#that was originally only supposed to be short snippet of aromantic!finduilas

[mists-of-hithlum]

TW: Non-graphic character death

They call her marred.

Finduilas has lived her whole life with those words whispered behind her back, gossiped over when she’s out of the room and sometimes even openly discussed when her family isn’t there to protect her. Her father has told her she should just ignore them.

“They just don’t understand how the Valar work,” he tells her. “Just because you haven’t found your partner on these shores yet, doesn’t mean anything about you. Maybe they haven’t been born yet.” He smiles. “Or you are like your aunt Artanis and your partner waits for you on the other shore. And you wouldn’t call her marred, would you?”

He is right, of course. They are all right. It’s not like their family isn’t the subject of too many rumours already. Her father knows exactly how it feels when people whisper about you behind your back.

But somehow, this is different. It is personal. It is against her, not against the circumstances of her birth or who her grandfather chose as his partner. It isn’t like the rumours the bored nobles of Tirion like to circulate about Indis and what she did to earn a place at Finwe’s side or how Arafinwe’s children and grandchildren shouldn’t count as real Noldor. They hurt too, of course, but when they call her, Finduilas, daugther of Artaresto, a flaw in the music, it cuts deeper.

Especially because they are right.

She debates herself over and over if she should ask Fëanaro about the rumours. He is the only other one in the family they single out too. But everytime she is either too afraid of his famous temper or another rumour makes her doubt again. What they say about him is so much worse than what they say to her, so she doesn’t. She shouldn’t trouble him with such trivial things.

When darkness falls over Tirion and flames light up eight swords with their light, Finduilas chooses to go even before her parents have said anything. She feels like she’s suffocating here in Tirion, with the gossip chasing her every step. Marred, seem the stones to whisper. Those blank, white stones without a flaw who mock her even in the pale light of candles and torches. Staying here would be a slow, agonizing death only prolonged by the absence of her family. And maybe, a voice in her head whispers, she’ll finally find her other half on the other shore, like her father told her once.

Not even her mother staying and Arafinwë turning back manage to change her decision.

It doesn’t take long for the rumours to start again.

After that first battle and after Findecano’s daring rescue of Maitimo – Maedhros – the gossips stay quiet about her. There are far more interesting things to discuss. But then comes the Mereth Aderthad.

Her father parades her through the entire feast. She cannot find a better word for it. Of course Finduilas knew he wanted her to find her partner. His absolute conviction that someone is waiting for her and he only needed to find them warms her heart on some days. On others, she wants to scream and smash things. She doesn’t need anybody. No matter what the Valar told them about Eru’s plans, how every elf has someone designated for them, she is whole on her own. But the other elves don’t understand and so she grits her teeth and smiles through a thousand introductions, handshakes and empty words.

Just once she gets a moment to herself. When she leaves her father’s side with the flimsy excuse of wanting something refreshing to drink, she can already hear the rumour mill working again. She snorts. For seemingly immortal beings, the elves are awfully obsessed with every little thing that changes.

“Don’t listen to them.”

It takes her a moment to recover from the unexpected visitor at her quiet little corner.

“Still as observant as always, cousin,” she greets Mai Maedhros and smiles the first real smile since the start of the feast.

Maedhros raises an eyebrow. “You know our family. Being observant is a survival skill here.”

Finduilas laughs and for a moment she can nearly forget about the scars that now mar her favorite cousin’s face and the hand he is missing. It’s like they are back in Valinor, young and carefree, with nothing to fear.

Maedhros’ next words destroy that illusion quite efficiently. “Don’t listen to them. You aren’t marred or tainted by Morgoth, no matter what they say. Believe me, I would know.”

It takes a lot of Finduilas’ self-control to not get up and smash the nearest tent into pieces because she can’t get to Morgoth right now to avenge her cousin. “I’m trying. I know they are wrong, but they just never stop.”

“And they never will,” Maedhros agrees quietly. “But they don’t matter, pitya tuilë. Someone will always gossip about you behind your back. That is the nature of the court. Your conviction is your armour. They don’t get to decide how you live your life.”

Finduilas raises her chin. “They won’t,” she promises.

A flicker of white fire raises its head behind Maedhros’ eyes. “Good,” he says and disappears the next moment back into the guests.

It is the last time she’ll see her cousin alive. Afterward, a part of her is glad she didn’t need to witness his downfall.

“Finduilas! Here you are!”

After Maedhros left, it doesn’t take her father long to find her again.

“I want you to meet somebody.”

Those dreaded words. But as Maedhros told her: Other people’s opinion of her doesn’t matter. It can’t hurt her.”

So she takes her father’s hand and lets herself be led to a handsome young Noldo with eyes grey like stone. The way his eyes never seem to leave her make her want to roll her eyes. Another one to disappoint then.

“This is Gwindor, son of Guilin,” her father introduces him. “He is one of your uncle Finrod’s people. Gwindor, this is my daughter, Finduilas.”

“Descriptions do not do your beauty justice, my princess,” Gwindor greets her. “I am glad to make your acquaintance.”

“Thank you,” Finduilas replies politely instead of a snappy retort.

“In truth, you look like the pools of Ivrin when Arien herself shines on them!”

“It is an honor to meet you, Gwindor,” she answers and the hope in her father’s eyes nearly makes her want to throw up.

Once Gwindor gets over his worship of her – and truly, Finduilas isn0t so beautiful, not compared to her other family members – they get along quite well. She discovers his delightful sense of humour and they have great fun mocking the other members of Findarato’s court behind closed doors. Faelivrin, the name Gwindor gave her on their first meeting, becomes a joke between the two of them.

