empty spaces by queerofthedagger

Finarfin: Remorse

The first thing Finarfin thinks when they reach Middle-earth is that it must have been beautiful, once. That it could not always have been this ruin of death and darkness.

His second thought is that he would have liked to see it; to understand, if nothing else, why all his family had been so ready to die for it.

But then, that is not true. After all, it had not been the land that killed them, had been nothing so simple.

Finarfin looks north; there are no tears left to freeze on his cheeks, even as the cold wind blows.

Back when the trees went dark, Finarfin had thought that he knew fear. When his children left, his brothers and nephews and nieces, he had thought that he knew grief.

It had been nothing compared to what was to come. The growing around empty spaces; the artless attempts to fix what was so utterly broken. Eärwen. Their people. The holy peace of their homes.

They felt it, when their children died. They knew nought of the manner or the circumstances, but they knew.

It had been then, bowed over and heaving, that Finarfin first regretted his choice, sharp-teethed and unforgiving.

They had known when their children died, but nothing of the manner.

Finarfin learns now, in the war camps of Beleriand. He almost wishes he did not, and cannot stop listening regardless—of Finrod’s sacrifice, Angrod’s and Aegnor’s defiance, Galadriel’s indomitable will. Of his grandchildren, their legacy—Gil-galad, proud and cold even as he bows to Finarfin.

Finarfin had thought he knew the measure of regret; what it means to mourn them. Still thinking he made the right choice, knowing it.

He takes up his banner and his sword and makes sure, at least, that theirs was not for nothing.

Chapter End Notes

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