Chapter Seventeen: Forging Gold
Three years after my Essecilmë, my father surprised Nerdanel and me with a belated but nonetheless welcome wedding gift: a house of our own, on the northern walls of Tirion, overlooking the Trees.
By the lofty standards of Noldorin architecture, the house was cramped and unpretentious. Its windows were simple, the white walls smooth and bare. The dooryard also was a simple affair: a lush and grassy space fenced by trees and blooming bushes of white flowers. Even the small stable was plain and unembellished. The entire residence seemed built for comfort rather than elegance, a house better suited to stand beside that of Mahtan than among the tall structures of Tirion.
It was because of this that Nerdanel and I felt accepted into the house almost at once. We were happy to have a place for Nelyafinwë to grow up, a place that was rightfully ours. Ever industrious, we proudly managed to maintain our household without the aid of servants, and took great pleasure in dividing up the chores. Finwë came to visit often, with a smile for his grandson and conversation of many things. I almost forgot I had half-sisters or a brother, until the day when Ingoldo accompanied his father--my father--on his visit to our home.
I barely knew the young man who stepped onto the threshold of my house. So young, but already showing the beginnings of a firm, stubborn chin, and a proud cast to his handsome, elegantly-boned face. His hair was as golden as a field of wheat, glinting with a nearly white sheen where it fell upon his well-made tunic. It was the hair that reminded me of who it must be, and my grip tightened unconsciously on the back of the chair that I had made ready for Finwë.
"Ingoldo," I muttered, almost as if it were a curse, in a voice that made Nerdanel send me a cautious glance. What reason did he have to come? To be a thorn in my side that drew both blood and unhappy memories?
Ingoldo smiled kindly, but it was as if he were smiling to politely humor someone who was half-mad. I felt my teeth grind as he replied, "Well, yes, I am Ingoldo, but my chosen name now is Nolofinwë."
I caught Finwë's eye as he walked to take the chair I gripped so strongly, but my father said nothing, eyes empty of explanation. Hurt confusion boiled up in me, and I forgot reason as a red cloak of wrath settled on my shoulders. I quickly smiled, though it felt like a grimace, and corrected myself. "Nolofinwë."
Nelyafinwë sat near the hearth, playing with some of the wooden toys I had carved for him. When he saw Finwë, he smiled with happy recognition and walked--rather painstakingly, for he was still young--to his grandfather's knee, holding a toy aloft. He had just had his Essecilmë, and while he had chosen Maitimo to be his name publicly, I was proud he had chosen the name I had given him as a title to be used within the family.
"This is my horse," he told Finwë solemnly, gaze vacillating between the carved animal and his grandfather's face, "He is not real, but someday I will have a horse just like him."
Finwë smiled down at his grandson, then up at me, wordless thanks in his eyes; I felt my wounds begin to close. I had given my father Nelyafinwë. Nolofinwë's son--if any, and I prayed otherwise--would have to wait behind mine. Nerdanel, nimbly observing the awkwardness of the moment, stood and offered Nolofinwë her chair.
"Here, my lord," she said, but Nolofinwë shook his head.
"I will not take a chair from a sister," he protested with a slight bow. My teeth ground together again; I ached from his polite perfection, his command of manners that were as golden as his hair. He was almost everything I was not, and I wanted both to be like him and unlike him all at once. I could barely understand the beginnings of the turmoil he roused in me. Damn him.
"How are things at home, Father?" I asked, diverting myself, taking a seat at the hearth. Nelyafinwë laughed as I held my arms out to him, and readily crawled into my lap, leaving his wood horse with Finwë, clearly trusting his grandfather with the precious plaything. Finwë looked down at the toy musingly, running a thoughtful finger along the blunt wooden lines.
"All is well," he replied, eyes still on the horse, "The Noldor are content and so am I. Or so I hear. Nolofinwë is more among the people than I am now though," he added. I resented the special smile he sent to his other son. "And he tells me all the tidings I need."
"The people tell me much," Nolofinwë added with infuriatingly impeccable timing, "And all of their words are praise. Praise for our family, praise for the Valar."
"What if it is only a pretense?" I asked suddenly, only wanting to prove Nolofinwë wrong, "What if they see your closeness to their King, and think it better to speak good rather than ill? Do you truly know what feelings they nurture in their hearts?"
