Chapter Fifteen: Nolofinwë.


(Still no pictures :-( )

Two posts on the same day! Only it isn't the same day here, it is 'tomorrow'! I had forgotten about that wonderful discrepancy that is British Summer Time!

It has been the quiet sort of day I wanted of late. The weather has improved somewhat, and after a couple of rather loud thunderstorms and some rain, the air is noticably cooler. My father came back from the Cotswolds this afternoon, and we sat and watched the World Cup football for a while. I am not really into football, but the World Cup always has my interest, though I am not always sure which team to support? England is still in the running at the moment though! It was rather nice, sitting with my Dad, and he drinking cider, and me not. We did get a takeaway chinese meal, as I used my 'I am on retreat' excuse to not cook. (Well I was doing my quiet time all morning and early afternoon, and hope to resume tomorrow! ) I sometimes think it is a shame he didn't have a son, and so I think I have tried, as with Nerdanel in the story to be 'both son and daughter to him'. I am NOT taking up building though!



Chapter Fifteen: Nolofinwë.

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 10 and 12)



“To his sons Finwë gave his own name as he had done to Fëanor. This maybe was done to assert their claim to be his legitimate sons, equal in that respect to his eldest child Kurufinwë Fayanáro, but there was no intention of arousing discord amongst the brothers, since nothing in the judgement of the Valar in any way impaired Fëanor’s position and rights as his eldest son.”

(‘The Shibboleth of Fëanor’ HoME 12 The Peoples of Middle-Earth JRR Tolkien. HarperCollins Ed. p343.)


House of Curufinwë Fëanáro. Tirion. Seventh Age



“Let me pass! I will speak with my husband, and now!” The tall guard at the heavy carven doors to the great hall was unmoved by my demand. “You have no authority to prevent me from entering a room in my own house,” I persisted. “Let me pass!”

My determined tone, one I had taken successfully on many occasions with my sons, was to no avail. Another two guards walked briskly along the corridor from the scriptorium, and joined the first one. The powerfully built Vëatuo I recognised from many earlier, and happier, events. From dances and celebrations, aye, from Curvo’s* marriage even! I addressed him instead.
.
“Captain, this nér* does not seem to know who I am. Though he must be the only one in Tirion without that knowledge.” I felt a growing agitation, for I wished most urgently to speak with Fëanáro regarding the escalation in events between our family and that of Nolofinwë * since the recent incident with Ambarussa. *

“I am sorry, Lady Nerdanel.” Vëatuo replied, and indeed did he look as if he was unhappy with what he was about to say. “You are not allowed into the great hall at present. There is a counsel underway of your lord and his advisors.”

“Then should I most certainly be with him.” Hard it was for me to suppress my temper, particularly at the thought of what those advisors would likely be saying. Maitimo would ever try to be a voice of reason, I knew; but he alone could not temper his father’s mood once Fëanáro was set upon a course of action.

“I have orders that you may not enter. This business concerning the attack, it is most serious, and none of the nissi* of the household are to be burdened with it. Not even yourself, or the Lady Nolwen or the Lady Turindë.”

At those words, did all three guards look grim, knowing, no doubt, what my reaction would be. Nonetheless, they stood their ground, for they were more apprehensive of Fëanáro than of me!

“I am not to be burdened with that which concerns my family!” I stated.

But I would not argue with guards who were but following my husband’s orders. Turning from them, with a sweep of my russet gown, I made as dismissive a retreat as I could. Though I suspected this particular development was a result of my recently continued friendship with Indis, I would not be excluded from meetings of import, not when there were many who were so eager to fire the hot blood of my husband, to fill him with thoughts that would lead only to further conflict.

“Always will I listen to thee, vessë*. Always will I, at least, take thy words into account.” That was what Fëanáro had said to me in the early days of our marriage, and of that did I mean to remind him, albeit subtly. But it was not the early days then, it was 1478 of the Years of the Trees, and had I but known it, Moringotho, (Melkor, if you will!), had already been working on his web of entrapment for at least twenty-eight* years. A web of lies was that Vala weaving, and one that would set the two eldest sons of King Finwë against each other, each in their swift growing pride and jealousy of their position in our society, and of their rights.


