Disclaimer: All characters belong to Tolkien. Translations of Elvish (Sindarin, unless otherwise stated) and additional notes follow the chapter.
Contact: erunyauve at lycos dot com (replace 'at' and 'dot' in the obvious places)
You care nothing for a man
Who cares so very much for thee [2]
"Finduilas, will you not ride out with me this morning?"
She is precious to him. Selfishly, he keeps her here at Nargothrond in such evil times, though here she has no peace.
"I sense that Gwindor's return has not eased your mind as it might."
"I fear I am faithless, Adar. My heart turns now to another."
"Túrin?" Gentle is his voice; she seems to him a glass figurine: lovely, so easily shattered.
Her slender fingers trace the ribbons woven into the mane of her horse. "Indeed. But I am not loved."
"Gwindor cares for you still."
"Would that love might be otherwise dealt betwixt the three of us, but my heart warns me that in Túrin lies my hope."
"Yet you say he loves you not."
"He sees me not as a maid but a great lady. He cannot love me for the honour he bestows upon me."
"As he should honour you. Yet, I would not have you pine so, Finduilas."
"Have you not said that Men will inherit Ennor and our labours shall come to dust?"
"The Valar have spoken this doom."
"Then do I not have wisdom in placing my hopes in Túrin, as you also have done, Adar?"
"Hope and happiness are not the same. One accepts a doom because one must."
Finduilas bows her head, golden curls tumbling forward to hide her face. "The heart is no less a master than doom."
'Doom is not so fickle, sell nín,' he thinks. Alas, that she cares no longer for Gwindor as he still cares for her. Orodreth is fond of Túrin, fond as if he were a son, but the man brings unhappiness to his daughter. [3]
She has not her mother's strength. Fragile, a leaf at the whim of the wind, Finduilas is too much like him.
[1] "But what of Finduilas?"
The title comes from Finduilas' words to Gwindor. (Unfinished Tales, 'Narn i Hîn Húrin' p 166 pub Ballantine/Del Rey)
[2] You care nothing for a man…
Lyrics: 'Annachie Gordon', a traditional ballad.
[3] sell nín
daughter of mine