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In at the Eye by Narya General Audiences
Fingolfin visits a recuperating Lalwen. A very short one shot, written as a treat for Bunn for Innumerable Stars 2018.
Time Waits for No Man by Linda Hoyland General Audiences
Arwen visits an aged Faramir.
~ Magnificat of the Damned. Book IV: Anvil ~ by Spiced Wine Mature
From Angmar to the Dagor Dagorath. The final story in the Magnificat of the Damned series. The Doom and destiny of the...
Where the Shadows Lie by ziggy General Audiences
The One Ring has been destroyed and Sauron banished to the Dark with Morgoth. But not all the Rings were destroyed with the...
Drabbles for Tolkien Weekly by Ysilme Teen
Drabbles for tolkien weekly, a prompt-based drabble community on livejournal.
I'll be Yours if You'll be Mine by NelyafinweFeanorion Teen
Modern setting AU. Maedhros/Fingon. Maedhros owns a bookstore. Fingon is in grad school. Expect appearances from varied members...
Wrath and Ruin by KimicThranduilion Teen
The battle with the Great Serpents of the North brought nothing but wrath and ruin for the wood elves. The aftermath is bitter...

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Shoutbox

Narya
10/16/18 09:48 pm
Ysilme, that does sound wonderful, I am so jealous. There's something magical about a really good concert.
Narya
10/16/18 09:48 pm
Hi, Fadesintothewest! *waves* good to see you, hope work isn't too painful.
Spiced Wine
10/15/18 02:32 pm
That sounds amazing, Ysilme :)
Ysilme
10/15/18 12:19 pm
who of my music-loving OCs might be interested in playing the nyckelharpa/keyed fiddle... *ggg* )
Ysilme
10/15/18 12:18 pm
I've been to the most wonderful concert yesterday, Swedish Folk string trio Väsen. The music was so beautiful, and it felt so much like Middle-earth, too. (now I need to figure out
Ysilme
10/15/18 12:17 pm
Nice to see you popping in here, fadesintothewest! *waves* *waves generally around, too* Hope everybody else is doing well enough.
Spiced Wine
10/15/18 10:53 am
Hope you do, too, Fadesintothewest :) Good to see you!
Fadesintothewest
10/15/18 09:27 am
Just wanted to say hello. I know things are slowed down right now. I wish I could be more present but work. Looking forward to participating more soon!!!
Spiced Wine
10/14/18 12:23 pm
Sign of a good fic, if you ask me :)
Narya
10/13/18 11:23 pm
:D this fic keeps mutating. So far it's sprouted four OCs and an unexpected plot twist which impacts stories that come chronologically later in the series...it's a nightmare but I love it!
Shout Archive


Change by arafinwean

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Chapter notes:
I wrote this sometime in 2015 and then orphaned all my Silmarillion related works on ao3. None the less, I was reminded of this fic when I found it in my hard drive and decided to give new life to it.
There is so much blood, that was Fingons’ first thought as he sawed through the sinew andbone. His blade dulled from time spent on the Ice, from not having the tools to take care of it properly.

He remembered seeing Elves having to have imbs cut off due to frost bite, but he didn’t remember there being so much blood. It was everywhere, soaking through his clothes, soaking through the rags that Maedhros was wearing.

It was only when Fingon realized there was blood on his own hands that he realized his hands were shaking. Fingon almost laughed, of course his hands were shaking, how could they not be? He was cutting off the hand of his best friend. The hand of the one who used to pick him up when he was a child and twirl him in the air, the hand of the same person who helped teach him how to shoot.

The same hand that Maedhros used to run through Fingons’ hair as they laid tangled in bed together. The same hand Fingon held in his own so many times.

Maedhros himself was screaming, raw and angry and terrified. Telling Fingon to stop, to kill him damn it, why couldn’t Fingon just kill him! Didn’t he do enough? Go through enough? Just kill him!

Please.

The way Maedhros begged on the last word, choked on his screams and begged Fingon to kill him caused Fingons’ breath to hitch.

“No,” he said, and his voice cracked on the word, “No.”

Maedhros began screaming again.

Fingon ignored the screams, ignored the way bile rose in his throat, and continued on.

ii.

Maedhros had fainted shortly before Fingon had finished cutting his hand off. Fingon had panicked for a moment, thinking Maedhros had died, thinking that he had failed and lost his cousin. It was only when he placed his bloody hands on Maedhros’s chest and feel the slow, stuttering breaths his cousin took did he feel reassured.

Maedhros wasn’t dead, but he would be if Fingon didn’t get him help soon.

iii.

Their arrival at camp was met with surprise. They had either expected Fingon to return without Maedhros, or they expected him to die while looking for him. Either way they expected Fingon to fail.

The thought almost made him laugh, in some ways, he wished he had.

The memory of Maedhros screaming at him, begging Fingon to kill him would stay with him for as long as he lived. The way blood flowed freely from his wrist, down his cousins’ arm onto his chest would haunt Fingons’ dreams for a long time.

Maybe, Fingon thought, it would have been better to kill Maedhros after all.

iv.

He left Maedhros to the healers as soon as he could. He didn’t want to be there when his cousin woke.

He didn’t think he’d be able to handle the screaming again.

vi.

His father met him with relief evident on his face.

"I thought you were lost to us." Fingolfin said.

"I’m not," Fingon replied, "But Maedhros might be."

"This isn’t about him, it’s about you. Are you alright?"

Fingon thought for a moment, “No,” he said at last, “But are any of us.”

Fingofin didn’t answer.

vii.

"He almost died of blood loss," The healers said, "Before that though he was starving and suffering from dehydration, be careful with him."

They had given him warnings before that but nothing could have prepared him for what Fingon saw when he entered the tent.

Maedhros was pale, so pale for a moment Fingon thought Maedhros had died during his time with the healers. He was thin too, so thin you could see and count each of his ribs and it seemed that his skin was glued to his bones. But what gave Fingon the most pause was his eyes.

His eyes were not the silver he remembered, they did not blaze with light and life. Rather they were dull, flat, emotionless. But most startlingly of all, they were a pale, sickly yellow.

Fingon felt sick.

"Oh, Maitimo," he whispered, "What did they do to you?"

Maedhros laughed then, a wild, humorless laugh that almost caused Fingon to beg him to stop.

It was unnatural.

"Leave," Maedhros said.

Fingon left.
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