Archive of Our Own ^beta

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Himring was a whirl of commotion, silver lamps lit upon every awning and stone arch, copper holding candles richly weaved fabric floating upon tables and pedestals. Men and Dwarves alike had joined in with the elven fortress, the statues were decorated in the tradition of the Noldorian midwinter celebration, with beads and aegolos garlands upon their crowns whilst there were tufts of branches strung on ceiling in a mannish omen. Arein was a glowing bauble in the sky, dipping behind the cold clefts of the mountain, setting warmth and light in the usually unadorned fortress. Even the foundations seemed scrubbed with the smell of yuletide, Winter and smokey wood and freshly cut citrus.

Elves danced seamlessly through the air, hands outstretched as if they could reach the stars. Azghals group joined too, but as dwarves they were already too stubborn to follow the usual way of the dance, for they were already putting a twist to it, in stomping to the hit of the seal-skin drums. Laughter flitted in the air, a consort of instruments rising through every window closed or not. The streets were a flame of excitement, drunk on the hope of victory.

Maedhros was not feeling any of it. He held a chalice in his hands, that stained his lips red, as he looked upon the low hills swathed in white. He couldn't help but be weary, even on a feast of high winter. There were many provisions to be made, many plans to check over. The world was entombed with the fallen tempest, he should examine the walls to see if they would hold from the grating frost. Yet he could not focus on those either.What worried him the most, was none of these. He let his eyes fall into a gleam as they looked at Findekáno, who danced in twirls, his blue cloak contrasting nicely with the pale snow.

His cousin had been busy all evening. He had arrived yestereve, after his anxious waiting on top of a balcony of the citadel in the bitter morning. But now looking back he realised his cousin seemed to be waiting for him to want him to approach, as if he was keeping something secret that he needed to tell. He had been avoiding him most of the night. Maedhros should have known something was off, his Meletyalya eyes seemed….hollow.

The lights flickered as he walked underneath the alabastrine altar, passing a table where Tylepe had set carved gourds lit with candles that bobbled like chandeliers. His reserved nephew was nowhere he could see, though he suspected that he was with him somewhere.

Speaking of Tylkeoromo, Maedhros cursed himself for not keeping an eye on him. He had set him and Curufinwe to go and check the salted meat for the feast, but they had not come back….The last thing he wanted was them throwing off some mischief. He still made sure his guards kept an eye on them after the nargothrond incident. He didn't want them to set the whole night off course.

At least all of his other brothers were here. Amras seemed interested in speaking with Bor, and his twin seemed content on doing so with his second in command. Caranstir, he saw, was dancing with a fair elf maiden, though he did not seem to be enjoying it. Maglor…..

“Hello brother” Maglor said from behind him, almost making him jump.

“Makalaurë” he acknowledged, gritting his teeth before it was replaced with a small grin. “How are the festivities treating you, my brother?”

“Well enough” he replied, swirling the red wine in his goblet. “The music is too poor for my taste, I might have to ease everyone's suffering and take up the harp” He turned his full body to his brother. “However something seems to be bothering you, and it is not just our dear cousin Fingon.”

Maedhros pursed his lips, eyes shifting back to the horizon.

“You are correct.” He admitted, tapping anxiously at his heavy cloak. “I feel a sense of dread filling my senses, as if the hosts of angband draw near. Something does not bode well.”

The winter celebration had brought together all the members of his union, all led by him and the high king. It was a festival of hope and victory, the plans for the forfrontal battle for angband was checked over twenty times, double that. There was no mistaking that the noldor had a significant advantage over Morgoth's army. At least, more than last time.

Yet it could be his paranoia, but he did not have the cheer to celebrate so near. A few months he would be fighting once more.

His gaze drifted back to Findekáno, who was consulting with Hurin and Maglors eyes flicked between them.

“Talk to him.” He said. ‘I have consulted with him earlier. Findekáno seemed uncharacteristically worried. Comfort yourselves” Maglor took another sip. “Meanwhile I shall talk to Ulfang, there is something I need to confront him about.”

“You do that,” Maedhros says. “Though pass along a message to Ulfang, i need to consult with him early tomorrow morning”

He gave a nod, and with that he turned and walked away.

He sighed, and placed his glass down. The energy was dying down, he could tell he stood in the corner like an imminent sign of loss on his face. They would need their lord to either have to give a joyful speech or take a partner to dance to raise the morale. There was only one choice, for he was terrible at giving speeches that didnt have an underlying threat to them.

