Chapter Thirty-six: The Oath

When Maitimo and I returned to the devastated hill that was once the Ezellohar, the Eldar were already beginning to leave for their homes, departing in large groups and never alone, their bright eyes frightened, their beautiful faces subdued. It was only at the commands of the Valar that they left; even if the Eldar had had to choose freely, I knew, they would have huddled meekly at the feet of the gods until some action was taken, and then followed the Powers' orders blindly into slavery. Disgust filled me at the thought, and I wasted no time in finding Rokkolaurë and leading the horse to my son.

"Nelya," I instructed him firmly, "I want you to return to Formenos and find your brothers."

He nodded, but then hesitated, eyes wary. "Will you come with me?"

The part of me that was father to him saw the fear deep within Maitimo's gaze, fear of what awaited him in the shattered tranquility of the ravaged city, but the hard knots of resolve that had bound themselves about me did not let me falter.

"No, my son, you must go alone. Take Rokkolaurë, for the horses of your host must be exhausted and frightened. He will give you transport swifter than the winds. When all your brothers are with you, go to Tirion. I will meet you there."

I sighed mournfully, glancing back to where Finwë's body had lain. He was gone now; they were likely laying him some dark tomb, far away from the warmth of the world. "I have duties to attend to now," I said, reminding myself as well as my son, "I am the King of the Noldor now. I must go to my people in this time of need, as I have long been trained to do."

"But, Father, the ban of the Valar does not permit you to leave Formenos for many years more to come--"

"The Valar do not rule my life any longer," I interjected, my voice pitilessly hard. There. I was saying it out loud; let all who wanted to hear my words. "I will not let them. Unless it is true that we are their slaves, I will go where I will in this land for as long as I walk its shores. If they deal out consequence, so be it. My death at their hands will only lead to the Eldar's rebellion, and so shall my life, if I can help it. Either way, I will be their ruin."

Maitimo's eyes were bright with a strange mixture of frightened liberation and admiring dread as he mounted Rokkolaurë, and I watched him spur the horse and ride to the dark horizon, my eyes never leaving his tall shadow. As my son faded and blurred amid the shadows, I turned to the host of Formenos behind me.

They were not many--perhaps a dozen, maybe a little more--but I recognized them as men who staunchly backed me, and knew they would accept my leadership, even if I were to rebel against all they had been raised to love and believe. I knew they would follow me to Tirion.

"Find new mounts," I ordered them, "We are leaving as soon as possible."

"Where do we go, King Fëanáro?" One asked, and I could see from the others' faces he spoke the thoughts of all.

King. I savored the sound of the title, but was it truly mine now? I could hardly believe I had ever thought it my birthright. Finwë had always been King, not me. With him dead, I had to attempt to come to terms with several things I had not expected for many more years--such as this matter of kingship. I had always been heir, the firstborn, never a monarch. I had been ready to wait several more years until I would sit upon the throne. Now--all that was different. The one thing I knew was that I had to take up the crown as soon as possible, before some Valar-following fool sought to wrest it from me. If these gloomy times asked it of me, then King I would be, to the full extent of my power and will.

"To Tirion, my friends," I replied, "We go to Tirion."

Before we left, I learned that Finwë had been buried by Nolofinwë and his followers, a short way from the Ezellohar, just outside the white walls of Valmar. With only moments left before I was to meet with my followers, I took a detour to his grave.

The numb, painfully powerless grief and fury that had first filled me at the tidings of his death had faded, leaving me with an equally agonizing emptiness and yearning. As I knelt at the foot of the newly made mound, I wept again, tears falling like rain upon the fresh-turned earth. Even the wrath that painfully filled me to the full faded reverently as I regarded the tomb of Finwë. I simply could not remain angry in his presence, whether he was dead or alive; he had always found some consolation for my dreary thoughts. It had always been that way.

But if only Finwë could come back! Even if for a moment only, I felt his return would mark an end to all the sorrow and darkness. He would pull our ruined people back upon their feet, find a way to apprehend the vile Moringotto and force him to return my Silmarils to their rightful home. The wounds would heal, and shadow would fail. I needed him so badly, to guide me, to lead me to a place where this raw, bleeding misery could not lie in wait for my coming. I felt as if all I could do was weakly attempt to take his place, that I could only feebly offer what he had commanded, only uncertainly perform what deeds he had done with such regal swiftness and surety.

