Just a really short post to let people know I am still alive, and intend to add a lot more to the blog soon.

I have had a really busy two weeks with my husband on 'holiday' and determined to totally renovate the house...and maybe garden..(we do have four days left!) I don't know about him, but I am more exhausted as this 'holiday' progresses.

And we have had to go walking most days, and had a couple of really nice countryside 'adventures', and a couple of historic location trips.....but I sort of want a return to normality now, please!

So I am really really sorry for not getting back to those who have PMed and e-mailed me recently.

The only thing altered on the blog at the moment is that I have re-edited and added a lot to the Míriel' chapter.

Next week I should be back to having writing and answering time, and I am looking forward to catching up with folk again.

Chapter Twenty Seven: Curvo. Part Two.


Not so much happening at the moment. I have had a rush on family life. I have had an attempted rush on decorationg, and I have been using the eye drops. I am still looking at a lot of the courses that interest me, and will have to make a choice soon on further study. We are looking to book a few weekends away, and to that end one of my husband's good friends has recommended a Georgian farmhouse with tours of the local observatory. That sounds different! I want to get up to north Norfolk again within the month, maybe stay at the mill. And the Lake District is booked for next month. I have a bit of a wandering bug after having spent so much of the summer near to home. Time to get moving again.

I have been working on a few of the pieces of writing, but can't seem to settle on one piece. I have done a lot of editing to the 'Wanderings' chapter though. That is almost unrecognisable.



Chapter Twenty Seven: Curvo. Part Two.



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


“And after Celegorm Curufin spoke, more softly but with no less power…”

(Of Beren and Lúthien. The Silmarillion J.R.R. Tolkien. Ed C. Tolkien. HarperCollins p 199)




The house of Curufinwë Fëanáro. Tirion. Seventh Age.



“Why do those of our kin in the house of our grandfather, King Finwë, speak differently to us? Why do they use s instead of Þ, atar?” Curvo asked a seemingly innocent question, as he broke off a chunk of thick grained bread and lavishly coated it with honey.

We had all been partaking of breakfast as Telperion’s light flooded the high windows of the lesser hall we used for family meals. Always did I enjoy the times of having my family at table together, though less frequent had that event become of late. But Curvo was only just over two years of age; still but a young child, and he was most times with us in Tirion or in travel. His question, however, was far from innocent.

Like ripples from a stone thrown into water, so the mood of our sons changed. Maitimo, who had already half-filled his platter with assorted fruits, halted abruptly in his effort to grasp the large flacon of cordial that had been moved just out of his reach by Tyelkormo. My eldest son sat back in his chair with a look of resignation, at that meal which he knew from experience he would not have the opportunity to enjoy.

Makalaurë, seated opposite his elder brother, put down the knife with which he had just cut off a large helping of his favourite cheese and also sat back in his chair. His enthusiastic banter, an ongoing attempt to encourage Carnistir to be more forthcoming about his latest secret, also halted abruptly.

Carnistir played idly with his food; eyes focused upon the table. Usually was he the first to finish, as he was given less to talking conversationally. Tyelkormo alone continued his meal with relish, saving to one side, as he oft so did, what titbits he thought appropriate for his animals, for his hounds. (Though we ate not meat at that first meal of the day.)

And I sighed; knowing well what was behind Curvo’s question and what was behind it’s timing. We all turned to look to Fëanáro, who had also put down his knife with controlled precision.

“Take no heed of them!” he replied sternly. “We speak as is right, and as King Finwë himself did before he was led astray. We are his heirs by right, and the elder house. Let them sá-sí, if they can speak no better!”* Fëanáro, who I knew had been contemplating a good day of crafting ahead, was instantly plunged into a darker mind mood. Not that he was angry with Curvo’s question, (as was I), but that one of those ongoing points of contention between he and his father, his half-brothers, and some of the loremasters had been raised. Angry he was; not with his son, but with Finwë's second wife; Indis.

Now there had been an issue in the use of Þ in our speech since before Fëanáro was born, (though after the Vanyar host had departed Tirion.), and not a few of the Noldor had changed their use of Þ to s, based primarily on phonetic taste. But this was an issue dear to Fëanáro’s heart, and as the acknowledged chief of the linguistic loremasters, he had attacked that change, insisting that Þ was the proper pronunciation for anyone who cared for or fully understood their language. Most other loremasters agreed with him openly, though some in private, as Lastamo had given cause for much debate to be instigated and in that he argued most vehemently against my husband.

Lastamo was grieved at Fëanáro’s bettering of him in skill; at having to be known as but the third ranking linguistic loremaster, instead of the second. But he knew, and so played upon, the more heartfelt reason for my lord’s insistence on the use of Þ. Míriel had always used Þ ! Her mother-name, Þerindë, was she most proud of, and as one keen on correct pronunciation herself had she insisted on being referred to as such by all her kin rather than adopt the change to Serindë. And Fëanáro; he loved his mother greatly. He had made this issue a personal one.

That there was argument amongst the people, amongst the loremasters, he could tolerate, but Finwë’s acceptance of the change and his half-brothers’ use of it was a grievous insult unto him. For Indis, who being a Vanyar should have adhered to Þ, had adopted the use of s This did he believe she had done in belittlement of his mother! Now did I know, and from Indis, that she had made the change in order to better identify with the Noldor and so please Finwë. Fëanáro would have none of it! No matter how I tried to speak reason on this matter, did he rebuff me most adamantly. I was no linguist; nor did I truly know Indis’ heart in the matter, he maintained.

It may have mattered little to some, but my lord was not one to be crossed in any manner, particularly one of his expertise. Now rarely did we meet with Finwë’s second family, but since Maitimo had become close friends with Findekáno the difference of speech had been heard frequently in our house.

So did I know well of Curvo’s intent on raising such an issue and on that day. For did not Maitimo expect to be away later with Findekáno in exploration? Did not those two grandsons of Finwë intend to attempt the impossible, to traverse the Pelóri Mountains? (‘It is not impossible until we have at least tried, lady mother’, Maitimo had said in response to my concern that such an endeavour was over-valiant.) That Maitimo would set out, knowing afresh of the issues his friendship with Nolofinwë’s son raised for his father was, I believed, unkind.

“Curvo,” I stated but softly, yet in warning to our youngest son. “Speak not of such matters at table.”

But the damage was done. Fëanáro resumed his meal with apparent lack of interest, and Arnónë who, with two other nissi, waited upon us for the first meal of the day was at his shoulder, asking if other, more preferred foods should be brought him.

“Nay!" Fëanáro addressed her question sullenly. "I have no mood for such.” He pushed back his chair and made to leave. That he would work out his anger and frustration in the forge I knew, and I believe in that instant Curvo looked saddened at what he had instigated.

“And you, wife! You will be visiting Indis this day, no doubt?”

Fëanáro did not wait upon my answer. He knew to visit with Indis had been my intent but assumed, correctly, that now would I think twice about so doing. Though never did I mention first the name of Indis in my husband’s hearing, nor did I visit with her as much as I wished, yet did I endeavour to visit with her at least a few times each year.

And had that, even more than disrupting Maitimo, not been at the heart of Curvo’s timing? Did he not wish for me to end my friendship with Indis, and out of love for his father?



After all others had departed the room, for none save Tyelkormo finished that meal, I spoke again with Curvo, that he may have more consideration for his father and brother. That to speak of matters he knew were contentious at table was no sign of nobility or concern for the family.

My fifth son had lowered his eyes, and thought on my words for a moment.

“No ill do I wish upon Russandol, mother, and greatly do I love my father. So do I regret some of the results of my question.” Then he brightened in expression, and looked me full in the face. “But I would in truth know the answer, and this has my father given me. We are the elder house, and heirs by right of King Finwë. We speak as is right! Of this shall I inform Findekáno when next I meet him!”

"So like your father are you, Atarinkë," I reflected, as I had done many times before. Brushing back the sweeping fringe of his raven-black hair, I nodded understanding, though I wished also for his discretion to develop alongside his pride. “But as one of King Finwë’s heirs, should you ever think to behave with the nobility and discernment that should accompany such status.”, But a gentle chide it was, that my son took heed of for a while. I turned then from him, making to leave and be about the ordering of the day. But he spoke after me in a voice that held glimpses of a pain then unknown to me.

“May it be that you do not continue meeting with the Lady Indis, lady and mother! My heart warns me that you will cause my father much grief if you do continue upon this course. And your heart, also, will be broken.”

Such presumptuous instruction was not for a child to speak to a parent. Never had any of the others so done! But for a moment Curvo’s words provoked an image in my mind: of tears, both Fëanáro’s and mine. I saw in vision but briefly my husband running from a darkened Ring of Doom, face set like flint in a barely controlled rage and anguish. Rare was it for any of the Eldar to be in that place of the thrones of the Valar, yet did I think to have seen those thrones overthrown, and I wondered then at what such foresight meant? Had I better understood what was to follow, different would my actions have been.


*****


We had arguments and times of strife amongst us, as do all. For though it was a time of bliss in Aman, though no evil was known in the realm of the Valar, yet were we all individuals, each with our own wills and thoughts, and some small conflict of interests were unavoidable. How could the seven of us, (and later, the nine), agree on all things? Given our strengths of characters, well did we do, I consider.

Arguments? Aye, there were arguments between our sons, but always did they draw together at need. For was not our family, our house, held together by love and a deep sense of kinship? Was it not reported to me of that most terrible of battles in the Hither Lands, of the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, that though all were wounded yet did they draw together, and with a remnant of the Noldor hew their way out of the battle. Though all were wounded did they stand together, and none were slain.

In the years before Moringotho made his influence so felt were any disagreements between us soon resolved, and amicably. Fëanáro and I disagreed on some matters within the family, but argued rarely and that mostly over Indis, until both our thoughts were darkened by lies. But ever more did I ponder the wound in my husband’s heart: that its influence upon him grew over the years rather than lessened. If Finwë had not sought a second marriage, mayhap in time would Míriel have returned. So would there have been healing and joy. But Finwë’s choice, though understandable, gave rise for the evil of Míriel’s death to have further reaching consequences than he had foreseen. His choice, though accepted as just, closed the path on true healing for his family.


****



Now were we in the habit since we had first met, Fëanáro and I, of journeying together through Valinor. This habit had continued with our sons, either travelling with us, with each other, or alone. A family of wanderers, of adventurers were we, and restless if in one place overlong. Though I came to seek less the adventure as I had more family, yet would I follow Fëanáro when I could. True to those tales of neri and nissi were he and I: he filled with eagerness for adventure and travel; I filled first with love of his company. If only it had been in the tale of old that the neri and nissi awoke at the same time, beheld each other and the starlight at the same time! Mayhap then would the first love of neri and of nissi been more equal in character? But I do not complain, for such was his nature, and always have I known it.

It is told in some tales that Fëanáro and his sons abode seldom in one place for long, but travelled far upon the confines of Valinor. Aye, but it is not told that many a time I travelled with them and later, on few occasions, their wives as well. For a few years was Nolwen the only nís who kept me company in the journeying, but Turindë more than took over in Nolwen’s absence. Carnistir’s wife loved to explore, with eagerness greater than was found in many neri. Enyalimë was to travel with us less often; though that daughter of Ecthelion was also strong of heart and endurance. But there were many times when my husband and sons liked of their own company. I understood that. It was a joy I would deny them not.

There was a time when the six of them travelled into Avathar, after yet another retelling of the encounter with the fell creature by Lelyar. Our steward liked also to explore, but he had never forgotten that dread confrontation he and his two companions had experienced in the lands to the south, and Fëanáro, he had not forgotten the incident either! Tyelkormo had been unable to gain any further information on the darkness encountered from Oromë, who of all the Valar had much experience with hunting creatures of darkness. Aulë knew not, or spoke not to us of what the darkness was. So did they journey, Fëanáro and our five sons, though the fell creature eluded them. Glad was I of that, and without the later knowledge I gained when Wirilomë indeed drained strength and sight from all seven of our sons, and that in their attempt to return to Formenos to bring aid to their grandsire.


