The Small and Secret Things by Dawn Felagund

Gratitude

Maedhros thinks on Fingon and how to repay his cousin for his heroic deed. A double drabble.

Horses and supplies I gave to his father--to his people--yet the one whom I need most to thank is the one whom I cannot. For what to offer for my life? For escape from torment? Trinkets and words seem meaningless, in light of what he has done.

He leans upon elbows on the balcony outside my bedroom, watching as our people mingle nervously below. There is a tiny smile on his lips; joy poignant in his blue eyes. I think of his deeds, and mine. I think of an impossible journey undertaken, as far as the peaks of Thangorodrim, to save a friend forsaken to death, and his return without fanfare to quietly inspire the renewal of friendship between our people.

And I think, not for the first time, of Losgar and one who'd prided himself for his rhetoric, his words, who could not dissuade the madness of Fëanáro. I should have had Findekáno's heroism. I should have held Fëanáro back by force, if needed, and taken those ships myself to return with our kin. But I did not.

I am flawed, I realize: unfit to rule.

And then, I know what I will give to recompense him.

Chapter End Notes

Today's Word:

propitiate pro-PISH-ee-ayt, transitive verb:

To render favorably inclined; to appease; to conciliate (one offended).

Propitiate derives from Latin propitius, "favorable."