The Darkest Season by Elleth

Chapter 6

The meeting with Maedhros, the Oath, and an unexpected conclusion.

There was no explosion, nor outburst of any other kind. Instead, the room was startlingly silent, pierced only by Maedhros' harsh breaths. Asgarvain counted to six in her mind, slowly, and back to zero, before raising her head. Maedhros displayed as a still silhouette against the lit window, low and narrow but enough to let the winter sun slant into the room. He had not even risen from the chair behind his desk, but the rigid set of his shoulders told her that he had indeed heard.

She squinted against the light. "My lord Maedhros?" His eyes were closed, she saw now, ringed with dark circles, and whether he had been as pale before they came in, or whether her news had caused it, she did not know. His cheekbones jutted out of a hollow face. He was clearly unwell, and Asgarvain felt a pang of regret for failing to stop Hwestonnen barging in. She wet her lips and waited for a response.

"Bain, get up." But that was Handrin whispering urgently behind her, not Maedhros speaking, while Hwestonnen stood waiting his turn. She shook her head, not the least because she was unsure if her limbs would support her. Some respect, too, would not go amiss, and grasping Handrin's sleeve she pulled him down as well.

"My lord, I am not glad to have to report this. We are aware of the --- likely consequences." The word, kinslaying, lay like a stone on her tongue, but looking at Maedhros again, she hesitated to voice it, wondering if it even made a difference.

"Close the door." Maedhros was cradling his head in his left hand, and it was only now that she noticed the sling knotted around his neck, where his right arm rested. The stump, as always, was hidden away beneath an elongated sleeve. Asgarvain forced herself to avert her eyes, back to her lord's face to watch for reactions. Ever since his return from Angband, despite attempts to mask his emotions, he had become unable to hide them fully – now restrained shock and anger, and glimmers of joy, all lay open to those who knew how to read faces, but while she was still wondering about this strange mix, the click of the door made her jump. Hwestonnen had pushed it shut.

"Where is it?" Maedhros asked the same moment.

"In Doriath," Hwestonnen said.

Maedhros nodded sharply. "Who knows?"

"Only the people present in this room, my lord, and my wife, who will keep her silence."

"Thank you... commander," Maedhros said. Asgarvain saw his eyes open in a startling blink of light; they flicked over the badges of rank each of them wore. "Now explain. It is a grave claim to make that Dior is in possession of Lúthien's Silmaril."

Hwestonnen spoke up, stringing his words together with care. "My lord, with all due respect, I know you held the lady Lúthien in high esteem for her victory over the Enemy – we all do, it is impossible not to - but the stone is your father's and rightfully belongs to the House of ---"

"--- Dior Eluchíl, if I am reading the signs right and Lúthien has died indeed. It can be no other stone; there is none now who can repeat the deeds she and Beren wrought, and I will allow no discussion of its ownership." There was a decisive note in his voice that quenched any protest.

Tense silence fell. A muscle in Asgarvain's shoulder twinged, quickly and repeatedly, like a bird fluttering beneath her skin, but she did not dare avert her eyes from Maedhros, who, waiting, now leaned back in his chair and regarded all three of them with a mien that made her feel as though a hungry wolf was about to devour them. Her eyes had not deceived her; the flickers of joy did exist, and they were growing stronger the longer she studied her lord, until faintly and through a great distance, the words beneath Mindon Eldaliéva rang in her ears again. This swear we all: death we will deal him ere day's ending, woe unto world's end! Our word hear thou, Eru Allfather!

"Good," Maedhros said, when none of the three voiced opposition. The chair creaked as he stood to gaze out at the snow-covered keep. "Tell me instead how you know that the jewel has come again to Doriath. Have you seen it?"

"No, my lord," Hwestonnen said, "or I would have attempted to bring it home." Asgarvain felt bile rise in her throat. She knew that Hwestonnen had fought fiercely in Alqualondë, but hearing him voice such casual disregard – or such a casual lie, if his shaken behaviour at arrival had been anything to go by - did not sit well with her.

