A Song in Darkness

by Luinyelle

Who would voluntarily enter the Dor Daedeloth and seek out a way to sneak into Angband? Except for the lonliest, most desperate outcast with no one to say goodbye to. With nothing to lose and everything to gain. - This is the story of how Fingon rescued Maedhros from his bondage at Thangorodrim and what led him to dare such a hopeless undertaking.

16. Namárie

Dear readers,

It has been a little over three years since I started writing this story, and it has been an exhausting, but also very pleasant and fulfilling three years. When I read the Silmarillion the first time and came across the small episode in which Fingon rescues his friend Maedros, I immediately though that this is a story worth being told. And since Tolkien himself never got around to writing this story in more detail, I now have attempted to write my own version of it; as close to Tolkien's style as was possible for me while still keeping my own style. The story has grown in the writing and ended up being thrice as long as initially intended. But I feel this was necessary to do justice to the characters and their journey.

Now I would like to thank a few people that helped me with my writing. First of all Ñarmondil, who was the first to proof-read some of my chapters and advised me on the medical and anatomical parts of the story. Further I want to thank Elenáre, who proof-read the later chapters for this fanfiction and gave me feedback. Special thanks also go to Ellanto, who put up with my spending two hours on this story every second day, who gave me his opinion on names and story-elements, helped me with the (often frustrating) intricacies of the English language, and advertised my story to everyone who might or might not want to read it.

And last but not least, I must thank the readers that followed my story until the end. I hope that you enjoyed reading "A Song in Darkness" and that I managed to keep up the suspense throughout the story. I was especially happy about the comments you left; reading those was very encouraging and motivated me to continue writing. So if you liked the story or have suggestions for improvement, please feel free to let me know. Another revision of this fanfiction will most likely follow, though not in the near future. For while I am a bit sad that "A Song in Darkness" is now over, I am also happy to move on to new projects, some of which I will surely publish here.

But first of all, may you have a pleasant reading of my last chapter! The reason why I put these acknowledgements at the beginning of the chapter, is that I think the end of the story should stand on its own and be the last words that you hear from me. So for now: Namárie!

---

Namárie – Farewell

"Yé! Pá Nosse Feanáro rúse Valaron kaita Númello avahaira Rómenna, ar tambe pá illinna i hilyuvar te a-kaitauvas. Vandalta hortuvat, ananta vartuvat, ar oio piluva i mainar inta yaiva roitie evestielte. Ulka mettanna ilye nat' i yestalte mai queruvar; ar i vartiénen nóreo nóren ta i umbenen vartio, sina tuluva. I Nehtanor nauvalte tenn' oio."

"Lo! on the House of Feanor the wrath of the gods lieth from the West into the uttermost East, and upon all that will follow them it shall be laid also. Their Oath shall drive them, and yet betray them, and ever snatch away the very treasures that they have sworn to pursue. To evil end shall all things turn that they begin well; and by the treason of kin unto kin, and the fear of treason, shall this come to pass. The Dispossessed shall they be for ever." (MR:117)

.***.

"We cannot all stay, that much is clear. Mithrim is simply not large enough for the Ñoldor to dwell here permanently." With ease the Sindarin name of both lake and land rolled off the tongue of the fair-haired Ñoldo, not even stumbling over thúle, which, even though Arafinwe always encouraged the old pronunciation in his house, his children had willingly abandoned many a year ago. One year of diligent practising was paying off, at least for those among their people who had cared to devote any time to acquiring the new tongue.

"I know and I never proposed anything of that sort", Russandol replied and blew an auburn lock out of his face. His hair had grown by a good six inches, but was still just a little too short to be tucked behind his ears and kept falling back into his face, no matter how often he brushed it aside. "All I am saying is that I shall not withdraw southwards and give Morikotto free rein in the north."

Findekáno barely managed to swallow a long, plaintive sigh. It was the twelfth day of the council and still they were lári away from anything close to a consensus. His eye strayed into the distance. It was tuile again, the tuile of their seventh year in Endóre, and the misty land was only just beginning to return to new life after a long and arduous hríve. The willows by the lakeshore were studded with tiny fluffy catkins, the scattered birches on the hills bore their first green sprouts, and in their branches a multitude of birds was chirping merrily from morning to evening. The light of Anar had finally regained some strength and shone warmly on Findekáno's skin while in the air lingered the smell of molten snow. Only where persistent shadows crouched in depressions of the ground, some soiled remnants of the white were left.

Ever since the first patches of green had appeared among the shrinking snow blanket, Faelin had been up and about all day, eager to refill her supplies of herbs and dried blossoms which had dwindled alarmingly over the winter. Findekáno could have helped and enjoyed the wonderful spring day with her. Or went for a ride with Nelyo. Instead he had to sit here and listen to the same arguments being wrapped in ever new and more intricate words, over and over again.

Specially for the council, seats of hewn stone had been brought up the hill east of Már Léraiva, where the gathered heruvi and herir of the Ñoldor now deliberated, for the first time together, whither and, more importantly, in what manner the two peoples were to spread out about their new homeland.

"We would not be giving him free rein", Ingoldo now argued and roused Findekáno from his musings. "We have watches on the borders of Dor Daedeloth and along the Eryd Wethrin observing each and every motion of the Morikotto. They have proved quite effective when forestalling the two Orko-forays last quelle and we may always increase their number if need be. Yet I see no reason for the rest of our people to stay up here, in this inhospitable land, where laire is cool and hríve is bitter, instead of settling, say, in the green vales along Sirion and Gelion. That is ... unless you mean to give up on our defensive strategy and wage war at once?"

"I do not", the aran of the Feanárians replied promptly; and for a split second his jaw muscles tensed and a steep crease appeared between his eyes – sole signs of a pain that Findekáno could but surmise. The pain of an oath repressed and ignored. "However, I do not share your optimism that a handful of outposts along the fringe of Kalina Landa are sufficient defence against the Morikotto. We know his cunning and his stealth. He will find a way to slip through our line of watches or simply overrun it, and then I do not want Valariande to lie open to him. His hatred for the Ñoldor is now stronger than ever. I have seen for myself what lurks in the deep tunnels of Angamando and I assure you another attack will follow, once he deems the time right."

He looked around the ring of faces. "I understand that many of you are now loath to abide under the rough living conditions of Hísilóme and eager to go forth. And yes, we shall spread out. Into Sononor and the hill further east, where we can keep an eye on the three-peaked mountain. For while knowing our enemy right on our doorstep is a danger, knowing him far off is more dangerous still."

Russandol leaned back in his chair and morosely folded his arms. Findekáno knew the reason for his glumness. His friend was himself most unhappy with the point that he had been pressing since the beginning of the council and he deeply resented having to restrain his people from finding a more pleasant and peaceful life in the south. But his oath bound him to Angamando and to, if not actively seeking to attack, remaining in its vicinity at the very least.

"I agree with Nelyafinwe", said Ñolofinwe. "Morikotto is a threat that can only be kept under control if we stay close to his lair. Harsh weather and a meagre land is nothing new to my people. And in a time of war we can endure them as long as we must."

"But we are not at war", Ingoldo threw in.

"Yes, we are. As long as we have to guard our borders, we are at war. As long as we are forging weapons in expectancy of an attack, we are at war. Which is also why I advocate calling upon the Sindar to join our hosts and aid us in defending Valariande."

Kurufinwe scoffed. "I will not crawl to those Úmanyar and beg for help. If there be any wisdom in their heads, they will recognise our superiority and join us of their own accord. If not – well, we do not rely upon what strength their erratic kin might have to offer."

"You are hopefully aware that this kind of attitude is not going to win you many friends among the Sindar?"

"Is that so?" At Ingoldo's barbed remark Kurufinwe turned his head. "And what about yourself, intending to go south? Do you think the heruvi of Lestanóre and the Falasse shall welcome with open arms one who enters their lands with the intention to settle and be heru of his own little realm?"

Involuntarily Findekáno glanced at the empty seat between Ingoldo and Aikanáro. Their brother had left for Lestanóre last laire in order to seek an audience at the court of Elwe Singollo, aran of the Sindar. Angaráto's return would have been due at the end of yávie, but due to an unexpected stall, the reason of which the short message carried by a dove did not specify, his departure had been delayed, and then the onset of a hríve rich in snow had rendered it completely impossible. Now the mountain passes were open again and still they had no word from the Ñoldorin heru. The Feanárians frowned upon this. Findekáno had even heard mutter among their delegation, saying that the Arafinweans were making secret agreements with the Sindar. For despite all efforts and all conciliation, there remained a large portion of mistrust among the Ñoldor.

