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Fiondil's Tapestry  by Fiondil

WOUNDS: Invisible Scars

SUMMARY: Some wounds run deeper than others, as Arafinwë discovers when he speaks to his son, Findaráto, shortly after his son's release from Mandos.

****

Arafinwë knocked on the door of his son’s apartments and, receiving no reply, cautiously opened it. He hated to intrude on his recently returned child’s privacy but Findaráto was supposed to have been at breakfast twenty minutes ago and his parents were naturally worried. He could have just sent one of the ubiquitous servants to check on the Reborn prince, Arafinwë reflected as he made his way through the sitting room towards the bedroom, but beyond all hope one of his children, whom he had lost to madness and rebellion, had been returned to him and he was loath to allow others the pleasure of looking after him.

The door to the bedroom was slightly ajar. "Findaráto," Arafinwë called softly from the doorway, "it’s Atto."

Again there was no reply and he opened the door the rest of the way, and gasped in dismay. Findaráto stood unclothed, his nightshirt crumpled carelessly on the floor by his feet, staring intently into his floor length mirror, jabbing and pushing at various parts of his anatomy, muttering all the while. Arafinwë strained to hear what his son was saying and paled as the words reached him, a frisson of sick fear intermixed with awe and sorrow running deep through his fëa:

"This is where Sauron’s werewolf bit me," the once King of Nargothrond said softly to himself, almost dispassionately, "and here is where that stupid orc came out of nowhere and speared me during the Dagor Bragollach." He twisted his torso to better see his back. "And I think that’s where Angrod accidently shot me with an arrow when he thought I was an Easterling." He frowned at that as if unsure of the memory or in displeasure at the thought of his own brother shooting him even if by accident.

"Findaráto," Arafinwë said then, calling attention to his presence, unable to bear hearing more.

The recently returned Reborn Noldo looked up in surprise, having been too intent on his self-examination to realize he had an audience. "Atto! Where are they?" he asked, his voice pleading.

Arafinwë stepped into the room and came to stand before his son, brushing a loving hand through the ellon’s golden locks. So like his amillë, he thought, even as he asked his own questions. "Where are what, yonya? Why are you not dressed? You should have been at breakfast a half an hour ago."

Findaráto shook his head, not interested in breaking his fast just then. "My scars, Atto. Where did they go?"

"Go? They didn’t go anywhere, yonya. They are still there on... on your corpse."

"Corpse?" Findaráto’s expression was one of confusion and then cleared a little as he looked straight into his atar’s eyes and nodded. "They buried me on my own island. Beren and Lúthien, I mean. I... I stayed and watched them do it be-before Lord Námo called me to... to stand trial." By now tears were streaming down his face and Arafinwë took his son into his embrace and held him, rocking him gently. "It hurt, Atto," Findaráto added amidst his tears. "It hurt so much."

"Dying?" Arafinwë asked in horror, but Findaráto shook his head.

"My Judgment," he whispered, clinging to Arafinwë ever more tightly.

"Oh, yonya," the Noldóran said with a sigh, his own tears beginning to fall. "I am so sorry... for everything."

Findaráto pulled back from his atar’s embrace, brushing a hand across his face and sniffling. "I wish I had my scars back."

"Whatever for?" Arafinwë demanded in shock. He could not imagine anyone wanting to be marred with wounds such as he feared his child had suffered. His son had been returned to him whole and beautiful and that was all that mattered to him.

Findaráto gave Arafinwë a rueful smile. "At least if I had my scars I’d know that my life... and death meant something. Now..." he shook his head, turning to stare into the mirror. "Now I have nothing to show for either my life... or my death."

For a moment Arafinwë was at a loss as to what to say to that, then he gently wrapped his arms around Findaráto’s chest and leaned over to kiss him on the cheek. "You have your memories, or will when they come back to you fully," he suggested. "They will have to be enough. The Valar graced you with a new hröa, a sign that you have been given a second chance at Life. Do not waste it mourning for the scars of your old life."

"But how can I know who I am without them?" Findaráto asked plaintively. "It’s almost as if nothing happened, as if I never left, never carved out a kingdom for myself, never renounced my crown for an oath, never... never died protecting a friend."

Arafinwë sighed, unsure how to answer his son. He closed his eyes and just allowed his presence, his love, to flow from him into Findaráto, hoping that the ellon would recognize and accept his gift. He felt Findaráto relax somewhat in his embrace and opened his eyes to stare into the same mirror.

"But you did do all those things, hinya," he finally replied. "All that and more. The fact that you can no longer see the scars that defined your previous existence does not mean they are still not there. They’re just invisible."

"Invisible," Findaráto echoed musingly, as if the thought had never occurred to him. He ran his hands over his unmarred hröa, stopping here or there where memory told him a particular scar should be, muttering to himself again, naming the wound that he had received and the manner in which it had been gotten. Arafinwë never moved. Indeed, he barely breathed as he listened in fascinated horror to the litany of his son’s existence boiled down to the scars gotten in a lifetime of battle and violent death. Finally, Findaráto stopped, his hands gone still as he continued staring into the mirror. Then, to Arafinwë’s surprise, his son smiled.

"You know, Atto," he said without bothering to remove his gaze from the mirror, "I just thought of something."

"What is that?"

"Now that I have a hröa again, just think of all the new scars I can accumulate."

"Your ammë would not approve," Arafinwë retorted, And neither would I, he thought to himself.

"Oh," his son said with a sigh, his smile deflating somewhat. "Well, I guess I’d better get dressed then." He started to pull himself away from Arafinwë, reaching for his breeches, but his atar turned him around and held him by the shoulders.

"I would not mention this to your ammë," he said in a tone he hoped Findaráto remembered from before and was pleased to see his son’s eyes widen in understanding.

"No, Atto," he whispered. "Some things Ammë doesn’t need to know."

"That is well, hinya," Arafinwë said, giving his son a kiss on his brow, then he gave him a smile. "Now, get dressed and come to breakfast, and afterwards... afterwards we will sit in the lower garden and talk and I will tell you about the scars I got when I fought in the War of Wrath."

Findaráto’s eyes widened even more, then he nodded and began grabbing for his clothes, dressing in record time as Arafinwë looked on with amusement. When he was done he turned to his atar. "Does Ammë know about your scars, Atto?"

"Only the ones that are visible," came the surprising answer. Father and son stared deep into one another’s eyes and there was an understanding between them that had not existed before.

Findaráto smiled. "Then I am honored that you are willing to share them with me."

"As I was honored that you shared your own scars with me. Perhaps between us we can both find final healing from all our wounds."

"I’d like that, Atto," Findaráto said fervently. "I’d like that very much."

"Come, we shouldn’t keep your ammë waiting any longer than necessary."

With that father and son, Noldóran and former King of Nargothrond, walked side-by-side, quietly comparing notes on the scars of their lives.

****

All words are Quenya unless otherwise noted.

Atto: hypocoristic form of Atar: Father.

Dagor Bragollach: (Sindarin) Battle of Sudden Flame, which occurred in 455 of the First Age. Finrod died in 468.

Amillë: Mother. The hypocoristic form is ammë.

Yonya: My son.

Hröa: Body.

Ellon: (Sindarin) Male elf.

Hinya: My child.

Noldóran: Arafinwë’s title as King of the Noldor.





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