him into killing him. He tried not to imagine putting his own hands around Mairon's neck, watching that fair face contort into hideousness as he fought, as he suffocated, as he died.
A shiver of self-revulsion thundered through Fingon's body, disrupting his terrible thoughts. Maedhros did not need more violence. What he needed was…
Fighting past the lump in his throat, Fingon began to softly sing the song he had just raised among his cousins, trying to remember the joy and unity of their voices and the strength they all found there, trying to forget the desperation in his song in Thangorodrim when he thought Maedhros was lost to him forever. As Maedhros' anguish began to ease under the music, Fingon moved closer to him little by little, gingerly laying his hands against Maedhros' bare shoulders. Close enough to feel the feverish heat Maedhros had worked himself into, Fingon finished his song and laid his forehead against Maedhros' arms.
"Meldonya," he whispered. "You're safe now, and I'm here with you. Always."
Maedhros trembled with the effort, but he took one deep breath and then another. He lifted his head and Fingon lifted his to have a brief glimpse of Maedhros' tear-stained face before Maedhros lunged forward and kissed him.
His mouth was so warm, and Fingon did not have the will to deny Maedhros anything as he flicked his tongue against Fingon's lips. But just as Fingon moaned and leaned in, Maedhros shook his head and pulled away.
"I'm sorry," Maedhros said, his voice wasted to almost nothing.
"It's all right," Fingon said, still half out of breath. "Let me help you back to bed."
Maedhros nodded and Fingon positioned himself at his left shoulder to help him stand. As they both lurched to their feet, Fingon could have cried at how insubstantial Maedhros was. His beautiful, powerful Maedhros… They may have bandaged and healed the wounds of his body, but Maedhros was still so far from being well again. If anything, the meagre strength that had returned to him seemed only to free his mind to dwell on the horrors of his captivity.
He helped Maedhros sit on the edge of the cot, braced one arm behind his shoulders to help him slowly lie back. Once he was settled, Maedhros still gripped Fingon's hand so tightly that Fingon slipped off his shoes and laid down beside him.
Maedhros rested his head against Fingon's shoulder. "Keep singing."
Fingon sang softly even after Maedhros had fallen asleep, praying it would keep the demons of his dreams at bay.
Maedhros woke, but it was a long time before he could bring himself to open his eyes, not until he knew for certain that the cushions beneath him were his cot in Mithrim, that the slow breathing beside him was Fingon. A fearful breath shuddered through him and Maedhros felt a hand against his hair.
"Shhh, it's all right." The voice was hoarse and tired, but it was certainly Fingon's.
Coaxing himself to finally open his eyes, Maedhros found the tent darker than usual, none of the lamps lit. There was a dull pain in his neck from the angle at which he had slept with his head on Fingon's shoulder and Maedhros straightened himself with a groan. Beside him, Fingon stretched and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes.
"How are you feeling?" Fingon asked.
"I need fresh air," Maedhros said. Though he tried to fight back the thoughts that had undone him, his heart still began to race and ignite his fear. Trying to keep his voice steady, trying not to imagine Mairon appearing before them, leaning in close enough to touch them, Maedhros said, "I need to get up. I can't lie here anymore."
"Let me help," Fingon said as got to his feet. He fetched the robe hanging on the back of the chair at the bedside. "I don't want you to be cold."
Maedhros moved to the edge of the cot and put his arms through the sleeves as Fingon wrapped the robe over his shoulders. Taking Fingon's offered hands, Maedhros stood up so fast he felt dizzy, but he refused to lose momentum. Standing face to face, he could see how terrible Fingon looked, dark shadows under his eyes, the corners of his mouth weighed down in a small but constant frown. All because of him. He released Fingon's hands and carried on on his own, pressing his hand to his sore ribs as he moved too quickly towards the door, his weak legs threatening to buckle beneath him.
As Maedhros burst through into the cool night, desperate for a deep, cleansing breath of air, he almost did collapse, but Fingon caught his right elbow and held him up as Maedhros grabbed hold of the pole holding up the awning. His lungs drank deeply of the fresh air, as if he had been drowning and these were his first gasping breaths on the surface. The damp and the cold prickled against his skin, invigorating him enough to lift his head and look out at the world. Green grass beneath his feet, the sky clear and dark above him. Trees. Stars.
"Eruhantalë." The sigh was out of him before he realized he could breathe so easily. The air brushed the trail of the tear that had fallen unbidden down his cheek.
He let go of the steadying pole and stepped out to stand under the sky. Fingon stepped with him, ever at his side. Maedhros wished he had his right hand again if only so he could take hold of Fingon's arm and touch him.
It had been a long time since they had looked up at the stars together, since the stars could look down and see them side by side. Only the stars knew everything they had both been through, things they had not told even each other, but they twinkled as happily as they ever had in Valinor. Maedhros did not want to move, wanted to stay here with Fingon underneath the stars forever, to never break this moment and risk being separated again.
"There's something I want to show you," Fingon said, and only the smile in his voice could have tempted Maedhros to drop his gaze from the sky overhead. Moving slowly, he guided Maedhros past the broad tree outside the tent to the shore of the lake and caught him as his legs finally did fail beneath him.
There was a huge pale crescent in the sky casting a silvery glow over all, far larger and closer than any star. And the light… the light was familiar as it filled his eyes and touched his face. Maedhros had felt nothing like the presence of god in so long, had willingly turned his back on such things in following his father. He never thought he would see or feel such awesomeness again.
"Telperion," Maedhros said, slowly straightening up again. The pain in his body and the shadows in his mind were fading fast in the sacred light.
"It appeared shortly we arrived," Fingon said. "A gift to show us that we're not alone. You can watch it travel across the sky all night. Do you want to sit down?"
Maedhros was not sure if he answered. Regardless, Fingon guided him towards a large rock and at least he leaned against it, never taking his eyes from the amazing light in the sky and its reflection on the still lake.
"The Moon," Fingon said.
"The Moon," Maedhros repeated.
As the light swelled and began to settle inside him, there grew space again for the other sensations of the world. He heard Elven voices singing and speaking up the hill behind them, heard flutes and harps and bells in harmony. The cool grass beneath his bare feet sent roots up his legs into his hips and he finally felt steady standing there. Between the fresh air and the light of the Moon, there was an alchemy created inside him that felt like… life. Not survival, not the struggle against death. Life.
The light, the ground, the water, the trees, the stars.
Maedhros took a deep breath and realized Fingon was no longer beside him. Before he could turn his head, he felt a warm body press against his back, felt two strong arms surround him and cross over his chest, wrapping them together in a soft blanket. He felt Fingon rest his chin on his shoulder, felt his breath against his neck as they stood together gazing up at the stars.
Life.