Chapter Twenty-eight: The Noldor
"Father," Ambarussa called as we approached the gates of Tirion upon our return, "Look! There are men at the gates."
I looked at him dubiously, but the boy's face was sincere, and he pointed. I followed his gesture to the gates of Tirion, and indeed I could see the indistinct shadows of men moving about the walls.
"Guards," I whispered, the word strange to me and new upon my tongue. What cause did we have to place sentinels upon our walls? Was there some danger in Aman? The very thought was laughable. The Blessed Realm was the very essence of a land at peace.
We continued our ride to the gates, but there we were halted by one of the guards.
"Who are you?" He asked, and I felt myself bristle.
"Prince Fëanáro son of the King Finwë, who dwells at the foot of the Mindon," I replied, with more than a little indignation, "And my two sons, Telufinwë and Pityafinwë. We return from Valmar."
The guard lowered his eyes, and the quick-kindled fire in them was quenched. "Forgive my insolence," he murmured.
I raised my chin as high as I could without losing sight of the man. "You are forgiven," I said loftily, "See to it that it never happens again. Now, tell me--from whence did this order to have guards at the gates of Tirion come?"
"From the Prince Nolofinwë, your brother. He said he wished the utmost safety for his father."
His father. I bridled even more, if it was possible. That little brat of Indis. I would strangle him the next time I saw him, and his docile shadow of a brother as well.
"Safety from what?" I demanded irritably, "This is Aman, after all. Does he fear the Valar? And with reason--they can deal out death as easily and readily as they do life. Indeed, if not for their foolish playing at authority, my mother would still be alive." I laughed bitterly at the thought, but the guard looked uncomfortable at this brash humor.
"I know not the Prince Nolofinwë's intent," he replied, a little awkwardly.
"Well then, I shall continue my conversation with the more informed within these gates--if you will let us pass." I did not care about how piercing my tongue had become. What was happening to Tirion?
The moment we returned to the house, I locked the Silmarils in a treasury inside my forge, and then went to greet my family. I had many questions to ask of what had come to pass in my absence.
"Have you noticed that there are now guards at the gates?" Ambarto queried before I could say a word, and Maitimo's features darkened.
"Yes, little brother," he sighed, as Nerdanel handed him some plates and goblets to set for dinner, "By order of Nolofinwë."
"They would not let me go out to hunt," Tyelkormo all but growled, eyes hot with remembered wrath, settling himself beside me on the hearth, "What do they expect me to do? Hunt the doves that roost on the Mindon?"
"A fine quarry, that," teased Carnistir as Nerdanel silently handed him a stack of silken napkins, but then his eyes grew solemn as he added in hushed tones, "They say that Nolofinwë was counseled by Melkor to raise that law."
The brothers fell silent. They knew as well as I the tales of old, and of Melkor's irrevocably malicious crimes.
"Melkor is evil," Ambarussa protested, from where he lounged with Huan by the fire, his head on the dog's grey belly, "Why would he do that? The guard told us that they were posted to defend Grandfather."
"Melkor is indeed a strange one," I remarked, "I am confused by his designs."
"We will not talk about Melkor over dinner," Nerdanel said firmly, and the conversation ended.
"I am not afraid of him!" Ambarto argued loudly, standing up.
"Nor am I!" Ambarussa said adamantly, standing beside his brother, "We will not have nightmares, Mother! We saw him ourselves!"
"We did!" Ambarto verified firmly, when his elder brothers shot the twins incredulous looks.
"Hush, small ones," Nerdanel whispered, gathering them into her arms, "It is not you I fear for." Eyes veiled, she held them close and then released them before disappearing into the kitchen. My family sat in silence until she called us to dinner.
But I stayed awake long after the changing of the lights, thinking over the many new things I had learned that day. Melkor had advised me against Nolofinwë, yet now it seemed he was upon my half-brother's side. Perhaps he was lying to one of us--but whom? Just thinking of the disgraced Vala made my head spin. I could not trust him, I decided at last.
Then who could I trust? My sons, I thought at once. Though fate did not perpetually smile upon us, I knew my sons would rally to me in a time of need, by the call of blood to like blood, if not by what love they bore me. They would defend me when the time came, if I wished it so. Even gentle Makalaurë and somber Maitimo would do so, with a bit of persuasion.
And to be my defenders, they needed. . .weapons. That was yet another strange word, known and yet unknown, emerging from the shadows at the back of my mind.
I knew that Tyelkormo and other hunters of the Eldar used weapons, to smite and maim and kill, but used them only upon mindless animals, who were soon reborn in Aman. But if such things killed animals, why not people? We were, after all, flesh and blood as well, albeit immortal if we lived free of harm, which we had thus far. I remembered making hunting weapons, javelins and swords and such, for my sons in the forge. The arms I planned to create now would need not be much different.
