Summary: Neither Prince Hal nor Hotspur believe in magic. Or in the existence of Elves. They are about to encounter both. A Shakespeare/Silmarillion crossover. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I own nothing from the worlds and words of Shakespeare or Tolkien, both of whom are authors to be revered. Shakespeare quotes, paraphrases, and allusions from multiple plays will be scattered throughout.

The Fourth of Seven

Chapter 6

"Your Majesty, I did not think to meet you here."

Hal bowed deeply to mask his surprise. Until now, he had only ever seen the High King in the company of Maedhros – never wandering the halls alone like this.

"I desired a time of private reflection," Fingon replied easily. "However, it does not then follow that your presence must be unwelcome. Come, walk with me a while."

The English Prince fell into step alongside the Elvish King, following his lead through a maze of quiet corridors. He waited respectfully for Fingon to interrupt the silence.

"By his looks and temper, I would judge your friend to belong to the house of Hador, such as those Men who serve me in the West. But you, I think, are more like to the sons of Bëor – quicker to learn and slower to anger."

The strange names made Hal pause a moment, then he responded, "Thank you, my lord, so I do strive to be. Unfortunately, I shame to say my actions do not always reflect my good intentions."

As he finished speaking, he glanced at the Elf beside him. Fingon's presence was weighty and powerful, but not as intensely so as the rest of his kinsmen. His demeanor was more personable and relaxed, and it seemed to Hal that the fire in his eyes warmed rather than scorched.

He resumed, "How long have you been King?"

"Sixteen years, although it seems but sixteen days. I still often feel that any kingly titles are intended for my father rather than me."

"The hollow crown is heavy, is it not? Even when it rounds immortal temples?"

Fingon nodded his agreement. "Indeed, it is a power that brings me little pleasure – only anxiety and grief. I would gladly forsake this title if somehow it would return my noble father to me. I am his successor, but I fear I shall never be his equal." He then studied Hal closely. "You face such a burden yourself, young Harry. Is this not true?"

Hal sighed. He had hoped to be more discreet, yet there seemed no point in denying it now. "It is true, yes," he confessed, "if ever we should return home. My own excellent father is aged and in ailing health. I know not how I shall be ready to take his place one day upon the throne – perhaps a day all too soon."

"In an odd way, I almost envy you, knowing that your time is near."

"My time to die, or my time to assume the throne?"

"Either." Fingon shrugged. "Or both. Only through fickle foresight do we of the Eldar sometimes have this warning, elsewise such events come always as a surprise for which we are unprepared. In all my years as a prince, I gave little thought to preparation for kingship, and in sorrow did I reap the consequence of my neglect."

Hal frowned at how near that account struck to his conscience. But desiring to know more of Fingon's ascension to the crown, he stated cautiously, "In my eyes, it would appear some of your cousins are more honoring of your position than others. Can it be that they object to something of your rule?"

"No ruler ever stands wholly unopposed. Tell me, Harry, are there those in your homeland who would claim your throne comes to you by dishonest means?"

The Prince balked. Again, he had underestimated Fingon's power of perception! He faltered, fumbling for a response and doubtless confirming that the Elf's probing shot had struck its mark; yet he knew not how to answer without calling into question King Henry's validity on the throne. It was as if the ghost of Richard the Second himself had bound his tongue in guilt.

Eventually, Fingon took pity on him with a knowing smile and revealed, "Maedhros is older than I, and he was rightfully High King of the Noldor after his father's death. But he waived his claim to the crown in favor of my father, and in doing so, disinherited the entire bloodline. It was a politically sound maneuver, although you might imagine some of his brothers did not wholeheartedly approve."

"I believe I can imagine which ones," said Hal, eager to hear more. "But why would Maedhros do such a thing? Surely his physical deformity does not inhibit his ability to rule."

A look of sudden pain distorted the Elf's fair face. "You must ask that question of him – if you are brave enough. I will not answer in his stead."

"Forgive me, my lord, I did not mean to offend…"

"You need not apologize," Fingon consoled. "I, of all people, cannot fault you for curiosity and boldness. Only remember, in your own time, that a king must take careful heed of his company and his advisors. Maedhros is as shrewd as any of his brothers, and the truest of them all; I make it no secret that he is nearest to my heart in counsel."

Hal nodded slowly, contemplative. "But as he is your friend of old and one time held the throne himself…does this position not enable him to misuse his influence over you for his advantage? To advance his own agenda?"

The High King nearly rolled his eyes at the suggestion. "Many will say so, and some might even believe it. But there is no one I love more dearly or trust more entirely than my eldest cousin."

"Have you any children?"

"I have a son, painfully young in years. No older than you, I warrant, for he has not yet seen the passing of thirty summers and is still very much a child by our reckoning."

"You are correct in the estimate," Hal concurred. "And he is your heir?"

"He is the Crown Prince of the Noldor, but the line of succession would fall first to my younger brother, Turgon of Gondolin: he being the oldest of the house of Fingolfin, in the event of my death."

