To Whatever End by Grundy

“It…he says there are others like him, across the Sea.”

Finwë frowns.

It may well be true. But it may equally be another snare. They’ve lost too many already to such tricks. Of the elves who originally awoke by the water, only half remain.

On the ‘perhaps true’ side, this rider has yet to do anything but talk to them. The other rider does not speak, only leads the unwary astray.

On the ‘perhaps snare’ side, what better way to snap up many more at once rather than in ones and twos than to convince them all in one swoop that they are going somewhere safe, where the shadow can no longer prey on them?

“I mean to go,” Elwë continued. “So does Ingwë.”

Finwë grimaced.

“You’re too curious by half, and Ingwë too trusting,” he snorted.

“Yes, well, that’s why I thought we should get you to come along,” Elwë grinned. “You’re the thinker-planner-reasoner.”

“That needs a single word, not three,” Finwë sighed.

“Good, figure one out on the way,” Elwë suggested, clapping him on the shoulder. “Face it, you have to come.”

“And if it’s a trap?” Finwë asked, already knowing he was stuck for it either way if the other two were both agreed.

“Then you not coming back will be a warning no one can ignore,” Elwë said soberly. “Can’t say the same for us, can you?”

Finwë observed the bright flash across the sky, and regretted once again that he had no way to record such things. Memory was all well and good, and could be shared later, but they were seeing so much new on this journey that he wasn’t sure he’d remember to tell all of it.

The dancing lights in the heavens far off to the north had been far more memorable with their riotous colors, but he found this single star whizzing across the sky more fascinating.

“The Starkindler is eager to see you as well.”

He turned his head to find the Great Rider had not missed what had captured his attention.

They had learned much from him on the ride to the Sea, and continued to learn as they crossed the immense water. If the others of his kind are similar, there is knowledge beyond measure awaiting them at journey’s end.

Finwë is not entirely sure knowledge given is the same as knowledge gained – the names the Rider gave some plants were not the names the quendi called them, and while the Rider could tell them easily enough which ones were good to eat, he did not know all the uses they had devised or discovered for them.

But they can surely still find new knowledge for themselves, perhaps even more than they otherwise would, given there will be no shadow hunting them on the far side of the Sea? And one can build on knowledge just as one can on ground, so they can still add to whatever may be given to them.

“Indeed? Could you tell me more of her? And of your other kindred, Aromez?”

The chuckle means he has still not gotten the odd name correct, but perhaps he is improving.

The land is so bright that at first it hurts their eyes. The light of the Trees is as beautiful as Oromë – they have decided among themselves that while it is best to use the name he introduced himself under while speaking to him, an alternate form is easier on elven tongues – promised them. But it had taken a few days for eyes accustomed to starlight to get used to.

But once they had, the land had been a wonder to them. Ingwë had sat beneath the trees themselves for several of their cycles before he would respond to speech, so taken was he with them.

Finwë had left him to it and kept up with Elwë as he explored. By doing so, he learned a good deal of the countryside, and found a place that suited him better. It was a high hill, and one could see the Trees and their light from atop it. But in the shadow of the hill, one could still make out the starlight. The Tintallë laughed for joy when she found him prowling about the hill and heard the reason he preferred it to the Ezellôchâr Ingwë loved.

“If you love it so, it shall be yours,” she told him.

He had to concentrate as she spoke – the form she took was nearly as enchanting as any of her lights. But even so, a thought struck him.

“Not mine alone,” he replied.

It was hard to keep track of time here, without being able to see the stars clearly. The cycles of the trees were a different rhythm than the song they knew, though Finwë suspected they would become the basis for the new timekeeping once they settled in.

But before that could happen, they had to go back.

And to do that, they had to convince Ingwë to leave his beloved Treelight and the company of the High Ones, if only for a short while.

“But you could convince everyone without me!”

“We could not,” Finwë snorted. “In the first place, we need all three of us to return so it is plain to everyone that we have all seen this and agree on it. Not to mention, to prove there is no trap or snare.”

“If you and Elwë go back, it will be plain it’s safe enough,” Ingwë protested. “If there was any trap or danger, he’d have been caught in it!”

“You might both have been caught and I could save only one,” Finwë pointed out softly.

“But…”

“It is only for a short while,” Elwë reminded him. “We go to tell the others that they should come. We’ll make the journey back, and this time you won’t ever have to leave again if you don’t want to.”

“All right,” Ingwë grumbled. “Just don’t go telling anyone you had to bully me into going back.”

“As if he would,” Elwë muttered.

Míriel frowned.

Indis had been easier to sway, with her brother so set on returning to the Trees that had captured his imagination. Míriel was less enthusiastic. Indis has also been pleading with her, but Finwë thought perhaps if he tried while Indis was off gathering the berries Míriel wanted for her latest project.

“How do you know this will be good for everyone?” Miriel demanded.

Her fingers were busy even as she spoke, twisting the fibers from the latest variety of plant she suspected would make a better thread.

“We will be safe there,” he repeated. “No constant worry about losing people.”

‘Losing’ was a good-face way of saying ‘person has been killed or taken’. It was not a word Finwë had contributed – he is working on a better way of expressing ‘good-face word’, among others – but he used it all the same. There was little point in fighting a word nearly everyone agreed on.

And more so than the word, he does not like losing people.

They had returned to find Elwë’s sister and her mate lost. Elmo and Olwë had searched for her for weeks, but eventually had to admit that they would not be found. Elmo was resigned, but Olwë bitter that their older brother had not been there, as though Elwë’s presence might have changed it.

