Title: Heir of a Dying Day
AN: This story is made for Marja, who asked for a Maedhros/Fingon fic, and that she shall have! – Last chapter guys! I hope you enjoyed the story!
Fandom: The Silmarillion
Betaed by; Goodbye_sun
Disclaimer: none of these characters are mine, sad but true.
Summary: Fingon deals with his fear.
Warnings: Rape. Implied Het. Murder. MAJOR AU! (whole fic)
Pairings: Maedhros/Fingon (Maglor/Lindir implied) Fingon/group. Fingon/Ecthelion.
Now the day has come
We are forsaken
There’s no time any more
Life will pass us by
We are forsaken
We’re the last of our kind
Within Temptation – Forsaken.
Chapter 15 – Today is the end of tomorrow
As Maedhros sat on his horse, he turned in his saddle to see if he could spot Fingon amongst the rally of elves around him, ready to follow their king to whatever end. He couldn’t see him, and vaguely wondered if he had decided to not join them, maybe that was what he had been doing when he had come to Maedhros’ bedroom last night, maybe he had been saying goodbye?
“Father?” Erestor said, trying his hardest to keep his mount still next to his fathers, the horse seemed as nervous as its rider. “Father?”
Maedhros turned in his seat and looked at Erestor. A sad smile spread on his freckled face. “You are…” He whispered, “All grown.” To his surprise this made him sad, and he fought with keeping his smile light. Touching his sons metal plated shoulder, he drew a deep breath. “Have you said farewell to your mother?” Erestor just nodded slowly. “Did she do your braids?” Maedhros moved his hand from Erestor’s shoulder to grab one of his son’s thin braids, adorned with golden thread. He turned it between his fingers and studied its design.
“Fingon made them,” Erestor admitted, and smiled nervously at his father.
“That makes sense,” Maedhros mumbled, “Do you know what they mean?” Erestor shook his head. “They are as easy to read as a book, that is what they are for, they aren’t just pretty, son. Yours mean that you are royalty from the house of Fëanor, and the number of them indicates that you are a warrior.” Erestor looked at his own braid in between his fathers fingers till he was cross-eyed. “Why are yours different then?” he asked innocently. “Because I am a senior.”
Maedhros turned away from Erestor and looked directly into Fingon’s pale face with a husky grin plastered all over it. “Ready for your great adventure?”
“Findekáno,” Maedhros sighed and smiled warily, sharing direct eye contact with his cousin in one intimate moment before he willed himself to look away, “I am ready.”
“Erefinwë!” Fingon yelled, making Erestor turn about and look at Fingon. “Be brave, be valiant, and most of all, show them no mercy,” Fingon said.
“Is that another way of saying ‘stay alive’?” Erestor asked.
Fingon laughed merrily, “I suppose it is son, I suppose it is…”
On the second day of their travel towards Beleriand, Fëanor called his sons to his tent. Maedhros was last, glad to see his brothers, but worried because their father seemed troubled. “Sons,” Fëanor said, as Maedhros sat. “I have called you here tonight to discuss a pressing matter.” He picked up his sword from a table and turned it idly in his hands, almost as if he was trying to hypnotize himself with it. “You might have wondered how we are supposed to travel the great distance, and reach the other shore.”
The tent was silent, not even a cough. Truth was they all had wondered this.
“We are going to sail,” Fëanor said.
“But My lord, we do not have an armada, war has never come to these shores before,” Caranthir said with a timid voice.
“I know, son,” Fëanor said darkly, “That is why we are taking this route.” He sighed and finally stopped turning the sword in his hands, “Aqualondë has ships.”
Maglor frowned, “But My Lord, there aren’t nearly enough for all.”
“I know that too, my son,” Fëanor said, “This is why I called you. Sons… you swore your allegiance to me, not to the throne of the Noldo, all I am asking is that you remember this, and do as I command of you.”
The tent was silent again, they all knew this to be true. “What do you ask of us, My lord?” Maedhros asked.
“I ask that you try and barter for those ships from the Teleri at Aqualondë,” Fëanor said, looking straight at his first born son, knowing what his next question would be. “And should that fail, we take them with force, we will reach the shore on the other side.”
“You planned this all along?” Amras gasped, and quickly added, “My lord.”
“It was an option,” Fëanor stated cryptically. “So will you do as I ask?”
Maedhros knew the others waited for him, so he stood up from his stool and placed his hand on his heart. “I will follow you, do your bidding, and aid your cause in whatever way I can. To whatever end, my king,” he said. The others followed his lead, standing from their chairs and placing their hands on their hearts too.
They had tried to barter, Maedhros had been most adamant, and offered the Teleri whatever they had wished in the return for their swanships. But the Teleri made it very clear that the Noldor had turned their backs on the Valar, and that they the Teleri had no intention of aiding them in any way. After three hours of discussing, yelling and discussing some more. Maedhros gave up and turned to Maglor who stood at his side. They exchanged a knowing glance, “Tell Papa we will take the ships as our own,” he had said. When the Teleri he had been discussing the matter with, heard and objected, Maedhros pushed him hard, so hard he fell and bumped his head on cobblestones. Curufin was the first to catch on, grabbing his brother Celegorm and running towards the swanships.
Chaos erupted, Maedhros had harboured a childish hope that the Teleri would be afraid of them, or just let them take their ships, this was far from the truth, but things went from bad to worse as he saw his brother Caranthir literally gut one of the Teleri elves who had tried to push him off the boat. All Maedhros worried about was where was Erestor? His son was lost somewhere in this carnage. “Look!” Amrod yelled and pointed at sky. It was Fingon who had arrived with his army, his banner waved in the air, and soon what had been a battle, became genocide. Blood was in his hair and in his eyes. He could smell burning wood and flesh, this surely was the worst of times. His heart clenched every time he swung his sword. But he did as he had sworn, he would follow his king’s calling, and this was his king’s wish.
