Hador - Fingolfin Verse: A Rain of Wine

[sauronnaise]

This is the Hador & Fingolfin verse I've been rambling about for two years now in a private Discord server, but never wrote anything until now. I have a general-ish idea of where things are going but not enough to start from beginning to end. So, I'm starting with bits I know I have something to tell. I want this story to be inspired by the show Vikings. Something gritty with blood, conquest, conflicts, and spirituality. With less gratuitous sex scenes than the later seasons of Vikings. There's still going to be some woo'ing because this fic is self-indulgence. Oh yeah, and Fingon's straight and kind of a jerk. Fingolfin has a broomstick up his bum. Hador is prone to anger and violence. Lalwen wants to symbolically express her freedom by woo'ing Hador (who's not interested in siring a half-Elf, thank you very much. Elvish magic as a contraceptive mean doesn't work whenever a man or woman (human) is in the portrait). It's going so well, yahoo! They eventually learn to be friends to fight their enemies together (spoiler alert: it's not Melkor, this time). Not to worry: humour is on the menu. I remain the author, after all.

As for now, what to keep in mind is that in this verse, Elves are no stronger than Men. Men are stronger, faster, and more resilient than Elves. They are close to Dwarves in this respect (who are respected among Men for their strength and sturdiness). Noldorin exiles believe Men are weak because they fall sick easily, are often injured, don't have their endurance, and have to sleep too often (Men stay awake for 16h and sleep for 8; Elves stay awake for 72h and sleep 24h.). What Exiles don't know is that what is fatal to an Elf is simple fever to a Man. Since I'd like to believe I'm super smort and can write super serious stories TM, I want those perspectives between Fingolfin and Hador to clash. The story is mainly told from Hador's POV. Noldor aren't those advanced and civilised folks in this story. They very much are annoying bugs that won't leave despite their oblivious struggles due to their difficulty in adapting to a new world where Men, especially the House of Hador, expand their settlements and sovereignty across Beleriand.

Idal's not in the story under the cut, but she's an OC and she's the absolute best. Lagertha 2.0 who looks like Pernille Blume. Hador is Ragnar-adjacent and he looks like long-haired Ben Dahlhaus.

If there was one thing Hador detested, it was to be confined inside.

He knew winters in Hithlum were longer than winters in Estolad but warmer. What he had expected was an alternation of snow and sunny days. Not endless rain and a warm breeze from the mountains that suddenly raised the temperature for a week or two before going back to temperatures near the freezing point. If the constant greyness was not unusual due to Hithlum’s proximity to the sea, the absence of snow was. Or so he was told by both Sindarin servants and Noldorin exiles. A snowless winter was unheard of, save for this year.

Rain or not, he could not leave his traplines unattended. When he had come back from his expedition, Fingolfin threw a fit. He had no tolerance for mud and wet leather. He had ordered Hador to bathe himself immediately, then had forbidden Hador from hunting or fishing during rainy days. The Man thought this decision was ridiculous. First, he liked tracking and hunting his food; second, rain and mud were part of life. He knew how to clean himself. It was clear that he needed to walk up to the bathroom before he could remove all dirt from his clothes and body. He had suggested to leave his boots at the entrance gate to fetch them later. Fingolfin would not listen to reason.

When Hador had suggested cleaning himself in the river near the castle before crossing any door, Fingolfin had clutched at his pendant, gasping. Surely Hador wouldn’t be stark naked in front of everyone, would he?

Constant rain was a nuisance; Fingolfin was worse.

Locked in Lalwen’s study, Hador had no choice but to work on his Quenya skills. That was the whole purpose of his stay at Hithlum, after all.

Lalwen put a cup next to Hador on the table and sat in front of him. Hador murmured his thanks, briefly inspected the cup, and gulped its content. He was thirsty. To his disappointment, the taste was not remarkable.

“What are you doing?!” hissed Lalwen. She snatched the cup from his hands.

Hador grimaced. “What was that? Fermented juice?”

“Are you out of your mind?!” Lalwen roared. “That was wine, you oblivious- urgh!”

She grabbed the pitcher of water that rested in the tray in front of her and poured water into Hador’s cup.

“You shouldn’t have drunk your cup this quickly,” she reprimanded him. “You’ll be drunk in no time.”

