Your Face in the Water by Himring

Your Face in the Water

For Quenya name help see end notes.

Read Your Face in the Water

It was the fifth day of the Mereth Aderthad and the evening was far advanced—or perhaps it would have been fairer to say that it was far into the night. Findekano was feeling quite light-headed. Alcohol might have had something to with that; he had not drunk all that much, that day, but he had, out of politeness and curiosity, tried one or two unfamiliar concoctions that could have been more lethal than they appeared.

But he suspected it was mainly exhaustion. He had pretty much run himself off his feet even before the Feast of Reunion started, trying to ensure everything would go smoothly, and there had been little enough opportunity since to catch up on rest or sleep. He had not felt the lack before now, being fully caught up, moment by moment, but tonight a bit of tension seemed to have gone out of him. The Mereth Aderthad was a rousing success; his father’s plan had come off.

It was too early to relax his vigilance, really. There were still plenty of things that could go wrong before the Mereth Aderthad was over. But they seemed unlikely to do so before tomorrow morning. Findarato was being the heart and soul of the party, among those that had not yet sought their beds. He was doing fine without moral support; Findekano could allow himself to fade into the margins and maybe even detach himself entirely, after a bit.

The whole group had drifted farther away from most of the tents toward the water, where a group of rocks lay strewn on the shore of the largest pool. Some had taken the chance to sit down. Findekano picked a rock right by the pool’s margin, attracted by the cool air that seemed to emanate from the surface like quiet breath, and gazed out, letting the voices blend into the background, ear attuned to the tenor and rhythm of the ongoing conversation but not to what was being said.

The water was not quite as dark and still as it seemed at first glance. There was a very gentle but perceptible current and, as the water moved, it caught flickers of light, from the stars above, from the lamps and torches of the encampment. Findekano lost himself in there, as reflections alternately became clear and sharp and blurred again before his eyes.

And then suddenly he was gazing at Russandol’s face, as if it had swum up from the pool’s bottom. He was so mesmerized by its appearance that it took a visible ripple crossing it to make him realize that what he was looking at was still a reflection and that Russandol must really be behind him, in the shadows. He had not heard him approach, had not exactly forgotten his presence, but had assumed that Russandol had remained over by Makalaure, keeping his distance.

It would have fit the pattern of the preceding days. Russandol had not sought him out since he had arrived, really—by no means obviously avoiding him, of course, because that would not have fit the shared agenda at all. Findekano suspected that even their family had not realized the extent of it; it had been done so subtly. Of course, those of his side of the family had quite the contrary concern and preoccupation; they had feared that Russandol would hold too much of Findekano’s attention and had been relieved that he did not. They might well have missed how Russandol had been consistently cordial, seeming to include everyone, but how sometimes—too often—he had slightly, ever so slightly, looked past Findekano and how he had steered clear of anything like a truly private conversation with him without any suggestion of giving him the cold shoulder.

That had hardly had the effect of not drawing Findekano’s attention, of course. But he had deliberately not tried to push. Even if he had not been reluctant to do so—the memories of a world of hurt were too fresh, too fresh—it would have been the wrong move. The Mereth Aderthad was a success, but there had been plenty of sticky moments, too, and Russandol was not the least among those who had helped to navigate past them. It would have been unforgivable to risk upsetting his balance so much that he could not keep it up. It was better to rejoice that he was strong enough again and well enough to handle himself as he did.

Now Findekano sat very still, gazing at his face as it gleamed pale in the dark. The image wavered occasionally, but that was only a movement of the water; behind him, Russandol stayed unmoving, too. Russandol’s eyes were steadily gazing back at his from the mirror of the water’s surface.  But Findekano was convinced, somehow, that if he tried to turn around, if he said anything, Russandol would be gone, immediately, slipping away as he had before.

And so, instead, he fixed his eyes on the reflection and drank it in. He could not read Russandol’s expression, not fully. But even as a reflected image, it was more open than Findekano had seen it since his arrival and, whatever it showed, it was not any of the things Findekano most feared, with fears he had not dared fully to express even to himself.

They hovered, enclosed in that nocturnal moment as if in a private space. Behind them and to their left, the voices of Findarato, Makalaure and the others rose and fell, uninterrupted. Then Russandol—in the reflection in the water—slowly, deliberately closed his eyes. The power of suggestion in that gesture was so strong that Findekano could not help it, he blinked. And when he looked again, Russandol was indeed no longer there.  Perhaps it had only been his intention to say good night, politely, before he had been drawn into their soundless encounter. He was, perhaps, not less tired than Findekano—he had not helped set up, but he had been plunged into the festivities and goings-on immediately upon arrival, without any rest after his journey from the East.

None of the others, still engrossed in their own conversation, seemed to have noticed anything going on at all. They did not appear to notice either when Findekano got up and, a little unsteadily, made his own way to bed.

In the morning, Findekano wondered whether he had dreamed all that. Dream or not—he could have painted Russandol’s face in the water from memory, so clearly were its lines visible before his inner eye.

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Chapter End Notes

Quenya names help:

Findekano - Fingon

Findarato - Finrod

Makalaure - Maglor

Russandol - Maedhros