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Jan. 3rd, 2019 10:14 pmFlight
The air against his skin, tearing at his robes and his hair. The cold did seep into him, leaving him even more numb than before, and yet he was feeling excited, stressed out and terrified at the same time. He didn’t look at the terrain which flew by them with frightening speed, the great eagle was fast and did ride the winds with ease, using them to gain speed. He was clinging to the body he held in front of him, his heart racing within his chest, hoping and praying that it hadn’t been too late, that there was a chance, no matter how small. He closed his eyes against the merciless wind and didn’t care about the low temperature, he had survived worse, way worse. But he couldn’t look down, the height was terrifying and he felt faint even thinking about it. Instead he did focus on the weight in his arms, trying to awaken the memories of similar moments. It didn’t work, the differences were too great, they had never been sitting like this, together on the back of a great eagle. And when they had been sitting together, warm body against warm body it hadn’t been like this.
He could feel the roughness of the weather worn skin, the bones which were right underneath it. He could smell the stench of an unwashed body, of the hair which had become tangled like the wool of a sheep which hadn’t been shorn in years. He forced himself not to cringe, not to pull away, there had been lice crawling within the matted mass of once shiny silky hair, there had been bites visible too. He just held on, for there wasn’t anything else to do. He couldn’t even speak for he didn’t know what to say, apologize? Would that be the appropriate action to take? He knew that the arrow he almost had loosened perhaps would have been the most merciful solution after all, he had seen a lot, but never anything like this.
He had never seen an elf this emaciated, to the brink of being skeletal. He had never seen anybody with joints this twisted and stretched and pulled out of place. The shoulder was simply ruined, he wondered if it ever could be functional again. And the arm, the hand…He had to swallow the taste of bile, he couldn’t even think about it. The stump was carefully wrapped but he could smell it still, the sweet sickening smell of rotten flesh. Cutting the hand off had been surprisingly easy, like cutting through soft cheese. The dark magic within that horrible chain the only thing keeping the body in place. If it hadn’t been magical the poor prisoner would have slipped out of the manacle years ago and fallen to his death, and perhaps that would have been salvation. He couldn’t even imagine what his cousin now would face.
The hand had been rotten, like that of a corpse left on the battlefield for weeks, there had been no pain involved, not resistance at all, and that had been the worst part of it. Had he rescued an elf at all? Or simply a dead body which hadn’t yet understood that it was dead? The feeling of slight dread did fill him yet again, what was he truly to do? What would come out of this? Every action has a consequence and he knew that many would deem his deed irresponsible or even foolish. Some would say that saving the son of Fëanor was idiotic and a threat to the political stability of the current situation. They would say that it would bring turmoil and more violence, that he should have done what Maitimo had asked and ended him, mercifully and swift. They would say that the only good oathbound was one which was dead…But he couldn’t regret it, it wasn’t in him. He had dared to go into the enemy’s domain solely to find the answer, to learn the truth. He couldn’t live anymore with the doubt, the thoughts which never let him find peace, even in his chamber at night. The dark miasma, creeping into his soul, whispering words which were like sweet poison, making him question everything. Had it been real? Had he been a blind fool, letting himself be exploited by an older more experienced person, way more cynical than himself? Had he been abandoned as if he was just a toy, a thing to be tossed away once it had been used? He had refused to believe it, he had refused to listen to those who said that they all had been left to crawl back to the valar, begging for their forgiveness and mercy. And now he did know for sure, now the doubt which had haunted him so was gone. The emaciated wraith of an elf had told him, gasping as he tried to hold onto him and at the same time cut through the wrist. “I…wanted…him to send the ships back…but father…”
Fingon did cling onto the trembling body of his cousin, his long lost lover and he wished that they would stay there forever, that they didn’t have to meet others, wouldn’t have to explain, wouldn’t have to be torn apart yet again by the words and actions of somebody who no longer was among the living. As long as they sat there, on the eagle, free in the air they were together and the future was just a word, empty and false. He did hide his tears within the matted hair and whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. “It is alright my love, I am here, I found you at last. You are free now”
Maedhros didn’t answer and Fingon was afraid he had lost too much blood, that the weakness finally had been too much, that he was dying. “I am sorry I didn’t find you before, and I am sorry I am putting you through this…you deserve to rest now, but I cannot…”
He choked a sob, caressing the skeletal figure once more. “I cannot lose you again, not like that. We are together now, just like before”
It could have been a nod, or just a random movement triggered by the movements of the eagle. He held onto Maedhros, held onto hope. If this was the end of his beloved then at least he did share these last moments with him. That in itself was a mercy, a blessing and he did know that he was facing doom just as they all were. But the valar couldn’t take this away from him, and they couldn’t deny the fact that he had done the impossible. Yes, he had a reason to be proud but pride had never been what was most important to him. “Do not worry Maitimo, soon there will be food, and healers and a bath and…”
The flight would be over too soon, and yet not soon enough…it was a paradox, and one he had to simply accept. Again he did focus upon the body within his arms and knew that there would be no regrets from him, no matter what the outcome would be.