The English Prince thought that strange, though he refrained from saying so. In Britain, the young prince would have been heir apparent as part of the firstborn bloodline, regardless of any living uncles. Regardless, also, of his age at the time of the coronation.

Fingon went on, as though in answer to Hal's reflections. "I am glad of this, for it would shield Ereinion from a responsibility that he is by no means old enough to bear – for a time, at least. I cannot imagine a prosperous ending when one so young is crowned, and a fatherless prince becomes king too soon."

"Perhaps those that lose their fathers young take less pain at the parting, but also less wisdom," Hal suggested. "Having no children of my own, I find parenthood to be nearly as daunting a task as kingship; perhaps they are not so different. At least you, as a father, know to treasure the time you have with your child."

"I have not seen Ereinion in fifteen years," Fingon sadly replied, his eyes downcast. "He could not remain in Hithlum, not when the fighting has reached even behind our mountain walls. He is far safer now in the Havens; so until the tides of war are changed, I must trust in another for both the guidance and the protection of my son, no matter how it grieves my spirit. I hope fervently that all may be put to right when the next battle is concluded."

Hal's own heart ached in sympathy. "Have you glimpsed some foresight of the days to come, my lord? Of how our fortunes may fare?"

The Elvenking smiled suddenly, speaking lightly again. "I possess no gift for foresight. But I have triumphed over poor odds many times before and will do so again."

"And if this enterprise should fail?"

"Whether in victory or defeat, Maedhros and I shall stand together. As we have always done."

Once more, Hal's curiosity prevailed over his better judgment. "When you spar with your cousin, as I know you often do…do you beat him?"

"Oh, no," the other admitted, fondly and at once. "Maedhros always wins. And now it is time we returned, as I expect he is missing me."

Hal accompanied him to the busier parts of the fortress, only to slip away again in search of his countryman. How much he had to tell Percy!


Since swearing their allegiance to Maedhros, the Englishmen had become privy to the details of the Elves' pending assault upon Angband. Today they stood gathered around a map while their host and his kinsmen discussed the availability of allies.

"Cìrdan has agreed to send some battalions from the Falas that will march with my troops," Fingon informed them. "I can only wonder if he has told Ereinion of our plans. I sent envoys of my own to Nargothrond, although they did not appear to meet with any more success than yours, Cousin. Or perhaps you have received different tidings of late?"

Maedhros shook his auburn head. "Nay, I have had neither word nor commitment from any of the other kingdoms. Unless your brother emerges secretly from his hiding place, it is we alone who march with such allies as we have among Men and Dwarves."

"It will be enough," interjected Celegorm fiercely. "We do not need the help of cowards. Already this Union has cleansed the woods of Dorthonion and retaken the Pass of Aglon. Soon the Enemy will know how much more we can do!"

His words kindled a fire of pride and battle lust inside even Hal's heart; Percy must have felt it even more keenly.

"And how soon exactly?" questioned Caranthir. "What shall be the day?"

"The dawning of Midsummer, to allow us longest days and shortest nights," Maedhros answered. "In which case, Brother, you should not long delay your departure. I suggest you leave for Amon Ereb with your instructions as soon as the weather will permit."

"And are we to return there with him?" Hotspur's tone revealed how little that notion appealed to him.

"Not necessarily." The Lord of Himring looked back and forth between them. "What say you, Caranthir? Can you bear to entrust your prisoners into my keeping henceforth?"

Smiling wryly, the darker Elf replied, "With all my heart, Brother."


"What is it you think truly drives them in this endeavor?" Percy wondered aloud when they were later in their shared chamber.

Hal shrugged. "I cannot guess; yet I sense that they are well-nigh desperate for a victory and will not relent, although their committed host be less than half the hoped-for number. Rather like you, is it not? Charging forth at Shrewsbury while still awaiting succor from your father's troops."

"Yea, and I admire them for it, even if it leads to death," retorted Hotspur defensively. "The less help they have, the more honor and renown are to be gained. For Men, knowing that they must die, may embrace it bravely when their hour comes. Not so these lion-mettled Elves! Though death be not in their natural course, yet still they will stretch the fullness of their power from the east unto the west, inviting Darkness grapple with them from the north to south. Harry, we have this chance to fight alongside those who do not die!"

"But who can be slain," the Prince reasoned. "Forget not that they lost the last great battle and their former King therein."

Percy shook his head, pacing the room with restless energy. "All the same, just think of the immortal glory we can win by sharing in their struggles. Think of the tales we'll have to tell when all is said and done!"

Now Hal grimaced. "I have been giving thought to that of late," he confessed gravely. "If we ever do go home, Percy, we must say nothing of our time here. They will think us mad in England, for which we stand to be exiled or imprisoned – if not burned at the stake for witchcraft."

Hotspur finally paused at that, his pale brow furrowed in thought. "But surely we shall need some explanation for the duration of our absence; it has been longer than four months now. What should we speak if not the truth?"

"I do not know; I don't even know if time is passing the same back home as it is here. But if we support each other in a common account, perhaps all could yet be well. Somehow."