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.