Flame



I have recently re-edited the original 'Flame' story - no real change, just some tweaking with points, and some hints dropped at further developments. Busy day again today - which means I will get behind with editing! But a happy family are very important to me!

Watch out! The doll is back!




Flame.


(Disclaimer: All characters and the world they inhabit are the wonderful creations of JRR Tolkien, or are inspired by reading his works. All mistakes are mine. All references are from The Silmarillion or HoME 1, 10, 11 and 12. I make no money from this.)



“Long he (Fëanor) fought on, and undismayed, though he was wrapped in fire and wounded with many wounds; ---”

(‘Of the Return of the Noldor The Silmarillion. J.R.R. Tolkien. Ed C. Tolkien.)



The house or Sarmo Urundil. Seventh Age.


Is it now that I am dreaming? Is all the grief of the many ages past but some trick of my mind? Will I awake from what has seemed a long, lonely widowhood to find him still by my side?

I feel the touch of his fëa against mine; an exquisitely gentle touch, yet one that ever grows in demand of me, filling all of my senses with a fierce and joyful longing. I feel the touch of his hands, his strong, dexterous fingers - and his breath, warm against my skin. And I am enfolded in his arms - in the fire and the flame of his being ….

But now darkness has come; darkness has fallen. Another flame there is, enfolding him in death.


- - - - -


A dream of a vision it is that haunts me. For over an age have I rarely dreamt thus of Fëanáro; though dream of him - of them - I do. But that dream of events in the Hither Lands was with me again this last night. Since I have begun to record my memories of the early days it is an experience that occurs more frequently. Almost do I believe Moringotho wills me to have remembrance of that event to taunt me into despair, that I put down my pen and make no case for my lord of old. But I am an inconsequential opponent to a Vala. The Enemy would be concerned not one jot with my attempt to reclaim some of my lord’s honour through my writings. And Moringotho; he is bound behind the Door of Night, is he not?

Nay - the dream is of my own heart and mind. From my own sense of guilt and loss does it arise.

To my shame it is, that I was not with my husband in hröa when he died. Mayhap he would not have perished thus had I but striven longer to change his mind-mood? But he asked the impossible of me. At that time, impossible had it been that I should desert Aulë to follow one who had become so fell and rebellious. And Fëanáro was angry, so very angry with me that I chose loyalty to a Vala over loyalty to him.

Think not that I am unaware of my husband’s many faults, of his cruel deeds. I hated, I abhorred the folly into which he was led; into which he led our sons and others. But with the passing of years has come the clearing of my sight. Since that incident upon the cliffs beyond Alqualondë– that faintest mind-touch of regret - much better have I come to understand why my lord followed the path he did. Much better do I know my own part in the downfall of the Noldor, for I was deceived as much as any. ‘Nerdanel the wise’, they used to say: nay, Nerdanel the fool, to discern not the ends to which Moringotho’s deceptions would lead.

I hear your thoughts, reader – that Fëanáro and I parted before he left Valinor. That he could not expect she who had estranged herself from him to accompany him into the east. But that is another memory to record, and at another time. Of the memory of his death do I now feel constrained to write.

Now this is the history and manner of my dream.

Though I never had the gift of insight into minds that Artanis possesses yet, inherited from my mother and from the art of close and careful observation, I had more insight into hearts than many. After the birth of Maitimo there were a few occasions when I saw events as from afar, as if I were using a palantir. But an action of my own thoughts it was, with no availing of my husband’s creations.

With Fëanáro I had a close bond indeed. Of one heart and mind were we in the early years of our marriage. And so many sons did he give me, so many of his children did I bear that, each time I was with child, each time I mediated his fëa to those yet unborn, our union become but stronger. Now as all do know, the union of fëar between most couples is strongest when they abide in the same place, though many have the ability to reach out to the other over some distance. So it was with us. When my lord rode out with our sons on journeys of exploration, those times that I went not with them, we could still communicate, each with the other. On occasion did we communicate thus for some very many days. When they all rode out to seek the borders of the Dark they were gone for half of a year! So long to be parted it seemed to me at that time.

‘I miss thee!’ I would oft call to him.

Arrow sharp would his thought return. ‘And I thee, beloved.’

I did not know then what missing him truly was.


- - - - -


Now it was nigh two years after the departure of the hosts of the Noldor from Tirion that the vision came upon me. Almost two years of darkness that we who remained endured in Aman. For the light of the Trees was no more, and no moon was there; neither had the bright sun risen. Only the stars of Varda, our torches and candles and those gems that blazed with blue and silver fire did we have that it seemed we were returned to the Hither Lands.

I had been dwelling and working again in my father’s house. Though Aulë came not amongst us for a space, and the Teleri – understandably - shunned us, yet was there ever much to do, to try to repair some little of the harm done to all. With my father in his forge had I been when the warning came upon me. I had gasped and stumbled, that Tulcon had cried out for me to take care. My father had caught hold of me, taking me away from possible danger to sit in his workroom. No deep vision it was that I experienced, save a momentary sight of fire over the sea.

I called for my mother, for she who first had such intuition of flames and sea in relation to Fëanáro.

“What does it mean? What is happening to them?” I had asked; fearful that this would be another battle, another kinslaying. But no clearer were any of us as to what was taking place than before. Since the destruction of the Trees no message had gone forth to the Hither Lands. Neither had any message returned, save what we knew of sorrow from those Noldor who had accompanied the wise Arafinwë back to Eldamar.

My mother had knelt by my feet, holding fast to both my hands. My father, Tulcon and Tuon hovered close by with concern. Then it came to me, the voice I had longed, and yet not longed to hear.

‘Ai; Nerdanel!’

For the briefest of moments I was acutely aware of Fëanáro’s thoughts, sensing his great dismay. It came as a shock to me as I had experienced no directed thought from him since our last parting words. For that instant I felt the touch of his fëa again, reaching out to me in pain of loss. Then his anger flared, and his consuming hatred for Moringotho - his hate, it blocked out any further touch between us.

Thus I knew that one of our sons was dead in that fire, though I knew not then which one.

For a time my anger flare against my husband most strongly, (though only with the return of the exiles was I to know his part in that son’s death), and so was the bond between us doubly blocked. Such anguish was that for me, not to know clearly what had befallen.

Again did it happen, many days later, very many days. I was alone in my room, about to take rest, when the sharp arrow of his directed thought became fixed in my mind. The thought was wild, fey indeed, as he cried to me: ‘Vengeance now shall I have!’ But that was all. It was as if he wanted me to know he had been right to defy the Valar; that he would bring down Moringotho himself by the might of his wrath.

I sat up upon my bed, filled not with any awareness that Fëanáro was justified – not with any exaltation - but with a sense of dread. Something was very wrong!

Then it was that the vision unfolded, as a large map upon a tabletop. In the light of the crystal lamps the room about me was a silver-touched glow, but what lay before me was a half-wrought camp, movement in darkness, the flash of helms, swords under starlight and the red of blood. I could see very many foul and terrible creatures - to my eyes, deformed corruptions of life - which I took to be the ‘Orcs’ spoken of by those who had made the great march. Engaging them in battle with much will was the host of our House only. Of the blue and silver banners of Nolofinwë and his followers was there no sight. Outnumbered greatly were our people, yet they fought on with the fire of Aman burning in their eyes, their long swords slashing through their foe as easily as through air.

A confusion of colours and sounds, then a blurring of the vision came about, that I believed Fëanáro and our sons to be well occupied in the giving forth of battle. Nothing further did I perceive for some hours. I lay again upon my bed, wishing to ponder what had been shown me.

Failië came to call me for the early meal, but so held was I to what I knew perchanced with my family, that I asked that but water be brought me. She knew - my parents knew not to disturb me when I was in such a mood of reflection.

