East-front by Gwenniel

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Chapter 1

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"Well..."

He looks at me with a smile as I ride my horse up next to him.

"...what do you think?"

I don't need to answer for him to know how much I like it.

Before us was a breathtaking landscape. The summer in Hithlum was definitely different from the one in Himring. Both were a welcome change from the cold of the winter, but whereas the summer far away in Himring was hot -- sometimes too hot -- with endless draught and dry, sweeping gusts over the fields, the summer in Hithlum was pleasantly cool with occasional rain showers and fields of green and yellow swaying in the breeze that rolled over the mountains from the sea. And when it was sunny like today it was another world and yet a world so familiar, reminding me of endless days in Valinor with its countless meadows blooming in eternal light.

This is how I get when seeing those landscapes: nostalgic. After riding the whole morning, at noon we reached the summit of a hill where I can finally forget my troubles. Findekáno dismounted from his horse to stand beside me. He glances at me, saying nothing and merely smiling while letting me take in the view. He wanted to show it to me early in the morning before we would have to attend one of the final meetings, because he knows it will take my mind off troubles, because he knows views like these are a rarity in Himring my home.

"Does it hurt still?" he asks after a while, touching my hand. I shake my head. "Good."

Findekáno always knows what do when my wrist hurts. I guess he feels some guilt for being the one who cut it off even when knowing I would not have it any other way. They say pain goes away. I am not always so sure about that. I sometimes wake up in the middle of the night or too early in the morning, and if the pain in my right hand is too much I can't fall asleep again. Instead I lay in my bed, staring at the ceiling with empty eyes, waiting for the day to begin, deep in my thoughts. My right hand is gone, but how can something that is there no longer hurt so much? Pain goes away. The emptiness never will.

The last time my cousin visited my home on Himring was in late autumn. I remember it because the day he left for home was the day winter came and the hills turned white. It was now early summer and I had traveled to Barad Eithel to the council where we would discuss the upcoming battle upon the enemy.

"Maitimo," he says. "Whenever that wrist hurts... Just tell me."

"Findekáno, you know I don't hold you to blame for anything. A bit of pain in my hand is a small price for freedom."

"I know. But tell me."

I promise to do so. Why should I argue? Findekáno is just too kind, too thoughtful. We sit on the hilltop until my cousin says we need to return in order to not be late for the meeting,

The gentle Findekáno changes at the council. My childhood friend becomes Fingon, Son of Fingolfin, High-King of the Noldor, his look grave and his posture proud.

"The most important part is secrecy," he spoke. "An attack from East would hopefully empty most of Angband, but only if the enemy has no idea of our true plans."

"But the final plan is still secret," a counsellor noted. "The leaders of the troops have all been informed of the outlines, but as of yet, the only people who know about our final decision... are all gathered in this room as we speak."

Findekáno nodded. "Yes. Our hope is that Morgoth has not taken notice of the summons to the front."

"That Sauron's stronghold on Sirion was destroyed is a clear advantage," I commented. "Would it not be for Princess Lúthien exiling Sauron from Tol Sirion, Morgoth would know everything that happens in the south. As it is now, he doesn't seem to have taken notice of the armed forces that have migrated north during the past year."

"The move has been smooth," the commander of a troop from Falas agreed. "The Enemy has not intervened, not even with these final enforcements. No spies have been encountered by the coast."

"His security has decreased in quality," my cousin replied dryly.

True. I thought of how it was less than a decade when the daughter of Thingol and her lover -- now her husband to my brother's great dismay -- had breached the strict gate control of Angband. But had not Morgoth had enough of time to rebuild his power since? I remembered the power of the fires that had erupted during the Battle of Sudden Flame, the battle that had ended the Great Siege.

"We still have to take utmost care," I said. "Yet our mission is not hopeless. Breaking into Morgoth's throne room and sneaking away uncaptured is something we all once deemed impossible, but it was not. Breaking the whole of his military strength is a different matter, but maybe there is a chance that it is not impossible either." Everyone had their eyes set on me. I went on. "This time we are once again the offensive, not the defensive force. Our hope lies in taking the Enemy by surprise from two directions at the same time. Clenched between the forces of the East and the West, the enemy will succumb."