But as I wept, my feelings of worthlessness and loss faded to a bleakly disheartened acceptance. He would not come back--not now, not ever. I needed to learn my role as King well, for it was a part I would play to the end of my days.

"Father," I whispered tenderly, gazing at the tomb as though I could see through the cold soil to where he lay, as if in sleep, "Forgive me, but I cannot wait forever for you, not while your murderer walks freely on this earth. I must go, and I may never see you again. But if farewell this be, let it be. I cannot stand idle forever, remembered as the cowardly son who did not avenge his beloved father.

"You understand me more than anyone else, so you must understand my purpose. You understood me when even I did not." I stood, finally able to control my tears and keep myself from giving in to the urge to tarry at my father's side forever.

"Do not forget your Spirit of Fire," I murmured softly, eyes not leaving the grave, "For he will never, ever forget you."

Though my heart ached, I set my jaw and mounted my horse, turning toward the direction of Tirion to meet my people.

Some profound, shared passion must have suffused the hearts of my men and their steeds, for we rode swifter than the winds to the city of the Noldor. I cannot truly count the hours it took, for there was no light from Laurelin to herald the dawn of a new day, but I know short time indeed we made of the trip.

We found Tirion wreathed in a fog, brought in by winds coming from the Sea, as it often was during the spring. Before the darkening of Valinor, when Telperion's radiance had shone through the misty eddies, it had seemed like a silver cloak blanketing the towers and walls in a safe, impenetrable shield. But this new, nearly lightless shadow lent an eerie, suspicious feeling to the night, and a needling, persistent fear of what waited in the tainted pale murkiness wrapped about us. Like me, the Noldorin city had been prematurely bereaved of its innocence and safety, thrust into the turmoil of a dark new world that cared little for the minds or hearts of its dwellers.

When we reached the city walls, I divided my men into groups, sending them to different parts of the city, bearing one message that differed little from one company to another.

"Tell them that the King's firstborn son returns," I directed them all before we separated, "Tell them to gather at the foot of the Mindon, near the house of Finwë, and to waste no time in their coming."

Silently, they rode off into the empty streets of Tirion. The Noldor who had returned had withdrawn into the small comforts and safety of their homes, too terrified of what might wait beyond their doors to leave their thresholds.

Somehow, I promised myself as I rode up the hill to the Mindon, I would make them forget that fear. I would fill them with the same fiery wrath and desire for vengeance that burned in me. Their dignity and wellbeing would be returned to them, and they would stand majestic and prominent among the Three Kindreds once more.

Tonight, I would rally them to my side. I would rally them to the crown of the Noldor.

I came at last to the lush hill at the heart of the city, looking up bleakly at the Mindon. Despite the darkness, a constant lamp burned pale and weak in the tower's highest window, burning in a thin, insubstantial shaft out to somewhere beyond the Sea. Someone in this dreary world had lit it, with a hope for a future that would scatter the memory of this terrible hour like smoke in the winds of time.

A short distance from me, down the grassy slopes, I could see Finwë's house, familiar and yet unknown to me. How much time had passed since I had seen that regal abode or visited those who dwelt therein? Would I be a stranger or a resident if I dared walk within its corridors again?

The windows of the house were bright with lights, and flickering with passing shadows moving in urgency from one window of gold candlelight to another. No doubt, the rest of Finwë's family had learned of his death. Indis, Faniel, Arafinwë, and Findis. They must have come together in this dire time, torn by the same grief that ravaged us all.

I savored briefly the irony of the moment--for I knew while Indis and her children wept and sorrowed, Míriel must be with my father now, in the shadowy hall where the dead walk. I felt a fierce pang of longing as I thought of that faraway place, and the two parents who now dwelt there, but also another onslaught of grim fury. I would make Moringotto pay for his blasphemous crimes, and dearly. He would weep as I had wept tonight, begging for a mercy that would never come, as it had never come for me.

