Life..and all that!


Just a quick entry to let people know I am around. < waves hello!> There are never enough hours in the day - I still have lots of writing 'almost complete'; I still have lots of e-mails to answer. All I can do is crave folk's indulgence. :-(

But..I have managed to set up a sort of web site, which is amazing for technophobe me! http://l.nerdanel.istarnie.googlepages.com/home

I am slowly putting the most edited of my writing on that site, as it is a lot easier to access the chapters of an individual tale. I have also put up a character list - for those who wonder who I am writing about half the time - and a page of references and links.

I will continue posting on this blog as well.

Of the Redemption of Fëanor.


Yet again, apologies for not posting for so very long. My family situations are beginning to be sorted out, as my niece has a place for her Farrier's training this September. The rest of the family are reasonably stable. LOL

I have an exceptionally busy weekend ahead of me, with my wonderful Scottish relatives coming to stay. But by next week I should have time to myself again.

I have so much to finish editing! I have emails to answer; stories to read and comment on - Eluwë's, Eru_Melin's, Bellemaine's, Ellyns, Ellies...maybe another from Geek_Chick...I am sure there is more! My apologies if I still owe anyone emails or comments.


I am putting up a one-shot that is closely tied to 'Flame Rekindled'. Fëanor was the first to read it; and for ages only he, Eru_Melin and Bellemaine had seen it. I posted it on ff.net recently, and thought I would also put it up here as I have changed it somewhat from the original, and it gives some indication as to where 'Flame' is heading. I say some...because that story has now developed way beyond this one. But I really enjoyed writing this, and hopefully someone else will enjoy reading. Here goes!

The picture is part of our back garden. (Note to self: Must take more interesting pictures!)


Of the Redemption of Fëanor.

A/N This story is a one-off that I wrote a couple of years ago. As can be seen, ‘Flame Rekindled’ has developed out of ‘Redemption’. I am aware that some folk may not like this sort of tale, or would rather not read this one-shot, as it contains some of the further developments that feature in the main story – but it does not contain them all, and some matters in this version are not picked up upon in ‘Flame’. I hope that I have not confused anyone!


(Disclaimer: The characters and world they inhabit all belong to Tolkien. Only the interpretation and any mistakes are mine.)

With thanks to Fëanor for being the first to read and comment on this.



“For the price could be no other.”

(Manwë: on considering the answer of Fëanor to his heralds. ‘Of the Sun and the Moon’. The Silmarillion. J. R. R. Tolkien. Ed C. Tolkien. )


And so the Ages passed. In a manner all was the same – time and no time – past, present and future were as one. But I knew then the unique graveness of my deeds amongst the Eldar; the pride, which, while justified, had led me to accept lies without question, thinking them truth of my own device. I knew the greatness for which I had been intended. I knew, so pointedly, where I had erred, where I had become as a tool of the Marrrer. I, who thought to remain unbowed and unashamed, knew I had failed.

Such enlightenment pleased me not at all. That I, who would ever be master, had been mastered and used by the arch-deceiver; the murderer, the dark foe of Arda! Ai – such folly on my part – it was nigh unendurable!

Many matters had been nigh unendurable to me. But I was one who would never knowingly show weakness – was I not the mightiest of the Noldor? I would not add ‘craven’ to the list of my perceived character flaws.

Since being granted sight of the works of Vairë and of my mother; since being allowed those rare visits from my father, I had come to know so much more than anger, hatred and jealousy. Since knowing the role of Manwë and Mandos in keeping my fëa from the ensnarement intended by Morgoth I had become again one who paid heed to the Valar, who knew them not to be my enemies. In most matters!

The silence was no longer unbearable. Though there were instants when I was consumed with a longing to hear spoken word from warm and living flesh, rather than thought or memory; to hear laughter, to hear the beauty of music again - that which I most longed to hear was clear in my mind, and freed from taint.

“Beloved,” she had called me!

Even after all the grief and sorrow I had caused her – when I reached out to her at that moment I knew of Nelyafinwë’s death, and I realised she and I were not sundered in fëar as I had believed - she had, that once, called me “Finwion; meldanya!”

And we had understanding between us.

Even so, I never stopped yearning for restoration with my hröa; to be able to do, to be able to touch, to be able to talk and communicate again with other than Mandos and grey-cloaked Nienna; to be able to tell her, face to face, how wrong I had been.

For many Ages since that revelation Mandos had striven with me. So much time I had wasted in resistance, then in powerless regret. And had I not been intended by Eru to do so very much? To bring forth those devices of light that would have held back a space the tide of darkness the mortals were wrecking upon Arda - to show them a better way forward! I had not fulfilled my purpose. In my arrogance, I ran before I could walk – thinking my strength and skill a true challenge to the might of the Valar. Would that I had done otherwise! So I could do naught but come to terms with my failure – an understanding that would have been unthinkable when I walked the lands in hröa.

Thus it was that I endured in my jail – endured correction, healing; and learnt to embrace of wisdom. But still could I not be freed. At times I pondered if I even still wished it to be so. All had changed – all I dreamt of achieving had long been lost. All I loved – save her, save my mother – were in the same place of awaiting as I. Mayhap I should have stilled my heart further – to accept that there would never be release for me – that even the needful action upon which I placed my hope for short-lived freedom – the breaking of the Silmarils – could be done by another! I was not needed amongst my people or kin – I was not wanted – save by a very few. And were they not better off without me?

In the place of my fëa’s confinement I wandered at will – the seemingly endless, crystal-lit corridors, the tapestries of life that decorated the walls, I wandered amongst them mayhap for two ages or more. But eventually the tapestries became fewer – became less colourful – as a greyness, a barrenness was taken up in the weave that spoke of a doom which Arda could not long survive. I saw the visions given me of the time of Morgoth’s return, coming to be reality in both realms. Life in Aman – what I knew of it from the tapestries, had become nigh sterile, ever the same – day after day of unfaltering familiarity. Even those noble lords and ladies returned, they had not been able to stave off the growing ennui . Even my wise brother – even he of clearest vision and strength of character to see through the long years as esteemed king – he could do naught to prevent the slow withering of spirit amongst the Noldor.

The Valar themselves were tired – I knew! It was as if the foul and poisonous air from the Hither Lands had reached across the bridge of thought and light to weaken them. As if, with the passing of Ages - of the future of Arda becoming more firmly established - they were without purpose.

‘Wilt thou not send back my brother, at the least?’ I had questioned Mandos – two hundred – mayhap several hundred years ago. ‘Wilt thou not have the foresight to act upon thy knowledge of Morgoth’s plans? Thou doesn’t of certainty know the Music – thou doest know how he has ever brought discord to the Song thee and thy brethren gave forth before Eru! Send back Nolofinwë – that Arafinwë, Ingwë and Olwë make not this coming stand alone!’

But Mandos had answered me not on that occasion. And it seemed as if there was sadness upon even the Doomsman – that he said only that all was being done to thwart of the dark enemy and his followers. That through defeat would come victory – and a greater music thereafter.

Foolish words, I would once have thought. But I understood that at times, victory could be wretched from the edge of despair. That though existence in Arda Marred was ever a struggle against the long defeat – there were moments of hope sublime. Had I not been shown the power in hope – in a love sustained against all likelihood?

But I knew not if Nolofinwë had been restored. I spoke with him no more after that time we reconciled our past differences. Neither did I sense the presence of Turukáno – nor, of my own youngest son. But then there were many I knew to be in the place of awaiting whom I never had any experience of. And those few I saw as mist like wraiths, saw me not – nor heard nor acknowledged my presence.

So it was that I dwelt oft in those memories that most gave me joy. Memories of the early days; of my parents, and my father’s unfailing love for me - of the delight I had with her on our journeys together, and of our sons ridding with me across the wide expanse of Valinor. I thought on a house full of laughter, enquiry and jest – of the friends in Tirion who had never spoken me false – and of times alone – in awe of the creation which surrounded me, which I would seek ever to explore – to have knowledge of – aye, even to better!

I still thought of my Jewels. At times I wondered what, if aught, had further chanced them, but neither of the Valar spoke of them when they paid visit. Since I had come to the point of realising how I had allowed myself to walk, unchallenging, unresisting into the dark night of my spirit, I had found the call and love of the Silmarils to be a lesser thing to me.

Ai, but they were my heart! I wanted them back!

I wanted to look upon them again - to hold the three enchanted lights of undying gleam in the palm of my hand and know that all were in awe of them, and of me!

But a lesser thing were they become than the lives of my sons, so vainly discarded in pursuit of their oath; a lesser thing than the slaughter of my sire, trying to defend them from the thief and possessor; a lesser thing than to hold again in my arms the one whose company I desired in my solitude, and to know she wanted me still.

I still loved the works of my hands. The glory of the Silmarils was everlasting, but no longer was my heart in thrall to them. Or so, in my remaining folly I believed!

Since I had endured the purging of my guilt in what befell my people, in what befell the Teleri and others in the Hither Lands at the hands of my sons and followers, I found that resting in the shadow of my thoughts but rarely brought me pain. Mayhap, on occasion, the sea-like wail of the Teleri pieced my fëa; sometimes it was the memory of Nolofinwë’s face as he sought to follow me to doom. There were moments when I saw again the despair filled image of Nelyafinwë – a Silmaril clasped in his remaining hand, as he stood on the edge of a flaming chasm, and then stepped forward. At times I thought to see the Master Smith himself - Aulë, looking upon me with such disbelief that I would work against even him in my arrogance; and against that greatest of his servants, Urundil, her father. Aulë had never paid me visit – had never communed with me in any manner since I walked from his forge, believing him the liar whose words had taken from me my wife. Did he have any love yet for the one who so betrayed his trust, I wondered? At times I saw again the likeness of Manwë; sorrow filled at my decision to misunderstand his summons. That I had so stubbornly defied all his efforts to curb my hot-temper, that I could know of healing in Aman. And her; though I embraced the pain that accompanied any memory of her just to recall the love I lost and found - did I not sometimes hear her calling to me in that last of our encounters?

“Do not do this thing, Finwion! Even after such grief, after such an oath, thou canst find strength to recant. Even after speaking so vehemently against the Valar, of breaking the terms of thy exile may there be the possibility of forgiveness. Few would be strong enough to realise their error, and turn from it. But thou art strong enough! And whatever exile, whatever punishment the Valar deem fitting for thee, will I not also endure and willingly at thy side. Come back to me, Finwion, as thou didst intend.”

In thought alone I reached forth to caress her tear stained face. I would not seek of the union of our fëar that she knew more of the place in which I abode. I would keep her free from all touch with the seeming death.

Then was there the memory of he whom I once despised nigh as Moringotho; of Námo Mandos himself.

“For twelve years thou shalt leave Tirion where thy threat was uttered. In that time take council with thyself, and remember who and what thou art”

I had thought him my enemy; that he sought only to humiliate me out of fear of my growing power. How wrong could I have been! And how long it had taken me to understand Mandos was giving me chance to avert what followed. “Remember who and what thou art”, had he said! Had I done so at Formenos then mayhap the future would have been that ‘other’ song which he showed me. Though my doom was ever to be slain in the Hither Lands yet in that other future, which had been intended, would I have been slain amongst the forces under the Valar’s banners - and soon restored to be king in Tirion.

I, King of the Noldor, and accepted and acclaimed as such! What irony! But my freely made choices had shut all possibility of that path from my life, and from the lives of those I cared for.

There came a time in the place of awaiting when I realised I was no longer alone. Since my father’s visits, my reconciliation with Nolofinwë, and that occasion of gazing upon the still and slumbering forms of six of my sons, had I been without companion that I wondered at first if he were but an image Mandos wished me to consider?

A sense of familiarity there was about him; a sense that, embodied, I would have known his face.

