This is an amateur effort and does not intend to infringe on the rights of J.R.R. Tolkien. No profit is made and no harm is intended.
In my stories, Glorfindel (Laurëfindil) is Findis’ son, and he is the same age as Amrod, Amras, and Arakáno.
I wrote this for the LotR community “Back garden of a Dream” challenge. My element was Orchard.
Indis sat on a beautifully carved bench in her orchard, waiting for her eldest daughter to return. Findis had gone to Fëanáro’s house to speak with him and try to understand why Laurëfindil was leaving. It was true that Findis’ son was following Nolofinwë and Turukáno, but Fëanáro’s speech in Tirion had been so powerful that it had reminded Indis of days long gone when Finwë had spoken to the Tatyar, asking them to follow him to the Blessed Lands.
He had been so passionate about it back then that Indis had been even more motivated to follow Oromë. The Minyar were leaving too, all of them, following Ingwë. He had delivered a powerful speech too, less passionate than Finwë’s, but equally effective; part of the Nelyar were coming too, but not Elmo and his followers.
Indis had been in love with Finwë since they were Elflings, but she had known that his heart was moving in another direction. She had caught the now Lord of the Tatyar looking at Ingwë with loving eyes. They had never acted on this impulse, not fully, and they had drifted far apart after what happened to Erelfinë.
Then Míriel had come, and Finwë had fallen in love with her, and they had been happy until Fëanáro was born and consumed his mother’s strength. It was not his fault, Indis knew, but Finwë’s eldest child had an inner fire that burned so bright that those who cared for him followed him to the end. Fëanáro had lost all control when his father died.
He was lost.
Indis sighed, thinking of her husband, killed by Morgoth while trying to keep Fëanáro’s household safe. He was in the Halls, and their children were returning to Endorë, following Fëanáro. Even Lalwen was leaving. Only Findis and Morifindë would stay thorn as they were because their son was leaving.
Indis looked around at her orchard. It was not so dark anymore because the servants had brought Elven lamps, but she could feel the sadness in the place enveloping her. It was as if the land knew that no Elfling would ever come to play among the rows of orange trees, or grab strawberries and blueberries to eat them until their stomachs hurt. No young couple would look for some privacy when Laurelin’s light dimmed. Only Indis was there now.
She smiled, remembering Itarillë and Artaresto playing among the trees; even Telpërinquar would join them in their merriment. They had been so young, they were so young still, and yet they would march out of Tirion with their parents. Indis wanted to cry, but she could not fall apart now. She needed to be strong; she owed it to her people.
She stood and walked toward the apple trees, watching carefully the still green fruits. Would they ripen now that there was no light? Would her orchard die?
It will not, she decided.
She would keep it safe. She would keep everyone safe, and pray that those who were leaving returned one day.