A/N: Sorry for a short chapter. Yes, some of this chapter's content might not be plausible if regarding "Morgoth's Ring"s essay Laws and Customs Among Eldar as the truth, but then again, Finduilas was very distressed and confused about her feelings, and it might have been a part of Morgoth's scheme. Hey, maybe it's a slightly AU, but this is how the story goes, however cheesy it would turn out to be. Please review if you haven't already.

A Matter of Truth

Túrin was glum and bitter. Why now, just as everything at last seemed to begin to work? Just as he thought his misery had been left behind. He had been a fool trying to find happiness in the first place. He had tried it before, and why would he succeed this time? But he shook of his pessimistic thoughts and feeling a bit guilty he opened the door just a crack. No answer. "Finduilas? Are you asleep?" he whispered.

"No... please, you can enter," Finduilas' voice was to be heard coming from the bed where she was hiding somewhere beneath the blankets.

"You have been brought flowers, I see," Túrin commented seeing a vase filled with lilies on the endtable beside the bed.

"My father brought them for me," a muffeled voice said beneath the covers.

"Should I have brought some, too," the man asked trying to ease the awkward athmosphere.

"No," came the answer.

He bit his lip. "Finduilas, what is the matter with you, are you hiding from me..?" He interrupted himself. Bad idea. "I should probably leave. Excuse me."

"No! don't," Finduilas' small hand reached at his arm. Her head emerged soon after: "I'm sorry, Agarwaen."

Túrin closed his eyes and sighed but sat down on the edge of the bed.

"What is it?" he asked the maiden whose head was no longer covered. "I don't want you to be sad."

The Elf adjusted her position. "Nothing," she muttred and sat up to be in eye-level with Túrin. After some hesitation she swallowed and said:

"Why haven't you told us your real name, Túrin."

"What?" A split second of puzzlement, another of shock. She means Thúrin. She doesn't know my real name.

"Gwindor told me your real name... Túrin son of Húrin."

"He - NO!" Túrin stood up in wrath, but Finduilas who still held him pulled him down trying to calm him down. "Why? I gave you a fake name for a reason!" he spat. "Who is Gwindor to spread my identity; I told him to not tell it, but - "

"Túrin..." Finduilas tried to begin, but he interrupted her.

"No, don't call me that! It is no longer my name. I left it behind so that the curse wouldn't follow me."

"Túrin!" Finduilas shouted. He silenced ashamed and looked at her. Grief and pity shone from her eyes. She stroke his hand.

"I cannot..." he muttered grimly. "I have reasons not to use it. A curse haunts me, Faelivrin."

She said nothing nor did she lower her gaze, but looked him into the eyes. Túrin breathed deeply trying to calm down. All came down in ruin. His happines had collapsed once again.

"That curse is in you, not in your name," Finduilas whispered leaning nearer.

"Morgoth will find me by my name," Túrin protested. Finduilas shook her head her expression solemn.

She kissed him. Túrin was as starteled as if he had been hit instead of kissed. Finduilas drew back.

"I cannot," Túrin tried to explain. "If you love me you will become part of my curse."

"But then it is too late," Finduilas replied a tear shimmering in her eye. "I love you already."

Túrin stared at her and within him was a fierce battle of feelings. Loyalty, love, sorrow, anger, and pain. He loved her. And then he kissed her back.