****.


Now it happened that, after our marriage, we still lived in the house of the king for a short space of time. This was no easy matter, for though Indis returned to her father’s halls to prepare for her own wedding, her presence was already established in the house and in the heart of Finwë. Yet did I observe that the king’s greatest love was always for his son, and Finwë spoke most encouragingly to Fëanáro whenever he could, seeking to know of his welfare, and of his work. Also to me did Finwë now speak, and more often, and with greater warmth. Indeed, did he even indulge me further in my curiosity as to the awakening of our people in the Hither Lands.

“We awoke under the stars, that is true!” he said to me on one occasion, when Fëanáro and I were at table with him. “But what those of the great journey do not always speak of is that it was but a short time before a cloud of darkness hid the stars from us. The light of the stars, of beauty, it lingered the longest in the West, so did we always, and from the earliest times, think of light and beauty as something to be found in the utmost West! Soon enough did we learn that the cloud of darkness was the work of Melkor; and did not the Valar come to our aid?”

“Was there little of beauty to be found in the Hither Lands themselves, my Lord King?” I had respectfully enquired further.

Finwë pondered my question for some few moments before he gave me of an answer. “Beauty there was, Nerdanel! Beauty and joy and dread and sorrow, also!”

Indis had spoken of me to Finwë with high regard, I believed. But, far more convincing than any words, our king saw with his own eyes the effect I was beginning to have upon his son’s temperament. He knew that, at last, there was another who could breach the barrier of arrogant self-will Fëanáro put about himself, and sometimes bring him of wise counsel.

On a particular day, when Fëanáro and I had both intended to be working, and now upon our plans for the high tower of our house, did Finwë call me to one side, to meet with him in his own study. Later would I join my husband and Narwasar, my father’s chief stonemason, at the place that was fast taking on the form of the house that I still behold. (Though I visit Tirion but rarely, Arnónë and her children of the fifth generation have had stewardship of this house since Mernaseldë’s departure. Much care have they taken that little is altered. Still, in her heart, does she believe that at least one of my sons will return in hröa. Though my long years of hope and endurance are all but spent, yet does she who was nursemaid to Fëanáro still have hope. But I digress!)


The bright room of the king’s house that I entered was one I had visited many times before, but always in the company of my husband. Never had the king called me to talk with him alone.

Familiar was I with the main murals that adorned that study: the starlit Cuiviénen on one wall, and a portrayal of Ezellohar on another. Many scrolls and some books were stored upon wooden racks to one side of the room, for Finwë was himself, most learned. He loved to study, especially the lore of language. However, on this occasion did I first notice that the commissioned sculpture of Míriel, which had always held pride of place next to Finwë’s table, was now on a plinth in a corner of the room. The king followed the direction of my gaze.

“Ai, Nerdanel!” he sighed with understanding of my thoughts. “Of respect for my wife-to-be, do I place that sculpture there. By no means does it imply that Míriel is less in my heart than she was, and Indis knows and understands this.”

My thoughts, that the sculpture I had made of Míriel was always upon my husband's table, became spoken words without perhaps due consideration to the person of the king.

“But Fëanáro will not understand! He will perceive this as a slight upon his mother, though he will say not so to you, my Lord King.”

Finwë smiled sympathetically in return, and at my behaviour. “Nerdanel, be not so vehement in rising to the defence of your husband, at least not with me!” He gestured for me to sit upon one of the carven chairs beside his table, though he remained standing. “It is of my beloved son that I would speak, and I know that to be with another who seeks ever his good.”

We spoke briefly of how life was progressing, of my thoughts on our home, and on my plans for our gardens. Then Finwë brought the conversation to the point of my summons.

“Not since the time before Queen Míriel departed us, have I beheld my son so much at peace. He is not one to ever be fully content, I know, for his very nature does but urge him to seek new challenges, new discoveries. Yet under your gentle ministering, lady, is he often of a calmer spirit.”

Finwë crossed to the windows of the room, and for a moment seemed lost in thought. Mayhap he had some foresight himself, for he uttered, “To me shall he always be first, aye, even before Indis, though I hope never to make such a choice!” Then his intense, grey-blue, eyes sharpened with focus as he turned back to face me.

“Nerdanel, there is that which lies before us as a family that I know well will grieve my son. I know that he perceives aught to do with Indis as a slight upon his mother. Of that now must I speak with you, and ask of your support.”