There was a silence that would have been delightful, if not for the surprised expression on my father's face as he realized I had taken advantage of his introduction of Nolofinwë into the conversation.
Nolofinwë stopped short, confused and--I could barely suppress a smile--hurt by my sudden and gratuitous assault.
"Why would they have reason to lie to me, in this the most hallowed of realms, the lands that know no sorrow?" He asked innocently.
"Fear," I replied, "Fear of the Valar may guard their tongues. And if they fear those who are called their protectors, then what are the Valar? They are no guardians at all, if they are feared. Would they not be our keepers? Surely if they hold the keys to the walls that protect us, they hold the keys to our cage."
Nerdanel and Finwë were silent, both anxious but not wanting to intervene in this clash. Nelyafinwë, sensing the tension in the room, tugged at my sleeve urgently. I did not glance down at him at all; my mind was wholly bent upon my half-brother.
"You blaspheme," Nolofinwë said. Even though his voice suddenly angry, it did not rise above a dangerous whisper, a whisper that spoke a blatant warning I chose to ignore.
"Should I be afraid too?" I shot back, "If I am to be afraid, so should the rest of the Noldor, and that fear shall eat the truth until it is only the honeyed words you wish to hear."
Nolofinwë stood to his feet, tall and as golden as Laurelin. I was almost frightened at the reverence that he held for the Valar in his blinded eyes. "The Valar do not seek to keep us against our will!"
"You speak their words. Should I believe the views of such a coddled pet--"
"How dare you speak so before the King!"
"The King is my father!"
"He is my father as well!"
I laughed in Nolofinwë's face, laughed at the foolishness our argument had turned to, laughed at the incredulous, wounded expression on his face, and laughed at myself, feeling victory and self-loathing at once.
"Fëanáro!" Finwë hissed angrily, and I stopped short, laughter frozen in my throat, smile falling into a solemn, embarrassed mask. Hearing my name spoken in such a way by my father was as if he had struck me hard across the face--beyond enough to put an end to my anger and envy. A thousand words of apology rose to my lips. Before I could speak, my father stood.
"Come," he said offhandedly to Nolofinwë, nodding politely to Nerdanel, who was too shocked to return the motion. He was halfway to the door. "We are leaving."
I stood, placing Nelyafinwë on the ground, ready to follow after my father. The door shut, the sound severing me from any redemption.
"Father. . ." The word was almost a whimper, filled with regret, but soon the cold remorse heated into meaningless anger. Anger directed at Nolofinwë for spurring me into such hate. I could place no blame on my father.
It was Nolofinwë's fault; he had estranged me from my father, he deserved an ill turn in kind.
For many years, I chased that anger at my half-brother almost to extinction, until I almost felt ready to forgive, but the emotions waited behind a thin layer of reserve, until the slightest touch would break them free of their prison.
I could not sleep that night, and Nerdanel knew it. She rolled over in bed to face me, face pale in the silver light, her eyes merely taking in the sight of me for a moment.
"Why, Fëanáro?" she asked simply.
"I do not know what came over me," I murmured, staring at the white of the sheets, not wanting to face her sad, curious gaze, "I was so angry to see--to see him with my father--" The anger began gnawing at me again. "What right does he have to go with Finwë? What kind of--"
Nerdanel put a hand to my mouth, stilling my incensed words. "Do not think of that now. But Fëanáro, why did you risk your father's wrath to argue with your brother?"
I wanted to tell her, to tell myself, that Nolofinwë was not my brother, but I bit those words back and tried to answer her question precisely. "It was as if I saw him as my father's heir, as Nolofinwë stood at his side. I could not bear it. I wanted to hurt him so badly. . . Maybe not just with words."
Nerdanel's calm, attentive expression did not waver, but I saw the shudder in her eyes, and I knew I had gone too far again.
"No," I mumbled lamely, and moved to roll away from her, but she held me close.
"You are so different, my husband, and your difference from others endears you to me. I fear your wrath not at all. You can speak to me. Always." Her eyes searched my own; the words were too fervent to be ignored.
"Truly, Nerdanel?" I asked, disbelieving.
"Yes," she replied adamantly, and kissed me on the brow, "Now, go to sleep, and we shall talk more tomorrow."
I took more of Nerdanel's counsel the next day, and on her advice I rode again to my father's house at the foot of the Mindon. It was strange to do so, like I was returning after another of my long journeys, but I swallowed my unease and steeled myself for whatever would come.
