Chapter Twelve: Wedding Gifts. Part One.


I have decided to change this blog entry entirely, as a couple of family members understood more than I thought and others didn't understand anything! Let me try to re-phrase it in more normal words!

I had a migraine for a couple of days after leaving school. It was rather annoying, as I really wanted to enjoy my freedom..but not totally unexpected, as I used to get them whenever I relaxed. And the air pressure has been getting higher all the time, another key trigger for both myself and one of my nephews.

One of my sister-in-laws wanted to go shopping! I usually really enjoy going with her, although we always say we will go for an hour and take the whole day. Now I am not really a 'girly- girl', and I am not so interested in the latest make up or fashions..neither is she...but we sort of have a bad effect on each other and find ourselves hovering round perfumes and summer dresses.
We talk family matters, and have a few coffees. It is her way of getting me to feel like a 'lady of leisure' in as short a time as possible. So it was disappointing to have to postpone fun because of a headache.

The other 'problem' feeding into the 'headache' is my father! He is with his family in Scotland at the moment, and wants me to go up as well as soon as possible. All of this is not the problem, but for a man who has a love of gadgets, he is hopeless with a simple mobile phone. I have a series of half messages, and him saying 'Hello' and putting the phone down. It drives my husband mad! Mind you, quite a lot about my father drives my husband mad and a lot about my husband drives my father mad! Talking of him, he is away again to the US with work. I am glad he enjoys what he does, but I do wish he could do it a bit more locally at times.

Thus ends my edited blog that makes more sense and hopefully meets with my family's approval.

Oh, and to make a perfect end to the day, one of the cats was sick on the bed. Another of my husband's 'pet' hates. (Though he likes the pets themselves!)



Chapter Twelve: Wedding Gifts. Part One.


(Disclaimer: All of the characters, places, and the main story line are JRR Tolkien’s wonderful creations. All references are from The Silmarillion, or HoME Vols 10, 11 or 12. Nothing is mine, except the interpretation and any mistakes, and in this chapter, and only in the sense he is derived from reading the works of Tolkien, the character ‘Gaerion’.)



“Among the Noldor also was it the custom that the bride’s mother should give to the bridegroom a jewel upon a chain or collar; and the bridegroom’s father should give a like gift to the bride.”

(‘The Later Quenta Silmarillion.’ Morgoth’s Ring) J.R.R. Tolkien. Ed. C. Tolkien.)


The house of Sarmo Urundil Seventh Age



“Never did I leave thee, lady!” his blood smeared fingers were upon the Green Stone, Laicasar. “In memory am I always with thee.”

Those words spoken to me in fëa, those last of his words to me, they are more often in my mind of late. Since that dream of his death, and the death of Ambarussa the younger, the dream of which I have already given account, do I again wear the wedding gift, the stone Nármirë that he made for me. In the years following the original vision of his encounter with the Valaraukar of Moringotho did I wear the jewel most often in memory of him, as he once was, and unmarred. In memory, and in regret for our life that should have been again taken up, had Manwë’s wishes prevailed, did I wear it. But there came a day, mayhap an Age ago, when I put away that stone, and tried to put away with it many of my memories. I, who had always endured in hope, began to grow faint. For what hope remained, save that he would know some measure of healing before the End. And always, even in the darkest of moments, had I wished that for him.

But this writing I now undertake of the golden days, though it brings no true hope, yet does it remind me that there was much joy before the sorrow. Does it stir my heart again in anger at what was stolen from me, and remind me to seek to make clear my case against Moringotho; that my lord be not deemed by any as his equal in evil. For though Fëanáro had most obvious blame for many of the ill deeds that perchanced in the Blessed Realm, was it not ever that fell Valar’s aim to bring him low, and from the moment he realised my lord’s capabilities?


All of the writings; all the lore we possess amongst the Noldor, it says that Fëanáro sits now in the Halls of Awaiting and may come no more amongst his kin. Indeed, not until the End may he return. There are moments when I wonder why this is so? I think it not a punishment of the Valar; though mayhap he cooperates not with Mandos’ efforts one jot! Hardened did his heart become, and through much provocation: hardened most particularly against the Doomsman. Mayhap it is simply for the good of all, for if in any state he returned, would it not cause grave misgivings for our people; would it not threaten the peace we have enjoyed? I see not Fëanáro accepting a lesser role, and the noble Arafinwë; he is our king!

Istyaro has said to me that it was the manner of his death. Not all those slain have chosen to return, so dread are their memories of the sundering of their hröa and fëa. None of those slain by a Valaraukar have so returned; save one! Then again, mayhap Fëanáro may not return because he will not have me to wife, and so am I his doom. Ai, what a strange thought that is! So long have I waited for him, the one I rejected and turned from; so long have I waited to tell him that he was right, at least about my deception, and right that I would live in much sorrow without him.

But most of the time do I think he may not return because there can be no forgiveness in the duration of Arda for his deeds: his rebellion, oath and slaying of the Teleri. Cursed is he, and also our sons.

“In memory am I always with thee,” had he said in pain bought focus of thought.

And have I not always been with him, even when parted? There have been times when I wished to be free of him and the bitter memories he left me with; when I wished I had chosen other than he for my spouse; when I wished, almost, that I had chosen to be with Gaerion. But it was ever almost. Even this burden of loss I carry do I deem as worth the pain, for the price could be no other. I would not relinquish my memories of his bright flame in my life, not in the years before Moringotho; nay, for naught would I give over my memories of the husband of my youth.

So again do I take up Nármirë from it’s place of safekeeping. I find it brings me comfort, and is again warm to my touch. And when I wear it, it does but strengthen that sense that he has never really left me at all.


****


“Still do I love thee, lady!”

Gaerion it was who spoke; who had then but recently returned from the Hither Lands and with those amongst the last of the Quendi to seek the West. The middle of the Fourth Age was the time; he having been gone from Aman since the end of the First.

I had taken up his hand in an act of warm friendship and he had smiled back, that same broad grin on his face, that same look of indulgence he had for me when we were children together.

“And I love thee, my dear friend. But let us not tread further upon this path of confessions, for it is unfitting for one who is wed to hear such honeyed words from one who is not her lord.”

He had nodded understanding; for we had understanding between us, Gaerion and I. Though he had loved me in my youth, had he realised that he could not compete for my heart’s love with Fëanáro. He had not even tried to so do. Always honourable was my Teler friend. Always did he put the good of others before his own. And though his hope that I would turn to him in love was renewed some years after my lord’s death, did he come to accept my decision. He understood that he could not compete with my memories of Fëanáro, nor change my steadfast loyalty. My ‘everfriend’ was he; that term from our youth that he had always sought to respect, and that I should have respected a little more thoughtfully, that I pained him not.

Turning to walk at the silver-haired sea-elf’s side along the marble balustrade that overlooked the quays and the harbour at the rebuilt Alqualondë, I could not help but notice how he had changed in nature and in appearance. No longer the thin, almost gangly seldor of my youth, neither the confident captain of the Uinenlindë whom I had met aboard his ship at the time of the wedding of Arafinwë, but a fell and hardy warrior who had been in many a battle in the Hither Lands. Captain of the Alphglîr was he, one who had given of his allegiance to the Lord Círdan. He had sailed forth from the place called Mithlond upon the Eastern shore only when he had exhausted all possibility of fulfilling his promise to me. For Gaerion had sailed from Aman as part of the Teleri fleet for the Great Battle against Moringotho, but had remained in Middle-Earth to search for my remaining son.

A fine day was that when we walked together, Noldo and Teler, in Alqualondë, and much joy there was at our reunion. But that day had I travelled from my father’s house to meet with my dear friend for a purpose. I would know all he could tell me about the lands in which my sons had met their deaths. I would know all he had to tell me about any of my descendents that yet lived and about his search for Makalaurë. So did we later sail out upon the bay of Eldamar in the bright light of the sun. Those others of the Alphglîr’s company made themselves as unobtrusive as they could, while the ship’s captain and I stood at her prow. Greatly did I love to be upon the waves, though most often was the bay itself at calm. For a few moments I could appreciate the invigorating freedom of Ulmo’s realm.

“Would that you had been born a Teler maid!” said Gaerion, knowing of my delight.

“Then I should not have been me, and you would have loved me not!” had I replied.

On that voyage did we speak further of that which was foremost in my mind, and for which no joy or delight upon the waves, or even Gaerion’s company could compensate. The account brought me by Artuiel and Ondoriel of the death of Carnistir’s two sons, which had been confirmed by others, did Gaerion also confirm. We spoke long, and sometimes sorrowfully of his search for Makalaurë, and he told me of his two encounters. Both had been in the Third Age, and most brief of duration; one at the Secondborn city of Fornost, and the second on the Coldfells, north of Lord Elrond’s stronghold of Imladris. My Teler friend had not been able to speak reason, so he felt, to one weighted down with shame and remorse. Makalaurë would not return to Aman, nor would he even spend a moment longer than was necessary amongst the people he felt he had so betrayed. Gaerion had not known to look for any sign of Enyalimë. He had not realised she had left Aman in the very fleet he sailed with, disguised as a nér, to seek of her husband in her desperation.

No more could I ask of my friend than he had done for me. He had given over many years to fulfilling his promise, and was unhappy at not meeting with greater success.

“But I forgave him, and to his face!” Gaerion said. “Your son knows that I, at least, hate him not. That I entreat Manwë for he and his brethren!”

So it was that Gaerion of Alqualondë returned to my life. So it was that he did what I had asked of him in the First Age; he forgave the most terrible deeds of my family. But there was something he spoke not to me of, seeking my wellbeing first, as ever. Did I not know then there was another nís in Gaerion’s heart; though some time it was before I came to know much about her!

Now must I add that happier was Gaerion at that time, for in the Third Age did his father and brother return from the place to which Makalaurë had sent them. Gilfanon rebuilt the Uinenlindë with the aid of his son, and Gillondë returned to his wife, Elwen, and they brought forth a child. So was my dear everfriend an uncle of a silver-haired nephew, Eärfion, who from the time of his return to Aman was never far from his side.


****

This is the last portion of my earliest memories I will write in the house of my parents. Most urgently do I feel compelled to be away, and to Tirion. Restless am I, as I was in a time long past. Change is close, a change of mind mood, a change of being. Still do I seek release from this burden of memory, and yet … and yet something is changing! And the stone, Nármirë is ever warm to my touch, and to my heart.

What after Tirion? I would that I could walk again in the hills the paths of old, and then shall I seek the gardens of Lórien. So I will write and after that is done, take my leave of my parents and friends. Painful shall that parting be. My parents have known this journey was forthcoming for many a year, and I hope that they understand. Ever have they been close to me, and ever seeking of my best. I would that I did not feel I have to leave them. Always leaving those I love am I, and that throughout time. Mayhap we shall meet again, at the End? Mayhap there will be no more partings after that; no more sorrow?

Also shall I make my farewell to those oldest of my friends who remain; to Tulcon who ever stood by me, (though Mötamë returned but fifty years ago), to Narwasar and his wife and son, and to those two daughters of the Aulenduri, Ondoriel and Artuiel, who have been as my own daughters in many ways. I think upon their grief, and their sufferings in the Hither Lands. Strong are they both, and resolute that they will behold again those who have their heart’s love. And do I not wish that Ambarussa and Maitimo were returned for them even more than for myself? Mayhap those nissi will one day follow me to rest, for though they were the beloved of my eldest and youngest sons, yet was the power of the oath to divide them, as it did me, from my lord.

But it is in my mind that I do not deal with my task adequately, and this vexes me. For what reason do I remain in hröa, but to record the tragic events whereby my husband and sons became nigh vilified, and to show how much of that was Moringotho’s plan alone. For who amongst us could have withstood that barrage of twisted half-truths aimed at destroying them, and remained unaltered? So must I continue with my tale!

I had not thought in my youth that I would ever be one to enjoy overly the company of other nissi. For the most part, those that I knew were busy about embroidery and tapestry, and the making of garments. All these things did I much admire, but they were not areas in which my skill lay. Neither did many other of the nissi amongst the Aulenduri greatly enjoy long periods of exploration, preferring the tending of their homes and gardens and fields. Good things all, and ones I also enjoyed. But for me, and at that time, it was not enough. That I was to find good discussion and challenging ideas in the company of the Lady Indis and Serewen, and even in time, Mötamë, was an unlooked-for pleasure. That we came to have much joy and laughter together was also true.