“Of course, my King!” I was as keen as he to seek a way forward in this matter. For did not Fëanáro live and work alongside me with joy and delight, save that, sometimes, when we took rest, would he lay as if in shadow, and I would hold him in my arms as best I could, and speak comfort to him, until his mind sought the path of dreams. So strange it was; for at all other times was he filled in abundance with life and with strength.

"I will wed with the Lady Indis, as I have planned” Finwë continued, “For with her I find my heart is light again, and I have joy. With her do I hope in time, to have more children added unto me. Now do I understand from her that you and she are become friends. This I would encourage. For will you not speak with my son of her, and gently, and over much time, that he may come to understand for himself that she does not replace his mother; that he is still greatly loved, and that I mean to cause no discord in my family?”

I looked down, lost in thought, to my hands and to that slender gold ring upon my finger that was an outward sign of my commitment to Fëanáro. Most difficult was it to consider that Finwë perceived not the extent of the anguish of his son, as did I. But did I not wish to do what Finwë asked, even before he had so spoken?

“My King, I will ever seek to do what you request, but I know not if it can be done with any certainty” Then I spoke most softly, and cautiously. I wanted to speak for my husband, but not in a manner that gave affront to the king, or to Indis. “For Fëanáro’s grief over the loss of his mother is deep, as you are well aware. More time do I think it will take him to know again any peace upon the matter, and far more time, if ever, before he will be able to regard the Lady Indis with any favour.”

“That you try is all I may ask!” Finwë replied somewhat curtly. He was silent for a moment longer, and then moved to the side table, to pour himself a goblet of rich, red limpë, and to offer one to me. I nodded assent, and he continued. “Few will my son heed, fewer still those from whom he will take counsel. He is sure of himself, of his views, and rightly so; but do not all of us need to hear the voices of others at times? He will listen to me, and sometimes to Ecthelion or to certain of those he highly esteems amongst the three kindred, but mostly does he listen to his own heart. Now do I notice, lady, that he listens also to you; that you can soften his mood through wise words, even as could his mother. And I better understand why he wed with you, for you have the form and character of a nís that he craves, yet also the strength of a nér that will be his friend, and staunch ally, and not demure at speaking your mind, even to him! But may it be, that between us we can restore harmony, and before any greater hurt is caused.”

At that did my face redden, as Finwë had spoken truly in many respects. Yet even then did I consider that, although Finwë greatly loved his son, he showed it not in his lack of contentment, in his determination to have his own way, and so soon. Was not the early despair of Finwë regarding Míriel as much a cause of Fëanáro’s darkened mind-moods as his mother’s death?


****



As is well recorded, the wedding of Finwë and Indis was not in the least pleasing to my husband. Though Fëanáro had known it would be thus, he had known that Finwë would not alter once he had decided upon an action, nor would ‘come to his senses’, yet was the actual ceremony still one of perceived humiliation to him.

“Can you not wish your father happiness at least, Fëanáro?” I had tried of my best to speak reason with him, to calm him least his fire prevail, to warm him least it was his ice. No easy nér was he, but ever complex! He had frowned at me, with that look he gave when he believed I was not fully supportive of him.

“Still do you not understand, vessë!”

But I did understand! I understood that the better course to follow was one where he remained close to his father, regardless of Indis!

“Mayhap I do not understand as well as you wish me to, beloved, but consider; your coldness grieves your father, and on a day he should be happy.”

“My mother, is she happy?” he replied, turning from my argument to bury himself in the critical study of one of Rúmil’s works.

“Not always is the higher road easy to follow, but more noble is it so to do” I persisted. “But I ask now if thou doest love thy father, Finwion?”

He had no recourse but to answer, ‘Yea, it is so!” though his eyes berated me for misuse of my knowledge of him. And we attended the wedding, though kept well in the background.

I had tried to imagine how I would have felt in his situation; were my father, Urundil, to wed again. But I do not think that I could truly empathise with something I knew to be impossible in my life. My mother would not leave us. None died then in Aman, save for Míriel.

