The Prince and the Dark Lord
Summary: The duel with King Fingolfin left both sides of the ages-long war scarred and realizing that there is no way to win, unless one wishes to forsake what is left of their people and power. So, what do countries do when they can't fight to win? They enter diplomatic discussions to ensure a semblance of peace. How effective will it be and how long will it last - these are questions to be answered later. For now, let's focus on who and how will create the flimsy rope bridge over the abyss full of lava to bring forth the elusive peace.
A/N This is a series of short bits that hopefully will fold into a story.
It was a while since we wrote in Tolkien's world, but I dare to hope it will be as enjoyable to our readers, as it was fun for us to write.
Feedback is love, but hate is not a feedback
1.
The Noldor of Hithlum had a lot to say about Morgoth and his armies. The land was not yet healed after Dagor Bragollach, many still mourned their fallen brethren. The atrocities of war, the breached siege of so many centuries, the cold realization how many would fall should the war be waged and another battle fought... The knowledge that their forces could be not enough to warrant a victory... All that weighed them down.
The loss of their beloved High King, the just and cunning Fingolfin, the brave and caring leader that had led them through the darkness and ice, it crushed so many young Noldor. High King Fingon did what he could to hold up the wounded economy, the morale of the army, alliances with other lands. Yet he was affected as well, having lost his dear father so suddenly after losing so many already.
That was when the armed caravan from Angband had come to offer the pieces of broken armor and Ringil as tokens of their will to partake in a peace treaty. They couldn't give back the High King's body, for it had been taken to Gondolin, but the gesture was there, even if performed by nervous, cautious troops of the enemy.
That had been when he had been brought to the land of Beleriand by one of Airë Tári's Maiar, on luminous wings over the turbulent sea. He was the one chosen by the Lady of Purity to be the envoy of the West. The son and heir of the High King of all the Eldar, the devoted follower of Airë Tári, the young Vanya qualified to be the one to venture into the fortress of Angband and face the darkness within, for the benefit of what was remaining of his people and Middle-Earth. He was chosen, for he was not a hasty Noldo, nor a Teleri - both clans had suffered greatly from their dealings with the Dark Lord or because of his actions. Only a Vanya would - hopefully - rein in their rage and coolly assess the situation.
He also had other skills that, Airë Tári was sure of it, would aid in his quest.
Clad in blue and white, with pale hair falling over his back like a radiant mantle, Ingwion son of Ingwë looked at the imposing iron gate of Angband and at the wolves laying about, guarding the entrance to the Dark Lord's dwelling. There, he knew, he would go alone, for he didn't wish for others to witness the darkness yet again after Bragollach. There, he wouldn't lead any of his escort from Hithlum, already skittish and fighting down their fear. They were brave elves, escorting him so far through Anfauglith, bodies of the fallen elves either buried under the new layer of cooled lava and ash or devoured by beasts. There was no need for them to suffer more agony and sorrow by entering the hostile fortress, hearing the cries of the prisoners, suffer through encounters with warriors of Morgoth. The ground was broken a small distance away from the gate - Ingwion suspected that was the place where High King Fingolfin had perished in battle, challenging the Dark Ainu himself.
Ingwion feared the future. He feared coming back to Aman via the Halls of Mandos. He closed his eyes for a moment only to collect his fears and doubts and hide them well. Where he was going, he knew he could not show any sign of weakness.
He stopped his horse and turned to the commander of his escort to dismiss them before the iron gate opened. They objected at first, but he was patient and determined. He couldn't warrant their safety in Angband, nor could he be sure they wouldn't be used against him. Finally, they agreed to retreat to the border of the desolated area to wait for his return. He prayed he would return.
Yet again, a short time after the first time, a lone Elda stood under the gate of Angband, awaiting Melkor's emergence.