I smiled a dour, cheerless smile through my bleak thoughts, for I could see torches burning in the night among the houses of Tirion. Their gold fire bobbed through the darkened streets, making for where I stood. The message was being heard, and heeded at that, I realized. The Noldor knew I had something important to say if I was defying the Valar's will thus, standing on the soil of the city I had been exiled from for twelve years. They came with all the haste I had commanded, whether they loved me or hated me, for their curiosity would in the end undo the misgivings of both.

Suddenly, from behind, I heard the clamor of hoofbeats in the darkness. I reeled about, fear clouding my vision for a moment as I reached for the nonexistent sword at my waist. Had Moringotto returned to deal out the same death to the son that he had given the father?

"Show yourself," I barked.

But then the feeble light of the Mindon fell upon the rider's face, and I saw Curufinwë emerge from the shadow, sitting his horse with dignity, his body tall and erect in the saddle. His sword was slung in a baldric over his back, and he bore a shield with the sigil of our once-proud house emblazoned upon it. He looked every inch a proud warrior, but his usually bright, inquisitive eyes were dimmed with the same remembering, wary fear I had seen in Maitimo, like that of a frightened animal caught in the hunter's snare who knows its doom is near. His taut features relaxed as much as they could when his dark eyes saw me, and woe supplanted his fright.

"Father. . ." he murmured, dismounting and all but running to me. For a moment his voice was as frail as the Mindon lamplight, then his face stiffened again with noble pride. "I brought your sword and mail, Father," he told me, eyes starved for even the faintest light of my approval in this eternal dusk, wan though it might prove in compare.

"Thank you, Atarinkë," I replied gratefully as he brought them from his saddle. He smiled back at me, eyes bright with a ghost of happiness, his expression telling me how grateful he was in return to see me still strong in this doom-wrought night.

As I took the sword and buckled it at my side, my other sons emerged from the dark, armed and mailed as Curufinwë was. Maitimo came last, ensuring his younger brothers' protection, riding Rokkolarë with a stern but alert hand. They all dismounted as one as they saw me, rushing to my side, silently pleading for the reassurance their maturity would not allow them to ask for aloud.

"All is well," I told them in the best calm, firm tone I could manage, "I am here. Fear nothing."

"The people of Formenos are behind us," Tyelkormo said quietly, managing a weak but wry grin, "Their only wish, it seems, is to follow you, Father."

"Good," I approved softly, "We will need everyone here."

As I turned about to face the city at my feet again, I saw that the Noldor were already gathered, watching me with eyes glimmering inquisitively in the red torchlight. I looked down upon their untold numbers, smiling that same cold, empty smile. There was no joy in me, only the quiet acknowledgement that my commands had been met.

The still, gloomy hush was as thick and suffocating as the air in a windowless room, for the Noldor were growing impatient and unnerved by my long silence; but I would not speak until the people of Formenos arrived as well.

Soon they did, appearing like wraiths out of the black beyond our torches' reach, mingling the lights of Tirion with their own torches. In short time, I was not looking out upon a shadowy, faceless mass, but a sea of guttering, smoldering flames that crackled and blazed in the silence of the night.

An ironic first audience for the Spirit of Fire.

"All of you know the dark tidings that have come to us of late," I began, my mouth dry but my voice hot with already burgeoning fervor, "My father, the King Finwë, is dead, slain at the hand of Melkor, and the Silmarils, the treasured pride of our people, have been taken. But do not despair, for at least in this dark hour you will not be leaderless. I, Fëanáro, take the duty of kingship to myself, by the right granted me as the eldest son of Finwë." My eyes subtly sought out Nolofinwë in the throng, and found him.

His handsome, silhouetted face was stunned, but was steadily growing accepting and compliant. In his damnable loyalty, Nolofinwë would not give up the duties he had promised in his oath to me, and would not oppose my next announcement. Triumphant, I nodded my head ever so slightly at him before continuing, "I relieve my half-brother Nolofinwë of all duties to the people as my father's regent."

At this, there was a rash of cheers from the Formenos populace, but the applause were quickly stifled by the murmurs of those who had been Nolofinwë's followers, who were indeed the greater number. I could hear dismay and disgust in their tones, and suddenly someone cried, faceless and unseen, "You are an exile! Get you gone to your caves in the woods, Fëanáro! The Prince Nolofinwë leads us, under the grace of the Valar!"

