Hypotheticals by grey_gazania

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Hypotheticals

FA 513

 

It was the bitter end of Autumn, and Maedhros, Maglor, Amras, and the Sons of Fëanor's remaining followers had converged on the fortress at Amon Ereb to weather the winter months there. It was not yet cold enough for the snow to set in, but a chill rain was lashing against the walls of the keep, driving them all to take shelter inside.

 

All save Amrod and his men, that was. They had been out on patrol for two weeks, and though they had been scheduled to return that morning, they had yet to arrive. But Maedhros wasn't worried yet. No news of an attack had reached him, and it was more likely that Amrod was simply held up slogging through the muddy woods as he made his way back.

 

Sure enough, he and his men returned late that evening, cold and wet but otherwise unharmed. While the soldiers took their meal in the main hall, Amrod joined his brothers for dinner in the room that had once been Caranthir's study.

 

"We cleared the orcs from southern and eastern woods," he said, taking the seat nearest the fire. "And we met a band of Sindar who'd come through Taur-im-Duinath. They had strange news."

 

Maedhros set down his spoon, his eyebrows raised. "What news?"

 

"They say the Noldor have a king again."

 

Mouth agape, Amras stared at his twin and demanded, "Who?"

 

"It cannot be Celebrimbor," Maglor said, a bitter half-smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

 

Maedhros knew why. Even though Celebrimbor had renounced their family, the idea that the remnants of the Noldor would consent to be ruled by anyone of the House of Fëanor was absurd.

 

Amrod shook his head, pausing to swallow his mouthful of stew before answering. "They say the Noldor on Balar and at the Havens of Sirion have crowned Fingon's daughter. They say Ereiniel is king."

 

Silence fell, and Maedhros felt his breath catch in his chest. He hadn't seen Fingon's daughter in decades, not since the year before the Dagor Bragollach, but he remembered her well -- a strong, energetic child, with her father's blue eyes and freckled skin. He remembered how he'd lifted her onto his shoulders, as he'd so often done with his brothers and cousins when they were young, and how she'd wrapped her arms around his head and laughed to finally be taller than her father.

 

He remembered how Fingon had glowed with love whenever he was in his daughter's presence.

 

"If one of the House of Finwë was to father a woman king, it would be Fingon," he said softly. "Did these travelers say whether she plans to pursue the Sons of Fëanor?"

 

Again, Amrod shook his head. "It doesn't sound like it. Her people have troubles enough as it is. She'd be a fool to waste her soldiers' lives chasing us to the other side of Beleriand."

 

Maedhros raised his glass. "To King Ereiniel, then," he said. "May she rule long and well." He drained the rest of his drink and left the room, not waiting to see if his brothers joined him in his toast.

Maglor found him later that night as he sat alone in his study, his eyes fixed on the embers glowing dully in the fireplace.

 

"Maedhros?" Maglor said, sitting beside him and resting a hand on his shoulder. "Are you all right?"

 

"Do you know what Fingon was to me?" Maedhros asked, turning to look into his brother's worried face. "Caranthir knew, but I've never been certain whether the rest of you did."

 

Close as he was to Maglor, he'd never before spoken to him of his relationship with their cousin. It was his secret to keep, because it would have brought shame, disgrace, and dangerous political strife. He still didn't know how Caranthir had discovered it, save that Caranthir's sharp eyes had often seen things that others missed. But Caranthir at least had left it alone, neither judging him nor forcing him to speak of it.

 

"I know that you were lovers," Maglor said, "though I did not realize it until after Fingon was killed." His voice was low, but his face held no trace of disgust, and Maedhros felt a wave of relief flood through him.

 

"Yes. He was my beloved," Maedhros said quietly. "And I know that he treasured his daughter more than all of Arda itself. I don't want to hurt her, and not only for Fingon's sake. But if she is now High King of the Noldor..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "I may someday have to choose between our Oath and Ereiniel's life, and if that comes to pass, I know myself well enough to know that I will choose the Oath."

 

"Maedhros..." Maglor said, reaching out for him.

 

"What does that say about me?" Maedhros said, not responding to Maglor's touch. "I loved Fingon, and yet I would willingly murder his child. It seems to me that that is more vile than anything we've yet done in the name of our Oath -- and we have done terrible, terrible things already, brother."

 

"It may not come to that," Maglor said. He was trying to be reassuring, Maedhros knew, but he could see the doubt lurking in his younger brother's eyes. "And if it does -- if, Maedhros -- it may be that you will surprise yourself and make a different choice. Don't condemn yourself for something you haven't even done."

 

Maedhros shook his head. "If it had come down to Fingon's life or the Oath, which would I have chosen?" he whispered, his eyes fixed once more on the dying fire.

 

"You would have chosen Fingon," Maglor said, his voice firm and sure.

 

"Would I have? I did not hesitate to sacrifice three of my own brothers in pursuit of the Silmarils."

 

Maglor's eyes flashed. "You did not sacrifice them," he said. "They marched on Doriath of their own free will. Or do you not recall that Celegorm and Curufin were more eager to make war on Luthien's son than you yourself were?"

 

Maedhros didn't answer. It was clear to him that Maglor could not understand. Fëanor's middle sons may have gone willingly into battle, but it was he, Maedhros, who had ultimately given the order to attack.

 

Outside, the rain continued its driving assault on the fortress walls. Maglor took Maedhros' hand in his own.

 

"Don't do this to yourself, Nelyo," he said, using his brother's childhood nickname. "Don't torment yourself with hypotheticals. Get some rest. We have much to do if we wish our people to keep well this winter."

 

That was enough to shake Maedhros loose from black place to which his thoughts had gone. "You are right," he said, squeezing Maglor's fingers and getting to his feet. "I pray I never lose you, brother, for our people's sake as well as my own."

 

Chapter End Notes

The survivors of Gondolin arrived at the Havens of Sirion in FA 511, so it's likely that that is when Gil-galad was formally crowned king. But with the Sons of Fëanor living in scattered exile after the Second Kinslaying, I suspect it might have taken some time for any news from the western end of Beleriand to reach them.

 

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