„High king! Just a word." Fingon turned, hearing his friend's words.

"Very well. See that you get familiar with the legion assigned to you," he nodded to Mablung he had just been talking to, before giving Maedhros his full attention: "I wasn't planning to leave," he responded, taking a few steps across the tent, before standing in front of the feanorian, "besides: Don't ever address me as high king again."

It didn't surprise him, that Maedhros shook his head, an eyebrow raised in an attempt to make it seem like a joke. "This is a formal meeting," he answered, "What else should I call you?"

This made Fingon sigh in resignation: "Some informality would do us all good," Mablung came to his mind, who had kept glancing coldly at Nelyo when he had thought no one would see. And Gwindor, who hadn't even tried to hide his disdain for the ridiculously small company from Doriath, "something to remember we aren't here because we hate each other."

A shadow in Maedhros' eyes reassured him, that this was part of what he had wanted to talk about. "We do hate each other," his friend answered grimly, "we are here, because we hate Morgoth more."

There was a moment of silence between them. There was nothing more to say.

"I'm sorry," Maedhros said eventually, looking up to meet Fingon's confused gaze," you must hate all of this."

All of this...

Maedhros wasn't wrong.

Finno hated it. Had hated it since the very first day.

Very few people knew, that, when he had heard of the death of his father, his first instinct hadn't been to grief for him. And very few people knew, that for him the most difficult of days had been his own coronation. He had asked Curufinwe to choose a light metal when he designed the crown – a new start for both their houses – and yet it had weighed heavy on his head, as if it had been forged out of all the souls under his care. He wondered, if it would become lighter, when he would have doomed those souls to leave this world.

"Well... they need a king, I guess."

"I forced this onto you," Maedhros insisted.

"You offered this to my father. It's not your fault he wanted to play hero."

Fingon knew, it wasn't just that. He knew, both Maedhros and his father had done the right thing. That he had found himself in the terrible position of a king at war was just how things hat turned out to be.

"Still," Maedros didn't seem able to let go and compassion hit Fingon like an arrow in the chest. He had come dangerously close to shooting his best friend, cutting his hand shortly after. He of all people was familiar with the  crushing weight of guilt.

"I was the one to call to this war. And you came."

I would always come for you, Nelyo.

A memory stirred at the back of his mind.

No matter what.

A truth, as plain as can be. But life was never that simple.

"Don't be," he responded to the guilt in Maedhros' face, that was a shadow no longer.

Carefully, he placed a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"After the deeds of Luthien Morgoth is weakened," he explained, quoting the very letter Maedhros had sent to several elvish courts, "among other things he has lost his lieutenant. However, when he recovers his wrath against the elves will be more powerful than ever. If we don't strike now, we will die just as well."

He looked up at his friend, whos' face revealed a battle between amusement, sorrow and grief. Gently, he pulled him into a hug and smiled to himself, as Maedhros – who was significantly taller than him – rested his head on his shoulder.

"I wouldn't make such a grievous decision only for you."

He knew, sometimes it seemed he would.

As a king he was forced to make difficult decisions all the time and more often than not it had to seem as if his heart had too much power over his mind. Sometimes it had, but that didn't mean he would allow love to blind him.

"I wish, there was another way."

He would go to war as he had gone to rescue Maedhros.

Alone, and without a crown of souls on his head, trying to save his friend he loved.

Why couldn't he save his people he loved in the same way?

"You wish, you could fight alone." Nelyo had never been good at finding the right words. Not outside of a diplomatic meeting, at least.

"I know, I can't," he said, suddenly unsure if he was holding Maedhros or held on to him, "I just wish that all of this was over already."

Fingon being a capable individual! Fingon being more than just the guy who loves a son of Feanor! I'm still trying to get into his personality and make him a bit more complex. I really like to work with the dynamic om Maedhros loving himself too little and Fingon loving the world too much. 

Also, shoutout to Thirty seconds to Mars who's song "This is war" will forever have a place on my Silm-playlist.

Again, I had no idea how on earth I could end this. The way it is, it might be a little bit painful. I'm sorry :D