"Yea, if we approach them with friendship and respect instead of demands and overbearing arrogance", Ingoldo gave back, his words no less pointed. After twelve days of unfruitful civility even the calm Arafinwion had grown irritable. "Nor expect them to follow our rule", he added with a glance at his uncle.

"Expect them to fight the Morikotto at our side", Ñolofinwe corrected. "For I believe it is not asking too much if we require them to help us defend their homeland. The Sindar would be an innegligible gain to our hosts and greatly improve our position. Wherefore I will not shun calling upon their aid, neither out of pride nor inappropriate softheartedness."

"I share that view", said Russandol and Findekáno had to smirk. This council had turned out to be one of those rare occasions when his father and his friend were of like mind. "Trying to hide our true intentions shall do no good. We have come to Endóre purposing to take land and taking revenge on Morikotto, and this is what we should communicate to the Sindar. We are not going to leave again, whether they like it or not. Yet if we make them see that what we have to offer in return for land is protection from the creatures of Angamando and knowledge which we gained from the Valar – a mutual exchange from which both parties shall benefit – then I see no reason why they should treat us with hostility."

Swiftly the words rolled off Russandol's experienced tongue and many pensively nodded, finding no flaw in his reasoning. Even Findekáno could not help feeling the effect of the reassurance and confidence which the speech of his cousin conveyed.

"Time will tell if you are right", Ingoldo said neutrally. "But what if they refrain from following us into battle or deny us the lands that we desire? Will you take them by force?"

"I think you are misjudging the Sindar", Ambarussa spoke up, for the first time in twelve days of council. "It is true, they are a freedom-loving people and do not fain subordinate to any aran or heru nor be restrained in their wandering. But ye all forget that they, too, have suffered from Morikotto, even more, perhaps, than we, and hate him no less. They have fought one war against him and they shall do so again if he comes out of his mountain hideout. At least for the Mithrim, among whom I have lived and whose hearts I know, I can say this much: you have little reason to fear that they might leave the defence of Beleriand to us."

"Thank you, Nityafinwe", Russandol nodded to his brother. "That is a point to consider."

"So we can count on the Mísirimbe to support us", Ñolofinwe acknowledged. "Very well, that is an important gain. We should still try, of course, to win the Sindar of the Falasse and Lestanóre for our cause. But if they refuse, we need not concern ourselves with them greatly since we intend to stay in the north anyhow."

"Which we have not agreed on yet", Turukáno chimed in. "Yes, we have to expect another attack from Morikotto and prepare for it. But why stay here, in Mísiringwe, where Morikotto already knows our whereabouts? Let us build strongholds in the southern regions! Pass from the sight of our enemy into lands whither his might as yet reaches not. This he would regard as a sign of weakness and believe us to be no great threat anymore – which would grant us the time to gather strength, unmolested and perhaps even unnoticed. And when we are ready and Morikotto expects it the least, we march north to strike!"

"You underestimate the Morikotto if you truly believe that he would fall for such deceit. As I have said before ...", Ñolofinwe launched into another long speech and Findekáno hissingly let out air between his teeth. And here we go again. He caught up Russandol's agonised look and knew that his friend was thinking exactly the same. We are spinning in circles.

The discussion trailed on without Findekáno taking much interest in it and with no results being reached while Anar climbed steadily higher into the sky. It was just about noon when from afar the clear blow of a horn sounded through the hills. Mildly interested, Findekáno lifted his head and gazed southeast, expecting to see a hunting party return from the woods about the mouth of Sírinke. And indeed he caught glimpses of a group of riders approaching Már Léraiva through the riparian forest along the lakeshore. There were ten of them, perhaps a dozen, and the elegant gait of their Valinórean horses was recognisable even through the dense trees. But although they were equipped with bows and spears, they weren't carrying any prey. Which would be quite unusual for a hunting party.

The horn was sounded again, louder this time. Then the group passed out of a grove of birches into the open and Findekáno saw the hair of the foremost rider shine fair in the sunlight, just as a standard sporting a blue star on a field of gold was raised.

He jumped up. "This is Angaráto! Our messenger has returned!"

.***.

Findekáno's eyes had not been fooled. It was indeed the delegation of Angaráto and the Eldar that had accompanied him, returning from Lestanóre at last. Ñolofinwe sent one of his servants down to the lake to welcome the arrivals while the council took another break. Findekáno and Russandol made use of the time by stretching their legs and walked to and fro about the roundish hilltop. They did not talk much, however, and their usual jokes about the partly funny, partly serious quarrels and discussions among the nobility of the Ñoldor was missing this time, as they both were well aware that Angaráto's arrival and the news he brought would mark the turning point of the seemingly unending debate of the council. There was no doubt about it. Though what the conclusion would look like ... this depended entirely on the content of what their cousin had to say.

Findekáno could see that his friend was tensed, impatiently pacing over the wet grass, his arms behind his back and the remaining hand holding the stump of his right, as he often did when he was anxious or nervous.

"If the word from Lestanóre is not what we hope it to be ... that won't change much", said Findekáno in an endeavour to cheer him up. "We mean to stay in Hísilóme anyhow, and as Ñolofinwe is on our side in this respect, the two of you will be hard to outvote. Meanwhile Singollo can deny us only the lands under his influence, but not Hísilóme, where he holds no power."

"I know." Russandol halted and looked back at the ring of stone seats a few hundred rangar away. "Though it is not so much his message that I worry about. Nor your atar." He produced a forced smile. "Rather it's my brothers."

Findekáno followed his gaze to where Kurufinwe, Tyelkormo, and Karnistir were standing, a little apart from the rest of the Eldar, silently talking to themselves. They had been less than pleased when they had learned whither their half-cousin had departed, and now, upon his return, the mistrust concerning his mission was boiling up anew. Húan was lying at the feet of his master and seemed to sleep, yet his ears were cocked and once in a while twitched into the direction of conversation. Makalaure instead had mingled among the Ñolofinweans busy with welcoming Angaráto and his companions. And Ambarussa ... he remained on the sidelines, all by himself, watching the proceedings, though it was hard to tell if he took any interest in the commotion.

"Not all of them", Findekáno remarked jestingly.

"No, not all, but still quite a handful." The corners of Russandol's mouth twitched, but then his mien grew grave again. Thoughtful. "The people used to say the Feanáriondi are seven sparks from the flame of their father's spirit. A single culm of straw and they start a wildfire." He slowly shook his head. "The Ñolofinweans are like a dry hayrick in summer."

Findekáno did not like the bitterness in these words and even less his friend's face as he spoke them; apprehensive ... and helpless.

"Any fire can be quenched with enough water at the ready."

Russandol looked at him, a keen sparkle in his eyes. "Then let us hope we've got the whole Mísiringwe at our disposal." And he stared at the shimmering body of water to the south as if gauging its volume.

Findekáno did not know what to say.

After a while of depressing silence, his cousin nodded towards the other Ñoldor, the first of whom were already returning to their seats. "We should turn round. The council will continue soon."

Thus they walked back to the main crowd and searched among many herir and heruvi for their cousin.

Findekáno greeted Angaráto with a hug and said: "It is good to have you back, Ango! You have arrived just in time!"

He noticed an undetermined smile on the other's lips, a smile that had nothing to do with ending an exhausting journey or the joy of seeing his friends and family again. Findekáno wondered if it was related to the message he was carrying. For what else could it be?

Russandol kept his distance and contented himself with politely bowing his head. "I am glad that you and your companions have safely returned. Welcome back, rendo."

Then they all reassumed their seats, Findekáno on the side of his father's people, Russandol among the Feanárians. Angaráto strode to vacant chair between his two brothers but did not sit down. Ñolofinwe reopened the council by speaking some introducing words and thanked Angaráto for acting as their messenger and undertaking the long journey to Lestanóre.

"Our messenger", Tyelkormo huffed, loud enough for everyone to here.

Ñolofinwe ignored him and handed the word over to his nephew.

The Arafinwion nodded and straightened up. If he was tired from the many days on horseback, he did not let it show. Findekáno studied his expression to find some hint of whether it was good or bad news which he was bringing, but could not decide. He still had the feeling that for some reason Angaráto was brimming with excitement, though at the same time looked a bit worried. Maybe this is just the nervousness of having to speak in front a gross of Eldar.

