A Second Chance by Grundy

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Chapter 1

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Amárië drew a deep, steadying breath.

There was no reason to be nervous.

It was perfectly normal to be summoned to an audience with a Vala. At least, for the Vanyar it had been, and probably still was. It had become somewhat unusual for the Noldor.

Her presence has been requested in Lorien.

She did not know why. There was no reason she could think of why she should be summoned to the Gardens of Healing. The only hurts she has suffered cannot be mended here.

She usually tried not to think of it.

She should never have let him go without her. He would have gone either way, she knew – Findarato had given Turukano his word, and her beloved would never break such a promise. He had asked her to go with him. Begged, even.

Her parents had forbidden it. They were not yet married, and it would have been most improper for an unwed nis to accompany him. Her pleas that if Artanis was not, Arafinwë surely chaperone enough had gone unheeded. Nor had they been allowed an unsupervised farewell – they might have seized the opportunity to marry and remove her parents’ standing to object.

They probably also meant to object to her marrying him should he ever return from the Halls. Not that she would know. She has not seen her parents in some years.

Not since they had tried to ‘comfort’ her on that horrible day when her heart had withered within her and she had known with terrifying certainty that he was dead. Slain ye shall be the Doomsman had promised them, and Finderato was no exception.

Nor was she – too many in the Blessed Land now knew what it meant to know those dearest to them not just gone but dead. Her reaction, she is told, was milder than some. She had merely fainted from the unexpected shock, her fëa trying somewhat belatedly to follow his.

But she had woken some hours later to find her parents blamed Finderato for his own death. Had he not defied the Valar, had he come to his senses and turned back after the carnage of Alqualondë, had he returned with his father – the list of things he hadn’t done that might have saved him was so long she hadn’t stayed to hear it all.

She had left her parents’ house that night, to go where she should have been the whole time – with the others who loved Finderato.

Eärwen and Arafinwë had taken her in. They called her ‘daughter’ as if she had done as she should have, as if she had married the man she loved when she had the chance. As if she had been braver.

If she had been braver, she would have gone with him…

Eärwen has done her best to absolve her, reminding her often that it would not have mattered if she had gone. He would still have died. She might even have died before him – they knew now that Turukano had lost Elenwë long before they had reached Beleriand.

It didn’t help.

It didn’t help either to learn that her beloved had died – and died horribly, for she has heard the details Arafinwë had done his best to spare both the would-be wife and mother of his eldest son – keeping his word.

The story had come to Aman with the granddaughter of the Man Finderato had given his life for – and with her husband, Turukano and Elenwë’s grandson.

Even a prince could do only so much to keep the whispers outside his walls.

She had heard them all by now. How her sweet Ingoldo had gone to his fate with only ten followers loyal enough to ignore the malicious whispers of his cousins. How he had fought a fallen maia, and died alone and broken in the dark.

She would have thought that nothing could cause her pain now that she knew him already dead, but she had been wrong. It still hurt.

Eärwen squeezed her shoulder, and Amárië looked up, grateful to her for bringing her back to the present.

“Courage, daughter,” murmured the Princess of the Noldor and the Lindar.

Amárië blushed, for Eärwen Olwiel has lost far more than she has – her children, her brothers, her cousins. Some had followed Fëanaro, others had been killed by him. But no matter her private pain, Eärwen had stood resolute during the Darkening and after, somehow reconciling with her husband while supporting both her peoples. All that and she still had the strength to reach out to the foolish girl who should have been her law-daughter.

It had been only natural for her to ask Eärwen and Arafinwë to come with her today. Her parents have no more to say to their rebellious, disobedient daughter than she has to say to them when they would have her break faith with the man she had given both her heart and her word.

“Good, you have arrived.”

It was no maia, but Lord Irmo himself who greeted them.

All three elves bowed.

“Amárië of the Vanyar, do you know why you have been called here?”