At the time of Curvo’s youth had I sought yet again to learn more from the wise amongst the Noldor. I began listening to those debates that were frequent features of life in Tirion, particularly did I seek to listen to the teachings of Istyaro, that most thoughtful of our sages. Oft did he speak forth from the terrace of the green beryl balustrade upon the fourth level, at that place that overlooked the waterfalls and further to the east, the sea. Sometimes in the court or in the gardens under the Mindon would he address small crowds, though not for long periods of time would he speak (as did some loremasters); rather would he cast forth ideas and give us time to ponder upon them. Sometimes we who gathered there would but sit in silence. Yet not wasted were such moments, for I would turn from my seating so that I faced the Bay of Eldamar and indulge my curiosity in whatever lay beyond, in my own wondering of what the land of my parent’s birth was like at that moment? The warmth from the Trees and the almost palpable light would I feel upon my back as the lightest caress, and my delight in my life would be fired afresh. So it was, that in but a short time I fully recovered from the trial of Curvo’s birth with no possible desire to be released from the labour of living.

“Knowledge is of great importance,” Istyaro would sometimes say, and oft would he look to me, or to Hlárleru or the Lord Almon when he so spoke “But to know there is much we do not know, and some we may not know, is greater still.”

A small group were we, who sat near the top of the hill of Túna and discussed and debated even those matters so vague that the loremasters cared not for them. And oft would Arafinwë be amongst our number.


Now for a time upon their return from their journey to the south, did Maitimo, Makalaurë and even Carnistir accompany me to those meetings. But a brief phase was that in which I had their company, though they came but out of their general curiosity. Soon enough had Maitimo returned to explorations of his own, and Carnistir to a time of studying with my father. Makalaurë accompanied me for longer, that some of what we discussed in the group was to eventually find expression in his music. One discussion in particular there was, on the day that Curvo decided to pay his first visit.

“From whence comes the light?” had the white robed Istyaro said, looking upon the image of Telperion. A simple enough question, one might think. We all knew by then that a time of reflection, of pondering around the statement was required, rather than an answer. But Curvo, it was his first visit!

“The light is from Eru Ilúvatar!” he replied eagerly, and all those of the group looked
up from the beginning of their own contemplations.

“Well said, Curufinwë Fëanárion!” Istyaro affirmed in a slow, soft voice that we who knew him, knew was anything but an acceptance of an answer. “Then ponder this. If the light is from Ilúvatar, (always did we all bow our heads at the use of that rarely spoken name, though was the All-father, the One, mentioned more frequently in our discussions than in general speech), from whence comes the darkness?

Now was this not a question I had sometimes pondered myself? Why did Darkness exist at all? As everything originated with Eru, how could anything but the Light exist? Knowledge had I of our Loremasters records concerning the Beginning of all things, and of the Great Music; some ideas on the subject from discussion with my mother and particularly with my husband. I was aware of the issues Istyaro was guiding us to consider; but was no expert to give forth of answers, nay, not even of suggestions on the matter at that time.

Hlárleru, who was then a student of Istyaro, wished to add thoughts of his own. “It is told in the account of the Music of the Ainur that the first discord was of Melkor, who is now under guard of Námo Mandos. That he, who with Manwë was made the mightiest of the Holy Ones, had sought to increase the power and glory of the part assigned to himself; so interweaved matters of his own imagining into the Music that were not in accord with the will of Ilúvatar. Darkness, to my mind, comes from the freely chosen act of pride that disrupted the first theme”

At this did our mentor lean back against the wall, to make himself comfortable for what promised to be a more vocal meeting than usual. “Continue!”

“It is recorded that Melkor went alone into the void. That he sought ever the Fire which is with Ilúvatar, but found it not.” Taking up his role of narrator of the lore of history, Hlárleru did as Istyaro had suggested. “Impatient was he to bring into Being things of his own device. So was he separate from his brethren that he first began of discord.”

“So it is said!”

We all turned at the sound of Arafinwë’s voice. Seated to the back of the group was he, beside a sparkling fountain in whose cool waters he trailed a hand. From the first I had met him as a child, had I liked Arafinwë. Much of his mother’s calm and generous nature does he have about him. The younger of my husband’s half-brothers is truly wise of heart - more so than Nolofinwë was - in my opinion. His questions were rare, but gently asked. Another who preferred attentive listening to speaking is he, though most perceptive and far seeing.

Hlárleru waved graciously that the prince should continue. No competitiveness was encouraged in that group, it being the wish of Istyaro that we all became wiser to the good of all.

“With a thoughtful smile, the golden haired son of Indis rose from his reclining posture to focus fully upon the group. “It is also said that the Ainur perceived Ilúvatar to be smiling at the first introduction of discord, that he took account of Melkor’s theme but wove it into a second theme of gathering power and beauty. Not until Melkor contested with the second theme, that he had mastery over whether his brethren would sing or no, did the countenance of Ilúvatar became stern. Only after Ilúvatar arose to still the clamour and strife resultant from Melkor’s noise for a third time it was that the One made statement that no theme may be that does not have its uttermost source in him, nor can any alter his music, save he himself be used as an instrument of Ilúvatar for things more wonderful yet! Whatever darkness we consider to be within Melkor’s discord, yet did Ilúvatar use of it in the first instance, and turn it to his own purpose.”

The mention of the Great Music always drew Makalaurë’s heart. He had leaned forward most passionately to hearken to his father’s half-brother.

“All music is from the One, Prince Arafinwë. All finds its source and inspiration in him and works to the ends he wills it. I understand that the first interruption may be viewed as the errors of a wilful child, to be transformed into a greater beauty, but where from came that first thought of Melkor’s to be different? In this I have always thought was the beginning of darkness, that all else but followed. Yet I understand it not.”

Now was Istyaro more pleased that we were pondering the matter, but Curvo wanted not to ponder; he wanted an answer.

“Iluvatar should have unmade Melkor at that first note of discord” My fifth son spoke again in that exalted company. Never shy was he! “Then would the darkness which came from the discord been avoided, and the marring of Arda!”

Some of the group smiled indulgently at this further, and decisive contribution. They all realised Curvo was young and tended to speak whatever came into his mind. Yet was I concerned that he thought not overmuch of the needs of others; did not consider the nature of that group.

“Little brother, have you not considered my words? The chief beauty of the third theme, its immeasurable sorrow, would never have existed had Melkor not existed. Without his earlier discord would the later music have been the lesser!” So spoke Makalaurë, in an attempt to slow the thoughts of Curvo.

“But that is not to say that discord, or indeed the darkness, is a good thing to have happened. We know not the mind of the One!” Arafinwë spoke a gentle reminder.

Now did Istyaro smile most broadly. Such a statement as Arafinwë’s was one he would wish us to ponder for some time. And that should have been the end of words and the beginning of thought. But Curvo would have of the last word!

“My lords, you speak of darkness and discord as if they are one and the same. Mayhap they are not? Melkor went alone into the void, before any discord! Mayhap the void is the same as the darkness? Is that not something to ponder?”

Ai! I faced my son, holding up a hand for silence. I would have him listen more than speak. More words did I need to have with him before he could again partake in such a meeting, for too eager to contribute, too rash was he for that group.


“Peace, Curvo! Shall we not return to study of the loremasters of our history and the teachings already laid down by the wise? Then may we benefit this group as well as benefit from them” I rose reluctantly to my feet, noting Makalaurë’s expression of disappointment, that he was finding that topic one of interest. But Istyaro also rose to his feet.

“Be not away from our company overlong, Lady Nerdanel! For you hearken to our ‘music’ and observe much that may be of benefit to us all.” Then he looked to Curvo, “And your point was well made, Prince Curufinwë. Return to us soon, for [I]all[/I] are welcome here.”

I curtsied to one whom I had no need to show deference, but did so all the same. I knew Istyaro spoke of welcome because all who would listen were truly welcome, but also because he wished mightily to debate with Fëanáro, whom he admired. (Though had my husband little interest in such form of discussion that held not answers or solutions.) Then also did Arafinwë speak again.

“Some things we may not know, son of my half-brother.” he returned to his reclining position upon the pleasant seat he had taken, by the cool of the fountain, though he turned to face Curvo. “But to question in itself is not displeasing to the Valar or to Ilúvatar, I believe. And to give you of some reply: do not many speak of the Void as the Everlasting Darkness?”


Curvo shuddered at the words, despite having suggested himself that such was the case. Time to be away of a certainty, had I thought. Mayhap it would have been better had we stayed

So we left that meeting, and Curvo did not return for a few years. But he was filled with determination to find the truth of those matters, considering much of our lore unclear. Upon our return home, he sought out Tyelkormo, purposing to ride to Valmar immediately, and to ask of Aulë and Oromë their thoughts on the nature of the dark.

But Makalaurë had gained much to ponder, and at the next festival, the one of 1272, were we all to listen to the Song of the Immeasurable Sorrow. The Valar came forth from their bright city to take seat among the kings and princes, as they never so did - that Valar, Maiar, Vanyar and Noldor alike, hearkened to the song of Makalaurë. I only knew the beauty when I heard his singing. I knew not why the Valar had come forth; not at that time.


Curvo returned to the group early in the year 1282. He attended and contributed eloquently for a space. But then did not Arafinwë’s friend, the steward of his House, Vorondon, and his daughter Nolwen, also attend. Most steadfast could Curvo be, both in his pursuit of knowledge and in his pursuit of she whom he wished to be his wife.


- - - - - - -


Tyelkormo and Curvo! Are their names not synonymous in the latter writings, in that which has been passed down through the ages from the Hither Lands; from the scribes and loremasters of Gondolin? But true it is, unlike some things that were recorded, that they were oft times in each other’s company, rather than with any other of their brothers. Though Carnistir rode out with them on occasions, yet did those two of our sons have an understanding, each of the other, and work often as one - even as did Maitimo and Makalaurë, and eventually, the twins. Carnistir was of another mood, a different manner to either of them, and middle brother though he was, yet was he also one to keep his own company and counsel. So did Curvo spend some time in his youth with Tyelkormo in the company of Oromë, and in the hunt. Yet his heart was fired to other things, as was his father’s. Soon enough did he give over much of his time to crafting, to mastery of language and lore, even as did Fëanáro. And many a fine thing there was, and still is, wrought by the dexterous hands of Curvo.


Mayhap it is surprising that rarely did they work together, father and son; for after initial instruction from Fëanáro, and some working with my father, did Curvo prefer to work by himself. A workroom had been built for him, though he shared for some years the use of the forge. He would ride on occasion to the Aulenduri to use what he needed. He visited Aulë with us; enjoying discussion with the Vala, but always did he ask questions that, mayhap, he should not have asked.



So, as he grew to maturity and after, did Curvo delight in the making of things with metal, with gem craft, and occasionally did he work with stone - though never as much as his father or I. Fine jewellery he crafted; rings in which were set bright gemstone for his brothers’ use. For his father he made a circlet of silver in which was set the brightest of diamonds. So fine it was, that it bettered anything worn until then, even by Finwë. Now Fëanáro had oft gone without any such ornamentation to show of his status, tending to assume his very presence was enough for others to know he was a prince of the highest standing. (Though at festivals, and on special occasions had he worn a simple jewelled circlet.) Most pleased was my husband with that gift, that he wore it on all occasions of note thereafter, until that time when he began to wear the Silmarils upon his brow.

And for his mother did Curvo fashion a girdle for her gowns, like unto the one Aulë had presented me when I was but a child. But this one had seven strands in a complex, interlocking design. Now I understood the meaning of that which Aulë had given unto me, of the flames and leaves entwined, but that girdle was I not then sure of.

“Seven threads; sometimes touching, and sometimes not. Yet bound ever together! What has inspired your design, Curvo? Do you mean it to be our family?” I had asked of him.

But Curvo had only smiled in response. Much given to foresight was he!



- - - - - - -


The doors of Fëanáro’s study opened a little at my knock, and a grim faced Lelyar it was who beheld me.

“Ah, Lady Nerdanel! He has been expecting you.” Lelyar looked worn with concern, as one who had seen things no one should ever have had to behold. The state of his clothing told clearly that he had recently ridden hard and fast. But despite appearances, he was Steward of the house of King Fëanáro, and behaved as such in matters of dignity. He bowed briefly to me.

“Follow me my lady, if you please!”

In the candle and lamp-lit room, around the long table next to the windows, were gathered several neri. All were clad in travelling clothes; all were armed with swords. Tulcavaryar, Almon, Vëatuo were there, and some I recognised not. All were looking over maps and charts, as they seemed to have been instructed to do. And also was Curvo with them. The first time it was that I had beheld him and been close enough to speak with him for nigh five years. As Lelyar announced my presence, my fifth son broke from the group that were of a certainty surrounding Fëanáro and strode to my side.

