A Deed Unforgiven by LadySternchen  

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Chapter 6- Finrod

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Finrod was very shaken, even if he tried his best to appear calm and untroubled. He glanced sideways at Beren who rode beside him and looked, if possible, even more dishevelled than Finrod felt. Before his mind’s eye, he again replayed all that had happened in this past week. It seemed almost unthinkable now that only days ago, all had been well, he had been king, and all within his kingdom had lived happily together. And now? Now old grievances had again come to torment them, to tear asunder what they had built out of nothing, what they had all built together. There was no ‘normal’ now to return to. Nothing would ever again be the same.

Now Finrod was not naive, whatever his cousins sometimes claimed, he had known all along that taking in Celegorm and Curufin and their people was a risky move. His cousins had always meant trouble unless their bright minds were safely occupied, and their men were hardened warriors that had grown even crueler here in Beleriand than they had been in Aman. They had brought a cold to Nargothrond that Finrod had disliked with passion, and Orodreth did so even more, but on the other hand he could not deny that they were still cousins, and that he loved them dearly despite all their faults.

All this knowledge had done nothing whatsoever to prevent him from falling into the trap he himself had foreseen, though. This time around, he had thoroughly miscalculated. Finrod had not counted on the Oath having such a grip on them still, nor on its grizzly effect on all of them. It had… hollowed them, Finrod found no other words for the state his cousins were in. Like the words they had sworn in Tirion and the renewed promise they had given to their dying father were a fell flame that burned within them, and scorched away all that was good within, leaving them a shell, driven only by the need to claim back what in truth had never been rightfully theirs. Or at least not wholly theirs.

Yet the shadow of the Oath stretched still further. Finrod had never estimated that it might also touch his kin that had never left Beleriand. He would never have thought of it affecting Lúthien. Had he fully understood it, of course, he would hardly have overlooked the possible complications of housing Lúthien and the sons of Fëanor under one roof. Hot-tempered, headstrong and immensely powerful they all were- and they had shared a mutual dislike from the moment they had laid eyes on each other, but that all was manageable. The added consequences of the Oath were… not.

Finrod still shivered when he thought back to the moment he had realised with terror that of course, Lúthien knew nothing of what had happened at Alqualondë. Ah, what dreadful plight that had put him. He had been sure that she would not take kindly to the slaying of her uncle’s people, so telling her would have meant the end of life in Nargothrond as they had known it. He had found out the hard way that not telling her resulted in that exact same thing.

He now had to admit to himself that he had underestimated just how badly she would take it when finally the truth had been revealed. Perhaps Lúthien’s wrath was enhanced further by the loss of her father, who after all was her primary connection to Alqualondë in the first place. Perhaps it was in his memory that Lúthien felt this fierce love and connection to people she had never met in life, yet who were undeniably her kin. Finrod was no stranger to such feelings himself. Had he not done the same? Had he not chosen to identify himself with his grandfather’s people rather than his father’s in the first time after the kinslaying? Had not that been what the sons of Fëanor had always scorned him and his siblings for? And had he and his siblings in return not snarled at their cousins whenever they had spoken haughtily of the Sindar after they had learned that these had been their great-uncle’s people? He could in all honesty not blame Lúthien for her emotions.

In the end, it had been a trifle that had blown everything up, a stupid little thing really. One careless word spoken in an argument between Curufin and Celebrimbor that Lúthien had overheard, and which she then -Lúthien being Lúthien- had not let go until the full, dreaded tale was laid open. And yet, despite all the hatred and bitter accusations that had stood between all of them that night, Finrod had been flummoxed when he had found Lúthien gone by the next morning, and even more so to learn that Huan had seemingly left his master as well. No-one had seen her -them- leave, nor knew where they had gone, and Finrod had not been able to make head nor tail of it until Beren had sought him out in deep distress, and explained everything he knew.

Those two had developed a deep bond, and it seemed that Lúthien had told Beren much of her plans; that all along, she had been biding her time, only waiting for an opportunity to smite Morgoth. And the kinslaying had, it appeared, given her an idea of how to achieve that.

“Do you not realise what she is trying to do?” Beren had asked, standing dishevelled in Finrod’s own chamber and looking at him in despair “Can you think of no way in which to humble both Morgoth and the sons of Fëanor in one go?”

And when Finrod had only shaken his head, completely at a loss, Beren had added:

“Lúthien is going for one of the Silmarils, I am sure of it. And we cannot, cannot let her do this alone!”

Finrod had agreed with the heaviest of hearts, cursing all his cousins and their stubbornness in that moment. He knew that Beren was driven by his friendship to Lúthien, but -not unlike Lúthien herself- also by his grief for his father. They had learned of Barahir’s death only days prior to Lúthien’s flight and Beren mourned him heavily, as did Finrod. And had he not sworn to Barahir once that he would protect his son? How could he not relieve that oath now, when Beren was clearly in dire need of help? Whichever way he looked at it, there really was no alternative to him accompanying Beren.

His court had not taken the news well. Celegrom and Curufin in particular had spoken against him, saying that the king had clearly lost his ability to rule due to a sudden madness, for no-one would consider risking the safety of their realm to follow a mortal into certain death. It still stung that the vast majority of his people had heeded their words rather than his own. Admittedly, his reaction had then not been… altogether fit for a king. His anger might have been justified, but throwing his crown before their feet was not sensible.

Unbidden into his mind came words his grandfather had spoken when his uncle had been exiled- “I hold myself unkinged…”. He remembered his grandmother shake her head back then, with a half- incredulous, half-exasperated glance at her husband.

