A Very Fire by Deborah Judge  

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All Your Fleeting Life

Fingon and Maedhros learn the purpose of a sword. Fingolfin and Maglor respond to war.
The First Kinslaying and the Doom of Mandos.

CN: PTSD observed and experienced by people who have no idea what it is.

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This is what a burnt city looks like, thought Fingolfin. This is what happens when fire is uncontrolled.

He came to Alqualonde late, after his two sons and those who followed them. He saw his people wounded in the streets. He grabbed the first passerby wearing his colors and asked what happened. "The Teleri attacked us," he said. "They shot us with bows. We thought we were going to die."

"It was the Valar," said the next. "They turned the sea against us and the people of Alqualonde were their allies."

In the distance he saw another answer: the fair Swan-ships, renowned for their beauty, and on their decks the crew wore the colors of the house of Feanor.

What have you done, brother.

*

These were the things Maedhros knew how to do with swords: he could forge them. He could dance with them in a way that was beautiful. He knew that they could be used to fight enemies, like orcs and wolves, like they do in Beleriand. He knew that they could be used to scare people, like his uncle did to his father and his father did to his uncle.

He had not previously known that they could be used to kill kin.

Or perhaps he had known, in the sense that it was clear to him that if a sharp blade came into contact with a soft object it was the soft object that would yield, no matter whose body it belonged to. Maybe even, if he had thought about it, he would have realized that there is nothing to distinguish the feel of going into a wolf's belly from that of a person.

On the shores of Alqualonde Maedhros knelt as his brother Maglor sang his lament.

*

In the ruins of Alqualonde everyone seemed at a loss. Some were sitting by themselves or in pairs, staring vacantly. Someone had found a piece of fallen wood and was smashing it repeatedly against a stone. Others had found a store of wine and were drinking it very very quickly. There were some who were lying down, seemingly unharmed but unwilling to get up. Others were bleeding.

The first order was to get help for the wounded. Fingolfin took the wood away from the person smashing it and asked him to go find bandages. Then he tried to pull up one of the people who was lying down. After a few tugs he seemed embarrassed and got up himself. Fingolfin pointed him in the direction of one of the wounded and told him to bind his wounds with whatever he could.

In the distance he saw King Olwe and his companions distributing blankets to the Teleri, even those who did not seem wounded, even though the weather was not unusually cold. King Olwe would know what to do, of course. Of all those present he was the only one who had led people in battle, when his people faced Melkor's dark servants in Middle-earth before their journey to Valinor.

Like Fingolfin's own father. Who they were going to Middle-earth to avenge, and whose wisdom could not help them. Fingolfin shook his head. He needed to focus.

"Aredhel," Fingolfin called. "Go back to the supply carts and get blankets and give them to any of our people you see. If they are willing, wrap the blankets around their shoulders yourself, so they know you are concerned for them." Aredhel nodded and ran.

"Turgon," Fingolfin said. His second son had been in the front but had come back to find his father. "I need you follow King Olwe. Watch what he's doing for his people who are..." He did not know what words to use to describe what he was seeing. It was not something anyone born in Valinor had ever seen. "People who are not wounded in their bodies but hurt because of what they saw. Or what they did. Try to figure out how he is helping them. Then come back and do the same for ours. Do not check with me first." It was time he started trusting his children. He was going to need to rely on them for the journey. "If he asks what you are doing or thinks you are a spy, say you are there to help. Then do it. You will learn more that way."

Where was Fingon? He had gotten ahead of everyone, would have been among the first to reach Alqualonde.

Had he led Fingolfin's people into battle?

What have we done?

As Fingolfin kept looking for Fingon he saw more and more of his people wandering aimlessly. There were a few who lay lifeless on the ground, though they had no visible wounds. Keep them moving, he thought, so they do not lie down and wish themselves dead. If someone could walk he sent them fetching supplies and if someone could move their hands he set them to binding wounds. He had agreed to come here. He would not let his people die if he could help it. He made sure no one was left alone, in the hope that if one gave in to despair the other could lift them.

*

There were things Fingon thought he knew how to do with swords: protect the weak, defend the vulnerable, defeat the enemy. Support your friend.

The weak, like his fellow Noldor whom he thought he saw being attacked by the Teleri mariners at Alqualonde, at the command of the Valar. He thought.

He knew, he supposed, that the sharp end of a blade makes no distinction between kin and enemy, between a decision made with great forethought and and understanding one made without a second thought. He did not know that he would ever sit here on the shores of Alqualonde with the blood of his kin on his blade.

He had trained for years in how to fight. He had never for a moment trained in how not to fight. He had not thought it would be difficult.

He dropped his sword and sat down some distance away. He didn't want to be near it. It was there that his father found him. He sat down beside him, saying no words.

How long had his father been here? Had he participated in the battle? What had his father seen of what we had done?

