Apparently, Maglor had been waiting for Fingon in front of the large doors, behind which the healers had been treating the oldest son of Feanor. Naturally, Fingon had sensed an air of awkwardness between them, which was no surprise, given everything that had happened.

"Maglor," he had greeted the other elve kindly, suggesting that he was ready to forgive him at an instant. Apparently, being of a forgiving nature ran in the family. And both of them hadn't acted exemplary during that recent episode of their lives.

The younger feanorian had waited, until Fingon had approached, but hadn't dared to look him in the eyes. Fingon suspected, he'd have to learn to forgive himself, before being able to accept the forgiveness of others.

Somewhat helplessly, Maglor had gestured towards the closed doors, behind which healers had tried to tie his brother's soul to this world desperately.

"He didn't do it."

What?

"The Shipburning," the words came out muffled and fast, "he didn't participate. I thought, you should know."

Then he had all but fled, leaving the unspoken truth hanging in the suddenly stiff air.

I did.

It wouldn't have needed this information for Fingon to stay with Nelyo during the time of his healing, sitting on the edge of his bed, talking. The healers had said, that, even though he was fast asleep, a familiar voice might keep him from loosing himself in Irmo's realm. So, Fingon had talked. And when Nelyo had woken up, screaming or shivering or struggling to breathe he had held him tightly.

Not, that it had been particularly easy for Fingon, either. The dust and darkness of Angband had made themselves at home in his body and more than once had he sought the council of one of the healers specialized on issues of the mind. It had taken him, who loved having others around, a long time to get over the vastness and loneliness of the stained lands he had crossed. To comprehend the memory of talking to stones, because not even a tree would grow there. Of wishing to just lie down and die, worrying, doubting, grieving, lest there wouldn't be anything left to save.

It had taken him longest to accept, that he really would have done it. Hadn't it been for the eagle of Manwe – he would have shot his best friend in the chest.

But, just as Nelyos' body had recovered, so had Fingon's mind, until now the feelings he had struggled with so badly were but a shadow in his consciousness, that would fade with time. At around the same time Nelyo had regained the ability to speak clearly, sit up, walk around the room, until he had moved from the healing chambers into a room reserved for guests of high status.

This had been five weeks ago – and since then between him an Fingon had been dead silence.

Not, that Fingon hadn't tried to break it. More than once had he attempted to catch him after one of the council meetings they both attended or to seek him out in his quarters. But his best friend had remained as closed as Feanor's jewellbox.

Fingon had an idea, why this might be the case – in fact, he had several. If only, Nelyo would talk to him, so he'd have at least a chance of understanding, what the problem really was. They could solve it together.

Then maybe these unwanted – untrue – thoughts wouldn't grow in the back of his mind.

It wasn't worth it.

Why did you even save him, when you didn't get your friend back?

Isn't this why you did it? Not because you love him, but because you love him as your friend.

It wasn't worth it.

This had been the point, when he had drawn a line. He believed – knew – this sharp little voice in the back of his head was wrong. He wouldn't allow it to become louder. His friend would talk to him, whether he wanted or not.

And here he was, on the outer wall of the fortress, a place that was deserted, rough and windy. Just the kind of place he knew his friend liked to retreat to when he needed time to think.

As expected, he found him, leaning over the balustrade, gazing into the nothingness below with empty eyes.

"Maedhros," he had never called him that, the name feeling strange and unfamiliar in his mouth. But it was probably better to start the conversation with some distance between them.

When he didn't respond, Fingon came closer until he stood next to him.

"I want to talk to you."

Maedhros snorted somewhat scornful: "Still believe, that every problem can be solved by talking?"

This... hurt.

Mostly, because Fingon sensed that it was intended to do just that. Once, the Feanorian had been able to say practically anything to Fingon, who had trusted him not to want to hurt him. But now...

"I haven't seen that doing nothing does so either," he was relieved to find, that it didn't come out snapping. Hopefully, they would be able to work through whatever this was later.

Still, Maedhros didn't seem like he was planning to give a response.

"If it is time and space you need," Fingon said carefully, "then I can give you that."

He considered for a moment, then decided, that he had to say it: "If you want me out of your life, then I can manage that too. I'd just like to know..."

Silence.

"I went through hell for you," he hoped, Maedhros would hear the hurt in his voice and realize this wasn't meant as an accusation, "don't you think, you owe me an explanation?"

