Chapter Twenty: The Hunter
True to Aulë's words, in the years to come, I noticed a sudden growth in my skills. A curiosity burned to life in me, a sudden desire to see how far I could go, how much I could do. I began working in the forge more often, making candleholders, goblets, nails, flesh forks, horseshoes, and so many other things.
Time, place, memory became meaningless when I did this. So long as I had eyes to see and hands to hold, I cared little for anything other than the heat of the forge and the realization of my desires.
Proud of my work despite my protests, Finwë spread word of my skill among the people of Valinor. Soon Eldar--Noldor, Vanyar, and Teleri alike--came from far and near to my forge. They asked so many different favors of my forge; at times, it felt like the most I could do simply to remember them all. An argent belt for Olwë, several flutes for the Teleri, a circlet for Onótimo, a brooch for Ingwë's wife. And their requests I fulfilled, to the best of my ability, until the words of praise were even from the mouths of the Valar themselves.
But, amazingly, I grew weary of the mundane work of metalcraft. Such a thing had seemed impossible even to me, and now I had no idea of what to do with myself.
I spent many nights now looking up at the stars, wondering how I might replicate, if not better, their crystalline beauty. My mind turned to the making of jewels, and I started gathering diamonds, clear and shot through with the light of Telperion, blood-red garnets and rubies, sapphires, opals, pale moonstones and purple amethysts together, studying their beauty.
I could spend hours only watching how the light shone through their translucent depths, how the facets and curves shone in the glow of the Trees, how they had been shaped by the patient, loving hands of the earth. Staring into their sparkling cores, I was filled with a unknown sensation of emptiness, a poignant something that pervaded every corner of my mind even as I struggled to give it a name.
Above all else, I planned and planned, deciding, altering, and always thinking.
When I could, I tried not to forget my family. It pained and stunned me when I realized that I had been practically living in the forge for stretches of time, and then I would leave the place of shadows and flame for the comforts of my home with desperate fervor.
Maitimo had come of age long ago, and was now a sober, handsome young man. It had since become clear to me that his mind and heart were like Nerdanel's in their quiet contemplations and slow but deliberate actions. However, he also knew--perhaps too well--the obligations of a firstborn son to his father, and often followed me loyally in decisions and deeds, even though it was painfully clear to me that his own opinions and morals told him otherwise. Despite his serene, dark beauty and subtle wit, Maitimo remained unwed. He dwelt still in our house upon Tirion's walls, watching over his brothers and doing odd chores when Nerdanel and I had need of his assistance.
Dark little Makalaurë had also recently come of age, but remained the silent, somber bard he had ever been, preferring to learn the arts of harp and flute in solitude than to meet with the many young people of the city.
But despite Makalaurë's deep passion for music above all else and his peers' general opinion of his awkward shyness, he was often visited by Márlindë, the young niece of Quennar Onótimo. She played no instrument but loved only to sing. And rightly—the girl had a voice as gentle and sweet as the dew that rested upon the flowers of Laurelin.
Makalaurë composed many songs for her to sing, some ornate and wild, others quiet and tender. The works were earnestly kept secret until the days when she came by the house. Any violations of this unwritten rule were harshly punished with hours of ranting from our young bard. But by the time Márlindë arrived, he would always collect himself and once again become the quiet, meek thing he usually was.
Then he would accompany her on his harp or flute for hours, and our house would be filled with the wondrous sounds. There was little doubt on either my or Nerdanel's part that Márlindë and Makalaurë were very much in love, and would soon ask for our permission to marry.
Tyelkormo was everything his older brothers were not.
A quick-tempered, sharp-tongued young man who had no qualms about voicing his mind, he often left home with his horse and hounds to hunt in the woods of Oromë, one of the Valar, who also loved the thrills of the chase and kill. He was a fast friend with the Vala, and Oromë had long promised Tyelkormo a hound from his own fine pack, though he had taken long because he wanted to be sure his friend received only the best of whelps.
Tyelkormo was easily the most difficult of our elder children. Stubborn and headstrong, he shunned all parental affection and advice, seeking to find his own solutions and answers to the obstacles he faced. While this independence was welcome after the sometimes taxing emotional demands of the more vulnerable and emotive Maitimo and Makalaurë, we were often stung by his sharp rebukes.
Only a few years earlier, Nerdanel had given birth to another son, Morifinwë Carnistir, who was still only a baby, but already possessed of a temperament which spoke volumes about the passionate and fierce man he would become.
