Chapter Eighteen: Tyelkormo. Part One.


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



“..but Celegorm went rather to the house of Oromë, and there he got great knowledge of birds and beasts, and all their tongues he knew.”

(Of Eldamar and the Princes of the Eldalië The Silmarillion J.R.R. Tolkien. Ed C. Tolkien.)


The house of Curufinwë Fëanáro. Tirion. Seventh Age.


When I think of Tyelkormo, many, and some sorrowful, thoughts cross my mind. Of all of my sons if he the one I consider I most failed. Yet do I see him often in memory, coming to my rescue on that particular occasion, with such an air of composure and authority about him. The day was one in early 1478, another disturbance in the terrible years of the lies. And much had transpired to bring the Houses of my lord and of his half-brother into such a place of tension. Before I tread that most difficult path of recall, do I intend to write more of my sons’ early years. I will write of Tyelkormo’s youth, that he, who in many later writings is considered so troublesome, may be better understood.


****


“You shall unhand my son, least you answer to me!”

I had ridden as fast as I could across the part-wooded valley, unto the aid of Ambarussa the elder*. Now he lay upon the ground, beside a tall yew hedge, his right arm, twisted beneath him at a most unlikely angle. That it was broken, I was certain. That the servants of the Lord Poldórion had misconstrued their lord’s commands, and that this attack on my son had nothing to do with Nolofinwë* was I also certain.


My mount, my favoured dappled mare, had I urged on at speed, and I halted abruptly before the four neri that surrounded the prone figure. Unusual expressions did they bear; those sort of expressions I had noted, but of late, on the faces of some few of our folk. Proud they looked, and confident, as with most of the Noldor; but that other touch was upon them that I was still struggling to understand. Cruel! Aye, that was the word! They held a look that said their nobility was compromised by their enjoyment of others’ misfortune.


Now did they gaze upon me as if they doubted I could enforce my will where Ambarussa had failed. But he had they brought low by trickery, and this I had observed from afar. They had made a call for aid, then driven him into a copse of trees, and used ropes to trip his horse, and to entangle him and pull him to the ground. One of their number, clad in blue and white, was prodding the semi-conscious Ambarussa with his booted foot, and two others made ready to bind him, broken arm and all! No sound did my sixth son make, though there was blood from a wound to his head, and that running freely through his copper-brown hair and onto his green cloak.


I was angry!


No concern did I ever have in the earlier days for my own, or for my sons’, safety in Eldamar, and such a deliberate event was not one I had any previous experience of. Although there had been increasing squabbles between the eldest sons of Finwë those last twenty years, never had I thought any of the Eldar would come to such actions, and here, in the Blessed Realm! Nay, thought I, this is some terrible mistake, and even so, they will not harm a nís; not harm a Lady of their people. But I had not taken sufficient account of the subtle changes wrought, not just upon expression, but also in the hearts and minds of some of the Noldor.

“Lady Nerdanel! What a pleasant surprise to find you, also, riding back to Tirion on this day.” The captain of the group, a strong looking, brown haired nér, stepped forward, and spoke rather sarcastically to me. “You will not find us as easy to control as you do your husband, however. Soon will you be answering to our lord for your vain words, rather than we to you.”

I was further angered by the comment, but would not let it rob me of my wits. Still was that rumouring being put abroad in Tirion, that I could in some manner control Fëanáro, as if I were some sort of curuni* If only they knew! My wisdom was only ever of words, and love, and lore. The captain gestured that the one of his accomplices who was still mounted, move to take me captive. No weapons had I, nor would I have likely used a sword at any time, (no swords had then been forged, though was this one of the events that led to them so being), but I was still the daughter of Urundil, and had grown and worked amongst my father’s apprentices. Swiftly did I slide from my horse’s back, and the neri smiled at what they considered my stupidity. But a heavy branch there was upon the grass, fallen loose from the nearby trees, and with well-remembered fluidity of movement, I took grasp of it, and, turning, knocked my would-be assailant clean off his horse as he made to take hold of me.

Many a time in my youth had I practiced with quarterstaff at my father’s house, and many of the neri there could I overcome, if I had a mind so to do. Ambarussa, seeing what his mother was undertaking, and coming back, somewhat, to his senses, had lashed out with his good arm to seize the ankle of the assailant closest to him. He was no longer the docile prisoner the group had thought, momentarily, he would be. One nér turned to kick him again, and made to bind him fast. The others turned on me!

Glad was I that I had but recently ridden from working in my father’s forge, and was still clad for such undertakings in boots and hose and belted leather jerkin. No fine, court dress was there to impair my movements. As the captain now approached me, with a most uncivil expression on his face, I made feign with the branch, then, as he moved to avoid me, I caught him on the jaw with a blow that would have nigh felled even Maitimo. *


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

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

“You are no Lady to fight so! No Lady to work in a forge and dress as a nér!” the second of the group turned now on me with open contempt. “It is no wonder the sons of Prince Fëanáro are wild in manner, considering the lesser sort their father chose to wed with!”

I could not be bothered conversing with them further. Such neri would heed not my words, though did I wonder at what tales they had been told about me? But now did I mightily wish to be away with Ambarussa, for there were three more of their ilk approaching rapidly on horses, and with several yapping hounds. With many blows did I push them back, all three, for Ambarussa had, by then, pulled down the one who was trying to bind him. But apart from the one with the broken jaw, all were unperturbed, and that their companions would surely be enough to overcome me. Ai, fools!

I have noted in some writings that I am referred to as slower, and more patient than my husband, and of a more peaceful nature than he. That is a truth; more peaceful than Fëanáro was I! I stood over the form of my son, wielding a branch as a most effective weapon as he struggled to disentangle himself from both rope and assailant, and find strength to regain his feet. The neri stood back, still grinning, and the hounds now made at us. But those neri, in their sense of closure upon their prey, knew not what I knew.

A large, dark form passed over my head, and I ducked low, as Huan leapt the yew hedge, landed just in front of me, and stood guard, snarling defiance at those other, those lesser hounds. If that was not enough to deter the seven attackers, a second form, and that of a black horse, now followed the wolfhound. The rider turned his mount in a tight circle, and also faced the group.

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

Tyelkormo’s * words were no simple arrogance. My third son had his bow drawn and aimed, and he was a hunter of great renown. He would not miss! So did the bold servants of Lord Poldórion reluctantly do as my son had recommended.

****


Upon our return to our house in Tirion, did I find Fëanáro to be ill pleased indeed, and not just with the accosting of Ambarussa.

“Of certainty did my half-brother’s attitude and that of Turukáno*, encourage such disrespect. For ever do they seek to undermine my house, and my rights, and that by any means!” Fëanáro had spoken, with barely contained temper, but the icy power of his will, an almost tangible force in the room, was even more daunting. Fire and ice he was, at that time. And those ill-informed neri thought I could easily control him? Nay: since he had come to full might was his power far exceeding anything I could easily restrain. Yet ever did I try to soften his mind-mood, to speak wisdom to him, and he, for the most part, still heeded my words as ones of value to him.

“This is no doing of Nolofinwë’s, my lord,” I had tried to speak reason into the situation, though I, too, had been gravely disturbed. Never before had any sought to so accost me, and I was finding it a difficult experience to understand. “This is a misunderstanding, I believe, and eagerness for acknowledgement on behalf of Poldórion, that he issues forth unclear commands to those of lesser nobility.”

“What manner of prince, then, is my half-brother, who cannot control the actions of his servants?” my husband turned to me, grey-blue eyes flashing with derision, though his anger was not aimed against me.

Yet, did he have some point of contention with me that he needed to speak of, for he beheld me with agitation.

“Nerdanel! You will cease this friendship with Indis once and for all! Her words blind you to the schemes of her son. To her do you go, and at times straight from council with me. Though I know you seek to do what is best, yet are you misled. I must have your loyalty, you must do as I bid.”

At that time had Fëanáro given more orders to me than I cared for. Was I not one, even as he, to become more stubbornly defiant when pressed? Still, did I understand his need, that he wished not for Nolofinwë to be mocking him with rumours put about of: ‘What manner of prince is my half-brother, who cannot control his wife!’ though was I grieved at his words, and that they were spoken before Makalaurë* and Tyelkormo. I followed him as he headed briskly down the corridor from the great hall, towards his study.

Tyelkormo had slumped into a chair, calling for refreshment to be brought him, but Makalaurë followed us with matching stride, concerned for me, for the well being of his younger brother, and more than concerned at the escalation in events between the princes of the Noldor.

“Mother, you must not ride out again without an escort. You could have been badly hurt! Rumours there are, that some most unpleasant things are being planned by Nolofinwë’s lords.”

“No craven am I!” I retorted, lengthening my own stride in an effort to keep pace with my husband. Though I knew that our second son had meant well, I was recoiling from the prospect of a more confined way of life. “I am not afraid of them, Makalaurë. What do you take me for?”

We had reached the door to Fëanáro’s study, the three of us, and it was not Makalaurë who gave me answer.

“No craven, aye, but not ‘Nerdanel the Wise’ either. Is it not insult enough there was an attempt to take captive one of my sons, without the added conceit of them trying to take my wife?” my husband spoke sharply, and gestured for Makalaurë to leave us.

