Chapter 8

By the middle of the summer, Laurehér was busier than ever. He worked at the forge side by side with the smith, who was fully healed but asked him to stay on anyway. Additionally he helped Faroniel tend the large garden they had planted as well as work the traps. Faroniel spent much of her free time with her sister, helping with the new baby girl and tending to the other children so her sister could rest. It became a familiar site for Laurehér to return from the forge to find four- year-old Liriel and six-year-old Beregond helping Faroniel in her chores while the other two boys helped Belegon in his fields.

The children squabbled less when they were with Faroniel and for some reason they seemed quite taken with Laurehér. They followed him around as soon as he got home, which delighted him greatly, and they helped him with his chores as well. In return, he would make toys for them out of wood. Faroniel always returned them home at dinner time, never leaving that task to Laurehér for fear of Belegon's temper.

One night after returning the children home, Faroniel went to the bed and lay down on her side, clutching a pillow instead of starting on dinner. Laurehér left her alone for a time, thinking she was weary even though the children had been particularly well-behaved that day. He started preparing dinner, but she neither slept nor rose to help. Finally he reached a point in the preparations where he could leave the food to cook.

Sitting down on the bed beside her, he gently shook her shoulder. When she refused to roll over to face him, he lay down behind her. Slipping his arm under her shoulders, he gently exerted enough force to turn her toward him. When she finally faced him, her ruddy cheeks were wet with tears.

"What is wrong, my sweet?" he asked, wiping her face with his sleeve.

She coughed and her voice cracked as she sputtered, "Today, my son would have been six."

He kissed her forehead, gathering her closer to him, nestling her head against his chest as she loudly began to sob. "I am so sorry," he whispered, "I am so sorry."

He could only imagine what kind of pain she must be enduring. But what could he possibly do to help? He did not know what it would be like to lose a son or at least he hoped he did not know what that felt like. Tears came to his eyes as well as he considered what it would be like to have little ones, little pieces of his heart and spirit following him around like Tathariel's children did, and calling him Atto, watching them grow, and then losing them to something outside of his control. He kissed her head, drawing her closer still as he slowly succumbed to thoughts and emotions buried so deeply inside of himself he had not realized they were even there until that moment.

Laurehér soon found himself weeping in earnest as well for his mind filled with visions of many proud sons he sent away to die on the battlefields and the fathers and generations of grandfathers later clutching the lifeless bodies. That is what happens in war. Sons die. But they died on his orders. They were under his command. How many hundreds of sons died because of him? How many mothers like Faroniel lay weeping in the arms of others because their children would never return home? Here he was holding her to his breast trying to offer what little comfort he could when he was just as guilty of murder as the illness that stole the lives of her son and daughter.

He choked, trying to be silent in his mourning so she did not hear him crying as well. He needed to be strong for her. He could not do this to himself. The sons who died at his command did so because they chose to be there. They chose to go to war. They chose to fight Morgoth and his evil ways, and take their vengeance for what Morgoth did to their people and to their peace of mind and heart and for the destruction he brought to their lives.

Yes, that was why he fought Morgoth himself, for Morgoth had killed his own atar and his brothers and, yes, even their sons. And what if…what if Arafinwë himself were the last of his house because Morgoth had killed his own sons as well? How bereft was he truly? He did not know. He could not remember. And maybe that was a very great blessing right now, not being able to remember. Would he have wanted those memories anyway? Would he truly want to be able to put a definition to all that he had lost in his life?

He struggled to take a deep enough breath to try to calm himself. No. It was right that the sons of the Elves should be fighting Morgoth. It was right that HE should be fighting and leading the fight against Morgoth as well. But the sons of men were brief and so very fragile. And they returned not from their graves, and this fight was brought to them by the Elves. It was not their fight to begin with.

And yet…they loved and respected the Elves enough to go and shed their blood to help in the fight. They spent their sons to rid Beleriand of evil so their surviving children could live in peace. It was no wonder Belegon held such hatred for him and what he represented. He would hate himself as well.

