One In the Fires of the Heart of the World by Isilme_among_the_stars  

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Like Seeds in the Dark

This chapter became a little trickier to conceive than I had thought. I apologise that it's taken a little time to get it to you, but I wanted to give it as much polish as I could before handing it over.

I hope the meanings are clear enough in the text, but just in case a refresher is needed, I'll explain some of the elvish words used within. Haru means grandfather, a fëa is a soul, the Anfauglith is the gasping dust, the plain that was once beautiful Ard Galen, destroyed in Dagor Bragollach, the battle of sudden flame, and Nirnaeth Arnoediad the battle of unnumbered tears. I may be preaching to the converted here, but was reminded recently how hard it can be to keep Tolkien's names and words straight sometimes.

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Glimmers of gold shimmered across the surface of the cool waters that were Finwë, and they were distinctly not of his grandfather. The eyes of Maedhros’s soul lifted to watch them. The gold continued to play across the waters, leaping and dancing, it’s distinctive shade half-remembered from happier times. Maedhros wondered what it could mean.

I am having a conversation, Nelyo, Finwë explained, sharing other meanings beside. Maedhros saw threads of pale blue growing, branching out amid bone-white, and felt the relief Finwë experienced, thinking that some semblance of his grandson at last began to return and to seek out around him, like pale shoots emerging from the earth. Maedhros saw them now, the delicate tendrils coiling out from his soul, tentatively seeking that which lay beyond, drawn by the light. The observation was equal parts unsettling and pleasing.

Who are you talking with? Maedhros asked, politely curious.

Findekáno.

Memories unbidden thrust themselves to the fore. This was the battle Námo would not name as such, he now realised, grappling with a mind unbridled by the physical, ever fleeing to the most painful of moments at the slightest reminder. Blue banners lay in the dirt, so fouled that one would almost not know they were blue unless they had seen them before. A white flash rent the air, threatening to blind Maedhros even with his view of it half obscured, and his attention drawn to the orc that tried rather desperately to relieve him of his remaining hand. Pivoting and thrusting to dispatch his foe, Maedhros turned only to see black, fiery creatures where Fingon should have been. Later, as Himring’s forces surged forward, he saw a tiny glimmer of gold. Winking in the sun out of the bloody mire those banners wallowed in, it confirmed his worst fears. The same gold played on the waters now. Maedhros pulled back, hoping it would stop the flow of images.

No. Don’t pull away. Finwë gripped him securely, sharing reminiscences of his own.

Two boys ran down a long, ornately painted corridor and skidded around a corner. One was red-haired, one dark, and both spilled over with clear, unspoiled laughter, as if the sound would never stop. Findekáno’s guileless smile shone golden in the light of Laurelin, and though he wore no ribbons in his braids, no adornment was needed to set his hair gleaming.

There were far more of these moments than you realise. The sum of them far outweighs the horror. He knows you’re here, Nelyo. You could talk to him yourself.

I think I am too afraid to, Haru.

Nonsense. It will hurt less than the punishment you inflict on yourself with those memories. Come, I am with you. The two of you used to vie for my attention like greedy puppies at feeding time. I would like it to be so again, though perhaps you can be civilized about it, now you are both grown. Finwë’s amusement underscored his words with the sound of his own half-voiced laughter. The kind that lived on the edges of their childhood, hidden in knowing smiles and twinkling eyes.

Maedhros let the tendrils of awareness creep out a little more, until the gold shimmers separated themselves from the water to become ribbons streaming in the wind. Above the waters they flew, up to a great, green mountain, where eagles circled and dived. The wind returning from its peaks carried jubilant exhilaration, and the promise of golden sunrises after darkest night. Fingon had ever been hopeful, thrilling with life. How he remained so after the long grim years that followed Dagor Bragollach, how he was still so after the horror of Nirnaeth Arnoediad was a mystery to Maedhros. He wondered how he appeared to his cousin. As desolate and ugly as the Anfauglith likely.

