Chapter Twenty Four: Flame Rekindled. Part Four.
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Mostly I have just been trying to keep cool these last few days, and to little avail. I have curtains drawn, fans on...windows shut or open depending on the fans, and still I am melting in the heat. And for those of you who have air conditioning in your houses well just think of the many who do not! We don't usually have weather like this, so very few houses in Britain are air conditioned. It is almost worth going shopping, to stand under a big fan!

And my husband and father have been the worse for wear. I think everyone I talk with is exhausted; though there are some who can't wait to get up and go lie in the garden every day.

I went back to school last Friday, for the leaving presentations. I didn't want to attend, because it seems so long now since I actually left. (About two months!) But I didn't want to let down one of my friends who remains in the place. It was nice to see the familiar faces, but even better to walk out at the end of the meeting, knowing that I don't have to go back in the Autumn.


So, with the writing, I have re-edited chapter three, putting some different parts in it and just trying to tidy it up, and I have here, Flame Rekindled, part four, (which is is only slightly tweaked, Fëanor !) I hope to get something new up at the weekend.



Chapter Twenty Four: Flame Rekindled. Part Four.


(Disclaimer: All of the characters and the world in which they exist are the wonderful creations of JRR Tolkien. All references are from The Silmarillion and HoME 1, 10 and 12. Nothing is mine except the interpretation and the mistakes.)


“But not until the End, when Fëanor shall return who perished ere the Sun was made, and sits now in the Halls of Awaiting and comes no more among his kin; not until the Sun passes and the Moon falls, shall it be known of what substance they (The Silmarils) were made.”


(Of the Silmarils and the unrest of the Noldor. The Silmarillion J.R.R. Tolkien. Ed. C. Tolkien.)


Máhanaxar. Reflecting upon memories from the Hall of Awaiting.



It had seemed cold! Strange, I had thought, for with no hröa to so sense the air or whatever it was that surrounded me, I knew the coldness was but an impression I was meant to consider, even as had been the beat of wings. Though naught had come to pass, yet had I known the sound of eagle’s wings when I heard it, and that it was meant as a sign to me of Manwë. But what sign?

And why cold?

Why that sensation of chill air over much ice, I had thought?

‘Do you hold me in the farthest north of your halls, Jailer?’ I enquired of Námo Mandos, although his presence was not impinging upon my awareness overly. Neither had it been since he had decided he wanted not to hear of my thoughts on my half-brother. ‘Have you so isolated me in location that my presence may not be an affront to those fëar of the Teleri whom I sent here?’

I was baiting him. I was trying for some response from the Doomsman of the Valar that I would know of Nelyo, and of those others of my sons who still confronted Moringotho. But no pride did I have in that statement. Never was the deed at Alqualondë one in which I took pride. A necessity it had been! Always, since coming to the decision as I had sat in darkness of spirit and brooded upon what had befallen me, upon the need for vengeance and for freedom, had I known it to be something that would set my feet upon a course I would have avoided. I had wanted the Teleri to join with us. For Elda to slay Elda, that had never been my wish. But they would not listen. Olwë had put as little the slaughter of my father, and he would not listen!

It was cold! As cold as the time I had ventured with my sons to the borders of the Dark and had come upon the edge of the vast and gleaming frozen lands. I knew the Halls of Mandos to be nigh that location, and had thought that was what he wanted me to ponder upon. But, on this matter, as on others, was I wrong!

“Thou hast spoken, and that the Valar would welcome the shame filled return of Nolofinwë to Tirion.”

With such a pronouncement did I become aware that the encounter with Mandos had resumed, and at his will, rather than at mine.

‘Speak on. I hear thee!’

But Mandos spoke no word in answer. Rather, he showed forth an image, even as I had first beheld the predicament of Nelyo.

The Grinding Ice! The Helecaraxë it was that I beheld!

As that vision unfolded I knew with no doubt the reason for it.

‘Never did I say the Noldor were craven!’ I protested, though to behold so many of those whom I had once considered my people, who had long been my father’s people, struggling forward across that terrain in such desperate hardship was an amazement to me.

“Behold how those thou didst name as ‘needless baggage’ strive against the odds? Behold thou their suffering, and loss?”

I watched; for I could do no other, as that multitude progressed across the treacherous ice. I watched as the ice broke, time and again, pitching forth many of that host, and I saw that some were pulled from the maw of the cruel sea, but that many were not. I saw the imperious Turukáno, and he near death himself, lying flat upon an ice flow and clasping desperately to the cloak of his daughter, to pull her from the doom that would claim her. I saw Findekáno, who had oft spent time with Nelyo in exploration, and he shouting warning, so that a group made hurried retreat from a sudden fall of ice. I saw how near to death he came, as the ice nigh buried him alive. The sons of Arafinwë I beheld, and they rallying the people, with words of encouragement and determination, and breath that froze as they so spoke. Artanis was with them still. Hah! And grim of expression was she, as if fired with hate. Well did I know that expression, for it was one she had borne most frequently on those few times we had met. Neither did I have any love for her!

Others I saw, that I knew, and it seemed to me as if they were crying out in fëa as they so struggled forth. That they were crying in anguish and accusation against me, even though it was not I that led them. Yet was that hardship but increasing their valour and endurance. And at their head, and ever leading onwards, was Nolofinwë.

“My half-brother and his sons are yet fiery of heart! In this, at least, do they show themselves true children of Finwë; that they turn not back from a task, no matter how bitter, once set upon it.’ So I spoke, yet did I not know that some of the reason for such a daring undertaking was their fear of the Valar for their part in the deaths at Alqualondë. Did I not also know that Nolofinwë led them forth out of despite of me?

But I was not to behold the outcome of their travail. Not just then.

“Take council with thy thoughts, spirit of Fëanáro, that thou speak naught of the sufferings of those thou once held to be thy subjects. For was it by the power of thy ill chosen words, and by the power of thy will that they set forth.”

‘By the power of my words and my will: aye, so it was! And it is by the hate of my half-brother that they progress.’ Yet did I feel shame! Not for my treatment of Nolofinwë, but that I had all but abandoned so noble a people. And it struck me that, mayhap, the ships should not have been fired at Losgar; that I should have continued in my struggle against my half-brother, that such a host had been brought safely to the shores of the Hither Lands. With such a host could I have accomplished so much!

Again did the presence that was Mandos depart from me for some time. Time, I say, yet little idea had I of its passing. Days, years, Ages it could have been.

I thought then that I hoped all would not perish upon that crossing, yet did I not also see the threat such a number could present to my sons and people, should they reach their goal? Had Nelyafinwë been not captive of Moringotho, I would have had little concern, for I deemed my eldest a match for Nolofinwë and his sons. But Káno, swift and mighty though he was, yet did he have too much of his mother about him at times. I would not that he sought to understand Nolofinwë, but that he met him as leader of the hosts, and acting king, in his brother’s absence.

Memories came to me unbidden, and that of my sons ridding ahead of me through snowfields, and Telvo, turning on his horse’s back to smile his enjoyment of the expedition. Ice was in his hair of flame, and upon his eyelashes, for he had not raised the hood of his cloak.

Another memory followed on swiftly, though almost equally as brief, and that of a meeting with my sons in my tent, upon the barren coast of Araman.

“The murmuring and complaint, they grow with the coldness. Yet our people are strong. More is it than fall in temperature that causes their dissent.” Curvo, who stood by my side, had said.

“Some do speak of return to Tirion. That there they had warmth and comfort.” added Pityo.

“But no warmth, nor comfort is there for them to return to. Neither freedom! Would they be thralls for the sake of remembered comfort? Nay! We go on, as you lead us father, and seek ways to silence the discontented, and for their own good.” Turko had been paying full heed to those gathered around the table, but had been watching from the tent flap the movements of those outside, and past my guards.

“Your thoughts, Nelyo?” I had turned to question the foremost of my captains, my eldest son, who sat at the further end of the table, chin resting upon steepled fingers as he pondered the developing issues. All of my sons’ opinions did I value, though would not be swayed by them against my better judgement. Yet Curvo, Turko and Nelyo, their words always carried the most weight for me.

Nelyo made as if to rise from his seat, to respond to me, but then did I behold him, arisen, and in a far different tent. And his right hand, it was no longer there, but his arm did end in a well-bandaged stump!

“Mandos!” I called in fëa. “What do I see that my son is so mutilated? What is this you have me behold?”

Instant was the Vala’s answer to me. “Nelyafinwë yet lives, and is no prisoner, even as thou so prayed of Manwë. Though another, also, did add most earnest prayers for mercy, and unto the King of Arda.”

Káno, thought I! Káno would so do; and would he not do all within his power to rescue his brother? I was filled with relief that not a second of my sons was lost. And that Nelyafinwë had looked pained as with an abiding grief, but strong; so much stronger than when he had hung upon the mountainside, filled me with hope. For the fire of life had always burnt most ardently in that son; of all of them, even Curvo, was he not most like me in that respect?

But his right hand! Ai!

I thought then upon Manwë and that he had heard me yet; that mayhap was there still some small love in him for my kin. I thought, despite the curse upon my House, yet were some of the Valar watching with growing respect for our striving.

‘Nelyafinwë is again King of the Noldor, and in time, will he give the Dark Lord much cause to regret what he attempted,’ stated I, with much relief.

“Thy sons are brave of heart; that is true. And Nelyafinwë will wreck much damage upon the hosts of Melkor, though will he also endure more. But Nolofinwë is King of the Noldor, and Arafinwë rules in Tirion.”

A statement of fact, it was. No lie to plunge me back to the edge of the abyss, no cruel joke, to pain one who had, but an instant earlier, felt his spirit soar with exaltation.

I could not answer. What to say? I could not think clearly.

“The eldest son of Nolofinwë, Findekáno, it was, who rescued your son from Thangorodrim. And that with the aid of much courage and determination to heal divisions between the Noldor, that they present a united front to their enemy.” Námo Mandos continued, “For the ancient friendship he had with your firstborn, did he venture forth, and alone. Save this help did he have; that Manwë heard his plea, and thine, proud spirit, and did he send forth Thorondor, King of Eagles, to give of his aid.”

I would have been trembling with rage at the earlier words, had I physical form. I would have been so fired with anger at what I was hearing. But I could do nothing, other than endure the news.

‘He cut off Nelyo’s hand to disadvantage him!’

‘To cut off his hand was not the wish of Findekáno. Indeed, bitter tears did Nolofinwë’s son shed at thy son’s predicament. But needful was that act, that thy son be delivered to freedom.”

I heard, but did not take in the implications of Mandos’ comment. So angry was I and that Nolofinwë was king! Arafinwë I cared not for. Servant king of a servant people; thralls all! But Nolofinwë; how had he finally usurped that which was my right, that was Nelyo’s right?

‘Let my half-brother crow forth his victory while he may. My sons will reclaim what is theirs. Once Nelyafinwë is fully restored, will he reclaim his birthright.’