The others in the room nodded, taking my words into their hearts. Counsellors and military leaders alike hoped that when Lord Maedhros, who himself had once been a prisoner of the Evil One, believed in victory, victory would indeed be won. Had not his own rescue from Thangorodrim been something that even his own brothers had once deemed impossible? But a voice beside me spoke up:

"Our hope lies in strength. But our hope lies in the Union, also. It is the first time that both Noldor, Sindar, Edain and Naugrim unite under the same banners. Between the united forces of the Free People, the enemy will be outnumbered. That is the way our victory will be won."

My bother Maglor Macalaurë, soft-spoken with a tongue of gold, knows how to move the hearts of his kindred. I was grateful of him being there. Because when I spoke of war like this, I spoke without showing any fear even if I would be terrified. So if I was to kindle hope in everybody else, who would send hope to me? My brother, with a small quirk of his lips, bowed his head. I admired how he managed to look so regal with his silver circlet, even as his dark hair rested freely on his shoulders and a harp lay on his knees. I didn't know how he did it. Then again, he said he had never understood how I managed to look so regal even as blood stained my cloak.

"You are right, Maglor," Findekáno said at last, looking up with a smile. "Our hope lies in the Union of Maedhros and in the unity of all who oppose Morgoth."

The window behind him let in light from outside, making the crown on his head shine even brighter. I smiled and looked away. My hope lay in him and in my brothers.

The council, dull but important, boring but unavoidable, went on along with the whole of the afternoon. My head felt tired from the stuffy air and after some hours into the meeting my hand started to hurt again, a pain aching in the fingers that were there no longer. I leant back in my seat and closed my eyes briefly, thinking of the fair fields of green I had seen this morning. I would rather have been there again, on the hills near Eithel Sirion.

"I know those of Eastern kind, or at least the memory of my kin does," someone spoke. "But we have not heard of them for ages. Have they really fled the darkness? I would have feared it would already have found them." I opened my eyes. The speaker was an Adan, golden haired, not so tall, but strong looking and grave of face. I recognized him as the current Lord of Dor-Lómin.

"There are still Edain beyond the mountains," Findekáno answered. "It seems they might at last be given the chance to follow your path into the light."

"Day shall indeed come for them as well," the Man said, folding his arms. "It brings me joy, although I am surprised."

"Morgoth's power reaches out, because those Men have told they too have great fear for him," I said. "You may not know them, Húrin, Son of Galdor, but they have said they are willing to fight by your side although they have had little contact with Beleriand before. My brother has signed an allegiance with Ulfang of the Easterlings and I myself have given lands to the House of Bór."

"And mayhap with their help," Findekáno said, "this battle will end better than the last."

Indeed. We had many a friend and family member to avenge.

There was a memorial stone on Himring. A tall grim weather-torn piece of rock. The names of the dead were written on it, starting by my father and going on and on and ever on until there would no more room for names. I thought bitterly of the last battle. It had been a disaster. When Findekáno said "better than the last" I knew that he thought of not only his father, our High-King Fingolfin and my uncle Nolofinwë, but also our cousins who had been swallowed by the flames that devoured Dorthonion and all the victims of the wars.

The High-King was back to his old self, back to my cousin Findekáno whom I knew and loved.

"You insist on calling it 'the Union of Maedhros'," I scoffed. "What is a union that is named after one person only?"

Findekáno laughed at my annoyance as we walked away from the council on our way to get some fresh air in the private courtyard, finally taking a break from the stuffy room. "Oh come, cousin, was it not your grand project from the start? We have you to thank." "Oh come, cousin," I mocked playfully. "You could name it after yourself at least. Are you not the High-King?"

"I am the High-King, yes, and thus I may call it whatever I please."

"Maitimo is afraid of that he will be the one blamed if the failure bears his name," Macalaurë said with a smile. "That's what he told me." I rolled my eyes.

"It will not fail," Findekáno said and stopped. "Maitimo, it will not fail. As long as you and I stand together I will not let it fail. We have everything planned." He lowered his voice. "You and your brothers from the East and I with my army from the West. Morgoth will be trapped."

"He will," I admitted. "Yet, there are so many things I would wish more time for before we run out of time altogether. Doriath is not on our side, and of Turukáno we do not know - we barely know of any of his allegiances."

"You have to pardon our foolish brothers, but there is no time unlimited that would be enough to convince Thingol," Macalaurë put in. "Doriath would not join for all the mithril beyond the mountains."

"And Turukáno will..." Findekáno begun. His smile faltered. "I don't know where he is, but I know he hasn't deserted us."

