People of the Ice by Fadesintothewest

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Chapter 9

Chapter notes: Ondion is the husband of Fingon's cousin. Ondion was a follower of Fëanor, but soon after Fingolfin's people crossed the grinding ice he made peace with his spouse and returned to Fingolfin's encampment to be with his wife and child. 

 

Also, in The Silmarillion, Tolkien states that Fingon did not know that Maedhros had not burned the ships when he set off to save him. I did change this in this story because it would have been a bit out of character for the Fingon I have crafted here to do this without some motivation. 

"Then Fingon the valiant, son of Fingolfin, resolved to heal the feud that divided the Noldor, before their Enemy should be ready for war . . . . Long before, in the bliss of Valinor, before Melkor was unchained, or lies came between them, Fingon had been close in friendship with Maedhros; and though he knew not yet that Maedhros had not forgotten him at the burning of the ships, the thought of their ancient friendship stung his heart. Therefore he dared a deed which is justly renowned among the feats of the princes of the Noldor: alone, and without the counsel of any, he set forth in search of Maedhros."

 

There is a transition to Sindarin names in this story. Some still use Quenya forms, some Sindarin, some both. It seems in keeping with Elves and how names come to them

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Chapter 9: The Wide World

"The wide world is all about you: you can fence yourselves in, but you cannot for ever fence it out."

― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring

The Wide World. Faerie. The world beyond. These were the things that were at the heart of so many tales of the later days. And the elves, the residents of faerie, who were beyond, before, the world of Men, were also at the heart of it. Faerie was at once about innocence and youth, betrayal and growth. Perhaps there was some redemption in it, but there was also much darkness. Faerie was the story of the young days of the Eldar.

Epochs after the fading of the elves and their return to Aman, Acharadel Reborn would think upon the elves of the First Age and of the stories that came later, the stories that followed the world she lived in and experienced first-hand. There was an enchantment to them, she would remember, even in those early days when there was so much pain and anger. For the story of Maedhros and Fingon was a story of faerie, of bending an impossible idea into a reality so unimaginable, it could only be by magic, then. But Acharadel's memories did not solely rest on the lives of others, of men, they dwelled on her own paths, of the loves she had. Indeed, she remembered the inside of the Wide World, knew the shadows that lent the contour to the portrait of that time.

 

And faerie called to Acharadel that night that Fingon chose to walk into a tale that would outlast their time in those lands. It was no surprise that she looked to Finrod for council. 

)()()()(

Acharadel found Finrod in the hall, engaged in a tense conversation with one of the Lords that had earlier requested a report from Finrod. "My lord," she announced, catching Finrod's attention, knowing that the last thing Finrod wanted to do was trade words with this arrogant Lord who was more interested in reading the terrain to plot and plan his own strategy and path in the corridor of power. But she could hardly find the lord at fault: they were all ambitious.

Finrod used Acharadel's words to excuse himself, "I will take my leave. I need to account for supplies with my men." Finrod stood, taking his plate with him. Facing Acharadel, Finrod rolled his eyes, knowing the Lord was back to talking with whoever he thought would be of use to him. 

Acharadel grabbed Finrod by the arm and led him to a quiet corner of the hall. Setting her own plate down, she waited for Finrod to sit. With her lips she indicated Finrod eat. The two ate alone in quiet companionship, allowing themselves to tend to their hunger.

Belly full, Acharadel turned her attention to Finrod. "Fingon has avoided me this entire trip. You must have noticed," she offered, knowing Finrod too observed Fingon's queer behavior on their trip to the Fëanorian encampment and subsequent patrol. 

"I did," Finrod replied, the exchange between him and Fingon replaying in his head. Acharadel watched as Finrod leaned back in his chair, his eyes given to going over the minutia of the day. 