“Assemble all of your brothers. Summon Ecthelion, Alcarin and Almon. I needs must consider our response to this attack.”

“Even Ambarussa, my lord?”

“Aye, if his arm is set. I would have all hear his words.”

“As you wish, my lord and father.” With a nod of affirmation to Fëanáro, and a perplexed glance at me, our second son departed.

My husband ushered me though the heavy, double doors, into that room that was as his sanctuary. Now, away from our sons, would he certainly speak his mind.

He made to his desk and his chair, picking up pen with which to write a letter, mayhap to Fionu, or another of those lords who were allied to him. I followed still closely, to stand by his shoulder. I would not stand before him as one seeking audience.

“For too long have I tolerated your behaviour, Nerdanel,” his voice, though little more than a whisper, held the note of command, and, although courteous to me, was he determined to have his way in this matter. “You will take more consideration of the company you keep. You will cease this wandering around Aman as the mood takes you. You will certainly refrain from brawling with neri! A princess of the house of King Finwë, are you, and these many a year. Long overdue is your acceptance of that fact.”

I wondered at such words, for, although there was certainly tension between the different allegiances, never had any such incident as that which had just occurred been reported. I had ever continued to visit and work with my parents, and with Aulë, and take myself off on rare occasions to wander the hills alone. Never had Fëanáro hinted that he found my behaviour in any way unfitting. Indeed, had he always encouraged me in my undertakings. But I did not wonder at his dismay that I had recently renewed my friendship with Indis, or even that he hinted at a growing distrust of Aulë. Though I felt most strongly that I had been right to intervene in the situation with Ambarussa, yet, mayhap, in other matters I was unwise, and it was time I paid far more heed to my husband.


“My lord, never have I meant you any disrespect, neither to ignore your wishes. But what was I to do? Those neri had our son brought low by foul means.”

“What you were to do, was to wait upon Tyelkormo, who you knew was fast approaching!” he shouted suddenly, dropping the pen, and slamming his fist upon the table in a fit of irritation.


I was startled at his abrupt show of temper, though I should have been expecting it. Did not everything about Fëanáro’s demeanour, tell me to take care with my choice of words? Silent was I at such an outburst, for I knew well that there was nothing to be gained from a direct confrontation of will or word with him. Often had I been able to curb such moods before they developed, through gentleness, through quietly spoken words of wisdom. Always, had I believed, I influenced my husband because I would speak my mind, yet knew also when to yield. My behaviour of late in taking counsel with Indis, in riding through Aman as if naught were wrong, in actually taking part in a struggle had not been the most wise. I could understand Fëanáro’s vexation with me. But much was at stake, and I knew I needed to play the best game I could to win him back from fierce retaliation against Poldórion, and Nolofinwë, to calmer rationality.

I moved slowly to stand before him, in the very position of supplication I had thought to distain. A low and precise curtsey I made, though now did I wish I was refreshed, and garbed in a gown like the lady I was. Lowering my head, I addressed him most softly. And I understood!

“I know that I have disappointed you, my lord, that I have given you cause for distress. Yet will I seek to do better henceforth, and as you bid. But I beseech you not to take any rash action, but to consider well all possibilities.”

My change of attitude had the desired effect, at least for that moment. Not truly angry with me, was Fëanáro; rather, determined that I should give him the unquestioning loyalty that he believed his due. And he was horrified, more than he could show, that his son, his wife, had been insulted, and put in danger. He drew a deep breath, and, though his expression was still one of sternness, moved from behind the desk to stand directly before me.

“Are you hurt in any manner, lady?” Softened, in turn, was his rich voice.

“Nay, Finwion! I am but concerned for our son, and for what will come of this event.”

He reached out to touch my face, gently, with his slender, sensitive fingers, as if assessing for himself the validity of my words. “What will come of this is that our sons, and those lords loyal to me, will be ever more vigilant against those loyal to my half-brother! And shall I not seek out the Lord Poldórion, in front of Nolofinwë, so as to make clear I will not tolerate such an assault upon any of my family or people.” The gentleness of his touch was most pleasing, for through that touch could I feel his anger subside, and did I know of certainty the real reason for his loss of temper.

“Yet it is in my thoughts that this act might be a planned provocation, to force me to rashness, as you rightly warn me. I will not give Nolofinwë that satisfaction,” he concluded thoughtfully.

Always was it Nolofinwë’s fault in those days, and the days after. Never could Fëanáro see that many of his comments and actions could be construed as equally provocative. But then, unbeknown to us all, was not Moringotho entwining both princes in his slow forming plans, and giving fuel to their mistrust, each of the other? For that matter, never then could I see that my mind was also becoming ensnared, though in a different lie.

Still was Fëanáro’s hand lightly caressing my cheek. In fëa then did he speak to me.
“Though my heart burns hot against them for their insult to me, for what they have done to Ambarussa; yet if they had harmed thee, as Tyelkormo tells me they were about to, I would have nigh slain them!” said he. “None shall take nor harm what is dear to me. I would that thou doest give me no cause to think like this again.”

His words perturbed me almost as much as the incident. While I understood my husband’s wish to protect me, to keep me safe in that new and unprecedented situation that was upon us, (for had I not been so moved to protect my son?), yet to consider nigh slaying anyone was beyond my thoughts. If Fëanáro felt that way about me, what, then, if any ever threatened his father! What if any threatened to take from him that which his heart loved, and to which it was bound---the Silmarils---did I then wonder!

If only I had seen clearly the battle that was already underway, mayhap I would have fought back earlier, and with more cunning. Mayhap I would have ceased my close friendship with Indis when I first did, and never sought to renew it, to better be my husband’s wisdom, and hold him in my counsel the more effectively until we all knew who was behind the troubles. But then, was it not my lord’s very actions that exposed the liar, the betrayer, the perverter of the bliss of Valinor? Ai, if only I could have prevented what was to follow! If only the Valar had never so freed that great enemy of ours, and of theirs.

That event taught me much. Never again did I wander the Blessed Realm with quite the sense of freedom I had previously enjoyed. Never again was it always safe for a maid or youth to traverse the land, nay, not if they were loyal to any of the princes of the Noldor. Although there was some measure of improvement once Moringotho’s part in the poisoning of the peace of Valinor had been discovered, and my lord was exiled, and withdrew to build the fortress in the north, it was only once the dark night was upon us, and nine tenths of our people had left, that we who remained begin to trust each other as of old.


All years are Valinorian years.
Tyelkormo = Celegorm
Ambarussa the elder = Amrod
Nolofinwë = Fingolfin
Curuni = witch. One who uses ‘magic’ for good.
Maitimo = Maedhros
Turukáno= Turgon
Makalaurë = Maglor

Chapter Seventeen: Makalaurë.


Again, I have taken ages to blog anything! I think it is a sign of how things will be. Life is good, the weather is good, I have no 'work' isues, (except I 'have' to go back to the school tomorrow to write a set of reports up for a friend. I do it to help her, one last favour.) I am thinking of booking holidays, although we have already had the 'to ski, or not to ski' discussion. There seems to be little of outside interest to write about, or maybe I am becoming boring? ;-)

So, I think for the next few submissions I will just enter the story. That was my original intention, and perhaps I should stick to it, unless something untoward happens!

At last I feel rested enough to really get on with things again. That includes writing. In fact I wrote up the epilogue for Nerdanel's Story this afternoon! Now I have to get on with the intervening chapters, and 'The Fall of the Noldor'.

(Still can't upload pictures!)



Chapter Seventeen: Makalaurë.


(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. Narwasar is my beta reader, Elemáinië’s character, and used with her permission. References are from The Silmarillion and HoME 10 and 12)


"(Of Daeron) No other player has there been, no other lips or fingers seen so skilled, `tis said in elven-lore, save Maglor son of Fëanor, forgotten harper, singer doomed, who young when Laurelin yet bloomed to endless lamentation passed ..."
(The Lay of Leithian Recommenced' `The Lays of Beleriand. J.R.R. Tolkien. Ed C. Tolkien)


The house of Curufinwë Fëanáro, Tirion. Seventh Age.



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


Few nissi attended these meetings, though that was a matter of their preference rather than any law, spoken or unspoken. A nís had as much right to attend such debates, indeed, to be heard in council as a nér! Apart from myself were there never more than eight others. One of those was the copper-brown haired Nessimë, close kin of mine, and another was often the dark haired, elegant Anairë, who sat with her father. I sometimes thought that my father, Urundil, would enjoy those debates; but then again, most of those who attended were of Tirion's nobility, and he would ever prefer to be in his forge, and crafting. Mayhap one day I would bring him with me; one day when I had not Makalaurë and his singing, thought I with a smile. Not that I or any knew with certainty what my son's songs were about at that age, for he sang in a manner long before he could speak. A touch later at forming his words than Maitimo* was he. But a happy child, nonetheless, and he wished us all to know it!


That day was Rúmil, then the foremost of the loremasters, to make a presentation on his studies of how the Telerin language had developed from Common Eldarin, as compared to the development of Quenya. Many of the Noldor found the study of language most fascinating, and not the least of those was my husband. He sat in the front row, and at the side of his father and king, avidly absorbing all of Rúmil's assertions, and, if I knew him, (which I did!), would he be looking to find inconsistencies or errors upon which he could make comment.