Many hours must have passed, mayhap even a day or two? I left not my room, but would have called in prayer upon the Valar for aid if I could. Then again was the vision upon me that I saw swift riders under cold stars - Fëanáro and six others, ahead of the main force. Riding fearlessly they were, in pursuit of a remnant of Orcs fleeing back to their dread master. Fëanáro’s sword was held aloft, and I heard him laughing - urging the others onwards so as to come upon Moringotho the sooner. That he intended to seek personal combat with the Vala who had slain his father I had no doubt. But though in my room in Aman, I was granted a greater field of vision than he in the Hither Lands. I saw the dreadful creatures of shadow and flame issue forth from the dark mountains. Seven of them there were. The host of fleeing Orcs turned at bay at that sight, preparing to make a stand. Orcs and Valaraukar there were, setting a trap.

“Fëanáro! Turn back! They lie in wait for thee! It is ensnarement that they plan!” I called aloud, rising to my feet; though my voice could carry no further than the confines of the room. Neither could he have heard me in his thoughts then, so clouded was his reason, so consumed was he by his battle fury.

The vision shimmered before my eyes, and I knew that, again, some time had passed in that land over the sea. I knew also that he had not turned back.

Sinking slowly to my knees upon the floor, my remaining anger against him faded away in that moment as mist in the light. No matter what he had done to cause grief, yet did I wish him many miles from that place – did I wish him not to be slain and in such a manner!

A circle of flame lit my view. The seven servants of Moringotho encompassed him as he fought on, undaunted by them. By his feet lay the crushed and burnt bodies of those loyal friends of his: of Tulcavaryar, Alcarin and four others. But Fëanáro could not be brought down. He was swift and agile and strong; his opponents could not match him for all their might. I saw with hope and near wonder that he moved around the fallen bodies of many of the Orcs; that he had wounded some of the Valaraukar, that two were lame, moving but stiffly in gait, and another bore the marks of Urrussë upon it’s form. But the moment when I thought he might yet prevail, even against such odds, was soon to pass. I beheld that, valiant though he fought, he bore many wounds himself, and burns from their swords and whips of flame.

It was as if I were watching him competing against others of the Noldor in the arena in Tirion. Five or six or more would he oft try himself against, and harder still did he train with our sons in those later days of swords and banners and lies. But those seven were not Eldar; they were Valaraukar - corrupted Maiar - demons of terror.

'He is nigh exhausted,’ thought I, with cold realisation that he could not prevail alone. As if in answer to my thought, Fëanáro stumbled - just a little - but it was enough. His shield was torn from his hand as he was wrapped in their flames once more. He did not cry out in pain or fear, even then.

In my room, sitting motionless upon the floor, silent tears were upon my face. I could not watch, could not know the unthinkable, that he was defeated. Was this to be the result of my failure to ‘care well’ for Míriel’s gift? Was it to be the end of his dreams, the outcome of his eloquent and impassioned speech upon the summit of Túna?

“Fair shall the end be, though long and hard shall be the road!” he had said.

Fair? Nay, it was not to be so for him!

I reached out in thought to our sons, though I had never any bond with them beyond usual for mother and child. While they had been young had I oft sensed their needs, but not once they reached maturity. Even less than I could reach Fëanáro could I reach any of them. But try I must.

‘Maitimo, be quick! Thy father is failing, even he. Makalaurë, Tyelkormo - he is near the end of his endurance’. As I called, I knew they heard me not and in part I was glad. I had no wish for them also to be wrapped in the flames. Yet I knew that, without our sons, Fëanáro was lost.

On the farthest edge of vision the tall, bright figure of Maitimo was fighting his way through those Orcs still standing, trading blow for blow with those hideous creatures. A fell warrior was he become, our firstborn, as he wrecked determined havoc upon all who stood in his way. With that son were many of our people, but none could breech the circle of flames to give aid to their king.

‘Fëanáro, they come - soon will they be with thee!’ I called in thought.

Alas, it was not to be. The ground rumbled, as out of the shadows loomed a shape greater and more terrible than the others. In his hand was a monstrous black axe. The very Lord of Valaraukar was being sent out against my husband. In full strength, aye, I believe Fëanáro could have defeated him - but not after fighting so many, so hard, and for so long.

Yet did my lord make to face that creature as an equal, and more! That most fell of Balrogs swung down his axe in an attempt to cleave Fëanáro asunder. Again was my husband swift of foot and, evading the blow, hewed mightily at the body of the Valarauko in return. They circled each other; though still in the midst of the other servants of Moringotho were they. Twice more they exchanged blows that Fëanáro, without a shield, was wounded again.

With pounding heart I watched as another of those creatures let fly its whip, wrenching Urrussë from Fëanáro’s grasp. Defenceless now was he, yet he tried to evade them, tried to take up a sword from the flaming hand of one of his enemies. The Lord of Balrogs struck at him again, with a blow to his chest that, while not cleaving him, brought him gasping to his knees. A clawed foot was placed upon he who had long been my love – my life, driving him into the dust of the ground. Numbly the realisation dawned on me that the Valaraukar intended not to kill him quickly.

‘Maitimo, be swift!’ My desperate thoughts winged forth to my eldest son. If I could reach any of my children – it would be him!

Those creatures of shadow and flame wrapped their whips of fire around Fëanáro’s body, dragging him behind them, moving fast for creatures so large, in a game like a thoughtless child might play with a toy. Dragged across the roughened ground and rocks was he until, for one moment, he was caught between two larger stones and would not easily be pulled free.

‘Finwion!’

With the love I had sought to bury within me I reached forth my fëa, seeking the slender thread of union that should still be between us. Although he could not have felt me in hröa, I fell upon him, throwing my arms around his neck as I covered his burnt and broken features with my tears. I wanted to wash away his hurt, as Nienna could, and make him whole. I wanted to bring him healing that he was again what he had once been.

Pain hazed eyes opened and he knew, aye, he knew that I was with him.

‘False wife and mother!’ he struggled to respond. ‘You who deserted me, keep now your tears. I need them not!’

The sharpness of his words caused me to recoil, that the tenuous link was broken. Never had I thought we who had once loved so well, would come to this.

Though he made to reject me, yet still was Fëanáro in my vision. And I would not leave him to perish alone. I would not leave him a third time. So I hovered close – as close as I could without adding to his anguish – that he knew I had not deserted him.

Then he reached slowly, determinedly to his neck, as if to touch something that was mayhap hung around it, under the hauberk. The Green Stone upon a chain it was, which he brought forth in his charred and blackened hand. Despite his harsh words, Laicasar, that was my wedding gift to him, was yet about his neck. There was a familiar tug upon my own fëa; one last bright flare of his commanding eyes as he seemed to search for me, his mood momentarily changed.

‘Nerdanel; shed not tears. Never did I leave thee, lady,’ his blood smeared fingers were upon the stone. ‘In memory art thou ever mine …’

He could not maintain his focus as the Valaraukar tugged his body helplessly from the rocks, setting him again in their midst, making to utterly crush his sensitive, creative hands. One wave of his agony I felt; then his thoughts were shielded from me.

I would have called unto the Valar, unto Eru himself in my anguish for my husband. Yet how was I any different to the wives and mothers of the Teleri? I believed that none would hearken to the plea of the wife of Fëanáro.

In silent helplessness I watched as the rest of the vision unfolded before me. Maitimo and Carnistir with a great host cut and hacked their way into that circle of flame. Ambarussa the elder approached his father’s still form from another direction. It seemed the Valaraukar retreated, though I wondered why? That they had dealt Fëanáro a mortal blow they must have known. Mayhap that was all their purpose at that time?

Our sons, they raised up their father between them, bearing him away, to an upward path to a mountain pass.

That he would soon die, both he and I knew - though with firmly spoken words of encouragement did Maitimo and then Curvo try to renew their father’s strength to live. A chill thought struck my heart. What if he were to be condemned to the Everlasting Darkness, as he had so made oath? What if Fëanáro would heed not the summons of Mandos at death? We still knew so little of death in Aman, though since the kinslaying did we know more than we had! That Mandos summoned the fëa of the slain, we knew well since the debate over the death of Míriel. But Fëanáro had defied Námo Mandos before. What would happen if he refused to return?

