Inspired by both prompts 27 & 29 for whumptober 2022:

No. 27 PUSHED TO THE LIMIT
Muffled Screams | Stumbling | Magical Exhaustion

No. 29 WHAT DOESN'T KILL ME…
Sleep Deprivation | Defiance | "Better me than you."

Finrod felt utterly exhausted. His duel of Song with Sauron had drained him far more than he would have liked. The subsequent torture had not made his energy levels any better. Near as he could tell, he had been brought out for torture ever other hour for about a week. Out of loyalty to his young human companion, Finrod refused to tell Sauron who any of them were or the mission they were on. Sauron was growing impatient. Every time Finrod was dragged to the torture chamber, a new corpse decorated the wall. His company was systematically being murdered and there was nothing he could do about it.

To make matters worse, each torture session was more brutal than the last. This last one had involved a hot brand repeatedly being pressed against the open whip wounds on his back. The pain was agony. Finrod could also feel the filthy debris that was trapped under the cauterized areas. Even for an elf this would be hard to recover from.

Finally the session ended. With little care about his injuries, the Orcs dragged him back to his cell. He had offered no resistance as they cruelly chained him to the wall. He couldn't think of a time that he felt so drained. He wasn't sure if it was the immense amount of energy waisted in the Song that he had woven or if it was the endless torture sessions or if it was the lack of sleep he had suffered since starting this quest (he had often insisted on taking extended night shifts to allow Beren to sleep for longer). If he was being honest, it was probably an unholy combination of all three.

Finrod felt himself beginning to nod off.

"Nóm…erm…. Felagund?" Beren's voice was raspy with dehydration.

Finrod barely had enough energy to peel an eye open. He tiredly squinted through the gloom at his cellmate. Beren was eyeing him with worry. The young human was filthy and bruised, but no worse for the wear (yet). That made Finrod's heart glad.

"Hmmm?" Finrod hummed.

"How are we going to get out of here?" Beren asked, worry coloring his tone.

"You have to trust me, Beren son of Barahir. I'll get us out," Finrod tried to sound encouraging.

"Felagund, I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but you're badly injured."

"Hmmm?" Finrod wrinkled his brow in delayed confusion.

"You're badly injured," Beren repeated, "Do expect to Sing down the fortress while you're in such a state?"

This time Finrod registered what Beren had said.

"I'm fine," Finrod assured the human with as much of a smile as he could manage, "The race of the Eldar is hardy and heals quickly."

At the moment, he felt anything but hardy. Beren must have picked up on this.

"I knew this was a doomed quest," Beren mumbled, slumping back against the wall, "I shouldn't have asked you to come."

"Your father saved me from certain death, I swore to do so for any of his house," Finrod softly reminded his companion.

"That shouldn't mean that you have to die in the process," Beren argued.

"Better me than you," Finrod coughed dryly.

This statement did not have the desired effect of soothing Beren.

"Don't say such things! You are my friend. I would sorely miss you if you died," Beren hoarsely barked, distress written on every inch of him.

"It's true. Better me than you. You have much to live for," Finrod sighed, "Death will taste bitter for me, but it also will bring me peace. I long ago accepted that killing is not something I prefer to do and here there is nothing but death."

Finrod leaned his head against the cold stone wall.

"You can't give up!" Beren demanded.

"I am not giving up. I am simply preparing you for the eventual end."

"I refuse to accept that. If I am allowed to dream of retrieving a Silmaril to marry the daughter of one of the most powerful kings in Beleriand, then I must also be allowed to believe that the both of us will walk free from this prison. I pray for no other option. Nay, I will allow no other option."

Finrod let a faint smile curve his lips. This is why he liked the race of men. So blunt, yet so philosophically complicated.

"I will not deny you the desire to dream," Finrod hummed, "Just don't place your hopes in those dreams. If they fail, don't fall with them."

Beren made a noise of protest.

Whatever he was going to say next was drowned out by the cell door creaking open. Finrod braced himself, preparing to be dragged off to yet another round of torture. There was sharp clacking on the stone floor as something other than an Orc entered.

Finrod opened his eyes in dread.

A large wolf had entered the cell. Finrod could see that it only had eyes for Beren. He knew without a doubt that it had been commanded to kill the young human. Finrod growled in the back of his throat. He had started this quest to give Beren a chance, he would be damned if he let Beren die now in front of him. He drew on what remained of his last reserves of energy and tore himself free from the wall. The wolf turned in response.

When morning came, Beren was indeed still alive, but Finrod had perished. The fight was brutal, especially for an elf so exhausted as he. It hadn't taken much to push his body too far. He killed the wolf, but didn't even have the strength to drag himself away from the twisted corpse of his opponent. Beren had to drag him free.

The traumatised human kept rattling off the promise that Finrod would be fine, he just had to stay awake. He was so convinced. Finrod tried, he really did, but it was a losing battle. Eventually the exhaustion and blood loss won out. He died in Beren's arms.

Not an hour later, the cell door flew open as Lúthien arrived. Beren was still weeping bitterly.