Tag: russingon
It was meant to be either. More specifically, what is the reaction of Fingon and how does HE do things differently? You have probably answered that, too.. but also, if Fingon lived to see the end of the War of Wrath, do you think he’d repent and go back to Valinor or stay?
There was precious little dignity in death and Fingon supposed that he was grateful that the body had not been much abused. Not crushed, like his grandfather’s, or broken as he was told his father’s had been.
One cut to the throat, beneath the steel gorget. The dagger was still in Maedhros’ hand. He had promised they would not take him again and it was small surprise he’d kept his word. Fingon smiled a little at that, because it was better than the alternative. He kissed the corpse on its cold lips and closed the sightless eyes.
His own eyes were not dry, but Ýreth was good enough not to mention it. “What now, my king?” she said quietly. She bore no banner; they had crept back to the battlefield as stealthily as Fingon had once stolen his way into Angband.
It was an easier loss to bear than his father, than his sister and little brother – Fingon was used to losing now. “Nargothrond. let us see if Orodreth remembers where his loyalties lie. Our strength is spent and now we must preserve what we may.”
No one smirked. Said, ‘I won’t tell Turgon that you said that,’ or, ‘There are still ways that we might win – I have another plan.’
‘All your plans are awful,’ Fingon did not say in answer.
They left the field in silence.
“Do you repent?” Eönwë’s voice was the clamour of bright trumpets and his eyes were eagle-bright.
“Of
Alqualondë, yes,” Fingon said and met that burnished gaze. He had never flinched from anything in his life and would not start with an overgrown messenger pigeon. “That was ill done, and I will seek what redress I might with Olwë. As for the rest, I would do it all again, had I the chance. In fact, that is exactly what I intend to do.”
‘Don’t tell him that, you reckless fool,’ hissed a remembered voice. Fingon ignored it, as he had so often ignored it when it told him that in truth. As he swore he would again.
Fingon drew off his helm – another thing no one could badger him about – and said, “I will return to Valinor. I will storm the Halls of Mandos. Your assistance would be appreciated but is hardly necessary. You’d think you Ainur would have learnt by now that you can’t keep him from me.”
maedhros sparked fingon’s sexual awakening can you write it
Sure can!
There were a hundred thousand moments that it might have been; Maedhros, nimble fingered, picking twigs from Fingon’s hair and trying not to laugh after a disastrous attempt at amateur ornithology; sharing a horse after one came up lame upon a hunt, his cousin’s warm body pressed against his and an arm looped casually about his waist; swimming together naked in the chill waters of Elendë, the reflected ocean turning grey eyes almost blue.
It wasn’t any of them.
Would that it had been.
No, when Fingon first looked at his cousin and felt desire kindle in his heart and heat coil in his loins, though they did stand beside the water still, it was not the sea that was reflected in Maedhros’ eyes.
They were black from side to side, all pupil, and in the light of Fingon’s torch they burned.
“You came,” Maedhros said. He was panting, chest heaving, lips drawn back to show his teeth in what might have been a smile or a snarl or neither.
“I did.” Fingon bit his own lip against the sudden desire to kiss that fierce look from off his face. “What happened? Why did they turn on us?”
There was blood on Maedhros’ face, a long smear of it following the contour of one high cheekbone, more splattered across his surcoat, and the sword in his hands was dark with it from point to hilt.
Fingon’s pulse quickened at the sight of it and he stepped over the corpse that lay between them to touch the smudge upon Maedhros’ cheek.
“It’s not mine,” Maedhros said, turning his head to lean into the caress. “None of it is.” His voice was rough, from calling orders, Fingon thought.
“I know.”
“Fingon, you shouldn’t-”
What Maedhros thought he should not do, Fingon never did find out. The patter of booted and bare feet ran hollow upon the jetty as five sailors rounded the nearest hull and came racing towards them.
Maedhros leapt to meet them with all the grace of a stooping hawk, side stepping a thrust and slipping his own blade up beneath the lead fisherman’s guard to open up her throat.
And Fingon raised his own sword and was lost.
I haven’t slept all night and instead of working I’m drawing Maedhros with Fingon oops
MisbehavingMaiar: Tumblr Archive 