Chapter Text
Maedhros had been unconscious for three days now. “A coma," the healers called it, while they circled around his bed with averted eyes and hushed voices. “The trauma was so much for his body. We don’t know when he’ll wake up. If he’ll wake up.”
They never looked at Fingon when they said it. The healers avoided him the same way they avoided looking too closely at Maedhros -- as though the sight of both of their wounds was too ugly and terrible to bear, the violence that thirty years in Angband had done to Maedhros’ body, and the grief that Fingon wore like a shroud.
Fingon watched Maedhros through red-rimmed eyes and said nothing. He ignored the healers when he could. When they dragged his chair away from Maedhros' bedside and tried to make him sleep, he silently moved it back and took Maedhros’ left hand in his again. Eventually the healers gave up trying and simply worked around him, bathing and bandaging Maedhros’ wounds and speaking of Maedhros as though he was not there, as though he was not still their king, as though he was already dead.
Fingon hated them silently, endured them when he had to, and watched Maedhros’ face until his vision blurred and his eyes ached from tiredness.
Four days had passed since their return to Lake Mithrim, three days since Maedhros had fallen asleep and hadn’t woken up. Maedhros lay waxen and pale on the bed, his beautiful hair all shorn away and his chest rising and falling shallowly underneath the thin white sheets. It was late at night now; the last of the healers had finally gone, and Fingon and Maedhros were alone in the healing halls. The crescent moon shone through the windows. Apart from the quiet murmur of the waves on the lake, the night was still.
Fingon had sat curled up in the chair beside Maedhros’ bed for hours, long enough that his body had gone stiff. He watched Maedhros fixedly. The healers had forbidden him from doing more than holding Maedhros’ hand -- “Any disturbance could overwhelm him” -- but Fingon trusted in Maedhros' strength more than he trusted them. Carefully, his limbs sore and aching from sitting still for so long, he unbent from the chair, and lifted the cover on Maedhros’ bed.
The bed was narrow, but Fingon managed to fit himself around Maedhros to lay on his side facing him. He pillowed his head on his arm, gently lay his other hand on the bandaged skin over Maedhros’ stomach, and watched him breathe. He had meant to stay awake and continue his vigil; but Maedhros' body was warm under the sheets, and the rise and fall of his breathing beneath Fingon’s hand was soothing. Fingon’s eyes drifted shut.
There was a rustling sound, and a sharply drawn breath.
Fingon’s eyes flew open. An hour at least had passed; the night had grown colder, and the moon was higher in the sky. Maedhros was awake, his gray eyes unfocused and cloudy -- from pain or medicine or both -- but trying to fix on Fingon’s face.
“Fin?” he slurred.
Fingon couldn’t help it. He had been awake for days now, had endured the slopes of Thangorodrim and the eagle’s back and severing Maedhros’ poor hand, had returned only to listen in silence from the corner of the room while healers who did not know Maedhros and did not love him clicked their tongues and said that Maedhros might never wake again. When Fingon started to cry Maedhros made a wounded noise and tried to move his right arm, as though to brush Fingon’s tears away -- before he could Fingon reached up and caught his elbow, rubbing his thumb over the soft skin of Maedhros' inner arm.
“I’m alright,” he rasped. “I’m sorry. Don’t try to move, Russo, you’ll hurt yourself.”
Maedhros frowned. He wasn’t fully awake yet; his voice was blurred and his eyes were hazy still. Even so, he did his best to blink and focus on Fingon. “You’re sad,” he said, distressed. At that Fingon choked a laugh.
“No,” he promised. He let go of Maedhros’ arm then and brushed his own tears away quickly before reaching up to run careful fingers down the curve of Maedhros’ cheek. “I’m happy. I’m so happy to see you again.”
Maedhros gazed at him a moment longer. And then, slowly, his lips twitched in an answering smile. “I’m happy to see you, too,” he confided. Fingon laughed again, wetly.
“I bet you are.”
“I missed you.”
“Oh, sweetheart.”
“I did,” Maedhros insisted. Fingon kissed his own fingertips, then gently pressed them to Maedhros’ lips.
“I know you did,” he murmured in answer. “But you never have to worry. Alright? I’ll always come for you. You just think of me, and I’ll know. I'll come find you, wherever you are.” Maedhros smiled against his fingers. Already his eyes were drifting shut again.
“Not if I find you first,” he whispered.