Stern was his expression, as one who made great effort to mask his own pain at that which had befallen King Finwë, the Great Jewels, and the others at Formenos. A more personal pain was there also in his eyes.

“Curufinwë, I must speak with your father!”

Taking hold of my arm, and with a nod to Lelyar that he would see to my needs, Curvo escorted me to the side of the room. “ Soon enough, lady mother. But first must my king and father finish the plans he is making, and instruct the last of his captains. A most fell situation do we find ourselves in.”

Almon called back irritably for quiet - that I should not have been allowed in the room at all to cause an interruption. But the Lord Tulcavaryar silenced him, that it was not his concern, as Curvo moved to block him from my view. In the moment my son looked me full in the face, the years we had spent apart did but vanish. Little guard had I thought to make of my thoughts against him, thus he saw straight into my heart to that which he had previously been unaware of. He made hasty, but deferential greeting to me, his lips curved slightly upwards in ironic amusement.

“So! You are returned to him; though little did he do to warrant your departure. Well met, lady mother! And none too soon.”

But it was Fëanáro with whom I needed to speak – he whom I waited upon. As I made to edge past Curvo's containment the group around the table moved, so I beheld my husband for the first time since the making of the oath.

Lightly armoured was he; clothed in a hauberk and leathers, and strongly crafted pauldrons. A sharp knife and his mighty sword, Urrussë, lay upon the table before him. A very picture of a warrior lord of a warrior race was he, ready to give of battle. In the breaking of the group he could see me for the first time since I had departed Formenos. Straightening his back and raising his head from the study of charts, his eyes met mine with such force of pain. Ai! So very much pain did I behold, and anger and bitter scorn. The wave of his tumultuous emotions hit me full force that I could hardly stand.

But I was there for a purpose that was not his. I had gone to plead with him that he leave me with two – with one of our sons. All thought of pleading with him to recant of the oath and throw himself on the mercy of the Valar had left my mind upon my journey to the house. Did I not know him? Never could he so do, not even before such devastation upon his life had occurred. Yet so much pain was he in!

‘Finwion!’ Instinctively I reached out to him in fëa to give of support. He grasped and held my thought firmly, as though in a mailed gauntlet.

“Late art thou, lady wife! Much is there to do.”

Curvo had hold of my arm still, but he let loose as his father beckoned me forwards, taking a step back himself.

“My lord and my king, I must speak with thee alone!” I made to curtsey acknowledgement of that new title he held but precariously, knowing how empty he viewed it less he could hold it as his own, through his own strength of will rather than the blessing of the Valar. To be addressed with that title so long ascribed to his father would grieve him, but he was expecting it from me, all the same.

This last ‘game’ was there to be between us; like unto no ‘game’ we had ever played before. So very high were the stakes that my heart nigh quailed within me. But the pain and rage that emanated from him; all those thoughts on how he should have done things otherwise, how he should never have answered the summons of Manwë, that he should have remained at Formenos to overcome Moringotho and his ‘darkness’ that Finwë would yet live and his Jewels yet be in his keeping; to all this agony would my forthcoming words but add.

He was focused upon me in that instant as if I were the only one with him in that room. As if I were the last of his valued possessions that he would in no way have taken from him.

“Late art thou for giving of thy counsel!” he snapped. “Thou must wait, wife, while I finish here. Then shall we speak as thou hast asked” But in my thoughts he added, with an attempt at gentleness: ‘Nerdanel, didst thou not know how much I am wounded, that my heart is broken asunder? Didst thou not know I need thee by my side?’

I could not make answer, for truly did I know those things he felt. And I bowed my head; face as flame, though this time with a mixture of shame and sorrow that I had not found a way through to him sooner. So very ashamed was I that my pride and folly had divide us; that matters came to this!

“Most sorry am I to have failed thee.” Was that not the truth! “I wait upon thy pleasure, my king.”

My reply was not all he wished. He knew something was amiss! For an instant more he held mastery of my thoughts, that I believed he would force of my reply in his favour – of some declaration of love and loyalty. But never had he forced me to speak with him in word or fëa, and he did not do so then.

“In a moment!” said he, loosing his bond with me to concentrate fully on the ordering of his lords. The group closed in to complete their discussions. But Curvo moved again to my side.


“You were at Formenos!” he stated with certainty. “Though we saw you not, yet at some recent moment were you with him that the last years have been set as naught between you.” Difficult it had ever been to deceive Curvo, and I had no intention of so doing.

“Aye! At Manwë’s bidding did I travel there in recent days, though did I not wander freely about the place.”

He snorted derisively. “Manwë! He who loosed that Enemy upon us! He who can defend not his own realm! Nay, mother, though you have always obeyed the Valar, you went to my father because you so wished. Self-willed would you be in a matter so intimate.”

The sneer passed from his face as he lowered his gaze, directed me to the corner of the room that he could speak most softly with me.

“But you do not intend to travel with us from this place! Again will you refuse to go with my father; with us!”

It was a statement, not a question! Curvo knew my intentions; he knew what I would do. The knowledge that this was the last we would see of each other, after five years of being apart, was a grief to me that I could not speak with him of it. Neither could I give voice to my intent before speaking with Fëanáro.

“What has happened, Curvo, that you treat Nolwen with such disregard?” I changed the course of our discussion, least I betray myself further. And I wanted to know! I wanted to know why he had taken Tyelpinquar, who was not much more than a babe, from his mother?

“Torn is she in loyalty, and will not abandon the Valar who have abandoned us! I have spoken with her, yet she will not see reason. Only will she insist that we do great wrong. She is blinded by the lies of Aulë, and even though our son might have perished with Finwë, yet does she curse me that I would take him to freedom.” There was anguish in Curvo’s voice as he spoke, though I suspected he had come not far short of cursing her in turn. He took hold of my hands then, and raised them to his lips. For a moment, he was as a youth again.

“Harden your heart to those who falsely accuse us. Love Aulë if you will; but love us better, I beseech you, mother! Do you not see this trap we are in, that we are confined to sing as caged birds at the Valar’s whim! They fear us reaching our full maturity that they can control us not. Let us be free of this servitude, now and forever!”

There were tears upon his cheeks, as there were upon mine. “Nolwen; my beloved names me ‘evil’, and rebel against those rightly appointed to care for us! But I beheld their care of our people at Formenos! Though she was there herself, though Tyelpinquar’s life was endangered, yet is she still blinded, and naught I can say will break her illusion. Even though I try most desperately, I cannot so paint a picture in her mind of what is truth!”

In a new realisation of my own, I reached out to wipe his face, “Curvo, I never realised!”

Lowereing his gaze further, as if ashamed of what he was about to say, he whispered, “You never realised that I loved my wife so much? Why, mother; did you not know that I am like my father in most matters?”

His words cut into my heart with a fierceness that he had, doubtlessly, intended.

“No joy does my parting from Nolwen bring me. Yet I will not force of her company. Freely would I have my wife at my side, or not at all.”

He thought then to turn the force of his will upon me, in a manner he had never before attempted. “Come with us, mother. Do not let Moringotho take you from us and from my father forever!”

His will could I resist, though his words had moved me beyond what I could say to him. But the meeting of my husband and his lords was ended, and Fëanáro dismissed all others abruptly from the room, even Curvo.

“Be gone about your duties! I will speak with my wife!”

“Think well on my words, Lady Mother!” Curvo silently spoke.

And he was gone from the room. Alone with Fëanáro, with his most desperate pain and anger was I.

Curvo; beloved son! I have thought well on your words these many an Age. I think on them still!




Curvo - Curufin
Maitimo - Maedhros
Tyelkormo - Celegorm
Makalaurë - Maglor
Carnistir - Caranthir
Perindë - Needlewoman
Findekáno - Fingon
Russandol - Copper-top. Maedhros' epessë
Galathilion - The Sindarin name for the tree made by Yavanna as a lesser image of Telperion, that was planted in the courts beneath the Mindon.
Atarinkë - Little Father. Nerdanel's 'mother name' for Curufin.
Nolofinwë - Fingolfin
Arafinwë - Finarfin

* Fëanor’s words are a direct quote from HoME 12. The Shibboleth of Fëanor.

For the discussion on the use of s and Þ, see The Shibboleth.

Chapter Twenty Six: Curvo. Part One.


It has been an odd couple of days. I have felt a little under the weather with what I thought was a cold and conjuctivitis, but found out yesterday that I have a more serious problem with my eyes. I have to go for further investigations. As I love reading, writing and drawing, this comes as a bit of a blow.

I have been trying to keep up to date with my PMs and emails and will still try to do that, but I think the writing may suffer as a result. I had felt very bouncy and full of ideas a few days ago, but this is making me reconsider what I intend doing.

Short spurts, that is what it will have to be for now. And the situation may improve. I have got eyedrops!!!

I will add to this as I go, and also try to work through some more of your very helpful suggestions, Eru_Melin. :) But I fear that my head is a touch muddled at the moment!



Chapter Twenty Six: Curvo. Part One.



(Disclaimer: All of the characters and the world they inhabit are the wonderful creations of J.R.R Tolkien. All references are from The Silmarillion, and HoME 1, 10 and 12. All mistakes are mine.)


“ --- Curufin the crafty, who inherited most his father’s skill of hand; --“

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


The house of Curufinwë Fëanáro. Tirion. Seventh Age.




“Nerdanel!”

So clear was his voice as I awoke that I almost expected him to be at my side. But dream it was. Not this time a dream of a vision; no dream of grief, of his or any other’s death to leave me in a state of mourning. Rather, was it like unto that dream I had many months past, and of Írissë, for it began with her plea to remember her.

As with that earlier experience was I half awake and half asleep: drifting through different levels of consciousness and thinking of the dark-haired daughter of Nolofinwë and Anairë as she had so implored of me. Thought became dream, became thought again, as I saw her in memory, robed as ever in white and silver and seated on the bench by the apple trees on the second terrace of our gardens. She was laughing as Tyelkormo explained his latest, and for him, rather unsuccessful hunting venture. She could do better, so she told him; so he offered to give her the opportunity to try to best him the following day.

Confident was my third son that she could not! He should not have been so confident, for Írissë was also a grandchild of King Finwë – tall and proud and beautiful - and most resourceful. And her voice was like unto her grandmother’s: music as of the bells of Valmar ringing in a day of festival. Yet as I watched the scene unfold with happy memory, her expression changed but slightly. I noticed her eyes alight on something - on someone - out of my view. A knowing smile of recognition touched her lips as she turned her pale, oval face to look to me, then she and I were alone again. The garden and that lost son of mine faded from view, as if drawn behind the veil of a heavy waterfall.

“Do not forget me, Lady Nerdanel!” she stated again, as a heartfelt wish, “For though I choose not to return, I do not forget thee. Nor do I forget he whose love thou didst have; that love of a kind to which I aspired.”

I gasped; for the thought then struck me that I knew what she meant. Strange it was that I had never realised before, not even when the tales of her encounter and marriage to Eöl, aye and her death, had reached Aman. I should have understood her better for I had known Írissë well for some few years. A frequent visitor at our house was she in the golden years, and sometimes at my father’s house. For had she not ridden in the forests with all of my sons with a deep and abiding love of them, most certainly of Tyelkormo? But her own heart’s love did she always hold in check. She said she would be free of spirit and choose most carefully whom to espouse.

I understood now that it had been Fëanáro and I she had watched that day. Speaking together of plans anew had we been, as we had walked through the gardens towards my workroom.

“Aye,” said she, a wistful smile upon her fair face. “The love between you and your lord was of the sort I wanted for myself! Many of the nobles of my father did love and cherish their spouses, but few gave them of the freedom to follow what they would; few had the freedom that Prince Fëanáro gave to you. You long had the devotion of one who valued your advice, your counsel; who even asked of you for aid. So strong of character, so skilled was my father’s half-brother, yet did he allow you to curb him when the need arose. How many neri would have so allowed, and they having far less need of tempering than he! Such regard did your husband hold you in, Lady Nerdanel.”