Her father still hopes she will one day discover that she loved Gwindor all along and Finduilas will have to disappoint him once again. She does love Gwindor. She really does. Just not in the sense her father and everybody else seem to want.

Gwindor is alright with this. It was a long, tearful conversation after Finduilas’ armour finally broke down and she told him everything. He accepts her the way she is and he couldn’t give her anything more. In return, he told her about his partner who died crossing the Helcaraxë and how he wants nothing more than what she’s ready to give him either. They never tell anyone else about those things. Their bond is their own and if others want to assume things, they are free to do so.

And then, the Noldor start to lose.

Aegnor and Angrod die first. Then Celegorm and Curufin come, Finrod gives everything up for a stranger and when the tales from the heroics of Beren and Luthien are sung all over Endor, Nargothrond quietly mourns its king. Her father steps up after his brother, but it is never the same.

When Gwindor leaves with his warriors, Finduilas nearly wants to call him back. She doesn’t. She knows why Gwindor needs to do this. He knows why she can’t be at his side. They don’t owe each other more than the other is ready to give.

They part and he doesn’t return. Finduilas knows he isn’t dead and that makes it worse. Their bond isn’t as strong as a marriage bond, isn’t as solid as one of two people who know their feelings for each other, but it was always there. She feels the pain Gwindor goes through even if he tries to shield her from it and she mourns for the elf he was. Even if through a miracle he gets back, he will never be the same again.

Through it all, only the hope of Gwindor one day returning keeps her going. After everything, the whispers have transformed into sharp-edged things meant to hurt. Her armour is strong, but even an armour can’t protect her from everything. Maedhros’ words have always helped her, but they can’t help her when she blames herself too. Maybe she really is marred. After all, everyone she loves leaves.

The miracle she hoped for goes by the name of Agarwaen and carries himself with the aura of a king.

Finduilas isn’t proud of herself for what she does next. But over the years Gwindor was away, the rumours slowly started to become unbearable and the man is right there. He clearly won’t fall in love with her and even if he somehow will, one day, she won’t have ruined him by pretending to be in love. Humans have more than one option in their lives, her uncle once told her. It still seems strange to her but she won’t complain when she gets such an opportunity.

Her father doesn’t look happy, but at least the rumours stop.

Gwindor doesn’t agree with her, but he understands. After their big argument, when he tells her Turin’s true name, they come to a truce. He still loves her and she still loves him. Their bond once again strenghtens when they decide they don’t need to put a name that doesn’t fit on their relationship. When she (badly) pretends to be in love with the human, Gwindor won’t stand in her way.

And really, she doesn’t truly love him. Maybe that’s enough to shield her from the curse.

Later, that misjudgement will cost her everything. Later, she will die alone and afraid on a hill for something out of her control. Later, the history books will paint her as a tragic figure, torn between two men she fell in love with. Later, the people who once couldn’t stop gossiping about her will forget her, an unimportant figure in a much grander history. Later, she will be remembered as the weak-willed child of a weak-willed father, a princess who died with her kingdom.

The history books won’t mention how she didn’t even get to die beside the one she loved.

When she finds herself in the halls of Mandos, she keeps to herself.

Gwindor’s beloved is here. She’s felt him die before her, so he is here too. Now they have a chance at reuniting. No need to ruin their happiness when they still haven’t found out how they truly feel for each other. Nobody on Arda needs a second Finwe-and-Miriel-and-Indis type of situation. Maybe in a couple of centuries, she’ll go and search for them. Right now, they are better off without her.

Finduilas doesn’t get a couple of centuries. She doesn’t even get a month, if her hazy sense of time in those halls can be trusted.

“Here you are! We had search everywhere for you! You aren’t still mad because I ruined your favorite brush, right?”

Finduilas looks up, disbelieving, straight into Gwindor’s grinning face. “Gwindor, you apologized at least a hundred times, got Tyelpë to make me a custom fit new one and that was more than twenty years ago! You can’t possibly believe I’m still mad at you…”

She trails off when his grin only gets wider. “I knew that would get you to talk,” he proclaims, satisfied. “Now get over here and meet my partner. I’m sure you two will get along great.”

Of course he’s right. Tinwë is a delight and she can see why Gwindor fell in love with him so many years ago. Quick-witted, sharp-tongued but surprisingly gentle and an excellent opponent in a discussion mark him as someone they had dire need of in Nargothrond. They’d have so much fun at court.

And maybe, she slowly likes him too. She doesn’t fall in love, just like it was with Gwindor, but there is something between the two of them that just feels right.

Tinwë is it too who finally gets her agonizing feelings for Gwindor sorted out. “You love him,” he says to her once, out of the blue, when they walk together through the endless passageways of Mandos’ halls. “And he loves you. Anyone who can’t see that is blind.”

“And what do you think about that?” Finduilas’ voice sounds strong but her hands shake.

He surprises her by turning around. “I love you too,” he says simply. “Not like I love Gwindor, but I love you. You make him happy. He makes me happy. You make me happy too.”

Finduilas has to blink a tear out of her eye when he lays a hand on her shoulder.

“He told me about the things people used to say about you. I don’t think you are marred, Finduilas. I think you are just the way you’re supposed to be. How could you be wrong? If you were different, you wouldn’t be yourself anymore.” He laughs and adds: “Certainly far more boring, that’s for sure!”

And then Gwindor comes and embraces all of them and Finduilas thinks, maybe she was right all along. Why would she need anyone when she’s the happiest she’s ever been right here, right in this moment?

And one day, all three of them walk together out of the halls of Mandos. Finduilas takes a deep breath of clean air, grips Gwindor’s and Tinwë’s hands a bit stronger and for the first time in her whole life, she feels whole.