Fingon stared numbly. Maedhros’ hand was sticky with blood but warm against his cheek. Fingon had had this dream too many times before to trust even that -- his mind knew Maedhros too well, could recall the exact size of his palm and every cadence of his voice, and did so ruthlessly every night when he dreamed. Fingon knew what came next: if he blinked, if he leaned too much into Maedhros’ touch, Maedhros would vanish. Fingon’s throat worked, but he said nothing.
Maedhros stroked his thumb against Fingon’s cheek.
“Are you alright?” he asked worriedly. “You’re not hurt?” When Fingon still didn’t answer, Maedhros stood and dragged Fingon up with him. Fingon stumbled into him; Maedhros took a step back and then held Fingon steady, his hand and his right arm on Fingon’s shoulders. “You’re not hurt,” he said again, checking for himself this time. He ran his hand down Fingon’s arm, then reached up to clasp his chin, gently turning his face from one side to the other as he checked for injuries. When he found nothing, he exhaled and his shoulders slumped. “You shouldn’t be out hunting wargs in the dark, Fin,” he chided gently. And that, suddenly, was more than Fingon could bear -- he gave a single, choked gasp and squeezed his eyes shut, unable to look at the vision of Maedhros any longer.
In front of him he heard Maedhros make a small, distressed noise. Maedhros’ hand was still warm against his face. Fingon reached up and seized his wrist to hold him in place, as though that would be enough to keep him there when the dream ended and he woke again.
“Russo,” he choked. Maedhros stroked his face again.
“It’s alright,” he said. “I’m here.”
Fingon shook his head. “You’re not," he whispered. "This isn't real."
“Fin.” Maedhros’ voice was tender. He moved his right arm from Fingon’s shoulder to wrap around his waist. Fingon was trembling now, his eyes still squeezed tightly shut. “Astaldo.” He felt Maedhros lean forward, and then the gentle brush of Maedhros’ lips against his forehead. The next moment Maedhros pulled back; but his hand stayed, a warm weight against Fingon’s cheek. Fingon tightened his grip around Maedhros’ wrist, holding him hard enough to bruise. “Will you look at me, beloved?”
Fingon drew in one ragged breath, then another. Maedhros’ arm tightened comfortingly around his waist. “You always leave,” Fingon rasped. “If I open my eyes you’ll leave. I’ll be alone again.”
“I’m here,” Maedhros answered gently. “I’m not leaving you.”
“Russo…”
“I’m not leaving you,” Maedhros promised again.
Fingon shook his head. Maedhros' skin was warm against his. Maedhros was there, right there -- as long as Fingon didn’t ruin it, as long as Fingon didn’t let himself wake up. "I tell you I love you, next," he whispered. "And every time, that's when you go."
He felt Maedhros exhale. And then, very gently, Maedhros pulled his hand free from Fingon's grip. Fingon let out a low cry -- but Maedhros was still there, and he immediately drew Fingon closer with the arm around his waist. A moment later Maedhros’ hand was back, wiped clean of blood and cradling the back of Fingon's head. “I’m here,” Maedhros said. “I’m here and I love you. My braveheart.” He leaned closer; Fingon could feel Maedhros’ nose brush against his. “My husband,” Maedhros added, before closing the remaining distance between them, and pressing his lips to Fingon’s in a kiss.
The kiss was gentle. Maedhros’ lips were dry and warm, soft under Fingon's. Fingon melted against him, opening his mouth and seizing the front of Maedhros’ shirt to drag him in closer. Maedhros followed easily, letting Fingon deepen the kiss -- though it stayed tender still, and slow. When Fingon whimpered, he felt Maedhros smile against him. “It’s alright,” Maedhros promised.
Fingon pulled back and let his head fall against Maedhros’ shoulder. His hands were still wrapped tightly in the fabric of Maedhros' shirt. Summoning all of his courage, Fingon let his eyes crack open.
Beneath his hands Maedhros’ heart beat steadily. His hand was gentle on the back of Fingon’s head; his chest was warm where he and Fingon were pressed together. When Fingon raised his head Maedhros smiled down at him. “There you are,” he said, and let go of Fingon long enough to brush away the tears from Fingon's eyes.
He was there. He was real. It wasn’t a dream.
“Oh,” Fingon breathed. Before Maedhros could do or say anything Fingon sobbed, then laughed, and threw himself forward into Maedhros’ arms.
