Flame Rekindled. Chapter Six.

At long last I am on roll with editing chapters of this story again. I am posting my writing on ff.net first at present - but this has now been on there for a few days, so on the blog it goes. :)

Apart from writing these stories - reading - looking after various folk - and trying to get on with writing 'properly', things seem to be settling down a little. About time to! And after the glorious summer we have had the last two weeks, it is now snowing! Just right for trying to catch up on line!

Picture is of the Lakeland Fells. It has the right sort of 'atmosphere' for this story, I think!


Flame Rekindled: Chapter Six


A/N I am so very sorry at the long delay in posting chapters of this story, and others. Hopefully I will be able to post more regularly now.

(Disclaimer: All is Tolkien’s except the interpretation and any mistakes. I make no money from this)

With many thanks to Ellie for Beta reading.


“… there is in the Halls of Waiting little mingling or communing of kind (of Quendi) with kind, or indeed of any one fëa with another. For the houseless fëa is solitary by nature, and turns only towards those with whom, maybe, it formed strong bonds of love in life.”

(The Later Quenta Silmarillion. Morgoth’s Ring. J.R.R. Tolkien. Ed C. Tolkien. P223)


Máhanaxar. Seventh Age. Recalling thoughts from the Halls of Awaiting.



Think not that, of a sudden I had great love for Nolofinwë – it was not so!
The recent image of those objects of my heart’s desire still burnt brightly in my thoughts, shining their hallowed light through the darkness of my captivity. Mine, I say! I knew the light was of the creations of Yavanna – but it was I, not she who had been foresighted enough to house it in a manner that the light be ever preserved. The greater light of the Trees was Yavanna’s – it was true. The lesser, but surviving light of the Jewels was mine alone!

And my Jewels had been made that they would survive until the End. Try as he might, Moringotho could break them not, nor destroy them. None could break them - none could unlock the Silmarils, not even Aulë. None save I could release that light – though in so attempting would my heart have broken, that I would have perished. For the light of the Silmarils contained more than the blended light of the Trees - it contained a portion of my fëa pored into the making, that I could never have made the like again.

So then I thought. So then I believed.

But though holy in themselves, the Great Jewels had a way of illuminating darker tendencies and desires where present. It was as if they gave cause for all to show of their true self, and no facade.

Thus it was that even as I accepted Nolofinwë in a manner I had never before considered, memories of my life poured out afresh, as a fast flowing torrent before me. Those memories were of the days of deceit; of acts of cruelty and anger; of the battle of wills with my brothers – and with the Valar who cozened my people. And I felt shame that I had behaved in some respects ignobly. Though at the time had I thought all my deeds necessary – I perceived that some few had been matters of my personal will alone, and for no great purpose other than to demean.

Much discomfort did that awareness bring me – I who considered myself the noblest of Finwë’s children. Then the half-truth of the reason the Valar brought the Eldar to Aman struck me anew, and as a diversion. Nothing had ever been said to my father, or to any of the ambassadors of the three kindred concerning the Aftercomers. No message did Oromë give that those who followed him were to be supplanted. Would the clans of the Eldar have left the land of their birth knowing that in so doing they handed their birthright to a younger, lesser race? I think not! No more would I have handed my birthright to Nolofinwë!

The secret that had become secret no longer – that the Secondborn would supplant the Firstborn, and defraud us of our inheritance from Eru Ilúvatar – was wilfully and ignobly withheld from us. Was it any wonder I could not endure such a thought, but planned to return the Noldor both to freedom and to the lordship that was ours by right?

That a second race, whose life span was but a moment in time, would be set to rule over the Hither Lands in their ignorance was beyond my understanding. I could not see the purpose of Eru in so doing, that I thought it a plan of the Valar alone. Those Great Ones either cared no longer for the whole of Arda, or more likely, believed that weaklings would be the more easily controlled by them. None among those Followers would there be like unto Fëanáro to give them of challenge.
Yet what did I truly know of the Second People, save that which Moringotho had purposed I should know? What did I know of my brother’s intent in those last days, save what Moringotho intended?

My mind was in turmoil that, ponder though I might, I could see no clear way forward. What was truth? When did it all begin - that opening of my mind to deception that I saw not the lies set before me? Nolofinwë had of certainty been proud and jealous – but in my chosen blindness to anything worthy concerning he and his brother, I had not seen his inherent sense of honour.

“Half-brother in blood, full brother in heart will I be,” had Nolofinwë said before Manwë upon Taniquetil. I wondered then, for the first time, what it had cost him to speak thus? That he who was acting king - who ever sought to better me, and yet could not - would stand down for my return, that it was the only way our father would take up again his kingship.

And in the memory of my vision of the Silmarils, the knowledge that Manwë had willed reconciliation between the two High Princes of the Noldor was no longer just the thought that he had wanted me to wear my Jewels that the Valar might take them from me. Mayhap had Manwë wanted the sons of Finwë reconciled for another purpose? That there might be healing in Aman; aye, even as she had said to me - but there was still something else; something else that should have been, but was not - because of me?

'I would speak with my brother!' I again addressed Mandos in thought, believing my belated acknowledgement of the truth I had chosen to ignore gave me some right to so speak.

Silence

I felt no sense of the presence of Mandos. Rather did it seem that I was in a large and empty cavern – that my thoughts almost gave echo – that I almost perceived a draft of air in that place of darkness. But I would have my answers from Nolofinwë, so I focused my will to call again upon the Vala.

'If Nolofinwë is in this place – even as I believe – I would speak with him of matters past that I know what was said to him of me.'

'The fëa is solitary of nature, as well thou dost understand, spirit of Fëanáro.' Mandos sounded his usual solemn self, but somewhat more distant - as if his words echoed through that same, large empty cavern.