Makalaurë yawned! I thought that such discussion of language would not be his forte in life, but then, had I not thought from first sight of him of the Music? Had my fëa not been full of the most astounding songs, many of which I had poured into my work, during the time I had carried our second son?

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

I had missed Rúmil's opening statement, and then had King Finwë risen to his feet, with a question posed to the sage. But Makalaurë was contentedly making his sounds, and of necessity did I nurse him, to distract and silence him.

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

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


Now it seemed that these two travellers, Túralasso, and Lelyar, had been wandering the lands in a manner that many of our folk, including Fëanáro and I, did. Only they had travelled, and but recently, into the unexplored far south. It would seem that they had journeyed along the narrow coast of Avathar. Very many miles to the south of the Calacirya had they gone, with a third companion whom they had taken straight to the healers upon their return to Tirion. They had words that they wished to say unto Finwë, and in a hurry. To a side chamber did they turn with the king, and my husband also, for he was not one to be excluded. Soon enough were many of the neri crowding round to discover for themselves what had transpired.


It developed that, in that cold and darkened land, out of sight of the light of the Trees, the travellers had come upon, (or it had chanced upon them!) a darkness greater than the rest. At first had they sought to make a stand, but so fell was the presence that they had not stood for long. In fleeing from it had they all stumbled and one had fallen a considerable distance from a cliff into the sea! With great difficulty had they recovered him, and returned home. Those assembled in the hall of Lore were all on their feet, and eager to know of more detail. But, much as I wished to know more of what had transpired, did I then retire to our house, for it was fast becoming no place for Makalaurë.


Upon his return, a few hours later, did Fëanáro explain to me the cause of the traveller's distress. "They spoke to my father, that he should send word at once unto the Valar, unto Manwë and Aulë and Tulkas, that an evil dwells yet, and on the borders of their land!"

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

Fëanáro had begun looking through those parchments and books stored in the scriptorium; searching for information that any other had written that he had not yet come across. "A presence, they said, though it seemed formless, yet was it cold beyond cold, and empty. A great hunger, one that would consume them, did they feel. Lelyar said they thought they might be overcome, and lie on those shores as if dead. Túralasso thought they might have even been slain, as some of our folk in the Hither Lands, before my father led our people hence! Both do seem most thankful to be back in Tirion."

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

Fëanáro did not answer me then, but continued his search for information to assist him. "My father has sent messengers to Manwë, as soon as he could. If the Valar knew naught of this, which is a surprising thought, then at least by the valour of the Noldor, will they know of it now."

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


****


Makalaurë; my golden-voiced second son! Less like me in appearance was he, but still to him did I bequeath much of my mood. Many did say that he favoured Míriel in looks, and so was more like Fëanáro had been as a child, before he grew into the likeness of Finwë. Makalaurë certainly had great beauty about him. He was tall, though grew not to the height of Maitimo nor Carnistir, and he had an astounding sense of presence, when he so wished. Now I have read in works those things which would suggest this son was of a soft nature. Nay! By no means was that true! Makalaurë was strong, and clever in thought, and if he were not the born leader that Maitimo was, yet did he command with his voice, (had not Fëanáro named him Kanafinwë, meaning strong-voiced, or commanding Finwë?), and have skill enough to outride and outmanoeuvre many in any contest. As a bard, a harper, is his renown, but more than that was he. Much more! Like saying that Fëanáro was merely a maker of jewellery was saying Makalaurë was a singer of songs! Both were exceptionally gifted and skilled in their own ways; both were fearless warriors when the need arose!

Few years of age, in our reckoning, separated my first two sons, and they were ever close in companionship. Close at the end as at the beginning, have others said to me. For did not Maitimo and Makalaurë, the two first of my children to have life and the two last of my children to know death, stand together, in defiance of Eonwë and the Vanyar host, and prepare to die rather than surrender the two remaining Silmarils? Together most often in Valinor were they, together, mayhap now, in death? I know where the spirit of Maitimo now dwells, yet of Makalaurë am I less sure. Makalaurë knew his strengths, and never tried to be a copy of his elder brother, but ever sought to stand with him in any situation, and to watch his back. That he failed to keep Maitimo from the clutches of Moringotho must have caused him deep anguish, indeed. I can only make guess at the conflict in his fëa at having to reject foul Bauglir’s terms for Maitimo's release, and at the final rescue of his beloved brother by Nolofinwë's son.
On a lighter note, can I recall the first time Makalaurë called out to Maitimo with the name that became his epessë.

"Russandol!"

`Copper-top', had our second son laughingly called his elder brother, at the time he was first able to walk; then he had run swiftly, on less than steady legs, to hide in the gardens from ‘Russandol’s’ annoyance. Not that our eldest son was truly annoyed! . It was only natural that the others also came to use this name of affection for Maitimo. But Makalaurë used it first.


****

In the Year of the Trees, 1215, and when Makalaurë was but two years of age, was there the great festival of the gathering of first fruits held at Valmar. A happy time was that! Manwë himself had instigated the celebration, to give thanks for the provisions of Yavanna, and to praise Eru Iluvatar. Of all of the festivals, save the one on the twenty-first year, was this the most merry. At this time did many of the Valar take upon themselves a physical form, that they might walk and talk among us, and eat and drink with us. Also were there many Maiar present, as well as the Vanyar and the Noldor. The Teleri came, but in very small numbers, and rarely, for they thought little of seasons or times, and were ever content with their city and the waves of the sea. This was the lesser festival, however, the one we celebrated every seven years to also commemorate the arrival of the Eldar in Aman, and that lasted but a day. But the travelling to and from Valmar saw that we took much longer, for we moved as a host, and at a stately pace. The journey was, of itself, a joy; as long processions of our folk, many singing and dancing, wound their way from the gates of Tirion along the Calacirya and across the plain of Valinor to the city of the Valar.


Now were the Vanyar host to arrive on the eastern side of Valmar before us, and this because they had been the first to arrive in Aman. We were all to camp on the far side of the city to Ezellohar, and the time of the waxing of Laurelin would be spent in renewing friendships, in song and dance, and in story recalling the great journey. Then, as the light of the Trees mingled, would we all make our way in most solemn procession around the city, to stand before the closed gate of Valmar, until, at the word of King Ingwë, would we all break forth in unison, to give voice to the Song of Light. A song of longing and desire is that, and one that gives account of the yearning of the Eldar in the darkness of the Hither Lands for the light of the west; for the utmost joy of our people when at first they beheld the Valar in their own land, and of our entreaty to enter again the gates of their city, and walk and dwell a while in their courts.
Then would the gates be opened unto us, and we would all pass through; first the Vanyar, then the Noldor, then any of the Teleri with us. Varda Elentári herself would welcome us, and we would walk among the Maiar and be led to the feasting in the great halls of our hosts. This had been the way of things for every seven years; from a time before my birth, and much pleasure and delight did I take in participating. I had with me then the copper circlet that Aulë had given me, and the red cloak, that was also a sign of his favour and I wished to honour him and my father's people by entering the city with the Aulenduri, as one of their number, instead of with the king's house, on this occasion. I wanted to enter the city as I had as a small child in the year of my birth, and not so done since my marriage.


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


Although I had set out with Fëanáro and our sons, and mounted on the dappled mare I oft rode, in the vanguard of the procession, soon had I drawn back to find my parents. I chose to walk with them for a while. The party of King Finwë, all clad in raiment of festival, and adorned with fine jewels, ever led this parade from Tirion, and so did the king ride at the head of the cavalcade with his two sons, now on either side of him. Indis and Findis rode close behind, with care on this occasion, as Indis was once more with child. For the first time did Maitimo and Makalaurë ride to the side of their father, and most proudly, for this was the first of the great festivals since before Maitimo's birth. Both those sons were eager to participate, and to behave in a manner that brought honour upon Fëanáro. Though Maitimo was almost as old as I had been when I wed, yet was Makalaurë still but a small child, and he looked at all around him with most eager eyes. Though he would wish to be part of everything that transpired, yet first, at that age, would he always follow Russandol.


Now Maitimo had grown from a beautiful child into a tall and well-formed nér, and many at the court in Tirion looked upon him with much favour. Yet most content with his life was he, and of a mood that there was no hurry to find his life’s companion. Nay, he did not even seek to find a particular nís to whom he wished to be betrothed, and wed at a later date. Much later, indeed, was Maitimo to give of his heart's love; almost too late, as it so transpired. So he mixed freely, and spoke courteously, with great insight to all. Yet he, of course, wished to cause no one pain, and became increasingly careful of his manner around those nissi who seemed drawn to him. So proud was I of him: of them all! For even Fëanáro was speaking at that festival with Nolofinwë, though with no great warmth. Yet for the sake of his father, for the sake of the festival, did he endeavour to make more enquiries of his half-brother's concerns than was usual.

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

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

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

"So I am to expect another grandchild soon, Nerdanel? Mayhap this time it will be a wendë?"
"Nay, mother!" I had blushed at the trap I had set myself, and Taurlotë laughed in turn.

"Aye; you will have more children, even if they are yet some time away."

We already had two fine sons, and neither Fëanáro nor I were in any rush to add to our family as then. Though did I know his mind, and that he hoped for us to bring forth at least another child, yet was it many years before Tyelkormo* was born. And never did we raise the daughter my mother wished us to have. Ai: at times did I wonder how our lives would have been if we had been parents of daughters? (Seven daughters! Now would that have not altered Fëanáro's mood somewhat? But idle fancies are such thoughts, and as often, I digress from my purpose.)


