Chapter Four: The Smith and His Daughter
In the time between Nerdanel's arrival and my return from the Sea, I had to accustom myself to the constant presence of Indis in my father's house. Míriel's old loom and her baskets of colorful fabrics and yarns were pushed even further into the shadows to make way for Indis' finely-carved instruments and tapestries, recently brought from Taniquetil. The untended garden that my mother had once worked in, coaxing hardy blossoms from the earth with her skilled hands, was cleared of the fallow herbs and unruly flowers. The naked, bare earth was then sown anew with the seeds of strange, alien flora that Indis had deemed pleasing.
But Finwë seemed to notice little of how his house was changing about him. Even after Indis had established her serene, golden presence in the house, my father had still lavished much of his attention upon me in the years since my return. However, this year Indis was again with child, and surely as the tides rise and recede upon the shores of the Bay of Eldamar, Finwë's concentration slowly turned to caring for his pregnant wife. I had no desire to tarry idly about the house only to be pricked by spite and resentfulness, so I left the house often to wander about the city. Even Findis faithlessly ignored me and followed her mother everywhere, prattling on about what her new brother or sister would be named and how she would be sure to be a good elder sister.
Unlike my half-sister, I felt a deep sense of foreboding every time I laid eyes on Indis. It was a steely feeling of dread that seemed to not come from her, but within her, and I was constantly wary of this growing, faceless threat. Where once I spoke little to her, I spoke even less, and drew further within myself to escape the turbulent currents of actuality.
I had no time to plan a return to the Belegaer or elsewhere beyond Tirion, so instead I would aimlessly travel through the city. Sometimes I would walk along its white walls, or climb its winding stairs up to the highest towers, to have the wind tug at my hair and the bright luster of the Trees upon my face.
On the rare times I would actually walk in the white-stoned streets and avenues of the city itself, I would listen carefully to the talk of the inhabitants, gleaning what tidings I could from their conversation. So it was that I heard about Mahtan, the smith who had come to Tirion only a few weeks before, coming to Tirion from the eastern reaches of Eldamar. I also heard of his strange, delicate daughter who made statues and carvings of the Valar and the likeness of the Eldar as well, sculptures so lifelike that other Eldar would attempt to speak to them, and not know their mistake until told.
I recognized the name of Mahtan at once. And from what I was able to overhear of the daughter, I knew at once that she was Nerdanel whose talent was spoken of with such wonder and almost-fear. When I asked after their whereabouts, I was told that the two had set up camp just beyond the city walls, selling their wares to any who passed. I set off at once, eager to see Nerdanel again and meet her father.
Long before I saw the encampment, I heard the hammering. Though the ringing strokes of a hammer were the most common sound of a smith's forge, it became something lovelier than any song or tune in my imagination. The resonant strokes throbbed through my head and heart like the very heartbeat of the immortal earth, awakening some insatiable, hungry fire within me.
All thought of Nerdanel and Mahtan vanished, lost in the silence between each vigorous blow and the answering chime of hot metal. I knew I had to find the source of this hallowed sound. I followed the beautiful clangor like one in a dream, blindly fumbling as all senses beyond my hearing faded, all of me straining to hear the next stroke. Like the wingbeats of a frightened bird in the night, the timbre of hammer upon steel fanned the flame that had lit in my heart. My feet carried me nearer and nearer.
Suddenly, I broke free of the rapturous spell and looked around me. I was in a campsite, where three simple tents were raised. Two horses grazed calmly nearby, looking up to see my arrival with unblinking, liquid dark eyes. In the center of the encampment was a traveler's forge, and the heat that emanated from it hit me like a blow. But almost at once, I grew accustomed to it, as if I had lived in such overpowering warmth all my life. Hunched over the forge was a man, his back to me. I could not see his face.
Unable to stop myself, I took a trembling step forward and abruptly asked, "What is it, that music?"
