We Made Our Own by cuarthol

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We Made Our Own

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Doriath felt like a world apart.  Its forests - wild but without threat of danger - enticed her out of the impressive caverns to slip through the mottled shadows, hands caressing over the texture of bark and moss.  She followed the birdsongs, followed the cricket calls, and the croak of little frogs in their ponds.  Her footfalls, long divested of shoes, were silent and left no mark of her passing upon the rich soils.

A fallen tree had her crouched down, tracing the curve of the mushrooms and lichen growing over it.  Every breath carried the gentle scent of flowers amidst decomposing leaves, of thick resins and rich loams, life from death, the cycles of Arda so plainly evident.

In the distance she could just hear the gentle rushing of Esgalduin where it passed close to Menegroth, but her feet carried her rather deeper into the forests.  She wanted to see, wanted to hear the forest, and so she remained silent, enraptured by every new sight and sound.  It was all so different from Tol Sirion.

Before long she had emerged into a small meadow awash in wild flowers and little insects that flitted here and buzzed there.  In the midst was a lazy pool, wide enough to be almost still though fed by a small stream.  She ran toward it, eager to wade into the waters and explore the reedy banks for ever more interesting sights.

Her intent was brought to a sudden halt when she spied another sitting by the waterside, hidden by the grass until she had come close enough.  The other turned and smiled, dark freckled cheeks glowing with joy, a slim face framed by rich brown locks crowned with wildflowers.

“Forgive my intrusion,” Finduilas said, giving a quick curtsy.

“It is no intrusion,” the other replied, standing up to brush stray leaves and petals from her skirt.  “I would begrudge none to share the beauty of this place with me.  And it would not be mine to hoard, in any case.”

Finduilas smiled and stepped closer.  “My name is Finduilas.  I am a guest of your King, for I have accompanied my father’s uncle, Finrod.”

The other’s face brightened further at that.  “Galadriel’s brother!  I should have guessed it even if you had not said so, for the relation is plain.”

Finduilas touched her hair and blushed slightly.  “We do share some traits,” she agreed.

“Come, Finduilas, and join me a while, if you will.  My name is Nellas, and I would be happy for the company.”

Finduilas crossed the short distance left between them and joined Nellas in the midst of a patch of wild flowers, settling in on the soft spring grasses.

“I often come here,” Nellas said.  “The birds lure me with their songs, and the flowers with their sweet fragrance, and the refreshing waters of the pool.”

“It is beautiful,” Finduilas agreed, finding that she could follow Nellas’s speech despite the differences from her own.  Her mother sometimes used the older speech in songs or reciting tales from deep in her memory.  “I was drawn here myself; so different from the lands around my home.”

They continued on thus, speaking softly of their homes and their lives, of families and memories.  Nellas wove a circlet of flowers to match her own, and placed it upon Finduilas’s head.

As the morning gave way to noon, the sun overhead was become a warmth that they could not evade.  Nellas took Finduilas’s hand and stood.  

“When Anor has chased away all the clouds, the only relief must be the woods or the water.”  

Without waiting for any kind of response, Nellas pulled her dress over her head and let it fall to the grass, giggling as she danced down to the shore and slipped into the pond.  Surprised by her boldness, Finduilas could not help but follow, discarding her own gown and joining Nellas in the sun-warmed pool.

It was shallow enough to stand at any point, but deep enough to swim or float unhindered.  Little bugs buzzed across the surface, and birds perched upon the tall reeds sang from the banks.  But Finduilas found her attention captured by the slim, sparkling body of her companion, as if draped in diamonds.  Each drop of water was a jewel upon her brown skin, and Finduilas found herself quite enamored.

She pulled her eyes away, skimming her palms over the surface with a soft hum to distract herself from the thoughts that had arisen in her mind.  “My father often told me stories of swimming in the bay,” she said.  “Far across the sea, in Elbardh*.”

“Are you not from there also?” Nellas asked.

“I was born here,” Finduilas said, turning back with a smile.  “My mother is from Mithrim, they met soon after my father arrived.”

A broad smile spread on Nellas’s face, lighting up her eyes like stars.  “That explains why you speak so differently from your great-aunt,” she said.

“Do I?” Finduilas said, then slowly nodded.  “Yes I suppose I do. I had not noticed before.”  To Finduilas, everyone around her spoke just a little differently from one another, so much so that it seemed the most natural thing for each to have their own way.

As they spoke, they carefully made their way back to where they had been sitting before, and spread themselves out on the grass to let the sun dry them, unashamed to lay bare beside one another.

“Of course, she speaks after the manner of Doriath now,” Nellas mused softly.  “And rarely strays beyond Menegroth, so I still know little of her.  But at times she accompanies Melian and then we speak.”

“I see her rarely myself,” Finduilas admitted.  “Though she did stay at Nargothrond for a time after its completion, I was still young.  And much of my life has been at Minas Tirith.”

Nellas had come up on her side, quite close to where Finduilas lay, though she had not quite noticed until Nellas twisted a bit of her golden hair around her finger.  “I have not met many from your family, but you all seem so kind.”

Their gazes met, and Finduilas felt the growing warmth of her chest as she looked into the other’s eyes.  “Is kindness not common here?”

“Oh, it is common enough,” Nellas admitted.  “Perhaps that is the wrong word; but your family seems different to me.  I am glad that your father came and met your mother, for elsewise you would not be here now.”

Finduilas found she very much no longer wished to speak of her family, only to know the better the shining beauty before her.

“I am glad I am here, also,” she whispered, tracing Nellas’s hair behind her ear, fingers lingering down her cheek.

The forest and meadow, which Finduilas had been so infatuated with that morning, was now entirely forgotten.  The songs of the birds faded away, the flit of the butterfly did not draw her attention.  As Nellas leaned in gently and their lips brushed together, Finduilas felt her every sense entirely consumed.

As they lay, bodies pressed together and wrapped in each other’s arms, the wider world drifted away.  Enticed out of her hesitancy, Finduilas tangled her hands through earth-brown waves of silken hair, caressed over amber skin prickled with excitement, marveled in the sweet scent of her.

Following the soft sounds of Nellas’s breath, little sighs of pleasure and gasps of delight, she traced the curves of her, echoing the touch which moved over her own body.  Lost in one another, they paid no need to the falling sun nor the rising stars, nor the coming and going of the creatures of the forest.

In the quiet places of the world, they made their own wonder.

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Chapter End Notes

*My simplistic attempt to render Eldamar into Sindarin.