Chapter Thirty: Ezellohar

On the morning of the great council, I felt again the need to go with my sword upon my side, for a cold thrilling of fate told me I would have need of it soon. So I went indeed with my sword at my belt, girt in my finest dark blue tunic, which was embroidered with three stars at the cuffs and across the chest, and bearing under one arm one of my adamant silver helmets, crowned with crimson plumes and worked in fine gold.

Both Carnistir and Tyelkormo begged to go with me when they saw my purpose, but I refused both of them. I would speak alone before my father and the lords of Tirion. Had I not crafted the Silmarils alone as well? Perhaps solitude was a source of good fortune for me. I left for my father's hall with high spirits, confident that all would go well.

But when I came to the house of my childhood, beneath the tall shadow of the Mindon, I already heard voices emerging from the great hall. Furious that I should be so forgotten, I strode to the doorway leading to the hallway, but then stopped dead, all the enraged words that had risen so readily to my lips emerging stillborn. For among the many voices, Nolofinwë's had risen, and all others fell silent.

"King and father, will you not restrain the pride of my brother, Curufinwë, who is called the Spirit of Fire, all too truly? By what right does he summon councils and speak for all our people, as if he were King?" Nolofinwë emerged into my sight, a tall pillar of golden strength, and he continued on, voice heedless but steadily strong, "It was you who long ago spoke before the Eldar, bidding them to accept the Valar's summons to these land. It was you, and no other, who led the Noldor upon the long road through the perils of Middle-earth to the light of Eldamar. If you shall not repent of it now, at least you have two sons to honor your words."

Wrath as I had never felt before furled me, and I strode with long, brutal steps into the hall, to stand before my father, putting on my helm as I did so. I should have known. Nolofinwë was influencing my father as I never had. Melkor had been right--if he continued to wield such control, he would indeed be King before anything could be done. I was the eldest child, the firstborn and only son of Míriel, and rightful heir to the throne of the Noldor. I would not stand quietly by and let a power-hungry youth manipulate my father.

An awed silence settled over all who stood gathered there, and for a moment no words could be said. I glanced over at my half-brother.

Nolofinwë stood tall beside me, face free of shame or fear, his hair framing his face in a radiant halo, his grey eyes flashing like proud steel. He took in the sight of my sword without visible reaction, then turned his eyes back to my father, head held high. Not wanting to be outdone, I looked to my father as well, and it was I who spoke next.

"So it is, Father, even as I guessed," I said, speaking to my father but loud enough for all to hear, "My half-brother would be before me with my father, in this as in all other matters." The silent shock on Finwë's face only kindled my rage, and I drew my sword in a fury, turning to my brother and extending the blade until it hovered only a short distance from his throat. "Get you gone, and take your due place!"

In the silence that followed, I imagined running the sword through Nolofinwë a thousand times for numerous reasons, but Nolofinwë remained resilient and emotionless. He regarded me quietly for a moment, then bowed briefly but politely to Finwë and left the chamber, his footsteps fading to echoes in the hall.

"Not this time," I muttered, so softly only I could hear, "No. Not this time, Ingoldo." My anger still consuming me, I followed after him, at a pace so swift it was only a handbreadth from running. Servants that passed me in the corridor cowered at the fury that pounded with the hot blood through my veins, at the fell glimmer in my eyes. I caught up with Nolofinwë at the open door of my father's house. He was halfway through the gate when I came at last to his side.

Unable to contain my blind anger any longer, I gripped him by the shoulder with one hand and raised my still-bared blade to linger over his heart. For a moment, I realized Nolofinwë was a boy no longer, nor even the young man I had quarreled with before my father so long ago. He was a man now, with broad shoulders speaking of strength to rival my own, and he looked me squarely in the eye. If we were to come to blows now, I knew suddenly, it would be only my sword and the slight advantage of great strength from years of blacksmithing that would save me.

"See, half-brother," I hissed, "This is sharper than your treacherous tongue." The slightest tremor of fear marred Nolofinwë's face, and I smiled in grim delight to have broken his emotionless indifference, but his eyes remained upon my own, and looked not at all at the blade that was so close to sundering his fate from the rest of the Eldar. "Try but once more to usurp my place and the love of my father," I continued, voice still quiet but full of venomous hate, "and maybe this blade shall rid the Noldor of one who seeks to be the master of thralls."