Well at least this will be an excuse to approach Fingon in public, and see what is bothering him.

He crossed the dance floor, tall as a pillar as eleves moved away to left him through. Though the place was wide and swift flowing, at the junction of two great canopies, it was packed. In great strides he passed to the otherside of the room, barely disturbing the flow of the dance. Findekáno turned around to greet him, a smile on his face, as if he expected him. Relief washed over him, seeing his beloved so close.

His brown skin was smooth and unlined, so breathtaking that in his ears tumultuous music swelled. Though his eyes were darker than usual, he wore his traditional golden ribbons, with threads of blue that had been weaved through in the spirals of his hair, symbolising the arrival of the winter solstice.

“Findekáno, Hurin” he said formally, nodding to the smaller man. “I have come hear to ask our king if you would join me in the pleasure of a dance” though his eyes glinted. “If you wish too.”

Hurin who was beside him took this as his chance to leave, clapping the king on the back and drained his glass, sauntering away.

He turned back, throat bobbing as he inclined his head. The other took his hand, smiling wider, in return.

“I do, my dear Neylo” He resounded, clasping his grip and leading him out to the floor.

Once they reached the middle, he felt eyes upon him. The high king and their lord were dancing, this would cause heads to turn. He was sure this would give some credence to the rumours. They did not say anything to each other until they got into the groove of the dance, and they looked at eachother and couldn't help but allow laughter to escape their sombre lips. He always felt like he was upon the pinnacle of the world when he was with him.

Finno grabbed his waist, and their footsteps began to glide smoothly upon the ground.

Despite their notable height difference, they danced perfectly together. Maedhros towered over Fingon like the infamous Mithrum columns, but he took the other in his hand, and their bodies fit as one.

“It has been many years since we celebrated the yule together.” Finno finally whispered, pulling Maedhros closer to him.

“Mmm'' he murmured. “It has been longer than should be allowed.”

His hand slid up his thigh, and they twirled once again. Their gazes locked and the scars upon his face stretched when his lips perked up.

“You are dancing well my órenya” he expressed.

“Better than you that's for sure” Fingon teased, smiling ruefully. “Your showing everyone that I can dance better than your shapely legs.”

Maedhros huffed. It seemed that his lover was in a mischievous mood. “We will see,” he said, unfettered. He released a couple of complicated steps, leading Fingon on, quick and heavy, the reeds and the fiddler picking up in a swift pavane.

“Seems like someone is having trouble,” Maedhros said triumphantly, as Fingon stumbled to catch up.

“Not for long” he hissed without real malice, grabbing onto Maedhros' arm to steady himself, before falling into the convulsive rhythm.

“Surprise me” He retorted, carrying on.

The other gave him a challenging eye taking him further into the center.He watched as his partner landed a twirl in perfect precision, his face was pulled, taught with a grin. He went next, prancing in the air, but Fingon stepped on his foot, and he tumbled, almost knocking him to a table.

Fingon pulled him back with great strength, smiling “Looks like I was right.”

“I will not stand for this.” he joshed, jabbing his foot into his leg on the next step, causing him to let out a sharp breath. “Seems like my partner isn't as humble as I thought.”

“Face it” He says, showing his teeth. “I'm the better dancer.”

Maedhros thought of playing into the teasing, but suddenly he remembered the look in Fingons eyes earlier, and suddenly something softened. He nearly forgot that their were elves around, and reached up and cupped his hand upon his lover's cheek.

“I missed you vanimelda” Findekáno professed, saying what Maedhros thought perfectly.

“Meletyalya” He breathed, and when he was sure no one was looking, he reached up and stroked one of his braids. He watched as Finnos' breath hitched, reaching up to clasp Maedhros hand.

Their movements slowed, along with the music which had died down to a melancholy hymn, sung by a glowing elf upon a pedestal. He looked over and saw that it was Maglor, who gave him a subtle raised eyebrow in return. Other dance partners began to press their bodies together, steadily shimmering. Him and Fingon kept at arm's length, too weary to dance so close, the high king and lord dancing like that would cause a scandal, as if it hadn't already.

Findekáno truly looked like a king. The billows of his robes clung perfectly to his skin, his lips seemed adorned in crushed pearl, and Maedhros longed to kiss it. Upon his chest was the sipulated stitching of swords, in gold and dark blue. Maedhros brushed it lightly with his fingertips, so that if someone glance upon them, they would think it a mistake, as the breeze.

