Sunwarmed by StarSpray

Sunwarmed

It was very quiet in Tirion. The War of Wrath was ended and the armies returned, alongside many others, but still: most who had departed Tirion when darkness fell had not returned. Many now slept in Mandos; many more had refused the Valar ’s call and remained in Middle-earth with its wide open lands now filled with opportunity and possibility and and safety.

Finrod would have been lying if he said he did not envy them.

He sat atop the roof of the palace, looking out over the city. It was a spot he and his cousins had often retreated to when they were young—and even when they were grown, and the tension below grew too much. These tiles, or perhaps their predecessors, had borne witness to many afternoons of long and winding conversation, of tears and of laughter, hopes and dreams and teasing. Now there was no one to talk to; his cousins and brothers were all dead, and his sister had refused to come home. Finrod was not surprised, and he hoped that Galadriel found everything she wanted and more in Middle-earth—but he still missed her. It was lonely, being the only one left in Tirion.

Finrod sighed, and stretched out his legs, leaning back against the sun warmed stones of the wall. He missed too the bustle and noise of a full and thriving city—though the more he thought about it the more he realized he was not quite missing the Tirion of his childhood, but Nargothrond at its height. His own city, that he ’d planned and helped to build with his own two hands, where his friends among the dwarves had visited so often, and where he had earned his favorite epessë. No one in Valinor called him Felagund.

As he contemplated the horizon, both familiar and strange, the soft rustle of skirts heralded an unexpected companion. He turned and found, to his surprise, Amari ë emerging from the window—or trying to. The current fashions in Tirion ran to rather wide skirts, and she was having a bit of difficulty getting her layers of petticoats through the opening. “Thank you!” she said when he held out his hands to help her. “I thought I might find you up here.”

“Who else knows of this spot?” Finrod asked, amused. “I rather thought it was a secret between all my cousins.”

“Artanis told me about it once,” Amarië said breezily. “Very long ago, before all the troubles began.” She smoothed her deep green skirts as she settled on the tiles beside him, as though she had brought a small grassy hill up to the roof with her to serve as a cushion.

“She prefers Galadriel, these days,” Finrod said. “That is the name her husband gave her.”

Amari ë smiled, but there was a strange, almost wistful look in her eyes. “It is hard to imagine her married,” she said. “I never thought there was anyone in the world who could keep up with her.”

“Celeborn certainly can.”

They sat for a while in silence, looking out over the rolling green hills to the south, and the road snaking through the Calacirya in the east toward Alqualond ë and the glittering blue Sea. “What name do you prefer, these days?” Amarië asked suddenly. Finrod looked at her in surprise. “So many Exiles are returning with new names, but I cannot remember being told yours.”

He hesitated a moment before answering. “Finrod is the name I gave myself,” he said finally, “when we were rendering all our names into Sindarin. I had others, over the years…” Nóm was in many ways dearest to his heart, but it had no place in Aman. “Felagund, I was called. From Felakgundu, in the Dwarvish tongue. I had many friends among the Dwarves—they helped to delve and build my city Nargothrond. ”

“I have heard that name,” said Amarië, troubled. “In the songs they sing on Tol Eressëa. King Felagund who battled the Enemy’s lieutenant beneath his haunted tower.”

“Not his tower, but mine, stolen and overrun after the Bragollach,” said Finrod. “And, after, it was my tomb.” He smiled at Amarië, though she looked both shocked and horrified. “It’s all right! I won’t faint away to think or talk about my own death. And anyway, Sauron got his due. Lúthien came and sang the tower town to rubble. Better to have it so than for it to be of any use to the Enemy.”

“And now it is drowned, with all the rest of that land,” said Amarië softly.

Finrod sighed, letting his smile fade away. “Yes. With Nargothrond and Gondolin and Menegroth the magnificent…but there is much still of Middle-earth left, and new kingdoms are rising even as we speak.”

“Yes, and your sister will finally find herself a queen of some glorious realm,” Amarië said.

“Perhaps,” said Finrod.

“And what will you do, now that you are here again?” Amarië asked.

“I don’t know. I have been a king and a hero, and I don’t think I would like to be either one again.”

Silence fell between them again. Then Amari ë reached over and took Finrod’s hand in her own. The sunshine glinted on her golden hair and the golden beads woven into her braids, making her sparkle. “You have never been a husband,” she said, “though once I know you wished it.”

Finrod turned his hand to lace their fingers together. “Would you still have me, Amarië, after all this time?” he asked.

Her smile was lovelier in his eyes than all the jewels of Nargothrond and more wondrous than the greatest wonders of Middle-earth. “I would.”