‘Do I know you; did I know or love you in life?’ said I, aware, oh, always so aware that great love was the only thing that bound solitary fëar.

It seemed he drew closer in intensity, for he, like I, would of needs be a fëa unhoused.

A pleasing, yet sorrowful nature did he put forth; an image of very much power, but in a manner self restrained. Though his features were unclear to me, dark of hair would he have been in life; fair of face and strong of arm. But that which I sensed the most was music, as if he were the source of a great music.

Ai, thought I with sudden hope and anguish! It is my son! For my second son had never lain at rest with the others, and Mandos had answered not my questions as to his whereabouts save to say, ‘He understands better than thou, spirit of Fëanáro, of the will of Eru.”

‘Kanafinwë?’

If I had physical form my heart would have been pounding in eagerness; but as it was my thoughts reached out in longing to embrace the spirit of one I had thought long of; had loved, had missed.

‘Nay!’ the spirit replied, with a voice as rich and deep as my sons had been, and an understanding in that denial that his word would pain me further. ‘Kanafinwë is not in this place. I am not he, Fëanáro.’

After giving forth such an unguarded burst of vulnerability to one I knew not, I knew not what to say. But he was there. That spirit could ‘see’ me, had addressed me, and knew my name.

After so long without any other in reality, I, who was ever in life most eloquent, knew not what to say.

‘Why art thou in this place?’ my companion ventured to breach the awkwardness.

‘Do you not know? Which kindred of the Eldalië are you that you are drawn to me - speak my name, but know not my deeds?’

‘I know of thy deeds, Fëanáro. I have long heard of them. But that was not what I meant! Why art thou still in this darkness?’

I would have laughed at his question, but he was a companion - the first I had other than a Vala for a very long time. I would do naught to drive him from me.

‘I am not in darkness, and that due to the ministrations of the Doomsman of whom you must be aware. I am in this place of restraint, and not in hröa, because it is the will of Eru,’ said I. (I knew by then that Manwë would have loosed me if he could have so done. That he who was Lord of Arda would have overturned his own ordinances out of love for me.) ‘Manwë referred me to Eru for judgement because of my evil deeds. By my oath had I called down the doom of the Everlasting Darkness upon myself if I failed in my quest to reclaim my Jewels. I so failed. But Eru was not mine to command, to my good fortune and that of my sons. Though we are in this place of shadow, it is not the doom we expected.’

He seemed to ponder my words. Still was there a sense of sorrow about him, but like I, he would long endure. I began to think that Mandos had made some oversight in his administering of spirits, for here was one of good company who brought me much to consider.

‘Truly dost thou say that Eru is not thine to command, nor is Eru anyone’s to so do. But neither is it the will of the All-Father that any remain in darkness. Think not that, most grave and solemn though thy oath was, and in no wise lightly revoked - it was utterly irredeemable. Thou didst speak most ill that day upon the heights of Tirion, and other days also, yet did thou speak from a heart filled with anguish and loss, and a mind burdened with guilt at not having been there to save thy father from the Destroyer. Fey hadst thou become, that thy foresight failed thee when most needed, that thou didst think only of vengeance and pride, and not of life! Was it not ever the intent of the fell Vala to bring about thy destruction? This thou didst know! Yet think you that it is beyond Eru’s understanding?’

I wondered at his words with some annoyance, for none had ever spoken to me in such a manner. And I considered his being. Then it stuck me - the difference in fëa stuck me!

‘You are mortal - one of the Secondborn!’ said I. A statement of surety I made, though never had I actually beheld one of those whom I had once deemed to be so inferior; a cause for me to lead my people back to the Hither Lands. That was before I had seen the tapestries, had known of Beren, or of Tuor. ‘You are one of those Second Children of Eru, who inhabit the lands of the birth of my people even as the Quendi diminish.’

It seemed to me that he smiled; a smile of thoughtful concern at what I had said. Aye – he was mortal! I pondered that, young though he must of necessity be in years, yet was he one of the wise ones of his kind. For he carried with him a sense of great age, not bowed by weakness. I had understood the lifespan of the Secondborn to be a brief one in truth - as but several years. If that were so, then how did he get of such wisdom?

‘Tell me, are any of my people still in the Hither Lands or have your folk driven them all hence?’ I questioned him, Naught there was I could do, whatever his answer, but I would know. After so long of not wanting to see what transpired in the Hither Lands, I wanted to know!

‘The First Children of Eru are all gathered in the Blessed Realm, and there they dwell and abide yet in peace. Some few spirits of thy kind remain in that place thou dost call the Hither Lands for they will answer not the rightful summons of Mandos, but it is a land of the Second Children, and has been for many an Age.’

So ended yet another of my dreams! I felt no bitterness, for I had learnt that such a matter could be part of the will of Eru; and the reason for some things we may not know. Ai! At that memory of words she oft times spoke, I felt a sudden sense of her presence.

‘She would have liked to listen to you, visitor, for you remind me of the loremaster, Istyaro. Much was she, who in life was my lady, interested in the matters you speak of.’

‘In a manner she has oft listened to me’ he replied enigmatically. The sense put forth of his presence did not change. But something roundabout me was altering. I perceived not fully what it was.

‘You know of my lady?’

Now was I surprised! For a Secondborn to have heard of me was not beyond my comprehension. Surely tales of how dread I had become, of ‘Fell Fëanáro’ if not of the skilled creator of the Silmarils survived in some manner throughout time. But the Secondborn could not know of her. Not of my wise and gentle wife who had never left Aman.

‘I know the Lady Nerdanel,’ he replied. ‘And stubborn and wilful she can be. Yet I know also of her long and steadfast vigil for those she loves.’

‘The vigil for her sons,’ thought I with regret at what I had done to my family.

I could not answer my companion for a time. He seemed to withdraw from me, to let me ponder further. But still was his warm presence on the edge of my consciousness, as the cold presence of Námo Mandos oft was.

Strong had she been and undaunted by so much I had asked of her. Yet in the early days of my captivity I had thought to be summoned before Mandos, to be told she wished our union unmade. That she had lived alone in the unnatural state my father had not been able to endure and, at last, had found another even as he had, was ever a possibility. But when my mind cleared - and my memories of her cleared most swiftly - I knew she would never so do. I knew that for all my errors and rashness, I had chosen a wife wisely. So foolish had I been to be angry with that ‘estrangement’. What were the five years she had withheld her company from me compared to the Ages I had caused myself to be parted from her?

‘Why am I here, you asked? Because Eru wills it! Because none of the Eldalië may be return to their hröa unless they are willing to take up again the life they left. What would that life mean to me? No more the high prince – of certainty not the king! No works to craft, no lands to explore, no need to exist. And if I were ever to return, it is my thought I would again bring her of grief. After so long alone, she cannot think to welcome me as husband. Our sons - that is a different matter; she would want them all with her.’

‘And so she will have, before the End.’ My old-young companion was listening still to my thoughts, but I wondered what foresight he had to make such a bold assumption.

‘Thou art thinking of her good when thou dost wish not to be reunited with her?’ he continued.

I pondered for what seemed a few moments. ‘Mayhap that is the case? I long for her! My memories are filled with desire for her warmth. But I will do naught to willingly cause her further pain. Is it not the nature of love, to put the beloved before one's own needs?’

He nodded agreement, as if he were one of the wisest of the wise. But a Secondborn was he, and a new thought came to me that should have come first I realised he was no Elda.

‘You are of the Secondborn, visitor! This place, it is for the children of the Eldalië to remain in memory. The Jailer has been careless, for the spirits of your kind must depart from here and traverse the circles of Arda to come unto the presence of Eru. I shall rattle the bars of this cage of mine a little, son of Men, that my keeper may know of his mistake and take you hence to the place of light appointed for you.’

‘Thy concern is most heartening, son of Finwë, but there is no need’ said he. ‘I am in the right place.’

We sat in the shadow of thought for longer, he and I. I knew he wanted something of me to remain, yet knew not what it could be.

‘I wonder still why thou art in darkness, Fëanáro, son of Finwë; for thou art purged of the evil of thy deeds, art thou not?’

I was taken aback by his continued boldness. Who was he to command answer of me!

‘Should you not be concerned with finding your place amongst your own kind!’ I retorted. Never would I have taken such forthright questions from an Elda, or easily from a Vala. Who was this Secondborn to ask of one who had been a prince of the Noldor? Yet I found myself answering nonetheless.

‘The lies of Melkor I have unlearnt in great bitterness. I have taken council with myself, for far longer than twelve years, and I know who and what I am. Dear bought has been that knowledge. Though proud I still am, as is befitting one of my kind, I hold no grievance against any who now live, and am free of the possessiveness that possessed me.’

‘Thou speakest not truth, my friend!’ he chided.

‘How no? I have pondered long, and endured much to come to this point. That I have no love for Morgoth, is that my chain?’

‘There is one remaining trial for thee to endure; one thou hast sought to avoid in thy thoughts. A test of faith, if thou wilt, that thou wouldst do as thou dost say.’

His words were as a sudden fire that took hold in my spirit; a light and a flame that showed up the darkness in which I remained. Yet I stood not near the abyss, but bathed in a great and glorious light.

‘Thou art no mere mortal! Who art thou, stranger, that thou knowest me so well? No Vala nor even Maia could have such access to my heart and my thoughts.’

He answered not, but posed a question.

‘Another time of testing there was, and thou gave not over the Silmarils to the keeping of Yavanna, for the good of all. Though they were no longer thine, yet was thy heart hardened, and thy will set to add to the discord. Now I ask of thee - if thou didst hold in thy hands of this instant the Great Jewels of thy forging, the Silmarils themselves, wouldst thou give them over unto me, that I might break them?’

I saw them; so bright a vision that I could indeed have reached out and touched them. My heart’s love; my creations of sublime beauty. Give them to him, he had said! Not even, ‘give them to Yavanna’? I considered his words. I had thought my Jewels were of small importance to me, but mayhap I was wrong? Mayhap this was all some further trick of the Valar?

But a fierce fire was again in me; a flame rekindled that would brook no untruth. I beheld my companion in the manner of fëar that I saw through his semblance and perceived in him no deceit - I saw no darkness at all. Light he was – and Music! The thought was with me that he needed not even the Silmarils to so shine forth. Dawn broke on my long night, as I understood.

‘I am free!’ I said at last.

He smiled at me, for we both knew my unspoken answer.

‘Then claim thy freedom! None are there who will hold thee in this place. Neither do I hold thee here! It was decreed that Fëanáro should never leave the Halls of Awaiting, nor walk again amongst his kin. But I call forth Finwion, and he hears my voice. I call forth Curufinwë from the darkness into which he fell, that the fire set in him fulfils its purpose.’

And about me, and within - there was light.


- - - - - - -


Nelyafinwë – Maedhros
Finwion – Son of Finwë. Fëanor’s childhood name, and a name I write of Nerdanel using at times.
Meldanya – My beloved.
Nolofinwë – Fingolfin
Arafinwë – Finarfin
Turukáno - Turgon
Kanafinwë - Maglor

Of Tyelkormo the Hunter.

And it is still chaos! My husband is working all hours, my father is desperate to get his life sorted out, my niece is on an emotional roller-coaster - and I am plodding on! Today we had one of those annoying EBay happenings. Someone bought some equipment from my husband, then immediately left neutral feedback saying they had binned it. Now he is cross becuse not only was the thing fine, and the buyer probably just dosent know how to use it, but if they had contacted us first he would have given an immediate and full refund upon said item's return. It makes me wonder who would just bin something that cost them £132 without asking the seller about it?

Well I am pleased I now know about the picture on the front of that Silmarillion book - many thanks. ;-D It is one other thing not to tax my mind. But really I want to start thinking about what I will be doing this coming academic year; if we can get niece and father sorted out, that is.
Looking for picture to add! Ahh ... another edition of The Silmarillion! I first saw this copy at Victoria train station - thought it was something to do with Star Trek from the picture (that would be the version of Star Trek by Tolkien, obviously, ;-)as his name and the book title are not exactly hidden!)- got on a train, then realised it was The Silmarillion - and I hadn't realised! Silly me, again! I never have managed to track down one of these.