Angaráto was clad in unadorned travel clothes and over his shoulders, he wore a grey cloak of an incredibly fine, flowing fabric, the like of which Findekáno had never seen before. Surely a gift from the Sindar, he thought. That is a good sign.

"Thank you, Ñolofinwe Aran, for this warm welcome. You have waited long enough for my return and I shall get straight to the point. Herir and heruvi of the Ñoldor", Angaráto began and looked through the round of gathered Eldar, "I am honoured by the opportunity to deliver to you today the words of my great-uncle Elu Thingol, aran Doriath a chîr Beleriand, or, as we call him, Elwe Singollo, who for the past year has been a most generous host to my companions and me, even when hríve delayed our journey home. And by some fortunate chance, it seems, my return coincides with this council.

I will now not bore you with a lengthy account of my travelling nor linger on a description of Menegroth and my time with the Doriathrim, although that certainly is a tale worth being told. I shall merely say that my companions and I have been received with all due respect at the king's abode and that our stay has been a markedly pleasant one.

Upon my coming I spoke to Aran Thingol of the death of the trees and the treason of the Morikotto, of our resolve to leave Valinor and our battles up here in the north, of our numbers, our fortifications, and our further intend to make war upon the traitor, though at the same time expressing our wish to settle in Beleriand permanently – just as my brother had bid me to do." Here Angaráto nodded toward Ingoldo, provoking a snort from the direction of where the Feanáriondi were seated.

"I did not, however, elaborate on any details of the manner of our departure and our further path to Endóre", the Arafinwion continued on, carefully placing weight on every single word so that no one could mistake the deeper meaning of this statement. "For it seemed wisest to me to let such things rest in the past. And naught did I say of the Silmarilli or the grievous death of Finwe Noldóran, for those matters concern the Ñoldor alone."

Findekáno suddenly had a stale taste on his tongue. Elwe Singollo was none other than the elder brother of Olwe, king of the Teleri, and giving him an account of that fateful day at Alqualonde was certainly not the best idea. But also had he been a friend of Finwe and leaving him in the dark about Finwe's fate did not seem right either.

"Indeed the Sindar assumed that we had been sent by the Valar to bring them aid against Morikotto and I saw no need to rectify this assumption." Angaráto halted for a moment and a faint smile appeared on his lips. "I had believed to bring news to him. As it turned out, someone else had preempted me."

Ingoldo frowned and he was not the only one. "Who?", asked he.

Angaráto's smile broadened: "Our sister."

"Our ... what?"

"Nerwen? In Doriath?", Aikanáro gasped. "Impossible!"

"How?"

"And why? When?"

"She came with Telporno", Angaráto began to explain to his dumbfounded brothers. "Apparently the two of them had built a seafaring ship of their own, in secrecy, already before the death of the Aldu, and it was only Morikotto's raid that delayed their departure. But after the battle at Alqualonde, they sailed straight across the sea, without turning north first as we did, and reached Endóre just a few months before Feanáro. They stayed at the Falas for a while until Thingol received word that his grandniece had come out of the west. He invited them to Doriath and there they have been dwelling ever since. This, as you may have guessed by now", Angaráto concluded, "is what kept me so long and I apologise for the delay. I was reluctant to part with our sister after finding her this unexpectedly."

The council was so silent that the song of the birds sounded like the noise of a rising flood wave and they chirped their melodic deluge while the Ñoldor slowly began to comprehend this fantastic story.

"This is incredible!", Aikanáro burst out at last. "She talked about leaving for so long, yet never had I believed that she would go through with it. Sailing across the open sea, in a ship manned by two ... yea, only a Teler could have come up with such a foolhardy idea." He shook his head. "Why did she not accompany you to Mithrim?"

The smile on Angaráto's face somewhat crumpled. "Telporno and Nerwen have decided to remain in Menegroth", he stated. "She said this is where her place is now."

And not with the people who slew her kin, Findekáno added in his thoughts and knew he was not the only one who understood what Angaráto did not say. For at Alqualonde, Nerwen and her companion had fought on the side of the Teleri.

"But if we wish to visit our sister, we are always welcome at Doriath."

"So it was your sister who first told Elwe of our departure from Valinor?", Ñolofinwe returned to the initial point in Angaráto's revelation, his voice audibly strained.

Findekáno looked around and on each and every face saw mirrored the same disquiet. The daughter of Earwen had reason enough to let the deeds of the Ñoldor appear in a bad light. And how were they to establish a good relationship with the Sindar if Elwe had learnt what the Ñoldor had done to his brother's people?

The Arafinwion turned his gaze towards the king. "She told him of the death of the Aldu and how the light of Aman perished", he said with emphasis. "Nothing more."

Findekáno sighed with relief. But not everyone seemed to be reassured by these words. Especially on the side of the Feanárians, wary looks were exchanged, glum and full of mistrust, and Russandol did nothing to admonish the members of his delegation. He was staring at the grass within their circle, a steep crease between his eyes.

"And how did she explain that she came alone and before any of her kin?", Ñolofinwe asked.

"By telling the truth: that sailing to Endóre had been her intention all along. As for the arrival of the Ñoldor, she acted as if this was as much news to her as to anyone else."

The king nodded and interlaced his fingers. "Then let us hear now what message Singollo has given to you!"

Angaráto bowed his head. "As you wish." He waited until the murmuring had ceased and all attention was resting on him. "So hear now the words of Elu Thingol! Thus spoke the king of the Sindar: In Hithlum indeed the Ñoldor have leave to do as they will, and in Dorthonion they may dwell, and in the countries east of Doriath even to the feet of the mountains of Eryd Luin there is room and to spare. But elsewhere there are many of my folk, and I would not have them restrained of their freedom, still less ousted from their homes. Beware therefore how ye princes of the West bear yourselves, for I am the Lord of Beleriand and all who seek to dwell there shall hear my word. Into Doriath none shall come to abide there, but only such as I call as guests, or who seek me in great need.¹"

When Angaráto had spoken, he sat down in his chair, his mission now fulfilled. Findekáno let his gaze wander through the circle of Ñoldor. The expressions on their faces reached from displeasure over huffiness to barely concealed anger. The latter foremost on the side of the Feanárians, unsurprisingly, and there coupled even with a trace of suspicion. Findekáno himself felt an involuntary protest grow in his stomach upon hearing the stern piece of advice at the end of Elwe's message, his pride rising up against being addressed like a naughty child. With what right did the king of the Sindar dare to admonish the Amanyar to mind their deeds ... if Angaráto in fact had spoken the truth and Elwe was unaware of the shadow that lay over their past?

"Cool", Ñolofinwe lifted to speak, "is the word that comes out of Lestanóre. Lands to dwell in Singollo grants us, though not without warning. No welcome bids he his kinsmen from across the sea. No acknowledgement or appreciation has he to spare for the aid that we brought against his foes. It would not seem to me that the hîr Beleriand be overly joyous to see the Ñoldor returned to Endóre." He crossed his arms, the unspoken charge hovering in the air.

"You have to understand his motive", Angaráto apparently felt obliged to explain. "Primarily he is thinking of his people, who during the past centuries and during the past decades in especial have been afflicted by the creatures of Morikotto more than enough. He wants their peaceful life to be maintained and not perturbed further by whatsoever interfering. And do note, the regions that he has offered for our settling are vast, and ample even for our numerous following."

"And yet within his borders, he wishes to see naught of us", Ñolofinwe observed.

This was when Russandol suddenly chuckled, and his hollow mirth sounded almost mirthful amidst the frosty silence. "He is a king that can hold his own, or else his title is vain."

The Feanárion leapt to his feet and there was no trace of amusement on his face as he gazed into the round of Eldar. "Singollo does but grant us lands where his power does not run", he declared, his eyes flashing dangerously. "Indeed Lestanóre only would be his realm this day, but for the coming of the Ñoldor. Therefore in Lestanóre let him reign, and be glad that he has the sons of Finwe for neighbours, not the Orqui of Morikotto that we found. Elsewhere it shall go as seems good to us."²

Approving cheers came from the Feanárians and not few among the Ñolofinweans nodded as well. But Angaráto and Ingoldo on the other side of the council looked downright shocked.

