Chapter Thirty-two: The City
We rode without cease, heedless of the mingling of the lights and Telperion's wane, and I did not remember that in our haste we had forgotten Makalaurë and Curufinwë, until they caught up to us around noon that day. Tyelkormo, ever watchful with his keen hunter's eyes, was the first to see the small band of five horses and their riders upon the horizon, coming from the direction of where Tirion had sunk long ago, behind the grassy plains.
Makalaurë was the first to draw near enough to shout a greeting. He looked more splendid then ever in his fine riding clothes, with his harp and flute in their cases slung over his saddle, and his sword belted at his side. However, there was a tangible sadness in his bearing, and it did not take my deep-seeing eyes to know he was a little wounded by our departure without his knowledge.
"You deserted us," he said with mock indignance, dismounting and embracing Maitimo and the twins, the three of which had always been the closest brothers to his heart, "I woke up this morning to a messenger from Grandfather saying you had all disappeared in the night--thank the Powers I knew what your purposes were, and knew which way to go."
"So Makalaurë came to my house, and we decided to follow, even though the invitation to come away in the night did not extend to us," Curufinwë remarked jovially when he pulled up his horse alongside Makalaurë's, glancing briefly over his shoulder to see if Aranel and Tyelpinquar were safely behind him with Márlindë. They were; Márlindë on a slender-limbed bay palfrey, and Aranel, who was followed closely by Tyelpinquar, now a young man, riding a swift-looking roan with the excellent horsemanship of many years of training. Their saddlebags were all brimming, but they brought no wagons
"You are planning on taking us with you?" Makalaurë inquired hopefully, as Curufinwë nodded with equal expectation.
I nodded, and so it was that my house added five more exiles to our number.
"Why is Mother not with you?" Curufinwë asked me when everyone else was asleep, and we were left to watch the dwindling of the cookfire and the bright stars above.
I was briefly reminded of the time I had sat with Mahtan on our return to Tirion, and asked him questions, but thinking of Mahtan brought me to mind of Nerdanel, and I quickly put that memory away. But Curufinwë was my favorite son, and I knew my obligation to reply.
"Do you and Márlindë ever argue?" I asked quietly, staring into the fire, sensing Curufinwë's puzzlement as I evaded his question. There was a short silence, and I waited hungrily on his response. Maybe Nerdanel and I were no different than other married couples. Maybe--I could not help but hope through my despair and hurt rage--maybe she was coming back.
"Oh, we have lovers' quarrels often enough," Curufinwë replied, "You know, little spats over who will give Tyelpo his morning lessons and who will weed the garden. We exchange a few hot words, then try to ignore each other--usually in vain. It truly takes two to run a household and take care of a child, even though my son is a child no longer. We always apologize soon after--she has an abundance of ways to make me yield." He laughed at some memory despite the somber mood, and my heart sank, for Curufinwë had unwittingly cast water upon my flames of hope with his response.
"She never--she never threatens to leave you?" I pressed, though I knew it was to no avail.
"No--" Curufinwë said slowly, suddenly confused, and then realization dawned in his voice. "You do not mean Mother--she--oh, Powers, Father, I had no idea. I am so sorry. I must have seemed so arrogant--"
"The fault is not yours," I murmured, looking up from the fire to meet his pitying gaze.
"If it does not harm you to remember, why did Mother leave?" Curufinwë inquired at last.
"She said our love had lessened," I sighed, voice growing rueful despite myself, "And she said if we wished to be happy, we would part. And so she left me. I--" I felt my heart rise to my throat, and fell silent, blinking back the tears which blurred the light of the fire.
"Oh," I heard Curufinwë mutter lamely, his voice faint and soft with loss, tinged with the slightest chance of tears, though he held back with a self-control that was unusual in the one of my sons most like me--restraint was a virtue I did not often possess. There was a staid hush as my son mulled over his thoughts in silence.
"Father," he began at last, "Perhaps she was right. Perhaps it was meant to be. You are capable of raising us alone."
"Am I?" I mumbled despondently.
"You are weakened by her loss now, and all your attempts to recover yourself must seem in vain. But wait and see." Curufinwë stood his feet, blinking up at the stars before glancing back down at me, a proud, admiring love in his eyes. "You will see. Things shall be better."
He left silently, without another word, and I spent the night sleeplessly, watching the embers die and the stars fade.
On the fourth day away from Tirion, we came to a shallow valley, ringed about by rolling green hills of no spectacular height, yet enough to wall the dale off from the world. In the midst of the valley rose a high hill, overlooking the lands below with haughty arrogance. Here, the light of the Trees was faint in comparison to that glory which shone in Tirion or Valmar, and I found some sympathy for the forsaken beauty of the vale.
"Here," I said, to myself at first, then raised my voice to address my sons and our few followers, "Here is where we shall build."
