#nirnaeth

@tolkienweek​ 2022 | favorite quotes ● light and dark | “aurë entuluva! day shall come again!”

Last of all Húrin stood alone. Then he cast aside his shield, and wielded an axe two-handed; and it is sung that the axe smoked in the black blood of the troll-guard of Gothmog until it withered, and each time that he slew Húrin cried: ‘Aurë entuluva! Day shall come again!’ Seventy times he uttered that cry; but they took him at last alive, by the command of Morgoth, for the Orcs grappled him with their hands, which clung to him still though he hewed off their arms; and ever their numbers were renewed, until at last he fell buried beneath them. Then Gothmog bound him and dragged him to Angband with mockery.

Thus ended Nirnaeth Arnoediad, as the sun went down beyond the sea. Night fell in Hithlum, and there came a great storm of wind out of the West.

This short story was written for Silmarillion Whump Bingo. Takes place a few months after Nirnaeth.

Prompt: cry into chest.

Time for everything

Dolmed was a curse and a blessing. The dwarves offered them help and shelter – two things they were in dire need of. There was enough food for everyone and they got some rooms for their wounded, allowing them to heal and rest. There were many things to do, shelters to build, weapons and clothes to mend, precious horses to take care of – enough to keep them all too busy to think.

It was also suffocating. The rooms carved in the mountain, too small for the Eldar. The forges hidden underground, hammers working tirelessly, their banging echoing on the corridors. No chains accompanied the work of both elves and dwarves, but it was only a small relief.

Maedhros never thought he would miss the ever cold Himring so much, but he did. He missed terribly the plain lands visible from his fortress, the high hills and even the grim chain of the mountains in the North where the Enemy dwelled. It was a harsh place to live, but it had been his home for the past few centuries, a place where he could keep his watch and make sure Morgoth would not go south to wreak havoc.

It was all gone now. The hills, the fortress, the other strongholds they had kept for so long. Gone was their strength and their hope, their armies scattered and broken beyond repair. The despair was lurking in the corners, creeping on them and his folk wherever he looked.

And gone was Fingon. Maedhros did not believe at first, would not believe, that all the plans he had crafted so carefully with his friend and his king, all their alliances would in the end bring nothing but death and destruction. And that Fingon would die. This, this just wasn’t supposed to happen.

Having all his brothers around was a small mercy. They reminded Maedhros that there were still things to be done and they kept him busy. After having been their own lords in their own lands, crowding again in such a small place was taxing at best. Disastrous, more likely. But even with all of them ready to argue over the smallest matters, it wasn’t enough. After a busy summer and autumn, which they had spent in the wilderness, winter brought snow and frost that forced them all to hide in their hastily built houses. And what was worse, winter brought idleness. Oh, of course Curufin and his craftsmen continued their work, of course Celegorm and Amras escaped on hunts whenever they could. Maedhros, however, suddenly found himself with more time than he ever wished to spend on his dark thoughts. Everything he had been pushing aside during the last few months just came back to plague him.

His brothers tried to keep him occupied, sometimes without even hiding their intentions. This time Curufin had yet again dragged him to the dwarven forges to discuss their progress and show him what had been done so far. He probably didn’t notice that the underground workshops were the last place Maedhros ever wanted to see; a place where he felt utterly useless, unable to perform even the simplest tasks with just one hand. The eldest son of Feanor came anyway and listened to the plans his brother presented, aided surprisingly by Caranthir, who had apparently grown bored enough to join the work by Curufin’s side and recall what Feanor had once taught each of them. But Caranthir could actually do something useful. Planning was all that was left for Maedhros and he found himself drifting away as Curufin spoke. This one matter could be left in his brother’s care, Maedhros would trust him with that; anything that would not force him to come to the forges he hated so much. It took a lot of effort to hide his dismay; it would do no good if he betrayed his feelings and offended their hosts.

“You are going to bore us to death, Curvo.” Caranthir’s impatient voice broke through Maedhros’s thoughts. “Just get things going, brother.” He spoke to Curufin, but as the eldest son of Feanor glanced up, he saw that Caranthir was watching him closely. Too closely and too perceptively, the way he tended to. Right now he made Maedhros wonder just how successful he was at hiding his urge to flee. Whether Curufin noticed that as well, he couldn’t tell. The smith just looked properly irritated.