“Nelyafinwë it was who gave up his birthright, and to Nolofinwë.”

Amongst the bitterest words I had ever heard were they: almost as bitter as the news of my father’s death, and my Jewel’s theft. I could not believe it. I could not believe that my eldest son would so do. Then, in a struggle of thoughts, did it occur that he was still suffering from his trial, and so knowing, had Nolofinwë pressed home his advantage. But then why had Káno, and Turko not spoken forth? Why had they not acted if Nelyo was still weakened?

“Thy son acted with wisdom, and clarity of mind.” Mandos made to reject my suspicions. “For dost thou not recall my pronouncement, that: thy House shall be ‘The Dispossessed’; and that of thy Jewels, and of the kingship of the Noldor?”

I would not believe it! So he showed me. A vision of what had or was transpiring in the Hither Lands was before me, yet did I have no means of knowing if this deed was now occurring, or was something done in a Age past.

Nelyo was standing in the tent of Nolofinwë. Clothed in fine garments was he, as befitted his status, and, behind him, stood his brothers and foremost lords. And my son, he whom I trusted, he bowed before my half-brother and begged forgiveness for deserting him, that the main host of the Noldor had endured so much suffering in the crossing of the ice. He abdicated his right to be king, for himself, and for all his brothers.

‘If there lay no grievance between us, lord, still the kingship would rightly come to you, the eldest here of the house of Finwë, and not the least wise.’

I felt nothing. I wished I could have died in truth in that moment, and departed the circles of the world as, it is said, the Second People so do, that I witnessed not that exchange.


On the edges of my consciousness was Mandos hovering; no doubt observing my response. What response was there to give?

‘When is it that thou will restore me to my hröa?’ Calm did I endeavour to make that statement, and no plea. ‘It is said that the severing of hröa and fëa is an unnatural act, and is recorded that it will be the duty of Manwë to restore us to bodily life if we so will it! I so will! I would have again my body, and my rights.’

Not so eager to answer me was Námo Mandos. But thought he to let me ponder awhile.

Again did I make statement. ‘Unjust is what is befallen my family, that Káno and Turko and the others be deprived of their inheritance by my half-brother and his kin; that Maitimo decides now to be his mother’s son, and so betray me. I demand what is my right, to be restored again, that I may take up the battle. In thy own interest is it. For do I perceive now thy reasoning, that the Noldor are thy best hope to constrain Moringotho without outright war. Do I perceive thy traitorous hearts, that thou wouldst aid the Usurpers, that the Noldor be used to keep from them the taint of the Enemy while they are in their childhood! ‘

No answer. So did I know I was close to the truth.

‘Restore me, Doomsman. Seek council with thy kin, and see if better plan thou canst devise than to send me against Moringotho.’

"Council have we already sought concerning thee, spirit of Fëanáro. And that thou may never return."

So did I expect their answer to be. Though lawful it was not.

‘Has Ilúvatar not given thee express instructions that, though Manwë and thyself have some say, yet may the fëar of the Eldar not be held captive? If I desire restoration, if I am willing to take up again my life of old, if I have spent time in considering my memories, I may be returned. To Eru Ilúvatar I make plea!’

“Thou who calls most freely upon the name of the One; know that Manwë has referred thee to His will already, and that His will is thy return be withheld.”

No way forward was there for me. No way from this place of memory and vision alone.

‘For how long?’ I already knew his reply.

“Until the End.” The voice of the Doomsman made that a most solemn pronouncement. “The Spirit of Fire must remain here until the End, neither may he walk again amongst his kin, nor will his likeness be seen in Arda."

I closed in upon my thoughts. Even I would not contemplate arguing with Eru. And to think I had believed that it was He who had set in me such a spirit of fire, and for his purpose. I could think no more. All joy was as dust to me. All I loved, taken from me.

‘Speak not to me of what transpires in the Hither Lands, Jailer, nor of aught else. No interest do I have’.

I would say no more, thought I. If memory was to be my place of dwelling until the end of time; if Maitimo had thrown away all I had striven for in his desire to show thanks for his rescue, then I would make for myself those memories that would endure, and in them abide. I would forge together the thoughts of what was pleasing in my life, and make of them a strong fortress.

So did time pass. Mandos disturbed me not, neither did I speak forth anything unto him. Of the Silmarils I dreamt; in the light of my love for them did I bathe and seek comfort. And in memory of my father, and he with me in talk, and discussion, in debate on linguistics, and in history: in those thoughts did I bury myself to assuage my grief and bitter disappointment.

Yet did the darkness about me endure. The light of memory of my Great Jewels did not pierce this darkness I was in. I could not hold to true joy, even with them.

It came to pass, that another thought slipped through my guard. One I had pushed aside as of pain. But it was there, nonetheless, and not of my deliberate will.

Lying upon the richly upholstered couch in my study was I, and looking up at the patterns of light that Laurelin played upon the ceiling above me. Sounds from the rest of the house bothered me but little, for the heavy doors had I set closed. Her voice I could hear faintly, and that of Arnónë, as they discussed final plans for the later meal: that meal to which she had invited Ecthelion and Serewen. To which she had also invited Rúmil, and without my leave! No matter, I recalled thinking, I would be hospitable, and not cause argument unnecessarily. I watched the light patterns on the walls, the shape of trees blowing gently in the breeze, as I contemplated events. Difficult could she be, that wife of mine, and not one to easily follow instruction. Always this attempt at understanding did she make, and that sometimes vexed me. But I knew she had also invited my father, and he without Indis, through her words of persuasion. I knew this meal she had planned most carefully for my pleasure, and that my father’s forthcoming arrival was supposed to be a secret kept from me. And so it had been, until Nelyo told me.

Then was Nelyafinwë, himself, in the room. For he had reached up to free the heavy catch, and push open the doors than he might creep stealthily to my side. I had kept my eyes unfocused, that he knew not I was fully awake, and he had climbed up upon the bed beside me, encircled my neck with his small arms, and cuddled against me. Such a pleasing sensation had it been, to have such affection from my son. I let him rest for a few moments, but then raised an arm, to draw him closer and encircle him in turn.

“I am sorry, Atar,” he spoke forth, his soft voice yet light with the tone of early childhood, ‘that I ruined this day for you by telling you Amillë’s secret."

“You ruined nothing, Nelyo. For we will keep this secret between us, that your mother think her plan has worked. And will I not be always pleased to see my father, surprise or no? But mayhap you will think a little more carefully before you speak in future?”

He had promised he would. Most careful was Nelyo with his use of words. Always, was he most careful.

We had stayed there for some time, talking of plans for travelling to visit Aulë. The house sounds around us grew louder and busier, as the assistants and ladies went about the business of organising. But we stayed where we were. ‘A sanctuary from the nissi!’ I had said. And he smiled.

"Would you not rather go to the forge, Atar. None will disturb you there?" His bright eyes looked up at me with such adoration.

“Not this day, Nelyo. I find I am most happy with the present company I keep."

I loved him so; that copper-brown haired firstborn of my sons.

‘Leave me be, Doomsman!’ Said I. Sensing the presence of the Vala and reluctantly leaving that memory. ‘Why do you bother me still? Evil do you deem me, and of evil actions. You give me no hope!’

“I said not that, O Noldo. For there is hope! Though poised thou art, on the edge of the abyss, not as Melkor, from whom all love has departed, art thou. And despite what we believed, despite thy bitterness and hardening of thy heart, yet doest thou still love. Thou doest still know what love is, and on that, if you will, can we build.”

I heard him, but answered with a question that had been at the back of my thoughts since my second vision of Nelyo. ‘What was the source of light I beheld? What source of light illuminates the Hither Lands, for bright was the sky, and the stars were no longer visible to me?’

“That was the light of Anar.” Vast again did the presence of the Vala seem to me. Vast, and high, and wide! “And the creatures of darkness are scattered before it into their refuge of Angband. The Age of the Trees and of the Stars are ended; the Age of the Sun has begun!”



Máhanaxar - The Ring of Doom
Moringotho - Morgoth / Melkor
Nolofinwë - Fingolfin
Nelyo/ Nelyafinwë / Maitimo - Maedhros
Turukáno - Turgon
Findekáno - Fingon
Arafinwë - Finarfin
Artanis - Galadriel
Káno / Kanafinwë - Maglor
Telvo / Telufinwë - Amras.
Curvo / Curufinwë - Curufin
Pityo / Pityafinwë - Amrod
Turko / Turkafinwë - Celegorm.
Atar - Father
Amillë - Mother
‘If there lay no grievance between us, lord, still the kingship would rightly come to you, the eldest here of the house of Finwë, and not the least wise.’ Of the Return of the Noldor. The Silmarillion JRR Tolkien. Ed C. Tolkien

Chapter Twenty Three: Flame Rekindled. Part Three.


(Disclaimer: All of the characters and the world in which they exist are the wonderful creations of JRR Tolkien. All references are from The Silmarillion and HoME 1, 10 and 12. Nothing is mine except the interpretation and the mistakes.)


“But at that last word of Fëanor: that at the least the Noldor should do deeds to live in song for ever, he (Manwë) raised his head, as one that hears a voice far off, and he said: ‘So shall it be! Dear-bought those songs shall be accounted, and yet well-bought. For the price could be no other…’ …. But Mandos said ‘..To me shall Fëanor come soon.’”

(Of the Sun and Moon and the Hiding of Valinor. The Silmarillion. J.R.R. Tolkien ed C. Tolkien, HarperCollins.)


Máhanaxar. Memories from the Halls of Awaiting.


Nolofinwë! As a thorn in the flesh was he unto me!


That half-brother, that eldest son of Indis; was he not the cause of many of my ‘ill’ deeds? They said I was proud; and I deny it not. But he, also, was proud; and jealous of all that I had, and of all that I was. And did he not plan against me, and against our father? Unnatural son; product of an unnatural union, a disgrace to the Eldar! Full of bitterness was he, that our father loved me best. And if he could not so turn Finwë’s heart against me through his lies, then he would see the kingship of Finwë himself denied.


For years did I strive with him, to keep him in his due place, that he brought no dishonour upon our father’s house. But, from the time he realised that all in Aman regarded my creations with wonder, from the time that Varda hallowed the Silmarils, did he fear my influence, and begin his plotting to supplant me, to drive me, and those of my line, out from Tirion! From that point forth did he mean to be king! For, trusting in his Vanyar blood, he always thought himself better than I: better than any child of Míriel Þerendë, better than any of the Noldor.


Though I made no secret that I had little love or regard for him, and do I understand his hatred of me, yet this I cannot understand: that he who would be first before our father in all things, yet turned to the Valar for support to unking the one who was his sire.