"Do you think it wise to risk the friendship of Thingol by dismissing his conditions?", the older brother asked.

"Friendship?" Russandol's head jerked around. "What friendship? Or do you hear friendliness in his message?"

"It does speak of friendship", Kurufinwe pointedly remarked. "To those he would have as guests."

"And we can all well imagine that those are not going to be many", Tyelkormo added while ruffling the fur Húan, who was lying contently, his eyes half closed, in the grass between his and Karnistir's seats.

"I will not have you insult Elu by belittling his hospitality!", Angaráto turned to him. "He accommodated me for almost one loa and proved to be neither niggardly nor unkind. What do you expect – that he invites two hundred and fifty thousand Ñoldor to dwell in his realm?"

"Not at all", Ñolofinwe gave back. "But extending an invitation at least to the leaders of our host to pay him visit would have been more than appropriate."

"Besides, no one doubts that you shall always be among his welcomed guests", said Karnistir.

Angaráto stared at him. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing", the Feanárion replied sombrely. "Except that I wonder, whence comes the hidden warning in Singollo's message? What reason would he have to mistrust the Ñoldor if Alqualonde were not known to him?"

"I delivered the king's message word by word, just as Thingol has uttered it, and it is not my problem that it is not to your liking! Or are you calling me a liar?", Angaráto snarled. "I told Thingol nothing of the kinslaying – yes, let us call a sword a sword – nor of your true reason for coming to Endóre! And more so, I even kept from him the death of Finwe, his friend, which he would have had every right to learn, lest he start pondering the details of our departure more carefully and ask questions that I could not have answered. Nay herunya! he knows naught of your bloodshedding at Alqualonde, or else his answer would have been quite different indeed! But he is wise and careful, and maybe his óre tells him to beware of the Feanáriondi?"

"His óre? Or another voice whispering into his ear? A female voice perhaps, like that of Artanis?"

Both Angaráto and Aikanáro jumped up at that, wrath written on their faces, and they would have lunged at Karnistir, had not Ingoldo held them back and spoken to them urgently, too silent for Findekáno to understand.

"Peace", said Russandol, raising his arms in an effort to calm the flared tempers. "Let us not speculate about the motives behind Singollo's words. They are what they are. What we have to decide, is how to respond. I have made my own point of view clear already. So let us now hear other opinions on the issue!"

Angaráto's shape slowly untensed. At long last he gave a curt nod, though his gaze remained fixed on the younger Feanárion. "You may insult me, but not my sister", he said warningly before both he and his brother sat back down.

Karnistir replied not and he and Angaráto continued looking daggers at each other, the tension well-nigh palpable, just about to burst.

"To answer your question, Maitimo", Kurufinwe tried to resume the discussion, "I perfectly concur with you. Singollo may be king in Lestanóre, yet his times as overlord of all Eldar in Valariande are over. He will put up with our coming to Endóre, that much is clear from his words, because he cannot help it. But a hearty reception looks differently. I deem that we have to expect little kindliness from Lestanóre, and little kindliness from our part will the king of the Sindar therefore find in our response."

"Why even bother with a response?", interrupted Tyelkormo, his legs crossed and his foot impatiently bobbing up and down beside the big head of his wolfhound. "Oh, there are a number of things that fain I would say in return to this woodking's message! But none that could be uttered in the course of an official communication. So why waste our time with feigning wrong courtesy? Let us discuss how to divide up the lands we desire and just take them! That way Singollo will learn the amount of our reverence for him as lord of Valariande soon enough."

"Indeed a sufficient response it would be", his brother nodded. "And what you propose does hold some appeal. But on second thought sending back an answer is not a sign of compliance. Not if we know how to make use of the opportunity."

"What do you have in mind?", Russandol enquired with interest.

Kurufinwe's lips stretched into a furtive smile. "Send another delegation to Menquerotto, delivering our thanks for the lands that have been offered as well as our assurance to defend them with all our force. Let be proclaimed that it is our honour to be installed as the wardens of Valariande to keep it safe from the threat of the north. Let king Elwe be reminded that it is the swords of the Ñoldor and nothing else that now stands between him and the Morikotto; between his little woodland realm and the death-shadow of Angamando."

The king of the Feanárians lifted an eyebrow. "Cunning", he remarked. "And very subtle. But truly, a gentle reminder of who is the actual foe would do Elwe no harm."

"I agree", Ingoldo piped up. "The communication between Ñoldor and Sindar ought not lapse. And I will even offer to lead a delegation myself this time."

"You just want to see your sister", scoffed Karnistir, still looking rather sullen.

The fair-haired Ñoldo slightly nodded his head. "This may be one of my reasons, yes. But I also want the talks to be held with caution, in an orderly, courteous manner."

"And you think the Feanáriondi incapable of that?", Tyelkormo snapped. His feet hit the ground.

Húan raised his hackles and gave a low growl.

"Findaráto is known to have a talent for careful conversation", Ñolofinwe quickly intervened before another argument could break out. "And I expect that he will be travelling to Lestanóre to visit Artanis anyway. Thus it is reasonable that we choose him as our messenger and I see no reason that speaks against it. The weather is favourable at the moment. Findaráto, you should not tarry and set out ere another late snowfall impedes the passage of the Wahtaine Oronti. Perhaps as soon as tomorrow."

Ñolofinwe had spoken those words lightly, obviously not anticipating the reaction they evoked among the Feanárians.

"Not so hasty!", Tyelkormo shouted. "Since when do you get to make such decisions by yourself? You are aran, not ingaran, in case that small fact has slipped your mind."

"Turkafinwe is right", Russandol joined in before his brothers had time to express their disapproval in less mannered words. "This should be decided upon by vote, for it is a matter that concerns us all."

"A vote?", came Karnistir's dark voice four seats further to the left. Lurking and far too calm. "Be no fool, Maitimo, they would outvote us any time. Or have you forgotten that they are more numerous than our father's house?" His hands were trembling, his narrowed eyes shooting forth deadly spears. Findekáno could see that he was just about to explode. And Russandol saw it too.

"I have not", the king of the Feanárians replied, his mien reflecting his alertness. "But calm down, Karnistir, we –"

"Calm down?"

Unfortunately this had been the exact wrong thing to say.

The face of his brother flushed in an instant and Karnistir flew out of his seat. "While the houses of our uncles already begin to plot against us? I say we send our own messengers to Singollo and without asking permission! For neither did they ere sending our cousin!", he cried out in full fury. "Yea more! Let not the sons of Arafinwe run hither and thither with their tales to this Moriquende in his caves! Who made them our spokesmen to deal with him?" The Feanárion turned his head and shot a withering glower to where Angaráto was sitting. "And though they be come indeed to Valariande, let them not so swiftly forget that their father was a lord of the Ñoldor, though their mother was of other kin."³

Angaráto jumped up as if stung by a bee and this time not even Ingoldo could restrain him. He rushed towards the Feanárion and grabbed him by the collar, the right half raised in threat. Húan was snarling and baring his teeth.

"You will not speak of my mother's kin! Not you or any of your house with their bloods on your hands! Yes, my father was one of the Ñoldor and their fervour flows in my veins too, so be grateful that Arafinwe's mood was different from that of your sire, or you would not be spitting forth jealous accusations much longer! Go and send your delegation if trust you do none but yourself, but expect no hearty welcome in Menegroth! Thingol is a proud and forceful king, and not overly fond of undue hubris."

At this Angaráto let go of Karnistir, turned around on his heels, and strode out of the circle of stone seats to where the horses were grazing. With his head held high and not deigning the council another look, he mounted his stallion and galloped down the hill, towards the grey walls of Már Léraiva. Nobody tried to call him back and in perplexed silence they watched the swiftly moving figure grow smaller in the distance.

"Can you not tame your tongue!"

Findekáno and the other Ñoldor turned back round. Russandol was now up on his feet as well and more than a little upset.

Karnistir's rage, however, hadn't abated either. "What?", he demanded defiantly. "I was merely saying aloud what everyone was thinking anyhow: the Arafinwiondi are Singollo's grand-nephews. Who knows what Angaráto and that Sinda they have been scheming during the past year?"

"You certainly don't and neither do I!" Russandol walked up to his brother and, being half a head taller, glared down at him. "And until we have any proof, such accusations cause nothing but discord. So get back to your seat and be quiet unless you have something meaningful to say!"