Here is the first part of the re-written Tyelkormo. Much more to follow. Fëanor, if you are reading this, I have added more Tyelkormo as an adult, as you said he was rather absent in the original version. ;-)


Of Tyelkormo the Hunter. Part One.


(Disclaimer: I am writing in the world created by JRR Tolkien and using characters, scenarios and timelines created by him. I own nothing except the mistakes, and a few, easily identifiable, secondary characters. References are from The Silmarillion and HoME 1, 10 and 12)





“Many other words he (Celegorm) spoke, as potent as were long before in Tirion the words of his father that first inflamed the Noldor to rebellion.”

(Of Beren and Lúthien The SilmarillionJ.R.R. Tolkien. Ed C. Tolkien.)



Neldormindo. The First house of Curufinwë Fëanáro. Seventh Age



I mourned for all of my sons – for the loss of their lives; for the deeds they performed that fell far short of valorous. But a peculiar kind of sorrow and regret do I feel when I think upon Tyelkormo. Of all of my children is he the one I consider I failed most grievously. Mayhap Fëanáro was not the only parent to show favour? Mayhap, though not of my conscious choice, I also had my favourites? Though in the time of bliss I perceived it not, my championing of Maitimo must have irked my third son greatly. That, and other matters, gave cause for our relationship to be less than warm in the last days we were together in Tirion.

Yet when I look now upon the sculpting I made of him after he began pursuit of she who had ensnared his heart – I behold one of so much promise and noble authority. Another of my sons who was born to command, was he. Another with a presence about him like unto his sire. Although the nature and abilities my lord bequeathed to each of our sons was most varied and complex, I oft thought in simpler terms. Maitimo had much of Fëanáro’s indomitable spirit and charisma; Makalaurë had his extraordinary gifting – though in music and poetry, rather than works of hand; and Tyelkormo had his father’s physical prowess; his love of freedom to roam at will, to explore the unknown. Also, when he would, did Tyelkormo have his father’s passionate manner of speech, and hot temper.

And did not all three of our sons have something of their mother about them, to dispose them to wisdom! But of those three, in Tyelkormo it could be least obvious.

Now my mind is a riot of memories as I seek to capture and hold images of the hunter of renown – the friend of Oromë - who was my third son. But to begin my recollections of him I will make note of an incident that occurred after the time of Moringotho’s release – of something that happened in the time of lies and of deceit which was to mark unwelcome change in all our lives.


- - - - -


“What is this you do? You shall unhand my son, least you answer to me!”

My heart burnt within me; my face flushed to rosy hue with outrage at what I beheld. Anger and disbelief vied for precedence in my thoughts.

I had ridden as fast as I could through the oft-traveled flower meadow, to come to the aid of Ambarussa the elder. My sixth son lay prone upon the ground, beside a high, hawthorn hedge. His right arm was twisted beneath him at a most uncommon angle. That it was broken, I was certain.

My mount, my favoured dappled mare, Hísiel, I had urged on at speed, turning her in a half rearing halt before the four neri who surrounded the figure upon the grass. Unusual expressions they bore as they regarded my approach; those sorts of expressions I had noted but of late upon the faces of some few of our folk. Proud and confident, as with most of the Noldor - aye, but that other touch was upon them that I was still struggling to understand. Cruel - was that the word best suited? They held a look that said their nature was tainted by their enjoyment of other’s misfortune.

Now was their attention fully turned from my son to me, as if they doubted I could enforce my will where Ambarussa had failed. But he had they brought low by trickery, as I had observed from the brow of the hill I had been traversing on my path home. Those four neri had made a call for aid to my son, for help with a supposed fallen rider and horse at that hedge. Then, when he dismounted to see what was ado, had the one still mounted driven him into the hedge itself, the others throwing ropes upon him to entangle, bind, and pull him to the ground. So intent had they been on making secure their struggling captive that they had not noticed me in the distance. But I had noticed them! I noticed the large, jagged stone taken up to strike my son upon the head, the many kicks aimed at his torso that he moved arm to deflect. Servants of the Lord Poldórion were those of that group, from my recollections – that Lord who was one of Nolofinwë’s foremost supporters.

At my arrival, one of their number had been prodding the semi-conscious Ambarussa with his booted foot. Two others had been making ready to bind him tightly, broken arm and all. The remaining nér moved forward, inclining his head in a mocking gesture of giving of aid to a lady.

I wanted no aid! I wanted no insult to my intelligence! So very angry was I as I looked past his attempt to obstruct my view of my sixth son.

Ambarussa made little sound, save that of harsh drawn breath. His good hand moved to clutch at the grass, however, at the sound of my voice. A warning, mayhap, that I should see first to my own safety – ride swiftly to bring of help? Then I noticed the blood from the wound to his head running freely through his copper-brown hair, and pooling onto his cloak and the ground.

How dare they! How dare any Elda deliberately do such to another – to one of my sons!

No real concern had I prior to that event for my own or for my sons’ safety in Aman in regard to others of our kind. Although there had been increasing disagreements between our House and that of Nolofinwë those last twenty years, (there had been arguing in the Hall of Lore and in council, and even on the streets of the city. There had been over zealous competition in the arena that our sons’ friendships had cooled somewhat), never had there been such open use of deliberate physical violence. It was incomprehensible!

In no way could such an action have been ordered by anyone of honour; but for that group to initiate such a deed of their own choosing seemed unlikely. Nay, thought I, it is the result of some terrible mistake in understanding that need be explained. Those servants of the Lord Poldórion must have misconstrued their lord’s words of anger at my family.

Alas, I had not taken sufficient account of the subtle changes wrought not just upon expression of face, but also upon the hearts and minds of some of the Noldor.

“Princess Nerdanel! What a pleasant surprise to find you, also riding back to Tirion on this day.” The nér who made to block my access to my son took another step towards me, addressing me in a tone more sarcastic than I was wont to accept. “We had thought to take one, whereas now we are gifted two! But I think it is you who have the answering to do! Lady Istarnië; curuni trained - mother of the brood of arrogant would-be-rulers - you will not find us as easily swayed by your counsel as your husband. Soon will you be answering to our lord for your vain words and role in the troubles, rather than we to you.”

The audacity – the threat, the insult of the words to me fuelled my anger; but I would let none rob me of my wits.

For a short time had the rumour been put abroad in Tirion by those who knew us not well, that my relationship with Fëanáro was most unnatural – that to have any means of restraining one so powerful, so hot of temper as he, I must have had more artful instruction than usual from the Maia, Aratë. Some had said that I was using of mind skills to enchant my lord and turn him to my bidding – for still did some wonder at Fëanáro’s choice of me as wife.

If only they knew!

In truth Fëanáro would be mastered by none – certainly not by his lady! Never could I have spoken into his thoughts without him knowing, or without his permission. Never would I have so attempted! All I could ever do was to cast my net of love, lore and wisdom about his shoulders to aid him in restraining any excess fire of mood. The choice of thought and deed was always his.

Now the foremost of that small group of neri gestured that one of his accomplices move to take me captive. No weapons had I, for such were not carried in those days – save tools for the hunt. But no fainthearted coward was I either, to have freely given birth to so many! I was wife to Fëanáro, daughter of Urundil, and one strong of will in my own right. I would not run! Swiftly I slid from my horse’s back. The four neri smiled to each other at what they considered my folly in giving them no challenge at capture. But unbeknown to them, strapped to the saddle on the side of my mare that was hidden from their sight, was a short and sturdy oak staff – fashioned by Tuon for the use of Ambarussa the younger. Many a time in my childhood had I practiced with staff, thinking to emulate those of our athletes who impressed my father. Many of my father’s apprentices could I then have overcome if I had the mind so to do. With well-remembered fluidity of movement, I released the fastenings, drew forth the ‘weapon’ and struck out at my would-be assailant, knocking him clean to the ground.

At the sight of his collapse the remaining three started, and Ambarussa groaned louder as he fought to regain his full senses. Lashing out with his good arm, my son seized hold of the leg of the assailant standing closest to him. No longer was he the subdued prisoner the group had thought to take as captive for their purpose. A second nér moved to aid his struggling companion, giving my son several further well-aimed kicks in the process – the remaining aggressor turned upon me.

Most glad was I that I had ridden from working in my father’s forge and was still clad for such undertakings in boots and hose and belted leather jerkin. No fine court gown was there to impair my movements. As the nér, the one who had first addressed me, approached, I made feign with the staff then, when he moved to avoid my likely attack, caught him on the jaw with a blow that would have nigh felled Maitimo.

“You forget your place!” said I with authority of my own, “What manner of behaviour is this that you waylay a prince, and a grandson of King Finwë? What manner of fool are you to seek to take captive the wife of Prince Curufinwë?”

For an instant the two still on their feet, hesitated, doubtlessly considering the retribution my husband would deliver. But then boldness in the opportunity afforded them by the current situation overcame their fear.

“You are no princess to fight so! No highborn lady to work in a forge and dress as a nér!” he who moved then to confront me spoke with open contempt. “It is no wonder the sons of Prince Curufinwë are wild in manner, considering the lesser sort their father chose to wed with!”

The words reminded me somewhat of the Lady Tiriniel, and her more outspoken views on the matter of the ‘regrettable mistake’ of Prince Curufinwë. (His mistake being that he had wed with me instead of her!) I was become angrier than I could ever recall – my heart pounding with temper at what that day had unexpectedly brought. Always was I one to seek of reason, but no reasoning was there to be with those who would hear not my words – who held me in such contempt. I would not waste further breath on them.

Still did I stand at guard, the oak staff warmed to my hands as I looked for an advantage that I might reach and tend to my injured son. But to my left side, riding towards us along the line of the hedge, were three more servants. That group were openly wearing the livery of the Lord Poldórion. Most mightily did I wish to be away from the place with Ambarussa, for accompanying the reinforcements were several large, yapping hounds.

With desperate blows I pushed back him who barred my way to my son, and staved off faint intervention from the second nér I had struck, but who had groggily regained his feet. Ambarussa’s assailant had stepped back of his own accord, least my son pull him to the ground. Apart from the one who lay unconscious, all were unperturbed, and that their companions would surely be enough to overcome a hot-tempered nís, and an injured nér.

Fools!

The three original assailants stood back, still grinning (save the one with the dislocated jaw), as the hounds made at me. But in their sense of closure upon their prey, they knew not what I knew.

A large, dark form passed over their heads and they instinctively ducked low, as Huan leapt the hawthorn hedge, landing just in front of me to stand guard, snarling defiance at those other, those lesser hounds. If that were not enough to deter the would-be attackers, a second form, and that of a black horse, followed the wolfhound across the hedge. The rider turned his mount in a tight circle to face the group - his fair hair shimmering in the silvered light of waxing Telperion as he moved.

“You should flee back to the safety of your lord’s halls, while you still have the ability so to do. For here is another of the House of Prince Curufinwë, and you are outnumbered!”

Tyelkormo’s words were no simple arrogance. Further hounds had followed their master over the hedge, barking and yapping warnings of their own. My third son had his bow drawn and aimed. He would not miss.

So did the bold servants of Lord Poldórion reluctantly do as my son had recommended, and in rather a hurry – as Huan and Tyelkormo’s pack made to give chase.


- - - - -


Great was Tyelkormo’s anger at what had befallen his mother and brother. His instinctive desire was to pursue and bring down all of Poldórion’s servants with arrows or spear. Not that his intent was to kill – for such a deed was not in his thoughts – but to wound, to take captives of his own that the miscreants knew better thereafter when dealing with his family; that ‘evil’ roamed not freely in our land.

