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.