Our house was now filled with the laughter and tears of four children, and we loved them with all our hearts and cared for them as best we could, but I often saw a gleam in Nerdanel's eye that spoke of the three more children to come.
One day, in the late summer of the year, a messenger came to our home, inviting us to the wedding of Arafinwë son of Finwë to Eärwen daughter of Lord Olwë of the Teleri. I was at first loath to accept, but Makalaurë, fed up of missing weddings filled with music and dance simply because of my deep-seated prejudices, interfered the moment he saw the refusal appear in my eyes.
"Please, Father!" He begged, setting down his harp and looking ready to kneel at my feet.
"It will be boring," groaned Tyelkormo from his seat on the hearth. He was throwing anything he could get his hands on into the fire to watch it burn, and was eyeing a sheet of Makalaurë's music too closely for his older brother's comfort."Who wants to see a silly wedding? It is only fussing and kissing and wine. I will die of boredom." Makalaurë, glaring despairingly at his younger brother, snatched his music up into an awkward pile, setting it out of Tyelkormo's reach, then returned his pleading gaze to me.
"Fëanáro. . ." Nerdanel said in a voice that told me not to refuse, jerking her head toward Makalaurë's sad eyes.
"Very well," I sighed, and turned to the messenger. "I accept." The messenger left, eyes nervously darting back at my resigned, sullen expression.
"Remind me never to marry," Tyelkormo told Carnistir, observing the authority Nerdanel had briefly flourished over me with a wry grin. Carnistir, ever eager to please Tyelkormo, nodded solemnly.
In autumn, we rode to Alqualondë for the wedding.
Makalaurë was beside himself with delight at the music of the Teleri that echoed along the shores of the Sea. Tyelkormo, however, was off hunting in the woods nearby. He had wanted to not go to the wedding at all, but Nerdanel and I had made him promise he would return during the feast, before the actual wedding ceremony, to remain courteous.
The feast was lavish, and the halls of Olwë were filled with people. My family was separated almost at once. Nerdanel, with young Carnistir at her side, had gone to talk with some relatives of her mother who were attending the marriage as well. Maitimo had gone with an eager Makalaurë to see the musicians, leaving me to wander among the people alone.
I recognized many faces, but spoke to few. I often saw Nolofinwë in the throng, with a tall young man I assumed was his son Findekáno, and two infant sons and an even younger daughter, who remained in his wife's arms. I avoided the sight of them, and hoped to do so with the rest of Indis' children, though I had heard my father himself was here, to conduct part of the wedding ceremony of his third son.
The feast wore sluggishly on, and I began to wonder where Tyelkormo was. My third son was, by nature, late to many occasions, but this far exceeded his earlier delays. At last, impatient and irked that my son would deliberately shirk an occasion were the rest of his family was present--and also irritated that I myself should suffer the tedious monotony of this event alone--I sought out Maitimo, and Makalaurë. After almost having to pull Makalaurë bodily away from the musicians, I gathered the three together.
"Have any of you seen your brother?" I asked them.
Maitimo, seeing the opportunity for mirth, grinned and asked innocently, "Which brother, dear father?"
"Tyelkormo!" I replied brusquely. Sobering, Maitimo shook his head. "No. I thought he was hunting."
"He has no respect!" I snapped, "His grandfather is here!"
"He is also missing quite a lovely duet," Makalaurë remarked, in the half-aware, distant way he had of speaking in the presence of music.
Maitimo laughed and took Makalaurë by the arm. "We had best get Kana back to the music before he begins to pine," he told me, "Good luck finding Tyelkormo."
I waved them off, and began making for the door, ridding myself of any who tried to speak to me with a hasty excuse. After what felt like years, I reached the outside.
Alqualondë was set near the Sea, and the voices of the Teleri echoed along the white, starlit shores as their swan-like ships glided across the still waters of the Bay. The shoreline nearby was brief and made of round, glistening stones that were black and smooth from many years of waves, gentle but able to bend the shore to their will after so long. I ran my eyes up and down the beaches, and over the rolling hills nearby, but I saw no sign of Tyelkormo.
Exasperated by my son's belatedness and already planning his chastisement, I turned to go back inside--and came face to face with Findis, who stood in the doorframe. I stiffened as if she were some deadly predator, for I had no mixed emotions when it came to the eldest of my younger half-sisters. I had grown to resent her more and more over the years, and had hoped to avoid her along with Nolofinwë at this accursed wedding.
