Disclaimer: Tolkien created the world, I didn't.
Timeframe: T.A. 11
Rating: Rated PG-13 for themes of rape.
Chapter IV: Findur
"What are you looking at?"
Findur, curled up in a chair beside his bedroom window, looked up at his sister with a shy smile. "Just something that I made." He showed her the wood carving sitting on his palm.
Celebrían arched her eyebrows. "It's quite lovely," she murmured, admiring the small wooden bird. Findur grinned. His sister was very picky; he took it as a compliment if she said something was just adequate. Lovely was something else entirely, especially when it was only a little carving that had taken him almost no time to make.
"You're full of surprises," she was saying, smiling at him and shaking her head, her long, straight hair swishing like silvery wheat. "But what I've come to tell you is that Mother has returned."
Findur leaped out of the chair. He handed the carving to Celebrían. "Keep it," he told her, and began to run. Finally, after more than a week away, his mother was back! She had never been away for more than a day before, and even that was a rare occurrence. He had missed her terribly.
It had happened like this—one afternoon, a messenger had arrived suddenly from Mithlond. A ship had come into the Havens, and there was a passenger on it that wanted to see his mother. Now, this was strange news, for the ship must have come from the West, from Valinor itself, and this had not happened for a whole age, not since the war that defeated Morgoth and destroyed Beleriand in the process. Whatever this stranger had come to say, it must be important indeed.
So his mother had packed some things and, with an escort (not that Findur could seriously imagine her needing such protection), had left Rivendell. It was a long journey to Mithlond, although a relatively safe one. He had begged to be able to go, but his parents had patiently explained that a young boy was not very helpful on an important journey. "Next time," Mother had told him with a smile. Whatever that meant. He hadn't ever been away from home, and was beginning to suspect that he never would. Grownups were always so protective.
As Findur neared the front entrance, he heard the familiar voices of his mother and father. He started to run even faster. In less than a minute, he was launching himself into his mother's arms.
"Hello, Findur," she said with a laugh. She knelt so that she could hold him more easily. "I'm glad to see you as well."
Something in her voice seemed wrong—sad, he thought. He let go, and took a long time staring at her face. Her blue eyes mirrored what he had heard in her voice. And it wasn't all sadness that she felt; there was hope as well. Hope of release, he thought. He wasn't at all sure what that meant, but it seemed like the right words.
"Who wanted to see you in Mithlond?" he asked. Maybe this would explain what was wrong with her.
"It was my father, Finarfin," she said.
Findur's eyes grew wide. He had never thought much about his mother's relatives in the West. It was too strange to think of such an ancient, wise person having a mother and father herself. "What did he say?" he asked.
"He sent word from my family," she said. "My mother, my brothers who have come out of Mandos." She smiled. "You have a cousin, the daughter of Finrod."
"But there must be more," said Findur. "Surely he would not have come all this way—"
His father, who had been watching until now, stepped in. "It is the business of the Wise," he said. The business of the Wise was a joke between the two of them; it meant anything with which small children should not concern themselves.
Findur scowled, but nodded again. "All right. I'm glad you're home. I'm glad you saw your father."
"So am I." She kissed him on the forehead. "Now go with your father. I have some things to discuss with Master Elrond."
Findur watched her as she glided out of the room. He decided that there could be no one as beautiful as his mother. Well, maybe a Vala, like Elbereth. He told this to his father, who chuckled.
"You will get no argument from me," Father said. "I do not know much of the Valar. The only glimpses of Valinor that I have seen are in Queen Melian and King Thingol's faces—and in the light of the Trees caught up in your mother's hair."
They were speaking in Quenya. This struck Findur as very strange, since not even his parents used that ancient tongue very often. If they had something private to say, they could usually communicate it with a glance. It must be a very secret, very complex matter indeed that required such a language.
He had not meant to eavesdrop, for his parents had obviously chosen a place in which they thought they would not be heard, a balcony that was quite far from any occupied room. It wasn't his fault that his hearing was so keen and that his handle on Quenya was good enough that he could pick up most of their conversation, even when lying in his bed five rooms away.
"Now will you tell me what this is about?" Father was asking her. "You spoke to Elrond before you spoke to me. Why?"
"I was conveying messages from his parents," Mother explained. "There would have been news for Círdan as well, if he had any family in Valinor."
"But there is more."
"Yes." There was a pause. "They have granted me pardon, Celeborn. I am free to return from exile if I wish."
Findur started at this. His mother had been in exile? He had always thought that she had been pardoned before like everyone else and had chosen not to leave. Now that she could go, would she? Would he and Father and Celebrían go with her? The thought troubled him so that he forgot to listen, until he heard his name mentioned. "You must stay with Findur," Mother was saying. Then he had been right. She was going, and she was leaving them behind.
Father seemed as unhappy about this as he was. "If it were only for a time... but what might be an eternity? I could not bear it."
Their voices grew softer but more agitated, so that their words were harder to understand. There was something about a ring, and an heir, and his name was mentioned several times. There seemed to be a thing, or perhaps things, that could not be brought to the West. Mother spoke of some hurt that only the West could heal, and made Father promise to look after Celebrían and himself. "It will be forever," he heard her say. "Only a precaution. As soon as we know for certain." More confusing discussion. And then a long silence.
"I would not go if I saw some other way," Mother said finally, her voice trembling. "It is as if I am drowning in the darkness. Everything that once filled me with meaning is now so many shadows. My soul is dying, beloved. It is a hurt that the Blessed Lands alone can heal."
Findur was weeping. He did not understand any of this, what had hurt Mother so, or why they could not come with her, or why even Father could not convince her to stay. How could anything be right without her?
He did not sleep that night, and at dawn Father and Mother came into his room, a very pale-faced Celebrían trailing behind.
"Findur," Mother said softly. "We have something to tell you."
