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! – to clear one thing up here, I am NOT trying to stay close to canon. It’s not AU, it’s just fan fiction. I messed about with all the nifty first age elves for the sheer fuck of it! Thanks to for her priceless help when I had my canon stuff upside down!
Fandom: The Silmarillion
Betaed by: lisbet
Disclaimer: none of these characters are mine, sad but true.
Summary: The Fëanorian household gets an extra member, and Maedhros finds himself on the wrong end of his parents’ patience.
Pairings: Maedhros/Fingon, Maglor/Lindir implied, Fingon/group.
Extra note; before you read anything, id like to say that under great aggrivation from my side, i settled with words like man, girl, woman and boy, even if it ‘is’ elves we are talking about. i hate elvish words in fanfiction, and therefore decided against ellon and elleth, which i think sounds downright retarded. and well femaleelf, and young-female-elf and so on was just even worse. so boy and girl it is.. if you dont agree with me, then it will be really annoying reading this fic, i’m sorry. wait.. no im not ‘grins’.. but i thought id warn.
I try to laugh about it
Cover it all up with lies
I try and
Laugh about it
Hiding the tears in my eyes
‘Cause boys don’t cry
Boys don’t cry
The Cure – Boys don’t cry
Chapter 1 – Hiding the tears in my eyes.
Finwë had called for a family feast, ignoring his sons’ objections, and had gathered his children under the same roof. Fëanor came last, proving to be a magnificent sight as he rode into the courtyard with his family, one elfling on his saddle and another on his wife, Nerdanel’s. This would be the first time Amras and Amrod would see their kin. But absolutely not the first for Maedhros, Maglor, Celegorm & Caranthir; and Curufin had met them once, even if he was on his way to become a young man. The house of Fëanor did not often attend family gatherings, but this time Finwë had insisted, and Fëanor given in. He had told his eldest son that he would bring home an addition to his household. Fingolfin’s eldest son was ready to leave home. He had an adventurous spirit, and so Fingolfin had gone to his father, and asked for advice. Finwë loved all his children, and had therefore decided that Fingon should go and spend some years in the house of Fëanor, perfecting his fascination of birds of prey into something practical, like hunting. Finwë had thought that this might improve the foul air between his sons, and so Fingolfin had reluctantly agreed, promising that he would decapitate his half brother if anything befell his child. And Fëanor had bee equally reluctant to having to feed one of his bastard brothers’ children. But in the end, Finwë had gotten his way, as always. And now Fëanor was here with his sons, to attend the feast and bring home Fingon.
As they dismounted from their horses, Fëanor grabbed his eldest son’s arm. Even if Maedhros was a young man, he was already well on his way to being both taller and broader than his father. And the giant red-haired elf looked upon his father with defiant grey-green eyes. “Father,” he said.
“Keep from Finarfin. I do not ask you, I command you,” Fëanor said with a hushed voice. “I will not have my father’s wrath upon me, because you cannot behave.”
“Understood, father,” Maedhros said, as he nodded slowly, his fiery red hair swaying softly with his movement.
Fëanor reluctantly let go of his son and turned to pick up Amras, while Maedhros took his horse’s reins and led it over toward the stable and his brothers, who had gathered there. Nerdanel came and stood beside her husband, clad in male garments, as she found it difficult to ride long distances in a gown. “They are only competing, my love,” she said softly. “It is but natural.”
Fëanor’s annoyed expression disappeared and he smiled at his wife. “I suppose you could be right, but they are adults now, and they cannot fight like two cocks every time they are in the same pen.”
“Maedhros is a wise child. You should have more trust in his word,” Nerdanel argued, as she kissed her husband on his cheek before she started to walk up to the main house, carrying the half-asleep Amrod. Fëanor followed with a very lively Amras who wanted to know the name of every elf they passed.
