HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO DAWN
Dawn, for your birthday, I wrote you a story. Here it is, just in time! This would not have been legible but for the last-minute help of both claudi007 and tehta who helped me out in very timely fashion. Thanks guys, and I owe you a long e-mail!
You said you wanted Finrod, Dawn, so here he is:
STORY TITLE: THE BUTTERFLY'S MESSAGE
RATING: PG-13
WARNINGS: A little violence.
CHARACTERS: Finrod Felagund, Beren, Amarië, Sauron, Finarfin.
I hold the unconscious Man tight to my body. We are alone and naked in the pit with our hands bound. Our wrists have been tied with ropes, but we have managed to loosen them. The Man’s hands are free, but a piece of twine remains dangling from his wrist. As if the action could save him, I grip him tighter. Our fate is set. My lips move in a silent and useless plea, during which time I summon my strength and reason to face the inevitable.
“Here I will die. But I vow to do all in my power to protect Beren,” I promise to no one, for there is no one to hear my promises. Everyone dear to me is gone. I hear myself muttering in the gloom, the sound only a pathetic sketch of what my voice used to be as a king of Elves-sounding strong as thunder from the tower when I summoned my host to war. And as the discoverer of Men-singing praise to their existence in a voice joyful and melodic. I hold this Man in my arms and my voice is gone. I cry for him and for what may become of him. I, a dead king, forsaken by my people, attach my last shred of hope to Beren by no more than what I feel is a frayed thread. It is my hope that something good may yet come of this.
I look up for another moment, one of many, even though I know there will be no rescue. There is no way out of here. I find it ironic that I built the tower that now stands over this pit. Black soot drifts down upon us in a suffocating cloud every time a rock dislodges itself from the walls around us. Though the walls are studded with many stones, they cannot be used as footholds and handholds. They are as sharp as sword-blades and have cut our hands when we tried to climb them.
My faithful companions lie dead, their bodies riven on the putrescent floor, slain by Sauron’s creatures of terror embodied in fangs and fur: the werewolves. We await the arrival of the most terrible creature of all: Sauron the Necromancer, Sauron the Vampire, who has thrown us into this execrable, doom-filled pit. We know he will return for us. There were ten of my loyal followers with me and they have all been slain, one by one. We two are the only survivors. After the return of the Dark One, only one of us will remain. That must be Beren, and I must prepare to die.
I look up again and think I am beginning to hallucinate, because I see a butterfly, an incongruous thing to find here in this place. It is a creature of exquisite beauty come by accident into this black well of madness. Awe fills my senses and I follow its pattern of flight with wide eyes, blinking to remind myself that it is real and not a figment of my fractured thoughts.
Its wings flutter pale gold. Though there is no light in this place the butterfly seems lit from within-I can see the tiny veins filigreed across its small span of wing. I am reminded of the maiden I once loved: Amarië. She who chose not to follow me to the Hither Lands so long ago. Amarië of the golden hair, whom I held in my arms when we lay in the green grass of the pastures of Tirion, her head resting upon my chest. I stroked her hair and I can still feel and see it beneath my fingers: it was like the golden silk of the cornstalk, the light of Laurelin turning it to shimmering waves reminiscent of the gilt-tipped seawater off the shores of Alqualondë.
The memories vanish with a blink. The butterfly has flown away. I look down to see that Beren is still unconscious. I settle back against the sharp wall, Beren held tightly in my arms. I arrange his head so that it lies on my chest and I make him as comfortable as possible. I stroke his hair, dirty as it is from the soot, sweat and blood, trying to make it smooth and neat, as Amarië’s was.
I close my eyes and adjust my head against the discomfort of the rough wall. I do not sleep, but I rest and try not to think overlong about our plight lest the hopelessness causes me to despair. I wait for Beren to awaken. I let him sleep to regain his strength, for he must have strength to help me fight for his life.
Presently I feel a tickle against my nose. I expect it is some soot that has fallen down upon me and instinctively purse my lips and blow out a breath of air to banish the nuisance. When I open my eyes, I see the hovering butterfly. I realize that its wings have brushed my face.
“Why have you come here?” I ask it. Of course it cannot answer me. But the beat of its wings has a soothing effect.
My eyes close again of their own accord. I think about Amarië once more. My thoughts are vivid, as if I were home again in Tirion. I can see the white towers of the city and smell the fresh, clean air. Amarië and I were betrothed and we should have been lovers. I wanted us to be but she said she preferred to wait until our marriage, as per Vanyarin custom. It was not necessarily the Noldorin custom to comply with strict rules of courtship and marriage, but I complied with her wishes because I loved her. I would do anything she wanted.
