Chapter Thirty-eight: The Teleri
The darkness deepened as I returned to the Mindon. I was given little time to brood over Nerdanel's words before Carnistir found me.
"Where were you?" he demanded to know in a slightly sulky tone of voice.
"It is of no concern to you." That was partly truth. Since her departure, it had grown more and more evident that Carnistir placed his mother just below the kindred of Nolofinwë and Moringotto on his long list of those deserving his hate.
"The people are in dissent," Carnistir lowered his voice, and looked about furtively before continuing. "Some of them--well, most of them, I suppose--want Nolofinwë to lead us from Valinor. They will not accept your leadership, Father."
"We shall make them." I was annoyed to the point of madness at his news. Carnistir's constant ill mood seemed to be catching me in its dark grip as well.
"How, Father?"
"Watch. I shall divide the Noldor into two hosts, with those who follow me in the van with us at their head, and those who follow Nolofinwë behind. I will appoint Indis' sons as leaders of the second host to leave. Those accursed malcontents will think themselves free of my yoke, and follow Nolofinwë freely. Spread the word, Morifinwë." Carnistir's face split into a rare, wolfish grin as I spoke, and then he darted off like a hound trailing a scent, zealously eager to do as I had ordered. I watched him go, smiling ruefully to myself.
Though he was older now, Carnistir had always been a hunter of adventure in his youth. He would--or attempt to--perform daunting tasks his elder brothers would command him to do only in jest, such as climbing onto the roof of our old home in Tirion or drinking a full goblet of miruvórë in one swallow at some festival. Both Nerdanel and I had spent many long hours sincerely debating the probability of our impetuous fourth son's living to reach his fiftieth year and come of age. Did Carnistir think of this great undertaking as only another ominous challenge, another opportunity to win some great game and prove his worth to his house?
Despite having known my son for all his precarious, chancy days, I could only wonder about Carnistir's motives as I ascended the hill of Túna to its peak, preparing to leave the lands of Aman forever.
I am proud to say that at least, of all my plans in our last hours spent in Aman, my plan of dividing the Noldor by their loyalties worked. Within moments, Carnistir's tidings from me spread through the people, and they were already dividing into two immense factions as I came near. Mollified by the apparent return of some vestige of Nolofinwë's leadership, his followers said nothing to me as I passed. Only uneasy shifting and low-throated coughs heralded my presence in their midst. Even Nolofinwë had naught to say; he provided me with only a curt worried nod before he turned to address his host, if that is what that foolish band could be called.
As I approached the vanguard of my men, a small group of about twenty women nervously shuffled to me. A dark-haired woman with the look of fine breeding in her proud eyes and elegantly-boned face bowed her head docilely and asked, "Please, King Fëanáro, what of those infants too young to walk or look after themselves?"
"May we bear them with us?" Another woman asked, her face paled with a mother's worry.
I realized as I looked at them each one of them cradled a swaddled infant to their heart, and I was painfully reminded of how Nerdanel had used to carry the youngest of our children, whichever he was at the time, about the house in the same way as she went about her chores. But I also knew that such helpless, frail children would do nothing but hamper our journey.
I sighed and responded quietly, "No. Leave them in the care of those who remain to keep this city."
Some of the mothers gave in quickly, and moved off with tear-filled eyes to do as I told, but others remained, glaring at me with baleful eyes.
"You have seven of your own!" The dark-haired woman spat furiously, eyes lucidly intense with the light that comes only from a formidable temper and years of pampered contentment. "Will you deny us the joy of our own children?"
"It is only out of necessity, lady," I told her as gently as I could, attempting to make my voice soothing, "If one of my own children was too young to bear themselves in this flight, I would insist upon him staying here as well."
"My husband is right!" A slender woman with wheat-colored hair snapped, clutching her mewling babe close. "You are nothing but a heartless malcontent! Only fools would think you a King!"