"The grace of the Valar!" I retorted harshly, as the crowds slowly fell silent, "Why, people of the Noldor, why should we serve the jealous Powers any longer? Indeed, they cannot keep us nor even their own realm safe from the whispers of the Enemy. And though he is now their foe, are they not of one kin, Moringotto and the Valar? Do you not remember that Manwë and Moringotto are held as equals, even brothers, in the eyes of Ilúvatar?"

"Blasphemy!" another fervent voice hissed, and the Noldor were again thrust into a tumultuous clamor.

"Blasphemy only by what the Valar have taught you," I replied coolly, growing used to the resistance I was facing, and pleased to see many in the crowd nodded their heads in assent to my words as the talk subsided, "Vengeance calls me to avenge the death of my father and your King, but even were it otherwise I would not dwell much longer in the same land with the kin of my father's slayer and the thief of my treasure.

"Yet I am not the only valiant one in this valiant people. I know the strength of the Noldor. If we come together as one people, we will be invincible and mighty indeed. And have you not all lost your King? What else have you lost, cooped here in this narrow land between the mountains and the sea?"

My eyes roved the multitude again, looking for earnest, believing faces, and saw many where there had been hardly any only fleeting moments before. Among the people I could see Aikanáro and his brothers, standing with the sons of Nolofinwë. Most of them looked just as eager for my speech as any other. Even Findekáno, Nolofinwë's firstborn, appeared swayed by my words. Pride in my skills of speech filled me, but I did not let myself falter for satisfaction.

"Here once was light," I told the mass of Noldor, my voice raising with every word, "Light that the Valar begrudged to Middle-earth, but now dark levels all. Shall we mourn here deedless forever, a shadow-folk, mist-haunting, dropping vain tears in the thankless Sea? Or shall we return to our home of old?

"In Cuiviénen sweet ran the waters under unclouded stars, and wide lands lay about, where a free people might walk. There some of our people lie still, awaiting us who in our folly blindly forsook them for the lies of the West. Come away! Let the cowards keep this city!"

The assembly roared in response, some in dismay, but most in agreement. I had infected them with my wrath, and now they would not escape it. I paused to draw breath, and felt a new idea come to me.

"Let it be known now that the Valar lied to us, all these long years, and not the smallest of their lies is the concealment of the truth of the people called the Atani," I said, feeling a flare of hope that the words of Moringotto might be turned against both him and the Valar alike, "These frail people live in the lands across the Sea that we once called ours. They are not like us; their spirits are weak. Death runs rampant among them like a plague. They live brief lives, a short sputter of life in compared to our own, a life fraught with grief and sickness and, in the end for them all, death. And yet the Valar have entrusted to them great kingdoms, the like of which we have never seen or ruled! Why should we be content with mere villages and sparse lands when the Secondborn rule realms that encompass great expanses of free forests, streams, and mighty mountains?"

The shock in the crowd was tangible. Many had never heard of the Atani, and this was a blow they had not expected. I smiled dourly, knowing I had them enthralled.

"Now we know the reason of our transportation here, as though we were cargoes of fair slaves.

We at last know to what end we are guarded here, robbed of our heritage in the world, ruling not the wide lands, lest perchance we yield them not to an unborn race. The lands of Middle-earth are given instead to this sad folk, beset with swift mortality, a race of burrowers in the dark. In compare to us, these Atani are clumsy of hand, untuned to song or music. They will dully labor at the soil with their rude tools until the ends of time. To these mortal primitives would Manwë give the world and all the wonders of its land, all its secret substances, all that should be our rightful inheritance.

"While their beloved mortals build crude halls and homes on the undervalued earth, we are kept here with talk of the dangers of the world beyond and idle dreams! All these rumors of death and danger are merely a mask of words; a trick to deceive us! Hear me, children of the Noldor--be no longer the slaves of these Gods, however softly we are held. On this night I bid you to go forth from Valinor, for now the hour has come and the world awaits."

The silence of my audience begged me for more. I took a deep breath, preparing myself for the end of my speech.