I was in a strange state of shock and exhilaration. That I had taken up staff and used it against others in anger – needful though it had been – caused me to shake with unfamiliar, violent emotion. Had I taken any pleasure in disabling those I had struck? Had I taken it to be rightful vengeance for what they had done to Ambarussa? Was this how cruelty felt? Never would I have thought to so behave. Thus it was that I was most glad indeed to behold my third son, though I suspected him to be of no calmer mood than I.

Tyelkormo watched for a moment the retreating figures, and then turned his fiery gaze upon his injured younger brother. In that moment, without any spoken word, he must have realised that pursuit on his part must wait.

He swung himself down from his stallion’s back, cursing under his breath, then moved to me, to take the staff from my hands. Strong with anger was his voice, but he was in control of himself and the situation. “No need is there to stand guard, lady and mother. Their game is routed, and no further harm can come nigh my brother or thee that I cannot see off!”

Difficult did I find it to let go of that trusted wood – but I trusted Tyelkormo far more.

He took the staff, yet could not help but notice my continued trembling. In that instant his brown riding cloak was unfastened, that he swept it about my shoulders in a gesture of understanding. “Thou didst give good account of thyself, but it is over, Amillë! Until opportunity is made to seek redress, it is over!”

And that was enough to still my heart that I could, at last, attend to Ambarussa. Moving to kneel at my younger son’s side, I found him dazed, but growing louder in his expression of indignant anger moment by moment. As I stroked back his hair, I could see the blood had clotted, which was to the good. But the side of his face was swollen and discoloured. When I lightly touched his broken arm he grimaced, and drew sharp breath. When I touched of his side, he near cried out.

“We must return to Tirion straight away, that healers attend thee, dear one!”

Tyelkormo moved to loosen his brother’s tunic, that much bruising of ribs was obvious.

“Is anything other than thy arm broken, Telvo?” he questioned grimly.

Ambarussa shook his head. He thought not, though each breath he drew seemed to cause him much pain.

So with much gentleness and care we placed Ambarussa on Tyelkormo’s horse, and Tyelkormo mounted up behind him – steadying him least he fell. My own mare had stood close by me – that soon enough we three were heading east along the valley towards the white walls and shining towers of the city.

“More care shouldst thou take these days over whom thou dost give of thy aid, brother mine!”

Ambarussa snorted derisively. “Thy words shall I take to heart, Turko!”

The words of Tyelkormo had, regrettably, much truth in them. Though it was but an isolated incident, we knew not then what had been planned, or by whom. But as my own temper cooled, I would know more of what had transpired and why, before I made any firm judgement.

“Let us not reach conclusions over that which is mayhap a terrible misunderstanding. ‘Tis a sad thing to counsel denial of aid to one in need,” cautioned I.

“Misunderstanding!” Tyelkormo’s temper was barely restrained. He was not of the opinion that any misunderstanding had occurred. “This attempted abduction is but the culmination of the many lies put about by our half-uncle’s folk, lady and mother. Look to the sons of Indis for the cause! Yet they have tried their hand too soon and in a manner most foolish! We will make ready to avert any further such ‘misunderstandings’.”

His grey eyes flashed fire – his jaw tightened, as did his protective grip around his brother’s waist. But my son had further words to say to me.

“Amillë – thou didst know upon leaving our grandfather’s house that I would be riding out soon – that I intended to ride with thee upon the journey once I had finished my game of Taurnolë. Why didst thou wait not upon me – at the least to deal with those cravens? ‘Tis not thy place as a mother of seven to give contest to neri!”

The slightest note of reprimand there was in his voice – that I had taken it upon myself to intervene and so put myself in danger. Like his father he appeared in his anger – like his father he sounded – that mixture of command, tempered with a protective, possessive love.

Though something in me railed against any form of reprimand from my sons, I understood why he spoke so. I was not a nís of equal strength to a nér any longer – having poured much of my own might into forming my children. Right it was that my son should defend me. I would not argue the point of riding out alone from the dwellings of the Aulenduri with Tyelkormo – for great was the need to have Ambarussa tended by healers. Great was the need to inform Fëanáro of what had transpired that day. And did I not fear that my husband’s anger would far exceed that of my third son!


- - - - - - - -


Tyelkormo / Turko – Celegorm
Maitimo – Maedhros
Makalaurë – Maglor
Ambarussa – The twins. The elder twin is Telvo / Amrod.
Curuni – Witch.
Nér / nís – Adult he-elf / she-elf.


Note. As with the name Nerdanel, I am uncertain of the meaning of Istarnië– Tolkien’s original name for the wife of Fëanor. I cant help but think of the Istari, the wizards – and nië is a feminine edging (nís?) – so maybe it means wizard woman? I have thought that Istarnië was linked more to the wisdom and love of learning associated with Nerdanel. Again – I am no expert on language, and could be totally wrong.

Taurnolë – Wood wisdom. I am thinking of a strategy game similar to chess, which is played with intricately carved, wooden figures.

Of Makalaurë the Mighty.

Still very slow going here! My family all seem to be stressed by different events. I am stressed because they are!

It seems strange that it is almost a year since I stopped teaching. I wonder where the time has gone? But speaking recently with good friends who are still in harness, I know I made the right decision. I do miss school, and kids and colleagues quite often - but there really is so much to do that I wonder how I used to manage. I don't miss the ever-changing goal posts!

So here is the next re-edited 'Sons' chapter. I give up with announcing my writing plans, something always interupts me - sometimes something good. :-) And I find that I am as good as useless if I don't follow where the muse leads. At the moment it seems to be the re-writing of 'Sons'. But I have another couple of one-shots in mind, as well as everything else!

I have just bought 'The Children of Hurin', and hope to read it this weekend. It seems to have terrible reviews by critics. Never mind - since when have I paid attention to them!

The picture is of a copy of The Silmarillion I have never seen before. What is it, I wonder? If it is a Silmaril, why is it so big? How could Earendil have worn one on his brow - he would never have been able to move his head! And yes, Fëanor might be a touch big-headed - but three of them on his brow? ;-)




Of Makalaurë the Mighty.


(Disclaimer: I am writing in the world created by JRR Tolkien and borrowing characters, scenarios and timelines created by him. Nothing is mine except for the interpretation, the mistakes, and a few easily identifiable secondary characters.)


“ .. and Maglor the mighty who like the sea with deep voice sings yet mournfully.”

(The Lay of Leithian The Lays of Beleriand. J.R.R. Tolkien. Ed C. Tolkien)



Neldormindo. The first house of Curufinwë Fëanáro. Seventh Age.


The meeting had been called for the third hour after Laurelin came into bloom. Often would I have been early to such a presentation, but Makalaurë seemed unusually fretful that day, and it had taken me longer than planned to leave the house. Once at the Hall of Lore, however, I had quickly made my way to one of the seats in the third row, one partially blocked by a pillar from full sight of the dais. I had no wish to cause any disturbance, nor interfere with anyone's concentration on the forthcoming discourse, and I knew that Makalaurë was not the most silent of babes.

Few nissi attended the meetings in those days, though it was a matter of their preference rather than any law, spoken or unspoken. A nís always had as much right to attend such debates - to be heard in council - as a nér! But in those golden days there were rarely more than twelve nissi who made regular attendance. One of those was my father sister, the copper-brown haired Nessimë; another was Amortainë, the nigh silent, but ever observant wife of the loremaster Istyaro. There was the Lady Veryë Alcarinquatári, whose courage and resourcefulness on the Great Journey was renowned amongst the Noldor, and the exquisitely elegant, dark haired Anairë, who kept Nolofinwë or her father company while her brothers looked to the sport. I attended whenever possible – when children and work allowed. I always thought that my parents would enjoy greatly such discussions as we were privy to; but then again, most of those who attended were of Tirion's nobility, and lord and lady though they were, my parents would ever prefer to be about the forge and crafting. Mayhap one day I would insist they accompanied me - one day when I had not Makalaurë and his constant singing. Not that I nor any knew with certainty what my son's songs were about at that age, for he sang in a manner long before he could speak. A touch later at forming his words than Maitimo was he; but a happy child nonetheless, and he wished us all to know it.

That day was Rúmil, then the foremost of our loremasters, to make a presentation on his studies of how the Telerin language had developed from Common Eldarin as compared to the development of Quenya. Many of the Noldor found the study of language most fascinating, and not the least of those was my husband. He sat in the front row, at the right hand side of his father and king, avidly absorbing all of Rúmil's assertions, and if I knew him, (which I did!), would be looking to find inconsistencies or errors upon which he could make comment. Maitimo, who sat at the right hand side of his father and prince, sensed my arrival, and turned in a noble and considered manner upon his chair to give me a nod of acknowledgement – and a broad, rather toothy grin.

Makalaurë yawned; unimpressed was he! I had never thought that such discussion of language would be his forte in life, but then from first sight of him, from first I felt his life stirring within me – I had thought mostly of the Music? Had my fëa not been full of the most astounding songs of joy, many of which I had poured into the work of my hands during the time I had carried our second son?

I wanted to listen to the presentation however, so I would be better able to discuss the finer points of the meeting later that day with Fëanáro and Ecthelion. Mayhap King Finwë would visit with us, for he took of any opportunity to spend time with his eldest son. Most certainly would my lord invite some of his friends and those who shared his interests to our house, to further discuss and debate Rúmil's work. I willed not to be left out of such conversation through ignorance on my part.

Now I had missed Rúmil's opening statements, but arrived at the time King Finwë had risen to his feet to pose a question to the sage before the discourse proper began. After his yawn, Makalaurë started to make contentedly of his harmonious gurgling sounds, and I of necessity nursed him, to distract and silence him.

"Lady Nerdanel! This is no meeting for a child." Lastamo, who held himself as second in linguistic expertise to Rúmil, turned from the seat in front of me to whisper sharply. "You should leave your son at home with one of your ladies, if you wish to attend the Council."

Rarely indeed did I leave either of our sons with one of my ladies, and had Lastamo known me better, he would not have made such an assumption. But Fëanáro had also heard the comment, and had partially turned on his seat to glower at the opinionated nér. I knew that my husband would never disrupt such a serious meeting, but that he would seek to have words with Lastamo at its end I also knew! Before I could give the matter further consideration, or Lastamo a deserved reply, the heavy double doors of the hall flew open and the meeting was disturbed nonetheless. Two neri, both clad in dishevelled travelling clothes and both looking far the worse for some experience, stood in the light-filled doorway, calling upon the king.

Now it seemed that these two travellers, Túralasso, and Lelyar, (aye – he who was to later become our steward, and friend!) had been wandering the lands in exploration. Only they had travelled but recently into the unexplored far south. It seemed amidst the whispers passing around the hall that the explorers had journeyed along the narrow coast of Avathar. Very many miles to the south of the Calacirya had they travelled, with a third companion whom they had taken straight to the healers upon their return to Tirion. They had knowledge they wished to share with Finwë, and in a hurry. To the western side chamber they turned, the king making gesture he would follow. My husband and eldest son were also upon their feet, for neither would willingly be excluded. Soon enough, many of the neri were crowding round to discover for themselves what had transpired.

I remained seated – still nursing Makalaurë. My father’s sister moved through the rows of empty chairs to sit at my side.

“We will know soon enough, Nerdanel!” she said with practiced patience.

And so we did! It developed that, in the cold and darkened land, out of the light of the Trees, the travellers had come upon, (or more worryingly, it had chanced upon them!) a darkness greater than the rest. At first had they sought it but a trick of their minds, then they had thought to make a stand against an unknown enemy, but so fell was the presence that they had not stood for long. In fleeing from it had they all stumbled and one had fallen a considerable distance from a cliff into the sea. With great difficulty had they recovered him, and returned home.