'Say you that all spirits here are in solitude, with but thee ever for company? A miserable thing indeed then it is to be parted from one’s hröa!' I made to draw him to me, that I had his full attention.

'Thou speakest only of that which thy limited mind can yet comprehend, O Noldo! Though many are solitary for a time that they rest and heal, that they are purged of any guilt or wrongdoing on their part, still does great love binds fëar in this place, as in others. Though thou dost yet know of love, think thou to possess it in such capacity, or to have inspired it in any other?'

‘Limited mind!’ thought I with a sudden flash of temper! But also I thought that mayhap I was having effect upon the immovable Doomsman to so provoke him. 'Say thou that none here so love me, nor I them – that I know not the meaning of great love? Is that not what thou wouldst have me realise, O High One? That none do love me? Not my brother – that I can understand; though still would I speak with him! Not my youngest son – and that I unwittingly slew him! But my father, my mother love me, and I them! If love is the bond that unites in this place, why have I not spoken with either of them?”

The silence of Mandos gave no answer to my question. Yet I began to consider whether the Valar had truly forbidden me company, or whether there was any hint of truth to my jailer’s implication. Were there none who loved me enough to be with me - who I could draw to myself?

'My parents both love me!' I stated assuredly. 'Even if none other in this place feels such emotion - they love me well – and I them. None loved their father as much as I loved mine!'

I would not believe otherwise. I would not!

So I turned my thoughts to time spent with my father. I recalled a particular day when I was but a few years old, and he dismissing Silwë and others to give me extra lessons in the study of language, for I had exceeded all that Niecarindo could teach and would know more of that instant. So proud of me – of my interests had my father been. I remembered those times we spent together, seated in his study, or in the inner courtyard, by the fountain – while he spoke of his delight in the mastery and development of words – and I sought to likewise delight.

And again, I thought upon a time of walking in the hills in his company. Far from Tirion had we wandered, he and I, glorying in our strength and freedom – supposed freedom? But he was king of a growing people and took seriously his duties – he did not wander the hills with me as often as I wished. Would that he had never wandered the hills at all, and avoided that fateful day when he encountered the Lady Indis!
There were none like my father! None so valiant, so noble of appearance, so eager, so thoughtful – so kingly! None who had my love and admiration in such measure – and when my mother left us, I had loved him all the more.

But as I so considered, did I not recall wondering why my mother had chosen not to return to me – why she would not respond to my desperate call to her in the Gardens of Lórien? Had I not also wondered why my father had so soon insisted on remarriage if he loved me well? And thoughts from my early youth returned that I had caused the death of my mother, that I had not been enough for my father. Though he had me – he wanted more! He had wanted to bring many children into the bliss of Aman.

'It is no wrongdoing to want many children, as thou doest know of thine own experience. It is no slur on the worth of a firstborn child to want of a secondborn. Neither did Nelyafinwë act as if such was a slur upon him - though thou begat son after son! Thy firstborn; never did he feel the others were a sign he was not enough for thee – save when Curufinwë was born. Even then did he strive so that love and kinship overcame thy ill-shown favouritism, that for the most part, thy sons were as one.'

'Thou doest say I have failed as brother, son and as father? Be gone from me, you who know not what you judge when you look to those in hröa.'
So did Mandos leave my presence in the manner that I could detect him not at all. (Though I ever suspected he was watching me most closely). Departing words he spoke to me:

'He whom thou namest brother takes of much needed rest from the most foul manner of his death . So close was he to Melkor when he perished that his fëa could have been taken if intervention had not been made. Now he sits in the shadow of his thoughts, in the company of his firstborn son. For Findekáno was slain by the same spirit that slew thee! And Arakáno, who was earlier slain, watches over both.'

Arakáno slain? I had known not that was the case. That most impetuous of Nolofinwë’s sons – slain! And Findekáno? He who had rescued Nelyafinwë from his torment, who had oft been in the company of my sons in the earlier days that she had said it seemed we had eight sons at times. I had not overly approved of that friendship between cousins, but they were no children, and were careful not to be in my presence overmuch. Then came the time of strife – and Findekáno came to our house no more.

‘My brother has two of his sons to keep him of company in this place,’ thought I. ‘No surprise it is that I may not speak with him. What need has he of me, when he has those he loved – and who loved him - at close hand?’
So again did I endure in my solitude, though I pondered that so many of the Princes of the Noldor were now slain, and that it seemed those of my blood alone had strength to endure. I pondered also on what could possibly continue to keep me from my father – from my mother.

Never would I believe either had not loved me. Yet I felt a strange sense of emptiness as I continued to pursue my chain of thought – as if in some way the love I thought to recall had but little substance.

That my time spent in the company of Mandos had in some manner blunted my perceptions was my first concern. That place, it was not the one we Quendi were meant for – not the place Eru would wish us to exist for the lifetime of Arda. I knew that! My mother would have realised that in time - and returned to us, had my father not ended their marriage.

I had not been enough for him! Though I tried to be one in whom he could take pride – one of whom he could say: ‘My child is the most excellent in skill and in knowledge, and in wisdom and nobility, my father had wanted more sons – had wanted daughters. Surely he did not think to have another child as mighty as I – none other could compare with me! Of certainty Nolofinwë was not learned enough to offer serious competition.

But he tried!

As he had grown to maturity he pitted himself against me many times, in many differing situations – knowing always he would fail. Had it always been thus with him? That he knew he would fail against me – that he knew he would fail against Moringotho. But ever he tried! As I had realised the hosts of the Noldor could not overthrow Moringotho, yet had sat not idle in grief but given of pursuit, so had he ever given of pursuit of me!

Again I realised a grudging admiration that I had hitherto not realised. That my brother never gave up trying to win our father’s love from me. Or had it been thus? That in the memory of my Jewels I saw of a sudden that mayhap he had not wanted to be loved greater than I - but as well as I?

