Chapter Twenty-six: The Silmarils
For a moment, my half-brother and I only stared at each other. I berated myself for ignoring the resemblance of Findaráto and Aikanáro to my other kin. Though my eyes were sharp when it came to finding the smallest flaws in metal and creating delicate patterns, somehow they had not seen this.
Arafinwë smiled, but the smile was vacant. "Do I know you?"
"I know you, Ingalaurë," I replied coolly, pressing him for a reaction, which he supplied. Arafinwë stiffened in surprise, eyes narrowing.
"Who are you? How do you know my mother-name?"
"Forgive me for not introducing myself," I said, dripping with false reverence, for I was feeling the same innate dislike I had felt for Arafinwë's older brother, "I am Fëanáro, and this is my son Maitimo."
Arafinwë's eyes widened, but his handsome face remained emotionless and calm. "And what brings you here, Fëanáro?"
"Work," I replied, "I wish to procure some pearls from the Teleri."
"Father," Findaráto began numbly, glancing at the ground, "He--he saved Artanis."
"Did he?" Arafinwë murmured, looking at Artanis curiously. Then he looked back up at me. "Well, Fëanáro, I believe my wife and I are beholden to you. Is there anything we can--" His words were too real, too sincere.
"The pearls," I reminded him, not wanting to hear any of it. Arafinwë nodded.
"I will see to it that you receive some during your stay here, brother." I flinched away from the word brother. Why did the children of Indis insist on calling me that?
"When should I look for this gift?"
"Tomorrow," Arafinwë replied, "You are welcome to stay here tonight. I am sure Eärwen would not mind setting two more places for dinner."
"I--" I was about to decline, but Maitimo abruptly cut in.
"Yes. We will. Thank you," he told Arafinwë, respect shining in his eyes. I felt my heart seethe with rage. How dare he?
"Come in," Arafinwë requested, opening the door a bit further. Aikanáro shuffled inside, suddenly very silent, and Findaráto letting his father take Artanis before following after Aikanáro. I walked in at the same slow, reluctant pace as Aikanáro, but before I could get far, Artanis grabbed at a handful of my hair, not tightly enough to hurt, nor firmly enough to stop me in my tracks, but stop I did.
"Dark!" she exclaimed, fingering it with childish delight, "Black! Father, look! Dark!"
"Yes, Nerwendë, it is black," Arafinwë replied indulgently, smiling at his daughter as I twisted around in surprise. Arafinwë looked to me, smiling even at my mirthless face. "You see," he explained, "Artanis rarely sees dark hair, aside from some of her brothers', for the Teleri, as you know, have silver."
As her father spoke, Artanis released my hair, but held my gaze with her suddenly solemn blue eyes. She held up a tress of her own glorious hair, glancing at it briefly, then looking at me expectantly as she held it up. "Yellow," she told me.
I could not help but smile at the irony. Even a half-grown child could see the first of many simple differences between the son of Míriel and the children of Indis.
Dinner was silent, save for Aikanáro and Findaráto, who spent the time telling their other two brothers--Artaresto, whom I had already met, and Angaráto, who was fair-haired as his eldest brother but more alike to Aikanáro in mood--the story of Artanis' rescue.
Aikanáro at least had recovered from the shock of discovering I was his half-uncle, and spoke of me glowingly, but Findaráto seemed a bit more reserved and cautious, always casting sidelong glances at his father when he mentioned my name. Arafinwë, however, said nothing on the matter, and only made several half-hearted attempts to ease me into the conversation. But I detected the same tone in his voice that Findis used for me--that same cajoling yet lofty voice that spoke of me as some poor, crippled thing that needed to be cared for, though hope failed--and had none of it.
As soon as dinner was over, I left for the chamber that I had been given for the duration of my stay, and went directly one of the room's many windows, to gaze out upon the Sea. Everything was so peaceful and distant outside, so far away from my cares and troubles. Outside, Alqualondë truly looked the part of a city of Valinor--fair, immortal, glorious. But in here, my woes and quick temper pervaded every corner of the house. Why was I thus cursed?
I knew, if only she were here, all would be well. Why had she run to such a fate, while all others walked? Was it my fault?
"Mother," I whispered hopelessly, letting my head fall against the window pane in black despair, "Come back."
"Father? Is something wrong?" It was Maitimo's voice; I straightened at once.
"If I had wanted company, I would have asked for it," I snapped petulantly.
