The Foundling Prince by chrissystriped

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Chapter One

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Fingon blew into the hollow of his hands to warm them. It was an icy day in Himring and the wind from the north pierced him to the core despite the warm cloak he was wearing – a gift from Maedhros, made of the black fur of wolves. Maedhros smiled at him.

“We can ride back, if you are cold”, he said.

Fingon shook his head, smiling back.

“I like to be out here with you and it’s a nice day.”

The sun was shining and the snow that lay between the leafless trees glittered.

“That it is”, Maedhros answered. “Even Himring has its nice days. Particularly when you are here to share them with me.”

Fingon laughed and wanted to answer something in regard to Maedhros’s charm when he heard a sound. He reined in his horse and laid a finger on his lips, waiting with baited breath. There it was again. A soft, little sound, like a whimper. He shared a look with Maedhros, who nodded. He’d heard it, too. Fingon laid an arrow on his bowstring before he steered his horse in the direction of the sound – it might be a trap, after all.

He didn’t have to ride far to find the source of the whimpering. The orc was dead, he sat at the base of a tree, staring at him with open, glazed eyes, but there was something moving under his cloak...

Fingon dismounted and pushed the heavy fur back to find an infant, the source of the whimpering, swaddled in a woollen blanket. Its face had a blue hue and he lifted it gently to his chest for warmth. It’s ears were pointed.

“An elf-child”, Fingon said to Maedhros, who’d dismounted, too. “What is a lone orc doing here, in the middle of the woods and so close to your castle, with the child of an elf?”

There was a strange look on Maedhros’s face as he knelt down beside the corpse and pushed the cloak aside.

“He’s not wearing armour”, Fingon said surprised and stared at his cousin, who’d started to unlace the orc’s shirt. “What are you doing?”

“I think...” Maedhros sighed and moved a little aside to show Fingon the breast, heavy with milk, he’d laid bare.

“A woman!”, Fingon exclaimed.

“Yes, and I think the child you’re holding is hers.”

Fingon tensed and looked down at the infant in his arms.

“But it doesn’t look like an orc", he said puzzled. He heard Maedhros’s knees crack when he stood up.

“No, and that’s probably why we found them like this. Let’s ride back, that child needs warmth and food.”

“Yes, you’re right.”

It was barely moving in his arms, its whimpers weak and nothing like the angry screams he remembered from his own siblings. It was close to death. Fingon looked at the orc-woman’s cloak.

“Do you think... can we take the cloak to warm the child? Surely she’d want that?”

Maedhros nodded and helped him to free the cloak and wrap the child in it until it looked like a huge bundle of fur, no one would have expected to find a child buried inside it. Fingon mounted awkwardly and they hurried to ride back.

“Once we’ve found someone who can feed the little one, I want to ride back. We can’t burry her in this weather, with the ground frozen, but we can burn her – we shouldn’t leave her for the scavengers.”

Maedhros had a look on his face that told Fingon there was no arguing with him, so he just nodded.

“You said, the reason she came here, was how the child looks”, he said carefully. “Why?”

Maedhros blew out a deep breath. “All orcs are descended from elves, if they weren’t ones themselves.” Fingon shuddered, the thought repulsed him, but it also made him feel pity for those who’d been subjected to such agony. “And sometimes there are children that prove that. They are either brought up to be slaves or... not.” Maedhros eyes were haunted and Fingon knew there were nightmares coming today. “I think she ran. She must have been less afraid of us than of what would happen to her child in Angband. And that cloak is not standard issue, someone in a higher position must have helped her.”

“So this is not an elf-child, after all.” Fingon looked down on the little face again and felt only gentleness for it. “What are we going to do with it?”

“But it is”, Maedhros said gently. “It is an elf. And we’ll find someone to raise and love it. No one ever needs to know how we found it.”

“You don’t hate it for where it came from?”, Fingon asked and Maedhros shook his head.

“It’s just a child. It never did anything wrong. And it won’t turn on us.”

“I believe you.” Fingon had seen often enough how Maedhros looked escapees from Angband sternly in the eyes before admitting them to the castle – or putting them to death. He knew his cousin could see if there was darkness in the hearts of others.

 

They’d found a young mother among Maedhros’s people who’d agreed to suckle the child and when they visited him – the infant had turned out to be a boy – he lay sleeping in the crib beside the two months old son of his nurse. Fingon stroked his cheek gently, the boy looked much better now that he was warm and fed.

He felt tired, too. They’d given him into save hands only to turn around and burn the mother’s body. He’d said a quiet prayer for the woman and hoped, her fea had stayed around long enough to see her son be saved. He would make sure he would grow up happy. Maedhros bumped his elbow into his shoulder.

“You’re cooking something up. I can see it.”

Fingon had only held the boy for a short time riding back, but already his heart ached at the thought of having to give him up.

“I just... You said, we’ll find someone to raise and love him, but why shouldn’t I do that myself? Father and his councillors badger me to marry and produce an heir.” Fingon made a disgusted sound in his throat. “They’ll be happy, if I come home with one.”

“Only problem is that you can’t produce I mother”, Maedhros answered.

“I’ll figure something out.”

“Do you really want to raise him as your own?”, Maedhros asked surprised.

“I do”, Fingon answered, surprised himself. He had never imagined that he could feel so much love for a child not of his family. But the poor thing had no home and his mother was dead. He would be his family.

“Ereinion”, he whispered. “That’s what I’ll call you.”

Maedhros huffed in amusement. “Isn’t that a little pompous?”

“He’ll need all the legitimisation he can get”, Fingon said firmly. “Ereinion it is.”

“What do you intend to tell your father?”

Fingon bit his lip. “On second thought: Nothing. If we keep silent, rumours are going to get wild, but they won’t think of the truth! They’ll think I’m the father and that I don’t want the mother to be known because she’s below me. Let them think that. It’s probably the best option. Do you think, Andevea and her husband would be ready to accompany me back to Hithlum?”

“Oh, so you intend to seduce my people away from me!” Maedhros’s wiggled his eyebrows and fondly kissed his temple. “We’ll see. I hope you don’t intend to cut your visit short now that you are a father.”

“Not in the least. And you’ll be ‘Uncle Russo’ to him.”

“Yes?” Maedhros had such a look of surprised happiness on his face, that Fingon had to laugh. “Of course! I won’t stop visiting you and I’ll take him along. He’ll be as fond of you as I am.”

They both looked down on the sleeping boy again, Fingon leaned against Maedhros who laid an arm around him.

“I think, that’s what her mother hoped for, when she ran away from Angband”, Maedhros said softly. “That her child would be able to grow up free and loved.”

“I didn’t think I’d ever say that of an orc, but I’m sorry that she died”, Fingon answered.

He wanted to know more about this woman who’d gotten herself in peril and given her life to bring her child to a better place. It would be years until he had to think about telling little Ereinion who his mother had been, but he already wondered, if and how he might do that. He stroked the fur of the cloak that hung over a corner of the crib. He would at least make sure that Ereinion would now this had belonged to her.