Maglor's Song.


I have just realised I had not posted this story on my blog yet. It has a bit of a history in that I have about half of it written up in notes - and keep trying to get time to edit them so I can put them on the sites. It is a bit different to my other writing, tending to have shorter chapters, and a bit more action (I hope :)) than pondering. I am a bit nervous about it, particularly as I put this prologue on C of E about two months ago, and still haven't followed it up. It is a New Year priority - along with Flame Rekindled and Nerdanel's Story getting finished.

If *only* I had time to read and work on writing! Mark is still home until Tuesday - and we are now 'entertaining' tomorrow until Monday afternoon! How had I forgotten about New Year visits! :(

I can't wait to get back to my routine of work / study - and, oh yes, housework ;)

The picture? Well it looks as if Nerdanel is looking on as the Feanor doll tries to sort out Maedhros' hair! ;)


Maglor’s Song: Prologue


(Disclaimer: All of the characters, places, and the main story line are JRR Tolkien’s wonderful creations. All references are from The Silmarillion, or HoME Volumes 1, 3, 10, 11 or 12 Nothing is mine, except the interpretation, and any mistakes.)


With thanks to 'Bellemaine' and ‘Fëanor’ for beta reading and suggestions.


“And it is told of Maglor that he could not endure the pain with which the Silmaril tormented him; and he cast it at last into the Sea, and thereafter he wandered ever, upon the shores singing in pain and regret beside the waves.”


(Of the Voyage of Eärendil The Silmarillion J. R. R. Tolkien. Ed C. Tolkien.)




Now in the late spring of that year a light snowfall had shrouded the small settlement on the river Lune, just south of Forochel. In the fading afternoon light it had lent a near mystical glow to the dwellings that huddled under the rainbow shimmer of the fast appearing northern stars, that the place seemed then to be as of another world. Few were interested in anything mystical. Few appreciated the intrinsic beauty of that scene. Most were concerned with basic survival; with what little comfort they could glean from their short, hard lives. Indeed, few then lived in those parts – few of the race of Men, and far fewer of the Firstborn. The hardy inhabitants had therefore been somewhat surprised to see an emaciated Elf drag himself past the two gatekeepers who stood guard at the high, wooden fence, and head towards the building that served as an inn and moot hall in that place. His boots had been near worn through; his feet appeared to be bleeding from a walk of many leagues. The grey, tattered cloak he was wearing had hardly offered any protection from the bitter wind and snow, though - as the snowfall had shrouded the settlement from all but the keenest sight - the cloak had served to render him all but invisible until he was only a few yards from them.

At first glance they had thought him a Man like themselves. But the walk, the bearing of that creature held a notable difference to anything most of them had ever seen. And to be nigh at the inn before being noticed spoke of a skill beyond any of their hunter’s ability. Women had called to their slight, poorly nourished children to come indoors, away from the memory of a bygone age - the apparition of doom. Some of the men folk followed - at a discreet distance - once they noticed the gleaming sword that hung so incongruously at the Elf’s side.

Seeming from his slow movements to have hardly enough strength to push open the heavy door, the Elf had entered the inn, shook the snow out of his long, black hair and brushed it off of his thin shoulders.

“Do you have food? Any bread or fish?” he had asked, in a rasping voice that yet held no tone of begging.

The innkeeper, a surly and harsh type long used to arguments with the trappers and hunters that were his main customers, had taken a long, disparaging look. Surely this miserable excuse for an Elf had nothing to offer in return for food, nothing save the sword. The innkeeper had rightly assessed that it would take more strength than he had to wrest that object from the creature, half dead though he appeared to be.

“I have bread aplenty,” he had replied cautiously, placing his large, heavy hands on top of the table. “And a good broth cooking in the kitchen, and warm ale, for those that can pay!”

The Elf had sighed deeply, drawing himself up to his considerable full height. Looking down upon the Innkeeper with an air of innate superiority, it seemed to those others in the room that his grey eyes were lit with flame.

“Lachend!” A whisper had gone through a group of three drinking companions who had been playing dice in one corner of the room. “He is of the High Elves, if the stories of old be true.”

Ignoring the comment that had been surely audible to him, the Elf addressed the innkeeper. “I have no furs nor treasures to pay you with, honourable barman.” His voice, though still rough, held a tone of bitter irony and a hint of a promise of something else. “But I have songs and tales to fill your tavern with eager listeners, aye, with any that are hereabout, and fill your pockets with profit.”

A laugh had gone up from the larger group of trappers sitting closest to the roaring fire on the far side of the room.

“You can barely stand, Elf, and you have a voice that sounds like it has had far better days. You ask us to think you are a bard?”

The Elf had turned slightly, and his movement was then most finely controlled. He glanced at them disdainfully. “I have sung in the courts of High Kings and of Elven Lords of the most noble Houses. If you allow me a jug of ale to moisten my throat, then you shall hear and know for yourself my worth.”

Pushing back the threadbare cloak, he had taken out from under it a harp of finest silver engraved with elvish script that none in that room, save he, could read. But they had become interested.

“What’s good enough for Elven Lords is good enough for us!” One who had drunken overmuch laughed in mocking reply.

“Let the Elf sing for his supper!” another, fur clad man contributed. “What have we to lose? Precious little has brightened our long nights this winter and spring, or any other.”

There had seemed to be a chorus of agreement, although the innkeeper looked less happy with the suggestion. He had sullenly pushed a jar of ale in the direction of the dark haired Elf. “You get the food if we like what we hear. And in this inn, I am High King! Remember that!”

The Elf’s expression had not changed from its measured disdain, but he had nodded in agreement, reaching eagerly for the drink. He had drained the jar swiftly, before taking up his harp to play. And a different creature in all senses did he then appear to be. His voice, the richness of the earth and the lightness of the stars combined, was like none other they had ever heard.

A song he then began, of the First Age of Arda, of the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, and the bravery and fall of so many of the noblest Men and Elves. He sang of the hope that lit the heart of Maedhros, Elf Lord of Himring, and of the plans to devise a union to overthrow the stronghold of the Dark Lord, Morgoth. He sang of the Naugrim, and of the Men of the East; of Bór and of Ulfang; of the Elves, of Fingon the Valiant, High King at that time, and of his brother Turgon of the hidden city; and of the people of Haleth, of Haldir and of Huor and Húrin.

“Utúlie'n aurë! Aiya Eldalië ar Atanatári, utúlie'n aurë!” the dark haired Elf called out, amidst the song.

The echo of those words from another age, seemed to light a hope in the hearts of many in that room, as they had been intended to light hope in years past. As a forgotten memory, now recalled again in sorrow and in joy, it seemed to those in the inn. Most had put down their jugs and tankards and some men smiled, lost in their thoughts and memories of tales passed down from childhood.

But the hope - it had soon seemed to fade, as the Elf had closed his eyes in contemplation, lost in a memory of his own. He sang on - of the fall of Azaghâl, Lord of the Naugrim of Belegost under the rage of the dragon, Glaurung: of the fall of Huor and the courage and nobility of Húrin, crying ‘Aurë entuluva!’ seventy times, until he was taken captive: of the fall of Fingon to the Lord of Balrogs, to Gothmog, and of how the defeated king was beaten into the dust. At that point the Elf had suddenly put aside his harp and abruptly halted his song. Some in the room saw the tears upon his cheek and, hardened folk though they were, they found they mourned with him over the fall of the valiant Fingon. Though it seemed that perhaps, there was another, older memory of such a death, which brought this creature so low.

“He sings this tale because there is another tale behind it. And that is the one that he should be singing, though I don’t think to us.” Cold sober now, the elder of the three dice players observed the Elf thoughtfully. “Sing on, Elf!” the man then called aloud. “You take us so far in the tale, but will not give us the ending! What manner of singer are you? Elves may delight in mysteries, but we are a simple folk here. We like a beginning, and an ending.”

