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Finwë thinks she’s a fish at first. A fish as large as a man, with shining silvery scales, bound up in his net. Then he sees the hair, and as he pulls it aside, he lays eyes on the beauty of her face for the very first time.
He takes her home, of course. There is an old pool behind the house, that he faintly remembers swimming in during brighter days, when his mother had not fallen ill with the Black Breath, and his father had not been called off to war. The tide is high, so it takes only the cranking open of a valve to start filling it with seawater.
He names her Míriel, for the way her scales shine, and soon he wishes to do more than simply watch her circle in the water. She is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen, after all. If only she were human, he could take her as his wife.
She is not, and yet she bears him a son anyway. It takes work — Finwë bears scars across his body from her razor-sharp claws. It is worth it though, for his son, his little Finwë. He is born human, with legs and lungs. She whispers to him anyway, in that strange grating language she shrieks at Finwë in.
One morning, Finwë comes to the pool to find the waters bloodied. The body he pulls out of it does not resemble his Míriel at all. Surely her teeth were never that sharp, her skin so pale?
He is not sure what to do, but he is a fisherman. He does what he has leant. His little Finwë eats the meat served to him, and does not question where it comes from.
In time, he becomes restless again, and sets off on his boat to where he first met Míriel. He has watched her enough to learn the secrets of her kind, so it is not long until he catches another. This one shines like gold, instead of shimmering like pearl lustre, and he names her Indis, for he has learnt from Míriel and intends to treat her as he would his wife.
His little Finwë does not seem to like her. He grows every day, taller and stronger, even speaking earlier than most children, so Finwë can forgive him this flaw. He prefers to collect sea glass along the shore than sitting by his father at this age, which gives Finwë plenty of time alone.
Indis gives him a daughter, but she has scales, and a tail below her waist. Finwë tries again. A son this time, and he is human. It must be the sex of the child, Fjnwë realises. Sons for land, and daughters for the sea.
Another daughter. Another son. Finwë is almost happy with his family now. He has three fine sons, each of which he has given a name. Curufinwë, the eldest, Nolofinwë, the middle child, and dear Arafinwë, the youngest, who seems drawn to the sea.
Curufinwë is old enough now to take the boat out by himself, and he does so often when his father is busy. Sometimes he brings back a catch, and sometimes he does not. One day, he invites Arafinwë out with him, and his brother immediately accepts. When they return, Finwë notices something is different. The two of them go out together, more and more often, leaving Nolofinwë behind.
He tries to comfort his middle son, but he is not sure of his success. Nolofinwë has dreams beyond their coastal home, and that has always set him aside from his brothers.
One day Finwë walks in on a sight he could not, in a thousand years, have expected to see. Curufinwë, his mouth pressed against Nolofinwë’s, his hands held tightly around his face, as if to keep him in place. Finwë lets out a cry of shock, and Curufinwë pulls away immediately. His teeth are red with blood, and the same drips from Nolofinwë’s mouth.
Curufinwë cries out to run, and the both of them flee. Finwë follows his eldest son, when the two diverge, cursing himself all the while. How could he not know what thought his son was having? Why had Curufinwë not come to him with them? Indis shared no blood with him, not as far as Finwë could tell, so if he felt such desires, he did not need to take from his own brothers.
Curufinwë leads him up the hill, to where the old lighthouse stands. He slips through a tight broken window, but the wood of the door is rotten, and Finwë kicks it down with ease. His son scrambles up the stone stairs, as Finwë swiftly follows, climbing two steps at a time.
Curufinwë reaches the top only moments before his father. There is nowhere left to run. Curufinwë only laughs, broken up by gasps for air as his chest heaves from the exertion. Look! He cries, arm pointing out to a spot in the distance. Finwë takes a moment before he sees it — the boat, sail raised, already a distance from the jetty. And with it, he sees with sharp eyes, patches of colour floating in the water, the same golden colour as the hair of Indis and her daughters.
Finwë cries out in rage at the realisation. He has been played, made a fool of by his own sons. Curufinwë stands on the railing, and prepares to jump. Finwë reaches out, trying to stop him — but he is too late.
The rusted rail gives way as he slams into it, a moment too late, and as he falls towards the rushing sea and the ruthless rocks below, he sees a single glimpse of shining silver scales.