I had half a mind to stalk off then and there, but the kingly duties I had been taught to perform so long ago remained in my head. "I am not seeking to keep you from your children, only trying to keep them safe. What child can survive the perils that lie ahead? If you wish to brave the risk of losing your infant, I will not stop you, but you will tend to the needs of the child alone. The Noldor will not aid you. I will not help those who seek to bring harm to their kin."
There. That was a proper argument, and apparently the women thought so too, for they fell silent forthwith. I continued on my way to the head of my host, where my sons waited.
Unlike many of the Noldor, they stood tall and doubtless of the rightness of their decisions, their hands resting easily on the hilts of their swords. Their handsome armor gleamed like liquid fire in the light of the torches, and their well-wrought helmets cast their faces into formidable shadow.
"Come," I ordered them, "The Noldor march to freedom on this night."
As we made for the gates of Tirion, I could hear some of the Noldor weeping as they left their city and friends behind. At first, the sound was quiet, but as we issued from the gate, its volume grew. Both Makalaurë and Curufinwë disappeared briefly to bid their wives farewell, for neither Aranel nor Márlindë wished to make the journey. They returned with husky voices and reddened eyes, though they staunchly refused to openly grieve, and ignored any who attempted to comfort them.
Unlike his father, Tyelpinquar let his tears for his mother run down his cheeks openly as he led his horse along, looking back often to the city which had been his home for so long. I kept catching Curufinwë looking long and hard at his son on several occasions, as though, if he stared long enough at the boy, it would bring Aranel back.
But we were given little time to settle ourselves into the rhythms of the journey and forget our sorrows. As the first ranks of the vanguard emerged from the gateway of Tirion, I saw a lone rider on the horizon and told my sons to spread the command to halt.
The sight of banner of the Valar, gold and white, fluttering limply in the night, was enough to make my heart stall with momentary fear. But fear soon gave way to arrogant defiance, and I walked a few steps toward the approaching rider, standing sundered from my people.
The rider pulled to a halt, and I caught a glimpse of immortal eyes in the man's pale, sculpted face as he dismounted to face me. If we had met in the light of the Trees, or even within the walls of Valmar at least, I suppose I would have felt more respectful. However, in this ambiguous darkness the Powers' courier looked desperately extravagant, gaudily clothed, with only a garish, wilted banner as a fading sigil of overturned power to ward off the encroaching dark.
"Well?" I demanded impatiently, folding my arms and regarding him with as petulant a stare I could muster.
The Maia's gaze slid blindly over me, as if refusing to see the threat posed to his immortal masters, as if I were a cause that was not worth saving. Instead, he turned instead to speak to the Noldor in a rich but somewhat brassy voice.
"From Manwë Súlimo upon the hill of the Ezellohar I bear word to the Noldor--against the folly of Fëanáro do the Valar set my counsel only. Go not forth! For the hour is evil, and your road leads to sorrow that you do not foresee. No aid will the Valar lend you in this quest; but neither will they halt you. For you know that, as you came here freely, freely you may depart."
Finally, he turned his cold attention to me, and I saw the gleam of disdainful contempt flare in his eyes before he said, "But you, Fëanáro Finwë's son--by your oath are exiled. You will unlearn the lies of Melkor in bitterness. You claimed he was a Vala, but if this is so, you have sworn your dark oath in vain. For you cannot overthrow any of the Valar now or ever within the halls of Eä, even if Eru whom you named had made you three times greater than you are now."
I was not stricken by his words; indeed I had expected such scorning words from Valmar. Fools, trying to frighten me into returning to the dark, stagnant lands they played at ruling! Their words fell on deaf ears indeed.
So I laughed aloud, disregarding the courier as he had disregarded me, and turned instead to argue to the Noldor. "So! Thus it is!" I declared, gesturing at the messenger to validate my argument. "Will the valiant people of the Noldor send forth the heir of their King alone into banishment, with his sons only? Will you return to your bondage? But if any will come with me, I say to them--is sorrow foreboded to you? Even these Undying Lands are not free of sorrow; indeed we have come from bliss to woe in this realm. The other way we will now attempt--we shall come from sorrow to find joy, or freedom at least."
