Chapter Six: Indis

Three years passed before I saw Nerdanel again, and the year before I left Tirion for the house of Mahtan seemed the longest of my young life. Even in late autumn, the time seemed to stutter and tarry, as if reluctant to ever truly ebb. I grew more restive and impatient than usual, and withdrew within myself until I seemed to be naught but a pale ghost in even my eyes. I did not even seek out my father for the talks we were wont to enjoy. But when we did meet, passing each other in the wide halls of his house, his dark eyes told me in the tongue of silence that he held true to his promise. I was still the eldest, still the most beloved.

In the meantime, Ingoldo grew and matured swiftly. He was the delight and pride of the entire house save me. Even at four years old, he darted about the house and dooryard on swift feet that had seldom been still since he had learned to walk. His golden hair was his crowning feature at this young age; later, it would be his statuesque features and commanding eyes, but for now it was his soft, shining hair, bright and rich as the light of Laurelin. This attribute simply added to the aura of mirth and childish bliss which so endeared him to his parents and attendants and all who met him. But when he caught sight of me, as I was slinking off to skulk in the dooryard or in my chamber, he stood silent and somber, regarding me with a confused, musing sobriety that many children his age went without.

It was clear Ingoldo was frightened or, at the least, awed by me. I was the one person who never smiled to see him enter a room, never laughed and clapped when he proudly displayed a new toy or trinket. Sometimes, he would summon up enough brazen mettle to try to clamber up upon my lap, like he so often did with Finwë. I would bear him there until none remained to see, and then gently push him off. He would catch himself and look up at me with those questioning eyes, but never shed a tear of disappointment or chagrin in my presence.

On my part, I avoided him, and ignored him when we were together. Finwë may have promised me the kingship of the Noldor, but Ingoldo was still a threat, a reminder of Indis' power over my family, and so I regarded her son with hate and mistrust, even in those young days. One day, in the waning months of autumn, I passed Indis in the hallways of my father's house.

I quickened my pace and dropped my eyes as she neared and passed, but from behind me, I heard her call, "Finwion."

I turned to face her, watching her with insolent dubiousness. Indis met my eyes uncertainly, almost fearfully, and she wrung her hands, so pale against the vivid jewel blue of her frock.

"Can I speak with you? For but a moment?" She asked, voice steady, though her moving hands and almost hunched postured belied the confidence she feigned. I nodded wordlessly, suspiciously, and waited for her to speak again.

"Nine years have we dwelt here together, beneath the same roof," Indis began. As she spoke, she seemed to gain courage and stature, drawing herself up nobly once more. Her hair shone in the light streaming from a nearby window. "And in those nine years, neither of us has bent to the other. I see that you shall never willingly do so, but perhaps in the least we can accept each other for who and what we are." She faltered, seeing the contempt in my eyes. "Has your father not mentioned to you that he desires this peace as well?"

"Then he desires in vain," I said coldly, "Things shall be as they have ever been. Because of you, things are not as they shouldbe."

Indis flinched, but bit back whatever retort she secretly wanted to say. "Finwion, be at ease. Why must I be such a grief to you?"

"Why?" I laughed. My voice sounded harsher than even I had planned. "Because Míriel is gone."

"I had nothing to do with that," she replied evenly, eyes flaring with a soft light of indignation.

"Lord Ingwë told me of you. He said you loved my father even when he was wed to another. He said you waited for her to die!"

Indis blanched, but replied, "You twist my brother's words. I loved your father. That is all."

"Míriel loved him too!" I answered, hardly hearing my own voice and realizing it had risen to a shout. Indis' face fell, angry but reluctant to fight back in kind, and she looked as if I had broken something precious of hers.

Probably her pride, I thought with a rueful hope. Now, I know I should have stopped then and turned to go. I should have ended it with that harsh note. But I had lit the fire of my own destruction and could only watch as it kindled into a blaze.

"I wish you were dead," I hissed venomously. I hardly understood the words I spoke; I knew only that they were lethal beyond any other thing yet devised in this immortal land. Death was a curse that no Elda ever wished upon another.

Indis' hand flew to her throat in shock and hurt surprise.

"How dare you!" she spat furiously, but her voice trembled. Her dignified honor and bearing were shaken. My words had dealt her a fearsome blow. I found myself smiling through my own shock, besotted with my victory. For a minute, I was happy. Then coldness sank upon me and pervaded my being, quenching my defiance but leaving my anger to scar my heart.

Suddenly afraid of my own daring, I turned and kept walking up the hall, the pounding of hot blood in my ears spurring me onward. Behind me, faintly heard and fully ignored as I slammed shut the door of my room, was the sound of Indis weeping. It was only after I was alone in the silence of my chamber that a sudden, cold thought knifed into my heart.

