#hmmmm just realized the deceiver is a post-numenor name but uhhhhhhh

[mai-sau]

For the angst sentence starters 4 for Russingon or Angbang, whichever you prefer if you don't mind. Thanks!

!!!! i,,,, mightve made this a little longer than i planned,, i am so weak for russingon

i hope u enjoy!!

Prompt: “I won’t hurt you.”

A thump. A dull pain blossoming in his side.

Tangled in the hefty blankets, Fingon blinked his eyes open, once, then twice. He felt a rustling against his side, restless and choppy. Like waves battering a boatside, his mind offered blearily, as awareness crept back into his senses. And with that awareness - oh.

Fingon flipped over, his eyes taking in a sight his mind now processed much more quickly, though his heart wished it did not. There, face twisted in fear, writhing, whimpering: Nelyo. Oh, Nelyo.

Gently - gently, gently, he had to be gentle, except he had to not treat him like a broken thing, he had to give him space, but how could he not be anything but feather-light in wake of such wounds - gently, Fingon rested a hand on his trembling shoulder. “Nelyo,” he called. “Nelyo, please wake up. You are in Hithlum. You’ve been here for six months, now. You are free.”

Nelyo shuddered. His eyes snapped open. They darted to Fingon, flicking over his form again and again, as if trying to comprehend the very sight of him. Fingon merely removed his hand and waited, the silence stretching between them.

He would let Nelyo have all the time he needed - they had plenty of it. Outside their window, the night remained draped over all things like an inky shadow.

Finally, Nelyo sat up on the bed, the blankets curling around his hips - still so gaunt, Fingon couldn’t help but notice. He breathed once, deeply, and exhaled through his nose. Again. He spoke, the words rasping out in the silence. “I’m sorry for… I’m sorry. That must have been unpleasant to wake to.”

Fingon shook his head. “It’s alright. But... are you alright?”

Nelyo laughed, a short, bitter sound. “Alright is… a word. I will be fine. Dreams. Just dreams.” But he looked back at Fingon then, and his eyes wavered, as if still uncertain he could believe what he saw. “I am sorry,” he repeated, the apology leaving him in a rush. “I can find other rooms. You will not have to suffer my melodramatics. I am sorry for waking you.”

He began to raise himself up. “Wait-” Fingon darted a hand out, lightly grasping his forearm. Nelyo froze, every muscle gone rigid. Fingon gave a small gasp and quickly snatched his hand back. “I am so sorry, I should have asked-”

“It’s okay,” Nelyo breathed, lowering himself back onto the bed. “It’s okay - you can -” Slowly, he reached his left hand across the covers and entwined his fingers with Fingon’s. He pressed their palms together - warm, so warm, yet still a bit slippery with sweat.

For a moment, they simply held their hands like this. Fingon could barely make out the room in the dim moonlight, but he could see Nelyo’s chest steadily rise and fall. He could still see that, so it was alright.

Soon, that chest stuttered, and Fingon felt the fingers around his tighten. “Sorry,” Nelyo gasped, as his eyes began to shine, and then flooded with tears. “Sorry, I’m sorry-”

“Shh,” Fingon soothed. He drew Nelyo close to him and carefully, carefully wrapped arms around his quaking form. With slow strokes down his back and a steady voice, Fingon tried his best to offer the comfort he could. “You will never be there again, not so long as I can help it. You are safe. You are loved,” he murmured into auburn locks. “You are free.”

At this, Nelyo stiffened. “I am not,” he said, voice thick, his face buried in Fingon’s chest. “I never will be.”

“I... cannot know what you must be going through,” Fingon said, continuing his path up and down his spine. Up and down. “What you experienced sounds,” Fingon paused, considering his words. “Awful. Changing. I do not wish to offer empty promises or insist that everything is fine when you are in so much pain. All I can tell you is this: I will be here, by your side. When you need me, when you want me, I will be right here.”

Nelyo withdrew his arms to wipe at his face. “I do not deserve it,” he wept. “I am sorry, I do not deserve it, or you, or any of it.”

Fingon opened his mouth to protest, but Nelyo waves him off with trembling arms. “It was not Angband I dreamt of,” he admitted. He wipes his eyes again, insistently, the knuckles digging and pulling at his skin. His cheeks still glisten with fresh tears. “Well, it was, in a way. They - sometimes, Þauron would - he can shift form, and sometimes, he-” Nelyo seemed to be both pushing the words out and gulping them in at the same time. “He would - but it’s true, isn’t it?”

Though Fingon couldn’t make much sense of the words, he smoothed a hand down Nelyo’s copper tresses anyways. “I am not sure any word from the mouth of the Deceiver is true, but-” He lightly scratched his scalp with his fingernails. “What is true?”

A great shudder overtook the body in his arms. “That I am doomed to destruction. A kinslayer I was and a kinslayer I will be. I love you, I love you, but the silmarils are still out there. I will never be free. I must choose evil, when it comes, and I must, but I still choose, already chose-”

Fingon felt his hands freeze, much as he longed to offer comfort. This was - true, yes, but the maybe kind of true, the kind of true that didn’t have to be so, but if it did it did, and what hope could he offer? “Right now,” he heard himself say. “Right now, you choose this. And that matters.”

“I won’t hurt you,” Nelyo whispered, then again, over and over as if lost in prayer. His body returned to full, quaking tremors. “I won’t, I won’t hurt you, I promise, I want to promise, I’m sorry, I won’t, I won’t-” At last, his body gave out a shuddering sob. “I will.”

“We cannot know for certain,” Fingon admits. “As we cannot know most things. But right now, you are here.” He felt his voice crack - foolish, wasn’t he supposed to be the one offering comfort? - and he ran his hand through Nelyo’s hair once more. He could barely see past the shadows of his beloved’s trembling form. Their room really was so dark. He could barely see anything. “And you bring healing, and love, and comfort. You bring so much joy, Nelyo, my Maedhros, so much joy, and though I cannot promise an endless future, I will see whatever future we will by your side. For as long as we have, and we have it now.”

Gradually, he felt Nelyo calm in his embrace. When at last he gave out a great sigh, Fingon felt the warm puff of air against his neck.

“Neither law, nor love, nor league of swords…” Though his voice was weary, Nelyo spat out the words as if venom on his tongue. “Nothing can defend us from the inevitable.” He wrapped his arms around Fingon’s torso once more. “But for now… for now, I will be by your side as long as I could ever hope to be.”

Fingon hummed, and they remained like that - still and quiet, if not serene - for a long while.

“Mm, I promise I will not be so dreary in the morning,” Nelyo mumbled as sleep slowly retook him, hopefully to kinder dreams. His arms relaxed around Fingon. His head lowered and nestled on his chest. “I am sorry for the commotion.”

“No need for apology,” Fingon assured, gazing up at the shadows reaching along their ceiling. Not now, at least. “When you need me, I will be right here.”

#ask game #writing prompts #russingon #maedhros #fingon #fandomfun13 #!!! fingon is just trying his hardest to be comforting :( and maedhros is...trauma.. and self loathing...... aaaa #this is.. my first silm writing and i got a bit swept away pskegnjlgkjnshgbjdh #i may perhaps.... post this... on ao3.. #silmarillion #my writing #hmmmm just realized the deceiver is a post-numenor name but uhhhhhhh #lets just pretend hes always been known as ‘that lying bastard’ #KAKSKWKWKSKSKW