Characters: Fingon, Thorondor, Maedhros
Rating: um... PG?
Warnings: There is blood, and it is very dark.
Disclaimer: The Silmarillion belongs to he who wrote it. The drabble belongs to she who wrote it. Please do not confuse the two.
“It is done.”
Fingon collapsed onto the smooth sharp feathers of Thorondor’s back, only remotely aware of the shriveled form of his cousin in his arms.
He could not breathe. All he could smell was orc-filth, rusted metal, and blood. He coughed, but he could not clear the malignant fumes that writhed in his lungs.
He was hit with a sudden blast of cold, clear wind as the world fell away beneath them. Vaguely, as if in a dream, he felt tears tracing away the filth of Thangorodrim on his face.
The sky was so clean, so blue, so pure.