The feast was beautiful, and lasted for two days. By the end of the second day, Fëanor could see that his eldest sons had had it with Finarfin. Maedhros was sitting at a table drinking heavily with Maglor and Celegorm. But the ice hard grey-green eyes were darkened with anger and followed Finarfin wherever he went. Finarfin himself seemed pretty aggravated, but less drunk. Fëanor looked over at his father, knowing that things were about to get ugly. He knew this feeling his son had, for he too harboured it in his chest, to eliminate the competition. He knew that his wife opposed, but Fëanor could not help but be slightly proud of his sons, that they had inherited this much of his inner fire and fighting spirit. He found it healthy that they would take on the challenge that Finarfin clearly threw at them.
Fëanor’s line of thought was disrupted as his fourth son, Caranthir, came to his side, whispering in his ear. “Father, they will release an onslaught soon. I can feel it in my bones. I know my brothers.”
“But father…” Caranthir said with a slight accusation in his voice. “Only you can stop them.”
But Fëanor seemed to have lost interest in his sons’ actions. His eyes followed a fair blond lady who swept across the floor to greet his brother Finarfin with a courteous blush. “Tell me, Caranthir, who is that lady standing with my brother?”
“That is Lady Eärwen,” Caranthir said softly, “daughter of Olwë, of Aqualondë.”
“Ah,” Fëanor said with a slight smile. “So the fight is over her, is it not? Has the fair Teleri maid caught your brother’s eye?”
“I believe that is the truth, aye,” Caranthir said with a goofy expression.
“Then let the cocks fight. If it is about a female, then your brothers will not interfere. This is for Maedhros to deal with, and for the fair lady Eärwen to choose between the two,” Fëanor said. He was inwardly pleased that his son would have such exquisite taste in women, for the lady was indeed very beautiful, and seemed as if she were born to be the wife of royalty.
Then Eärwen left Finarfin’s side and minutes later came past where Maedhros was seated with his brothers. Fëanor watched as Maedhros spoke with the Teleri lady, clearly aggravated by something, and then the golden-haired lady suddenly fled the table. Maedhros leaned down and whispered something to Maglor, who nodded; both stood. Maedhros stomped outside and Maglor went to Finarfin.
Fëanor grinned before he turned and causally bushed past a distressed Caranthir.
The next morning the Fëanorian household assembled in the courtyard, ready to depart. Maedhros had been reluctant to go outside, knowing the scolding he would get from his mother, and the ice cold silence he would receive from his father, while he would most probably have to listen to a snickering Fingon the whole way home.
Stepping outside in the sunshine, he shut his eyes and groaned. He had a headache from the abyss. Feeling sorry for himself, he pulled the hood of his cloak up over his head to obscure his features and hide himself from the world. He was hung over like nothing else, and the fact that Finarfin had thrashed him badly only added to his headache in more than one way. Sighing, he saw Maglor standing out in the sun holding the reins of both their horses. Waiting. The whole courtyard seemed to hold their breath, as the tall hooded figure strode across the stones. Not daring to look up, Maedhros just went to take over the reins of his horse, and stood waiting for their father to mount. Nothing happened. Fëanor stalled for some reason, and Maedhros still did not look up, gazing fixedly at the toes of his black riding boots. He heard Fëanor ask Celegorm where Fingon was, and what kind of undisciplined child he was, keeping his uncle waiting in this heat. Celegorm argued that he saw Fingon earlier talking to Finwë and they both left to some unknown destination outside. Fëanor sighed and ordered Celegorm to seek his cousin, and bring him here. Maedhros heard Celegorm’s heavy boots ring across the stones as he ran to the house.