I noticed Tulcavaryar and Veryë exchange quizzical looks across the hall, but both kept of their counsel at that time. Almost all of those assembled in the Hall of Lore were on their feet, eager to know of more detail. But much as I wished to know more of what had chanced, I retired then to our house, for that hall was fast becoming no place for the happy, singing Makalaurë.

Upon his return home, a few hours later, Fëanáro explained further to me the cause of the traveller's distress.

"They spoke to my father, urging him to send word at once unto the Valar, unto Manwë and Aulë and Tulkas, that an evil dwells yet, on the borders of their land!"

"Evil?" I questioned my husband, for I, like all born in Aman, did not then have any real understanding of the word.

Fëanáro had begun looking through the precious parchments and illustrations stored in the scriptorium; searching for information that any other had made record of which he had not yet come across.

"A presence, they said, though it seemed formless - yet was it cold beyond cold, and empty. A great hunger, one that would consume them, they felt. Lelyar said they believed they would be overcome, and lie on those shores as if dead until consumed. Túralasso thought they might have even been slain, as some of our folk in the Hither Lands, before my father led our people hence! Both seem most thankful to be back in Tirion."

"But how could this be?" I still did not understand. Though I had no fear of the darkness the neri had encountered, I was still concerned. Makalaurë's earlier fretting seemed to take on a new significance to me. "What place is there that is beyond the sight of Manwë; beyond the hearing of Varda? Where are the Valar not vigilant over their land?"

Fëanáro did not answer me then, but continued his search for information to assist him. "My father has taken counsel, and much in privacy with the Lords Tulcavaryar and Silwë. Both advisors do wonder if some creature of the Hither Lands has made its way unto these shores. So have messengers been sent to Manwë. If the Valar knew naught of this, which is a surprising thought, then at least by the valour of the Noldor, will they know of it now."

We did not know of Wirilomë in those days. Would that we had never come to know of her!

- - - - -

Makalaurë the mighty: mighty in strength and song – swift of foot, and masterful of horse was he. My beloved, golden-voiced second son! Though he had not the colouring of my father’s kin, yet did that son have much of me about his face and expression. Also did he have a great beauty that was surly of his sire’s bequeathing.

He was tall, though grew not to the height of Maitimo nor of Carnistir, but he had an astounding sense of presence when he so wished. Now I have read in certain works those things which would suggest my second son was of a soft and gentle nature. Nay! By no means was that true! Makalaurë was powerful, and clever in thought. If he were not the born leader that Maitimo was, yet could he command all with his voice. (Had not Fëanáro named him Kanafinwë?)

As a bard, a harper, is his renown; but far more than that was he. Very much more! Like saying that Fëanáro was a maker of fine trinkets was saying Makalaurë was a singer of songs! Both were exceptionally gifted and skilled neri in their own ways; both were fearless, and most protective of what was theirs when the need arose.

Never was Makalaurë soft! But he could be gentle – of nature was he considerate of others – of the young. Would that he had been a father of many!

Now very few years in the reckoning of that Age separated my first two sons, and they were ever close in companionship. Close at the end as at the beginning, have others said unto me. Did not Maitimo and Makalaurë, the first of my children to have life, the last of my children to know death, (if indeed Makalaurë is dead!) stand together in defiance of Eonwë and the Vanyar and Noldor hosts, preparing to die rather than surrender the two remaining Silmarils?

Ai! Even he – even Makalaurë succumbed to the poison of the oath! . But he was reluctant to slay at the last, and thought of others, and of home – it is said!

Makalaurë knew his strengths. He never tried to be a copy of his elder brother, but ever sought to stand with him in any situation and to watch his back. That he failed to keep Maitimo from the clutches of Moringotho must have caused him deep anguish. I can only make guess at the conflict in his fëa at having to reject his dread enemy’s terms for Maitimo's release. I can only make guess at how he must have felt upon learning that Findekáno had undertaken that which he had not – that Maitimo be freed!

"Russandol did Makalaurë call his elder brother! Copper-top', had he laughingly called out shortly after he could first walk. Strange that such a name, spoken in fun, was to become accepted by Maitimo as his epessë. Or not so strange! It was a name of great love and respect, after all.

- - - - -

In the Year of the Trees 1236, when Makalaurë was but three years of age, (as we then reckoned time) there was the great festival of the gathering of first fruits held at Valmar. A most joyous time it was that Manwë himself had instigated as the celebration to give thanks for the provisions of Yavanna, and to praise Eru Ilúvatar. Of all of the festivals, save the one on the twenty-first year, (which we yet observe) was that the merriest. At that time many of the Valar took upon themselves a physical form that they might walk and talk among us - eat and drink with us. Also were there many of the Maiar present, as well as the Vanyar and the Noldor. The Teleri came, but in very small numbers, and rarely, for they thought little of seasons or times, and were ever content with their city and the waves of the sea. The Nermir and Tavari who were before Arda and not of it, but travelled oft in the company of Yavanna Kementári, were drawn to Valmar at that time, though they remained mostly in the meadows and woodlands to the south. For them it was but a time of joy and play – they have never been as we Eldar, nor are they bound to this world and its sorrows, that they may be as carefree children enjoying the spectacle.

This was the lesser festival, however; the one we celebrated every seven years to also commemorate the arrival of the Eldar in Aman, and it lasted but a day. But the travelling to and from Valmar meant that we took much longer than one day, for we moved as a host, and at a stately pace. The journey was, of itself, a joy; as long processions of our folk, many singing and dancing, wound their way from the gates of Tirion along the Calacirya and across the plain of Valinor to the city of the Valar.

Now the Vanyar host were to arrive on the eastern side of Valmar before us, because they had been the first to arrive in Aman. We were all to camp on the far side of the city to Ezellohar, and the time of the waxing of Laurelin would be spent in renewing friendships, in merriment, in song and dance, and in story. Then, as the light of the Trees mingled, we would all make our way in most solemn procession around the city, to stand before the closed gate of Valmar until, at the word of the High King, Ingwë, we would all break forth in unison, to give voice to the Song of Light. A song of longing and desire that is still sung to this day – it has lost much of its first unbounded sense of bliss. That ancient song gives account of the yearning of the Eldar in the darkness of the Hither Lands for the light of the West; of the utmost joy of our people when first they beheld the Valar in their own lands, and of our entreaty to enter once again the gates of their city, to walk and dwell a while in their courts.

At the sound of the song, the gates of Valmar would be opened unto us, and we would all pass through; first the Vanyar, then the Noldor, then any of the Teleri with us. Varda Elentári herself would welcome us, and we would walk among the Maiar to be led to the feasting in the great halls of our hosts. This had been the way of things every seven years from a time before my birth, and much pleasure and delight did I take in participating.

I had with me on that occasion the copper circlet that Aulë had given me upon my oath to him as servant, and also the rowanberry red cloak, that was also a sign of his favour. I wished to honour him and my father's people by entering the city in the company of the Aulenduri, as one of their number, instead of entering with Fëanáro. I wanted to enter the city as I had as a small child in the year of my birth, and not so done since then! Betrothed of the prince I had been by the time of the second festival in my life – and his wife thereafter, that I had always been amongst those of the House of the King.

We had given but little thought to the darkness that had so concerned our travellers those two years earlier, for the Valar had been informed, and we trusted them to take any action that was required. (Though had Fëanáro spent many days searching for any who would know more of what those travellers encountered, and to our house did he invite Túralasso, and Lelyar to discuss their discovery). None could overcome Manwë, and none could harm us while we were in his care, we thought. So with carefree abandon we all made that journey, speaking with our family and friends, and pausing to take refreshment from the gentle streams of clearest water, or from those fountains that had been set by our artisans into wide glades upon our path.

Although I set out at the side of Fëanáro and our sons in the vanguard of the procession, mounted upon the fine, dappled mare I oft rode, soon had I drawn back to find my parents. I dismounted, choosing to walk with them a while. The party of King Finwë, all clad in bright raiment of festival and adorned with many jewels, ever led this parade from Tirion. So did the king ride at the head of the cavalcade with his three sons - Fëanáro to his right, and Nolofinwë and the young Arafinwë to his left. Indis, Findis, Írimë and Anairë rode close behind, with many of Indis’ ladies in attendance. Much laughter and song came from that group! For the first time Maitimo and Makalaurë rode to the side of their father, and most proudly, for this was the first of the great festivals since before Maitimo's birth. Both our sons were eager to participate, and to behave in a manner that brought honour upon their father. Though Maitimo was close to full grown, was at that point twixt being a most beautiful child and a well-formed nér, yet was Makalaurë still very young, and he looking at all around him with most eager eyes. Though he would wish to be part of everything that transpired, yet first, at that age, would he always follow his beloved Russandol.

So proud was I of them: of them all! Even was Fëanáro speaking upon that journey with Nolofinwë! For the sake of his father, for the sake of the festival, he endeavoured to make more enquiries of his half-brother's concerns than was usual.

"So glorious and noble do the sons and grandsons of King Finwë appear," my mother had said to me as we passed alongside the banks of a stream that was laden with white lilies of great beauty. "I wonder that even the sight of the entourage of High King Ingwë, garbed in their white and blue, will look as grand?"

I had laughed at her comment, for both the reason that the Vanyar host, with whom we would meet and camp later that day, were the highest of the Eldar, and I knew from Indis and certain others, the most beautiful in form and in mood; but also because my mother was mostly complimenting members of her own family.

"Most glorious indeed are thy grandchildren, lady," I retorted with amusement. " And I, for one, ever find thy daughter's husband to be beguiling beyond measure."

"So I am to expect another grandchild soon, Nerdanel? Mayhap this time it will be a wendë?"

"Nay, mother!" I blushed at the trap I had set myself, and my mother laughed in turn.

"Aye; thou shalt have more children; thou canst take not thy thoughts from thy lord – not even when thou art with us!”

We had two strong and clever sons; neither Fëanáro nor I were in any rush to add to their number as then. Though I knew his mind - that he hoped for us to bring forth at least one other child into the bliss of Aman - yet was it many years before Tyelkormo was born.

- - - - -

By the time my parents and I arrived at the planned encampment, many folk were already sitting in groups upon the sward, partaking of refreshment to the sound of harps, flutes and songs from roaming minstrels. Pavilions had been set up wherein the lords of both Vanyar and Noldor would meet. An array of white and gold for the Noldor there was – of white and blue for the Vanyar, with designs and motifs telling of the presence of the leading houses of both kindred. And other tents also were placed about – still finely emblazoned with emblems denoting allegiances or craft guilds. All was most merry, that we were called upon by many to join with them in their feast even as we sought to make camp. Soon enough I would be expected in the central pavilion of King Finwë, to rejoin my lord and our sons. But for a time I sat and talked with the Aulenduri, as was my want - until Makalaurë came to fetch me.

Unusual it was for him not to be in the company of Maitimo, so I knew something had occurred, or there was something of particular importance on my second son’s mind. He made bow most elegantly, in acknowledgement of his much loved grandparents, but he wished to speak with me, and for us to be away from that company at once.

"Let us not keep thee then, indyo!” my father said. “On a day like this there is much to occupy young hearts and minds. But where, pray, is that elder brother of thine? Maitimo had been expected to join us for a short time, to speak further of the gift he has fashioned to be presented to Aulë.

Makalaurë lowered his eyes at the question, as a smile of slight embarrassment touched the corners of his lips.

“Has Maitimo been delayed, dear one?” I added to my father’s enquiry. Maitimo had been most proud of the copper goblets he had worked upon under my father’s guidance and I was surprised he had not sought our company.

With a sigh, as if breaking a confidence, Makalaurë made answer. “My brother is rather occupied at this time. We went to explore the woodlands yonder” he gestured to the south, “But it seems he is more popular than I with those spirits who gather there. Last I saw him, he was trying to extricate himself from the attention of several of the female Tavari!”