The air against his skin, tearing at his robes and his hair. The cold did seep into him, leaving him even more numb than before, and yet he was feeling excited, stressed out and terrified at the same time. He didn’t look at the terrain which flew by them with frightening speed, the great eagle was fast and did ride the winds with ease, using them to gain speed. He was clinging to the body he held in front of him, his heart racing within his chest, hoping and praying that it hadn’t been too late, that there was a chance, no matter how small. He closed his eyes against the merciless wind and didn’t care about the low temperature, he had survived worse, way worse. But he couldn’t look down, the height was terrifying and he felt faint even thinking about it. Instead he did focus on the weight in his arms, trying to awaken the memories of similar moments. It didn’t work, the differences were too great, they had never been sitting like this, together on the back of a great eagle. And when they had been sitting together, warm body against warm body it hadn’t been like this.
He could feel the roughness of the weather worn skin, the bones which were right underneath it. He could smell the stench of an unwashed body, of the hair which had become tangled like the wool of a sheep which hadn’t been shorn in years. He forced himself not to cringe, not to pull away, there had been lice crawling within the matted mass of once shiny silky hair, there had been bites visible too. He just held on, for there wasn’t anything else to do. He couldn’t even speak for he didn’t know what to say, apologize? Would that be the appropriate action to take? He knew that the arrow he almost had loosened perhaps would have been the most merciful solution after all, he had seen a lot, but never anything like this.
He had never seen an elf this emaciated, to the brink of being skeletal. He had never seen anybody with joints this twisted and stretched and pulled out of place. The shoulder was simply ruined, he wondered if it ever could be functional again. And the arm, the hand…He had to swallow the taste of bile, he couldn’t even think about it. The stump was carefully wrapped but he could smell it still, the sweet sickening smell of rotten flesh. Cutting the hand off had been surprisingly easy, like cutting through soft cheese. The dark magic within that horrible chain the only thing keeping the body in place. If it hadn’t been magical the poor prisoner would have slipped out of the manacle years ago and fallen to his death, and perhaps that would have been salvation. He couldn’t even imagine what his cousin now would face.
The hand had been rotten, like that of a corpse left on the battlefield for weeks, there had been no pain involved, not resistance at all, and that had been the worst part of it. Had he rescued an elf at all? Or simply a dead body which hadn’t yet understood that it was dead? The feeling of slight dread did fill him yet again, what was he truly to do? What would come out of this? Every action has a consequence and he knew that many would deem his deed irresponsible or even foolish. Some would say that saving the son of Fëanor was idiotic and a threat to the political stability of the current situation. They would say that it would bring turmoil and more violence, that he should have done what Maitimo had asked and ended him, mercifully and swift. They would say that the only good oathbound was one which was dead…But he couldn’t regret it, it wasn’t in him. He had dared to go into the enemy’s domain solely to find the answer, to learn the truth. He couldn’t live anymore with the doubt, the thoughts which never let him find peace, even in his chamber at night. The dark miasma, creeping into his soul, whispering words which were like sweet poison, making him question everything. Had it been real? Had he been a blind fool, letting himself be exploited by an older more experienced person, way more cynical than himself? Had he been abandoned as if he was just a toy, a thing to be tossed away once it had been used? He had refused to believe it, he had refused to listen to those who said that they all had been left to crawl back to the valar, begging for their forgiveness and mercy. And now he did know for sure, now the doubt which had haunted him so was gone. The emaciated wraith of an elf had told him, gasping as he tried to hold onto him and at the same time cut through the wrist. “I…wanted…him to send the ships back…but father…”
Fingon did cling onto the trembling body of his cousin, his long lost lover and he wished that they would stay there forever, that they didn’t have to meet others, wouldn’t have to explain, wouldn’t have to be torn apart yet again by the words and actions of somebody who no longer was among the living. As long as they sat there, on the eagle, free in the air they were together and the future was just a word, empty and false. He did hide his tears within the matted hair and whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. “It is alright my love, I am here, I found you at last. You are free now”
Maedhros didn’t answer and Fingon was afraid he had lost too much blood, that the weakness finally had been too much, that he was dying. “I am sorry I didn’t find you before, and I am sorry I am putting you through this…you deserve to rest now, but I cannot…”
He choked a sob, caressing the skeletal figure once more. “I cannot lose you again, not like that. We are together now, just like before”
It could have been a nod, or just a random movement triggered by the movements of the eagle. He held onto Maedhros, held onto hope. If this was the end of his beloved then at least he did share these last moments with him. That in itself was a mercy, a blessing and he did know that he was facing doom just as they all were. But the valar couldn’t take this away from him, and they couldn’t deny the fact that he had done the impossible. Yes, he had a reason to be proud but pride had never been what was most important to him. “Do not worry Maitimo, soon there will be food, and healers and a bath and…”
The flight would be over too soon, and yet not soon enough…it was a paradox, and one he had to simply accept. Again he did focus upon the body within his arms and knew that there would be no regrets from him, no matter what the outcome would be.