A path opened before him, leading from the bank into the fir forest at its rocky base. Maedhros arose from the depths of those waters, a leviathan of the mountain lake, to stand hesitantly at its gravelly edge, one foot on the path. Fingon’s greeting was warm, but his fëa felt almost as hesitant as Maedhros’s own.

Hello, Russandol.

Fingon, I am glad to have found you.

Waters rose up from the lake behind him, slapping his legs impatiently as if to push him forward. The depths rejected him. Not a monster, they whispered, but a man, and no place is there for him in the murky depths. Finwë thought his halting, formality tedious and unwarranted it seemed. Maedhros took a step forward, and another, brushing against Fingon as he did so. An answering touch brushed back, and it felt in his soul as a warm breeze curling around him, wrapping him in it’s embrace and driving him forward. The scales of the leviathan fell away, torn from him in the eagerness of the wind, leaving tender pink skin in their place. All hesitation evaporated as they embraced each other, and Maedhros clung to his cousin as if he might disappear again if he let go.

Open your eyes, Finwë prompted. And he did, widening his awareness obediently until the room with its rugs, tapestries and paintings came into focus, and there before him were Finwë and Fingon.

Much better, came words from his grandfather in the shape of an approving nod.

Maedhros was not so sure. It felt vulnerable, being this open again, with tender new skin painfully exposed to the insults that would surely come and scar it anew.

What were you discussing?

Life, death and rebirth, Finwë answered with a wry smile, as always.

As always?

What else is there for the dead to discuss? We who yearn so much to return to life but may not attain it.

Did the souls here forever linger on subject matter that walked the line between profundity and self-torture? Would connection only ever serve to bruise anew that which he laboured reluctantly to heal? Perhaps it was better to pick up each scale one by one, to clothe oneself in the serpent’s skin anew. Perhaps it was better to sit in the dark torturing oneself, than to stand with your loved ones throwing darts at each other, and to see in them the pale gleam of sea-monster scales you wished they did not also call their own. But could he really look away from those he loved, even if the shape of them had changed, even if it caused both sides pain? Not once had he accomplished this feat yet.

Grandfather has earned himself a lifetime ban from re-embodiment for daring to suggest Míriel should be allowed to return to life, Fingon informed him, Apparently the Valar do not take so kindly to the suggestion that they were perhaps not quite being fair to all parties.

How rebellious of you, Maedhros remarked.

Indeed, Fingon agreed, projecting a mix of pride and amusement, You see where our father’s got it from?

Is it true, Haru?

There was something indescribably sad about the thought of Finwë rotting in Mandos forever. The bulwark of their youth, shielding them as best he could from the darkness, even as he climbed like a vine toward the light, should not remain sundered from the world.

It was not quite so simple as Findekáno makes it out to be, but yes. I chose to remain here so that Míriel may have the chance to live. I thought it a worthy trade. She would not have been granted life otherwise. Tell me, knowing all that you know of the matter, could I have chosen differently?

No, Maedhros agreed simply. Knowing what he knew, Fëanor’s own choices aside, Míriel yet alive may have been the one chance for events to play out differently.

But the Valar could have. Fingon’s anger flared hot like the sun and stood tall like a righteous sword held high.

Don’t start on that Findekáno. You won’t be allowed to leave this place if Námo does not believe you are at least repentant, if not entirely reformed. Save your indignation for a future in which it might achieve something.

Though it was clear that Finwë was keen to let the matter lie, Maedhros’s curiosity had been awakened.

What do you mean they could have chosen differently?

In their wisdom, the Valar have decreed it is wrongful for an elf to have two living spouses. How unfair to Finwë’s wives, they said, that he should be torn between them. Surely it will cause strife. And thus, they decided it was instead preferable to deprive both of our grandmothers of their husband. This, my dear cousin, is justice.

You see why he is still stuck here, Nelyo? Talk some sense into him, will you? Finwë pleaded, a sense of long-suffering exuding from him.

Far be it from me to counsel Fingon to run from a just battle, Haru.

