The stars dangled low in the soft, dark sky of warm, still air. Maedhros stood, feet firmly planted, and studied the sky looking for stars and seeing nothing but memories.
Maedhros remembered knowing. He remembered being sure. He remembered the exact crack in time he'd crested the hill and recognized the crumpled blur of blue and gold splayed in a black whirl of charred ground. Maedhros knew that he had been deceived, and he knew that he had failed, and the cosmos crashed down around his ears. Ears that Fingon would never whisper into again.
He remembered breaking forward cognizant of Fingon only, disregarding other elves scattered across the smoldering ground. Their broken bodies were strung near and far between trails of burnt grass that marked the passage of balrogs like the memory of a nightmare. He'd heard a wail leagues behind him, "Hold! It may be a deception of the enemy." He spared just enough of a single thought to hope it was and barrelled on flat-out.
He remembered stepping into the circle of massacred grass where Fingon lay, his forsaken eyes haunting the sky, skull sundered, sword in hand. Maedhros dropped to his knees beside the wreck that once was Fingon not even long enough ago to be measured with hours.
He remembered how the guilt had settled tenderly on him and hurt like gravity, pulling him down to fill the deep of him that once had been so smashed he'd let no one but Fingon see.
He remembered cradling one side of Fingon's head in his hand and breathing heavily, waiting as he fractured into shards even smaller than before. He dropped a kiss on Fingon's broken forehead, forgetting the blood until he tasted it on his lips. Maedhros raked his forearm across his face smearing blood and silent tears together. He'd closed Fingon's eyes gently with his useless shaking hand, pulled first aid from his belt, and let the memory of Fingon rolling bandages slip through his defenses.
"You might need them one day Mae."
"Whatever you say, Finno."
He remembered binding Fingon's broken brow tightly. He hadn't wanted the true blood family of his heart's brother to see the travesty now swathed beneath clean linen.
"I'm sorry Finno," he whispered. "I should have been here."
Maedhros remembered pulling Fingon into his arms and clinging to him tightly, determined to keep him safe in death as he'd been unable to in life. Though the work of clearing the battlefield went on around him Maedhros never moved from the ashes of grass and wildflowers cradling Fingon against him and growling at anyone who came near.
He remembered a face he knew attached to a name he didn't appearing with a stretcher and tear-stained eyes. He remembered following gracelessly, stiffly, unsteadily, ignoring the looks thrown at him until he was accepted as unremovable and permanent. He'd stood stagnant and heavy at Fingon's feet while the healers cleaned all that remained, and straighter and graver than even before at Fingon's head while the wake cascaded around his elbows. Maedhros stood the honor guard for Fingon, the only way left for him to say I love you, to say you are the sworn brother of my heart, to say so forth I will miss you more than even our brothers can understand. The candles flickered and burned to soft, warm puddles and Maedhros did not twitch. He could have been hewn of raw stone if not for the tears that leaked mutely down his face carving an artery over the mess of dirt and blood and scars and freckles on their way to the floor.
He remembered when the last candle sputtered out and he'd taken one final look at Fingon resting deep in shadow. He had strode from the tomb and heard the doors thumb closed never to open again. The click of the stone seared deep in his chest so hot he'd collapsed to one knee gasping. Then Maedhros weathered again and rose without looking at the rush of people who'd surrounded him with murmurs of concern.
He had no memory of stumbling away, of climbing the stairs, of enduring long enough to get here, but now he stood level with the tallest trees looking for stars and seeing nothing but memories.
Maedhros heard Maglor behind him footsteps soft and even, keeping the rhythm of whatever tune played in his head.
"Maedhros," said Maglor.
Maedhros could not bring himself to answer. Maglor did not deserve his answer. An answer that would come from the sharp fragments that remained where his heart once was and make its way out of his mouth cold, bitter, and cruel.
"It is not the end Maedhros." Maglor stepped up beside him studying stars Maedhros could not see.
Maedhros drug his hand over his hair. His hair still barely held fast in the braids Fingon had done for him forever and not so long ago. Maedhros turned his chin towards Maglor one sliver. He held the words in his mouth for a moment before he released them and they tasted like suffering and regret.
"Fingon was a kindness. I am a kinslayer. I will never see him again."
Maglor released a quiet puff of air and clasped Maedhros's left hand and right forearm. He was careful not to touch the blood-stained gold ribbon bound tightly around the stump of Maedhros's wrist. Maedhros was glad. He felt feral at the thought of speaking of it, as though the entire terrene would come apart.
"I will never see him again," Maedhros said, a feeling stronger than bitterness crackling on his tongue. Not even Maglor would dare try turn that into one of his precious, supposedly comforting, tragic sonnets.
Maglor squeezed Maedhros's hand. "Tell me a story about the two of you."
Maedhros flinched. This was more egregious than poetry. He could not. The only words he had left were cutting and biting and tearing and rending. He opened his mouth afraid of the atrocity his tongue would commit but absolutely unable to stop it.
A breath of wind stirred the stillness of the night and he closed his mouth, rage melting like a snowflake on his palm. For a moment he felt Fingon's hand cradling his face. Fingon's thumb tracing the scars disrupting the constellations of freckles strung across his cheek. Perpetually chapped lips touched his forehead and Fingon's whisper filled his ear.
"It's okay Mae. Hold on to hope."
The wind quivered again and Fingon was gone. Fingon was gone, but Maedhros glimpsed the stars wheeling far above. Maedhros opened his mouth again and the words that rested on his tongue tasted sweet with memory instead of astringent with cold burning pain.
"Once upon a time there were two brave warriors. Maedhros the Tall and Fingon the Valiant . . ."