My father and Tulcon laughed heartily at this. My mother smiled, knowingly.

It was not Maitimo’s fault that so many were drawn to him – his beauty was such that I expected as much. But those Tavari were but playing with him – and would cause him no harm. Neither would he take their attention as anything other than fun. Those sprites were not like us – nor was there ever any thought of union between one of their kind and an Elda.

Now as Maitimo was expected to confer with my father, Makalaurë wished to confer with me on what he hoped to be a delight for his father. His grandfather, King Finwë, had asked my dark-haired son to sing at the festival before both Noldor and Vanyar, and the whole assembly. A great honour was this. It was usual for both kindred to put forth the best of their bards and singers for such a grand occasion. Promising though he already was, yet Makalaurë was very young. All knew that Aimeno was to sing first from the Vanyar - then Findis, first of the Noldor, for she had inherited her mother's sweet voice. But few knew that these renditions would be followed by my son’s presentation of ‘The Song of Aman’, which had been given the Eldar by the Maia, Lirillo. Of that moment it was a secret kept from my parents, Maitimo, and Fëanáro most particularly.

"Much do I wish to honour my king and grandsire's trust in me, " Makalaurë said, as we made our way to the edges of the gathering. He tried to match pace with me, as he tried with father and brother, but at that time was he still only of the height of my waist. "But even more, I wish to please my father, that he may know my skills are of value even though I do not oft work in crafting with metal and stone as does he and Maitimo."

"Thy father knows that already! And also that thy music is a form of crafting most profound," said I gently. Ever did I seek to reassure Makalaurë in the earliest of years that his gifting, though different to his father's, was still extraordinary. "Thou wert filled with an echo of the Music from before thy birth, and thy father understands that as well as do I. Mayhap my name for thee should have been Fëalindo, for thou hast a spirit of song in thy heart, even as thy father has a spirit of fire."

He lowered his gaze again, and a small, satisfied smile touched his lips. But there was more on Makalaurë's mind.

"Mother?"

"Aye, my son!"

"Wilt thou not reconsider and walk with us all this festival? It is the first Maitimo and I have attended, and - and we - would rather enter Valmar as a family.”

Still Makalaurë lowered his gaze; his thick, dark hair falling forwards to obscure his features from my view. But his words, his voice had pierced my spirit.

I had not truly considered the wishes of my sons in my intended actions I had not thought they would be concerned - having their father with them, having the excitement of the festival about them. How wrong I had been – how negligent as a mother. But I had already spoken with my parents, and with the others of the Aulenduri of my proposal. I sighed at my folly.

"I cannot do as thou hast asked, Makalaurë, for I have given my word to my father, and it is in order to honour Aulë that I do so. Next festival, then shall we of certainly be together!"

I knew my words had not sounded as convincing as I intended. What consolation was it for a young one to wait another seven years! For a moment I thought my son would add to his appeal, but then he sighed resolutely, and made to look joyful again.

"As thou dost wish, lady and mother."

So my second son and I spoke again of his song as we made our way across the vast lawns, back through the assembled hosts of Noldor to the tents of King Finwë.

- - - -

"Fëanáro! Wouldst thou rather I accompanied thee, and our sons? Wouldst thou rather I sought not to walk in procession with the Aulenduri this festival?"

Makalaurë’s plea would not leave my thoughts – again and again I could hear his request – his most reasonable request for his mother’s company. So I sought the opinion of my husband.

"Already have we spoken of this, Nerdanel," he leant towards me, whispering his reply. By then the Kings of the Eldar and their families were seated on ornate chairs upon the lawns, awaiting the commencement of the bards’ performances. "Proud am I that thou art an Aulendur. If it is thy wish to walk with those other servants of Aulë I have no complaint. Only this would I say to thee - seek not to distance thyself from us again!"

We had already spoken, my husband and I – for never would I have suggested doing such a thing without his understanding. But while Fëanáro understood my reasons, our sons did not.

"Dost thou consider me no true mother for being so unaware of the wishes of Maitimo and Makalaurë? This is their first time at the festival, and mayhap they are right in that we should be together as a family?" I persisted, in an attempt to assuage my guilt.

Fëanáro sighed with exasperation. He turned his attention from the introduction being made by the herald of King Ingwë to address me in thought.

‘My lady and wife; our sons know of the great love thou hast for them – they are no fools! Of preference should we ever be family, but if in this matter thou dost seek to be foremost an Aulendur, then in being thyself dost thou also please them."

No further conversation was possible without great lack of courtesy, not even of that more private form. Even to converse in thought at such a moment would have been unthinkable. The first of the singers came forth from the white and blue robed section of the crowd, making to stand in the clearing between the seats of the lords and the vast numbers who sat patiently upon the grass. So we gave our full attention to Aimeno, and listened with much pleasure. The song he presented was new of composition, but with the intent to evoked memories of old from those amongst us who had lived in the Hither Lands, without the light of the Trees.

Robed in a sleeveless white gown of Vanyar fashion, but with girdle and circlet of copper, Findis sang next of the glory of Taniquetil - a song of praise to Manwë and Varda. So full of light and joy was her performance that all rose to their feet when she had ended to applauded her. There was a tangible sense of delight in the air, of mirth even, which seemed to come upon us all.

Then, as the crowd settled in anticipation of further song, Makalaurë stood forth, with his silver harp in hand. So small did he seem in the face of that multitude. Surely, I thought, they must believe no great music can come from so young a child. But my son would not be daunted by numbers or expectations, so he raised up his voice with a sweetness, with a hint of power yet latent, and despite their earlier enthusiasm, all were silenced.

Fëanáro started at first sight of Makalaurë. Stern of feature he appeared, as one in conflict of pride and displeasure. But he knew our son would not fail him – that in stepping forth, Makalaurë knew himself equal to the challenge. My husband’s hand moved to rest upon my forearm in acknowledgement of the ‘surprise’ though he spoke no word.

Now ‘The Song of Aman’ that Makalaurë weaved with words and music, which came as if from the Valar themselves, held all enthralled, and brought us from sorrow into glory sublime. In his song we gazed first upon the primordial light of the stars of Varda, then flew above the high mountains, as if with the eagles and hawks of Manwë. We plummeted to the rich depths of the gem filled earth, to marvel at the works of Aulë. We swam as if in the seas of Ulmo, and ran light of foot in the forests alongside Oromë. At the finish, our young, untried son made echo of Yavanna’s song of power, poured forth for the creation of the Trees, so that all thoughts were drawn towards Ezellohar, and the mingling of the light of the Trees was indeed, almost upon us. None rose to their feet when Makalaurë had finished - none applauded. He walked silently away, to take seat amongst the younger princes, beside Maitimo, but still with his head held high. As I turned my gaze to follow him, I saw Maitimo offering him soft-spoken words of encouragement, and that copper-haired son passed to his brother some small gift, a measure of acknowledgement between them alone. For a few moments no one else make a sound. I could feel the cloud of awe around me – I could feel the tension in my husband, as he waited for the crowd's response to his son's offering.

Then, at last, King Ingwë rose slowly from his seat. He looked to the face of his queen – to his sons and daughter – then addressed the assembly.

"This day, have we heard music that was of surety an echo of the Great Music! Never before in my hearing has anyone sung with such skill, that I can but hardly bring myself to speak - so moved am I."

He, who was High King of all – who was first amongst all kindred, made a nod of acknowledgement to my son. Then he turned to make bow to Finwë, "I thank thee, my friend, for such a privilege of harkening to one such as your grandson! Truly is he blessed in skill as a bard most mighty – and will be greater yet, hereafter.”

Upon hearing such words the entire crowd rose to their feet. Loud indeed was their applause. But Makalaurë sat beside his elder brother and looked to the gift he had been given. His gaze remained lowered, though a slight and secret smile touched the corners of his lips.

“Kanafinwë will improve in skill as he comes to maturity," Fëanáro spoke again to me in thought, rather than against the volume of the applause. "His voice has not yet the power to do such a song justice, but a satisfactory effort has he made."

I turned upon my husband in angry disbelief at what he had said - only to find he also was upon his feet, applauding with much enthusiasm, and smiling rather mischievously at me.

- - - - -

Before the closed gates of Valmar we stood; a great multitude of Vanyar and Noldor, ready to sing, to give thanks for the light and to seek again to walk in the presence of the Valar. I noticed many who still had a look of glory upon their faces from the singing of Findis and of my son. My parents looked as full of joy as I had ever beheld them. Tulcon and Mötamë stood, hand in hand, gazing with longing at the city before them. Narwasar I also noticed, red-cloaked as all of the Aulenduri, but casting frequent glances to a group standing a little way to the right of him; to a nís with unusual dark, honey blonde hair, and a rather serious expression.

Then Ingwë and Finwë stood forth before their people, as they had stood first amongst the Eldar in the presence of the Valar. As the light of Telperion began to wax, I was more than ready to join in a song of thanksgiving.

I reached out to my husband, at whose side I stood, and lightly caressed his hand.

"Thou couldst still have worn the red cloak, Nerdanel," said he, without turning his attention from his father.

"Aye, so I could! But I am thy wife and mother of thy sons. As such will I wear the white cloak of a Lady of the Noldor this day, rather than the red of an Aulendur."

So fixed was his attention that he spoke not in reply at his victory, but his eyes were unusually full of merriment. Leaning forward slightly, I noticed that both our sons had equally amused expressions upon their faces.

Then King Ingwë gave of the signal, and we all burst forth into the Song of Light.

- - - - -

"But there is still time mother, there is still time for thou to speak with our king and father again. Of surety thou must know he would have thee with him!"

Makalaurë was tightening his sword belt and picking up his blue cloak in a hurry to be away. His appearance was unusually drawn of expression, that most thoughtful son of mine.

"Nay, Makalaurë," I replied, with an effort to still the emotion in my own voice. I had come upon my second son to say ‘farewell', not to hear another argument as to why I should be going with them. "I have spoken with thy father, and alas, for the last time. He will not wish of my presence now, should I beg him."

My son looked across the room at me with disbelief. "That is not so. Never has it been so, whatever he has said! Our father is beside himself with grief and anger – and is it not thy place to give him loyal support, as do we? Think upon what thy decision means for all of thy family, for if thou dost come with us, then mayhap will others?"

An oval portrait of his own beloved did Makalaurë then pick up, and place with grim faced reverence into a second cloak he was rolling to carry upon his back. Then a dagger made by my father for use in hunting – a sapphire ring fashioned by Curvo, and a small circlet of copper - a bard’s circlet that was far too small for him, but had been forged as a gift most considerate by his eldest brother so many years before. Few items indeed did my second son take from our home, for his father had said: “Journey light, but bring your swords!"

"Nothing I say or do will make any difference to Nolwen. Fast firm is she of her own mind that she will not leave Valinor. Her anger against Curvo for taking Tyelpinquar with him burns as hot as mine, that thy father takes thee from me."

"Wilt thou not reconsider? Come with us, mother!" Makalaurë, he who had always been close to me made his last plea in a voice deep and sorrowful – and full of enchantment. But unlike Maitimo, he did not understand my predicament. "Mayhap Nolwen is immovable, but if thou dost change thy course then my lady..." His voice trailed off, betraying the torn emotions he felt that Enyalimë, his wife, had refused to leave Valinor; had begged him to stay.

So aware was I that there was no time for debate. We had once had all the time in Arda to converse – so I believed. Now time was measured in moments as heartbeats. The crowds were assembling on the lower concourse. The sound of many feet and many passion filled voices echoed through the mist filled streets of our doomed, emptying city.

"I cannot leave.” I sighed with regret. “I cannot come with thee, though to remain does break of my heart," I willed myself to be strong – not to recant of my intent at the time the test was upon me. For what if I did change my mind? What if I did go, even at this late time, and repent of the words I had spoken in anger to my husband? I could be with them again; I could be with all my sons unto whatever end they were travelling. For an instant I wavered.