Voices murmured in agreement, for it had seemed to them that a glory that had been upon them, had then departed. They were left feeling more chilled than at the touch of any winter’s breath.

“So be it!”

Music was in the tone of the Elf’s spoken word then, as in his song. With a look of fixed concentration and a fiercer flame in his eyes, he took up the harp again. He sang of Balrogs and dragons, of orcs beyond number, and at the last, he sang of the treachery of Men. He sang of the sons of Ulfang who had turned traitor to the sons of Fëanor, coming nigh to the standard of Maedhros himself in their hope of Morgoth’s promised reward of land. At the end, the song was bitter indeed. For through Men did Morgoth triumph; thus the league of Elves and Men was broken. Little trust remained between the races, save with the three houses of the Edain. The High King was dead, and the sons of Fëanor wandered as late autumn leaves blown before the wind.

When the song had ended there had been silence for some time. No dry eye had there been in the inn. All had been moved by the transcendent beauty and sorrow of what they had heard, nay, experienced. All had felt as if they had been in another place and time, as if they had stood shoulder to shoulder with those ancient kin of theirs. They felt as if they had stood alongside the Men of the West and the honourable tribe of Bór who, with Maglor brother of Maedhros, slew many of the traitors.

None there save one felt they stood shoulder to shoulder with those accused of betrayal.

“He sings as if he remembers it all.” Another drinker, who had found himself stone cold sober, whispered to his companion.

“Aye! And who knows, maybe he does remember it? These Elves are immortal, after all. No telling how long this one has been around?”

So it was that, with his song of ‘unnumbered tears’, the dark haired Elf got his food. He ate it as one who tasted food for the first time in many a day.

But those who had sat closest to him in the inn had noticed his hands. Those slender hands that had played so skilfully and dexterously were scarred beyond measure. The men had seen the effort made by the Elf to overcome the stiffness caused by those scars, and had wondered if he played so well now, how beautiful had his song been when his hands had been whole?

“What has happened to him that he is so marked?” Tankards were raised again, and the dice-playing speaker continued to chew upon the salt fish from his wooden platter.

It was, one companion whispered to him, as if the Elf had plunged his hands into fire.

The other, older man of the group, had not resumed his eating and drinking but had continued to watch the Elf closely. “Or as if he had taken up in his hands that which was so blessed, so holy, that it burned and tormented him beyond endurance,” he mused.

The cunning old hunter had scratched his chin, already calculating how much more wealth this years ‘trapping’ would bring him if he could get word through to the tribe of Ulfar in the East that Maglor Fëanorion yet lived.


- - - - - -


Lachend - Flame eyes. A term used of those who were born in the light of the Two Trees. A Noldo.
Nirnaeth Arnoediad - The Fifth Battle. The Battle of Unnumbered Tears.
Naugrim - Dwarves
“Utúlie'n aurë! Aiya Eldalië ar Atanatári, utúlie'n aurë!” - ‘The day has come! Behold, people of the Eldar and Fathers of Men, the day has come!’
“Aurë entuluva” - Day shall come again!

Nerdanel's Story. Chapter Four: Fëanáro Part Three.

Again I must ask forgiveness of those reading this blog. The preparations for Christmas have been a little time consuming, but also we have had a visitor who, while appreciated, has been very time consuming.

I have been trying to get this next chapter finalized. It is a variation on the original wanderings, which has now expanded to two chapters. This particular one I am calling Fëanáro chapter three - with the 'Wanderings' to follow. :) Although this chapter is not completed how I want it to be, I find I can read what I have written - and so edit - much better on my blog than on Word. This being the case, there may be some small changes in the story until the weekend, when I should be able to post properly.

Eru_Melin, if you are around and have time, maybe you could do some beta reading for me? I have only had one other person read this so far. :(

*** Having just re-read this myself, I think it is terrible! I need to do some major editing on it before I post more. Sorry again.

**** First re-edit done!



Nerdanel’s Story. Fëanáro. Part Three.


(Disclaimer: All belongs to Tolkien. All references are from The Silmarillion, or HoME Volumes 10 and 12. Nothing is mine, except the interpretation and any mistakes.)


“”She (Nerdanel) made images, some of the Valar in their forms visible, and many others of men and women of the Eldar, and those were so like that their friends, if they knew not her art, would speak to them; but many things she wrought also of her own thought in shapes strong and strange but beautiful.”


(The Later Quenta Silmarillion Morgoth’s Ring J.R.R. Tolkien. Ed C. Tolkien. HarperCollins p272.)


The House of Sarmo Urundil. Seventh Age



Though I have oft dwelt at my father’s house during my long years, it was to that first of my homes as a wife that I retired for much of the First Age; in which I dwelt for a time with Nolwen, and to which I go when I would be alone with my memories.

That house it is which Fëanáro and I built together when our love was young, to be our dwelling place during the first years of marriage. Nowhere near as grand as the residence we later built upon the western slope of Túna is that isolated tower – Neldormindo - but it is the ‘home’ of my heart. Situated upon a wooded incline behind a high beech hedge, so as to give both privacy and a most glorious view over the nearby lake from the highest two of its five floors, it is extensive enough to accommodate several folk comfortably. A place of refuge from the demands of others, a place to ponder, study and to create is that home of our youth; not a palace for receiving of lords and ladies or for grand councils of matters politic.

The statues are there; set in a row against the windows of the fountain room. I had them moved from the house in Tirion a few years after Fëanáro and Ambarussa were slain. I wanted my creations of our creations to be closer at hand, that I need not tread the road to the city whenever I would cast eye upon them.

So it has been that, prompted by my present mood and to lessen my father’s concern over my seeming listlessness, I visited Neldormindo again. Though naught has blurred my memory of any of my sons, yet that place seems to resonate with their presence - with their laughter - more than any other. And I may gaze upon the images of them that I crafted in those days long past; those figures which appear so lifelike that I sometimes expect them to turn and address me – to call out ‘Amillë’ in greeting, as none now may do.

During the week of my visit I wandered the tower and grounds (which are in the care of Failië and Hlaron’s granddaughter - Meryë) taking note of the small alterations that had been made to the gardens and workroom since my last visit. Ever considerate of my needs have the descendents of Failië been. Yet little have I wanted changed about the living areas. My room and study on the fourth floor is as it was; save that a few more recent works of art from my apprentices have been added. The fifth floor, which was Fëanáro’s study, has not been altered at all. But it was not those places in which I spent most of my time – it was the fountain room on the ground floor.

On the morning of the second day of my visit I had asked Meryë to ensure I was not disturbed by any. I had seated myself upon one of the stone benches facing the tall windows and the statues of my sons. The light and warmth of Vása had washed over me; the fragrance of the pink roses which rambled over the western walls had reached me in that east facing room, carrying with it many happy and potent memories; the song of thrush and blackbird, and the cascading water from the fountain itself had combined with the sensations of light and fragrance to draw me out of my deep introspection and back into a world still resonant with the echoes of the Great Music. I sat as the hours passed, seeking of wisdom in my thoughts. Then, as the full light of Rána bathed the night sky, nightingales gave forth of their sweet music; and a familiar image was before my eyes – a silver glow flickering over the seven statures - caused by the light of moon and stars glimmering through the trees, yet appearing to me as the pure fëar of those lost sons, shining forth their radiance. And as I looked upon those enlightened sculptures that had all the semblance of life, save life itself, a greater measure of understanding and tranquillity did I gain.

Before I began my recording of memories I pondered that my hope and desire was growing faint - that soon might I seek of release. Since the return of Findekáno to his family the reality of my situation - of what I could possibly hope for as wife and mother of the House accursed - had struck me with force anew that I had come to dwell overmuch upon the hopelessness of the situation, both when fully conscious and when in dream. Now the writing down of my memories as an attempt to set straight the account of the marring of my family, and my part in allowing such to happen, has given me a new sense of purpose. With each page of writing do I feel closer to them all, that I wonder at what tomorrow will bring?