"Lord Caranthir sent a handful of men to scout the northern reaches of Andram while we brought orders to the outpost on Amon Lenthir. We were to rely on speed and secrecy, but an enemy patrol scattered us, and I was driven into the hills alone, where a company of traders out of Doriath had made camp on their way to the coast. They spoke of nothing but the Silmaril before I revealed my presence, and when I did were anxious to conceal their high spirits. I am grateful that it is still so near the equinox, and the folk of Doriath abide by the Laws of the Eldar, otherwise they might have slain me instead of turning their talk toward the trade of fish while I shared their fire for the night."

Asgarvain swallowed hard. She had envisioned this encounter differently. Almost it seemed as though Hwestonnen's words, calm though they were, were only serving to incite the wolfish curiosity she had noticed earlier, rather than to placate it. Perhaps she had underestimated what an imposing force the Oath presented, if it was capable of transforming the exhausted man in front of her into Lord Maedhros Fëanorion within moments. Even his posture had straightened from defeat to certainty.

Handrin was figdeting beside her. He had never been the most patient or least excitable, but now he must have felt it as well, crouching in on himself with bent back and his eyes downcast like a child awaiting a chiding. He remained in this position until Maedhros turned back from the window to face them. Outside, clouds had rolled in that blocked the sun and threw the land into shadow. Snow had begun to fall again, and it was not hard to understand why this time was called the darkest season.

"My lord, if I may ask a question?" Handrin asked in a hesitant voice. Maedhros nodded, and Asgarvain hoped neither would make the season any darker by their actions. When Maedhros rounded the desk and his shadow fell on her, she winced involuntarily, only to tell herself to stop looking for symbols where none were. Maedhros stopped in front of Handrin. He shrugged free his stump and placed it underneath Handrin's chin to tip his head up.

"Soldier, what are your name and affiliation?" Maedhros asked.

"Handrin Edemmir Bronduinion, foot soldier in the host of lords Amrod and Amras -- my lord." Asgarvain could see his eyes widen, and his muscles tense in an effort not to squirm. Similar to his interest in Alqualondë, he knew the story of Maedhros' rescue by heart. Being faced with the consequence of it proved harder on him, and she once more resolved that she would do anything in her power to keep him from marching on Doriath.

"Ask your question, soldier Handrin."

Handrin took a moment to breathe deeply and gather his courage. He made a face as though he was preparing to bite through a piece of metal, but his eyes flicked through the room and to Asgarvain, and she dared a slight nod. Maedhros would press for the question either way now, for better or worse.

"My lord, how," he cleared his throat, "– how do you intend to get the Silmaril back? Will you attack Doriath as we feared?"

Maedhros regarded him with a bemused look, and as though Handrin's naive question had dispelled the threat hanging in the room, his shoulders sagged, and he withdrew his arm. Handrin released a breath. Any colour Maedhros' face might have held a moment ago was fading.

"Did you listen, soldier?" The tired note crept back into his voice. "I intend no such thing. If the jewel returns to us, then it will be by the grace of Thingol's Heir, not by any force from the Sons of Fëanor that exceeds the sending of messages. And I believe I have found the three who will deliver just such a message. I will send for you tonight for all further particulars; I must confer with Makalaurë and Carnistir before making any such decisions without their knowledge." Almost as an afterthought, or an aside to himself, he added, in a lower voice, "Turco and Curvo's absence has never been as convenient."

He sat down heavily behind his desk again. "Remember to keep this among yourselves only, for the time being. Dismissed."

Chapter End Notes

Amon Lenthir is an invention on my part, intended to mean 'Hill of Waterfalls', and situated near the Gates of Sirion.

Likewise, the idea of the Laws of the Eldar and the (especial) taboo of killing near an equinox was my idea, if based on an obscure bit of canon. When Eöl encounters Curufin in Himlad while he is pursuing Aredhel and Maeglin to Gondolin, Curufin states, 'Do not flaunt the title of your wife before me,' he said. 'For those who steal the daughters of the Noldor and wed them without gift or leave do not gain kinship with their kin. I have given you leave to go. Take it, and be gone. By the laws of the Eldar I may not slay you at this time. [...]'- and since the encounter takes place near the summer solstice, I took the liberty of making up and extending the custom to other solstices and equinoxes as well.

Lastly, This swear we all: death we will deal him ere day's ending, woe unto world's end! Our word hear thou, Eru Allfather! is an excerpt from Tolkien's verse version of the Oath of the Fëanorians.