Observing my hesitation, Makalaurë spoke further, weaving a picture most grim with his musical voice. "If thou hadst been there; if thou hadst been at Formenos to see what was done to our folk, what that evil which robbed us of wit and will, what Moringotho himself did to our grandsire; if thou hadst seen the house broken and ravaged and the chamber or iron torn apart, differently wouldst thou think."

I closed my eyes tightly, to stop the vision he created and the warm salt tears that would betray me. Always could Makalaurë speak to my heart, where even Maitimo and Ambarussa failed. But to Aulë was I bound by oath. And I loved the Valar – I could not be part of this rebellion against them, nay, not even for those others I loved.

"I was not there at that time, and that of thy father’s doing!" said I, with determination not to succumb. Swiftly I reached out to my son, and Makalaurë came close to me so that I could kiss his brow and bless him upon his journey. "I wish the path before thee were easier, and always have I wished thee joy, my dear one."

He kissed me in turn, a wry smile touching the corners of his lips. "When we have done what is needful; when we have vengeance for our grandsire and the Silmarils are restored to us; when Arda is safe from Moringotho once again, then will I return for thee and for Enyalimë. I will come back for thee!" he stated with such determination that I almost believed him. But my insight told me that once he left the shores of Aman I would not see him again for many an age – if ever!

Then was he gone from the door of our house, and away to the great gate to join his father and brothers.

He whose powerful voice could cleave gold was gone. "Farewell, Makalaurë!" I whispered, as his form faded swiftly from my sight amongst the crowds. "May the Valar yet watch over thee."

- - - - -

Makalaurë - Maglor
Maitimo - Maedhros
Wirilomë – Ungoliant
Findekáno - Fingon
Nermir and Tavari – Fays of the meadows and fays of the woods; as mentioned in The Book of Lost Tales.
Tyelkormo - Celegorm
Nolofinwë - Fingolfin
indyo - Grandchild.
Fëalindo - Spirit of Song, I think
Tyelpinquar -Celebrimbor
Notes:
Regarding the celebration of the festival, I have used ideas from both HoME 1 and The Silmarillion. I am implying that there was a festival every seven years in Valmar, to celebrate the gathering of first fruits, and to praise Eru. Also, the arrival of the Noldor and Vanyar in Aman was celebrated at this time.(HoME 1), But every twenty-one years there was a feast of the greatest magnificence, lasting seven days, upon Taniquetil.

Flame



I have recently re-edited the original 'Flame' story - no real change, just some tweaking with points, and some hints dropped at further developments. Busy day again today - which means I will get behind with editing! But a happy family are very important to me!

Watch out! The doll is back!




Flame.


(Disclaimer: All characters and the world they inhabit are the wonderful creations of JRR Tolkien, or are inspired by reading his works. All mistakes are mine. All references are from The Silmarillion or HoME 1, 10, 11 and 12. I make no money from this.)



“Long he (Fëanor) fought on, and undismayed, though he was wrapped in fire and wounded with many wounds; ---”

(‘Of the Return of the Noldor The Silmarillion. J.R.R. Tolkien. Ed C. Tolkien.)



The house or Sarmo Urundil. Seventh Age.


Is it now that I am dreaming? Is all the grief of the many ages past but some trick of my mind? Will I awake from what has seemed a long, lonely widowhood to find him still by my side?

I feel the touch of his fëa against mine; an exquisitely gentle touch, yet one that ever grows in demand of me, filling all of my senses with a fierce and joyful longing. I feel the touch of his hands, his strong, dexterous fingers - and his breath, warm against my skin. And I am enfolded in his arms - in the fire and the flame of his being ….

But now darkness has come; darkness has fallen. Another flame there is, enfolding him in death.


- - - - -


A dream of a vision it is that haunts me. For over an age have I rarely dreamt thus of Fëanáro; though dream of him - of them - I do. But that dream of events in the Hither Lands was with me again this last night. Since I have begun to record my memories of the early days it is an experience that occurs more frequently. Almost do I believe Moringotho wills me to have remembrance of that event to taunt me into despair, that I put down my pen and make no case for my lord of old. But I am an inconsequential opponent to a Vala. The Enemy would be concerned not one jot with my attempt to reclaim some of my lord’s honour through my writings. And Moringotho; he is bound behind the Door of Night, is he not?

Nay - the dream is of my own heart and mind. From my own sense of guilt and loss does it arise.

To my shame it is, that I was not with my husband in hröa when he died. Mayhap he would not have perished thus had I but striven longer to change his mind-mood? But he asked the impossible of me. At that time, impossible had it been that I should desert Aulë to follow one who had become so fell and rebellious. And Fëanáro was angry, so very angry with me that I chose loyalty to a Vala over loyalty to him.

Think not that I am unaware of my husband’s many faults, of his cruel deeds. I hated, I abhorred the folly into which he was led; into which he led our sons and others. But with the passing of years has come the clearing of my sight. Since that incident upon the cliffs beyond Alqualondë– that faintest mind-touch of regret - much better have I come to understand why my lord followed the path he did. Much better do I know my own part in the downfall of the Noldor, for I was deceived as much as any. ‘Nerdanel the wise’, they used to say: nay, Nerdanel the fool, to discern not the ends to which Moringotho’s deceptions would lead.

I hear your thoughts, reader – that Fëanáro and I parted before he left Valinor. That he could not expect she who had estranged herself from him to accompany him into the east. But that is another memory to record, and at another time. Of the memory of his death do I now feel constrained to write.

Now this is the history and manner of my dream.

Though I never had the gift of insight into minds that Artanis possesses yet, inherited from my mother and from the art of close and careful observation, I had more insight into hearts than many. After the birth of Maitimo there were a few occasions when I saw events as from afar, as if I were using a palantir. But an action of my own thoughts it was, with no availing of my husband’s creations.

With Fëanáro I had a close bond indeed. Of one heart and mind were we in the early years of our marriage. And so many sons did he give me, so many of his children did I bear that, each time I was with child, each time I mediated his fëa to those yet unborn, our union become but stronger. Now as all do know, the union of fëar between most couples is strongest when they abide in the same place, though many have the ability to reach out to the other over some distance. So it was with us. When my lord rode out with our sons on journeys of exploration, those times that I went not with them, we could still communicate, each with the other. On occasion did we communicate thus for some very many days. When they all rode out to seek the borders of the Dark they were gone for half of a year! So long to be parted it seemed to me at that time.

‘I miss thee!’ I would oft call to him.

Arrow sharp would his thought return. ‘And I thee, beloved.’

I did not know then what missing him truly was.


- - - - -


Now it was nigh two years after the departure of the hosts of the Noldor from Tirion that the vision came upon me. Almost two years of darkness that we who remained endured in Aman. For the light of the Trees was no more, and no moon was there; neither had the bright sun risen. Only the stars of Varda, our torches and candles and those gems that blazed with blue and silver fire did we have that it seemed we were returned to the Hither Lands.

I had been dwelling and working again in my father’s house. Though Aulë came not amongst us for a space, and the Teleri – understandably - shunned us, yet was there ever much to do, to try to repair some little of the harm done to all. With my father in his forge had I been when the warning came upon me. I had gasped and stumbled, that Tulcon had cried out for me to take care. My father had caught hold of me, taking me away from possible danger to sit in his workroom. No deep vision it was that I experienced, save a momentary sight of fire over the sea.

I called for my mother, for she who first had such intuition of flames and sea in relation to Fëanáro.

“What does it mean? What is happening to them?” I had asked; fearful that this would be another battle, another kinslaying. But no clearer were any of us as to what was taking place than before. Since the destruction of the Trees no message had gone forth to the Hither Lands. Neither had any message returned, save what we knew of sorrow from those Noldor who had accompanied the wise Arafinwë back to Eldamar.

My mother had knelt by my feet, holding fast to both my hands. My father, Tulcon and Tuon hovered close by with concern. Then it came to me, the voice I had longed, and yet not longed to hear.

‘Ai; Nerdanel!’

For the briefest of moments I was acutely aware of Fëanáro’s thoughts, sensing his great dismay. It came as a shock to me as I had experienced no directed thought from him since our last parting words. For that instant I felt the touch of his fëa again, reaching out to me in pain of loss. Then his anger flared, and his consuming hatred for Moringotho - his hate, it blocked out any further touch between us.

Thus I knew that one of our sons was dead in that fire, though I knew not then which one.

For a time my anger flare against my husband most strongly, (though only with the return of the exiles was I to know his part in that son’s death), and so was the bond between us doubly blocked. Such anguish was that for me, not to know clearly what had befallen.

Again did it happen, many days later, very many days. I was alone in my room, about to take rest, when the sharp arrow of his directed thought became fixed in my mind. The thought was wild, fey indeed, as he cried to me: ‘Vengeance now shall I have!’ But that was all. It was as if he wanted me to know he had been right to defy the Valar; that he would bring down Moringotho himself by the might of his wrath.

I sat up upon my bed, filled not with any awareness that Fëanáro was justified – not with any exaltation - but with a sense of dread. Something was very wrong!

Then it was that the vision unfolded, as a large map upon a tabletop. In the light of the crystal lamps the room about me was a silver-touched glow, but what lay before me was a half-wrought camp, movement in darkness, the flash of helms, swords under starlight and the red of blood. I could see very many foul and terrible creatures - to my eyes, deformed corruptions of life - which I took to be the ‘Orcs’ spoken of by those who had made the great march. Engaging them in battle with much will was the host of our House only. Of the blue and silver banners of Nolofinwë and his followers was there no sight. Outnumbered greatly were our people, yet they fought on with the fire of Aman burning in their eyes, their long swords slashing through their foe as easily as through air.

A confusion of colours and sounds, then a blurring of the vision came about, that I believed Fëanáro and our sons to be well occupied in the giving forth of battle. Nothing further did I perceive for some hours. I lay again upon my bed, wishing to ponder what had been shown me.

Failië came to call me for the early meal, but so held was I to what I knew perchanced with my family, that I asked that but water be brought me. She knew - my parents knew not to disturb me when I was in such a mood of reflection.

Many hours must have passed, mayhap even a day or two? I left not my room, but would have called in prayer upon the Valar for aid if I could. Then again was the vision upon me that I saw swift riders under cold stars - Fëanáro and six others, ahead of the main force. Riding fearlessly they were, in pursuit of a remnant of Orcs fleeing back to their dread master. Fëanáro’s sword was held aloft, and I heard him laughing - urging the others onwards so as to come upon Moringotho the sooner. That he intended to seek personal combat with the Vala who had slain his father I had no doubt. But though in my room in Aman, I was granted a greater field of vision than he in the Hither Lands. I saw the dreadful creatures of shadow and flame issue forth from the dark mountains. Seven of them there were. The host of fleeing Orcs turned at bay at that sight, preparing to make a stand. Orcs and Valaraukar there were, setting a trap.

“Fëanáro! Turn back! They lie in wait for thee! It is ensnarement that they plan!” I called aloud, rising to my feet; though my voice could carry no further than the confines of the room. Neither could he have heard me in his thoughts then, so clouded was his reason, so consumed was he by his battle fury.

The vision shimmered before my eyes, and I knew that, again, some time had passed in that land over the sea. I knew also that he had not turned back.

Sinking slowly to my knees upon the floor, my remaining anger against him faded away in that moment as mist in the light. No matter what he had done to cause grief, yet did I wish him many miles from that place – did I wish him not to be slain and in such a manner!

