Chapter Fourteen: Faniel

Mahtan, Falassë, and Nerdanel all remained in my father's house for the years before the wedding; it was large enough to fit us all comfortably for years to come.

We were happy enough, and when I grew weary or guilty in Indis' presence, I could always go to the quarter of the house where Nerdanel and her parents stayed. There I would feel safe and content once again.

The years passed with surprising speed, punctuated only by the birth of Finwë and Indis' third child, a daughter named Faniel. Faniel was a quiet infant, fair-haired and blue-eyed like her mother, and neither laughed nor cried overmuch, placid to the point that it caused her parents great concern.

I was far too busy to care about my new half-sister. I was thirty-two years of age when she was born, and two years before her birth Finwë had begun to ready me for the kingship of the Noldor. Despite our shared blood, my father was a demanding tutor who was determined to see the success of my reign surpass his own, and, while he was undeniably patient and just, he spared neither my feelings nor my pride in the preparation. His lengthy and boundlessly didactic lessons in diplomacy and protocol would have been enough to occupy the entirety of my time and attention--even if it had not been for the wedding.

The wedding. . . The atmosphere in the house was almost stifling, for everywhere you looked, somewhere there would be some sign of the momentous event.

Falassë and Indis had taken it upon themselves to be the ones to personally receive and examine bits of fine cloth from every feasible nook and cranny of Eldamar, trying to decide which would be used to make Nerdanel's gown. On most days, all we saw of the two women's presence were the bolts of shimmering fabrics, varying in delectable hue from timid lavender to hungry crimson, being ushered to and from Indis' sewing room. All we heard of the two was the frantic, hurried duet of their endless debating.

Mahtan was often away from the house in the local forges of Tirion, making the gifts that Falassë and Finwë were to give to Nerdanel and me. I tried on numerous occasions to wheedle a glimpse of the secret gifts out of the man, but he refused my pleas with only a jovial laugh or a smile.

Messengers visited Finwë night and day from the Gardens of Lorien and the halls of Taniquetil alike, all of their talk concerning the wedding. Oftentimes, Nerdanel sat with him to receive the guests, her face solemn and almost grave as she listened to their conversations. Only her dancing, beautiful eyes revealed her silent happiness.

As for me, the whole affair was enough to drive me mad. I did what little I could, but always felt worthless once we all gathered into the dining hall and reviewed the day's work. By the end, I was barely clinging on by my fingertips. How could something so exquisite, so innocuous, as matrimony be so mind-crushingly difficult?

The only ones who were not affected by the marriage in the house beside Faniel, who was too young, were Findis and Ingoldo. While they knew of my betrothal, they seemed to think little of it, though the face of Findis, now fifteen, often grew somber when she saw that neither her mother nor her father had time to make for her. But she remained uncomplaining, as she always was, and helped when asked.

Ingoldo remained blithely innocent as ever, for his eleven years of age was still accounted young in the reckoning of the Eldar. He had not yet matured to the appearance he would keep for the rest of his immortal life. However, there were portentous times when his bearing and visage grew noble and fair to behold; those times were when the shining light of his potential gleamed through the dull thickness of childish simplicity as the light of the Trees shone through even the cloudiest of days.

Despite the disinterest of the children and hasty preparations of the adults, the night before the wedding stole in upon us. I was filled with unrest and worry, unable to find sleep.

It seemed as if there were a thousand things that needed doing, a thousand minor details I knew we had attended to, though it seemed to me as if they had all been undone, and now needed to be reworked. Cursing my sleepless mind, I paced the floors of my bedchamber, stopping intermittently to look out the window to the starry skies of summer that wheeled above. After many hours, I felt that not even my chamber could contain me, and wandered out into the hallways, careful not to make much noise.

I came to a colonnaded walkway, my favorite of all the ones in the house, which looked out over the plains of the Calacirya. Seating myself between two pillars, and letting my legs dangle out over the walls, I gazed down upon the gardens below, praying that I would be soothed by the sounds of the night and the cool air.