The Noldor roared their approval, mocking the Valar's messenger mercilessly until I spoke to him and all other noise was silenced.
"Say this to Manwë Súlimo, the vaunted High King of Arda--" My derision twisted the regal title into a crude epithet, and the courier balked at my ridicule, but then my voice darkened with anger that surpassed mere condescension. "Tell him that if Fëanáro cannot overthrow Moringotto, at least he delays not to assail him, and sits not idle in grief upon his throne. And it may be that Eru has set in me a fire greater than you or your craven masters know. Such hurt at the least will I do to the Foe of the Valar that even the mighty ones in the Ring of Doom should wonder to hear it. Yes, in the end they too shall follow me. Farewell!"
A long silence followed, broken only by the guttering of the torches in the wind and the rustle of the leaves upon the faraway trees of Tirion. I took a deep breath, trying to relax, but my entire body seemed drawn taut with fury. When finally I shook myself free of the passionate grip of my anger, I saw that the messenger's eyes were wide and lucid with stunned humility. Suddenly, he bowed to me, full from the waist, as the lowest of commoners would bow to the Valar themselves, and I realized how frighteningly potent my vehement words must have been. When the courier rose from his reverence, he looked a little dazed, as if he had expected me to have drawn my sword and swept his head from his shoulders while he was sunken in his obeisance.
"I--I will bear your message to the Valar, Fëanáro," he mumbled, dark eyes not meeting mine, mounting up on his horse, which tossed its head anxiously, sensing its rider's unease. Without another glance at me, the Maia spurred his horse and was off across the plain, fading swiftly to a shadow on the black, starry horizon.
For a moment only did I pause to watch him go, then nodded curtly to the forefront of my host and started off at a brisk pace towards the north, not waiting for Nolofinwë's rearguard to follow.
As we walked, clouds gathered over the stars, and the land was enveloped in an even greater darkness. The Noldor grew uneasy, and our pace grew slower than I would have wished. Anxious conversations and forced laughter, quickly hushed, began winding amid the hosts.
"Where do we go, Father?" Maitimo asked, succumbing to the urge to speak at last.
"We make for the Northern pass to Middle-earth," I replied, "Moringotto must have taken that treacherous way to the Eastern shores, and so shall we."
"What about the Helcaraxë?" Ambarto wanted to know, "Nobody has ever crossed that icy strait to Middle-earth and lived to speak of it."
"I know," I grimaced, and then felt a strange flutter of hope. "But our numbers are great, and our resolve is mighty. Perhaps we shall cross it with greater ease then you think, Pitya."
Ambarto restlessly returned my smile, then looked away, his pale brow furrowed in thought as he felt the hilt of his sword. Ambarussa craned his neck to whisper in his twin's ear, and Ambarto nodded and murmured something in response, voice low and uneasy.
Trying to ignore the prickly sense of disquiet that seemed to be running rampant amongst the other Noldor, I turned to speak to Maitimo again. "Why did you ask that?" I asked. A little irritated, I pressed further to add, "Do you lack faith in our journey or our cause, Nelya?"
Maitimo quailed from my brusque questions, muttering, "No, of course not. It is only that--" He took a deep breath and suggested, "Perhaps we should go to the Teleri and ask them for the use of their ships. That way, our passage would be much swifter."
I raised my brows in startled realization--I had not thought of that! "The Teleri--our allies--" I muttered to myself, trying to compose a plan, "Their ships--Alqualondë."
Alqualondë. I glanced at Maitimo, and saw my idea reflected earnestly in his eyes. For the first time since my exile, I smiled with the same vigor and inspiration I had had in those innocent days in blissful Tirion. Maitimo looked elated to be the source of such encouragement.