He would hate himself as well…

A while later, he stirred himself from his bitter reverie and rescued their dinner before it burned. Quietly, he went about preparing a plate with small portions for Faroniel. Helping her to sit up, he propped pillows behind her back to support her. Taking a cool damp cloth, he wiped her face, and gently kissed her lips. She answered his kiss, then dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief Laurehér had given her. He helped her eat, then sat at the table and ate his fill.

When their meal was finished, he cleaned up the kitchen, and climbed into bed beside her. Kissing her again, he held her close and sang lullabies to her in Quenya until she fell asleep. Through the night he remained awake, whispering lullabies and keeping watch, afraid to sleep for fear she would awaken and need him. He wanted to be there for her just as he hoped that someone was there for the mothers of all of the sons he had lead away who would not return. He wanted to be there for her, too, because he wanted to see joy return to her beautiful eyes. And he wanted to be there for her, as well, because at last he realized he loved her.

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As the days sped on, Laurehér grew more certain of his feelings for her, but he never once told her that he loved her. There simply was never any need to do so. There was a soothing rhythm to their lives together, and he found he enjoyed it immensely. His dreams of other times and places stopped for a few months which brought him much relief. He was growing weary of the reminders of a past he was not even certain was his. It was sometimes very difficult to distinguish dream from reality. And the dreams he had been having before they finally stopped were most disturbing indeed.

He had seen darkness descend on all of Valinor, constant conflict within his family, his amillë weeping at the news of his atar's death, an evil prince returning from exile to claim a kingship that should not have been his, slaughtered people lying on beaches and quays, weary frightened Noldorin families wandering like refugees toward a harsh cold land. He recalled being on his knees before the court of a king, apologizing for the actions of the Noldor, and sitting in council with other lords new to their positions as well and the burdens of a leadership for which none of them, including he himself, had been trained. He did not want these memories or the responsibility which he knew was his by duty and by right. He just wanted to be a smith in a village and live in peace.

At his forge every day, he observed the villagers going to and fro about their business. He watched couples courting and parents chasing wayward children. The children…he found he enjoyed watching them the most. Their deep emotions over the simple things in their lives fascinated him greatly. They took such a delight in little things like picking flowers or learning a new skill, such anger at perceived injustice (a lot of that abounded, usually the fault of siblings), and intense sorrow over the seemingly mundane such as the death of a butterfly in a spider's web.

As the autumn chill filled the air, he saw fewer children outside, which saddened him. But Mortals were frail, and the cold which was an inconvenience to him, was an enemy to them. He knew his own Faroniel would be complaining about the cold again soon and her hands would not be warm again until the spring. Unfortunately, his dreams also started again.

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Reclining on warm dry sand, he toyed with the little pile of brightly-colored shells he dutifully guarded. A golden-haired youth, barely past his majority, stood a short distance away ankle-deep in the water, bending over to examine something between his feet.

"Amillë, take these to Atto," a young voice commanded.

Turning, Arafinwë saw a beautiful silver-haired woman, her skirts hiked up and tucked into her belt against the rolling waves, her bare legs coated with sand. Indulgently, she reached out to take a handful of oozing dirty shells from the grubby hands of a sodden little boy, barely more than 3 or 4 years old.

Arafinwë could not help but smile at the woman as she turned and started walking toward him, shaking her head in disbelief. Her brilliant blue eyes sparkled as she walked, holding the shells out in front of her as if afraid of getting any of the slithery sand on her dress.

In his mind he heard her say, We spent all day yesterday doing this, and the day before. How many shells does one little boy need?

Shaking his head in sympathy, he replied in kind, He is no different from his big brother nor from your brothers for that matter, if the stories your amillë tells are true.

Yes, but he must have 200…

But she was interrupted by a yelp amidst the crash of a wave.

Dropping the shells, she turned and sprinted back to the boy. Arafinwë, leaping to his feet, ran to join her as well. She reached the boy first, scooping him up and bringing him to Arafinwë at the edge of the water. Carefully he wiped the crying face with his sleeve, brushing sand from the bright grey eyes which mournfully stared back at him.

"Baby, are you all right?" she asked worriedly. "What happened?"

The boy turned in her arms, snuggling up to her breast. "A big wave came up and knocked me down."