Maedhros remembered their grandfather lowering his shaking head to hide a smile when Celegorm had trained Huan to howl loudly whenever Maglor began to sing. He was sure, had they all been alive, this is how he would have appeared now.

I am not foolish enough to believe I can stop him. Rather I hoped you might impart some of your own strategic expertise regarding timing of such endeavours.

Fingon, kindly convincingly repent so that you may take your sword to Manwë’s stuffy marriage laws after your re-embodiment. Then perhaps we and our cousins shall be the first elves blessed with five living grandparents.

Fingon became like Autumn rains washing away the last warmth before Winter’s chill set in, like the mournful blue waters resting over forever lost Beleriand.

He won’t return even so.

Why?

Finwë remained silent.

Because your father is never getting out of here. Fingon supplied.

That is not all of it, nor even the greatest reason, Finwë corrected gently, reaching out to them both and wrapping them in the myriad of trails of conversant thought that had led so many of the Eldar back to life. They looped and turned like spools of blazing thread, twining together in one thick rope made of light; a new march of the Quendi from Mandos to the living lands. Finwë taking his place in history forged anew, guiding his people toward life, as ever he had sought to do. And he was happy, Maedhros saw, that in this version he did not fail and did not lead his people to a promised land only for it to fall to darkness. In this version, he brought all the time and patience available to him to bear to guide souls back to the world, no longer promising that there would be no darkness, but confidently declaring that life could and would still be wonderful in spite of it. His legacy would be a people that would not so easily become bitter, having learnt to look for wonder even in the darkest of places. This was not so different from the purpose Maedhros had taken up in Beleriand, though he had become the fire to rally behind, blazing in the dark, where Finwë guided others to find light of their own. Perhaps that was where Maedhros had gone wrong. It was a beautiful vision, and Finwë radiant within it.

I would not have you give that purpose up, grandfather, so long as you wished to continue this work, even if it meant we were parted until the breaking of the world. But you are not only the earth to nourish the green things that grow, but a seed longing to burst forth anew.

Maedhros felt Fingon’s soul beside his echoing with agreement.

You were not made to remain in the darkness. When longing for the light grows too strong within you again, we would wish you the opportunity to pass on the burden and rejoin the living.

These words were rather eloquently put for Fingon, Maedhros thought. But he had often a way of surprising him so at the most poignant of moments.

I would like that too. But for now, I will be content to set you both on your path. Finwë gave Fingon the equivalent of a hard look, you have tarried here long enough.

Ah, and how I long for a body that can run and feel the wind on my face again! The yearning that flooded his cousin broke over Maedhros like a wave. But Haru, it is hard to return to a world with so many I love missing.

Fingon, who’s soul was rooted to his body more strongly than most, must find it terribly difficult here. One who felt the life-pulse of song recreating the world each day thrumming through his very veins as strongly as the beat of his own heart could surely not feel whole without the earth under his feet. How terribly constraining for his cousin, who could never feel happy unless he were moving, could never experience enough of the world, to have no legs with which to run. Would he really forsake these things for the mournful dead, no matter how dear?

That is the lot of us all, in Mandos and the living lands. The dead you trade the living for will follow in time.

Finwë spoke sincerely, as a promise. But would they? Maedhros remained unconvinced that he himself would. After the indelible trails of bloodshed his family had left in their wake, it seemed inconceivable for Námo to release him. Even if he saw fit to, would Maedhros want to rejoin such a place? How unbearable would it be to return to a world where thousands of living reminders of his failures walked? How much pain would his presence cause to those that had been wronged? His mark upon the world had been an ugly one in his first life, and what was there to suggest it would be any better in a second? But Fingon? He would make the world shine brighter.

You should go, as soon as you are given the chance.

Maedhros did not promise that he would follow. Fingon took his words as a vow anyway, for they had always followed one another. It had begun so innocently before the world turned dark, leading each other into mischief before into battle, across the ice and into the pits of hell. Fingon did not expect this to be any different, and Maedhros chose to let him believe it. He would not see his cousin denied a second chance at life for anything, least of all himself. Perhaps the places Fingon’s feet would take him would be lighter now, without Maedhros at his side, binding his cousin to his own destruction. Finding himself once more unaccountably weary, Maedhros withdrew into the quiet and dark once more.