‘So, Doomsman of the Valar, it is your favoured one that you would have me think upon?’ I had questioned sharply, thinking it best to restrain my full contempt for my jailer until I knew what would befall Nelyo. My cause of quarrel with Námo Mandos had something of a history. Did I not know of Mandos’ words at that debate concerning the sundering of my parent’s union, as recorded by our loremasters? Had he not said: “Aulë nameth Fëanáro the greatest of the Eldar, and in potency that is true. But I say unto you that the children of Indis shall also be great, and the Tale of Arda more glorious because of their coming”? Aye, that, and more concerning Indis and her ‘future’ children did he speak, and against my mother!


But ever mindful, in that place, was I that my eldest son suffered pain and humiliation beyond measure. Naught was there I could do to aid him; naught save play that jailer’s game. Yet, had I then believed, if I thought on Nolofinwë as Mandos so invited me, what guarantee did I have it would make any difference to my son? The Valar had chosen not to act upon the murder of my father, upon the darkening of the Trees; why should they change their course now to confound their ‘kindred’s’ will?


No weakling or craven was Nelyafinwë. That he would endure to the utmost, I knew. But I wanted him not to so suffer! And he was needed: I needed him to act in my stead! I wanted him back in command of those of the Noldor I had led to the Hither Lands. I wanted he and his brothers to confound Moringotho as much as they may, and to wait and to watch upon their chance to reclaim my Jewels. Though I knew then they could not defeat the Dark Lord, yet could they still cause him such hurt as would be the making of song unto the End. For love of their father, and of their grandfather, could they so do, and as well as for their oath.


A chance there was, albeit unlikely, that those silent watchers, who had so condemned me for pursuing the Enemy; their Enemy as well as mine; would yet have a measure of compassion for Nelyafinwë Fëanárion. So was it needful for me to play Mandos’ game for that time, and with all the skill I possessed.


A memory there was then, a fleeting vision that took upon it more depth and solidity, touching my mind, and of Nolofinwë as a youth, and in our father’s house. I saw him standing back, to one side, as Finwë welcomed me with open arms. A time of festival it was, of merrymaking; and merry was my father that I, and my lady, had gone to share celebrations with him. Happy was I, and light of heart to be in his presence, yet the taint that was Indis was also, of necessity, there.


My memories of that occasion were of my father, and a little of my lady. Of the light, warm, touch of her hand upon my arm, I thought, and of her words of encouragement to dance. But as I remembered her touch, again did she fade, and her comfort was denied me.


“Thy memories of Nolofinwë are those thou needs must consider.” The less warm and less welcome suggestion came to me from Mandos.

‘So be it!’ I consented.

Sullen did Nolofinwë appear to my eyes as he loitered at the edge of the hall, watching the dance. Was that what Mandos wanted me to contemplate, the sullenness of my half-brother? That could I do, and with no great effort. But as I further watched, I saw fleeting pain cloud his expression, as he was all but ignored by not only my father, but also by some of his lords.


‘I know what you do!’ I protested. ‘Ever was he with my father. And every day that he so wished could he speak with Finwë. What is wrong, that I, who was there but rarely, and was Finwë’s firstborn, should be welcomed with honour?’

No answer came to me. No acknowledgement of my point.

Nothing!

‘Come!’ thought I, ‘this becomes irksome that you require I consider a matter, yet will not follow through with what I am supposed to recall. That you say ‘Begin’ yet will begin naught.’


A feeling, a sensation of something vaster in space, higher and wider and more powerful than anything I had ever known, did I experience; as if Mandos knew my intentions, and thought to show me my smallness before him that I treated this encounter in all earnestness.


‘I am not a feared of thee, stern spirit’ I spoke as I felt, holding much to my stubborn pride and my knowledge of the will of Ilúvatar. (Truly did I know not of what I then spoke, having but little understanding of the mind of the One. But only of late have I come to understand that error of mine.) ‘No matter what form or dimensions thou doest take upon thyself, yet do I know thy move and nature. But as of now am I of a mind to pay thee heed, so show what thou wilt have me consider, or will I begin by showing thee?’


I gave him no more chance, but cast my thoughts back through the years. Strange it was! I had thought to have many memories to show the Doomsman, yet rarely was Nolofinwë ever of import in my thoughts in the days before Moringotho was loosed. Had I not even cared to know he existed for much of the first years, I realised! But I would have focus for my mind.


So I showed memory of my half-brother, and he at the table of planning with his lords, just after that time he had instigated the abduction of Turindë; when I came upon them in my father’s house, and unaware. There had been no grounds for my mistrust of Nolofinwë some had said: Ecthelion had said; she who was my wife had said! Yet was that not evidence? That he had intended through so doing to gain knowledge of my plans in forging, in exchange for the release of Moryo’s lady, so as to discredit me before our father!


A short, sharp, image was my reply from the Doomsman, and of Moryo striding into the great hall of Lord Ettelendil’s house, and that lord at late meal with his advisors. My fourth son had thrown two of those advisors aside, and overturned the large wooden table at the head of the hall. As Turko restrained another, foolish enough to think he could intervene, and Curvo stood watch at the door, Moryo’s hand closed around the throat of the one who had so underestimated us, and my son lifted him off the ground.


‘I know the abduction was undertaken by Ettelendil’s men,’ I retaliated to that, most satisfactory, interruption. ‘But that lord was following my half-brothers requests to gain him leverage over me. Nolofinwë did not control his lord’s methods of gaining information. Not as I controlled mine! He thought only to bring me down, and to use whatever means he could to glean knowledge on the rumours of my forging. That his servants would act so dishonourably is but a reflection upon him. Never would any of my servants, nor servants of my sons, have so acted. Never would they have so abused a nís, or a hína.’


“Have a care, O Noldo; for swiftly it seems thou dost put aside the slaughter of the Teleri, and of nér and nís and hína alike. By thy own words dost thou condemn thyself.” Mandos’ tone was a most grave rebuke.


‘Thou didst remind me, and of late, that it was of Nolofinwë I should ponder. This I do! Thou hast not bidden me think upon the Teleri. And that action at Alqualondë, it was needful!” So I returned his rebuke. Though as I so spoke, some heaviness did I feel, that, needful or no, still could I hear the gull-cry screams of the dying.


A few moments it was before Mandos made further comment. “Thou knowest not all of what thou dost speak, spirit of Fëanáro. Not of the Teleri have I bidden thee to ponder, not as yet. And a bitter cup will that be to drink, when I so ask of thee. But neither is it is of the deeds of Ettelendil I ask thee to ponder, but of Nolofinwë. Do thou proceed.”


A distance did Mandos seem to have withdrawn from me. He saw not the point I would make, or considered it invalid. Well then, thought I, of need would I show him that which he must already know, but chose not to look upon. I would show him what had happened to Turindë.


I showed him my memories of that day upon the plains of Valinor, south of the Calacirya, and of the estate of Lord Ettelendil. After a long pursuit of Ettelendil’s servants, and nigh unto the woods of Oromë, Moryo, Turko and Nelyo had brought them to bay. At that point where Curvo, Vëatuo, and I had caught up did those servants plan to so confound us by stampeding a herd of grazing bison in our direction. Was that not an act of violence?


‘You who said at Mahanaxar that I was violent, did I not have cause to so be? And do you not know, not recall, that Turindë they had tied fast to the back of one of the beasts they had then enraged, that our aim would be her recovery rather than further pursuit of them.’ I could little help the anger I still felt at such a deed, though, did I again ‘see’ myself cutting down those pale Teleri mariners who stood in my way. Swiftly did I push that thought aside.


‘What manner of behaviour is it?’ I continued with my reminder, though received no answer. ‘That Moryo cried in horror; that he who was so easy to colour became as white of face as the northern ice, the Valar would not understand. Passionless spirits all! You who watch, you who observe out lives and our deeds, yet know not the depths or the fire of the Noldor heart; you who ‘play’ at taking our form, who, it is said, have spouses, but in fëa only, and who beget no offspring; how do you know what it feels like to behold one of your kin so abused? How do you know what it feels like to be a son, or a father, or a husband?’

“Or a brother!”

Mandos was paying me heed, I so noted; so I continued.

‘Moryo would have wrestled the creature to the ground to reclaim his lady from that act of depravity. But, thankfully, there was no need, for I put forth of my will to slow the pace of the creatures, to control their small minds, even as Turko rode in amongst them, speaking calm, and to the one who bore his brother’s wife so that the creature became gentled with no ill effect. Turindë was made safe, and reunited with those who loved her. And all this is but one example of those acting upon my half-brother’s suggestion.’

Silence.

I showed Námo Mandos my half-brother in the Counsel of Loremasters shortly before the Great Festival of 1474. Though he was never one of their number, had he gone hence, and rose to speak, and to so bring a subtle challenge to me when he thought me not there. And how? Because he had, and through his mother, planned that my lady distract me! But I knew his plan, and would not be so distracted from speaking, as was my right. Again did I show him, and with his son, Turukáno, beckoning forth the Lord Ecthelion into their confidence with word of false accusation. And speaking with her! I see again, at that meal, with my half-brother’s attempts at deceiving my lady wife that she would confide in he, and his mother in their conspiracy against me.

Still was no response forthcoming from Mandos, not to my showing forth memories of the cunning with which Nolofinwë would conduct himself. But still was that vastness of presence about me.


‘Come now, Doomsman’ said I ‘Thou must know that my half-brother acted with craft and guile. That he would speak as in one manner before my face, and before my father, yet would he speak and act in a manner far different when thinking himself alone with his advisors.’


I showed Mandos my memory of that deed: that deed of Nolofinwë’s that caused me to rush to our father’s house fully armed, and with Urrussë at my side. So enraged had I been, and knowing that, as ever, he would have already spoken against me.


He had feared me then, if not before. Feared that he had overstepped the mark in his careful planning. Had he not departed as if pursued by his worst dream, and to his brother’s house? Had he not sought the ‘wisdom’ and support of that younger brother of his?


And he had said before Manwë: ‘Thou shalt lead and I will follow’ yet meant it not! Nor had I ever been fooled by his insincerity. How would he, who would be king, so follow me, when it was our father who was truly king? Was our father slain at the time of his words? Nay! He was not!


Nolofinwë had claimed the lordship of all the Noldor. He had caused the dissent in the tents of murmuring as the hosts of our people had traversed Araman. He had even added our father’s name as a prefix to his own, Finwenolofinwë, in evidence of his claim. Ai ! And I should lead, and he follow? Nay! Never was that his intent.


‘Jailer’ cried I in spirit. ‘You who support the cause of Indis and her sons rather than of my mother, see you not how ignoble Nolofinwë came to be. A pawn did you think him, one more servile than I; one who would see my Jewels were given over into your keeping. Yet though he made much complaint on that dark night, even to the drawing of swords, did he not, in the end, join with full will in the rebellion against you? Would he not have traversed the sea, as did I, if he so could? Yet, I deem you have welcomed his shame filled return to you, even as you will have welcomed the grovelling Arafinwë back in your fold.’


