Making a King by chrissystriped

Making a King

Read Making a King

Fingon stood at the right side of his father at the invisible line that separated their half of the lake-shore from that of the People of Feanor. His other siblings stood at the front of the crowd that had gathered. Word had gotten around that Fingolfin would meet the sons of Feanor today, although Fingon doubted that many people knew what would transpire today — Fingolfin had told only him and Curufin wouldn’t look this composed, if he knew what Maedhros intended to do.

Tense silence settled over the crowd as his cousins dismounted and stepped towards the invisible demarcation line. They had come with a small guard, but Fingolfin’s people outnumbered them. They all knew they were very close to another Kinslaying. It had almost come to blows when they’d arrived after the Crossing.

There was a deep rift between their people, Fingon wasn’t it sure would ever heal. He’d rescued Maedhros for his cousins’s sake, but also because he hoped his deed would bring them some way towards mending this rift.

Maedhros was still marked by his captivity, his face pale and drawn, hair so short it didn’t touch his shoulders, his handless arm in a sling — Fingon winced at the memory of bone crunching under his knife; Maedhros’s scream; the smell of blood… He tasted bile and forced the thoughts down.

Maedhros stood straight despite everything. He and Fingon had written many letters back and forth between the camps, cousins — melotorni — trying to heal their own relationship, Maedhros’s being written in a shaky scrawl of a hand that was not used to the task.

There had been letters between him and Fingon’s father, too, letters of diplomacy, dictated to Maglor — so at least he must know — that assured Fingolfin that Maedhros regretted what had happened and wanted to heal this rift as much as they did. Finally, Maedhros had offered the High Kingship to his uncle, out of the deep conviction that this was the best for their people.

Fingon threw a quick glance at his father. He stood as straight as Maedhros, sure that no one would dare to attack the sons of Feanor ins his presence. He was going to be a good king — he already was a leader many followed out of a deep sense of awe, trust and love; and Fingon counted himself among them.

Maedhros lifted his voice to speak. “We have come here today to offer our Uncle and our cousins and all who follow them our deepest regrets and apologies for the hurts that the actions of our father — and our own — have caused. We, as his heir and your High King, speak in his voice. We are sure he would have come to regret his decisions pertaining to you, once his fire settled down.”

Fingon realised belatedly that Maedhros was using the royal plural. A muttering had risen among the crowd as Maedhros claimed the High Kingship for himself.

“We are Feanor’s eldest son”, Maedhros continued. “And thus the High Kingship of the Noldor passes down to Us. But We also swore Our Father’s Oath. We are bound by it in a way no King should be.” Maedhros held Fingolfin’s eyes. “And so We ask thee, Uncle: Wilt thou take the burden of ruling from Us? Wilt thou agree to be the High King of All Noldor?”

Curufin, standing at Maedhros side, the sword of Feanor in his hands, jerked at these word, throwing Maedhros a sharp look and opening his mouth.

“I will”, answered Fingolfin, before Curufin could interject.

“Give Us Our sword”, Maedhros said to Curufin.

‘Are you insane?’ Curufin was smart enough to not speak the words aloud, but Fingon, being linked to Maedhros in a close way, heard the word shouted into Maedhros’s mind clearly. ‘If you don’t want the Kingship, fine! That still leaves six of us to take it!’

‘No’, answered Maedhros firmly. ‘It has to go to Fingolfin. Now, stop being obstinate and give me the fucking sword!’

He’d left the royal plural behind in their private conversation, whether it was intentional or forgotten in his anger, Fingon could not tell.

He was very aware that this was already going on for too long, the first whispers could be heard behind him while the two brothers stared each other down. Fingon sighed inaudibly when it was Curufin who bowed his head and gave Maedhros the weapon — sign of the High King, Finwe’s crown had perished and there had not been made a new one.

Maedhros offered the sword to Fingolfin and bent the knee when he took it, laying his hand on the sheath. “I give up the High Kingship to you, Finwe Nolofinwe and become your man from this day forward and unto you shall be true and faithful. When you call, I will come. Where you go, I will follow. Your Word be my Law.”

“Rise, kinsman”, Fingolfin said and kissed Maedhros’s forehead. “We accept the Kingship and thy words. Thou shalt be forgiven for the deeds of thy father thou hast taken part in. Let it be known to all, that thou art under Our protection and in Our heart, nephew.”

Maedhros gave Fingolfin a relieved look and smiled at Fingon before he went back to his brothers — possibly to talk them down. Fingon turned to his father. “Allow me to pay homage to my High King, Father”, he said. Fingolfin nodded with a warm expression on his face and Fingon knelt. His siblings followed, as did his cousins and he saw with relief, that Maedhros’s brothers had inserted themselves into the line that had formed. Maybe they didn’t do it unprompted, but it would give them all a feeling of belonging together again, a step towards healing the breach.

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Chapter End Notes

Written for the "On a Different Page"-Challenge. Prompt was: "‘Give me my sword!’ shouted the King, finding his voice, but forgetting his plural." ~ Farmer Giles of Ham

melotorni = love-brothers (Fingon and Maedhros are a couple in this fic.)

I took part of Maedhros's vow from this source: http://faculty.goucher.edu/eng330/ceremonies_of_homage_and_fealty.htm