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The Uses of Sorrow by Urloth

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Story notes:

Title and Chapter titles taken from Mary Oliver's poem of the same.

Once upon a time I threatened Finwë/Genderswapped!Miriel slash. I came up with about five fics which I never finished. This one got the furthest though. (I have all these WIPs and what do I do? Post a new WIP. (help me))

Oh and this is an unashamed excuse to write slash. Future warnings for D/s scenarios, badly written porn and all sorts of fun abound once I've leapt this hurdle of the prologue.

Oh and oldy english (it just happened in this fic. IDK why.)

If I were you I would turn around right now and pretend you never clicked on the link to this fic.

When the lights mingled indiscernibly, and the city hushed itself, Finwë would lie down on his great, empty bed and turn himself towards Finwion’s cradle. He would keep his eyes fixed on the intricate swaddling blanket hung over the side of it at the end of the day.

The colours would glow in the mixed light, becoming something more than silk and thread. The twinned leaves of Teleperion and Laurelin would come alive, rustling soundlessly in an unfelt breeze, and he would smell the honeysuckle and the lavender embroidered next to the grand border to bring their child sweet sleep.

The scarlet would seem the colour of fire, not blood and the central depiction of his radiant fire-flower emblem would not mock him with his inability to bring back his wife. Kingship ceased to weight too heavily upon his back, and he would find a limbo between the crippling agony and nausea of grief.

Slowly reverie would creep up on him and his last sight would always be the work of Míriel’s hands, as would be his first every waking.

As he slipped into reverie he would always tug gently on the tether between Finwion’s fëa and his own, guiding his child’s dreaming mind to join his.

He would find himself in a garden, Finwion in his arms, the whole area boxed in with impenetrable walls of gold and silver leaves, lavender and honey perfuming the air. A fountain gurgled lightly in the centre, spilling out water into a sixteen pointed holding basin.

That was where he would always find his friend.

-

When the lights mingle indiscernibly, and the city hushed itself, Mírwë would lie down in his great, empty bed and turn himself towards Finwendiel’s cradle. He would keep his eyes fixed on the intricate swaddling blanket that hung over the side of it at the end of the day.

The colours would glow in the mixed light, becoming something more than silk and thread. The writhing garden of ivy would come alive, rustling soundlessly in an unfelt breeze, the celandines would glow brightly and he would smell the flowering nicotiania and clemantis embroidered in a protective circle around the main embellishment of the piece.

The scarlet would seem the colour of fire, not blood and the central depiction of his wife’s radiant fire-flower emblem would not mock his belief that Finwendë was strong enough to one day return from the Halls, strong as she ever had been. The demands of his regent position ceased to weight too heavily upon his back, and he would find a limbo between the crippling agony and nausea of grief.

Slowly reverie would creep up on him and his last sight would always be the work of his own hands, made in happier and hopeful days, as would be his first every waking.

As he slipped into reverie he would always tug gently on the tether between Finwendiel’s fëa and his own, guiding his child’s dreaming mind to join his.

He would find himself in a garden, Finwendiel in his arms, ivy clinging to all the masonry and bright celandines glowing in the grass. Flowering nicotania and clemantis bordered the pathway he would take to reach the large fountain at the centre of the garden, the lip of the catchment basin wide enough to sit on.

That was where his friend would always find him.

-

At first, deservedly, he believed himself to truly be dreaming. That in his grief at what had happened to Míriel he sought her in a guise that could not possibly wither after bearing their child.

-

At first he was sure he was going mad and that his guilt was getting the better of him. That he sought Finwendë in a form that could not die from any seed of his

-

Because it was easy to realise he was seeing the male equivalent

-

To his wife