But no reply came unto me. I thought then that I had overstepped the bounds of caution. I thought of certainty the honesty of my manner would have in no way eased the Valar’s attitude towards the predicament of my eldest son. None were there to whom I could turn in that moment: no father, no wife, and no counsel. Yet had I not ever heeded most the fires of my own heart?


So did I brood in resentment; in bitterness of those who would not pay me heed. For Mandos was immovable, and none other were there who would hear me.


Time passed, and I thought on the Valar’s hatred of me, that they would not give of any mercy to any kin or follower of mine. No matter what I said, no matter what, if anything, I yielded, they would not show mercy nor give of their aid to an Elda who had the boldness to challenge them. I thought of Nelyo’s plea, to forgive him, and that he suffered for my rashness in engaging Moringotho too soon. Then, with no warning, the one I held in thought with copper-brown hair had changed from my son to her and she standing before me in my room at Formenos. In thought I reached out as if to draw her to me, as I had so wanted to do at the time of the memory, but through stubbornness, had not. But I drew memory of her words:

‘In Manwë’s love are you, and in his thoughts. How can you speak of he and of Melkor in the same breath?’

‘Love!’ had I said. ‘What sort of love remains silent when I am accused of such wrongdoing, and unjustly?’ I had wanted to hold her; I had wanted to cause her pain with my words for being so distant from me. But of Manwë, also, had I been speaking. I had wanted to believe that Manwë would yet intervene on my behalf, and show the truth of things, and regarding the weaker race that would defraud us of our inheritance from Ilúvatar. But that summons had arrived, that ‘command’ to attend the Great Festival that cost me so dear. Was that not proof of Manwë’s deception: at the least, of his incompetence?


I had pondered still. ‘In Manwë’s love are you!’ I heard her saying; a voice that I wanted to hear, that I wanted to believe in, though all my experience of the Lords of the West told me otherwise. For had they not cozened and blinded the Eldar, that they might limit and control us? That our skills, that my skills, would be not a challenge unto them!

So deceived had she been, so blinded by her misplaced loyalty to Aulë, that I could not reach her. Wise though she could be, as in the earlier years of our marriage, then had she been wrong! But, for the first time, a doubt was there, .as a small thorn in my mind! What if she had not been totally mistaken? What if Manwë, who had exiled me, had yet loved me still?

As a madness it was, that thought that came upon me. I would never have yielded any point to my enemies, nay, not to any! But in that instant did I wonder? And if I could have done aught to save my father, even beg, would I have not so done?

So I thought upon Manwë Súlimo, and that he, alone, might yet pay heed to one who had all but cursed him. In hröa, I do not believe I could have uttered such words as I then did, yet in fëa alone, did the thoughts take form, and almost against my will.


‘If ever it were true, that I was held in thy love, then look, in that love, upon my son, who is surely beyond all help of the Noldor. For by so doing would I know, indeed, that the words of thy messenger, and of she who was my wife, were in earnest. I would know that, in some matters, I had been wrong in my judgement of the Valar.’ Long had it been since I had uttered prayer, but those few words, asking for Nelyo not to be forsaken did I choke forth.

Silence.

It was as I had expected. No answer came to me. No sense of the return of Mandos, or of Manwë acknowledging my cry.

No word!

But a breeze did it seem there was, and a sound, as of the beat of large and heavy wings.




Nolofinwë / Finwenolofinwë - Fingolfin
Nelyo / Nelyafinwë - Maedhros
Fëanárion - Son of Fëanáro
Nís – Adult She-Elf.
Hína - child
Moringotho - Morgoth
Moryo / Morifinwë - Caranthir
Turko / Turkafinwë - Celegorm
Curvo / Curufinwë - Curufin
Urrussë - Flame blade (I think)
Arafinwë - Finarfin.

“Aulë nameth Fëanáro the greatest of the Eldar, and in potency that is true. But I say unto you that the children of Indis shall also be great, and the Tale of Arda more glorious because of their coming” The Later Quenta Silmarillion. Morgoth’s Ring J. R. R. Tolkien. Ed. C. Tolkien. HarperCollins. p274.)

Chapter Twenty Two: Flame Rekindled. Part Two.


I am posting this chapter next at the prompting of Fëanor, and the request of Magoleth. (*Hi, Magoleth* Just to let you know that you can leave me comments even though you dont have a blog, (yet). Just fill in the comments box as anonymous..and do the word verification.) I am still not satisfied with the ending of 'Carnistir', and will probably go back and edit it again. It is strange how some chapters .. like this present one .. just seem to flow, and others I go over time and time again!

Still the main story from sunny England is that it is too hot! On Wednesday we had the second highest temperature ever recorded for here! I love the summer, but this heatwave is not pleasant. Even my husband is fading, and he is never affected by temperature. Anyway..it is late, and I am doing 'student hours', so I will post and go!

(Still can't get on to C of E!!! Still can't post pictures here!!!! )


Chapter Twenty Two: Flame Rekindled. Part Two.


(Disclaimer: All the characters and the world they live in belong to JRR Tolkien. All references are from The Silmarillion and HoME 10 and 12. )


With thanks to Bellemaine for beta reading.


“Mandos you hold to be the strongest of all that are in Arda, being the least moved, and therefore you have dared to commit even the Marrrer himself to his keeping. Yet I say to you that each fëa of the Children is as strong as he; for it hath the strength of its singleness impregnable (which cometh to it from Eru as to us): in its nakedness it is beyond all power that ye have to move it if it will not.”

(Nienna: The Later Quenta Silmarillion. Morgoth’s Ring. JRR Tolkien. Ed C Tolkien.)



Mahanaxar. Recalling thoughts from the Halls of Awaiting.




At last, spirit of Fëanáro son of Finwë, we can begin,’ had Námo Mandos said.

I had little concept then of what was to follow. For though I knew well the power of the Valar, I feared them not, neither did I hold that one, nor any of his kind, in any regard. And I knew as well as any, I knew from my study of the loremasters’ records of the Valar’s debate concerning the sundering of my parent’s marriage, that the fëa of any child of Eru could not be broken nor forced against it’s will. Eru Iluvatar would not permit it. Not even by that stern Doomsman!

‘Begin, then, Jail master!’ I replied in my thought. ‘Thy wish it was to constrain me while I walked the land of Aman and thereafter - now thou doest have thy wish. But think not that, even so disadvantaged, I am without all will, or strength.’

A grim pleasure did I momentarily experience; to know I could still deny Mandos in some manner; to have a focus, even one so poor, as a reason to exist. But as I spoke, the image that was my memory of her brightness and warmth, that was the strength and beauty of our firstborn babe, faded beyond my attempt to hold it fast.

“Desire for love and desire for power do not abide well together, as thou must know. Aye, spirit of Fëanáro, the lies of Melkor thou shalt yet unlearn in bitterness.” The voice of the appointed judge echoed those of the herald of Manwë to me upon my departure from Tirion. Then he was also gone from me.

Nothing began!

I waited. What else was there, for I could do nothing but wait upon memories and upon the Valar. Nothing happened; no word, no image came to my thoughts from beyond. No rebuke, no condemnation, nor sentencing was there. Alone in the shadow of my memories was I.

A living picture was I suddenly a part of, and one as if I still had all my senses of perception. I was with my father: a young child again - running eagerly to him across the mosaic-floored hall of his house. He picked me up and spun round, holding me up as if to the heavens, as if he would give thanks to Ilúvatar Himself for my being.

“Finwion! My beloved son! Greater than any gift possible art thou to me,” my father had said.

His love was set upon me in abundance. I was his pride and his joy. And that he, who was himself most mighty in thought, in strength and in skill with words, should think so of me, filled my own heart with joy. To the side of the hall sat my mother with some few of her ladies, each engaged in broidery. She smiled at the sight before her, overcoming for that moment her constant weakness. Solemn child that I sometimes was, yet had I laughed with delight.

Then that memory also faded.

‘Atar; amillë?’ I uttered hopefully. But they were not with me in reality.

‘They should be here’, I had thought again. I had known they should be in that place of awaiting. Why was I not with those whom my heart loved best?

The memory changed abruptly to the arrival of my sons at Máhanaxar soon after the Long Night began. Angry was I! Led hence by a false word and a command of Manwë’s, to be hemmed in by my enemies.

“Speak, O Noldo, yea or nay! But who shall deny Yavanna?’[1] Tulkas had demanded of me.

‘Give over the greatest work of thy hands; give over the Silmarils, that they will be broken, and we again will again have the Light!’ I had felt them all bend their will to that end. As Moringotho had said, did they seem to me in that moment. Jealous thieves, whose sole aim was to take from me the perfection I had created. But, whereas I had withstood the Enemy at the door of my house, I was not fool enough to believe I could withstand all the assembled Lords of Arda.


Give over my Jewels to those kin of the jail-crow? Nay, not even for the healing of the Trees, for to my eyes, their possible light was polluted beyond recall to wholeness. But a final ploy did I consider it to be - another attempt by the Valar to control the Eldar. I would not give over my Jewels of free will!

Then Nelyo was there, hot and dirtied from fast and furious riding. His hair dishevelled, his face a mask of pain.

I knew! Before he spoke, I had known.

“Blood and darkness!” he had cried to all who were assembled, though it was I whom he sought. “Finwë the King is slain, and the Silmarils are gone!”[2]

Overcome with anguish was I, that I thought to die from the agony of such knowledge. And I fell upon my face, in the dust, as if all life had been taken from me. Mayhap it was then that I was slain?

Silence.

No movement, no possibility of change was there in that world in which I existed. A solitary confinement in eternity, was that to be my doom? What difference then was this place from the Everlasting Darkness?

“Atar!” my heart cried out in longing

So much did I want to be with him again. So much did I want to hear his words of approval. ‘Skilled son of Finwë’ had he named me once he had seen with his own eyes what I was capable of, and that when I was little over a year of age. So very proud of me had he been when he named me Curufinwë!

In that early solitude, my thoughts would not leave my father. The chosen king of the proud Noldor he had been! The king he was in my heart, then and always. Nolofinwë had agreed to rule in Tirion, aye, that was true. But no king was he! Never had that half-brother of mine been a ruler of the stature and nobility of our father, and for much time had it been in his thoughts to usurp the throne. In his jealously, his envy of me, did that second son see our father set aside his kingship, that he might become the chosen pawn of the Valar.

‘And now, mayhap, Nolofinwë has what he desired,’ thought I. For he would have hurled his rage and enmity at me across the great Sea, but in the end, he and his followers would have crawled back to their cage. So did I think him likely to be forgiven, and restored - to be acting ‘ruler’ again in the thraldom that was Eldamar.

“Atar!”

But that desperate call had been to, and not of, my own fëa. “Forgive me, atar, for again have I failed thee!”

I tried to focus, to summon all my will and strength to answer his cry. But I, who in life was rarely at rest, could do nothing. Again I had vision of him, of Nelyafinwë, hung from that precipice by a band of steel upon the wrist of his right hand. Gaunt of feature was he, and bearing signs upon his body of much mistreatment: of long without water or nourishment or any act of kindness. And his mind and thoughts were in torment as much as his hröa.

