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.