My life – it should have been different! I should have been wiser! I should not have so despised Nolofinwë that I lost his love and his loyalty.

As I thought again on my brother’s valiant, last battle - of Moringotho crushing him underfoot - my sight was drawn to those that were of my creating. And it seemed, to my interest, that the light was accompanied then by song. Not the deep, rich singing of Kanafinwë, but something both lighter and darker. Like unto rain falling into deep pools - beautiful, powerful and profound – the sublime voice rose in a form of incantation, then of a sudden was ended. In my mind I saw the Silmarils rise of their own accord from the crown of iron atop Moringotho’s head, - for he was stilled, as if entranced by the song - and move towards my outstretched hands until their light totally engulfed me, obliterated all else in thought or reality. My heart rose in joyful anticipation of their possession - then I was in another place.

"Hail; king and father!"

I turned abruptly to the sound of the words – aware that the vision of the Silmarils was gone, that I was seemingly clad for battle in hauberk and armour and thick cloak of red. It was snowing, and there was much snow upon the ground that the hoof prints of many horses could be made out.

Turkafinwë it was who had given call, and he riding past the high steps upon which I stood. Mounted on his black horse was he, with Huan and a pack of lesser hounds running at his side.

He bowed his fair head, giving a salute of acknowledgement to me. I raised my hand in return to him, and to Curufinwë and to Morifinwë, who with a small host of lightly armoured riders were following in his wake towards high, open gates.
Most clear it was that they rode to battle – to confrontation on that cold, crisp day. And I watched them depart into the wilderness until I could no longer make out their forms.

Then with a swirl of snowstorm white, the scene before me had changed. Nolofinwë was there – upon his favourite horse, garbed for battle with his bright sword in hand. Hale and well did he appear, as a leader of a mighty host. I saw that at his right hand rode Arafinwë, while at his left was his second son, Turukáno – both similarly attired. Then there was the sound of horns – a summoning to form ranks. My field of vision widened, as if I had retreated some distance that I saw those three were foremost of a host of hundreds of Noldor cavalry, forming ranks before the city of Tirion. They appeared to be preparing to ride to the attack, and in deep snow.

‘What is this?’ I wondered with some perplexity. ‘Always have I seen memories of my own, or sight of what transpires in the Hither Lands. Yet this is neither! Has Moringotho returned to Aman? Is Nolofinwë already returned? Is he who I thought to be resident in the same halls as I, to be early released?’

Again my perspective changed that I was standing in the Ring of Doom, looking to the east. The sound of ongoing mêlées rent the air - the clash of metal upon metal, a whirling sound that I had no knowledge of, and a heavy drumming. Upon the snow was much red blood – very much blood - and tangled, twisted bodies that seemed charred and darkened. I looked across the plains to behold Tirion aflame against a darkened sky in which no stars shone. And I grew cold, that I knew it a vision given me of what was yet to come.

‘There is no hope’ thought I as a certainty. ‘There is no hope for the Eldar, or for Aman!’

“Always is there hope - whatever comes to pass, Finwion!”

The voice had not the power of the earlier song, but it was as an unexpectedly tender caress. A female voice it was; one that I knew well.

“Nerdanel!”

But she gave me no reply.

Still I felt chill, as with the biting cold of the vision of traversing the Helecaraxë. Snowflakes were falling again, obscuring my surroundings – crystal individuality, white and shimmering landing on my hands, on my hair and shoulders.
Then of a sudden there was the warmth of a cup – a ‘farewell’ cup, finely crafted and bejewelled with rubies – being passed to me by a lady of some high status. Garbed and hooded in heavy cloak of grey was she.

I was struck by the sense of immense sorrow that flowed from her, that for an instant I thought it was Nienna herself, the Lady of Pity and Mourning come to offer the ‘cursed one’ her comfort. But it was in truth one I knew far better than Nienna. As our fingers touched around that cup she passed to me, I knew with the sensation of a lurching heart, that it was my wife.

“Nerdanel! Say this is but dream – that thou art not truly in this place?”
Oh I wanted her with me again with a sense of growing warmth and longing, as she had been before she could see only wrong in me. I wanted not to be alone – I wanted the great love of which Mandos spoke. But I wanted her not to have perished! I could not have both – mayhap I could not have either?

The faintest of smiles was upon her lips, as if she understood my dilemma. “I await thy return from this battle-to-be, my lord and my love. (Were those words not a most welcome draught – for after the manner of our parting I had thought never again to hear her speak fair to me!) But think not that I wait in idleness, neither that the nissi of thy house have no battles of their own to fight.”

“Battles, lady?”

I felt slight concern at her words that she gave me of warning. So did I will to touch her face with my fingertips, as I once oft had, and to show I paid close heed. And I felt the softness of her skin, a sensation that overwhelmed me. No dream – no vision – it was! She gasped with surprise, looking up to me, eyes widening in some confusion of her own. Then I was alone and in darkness.

But I felt different! I felt almost – alive?

I, who had called down the never-ending darkness to be my doom – I felt almost alive!

'We will continue, Fëanáro, son of Finwë'

Did I not expect the attention of Námo Mandos as soon as I had inadvertently thought upon she who had been my wife? Did not such thoughts always bring of his attention?

'So; thou hast returned to thy taunting, jail master! And with what shall we continue, I ask of thee – my memories of Indis, mayhap? Thou thinkest I will comply more eagerly with thy wishes now that I perceive Nolofinwë to be admired in the manner of his death - a true son of my father? But for what reason should I continue to play thy game?'

Mandos’ answer was immediate, and in a tone neither compassionate, nor haughty.
'For knowledge of the vision which now perplexes thee, most learned of the Noldor – and for the reason that, while Nelyafinwë yet lives, and Kanafinwë, and Pityafinwë - yet are thy other three sons slain through their vain and cruel pursuit of their oath!'