Karnistir held the gaze of his older brother for a few seconds longer, then his wrath seemed to puff out. He cloaked himself in sinister silence once again and sat down, but not without sending the remaining two Arafinwiondi another glower.

Russandol brushed a strand of hair out of his face and suddenly seemed very tired. He let out a sigh and said, turning to Ingoldo and Aikanáro: "I apologise for the conduct of my brother. Pray accept my excuse." He did not try to offer any explanation. The unpredictable nature of the moody and reclusive Feanárion was known well enough.

"Of course, Maitimo", Ingoldo nodded though his expression remained stern. "We, for our part, hold no grudge against the Nosse Feanáro. I just regret that this feeling, so it seems, is not mutual."

Aikanáro had crossed his arms and looked as if he very much would have wanted to contradict this statement, yet he kept his peace.

"So do I", Russandol murmured and so quietly that Findekáno couldn't even tell if the words had been said aloud or were just a stray thought picked up from is friend's mind.

Russandol went back to his chair and sat. Findekáno was watching him closely. He had cupped his arm stump with his other hand and massaged it pensively. The unruly strand of hair had already fallen back into his face.

A tensed silence was lying on the council. Feanárians and Arafinweans stared at each other angrily or sulked to themselves, the Ñolofinweans looked back and forth between the two hostile parties, and nobody seemed to know how to proceed.

Findekáno cleared his throat, trying to repress the unease in his óre. If they did not even manage to hold counsel without their gathering dissolving into a wrangle, how were they supposed to form a strong defence against Morikotto?

"Perhaps it would be wisest to return to the core question of what to make of Elwe's message before we lose ourselves in other details."

His friend threw him a grateful look and managed half a smile. "Findekáno is right. We have scarcely heard all opinions on the matter. Are we going to heed Singollo's bidding or not? Ñolofinwe?"

The other king, sporting his usual cool and detached mien, adjusted the richly adorned silver helmet which he wore in place of a crown, and said: "I dislike the haughtiness with which Singollo treats us, whom he should regard as equals. And I have no intention whatsoever of subordinating myself to this Sinda, lord of Valariande or not. This he shall hear and feel. However", he added, his gaze resting on the younger Feanáriondi, "I still hold to the point that our foe is in the north, and in the north we therefore too should dwell. The lands that Singollo so generously has offered are those which I would have chosen for settlement either way. Thus I see no need to pick a quarrel with this woodland king just now. May he keep his southern realm, in the peace that we brought him, and learn from our example the meaning of courtesy. But should he ever try to meddle in our affairs or assert any power beyond the borders of his influence, we shall give him a gentle reminder that the Ñoldor answer to their own king only!"

Sympathising murmur was heard from all sides.

"I share my father's view!"

Swiftly and before anyone else could ruin the tentatively beginning agreement, Findekáno had spoken up next.

"Let us not needlessly provoke the Sindar! Elwe is sitting in his fenced realm, behind the belt woven by his wife, and I understand well that he is not in a particular hurry to gather forces against a foe which to him seems far away. But we here in the north, we know Morikotto. We have witnessed ourselves how far his might reaches. Or need I remind you of the poisonous darkness that he sent forth without even leaving his mountain abode? Yes, the south may be appealing; but how long before evil filters in once we neglect our watch here, close to our enemy's lair? I have said it before and I will continue to say it – the Morikotto does not sleep. He will keep planning and plotting until he is ready to strike anew. And we know that not all of his weapons are for the eye to see."

Findekáno paused for a moment, thinking back of the whispering voice that had plagued him for so many years before he discerned its origin and banned it once and for all, which made the following words come out even more harshly than intended: "He is a liar and a deceiver and he will use all his cunning to stir new hatred in our hearts – if we allow it. And this is why we must not give the Sindar any more reason to dislike us. Our past holds enough potential for conflict as it. I dread the day when Singollo finds out the truth about our departure from Valinor and pray that day shall never come! For it may well be the beginning of the end of all Eldar in Valariande. So I say we take the lands that Singollo has offered and finally turn our attention to establishing proper new homes for our people."

"Very well", Russandol nodded, slowly winning back his authority, though worry remained written on his face. "Thank you, Findekáno, for these insightful words. Is anybody dissatisfied with his suggestion? What about those who wanted to go south? Findaráto, Ambaráto, Turukáno?"

The two Arafinwiondi exchanged a long look, then Aikanáro inclined his head and his elder brother lifted to speak: "I admit that I regret not being able to seek out more pleasant lands than those in the vicinity of Angband. But for the sake of peace and harmony, my brothers and I shall respect the wish of Thingol. After all we are newcomers to Ennorath and the king of the Sindar is right to be wary of a people he does not know. As time passes and good relations with Doriath are established, his attitude towards the Ñoldor may change."

"That would be desirable indeed", Russandol agreed, not commenting on the empty chair between the two Arafinwiondi. Next he turned to Turukáno.

Findekáno's brother, who had been silent for most of the day, or most of the council, to be precise, stirred from his musings. "What of Nevrast?", he asked. "It was not named among the lands offered by Thingol, and yet neither he nor Círdan hold much power there."

Russandol looked at Ñolofinwe, who shrugged and said: "A very good question. I do not know. Perhaps ..."

"I think I can be of some help here!"

The voice had come from among the group of Angaráto's companions, standing close behind the Arafinwiondi. Now one of them stepped into the circle and bowed his head to both kings. He was a dark haired man by the name of Arminas, if Findekáno's memory served him right.

"Although I was not always present at the meetings of Heru Angaráto and Elu Thingol, based on my time spent in Menegroth I can say this much: Among the Sindar of Doriath, Nevrast is not commonly regarded as part of Beleriand and so far Thingol has made no attempt to rule over the people of that region. Indeed he hardly ever spends much thought on it. I would therefore assume that the Ñoldor have to expect little trouble if settling there."

"As I suspected. Thank you", Turukáno said and looked rather pleased.

"I construe from your question that it is Nevrast to which you would lead your house?", Russandol enquired.

"If none else intends to put forth a claim to the region – yes."

They looked around the council and, as no one raised an objection, Russandol nodded. "So be it then."

"Wait, we are already dividing up the land?", Findekáno chimed in.

"Yes, it would seem so. And why would we not?"

"Because I think this to be more of a side issue compared to the question of how we are to handle Singollo."

"That we have discussed and I believe there is a consensus of staying in the regions to which Singollo pointed us", Russandol explained calmly. But he did not look calm. Findekáno was sure that his friend knew exactly what he was getting at and tried to delay the topic. Only there was no sense in postponing what had to be solved.

"All right", said Findekáno. "Then tell me, what of the delegation that you mean to send? What of future dealing with the Sindar? How will those play out? Shall we hold a council like this one every time a decision is to be made?"

He got up without actually knowing what he was going to say. All he knew was that the anxiety caused by Karnistir and Angaráto's quarrel was still lingering in the hearts of the attendants. This time it had been a harmless argument, but next time they might very well end up with an actual fight. And there would always be a next time if such councils became the norm.

"We live in a state of impending war, one chain of mountains our sole shield against the enemy. We cannot allow ourselves to become disunited over trivial topics. Not now, not here." Findekáno's gaze trailed over all the gathered Ñoldor, the different houses, the different camps, until at last it came to rest on Russandol. He could think of but one solution to their problem, and his friend was not going to like it.

"One year ago, Maitimo", he began, "you said that the Ñoldor have become two separate peoples that should each have its own aran. It was true at that time and it still is. And yet to those in Endóre, we will ever remain 'the Ñoldor'. Even though it is by different roads that we have come hither, we possess a common past and a common purpose. We now intend to scatter about the lands, but we shall still have to act in concert with regards to Morikotto, and to the Sindar as well." Findekáno drew a deep breath. "Therefore I hold that we need a leader. One king to speak on the behalf of all the Ñoldor. Let the ingaran come back!"

Excited murmurs rose in the council, barely subdued. The prospect of a the ingaran returning found both approval and disfavour and everybody seemed eager to share their opinion with their neighbours. But Findekáno looked only at his cousin, who in turn did not take his eyes off him. Shocked at first, Russandol's expression gradually hardened and his gaze grew cold.

I am sorry to put this burden on your shoulders once again, Findekáno pleaded silently and hoped his friend would understand. He knew Russandol did not want this position, had never wanted it. He knew it would estrange them, once again. But it's the only way we will have peace.