For, while at Neldormindo two events occurred that gave rise to my restoration of full hope. Sitting as if in the presence of those seven it had appeared to me that their fëar were made whole and unmarred again. And I recalled the words spoken to me in the Second Age by Manwë himself – that not all of my sons were beyond healing. (So have I long know they were not condemned to the Everlasting Dark, as they had made oath!) Fully aware have I been that the Elder King spoke not that any would be returned – but if any were healed from the inner darkness that had so tainted them, I would count my years of vigil fully justified.

And what of Fëanáro? Even if any of my sons are made whole, what forgiveness can there be for the Spirit of Fire? I understand in a manner why he may never return, for he became so lost in darkness that he could not have perceived the light were it set before him. Neither can I conceive of him ever suing the Valar for pardon. Too proud – mayhap still too noble will he be to hide behind knowing lies and false promises, as did Moringotho.

But therein lies hope as well as resignation. For I do believe that, lost though he was, not all light and love had been extinguished in him, that mayhap Námo Mandos can rekindle the unmarred flame in him, that even he may know of healing?

Now I needs must ponder further upon the second event that has caused me much reconsideration – the revelation that came to me as I stood in what had once been our room before the likeness I had sculpted of him. Further thought must I give the matter before I set my present hope for he who was my husband in script.

So this day will I continue to set down my memories of the early days of our companionship; of our courtship, and continue to defy Moringotho’s’ fell legacy.

- - - -

We rode west across the Calaciryandë, then turned south, heading for the woods wherein the Vala, Oromë dwelt. With but three days journeying granted us by my father we knew that reaching the woods and visiting the halls of Oromë was out of the question. Yet my companion seemed not to be disappointed at the change in plan.

“Oft does that mighty lord ride abroad with his folk, and we may yet come across him on the hunt,” he stated with more confidence of success than I thought the situation warranted.

“It would seem then that you are well acquainted with Oromë as well as with Aulë, my Lord Prince?” It was just a question - for I would know the extent of his dealings with the Mighty Ones. Though we abode in their land as invited guests – as beloved children of Ilúvatar, yet were the Valar far beyond any of us. More often did our folk keep company with certain of the Maiar; but some few, such as my father, knew certain of the Vala very well.

The prince turned upon his horse’s back to face me, to stare at me again it seemed. I was unused to such frequent study being made of me, and fought not to colour of cheek under his gaze, nor to turn away.

“I have visited with him but once, and that in the company of one of my tutors, the Lord Tulcavaryar. Aulë I have visited several times in the company of Onónon and once with my father.”

And still he looked to me – most disconcerting it was! I knew that some, who found another interesting, would look to them frequently – secretly, shyly. I had done so myself the first few days of Tolfaen’s visit to my parents. But there was nothing secret or shy about the prince’s approach. Most forthright was he.

“I trust that you find something fascinating about the way I have braided my hair, or the necklace I wear, to keep your eyes upon me so, Prince Curufinwë!” I had to speak up.

He laughed, but his eyes, shining with amusement, were still upon me. “I find much about you fascinating. Why else would I have sought your company, Nerdanel?”

At that comment I blushed furiously, annoyed with myself for such lack of control. None had spoken so to me before; why, even Gaerion who had long known me had never been so bold. The slightest of smiles still curled my companion’s lips, but he was noble enough to realise my discomfort, to turn his attention back to our path and away from my face.

Still was there an air of contemplation, of some deep concern about him that broke in upon his good humour. Indeed, it seemed greater to me than when we had first met. It was as if whatever had concerned him had not been assuaged by his recent solitary wanderings, but only increased in ability to perturb him.

But I knew him not well enough – was too conscious of the status of his person and of my knowledge of what had happened of late in his family, that I would not mention the subject of what ailed him unless he did.

Now it seemed to me that the further we rode from the dwellings of the Noldor, the more light-hearted my companion became. He began to speak of his earlier meeting with Oromë in more detail, and of his high esteem for those two of his tutors, Tulcavaryar and my uncle. At this later revelation I was much surprised, recalling my father’s words that Onónon found the prince challenging.

Slowing the pace of his horse to a walk, as if we had all the life of Arda at our disposal, the prince leant close to me.

“Your uncle finds me challenging!” he whispered, as if he had plucked the thought from my mind.

I knew not then just how perceptive he could be, but sought to guard my thoughts of how fascinating I found him.His smile broadening, he continued:

“But he is one to enjoy the challenge. Much do I admire him, he and his wife both! Of those three my father has appointed to give me of instruction, only the Lord Niecarindo do I find to be useless!”

“Your father, the king would not appoint a useless tutor to you, my lord!” My colour having subsided, I had again found my voice and would question what made little sense.

The prince looked thoughtful for a moment. “Mayhap I mean his use has been limited! He is meant to instruct me in the lore of our people and in language. But in both am I more learned than he. If I cannot have someone more learned I would have someone more interesting to discuss and debate matters with. I would discuss them with you!”

I was taken aback, for though my parents had seen most fully to my instruction in many matters, I knew little of the lore of language. But I was more than willing to learn!

Now we had been travelling close to the southeastern foothills of the Pelóri Mountains, and had just passed by the small village of Mámarmasto, from which Tulcon had come, when we encountered a group of four neri riding swiftly towards the Calacirya.

Nerdanel's Story:Chapter Three. Fëanáro Part Two.


These last two days have been really busy, and I have a touch of cold like aches and pains..so I am not that happy a bunny at the moment. :(

I have been tweaking almost all the time I have been on the computer with Flame Rekindled Chapter Six....and with this next re-written chapter of Nerdanel's Story'. But again, time has got the better of me. I will post the part I have (probably) finished tweaking now - and the second half of the story tomorrow, but on this same entry.

I still have replies to write to several folk - sorry for delays! Tuesday is usually my catching up day. I hope I manage it! ;)

FINISHED THIS CHAPTER> :)


Nerdanel’s Story: Fëanáro. Part Two.


(Disclaimer: All of the characters, places, and the main story line are JRR Tolkien’s wonderful creations. All references are from The Silmarillion, or HoME Vols 10 or 12. Nothing is mine, except the interpretation and any mistakes, and in this chapter, and only in the sense he is derived from reading the works of Tolkien, the character ‘Gaerion’. Thank you again to Bellemaine and to Eru_Melin for all your help in beta reading and ideas.)



“..she (Nerdanel) was not amongst the fairest of her people. But she was strong, and free of mind, and filled with the desire of knowledge. “

(The Later Quenta Silmarillion. Morgoth’s Ring J.R.R. Tolkien. Ed C. Tolkien. P 272)



The house of Sarmo Urundil. Seventh Age.



Now my parents have noted that I work no longer at my sculpting; that I confine myself to my room, to the library or to wandering the gardens and orchard with my notes in hand.

They are concerned. Long has it been since they beheld me thus! Though they realise the burden of my memories have become nigh unbearable to me, they are of the same mind as Istyaro. They would have me endure to the End, for my own sake.

Yet my changing mood has affected them more than they wish to show; that my father, who speaks rarely of the days before the sun, has begun to speak again of his bitterness at Fëanáro.

“I know the fault and plan were Moringotho’s, but did your husband have no choice in the matter? Many a time there was when the prince could have chosen a course other than he did, and so greatly confound the Enemy in his schemes. Prince Fëanáro should have been one of those who stood most strongly against Moringotho on behalf of the Noldor – not the one who led our folk to fulfil that Vala’s dearest wish! “

Always the same argument does my father make. That with the greatness given unto him by Eru, Fëanáro should have led us in discerning the deceptions, led us to hold fast to the love and care of the Valar – not lead the rebellion himself! Even now my father cannot understand how Fëanáro was so misguided, so deceived that he began the forging of swords in secret; that he turned against Aulë, who loved him - against Manwë, who honoured him. And if it is not that matter he speaks of, then it is Fëanáro’s denying of the Silmarils to Yavanna for the re-kindling of the Trees. Though we all were to know shortly after that denial that the Silmarils were no longer his to give, yet many believe that had my lord been able to make that choice in Yavanna’s favour he would have cleansed his heart from the possessiveness which was destroying him – and matters may have been very different.