Alwë had been a good friend and frequent work-partner of Míriel’s.

“We may well find other worries,” Míriel sniffed, eying the results of her twisting sharply. It must not have been to her satisfaction, for she began again anew, adjusting her movements ever so slightly.

“You could hone your craft better if you knew the shadow rider was not at hand,” Finwë offered. “And perhaps you can spin fibers from the Trees or their leaves. Think of it, cloth made of light!”

He has already shared the memory of all the vibrant colors with her, and is hoping for something else that may catch her curiosity.

“And perhaps, there…”

Finwë stops short of saying it.

It is not only grown elves who have been lost. The shock of the first losses had ended their hopes of a child long before the little one looked on the world. On the far side of the Sea, their children will be safe. Their children will not be lost, nor lose parents as Alwë’s boy had.

“Very well,” Míriel sighs. “Because you are so set on it, and Indis desires to see the new flowers. Though I am still not sure it can be all you hope.”

The journey is much longer this time, stretching out so long that Finwë begins to wonder if they will ever reach the Sea. Marching is much slower than riding, and even when eventually they find horses, the ones on this side of the Sea are not the same sort of horse the Rider had.

By the time they smell salt water, Finwë has become very familiar with what goes into keeping the march progressing smoothly; the feeding, camp-making, head-counting, packing…

He is also more intimately familiar with loss.

Elwë will not see the Trees again, nor build that house on the starlight side of the hill they had spoken of. He disappeared under the trees; Elmo may still search for him, but Olwë had rallied those of their people who would go on rather than continue a search he deemed as fruitless as the one for his sister.

“I know I am not who you hoped would be standing at your side by the great water,” Olwë says, a note of apology in his voice.

“You are not having second thoughts?” Finwë says, fear making him gruff.

“No, but it comes to me that I should wait a bit longer, in case more of my people catch up,” Olwë replies softly. “I cannot leave behind any who would go.”

“I will not be able to convince Ingwë to delay any longer,” Finwë warns him. “He would have Ullubōz move us tonight if he could.”

“No, I know he is impatient to see the marvellous light again,” Olwë chuckled. “Though I think we must find a more approachable name for the great one of the waters. He has been very kind, and my people like him too well to name him so.”

“What do you propose?” Finwë asked cautiously.

Olwë has proven himself a good leader in his brothers’ absence, but sometimes his ideas are as interesting (in the dangerous sense) as any of Elwë’s.

“That island will hold your people and Ingwë’s quite comfortable, but add my people to it and it may be a bit tight. I mean to ask Ulu if he would perhaps take you over first and bring the island back for us, to give more of our people a chance to catch up if they are minded to do so.”

Finwë does not think it a good plan. In fact, he fears it means he will lose Olwë just as they had Elwë and Alwë, and likely Elmo as well by now. But he cannot argue when he can hear the faint flutter of hope in Olwë’s words that perhaps, just perhaps, this time things will end well and Olwë’s brothers will be join him on the strand and be waiting when the island returns.

“I will not speak against it,” Finwë says slowly, “if you promise – and I mean promise – me that you and Lirë will still be here when it is time for you to make the crossing.

“Ulu has said he can protect us here, so close to the Sea,” Olwë replies with a smile. “So it is a promise easily given.”

But he does not promise the impossible, no matter how much he may hope for it.

“Very well,” Finwë says. “I will see you again by and by.”

“Safe crossing,” Olwë smiles.

“And you!” Finwë replies.

The house is so quiet. At least, it is quiet when his son is asleep. When Curufinwë is awake, there is noise of necessity.

But when he sleeps, and the house falls silent, Finwë has nothing to keep the thoughts at bay, the questions about how it had gone so wrong.

Míriel’s spirit has fled her body and will not return. She cannot speak to them directly, not from the Halls, but Indis had come to him not long after her death and told him of the terrible, shapeless fear Míriel had been unable to weave words around.

He isn’t sure who is to blame, him for bringing them here, or the Valar for parting them from each other. If they had known that the High Ones held that an elf could have only one mate, ner with nis, they would not have come. Nor would they have been the only ones who would have chosen otherwise.

But at the same time, once they were here, had he known the results of obeying, of Indis sacrificing herself, knowing that she had close kin to help her bear the separation as they did not…

If Indis had been there while Míriel had been bearing, as they would have wanted, she would have been strong enough. Her spirit would not have been so drained had they both been supporting her. And then the fears couldn’t have crept in, tormenting first her sleep and then her waking hours until eventually she fled first to Lórien and thence to Mandos to find sanctuary.

Finwë seeks his own refuge now, fleeing both grief and solitude as best he can, spending as much time as he dares in memories. He tries to avoid the guilty thought that so many of the best ones are from the far side of the Sea. But that is when they were all together and the world had seemed right.

Indis cannot be here for him now, any more than she could be here for Míriel. Marriage is for the life of Arda, not merely for the life of elves. Having, in the eyes of the Valar, chosen his mate, he cannot change the choice now.

Were it not for their son, he might sink into memory entirely and not emerge.

Míriel will return, someday. The Valar have decreed that eventually those who have died will return, each in their own time.

In the meantime, he must stay alive. He must be enough for little Curufinwë. And he must hold out for Indis’ sake as well, because losing two mates would surely kill her. He has failed one of his mates; he cannot bear the thought of failing the other as well. (Even if some traitorous part of him whispers that at least if they were all in Mandos, they would all be together.)

He must not lose himself in days long gone.

But oh, how seductive the memories, when they danced together beneath the trees with no light but the stars…