“Findaráto,” she said to me, “my wish is that our betrothal be announced to our two families and that our rings be exchanged in front of all at a grand and glorious function.”
We would walk together until our legs grew tired, and talk of many things. She told me everything that she desired: to have a lavish wedding in the Vanyarin style; her own house at the foot of Mt. Taniquetil; exactly two children-one boy and one girl; and many servants to keep our beautiful house in order and to tend its ornate gardens.
I told her that I would love for us to travel-to keep a stable of fine horses and ride every day. And explore the world. Amarië had not been interested in traveling, and so I laid my dreams to rest and promised to alter my wishes to suit hers.
Beren stirs against my chest. I come out of my reverie. The butterfly has gone again. “Beren,” I whisper. “Are you awake?” Although my wrists are bound to each other by rope, there is enough slack that I am able to touch his back. He moans quietly.
“How do you feel?” I ask him.
“I have felt better,” he remarks. His voice is hoarse.
“You show some spirit. Good,” I tell him, and pat his back with reassurance although I do not feel myself assured.
I look up and see that the sky shows some color. Night is passing into morning. We have lived another whole day. I blink and squint at the changing color of the sky. It turns from black to dark blue, from grayish-blue to pale aquamarine. I know that this will be the last dawn of my life.
“Beren,” I hiss. “We must prepare ourselves to fight.”
“Edennil,” he calls me. “I shall do all I can to protect you as my father once did.” But I can see that despite his brave words, he knows that his doom is as near as mine. I am determined all the more to ensure that he will live.
“Help me out of my bonds,” I say to him to give him focus, a task that should consume his concentration and help to strengthen his will.
He tries to untie the ropes that bind my hands. While he is doing so, the butterfly reappears and against my will, my thoughts drift back to Tirion.
This time I remember speaking to my father, whom I loved and trusted. I told him about my plans to marry Amarië.
“My son,” he advised in his wisdom, “I am sorry to say this, but I am not sure that Amarië is the most suitable maiden for you. I know that you love her, but your desires and hers do not agree. I believe the two of you are not compatible and I do not wish to see you become unhappy. I am afraid that you and she will grow apart after marriage.”
I was shocked at first. The words of my beloved father had hurt me to the core. His love and acceptance were so important to me that I would make myself sick from worrying about displeasing him. But my love for Amarië burned in my heart, my head and my loins. My passion was made all the more fervent by the anticipation of making love to her. In my mind she was a perfect being whom I would always love.
However, I loved my father too much to turn against him. I desired his approval and I looked for a way to have both him and Amarië. I wanted all our lives to entwine so that we could live agreeably as one large family. Atar and I spoke many times after that on the subject of my betrothal.
“Atar, will your judgment be that our betrothal should take place?” This was my plea to him in the early days of my courtship.
I remember that he sighed unhappily and said, “I will do as you ask, Findaráto. But it distresses me because I perceive that you are willing to put aside your dreams and desires for Amarië, yet she is not willing to do the same for you. Thus I feel there is an inequality that will exist in your marriage, an imbalance that may prove to be irreparably harmful to it in later years.”
None of us could have known how our lives would change a short time later. Very shortly afterward, the high king, my grandfather Finwë, was killed by Melkor. The rest of my family rallied around my uncle Fëanor. We all decided to follow Fëanor and his sons to the Hither Lands. I met with Amarië before we embarked upon our journey, expecting with foolish, naive excitement that things would now fall into place for us.
I thought that once Amarië traveled with me into the unknown land, she would naturally share my pleasure in discovering the new world. That despite her initial reluctance she would come to see how much better our life would be than if we had stayed in Tirion and become as stagnant as the pool that sits in front of Manwë’s palace, though it used to gleam and glow like liquid gold in the light and splendor of the Trees. I thought that if we stayed in Tirion, our lives would become as still and unmoving as the Trees of Light, now extinguished, unable to move away in order to protect themselves.
My thoughts turn once more to Amarië and I forget for a moment my real surroundings. I am back in Tirion. It is time to leave our home. My father, my brothers and sister and my Uncle Nolofinwë and his family are waiting outside, dressed in their armor, as I am. They wait for me and perhaps Amarië too, if she comes.
Amarië and I stand in front of the window in her parlor. Our hands are clasped together. We are looking into each others’ eyes and she is telling me: “I cannot go with you, Findaráto. I am afraid that you may be killed, and thus leave me alone in a place I do not know. I would not leave my home and comfort to go with you on your foolhardy quest to those savage lands that Melkor has marred and where he now dwells. My fear of unknown danger and of losing you is greater than my love for you. I want you to know, Findaráto, that I still love you but I fear for you and the probable doom that awaits you.”
