'and go into darkness' by hennethgalad

Chapter 1

    'and go into darkness.'

    Edrahil stood watch in the stillness of the night, the cold autumn air was heavy with the earthen scent of fallen leaves; across the Teiglin a nightingale sang, safe behind the Girdle of Melian. Around him, the others slept quietly, but for Finrod, who stirred restlessly, and finally slid silently to his feet. Edrahil turned towards the pale face of his king.

   "Is all well with you, my lord ?"
Finrod snorted softly
   "We march to our deaths, Edrahil, how can all be well ?"

   Edrahil swallowed and bowed his head; it was the first time that Finrod had admitted there was no hope, and Edrahil realised that he himself had not lost hope, such was his faith in the wisdom and strength of Finrod Felagund, until he heard the words of despair uttered by his beloved leader. But Finrod saw the dismay in the face of Edrahil and stepped towards him, and laid a hand upon his shoulder.
   "Forgive me, Edrahil, and may the Valar forgive my weakness. I... There was so much... There were so many things that I wished to accomplish, so much that we could have done... But it is not merely my own fate that troubles me. I am fretful, thinking of poor Orodreth left to deal with those treacherous snakes; I fear for him, I fear for our beloved Nargothrond. Orodreth is stronger than his silence would have you believe, and I fear that those who remain loyal to him may turn to violence against those who have fallen under the sway of the Fëanorians."

   Finrod sighed, and bowed his own head. Edrahil, who had always worshipped Finrod from afar, but never before been privileged to hear his confidences, was almost speechless with pride.
   "My lord, the shadow is cast over all who crossed from Valinor. But still we came. We knew as we departed that death awaited us here, or the slow fade of time. All who followed Fingolfin came of their own will, and all who follow you now chose to be here. We are soldiers, my lord, we do not fear death, and we lay the fate of those we love in the hands of the Valar, and of those we yet trust, in Nargothrond and elsewhere, to protect as best they may, while we ride forth to face the foe."

   Finrod nodded, and gripped tightly the shoulder of Edrahil.
   "You are wise, Edrahil. I too am a soldier, but I am also a king. It is my duty to be strong for you, and to soothe your fear and doubt, I should not lean on you in this way..." His voice faltered, and as the high clouds drifted past the waxing moon, a gleam of light fell onto his cheek and revealed the falling tears. Edrahil felt his throat close, the sight of the blythe Felagund weeping was more than he could endure. He moved without thought, and took Finrod in his arms and comforted him as a child.

   Finrod wept silently, his face pressed into the throat of Edrahil, who felt the tears trickle down inside his tunic. Beyond his own grief, Edrahil found his heart alight with incredulous awe, as his arms felt the warmth of the one he had loved since first he understood the meaning of the word. His breath became a matter of deliberation, but his hand reached up, and in a dream he had awoken from so many times, he stroked the smooth golden hair of Finrod Felagund.
   

   They stood for a time, under the moving clouds, while the song of the nightingale flowed past, as everchanging as the rippling stream. Edrahil could feel his heart pounding within him, he was vividly aware of the bones of Finrod, the broad shoulders and the cage of his ribs, solid and real, within his arms; he was overwhelmed.
   He knew that he would treasure the moment, for as long as was left to him, for as long as he had memory to cherish. All the dreams of childhood and youth, all the wishes of his heart had come true, and in his arms the body of Finrod moved slightly, as the golden head pressed into the hand of Edrahil as a cat responds to a caress. Edrahil felt his heart stumble in its course, the tide of desire began to rise within him, as his slow flesh stirred and awoke to the understanding that, beyond all hope, the beloved was near, was pressed against him.

   Finrod sighed, the shuddering, gulping sigh of one who has wept long, and pulled a cloth from his pouch to wipe his face. But his other arm, wrapped around the waist of Edrahil, did not move.
   Edrahil sighed himself, and when Finrod looked up again, he stroked the hair back from the beautiful face with a gentle smile. Finrod tried to smile, but the tears burst forth again, and Edrahil, understanding that he was needed, truly needed, to comfort Finrod, felt a new strength awaken within him. In the soft tones of a mother, he soothed his king, and brushed away the tears with his own hand. Finrod sighed again, and leaned his cheek into the hand of Edrahil.
   A blackbird began to sing in the copse which sheltered their small camp. Edrahil glanced up, then grinned, and with his foot he poked awake the next watcher, who sprang to his feet, and looked anxiously around. Seeing that all was well, he turned to Edrahil, who whispered to him.
   "Do you stand watch ? The king has need of comfort in his grief, and I would ease him."
   "My lord Finrod, I am here, you may depend upon it."

   Edrahil led away the silent Finrod, down the gentle slope into the valley, where below them the Teiglin hurried noisily towards the ravines. The long dry grasses, grey in the moonlight, were silvering with dew, and the voice of the blackbird floated through the still air. Beneath a willow, Edrahil spread his cloak, and lay Finrod Felagund, king of Nargothrond, prince of Tirion and grandson of the mighty Finwë, down on the hard earth like a wild wood-elf.

   The passion burned in Edrahil like the heat of Arien, and the more that Finrod gave to him, the more he was driven to take. Despite the chill of the autumn air, Edrahil felt that he must remove every scrap of cloth and every ring and jewel from the unprotesting Felagund, and when the creamy flesh was at last laid bare before him, he covered it with kisses, and the warmth of his hands.

The blackbird was joined by another, and the valley of the Teiglin came gently to life with song, as the light began to seep into the sky. Finally sated, Edrahil lay on his side, gazing in wonder at the profile of his adored king, stroking the smooth flesh of his stomach with a gentle hand. The world seemed made anew, and perfect, filled with beauty and joy, and the meaning and purpose of his life revealed, to have guided him here, to lie at the side of his love. His heart sang in celebration, he wanted to dance through the valley, shouting the name of his beloved, he wanted to slay the Enemy, and throw the trophies of the world at the feet of Finrod.
   Edrahil knew that he must speak, or perish.
   "I love you more than my own life, lord, and I count myself fortunate to face whatever lies ahead of us, for the joy of facing it at your side. This has been the most wonderful night of my life, I shall treasure the memory until the world ends."
   Finrod turned his head swiftly, in the dim light his pale eyes looked silver.
   "Truly ? I... Thankyou, dear Edrahil, for everything." He turned back to gaze up at the fading leaves of the willow, and smiled. "But what of tomorrow night ? Will you forsake me so soon ?"