I know not! I ponder that with each choice my lord made, less freedom to truly choose did he have! That choice of handing the Silmarils to Yavanna – of unlocking them, was impossible for him to make, believing as he did that the Valar sought ever to control of the Eldar.

I will not argue with my father over my husband’s deeds of ages past. Nor does he seek of argument, or anything that would cause me further distress. Soon will he return to not mentioning of Fëanáro’s name at all. I have tried to explain my own thoughts on the matter, but I cannot give to another the insights of my heart and fëa. I cannot give them to my mother, though she understands a little better the predicament I find myself in.

“You have not endured for this length of time to turn away from the path you chose, daughter. Do you think it is the wish of the Valar, of your sons – of your husband? Nay – when in his right mind, Fëanáro loved your strength of spirit and body. He would not want you to languish and fade.”

I know her words are true! I know Fëanáro once loved me! But the strength I gave up for him to bear our children has not been renewed, as it would have been if they had remained with me. I have not had the joy of my children, and my children’s children about me, as is usual. I have not had my husband’s continued love to delight in.

“Seek this pursuit of bright memories, and bathe your heart in their joy,” my mother says, “that in your writing you may again find peace and embrace of life!”

I understand! I have no wish to add any further burden to my parents, who long bore the weight of grief with me. I do not wish to pain those good friends of mine amongst the Aulenduri who have ever stood by me, nor those nissi who have become as daughters to me.

Though her visits to me are less frequent than once they were, Nolwen will be saddened to know of my recent thoughts. In the early years after the departure she stood by me, dwelt with me for a space when I lived in my house by the lake. That wife of Curvo’s, she has enough sorrow of her own. Though she dwells again in the city with her family, yet does she seek of my company on occasion. This I honour her for; her continued friendship with one she sees as ‘mother’, and that she has never spoken ill to me of my son.

Enyalimë also spent time with me in the early years. But she was to be lost shortly before Artuiel was found. The eldest daughter of Lord Ecthelion disappeared from Eldamar at the time of the War of Wrath. Seeking of her husband – Makalaurë – was she! Though none knew of her plan at the time she left, her brother was to speak with me upon his return that she had travelled disguised as a nér amongst King Arafinwë’s archers. Though Varyaro had travelled with her in her search for some time, they had become separated, that he knew not what had befallen her. Her parents hope ever that she return to them from the Halls of Awaiting. I like to believe she found again my son – that she is with him still.

Artuiel, who returned with the exiles, is amongst the Aulenduri more often. She travels to visit with her parents, and always makes time to speak with me. Though she dwells and works amongst those in Hyarmenosto, she oft seeks to discuss her skills with her Master of old. Neither has she ever sought to wed! Her love for Ambarussa has endured these ages without diminishing. And still she believes that before the end of all things they will be re-united.

Rarely do I see Ondoriel. Since her return from the Hither Lands in the company of Lord Elrond’s folk, she has sought much of solitude. Her skill in broidery and weaving she still pursues, though amongst her mother’s kin. She is not one to be bowed down, but I know my son’s deeds and her widowhood are a mighty grief to her. We should have been able to comfort each other more, she and I. But she cannot bear to be long amongst the Aulenduri, and I cannot bear to be long away.

Now I am become aware that my mother has sent letter to Nolwen, Artuiel and Ondoriel, requesting them to pay urgent visit. She believes that to speak again with those who also love my sons will brighten me. That it will! Though I would that they were not caught up in my present concerns - that they continue in full hope.

But until they give of reply, I will continue with my recording of memories.


- - - - - -


My parents had noted my change of mood – that I had become less focused at my studies and training than was usual. There was one occasion when I had stood too close to my father that I was showered with white hot sparks, smoke and sand from his forging. He was aghast! Never had he feared for me in the forge before – though most children of the Aulenduri were not allowed through his door when he worked. Once my mother had tended to my burns, my father gave again of his lecture on caution when close to fire! He also sent Tulcon, his youngest apprentice, to Tirion with a message.

Now my father had intended to make visit to Tirion in the very near future. He had plans to discuss with Onónon, said he; plans of a most delicate nature. Though he showed forth those plans, designs for an aqueduct, yet did I suspect that was not the ‘delicate’ matter he referred to.

They wanted to be of help to me. My parents wanted to find out more about he whom I had met with in the hills. They wanted to know more of one who could so turn the head of their most sensible daughter that she seemed as in a dream. For my part had I tried to continue with my everyday life, those ten days since I had been in his company – but oft did I ‘see’ again in thought those piercing grey-blue eyes, as if he were summoning me.

‘Is this love?’ I had wondered. But I was sensible, and knew that to be unlikely at such short an acquaintance. I knew it was more likely that my ‘Muinawë’ had some noble lady of the city with whom he was considering betrothal.

At times in those few days did my mother look strangely at me, as if she knew something and was not best pleased.

“Come now, mother!” said I, at a moment when we were working together in the gardens. “What vexes you? What secrets are you keeping from me?” I knew that my mother was gifted with more foresight than many nissi, and I would have her counsel whatever the matter was.

“No secret, Nerdanel,” she gave answer; then sighed! “It does but seem to me that the years of childhood pass swiftly. My child you are, yet soon to be a full grown nís!”

“Is not such the nature of things, mother?”

“Your father has sent Tulcon to Tirion with the plans he has contrived for the new aqueduct. But he is also to ask if Onónon and Nessimë will join us for a visit in the near future.”

“So you and father can ask them about my companion?” My voice rose in tone more than I had intended, and my mother raided an eyebrow, not surprised, I believed, by my protest.

“It is obvious that you like him, Nerdanel. The first it is that you have behaved in such manner, that we know it for stirrings of your heart. While not all such stirrings lead to anything further, let us at least be certain of this ‘mystery’s’ name and family.”

Though I wanted more than anything to talk to her of him, to tell her more of how highly I regarded him, I also wanted not to so speak. (If you have felt this early stirring of the heart, mayhap you will understand?) I did not want this strange feeling to rule my life, to alter the existence I had hitherto enjoyed. As I felt my face beginning to warm with colour, I tried to change the subject of conversation.

“Father does think I am over fond of Gaerion!”

The rose bushes we were planting were laid carefully on the grass, as my mother stood up to look with more compassion upon me.

“So he believed. But I have never observed such a reaction in you to Gaerion’s presence as you are now displaying. I know Gaerion to be your friend, and friend only. Tolfaen I thought to be another matter; until these last few days.”

I rose swiftly to my feet also, stung into denial by a sudden image of the quiet, pale, ash-brown haired Tolfaen – who it was true, I had rather liked - alongside the dark-haired intensity, the fiery energy of he who held my thoughts captive….

“Nay, mother! Tolfaen do I admire, but I can scarce say I am fond of him compared to ….”

My mother smiled broadly, her point made. “Let us see what news Tulcon returns with, or what Nessimë can tell us.”

We continued to work in the garden together, moving through the more formal rose and lavender walled garden - shooing away the playful young cheetah that had strode over to rub herself against our gowns and feet.

“It is not that I fear you growing up, dear one. It is that love can be one of the few things to cause of pain. And you are still very young. Had this nér given you of his name it would have been more promising. As it is, either he is arrogant beyond measure, or playing a game that is unsuitable in noble society. But a sense of foreboding have I, and would rather you contained your enthusiasm until we know more.”