Nolofinwë's silence began to enrage me. Was he not afraid? Would he not heed my words? Heart pounding loud in my ears, I gave the sword just the slightest thrust, and the tip stabbed eagerly into Nolofinwë's flesh, but went no further than to deal him the slightest injury. Blood bloomed over the breast of his fine tunic, but Nolofinwë still said nothing, meeting my gaze with his cool grey eyes.

"Keep that as a reminder of what happens to those who dare to attempt taking the place of Fëanáro Curufinwë in his father's heart," I remarked bitterly, releasing my grip on his shoulder and drawing the tip of the bloodied blade from his breast, "May it mark you forever. Do not forget your place again."

Nolofinwë raised an untrembling hand to his chest, and felt the slight wound there, his fingers coming away stained with red blood. Both he and I had never seen the blood of another Eldabefore, and we both trembled for a moment, before we remembered ourselves. Nolofinwë looked at me with inscrutable eyes that seemed almost betrayed, then strode off into the crowds that were gathered about the square before my father's house. All was still, for all had heard my words, and all saw the blood that tainted my silver blade.

I walked home in an almost drunken haze, too intoxicated with the realness of what I had just done to return the awed, frightened gaze of the Noldor watching me or to even sheathe my sword. Despite myself, my shoulders slumped and I could barely lift my head, and the proud, arrogant fire that had suffused me only moments ago seeped out of me. I could do nothing to stop it, let alone much else. My eyes wandered between the cobblestone road before my feet and the bloodstained sword in my hands, but my mind was numb and distant, unseeing.

I had just willfully injured another Elda. I had threatened my own half-brother. The fact that I was surely doomed for my crime was not a new one to my mind. Now that the rage had left me and the blindness of anger had gone, I knew I would pay, and in no small measure.

The rebellious part of me, the small part that still endured, still shrieked Nolofinwë's words in my ear, reminding me of my purposes. I wavered between remaining unrepentant or begging the Valar for forgiveness, and the decision I had to make made me feel like a powerless child, which irritated me further.

I came to my house, but for a moment only stood there, looking at it with a weary and sorrowing eye. Where would I go after this?

My children welcomed me eagerly at the door, and I collapsed into my chair by the hearth the instant I entered the room.

"What happened?" Tyelkormo asked, pushing a glowering Carnistir towards the cabinet to get me a goblet and spiced wine.

I buried my head in my hands, letting the sword fall to the floor with a clatter, and the twins, who had been approaching me, leapt back with simultaneous yelps at the noise.

"By the Powers, you look exhausted," Carnistir fussed, nearly stumbling over the sword as he handed the goblet to me, "It is almost as if you had-" He looked down at the blade at his feet, seeing the blood as well, and never finished the sentence. I stared into the wine, too enervated to drink even the smallest swallow. For a long time, we remained like that--my sons waiting eagerly for my words, words that would never come.

"What is going on?" Nerdanel entered the room, dusting her hands on her apron, then looked to me. "Back so soon?" Her tone was concerned, but not worried or frightened in the least.

"What happened?" Maitimo, trailing his mother, came in as well, his face almost a duplicate of his mother's for its indifferent curiosity.

"I--" I began, but there was a sharp knock at the door. Carnistir and Nerdanel both went for it at once.

"Father, why is your sword red?" Ambarussa asked quietly in the awkward, fatigued silence.

"It is blood," I muttered, finally taking a sip of the wine.

"Blood?" Ambarussa and Ambarto echoed as one.

"Hush," Maitimo murmured quickly, voice uneasy, but Tyelkormo, seeing I was too tired to carry on a conversation, quickly cut in.

"Remember when we hunt together?" He prompted the twins, as he sat cross-legged at my feet, "When we kill the animal, there is blood on the spear and on Huan's muzzle. That is blood, brothers. When a being loses its blood in abundance, it loses its life as well, and its spirit leaves the house of the body."

"I remember," Ambarussa told Tyelkormo, slightly disdainful at being treated like a forgetful child.

"Did you kill an animal?" Ambarto asked me solemnly, but never got an answer, for Carnistir and his mother returned at that moment.

"Oromë is here," Carnistir informed us, eyes dark, "He--"

"He must be here for me," Tyelkormo said excitedly, leaping to his feet, "I will--"

"No," Nerdanel interrupted quietly, glancing at me, "He is here for your father."

Against my will, the hand I used to hold the goblet trembled, but I hid the fear quickly, lest my sons see it. If this was the last they were to see me, they would see a father who went to his fate without dread.

