Child of Kings by singing-sorrowless  

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Finduilas

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For into darkness fell his star

in Mordor, where the shadows are.

Finduilas—

Finduilas had loved her brother from the moment she met him. It would have been harder not to love Gil-Galad, harder not to accept him into the family. He was compassionate and brave and selflessly concerned for others, and he had the most delightful quiet rebellious streak, which she encouraged shamelessly.

And he was holding back, right now.

“You can hit harder than that,” she taunted, parrying his strike and lunging with her own bowstaff.

In a few swift movements, Finduilas knocked him down onto the grass, his staff flying out of his hands.

“That’s not fair,” he said, letting her help him up.

“Isn’t it? You’re taller than me, now. I don’t have to go easy on you anymore.” She tossed his staff back to him.

“You never did, Fin,” Gil-Galad said.

“I tried,” she said, and it was true. She had been very gentle with him when they first started training.

“Once you stop being so afraid of losing control,” she continued, “it will be better.”

“You’re not afraid of anything,” he said, shaking his head.

“I am,” she said sadly, “trust me, I am. But even if you still fear losing control, you’ll have a much easier time once we switch you to a real spear.”

“I’d still be afraid of hurting you.”

“I know. But you won’t. Here, give me your staff,” she said, sitting down.

He did, and she pulled two of the green ribbons from her hair, letting strands fall down around her face. Gil-Galad sat with her on the grass and watched as she tied a ribbon around one end of her bowstaff, then his.

“This will be your spear-point for now,” she said. “This is how my mother taught me.”

Her voice caught a touch as she handed the staff back to Gil-Galad. He looked at her intently. Of course he had caught it; he knew the same grief and more. She had given up trying to hide how she felt from him long ago.

“I didn’t know Tirinde was a warrior,” he said softly. “But I guess, as one of the Laiquendi…”

“She was fearsome in battle, when she had to be,” Finduilas said. “That was…that was how we lost her. But she would have loved you—”

“I am tired,” Gil-Galad said suddenly, “of hearing parents would have been proud of me, would have loved to see where I am now!”

He blinked back tears, laughing bitterly.

“It’s cold comfort,” he said, “for one who is no one’s child, anymore.”

“Gil,” she breathed, pushing their weapons aside, “What are you saying? Come here.”

She gathered her brother into her arms, as if he was much younger, instead of nearly an adult, one of the heirs to the throne.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. “You are still the child of Fingon and Galadwen, and Círdan and Orodreth. You have suffered too much, as we all have, but you are loved by more people, not less, because of it.”

“It is not the same,” Gil-Galad said, pushing away from her gently.

“No. And I would not have it be. Would you?”

He looked at her silently, almost shocked.

“Of course we wish they had not died,” Finduilas said, softening her remark. “It’s horrible, losing someone. But would you really rather be confined in Hithlum with all the old wounds of our family? You are the heir to the throne, and you must know your people, and let them love you.

“It’s not fair, that you have lost so much. But it is a mercy, to you, that you have met Círdan and my father, and that they have loved you. And it is a mercy to me, that I have met you.”

“I know,” he said. “But it is a kind of mercy that has hunted me down, dogging all my steps until I am alone. The king’s heir, but no one’s child.”

“You are still your mother’s child, and Fingon’s, and Círdan’s. You are Orodreth’s son, and my brother. You are a child of kings—Erenion, Gil-Galad.” Finduilas squeezed his hands in her own.

“Is that the new name I ought to bear, since I have no father-name, and no name in my mother’s tongue anymore?”

“If it will remind you whose you are,” she said.

“That, at least, is a mercy.”

“The kind that has been hunting you and me,” Finduilas said wryly.

“You never make anything easy, Finduilas,” Gil-Galad sighed, brushing back the tears. “But I suppose honesty is better than pity, or cold comfort. I will be Erenion, a child of kings.”

“I am sorry I have no soft words of comfort.”

“From you,” he said, smiling again, “I would not trust them to be genuine.”

“Come, Erenion,” Finduilas laughed, helping him up, “We are warriors’ children as well as kings’ heirs, and we will live, and fight!”

The night is passing, she thought. And in Arda marred, someday she, or her father, or her brother, might die by the spear, as they lived by it.

But life and hope would go on, for those left.

The night was passing.

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Chapter End Notes

Auta i lome! Thank you for reading!