I regretted my words of doubt. I should not speak so of Findekáno's lost brother. How would I feel if I knew not what had happened to my own siblings? Of Turukáno we indeed did not know, but as the brother of Findekáno, he would always be on our side.

"I am sorry," I said and tried to smile. "Of course we will be fine. I will not take back my words at the council: we still have a chance of success." A chance? I did not sound as reassuring as I had meant to. "No, let us go now and take our minds off these things of trouble," I smiled again.

Findekáno nodded. His sorrowful expression faded and he stood a bit taller. "Let me look for a bottle and we can share it under the sun," he said.

He insisted on that he needed not be followed, so Macalaurë and I were left waiting for him to return shortly.

"I would not have expected you to speak of Turukáno in front of his brother," Macalaurë said quietly, leaning towards the wall of the hallway, glancing out the window. "Were you Carnistir I wouldn't be so surprised, but-"

"You know I usually don't," I replied sharply. I left it at that - two members of Findekáno's council passed us by at that moment - but I walked next to my brother, placing my hand on his shoulder. "You know I don't," I said again.

"Yes. But to doubt his allegiance," Macalaurë replied simply, his voice unchanged. "We did not even doubt the allegiance of Tyelkormo and Curufinwë in their exile to Nargothrond. Or that of the Ambarussa when they decided to stay in the South. Findekáno has already lost his father and Irissë: it is not wise to suggest that Turukáno was beyond out hopes."

"I did not-" I finished the sentence halfway. My right hand hurt again, slight pain flowing inside the scarred stump. Did Macalaurë truly think Turukáno had abandoned us? I would never hold such beliefs of him. Findekáno still spoke dearly of his brother. As would I, had I been in his position. But we had to be realistic."Turukáno will never abandon us in thought," I said, my voice sharp, I knew it, but Macalaurë listened without a word. "But I am the High Commander of the Union. I will not have our strategies depend on a force that may not come."

"I know," Macalaurë said.

His answer was too short for me to argue against. I leant away, and hid my frown just in time for Findekáno's return. But he saw that something had happened.

"What is it?" he asked. I shook my head and smiled.

"Nothing. We were just waiting for you.

My smile did not fool my cousin. He looked at me with mixed suspicion and concern. "Maitimo," he said and took my hand softly. I made no move, but clenched my teeth together. "Does it hurt again?"

"No," I said. "I am fine." My cousin looked at my brother with a questioning look, revealing how little he believed in me. The latter made no expression in answer, so Findekáno merely sighed. "Maitimo, please," I am just trying to help.

I knew it. There were few people as kind as Findekáno: of course he meant no harm. But his concern annoyed me. It upset me more than I would have wanted and I was ashamed of how my feelings showed through. Keep your feelings under your control, Curufinwë would sometimes say with his characteristic smirk. It is your best disguise. But then again, he would not have suffered people to think he needed help, either. "I am not a weakling," I muttered, pulling my broken wrist from Findekáno's fingers. "I am not some distraught child that needs to be cared for, so don't look at me like that."

"But something is clearly on your mind and your wrist has been hurting lately more frequently," Macalaurë said quietly, joining the conversation. I glanced at him.

"War is on my mind," I replied coldly straightening my back. "My wrist merely itches to get its revenge on our Enemy." With that I turned around. "Shall we?" I said and continued to walk, leaving behind both cousin and brother. I felt their eyes in my back, I felt the eyes of everybody. But as a Son of Fëanáro and someone who was generally taller than most, I did not care. Instead my eyes found someone else. A Noldo, bearing my family's standard on his vest, stood in the corridor, waiting for me.

"Lord Maitimo," the messenger called and I walked up to him. "A letter to you, my lord," he said breathlessly. I thanked and took it from him. I recognised Curufinwë's hand. But I would read the letter later. As I tucked the envelope into my pocket, the Findekáno and Macalaurë walked up to me. "Shall we?" I said again I had at last regained my calm. Findekáno nodded, his all too kind eyes flickering one last time to my right wrist. I put my hand in my pocket as well, and his eyes looked away. But my cousin merely lead us to the courtyard where the paved paths surrounded a small garden.

Breathing deep in the sunlight, I did not know any more why I had given way to such a foul temper. Possibly because, no matter how I denied it, the issue of wartime alliances troubled me. Possibly because of how Macalaurë had suggested I did not put faith in my people. Possibly because my brother, if wrong in one matter, was right in another: my wrist hurt more frequently for unexplainable reasons, and it was very likely to be somehow connected with "something being on my mind".

