For zhie: Harder to Breathe (Maedhros/Fingon, Teen)

[minuial_nuwing]

Title: Harder to Breathe
Author: Minuial Nuwing
Email: minuial_nuwing@yahoo.com
Beta: Midnight Chaos (aka Dorkfish Girl) – Thanks, punk!
Genre: FPS
Rating: Teen
Pairing/Characters: Maedhros/Fingon
Disclaimer: Not mine, more’s the pity. No money, no fame.
Summary: Fingon arrives at the fortress on Himring bearing a gift. Or perhaps gifts.

A/N: Written for zhie in the LotR SeSa 2014 exchange, in response to this request: Fingon/Maedhros, schmoopy, angst okay if there's a happy(ish) ending; (And just throwing it out there - I'd be tickled if you wrote a songfic off of some Maroon 5 song. If you're reading this right now thinking 'but I hate Adam Levine's voice' or something of that sort, pretend you only read up to the happy(ish) ending part and just down to the next item. If you didn't throw up in your mouth a little when I mentioned this idea and you're wondering 'but what song?', it doesn't matter... I suddenly decided it was a good band and bought all of their albums and wake up with the songs in my head, so, hey, why not ask, right? I've asked for far stranger things before...)

A/N #2: Um, about the Maroon 5 part - to keep this note shorter than the ficlet *g*, I'll just say that I've never written songfic, but I did plan to chose a song (which I did, obviously - Harder to Breathe) and kind of let it shade the ficlet. But the next song on my playlist was Lifehouse's "You and Me," and that shaded it, too. And then the ficlet tried to become a novel. So what you have here is basically the happy ending of a much longer fic that has never actually been written. It just lives in my head. But if I ever write the whole thing, I will dedicate it to you. :D

Hope you enjoy your happy ending, Zhie. Merry Christmas!

Harder to Breathe

*~*~*~*~*

When it gets cold outside and you got nobody to love
You'll understand what I mean when I say there's no way we're gonna give up
And like a little girl cries in the face of a monster that lives in her dreams
Is there anyone out there?
'Cause it's gettin' harder and harder to breathe

~~Harder to Breathe, Maroon 5

*~*~*~*~*

The snow was still falling, quickly filling in the tracks left by Fingon's horse in his mad dash up the icy slope to the gates. Ominous grey clouds, turning purple in the fading light, hung so low in the sky that they seemed to brush the tower turrets, muffling the watching calls of the men on the parapet. Below, in the surrounding woodlands, the trees were frosted with heavy coats of white, and Maedhros was unexpectedly reminded of the little cakes his mother had baked when he was a child. He had been allowed to help sprinkle then with finely ground sugar and carefully arrange them on the many-tiered rack that Nerdanel had created for the purpose.

"What are you thinking of?"

Maedhros turned from the window with a smile that was only slightly melancholy. "Ammë’s ginger cakes," he said, pouring himself a glass of wine and joining his guest before the fire. Stripped of his fur-lined cloak and heavy coat at the door by Maedhros' manservant, Fingon had shucked his own boots and tunic, leaving him in shirt and trousers. He sat in the big chair, his feet extended toward the hearth and his heavy, gold-bound braids spilling over his shoulders. Maedhros thought he had never seen a sight quite so welcome as his cousin's contented face.

Fingon smiled, then, and Maedhros decided he had never seen anything quite so beautiful, either. "I remember those, too," Fingon replied, his eyes wandering to the fire for a moment before returning to his cousin. "How are you getting along?" he asked, nodding toward the knotted right sleeve of Maedhros' tunic. "Does it pain you in the cold?"

Only Fingon was ever so frank, so direct in his reference to Maedhros' injury. The rest tiptoed around as though he might not be aware that his hand was gone.

In those horrible days after his rescue it had been Fingon who tended him, who protected him from prying eyes and vengeful brothers. Who had been nursemaid and friend and, eventually, lover again. And after he had healed in body it had been Káno who pushed him, who had encouraged and taunted and yelled until he had taken up the sword with his left hand, if only to gain enough skill to murder his cousin. Fingon had never allowed him to wallow in self-pity, never allowed him to give up or give in to his despair. He lived because of this gorgeous, infuriating, stubborn creature, and the fact was never far from his thoughts.

"Not badly," Maedhros answered, glancing at his maimed arm with a carefully guarded expression. Try as he might to accept and move forward, the sight of that knotted sleeve still struck to his heart. He raised his head to give Fingon a reassuring smile. "I am as hopelessly inept with my left as I ever was with my right, but you see that I survive."

“You are not and never were inept, Russandol,” Fingon retorted with an affectionate grin. “You are simply no match for me with a sword.” Maedhros cocked an eyebrow, and Fingon laughed aloud. “With that sword,” he amended.

Maedhros rose from his chair and hovered over his cousin. “Are you hungry? I could call for a tray,” he said, and then his smile turned wolfish as he leaned down to kiss Fingon soundly. “Or we could have a quick rematch before dinner.”

“Rematch,” Fingon breathed, pulling himself to his feet and into his cousin’s arms. “I have some new moves to show you. Lots of fantasy practice.”

It was much, much later when Maedhros finally forced himself to leave the bed, smiling as he glanced back at his lover, sprawled contentedly across the ruined linens. “Dinner?” he prodded teasingly, patting his face and chest dry. “Or has your defeat exhausted you?”

“I am starving and you are a lousy host.” Fingon groaned, rolling himself up to sit on the edge of the bed with a slight wince. “I’m going to be damned uncomfortable at the table.”

“Pillow?”