So high upon the precipice did I perceive him to be, so far beyond the reaches of any aid. To take Nelyo, to have taken Russandol captive, must have meant the others were, at the least, scattered. Most likely did I ponder, it meant that Káno, who ever watched his elder brother’s back, was dead.


I was nigh lost in despair at that sight, and wished -- ai -- I wished, I hoped, for so many things: for Turko to take up the leadership, (not the kingship - that was Nelyo’s, by right, while he drew breath.), for an attempt to be made to reclaim Nelyafinwë's freedom. But idle, useless, speculation it all was for one who was powerless.

Then, again was the presence that was Námo Mandos impinging upon my consciousness. A cold and distant observer did he seem.

“My eldest son suffers a torment beyond endurance,” I spoke, bitterly. “Wilt thou not find a way to end his suffering now? Or is it the purpose of the Valar to humiliate him for my deeds; to so shame my House by allowing Moringotho such a trophy of victory over Eldar and Valar alike?”

No answer was forthcoming.

“Then tell me, at least, if any other of my sons yet live?

A deep sigh did it seem the Vala uttered then, and he spoke forth.

‘We will begin!’

“No! We will not! Not until I know what has happened, that my sons appear to desert their appointed leader, against all I ever taught them to so do!”

“Thou hast asked, and this answer will I give thee. Nelyafinwë is still captive because thine other sons will not make barter for him. In so refusing, they show wisdom. But neither will they waste time set aside for that main purpose of theirs. Are they not constrained by an oath to maintain their war against the Enemy, to reclaim thy jewels and not be turned aside, neither by law, nor love, nor league of swords, dread nor danger nor Doom itself?”

The oath! The oath it was that kept Nelyo so constrained?

“Neither for love of their brother may your other sons turn aside from their purpose. We will begin!” repeated Mandos.

No tone of pity nor of sorrow was there in his voice. No appeal could be made to him; I knew that well. Nor would I have so done for myself. Neither could I plead for my son, though the pain of memory was sharp, and for an instant did I again look down upon a wide-eyed, tussle haired infant in my arms. One whose first word so pleased me. One whose first word was ‘Atar!’

But I knew from Mandos that my other sons yet lived, and were no captives.

So I thought to play Mandos at his own game. He wanted, no doubt, to bring me into a state of supplication and servility - a trophy of his own. I, for my part, wanted to know what perchanced with my sons and their effort against Moringotho. Though I trusted Mandos no more than I believed my sons trusted the Dark Enemy, yet would I match wits with him. We would see who prevailed!

“So be it,” said I.

“We begin with your memories of Nolofinwë.”

Almost did I laugh with contempt! No more should I have expected from Mandos than he would lead me to consider that oath-breaker, that cause of much of my grief.

“Some barter is this; that I forgive my half-brother, and give my blessing on his useless kingship in Aman? Is that what you want in exchange for an end to Nelyafinwë’s pain?”

No answer came from the Doomsman, but more memories flooded my mind. I knew then what was expected, for he could not force me to relive any particular occurrence. Yet was he not inviting me to so do, and with a promise, mayhap, as reward for my cooperation?

Nolofinwë! So would it be! And mayhap I would show my jailer what a poor choice the Valar had made in supporting one so untrustworthy as my half-brother.



Atar - Father
Amillë - Mother
Moringotho - Morgoth
Nelyo / Nelyafinwë – Maedhros
Russandol – ‘Copper-top. Maedhros’ epessë.
Turko / Turkafinwë - Celegorm
Káno/ Kanafinwë - Maglor
Nolofinwë - Fingolfin

[1] Of the Flight of the Noldor The Silmarillion JRR Tolkien. Ed C Tolkien
[2] The Later Quenta Silmarillion. Morgoth’s Ring JRR Tolkien. Ed C. Tolkien.

Chapter Twenty One: Flame Rekindled. Part One.




I know it is odd to post a chapter before I have finished the previous one, but I have found myself a touch lacking in time the past few days, ( my husband took some time off work, and we have been out and about, and to the theatre, and doing work on the house), and I thought to try and keep up with posting in my blog at least once a week! This particular chapter is finished, though, if you have not read it elsewhere, it may seem a little odd at first. The 'Flame Rekindled' chapters, of which there will be several, are from Fëanor's point of view, and at the time of his return. In the Silmarillion it says that Fëanor will return at 'the End', and that 'his likeness has never again appeared in Arda, neither has his spirit left the halls of Mandos' ...and it may take a few chapters for what I am suggesting has taken place, to become apparent.

And I have finished the chapter on Carnistir; well, part one of it.



Flame Rekindled. Chapter One.


(Disclaimer: All of the characters and the world in which they exist are the wonderful creations of JRR Tolkien. All references are from The Silmarillion and HoME 1, 10 and 12. Nothing is mine except the interpretation and the mistakes. I make no money from this.)


With thanks to Bellemaine for beta reading.


(A/N This is the second story I have attempted to write. It is complete in first copy, but some chapters still need a lot of editing. Hopefully it will all be posted before the end of this year. I am trying to portray some of the thoughts and memories that may have affected Fëanor during his time in the Halls of Awaiting, as Námo Mandos works towards his healing and the purging of his guilt. As I use Quenya names, I have put a guide to the character names used in The Silmarillion at the bottom of each chapter.)


"Then Fëanor swore a terrible oath. ... 'Our word hear thou, Eru Allfather! To the everlasting Darkness doom us if our deed faileth. On the holy mountain hear in witness and our vow remember, Manwë and Varda!'

(The Annals of Aman. Morgoth's Ring JRR Tolkien. ed. C Tolkien.)



Máhanaxar. Seventh Age. Recalling thoughts in the Halls of Awaiting.




Is it now that I am dreaming? Is all the anguish of the many ages past but some trick of my mind? Will I awaken from what has seemed the long shadow of my thoughts, to find her still by my side?

I feel the touch of her fëa upon mine; an exquisitely gentle touch, yet one that ever grows in response to me, filling all of my senses with a fierce and joyful longing. I feel the touch of her hands, so small, aye, and so strong, and her breath, warm against my skin. And I move to enfold her in the fire and flame of my being ----

But now all is light! Around me, all is light!

I struggle to cope with the sudden rush of myriad sensations as my disincarnate fëa is enfolded again in hröa. Thus it is that, for a third time, I stand in the Ring of Doom before the Lords of the West. No dream is this!- - - - -


******


I remember it all! I remember my life; I remember my death overlooking that goal unreachable, the peaks of Thangorodrim. What has befallen Moringotho the accursed, I ponder? What has become of my Jewels? But neither thought is the one that fills me, that consumes me upon my restoration.

As I struggle to master again my own body, to stand before Manwë Súlimo with no semblance of weakness, my mind is focused upon the reasons for my return. I would be about that which I long for, yet I cannot even put one foot before the other without stumbling.

“Peace, Curufinwë,” says the Lady of the Stars. “But a short time it will take for thee to grow re-accustomed to thy form.”

Though some things have changed, yet this has not changed about me - I am impatient!

A faint smile touches the face of Yavanna Kementári, though I cannot yet see her clearly through the swirling light patterns that still surround me. She looks somehow older to my eyes, worn thin, if such be possible for a Valië.

“Thou knowest enough of the Song to understand that time enough will be granted thee, son of Finwë.”

Time enough? Never will there be time enough for what I wish! Yet I find I cannot even master my voice to give of spoken reply to Yavanna. Then does Manwë himself lean forwards; from his golden throne he addresses me.

“Curufinwë; thou dost remember who and what thou art?”

I remember! As I needs must wait upon my voice and my full strength to return, it seems I have time to remember all that has gone before…


*****


I remember the timeless ‘time’, the immeasurable days sitting in the shadow of memory in those Halls of Awaiting. For some, mayhap, is it a period of gentle rest, of peace and kindly ministering? But for me, nay! How could it have been?

A battle of wills it long seemed. At first, a battle with the realisation of my failure; then with the isolation and despair, and then with Námo Mandos himself as I came to fully understand. And finally - finally did I realise where my folly, and my real strength, lay.

I dwelt not upon the memory of how I was slain. Once freed of my body, my fëa had been confronted with the truth of how certain things were. No sudden and complete awareness did I experience, but no longer did delusion hold such a sway over me. And I knew with profound clarity that the Noldor could in no way overthrow Moringotho, even as the Herald of Manwë had proclaimed. Fool had I been, that I had realised it not, nor planned better, but threw all my strength and power away in a useless pursuit.

Anger and bitterness! My companions they were for many a ‘day’ after first accepting the truth - that I had been defeated not by my enemies, but by my own rashness. Anger against the Deceiver for what he had achieved; bitterness at what I began to see he had achieved through me. And hate! Filled I was with hate for the one who had taken so very much from me. Filled, also, with a growing sense of emptiness.

Though some other of my host had died in battle, none other spirit was there with me in that place that I could perceive. None with whom to converse in the manner of fëar; so was I truly alone. Trapped with but my memory and grief was I.

‘You will not humble me, Námo Mandos! Though you bring all your will to bear upon me yet will I resist. As I defied you when first you summoned me to Máhanaxar, I will defy you now!’ That thought of stubborn self-will held me fast in purpose for some time - or for no time - it came to be all the same.

No answer, no reply was given me.

There was a moment when almost did I wish Mandos would speak to me; would reveal his presence even to pronounce a damming judgement upon me. I began to wonder if I were truly in his Halls, in the place appointed for the Eldalië who were slain. Mayhap I was cast into the everlasting Darkness as I had expected to be, even as I had called upon Eru, upon Iluvatar himself, to so doom me. Yet I had felt the summons at the moment of my hröa’s destruction. My spirit had consumed my body in its fire as it sped away, into the West. It had not even occurred to me to resist that call.

She had been there in fëa; she had called to me. She had been with me in those last moments, though had I tried to drive her from me that she felt neither the pain nor the sundering. But there were none now who called to me, who reached out to touch me, to condemn or to console.
Ai! What consolation could I expect: I, whom they considered the rebel; the disdainer of the Valar, the chief instigator of the kinslaying; the betrayer of my own people? Though I had judged myself justified in all my actions, had scorned the judgement of others, yet did I realise how many had resented and hated me.

Then the memories began in earnest; the perception of a torrent of colour and of sound. My life as it had been: my grief over the loss of my mother, my love for my father, my distain for Indis and those who were her children. I beheld in my thoughts the works of my hands that I loved so well; how I had busied and delighted myself with often little consideration of others, and I felt again that overwhelming pride in my creations. Much had I undertaken, much had I accomplished through the drive of the fires of my heart, and for my own gratification. But also had I wanted my father’s approval. Always had I wanted his love first and foremost.
As I thought upon him did I wonder how proud of me he had been! Never had my father deserted me, never would he be parted from me for long. Never did he question whether I was guilty of that which they accused me or no. Not as she did!