“Russanya” He proclaimed, his pupils wide. “There is something I need to tell you.”

He looked into his eyes, and saw a flicker of something; uncertain.

Maedhros frowned. “Is this what caused it earlier?”

“What do you mean, why do you look so vexed?”

“Finno, I can tell when there is something bothering you in your mind” He told him. “I noticed the way your jaw clenched when you saw me; as if you were hiding something.”

His partner gritted his teeth. Maedhros followed his gaze to where Fingon had his hand pressed against his collar bone. He saw a glimpse of gold dust pearls, and his face leant itself to shock.

“You're wearing it?”

He bit his lip, before he nodded. “It's about that, Mae.’

“What do you mean?”

Finno looked around, and he noticed that they were standing stiffly in the middle of the dance floor. So much for being discreet.

“Let us find some place more….private”

Maedhros nodded, and followed his cousin out of the courtyard. Despite not living here, Fingon knew exactly where to go, leading him through his own streets and up the marble stairs. They passed weathered pillars, statues of his father and carved banners with his star lamented upon it. They walked through the citadel, not one speaking a word, seeing drunk elves cheering on champagne. Maedhros hid his only hand as he flexed his fingers,his jewelled ring as they walked, unsure.

Finally they reached a nook where it led out to a stone balcony facing north across the plains to where the river Gelion flowed half frozen. If he traced it any further, his eyes would find Thargelion, and to that, the jades of the blue mountains.

Finno sighed, his breath coming out a pale mist. He turned to Maedhros, his hands fiddling with the necklace that shone from unnatural light, cutting through the shroud of fog that wafted from the ground.

“Kánya, what is it?”

The easy joy that he held back at the party dissipated.Maedhros rarely saw Fingon like this. He was always unwavering, always unafraid and reckless. Now his shoulders were slumped, and it seemed that he aged as one of the edain, revealing just how ancient he was.

“Mae” he hesitated before he opened his mouth again. “The battle is nigh; however I feel something foreboding in my mind.”

“We all are,” he said. “Even Azaghal seems nervous, and you know how he is.”

“Are we sure that we can trust everyone here?”

Maedhros stopped, stiffening. “That is a bold presumption.”

“I know,” Finno nodded, gripping at the railing. It really was uncanny seeing Finno so afraid, last he had seen was Thangorodrim. And Finno had been more scared then he.

Maedhros sighed and walked forward beside him. “There is no way of knowing who we can trust. It seems like morgoth spies are everywhere.” Just saying his name seemed to make the night blacker. “However they are part of the union, and do not just pledge their allegiance to me, but to you, their high king.”

Fingon turned away from him, staring out into the scenery, his face alit with silver lamps. His expression seemed to harden, as if he was made of marble, both terrible and beautiful. “I do not have the gift of foresight, like Arafinwe, and I think I have even less than Turkano, but I had a dream, a dream that felt like a vision.”

Maedhros was taken aback, and he moved closer to Fingon. “When was this?”

“It is recurring. Started less than a month ago, before I was with you. It is a nightmare….of the battle that is too come”

This time Maedhros shuddered, seeming as if the warmth in him was parched dry. “Tell me about it.”

He swallowed. “We were in our positions as we have planned over and over before, but somehow I am watching myself from above. The war is dark and terrible, and I can't see who is winning. All I can hear is guttural screams from both sides.”

There was silence for a moment, before he began again. “I could see myself, wearing my fathers shield and sigil, slaying beasts, my hair matted with gore. You were far away, deep in the hordes of orcs, but I can see your fire-red hair, shining like a beacon.” He gave a small thin smile. “You were glorious.”

“Alas, the lines broke, and the demon broke forth. He was a giant, Gothmog I suspected, for no balrog could be so tall. He loomed over the hosts of Morgoth, behind them, a legion of his own, demons that jutted out like bloodied spires.

They came for you, Mae. They pushed even their own allies, cruising them to the ground. I couldn't do anything but watch. You were so far away. Still you fought valiantly, sword in hand, even when the whips lashed at your skin and blood poured like rivers down your leg.”

The next words were like strains to his voice. “Then, you were tangled in their whips, scorched and spiked, and you were lifted high above the battle. They took their scimitars-and hewn your helm. I saw you fall, your body breaking on the hard of fallen soldiers and jades of rocks.”