Maedhros stumbled under his weight; but the next moment his arms were wrapped just as tightly around Fingon and his mouth was seeking Fingon’s just as urgently. Their first kiss had been gentle -- this time they kissed messily, desperately, Maedhros dragging Fingon closer, Fingon’s hands yanking on Maedhros’ hair as he pulled him down. “You’re here,” Fingon gasped. He broke away long enough to nuzzle Maedhros’ cheek, then changed his mind and hauled him back for another bruising kiss. “You're here, you came -- Russo --”
“It took me so long,” Maedhros murmured. “I know. I’m sorry, Fin.” He dropped his head to bite at the soft skin under Fingon’s ear, making him gasp. Both of Fingon’s hands were in Maedhros’ hair now. When Maedhros moved his head lower to mouth at Fingon’s neck, Fingon shook his head. He dragged him up again, reclaiming his mouth, desperate to feel the heat of his touch after so long apart. Maedhros followed easily, kissing him back and pulling Fingon closer still until there was no space at all between them. Fingon’s heart sang. Maedhros was here, he was here, he was here.
“I love you,” Fingon said, pulling back just enough to breathe the words against Maedhros’ lips. “Sweetheart. Melindo. I missed you so much. I love you. No, don’t stop kissing me, come here --”
“I wanted to come sooner. I tried.”
“I know you did. I know. I love you.”
“Fin. I missed you.”
Fingon was crying and laughing, cradling Maedhros as close to him as he could and beaming at him. Maedhros’ eyes were wet. Fingon let his right hand slide lower to palm Maedhros’ cheek. “I missed you too,” he said, his voice gentling. “More than anything.” He leaned forward again.
Behind them, they heard a groan.
Fingon stilled. Against him, he felt Maedhros freeze.
Elros was pushing himself up onto his elbows, reaching for his forehead with a wince. “Ada?” he said muzzily. “Are you alright? I think I hit my head on something, it’s pounding like a fucking hammer.” He pushed himself to his feet, shaking his shoulders loose before reaching for his head again. “Ow. Fuck. You win, no more warg hunting before dinner, I don't care who asks.” He looked over then, smiling with relief when he caught sight of Fingon; and then, a heartbeat later, his eyes fixed on Maedhros.
He froze.
Fingon felt Maedhros’ grip on him loosen. When he turned to look, Maedhros’ face was cycling from shock to devastation to joy.
“Yonya?” he whispered.
Fingon disentangled himself from Maedhros’ arms -- Maedhros let him, still rooted to the spot with his eyes locked on Elros -- and gently pushed Maedhros forward. Maedhros took a few stumbling steps. Elros jerked, as though to catch him, but a moment later he abruptly stilled again. “Go on,” Fingon said. “It’s alright.” He saw Maedhros swallow. A moment later Maedhros took another step forward, and then one more, before reaching up and, his hand shaking, tucking a curl of hair behind Elros’ ear.
“Little one,” Maedhros breathed.
That was all it took -- Elros gave a cry and surged forward into Maedhros’ arms, throwing his own arms around Maedhros’ neck and burying his face against Maedhros’ shoulder. “Atto,” he choked. He was clinging to any part of Maedhros that he could reach, clutching at his hair and his cloak and the back of his neck. “Atto, we thought -- we thought --”
“Elros,” Maedhros said helplessly. He wrapped his arms around Elros and held him back as tightly as he could. He pressed a kiss against the side of Elros’ head before breaking down and burying his face in Elros’ hair. “Baby. Look how big you are.”
“Atto.”
Maedhros bundled him closer, pressing another kiss to his head. “I’m so sorry. My brave one. My heart. I know it took me so long -- I’ve been trying to get back to you all this time, I promise. Yonya. Don’t cry.”
Fingon could hear in Maedhros’ voice that he was crying, even as he said it. Elros was sobbing; the only word he seemed able to form was Maedhros’ name, over and over. Maedhros rocked Elros gently, cradling him close while Elros clung to him. “I know. I’m so proud of you, little one. You’ve been so strong and so brave, haven’t you? I know. It’s alright. I love you. I love you.”
Elros keened and buried his face in Maedhros’ shoulder. Maedhros pressed a kiss to the side of his head before raising his gaze and meeting Fingon’s eyes. His own face was wet with tears, but his voice was fiercely, quietly joyous when he said, “My loves. My family. I’ve come to bring you home.”
Fingon’s horse had died in the warg attack; Elros’ had run away. By the time they found her again and remounted it was growing late; they rode slowly, mindful of Elros’ bruised head, and stopped at the river to wash off once they reached it. By the time they made it at last to the village it was nearing midnight.
