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Received with Joy
Fingon welcomes his sister and her son into his home during their time of need.
Back to Middle-earth Month | 3/13/22 G-8: Maeglin & Fingon; AU in Beleriand and/or reembodiment in Valinor, hurt/comfort, rating G-M | S-2: “Never before had he known such brilliant joy—nor such heartrending sorrow.”
Rating: G | No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Fingon & Aredhel & Maeglin Characters: Fingon, Aredhel, Maeglin Word count: 1.9k
READ IT ON AO3!
Jester
Pairing: Implied Maedhros/Fingon
Warnings: Mention of past character death, implied cousin incest
Written for:
Fëanorian week
Day 1- Maedhros - > Childhood, Kingship, Torture, Adjusting/Coping, Unity, Beauty
Back to Middle Earth Month
The Russingon Card
I16: Princes & Kings
On AO3
Fëanor’s crown didn’t fit Maedhros well. Curufin announced that he would rework it and immediately took off to the forge.
“You are not going to wear father’s crown,” Maglor said with certainty.
“No one can wear it.” Maedhros ran his fingers through his hair. The ash had been washed out, but the feeling lingered. “But Curvo needs something to work on.”
“Sooner or later you will have to tell him,” Maglor said.
“I will when I return. Although I have half a mind to order you to do it.”
“I strongly believe it is a king’s duty.”
“You will be the king if I don’t return.”
Maglor stared at him. “It is not funny, Nelyo.”
“No? I thought it was.”
Maglor shook his head and helped his brother to put on his breastplate.
“Are you sure about this?” he asked.
“No, but what choice do I have? The Oath constrains me. If there is a chance to recover at least one Silmaril…”
“The Enemy lies, Nelyo! That’s what he does.”
“I know that, little brother,” Maedhros said, putting his hands on Maglor’s shoulders, “But you forget that I also can lie. I am taking greater force than agreed upon.”
He tried to give his brother his most charming and carefree smile. Maglor didn’t look impressed.
“I do hope your first noteworthy deed upon taking the crown will not be getting yourself killed,” he said.
“Well, if that happens, at least the new king will have the chance to learn from the mistakes of his predecessor,” Maedhros said.
He tried to laugh, but stopped abruptly, shocked how fake and strained it sounded. When had been the last time he had laughed sincerely? He didn’t remember. His laughter had been drowned in blood and burnt in fires. He turned away, unable to bear Maglor’s concerned look, silently asking him not to say anything. Maglor didn’t, and Maedhros himself broke the silence.
“You know I have to do it, Káno,” he said, tracing the hem of the dark red cloak he was going to wear, “Father would want me to.”
“Father would smite the messenger on the spot and himself deliver its head to the Enemy,” Maglor said, “He would not negotiate with him. I don’t see why you should.”
“I am not him!” Maedhros cried loud enough for Maglor to flinch. “I cannot afford myself the luxury of doing what he did and charging on the Enemy’s fortress to go out in a blaze of glory. I will do the only thing I can as Fëanáro’s eldest son and heir.”
Maglor bowed his head, and Maedhros knew he would argue no more. Instead, Maglor took the cloak Maedhros was crumpling in his hands and fastened it on his shoulders.
“You look most regal,” he said, “I can never pull off this color, so come back, will you?”
Maedhros gave his brother a smile, a genuine one for a change. “I will,” he said, “We cannot have you demoralizing our people with your disharmonious color combinations.”
Later, when the cloak had been ripped to pieces, and Maedhros, bound, was being dragged to Angband, he imagined Maglor stressing over what to wear for his coronation and cursing his brother for leaving it to him.
That struck him as especially funny, and he laughed and laughed until he was silenced.
—
Maedhros knows that the lords of the House of Fingolfin will deem him suspicious if he stays in the shadows, and obnoxious if he is too noticeable. It is a delicate situation to handle, but Maedhros doesn’t mind. It gives him something else to focus on besides the overwhelming grief he perceives from the newly crowned king.
He swears his fealty and shows the right amount of humility and strength to appease even the lords most disgruntled because of the presence of a Fëanorian among them. He falls behind when the others leave the hall, and slowly approaches the throne.
Fingolfin’s crown sits heavily on Fingon’s head, but he bears it with a dignity that makes Maedhros’s heart ache. His shoulders are rigid, and his look is distant, though it clears when Maedhros stands next to the throne.
“Thank you for coming all the way here, especially during these difficult times,” Fingon says.
His voice is small and tired, not at all like the king’s voice he was using just a few minutes before.
“How could I not?” Maedhros says, “You are my savior and my king.”
Fingon’s shoulders slump. “Will you help me?” he asks softly.
“I will serve you faithfully like I served your father.”
“I am not my father, and I need more than that.” Fingon inclines his head to the right, close to Maedhros, though not quite touching. “Besides, you do what you wish up in your Himring anyway.”
Maedhros’s mouth curls up in a smile, and he slips his fingers inside Fingon’s stuffy collar. He curls them around Fingon’s nape, and the High King of the Noldor closes his eyes and leans into the touch.
“This was never supposed to happen,” he says quietly after a while, “I was never supposed to be a king, I never wanted it. Even when the crown passed to my father, it never crossed my mind that one day I would wear it. I thought he would reign forever.” Hot tears drip on the rich embroidery of his ceremonial dress. “Why did he do it?” he whispers, “Surely he knew it was certain death. Why would he?”