However Findis smiled her curtly polite, reserved smile and said, "Brother. I had not expected to meet you here."
Any other people watching us might have wondered why I was acting like a stag trapped by wolves; Findis was beautiful, dressed in a fine gown of blue brocaded with golden thread, her dark hair ornately braided. Her face spoke only of faintly condescending pity and indulging a quick-tempered, unstable older brother in his strange ways. But I had known her too long and too well, and while she was not perfect like Nolofinwë, she irked me terribly by just being.
"May I introduce you to my husband, Nandaro, and his niece, Alalmë?" She was asking, though it seemed not at all like a request--more like a command. I heard the familiar sounds of hoofbeats and the baying of many hounds from up the beach and turned around.
Indeed, it was Tyelkormo, abysmally late and seemingly enjoying every moment of it. He was riding into the wind, dark hair streaming behind him and an expression of absolute delight on his face as he spurred his horse in and out of the dancing waves. His faithful pack of nine hounds, which Nerdanel and I had given him for his fortieth birthday, flowed behind him effortlessly, their long, shaggy grey legs only a flicker of movement as they darted effortlessly alongside the horse of their master. With further shock, I noticed he had not changed out of his simple hunting garb. And that was only the beginning of my horror--he still had his javelin in hand, long hunting knife at his belt, and his quiver of arrows and longbow upon his saddle.
Findis must have heard my teeth grinding, or seen my expression of horrified anger, for she unseasonably remarked, "Is that one of your sons? He is rather plainly dressed for a wedding. . ."
By this time, Tyelkormo had seen me, and seemed reluctant to pull his horse at a halt in the dooryard of the house, but he did so, dismounting with a look of dread on his face.
"Father," he muttered, bowing his head, but clamping the long haft of his javelin tightly as though he would fight hard to keep it at his side. I did not know if I would be able to stop myself from trying.
"My son," I said in return, then hissed so no one else could hear, "We will speak of this later."
He swallowed, paler than usual, and nodded, motioning to a groom to take his horse. Findis politely overlooked our evident disagreement and repeated her introduction to her husband Nandaro, who was a dark, slender Noldo with a ready smile that I did not return.
"And this is my niece by marriage, Alalmë," she told us, gesturing to a dark-eyed girl who stood behind her in the doorframe. Alalmë smiled kindly enough, but seemed as lovely and shy as a star behind a cloud--she seemed unable to meet Tyelkormo's eyes, and only briefly gazed into mine. She was dark-haired and flawlessly fair-skinned like her uncle, though her hair was unbound or covered, for she was apparently unmarried. While she did not cling to her aunt's side like a child, she seemed uncertain. Findis saw this and laughed.
"She is often flightier than this--I think your son is too tall!"
Alalmë's cheeks colored slightly, but she turned her fair face away and said nothing, an ashamed smile playing on her lips.
"Well, I shall not keep you," I said with a sincerity so false it nearly dripped mockery, though Findis and her kin either chose to ignore it or heard it not at all, clamping one hand around Tyelkormo's wrist.
"The wedding ceremony is soon. Leave your javelin at the door," I added in an undertone to my son, and he unwillingly did so. Tyelkormo seemed almost reluctant to go, but I was adamant in my decision to get Findis out of my sight. In those days, so brief and unknowing, I thought that it was only his lance that my son was loath to leave.
Nerdanel joined us as we entered the room, Carnistir clapping his small hands with joy when he saw his older brother.
"'Kormo!" He begged emphatically, arms outstretched to Tyelkormo until the older boy lifted him in his arms. Carnistir laughed with more delight, and tugged at his brother's long, night-black hair adoringly. Tyelkormo laughed as well, holding his brother close. The two shared a loving bond that they did not expend with their other siblings.
"Where are the others?" Nerdanel asked me, eyes straying nervously to Carnistir as Tyelkormo held him over his head, both laughing as though it were the finest jest in the world. "Watch his head, Turkafinwë!"
"He likes it--see how he laughs!" Tyelkormo protested.
"Makalaurë and Maitimo are watching the musicians, I think," I replied to Nerdanel.
Indeed, we found them still by the alcove where the music emerged. Makalaurë had his eyes closed, his face ecstatic, hands clenched in fists at his sides as if to keep them from robbing a bard of his instrument and playing his own tune. Maitimo watched his brother impatiently, fidgeting.
