Chapter Seven

Lord Finarfin

Aldaya stared up at the dark ceiling, knowing she was not in Elrond's house, or her own, or lying on the beach—so where was she?

She sensed movement behind her and tilted her head back to see a very regal looking elf move towards her from the back of the room. She was struck by his looks—beautiful golden hair down to his shoulders, elaborate velvet robes in dark, muted colors. The elf looked extremely elegant, and his eyes seemed ancient and wise and kind. Indeed, they reminded her much of Elrond's eyes—except more knowing, and very keen.

"Do I know you?" she asked; for indeed, the elf seemed startlingly familiar.

"You know many of my descendants," the elf replied gently, sitting down on a chair next to her. "But we have not met before now."

Something in his voice—his motion—the very way he tilted his head as he regarded her with those darkened eyes reminded her of someone. Who could it be…?

Her heart constricted painfully and her mouth went dry. The only elf she could think of who acted in the same regal, quiet, extremely elven way was Galadriel. Which meant this had to be—?

"Lord Finarfin?" she asked softly, and a smile broke out on the grave elf's face.

"I thought perhaps you'd recognize me," he said. "Everyone says Galadriel and I have a striking resembolence. Welcome to my house, Lady Aldaya."

Dear gods, I'm talking to a legend. Oh, hell, I've talked to twenty of them as of late, I should be used to this by now…but STILL. It's FINARFIN, younger brother of Fingolfin and half-brother to Feanor for heaven's sake, father of Galadriel and Finrod and—and High King of the Noldor in Aman and oh Elbereth, what have I gotten myself into now?

Aldaya pushed herself upright slowly. "How did I get here?" she asked, and winced as sunlight hit her eyes. That was odd—it had never bothered her since she'd become an elf. "And how do you know who I am?"

"I'm always careful to note who my decendants are marrying these days," Finarfin replied lightly. "As to how you got here—apparently you took quite a fall off of that cliff. Master Elrond says its only a minor concussion—but you could have easily broken your neck from the fall. You're very lucky to be alive."

"How long have I been out?"

"Nearly a week."

Aldaya's jaw dropped. "Does my husband know I'm here?" she asked quickly, thinking of how terrified Elrohir would be.

"Your family arrived only a few hours after the accident. Your son is with Lady Celebrian, and your husband and Master Elrond are asleep. They've been up almost all week, day and night, caring for you."

Aldaya buried her head in her hands, her mind swirling. It was all coming back to her now—the fall, remembering her death, her father—her dear father—

"Cat eating your thoughts?" Finarfin asked, interrupting her doleful thinking.

"What?" she asked, startled, rasing her head.

Finarfin smiled one of those charming smiles. "Its an old saying," he said. "It means, something on your mind?"

"A lot of somethings," she admitted. Finarfin seemed very easy to talk to, for a regal and ancient King of the Noldor. "Milord…have you ever died?"

Finarfin cocked his head in thought. "No, actually, I haven't."

"How much do you know about me?"

"Not much," the King admitted. "There are rumors, of course, but they seem too malicious for such a kind young woman."

Aldaya blushed like a girl complimented on her beauty. Then she told her story, from her meeting with Elrohir, to her discovery that another Aldaya had lived years before as an elf—and that elf's soul had been born into her and Elrohir. She went on to speak of her father, Silruin, of loosing him, of Tindome and Elrohir, of the strain of not being able to act "elven." Of the shunning she had received on many levels, some obvious, some not so. And of how stifled she felt—strangled, really. Trapped in a perfect world full of perfect people, and she was the only one not so perfect. She was a falier to her husband, and a disgrace. She would never be excepted. She'd always be the ugly duckling.

And Finarfin listened as only a partial stranger can listen as Aldaya poured out her feelings of abandonment, sadness and anger. "Why did Beren have to kill my father?" she asked bitterly, more to herself than to Finarfin. "None of this would have happened."

"And you never would have met Elrohir," Finarfin said softly, suddenly. "Or been able to raise Tindome." She looked up at him with eyes red from crying. "The ugly duckling turns into a swan in the end, remember?" he said kindly. "If we were all the same, we would not be a people, no?"

The "we" made Aldaya look more closely at him. "Am I truly an elf?" she asked, voicing at last the question that had haunted her deepest and darknest thoughts.

"I suppose one of the most asked questions humans must ponder is, what is so different about the elves?" Finarfin began slowly, thoughtfully. "What is it that makes us so different? Our looks? Our philosophy? Our way of life? Or is it our lengthened lives?" Finarfin leaned forward and gently took her clammy hand in his. "It's a question only you can answer. But the Valar do not err in such matters. If you have an elven soul, then no matter if you act like a human, or even a dwarf, you are an elf, in body and soul, no matter what anyone else says. And to those with the wisdom to see it, that is all that matters."

Aldaya looked at him, saw no lie in his eyes or face. "Thanks," she whispered. "I think I needed to hear that."

Finarfin just smiled.

"Mommy!" Aldaya turned at the joyful cry as Tindome threw himself into her arms.

"Oh, my sweet Tindome," she said, holding him close. "How I missed you."

"Mommy, are you going to be all right?"

"I'm fine, my little one." Aldaya looked over to where Finarfin had sat just a moment before, but he was not there. She frowned, puzzled, as Celebrian entered. Aldaya continued to stroke Tindome, but shot a bemused glance at Celebrian, who just smiled.

"He is Finarfin," she said, as though that explained everything. "High King of the Noldor in Aman. He comes and goes as he pleases."

Two days later Aldaya rode back to her home with Elrohir, little Tindome riding in front of her and giggling as the horse's mane tickled his nose. Looking back over her shoulder, she saw a tall, elegant figure dressed in dark blue raise a hand in farewell. She smiled to herself and urged her horse on.