The wedding itself was a wonderful occasion, though less grand than may have been supposed. This was the uniting of two of the highest of the Eldar, and of their families, yet it was not forgotten that this marriage was unique. Indis was radiant in her joy, far more even than usual, and almost in direct proportion to that joy did I sense the growing displeasure of my husband; his will in this matter totally disregarded. Yet was he courteous, and would give no cause for any to say that the son of Finwë knew not how to behave, knew not what it was to be honourable and hospitable. He would not give cause to the visiting Vanyar to slight in any way their Noldor hosts. Ecthelion was ever observant of his friend, and he tried with words and with distractions to ease that day, but by the time we departed, to leave Finwë and Indis to their own union, was Fëanáro but barely in control of himself.

“Much as I love him, has my father chosen the lower road, rather than to grow in hope and in true love and thus, mayhap, encourage my mother to return. With the finalising of this union is my mother ever condemned!” he spoke bitterly, but to me alone. None other was there who knew he thought thus.

He would not stay in the same house; in no way would he sleep under the roof of that place wherein his father was now bound to another. Neither, did he say, he would find solace in the work of our home, it being still too close in location, too near to that which was, for him, an abomination.

“I cannot bear that I should come upon them, and they fawning over each other in this unnatural relationship,” he had added.

Though I did not fully agree with him, yet did I understand his reasoning.

So, at the end of the celebrations, instead of returning to dwell in those rooms in Finwë’s house given over to us, we departed Tirion, took horses, and rode far out beyond Valmar. Truly did Fëanáro wish to be alone in his distress, and I gave him of the freedom he needed, to roam away into the green hills and forests of that land. I had much to think on myself, knowing how nigh impossible would it be to bring him comfort, to bring him to the acceptance of Indis that his father wished.

I wandered in thought, and along the edges of a series of deep, silver lakes, where tall blue firs grew almost to the golden shores. Though the road of persistence in love was the one I, in my devotion, would have chosen, (did indeed so come to chose), yet had the lower path been given sanction by the Valar after their long debate. So was Finwë doing no wrong by his actions, though to my most youthful mind did they seem of Arda marred, rather than of the Blessed Realm. At that time I had no concept that the marring of Melkor, (much do I struggle to name him thus, Firya!), was brought by our people hence, and not even the bliss of Aman could totally negate it. Troubled was I as I wandered. Troubled also was that occasional touch of fëa from my wandering lord.

There soon enough came a time when the innate healing of the Blessed Realm had its effect upon me, and my heaviness of mood lifted, and again I had joy. So it was, when Fëanáro returned to me, somewhat subdued, that I could better offer him solace, and comfort, and turn his thoughts to a brighter future.

“Our house is built well enough for us to dwell in within half a year. Shall we not seek to live therein as soon as we may, while we complete the ornamentation and the gardens? Are the workrooms not ready, and awaiting us, my lord?”

He nodded. “Those are my thoughts also, lady and wife. I will endure, as of the ‘high road’ the dwelling in my father’s house with as much grace as I can, but will I not give my heart to my crafting, and to the study of lore while we so dwell.” Gently, but resolutely he placed his hands each side of my face, looking into my eyes and into my heart. “Thou art my loyal wife, this I know. But I must say to thee now what I will. Always will I listen to thee, Nerdanel! Thou may speak with me of whatever thoughts thou wilt. But do not thou spend overlong in the company of Indis, and never art thou to mention the name of that Vanya once in my house. I will not allow it!”

He must have sensed my hesitation, and perhaps felt my annoyance at his order, but he held my gaze until I nodded acceptance of his words. Then did he reach out in fëa to confirm my acquiescence, that in this matter and others, we were as one.

Little did he issue commands then, and little did I wish him to. Never had I been inclined to take orders from anyone, and, as my father’s daughter, had never been so required. But I knew how important this prohibition was to him, and would seek not to debate it further at that time.


****


Our house was complete well within the half year, for we worked ever swiftly upon it. So, young though we were, did we indeed depart Finwë’s dwelling, and the presence of Indis, as soon as we may. I did not speak directly to Fëanáro of her at all; for I respected his wishes and thought that, eventually, things would change. Not that we were often together in Finwë’s house, we ‘brides’, for Fëanáro would ever strive to be busy, and expected me to likewise be occupied. At those times when we all took meal together was he polite to her, but never was there any attempt made at real conversation. In this did I often feel a disloyalty to Finwë, and to his request of me, but was my first loyalty not to my lord?