Our sons lay him down upon the ground, as gently as they might. And now they knew also what was to be.

With fading sight he looked to distant mountains, triple peaks that rose higher than any I had seen before the Pelóri had been raised. Then with pain bought breath he cursed them, and cursed also the name of Moringotho thrice.

“Treat not, neither parley with thy foe”, he instructed our sons. (If only Maitimo had taken that instruction to heart.)

About his neck was he still wearing the Green Stone. He signalled for Maitimo to take it from him.

“Keep this well. Avenge me and thy grandsire, and hold true to thy oath.”

With his final breath he again laid that accursed oath upon our sons. Why that? If only he had spoke otherwise! If only he had blessed them, or bid them pursue release from those terrible words of hatred. Yet the oath had been made freely before Manwë and Varda, and they had called upon Eru, each one in their madness. Such an oath was binding, reminder or no.

They bowed their heads, our sons. For now were they all there save for Ambarussa the younger. My suspicion that it had been he, it had been ‘Umbarto’ who had died earlier in the fire was confirmed.

Then the low-smouldering fire was out! Fëanáro died!

His spirit was so bright that his already burnt body was totally consumed as he sped forth.

‘Fëanáro - come thou home!’ I pleaded, as again I sent forth my own fëa, soaring upwards as a bird in flight.

I had thought to meet him above the clouds, that we might take wing together for a final time - that I might draw he who had turned his back upon Valinor, ‘home’. But there was no need. Freely did the spirit of Fëanáro hasten into the West.

The slightest of touches there was, of anger tinged with a dawning realisation of the depth of his loss, then no more. The Spirit of Fire had come to his journey’s end.

Much later it was that I wondered why I had not told him that I loved him - that I had forgiven him his ill deeds - that I partially understood! I should have told Fëanáro that I loved him.

Mayhap he already knew!


- - - - -


I must have lost consciousness. The next I knew was that I was lying upon my bed, my parents seated nearby.

“Rest, Nerdanel. We know what has happened.”

My father spoke in hushed tones, my mother looked most pained, understanding something of how I felt. Had she not held Fëanáro in great esteem until nigh the end?

I could not answer them. I could not find it in me to give forth words. No conversation had I then for anyone, or for very many a day.

“They found thee lying outside, under the apple tree.” my mother spoke in a broken voice “Tuon was looking for thee, to tell thee what he had seen in the sky.”

I did not remember walking into the orchard, but I doubted not that they had found me in that place where we had oft and passionately declared our love for each other, my lord and I.

“They saw a flame like unto a shooting star, burning brightly in the darkness as it headed from the east to the north-west shore of Valinor. No mere feature of the sky it was, Tuon informed us.” My father explained as gently as he could, knowing well what, or rather who, the speeding flame was.

My parents bowed their heads. That my father was furious with Fëanáro's deeds, with his disregard for Aulë, his misuse of power, of skill, and not the least, what he had led our people to do to the Teleri, was no secret. That my husband had taken all his grandsons from him and nigh broken my heart, my father could not forgive. Yet would he hold his peace. He would mourn the passing of one who had been intended for greatness.

Instinctively I reached out in fëa as I had always done when greatly troubled. But Fëanáro was not there. It was not as it had been in those days when I had called to him, but because of his mood, or because he was occupied with work he had chosen to answer me not. Neither was it as it had been those last years we had lived apart. Still, though no words had been exchanged, I had felt his presence. But Fëanáro was no longer there. With his death we were estranged indeed.

In silence I mourned my lord and our youngest son. I went about my work and duties with fixed purpose, and a determination to endure for my parents sake. But the gloom, and sense of immense grief would not depart me. A further two years it was before my heart had any lightness at all, before I was able to speak freely again with others. Despite the grievous woe he had caused us all, had Fëanáro ever been my bright flame. And at that time I greatly wished that I had died with him.


- - - - -


So now have I written of that which is a bitter memory to me. With the telling do I hope to lie to rest that particular dream and turn again to the task I have set myself. Mayhap, when the recording of my memories of the early days is complete, I will seek to join my family – to join him? It is said that the only thing that binds fëar in that place of Námo Mandos is great love! If that is so, as I believe, and he bears no grudge against me, has forgiven me even as I forgave him, then we will be united once more, my lord and I, that at last we shall bothknow of healing.


- - - - -


Time is in Years of the Trees.
Moringotho – Morgoth
Artanis - Galadriel
Valaraukar - Balrogs
Urrussë - ‘Flame blade’ (russë is the poetic word for blade – I think!.)
Maitimo - Maedhros
Tyelkormo - Celegorm
Carnistir – Caranthir
Finwion – Son of Finwë. A childhood name of Fëanor. I write Nerdanel using ‘Finwion’ on occasions.
Curvo - Curufin. I am using the shortened form of his father-name when Nerdanel speaks of him, as it says in HoME 12 that he alone of the sons preferred it to his mother-name.

‘Fair shall the end be,’ he cried, ‘though long and hard shall be the road! ..’ The Silmarillion. Of the Flight of the Noldor.

The Green Stone of Fëanor: This is mentioned in footnotes in HoME 11 ‘The War of the Jewels’. It implies that Tolkien was pondering the history of the Elessar, with it being given by Fëanor just before his death to Maedhros, who then gave it to Fingon. This does not agree with Tolkien’s later thoughts in ‘Unfinished Tales’.

Of Maitimo the Tall: Part Two.

So here is the second part of the re-written chapter on Maitimo. Again, life has taken an ultra-busy turn, and my best laid plans have gone astray. I should have at least one 'new' chapter - maybe a new story as well - by the end of next week. My time at present is such that I can only get to write after midnight, and I am not at my most creative, or even really awake then.

I read a comment on a site recently that although there are many good artistic portrayals of Fëanor, there is not a definitive one. Those already done seem to portray his strength or his fairness of face - but not both. So there is a new challenge for me! LOL As if I didn't have enough to do. But I used to draw a lot - time to get sketching again, I figure!

The picture is the first attempt I made at drawing Fëanor. It was done quite some time ago. Lets hope I have got better!



Nerdanel’s Sons: Of Maitimo the Tall. Part Two.


(Disclaimer: The characters, world and timeline in which this story is set are Tolkien’s. Only the interpretation, a few easily recognisable characters, (including Onónon and Gaerion) and any mistakes are mine.)

With thanks to Bellemaine


“.. the fire of life was hot within him (Maedhros), and his strength was of the ancient world..”

(Of the Return of the Noldor. The Silmarillion. J.R.R. Tolkien. Ed. C. Tolkien. p 125 )


Neldormindo. The First house of Curufinwë Fëanáro. Seventh Age


Truly, the fire of life burnt most brightly - most hot in that firstborn of our sons. As I look now upon the sculpture I made of him, I am reminded ever more of how charismatic his flame was; of those who were drawn irresistibly to him. Ai – even some amongst the Maiar! Think not that Elwë was the only one whose beauty and strength ensnared the heart of one of the people of the Valar!

But as yet my writing has spoken little of Maitimo’s existence. Of his birth and earliest childhood I will first record a few of my memories.

- - - - - -

Now the second mingling of the lights of that day saw Fëanáro and I depart Tirion, heading east along the Calacirya to make visit with King Olwë. Little persuasion had my husband needed to accompany me on that journey, for he had made plain that he was restless to be away from the city for a time. Onónon was also satisfied with the arrangement, that he could join Narwasar at my father’s house in further planning, having every confidence in me, and in Fëanáro’s ability as prince and as stonemason in his own right to explain the situation to Olwë most clearly. Even had Onónon made request of his former apprentice to pay special attention to the cliff path that passed behind Alqualondë, that it might needs be widened and supported by a structure of many high arches to give approach to the northern edge of the city and to the harbour.

We thought to make journey to that place of proposed building before we made formal visit to King Olwë, that it was known what form of work would be undertaken, and how, mayhap, the Teleri could assists our crafts folk in that endeavour.

