We Do Not Share
Oct. 27th, 2005 07:17 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
mitani5.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
silwritersguildI wrote this over a year ago, and only posted it at forum I was roleplaying at. I'm not that satisfied with the later chapters--as I find Feanor and Findis very difficult to handle-- so I think those will come along a little slower. I went through it once more before posting, changing a few things here and there, I'm only truly comfortable with the first part.
I think my intent for this fic back when I first wrote it, was to write the story of Aman through Findis' eyes.
I'm not so sure anymore.
Oh yeah! It's short because I planned to put all the sections together in the end, but I don't like the other sections right now. (°□°;)
CHAPTER TITLE: We do not share.
AUTHOR: _nana, originally posted as Anguirel
RATING: General
WARNINGS: None that I can detect, so far.
SUMMARY: Findis reflects on her first encounters with her half-brother, Curufinwë, and her promises made to him.
We do not share...
“Curufinwë acts as if he loves you not,” I had said before, as a small child. “Why?”
“Curufinwë has always loved me little, Findis,” she answered quietly, as she always did. “I will never be what he wishes to have.”
Never did I understand her words, but I heard them to be full of pity and doubt. Never did I hear my mother speak with such softness and with a shadow of unknown fear unless I spoke of Curufinwë. Not often did I mention my brother at all, in fact. I saw little of him, and when he did come to the House of Finwë he spoke to me not at all. Yet it was always his voice that I remembered before others, not my gentle father’s. It was his sharp and fell glares that I smiled at rather than my mother’s comforting beams. My father encouraged my enthusiasm towards my brother’s visits, and I never knew why. My mother would say nothing; she would smile and stay at my father’s side. It was as if she were afraid of Fëanáro, my brother and her son. I never understood my mother reactions until Curufinwë spoke of it to me.
“Do you not love our mother, Curufinwë?” I asked, bravely one day.
“She is not mine to love,” he said slowly, in a voice that sounded neither like my father’s nor my mother’s. “We do not share Indis; she is yours and yours alone.”
“How is she not yours also? We share a mother and a father; we are Noldor and of the same house. You are my brother.” I had always believed my words to be true, and no one had ever told me otherwise. But Curufinwë did, he was not afraid to bring sadness and despair into my young and ignorant heart as my parents had been, and for that I loved him more.
“We share a father and nothing else, and even that you hold more than I. You are not my sister and I am not your brother. You are only half of that and I am only half of that to you.” He was not angered; he said it with a voice so calm that I remember almost feeling frightened. My half-brother sat by himself and I stood in front of him, we looked at each other but I saw nothing familiar in him. His eyes were dark, and mine light. His hair was polished jet, and mine resembled Laurelin’s glow. He wanted me to cry but I did not. I was not only a child of Indis as he wished me to be, but a child of Finwë also.
“Then I wish you to be my brother all,” I put my little hand in his. His flesh was hot to touch and at first I knew it wasn’t too late to leave the fire for fear of being burned. But for my brother and my pride I forgot the heat and pretended that his fire would kindle my own. “For I would do aught you ask of me.”
Curufinwë sat quietly, looking at me intently. His dark eyes did not falter from their gaze and he did not release his hand from my grasp. I felt his other hand come to my hair and stroke it softly, yet the heat still radiated from his pet and it was warm. I did not like his eyes then, for they seemed to penetrate me in a way no one had before. Yet I did not avert my eyes like I believed he expected me to.
“Anything?” he asked, softly. I nodded slowly, as if almost regretting my promise. But what harm could my brother bring upon me?
“All I ask of you is to hearken to my words ever, and mine alone.” he said, his eyes still burning into mine.
“I shall, brother Curufinwë.” For what was more fair than trust?
“You must be never afraid.” He paused for a moment and looked at me with his calm and dark eyes. “Never follow, dear sister. You are not to follow or fear anyone.” And I obeyed. For what harm could my brother bring upon me?
-
I'm glad I joined! I've been itching to write for a really long time.
Now I have to do math homework D:
I think my intent for this fic back when I first wrote it, was to write the story of Aman through Findis' eyes.
I'm not so sure anymore.
Oh yeah! It's short because I planned to put all the sections together in the end, but I don't like the other sections right now. (°□°;)
CHAPTER TITLE: We do not share.
