"when all other lights go out" by hennethgalad

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Chapter 1

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   After the formalities, Maedhros led Fingolfin onto the balcony, hung with delicate golden lanterns which gleamed on the crystal goblets in their hands. Fingolfin raised his glass to Maedhros “Still painful ?” he asked.

   Maedhros gave a half-smile "Still missing ?" he retorted. Fingolfin bowed his head; the disappearance of his daughter, his son and his grand-daughter was a cause of embarrassment and grief alike. Aredhel had returned briefly, but would say nothing of the others, and had not been seen herself for many years. Maedhros shook his head.
   "It is astonishing that they can have vanished so utterly. My people have scoured this land from Ard-galen to Arvernien, from Belegost to Brithombar, yet we have found nothing. The Dwarves say that they did not cross the mountains. They are here, in Beleriand, like an itch that cannot be scratched, laughing at us. Have you heard nothing then ?"

   Fingolfin shook his head. "If it were merely my own family, hiding in some remote vale... But the entire people of the city of Vinyamar, disappeared with no trace ! My scouts search still, yet nothing, nothing has been found. We could not trace even the steps of Aredhel through that valley of spiders...
   But they are well, at least there is that. Aredhel spoke of a great city, though where it could be hidden..." he sighed, then looked closely at Maedhros "But you, you are in pain. Is there no healing ?"

   Maedhros frowned “I cannot say what the cause may be, but the pain grows. My thoughts darken, and the memory... At times I... I am reluctant to rest, or the memories overwhelm me.”

  Fingolfin put his hand on the shoulder of Maedhros for a moment. “The Shadow grows; Angrod added to my suspicions, and Aegnor rode with me into the... into the darkness. It seems to flow, like thick black smoke, across the plain. But it is thickest and darkest in a... a river, that flows towards you here, and your brothers close by. It is hard to perceive at such a distance, but further North, it is almost visible.
   The Enemy stretches out his hand, Maedhros, he would slay us all, or worse. Now that we are strong, we should strike. He is not anticipating an assault, our people are armed and able, and strong. Many of the Mortals, mighty warriors for all their short lives, stand ready to fight with us. We have never been better prepared or stronger. Let us strike now, before His plans come to their foul fruition.”

   Maedhros smiled sadly and lowered his eyes to his goblet. “And so your people clamour at your gate, eager to die in battle ?”

   “Angrod and Aegnor, who live in the very sight of the Shadow, are with me, now is the moment to bring him to battle, Maedhros, before our blades are blunted by time and our hearts are enfeebled by luxury.”

   “Angrod and Aegnor. Fine boys, worthy soldiers, skilled in the chase... Finarfin would be proud, if he had not turned away in disgust. You yourself did not wish to come.”

   “Yet here I am. And being here, and having been put in the unfortunate position of High King”

   Maedhros raised his glass with a smile, but his eyes were hooded, the darkness within almost visible, a shadow beneath the Shadow.
   

   “As High King, it is my part to look to the protection of our people. An attack is coming, Maedhros, we must strike now, or the battle, when it comes, will be fought on His terms, to His advantage. And battle is coming. You know it to be so.”

   “Protection of the people. How many will perish in the assault ? Do they not deserve protection ? Do your people not keep you apprised of the mood ? The memory of the triumph of Dagor-nuin-Giliath puts people at their ease. Let him send forth his foul minions, they say, we shall harvest them as grass. And after all the hardship, and the strangeness of this cold, wet land, they are beginning to settle, to speak of home, and to mean here. Valinor fades to a song, Fingolfin. The Enemy is weak, and constrained. Let Him freeze in his fortress of ice !”

   “Weak ? Did you truly say that ? Do you hear your own words ?”

   “Sire, these are not my words, nor my thoughts. I merely speak as the people do, as your loyal subject, reporting that which is said. Weak...

   Do you think I have forgotten His malice, or his dungeons ? Weak ! Do you think I have forgotten the Two Trees, and the fall of night ? “ his voice had become louder, and filled with bitter fury. He breathed deeply and drank from his goblet, then sighed “Oh Fingolfin, they had given me up for lost. My own brothers ! Not one of them sought me out. That was the worst pain. It cut the deepest.
   I could not blame them, I myself could see no hope of rescue. But when Fingon came, my heart broke. Something within all of us is broken. They lost their trust in me when I was taken, and I lost my trust in them when it took the valour of my cousin to save me.” He took a shuddering breath, Fingolfin gritted his teeth in sympathy, but said nothing. Maedhros looked at him directly “They will never forgive me for handing you the crown. My words mean nothing to them. If it were not for the Oath, I think that they would have dispersed.
We gather at times, and discuss absurd schemes for robbing Him of our father’s stones, but none of them will listen to the schemes of another, and we waste our effort and time on planning for things we cannot, dare not, attempt. You may speak to them until the final note of the Music, but they will never unite behind a single leader. Not me, not you, not even Finrod Felagund, beloved by all.” He sniffed, and frowned “If... if we had not... well... But if Thingol had been with us, he might have led us, but he is shut away in his forest, and might not exist for all the help he has given us. Oh, I understand his wrath, truly, and my remorse is... is something that I must...” he stopped, turned away and almost stumbled into a seat. Fingolfin sat silently beside him.

