for ladyelleth: The Wind Cries His Name

[raise_the_knife]

The Wind Cries His Name
for: ladyelleth
pairing: Finrod/Curufin
rating: M15+ (themes, implied canon character death)
summary: Some things can never be put aside and forgotten.

It is greatly wrong, he knows, for him to have these thoughts.

He curses his memory, as if the wrath of Manwë could wipe it clean. But Elves remember for as long as their sight is clear; the memories are as if crystal and remain woven into the tapestries on Mandos' halls as a permanent reminder should the world be broken anew.

He hopes it is a long time until he has to face those and answer for what he's done and failed to do.

~*~

'It would be wrong of us not to,' says Finrod, as the candle burns low in his chamber. 'We must lend our aid to his cause.'

'It is a Silmaril! He has no claim to the jewel.' But Finrod's jaw tightens and he knows, already, that he will not win.

'Yet he would venture where you dare not, while you lay claim to it so boldly and so mindlessly.'

'He would go to certain ruin and it lies within our power to prevent it. A Man has no business with the Valar and a Silmaril would burn him as it does the dogs of Morgoth who hide in the shadows to avoid its fire.'

Finrod is silent. His hair falls over his shoulder and hides his face from scrutiny, as a veil over his thoughts. Finrod always was the wise one.

'You will not sway me from this path, cousin, though it may seem folly to one such as you. If my oath, my honour, did not demand it, common decency would do so in its stead.'

He knows each crack and curve of the stone but he studies the wall as Finrod belts his tunic and draws a robe over his shoulders.

'What is decency in the face of certain death, cousin?'

Finrod doesn't turn around, and he would deny the shiver of foresight that traces his spine like the icy hand of Morgoth himself.

He does not draw his own cape and follow Finrod until he can no longer hear footsteps outside the chamber.

~*~

'It will bring Morgoth's wrath down on all of us!' His brother could raise the roof, if this were one of the delicate talans of his woodland cousins.

Orodreth's voice can barely be heard over the murmurs that follow and swell. 'We are well hidden here; he will not easily find us if we remain vigilant, as we are.'

He feels eyes on him as he leans to a councillor near to him, one who is young enough to be impressionable. 'Look how we already fight amongst ourselves like children of twenty summers. The Silmaril affects even those who do not desire it and sows such evil within our peaceful home.' The youngster's eyes widen, and he sits back.

'It has ruined my family; do not let it sunder yours as we are from our kin in the West.' He says it so quietly that only few hear, but the murmurs seem to quiet around him, and the calm spreads.

Finrod stands in the middle of the floor, eyes on him. He does not smile, though he does not look away.

'I will take only a small band of warriors, such as can avoid detection. If the sons of Fëanor wish not to accompany us then that be their lot.'

He stands and remains still, only for a few moments, until all eyes are on him; then, he leaves the council hall, unobstructed.

~*~

He doesn't watch Finrod leave, either. It would have been difficult to say nothing; he doesn't want to know if Finrod would have looked back with one last look of unreadable flame.

~*~

He rides for Doriath ahead of the company; unwilling to hear anything from his brothers but silence. His shoulders ache as they have for years; the mantle that settled heavily on him before he knew Finrod's fate was certain weighs on him such that he feels he is bent almost double.

It is my oath that binds me now, cousin; my honour that compels me forward where I feel too weary to tread as I have felt all these years.

But the voice in his mind is not silenced. It doesn't chide him or berate him but it speaks to him as reasonably as Finrod ever did, standing proud in the council hall or lying bonelessly, as if sated, on the daybed. You could not take it when opportunity brought the Man within your grasp; you will die here before you see how its touch will burn you, Kinslayer.

'Then I will join you, cousin,' he tells the wind as he sees the city laid out before him.

Comments

[ladyelleth.livejournal.com]

This was... exactly the fic I'd hoped to get out of this exchange. Please forgive me the childish behaviour, but it's taking all my willpower to not bounce up and down and squee my fangirl head off in response to this. :D I love it - the rhythm, the energy that crackles through every line, the fact that Finrod addresses (even if only to himself) the problematics (as I'd imagine there would be, in Middle-earth) of his relationship with Curufin (and then still acts on them, in a way!), the politicking, the characterization - it was a wonderful, tense read, it's gorgeous, and I really don't know how to thank you! Happy holidays (if you celebrate), and for lack of a better phrase, thank you so much! ♥

[raise_the_knife]

You're welcome! There is nothing to forgive. I'm just glad I could write you something that you like!!

[foxrafer.livejournal.com]

the memories are as if crystal and remain woven into the tapestries on Mandos' halls
Such a lovely phrase in a very evocative piece.

[raise_the_knife]

Thank you!! =)