****

As we journeyed that day, did I walk and talk with many of my friends, and some whom I had not seen as often as I would have liked. Tulcon and Mötamë were parents themselves, of a son but a little younger than Makalaurë. Serewen was with child, the first and only one she was to bear. Narwasar walked with us, in his usual stoic frame of mind, though my mother had whispered to me of her hopes that yet would she encourage him in a relationship, and that she had in mind a particular nís! A daughter of a friend of hers, a young nís by the name of Calimanandë, was she contemplating introducing to our steadfast chief stonemason. This Calimanandë was a daughter of a house most devoted to Yavanna, and to the pastures and sheep that provided wool for the weavings of many ladies in Tirion, and for Vairë herself, and a determined and interesting character did she sound to me. Rarely did we intervene in matters of the heart for others, but there were some, Narwasar being one of them, who would dearly like to give of their love, and yet had not the mood to easily find another with whom they had great affinity.

By the time my parents and I had arrived at the surrounds of Valmar, most folk were sitting in groups upon the lawns, and a few pavilions, and canopied enclosures had been set up, wherein the Lords of both Vanyar and Noldor might meet. Soon would I need to be seen in the tents of King Finwë, with my lord and our sons. But for a time did I sit and talk, and still with the Aulenduri, until Makalaurë came to fetch me.

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

"Away then, indyo*, for a smith can only contend with so many princes bowing before him on one day, and do I not expect Maitimo to join us later."

Urundil delighted in his grandsons, as I have already said. The princes of the house of Urundil, did he sometimes say to me, with much amusement, yet with great regard of their status.

Now did Makalaurë wish to confer with me, again, on that which he had hoped to be a delight for his father. For he had been asked by Finwë to sing at the gathering, and before both Finwë and Ingwë, and the whole assembly. A great honour was this, for normally did both Vanyar and Noldor put forth the best of their bards and singers for this occasion, and he was very young. Aimeno was to sing first from the Vanyar, then Findis, first of the Noldor, for she had inherited her mother's sweet voice. But King Finwë was not unaware of the growing skills of his grandson. After Findis’ song, was Makalaurë to present a rendering of the Song of Aman, which had been given us by the Maia, Lirillo.

"Much do I wish to honour my king and grandsire's trust in me, " Makalaurë said, as he matched his pace to mine. At that time was he still only at the height of my waist, though he was to grow rapidly the following year. "But even more do I wish to please my father, that he may know my skills are of value even though I do not work in crafting as does he and Maitimo."

"Your father knows that already! And also that your music is a form of crafting," said I gently. Ever did I seek to reassure Makalaurë in the earliest of years that his gifting, though different to his father's, was still extraordinary. "You were filled with an echo of the Music from before you were born, and your father understands that as well as do I. Mayhap my name for you should have been Fëalindo*, for you have a spirit of song within, even as your father has a spirit of fire!"

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

"Mother?"

"Aye, my son!"

"Will you not reconsider, and walk with us this festival? It is the first Maitimo and I have attended, and I, --and we-- would rather enter Valmar as a family. "Still did Makalaurë lower his gaze, his thick, dark hair falling forwards to obscure his features from my view.

I had not truly considered the wishes of my sons in my intended actions I then thought. Saddened was I at my lack of care.

"I cannot, Makalaurë, for I have given my word to Urundil, and it is in order to honour Aulë that I do so. Next festival, then shall we be together!"

I knew my words had not sounded as convincing as I had meant them to, but I knew not what else to say. For a moment did I think my son would add to his comments, but then he sighed, and made to look joyful again.

"As you wish, lady and mother."

So did my second son and I make our way across the vast lawns, through the assembled hosts of Noldor to the tents of King Finwë.


****


"Fëanáro! Would you rather I was with you, and our sons? Would you rather that I did not seek to walk with the Aulenduri this festival?"

So much on my mind had been Makalaurë's plea, and so saddened was I at my thoughtlessness, that I sought again the opinion of my husband.

"Already have we spoken of this, Nerdanel," he whispered in reply. By then were the Kings of the Eldar and their families seated on chairs upon the lawns, and awaiting the commencement of the bards retelling of the great journey. "Proud am I that you are an Aulendur, and, if it is your wish to walk with those other servants of Aulë, then I understand. My father also understands; only would I say, do not seek to distance yourself from us at every festival!"


We had already spoken, and, as often, had he sought to encourage me, and not restrain me in any way from following my wishes. But this was different! Fëanáro and Finwë understood, but my sons did not!

"Do you not think I should have been more aware of Maitimo and Makalaurë? For this is their first time at the festival, and mayhap we should be together as a family?" I persisted, in an attempt to assuage my guilt.

Fëanáro sighed. He turned from the introduction now being made by the herald of King Ingwë, and spoke in fëa. "My lady and wife; our sons know that you love them greatly, and that ever do you care for them. Be who you are, and in that know you please them, and me!"

No more conversation was possible without great lack of courtesy, not even of that more private form. The first of the singers made to stand in the clearing between the seats of the lords, and the vast crowds who sat upon the grass. So did we give of our full attention, and listen with much pleasure. Some of the songs then presented were new of composition, but others, those that evoked memories of old from those amongst us who had first lived in the Hither Lands, and without the light of the Trees.

Findis sang of the glory of Taniquetil, a song of praise to Manwë and Varda. So full of light and joy was her lay that all rose to their feet when she had ended, and applauded her. And there was a sense of delight, of mirth even, which seemed to come upon us all! Then did Makalaurë stand forth, with his harp in his hand. So small did he seem in the face of that multitude, who must surely have believed no great music could come from a child. But he would not be daunted by them, and so raised up his voice with a sweetness, and the hint of a power yet latent, and despite their earlier joy, now were all stilled.

Fëanáro's hand was upon my forearm. Proud was he indeed, but he spoke no word. The Song of Aman that Makalaurë weaved, with words and music that came as if from the Valar themselves, held all enthralled, and brought us from glory into glory. In his song did we gaze first upon the primordial light of the stars of Varda, then fly above the high mountains, as if with the eagles and hawks of Manwë, and plummet to the rich depths of the earth. We swam as if in the seas of Ulmo, and walked the forests alongside Oromë. And at the end, was an echo of Yavanna’s song of power, poured forth for the creation of the Trees, so that all thoughts were drawn towards Ezellohar, and the festival that was almost upon us. None rose to their feet when he had finished, none applauded, and he walked silently away, to take seat beside Maitimo, but still with his head held high. Though, as I turned my gaze to follow him, I saw that Maitimo offered him soft-spoken words of encouragement, for many minutes did no one else make a sound. I could feel the tenseness in my husband, as he waited for the crowd's response to our son's offering. Then, at last, did King Ingwë rise from his seat.

"This day, have we heard music that was surely an echo of the Great Music!" said that noble lord. "Never before in my hearing has anyone sung with such skill, that I can but hardly bring myself to speak, so moved am I." He turned, and made a low bow to Finwë, "Thank you, my friend, for such a display of skills, and from your family."

Then did the entire crowd rise to their feet, and loud indeed was their applause. But Makalaurë sat beside his elder brother, and lowered his gaze, though a slight and secret smile touched the corner of his lips.

"He will improve in skill as he comes to maturity," Fëanáro spoke up, against the noise of the applause. "His voice has not yet the power to do such a song justice, but a satisfactory effort has he made."

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


****

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

Ingwë and Finwë stood forth before their people, as they had stood first amongst the Eldar in the presence of the Valar. As the light of Telperion started to wax, was I ready to join in the Song of Light.

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

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

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

So fixed was his attention that he spoke not, but his eyes were unusually full of merriment. Leaning slightly forwards, could I notice that both our sons had equally amused expressions on their faces.

Then did King Ingwë give the signal, and we all burst forth into song!

****

"But there is still time! Mother, there is still time for you to speak with him again. You must know that he wants you with us!"

Makalaurë was tightening his sword belt and picking up his dark blue cloak in a hurry to be away. He was drawn of expression, that thoughtful son of mine. Drawn with angst at what was happening to us all, and that he could do little but follow his father, follow Russandol, as he ever had.

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

My son looked across the room at me with disbelief. "That is not so. Never has it been so! Think on what your decision means, for if you come with us, then mayhap will the others of our nissi?"

A small portrait, and of his own beloved, did Makalaurë then pick up, and place with grim faced reverence into a second cloak, which he was rolling up to carry on his back. Few items indeed did he take with him from our home, for had his father not said `Journey light, but bring your swords!"

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

"Will you not reconsider? Come with us, mother!" Makalaurë, he who had always been most close to me, made his last plea. But unlike Maitimo, he did not understand. "Mayhap Nolwen is immovable, but if you change your course then Turindë will of a certainty follow Carnistir, and my lady..." His voice trailed off, betraying the torn emotions he felt that his wife, also, had refused to leave Valinor; had in fact begged him to stay.

So aware was I that there was no time for further talk. The crowds were assembling on the concourse, and the sound of many feet and many voices echoed through the mist filled streets.

