A/N: Amarië's thoughts on Finrod's decision to go to Middle-Earth, and her own to stay in Aman. Silmarillion based.
So still the rain falls.
It is a thing strange to me, for this is the first rainfall in the Blessed Realm. Leaning out of the window of your house, I catch a drop on my finger, and it lies there, like a fallen tear. Why does the sky weep, Finrod? Does it mourn the loss of the Light, now all the land is covered in unending darkness? Does it weep for the slain mariners at Alqualondë? I know you had no part in the staining of Aman. You are too kind and gentle to draw your sword on another. You were reluctant to even carry a sword, and were rarely seen with it. It was mostly left behind in your house here in Tirion. This cold house, devoid of your life now, as the rain falls.
Does the sky weep for you, my beloved? I imagine you on some cold shore of the forgotten lands in the East. Has your quest succeeded? Did Fëanor regain his precious jewels? When will you return to me?
In my hand, I cradle the crystal that you gave to me before you went away. It has not left my hand since that day, cold and hard like a tear-drop of diamond. That day as we walked beneath the new starlight in the Night of Aman, you pressed it into my hand unexpectedly.
"Keep this, Amarië." you said with a sudden urgency, and my heart sank, for then I knew that you meant to follow them, and go into exile.
"Will you follow them?" I asked, stopping to look out over the sea into the East. The horizon was pure again, the evil vapours banished by the winds of Manwë, but your words have done me more hurt than the failing of the light ever could.
"I will follow them until the ends of Arda, if that is where they shall go." You said, taking my hands in yours, meeting my eyes. "But Amarië, we shall go to war, and the victory will be ours. When the evil is overthrown, and the land made pure again, I will return to you, and we shall be wed. All of Valinor shall be alive with light and joy for us."
"Swear it to me." I said. "Promise yourself to me now, Finrod! I would bind myself with you now, before you go." I reached for you, but you pulled back.
"I promise I will return to Valinor." You said softly. "But I cannot bind myself to you now, Amarië."
"Why not?"
Why not? I listened to my own voice, high with tears yet unshed. Why not? You were afraid you would not return. There is real danger in Beleriand, Orcs and wolves and the terrible demons of Morgoth roam free. Are the dark Elves to be trusted? I did not know. But if you were lost in the battles as yet unfought, I too would be lost, for I cannot imagine a life without you, your words, your touch.
"Only stay with me. Let them go to war without you!" I cried, my voice sounding high and wild against the crashing of the waves on the shore below.
"No, Amarië." You said, your voice heavy with sorrow. My eyes were drawn to yours, almost against my will, and through the darkness of your pupils, I saw everything. I saw your pain, to be torn between love and loyalty. I saw your promise to your cousins to follow them into exile. I saw your father, telling you that if Galadriel cannot be dissuaded from going, you too must go to protect her. I saw the beauty of the forests and mountains yet untrodden, silent under stars. I heard the trumpets, the victory marches of tomorrow.
Slowly, I withdrew from you, understanding
"I'm so sorry, Finrod!" I cried, and your warm arms closed around me. "Amarië." You said, and we both wept together. I knew you had to go, and as fate willed it I must stay. I am of the Vanyar, the light-lovers, those who fear the darkness beneath the stars. I would fade away and die if I were to follow you into exile.
~~~
But now my tears flow no more, and only the rain falls, the thick clouds hiding the stars from view. Sometimes, during the long nights, I would run up to the high cliffs where we once walked, and cry your name to the mists of the ocean, in the hope that the kind spray would carry me tidings of you. But no words came out of the East in return.
My hope grew with the coming of Isil. As a shimmering orb of Silver it rose over the lip of the Western horizon, and the Elves rejoiced after so long in darkness. It will traverse the sky, following a path amid the stars to light the world, it was declared at the Feast of Isil, celebrated in Tirion beneath its strange silver light. It must come over the forgotten lands too, Finrod, and I like to think that you too can see it, and think on me.
There came a night when all was still, the rain had stopped, and I had wandered from the city, following my feet's path that led up to the cliffs above the ocean. I watched the moon rise, cross the sky, and sink slowly into the East. This would have been the time of the Mingling of the Lights, had the trees still shone. I prayed again that Tilion the Hunter would guide his vessel well, and that you might look on it and be glad, for what joy is in Beleriand for the Noldor?
Slowly I opened my palm, where your crystal lay glimmering like a radiant star, an icy jewel.
"I am not a craftsman like my cousins, but I did my best." I hear your voice then. Oh Finrod, your gift is more to me than any golden trinket of Fëanor. I gaze on it, for soon the thin moonlight will fail and darkness will return.
But instead of light failing, another light is rising in the West, more glorious and golden than I have ever seen in this long night. Slowly it climbs, spilling its rays of heat and light over the land. I cast off my cloak, feeling the warmth on my skin, and watch as the crystal picks out rays in the new light and splits them into a thousand colours, a thousand beams of radiance. What is this new gift of the Valar? The light is so bright it hurts my eyes to look, but I make out the shape of a golden ship riding the waves of the Encircling Seas, steered by a figure of flame. In her hand, she raises aloft the fruit of Laurelin, the last memory of the Trees.
I call your name to the Eastern sea one last time, and pray that you will see the Golden Messenger in the sky above, and remember your promise to me. For I will come to these cliffs no longer, but you will never leave my thoughts, for an hour, a day, an age, until you return to me. And we shall be wed then, and all Valinor shall rejoice in the new-found light and joy, just as you said it would be. I laugh and raise my hands in praise of the Daystar. The Vanya are the children of light, and now light is returned, my mourning for you shall end.
