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Everything is grey.
Rocks and smokes.
It’s the only thing he can see.
When he headed toward Angband, Findekano thought he would have to face an army of orcs.
But there is no trace of any army to oppose his advance.
There is also no trace of his cousin.
He can’t tell for how long he is walking, trying desperately to find him in the mountains. He has set up from Hithlum before the raising of the sun - without his father’s permission, of course - and, even if here its light is partly hidden by the smokes of Morgoth, he is sure it is now starting to sink again behind the mountains.
He started to lose hope with the diminishing light. What hope were there to find Nelyafinwë during the night if he hadn’t been able to during the day ? And what if he… Wasn’t to be found anymore ?
Yet he couldn’t leave. He couldn’t let his cousin down. He couldn’t give up. He rarely gave up, honestly.
Nelyo used to say he was too stubborn and that it would put him in trouble.
It was true of course. How many times did he bring his father’s wrath upon himself - and others - for being too obstinate ? He couldn’t count.
‘My cousin, your valiance will be your end.’ he had told him once. Why, he couldn’t remember - he had probably snuck somewhere he shouldn’t have - but he could hear his voice as clearly as if he was here. He was laughing, and it was since then that he started calling him ‘the Valiant’. And then everyone followed, without always knowing the reasons.
At first it bothered him, but he had grown to like this name.
It feels so strange to think about such merry times in such a dark place. And yet…
Even years later, he couldn't tell why exactly he started to sing. To defy Morgoth and his orcs hidden in the deepest places of their fortress ; in a last attempt to call for his cousin, or to reassure himself and compensate for the declining light of the sun ; maybe all of it at once.
At first he fears that the orcs would suddenly come out and take him. But when after a few seconds nothing moves, he starts to sing louder. And louder, breaking the silence of the place.
He feels brave, suddenly, unbeatable. The same feeling as when he was a kid : he doesn’t know if he will succeed, but he will try. He will try anything, without any thought for the consequences.
He is the Valiant again. Nothing can stop his voice to echo throughout the mounts. He imagine the orcs, hidden away in their caves, raging to go outside, but too afraid of the light to do so.
The thought brings him a new strength, and his voice grows even louder. He sits down and takes his harp - why he has it, he isn’t truly sure - and starts to play. He is not as good as Macalaurë, but he doesn’t think it will bother his invisible audience.
He doesn’t fear the Enemy or his army. Somehow he even wishes that he would go out and he could fight against him. He imagines the battle, the Valiant fighting with all his strength against the cause of the ruin of his people. And all would be amazed at his bravery, and he…
He stops suddenly.
Someone answered.
A feeble voice, almost inaudible, as if the wind had blown in this desolate land. And yet he is sure he heard a voice. An answer.
Nelyafinwë.
He starts to sing again, now listening to every sound.
The second voice rises again, still as weak as a murmur, but he can identify where it comes from. He starts walking in the direction of one of the most abrupt peaks, his heart beating with excitement.
Can it be true ?
“Nelyo !” he finds himself shouting.
No answer comes, but something in him knows. He found him. He is alive. There is hope.
He sprang up and starts to walk with precipitation towards the source of the voice, sometimes almost falling, but he doesn’t care. He has to make haste.
There. An opening. He is here.
He has to be.
His breath stops. No…
Everything hurts.
He can’t feel his right arm.
His eyes close themselves, he is not able to keep them open.
The voice has disappeared. Or was it never there ? He can’t tell. Maybe it was but a dream.
He believes he answered. Or did he just think he did ? Yet his breath is shaking, he must have…
He probably shouldn’t have.
They are going to come, if they heard him.
Or they are laughing of his hallucination. It can’t be anything but that. A dream. Or another illusion.
Do not hope.
There is no hope.
“Nelyo !”
No… Please, no…
He opens his eyes, as much as he can.
Heavy. So hard.
There is a shape.
He catches a glimpse of gold in their dark hair.
Findekano.
He had hoped here at least they would spare him.
And yet.
No hope.
He starts shaking, involuntarily.
Please, not again.
Tears run down his cheeks.
His breathing is hard, irregular.
Yet, he manages to take enough air.
“Please… Kill me… Stop… I… I can’t… Please…”
Begging is useless.