Once departed, did we return but rarely to the king’s house, and that mostly at festivals, or Fëanáro alone when his father sought council with his lords, and so Indis was not present. On occasion did I make attempt to meet more discreetly with her, and take up again in part that friendship we had but briefly begun. Much did I admire her manner, her sense of mirth, and her ability to bring joy to all save Fëanáro. But when he became aware of my doing, as inevitably he did, my husband would look upon me with much disapproval.


Two years after the wedding, was Indis with child. As I have mentioned in my earlier writings, Fëanáro grew in resentment, and would not speak of his prospective half-sibling. At that point did he argue again with his father, and, so bad was the situation that, he did not even speak with Finwë for some many days. Dark indeed was my husband's mood in that time; almost as if living then without closeness to the one he loved best had extinguished all light in him. Then the announcement of the birth of the child arrived by messenger, and our presence was requested, to join with the king and his queen in celebration of the birth of their daughter, Findis!

I have also made earlier note of my husbands reaction to this news, that he seemed mightily pleased with himself, and announced “So, King Finwë has a daughter!” in such a manner that I took it as a slight upon all nissi. I would not respond to him in any manner for a few days after such behaviour, neither to call of words nor of fëa. So did we have our first disagreement!

I had, on that instance, over reacted, for I was very young, and opinionated, and still somewhat foolish. I came to understand that his joy was because he perceived a daughter as no direct threat to his relationship with his father.

“He will love her, of a certainty, but not in the same way he loves a son. It is a different love, though not necessarily a lesser one.” (But he thought it would be lesser! And he was right, though Findis was to love her father greatly.)

Fëanáro was not interested in Findis. He came with me, eventually, to see her, though more to see his father. While he and Finwë talked, did we nissi retire to the gardens, and I tried to compensate for much lost time in conversation. I had smiled at the babe, and would have held her in my arms, but I knew not when my lord would return and did not wish for him to come across me cradling Indis’ child. Both Indis and I regretted the enforced breach in our friendship, and hoped for a time when we could speak more freely and more frequently.

“Would you tell your husband, tell King Finwë that I am sorry to have failed him so far. I do seek for understanding between us all, but it is most difficult,” I had said to her.

Never did Indis reproach Fëanáro to my hearing, and I think she never did so to anyone’s hearing. She knew her presence in Finwë’s life caused his son grief, and was sorry to begin with that they could not be better friends. Yet did her great love for Finwë, and her delight in what had chanced for her, cause her to little understand that not all had her joy. And, at that time did she, like I, think things might yet change. Change they did, but for the worse! In the Year of the Trees, 1190, Indis gave birth to a son, to he who was later named Nolofinwë!


After our visit to Finwë to see his daughter, were he and Fëanáro much closer again. Almost as if Finwë had never married it was. But still did we visit the king rarely. More time did we spend with my parents, in the dwellings of the Aulenduri; for there my husband found much to interest him. And Aulë also did we visit, now as a couple. The Vala always made us most welcome, and bestowed gifts upon us. He would tell us something of the earlier days, knowing our interests, and show us those things he was working upon. He would take Fëanáro even to his forge, and show him certain skills, and encourage him in his work. But my husband was also much interested in language at that time, and was beginning to study more often the works of Rúmil and Lastamo, and what he considered their inadequacies.

When Indis was again with child, my lord became perturbed. That this would be a son, he felt most strongly. Of course he was right. When the messenger arrived at our house with the news of the birth, Fëanáro told him to return straight away, and with no message to his father. He went to his workroom and would not answer, not even to me, for a day. When he did emerge, he was in a mood of ice, and would not be placated by Ecthelion, nor by Alcarin, both of whom had sought to visit. The perceptive and stately Silwë came next to our house, to seek an answer to Finwë’s message that Fëanáro attend him at his halls.

“Be gone! I will not give heed to you this day, or any other!”

And Silwë, friend and steward of Finwë, continued to be no friend of Fëanáro’s.




So was it to me to try and breach the wall my lord had put around himself again. I found him in his study, and though I sensed well enough that atmosphere of resentment that he put forth, his need for comfort drew me on. I remember how apprehensive I was then, for though I knew him, was beginning to know the variety of his moods and inclinations, I knew that this event would become another matter of deep and prolonged brooding, if he were not brought to a place of greater consideration, and soon.