As I pondered, the timelessness endured. And so did I.

I remembered her when first we met, walking upon the hillside, and she lit with the radiance of Laurelin. From the moment I beheld her had I decided she was the one I would have as my wife. After walking and talking with her, had I known no other would I have to bear my children. Some had earlier told me that the daughter of Urundil was no great beauty, but beautiful to me was she in form and in mind; her eyes bright with desire for knowledge, with questions and longing for answers.

But then my memory altered. I beheld her with tears upon her face, as she pleaded with me to release Lastamo from the crushing mastery I had of his thoughts that caused him to gabble like a babe. Again, I beheld her distress as I had moved in anger, to strike Ecthelion a blow that would send him reeling across the floor of my study - to strike he who had betrayed me to my half-brother.

“Dost thou not see, my dear lord, the decent into folly of this path thou hast chosen?”

Had any other but she - but my father - so spoken, they would have known the full measure of my wrath. But she, … always so determined to hold me to the noblest course, always so gentle of manner …

I beheld her pleading with me at the last, to leave at least one of our children with her. Angry with me and wilfully resolute had she been, yet knowing I would not alter my course for her.
‘Better off are you without me, lady,’ thought I, ‘for truly did you say that I was a bringer of grief unto you.’

I thought then that I heard the cries of my youngest son, of Telufinwë. From a flaming white ship I heard him calling to me, though I beheld him not. Was his fëa somewhere in the vastness that surrounded me, sitting in the shadow of thought of the father who slew him? Would I find him again in this place and be able to tell him of my dismay? Only in solitude had I been able to express my grief for his loss. However personal a tragedy had befallen me, I had to appear strong! A king I was, leading my people into a dark and dangerous land. An oath I had to fulfil. I wondered if Telvo would understand?

The memories moved on apace: first a recollection of the loneliness of my childhood, then of threatening Rúmil in the hall of the loremasters, then again of the blood and death I left in my wake at Alqualondë. Káno had said that Telvo found it hard to take rest - that the memory of what he had done at Alqualondë was ever with him. Though I never so spoke, I wondered that it was not with them all? It was always with me! And also the cries: I heard the cries of the Teleri in every sea bird, every gull we encountered from that time forth.

‘I regret requiring such ignoble deeds from the Noldor, but the action was needful!’

Did none understand?

My answer was a memory of the flames of Gothmog. Wrapped in fire was I, and unable to break free. ‘You will not master me!’ my fëa cried out, as I struggled to control my thoughts. ‘Even if this memory is to be my constraint.’

But none did give me reply.

Time. In that place it was almost as I remembered the Gardens of Irmo Lórien. Timelessness there was, a moment as a hundred years, a hundred years as a moment. But in Lórien had there been a gentle light; mazes of yews and tall pines there were in abundance, with fields and meadows full of fumellar. The lakes were lit with reflected light of the stars of Varda, and spirits abounded seeking to heal and bring peace. In Lórien I had rarely been alone. First with my father had I travelled, and the last times with her.

My father should be in the Halls of Awaiting, I had thought. My mother also should be here! Why was I not aware of either of them? Surely great love bound fëar closely?

But mayhap it would not be permitted me? Mayhap it was thought best to keep me from them both. And what could I say to either if it were allowed?

‘Behold, father, I have brought the Noldor to the place where they can regain their freedom; back to that place you first led them from. Though I have not overthrown the Enemy nor reclaimed my Jewels, as I so desired, yet have I been slain in the attempt! I have lost my youngest son, but the others are still with our people. Still will those six seek to avenge us both. Nelyafinwë is king. He will hold true to his oath.'

Was that what my beloved parents wanted to hear?

The folly of some of those thoughts filled me again with bitterness. I hated Moringotho; I hated Nolofinwë for what he had driven me to do. I hated the jealous Valar for desiring my Jewels and for keeping the Eldar as vulnerable children at their parent’s knees. But most of all, I found I increasingly hated myself for my failure to achieve what I had set out to do.

Then one thought came to me that was not, could not be, of my own. For no memory of that event I ever had, or possibility of its occurrence had I conceived. So did I know I was indeed in the company of Mandos rather than abandoned to the Darkness. Little comfort did that thought bring me, however. An image I perceived, that was all; of Nelyafinwë bound by the wrist to a precipice of that accursed mount, Thangorodrim.

And I yearned most desperately for restoration with my hröa. If I could have spoken or striven with Mandos, I would have demanded to be returned. More the fool I, to think I could still so command. Though my fëa protested, demanded, howled with rage, none there were who paid heed. None paid heed to my anguish for my eldest son.

I hated Eru in that moment: that He had seen fit to make me at all.

It came to pass that I exhausted my anger and my grief, so I had thought. Nothing was left to me but to endure. I recalled then the words of the ‘Doom of the Noldor’, spoken by Mandos, that in his Halls long would we abide, and yearn for our bodies. I thought not that any swift attempt would be made to restore me to my physical form, as I believed was my right, yet neither could I truly die until the end of Arda. So long, and with no hope, thought I. It was like staring into the abyss! Whether Eru so doomed me or no, I would take what little control I could of my situation. Of my own will I would lose myself in the darkness of oblivion.

One last thought would I indulge in, one last chosen memory, before the desire for complete extinction took over. One last memory…yet was it one that took me by surprise even as I made of the choice!

She was standing in the doorway of my workroom, clad in a simple white robe that clung becomingly to her form. Her unbound hair was curling in the heat, a wild mane of copper-brown hair it was. And on one hip she was balancing the small form of our son, whose hair, a brighter hue of that same rich colour, was also curling at the nape of his neck.

Sharper than any torment was the beauty of that moment.

Then she was passing the resting child to me with much tenderness. My son, my eldest son: he who, if the image were true, hung in wretched abandonment at the pleasure of Moringotho.
“I disagree with thee,” she was saying; the expression on her face one of firm determination to match her strength of will to my own. My thought snapped back to that happier memory.
“Though the gems thou hast made blaze with such light and are truly a wonder, yet here is the most wonderful of thy creations, Finwion!”

Pain, like nothing even the flames had done to me, raced through my thoughts. Such loss! So much had I lost when I let her walk away.

“I had forgotten.” I found I was whispering, repeating my answer of long ago. Voiceless words into the void it was, but the memory gained strength.

“Whatever couldst thou have forgotten, my lord?” said she, in a bantering tone. Never did I forget anything, and the idea had amused her.

“I had forgotten how much I love thee.”

And I had forgotten, also, how much I loved Nelyo.

Ai! If I had voice, I would have screamed those words out as a last defiance. I would have, should have, whispered them with my last breath to the sons that sat by me in silent vigil, and spoken in fëa to she who had never truly forsaken me. How far into the Darkness must I have been, not to realise that?

No sooner had those thoughts come to me than there was a sense of another ‘being’ drawing nigh. I felt as if I were trembling with a mixture of anger and frustration, though without a body, that could not be.

It was not her, neither was it Nelyafinwë, I knew with some relief. How could it be? She, I knew from our final touch of fëar, was alive in Eldamar.

It was, however, another I had occasion to know.

’At last!’ Námo Mandos’ well-remembered voice echoed through my fëa. ‘At last, spirit of Fëanáro, son of Finwë, we can begin!’- - - - -


*******

Curufinwë - FëanorMoringotho - MorgothNolofinwë – FingolfinFumellar – Sleep flower. Poppy.Telufinwë / Telvo - AmrasKanafinwë / Káno - MaglorNelyafinwë / Nelyo - Maedhros.Finwion – The childhood name of Fëanor that, in this story, Nerdanel sometimes uses.
Fëa / Fëar - Spirit, singular and plural.
Hröa. – Body.

Chapter Twenty: Carnistir. Part One.

At last, I have finished this chapter!

... and I have re-edited the chapter on Míriel, and the first chapter on Fëanáro, again.

*********

I have found myself caught between writing new chapters, a new story (or two!..getting going on the Maglor story at intervals! ), and editing past chapters. I am never satisfied, and realise I could tweak material until the End! Not that I have that long, I suspect! So, this week I have re-edited the prologue, more to my satisfaction, and played around, again, with the ending to Wedding Gifts part two..lol....and almost finished chapter thirty one. (Though, being me, I have already written chapters thirty two and three!) Talk about scatterbrain planning.

And I am working on the final chapters...yay....I'm really enjoying that! Lots of action, less talk!

Apart from that I have had a great week. The sun is shining, but not too much. I have read some interesting books, been to the cinema, visited with an ex-colleague who is a really good friend, and has invited me to go stay with her in Oxford for a while, done some (not enough!) on the house, and got out my drawing pencils again. I doubt if I can upload pictures yet, though!

Chapter Twenty: Carnistir. Part One.



(Disclaimer: All of the characters and the world they inhabit are the wonderful creations of JRR Tolkien. The characters Ondoriel and Narwasar belong to my beta reader, whom I thank. The characters Serewen, Turindë, Enyalimë (Líriel), Artuiel and Lord Fionu are my sub-creations. All references are from The Silmarillion, and HoME 1, 10 and 12.)



“Then Caranthir looked kindly upon men and did Haleth great honour; and he offered her recompense for her father and brother. And seeing, over late, what valour there was in the Edain, he said to her: ‘If you will remove and dwell further north, there shall you have the friendship and protection of the Eldar, and free lands of your own.’


(Of the coming of Men into the West. The Silmarillion J. R. R. Tolkien. Ed C. Tolkien.)



The house of Curufinwë Fëanáro. Tirion. Seventh Age.



This house, that once saw so much of sweet life, that contained so many of us, so many voices, and laughter and song, and debate, aye, and argument and strife as well, stands now so silent and brooding. Since my return here, and for a short time only, have I wandered the rooms wherein my sons once lived, the gardens where they played as children, the great hall, in which was held many of our festivities and meetings, and I am, yet again, nigh overwhelmed with a sense of my loss. So little has this house changed in outward appearance over the long Ages, for was it not built by ones most skilled, and to endure? Even that time of the desertion of the city, (those years following the departure of my lord and so many of the Noldor), did no damage, that the determined ministrations of Líriel, and of Arnónë and her family, could not restore. Nay: the damage and destruction of the House of Curufinwë Fëanáro came from other than time!

So little has this house changed on the outside: so much has it changed within.


As I take a seat now upon the gallery overlooking the great hall, many thoughts and memories come to my mind. So many things of import, both to our people and to our family, happened here. Ever do I see this place, as it was, when Fëanáro first brought me hence, on the day of our wedding, and with all those candles upon the floor. Ai! So much love was there then! Often do I see it with all our family in attendance, and most particularly at that celebration which was held upon my lord’s return from the utmost tower of Taniquetil, and his presentation before the Valar of those supreme works of his hands. Yet this day, do my eyes take note of the magnificent portrayal of Valinor, wrought in marble, that is the floor; and that, now obscured, in my recollection, by folk celebrating Carnistir’s* betrothal. If you will but bear with me for a short time, Firya, I would indulge myself in a closer remembrance of my family. No ‘case’ do I seek to make by so doing, save the case that I have tried to make all along. The case being that, neither my lord nor our sons were evil; neither my lord nor our sons were fell, as the noontide of Valinor struck.