“Oh for pity’s sake, Finwë, grow up!” she had muttered.

Finrod and Turgon had both privately agreed.

It seemed now that he bore more reassembly to Finwë than was apparent at first glance, Finrod thought wryly. But however that may be, he was no longer the ruler of the city he had poured all his life-blood into. Instead, Orodreth now wore his crown in sorrow, torn between resentment towards their mighty cousins and sorrow for the leaving of his last remaining brother. Finrod’s heart ached with pity and guilt at the very thought.

It was in this very moment that they heard a very familiar baying, and a moment later, Huan’s great head appeared behind a bush, accompanied by Lúthien’s furious swearing. Finrod could not suppress a wry grin. So he had judged correctly- Huan and Lúthien had fled Nargothrond together. It still surprised Finrod that Huan had so readily parted with his master in favour of accompanying Lúthien, but there could be no doubt that it was indeed so. But that did not matter now, for Lúthien, likely reassured by Huan’s friendly greeting, now appeared behind the hound, and rolled her eyes exasperatedly when she saw who had followed her.

“What are you two doing here?” she asked, rather haughtily.

“Reminding you of your promise to take me with you, my lady!” Beren answered before Finrod could even draw breath to speak.

The accusation in his voice could not be missed, and he glowered at Lúthien as he slid from his horse’s back.

“You promised me, when first I came to Nargothrond, that you would let me come with you when you made a try for Morgoth’s dignity.”

“You have been planning this for so long?”

Finrod was very taken aback, so much so that he quite forgot the overly courteous greetings he had planned on extending towards Lúthien. He had always thought he knew -more or less- what was going on within his own city, but this he had neither foreseen nor anticipated. Lúthien laughed mirthlessly.

“Oh, this little trip? Not at all. My… I am always accused of being too impulsive. So there you have it, Lúthien the inconsiderate is acting rashly once more, upon learning that you, my king, have housed the murderers of our kin.”

“How did Beren know about it, then?”

There was a small tweak of guilt in Finrod’s heart as he moved over Lúthien’s rightful accusations, but still her obvious lie offered too tempting an excuse to not face them just now. All the more surprised was Finrod as he heard Beren chuckle.

“She said she had not planned this little trip, not that she had not planned a little trip to humiliate Morgoth ever since… well.”

Finrod scowled. Yes, very amusing. He chose to pass over the mockery, addressing the next obvious peculiarity instead.

“So how come Huan accompanied you? He has been faithful to Celegorm ever since he got him from Oromë himself.”

Lúthien laid a hand on the great hound’s head.

“He disapproves of his lord’s deeds just as much as I do, it appears.”

Or maybe, Finrod thought, he also tries to get what his lord needs to become whole once more.

Not that he doubted Huan’s heart for a moment, he knew that the dog had adored both Lúthien and Beren ever since he had been brought to Nargothrond, but Finrod felt sure all the same that his love for Celegorm had not been obliterated by his recent cruelty. However, Finrod said nothing of his suspicions as he listened to Lúthien rambling on, apparently speaking her mind at last, all restraints torn asunder.

“It is unheard of, at least among my people. Orcs slaughter each other over spoiled food, or to settle arguments, or merely for the fun of it. Men -though of course only a few of them, do not get me wrong, Beren- might be tempted to kill each other for gain. But Elves?”

At that, Beren smirked.

“Have you not, my lady, longed to do just that? Strangle them with your own hands? Is that not what you said?”

Finrod managed to suppress a smirk, but just. So Beren was in the mood to tease them both today, it seemed. Very well. The look in Lúthien’s eyes, however, left little in Finrod’s mind to smile about, but rather made him recoil, reminding him for the first time since he had known her that she was a scion of the divine race. He had seen Ossë in rage, and Lúthien in this moment was by no means less frightening.

“You may have noticed, though, that I did not? I know full well what you are going to say, that I would have been no better than the kinslayers had I acted on that impulse. But I didn’t. You, on the contrary, kept that secret from me. You knew, and Galadriel knew. You all knew, and none of you thought to ever tell me. I shared a table with the murderers of my kin…”

“Our kin. I knew the cousins my other cousins murdered. But the sons of Fëanor are still family. What good is there to be gained by shedding even more blood, or have hatred sunder us? I lost my sister already to that argument, for she wants nothing to do anymore with her Noldorin kin, and will not stay where my people dwell. Need I really lose you now as well?”

Lúthien seemed somewhat abashed, lowering her gaze and biting her lip.

“No. I know it affected you even more, of course I do. It is just… I grew up with the tales of my uncle, I grew up with my father missing him so dearly, with him ever living with the guilt of having traded his brother for my mother. It hurt him so. And though we have never met, Olwë and his family are still dear to me in a way I cannot explain. And then to get to know you, and have none tell me, not even Galadriel, was just… painful.”

There was despair in her voice that made Finrod slide off his horse, walk over to her and hug her.

“I know… I am sorry.”

“I am, too.”

She looked over at Beren.

“And I am sorry I did not honour our agreement, either, Beren. But I feared that the grief over Barahir’s death might make you reckless, and I do not want you in graver danger than you need to be.”

Beren smiled wryly.

“Because grief does not make you reckless at all… but I doubt that will make much difference anyway, considering where we plan to go.”

“We?”

Finrod straightened his back.

“Yes. We are going to come with you. I have nowhere else to go, after all.”

And seeing Lúthien’s astounded expression, he lapsed into an explanation of all that had befallen in Nargothrond.