"I cannot leave. I cannot come with you, though to remain does break my heart," said I, willing myself to be strong. For what if I did change my mind, what if I did go even at this late time, and repent of the words I had spoken in anger to my husband? I could be with them again; I could be with all my sons unto whatever end they were travelling! For an instant did I waver.

Seeing my hesitation, Makalaurë spoke further. "If you had been there, if you had been at Formenos and seen what was done, what that evil that robbed us of wit and will, what Moringotho himself, did to our grandsire; if you had seen the house broken and ravaged and the chamber or iron torn apart, differently would you think."

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

"But I was not there!" said I, with determination not to succumb, adding `then!' in my thoughts. Swiftly did I reach out to my son, and Makalaurë came close to me so that I could kiss his brow, and bless him on his journey."I wish the path before you were an easier one, and always have I wished you joy, my dear one."

He kissed me in turn, and a wry smile touched the corners of his lips. "When we have done what needs to be done, when we have vengeance and the Silmarils are restored to us, and Arda is safe from Moringotho once again, then will I return for you and for my wife. I will come back for you both!" he stated with such determination that I almost believed him. But I strongly suspected that, once he left the shores of Aman, never would he return again in hröa.

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

My golden voiced son was gone. "Farewell, Makalaurë!" said I "May the Valar yet watch over you." I knew not whether that plea could be answered, for so far beyond the love of the Valar did I believe my family had put themselves through the uttering of that accursed oath.


All years are Valinorian years.
Makalaurë = Maglor
Maitimo = Maedhros
Wirilomë = Ungoliant
Tyelkormo = Celegorm
Nolofinwë = Fingolfin
indyo = Grandchild.
Fëalindo = Spirit of Song, I think
Tyelpinquar = Celebrimbor

Regarding the celebration of the festival, I have used ideas from both HoME 1 and The Silmarillion. I am implying that there was a festival every seven years in Valmar, to celebrate the gathering of first fruits, and to praise Eru. Also, was the arrival of the Noldor and Vanyar in Aman celebrated at this time.(HoME 1), But every twenty-one years there was a feast of the greatest magnificence, lasting seven days, upon Taniquetil

Chapter Sixteen. Maitimo.



(Still can't upload pictures!)

I think I am still adjusting to not being at work! Not that I am complaining about it, but it is taking a bit of getting used to. I am trying really hard to sort out, and follow, a routine that allows me to rest, (well, I HAVE just come out of teaching!), to get stuff done on the house, to read up on things, to write and to visit with friends. What a wonderful life I am having at the moment!

But I AM still very tired, and didn't realise how long it would take to get things in order. At the moment I am mostly miffed with the computer. I had a problem accessing the net for two days; so I got lots of theraputic 'de-toxing' of my environment done, (recyled lots of now unwanted teaching files and lesson plans!), and started on the garden, (window box first!), but it was so difficult not to keep going to my study to try and log on!

And now that is sorted, my key board is playing up! It gets too much use, my husband said! But he has just ordered me two replacements. :-)

Another strange thing I have found is that I have a real desire to re-read a lot of the books I enjoyed in my teenage years. I do re-read stories I enjoy, sometimes several times, but I like to move on to new horizons as well. I have found that this recent bought of re-reading has awakened a lot of my old ideas and hopes and dreams. Though I am no longer a teenager, I am getting back some of my enthusiasm from that time. Whether or not this will be a good thing, time will tell!




Chapter Sixteen. Maitimo.


(Disclaimer: All of the characters, the main scenarios and the timelines are, of course, the wonderful creations of JRR Tolkien. Only this interpretation of the story and the mistakes are mine. Arnónë is my character. Ondoriel, Narwasar, and Elemáinië are my beta reader’s characters, and I thank her for their use. All references are from The Silmarillion and HoME 10 and 12.)



“Seven sons she bore to Fëanor; her mood she bequeathed in part to some of them, but not to all.”

(Of Fëanor and the Unchaining of Melkor. The Silmarillion. JRR Tolkien. HarperCollins ed.p65)




The house of Curufinwë Fëanáro. Tirion. Seventh Age.



How can a mother say farewell to her children, knowing that, in all probability, she will not see them again? What are the right words for such a parting? ‘Namarië’? * It does not suffice! My sons, who were born of the Blessed Realm, were being led forth by their father to take war and vengeance against Moringotho, to turn their backs upon Aman and set as naught the love and care of the Valar. Despite my best efforts, I had not been able to alter Fëanáro’s determined course of action in any way; neither had I managed to persuade him to leave even one of our children with me. I knew that I had lost them all! But I do not think I fully appreciated what the warning of Aulë: ‘Take no part in the rebellion, for it will lead only to death’*[1], was to mean until very many years later. For part of the ‘freedom’ that Fëanáro was leading them all to, was the ‘freedom’ to face death, and its consequences. And the oath; that blasphemous oath of hate and possession our sons had all freely taken in support and love of their father, I little knew what that would come to mean!


Was it in my mind that, in time, I would seek to follow them? That I would follow him, even as Fëanáro had said I would? Nay! If with any conscience I could have gone with my family, I would have so done at that time. Was I not aghast at the destruction of the Two Trees? Did I not grieve for the murder of King Finwë, and for the destruction at Formenos? Did I not then want vengeance as much as almost any other? I knew that Finwë and the Silmarils were dear beyond words to my husband, and I hated Moringotho* for what he had done to us all. Particularly did I hate that Dark Enemy for what he had done to poison my husband’s heart over the last years. But I would not rebel against the Valar; I would not act in accordance with the Marrrer, for in so doing would I become a tool of the Enemy himself. Nor would I betray Aulë; for an oath I also had made, and to that did I needs must hold.


“And what of the oath that thou didst make unto me on the day we were wed? Hast thou forgotten that solemn promise in thy loyalty to those who would keep us as thrall? Though it take many hundred years, yet in the end wilt thou remember thy promise to me with no small sorrow; wilt thou remember who and what thou art, lady!” had Fëanáro said unto me in that, our final meeting.

A reminder of Námo Mandos’ words unto him at his first exile was he making. A reminder that he considered me the one deceived; the one disloyal. “Though thou doest freely desert me and for a second time, thou wilt come after me, and after our sons. For in thy heart thou knowest where thy loyalty should lie, even as thou didst know in thy seeking of me at Formenos. Once thou doest see the cloud of half-truths with which Aulë has cozened thee and thy kin for what they are, thou, too, wilt attempt to follow. Aye, and mayhap I will be of a mood to heed thee when thou dost truly recall what it is to be my wife, instead of a stranger!”

Harsh words we both spoke on that day, Fëanáro and I. Words born of unbearable pain, and of anger, and of thwarted hopes. But of that event will I write in due course.

****

In urgency had I tried to find all of our sons before the host left Tirion. Carnistir* and Curvo* had I spoken with before I left the house, though Carnistir had parted from me in hope that I would be travelling with them. Curvo was never so easily fooled. Nigh as clear-sighted as his father was he in such matters. Yet five more sons were there that my heart drove me on to find, to encounter one last time before that sundering that was, by then, unavoidable. Difficult it was, however, for the darkness still seemed to have hold on hearts and on minds, draining all life and will into itself. My own heart was empty of light, my feet weighed as if with a chain of the essence of that darkness. But I was determined; I would endure this foul night as best I could, and offer whatever blessings possible to those I loved most dearly.

To say ‘farewell’ was my wish, not to try further to dissuade any from leaving. I knew after my words with Fëanáro that nothing I could say to my family would deter them. What could I have said that they had not heard already? How could I have reached Carnistir*, devoted to me though he was, when Turindë was likely to accompany him? In what manner could I have implored Curvo* that Nolwen had not already tried? Even Makalaurë*, even he had heeded not the plea of his lady wife! Nay, always first to them, always their bright flame was their father, and in that time of the greatest darkness and despair, to him alone did they look for light. That, I understood. For was it not in my heart, also, to look to him for a way forward? If only he had still trusted in the Valar enough to wait upon their reaction. If only his grief and anger had not driven him into folly beyond measure, into adding to the marring; I would have followed him wherever he led; even unto the ends of Arda, but not against the will of the Valar, and not against the constraints of wisdom. So it was, that we two must forever be parted.


I remember coming upon Maitimo*, leaving our house for the final time. Striding across the narrow bridge that spanned the waterfalls, and heading towards the main steps was he, sword at his side, red cloak and copper-brown hair flying back in his hurry. A great sense of purpose did he have, being commissioned by Fëanáro, as my husband had earlier told me, to order the ranks of those still loyal to our House. Maitimo would keep watch on those lords of Nolofinwë who would yet cause further dissention. For our eldest son, who had felt most keenly the anguish of not being able to prevent the death of his grandsire at Formenos, neither prevent the theft of the Silmarils in his father’s absence, was this focus of action most welcome.

He saw me at once, and drew close, pushing his way through a gathering group, sweeping me a low and most elegant bow of acknowledgement. But his bright, expressive eyes, as he stood again upright, held much sorrow.

“I understand your decision, lady and mother, though with all my heart do I wish you had chosen otherwise, and were yet coming with us.”

There was no time for pleasantries, no time for discussion. “Look after them, Maitimo!” had I uttered with all the dignity yet left to me. I lightly kissed his cheek, but then made to step back, not wishing to act in any manner that would dishonour him before the others he must command, or distress him further. “Look after your brothers, aye, and your father, if it be possible.”