I laugh now, thinking back on that night, when I had promised myself that my sons and I would use our weapons only to defend, and never to deliberately kill another being out of sheer malice or wrath.
How vain that promise would prove.
I began my work the next morning, and by the following week had created a sword, made of the finest iron to be found in Aman. I presented it to Maitimo, for he was my eldest son, and came first in all things, but at first he held back, reluctant.
"I cannot take it," he murmured, eyes terrified, like those of a trapped animal, and fixed on the blade, "I will not kill. I--I do not have the stomach for it. And Mother--" I almost hesitated when I saw the blatant love glowing in Maitimo's eyes when he mentioned Nerdanel, but my sense of duty was entrenched too deeply in my heart for hesitation.
"Take it, Nelya," I urged him, extending it toward him, "I would not do this to you unless I was absolutely sure of the need." The sincerity in my voice was real, but I spoke too with the persuasive tone I used so rarely but effectively.
Maitimo's hand twitched, as if to take it, but he held back again. "I am no warrior."
"With time and training, you shall be," I assured him, and gestured for him to take the blade once more, "Nelya, why do you waver? Would you linger so when the lives of your brothers rest upon your decision? When the fate of your house hangs in the balance? You are a child no longer. You are my heir, Nelyafinwë; act like it."
That convinced him, but his hands still shook as he took the sword into his hands, face pale and grave. His dark eyes, usually so calm, shone with a terror as if he already saw the deaths that would bloody the white blade.
"It feels like part of my hand," Maitimo muttered, swallowing hard.
"It will be," I promised him, and went to return to my work.
That night, I stayed up with Nerdanel after our children went to sleep. She was unusually silent as she scrubbed the table, whisking away plates and cups with unsettling vehemence, eyes flashing grimly in the light from the fire on the hearth. Seeing her strange mood, I said nothing but sat in a chair in the corner, watching Huan settle himself by the fireplace.
"Maitimo came to me today," Nerdanel began suddenly, voice hard but quiet as she absently traced a finger along the gold filigree of a platter.
"And?" I asked, perhaps too insolently. My wife straightened, setting down the stack of plates she held, eyes burning with a fierce, indomitable light. Huan's eyes opened, his ears cocked, all traces of laziness gone. I took my prompt from the hound and did so as well.
"He had a sword," she said unwaveringly, voice still cool, but she sounded as if the word sword brought a sour taste to her mouth. "A sword he claimed that you had made and given to him. Well?" Nerdanel demanded when I did not reply, "Did you? Why?"
"Yes," I replied coolly, "For the protection of his house."
"Protection?" Nerdanel echoed dubiously, "What do you so fear will harm our house?"
"Nerdanel, you do not understand," I told her, standing to my feet as well, "I fear that Nolofinwë and Arafinwë are preparing to usurp the throne from our family, and the words of Melkor drive us all even further apart. This is a time where we must stand unified, unbroken by rumors and lies."
Nerdanel waited through my speech to speak again, but looked as if she had wanted to interrupt several times. "Nolofinwë and Arafinwë!" Nerdanel laughed, a bitter sound, "It seems you blame them for any ill thing that befalls our family. You have been at their throats since their birth, Fëanáro! Let them be, cool your jealousy, and do not let Melkor's counsel enter your ears."
"I am not seeking counsel from that--that monster!" I shouted, voice rising against my will as I strode to stand across the table from her.
"Then why do I hear his words in your mouth?" She whispered, both sadly and angrily at once. Her eyes were at once downcast in shamed sorrow and delving deep into my own with a strength I could barely match. For a moment I could not say anything, mouth working soundlessly.
"Do not dare to say such things!" I cried at last, "Melkor has no welcome from me!"
"It seems otherwise," Nerdanel argued, "You would not let go of your hate for your half-kin if it meant the fate of the world. And now that Melkor goes among the Noldor, you seem more embittered than ever."
"Only because I hear word that my half-brothers are plotting to wrest the birthright of my family away from us!"
"But must you place the burden of such a duty, if even there be need for it, on the shoulders of your own children?" Nerdanel asked incredulously, "Have you no love for them? Would you see them deal death and blood, even if they were to die?"
"They will fight for their right to the throne, and slay any who would wrongfully seize that right! And if they die in the doing, so be it, for that death shall be an honorable one," I replied fiercely, "Aulë told me once: life is the anvil and hammer between which one is either tempered or broken. They will learn to how to earn their legacy, or I shall see them to it myself! I will not have my sons be remembered as reluctant cowards who cringed and groveled at their cousins' feet!"
