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