@emilyenrose was my 1500th follower and so gets a fic of her choosing; she asked for something with Fingon. This is a complement to and one man, in his time, plays many parts; it covers the same time period but the other host.
act i.
Elves could see eight colors, depending how you counted them. A prism split them, always in the same order: on one side the far-red that hot things gave off, the color of living things in Endorë’s dark. Then red, then orange, then yellow, then green, blue, violet, then true-purple. Flowers were often true-purple because bees could see it best.
That these were the only colors the Elves could see had been unknown to Aulë until the Noldor had advanced the study of light far enough to describe it, and then it had been a source of delight and astonishment to him. To Aulë there were a thousand colors visible when a prism split, hundreds to the side of far-red and hundreds on the other side of true-purple, colors that the stars spoke, colors that the Eldar could not see. The range of light that Elven eyes captured was just a tiny sliver of the true thing; the whole was vast beyond comprehension.
It was dark now, and the only color was the far-red of shivering Elven bodies and the distant pinpricks of cold and unforgiving stars. The fire on the opposite shore had long since burned down and out. Findekáno had not moved since it had, but in the long night his thoughts had already hit all their notes - grief, anguish, hatred, betrayal - and now circled idly around this, around colors.
His skin was going grey with cold, but that barely registered. His breath kept clouding his view, then dissipating in Araman’s harsh winds; every time he imagined he would see something different on the other shore. Every time he saw nothing at all.
Even if they now regretted it, which they assuredly did not, what would he see? It was too late. The ships had burned.
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