Chapter Twenty-three: Alalmë
When we returned to our house, all seemed to be well. Ambarussa's four elder brothers all became devoted to taking care of the twins. Even Makalaurë would sometimes visit with Márlindë to see his two youngest brothers. But though their brothers loved them greatly, it was Nerdanel who loved them best of all. She would often work herself to exhaustion both doing all her tasks about the house and looking after the two infants, and it took all the other members of the household to keep her from doing even more.
Because of her new devotion, Nerdanel rarely seemed to have time for me, let alone her other sons. Even when we had had five children, and even on the days when the work of the forge was all my life consisted of, we had still been able to find time for each other, for a kiss in the hall or a walk in our small garden. But now we rarely even talked, and she was almost always asleep when I came to the chamber, and I dared not disturb her, even for conversation, so even our merest interactions wore thin. I could only jealously hope that her love for the twins would dim as they grew.
I knew this was a selfish desire. Because of their untimely birth, Ambarussa were unusually small and frail. While their spirits seemed as alive as those of their elder brothers, their exuberance was confined to a pair of diminutive bodies that wearied easily of all tasks. Nerdanel and I both knew that their childhood would be far different than those of the boys who had come before them, but feared to say it aloud.
Trying to divert myself from this chilling idea, I spent more time with my sons, riding on the plains. I even began helping them with their frivolous pastimes, though I knew that blacksmithing should and always would come first in my mind. So often was I among them that they treated me as a friend, not a father, and I learned more of their doings than I had in the days when I remained in my forge instead of in their midst.
One day, in the late autumn of the year that Ambarussa turned twenty, Finwë came to visit our house. Carnistir, playing by himself in the dooryard, was the first to see his grandfather's approach, and, ever the noisy one of the family, spread the tidings quicker than wildfire through the home.
"Grandfather is here!" He called into every room of house, flinging open the doors in a flurry of sound, face alive with excitement.
"Have a care, Morifinwë," I cautioned, stopping one door that had threatened to crash alarmingly into the wall, "You are two and sixty years old, not a child."
Slightly cowed, Carnistir flushed and stammered ashamedly, "I am sorry, Father."
Not a second later, Curufinwë's delighted voice filled the gap of silence left by his elder brother's. "Grandfather is at the door!"
Carnistir looked to me for approval, and seeing me nod, followed me into the entrance room. Finwë stood there, regal as ever, even though he wore only simple riding clothes, with only a plain gold circlet about his brow as a mark of his status.
"Father. . ." I smiled and embraced him, then Nerdanel offered him a seat. As he sat, my younger sons flocked to his feet. Delicate as they were, Ambarussa insisted on clambering onto his knees—a place they both fit neatly upon due to their small size. Finwë smiled down at them.
"We went down to the walls today with Father!" One of the twins told him proudly.
"You could see everything!" The other added.
"Someday you must show me," Finwë told them somberly, as if he had never seen the walls of his own city before in his life, even though Carnistir looked hard-pressed to stifle laughter at Ambarussa's innocence, "And what have my other grandchildren been up to?" He turned his eyes to the elder sons, standing awkwardly by the hearth. They were too old to be clambering all over their grandfather like a band of unruly puppies, but their eyes were nonetheless fond and respectful.
"Nelya—have you grown?" Finwë asked of my eldest boy with an appraising smile, "You seem taller than I remember." Maitimo shrugged, and his grandfather laughed gently. "How did you find that book of poetry I sent you?"
"It was wonderful, Grandfather," his grandson replied automatically, voice sincere, "Thank you."
"And Tyelkormo—so handsome!" Finwë exclaimed, "You look so much like your father."
Tyelkormo smiled wordlessly, glancing sidelong at me to carefully consider the worth of this compliment.
Finwë turned to me, expression sobering but also softening. "I am sorry I have not come to visit sooner, but Findis has been coming to our house day and night, with questions and demands about her kinswoman Alalmë's wedding--"
"Alalmë's wedding?" Tyelkormo echoed sharply, suddenly sitting up and looking disbelievingly at his grandfather's face. Everyone else, except for Ambarussa and Finwë, fell silent and still. Even Nerdanel's hands, kneading the dough for the dinner's bread, went motionless as she too turned to listen.
"Yes, have you not heard?" Finwë asked blithely, unaware of Tyelkormo's erstwhile love for his daughter's niece, "To Minyanar of Taniquetil."
"No, I had not heard," Tyelkormo said in a dull voice, looking at me with sad, acquiescent eyes.
"I will not trouble you any further about it; I know you are not overfond of news concerning them," my father said, the comment made to me.
"I think I am going," Tyelkormo interrupted slowly, sounding as though instructing himself as he stood. His face was dazed and hurt. "Yes. I will go hunting." He left the room without another sound, and the silence remained for a few moments after he left.
"I want to go too!" One of the twins said suddenly, no doubt unsettled by the unease in the room.
"No, Pitya," I told him gently, "You are too young."
Ambarussa looked up at me, eyes willful, but eventually the stubborn want on their faces slowly subsided, worn down by my own adamancy.
"Stay," the other twin said to his brother, "Grandfather is here." Soothed, Ambarussa snuggled back down together in Finwë's lap, smiling and giggling as if all was forgiven and blissfully forgotten.