I noted the pained expression on his face. So much had our sons endured since the attack of Moringotho, so much sudden darkness. And Maitimo, alone, knew of the true difficulties, and of the recent reconciliation, between his father and myself. He knew of my hopes for the great festival, which had slowly died, not with the light, but at Fëanáro’s open call for rebellion. He knew this parting from husband and children would break what was left of my heart.

The flickering light of passing torches, held aloft by those whose blood had been fired by the fierce and stirring words of my husband, made strange, golden, shadows upon my son’s face and hair, made him look, in some manner, already less real to me. Almost as a dream it was, and one from which I hoped to soon awaken. But there was to be no awakening for me from that long night. Not then: in some ways not ever! My son simply nodded acknowledgement of my plea.

“Farewell, dear mother!” And now was the urgency of the situation, the crowd of those hurrying past us, towards the stairs to the main gate, full upon him. “If you see Ondoriel, tell her that I am sorry. Tell her that I must do this thing, for I will not fail my father again.”

I nodded in turn; thinking now of the daughter of Narwasar, whom I knew had given her heart’s love to this son of mine in her youth, and now would not see her dreams come to fruition.

“Until our next meeting!” Maitimo held my eyes for a moment longer, and I realised from the rasp of his voice that he thought I would not long endure in hröa. He raised his right hand briefly in a gesture of blessing, however, and I did likewise. With those wistful words did my eldest son, my beautiful one, depart my presence forever.


****


The years following the birth of Nolofinwë* (for Finwë was soon to prefix the stem of the word ‘wisdom’ to the name of his second son, as he had prefixed ‘skilled’ to his first!), were, for the most part, good ones for us. Once his initial reaction of anguish and resentment had passed, Fëanáro continued in his own way, pursuing the improvement of his skills of hands and his knowledge of lore with great delight. Though he often worked alone, did we also continue to explore the land of Aman together. Often did we visit with Aulë in those years, and, sometimes, with Oromë. While at the halls of that Vala, in the vast woodlands to the south of Valmar, I would spend much time with those Maiar who were part of his folk, with one called Pallando in particular, and from them did I learn more of the nature of animals, and some small part of the ability to communicate with horse and hound and bird. Oromë, alone at that time, kept a stable of fine black horses, and many large and intelligent wolfhounds. I had always had much fondness for such animals, though were these bred for the chase, for the hunt of ‘fell creatures’, Oromë had told us. I had wondered then why he so spoke. For though there had most certainly been need in past years for the pursuance of such beings, and in the Hither Lands before our people had departed them, no harm could now befall us in the Blessed Realm, no ‘fell creatures’ walked in Aman; so did I believe.


In Tirion, although we lived apart from Finwë, Indis and their children, we were not totally separated from them. Still was the love between father and son a strong and deep thing, and Finwë would pay us visit, sometimes with Findis, but never with Nolofinwë. We also continued to spend time at feasts and at festivals in his halls, for we were still part of the king’s family, and Fëanáro still his eldest, his most beloved son. I did at times ponder what it must have meant for the growing Nolofinwë to know, but subtly, that he was always second best in his father’s heart? It was not a good thing, and it laid ground for his resentment as much as Finwë’s second marriage had for Fëanáro.


I sought to speak with Indis at one minor feast Fëanáro and I attended. We had been seated at the long table that had been placed upon the dais at the head of the great hall: Finwë and all of his family. But Fëanáro sat to his father’s right hand, and Indis to his left, with Nolofinwë and Findis beyond her. To Fëanáro alone did Finwë speak for much of the time, and at other times was there much strained silence. Attendants had served us with a wide range of delightful and tempting food, with meats and with fruits, with bread and with sweet delicacies laced with wild honey. Rich wine there had been in abundance. The bards had sung most beautifully, and many a tale had been recited which should have drawn much applause. The musicians had played tunes that begged for the dance, but few of Finwë’s lords assembled there rose to their feet, and took their lady’s hand. Despite the festival, the comfort and honour offered, the potent wine; it was it a most gloomy affair.

Then did I notice that the three* year old Nolofinwë had pushed back his chair, and was staring with much thought and consideration at my husband. I knew that would never do.

“Fëanáro! If you care not to eat at this time, will you not dance with me?” I drew my own chair closer to my husband, and whispered most softly to his hearing alone.

“No mood am I in for food or for dance, lady. And before you say it; I love my father greatly, but on this day, this celebration, this company, I care not for overmuch.”

I was not so easily deterred, however. The alternative, of his noting Nolofinwë’s assessing glance, was more likely to cause disturbance than my encouraging him to be more forthcoming.

“This heaviness does naught for the honour of your father You may care not for the feast, but as the chief prince here, do you not think you have a responsibility to see it becomes a celebration, to lighten the mood of this gathering of lords, if it may be done? Nolofinwë cannot so do, at least not as well as you, Finwion.”

He always knew the game I played, though he knew not then how closely he was being watched, and doubtless thought I spoke because I was embarrassed. But I lay a hand on his, and gestured again to the dance floor. “You never fail to impress my family at the celebrations of the Aulenduri, my lord.”

“The Aulenduri are easily impressed!” But he appeared thoughtful, and saw the possibility of changing the dour expressions on the faces of the many lords as a challenge that only he could meet. “Very well then, lady. You shall have your way, and mayhap you will change the mood of more than just myself this day.”

He rose to his feet, and called for the musicians to begin again, and with music that spoke of a formal group dance that needed some few couples to participate.

“Let us bring life to this place then, Nerdanel,” said he, holding out a hand to me.

Moving to the centre of the great hall, we did honour to Finwë with the expectant eyes of many upon us So we began the dance, and many a lord and lady joined with us, and soon enough was the place full of chatter and some laughter, and folk began to make merry, as was right and proper. At one turn in the second dance, did I notice Nolofinwë’s assessing glance now upon me, and he smiled slightly, and inclined his head in some small act of acknowledgement. I think I liked him then, and saw a hint of the wisdom his father had named him for. But I did not say as much to Fëanáro.

As the groups mingled, and Fëanáro began to speak more lightly with some of those lords who were his friends, I took opportunity to draw aside with some few of the ladies, and to speak with Indis. “What is to be done?” said I. “For your son does not receive the recognition he should when my husband is present.”

Indis sighed. She knew there was little either of us could do to alter the mind or behaviour of Finwë, who still saw in Fëanáro the reminder of his first love, of Míriel, and had transferred all his love for her to their son. “Nolofinwë will be true to his father-name.” she replied, “and he is wise enough to know that, though it is a lesser love, yet still does his father love him most dearly.”


****


Now Nolofinwë himself grew swiftly, in the image of his father from the start. Tall and dark of hair, though with grey eyes was he. Proud of bearing too, was this second son, as befitted one of the king’s family. But, as with his sister, he had yet something of his mother’s nature about him, something perhaps of a less intense and impulsive mood than Fëanáro. He was another who loved to study, though he was never as learned as my husband, nor did he seek to craft with his hands. But Nolofinwë was a most sociable nér, and considerate of the needs of others around him; so did he grow to be loved by many. He was often foremost in the sports in his early youth, most particularly in riding, though he frequented the arena but rarely. A strong horseman was he, and little was there to choose between half-brothers in that skill.


It seemed but a short time before Finwë’s second son had reached maturity, and with the swift passing of years, did the increasing likelihood of his seeking to wed, and start a family of his own, arise. Yet in no hurry did he seem to be. Unlike Fëanáro, he was content enough with the life he then had, and though he spoke with and was well liked by the ladies of the court, to none did he seem inclined to give his heart’s love. Then, in his nineteenth year, he became betrothed to Anairë, the daughter of Essilon, one of his foremost lords, and a loremaster of the heavens who was, unusually for a Noldo, most devoted to Varda.


****


It came to pass in those days that my husband began to speak with me in earnest of his wish for us to bring forth a child.

“Long have we waited before beginning a family of our own, yet you have known of my wish to bring forth children from the start. I would ask if you would consider of us getting of a child in the near future?” Fëanáro had found me on the second terrace of our gardens. Sitting under an apple tree at the time was I, and then considering a meeting I had attended of those Aulenduri who abode in the city. He had sat upon the lawns beside me, under the shade of the tree, and sought to speak with me most eagerly.

“Aye, my lord!” I replied, a smile touching my lips. “Of this have I know. And you should not need to ask, but know that most willing am I to bear your children.”

He drew closer, and took up my hand to his lips, in acknowledgement of my comment. “Mayhap I need not ask, but I will do so out of courtesy, lady and wife. Though strong enough are you now, I deem, that childbearing should cause no great weakness, yet do I not know what may happen? Never would I wish upon you what befell my mother, Nerdanel; nay, neither would I wish bereavement upon myself again.”

I had always known of that tension in my husband’s heart; his longing to be a father, and his concern that any child of his would be so strong in spirit that it would consume she who carried it. But I had no such fear. I did not understand loss as he did. And in truth, I had longed for a child for some time.

“First before my father nigh every day is my half-brother, in discussion, in counsel, in requests. I will not have him first with a grandchild!” Fëanáro made reference to the simmering resentment he still felt, but which had rarely shown itself, save in occasional outbursts that I successfully calmed through wise choice of words.