Being a member of the royal house, I needed no permission to enter, but looked about for my father. I saw no one else, save for Indis in silent passing, until I found Finwë in the gardens, watching the flowers with the slow, leisurely gaze, regardless of time or movement, inherent to the Eldar.
"Father," I said, softly, trying to think of something to say. My father looked up at me, eyes dark as motionless pools.
"Yes, Fëanáro?" He asked, voice as quiet as his eyes.
"I am sorry that I spoke such rash and angry words before you and Nolofinwë yesterday," I murmured sincerely, though there remained a sore shard of my spirit that ached for vengeance upon my half-brother.
"Oh, my son, you may think it strange, but I forgive you readily. It is only as your mother named you. You are a spirit of fire all too truly, but I must understand your temperament before you will be able to forgive your brother."
I almost collapsed with relief. "Thank you."
"Someday, though--something tells me you may just go beyond my reach."
My respite ended abruptly; more perceptive words to tie me in the knots of fate.
"Well, you are free to go if you want," Finwë said at last, "I will not keep you from your family. Give Nelya my love."
"Yes, Father," I stammered, surprised by his sudden change in the conversation, and raised a hand in farewell, then left the garden.
I almost ran into Faniel, who stood silently in the hallway. She looked up at me with piercing blue eyes, and smiled in that strange calming way she had, taking one of my hands in hers, holding it palm up in her own. I was too surprised to pull away.
"Have hope," she said, speaking to me for the first time.
Faniel's words did not leave my head as I rode homeward, and slowly my confusion eased. Nerdanel met me in the doorway with a finger to her lips.
"I just barely managed to get Nelya to sleep," she told me in a whisper, moving away to stir at the meal cooking in a pot over the fire. "I had to tell him two stories before he would agree to a nap before we had dinner."
I smiled amusedly at the fond, loving voice she used, so motherly and still new. "Motherhood suits you, does it not?"
"Fatherhood suits you," she agreed, straightening from being bent over the hearth, and walked to me, putting her arms about me, standing on tiptoe to whisper in my ear and prompt, "Seven, though, remember? Seven children."
Her nearness made me tremble. I stifled a hasty laugh, but the prospect of having more children did not seem so impossible now that we were married. "I will not say no," I replied, putting my arms around her waist, "But we shall see."
Nerdanel got another part of her wish fulfilled, for she became evidently pregnant the next spring, and gave birth in the winter to a handsome, dark-haired baby boy. I named him also after Finwë--Kanafinwë, or Finwë of the Commanding Voice.
Nerdanel took longer to think of a name for her son. It was not until a few days after the birth, when the entire family was gathered together at the hearth after dinner, that she looked down on the sleeping child in her arms and said thoughtfully, "Makalaurë."
"Makalaurë?" I echoed in surprise. Nelyafinwë sleepily raised his head from where he had been sleeping on my knee and muttered, "Gold."
"Yes, Nelya," Nerdanel said, voice more certain, "Gold--Forging Gold. Makalaurë. That is what I shall name him."
"Why?" I asked, looking lovingly at the infant Nerdanel held in her arms, knowing that mother-names were the names that pervaded truth and fate, "Will he be a smith?"
"No," she replied, "A bard. His voice shall be as bright as gold, as clear as the light of Laurelin. You will see."
I thought it strange, and was a little apprehensive of Nerdanel's certainty, but Makalaurë would remain as the name of my second child, and he would be true to his mother's prediction.
Author's Note:
Sorry, the end of the month was a little hectic, so no long-winded author's note this time (because I know you all look forward to this part of the chapter with the greatest of anticipation, haha). I won't go over my week in sordid detail, but let's just say being in charge of fourteen rowdy eight-year-old kids at summer camp is a pain. What do these children's parents feed them in the mornings? They were all adorable, but I'm so worn out that I had to type this sentence alone like eight times to get it out in a cohesive and legible manner.
Speaking of busy, Mizamour, I am so sorry that I rejected your invitation to be a staff member of your C2 community. I'm busy and incompetent. Please don't take it personally, I love you and your writing. You're an amazing author and you will do great as a C2 manager. I will be sure to visit the community regularly!
Anyways, I hope all of you aren't cross with me. :-)
Blodeuedd