Beginning anew

The marble stairs of the Palace glittered in the light of Anar's last rays. One could see them from above, where the windows of the private parlor were built exactly for this reason. The newly rehoused High Prince of the Noldor was standing there, watching the sunset, deep in thoughts.

Getting out of Mandos Halls wasn't easy: he still remembered the experiences of what seemed like previous lives (with all the conflicts and nightmares it contained), yet had to come to terms with the fact he's back at Aman (with all the conflicts and nightmares that contains). The Valar have granted him their forgiveness quite readily, a fact he was partly thankful for, partly wondering upon. Meeting his parents again, asking their forgiveness, however, was harder, even though they embraced him and had already forgave him long ago. Learning about the outcomes of the Rebellion and the Exile wasn't easy, too. Also, he had to get used to new politics, new order.

Honesty demanded he'd admit, at least to himself, that being a Prince once again (though the Crown Prince, this time) felt… weird. After all, he did leave, all those years ago, full of ambitions (albeit not as much as some other members of his large family) to become a ruler on his own; and those ambitions he made true, being the King of Nargothrond.

Many of these subjects he had pondered upon while at Mandos Halls: part of the full healing was getting to accept both the past and the future, as much as one could. And he could – some parts of the past had been harder to live through than to reflect upon. But while at Mandos, he wasn't allowed to know what happened to others, Middle Earth dwellers or Aman dwellers, Elves, Men or others.

His first hours in his new body were spent solely with his parents, getting used to having a body and conversing. Not all was said; he doubted everything will ever be said – some parts he didn't think he'll ever be able to talk about – but almost all was said for now. One thing he still wanted to know, yet also greatly feared to know. Despite accepting all possibilities long ago, when he departed, and again at Mandos, he wished…

Finrod sighed, leaned his elbows on the windowsill and rested his head upon them. A figure entered the room silently, staying in the shadows.

"Findaráto?"

He turned around, flinching immediately as if seeing a ghost. Mouth dry all of a sudden, he whispered, "Amárië."

Silence followed, getting heavier by the moment. Each looked at the other apprehensively, waiting for the other to break it. At last, Finrod took a deep breath and took a few steps toward her.

"I understand you are very likely still mad at me," he began, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know – you may have moved on, maybe hate me…"

"I can't deny I was angry at you after you left," she admitted. Her voice was as soft as he remembered it, and all the attached memories erupted back to life.

"I am sorry, Amárië." A few more hesitated steps forward. This time, she moved too.

"It's been difficult," she said. "But… I realized that you probably wanted me to come with you as much as I wanted you to stay. I'm sorry."

Finrod nodded and took the last few steps that separated them. "Please… Can we start anew?" he asked, holding her hand. She nodded, and Finrod knew things will be fine.