The instant the words left me I felt a fool, but the man turned and looked at me, his face shining from the heat. He was dusky and dark-haired, well-muscled and rough-skinned from many years over a forge, but his eyes reminded me of Nerdanel's--dark, wise, and inescapably perceptive.
"Music?"
The man barked a laugh, hefting the worn hammer he held in one large, callused hand. "You hear naught but the hammering of a man at work upon an anvil, child. Who are you? And what one sent you here to see me?"
"I am Finwion son of Finwë," I muttered, still embarrassed by my brusque question.
"The son of the King," the man exclaimed in sudden awe, and bowed. The reverence was awkward, as if he was unaccustomed to such things, but it was nonetheless sincere. As he rose, he nodded. "Yes. Istarnië has spoken of you. I am Mahtan, her father." He paused, seeing the confusion upon my face. "Nerdanel is my daughter. Istarnië is her mother-name."
I nodded, feeling at ease around Mahtan. It was a rare thing for me to feel comfortable speaking to strangers. "Master Mahtan, what is it that you are doing?"
"Me? I am metalworking. Blacksmithing. Call it what you will." I was struck by curiosity, but before I could realize it, Nerdanel emerged from one of the tents and saw me.
"Finwion?"
I turned to her, and recognized her at once. Over only three years, Nerdanel had grown dramatically. She was taller, almost my height, and had grown into the oddly exquisite face that been so mature and strange for a young girl. For a moment, I was speechless. She smiled to see me, and I almost forgot to smile back.
Mahtan watched us with wise eyes that were seasoned with a knowledge yet unknown to Nerdanel or me, and turned back to his forge without a word as Nerdanel and I walked together out of the encampment and out onto the vast, grassy plains.
For hours, perhaps, we walked, blindly following the direction of our feet, and Nerdanel asked of my father and Indis with earnest, listening to my responses silently as she always did.
"The hour grows late," she observed after a long time, looking up at the stars.
"I should best go then," I agreed, turning to go. Then I stopped and turned back to her. "Should I come again tomorrow?"
"The day after," Nerdanel offered, a breeze stirring the folds of her simple dress and the curls of her coppery hair, "Tomorrow will be busy. My father and I are going into town to sell some of our wares, and--"
There was a rustling in the grass beside Nerdanel's bare feet, and, without warning, a plump rabbit hopped out before her. With a shriek of alarm, she jumped in startled surprise and clung to me. When she saw the dusky-furred animal regarding us with a confused expression, its downy nose twitching in bewilderment, she laughed and looked up at me. Our faces were bare inches apart, and the silence was acute as I became aware of her hands loosely grasping my shoulders. Her smile faded to something serious and beautiful, her eyes deep as the raw dark woods upon the faraway mountains.
Chewing my lip, I stepped away from the clumsy embrace first.
"The day after it shall be, then. Good night, Nerdanel."
If I had not been so dazed by these strange new feelings for Nerdanel that I found within myself, perhaps I would have listened more intently to the talk running through my house when I arrived home that night. Indis' child was to be born, very soon.
I awoke almost laughably early on the day I was to meet Nerdanel, and left the house for the edges of the city before I saw overmuch of my father or the others. My thoughts did not dwell on Indis or the unborn child, and I had little worry or heedfulness to spare.
When I came to Mahtan's camp, he was at his forge again, and he looked up only briefly to see me. He bent into a small bow before returning to his work. Nerdanel stood on the brink of the camp, eyes gazing far out upon the fields bathed in the holy light of the two Trees. Her limber form was utterly still, her lawless hair swept back into a riotous torrent of copper by the winds that flitted along the Calacirya. Though Nerdanel's face was turned from me, there was no surprise in her face as she turned to see me come. In the splendor of the Trees, I seemed to see her anew, and marveled at her untroubled white face with its gentle, bright eyes.
She extended her hand to me, and I instinctively took it in my own. She slowly walked out onto the plains, pace evened and unhurried, and I followed.
