A Deed Unforgiven by LadySternchen  

Flashback- Finarfin

He felt quite sick.

Olwë beside him looked as though his sentiments were none too different. In fact, he had not seen his father-in-law so upset since… no, he would not go down that memory-lane right now. What the Maia before them was telling them was quite horrendous enough, a tale that did not need the kinslaying’s help to inflict pain.

And all three of them felt this pain, though surely in different ways.

It hurt to hear about all of the crimes of Melkor, of how he had thrown the fair lands beyond the sea under his rule, and of the wicked ways he had chosen to torture those of the Elves he could lay his hands on.

“My children are over there.” Arafinwë heard himself say, as soon as the Maia had ended her gruelling tale. “And my brothers and sister, or they were…”

He could not voice it. Fëanáro and Nolofinwë were dead, he knew, but Lalwen? She had followed here favourite brother into exile, had she also followed him to her death? And his children? No, it were not his children who still dwelled in Beleriand, it was his daughter only. His sons had already fallen victim to Morgoth and his terrors from what he had heard.

“What is it you would have us do, lady?”

Olwë’s voice trembled, emotions too great and too long buried clearly straining to break through his composure.

“There will be war. Not quite yet, but soon. I beg you to muster your forces, and aid the Powers in the fight against Morgoth, both of you. Ingwion will lead the host of the Vanyar to war in his father’s stead, and what say you, King Olwë, King Arafinwë?”

He nodded almost before Melian had finished her sentence, the fiery valour of the House of Finwë raising its proud head within his chest. He had returned to Tirion, seeking to amend his folly and the crimes of his kin, but he would not dream of shying away from making war against the murderer of his father and brother, and the defiler of the holy light.

Olwë, however, took a step back, his voice cold all of a sudden.

“I cannot do that. I shall do as the Powers command me, and shall be happy to aid in any way my people and I can, but I will not join the murderers of my sons and so many of my people in their fight.”

“My lord Olwë.” the Maia took one step more towards Olwë, grabbing his hands pleadingly “I know of your hurt, and I do not blame you for your resentment. It is but a borrowed grief I feel, sentiments I experience in my husband’s stead, but even I -who had never known you and even less your people- felt wrath I had not known before when I learned of what had befallen at Alqualondë. You do have every right to refuse my call. But still, I would beg you to remember that we are siblings by law, and that you have other kin suffering in Endor still. Lord Olwë, Círdan and Elmo and Thônwen are among those who live under Morgoth’s constant threat. Will you not save them?”

“I know. And I shall see them and my grandchildren on my boats safely as soon as…”

“And Elwë? Morgoth tortured, mutilated and raped him before mortally wounding him, and dragged him before Círdan’s gates as bait. Or rather, he let his Orcs take their pleasure. You remember Orcs from your childhood, I trust, just as you remember your brother?”

Olwë looked ready to faint, his face as white as his hair, and Arafinwë hastily reached out to steady him. This had been a low blow indeed, though he was well aware that Melian herself was getting desperate. Still, if he had to take sides here, it must always be with Olwë, whom he loved as a father and revered in sheer endless admiration. After all, when he had returned, grieved and begging for forgiveness, Olwë had done naught to scorn him, but forgiven him after only a little while, and welcomed him back into his house with open arms. More, he treated him not only as a son but also as his equal, ever paying him every respect in his own court in Tirion. He therefore could not help but scowl at Melian for so upsetting Olwë, just to jolt him into action.

Nobody spoke or moved for a while, and just when he thought her might not be able to stand the tension any longer, Olwë bowed his head.

“I do remember.” Olwë said finally, his voice all but toneless, tears running gently down his face. “And if it be with the Valar’s leave, then I shall fight. I shall avenge my brother. I cannot, however, force any of my people to do the same, should they oppose my counsel. I will not force those who lost loved ones in the kinslaying to give their lives to rescue their assaulters. And I think you will find that Elwë would have seconded that.”

For the first time, the Maia smiled, and though sadness surround her like an aura still, Arafinwë felt the tension leaving their conversation.

To war it was, then.