I will wait for you, Finrod, until the ending of Arda if I must, but I will not weep.
So still the rain falls.
It is a thing strange to me, for this is the first rainfall in the Blessed Realm. Leaning out of the window of your house, I catch a drop on my finger, and it lies there, like a fallen tear. Why does the sky weep, Finrod? Does it mourn the loss of the Light, now all the land is covered in unending darkness? Does it weep for the slain mariners at Alqualondë? I know you had no part in the staining of Aman. You are too kind and gentle to draw your sword on another. You were reluctant to even carry a sword, and were rarely seen with it. It was mostly left behind in your house here in Tirion. This cold house, devoid of your life now, as the rain falls.
Does the sky weep for you, my beloved? I imagine you on some cold shore of the forgotten lands in the East. Has your quest succeeded? Did Fëanor regain his precious jewels? When will you return to me?
In my hand, I cradle the crystal that you gave to me before you went away. It has not left my hand since that day, cold and hard like a tear-drop of diamond. That day as we walked beneath the new starlight in the Night of Aman, you pressed it into my hand unexpectedly.
"Keep this, Amarië." you said with a sudden urgency, and my heart sank, for then I knew that you meant to follow them, and go into exile.
"Will you follow them?" I asked, stopping to look out over the sea into the East. The horizon was pure again, the evil vapours banished by the winds of Manwë, but your words have done me more hurt than the failing of the light ever could.
"I will follow them until the ends of Arda, if that is where they shall go." You said, taking my hands in yours, meeting my eyes. "But Amarië, we shall go to war, and the victory will be ours. When the evil is overthrown, and the land made pure again, I will return to you, and we shall be wed. All of Valinor shall be alive with light and joy for us."
"Swear it to me." I said. "Promise yourself to me now, Finrod! I would bind myself with you now, before you go." I reached for you, but you pulled back.
"I promise I will return to Valinor." You said softly. "But I cannot bind myself to you now, Amarië."
"Why not?"
Why not? I listened to my own voice, high with tears yet unshed. Why not? You were afraid you would not return. There is real danger in Beleriand, Orcs and wolves and the terrible demons of Morgoth roam free. Are the dark Elves to be trusted? I did not know. But if you were lost in the battles as yet unfought, I too would be lost, for I cannot imagine a life without you, your words, your touch.
"Only stay with me. Let them go to war without you!" I cried, my voice sounding high and wild against the crashing of the waves on the shore below.
"No, Amarië." You said, your voice heavy with sorrow. My eyes were drawn to yours, almost against my will, and through the darkness of your pupils, I saw everything. I saw your pain, to be torn between love and loyalty. I saw your promise to your cousins to follow them into exile. I saw your father, telling you that if Galadriel cannot be dissuaded from going, you too must go to protect her. I saw the beauty of the forests and mountains yet untrodden, silent under stars. I heard the trumpets, the victory marches of tomorrow.
Slowly, I withdrew from you, understanding
"I'm so sorry, Finrod!" I cried, and your warm arms closed around me. "Amarië." You said, and we both wept together. I knew you had to go, and as fate willed it I must stay. I am of the Vanyar, the light-lovers, those who fear the darkness beneath the stars. I would fade away and die if I were to follow you into exile.
~~~
But now my tears flow no more, and only the rain falls, the thick clouds hiding the stars from view. Sometimes, during the long nights, I would run up to the high cliffs where we once walked, and cry your name to the mists of the ocean, in the hope that the kind spray would carry me tidings of you. But no words came out of the East in return.
My hope grew with the coming of Isil. As a shimmering orb of Silver it rose over the lip of the Western horizon, and the Elves rejoiced after so long in darkness. It will traverse the sky, following a path amid the stars to light the world, it was declared at the Feast of Isil, celebrated in Tirion beneath its strange silver light. It must come over the forgotten lands too, Finrod, and I like to think that you too can see it, and think on me.
There came a night when all was still, the rain had stopped, and I had wandered from the city, following my feet's path that led up to the cliffs above the ocean. I watched the moon rise, cross the sky, and sink slowly into the East. This would have been the time of the Mingling of the Lights, had the trees still shone. I prayed again that Tilion the Hunter would guide his vessel well, and that you might look on it and be glad, for what joy is in Beleriand for the Noldor?
Slowly I opened my palm, where your crystal lay glimmering like a radiant star, an icy jewel.
"I am not a craftsman like my cousins, but I did my best." I hear your voice then. Oh Finrod, your gift is more to me than any golden trinket of Fëanor. I gaze on it, for soon the thin moonlight will fail and darkness will return.
But instead of light failing, another light is rising in the West, more glorious and golden than I have ever seen in this long night. Slowly it climbs, spilling its rays of heat and light over the land. I cast off my cloak, feeling the warmth on my skin, and watch as the crystal picks out rays in the new light and splits them into a thousand colours, a thousand beams of radiance. What is this new gift of the Valar? The light is so bright it hurts my eyes to look, but I make out the shape of a golden ship riding the waves of the Encircling Seas, steered by a figure of flame. In her hand, she raises aloft the fruit of Laurelin, the last memory of the Trees.
I call your name to the Eastern sea one last time, and pray that you will see the Golden Messenger in the sky above, and remember your promise to me. For I will come to these cliffs no longer, but you will never leave my thoughts, for an hour, a day, an age, until you return to me. And we shall be wed then, and all Valinor shall rejoice in the new-found light and joy, just as you said it would be. I laugh and raise my hands in praise of the Daystar. The Vanya are the children of light, and now light is returned, my mourning for you shall end.
I will wait for you, Finrod, until the ending of Arda if I must, but I will not weep.