I wondered briefly on those relationships Írissë was thinking of. None but happy marriages did I know, though were there sometimes disagreements between couples. From Indis’ words and from my own observation did I know that Nolofinwë loved Anairë most dearly. Yet was Anairë a noble and pious lady who was concerned with serving Varda, and with ordering her household that it was pleasing to her lord. Though I like her well we are of a vastly different temper, she and I.

Yet had Írissë spoke of freedom! Did I not know she was one who could not bear to be confined? As eager as the neri of our family was she in seeking to travel, and in lacking tolerance for anything that hinted of restraint. Such headstrong desire to follow her own will had it been that took her from her brother’s hidden city, known to many as Gondolin, into the arms of the Dark Elf she had wed.

‘You wanted a love like mine; even though you knew what came to pass between my lord and myself?’

I thought further then upon what had befallen dear Írissë. It is written, and said amongst many that she was taken to wife by force, and that a most wicked and unnatural deed in the eyes of the Eldar. So at least it is written! But do I sometimes wonder at that tale, also come to popular knowledge through the writings of the sage of Turukáno, that mayhap it is not totally without bias of its own? This at least strikes me as truth, and all the more so after that dream; that she wed with one who had many of the skills and some of the manner of my husband. Eöl was of those Avari descended from the clan of Tata, and not distant kin to Elwë as is oft recorded. Of that part of the Second Kindred who remained in the Hither Lands was he, and who would follow not the lead of Finwë into the West; yet did he have much of those skills inherent in the Noldor, did he have great smith-craft in his own right. Better forged than most of the Noldor swords were his, it is said.

Dark of mood and of mind is Eöl recorded as being, and no love did he have for my sons whom he considered betrayers and usurpers; neither do I think they would have had any love for him. Did not Curvo dismiss him from his presence most curtly?

“You have my leave, but not my love. The sooner you depart my land the better it will please me.” (1)

At least, so it is recorded that Curvo spoke! And it seems to me much like him and that he followed the dismissal with counsel that Eöl pursed not those who loved him no longer. With insight from his heart did Curvo often speak: most certainly did such a warning sound like my fifth son.

Had Írissë been so unwilling, I wondered? Or had she thought, at first, to have found one with whom she could share love and companionship, even as had I with Fëanáro? Nay! I could not quite believe it; none there were or are who are like unto Fëanáro.


Then my mood was broken as again I realised the futility of conversing with a dream. Írissë's fëa resided yet with Námo Mandos and could not depart his halls save Manwë granted her release, even if she so willed.

“I choose not to return,” she had said! And was that no surprise? But again, what point was there in my heeding a dream? At that thought did she fade from my view, but the sense of presence that then came to be with me following her departure was not one I could easily dismiss.

Fully awake was I of that instant; sitting upright in my bed, in my room of old in Tirion.

“Nerdanel!” said he, with but the faintest touch of questioning. “Àna apsenë?”

No more did I hear. Yet in three words did it seem Arda was renewed for me. It had to be a dream, did it not? For though we talk about and record the histories of what once was, little do the Eldar speculate about the end of the world. Save in this: that it is written, and widely believed that he sits in the Halls of Awaiting, and may come no more amongst his kin until the Sun passes, and the moon falls. Not until the End shall Fëanáro return.

****

So, now awake in truth do I ponder the meaning of that dream. That it is my own thoughts playing but game with me have I considered. Mayhap that is truth; for more often do I think of them all, even Írissë, and most certainly of him, and it is hard to hold on to hope. Long have I endured in patience; long have I been sustained by the belief that there will be healing of sorts. If not in this Time in which we live, then in that which is beyond. But I grow tired, and I know that things can never be as they once were.

Soon will I be inclined to depart Tirion, and the care I have found in this house at the hands and ministering of Arnónë and her family. A paragon of hope is she who yet awaits the return of the master of the house. Naught I can say will convince her that, even if by some chance one of my sons returns, never will Fëanáro so do.

“Failure of Hope it was that brought doom upon the prince, and that the hope of his father. I will not fail him; neither do I think will you, my lady.”

Right is she that I will not fail him again of choice, and so write I must, that this record is complete. The sooner the better, do I think. Though I will take what pains with it that I may, yet do I yearn to be done that I might be away in the hills for a last time, and then on to Valmar, and hence to the Gardens of Lórien.

Is to follow such a path a failure of hope? I am uncertain. But that dream; those words! And Fëanáro; he had said ‘Nerdanel, forgive me.’

****

Curufinwë the crafty, the skilled, the son of his father! Not only like unto Fëanáro in his ability to craft with metal and gems was Curufinwë, but like him in appearance and sometimes in mood. By two years of age was Curvo showing forth many of his father’s abilities of hand and of word. By seven years was he a challenge to my father in works of hand, and had surpassed almost all of the Aulenduri. Also in language did he show great interest; though he was not quite as brilliant of mind as his father. That fifth born son of ours, brought to birth at such a dear cost to me showed promise of crafting and linguistic skills beyond any of his brothers. Other skills also did Curvo possess, and some that were most rare.

****

In high spirits had I been that day we rode out to the dwellings of the Aulenduri; Makalaurë, Curvo and I. It was the first time I had left Tirion since the birth of our fifth son, the first I had felt again of sufficient strength of fëa and hröa to embrace sweet life with delight and be about my crafting with a will. Now my father had plans of working upon building an aqueduct to bring water from one of the many mountain streams across the hillside on the western edge of the Calacirya, to a clearing amidst the blue firs. A fountain and pool he intended to build there, with the aid of Narwasar and his apprentices, to provide a means of refreshment unto travellers along that way. But also, as with all creations, did my father intend to so design the aqueduct that it would blend most harmoniously with the tall trees it would needs pass through. A fine and pleasing design was Urundil working upon, and he had sought my aid in sculpting and carving, in features to enhance the work. (Though did I think he and my mother wished mostly to see me well again. Both were heartfelt glad that I had not succeeded in departing this existence, as had the Lady Míriel so few years after giving birth. Both held mixed feelings towards he who was my husband, for siring such a child as Curvo, and then for giving so much of himself over that half-year to restore me from my weakness.)

Makalaurë had wished to accompany me on that visit for it had been long since he had spoken with my parents and ever did he enjoy so doing. Most fond was he of Urundil and Taurlotë and of the different audience he had amongst the Aulenduri for his music. He would spend much time with my mother, talking of her interests; of the use of plants and herbs that she grew, and sometimes would he participate in whatever sports the apprentices indulged themselves in. Unlike Carnistir, Makalaurë did not always have to win every contest, though mostly he did! He also enjoyed wandering the valley and hills around that collection of homes and forges in a manner like unto I had done in my early youth, and in so doing had ‘chanced’ upon his father.

But Makalaurë, whatever reason he gave, was there to keep watch over me. He was there for my support if I so needed it. Though I believed I needed it not, right glad was I always of his company. Would that I had it now!

Curvo had not wanted to come! Far rather would he have stayed in Tirion with Fëanáro, seeking to observe his father’s latest works. In this habit had Fëanáro indulged him more than he would have done any of the others. Mayhap he indulged Curvo far more than he should have? For to my husband it was as if Curvo was himself again as a child, and then as a youth, learning from his sire and loving him unreservedly and beyond all. In many ways was this so; but Curvo, although he was most like Fëanáro and to become more like unto him as he grew, was yet not him. Devoted though our fifth son was, it was Maitimo I believe upon reflection who loved his father most. (It was Maitimo whom I was to much later observe pursuing his father in the greatest of haste and distress, fearing that Fëanáro might slay himself after hearing what had befallen Finwë and the Silmarils at Formenos.)

But on that particular occasion had Fëanáro insisted that his beloved son went with me, to spent some time getting to better know his grandparents and practice further his skills of hand with Urundil. Was not Fëanáro planning to spend much time perfecting his latest device, his stone in which things afar could be viewed as if close, (that device he had first envisaged while working with my father upon that gem with which to observe the stars), and to show one such stone to his father, to King Finwë the following day! My lord wanted time alone, time with Finwë; and meant to have it, he said.

Curvo had stood in silence at his father’s command and answered not. Nor had he spoken to any of us until the departure. Then he had run to his father, and though still silent, had attempted to embrace him. Fëanáro was never the most demonstrative of parents, but he was more tactile than many of the Noldor and he loved well his sons. Always he sought to encourage and support us all. So did he allow and return the embrace, with much feeling. And did not Fëanáro then speak to Curvo as we crossed over the bridge, heading for the gates, that he would see to it that Tyelkormo stopped at my parent’s house when he rode forth a few days later. At that, a slight smile graced us all, for Curvo was no longer in a mood to ponder his misfortune. That Tyelkormo would have no objections to riding out with this younger brother, (Curvo was just then over half a year old), and would doubtlessly take him for a few days into the forests, I had already known. I wondered then how Curvo had so managed to persuade one who had shown little interest in Carnistir, that he should be allowed to partake of his company? But the relationship between Tyelkormo and Curvo was to develop into a most strong bond, that mayhap I should have done something to restrain.

****

Now it came to pass that, the sixth day after our arrival at my parent’s house, I had been in my father’s workroom, hair bound back, sleeves rolled up, and seated at a bench upon which lay several designs I was considering for embellishing the aqueduct. I had felt a little weaker at that time than I had the previous days, and found I was still tiring more easily than I hoped. But no matter, thought I! I would take my time and work but steadily. Nothing there was in my father’s house to tax me overly and soon enough would I be reunited with my husband. It came to my mind then to give form to Uinen for my design, to the Lady of the Seas, and to use statues of her likeness, and forms inspired by her, of wave and foam and weeds of the streams and waters. And I reflected upon how it was said of her that she could lay calm upon the oceans, restraining the wildness of her spouse, Ossë. Such thoughts had brought a smile to my face, thinking on how appropriate it was that I should devote a work of mine to such a lady. Then, arrow sharp, a directed thought was in my mind.

‘Nerdanel!’

Only six days had it been since we had departed Tirion, yet was my spouse, my lord calling unto me.

‘Thou art well, lady?’

Ever since Curvo’s birth had Fëanáro kept close watch upon me. I knew that he had feared to lose me, as his mother had been lost; had I not also feared I would be lost? But since that most difficult of births a special closeness had developed, not only between Curvo and his father, but also between his father and I. Almost did it become for us as it was at the dawn of our love. To realise that loss of one’s spouse was possible, if most unlikely, put intensity in our relationship that few save Finwë could have then understood.

“Aye, my lord!” I returned my own thought with warmth along the slender thread of union. “I work upon designs as my father wishes.”

“Thou hast tired thyself already!” But then his tone of rebuke softened. I could feel his smile, his sudden change of humour over some matter, as he continued dryly.

‘Get thyself changed out of thy working garb, and into something more fitting for partaking of a meal. Tell that fox, thy father, that I will dine with thy family at the end of this day.’

That was all. He did not remain for a confirmation of his wishes. He had spoken, and in such cases, so would I do! Ever to the point was he in such thought. It was enough of a touch for him to know that, while I was not yet of my old strength, I suffered no lapse of will to live.

So, with a sigh, did I push to one side my early plans and sketches and I made some haste unto the house. I looked into the forge as I passed and noticed that my father was there with Curvo and three others who had their backs turned to the door. Urundil was talking with great patience to his grandson, who looked decidedly sullen, almost as Carnistir had as a child. I hoped then that if Curvo were bored, he would have the manners and grace not to show such.

“Father! My lord bids me tell you he will here for the late meal this day.”

My father halted his explanation and nodded, as Curvo turned to look to me with a satisfied grin lighting his small face.

‘Aye, little one,’ I thought. ‘Thy father misses thee too!’

Crossing the courtyard, I noticed Makalaurë with my mother, walking in the gardens, and called to them that we were to have a visitor.

“Already do we have a visitor, Nerdanel. For Curumo is in the forge with your father and Curvo as we speak,” Taurlotë replied, gathering up fruit from the bushes and placing what she had collected in the deep white bowl held by my second son.

Curumo! So one of those with his back turned towards me had been that most powerful of Aulë’s people! Strange that I had not sensed his presence, for I had known the Maia from my early childhood, and had found much amusement in his company, in his show of works of creation and his devices. Ever considerate of me had he been, oft taking appearance as one of us so as to more easily converse and explain matters; in form, tall and dark of hair, with a thin face and deep, dark eyes was he. Mayhap I had other matters on my mind that had prevented me from so noticing him, and yet must he also have been pre-occupied at that moment not to greet me. I wondered then at what news or instruction he had brought from Aulë, for of a certainty, Curumo did not travel from Aulë’s Halls but for a festival, or on matters of import.