I smote my forehead and tore my hair in exasperation and pain. “But we have not truly experienced real love,” I told her. I was desperate. Clutching foolishly at the tenuous strings of my hope, I said, “Let us make love here and now, while the others wait outside. Let us tear off our clothes and let our bodies come to know each other. Then when we are bound to each other, you will see that your destiny is to be with me, Amarië.”
“No, Findaráto,” she said to me. Her eyes were dark with finality when they stared into mine. Her voice was cold and as thin as icy water. “Goodbye,” she said and turned away. The door had slammed shut on us.
My thoughts return once more to the present. I blink away my memories, but one stays with me. I am determined that Beren and I will not stay still and wait to die in this pit like the two Trees of Light, rooted in their place, doomed to die and unable to save themselves. We may not be able to flee either, but we will fight.
“Hurry, Beren,” I say to him, squinting to see the color of his eyes in the slowly emerging light of morning. I do not want to cause him panic and despair, only to give him determination and hope.
The butterfly is fluttering near my face again. It seems agitated, its wings beating more swiftly now. I wonder what it wants.
A voice in the present brings me back to face my current plight. It is a dark and terrible voice. “Finrod,” it cries in mocking notes. “Mighty Finrod, king of men. Beautiful Finrod, fairest of the Noldor. There is much I want from you. I wish to possess you, to know your thoughts. There is much I wish to learn from you. I will send my wolf down to you, to kill the Man. After he is dead my faithful servant will bring you to me.” The sneer in his evil voice is unmistakable. “You will become my slave too, Finrod, and you will give me all I wish to take from you.”
I spit my disgust toward the voice of Sauron, hideous in its undisguised lust. “Worry not, Beren,” I tell him. “You will not die. I will fight the wolf.”
A shadow appears at the top of the pit. Stones and dust rain down upon us, but my vision is not obscured. Uttering a mighty shout and summoning all my strength I break my bonds. Beren has loosened them enough and I am able to tear the rest apart. The hard muscles of my body tense and flex before the wolf as it crashes down into the pit and turns toward Beren.
“No!” I cry and leap upon it. I tear at the beast, ripping out chunks of flesh and fur with my teeth and hands. It turns from Beren to me, and lunges at my body in the semi-darkness. It opens its jaws and its fangs flash white as they veer toward my throat.
I grab a shard of jagged rock and throw myself beneath the beast, jabbing at its belly with my weapon that I have wrested from Sauron’s own pit. The shard finds its mark and the beast is slain. But with a last dying shred of determination its jaws clamp around my throat. I feel the gush of blood from my neck and I fall to the ground bleeding. The wolf crashes down upon me.
Beren pulls me out from under the wolf’s carcass, but he cannot staunch the wound in my neck. I make my farewells to him, knowing that I am dying. He falls to the ground at my side, distraught and weeping, but I am glad at last because I have saved him. I know that he will live and he will be happy because he will be with the woman he loves.
The butterfly reappears above my face. Its wings are beating rapidly. They beat so rapidly that I perceive that the tiny creature is trying somehow to lift me.
“What on this miserable earth do you want?” I ask it one more time, exasperated and confused by its constant presence.
The effort of speaking weakens me and I lose consciousness. My thoughts fly for the last time to Tirion. But now it is the future and my father walks alone beneath the trees. He keeps looking out toward the sea. Eventually, he stops walking to stand still, staring at nothing. Is he waiting for someone? He is talking to someone who is not there. I remember our last words to each other. My father had decided to turn back on the shores of the Helcaraxë and lead his people home.
“Atar,” I said, “you are forsaking me as Amarië has done.”
His reply was sorrowful yet I could see the love for me softening the look of horror in his eyes. “No, my beloved son, I do not forsake you. I beseech you to return to Tirion with me. There you shall yet be able to find happiness with Amarië if you truly love her. Please forgive me for what I said about her in the past. Marriage to her and a life in Tirion would be much preferable than the miserable existence you will find in the unknown lands to where your uncles lead you. You may be going to your swift death.”
And through my tears I said to him, “No, Atar. You were right about Amarië. I shall not go back. My desire to serve my uncles and their sons drives me forward. But I regret that I shall be leaving you and will likely not see you again.”
We embraced. Our faces were tear-streaked and hollow-cheeked, engraved with deep shadows of sorrow. “Findaráto, it is my hope that one day we shall meet again in the land that you left behind. I go back now to that place and I shall await you there.”
We kissed each other for the last time and soon after he was gone.
Finally, I understand the butterfly’s intention. “You come from Mandos. You want me to follow you,” I say.
The butterfly begins to move upward, flying toward the light. I lift myself up and I follow it.
QUOTATION: "But Finrod walks with Finarfin his father beneath the trees in Eldamar."
"Of Beren and Luthien"
The Silmarillion