“Nay, my lord! Findis may yet wed, and bear a child before her brother.” I had spoken lightly, for though this was possible, we knew that Findis was most devoted to her mother, and in no great hurry to find a spouse of her own.

“Findis will wed later in years, if she weds at all,” Fëanáro had replied, showing a greater understanding of his half-sister than I realised. “But my half-brother is betrothed to that most pious daughter of Essilon, and will wed soon enough. The elder son of Finwë am I, and would have our children unarguably the elder, also.”

I understood well the situation, and Fëanáro’s concerns. No need was there for him to say more!


****


Though at that time had Fëanáro been most immersed in considering the work of my father upon that device with which to better observe the stars, he became increasing restless to be away from the city. Still, on many journeys was I his companion, so it was that we both rode out, down through the Calacirya, intending to venture far north. Many of the Noldor had begun to wander the further reaches of the plains of Valinor, but at that time few had travelled much on the steep, eastern side of the Pelóri, on the coastlands that stretched from Alqualondë to the Grinding Ice. A mystery to be investigated it therefore was, and one Fëanáro wished to see for himself. Araman was said to be a cold and barren shadow-land, with few features of note. The light of the Trees did not reach that place, and before we had even passed the Swan Harbour of the Teleri, were we under starlight alone.

We made our first camp just north of Alqualondë. Dismounting our oft ridden horses, who then roamed thereabouts in search of whatever tender grass they could find on the heights, we sat ourselves upon a slight incline, over a ledge, and from which most wondrous views of the city, and the Bay of Eldamar might be had.

Though he had spoken of matters general upon our travels thus far, my husband had shown signs that his thoughts were still most occupied. Upon that viewpoint did he divulge more of his concerns, and his plans, to me.

“Like an island of life, a focus of creation, does Arda seem within Eä. So would I know more of the heavens! I would that I could see them with vision as of an eagle in flight, and what lies ahead and beyond, even in Aman. But first would I see clearer in this darkened shadow-land before us. To that end am I thinking on how to make crystals, as those our masons have dug from the earth, but greater and more radiant.” His elegant fingers moved to touch Laicasar, which he oft times wore about his neck. “As of your crafting of this gem, and mine of Nármirë would I work, but not merely to pour will and form into an existent stone, rather to make of one from skill.”

I listened most attentively, adding comment where I could, and telling him again of my own crafting with Aulë. Not that there was much I could add to his knowledge, even in those early days. But long had we ridden, and hungry was I. So did I make to take out some of the provisions from our travel packs: bread, smoked meat and dried fruit, (though we always carried waybread for such journeys), and set them out upon a shared platter. We drank a little from our water bottles, and Fëanáro pulled forth from his pack a smaller bottle of amber limpë.

“We travel most well equipped, my lord?”

“We travel as is needful, and as befits us,” he replied, taking out also a silver goblet, filling it with the limpë, and offering it to me

Not often did we partake of such indulgence upon our travels, but that day was almost as a celebration. For it seemed, in the act of departing Tirion, a weight of tension had been lifted from my lord, and he became of merrier mood.

“To journeying, Fëanáro?” I took a sip of the rich and refreshing wine, passing the goblet back to him.

“To freedom!” His comment held a note of yearning, and was rather unexpected. I knew not then in what manner he had felt a lack thereof? “To journeys to places unknown,” his eyes met mine over the rim of the goblet, “and to she who is my companion.”

Even before partaking of the limpë, had a strange, and most contented mood come upon me. So did we sit and converse awhile longer, and he still of the stars, and we both took note of the city spread along the coast, that lay before us. It was so beautiful, Alqualondë, I thought, for the entrance to the harbour was a sea-carved arch of living rock, lit by a multitude of candles that reflected in darkened water and on the pearl encrusted buildings: most especially on the mansion of King Olwë. White ships there were in the harbour, made in the likeness of swans with beaks of gold and I wondered if, at that time, the Uinenlindë was moored there?

“You think on your Teler friend!” Fëanáro halted his discourse, reading my thoughts, though little skill it took to guess them.

“Aye, Finwion,” I replied. “I hope his life is a good one, and that the Valar have blessed him with joy.”

“As do I!”

I was astonished at my husband’s words, for I had never thought he had given Gaerion much consideration.

He explained further. “I took from him that which he wanted beyond all, and, though I have no regret for so doing, I hope he has found happiness elsewhere.”

I felt the familiar colour rise to my face, and lowered my eyes at Fëanáro’s words. He smiled, as ever, at the ease with which he could discomfort me, but of courtesy, and of will, he turned to another matter.

“Of late have I made study of the Namna Finwë Míriello*, the records of the Valar’s debate concerning the nature of my parent’s union.” The smile faded in that instant, his eyes narrowing, as if he were considering some argument with one he had little time for. “I have noted that which, it is recorded, the Valar spoke forth, each one of them in turn. Though some most interesting and enlightening comments were made, yet does one, of now, hold my thoughts. For Námo Mandos said of the sundering of my parent’s marriage that Indis the fair would be made glad and fruitful, and that her children will also be great and Arda more glorious because of them!”

Alas, I had not realised he had so studied, thinking him occupied solely with crafting, and having no interest in the Valar’s statute once he accepted his father’s determination to re wed. So simple must I have been in thought, to not realise that one of such brilliant mind would seek to understand all that pertained to his situation. But I had not then read of the work recorded by the loremasters, speaking of it but briefly with my mother, and on one occasion with the sage, Istyaro, who I gone to hear speak. What to say, to bring comfort to my lord when I knew not the full facts?

“I hear thee, my love.”

Then it came to me, and that I could speak with him of the words of another of the Mighty Ones. “Mandos says that Indis will be glad and fruitful, but Yavanna has also spoken on a similar matter to me.”

Fëanáro turned sharply, to focus hardened gaze upon me. He suspected I had further news of Indis, but it was not so.

“These words did Yavanna Kementári say unto me, and at a time before thou hadst spoken to me of marriage: ‘I say to thee truly: thou shalt bear much fruit, whichever of the two roads ahead thou chooseth to take, and thy creations will be renowned in this land, and mayhap in others.’”

“Two roads?”

“Aye, my lord! That of an Aulendur, or that of your wife.”

“But you are both!” he stated. Yet from his changed expression I knew he was already thinking as I had hoped. He was thinking of ‘much fruit’, and that the renowned creations of mine could as well be our children-to-come, as any skill of hand.

“Devoted am I to Aulë. But know this, Finwion: I will call upon the Queen of the Earth to give her blessings upon me as a mother before a craftswoman. Mandos has said that Indis’ children will be great and glorious, aye, and I say that any child of thine will be strong and valiant! To this, now add Kementári’s blessings.”

Though my revelation could not change his pondering over Mandos’ words, yet did they bring a heartfelt smile back to his face.



We travelled further north the next day, and for some days, though we were not to reach the far wastes of Araman. Barren indeed did the land become, and featureless compared to Elendë. (The shores close to Alqualondë, even the beaches north of the city, were strewn with all manner of pale gems, with the diamonds and opals that we Noldor had gifted our Teleri friends, and with countless pearls that the Teleri themselves had claimed from the sea.) Our thought it was to continue on our journey at least until we reached the far edge of the Shadowy Seas, but before then did we realise that I was, indeed, with child.

Strange it was, as I remember it now; those first tugs upon my fëa, those first stirrings that heralded a new life forming within me. Our journey was of need broken short, for as soon as we knew did we return. Like children ourselves in our joy were we, but Fëanáro was concerned, still haunted by memories of his mother, that we should be in a place where I could be well cared for and where he could offer me whatever support I needed. Also was he eager to inform his father, and, indirectly, his half-brother, that soon would he have a family of his own.

So, with the due passing of time, was Nelyafinwë born in our house in Tirion. Our firstborn! Maitimo, did I name him, and for me was it love at first sight.


****


It has been said by some that Fëanáro cared not overly for our sons, or that, at the most, Curvo was his favourite and Ambarussa the elder was dear to him, but no more. Do not the Eldar love their children? Does not love, and a deep feeling of kinship, hold our houses together? It was even so: even with my family! So much is made of their later deeds that many find such statements hard to understand.

With a love nigh as true and deep as that for his father did Fëanáro love his sons, but less openly, and in different manner, each one. Curvo was most like him in appearance, in mood, and in skill, and so he could understand our fifth son mayhap better than the others. But in Maitimo burnt a flame second only in brightness to his own, and it was to Maitimo he looked to act in his stead. As soon as he was of an age, was Maitimo to ever be the foremost of his father’s captains. Nelyafinwë had Fëanáro named our firstborn. ‘Third Finwë’, and that was, mayhap, part of the reason why he expected so much? Nelyo was his son, and so better than, and before Nolofinwë and Arafinwë in all things, at least as far as he was concerned.

Maitimo loved his father greatly, and was ever eager to hearken to him, being nigh as devoted to Fëanáro as Fëanáro was to Finwë. If only my husband had appreciated that fact a little more, I sometimes felt. Mayhap part of the issue was that Maitimo was little like the house of Finwë in appearance, save for his eyes and his height. For to our firstborn, much did I bequeath.