“Two visitors then, mother,” I commented nonchalantly, and Makalaurë raised his head from examining blueberries, a slight smile touching his face as he realised who I meant. Always in those days did Fëanáro’s presence seem to draw us; wife and sons alike, as if he were our very source of light and power, our life itself.

I had called to the kitchen as I passed through the outer hall of the house, to Failië, to Hlaron and those others who gave him assistance in preparation of food. Then I turned to the stairs with a sudden surge of energy and enthusiasm, much as I had done as a child, seeking to look out from the windows of the high tower. A feeling of anticipation at what that day would bring had taken hold of me in a manner the highborn ladies of Tirion may well have considered inappropriate! But I was at my home of old, I was planning to work at something I delighted in, my beloved sons were about me, and a visitor of interest we had. And Fëanáro was soon to be with us again!

Almost as a young maid did I feel at that thought. I was not surprised to notice warmth and colour flooding my cheeks in the manner it had rarely so done in the last years. Both light of foot and of fëa did I feel ascending the stairs, as I wondered at the intensity of power and persuasion which was upon me. I would seek to bathe, and change from my work dress of brown into a fine gown of embroidered white, for I intended to greet my husband’s arrival with the welcome cup, and an appearance of strength that would allay his concerns. But then, as I entered the tower room that had always been mine, did I notice upon the white covers of my bed a single sprig of wildflower.

“Finwion! Never did I think thou would use the might of thy thoughts to mislead me so!” I protested in mock annoyance.

As he walked into the room himself, from the small balcony to the west, he knew well that I was far from annoyed. My husband moved to stand before me; he put his hands lightly about my waist to draw me close, a lover’s touch.

“No welcome do I receive, lady wife; but a complaint?”

“No complaint, lord and husband; but a welcome! Though the only gift of welcome I have to give of thee is myself.” And I had thought to surprise him!

He looked at me most thoughtfully, pondering the truth of my re-found show of strength. Then he smiled; his mood one of focused intensity. “Nerdanel, beloved; was that not what I had hoped to find!”


****


So he had arrived earlier at but the notice of our servants and said naught; but told me in fëa to change of my attire that I would go to that room wherein he awaited me. Though oft was Fëanáro’s mind and heart on pursuit of his skills, yet did he not also seek the wellbeing of his family, and the company of his wife. Much later it was, past time for preparation of food, when I, freshly attired in my gown of white and with the copper girdle that Aulë had long ago gifted me clasped around my waist, entered the lesser hall of my father’s house. I apologised to my mother for my lack of assistance, though did she then have other help and not just that of the servants, but of Makalaurë also. Fëanáro had indeed given me of much warmth and comfort, but had departed my room one half of an hour earlier, that I might do as he had first bidden me, and seek refreshment. Upon my entrance was he engrossed in a conversation with Narwasar in the far corner of the room, though he caught my eye, and bowed slightly, pointedly to me.

“My beloved lady!”

Again did my face flush to a rosy hue, and he had achieved his aim. So did he return to his conversation.

Now did my father and that Maia guest of ours enter the room with Curvo but a few steps behind them, and ready we were for the meal to begin. But Curvo I noticed was still of a most sullen appearance.

“Come now, indyo, tell us all of the skill you have learnt this day.” Urundil made light of his grandson’s mood, as he took seat. (My father gave honour to my husband in that he made way for him at the head of the table, though of right should Fëanáro have sat in the place of honoured guest rather than the place of master of the house. On that day, however, did Curumo assume the seat of honoured guest, and my father, unconcernedly, take place next to him.)


But Curvo shook his head, and spoke forth softly, though with respect. “Much do I have to consider, grandfather. I would ask your leave to speak not of your teachings until after the meal.”

So it was! For understandable and no insult was Curvo’s request. We were all to be seated at the long table, and Curvo made fast to his father’s side, to give of a warm welcome and whisper something, but a few words to him. Both my husband and youngest son were silent for a long moment, so as to halt my father in the giving of thanks to Yavanna for the provisions granted us. In that moment Curumo, seated opposite to me, smiled most warmly.

“Well met again, Lady Nerdanel. I have missed your presence in the Halls of Aulë, for it does seem of recent years you do not seek my company as you did as a child. Mayhap, with your lord’s permission, we could remedy that and work on something anew when your crafting with your father is complete?”

Curvo, his message delivered, moved to take seat beside me, and my father could complete the thanksgiving and bid us all enjoy of the meal. So, appropriate was it then for me to give of answer.

“Most honoured have I always been to enjoy your company and tutorage, my lord.”

I smiled in return at the thought of renewing my close friendship with that most gifted of Aulë’s servants and was eager to know of the white robed Maia’s errand at my father’s house. Yet aware was I of my place as wife and mother, and of the work I would yet undertake with my father. No rash promise could I make. Ai; aware also of that recent closeness with my lord was I, and so bound in fëa with him that I started, I almost jumped, at the sudden change in his mind mood, as I perceived he became as ice.

“Is something ailing you, lady?” Curumo leant forward with concern at my change in demeanour, and my parents and Makalaurë also looked to me.

“My lady wife is tired yet from pouring her own life and strength into the birth of our son, Curumo.” Fëanáro answered for me. “Yet do I have the ability to care for my own; for her, and for our children.” My husband had filled his goblet with limpë, and was holding the gaze of our other guest in no uncertain manner. He raised his drink, as a gesture, a toast.

“To Aulë! And to those of the Maiar who are ever the friends of my people!”

Most courteously had Fëanáro spoken, yet it was as a warning. But why, and to what end I knew not in that moment.

“To Aulë and the Maiar!” the rest at that table echoed.

“To Aulë!” Curumo still smiled, but now at Fëanáro. Then his mood altered also, and he was about discussion with my father again.

“Guard your thoughts, lady.” My husband’s unspoken command resounded in my mind.

Little did I feel like eating in that moment, for I was most concerned at what was taking place. I looked to my mother, who was partaking of the meal and speaking with Calimanandë, then to Curvo, who was eating and keeping subtle watch, under his long, dark lashes, of our honoured guest.

“Though Curumo is a servant of Aulë and a friend of yours, yet all may not be as it seems.” Fëanáro continued, speaking into my mind, and deftly cutting up the fruit on his plate with a knife. “For Curvo likes not the Maia overmuch. Our son says that Curumo’s voice is one of beguilement upon him, and that this Maia says he has heard talk of my recent crafting and would know more of my work; if he might be of aid. Yet he speaks not directly to me! The Palantiri are not for others to work upon, nor to know much of; not unless and until I so wish.”

Little did I speak with Curumo that day, save for the exchange of a few pleasantries and asking after others of the Maiar who were as my friends. He departed soon enough after the meal, though with another request that, at some time in the future we would craft together again, he and I. At that did my husband reply, and with much power in his voice.

“Nay, Curumo; I think not! For my wife is most dear to me and to our sons, and ill would I take it to be parted overlong from her. Elsewhere must you look for a companion in your work.”

And with a final farewell to my father, (who still knew not exactly why Curumo had visited), the Maia departed.

****

Curvo indeed had much foresight, and that from me, though the power of mind and of conjuring with words himself, even as Curumo would so do, did he inherit from his sire. Curumo was not then what he became in his appointment to the Hither Lands, but always curious was he, and much of my lord's creations.

On other occasions was Curvo to give warning from his heart that something felt not right unto him, and that skill would, in one instance, save even Fëanáro from suffering great harm. But that is another part of the story and will not be written of for some time.



Írissë - Aredhel
Nolofinwë - Fingolfin
Tyelkormo - Celegorm
Findaráto -Finrod
Angaráto - Angrod.
Moringotho - Morgoth
Ana apsenë - Forgive me.
Indyo - Grandson
Curumo - Curunir - Saruman. I am not suggesting in any way that Curumo / Saruman is 'evil' at this point, just overly interested. I am trying to suggest that Curvo has some measure of 'seeing' into hearts, (as Fëanáro later has with Morgoth.)

(1).Of Maeglin. The Silmarillion J.R.R. Tolkien. Ed C. Tolkien. HarperCollins. p 157.


In HoME 11. The War of the Jewels, it says in the notes to the chapter ‘Quendi and Eldar’ that Eöl was a Mornedhel, and is said to have belonged to the Second Clan (whose representatives amongst the Eldar were the Noldor). This is, of course, at variance with what is recorded in The Silmarillion.

In HoME 12 ‘Last Writings’ and the following footnote 8, it suggests that Manwë could delay the restoration of a fëa to life, if the fëa, while alive, had done evil deeds and refused to repent of them, or still harboured malice against any other person amongst the living. In the gravest cases (such as that of Fëanor) return was withheld and referred to the One.

Chapter Twenty Five: Carnistir. Part Two.


Back to the 'Sons' chapters for a couple of instalments. I do have another couple of 'Flame Rekindled' chapters ready, ( and some of Maglor's Song), but they will have to wait another couple of days.

The writing has been going ok. I have plenty of ideas still, though sometimes I feel like giving up, I suspect that is normal when you have been working on something for over a year. I really do want to get the whole story down, as I *see* it in my mind. There is quite a lot still to do, but I am sort of setting Christmas as my goal.

At the moment I have time to spend how I want, but come September we have holiday booked, and then I must get down to study. In a way it will be good to get myself into more of a routine again. I think I am more productive when working to set deadlines.

So, what to study? It is the sort of opportunity I have longed for, but now I have it I want to make the best possible use of it. I have been looking at a variety of on-line courses run by various Universities, and I have looked at the courses offered at the London Universities. But I am not even sure WHAT I want to study? The original idea was to start a Phd. Maybe that is a good idea, maybe not! And should I go for history, or philosophy..or...even my old love, theology? And then there is writing!

So many choices..and only one life!

Stop procrastinating, girl! Get on with it! ;-)


Chapter Twenty Five: Carnistir. Part Two.



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


“Maedhros indeed rebuked Caranthir; but the greater part of the Noldor, of both followings, hearing his words were troubled in heart, fearing the fell spirit of the sons of Fëanor that it seemed would ever be like to burst forth in rash word or violence. But Maedhros restrained his brothers, …..”

(Of the Return of the Noldor. The Silmarillion J.R.R. Tolkien. Ed C. Tolkien. HarperCollins. p 127)


The house of Curufinwë Fëanáro. Tirion. Seventh Age.

When first I descended the wide, crystal stairs that led from the high court of the king to the level of the city whereupon our house was built, I found I was descending in all hope as well. The Darkness that had filled the land; it had filled mind and fëa also, so that, despite being driven hence by the winds of Manwë, did the taint of darkness lie still upon us all. What hope was there to be had after that hate-filled oath? What hope for any of my sons, who had so rashly, so thoughtlessly, followed the lead of their father? What hope for the Noldor of sanity, when the calming words of wise Arafinwë had gone all but unheeded?

Not that Fëanáro’s speech had left my heart unmoved, for I knew what he felt. I knew the indescribable depth of his anguish, and the burning fierceness of his anger. And, as ever, when he so wished, had his voice been charismatically potent, intoxicating even, so that hearts and minds were swayed beyond reason. He had not spoken falsehood then: nay, not from his perspective! For there was some truth to the accusations he had levelled at the Valar. How could they have let loose that Dark Lord to wreck such havoc upon us? How could they, mighty powers that they were, have failed to keep their own realm secure? How could they expect us to trust them still, when Moringotho, the Enemy, he was one of their own kind?

And had I not wanted to trust Fëanáro? After our parting words at Formenos but a few days earlier, had I not wanted so very much to trust him again?

When he said that vengeance called him hence, did it not call me, also? When he said that we had lost more than our king, did I not know, and from long conversations with him, exactly what he meant?

“Come away! Let the cowards keep this city!” he had cried.[1]

I wanted so much to join with those who would follow him hence, to be part of the great and noble deeds he spoke of, rather than one of the ‘shadow-folk’. I wanted to find again the lands from which we had come forth, and to exact vengeance for the murder of Finwë.

Aye: he had more than swayed my heart. But he was wrong!

