Just by Grundy

Just

When his sons ask
And they do
Boys who never saw the far side of the Sea
Finrod does not know what to tell them.

He speaks of mountains crowned with snow
Trees rising to majestic heights
Mighty Sirion wending its way to the ocean
Gracious halls by Esgalduin and Narog.

But this is not all Beleriand was.

There were enemies in the north
Things that had once been kin
Taken and twisted
Until they had to be renamed.

There was one who had once been mighty
Fair beyond imagining
Greatly beloved by his Father
He too was twisted and renamed.

So much ruin
Places destroyed before elves first saw them
Or made into prisons for spite
Teeth and claws in the dark.

He knows too much of this.
They should not.
Or so he thinks
Until Amarië rebukes him.

Finrod Finarfin’s son is not the first
Who wished to keep his children safe
Telling pretty tales
Instead of stark truths.

Had the elves of the Journey spoken more
Of what they left behind
Not lost but taken
Might it have been different?

No story would have dissuaded him
Or his cousins
His brothers and sister
All beyond his reach

Words cannot do the experience justice, he tells her.

Justice, she replies, is not for experiences
It is action
Not words
A debt owed to the living and the dead.