Verse, Maglor and Middle-Earth

Disclaimer: I do not own anything that you recognize.

Author's note: It was originally meant as part of a larger piece, but I didn't particularly like the later segments. Could not bring myself to even write them that much. But I couldn't just burrow this piece away. So...enjoy!

"The world has changed much, hasn't it, Russo?" Fingon said, waving a hand through the air to gesticulate. His dark hair was customarily tied back into gold-plaited braids, and he was dressed in a a trench coat, the collar raised high giving him a rather vampirish look, and brown trousers. A rather modern look for an ancient elf, who was literally older than the sun and moon itself.

"You can say that, yes," his cousin, the fiery haired and tall Maedhros remarked, looking around rather calmly. Though, anybody could be called calm in the current presence of Fingon. The sights and sounds of 1917 Staffordshire was not one they had ever experienced before. The gothic Lichfield Cathedral loomed over them, and they looked up at it in awe. It reminded them much of Angband, yet of Tirion and Gondolin as well.

"'Say that'? Of course I can 'say that'. Middle Earth has broken down into a number of pieces- I believe that Mandos said five? and the elves have all forsaken the East," here, Fingon snorted. "Have you heard of the modern conception of the Quendi?"

"I must say that I haven't," Maedhros regretfully shook his head. "I don't even know where you get all this information from, Finno. We have been in Middle Earth for approximately a day."

"Now, now, Russo," Fingon waved his finger in the older one's face. "If only you were as publicly aware as me," he ignored Maedhros's mutter of 'publicly aware', "you would know this too. But because I am kind, I shall tell you. They believe us to be tiny folk, servants to some big man, with a huge belly and a 'jolly' laugh. We are supposed to make toys, toys! for children."

"You must be joking!"

"I am not, dearest cousin! It is simply the truth," Fingon insisted. The cathedral was a little ways behind them now, growing steadily smaller the further away they walked. "But, enough of conceptions of the Quendi. What are we doing?"

"I thought the Valar informed you too," Maedhros peered down at him.

"Oh, they did," Fingon reassured. "So you don't need to look like you're going to gut somebody right now, Russo. I have had enough of that. But, I forgot what they said."

Maedhros shook his head fondly, bemoaning internally his cousin's absent-mindedness. "We are supposed to look for Makalaurë, and bring him home. The Valar decree his punishment fulfilled, and not any longer does he have to sing of eternal repentance."

"I don't think it's eternal if it only lasts for four ages," Fingon said skeptically. "Beats the meaning, doesn't it?"

"I do not wish to debate on that matter," Maedhros drew himself up to his full height- eight feet, one of the tallest among the elves, closely followed by his cousin Turgon. "I shall be glad to see my brother after so many ages."

"I have missed Maglor much too," Fingon sighed. "I miss the harp sessions that Finrod, he and I had."

"Your verse is horrible," Maedhros bluntly remarked.

Fingon bristled, looking at the moment much like an angry cat, or even worse yet (at least for him), his half-uncle FĂ«anor whom he did not rather like. "My verse is legendary!" he exclaimed, flinging a hand out, and nearly giving a backhanded slap to a random passerby. "It is a thing that shall never be replicated in either side of the sea. Not to mention, it saved you! You, of all people, are in no position to talk."

"That it did," Maedhros remarked gravely. Fingon huffed, as if to say 'so there!'. Maedhros looked at him, and the corners of his lips turned up in a rough approximation of a smile. "Is it a bad time to mention that it was your bad verse that led me to believe that you were not indeed an orc?"

Fingon gasped most dramatically. "I can't believe it!" he said, his eyes twinkling with humor. "My own cousin, my best friend, the brother-of-my-heart, you have betrayed me!" He calmed down. "But in all seriousness, Russo, my verse is better than gold or copper."

"If you say so," Maedhros shrugged, his short copper hair waving slightly in the wind. "It must be true." His tone betrayed that he did not in fact think so. "Come on now. We have a long way to go."

Happy anniversary to me. The official fic for that shall be published at the end of this month. I hope you liked this. Review and tell me what you think. (That was less tactful than I had imagined myself being.) Bye, and have a nice day, wherever you are!