A King Ever Bereaved | YT AU
There was pity, sometimes, in the glances of his people. He who had been known once for his ringing laughter and merry smiles was now sombre, his only smiles those dictated by courtesy. Still so determinedly fair in his dealings, still so even-handed in ruling, he nevertheless lacked the spark that had once shone in his eyes.
He is but half a person, some whispered. The lost Queen Míriel Þerindë had been his equal, his match, and his other half. Did the Eldar not conduct marriages knowing that their souls would be bound together irrevocably for all their days? The loss of a spouse was surely also the loss of whatever part of the fëa had been given in trust to that spouse.
Others merely shook their heads and spoke of grief as though it was a wound slow to heal. Finwë was still their king, and surely he would recover in time; his sorrow was deep, but how could it be endless in the bliss of Valinor? Did he not have a strong and clever son as a comfort to him? And now grandchildren, also, three of them, the third newly born? Could these joys not soothe his pain?
They could not know the truth; Finwë did not speak of it. He did not speak of the nagging emptiness, the loneliness, or the strange conviction that he was becoming less and less relevant to those who mattered most -- Fëanáro's family and Fëanáro's home now were the space for a wife and children, not for a father whose son had long since grown beyond the need for instruction, who had long since surpassed his father.
There was still love between them, and Finwë was proud of his grandsons, already beginning to show their potential, but he was not needed there. That thought came to him more and more of late, when even the brightness of Valinor seemed to fade into grey, lit only by brief flashes of life and colour when his family were around him. It felt almost greedy to seek more; that they brought vividness back around him was a gift, and surely he could not demand their constant presence merely for his own sake.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, the decision had begun to take shape. It was time, he thought. In a message perhaps over-formal, he sent for Fëanáro.