I had laughed at this; no real concept of hurt, or fear, or loss had I. But I prayed to the Valar for Tulcon’s swift return!


- - - - - -


The following day I had a visitor. I had watched of his approach from a considerable distance, as I had been in my room in the high tower, looking out along the Calacirya towards Tirion and the sea. A thin figure dressed in grey and blue; a Teler it was, for those of the third kindred are generally of a shorter and lighter stature than we Noldor. (Though that particular Teler was not short.) I hurried down the winding marble staircase and called to my father, but he was engrossed in a work he was crafting for the Lord Essilon, and answered me not. My mother was visiting with a friend. So when Failië answered the door, I alone of my family greeted Gaerion.

The Teler looked somewhat drawn and concerned. As I invited him into the main hall to offer him the welcome cup, he explained the reason for his presence.

“I did not know why you came no more to the sea, Nerdanel. I thought that, mayhap, in some way unknown to me, I had caused you offence?”

We Noldor are not a folk given to affectionate touch that readily. Though the fire of our spirit does oft burn most hot within us that we are capable of great passion, we do not easily embrace strangers, even friends! But so lost and unsure did that friend of mine appear that I took up his hand and held it fast, reassuringly. His oval, grey eyes widened considerably at my gesture. He seemed unable to speak clearly for a moment.

“Lady, is all well with you?” he almost whispered. “Is there aught I can do to help you?”

I smiled at his most considerate words; glad to see him was I.

“I am well, Gaerion. And most certainly have you done naught at which I could take offence.”

A broad smile broke over his thin face in response. His shoulders relaxed from their tense posture and he placed a warm hand over mine.

“I have been overly busy with my training, and about the house of late,” I continued, thinking that it did me little good to keep watch for news from Tirion. Better it would be to avail myself of my friend’s company, and a new journey. “I have not had the time to visit. But now you are here, and I will not be lacking in my duties if I take a walk with you this day. Most pleasing would I find it to smell the sea air again, and to hearken to the waves breaking upon the shore.”

He was beside himself with eagerness, that silver-haired Elda.

“Then change quickly; fetch your cloak, and let us be away!” said he, making as if to head back to the main doors. “I have provisions for a few days with me, as I had thought to walk back and visit Tirion, if you would not receive me or walk with me.”

“Not receive you! Never shall that be!”

Yet as I spoke, my heart leapt at the mention of Tirion – at the thought of he whom I associated with that city. Gaerion was not the one I ‘saw’ in dream, but he was kind and considerate, and had always acted as the best of friends in the regard he showed to me. And he was a welcome diversion from the recent days of contemplation I had been struggling with. If any news would come from Tirion – pleasing or otherwise – it would most certainly keep for a day! I raced up the stairs again to my room, changed into my usual walking garb of thin, belted tunic over trousers, and picked up my boots and cloak. Meeting again with Gaerion at the front of the house, we headed to the workrooms where I gave call of my intentions to my father. Seeing some of his apprentices take note of my words, I waited not upon his reply.

So it was that Gaerion and I set out upon that walk which would take us to the Shadowmere and the sea, rather than that which went past the green hill of Túna. We had intended to wander through the valley and then turn north along the coast, far enough to catch sight of Alqualondë We never got that far, however.

We had not drawn anywhere nigh the Shadowmere when, from a distance, we heard a horseman riding after us. A dark-cloaked rider upon a golden horse was swiftly covering the distance between us, and we halted to greet him, to hear what message he bore. As he drew closer I recognised Tulcon, and wondered why he was seeking us, rather than returning to my father’s house.

“Hail, Lady Nerdanel!” he called with more tension in his voice than I was accustomed to hearing. “You are to return home immediately.”

“Indeed, Tulcon! And what of the reply from my family in the city? What of your return home?”

With a nod of greeting to Gaerion - a friendly nod, for those two enjoyed of each other’s company, Tulcon continued to explain.

“I have already returned home, and your father sent me straight out again without rest! A new horse, aye! But not a new messenger! My Lord Urundil finds himself in a position of some embarrassment, he says. I had company on my ride back from Tirion, and there is someone wanting to see you, to give you of a gift. You are to return straight away.”

In no way did I wish to be a cause of embarrassment for my father, and strange was that news that a gift be brought me from the city. I was not expecting anything. It was neither anniversary nor celebration of mine.

“Do you know who the gift is from? What it is?” I asked, while Gaerion began stroking the horse and talking to it in that calming way he always had that it seemed a conversation was begun between nér and beast.

Tulcon looked most uncomfortable. He fidgeted on the horse in a manner that made me suspicious that something far more than usual was afoot. “Nay, Lady Nerdanel! I know not what the gift is or whom it is truly from. But he who brought it seems in no good humour that you were not there to receive of it!”

Thus there was naught for me to do but to return. I made sincere apologies to Gaerion, who had surely known from Tulcon’s arrival that our plans for the day would not come to fruition. Gaerion was not overly disappointed; at least he did not so appear.

“I shall turn to Tirion as I had first thought to do, Nerdanel. I should like to see the city of the Noldor, and to do so before you manage to gives me much amusement.” He gave the horse a last stroke, then bowed to me. “As long as we are still friends, my heart is not sad.”

“We are friends, Gaerion,” I replied with genuine feeling. “Always, we are friends.”

(I did not know at that time that I was to break his heart. I did not know that, already, Gaerion loved me. Would it have made any difference in what followed? Though it pains me to realise I caused another grief, I am certain it would not have changed a thing. Though always has Gaerion been most dear to me, my doom was set as other than wife to a kindly seafarer.)

“Let me have the horse, Tulcon! For if the matter is truly urgent, I must needs be swift. And one can be carried more swiftly than two!”

Tulcon frowned, unhappy at the thought of walking back to the house. But he could not argue with me - even now he finds it difficult - and so it was, that I was galloping back along the valley to my home, to my visitor and gift, before Gaerion had even waved farewell.


- - - - -


My father had hurried out to meet me as I rode into the courtyard and dismounted. Artaro made to take the horse, and I was ushered unceremoniously into the house, my father informing me of the cause of haste as we walked.

“Prince Curufinwë!”

I could not believe it! The son of King Finwë was waiting upon me! He it was who had brought me a gift.

I had expected a visitor who had ridden with Tulcon to be a messenger - mayhap even one from a son of a noble house - from ‘Muinawë’, and that thought had set a greater urgency to my return home than I had cared to admit. But it was the prince? I could not totally hide my disappointment, even under my curiosity. The prince had never paid visit to the dwellings of the Aulenduri, though I knew he was apprenticed to my uncle in Tirion, and had great skill in smith craft. And what was this that he brought me of a gift?

“Quickly, daughter,” my father urged, turning me away from the main hall towards the stairs; calling on Failië to assist me. “Go freshen yourself and change into something more appropriate. The prince is in poor humour at you not being here to receive of him. Thankfully he shows more than a passing interest in the seeing glass I craft for Lord Essilon, that I can divert him for a short time.”

Though my parents had always been happy with the way in which I presented myself, given the status of our visitor I was determined that I should appear as a true, and high-ranking maid of the Noldor, rather than some wandering discoverer of sights unseen. I willingly complied with my father’s command. Such an attitude was right and proper. But I still did not understand the meaning of the visit.

“I know not the prince, atar! Nor have I ever even met with him.” I questioned that which seemed to me, something inexplicable. “Is it not you he is here to see? Now that I could understand! ”

As we reached the landing of the fifth level, upon which my room was situated, my father stood back, that Failië rushed ahead of us, a most amused grin upon her face.

“The prince is here to see you, Nerdanel. Of that have no doubt! And an honour it is for us to have the son of Finwë in our house. But remember – you also are of noble status, beloved of your family and of Aulë. Let him not speak to you as if it were otherwise.”