I have a sword and have been trained in its use, he had once shouted at his father, but I have done no evil with it, nor shall I.

"What did you see?" Fingon asked.

"Very little," Fingolfin said. "I was too slow, the battle was done before I arrived. Everyone I ask tells me something different. Can you tell me what happened?"

"Battle..." Fingon said. "I was the first of our host to arrive. The Feanorian host was fighting. The Teleri were shooting them, they had hunting bows, but they also had swords. I thought our people, our fellow Noldior, were in danger...how did the Teleri have swords? Why would they have them? What did they need them for, if not to attack our people at the urging of the Valar?"

Fingolfin was silent for a long time, and Fingon heard his own words and his own suspicions. They were the same as his father's, when he had learned that the house of Feanor was forging swords. Then he thought about what had happened next: Maedhros had forged swords that he was able to bend.

"It was the swords we made," Fingon said. "How did they get them?"

Fingon watched the understanding grow on his father's face. "That is my responsibility," Fingolfin said. "And my foolishness. If one house had swords I thought we all should have them," Fingolfin said. "I did not think..." He stopped. Fingolfin stopped, because in retrospect it was so obvious, if either of them had stopped to think it through. If the houses had swords to defend themselves against each other, they would eventually be used against each other. There was no other possible outcome.

"They had swords," Fingon said, "but they didn't know how to use them. No one taught them like I taught you. And those were bad swords, like yours. We made them bad on purpose, and I didn't tell you because I was mad at you." And then his kin used them to defend themselves, against him, and died.

"And I knew the swords I sent them were not good," Fingolfin said. "I knew it when you and I sparred together. But I didn't think they would ever need..." Fingolfin did not need to finish that sentence either. He did not think that his kin would need to defend themselves against his son.

"Feanor and his sons took the Teleri ships," Fingolfin said, not bothering to make it a question. Fingon nodded. Feanor and his sons. He had not seen Maedhros in the battle but of course he had been there, and if he had killed of course Maedhros had as well.

He had tried to get Maedhros away from his father. They had both tried to get away from him. But Maedhros had gone back to his father and Fingon was not willing to leave Maedhros.

"So what do we do?" Fingolfin asked.

We. They both had the same question to answer, it seemed. It was not that long ago that Fingon had ridden madly towards Formenos, desperate to see Maedhros after twelve years of separation. Not that long before that he sat with his father in front of a fireplace listening to his father's hope that Feanor would return. "If not Feanor," his father would say, "at least Maedhros. If not Feanor."

Whatever was between his father and Feanor, Fingon hated it. He had seen Feanor's sword at his father's neck and seen his father look at Feanor as if all the light in the world was in his eyes.

He could not hate it enough to make it go away. "Neither of us are going to leave them," Fingon said.

And it wasn't just about Maedhros. Fingon had thought he would be good at fighting. He had been unfortunately more than correct. He needed to get to a place where there were better people to fight than his kin, and he needed to get there immediately. He could not stay here, where the memory of the blood he shed would call out from the earth.

"We have people for whom we are responsible," Fingolfin said. "I swore to Feanor that I would follow him, but there are also people who chose to follow our house."

"Then we'll have to do better." Fingon said. "We're not going to leave them and we're not going to let them turn us into murderers. We need a way to remember who we are. We don't use our swords to hurt people. We do better than this." Then he had an idea. "We need an oath, an oath for our family, for the house of Fingolfin. Something that says we're doing something different from the house of Feanor."

"Feanor wanted me to swear his oath," Fingolfin said.

The tangle of emotions between his father and Maedhros's father was too much for Fingon to follow. "But you didn't," he said.

"I did not," said Fingolfin. "But I followed him. I had an oath of my own, to follow him. Oaths are respected even by the Valar. They will keep people together when their courage fails."

"But we can't be under his vow," Fingon said. "Maybe he's right, but if we're going to take a vow we need our own."

Fingolfin thought for a moment, then put his hand on Ringil. "I promise to do what I can to protect people, for as long as I have the strength," he said.

"That's good," Fingon said, with a rough laugh. "I like that." It was clever. He had not made an eternal vow, but only to do what he can for as long as he can. It would bind them but not break them.

It took him another moment to realize what else his father was saying. There may come a time when his father's strength will be gone. Fingon was his father's eldest son. He would need to be ready to lead.

He would do it. He put his hand on the same sword and repeated his father's words. "You're not the worst High King the Noldor ever had," he said. "And I will do my best to be a prince."

"Feanor is High King," Fingolfin said. "He is our father's heir."

