Chapter Ten: Return
The nearer I came to Tirion, the more my worries began to return. I remembered Findis' summons from my father for me to come speak with him, and my whole being returned to the clenched knot of fear that it had been the day I had left for Nerdanel's house in the woods. By the time I came within sight of the silver towers that rose above the plains and the Calacirya, my hands were trembling upon the reins, try as I might to stop them.
Through my growing anxiety, I could see why Nerdanel had looked on Tirion with such wonder. Compared to her humble dwelling, the city was a sprawling mass of elegance and enduring beauty, almost extravagant in its splendor. There were no simple wood huts to be found here--all was flawlessly white, glowing blindingly in the sun. Memories of rude but lovingly crafted structures contrasted with cold stone and neatly organized buildings. The family I had left behind in the Pelóri was overlaid by thoughts of the family from which I hid.
It took me some time to acknowledge this bright place as home, but at last I did so, and rode onward.
There were no guards on the walls of the city, for we had little to fear in the Undying Lands. The gates always stood open, welcoming any and all visitors who came. I slowed my horse to a trot, raising a hand to my eyes as the dazzling whiteness of Tirion swept over me. As my sight adjusted, I continued on, increasingly fearful of what harsh reprimands would await me here.
When I reached my father's house at the foot of Mindon Eldaliéva, the Tower of Ingwë, I dismounted and whispered a command to my horse to go to the stable, where a groom would tend to him, then walked to the gate of the dooryard that led to the house. There I stopped, and stood still, watching the home that had once belonged to my father and me alone, the home which had belonged to my father and Míriel before that.
Ingoldo was darting about the front yard, shouting and laughing as he flitted about like a wayward beam of light from Laurelin, falling to the earth in his haste, only to rise up again and run once more. He caught side of a bird in one of the sapling trees that Indis had planted last summer and pointed excitedly at it.
"Findis! Look! Look! Bird!" He cried with delight, running to the foot of the young tree to gaze up at the twittering animal with wonder. The bird looked down at him curiously, cocking its head at an angle. This comical pose set the little boy to laughing, and the bird took flight at the sudden sound, soaring away until it was a black dot among Tirion's towers.
Findis stood watching Ingoldo's happiness from the doorframe, hair loose and dark about her shoulders. Her blue eyes were gentle and tender in her pale, lovely face as she looked upon her younger brother. Both she and Ingoldo were still as youthful as the day I had left.
Suddenly, Findis' brow furrowed, as if she realized she was being watched, and she looked up and saw me. For a moment, while she still did not recognize me, her eyes were bright and hopeful, reflecting the light of Laurelin, but when she at last recognized me, they were clouded with something I could not recognize at once, but soon found a name for. Pity. It left a bitter taste in my mouth, and I steeled myself, as if the girl advancing across the yard was the vilest foe on the earth, as if to prove I was strong and not to be pitied.
"Finwion?" She asked, though she had known it was I since her eyes had fallen on my face. Findis' voice was respectful, but not affectionate, like that of a lady welcoming an uninvited stranger into her home, but I did not care. Ingoldo looked up from his sport and hastened to her side, clinging to the silken skirts of his sister's plain blue gown and looking up at me with wide, intelligent eyes that matched the fabric's sapphire hue.
"Yes, I return," I remarked emotionlessly, not wanting to exchange idle words.
"Our father still wishes to speak to you, brother." The title was polite, and true--I was, after all, her half-brother, but I flinched from it anyhow.
"Then bid him to come here, so that we may speak," I directed, voice calmer as I bit back a harsh rebuke. Findis either did not notice the arrogance of the words or shrugged it off, for she did as she was told and silently left into the house. Ingoldo was left to look up at me, half with admiration, half with apprehension.
"Who are you?" He asked shyly, digging one bare foot in the loose earth.
"A son of Finwë," I replied, not looking at him, looking at the sky into which the bird had disappeared.
"Are we brothers?"
"No." My answer was quick and vehement. Ingoldo mulled over this sharp reply and digged his short toes deeper into the ground.
"Why did you go away?"
"Ingoldo, little one, come away from our visitor. You trouble him."
I looked up just as quickly as Ingoldo, but the speaker was Indis, not Finwë. She seemed to glide soundlessly across the courtyard, face fair yet emotionless, until she came to a halt at Ingoldo's side, and silently took her son's hand in her own pale one.
"Where is Findis?" She asked Ingoldo, face still placid and calm.
"She went for Father. He--" Ingoldo pointed at me cautiously, "--wants to talk to him."
"I see," Indis said, raising her eyes to my own. I stiffened and returned her steady, dispassionate gaze as best I could. Ingoldo watched us quietly.
"I trust you enjoyed your journey?" Indis asked at last, seeking to make polite conversation.
I nodded, not wanting to speak to her lest my sharp tongue get the better of me again, and have my shame increased twofold.
Findis appeared again in the doorway, and beckoned for me to follow her as she disappeared again into the shadow of the house. I opened the gate, awkwardly sidestepping Indis and Ingoldo, and walked into the yawning entryway, looming before me like hungry jaws.
As my eyes grew accustomed to the candlelight and shafts of golden light from Laurelin that comprised all the light in the house, Findis became distinguished from the darkness, watching me with a strange wariness.
"Follow me," she instructed, then began walking hastily ahead of me down the corridor.
I spoke no word, but followed her, and we walked in silence. The house, with so many of its dwellers outside, seemed empty, and it would have also seemed cold if I had not remembered it so well from childhood. We passed through both candlelit corridors and colonnaded halls, the quiet sound of our feet the only disturbance of the house's dangerous hush. But as long as the walk took, we arrived all too soon at the door of my father's councilroom.
