empty spaces by queerofthedagger

Finduilas: Endurance

To Finduilas, Valinor is a story—one of holiness as much as of darkness, of the Gods as much as of their wrath.

Nargothrond is peaceful to grow up in. Secluded, certainly, but with no shortage of people who adore her, is not lacking in a bright variety of delights.

The land is fair and wide, the kingdom deep and secure. Her mother tells stories of her own people, as old as this land.

Finduilas says once, to her uncle, that she thinks they made the right choice; she likes it here.

He smiles. It does not hide his grief.

Her uncles do not return from battle, and so, Finduilas learns of war.

She learns how to heal. She learns that women are not meant to go out and fight, to ride among the burning land and search for their loved ones.

Her mother does regardless and does not return. Finduilas stands in the open courtyard before Nargothrond’s halls until her throat burns with the smoke. Until she can tell no longer if her tears arise from the choking land or the choking grief.

She waits. Thinks of Valinor and the peace that it promised, until it no longer could.

Nargothrond is far from the kingdom she knew growing up; it does not rediscover its beloved state, even when Gwindor returns.

Even the relief does not last long. Her own heart betrays her, and she weathers it, as best she might. It does not feel fair.

It does not, either, when Túrin does not hear her, no matter that she knows of his curse.

Oh, how Finduilas knows of being cursed. As the Orcs drag her away, she wonders what difference it makes whether it is done by Morgoth or Mandos, when always, doom and sorrow follow—inexorable and savage.