I was my father’s daughter! I was born to a household that epitomised the skills of the neri, and I was an only child. In many things did I try to be both daughter and son to Urundil, whom I love and admire greatly. Never did my father say for me to so do, and although I made him proud, so very proud when I became an Aulendur, yet never did I see him look more honoured that I was his daughter than on my wedding day.

Now it had been in my mind that the halls of Aulë would be a welcome respite from the attention I had been receiving (nay, enduring!) in the halls of King Finwë. There was I a focus for the nissi of the king’s household; those attendants and those who had once been Míriel’s ladies had thought to preen and garb me in a manner like unto themselves. Unused to so much attention from so many ladies was I, and lacking in assurance as to how I should deal with the situation. That I had not accepted their well-meant offers with any true grace, I knew. I was ashamed of my sharpness with them, for it was from a sense of confusion I spoke, rather than annoyance. So much did I wish to behave in all ways as one of noble demeanour, yet did I feel a failure. But in the familiarity of Aulë’s house I knew I would be able to breath freely again as the young maid I was. I could wander at will without an entourage of folk who seemed each to be trying against me a different shade of silk or taffeta, or seeking for better ways to dress my hair, or other such.

“I will wear my best gown for my wedding. Let that be an end to it!” had I said, though not meant, for I was determined to be no disgrace to the house of Finwë.

They had departed my presence, quietly bemoaning my lack of interest and appreciation. But at that time did I feel most the awkwardness of not being highborn myself, of not knowing by upbringing the nuances of court life they took for granted.

Fëanáro was little help to me, having sought refuge again in his work. He had avoided Silwë and those other officials who wished to remind him that it was but twenty days before the wedding, by asserting that he had a house to build, and that took precedence. We had gone over the plans for the house, he and I. We had paid visit to the site that would be our new home on several occasions. That he had chosen well was a forgone conclusion. There were areas in which he had shown obvious thought of me, and knowledge of my preferences. We were both to have workrooms in which to pursue our skills. On the ground level were we to have our own studies, as well as there being a scriptorium for both our use. The main hall had he designed to have a high ceiling with many intricately arched beams, overlaid with webs woven of copper such as were found in Aulë’s house, and within the beams were to be set very many diamonds, that would sparkle as the stars of Varda in the hour when the light grew less. Nine high arched windows were to look out to the west, over the nearby hills, and bring light as well as beauty into our home. A hall for entertaining it was to be, a hall that would give room for a large number of folk to gather together without a feeling of confinement. There was to be an upper story, with a galleried landing, and a variety of rooms that could perhaps be used for guests. And a high tower, like unto the one at my home, had he planned, that we might look to the plains of Valinor, to the Trees in one direction, and to the Sea in the other.

“It is most wonderful a plan, Fëanáro,” said I, as Narwasar had passed us by, already grim-faced at the new prospect of working, with four other Aulenduri, to my betrothed’s orders. “But is this house not overlarge for us? So many rooms! I will not be able to find you!”

He smiled at me in those days most indulgently, for the house and I were his main focus. “Aye, you will, lady! I shall be in the workroom, as ever. Or the study! And I think we shall have a place that is suitable for the status of our family, a place we will not outgrow, even when our children are in this house, and their children’s children.”

I had blushed slightly at those words, though the colour rose less often to my face than it had done before our betrothal. We had not spoken of children, other than to know that we both wished them to be added unto us. Also did I think that he viewed this matter in a similar manner to Finwë, wishing for us to bring forth not a few sons and daughters. (So did I then think, knowing not his thoughts upon daughters! For when Indis’ firstborn was a wendë, did his mood change most swiftly from one of growing resentment at a prospective sibling, to one of nigh humour! ‘So, King Finwë has a daughter!’ had he said sardonically when we received the news. I did not look to find him at all for a few days after that slight to my kind! He was not so complacent when, two years later, Nolofinwë* was born! )

Some trepidation did I feel, as an only child myself, and at the thought of what Fëanáro’s birth had cost his mother. Yet strong did I know myself to be, and no coward. When I voiced my thoughts, he had replied with much assertiveness that we would not have children for several years yet.

“I will not lose thee as my mother was lost!” he had exclaimed, seriousness replacing his bantering tone. “Strong thou art for a nís, Nerdanel, but stronger yet wilt thou become in years. We will wait until thou art ready to bear children.”

To this promise did he hold, though the early addition of the two children to his father’s house almost caused him to recant. What might have come about in the First Age had Maitimo been brought to birth before Indis’ first son, I have sometimes wondered! But it is all in the distant past now.

I had wanted to help with the building, but Fëanáro seemed to have some secret plan and would work only with Narwasar, whose skills he deemed to be adequate. He wanted my advice on certain matters; on decorative sculpting and on the garden, but suggested that I should be well occupied with Serewen and other of the ladies at that time.

“Much may you do in later days, lady, for there will be work to complete before we may leave my father’s house. But at this time do I insist you see to plans for your moving to Tirion, and fare welling your kin.”

He did not want my company there! So I left him to his secrets, though I kept informed upon the main building work. To that end was Narwasar ever my friend.

Deprived of the excuse of house building and not wishing overmuch for the company of the most elegant ladies of the court, I sought refuge in my long- desired visit to Aulë. I had made up my mind to offer the Vala my allegiance before I wed, and still did I have a task for which I desired his assistance.

Now, it is a custom amongst the Noldor for each family to present gifts to the other at a wedding, and perhaps the best known, and most strongly adhered-to custom throughout the ages was the exchange of gifts of jewels. King Finwë would be expected to gift me thus, though deprived of the service of his chief artisan on that occasion, deprived of my father, did he have to find another to craft the gem.
My mother would be expected to gift Fëanáro in a like manner. Taurlotë willingly would have so done, and had expected Urundil to already begin work with her on the jewel. But I wanted to craft this! My gift to Fëanáro would it be, for there was no custom other than this wherein I might bestow something of value upon my betrothed. I knew what I would make, and saw it clearly in my thoughts, but how to get the stone to shine with the green radiance of the hill and the sea by Tirion, I knew not? Neither was my father certain.

“Why doest thou seek to craft this gift thyself, Nerdanel?” Aulë had asked of me. “‘Tis not the custom of thy people!”

“My Lord Aulë,” I had replied, “it is my will to gift Fëanáro with something of my own skill, and something of my heart. Into this stone would I sing the bright green of the hill of Túna, and the deep green of the sea, that wherever he wanders through the long ages, will he always know of my love for him, and sense me close, if I am not with him.”

Aulë bright countenance suddenly clouded with gravity. “Dost see a time when thou wilt travel not with thy lord?”

I searched my heart, and what limited vision I then possessed. “It is my wish to journey with Fëanáro wherever he goes. But there may be times when I will be about pursuing something of my own, or be not able to accompany him because of other commitments. In the long ages to come, I know there will be times when we dwell apart, though I earnestly hope they are not to be many, or often!”

No strange thing was this; for had not some already begun to spend time away from their spouses? Never was this in a time of children, however, and was it only ever for a short space before the couple were reunited. Loyalty, and love of family and close kin have ever been most important to the Eldar.

I watched as Aulë pondered further my request. Still did the merest shadow linger upon his face, reflecting his thoughts, but he heeded it not at that time, nor did I.

So it was that Aulë himself oversaw the preparation of my gift. Now I had brought with me from my father’s house that pearl that had been Gaerion’s gift to me. Beautiful, indeed, it was, and no small guilt did I feel upon seeing it, and thinking of both the giver, and of he for whom I wished to imitate its beauty. So did I make a crystal of the colour of green, through the lore of Aulë and the waters from the creek that ran up to Tirion, and the grass from the hill of Túna. And at last did Aulë set into it iridescence like unto the pearl.

No mean feat had that task been, and one that I knew I could never repeat without Aulë’s aid. For although I had watched Urundil fashion many wondrous jewels, many that reflected light most beautifully, this skill was in truth beyond me save for the once. “The Green Stone, ‘Laicasar’,” Aulë spoke as we finished. “And now shall I leave thee, little maid, to pour into it the song of thy heart, for that is a gift that thou alone canst give.”

Between the times I worked upon Laicasar, I wandered in the peace giving glades of Yavanna, hoping to meet again with Aulë’s spouse. A question did I much desire to ask of her, and that concerning a matter fast approaching. But Yavanna dwelt not with Aulë then, pursuing her love of her creations in the Hither Lands was she. Often did Yavanna and Oromë still venture forth from Aman to overlook the lands to the east that they so loved.

At last came the hour when my work was finished. I was to depart and return again to Tirion, and to those few days left until my marriage ceremony. But first did I well prepare myself in mind and in manner, and approach Aulë a final time. With a low, well-practiced curtsey did I ask to be accepted by the mighty Vala as one of his servants in my own right. Both parents were with me on that occasion, silently giving their support of me and of my right to be making such an appeal.

“I know thee well, daughter of Urundil. I know from thy father that thou hast the skill and the strength to serve me. But I would ask thee what thy future lord thinks of this?”
I remember how surprised I was at his question. Surely that was my own choice, and had nothing to do with Fëanáro? “Inasmuch as we have discussed the matter, my future lord thinks I should do as I will. Fëanáro has no issue with my devotion to you, Lord Aulë.”

Aulë rose to his feet, and stepped down from the great chair upon which he sat on those occasions of solemnity. He stood before me, so tall and golden was he, so vast of power and strength. He looked upon me most searchingly.

“I do not ask this lightly, Nerdanel!” It seemed the very ground rumbled at the sound of the Vala’s voice. “You are right in that a nís may pursue her choice of allegiance without permission. You are no one’s property! But to have two allegiances presents a challenge, unless there is understanding between them.”

So did I understand that Aulë was asking me to make a final consideration of my choice, both of him and of Fëanáro. Long had I determined to have both! Longer still have I grieved over the result of that ambition, that I was forced to chose between loyalties and loves!

“I would make my vows both to thee and to Prince Fëanáro, my Lord Vala,” said I. “My loyalty is to you, as your servant, and will be to Fëanáro as his wife. Both roles do I hold and honour most highly. And I shall seek ever to walk the path of understanding.”

Still was there some hesitation that made me feel most uncomfortable, as I never had in the presence of the Vala. Aulë glanced up, to the patterns and accounts of the themes of the Great Music he had set into the roof of his hall, as if searching for something in particular. But he saw not clearly what was to come. So did he proceed!

“Seek wisdom, Nerdanel, as well as these other things. In so doing will you bring much honour upon me, and upon Prince Fëanáro. Know that my blessing is upon both of your choices!”

With that did Aulë remind me of the secret nature of much with which he would entrust me, of the service he would sometimes ask of me in crafting or teaching others. Then did he present me with the copper circlet that was the sign of his favour. Only this was fashioned in a lighter manner than was usual, and with design upon it like unto the girdle he had given me as a child, with leaves and flames entwined.

“I welcome thee into my service, Nerdanel, daughter of Urundil, betrothed of Fëanáro.”

I wondered then, that Aulë always welcomed the neri as ‘son of’ one of his servants or another, but never before had I heard him also mention an intended spouse!

We walked back down the long hall, my parents and I. All three of us were filled with a sense of pride in our commitment to the Master Smith, though was my mother committed by kinship rather than personal decision. A cherished dream of my father’s was fulfilled on that day. But he was most eager for us to be home. A celebration had been planned at the dwellings of the Aulenduri, with much singing and dancing and telling of tales, to celebrate the first, (though not the last), of the nissi to become one of their number. A final celebration of the life of their daughter in her childhood home, also, did my parents believe it would be.

As we were about to leave that hall that was such a feature of my life, another’s thoughts were suddenly on the edge of my mind. Only half-realised and lacking in clarity they were, but they were there nonetheless.

“My complements and congratulations, lady! Beholding you this day does but confirm the wisdom of my choice.”

Looking to the upper balcony, I saw that Fëanáro had been watching the ceremony. Thoughtful did he appear as he caught my glance, and a slow smile of approval lit his face as he made to bow acknowledgement, aye, and respect to me. Then he turned swiftly away.

I told my mother on the ride home that he had been there, that I had heard him in my mind, though faintly. She looked most surprised.

“That is a rare talent! The ability to communicate one’s thoughts to another is given to some more than to others, but mostly does it develop between those who are already wed or of very close relationship.”

“It was but a weak link, mother,” said I. And I felt strange that I had even mentioned it.

Weak now, mayhap!” she replied contentedly, pondering that most comfortable connection between herself and my father, no doubt.