What was Finwë going to do when he heard?

Unable to imagine what my words to Indis would cost me, I made ready to leave for the Pelóri Mountains and Nerdanel that very day. I made myself busy with the saddling of my horse and the packing of food, letting the sheer commonplaceness of the tasks cool my anger and my fear. I would have left unnoticed and unlamented, if not for Findis, who came into the stables and saw me preparing to depart.

"What are you doing?" she asked abruptly, voice admonishing.

I wheeled about in surprise, startling my horse. Findis looked up at me with her deep blue eyes, her expression reminding me both of Finwë and Indis all in one. I glared back at her. Ever since she had been old enough to see I cared nothing for her mother, Findis had regarded me with something between outright fear and confusion. It was also clear to her that, over the years as had learned to speak and look and sing and act like her moth, my affection for her, which had been founded by the ties of blood alone, was faded and stained with hate.

"Go away," I muttered impatiently, calming my snorting horse and turning back to my work. Findis was not Nerdanel. Findis knew nothing of my spirit, so what could she do to soothe that which she could not comprehend?

"Father wants to see you," Findis recited in protest, proud to be bearing a message but sullen that the important message had to be brought to me.

"At once," she added when I continued to ignore her.

"Well, I cannot see him today," I said in a light, falsely reckless tone, "Tell him I love him and to expect me in a year or so. Perhaps more."

Findis' mouth dropped open in shock. When I truly turned my attention on my younger half-sister and let my mind delve into hers, I saw she was also somewhat envious of my seemingly flippant rebellion. Noldor, particularly Noldor of his bloodline, were supposed to obey my father without a second thought. I felt some faint pride to have stunned her so, but I kept it hidden. I had learned that, if the minds of others were so plain for me to read, I should do all that was in my power to hide the workings of my own.

"Are you leaving?" She asked breathlessly at last, blinking as if awakening from a dream.

I nodded briskly, mounted up upon my horse and, after sidestepping where Findis stood, spurred my steed to a gallop that sped me swiftly away from the house that stood upon the summit of Túna.

The sensation of riding free beneath the stars and the soft veil of the sky still proved to be as potent an elixir for my weary heart as it had been years ago. I traveled through both night and day with eager indifference, until my doughty horse and I were equally exhausted and spent. Sometimes I rode for so long that I would slumber in the saddle, only to be shaken awake again by the rhythmic gait of the animal beneath me. Always was there a familiar aura of peace and lonely bliss that covered me, keeping me safe from my trailing memories.

Once on my journey, when I made a rare stop to spend the night in a sleepy copse of trees, I even dreamed that I was a child again, cradled in Míriel's arms. I forgot myself in childish simplicity, nearly overwhelmed by an all-enveloping sense of safety as she hummed a sad, haunting tune and held me close. When even that song faded, I could hear her whisper my name to me, over and over, until it became meaningless, merely a pretty sound to soothe a boy on a dark night.

When I awoke, I lay still for a long time, heart drowsy with unreal happiness, gazing up at the many stars and the slow, spellbound movements of the leaves.

Since I rode not to the Bay of Eldamar itself but instead only to the feet of the Pelóri, I had less of a distance to travel, thus arriving in the foothills of the great mountains as the days darkened. Even in winter, the grasses and trees that grew upon the slopes of the Pelóri were as green as they had been when they had first taken root, their lush and verdant color rising up from amid the snow. As I rode higher into the lofty peaks, I could see the white-capped, magnificent peak of Taniquetil, rising imperiously from the hills, its summit brushing the feet of the arrogant stars.

On the third day of my travels through the mountains, I found a small, shaded path through the trees. I knew almost at once that this trail, bare of snow and warmed with Laurelin's light, was the path to the house of Mahtan. I dismounted as if in reverence and led my horse along the meandering footpath, sometimes having to duck beneath the low-hanging boughs of the trees that seemed to bend over to watch our slow, leisurely progress. As I walked, the forest grew more tightly knit, the trees taller and bedecked in leaves, the trail threading a circuitous corridor among their thick trunks and the lush undergrowth. The land was soundless and still, its silence cold with the frost of a windless winter's day. I dared not break the hush that seemed to pervade everything; even my horse brought the sound of his hooves to near silence as he stepped delicately over leaf and stone and bare, beaten earth. Above our heads, the trees stabbed like jagged blades of green into the icy blue sky, where clouds billowed like the sails of godly ships.