“Don’t get upset just because you hardly have things to keep records of,” he snapped back. “You are free to leave if you wish.”

“Are we both?” Caranthir pointed at his eldest brother.

“If you need Nelyo so much... But I can’t think of anything else you could be doing right now.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Caranthir shrugged and rose from his seat. “The blizzard looked unusually charming today,” he claimed mockingly. “Are you coming too?”

A friendly poke in the ribs made Maedhros reach for his knife before he could think what he was doing. With an enormous effort he eased his hand back on his lap and looked apologetically at Curufin.

“I don’t think you need my expertise here, as I can hardly compete with you on that field,” he said. A bit of flattery usually worked well for Curufin, and with all of them being grim and frustrated, it wouldn’t hurt to ruffle his feathers. And probably take Caranthir away before they start arguing over nothing.

“Very well.” With a half-offended huff, Curufin pointed at the door. “Enjoy your blizzard.”

Caranthir didn’t give Maedhros time to think, he simply pushed him slightly and left close behind him, sending Curufin a knowing glance. The smith nodded slightly, though he still looked offended.

“Idiot,” muttered Caranthir when they were far away from the forges, heading towards the main entrance.

Maedhros quirked an eyebrow. “Who?”

“I haven’t decided yet.” Caranthir looked at his eldest brother challengingly. “Curvo for dragging you down there or you for being so stubborn – it is a hard choice,” he said bluntly and regretted it instantly, as Maedhros realised at once what he was doing and why he insisted on leaving. Shame and anger appeared on his weary features and he stopped.

“I can’t always hide away from my demons, Moryo.” Clearly it cost him a lot to say it aloud, but Caranthir decided there was no point in pretending the problem didn’t exist.

“Nor do you have to face them all the time,” he replied. “Shall we see that blizzard?” He asked in hope to get a ghost of a smile, but to no avail.

Maedhros ran his hand down his face and sighed. “Is it so visible?” The question was but a whisper. Caranthir didn’t like that Maedhros tried to hide his feelings from them, but he hated that bare, vulnerable side of his brother even more. Maedhros should not have that urge to hide in the first place...

“If it was, Curvo, wouldn’t have dragged you down there.” He claimed with more confidence than he felt. “He can be a pain in the behind, but he’s not that much of a jerk.”

This time he forced some kind of response. Maedhros stopped staring at the ground before him and the look he sent his brother was properly disgusted. “Language, Morifinwe.”

“It isn’t rude to state the truth.” Caranthir shrugged and pushed himself from the wall. “And I know you won’t tell him,” he risked a flash of a crooked smile, but Maedhros didn’t bother to return it. “Let’s go outside,” he added with unusual softness. His brother again had that look of a trapped animal, much like he had had in that human village they were forced to stay in.* No good could come from that.

The blizzard was far from charming, decided Caranthir as soon as they left the protection the dwarven caves provided. They could hardly see the nearest houses in the snow. The wind blew the icy snowflakes right into their faces. Still, Maedhros looked better despite the dreadful weather. He pulled up his hood and kept the sides of his cloak, but otherwise seemed indifferent to the cold.

“Where are you going?” Asked Caranthir as Maedhros passed their house and just kept walking with no apparent intention to seek shelter. “I’ve seen enough of this snow, Nelyo,” he added pointedly.

“I’ll go keep watch,” replied Maedhros absent-mindedly. “You go home.”

“Oh no, you don’t.” Caranthir grabbed his arm. “I’ve got better idea.”

“Moryo...” Maedhros shook his head. “I appreciate your perceptiveness and I’m glad of your excuse. But please, let me be.”

“Not today.” Caranthir crossed his arms on his chest, hoping his brother could not hear his chattering teeth. “I’m going with you, and I’d appreciate it if you chose a place where we would not freeze.”

“It’s not that bad...” muttered Maedhros. His eyes went glassy as he stared at the snow dancing before his eyes. “Finno would claim it’s not even cold really.”

This was the first time Caranthir heard him speak of Fingon since he had shared the news about the king’s death. Seeing that his brother no longer seemed to acknowledge his whereabouts, he grabbed him gently by the elbow and steered him into the nearest stable. Maedhros let himself be led inside. To Caranthir’s relief, the building was empty save for the horses, which welcomed them quite enthusiastically.