The Feanorian's head spun round to meet Fingon's gaze with bright, burning eyes.

"This is how it works, isn't it," he hissed, "you go through hell for me and now I owe you to be the person you set out to get back in the first place," he took a step forward and, instinctively, Fingon took a step back, "I owe you to be the friend you missed, pretending I still am the person I was before, like I was still whole and unchanged," he shook his head, his hands clenched into fists, "I'll tell you something: The person you wanted to get back when you saved me, died long before you even thought of setting out. Saving me wasn't worth the effort."

His expression turned empty again. Like a roaring fire suddenly running out of oxygen.

Fingon all but stumbled backwards, hearing the very thoughts he had been trying to ignore for quite a while now.

It wasn't worth it.

I owe you...

Why even save him?

Not because you love him, but because you love him as your friend.

Wasn't worth it.

I owe you I owe you I owe you...

You owe me.

"Do you think, I loved you only for what you lost at Thangorodrim?"

It wasn't true. Nothing of what this sharp little voice had told him over the past weeks had any honest feeling behind it and right now, having all o it thrown into his face, he was suddenly certain of it.

"Do you think, I couldn't look at all the scars and wounds and holes Thangorodrim left you with and still say, that I loved you?"

His voice became louder, but with desperation rather than anger.

"I  will tell you something: I don't know, if I can, because you won't even allow me to try."

Silence.

Fingon desperately wanted to say something, anything, to force Maedhros to talk to him, but found he had run out of words.

"I saw you," the Feanorian eventually muttered, "he showed me visions, sometimes horrible; but most of them fair. He enjoyed me waking up from paradise and finding, that I was actually in hell. You were in them rather often."

Not knowing what to say, Fingon answered with the first thing that came to his mind: "What did I say?"

"Many things," Maedhros sounded thoughtfull, "fair things. So that, when I awoke, I didn't know, if I missed you or the version of you he had created."

So, this was it?

This was, what his friend had been afraid to show him, fearing he might reject it?

"He did this with many people: My friends, my family. Even Celegorm's damned dog," he sighed, "right now I don't think I know who any of you really is."

This was horrible. Fingon knew, it would take him some time to process this. He wanted to hug Maedhros. Wanted to fix this. Wanted to know, what this vision had been, that he wasn't . He would work throgh this - they would work through this - later.

Right now, he was aware, that any wrong word of his could shatter the small, fragile piece of trust he had been handed forever.

And he wanted to say the right thing, because maybe, it could help his friend heal.

Maybe he wouldn't be who he had been, but maybe that didn't mean, he had to be in pain forever.

Maybe maybe maybe ...

"Maybe" he said carefully, "you could try to get to know us again? Make new memories, that aren't corrupted. We could help you."

He wasn't sure, that Curufin, with his crafty mind, or Celegrom, who was better with animals than he was with people would understand. But he didn't doubt, that they would do everything in their power to ... help.

"After all, we have changed too. We could try and start again."

This time, he was sure he had said the right thing. It was obvious by the look in Nelyo's eyes, the same he had seen in Valinor, when he had come to Fingon because everything had been to much: tired, but with a shadow of ... hope.

Maybe, healing would be neither easy, nor fast to come. But it was a start and right now, they had all the time in the world.

Got this idea from listening to "Rescue me" by Eurrielle (honestly, this song is so Russingon). I used to write Maedhros recovery somewhat more straightforward and faster and less complicated, but there is something remarkably intriguing about writing multiple layers of emotions and a larger variety of conflict, that has to be solved and many small steps forward and backwards being part of a healing-process – besides, that reflects real healing-processes much more accurately, I guess.

Sorry for the abrupt ending. I'm still not good at ending oneshots XD

Also, I think that this is the first time I really wrote something from Fingon's perspective and I feel extremely comfortable with this character. He is just very wholesome and... I'd say aware and... reasonable? And he gives me strong Polites-vibes (the sunshine from epic the musical). I think, that, right now, he is the character I relate to most, besides Elrond maybe, which is primarily due to the comparably small amount of trauma he gains during the story. Comparably!

Anyway, I enjoyed writing this a lot. Still don't know, if I ship them, because not too explicit content about them is nice, but I can't bring myself to actually writing them into a committed relationship. They are half-cousins, after all. Would like to hear your thoughts on this.