Maedhros’s throat is dry. He grips Fingon’s shoulder gently. “Have you ever known such despair that you see only one way out, Findekáno?” he asks.
“Once,” Fingon says, “But it was only a brief moment.”
Maedhros nods. “I pray you will never have to know it again.”
Fingon looks up at him with shining eyes. “Promise me that you will not give in to despair,” he says.
“How can I while you are with me?” Maedhros answers.
Fingon rests his forehead on Maedhros’s arm. The crown slips down from his head. Maedhros catches it around his right arm and stares at it for a moment. He has never seen it up close. It’s beautifully made, in silver and gold threads weaved together around a deep blue gem in the center.
“I will give it back to you if you just say the word,” Fingon says.
Maedhros puts it aside. “It is mine no longer,” he says, “I did not lend it to your father. I did not lay down any condition for its return. I renounced it. Permanently. It is yours. I cannot take it from you, but I will help you bear its burden.”
“I will need your counsel and your guidance.” Fingon takes his hand. “And I will need you.”
“Everything I have and everything I am is yours.”
Fingon’s smile is barely noticeable, but it’s there. “When you speak so, you make me believe I can do anything,” he says.
“One thing you can surely do is reign longer than I did,” Maedhros says.
Fingon sighs and shakes his head, but his smile remains.
B2MeM 2019
#9 - B7
Card 90 - Fun with Fëanorians: Let it Burn
I've been falling behind on B2MeM because I came back to school from spring break, so it's time to catch up!
B2MeM 2019: What’s in a Name?
A silly ficlet for a Wednesday morning.
B2MeM Prompt, Card and Number: 'Golden-haired' - 97. Glorfindel (B10) Format: Ficlet Genre: Humour (bordering on crack...) Rating: General Warnings: None Characters: Celegorm; Maglor; Glorfindel (mentioned) Pairings: None Creator’s Notes (optional): Arguably this is a snippet rather than a ficlet, although I don't at all promise that it or anything like it will ever appear in my 'verse. I just couldn't resist. Summary: Sometimes we lose things in translation - and other times, we find them.
*** Maglor glanced up at his brother's stifled snort. "What is it?" Celegorm held up a book of children's fairy stories. "I am practising my English." "And?" He turned the volume around so that Maglor could see the illustration - three puzzled bears peering at a yellow-haired child, who was sound asleep beneath a patchwork quilt. "Brother, if you were to translate Laurëfindë's name for one of your Mortal friends, how would you render it?" "Golden locks." Maglor's eyebrows flew upwards, and a grin split his face. "Oh..." Celegorm's eyes glinted wickedly, and the pair of them creased into helpless laughter.
Of Mahtan Nerdanel learned much of crafts that women of the Noldor seldom used: the making of things of metal and stone. She made images, some of the Valar in their forms visible, and many others of men and women of the Eldar, and these were so like that their friends, if they knew not her art, would speak to them; but many things she wrought also of her own thought in shapes strong and strange but beautiful. Morgoth's Ring.
Thank you!
Everyone, thank you for one of our busiest B2MeMs! We have over 450 fanworks posted to the Dreamwidth community, over 250 in the AO3 collection, and quite a few posted on Tumblr and SWG.
We especially want to thank Just_jenni for helping tag the DW comm again this year.
We encourage you to keep working on your fanworks if you have them and to continue posting them to the Dreamwidth comm, the AO3 collection, and wherever else you feel like posting. There are no deadlines and the comm and collection do not close. Furthermore, the cards will remain available for you to use them whenever you want to.
We hope you had a great month and that we'll see you again next year!
~ Indy, Dawn, Linaewen, and Zdenka
B2MeM Prompt, Card and Number: “NSFW And Kink” - I29: Loyalty Kink Format: Double drabble Genre: Romance Rating: General Warnings: No warnings apply Characters: Gil-galad Pairings: Gil-galad/Elrond Summary: Gil-galad wonders where Elrond's devotion comes from and how deep it goes. “As you wish, my king,” Elrond answered, as always. Endlessly reliable he was, no matter how small or large the request. Help me understand this tax proposal. Talk some sense into Oropher. Lead an army against the forces of darkness. Perhaps he merely respected the title. Perhaps he feared that if Gil-galad were to meet an unfortunate end, he would be forced to either take over the kingship or convince Galadriel to do it. But on those nights when they just talked for hours and he felt truly seen and understood for once, he thought there must be some sort of feeling behind Elrond’s devotion to him. Unfortunately, Gil-galad had flirted outrageously with him in the past, but Elrond either didn’t notice or didn’t care to respond. It would of course be a disgusting abuse of power, but there were times his thoughts, like an unruly cat, went there before he could stop them. Exactly what could he get Elrond to do for him just by asking? More than that, though, he wondered what Elrond would accept from him. It pained him to his innermost heart that sending him into danger once again was the only reward he could offer.
Hey, kids! It’s the Maedhros inaction figure, just returned from hanging around Thangorodrim!
I’m a horrible person. Video later of the parachute we made for him to launch him off the balcony at the college if I can get it uploaded.
Spoiler alert: He got caught on a sign on the second floor and had to be rescued. I can’t make these things up.
