Life, Like a Face Between Your Palms by gaydhros  

Chapter 4

Maedhros muses on Fingolfin's fall, and on what it means to be there for someone in their grief.

Content warnings for this chapter: Themes of suicide, references to past torture

Maedhros stared after Fingon with his heart in his throat. 

He should not have been cross with him. It wasn’t fair; Eru knew that Maedhros had not always been rational in the wake of his own father’s death. The weight of a crown, on top of a loss already so unbearable as losing a father, was almost too much to bear. Still, while it existed alongside pity and grief, Maedhros could not help his irritation.

He sighed and scrubbed his hand down his face. He was already going soft. 

Finding a quilt from where it lay in a heap at the foot of the bed, he wrapped it around himself and padded carefully over to the bathroom. Through the door there came the muffled sounds of hushed, ragged breathing. It was clear that Fingon was fighting to control it; it was also clear that he was having little success.

Maedhros leaned against the wood and let himself sink to the floor. Eru, but his body hurt everywhere. He pushed his hand against his shoulder and grimaced. Gingerly, he rubbed the joint and shifted it around in its socket, trying to work out a spasm. He had pushed hard to get to Barad Eithel as quickly as he had— two weeks through the shadows of Nan Dungortheb, scarcely stopping to rest or to eat— and he was going to spend the next several days paying for it.

A choked sob came from the other side of the door. There was a heavy lump forming in Maedhros’ throat, born of empathy and exhaustion alike.

The desire to take away the pain of a loved one was only natural. This Maedhros knew. He knew also that there was naught to be done with pain except to feel it. Still, he was overcome by the helplessness of knowing he could do nothing but be with Fingon in his pain and his grief; he could not take on its weight, he could not bear it for him. Maedhros tipped his head back against the door and closed his eyes.

Had he not loved Fingolfin also? A complicated love, certainty, but love nonetheless— love of kinship, love of fealty, love of guilt, love of respect. His uncle had not been so much older than he; as a child, Maedhros had watched Fingolfin grow out of his awkward adolescence and into his majority, watched him marry, watched him splinter ever further from Fëanor.^[1] It had been his years of observing Fingolfin in Finwë’s court that had taught Maedhros many of his skills in politics and oration. Indeed, Maedhros remembered thinking as an adolescent that had their circumstances not been so fraught, he and Fingolfin might have been friends.

Fingolfin had been a good man. He had been steadfast and valiant, and vicious when need drove him to be, and Maedhros had loved him. And in that moment, he could not help but hate him for what he had done.

An act of bravery it was being painted, and there was no doubt that it was. To face the might of one of the Powers alone and not fall upon one’s face in terror was a victory in itself. To wound Morgoth in battle not once but seven times was a great feat. But how valiant was it really for a king to ride to his death with his eyes wide open? How brave was it for a king to offer himself up like a lamb for the slaughter, when it meant having to leave behind his people at the time when they needed their king the most? Was that not, after everything, the easy way out?

Maedhros felt guilty for even thinking it. Yet guilt did nothing to change his mind, and though Maedhros did not doubt Fingolfin’s heart nor the despair he must have felt to make a move so desperate and hopeless, the truth was that Maedhros did not think Fingolfin had been brave. Fingolfin had been cowardly.

Challenging Morgoth? Alone? It was ludicrous, and heartbreaking, and it had left the Noldor even more lost than they already were. Worst of everything, it had left Fingon with the crown.

Fingon, who never wanted it. Fingon, who should never have had to bear it.

Maedhros drew the quilt tighter around himself. He could no longer hear Fingon crying, which he decided was a good sign.

How long had it been since Maedhros had truly slept? A real sleep in a bed, and not a quarter hour stolen here and there when he thought he could risk it, his eyes still open and his mind ever alert for danger?

Maedhros was not a stranger to going long stretches without sleep. One of the experiments the Enemy’s lieutenant had most delighted in had involved keeping Maedhros awake for days or weeks on end to observe how long it took for the hallucinations to set in, how long before the Elven body began to shut itself down. The two weeks it had taken Maedhros to reach Barad Eithel had not been enough to trigger the worst effects of sleep deprivation, but it had been bad enough, and Maedhros was utterly drained. His eyes were growing heavy.

There was nothing he could do for Fingon until Fingon let him, he reasoned. Surrendering to fatigue, Maedhros managed to free his hand from the quilt and pressed his palm to the floor. He slid the very tips of his fingers through the narrow gap beneath the door. Just as he was drifting off, he felt the touch of Fingon’s fingertips against his own.

Chapter End Notes

^[1] The date given in The Annals of Aman for Fingolfin's birth is Y.T. 1190. We don't have a date for Maedhros' birth, but the Annals of Aman place Fëanor's birth in Y.T. 1169. Fingolfin and Finarfin are both said to have had their first children at age 70, and considering that Fëanor is said in the published Silm to have wedded Nerdanel while still in his early youth, I'm working on the assumption that he might have begun having children a little bit earlier and placing Maedhros' birth around Y.T. 1230. This would make Fingolfin ~40 years old when Maedhros is born, and according to LaCE, elves typically reach physical maturity around age 50.

HOWEVER. We must also remember to take this with a very large grain of salt. Tolkien fucked around so much with both his timelines and his time scales (how long actually is a Year of the Trees? Who the fuck knows! Certainly not me!) that I don’t think it’s really possible to know these things with any degree of certainty. I just personally enjoy the version of events where Fingolfin is definitely older than Maedhros but not that much older. Also, in case you were curious, this would make Maedhros ~30 years older than Fingon.