- - - - - -


Moringotho – Morgoth
Nolofinwë – Fingolfin
Nelyafinwë - Maedhros
Findekáno - Fingon
Arakáno – Argon (Perished in the battle of Lammoth.)
Turkafinwë – Celegorm
Curufinwë – Curufin
Morifinwë – Carnistir
Arafinwë – Finarfin
Turukáno - Turgon

Of the Birth of Curufinwë

This is another re-write of one of the original 'Nerdanel's Story' chapters - now being put in a seperate catagory of 'Nerdanel's Sons'. I have made some changes to it: an introduction by Míriel, a little more for Makalaurë to do - and hopefully the whole chapter reads more smoothly. I am tidying up Matimo at the moment ( ;-) ) and then I should have the next new Nerdanel's Story ready - and at last, a couple of 'Flame Rekindled'. Feeling a lot more in a writing / editing mood, and will do as much over the next couple of weeks as life allows.

The picture is of three wizards (Maiar) - Gandalf, Radagast, and Elemainië. (Warhammer figures - just in case you were wondering. ;-) )



Nerdanel’s Sons: Of the birth of Curufinwë.


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


“Also the Eldar say that in the begetting, and still more in the bearing of children, greater share and strength of their being, in mind and in body, goes forth than in the making of mortal children.”

(‘The Later Quenta Silmarillion’ HoME 10. Morgoth’s Ring JRR Tolkien.)



The house of King Finwë. Tirion. The Year of the Trees 1179.



My son – my beloved son! Finwion hast thy father named thee. Son of Finwë - his son! Does he know by so naming thee; does thy father suspect my intent? He sees with his eyes my weakness, he perceives in his fëa my utter exhaustion – but I think he understands not my deepest longing. I have given all the strength and skill I possess to bring thee forth, child of mine - all the life that should have gone into the many children thy father desires, into sustaining my own life, into firing my own inspiration through the ages to come.

What now for me but to nurture and counsel thee for the short time I endure, and then to seek peace and rest eternal from the labour of living! What more can I give to my lord - give to the Noldor, than I have done in giving birth to thee! Mighty wilt thou become, my son – mightier in mind and in body than the measure given to any of the Eldar, that there will come a time when even the Valar will look to thee and marvel. Such is the intention of Ilúvatar, I do perceive. For why else should one with such a spirit of fire be brought to birth amongst our people? Why else should my life’s energy be so consumed?

Thy spirit is as strong as if thou were many. All of my powers to create hast thou taken, and seemingly forged into thy form most perfect. So strong a spirit hast thou, my son - more like unto a Maia than an Elda I do ponder! I quell at the impropriety of such a thought, it seeming near blasphemous. And yet …

Finwion hast thy father named thee – and I? I shall name thee for what I know thou to be, and for what my foresight tells me thou yet shalt be – I shall name thee Spirit of Fire; I shall name thee Fëanáro!



Neldormindo. The first house of Curufinwë Fëanáro. Seventh Age.



Now many of the records show that Fëanáro was renowned as the father of seven sons; yet with the usual bias of interest in him, say little if anything about me. Mighty in skill and lore though he was, he could not have brought forth any sons without my assistance in the matter! It is true that, in the begetting of children, neri put forth a great share of their strength of mind and body – in this was my husband no exception - but the greater share of strength is required in the bearing; in the bringing to birth of a child. Of necessity are nissi the ones who give most of themselves.

I remember the sensations of being with child; the initial joy and delight at the creation of life, aye – of a certainty was each one of our sons conceived of our love and will, and the prospect of his forthcoming birth was a great happiness to us. But for my part there was also the slow-growing awareness of my own energy for life passing into the forming hröa of each of our unborn children, as my body took upon itself that shape of fecundity; of swollen breasts and stomach. Fëanáro was also aware of the draining of his strength, though he made light of it, as though it taxed him not. The fëar of our unborn children drew nourishment from both of us of course, through our own union of fëar - from his strength of spirit, which I mediated to them. So it was, that our sons were not only conceived but brought to birth by both our efforts. Mayhap this was more the case with us than with many a couple. For Fëanáro would always give fully of himself to his creations, be they gems or sculpting, or Silmarils – or sons! And as with all the Eldar during the years of the children, he and I were rarely parted.

Six times I gave forth of my gift of strength – a gift of love to my husband and to life. But our fifth son; his birth was reminiscent of Fëanáro’s own in a manner that caused both my lord and I to ponder greatly. Our fifth son nigh consumed me in body and spirit that was I almost lost, even as Míriel had become lost.


- - - - -


It was late in the Year of the Trees 1275. I had been working on a sculpture of the Lord Ecthelion’s wife, Serewen, wanting it to reflect her likeness to perfection. By that time I had long established a reputation as a sculptress of uncanny skill. My craftings were so lifelike, it was said, that if they knew not my art, friends would speak to the sculptures as if they had life. But that particular work was difficult for me because I was large with child. I had tired more easily in that pregnancy than with the four sons already brought to birth.

Fëanáro had spent more time with me than usual, giving of his strength of fëa to support and sustain me. Though he spoke not of it in words, I could sense the conflict of his concern and elation over the way our son was developing. We both knew the child would be different – we knew that son would be more like him than any of the others.

Now it came to pass that, on the day of which I write, Fëanáro had ridden forth to my father’s house. Less than one day’s journey was it to the dwellings of the Aulenduri on a swift horse such as Tyelperocco. My lord wished to make final consultation with Narwasar on the planned addition to our house of Neldormindo before my time drew nigh, and to return the following day in the company of my mother. Never would Fëanáro have left my side had he known that day I was to give birth – he had always been with me in that time of my labour that no midwife could drive him from the room. But this child was indeed to be like his father. He was strong and eager for life. Too eager to be born was Curufinwë!