“Beloved, may I speak with thee?” I had crossed the floor to him, and stood near the window seat upon which he reclined. He did not answer, but lowered his head to appear engrossed in reading.

“Finwion?” I continued, using the name to which he nigh always responded. “Thou didst say that always would thou listen to me! That is all I ask of thee.” I lay a hand lightly upon his arm, a gesture of comfort and understanding. Though he said it not, he liked to be touched so.

With a sigh in anticipation of my persistence, he put down the book he held. And, moving to sit upright, he placed a hand over mine. “Nerdanel, you cannot help me. Leave me be to think on this matter.”

But his words said one thing and his demeanour another! I knew from his gesture that I would win this encounter.

“Mayhap I cannot help thee, but what sort of wife would I be if I sought not to try? I understand the distress thou dost feel, but am of a certainty that this son is not to thy father, what thou art to him. Would thou hear me further?”

He drew a deep breath, but I had his interest, albeit a slight interest. “Speak then, lady.”

“From the first we knew of Indis, did we know of the likelihood of children, of more sons and of daughters of thy father? Now this has come to pass. Though thy father will love all his children, ever wilt thou be the most beloved.”

He laughed ruefully at my words, but addressed me more intimately in turn “So doest thou always say unto me! But now he has another son, and one whose mother is still with him. Mayhap, as that son grows, he will usurp the love that is now mine?”

“Ai! Jealousy of a babe does not become thee, my lord! Thou are far beyond him, though great he may grow to be,” I retorted, knowing from both the words of the Maia, Elemáinië, and from the implication of Finwë, that this was likely to be true.

“First thou art with thy father, and ever will be. And beloved of Aulë also, that he deems my own father’s skills as great, but lesser than thine own.”

The sardonic smile that touched his lips grew into something more heartfelt. “I know the game thou doest play, wife! Still will I not visit that house, neither pay homage to this new prince.”

“Homage!” I gasped. “I would not expect thee to so do.”

I reached out a hand, making as if to encourage him to his feet, and he stood, taking up my hand without further words, to lead me through the open doors into the garden. We walked along the highest level of the terrace, past the sparkling fountain and the rose garden, and it seemed as if our closeness built further calm in him.

“I know not what to do, Nerdanel. I cannot be as my father wishes. Too painful it is to watch the joy he now has with his new family.”

“Then let me go in your stead.” I suggested that which I had planned from the start. A chance to see the new babe, but also to see Findis and Indis and even Finwë himself, was what I desired. “I shall make it known that you are occupied, but have bidden me visit in your place.”

Fëanáro was not so easily fooled; never was he easily fooled by any, save, indirectly, by Moringotho.

“So you may visit with your friend?”

I blushed with embarrassment that my deception was so transparent.

“You know such a friendship pleases me not, lady. But never have you mentioned her unbidden, and I trust you to speak not of me to her, nor to betray me in any manner.” Most serious was he in his words, but not reproachful. “Visit my father’s house then. And tell me of him upon your return; but of the others I do not wish to hear.”


****


So it came to pass that I, alone, paid visit to the halls of Finwë. Warm was my welcome, though the king looked saddened that his beloved Fëanáro had not also come to visit. A joyful day did we have, and in the house this time. I had visited the room wherein the small child, whom Finwë had decided to initially call Finwë, after himself, was resting.

“Arakáno!” had Indis whispered to me, “I shall name him Arakáno; for he will be a commander, a lesser chief of the Noldor. I had wondered at her choice of name; 'high commander', it did not sound as if she thought her son would be lesser in anything. But was that not what any parent thought of their own child? Did I not fully agree when Fëanáro named Maitimo, Nelyafinwë? (‘Third Finwë’ was my Maitimo! Third in importance after Finwë and himself did Fëanáro mean, and in no uncertain terms.)

The day was a happy one. I spoke with the two-year* old Findis, who was dark of hair as her father, but had less of his intensity, and more the grace and ease of manner of her Vanya mother. A quietly spoken and thoughtful child was she, and one I wished I had known better in her early childhood. We retired to the lesser hall to partake of a meal, of a variety of the most well prepared and mouth-watering foods, and I realised how much I had missed the company of my husband’s family.