Acharadel's mind also traveled, but hers was to an earlier time. Fingon's behavior on this last trip reminded her of the time when Fingon first discovered Nelyafinwë had not burned the ships. Ondion and his brother had returned to Fingolfin's encampment, deciding to leave their home in the Fëanorian camp. It was not an easy decision for the brothers, and it proved to be a hard time for the friends and family that welcomed them back into their lives. For Fingon's cousin Enelyë, it proved to be a bitter reunion between her and her estranged husband. Much time was spent between Enelyë and Ondion getting to know one another again, figuring out a way for forgiveness. If not for their son, Ondion might not have been forgiven, but Enelyë witnessed how it brought her son joy to have him returned. It was some time after his return that Ondion revealed to Fingon that Nelyafinwë had not burned the ships, had fought Fëanáro asking him to return for Fingon. Like most of Fëanáro's men, Ondion believed Nelyo was dead.  After all, he had not been part of the contingent that had travelled with Nelyafinwe to parley with Morgoth, and for whatever reason, Makalaure himself had told his people that his eldest brother had been killed. Soon after, Ondion left the encampment.

That Maitimo had not burned the ships proved to be heavy news for Fingon. He had kept himself apart from friends and family for a time, threw himself into military training, driving his cavalry through merciless training, taking them on scouting trips, instilling a discipline and loyalty that would become the norm for the Noldorin military order that depended on it. Fingon never spoke to Acharadel, or anyone else for that matter, about what this revelation meant to him. But on one occasion she happened to witness a bit of how it weighed on him, this new knowledge. One evening, in the grove where the trinkets for the dead were hung by Fingolfin's people, she witnessed how Fingon reverently touched the green stone Nelyafinwë had given him. She observed how Fingon went to remove the stone from the tree, but decided against it, leaving the stone on the branch. His mouth set in a grim line, he turned away from the tree. Fingon saw her in that moment and said nothing, pushing her aside as he walked away. For Acharadel, it seemed that Fingon had made his peace with Nelyo, acknowledging his right to be mourned, but he never spoke of it to her.

"Acharadel," Finrod repeated, his hand shaking her shoulder, getting her attention. 

"I'm sorry Ingo," Acharadel replied, her thoughts back in the present. "My thoughts were elsewhere."  

"I know," Finrod acknowledged. "I'm sure my own thoughts traveled to the same moments. And of course, he's avoided you. He hides something," he added, cleaning his mouth with a cloth. 

"What did he tell you?" Acharadel inquired knowing Finrod had cornered him in the baths. If she would have tried to do the same, Fingon would have surely exited the baths. Sometimes men were entirely intolerable!

"Not much," Finrod admitted. "He was evasive the entire time."

"As we feared," Acharadel acknowledged, turning to look at the scene in the hall where soldiers sat at long tables eating, accompanied by family and friends. 

They had all witnessed how Fingon left from his meeting with Maglor and Celegorm. Acharadel, more than most, could see how deeply Fingon had been disturbed. It was a momentary break. Fingon had composed himself quickly and during their subsequent scouting mission he used his duties as an excuse from conversing with the others. This was not uncommon as many of the elves took to silence during these trips as elven senses were in constant work, feeling, exploring the land around them. And while they used mind speak during such excursions it was not uncommon for it to be sparse, relaying only what needed to be shared. Life on a mission for an elf was not easy, it exacted much effort, mental and physical. 

"It annoys you that we are so preoccupied with Fingon," Finrod astutely observed.

Acharadel laughed in return. "It does. I feel I am simply a minder for Fingon and not a friend."  

Finrod frowned. "I am sorry we are such a burden."

Acharadel leaned towards him. "The lot of you hold the fate of our people in your hands. We know this, but it is tiring having your fits, your desires, your anger become the center of our world."

"If not for you," Finrod soothed, "and those we call friends, those we trust to council us, we might have perished long ago."

Acharadel snorted, "Not so. The Fëanorians survive and they take the council of none outside their family."

Finrod inclined his head in agreement. After a moment of quiet, Finrod too leaned closer to study Acharadel. She held his keen eyes, knowing Finrod was broaching something that many spoke about.  "Do you love him?" 

Acharadel put her spoon down. "Of course I love him. He is my lord. I am his liegeman. You know this." She picked up her spoon and continued eating the hearty stew, but her eyes were focused on Finrod. She knew what he was after. 

Finrod looked over at Aredhel and back at Acharadel.  "I think your heart is given to my uncle's children."

"And what of yours?" Acharadel shot back, "does it belong to Amarië or do you think only of Curufinwë?" She too could play at this game. 

