Disclaimer: Tolkien owns all except my OFC, the scene and my personal head-canon Fingon personality.
Pairings: Fingon x Sáriel (OFC), not a romantic piece
Characters: Fingon, Sáriel, Gil-Galad (mentions of Eru (Ilúvatar), Morgoth, Thingol, Maedhros and Arien (maia who guides the vessel of the sun))
Warnings: canon-compliant AU (possibly), possible OOC, OFC, allusions to death, war and sex, unhealthy alcohol consumption and intoxication, sort of precognition
Song: Lacrimosa
Words: 1,064
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alcohol (noun): ethanol especially when considered as the intoxicating agent in fermented and distilled liquors
http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/alcohol
Always, Findekáno had been a happy drunk, ever since he had been old enough to partake in wine at royal gatherings and parties. Intoxication had never turned him into a maudlin creature bemoaning his woes to the world. No, it made him into a giggling, smiling flirt who spent the evening complimenting ladies and singing dirty tunes.
This was different, though.
Never had he made such a hard decision--such a terrifying decision--as he had made this day.
The king closed his eyes and forced down another goblet of the finest wine, waiting for the familiar rush, the dizzy haze to settle over his mind and sweep away the last few hours. He just wanted to forget, just for a while, for a night, and not remember...
Not remember the frightened, betrayed silver eyes or the feeling of small fingers holding onto his braided tresses for dear life. Not remember the whimpering and crying and pleading. Not remember the chill that had run down his spine so tellingly when he spoke, "I will come back for you," and both of them knew it was a lie.
Slowly, Findekáno lowered his forehead to the smooth, cold tabletop, not caring that his goblet had toppled over in his haste to put it down, nor that the rich red wine was spreading across the hard surface, dripping onto the white carpet and leaving splotches that looked too much like blood. His head was pounding, but the familiar lightness was not settling into his bones. His fingers tightly gripped the edge of the table until his knuckles went white.
Some sound made it past his lips, strangled, and the king refused to analyze it, afraid of what he would find. Ai Eru! Just to forget!
"Fingon? Fingon, where are you?"
Her voice was close, and he did not even attempt to move as her soft footsteps brushed the carpet just outside the door. His wife knocked softly. "Fingon, are you in there?"
At the sound of her words, he shuddered and felt tears pool in his eyes. When he had told her of his decision, she had wept for three nights. It didn't matter that Ereinion would be safe at the Havens. It didn't matter that they were so close to the front of war and he wanted their son as far away as possible. To her, he had been taking her pride and joy away, her only child, her beloved son.
Did she hate him? She ought to, really.
It just felt like too much. Too much pain and worry swirling around inside him until he felt sick with it. The day of battle approached all too rapidly. If they failed, his people would be slaughtered and only Thingol would stand between Morgoth and all of Beleriand. What would happen to Sáriel? What would happen to Ereinion? Or his cousins? Was he going to have to watch the rest of them die? Would he have to watch Maitimo die?
So caught up was he that he neither heard the door opening, nor the approach of small, slipper-clad feet on the carpet. It was not until his wife sat down beside him and ran a gentle hand through his unbound hair that he sat up, startled, hiccupping out another sob.
Her eyes were a gentle, deep violet, and not angry or filled with hate. "Oh, dear one," she crooned, pulling his head down to rest against her shoulder. "You should have said something, Fingon."
And just like that, he was spilling everything. Every doubt, every fear, every ounce of resentment and bitterness that welled in the pits of his soul, all of it came spilling out between wretched sobs, muffled by the velvet of her gown. And his wife's cool hands felt so wonderful on the back of his neck or combing through his hair, soothing and comforting.
She let him speak, and he revealed all.
---
It could have been minutes or hours later when the tears had drained away, and he lay against her limply, her red curls shielding them from the outside world. Deeply, he breathed in her scent of wildflowers and the deep forest. "Did I make the right choice?" he asked softly. "Do you hate me, Sáriel?"
Her hands curled into small fists in his hair, but did not pull or twist. "You made the right choice," she told him, her voice strained. "Ereinion will be safe in the Havens."
And then she let out a sigh, her grip loosening. "I could not hate you even if I tried," she added. "I resent that you made the decision without telling me, without consulting me, but I would eventually have agreed."
Findekáno let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding and allowed himself to snuggle further into her embrace. He felt raw and a little ill, but the comfort she offered was more than enough to soothe his body and spirit. "I am glad," he whispered, closing his eyes and nuzzling against her neck. "I fear I will not see him again, but knowing that he will be safe gives me comfort."
"Fingon?"
"It is a feeling in my bones. I feel like something terrible is going to happen." The king wrapped his arms tightly around his wife, pressing her against him, tangible and real. "I saw the look in his eyes when we parted. Ereinion can feel it, too."
Sáriel embraced him in return, resting her cheek on his hair. "All will be well," she whispered. "Have faith, dear one."
Had he been sober, Findekáno might have attempted a smile and agreed, might have complimented her and lured her into their bed for a night of passion, but he was a wreck. "The Valar have abandoned us," he whispered instead, breath hitching in his chest. "Tears unnumbered ye shall shed..."
"All will be well..." she crooned, stroking his back and shoulders, rocking his body like a child's in the circle of her arms. "Everything will be well..."
But it wouldn't. He knew it in his blood and bones. He knew it in his heart and soul. He knew it as he knew Arien would light the sky each day and sink into the West each night.
From this battle, he would not be returning home.
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Turned out to not really be about alcohol at all, but the wine was the catalyst, so I guess I can live with it.
Picture that inspired at least part of this scene (and where I got the "I will come back for you" line which belongs not to me LOL): "I will come back for you" by ~kittykatkanie on dA, the founder of our wonderful Noldorin icon family (and my lovely oldest brother). She has an awesome gallery, just saying.
Anyway, I've always wondered how Fingon felt about the whole sending Gil-Galad away thing. I don't think he would have done it unless he had no other choice. I've always imagined him to be one of those really awesome family sort of guys who loves children and really isn't as staunchy and stuck up as you'd expect a king to be (actually, that's more how I imagine Turgon *cough*).
In any case, the music is Lacrimosa by Media Music Factory and from The Freak Inside. I've actually loved this song since I first heard it over Thanksgiving Break last year, so it's not a new find. I guess you could say I just found it again. And what song is more appropriate to be played to tears.
Sorry if you hate the OFC, but it takes two to do the tango; Gil had to come from someone's womb.
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