The Tallest Tower by Luxa

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Chapter 1

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The air was only brisk, Fingon told himself. That's what the guard at the gate had said, and so it must be true. He had traveled through worse cold than this, much worse, cold enough to make your fingers turn blue and chip off. Maybe it was this that made him balk at the chill that permeated every inch of this fortress.

His cousin's tastes had changed. When they were young, Fingon would often find his friend basking in the light of the Trees as he read. In the old days they had taken many walks and gone off in the woods together many times, and always when the golden light was shining.

Now there were no Trees, only the sun, and Maedhros had changed with the Age.

Fingon climbed the stone steps with a full mind, wondering why the steward had been so certain his cousin would be up here, in the highest tower. It was well-built, and insulated against the weather; he'd have to ask for specifics, as it seemed to be doing better than many of his father's buildings.

"There you are," he said as he took the final step and glimpsed the profile of his cousin. He meant it to come off as light-hearted, but instead it sounded a little antagonistic.

"Here I am," echoed Maedhros, smiling as his cousin approached.

Fingon wanted to hug him, but he was suddenly struck by the picture in front of him. Maedhros, tall and undeniably regal (regardless of his mutilated face) standing in front of the highest window in the tallest tower, looking out over his frozen lands.

"Are you all right?" said Maedhros. "Not winded from the walk up, are you?"

It took Fingon a second to figure out that he was joking, and when he did he playfully punched Maedhros on the shoulder. That broke the tension, and they hugged fiercely, Fingon's head resting on Maedhros's shoulder for a brief second.

"It's so cold here," said Fingon, immediantly feeling like an idiot. "I mean, um, yeah."

Maedhros laughed, his deep voice grating against his damaged vocal chords. "It is. I like it. It clears my mind, especially after the fires of Angband."

Maedhros's gaze returned to the land, and Fingon's followed. Not so easily made silent after such a journey, he said, "This place must not have been easy to cultivate."

"You are bent on making me see how miserable the March is, aren't you?" said Maedhros, laughing. "Yes, the land was nearly barren, and it took a long time to build the fortress. But it is done, and it is strong. I'm proud of it."

Fingon let himself look at his cousin, really look, for the first time in decades. He was strong and tall and proud and yet so different than the way he'd been all those things before. Different, and strange. Fingon felt as though he barely knew him anymore; but he wanted to.

"It is so good to see you," he said honestly.

When Maedhros smile, it twisted the scar that ran across his lips. Fingon hadn't noticed it until then.

"And you, cousin," said Maedhros. "As much as I love my cold fortress, it does get lonely."

"You'd need Turuk-Turgon to get anyone close to your own height, sorry," joked Fingon, the new name unfamiliar on his tongue.

"I hear the King of Doriath is taller than even us," mused Maedhros. "Funny how it works, hm?"

Fingon scowled. "Do not talk to me of that King. I'm still sore about it. We're Princes, and he just refuses to even speak with us?"

"I do not blame him. These are perilous times, and he knew the danger better than we did at the time." Maedhros is speaking with the calm, mediating voice he uses with his brothers, the scratchiness barely audible as Maedhros speaks with the voice of reason. Fingon was beginning to like that voice.

Fingon's train of thought led him to the brothers, and he asked curiously, "How're your brothers? They're not as happy as you with the choice of land, I take it?"

"This is the coldest and least forgiving," said Maedhros. "They couldn't rightly complain when I took the worst of it, could they? Oh, they're angry, all except Maglor, but they can't tell me except through angry looks."

Fingon's heart swelled with affection for the man who'd made himself a pariah with his own family for the good of them all. He'd done the right thing, saving his cousin. Certainly better than not trying at all.

They head down the stairs together with unspoken consent, continuing their talk. Fingon wished he could memorize every inch of his cousin's face, every line and scar and eyelash so he would be able to take the memory with him.

"You are staring," said Maedhros. "I know it is not the prettiest face anymore, but I should have thought you'd be used to it by now."

By this point they were in Maedhros's private rooms, sitting in a sparsely furnished entertaining room that has the characteristically large furniture of all of his cousin's living spaces. The thought makes Fingon smile, until he realized what Maedhros said.

"That's not it," he said quickly. "I don't think there's anything wrong with your face. Or the rest of you, for that matter. I was just...this will sound silly."

"Now I'm curious."

"I was trying to...remember you. For when we're apart again."

"By staring at me?"

"...Yes."

"I must admit, it's a refreshing change," said Maedhros, smirking. "Most people are too afraid to meet my eyes these days. They say I have become as hard as the ground here."

"Really?" said Fingon, his disbelief showing in his voice. "I don't see that at all!"

"Neither do I!" said Maedhros emphatically. "I don't understand it at all. If I try and make jokes, everyone just stares at me like I've sprouted an extra head. Thank goodness for Maglor's visits, or else I might have gone insane." The way Maedhros gesticulated with his left hand was so utterly him that it made Fingon grin.

And when Fingon started grinning, Maedhros grinned with him. They sat there and grinned like idiots at each other, the bitter cold and the scars stretched across his cousin's face not mattering any more, only that they were here, in this moment, together.