He took hold of my hands then, and looked me in the eyes. Such an unusual gesture it was, for him. “Here, among the Aulenduri, are you held as a princess.”

To my father was that statement most true. He would not appreciate any speaking disrespectfully to his daughter, and would show the door to a visitor whom he knew had offended me – prince or no!

As my father turned to descend again of the stairs – to entertain our most noble guest, the thought suddenly came to me.

“Queen Míriel’s gift!” I laughed with embarrassment, as realisation dawned on me. “The prince brings the gift his mother promised me. That must surely be it! My companion in the hills those days ago, he said that the queen had given my sculpture to her son, before she died. Mayhap she also laid it upon him to bring her gift to me?”

From his expression, it was obviously not what my father had concluded. He hesitated, as if unsure of what to tell me. “No mention has the prince made of Queen Míriel, or of her gift; but of you has he made much and detailed enquiry. It seems to me, from the astuteness of his questions, that though you claim to know him not -he already knows you well, daughter!”

Then did I know, with the same certainty that, in those times, the light of Laurelin would follow that of Telperion. “It was Prince Curufinwë with whom I walked in the hills! And you knew this! You and mother, you knew who it was, yet told me not?”

My father nodded, with the slightest hint of red upon his own face.

“We thought it to be him from the start – from the appearance and manner you described. But we knew not of certainty, and had sent to Onónon for confirmation. So did we say naught to you. Your mother has had much disturbed rest since your meeting. A reputation this prince already has, and of the highest standing; yet is he also known for his difficult moods, his restlessness, and many do say it is as if a secret fire burns within him.”

Pondering for a moment, my father drew of a deep breath before continuing. “But for my part, I find him uncommonly learned and of great potential. You should see what he wants of you, if the thought brings you joy.”

“The strong willed, hot tempered prince!” I exclaimed, though my heart felt as if it were in my throat at that sudden revelation of just how high I had set my first hopes of love. “He whom you wished not to have as an apprentice! Yet you want me to see what he wants?” I spoke in feigned temper of my own, yet did my father know the thought of meeting with Prince Curufinwë again, of certainty brought me joy. And my fëa was moved with anticipation of what lay ahead, for surely to so visit, the prince had taken pleasure in my company, even as I had in his.


- - - -


With Failië’s aid, it was less than quarter of one hour before I again descended the stairs. She had seen him, she said. She was most impressed! But for once I knew not what to say to my friend and childhood confidante, that my thoughts were on him alone – and on what I considered to be the folly of my desire.

Robed in a white silk gown, with my hair brushed out and a copper circlet my father had made upon my brow, I entered the main hall and looked around.

“Atar?”

But of neither my father, our guest, nor of any of our servants, was there sight or sound. The long, brightly lit room seemed empty. No one was there!

So did I think my father had taken the prince to his forge, to speak with him further of matters that interested them both while they waited upon me. I should have gone hence myself, but then something most unusual caught my eye. A book it was, laying a top the carved, oaken table to the western end of the room. Most rare still were books at that time - for Rúmil’s script was suited more to carving and engraving - so I crossed the floor with interest, to make touch of the thick, gem encrusted cover. Reverently I turned through the illuminated pages. A book on the Valar it seemed to be, giving some detail about their city, Valmar, and their halls, and a short history of their deeds in Arda. Again did I glance around the room and call back to my father, but there was no reply.

Much as I wished to see again of Prince Curufinwë, I thought the book to be his gift. And that he had left it there, while himself at the forge, was but to invite me to look through it. Mayhap that was his intent? No harm would it do to make a quick study, thought I, that I knew of what I spoke when he returned to the house. I drew up a chair and bent my head over the pages of the gift, intensely engrossed.

For some time must I have sat and studied. As the light of the Trees changed to the second mingling of silver and gold, I heard faintly the sound of some of my father’s apprentices leaving the forge to return to their own dwellings, and in the distance they called ‘farewells’ to each other. I knew I should go in search of my visitor - but still I would read of one more page.

“If you will not come up to Tirion to seek knowledge lady, then I am duty-bound to bring it to you; for so my mother would have wished. But I thought not that you would seek to read of the whole volume in one sitting, and that while you have a guest!”

So sudden and unexpected was the sound of that familiar, yet somewhat sarcastic, voice that I jumped involuntarily and almost dropped the precious book from my hands. The high backed settle in the far corner of the room which was placed to overlook the forge, moved. He who had been my companion in the hills, rose to his feet and turned to face me.

Though I was aware that he had deliberately allowed me to believe myself alone in that room, yet painfully ashamed of my own lack of attention, my apparent lack of desire to meet with him was I. Hurriedly striving to regain my composure and put order to my thoughts, I made a deep curtsy to him.

“Prince Curufinwë! Forgive me, for I noticed you not.”

Now with hindsight, they were not the wisest of words with which to welcome one such as he! How to speak further? For I would have his good opinion, though not be yet be drawn further into his game with me - if game he was playing? He gave me no answer, so, without rising from the gesture of acknowledgement, I tried again.

“Forgive me, I beg of you, my Lord Prince. I do bring shame upon my parents by my behaviour. I had thought you well occupied with my father, and not waiting in this room upon me, unannounced. No excuse have I for being so self-absorbed, save that your gift could not have been better chosen, and by it am I greatly honoured”

But that was enough entreaty on my part. I ever sought to be considerate of manner, yet I had pride of my own.

As I rose from the curtsy, that piercing gaze that had so mesmerised me when first I had beheld him, ensnared me again. Deep and brilliant were his eyes, yet somewhat cooler than at the time we had walked together. Not particularly amused was he at that moment, and a touch impatient or disappointed, it seemed to me. Matters had not developed in the way he had planned, and that he was one used to being in control of situations I had known from our first meeting. Ai, I liked him very well; for most intriguing was he of character, most different from any other I knew, most pleasing to behold. But his realm of control would not include me, I then determined. If we were to have any form of relationship, I could not, would not let him control me.

“Honoured!” The word was uttered in a dismissive tone, as he drew in a deep breath. “So you know me now!” he continued dryly. “Better did I like it when you did not; when you addressed me as Muinawë, for then were you of nature most eager to please. Then did you behave as a free-spirited lady, rather than as my servant.”

As a challenge to me, as a test of sorts, seemed those last of his words. I could not let them pass unanswered. “Though I honour you now as prince of our people, no servant am I, save unto Aulë! Yet do I seek to please you still, my lord, if you will but tell me more of the purpose of your visit?”

“My purpose was to seek your company on another journey, that your father sends not further enquiries after my family to the city,” he stated bluntly as he cast an appraising eye over my attire. “But I see you are now transformed into the daughter of the House, who would doubtlessly prefer to plan for festivals, make music and indulge in idle talk with her friends?”

“Not so!” I protested with a laugh, but his expression changed not a whit. “I thought you knew me better than that from our earlier meeting, my lord. And from whatever questions you put to my father!”

The slightest of smiles touched his eyes

“Your father tells me little I did not already know from my own observations and from my enquiries made of Onónon. But still do I say you have a different manner to that upon our earlier meeting. There were you warm of nature and most free of speech. Now I consider you will simply do as I bid. If I ask for your company, or for to bring me of refreshment or to show me of your crafting, you would hurry so to do, though out of duty. Such folk are plentiful in Tirion. I thought you to be more free of mind.”

‘And I found you enlivening and delightful company when we met earlier, and now do I consider you most arrogant and thoughtless’ I felt devastated – angry that the one I had thought so much of could speak in such a manner. What had changed?

Then the thought came to me that, now I knew him for whom he was, he was assuming I would behave towards him as did others. But there was more to contemplate! It had been said by some of those who travelled to and from the city that, though many admired Prince Curufinwë, he had few close friends; partly because he did not want them, and partly because few, save the Lords Ecthelion, and Alcarin, could tolerate his temperament. His father loved him beyond measure, even more so since the death of Queen Míriel, and would have naught said against him. Free was the prince to indulge his moods to the full, with none who could curb the excess passion of his reputed temper or help soften his manner: no one since Míriel, who could speak wisdom and peace to his fiery spirit.

