I stare at their tiny forms, huddled together in troubled sleep on my great bed.
Children. In Himring. A place of cold isolation. Why had I brought them here? Was it his need to atone for driving their mother off? Or was it to replace my lost twins, the ones with hair like mine, who had fallen in a doomed quest?
Or was it more?
He had wanted children, though the love that had claimed his heart had forbidden children. Many nights we had stayed awake in those warm, perfect mornings, talking of family and obligations. Then we had come here, only I had abandoned him to the cold. Still, he sought me out, saved me, and brought me back to some semblance of life. All he wanted was my love, the warmth I had once given freely to him.
Only I could not longer do that. I was lost, I was tormented, and I was flawed. I could not be what he needed, I was not the warrior I had been and I could never be again. Yet he spoke to me of family and obligations in the chill, dank mornings, his fingers tracing idle patterns on my scarred chest.
It was just a matter of time before that chill crept into his heart and he withdrew from me. He used to recite poetry for me, used to sing in a lilting voice that would force the shadows from my heart. Those songs slowly died, as did his burning passion for me. I can still remember that last night, the words we had said in the heat of our coupling.
As he took me, as he pushed into my body and brought tears of prideful shame to my eyes with his selfless love, I knew he would not return to my bed. He would never return to my side, and my heart bled.
In that cold dawn, he donned his armor and I could hear the clacking of the horses in the courtyard. I was still nude, covered by the sheet, my hair thick and mussed. He stared down at me with eyes so wise, so giving, and my soul tore anew. I had hoped in that moment, as he caressed my cheek, that he would not leave me. Not then, not ever. Only he could fend off the nightmares, could soothe my heated brow when I woke, in those terrible moments between wakefulness and dreams.
"Russandol," he said softly, "You are beautiful. You are proud. But, you are also selfish and your quest is wrong. You will never find happiness in this world, and you will die alone, and it will be your own doing. I love you, as I ever have, but I cannot wait in endless hope for you to return to me. You are brave and intelligent, and you can be one of the most giving Elves I have ever known in my long life.
"I do not know what happened in the years we were parted. I do not know what you endured on the cliff face. What I know is that you are stronger for having survived it, having learned to be a cunning and dangerous warrior once again. But, where there was warmth and care, there is ice and distance. If I am to feel nothing but the chill of your embrace, I shall do that in my own realm, with my own people, and live with the fire of your memory -- not with the shell of an Elf you have become."
He sighed then, closing his eyes and I saw his chin tremble. "Should you ever have need of me, just call." Those glittering grey eyes opened. "I will come to you." A tear slid down his cheek and he turned on his heel, walked out of my rooms, and out of my fortress.
I should have gone after him. I should have fallen to my knees and confessed all of my heart to him and taken him back into the bed. But, I didn't. He left Himring, and we did not meet again until we had another war to fight. I called, he came, and he died.
My glorious Fingon. Lost to me forever it seems.
Now, I have small twins, heartbroken and lonely, and I have seen all my wrongs. I raise my left hand to my cheek. Cold tears slip down my skin, the salty liquid seeping between my parted lips.
I miss him.
It is only now that he is gone, now that I cannot call to him, that I realize he was right. But, I see it now, and I am trying to change it. I am trying to be what it is he saw in me all those years ago on the verdant fields in Aman as we tumbled together, touching and kissing one another. He saw so much in me, swore to me that I would be a great leader of our people, and I never believed him.
I was perfect in his eyes, even with my flaws, my selfishness, and my wrongness.
"I see it now, Findekáno," I whisper to the silent room, smiling at the still Peredhil on the bed. "I think I knew it all along, dearest one, and I see it all now. I just wish you could be here to see me now, to see the good I am capable of."
As I turn from those small forms, I am reminded of Fingon and I as young children as we ran through the forests of paradise. As we stole kisses among the branches, I asked him what it felt like to be in love.
He laughed, bright and beautiful like the flawless sapphire sky that looked down on us. "It's like falling, Russandol," he said, hugging me close. "It's like falling forever and you hope to never reach the ground."
But, we did reach the ground, didn't we, Findekáno?
The End
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Story notes: 'Russandol' is a nickname given to Maedhros by his family.
Beta: Alex
