Fire and Death by chrissystriped

Fire and Death

Read Fire and Death

Nolofinwe — he used the Sindarin form of his name in public, but in his own head he’d always stayed Nolofinwe — stood silently while his squire dressed him in his armour. He’d told no one else that he was riding North, they’d have only tried to stop him. He’d probably die, he had no illusions there, but he couldn’t watch Morgoth burn the world and do nothing!

A hot anger burned in his breast since Ard-galen had gone up in flames. He thought of his son having to sort out the chaos, if he didn’t come back and that let the inner flames die down a bit. But Fingon would do well as King. He was a natural leader and well beloved by everyone. And he had still hope that they could persevere. Nolofinwe couldn’t stop thinking that they’d lost.

They’d thought they’d had Morgoth besieged when their enemy had only bided his time. When Fingon had sent the Dragon running, they’d called it a victory but this time he’d come back much stronger. They couldn’t win against a Vala — but he’d die trying to take revenge. Revenge for his father, for Arakáno — for Maitimo.

They still hadn’t received any news from the East. He didn’t know if Maedhros was still alive and the thought that he might be dead made Nolofinwe’s heart burn. If he was still alive, Maedhros would be equally devastated, when he heard of his death… that almost stopped him. But he thought of the things Morgoth had done to Maedhros — things he’d only heard in pieces over the years because it hurt him so much to talk about it. If he could give Morgoth back just a little of that pain, it would be worth it.

His squire girded him with his sword and Nolofinwe laid his gloved hand on Ringil’s haft. He fervently wished he’d be able to touch Morgoth with it. He nodded a silent goodbye to the young man and walked alone to the stables.

Rochallor nuzzled his hand and Nolofinwe patted his silvery coat. The stallion was a descendant of Luinil, the horse Maedhros had given him as recompense all these years ago, and Nolofinwe was glad that he’d not been out on Ard-galen when the fire came — they’d lost a lot of horses that had been grazing on the plain.

“Will you bear me into this fight?”, he asked softly. “Through fire and ash into danger.”

Rochallor neighed gently and blew warm air into his face.

Nolofinwe secured his helm and shield on Rochallor’s saddle. He wished, he could say goodbye to his surviving children. He wished he could say goodbye to Maedhros. But he couldn’t. He hoped he could at least buy them a little reprieve by attacking Morgoth.

 

*~*~*

 

There was a giant eagle perched on the parapet. Not Thorondor, Maedhros would have known him, but one of his minions. Maglor, his hair still singed from trying to hold the Gap had hurried to his side when the shape of the bird had come out of the smoke rising from the plain. Maedhros rubbed his eyes, they were red and irritated from the ash in the air — and staring north, where Thangorodrim hid behind the smoke.

“What brings you here, greatest of birds?”, he asked.

He wasn’t sure if he trusted the birds of Manwe, but one of them had saved Fingon’s and his life and he wouldn’t forget it.

“I bring a message from the High King to Prince Maedhros, Lord of Himring”, the eagle said. “My father is dead. He rode out alone and in secret to challenge Morgoth to single combat.”

Maedhros felt like the ground had given out under him and he was falling. The High King, that had been Nolofinwe but this was a message from Fingon. ‘My father is dead.’ No... No! What had he done?

“Thorondor saved his body from destruction and brought it to Turgon, wherever he is hiding, to bury, before he came to me, to tell me of what had happened. He agreed to send one of his people to tell you, I doubt an earthbound messenger would reach you right now. I hope you and your brothers are well. This is the message of the High King Fingon."

“Thank you”, Maedhros croaked and turned around to flee.

Maglor called something after him, but he didn’t listen to him. He needed to get out of sight. Maedhros locked the door and hid under the blankets on his bed before letting his feelings overwhelm him. Nolofinwe – his núro, his love – was dead! Tears ran down Maedhros’s cheeks, he let out a wail. How often had only his letters helped him through bad times – and the knowledge that Nolofinwe would rush to his side, if he needed him to.

At this moment Maedhros felt like Morgoth had won. Himring had held, barely, but he still hadn’t heard any news from Celegorm and Curufin. Until the eagle had come he had known nothing of how the battle had gone in the west. Fingon was alive and he should be glad about it – he was glad, but right now the grief was stronger.

