Mixed Feelings
It was his first kiss.
Soft and sweet.
Embarrassed and hot.
Slow and tender.
Hasty and rushing.
As Fingon pulled away, gasping for breath, he wasn't sure whether he liked it or not.
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They had done it.
The Helcaraxe was behind them.
The warm sun rose for the first time, scorching their frozen fingers and noses, welcoming them to their new home.
But it didn't feel like home.
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It was a hopeless rescue.
Maedhros' eyes were dull and tired, yet they sparkled with a resilient fire.
His skin was a deathly pale, yet his hair was still full of its unique color.
Fingon set his teeth, forcing himself to focus on what he was doing as he drew the knife from his boot, taking Maedhros' free hand in his own.
Somehow what he was doing did not feel right, even though he knew it was.
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He was dying.
Fire scorching his body as it began to turn cold.
Pain racing through even as it was brought to rest.
Defiance flaring in him even though he couldn't wait to be gone.
