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 7
Caranthir and his company left the following week for their long journey southward. Hal would not miss any of them, Uldor least of all, although it cheered his heart to know that the twins would be among the party when they next returned.
Fingon tarried longer, loath to depart, yet he could not delay the necessity forever. Final preparations for the battle required his presence in Hithlum, just as Caranthir's was needed at Amon Ereb. As a parting gift of sorts, the King requested that Maglor sing for an assembly on his last night in Himring.
Hotspur rolled his eyes when he learned of it and bemoaned, "Oh dear God, not another ballad-monger!"
"Content yourself, Percy, 'tis an honor," Hal rebuked him. "For all Elves praise the skill of Maglor, and this is the first we have been invited to hear him. Having offended our hosts often enough as it is, you might at least pretend to enjoy yourself."
But no rumor, however lofty, could do justice to the moment of inexpressible wonder when Maglor took up a harp and began to sing. In his nimble hands, the instrument became as a loom upon which he wove breathtaking images for the mind's eye. There was nothing like it! Hal sat enraptured, scarcely daring to breathe for fear of missing a single note. The lyrics were composed in an Elvish tongue of which he recognized little, yet that did not at all diminish the surging, powerful emotions which broke like waves against his heart.
Only one thing might have ruptured the dreamlike spell of Maglor's song, and to Hal's utmost chagrin, it happened. For Percy abruptly rose beside him and left in the middle of the performance. The Prince cringed openly at the shame, mortified by his comrade's behavior! With notable effort, he repressed an urge to follow the man and bodily drag him back to the assembly; tempting as that may be, it would cast an even poorer light upon them both.
He stayed to hear the remainder of the song, only to find that his enjoyment of it had waned. That fueled his ire even further, and the instant it was socially acceptable to do so, he withdrew in pursuit of his errant countryman. He found Hotspur in their chambers, his back to the door, and Hal wasted no time in unleashing a fury of harsh words.
"How dare you be so rude? Of all the hot-headed, foolhardy things you have done, Percy, this is undoubtedly the worst! I thought you admired these people and wished to rise in their esteem, not mark yourself as the crudest mortal of their acquaintance. And what's more, that was the loveliest song that ever I heard! By my faith, it could almost move a man to tears."
"Well do I know it." Percy's voice was duly flustered and ashamed, much to Hal's satisfaction; but when he turned around, there were wet tear tracks beneath his red, puffy eyes.
The Prince froze, stunned as though a blow to the stomach had suddenly robbed him of anger and of speech. Hotspur continued after a moment to fill the silence, shaking his head as if in disbelief of his own conduct.
"There was more of magic than of music in that tune, Harry; I would call it devilry, were it not so beautiful and pure. It held me fast in a web of enchantment, like a rabbit caught in a snare or a fly in a spider's thread. By God, 'twas as if all at once my heart remembered every pain it ever felt, and I could not soothe it unless I fled."
"Yea, I felt it also," Hal whispered – but not as keenly, it would seem.
The proud man in front of him wiped furiously at his eyes, as if he could brush away his embarrassment in the same motion. "I trust you are satisfied," he muttered darkly. "Now you can disgrace me anytime you like, with tales of how an Elvish lullaby made Henry Percy weep."
"Believe me, Percy, I have no such intention," said Hal, earnestly and far more gently now. Of all possible reasons for Hotspur's hasty retreat, this was the last he would have guessed. "Our feelings in and of themselves are not shameful. Maglor's song was intended to reach deep into the hearts of Elves, so it is no wonder that the souls of Men are likewise stirred. But your confidence is safe with me, and I give you my word that no one beyond us two shall ever know of this."
Percy held his gaze for a moment, gauging the depths of his sincerity in this unexpected grace. Satisfied at last, he offered his gratitude with a short nod and a shadow of a smile.
Dawn marked the hour of Fingon's departure, and the King's escort was all arrayed in his colors of blue and silver. Hal uncharacteristically rose before the sun, determined to bid Fingon farewell in person before he left; for ever since their private conversation, he had felt a deepening connection with and respect for the Elven monarch.
His search through torchlit corridors eventually led him past a window near the stables, and there from without came the sound of two voices he knew well – Fingon and Maedhros, deep in discussion. Hal paused, debating within himself. To stay and eavesdrop would demonstrate a lack of propriety better suited to Hotspur, but no more could he direct his steps away. Surely their keen ears had detected his approach, yet still their talk continued; perhaps they did not mind being overheard in this instance.
Pressing himself against the wall, he edged toward the window and the voices as quietly as he could.
"Always our time together is too brief," Fingon was saying. "When next we meet, it will be upon Anfauglith, with the armies of the Enemy crushed to dust between us."
"And with joy you shall welcome your son home again," Maedhros replied.
Then there was silence, and curiosity compelled Hal to peek out the window. What he saw was a close, lingering embrace: blue cape against red, all wound round with silver.
There could be no doubt now. This was indeed a private affair, in which an English prince had no business! Possibly the two were so engrossed in one another that they truly did not note or heed his presence. Hal quickly withdrew the same way he had come, and on a sudden, sorrow struck him with the thought that these two great friends might never see each other again. Such was always possible when battle loomed inevitable, but what should cause him to doubt so? He knew little of their opponents' strength outside of hearsay, and it seemed to him there must be nothing Fingon and Maedhros could not achieve together.
Fingon's contagious confidence briefly dispelled Hal's foreboding as the two later bade each other a proper farewell.