****

Presently was I back in Tirion, and back in the preparations for my wedding. Great detail could I go into over those preparations, and they hold memory of joy for me, but they are not the most relevant details to my writing. The colour of my gown had no influence upon the history of the Noldor! Brief shall be my indulgence in that time, and mostly to show the part that the Lady Indis played.

Now my mother and Mötamë had come up to Tirion with me, and we had plans as to my preparations. Serewen came also to the rooms and with her two ladies-in-waiting who were of a more thoughtful sort. Arnónë and Failë were long-standing friends of hers, and Arnónë had been a lady of Míriel’s. I found them easy to speak with from the start. They, and Serewen, possessed a dry humour that I grew to cherish.

“You must have ladies to assist you, Nerdanel! You cannot have stonemasons to see to your needs in court.” Serewen had said with a smile, looking with approval at the gown to which Mötamë was making final adjustments. “The white and bronze colours suit you well, and the dress is elegantly cut. With the deeper copper of the girdle and the circlet, aye, you will look as a princess! Let those who would say otherwise beware the wrath of your husband-to-be!”

At that did we all laugh! I knew there were still murmurings amongst some in the court, amongst some ladies in particular, that I was too plain in appearance to be the wife of the prince. I also knew there had been a recent incident in which Fëanáro had spoken sharply to them, saying that in continuing to insult me, they insulted his ability to chose.

“Have a care, least in your eagerness to find fault with my lady, you call me a fool for so choosing. That I will not tolerate!” had been the words reported to me. At the hearing of such, those ladies had made a hasty retreat.

Now, King Finwë and his advisors had overseen much preparation, for he wished greatly to honour his beloved son, and provide as gracious a ceremony as the King of the Noldor could. Gifts had been made for many, including the Valar, and in that had the Aulenduri played no small part. Sapphires there were for Manwë, and amethysts and diamonds for Aulë, while emeralds were given unto Oromë. These stones were indeed gifted to the Valar on various occasions, but Finwë wished, I believe, to show Fëanáro, through he generosity of gifting, that he still had chief share of his father’s heart, despite the presence of Indis.

Yet far was this from what my heart desired. I would accept all the lavish preparations as graciously as I could, but I longed to be at liberty from the concern and organisation of others. My heart longed for the hills again, though, of course, it longed also for Fëanáro.

Three days before the wedding it was that I found myself in a most uncustomary near panic.

“And it will be for you to prepare the coimas* and serve the míruvórë* that will be your food and drink for the days immediately after your wedding.” Serewen had spoken in earnest conversation.

We were all aware that after a wedding, a couple would withdraw from company to spend time together. In that time was food and drink often prepared for them, so that they need not leave their chamber until they desired. Limpë, the wine that was the drink of the Valar was often drunk then, though the wedding cup was to be of míruvórë. The food was coimas, that which you know as lembas, but the grain that is grown in the Blessed Realm confers life and strength and joy from the land in far greater measure than any grown in the Hither Lands.

Now for all others was this bread of life bestowed already prepared, but for the highest born, did the new wife prepare such from her own hands! This was a tradition. But the art of making coimas was a secret given from the Valar, and imparted only to those who were Yavannildi, the maidens of Yavanna. And since this gift was from Yavanna, only the highest of the nissi had the keeping of it, for they would be the besain, the bread givers. Give me copper or stone to work with, and my hands knew well what to do, but that making of the bread of life was beyond me.

I had thought to speak with Yavanna herself when I visited Aulë, and beg of her advice, but as I have mentioned, she was not in Aman. My own mother, and those nissi of the Aulenduri, had no idea of the special preparation involved, and I was acquainted not with any of the Yavannildi.

In dismay that I had still not resolved the matter did I turn to Serewen “No one has instructed me in this art! You are of the highborn, my friend. Do you not know the secret of the preparation?” For me, this lack of a needed skill merely emphasised the accusation of my unsuitability to be Fëanáro’s wife.

There was silence.

“Queen Míriel would have so taught you,” had Arnónë said softly, “but she is no longer with us.” Her tone of voice told me that her tears would be forthcoming if this conversation continued in that vein.

I looked more desperately towards Serewen, but she shook her head. “That knowledge is not mine, nor is it my mother’s, that I may ask of her help.”

“Then mayhap I may be of help, if you will permit me, my sister!”

We all turned at those gently, and most timely spoken words, as the blue robed Lady Indis stood by the door to my rooms. Relief at this unexpected solution washed over me. “Aye, my Lady!” I assented eagerly; joy lighting my eyes. “I would most gladly welcome your assistance.”

Indis smiled in her serene manner. “We shall be as sisters in this house, Nerdanel. And after, when you are in your own home, I would that you still addressed me as such.”
So it was that Indis came to my rescue. She was of a high and noble Vanyar family, daughter of King Ingwë’s sister, and knew what I needed to do; and of many other things also did she speak with me.

The others left me then, even my mother. They were to be about assisting with preparing those rooms that had been given over to us for the days of our wedding. Indis was in truth as an elder sister to me that day, and in the days that followed. And though Fëanáro would have hated me speaking with her, yet much did she help me with understanding what was expected of me as a member of a king’s family. Ever after have I been grateful to her.

We sat later upon a stone bench on the balcony to my rooms, Indis and I. From that vantage point could we observe the preparations still going on in the gardens, and look to the changing light of the Trees as it passed through the Calacirya to illuminate the sea and western shores of Tol Eressëa.

“I would that I can make him happy again.” I spoke my heart’s concern to my new friend and soon-to-be kin. “Fëanáro has suffered grief and a separation that should not have been, and I would have him healed. To that end do I most earnestly beseech Varda for wisdom.” I halted, somewhat ashamed at my lack of diplomacy with Indis.

Indis only smiled knowingly at me in return, and then looked to the heights of the mountains beyond Tirion. She sighed with a deep contentment of her own.“I also wish there had been no cause for grief, for either my love or for yours. Though would that have meant that I had not the bliss I have come to know. Yet love would demand of me that I put the happiness of Finwë before my own. So do I think it would have been better if Queen Míriel had not departed her lord and her son, or had at least promised to soon return. But Míriel’s loss is to be my gain!”
That I felt uncomfortably with such words, though I understood them, was very true. Greatly had I admired Míriel, and much did I have cause to thank her. But Indis was also one I admired. I hoped at that time I was not showing any ingratitude to Míriel’s memory by my friendship with Indis.

We listened a few moments more to the birdsong, and watched the slow progress of high white clouds in the sky, in noted contrast to the busyness of those folk in the garden below us.

“You are not responsible for Fëanáro’s happiness if he chooses to remain in grief,” Indis mused; as if she were recalling events in her own life. “But there is this that I have found about love: it is patient and long does it endure in hope. Love, I think, may endure forever!”

This was to be in some sense the case, though I speak of Finwë’s love for Míriel, and another cause for the breach that was to open within the family of the king. I remembered well Indis’ words, and often did I think upon them in the dark days that followed all to soon upon the loosing of Morgoth. I remember her words still, but the End, it seems so far away!

The Account of Nerdanel’s vision and dream of the death of Fëanor is given in the chapter / story ‘Flame’.
coimas = ‘bread of life’, lembaslimpë = winemíruvórë = a mead or wine drunk on special occasions.

Chapter Eleven: Flame.

I seem to have come from the joys of leaving work into some unexpected sorrow. There was I, happily contemplating the summer before me, when I got a phone call telling me my aunt is not expected to live more than another four or five days. It is not a total shock to the system, she has been rather unwell for eight years, since having a heart attack on holiday. But I didn't expect things to suddenly get this bad. She is too young to die! That was one of my first thoughts. But, of course, people in their early years die, and children and babies.

And this is also where having family who live close would be such an advantage. We live in the south, she and the majority of our family live in Edinburgh! Then there is the dilemma of when to go? If we go now, she will certainly know she is on her last (which the family with her say she doesn't know!) If we take it in turns to travel up over a few days, we could be too late. Personally, I would far rather know I was dying than not, and I would rather go and see her before it is too late. But this situation is not my call. I spent time with my father yesterday organising travelling, and tomorrow he heads north. If the situation permits, I will fly, or get the train up on Monday. I may not be around for a few days, because, apart from my aunt herself, her family are devistated. My father and I will be needed to try and comfort the others and hold things together for a little while.

All in all, this is a sad blog. So I wont go on. But it does make me think again about valuing people every day. You never know what is going to happen. My aunt's husband died ten years ago..very much too young.....and my own mother, also. We who are left, and there is still quite a 'clan', have the knowledge that some of our 'older' generation made it to a hundred, or thereabouts, but this new trend is very disconcerting. For all of the advances in medicine and health care, for all the 'supposed' advantages of modern lifestyles, my great-grandparents were the ones who lived healthy lives until they died; one in their late eighties, the other at ninety-nine! What are we doing wrong?






Nerdanel's Story. Chapter Eleven: Flame.


(Disclaimer: All characters and the world they inhabit are the wonderful creations of JRR Tolkien. The few that are not, are inspired by reading his works. All mistakes are mine. All references are from The Silmarillion, and HoME 1, 10, 11 and 12.)


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

( The Silmarilion. ‘Of the Return of the Noldor.)




The house of Sarmo Urundil. Seventh Age.


Is it now that I am dreaming? Are all the tears and grief of ages past but some trick of my mind? Will I awake, and find him resting still by my side?

I feel the touch of his fëa upon 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 --- and his breath, warm against my skin. And I am wrapped in the fire and the flame of his being ----

But now darkness has come, darkness has fallen, and another flame there is, wrapping him in death!


That dream, of a memory of a vision, haunts me ever more frequently. Since I have begun to record my memories of the early days, is it a thought that comes into my mind most nights. Almost do I think Moringotho* sends me that dream, to taunt me into despair. But Moringotho, he is bound behind the Door of Night, is he not? One may think that time assuages grief, but for us does its burden but accumulate. For many ages have I not dreamt thus of Fëanáro, though dream of him --- of them --- I do. But that dream was with me again last night, and of it do I feel constrained to speak. Sometimes I wonder that I still think of him with any sense of loss and longing, for did we not part before he left Valinor? Yes, I hated, I abhorred the folly and the evil deeds into which he was led, but to my oath did I hold. Never have I stopped loving him; though at times have I hated him as well. And in the passing of years, the clearing of sight, did I understand much better why he followed the path he did, and, also, why I had failed in my endeavour to change his mind mood.

Mayhap if I speak now of that memory, before I leave my father’s house, I will have a measure of peace of mind for the recording of events pertaining to my sons. Mayhap I will never have peace apart from in the company of Námo Mandos!



Now this is the history and manner of that 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, did I have more insight than many. And with Fëanáro did I come to have a close bond indeed; strengthened doubtlessly by the many occasions of mediating his fëa to our unborn children. At times, after the birth of Maitimo, did I also see events from afar, as if I were using a palantir, but this was from my own mind with no mediation from that creation of my husband’s.


It was almost 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 endured in Aman; for the light of the Trees was no more and no moon was there. Neither had the bright sun risen, for before the first sunrise, was the light of our greatest fire to set. Only the stars of Varda, our torches and candles, and those gems that blazed with blue and silver fire, did we have. Of the anguish of those days of Moringotho’s ‘victory’, of Aulë no longer walking amongst us, of those Teleri who remained, of the grief of broken hearts and broken families, I will write in due course. Think not that I wept only for my own kin! But of nature, and not the least of motherhood, were they foremost in my mind.

I had been working with my father, when a warning came upon me. No vision was this save a momentary sight of ‘fire over the sea!’ I called for my mother, for she who first had this intuition in relation to Fëanáro. ‘What does it mean? What is happening to them?’ I had cried, fearful that this would be another battle, another kinslaying. But no clearer were we as to what was taking place then 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 from those Noldor who had accompanied the wise Arafinwë back to our city.

“Ai, Nerdanel!” For the briefest of moments did I hear Fëanáro’s voice, sense his dismay, and that 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 back to me in his pain of loss. Then did his anger flare, and his consuming hatred for Moringotho --- his hate, it blocked out any further touch between us. But I knew that one of our sons was dead in that fire, though I knew not then which one it was. For a time did 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 that bond between us doubly blocked. Such anguish was that for me, for greatly did I love my sons, rebels and murderers though I knew them to be.


Again did it happen, many days later, very many days. I was alone in my room, and 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 that he had been right to defy the Valar, that he would bring down Moringotho himself by the strength of his wrath.

