Affront

Canon-compliant.  Fingon is not as virtuous as we would like to believe.  And Turgon is (potentially justifiably) an ass.  Quenya names used for all characters (Fingon = Findekáno, Turgon = Turukáno, Maedhros = Maitimo/Nelyafinwë, Fëanor = Fëanáro, Fingolfin = Nolofinwë (I chose not to bother with the squiggle above the N because I'm lazy--not the first time I've done that LOL), Caranthir = Carnistir).  Turno is a fan-made brother-name for Turgon used by my dA family and is not legit Quenya, and Káno is similar, though he shares this brother-name with Maglor.  Takes place at the beginning of the First Age (literally).  Mostly introspective.

Side note: I'm going to make almost all "c"s in Quenya words "k"s to represent sound.  Just know that all "c"s that show up make "k" sounds and not "s" sounds.

Disclaimer: Plot and characters belong to Tolkien; the theory about Fingon's motivation is all mine

Pairings: none (at least highlighted)

Characters: Fingon, Turgon, Maglor, Caranthir, Fingolfin (mentions Maedhros, Morgoth, Fëanor and Elenwë)

Warning: (not AU for once), insulting, semi-graphic violence, name-calling, reference to death and possible torture

Song: Black Parade

Words: 1,390
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affront (transitive verb): to insult especially to the face by behavior or language; to cause offense to
http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/affront

Sometimes, Findekáno swore that his brother lived to make his life difficult.

Bad enough that their people were homeless and living in tents.  Bad enough that their uncle and king was dead.  Bad enough that the heir apparent was kidnapped and being held for ransom.

And if all that wasn't enough, Turukáno still had to go and put his foot in his mouth!

Frustrated, Findekáno resisted the urge to destroy something, to rip the tent apart with his bare hands, or maybe go out and hack a few trees down with his sword.  Anything to rid himself of the fury that bubbled and boiled over in his veins.

On the one hand, he could understand his brother actions.  Turukáno was merely hiding his devastation beneath a facade of malice and scorn, but it nevertheless irked Findekáno that his brother's chosen victim was not even here to defend himself.  It was one thing to curse the name of Fëanáro.  It was quite another to bring insult to Maitimo.

---

"Why have you not gone after him?" Findekáno choked out. "He may still... still be alive..." And still be suffering...

Makalaurë stood before them, looking older in his eyes than any elf Findekáno had ever met.  The silver gaze pierced him down to the bone, further even, with sorrow and steely resolve.  Never had his cousin looked less like himself, less like the gentle soul that loved singing sonnets in the gardens, sweet and innocent and pure as his deep, carrying voice.

"It had been decided many a year ago that Nelyafinwë was a lost cause," Makalaurë told him. "We could not give in to the Dark Lord's demands, nor had we the manpower to mount a rescue attempt.  Besides, in all likelihood he is long dead and Morgoth dangles nothing but empty promises before our eyes, hoping to lure us into a trap."

The words were cold and even, so unlike his cousin.

"But surely--"

"We will do nothing," Makalaurë interrupted. "That is final."

It was then that Turukáno spoke, and his words made Findekáno's teeth draw blood from his lips in an effort not to scream at his brother. "The only decision you have made that I agree with.  We need not waste our remaining warriors rescuing a traitor."

There was a heartbeat of silence.  Two.  And then Turukáno found himself thrown halfway across the room, the side of his face already blooming a muscle-deep red.

"How dare you, scum?" Carnistir, like a dark avenger, towered over them, glorious in his fury.  Eyes like emerald stars blazed with a light so akin to his father's that Findekáno shivered in a mixture of terror and awe.  The fourth brother, once bashful if a bit blunt, now stepped forward like a predator approaching its prey, his hands twitching into taut fists, lust for blood in his eyes. "You may speak however you will about our father, but you will never utter my brother's name again!"

Please, Turukáno, be silent.  Please, be silent...

But it was not to be.

"And why should I withhold my judgment from Nelyafinwë?  He claims friendship with my family, yet he left us all to suffer and die crossing over Helcaraxë!  He claimed his just desserts!"

"You filthy rat!"  It took Makalaurë and Nolofinwë to hold back Carnistir from throttling the foolhardy elf.  Findekáno just lowered his head in shame.  No matter how much he resented the fact that Maitimo had not miraculously convinced Fëanáro to return with the ships, he knew he could not truly blame his cousin, whose first thoughts had been for him upon reaching the far shores if Makalaurë was to be believed.  But his brother...

Turukáno had reason to be bitter, to hate.

In the end, Carnistir had to be forcibly removed from the room.  When Turukáno rose, breathless but smug, half his face was beginning to darken into bruising.

