The Heat From The Ashes 1

The Heat From The Ashes

Part 1

Posted: September 19, 2008
Title: The Heat From The Ashes
Author: JDE
Type: FCS
Characters: Fingon/Maedhros
Rating: NC-17, violence.
Disclaimer: Not mine.

Summary: Fingon and Maedhros are brought together by the tragedy of Thangorodrim.

*****

Fingon walked wearily to the shore of the Mithrim, his posture still erect despite his tiredness. Across the lake, he could see banners flying half-mast and the songs of lament for the fallen comrades rose high in the air. One particular song arose in tenor and feeling far above the rest.

“Feanor is dead” a quiet voice filled with regret sounded behind him. Fingon turned to face his father, Fingolfin’s face was shadowed by deep sorrow.

“I feel a darkness on my soul," Fingon murmured.

Fingolfin sighed and laid his hand on his son’s shoulder before saying in a broken voice, “They have Maitimo captive.”

Fingon pulled away from his father, his heart pounding as he whispered, “It cannot be, you lie!”

Fingolfin did not reply, the old lord knew well the depth of the friendship Fingon shared with Maedhros.

“No," Fingon said harshly, “Not my beloved cousin, my best friend!” he sank to his knees beside the lake, trying to suppress the sobs that rose in his throat.

Maedhros held his head high as he was led into the darkness of Angband, his gait was princely, despite the shackles around his hands and legs. There was a fire in his eyes that shone even in the face of the greatest evil.

“Well, well," a cold yet beautiful voice purred as Maedhros was finally led into the dark throne room, “So this is the princeling.”

“I am the High-King of the Noldor," Maedhros said, his chin raised in defiance, staring into the yellow eyes of Morgoth the Fallen Vala.

“Indeed," Morgoth sneered, “A King you are, and as a King you shall be treated.”

Sauron, the commander of he Enemy’s forces, came forth to stand before Maedhros and slapped him humiliatingly. The orcs surrounding them jeered and Morgoth laughed. Maedhros remained impassive, his usually expressive face cold in disdain. He did not utter a sound even when Sauron commanded the orcs to strip him. Only a light flush on his cheeks betrayed him.

The orcs forced him to kneel down before Sauron, who grabbed Maedhros’s hair in his hand and cut it roughly with a knife. Then Sauron placed an iron collar around Maedhros’s slender neck and stood back proclaiming, “The High-King of the Noldor is now a mere slave of the Lord of Angband!”

Maedhros remained silent, though his eyes were blazing with anger.

“Still defiant," Sauron remarked, backing to his master’s side.

Morgoth said softly, “I shall have him screaming for me to end his pain, Sauron.”

Sauron laughed at the flash of uncertainity cross Maedhros’s handsome features. The Prince shuddered as something heavy straddled him from behind. Rough hands parted his buttocks and an instant later, he started screaming in pain as his virginity was lost to Angband. Another orc forced his mouth open and inserted its slimy organ into it. Maedhros’s eyes widened as pain built within his body in never before known levels. The member in his mouth stifled his screams. Tears fell from his eyes when the first orc finally found release within his body, Maedhros slumped and swallowed involuntarily as the second orc followed. He panted, the tears falling steadily down his face in humiliation and pain.

“This is the beginning," Sauron assured him, he beckoned for the rest of the orcs to approach, “We shall test and quench your fire.”

That night and for nights afterwards, the screams of a once proud prince of Aman resounded in the caves of Morgoth. Yet, however they tortured him, they succeeded only in breaking his body. After each night, a weary pride would settle in the prince’s eyes. The fire of Feanor could not be easily dampened.

Fingon watched the Thangorodrim silently, his fears driving away rest and sleep from him.

“My Lord, Lord Maglor wishes to see you," a servant bowed respectfully.

Fingon frowned. Fingolfin and Maglor were discussing discussed the conditions that the envoy from Angband had brought. Fingon had excused himself and left Turgon to fill in for him.

“Bring him," Fingon’s eyes still pondered the cragged Thangorodrim.

“Findekano," Maglor’s musical voice was tinged with weariness and the deepest sorrow.

“Macalaurë," Fingon acknowledged, “I had never expected to see you after the burning of the ships.”

Maglor sighed, “Adar was, you know, in one of his moods," he paused, “Maedhros tried to reason with him in vain, finally they had an argument and Maedhros sent the ships for you. It was then that Adar commanded the ships to be torched. Maedhros was not speaking with Adar for days afterwards," Maglor stopped speaking as his eyes rested on the Thangorodrim.

“How do you bear it?” Fingon demanded, “Knowing that he is yet alive? And each moment, nearing the void?”

There was a sparkle of tears in Maglor’s eyes as he said softly, “I cannot bear it, cousin, no more than you can.”

Morgoth listened to the emissary and thought, the Feanorians would not negotiate for their imprisoned brother. Now, the hosts of Fingolfin and Finrod were in the valley of Mithrim. He should see to his defences. His prisoner would not be of any avail to him. Maybe he should just end the tiresome elf’s life. No, Morgoth laughed softly, he should not grant Maedhros an easy reprieve as death.

