Written for Himring for Fandom Stocking 2015. This is specifically about Himring's Fingon and Maedhros, as told in her series Gloom, Doom and Maedhros, and references events from that series as well as canon.
How far away? As far as flame from ice.
The swan-ships burn, the sea-waves rise in wrath,
And Maedhros thinks, This cannot be undone;
But Fingon treads that cold and bitter path,
And flowers rise before the new-born Sun.
How far away? As far as pain from hope.
Dark smoke and vapors hide the light of day;
Bereft and weary, Fingon searches long.
He lifts his harp--and faint and far away,
He hears a song in answer to his song.
How far away? As far as east from west.
Anfauglith stretches like a gash between;
Beset by wine and silence and despair,
Words fail them, and they say not what they mean,
And Fingon holds a single copper hair.
How far away? As far as death from life.
"The day has come!"--Fingon's triumphant shout--
But triumph shatters against Angband's walls,
And Maedhros wakes to find his light gone out,
And wields a bloodied sword, and falls--and falls--
How far away? As far as life from death.
No journey and no prayer, no harp and sword
May open Mandos' dark relentless gates;
And Maedhros burns, ears deaf to Námo's word,
And Fingon builds a house, and waits--and waits . . .
How far away? As close as hand and hand.
The Sun grows old, and Vairë tends her loom,
And Fingon prays upon the mountain's height . . .
And two asleep within a quiet room,
And day is blessed, and also blessed the night.
Chapter End Notes:
The last line is meant to reference Frodo's words in The Return of the King: "Now not day only shall be beloved, but night too shall be beautiful and blessed and all its fear pass away!"