empty halls by hanneswrites

empty halls

Maedhros wakes to the warmth of Fingon wrapped around him - his lover’s chest is pressed comfortingly into his back, arms wrapped loosely around his waist. He can still feel the dread sitting heavy in his stomach, and can still hear the far-off sounds of war and blood and iron echoing out from his dreams. For a moment, he closes his eyes and then immediately regrets that decision, snapping them back open not a half second later. 

It’s been a while since he’s woken like this. In the muddled peace that had followed his rebirth in Valinor, he’d slowly settled back into life. He had breakfast with his mother at least once a month, made sure his brothers stayed out of trouble, and even treated with Fingolfin on occasion. Just like before . And it seemed almost foolish now, to cling to remnants of what had been when everyone around him had worked so hard to bring him back here.    

And yet - it chills him, seeps into him and makes itself at home in his chest. A lifelong friend, that weight sitting pretty in his ribcage. Pressing down and down and down until he sinks heavy into his mattress, right through the floor, right into the dirt --

Fingon’s hands tighten around him in his sleep, his face pressing closer into Maedhros’ back until he can feel the warmth of Fingon’s soft breath through the thin linen of his nightshirt. He focuses on it, makes a concerted effort to count out the rhythm of Fingon’s breaths and match them to his own. 

The tightness in his chest fades, slowly. 

He shifts in Fingon’s arms until he’s facing him. Fingon doesn’t stir and Maedhros cracks a small smile at that, allowing a fond and familiar warmth to fill his chest as he buries his face in Fingon’s neck. Maedhros revels in the quiet of the morning, in the small pinpricks of sunlight dancing through the curtains, in the steady, sure rhythm of Fingon’s heartbeat thrumming beneath his fingertips, and he calms himself.