"You never ask for anything, you know it," Maitimo laughed, coming into the room anyway--a brash move for the most reticent of my sons, "You have always insisted on looking to yourself for aid. If the world were crumbling for want of companionship, you would lock yourself in your forge--alone."
"Your insolence does nothing to help me, son."
Maitimo smiled, and shook his head sadly. "I will not argue with you on that. I just wanted to ask--why do you regard the children of Indis with such contempt? Arafinwë is offering you shelter and the pearls you asked of him, yet something tells me you would not do the same in his place."
"You are right."
"About what?"
"I would not do the same for him. Take what the world gives you."
"And give nothing in return?"
"Well. . ." He had caught me there, but not for long. "Never give what you cannot take back."
"You tightfisted miser!" Maitimo laughed, sitting in a chair and looking up at me with a cool, thoughtful gaze, "But why, Father? Nolofinwë and Arafinwë are your brothers. Finwë is their father, and yours as well. You are brothers. Say it. Once."
"Very well," I growled, "Only if it will stop your foolish thoughts." I took a deep breath in, and sighed. "Nolofinwë and Arafinwë are my brothers."
"If you ground your teeth any harder when you said that, I think you would break a tooth, Father," Maitimo said, voice amused, "But does that confession not change anything?"
"No. Brothers have quarrels. Blood lends pause, but not for long. And sometimes there is no pause at all."
"You sound like you are going to kill them!" he cried, his smile both fascinated and frightened.
"Who says I will not?" I muttered, and Maitimo's smile abruptly faded.
"You are joking," he said fervently, obviously trying to convince himself with words spoken aloud, "You would never kill them, would you?"
"No?" I asked him, voice hard, "Would I not? What would you know of it anyhow?"
Maitimo's brow furrowed, all mirth gone, and he stood. "I think I am going to my rooms now," he muttered anxiously, and left.
True to his promise, Arafinwë sent Artaresto, Angaráto, and Aikanáro to find some pearls for me the next morning. The three boys came back lugging bucketfuls of the round white stones, so numerous that they spilled over the rims of the pails and rolled along the floor of the house. Artanis, delighted by the gleaming beauty of these strange new things that darted over the floor, almost put several in her mouth, if Eärwen's sharp eye had not seen the danger and scooped her daughter up and away from the pearls.
I thanked each of the boys profusely as I loaded the pearls into leather bags I brought along, but while Artaresto and Angaráto flitted off to play outside, Aikanáro remained behind.
"What is it?" I asked, noticing the same gleam in his eye that I saw so often in the eyes of my own sons, the glimmer of anxious delight that spoke of some surprise he had in store.
"I went climbing in the caves by the arch the swan-ships sail through in the bay, while Artaresto and Angaráto were on the shores," he began, then hesitated, unsure.
"And?" I prompted.
"I found this," Aikanáro said, lifting out a slender vial, in which there was what looked to be ordinary seawater. But as he lifted it in the light, it gleamed and shimmered like the scales of a fish, iridescent flickers floating in its depths for an instant, then were gone.
My mouth fell open. "Where was this?"
"In a pool towards the back. I would have ignored it, but a shaft of starlight fell on it, and I thought--I thought you might want some, so I took one of the vials we had brought for smaller pearls, and filled it with the water."
"Alqualondë should be blessed and hallowed a thousand times over for ever. Thank you," I cried in delight, taking it from him, "You have helped me more than you know." Already ideas were coming to mind that I had not even considered before I had seen this wondrous liquid.
Aikanáro shrugged, flashing a smile of teeth that seemed blindingly white compared to his dark hair. He acted as though it was no great deed, but I saw the pride he suppressed beneath his air of nonchalance.
"It was no trouble."
I made ready to leave next morning, despite Maitimo's protests, and we were riding again by the time the blending of the lights was hours gone. We rode for Taniquetil--a place I had not been since Finwë had met Indis in the shadows of the snow-capped mountains. Our visit there was even briefer than the one at Alqualondë; we were there and gone again, our opals in hand, within a single day, making for Valmar, city of the Valar, and the evergreen hill of Ezellohar, where the two Trees grew.
The difference in our distance from the Trees became increasingly evident each day. The light grew brighter and clearer with each footstep, both beautiful and blinding at once, dimming all darkness. The days were warm and golden, like metal ready to be forged, and the nights were shadowless and silver. On the fourth day, when Valmar was within a day's ride, we could hear the faint ringing of bells, and the strains of many voices raised in sweet song, bathing the city forever in music.