The grief was an overwhelming pain, worse and harder to endure than anything he’d suffered in Angband – he thought, he might die from it. He jumped when someone sat down on the bed.

“Sorry, I didn’t want to scare you”, Maglor said. “But I was worried.”

He didn’t try to get him out of his pile of blankets and Maedhros was glad for that. The fabric under his cheek was wet with his tears and his throat hurt from sobbing. He felt so exhausted, too exhausted even to cry more.

“I locked the door”, he whispered, his voice almost gone.

“I picked the lock. Can I do anything for you?”

Maedhros shook his head before he realised that Maglor couldn’t see it.

“No. I... it hurts so much. And I know... I don’t know how to not show it! They need me strong now and I can’t...”

“Don’t worry about that now!”, Maglor interrupted him. “I’ll take care of things. Grieve.”

A hand slid under the blankets and Maedhros clutched it.

“But please, don’t leave me alone”, Maglor added softly.

Maedhros took a shaking breath. “I won’t”, he promised.

He couldn’t leave his brothers to fulfil their Oath alone, no matter how much it hurt to have lost Nolofinwe.

 

*~*~*

 

Fingon went through his father’s drawers. His eyes feeling dry and raw. He was still starting to cry at the most inopportune moments, but he was King now and they were at war, he had to keep things running. He had no idea how his father had found anything in his desk. It had always looked so easy, the way he’d pulled forth relevant notes from drawers, but Fingon could discern no order. It was all to much.

He sat back and laid his hands over his face, hot tears running from his sore eyes. He was so angry with his father! How could he leave him in such a situation? And Turgon, too, just vanishing to somewhere no one knew and taking their sister with him. Fingon sobbed, feeling lost and lonely.

After a while, he wiped his eyes and turned to searching and ordering his father’s stuff again. His counsellors had told him to take a rest, but he couldn’t. If he had no task, he knew he’d fall into that deep dark abyss of grief, threatening to engulf him.

Fingon hesitated when he found a box buried under a pile of files. It was made of wrought silver, decorated with filigree and looked like something that had been brought from Aman. Fingon’s hand hovered over it, he’d never seen the box, it felt like something very personal. He shook his head — his father was dead, no privacy left — and opened the lid.

He recognised the script immediately, printed not written, the way Maedhros wrote all his letters. He was surprised. He’d already found the official correspondence his father had had with Maedhros and he’d thought that was all of it.

Fingon unfolded one of the letters. It puzzled him at first, Maedhros writing to someone he addressed as his servant, until he realised of what a nature the letter was and that it was Fingolfin Maedhros was calling that.

Fingon let go of the letter, it fluttered to the floor, and stared at it in shock. Maedhros and Fingolfin… no. No! He couldn’t believe it. His father in a sexual relationship with Maedhros!

He shook his head and stood up, fleeing from the office. Locking the door so no one would find what he had seen. He couldn’t deal with this now.

 

~*~*~

 

Maedhros rode into the courtyard. It had been months since he’d had news of Nolofinwe’s death and he’d desperately wanted to see Fingon to share his grief, but there had been no way to reach the other side of the continent. Ard-galen was lost, burning and covered in smoke and evil fumes, and the road between Doriath and Dorthonion was clogged with spiders and worse things. He might have attempted it anyway, but he knew he couldn’t leave Maglor alone in the situation: to count their losses, hunt for news of survivors. They’d both been relieved when they got news that Curufin and Celegorm had found their way to Nargothrond and were save with their cousin. They’d done as much damage control as possible now, Ard-galen had cooled down — although it still hadn’t been a pleasant ride — and he’d felt like he could leave Himring for a while.

Fingon came down the stairs to the keep and Maedhros gave his horse to a groom and hugged him tight.

“I’m so sorry”, he whispered. “I wish I could have been there for you.”

Then he went down on one knee and kissed Fingon’s hand.

“My king, I am and always will be your loyal subject.”

Fingon gulped. “Rise, liegeman. I’m glad you are here.”

Maedhros saw something in his eyes, a reserve he didn’t know of him and couldn’t place, and shivered — then he shook his head at himself, Fingon had lost his father, if he was acting strange, he didn’t need any more reason than that.

 

“I’ve found something”, Fingon said later, when they sat together after dinner.

He was playing with his cup and not looking at him. Maedhros felt uneasiness make his chest tighten, he suddenly couldn’t breathe.

