Chapter Eight: Tirion.


I feel very much as if I am going through the motions, but not truly experiencing my life, as this week progresses. A 'plastic' me, devoid of most emotions! Uck! Time has passed so swiftly since I decided to have the rest of the summer off as a break. This weekend, I have decided that there is no going back to classroom teaching for me in the near future. As with almost all teachers, I love the kids, I love the mental stimulation of many of their questions, and of the chat of my colleagues. (Most of the time! ) I am really going to miss that! But I need to break free! For too long I have supressed many of my thoughts and ideas to fit in with the system. I have reluctantly gone along with teaching things I believe to be biased, manipulative, and sometimes just plain wrong! I have put up with a system that has many good points, but sees its best driven to their knees under piles of ever changing paperwork. But no more! I have so many thoughts and ideas buzzing away in my head, I need to find an outlet for them.

So I am reading through a post-grad prospectus, folowing up tips from friends of profitable courses of study, and trying to hold things together. I want to be really excited! I want to 'let go', and relax and let the creativity flow! I did have a glass of wine in the garden at the weekend.Ah, what an exciting time!

These next three days I cannot think of anything apart from ensuring all possible work is marked (graded), and all possible revision notes given out to my exam groups. But come Thursday afternoon, if things go to plan, then I can be 'real' again. And that is quite exciting.






Nerdanel's Story. Chapter Eight: Tirion.


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




“Upon the crown of Túna the city of the Elves was built, the white walls and terraces of Tirion…”

(‘ Of Eldamar and the Princes of the Eldalië’ The Silmarillion. JRR Tolkien. HarperCollins Ed. 1999 p 59)



The House of Sarmo Urundil. Seventh Age.


This writing down of memories stirs many strands of thought in me; thoughts that I have no time to record, for many are the years in your way of thinking, Firya*, that I seek to include in my account. Another dream I had last night; one most vivid, and she who was the subject of it is still in my mind this morning as bright Vása* rises upon the hills, and fields, and glades of Valinor. Seated by the windows of the lesser hall to soon partake of the first meal, I overlook the courtyard of my father’s house. That was part of my dream, part of the past, aye, and many times. For often did my sons ride out from this place, having journeyed first from Tirion, and being assured of a warm welcome from their grandparents.

But in last night’s dream they came riding in, fresh from the hunt, five of my sons, (for Makalaurë* and Curvo* were not in that group.), and Nolofinwë’s* daughter, Irissë*. The horses had been at the gallop on that final part of the plain that led to the Calacirya, and were hot, with steam rising from their silken coats and breath rushing from their nostrils. My sons were laughing and jesting, pleased with the recent day’s events, and full of joy in their strength and speed and skill.

She often rode with them at that time, in the days before the bitterness between our Houses began in earnest. For did they not indulge her as the sister they never had? The nearest I had then to a daughter, in some ways, was Irissë. For we could talk, she and I, and of matters of interest to nissi, yet not in a manner that many so spoke. Strong she was for a nís, stronger than I, mayhap; though never did she work in the crafts of the neri, as did I. And she had a love of knowledge; but pursued it not, to my mind, with the same consistency as the hunt.

Now in my dream, which was in most part a memory, I had first thought I was recalling an event with my eldest son, for Irissë had been speaking most animatedly with Maitimo*, at the head of the group, and they had shared laughter over the condition of her white riding gown. (Always would she wear white, though was it not best suited to the hunt, had Maitimo said!). He dismounted and strode over to me, his silver-grey eyes merry as he swept me a low and courteous bow.

“Well met, lady and mother! I had thought you still in Tirion at this time, but much joy it brings me to see you here.”

I had gone that day to speak particularly with my eldest son about a matter that I deemed of great import, and pertaining to his work with Aulë. So I had turned with him back to the house, leaving Irissë to continue her opinionated debate, though on the loyalty of hounds, with Tyelkormo*, of whom, next to her brother Turukáno*, she was most fond.

Then did my view change most swiftly. I was alone, and she stood before me as if in a mist, clothed in white and silver, though was it clean! Her long dark hair was unbound, (was it not often braded, as her mother and eldest brother’s, and for the hunt), and fell in a shinning cascade to her knees. But her eyes! Those wide grey eyes were imploring me, nigh begging me something.


“What is it? What is wrong, dear one?” I addressed her with concern, though at the same time I realised she was not, could not be, there.

“Do not forget me, Lady Nerdanel,” she whispered. "For do I, also, not know the pain of a son forever lost!"

