Reunion

Mellow Soulmate AU.  Finwë meets his first wife in the Halls of the Waiting.  Only name-based note is that Mandos is referred to as Námo.  This piece is, of course, related to "Exception", but it's also heavily based off an entire section of last year's NaNoWriMo in which I wrote them all somehow ending up in a polyamorous relationship together--which I blame on a single fic on LotR Fanfiction, the name of which I remember not, about how Finwë loved both of his wives and was resentful that he needed to condemn one to be happy with the other.  It just stuck.  Forever.  Takes place in the Halls of the Waiting (in Valinor) in the Years of the Trees.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Silmarillion

Pairings: Finwë x Indis, past Finwë x Míriel, threesome hinted

Characters: Finwë, Míriel (mentions Mandos, Fëanor, Indis, and all of Finwë's children and grandchildren)

Warning: canon compliant AU (for now), soulmates, possible future polyamory, mentions death and trauma briefly, some resentment

Song: No Light, No Light

Words: 1,783
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reunion (noun): an act of reuniting; the state of being reunited; a reuniting of persons after separation
http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/reunion

It had not been at all intentional.  At least, not on his account.

Nothing but innocent wandering had been taking place.  After all, not much was to be done in the Halls of the Waiting if one did not have complex emotional burdens to be dismantled and swept away or trauma to be carefully soothed into silence before release.  He would admit that death was traumatic, but not enough for him to linger.  All he needed was a bit of rest before rebirth.  However, Finwë did not fancy sitting about in his small, rather dreary room for days on end, no matter how much rest would supposedly comfort his spirit.

So he traversed.

Though, admittedly, there was not been much in the way of company.  It did not take very long for Finwë to remember exactly how many other elves had yet experienced death and the embrace of Námo as he cradled them close and ferried them away from their felled bodies.

There was only one other elf "living" here.  And he knew her well.  Well enough to avoid her.

Well enough to guess that she would not want to see his face.

They had, after all, not exactly parted on the best of terms.

"I am tired, husband.  Let me go."

He could remember how dull her eyes had been.  A once brilliant blue--a fire, the likes of which he had never found since and would never forget through the long ages--gone out like the snuffing of a candle.  Flickering brightly one moment, but under strain failed.  And its loss had taken with it a piece of his spirit.  A piece of his incomplete puzzle.

She no longer smiled.  No longer held his hand.  No longer wanted to kiss or hug.  No longer felt the need to rock their son to sleep.

She just sat still as stone and stared into the distance, lost somewhere else.

Begging and pleading, he had tried to pull her back.

Why had she needed so badly to die and leave him behind?  What comfort did the Halls of the Waiting offer her that he could not?

But she had gone.  Things had changed in her absence.  Their son had grown.  He had remarried his sweet Indis.  Had four more beautiful children and so many grandchildren he hardly knew what to do with them all.  And then he had died and come here.

Part of him felt guilty.  It was the reason he took such care to avoid those halls whose tapestries were still under construction, knowing well that she worked amongst the maidens of Vairë, laboring on those magnificent murals of history day-in and day-out as the world unfolded before their eyes.  Though he longed to lay his eyes upon her once more--for she would always be his first beloved and he would never stop loving her as passionately as before their tragedy--he did not think she would wish to see him.

Wish to see the man who had replaced her with another woman, no matter his loneliness and longing for children.  Though, now that he was dead, she could leave the Halls if she truly wanted to be away from his ghost.

Truly, he had not wished to infringe upon her privacy or make her uncomfortable.  Certainly, he had no desire to force his company upon her.

But she had just been there.

Her silvery hair falling around her shoulders and her painfully familiar heart-shaped face.  Her expression not blank and flat, but staring up at her creation with in a vivid contortion of concentration that he could recall fondly in a haze of memory from the days of old.  Days when she spread out fabric across their sitting room floor and turned it into a masterpiece of swirling colors and imagery that put professional seamstresses to shame.   Days when she cut cloth into pieces and put them all back together into one of her amazing quilts flowing through a tessellation of shape--he had kept every single one of them for cold nights, still secretly imbued with her scent for longing days.

Their son had gotten his imagination from her, Finwë was quite certain.  Because the expression she wore was a wonderfully familiar one; one that adorned the face of their only child all too often when he was immersed in a project, lost to all reality.  Sunken completely into the world of creation.

So immersed was she that she didn't even see him standing there at first.  Not until he stropped right behind her, staring up at her work of art spinning itself into corporeality right before his eyes.

"It is beautiful, darling."

Should he have expected any other reaction than surprise?  She spun so fast he almost received a mouthful of silver curls as they whipped across his face.  And then she bent away from his sudden apparition so violently that her slender form overbalanced, tipping backwards.  Before he even thought twice, his broad hands circled her upper arms to steady her back to earth, very nearly pressing their bodies together.

He held her until she ceased to sway.  And then let go as if he had been burnt.  Or maybe he had been.

They stood mere inches apart, so close that he could feel her heat.

And then she looked up at him.  And her eyes were on fire.