****


Now was Carnistir the second of our sons who sought to wed. He had known his lady wife-to-be for some many years, but had long resisted pursuing her, believing most deeply that her interests lay elsewhere. Not that he doubted himself in any manner, but he would not seek to pay court where he thought it unwanted. It had taken the combined efforts of Makalaurë, Curvo and Nolwen to enable him see through the situation, and that Turindë’s love of participating in the sports of the arena did not equate with her giving of her heart’s love to the Lord Glorfindel. From Curvo’s point of view, even if she had been interested in another, that was no excuse for Carnistir not testing the extent of her resolve; nor ensuring that she knew clearly the choices that lay before her. (So much did Curvo remind me of his father!) Most rare was it for a nís to have such a joy in participating in the preferred events of the neri, that was true, and most certainly was it something unexpected in one so small in stature for a Noldo. Yet could that daughter of Lord Fionu prevail in the race, and the quarterstaff, and particularly in the, then, newer form of graceful, dance-like contest, that would increasingly form the basis of much training.


But it had been the sports that attracted her, and Glorfindel no more to her than a dear friend. As we had suspected, her love was set upon other than the son of Glorfëo. Surprised had Carnistir been at the enthusiasm with which the Lady Turindë had welcomed his courtship, and proposal. He was the only one of our family so surprised! For all of his dour and haughty nature, that air of introspection he presented to the world, was he, at heart, one of the kindest of my sons, and one to place much value and honour upon brave endeavour. Not words that many who have read the writings of later days would associate with him, that I know! But before he left Valinor was he far from cruel, save following that most dreadful of occasions. And Turindë had seen through the dark exterior he sometimes portrayed, into a brighter fëa, and one with whom she had much affinity.


I liked her well! I was most glad of the alliance that would be but strengthened between our families, for was not her father already one of those lords most impressed by, and most loyal to, my husband? Not that it was to me to make the choice for my son, but Turindë, an only child herself, knew how to deal with one who was often solitary. She knew when to give him of distance, and when to be close friend. She knew how to bring him forth from moods of dark brooding when he was thwarted in any matter; that he, who rarely smiled, would be found laughing in her company. Not that the pairing was but to his benefit! In my son had the daughter of Lord Fionu found one who admired her strength and skills, and in no manner was daunted by her athletic prowess. With Carnistir did she seem to blossom into full flower, as a bud that held back on display of its wonder until just the right moment. And she adored him! What more could I have asked of her?


On that day of Carnistir’s betrothal were many of Tirion’s highest lords, and some of the less noble, assembled at our house. All were clad in fine garments of celebration, so that, in memory, is there a brilliant sea of colour before me; of silks and taffeta, of finely embroidered gowns and robes, and jewels reflecting their light in the diamonds, and milky white stones embedded in the ceiling of the great hall. I hear again a multitude of sounds: the delight of animated conversations, the first chords of music, as those musicians who played harp and flute and viol prepared to entertain us. And faintly, in the background, sweet birdsong, that came nearer the voice we would soon hear than any other air. I recall the fresh fragrance of the rose garden, for all the doors to the upper terrace were open, as they are now, and the lightest of breezes was carrying with it the more distant, heady, aroma of the woodland firs that I so loved. And I feel the excitement of Enyalimë, who was the one to give us first song, urgently conferring with Makalaurë at the edge of the dais. His ‘Líriel’, did he call her, and she in turn took up the name, given by her beloved, as her epessë.


The formal declarations had been made, witnessed by all assembled; the feast had already been enjoyed, laid out upon tables on the upper lawns of the terraced gardens and, though some still partook of the food and wine, many had moved into the house for the dancing and song. I see again dark Carnistir, leading his tiny, (compared to he, who was the second tallest of our sons), newly betrothed lady from her seat at the head of the hall, to the middle of the room. Others followed his lead; the neri escorting their ladies onto the dance floor.

Now Maitimo* had acted the part of host most considerately, that last hour, and he had asked Turindë’s mother for the first dance, in his father’s absence. (For was Fëanáro not ensconced with his father, in his study!) Pleased, was I, that our eldest son seemed of lighter disposition again. Of late had he been, ‘suffering from being led astray by a Vanya, much as his grandsire!’ at least, that was the issue according to my husband. Further, had Fëanáro berated him: “Are there no maids amongst the Noldor, that you must go, and with my half-brother’s sons to the Vanyar for a wife?"

It was the case that our eldest son had journeyed with Nolofinwë’s sons, his close friend, Findekáno, and his brother, Turukáno, to the slopes of holy Taniquetil, to visit with King Ingwë. There, under the gaze of Manwë and of Varda, had Turukáno met, and fallen most ardently in love with a Vanya nís, Elenwë. That, in itself, was no surprise. But Maitimo, also, had fallen in love! Though long had he shown little interest in finding a spouse, on that fated journey was he to become enamoured of Elenwë’s elder sister, the tall and gentle spirited Menelwë. Now, my lord had much respect at that time for the Vanyar, yet did the meeting of one of his sons with a Vanya nís upon Taniquetil hold no pleasant connotation for him whatsoever. No great joy had Maitimo’s news brought my husband!

For a time had our eldest son braved his father’s disapproval, and would have continued so to do, I believe. For, though he loved Fëanáro greatly, Maitimo, also, was strong of will, and would seek to marry with whom he chose; not give way to the opinions and judgements of others. A union of families was a marriage; and Maitimo was mindful of that. Hope he had, that when Fëanáro met with Menelwë herself, he would come to understand why his son was so taken with her. Most merry of mood had Maitimo been in those days, and frequently away from Tirion, to pay court to his lady. But that relationship was to be ended before it had truly begun. And while Turukáno visited still with the golden haired Elenwë, and there was talk of his own betrothal, Maitimo had been rejected as a suitor. I had grieved with him at the loss of his wished for future, and for a time he had been of low spirits. But it was not our firstborn’s nature to be downcast for long; and that day, at his brother’s betrothal, was someone in attendance who would lift up his heart anew.

Curvo led forth his wife for the dance: the graceful and clever Nolwen, daughter of Anwë, the steward of the house of Arafinwë. They had wed in 1327, a year of the Great Festival, though had they been betrothed many a year before. Garbed in silver was he, that day; and she in embroidered gown of golden hue. Most fitting did they appear unto my eyes.

Ambarussa the younger, as ever, was with his childhood friend, the lively Artuiel. Those two were life partners, we then believed, and in more than dance. Ambarussa the elder was clad identically to his twin, in belted, forest-green robes, which bore but the heraldic design of our House; the Star of the House of Fëanáro. Since they had reached their seventh year could they be told apart, as Pityo’s hair had darkened to my shade, whereas his younger twin’s hair remained the brighter hue of Urundil and of Maitimo. Now Pityo was accompanying that other, close, childhood friend of the twins, Ondoriel, daughter of Narwasar and of Calimanandë. Recently returned was she from spending four years with her mother’s family. That she sought ever to improve upon her considerable skill in embroidery, and weaving was the reason given for her absence from among the Aulenduri, and the reason accepted. But did I, at least, not suspect that some of the nís’ reasoning had to do with he whom she loved; with he who had noticed her not as anything more than a, well-liked, child.

Tyelkormo had escorted the white-gowned Irissë most gallantly throughout the celebrations thus far, and would continue so to do in the dancing. Great was the love between those two, though of the nature of brother and sister. Though much did she love Turukáno, closer to Tyelkormo than to her own brothers, at times, was the headstrong daughter of Nolofinwë.


Makalaurë was the last to join the group for the opening dance, as Findekáno, with the Lady Ilyalissë, and Angaráto, (a very rare visitor to our house), and Eldalotë, to whom he was already wed, swept ahead of him. But my second son had taken Enyalimë, daughter of Ecthelion and of Serewen, by the hand, and a most warm and sustaining grip did it appear. Not that she was apprehensive about her singing, but this was an occasion of import to her beloved, and she would not fail him.


And I watch them now, in memory, as I did then. Was it not a day of delight for me? Were not most of my sons with those whom they loved most dearly? Yet was Maitimo, though most proper, dancing with the wrong companion!

So full was that hall with folk. Nolofinwë and Anairë, Arafinwë and Eärwen, and Lalwendë were also in attendance, though Indis and Findis were not. Turukáno was away, visiting with Elenwë, and with him, on that occasion visiting of their Vanyar kin, were Findaráto, Aikanáro and Artanis. Not that we had great closeness with the family of my husband’s younger half-brother, save with Aikanáro. Never were my sons as close with them as they were with Nolofinwë’s children. Does that thought not seem strange, looking back? That they were close: Maitimo and Findekáno, Tyelkormo and Ar-Feiniel, aye, and Aikanáro with Tyelkormo and Curvo! Even did Artanis spend some time with Maitimo at my father’s house, discussing crafting and lore, and that until Fëanáro’s, much-reported, request of her. Little are those last two friendships mentioned, those of Aikanáro and Artanis with my sons. In obscure places of the most ancient of texts of the loremasters, only, do they survive.

In the present reality that is yet my memory, I see Serewen, noticing my absence from the dance, and looking up to the gallery, my place of temporary reflection. Her eyes lit with delight, and she smiled most radiantly at me. But smiling or no, was Serewen ever a beauty of note. At her side, Ecthelion was engaged in conversation with Lord Alcarwë, and seemed all but oblivious of the point his wife was trying to make. But we knew, she and I, that our children’s love for each other would soon be recognised in a betrothal of their own. Though we had thought, when they were but young children, that Makalaurë and Enyalimë had much of shared interest, it had taken many years of good friendship for them to realise their relationship was one they wished to share for all time. Most independent of spirit was Serewen and Ecthelion’s daughter, and one who liked her own company, and to be about in the lands of the Valar, listening, so she said, for echoes of the Great Music; for it was in music, in lore, and in the knowledge of plants and herbs, and of their uses, that she delighted. More her father’s daughter, than her mother’s, in appearance and manner, was Enyalimë. (More, also, her father’s daughter in courage, and strength of heart, when came the time of testing, I consider; from my vantage point in time!)


I could have stood thus, looking upon the joy in that room until duty demanded my presence elsewhere. But then, do I recall, was I aware of the softest of footfalls, and the presence of another, standing beside me.

“You do not dance, lady?”

A most familiar, and welcome, presence it was. One I shall not so feel again at my side, I am reminded, with dismay.

“Nay, my lord!” I had given him answer. “I care not to dance until the partner of my choice is in the hall.”