Dear Maitimo, Curufinwë had written.

the preparations are doing fine. Moryo arrived a few days after you and Káno left. Ambarussa have sent message of that they will arrive a few days from now. Organizing is a full-time work: The Eastern Men have complied with all orders, but the Khazád are a wilful folk. You can imagine how Tyelkormo would fare if put to the job, so Carnistir, being the one most familiar with their ways, has spent days persuading them. They are troubling our work, their unrest having the potential of spreading to the Men who are the prime object of their annoyance. But do not worry: their hate against the enemy is as strong as ours and they will not fail us - Carnistir assures us of that Azaghál is a loyal ally despite everything.

The weather has been dry as always during summer. It is beneficial when you think about how Orcs dislike the sun and its warm weather, but we will definitely have to take care of the provisions. Dried products will be an obvious choice as well as waybread, but water will be needed...

The letter went on with descriptions of preparations. Tyelkormo had himself taken leadership of checking that the horses had been trained for battle - well, the horses of the Easterlings who had not been trained in the same way as our Elven steeds. Curufinwë kept everything under control and acted as the responsible leader I knew he could be when he wanted to. At that moment I could not have been prouder of my brothers.

"Moryo says he will personally take care of any Doriathrim that will try to get disturb us." I smiled at the note on the bottom of the page. It sounded exactly like something my third brother would say. Then again, unless my memory failed me, I had a strong feeling of that Curufinwë himself had, along with Tyelkormo, vowed to put Thingol in his rightful place once we had had our victory in this war. But what is said at the end of a high-spirited evening might be different the next day, I thought with a smile.

On the night before I would return home to Himring, I could have gone straight to bed and lay there tossing and turning all night without getting any sleep. But the last night before I would return home was also the last hours I had a chance to just sit and talk with Findekáno. The last hours I might pretend as if there was no battle coming up.

Macalaurë had left to his rooms earlier, saying he would need to compose something. Meanwhile Findekáno had gone to the eastern balcony by his quarters. That was where I found him, sitting on the low stone wall, leaning his chin into his arms, his profile gleaming strangely in the dim light. I walked up to him. He seemed to know it was me without even looking, but he straightened his back as I sat down on the wall, too.

"Here to look at the stars?" he asked.

"Here looking for you," I replied and launched myself on the wall beside him. He smiled a bit and offered me a flask of liquor, bidding me to drink if I wanted to.

It was a clear night, I thought. It was late but the south was light, as the summer sun waned slowly. Yet stars were indeed being lit in the northern skies. We sat in silence for a long while.

"Maitimo, what are you thinking of?"

Me? I opened my eyes and saw him looking down at me.

"Of the past. Of the present. Future." I tried to rise up to lean on my elbows, but my head was too heavy for that. "Why, Findekáno? What were you thinking of?"

He did not smile but looked almost sad. "I am thinking about the future only," he said quietly. "The battle to come."

"Findekáno."

He stared back at me after which his glance turned down to my outstretched hand. He took it into his own. "You're not going to sleep? It's a long ride tomorrow."

"I'd rather wait for the sunrise with you. It's the last time we will see each other before midsummer."

That night Findekáno and I sat outside, waiting for the sun to rise. Much in the same way we had so, so long ago sat in the highest tower waiting for Laurelin to bloom.

"Send my love to your brothers," said Findekáno the following morning as I mounted my horse.

His council stood behind him, they all escorting Macalaurë and I and those with me as the morning of our departure finally stood at hand.

"We will, my king," Macalaurë replied.

"May the stars guide your journey home," our cousin said. His crown shone with gold and a dark blue cloak was on his shoulders. Small stains appeared on the fabric as drops started to fall from the sky. "Although it seems as if you will have to travel in rain these first hours," he added with a smile.

"It is but a small summer drizzle," I said. Indeed, the drops that fell on my hair weren't many and those that touched my face were warm enough to not be a nuisance.

"It is," Findekáno admitted. "Let it not make you tarry long, my friends."

He knew the rain would do little to slow us down: it was indeed just a few drops. He also knew I was not one for out-dragged ceremonies of departure.

I place my hand on my breast and bowed my head in a greeting. "Next time we meet it shall be on a victorious battlefield," I said. He smiled at me, rain streaking his face.