Though he had spoken of matters general and of the work to be undertaken, my husband had shown signs upon our travelling that his thoughts were still most occupied. As we approached the eastern edge of the Calacirya, that Erresëa lay directly before us and lantern lit Alqualondë came into sight beyond the opal and diamond strewn shores, he chose to divulge to me some more generous of his thoughts. (Aye – Fëanáro could be nobly generous of spirit and possessions in those days. Not with Indis and her children, that was true – but with others who sought of his aid, and with some who did not.)

“Here upon this journey it is in my mind that the Teleri would find more benefit in light they could control, than in a road. This starlit land of theirs holds the beauty of the unclouded stars our forefathers first gazed upon, but it is easier I deem, to work and to play under a constant light that is within one’s power to command at will.”

Thrice had I visited the city of the Teleri. Each time I had been in awe of its beauty, that I felt myself as one born in the Hither Lands. I had oft pondered upon the light under the stars, and the light of the Trees. If I had to chose to dwell in only one, then of certainty it would be the light of the Trees; but the starlight held a rare enchantment for me that in some ways I envied the Teleri their ability to move between both qualities of light so freely. Not that we Noldor were in any way forbidden from travelling hence, but it was more usual for our folk to explore to the west and to the north of Valinor.

“To that end am I thinking on how to make gems that blaze greater and brighter than any our masons have dug from the earth,” Fëanáro continued pointedly, with just a hint of annoyance in his thought to me, that he believed I was not paying him full attention. “For our own use I intend such gems, to give of light when we explore the further regions, and for those times of the mingled light when we would continue with fine crafting. But now I look upon Alqualondë and I think that to gift King Olwë with gems more useful to him than diamond and opal would be no bad matter, and bring pleasure to my father.”

At his mention of gems I moved my fingers to touch Nármirë, his wedding gift to me which I wore oft times on a fine chain around my neck, and he smiled, in a manner most warm. His elegant fingers moved to touch Laicasar in a copy of my gesture.

“As of thy crafting of this gem, and mine of Nármirë would I work,” said he, “but not merely to pour will and form into an existent stone, rather to make of one from skill.”

Most attentive I then strove to be, adding comment where I could and speaking with him of my own crafting of gems with the Maia, Aratë. Not that there was much of import I could add to my husband’s knowledge, even in those early days.

We rode north at a canter into the twilight, and then slowed the pace of our horses as we took to the narrow path that curved up and behind the city. Both of us made much note of the lay of that land, and of the concerns of Onónon in seeking to carry the road along the ridge that jutted out under the sheer eastern sides of the towering Pelóri Mountains. But although he paid close attention to his task, I perceived that Fëanáro’s mind was still on other matters – as was mine, and that the cause of my seeming inattention.

He pointed to a spot where the path widened. There was a grassy incline from which a most wondrous view of the city and the Bay of Eldamar might be had.

“We will take of rest here for a space, Nerdanel.”

A strange choice of places I first thought, in that unlike the stillness of the sea I was accustomed to, there appeared to be a place of wildness immediately below that cliff, that sea spray was sent hurtling into the air as myriad droplets of silver in the lantern light to rival the quantity of stars. I wondered if it were some special place where Ossë dwelt, or another who delighted in tumult and the roaring of waves.

But long had we ridden, and I was hungry. So we both dismounted, leaving our horses to wander and graze while I made to take out some of the provisions from our travel packs: bread, smoked meat and dried fruit, (though we always carried waybread for such journeys), and set them out upon a shared platter. We drank a little from our water bottles, and Fëanáro pulled forth from his pack a smaller bottle of amber limpë.

“We travel most well equipped, my lord!”

“We travel as is needful, and as befits us!” he replied, taking out also a silver goblet, filling it with the limpë, and offering it to me.

Not often did we partake of such indulgence upon our travels, but that day was becoming almost a celebration. It seemed, in the act of departing Tirion, the weight of tension was being lifted from my lord, and he was become of merrier mood.

“To journeying, Fëanáro!” I took a sip of the rich and refreshing wine, passing the goblet back to him.

“To freedom from constraint!” His comment was most heartfelt, and rather unexpected. I knew not then in what manner he felt constrained? “To journeys in places unknown,” his brilliant grey-blue eyes met mine over the rim of the goblet, “and to she who is my chosen companion, and my love.”

Even before partaking of the limpë, a strange and most contented mood had come upon me. My plan was developing as I had hoped. All that remained was for me to convince my husband there was no need for further delay – that I was more than willing for us to create a life together. That I would be safe! In the rooms accorded us by King Olwë, far from any mention of Nolofinwë, I had hope of conceiving the much-wanted child, that Fëanáro had the gift he so desired and could inform his father of a grandchild-to-be upon our return to Tirion.

So we sat upon the sward and conversed awhile longer over what we both thought the unsuitability of seeking to bring a road directly to the harbour from the narrow path we had followed. Though it could be done, we believed it better to take the way directly along the coast, with a spread of lesser roads reaching into the Swan Haven itself.

It was so beautiful – Alqualondë - I thought. The entrance to the harbour being a sea-carved arch of living rock, lit by a multitude of lanterns that reflected in the darkened water and on the pearl encrusted buildings: most especially on the many halled mansion of King Olwë. White ships were in the harbour, made in the likeness of swans with beaks of gold. I wondered for the briefest of moments if the Uinenlindë was amongst those moored there?

“Thou dost think upon the Teler friend of thy youth, or upon the Silversmith?” Fëanáro was reading my thoughts, though little skill it took to guess them.

“Upon Gaerion, Finwion,” I replied. “I hope his life is a good one, and that the Valar have blessed him with as much joy as they have blessed me.”

My husband’s eyes narrowed momentarily, but he had always known it was him that I loved – that there had never been need of any jealousy on his part. Neither Tolfaen nor Gaerion could have ever competed with the son of Finwë for my heart’s love.

And we sat; looking up at the stars as the first Quendi to awaken had first looked to the stars.

“It is so beautiful here that I am filled with inspiration!” I said in thought. Again he smiled in an affectionate manner.

“Aye, the stars of Varda’s hands are a work most wonderful. But is it not said that nissi should look first with love upon their lords, and only after with love and reverence upon the wonders of Arda?”

“I hear thee, my love!”

I felt the familiar colour rise to my face, and lowered my eyes at Fëanáro’s words that I knew he sought my attention as wife. My plan had been to talk with him in the city, but it came to me as he moved an arm to encircle my shoulders, to draw me closer, that we were Noldor – that it would be most fitting if our child be brought into being in such a place of primeval beauty and wildness.

“Nay, I will not risk thee in childbearing. ‘Tis the union of love I desire with thee.” His voice was lowered and rich with longing, that I knew he was still heeding many of my thoughts. But not all! I could hide from him that which I chose, and he never determined to see through any cloak I put about my mind.

So as he made to pull me to lie upon the sward with him, his hands moving across my body in a manner he knew well would ignite my passions, I bid him halt.

“Nay, beloved. Give me a moment, I beseech thee!”

He was not used to me rejecting such an ardent overture, but drew deep of breath, and lay still. He retracted not his arm from about my shoulders, that I lay my head upon his chest.

“Speak then, as it is of such import to thee. Tell me thy plans and what thou hast withheld from me thus far!”

Since hearing his words concerning a grandchild for Finwë, I had rehearsed in my mind my argument – my way of persuading him to do what he truly wanted to. It was so important to him – it was so important to me! I made quick prayer to Yavanna for her support, and then began.

“Of late have I made study of the Namna Finwë Míriello concerning the nature of thy parent’s union.”

The indulgent smile faded from his face in that instant. His eyes narrowed, his jaw tightened that I knew I trod on ground most perilous. But I would make my case!

“I have noted that which the Valar spoke forth, each one of them in turn. Though some most interesting and enlightening comments were made, yet does one, of now, hold my thoughts. For Námo Mandos said of the sundering of thy parent’s marriage that Indis the fair would be made glad and fruitful, that her children would also be great and Arda more glorious because of them!”

Ai – near the edge of the void were my words carrying me. My husband withdrew his embrace to sit upright, his demeanour one of barely suppressed anger.