Fingon rode on Elros’ horse; Elros and Maedhros were together on Maedhros’ charger, Elros in front with Maedhros’ right arm steady around his waist. Every now and then Elros would shiver and tighten his grip on Maedhros; Maedhros, not noticing or not minding, kept up a low stream of talk as they rode, reassurances and promises as they drew closer and closer to home. As they rounded the last bend in the road and saw the little cottage at the top of the hill, firelight shining brightly through the windows and a dark shape moving behind the curtains, Elros seemed to shrink into himself in Maedhros’ arms. Maedhros clicked his tongue and bid his horse to stop.
Fingon, when he drew even with them, could see that Elros was shaking. His heart aching, Fingon reached over and clasped Elros’ hand. He waited until Elros looked over at him, then gave a small smile.
“They’re going to be so happy to see you again, sweetheart,” he said.
Elros stared at him, his throat working. Fingon let go of his hand and raised his fingers to brush under his eyes. Elros’ cheeks were wet. “Ada,” he whispered helplessly. Fingon’s smile softened.
“Come on,” he said. “I think we’ve waited long enough, don’t you?”
As they drew nearer, the shadow moved away from the window. A moment later the door opened. Though they were still at the bottom of the hill, they could see a figure stepping into the doorway, black against the bright firelight. “Atto?” a young voice called, drifting towards them through the night air. “Is that you? Did you find them?”
At the sound of Elrond’s voice, Fingon couldn’t help himself -- he gave a choked sob, clapping his hand to his mouth as he tried and failed to keep from breaking out into tears again. Next to him he heard Elros cry out too -- and then Elros was throwing himself to the ground, nearly tripping and falling in his haste. Within seconds he was pelting the last hundred yards to the door.
“El!” Elros shouted, sprinting as fast as he could up the grassy hill. Fingon saw Elrond freeze; and then he was racing forward too, flying down the hill towards them. “El, it’s me! It’s me!”
With a cry Elrond threw himself at Elros; Elros caught him and swung him around once, twice, and then they both tumbled to the ground in a tangle of limbs and laughter and tears.
“I missed you, I missed you -- ”
“Elros.”
“I thought about you all the time, I missed you so much, I love you, El --”
“I love you too. I love you. Elros, háno.” Elrond’s voice cracked. “I always knew we’d find you.”
“Look at you!” Elros exclaimed, half laughing, half crying. He sat up and pulled Elrond up with him; in the firelight and the twilight Fingon could see Elrond grinning back at Elros, his brown eyes bright. Elros tugged on the intricate braids in Elrond’s long hair before letting his hands drop down to stroke the collar of his handsome, fur-lined cloak. “You’re all grown up, you’re -- you’re tall -- what are you wearing? You look like some awful, fancy prince.”
“You look like some no-good ranger,” Elrond teased, ruffling Elros’ short hair. He was crying too, though he was beaming at Elros all the same. “Your hair is so short!” Elros wrinkled his nose.
“You don’t like it?”
“I like it, I like everything about you, I missed you -- I -- El --” And with that Elrond broke down again, falling into Elros’ arms and heaving great, shuddering sobs as Elros wrapped his arms around him and dragged him close. “I missed you so much,” he choked, “I thought about you every day, I was so scared you were gone -- Elros --”
Fingon scrambled to the ground, watching as Elros curled over Elrond and broke down in tears too. Fingon's heart felt too heavy and light all at once. When he felt Maedhros’ warm weight at his back, Fingon turned and wrapped his arms around him. Maedhros’ arms settled over his shoulders.
“You kept him safe,” Fingon choked. “All those years.” Maedhros nuzzled against the top of his head.
“You kept Elros safe,” Maedhros answered softly. Fingon nodded against him, his heart too full to speak.
“I never doubted you, you know,” Fingon whispered at last. He pressed a kiss to Maedhros’ chest, over his heart. “I knew you’d find your way back to us.” He felt Maedhros shudder. Fingon raised his head and met Maedhros’ eyes. Maedhros looked back at him, thirteen years of heartbreak sitting heavily on his tongue; but before he could speak, Fingon shook his head. “Don’t say you’re sorry,” he said. “Our babies are here. Káno is here. You’re here, with me. Why would you apologize? Sweetheart. You found us.” Fingon could see that Maedhros didn’t believe him, not yet; but Maedhros smiled back when Fingon smiled up at him, and he didn’t resist when Fingon drew him down into a slow, tender kiss.
By the time Fingon and Maedhros began to walk up the hill hand-in-hand, Elrond had pulled himself together enough that he was no longer crying. He and Elros were both sitting up; Elrond’s head was tucked into Elros’ shoulder, while Elros held him and continued to run light fingers through his hair. Elros was watching as Fingon and Maedhros approached; Elrond, curled up in his embrace, hadn’t seen them yet. Elros waited until Fingon and Maedhros drew to a stop a few feet away; and then, smiling up at them through wet eyes, he nudged Elrond gently with his shoulder.
