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.