This was not the Míriel who had been drained of all emotion and liveliness in the late days of their matrimony.  This was not the woman who lost the will to live and laid down to sleep forever, leaving behind her mourning husband and child  This was a creature hot enough to scorch with her ire, as radiant and brilliant as he recalled in the best of his wistful dreams.

This was the woman he had loved and married in the days before kingship and the light of Valinor.  The woman with whom he had intended to spend his eternity.

But things had changed.

Their awkward reunion stretched into silence.  Her eyes did not part from his, her stare penetrating deeply.  Burning uncomfortably with scrutiny.  But she still said nothing.

It was a dismissal if he'd ever heard one.

"Forgive me," he whispered, pulling off a low bow. "I shall leave you to your spinning, my lady."

He turned to leave--had every intention of refusing to look back no matter how hard his heart pounded at her sight and his mind screamed for her touch--but was halted by fingers upon his forearm, tugging unyieldingly.  Glancing down, he saw them and felt a weight settle in the region of his stomach.  White and unblemished, but fingertips callused beneath short nails.  Her hand.

"Wait, Finwë." Her voice was soft but firm.  Just like he remembered.

What else could he do but obey?

Still, he dared not turn to look at her.  Dared not hope for her company.  For all intents and purposes, he was married.  To Indis.  Whatever he had had with this glorious woman no longer existed.

Yet... yet...

"You need not leave."

But you must want me to leave.  How could you want me to stay?

He could not believe that she still loved him and needed him.  Could not allow himself to believe that. "I did not mean to intrude, my lady."

"You are not intruding."  She sounded painfully sincere.  Her hand did not leave his sleeve, at least, holding fast.  But the uncomfortable tension between them did not abate as her words echoed upon stone into eerie quiet.  Honestly, Finwë did not know how to respond.  What to say.

He still turned to face her.  It was a lost battle, the fight to keep his eyes from falling into hers and drowning.  The struggle to keep himself from being drawn into her loveliness and spirit, a mere hapless moth too enchanted to see the danger so close and imminent.  Indis sat heavily in the back of his mind, but he could not conjure her vibrant, golden beauty to chase away this ray of Telperion gleaming down so brightly and breathtakingly.

"I would not wish to keep you prisoner in my company," he finally replied, trying not to sound as weak as he felt.  Trying to think of anything but her.  Trying to chase away the ideas that had stayed tucked away for so long.

"I am no prisoner if I choose your company willingly." Her hand released him, instead curling in the heavy fabric of her dress.  Finwë turned his gaze upon the deep blue in distraction, tracing the intricate embroidery with his eyes rather than dare to look into her face and fall.  Her voice alone was nearly enough to undo him, with its pure ring of steadfast power, the ring that it had so lacked in the days of her waning and departure.

"I think it would be most unwise."  No matter how painful.

It would be.  Because one day he would be reborn and she would stay behind as a handmaiden of Vairë.  Because one day he would hold Indis in his arms and think of how he betrayed his second wife's trust and love without a second thought.  Because he loved both of them, and he did not know if he could survive choosing only one a second time.

And because he knew they would never understand that they both fit together with his soul, edges perfectly shaped and positioned to connect and meld into One.

She was looking at him again.  And her eyes were still bright.  But they were saddened in acceptance of his soft rejection.  He could not help but look away.

"I understand."

Her hand cupped his cheek, lifting his gaze to meet hers once more.  Finwë had not even the chance to protest before her lips brushed his in a chaste little kiss.  Barely even a touch of breath to skin.  A brief reunion of two souls that longed for the other for so long but were forever parted.

She released him then with only the soft trace of her fingers trailing down his cheek.  And this time when he walked away he did not look back.  And she did not try to stop him.

Yet, somehow, something had irrevocably changed.

Because, long into the evening, alone in his rooms, he pressed his fingers against his trembling lips thinking of her taste.  Closed his eyes tight and glimpsed her in his mind's eye, so fiery and bright.  Trailed his fingertips across his tingling cheek and flushed. 

Foolishly dared to allow a sliver of hope to infest his heart.
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So a friend was like "reunion after death" and I was like "OMG cliché to the EXTREME!", but somehow it still ended up happening like that.  The conversation totally somehow reminded me of Finwë and Míriel and I just couldn't not write them, even though I had other plans for today.  In case you wondered why this is almost an hour late, that's why.  I changed my plans at about 9:30 PM.

I have no idea if I will ever go anywhere with this pairing.  Maybe Finwë will decide to stay in the Halls and leave Indis all alone?  Or maybe not.  It's hard to see this story working out for everyone, because as much as he might love both of them, real polyamorous relationships cannot possibly be as easy as all that.  But maybe if Míriel and Indis came to know each other separately?  I guess I have some researching and theorizing to do before we go in that direction.

Somehow the same friend who provided me with this idea also gave me the perfect song to go with this piece.  Okay, perfect is a bit of a stretch, but it seemed to somehow fit rather nicely together.  And I liked the song anyway.  No Light, No Light by Florence + The Machine somehow totally reminded me of Finwë's predicament!  And his conversation with his former wife.  It just worked.