Epilogue
Outside, summer was slowly dying, the approaching fall turning golden the leaves of Taur-en-Faroth and painting Talath Dirnen purple with blooming heathers. Inside, activities were also ceasing with the approach of the nightfall, while Edrahil accompanied Finrod to his solar for an evening of rest after a day-long labor. They found Eiliannor setting out pastries and wine on the table, and Finrod quickly dismissed the boy with a gracious nod, allowing Edrahil to help him remove his bejeweled collar and sumptuous robe.
Edrahil divested himself of his own court garb and, setting both robes on a chest by the wall, went into the bedroom to put away the royal jewelry. On his return, he found Finrod already sitting by his harp, leaning on it tiredly with his cheek and plucking absently at the strings. Stepping behind him, Edrahil smoothed his bejeweled braids out of the way and started kneading the tense shoulders. "No chess today, my lord?"
"Let us leave the provisioning and patrols and all thoughts of warfare at least for a while. I think I am almost done with the lament, but there is one lift which fails to work no matter how I try."
"Show me"–Edrahil's hands traveled up Finrod's neck, working out knots– "though I'm sure you exaggerate as usual."
Finrod sighed, the set of his shoulders relaxing. "At first, it was all too raw," he said quietly. "I could play for hours but nothing worth writing down, all too… dissonant. And the lyrics? I had no words in which to close my feelings…" His mood lifting quickly, he continued dryly, "So, I wallowed in self-pity while you ran my kingdom for me."
"Oh, I remember it quite differently," teased Edrahil, delighting in the interplay. "'Edrahil, bring me that report on the granaries', 'Edrahil, I need to check the armory right now', 'Edrahil, let us go tour the villages, and to the Void with my leg'. That's hardly wallowing in self-pity, my lord."
"Now who is exaggerating?" Finrod leaned back and so, at last he allowed his hands to cease and simply rest on the shoulders of Finrod, who twisted a bit to look at him with a smile.
Edrahil did not know what new horrors the future would bring but he thought he could shoulder them now that he was – at last – working beside not only a beloved lord but also a dear friend.
And then, Finrod started to play.
Deep in the city, a mother was grieving the loss of her second son, unconsoled by the fact that she was joined in her mourning by so many other parents, children, and lovers who also had lost their dear ones.
Out on the plain, two princes were riding towards the city, fleeing from the Enemy.
Beneath the dark shadow of Thangorodrim, a sorcerer was gathering troops for a final assault on the Elven defenses.
Far away, in the dying Dorthonion, a valiant Woman was preparing to forsake her home in fulfillment of her duty towards her people, but against her heart's deepest desire: to fight beside her husband and son.
His hands moved swiftly through the strings, his ring finger now achingly empty, just as the index one had been for almost three yéni. He could not yet see how, but in his heart he knew the pieces were now all moving inescapably towards the death of the white king.
metta
August 28th–October 7th, 2018
A/N: Thank you very much for reading :) I would love to know what you think.