Forget? As if I could! As if any Elda could remove the burden of memories, or the joy. As if I could forget her, or any of my sons.


I must shake that dream from me, for dream it was. The fëa of those still in the Halls of Awaiting appear not to the living, and Irissë died in the First Age, was slain by poison intended for her son. Her own husband killed her, it was said. And that son of whom she spoke? Is not Lómion more reviled amongst the Noldor than any of my sons, aye, even than Curvo? For none do surpass that child of Irissë's in despite, save he who, alas, surpassed all.

But I will think no further on that matter, and must turn to something now that concerns Irissë's grandmother.Here we begin to touch upon what, for my lord, was the second sorrow to enter the Blessed Realm. When I reflect upon my choice of friends, I find that my closest companions were neri, which is just as well, considering the life I have had. Not that I had any difficulty in relating to the other nissi that I grew up with, but my interests were always closer to those of the neri, and with them did I spend many hours in discussions and exploration and the undertaking of the crafts that I loved.

Two nissi became very dear to me, however; close friends and confidants both. One was Serewen, she who was to become wife to the Lord Ecthelion. The other was the Lady Indis.

****

Now it happened that, after Fëanáro and I were formally betrothed, it was decided I should remain in Tirion for some days. Fëanáro was most eager that I became familiar with the city itself, and the many points of interest, and learning that it held for one such as myself. (Not that I needed much encouragement, for once I was actually there, I wished to learn what I could.) I was to become acquainted with some of the lords and ladies, with some of those considered the wise, and I was also expected to make a good impression upon the king. In due course I came to love our city, and joy was there for me within its walls for many years.

How to begin describing Tirion to one who knows not Elvenhome?

It is best if you see the Watchful City yourself, Firya. Though few indeed of your people have set foot upon our shores, yet do I sometimes ponder that, before the End, will more of the Secondborn, the Aftercomers, tread the crystal steps than is commonly expected. But for now must you depend upon texts of old, upon my words, and, mayhap, upon echoes of memories that come to those of your people who yet carry a faint trace of the blood of the Eldar in their veins.

Tirion is built upon the green hill of Túna. The light of the Trees bathed it in the past, from the west, while to the east, white sands and a shimmering creek run still to meet it from the green sea. A white-walled, marbled city, it is, rising over many terraces, with smooth, wide crystal stairs. There are tree-lined concourses and courtyards wherein a multitude of sparkling fountains play. Jewelled bridges span narrow cascades of water that flow down from the higher levels. Some of the halls and houses of the Noldor have gold roofs and many a tall tower there is, for we delight in high buildings. The tallest of the towers is Mindon Eldalieva, and this tower bears a silver lamp that shines its slender beam into the sea mists that sometimes gather off the coast. In the high court beneath that tower is the White Tree of Tirion, (known as Galathilion by your folk, I believe. Though is that the Sindarin name), the lesser image of Telperion, which was gifted us by Yavanna. And on the crown of Túna, in the great square beneath the Mindon, is the house that was once King Finwë’s. And it was in the house of King Finwë that I made my first stay in that city.


Now Fëanáro took much delight in introducing me to sites of that place that had ever been his home. The Hall of the Loremasters did we visit, the halls in particular of those who studied language, and the stars, and also, the houses of those few he considered his friends. We visited the workrooms of some of those Aulenduri who abode in the city, and walked together through the curving streets, under the shade of dark leafed trees and golden fruit trees. Through the upper terraces and gardens we passed, and stood for a time at a balustrade on the eastern side of the high court, overlooking the sea.

Happy I was to be at his side, yet I found myself often glancing in bewilderment at the slender silver ring he had placed upon my right forefinger. Hard for me to believe it was, that my hopes were to be realised; that those thoughts I had tried hard not to nurture had yet come to be reality for me. But even formal betrothal had not altered my nature. Nay, still was I most inquisitive of mind about many things. For example, still did I wonder about the coming of the Eldar unto Aman! Were the Valar fulfilling the will of Eru Iluvatar in bringing our parents hence from Cuiviénen, or not, I considered? If it was the will of Iluvatar, then why had he not made us to awaken in this land?

Fëanáro had pondered on this also in our wanderings, but now he seemed most keen to debate it and other issues. Though content did I believe he was with me as betrothed and as companion, and sometimes content with my answers, still did something disturb him, and that to do with his father’s mood. So was he at times, even in those bright days, of a disposition that sought to fully engross himself in crafting or the pursuit of knowledge, and that to ease his growing sense of disquiet.