“This is what is so important! That thou dost remind me of the greatness prophesied for my half-brother! What manner of wife art thou ….”

Swiftly I raised a hand to caress lightly his cheek, putting forth that aura of love – of the great love I had for him – that he trust me to finish my words.

“Námo Mandos said that Indis will be glad and fruitful, but Yavanna spoke on a similar matter to me.”

Fëanáro continued to focus a hardened gaze upon me. He suspected I would make further comment on Indis, but it was not so. The words of Yavanna Kementári to me before I wed; the words I had hidden in my heart, that I had pondered in my fëa – it was time to share them with my lord and husband, to bring him of the joy I was certain the Valië had intended.

“These words did Yavanna say unto me before even our betrothal: ‘Thou shalt bear much fruit Nerdanel, whichever of the two roads ahead of thee thou chooseth to take. Thy creations will be renowned in this land, and in others.’”

“Two roads?”

He was most interested! The hardened gaze was replaced in that instant by a gleam of enquiry in his eyes.

“Aye, Finwion! Two roads! That of an Aulendur, or that of thy wife.”

“But thou art both!” he stated.

From the touch of our fëar I knew he was already thinking as I had hoped. He was thinking of ‘much fruit’, and that the renowned creations could as well be our children-to-come, as any skill of hand. Now was the time to make of my point.

“Devoted am I to Aulë. But know this, Finwion - I will call upon the Queen of the Earth to give her blessings upon me as a forger of children before a forger in metal or stone, that thy children be renowned in this land and in others. My love for thee is my first love, even as Tatië’s first love was for Tata. Know that I fear not to bear thee children – strong am I, and if I am to bear much fruit then I am not to share of thy mother’s fate.”

He was silent; a different matter now for him to brood upon than Nolofinwë and Anairë.

“So! Thou hast kept such words from me for a purpose? Thou hast known my heart is to bring forth children, but my mind has been clouded by my mother’s departure – yet thou spoke not to lighten my concern?”

And had I not pondered that myself? To my shame I knew I had hoped in part that the works of renown would be works of my hands, even as Fëanáro made works of great skill – but it had been in the garden on the previous day that I had known beyond any possible doubt where my love lay.

“I would be a mother, Finwion! I would form our children before any further works of stone.”

There was the lightest touch of his thoughts, as he sought to fully know my heart – his anger was gone, his expression one of wry amusement - and he was satisfied!

“So be it, beloved!”

He reached for me again, that I went willingly, passionately to his embrace and we lay together upon the grass on the hillside above Alqualondë in the manner of husband and wife, with the intent to create between us a gem most true – a new life.

- - - - -

Wise Olwë! Was he not the father of four at that time? He must have known what Fëanáro and I were about.

King Finwë had earlier sent messenger to enquire of Olwë’s thoughts on a road between the two cities. The Teler king now listened carefully to my husband’s explanation of the work proposed, and to his reasons for rejecting the first plan. He listened to me further expounding the virtues of swift travel between the cities, and of the skills of those Aulenduri who would oversee the building.

Most hospitable was he, most accommodating. But I am sure Olwë was well aware that we looked and smiled oft to each other, that we wanted to be away from all company. Ever was Fëanáro one to focus intently upon his work, and he was focused intently then upon me, and that tiniest spark of life that was forming within me.

Strange it was, as I remember it now; those first tugs upon my fëa, those first faint stirrings of life. Like children ourselves in our joy were we, that we were to be parents. We returned soon enough to Tirion, but spent much time at Neldormindo while our child grew to term, that I might have rest and the attention of husband and mother as needed.

With the due passing of time, Nelyafinwë was born in our house in Tirion – as Fëanáro himself had been born in Tirion. Maitimo, did I name the babe, and for me was it love at first sight. For Fëanáro too, though few would know of it. That day of the birth he had been with me, he had taken our newborn son in his arms and gazed upon him as upon the wonders of Arda entire.

And I was happy - so very happy!

- - - - - -

It has been said by some, who knew us not well, that Fëanáro cared little for our sons or that at the most, Curvo was his favourite and Ambarussa the elder was dear to him. Do not the Eldar love their children? Do not love and a deep feeling of kinship hold our houses together? It was even so with my family! Much has been made of my lord and sons’ later deeds that many find such statements hard to understand.

With all the love he could give forth did Fëanáro love his sons, but less openly than I, and in a different manner. Curvo was most like him in appearance; in mood, in skill, and so he could understand our fifth son mayhap better than the others. But in Maitimo burnt a flame second only in brightness to his own. It was to Maitimo he looked to act in his stead. As soon as he was of an age, Maitimo was ever the foremost of his father’s lords and advisors.

‘Nelyafinwë’ did Fëanáro name our firstborn - ‘Third Finwë’ - and that all knew of his great import; that he was the son of the elder house descended of Finwë. Nelyo was Fëanáro’s son, and so better than, and before Nolofinwë and Arafinwë in all things as far as he was concerned.

Now it is well known and easily told from his epessë, ‘Russandol’, that Maitimo had rare copper-brown coloured hair. A rich and deep shade it was, more like unto my father’s than my own. My hair required the light of Laurelin to set alight any flame in its usual brown, but it was not so with my father and my firstborn son. From birth my son had much of my father’s look about him, both in face and in colouring. As he grew older he also demonstrated much of my father’s mood of enquiry and thoughtful consideration.

Fëanáro seemed not overly concerned with this, for he was a proud father. Did Maitimo not early demonstrate much of his eagerness, his physical strength and sharpness of mind? In time this son was to be the tallest of the descendents of Finwë, and this he certainly inherited from his sire, for those of my father’s kin are but of average height amongst the Noldor. And like his sire, Maitimo was great in valour, in endurance, in beauty and in skill. And a flame as of white fire burnt in him.

My parents loved their grandson beyond measure. Only good did they ever see in him. That Maitimo was to follow my father in developing fine skills with copper, and eventually becoming an Aulendur himself, only bound further in love one who was already bound fast.

And Finwë! Ai, how proud was Fëanáro when his father came to see his first grandchild! How full of joy at what life had brought him!

Great was the love between us in those days!

- - - - -

Ai, my beloved son, they told me, those who returned from exile at the dawn of the First Age, how Moringotho had deceived thee, and how he had bound thee in hate and contempt to the face of a precipice with a hell-wrought band of steel. My mother’s vision became the horror thou didst endure. I cannot bear to think of it! I cannot bear to think of thy suffering before Findekáno cut thee free. I cannot bear to think that thou didst allow two further Kinslayings to take place – nor that the murder of the guards of the Silmarils in Eönwë’s tent was at thy suggestion.

Maitimo – dearest one, would that thou couldst hear me – that thou didst know my pride in thee was sorely challenged, but never did my love depart from thee – nor my hope.

- - - - - -

After such thoughts I deem it wise to return to a memory most happy – to one of the early days of Maitimo’s life when there was no hint of sorrow in my world.

Now Maitimo would take not of rest.

No matter what I tried, he was intent on staying fully conscious and waving his arms at the flickering shadows on the walls as the light of Laurelin waxed full. He should have been tired, for we had been most active that day in visiting friends. But he was always full of life and energy, always wanting to be involved in what was going on around him.

I walked the room with him cradled in my arms. He laughed at me, and pulled on my hair.

I sat with him, singing a softly comforting song that my mother had sung to me as a babe. He waved his arms and legs with even more fervour. Mayhap he found my singing amusing!

I should have laid him in his crib and got on with my own work; at least, that is what Fëanáro had told me. But I could not bear for him to be out of my sight for long in those earliest days of his childhood.

So I had taken up implements with which to make elementary sketches of him, for most certainly did I wish to record his likeness in my art.

And then he spoke!

I believe the first words of any babe are precious to their parents. The young reach mastery of language at a very early age, but I had not expected to hear anything so clearly pronounced for many days. Putting down the paper on which I had intended to sketch his likeness, I moved over to the crib.

