A/N: This story is not a slash. All characters and places solely belong to J.R.R. Tolkien.

It is not how it used to be in the old days. I lived a life full of bliss and serenity back in Tirion. A family cared for me; I had my parents along with my younger siblings. The big decision I am faced with now feels foreign compared to the decisions that a Noldorin prince had to make.  My half uncle's mind was once free of corruption. In Valinor, every Noldo was far from holding any thoughts of insanity preventing them from making the right choices.

Now I stand here, in front of the evil mountain range Thangorodrim. I perceive the small silhouette of my cousin, his wrist chained tightly in iron.

A painful lump grows in my throat as I recall the memories we made together. We used to travel into the vast forests before Telperion flowered in silver for the night. Maitimo usually surpassed me in our tree climbing. But I did not mind; the time I spent with him mattered to me the most. I could never forget his silver eyes that sparkled in kindness when he looked at me, or the way he laughed when we rode our horses together in harmony, side by side.

Over the years I formed a close relationship with Maitimo. I felt comfortable around him. He was the one I could tell my secrets and desires to. My relationship with Maitimo's six brothers was not considered unhealthy. They just did not seem to care for me as much as Maitimo had. Burning the Telerin ships at Losgar was proof enough of their hatred, leaving us behind to defend ourselves through the perilous Helcaraxë.

I hate to see my beloved cousin hanging from one single chain of torture. An inevitable image sears through my mind of what I would feel in Maitimo's situation. My right arm stretches to the sky, piercing with an unbearable pain as if it would snap in two at any moment. Dark crimson blood trickles from my wrist and down my arm. The iron metal has mingled with the iron inside my blood. An icy chill of the northern wind nips at my shivering body. The small voice in my throat begs to be let out, but I am unable to speak. I blink to finally let the salty tears run across my cheeks. No hope is left inside of me. All my thoughts of hope and faith are left at home.

I shake my head and attempt to get those horrible feelings out of my head. Maitimo does not deserve to be treated that way! Oh, how unfortunate the forsaken Noldor are in these bad times. We are banished from Valinor, never to return to the blessed land where the Valar dwell. Now it is our turn to fight the Dark Lord, he who possesses the Silmarils in his black crown. The second born loathe him with a burning passion in our hearts. I know my hatred for Morgoth is true, for he was the one who caused us our misery. He was the one who had cruelly taken my cousin and friend as prisoner.

I could turn my back away from this nightmare and leave Maitimo to die in slow, painful progress. It would be the easy decision to make. But I could never forgive myself if I did that. I would cry myself to sleep for endless nights, clinging onto my pillow. Once I drift off, I would toss and turn in bed, dreaming only of death.

I cannot let the friendship I built with Maitimo fall down in tragedy. He was always there for me from the beginning. One day, I had trouble aiming my arrow to shoot at the target. Maitimo placed his hand on my shoulder.

"Be strong," he told me, "imagine yourself as the most valiant hunter Aman has ever known, and that you hunt alongside Oromë himself."

And I did-- I imagined Maitimo as Oromë. My aim was superior; I let the arrow fly, and it hit the target.

I gather up my courage and take a deep breath. My strength will  dominate my fears. If my life is going to me taken from me, so be it. The main goal I live for is to protect my father's people and our family. Maitimo is part of the family, is he not?

My footsteps lead me to the rigid rock where no trees or vegetation grows. Mist hovers above me, blocking my view of the poor soul who needs my assistance. I am determined to do whatever's necessary to save him.

*   *   * 

My legs ache from the climbing I have done for the past few hours, but I refuse to stop. My destination is close, yet it seems so far up. Maitimo's limp figure is clear to my eyes now. I reach for my harp, and raise my voice to sing. The words to this song are familiar to both our ears.