"Spread the word," I ordered, clapping him congenially on the shoulder, "We fare now to Alqualondë!"
With renewed ardor, we marched without respite until the bay of Alqualondë loomed upon the horizon.
In the night, the stars danced alone upon the bright surface of the ocean, accompanied only by the steady heartbeat of the waves rising and receding alone the white dunes. Alqualondë's glassy minarets spiraled up into the dark skies, its bridges and towers rising over darkened, opaque waters.
Now suddenly the goal of my design, the ships of the Teleri held my attention for many moments. The swanlike vessels glided serenely over the blue deeps and the reflections of the stars. Their stainless white sails billowed proudly even the unusually vapid breeze, no doubt empowered to turn even the slightest wind to a suitable gust because the magical weaves the Teleri had employed in their making. Surely such fabled crafts could bear us swift and true on our exodus from this darkened land.
As I tried to turn my focus back upon the task at hand, I noticed that the only difference from my past visits to the Teleri's port was that on this night there was no beautiful singing to caress a weary traveler's heart or linger upon the ocean's breeze. Instead, the air was empty and chillingly silent, suffused with a grief running deeper than the uttermost profundity of the Sea.
Trying not to let the portentous, unnatural silence further unravel my already fraying nerves, I looked among the Noldor in the vanguard, trying to find Aikanáro's face. At last I saw him, his gaze turned upon the Sea, his lips moving silently in a quiet, mysterious litany. He was an unusually calm boulder amid the uncertain sea of Noldor about him. This was his home, and he was no stranger to this realm that rose out of the Sea.
"Aikanáro!" I called to him over the perturbed mutters of the others.
The young man stiffened and looked to me, his handsome, mirthful features knotted in confusion.
"Come here," I told him, waving him over as I spoke. He made his way through the ranks to my side, following my gaze down to the Telerin city below.
"Yes, King Fëanáro?" The son of Arafinwë queried.
"You know this city well?" I asked him, tearing my eager eyes from the ships and looking at his face.
"As well as I know my names," he replied instantaneously, grinning broadly, "Ask me where the smallest hovel can be found--not that there are any hovels in this blessed place--and I will show it to you."
"Very good," I acknowledged with barely contained delight. He would show me where I needed to go. "Could you tell me where the docks are, and what ways I might take to find them?"
Aikanáro nodded, obviously still a little bewildered, but a delicate trust shone in his dark eyes. "Of course--but the docks?"
"The docks," I confirmed, "We have need of your kindred's ships."
The young man paused momentarily, seemingly wavering between his worries and his devotions, then nodded to himself and pointed out a gated portal. "Enter the city by that gate at the foot of this hill. . ."
With Aikanáro beside me, and my sons leading the host at my back, I entered the gates of Alqualondë for the final time. While this arrival in the Teleri's haven was my last, it was also probably the one where I was most unwelcome.
The wavering red light of the torches that the Teleri had lit and placed in sconces on the buildings mingled with the blue starlight and colored the world in an eerie, uncertain shade of violet. That unearthly color still remained in my mind long after, and the way the vacant hue seemed to detach the realm from the earthbound lands, and cast us all into a vague, dreamlike unreality, haunts me still. I was never able to look at the color again without a remembering feeling of detachment and hollowness.
Even those among the Teleri who would have greeted Aikanáro, their lord's grandson, upon his return to his home, stayed away from the naked resolve in the eyes of the Noldor. They regarded us with a stern, condemning gaze, and then returned to patiently mending their gossamer nets and hauling the day's catch of wriggling silver fish homeward. It was almost insolent, how little attention they paid us.
"Where can I stop so I might address them?" I asked Aikanáro under my breath, glancing about surreptitiously at the unsympathetic eyes about us.
"Here is good enough," the son of Arafinwë replied in an equally low tone, "All the fishers and dockhands pass by here on their way home." He paused, and I could feel the uncertainty in his silence. "King Fëanáro, do you think it wise to stop here? Would you not rather speak to Olwë first?"