“Look who it is, El,” he whispered huskily.
Before Fingon could prepare himself, Elrond was turning, his face so like Elros’ and unfamiliar at the same time as he looked up from Elros’ embrace and met Fingon’s eyes.
For a long moment they simply stared at each other. And then, tremulously, Elrond whispered, “Ada?”
Elrond had been thirteen the last time Fingon had seen him. Fingon hadn’t even said goodbye to him that day, not really -- he had been so careless, so thoughtless, and when he’d come back Elrond had been gone. Every nightmare, every awful memory, hit Fingon all at once: the earth shaking and the forest bursting into flames, digging through the rubble with bloody hands, every single lead that had ended in a dead end, the years passing. And he hadn’t even told Elrond goodbye. He hadn’t even said he loved him. He had left him there, on the steps, and then he had lost him.
He didn’t realize that he was curled up in the grass until he heard the thump of a pair of knees next to him. The weight of a warm cloak settled over his shoulders -- a moment later a pair of hands were gripping him by the arms and tugging him up and into an embrace.
“Ada,” Elrond said. His voice was thick with tears as he bundled Fingon up and held him close. “Oh. I missed you. I missed you so much.”
“Pityo,” Fingon choked. He was crying, great, gasping sobs that shook his whole body. His son was grown up now, the little boy that Fingon had left behind now returned to him a stranger. He clung to Elrond and felt Elrond’s lips press against the top of his head. “We tried to find you,” Fingon whispered. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I would have done anything -- anything --” He felt Elrond shake his head.
“You’re here,” he said, tightening his arms around Fingon. “You’re here, and you brought my brother back to me. Ada.” Suddenly Elrond laughed -- his laughter was warm despite his tears, deeper than it had been, but Fingon still would have recognized the sound of it anywhere. “Ada,” said Elrond again, his voice aching with fondness. “You did everything.”
They made it inside eventually. Elrond had built up the fire while they were gone; it reflected cozily off the whitewashed walls and the neat lines of the curtains. The moment they walked inside and Fingon saw their shelf and the map he broke down crying all over again -- there was a gold ribbon wrapped around the stem of the vase now, and a second ruby-hilted dagger sitting beside the first -- but then Maedhros was there, wiping his tears away before drawing Fingon into his side.
Though Elros was teary-eyed too, he was beaming as he began to pull all of the blankets and pillows from the beds and pile them haphazardly on the floor in front of the fire. Elrond pushed the table and the benches to the side. By the time they had finished building a nest on the floor Fingon had pulled himself together, wiping his eyes and managing a nod when Maedhros quietly nudged him towards the fire too.
“Some men in the village said they’d seen you go, but they didn’t know where,” Maedhros said, sitting down on the right side of the fire. When Fingon sat down next to him, Maedhros leaned against him. Fingon wrapped an arm around his waist, drawing him in closer. Across from them Elros and Elrond tumbled to the ground and curled up together like puppies. “I went north; Káno went east. He should be back soon.” Elros ducked his head and hid his face against Elrond’s shoulder; his own shoulders were shaking. Elrond reached back and gently stroked his hair.
“Atya is the one who found you,” Elrond said, tilting his head slightly so that his temple rested against Elros’. “We tracked you as far as Ramdal, but then you disappeared. Atya spent every night for two months interrogating everyone who passed through until he found someone who’d seen you leave.”
“You’re all alive,” Elros said, without raising his head. Elrond, sitting in front of him, leaned further back against his chest and pulled Elros’ arms over his shoulders. “You’re alive, and you came back for us.” Elrond turned and grinned at him. Elros, with a breathless laugh, finally lifted his head and pulled his arm free from Elrond’s grip. He brushed his fingers against the handsome green velvet of Elrond’s tunic before reaching up to lightly tap the silver and pearl cuff on his ear. The ornaments and silver thread woven into Elrond’s braids gleamed like starlight in the glow from the fire. “Where have you been?” he asked wonderingly.
“In Arvernien,” Maedhros answered curtly; while Elrond, blushing a little, swatted Elros’ hand away. “Held captive by King Gil-galad’s forces.”
There was a beat: Elros gaped at him, while Fingon turned to stare. And then, from where he was curled up in Elros’ embrace, Elrond snorted.