Just, though his cause seemed to be, yet were his words motivated by years of slow poisoning of heart, and by deception. The mightiest of the Noldor though he was, and knew himself to be, yet in the madness of his grief did he think his strength enough to have prevailed against Moringotho: and so did he deceive even himself! And he cursed the summons of Manwë that took him from Finwë’s side.

Fëanáro; he set himself and our sons against any who withheld a Silmaril from them; any, be they Elda, or Maia, or Secondborn, or even bright Vala! He was setting himself against all creation if need be, and had called upon Manwë, and Varda, and upon Eru Ilúvatar, in his pain, to bear witness to his words. Our sons; they had sworn likewise. They, who had so recently been plunged into darkness, they called the Everlasting Darkness to be their Doom, if they kept not their oath. Ai! How could they do such a thing? For without the blessing of the Valar upon their quest, could Fëanáro and our sons never succeed.

So Moringotho had claimed another victory, it seemed to me. My husband had unwittingly acted out that Dark Lord’s very wishes, by bringing about a sundering of our people from the Valar who loved them, and further, he was destroying himself and completing the very task that Moringotho had not quite achieved! In that Long Night did the Enemy slay the Trees, and Finwë, aye, and did he slay bright Fëanáro, also.


So I descended the stairs, and moved with some difficulty against the crowds who were already beginning to gather in family groups. With few possession, and much desire for vengeance and for discovery of new lands free of the Valar’s rule did they gather: nér and nís and hína alike. With few possessions, were some heading towards the great gates already!

But all my hopes were shattered. My earlier dream of reconciliation with my husband, even as Manwë had wished, was dashed beyond repair. This one last chance had I, to reach he who had so often paid me heed; one last chance to change his course by counsel, or, at the very least, to ask that he take not all of our children from me. But it was not so easy to reach him. So shut into his grief and his anger was he, so deep in brooding darkness that no call of fëa from me could pass through his defences. And it seemed, as I approached the bridge that spanned the waterfalls, that no word from me would gain entrance to his presence, either. I found I was unable to pass that guard set about the bridge and the forecourt.

Carnistir it was who came to my aid.

“King Fëanáro is most occupied,” the guards had said to the few folk that sought access to the house. “There is much urgency in the situation, and if you are loyal to him, he would have you gather on the lower concourse, under our banners.”

‘King!’ thought I with dismay. ‘Fëanáro is our king!’ Such a difficult thought was that, because, although I believed him to be the rightful heir, chosen of the Valar (whom he then despised), never had I considered Finwë would die! And what of he who had been acting king in Finwë’s absence, I thought? What of Nolofinwë?

‘Thou shalt lead and I will follow,’ had he said to Fëanáro; but did I not wonder at the outworking of that statement.

One guard, a nér I was unfamiliar with, took me by the arm, and propelled me back towards the steps with more force than was needed.

“Take a care, guard,” I had retorted, in growing anger of my own. Throwing back the hood of my cloak, I had revealed the red gleam of my hair in the light of the torch I carried. Still was any hint of red-brown hair a rarity, and found only in my father’s kin. “Of course I am loyal to him. I am his wife!”

The guard had hesitated at my disclosure, and looked most keenly into my face. “His wife? So, King Fëanáro’s lady returns now to be queen, though she would not go into the humiliation of exile with her lord when he so wished,” he stated accusingly.

“No queen am I! Neither is it your concern to know of what transpired between my husband and myself. I have a right to be here, and to speak with him. And that I mean to do!”

Others had begun to gather round, wondering at the disturbance.

“Lady Nerdanel!” Another whom I did recognise, and that from a glimpse during my short time at Formenos, spoke up. (For many from the devastated fortress had made their way, and with urgency, to Tirion, to renew their loyalty to the House of Fëanáro.) “I saw no loyalty on your behalf when your husband was exiled. Why should matters be any different now? Away with you! Enough troubles do we have with loyalty from those who still hold Nolofinwë to be their true king.”

Such an attitude towards me, or to any nís would have been unthinkable amongst the Noldor before Moringotho’s lies had inflamed cruelty and distain in many a heart. Some did perceive themselves as righteous, and beyond reproach, yet loved to reproach others from their lofty viewpoint. Others had come to enjoy small acts of cruelty, and some less small. But some understanding of their words did I have. Much did I wish that I had made my presence known at Formenos; that Fëanáro had allowed more than Finwë, Maitimo, and those few others, to know I had been there with him in recent days. Hindsight is a great thing, and yet of little help in such a situation. These guards, they were not enlightened as to my obedience of Manwë’s instructions, or to my regrets for allowing the estrangement from my husband to ever have happened. Even so, my need was great, and I would not give ground on so urgent a quest. I had to see Fëanáro again.

“Whatever opinion you have of me, guard, it is but an opinion, and unwise would you be to second guess your king. His wife am I, and mother of those who are his sons, and your captains. I will speak with at least one of them now!”

The flickering light of the torches should have cast a pleasant glow, but in that situation of swirling sea mists, and darkness of sky and of hearts, did it rather appear to twist and distort features of beauty into cruel parodies of themselves. I could sense the hesitation in some of those around me. Were they really so very certain of Fëanáro’s will in this matter? But then a blessedly familiar voice had cut through what could have been for me a most difficult stalemate.

“What is this gathering? Who is it that would speak with the king?” The guards stood swiftly to attention, and then moved aside to let the speaker pass.

“Lady? Mother?”

So pleased was I to behold the tall, broad-shouldered, form of Carnistir then, though I had wished in my desperation to come across one of my eldest two sons, or Ambarussa the younger, he whom I understood the best. Nothing but loyally devoted to his sire was Carnistir, but ever had he been close to me also, and would not see me barred from the doors of the place we had called ‘home’ for so many years.

With a glower of disapproval at the inappropriateness of their action, my fourth son dismissed the guards to other, and more pressing, duties. He deftly took my arm and crossed over the bridge with me, shouting instructions to another group of armed neri who were assembling on the mist enshrouded circular lawn.

“Lady mother, what do you here? I thought you were with our grandfather.” Although abrupt, and tense, his voice held a note of concern. Then he halted for a brief instant, his eyes lighting slightly as, without waiting upon my reply, he reached his own conclusion. “You heard our lord’s speech! You heard father’s call for the people to follow him to freedom from servitude to the Valar, and to vengeance against the Enemy! At last do you understand what he has long been saying, and you turn back to him, lady?”

All it was that I could remain silent. I urged my son forwards again, and we crossed in the torchlight to the main door of the house. What to say to him? That my heart had already turned back to his father at Formenos, and that I had forgiven him all the grief I believed he had caused when I beheld him at Máhanaxar? But the oath! That was another matter. Ai, Carnistir! The oath and its blasphemy have sundered your father and I more truly than any distance in location, than any misunderstanding could have.

“Carnistir!” I had reached up to touch my son’s cheek, knowing then that it would probably be for the last time. “I have missed you so much, dear one. But my being here is a matter of great urgency, as you can well imagine.” I hoped that, by eluding a direct response, he would consider I was but confirming his thoughts. No time then did I have to debate with him, not while there was the smallest of hope I could make a difference to my husbands course of action. I thought then that that it was for the best that Carnistir had met with me; never could I have fooled Tyelkormo* or Curvo* so. Nay, never did I need to fool Maitimo!

He had put an arm protectively around my shoulders, his height and presence making it most easy for us to move through the crowds, and enter the outer hall. As we walked, he spoke almost conspiratorially with me, as he had when very young.

“I will take word straight away to Turindë, for much did she wish to know your actions on this matter. She will come with us, of course. Though Curvo and Nolwen have had words of great unpleasantness, and Nolwen will not leave Tirion for any persuasion. Not even to be with Tyelpinquar*!”

These things did I already know, and much pain did Curvo’s actions cause me.

Carnistir continued to confide in me as we made our way past the scriptorium, wherein Alcarin held court, giving further instructions to several captains. “It is uncertain if the Lady Anairë will travel. Most loyal to the Valar is she, and her friendship with Lady Eärwen does seem to also constrain her! Arafinwë* himself is but half-hearted, and may yet counsel again for delay. Father deems him useless in this venture, a damp force that will be easily spent.”

As we turned down the long, mural-lined corridor, past the room that had been my own study, did Carnistir inform me of the progress, or lack thereof, that the sons of Indis were making. Surprised would I be if Eärwen went upon this flight, yet she would most likely accompany her lord, and on him did much depend. No damp force had I ever considered Arafinwë to be, but the calmest, the wisest of the sons of Finwë. Where he went, would Eärwen go, and likely Anairë, her close friend.

“Those sons of Arafinwë make a brave enough noise, save for Angrod*; and Artanis* also, she will go! Though she hates our father most deeply, yet did his words stir her to seek adventure, and lands of her own. More Noldor blood is in her than the faint blood of the Teleri, I warrant.”

Almost did I halt at those words, for it was as if a knife was driven further into my heart, if that were possible. That Carnistir still had such despite for the Teleri pleased me not at all.

But then, before the ornate double doors of my husband’s study we stood. Again, was I to seek audience with him, and Carnistir’s words had, unintentionally, but hardened my heart.

That dark haired son bowed deeply before me. “Lady and mother, implore our father that you may accompany us, for though he had all but given up hope with you, yet will he willingly take you back if you give of him your loyalty and devotion again. But time is short!”

He smiled at me! Carnistir, who was so stern of expression, he smiled at what he believed was the immanent reconciliation of his parents amidst all the horror of that time. “I have missed you, too, mother!” he announced.

I watched him stride back down towards the main doors, armed with sword and knife and bow, his dark cloak sweeping behind him, and I whispered my farewell. Never was I to behold Carnistir again.

With a deep intake of breath, and a silent appeal to Aulë for aid, I knocked, as I had done so many times before, on the door of Fëanáro’s study.

****

The Year of the Trees 1250 was a significant one for me in many ways. It was a year of festival; the lesser sort that was held at Valmar. Much joy did we have then, for both Maitimo and Makalaurë gained further renown. Makalaurë surpassed all of his previous efforts with the ‘Song of the Secret Fire’; a work he had composed while studying with the Maia Lirillo himself. Maitimo earned his acclaim through his exploits in those games held upon our return to Tirion. Always, after a festival, were there competitions; of horsemanship, of racing and wrestling, and of quarter staff. Ecthelion, who was one of our greatest athletes, had chosen not to participate that year, and for the first time had Maitimo won all events. Greatly did our eldest son love to participate in any form of challenge! Had Makalaurë entered, he would have given considerable opposition in horsemanship, as would Tyelkormo, and there was not much to chose between the three brothers, for all were strong riders. The greatest challenge we thought would come from the Lord Poldórion, who was a fast rising talent amongst our people, though he never met Maitimo in contest that year, being bested by that other, and younger, trainee of Ecthelion’s, the Lord Glorfindel. So did Maitimo overcome Glorfindel in the final bout of the quarterstaff and wrestling contests, and overcome that close kin, and friend of his, Prince Findekáno*, in the race and the riding.

Tyelkormo had taken up Taurnolë*, and though that was an exercise of the mind rather than the hröa, he had endeavoured to overcome all challengers. Lastamo had defeated him, though had Tyelkormo put forth a great effort for one new to the game. Fëanáro had, of course, won overall, much to Lastamo’s annoyance. Little love was developing between my husband and that second-ranking loremaster.


The year 1250 also saw a change in Fëanáro’s mind-mood, and one I had to alter my step to match. For at that time did he begin to approach maturity, and his skills of hand and of mind began to fully flower. Few could ever compete with my lord; not since I had first known him when but four years of age. Since he had worked with my father, and even more, worked alongside the Vala, Aulë, Fëanáro’s abilities were far beyond all, save the Vala himself. This was a blessing in many ways for our people; for did not my husband set about devising many wonderful, and beautiful things? Those letters he developed, those that we still use, which bear his name, were accounted as the least of his works by many.

And those stones to lighten the darkness, which he had never been quite satisfied with, they, too, did he finally develop to his full satisfaction; that they blazed with blue and silver fire even brighter than the star, Helluin! So it was that we rode later in that year, he carrying the young babe, Carnistir, strapped to his back, to King Olwë at Alqualondë, to present them as a gift from King Finwë.

And after that?

After that did Fëanáro begin work on those seeing stones that became famous, nay, became infamous to some – the Palantiri -- though these he did not complete until after the birth of Curvo. Five seeing stones, and one master stone did he craft; then a further two seeing stones when our twins were born. And always was there works of art, of fine gems and jewellery to be gifted by himself, or by his father, to others. Always was there the study of the world around us, most particularly of the light. Truly it was said of him then that, seldom were his hands or mind at rest.