   They were quiet for a time, a servant came out to fill their goblets, and left. Fingolfin pondered the speech of Maedhros, feeling that words of comfort should be offered, but finding none within himself. He gazed, clear-eyed, at his own weakness, his own fear, and knew that the Shadow was real, that that which he dreaded would come to pass. The words burst from him, indignation burning his eyes with dry tears.

   “But He is coming ! There will be battle. He has had hundreds of years to rebuild his army. Our seige... our seige is one wall, He skirts our lines with scarcely a sneer. Battle is coming, Maedhros, we ourselves must choose the field, and unite, or he will divide us, and destroy us all.”

   Maedhros turned to him angrily “Did you heed none of my words, sire ! I know your thought. But I have told you how it is amongst the people, and amongst my own brethren. They will not unite. They will not heed your warnings.” He held up the gloved form of the carven hand he wore “There is nothing that you can say to them. There is nothing that I can say to them. Those who were hurt, or bereaved, find the memory too painful. Those few who were unscathed, or too young to be troubled, do not truly believe, nor comprehend, the power and malice of our Foe.”
   He snorted, and looked out across the darkness of the hills. In a soft, quiet voice, he spoke the words of the Curse. “Then thou hast sworn in vain, for none of the Valar canst thou overcome, now or ever within the halls of Eä, not though Eru whom thou namest had made thee thrice greater than thou art.”

   He sat forwards, resting his elbows on his knees, the goblet hung from the few fingers that remained to him, and he looked up at Fingolfin darkly. Fingolfin sighed and sat back in his chair.

   The expression in the eyes of Maedhros troubled him, he could not feel it from the inside, he could not read the mood of his fell kinsman, and a strange coldness took his limbs. The memories swirled within him, snowflakes in a strong wind, lashing at his eyes. The memory of Helcaraxë returned to him; he was there, watching the destruction of the greater part of his people, slaughtered by the indifferent cold, and the mood of Maedhros fell upon him like the crushing ice. For Maedhros lived with despair, but Fingolfin could not.

   “There must be hope.” he said finally, his voice a strange croak. Fingolfin started, astonished to hear himself. He had heard such sounds once before; an Elf, speared by the ice and close to death, had spoken to him in just such a tone, begging for help. But there was nothing to be done, and within moments the light had faded from the baffled grey eyes.
But he could not face despair, he could not accept that the words of the Curse were so plain to the understanding. “There must be hope ! We defeated His army once, we can defeat it again, and though He Himself be beyond our strength, we may weaken him, and give ourselves another time of peace.”

   Maedhros looked at him as though he were far away, beyond the reach of sound, beyond all prospect of speech. With a broken sigh Maedhros sat back, and stretched out his long legs. The darkness of their mood contrasted so sharply with the comfort and splendour of the occasion that Fingolfin had to hold himself from grim laughter.

   “There must be hope !" cried Fingolfin after a time. "The seers agree on this one thing. Hope.”

   “The seers ! Who of them foresaw the fall of the Trees ? Who of the Valar ?” Maedhros laughed, or snorted. “Oh, they may be right, for you, for some few... But for my brothers and I, and those we led, there can be no hope. Long have I pondered the words of the Curse. To me they are clear enough. Hope ! What of those taken by the Enemy who could not be saved as I was, what of those who suffer now in the hell of His contriving ? What hope for them ? Will you break his doors and set them free ?”
Fingolfin looked at him in anguish “I would ! I would if you would follow me, bringing your brethren to the gates to challenge His will. That is why I have come here. To ask you to ride with me.”

   Maedhros shook his head. "They will not come. They will not even listen to you. Oh, they will be silent when you speak, and may the spirit of Eonwë inspire your words ! But they will not heed you. This I know.”

   Fingolfin sighed “Very well, but I shall speak to them, because I must.”

   Maedhros nodded “Forgive me.”

   Fingolfin raised his eyebrows. Maedhros smiled darkly “Forgive me for abandoning my post. It should be I who must speak to them. But I...” he fell silent.

   Fingolfin gripped his shoulder again “Do not trouble yourself with concern for me. Look to your own hurts, and nurture your spirit. For if we do not attack, we must nevetheless be vigilant in the defence of our people. This is what must be done.
   If nothing else comes of this meeting, I would have you increase the watch, and let the wise be set to study the Shadow as never before. We cannot know His power, nor how it may trouble our hearts. We know little of the Light, and nothing of the Dark. It may be that in wisdom lies our hope, rather than the despair that you seem to see as wisdom.”

   “Wisdom !” Maedhros exclaimed “Our folly was to pay no heed to the Valar, when they urged us not to set forth. But still we did so... To ignore their judgment, to forget their wrath, and their Curse, that indeed would be folly. Yet you call it wisdom ?” He rose to his feet, Fingolfin stood beside him, still seeking the words that would lift the heart of Maedhros from the darkness. But all had been said. Maedhros placed his carven hand upon his heart and bowed to Fingolfin, then turned and was gone.

   Fingolfin leaned on his elbows and gazed out over the balcony. The lights of the town faded out into villages, and isolated homesteads, and darkness. He thought of the Shadow, pouring across Ard-galen, seeping into the hearts of all in its path, dimming the Light within, until naught could be seen but Darkness. It seemed that the Oath of the Fëanorians was already shaping itself into the world.

   For Maedhros lived each day in the Everlasting Dark.