I felt wonder and respect on beholding the Valar's fair city, but also I felt a twinge of the strange insolence inside me. What raised them so far above us, that their city be laid in such extravagant splendor, underneath the boughs of such beauty? Why were we set so far away, far from the fair light they had in such abundance? If they were our caretakers, why did they keep us from the beauty they had in measure? I kept these questions inside me, and entered the gates wearing the mask of cowed respect the Valar must believe they were owed.
Valmar was impossibly magnificent, with elegant walls and slender towers, tall pillars and soaring buttresses. The metalwork of each gate, each window frame, was enough to keep me entertained for hours, but something told me that I could do such work, given proper material and time. I was glad I never had taken Makalaurë here, for he would have insisted upon lingering at each faint sound of song, which the city had in abundance. All in all, it was splendid, glorious, and more beautiful than anything I had ever seen--but I still felt on edge, as if it were only a dream that threatened to break like glass.
Maitimo and I went to the Ezellohar on the second day. Even from afar, the silent thrumming of life from the Trees was an awesome sensation; closer in, the silent hum of life was almost overpowering. You could hardly hear it, yet the sound encompassed all in its sheer joy and delight in being alive, in growing, in being.
The Trees were, in a word, enormous in every sense--enormous in majesty, enormous in beauty, but moreover enormous in size. If I had joined hands in a circle with my entire family, I doubt we would have been able to completely encircle the trunk of either Tree. The twin shafts, silver and gold, rose unfeasibly high into the air, and there was no way you could see the first branches, even on the younger Laurelin, without craning your neck. For a moment, my son and I stood at their feet, staring spellbound at the stunning sight before our eyes, marveling at the sheer size and unconquerable power. If I had to choose a thing to define the combination of immortality, beauty, and might, I would have chosen the two Trees.
At last remembering my task, I went to the foot of silver Telperion, and waited patiently, pulling out a small phial, not unlike the one in which I kept the strange water Aikanáro had found. It was still morning, and the time was right. Soon, I knew, soon what I waited for would come. It was hard to keep from bouncing on my heels in anticipation like an impatient child--I could almost feel, almost grasp the success in my hand. It was so unbearably close.
"What is it that you do, Fëanáro?" came a strange voice from my side. I wheeled in surprise, straining to see the person before me in the dazzling light. It was a slight, silver-haired man, not unlike an Elda. His eyes, though, were brilliant silver, brighter than steel and like the light of the argent Tree above.
"Silmo, guardian of Telperion," he explained when he saw my expression, "Fear not; it is my duty to see that Telperion is kept safe--it is not you I ask this in particular, Fëanáro."
I felt a little soothed, for Silmo's voice was as cool and unsullied as a mountain spring, and I could not bear to mistrust him. "I wait for the dew to fall," I told him, glancing up at Telperion anxiously, "And I ask if I might, with your consent, gather some of this dew."
"Ah. Of course you may," Silmo sighed, raising his gaze as well to the silver branches and silver-green leaves far above, "But for what reason?"
"You shall see," I replied, smiling with pride, even though my work had not even begun. Yes, all Aman would see what I would make. They would not only see it, but marvel upon it, for I would put forth all my skill into this work, and, fate willing, better the works of Aulë himself. If the Eldar were as immortal and fair as the Valar, we were not far sundered, and this must be so also in our crafting of matter.
Apparently satisfied, Silmo nodded to me, his smile kind but distant, and ambled off, gaze almost always resting upon his beloved Telperion as he walked. He was turning away to his work, it was time for me to do so as well.
I waited for a time beneath Telperion's boughs, feeling Maitimo's gaze resting upon my back, but I cared little, until I saw that a pool of dew had begun to gather in a cupped knot of silver roots. Wasting no time, I knelt hastily and uncorked the vial. Then, taking care not to let the lightest touch of my hands taint the sweet, unsullied water, I dipped the phial into the dew. In one smooth motion, I raised my hands and deftly corked the vial. That part of my work was done.
Then, I strode to Laurelin, taking out another vial. This task would be quicker, if harder. Looking up into the blindingly golden leaves, shining like fire above, I uncorked and lifted the phial, letting the yellow light saturate and fill the glass of the slender bottle. Doubt began to nag at me. How would I know? When would I know to cork the bottle and trap the light?