"Fair shall the end be, though long and hard shall be the road before us! Say farewell to bondage! But farewell also to ease! Say farewell to the weak! Say farewell to your homes and treasures, but fear not--more still shall we make. Journey light--but bring with you your swords! For we will go further than Oromë, endure longer than Tulkas. We will never turn back from our pursuit of Moringotto! We will follow him to the ends of the Earth! War shall he have and hatred undying!

"But when we have conquered and have regained the Silmarils, then we, and we alone, shall be lords of the unsullied Light, and masters of the bliss and beauty of Arda! No doom will daunt us! No other race shall oust us!"

I drew my sword and held it aloft over my head, reveling in the cheers of the crowd and the light of the fires, letting my hard-earned victory echo in my triumphant mind. But something in me told me that my work was not yet done. Suddenly aware of the incompletion, I looked over my shoulder to my sons, their faces turned to my gaze, their eyes earnest with love and obedience for me.

"Come," I urged them, "Stand beside me, for something is yet unfinished. As I am your father and King, obey me now, if never again."

Swiftly they came to my side, their profiles fierce and strong in the firelight. I looked at them only briefly, taking in their features with a father's unwavering pride.

Steadfast, perceptive Maitimo, his gray eyes obedient but intense; delicate, artistic Makalaurë, whose frailness belied his fierce will to protect his family; fierce Tyelkormo, strong in deeds of hand and temper; stubborn, proud Carnistir, quick to anger and wrath, indomitable in his beliefs; skilled Curufinwë, truly a son of his father, matching me in face, skill, and temper; and the sensitive twins, Ambarussa and Ambarto, never apart, resolute and trusting. I knew all seven of them would follow me now.

"Draw your swords," I commanded them, and they did so, their blades red and glimmering in the light of the torches. I spoke again, and the words came easily, even eagerly, to my lips, as my sons echoed each word.

"Be he foe or friend, be he foul or clean,

brood of Moringotto or bright Vala,

Elda or Maia or Aftercomer,

Man yet unborn upon Middle-earth,

neither law nor love, nor league of swords,

dread nor danger, not Doom itself,

shall defend him from Fëanáro, and Fëanáro's kin,

whoso hide or hoard, or in hand take,

finding keep or afar cast

a Silmaril. This swear we all:

death we will deal him ere Day's ending,

woe unto world's end! Our word hear you,

Eru Allfather! To the everlasting

Darkness doom us if our deed fail.

On the holy mountain hear in witness

and our vow remember, Manwë and Varda!"

For a moment there was only a stunned, shocked silence, broken only by the hiss and crackle of flame. The mood of awe that had grown during my speech had faded into one of fear at the naming of Eru and the Darkness. Slowly, murmurs broke out in timid bursts among the Noldor, murmurs that gradually grew louder, into clamorous shouts and cries of dismay and unrest.

"Fool!" I heard Nolofinwë scream above the commotion, ascending the hill in swift, mighty strides. His usually calm face was now a mask of powerless fury. "You have damned us all, brother! Calling on Eru for a petty oath for a paltry cause! We will all pay dearly for this--in years of blood and death, war and weeping! You are maddened by hate and grief, Fëanáro, and blinded by your passion, but what you have said is unpardonable."

I lowered my sword, the blade hovering dangerously near where I had wounded Nolofinwë before. My sons kept their swords at hand too, watching for any signal from me to threaten their half-uncle.

This time, I knew, if I were to give into the fiery anger I felt at his interruption, and injure him, he would not survive it so easily. Nolofinwë must have known this, but he made no move to defend himself, his fists clenched white-knuckled but motionless at his sides, fiery eyes never leaving mine.

"A paltry cause?" I repeated bitterly, twisting his words with disdain, "I, not you, will decide which causes are trifling or significant now, Ingoldo." My use of his mother-name seemed to diminish the threat he posed to me, and ate away at his dignity.

Nolofinwë flinched, expression livid, but only muttered softly, "Listen to me. This is folly, Fëanáro. Sheer folly."

"Folly it may be," I replied, my wrath cooling as I remembered his oath before Manwë, "But it is a folly you shall follow, in spite of your misgivings. Half-brother in blood, full brother in heart I will be. Remember that? You will lead, and I will ever follow. That promise is one thing that is not annulled by the darkness, Ingoldo. I command you, your kin, and your people to follow me in the flight from Valinor. You will come."