“Kánya-”

He clenched at his sides, clearly shaken. “They didn't stop there. They placed their foot upon your chest, like they did with my father, and you were screaming from the convulsion-then they began to put their weight, and your chest caved in and filled with the mire of your blood, soaking into your banner, and the ground. I could do nothing.”

Maedhros' only hand was trembling when Findekáno took it in his. It was a few uncomfortable moments before he spoke again.“This is what has been plaguing you so?”

“Yes,” he whispered. “It felt so real-it felt so real Matimo.”

Maedhros flinched at his fathers name, holding him tighter. Snowflakes began to fall heavy from the sky, nipping at his nose.

“I can't bear it Mae, I can't.” he said, shaking his head. “You, being dead. Those years when we were apart, I felt my fea fade. Those years when you were on the Thangondoriom” His fingers dug into his cloak. “Well, we've discussed it before.”

Maedhros rubbed at his stump, a phantom of pain gnawing at the healed wound. The cold seemed to grow more bitter, and his scars tingled from the frayed nerves. He looked to his cousin, and he saw his face was lined, and he desperately wanted to smooth it.

“And you think this is a vision?”

Finno did not reply.

“You think it was from the valar? Iromo”

“I do not know. They have forsaken us, and seldom do they temper now with the affairs of the world.”

Maedhros, shifted, unsettled. “Do you think it is just a dream? We are all having our doubts about the coming months. I know it has manifested in my dreams also.”

“Have you had dreams of me dying?” he accused.

“Eru,-of course I have!” rubbing his temple. “It is more often than you think”

“Have you had a dream so violent-so real that you can feel the blood flake upon your hands? Have you heard screams so loud that it pierces your very being?”

“In battles, yes”

“I’m talking about dreams, russandol.”

His jaw hurt from the joyless laugh that erupted from him. “Yes! I have told you what I had endured in angband. And now you are telling me you have visions that plague me of your death. It is a dream, nothing more, we all are haunted by what is. But that is it. Nothing more. It is not a good time to be telling me this, on the eve of what is to come.”

He knew from the silence that he had gone too far. Fingon hated not being listened to, and his anger radiated from his fea.

“Mae” he said slowly. And to his surprise he did not explode in anger. “I am sorry mae. I forgot what had happened in your capture.”

He counted seven more snowflakes before Fingon began again. “I am sorry” he said, putting on a parchment-thin smile. “Nevermind then. I have something to give you. A yule gift I suppose”

Maedhros watched in silence a coldness running through him. Fingon slowly raised his hands and reached behind the small of his neck, his eyes never leaving his. There was a soft click, and the necklace he wore fell with a clang onto the golden bracelets of his hand.

His face leant back in horror. “Finno, what are you doing”

“Take it” he said, raising it up, eyes like a challenge. The singular pearls glowed radiantly in the moonlight, fracturing in silver rays. “I give this to you.”

He looked at the sacred gift. It was the one that fingon was given by the valar when he rode the giant eagle to save him. “It was gifted by Manwe, when at Thandorgorim” Maedhros argued. “And thus it is yours to keep.”

“And I give it to you now.”

“This grants you protection!”

“How do you know? We forsook the valar, it could be but a token of goodwill. Besides, it seems like you need it more.”

“Is this about the dream again?” Maedhros said, biting back bitter words. “Do not be foolish Findekáno”

“Don't” The other replied, causing Maedhros to still from the warning laced in his voice. “Do not tell me what you do know is true. Maybe this is about a dream, or maybe this is about giving a gift to a dear friend and cousin.”

“Then what is it?”

“You decide,” he said, gentler this time. “What say you?”

“I will not take it.” Maedhros turned, the red fabric of his dress sliding softly on the stone. He and Carnastir had embroidered all of their robes in the sigils of the noldor, and their houses. Upon his hem, flames were weaved into the pattern. He looked back, seeing Fingon fingering nervously his stitching, nolofinwes pattern embroidered on his sleeves.

“Finno” he said at last. “You look stunning tonight.”

Fingon was un-respondent in his topaz silks. “Do not try and distract me”

Maedhro did nothing to steady himself. “Are you trying to eschew me?”

Fingon looked at him, so still that he might as well be cast in copper.

“You want me to take this necklace, because you think that it will protect me from whatever impending doom your minds conjured.” he began. “What if you died in my place? It is not something that you can give away lightly. You must keep it.”