I could sense that he was smiling, without averting my gaze from the room below.

“You should be dancing with the Lord Fionu!” he had stated. A mild reproach it had been, but laced with a hint of amusement.

“And you should be dancing with his lady! But thankfully Maitimo has a sense of propriety, and has taken up your duty, beloved.”

He had laughed aloud at my presumption, though, of course, had I been right. Were not both of us somewhat negligent in our duties that day? But of most good humour was Fëanáro on that occasion. And why should he not be? Was he not the most highly esteemed of the princes of the Noldor? Did not all give him honour, as was his due? Did he not have his father’s company, and, some of the time, to himself? And was he not a most proud father himself? He had, for a short time, taken Indis’ and Findis’ absence as a slight, but the visit with their kin was one long since arranged. More joy there was with him than temper, or difficulty of mood. That day of Carnistir’s betrothal was not the struggle it would have been for him in the earlier years. Though never was he to love them, at that time had my lord mastery of his resentment of his half-brothers, and that out of the great love he bore for his father.


“How is it with thy father?” I asked the obvious question, for Fëanáro was no longer with Finwë. “Does he enjoy the celebrations for his grandson?”

Now was my husband also watching the activities in the great hall with much thought.

“Aye, Nerdanel. My father has found the occasion to be most pleasing. He is debating yet in my study, and with Rúmil and Lastamo.” The slightest look of vexation crossed his features, and I lay a hand upon his arm in acknowledgement of the cause of that vexation. “I should be with them, for still does Lastamo assert much that is erroneous in our understanding of Valarin, and Rúmil is of no mood to halt him in his arrogance.”

“But thou, alone, hast any deep grasp of that language, Finwion. Thy father knows this, and Rúmil also! Lastamo speaks loudly but out of envy, not wisdom. For always, in such matters, art thou right!”


“As thou dost say, my lady; always am I right!” he concluded, still with an underlying hint of amusement. No idle boast it was, on his behalf; but in matters of language, it was truth! Then he became of more serious mood, so that I followed the direction of his gaze. It was at Maitimo he looked.

The dance had changed while we had conversed, and so had some of the partners. Though my husband was watching most keenly, I could not help but feel a touch of satisfaction that, at last, our eldest son was dancing with Ondoriel. Indeed, he was regarding she, whom he not of late seen, as with newly realised awe.

It was a moment that is ever dear in my memory. At last, had I thought, Maitimo sees Ondoriel for what she is become, and not for what he believed her to be. And so it was that our, beautiful, firstborn found himself smitten by one who had long lived within his sight and reach; with one whose heart had long turned to him, had he but known it.

“The daughter of Narwasar is she!” I sought to inform my husband.

“No noble lady is she, but the daughter of an Aulendur!” he countered sharply.

“Aye! That is so! Narwasar is second amongst those smiths of the House of Finwë who are devoted to Aulë, and that is no low thing! Good enough for Maitimo's father was the daughter of a smith!” Swiftly did I rise to the defence of one in a position I well understood, then, in that same instant, did I realise I was fooled. For all of my experience of his moods, had Fëanáro caught me in his trap. His humour returned, and with some satisfaction that he had drawn from me such an impassioned response.

“That he looks to one who is similar in family to his mother is no bad thing. And a better prospect than his first choice, I deem. But much as I enjoy baiting you, wife, we must be seen as hosts here, and so will discussion of who is, and who is not a fitting consort for our eldest have to wait awhile.”


So did my husband escort me down the marbled stairs, and into the great hall. Offering me his hand, we took our place at the top of the room nearest the dais, to lead in the next dance.


****


The whole of our household turned out by the main doors to farewell King Finwë and his party, as they had also turned out to welcome them much earlier that day. Fëanáro had escorted his beloved father to the edge of the arched bridge that spanned the waterfalls at the front of the lawned forecourt. Again did they speak together, as if loath to part, though well pleased was each with the day’s events.

The golden robed Nolwen, who stood by my side, had looked at me with some bewilderment.

“I mean no disrespect, Lady Nerdanel, but even after the years I have known him, I cannot understand the way Prince Fëanáro behaves with his father!” She spoke most softly, for my hearing alone. “Though in Prince Arafinwë’s house was the king always held in highest honour, yet does this relationship seem to border on obsession. Most thankful am I that Curvo does not take after his father in all ways.”

I had smiled a farewell to the king, as he paused in his conversation, and hailed us a final time, and I made a deep curtsy to him, my ladies and my son’s wife doing likewise.

“There is far more behind my lord’s actions than many, even his children, may suppose,” I whispered in return to the dark haired, bright-eyed nís at my side. Of all the nissi of our household was Nolwen the one most likely to understand what I understood! “None may come between Prince Fëanáro and his father without incurring his displeasure. This does he have reasons for, though some are most carefully hidden, aye, some even from himself. So may I not, as yet, speak of them, even to you, dear one!”


With the departure of the king’s party, I alone remained at the door. There was still dancing to enjoy in the great hall, and much food and wine had again been provided for those eager to return to the celebrations. Enyalimë was about to sing a second time, to the delight of all, though she had earlier sung the first song most beautifully, and that one of Makalaurë’s composition, of the devotion of Manwë and Varda.

Ambarussa the younger had been the last to turn from my side, and he seeming to be even merrier of mood than was usual. Both twins were mightily amused in the last hour, and planning some surprise; most likely pertaining to their eldest brother, thought I. That Maitimo’s eyes had scarcely left the form of Ondoriel had not escaped their notice; though would they be considerately discreet regarding the possible blossoming of love between two whom they, in turn, loved.

And then did Fëanáro, upon whom I waited, return across the circular lawns, talking with our steward, Lelyar, of his wishes for the rest of the occasion. Lelyar had nodded acknowledgment to me, and then continued about his duties with his usual flair for organisation.

“Do not many of our sons seem to be taking your advice this day, my lord,” I announced. My husband halted by the door.

“Makalaurë seeks to be betrothed, you mean! He makes a good choice in Ecthelion’s daughter. And about time.” Fëanáro sighed in a rather satisfied manner, though his eyes had lost some of their brilliance at the departure of his father. “You have always told them that there is time enough for everything, lady, and this have our sons taken to heart. Long have we waited for grandchildren!”

He made to take up my hand, that we returned to the celebrations ourselves. But then paused upon the step.

“May it be that our family grows in number from this time forth, and that much joy and laughter is heard in our house, that, upon Taniquetil, Manwë and Varda do wonder at what we are about!”

So much did I wish for that, also: for future joy in our house. Then, without warning, did it come upon me: a vision too terrible for me to retell in any detail. I had shivered involuntarily at that touch of foresight of my own, and he, ever observant, knew of that instant my trouble of mind to be great.

“Come, Nerdanel. Let us walk in the full light.” No mere request it was, but an order. Then his arm was about me, holding me close in a promise of support.

So we walked around the front of the house, and I most stiffly in my dazed state. As Lelyar and Curvo emerged from the house again, bidding farewell to other of our guests, we made our way to the, then quiet, herb garden, and took seat amidst the full bloomed lavender.

And we sat. No further demand did he make of me, knowing I would tell him all that was in my heart and mind when I could. Rare was it that I withheld anything from my husband, save a secret that was meant for his pleasure. But that vision could give no pleasure at all.

A moment only had it taken, though the deep pain it left, as a splinter in my mind, took long to overcome. Of my husband had the vision been, and he, bound across what appeared as three, large stones, by cords of dark and burning rope, and by something else, something bloodied, and of physical matter. In a cavern did he seem to be, and that with but little light, though around the cavern’s edge were hung bright tapestries of intricate and lifelike scenes. But, most dreadful of all, above his head, was perched some vast and hideous creature, and from it’s gaping mouth, drops of green tinged, molten silver were falling upon his face, so that he twisted and turned, in effort to avoid them. And yet was he calling defiance of Manwë!

My thought had been to throw myself over him, that the poison, if that was what it was, touched him not. Willingly, and with no thought for myself would I have so done, to avert his suffering; but only an observer was I in that vision, and powerless to intervene. I think that was the first I knew of real evil. Though I understood it not, yet in the seeing did I recognise it for what it was. And I rejected it with all my heart, for myself, and for he, who by then, was watching me with much concern.

“I would lay down my life to keep thee safe!” I uttered. And did those words do little to bring my lord comfort.

“Such do I not require of thee, beloved. ”He made to lighten my mood, to draw me into telling him of that which had provoked such a reaction in me. Then did his thoughts lightly touch my own, and in fëa he spoke, though sought not to coerce a response. ‘Whatever it is that ails thee, we will speak of, and at our leisure. I would not have thee so distressed, and no unhappiness do I wish for on this day of joy. So do thou hold thy vision in thy heart for longer, if thou will, and present an appearannce of delight to those who are still our guests. And whatever be the cause of thy mood, know that I am with thee.’

So did I have no fear! Even though the vision had been of him, and he bound, did I think that naught could overcome him. No power in Aman was there, I believed, that could overcome my husband. And, was not to be forewarned of some disaster, to be prepared?

Naught there was in Aman that could have overcome Fëanáro: naught save himself!

So we returned to our house, and all that was dear and familiar lifted the chill of that which was upon me. I thought to speak with him later, when all guests were gone. No great hurry was there. We had until the end of time, he and I, did we not? But Carnistir, he was betrothed in the year of the Trees 1399, and the following year was the captive Vala, Moringotho, to sue for pardon, and be released.


****

I do wonder often what it is like for he, who was so full of life and desire for the skills of the body, to be bound in the halls of Mandos? Ever restless was Fëanáro, and rarely were his hands or mind stilled, so that dwelling in memory alone must be most difficult for him to endure. Hardly can I bring myself to think of it. That I was with him as his spirit sped forth into the West brings me some comfort, for he is not doomed to Darkness everlasting, despite his oath. Still within Arda is he. So close; yet so far away! And that he is still within the circles of the world gives me the belief that our sons are also still here. Though I can see or hear them not, they dwell yet in the shadow of their thoughts. Their presence still lives on in my memories, most particularly in this place.

Yet throughout the ages have I continued to beseech Varda and Manwë and Aulë; that Fëanáro endures not the horror I beheld. And do I trust in the Valar, that such was never their intent.



All years are Valinorian years.
Carnistir - Caranthir
Maitimo - Maedhros
Findekáno - Fingon
Turukáno - Turgon
Curvo - Curufin
Arafinwë - Finafin
Ambarussa - The twins call each other this name. Ambarussa the elder is Amrod, and the younger is Amras
Tyelkormo - Celegorm
Irissë - Aredhel
Makalaurë - Maglor
Nolofinwë – Fingolfin
Arafinwë – Finarfin
Findaráto – Finrod
Angaráto – Angrod
Aikanáro – Aegnor
Artanis – Galadriel.
Finwion – ‘Son of Finwë’ Childhood name of Fëanor that Nerdanel sometimes uses.