“Maitimo, what is it thou sayest, dear one?” I bent over him with an encouraging smile, though I knew well enough what his first word had been.

He stopped moving, looking back at me with wide and questioning eyes.

“Atar?”

“Thy father will be with thee soon,” I replied, with an answer I hoped would not become commonplace. “He is still about his work, but much does he love thee.”

My hand was on the edge of the crib. Maitimo sighed, and grasped hold of my finger tightly.

I recall that I felt a little saddened he had not called first upon me. But then, our son ever held his father in the highest regard.

Then did Fëanáro himself cry out to me, in a loud and impatient voice that echoed though the stillness of our house.

“Nerdanel! Come; see my work!”

I would always endeavour to swiftly attend my husband, for he loved to show off his skills to those few whose opinions he valued. At that time he had been working on creating small, pale crystals - trying to get them to glow with reflected light as of the brightness of Varda’s stars.

But Maitimo was still wide-awake. I would not leave him lying alone, nor seek of Arnónë to care for him.

Picking up our son whose thick, cooper-brown hair was by then curling at the nape of his neck in the warmth, I left the house and crossed over the wide upper terrace to the workrooms. Clad only in a white shift was I, for I had thought to take rest myself once Maitimo had succumbed to slumber. I passed Arnónë, who was heading for the scriptorium but shook my head at her offer to care for my son. (Did she not love to tend to Maitimo, as she had once given aid to Míriel with Fëanáro!)

In the second of the workrooms my husband was all activity; moving from the shadows of the room to the full light of Laurelin with clear, white stones in his hand, then back again to the table to make of further plans.

“Nerdanel, I have the answer!” he exclaimed. “Though they are not fully as I envisage, yet will these gems give of a silver-blue light when under the stars. Come, lady wife; see their beauty!”

He glanced up from his considerations to briefly look to me, as I stood in the doorway with Maitimo balanced precariously on one hip. Our son’s eyes were still wide open, but unfocused in dream as his fëa ran in that field of delight and innocence that was the preserve of the very young. Resting at last was he, and at the very moment he would have wished to be awake.

“Fëanáro! Nelyafinwë was asking for thee,” said I, with a pride in the babe’s early mastery of a word. But my husband had not heard my words, so engrossed was he in his crafting.

So I sat upon the bench nearest the table, Maitimo held carefully upon my lap, that my husband placed in front of me the two crystals he had been working on.

“Behold!” he announced with much satisfaction, then stood back, as if seeking my spoken acknowledgement of his skills. “They will give of more radiance under the stars, but are they not the most wonderful of my creations?”

So very pleased with himself was he; so proud of his abilities.

But he was wrong!

I studied the crystals carefully, noting the intricate crafting, the beauty and energy he had poured into them.

“Aye, my love!” said I. “But I disagree with thee, though the gems thou hast made blaze with such light and are truly a wonder!”

He heard that comment, and looked surprised. It was certainly not what he had expected. Rarely did I disagree with him openly at that time. Rarely did I have the need!

“Nerdanel?”

Rising to my feet, I placed the sleeping Maitimo in his arms.

“Here is the most wonderful of thy creations, Finwion!” I announced with conviction.

There was a strange expression upon my husband’s face, an almost faraway look, as he heeded my words. He took our son without any complaint or disagreement, but then directed a most searching gaze at me.

“I had forgotten!” he said, his voice suddenly lower and softer in tone.

With great satisfaction I watched him cradle Maitimo to himself in a manner that showed me that he indeed held his child to be something of the greatest value to him.

“What didst thou forget, my lord?” asked I, in a mood to banter, for never did he forget anything.

“In all the recent activity, of thine as well as of mine, I had forgotten how much I love thee!”

Those words had a most warming effect upon me. Instantly disarmed was I from any further wish to provoke. Not that I had doubted him, but he had been so engrossed in his works those recent days he had little time for me or for our son. Then I thought further upon what he meant by ‘my’ activity.

“In my delight with our son, have I ignored thee, husband?” Dawning realisation was upon me that Fëanáro worked in part, because he felt excluded. “Art thou jealous of a babe?” asked I incredulously.

He smiled warmly. “Jealous? Nay, Nerdanel - save that he is ever at thy side or in thy arms! Then the smile lit also his eyes. “He was asking for me, thou didst say! He spoke?”

“His first word was ‘Atar,’” I informed him, pride mixed with a tinge of ruefulness that Maitimo’s first word had not been ‘Amillë’.

That knowledge pleased my husband considerably. So very proud did he appear, so very full of love for the son of our love.

“Come then, wife!” he laughed. “Let us both put this most wonderful of our creations to rest in his crib.”

The jewels he had made were a wonder, but his mind was on our child and I again, and his work was left as it was - for a time.

- - - - -

As matters developed, Findis never did wed, while Nolofinwë was not to wed for some few years – neither was he to father a child until 1258, when Findekáno was born. But what Fëanáro had not been aware of when he came to me in such agitation that day in Tirion, was that Indis was already with child again. Before our first son was born, Fëanáro had acquired a second half-brother – the noble Arafinwë, who is even now our king. That birth pleased my husband not at all!

Just as well it was that our second son was born but three years after our first!

- - - - - -

Notes:
One day of the Trees 84 hours.
Maitimo / Nelyafinwë - Maedhros
Calacirya – Cleft of light in the Mountains of Valinor.
Eressëa - Tol Erresëa. Island in the Bay of Eldamar lit on the western side by light from the Calacirya.
Aulendur – Servant of Aulë
Curvo - Curufin
Ambarussa – The twins. In this case, Amrod.
Epessë - Aftername, or nickname, given mostly as a title of admiration or honour
Nolofinwë - Fingolfin
Findekáno - Fingon
Atar - Father
Amillë - Mother
Namna Finwë Míriello - The Statute of Finwë and Míriel. Taken from the debate of the Valar concerning the sundering of Finwë and Míriel’s marriage in Morgoth’s Ring.
Tatië and Tata – I am referring to the story of the awakening of the Quendi in ‘’Quendi and Eldar’ The War of the Jewels J. R. R. Tolkien Ed C. Tolkien. Tata was one of the first three Elves to awaken at Cuiviénen, and he and Tatië were the parents from whom the second clan sprang. (The clan from whom the Noldor were descended.)

Of Maitimo the Tall: Part One.


I will post the next couple of re-written 'Sons' chapters, then a previously unpublished ending / alternative for Flame Rekindled. The latter is a one-shot that a couple of folk have now read, but it is not the 'real' ending of Flame Rekindled, although some ideas inherent in it will be used.

No picture until I can find my camera and take a photo of a one inch high model I recently acquired. :O




Nerdanel’s Sons: Of Maitimo the Tall – Part One.


(Disclaimer: The characters, world and timeline in which this story is set belong to Tolkien. Only the interpretation of events and any mistakes are mine. )



“But Maedhros restrained his brothers ..”

(‘Of the Return of the Noldor’. The Silmarillion. J. R. R. Tolkien. Edited C. Tolkien. page 127)



Neldormindo. The First house of Curufinwë Fëanáro. Seventh Age


Maitimo the tall – taller even than his father; than any of the noble descendents of Finwë was he. Maitimo the strong - the born leader, the fiery in spirit - but our eldest son inherited much from me, as well as from his sire. For I bequeathed him more than his colouring - to him I gave by both blood and example a measure of wisdom beyond all of my sons, even Makalaurë - and the will to restrain the excess fire that could burn in the hearts of his younger brothers. Oft did he act in union with me to the good of all our family, that he sought to bring wisdom to his brothers’ rashness, even as I sought to restrain Fëanáro when the fires of his heart burned too hot.

We achieved much when we worked as one - that glorious, copper-brown haired son and I. We could cool the red hot metal of the others, and temper it that it could be forged into a thing of power and beauty, rather than become a destructive conflagration.

But his father took him from me – he and all his brothers. His father gave cause for him to become a murderer – a kinslayer, many times over. Long since did Maitimo of the White Flame perish in the lands beyond the great sea – yet do I ponder that the Maitimo I knew perished in the Long Night, at Alqualondë, at the place he was first brought into being.