"I will not take back my words," his brother proclaimed, voice steady, eyes bleeding with the purest scorn Findekáno had ever seen. "I hope he suffered!"

And then he stormed away in a huff, leaving the room quiet.  Makalaurë's head was bowed, his eyes closed tightly and his fingers clutching at the edge of the table.  The inner conflict seemed to twist and writhe within him for a few moments, struggling to break free and release the monster that Findekáno knew waited and watched just beneath the beautiful exterior. But it receded slowly, blanketed once again in despair.

"Let us continue," his cousin finally said, voice again even and cold.

---

Fëanárions never forgive, and they never forget.

Findekáno had to work hard to keep his younger brother out of harm's way for the next fortnight until all the violent tempers had cooled and returned to distant, icy facades.

But that was not the worst of it.  Though he resented his uncle, Findekáno loved his cousins dearly, and Maitimo most of all.  Shocked and horrified, he had confronted Turukáno afterwards, cornered his black-eyed brother in their shared tent.

"Did you mean it?"

At that, Turukáno took him in with an assessing eye, and he didn't look sorry in the least.  Rather, his brother smiled. "Forgive me.  I did not mean to affront our cousin's delicate sensibilities."  The sadistic amusement stung like needles against Findekáno's heart.  This journey had changed them all, and none of them for the better, it seemed.

"Turno," he choked out. "What you said... about Maitimo."

His brother paused. "I know you are fond of him, Káno, but he abandoned you.  He deserved his fate, whether you wish to admit it or not!"

"Your hatred clouds your judgment," Findekáno insisted. "He would never have willingly left us to die.  Could you really expect him to fight back against Uncle?  Could you expect him to win against his own King?  What would you have had him do, brother?  The impossible?"

"I would have had him act out of loyalty rather than cowardice," his brother spat. "For that is all he was.  A liar and a coward.  May he rot in the deepest pits of Angband!"

It took all Findekáno's strength not to hurt his brother, all his strength to stay the hand that wanted so badly to paint black and blue across the pale, untouched cheek left unmarked by Carnistir's fury.  And Turukáno knew it, could see it in his eyes, the animalistic urge to lash out, to harm, to soothe his own pain.  And from it, his brother took pleasure.

"You see, Findekáno, now they know what it is like.  They know the loss they have heaped upon us.  They know our despair.  This is justice.  Accept it."

So angry he was, Findekáno could not bear even to speak.

But it seemed his little brother didn't care a whit.  Instead, he looked towards the eldest and smirked, a look that felt slimy to Findekáno's gaze, as if some pale shade had replaced the pure soul of the brother he had known his whole life and was directing Turukáno's body like a puppet.

"You are affronted as well," Turukáno observed blandly. "You need not forgive me.  I do not feel sorry in the least."

---

It was not the desire to unite their houses which drove him from his tent in the dark, only a bow on his back and a sword at his hip.  It was not his friendship with Maitimo either.

It was his fury.

It was the lack of justice.

It was the need to prove to Turukáno that he was wrong, that this was not justice, that this was not fate, that there was still something good left in the world, and that his best friend was not a backstabbing liar and a coward.

Selfish though it was, Findekáno departed.

---

And selfishly, he smirked at his brother when he returned with Maitimo mostly intact.  When Turukáno glared darkly at him, bade him silently with only a hard glance to abandon his post at his cousin's sickbed, Findekáno could only silently jeer in reply.

Turukáno would have been quite affronted himself had he ever realized that he was the catalyst that had returned Maitimo to their arms.

Fëanárions were not the only ones who never forgave and never forgot.
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This oneshot completely created itself. I had no idea we would be delving into Fingon's psyche today, but we did.  I guess he's not as kind-hearted and justly motivated as we would like to believe.  I believe that he is not a perfect person, and I don't think for a second that there was no outside motivator for him rescuing Maedhros.

This is just a theory.  One of many I have written.

Written to Black Parade by Globus. I blame this song for how crazy this ficlet turned out.  But it is an awesome song nevertheless.  Usually, though, I think of it while writing Itachi fanfiction for Naruto.

There is also one picture that sort of inspired this, though it doesn't show Fingon's emotions in the correct light I think.  Unspoken resentment by =Gold-Seven on dA, only in the case of this story it is not so unspoken.  Well, it is at the correct parts anyway.  Done in coffee, by the way.  She has some pretty awesome coffee art.  Word of warning, though.  If you're going to attempt, you need something dark.  Sugar-infested stuff doesn't stain at all.  It's a lot of fun to mess around with, though, as is mascara.

Enough of my ranting.