#soft though

Shall I miss it? The only place I’ve ever known…

Fingon was deep in thought as the home of the Teleri, blessed shore, seemed sketched as by an uncertain hand in the distance, wondering if they were condemned to be a people ever wandering.

Long and arduous had been the way to the realm of the Valar that their fathers had braved only to leave again so soon – in a cloud of incandescent words – to return whence they had come.

“Are you worried?” Maedhros appeared next to him, his voice soft and his face alight with a gleam Fingon knew he’d behold nevermore; henceforth, that sacred glow would be a cherished memory embedded in the living beauty of his family and the jealously guarded gems of Curufinwë.

Was he? Fingon knew not for certain and whatever cloud may have passed over his soul, it could not withstand the blinding light of his kinsman’s eyes, twinkling with a fire more moderate than his father’s, yet warmer for its lack of brazen, burning violence.

“Why did you follow us if your heart is torn?” Maedhros asked gently, his tone devoid of judgment; a part of him yearned to know Fingon safe even if it meant that he would have to walk this road without him. He knew that light – no matter how hallowed and pure – must inevitably cast a shadow and he would see Fingon – kind, brave, and faithful to a fault – spared of its threats and dangers.

“I would not be parted from you,” Fingon replied vaguely, letting his eyes travel over the straight back of his beloved father – paragon of loyalty – and his cherished siblings, strange and furtive as they might be, “I am bound by my own oaths of allegiance, written in blood, as you well know.”

A hand slipped into his – warm, reassuring, steady – and Fingon’s doubts abated further yet.

“I am glad that you’re here,” Maedhros admitted, “you might be the only thing preventing me from being ground to dust between the millstones that are my father and my brothers.”

There was laughter in his voice as well as a dark sense of foreboding; first-borns of brothers as much as rivals, they both harboured the secret wish and the terrible knowledge that it fell to them to overcome their fathers’ flaws without failing to uphold their legacy nonetheless if this venture was to know any success.

“I shall ever be,” Fingon replied, and – in this moment – he knew that he spoke profound truth that spanned far into the future and would be tested mercilessly, “wherever fate shall lead you, I’ll never be far behind, until the day I am returned to the care of the Valar.” “Do not speak of your demise,” Maedhros interrupted him sharply, “for I shall hasten to your side and prevent the unspeakable.”

Fingon chuckled wryly at that, clutching Maedhros’ hand a little tighter; those fingers intertwined with his own had been his roots and he’d be unable to ever turn away from them.

Whether they were stretched out in invitation or clenched in pain, these digits would point out the path of his destiny and Fingon would step upon it fearlessly if he knew that it would lead him back to the one he loved best of all the people who shared his blood.

He could perceive fragments of his face in Turgon and echoes of his inflection in Aredhel, but he was convinced that it was Maedhros who – in that valiant heart of his – carried part of his own soul.

“Do not be afeared,” that very same creature of flame and light murmured, “as long as we promise to find each other, there can be no peril too daunting!”

Another oath that would tighten the bonds of his doom, Fingon thought, but he did not hesitate to agree to those fair words.

“I shall ever find you, son of Fëanor, I shall never desert you,” he swore, brushing a strand of wayward dark hair out of his handsome face, “until the bitter end and beyond.”

Maedhros was not the best singer, but he’d follow his voice and the fire of his hair – hearth and pyre – to the literal ends of the world; there would be no mountain too high, no battle too hopeless, and no fate too bleak to keep him, for so he had pledged his heart and mind.

“Look there,” Maedhros exclaimed, “we’re almost there; I can smell Alqualondë already. Great things await us!”

And despite the cold shiver of prescience that ran down Fingon’s spine like a thousand blades yet to be braved, he hastened his step in pursuit of the eternal hope that they might find happiness and prosperity at their journey’s end.

I...I don't even know what I wanted to achieve with this other than to overcome writer's block.

I've not finished the book and I know virtually nothing about either one of them as I'm not yet immersed in the fandom and fanon...

If you have pointers, you're very welcome to help me <3

So, here's my humble offering.

"And you are the Queen of Fedalia," a small bow, "I am quite familiar with your country and that...monster beast of yours."  He is referring to Einar.  Cassandra snorts, unladylike but in the moment she could care less.

"Is there a reason for your visit?" 

"Just to see if a friend of mine is here but...oh, you resemble him too well," a dark chuckle.  "I'm envious."

"Envious of what," her hand moves to the hilt of her sword.  Sylus of Reim always set her on edge.  Especially after catching wind of the rumors about him.  That he executed people for fun, desecrated corpses, and practiced in magic much darker than what Einar himself was composed of.

"Everything," a shrug, a blase fair attitude.  "But I'm here on more personal matters."

"...person--hRK!" Sylus had moved too fast and Cassandra brought a hand up to the sword through her breast.  Her hands wrapped around the blade, the sting of the metal in her palms nothing compared to the throbbing spasms in her chest.  Blood is trickling down her wrists, staining her clothes, and distantly she can hear it.  People's screams as Einar suddenly gives a bellowing roar, body arching back and black blood bursting forth from his chest in a gross parody of birds fleeing for the sky before falling down to the earth as rain.

"With this," Sylus' face is so close and she can see the madness in his eyes, "will that beast of yours die or will you both heal?" No one around them is doing anything and it is only then that Cassandra realizes that their fear of her--of Einar--has paralyzed them into doing nothing because then maybe they will be rid of their problem and put someone new on the throne.

"W-what madness has possessed you t-to do...this," Cassandra spat at Sylus, blood splattering on his white armor and his pale face.  His smile turns to that of disdain, dark shadows under his eyes.

"You look too much like him and it makes me angry," Sylus hissed.  "I want to kill him, I want to kill him over and over and over again."  A hand trailed along her chin, reached down to dip in her blood and then smear it along her neck.  "But I also want to hold him, so close so he will never abandon me again," Sylus leans in to almost press a mocking kiss to her temple but moves away, "but you're not him and it will never be enough to satisfy what I want but if you heal--"

"No--"

"If you heal I can do this over and over again and you will never be able to stop me because--"

Einar's screeching became louder along with her own when Sylus pressed his foot in her gut to push her off his sword.

"I am the Undead King," a manic smile.  "I will never truly be killed, and like you are the Queen of Ruin then you will never die."

"Sickening King," she choked out.

"Let us wish each other a happy ending," Sylus sheathed his bloodied sword, "and together let us rule a desolate world oh but...if I find him then you can say farewell.  Goodbye, Queen Cassandra!"