When we arrived, Findis opened the door for me, face mildly curious even though it was clear that she did not want to interfere with the business between my father and myself. Not wanting to show my childish dread before the daughter of Indis, I held my head high and walked into the room with a stride that belied the quaking unease that shook me within.
It had been a long time since my father had asked to speak to me for disciplinary reasons. Childhood memories of being gently chided for taking one too many slices of bread at dinner or teasing the son of a nobleman to tears arose readily to my head. Because of the chastisements' infrequency, I had almost forgotten the tension that took me now, as it always had when I awaited my punishment. Though the thought often lay stagnant in my mind, my father was King of the Noldor in Aman, and, when he wished it, he was wreathed with an aura of command and nobility that few could disregard.
Now, he sat alone in his councilroom, the banner of our house hanging behind him on the wall, surrounded by empty chairs, which were so often filled with envoys from the Elves, Maiar, or the Valar themselves. His dark eyes were somber and reflective, his face pale and noble, and he sat in his simple wood chair, though it was no different from the others in the room, as if it were the greatest of thrones. I dared not delve into the thoughts of Finwë now. While I alone of all my kin had the ability to see the minds and intents of others, there were times when apprehension and fearful reason clouded my skills and I left them unused.
I stood before my father, waiting for the command to sit. After regarding me silently with eyes that betrayed no emotion, he gestured to one of the chairs, and I settled myself in it, though I was unable to relax.
"Finwion," Finwë began, making even the name he had said so many times in laughter and love sound cold and empty of feeling, "Before you left, over a sixmonth ago, my wife Indis came to me and told me of words you exchanged passing in a hall. She said that you wished her death. Is this true?"
Dumbly, I nodded. I worried that if I spoke, my voice would tremble and disclose my weakness.
"I have been alive since the birth of the Eldar, and never have I heard in person or in record of an Elda wishing another to death," Finwë said, almost emotionlessly, though there was a tone of sad disappointment in his voice that I could not overlook. "Such things are considered the most heinous of epithets. If I loved you any less, Finwion, I would discipline you, to a point of severity even I fear, for even thinking of saying those words. And to say them to one dear to my heart adds to the matter. You are the heir to the kingship of the Noldorin people in Eldamar, and, if I could only make myself do so, I would keep you from attaining the throne as punishment."
His eyes were grim as he said this, and I felt myself visibly cringe with terror and shame, wishing only for his pacification.
Finwë saw my emotion and sighed quietly. "But all I can ask of you is to swear that, on whatever oath you deem fitting to keep you from ever acting so again, you shall never wish another person death again, and that you will not, despite all jealousy and hate you may bear them, say such things to your own kin."
They are not my kin, my mind protested even in this dire moment, wanting desperately for my father to understand the turmoil that went on in my head.
But I knew I could not trouble him with my paltry resentments. He was my father, and I would sooner contradict the Valar themselves if it meant I would not have to gainsay Finwë. All I said aloud was, "I do so swear, my King."
I almost bit off my tongue and swallowed it in shock when I heard the title my King slip out of my mouth. But such was the respect my father wittingly or unwittingly commanded.
"Then it is done. And now, my son--" I was comforted to hear the emotion slip back into my father's voice when he said this, "--I thank you for putting aside such slight things to promise me this. I fear I love you the more for it." He smiled gently, and I relaxed even more, glad to be freed from his detached coldness, slackening my taut dread enough to return the smile. The silence warmed between us, easing my heart.
"Where did you go for so long?" Finwë asked at last.
"Near the Bay of Eldamar, but nearer so to the Pelóri Mountains," I replied truthfully.
"The Sea has my son," he said thoughtfully, rising from his chair with amusement in his voice.
Not quite, I thought with wry delight as I rose to follow him, smiling at my secret.
As we walked through the corridors of the house, alone for once, I decided now I could tell him of the thought that had been nagging at me since I had been able to think of anything other than the conversation with Finwë.
"Father?"
"Yes, Finwion?"
"While I was--in the mountains, Aulë spoke to me."
"Truly? What of?" Finwë was genuinely interested, I could tell.
"He wants to take me as an apprentice, Father. In smithcraft."
My father halted, and turned to face me, face slack with shock. I would have smiled if not for the somberness of the surprise.
"But what I do not understand," I pressed on, "Is what I must ask you. Why did Aulë choose me? I am--" Falsehearted. Dishonest. Resentful. A thousand words sprang to my lips, but I said none of them; they were my troubles, not my father's, and I would not make them his for as long as I lived. Or so I would think, for some time.
"I see in you many things, my son, all of them good," Finwë said at last, voice thoughtful, "And to me it is only a small wonder that you have been chosen. However, I cannot say that blacksmithing is in your blood, for it is not. Nor was I aware that Aulë would ever look to my son to take as an apprentice, though now it brings both you and me great honor. I suppose the Valar see even deeper within us than we ourselves do, and they see things we do not.
"When I was among the first of my people in Cuiviénen, I never even dreamed of being a king. But when I came to them, they found something in me I myself had not found, and they saw it fit for me to be the King of the Noldor. I was afraid at first, but now being king is merely my way of life, not a burden or a source of fright. The Valar sought for my skill and found it, when even I knew nothing of it. So may it be with Aulë and you."
Reassured--but not entirely--by my father's faith in me, I replied, "But Aulë said he will not return to me for some time. Not for many years."
"It is still a gift, Finwion, a gift beyond the ken of many of our people. The thought of Aulë speaking to you alone brings me pride. You bring honor to our family. When he speaks to you again, my son, you need only ask, and I will see you provided with all you need for your apprenticeship. I promise it."
The house of Finwë and Indis became home once more.