A circle of flame lit my view. The seven servants of Moringotho encompassed him as he fought on, undaunted by them. By his feet lay the crushed and burnt bodies of those loyal friends of his: of Tulcavaryar, Alcarin and four others. But Fëanáro could not be brought down. He was swift and agile and strong; his opponents could not match him for all their might. I saw with hope and near wonder that he moved around the fallen bodies of many of the Orcs; that he had wounded some of the Valaraukar, that two were lame, moving but stiffly in gait, and another bore the marks of Urrussë upon it’s form. But the moment when I thought he might yet prevail, even against such odds, was soon to pass. I beheld that, valiant though he fought, he bore many wounds himself, and burns from their swords and whips of flame.

It was as if I were watching him competing against others of the Noldor in the arena in Tirion. Five or six or more would he oft try himself against, and harder still did he train with our sons in those later days of swords and banners and lies. But those seven were not Eldar; they were Valaraukar - corrupted Maiar - demons of terror.

'He is nigh exhausted,’ thought I, with cold realisation that he could not prevail alone. As if in answer to my thought, Fëanáro stumbled - just a little - but it was enough. His shield was torn from his hand as he was wrapped in their flames once more. He did not cry out in pain or fear, even then.

In my room, sitting motionless upon the floor, silent tears were upon my face. I could not watch, could not know the unthinkable, that he was defeated. Was this to be the result of my failure to ‘care well’ for Míriel’s gift? Was it to be the end of his dreams, the outcome of his eloquent and impassioned speech upon the summit of Túna?

“Fair shall the end be, though long and hard shall be the road!” he had said.

Fair? Nay, it was not to be so for him!

I reached out in thought to our sons, though I had never any bond with them beyond usual for mother and child. While they had been young had I oft sensed their needs, but not once they reached maturity. Even less than I could reach Fëanáro could I reach any of them. But try I must.

‘Maitimo, be quick! Thy father is failing, even he. Makalaurë, Tyelkormo - he is near the end of his endurance’. As I called, I knew they heard me not and in part I was glad. I had no wish for them also to be wrapped in the flames. Yet I knew that, without our sons, Fëanáro was lost.

On the farthest edge of vision the tall, bright figure of Maitimo was fighting his way through those Orcs still standing, trading blow for blow with those hideous creatures. A fell warrior was he become, our firstborn, as he wrecked determined havoc upon all who stood in his way. With that son were many of our people, but none could breech the circle of flames to give aid to their king.

‘Fëanáro, they come - soon will they be with thee!’ I called in thought.

Alas, it was not to be. The ground rumbled, as out of the shadows loomed a shape greater and more terrible than the others. In his hand was a monstrous black axe. The very Lord of Valaraukar was being sent out against my husband. In full strength, aye, I believe Fëanáro could have defeated him - but not after fighting so many, so hard, and for so long.

Yet did my lord make to face that creature as an equal, and more! That most fell of Balrogs swung down his axe in an attempt to cleave Fëanáro asunder. Again was my husband swift of foot and, evading the blow, hewed mightily at the body of the Valarauko in return. They circled each other; though still in the midst of the other servants of Moringotho were they. Twice more they exchanged blows that Fëanáro, without a shield, was wounded again.

With pounding heart I watched as another of those creatures let fly its whip, wrenching Urrussë from Fëanáro’s grasp. Defenceless now was he, yet he tried to evade them, tried to take up a sword from the flaming hand of one of his enemies. The Lord of Balrogs struck at him again, with a blow to his chest that, while not cleaving him, brought him gasping to his knees. A clawed foot was placed upon he who had long been my love – my life, driving him into the dust of the ground. Numbly the realisation dawned on me that the Valaraukar intended not to kill him quickly.

‘Maitimo, be swift!’ My desperate thoughts winged forth to my eldest son. If I could reach any of my children – it would be him!

Those creatures of shadow and flame wrapped their whips of fire around Fëanáro’s body, dragging him behind them, moving fast for creatures so large, in a game like a thoughtless child might play with a toy. Dragged across the roughened ground and rocks was he until, for one moment, he was caught between two larger stones and would not easily be pulled free.

‘Finwion!’

With the love I had sought to bury within me I reached forth my fëa, seeking the slender thread of union that should still be between us. Although he could not have felt me in hröa, I fell upon him, throwing my arms around his neck as I covered his burnt and broken features with my tears. I wanted to wash away his hurt, as Nienna could, and make him whole. I wanted to bring him healing that he was again what he had once been.

Pain hazed eyes opened and he knew, aye, he knew that I was with him.

‘False wife and mother!’ he struggled to respond. ‘You who deserted me, keep now your tears. I need them not!’

The sharpness of his words caused me to recoil, that the tenuous link was broken. Never had I thought we who had once loved so well, would come to this.

Though he made to reject me, yet still was Fëanáro in my vision. And I would not leave him to perish alone. I would not leave him a third time. So I hovered close – as close as I could without adding to his anguish – that he knew I had not deserted him.

Then he reached slowly, determinedly to his neck, as if to touch something that was mayhap hung around it, under the hauberk. The Green Stone upon a chain it was, which he brought forth in his charred and blackened hand. Despite his harsh words, Laicasar, that was my wedding gift to him, was yet about his neck. There was a familiar tug upon my own fëa; one last bright flare of his commanding eyes as he seemed to search for me, his mood momentarily changed.

‘Nerdanel; shed not tears. Never did I leave thee, lady,’ his blood smeared fingers were upon the stone. ‘In memory art thou ever mine …’

He could not maintain his focus as the Valaraukar tugged his body helplessly from the rocks, setting him again in their midst, making to utterly crush his sensitive, creative hands. One wave of his agony I felt; then his thoughts were shielded from me.

I would have called unto the Valar, unto Eru himself in my anguish for my husband. Yet how was I any different to the wives and mothers of the Teleri? I believed that none would hearken to the plea of the wife of Fëanáro.

In silent helplessness I watched as the rest of the vision unfolded before me. Maitimo and Carnistir with a great host cut and hacked their way into that circle of flame. Ambarussa the elder approached his father’s still form from another direction. It seemed the Valaraukar retreated, though I wondered why? That they had dealt Fëanáro a mortal blow they must have known. Mayhap that was all their purpose at that time?

Our sons, they raised up their father between them, bearing him away, to an upward path to a mountain pass.

That he would soon die, both he and I knew - though with firmly spoken words of encouragement did Maitimo and then Curvo try to renew their father’s strength to live. A chill thought struck my heart. What if he were to be condemned to the Everlasting Darkness, as he had so made oath? What if Fëanáro would heed not the summons of Mandos at death? We still knew so little of death in Aman, though since the kinslaying did we know more than we had! That Mandos summoned the fëa of the slain, we knew well since the debate over the death of Míriel. But Fëanáro had defied Námo Mandos before. What would happen if he refused to return?

Our sons lay him down upon the ground, as gently as they might. And now they knew also what was to be.

With fading sight he looked to distant mountains, triple peaks that rose higher than any I had seen before the Pelóri had been raised. Then with pain bought breath he cursed them, and cursed also the name of Moringotho thrice.

“Treat not, neither parley with thy foe”, he instructed our sons. (If only Maitimo had taken that instruction to heart.)

About his neck was he still wearing the Green Stone. He signalled for Maitimo to take it from him.

“Keep this well. Avenge me and thy grandsire, and hold true to thy oath.”

With his final breath he again laid that accursed oath upon our sons. Why that? If only he had spoke otherwise! If only he had blessed them, or bid them pursue release from those terrible words of hatred. Yet the oath had been made freely before Manwë and Varda, and they had called upon Eru, each one in their madness. Such an oath was binding, reminder or no.

They bowed their heads, our sons. For now were they all there save for Ambarussa the younger. My suspicion that it had been he, it had been ‘Umbarto’ who had died earlier in the fire was confirmed.

Then the low-smouldering fire was out! Fëanáro died!

His spirit was so bright that his already burnt body was totally consumed as he sped forth.

‘Fëanáro - come thou home!’ I pleaded, as again I sent forth my own fëa, soaring upwards as a bird in flight.

I had thought to meet him above the clouds, that we might take wing together for a final time - that I might draw he who had turned his back upon Valinor, ‘home’. But there was no need. Freely did the spirit of Fëanáro hasten into the West.

The slightest of touches there was, of anger tinged with a dawning realisation of the depth of his loss, then no more. The Spirit of Fire had come to his journey’s end.

Much later it was that I wondered why I had not told him that I loved him - that I had forgiven him his ill deeds - that I partially understood! I should have told Fëanáro that I loved him.

Mayhap he already knew!


- - - - -


I must have lost consciousness. The next I knew was that I was lying upon my bed, my parents seated nearby.

“Rest, Nerdanel. We know what has happened.”

My father spoke in hushed tones, my mother looked most pained, understanding something of how I felt. Had she not held Fëanáro in great esteem until nigh the end?

I could not answer them. I could not find it in me to give forth words. No conversation had I then for anyone, or for very many a day.

“They found thee lying outside, under the apple tree.” my mother spoke in a broken voice “Tuon was looking for thee, to tell thee what he had seen in the sky.”

I did not remember walking into the orchard, but I doubted not that they had found me in that place where we had oft and passionately declared our love for each other, my lord and I.

“They saw a flame like unto a shooting star, burning brightly in the darkness as it headed from the east to the north-west shore of Valinor. No mere feature of the sky it was, Tuon informed us.” My father explained as gently as he could, knowing well what, or rather who, the speeding flame was.

My parents bowed their heads. That my father was furious with Fëanáro's deeds, with his disregard for Aulë, his misuse of power, of skill, and not the least, what he had led our people to do to the Teleri, was no secret. That my husband had taken all his grandsons from him and nigh broken my heart, my father could not forgive. Yet would he hold his peace. He would mourn the passing of one who had been intended for greatness.

Instinctively I reached out in fëa as I had always done when greatly troubled. But Fëanáro was not there. It was not as it had been in those days when I had called to him, but because of his mood, or because he was occupied with work he had chosen to answer me not. Neither was it as it had been those last years we had lived apart. Still, though no words had been exchanged, I had felt his presence. But Fëanáro was no longer there. With his death we were estranged indeed.

In silence I mourned my lord and our youngest son. I went about my work and duties with fixed purpose, and a determination to endure for my parents sake. But the gloom, and sense of immense grief would not depart me. A further two years it was before my heart had any lightness at all, before I was able to speak freely again with others. Despite the grievous woe he had caused us all, had Fëanáro ever been my bright flame. And at that time I greatly wished that I had died with him.


- - - - -


So now have I written of that which is a bitter memory to me. With the telling do I hope to lie to rest that particular dream and turn again to the task I have set myself. Mayhap, when the recording of my memories of the early days is complete, I will seek to join my family – to join him? It is said that the only thing that binds fëar in that place of Námo Mandos is great love! If that is so, as I believe, and he bears no grudge against me, has forgiven me even as I forgave him, then we will be united once more, my lord and I, that at last we shall bothknow of healing.


- - - - -


Time is in Years of the Trees.
Moringotho – Morgoth
Artanis - Galadriel
Valaraukar - Balrogs
Urrussë - ‘Flame blade’ (russë is the poetic word for blade – I think!.)
Maitimo - Maedhros
Tyelkormo - Celegorm
Carnistir – Caranthir
Finwion – Son of Finwë. A childhood name of Fëanor. I write Nerdanel using ‘Finwion’ on occasions.
Curvo - Curufin. I am using the shortened form of his father-name when Nerdanel speaks of him, as it says in HoME 12 that he alone of the sons preferred it to his mother-name.

‘Fair shall the end be,’ he cried, ‘though long and hard shall be the road! ..’ The Silmarillion. Of the Flight of the Noldor.

The Green Stone of Fëanor: This is mentioned in footnotes in HoME 11 ‘The War of the Jewels’. It implies that Tolkien was pondering the history of the Elessar, with it being given by Fëanor just before his death to Maedhros, who then gave it to Fingon. This does not agree with Tolkien’s later thoughts in ‘Unfinished Tales’.