The work began slowly, and required the help of all. Our numbers were few and the toil lasted us the entire day, and I would have ordered us on further into the night, if not for the fervent, wearied pleadings of my sons. I agreed reluctantly, and only after they all promised to set to work immediately the next morning.
While my stronger sons and I did much of the quarrying of stone and other such strenuous labor, Márlindë and Aranel began on the smaller tasks that we alone would not have been able to attend to until much later. They went out on long rides with Tyelpinquar, gathering thatching for roofs, and then began planting fields on the outskirts of our work, using seeds and cuttings Márlindë had brought from the prosperous garden she and Makalaurë had grown in Tirion.
On the second day since we had begun our work, the twins, who had been keeping watch on the hills, ran down to where Maitimo, Tyelkormo, and I were building a wall.
"Father! Father!" Ambarussa yelled, and I set down my burden and looked up.
"What is it?" I asked, a little irritated to be disturbed from my work.
"There are horsemen coming! They bear banners from Tirion, and they are a thousand strong," Ambarto panted, eyes wide with amazement.
"Or more," Ambarussa added, not to be outdone by his younger twin.
"Have they come to torment us in our exile?" Tyelkormo growled angrily, reaching for the sword that had stayed sheathed at his side even during the construction of our city, but Maitimo grabbed his younger brother's arm and stayed him with a look.
"Banners from Tirion?" I mused, wiping my brow and straightening even further, "Maitimo, Tyelkormo--keep working. I will go see what this is about."
I followed the twins up the hill, until we reached the grassy peak and Ambarussa pointed. "See!"
There was a great host of riders below us, making toward the vale at a swift pace, and with my keen eyes I recognized the rider at their head, bearing the emblem of the house of Finwë.
"Father!" I whispered reverently, then started down the incline, glancing over my shoulder to the twins to order only, "Tell the others that Grandfather has come! Make haste!"
I came to the base of the slope just as the mass of riders came to a halt at a gesture from Finwë. He was girt in a riding outfit of the finest blue, with the diadem I had made him about his brow, the sapphires and diamonds glowing radiantly. When he caught sight of me, he dismounted at once and rushed to embrace me. I returned his embrace, but I glanced over his shoulder to see if Indis or Nolofinwë rode with him, and was secretly delighted to see they were not.
"I was so worried about you, Curufinwë!" Finwë exclaimed with no small amount of relief in his voice as he pulled back to look at me with concerned but happy eyes, "Leaving like that in the middle of the night! It was nearly the death of me!"
"Do not say that," I urged, but found myself grinning as well. "All of us are none the worse, save that we go to sleep each night weary from a long day of drudgery. But perhaps now we will not feel even that--now that you are here, I cannot remember what it is to be exhausted!"
"I could not rest either, not knowing where you were," Finwë sympathized as we walked up the hill together, leaving the horsemen behind us to follow as they would, "I left with some men as soon as I could. I brought workmen and laborers, mostly--I knew you would likely need the help."
I laughed in delight as we topped the hill. "Thank you! We shall need them both for aid and to populate our city."
"City?" Finwë echoed, then looked out over the bare foundations we had laid, smiling as he did so. "You have done more than even I expected," he exclaimed, "I suppose a derelict hut in the wilderness is not fine enough for the likes of the eldest son of the house of Finwë!"
He spoke in unknowing jest, but I still thought, briefly, of Mahtan's snug cottage, nestled deep in the trees of the Pelóri, then grimly shook my head to ward off the sudden onslaught of memories as my heart turned cold. "No. It is not," I murmured grimly.
Finwë continued to look over the foundations with pride, shaking his head in disbelief. "This is astonishing. I fear my men will be of little use to you."
"Oh, no," I smiled, glad to have my father with me in exile, "Let us go back to call them down--they can begin at once."
Despite Finwë's beliefs that his addition to our workforce would be of no consequence, we made unbelievable progress over the remainder of that day, and the foundations had become the beginnings of soaring citadels and smaller homes as the days passed.
The place began to not only resemble, but also to also feel like, a city in short time. Many of the men from Tirion had brought their wives and children with them, and those who had not spoke of plans to do so the moment they were able. Our small assemblage, slowly but surely, grew into a community, to the delight of all.
I spent the three days since the arrival of Finwë and his men in complete delight, feeling freed from the trammels of both Indis' children and the Valar at last. The thought of building my own city, liberated from Melkor's rumors and the commands of the Powers, gave me thrills of pleasure, and I grew to love the budding settlement as dearly as if it were my child.
However, as ever had been my luck, my high spirits were not to last long. On the fourth night, Finwë and I emerged from the quarry we had delved in the hills, covered in dust from the stones and shivering as our sweat turned cold in the night, laughing and talking happily despite it all.
"It must be encouragement indeed for the Noldor here to see their own King working among them," I exclaimed, "Thank you again for personally supporting us in the building of this city."
"You speak only of my elevated status as the eldest man of my house," Finwë replied somberly, "For I am King no longer."