“Only if you carry it into the hall,” Fingon shot back with a grin, nudging Maedhros over and pouring clean water into the washstand bowl. He turned just as Maedhros was pulling on a shirt and his eyes went to the sleeve, which someone had thoughtfully shortened to the middle of Maedhros’ forearm, leaving only the tunic to be knotted. Maedhros tugged on his tunic, already fully fastened, and looked at the limp right sleeve with distaste.

The laundress had neglected to knot it.

“Wait,” Fingon said, quickly closing his own tunic, and his cousin paused in his fumbling attempt to tie the sleeve, looking at him questioningly. “I have something for you.” Going to the pack he had guarded jealously since his arrival, Fingon pulled out a knife and sliced off the sleeve of Maedhros' tunic a few inches above the scarred stump of his wrist.

Maedhros stared at him in horror-tinged amazement. “What in the-“

“Hush,” Fingon said absently, reaching into the pack again to pull out a rolled cloth that opened to reveal a tube of stiffened leather. “It is for your arm,” he explained in a rush, opening the clever catches to exhibit the softly padded interior. Fingon swallowed thickly, watching Maedhros’ face. “Happy begetting day, Russa,” he said, easily fitting the sheath to his cousin’s arm. “I cannot give you back your hand, though I would give my own in trade.” He glanced at the beautifully crafted piece . “But I can give you a symbol of your triumph. Of your will.”

Maedhros did not reply at once, his eyes fixed on the rich, russet glow of the leather, almost a match for the fiery gleam of his hair. The sheath was heavily tooled with scrolling vines and stars, the center front emblazoned with the emblem of his House. The soft lining cradled his sometimes-sensitive stump gently, while the stiff, heavy leather would provide protection from knocks and bumps. He flexed his elbow tentatively, watching the flickering fire paint the sheath in shadow and light, and found that tears were slipping slowly down his face.

Fingon wiped the tears away without comment, for which Maedhros would be forever grateful, and waited.

“It is perfect, Káno," he said hoarsely, pressing a gentle kiss to Fingon’s mouth. “Thank you.”

“Dinner?” Fingon asked, brushing the last traces of moisture from his cousin’s face, and Maedhros smiled.

“Dinner,” he agreed, slipping his leather-sheathed arm around Fingon’s waist. “But you carry the pillow.”


*~*~*~*~*

Comments

[zhie.livejournal.com]

This was a lovely gift to receive this morning. I was quite delighted to see that you went with a songfic to indulge me. Love the dialogue, love the characterizations, and generally, very happy to receive such a well crafted story. Do let me know if the rest of the story ever makes it out of your head; I would certainly want to read it. Thank you!

[minuial_nuwing]

You are most welcome - I am delighted that you enjoyed it! =)

[heartofoshun.livejournal.com]

That's a beautiful story. It's warm and passionate and has just enough of a tinge of regret and loss to make it poignant without turning into a whiny pity-fest or pitiless darkfic! I love it. You did a beautiful job with them.

Favorite line: “I am starving and you are a lousy host.” Fingon groaned, rolling himself up to sit on the edge of the bed with a slight wince. “I’m going to be damned uncomfortable at the table.”

They are absolutely adorable!

[minuial_nuwing]

Thank you so much, Oshun! Your comment made my day. I am delighted that it worked for you.

As I think I have admitted before, your opinion on everything Maedhros-Fingon is the final word, as far as I am concerned. *g*

[heartofoshun.livejournal.com]

It was a pleasure to read indeed. I found myself smiling all over again about third word! Either was either so poignant, sweet, heartbreaking, or just so much fun. Best of all I believed it. Great job!

[talullahred.livejournal.com]

Ooh, Min, that was so lovely! It's a great standalone but I do hope that the rest of the story comes out of your head sometime because I love how you write them. There's a real feeling that they have known each other forever and of warm friendship, and of lasting, understated but deep, deep, love. Great fic, Zhie is lucky!

*hugs*

[minuial_nuwing]

Thanks so much, Tal. I am delighted that you enjoyed it, and that the strength of their relationship came through.

I have only written theses two a couple of times in the past, and both of those were requested drabblets, also. This kind of made me want to go bigger. *g*

**hugs**

[ysilme]

Oooh, this is absolutely brilliant! ♥ I enjoyed it immensely, and your take on these two is just great. I love that you show us this particular moment between them, and show so well about this part of Maedhros' recovery without being neither over-the-top nor afraid of the painful bits. I'm a sucker for Maedhros-recovery stories, and this goes straight to my personal top three of them. I really hope you will write the whole story sometime; it would be such a delight to read.
I love the voice you're giving Fingon, and how he knows how to deal with Maedhros and be just what he needs, down to that leather vambrace which is just so cool in itself.

“I cannot give you back your hand, though I would give my own in trade.” He glanced at the beautifully crafted piece . “But I can give you a symbol of your triumph. Of your will.”
This. ♥

[minuial_nuwing]

Thank you so much! That seems completely inadequate in response to such a lovely comment, but it comes from the heart. *g*

As I told Tal above, this is only the third time I have actually written these two, but they have very distinct personalities and a very intense, very complex relationship, in my head. I am delighted some of that came through for you.

[hhimring]

What a lovely, warm story!

[minuial_nuwing]

Thank you! I am glad that you enjoyed it. *g*

[red-lasbelin.livejournal.com]

This was really warm and nice. I also like that Fingon doesn't do any tiptoeing around Maedhros but takes things head-on. It gives it that grounded, 'I've known you forever' kind of feel.

[minuial_nuwing]

Thanks, Red! I'm glad you enjoyed it.

It feels like the same incarnations of these two have reappeared in all three of my ficlets. It almost makes me want to do something bigger. *g*