Among those who befriended me, and sought my good from the first I arrived in Tirion, was Ecthelion. He had, true to his word, been one of those who welcomed me to the city. At my betrothal in the gardens of the king’s house, he had introduced me to she whom he hoped to soon betroth. So was that my first meeting with Serewen. She was everything I expected a highborn Lady of the Noldor to be; willow slender, long brown hair falling smooth to her waist, and an elegance of movement and speech beyond most others. She was also quite charming, and most concerned at my predicament of unfamiliarity with aught save the dwellings of the Aulenduri. (And with Valmar, I pointed out to her!) Serewen it was who walked with me when Fëanáro was otherwise occupied those days. She took me to places he had not, including the arena on the second terrace where the athletes competed. Proud was she of Ecthelion’s skills in such contests, and wanted doubtlessly for me to be likewise impressed.

“Ecthelion is the best of the younger neri in most contests,” she said without arrogance. She was simply stating a fact! “ Few have ever bested him.” Then did she lower her head more coyly, and smile with amusement. “Even your lord-to-be has he bested in a quarterstaff contest!”

(We had few weapons at that time, Firya, for it was a merry time. Spears and bows used in the hunt, and knives and axes we had for work, but no swords were there in use, for swords have one purpose only.)

I wondered at the concept of anyone besting Fëanáro in any form of contest, for already did I know his strength of will to be first.

“Well, actually, Prince Fëanáro disarmed him,” she continued “but Ecthelion drove his head into the prince’s stomach, and so brought him down!”

“Then he was not honourable. He cheated!” I exclaimed. I could not quite grasp the (inaccurate) images that were going through my mind of two of Tirion’s noblest wrestling on the ground for supremacy.

“They are still friends, though the prince will not make the same mistake twice. Should they compete again, he will prevail.” Serewen smiled brightened her already beautiful face. “But my Lord Ecthelion had his moment of glory. May he yet have others.”

****


Within days of being in the house of King Finwë and observing the manner of interaction between father and son, did I understand for certain I would never be foremost in the heart of Fëanáro. I had heard the talk of his relationship with his father; most folk had. The love between this father and son was a special love, borne out of their mutual grief and out of Finwë’s devotion. Some there were, who had thought Finwë might chose to follow Míriel into the Halls of Awaiting, so deep was his sorrow at her loss. But he took his role and responsibility as a father most seriously, and would in no way leave his son. Alone of the Eldar in the Blessed Realm, was Finwë as father and mother to his child, and so a double bond of attachment had developed between them. It was said amongst the Noldor ‘Never did any son so love and esteem his father as did Fëanáro’, and though I am loath to comment, for many do love their parents greatly, yet from my experience this was something unique. There are many different kinds of love, of course. Never did I begrudge their relationship once I understood that.

Finwë himself I had met but once, and that briefly, at the time of his visit to my father’s house. Though it was said Fëanáro had favoured his mother in countenance and voice as a child, he had grown much into the likeness of his father in appearance and in many of his ways. Both were tall and proud of bearing, raven-dark of hair, fair of face, and with piercing, grey-blue, eyes. Both were skilled with language, eloquent with words and most convincing and masterful in a debate. It was not without good reason that Finwë had been chosen as the ambassador of the Noldor to the Valar.

For my part, I found the king, though struggling at that time with a growing sense of bitterness, to be ever thoughtful and courteous towards me. I do not think I impressed him initially as Fëanáro had hoped, but he liked me well enough, and soon came to trust and value my observations. (Though was he aghast at me asking at table his experience of the Valar regarding the will of Iluvatar!) He appreciated the benefits of the forthcoming connection with the House of Urundil, devoted as we were to Aulë, and honoured Míriel’s friendship with my mother. And I grew to love and respect the noble, thoughtful Finwë, he who had been our leader from the Hither Lands, in turn.

****

On the seventh day after my betrothal, did King Finwë summon me to his great hall, for he had been in receipt of a gift of fine pearls from King Olwë, and the messenger sent had asked if he could have words with me before he returned to Alqualondë. A strange request did this seem to me, though I unhesitantly answered Finwë’s call.

The tall, silver-haired, Teler who turned to greet me as I entered the high roofed, marble floored, chamber, was Gaerion. In all probability, Finwë did not know of the feelings Gaerion had for me, believing, as I so recently had, that this was a childhood friend who would deem it ill mannered to visit Tirion without speaking with me. So, after but few words, Finwë left the hall, and signalled for those others in attendance to do likewise, to give Gaerion and I chance to speak and mayhap reminisce on earlier times without disturbance.