"You are not King?" I asked in disbelief, smile fading into a confused frown, "Then who is? Have you left Tirion leaderless?"
"Oh, no, I could never do that," Finwë said at once, his concern and love for the city he had left behind showing plainly in his voice, "I appointed Nolofinwë as regent in my stead, though he may be raised to kingship in short order, if I am to remain here."
My lighthearted ease faded entirely, and I felt my entire body go cold and stiff, my very blood seeming to freeze in my veins as I searched for words. "Nolofinwë--he is regent?" I asked bluntly at last.
"It was the fitting thing to do," Finwë answered quietly, his voice neutral, "With your absence, he was the next in line. He was reluctant to take the throne--indeed, he and Arafinwë seemed almost angry that I was leaving them--but it was the only thing I could do." My face must have been dim in the twilight and the shadows of the hills, but my father sensed my sudden twist of emotions as abruptly as I did.
"How could you?" I moaned in dread and rage, gritting my teeth to keep from shouting, "Why did you give him the crown?"
"Because law commands it," Finwë replied, withstanding my obvious rage with affection but uneasiness as well, "Fëanáro, it was the only thing I could do."
I could not speak for a moment, feeling again the familiar betrayal I had felt when Finwë had married Indis. Twice now he had betrayed my mother's memory and my birthright. Even if it had not been me, I would have lent my support and my sword fully to one of the line of Míriel to claim the kingship of Tirion before I saw a child of Indis, a secondborn, undeserving whelp lay his hands upon it.
"I am your eldest son!" I shouted at last, not pausing to gather my thoughts as my words sprawled out, clumsy and awkward but passionately felt, "Your marriage with Míriel ended long ago, and I see that and, much as I hate to, I accept it, but I remain! Do not forget me, Father. I know Indis and her children are your future, that they are the path you chose to take, and I have sworn to never gainsay it. I swore out of my love for you, not for the love of Indis or your children by her. I will do whatever you say; but I will not be forgotten or cast aside.
"Perhaps Nolofinwë will--he will make a better king, one more just and--and kind than I shall ever be." I almost choked on the bitter words, and my speech slowed with reluctance, but I knew I had to forget my prejudices to tell my father how I felt. Words I had held back since childhood were now spilling from me in a great rush of anger and sorrow and pleading urgency. "I will envy him that kind faultlessness that has earned him your affection until the end of days. If you love me not, let it be so, though my heart shall break and my spirit shall weep from unending grief. But I am your firstborn, and do not deny me my inheritance--that of the son of Míriel."
There was a long quiet, and darkness fell in the silence. Finally, Finwë took a deep breath and spoke.
"Now all stands revealed. You do not want to be forgotten or neglected--a simple want, risen from the first needs of childhood, but one powerful enough to wake hate and sullen rage if not attended to. Know now, my son, that I never intended to, and never will, forget you. Even if I wanted to do so, your fire leaves a mark upon all who know you, even in passing, and to forget would be impossible.
"Fëanáro Curufinwë, let it be known that I loved your mother more than life. I love you with that love because of the pieces of her that I see in you. If she lived today, I would not have looked at Indis twice, and would have been the gladder for it. Think on that, and let your envy rest, for what you so resent is not worth such jealousy.
"The reason why Nolofinwë and Arafinwë were so indignant at my departure was because they felt I was choosing you over them. With all honesty, my son, their suspicions were true. Though your spirit is sometimes too fiery for others to abide in, you are my favorite son, and I speak truth. If it gives your heart ease to think of it so, think that, in leaving Tirion, I have taken the kingship with me, and, in my arrival and settling here, I have bequeathed it to you. This kingship may not be over Tirion or the Noldor, Fëanáro, but it is the kingship over my heart, and I hope that is enough for you."
Finwë's words cooled my anger, and in the stillness after I felt myself begin to weep, though for what I knew not, and I fell into his arms like a child again, shedding tears of sorrow and joy until I had no more.
Author's Note:
Watch out. . . the drama in this next chapter is pretty crazy. I got a little teary-eyed while writing it the first time. Fëanor's just so tormented. . . :-(
Thanks, Ellfine, Viya, and Depprium! Your reviews made my day.
Unsung Heroine: Oh, dear. I'll check that Elda problem out right away. As for horses of Valinor--if they were Vala-bred, couldn't they live forever? 'Tis a noble strain, after all. You are welcome, by the way, to scream for more. :-D
Priestess of Dan. . . Nelyo? Really? Oops. I don't know if I can fix all the times I made the same mistake before this chapter (reloading all 32 with the change isn't my idea of a picnic!), but I'll certainly fix it in the future. Thanks for keeping your eyes peeled.
Mizamour, I love Wicked, just not the hype it's getting as a book/musical. I fear it may soon become a gimmick, and be viewed as such rather than the lovely story it is. Anyways, please update soon! I too am review-motivated and know exactly what you mean.
Yours,
Blodeuedd