the ice in the paragon by queerofthedagger  

Fingon

The most ready to leave, Fingon had been. Had urged, together with Turgon, eagerness for wide lands and for revenge against the dark enemy hot in their blood.

And then, bloodshed; and then, abandonment.

And so abandoned, they had crossed the Ice. Had committed acts none speak of now, to see the other side of it, and told themselves that regret had no place in the measure of survival.

Oh, how Findekáno learns of regret. The Ice has been a patient teacher, fine-boned fingers sliding beneath his skin; ever does it make sure, after, that he does not forget it.

Arakáno dies underneath the first return of Telperion’s light, his blood on Findekáno’s hands making his stomach turn, at last.

Írissë and Turukáno slip away quietly, their silence a harsher condemnation than any fight could have been.

Findekáno learns of his sister’s death weeks after the fact. He thinks of her unflinching tenacity, how it kept them all alive, and cannot shake the cold, settling back into his bones.

His father dies in despair. His father dies, and leaves Findekáno king.

His father leaves; Findekáno learns what it means to move beyond the cold. What it means to die there.

Findekáno dies in flames.

A fitting end, he thinks, almost idly, as whips of fire render him immovable; ever, after all, has it been fire bringing him ruin.

Now, too, Maedhros is not here. Not on purpose, Findekáno knows—never is it so. It does not change the fact that he is not here. Had not changed the fact back then, either, when Findekáno let the fire on the horizon freeze him solid.

Findekáno knows that no one will come for him.

The axe hurls towards him, and Findekáno dreams of going under, ice burning like home within his bones.

Chapter End Notes

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