I sat up upon my bed, filled not with any exaltation, but with a sense of dread. Something was very wrong! Had not my lord implied to me, before he left, that this cause of his was nigh hopeless? Had he not thought the chances of even he overthrowing Moringotho to be most slender? Why then, with so much at stake, was he acting so rashly? Then it was that the vision unfolded before me, as a large map unfolded upon a table. And I could see very many foul and terrible creatures, and also the host of those 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, and their long swords slashing through their foe as easily as through air.


I saw swift riders under the cold stars; Fëanáro and four others ahead of the main force. Riding fearlessly they were, in pursuit. His sword was held aloft, and I heard him faintly, urging the others onwards so as to come upon Moringotho the sooner. That he intended to seek personal combat with the Vala, I had no doubt. But I had a greater field of vision than he. I saw the huge and dreadful creatures of shadow and flame come forth from the dark mountains. Seven of them there were, and a host of orcs turned at bay at that sight, and prepared to give battle. Orcs and Valaraukar*, setting a trap!


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


The vision shimmered before my eyes, and I knew 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, I bowed my head. My remaining anger against him faded away in that moment, as mist in the light! Held fast was I to the vision that, I already knew, would bring me but further grief. A circle of flame lit my view; 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 guards of his: of Alcarin and three others. But Fëanáro they could not bring down! He was swift and agile and strong; they could not match him for all their might. I gasped in hope and in near wonder as I saw that he had wounded some, that two were lame, and moved but stiffly in gait, and another bore the marks of Urrussë* upon it’s body, while an arm hung useless at its side. But the moment when I thought he might yet prevail, even against those odds, was soon to pass. I beheld then 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 again, competing against other of the Noldor in the arena in Tirion. Five or six or more would he often compete against, and harder still did he train, and with our sons, in those later days of swords and banners and lies. But these seven were not Eldar, but Valaraukar, those who had once been of the Maiar.

'He is nigh exhausted', thought I, with cold realisation that he could not prevail alone. As if in answer to my thought, he stumbled --just a little -- but it was enough, and his shield was torn from his hand as he was wrapped in their flames once more.

In my room, sitting motionless upon the floor, silent tears were upon my face. I could not watch this, 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 in Tirion? “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 link with them that was beyond the norm for mother and child. While they had been young, had I often sensed their needs, but not once they reached maturity. Even less than I could reach Fëanáro could I reach them. But try I must.


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

On the farthest edge of vision, was the tall, bright figure of Maitimo, fighting his way through, trading blow for blow with those foul creatures. A fell warrior had he also become, our firstborn, as he brought up his sword to meet a descending blow, and then followed through slashing into the upper chest and throat of the orc. With my son were many of our people, but they still could not breech the circle of flames

“Fëanáro, they come—soon will they be with thee!”

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

Yet it was still not over. The Lord of Balrogs brought down his axe in an attempt to cleave a deep wound on my husband's neck, but again was he swift of foot, and, evading that blow, hewed mightily at the body of the Valaraukar. They circled each other, but still in the midst of the other servants of Moringotho, were they. Twice more did they exchange blows, and Fëanáro, without a shield, was wounded again.

With pounding heart did I watch as another of those creatures let fly its whip, and wrench Urrussë from my lord’s grasp. Defenceless now was he, yet he tried to evade them, tried to take a sword from the hand of one of his enemies. But the Lord of Balrogs struck again, with a blow to his back that brought him to his knees. A clawed foot was placed upon him, driving him into the dust of the ground, but not completely. Numbly did I realise that they would not kill him quickly.

Maitimo! Be swift!” My thoughts winged fervently forth to my eldest son. And I wondered at the strength of what I felt. Little contact had I had with Fëanáro since he left Tirion. Only that briefest of touches of fëa, and only once--- mayhap twice? We had parted in anger and in thwarted hopes, he and I, and I had thought at the time that I had reason enough to turn from him. But turn from him now, I would not!

They wrapped their whips around his body and dragged 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, his body was caught between two larger stones, and would not easily be pulled free.

“Fëanáro!”

With all that was in me did I reach forth in fëa, seeking that slender ‘thread’ of union that should still be between us despite our estrangement. Although he could not have 'felt' me, I fell upon him then, throwing my arms around his neck as I covered his burnt and broken features with my tears. It was as if I thought I could wash away his hurt, as Nienna could, and make him whole again. It was as if I could make him 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, and the tenuous link was broken. Those words were among the cruellest he had ever spoken to me. Never had I thought we, who had once loved so well, would come to this!

Fëanáro was yet in my vision, and for a moment he reached to his neck, as if to touch something that was perhaps hung around it, under the hauberk. I saw with amazement him bring forth the Green Stone* upon a chain--- he wore it still. Despite his harsh words, despite all, the Green Stone, that was my marriage gift to him, was yet about his neck. There was a tug upon my own fëa; one last bright flare of his brilliant eyes, as he seemed to search for me, his mood momentarily changed. “Nerdanel, do not shed tears. Never did I leave thee Lady!” blood smeared fingers were upon the stone. “In memory am I always with thee ----.”

He could not maintain his focus, as the Valaraukar tugged his body helplessly from the rocks, and set him again in their midst, now making to crush his slender, sensitive, hands. I would have called unto the Valar, unto Eru himself then in my anguish for my husband, but how was I any different to the wives and mothers of the Teleri? I thought none would hear the plea of the wife of Fëanáro!

Never indeed had he ever left me, (though had his later deeds played a major part in driving me from him!), for was it not I who left him, refusing to go with him to Formenos and then refusing to leave Valinor with him, even for the sake of our sons? That he believed me to have deserted him I could understand; but now was I to have no chance to ever explain --- to tell him what was deep within my heart, and without anger. Neither could he tell me further what he meant by those last thoughts to me, so broken was he by then.

I watched in silent helplessness as the rest of the vision unfolded before me. Maitimo and Tyelkormo with a great host, cut and hacked their way into that circle of flame, and 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, and mayhap that was all their purpose at that time?

Our sons, they raised up their father between them, and bore 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 now Curvo* try to renew their father’s strength to live. A chill thought struck my heart. He had fulfilled not his oath. Was he then to be doomed to Darkness everlasting? I could not believe that! I would not believe that! Yet even so, what if Fëanáro would heed not the summons of Mandos at death? We still knew little of death in Aman, but since the kinslaying did we know a lot more than we had! That Mandos summoned the fëa of the slain, we knew well. But Fëanáro had defied Námo Mandos before. What would happen if he refused to return?

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


With fading sight, was he looking at distant mountains, higher than any I had seen before the Pelóri had been raised. He cursed them then, and cursed also the name of Moringotho thrice. ‘Do not treat 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, and 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 did he lay that accursed oath upon our sons again.

Why that? If only he had spoke otherwise! If only he had blessed them, or bid then seek release from those blasphemous words of possession. Yet the oath had been made freely, and 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, and my thoughts that it had been he, it had been ‘Umbarto’ who had died earlier in the fire were confirmed.

Then did Fëanáro die!

His spirit was so bright, so fiery, that his body was consumed as he sped forth. ‘Quickly now’, thought I, as again did I send forth my own fëa, soaring upwards as a bird in flight, as a mighty eagle of Manwë. 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 on 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 sense of the true depth of his loss, and 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 the full truth; that beholding him in the Ring of Doom, in his anguish at the death of his father and the theft of the Silmarils, I also had finally forgiven him all that had gone before. That, were it not for my oath to Aulë, I would have gone with him, even unto death! Neither had I told him that I loved him still. Mayhap he already knew!




I must have lost consciousness; for the next I knew was that I was lying upon my bed, with 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 must feel. Had she not also held Fëanáro in great esteem until nigh the end. I could not answer them. No words had I then for anyone, or for very many a day.

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

They had found me under the apple tree? I did not remember walking there!

“They saw 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 was it, Tuon said.” My father explained as gently as he could, knowing well what, or rather who, the speeding flame was. My parents bowed their heads. That Urundil was furious with Fëanáro's deeds, with his disregard for Aulë, his misuse of power and 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, Urundil could not forgive. Yet would my father hold his peace, and mourn also one who had been intended for greatness.

Instinctively I reached out in fëa, as I had always done when greatly troubled. But he 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 these last years. Still had I then felt his presence. But now, Fëanáro was not there; we were sundered indeed. At last did I fully realise the sting of death; the grief that had been Finwë’s at his loss of Míriel, the grief of Indis at the death of Finwë, and the grief of the Teleri at the loss of their loved ones! In silence did I mourn my lord and our youngest son. It was a further two years* before my heart had any lightness, 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 greatly did I wish then that I had died with him.


So now have I written of that which is a bitter ‘evergreen’ memory to me. With the telling at last do I hope to lie to rest that particular dream for some time, and turn again to the task I have set myself, and in some order of its happening. In the manner of that of which I have spoken did Aulë's warning to my father come true. For indeed did the rebellion lead Fëanáro and Ambarussa to death, and in time, also, all of our sons.



*Moringotho = Morgoth
Valinorian years.
Valaraukar = Balrogs
Urrussë = ‘Flame blade’ (russë is the poetic word for blade – I think!.)
Maitimo = Maedhros
Tyelkormo = Celegorm
Carnistir = Caranthir
Curvo = Curufin. I am using the shortened form of his father-name, as it says in HoME 12 that he alone of the sons preferred it to his mother-name.

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’. I am using the idea that Fëanor gives a Green Stone to Maedhros, though it is not the Elessar.

Chapter Ten: Indis. Part Two.



It has been my first weekend without a mind full of thoughts and plans concerning work. It has been great! Not to have to constantly think about what needs to be done for Monday, what needs to be prepaired and marked has been so invigourating. This sense of freedom could go to my head! So I am trying to use the organiser my students got me to make some plans. I am viewing it as similar to making New Year resolutions! I dont want to plan too much yet, but need to have some sort of routine to keep myself focused. So I am going to try my hardest to get to sleep and get up at the same time as I did for work. Those who know of my tendency to sit up till late on the computer may wonder at that ! lol. I want to make sure I start taking more exercise, play tennis again, and read a book a week, and improve my French, and re-decorate the house, and plan the garden better, and catch up with all the friends and family I have almost ignored since taking on the extra teaching! I want to improve my art work, and learn to use watercolour a lot better, and find out something informative about trees! I need to take out subscriptions to magazines that will help me mulitask better, I want to understand Quantum Mechanics! And just what is anti-matter?


In order to impliment this new life-style, I mostly sat in the garden this weekend and gazed idly into space. But tomorrow is another day!

Is there life after teaching? You bet!



Chapter Ten: Indis. Part Two.



(Disclaimer: All of the characters, places, and the main story line are JRR Tolkien’s wonderful creations. All references are from The Silmarillion, or HoME Vols 1, 10 or 12. Nothing is mine, except the interpretation and any mistakes, and in this chapter, and only in the sense they are derived from reading the works of Tolkien, the characters ‘Alcarin’, ‘Serewen’, ‘Tiriniel’, ‘Artuiel’, ‘Tulcon’ and ‘Mötamë.)



“The wedding of his father was not pleasing to Fëanor; and he had no great love for Indis, nor for Fingolfin and Finarfin, her sons. …..In those unhappy things which later came to pass, and in which Fëanor was the leader, many saw the effect of this breach in the house of Finwë, judging that if Finwë had endured his loss and been content with the fathering of his mighty son, the courses of Fëanor would have been otherwise, and great evil might have been prevented …”

(Of Fëanor and the Unchaining of Melkor. The Silmarillion J.R.R. Tolkien ed C. Tolkien HarperCollins p 65)


The house of Sarmo Urundil. Seventh Age.


So many memories do I have of this, my father’s house. So many memories of joy from the early years are there here, and some memories more recent. But constrained do I feel to soon move on. My wish it is to travel again up to the city. I would dwell in the house that was our home. I would walk again the steps and avenues, visit the concourses, climb the high towers and look out to the East. I would remember the sounds of my sons’ voices and their laughter in their first home. I would remember Fëanáro in those early years. Before I take myself to seek of rest, would I renew my memories of old.

I travel to Tirion but infrequently. How do I admit that I have come these last years to feel ‘awkward’ amongst my own people? Something of a mystery am I to them; and many who are younger know not how to speak with me, but look upon me as nigh a legend. We who were born before the sun and moon, we are looked upon as a little different by those younger generations. Not I alone, of course, for the king and his queen carry much the same awe, only without the taint that is ever associated with me. Others also are there, and those of Arafinwë’s family who have returned from the Halls of Awaiting. (Though do Findaráto, his brother and their spouses dwell in Lórien’s domain, and far from the rest of the Noldor.)

