Wings

Mellow Soulmate AU.  On the eve of battle, when you know you're going to die... Quenya names used (Fingon = Findekáno, Turgon = Turukáno or Turno, Maedhros = Maitimo, Aegnor = Aikanáro, Celegorm = Turkafinwë).  This is related especially closely to "Alcohol", "Get Up", "Treat", "Affront", "Terrible" and "Enjoy" amongst many others.  I suppose its also linked to "Grave" and "Pretend".  Takes place probably somewhere near Himring the night before the Fifth Battle.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Silmarillion

Pairings: Fingon x Sáriel (OFC)

Characters: Fingon, Turgon, Maedhros (mentions Sáriel, Gil-Galad, Celegorm, Aegnor, Fingolfin and Fëanor)

Warning: non-canon compliant, future canon character death, premonition, OFC warning, cultural stuff hidden in there, war and torture, hints at child abuse

Song: If I Die Young

Words: 1,301
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wing (noun): one of the movable feathered or membranous paired appendages by means of which a bird, bat, or insect is able to fly; an appendage or part resembling a wing in appearance, position, or function
http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/wing

There was a reason that Findekáno was never seen without his headpiece.  A reason he had even had the crown remade so that it might fit entwined with the golden eagle's wing.

It wasn't purely sentimental value, of course.

Reaching upwards, he brushed against the gold.  No tarnish stained the headpiece, though he had been wearing it for hundreds of years, ever since the day he had first received it.  Maybe Findekáno wasn't the most responsible of men, but if there was one thing he always knew he would cherish, it was this.

And the words that had come with it.

"I do not make things often, and it is not half as extravagant as my father would have crafted it, but nonetheless I thought it would suit you."

It was beautiful, this trinket.  Why Maitimo would think for even a second that it was of inferior quality, Findekáno could scarcely understand.  Or, perhaps, he could understand all too well.  The reminder made his lips purse as he stared down at the headpiece.

Simple but elegant.  Two golden wings branched outwards in the cup of his hands, each little feather tooled to perfection.  Were it not for the lack of a body and movement and heat, he would have thought them true wings of birds.  It seemed as though the faintest breeze could send them flying away into a distance flutter of black upon the far sky.

"Thank you," he said softly.  It was, after all, the anniversary of the day he had been created.

He wondered how often his father regretted it.

But the broad grin of his cousin chased away just a bit of that scorn, that disdain.  That endless wave of doubt and hatred that lingered behind Findekáno's charming, infectious and utter farce of a smile.  Maitimo was always genuine, only smiling when happiness truly struck him, brought that glow of sincerity to those usually sharply defined features.

Made him beautiful.  They called him perfection already, but Findekáno thought Maitimo was a thousand times more perfect when he was smiling.

If only the same could be said for him...

"Maitimo... Why wings?" Not, of course, that he didn't find the gift enchanting, but it did not make much sense.  It looked more like the sort of ornament one might find in the hair of a young maiden than a very masculine young prince.

"I thought you needed them."

Again, Findekáno ran his fingers over the edges, taking in the careful, methodical detail engraved into every edge, every centimeter.  It must have taken weeks to complete this project, and he knew how much Maitimo disliked working in the forge.

Judging by the number of bandages he'd seen on his cousin's hands, coupled with the tense frustration practically radiating off the redhead as of late, Maitimo had put aside his sheer dislike and lack of skill to, for once, create something.  And that spoke deeply to Findekáno of how much this little piece must mean to his cousin.

How many unspoken words it must carry.

"I need wings?" he asked, smiling with self-depreciation.

"I think you need to be reminded of who you are, my wild and reckless cousin--my brother." The grin softened to a mere smile, and long fingers fiddled a bit with Findekáno's dark hair. "I think you need to be reminded that, no matter what your father or anyone else says, you are free to be whomever and whatever you want to be."

Those huge gray eyes, almost dripping with affection, fluttered shut. "Who would know better than I, little brother?"

"Maitimo... I..."

"Trust me, Káno.  Do not let their words stop you.  You will be great."

Maybe it was the mere memory of those words that had kept him going so long.  That had kept him from giving up so many thousands of times.  That kept him bound together with his sworn-brother despite everything.

That had kept him from turning back when all hope had seemed lost and their family betrayed.  That had pushed him to stay alive when the cold seemed to eat away his flesh and freeze solid his bones.  That had forced him to go against his family to rescue the man he believed had no affection--brotherly or otherwise--for him anymore.

"Why would you help them--traitors and murderers?  They left us for dead!"

"Because he is my brother."

"You hold no obligation to help him." Turukáno was angry, and Findekáno understood why.  But even so, he could not deny the intensely powerful loyalty drawing him away...

Toward the truth.  Be it Maitimo's survival or his rotting corpse.

"I have to do this, Turno.  I have to."

That had him stomping forward and shaking Maitimo into wakefulness.  That gave him the fortitude to make his stubborn sworn-brother stand up and fight again and again when all the redhead wanted to do was lie down and die.  That eventually brought them both back to life.

"You are too stubborn for your own good, Findekáno."

"Unfortunately for you, I think that flaw is permanent." They both laughed at the younger cousin's cheesy grin. "You love me anyway."

An arm, the end hand-less, was thrown over his shoulder carelessly.  Affectionately.

"Of course, foolish little brother."

That even had him marrying the woman of his dreams and siring a child in the midst of war.  A spitfire redhead, a woman of the forest who could hunt with the likes of Turkafinwë and fight with the passion and finesse of Aikanáro.  She complimented him perfectly, scoffed at his flirtatious disposition and love of drink, laughed in the face of his hopeless inability to stay organized and get tasks completed but somehow always managed to keep him in line.

Not for a moment did he regret her or their son, no matter that the boy was an ocean's length away and she here, waiting patiently to die when he failed to return.

"It is against tradition.  And a ruler should always follow tradition, if only for the sake of the people."

"You have it all wrong, Turno.  The people, maybe they need something new.  Maybe they need a breath of fresh air in all this stale coldness."

"If you think you know what you're doing."

And he would brush his fingers across gold. "I know what I am doing.  Trust me."

He was himself.  Irresponsible, reckless, kindhearted and foolish Findekáno.  The worst king his people could ever have asked for.

And, on the morn, he was marching to certain death.

But nonetheless, Findekáno wove that piece into his hair and braided it tightly down to his scalp.  Comfortingly did the metal settle against his skin, its chill rocking through the king's body as he stared at his reflection.  Just him, without the crown and the robes and the royal frippery.

The feeling of foreboding did not go away.  But he still managed a faint smile.

Tomorrow, he was sure he would die.  But he would die knowing his son was safe.  Knowing his wife would soon join him in the Halls.  Knowing he was at the shoulder of his best friend and brother in all but blood, fighting for the survival of his people.  Knowing that, in the end, he had managed to be a good prince and a good king despite all the flaws.

There was nothing he could say he regretted.  And he thought that was a good way to die.

For something he believed in.  Wings intact on the field of battle.

"I am ready to depart.  To whatever end."

Had any words ever felt so true?