"That's not true," Fingon said. "You were made High King by the Valar and it was never taken back. And you said you're not rebelling against them. Feanor is but you aren't. That was in the speech you gave. People followed you instead of him." Fingon was not used to being afraid but the thought of Feanor as High King made him start to panic. "Feanor isn't going to lead us anywhere but the Halls of Mandos. I know you didn't like being king but it won't be so bad. We'll make it not so bad. I'll help you. I won't keep secrets from you again." He was binding himself to his father's work as surely as Maedhros bound himself to his. Like Maedhros, he had taken the same vow as his father. He would also need to protect his people until he ran out of strength. "You wouldn't lead people into a kinslaying. You need to be in charge, not Feanor."

"I am not innocent," Fingolfin said. "You of all people know that."

Fingon ignored him. "And you need to take my sword. No, you have to," he said, when his father opened his mouth to disagree. "You know your sword's bad too." He had put his father's life in danger on purpose, out of anger, without thinking about the consequences. His father could have been killed like his kin, because of what Fingon himself had done. "I can't touch that thing again."

Fingolfin's hand was still on Ringil but he did not pick it up.

If Fingolfin was reluctant to lead the Noldor, well, there was something Fingon could do about that. One of his father's men was carrying the standard of the house of Fingolfin, stars on a blue field surrounding a flame. Fingon grabbed it and lifted it high. There was no time to delay.

"Followers of Fingolfin," he shouted. "Prepare for the journey."

He held the staff with both hands, leaving Ringil on the ground until his father took it. When the High King lifted it up it glittered like ice in his hand.

*

Maglor's song carried through the city, entering into all the cracks and ruins. He stopped by a ruined home and sang of what it was. He knelt by the dead and sang of their lives.

Maedhros could see what Maglor was doing. If the house of Feanor was going to rule that meant it had to make their claim to everyone, the murderers and the wounded alike. The song was a song of witness. The son of their king had heard their cry, could sing it back to them in a melody that was beautiful. Maglor sang of the Silmarils, of their overwhelming beauty, of the fervor of the vow that had brought them here. Then of the battle. You were brave, he sang. You, and you. The song encompassed everyone who had fought, those who had not fought and still been harmed, and even those whose bravery was only in enduring what they saw.

He sang of the swan-ships, so lovely on the waters. He sang of the long journey ahead. Through sorrow they would go on, and the deeds they will do will be the matter of song until the last days of Arda.

What will be left when everything is done, when all the light in the world fades? What will endure of all their deeds? Only that they once were done. Only that the song about it once was sung.

Fair shall the end be, though long and hard be the road.

In Maglor's song Maedhros heard the way of his own family: let horror fall, only let it be worthy of song.

In the distance he saw his uncle making another kind of claim. Under the banner of his house he was organizing everyone he could find, handing out blankets and food. Fingon would be with him.

So much they had dreamed of adventures, of using their swords to protect and to defend. Instead it was this, the fighting of kin against kin. The ships had been necessary, a request from one king to another in a time of urgent need. It was not right for King Olwe to refuse. But this should not have been Fingon's first battle.

Maedhros remembered their one kiss, so sweet, like a bright ray of light in a completely dark world. If that was all there would ever be, still it felt like a miracle. Only turn from me, he thought. I am not worth what I have done to you.

*
 

And how could there not be judgment? In the ruins of Alqualonde it was still unclear how the battle began but it was certain how it ended, with the ships of the Teleri in the hands of the house of Feanor. There were Teleri dead in the streets. Many, it seemed, had been killed by Fingolfin's own son.

Some found their judgement immediately, in the wrath of the sea. Others went north, by boat or on foot, to the empty waste of Araman, and found their judgement there. Its bearer was a dark figure standing on a tall rock. Was it Mandos? It was hard to tell.

Fingolfin was on foot, walking with those who had chosen to follow him. Feanor jumped from the ship to the shore and Fingolfin ran to him, though they had not spoken since the oath-taking. There could be no doom for Feanor that Fingolfin did not share. Their hands touched as they heard the words spoken.

Tears unnumbered shall ye shed; and the Valar will fence Valinor against you, and shut you out, so that not even the echo of your lamentation shall pass over the mountains.
To evil end shall all things turn that they begin well; and by treason of kin unto kin, and the fear of treason, shall this come to pass.
For blood ye shall render blood, and beyond Aman ye shall dwell in Death’s shadow.
 

In the silence, the speaker waited for a response.

"We have sworn," Feanor said, "and not lightly. This oath we will keep. We are threatened with many evils, and treason not least; but one thing is not said: that we shall suffer from cowardice, from cravens or the fear of cravens. Therefore I say that we will go on, and this doom I add: the deeds that we shall do shall be the matter of song until the last days of Arda."

The words of the Doom rang in Fingolfin's mind. To evil end shall all things turn that they begin well; and by treason of kin unto kin, and the fear of treason, shall this come to pass. But they seemed a riddle. Did not the journey of his father, begun with such hope, come to evil end? Had it not led him to death's shadow, and to being slain? The light of the Trees, the gift of the Valar, was given with good intent, and now they were standing in darkness and the light was gone.