I stood to my feet, setting the cup aside, and nodded briefly to Nerdanel. To my amazement, I saw for the first time in ages a deep pity and worry in her eyes, and her brow was furrowed in anxiety. In the moment of darkness, I felt a brief solace flare up in my heart, like the last blaze of a dying flame, and I smiled at her, briefly, gratefully, then went to the door.

Oromë stood there, his golden hair glimmering in the evening light, and he shifted his weight upon the tall javelin he held in one hand. Behind him were two horses, both a shining, snowy white that was almost blinding to look upon. He bowed his head gravely when he saw me, and I did so as well, though a distrustful misgiving rose in me. I knew why the Vala was here, but I did not know what he would do now.

"I greet you, son of Finwë," Oromë said, his voice as deep and rich as the sound of the hunter's horn he followed so eagerly.

"And I you, Oromë," I replied. The Vala's Laurelin-browned face remained kind and solemn, but there was no pity in his expression. He knew well his errand.

"Fëanáro Curufinwë, I am come to take you to Valmar and the judgment of the Valar concerning your actions." The tone and firm words left no space to weave through, and I knew I was truly snared.

"I shall go with you," I replied calmly, trying not to sound like a man who had just received summons to the terrible doom I faced, "How long will this journey take?"

Oromë smiled proudly, and patted the muscled shoulder of one of the white horses. "My steeds shall see us there within two days, Fëanáro." I noticed he did not mention when or if I would return.

"When do we leave?"

"Now, if it pleases you." The last few words were clearly an afterthought, and not intended to be taken seriously. Oromë would take me if it meant trussing and bagging me like any other game bird, so long as he was able to bring me to the table of the hungry Valar. Biting back another shudder, I took the bridle of the horse he offered me and mounted. Oromë mounted as well, then spurred his horse and took the lead. Without a glance back to my house, I followed him, ready to face whatever awaited me.

The horses of Oromë were indeed as swift as he claimed, and we came to the gates of Valmar long before the changing of the lights on the second day. The ride was silent, and I used the time to let myself think, carefully considering my situation. I even began planning my speech before the Valar in my head, if they would hear me before dealing punishment. Surely they would grant me their attention for enough time for me to twist my way out of this. They would not let the voice of a son of Finwë go unheard. I convinced myself of this time and time again, until we were within the Valar's city, where doubt again overtook me.

"Where do we go?" I asked Oromë as we wove through the bright streets, which were mockingly luminous even through the grim shadows of my heart.

"To the Ezellohar, Fëanáro," the Vala replied without a glance back.

The Ezellohar. My body tensed with fright so badly that my mount tossed its proud white head, confused at my suddenly faltering horsemanship. Quickly, I suppressed my horror, and gently nudged my horse on, but the thought of the Ezellohar continued to drift through my head.

The Valar only gathered at the Ezellohar for the only the most crucial of moments in their reign; they had summoned their council there when my father had gone seeking the return of Míriel from the halls of Mandos. What did they plan to do with me?

The last arrogant, defiantly quivering part of me rose up again, telling me it was all Nolofinwë's fault, that it was he who had goaded me into wrath, but I shook it away. I would not let anger cloud my thoughts so soon after it had ruined my life. Even the notion of my half-brother would not shake me.

I straightened in the saddle as the Ezellohar came into sight, golden with the clear light of Laurelin. Many people now gathered in the streets to watch me, but I held my head high, maintaining a regal manner despite the fact that, no doubt, rumor had spread of the matter that brought me here. I would go to my fate as a prince, a smith, an heir, for such I was, and, come what may, I would keep that fate honorable.

When we came to the foot of the great green hill, Oromë and I dismounted, and Oromë took the two horses and led them away to graze. Then he returned and ushered me up the rounded, grassy slopes, to the foot of the Trees. In the lush meadow that grew in the Trees' divine shade, fourteen chairs made of the finest silver glass had been set, and the Valar were seated in all of these but one, which Oromë quickly took, completing their number. Behind them stood several Maiar and Eldar, but they were not the merry, chattering folk I had seen when I had presented them with the Silmarils--their faces were somber and forbidding, and the light in their eyes had darkened.

Apart from this sober group stood a smaller gathering of Eldar, who I was quick to recognize as Noldor. But their faces were not cool with somberness; instead they looked about with hateful, sullen eyes, glowering at any whose gaze lingered to long upon them. Among their numbers I recognized the copper-haired Elda, the follower of Melkor, with whom I had exchanged brief words at Finwë's feast, and I knew this band must be the ones who had openly followed the disgraced Vala, and had been summoned here also for their irreverence.

