Prologue (Passage from The Silmarillion)

Then the Captain of Morgoth sent out riders with tokens of parley, and they rode up before the outworks of the Barad Eithel. With them they brought Gelmir son of Guilin, that lord of Nargothrond whom they had captured in the Bragollach; and they had blinded him. Then the heralds of Angband showed him forth, crying: 'We have many more such at home, but you must make haste if you would find them; for we shall deal with them all when we return even so.'

And they hewed off Gelmir's hands and feet, and his head last, within sight of the Elves, and left him.

By ill chance, at that place in the outworks stood Gwindor of Nargothrond, the brother of Gelmir. Now his wrath was kindled to madness, and he leapt forth on horseback, and many riders with him; and they pursued the heralds and slew them, and drove on deep into the main host.

And seeing this all the host of the Noldor was set on fire, and Fingon put on his white helm and sounded his trumpets, and all the host of Hithlum leapt forth from the hills in sudden onslaught. The light of the drawing of the swords of the Noldor was like a fire in a field of reeds; and so fell and swift was their onset that almost the designs of Morgoth went astray. Before the army that he sent westward could be strengthened it was swept away, and the banners of Fingon passed over Anfauglith and were raised before the walls of Angband.

Ever in the forefront of that battle went Gwindor and the Elves of Nargothrond, and even now they could not be restrained; and they burst through the Gate and slew the guards upon the very stairs of Angband, and Morgoth trembled upon his deep throne, hearing them beat upon his doors.

But they were trapped there, and all were slain save Gwindor only, whom they took alive; for Fingon could not come to their aid. By many secret doors in Thangorodrim Morgoth had let issue forth his main host that he held in waiting, and Fingon was beaten back with great loss from the walls.

Then in the plain of Anfauglith, on the fourth day of the war, there began Nirnaeth Arnoediad, Unnumbered Tears, for no song or tale can contain all its grief.

- J.R.R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion

Faelivrin

...and so greatly did Gwindor love her beauty that he named her Faelivrin, which is the gleam of the sun on the pools of Ivrin…

- J.R.R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion

Gwindor remembered, oftentimes in the darkness of his captivity, those days at the height of summer when he and Finduilas went running down the gorge to the river Narog. Beneath high noon, it glinted like a dragon's horde, powerful and unrelenting on its southward course. Finduilas used to tie up the hem of her dress above her knees, kick her shoes off onto the bank, and splash into the warm crystal water, scattering swans into the heavens.

He would follow her into pounding current, blinded by the gold of her hair, his heart soaring in the sound of her laughter. She would turn to him in the middle of the river, and put her hands on his shoulders; he held by the waist lifted her wet, shimmering body into his arms.

He remembered her weight, her dress plastered over her hot skin with the hem knotted and the sleeves rolled up, and the water beading at the ends of her braids, streaming over his brown forearms.

Traveling elves once traded rumors of her beauty across the ways of Beleriand: they bickered over whether Lúthien of Doriath, or Idril of Gondolin, or Finduilas of Nargothrond was the fairest among the elleth of Arda; they compared these women to one another as though they were horses or diamonds.

But Finduilas, though she blushed demurely at these rumors, took a vain and secret pride at the notoriety of her own unattainable splendor. She was young then in the ways of the world, a highbred filly prancing through her paces before the powerful men who owned her. She saw her life unrolling before her as tidy and luxurious as a silk carpet at her feet: a life of pearl-brocaded gowns, white doves and roses, golden-haired princelings following behind her like cygnets, and Gwindor ever at her side.

Those who knew of Gwindor back then, lean as a stag at his beautiful, impulsive prime, thought Finduilas lucky to have him. Before his brother Gelmir was taken, before the bitter years following that would lay waste to his youth and spirit, Gwindor's laugh was as clear and bright as the tumble of Narog in the rain.

And he loved Finduilas every way he knew how. By day he named her Faelivrin- the gleam of the sun on the pools of Ivrin, from which the great Narog arose. By night he would awaken to the thought of her, to find the heat from his skin burning through his soaked sheets.

They were betrothed on the first day of summer in the Year of the Sun 455, when yellow elanor carpeted the hills in full bloom. That night, every street in the city echoed with the weeping of every girl in Nargothrond, cursing the good fortune of Finduilas.

But as Finduilas lingered alone in her gilded bedroom after Gwindor had left her, and all her well-wishers had been sent away. A sudden loneliness came over her. It was so quiet here, behind her embroidered curtains. She had admirers, but no friends; she had never wanted them. In har vanity, she had shunned company here at the pinnacle of her perfection. There could only be one most-coveted woman in the land, and the title belonged to her only.

Brown-skinned Víressë saw the princess quietly slip away, and pitied her. The ladies of the court spoke of Finduilas often behind closed doors, as they did now:

"So. Pretty Finduilas has finally realized no one really likes her, after all."

"She needs no pity. It serves her right, the way she flounces around with her nose in the air, tossing her curls-"

"-swallowing Gwindor's face up in the towers where everyone can see, deigning every now and again to look down at the rest of us, with that little red smile..."

"Oh, I don't even think she's capable of that much malice. She's so shallow and empty-headed, she doesn't even mean to be as supercilious she is."

Here, Víressë glanced up coldly from her needlepoint.

"Only envious fools need mock Finduilas. She is more than what you see."

They fell silent at once. In spite of her youth and smallness, Víressë scared them all a little. Though she was quiet, and strange, and never seemed to notice or mind what they all thought of her, she was somehow the clear leader of this little circle of women. And she always had the final word.

But Víressë only rolled her eyes, tucked her brown hair behind her ear, and resumed her needlework, keeping her own counsel. In her eyes, Finduilas was neither dull nor mean. A little vain, yes; helpless as a newborn lamb, and inordinately preoccupied with giggling prettily on the riverbank. But her heart was in the right place, and she really did love Gwindor with all of her pure, simple being. Víressë was uncharacteristically protective of Finduilas, much to her own annoyance. It was no fun bullying people who couldn't defend themselves.

Hi! Thanks for reading the first chapter, hope you enjoy! Just wanted to give special thanks here to user NelyafinweFeanorion for reading over my first draft and and offering very helpful suggestions. This user is an incredible writer if you didn't know it already :) Have a great day!