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