“We were not ‘held captive,’” he said reprovingly, making a face in response to Maedhros’ dark look. “Don’t listen to him, Ada, it’s not true. The King was very kind to us. Atto’s just sore because Gil-galad wouldn’t let him try to single-handedly cross Morgoth’s lines to get back to Amon Ereb.”
Fingon’s eyes narrowed. “You were fighting?” he asked.
“Atto and Atya were fighting,” Elrond said, either not noticing or ignoring the look Fingon was leveling at Maedhros. Maedhros, for his part, raised his eyebrows at Fingon, unrepentant. “They wouldn’t let me near any of the battles. But you should have seen them, El! Storm clouds that rose up as high as mountains, and dragons and eagles fighting each other, and King Finarfin on his golden horse leading the charge against a whole line of balrogs…”
“Uncle Finarfin?” repeated Fingon dumbly. Across from him, Elros looked hopelessly lost. At his side, Fingon felt Maedhros heave a sigh.
“Maybe we should start from the beginning, yonya.”
“-- by the time the fires stopped the plains were crawling with orcs, and worse, and Elrond was still injured. We tried to turn back, a half dozen times at least -- but they found us each time, and as their numbers grew it became harder to fight our way out. So we kept running, south and west, towards Balar. The plan was that we would leave Elrond under Círdan’s protection, and then once he was safe Káno and I could come back for both of you.”
“But Gil-galad found us first,” Elrond said. Fingon looked up in time to watch Maedhros hide his glower in his glass of wine.
“Yes,” he said shortly. Elrond grinned at him. He and Elros had switched positions -- Elros was sprawled across the floor, his head in Elrond’s lap while Elrond unclasped the jewelry from his own hair and did his best to weave it into Elros’ shorter curls.
“The King was leading a scouting party,” Elrond explained, turning his gaze to Fingon. “Atto caught them, and then a group of orcs caught us. By the time the fight was over Gil-galad had figured out who I was, and Atya had hurt his leg badly enough he couldn’t walk, so the King brought us all back to his camp. Most of his advisors wanted to lock Atto and Atya up -- because of the Kinslaying, and because they thought they’d kidnapped you and me, El -- but Gil-galad wouldn’t let them.”
“You give him too much credit,” Maedhros said, in the tone of someone continuing a long-running argument. Fingon saw Elrond sigh. “He wouldn’t let us leave. That camp was as good as a prison cell.”
“He said it would have been suicide to try to cross the battlefield alone,” Elrond corrected patiently. “He was right, Atto. And besides, he let you fight, and Atya too once he was better. You were practically one of his generals by the end.” Maedhros didn’t answer. Fingon waited until he’d set his goblet of wine down, then reached over and took Maedhros’ hand in his.
“He decked you out well enough,” Elros said, fingering one of the strings of pearls Elrond had woven into his hair. “Does he dress all of his generals this well?”
“Elrond and the King are friends,” Maedhros said grimly. Elrond blushed, while Elros tilted his head back and grinned up at him.
“Friends, hm?”
“We were in rough shape when they found us,” Elrond said. He poked Elros in the cheek. “Dressed in rags and covered in mud, and worse. Poor Atya couldn’t walk. Gil-galad felt sorry for us, so he gave us some presents. That’s all.”
“Mm. If you say so.”
“Elros.”
“How are you here now, then?” interjected Fingon. He squeezed Maedhros’ hand. “Did the King let you go?”
“Yes,” said Elrond, jumping at the change in conversation before Maedhros could answer. “King Finarfin and Gil-galad combined their forces for a push north about six months ago -- you remember that golden light in the sky and the earth shaking? -- and they managed to push Morgoth’s forces all the way to the Gates of Sirion. That left most of the land south of Andram clear. So after the battle Atto went to find Gil-galad, and he asked if we could go.”
“I told him that we were leaving,” Maedhros muttered. Elrond ignored him.
“He agreed; and he gave us back our swords, and horses and provisions, and he sent us off with his blessing,” Elrond continued. “And from there we traveled to Ramdal, and in Ramdal they told us that you’d gone east.”
“And here you are,” Fingon murmured. He turned to look at Maedhros; when he saw that Maedhros was already looking at him, he smiled and reached up to cup Maedhros’ cheek, pulling him down and kissing him gently. “You found us.”
He felt Maedhros swallow. Maedhros leaned his forehead against Fingon’s as though seeking out the comfort of his touch. Fingon stroked his face. “It took us so long,” Maedhros said hoarsely. “I’m sorry.” Fingon hummed.
“Don’t apologize,” he reminded Maedhros. He leaned forward again and kissed Maedhros before the frown on his face could take hold. “You’re here. You’re safe. We would’ve waited forever.”