"I will not force you to go to the wedding," Finwë murmured at last, looking up at us, "But it would please me if you came. I rarely see my eldest son anymore." His smile made me yield at once.
"Of course, Father. We will go," I replied, ignoring the startled looks that rained down upon me. Many things may have changed over my life, but my affection for my father was little changed at all.
Finwë stayed late into the night, eating dinner with us and then returning home. Tyelkormo did not return during or after my father's visit. Worried, I stayed up to see his arrival.
The fire was dying in the hearth when Tyelkormo at last returned. When I turned away from watching the embers, I saw his sack bulged with an unusually large amount of game. He regarded me silently for a moment, then put his bag on the table. I came over to look at his catches, and watched as he pulled out three hares, four ducks, and several small birds.
"Why so many?" I asked, though I saw the morose fire in his eyes even as I said the words, "This is too much. Half of it will spoil before we eat the other half."
"I could not stop," he murmured, eyes fixed on the still carcasses, "I just hunted down everything I found. I kept thinking of--of Alalmë and the wedding and--Father! Oromë will be so upset when he finds out! We never kill this much in our hunts together!" His voice grew strained as he forced himself to think of other things. "We always--we do not--"
"It is not Oromë you care about," I remarked, seeing the hidden truth in his face. Tyelkormo looked at me, face resolute for a moment, then crumpling with emotion.
"No, it is not. Not at all. It is--but why did Alalmë--why did she--"
"Because you held true to your father," I told him, holding him close and feeling him go still, "Because you kept true to your blood."
"I try to remember that--but why did she--? I was so faithless! How could I have done this to her? She seemed so hurt when I ignored her--"
"You are not the faithless one," I said vehemently, "Do you not see? It is she that is faithless. Forget her, Tyelkormo. She is not for you."
"Is she?" Tyelkormo muttered hoarsely, voice muffled, "Is she?"
"Yes. There will be another for you, Tyelkormo. You will know when you see her. Do not think of Alalmë anymore, she is just as heartless as her kin."
"I will forget her, Father," Tyelkormo promised as we walked through the empty house to our separate chambers, "I swear. . ."
But Tyelkormo's resolve nearly broke when we went to the wedding. Alalmë looked more radiant than ever in her lavish gown, and she had a joyful smile and kind word for all who came to her wedding. But beneath her laughter and mirth there was a sadness, veiled to all save me, which plainly said her heart was not entirely with her new husband.
When she came to greet us, she lingered last and longest on Tyelkormo, silently asking him a thousand questions to explain a thousand sorrows.
"I hope you find this affair to your taste, Tyelkormo," Alalmë offered delicately, maintaining an air of neutrality though her spirit was wilted with tears, "I know you prefer the hunt and chase to such idle celebrations."
He looked ready to apologize, but looked resolutely to me and said, "I will enjoy it, Lady."
"I must welcome the others," she murmured inadequately, eyes suddenly too bright. She left as silently as a summer wind, gaze empty and vague.
Seeing the returning sadness in my own son's eyes as he watched her move about the feast and the festivities afterward was enough to hurt me as well, but I hid my pity and told myself firmly that what I had done was for the best.
Author's Note:
Unsung Heroine, it is totally okay for you to answer my reviews in your reviews. Whew, that sounds a little confusing out on paper, but I think we both understand! Don't worry about the Alalmë error; the whole point was that Celegorm had an anonymous girlfriend and I wasn't expecting anyone to get it anyway. The Aredhel guess was completely canon and would have been perfect if I'd had the prudence to think of it before I went OC-happy. As for the Ambarto thing. . .(mysterious grin) you'll have to wait and see, won't you? I'm not going to give anything away, save for that Fëanor does 'lose' his youngest sons in a sense when he arrives in Losgar.
Anglachel, I am totally with you. Childbirth is yucky. Beautiful in an odd way, but yucky. There's a reason why this story is told from Fëanor's point of view and not Nerdanel's:-)
Calvusfelix, I know that Maedhros was supposed to be the 'well-formed one,' but he's never struck me as one of those burly jock guys. To continue with the high school stereotypes analysis, he seems to be more like the handsome but geeky guy who hangs out on the library at lunch and is a member of Debate Team or some other staple group of the school intellectuals. Nothing wrong with those guys (I like them even more than the jocks most of the time), but they're a different kind of handsome. I can't believe I'm discussing this--NEXT subject!
RavenLady, all I can say about writing each of the sons of Fëanor is that it is both a pleasure and a pain. While fun at times, writing six or seven different reactions to a stimulus can get dreadfully tedious after a while. :-) Anyone who's written a story similar to mine will agree, I'm sure.
And, finally, an interesting thought was brought up by Molly in her review (thanks so much for reviewing, by the way!) about whether or not Elves could have premature births. I myself, being neither an Elf nor pregnant, would have no idea, but my assumption was 'Well, right then! Nerdanel is expecting, there's a lot of angst going on--there is no way the Valar or the perfect-ness of the land they live in is going to regulate when a woman goes into labor!' Especially when Elves don't normally get into fiery arguments like this--any family of Fëanor is bound to be a little atypical.
Thanks again to all of you! I love hearing what you have to think.
Best,
Blodeuedd.