The Song Remains The Same by Lotrfan

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Chapter 3

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Fingon had followed the faint sound of the answering song, scarcely believing what he heard. He climbed the mounds of rock and dirt to the very base of the sheer cliffs of Thangorodrim. As the light increased the mist faded and he now saw the figure hanging from the cliff above him.

His breath caught as he saw the distinctive red hair and his song faltered. "Maitimo," he breathed, then shouted it louder. "Maitimo!"

The face looked down at him and he heard the quiet answer. "Findekáno."

He scrambled to the cliff, searching for a handhold, somewhere to grasp. "Maitimo!" He shouted again. "I will come." His hands slid on the dirt and rocks, unable to gain purchase. He pounded his hand against the cliff in frustration.

"Findekáno." His name came to his ears, the voice a dry and rasping growl above him. "Findekáno, there is no way up." Maedhros said, his words drifting down to Fingon. "There is no release for me, save from your bow."

Fingon shook his head and scraped his hands trying to climb up yet again.

"Finno, please. You cannot linger here," Maedhros called, his voice rising in volume.

"I will not leave you," Fingon called up, frantic in his scrabbling at the rock now.

"Finno, you have your bow. One arrow and you end this torment for me. Please. I am beyond hope, beyond rescue. You can give me peace and release me-it is the only way."

Fingon pressed his forehead against the rock wall in front of him. He was here. He had found him. Curse these cliffs, he thought as he pounded his hands against the surface one more time, dislodging a rivulet of dirt and pebbles that gained him no handhold.

"Finno, please." Maedhros tone was distraught now. "You must go! I cannot stand it if he gets you too. You must put an arrow in me before you leave." He paused and Fingon looked up to see his anguished face. "I cannot bear it anymore, Finno. End it, please."

Fingon felt the tears on his own face and wiped them from his cheeks roughly. He had come for nothing. His search for his friend would end with another kinslaying. He shook his head angrily as he prepared to string his bow. He would not leave Maitimo like this, kinslaying be damned. This was mercy. How he had survived so long up there. . . it must be excruciating. Fingon could barely stand to look, now that the light was bright, at Maitimo's gaunt, scarred body, hanging by his bloodied arm.

"Finno."

Fingon strung the bow and pulled an arrow from his quiver. "I will not leave you like this, Maitimo. Trust me, I cannot."

A faint smile appeared on Maedhros' face. "Good thing I taught you how to aim properly, Findekáno."

Fingon swiped angrily at his face again, the tears obscuring the view of his intended target. He bowed his head and called out "Oh Manwë, King to whom all birds are dear, speed now this feathered shaft, and recall some pity for the Noldor in their need." He lowered his voice and whispered "May Eru forgive me for what I do."

He wiped his face one more time, then stepped back a few paces to improve the angle of his shot.

"Thank you, Findekáno," Maedhros said, as he saw Fingon raise his great bow.

He strung the arrow and bent the bow, taking slow and careful aim, for he would end it painlessly and instantly if his arrow flew true. As he paused and readjusted his stance a great gust of wind stirred his hair and temporarily blinded him. He heard a rush of wings and fearing some evil of Morgoth's he pushed his hair out of his eyes and looked to the sky.

It was no spawn of Morgoth. Mighty Thorondor, King of the Eagles, messenger and eyes of Manwë, approached. He landed next to Fingon with a forceful rush of air.

"Stay your arrow," commanded the eagle. Fingon's hands dropped to his sides. "Climb onto my back and I will fly you to him."

"Finno!" came Maedhros anguished cry from above.

Fingon shouldered his bow and leapt onto Thorondor's broad back. Thorondor flew to the face of the rock where Maedhros hung and he hovered there as Fingon scrambled toward the cliff.

He caught sight of the manacle and reached out to touch Maedhros' hand gently. Maedhros raised his face to Fingon's and they locked eyes. The light still burned in Maedhros' eyes and Fingon pulled out his sword and struck the metal cuff.

To no avail. No matter where he hit-the rock, the cuff itself, the hinge-it did not budge or break.

"Finno, end it!" Maedhros growled. "I cannot endure one more day here and I cannot endure what will happen if the dark one takes me down. Release me from this torment, Findekáno! Must I beg you?"

Thorondor flapped his wings and spoke to Fingon. "I cannot stay, child. Either end it or break the hold but I cannot keep you here like this much longer."

Fingon moved even closer to the cliff wall. "I will end it, Maitimo," he whispered to his friend. Maedhros closed his eyes and sagged. Fingon threw his left arm around Maedhros' waist and pulled his body onto Thorondor's neck.

Maedhros cried out in pain as his shoulder was wrenched further and his hand wedged into the cuff. "What are you doing, Finno?" he shouted as Fingon swept his sword back and struck at Maedhros' wrist. Maedhros screamed and collapsed onto Thorondor's neck, Fingon's arm tight around his waist.

"Go, Thorondor! I have him!" Fingon shouted, sheathing his sword and pulling Maedhros closer to his chest, holding him tightly to him. He took one last look at the cliff wall, Maedhros' right hand still held by the manacle. He looked down at his friend and clamped his hand tightly around the bleeding stump to stem the swift flow of blood.

"I've got you, Maitimo," he whispered. "I've got you."

Maedhros opened his eyes and gazed up at Fingon. "Foolish boy. You know that's not what I meant when I asked you to release me." His cracked lips curved up into a smile.

"Sorry, I must have misunderstood then," Fingon smiled down at Maedhros, keeping his grip tight on both his wrist and his waist. There was almost nothing to him but skin and bones, he thought.

"Findekáno the Valiant," Maedhros whispered and then his head fell back, unconscious now, leaning on Fingon's chest.

"Who's the fool, Maitimo?" Fingon whispered back. "It was a fool's hope I'd find you. A fool's hope I'd reach you. A fool's hope I could set you free. But here we are." He rested his chin on Maedhros' matted and tangled hair as he watched Lake Mithrim come into view below.

Now came the hard part. Dealing with the remaining sons of Fëanor and his father.