"There is no honor in a warrior's death, especially one that if fought against our own people. And if we are all indeed upon an anvil, facing the hammer, remember that breaks can be mended," Nerdanel shot back, "You leap to a fate of bloodshed without thought or regret, and push your sons with you. . . Rage that has rankled long in your heart clouds your mind, Fëanáro. Think clearly."
"I am!" I roared, slamming my fist down on the table, with a sudden sound and a strength that made both the tableware and my wife jump. As she recovered from the shock, Nerdanel's eyes grew cold.
"For the first time in my life, I am," I added, voice lower, but her face remained emotionless.
"You are a changed man, Fëanáro son of Finwë," she said quietly but evenly, "What once burned only with an innocent desire for life now devours anything that would gainsay it. Your fire consumes you."
With that, she turned and left the kitchen, closing the door silently behind her as she went. For a moment, all I could do was stare after her, trembling with rage and furious at my own powerlessness to stop her.
"Come back!" I shouted after her, even as I turned to go to the forge and isolate myself from the world once more, "Damn your willfulness, daughter of Mahtan! Come back!"
Weeks and months passed, and still I labored over the creation of the weapons in my forge. But by the end of the second year since the making of my Silmarils, all my sons had helmets, shields, and swords, though I advised them to keep them hidden, until the time was right.
Each son reacted differently on his acceptance of the weapons. Makalaurë, when I rode to his house and presented him with a broadsword and a shield, was both cautious and amused, as if it were some trick I was playing on him.
"These are--for me?" He asked warily, glancing behind him to see if Márlindë was watching, "Why? Should these not be gifts for--Tyelkormo, or Carnistir?"
"I give them to you because these are dangerous times," I replied, "I will tell you when the time comes for you to use them."
Makalaurë gave me a curious but arch glance, not unlike the one his grandfather seemed to favor as well, but took the sword in one hand and the shield in another.
"And I assume I will have to practice as well," he sighed resignedly, and groaned when I nodded. "Then practice I shall," he told me brightly, forcing an cheerful smile, though as I turned to go I smiled to hear him muttering about how a bard used his words and wit as weapons, not crude things of steel and iron.
Tyelkormo took the offering of the sword with a seasoned ease, for as a hunter he had handled weapons and the like for most of his life.
"It is fairer than any I have owned," he remarked, nimbly balancing the sword on his hand to measure its quality, glancing to me with nonchalant ash-grey eyes, "Did you take especial care in the making of this one?"
"Very much so," I replied, and he smiled slightly and let it be.
Carnistir was the most eager of the sons to take up the weapons I offered him, his eyes glowing with a fierce light when he saw me coming towards him with the sheathed sword and glimmering helm in my hands. The fell light only brightened as he readily took the sword, which was alone enough to fan the embers of his delight.
"I will take good care of them, and practice everyday," he promised me solemnly.
Curufinwë accepted the sword, mail, and shield I gave him only as a gift from father to son. He had always loved me dearly and took my offerings as a reward for his devotion and a sign that I loved him as well.
Ambarussa and Ambarto were the last ones to be given the weapons, and I had put the matter off for some time, for I knew Nerdanel would surely be enraged at the supposed corruption of her most beloved sons.
So far she had watched my awarding of the arms to the elder children with chill but silent eyes, and I had hidden from her detached coldness in my forge for many nights. Now I would hide no longer.
But I knew there was fury hidden inside her cool pretense, and the twins' reception of the gifts would be when the fury would most likely be loosed. I could only hope for the best as I presented the twins with their identical shields and swords.
"Are they really for us?" Ambarto asked suspiciously when I held the weapons out to him.
"Of course they are. You may keep them as you wish, only if you will use them when I tell you to," I explained, and the twins' suspicion faltered quickly as their eyes hungrily drank in the light of Laurelin falling upon the bosses of the proud shields and the fineness of the scabbards in which the two swords lay.
"Thank you, Father," Ambarussa murmured, reaching a hand for the hilt of one of the swords. Ambarto gave his twin a reproving look, as if scolding Ambarussa for his forwardness. Ambarussa hesitated, but his hurt glance at his twin soon turned Ambarto's heart as well, and soon both brothers had swords in their hands, laughing softly and whispering excitedly to each other. I smiled at their eagerness, but as my eyes strayed upwards, I saw Nerdanel in the doorway, frozen like a startled doe, the hamper of laundry she was holding forgotten.
Her mouth fell open in shock, grey eyes darting between the adamant blades and the delighted faces of the twins. My smile faded, dreading her response. She just pursed her lips, wiping her eyes absently with a shaking hand, and made to leave, but I still winced. Sometimes silence was the heaviest blow of all.