"Do not let him do this to you, Father!" A dark-haired young man shouted from behind Nolofinwë. From the resemblance he shared to my brother, I guessed he was Turukáno, Nolofinwë's secondborn son. His face was outraged and filled with hate for me, and he struggled to get a hand to the sheathed sword at his belt, but Arafinwë held him, restraining his nephew's fury.

Nolofinwë's gray eyes grew dark with pain, but he did not turn to look at his son, and his face lost its baleful cast as he looked longer upon me. Then he bowed his head somberly, and knelt before me. "I will follow you, my King."

His voice was soft, beaten, a bare whisper, but somehow it carried through the crowds. Some cried out in anger and shock, but many of the Noldor roared in approval and triumph, brandishing their torches like swords of a victorious army. Turukáno went still, his eyes dismayed, and Arafinwë, confident in his nephew's peace, released the boy and joined his elder brother on the hillside.

"People of the Noldor," Arafinwë began, his voice appealing to the impassioned crowd. Despite their differences, all the Noldor fell silent to hear Arafinwë speak. "Why must we rush forth in the frenzy of our wrath?" He asked them, "Please, cool your fury and think well upon this departure from the lands which have ever been our home. Deeds may be done, terrible deeds, that will not be able to be undone, and in later times you may look back upon these days with either gratitude or remorse. Grieving or grateful, the memory of this night will not fade, and neither shall the events that come after."

"Hear my father's words!"

I looked about for the source of the voice, and finally saw Artaresto, now a grown man, standing tall among the masses. He turned about to address the Noldor, his torch held high like a doughty beacon. "Let us not be as mindless children in our haste to be gone! The words of Fëanáro addle your minds like wine. Only through long deliberation will you be able to find your way through the fogs of Fëanáro's speech, and safely home!"

"If the Noldor remain," Arafinwë added, "Let us not be accounted cowards, but heroes, heroes who have withstood the temptations of evil and the enticements of going forth into strange lands."

"I will stand by the words of my father," Artaresto declared, his somber determinedness seeming to move some of the crowd.

"And I," said another Elda, moving to stand at the side of Arafinwë. I caught a glimmer of violet eyes and smoky gold hair, and knew it was Findaráto. I was disappointed that I had not rallied him, another firstborn grandchild of Indis, to my cause as I had Findekáno; but I knew that there had always been little love lost between Arafinwë's heir and myself.

The Noldor's attention was then turned to the other children of Arafinwë, and I knew, if they saw an entire family come together against my words, they might falter as well. But my prayers were answered.

Aikanáro, Angaráto, and Artanis stood together, but apart from their father, their eyes filled with the fire from the torches. Aikanáro and Angaráto no doubt went for their long-standing friendship with my house, but I could not understand why Artanis would follow my cause. She did not meet my gaze-- indeed, she did not look upon any of the assembled people. Her heavenly blue eyes were distant and clouded, and her pale brow was furrowed in somber thought.

Aikanáro looked to me, and bowed his head slightly. Like Nolofinwë's promise, it was a small motion, but one the entire crowd saw and noticed.

I smiled in triumph. The Noldor were mine yet. "See," I informed the crowd, "There are some of wisdom among my house. We are not the Valar, sitting in lazy grief forever while the Enemy walks free! Let us be gone, and the sooner we go, the better our fate shall be!"

The people cheered again, their clamor breaking the stillness of the dark night. Arafinwë cried for peace and deliberation one last time, but was answered with shouts of disapproval that drowned out his words.

"Go now!" I ordered the throng over the roar of voices, "Gather your weapons and horses and meet here when you are ready! We go long and far, but the spirit of the Noldor shall endure!" The Noldor dispersed, calling out to each other in the dark, the fire of their torches dancing in the blackness.

"Father? What now?" One of my sons asked quietly. I turned about, and saw them all standing there patiently, waiting for my word. Grateful and proud, I smiled at them.

"Do not stand idle," I ordered, "Let us make ready. We have a long journey ahead."

Author's Note:

The chapters that needed fixing have been fixed…a big thank you to those astute readers who printed it out.

Love,

Blodeuedd