Now strange it is, but that those of us who have died not do all grow weary with the burden of our memory, while those returned from the Halls of Awaiting do seem to have about them a freshness for many an age. Returned to the primitive innocence of the First-born are they, and weary not, but are some almost like unto the Maiar. You will surely have heard of the Lord Glorfindel, Firya? Of him are many stories rightly told. Many others there are, also, who, while not renowned in deed as he, yet have life still in abundance.


But that is all to come. I will consider more of Tirion when I do return for the last time. As of now, I dwell yet amongst the Aulenduri, who have ever been my support. Some last few memories of this place will I indulge in, and that to give lie to the belief of some that my family were corrupted from birth. Eldar they are, each and every one! How then, could they be born corrupt? Are not the Eldar the first Children of Eru, and so belong to him directly?

Some last few memories of this place will I indulge in, for my sons loved their grandparents. They loved this place that was my home!


****


“Too like unto that fox, Urundil, are my sons at times!” Fëanáro would state with a hint of disapproval, when Maitimo or either Ambarussa spent overly long at metalwork with their grandsire, for they liked greatly to work with copper, as did he. The ‘Urioni’*, did Fëanáro sometimes call those three.

“Surely you mean Nárioni, * my lord?” I had protested; for though they were ‘sons of fire’ for their colouring, they were most certainly his sons. One had only to look upon the features of the twins to see their father! (Maitimo, I grant, was more like unto Urundil in many respects of appearance.)

“So should they be! But I know of what I speak,” Fëanáro would respond, pleased that I had risen to his bait. For long was he distressed with me over my naming of our twins; at my naming them both ‘Ambarussa’*, and then of my name of foresight, (for I had said when he begged that their names be different that one should be ‘Umbarto’, which means ‘fated’.), and often would he devise other more ‘appropriate’ names for them to vex me for making him so plead.

Now upon the plains of Valinor, to the south of Valmar, lie the golden cornfields of Yavanna, from whence comes much of the grain for the making of bread, and for the making of coimas *. By ancient law, this is the prerogative of the nissi only, and then only the noblest of those, the queens and high ladies, at that. Yet many Noldor in the lands around Tirion grow some crops of their own for general use. So it was that further along the cleft of the Calacirya to my father’s house was a large cornfield. The twins loved playing in that field, and with their colouring, and choice of clothing, it was sometimes difficult to see then amongst the stalks until they moved, usually in some game of ‘ambush’ of their elder brothers.

A memory I have now of Makalaurë*, tall and dark of hair, striding through that field in something of a hurry. On his shoulders he bore the laughing Artuiel, one of the young friends and companions of my twins. She, and Ondoriel, her elder by but a little, both loved to play with the copper-brown haired twins. Also did they seem to enjoy the attention of my two eldest sons, who were as their own elder brothers on some occasions. Now Artuiel would have happily ridden on Makalaurë’s shoulders for many an hour, and this for her was a particularly good game, for he was more tolerant of her demands and of her hair pulling than many would have been. The usual course was that she would disappear with the twins; they would be ‘lost’, (as if that would happen in the Calacirya!)—and Makalaurë, and sometimes Maitimo would needs find them. But the twins would always lay ambush. And so it was on this day! I remember her voice; a voice of carefree childhood, urging Makalaurë to ‘run’, as blunted wooded shafts shot over the corn and not a few bounced off my dodging second son as his youngest brothers launched their attack, or as they saw it, the rescue of their playmate. The dark haired, bright eyed Artuiel hooted with delight, until an arrow struck her leg, and then her voice rose in chastisement to her friends.

Ever the hunters, Ambarussa, (as they called each other, though would Fëanáro alone insist on calling the younger, Ambarto!), stood forth then, bows lowered, and apologetic expressions upon their faces. Both at that age still spoke almost as one.

“Sorry, Artuiel!”

They would both have rather ridden out to visit Oromë’s halls with Tyelkormo, whom they admired greatly. But it was Makalaurë who spent most time with them when they were young. And often were the watchful eyes of their eldest brother upon them. (The difference in the ages of my son’s was not overly great for Eldar, though would ninety seven Valinorian years between the birth of Maitimo and that of the twins sound much to the ears of your folk, Firya! For our sons were born between the Years of the Trees 1210 and 1307, and the first three did I bear before Fëanáro began his work upon devising those letters that afterwards bore his name. It is strange you may think, that far closer were Fëanáro and Maitimo in age than Maitimo and his youngest brothers. But then what is age to immortal Elves?)

Then did Maitimo himself come into view, at the furthest reach of the golden cornfield. He appeared to be struggling somewhat to encourage a very stubborn Ondoriel to either run for cover, or to take the proffered ride upon his shoulders. Even from that distance could I see the brown-haired daughter of Narwasar clenching her fists into balls, and placing them on her hips. Both twins had also noticed Maitimo’s dilemma with their friend, and they plunged back into the corn --- silent and deadly they thought they were --- though I am sure Maitimo knew well of their approach.

Makalaurë crossed the edge of the orchard, and came to stand at my side in the lower gardens. The slightly dishevelled Artuiel was still holding tight to her ‘rescuer’.

“Lady and mother!” He bowed slightly, and raised his hands to help his charge alight, and set her feet upon the ground. “I wonder why it is that the twins do not have the standard of behaviour of their elder brothers at times?”

“They behave as their elder brothers have encouraged and indulged them so to do,” I retorted. “And in overindulging, are you the chief culprit!

Makalaurë smiled, knowing my words were true. Ever was he indulgent of the young.

Artuiel had been looking up at me, and now she caught my attention, and presented me with a tiny red flower. “Lady Nerdanel!” Curtsying briefly, she smiled again, and then ran off to find her parents. She took after Mötamë rather than Tulcon, I always thought.

Now did loud-voiced complaints echo across the field, as it was Maitimo’s turn to be the hunters’ focus. He was swatting at the arrows with one hand, and appeared to be dragging the protesting Ondoriel with the other.

“Why does he not just let her be?” my second son speculated. “Ondoriel is not one for this sort of game of late, as is Artuiel. She is more studious, more like you, mother!” (Artuiel was ever the more like me, and that in her interest in the skills of the neri, and in her love of learning. Though was Ondoriel also studious, but preferring the crafts of Vairë. The thought that stuck me most on that occasion pertaining to Ondoriel, however, was that she protested over much at Maitimo’s touch!)

“She is too much for you to handle, Russandol. Give up!” Makalaurë shouted encouragingly.

Maitimo did just that, and raising his hands in a gesture of hopelessness, he walked on, with Ondoriel voluntarily following him then like a loyal hound. And his youngest brothers tackled him from the side, bringing their ‘prey’ to the ground by their cunning and stealth. Little amused was he!

Golden days they were!

****

Did I pity him, you ask? Nay, in no way did I ever pity Fëanáro! Never would I have shamed him so. But always did I seek to understand the minds of others, and his most of all. I knew of his pain, I knew of the weakness that made him vulnerable, and that drew me to him in a profound longing to offer comfort. I grieved with him, and I grieved and mourned for him in due course; but never did I pity him, for that would have implied I had a superiority to him that truly, I never felt I had. How could one feel superior to he who would be the ‘mightiest of all the Children of Iluvatar?’


****

I had at first intended to hurry to him when I heard his cry for Míriel, but after several paces had I restrained myself out of concern least I humiliate him. Fëanáro’s grief for his mother was a private matter. I should have returned to that spot whereupon the Maia had been speaking with me, but instead did I sink to the ground, pained because my betrothed was pained and I could do naught. I would not look to where he was, but I wished to be nearer to him, to reassure him of my presence. At that point we had no ability to converse with each other in fëa. That was a thing between wedded couples, for the most part, and sometimes between other family members who were particularly close. With spoken words alone could I reach Fëanáro at that time.

We hardly ever heard the sound of tears, for there was little to cry over in Aman. No death, no illness, no loss! A few childhood accidents, and some arguments, and that occasional thwarting in love, of course there were these; but they were rare and mostly tears soon turned again to joy. Of all those folk I knew was Fëanáro among the last I would have thought to hear cry. But deep of feeling was he, as I began to realise, and more of this did I understand as I came to know him better.

I heard his voice also, quietly imploring his mother to reject her chosen doom, to return to life in her hröa.

“What have I done to thee that thou should embrace this doom? Know thou not how much I love thee? My father seeks to wed again, though he loves her not as he loves thee! Please, mother, I beg of thee to come back to us now, least thou never be allowed to return. Least I may never visit nor speak with thee again”

There was no possible answer; for Míriel’s fëa was long departed. I thought he knew that there would be no response, though the earnestness of his plea would have melted stone. Yet there was something even then in Fëanáro that made him trust to his own might more than, mayhap, he should. Did he have the arrogance to think he could will her back to life? Nay, he was not so arrogant as that.

“Ai, mother!” he called, one last time, with a mixture of longing and grief that echoed through the silver trees, that still she did not respond; not even to him.

Then was there silence. True silence I mean, for even the nightingale’s song had ceased and the soft breeze that had swayed the leaves on the trees was stilled. I could not move, though I should have returned to the place whereat Fëanáro had left me. That altered sense of time that was ages, and yet no time at all, was about me and I could not move my limbs of my own will, as sometimes happens in dream. Such was it said could happen to the unwary in this place! I thought again upon Míriel, and upon the gift I had made for her; a likeness of her that contained as much of sweet life as I could pour into it. A likeness of her as I wished she could now and forever be.

The air grew heavier, and the sky a little darker, but then a shadow fell upon me as Fëanáro looked down on where I sat.

“So, lady; now you know!” I could not look to him, for still did I have that lack of control over my body that, to even raise my head was an effort. “Now you know the extent of my weakness,” he whispered hoarsely, as though with shame.

“It is not a weakness to love, Fëanáro! It is not weakness to want your mother to be as she was.” Tears were there in my own eyes, though more for him than for Míriel.
I do not think he heard my comment, but he stood, still looking down upon me, and as I turned at last my face to look to him, did I see the fire in his eyes was burning but very low.

“Nerdanel,” he said then, reaching down to raise me to my feet. The power of life in his touch brought freedom of movement and of thought back to me. “Do not thou ever leave me so!” and he wrapped his arms about me in a desperate embrace.

We never spoke again of that day. We never spoke of his tears, nor did I tell him of my meeting with Elemáinië. And from that point forth did Fëanáro seem resigned to his mother’s fate. No interest did he show in the long debate of the Valar that did indeed result in Míriel being condemned to remain discarnate, for Finwë’s bereavement was considered to be unjust, and his second marriage was sanctioned. But the resentment against Indis and the belief that the loss of his mother was, in a manner, Indis’ fault remained, and grew in Fëanáro’s heart. Unjust was he in this belief, but I, who had known Míriel briefly, could understand why he so felt.

****

I returned with him to Tirion for a space, as, knowing him as I then did, I wished to be close, for him to speak with me of what was transpiring if he chose. But he struggled with his feelings, and chose to bury himself in his works again at that time. That he could create things of such beauty with those slender, dexterous fingers of his, gave him solace, and a sense of mastery over matters that was a comforting pattern of familiarity. At that time did he seem busy about the making of objects of beauty that would be of use in a household: everyday items, but ones so elegantly wrought that they were treasures compared to even the works of many an Aulendur.
Though I was there in King Finwë’s house to greet Fëanáro if he desired, yet did he leave his workroom most rarely. So, for several such days, did I much seek the company of Serewen and Ecthelion. Never did I speak to them or to others of what had come to pass in the Gardens of Lórien. I did, however, ponder much upon the words spoken to me by Elemáinië, that seemed to have lodged in my mind as a branch swept downstream by swiftly flowing water may yet lodge upon a bank.

“I have been thinking upon how I may govern the tendency for Fëanáro’s heart to burn too hotly once we are wed!” I had announced to my friends, as we took our ease in the gardens of the house of Ecthelion’s father.

Ecthelion almost choked on the wine he was drinking and Serewen laughed! “You will not govern Prince Fëanáro,” she had replied, still laughing, and then in a more hushed tone, she added “ and I wonder much that you would even seek to!”

