Take my hand: we shall walk through the Halls of the House of Finarfin, House which emblem is the devouring serpents, crowned by flowers of the Ring of Barahir and the Light which makes Things Grow.
We shall walk through the Halls of one less renowned than the rest of his siblings, more so when compared to his brothers, yet built these very Halls sturdy enough to walk into the unknown future even in the face of loss. Be welcomed to these Halls of renewal, where Grief is not a despairing stranger, robbing us of what we love, but love enduring, even everlasting — to run from Grief is to run from Love and here in this Halls we do not do that.
These Halls not built by one person alone, for no such task can be achieved by a single person, all on their own. Behold the work of many who made them flexible and ever-returning like the mourning of every spring and the rebirth begotten by every following summer. This House of the not-quite Ouroboros Crowned in Flowers, of Serpents which must shed their skin or else they will die.
Dual Serpent House, where dualities are not at war with each other, but merge within themselves into a third secret thing. Serpents of a different kind of wisdom, of enduring cycles that existed before them and shall exist past their time. Cycles one cannot elude like the answer to a question: and what if our reckoning is each other? What if its balance and that in the cosmos which we can never, ever know? Will you still reach out for me there? Will you grow and die and become again with me still?
Here, in the Halls like the marriage of sky and earth, of things longevous because they are flexible and not in spite of it. The Halls where for every grief there is a renewal, for every unknown thing a transmutation.
This is the House that can strip itself of its Halls and keep on going, the one that will walk into the future: not the linear one, not the one we are taught but one we can only bet on. That one we will never be a part of. This is the House of the dual serpents that dwell underground, this is the House of Heirs unbound. Even those who died, for they live in all the lives they reached out to.
Of course it is he, the host of these Halls who stayed, even when no one could've guessed it would be him and not those seemingly greater brothers. Because here we do not run from Grief, we cradle it because it is the enduring love for a slaughtered Father, departed siblings, nieces, and nephews and children and unfairly slay kin. It is the enduring love for the world, known or unknown, for if the Quendi will live as long as the material world of Arda exists, then they belong with it, they belong in it.
These Halls which hold the one who looked at his older brother, and said: "I cannot follow you, because it will destroy me, and I won't let anyone do that to me". The future needed its guardian. Needed someone to say, that is enough, needed someone whose love for others could not be twisted against them. And be it in Valinor or in Middle Earth their serpentine emblem remains. What does it matter if it does not remain the same? It matters not, and ever-changing prevails.
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