If this is their Doom, has anyone ever been able to avoid it, Elf or Vala? Can any wisdom or goodness create something that will never turn to evil end?

...by treason of kin unto kin, and the fear of treason, shall this come to pass. Could he love without fear of betrayal, knowing that betrayal might come and being willing to endure it? Let us not suffer Feanor had said, from cravens or the fear of cravens.

He had always known that Feanor was mad. He had always known that Feanor would betray him. Could Fingolfin face that without fear?

At that he laughed. What choice had the curse left him? There was nothing that would not end in evil. He could plan and plot and hold himself back and try to erase all love from his body and he would be no less subject to the curse.

There was no uncursed path. Not for those who take the journey against the will of the Valar, and not for those who remain in darkened Valinor to grieve lost friends and family. It was possible that no uncursed path had ever existed. If it had, his father had not found it.

If all comes to an evil end, he thought, let us at least begin with love. He would love with all his strength and protect with all his strength until all his strength was gone.

Fingolfin returned to his camp in a daze, in time to say goodbye to his brother Finarfin. "We lack the wisdom to guide ourselves," Finarfin said. "Let the Valar guide us." Although the guidance of the Valar was unimpressive it was hard to say that the Noldor had done well in guiding themselves. Everything felt futile, vain, as purposeless as wind.

But turning back was no better. It was hard to imagine that Mandos could inflict any curse on Fingolfin as cruel as the one that Finarfin was taking upon himself, knowing that his children were going to a place of death and he would not be with them. Had Galadriel raised her sword in the kinslaying? Had Finrod? It was hard to know, but in any case they would not follow their father, who had returned alone.

"Don't think about turning back," Fingon said to Fingolfin. "We need you. We need you to be king."

"Did we not swear an oath?" Fingolfin said. They had an oath that was theirs, father and son, to protect those they could. He would hold it against his other oath, the one he made to Feanor: You shall lead and I shall follow . It was possible that the pull of these two oaths would keep him in balance.

At least until they tear him apart. To evil end shall all things turn that begin well.

*

In the night Fingolfin stood on the shore, a torch in his hand. One of the swan-ships drew closer and Feanor stood at its prow. In a few moments he had jumped down and they were in each other's arms. They kissed without hesitation, in full sight of the ships and their crew. It is not shameful for brothers to embrace, nor to kiss, and if their kisses lasted longer than was common between brothers it was scarcely worth anyone's notice after all that had been done.

Pressed against him Feanor told him of the wrath of Uinen's tears as he shook with fury. "Do the Valar and their Maia fear me, that they slay my people?"

Fingolfin thought of his son's guilt and Feanor's lack of regret. He said nothing. Instead he told Feanor of the promise he had made, to protect until the end of his strength.

Feanor's smile was soft and he brushed Fingolfin's hair away from his forehead like a beloved child. "I knew you would be king," he said.

"You would call me your king?" Fingolfin asked. Would it be that simple?

"You will be king, but not of me," Feanor said. "I did not submit to Manwe Lord of the World. I will not submit to you. Do not attempt to make peace with me. "

The madness swirled between them. They were close enough that Fingolfin could kiss the side of Feanor's neck. To evil end shall all things turn that begin well. There could be no end to this in which they did not crash on each other like hurled stones. If only they could collapse into each other, dissolve the separateness that was so hard to endure.

"Is there no peace we can make?" Fingolfin asked.

"Not until one of us ceases to be," Feanor said. "Any world in which we both exist is a broken world."

Feanor was weakening. They had all been cursed to die. "Do not wish for our death," Fingolfin said.

"I have known death since the hour I was born," Feanor said. "It kept me company in my cradle when my mother was gone. In the mind of the One an hour and eternity are the same. A moment is a thousand years. Let our lives be short but our deeds be worthy of song."

Feanor would not submit and could not be trusted. All friendship would end in betrayal. All works would end in evil that began with good.

Let us at least begin in love, he thought..

"I would love you," Fingolfin said, "though it damns me. Though it dooms me. Though it destroys me." His twin oaths pulled him, one from each side. The two might rip him to pieces. He would endure to the end of his strength. Any world in which we both exist is a broken world. If this world could not be healed he would live in it as well as he could in the days that he was given in his fleeting life. "Let us take the time we have," he said. "Until the the shattering of our world tears us apart. Until the few moments we have are gone. Until the doom falls upon us."

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Chapter End Notes

Feanor's speech after the doom is taken from the book.

I know in Tolkien's chronology there is quite a bit of time between the kinslaying and the doom, I'm going with a shorter timeframe here.

For an AU in which Fingolfin turns back in this chapter instead of Finarfin see my story Water on Stone.