I did not stare at the disciples of Melkor for long, for suddenly Manwë straightened in his chair and commanded, "Step forth, Fëanáro Curufinwë."

Without thought, I obeyed, walking slowly but surely to the center, encircled by the chairs of the Valar. The gaze of fourteen angered Powers was too much for even me, and I lowered my eyes soon after my approach, doing all I could not to curl up and weep with dread.

"Fëanáro son of King Finwë," Manwë announced in his resonant voice, speaking to me but loud enough for all to hear, "You are summoned to the Ring of Doom to answer for your crimes. You will answer all questions asked of you with naught but the truth."

"I shall," I mumbled, intimidated by the grieved disappointment contained in the lord of the Valar's voice. For a moment, there was silence, then Aulë stirred and spoke.

"Is it true then, Prince Fëanáro," he asked, and I hung my head, for even a glimpse from the corner of my eye of my former mentor's distress would have been enough to make me collapse in guilt, "That you spoke against the Valar in defiance and arrogance, disdaining our rules and the decisions made in our reign?"

I kept silent for a moment, but knew I had to answer. "Yes," I admitted numbly.

"And is it true," Lórien continued, taking over from Aulë, who had buried his head in his hands in dismay, "That you inflicted a wound upon your half-brother, the Prince Nolofinwë, with a blade that none of us here had countenanced you to make?"

"I did," I replied softly, rubbing my temple with a weary hand. The truth was hurting more than I thought it would have.

"May we see this proof?" Aulë asked suddenly, "I will not rely upon rumor for this charge."

I had not thought it possible, but even more guilt flooded me. Aulë was trying to help me, but my folly and rage would prove his efforts fruitless. I knew that what my past teacher called rumor was really true.

"We shall present the proof," Manwë declared, "Nolofinwë, come forward."

I looked up at once, my hand falling from my head to my side at once. My half-brother stepped forth from the swiftly parting crowd, palely golden and sincere as a warm spring morning, looking up at the Valar with reverence.

"Show all assembled the wound Fëanáro has imposed upon you," Yavanna commanded quietly. Nolofinwë looked almost hesitant to do so, but he did as he was told and unbuttoned the neck of his tunic, pulling the silken fabric down to reveal a tender-looking crimson gash that lay open over his heart. It was not bleeding, but looked as if any sudden movement would cause it to bleed again.

A gasp rippled through the throng at the sight of the wound. All had never seen such a thing before on an Elda, and the sight of it shocked them. Many began muttering darkly amongst themselves, no doubt talking over how to punish me for doing such a thing.

Nolofinwë looked to me, his grey eyes miserable, but I looked away implacably and clenched my jaw in dread, not wanting the pity of my betrayer. I had injured Nolofinwë worse than I had thought to, and now my mistake was returning to trouble me.

"Silence," Manwë ordered the council, and they did so at once. Then he returned his profoundly deep gaze to me. "Explain to us why you have done such an abhorrent crime to your own kinsman, who shares with you your father and his noble blood."

This was a question I dreaded to answer, but I knew my obligation and at last replied, "Melkor came to me, and told me that Nolofinwë and his brother, Arafinwë, intended to take the kingship of the Noldor, that which is my birthright, from me. To defend my family and the honor of my house, I made weapons and gave them to my sons, to use in times of need. Melkor also told me--" I swallowed, for my mouth was suddenly dry, "That you backed my half-brothers in this cause."

More whispers swelled in the council, and Tulkas, the Vala known best for his long-standing hatred of Melkor, stood to his feet, clenched his fists, and left, no doubt to confront the disgraced Power and bring him to the judgment of the council.

The other Valar watched him go without emotion, and as they turned back to the matter at hand Varda said, "This seems naught but a lie of Melkor, albeit a well-devised one. For we did not aid Nolofinwë in such a plan, nor were we even aware of it." She turned to Nolofinwë, her night-blue eyes earnest but thoughtful. "Did you truly make such a design?"

Nolofinwë wavered for a moment, but then shook his head solemnly. "Never. Not once in my life did I think of wresting from my brother what is clearly his. However, rumor came to me that Fëanáro had our father in hand and used Finwë as a pawn to carry out his own decisions and purposes. I was also told that before long Fëanáro would gain more power as a King in all but name, and drive my family forth from Tirion, for such was as he has ever wished it."

I bit back a cry of indignant rage at the blatant lie. The thought of me using my father as an instrument to gain power was ridiculous! Everyone knew how much I loved him. Everyone. I would sooner die than carry out such cruel manipulation against Finwë.

