Category: Tolkien-Universe
Rating: M
Couples: -
Warnings: AU, blood, mentions of torture, character death, Loss of bodily autonomy (no Non-con)
Chapter: 34
Copyright: Characters & places © By Tolkien Estate, Plot & OC´s © by me
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Finrod finished his speech with a flourish, befitting the image he had desperately tried to cultivate these last six years. He withdrew from the podium, back to the throne set up for him. Fingon took his place, starting his own speech.
It was the anniversary of the Fall of Angband, and there was a festival to celebrate. This year it was a large gathering on Ard-galen, in eyesight of the rubble of Angband's ruins.
He clutched the chair, decorated with his father's symbols rather than his own. He still clung to the title of 'Regent', for all that it was becoming increasingly likely that he'd have to claim the title 'King' at the rate things were going.
It had been six years since the rescue-mission had left and there had been no word, no indication. The only sliver of hope left at this point was that none of them had died. But whether that meant they were still searching, were finally returning or had fallen to Gorthaur as well...? A question no one could answer.
Fingon joined him, in a similar boat, and style throne. Both of them kept themselves as Regents in their fathers' steads, just keeping the thrones until the two sons of Indis returned, but...
Down below, the tourney started.
"Nothing, I guess...?" Fingolfin's eldest whispered lowly, eyes firmly on the Lord of his brother that was facing off against some Marchwarden of Thingol's, who was seated on an elevation across from them.
"Nothing." Finarfin's eldest confirmed. Almost every bit of correspondence between them also involved the question of whether there had been news, aimed towards him more than his cousin, on account of his seat in the land of the Valar who were more likely to know anything of note.
He didn't even need to ask, if Fingon felt the need to do so.
His father had been lost for over ten years, at this point. How long would it still take? And how long would his father's recovery-time be? Many thralls still suffered from aftereffects decades after their escapes - depending on how long and bad their captivity had been. His father had had to deal with two years in Angband, suffering through things he had never even alluded to, and Argon only reluctantly spoke of, and now years of... of... He did not want to consider exactly what his father was being subjected to now.
How much was Gorthaur venting on his father?
It was during the lunchbreak, that someone slid up to them. The House of Finu, such as was present, was seated to one side, talking softly.
"A moment." Ëonwë had manifested somewhere outside the festival-grounds, and had clearly walked over to them, if the wide corridor behind him was any indication.
"Of course." They scrambled from their seats, praying that he would have some news. Any news.
"It has been reported that they have found them." Manwë's herald informed them softly, Arien's light reflecting from his armor. "I'd say less than a day ago. Lady Vairë did not even finish weaving the tapestry before sending word."
"Only now?" Fingolfin's wife whispered where she stood tucked against her law-sister's side. "It's been years since they left Beleriand."
"Yes. Details are sparse, but yes." The Maia answered in like kind.
"So they'll return soon?" Artanis was clutching his hand, and Finrod could not care about the tight grip.
"I cannot say, but hopefully." He offered them a look they could not quite parse. "My Lord Manwë has ordered me to make regular trips to Lady Vairë's halls, for updates. As my duties allow, I shall certainly keep thee informed."
"Thank you." Finally hope, finally some chance that this would not become the greatest tragedy since their grandfather's death. He crushed his sister's hand with almost more force than she his.