I reached Mahtan's dwelling when the last vestiges of Laurelin's light faded and the argent gleam of Telperion waxed, gracing the starved faces of every upturned stone and tree like a blessing. Even before I came within sight of the house, I could see the humble yet merry firelight glowing forth from among the trees like candlelight through a lattice. When I at last saw the home, I was surprised by its sparse modesty. Unlike the soaring, fair towers of Tirion, the demure house hugged the ground. Even its thatched roof hunched low over the brow of the stone walls. With its simple build and nearly drab coloration, the abode seemed almost misplaced in the grandeur of Eldamar. Now I understood why Nerdanel looked on Tirion with such wonder. To be raised here, nestled safely in the heart of this ancient, lonely wood. . . It was unimaginable for me, for anyone who had been reared amid glorious avenues and heavenly plains.

My boots crunching in the fine, powdery snow, I approached the door of the house. My hand was poised to knock when the door opened abruptly, nearly blinding me with the suddenness of the firelight spilling out upon the silver wilderness.

"What traveler comes to our house in this cheerless winter?"

It was Mahtan's voice, warm but cautious. I raised my eyes and bowed humbly to the older man. A surprised smile spread across his forge-weathered face when he recognized me.

"Prince Finwion! Nerdanel told us to expect you. Come in, come in; you are more than a welcome guest here." He stepped aside to let me enter, then took the reins of my horse with another sincere smile. "I will find your mount an empty stall and a meal," he offered.

I nodded and murmured my thanks, then looked about the small room that waited for me within.

In one corner, the fire I had seen from afar burned gaily, its light dancing upon the bare stone of the hearth. The dwelling was sparsely furnished, and what little decoration there was seemed to consist of finely-wrought metalwork. My eye was caught upon the ornate working of the diverse metals, and I heard small whispers of approval and longing in the back of my mind as I examined their writhing arabesques and exquisite details.

Behind me, I heard the gentle sound of light feet on fire-warmed stone, and turned eagerly to face it, knowing who it was even before I saw Nerdanel's face, alight with happiness. Her coppery hair gleamed like burnished bronze in the firelight, and I ached to touch it.

"You came early," she said, smiling breathlessly. Even as I returned her smile, I remembered exactly why I had left home so early, and renewed suffering ached in my veins. But I hid my anguish and tried to think of something to say. As if she read my mind, she silently shook her head. She had no need for my words.

"Come, meet my mother," Nerdanel urged after a moment of this silence, taking my hand. She led me into a corner of the room where a woman sat in a simple wooden chair, bent over her embroidery. A cup, half-full of warm negus, lay forgotten on the windowsill, its firelit contours sharply contrasting with the dark snowy woods beyond. The woman lifted her head at our coming, and I saw plainly where Nerdanel had inherited her rust-colored hair.

"Who do you bring with you, Nerdanel?" Her keen, luminous eyes slid briefly to our clasped hands, but when she returned her gaze to our faces, she bore no scowl of unhappiness. More was her expression one of somber wisdom, a knowing look I had long since grown accustomed to seeing on the faces of Mahtan and Finwë. But this strange, almost saddened look faded instantly into an amiable smile of welcome that banished nearly all memory of its predecessor.

"Mother, this is Finwion, son of the King Finwë, who dwells in Tirion," Nerdanel told the woman, looking between the two of us with eagerness.

Nerdanel's mother recognized the name of my father, and bowed her head deeply.

"We are honored by your presence, Prince Finwion," she said in a low, motherly voice that reminded me of old, dark wood, "I am Falassë, wife of Mahtan."

I bowed as well, and Falassë seemed mildly surprised by the reverence, as if she had not expected me to do such a thing. "I thank you for welcoming me, Lady Falassë."

Falassë smiled again, and looked up at her daughter. "Nerdanel, bring our guest a chair; I will not be so uncouth a hostess as to refuse the Prince of the Noldor a seat. Sit for as long as you will by the fire, Prince Finwion. We will be glad of your talk and company."

As I took the seat Nerdanel had offered, I realized that it was here, in the house of Mahtan, that I felt at peace for the first time in a very long while.

Author's Note

Those of you familiar with the original drafts of this story (Anglachel) will notice that I've changed a few names of original characters. Even in this chapter alone, I've swapped the name of Nerdanel's mother for another. Sorry if you're confused; I'm just making the best of this 'second go-round' by using it to create names that are more true to the characters' personalities and backgrounds.

Anyway, I would like to offer my sincerest apologies to those of you who have been waiting since the beginning for this update; as my profile page mentions, I've been inordinately busy these last few months and the fault is entirely mine that I couldn't get this up sooner. The next posting will probably not be for a while as well. Please hang in there! Your encouragement and comments are what keep me (and, as a result, Fëanor) going. :-)

Best,

Blodeuedd