Chapter Text
The otherwise lively house is quiet. No voices ring from the rooms and gardens, no other steps than his own echo on the floor tiles. But Findaráto is grateful for the silence and emptiness. In silence, it is easier to find a path amid the confused, tangled threads of thought. In solitude, it is easier to focus.
Only a few lamps shed a flickering light in the hallways, and his room is dark, with merely indistinct outlines of the furniture visible. As Findaráto opens the door, a gust of air sends flying the sketches stacked on the small table. He sits down on his bed and stares at the scattered papers. They contain no answers. In truth, he is not even certain whether he knows what questions to ask.
At last, he forces himself to rise. He goes to the window, draws back the curtains and looks outside.
The city lies in darkness, save for some faint flickers of light in a couple of windows. The low-lying clouds reflect a red glare. They loom menacingly over the square in the distance where almost all people of Tirion still listen to Fëanáro’s fiery words. Findaráto grips the windowsill and keeps looking. The darkness will not disappear if I will turn my back on it.
Trees in the garden sway in a sudden breeze. The clouds break, and a patch of clear sky appears. Stars glitter overhead, and wonder overcomes fear. Behind the veil of Treelight they never seemed so bright, and Findaráto has only heard of the unveiled starlight from others. “In Cuiviénen sweet ran the waters under unclouded stars, and wide lands lay about, where a free people might walk. There they lie still…” Fëanáro’s words fill Findaráto’s heart with… what? Dread? Excitement? Longing? He fails to understand. For now.
“Findaráto, are you there?”
“Come in, sister.”
Artanis’ steps are hesitant, so different from her usual brisk pace. All courage that was there but moments ago as she stood in the square beside them, seems to have left her.
“Findaráto, I am afraid.”
He embraces her, and Artanis hides her face on his chest. She is trembling.
“You are not alone, sister,” Findaráto says quietly. “None of us is alone. We have each other.” He holds her until she shivers no longer, then asks, “Where are Angaráto and Aikanáro? Artaresto? And our parents? I thought you stayed with them.”
“I lost mother and father in the crowd. Our brothers remained with Nolofinwë’s children. But I could not. Not after that… oath. There was so much anger and hatred there, in that square, Findaráto! I could not endure it.”
She shudders again. He draws her closer. “I know. I could not either.”
They stand awhile in silence of the twilit room. The front door opens and slams shut.
Startled, Artanis raises her eyes. “Our brothers?”
Findaráto listens intently for a few moments, then shakes his head. “No. Our parents. And mother is furious. Father would never close the door like that.”
Distant voices reach them. “Arafinwë, you cannot be even considering this!” Their mother’s tone is pained and angry.
“Ëarwen, please…” Father’s voice trembles. “At least try to understand. He needs my support. He is my brother.”
“He is your half-brother! And he only remembers that kinship when he wants something from you! And this… this madness… You cannot be thinking of following him! You cannot…” Ëarwen’s voice breaks into sobs.
Artanis flinches. “I hate when they argue,” she whispers. “Mother may be right, but still…”
Crying downstairs persists, mingled with Arafinwë’s soothing voice. After a while the doors close with a soft click. Their parents have likely retreated to their rooms.
Artanis heaves a sigh, then casts a glance at the window and at once turns away.
“Findaráto, please, draw the curtains.”
She stands amid the room, very still, arms crossed on her chest. Findaráto is about to do what she asks but then changes his mind. He will not let fear chain her.
“No, sister. We cannot hide behind walls and shuttered windows and hope the darkness would depart. We must face it. Do not be afraid. Come and look.”
She squeezes shut her eyes. “I cannot.”
“You can. You can conquer your fear, like you have always done. Like when you first rode a horse. When you first dived from the cliff into the Sea. You can do anything, my brave little sister. You can do this, too.”
“I think I am brave only when you are near, Findaráto,” she whispers, eyes still closed. “I can do all these things because you believe that I can. And then I start believing, myself.”
“Then how is this different? I am here, right beside you. And I believe you can do it, Artanis. You can face this darkness. Come.” He takes her by the hand, and hesitantly she follows him to the window. “Now, trust me. Look.”
Artanis opens her eyes. The wind has dispersed the clouds entirely, and now the whole expanse of the dark sky is scattered with shimmering dots of light. She looks for a long while, then smiles faintly.
“So many stars! It is almost… beautiful.”
“It is beautiful,” Findaráto says quietly.
They remain by the window, still hand in hand.
“I wonder…” Artanis’ falls silent as if the words she was about to say were still eluding her or as if she was not yet ready to speak them aloud.
“About what, sister?”
Findaráto nearly trembles when he sees his own thought reflected in her mind. I wonder whether the stars in Endórë look the same.
“We have spoken of returning to our ancestors’ land,” he softly says. “Maybe now is the time. Maybe… this is a sign that we should tarry no longer.”
“We did speak of returning, Findaráto.” Artanis looks away from the starlit sky. “But it is one thing to dream of the stars while sitting under gold and silver light. It is something else to pass from darkness into darkness. From something we know into something none of us has seen.”
Yet Findaráto senses her fear fading and something else dawning instead. There is that adventurous spirit he knows so well. There is excitement. There is hope. He will keep it all up, he will blow the tiny flame to a greater fire, because this is so much more like her.
“Some of our people have seen the sky of the Hither Lands. Would you like to hear a story, sister? Nelyo told me this one; he heard it from someone who went on the Great March.”
Artanis looks at him closely for a few moments. “Yes. I would like that. Tell me.”
And Findaráto settles on the window sill and tells of years-long journey over twilit fields and mountains, through shadowed woodlands. It is a tale of strange flowers opening in forest glades, of starlight reflected in streams and lakes. It is a tale of hardship but also of courage and trust. It is a tale of danger but also of beauty. It is a tale of adventures they were dreaming about as children. When the story ends, Artanis has fallen asleep, huddled on the small coach by the window. There is a smile on her lips.
“Sleep, my brave little sister.”
Findaráto covers her with a blanket, then returns to the window and stands there long looking outside. He is no longer waiting for the Light that cannot return. “In Cuiviénen sweet ran the waters under unclouded stars…”