"Is this a lie too, Fëanáro?" Ulmo asked of me, and I nodded vehemently. The Valar began conferring among themselves in hushed tones, and I remained silent, knowing they were deciding some momentous fate. When their whispered exchange slowed and stilled, Mandos spoke to me, in his cheerless, unfeeling voice.

"Fëanáro Curufinwë, we have heard of your earlier words, in which you spoke of thralldom. If thralldom it be, you or any other cannot escape it, for Manwë is King of Arda, and not of Aman alone. And your wounding of Nolofinwë was unlawful, whether in Aman or no. Therefore this doom is now made--for twelve years you shall leave Tirion, where this threat was uttered. In that time, take counsel with yourself, and remember who and what you are. But after that time, this matter shall be set in peace and held redressed, if others will release you."

I bowed my head in silence. I knew no one present cared enough about me to release me from this punishment after I had served out my time. Beaten, I meekly began to realize my fate--the life of an exile, lived out in loneliness and hardship, far from family or the pleasures and safeties of home.

"Valar," someone said suddenly, and I lifted my eyes slightly. It was Nolofinwë, undoubtedly about to convince them to raise my punishment even further. But when I looked in his eyes for the self-satisfied glow of cruel joy that surely would have suffused my own had I been in his place, I saw none.

"Valar," he repeated again, bowing his head, "I will release my brother."

Somehow, strangely, his releasing me from my punishment was worse than if he had increased it. I was suddenly in an eddy of confusion, for my assumptions had brought me to no truth. No longer an exile, released by the one whom I had been brought here for harming, I was beholden to Nolofinwë.

That was why he released me, I thought furiously. All my cowed guilt left me in a smoldering burst of new rage. I could do no further ill against him because of his supposed mercy. Obligation and his clever plotting inextricably bonded us now, and it was too much for me to bear. Furious and hurt and miserable, I turned on my heel and left the Ezellohar without so much as a proper farewell.

Oromë caught up to me at the foot of the hill, just as the silver glow of Telperion was growing bright and bathing the city in silver-blue warmth.

"You cannot just walk the entire way to Tirion," he protested, seeing my sullen rage and probably attributing it to my punishment, "I will go get the horses, and shall see you home before the waxing of the light of Laurelin."

I waited, arms folded impatiently, grinding my teeth wrathfully and brooding over my horrid fate as it ran through my head again and again. Exiled from Tirion, obliged to Nolofinwë, and hated by all as a mover of discontent. What was my family going to say? I thought of my children, and especially of Nerdanel. How much longer before she hated me? Trembling with dread at the thought, I knew if Nerdanel were ever to hate me, I would die of grief. And what was my father going to say? Would he side with Nolofinwë? With the Valar? He would abandon me as he had abandoned the memory of Míriel.

Oromë returned, leading the two milky-white horses, and we mounted and rode at once, journeying like the wind itself across the silver-lit plains. I tried to concentrate on riding, but my mind kept dancing back to the thought of the welcome I was to receive at home. Would my family go with me into the wilderness? I was husband and father, but, as an exile, now perhaps that power too was taken from me.

Grief and worry followed my horse's hooves closely throughout the ride home, and did not leave me be until we arrived at the dooryard of my house, just at the mingling of the lights. I dismounted hastily, but Oromë remained upon his horse, looking down at me with resolute, unfeeling eyes.

"Send my greeting to Tyelkormo," was all he said, before he spurred his horse back down the path, the other steed ghosting after its wake.

It was only after Oromë left my side that I realized how tired I was. Leaning on a fencepost briefly, I gazed at the small house I had lived in for so long. Now, it seemed almost a wonder Nerdanel and I had managed to raise seven boisterous sons within its walls. It still stood, and none the worse. I wished I could walk away from this ordeal just as unscathed.

As I approached the door, it flew open before I could reach it, and all my sons flooded toward me from the darkness.

"Father!" They chorused, voices hushed, and I could tell from their cautious eyes that Nerdanel had no idea they were awake at this ungodly hour.

"We waited for you outside all yesterday," Carnistir informed me, "And after dinner Mother told us to come in, but we decided to sneak out later and wait some more."

"What happened? Why did Oromë come for you?" Tyelkormo asked, nudging his younger brothers aside so I could enter. His pale face was in deep shadow, but I heard his confusion in his voice.

"Everyone was saying the Valar were angered with you," Maitimo added in a whisper, "And you went to the Ezellohar to speak with them. Is that true?" I nodded, and they all suppressed gasps of wonder.