Then had the babe been brought down to the hall, to his mother, for he had awoken and was also hungry. King Finwë and his companions left us, to walk in the gardens, and talk of celebrations, and of plans for the coming festival of Mettarë. With him went Findis, who ran, light of foot, at her sire’s side, and took his hand in an affectionate gesture. The attendants left with the empty platters, and after providing a flagon of orange cordial, left the hall entirely. So Indis and I had another chance to speak in private, and when he had finished feeding, and rested awhile longer, she placed the increasingly lively babe, Finwë, upon my lap.

“When do you think to have children of your own, Nerdanel?” Her question could be construed as impertinent, but never was Indis impertinent. She saw the look of delight upon my face, and how I cradled and cooed to her child, and her thoughts followed but on her observations.

“Soon enough! When my lord deems I am ready,” I answered with a laugh. I had not meant to sound disparaging to Fëanáro, but on that day of company and light heartedness, I wanted this joy for myself. As ever in my youth, I wanted everything!
“Then you must visit us in the meanwhile, as often as you may. My daughter would know you better, and my son, when he grows should know of his close kin with fondness.”

“I would be so known to him,” I replied, thinking on the love in my own family, and the closeness I had known amongst the Aulenduri. I rose to my feet, still holding the now smiling babe to me, and made as if to dance in happiness across the floor, the long skirts of my gown floating outwards as I moved. Indis smiled at my joy, and raised her fair voice in a song to accompany my dance.

“I wish most strongly that Fëanáro would be happy to visit; that we could all be together as the family we are!” I exclaimed to her.

I should not have been so unguarded. I should have remembered my purpose in being there that day. But I was not to know that my earlier words had touched my husband’s conscience, and that he would decide to visit King Finwë himself.

So hurt did he look, as he stood at the door to the hall, watching me dance with his half-brother in a delighted abandon. So betrayed by my careless actions and words.

“Prince Fëanáro! You are most welcome!” Indis instantly perceived the problem. She spoke graciously into the sudden silence, and then rose to her feet and made to swiftly take Finwë from my arms. “I shall fetch your father immediately, for he will be overjoyed that you are here.” But as she left, did she softly murmur her babe’s name unto him, and Fëanáro raised his head sharply, his eyes narrowing, the hurt replaced by fast rising temper.

“Finwë! She calls her son Finwë?”

“Nay, my lord. Your father has named him so.” As I answered him, I knew the implications; I knew that Fëanáro would view this use of name as a personal insult. Ai, what to do?

For a moment he stood, fixated, pondering what action to take. To have come to the house at all spoke much of his desire to please his father. But beholding me so, hearing me speak of him to Indis, and most certainly hearing the babe’s name had all taken toll upon his good will.

“We are leaving! Come, Nerdanel!” His tone was one that would brook no argument, nor did I wish to argue or debate with him in that place. But before he could turn on his heels, Finwë entered the hall, without Indis. Too late it was then for explanations, for anything that would restrain the rekindled fire of my husband’s heart.

“My king and father.” Fëanáro bowed stiffly, managing to retain just enough composure to speak forth those words. “Please excuse us from your presence. There has been a misunderstanding, and I require my wife to return home with me this instant.”

He would not speak to anyone further, not even the astonished Finwë! Fëanáro and I left immediately, and I just having time to make a most apologetic curtsey to the king.

My husband would not speak to me upon our journey home as we passed down the broad steps, and through the tree-lined streets and terraces of Tirion. I could feel the heat of his anger as we walked, and knew he controlled himself but with difficulty. Once in the house he sought immediate solitude, though then to vent his feelings. I heard him throwing objects; smashing half finished sculpting, stonework, and glasswork onto the floor of his workroom. And in fëa, though he spoke not to me in that way either, could I feel an unleashing of rage and of anguish, his battle for control temporarily lost.

Instantly did I dismiss those assistants of ours, who had come running to help at the sound of smashed glass, and whose looks of sudden concern barely masked their apprehension. None other would I have be witness to what could unfold in that hour, than myself. So did I still myself, and thought upon whatever calm I could, and had hope that, in some manner, my stillness would eventually reach to my husband. And so it did; either that or he exhausted himself! When no longer did I sense any rage, but only the anguish, I dared to approach him again.

