DISCLAIMER: The amazing (yes, I said amazing), Fëanáro, Sons of Fëanáro and Findekáno belong to J.R.R. Tolkien.
RATED T for attempted suicide and angst. NO SLASH.
Who's Who & What's What - Quenya to Sindarin
Makalaure/Kano - Maglor
Nelyo - Maedhros
Turko/Tyelkormo - Celegorm
Curufinwe/Curvo - Curufin
Moryo/Carnistir - Caranthir
Atar - father
Findekano - Fingon
There was an island in the distance. To Makalaure, it looked like a hill. A hill with a fortress at his summit. But the crashing of the waves on the shore in front of him made him realize that it wasn't a hill- it was an island. Somewhere inside, he knew he had seen this place before. By chance, there was a small boat on the beach near the shore. It was unguarded and empty. Its slightly worn hull and oars told him it was far from new, but it was still sturdy and usable. After a quick examination, Makalaure knew, despite his lack of knowledge in watercraft, that the small boat would carry him safely through the twenty five miles of seawater to the island.
As he got closer, he realized that it hadn't always been an island, and as he stepped out of the boat he knew.
It wasn't just any other old place.
It was Himring.
Himring, the fortress that had once been ever cold, ever watchful. Himring, a once strong fortress that had garrisoned hundreds of trained, fighting Noldor was now empty and abandoned. The front gate lay half-drowned upon the shore. Bitter cold seized Makalaure's heart as he walked through the front doors that were falling from their hinges. A few centimetres of seawater covered the stone floor.
All was silent, but for the soft swish of waves meeting the sandy shore and the occasional mournful gull cries. Makalaure could only stare at the room before him blankly as memories flooded through his mind. His heart seemed to freeze from the cold nostalgia that wrapped it tightly, relentlessly. For a moment, those scarlet and gold couches surrounding a glass table in the centre of the room weren't moldy and faded. He could see his older brother sitting there, looking up from a pile of papers and turning to him, laughter in his eyes.
"Look what Findekano sent me this time, Kano. Listen to this..."
Makalaure tried to swallow the lump in his throat, to destroy the memories that caused him so much pain to remember, but he couldn't. They just kept going.
And then he could see Curufinwe and Tyelkormo coming out from that door on the right side - in his mind, the wall was still what it once was, covered with a painting of a hunt in the Blessed Realm. Curufinwe looked at him with beads of sweat on his forehead, half-burnt rolled-up sleeves, but a proud smile. He could hear his brother saying to him, "Himlad's armoury is still better."
And Tyelkormo would have that grin on his face, nodding his agreement.
Carnistir appeared from the corner of Makalaure's vision and strode swiftly towards the two. "You haven't seen Thargelion yet."
"Aw, give it up, Moryo. Curvo is easily the best of us at the forge." Tyelkormo would roll his eyes and lean against the wall.
"Whoever said I was doing the crafting?"
Makalaure turned away - only to see the twins coming back from yet another hunt.
"Turko, what madness possessed you to miss the hunt?"
"That's all you two ever do. Hunt and eat. Hunt and eat."
"Come southeast with us on the return journey and you'll think otherwise."
"But there was no return journey," Makalaure found himself saying. His vision blurred and he shook his head angrily. "No. No!"
He found himself standing before the fragile balcony of the last standing tower on the fortress. Below stood sharp rocks surrounded by grey water. If it would all just end... It wasn't the first time he'd had these thoughts.
It looks so easy, now, doesn't it? If it would all just end, right here, right now…
I would do it. I would do it. To end all this. To… to join my brothers, and my father.
Would you? Would you really?
I would do it. I said I would. And I will.
Shakily, Makalaure took a deep breath and closed his eyes, preparing to take that one step, that one last step that would send his feä forth from his hroä and into Mandos. But before he brought his foot down-
A painful, heart-rending scream filled his ears and fire burned before his eyes. For a few heartbeats, in place of the churning waters was a fiery chasm.
Fire. It was everywhere. In front of him, in his hand - it felt like it was everywhere.
"Nelyo! Nelyo, no! Drop it! Grab my hand!"
"Kano… Stop… You can't save me. No one can."
Then it all faded, and Makalaure hurled himself back hard against a wall, safely away from the falling balcony.
Tears streamed down his face, the memory of his brother's end still burned into his mind. No… No… Not this. Not again.
And to think… I almost did what he did. Nelyo… Why did you do it? Were you courageous to do such a thing? Was it foolish? Was I wise to stop myself?
"I don't know…" he choked out, sinking down onto the cold floor and putting his head in his hands. "I don't know."
Makalaure didn't bother to move when the soft pattering of rain began and crescendoed into steady crashing as it poured down on him through a hole in the roof. Instead, he sat motionless on the cold stone floor, soaked to the skin.
He could almost see his father stride towards him from the other side of the room.
"Kano, get up. Do something productive."
"No… No, stop it, Atar. You don't ex- You're not here!"
As he tore his eyes away, he caught a glimpse of something that… did not feel right.
Raindrops fell from the sky and onto his cold, thin hands. They settled there for a while and then… Then they fell through his hands. He gasped, feeling a tingle run up from his fingers to his elbow. For a heartbeat he thought he could see right through his hands.
I… I… I-I'm fading.
And he wondered why he was surprised. After all… I have nothing left.
Everything comes to their end and… my time is soon.
I can feel it.