Finrod said nothing, focusing his attention on his spoon balanced on a finger. He watched as it swayed back and forth and used ever so slight movements to keep the spoon balance. Finally, he spoke, "When we left Aman, we wanted to find kingdoms of our own, but also be free to love as we so desire." Looking up at Acharadel, Finrod laughed in that soft way of his that hinted at the power that lay coiled like a snake ready to strike. "Amarië was disturbed by my relationship with Curufinwë. Found it revolting."

"And yet she was your betrothed," Acharadel countered.

"She knew to have me she would have to accept the peculiar Finwion trait of not being satisfied by one person alone." At least that trait skipped a generation for the children of Finwë had but only one love. Not so with the grandchildren.

"But she had your heart in a way he could not."

Finrod sat up straight. "That was impossible," he answered dryly, thinking of his half-cousin's haughtiness and aloofness. "In those lands, it was easier to give your heart to someone you could imagine living an eternity with."

"And yet Fingon and I gave our hearts to impossible stories, so we thought then." Acharadel countered.

"But you managed to keep each other as a possibility," Finrod replied. "There is nothing wrong with that." Grabbing her hand, Finrod continued. "What will you do? Our people begin to see you two as marriageable. You have gone from being a witch to the Princess they believe might provide an heir in these fragile times where the line of kings is fragile."

"You seek to create an idea in me," Acharadel accused Finrod, knowing he wielded words carefully, potently, and with foresight. 

"Perhaps," he answered. 

She sighed. "I am lonely," she admitted. Aredhel had continued to distance herself from her, and though Acharadel did not want to admit it, she revealed that Aredhel had said to her as much about  Fingon. 

"As am I," Finrod admitted.

Acharadel caught Finrod's hand, allowing the heat of her radiate into his skin, touching that center where elven thought became matter. Finrod looked at her from beneath his long lashes. 

Quietly they escaped into the night and sought some reprieve from the sorrows they carried. Together they did this while the galaxy circled above them and Fingon began his preparations to find the one who had claimed his heart once upon a time. And for a stolen moment a child of Fingolfin did not occupy Acharadel's thoughts. 

)()()()(

"Have you seen your brother?" Fingolfin asked Turgon, who was working in the stables, attending to the recently returned horses. The scouts had returned and though Fingolfin had spied Fingon's horse in its stables he could not find his son. Strange, Fingolfin thought, Fingon was listed as travelling in the scouting unit in his military reports. Fingon's own hand marked him there. 

Turgon put his rake down. "Fingon's horse just recently arrived. Fingon must be nearby."

"Very well," Fingolfin answered, walking towards the dining hall. Surely Fingon would be eating, but he was not  in the halls nor the kitchens. Fingolfin spied Ondion walking into the dining hall. "Ondion, if you will," Fingolfin motioned to his nephew by marriage. He did not wish to keep him from his meal, but he knew he could confide in him. 

Ondion made his way to Fingolfin. "Yes, my lord," Ondion spoke, standing at attention before his Lord.

"Tell me where Fingon is. I need to speak with him." 

Ondion answered with a perplexed look. "Fingon, my lord? I have not seen him since I left with my company a week ago."

"But Fingon's horse. It is just returned," Fingolfin replied, his voice beginning to betray worry.

Ondion's own concern grew. "My lord, Fingon himself asked me to take his horse. He wanted his steed to learn to bear others in training."

Fingolfin frowned. "But Fingon's name was on the roster with your company."

Ondion shuffled. "Nay, my lord. Fingon's name was not on our roster. Fingon himself ordered who would go out this last scouting round."

Fingolfin's eyes grew with apprehension. His heartbeat quickened. "Fingon did not go out with scouting unit."

"He did not," Ondion repeated, a shadow growing in his own heart. Tentatively, he asked, "Is he not here my lord?"

Fingolfin's keen eyes focused on Ondion. "No, not since you all left. I assumed he had left with his company. His name was on the roster Fingon gave me himself. The kitchen staff spoke to Fingon the night before you all left. He told them he was leaving with all of you, had them pack his usual." 

"My lord!" Ondion exclaimed, but Fingolfin cut him off.

"Say nothing until I speak with you further. I need to find Aredhel." With a nod, Fingolfin dismissed Ondion who felt sick to his stomach. He had been ravenous. Now he did not think he could eat. 