I shook my head, then lifted my head to return the gaze of the Teleri with undaunted boldness. That alone was enough to make some of them halt.
Then I spoke once more, in the commanding, fervent voice I had used before the Noldor, but to less effect. At first some of them hesitated, spellbound by my words, setting down their burdens to lean against a wall and dream the dreams I spun in their mind. But more often then not their briefly pensive eyes would fall again upon their work, and they would straighten and move on their way.
Despairing, I forgot my florid insinuations and said, "Good people of the Teleri, will you not at least lend us, your long-standing friends and allies, the use of your fair ships, or aid us in the building of some of our own? You could come with us, and be freed of the trammels and traps the Valar have laid for you."
"Fëanáro, what have the Valar ever done to hurt you so? You speak of them with such hate," an arbitrary voice, delicately accented from the fragile Telerin language, called out from the crowds.
"That foul beast of darkness who calls himself Melkor, and whom my house has named Moringotto, is of their blood," I replied, biting off each word with a gnash of my teeth. I hated the Valar more than anything for being pacifistic, for their peace-loving ways--they would let my father's killer run free and do more evil in the world. Somewhere, if the Valar remained idle, other sons would grieve for their slain fathers as I had, and feel the same emptiness in their deserted hearts. I pitied all of them.
"We have had no dealings with Melkor," the voice replied coolly, "But we love the Lord Ulmo and fair Uinen for the Sea they have given us, and know that their wrath will be great. Let the Valar fight your war for you, angry son of Finwë."
"Fight?" I mocked harshly, "The Valar do not fight. The famed Guardians of Arda have let grief overcome them, and make no move to stop Moringotto's plunder of the earth and its peoples. Tell that to your lord Olwë, who would sit as idle as they!"
"There is no need to tell me," the detached voice responded, and suddenly Olwë strode forth from the throng departing from the docks, his silver hair gleaming like filaments of Telperion's long-gone light. Despite myself, my jaw dropped and I realized how brash I must have sounded. Olwë saw my shock and nodded grimly as if affirming something to himself, then moved to stand squarely between the host of Noldor and the docks.
Still humiliated and furious because I had been thus embarrassed, I snapped hotly, "You renounce the friendship between the Noldor and Teleri, even in the hour of our need! Yet you were glad indeed to receive the Noldor's aid when you first came to Aman's shores, as fainthearted, empty-handed loiterers! In bare huts on the beaches would your people be dwelling still, if the Noldor had not carved out your haven and toiled upon your walls."
Olwë regarded me with a composed gaze, confident that the trust and support of his people would keep him standing on two feet. "We renounce no friendship. But it is our part as your friends to rebuke your folly. And when the Noldor welcomed us and gave us aid, otherwise then you spoke--in the land of Aman we were to dwell for ever, as brothers whose houses stand side by side. But as for our white ships--those you did not give us. We learned the crafting of ships not from the Noldor, but from the Lords of the Sea. The white timbers we wrought with our own hands, and our wives and daughters wove the white sails. Therefore we will neither give them nor sell them, not for any league or friendship.
"For I say to you, Fëanáro son of Finwë, these vessels are to us as are the gems of the Noldor. They are the work of our hearts, whose like we shall not make again."
Furious, I turned away and strode into the safety of my host, glaring out at everything. The Teleri were the coddled pets of the Valar, just like the Vanyar; there would be no salvation for them.
"What now?" Tyelkormo asked me anxiously, and I wheeled about in surprise. He had somehow found me in the sprawling mass of the Noldor.
"We wait," I growled, putting a clenched fist to my face in thought as I looked about the city, "I know not yet our course of action."
As the Teleri continued to go about their work with renewed senses of duty, and the last of the host I had at my command trailed into the city, I finally came up with a desperate, harsh idea. I straightened and returned to the head of the Noldor, glancing about to see that I had everyone following me, then proceeded to where Aikanáro had told me that the docks were.