The night was dark and silent; the clouds covering the moon had broken some time before, and its yellow light spilled across the grass and the houses in the village. In the cottage the fire had burned down to embers; the twins were asleep, curled up together in Elros’ bed as though they were little children again. Maedhros and Fingon sat together on the front steps. Fingon had Maedhros’ cloak draped across his shoulders; they were passing the last of the bottle of wine back and forth between themselves as they talked.
“We used to go back to Amon Ereb every year,” Fingon said quietly. “Looking for you, or some sign from you. But we never found anything. And it was hurting both of us -- seeing the ruin of our home, and not knowing if you and Maglor and Elrond were even still alive.”
“We had to keep running,” Maedhros answered, his voice as low as Fingon’s. “There were fires and armies behind us, driving us away from you. I knew you would keep Elros safe. But I hated it, Fin. With every step it felt like the Nirnaeth all over again -- running and leaving you behind.” Fingon set the wine bottle down and reached out silently for Maedhros’ hand.
“I told you, once, that I would always find you,” Fingon said, when he could trust his voice again. “That I would always come for you when you needed me. Do you remember? After Thangorodrim.” Maedhros shook his head slowly. Fingon squeezed his hand. “You had been asleep for days. They had given you so much medicine for the pain.”
“I don’t remember talking,” Maedhros confessed. He used their clasped hands to tug Fingon closer. Fingon followed easily, leaning into Maedhros’ side. “But I remember waking up, and seeing you there.”
“I promised you I would always be there,” Fingon said. He raised their clasped hands to his lips. “That I’d find you, no matter what.”
“You always have,” Maedhros said hoarsely. Fingon shook his head.
“Not this time,” he said softly. He smiled. “This time, you found me.” When Maedhros didn’t answer, Fingon raised his other hand and lightly ran his fingers along the thickest of the scars running across Maedhros’ cheek. His own scars wrapped around his arms like ribbons in the moonlight. “This isn’t the Nirnaeth,” he promised. “Or Alqualondë, or Mithrim, or any of the times we’ve left each other -- hurt each other. There was no Menegroth this time, sweetheart. Look at what you did. You spent these last thirteen years keeping our family safe.” Maedhros bowed his head and said nothing. Fingon stroked his face again and cupped his cheek. He leaned up.
From the darkness below them, they heard the slow clop of hoofbeats approaching.
“Is that you, Nelyo?” called a voice from the bottom of the hill. “I looked everywhere and knocked on every door, but no one’s seen them. Are we sure we have the right place? We might have broken into some poor fisherman’s house by mistake.”
Against Maedhros’ lips, Fingon's face slowly broke into a smile.
“You did break into some poor fisherman's house,” he called, leaning back and raising his voice. He could see Maglor abruptly draw his horse to a halt. Fingon was smiling so widely it hurt. Next to him, Maedhros quietly stood and slipped back into the house. “I shouldn’t be surprised; you Fëanorions always did have terrible manners.”
He stood up. Maglor had already dismounted his horse and was running up the dirt path towards the house, his delighted laugh floating ahead of him in the night air. “I knew it!” he shouted, tripping and nearly falling in his haste. Fingon walked towards him, beaming. “I knew you were too damn stubborn to die, I knew it --”
And then Maglor was there, hauling Fingon into a massive hug and nearly lifting him off his feet. He was laughing and crying at the same time, squeezing Fingon close and pressing a wet, smacking kiss to his forehead. “You bastard,” he said delightedly. “Do you know all the trouble you’ve put us to, trying to find you again? Come here, I’m going to kiss you again. I can’t believe you. You are the most impossible, the most wonderful -- Finno --”
“It's so good to see you,” Fingon said, his voice breaking. He pulled Maglor closer and felt Maglor press another kiss to his face, this time to his temple. “Káno. Brother. We missed you, too.”
At that Maglor drew back, his face shining although his eyes were wet with tears. There was a new scar across the bridge of his nose and strands of white hair at his temples. Though he was as richly dressed as Maedhros and Elrond, his clothes were stained with mud. He favored his right leg as he stood. “We?” he repeated, as he drew in an unsteady breath.
Fingon smiled and took a step back. Before he could answer, the door behind them opened.
Elros was standing there, his eyes still bleary with sleep and his hair an untidy halo around his head. He was blinking and squinting into the darkness. Fingon could see the moment he recognized Maglor -- he froze, and then the next moment he threw himself forward with a cry, launching himself into Maglor’s arms with enough force that Maglor stumbled back.
“Atya!”