She had not truly understood me. But as he looked to the spreading wine stains upon his pale blue robes, Ecthelion arched his brows in a questioning manner. He knew of what I spoke.

Eventually did I make my way to the place wherein Fëanáro worked, ever alone. I had waited upon his pleasure, but had come to think that, mayhap, he was waiting upon me to bring him comfort? No lock was there upon the door, save that of his threatened temper, and I believed that he would direct it not against me. He turned sharply as I entered, but seeing it was I, and no others, did he sigh and put down that design upon which he had been working.

“Why this great haste, my lord? Why this need to be so productive?” I moved to stand beside him, and gently lay a hand upon his arm. More warmth would I have shown then, but I was not sure what ‘more’ he was able to accept.

He lay down the quill he had held, and sat back upon the seat, stretching out his arms to ease the tension in his shoulders. “We will have need of such in our home, lady! Or are we to eat and drink and entertain others from the floor?”

“Is there not enough in the house already?” I questioned with some perplexity. But he looked wryly at me.

“We have nothing in our house! We have no house as yet, for I will not have us abide here with my father’s new bride any longer than is necessary.”

So I was to have my wish of a house of our own, but not in a manner that I would have chosen. And I began to understand his actions.

“You would have us look for somewhere to build, Fëanáro?” I questioned him with rising enthusiasm for the task I perceived to be ahead of us. Though it was not my main skill, yet did I know something of the building of houses from my father. Thoughts of planning began to fill my mind.

He looked again at the work that lay before him. Many pages of notes and outlines of designs there were. I realised he had already undertaken much planning, and without me!

“Rúmil’s letters are too disorganised for clarity. At some point will I need to better them!” he spoke, with a hint of irritation that the written word served him not as well as he wished.

“Fëanáro?” Of his plans would I know more.

“I have found a place that is most suitable!” he stated with his usual decisiveness, and looked up at me now from where he sat. “A place on the level below the Mindon, near to the waterfalls, and far enough away from here that I may not see my father’s wife often, neither any children she brings forth.”

I was taken aback at his deciding upon a place for our house without even seeking my thoughts, for it was most presumptuous, even for a prince. My initial response was one of annoyance, but at his mention of Finwë having other children, did a new thought come into my mind. Mayhap I would not govern Fëanáro, and so to do was never my wish, but as I began to understand his complexity, did I find I loved him the more. And love, it seeks to be of service, does it not?

“I trust your choice of a place to build is a good one, my lord!” said I, in a softened tone as I could manage. He was never as perceptive to the moods of other’s as was I, and I do not believe it had even occurred to him that his action was inconsiderate. He would have chosen very well, and would expect me to be pleased with his choice.

“I will walk with you there latter, that you may express any preferences you have.” Turning to the notes again, he pushed a scroll in my direction. “ I have laid out the plans I wish to follow, the dimensions and style of the rooms---”

I leant over his shoulder to look, and only then did I realise how tired he was. Aye, even he was tired at times, and he was still very young then and nowhere near his full strength. Making study of his plans, for it would not do for me to ignore them, I thought on how I may aid him, that he became not exhausted.

“I would be of help, if you would allow me, Fëanáro?” I enquired after a few moments of pondering. “For there would seem too much work here, and I can undertake some of that which you have already planned and leave you free to plan further?”

Drawing of a deep breath, at first I thought he would nay-say me. Then his eyes lit with a new humour and he appeared to consider my offer.

“Some things can be done by your father and other of the Aulenduri, if they will. A house cannot be built in a day! But you, lady, who pride yourself on being a servant of Aulë, work with me now! Let me see some of that skill with metal of which your father so boasts.”

He rose to his feet and took my hand, leading me over to the forge itself where he had been working earlier.

“A cup was I thinking of making next. Something simple to give me space to think further on the house. But now it is in my thoughts we should work on this together, for it is to be our wedding cup!”

At that I smiled. He was offering me a task that was no real challenge to me, yet did it hold much meaning. I braided my thick hair swiftly and as well as I could without use of a mirror, tying it back in one long plat. And I took up one of the leather aprons, and bound it about me. The gauntlets I looked at, but with dismay saw they would be overlarge for my small hands.

He laughed then. “We will work together, my lady.”

So we spent time that day working with copper, heating the metal to cherry red, and cooling and heating again, until we had that which was in our minds in actuality. And at that point where my father had taught me, did I sing into the making that echo of the Music, the faintest of echoes of the power to sub-create that was given unto those devoted to Aulë. I sang my love of Arda, and of life, and my wishes for blessings upon those who at any time did drink from that vessel.

Fëanáro had stood back then, arms folded, to watch me. That he poured his thoughts and his will into what he created I had no doubt, even if he had not been taught so to do by Aulë or by one of his servants. But I do not think he had ever seen another so do with song before, and one who had the best training.

As I finished the final touches to what had been in my thoughts, did my betrothed take up my hands, and lean forwards to kiss my brow. “Show me, Nerdanel!” said he, “Show me how you do this thing.”

I remembered the words of Aulë upon my last visit to his house. I recalled his wishes that my father taught Fëanáro all that the prince wished and that Aulë himself would not withhold his aid. That there was no wrong in me showing my future husband the little I knew of the lore of metalwork, I was certain.

So for many days did we work together, making cups and platters and candleholders and many basic things. But always did we seek to make them beautiful, and for my part did I give thanks in all I did to Aulë, and to the one who had given me such skills. We delighted in our work, and it was as if we were away from all others again, as if we were exploring in the hills. Only now did we explore each other’s skills in crafting, and in the working together and pouring out of our thoughts, did we find even greater affinity of fëa. So happy was I.

****

There was ultimately no help for it. We must needs meet with Finwë’s intended second bride, and that at their betrothal, in his house. As soon as the Valar had declared Finwë free to wed, did he return to Tirion with his lady. (He had been in Valmar for much time, though he had not been permitted to attend the debate.)

Indis the Fair, she was called, and no empty title was that. Tall and slender was she, but full of strength and joy in life. Her hair of gold seemed almost as if it were lit by Laurelin, and it fell in unbound waves to her waist. Serene was her countenance and clear her eyes. In all aspects was she one ‘in love’, one ‘in hope’, and so delighted was she to have her love for Finwë at last returned. Her musical voice was sweet and a joy to the ear, and she spoke with warmth and consideration. That others may not equally rejoice with her perhaps had not occurred at that time.


I had been concerned least Fëanáro’s wrath had returned that day, and he argue again with his father in the king’s own house. But it was his ice rather than his fire that was to the fore. He spoke but little, and that in answer to his father or Indis’ questions. His eyes were darkened as he brooded upon what was before him, particularly at any words or gestures of love between the ‘couple’.
I had not met any of the Vanyar before, and many were guests in the halls of Finwë. The First Kindred had lived for some time in Tirion, and fast friends had they been with the Noldor; though since before my birth had our friendship become stronger with the Teleri. The tall, golden haired Elves impressed me greatly, but I knew not that I would wish to abide with them overlong, for they were cool to our heat and contemplation to our activity. Generosity of fëa, and ease of nobility were in their wake, and they were all most beautiful to behold.

I was introduced to Indis that day, and she smiled radiantly upon me and took my arm, looking to Finwë to excuse us for a few moments. So did we walk together upon the balustrade, and only for a few minutes indeed. But Indis called me ‘sister’, and said that she greatly looked forward to knowing me better.

“We both will have much to learn in the ways of the House of Finwë in these coming years, and let us be friends and a support each for the other, Nerdanel” So different to Míriel was Indis, not only in form, but also in temperament, I observed.

Upon my return to the great hall, did I find Fëanáro had gone. Though Serewen gestured to me that Ecthelion had gone also in pursuit of him.

Alcarin was there, with his family. That was the first I had seen of him since the day of Fëanáro’s proposal. He was polite to me, though certainly no friend as was Ecthelion. And his sister, Tiriniel was with him. That she was beautiful was unarguable, though compared to the likes of Indis and Serewen, her beauty was not outstanding. That she thought highly of herself, and low of me was obvious! No matter, thought I. Though I wondered at her interest in Fëanáro, and hoped that she was not grieved in a manner like unto Gaerion.

A busy day, and a day of conflicting emotions was Finwë’s betrothal to Indis. At the exchange of rings, had Finwë set the date for their marriage as early as seemed fit. A year to the day would they be wed. Ecthelion had returned by then with my own betrothed. Both neri looked drawn, as if unkind words had been spoken. But I gathered it was by counsel that Ecthelion had prevailed upon Fëanáro to return, for in no way could he have forced him.

At the end of that celebration, Fëanáro drew me to one side. “Would that we could wed now! I would have more distance of years between our marriage and that of my father.”

“Soon enough will we be wed, my lord.” I had spoken in a reassuring manner, and sounded eager, for I was. But to have a betrothal shorter than a year, and in a time with no danger, was unheard of. And though longing for Fëanáro grew in me by the day, yet did I have mastery over myself, as do all the Eldar. Love would grow also, in the time of waiting, and a greater joy result from such a brief delay “Soon enough will you be Lord of your own dwelling, and be away from situations you like not. Let us think on that, and on the nature of the home we will build.”

Still did he frown. “You spoke with her alone!” said he, almost as an accusation of disloyalty.

I drew most close to his side, that none other may know of what passed between us. This time I took up his hand to my lips. I knew how to disarm his mood.

“Thy father still loves thee greatly. And so do I, Finwion*!” I whispered to him then. “For ‘son of Finwë’ thou art, and even should Indis bear thy father other sons, even should they be great and glorious, yet wilt thou be the greatest by far!” I thought on Elemáinië’s words as I spoke forth, and at the hearing of them, did Fëanáro’s ‘ice’ begin to melt.

“A word of foresight, lady?” he asked, offering me his hand, so that he might escort me to the gardens.

“Nay! But it is truth nonetheless,” I replied.




Urioni and Nárioni (Q) both mean ‘sons of fire, or of flame’ I think. But by calling them Urioni, Fëanor is implying their connection to Urundil.
Makalaurë = Maglor
Maitimo = Maedhros
Ambarussa = Amrod and Amras.
Russendol = Maedhros’ epessë, used by his brothers. ‘Copper-top’
Finwion = ‘Son of Finwë’. One of the suggested names for Fëanor in his childhood.

Chapter Nine: Indis. Part One.



Freedom! It predictably feels a bit of an anti-climax leaving the school for the last time today. Don't misunderstand me! I know I have made the right decision, but saying 'Goodbye' is not something I am that fond of.

I did not know for certain I would not be going back to teaching until this Monday, so many of my colleagues and my classes didn't know until today. I am quite pleased about that. I hate the official 'Farewell' ceremony. But some of my friends have been really upset, and it makes me appreciate how close we have been these last couple of years. We have promised to stay in touch, and we probably will. But I know from my previous school that teaching can be so time consuming that it is hard to keep up to date with ex-colleages, more's the pity!

But it was the reaction of the kids that nearly brought me to tears!

After the initial disbelief had settled, 'Why didn't you tell us earlier? We would have got you something!' was a reoccuring theme. Yet what they 'got' me in the hour or so was a set of memories more precious than anything money could buy. (Granted, some of the Sixth form managed to get out to the shops and procure an toy owl, .... because we think you are wise..and a bound organiser, ..because although we think you are wise, you are not always organised? lol) The sixth form's gifts are greatly appreciated, but it was the card they gave me, and the comments they had written...and the bunch of quickly made cards ( see one example above) from other classes that are my joy.

For THEM, and other kids like them, I would still teach! Maybe in a couple of years I will go back? I didn't think I would say that, yesterday. So it has been a bittersweet day in the end!





Nerdanel's Story. Chapter Nine: Indis. Part One.



Disclaimer: All of the characters and the world they inhabit are the wonderful creations of JRR Tolkien. The characters Elemáinië and Narwasar belong to my beta reader, whom I thank. All references are from The Silmarillion, and HoME 1, 10 and 12.)




“When the matter of Finwë and Indis arose he (Fëanor) was disturbed, and filled with anger and resentment, ……Míriel was condemned to remain for ever discarnate, so that he could never again visit her or speak with her, unless he himself should die. This grieved him, and he grudged the happiness of Finwë and Indis….”

(The Shibboleth of Fëanor The Peoples of Middle-Earth JRR Tolkien. C. Tolkien. HarperCollins ed. p335)



The house of Sarmo Urundil. Seventh Age.