Maglor and Caranthir started some small talk; Maedhros still said nothing. Not until he felt a hand on his shoulder, and knowing by the feel and weight of it, it had to be his mother. “Look at me, child,” she said softly, and Amrod, wrapped around her leg, repeated “look at me, me.” Maedhros slowly lifted his head, and looked directly at his mother’s mortified expression. “Mother…I…” he started, but just lowered his head again, looking at the ground, away from his mother. “Look at me, Maedhros!” she commanded with a harsh voice that would have made Fëanor himself listen, even if he did not want to. And Maedhros lifted his head once more, looking at his mother as she pulled down the hood. She grabbed his chin hard and turned his head from side to side, to see the extent of the damage that her brother-in-law has done to her son. “You are a fool, Maedhros, and a drunken fool, I might add!” The tall red-haired elf closed his eyes and drew a shuddering breath. “Yes mother,” he whispered. This was the worst that could happen. He was being told off in the middle of his grandfather’s courtyard like some snot-nosed elfling. Amras had fallen silent and did not torment his brother with the repeating game. He could sense that their mother was close to blowing up. Nerdanel crossed her arms across her chest, looking very displeased. “What was that all about? Why did you have to get in a fight? At all times and places! You should know better! Did we not pay for the finest tutors to attend to your education? You should behave like gentleman, not like some barbarian!” When Maedhros just nodded and was about to repeat ‘yes mother,’ Nerdanel in all of her fiery red fury snapped and slapped her son across his already abused cheek. “Don’t ‘yes mother’ me! We were attending a feast in your grandfather Finwë’s honour, and what do you do to honour him? You pick a fight with his youngest son, over some stupid lass from Aqualondë. She is not even marriage material. Girls like that never are, son!” she raved.
Maedhros did nothing to defend his honour. He knew his mother was right, and he also knew better than to disrupt her in one of her fits. Maglor was the one to save him, as he stepped in and gently said, “Mother, I think he has had enough. Soon you will draw a crowd.” As Nerdanel looked up at her second-born son, she tried to control her anger, and nodded. “I think he knows it was a very foolish act, is that not right, big brother?” Maglor said as he looked to Maedhros, who nodded. Maglor smiled. Point proven!
Then they heard voices, and as they all looked up toward the large double doors to Finwë’s house, they saw Celegorm return with Fingon, Turgon and Fingolfin.
As they reached the Fëanorians, Fingon stared at Maedhros. His nose had to be broken, and his lip cut. But it was hard to distinguish from the other bruises he sported. Fingon was shocked. Who would do such a thing?
Fëanor gave the reins of his horse to Caranthir, and walked over to Fingon and his family. He greeted Fingolfin first, then Fingon and Turgon. Both boys were staring starry-eyed at the handsome warrior who was like a dangerous electrical field, crowned by midnight black hair down to his waist, and steel grey eyes that seemed to measure everything and everyone up for size. Fëanor smiled and ruffled Fingon’s hair. “Is it true what I hear? That your mother is home, heavy with child?”
“Yes, uncle” Fingon said. Fingolfin cut in, smiling proudly, “The healer says the babe shall be born within this month.”
“Congratulations,” Fëanor said, smiling back, with a remarkably gentle, friendly smile. “Children are a blessing.”
Nerdanel resisted the urge to roll her eyes at her husband’s remark.
“Come now, young master Fingon, we should leave. We are already late,” Fëanor said kindly.
“A word with you, big brother,” Fingolfin said, stepping away from the crowd, leaving his sons to get Fingon’s things loaded onto a packing horse.
Fëanor came with his brother, who leaned in and whispered, “I would not have told you this, but since my son will reside with you for some years to come, then I thought you should know.” Fingolfin took a deep breath, this was apparently not easy for him to say. “Fingon is a good boy, never doubt his loyalty, but he is not as sharp as one might wish for.”
Fëanor blinked. “Are you saying your son is daft?”
“Nay, just different. I cannot put my finger on it,” Fingolfin admitted. “He will stay with those damned birds all day if one does not stop him. He seems to prefer falcons, to friends.”
Fëanor took his brothers hand, secretly gloating that his children perhaps were drunken brawlers, but they did at least know how to carry on a conversation with another elf. “Worry not, brother, my sons shall quickly lead young Fingon in the right direction.”
Fingolfin flinched, and Fëanor was amused. “Thank you,” Fingolfin said through gritted teeth. He regretted that he had ever agreed to this stupid arrangement, and now that his obnoxious big brother had this dirt on his family, gossip would no doubt run faster than a forest fire in August.
Stepping away from Fingolfin, Fëanor turned and looked directly into his eldest son’s face, giving him a displeased stare. He quickly made his way to his horse, and soon they were on their way.