Olwë was already there, waiting for us with men armed with the slender white bows of the Teleri. His fair, pale face grew lined with bleak disappointment when he saw us coming, but he lifted his chin in courageous defiance of our numbers.
"Fëanáro, have we not spoken of this before?" He chided, watching my host come to a halt as a tension settled in the narrow space between us. Despite the frightening circumstances, he spoke shrewdly, his words even and soft, with a trace of grieved disappointment, as though he spoke to disobedient children who were too wayward for even the wisest and most patient to correct. "You will not take our ships from us by force or by kind speech. Your attempts for escape from Aman are futile, and will do little to help your people. The Valar wish only for you to dwell in safety and eternity upon these shores."
"You speak of lies; lies that would chain us forever to the Lords of the West. It is time we awoke from such foolish dreams," I retorted, as my men muttered assent, "Only in the East will the Eldar be truly free of the bondage of the Valar, and become masters of their own wills."
"We were always free, son of Finwë. And we always shall be, so long as we trust each other and the Valar above us. We are always free."
Insolent, cowardly fool. I did not attempt to free myself from the anger that clouded my eyes then. In a fit of rage, I drew my sword and leapt at Olwë. At first, I was too frightened to perform a mortal blow. Instead, not wasting time to think more, I delivered him a quick, vicious blow to the head with the pommel of my blade, knocking the man to the earth and stunning him momentarily.
I could have stopped then, but that strange, symbolic power which striking Olwë down gave me had sunk its talons far beneath the surface of my anger, piercing the inner core of my heart, and would not let me go. With a sudden realization of duty, I knew I had to rid the earth of his like, before their Valar-loving deceptions enslaved us all once more. Mindless as a marauding beast, I pinned the bewildered lord of Alqualondë to the ground by placing my foot on his chest, ensuring that he would not be able to escape my blade. Heart throbbing painfully loud in my head, I raised my sword with the practiced motion of many years of preparation, readying myself for the final blow.
Slowly, Olwë stirred and came to his senses, his eyes opening and looking numbly up at me. His gaze was the color of tarnished silver, dark and filled with pain and sorrow. I pity you, his expression seemed to say.
Rage, strident and jarring, flared up in me, impelling me to act. I did not want pity, I wanted fear, respect, understanding. Emptying my mind of emotion and calling on all the swordsman's skill I had garnered over the long years, I drove my sword downward into the other man's heart, then pulled it back out in a killing motion as swift as lightning. He died instantly.
The air grew as still and stifling as a tomb. Panting for air, I stared dazedly down at Olwë's corpse. I could not blink, let alone look away--my gaze was fixed upon him with a mixture of horror and wonder. His fine gray and blue tunic was rent from the force of my thrust, and the proud swan emblem of Alqualondë that was embroidered on the clothing's chest was stained a livid crimson. It took me a moment to realize that the stains on the tunic and upon my sword were blood, more blood than I had ever seen in my life. More blood than I had ever wished to see in my life.
Suddenly, the silence was rent by a strange gagging sound, and I turned about just in time to see Makalaurë stagger to his knees and retch onto the street. His face was pale and ashamed by his frailty, but also blatantly, soundly sickened by the sight of another Elda's death. Tyelkormo helped his older brother to his feet, muttering consolations in a low voice, but his earnest aid did nothing to lessen Makalaurë's trembling hands or his wide, frenzied eyes, fixed immovably upon Olwë's soulless form.
The Noldor recovered from the shock of my kill first, and drew their swords, faces fearsome to behold in the starlight. Their silent support sustained me, keeping me from showing my weaknesses like Makalaurë.
Trying not to let my host see how dizzy and sick I was from Olwë's death at my hands, I shouted, "Man the ships!"
