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.