“They looked bored,” remarked Caranthir casually. He leaned over the fence and reached to pet the nose of a young black mare, one of the few Celegorm had managed to save.

“No wonder.” Maedhros walked past him. His own mount was looking over the doors, eager to greet his master. The eldest son of Feanor went into the box and caressed his stallion’s neck, indifferent to the muzzle nagging him in search for treats. His eyes were still unfocused and even though he had been usually so careful to guard his thoughts, right now Caranthir could sense his despair.

“You know,” he joined his brother and leaned against the wooden wall separating the boxes for the horses. “You don’t always have to be the eldest.”

“Carnistir... don’t.” The plea came out as a muffled sob. Maedhros rested his forehead on his stallion, his hand clenching at the mane.

“There’s nobody here save for you and me.” Caranthir moved closer and put his arm around his brother’s shaking form. He wasn’t Maglor, who would probably know how to soothe Maedhros and calm him, but of one thing he was certain – burying the feelings never worked for anyone in this family. Maedhros was no exception. Even if he was more restrained since his captivity, letting him suffocate with his grief would result in a disaster.

“We screwed.”

The sound that escaped Maedhros’s throat was half a sob, half a mad laughter. “Screwed? It’s over, Moryo,” he whispered. “Fingolfin was too quick to judge Dagor Bragollah as our end. He may consider himself lucky he didn’t have to face this.”

“We are still alive. And we are still together.” Caranthir dared to point out. Maedhros whirled from under his arm to face him.

“Are we? I don’t feel alive,” he spat out. “I don’t know whether I want to.”

The grief in his voice made Caranthir shiver. He’d rather face Maedhros’s outburst, wrath even; anything but that dead voice. He wanted his brother alive. “You can mourn him, you know,” he said softly. “I might not have been the closest friends with Findekano, but I do regret his death.”

He could have slapped Maedhros and he wouldn’t have got more violent reaction. His brother looked ready to flee, but then he just sank down the wooden wall separating horses. He covered his eyes with his shaking hand, no longer able to control his emotions, as if avoiding to speak of his deceased cousin and friend was the only reason he had been able to keep them at check.

Caranthir hesitated. He achieved what he wanted, he made his brother open up, or rather he forced him to tear, so leaving was not an option. Nor was calling for Maglor. Caranthir slipped down next to Maedhros and pulled him into an awkward hug.

“You don’t have to be the eldest all the time,” he muttered again. To his surprise, Maedhros didn’t push him away, only leaned to the touch and rested his head on Caranthir’s shoulder.

“It’s my fault he’s dead. They all,” whispered Maedhros after a while. “Don’t deny it. I was blind and I didn’t see traitors among my men.”

Cheeks flushing with anger, Caranthir snapped. “They were my people too. My people who turned against me and tried to stab me in the back.” He took a deep breath, then another, trying to wipe away the images his mind brought before his eyes. “But we are still here, Nelyo. He had not got us all yet.”

Caranthir could swear Maedhros whispered something like ‘what does it matter?’, but his brother just snuggled closer and wept silently, for the first time since the battle. The burden of long months of tireless working and pushing the grief aside weighted him down and as they sat there on the hay, Caranthir doubted they would be able to rise. He didn’t really want.

But there were only so many tears they could shed. In the end Maedhros collected himself, his breathing slowed and the despair Caranthir could sense dimmed.

A snort startled them both. Maedhros’s stallion turned towards them and sniffed, as if intrigued what the two elves were doing. Seeing that they would not be left alone much longer, Caranthir stood and offered his brother a hand. Maedhros reluctantly pushed on his feet and blinked in surprise as Caranthir handed him a brush.

“I think he’ll like it,” Caranthir gestured at the horse, which had lost hope for any treats, but demanded attention. He was pleased to see a ghost of smile as Maedhros picked the brush and started combing the black mane of his horse. Perhaps he didn’t have such a bad idea after all.