I was alone when the first pains, the first pangs of birth gripped me, and most ill prepared - not for twelve days or more did I expect the child to seek birth. So gripped with weakness was I as the muscles of my stomach suddenly contracted, that all I could do was cry out. Carnistir, who was by then fourteen years old, and the much older Makalaurë came running to my workroom in haste.

I recall the shocked paleness of Carnistir’s face as he reached me, just as the chisel dropped from my hand and the strength in my legs failed. He caught me up, carried me back to the house through the open windows of my study, and up the broad staircase to my room. A poor reward I gave for his swift actions; I dug my fingers into his arms in my agony.

The rhythm of the contractions was too quick! The child was coming in too much haste.

“Fëanáro! I need thee!” I had called to my husband in thought; though my mind was already hazed and unfocused, so that I knew not at the time if he had heard my plea.

All seemed most confusing! Carnistir was shouting for Maitimo to send riders to my parent’s house; Makalaurë had run to fetch the midwife - to fetch Arnónë or Meldawen. I knew he would fetch anyone he could, for though they understood well what was to happen, none of my sons had wish to aid the birthing of a younger brother.

Then so strong was my pain that, for a time I remembered no more.

There were short spaces of consciousness, when I trembled, closing my eyes in my anger and agony. How could I be so weak? Never before had my strength betrayed me – nay, not in childbearing nor in any other matter.

Carnistir had laid me gently upon my bed, and had brought a bowl of cool, rose scented water to bathe my brow. His face still held a look of strained disbelief at what was transpiring before him. No coward was he - none of my sons were - but to aid his mother in such a situation was asking a lot of him.

“You are doing well, dear one,” I managed to gasp, trying to be encouraging.

Then the door swung open and Arnónë hurried in, her breath sounding harsh with her great hurry.

“Away with you, my lord prince! See that Maniel is on her way!”

That chief of my ladies took immediate control, moving straight to my side, lifting me up to support me in my efforts as my son would never have thought to do.

“Away, I say! This is no place for you!”

Carnistir would not usually accept such a tone of remonstration without complaint, but on that occasion he made a hasty retreat from my room, doubtlessly relieved that another had taken on the task he had feared would be his.


- - - - - -


I heard softened voices around me, speaking with much concern. I thought: ‘This must be death. This must be where Míriel has gone?’ Surely I was in the gardens of Lórien at the least, for all was a dusk-light to my eyes? But awareness of the fragrance of the roses that grew outside the bedroom windows reached me. I knew I was still alive - still at home in Tirion.

Yet the tiredness!

The needy cry of a newborn reached my hearing, but no strength had I, not even to turn my head upon the pillow to look upon my babe. It seemed to me as if my body had been torn apart. My child was born, but instead of the expected surge of joy, I had barely the will to draw of breath.

So tired!

I wanted to see him! I wanted to hold him, to have this new life snuggle against me, that I knew the reason for what I had endured. Instead, I drifted in and out of a cool, shadow-world. The lusty calls, a demand for attention, a proclamation of life embraced, were the dream – the darkness was my reality. Only in that numbing darkness was the pain and utter weakness bearable.

Hushed words were again being spoken. With great effort I focused my eyes, seeing the drawn expression on the face of Arnónë close by, as she tried to administer a potion that would presumably aid my rest.

“Drink this, Lady Nerdanel. You need to sleep.”

She raised my head slightly, so gently for one who could be so abrupt, and held a small glass to my lips, trickling a warm, sweet amber liquid into my mouth.

And I was again exhausted.

Before I passed into the shadows, Makalaurë moved into my range of vision. Keeping vigil was he.

“We are here, Mother. Maitimo has gone himself to fetch father. Tyelkormo has gone to our Grandfather’s house to fetch Alyu. All will be well!”

He did not sound convinced! His deep, beautiful voice was haunted with concern, though he endeavoured for it not to show.

“The child? What has happened?” I whispered to him.

“He is well. He is strong. ‘Tis you who are weakened; you must take of rest, lady and mother!”

I tried to understand what Makalaurë was asking of me, but it was too difficult, and the potion was exerting its soporific effect.

Dream! I was in a dream of standing upon a seashore, as in my childhood days. But the sky was dull grey; the waters dark and cold, and the waves upon the shore were tugging at my legs, almost as grasping hands, pulling me forwards.

So very tired was I!

Again could I hear voices. Maniel, the midwife; her tone raised in something of anguish.

“How can this be? She had little trouble with any of the others. Too strong is this child, too eager was he to be born, that he has consumed her strength – as Prince Curufinwë did to his mother.”

“Do not even say that!” Arnónë replied sharply, “This carrying and birthing is nothing like that which Queen Míriel endured. Neither will the Lady Nerdanel seek release from life – she is too strong to be so brought down.”

“My mother is strong!” Makalaurë echoed. He was now sitting beside me, holding onto my hand. The sensation of him willing me his own strength was comforting, but it was not enough. He had no bond with me that he could easily give of his own life’s strength to nurture me – yet he tried. As the sound of laughter upon the shores, and of children playing in the white foaming breakers, his song to my spirit was of hope and joy. But no healer was he – and the bright blue sky he had sung of was again overcast with grey, that I felt as if my hand slipped from his grasp. He believed I would languish even as his Grandmother had – that he was going to lose me.

“Amillë – you must fight this!”

I tried! I turned my head to see that Carnistir, and now also Tyelkormo kept watch by the door. Most serious of expression were they! Alyu, King Finwë’s foremost healer was standing by the window, conversing hurriedly with Maniel. Arnónë was praying to the Valar! . They all thought I was going to languish, that I would not recover from my ordeal. Although none save Míriel had been lost in Aman through childbearing, they knew well that it was possible.