After a brief examination of the boy, Arafinwë softly admonished, "You need to pay more attention so the waves do not sneak up on you like that, little one."

Joining them, the youth held out his arms to his little brother. "There was a storm last mingling and lots of pretty shells washed up on the other side of the rocks over there." He pointed to a place much farther down the beach. "How about if I take you to go and see them?"

Instantly healed, the boy launched himself at his brother who caught him and swung him around before settling him on his hip. "I will keep him away from the water, Atar. You can guard his shells while we are gone."

Nodding to his sons, Arafinwë watched them walk away, the younger one chattering excitedly while clinging to his brother's chest.

Cool wet hands slipped around his waist, dampening his thin shirt. Arafinwë looked down at the woman curling herself around him. His body reacted quite strongly as he noticed the enticing way her damp dress clung to her ample breasts accentuating every peak and curve. One arm went around her, pressing her closer while his other hand moved to explore the sight before him. Exerting every bit of will power he possessed, he tore his gaze away to regard her face where a look of pure seduction darkened her countenance.

"They will be gone for a while, and we will hear them approach when they return." She nodded toward an alcove obscured by rocks directly behind them. "Shall we?"

Stooping a little, he caught her mouth with his in reply, closing his eyes and delving deeply with his tongue. Passionately, she responded in kind, one hand sliding up his back to grasp his hair against his head with her other cold hand languidly sliding down around his hip to a growing cause of concern below his belt buckle. Skillfully she began to caress him, leaving him no choice but to do as she suggested.

Panting, he broke the kiss…

But when he opened his eyes, the darkness of night surrounded him. Faroniel looked up at him questioningly, one hand still tangled in his hair, the other fondling him below the waist band of his sleeping trousers. His own hands cupped her half-exposed breast and buried in her silky hair.

With a gasp of horror, he rolled away, covering his face with his hands. What was he doing?! What had he done?!

"I am so sorry! Please forgive me!" He pleaded from behind his hands. "I am so incredibly sorry. I was dreaming and… I…I did not realize…" He slid his hands up into his hair, grasping two handfuls and shaking his head as he begged in desperation and despair, "What have I done? What have I done?"

Her cold hand slid up across his heaving bare chest to rest against his flaming cheek. Gently she turned his head toward her. "I am not upset, Laurehér," she quietly said. "Is it really wrong that two people who have lived as closely as we have should desire the touch of each other?"

He closed his eyes and slid his hands back over them, unable to meet her gaze. "But I kissed you. I touched you," he despaired, "and I never asked. I thought you were the one from my dream and I just…I…"

She silenced him with two comfortingly cool fingers on his overly warm lips. "And if I had not wanted you to kiss me or touch me, I would have stopped you. I love you Laurehér, and I want to lie with you." Her fingers drifted away to rest on his chest as his hands fell down to his sides.

Shame, guilt, and so many other feelings raced through him. He did love her and he wanted her so badly - and that made his transgression all the worse. And worst of all, what if…

"Faroniel," he agonized, "I do not deny that I care for you deeply, that I love you, and that I desire you, too. But what if…what if I am already bound to someone else?" He held up his right hand for her to see. "Is that not what this gold ring on my finger means?"

With a sigh, she propped herself up on one elbow while reaching out to take his outstretched hand in her own. Gently running her fingers over his ring, she replied, "Yes, that could be what the ring means, but if it does, how do you know she yet lives? What if she was the one who left you? What if she was a kinslayer and abandoned you more than 500 years ago? Would she have so willingly let you go if she still loved you? And if you truly loved her so, would you not at least have kept her name sacred in your heart even when so much else escapes you?"

He turned his head away from her, staring at the dim ceiling, pondering her words. Seeking comfort, his hand closed around hers. What if she spoke the truth? But was it not the way of ellyn to go to war and leave their wives behind? But could he have left his sons as well – if he had any – if he had dreamed true? Was he really even married? He did not think his wife, if he had one, had been a kinslayer, but he did not see how he could have left her either. He knew he had loved the woman in his dream, so why could he not even remember her name? What if she no longer loved him? Or, what if she had come with him and his sons, too, and they were all dead now? Then what was left to him? He knew in his heart that Elves could marry a second time if the first spouse died, but he could remember little else about that.