“I would do the things you ask out of courtesy, my lord; as one who is noble shirks not at giving of their aid. And as to my warmth and freeness of thought; if we travel hence again, then shall you know if you are in error or not!”

So boldly did I speak, yet did I take up again the book from the table, without thinking, and hold it before me, almost as a shield.

At my gesture rather than my words, his expression became warmer.

“Indeed, your gift is most pleasing to me, and much there is within that I would like to speak of with others.” I tapped the cover of the book, as if to imply its value was my reason for holding it so. I think not that he was fooled, for the warmth then touched the corners of his mouth, as he smiled with some satisfaction.

“You like of my company!” stated he.

Choosing to ignore his comment for the moment, for I, also, could play a game, I continued with my suggestion. “For example: it says much of Oromë, and never have I visited his woods or halls. Much has he to do with our people, yet I know little of him. Would that I could travel to meet with he and his people, to seek answers to the questions I have?”

Unsure was I of that idea’s reception, of what thoughts were going on in that clever mind; but Prince Curufinwë seemed to consider my request. He relaxed in stance; his remaining coolness melting into a look of growing amusement, and he took up a goblet, which must have been beside him on the settle, to drain the last of the wine.

“I had thought of a different place!” said he, with a touch of indulgence in his tone. “I should have thought the house of Oromë too boisterous for the likes of a maid. And his wine too rich and potent!” he added, now with a grin. He knew I would not deny him my fellowship; he knew I liked him. In that moment it seemed his game was abandoned – that he was ‘himself’ again.

“Maid am I, but not one to cower in the corner when there is knowledge to be sought! Though will I be guided by your experience, of course, my lord.” Such words had a balance about them. For though he was beyond me in learning and exploration, neither was I unlearned, nor daunted by the unknown - or by him.

“But I have thought oft on a certain question,” I persevered, “One I had considered asking Oromë, though it is in my thoughts that you may well answer it in his stead, Prince Curufinwë, as you have so much knowledge to hand.”

He should have rebuked my attempt at baiting, but he did not. So did I know that he liked my company well. Ai, had I not known it from the start! And I met his gaze fully, with my own stubbornness of will, beholding something in him I had not expected. Though in no manner was he ever shy, yet at that time had he been unsure of my response. In that moment we both understood each other a little better, and he made to sit again upon the settle, beckoning me to sit with him.

“Speak on, Nerdanel. I hear you!”

“Though I love well this land of Aman,” said I, taking that seat as I would have sat beside a well-known friend, “I wonder why our people forsook the land of their birth? Why they truly left Cuiviénen, as that was where Eru caused us to awaken?”

The prince lowered his gaze at mention of the One, and I bowed of my head. Rarely did we utter that name, it must be understood. Then he gave of answer: “Our people left the land of their awakening to seek of the Light! To dwell in the sight of the Trees and in the presence of the Valar, as is said at the festivals, and inscribed upon the doors to my father’s halls.”

“I understand the wisdom of your answer, my lord. Yet is something still amiss! For some do say we travelled hence to be safe from taint, or from some evil of the Vala Melkor’s design. Yet are our people no cravens, nay, neither the Vanyar nor Teleri! Mayhap it was our purpose to bring light unto those Hither Lands? I have spoken with my parents, with some others of the Aulenduri who made the great journey and also with Aulë. But little does our mighty Vala say on the subject, other than he is most glad the Noldor answered the call. I would ask of Oromë, he being one who loves the lands of our birth, and journeys there still.”

The prince sat in thought for a moment, though I believe none of my ideas were new to him. But then he nodded. “As you wish, Nerdanel! For I have wondered about the lands to the east of the sea. Though I know much of my father’s thoughts, both of the lands themselves, and of the great journey, I would know the thoughts of Oromë on this matter.”

And so was I content. For what had started off that day as an encounter most tense, was become more the relationship I had hoped for. Never did I wish to control him, for was not his tempestuous nature part of his attraction, but I would show him that I was made of strong stuff, that I would not quail beneath his moods, but be a true friend, and speak my mind, though always with the gentleness of touch that he surely missed from his mother.

“We have an understanding, then?” I replied with quiet, and growing, confidence that matters were progressing well. “That I do not offer to be your servant, Prince Curufinwë; but your companion, if that is what you seek?”

He smiled openly at those words; his features lit with that charisma that he rarely chose to show, but which could be with him in such abundance. “Mayhap I seek neither servant nor companion!” he exclaimed, making to rise to his feet. “Mayhap I seek more! But I take your present offer at this time, Nerdanel. I ask only that you be yourself. Enough fine ladies there are in Tirion who are interested in their dress, in dance, in song and chatter. Be thou unto me something different!”

My gasp of surprise must have betrayed my thoughts at his suggestion and last form of address, for it was the more intimate, affectionate term he had used. Such was not customary between those who hardly knew each other.

“Now, to that end of being my companion, get you changed back into clothing more suitable for our purpose, while I inform your father of my intent.” he spoke light-heartedly. Happy was he! Then, with an elegant, sweeping bow to me, he turned straight to the door and to my father’s forge.

My father had left the prince in the main hall at the prince’s own request, it transpired. That Prince Curufinwë had wanted to speak with me alone had not been of great concern – for we had already been alone in each other’s company, and needed no real introduction. But less readily did my father agree to us riding out together for the several days the prince wished.

In travelling garb again, and with much lightness in my own heart, I came upon them both in my father’s workroom, their discussion turning to near confrontation.

“Three days, and no more! Nerdanel is training to become an Aulendur, and has work to be about. I cannot agree to a longer journey with you at the moment, Prince Curufinwë!” My father spoke with the respect due to so highborn a personage, but with determination that my immediate future be not cast aside in this new found passion.

I noticed the prince’s eyes narrow in response, his jaw tighten and lips thin in a manner I was soon to learn was a warning sign best not ignored. But he spoke courteously, if dryly in return.

“No wish have I to interrupt the apprenticeship of your daughter, my Lord Urundil. I hold her training to be of great import. Three days it shall be – this time!”

With that agreement, and a look of curiosity at me, my father gave us his blessings and farewells.

Late it was in the day that we rode west, though neither the prince nor I were tired, or would seek of rest in the three days we had been granted. Straight for the woods of Oromë did we head.

As my dappled mare cantered alongside his high-spirited, dark brown horse, a thought came into to my mind that I would share.

“What if my father had denied us this journey, my lord? By your countenance before him I almost thought you would have carried me off without his permission?”

“You begin to understand me well, Nerdanel,” he replied with a smile, “and that I like to have my own way in all things.”


- - - - - -


Moringotho - Morgoth
Curvo – Curufinwë - Curufin
Makalaurë – Maglor
Arafinwë – Finarfin
Ambarussa – The twins. In this case, Amras.
Muinawë – secret or hidden ‘one’. The name Nerdanel calls Fëanor before she knows who he is.
Nís / nissi – She Elf / Elves
Nér / neri – He Elf / Elves.

The Fire and the Sea.

Part three of three.

This is the last part of this particular story. As I read through it I am struck by it not sounding as good as I would wish. I will probably re-edit it again in the future, but for now it will have to stand as it is. I am just too busy to change it again, and really need to be making progress with other parts of the story - and with study. Sorry! :(

The Fire and the Sea.


Urundil had made the ridge and was looking for the quickest way to the promontory Nerdanel now stood upon. Calling still, he believed she was beside herself with grief, over the revelations of Eärendil. “Gaerion; by the Valar, think of what she said of late. If you know aught of what has brought this mood back upon her, then tell me!”