"Goodbye, young Harry," declared the Elf. "When the battle is done, you and your friend shall be rewarded with the full generosity of the Eldar."
Hal bowed to him deeply. "Your Grace has already been too generous in the sharing of your counsel and your trust. I pray my ears and my heart will prove fertile soil which bears much fruit."
"I am sure they will, for all things do, in their season. So the acorn grows into an oak – and the prince into a king."
Even so, the shadow lengthened again over Hal's heart as he watched Maedhros stare silently into the West, long after the High King's company had passed from sight.
Over the following weeks, Hal summoned his courage little by little to seek a private audience with Maedhros. It would be a tremendous gamble to speak as he desired, yet his prior talk with Fingon (not to mention his personal misgivings) had prompted many questions clamoring to be answered. His best opportunity, he knew, would be a seeming "chance encounter" with the Elven lord while Hotspur was occupied as usual in the sparring grounds.
So when he saw such a chance, he seized it, steeling both his nerves and his resolve.
"My lord, may I have a word with you?"
Maedhros paused mid-step, and it seemed to Hal that a smile flirted with the corner of his lips. "That you may. Fingon advised me to expect this of you eventually – Prince Harry Monmouth."
"A prince only in my own country," Hal deflected, unsurprised. "Here I am a stranger, surrounded by many princes far nobler than myself."
That ghost of a smile turned cynical. "Greater power does not always equate to greater nobility. You speak generously for one whose knowledge of us is limited."
"I know your brothers have upset your relations with the kingdom of Doriath." It was a statement rather than a question, and Maedhros nodded slowly in reply.
"And with Nargothrond, as well. There was never much hope of Doriath joining the Union, as their King has ever remained aloof toward our doings. Yet I had counted on the support of our kin in Nargothrond, and there, I fear, lies the greater harm." He sighed now, sounding weary and resigned. "But I must leave this. What's done cannot be undone, and I suppose things without all remedy should be without regard."
The Elven lord raised one coppery eyebrow at his guest. "You are more clever than the eye would have one believe, young Prince."
Hal bowed his head to mask a smile. "I am simply fond of observation, my lord, and I observe that your brethren cause you grief."
"I admit some of them can be…." Maedhros paused, searching for the appropriate word. "A trial."
"Yet you still trust their loyalty?"
"I trust in their obedience, as long as I am competent to command them." The Elf gave a wry smile. "My siblings despise weakness in others; unless, of course, it is something they can exploit to their own advantage – which they often do, and with great skill. They respond to strength, far more so than to sentiment or even logic."
"Then they approve of this bold strategy you employ."
"They do." Bright eyes glittered suddenly. "You think it too bold?"
Hal fidgeted a moment, unsettled by the intensity of that gaze. But honesty had brought him this far, and he would not deviate from it now. "To speak plainly, my lord – yes. With so puissant an Enemy as you claim, why go to him and offer yourselves as targets easy for slaughter? Are you not better defended within the shelter of your own lands?"
"I cannot deny it is a dangerous undertaking, and much blood will be shed upon all sides," admitted Maedhros. "But if we do not challenge him in a time and place of our choosing, then the same battle will be fought before the doors of our homes, at an hour that finds us less prepared." He shook his fiery head.
"Fingon's father knew all this, and he urged us years ago to such action as we take now. But most of us, my foolish self included, would not hear of it; for we shunned the cost of lives that must be lost, whether in victory or defeat. Had we – had I – given heed to the warning and been less complacent, a great many Elves and Men would be alive this day. Including my worthy uncle."
"Or he might be dead all the same," Hal interjected, "fallen in the very battle he urged rather than one that came at unawares."
"Who can say?" was the grim response.
Now came the time for true boldness and for words handled as delicately as an adder. "In regards to your uncle…I know only the precious little which Fingon divulged to me. So now, as one Prince to another, I must ask: why did you give him the crown that was rightfully yours?"
He braced himself for a verbal onslaught, an avalanche of passioned defense – but Maedhros only shrugged.
"Some things are more important than a crown: such as unity against a common Enemy."
"But what about stability for your people?" Hal pressed. "Did your decision not result in division and civil strife?"
"My decision healed the strife among our people, and there is nothing of division in my heart now. I am the overlord of Eastern Beleriand, and as Fingon is my King, so he is the King of all who follow me. Any who oppose that shall answer to me long before word reaches my cousin."
There, at last, was the conviction and fervor Hal had expected! It sent a shiver up his spine and affirmed the truth behind Maedhros' words. Only one thing remained now to be said. "Of all the Elven kingdoms I have heard named, only Hithlum is vowed to march with you. Does the Lord of Himring feel no fear at all?"
The Elf's silvery eyes lost their focus, but the lines of his mouth hardened. "In truth, I have almost forgot the taste of fears…for I have supped full with horrors. I have no apprehension for myself in this endeavor, only for those dependent upon my leadership, should the battle go ill."
And Hal, remembering Hotspur's comments after their first meeting with Maedhros, whispered, "You have been to the fires of hell. Is it not so?"
"As near as the living may come, aye."
Then he would say no more.
End Note: While pondering themes for this fic, I was struck by the similarities between Maedhros and Macbeth as both characters reach the end of their respective stories. I feel one line from Macbeth sums it up perfectly, but it's still too early in the tragedy of Maedhros' life to let him quote it: "I am in blood stepped in so far that, should I wade no more, returning were as tedious as go o'er."