Then the images shifted. Again was I in the colourless world; the cold, deep waters pulling at my legs that it seemed as if I were wading, knee deep, into the strongest undercurrent. My body seemed so heavy, so tired was I; so cold.

And if I chose, I knew I could lay myself down upon that water, and I would drift, and there would be no more pain.

“This is of no use! We must send again for help,” Carnistir was saying. “I shall ride forth to see what keeps our father!”

“Too late it is to reach Prince Curufinwë.” Arnónë, who had been present at the birth of Fëanáro himself, sighed, “Too long will it take for him to return from the dwellings of the Aulenduri, even if Prince Nelyafinwë has found him.”

I was aware of the methodical Alyu by the bedside, and of Makalaurë departing. The healer was laying crystals upon me, was trying to reach through the weakness of my body to the strength that remained in my spirit, by the touch of his hands. “Send for the Lady Serewen now! “ he suggested. “Or better still, send for the Lady Indis. A good friend, and skilled in the art of healing is she. I would have present any who can call upon the Lady Nerdanel in love to strengthen her!”

The darkness sought then to envelope me completely, as if in defiance of Alyu’s words. But those words had the effect of bringing aid, if not in the way the healer had envisaged.

“You will not send for the Lady Indis!”

That commanding, well-known voice was accompanied by the sound of hurried footsteps upon the stairs, and a brisk stride down the gallery. I did not need to focus my eyes to know what expression those in the room now bore. I did not need to focus my eyes to know Fëanáro was again with me.

“I will not have that Vanya in my house! Send for Serewen, if it is your wish!” he instructed brusquely.

The power of his presence filled the room of an instant; the sound of his dissatisfaction with the situation colouring every word he spoke.

Then movement – and again Arnónë’s voice, that I knew my lord looked to the babe.

“Now, be gone! Take good care of my son, and leave me with my wife!”

There was a rush of departing footsteps, of those seeking urgently to comply with his wishes; then blessed silence.

I sensed him drawing closer to me as a tangible source of warmth.

“Tell me what has happened to thee, Nerdanel. Why art thou so afflicted?”

“Over eager was our son to be born. He has taken of all my strength,” I part whispered, part said in thought.

My husband took seat on the bed at my side, leaning forwards in great concern. But too weary was I to say more – even to him.

In fëa I begged of him: ‘Please, Fëanáro, let me be! Too late hast thou come to my aid.’ I began to drift again, into that welcoming ocean, until the sharp command of his voice halted me.

“Think not that I will let thee go, lady wife! I will not lose thee! Though thy hröa is sore wounded by this birth, thy fëa is yet strong. Thou shalt be restored to full strength again.”

I stood in the water that now reached up to my waist, longing most desperately to fall forwards into oblivion, into the care of Námo Mandos. I dearly loved my family, but so consumed was my body and weakened was my spirit that I cared not to live. Yet on the colourless beach behind me, I knew he stood. I could feel the strength of his will; sense the red and orange flame of his spirit reaching out to me. He spoke directly into my thoughts, with no small annoyance at my lack of response to him.

“Even in this condition, I will not have thee ignore my words. My gift of strength hast thou long been – and will I not return that strength to thee as needed. This child has cost thee more than I had thought possible, Nerdanel, but understand; even if the cold darkness draws thee unto itself, then will I follow to pull thee from Mandos’ grasp, and it will be a step to life or to death for both of us.”

I did not want to turn back. At that instant I earnestly desired release, but so compelling was he that I had little choice. Though he had said ‘to life or to death for both of us’, the possibility of his own death had not even touched his mind. So indeed did he mean that both of us would live!

“Nerdanel! Come back to me! I will not permit thee to depart.”

And so, on that day, his determination was far stronger than the coolness of the seeming death. I could not have disobeyed his wishes; I could not have defied his will. Neither in my right mind, did I ever wish to during those years. I turned upon the beach to face him, to reach out to take hold again of life. Though the pain returned, the weariness began to diminish, and the coldness was driven far away.

I managed to murmur. "Help me, Finwion, I am so weak.”

And he was become the forbearing, considerate lover again, rather than the masterful High Prince. He kissed my lips, far sweeter a medicine than Arnónë’s potion – then held me to him, stroking my hair and whispering words of encouragement and love. For nigh an hour did he sit thus, pouring his own strength and will into me, drawing me ever more into the vibrancy of life.

Then, when Alyu and Meniel returned – and our sons, with Maitimo holding the babe in his arms, I felt surrounded by such love and care that I was shamed to have caused concern.

Fëanáro took his son in his arms, his expression lighting with pleasure at what he beheld. He leant close to me – so that, for the first time, I could clearly see he who had been the cause of my anguish.

“A little image of his father is he – even as we believed he will be like you, beloved. ”

Already the child had a shock of thick, raven dark hair, the shape of face, the colour of eyes of his sire. His small arms waved in frustration – tiny fingers grasping at my own, as he gave vent to his will to be fed.

Enough strength I had to nurse him, to hold him as I had wished from the start. But the action was enough to tax me, that I slumped back against the pillows as Makalaurë stepped to the fore, to make good his claim to hold his latest brother.

“No more!” Fëanáro said to me when we were again alone. “No more children will I have thee bear. Five sons are enough, and more than most have brought forth.”

Before the sleep of healing overtook me, aided by a second potion of Alyu’s making, I murmured my agreement with my husband.

“No more sons, Fëanáro!”

And I slept then in his arms.


- - - - - -


I believe I came to better understand Míriel after that birth. It was almost a year before I regained my strength – almost three years before I had fully recovered. Never did I wish to depart of life – not then, not now – but I understood what the giving over of all ones strength and creative abilities could cost a mother.

