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“Kill me,” the elf far above him begs, and in this dread moment it is hard to believe that the skeleton hanging over him could be Nelyafinwe Maitimo, the fairest of King Finwe’s grandsons, who had shone bright as a diamond among the pomp of the Noldor in days far better than this one.

But Findekano believes it. The elf imprisoned above him knows the songs of the Blessed Realm, has hair of copper lit with flame still visible under decades of accumulated dirt. Besides, he used to count those ribs in happier days, when he met with his cousin in woods and river banks and far too many closets for a grown elf to admit to frequenting.

They’re far hollower than they were- far too hollow to still live without the work of the Enemy to blame for it- but air still passes through them for now. But it’s been hours upon hours since he found his captured kinsman, and Findekano has cut his hands to bleeding on volcanic rock trying, but he still has no idea how to bring Maitimo down alive from the rock upon which he’s imprisoned.

All right, he tells himself. That’s fine. So long as he frees Maitimo, the rest doesn’t matter- there is safety in the arms of the Doomsman and his Halls of the Dead, after all, and Findekano will follow soon enough. There are enough orcs in these mountains to see to that.

But first, he needs to see to things with the bow he has brought. And he has a message to deliver to the divine lord the Noldor left behind, one he wants Manwe to hear if he must seal the delivery in beloved blood.

“Oh King to whom all birds are dear,” he prays, nocking his arrow with hands shakier than any he remembers since he was a small boy. <i>Look upon us now, Lord of the Airs, look as I murder this one I love, and think as to whether this is what you want,</i> “Speed now this feathered shaft, and recall some pity for the Noldor in their need.”

He exhales, watches that barely breathing torso, and looses his arrow.

Then a shadow passes over him, and he looks up to see his weapon caught in talons larger than he is, and the dark eyes of the King of the Eagles watching him in answer.

“You called for us, Prince of the Noldor?”