AUTHOR: _nana, originally posted as Anguirel
RATING: General
WARNINGS: None that I can detect, so far.
SUMMARY: Findis reflects on her first encounters with her half-brother, Curufinwë, and her promises made to him.
We do not share...
“Curufinwë acts as if he loves you not,” I had said before, as a small child. “Why?”
“Curufinwë has always loved me little, Findis,” she answered quietly, as she always did. “I will never be what he wishes to have.”
Never did I understand her words, but I heard them to be full of pity and doubt. Never did I hear my mother speak with such softness and with a shadow of unknown fear unless I spoke of Curufinwë. Not often did I mention my brother at all, in fact. I saw little of him, and when he did come to the House of Finwë he spoke to me not at all. Yet it was always his voice that I remembered before others, not my gentle father’s. It was his sharp and fell glares that I smiled at rather than my mother’s comforting beams. My father encouraged my enthusiasm towards my brother’s visits, and I never knew why. My mother would say nothing; she would smile and stay at my father’s side. It was as if she were afraid of Fëanáro, my brother and her son. I never understood my mother reactions until Curufinwë spoke of it to me.
“Do you not love our mother, Curufinwë?” I asked, bravely one day.
“She is not mine to love,” he said slowly, in a voice that sounded neither like my father’s nor my mother’s. “We do not share Indis; she is yours and yours alone.”
“How is she not yours also? We share a mother and a father; we are Noldor and of the same house. You are my brother.” I had always believed my words to be true, and no one had ever told me otherwise. But Curufinwë did, he was not afraid to bring sadness and despair into my young and ignorant heart as my parents had been, and for that I loved him more.
“We share a father and nothing else, and even that you hold more than I. You are not my sister and I am not your brother. You are only half of that and I am only half of that to you.” He was not angered; he said it with a voice so calm that I remember almost feeling frightened. My half-brother sat by himself and I stood in front of him, we looked at each other but I saw nothing familiar in him. His eyes were dark, and mine light. His hair was polished jet, and mine resembled Laurelin’s glow. He wanted me to cry but I did not. I was not only a child of Indis as he wished me to be, but a child of Finwë also.
“Then I wish you to be my brother all,” I put my little hand in his. His flesh was hot to touch and at first I knew it wasn’t too late to leave the fire for fear of being burned. But for my brother and my pride I forgot the heat and pretended that his fire would kindle my own. “For I would do aught you ask of me.”
Curufinwë sat quietly, looking at me intently. His dark eyes did not falter from their gaze and he did not release his hand from my grasp. I felt his other hand come to my hair and stroke it softly, yet the heat still radiated from his pet and it was warm. I did not like his eyes then, for they seemed to penetrate me in a way no one had before. Yet I did not avert my eyes like I believed he expected me to.
“Anything?” he asked, softly. I nodded slowly, as if almost regretting my promise. But what harm could my brother bring upon me?
“All I ask of you is to hearken to my words ever, and mine alone.” he said, his eyes still burning into mine.
“I shall, brother Curufinwë.” For what was more fair than trust?
“You must be never afraid.” He paused for a moment and looked at me with his calm and dark eyes. “Never follow, dear sister. You are not to follow or fear anyone.” And I obeyed. For what harm could my brother bring upon me?
-
I'm glad I joined! I've been itching to write for a really long time.
Now I have to do math homework D:
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Date: 2005-10-28 02:32 pm (UTC)The only other story I can think of, at this moment, where Findis has a strong presence is Blodeuedd's wonderful novel-in-progress Fire. Findis--and her other lesser-acknowledged kin--are nearly OCs, which allows a lot of creativity. And creativity is fun :)
I had thought that since these feelings are so unnatural to the peoples of Aman, that Finwe and Indis to never even tell their first born of Miriel.
That's an interesting thought. It's hard enough to explain death to a young child, but how to explain it in the "deathless" Blessed Realm? Even scarier, I have always thought, is less the fact that she perished (for, surely, plenty of Elves died in Middle-earth prior to coming to Valinor) but that she wouldn't be re-embodied. The knowledge of re-embodiment might allay the fear of death a bit, in a child, but then you have to explain Miriel. And, as you said, that might be a subject best left alone, for the time being.
I'll most definitely post it!
Yay! :D