He remembered his own amillë's grief when his atar died even though they were so many leagues apart when that happened. But she had known. She had felt it across their marriage bond and had known instantly that he was gone, that she was alone. He had felt the severance of the bond between atar and son as well. But this gave him hope! Perhaps he could find his family at last or at least know for certain if they yet lived!

Using as much strength as he could muster, he reached out with his spirit, searching for a bond with his wife or with his sons or even with his amillë whose death he could not recall.

But all he found was emptiness.

No sons. No amillë. No wife.

He truly was alone then with no way to ever go back home. But back home to what? To where? There was nothing left for him there now anyway. But here…he had a chance for everything here. Would it be so bad to start a new life here? The forest was safe. This village was safe. This house was safe. Faroniel with her gentle hands, her loving kindness, and enchanting blue eyes always framed by those feathery wisps of silvery hair had been the only haven he had known in this stormy time. Always she greeted his lack of memory and frequent moodiness with patience and comforting concern.

Desperately, he agonized over this choice he was making. He was thousands of years old and she had only seen twenty-seven years. In a few short years, he would lose her to the death that finds all mortals, but he would persist, he would live on alone. Now he understood the heartache that Finrod had tried to protect his brother from, condemning Aicanáro to be alone forever. But he could remember little other than heartache in his own life. Perhaps he should allow himself this time with her. Unlike Aicanáro, who ended his days in regret and sorrow, he was going to grasp what was at his hand and take what small joy he could find.

He smiled to himself. Besides, according to the tanner, he was a smith and should be good with his hands. Well…he would find out about that now, if Faroniel was willing. But there was something more he would ask of her in return, although he really did not think she would mind.

Turning on his side, he looked into the depths of her questioning eyes. Still clasping her right hand in his, he glided the fingers of his other hand down the side of her face from forehead to chin, his resolve and something else firming all the while.

Taking a deep breath, he softly said "Faroniel, I believe I am alone now, except for you. I can feel no bonds between myself and anyone else which would signify a son or a wife or even my amillë being alive – if I even ever had a wife or a son. I am grateful to you for all you have done for me. It is a debt I can never hope to repay. I admit that my feelings for you are quite strong as is my desire for you. I love you… and would have you for my wife if you would have me."

She drew his hand to her smiling lips and whispered, "I love you, Laurehér, and would have you for my husband."

He smiled in return, happiness welling in his heart so completely as he stumbled over his words, "G…giving in to our physical desire for each other will result in our marriage. Are you certain this is what you want right now?"

"Yes," she replied, passionately drawing his hand to her lips again.

"Wh…when we consummate this marriage," he found it progressively more difficult to express his thoughts because of what she was doing to his hand, "Th-…there is one thing I ask of you in return."

Her face brightening even more with a mixture of curiosity and joy, she asked, "And what would that be, my beloved?"

"A child," he hesitantly whispered. "I…I want a child, Faroniel."

Before he realized what was happening, she was on top of him, straddling his waist, her lips firmly pressed to his. Too bewildered to properly respond, he pushed her away in surprise. "Does this…" he breathlessly began, but was suddenly distracted by the gaping neckline of her gown which left nothing of her voluptuous bosom to his imagination. "Does…" he tried again as fire coursed through his veins, but found himself unable to coherently form the words.

"Yes," she confirmed leaning forward, teasing his lips with hers. "It means yes."

An unbelievable joy filled him as he wrapped his arms around her and rolled her onto her back, his mouth finding and filling hers. As he lost himself in her embrace, he fleetingly realized to his intense pleasure that the making of children was something he remembered quite well.

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Note: Once the Noldor left Aman, that land was closed to them and nothing passed between Aman and Middle-Earth in thought or in spirit. It is conceivable that the bonds between family and between spouses who were parted by the Sundering Sea could no longer be felt by either party until they were reunited on the same side of the sea. Also, Arafinwë searched for bonds with a son and never searched for bonds with a daughter. That's why he didn't find Galadriel.