"Father," Ambarussa persisted somewhere from the dark near my elbow, "Melkor is gone! He ran away. Tulkas came to the city to look for him last night, but could not find him. Melkor has left Tirion."

"We knew you would scare him off," Ambarto said proudly, and I shook my head, surprised by this news.

"It was none of my doing," I protested, but the twins shrugged my dissent off, grinning excitedly and elbowing each other.

"What did the Valar say to you?" Maitimo asked, and I opened my mouth to reply.

"Yes, what did they say?" came a wry voice from the hall, and Nerdanel entered in her nightgown, holding a candle and looking about with an arch gaze at each of her sons.

"Mother, we--" Maitimo began, biting his lip nervously, but she patted him gently on the shoulder, silently telling him that all was forgiven, then looked back to me. I took a seat, and looked at my family, who gathered about me closely.

"I should tell you first why the Valar summoned me to their city," I began, watching their faces shiver and glow in the candlelight, "You have probably heard this by now, from many people, but I feel it is my place to let you know as well. At the council of Finwë, Nolofinwë spoke words that angered me, and left the council, but I followed and stayed him at the gate, and threatened him with my sword. That was where--the blood came from. I came home to you, but, before I could explain, Oromë came to escort me to Valmar.

"I went to the Ezellohar and spoke before the assembled Valar, and all became clear. The rumors I heard, of Nolofinwë plotting to usurp Finwë's throne, were lies--lies devised by Melkor. I am sorry for deceiving you in my ignorance." At this, I looked to Nerdanel, but the emotion in her eyes was unreadable. "But even if I acted because of lies, what I had done was truth, and I still deserved punishment for my actions. So," I took a deep breath, and let it out before continuing. "The Valar have exiled me from Tirion for twelve years, after which I shall return, at the pardon of Nolofinwë." I ground my teeth once, then forced myself to speak on. "You are free to go with me or stay here as you desire, but I love all of you greatly and would see you come with me, to offer me solace in the dark days I know will follow."

For a moment, they looked at me with silent, disbelieving eyes, until Carnistir muttered angrily, "They cannot do that do you. You are Finwë's heir. Father, do not let them--"

I looked at him gravely, seeing the selfsame anger I myself contained reflected in his dark, sullen eyes. "Carnistir, I too am ashamed and enraged by this, but it would do both you and me well if we kept those emotions dormant for a while yet. Let the Valar forget about us as we remain in the wild, and then we shall see where we go from there."

"I am coming with you," he demanded, folding his arms petulantly, "They will not humiliate you in solitude at least."

"I will go too," Tyelkormo added, grinning, "We will need food, and I shall hunt for you."

"We will hunt too!" Ambarto and Ambarussa cried, "We know how! We will go with you, Father!"

Maitimo shrugged. "You are my father," he mumbled, "I shall follow you into exile."

"We should tell Curufinwë and Makalaurë, and maybe they will come too," Tyelkormo began telling his brothers excitedly, and soon they were engrossed in their conversation.

I looked to Nerdanel, a small hope rising in my heart. She smiled a sad, weary smile, her face golden in the candlelight, but only said, "I will see."

Author's Note:

I know many if not all of you are confused by the opening of the twenty-ninth chapter, where Tyelkormo gives a Vala-bred horse named Rokkolaurë as a gift to his father. Translated into Sindarin, Rokkolaurë becomes Rochallor, the name of the horse which Fingolfin rides to Angband for his fatal confrontation with Morgoth. The coincidental choice of name was completely intentional, and I'll explain why. Originally, I imagined Fire to be the first book of a trilogy chronicling the lives of each of the sons of Finwë: Fëanor, Fingolfin, and (because his father Finarfin was too prudent and, as a result, too boring to write about) Finrod. Once I began writing Fire and realized how long 'Book One' alone would end up being, I realized that such an effort was foolhardy and gave it up. However, before I did so, my daring plan had been for Fëanor to be Rokkolaurë's first owner. Upon his death, Rokkolaurë would be given by Maitimo (ever the sensitive and gracious one) to Fingolfin, symbolizing the transition of authority from eldest to secondborn. It's very doubtful that I will ever be able to even begin on the second or third books of my little trilogy idea, but I thought that, regardless of its sudden lack of value to the plot's advancement, the scene between Tyelkormo and his father was a good one and decided to keep it in the story.

I can't scrounge up the time for individual reviewer responses this week, however; school's back in session and my schedule's a little crowded at the moment. I'll try for once I'm better adjusted, I promise!

Love,

Blodeuedd