The vial began to grow warm in my hands, and I took that as my signal. I corked the vial and tucked it into my pocket, along with the other two. I had done it. Triumphant delight filled me, and I would have laughed aloud, if not for the sacred near-silence of the Trees.
Maitimo watched me descend the round slopes of Ezellohar, and the two horses snorted in greeting.
"Whither now, Father?" he asked, smiling as he saw my victorious expression.
"Home," I replied, "This labor ends, and another begins."
But it was a changed city to which we returned. The white walls of Tirion, once light-warmed and gleaming, seemed colder, aloofer. The towers that once beckoned and welcomed now seemed to loom over us, proud and indifferent. And it was not only the buildings that had changed. The people themselves seemed chary and mistrustful, rarely meeting our eyes and hastening their steps as if eager to be gone. Maitimo and I noticed the change, but said nothing, afraid if we voiced our thoughts that it would come true.
I would not know for a long while that the changes in Tirion were due to Melkor, for where I had disdainfully sent him away, others of my folk had listened with eager ears.
Our house, however, still provided us with a welcome warm enough. Ambarussa and Ambarto caught sight of us first, as they returned from a hunting trip with Tyelkormo--hunting must have been something new they had adopted in my absence, and I felt a little regretful I had missed this.
"Father! Russandol!" They chorused, leaping the gate and running to us as we dismounted. Tyelkormo followed more slowly, weighed down by a freshly killed stag, but with a smile just a broad as that of his twin brothers on his face. At his heels were his nine hounds, tongues lolling and tails wagging, but a larger hound followed even more closely. That hound, even barely out of puppyhood, seemed nobler, more elegant, than all the others put together, and I knew that this was Tyelkormo's gift from Oromë.
"Look what we caught!" Ambarto cried, holding a dead hare aloft, "Tyelkormo made us a snare and we caught a rabbit!"
"He tried to run away when we found him," Ambarussa continued more soberly, "And he broke free of the snare, but Huan" he gestured to the noble, shaggy grey dog who stood at Tyelkormo's side "chased him down and brought him back."
"Huan is the best of my pack," Tyelkormo declared proudly, giving the Vala-bred hound a well-earned scratch behind the ears.
"Well, I see that your mother will have much to make soup of tonight," I laughed, gathering Ambarussa and Ambarto into a hug and giving Tyelkormo an approving pat on the shoulder.
"Was Alqualondë beautiful?" Ambarto asked, "Did you get what you wanted, Father?"
"Yes, I got what I wanted," I told him as we made our way into the garth, "That, and more."
After a mouth-watering dinner of rabbit, venison, bread, and fruit, I went at once to my forge, and laid out the pearls, opals, the three phials of water and light before me, gathering my thoughts as I gazed upon them. As the night progressed, I laid out other materials beside them--diamonds, white candles, panes of the most delicate glass I had made--until the mound of resources became enormous. Longest did I look upon the light of Laurelin and the dew of Telperion, marveling upon how the glass phials contained their glory. If mere glass could contain such heavenly matter, why not diamonds?
I began to experiment frugally, careful not to waste my materials. Letting a few drops of Telperion's dew fall upon a pearl produced a radiantly glowing orb of light, but, fair as it was, it was not the result I desired. Setting it aside, I continued on by the light of the forge. I mixed diamond chips with the phosphor-water in a small bowl, and the diamond fragments burned in the liquid like white embers, but I set those aside as well.
So it went, until I began to grow frustrated and angry. However, I tempered myself as harshly as I would steel, lifting my mind above such foolish emotion so I could think clearly. As I entered such cloudless thought, I wondered what kept me from capturing the light of the opals and diamonds. If I had done so with the magnificent light of Laurelin, what kept me from doing the same with jewels, mundane in comparison? The stars faded, but I lingered on.
My first attempts failed; the fine sheen of pearls was delicate and indistinct, while the luster of opals was far too bold, flinging itself across the room in a scatter of iridescence. Slowly, though, I grew patient with the shortcomings of the gems, and my endeavors became successful. A short time later, I had three phials each of the two jewels' light. Proud of my skill, I also managed to bottle the light from the flames of the white candles. Though the candles' dull fire dimmed in comparison to the others, and lacked beauty of extraordinary matchlessness, I knew it would somehow be of use.
It was only at this interlude in my work that I realized how heavy my head felt, and how tired I was from such mental exertions. Reluctantly but resolutely, I stood and left the forge, only an hour before day came.