“If i would die, then death would be my award” He proclaimed, walking forward. “For you would be alive”

Maedhros' brows sharpened in anger.

“You know what that would do to me? If you died. Please do not throw around your death as if this was no more than talking about trade routes in Doriath”

“Then maybe we should talk about it more!” he says. “Now you understand how I feel, dreaming of your death every night, and you care not? Do you care so little about your life? We are of the exiles, we do not know what awaits us after death. A void?”

Death. It used to be such an uncomfortable word. In valinor, when the light of the trees had bathed both of their faces. Now he had grown accustomed of it, in angband. He had seen elves' heads roll down harrowed steps, seen his blood smeared upon Marions face, eyes flashing unbearably, antsy in their slits. He felt vulnerable, trembling as if he was back in Fingers arms, upon the feathers of that great eagle.

Fingon seems to notice this, for he went upon his toes and placed a light touch of his hand on his, grounding him. Maedhros took in a deep breath. Then he placed his hand in the air, and flinched when the cold of the chain fell to his skin. He made no move to put it on.

He examined it, the way it shone in the light. It was ade of dull jewels, nothing compared to the works of his father feanoro. Maybe it was just a useless token of manwe.

“I will wear it. For your love Meletyalya '' then once more, he took his only hand in his. His eyes were glossy, and he didn't look away as he began to kneel, until he was fully knelt upon the hard floor of Himring. Fingon looked at him, mouth open. An exhale from his warm breath made his ear twitch, where his lover placed a tender kiss upon his brow.

“I kneel for you, my king.” Maedhros began, his voice beginning to crack. “And I always will”

Fingon swallowed, hard. “So you accept my gift, Neylofinwe?”

“I do. Shall you do the honours?”

He took the necklace from his slack grip, bringing it above him. It was the only time he was smaller than him; just below his collarbone. He could hear the other breathing heavily now, as he slowly placed it over his head. Maedhros let out a breath he didn't even know he was holding when it finally clicked together, letting it fall loosely around his freckled neck.

It was as if the world froze, sealing a fate.

“Mae” he whispered, his hand running his fingers gently through his hair. “Thank you”

Maedhros did not move from his place, gazing at Fingon, his eyes soft, gilded gold. The world around him knit itself together, nothing ahead, nothing before, just them and the cold, both with such sincerity in their visages. Two souls in the bitter winter upon a fortress made with the blood of their shared peoples.

The other took his stump by the wrist, where it was hewn from his very knife, but his lover was never afraid to hold it, encircling in its warmth.

“Kánya” he repeats, a sense of a strain in his voice. “I will wear this necklace with honour, not for its craft, but who wore it previous”

Something lightened in his expression “Wear the necklace my love, not because it is a valuable jewel, but that you look beautiful wearing it”

“I think it suited you better,” Maedhros replied, but the corners of his lips quipped up.

There was a few moments before Fingon laughed; “Why are you still kneeling? Are you expecting something?”

Maedhros chuckled, shaking his head. “I can't help but admire you, even from down here.”

“Your not very far down”

This caused him to laugh once again, but It was quickly smothered by a smothering kiss, led by his mischievous Findekáno. Maedhros let himself smile into it, a fire igniting within him. He reached up and touched his braid, rubbing it between his fingers as they deepened the kiss, and he felt Fingon shudder. It was a mix of hot and cold, the icy wind, and the burning lips that were upon him. He let himself drift.

When they pulled away it was like being dumped in cold water, in the seven lakes that surrounded Himring. Maedhros shivered from the loss of touch, and the feeling of numbness filled his senses once more.

“Still a good kisser I see” He said, pulling Maedhros up with his golden cuff. “Those years apart haven't weakened you yet I see.”

“Never” Maedhros flashed a rare grin, pulling Fingon in, and wrapping his great cloak around him. It completely covered him, the tufts of the fur catching in his mouth. This caused him to elbow the other before he in retuen gave a quick jab to his leg. They both began to giggle, and for a second, a split second he almost felt like he was back in valinor again, under the light of the two trees, everything so far and out of reach.

“It is growing more frigid,” Fingon noted. “Shall we go back and enjoy the festivities.”

“Hmm” he hummed. “I am not in the spirit now, and it seems the party will die down soon enough. And….” he looked at Fingon with a gleam in his eye. “I’m sure they won't mind if the king and lord retire a little early.”

“You're right on that Meletyalya” he cooed slyly.