Shouting in wordless fury, the Noldor surged forward, cutting a bloody path to the docks. A great wail rose up from the Teleri, starting out as a cry of grief and ending as an answering roar of shocked anger. Their white-shafted arrows sang through the air, picking off some of the men but mostly repelling harmlessly off of our tough armor and mail.
I was caught up in the brutal current of the skirmish and followed after, shouting the name of my house and calling out orders as I did so. Now that I had learned it, the dance of combat was impossible to unlearn. Infuriated, I lashed out in constant offensive, my blade rising and falling, murdering more Teleri with each stroke. I was indiscriminately slaying any who would withstand me now. The chilling shock of Olwë's death wore off quickly against the swift-moving whetstone of battle, and I cared little for those I killed.
Though they were not nearly as tall or strong as we were, the strong love and pride the Teleri bore for their exquisite ships drove them into a frightening madness that stripped them of all care for life or limb. Because what few bows they had were slim and hardly lethal, designed to bring down unarmored, thoughtless animals, they mostly fought with only their brute strength and bare hands, frail though they were. Soon the Teleri realized these disadvantages and banded together, using their combined strength to cast several of the Noldor headlong into the Sea, from whence most did not resurface.
Within a small amount of time, they had succeeded in driving us back from the quays, and their numbers only grew as we retreated further into the city. Though the Noldor were fierce and well-armed, we were in alien territory and surrounded on all sides. Sometimes our forced withdrawal would halt as I rallied my sons to me, or a brave faction of our host found some new strength, but we were still steadily being led away from our goal. The fire of my fury slowed to a listless halt, and I was weary and sick to my very core.
As I felt even my boundless hope fail, I looked about in the chaos of battle for Maitimo, wanting to signal him to help me unite our host for one last marshalling of our forces. But when I found his face, I saw him looking to the gate of the city through which we had entered, his lips parted in breathless wonder.
"Findekáno!" He cried, with such fervent amazement that the Teleri drew back, wondering what strange enchantment he worked with this unknown war cry. However, the Noldor and I knew at once whom he spoke of, and followed his gaze to the portal.
The foremost of Nolofinwë's host was gathered there, led by Findekáno, who was girt in a shimmering hauberk of mail and proudly bearing a broad shield emblazoned with the unmistakable device of his house. He wore no helmet, hence Maitimo's swift recognition of his friend; the eldest son of Nolofinwë's familiar noble features shone like a beacon into the night, his dark, braided hair spilling like ink upon the doughty steel of his breastplate.
Seeing his friend and our predicament, he drew his sword with a furious ring of steel, barking an order to those who followed him. Without waiting for his host to comply, he leapt rashly into the fray, blade slashing and shining in the dark, calling out to Maitimo as he went.
At this sight, my men let out a cheer of triumph, roaring Findekáno's name in gratitude and admiration, and the Teleri lost what remained of their bravery. They fought with failing resolve afterward, knowing they may have had the advantage of numbers, but not of arms or courage, and we pressed back to the quays once more, and soon most of the Teleri's fair swan-ships were filled with my warriors.
The Teleri saw the occupation of their ships and cried out in grief to Uinen, who dwelled within the Sea. Initially, my men laughed at what seemed to be the last flares of Alqualondë's defiance, but then the very waves rose up against them, sending the vessels plunging and dipping wildly in the waters. While the Valar would not hold us from our departure, apparently Uinen, a Maia whose tresses made up the very waters of the world, would. The ships' anchors were torn loose, and many of the ships were driven against the wharf, as if they were in the heart of some violent, invisible storm. Many of our number were tossed over the sides of the bucking crafts and plunged into the turbulent Sea, lost in the boiling, tempestuous waves. Horrified by this sudden turn for the worse, the Noldor leapt for safety on the comparatively steady docks, quailing in horror at the fury of the Sea.
"Fools!" I shouted heatedly at them, dodging a stray Telerin arrow as I did so, "Draw the ships away from the haven! Brave Uinen's wrath, and you will live!"