“Fasten him to the Thangorodrim, let him look over his kin who have abandoned him so easily," he snarled.

Maedhros loathed himself as tears of pain flowed down his face. His right hand was wedged painfully into the rocks and the rest of the body was shackled to the rock face. He shivered as the cold winds lashed cruelly against his naked, broken form. He closed his eyes and prayed for death’s deliverance. The memories of Aman, of his childhood in his grandfather’s home, of days spent with his parents at their forge, of days spent in hunting with his brothers and cousins, memories of a happier life flooded his mind. He held onto them, they were the only solace that the cruelty of Angband could not take away from him.

He thought of his brothers, of his fellow-warriors and of his followers. He was their leader, and now he was crying in pain like an elfling. The tears he shed now were bitter with self-loathing.

Fingon woke suddenly, tears streamed down his face, his bed sheets were wet with his sweat, he whispered, “I come, Maitimo, I come.”

“My Lord," an aide roused Fingolfin from his slumber, “Prince Fingon has ridden out of camp alone. He bade me give this to you, Lord.”

Fingolfin felt dread rise in him as he opened the simply folded parchment, he whispered, “Elbereth!”

For on the parchment was written in his son’s flowing script, “I shall return with my cousin or never.”

Maedhros heard the sound of a harp rising in accordance with an elven voice, he groggily opened his eyes. He knew that voice and those hands that wielded the harp.

“Cousin," he whispered hoarsely, but then he thought wearily that it might be the latest torment devised by Morgoth. Fingon, he had left behind on the crossing of Helcraxe.

The song rose in grace and tenor until it reached Maedhros again, he felt the first shadow of hope in his mind after he had stepped onto Middle-Earth, he tried to voice his cousin’s name. But no words left his lips. One more victory for Angaband.

But the fire of Feanor could not so easily subdued, Fingon hearkened to the weak voice on the wind, it sang of Aman and peace, of hope and love. Fingon scaled the peaks of the cruel Thangorodrim, he knew the song, it was the one that Nerdanel, Maedhros’s mother used to sing while she worked at her craft.

He finally reached the topmost ledge and looked up, and gasped in utmost horror. For on the rockface was bound an emaciated, bald, broken body, nearer death than to life. The entire body was bruised and ugly scars and welts covered each inch of the skin. The figure stank of dried blood, urine and filth. Fingon would never have recognized his cousin had not the eyes of the figure opened them. In their depths, he could still see the vestiges of the proud elf whom he called cousin and best friend.

“Findekano," Maedhros said brokenly.

“Cousin," Fingon whispered in horror, his eyes still refusing to accept that the one before him was his handsome, proud cousin, whom he had followed out of Aman.

Maedhros’s eyes held understanding as he said in a pain-filled voice, “I know, you should not have come; for then you would not have seen.”

“I could have never stayed away from you," Fingon murmured, as he raised his hands to hold his cousin’s feet.

“Kill me," Maedhros begged for the first time in his life, a tear fell onto Fingon’s forehead from his eyes.

Fingon shook his head helplessly, “I will save you, speak not thus, it breaks my heart.”

“Kill me, Fingon," Maedhros implored again, “End this, I cannot endure this anymore.”

“I will save you," Fingon said steadily.

“Who will save what I have lost to Angband?” Maedhros laughed hoarsely, the pain in his eyes stabbing Fingon’s heart, “You cannot change what has come to pass.”

Fingon sobbed as he clutched his cousin’s feet. Would he have to kill his cousin to grant him peace?

“Courage, O valiant prince," a deep voice sounded within his mind, “Look to the heavens.”

Fingon looked up to see a giant bird flying towards them.

“Take your cousin to safety," the voice commanded, “give him all he needs to live again.”

Fingon determinedly climbed atop the eagle and flew to his cousin, he drew out his sword and cut away the iron shackles that bound his cousin to the rocks.

Maedhros murmured beseechingly, “Tarry not, leave before he takes you also. I will not have you partake of my fate, cousin.”

“I followed you out of Valinor, across the Ice, to the very caves of Angband," Fingon said firmly, “and never have I regretted it. I will never be willingly away from you, cousin.”

Maedhros closed his eyes and spoke quietly, “Since you will not be made to see sense, Findekano, I give in to your folly. Take me where you will, and do what you will, cut my hand.”

‘What?” Fingon gasped.

Maedhros’s eyes held his in a weary stare, “I will not feel it, cousin, I have long lost the sense of pain. Hurry now, for there truly is no other way.”

Fingon gulped, he knew there was no other way. He grit his teeth and swung his sword. There was a sickening sound of metal hewing through flesh and bone before Maedhros fell into his cousin’s arms, screaming, his eyes closed shut by the hot white pain. Then he fell limp, Fingon tore his tunic and wrapped the cloth about the gaping stump where once an elegant hand had stood. The noble eagle bore them swiftly towards the Mithrim.

*****

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