Tending the Lady's Garden by Raiyana

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Chapter 3

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Chapter 3

The flower in her hair seemed to have been noticed, Findis thought, though none of her or ammë’s ladies had guessed at the sentiment behind the small bloom, several ladies suddenly wearing flowers of their own. None of them had been given helini, though, and Findis tucked away the warmth she felt at the thought that Alálamë kept those flowers for her alone.

When she found time by her easel, she added more flowers, surrounding Alálamë with a sea of happy bright colours and wished that she dared paint herself lying in the flower meadow with her, even if that should never be more than a distant dream fuelled by the sweet smiles Alálamë kept giving her when they met in the garden.

 

Her morning tray now sported more options, as though inviting her to join in with the rest of the ladies of the house, but Findis was quite content with her single golden helin – some of the ladies seemed to wish to outdo each other with the size of their decorations, but excessive finery had never been her style, preferring clean lines and simple designs accentuating her natural grace to the sometimes-gaudy displays of her Vanyarin cousins.

Alálamë continued to hide less than successfully near her windows in the morning, tending to tasks that even to Findis’ eyes did not need tending quite so often, and the thought that she showed up just to listen to her singing was heady with promise.

 

And then one morning she was nowhere to be seen, and the song died on Findis’ lips halfway through the second verse.

 

When she finally saw Alálamë through on of the windows, the quiet fear that she had fallen ill died unspoken. Instead, she is escorting some ner around the garden, looking at him with a loving smile on her face as she gestures to this plant and that.

Findis gasped, leaning hard against the windowsill as she watched them.

The ner was handsome, she thought, objectively, and the way he smiled back indicative of great fondness – love – for her Alálamë. No, not her Alálamë… his.

She had never before believed in the saying that a heart could be broken, but Findis could claim this pain to be nothing else, one hand pressing against her sternum as she stared out the window until the closely entwined couple had wandered out of sight.

 

In the morning, the flowers on her tray felt like a mockery, as theough their brightness had only ever been a ruse; a lie she told herself because she longed for something – anything – to combat the gloominess of her current existence.

Findis did not smash the vase, even though she felt a moment of temptation to watch.

She did not open her window, she did not sing, and she only rand her brush perfunctorily through her hair, making her way to Indis’ chambers without gazing out of even a single window.

Findis did not think she could stand living in this house if she did not have those small glimpses of Alálamë’s light to warm her.

And still she heard gossips speaking of Alálamë’s lover – Altorno, even their names matched! – heard talk that he had asked her to come away with him to Alqualondë.

She knew she did not want to watch her leave, watch her unspoken dreams perish in the arms of someone else.

Findis fled.

 

 

Calling upon Ingwë’s hospitality towards his kin, she took up residence in Vinyamar and tried to shake off the gloomy darkness of her ammë’s house with the joys to be found there, dancing with different partners at every ball and tried to banish her longing for green eyes and silver hair to Endorë or beyond.

Lasselanta’s drizzles did not lighten her mood, even as the younger elves of Ingwë’s house danced through the wetness, the many shades of golden hair only making her longing for silver-blonde sharper.

 

“You pretend at happiness here, Findis,” her uncle said, coming to a halt beside her where she stood, storing out at the sheets of falling water without seeing, wondering what Alalamë would be doing on such a day and trying not to imagine Altorno taking her place in the fantasy of how she’d be content to stay inside for once, to let Findis paint her in her rooms. “Not poorly,” he added, and Findis’ shoulders relaxed slightly, “I think I am the only one to see that your heart is far from the delights to be found beneath these roofs.”

“What would you have me do?” she whispered, her breath fogging the chilled pane of glass. “There is no peace to be found for this… wilful heart of mine.” She couldn’t not love Alálamë, after all.

Ingwë’s chuckle was warm, his hand on her shoulder steady as it had ever been, whenever she let herself give in to the comfort offered, the knowledge that she could be simply Findis, here, in safety, and not need worry about keeping up the appearance of the consummate Lady Findis.

“Sometimes,” he offered, drawing her into his side, protected like she was still a young nissë of four yéni, “you remind me so very much of your ammë.”

Findis stiffened. Was she, too, then, doomed to ammë’s fate, wasting away without care for the world around her?

Bristling, she turned her head, her angry tirade failing at the knowing look in his eyes, the fondness of his familiar smile.

“And yet you are stubborn like Finwë, fiery of spirit when riled, and your love cannot be hidden from view.” When she gasped, feeling unduly surprised by his knowledge, Ingwë’s smile widened. “You are in love, sweet Findis, practically glowing with it… and whoever holds your heart will never return such a gift, no matter how aware they are of receiving it.” He paused, eyeing her shrewdly “And I should bet all the gems your Atar bestowed upon me over the years that you have not spoken of this love in you.”

Findis shook her head slowly, closing her eyes. “She would not be for me, Uncle,” she whispered, the words stabbing knives into her bleeding heart, “Alálamë is… she is… I am the Princess, Uncle!” It came out like a cry of despair, the weight of her title never before seeming so heavy, even when it had been High Queen in all but name.

“Princess, yes,” he agreed, “but while you were always – because you were the first of your parents’ children, I fear, and had to be proof that their union would not create cursed offspring – held to such impossible standards…” He looked angry, and Findis felt a glimmer of hope she could not quite squash before it bloomed in her soul. “Did not your brother marry a brewer, did not Fëanáro marry a sculptor?” Ingwë sighed. “Long I have wondered if your heart was meant for one in Endorë, as your ammë has feared also, losing all of her children to those shores…”

“Ara came back,” Findis pointed out bleakly, but Ingwë dismissed her protest with a wave of his hand.

“So he did, and yet he did not, for he was not the same as the ner who left to follow his brothers…” Ingwë turned, those ancient eyes looking at her with all the love he held for her. “If you love this Alálamë, Findis, your path is clear.”

“No,” she whispered, her spirits plummeting once more, “for she loves another, Uncle, her heart is not free to seek mine.”

“Almost what your ammë once said,” he muttered, the warmth of his arm never leaving her, “but there is yet the possibility of joy for you, if your heart is set.” Sighing, he gestured out across the grounds that surrounded his home. “Uncommon, indeed, but there are those who live in… couples,” he said thoughtfully, as though not quite sure what to call it himself. Findis felt her heart beat faster, “of more than two fëar.”

“But… how?” Findis whispered, even as her soul wept at the thought of sharing Alálamë with anyone – she was possessive of the loved ones remaining to her, and shrewd enough to know such a constellation would bring almost as much pain as her current heartbreak.

“I do not know,” Ingwë admitted, “but perhaps you might speak to this nissë you love, discover if she would be amenable to such a thing?”