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Finwë sought him out again after a time. It was easier to let him in now. Sick and weary as he felt, his grandfather’s presence would always be welcome. Particularly as his thoughts now turned to his father. Fingon’s words echoed in his mind: he is never getting out of here.

I saw what you did, Nelyo.

Maedhros’s first thought was a condemning one, bringing to mind Doriath, the Havens of Sirion and slaughter.

No, not that. This! Finwë waved this continued self-castigation away as he would a gaggle of irritating seagulls calling loudly for scraps, clearing the air to better point out the beauty of a sunset. And he showed Maedhros an image of his own still form. Crowned in the lesser lights Fëanor had created. A net of fine shining gems upon Finwë’s brow that Maedhros had arranged carefully, trailing back into the hair that Caranthir had washed clean of blood, and Curufin had braided with trembling hands.

How? How can you have seen this?

My son showed me. He may not have thanked you at the time. Grief can rob a person of thoughtfulness as I suspect you well know. But you cannot know how grateful he was, and how grateful I am. I remember how it felt when I fell…. The…mess I must have been. You boys spared him that, though I am very sorry the seven of you had to bear it.

Grandfather was soft and warm, nestled next to him as they once used to when he was small, and father let him stay up with his aunts and uncles as they talked into the night. Back then, Fëanor still had enough forbearance for his siblings that the evenings were pleasant. Grandfather’s strong hand rubbed lazy circles over his shoulder blade, as they listened to father and uncle’s back and forth on laws and language, punctuated often by aunt

 

Írime’s laughter. This was the comfort Finwë had wished for them after that black day, not the sharpness and steel that had come instead.

It was mostly Caranthir, with some help from Curufin and Celegorm.

But the gems, my dear, that was you. Oh, Moryo and Tyelko cleaned the blood, I know, set my body to rights, and Curufin neatly arranged my hair, and for that also I am grateful. But you restored to me the dignity that my son needed to see. That is what stopped him from breaking asunder the moment he came to Formenos.

I did not know. Though we worried for him, my brothers and I. How could we have missed that he was this fragile?

He was your father, of course he tried to protect you from that side of himself. But ever he has been in some ways like spun glass, and that is how he caught the light. He is not as strong as you.

I thought he was the most infallible thing I knew once.

Most children think their fathers are. But I knew his faults well.

Will he really never leave this place?

A sighing breeze passed over the cool waters of Finwë’s soul, disturbing them. Deep and dark they now seemed.

I do not know. Perhaps eventually, but I believe it will be a very long time. Far longer than for you or your brothers.

If there is little hope for father, then there can be little for me. You still do not understand how detestable we became by the end. I was meant to guide us, haru, and I let us wander into the dark. 

No Nelyo, you sought a path out of a darkness you found yourself in and merely didn’t find your way. Fëanor walked in with eyes open to it. Mark that distinction. Your heart is very different from your father’s, and that is important. You would still choose wisdom, humility and kindness at times his would be clouded by pride, even now. You must remember these times you chose kindness, when the darker decisions come back to haunt you. Do not mistake me, for nothing will undo such horrors. But neither do your most awful choices undo the good. They are not ALL that you are. You must keep choosing the good.

Which is why I will refuse to inflict myself on the world. It is the kindest choice I could make.

No. As Findekáno said of me, you too are a seed, made to grow, not to wait in the dark. You will follow Findekáno eventually, and without the oath hanging around your neck, you will do more good than harm, I think.

A sudden pang of longing for Fingon stung his heart, and Maedhros knew that Finwë had spoken true.

Has he gone?

Not yet, but I believe the day will come soon for him.

But I will remain here long yet.

Maedhros let the resignation settle over him like a cloak, comfortable and familiar from long use. Finwë seemed to eye him sadly, with the sense of twitching fingers, as he longed to tear it off.

Perhaps, he said finally, but not, I believe, for the reasons you assume.