Aye, a blessing for our people was all that crafting, and a means whereby Fëanáro gained great renown. In high honour was he held, and no longer only as the son of Finwë, but as a mighty prince in his own right. But such might, it comes at a cost! Hard it is, for one so gifted, to bear with fallibility. So did my lord become more arrogant towards others, more intolerant of the manner of the less learned, it sometimes seemed. But I, who knew him best in those years, I saw him struggle with the increasing sense of isolation that resulted from his genius, as fewer folk could match him in any way.

He came at that time to seek often the company of our sons in exploration, and still of Ecthelion in matters of linguistics and lore. My father, and Narwasar did he hold admiration for, and some very few of the Aulenduri who appeared most gifted, and with whom he would sometimes discuss matters of craft. To Finwë, alone, did he seem to give great honour and respect, for he always held his father in the highest regard, both as king, and for his own skills in language. But mostly, and from that time forth, did Fëanáro seek to work alone.

I could no longer keep pace with him, if I ever had been so able, though still did he sometimes ask of my aid, or my counsel in an undertaking of crafting. Long had he surpassed all of my skills, and although I endeavoured to keep informed as to his interests, did I sometimes feel I could contribute but little. Yet always courteous was Fëanáro towards me, always considerate of my opinion, though he did not always take my advice! And to me did he come when troubled, or when some event sparked anew the memories of the pain of his youth. To me did he turn when the fires of his heart burned too hot, that I would calm him, and provide gentle restraint against which he would struggle not.

He knew himself to be of rash temper; and he knew most others would either give him freedom to so follow his rage, or would confront him (were they fools!), with argument or knowledge of their own. Not so with me. Had I not learnt early in our marriage, the best way to disarm him; and that through love and wisdom?

Now, in that year of 1250 had I thought to spend more time with the Loremasters myself, to seek to gain further knowledge of our history, of Arda, aye, of the purpose of Eä and, mayhap, of Ilúvatar himself? This I wished for my own interest and gratification, and also as a means of aiding Fëanáro, and of information to debate. The study of wisdom did I seek in earnest, and to that end, spent a short time in the Gardens of Lórien, and sought again the company of the Maia, Elemáinië, wondering even if I might visit with her the Fëanturi! But the deeper wisdom was, of necessity, something deferred. For in that year did I conceive and bring to birth our fourth son, Carnistir.

****

Carnistir the Dark! The haughty, proud, and cruellest of our sons, do many writings name him! I find it hard to recognise our fourth son from such words. Dark? Aye, dark brown of hair, was Carnistir, and like Finwë in appearance. Did not Fëanáro name him Morifinwë! Dark of colouring also, sometimes, was he; for to he alone of our sons did I bequeath the joy of blushing most profusely with emotion. With him was it more often anger, for he was short of temper, but not cruel, not when he was in Valinor. That he was dark and deep of mood, it is often assumed. He was certainly of a more solemn mood than any of his brothers, and strange did I find it that so serious and silent a child was brought forth from the fire of the union of love between Fëanáro and myself. For no reason did either of us have to will that son, save as an expression of the companionship and love we had, each with the other. Neither new marriage, nor child in the House of Finwë was there to set my lord’s mind on the desire for more children of our own. (It had been after Tyelkormo’s birth, in the year 1234, that Anairë had given birth to Findekáno, to Nolofinwë’s eldest son). Well pleased indeed was Fëanáro with our three sons, and they had seemed enough for us. Few folk did have four children at that time, but a rarity was that, and most homes had two or three children added to them. But still young were we: Fëanáro being only seventy-one, and still full of strength and the desire to generate life. And I, also, had such desire, both for myself, and for him to whom my heart’s love was given.

Yet solemn was Carnistir, and from the start. That manner of mood did I believe he had acquired from his father, for none of my family were so minded. Fëanáro could be serious, indeed. He could be as ice in temperament, but always did he have that charisma about him, that ability to have power over hearts when he chose to use it. It was not so with Carnistir! He had his father’s brooding bluntness, but little of his subtlety or charm. Proud was Carnistir, though mostly of his parents! Aye, he was haughty in some manner; I see how he could be viewed as such by others. For Fëanáro and I raised him almost as an only child during the first four years of his life, and that surely had an influence on what he became.

Maitimo spent some little time with his third brother, but Makalaurë was away for much of those early years, still working on his music, still learning what he could from Lirillo, and also from other’s in Irmo Lórien’s service. Tyelkormo was away with Oromë, and travelling to far places in Valinor that even his father had not then visited. None there were who were close in age with Carnistir, and none who were at home and with the will to indulge that younger brother. So did he spend much time with me and with my ladies, and learnt from that a greater understanding and consideration for nissi than many had. Also did I take him to my parent’s house, and he sometimes played there with other children, though always did he have to win! Urundil tried to speak with Carnistir of his manner; my father tried to show his grandson that he was loved whether winner or no. But little point there was when Fëanáro was always the best, was always first, was always right! Yet from the visits with my father did Carnistir develop a love for gemstones, and later did he work with some love and skill in that craft.

The favourite time for that son in his early childhood was just before he partook of rest. Always, when they were in their childhood, no matter what he was occupied with, did Fëanáro seek to talk with his sons each day; this being both his wish, and a habit he had gained from his own early relationship with Finwë. Sometimes would father and son spend that time in the workroom, or the forge itself, and others would Fëanáro take them to his study and instruct them in the development of language, or the history and accomplishments of the Noldor. All of our sons loved that special time with their father, but, though he said little, did I always think Carnistir enjoyed it most of all.

There came a time when I noticed that, even at my parent’s house, Carnistir played alone. “Why is this, my son?” asked I. “Do none of the children of the Aulenduri hold any interests in common with you? Are there no games you would play with them?”

“Nay, mother! I would rather work alone, even as my father does!” he had replied.

Some concern did I have over his comment, for work and play were not always the same thing. Isolated, in part, was Carnistir in his childhood, but also, as with his father, was some of that isolation of his own choice. Something of a mystery was he to me then, and always. Mayhap that was part of why I loved him so.


It was told to me how Carnistir met his end, shot down by many arrows, by archers of Doriath, in defence of their lord and lady. He died in that second kinslaying, alongside Curvo and Tyelkormo! But this at least heartens me, that in those latter days in the Hither Lands, he took up as he could the pain of his brother, Ambarussa, at the loss of his twin. I have been told, and by those who returned, that Carnistir sought hard to raise the heart of his youngest surviving brother. And also, have I been told, did he seek to give aid, and to a Secondborn and her people. He sought to give aid where the noble Elwë would give none!

****

A particular day there was, at the end of the year 1250, when certain events happened that were to have repercussions on Carnistir’s behaviour.


“What is it that so perplexes you, mother, that your thoughts are elsewhere upon this day?”

My Maitimo, my beloved eldest son had walked with Carnistir and I from the house. Together we descended the clear crystal stairs to the area on the second level of Tirion whereupon the arena was built. That day were we to go and watch some of our athletes honing their skills for the games. Though there was neither threat nor danger, nor thought thereof in the Blessed Realm at that time, yet was it part of the very nature of neri, aye, and of a few of the nissi, to be competitive, and to ensure their skills and reactions were swift and strong. Maitimo himself, as I have already mentioned, often competed in races and quarterstaff, and in varied unarmed competition. Most capable was he, though rarely would I watch him, or any of our sons, in such action. They all took part at times in competition; they all used the arena for practice, as, on occasions, did Fëanáro; though did my husband prefer to use our gardens, or the room in the south wing of the house set aside for that purpose. Many times had I come across he and Ecthelion, or Alcarin, or Fionu testing of themselves against the others. Always was it a competition of strength, of skill, of speed and agility. Always did Fëanáro win!

Now that day, were we three to go to watch Ecthelion’s two most promising students train; they being the golden haired Noldo, Glorfindel, who was of an age with Tyelkormo; and Prince Findekáno, son of Prince Nolofinwë, who was but a little younger. Fëanáro would, most probably, have accompanied us, had he not been so totally immersed in bettering the work of Rúmil at that time.

“It is naught to concern yourself with, dear one,” I replied to my copper-brown haired son’s question. “Tyelkormo told me earlier that he had overheard discussions amongst some of the lords that left him ill-pleased. He has made known to them his feelings on the matter, but I wonder if he has done so with more force than was necessary?”

Maitimo smiled ruefully, and bent his bright head to a level with mine, that we could speak in confidence, for many folk were about their business at that time, and he wished not to be overheard.

“I assume that he was angered over a comparison with the Vanyar, a comparison with the House of our father’s half-brother again?”

“Aye! They mean no harm, those who so speak, for is it not accepted that Vanyar are the First Kindred, and the most noble of all Eldar? They do but state what is well known. No harm is intended, but thoughtless are their words, and mayhap will cause great resentment from your father?”

“Noble are the Vanyar, yet are we Noldor not without honour and nobility,” Maitimo whispered assertively. “The blood that flows in Nolofinwë and Arafinwë is that of greatness, and I understand that the blood of their Vanya mother may give rise to some considering them to be superior. But my father is also great, and greater than they, in my thoughts!”

“And in Manwë’s thoughts,” said I, glad that it was Maitimo, and not Tyelkormo who heard that confession from me. I lowered my head, annoyed that I had spoken forth that which had long been on my mind. Yet did not our eldest son have a manner about him that led to one confiding in him?

Maitimo raised his brows in curiosity at my words, but such was his nature that he did not press me for further information, much as he must have wished to know more of Manwë’s thoughts on his father.

So there it was, the earliest stirrings of dissent amongst the sons of Finwë! Some folk did say, though not often, nor widely, that Nolofinwë’s Vanyar blood made him superior to Fëanáro. Further, was that problem of old still with us, for, they said, Nolofinwë had wed with a most noble lady of the Noldor, and so his son, Findekáno, was of higher status than my sons, both through father and through mother! (And this talk was long before the loosing of Moringotho. Fertile ground was it for his lies to eventually take root in.)

“I shall attempt to curb Tyelkormo’s responses, if they occur within my hearing, and I shall speak with those who spread such opinions, though with wisdom, I hope,” Maitimo offered. But then did we come to a halt, for it was needful for Carnistir to catch us up. Being less that a quarter of one year of age, my fourth son’s legs were no match for mine, and certainly no match for the stride of his eldest brother.

“Shall I carry you, dear one, for I would not have you tired before we reach the arena?” I stooped low, and held out my arms to my youngest son, but he frowned, as if I were insulting him. Not as Maitimo or Makalaurë, both of whom had run to me most happily when young, was Carnistir. More like Tyelkormo in mood, nay, more like his father was this son!

“Come now, little brother! You shall ride upon my shoulders, and be higher than everyone this day.” Maitimo moved upon the situation with thoughtfulness, and care for his younger brother as he so often did.

“I can walk, Russandol!” Almost did Carnistir stamp his tiny feet with determination that he would not be humiliated. And his face turned red with temper.

“Aye, and I say not otherwise. Only consider this; that you will have the best view over the city, and move the swiftest if you but ride upon my shoulders!”

So was Carnistir partially convinced, and, in truth, did he always regard Maitimo most highly. Though he said it not, was that younger son pleased at the interest ‘Russandol’ showed in him.

We walked through the gardens that bordered the steps down to the arena, and Carnistir, from his vantage point, gave voice to many observations in a most factual manner. Many things we already knew well, were Maitimo and I told about in great detail. A large, oval area of lawn we then descended to, that was encircled by tiers of marble benches, save for one area where a wide, high arched bridge spanned one of the larger waterfalls that cascaded down from the heights, to join the creek that led to the open sea. To one end of the arena was a raised dais, bearing heraldic devices of those of the House of Finwë, and several golden chairs, whereupon King Finwë and his sons sat if attending. Towards that did we head, as Maitimo most certainly had the right to sit thereon. Few others had gathered to watch that days events, for it was but practice bouts, and Maitimo had merely wanted Carnistir to observe some of the skills of those contestants. (And, I suspected, to take part in a practice bout himself, if one there would consider being his opponent.)