But he can’t help it.
It hurts.
So much.
He just…
Do they cry ?
The Findekano cries.
They never cry.
Usually, they…
They don’t cry.
And they don’t prepare to shoot.
Yet he does.
He closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to see whatever will come.
Not even death.
No.
The arrow won’t kill him.
It won’t.
Do not hope.
Findekano becoming Mairon.
That’s what will happen.
And then…
He lets out a broken cry.
Don’t think.
The arrow doesn’t come. Of course. It must have disappeared already.
But then there is a great sound.
Wings. Yet, not like the winged creatures of Morgoth.
What …
“Nelyo ! Please, answer me !”
He painfully opens his eyes.
The last ray of light shines on Findekano’s face.
He is worried. They never look worried. Could it be…?
“Fin ?”
“Yes, it’s me. I came to set you free.”
He starts to focus on the chains.
Yet, he knows he won’t be able to break them.
How can he be so high ?
He looks at him again.
He knows too.
“Nelyo, I… “
“Kill me… Please. Don’t let them… I can’t …”
Words escape his lips, but he can’t control them. His voice is hoarse, his throat is dry.
“Please Fin… End this. Please…”
“No Nelyo, I can’t. I’m… I’m sorry. Please, forgive me. I know it’s going to hurt. I’m sorry.”
What ?
His wrist.
He cries.
All the feelings in his right arm come back.
His shoulder.
His elbow.
His wrist.
Pain.
Pain.
His vision blurs.
He cries. Again. Again.
They are back.
There’s no escape.
There’s no hope.
Everything turns black.
No hope.
There is so much blood. His hands are covered with blood.
Yet he won’t stop. He can’t stop. He can’t give up on him. Not now.
His cousin’s cries of pain deafen him. It is horribly painful. He can only guess how he feels, but he can't stop. He can’t leave him here.
The cries stop. He grips even more tightly at his dagger, the only blade that he brought.
‘Please don’t be dead. Please don’t be dead.’
How long did it took ? So long. So long. Each second seems like an eternity.
Blood running on his hands, on his cousin’s arm. Blood.
The body falls. He catches it the best he can. Luckily, Thorondor seems large enough for the both of them.
“Wait, I have to…“
“We can not stay here very long, Prince.”
Findekano nods.
“I know, let me just… One minute and we go.”
He tears a band in his clothes to wrap Nelyafinwë’s forearm. He isn’t sure if it is useful, but it is the best he can do. ‘He would know what to do.’ he thinks. Ironic.
The strip fastly becomes stained with the dark-red blood.
“All right, let’s go.”
He holds the body the best he can as the king of the eagles draws away from the cliff.
He is so thin. He almost feels as if he could break in his arms. It is so strange. Findekano is usually the small one, and now…
The night has come. The stars shine brightly, like they did when the Prince left the camp, as if nothing had changed. He should be appeased to have succeeded, but he can’t stop the whirling of his thought.
‘Please don't die. Please don't die. Please don't die.‘
The journey seems so long, endless. If he dies before arriving, it’s…
No, that won’t happen. It can happen. He won’t let it happen. He will live.
He knows his cousin well enough. He isn’t the type to stop fighting. Findekano was stubborn, but it was seemingly a family trait. Russandol won’t give up. At least he wouldn’t when they were in Valinor.
But is it still the same Russandol that he knew back then ? The frail body seems so… Completely different. Everything in him seems different. He had begged to be killed. What if he doesn’t want to fight ? What if he isn’t strong enough anymore ? What if… He is already lost ?
No. He won’t let it happen. He will fight for him, even against him if he needs to, but he won’t let him die. He has to live. He can’t have done this for nothing. He’s… too stubborn to give up.
Suddenly, Nelyafinwë moves. He lets out a sound, and Findekano tries to strengthen his grip to stop him from moving to much.
‘Please don’t fall, please don’t fall, please don’t fall.‘
“Fin ? Is… Is it real ?”
“Yes Nelyo. It’s me. You’re safe. I’m bringing you back in Hithlum.”
There is a silence, filled only by the sound of the wind and the wings of the eagle.
“Fin… It… It hurts… “
“I know. I’m sorry. We’re almost there. Please, hold on. You’re going to be fine.”