6. A Letter to Fingon (R-rated, slash)
Day 17 SWG Back to Middle-earth Month entry. The prompt: A stereotype is a generalization, usually exaggerated or oversimplified . . . . Write a story… where characters break stereotypes.
Summary: Maedhros writes a letter to Fingon questioning his strategy behind his attack on the dragon Glaurung. (I hope that the format is legible. I would have written it in Quenya (yeah, right!) and used Tengwar, but then no one would have been able to read it.) Many thanks to IgnobleBard for Beta reading this ficlet.
My dearest Káno, Dear Findekáno,
I am writing to
demand ask you to explain yourself relating to the latest rumors reports I have received about your recent engagement with a fire-drake. Given that I have heard nothing but great praise of you and uncritical rejoicing over your victory, I am trying not to be angry and yet still struggling to quell the horror that swept over me when I considered how apparently lightly that you once again took it upon yourself such to face such a the threat to your continued existence. What is wrong with you? How did you think I cannot but wonder how you might have assured yourself that you would be able to stand up to this monstrous, fire-breathing beast unfamiliar menace with so few to support you and without even talking to consultation . You fool, are you suicidal or what?
I'd really like to hear how you think you could possibly Perhaps you would write and explain that to me. Better than writing, you should come here. No doubt you will tell me that the proof of the pudding is in the eating and that the outcome justifies that you nearly killed yourself is sufficient verification of your wisdom to cause me to put my fears to rest. You have always been a reckless idiot The line between valor and recklessness is often thin indeed and, in your case, more likely than not all but non-existent. You could have killed yourself. You owe me a great deal for what I suffered when I heard of your recent feat and thought of the cost of defeat.
"Curses!" he said, thinking that scolding was the wrong strategy entirely. He wadded the expensive parchment into a ball and aimed it at the fireplace. The direct hit made Maedhros feel, temporarily at least, a lot better.
Come to me, Findekáno, I need to see you.
I will give you anything you want. Perhaps I will throw you a great feast. I could have minstrels sing of your glory, praise your magnificence, and laud you as Findekáno the Valiant, or more likely I will not, since that would only encourage Or, we could have dinner alone in my rooms and you could console me for my anxiety in whatever manner you feel would be most effective.
I love you beyond all sense or reason. I need to touch you, to hold you in my arms. I need
your hot and tender kisses you to convince me that you are safe and have come to no harm. I will control my tongue , or, if you will, use to it to far better purposes. If you are reading this in company, I would ask that you put it away for now and pick it up again later when you are alone in your bedchamber.
"Oh, blast it. This is ridiculous," he shouted aloud. "What's the point anyway? He will never change." He could not send either an angry missive or one that made him sound exactly like a desperate girl. Maedhros walked to the fire, tossed the second letter onto the flames and watched it burn with great relief.
Someone tapped lightly on the door. The face of Maedhros's most trusted manservant peeped around the corner, a barely suppressed smirk tugging at his mouth. "My lord, a horseman approaches. It appears from a distance that it may be the Lord of Dor-Lómin."
"Typical," he muttered under his breath. "Thank you. Was there anything else?"
"No, my lord."
"I'll come down."
Maedhros ran down two flights of stairs and then, before rounding a corner and tackling a third, he reconsidered and took a short hallway out onto the surrounding battlements. Stepping into the chilly sunlight, which illuminated the snow above him and brought out the color in the evergreen trees lower down, he saw a horse and rider thundering up the last approach to the fortress. The white and silver tack and armour and the blue-dyed plume on the helm fastened to the side of his saddle, would have unquestionably identified their visitor as none other than Fingon, even if his hair had not unfurled behind him like a black banner caught up by the wind. Flecks of gold glittered in the few small braids on each side of his head.
All of Maedhros's dread and fear left him as the constriction of his chest released in joy. Then he thought, with exasperation, 'Don't his horses even get tired?' But he already knew the answer to that question. Fingon chose his horses for a combination of stamina and spirit.
By the time Maedhros had tumbled down two more flights of stairs, the large doors to the enclosure had already been opened and Fingon clattered into the courtyard.
Fingon flung himself from his splendid steed with a flourish and catapulted himself at Maedhros. After crushing him to his chest, Maedhros pushed him away with both arms.
"You could have fucking killed yourself!" Maedhros shouted. He spotted a few quirks of insolent grins from the lords and their squires who stood about watching the scene unfold. As much as he tried to fight it, he could feel his anger melting and a smile overtaking him.
"No, no, no, Maitimo! Don't even think of starting that with me again," yelled Fingon, sounding just as impassioned as Maedhros had a moment before. "I knew exactly what I was doing. I planned it meticulously. I brought a large contingent of the best of my horse archers. The beast did not stand a chance. We sustained very few casualties and none of those life-threatening."
By then Maedhros was laughing. Fingon grabbed him and hugged him again, only pulling away for a moment to say, "I hate the way you always try to pigeonhole me as being rash and careless."
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.