Blue and Silver, Black and Gold by Lferion

Blue and Silver, Black and Gold

People would forget; not that Fingon had been king, High King of the Noldor in Middle Earth, not that, but when he had been King. They would think of when he had been Prince, Herald, Fingolfin’s right hand, with lands of his own and responsibilities well beyond them. They would think of the years on the Ice, of his rescue of Maedhros, the encounter with a still-small Glaurung.

 They would forget he was only King for sixteen years of the sun — an eye-blink, barely a breath, (not even two Valian years, half the span that Maglor had been Regent). They forgot he was King of a people fragmented and crippled by staggering losses. 

 They forgot the red mire of all their trampled hopes, that there was not enough of a body left to bury. No Eagle, no rescue, no hope of night swiftly passing now.

 They forgot he was king only in their hearts, their memories, their sundered hopes, those few yet left to carry on the long defeat, and thus, an impossible standard. (They did not forget that Turgon was king, nor fail in their fealty to him, but his was a different kind of kingship. Turgon commanded hands more than hearts, and was content to have it so. Gil-Galad reigned over a very different people, changed in more than experience.)

 They remembered their laughing Prince with high-raised banners of blue-and-silver, bright gold shining in dark braids. Few recalled the battle-braids of the High King, tight and unadorned, except for the two that showed in the front, gold-threaded for the morale of it, the show of confidence. 

 They remembered the way their hearts leapt at his speeches, how they felt stronger and surer and better able to do whatever it was their part to do in the current endeavor, be it raise a tent on icy ground, serve forth a feast, face a horde of orcs, or a give aid to a devastated household. Few indeed ever saw what those speeches cost the speaker, understood from whence that coin came, and that it was spent willingly, whole-heartedly, despite the toll it took. 

 And who is to say it is wrong to so remember and forget? We follow our lords, our kings, by choice. If the banners we uphold are blue-and-silver, flying only in memory and heart, yet they are banners, and we will go forth with their hope.