Nerdanel beckoned, and they came, Makalaurë looking as if he had awakened from a deep sleep, and wished to return to his dreams.
Suddenly, all was still, and a fanfare of clarion trumpets announced the beginning of the ceremony. As one, the guests went into the audience chamber, taking seats in the enormous hall, their conversation subdued but not entirely stilled.
As we took our seats, towards the back, Nerdanel smiled and squeezed my hand. "Does this remind you of anything?" She asked quietly.
I smiled back and nodded, giving her a quick kiss. "I love you."
"And I you," she replied fervently, her eyes only on me, hand still resting in mine.
"Mother. . ." Tyelkormo groaned, looking sickened, and Nerdanel nudged her son playfully.
"Wait until you fall in love," she chided him.
Tyelkormo snorted derisively, and looked at his mother disbelievingly but with a trace of amusement, as though she had just somberly told him fish could fly. "Never!"
There was then much stifled laughter, shoving, and whispering between the usually solemn Matimo and Makalaurë, until Tyelkormo looked scandalized and refused to speak to anyone but Carnistir, who beamed at his older brother's every word anyhow, as though each thought that left Tyelkormo's mouth was a rare gift.
"Hush," Nerdanel interrupted, seeing that the game among the other sons was going too far, "Leave your brother alone. The wedding is about to begin."
True to her words, the bride and bridegroom emerged upon the dais, girt in their finest raiment and looking resplendently in love. I eyed Arafinwë appraisingly, having not seen my youngest half-brother this closely before. He was even fairer than Nolofinwë, with flaxen hair that was so light it was nearly white, and with a face far handsomer than most. But he was slight, and I doubted he could wield a hammer or control an untamed stallion, as I was certain I myself could, and probably Nolofinwë as well.
His bride, Eärwen, was as pale as her husband, but her hair was a radiant shade of silver, and her face was purely built of Telerin blood--she had elegant cheekbones and delicate features, rather than the intense, passionate beauty that was so eminent in Nerdanel and, though less so, in other Noldorin women.
I felt a pang of envy when I saw Finwë standing with Arafinwë on the dais and saying the same words he had said for Nerdanel and me, but nursed the wound in silence. The wedding seemed longer observed rather than experienced, but at last we were free to return to the other chamber, to talk and eat further if we would, but I planned on leaving.
My sons begged otherwise, so Nerdanel and I let them scatter among the guests for a time. Maitimo was the last to return, talking animatedly to an Elda younger than himself even as I motioned for him to go. When the other turned to go, I saw that it was Findekáno, and my heart went cold.
My eldest son was consorting with a child of Nolofinwë?
Furious, but terrified for no reason I could see, I made my way to Maitimo. "Come, Maitimo, it is time to go," I told him evenly, fighting to keep my voice calm.
Findekáno glanced at me, and then returned his gaze to my face in the form of a stare. "Fëanáro Curufinwë is your father?" Conflicting emotion was evident in his voice.
Maitimo looked ill at ease. "Well--he--I--" He stammered.
"Maitimo," I warned quietly, "We are leaving now."
"If you would go, I shall let you," Findekáno said diplomatically, giving me a curt, anxious nod. His face was too much like his father's for my taste, though his hair was darker.
Maitimo, torn, gave me a baleful glare that chilled my marrow, but followed me away. When we were some distance away from Findekáno and headed for the door, he glanced back into the throng and asked me in a cold voice, "Why did you do that?"
"He was a son of Nolofinwë," I replied, sounding as if it justified everything. And it did, in my mind then.
"Father, sometimes you--" Maitimo cut himself off as we came to the doorway, where outside Nerdanel and the rest of the family waited, but his words were too sharp for me to ignore.
"Sometimes I what?"
"Nothing," Maitimo stuttered nervously, and in his eyes I could see he was disciplining himself sternly for his defiant rebelliousness.
"Very well." I walked out of the house and mounted my horse, but as I rode homeward with my wife and children in silence, I could not help but think that on that day I had nearly lost two of my children to unruliness.
Author's Note:
I guess you all are on vacation. . . only one review last week. A hearty thank you, Mizamour! But hey, no hard feelings: I'm not one to moan over a lack of reviews (most of the time). If you haven't read my profile in a bit, I myself will be taking a break during the week of July 23-30. While I will not post anything in that time, know that, aside from my original fiction pursuits, I will definitely be laboring over some sort of fanwork for you:-)
Enjoy the last month or so of summer!
Blodeuedd