Summary: Achilles regards his honor as sacred, but he is not the first to do so. Sequel to "Weakness" and "Strength." Features the same major Greek and Elven characters, plus two new faces. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: Sorry, I still don't own them, and I still am not making any money off of them. But that's okay – I love them to death anyway.
Author's Note: Wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles, this chapter is finally complete! Apparently all I had to do was sit down for an hour or two and simply force myself to finish it. We'll see if I remember that next time, now won't we? But I believe special gratitude is due to my beloved reviewers Trollmela, Angeline, MercysFoundaWayforMe, and Crimson Cupcake. You all are truly an inspiration! So now I do hope you enjoy this next chapter - a sort of early Christmas present, if you will. Love you all!
Chapter 11
"Then in defiance of the Orcs, who cowered still in the dark vaults beneath the earth, he took his harp and sang a song of Valinor that the Noldor made of old…and his voice rang in the mournful hollows that had never heard before aught save cries of fear and woe. Thus Fingon found what he sought. For suddenly above him far and faint his song was taken up, and a voice answering called to him. Maedhros it was that sang amid his torment."
~ J.R.R. Tolkien, "The Silmarillion"
Fingon the Valiant had never been renowned for his patience, and the duration of their journey was beginning to weigh heavily upon him. He had known from the outset that it would be long, but clearly he had underestimated his own impatience. The nearer he came to seeing Ereinion again, the farther away the meeting seemed, and the more his anxiety grew.
His restlessness must have shown, for even Patroclus had noticed and offered such meager attempts at comfort as he could concerning Gil-galad. His cousin likewise addressed him later on the same issue, aside from their mortal companions.
"It was sound judgment sending him to Cirdan for protection," assured Maedhros calmly. "For I know of none wiser than the Shipwright, and he raised your child well. However, it did grieve me that the son should grow up knowing so little of his father."
"Then let us pray he likes what he sees, now that he is grown and can judge my character for himself."
Fingon seemed anxious to let the subject drop after that statement, but Maedhros would have none of it.
"And if he does not approve? What if you don't find favor in the eyes of the new King, cousin? I know I shall not."
"But you are not his father! Maitimo, surely you understand?"
"I understand that you worry yourself over things that are long since past, and cannot now be altered. It is enough simply that we are here, for whatever purpose yet unknown; let Ereinion make of that what he will."
Fingon's shoulders drooped as he ceased his restless pacing and forced himself to draw in slow, steady breaths of the cool air. His eyes searched his cousin's face again, wondering if the time was now right for another conversation that he knew must inevitably take place.
"I appreciate your concerns, Russandol…but my greater fears right now are only for you."
Maedhros' tall frame tensed in an instant, and his eyes assumed a certain gleam that all who knew him well recognized as a sign to proceed with extreme caution. "And why is that, cousin?"
"Your endless searching for Maglor," Fingon began carefully, "has grown to an obsession that can no longer be profitable to you. I worry that you are slowly driving yourself mad on a hopeless quest…"
The russet Elf turned away, aggravation exuding from his every movement, but his friend courageously pressed on.
"Perhaps your brother is content now to wander as he has already done for many centuries, and does not wish to be found by anyone? Not even by us. We have crossed so many miles without the slightest trace of him, Maitimo." Fingon tried to pretend he did not notice the shameless pleading that had assuredly crept into his arguments. Maedhros did not respond to him, would not even meet the other's entreating gaze.
"I know you do not want to hear this, but it must be asked. What are you going to do if we reach Lindon, and still you have not found him? I have never known you to abandon any task, cousin, especially not one so dear to you as this."
Maedhros still looked away, stubborn as any of his infamous household in his refusal to confront the possibility. Ironically, he seemed far more willing to give counsel than to receive it.
But at last he spoke, his muted words directed at the sand. "Do not try to deter me in this, Findekano – not now. At least you know that the reunion you always hoped for is imminent; a blind hope is all I have left to cling to."
Fingon's bright eyes fell to the ground as he replied softly, "I have always longed for this, ever since I sent him away…but I never expected it. I had thought surely that I would rejoin my father, which I did, before I ever saw my son again."
When one full week had passed since their incident with the spiders, the travelers came within sight of a massive river that rift the land in two. It was easily the largest any of them had ever seen, larger even than mighty Sirion of old, and they knew at once that it would be a hopeless task to attempt a fording unaided. So with Fingon and Maedhros securely cloaked, and with Odysseus doing most of the talking, they were able to charter passage across the great river from one of the locals, who kept stealing none-too-subtle glances at his two tall mysterious passengers. But he asked no questions, and that truly was for the best.
There were many more river crossings as they progressed northward, most of which could be accomplished on horseback at an opportune location. Civilization at length became a more common sight, but still there could be seen no sign of the Elves or their kingdom.