She could not manage speech with a mouth and throat gone so dry, so she shook her head. She was grateful for the support of Findarato’s parents on either side, Eärwen gripping her hand in reassurance while Arafinwë kept a protective arm around her shoulders.

“Though not married to Findarato Ingoldo, you were aware of his death. We have invited you to be here for his return to life.”

There are startled noises to either side of her, but the only sound that Amárië can process is the ones she was not sure she had heard correctly.

“Return to life?” she asked, her voice cracking.

The Vala did not repeat himself, only inclined his head in confirmation.

“He lives?” she whispered, not comprehending.

“Not yet, but very shortly he will. We judged that the three of you are the ones he would most wish to see.”

Irmo does not explain who ‘we’ is, but at the moment, Amárië did not much care if it meant the full Mahanaxar – he has said she might soon have Finderato back, and that was all that mattered.

The Lord of Lorien beckoned her forward.

She faltered for a moment, uncertain what she was meant to do. But Eärwen gave her a gentle, encouraging push, just enough to start her moving. She looked back, and found that Eärwen had sought the comfort of Arafinwë’s arms. His parents were not alone; they would have someone to wait with.

As Amárië might have, if Findarato was permitted to walk once more among the living.

She will not be a fool or a coward a second time.

She followed Irmo into a building she had not previously noticed. Though it faced Estë’s lake, Amárië could also tell from its position that it also stretched toward the Halls of Irmo’s brother.

Irmo led her down a hallway that felt as though it were miles long, until at last they reached a chamber which contained a low bed in the center of the room and little else.

She stifled a sob when she saw that Irmo had spoken literally when he said that Finderato did not live yet – his lifeless body lay on the bed, unnaturally pale and looking as though he had frozen to death, his lips tinged blue. Only a blanket preserved his modesty, for he wore no clothing that Amárië could see.

At least his body showed no signs of his violent death. Amárië did not think she would be able to bear such a reminder.

“Enter, please,” Irmo instructed.

She stepped hesitantly into the room, torn between wanting to touch Finderato, and fear that to touch his body might somehow do harm.

“I believe it would be helpful if you took his hand,” Irmo said.

It was odd, Amárië thought, that he should sound uncertain. Surely he had done this before?

But she was not one to argue with a Vala, particularly not a Vala who was about to restore what was most precious to her.

His hand was heavy, and not at all as she remembered it, cold and waxy where she had only ever known his touch soft and gentle.

“Artafinde Ingoldo,” Irmo said, in a voice that was deeper and more commanding than that which he had used with her. “It is time to waken.”

For a painfully long moment, nothing happened.

Amárië watched, breathless, as something flickered and seemed to settle onto the lifeless body. Then the hand she held began to warm, the skin softening and losing its unnatural feel beneath her fingers. Without thought, Amárië brought his hand to her lips.

She felt more than just warmth when she kissed his hand – she felt a pulse, she felt life.

“Finderato,” she whispered.

It felt like she was drawing breath properly for the first time in a hundred years as she saw the flutter of his eyes and the lift of his chest – and more than that, felt the reassuring warmth of his fëa. Her own heart felt whole again, if not precisely healed.

She was only vaguely aware of Irmo retreating from the room, leaving her to be the one Finderato would see when his eyes opened.

She nearly cried when they finally did, blinking first as his vision were blurry, then looking in surprise at their joined hands before focusing on her.

“Amárië… vanimelda…”

His voice was unsteady, gravelly, as though he had not spoken since they had said farewell.

She wasn’t sure if she was laughing or crying as she kissed his hand again – before he drew her to him for the kiss they had been denied when last they saw each other, a kiss intense with need and want and missing and relief.

“You are crying,” he said, prepared to be hurt on her behalf.

“Hush, my love,” she replied, laughing through the tears. “It is nothing. All is well now.”

I will make it so.

She will not be a fool again, and there will be a wedding just as soon as his parents think it decent.