Fingolfin first found Finrod and Acharedel, hoping that perhaps Fingon had secretly told them about where he was going. Both were as shocked as Fingolfin to find out Fingon had indeed lied about going with the scouts. It was from Finrod that Fingolfin was told of the strange way Fingon behaved after his meeting with Celegorm and Maglor, but that Fingon appeared composed the days after. Fingolfin cursed Finrod for not revealing it sooner.

"Uncle," Finrod soothed, "if we were to tell you of all the goings on, you would have our heads. We live in strange times. While odd, it wasn't anything so out of character for our relationship with Fëanáro's sons that I thought it something to bring to you."

Fingolfin turned to Acharedel. "What say you?"

"Like Finrod, my lord, while I was concerned, it was nothing so out of the ordinary, or rather these new times we live, that I felt compelled to share it with you."

Fingolfin could not be mollified. "You will tell me anything that happens to my children."  The younger elves did not respond. Fingolfin was speaking from a panic, a panic they too felt. Fingolfin was certain that wherever Fingon had gone had to do with the Fëanorians. "Find my daughter," Fingolfin ordered Acharedel. To Finrod he ordered, "You will go with her to the other camp and see if they know. I will leave no stone unturned here. Now go!"

Finrod and Acharadel hurried away to do their Lord's bidding. This was not good. Something was terribly wrong.

Fingolfin went over the last few weeks in his mind. Nothing had been amiss. He'd felt Fingon's fëa, strong and bright, soon after the patrol left, but then it had become faint and subsequently hidden. This was normal in these new times as elves on patrol had to close themselves off as the dark things could also sense elven fëa. Fingolfin had thought nothing of his closed connection with Fingon, but now he wondered if he should have felt something more. Fingolfin cursed himself.

)()()()(

"Father," Aredhel spoke, her voice heavy with worry. "Finrod and I leave to the Fëanorian encampment." 

Fingolfin shook his head. "Find my son," he commanded them. 

Hastily they readied and before long they were crossing the space between them and the Fëanorian encampment. Whatever, wherever Fingon was, had to do with the conversation with Maglor. Finrod knew this to be the case, but he dared not speak aloud the picture that began to emerge in his mind: images of Fingon before the fires of Angband. 

Upon entering the gates of the Fëanorian encampment, Finrod jumped off his horse in search of Maglor. Aredhel searched for Celegorm. Between these two they would find out the truth. Finrod made his way to Maglor, threatening not one but many who tried to stop him on his path. 

It was Carnistir who saw the futility in it. "Let him pass," he ordered the guards that tried to slow Finrod in his path. "Send word to my brother that Finrod seeks him out," Carnistir ordered another elf, "and make haste!"

Maglor was waiting for Finrod. Celegorm was also in the room as were the twins. Crossing the threshold into the throne room, Finrod wasted no time. "Findekáno has gone.  We do not know where. I know something you told him has precipitated this."

Maglor's face was motionless, but there was a fire in Celegorm's eyes. Finrod gasped, "Maitimo?"

Maglor's face fell. Finrod crossed over to them, "No, no, tell me my heart's warning is but a lie."

Maglor's eyes were wide with surprise. "He has gone then."

"Gone where?" Aredhel spoke, entering the room and hearing Maglor's statement. Her eyes were locked on Celegorm. She could get it out of him, if he knew.

Celegorm did not have the mind to keep up the lie of his eldest brother's fate. "Findekáno has gone in search of him," Celegorm whispered, also shocked with the news that Fingon had indeed done what they all believed was folly. For Celegorm, there was no doubt that Fingon had gone to find Maitimo.

Finrod spun around to face Celegorm. "Nelyafinwë lives?" But Ondion, the Fëanorians themselves had told Fingolfin's host that Maitimo had died in battle with Morgoth, like Fëanáro. "All lies!" Finrod cried out.

Maglor's world began to spin. First Maitimo. Now Fingon. He landed clumsily in his seat. "Nelyo was taken by Morgoth himself. We were deceived. We believed we could parley with him, but he took our brother. This is what I revealed to Findekáno when last we spoke." Sensing Aredhel's question, Maglor offered, "Our people who accompanied Nelyo were sworn to secrecy. Even our people here believed Nelyo dead."

