The dark-red haired Elf's grasp was unsteady upon the hilt, the leather bindings nearly slipping out of his left-handed hold again as the uneven weight of the sword tilted groundward.
His adversary, who stood a few feet away, critically inspecting the other's stance with a tilted head and a speculative look in his eyes, shook his head slightly.
"Try it once more," Fingon said, stepping back to allow his cousin some room. Maedhros glared at him silently before heaving a huge sigh and hefting the blade again.
An uncertain look passed from his storm-grey eyes to the blue-green hued ones of Fingolfin's son, but upon finding only encouragement there he finally moved.
His left hand, which now branded the blade, was unsteady, unsure of its grasp as the sword ducked dangerously low again before lifting. The right sword-arm of Fëanor's son ended abruptly in a cruel stump right above the wrist, still bound tightly with healer's swabs and starting to show a dampness of red at the end from his exertions.
The usual grace with which Maedhros wielded his favoured weapon was all but gone, the gauntness of his form robbing it of elegance as well as strength. But nowhere was the Elf's torment upon Thangorodrim more apparent than in his eyes.
They were dead. No light reflected from within their depths; they were merely black, soulless pools of nothingness, now. It scared Fingon, more than he would like to admit.
The walls surrounding the quiet courtyard in the Healing Houses in Mithrim resounded suddenly with the distinctive clatter of metal meeting unfortunately with the ground.
Fingon's eyes snapped to where his cousin was half-bent over the fallen sword, scowling at it silently as he panted. Fingolfin's son wasted only a moment staring at the sight in shock of his temporary lapse in vigilance before rushing to Maedhros' side.
"It's no use!" his cousin snarled in frustration, turning his head to look up at Fingon as he approached. His voice was dry and choked; only one as close to him as Fingon would be able to tell he was close to tears. "It's no use,"
Fingon crouched beside his cousin, one hand coming to rest on his back as the other cupped his chin gently. "Come now," he cooed, wishing desperately to bring Maedhros back from the precipice he came so dangerously close to tumbling over.
Fingolfin's son brought his head forward slowly, his eyes sliding halfway shut in anticipation of the sweetness of his cousin's lips, a secret pleasure shared too many times already since his rescue from Thangorodrim.
Maedhros turned his head away at the last moment, causing Fingon's lips to collide with the smooth skin of his cousin's cheek, halfway between the Elf's ear and mouth. Frowning, Fingolfin's son pulled back.
Picking up the sword, he held it gingerly towards his cousin, willing him silently with his eyes to take it up. Maedhros looked at it uncertainly, his glance jumping from the silver blade to Fingon's face and back.
Raising fluidly from his knees to a standing position, Fingon tossed a stray tress of long, black hair over his shoulder. Stepping behind Maedhros, he gently wound his right arm around the Elf's waist, being careful to avoid the stump of his arm. His left arm aligned with Maedhros'; taking his cue Fëanor's son grasped the long hilt below Fingon's hand.
"Now," Fingon whispered, starting to move lightly behind his cousin, "Let me help you," Guiding him slowly into the smooth, experienced motions, his cousin's steps became more sure with every second that passed.
He lifted his arm, lifting Maedhros' with it, and brought it down in a wide arc to the left, a large circular movement that swung their bodies around, and smoothly into a forward thrust.
The quick movement of the sword made Maedhros gasp, and he let go of the blade. The sudden increase of weight twisted Fingon's wrist, and he dropped the sword, turning towards his cousin in surprise. Maedhros' face was twisted in a snarl, glaring at the stubbed end of his right hand.
"Maedhros?" Fingon asked softly, bringing a hand up to lay it upon his cousin's arm. Maedhros turned away, ducking his head to glare at he ground.
"Do not despair," Fingon said, pity welling in small glistening puddles in his eyes. Stepping forward, Fingolfin's son cupped his cousin's cheek, bending to place a comforting kiss upon Maedhros' lips.
Once more the Elf turned away, rejecting the offer of consolation. A sudden wave of anger made its way to the forefront of Fingon's mind. "Come on, Maedhros! How long will you torment yourself so?"
