By Love or at Least Free Will by grey_gazania

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Rats in the Walls

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 "This is a story of soft skin, and rats in the walls."

— Chris Pureka, "Burning Bridges"

 

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“Fingon, would you do something for me?” Ianneth asked.

 

They were sitting on the mossy ground beside the pond in her garden, watching as the golden carp circled lazily among the budding water lilies, their scales glinting softly under the setting sun. Fingon’s arm was warm around her waist, his fingers moving as he idly played with her loose hair.

 

“Anything, Ianneth,” he said. “You need only name it.”

 

She lifted her head off his shoulder so that she could see his eyes, so unearthly and bright, brighter even than the weak evening sunlight that filtered down through the mist. “It’s my sister,” she said. “Ever since we announced our engagement, she’s been fretful, like she’s afraid I’m never going to come back once I leave. I’ve tried to reassure her that we’ll still see one another, but it’s been no use.”

 

Looking away from him, she dipped one slim finger into the pond, swirling it slowly through the water and watching as the carp scattered. “I thought perhaps the three of us could go out riding tomorrow,” she said. “Maybe spending some time with you would ease her worries. I don’t want her to think you’re stealing me away from her.”

 

“Of course,” Fingon said immediately. “I know how close you and Tinneth are.” He fell silent for a moment and then confessed, “I envy that, a little. I was never quite so close to my own sister. It was my brother Argon whom I always understood best, and he died more than three yení ago.” His smile was sad as he said, “I wish you could have met him. He would have liked you a great deal.”

 

“I wish I could have met him, too,” Ianneth said. “And your sister as well.”

 

At that, Fingon laughed. “Aredhel would have found you tame,” he said. “She found all of us time, save my cousin in Himlad. They ran wild together, Aredhel and Celegorm – at least, until the rift between my uncle and my father poisoned things between them. But before that they were inseparable.”

 

Ianneth stayed quiet. She knew none of the details of that story, only the outline – that Fingon’s uncle Fëanor had threatened to slay Fingolfin and had been banished by the Belain for it, and that after the Darkening and the carnage at the Swanhaven he had abandoned Fingolfin and his people on Valinor’s shores, leaving them with no recourse but to cross the Grinding Ice into Beleriand. She knew, too, that after Fingon’s impossible rescue of his cousin Maedhros, Fëanor’s eldest son, Maedhros had ceded the crown to Fingolfin. Fëanor’s descendants would never rule the Golodhrim.

 

And she knew one other thing. She knew that her soon-to-be husband had had a hand in the deaths at the Swanhaven. She knew that he was one of the Kinslayers.

 

Her father had tried to keep the rumors from her, though she didn't know whether it had been out of fear for the alliance or simply a desire not to dampen her happiness. But Fingon himself had told her, the day before he asked Annael for her hand. Out in the forest, under the heavy boughs of a pine, he had taken her fingers in his and, in a soft voice, admitted his crime.

 

I saw my people, my family, in danger, he’d said. I came to their aid. I didn’t know the truth, not then. I didn’t understand. Looking away, he’d whispered, It haunts me, Ianneth. I don’t ask you to forgive me; I'll never forgive myself. Our fathers do not wish me to tell you this, but if we’re to wed, you deserve to know the truth.

When he’d met her gaze again, she saw fear shadowing his shining eyes, and she’d considered him in silence for a long, long moment.

 

It was a terrible crime, this thing he had done. Eru's children weren't meant to kill one another, and part of her wanted to turn and flee. But her father needed this alliance, and she had grown to care for Fingon. She'd made herself stay still, her hands still in his as she weighed his words.

 

He had not begun the fighting at the Swanhaven; it had already been in motion before he arrived. He had acted with ignorance, not malice. And she knew – she knew -- that he wasn’t a murderer by nature, for he was kind and brave and caring, and he stood steadfastly in the path of evil, defending all that was good and dear.

 

She’d risen up on her toes and kissed his cheek, gently squeezing his strong hands. You’re an honest man, Fingon, she’d told him. It’s not my place to give or withhold forgiveness, but know that I don’t condemn you. You thought you were defending your kin.

Fingon’s voice jolted her out of the memory. “—won’t be at the wedding,” he was saying. “We've never been terribly close, and Maedhros will already be there to represent the family. It's unlikely Turgon will come, either, though I wish he would. I don’t even know where his city is, and I doubt he has any plans to leave it. But Finrod will certainly attend, and likely Angrod and Aegnor as well.”

 

“I look forward to meeting all of your cousins," Ianneth said automatically, trying to catch back up with the conversation. She'd yet to meet any of them save Finrod and Aegnor, who had come up together to visit Fingon a few months after Fingolfin had announced his son's engagement. "The sons of Finarfin were very kind."

 

"Oh, yes," Fingon agreed. "Finrod, Aegnor, and Angrod are very dear to me. Really, in some ways they're as much my brothers as Turgon and Argon."

 

"And the Sons of Fëanor?" Ianneth asked. She couldn't deny being curious about those particular cousins; the stories told about them in Mithrim often seemed to verge on the fanciful.

 

For a moment Fingon's face, usually so expressive, went blank and still. Then he took her hand in his, twining their fingers together. "Maedhros is the eldest. He and I have always been very close, despite our fathers' troubles."

 

"I know that much already," Ianneth said, stroking his hand with her thumb. "Everyone knows of how you rescued him from Morgoth. But what of the others?"

 

He sighed and, smiling ruefully, said, "I may as well speak plainly. They're soon to be your family as well as mine." But he didn't continue right away, instead looking down at their clasped hands in silence.

 

"Maglor is next," he finally said. "He holds the Gap. He's fine enough, I suppose, but we never had much in common, and if I'm completely honest, I still haven't quite forgiven him for leaving Maedhros to Morgoth. I haven't quite forgiven any of them for it. I know Maedhros doesn't hold it against them, but I can't imagine doing such a thing to my own brother."

 

He shook his head slightly before continuing. "Celegorm and Curufin hold Himlad together. Celegorm is much like Aredhel, proud and wild and impulsive, though he's a better orator than she was. As for Curufin... We've never been friends. He's Fëanor writ in miniature, and I only hope his son doesn't turn out the same way.

 

"Caranthir holds Thargelion. He's-- difficult, I think, might be the best word. He can be sensible enough on his own, but his temper is dreadful, and he and Finarfin's sons can barely stand to be in the same room with one another."

 

An unexpected smile flickered over Fingon's face as he added, "I think you would have liked his wife, though. She was very sweet, and wise in her own way. But she stayed behind in Aman, like Curufin's wife."

 

"Are any of the others married?" Ianneth asked.

 

"Maglor was," Fingon said. "But Melindil drowned while Fëanor and his people were crossing the sea. She was a musician, like Maglor."

 

"I'm sorry."

 

Fingon shrugged.  "I didn't know her very well," he said. "I don't know Amras or Amrod very well, either, to be truthful. They were still children when Fëanor was banished to Formenos, and their lands are quite far from here. I rarely see them. But they're loyal to Maedhros, and he is loyal to my father, so I suppose that's the part that really matters."

 

"It seems a shame to have politics so mixed up in relationships that should be built on love," Ianneth said, saddened by his words. "I know that politics are always a part of marriages, but for cousins..."

 

He let out a short, unamused bark of a laugh. "My grandfather saw to that when he married my grandmother. I've accepted that I can't change it; I can only make do."

 

She lifted their joined hands and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. "Then let me help you make do," she said. "As your wife, and as your friend."