(There were no guards in the king’s house at that time. Folk would come into the halls, into the chamber of the king at will to seek council or to debate. And if Finwë were there, and not otherwise occupied with matters of import, he would always speak with them. In that did I much admire him.)

“I came as soon as I could, Lady Nerdanel.” Gaerion bowed low before me; far more formal a gesture than he had ever used before. “ That my king wished those pearls to be transported to his friend gave me the opportunity I sought to gain entrance to the halls of Finwë. I begged him greatly to allow me the charge of bringing them hence.”

As I looked upon my friend, upon my ‘everfriend’, my worst suspicions were realised. I saw the pain in his eyes, the disbelief at what had happened in his absence.

“What have you done, Nerdanel? Why could you not wait?” He uttered forlornly.

I noticed then that his attire was hardly that of a royal courier. He had ridden straight from landfall; for his clothes were bedraggled and salt was still upon them and the invigorating smell of the sea was about him. I understood in some measure the desperation he was in, but there was no point in denying the truth, or in being anything other than absolutely honest.

“I am betrothed, Gaerion. I am to wed next year with the son of King Finwë.” I spoke almost apologetically, though I did not feel apologetic for my choice.

“This I know!” he replied, speaking more sharply to me than he ever had. Never had Gaerion been anything but a polite ‘younger friend’ to me. He reached under his grey cloak and took out a scroll from his belt. “ Your betrothed has already seen fit to inform me of what you have done in a letter that awaited the ‘Uinenlindë’ coming into harbour. No sooner had I set foot upon the shore than this was thrust into my hand.”

I was suddenly fixated upon that scroll. Fëanáro had written to Gaerion. I could not understand why? Surely he had not perceived Gaerion to be a rival to him? I could not believe that.

“What I need …what I want to know, Nerdanel … is why you have done this? You have not even known him a full year!” Gaerion’s anger with me was as soon over as the sea mists that occasionally encroached into the Calacirya, and now he was my friend again, desperate to make me see what he considered my error before it was too late.

“Why did you do this thing when you knew I was away at sea. You have not even given me the chance to tell you how I …”

We both hung our heads, both knew what he wanted to say, and that it was no use. I wanted to take his hand, to touch him as I used to in reassurance, but that would no longer have been proper. Not in the present situation.

“I am sorry,” I uttered at last. “ I have failed you as a friend. I should have written to you myself at the least. But things have happened so quickly.”

“So quickly?” He stepped back a pace. “ This letter has been waiting at Alqualondë for a great many days. It arrived shortly after I sailed, my brother said.”

Much did I wonder at this comment, but thought not to pursue it with Gaerion; rather would I pursue it with Fëanáro!

Gaerion and I spoke for a short time further, and we parted still as friends. He knew he had no chance of changing my mind and conceded victory to the son of Finwë without battle on that occasion. He was honourable enough not to wish distress upon me by any further argument or plea. We walked down the length of the hall from the dais upon which we had stood; both of us maturing considerably with those few steps as we realised that our childhood days of playing and exploring together were well and truly at an end. He turned to me before he left and managed a smile.

“I had to see you, you know! Even if it is for the last time before you wed another.” My dear ‘everfriend’ looked down at the floor, at that blue, green and gold marble portrayal of the Great Journey that adorned the hall of Finwë.

“A fine wife will you make, but if you ever have need of a friend other than he who is to be your husband, send to me. I shall come to you no matter what the cost.” And that was the closest Gaerion came to telling me how he felt.

(Rash words were they, though kindly and sincerely spoken. It was to be many years before I met with Gaerion again.)

I stood alone in the Hall for a few moments, pondering the outcome. Saddened was I, that I could not be to Gaerion what he wanted, but relieved in an odd manner also, that the encounter was over. Then did Fëanáro enter the room, his footfall upon the marble echoing in what suddenly seemed its emptiness. He did not appear overly concerned, but came straight to me, taking up my hand and raising it to his lips.

“My lady!" he regarded me in a faintly quizzical manner. "That Teler I saw leaving, he was the one who brought the pearls?”

“Aye, my lord. It was my friend, Gaerion, to whom you wrote.” I had learnt from that earlier occasion not to reach premature conclusions regarding Fëanáro, but much did I want to know his reasons for so writing.

No hint of discomfort touched his face at my words, and he took his usual firm grasp of my hand, seeking to lead me to the buildings behind the halls where he worked. That his purpose in being there was to take me to see something he was working on was obvious, though at that time I did not appreciate the near unique privilege he was according me.