"So you wander too," remarked my father's voice from behind me. I glanced behind me and saw Finwë, his handsome face pale in the light of Telperion.

"I am restless," I murmured in reply, and that was really all I needed to say. My father had known me long and well; words were the simplest method we used to convey our thoughts.

"Finwion, Finwion. Not even fifty years old and about to be married," my father said in a sighing voice, "But you are brave. I did not get a moment of rest the night before I was to be wed to Míriel, and I was far older than you then. For one so young, you are resilient."

"I do not feel it," I commented wryly. Finwë smiled at my dry fear, and approached me to lay a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

"Rest easy, my son. Nerdanel is kind and wise, and loves you well. You were not wrong in choosing her, nor she you."

"It is not Nerdanel I worry about."

"The ceremony, then? It is harder to ruin the marriage ceremony than you think, I say you that."

I took a deep breath, trying to grasp some of Finwë's calm in my own slippery hands. My father watched me calmly, quietly; I could feel his gaze upon me even as I turned my head away.

"Do you think I am ready?" I asked, waiting upon his word.

"Yes. If I had to say it a thousand times to make you believe, I would. The Valar have graced you with wisdom that few others possess, and that wisdom has readied you in both body and mind. You grow swifter than most children of the Elves, as if some secret fire feeds you. But that fire shall not consume you. Not for some time yet." His eyes, strangely liquid, fled my gaze and roved the silver-lit plains.

"Fëanáro," I muttered, tasting the bitter sharpness of the word knifing across my tongue. There was a pain to the name, but it was all I had left of my mother's love, aside from a faceless love of embroidery and faint voice, quiet as a shade's, that tugged at the sleeves of memory.

"Fëanáro," my father echoed in agreement, nodding.

"If she were here--" I began, feeling sour tears rise in my throat.

"If she were--?"

"Would she love me?"

"She would love you and be proud."

"Promise?" The word left my mouth like a feeble child's hand, grasping in an impenetrable dark for something, anything. But it was all I could say.

"I promise."

My father's footsteps faded in the night, and I was left alone, but somehow, something--something made even the darkness seem light.

Author's Note:

I can't believe I called named this chapter after Faniel. She really isn't prominently featured here at all. It's a bit of a misnomer, really. Moving on. . .

All of my darling readers are cordially invited to Nerdanel's online bridal shower. If you wish, you may leave her a gift in your reviews, and I will be sure to pass them on to her (except for sexy lingerie; I'm going to have to selfishly keep those for myself!).

I, for one, am giving my gorgeous Elven girl a blender. Because blenders are quite useful and I've seen too many houses lacking one.

Thanks (as usual) to Mizamour, Ellfine, and RavenLady for their thoughtful reviews. :) I feel like I can always count on your reviews to brighten my day and let me know someone of importance is reading this. Any stories of your own that you want me to review? Please, let me know.

As for Archaic Scribe, I know it will probably take you a while to struggle to this point in my bizarre attempt at an epic, but please accept my thanks for your pleasantly extensive and observant review of Chapter 1. You rock!

And finally, to answer Unsung Heroine's question (one which all of you may have had in your heads at some point or another): yes, I am planning to fully chronicle the life of Fëanor. I promised a complete biography in my blurb, and that is what the unsuspecting FanFiction community is going to get. It's going to take a while (a recent outline says Fire will be upward of fifty chapters and around 160 pages or so), but I hope you all are tenacious enough to hang in there. A lot of it is already written (I began developing this idea in 2003, and have been working on it ever since), so it's just a matter of editing and posting. (Ha. . .'a matter of editing and posting.' Famous last words.) At any rate, it's good to know I have support for the moment.

Chapter 15 arrives next weekend! sigh Another typical June marriage. Except conducted in Quenya. :)

Love,

Blodeuedd