Maedhros looked up at him suddenly, surprise written across his features. "I . . ."
"I am tired of you refusing my help! I am tired of waiting for you to accept me into the tight confines of your hurt little heart! And, Maitimo, I am tired of your eternal silence! It has been weeks! Will you not talk to me?"
The sudden outburst left Fingon panting slightly, the wake of his anger causing a hot flush of red to colour his cheeks. Maedhros merely watched him astonished for a moment, his eyes wide and his mouth moving though no sound escaped it.
Fingon frowned, berating himself for allowing his annoyance to flare so uncontrolled. Immediately guilt overtook him, and suddenly he could not stand to look his cousin in the eyes. Turning abruptly, he started to stalk out of the courtyard.
"Fingon," The soft, deep voice of his cousin stopped him short. Slowly, he turned to face Maedhros. The other Elf had walked up to him, and now stood close by his side, holding the sword limply in his healthy hand.
Dropping the blade with a clang, Maedhros placed his left hand on Fingon's shoulder. "I'm sorry," His neck bent, eyes closing much as Fingon's had when he had tried to kiss his cousin. This time, it was Fingolfin's son who pulled away, leaving Maedhros to stumble awkwardly in mid-air.
"No, Maitimo," Fingon mumbled, frowning, shrugging out of his cousin's grasp and backing away.
Maedhros looked at him hurtfully, a sulk overtaking his fair features. Dark red hair shimmered a coppery gold in the sunlight as he tilted his head. "Fingon?"
Fingon shook his head, turning with his arms braced across his chest to stare at the vine-covered walls of the sunlit courtyard.
"Fingon, look at me," This time Maedhros' voice was commanding; Fingolfin's son obeyed its strength, turning again to take in the sight of his cousin. Maedhros lifted the stump of his right arm, gesturing vaguely. "Is it because of this? Is this why you think I refuse you?"
His voice reflected a tone of hurt, the first real feeling besides anger it had borne for many a day. Fingon's mouth dropped open. "Maedhros! No . . ."
"You're just the same as all the others!" his cousin cried, "You would judge me without even realising it. But I do - oh, yes, I do,"
Fingon shook his head desperately, half lifting one hand to stop the onslaught of words dropping like stones from Maedhros' mouth.
Not noticing, Maedhros continued. "See, cousin - you may pretend to care, but you did not see the things I did! You were not there. You did not cry for endless nights in agony for the respite of death! Oh, no, you showed up and took even that mercy from me!"
Fingon reacted without thinking. Rushing to his cousin, his clasped his hands firmly around Maedhros' waist and covered the Elf's still-moving mouth with his own in a forceful kiss. Anything to deny the half-truths that were maybe more, that even in his deepest heart he could not admit to.
Maedhros' words died into pitifully fading sounds of protest as he slackened and finally relented into Fingon's grasp.
When at last their tongues untwined and removed back into their own mouths they broke for breath, both panting slightly and flushed in the face.
"Be still, cousin," Fingon breathed, "I did not mean my words that way,"
Maedhros opened his mouth, drawing breath to speak, but Fingon laid a finger over his lips, quieting him. "And neither did you,"
He disentangled his fingers from the handfuls of Maedhros' tunic they had laid claim to, and bent to pick up the sword, hefting it gingerly before twirling it around in his hand.
"Come. Can we not forget harsh words uttered in the wake of anger?" He stepped in front of his cousin, handing him the blade. Maedhros took it uncertainly, his eyes refusing to meet Fingon's but remaining glued to the blade instead.
"I . . ." Fingon's cousin hesitated. He finally looked up at Fingolfin's son. "I'm not sure if I can,"
Fingon smiled gently, leaning forward for a kiss. This time, he was met with no resistance, and the two Elves' lips touched and lingered, moving slowly against each other. Winding an arm around his cousin's waist, Fingon pulled him closer before finally breaking the kiss.
"Now come," he said, sighing as he placed his other arm
on his cousin's shoulder and steered him back to the
centre of the courtyard. "Let us try this again . . ."
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