Three Wishes by Noliel

Three Wishes

Posted in honour of both the first B2MeM challenge, and because it's Fingon's bio this month in the newsletter~

Three Wishes

Fingon would like to blaspheme right now, to curse in defiance of his captor, but he's having a rough time as it is keeping the screams down, so he decides to just clench his teeth tighter. If he lives, which is not plausible, he's going to have one hell of a headache.

Fingon would like to spit in Gothmog's ugly, sneering face, or at least bite the hand hefting the axe above him, but he can only shudder as the flaming whips around him finally break through his armour and begin to scald his chain mail.

Well, Fingon thinks, better Elves have gone out this way, and a flash of foreknowledge hits him as he tries to glare into Gothmog's eyes. So. The moronic Balrog is going to go down at the hands of an Elf after all. But foresight doesn't bring him much satisfaction now, considering that it could have appeared much earlier and saved all of them from walking into this trap. Big favour it's doing now.

But most of all- he fights to think straight as his mail gives way to the heat- Fingon would like to see Maedhros right now, shake him by the collar, and tell him he’d better not dare blame himself for what seems likely to happen in a few more moments. Because he knows what that foolish, tragic, beautiful Elf is going to do when he finds out that he, Fingon, died like this. Blaming himself would be only the tip of the mountain.

His leather jerkin disintegrates with a hiss of apology.

There are so many things he'd like to do, to say, to be- but there's no time left, and anyway, it's pointless to worry about it now. So Fingon raises his head to the descending axe and closes his eyes.