"Is your mother alive?" I asked as we walked, the blades of grass brushing at my soft-soled shoes and whispering against Nerdanel's bare, snowy-skinned feet. I realized the folly of the question at once--of course her mother was alive; Míriel was the first and only Elda to die here.
Nerdanel kept her eyes upon the horizon, and either took no notice of the ridiculousness of such a question or ignored it, for she replied slowly, "She awaits the return of her husband and daughter in the Pelóri Mountains, near the Sea."
"Is she talented in blacksmithing, like your father?"
"No. Her gift is for song, like most women of the Eldar. My father alone has taught me all I know of metalworking."
Nerdanel spoke truthfully when she said it was rare for a woman to work with the metals that were found in the veins of the earth. While women of the Eldalië were as skilled as and equal to the men in body and mind, they did not find pleasure in the same pastimes that we held dear. As I brooded over this thought, Nerdanel turned and looked back upon the brightness of Tirion behind us, her face bright with the blazing magnificence of the city.
"I have never seen such a place as Tirion," she murmured, eyes quietly devouring the pristine walls and the towers that rose palely radiant over the land and the green slopes of Túna. "I was raised in the mountains near the Bay of Eldamar, where the trees are the only towers to be seen. Often I wished to see such a splendid city, to break free of the trammels of the wood. To see the plains and wide skies."
"But Tirion is a cage," I objected, following her gaze to the city. My jaded eyes held none of Nerdanel's awe. "Perhaps for an idle time, it is a fine place to dwell, but the walls guard us from the life and opulence of the mountains and rivers and grasses beneath the stars. There, I would find my freedom."
Nerdanel laughed in admiration and tenderness, the sound sweeter than birdsong or any other thing I could think of, and again took my hand in hers as we gazed upon Tirion together. Astonished by the contact, I glanced down at our clasped hands, my mouth dry in puzzlement. Nerdanel looked up at me, her eyes shining with the many stars reflected in their passionate depths, a smile slowly spreading like a timid thing upon her face.
Unable to stop myself, I bent my head and kissed her, and for a moment, all was still as I held her close, and I forgot everything for her. The starlight, the glistening beauty of Tirion, the Trees, the shining plains, the world itself--they all faded and faltered and dimmed in my mind, and I shed all my suddenly mundane cares to encircle her in my arms and feel the whisper-soft brush of her mouth on mine and whisper her name over and over in her ear as if it would bind her to me forever.
When we parted, Nerdanel's arms loosened about me, and her smile grew bittersweet as she saw my sadness, the dark thoughts that still lurked behind my eyes.
"Can nothing, not good humor nor laughter nor love, save you from your troubles, Finwion?" She asked me in a voice so quiet I had to strain to hear, "Even I can do nothing to help. I knew that the moment I saw you standing on the shores of the Sea. You are haunted by sorrows that are as many as the stars, and you are sown with the seeds of troubles that will only grow in time. Will you not lose your grief, even for a day?" She bowed her head in our shared sorrow, and I lowered my forehead to meet hers, forcing her to meet my eyes and confront the unassailable answer.
It was strange. We were blissfully in love--I knew it--but somehow we were aggrieved by the most virulent of woes at the same time. It was terrible for me to accept that if I were only able to sever myself from my dismay, my spite, and my hate, Nerdanel and I would be free to live and love in peace, for as long as the earth remained. I wished not for the last time that I could let go of the anguish of the years that had passed since my mother's death.
"Nerdanel, my troubles are my own. Please, do not try to shoulder them," I begged. I could sooner bear the weight of the sky upon my back than the thought of causing her the pain I had known for so long. She was not born to live a life such as mine, so full of torment and unease.
But when I saw her expression of determination, I knew she would not let me brush her off so easily. Pity burned to life in her eyes, and she held me close again, murmuring low as she stroked my bent head, "Forget, please forget, dear Finwion. Do not let these harsh fears worry at you for ever. . ."
And for a brief time, I did.