“What?”, he croaked.

“My father, he kept all your letters”, Fingon said. “The official ones as well as… the other kind.”

Maedhros felt a shudder run down his body. He felt sick.

“Fingon…”

“Don’t tell me, it isn’t as I think! How could you?” Fingon threw a glare at him.

“I…” Maedhros lowered his head, not able to meet his eyes. “We found out that we shared our… special interests by accident and… I loved him.” Maedhros gulped, trying to swallow his tears. “I know you’re angry and I’m sorry. I came here to support you, I didn’t want you to be hurt even more.”

Fingon said nothing for a long while and Maedhros felt himself starting to tremble. He couldn’t lose his best friend, too!

Finally Fingon sighed and said: “I read the letters… some of them, at least. Enough to see the love speaking from them. But mother…”

“He loved her.” Maedhros hurried to say. “But he couldn’t share this with her and then she was gone — stayed behind — and… we knew it was wrong, but we did it anyway. I… don’t know what I’d have done after Angband, if he hadn’t been there to hold me.”

Fingon squeezed Maedhros’s left hand. “I forgive you”, he said gently. “Thank you for coming. I… I can’t believe he’s gone.”

Fingon’s face crumpled and he hid it against Maedhros’s shoulder. Maedhros held him as he shook with sobs, letting his own tears flow freely. He cried for Fingolfin, for Fingon’s pain, for his own lost love — but also with relief because the truth had not destroyed the deepest friendship he’d ever had. He wished he could make it up to Fingon that they’d lied to him for so long, but he didn’t know how. And so he held him while he cried, trying to silently give him his love and support.

 

~*~*~

 

He stood at the precipice, the hot glow of the blood of the earth below him — evidence that the continent was dying. He looked down on his burned hand and wondered if jumping down there would hurt as much as holding the Silmaril — or the pain in his soul.

How could they have done so much wrong? They’d killed innocents when they should have turned all their forces North. But after the Nirnaeth Arnoediad they’d known it was hopeless to attack Morgoth again. So they’d turned to an easier target — and still failed. He’d known it was wrong and still been too weak to stop himself and his brothers. All this time he’d been afraid of Morgoth being in his mind, but he knew he couldn’t blame this on his enemy. It had been his own choice.

He looked into the sky where the twins’ father was sailing with the Silmaril. He hoped they were fine. He hoped they wouldn’t be treated badly for having lived so long with kinslayers.

Maedhros wondered, what would happen to him after his death — not that he really cared much at this point — was it the Void for him, and all his family, or was the Oath fulfilled because he and Maglor had gotten back the two remaining Silmarils? He hoped it was the latter, and feared it wasn’t. Not for himself, but for his father and brothers. That was the only reason he’d held on for so long after Fingolfin’s death — he couldn’t leave them.

Nolofinwe… he’d not have allowed him to go down such a dark road. Fingon wouldn’t have let him either. But they were both dead.

Maedhros hoped, he’d never encounter either of them again though the thought ripped the wounds in his heart open. How could he look them in the eyes, after all the things he’d done?

Maedhros closed his eyes, clutching the Silmaril to his breast and leaned forward, the hot air rising up whipped his hair out of his face. He took a deep breath, smelling sulphur, and leaned forward a little more, toppling over the edge.

 

In Mandos, Nolofinwe could feel when Maedhros died. He’d felt it with each of his sons, touching their fëar with his. Sometimes he encountered his children and other family members in Mandos. It was nothing tangible, they were all thought, no substance to them, and they didn’t really talk but sometimes it was good to not be alone.

Mandos provided for every mood. You could be totally alone, if you wanted to, but you also could be among your loved ones — he wondered how it had been for the first elves who’d died, being all alone here only with Námo and Nienna for company.

Nolofinwe reached out to Maedhros. He knew he’d done bad things, but this was not the time for resentment. Maedhros shrank back and was gone, hiding from him, but not before Nolofinwe had felt his self-loathing and fear of having earned his hatered. Nolofinwe wished, he could have followed and soothed him but finding someone in Mandos who didn’t want to be found was almost impossible — at least for an elf. Nolofinwe hoped Námo would not be too harsh with Maedhros, he’d already suffered so much in life.

---

Chapter End Notes

This is not the end of the series! They'll be reborn.