The whispering roared all around Findekáno, ever more angry comments reached his ear.

"Ingaran", someone spat at his side, not even trying to keep down his voice. "As if we would submit to the Feanárian traitor!"

Russandol didn't so much as bat an eye, though the remark had been loud enough. "There is wisdom in your words, Findekáno", he said, his strong voice easily rising above the murmuring. "The Ñoldor have always followed one leader, ever since we left the shores of Kuiviénen, and it has never been to our disadvantage. I therefore second your proposal."

"Of course he does, it's about his coming back into power", scoffed someone else, a heru from the house of Turukáno, and Findekáno could have strangled him then and there.

His father raised an eyebrow. "You have waived your claim to the kingship, Nelyafinwe", he noted coolly.

"Yes, you need not remind me of that", Russandol replied none the friendlier. "Findekáno has merely suggested that there ought to be a Noldóran once more. Who – that is a question which remains to be debated."

.***.

"They won't choose me." Russandol picked up a flat pebble and skimmed it over the blue surface of water. Twelve times the pebble rebounded, leaving behind a line of widening circles before sinking. Findekáno's cousin turned around and shrugged, a carefree smile on his face. "Not even those of my own house. Your father is the better choice, by far."

Findekáno could not deny this. There had been discussions and votes and fervent speeches, but in the end it all came down to a decision between the only two that had enough support to hope to become ingaran: Nelyafinwe and Ñolofinwe. Today, on the fourteenth day of council, the final decision was to be made. And Russandol was right – his chances of winning were not bright, to say the very least. And though he acknowledged this fact without any sign of rancour, Findekáno found it hard to believe that it didn't bother him at all.

He stared across the small reed-surrounded bay at the silhouette of their city, towering above the waters of Mísiringwe. "I wouldn't have made the suggestion had I known that it would result in a vote."

Russandol snorted and this time there was a trace of bitterness to his amusement. "Oh Findo, you can be so endearingly naive sometimes. Did you really think they would just call me ingaran again and pretend the last year didn't happen? A whole year for your people to get accustomed to their sovereignty?"

Findekáno watched as the next stone hopped over the tiny waves, nimbly, like a hare bolting through the meadows. "I guess I did. Or at least hoped so. I am sorry."

"Don't be. It was the only sensible suggestion nevertheless, and I would have put it forth myself ... had I not lacked the courage." His third pebble flew too steep and sank with a wet plop.

"Don't apologise to me", Russandol specified and rejoined his friend to continue their walk along the shore. "But if I were you, I would avoid running into one of my brothers for ... the next few yéni."

Findekáno involuntarily had to grin. "Was it that bad?"

"Worse. An erupting volcano is nothing compared to Moryo yesterday." He slowly shook his head and grew serious again. "But they will accept today's result, whatever it may be. Of that I made sure."

"Their anger is more than understandable. The kingship passing on to Ñolofinwe would be a humiliation for the entire Nosse Feanáro."

"And what of it?" Russandol looked at him and for the first time Findekáno understood that it truly did not matter to him. "Another flaw in our reputation. I don't care about reputation anymore. For the best reputation won't help you in the dungeons of Angamando. Indeed the nameless and the nobodies are the luckiest down there."

Findekáno felt a cold shiver running down his spine. His friend seldom made allusions to his time in captivity, and seldom indeed even mentioned the cursed name of that fortress in the north. But whenever he did drop such remarks, Findekáno was at a loss of how to react.

"And probably it is all for the better that I won't have authority over the Ñoldor as a whole", Russandol continued on, not expecting an answer. "It is bad enough that I have cast the shadow of my doom over mine own people."

"Don't say such things. You will bring no doom upon them. We have talked about this, remember?"

The pair of lugubrious grey eyes regarded him long and Russandol's smile returned. "Your atar will be a good Noldóran, Findo. And so will you be, after him."

Findekáno looked away. He knew that some believed he had proposed the return of the ingaran only in hopes of becoming heir to the crown himself. But the truth was that he had not realised this consequence until Nelyo later had pointed it out. And he found the thought decidedly daunting.

For a while they just walked side by side, listening to the rippling symphony of meltwater dropping from all twigs and branches, and neither spoke a word.

"They might still choose you, you know?", Findekáno said when they had reached a larger and more sandy cove.

Russandol rolled his eyes. "Yes. My chances of winning this election are about as high as winning back one of the Silmarilli."

"And yet you hold on to that aim as well."

Findekáno regretted his words immediately, for his cousin's mien darkened and he averted his gaze. "Because I must, Findo. Because I must."

And before Findekáno could think of anything to say, a horn was blown and the soft wistful sound was borne far over hills and lake, summoning them back for the final decision.

Russandol stopped dead. "And thus the wait has come to an end. Now we shall see if your hope was well founded." His smile was lopsided.

Instead of an answer Findekáno just placed an arm on his friend's shoulder and looked him firmly into the eyes while his mind reached out and touched that of the Feanárion. Russandol shied away at first, but as his cousin kept gently insisting, he finally yielded and opened the door to his thoughts. Findekáno approached the fea that, despite their long separation, despite all the pain, grief, and sorrow that had weighed on their hearts, felt familiar at once. Not like visiting a friend's house. More like coming home.

Then he summoned from his memory a single picture and painted it as clear and vividly as he could: the day when Ñolofinwe, hoping to strengthen his son's loyalty to their family and take his mind off his friendship with the Feanárion, granted him the rule of his own house long before he would have reached an adequate age. Russandol had found him, under the roof of Mindon Eldaliéva, hiding from a responsibility which he felt incapable to fulfil. And he recalled the words that Russandol had spoken to him that day; words from which he had drawn both comfort and strength. Do not worry about what others think of you. All that matters is that you try your best. As long as you try your best, you can't go wrong.

Russandol shuddered at the memory. Then he drew a deep breath and his traits softened, the grimness dissolved. He gave his friend a grateful nod.

Findekáno smiled.

The two men turned away from the lakeshore and walked through a grove of alders and birches back to the hill upon which the Ñoldor were holding counsel, both of them trailing after their own thoughts.

"If it won't be me", Russandol suddenly began once they had left the trees behind.

"Nelyo ..."

"No, listen, I want you to know ..." He halted and looked at his cousin, his face very serious. "I am not going to judge you, no matter for whom you vote."

Findekáno swallowed hard, his throat tight. He had the urge to hug his friend and shelter him from the round of leery, merciless glances awaiting them. But he pulled himself together.

"I know, Nelyo", he said softly.

When they continued walking, Russandol did not ask whom he intended to vote for and Findekáno gave him great credit for this.

He had made his decision the day before and up to this point had been sure that it was the right one. Now his certitude was becoming shaky again. Nelyo is the born leader. He has everything an ingaran would require. Everything, except for the wrong father.

They were among the last to arrive at the circle of stone seats. Ñolofinwe was there, sitting calm and regally amidst the herir and heruvi of his house, no signs of nervousness or tension on his clear-cut face, as if he was ingaran already and this merely a tedious formality to get over with. Findekáno felt a sudden strong dislike against his father and his inclination to vote in his favour sank even further.

The Feanáriondi were standing in a close group outside of the circle. Kurufinwe and Tyelkormo were apparently having a dispute that Makalaure in vain tried to settle, while Ambarussa was standing by silently and Karnistir had put on a mien that could melt solid rock.

And of course the house of Arafinwe was present, even Angaráto, who had not showed up during any of the preceding sessions and now he kept sending angry glares into the direction of the Feanárians.

Findekáno unobtrusively reached for the hand of his friend and pressed it one last time before they parted and Findekáno assumed his place to his father's right, while Russandol went over to his brothers and shooed them to their seats. Gradually the last laggards were sitting down and in the end they only had to wait for Turukáno and Faniel, who came riding from the north, Faniel's white dress visible far across the brownish hills.

Once those two had sat down next to their brother, their faces still flushed from the hurried ride, Ingoldo rose and opened the council. Since there would be a vote between the leaders of the Nosse Feanáro and the Nosse Ñolofinwe, he, as the neutral party, had been tasked with the moderation. He thanked them all for coming together once more and went on to briefly outline the choice that lay ahead. Findekáno stared at his feet. He did not want to see the faces of the other Eldar right now, for in too many of them was all too clearly written whom they supported.