And I have missed him through the ages! On days like these - in this house of Neldormindo where my firstborn once dwelt and studied - I miss him so. So do I now turn to record my memory of our last encounter – he and I, and also of some small matters that come to my mind concerning his birth and first year. To these thoughts will I add as I add account of his brothers’ leave-taking and childhood, that another of whom many false things have been uttered may be better known by all.


- - - - - - -


How can a mother say farewell to her children, knowing that, in all probability, she will not see them again? What are the right words for such a parting: “Namarië”? It does not suffice!

My sons, born of the Blessed Realm, were to be led forth by their father to take war and vengeance against Moringotho, to turn their backs upon Aman, to set as naught the love and care of the Valar. Despite my best efforts, I had been unable to alter Fëanáro’s determined course of action in any way; neither had I managed to persuade him to leave even one of our children with me – out of compassion for she whom he had loved so well. I knew that I had lost them all.

Was it in my mind that, in time, I would seek to follow them? That I would follow him, even as my estranged husband had said I would? Nay! If with any conscience I could have gone with my family, I would have done so at that time. Was I not aghast at the destruction of the Trees? Did I not grieve for the murder of King Finwë and for the destruction wrought at Formenos? Did I not then want vengeance as much as almost any other? I knew that Finwë and the Silmarils were dear beyond words to Fëanáro, and I abhorred Moringotho for what he had done to us all through his plan for vengeance. Particularly did I hate that Dark Enemy for what he had done to poison my husband’s heart with his lies. But I would not rebel against the Valar; I would not act in accordance with the Marrrer, for in so doing would I become a tool of the Enemy himself. Nor would I betray Aulë; for an oath I also had made, and to that did I needs must hold.

“And what of the oath that thou didst make unto me on the day we were wed? Hast thou forgotten that solemn promise in thy loyalty to those who would keep us as thrall? Though it take many hundred years, yet in the end wilt thou remember thy promise to me with no small sorrow - wilt thou remember who and what thou art, lady!” had Fëanáro said to me in that, our final meeting.

A reminder of Námo Mandos’ words to him at the time of his first exile was he making. A reminder that he considered me the one deceived - the one disloyal.

“Though thou doest choose freely to desert me at need and for a second time, thou wilt follow me, and our sons. For in thy heart thou knowest where thy loyalty should lie, even as thou didst know in thy seeking of me at Formenos. Once thou doest perceive the cloud of half-truths with which Aulë has cozened thee and thy kin for what they are, thou, too, will attempt to follow. Aye, and mayhap I will be of a mood to heed thee when thou dost truly recall what it is to be my wife, instead of a stranger!”

Harsh words we both spoke on that day, Fëanáro and I. Words born of unbearable grief - of anger, and of thwarted hopes. But of that event I write in due course.


- - - - -


In desperate urgency I had sought to find all of our sons before the host left Tirion. Carnistir and Curvo I had spoken with before I left the house, although Carnistir had parted from me in the vain hope I would be travelling with them all.

Curvo was never so easily deceived.

Yet five more sons were there that my heart drove me on to find, to encounter one last time before the sundering that was, by then, unavoidable. Difficult it was however, for the darkness still seemed to have hold on hearts and on minds, draining all life and will into itself. My own heart was empty of light, my feet weighed as if with a chain forged of the essence of the abomination. But I was determined; I would endure the foul night as best I could to offer whatever blessings possible to those I so feared for.

To say ‘farewell’ was my wish, not to try further to dissuade any from leaving. I knew after my words with Fëanáro that nothing I could say to my family would deter them. What could I have said that they had not already heard? How could I have reached Carnistir, devoted to me though he was, when Turindë was most likely to accompany him? In what manner could I have implored Curvo that Nolwen had not already tried? Even Makalaurë, even he had heeded not the plea of his lady wife! Nay, always first to them, always their bright flame was their father, and in that time of the greatest darkness and despair, to him alone did they look for light. That, I understood. For was it not in my own heart to look to him for a way forward? But by then I knew him half mad with grief that he thought with little clarity but with a consuming hatred to the fore of his mind. None could turn him from what he purposed to do. Nay – but it was his will to purpose us all to follow him! If only he had trusted still in the Valar to wait upon their reaction. If only his grief and anger had not driven him into folly beyond measure, into adding to Arda Marred.

Alas – that I failed him in his darkest trial.

I remember coming upon Maitimo leaving our house for the final time. Striding across the narrow bridge that spanned the waterfalls and heading towards the main steps was he, sword at his side, red cloak and copper-brown hair flying back in his hurry. A great sense of purpose he had, being commissioned by Fëanáro, (as my husband had earlier told me), to order the ranks of those still loyal to our House. Maitimo would do exactly as his father and king had commanded – would also keep watch on those lords of Nolofinwë who could yet cause further dissention. For our eldest son, who had felt most keenly the anguish of being unable to prevent the death of his grandsire at Formenos, neither prevent the theft of the Silmarils in his father’s absence; the focus of action would have been most welcome.

He saw me at once and drew close, pushing his way through a gathering group of soon–to-be-travellers, sweeping me a low and most elegant bow of acknowledgement. But his brilliant, expressive eyes held much sorrow.

“I understand thy decision, lady and mother; though with all my heart do I wish thou hadst chosen otherwise and were yet coming with us.”

There was no time for pleasantries, no time for discussion.


“Look after them, Maitimo!” had I uttered with all the dignity yet left to me.

I lightly kissed his cheek, but then made to step back, not wishing to act in any manner that would dishonour him before those he must command, or distress him further. “Look after thy brothers dearest one, aye, and thy father, if it be possible.”

I noted the pained expression on his face. Maitimo alone of our sons knew the fullness of the grief that had lain between his father and myself. He knew of my hopes for the festival, which had ended not with the darkness, but with Fëanáro's open call for rebellion – with his oath. He knew this parting from husband, children and grandchild would break what was left of my heart.

The flickering light of passing torches, held aloft by those whose blood had been fired by the fierce and stirring words of my husband, made strange, blood red shadows upon my son’s face and hair, made him look, in some manner already dead to me. Almost as a dream it was; one from which I hoped to soon awaken. But there was to be no awakening for me from that long night. Not then - in some ways not ever!

My son simply nodded acknowledgement of my plea. “Farewell, dearest mother!” And now was the urgency of the situation, the crowd of those hurrying past us, towards the stairs to the main gate, full upon him. “Sorry am I! Sorry that I must do this thing; but I will not fail my father again."

Must do? Yet I nodded in turn – that as ever, I understood him.

“Until our next meeting,” Maitimo whispered, holding my eyes for a moment longer as if fixing that moment in his mind. I realised from the rasp of his voice that he thought I would not long endure this separation in hröa. He raised his right hand briefly in a gesture of blessing upon me however, and I did likewise. With those wistful words my eldest son, my beautiful one, departed my presence forever.


- - - - - -


Maitimo the Tall….

My firstborn …..

My beautiful one…….

Now it came to pass in those days in which Nolofinwë first paid court to the Lady Anairë, eldest daughter of Lord Essilon, that my husband began to speak with me in earnest of his wish for us to bring forth a child.

Still very young were we – we had been wed for but thirty-eight years. Yet would I not have done all in my power to please him – then, or even earlier had he so asked of me. All that was needed was the union of love with intent – the will of Eru – and naught would prevent us from becoming parents. But whenever we spoke of such undertaking there was a hint of hesitation; the darkening of Fëanáro’s countenance that he recalled his mother’s doom. So although my lord’s words were indeed earnest, and I made clear my own enthusiasm for the joint work he proposed – yet did he who was ever most eager, delay.

Then came the day when he found me seated under the apple tree upon the lower terrace of our newly built home in Tirion – and I considering the plans of the Aulenduri in the city to make a road to Alqualondë, that the journey between the cities of the Noldor and the Teleri be traversed more swiftly when desired. Onónon, my father sister’s husband and first instructor of Fëanáro in smith craft had asked of me if I would ride with him to speak with King Olwë of the final stages of planning – for as a princess of the Noldor and daughter of their Master Smith, my presence would be warmly welcomed and my words well heeded.