Opening the heavy door of his workroom, I walked hesitantly to him, avoiding the many fragments of glass and crystal and stone that littered the floor. Seated by a workbench was he, head lowered and resting upon his folded arms, as if in defeat. For not only had he no power to master the situation with Indis, or with his half-brother, but he was, in a manner, aghast that he had not mastery in that recent hour of himself. (Many do not realise that he was, for long, most noble of heart, and most agitated with himself whenever he behaved thus.)

“You betrayed me! Even you, who know my heart more than any; you took no account of my wishes” Though the fire in him was subdued, yet did it still smoulder. “My father, he gives his name to this second son, as he gave it to me! Am I no longer his heir? Am I no longer his son? And you perceive no slur in that deed, but you speak and laugh and sing with Indis, and hold that child to you as if he were your own.”

So bitter, so remote did he sound in that moment that I wondered if I had ever truly known him. I could not give answer, for what could I say that would have meaning to him beyond my actions?

Raising his head, he turned to look at me; to my surprise his eyes did not mirror the bitterness of his voice at all. And there were tears upon his face.

That was the moment I first embraced the enormity of the task Elemáinië had suggested was mine. The shows of temper in our first few years of marriage had been as naught, and now did I understand more of my husband’s predicament. For all of his skill, his strength, his power of mind; was not he who would be the mightiest of the children of Iluvatar sometimes as a lost child: one who cried still in the silent times for his mother as I had heard him so do in the gardens of Lórien? Was he not one who encased himself in a stubborn pride when what he longed for was to be nurtured by a love that would not abandoned him for its own self-interest?

My earlier words had shown how little I had considered his wishes against my own wilfulness to enjoy the company of Indis. As a child had I sometimes behaved those last years, when I had thought to be a good and true wife. I could not make unmarred that which was marred. But I could seek to fulfil, in part, his need; to walk the high path, and through loyal and loving council, encourage him to do likewise in those times when he thought not so clearly of his own.

Taking seat at his side, I hesitantly laid a hand upon his arm. He flinched slightly, but allowed the touch.

“Forgive me, my dear lord! Great has been my folly and my misunderstanding, that I have brought you grief instead of happiness.” No words could I say that he might not deem meaningless, so did I reach to him in fëa, and in a manner that he could easily know all of my thoughts that he willed.

“So! Thou dost love me yet, Nerdanel!” he spoke at last, though did not make to move. But a thoughtful look came to his eyes. “Well, then, wilt thou not do as I bid thee?”

He knew what he was asking; that I gave up all intention of befriending Indis any further, and that I, Aulendur and strong willed daughter of Urundil, gave most serious consideration to all of my roles in life. He knew what he asked was difficult for me!

But I had made my decision.

“Aye, Finwion! I will do as thou doest bid.”

In truth did he most rarely insist upon anything with me, save in matters regarding Indis. Though he was to seek mastery of many situations, and eventually of many minds, never one to think he could order or force true love or loyalty was he. For my part did I most earnestly endeavour to be his true and loyal wife from that time forth, for I wished never again to cause him such pain. To that end did I but rarely speak with Indis or her family: nay, only in the days that led to the drawing of swords did I seek again deliberately of her company, and that, ironically, in an effort to avert what eventually befell.


“And if thou doest desire a babe to hold in thy arms, should it not be me to whom thou doest speak, and not Indis?” Warm was the sound of his voice, and baiting his tone. Fully master of himself again was he, and for the most part from that time forth, for in that occurrence had he found a resolution. Though the fires of his heart would, in time, burn again most hotly, by then could he focus and aim that fire to his own end, did I restrain him not; or would he seek to be alone when the dark ice of brooding had grip! But we both knew how serious the incident at his father’s house had been, and we both learnt better to treat with each other thereafter.


Now in time, was Indis to bear further children to Finwë, but none were to have the effect the birth of Nolofinwë had upon us. And then, in the Year of the Trees 1210, were Fëanáro and I to have that child of our own.


nér = He-elf
Curvo = Curufin
Nolofinwë = Fingolfin
Ambarussa = The twins, Amrod and Amras. In this case it is Amrod who is being referred to.
nissi = She-elves
vessë = wife
All years are Valinorian years.