Ecthelion, clad in the light, belted, but loose fitting garb, that was suitable for much and swift movement, noted our arrival, and bowed a greeting to us. With smiles, and nods of acknowledgement in return, we three took our places upon the dais, Maitimo assuming the role of Finwë, and taking his grandsire’s chair.

Now with that friend of ours stood some others of those who would participate that day, most notably, according to Maitimo, the very tall, and deceptively slender Glorfindel. I had witnessed his skills in the games at the beginning of the year, and was much reminded of Ecthelion himself, in the manner of movement, in the well controlled strength and cat-like agility of the golden haired lord. Glorfindel would most certainly present Maitimo with a challenge in the coming years, thought I, but that day, was his practice to be against Prince Findekáno. Ecthelion bowed again slightly to us, as did the others of the competitors, and then they spread out across the oval arena, to finish their preparations. This being Carnistir’s first attendance at such a meeting, my solemn son was fixated upon every move made, upon every effort to warm and loosen muscle and sinew in readiness for what was to follow.

“You could defeat any one of them, Russandol!” It was almost a statement, and Maitimo smiled indulgently, and raised a brow.

“Do not underestimate others, little brother. Many a neri skilled in the games is there amongst the Noldor, and more than one fine athlete is here this day."

Carnistir heard his brother’s voice, but not his wisdom. “Father could defeat them all,” he added, eagerly.

At that did Maitimo laugh. Not that he, nor I, doubted that Fëanáro could overcome any one there, nor any combination of several opponents, yet did we not view him as totally invincible, as did young Carnistir. As, alas, did Fëanáro himself come to do in the Long Night.

Then, it was, that Nolofinwë arrived!

That Findekáno’s father saw fit to observe this practice bout was nothing untoward. That Nolofinwë was, himself, a fine and skilful horseman was well known. That he was strong and fearless, as were all the children of Finwë, was also well known. Yet Nolofinwë had never participated in any of the games save the riding, and that in his early youth. Little interest had I assumed on his part; but it was a father’s pride and love, rather than interest in sport, that I consider brought him forth that day. With him was the shorter, but incredibly strong Lord Poldórion, son of one of his closer friends, and an athlete in his own right. But all of those observations were as naught compared to the realisation that, as Finwë’s son, Nolofinwë would also expect to sit in the place of honour.

My eldest son had immediately realised the awkwardness of the situation, and was on his feet in acknowledgement and greeting to the approaching pair, but Carnistir was too young to understand the fine tension of propriety involved. Neither had he met with Nolofinwë before that occasion.

“We need not anyone else with us. Tell him to go away, Russandol!” Carnistir’s young voice was much louder than I would have hoped. Not that anything save the most hushed whisper would have escaped the approaching prince’s hearing.

I had not seen Nolofinwë often myself over the last years, save at festivals, or at those occasions when Finwë insisted on having all of his family present. In some ways did this second son of Finwë, now nearing maturity, remind me of my husband. Almost as tall was he, and dark of hair. Proud of manner and bearing, and with the air of nobility and command about him; so similar to Fëanáro, and yet not so!

Still was there such a difference between half-brothers, and not just in features of face. No ‘Spirit of Fire’ was the eldest son of Indis, though he, too, had a temper when he wished. A spirit of another kind, though, and far less rash, and, mayhap, more wise than my lord (Though was Nolofinwë never as wise as his younger brother became.) His voice, though strong and fair, held not the passion, that so ensnared me, and others of our people, and of crafting as Aulë did he know little. More given to reflection was Nolofinwë, though he was valiant, and steadfast enough in manner when it was needed.

I rose hastily to my own feet, embarrassed by Carnistir’s sudden words and knowing the delicacy the present situation posed. Most times when we did meet as family, was there no issue of who sat where: of who took precedence. Fëanáro always took precedence! But neither I, nor Maitimo had any wish to offend one for whom we both had respect.

I made a curtsey to the approaching prince, as he set foot upon the first step of the dais. “Well met, my lord! We had not expected you to be here this day, but an honour it will be to watch the practice with you.”

Nolofinwë smiled slightly, considerately, in return. “Well met indeed, Lady Nerdanel.” He bowed acknowledgement to me, but his eyes were upon Maitimo, who still stood as if guarding his grandsire’s chair.

Then swiftly did he turn upon Carnistir, who trembled, momentarily, with surprise that such a tall and stately nér was bearing down upon him.

“Well met, also, little Fëanárion! Though I shall not ‘go away’ as you have expressed a wish that I so do, yet may we not both watch this match, and learn from it? For I am your father’s half-brother, and so we are kin, you and I.”

I put a hand protectively on the small, silver and grey clad form of my son, and made to draw him closer. But he was turning red faced with perceived slight and embarrassment, and answered sullenly. “Well met, my lord! Though if we watch together is Russandol’s decision!”

Then did Nolofinwë laugh. Though I noticed his companion was frowning.

“Most certainly are you my half-brother’s son!”

Although Maitimo knew not Nolofinwë well, he, alone of our sons, had occasion to visit his house. Since the start of the friendship with his cousin, Findekáno, had Maitimo grown to be on better terms with Nolofinwë than I, and certainly than his father, had suspected.

“Welcome, my lord!” Maitimo bowed with great courtesy. “It is in my mind that there are two here who should have the seat of honour, but you are the elder, and of respect do I offer it to you.”

That Maitimo chose to make such an offer was assuming that he had a right to superiority. So did he then think. So did I then think; though wished such thought was unnecessary.


But Nolofinwë made to sit to the left of Finwë’s chair. “Let us take those places we always do, Maitimo. Let it be as if my father were here, though he is not.”

So was that matter resolved for a time, and most amicably it seemed. For Maitimo took Fëanáro’s seat, while Carnistir sat at his side in silence. And the seat of the king; it remained empty!

Ecthelion, then in the centre of the arena, bowed also to Nolofinwë, then announced the beginning of the session, and stated those who would be training that day. Four pairs were there, and each took position in a different area. But our eyes were on the returning Lord Glorfindel. He never looked particularly dangerous to my mind. Always of a most gentle disposition did that lord seem. But looks can be deceptive, and few could withstand an onslaught from Glorfindel then, even fewer in later days. Findekáno entered the arena also, though from behind the dais, and we had not seen him previously, or him making himself ready. But prepared he was, and clad appropriately. As always was his dark hair in many braids, in a manner that his mother often wore her hair, rather than his father, who almost always wore his hair loose. (Anairë had the longest, thickest hair I had ever beheld, and even when so braided did it reach to nigh her ankles!)

Soon were all in contest, and that day with quarterstaff. Bruises were common, and sometimes broken limbs with such sport; though all did heal most swiftly of such injuries, so strong in us was the fire of life.

Yet was my mind not wholly on the contest. I saw Findekáno and Glorfindel meet with a mighty collision, and then retreat each of them somewhat, to better gauge and assess the others weaknesses that day. Alike in skill they seemed to me, as they circled around each other, neither yielding any further space.

Glorfindel I knew was a strong and cunning opponent, subtler in move than Findekáno, and more flexible in reaction. And so when he caught the prince momentarily off guard, and brought his staff up to smash away Findekáno’s own, did he think he had won, and swiftly.

“Glorfindel has not won yet,” Maitimo whispered assuredly. Nolofinwë watched most attentively, but a slight frown was upon his face.

“It is almost as a dance,” my eldest son continued. “For the most skilful do but seek to match their moves to their opponents, and to conserve their strength until the opportunity arises to overcome.”

“How is that like a dance, Maitimo?” I interrupted, and Nolofinwë held up a hand for silence, as his son rolled under the sweep of Glorfindel’s staff, and regained his own, resuming the contest with a measured fury that the golden haired lord could not then match.

Maitimo grinned mischievously at me, and in that moment looked far more like his father than usual. “Dancing is about harmony. And so is this! For discord is wasted energy. Yet even in dance, does not one tend to lead in step, and the other sometimes struggle to follow, or, mayhap, discover new moves of their own, and so present their partner with much surprise!”

“Being a partner in dance is not the same as being an opponent in contest,” said I. But I wondered just how closely my son had observed some of my recent moves, and if he was merely speculating, or making a suggestion for me to consider. No more time for speculation was there.

Glorfindel had begun a retreat from which he could do little but lose or yield. However hard he struck, Findekáno's staff was there, and braced for the impact, until in a few moments a surprise low swing, knocked him to the ground. So was Findekáno triumphant that day.

Nolofinwë rose with dignity to his feet, and applauded his son’s endeavours, and equally those of Glorfindel. And I noticed then the bright-beamed smile that touched the defeated nér’s face, at such acknowledgement.

Now did both Findekáno and Glorfindel make to bow, though Glorfindel with some stiffness of movement, then he spoke forth. “Rightly is it said that Nolofinwë is the noblest of the princes of the Noldor, and most glad am I to earn his approval.”

Carnistir looked up at me in horror! But Maitimo, who was applauding, had remained seated, and had other things to be concerned about.

Nolofinwë’s companion was on his feet and made move into the arena. Taking of Findekáno’s staff from the prince’s hands, with a bow of request to him, Poldórion turned to face Maitimo.

“I, also, seek practice here this day! Are there none valiant enough to take up my challenge, none who would show honour for their family in the arena?” That Lord Poldórion made a loud noise indeed, and those whose contests still continued, halted, and turned their heads to watch what was about to befall. “The son of Prince Nolofinwë has made brave show of his skills. Will it be said that the son of Prince Fëanáro will not do likewise?”

Both Nolofinwë and Maitimo sighed with exasperation, and Findekáno laughed with disbelief.

“More than my staff will you need to bring down that son of Prince Fëanáro!”

All knew there that Poldórion had little love for Maitimo, and had possibly attended with Nolofinwë to seek an opportunity for an encounter. All knew Maitimo could defeat him; all save for Poldórion!

So, reluctantly and slowly, did my eldest son rise to his considerable full height, and with a nod of acceptance to the stern faced Poldórion, move over to where Ecthelion watched, to take up a staff of his own.

And after that?

No need was there to tend any save a minor bruise on Maitimo’s arm. Poldórion was another matter, and it was said that he walked with a limp for many a day.


****


“Father is the noblest of the princes of the Noldor!” Carnistir had said to me later, as I helped him prepare for bed, and for that visit from Fëanáro that was rather delayed. “Greater is he than my half-uncle. I wish he had been there, at the arena. He would not have given up grandfather’s chair as easily as Russandol did. Father would not give up anything at all!”

I sat beside my youngest son on the settle in his room, and wondered at how I was to explain to one so young, the nature of our family.

“Maitimo behaved with wisdom this day, dear one. And he brought honour, rather than conflict, upon us.”

“He defeated Lord Poldórion, mother! Much quicker was my brother than Prince Findekáno in finishing his battle.” A tone of pride, in both father and brother there was in his voice, and almost did he smile at his memories. He looked up at me then, grey eyes wide with consideration. “When I am older, I will not look kindly upon any who slight my family. I will train hard, and be able to give good account of myself, even as Russandol does. I will make father proud of me, as I am of him.”

Then was there the softest sound of footsteps upon the stairs, and a familiar sense of presence, as Fëanáro came up from his work in his study.

Carnistir looked most earnestly at me, and climbed up upon the settle to wrap his arms about my neck. “I love you, mother,” he said, and allowed me to kiss his cheek; but then he climbed down, and ran as swiftly as his legs would carry him to be with his father.



[1] Of the Flight of the Noldor. The Silmarillion J. R. R. Tolkien. Ed. C. Tolkien HarperCollins p 88
All years are Valinorian years.
Carnistir - Caranthir
Maitimo - Maedhros
Tyelkormo - Celegorm
Curvo - Curufin
Taurnolë. I tried to find a Quenya word that equated with the concept of ‘chess’, but could not find one. I have taken the game to be called ‘Wood-wisdom’, or something of that ilk!
Helluin – Blue star, identified with Sirius.
Nolofinwë - Fingolfin
Tyelpinquar - Celebrimbor
Arafinwë - Finafin
Angrod - I am taking Angrod to be the son of Finafin who spoke in a manner like unto his father, at the meeting at the high court of the King. In The Silmarillion it says it was Orodreth who did this, but I am using the genealogy of HoME 12, that says Orodreth was Angrod’s son.

Secondborn and her people is referring to Haleth.
Artanis - Galadriel
Findekáno - Fingon
Fëanárion - Son of Fëanáro.