Work Text:
Remade
By CC
April, 2012
This is an amateur effort and does not intend to infringe on the rights of J.R.R. Tolkien. No profit is made and no harm is intended.
This story is for Dawn. I hope you like it! =)
Dying had been slow and painful. Dying in combat would have been swifter, and Finrod’s spirit would have simply returned to the Blessed Lands and dwelled in the Halls until their Lord saw fit to allow him to leave. It would have been easier, faster, but Finrod’s last moments had been anything but that.
He had fought against Sauron, singing a song of great power, struggling to overcome the Darkness that had finally engulfed him. He had tried to protect Beren and the faithful Elves that came with him. He had failed, and they had been imprisoned in Tol-in-Gaurhoth.
They had died valiantly, his companions, but when the werewolf had come against Beren, Finrod had gathered his power once again and broken the chains to fight with the beast to the death. It had been painful, but at least he had protected Barahir’s son.
Now Finrod had a body again, and a new life was waiting for him, but he could not bring himself to walk to the door and open it. When Finrod came back to life, Lord Namo told him that he could rest in a house in Lorien’s gardens for a while. He had stayed in this dwelling for nearly a month, and still he did not feel ready to leave it.
He had seen his father and mother from afar, but not Amarië. Finrod yearned for her gentle presence, but what could he offer her now that his spirit was bruised? Maybe he should have stayed in the Halls for longer. His pain and anger at his cousins’ betrayal had finally faded, but there were other wounds that had reopened as soon as he felt the flesh surround his spirit. He had felt the agony and pain of his wounds, and he had lay on the bed for days, his mind refusing to go beyond that point in his life: his death.
Healing must be possible in Arda, Finrod mused as he forced himself to walk until he was standing in front of the door. I am whole again, and I love my parents and Amarië, he thought as he reached for the door handle. My brothers will come out of the Halls one day, he said to himself as he pushed the door open.
Light filled his eyes, and he stopped, trembling. “Go on,” he whispered to himself. “Light was not defeated by Darkness. He was too powerful, but he will be defeated one day. Galadriel will come back.”
Finrod took another step and he was finally out of the house. He could hear the birds singing, and the sound of the squirrels scurrying around in search of their sustenance. They worried about nothing else, yet they were not free from pain. They just lived.
Taking a deep breath, Finrod closed the door and headed to the creek, needing to hear its song. He could feel Irmo’s presence, though the Vala had chosen not to take the flesh. Finrod silently thanked him, and rushed to the water, feeling the wind on his face, and the warmth of Laurëlin’s fruit as Arien’s car soared the sky on his skin.
“Thank you,” he said out loud, and after taking his clothes off, Finrod bathed himself in the creek.