They began to go down the stairs, more eagerly then they intended. Once they got to ground level, they passed a few drunk elves who did a stumbling bow before they wandered off in pairs. It seemed like many elves had their energy spent, joy came in great spurts, a strong light, but fleeting. The celebrations had moved more under the covers and canopies of the fortress.

They passed into a wide room, where a smaller party was dancing under lamps like stars. They nearly gave it little more then a glance, before Maedhros let out a loud groan when he saw his bothersome brothers, Tyelkoromo and Crurifinwe upon a plinth-like pedestal, hands outspread as their lips moved.

“They better not be preaching any bullshit again”

“That's what they always do. Remember Nargathrond.”

Tyelkos eyes widened with a smile as he spotted his cousins trying to inch away from the room.

“My lords!” He praised, with a mock bow. He was definitely drunk. “Great to see you, my cousins, we were wondering where you too went off to…” with the last word he said with a wiggle of his eyebrows, causing the elves to snort before stifling it.

“I would like to ask the same thing,” Maedhros chided. “Where were you?”

“Out at the lakes” Curifinwe answered. “We wanted to show our wonderful confidants who can glide the fastest upon it”

“That's before you fell through the ice”

Curvo pushed his brother off the pedestal.

“You fell through the ice in this weather.” He said with disbelief, mouth open in gall. Fingon nudged him with his elbow, shaking his head.

They quietly left the room, leaving their kin laughing. They continued walking through the frozen streets, and then, to the fortress that opened its doors welcoming.
He nodded to a few of the guards, letting them through the spiral staircase that led to his bedroom.

It was all nicely laid out, Maedhros had made sure to make the silk sheets perfectly draped and not to clash with the red curtains beside the windows.As soon as they entered, It felt as if a weight was lifted off of them. They stripped off of their heavy garments, leaving them with the bear underclothing. Maedhros went about snuffing out the candles from their chamber sticks with his thumb, but when he looked back he was surprised to see that the other was not on the bed.

“You are still troubled, I see”

Fingon sighed from where he was standing beside the window. “It stars Neylo. They seem cruel to me, a mimic of the light that once was. It is almost as if they are illusions, unreal.” he raised his hand to the glass. “How do you not find it cold here? With the sky so open, and distant?”

Maedhros laid upon the bed, looking up at his lover. “It is cold. How about you come over here so I can warm you up?”

Fingon let out a soft chuckle. “Smooth as always. But alas, it is true. You comfort me”

He slowly moved to the bed and kneeled beside him, before falling to his side with a soft groan, as if all the tension of the day had finally left.

Maedhros fiddled with the gold stitching of his hair before planting a firm kiss on the other’s temple. “Let yourself relax, Findekáno.”

The other snuggled closer. “Hmm, it is usually me giving that advice.” he pointed, grabbing his curly hair and pulling Maedhros for another kiss, causing him to hum in delight.

They pulled away, content to just stare at each other's eyes. Findekános reflected in silver, as if it had a splinter of Silmaril in its hold.

“Russandol” Fingon whispered, just as he was at the thralls of his sleep.

“Mmm yes?” He replied listlessly, nuzzling further into his neck.

“Do you still wear the necklace?”

Maedhros paused, reaching up mindlessly to the gems encircled around his neck. He had almost forgotten about them, they had felt weightless as pale feathers.

“I do” he confirmed, and he felt the last of Findekános tension leave his shoulders.

“Good” he yawned, before shutting his eyes.

He watched the other fall asleep shortly after, something brooding darkly in his heart. For an hour he watched his restful face for any sign of nightmare, or a flicker of distress in his brows. He slowly fingered the chain of his necklace, rolling the pearls in his hand as he replayed the conversation over in his head.

It is just a dream, he reminded himself. Fingon must be going through something similar he had gone through in angband.Visions that felt so real that you could feel yourself being ripped open. A shudder ran through his body. He had swore to never let dreams control him. He must do the same with his cousin.

It was not real. A divisment like a plague of morgoth. Not prophetic. He looked back at his lover. If he died, and left Fingon alone in this world, he would never forgive himself.

“Sleep well from now on, my love” he murmured against the other's skin, and he quipped to see the otherin his sleep, wrapping himself closer. He smiled sweetly, resting his head on his crown. He would not let Fingon suffer more from false nightmares. He would survive what was to come. He had too. For both of them.

He fell asleep to the beating of their hearts, in perfect unison.
~*~