I doubt the feelings were positive! As you say, Turgon hated them even before they got his brother killed and Orodreth told everyone this was a stupid idea but did anyone listen no they didn’t no one ever listens to him hey where are you going-

Gil-Galad’s attitude probably depends on whether he’s son of Orodreth (who, as established, not a big Feanorian fan what with the whole prisoner in his own caves thing) or Fingon (the biggest fan of at least one of them, up until he got deaded). So it could be Gil would have been all too happy to offer refuge to his beloved uncle and receive his military (and possibly emotional) support in a difficult time, or it could be he hoped the Feanorians died in the woods like the dogs they were ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Cirdan is a reasonable dude (possibly the only reasonable dude?) and I think he’d have put unifying what remained of the Union forces in Beleriand over any grudges- 

BUT it’s important to remember that we may know the Feanorians were delayed by treachery but most of the men and women that fought at the Nirnaeth know only that they arrived too late, people under their banner started attacking everyone, and they already have a rep for murdering their friends, so it’s not really a good look. With everyone routed and scattered in the aftermath, it probably took a long time for the truth of the situation to become clear, if it ever did before everyone it mattered to was dead. 

As for how Fingon’s survival affects the kinslayings, please see the links below!

Fingon lives (meta)

Fingon at Sirion (meta)

Fingon at Sirion and also he’s Gil Galad for reasons I’ve forgotten (fic)

Another chapter. Yay!

About this fic: Union of Maedhros; Nirnaeth; canon-compliant with a few additions and twists; WILL HURT

Chapter summary: Six months have passed. Tyelcano has found his place in Gondolin, made friends, and is almost happy with his new life. Fate, of course, is quite ready to ruin everything.

Also featuring:

Anardil calling everyone names

What Truly Happened Out In The Training Fields (the folk poetry edition)

Ecthelion and Glorfindel being Good Friends TM

Major Plot Point arrives, kicks down the door and says "SUP". Or, to be exact, "Caw".

We are going to beat Morgoth's ass once and for all. We need everyone on our team, including you. As your High King, I call upon you and the people of Nargothrond to come to our aid in the Union of Maedhros and Fingon.

Love,

High King Fingon

~~~

Your Majesty,

This is the most unconventional wedding I've ever heard of. I suppose I should expect no less than a battlefield ceremony when one of the bridegrooms is a Kinslayer.

You're the only one attaching your name to this disaster; everyone else places the blame solely on the Kinslayer. If you were wiser you would back out now while you still can - of both the marriage and the army.

I have not forgotten that your soon-to-be brothers-in-law got my beloved uncle killed. As your faithful vassal I am honor bound to send you aid; consider the one company I send your way a wedding present. If only the idiot who chose to lead it were anyone other than my own daughter's foolish fiancé. Now we're going to ruin two weddings...

Cordially,

King Orodreth of Nargothrond

~~~

Dear Russo,

Well, Nargothrond is only sending one company. Better than nothing, though, huh?

Orodreth also seems to be under the impression that we're getting married at our Union. I think that's rather a good idea, don't you? Of course, there's the slight problem of my having made you my husband before either of us left Aman, but that's just details. Anyway, just think how dramatic that would be! Kissing on the battlefield! What a symbol of our victory!

Love,

Finno

~~~

To my lord husband and High King of all the Noldor,

The news about Orodreth is grave indeed. Perhaps if I convince my brothers to pen an apology, he will reconsider? Or perhaps not. I somehow doubt any of them to take that diplomatically.

I suppose Nargothrond is isolated second only to your brother's kingdom, now that poor Finrod has left us - even Doriath sends more word, though not any kinder! - but truly I thought the news of our marriage had spread. Perhaps you are right, my love, and we ought to renew our vows upon our victory. I remember that part of our, ah, "union" as being rather rushed, and the ceremony non-existent. I would dearly love to kiss you with everyone watching, and Morgoth's severed head beneath my heel. As for the Silmarils, my brothers can do with them what they may - unless you would like them as an anniversary gift?

Yours always,

Lord Maedhros of Himring

~~~

Dear Russo,

Yes, I don't think it wise for your brothers to send any word to Orodreth; I think he would take it the wrong way. Or, worse, the right way, knowing Celegorm and Curufin.

You always know how to make me blush, even from so far away! That is quite the pretty picture you paint; I should have it commissioned to hang in my bedroom, though I am certain the real thing will be even better.

I don't care for the jewels; I will simply be glad to be rid of your Oath. I am eager to be in your company again - take care not to be late!

Love,