“My Elros,” Maglor whispered. He held Elros back just as tightly, reaching up to stroke his hair with shaking hands. “Oh, my baby. Look how grown up you are! How handsome! My little one. I've missed you so. I love you.” Elros was crying. Maglor held him and rocked him gently, smiling beatifically even through his tears.
Maedhros walked down the steps from where he’d been standing in the doorway; behind him, Fingon could see Elrond, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he watched the reunion unfolding below him. When Maedhros drew to a stop next to Fingon, Fingon reached out for his hand.
“Come on,” he said softly. “Walk with me, Russo."
At this gray hour before dawn, all the world was silent; even the murmur of the river seemed more muted than usual, and no birds had risen yet to break the stillness of the early morning air.
Fingon had brought Maedhros to the river; they sat there together now curled up on the dock, their backs to the red glow of war behind them as they faced east and watched the mist rising from the water. Fingon was sitting between Maedhros’ legs, leaning back against him. Maehdros’ arms were loosely wrapped around Fingon’s waist; his cheek was resting against Fingon’s temple. His breath softly brushed through Fingon’s hair. Fingon clasped Maedhros’ arms gently, his eyes half-closed as he watched the last of the moonlight reflecting off of the waves.
“I thought all the time about what I should have done differently," Maedhros confessed. His arms tightened imperceptibly around Fingon’s waist. “If I hadn’t left you, if --”
“If we’d never gone on that camping trip,” Fingon said softly. Maedhros nodded. Fingon sighed. “If we’d talked about Menegroth sooner. If you hadn’t found the twins that night in Sirion. If I’d never come back from Mandos’ Halls. What if, what if.” When Maedhros didn’t answer, Fingon raised Maedhros’ hand to his lips and kissed it gently.
“We kept our family safe,” Fingon said, after a long moment. “You found us, like you promised. We’ll figure out the rest of it, sweetheart.”
At that Maedhros turned and pressed a kiss to Fingon’s temple. When he started to pull away Fingon turned his head and chased after him, reaching for Maedhros’ neck and dragging him down into a deep, lingering kiss. “I’ll do whatever you want next,” Maedhros whispered, when they broke apart. Fingon could feel Maedhros’ heart racing. Instinctively, he pressed nearer to him. “Truly, Fin. I know I hurt you. Whatever you want to do -- whatever you want from me, if you need more time -- I’ll give it to you.” Fingon smiled against his lips.
“I said we’d talk, didn’t I?” he murmured. “All those years ago.” He drew Maedhros back down, taking his time and kissing him slowly. Maedhros’ mouth was warm and pliant under his. Kissing him felt like the sun rising at last, like the happy ending at the close of the story, like coming home. “You’re my husband," Fingon said at last. "I love you. Russo, sweetheart, of course I want you to stay.”
“I hurt you.”
“You did,” Fingon agreed. He pulled Maedhros back down for another kiss, deeper this time, smiling when Maedhros made a low noise and dragged him closer still. “But I lived with the Oath for all those years. I can live with Menegroth, too.”
Maedhros was crying; though his eyes were closed, Fingon could see the glimmer of tears on his eyelashes. Fingon reached up to brush them away; when he did Maedhros leaned helplessly into his touch. “Fin…”
“Nothing about you scares me,” Fingon said softly. “I love you. I’ve loved you my whole life -- my life before, and this life now. I know you’ve done terrible things. But I’ll help you bear them, if you let me.” Maedhros was trembling. Fingon waited; and when Maedhros finally nodded, he smiled and reached for his hand.
“There’s one more thing,” he said tenderly. “Are you ready?” Maedhros frowned.
“Ready?” Maedhros echoed. Fingon nodded. He raised Maedhros’ hand to his lips and kissed his ring finger gently.
“I call on Eru Ilúvatar to witness my love for thee, Maedhros Fëanorion, beloved above all others," Fingon murmured, saying the words with his lips against Maedhros’ skin. Maedhros made a low, helpless noise; Fingon's smile grew wider. “I take thee as my husband, never to be parted from me.”
“I pledge to thee my faith and my devotion,” Maedhros rasped. He opened his eyes, finally, and looked down at Fingon. Fingon laughed for joy. “From now until Arda Remade. May Eru Ilúvatar bless our union and bind us together in spirit, as we are already bound in love.”
“As we are already bound in love,” Fingon agreed. He followed easily when Maedhros dragged him up and into another long, tender kiss. The sun was rising at last over the mountains ahead of them -- and in the darkness where their bond had been, Fingon felt something gold begin to stir.