Celegorm interrupted his brother, "We could not have doubt sow discord amongst our people. But even amongst those who knew the truth, most believe him dead." Celegorm observed his brother, a fey look brewing in his eyes. Ever did Celegorm wish to go after Maitimo.

Maglor looked up at Celegorm, heard the blame in his voice. "Even if he lived, how could we pluck Nelyo from the clutches of Morgoth?"

Finrod faltered. "Findekáno left to save Nelyafinwë."

"Bastards!" Aredhel hissed.  "You knew this would provoke him," she accused, pulling herself up taller, regaining the regal posture she was known for. She seethed, "You have sent him to his death. Well you know my brother's temperament."

Maglor sighed. He could not hide his sadness behind a cool facade. "Perhaps he left because of what you speak."

One of the twins that lingered in the shadows of the space spoke up, "Surely Findekáno would not do such a thing. It is madness!"

Maglor felt tired, the weight of his father's death and Maitimo's unknown fate like the weight of all of Eä upon him. He offered sincere words: "Fingon would do this thing, not because of the love he once had for Nelyo, but for the conviction and righteousness that such an act, if successful, would bring to the fractured Noldor." It was not lost on his audience that Maglor used his cousin's Sindarin name. Maglor turned his attention to Celegorm. "Is this not what he demanded of us?"

Celegorm looked to Finrod and Aredhel. Aredhel was stoic and Finrod's eyes were wide with fear.

"You knew his heart. You knew that Findekáno would go," Finrod accused Maglor. Finrod feared that Fingon was now lost to all of them, but for this betrayal by Fëanáro's sons.

Aredhel spoke what Finrod felt in his heart. "And you shall never receive forgiveness from us. Hear me Maglor, you are now our enemy. There can be no coming back from losing him."

"And if he succeeds?" Celegorm interrupted, looking intently at all of them. 

Finrod pulled Aredhel back, walking away towards the door to exit. "If he succeeds, if he succeeds and my cousin is not dead, only then can we perhaps share words again. Only then…" Finrod turned his back on the Fëanorians and holding Aredhel's hand they left, finding their horses and taking leave.

Celegorm watched them gallop away. Maglor stood staring at the large fire in the hearth. Curufin and Carnistir were deep in conversation with the twins. After a moment Celegorm returned into the hall. "We should make ready for a larger force coming from Nolofinwë's camp," he advised.  Maglor nodded. His eyes were locked on some unknown image in the fire. 

Composing himself, Maglor turned to speak to all his brothers who were now all watching him. "Go make ready!" Maglor ordered.

)()()()(

"Too soon," Fingolfin whispered, hearing the watch guard signal the return of Finrod and Aredhel. It was bad, whatever it was… Fingolfin retreated to his study. Turgon followed after him. The children of Arafinwë went to meet the riders at the gates. Acharedel watched from afar. Fingon was gone. He'd gone. 

Finrod and Aredhel entered Fingolfin's study. The remainder of the family waited outside, except for Turgon. Artanis had Idril with her. The young elf knew something was terribly wrong. It wasn't elven custom in these new lands to shelter young ones from bad tidings. The Ice had been merciless on innocence.

Aredhel ran to her father, falling to her knees and embracing him. Fingolfin fell back onto his desk, his hand in his daughter's hair. Aredhel spoke, "Nelyafinwë was taken by Moringotto, not killed as we were led to believe. Or, or, some think him dead, others…others think he yet lives. Maglor told Fingon this."  Aredhel cried into her father's robes. 

Fingolfin looked up at Finrod. "So my son went to find him."  

Finrod shook his head. "It is our best guess."

"Not a guess," Fingolfin revealed. "Your sister sensed Fingon near powerful fires of darkness. There is only one such place in Endórë."

Turgon interrupted, "Is he alive? Did Artanis see this?"

"She did not," Fingolfin sighed, closing his eyes. "I cannot find my son." 

"Nor did I," Finrod admitted. 

"He is out of my reach," Fingolfin shuddered, spent from the energy he put into trying to find the threads that bound him to his son.

Turgon held his father and picked Aredhel up with his other hand. "I do not believe him dead," Turgon breathed, fire in his eyes. "I will not give up on Finno so easily."