There was nothing for it but to speak the truth. Gaerion also saw the lone nís, and fear struck him that she would cast herself into the sea. Never had he thought his words would drive her to such an action. Never had he thought she would suffer so much despair.

“I called her my heart’s-love. I said that I wanted to be with her.” It had to be that, at least in part. But did he not have to speak the rest of it also? “One thing did she ask of me, and that would I not give her. She asked me to forgive her sons.”

Ignoble did his refusal sound now he had spoken it aloud. Not at all did he appear to himself as he had imagined, when he had pondered on asking her to end her marriage for him. A wave of guilt swept him that he had not realised he had failed her, even as Fëanáro had failed her. Little different was he to her lord of old, for he also had put vengeance and hate before love.

Urundil halted momentarily to glare at him. “We knew your feelings. Why did you not speak with us first? We could have told you, my Lady Taurlotë would have told you. Fast bound was our daughter’s heart to the son of Finwë in life, and fast bound in death, it seems! She will not love another as she loved him; not even you of whom she is most fond.”

“Most dear art thou to me, Son of the Sea, did she say,” Gaerion whispered, almost in shame.

The Noldo did not reply, neither did he mention her sons; but his expression said all that Gaerion dreaded.

They had halted some way back from where she still stood, but it was as if she knew not they were there. No move did she make as she stared out across the wide sea.

“Let me have a moment, Lord Urundil. Let me speak with her that, mayhap I can undo what harm I have done!”

Though he was asking the smith to trust him with his daughter’s life, yet did Gaerion believe it was the only way.

“Nerdanel! Come away from the edge. Come home with me, and to those others who love and care for you,” Urundil called. But then seeing no reaction, he nodded to the Teler. " Do what you can, but with care.”

Slowly - so slowly did Gaerion walk forward. He unclasped his cloak as he moved and let it drop to the grass, for it would but hinder him if it were needful to make that jump after her, to attempt to pull her from the waves.

“If you have no love of life left, if all is but weariness and pain then step forward, and know that I will follow to save you if I can. Or if it is my presence, my ill-considered words that so torment you, then can I leave these shores with the fleet that carries the armies hence and return not to Aman, but to Tol Eressëa alone.”

He thought she must have heard him, for a small smile touched her lips. But it was not he she was thinking of.

“Finwion," she whispered in nigh soundless longing - as if recalling something spoken in ages past, something he had said to her. In but an instant her smile was replaced by a look of profound sadness. Her tone, as she responded to Gaerion’s words, was soft and clear.

“I am sorry, my friend. For I see now that I have given you false hope over these years; that I have hurt you as I would never have chosen to do.” She turned to face him, though made no move to depart the wildness about her.

“Fëanáro used to say that there are many kinds of love: that which he had for his father was one kind, for the works of his hands was another, and for his sons and I, yet others still. Not all were of equal value to him, neither were all equal at any given time. But he did love all!” She paused, grey eyes softening their focus, as she remembered further. “And he loved his mother, whom Finwë condemned to remain in the Halls of Awaiting through his second marriage. Whatever is decreed, never will I so condemn my husband! Though there was I time when I sought to be parted from him, now do I know my own folly. Never will I seek the unmaking of our union.”

Gaerion understood what she was saying. He knew the issues involved. It appeared to him that Nerdanel was again lost in some thought or memory for a moment more. So he waited. Always had he waited, but this time he knew what was to follow.

After a few moments, she sighed. “ I love thee Gaerion; I love thee well! But as a friend, as a brother, even. Thou art truly most dear to me. Yet I should not have so spoken. For to one only do I give my heart’s love; and thou art not he.”

The words hurt, though not with the intensity they once would have, for he understood. He had paused upon the cliff top, knowing in that moment that there was no real danger to her and that she had no intention of ending her life. She was there to think, to remember, and in that to be closer again to those she so missed. He knew that she was offering him the only form of love she could - as a friend. And if she could live her life without the one she most longed for, then so could he.

“Truly do you speak, lady. But I am more like him than I had thought. For I have lived these years with hate for my father’s murderer, and know that I would have become a murderer given the chance.”

She gazed at him directly for the first time that day, a look of compassion lighting her features.

“You would have slain Makalaurë!” she stated, though without any accusation. “You would have slain my son in vengeance. So do you see, in part, my reason for asking you to forgive?”

“Aye, my ‘everfriend’. I see most clearly.” He smiled at his own foolishness and held out a hand to her. Then at last did she walk away from the edge, towards him, taking hold of his proffered hand as she had done in her childhood. As it had been when they had played upon the shores and he had helped her across the rock pools, did it suddenly seem. But Gaerion knew those days were forever lost - save to his memory.

“And do I not know what the grief at having one of your family slain, and that one your father, can do? So I retract my request. That there is understanding between us is enough, Gaerion.”

“It is not enough!” he interrupted “I shall seek your sons in the Hither Lands for their own sake, and for mine. Though of now I cannot conceive of entreating for any of them to the Valar, yet do I hope in time, I will change.”

She took up both of his hands to her lips, her face lit with a rare beauty and her complexion flushed with warmth. “Of noble and generous heart art thou, my friend.”

Seeing what had transpired, Urundil moved to stand with them. The unexpected words of the Teler echoed in his heart and struck at his own need for vengeance, as he thankfully embraced his daughter.

“Atar! Sorry am I to have concerned you, and to have been not about my work,” she said “But I needed to be away with my own thoughts for a short time. These words of late from the Hither Lands, they weigh heavily upon me.”

“Yendë! I feared for you, for your well-being!” Urundil released her from his grasp. “I feared that this latest revelation from Eärendil had pained your mind so much that, in despair you sought to cast yourself into the sea.”

“Nay, father! Better than that should you know me! No honour is there to so do if one is in their right mind. And at least one of the House of Fëanáro will ever seek to behave in a manner that is pleasing to the Valar, and to Eru Ilúvatar.”

So a sense of joy in life touched both neri, that she who they cared so much for was yet undaunted. Back to the horses they walked, in a new mood of relief.

“And I do not despair, father.” Nerdanel had that slight smile upon her lips again, as if she knew something that hitherto, she had not. Gaerion made to help her mount and she nodded to him graciously, accepting his offer.

“There is still hope! While I think that Makalaurë will not return from the Hither Lands for some time, yet does Maitimo also live.”

The Noldo smith and Teler walked forwards at the side of her mare, making to that place where they had left their own horses. They did not notice the strange look that momentarily lit her features.

“We know not all. There are some things hidden even from the Valar in the will of Iluvatar. Aye; and even should Maitimo perish, is there hope!”


- - - - -


Urundil - Sarmo Urundil / Mahtan. Nerdanel’s father.
Aulenduri - Servants of Aulë
Aldëaosto – Tree-shadowed town, I think.
fëa - spirit
Turukáno - Turgon
Arafinwë - Finarfin
Ambarussa the elder - Amrod
Maitimo - Maedhros
Makalaurë - Maglor
Moringotho - Morgoth
Nolofinwë - Fingolfin
Yendë - daughter

(1) ‘Of the Flight of the Noldor’ The Silmarillion. JRR Tolkien. HarperCollins Ed. p 91

Notes on the marriages of the sons of Fëanor. In a footnote to 'Of Dwarves and Men' in 'The people's of Middle-Earth', (HoME 12), it says that Maedros appears to have been unwedded, also the two youngest. Celegorm also, since he plotted to take Lúthien as wife. But Curufin was wedded (though his wife did not go into exile with him). Others that were wedded were Maelor (Maglor), Caranthir. p318 HarperCollins) I realise this is a very obscure reference.


I sometimes switch between the polite ‘you’ form of address and the more familiar – or affectionate –‘thou’ according to the situation between the speakers. ( Notes 5 and 19 ‘Athrabeth Finrod ah Andreth’ Morgoth’s Ring J.R.R. Tolkien.)