Now it is well known, and easily told from his epessë*, that Maitimo had rare copper-brown coloured hair. A rich and deep shade it was, more like unto my father’s than my own. My hair required the light of Laurelin to set its brown to flame, but not so with Urundil and Maitimo. From the first did my son have much of my father’s look about him, both in face and in colouring. As he grew older did he also demonstrate much of my father’s mood of enquiry and thoughtful consideration. Fëanáro seemed not overly concerned with this, for he was a proud father, and had waited long, and with uncharacteristic patience, for his much-desired child. Did not the flame of life burn hot and bright in his son? Did Maitimo not early demonstrate much of his father’s strength and sharpness of thought? In time, also, was this son to be the tallest of the descendents of Finwë, and this he certainly inherited from his sire, for those of my father’s kin were but of average height amongst the Noldor.

Fëanáro had considered that Maitimo would be like him in other ways, and in this was he, to some extent, right. Yet Maitimo was ever my son in appearance, and in his nature to seek understanding, and restrain the more rash impulses of his brothers. Though Makalaurë was most like me in mood, and Ambarussa the younger, yet did Maitimo have much of me about him also. Sometimes I have thought it was part of the problem between father and son in the later days. When Fëanáro and I became estranged, when I would not follow my husband into exile from Tirion, nor later leave Aman with him, yet did he have this son, who looked at him with my features and mannerisms. A constant reminder to him was Maitimo, of that difficult wife of his!

My parents, of course, loved their grandson beyond measure. Only good did they ever see in him. That Maitimo was to follow Urundil in developing fine skills with copper, and eventually becoming an Aulendur himself, only bound further in love one who was already bound fast.

Ai, my beloved, they told me, those who returned from exile at the dawn of the First Age, how Moringotho had deceived you, (though you also had planned to deceive him!), and how he had bound you, in hate and contempt, to the face of a precipice with a hell-wrought band of steel. My mother’s vision became the horror you endured. I cannot think of that! I cannot bear to think of what you suffered before Findekáno* cut you free. For now would I postpone my grief, and write of those golden days, when we were still innocent of the woes of Arda, when we knew not the evil of Moringotho.


****


Maitimo would not take rest. No matter what I had tried, he was intent on staying fully conscious and waving his arms at the flickering shadows on the walls, as the light of Laurelin waxed full. He should have been tired, for we had been most active that day. But he was always full of life and energy, always wanting to be involved in what was going on around him. I had walked the room with him in my arms, and he had laughed at me, and pulled on my hair. I had sat with him, singing a softly comforting song that my mother had sung to me as a babe, but he had waved his arms and legs with even more fervour. Mayhap he found my singing amusing! I should have laid him in his crib and got on with my own work; at least, that is what Fëanáro told me. But I could not bear for him to be out of my sight for long, in those earliest days of his childhood.

So I had taken up implements with which to make elementary sketches of him, for most certainly did I wish to record his likeness in my art. And then he spoke! I should think the first words of any babe are precious to their parents. The young of the Eldar reach mastery of language at a very early age, but I had not expected to hear anything so well pronounced for many days yet. Putting down the paper on which I had intended to sketch his likeness, I moved over to the crib.

“Maitimo, what is that you are saying to me, dear one?” I bent over him with an encouraging smile, though I knew well enough what his first word had been.

He had stopped moving, and looked back at me with wide and questioning eyes.

“Atar*?”

“Your father will be in soon,” I replied, with an answer that I hoped would not become commonplace. “He works still, but much does he love you.” My hand was on the edge of the crib. Maitimo sighed, and grasped hold of my finger tightly.

I recall that I felt a little saddened he had not called upon me first. But then, our son ever held his father in the highest regard, even from the beginning of his life.

Then did Fëanáro himself call out to me, in a loud and impatient voice that echoed though the stillness of our house. “Nerdanel! Come, see my work!”

I would not keep him waiting, for he loved to show off his skills to those he thought would appreciate them. At that time, had he been working on small pale crystals, trying to get them to glow with reflected light as of the brightness of Varda’s stars. But Maitimo was still wide-awake, and I would not leave him lying alone, either.

Picking up our son, whose thick, cooper-brown, hair was curling at the nape of his neck in the warmth, I left the house and crossed over the upper terrace to the workrooms. Clad only in a white shift was I then, for I had thought to take rest myself once Maitimo had succumbed to slumber. I had passed Arnónë, who was heading for the scriptorium. Glad was I that lady of Míriel’s had seen fit to join our household, and I nodded acknowledgement of her and of those three of her attendants who helped with the preparation of food.

Now my husband was all activity; moving from the shadows of the room to the full light of Laurelin with the clear, white stones in his hand, then back again to the table to add to his notes.

“I think I have the answer!” he exclaimed. “Though they are not yet as I envisage, yet will these gems I have made give of a silver-blue light when under the stars. Come, lady; see how they work."

He glanced up from his considerations to briefly look to me, as I stood in the doorway with Maitimo balanced rather precariously on one hip. Our son’s eyes were still wide open, but now unfocused in dream as his fëa ran in that field of delight and innocence which was the preserve of the very young. Resting at last was he, and at the moment he would have wished to be awake.

“Fëanáro! Nelyo was asking for you,” said I, with a pride in the babe’s early mastery of a word. But my husband had not heard my words, so engrossed was he in his crafting.

We had both originally worked on those illuminating crystals upon our return to Tirion. We had even spoken of taking some of the jewels, once ready, to the Teleri in Alqualondë, to assist them in lighting their city and on their journeys upon the Shadowy Seas. But since the birth of Maitimo had Fëanáro continued to work on them alone, I considering myself otherwise occupied.

I sat upon the bench nearest the table, and my husband placed in front of me the two crystals he had worked on in such a manner that they seemed held in a net of blue light.

“There!” he announced with much satisfaction, and stood back, as if seeking my acknowledgement of his skills. “They will give of more radiance under the stars, of course, but are they not the most wonderful of my creations?”

So very pleased with himself was he; so proud of his abilities, now beyond all of the Aulenduri. But he was wrong! I studied the crystals carefully, and saw the intricate crafting and the beauty he had poured into them, as well as the design.

“Aye, my lord!” said I. “They are most certainly a wonder, and much use can be made of them, I think. But I disagree with you.”

He heard that comment, and looked surprised. It was certainly not what he had expected. Rarely did I disagree with him openly at that time.

“Nerdanel?”

Rising to my feet, I placed the sleeping Maitimo in his arms.

“Here is the most wonderful of your creations, Finwion!” I announced with conviction.

There was a strange expression upon my husband’s face, an almost faraway look, as he heeded my words. He took our son without any complaint or disagreement, but then at me did he direct a most searching gaze.

“I had forgotten,” he said, his rich voice suddenly lower and softer in tone. With great satisfaction I watched him cradle Maitimo to himself in a manner that showed me that he, indeed, held this child as something of great value to him.

“What did you forget, my lord?” asked I, in a mood to banter, for never did he forget anything.

“In all the recent activity, of yours as well as of mine, I had forgotten how much I love you.”

Those words had a most warming effect upon me. Instantly disarmed was I from any further wish to provoke. Not that I had doubted him, but he had been so engrossed in his works those recent days he had little time for me or for our son. Then did I think on what he meant by ‘my’ activity. Still was he watching me closely.

“In my delight with our son, have I ignored you, husband?” Dawning realisation was upon me that Fëanáro might work, in part, because he felt excluded. “Are you jealous, yet again, of a babe?” asked I incredulously.

“Jealous? Nay, lady and wife. Save that I crave the closeness I knew as a child, yet do I think if I allow myself to love him greatly, will I lose him. Better to love him less, and have him always.” Fëanáro was not thinking at his most constructive in that moment, but suddenly, pleasure lit his eyes. “He was asking for me, you said! He spoke?”

“His first word was ‘Atar’” I told him, pride mixed with a tinge of ruefulness that it had not been ‘Amillë’*.

That knowledge pleased him considerably, and the proud expression on his face softened, as I watched, into one of undeniable affection.

“Come then, wife,” he laughed. “Let us both put this most wonderful of our creations to rest in his crib.”

The jewels he had made were a wonder, but his mind was on our child and I again, and his work was left as it was for a time.





All years are Valinorian years.

Maitimo / Nelyafinwë = Maedhros
Namarië = Farewell
Moringotho = Morgoth / Melkor
Curvo = Curufin
Carnistir = Caranthir
Makalaurë = Maglor
epessë = aftername, or nickname, given mostly as a title of admiration or honor
Nolofinwë = Fingolfin
Findekáno = Fingon
Atar = Father
Amillë = Mother
Namna Finwë Míriello = The Statute of Finwë and Míriel. This is taken from the debate of the Valar in Morgoth's Ring

[1] The Shibboleth of Fëanor. HoME 12 ‘The Peoples of Middle-Earth. JRR Tolkien. Ed C Tolkien. HarperCollins ed p 354. This is not a direct quote, but Aulë is said to warn Nerdanel’s Father about the rebellion.

(N.B. I am using information in HoME 12, ‘Of Dwarves and Men’; note 7, that says, after a discussion on Celebrimbor, that Maedhros appears to have been unwedded, also the twins. Celegorm was unwedded, as he plotted to take Lúthien as his wife. But Curufin was wedded, and had a son who went with him into exile, though his wife did not. Others who were wedded were Maelor ( Maglor?) and Caranthir.)