Chapter Text
Curufin’s device did not, in fact, send them home.
Fingon thought for a moment that perhaps it had, and that he’d just had the simple shitty luck to land in the Fen of Serech. Badly. Off balance in slippery mud, and he went over backwards into a mire of questionable water, pond weeds, and slimy mud.
It took him a few minutes to get himself unstuck, upright and to squelch his way to a hummock of much more solid ground. By that point he had figured out that he was not in the Fens, simply because the land was wrong.
The Fen of Serech lay at the meeting of the Eithel Sirion and Rivil rivers, where they met to form the Sirion and run south between the Ered Wethrin mountains and the mountains to the east, which rose to form the Ered Gorgoroth. Wherever he was now, he did see mountains far off to the west, but none to the east. The flat marshlands were too broad, as well.
He didn’t see anyone else about. Sighing through his nose as he attempted to wring muddy water out of his braids, he opened his mind and reached along his marriage bond.
FINNO? Maedhros sounded relieved. Fingon could half-sense the flicker of his husband carrying on other osanwe conversations at the same time. You’re all right!
Fingon moodily eyed one of the long braids of his hair. The gold chains he had braided into it were dulled under a coating of muck. He picked out some duckweed with distaste. I’m throttling Curufin when I see him. He told Maedhros. Where are you?
He insisted that it wasn’t his fault, and now isn’t answering me. Maedhros sent an impression of rocky hills, chilly wind, and dry sere grasslands below the mountain peaks. Where are you?
Fingon sent a mental image of the lay of the land and of the sensation of chilly, mucky water soaking his boots. That got him a wave of sympathy, which was gratifying.
Fingon? That was Finrod, who like Galadriel was unreasonably good at Osanwe. Oh good. you’re alive. Where…
Fingon sent the same mental impression of the swamp, and received the mental equivalent of a flinch. That brings back rather unpleasant memories.
The Fen?
The Fen. Finrod somehow managed to mentally pronounce the word with loathing absolutely dripping from it. Barahir had to drag me out of mud to my thighs as my guard kept the bloody orcs off us. Anyway. There was a curious sort of splitting sensation that meant he was broadcasting the next bit to several people at once, which was something Fingon had never mastered. I’m fine. Curufin and Helca are with me. We’re in the countryside outside what looks like a city.
Fingon could feel the relief from Maedhros. The rest contacted me already. He sent, and Fingon was starting to wonder how it was so easy for them to converse via osanwe, though he had no idea how far apart they were. Moryo is in a jungle with your sister, Finrod. He’s complaining at me about the sweat right now, but I tuned him out. Maglor and his wife and daughter are in a coastal city somewhere, and he’s trying to get his hands on a map. Celegorm and Irisse are in a forest somewhere. The Ambarussa aren’t far from me, I think. The terrain looks similar. Mother is with Tyelpe somewhere called ‘Rivain’. They landed at the local matriarch’s house and she’s taken them in, so they’re safe. They’re also trying to find a map and some more information.
Fingon, eyeing the distant mountains, gritted his teeth, shouldered his bow, and started slogging through the swamp in the direction of the mountains. If nothing else, some uplands wouldn’t be so fucking soggy.
Even skirting around the lower, muddier areas, he sank to his ankles in mud about every thirty seconds. The mud was cold, and sucked at his feet with every step, and his calves were going to be killing him by the end of the day.
Finrod’s mental voice sounded slightly strained. Curufin says that he’ll speak with you when he has a moment, Maedhros, and to stop shouting at him. He’s….rather busy.
With what? Maedhros demanded, annoyed.
Why are you telling ME? Fingon asked, as he attempted to find a decent place to ford a small stream.
Well. Finrod said. Ah.
The next mental voice hit like a hammer blow, and was broadcast at large to anyone and everyone with a strength that exactly one elf had ever managed. WHAT IN THE NAME OF THE VALAR IS GOING ON? WHERE ARE THE REST OF MY SONS?
The shock and confusion were so great that Fingon lost his balance as he made his way up the bank of the stream, and he splashed down into the water.
Feanor? He thought, wildly, as he scrambled back to his feet. His marriage bond with Maedhros was still wide open, and even when Maedhros wasn’t actively speaking to him over osanwe he could feel the absolute blindsided shock from his husband.
Yes. Finrod sounded even more strained. Curufin and Helca and I aren’t the only three here.
HE IS SUPPOSED TO BE IN MANDOS. Fingon shouted, mentally, as he got a handhold on the root of a stunted willow and dragged himself up over the steep bank of the stream.
I suppose you’d prefer that, Findekano. Feanor’s mental voice was as warm as Feanor had ever been towards Fingon. Namely, something best compared to the northern winds on the Helcaraxe.
That’s High King to you, Feanaro. Fingon snapped back, icily, because he was not having a good day and if Namo had chosen NOW to let Feanor out of Mandos he was going to fight Namo himself once they found their way home.
Sure enough, that got a wave of fury, and an answering one from Maedhros, though it wasn’t directed at Fingon. Fingon got the impression that Maedhros was yelling back at his father, for all he was doing it directly rather than broadcasting it to everyone.
Yes. Finrod sounded tired. I don’t know what’s going on either. Curufin and him are screaming at each other right now. He is very much alive, and here. And standing in front of me. Somehow.
Better you than me. Fingon told him.
FINNO? His sister.
Irisse?
Was that fucking FEANOR? Tyelko is losing his MIND.
It was. Valar help us all. You’re all right?
A sense of dismissal. We’re in a forest. We’ll be fine. We’ll find you once we figure out where we are and where you are. So much for Curufin’s genius.
Russo says he’s claiming it’s not his fault.
Of course he is. Why is FEANOR here?
Fingon shrugged mentally, and skirted around a mucky pond. Frogs eyed him warily. He eyed them back. He’d already been hungry, and if he didn’t find anything better in the next few hours he was not above making a dinner out of frog legs.
Well. Irisse said after a moment. This conversation is going to be fun.
What con…
Irisse’s next mental shout was split.
LAW FATHER, WELCOME BACK! She yelled, with the glee of someone who was not within miles of Feanor and who couldn’t be shouted at in person. GOOD TO HEAR NAMO LET YOU OUT! YOU’RE GOING TO BE A GRANDFATHER AGAIN!
There was a moment of mental silence. Fingon only barely managed to slam everything but his marriage bond closed. Even so, he felt the mental shout from Feanor drum against his shields.
A moment later he had to shut that too, because Maedhros was shouting and too worked up to not let it leak across, and Fingon had to concentrate on spotting quicksand and avoiding it.
He was actually going to throttle Curufin, and probably Namo as well.