The Rescue
Fingolfin copying his son's antics, and saving his Prince brother from Morgoth
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Fingolfin was pacing in the lush garden of his palatial mansion when the little starling fluttered about one of the branches of the beech tree there, landed on one branch, and chirped out the news from beyond the Sea. The tale bore by the little bird was immensely distressful to the noble Noldo, so his countenance was rather grim by the time the starling finished his chirping.
He rewarded the bird with a bit of sweets from his pocket, bid the creature thanks for its courier work, and walked briskly back to his personal suite of expansive rooms with a sense of purpose.
All of his personal artifacts were nicely organized, and in pristine conditions, since he prided on his organizational skills, so it took him no precious seconds to locate his polished armors and trusty weapon, Ringil. The High Prince put on his exquisitely crafted Noldoran armors with practiced, experienced hands, his legendary sword inside its gleaming jewel sheath strapped on to the fine silver woven belt at his waist. When he finished putting on his midnight blue cloak encrusted with multitude of silvery stars, he stepped outside of the room, and strode to where the kitchen is to gather his supplies. He didn't forget to leave a note for his son Fingon to explain the reason for his sudden trip, in case his eldest panicked from his father's disappearance, and started organizing a massive search party.
With a full load of goods in his arms, Fingolfin approached the gate of his mansion, and stood waiting expectantly. Within a minute, Rochallor galloped up to the magnificent wrought iron gates, and proudly neighed at his beloved friend, with small puffs of smokes emitting from his dark snout. Next to him Huan enthusiastically bounced up, fat tongue lolled out of his giant maw; He barked a few friendly greetings, and wagged his bushy tail.
Fingolfin greeted his faithful steed, and patted Huan's head warmly to express his thanks. He was grateful that Huan didn't forsake the friendship he had with his former friend's family completely.
The most valiant Elf Prince, his renowned steed, and the oversized hound then ventured off in haste and stealth to a remote, small dock, which was seldom visited by elves. An empty white ship swayed gently in the waves. When the group walked on the dock, the ship edged forward as if beckoning them to board, which they did without hesitation.
Onward, with Ulmo's generous help, they were ferried to the Hither Land by the Vala's favorite swan ship.
Once the ship was beached, the brown haired Noldo bid Rochallor and Huan to follow him down to the beach, and then swiftly journeyed to their destination with neither rest nor repast. Fingolfin spent no time nor spared any thoughts in reminiscing the bygone glories and tragedies of Endor where he'd dwelled and built his realm in so many Ages past. He only has one goal burning in his focused mind.
The path he and his companions trodden on winded through vast groves of twisted, groaning skeletal trees with steel thorny branches, a grotesque imitation of a thriving, living forest. A heavy fog descended to blanket the twisted groves, obfuscated the path.
Then a fell bird beast thing screeched from afar, mists parted to reveal a massive, dark, forbidden iron fortress looming in the line of his vision. Nothing much has changed, he mused sardonically.
Fearlessly and brave hearted, like a wrathful Vala, Fingolfin blazed with the inner light of his fea, furies in his starlight eyes, charging steadfast toward the colossal iron gates of the fortress, where the craven servants of darkness trembled at the appearance of the mighty elf lord and speedily fled.
Along his side, not to be outshone, the Hound of Valinor charged ferociously, and barked loud his displeasures to the remaining enemies lurking at the dark corners of the inner courtyard. The tremor of his voices shook the stone ground, and rattled the locked door of the central hall in the fortress so hard that it was forcefully wrenched open. Huan leapt in, eager to be the vanguard, and mightily barked again.
His opponent, the large fell wolf, Cacharoth, sat sentry in the middle of the hall, his giant maw frothing. Great are his girth and teeth, and greater and more malevolent are his lethal claws. The giant wolf snarled and roared, hate and malice in his terrible eyes as he rose to answer Huan's challenge. The two mighty creatures circling each other, sharp eyes locking onto their opponent, checking for openings and mistakes, and when none found, both leapt simultaneously to grapple each other to maul the weaker one down. The battle ensued.
As the melee progressed further, it was clear that the Hound had slowly gained an upper hand. A swift bite to its fetid neck, Huan rendered Cacharoth immobile, and sat on the beast. The defeated Wolf whimpered weakly from the many wounds and slashes he had received from the victor. Hastily he scampered away with tail between his legs.
With a main threat in the dark one's forces vanquished, Fingolfin scanned the hall for other equally fearsome opponents. There is none present that are at Cacharoth's caliber or more. Apparently the Abhorred One was not in the fortress. Security was a little lax.
Between him and Huan they had slaughtered rest of the orcs or other equally foul creatures effortlessly, or had struck such terror in their weak hearts that they simply hid themselves from the conquering intruders to cower in darkness.
The victorious warrior then marched up to the long, windy stairway at the end of the hall unchallenged, until the end of it led him to a massive, heavy iron door that appeared to be locked.
Loud voices like wargs in heat were coming from behind these doors.
He broke the iron doors with a few deft slashes with Ringil. Sweet, perfumery air wafted out, assailing his nose.
What he saw inside would make any Elf blushing and turning beet red.
The room was awash in red, red paint, red furnishing, red accoutrements, and a hazy red smoke that soared around, giving off a seedy feel with a hint of beguiling sensuality.