Ambarto turned and caught a glimpse of her, and his face went pale with surprise, then flushed with reluctant shame. "Here," he mumbled quickly, eyes averted as he held out the sword to me, "I do not want it."
Ambarussa wavered, but then offered me his sword as well. "Me neither."
Nerdanel's receding shadow hesitated in the hall, and I could almost hear her anticipation.
"They are my gift to you, little ones," I replied, looking not at the twins but to where Nerdanel stood, clenching my fists and bracing myself as if for assault, "Keep them."
I exited the room hastily, not looking at Nerdanel as I did so, leaving the twins grim and pale-faced, staring at the swords and shields I had left in their hands.
Needless to say, the days to follow after the twins' receipt of the weapons were cold and empty. The sons seemed to recognize the hard tension between Nerdanel and myself, and they too grew quiet and chary of their words. Both their arguments and laughter were silenced, swallowed up by the deathly, indifferent stillness. When I could take the chill silence no longer, I rode to my father's house, seeking counsel and comfort.
He led me to his councilroom, where we could speak in private, and listened long to my words, for long it took me to tell the entire account of the estrangement of my wife from me, and my throat went dry not long after I finished. After Finwë sent a servant for some spiced wine, he turned to me, face sad and grave.
"Somehow, Fëanáro, I knew this would happen," he told me solemnly, "Nerdanel has a fiery spirit not unlike yours--weaker, perchance, but nonetheless just as passionate and eager to live. Neither of you likes to back down from an argument, nor are you willing to admit your wrongs. If you had married but a gentler and more compliant wife, less would you quarrel."
"But I love Nerdanel!" I said fiercely, "If I had known, I would have saved her from this fate."
"No, you would not," Finwë replied firmly, "For exactly the reason you say so now."
The servant entered, bearing a tray with wine and two goblets, and let us take what we needed of it before leaving. Finwë looked back to me.
"Fëanáro," he began, eyes not leaving my face, "All things pass, and so shall this shadow from your family. And, with hope," he added in a murmur, "From my people as well."
I set my cup down too loudly, and it clanged sharply on the wooden arm of the chair. "What is ill with the Noldor?"
Finwë sighed, eyes sad, as if the very thought disheartened him. "For the first time in my reign, I see doubt and mistrust among my people. Friends of old quarrel like bitter enemies, and even families are rent asunder as the wheat beneath a scythe. I hear strange rumors too, of weapons and tools of war."
My gaze wavered at this, but I struggled to keep my face steady. As I protected my family with the making of the weapons, so did I protect my father.
But others were making weapons as well. . .?
Finwë, if he saw me flinch, kept speaking as if he had not. "I am sorry, my dearest son, that this distrustful, gluttonous ruin is the kingdom I shall soon have to bequeath to you. But there is nothing, it seems, that I can do to heal the wounds the Noldor inflict upon themselves."
"You are the greatest ruler I know, Father," I assured him firmly, "You shall make things well, I know it."
"I would I could believe you, and I shall accept your praise, but I know not if I deserve it," Finwë said wistfully, then smiled at me fondly. "I am holding a feast tomorrow night. I know my offer comes late and informally, but will you come, with the Silmarils?"
"I shall," I replied fervently, "With the Silmarils and my sons--I cannot say Nerdanel will come--and moreover a gift for you, Father."
Finwë's smile grew, loving and kind. If a hand of shadow there was that hung over our people, it had not touched him. Yet.
"I will be honored by your presence, Fëanáro."
Author's Note:
I'm a little frazzled; school starts on Monday and just updating my two multi-chapter stories now seems an awful exertion. Please forgive if this is short and a little disjointed. First of all, Fire has received 101 reviews! Wowwwww! Thank you all sooo much!
What can I say, Unsung Heroine, I happen to adore Aegnor (I cry like a baby every time I read the Athrabeth) and simply had to make him stand out a little. :-) My favoritism is always blatant. As for the question you raised about the Age of the Trees and Elves aging. . . hm, never even paused to consider it. Or maybe I did, but just refused to consider it because of the math (never my strong forte). I can't even begin to really comprehend it. (shakes fist at sky) CURSE YOU, TOLKIEN, FOR BEING SO CONFUSING! Hm, baffling. . . what about the Sindar and the Elves that stayed in Endor? Would they take longer to mature? I am so bewildered. Can I get back to you on that one?
Mizamour, thanks as always for your constant support. I'm glad I could do the Silmarils' creation justice.
Thank you, Priestess of Dan. Reading all 26 chapters certainly makes you a hero in my eyes! Hope you stay on board. :-)
Hasty hugs for everyone,
Blodeuedd