Out of Hopeful Green Stuff Woven by StarSpray

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A child said What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands;
How could I answer the child? I do not know what it is any more than he.
I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven.
- Walt Whitman, "Song of Myself"

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It was quiet before the gates of Mandos. Findis sat on the grass, passing in and out of sunshine as clouds drifted lazily across the sky—fat, puffy clouds with no promise of rain. The breeze was soft and cool on the back of her neck, as she idly twisted clover blossoms into little wreaths. Before her the walls of Mandos rose sheer and dark, of grey stone not built up so much as called forth out of the earth. There were no windows in that place, and as far as Findis knew there was but one door, and it was small, almost invisible against the vast expanse of wall until one came closer. It was a plain door, made of sturdy wood, with no ornament nor visible handle.

Findis had never come to this place before. But one of Námo's Maiar had come to her, a near-invisible presence that whispered to her in the early hours of morning that her sister would soon return to the living world, and wished for Findis to be the one to meet her. So she had gotten up and departed from Tirion, telling only her brother where she was going. He had wanted to accompany her also, but Findis had refused. If Lalwen had wanted to see Nolofinwë, the Maia would have spoken of it.

As she sat before the gate, Findis did wonder why Lalwen wished for her presence, and not their mother or Nolofinwë—or even Arafinwë. She had always been closer to their brothers, and had followed Nolofinwë everywhere. Even across the Helcaraxë. There had been too many years between Findis and Lalwen for there to be such closeness in their youth, and then in adulthood the whispers of Melkor had come creeping among the Noldor and their responses to the resulting strife had been too different. Melkor had been trying to rip the rift between Finwë's sons wider than it already was, and in the process had accidentally torn one between Finwë's daughters as well. Their last parting, before Lalwen had stormed out of Tirion and Findis had fled to their mother's people, had not been kind. When the War of Wrath had ended Findis had waited on the shore for the ship bearing her sister to come, but it never had. Lalwen had not survived to see the final defeat of Morgoth; she had died in what the returning Exiles called the Nirnaeth Arnoediad. After, Findis had retreated into solitude and shed her own share of tears for her laughing baby sister who had come to such a crushing end.

At last the door swung open on silent hinges. Findis rose to her feet, shaking the clover out of her grass-stained skirts, and waited. There was no light spilling out of the doorway, nor any sound, but she could see movement in the shadows. After a moment Lalwen stepped out of Mandos, clad in soft undyed robes, her dark hair falling loose and soft about her shoulders. She blinked as she gazed about her, with a startled look on her face, before she turned her attention back on herself, gazing down at her hands and at her bare feet, wiggling her toes on the grass.

Then she laughed, bright and loud as ever she had laughed in her youth at Valinor's Noontide, and looked up to see Findis. Lalwen stretched her arms out wide, as though they were wings and she was about to take flight. The sun emerged from behind a cloud to shine on her, and she tilted her head back for a moment and cried, "Oh, how wonderful to feel the sun again! Oh, Sister, how wonderful to see you again!" She bounded forward to throw her arms around Findis with such force that she sent them both tumbling into the clover.

Findis laughed through sudden tears. "Lalwen!" she cried. "Oh, I missed you!"

"And I you," said Lalwen, but she was serious only for a moment before she began to laugh again for the sheer joy of being alive under the sun amid the fragrant clover blossoms, and she rolled away, staining her robes with smears of green and tangling flowers in her hair, before springing up and grasping Findis' hand. "Come, Findis! Run with me! I feel I could run forever!"

And just like that the rift between them began to close, for it was impossible to be angry or to cry for someone so luminous. Findis hiked up her skirts and raced after her sister, leaving the cold smooth walls of Mandos and their silent halls behind them, turning toward the green-gold fields of Yavanna with their flowering meads and sparkling rivers, and beyond the white shining towers of Tirion where their brothers waited.