His half brother, the greatest of the Noldor, Feanor, was chained to the vast, sumptuous bed with cruel chains of gold bounding his ankles and wrists. That was the least of the offences. The Spirit of Fire was decked in gleaming jewels from his lovely neck down to the chiseled torso with a Silmaril blazing at the base of his pallid throat. A golden belt inlaid with thousands of sparkling diamond beads wrapped his slim hip holding flimsy sheer gauzes that served more to induce lusts from the onlookers than covering his modesty; the image of wantonness. The belt draped low on the back of his magnificent elven body so the crack of his perfect perky round buttocks was visible to licentious gazes. More gold ornaments and precious jewels adorned his vast pool of silky, raven black hair, which were covering half of the bed. Gold paint traced the rim of his burning, defiant silver eyes; they were locked on his abductor's face with deepest loathing and hatred.
Morgoth leered at the chained Noldo. One of his dark hands was holding his prisoner's shapely white leg up so he can lick the delectable smooth skin. His other hand was caressing Feanor's lustrous strands roughly, enjoying their silky textures. Despite the deafening curses spewing from Feanor's sensual mouth, his lips the color of dewy roses, and general uncooperativeness in trying to thrash him while being bound, The dark Vala bent down closer to his captive, gloating and salivating at the same time, ready to give that glorious body a through tongue bath and satisfy his base lust. "Oh Feanor, such fire, such beauty." He cooed, saliva frothed and foaming around his foul mouth from the sheer ecstasy of finally about to fulfill his dark fantasy.
Fingolfin roared. "Foul Fiend! Black Enemy of the World, you shall not touch a High Prince of the Noldor with your filthy black hands"
The dark foe sneered and laughed contemptuously, "Oh I will do more than touching…I shall sample this bewitching flame and enjoy every bit of his futile defiance with utmost pleasure."
"After I smite you low and crush you into pieces you insignificant troublesome worm!"
Morgoth lunged at his hated foe, intending to tackle him to the floor, and slowly choking him to death while his half brother was watching with his limbs helplessly bound. How he hated the one who had hewn his foot, the lingering wound a humiliating reminder of a Vala rendered disabled by a mere Elf. Nimbly Fingolfin moved out of the path, Ringil poised to attack and strike true. The dark foe grew bigger, and loomed above him in menance. Sharp, steel blades grew from his large hand to swipe down at the defiant Elf, intending to slash him into pieces, was met by Ringil in the mid air. The clang of steels and sword ringed loudly and reverberated through the chamber.
Morgoth taunted, using his brute strength to force his opponent down to the ground. The valiant Noldo swiftly kicked the Vala's crotch with his sharp, pointy boot, and when Morgoth recoiled in pain by reflex, Fingolfin seized the precious few seconds, and stabbed the vile enemy in his belly, burying his deadly blade deep to the hilt.
The Vala howled from suffering such a fatal wound. He cravenly retreated and vanished. The coward had ran back to hide in the darkness to seethe and scheme. The triumphant Prince turned to his brother, who was blazing with fury from forced to watch the battle from the silken bed in idleness, unable to charge up to inflict a few dire slashes to his reviled abductor to avenge himself.
With a few slashes, Ringil broke the golden chains, freeing the bound Prince.
Then his sharp elven brown eyes went round as saucers. The harem outfit! Fingolfin did something - he leered, at his half brother, Feanor. His love.
His wretched hand couldn't resist giving that round firm rear a playful pinch, giving its due homage, and enjoying the feel of that firm flesh between his fingers. By Eru, it's so smooth and bouncy! He had sorely missed the familiar feel, and desired to worship its sweet delectableness again as he had done every night before this whole sorry business happened.
Reuniting with it gave him urges to sing of its glory, its magnificence, just like Finrod only croons 'Ode to Curufin's Splendid, Handsome Rear' nowadays, whenever Finarfin's eldest was cajoled to perform in public, to the utter mortification of that normally suave Feanorion. Well Fingolfin is about to turn into Finrod.
"Arck, stop it…" not his most eloquent moment but who could blame him, the events preceding to his rescue were quite traumatic, Feanor smacked Fingolfin's head, and ripped the cloak from his brother's shoulder to use it to cover up his half exposed body.
Wrinkling his perfect nose in distaste, Feanor shuddered "I have to wear these shoddy, poorly crafted garish jewelry made by Sauron. A cruel torment that I don't wish on anyone, not even that despicable Pengologh." He tore these gaudy ornaments off his body ferociously, tossing them to the stone floor like dirt and rubbish. "Good Riddance."
"Now let's head back home, shall we?" Fingolfin couldn't agree more.
Before they left this dreadful place for good, Feanor grabbed a torch from the hallway, and torched the fortress down.
They kissed passionately on the way back to the Blessed Realm. Huan and Rochallor resting next to each other on the deck.
"Brother, aren't you glad I have come to rescue you? Now give me a hero's reward and pucker up more."
"Oh do shut up, someone is being an insufferable, smug Elf."
"Maybe you can keep wearing this flimsy, wanton outfit and deck in jewels, and play the helpless captive erh, I dare say you looked quite fetching in them." Fingolfin smirked. "It will certainly spice up our bedroom activities."
Another loud smack on the head with more force this time. "Ouch, what? I was only teasing!"
Feanor raged with pure wrath "I will burn these revolting rags as soon as we are back home."
"When that repulsive slime crawled out of his pathetic dark hole I am going to run my sword through his black body, hack it to pieces, and burn them to ashes." He vowed vehemently.
"Speaking of that." Fingolfin sighed irritably, "I am going to petition Manwe to put a stop to these creepy dark Ainur indulging their favorite pastime activity of abducting Noldorin Princes. I think Gil Galad is terribly tired of rescuing Celebrimbor from an obsessed Sauron repeatedly."
"Or request that slothful King of Arda to accelerate Dagor Dagorath so we can get rid of these evil pests for good and get some peace and quiet."