But I was not to ride with Onónon.

I noticed the instant he approached the upper terrace that Fëanáro was in no good humour. His very presence put forth an air of discontent.

“Then will I be called upon a whim into the presence of the Lord Silwë? I say to you I am my own master, and will answer not to him!” My husband was addressing a messenger of the said ‘Lord Silwë’, who had followed him from the house.

The messenger made a bow of deference, “As you instruct, Prince Curufinwë,” and departed swiftly.

Ai! The Lord Silwë, steward of the king, never failed to bring out the more challenging side of my husband’s nature.

So I thought it wisdom to listen to Fëanáro, to encourage him to speak with me if he would, before I asked of his leave to travel to the coast. He descended the steps to the lower terrace, then came to stand in the gold dappled shade of the apple tree, arms folded across his chest, his expression beset with agitation.

“My lord?” I looked up at him purposefully, my tone of voice most soft – seeking to encourage him to confide in me of his troubles sooner rather than later – for so to do was surely his intent.

He gave me no reply that I was concerned least he brood overlong upon whatever ailed him. So I spread out the skirt of my gown, and made gesture that he should lie on the grass - should rest his head upon my lap as he would do on those occasions he was in deep thought, yet would seek of rest. But he shook his head.

“Finwion – wilt thou not share with me that which grieves thee this fine day?” As a gentle caress I made my question – gentle, yet with a hint of will.

“No help canst thou give me on this matter, Nerdanel. I must think upon it further.”

And that he thought overlong upon something that agitated him was something I had learnt was best avoided! So I persisted. After all, why was he there if not for the comfort and insight I could offer him?

“Mayhap I cannot help thee, but what sort of wife would I be if I sought not to try? Beloved – tell me what is the cause of thy pain?”

He sighed deeply, but there was a hint of sparkle again in his eyes, that they were no longer narrowed in temper.

“First before my father nigh every day is my half-brother - in discussion, in counsel, in requests. I will not have him first with a grandchild,” he said bluntly.

So did I know that the desire to be a father was at the root of his mood – for there was no thought of Nolofinwë siring a child in the near future. Yet something had given cause for him to think thus.

“That is unlikely, beloved. Findis may yet wed, and bear a child before her brother. And Nolofinwë is not even yet betrothed.”

“Findis will wed later in years, if she weds at all,” Fëanáro had replied, (showing a greater understanding of his half-sister than I had hitherto realised.) “But my father has this day told me my half-brother is so enamoured that he seeks to be betrothed to that most pious daughter of Essilon within the year!”

Upon hearing that news I understood well the situation, and Fëanáro’s concerns. No need was there for him to say more.

‘So be it!’ thought I in turn – but Nolofinwë, for whom I had much admiration, could not be permitted to so perturb my husband. I decided then upon a course of action for the following days, and when I again made gesture that Fëanáro should sit with me in the cool of the tree to further discuss the issue, he sighed – but he joined me – he heeded my advice.

The second mingling of the lights of that day saw Fëanáro and I depart Tirion and head east along the Calacirya to make visit with King Olwë.


- - - - - -


One day of the Trees = 84 hours.
Maitimo / Nelyafinwë - Maedhros
Makalaurë - Maglor
Moringotho - Morgoth / Melkor
Curvo - Curufin
Carnistir - Caranthir
Nolofinwë - Fingolfin
Findekáno - Fingon

(Notes.. I am using information in HoME 12, ‘Of Dwarves and Men’; note 7, that says after a discussion on Celebrimbor, that Maedhros appears to have been unwedded, also the twins. Celegorm was unwedded, as he plotted to take Lúthien as his wife. But Curufin was wedded, and had a son who went with him into exile, though his wife did not. Others who were wedded were Maelor ( Maglor?) and Caranthir.)

The Fëanorieli

This is a bit of a departure from the norm for me - somthing meant to be funny! I have other pieces I must put up on here soon - but as ever, there is a lot going on in life, and I am trying to think through a particular situation. So here is a short nightmare of Fëanor's - doubtlessly prompted by Nerdanel asking about a daughter! ;-)
Drawing is a really old one of the character Naranel, from 'The Master Smith's Daughter'....or maybe it is Makalauriel? ;-)


The Fëanorieli

A/N This is a tongue-in-cheek one shot inspired by Merry KK’s review of ‘Nerdanel’s Sons’. on another site. I am using altered mother-names instead of father names, as Nelyafinwiel and Kanafinwiel were a bit of a struggle to get my thoughts around. I am not sure what ‘Ambarussa’ would be – so I have left it as is. While I think the idea is intriguing enough to develop as an AU tale, this ‘dream’ is the most my muse will allow!

(Disclaimer: The characters and story belong to Tolkien, I have only borrowed them briefly. Only the interpretation and any mistakes are mine.)

With thanks to Ellie.

- - - - - -

So had I woken to much noise in the house. They were arguing! Always did it seem to me that Tyelkorwen and Carniel were arguing over who should take precedence – over who should have the seat nearest the king at the forthcoming banquet – over who should have first the attention of Meldawen, the seamstress, or Arnónë to fix of their hair. Indeed, over which daughter of the High Prince - the dark or the fair - would look most becoming when attired for the following hunt.

Would that I could bury my head under the pillow and remain on the couch until their noise had abated. But was it not to me to sort out the problem? Nay – it was to their mother!

There was a knock at the door of my room. Without waiting upon my permission, Makalauriel entered – the bejewelled train of her sapphire blue gown trailing behind her as she came to stand by my side.

“Atar – wouldst thou give heed to the song I prepare for this coming celebration? It has taken me much time of pondering, and I would have thy view on its suitability for my grandsire.”

‘Should thou not have sung it to thy mother’ thought I – but ever the indulgent father, I nodded assent.

So did I hearken to a voice most beautiful – like the trill of the nightingale close in my ear, and of the joy to be had in babes!

Ai!!!

Would that my wife and I had not seven of our own! Would that Nerdanel restrained her passions but a little, and redirected them to her crafting in stone!

“Thy voice is beautiful, daughter mine – but for the benefit of King Finwë mayhap thy song should be one of content other than babes?

She looked disappointed. “Maitimë said just the same! She said I should have composed a livelier song that could be danced to. Much hope has she of dancing all day at the king’s house, for she says all of the lords find her to be most well formed in appearance that she will never lack of a partner.”

Enough!!!

Enough of matters trivial, thought I! Rising from the couch I hurriedly made way along the corridor to the study, out to the upper terrace and my workroom.

Curufinwen was already there – green sleeves rolled up, and raven dark hair drawn back in a single braid. She turned as I entered, but looked perplexed.

“Atar – this glass is faulty – I cannot see myself in it with the clarity I desire.”

“Later, daughter!” said I. “I will attend to thy mirror later!”

Then the twins were at the door behind me – as if to hem me in.

“Atar – tell Ambarussa that I am to ride the new golden pony first!”

“Nay, Ambarussa – I am to ride first! Mother said so!”

I ran from that place to find sanctuary from the nissi in my life – ran across the terrace to the stables, thinking to take horse – to ride awhile outside of Tirion, to ride anywhere I could find a place where I could have peace and clarity of thought.

But then was my wife calling to me!

“Fëanáro!”

I always paid her heed – when I was of a mind to. Nay, I always heard my wife.

Fëanáro – awaken!”

I could only wonder at what she wanted of me that she thought me not already awake.

“Fëanáro – ‘tis some form of nightmare thou art having, beloved! Awaken, I beseech thee”

And I awoke - with very much relief.

There was much noise in the house! Tyelkormo and Carnistir were arguing over who should sit nearest my father at the forthcoming celebrations to tell him of their latest exploits. Glad was I to hear their shouting – most glad to hear their deep tone of voice!

- - - - -
Fëanorieli – Daughters of Fëanor.
Nissi – She-Elves