In response to a prompt on tumblr.

Also, whumptober 2022:

Prompt No. 7 THE WAY YOU SHAKE AND SHIVER
Shaking Hands | Seizures | Silent Panic Attack

Fingon clenched his hands.

It didn't stop the shaking.

If anything, they shook harder.

This was ridiculous. He was a strong warrior. He had marched across the Helcaraxë. The Helcaraxë. Even the name made Fingon's throat tighten in panic.

He had come to visit Maedhros in the newly finished garrison at Himring. Fingon had not realized just how cold the fortress was going to be. The dying embers in the fireplace did not warm him.

Fingon felt panic silently and swiftly choke him. This intense cold was all too familiar. Images of nightmarish crossing of Helcaraxë flooded his mind. He tried to shove them down, but each time they came back stronger than before.

The room slowly faded to white as the memories crowded in front of his eyes. He could see it all. The snow; the way fingers turned blue in the freezing air; friends falling, never to get up; the howling wind that drove tiny ice crystals into the face; loosing others in great snow storms; the terror of never knowing who would fail to wake next.

Fingon curled up on the ground, too petrified and cold to move. His muscles locked up and his breath came in sharp, frantic gasps. He couldn't breathe. Fingon panted desperately. The frigid air stung his lungs just like it had on the Helcaraxë. Fingon panted harder in a frantic bid to suck in any air. It didn't seem to be working. He was going to die here. He knew it. The cold always won. There was no use fighting. The cold always won.

It had been hours since Fingon had disappeared into his room. While Maedhros knew that his younger cousin enjoyed his grooming rituals after a day of hard travel, this was an excessive amount of time. If it had been Galadriel, this amount of time would have been expected, but not with Fingon. Particularly since Fingon was only meeting him for a light supper before bed.

Maedhros made his way to Fingon's room. After a moment of hesitation, he knocked on the door. There was no response. That was also unusual. If it were Curufin, Maedhros might have thought him sulking in silence, and if it were Finrod, Maedhros might have thought he wandered off. This was out of character for Fingon.

Maedhros hesitated for several more moments, unsure of what to do. Perhaps Fingon had fallen asleep? That would explain why there was no answer to the knock. But Fingon was not Celegorm. He did not fall asleep at the drop of a pin, in odd positions and places.

"Finno?" Maedhros tried calling.

Again there was no answer. He tested the door handle. It was open. Against his better judgement, Maedhros let himself in. It was his Keep, Maedhros justified in his head, so he should be able to go where he pleased.

The light in the room was dim. The shadows did not hide Fingon's huddled figure. The younger elf was curled up into a tight ball, quivering violently.

"Finno!" Maedhros rushed over to his cousin. Fingon didn't react. Maedhros felt Fingon's brow. It was cold and clammy. His face was haunted and his eyes were completely glazed over. He was shivering uncontrollably like he had never been warm in his life and his breath was coming in sharp wheezes. Maedhros terrified.

"Shit! Finno?"

Maedhros manhandled the smaller elf until Fingon was sitting in his lap, pressed close to his chest. He then wrapped his large cloak around the two of them. Maedhros just sat there, holding his cousin close. His voice could no longer hold a pleasant melody, but Maedhros hummed anyway, gently rocking Fingon. Slowly, oh so slowly the distant look melted from Fingon's gaze. As he became aware of his surroundings, Fingon blushed with shame and ducked his head.

"What happened?" Maedhros probed once Fingon seemed to have recovered his wits.

"It's stupid," Fingon shrugged.

The way he pressed himself against Maedhros told the redhead that he was terrified.

"Come on Finno, you can tell me," Maedhros coaxed, his voice rasping as he tried to make it soothing.

Fingon was silent for several long minutes, but Maedhros was patient. If there was one thing he was good at, it was being quiet enough to make other people uncomfortable.

"The cold," Fingon eventually admitted, "It…. it brings back memories I would rather forget of the Helcaraxë."

Fingon's voice dropped to a whisper when he said the last word and he shivered involuntarily. Maedhos closed his eyes as guilt welled up. He had hurt his favorite cousin without even trying.

"I am sorry. I did not think of that," Maedhros sighed, "I have had a distaste for fire ever since my time in Angband. The upper rooms are often cold because of that. I should have realized this would cause you pain."

"No, it's not your fault. I'm just being stupid," Fingon mumbled, twisting his fingers in Maedhros' tunic.

"It is too my fault," Maedhros insisted, "I should have done something."

"You're still recovering. You don't need my wants as a burden," Fingon argued, gently massaging the stump where Maedhros' right hand had once been.

"I would be a poor host and an even worse cousin if I ignored you like that."

"I'm fine," Fingon insisted.

Maedhros shook his head before standing up with his cousin still in his arms. Fingon gave a yelp of shock. Maedhros ignored him in favor of striding from the room.

"What are you doing?" Fingon asked.

Maedhros didn't answer. He strode through the wide hallways to his own chambers. Once there, Maedhros plopped his younger cousin on the bed.

"You're sleeping in my bed tonight. You need the warmth; I need something to stop the nightmares," Maedhros shrugged.

Fingon found he couldn't argue.