For a long time Fëanáro and I thought that Curvo was to ever be our youngest. Atarinkë I named him – ‘little father’ – for he was like his father to look upon from the first. And as he grew, my name of foresight was mostly proven correct. Curvo was to be the son most dear to Fëanáro’s heart. That son who nigh destroyed me was to be so like his father in form, voice and skill, that Fëanáro gave him of his own name.

But in one aspect was I wrong in my naming. Although Curvo had more of his father’s skills and nature than any of his brothers, he did not have his strength of spirit. My fëa had not been consumed by him in the manner Míriel’s had. Nay – the son whose spirit burned most like Fëanáro’s, whose ardour burned more eagerly at times than even his father’s flame – it was Maitimo!


- - - - -


neri – He-Elves
nissi - She-Elves
Curvo / Curufinwë - Curufin. I mostly use Curufin’s father name in this story (Curufinwë, the same as Fëanor’s own name), as it says in HoME 12 that he alone of the sons preferred his father name to his mother name. Nerdanel had called him Atarinkë, meaning ‘little father’, because of his likeness to Fëanor.
Carnistir - Caranthir
Makalaurë - Maglor
Maitimo/ Nelyafinwë - Maedhros
Tyelkormo – Celegorm
Amillë - Mother
Finwion - ‘Son of Finwë’. Fëanor’s childhood name, which in my stories Nerdanel sometimes uses.


Notes: Regarding Nerdanel’s name: I have seem various explanations of the meaning of her name, ranging from ‘Independent woman’ to ‘Daughter of the man (ner) who makes’. According to HoME 12, some of the early character names have no exact meaning, (Finwë being an example) and Nerdanel may be another example of this. I have personally always thought it meant something like ‘She who has (or ‘is’) a gift of strength’ or ‘She who is gifted with man’s (ner) strength’. Such a name would link with Professor Tolkien’s description of her in Morgoth’s Ring. I found Nerdo to mean ‘Strong man’ – remove the masculine ‘o’ ending - an, as in Melian, meaning ‘gift’ and ‘el’ being a feminine name ending. It is only my own thought though, and I don’t know Quenya very well.

* My thanks to Enelya for ‘man-forger’. LOL. I had thought Nerdanel could mean that as well, though I haven’t seen it mentioned elsewhere – Ner – ‘man’, ‘dan’ – maker, forger – ‘el’ – feminine ending. I really like the idea. : Nerdanel – ‘She who makes men’!!!


Regarding Maitimo: I have taken the idea of his strength of spirit both from The Silmarillion, and from ‘Poems early abandoned’ in The Lays of Beleriand page 135. “..and Maidros tall (the eldest, whose ardour yet more eager burnt than his father’s flame, than Fëanor’s wrath: ..”

Nerdanel's Sons.

This is a new prologue to the "Sons" stories. I have been working on rewriting them as well as everything else - although there may not be as many alterations as in "Nerdanel's Story". Part of the idea I have taken - as mentioned - is from a wonderful story by the writer, Ellie, where she suggests that Fëanor's seeming inability to father a daughter is the only thing that Fingolfin feels he can best him at. There is a hint of a slur on Fëanor's masculinity here - I can't have that ;-) - much as I admire Ellie's work and person, we don't always totally agree on Fëanor. :) (Hi, Ellie!!!!!)

Apart from the writing, life is still progressing under rather a weight, with the main problem in the family remaining unresolved at present. We have also found out that property developers have got hold of two nearby plots and intend to put lots of flats up. That may sound like a petty complaint - but our neighbourhood is already so overcrowded that it will make walking faster than driving. And it is the 'pack 'em in - maximise profit' mentality that destroys a neighbourhood. Don't get me started on this one - I am already visualising a new career in research. :s

The picture is of the book "Smith of Wootten Major" by Tolkien. ( I first wrote 'Wootton Maglor! !!!!) I recently bought this copy off of E-Bay, though read it first several years ago. I would highly recommend it - if you haven't already read it. (More kinslaying dolls at a later date! ;-) )


Anyway - sorry again for the long delay in posting. I will try and be more regular now - mayhap?


Nerdanel’s Sons: Prologue.


(Disclaimer: All of the characters, the main scenarios and the timelines are, of course, the wonderful creations of JRR Tolkien. Only this interpretation of the story and the mistakes are mine. All references are from The Silmarillion and HoME 1, 10 and 12.)


A/N I have taken the idea that Nolofinwë thought Fëanáro’s seeming inability to father a daughter was a slur on his masculinity from the story ‘Raven Hair and Silver Eyes’ by Elfine, and it is used with her permission.


“Seven sons she (Nerdanel) bore to Fëanor; her mood she bequeathed in part to some of them, but not to all.”

(Of Fëanor and the Unchaining of Melkor. The Silmarillion . JRR Tolkien. HarperCollins ed.p65)



Neldormindo. The first house of Curufinwë Fëanáro. Seventh Age.



I had wanted a daughter!

Ai - not to start with! I had been overcome with joy that our firstborn had been a son – and our secondborn - how else should it have been for Fëanáro and I? He wanted strong sons, and I wanted not to disappoint him in any manner. But as our family grew in number I began to long for a daughter with whom I could share those aspects of my nature less easily conveyed to sons. It is true that Makalaurë was ever close to me, as was Ambarussa. Even Carnistir was more his mother’s son that has oft been told. As for Maitimo – was I not in love with our firstborn from the moment I set eyes upon him? But for me there was something missing in my life that I wanted. So I spoke with my husband on the matter, he being not adverse to the idea after the birth of Tyelkormo. I believe there was a time when Fëanáro was rather keen on the prospect of a Jewel being added to his house who might remind him of his mother. But such a matter is in the will of Ilúvatar, not of Fëanáro! Although we could conceive our children at times of our choosing, we could not choose their gender. (Though sometimes, after the birth of Carnistir, did I ponder whether Fëanáro had found a way of doing just that!) So it was that, despite my hopes, each of our subsequent four children was a son.