Though the Noldor have never been mariners, somehow they managed to obey me, and soon a sizable fleet of ships waited in the bay, their sails billowed in a heartening wind. The Teleri fled into their homes, weeping for their lost kin and their ships, leaving the hosts of the Noldor to stand alone on the empty docks.
Findekáno, grinning broadly in staunch high spirits even though he was clearly exhausted from the battle, approached me. He briskly cleaned and sheathed his bloody sword, and then regarded me with a hopeful gaze. For him, this fight in the havens of Alqualondë must have seemed only a noble war for a noble cause, bringing him and his kindred one step closer to the glowing prospect of freedom I had planted in his mind. He still probably had no idea what had been going on when he had arrived; all he had seen was that his people and his dear friend were in danger, and had rushed to aid us. I wondered if later, when he found out what we had been fighting over, what his reaction would be. Nevertheless, it was well enough that he seemed to have enjoyed his skirmish with the Teleri; he would have much battle with the mighty Enemy later in his life, I realized with a sudden pang of foresight.
"Well, what now?" He asked me.
Author's Note:
Yay! Reader responses, at long last!
Unsung Heroine: Your computer's sudden revival must be fate! However, I shan't let it go to my head; the fact that my favorite candidate on America's Next Top Model was eliminated this week is a clear portent that, if gods there be, they don't really like me. :-)
Depprium: Yeah, things only go downhill from here, as we all know. Unfortunate, but true.
I hope that the Teleri's brief appearance in the story is to the liking of theycallmemary, who wisely raised the question of 'How in the heck do the Teleri get bows? Fishing?' Well, it's plausible, right? Errrr.
stearchica, meanwhile, is cheering for Finarfin, the smart guy. Good choice. (nods approvingly) I'm stuck with Idiot here. (pokes Fëanor, who snarls wordlessly)
Ellfine: Wow, you've been with me from the start, haven't you? Many snaps and kudos for hanging in there! (hugs)
And finally, on a more somber note, my most recent review was from ANon, who disapproved of Nerdanel's departure from her family and my humanization of her relationship with Fëanor. I completely see where he or she is coming from with this, but I didn't do this without reason. I even agree with the opinion that the Eldar are not the sort of beings to be humanized in most cases.
But I think we all agree that Fëanor is not 'most cases.' Of all the early Eldar, he is unparalleled in his quintessentially 'human' character, which rises from his early experience with death through the loss of Míriel. This brush with mortality was one that affected him forever and one that immediately sets him apart from the other Elves.
Like the rest of his life, his relationship with Nerdanel is one of inherently human passion and ultimate ruin. When Nerdanel and he 'grow estranged,' it is not her saying (in ANon's words) 'screw it,' but rather her realization that he is too different, too 'mortal' in his passions and rages, to ever live happily with the rest of his people--even her gentle counsel and tender guidance is not strong or fierce enough to keep him from his fate. It is the union of their fëa (which ANon asserted they lacked) that tells her this.
I did copious amounts of research for this story, and I've read Morgoth's Ring from cover to cover. My copy of said volume is still fletched with the numerous sticky notes used to mark passages that were invaluable to this story. I realize the finality and beautifully spiritual attunement Elves accept upon marriage and recognize it, albeit indirectly, in Fire.
However, I also read The Peoples of Middle-Earth in my research. In what is, in my opinion, the best chapter of TPOME, 'The Shibboleth of Fëanor,' it states that 'as Fëanor grew more and more fell and violent, and rebelled against the Valar, Nerdanel, after long endeavouring to change his mood became estranged… She retired to her father's house boldface italics mine.' So she did indeed leave him, and I am in no way departing from canon in suggesting that she did so.
While I am very much willing to accept constructive criticism, I believed I have argued my case effectively and will leave my story as is, both for the furtherance of plot as well as in the effort to remain canon. Please, tell me if you think I am wrong!
Love,
Blodeuedd