“Drunk?” Hador raised an eyebrow. “Drunk from what? That was juice. Not the best juice I’ve had in my life, but juice nevertheless.”

Irritated, Lalwen slapped the table with the tip of her fingers. “Don’t mock me. It was wine. It was meant to be consumed slowly. What a lack of manners.”

Hador stared at her, incredulous. Then, he scoffed: “If that’s wine, then I am Araw. Even ale would be stronger than your juice.”

“Ale would be stronger than whose juice?” Fingolfin said as he entered the room unannounced.

Lalwen jumped and complained that he should make his presence known before scaring others. Hador had felt his heat when the Noldo walked up to him—why did these darn Elves emit so much heat? It was uncomfortable—and opted to ignore him.

“Well?” insisted Fingolfin.

“My juice,” replied Lalwen.

If Fingolfin could make Hador choke on his water in this instant, he would.

“He says it’s juice. He’s wrong: that’s wine,” Lalwen added.

Fingolfin blinked. “You truly don’t taste alcohol?”

“Nah,” said Hador. “This is weak.” He grumbled: “That explains why some people asked me questions about Mannish booze the other day.” He glanced at his cup and scorned. Real Mannish liquor would be the most welcome to cope with the terrible weather.

“If what you advance is true,” said Lalwen carefully, “then you will not feel drunk in an hour or so. Still. Let’s study before you drink anything else tonight.”

Hador shrugged. He preferred water over that fermented silly liquid.

Curious, Fingolfin drew a chair and watched him intently. Hador took his quill to scribble obscenities in Quenya in his notebook. Fingolfin disapproved.

An hour passed. The wine was savoured. Rain poured its torrents against the windows. Fingolfin served Lalwen a second glass. Hador noticed his cheeks and neck were pink; Lalwen’s ear tips were bright red.

Fingolfin relaxed, leaned against his chair back, and engaged in conversation with his sister. Lalwen, finally disinterested in Hador, turned her attention to her brother. Hador noted down the words they said that he recognised. The atmosphere wasn’t as tense and stiff. The Man knew to thank Elves’ lack of alcohol tolerance. He also knew not to hope to make the moment last longer than its short span of life. The next day, things would return to what they were destined to be. Lalwen would circle him like a hawk, albeit a cautious one; Fingolfin would be as equally difficult as he was distant.

None of that truly mattered to Hador. In the end, Noldor were famished exiles in foreign lands, angry for territory and power they could not possess.

He put his sheets away in his binder and his quill and ink in his case, and got up.

“Alright,” he said, “I must go. Goodnight.”

Fingolfin raised his head to look at Hador. This last one realised how small the Highking appeared from this angle. When standing, both were yet approximately the same height.

“Going to bed?”

The left corner of Hador’s lips twitched in a wry smile. “Yes. I need to sleep every night, remember?”

He bowed his head as a sign of respect to Lalwen and exited the room.

Wind howled and rain fell harder against the windows. Staring at the distance, Fingolfin mused that he could never understand Men.

^ Crossposted from tolkienshortfanworks

Comments

[hhimring]

I haven't watched Vikings, but I have seen some clips, so I get the idea!

[sauronnaise]

If you know about The Last Kingdom, you get the idea as well (I haven't watched this one. It's on my list. I know about it because of Eivør's music :D). As for the expansion of the people of Marach part, inspiration will be drawn from (Proto) Indo-European migration and Yamnaya horizon. Steppe, horses and bonfires will be on the menu (that will also be on the menu of the Vedic fic that I want to write but will obviously take forever to start. So far, I'm reading the Rig Veda. And taking forever to do so. I wish there were retellings in novel forms and shows like there are for Puranic Hinduism. There's a beginning to everything?).

I need to figure out how to write action scenes. I'm better at writing either nonsense or infodumping my random worldbuilding like I'm an amateur archaeologist.

[petite_dilly]

I like the serious tone.

"Fingolfin has a broomstick up his bum."
Canon...

[sauronnaise]

Merci! Je dois apprendre comment écrire des scènes d'action et des scènes de combat. Pas particulièrement ma force (c'est dommage parce que j'ai tout plein d'idées dans ma tête, et ça bouge).

XD Mais mon Fingolfin, au départ, il est désagréable. Il a besoin de se relaxer et de se laisser aller, un peu.