When Maedhros finally did see Erestor, he was standing on the shore with Fingon, looking at Maedhros and his brothers, and the surviving part of Fëanor’s battalion. Maglor wiped back his brother’s blood cluttered hair, his braid had come undone, so Maglor pushed it behind his elder brothers ear. “You will see them soon,” he whispered. “Papa will surely send the ships back to take Fingon’s army as well, he will need all the warriors he can have to make good of his demand to have his gems returned.”
Maedhros did not look away from the shore, but looked straight at his cousin and son. “Are you sure, brother?” he whispered.
“Yes I am sure, Maitimo.”
“Makalaurë,” Maedhros sighed, resting his head on his brothers blood smeared shoulder plate. “I pray you are right.”
Maedhros had not believed he had heard his fathers order correctly as they had reached Losgar. “Are you daft son?” Fëanor screamed in his face.
“No my lord,” Maedhros mumbled, “But…” he looked desperately at the white ships that went up into flames. “My son,” he whispered helplessly, not able to meet his fathers eyes, just starring transfixed on the flames. “…and Fingon.” Finally he tore himself from the flames, and looked at his father, fisting his hands so hard he drew blood from where his fingernails dug into the flesh. “My lord, you cannot abandon them, this is wrong!”
“I would still my tongue, son,” Fëanor warned.
“Have you gone mad Papa?!” Maedhros cried. “You left your own grandson on the shores of Valinor!”
“Silence!” Fëanor roared, slapping Maedhros so hard, his lip cracked, and for the first time that day, the blood in Maedhros’ mouth was his own.
“I refuse to participate in this,” Maedhros sneered, turned his back on his father and siblings and literally fled into the hills. He heard Fëanor call him more than once, but he ignored it while making his way to the hill top. Once there he looked out across the black waters, seeing the white tower of Valinor, already he was homesick, he missed his house on the moor, and he missed his quiet life, he didn’t miss the silence, he remembered how he had grieved his life, and wallowed in self pity for his poor choices. This, this was different, this was a new world order, and he could not stop it. Neither did he really want to, he welcomed change, but not one baptised in blood. How he wished that Erestor and Fingon would stand here with him. He could only imagine what went thought their minds at this moment.
Maglor had seen his brother, and left the others on the beach to find Maedhros in the hills. “I didn’t know,” Maglor said softly, walking up on his brother who was still standing, staring at the shores of Valinor in the horizon.
“They can see the fire from the shore, I am sure,” Maedhros said.
“I suppose they can,” Maglor agreed, coming to stand next to his brother, gently wrapping an arm around his waist. “They will find another way here, I am sure.”
“You mean just like you were sure that Papa would send the ships back for them?” Maedhros whispered with spite. “He has gone mad Maglor, there is no new lands here for us, only blood, death and sorrow.”
“You don’t know that Maitimo,” Maglor whispered, resting his head on his older brothers shoulder.
“Oh, I can smell it in the air. Can’t you?” Maedhros said with a sigh, lifting a hand to stroke his brothers blood clad hair. “I shall welcome war, brother. I left all I care for behind on that shore. All I have left is you and our brothers, and we will all burn in fathers fire.”
“Look at me brother,” Maglor whispered urgently, turning Maedhros face towards his own so they looked each other dead in the eyes. “You will see them again, Cousin Fingon, and Erestor will find a way across, or do you really have such little faith in them?”
Fingon and Erestor stood and watched as the ships sailed off, and when they later saw the fire on the other shore, Erestor drew a deep shattering breath, trying his hardest not to cry, he was not a child, he was a warrior, his father had told him so just days earlier. And warriors did not cry. Fingon buried Erestor in a tight embrace. “I’m sorry Erestor,” he whispered.
Fingon looked up from Erestor’s shoulder, to see his father Fingolfin tower behind them. ”Father,” he said, squeezing Erestor one last time before letting go.
”Where is the King?” Fingolfin asked, his voice dripping with poison.
”He sailed, Father,” Fingon said with a sigh, ”And I do not think he will be sending the ships back for us.”
Fingolfin sighed and looked out over the sea, ”We cannot return,” he stated. ”You heard the Valar, we have brought this upon ourselves,” he whispered. ”Fëanor and his sons truly have bedazzled and cursed us all.”
Erestor fisted his hands, but stayed silent, calmed by Fingon’s hand on his shoulder. ”We shall have to find some other means to cross the sea,” Erestor said his teeth gritted.
”Silence whelp!” Fingolfin roared, ”Your pedigree alone is enough that I should slay you where you stand.”
”Father!” Fingon cried, pushing the frustrated Erestor behind him. ”He is right, my Lord, there is more than one way to cross the sea, and you know this to be true.”
Fingolfin raised a brow, ”You know not what you ask of me, son.”
”Erefinwë and I shall cross alone if we must,” Fingon spat hotly.
Tenderness was in Fingolfin’s smile as he shook his head. ”We shall cross, we shall see the new land. We will find the King and we will rid ourselves of this oath we have all sworn and from the blood on our hands,” he gestured out over the burning village of Aqualondë. Turning around to the elves standing at his side he said, ”We will march north, until we reach Helcaraxë, and thus cross to the other shore. Send the word, and get yourself ready.”