Hush

Angband AU.  Angrod knew the Dagor Bragollach was coming.  How could he not?  But still, he did nothing.  Quenya names used (Angrod = Angaráto, Aegnor = Aikanáro and Edhellos = Eldalótë).  Connected up with the stories "Defiant", "Powder", "Parade" and "Impulse" as well as "Older".  I guess I've never really thought about Dagor Bragollach because it's pretty well "written" in the actual Silmarillion, but I think it would be interesting to explore at least a little bit.  Takes place in Dorthonion just before Dagor Bragollach.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Silmarillion

Pairings: Aegnor x Andreth, Angrod x Edhellos

Characters: Angrod, Aegnor (mentions Edhellos, Andreth, Finarfin, other Finwions and Morgoth)

Warning: canon-compliant (for now), mentions war, forbidden romance

Song: Romance

Words: 991
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hush (noun): a silence or calm especially following noise; quiet
http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/hush

It settled over the land, a disquieting stillness.  The land stretching across the north and south seemed to hold its breath.  The birds ceased their twittering and the wind seemed frozen.  And the people felt nervous and uncertain, their eyes tracing the darkening skies, waiting for something to break over their upturned faces.

Smoke rose from the mountains to the north, acrid and black.

It set Angaráto's teeth on edge.

Any experienced warrior could feel the change of atmosphere, the heavy tension sinking down into his bones and settling into fidgety discomfort and agitation.

After so many years of wary peace, that feeling was crawling back up his spine.  And the prince did not like it.  Much as he desired to destroy the Black Enemy, he more so desired the long, watchful peace that was cracking and shifting.  That shield would not hold for much longer.

"You can feel it, too, can you not, brother?"

Aikanáro stood beside him, gold-spun hair fluttering about his stone-carved features.  Out of anyone who desired to hold war at bay, it was his brother, though the youngest son of Arafinwë was a warrior of great reputation and renown.

Most only knew him upon the battlefield.  From afar, he seemed a resplendent flame all his own, and enemies floundered and cowered before his oncoming charge with terror.  Fell Fire, their mother had named his younger brother, and it was as prophetic as any name christening his cousins.  The filth of Angband may as well have burned to ash just by brushing against that spirit for all the fury and power coiled within its confines.

But the people knew him naught elsewise.  Knew not the frightening man clawing at this stillness, trying desperately to hold down the diaphanous veil and keep panic from spreading.  Keep knowledge of coming violence and death from disrupting the lives of their people.

And Angaráto understood.  Truly, he did.  His brother loved like he fought, with all his heart and spirit and determination.

And he wanted to protect Andreth in their last days of companionship.  Old and white was she, her bent, willowy body slowly falling to pieces.  It would not be long now--she would pass beyond the edges of the world, and Aikanáro would throw himself back into the war, would rend their foes apart with newfound passion and determination to erase the pain of losing his One.

Angaráto could not claim to understand fully, but sundering from one's love was already taxing enough.  The hope that he would one day again behold his beloved Eldalótë's face kept him from giving in, from falling in the field of battle or to the following days of depression, but also kept at bay his innate recklessness. 

His brother would have none of that.  Nothing to hope for.  Nothing to wait for.  Nothing to return to.

And nothing to lose.

That, more than anything, made the hush in Angaráto's bones ache.  If only there were words to speak.  If only he knew what to say.

But what was there to say?  These were the last days his younger brother would ever have with his One--the only woman of whom he would ever fully and completely give all his being into the keeping--and that they might be shattered too early by the cruel design of the enemy only made worse that thicker-than-butter tension settled as a blanket over his dominion.

He should have broken the peace.  Should have alerted the High King.  Should have his warriors at full attention, training their days away in preparation.  But they would not rise to the occasion without the call of their prince.  And their allies would not stir with own armies without word.

And Angaráto was confined to silence.  Beside him, his brother waited, eyes watching...

"Yes," he whispered in response. "I can feel it."

They did not look at one another.  That would have required further speaking--further knowledge of understanding.

That would have required that they break the silence.

Instead, he grasped his brother's elbow, squeezing in what he hoped was a reassuring manner, and turned away from the open skies and the valley of their kingdom stretching beyond sight into the distance, towards that smoke tainting the horizon.  Towards the harbinger of chaos and death.

And even as he walked away, Angaráto could not help but feel that something terrible was about to happen.  Deep, deep down in the very core of his being, it itched and writhed and twisted until his fingers clenched into fists and trembled with the tense cords of muscle.  He could feel it in the hush, that quiet that laid itself over the land, that slipped its fingers over every man's lips and dragged cold fingers down every warrior's spine.

He could not help but think that, when the shield of feigned peace broke and released the floodgate of war, he would lose all that was dear to his heart in the resulting destruction.  He would lose his brother and his kingdom and his people.  Maybe even his pride and hope.

Angband was stirring once again. 

But, even so, he would not call an end to the peace.  Not yet.

If he did, Aikanáro would never forgive him.

It should not have mattered.  It should not have played motive in the decisions of the prince.  It should not have been allowed to jeopardize the safety of his people.  But Angaráto understood--at least a little--and had their places been exchanged, he did not know that he would have been able to forgive his brother either.  Not when days were numbered and the end was neigh.

Not when these last days were the only days Aikanáro would ever have to remember.  The only days he would ever have to cling to when the hush was overrun with cacophony and the land was laced with fire and ash.
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Good Lord!  This would have been posted like an hour ago, but I was attacked by a small five-year-old child.  In case you couldn't tell from context, children are not my thing.  Luckily, she was a talkative brat.

Anyway, now I am back.  I did not plan out the thing with Angrod hiding stuff from his allies.  In fact, I may have to check later to make sure its canon-compliant, but at this point I'm more concerned with getting this written without the interference of one of my irritatingly nosy family members than with canon compliance.  And then I have to run away from this tag-along child. *sigh*

The song for this one is Romance by Apocalyptica, another one of my favorites by them.  I blame this song for the romantic aspect of this story that was not originally supposed to be present.  I wasn't even planning on mentioning Aegnor and Andreth originally, but they just sort of squirmed their way in there and gave hush a double-meaning.  So yeah, I blame this song.  Even though it's still gorgeous and lovely (and thou shouldst listen to it :3).