'Elthríel listened with rapt attention as Finrod, laying on his back and staring at the clear sky above him, spoke about the beauty of the Trees of Valinor. He rarely spoke to her now, not that he had ever made a habit to talk with her, but this was...
Finrod glanced back over his shoulder at Tirion, the White City, which still shone behind them, gleaming brightly, a shining light in the deepening darkness. He sighed and his eyes misted over as he tried to hold his feelings at bay. "Amarië," he whispered into the twilight. "Lotesse i' giliath maa' Varda sila deno' lle men till lye omenta au', a'maelamin." (Amarië, may the stars of Varda shine upon your path till we meet again, my beloved.) His voice cracked as he finished. He felt a hand on his shoulder and he turned to see his father, Finarfin, staring also at Tirion.
"We have chosen and we did not do so lightly," his father said softly as the last of their people followed Fëanor and his sons into the north to seek a crossing to Middle-earth. "We were free to choose, but we are never free from the consequences of the choices that we make, least of all this one." He paused. "I am sorry about Amarië, but we must go on." Finarfin turned and mingled with the stream of Noldor leaving Tirion. Finrod waited a moment more gazing at the city and, turning with tears clouding his vision, followed his father as they left Valinor forever.
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Finrod started at the sound of a voice behind him.He turned, seeing his friend, Daelthron, watching him closely, naked blade in his hand. "I'm sorry, Daelthron," Finrod said, an apologetic smile on his face. "I was lost in thought. But come. I am ready to spar with you now."
Daelthron grinned and, tossing another sword to Finrod, they both took their stances in the center of the practice ring in Nargothrond.
"En garde," Finrod called out as he advanced, swinging his sword towards Daelthron's head. Daelthron ducked, spinning, and lunged forward, aiming for Finrod's side. Finrod turned and so the blade cut through naught but thin air.
Daelthron waited and then, advancing, he changed his tactic and almost leaning parallel to the ground, swung his sword near the floor of the practice ring, but Finrod caught the movement and jumped, the blade passing cleanly underneath him.
Daelthron lost his balance from his effort and fell to the floor. He looked up in time to see Finrod prepare to stab him and Daelthron raised his sword, blocking the blow. He rolled out of the way and jumped to his feet as the duel became more earnest.
Soon the ring was filled with the ringing of steel upon steel interrupted solely by the shouts of warning Finrod and Daelthron gave each other. The blades flashed faster and faster, soon barely to be distinguished they moved so fast.
Finally, Finrod slashed his sword across Daelthron's chest. Daelthron yelled at him and swung his blade to Finrod's neck, too quickly for Finrod to block, and soon they both found themselves on the edge of the ring, Finrod leaning against the railing with Daelthron's blade at his neck and both of them panting, beads of sweat running down their faces.
"You're getting better at this, Daelthron," Finrod said when he got his breath back.
Daelthron grinned. "Aye, but it's a good thing we both are wearing chain mail under our tunics else I would be in a fix right now."