The Lady Indis! Long years did I hold her in high esteem, though was that not to the liking of Fëanáro. She it was who offered me advice in the early days of my life in Tirion. She gave me of her aid in my struggle to bring sanity to the escalating hatred that arose within our family. With her did I abide for nigh a year, after refusing to accompany my husband into exile. And she it was who, being of high and noble lineage indeed, taught me the secret skill for the making of that ‘bread of life’ which was my right and duty as Fëanáro’s wife. (Though never did he know that it was she who had taught me, and great would have been his distress had he so realised!)

I have not spoken with Indis for many years, save occasionally to give greeting at festival. She retired with her daughter, Findis, to her own kindred, for she longed for the peace of the halls of King Ingwë, and to be away from all that reminded her of the days of strife amongst the Noldor. She grieves still for Finwë. Also does she grieve over the manner of their parting, for, as with I, she was not at her lord’s side when he was struck down. Lalwendë she misses: that bright and laughter filled younger daughter, and especially does she miss the company of her eldest son. For upon Nolofinwë* was much of her love set, then and ever. And again, do I not know what it is to sorely miss a son, to sorely miss all of my sons! For Indis, at least, has her youngest still in Aman. More rarely even than I does she pay visit to Tirion, and then it is but a brief affair, and to speak with him: to speak with Arafinwë*, our king.


It was said of old, and by some only, that the fate of the Noldor would have been more glorious had Finwë chosen not to re-marry; had Fëanáro and our sons remained the only line of descent of the king. Mayhap that would have been so? Have I not pondered these long years on the stubbornness of Míriel in refusing to return to her lord and to her son? She was weary beyond measure, aye, but rest was granted her, and long rest at that. Of Finwë’s lack of patience, also, have I pondered. That, had he better endured his separation from his love, would all that has followed been avoided. Indeed, do I wish most strongly that my husband had not been forced to endure a situation which, to him, was an abomination, and a focus of ill will that Moringotho* came to so manipulate. Yet do I hold that the Lady Indis was noble and kind, and that her children were great, and, for the most part, good. Much did they do in the Hither Lands to confine the Enemy; valiantly did they sell their lives, I am told. Unlike those four of my sons, alas, who were slain by other Eldar, and that because they sought with violence to fulfil their oath.


I think on occasions of that last time we were in the halls of Finwë’s house, Indis and I, and Anairë. After the darkening of Valinor it was, after the murder of Finwë, after that terrible oath and the departure of nine tenths of the Noldor, following the lead of my lord. (Though in truth, most were following Nolofinwë.) Numbly, in my own anguish at the finality of such a separation from my family, had I wandered the deserted, mist enshrouded, streets of our city. My feet had led me ever upwards to the king’s house. And there, in that place that had once been a centre of life, of debate, of argument, of belonging, did I find Indis, resting upon the high seat that she had occupied as Finwë’s queen. Her head was held high, and clear were her eyes, but unfocused, as her thoughts appeared to be elsewhere. In her hands she clasped a deep blue cloak; one that had been her husband’s, and this did she raise absently to her cheek, as if she could still feel his warmth, sense him with her. I understood well what she did! Neither of us had parted from our husbands through lack of love! Yet now was Finwë beyond any reach of her fëa, any call to him that she could make. She did not weep; no tears then graced her beautiful face, nor dampened her golden hair; only silence there was, and pain.

And seated upon the floor, on the marble portrayal of the Great Journey on which Finwë had first led the Noldor to Valinor, did I see another. Nolofinwë’s wife – and, for a short time, queen in Tirion—the elegant and dignified Anairë, robed in white and silver-blue, her raven-black hair falling in long braids down her back and across her shoulders. She, too, had lost lord and children on that terrible day, though her reasons for not accompanying her family were somewhat different to mine. Together in grief and in disbelief, were we three ladies of the Noldor. Together also in failure, I then thought. The words, long past, spoken to me by the Maia, Elemáinië came to my mind in that time. Words of how important was the role of the nissi, aye, even some of the Valier in moderating, in calming their proud and sometimes headstrong lords. In this had we all failed, I concluded, and I had failed most of all! I sank to the floor opposite Anairë. My gown of red, specially chosen for the festival, for what I had believed would come to pass, billowed out around me where I sat, and almost in this lack of light did it seem as a pool of blood. I looked up to the wall at the back of the great hall at those brightly coloured, skilfully woven tapestries that bore the emblems of our family: of Finwë, of Fëanáro, of Nolofinwë and of Arafinwë! How long we sat there in silence I know not, for without the light of the Trees was the passing of time hard to measure. But the light was gone from us, and gone also were those who had been the light of our lives.

****



“I am not interested in your excuses! What I require is for you to follow my instructions. If you cannot manage that, then I would that you depart my presence, and now!”

The commanding voice of Fëanáro resounded through the ornate, part open, door and echoed down the mural-covered walls of the gallery towards me. Finwë’s friend, from the time of the beginning, and steward of his house, the formal and precise Silwë, departed the room with a most strained expression upon his face. That he found the king’s son difficult to deal with at times I well knew. But it now appeared that he had the unenviable task of communicating certain of Finwë’s wishes to Fëanáro.

“Tell my father I will speak with him in person about this matter, as I ever have, and not through you!”

Silwë hurried his pace, as a sound of something crashing to the floor also echoed down the gallery. The silver gowned official gave my companion and I a look of vexation as he approached us, heading for the stairs. “I am afraid my news has not left the prince in the best of moods, my Lady.” He bowed slightly, politely, and sympathetically to me in passing. I did not like the pity I saw for me in his eyes!

The stalwart Ecthelion's hand upon my arm steadied me somewhat, as I began to appreciate what others had meant when they spoke of the ‘strong willed, hot-tempered prince’. Was I adequate for the task that lay before me I considered then, and not for the last time?

“All will be well, Lady Nerdanel.” Ecthelion spoke softly to me. “Silwë has never been on Fëanáro’s list of ‘favoured friends’, and oft has there been misunderstandings between those two. With you will he be different; Prince Fëanáro will pay you heed.”

I wished I had Ecthelion’s confidence on the matter. As we walked up to the door, I could sense an atmosphere, a wall of almost impenetrable brooding resentment. In the gardens at my home, when searching for Fëanáro after Tulcon’s betrothal, had I sensed him; his strength of will a real and present force of power. Did I not know that he could put forth his will as a nigh tangible form to isolate himself from that which pleased him not? Now was that sensation intensified many fold.

Ecthelion knocked loudly upon the door, but then he stepped back, leaving me feeling rather isolated.

“What is it?” Barely controlled was the temper in my betrothed’s rich and beautiful voice.

It took little for me to realise that something was so very wrong!

“It is I, my Lord! I have come at your bidding.” In earnest did I try to moderate my own tone, to a calming one, to one in a manner like unto my companion’s.

There was a pause, and I could hear movement in the room. Then Fëanáro spoke again, though more coolly.

“ Nerdanel! Aye, come Lady, I have been awaiting you.”


*****


I had received Fëanáro’s message to: ‘Come to him as soon as I might’, the previous day. The short information he had given about his father seeking a sundering of his first marriage and permission for a second marriage to Lady Indis filled me with apprehension. To seek to take a second wife was a thing unknown amongst the Eldar, though no other had been placed in Finwë’s situation at that time. But what Fëanáro knew, and I also knew well, was that should the Valar grant re-marriage to Finwë, they would almost certainly condemn Míriel to be discarnate forever, for it could not be permitted for an Elda to have two living spouses at the same time. (Such was the nature of our union, you realise.).

Fëanáro had required, nay, ordered my presence with some sense of urgency, though what I could do in the situation I knew not. I was not one of such import that I could offer challenge or debate on behalf of Míriel, even if that were the correct thing to do. The Valar surely would know what was right, and if not, then could Manwë appeal to Ilúvatar, to the All-Father himself, for guidance. We should not interfere in this matter, Fëanáro and I, so I reasoned. But this I could do; I could be with him. I could listen and offer what comfort and advice he would take. I could take my place at his side rather than pursue my desire for further instruction at that time. The visit to Aulë that I had hoped to make would have to wait.

My mother had been dismayed when I gave my parents the news. Taurlotë was a good friend of Míriel’s in their youth, and from the time of dwelling in the Hither Lands. Much grieved was she at the turn of events concerning the Lady Indis.

“I understand Finwë’s distress at a lack of a life’s companion, at not bringing forth the number of children that he would will, but he could have waited some time yet.” My mother struggled to understand. “His haste; it speaks to me of lack of love on his part. I know his love for Míriel was a great and glad thing while she lived. How can he so fail her now?”

My Father had taken his favourite, high backed, chair at the table, his head resting in his hands as if in some great pain himself. He would not go back to his forge that day, for this news was grievous to him, also.

“I understand what you say, Taurlotë. But it is our daughter I think of first in this. She will be marrying into a house that has sorrow upon sorrow, for Fëanáro will in no way take well to this decision of his father’s.” Urundil sighed most deeply, and then looked directly to my mother. “Finwë errs in his action, I deem, but then I have you by my side. Unless you chose to desert me through death and never return, who am I to judge him? And Míriel, though she need depart at the time she did through weakness of hröa, apparently refuses to seek or accept healing, as Nerdanel informs us. It bespeaks a lack of love on her part, to both her lord and to her son.”

“Both show disregard for Fëanáro!” I interjected strongly, as I became clearer in my own mind as to what was about to transpire. “Though he is nigh full grown, and so responsible for his own choices and actions, both have allowed him to be in a position unique amongst our people. He will feel deserted by both!” (In this assumption I was in error, in that Fëanáro never openly showed any sense of feeling wronged by either parent, and ever did he esteem both highly. But at times, just on a few occasions when he was most unguarded, did I know the truth.)

Mayhap the Valar would deny Finwë’s request, I thought then. Or mayhap, even if they did not, with time, with the passing of years and with children added unto us, would Fëanáro’s pain be subsumed in love and in joy again. He would know peace and wholeness, as surely Ilúvatar had intended for the Eldar in allowing the Valar to bring us to Valinor. A hope of mine for him, it was: a hope born of my youth.

****

I made swift preparations, and rode to Tirion as soon as Laurelin came into bloom. Narwasar kept me company on that journey, for he was travelling to give help and advice on the building of a house on the outskirts of the city. His skill in stonework was near as great as my father’s own, and he was proud to give of his aid when required. The taciturn Narwasar had forborne to make comment on the situation with Finwë, which he only knew in part anyway. He watched me closely, however; always my father’s good apprentice was he at heart, and loyal to a fault. To the gates of Tirion he had accompanied me, speaking of design and sculpting of items for my own use and delight in my new home. The house of Finwë was already filled with great treasures I had to inform him.

And so Ecthelion met with me as I walked into the city after loosing my horse. He had explained what he could of all that had transpired of late, and confirmed my suspicions that Fëanáro had argued with his father-- a rare occurrence indeed-- over his mother shortly before he had sought my company last. Also did Ecthelion tell me of the earlier meeting of Finwë and Indis, before Fëanáro was born, and of the love the Vanya had conceived even then for our king. For love of him had she chosen not to wed, and she had departed Tirion with her people to dwell at the feet of Manwë and Varda on Oiolossë. Never would it have occurred to her that she would have a second chance; that she could have, in the course of time, Finwë’s love in return. But love her it seemed he now did! And that was good news, surely? Aye, for Indis and Finwë it was! But less good for Míriel and her son, I considered! And now was I standing before the door of that son, of he whom I loved, and yet did I feel great misgiving at what was to come.


“Nerdanel!” His voice resounded through my thoughts as I entered his room.


The heat of Fëanáro’s sudden temper was a fearsome thing, I came to understand. But it was his silent brooding, his ice, that I already perceived was the deeper problem. Like ice was he when I first entered that room, though he bowed courteously to me, and gestured for me to take a seat near the carved writing table by which he stood.

I had not been to his personal rooms before, and what I found then surprised me somewhat by its comparative simplicity. Few were the furnishing he had chosen to have, but each piece, each item when I looked more closely was something special, something gloriously crafted in its own manner. Besides the desk, which bore carvings of the Trees giving forth their light, were there four chairs, equally fine in workmanship, crafted from oak, and a closed chest with metal bindings and a seal that had been forged in the likeness of flames. A wooden candleholder in which many white gems were embedded was in one corner and upon the desk four silver candlesticks, for those times when the light of the Trees mingled and softened, and it was harder therefore to work.