Though I admit to most transitory feelings of disappointment, I was delighted with each child I bore, and would not have exchanged any one of them for the daughter I dreamt of. Each one was I proud of, and loved with a fierceness far beyond my usual nature.

“As a lioness are you with your young, Nerdanel,” Serewen had once said to me.

She was right – my sons were most precious to me. I would have fought to the end of my endurance to protect them; though I knew not then the greatest danger they would face would be from the indomitable will of their sire.

It is well known that, in due course all of my sons were led forth by their father to carry war and vengeance against Moringotho. They were to turn their backs upon Aman and set as naught the love and care of the Valar. What is less well known is that I fought like a lioness for them - for the youngest two at the least to remain with me. But my opponent was too strong by far. What to say when it is the lion himself that the lioness must face in contest, and he wounded, wrathful, and deceived beyond reasoning with?

In the year 1362 Anairë and Eärwen each bore a daughter to their respective lords, while Indis had long since borne two daughters to Finwë. It was not unreasonable of me to feel again a sharp longing that Fëanáro and I should have a daughter of our own. But he was much occupied – and I was caught up in my desire to learn more from the Valar, to which end I had been studying with the Maia, Elemáinë. So further years passed. I thought to put aside my wish. We were past the years of the children, I had told myself, and had each moved on to express our innate creativity in other ways.

“Are not the seven sons he has given me enough?” I had pondered. “And who is to say that an eighth child would not be yet another son?”

But I felt incomplete as a mother. I could not overcome the thought that – should Fëanáro and I so will it, so focus our minds and hearts and spirits – we could yet get a daughter between us.

There came a time when I could be silent no longer. At the Great Festival of 1432 upon holy Taniquetil, I asked of my lord and husband that we again create life. Three times did I ask of him that which I longed for. At length he said: “Art thou not renowned as mother to seven sons? Let them be enough for thee! It was not without reason I named our youngest Telufinwë – for the last Finwë, the last of our children is he. I will not risk losing thee as I lost my mother. And did it not come nigh thy desire to depart of life after the birth of Curufinwë? Nay, beloved – our sons are enough.”

Enough for him, mayhap – but the seven were not enough for me. When we retired to our pavilion upon the sward, that he took me in his arms and to his bed, I found I could not give myself fully to the union of love.

So I spoke to him of that which I had heard whisper amongst that gathered company. To my shame I kept not the words to myself as I had intended. A last attempt, thought I, and that I knew from an unguarded moment in the company of Indis that Nolofinwë had made shadowed question of Fëanáro’s masculinity. Would that not aggrieve my husband that he may wish to prove his half-brother wrong, I unwisely considered?

‘Unlike his brothers, the eldest son of Finwë seems incapable of siring a daughter – so does it seem that his seed has failed,’ it had been mentioned less than discreetly in my hearing.

Fëanáro was silent at those words – I had never said aught that would add to his contempt of any that he was momentarily taken aback - then he scoffed at the suggestion. Though in that moments silence the familiar look of annoyance at even the mention of Nolofinwë crossed his features, he sharply ridiculed the idea that he was in any way impotent.

‘What said thou to those who would slur me, lady wife?’ he questioned me archly; dexterous fingers still caressing my face - entwining purposefully in my unbound hair.

What could I say? I – of all folk - knew the insinuation for an utter nonsense. Fëanáro was powerful – the mightiest of the Eldar in all parts of body and mind! But it would not have been seemly for me to fully enlighten Indis and her ladies to the extent of my lord’s skills.

“I made it known that they knew not of what they spoke, Finwion. But I would not indulge their game any further. ‘Tis but a rumour put about through jealousy.”

‘Then treat such words with the contempt they warrant,” he had stated, as if that was an end to the matter. (Though I knew it would not be! I had seen the spark of flame in his eyes.) If siring a daughter is the only matter in which my half-brothers think themselves my betters, it but demonstrates the multitude of their inadequacies. But shall I not create something of beauty and wonder that will show them all the extent of my abilities!”

A daughter, I had vainly hoped. So when he resumed the intensity of his caresses I gave myself to him as he wished and with a passion, hröa and fëa - but I knew he meant something else!

In secret he soon worked on that most renowned of his endeavours, and swiftly. He asked of me alone for aid and council in the early days of the undertaking, so that many knew him to be fully occupied for most of the year of 1449 – but I was the only one who knew what it was he studied, and crafted with such fire in his heart.

My lord wanted to create Jewels in which he could combine the light of Telperion and of Laurelin. I wanted us to create a daughter, in which we could combine our love and skills.

But alas, it was never to be!

Seven sons I bore him. All seven did he eventually take from me into exile; six did his rebellion lead unto their deaths! Now, as I sit before their likenesses of my sculpting in the house of Neldormindo, it is in my mind to record but a few brief memories of each of them, and the manner of their final parting from me.

Ai! Would that Fëanáro had given me a daughter. Sometimes do I even wish we had had seven daughters! Now would that not have taxed my husband that mayhap matters would have developed very differently. But all such speculation on my part is but pointless folly.


- - - - -


The dates of 1362 for the birth of Aredhel and Galadriel, and 1449 for Fëanor working on the Silmarils are taken from The Annuls of Aman. Morgoth’s Ring J. R. R. Tolkien. Edited C. Tolkien.
Makalaurë – Maglor
Ambarussa - The twins. In this case, Amras.
Carnistir – Caranthir
Maitimo – Maedhros
Telufinwë – Father name of Amras
Curufinwë – In this case, Curufin.
Finwion – Son of Finwë. Childhood name of Fëanor.