In the end, he thought to himself, your vote is just one among one hundred and forty two. It doesn't even matter whom you choose. But he knew this to not be true. It did matter. It mattered to him, to his own conscience. How would he look into the mirror afterwards if he had not given this decision the weight it deserved and chosen what seemed right, unbiased by personal interests? Russandol would see his vote, even if he said it was all the same to him. And others would watch his decision with interest, too. Either he would incur the resentment of the Feanárians – or that of his family and his people. The Feanárians would say he was just keen on the crown himself, the Ñolofinweans that he was turning against his own kin. There was no way out.

"Now, you all have had time to consider, to ponder, to decide", he heard Ingoldo say. "Let us therefore proceed to the vote. Raise your hand for the candidate whom you consider worthy. Abstentions will be accepted."

Ingoldo made a deliberate pause, then he asked: "Who is in favour of Nelyafinwe Feanárion to be the new Ingaran Ñoldoron?"

In a split second Findekáno saw a thousand pictures flashing through his mind. The first time he saw him, in the gardens of their grandfather, that unusual red hair amidst the green. The furtive glances and winks during boring and ever-tensed family dinners. Their secret hideout in the spire of Mindon Eldaliéva. Bathing in the crystal clear pools of Lórien, which was not, as a matter of fact, explicitly forbidden. Singing and dancing at the spring festivals. Nelyo's joy at sparring with the new-forged swords. Then growing sorrow. Nelyo on horseback, following his father into exile. His face in torchlight under the lifeless Aldu, a death message on his lips. His sword among seven before a starry sky. Their last row on the barren strands of the north. Nelyo, hanging from the mountain face. Nelyo, his broken form on brown feathers. Nelyo, on a snow-covered lakeshore. Nelyo, taking the crown off his head.

He looked up. Several dozen hands were in the air, all of them on the side of the Feanárians. But Makalaure had not lifted his arm. Neither had Kurufinwe nor Ambarussa, and a number of Feanárians had followed their example.

"Thirty-two", announced Ingoldo after having counted the votes. "Very well. Now, who is in favour of Ñolofinwe Finwion to be the new Ingaran Ñoldoron?"

Arms rose up into the air, like a forest growing out of the ground. No tallying was needed, the result was clear. Even a few Feanárians had put up their hands, just as Russandol had predicted, and Kurufinwe and Makalaure among them, their faces sober but determined and unheeding of the resentful glowers their brothers were sending.

Findekáno did not move. His arms seemed to weigh more than the Sangoronti. He could see Ingoldo's eyes come closer as they wandered around the circle, counting the raised hands. He felt Russandol's gaze resting on him. Ingoldo had now almost reached him. Laurefindel, Faniel ... In the very last moment, Findekáno looked at his friend, their eyes interlocked, he raised his arm. It all happened in half a heartbeat and before there was time to regret his decision, Ingoldo's eyes had passed him by and his vote had been counted.

Russandol nodded ever so slightly and Findekáno believed, though very faintly, to see a trace of relief in his features. But he did not feel relieved himself. Nor disappointed. Sort of hollow, rather, and confused.

He lowered his trembling arm, for he could not keep it up any longer.

"One hundred and seven", Ingoldo announced the result. "Three abstentions. Thus it is decided: Ñolofinwe shall henceforth be our ingaran. My felicitations."

"Thank you. Thank you all for the trust that you bestow on me. You honour me greatly."

Only now Findekáno turned his head at his father; just in time to see a polite well-measured smile on his lips. He could not tell whether or not Ñolofinwe felt any triumph at obtaining the kingship formerly held by the house of his not-much-loved older brother. If so, who could blame him? Yet he was wise enough to hide any trace of potential glee under his usual composed mien. Over the course of the many years since his son's death, he had gained enough experience at burying his feelings to now fulfil the role of a neutral and just king to perfection.

Ingoldo stepped into the middle of the circle. A servant from among the Feanárians came up and gave to him a wooden chest which Findekáno at once recognised as the one into which the crown of Finwe had been stored away, over one loa ago. Ingoldo received the beautiful casket and with it in hands approached the newly elected ingaran.

"In the names of the herir and heruvi of the three houses of the Ñoldor, I offer you the crown of the Ñoldóran. May you wear it as sign of strong leadership, as Kanafinwe, Nelyafinwe, Kurufinwe, and Finwe himself have worn it before."

Ñolofinwe accepted the chest with a regal nod and placed it on the ground beside his chair. There would be an official crowning ceremony later, once the decision of the council had been declared. But that was only a symbolic act. Ñolofinwe was Ñoldóran from this moment on.

Next Russandol rose from his chair, walked up to his uncle, and said: "If there lay no grievance between us, heru, still the choice would come rightly to you, the eldest here of the house of Finwe, and not the least wise.⁴ I congratulate you on this outcome."

My thanks for your generous words", Ñolofinwe replied. "And I hope that in speaking in the name of the Ñoldor, I shall always act in accordance with your wishes."

"I trust that you shall", Russandol said, bowed deeply, and returned to his brothers, only to find that Karnistir and Tyelkormo had left their seats already and were heading for their horses, a large part of the Feanárians following them. Kurufinwe, Makalaure, and Ambarussa rose as well and, alongside their aran, strode out of the circle. Thus departed the Feanárians, without another word of goodbye, and thus ended the council of Mísiringwe in a rather inglorious manner.

.***.

It was a cool midmorning. A strong wind was blowing out of the north, as it often did in this land, and gradually dissolved the last wafts of mists that persistently were hovering over the Mísiringwe and the deep valley bottoms. Silvery white fogs were glittering golden in the light of bright Anar just risen above the eastern mountains.

"I've never noticed how beautiful the mornings in Hísilóme are at this time of the loa", Findekáno said, almost to himself.

Down in the valley west of Már Léraiva, the shadows were still lingering and a fine, grey layer of frost was on the grass; the last traces of hríve, which, as every new loa, was loath to loosen its firm clasp on the land. And yet koire had passed and now tuile almost inadvertently was finding its way even into the northernmost regions of Endóre. The trees were already clad in a fresh green garment, snowdrop and liverleaf bloomed everywhere along the banks of the lake, and soon the days would grow warmer and they could go swimming again.

"Ethuil is short up here in the north, which makes it all the more precious." Faelin turned her face at him and smiled. Though her clear blue eyes were clouded today, dimmed by a veil of sorrow. "Do you really not want to go down?"

Findekáno stared ahead into the narrow plain. The camp at the foot of the hills was in a bustle. The number of tents had decreased significantly and now they lay neatly tied up on carts or were fastened to the backs of horses, along with all the other belongings of his brother's house. This was the day of their departure.

After the council Turukáno had been in quite a hurry to leave Mísiringwe. A hurry that had puzzled Findekáno for a long while, but that now he understood. Within two weeks his brother had made ready for travel and finally everything was prepared. His people were gathering about the camp by the hillslope, ready to set off. Horses impatiently chomped at their bits, dogs, having sensed the imminent departure, ran around wagging their tails and barking in excitement, and the lord and captains had their hands full with trying to form an orderly line for the march. But even from his elevated position Findekáno could spot his sister amid the crowd, seated on her Valinórean mare; her blemishless white dress fluttering in the breeze was unmistakable. And the golden shock of hair at her side had to be Itarille. Both of them were going with Turukáno. Of course they were. Findekáno felt a sharp pain in his chest. And so our family falls apart further.

He forced his features to remain unmoved and shook his head. "I've said my goodbyes to them. Now I would only be in the way."

Faelin replied nothing. This was one of the things Findekáno loved most about her. She always knew when there was a time to speak and when to keep quiet.

Together they watched the ongoings in the dissolving camp and his thoughts strayed to his last talk with Faniel.

"Why Nevrast?", he had asked when she stood in front of him, clad in her hunting garb, her dark hair flowing loose over her back, for she never wore it otherwise. It had surprised Findekáno that his brother had been so keen to get assigned that particular stretch of land; according to the reports of their scouts nothing more than a bald grassland overblown by the salty western winds and home to birds rather than Quendi.

"It's by the sea."

"So what? Turvo has never cared a great deal for the sea."

"Can you think of no reason?", Faniel had asked indulgently. "The sea took from him the love of his life. For this he hates it, and yet cannot be parted from the sound of the waves and the wind and the memory they carry."

Findekáno stared down into the valley, and he believed to see his brother, riding through the gradually ordering ranks of his people, proudly sitting up in the saddle, radiating the same self-confidence and natural authority as their father; never allowing himself any weakness, never revealing his true feelings.