“I wrote to him because it was right so to do. If you had not noticed it, my lady, that gift he sent you, and the note, were signs more of affection than of friendship. I would not have him entertain hope where none was to be had.”

As we walked out into the fresh air, into the bright light of Laurelin, I stepped in front of him, halting our progress to the workroom until I was satisfied with an answer.

“You wrote shortly after your return from our travelling in the north! That was a long time before you ever spoke with me of betrothal.” I chided gently, but firmly. I would set a boundary on acceptable behaviour in our relationship, or so I thought.

Still was there no surprise upon Fëanáro’s features. But his eyes took on a more determined look. “Had I known of Gaerion, I could have written the letter to him the day we first met, when I beheld you on the hillside, a free spirit with hair of flame. I needed to ponder the implications of our union, how it would affect our families, but I knew then that I had found the one I wanted.” He reached down to lightly touch my cheek. “And you knew also that day, Nerdanel. If you are honest with yourself.”

Those words warmed me, and took much of the sting out of what I had considered his presumption. And of course, he was right.

****

After some further time of exploring the city with Serewen, of walking and talking with Fëanáro and sometimes with Finwë, I took my leave of the city for what I believed would be a short time. I rode back to the dwellings of the Aulenduri alone, for I wished to speak with my parents again. (They had departed Tirion two days after the betrothal.) Also did I wish to resume my study with my father and seek his advice on the crafting of a jewel that I had in my mind to be a wedding gift.

Within four days Fëanáro had joined me! So eager for my company was he, observed my mother happily, though we both wondered that, mayhap, something had transpired shortly after my departure that was a source of annoyance to him. Were we not beginning to know him well, my mother and I ?

Again did Fëanáro and I wander off, far into the hills this time, and for very long. (My father said then that this was no way to learn the skills of Aulë. But he laughed with pleasure at the sight of his daughter’s happiness nonetheless.) Far north indeed did we travel that time, to low green hills and forests with many deer and other creatures, and we halted and abode for a time near the edges of a rugged dale where a stream plunged underground with much force and power. (Here were Fëanáro and our sons to later raise that fortress that would be Formenos.) We spoke much of our thoughts for the future, though you of the Secondborn must try to understand that such long ages stretched before us, we believed there was time for all things. We saw no end to our learning and crafting, to joy and delight. Almost did I wish then that things could be as they were upon the Great Journey; that we could wed in truth with no need to wait, nor need of ceremony, just the exchange of vows, one with the other. But neither of us would dishonour our parents, for it would have been churlish indeed to forgo the celebrations that our families, in their love, wanted for us.

I did not wish to return from that journey. I wanted it to be forever. Yet there was work for us both to do, and matters to be arranged. I wished still to pledge my loyalty to Aulë, and that before we wed. Fëanáro had only support for this choice of mine, appearing to consider it would in no way interfere with our life together. I had also thought, mayhap, we should look to the building of a house of our own, but here did the love of Fëanáro for Finwë come into play, and he insisted we would live with his father, as he had always done. And I understood that.

Upon our arrival at my father’s house we were greeted warmly, and food and drink was already prepared for my mother had sight of us from afar. But Fëanáro had that seriousness, that sullenness, come upon him again. Almost a sense of foresight it was, and he rode back to Tirion the same day.

Peace there was for some further days. At least there was until a messenger arrived bearing a letter from him. Fëanáro required, nay, ordered, me to come to him as soon as I might. Little more was said, save that his father was now in Valmar to seek council of the Valar on his desire to end his marriage to Míriel! It would seem that in his son’s absence, Finwë had taken advantage of an offer to visit with King Ingwë of the Vanyar. Upon his travels to meet with his friend of old had he met first with the fair Lady Indis, whom he now desired to wed.

Though Fëanáro had made no comment on this action in his written word, each brush stroke, each syllable shouted to me of his great anger and resentment. These last days had been as a calm before a storm over the distant sea, I thought, and much did I wonder at what I would find upon my return to Tirion.





(*There are differing accounts of the order and amount of time taken over the Statute of Finwë and Míriel. The Silmarillion and HoME 10 suggest Finwë had his first marriage sundered before he met with Indis. HoME 12, ‘The Shibboleth of Fëanor’, suggests it was after. )

Firya - Mortal
Vása - The Sun
Makalaurë - Maglor
Curvo - Curufin
Nolofinwë - Fingolfin
Irissë - Aredhel
Maitimo - Maedhros
Tyelkormo - Celegorm
Turukáno - Turgon