So it was for a long year. I toiled into the morning each night, always trying and failing to achieve what I wanted. My family stopped asking me each day if I had succeeded, for they were always answered with a cold, prickly glare. Even Ambarussa, with their seemingly boundless hope and faith, stopped asking after a while.
But still I pushed onward, seeking to forget the disappointments of past nights, looking toward the redemption of my talent. I cursed, I discovered, I forced, I demanded, but seemingly to no avail.
Until one night.
That night, on the brink of despair and almost at the end of my wits, patience, and materials, I decided to blend all the contents of the phials together, and place whatever results I had in a hollowed gem of diamond glass that I had made myself, as testament to my fruitless effort. So I gathered the vials together, and a great bowl. As I gazed down on the insolent, idle lights and liquids, mocking me with their presence, my spirit's fire flared and raged.
Hands shaking with profound emotion that I even I could not understand, I uncorked the slender bottles one by one, and poured their contents into the bowl. With each drop, my anger began to lessen, soothed by the glowing beauty of the blended lights and waters. At last I came to the last phial--that which contained the light of Laurelin.
But when I looked down at the radiant splendor in the basin before me, I had not the heart to do it. The substance that lay before me was more magnificent than any I had beheld in my life. Both of all colors and colorless at once, it burned with a steady, unfailing light, shining forth even in the dim duskiness of the forge. The substance both dazzled and caressed the eye with its unrivaled beauty. Strangely, it seemed to smile at me like an old friend, welcoming me to bask in its warmth and majesty, yet was as coldly aloof and luminous as a star in the heavens. In its depths, it held unnamed hues that were seen only in dreams; the light, whiter than any flame, merged and danced across the forge for the sheer joy of life.
It was then, gazing upon the strange, beautiful matter I had created, I knew I had succeeded.
But I knew this light, this liquid--I knew not what to call it--could not dwell in this humble bowl forever. I needed to contain it in something worthy of its unsullied magnificence, in something that would make the light shine with a brightness that surpassed even this already unequaled beauty tenfold. Clutching my hands tight together to keep them from shaking, I turned my gaze to the one diamond that lay before me. I had planned to place my failure in its clear depths--why not use it to hold my victory instead?
With the utmost of care, I poured some of the fiery, radiant luster into the glass jewel I had made, knowing even as I did so that one of my diamonds would not be enough. I still had plenty of the white radiance in the bowl to at least fill two more phials of equal size and grandeur. Impulsively, though, I put one drop of the light of Laurelin inside the diamond as well, and began seamlessly welding the top of the diamond on. When I cradled the finished result in my hands, the light seemed even brighter than before, unafraid of its new setting and showing this lack of alarm by shining forth with new radiance.
So I labored long in the making of two more diamonds of my own design, hollowing them out and containing the remaining brilliance in their glass, always letting only one drop of Laurelin's light fall within, to truly bring the luster of the fire to its true extent. It was not until I gazed down upon all three of the completed gems that I truly felt fulfillment.
I knew I had surpassed the skill of the Valar in the making of these three jewels, outdone any Eldarin smith who had come before me, be he Telerin, Noldorin, or Vanyarin. But I also knew, deep in my heart, I could not create wonder of this like again. It was bittersweet, knowing that my life's highest achievement lay before me, and knowing I could never attain this climax again.
Tears threatening to fall, I reached out a trembling hand to touch one of the jewels, desperate to both believe and disbelieve at once. At my touch, the jewel seemed to flare even brighter, the glass of the diamond housing growing warm, as if it knew and understood me fully, as if we had known each other long before this life. Such comprehension and sympathy I had not felt even with Nerdanel, bound as our spirits were.
"Thank you," I whispered to the three silent gems, "Together, we shall bring greater light than ever to Valinor. Only you and I, my Silmarils."
Author's Note:
I'm glad you guys don't mind my double-posts; I must admit I enjoy receiving double the reviews per post.
Thank you, Unsung Heroine, for your reviews. Both of them were enthusiastic and insightful. When will we be getting any new stories from you? I can't wait.
Mizamour: THANKS. Need I say more:-)
Stear-chica, I don't think I've heard from you before, but either way I appreciate it. Hm, Celegorm and Aredhel; I've been hearing that one a lot lately. I must really be missing some obscure reference in the Silmarillion. . . Anyway, thanks for the review! I look forward to hearing from you in the future.
Thanks again to all of you.
Blodeuedd