If the sea is calling you, háno, then you must go, Findekáno thought silently. May you find your peace by its shore. He closed his eyes and paused in remembrance of his earliest childhood with his brother in the noontide of Valinor.

The sound of soft steps in the grass broke his reverie. He swallowed.

Nelyo.

Faelin fleetingly touched his hand and whispered: "I will leave the two of you alone."

Findekáno barely noticed her walking back into the direction of the city, curtseying as she came past her aran. After a short look at his cousin, Findekáno turned back towards the western valley. Russandol and he had not seen each other since the council and he could guess what the coming of his friend signified.

The aran of the Nosse Feanáro stepped up to his left side. He was clad in royal vestment: a tunic of red and gold, the star of Feanáro upon his chest, a dark blue cloak around his shoulders, and on his head an eight-point crown beset with rubies, that he wore rarely and only when the occasion demanded it. Which meant that he had been received in an audience by Ñolofinwe.

Some minutes passed in silence while both were watching the proceedings down in the camp.

"We are going to leave", Russandol said at length. "Tomorrow."

Findekáno nodded. So he had thought. "Where to?", asked he, surprised that his voice did not tremble.

"My brothers and I have been deliberating." Absent-mindedly Russandol shifted his weight and the metal decorations on his garb gave a soft ringing. "And we have come to a solution which, we deem, will benefit the Ñoldor most. The Nosse Feanáro shall settle in East Beleriand, while your people shall remain in the north and west. For the most efficient way of preventing any sort of conflict among the kindreds of the Ñoldor, is to create a spacial separation between them and to reduce contact to trade and joined actions against Morikotto."

He waited for a response from his friend. Findekáno said nothing.

"You know that the danger of strife between our peoples is still present", Russandol added more softly. "Will always be present."

Findekáno could feel his cousin's gaze but kept his eyes fixed on the valley floor, where the house of his brother had finally formed a line. Turukáno and Laurefindel were taking the lead.

Russandol cleared his throat. "I presented this design to your atar and he approved of it. Findaráto and his brothers, he said, have expressed some interest in Dorthonion, while he himself does not mind staying in Hithlum. Thus this sundering will come to pass quite naturally."

As Findekáno still didn't react, Russandol just kept talking, his tongue quickening as he spoke: "Turko and Kurvo will go to Himlad, for the woods in that region are said to be good hunting grounds and the Aglon-pass is a weak spot in Beleriand's northern borders anyhow. I myself chose the hills around Himring for settling and Káno will move even further east. Moryo has set an eye upon Thargelion – the secluded mountain glens are much to his taste – and Nityo ... well, I think he would rather forget about the shadow in the north for a while. And I do not begrudge it to him. He will dwell further south, in the forests east of Doriath. So ... yes, this is all, I think ..." Russandol's voice trailed out.

Findekáno stirred at last and let out his breath. "I hear that east Beleriand is quite pleasant. Less snow in hríve, less rain in laire. More flowers." He finally met his cousin's eyes. "I wish that it will be a good home to you."

Russandol wore an agonised look on his face. "Thank you", he whispered. And then they were silent again.

The huge host of Eldar in the valley slowly got into motion and began to pour over the next ridge of hills, westwards away.

"I am going to miss you", Findekáno said to no one in particular and so quietly that half he hoped Russandol wouldn't hear it.

Of course he did.

"So am I", he replied, his voice hoarse. "But it is better this way."

"For the Ñoldor."

"No, for you."

Their gazes met again and for some reason Findekáno had to stare at the russet strand of hair that always kept falling into Russandol's face. When he wore his crown, the golden ring held the lock in place behind his ear. And yet at times his hand twitched upwards by force of habit, wanting to brush back a strand that no longer was there.

"I saw you hesitation during the election", his cousin said. "I know that in your heart you wanted to vote for me. But you chose your father, and you were right to do so! Findo ..." Russandol regarded him tenderly. "We will always be friends, no matter what happens, no matter how far apart we are, our friendship will endure. We have proven this often enough, have we not? There is no power in Arda strong enough to break the bond of our hearts, not ice, not fire, not quarrelling relatives; not even the chains of Morikotto." The corner of his mouth twitched. "Yet we both have families of our own, people to care for, duties to fulfil. And you must not always be torn between your kin and me!"

Findekáno averted his eyes. Russandol was right. As always he was right. And for this one time Findekáno wished he wouldn't be. The certainty that he would be parted from his friend once again, even though he had known it to be inevitable, felt as if someone was reaching straight into his chest and cutting his heart in two.

"Sometimes I wonder ... had I asked Sorontar to bear us somewhere else, somewhere far, far away from here ... would he have done it? I do believe now that he would. During the flight, however, the thought didn't even occur to me."

A hand reached around his and pressed it gently. The touch of his friend was warm and comforting, but left hand in left felt a bit awkward and their fingers didn't know how to interlock.

"I don't regret a thing", said Russandol. "Yes, had you asked for it, I assume Sorontar would have heeded your wish. Yet this is not why you initially set out to seek me. And Sorontar's coming gave proof that your intent was righteous. The king of the Eagles came to our aid because we both still have some part to play in the great tale of Arda. This is our purpose. And who are we to contend with the Fates?"

Findekáno turned and regarded his cousin for a long time, trying to memorise every inch of his face exactly like he looked in this very moment: a mischievous smile on the lips and a venturous glint in the storm-grey eyes.

"Namárie, Nelyo", he said at last.

"Namárie, Findo", his friend replied. "Nai eleni siluvar tietyanna."

And then they hugged each other, fiercely and with the bitter knowledge that they might not see each other for a long time.

When at long last they let go, the last wain of the host of Turukáno had vanished behind the crest of the hills and the valley was lying empty and silent under the rising sun, whose warmth gradually melted away the last remnants of morning frost and caused the moist meadows to glisten as if they were beset with a million tiny gems.

"And whither shall your path lead you, melotorninya?", Russandol asked. "Are you going to stay here, in Hithlum, together with your atar?"

Findekáno shook his head. "No, not quite." His gaze strayed to the left, where, in some distance up the hill, the Sindarin healer was waiting. "I have decided that my house will settle in Dor-Lómin ... Faelin's land of birth."

"You pronounce her name now like a native Sinda", Russandol remarked.

Findekáno averted his eyes but could not suppress a bashful smile.

"It lightens my leave-taking to know that, even when I am gone, you will not be alone. Oh yes, Faelin has talked to me and let me know that she won't be following us into our new homeland in the east", his cousin added in response to Findekáno's surprised glance and grinned. "Come on, Findo, do you think I am blind? Did you really think I would not notice? I have known you since before your voice broke! And I am glad for you." He placed his hand on Findekáno's shoulder and said with sincerity: "I wish you two all the best."

Findekáno was taken aback. He had not dared to speak with his friend about Faelin openly for fear of hurting his feelings. Russandol should not think that the Sinda had been the reason why Findekáno had spend so many hours beside his cousin's bed. Why he had visited the Feanárians' camp so regularly during the past year. Or that Nelyo would not be sorely missed. But looking into his friend's sunny face now, he saw that all of those fears had been unfounded, for Russandol already knew all of this and did not begrudge his friend his happiness.

At this realisation he was washed over by a wave of fondness for Nelyo and the pain of having to let him go stung all the sharper. He wanted to explain his long silence concerning Faelin, to express his relief and unmeasured gratitude, put into words how much he loved Nelyo, but all he brought out was: "Hantan tyen."

Then Russandol turned away and climbed back up the hill. "Don't forget to send me an invitation for the veryanwe!", he called over the shoulder and winked at his cousin before he continued his way into the direction of the sunrise.

Findekáno stared after him until the red shock of hair had descended behind the crest of green grass, and even then his gaze would not disengage from the spot where his friend had vanished.

"You shall see him again", spoke a gentle voice close to his ear.

He turned his head and looked into a pair of cerulean eyes.

"If our fates allow it."

Instead of an answer, Faelin placed a light kiss on his lips and slid her slender fingers into his. And hand in hand they walked towards the walls of the city, back to their people.

---

¹ direct speech slightly adapted from WJ:32f.

² direct speech slightly adapted from WJ:33

³ direct speech slightly adapted from WJ:33

⁴ direct speech slightly adapted from WJ:34