More than once did Achilles wonder with growing curiosity if Prince Hector and his people had settled along the coast in the years following Troy's downfall. Perhaps he and his companions had traversed right past the Trojans' new land without even realizing it? It would have been interesting, at the very least, to see what had become that once proud people, laid to so much ruin by his own two hands. But he would never know; they were much too far to the north now, and the lands as well as the people here were all strange to him. And still they had a long distance to go.
As for Maedhros, he evidently had not taken Fingon's precautions to heart, for his searches continued every night without fail or delay. Yet while outwardly he betrayed no sign of relenting, there could be no denying to himself that he was utterly exhausted; genuine rest remained elusive in the face of so many waking nights, and sleep fled before the onslaught of his recurring nightmares.
And so one cold, clear evening, not long before light would be rising in the East, Maedhros sat down on a boulder as his quest concluded for the night and sighed bitterly, having finally reached the end of his frustrations. He closed his eyes, proud head bowed low. Even now he would never voice his doubt aloud, but deep inside he had to wonder…what if Fingon was right? Maybe he had missed Maglor, or perhaps his brother had moved on to places farther away than he could even fathom. Was it really so hopeless?
But then again, perhaps all this time he had been seeking through his keen Elven sight that which could only be found through hearing? Or, more specifically, through singing? With hope at once renewed, the eldest son of Feanor raised his voice along with his head, and the choice of his ensuing song was no coincidence. For it was the very same melody of Valinor that Fingon had used to locate him amid his torment on that cursed mountainside – so long ago now it felt like another lifetime. It had been another lifetime.
At length, the song died on his lips, carried away by the chill wind. And then it might have been his imagination, or maybe it was a natural effect of the rolling rhythm of the waves; but it suddenly seemed to Maedhros that he could hear his own song floating back to him on the breeze, like the echo of a distant memory or the final fragment of some forgotten dream.
Dawn was breaking. Fingon had roused himself from a light slumber, but remained stretched out at his length upon the ground. His ear was pressed close to the earth, as though he were listening for something. When he at last sat up, his ageless face was drawn in thought; and it was with a distinct sense of urgency that he leapt to his feet and began gathering their supplies, summoning the others to do the same.
"What's wrong?" Eudorus demanded in alarm.
"I'm not sure," Fingon admitted, hurriedly tightening the girth on his saddle. "But I thought I heard…that is, I fear Maedhros might be in need of help."
That got their attention. If anyone of their party should have been assumed safe while traveling alone, it was Maedhros. And so in scant minutes the Greeks were ready to depart, trailing Fingon who urged his horse at a brisk canter northward along the coast. They followed the rugged shoreline, halting at varied intervals so that the Elf could lean forward and intently listen once again. The lingering perplexity scrawled in a frown across his face suggested that he never did hear the mysterious sound he sought.
They journeyed on, and what had begun as mild concern on Fingon's part was now grown into a fully-realized state of fear. The only reason the prince did not drive his steed to a clear gallop was an equally strong fear that he would miss some sign of Maedhros in his haste.
Yet at last, just as his fear was on the verge of becoming panic, Fingon's Elven eyesight spied the distant silhouette of two lean figures against the morning sky; and all fears left him. For as they finally drew near, the riders found Maedhros jubilantly embracing a dark-haired Elf that could only have been Maglor.
The second son of Feanor looked no different than when Patroclus had last seen him on the shores of Phthia two years prior. The same weather-worn raiment adorned his shoulders, and his countenance did not appear to have aged a day. The only thing that had changed – and what a difference it made! – was his smile.
Maedhros also wore a grin of heartfelt joy that had not been present even at his first reunion with Fingon; there had been too much guilt and sorrow to wrestle with then. But now, here again in the company of the two beings who knew him best and still passed no harsh judgments, Maedhros Feanorion could smile.
"I guess he really does have a heart after all," Eudorus said softly, almost more to himself than to his comrades. There truly wasn't much else to be said.
Even Fingon stood back at a respectful distance, waiting in silence while the two brothers held each other close. Yet his joy appeared no less than theirs when at last his elder cousin beckoned him forward, and he likewise embraced Maglor with all the strength and fervor befitting a son of Fingolfin.
They stood in a tight circle, with their arms wrapped around each others' shoulders, and their heads bent forward close to touching. They were most surely lost on a swelling sea of memories, together riding the waves of untold joy and sorrow. At that moment, they were the only three beings alive in Arda.
Author's End Note: Hooray! It's about time we finally caught up to Maglor, huh? He's been waiting in the wings for so long now, it warms my heart to see him finally make his long-awaited entrance. Merry Christmas, my friends!