Scrolls, quills and ink, and several half rolled manuscripts that looked as if they contained items of law lay also upon that desk. I made guess that he had been searching for any word, any finding of the wise that he could use to his or his mother’s advantage should the need arise. On the centre of the plain white floor lay the fragments of that sculpture he had but a few moments ago chosen to destroy. Not good enough, it would have been, not quite how he had envisaged it, and in that present temper, he would not choose to persevere with that which displeased him. But the heart of the room was a single tapestry, which hung upon the wall opposite the windows. Magnificent in detail, with intricate patterns and designs of creatures and of trees was that creation that could only have been the work of Míriel. A flame of many complex tones and variations was there at its centre, and as one looked, it seemed alive and to move and twist as a living fire would, seeking to consume that around it or maybe just to spread it’s light. Surrounding that central flame there were others, paler, white fire and silver and copper, and seven of those did I count. (Foresighted indeed was Míriel, to see shadows of that future which I as then had no knowledge of.)

Although I would rather have stood before him in his present mood, I took the offered seat as a sign of compliance; though I sat very upright, folding my hands upon my lap and composing myself for what would follow.

“I received your letter, Fëanáro. I know what has come to pass,” said I. “I know that you must be pained at this time.” Closely did I watch his expression, his movements for any sign that would help me understand, and counsel him better.

He did not reply, but stared at me with those piercing eyes that I found so compelling, as if he was in an inner struggle over even my presence. I had at the start of our relationship promised myself I would not be quailed by his mood, but would speak to him of my thoughts gently, as a true friend, and to this would I hold. Whatever his mood, I would not run, nor be driven from him by it.

“My Lord! I have come at your bidding,” I repeated firmly.

His head snapped up at my words, and his eyes narrowed, though I was not making any argument or challenge.

“You wrote that you had need of me. Most willing am I to be of help, but you must speak with me of this matter, rather than leave me to guess your need.”

“Leave you to guess! Why Nerdanel, what is there for you to guess? I would have your company at this time, rather than that of fools, that is all,” he replied.

But it was not all, and well did I know it!

“Have you not thought to discuss this matter further with your father, to tell him how you feel?” I suggested, knowing what dangerous ground I trod upon in even mentioning Finwë.

“He is led astray!” Fëanáro cried instantly, and then did the fires of his heart burn suddenly strong. “He knows what is right, what is and what is not fitting for any of our people, and yet he chooses to go against all of that, against the essence of what it is to be Eldar. This Vanya, she leads him astray!”

At least I had gleaned a response, and now was he moving in body as well as in speech, pacing the floor back and forth in his restlessness and his inability to see an acceptable way forward.

“I have spoken with him, but he will heed not my words. And it is not for a son to command his sire and his king, but it is wrong, this which he seeks to do! It is a great wrong to my mother!”

I watched him moving about the room as if he were caged, and I understood that his anguish was as much for the loss he believed would occur in his relationship with his father (though he still loved him most dearly!) as for what would happen to his mother.

“Does King Finwë truly love this Lady Indis?” I asked, sensitive to the probable response.

“So he says!”

“But not as he loved your mother?”

Fëanáro halted his agitated pacing, and turned to face me. Anger and anguish contested in his emotions and were made plain in his expression. “He loves my mother still, as do I!” And then, with a great effort, did he manage to compose himself further. “Nerdanel, though a wedded couple may choose to dwell apart for a space, each to pursue their own interests or gifts, yet do they remain wed. Unless my mother chooses never to return, until the end of time, then the bond of marriage still exists. Marriage is once and it is for ever!”

Now did I know of his need of me, though he would speak it not. And I would speak for him in this matter. I rose from the seat and moved to stand before him, to reach up and tenderly caress his cheek.

“I understand much of what you say. You are right in that this is the way of our people.”

Gently did I push back a stray tendril of hair from his shoulder. Touch; soft and soothing and gentle, did I know had some calming effect upon him. “Though I am not to thee what thy parents are, yet never will I leave thee, my love. Though I may ask of thee leave to visit family and friends and Aulë himself, yet ever will I be at thy side when thou dost wish.”

(I had meant to show him that, unlike Míriel, unlike Finwë, my love for him would come first to me, that I would not do to him what they had, but alas, was my promise to be in vain.)

He hesitated, but then, a slight smile lit his face, and I could observe again his eyes taking on a better humour. Putting an elegant, long-fingered hand to my waist, he drew me to him in a different, far more focused heat.

“No less would I expect of thee, Lady. Though it is pleasing to hear thee so speak!”

Still had I not brought him to the place of understanding that I wished. He wanted my love then, for that moment, almost as much as he wanted the love of his parents. So did I allowed him to embrace me, something that was still a new sensation, and one of great pleasure to me. But as he bent his head to brush my lips discreetly with his own, I raised a finger, and signalled for him to stop.

“Take me to see your mother, Fëanáro,” I asked him. “Take me to where Queen Míriel lies, for I desire to look upon her again before any more of what your father has set into action comes to pass. And you, also, I deem would look upon her again.”

For the briefest of moments he seemed not to comprehend my words. Or perhaps he was disconcerted by what must have seemed my change of heart, my reluctance for his touch. Then he stepped back slightly.

“Do you know what you ask of me, Nerdanel?”

“I do! For if Míriel will truly not return, I would see her now, before she may not return.”

He paused in thought, but his hand was still light upon my waist. “Aye,” he spoke after a moment. “ I shall take you to the gardens of Lórien, to where my mother lies as if in sleep. We shall both visit her, though mayhap for the last time! It seems you understand me, Nerdanel, better than I sometimes do myself!”

Then did he draw me to him again: “And speak not so about thy place in my heart, Lady. Thou art not to me as my parents, for thou art my wife-to-be, and of certainty not my mother!” His lips gently sought mine; then became a touch more demanding, a touch to which I willingly responded. For a short time we indulged ourselves in that warmth, in that well controlled passion, which was a fitting show of affection for a betrothed couple.

****

So once more were we companions on a journey, Fëanáro and I. This time we rode, for there was some element of haste, rather than delight, about the matter, and we took little rest. Though Finwë had not been long gone to Valmar, we knew not how much time the Valar would ponder over his supplication.

The gardens of Lórien! Ah, Firiel*, now there is a place to visit! A land of peace and rest and of healing it is said. Enchanted are those gardens, for they occupy much space in Valinor from the far south to the edges of Valmar, and one can take many ages in wandering therein, or sometimes traverse the whole in no time at all. A land of dreams, you see, and all that is there seems as if in a dream. Full of mazes of yews, pines and great cedars, is Irmo Lórien’s abode, so that one could get lost there most easily. A place of gentle dusk-light it is, and even the halls of Irmo himself are lit but dimly. Sights and sounds of great comfort abound, and there are a very many pools that reflect back the stars of Varda from beyond the mountains, as if the stars lay in their own depths. The fairest of all places it is said to be, and in truth that place has always been fair and joyful for me. Many spirits there are that inhabit those gardens, many lesser spirits, and many numbers of the Maiar also. It is a place to heal hurts, to be refreshed and free of weariness. Many do find an easing of their burdens that travel there. But Fëanáro’s burden was not such an easy one to lift.

He knew well the road to take, and we wound our way through lanes and hedgerows, to the sounds of nightingales’ sweet songs. At last did we come upon a place where, in the near distance a great wood of silver willows were set, and here did he say his mother’s hröa lay, attended by the maidens of Estë, so that it withered not. Fëanáro had been uncommonly quiet as our journey had progressed, though not sullen or sunk in any despair. It was as if he were lost in memories of his own early childhood, and of his dreams of those days, for this place had a strange effect upon those that took sleep or recalled dreams there.

The closer we drew to where Míriel lay, the more I began to regret my suggestion, not for him, but for myself. Too personal, too poignant with emotion by far was this for Fëanáro to share. I started to understand why both he and Finwë had stopped visiting their loved one. So with compassionate and carefully chosen words did I encourage him to make those last steps alone. I would wait, said I, and seek wisdom and give forth prayer that the will of the Valar in the matter of Míriel may be made clear. He understood, he even smiled at my thoughtfulness, and then he left me to go to his mother’s side. For the last time in life was it to be.




And so it was that I sat, lost in thoughts of my own, amongst the scent of night flowers and red glowing poppies. I did not know what was best, for the matter with Finwë was a complicated one, and though by inclination would I side with my betrothed, yet was I not certain of the right course of action.

My mind turned to how cold Fëanáro could seem, and to how I would deal with such shows of mood in our life together. To say I was not concerned after that meeting in Tirion would be to lie, but I had meant what I said to him. I intended full well to be at his side whenever he wished. As I contemplated further, a shimmering of light appeared, that was not of the glow-worms, neither of the stars and it seemed as if a presence was with me.

“Right art thou to feel trepidation at what lies before thee, Nerdanel, daughter of Urundil, and soon to be wife to Fëanáro,” spoke a clear, female voice. Strength and wisdom were in the sound, but its owner remained unseen.

Startled was I at this unexpected disturbance, yet not fearful. There was naught to fear in this place. “Who are you? Will you not show yourself?” I enquired, though with respect and courtesy, for I knew this to be some form of spirit that inhabited this place.

“Valiant thou art, and strong of will canst thou be,” the voice continued, “ but yet the Spirit of Fire, he is stronger by far. Thou wilt need to temper his flame and his spirit when thou espouseth him.”

No Valar was this, I, considered, since I knew their presence from childhood. One of the Maiar yet unknown to me, (for many are their numbers), did I believe my companion to be.

“Though I am accustomed to speaking with the servants of the Valar, yet do I find it easier so to speak with those that assume form I can address,” said I, hopefully.
Not often did many of the Maiar take form!

So did Elemáinië first appear to me, and that initially as a shifting pattern of lights. Then as a woman in form like unto the Eldar, did she seem; but strange were her ears, with hair of thick honey blonde bound behind them. Tall of stature was she, taller than I at any rate. Her eyes were now stern and now merry, and upon the skin of her brow were tiny creases. Then again did she change, into one clad in spring-green; far younger, and fair of hair and face, though still did the stern eyes stare forth.


“A servant of the Fëanturi am I at this time, Nerdanel, and charged by them to speak what wisdom thou wilt hear. For my Lords are concerned that there is something about Fëanáro that is hidden from them, aye, even from Námo Mandos, in a manner they understand not. Yet Manwë himself has spoken that this son of Finwë is made to be the mightiest of all the Children of Iluvatar.”

I knew from Aulë of Fëanáro’s potential, of his great skill, but those words took away my breath, and I struggled to comprehend them. “The mightiest? Ai! Then how can I be the one to be partnered to him? I can in no way be a fitting consort for such an Elda!”

Elemáinië’s sternness became moderated somewhat, as if she knew my feeling of inadequacy.

“The path before thy future lord is one of greatness and glory,” she continued, ignoring my outburst, “but his mood doth at times work against him. This thou must have observed! It is so with many, in fact most of the neri of the Noldor and no few of the Valar and Maiar need to be governed by their spouses at times.”

I nodded understanding of her words, if not of the enormity of the task before me.

“I have heard of this from others, and well do I know the account of Uinen and Ossë,” I said. “Are you telling me I will have need to restrain Fëanáro, even as she did with her lord? If so, I doubt my strength to achieve much.”

“Indeed, will Fëanáro become great beyond the measure of the Eldar,” the Maia stated thoughtfully. I was reminded again of my very first impression of him, that time I had beheld him walking up out of the valley and for a few moments had I thought I beheld one such as her, a Maia. But Fëanáro, Elda he was!

“Think not so much on restraint as a force, rather as a mingling, like unto the softening of the light of the Trees. Both have their strength and power, but softer they are when as one, and in that lies power of a different kind.”

This I understood, though I had never seen such a marriage as she spoke of. My parents and the others of the Aulenduri had strong moods, but tempered them of their own will. Or did they?

“Already doest thou realise that wise counsel and gentleness do much to cool his sudden fire, and this path is one thou may tread with confidence. I speak not of subservience, thou must understand, for that is as far from thy nature as from any of the Noldor. Mighty though he is, thou art not without great worth, and a fitting wife may thou well be. But look to thy own needs as well as ---”

Elemáinië did not finished what she had to say. A sound I had never expected to hear rent the air! A strangled cry of grief, of despair it was, as Fëanáro wept for Míriel, for his mother who would heed not his plea.




Arafinwë = Finarfin
Nolofinwë = Fingolfin
Moringotho = Morgoth
Firya = Mortal.
Hröa = body