'Then as a flash of flame he drew his sword.'
JRR Tolkien, 'Morgoth's Ring'
.~.~.~.~.
1490
There is no doubt, vehemently as Fëanáro or Nolofinwë would have denied it, that much of the unrest of the children of Finwë in these last Years had its origin in rumour and gossip circulating among the 'lower' strata of society. Equally, there is no doubt that the disturbances in the royal family alarmed and confused their subjects, for the people of Tirion were not stupid. They saw the old rift between the elder sons of Finwë broaden until their children avoided each other for fear of falling in.
They watched as the king himself, palpably dejected and confused, retreated more and more into his palace. The people saw even the way the younger granddaughter ran away to Alqualondë and never come back; and they saw how her mother pined, poor dear!
(Eärwen was extremely popular with the public, having so much more beauty and innocent charm than either Nerdanel or Anairë.)
By the summer of 1490, Nolofinwë was not the only lord of the Noldor who had taught himself and his family how to make and use the old weapons of the Great March. Most of the others had no better idea than he what they would do with these secret armouries; only, there was a feeling in the city that something was coming: a battle, perhaps, in which the weapons of polished rhetoric would not suffice to protect their wives and children.
So they were prepared, the Noldor of Tirion, when the eldest son of Finwë, the brilliant one, the 'Spirit of Fire', first spoke out in public - as opposed to speaking indiscreetly, which he had often done - concerning his theory of the Valar and the Middle-earth. It was not in the Square of the King! Nor did he issue programmes. He simply took up his station in a corner of the Great Market and began to speak.
And how he spoke!
.~.~.~.~.
In the shining of Telperion Finwë had dreamt of his youngest granddaughter-by-marriage. It seemed to him that she walked weeping through the streets of Tirion and that as she walked her night-black hair began to grow and wind through the door of every house; only it was no longer hair, it was a Darkness and a confusion beyond the reach of starlight or Tree-light. Only Losselótë's white face shone amidst the gloom.
It was the Day of the council that Indis had called to 'address the issue' - why could none of these people ever once say what they meant? - of Fëanáro and Fëanáro's denunciations of the Valar. Oh, Finwë's name had been on the letters summoning every lord of his court and every adult member of his House. But Indis had caught him at a weak moment and forced him into it. It had been to her dictation that the letters had been written.
They were alone in the council chamber, Finwë and Indis; he wondered if there could really have been a time when he had found her habitual earliness endearing. Absorbed in their own anxieties, they did not speak a word to each other. It had been so very long since they had had a proper conversation together.
Really, this council of Indis had nothing to do with him. She could bring them to a decision of her own choosing just as well without him as otherwise. No doubt she would prefer to have Nolofinwë in the High King's seat!
Finwë had no defined opinions about Fëanáro's behaviour, only feelings. The first feeling was his absolute love for his firstborn son. Another was that he himself was being unfairly persecuted, blamed for what was nothing to do with him and forced to interfere in what was none of his business.
Opposite Indis' chair hung one of Míriel's ubiquitous tapestries, brilliant in colour and perfect in execution; but she neither saw it nor knew what it was. The knowledge that this meeting was called too late vibrated through her entire body and hung before her eyes in a black mist of impotence. With Fëanáro's public avowal of his strange beliefs, the end had begun. She had failed to prevent some dreadful event, still to come, yet inevitable, that now reared its black head upon the horizon.
This was not what one would call foresight, meaning a supernatural presentiment of the future. Indis had never been so gifted; her nature was too rational for that. In compensation, she had evolved to a high degree that talent to perceive the shape of the future in that of the present which is possessed by all intelligent minds to some degree. Perhaps all she was really doing was trying to preserve herself from the kind of horrible shock that had jolted the child with the golden curls out of her world of dreams in the Year 1146.
When Nolofinwë entered the council chamber, Indis surfaced from the mist to put on the face of a competent and calmly affectionate parent. But he did not look at her. He went and stood before Finwë, so that his mother could not see his face, and spoke:
"King and father, wilt thou not restrain the pride of our brother, Curufinwë, who is called the Spirit of Fire, all too truly? By what right does he speak for all our people, as were he king?"
And she wanted to silence him before he could speak more of these bitter and unnecessary words; and she wanted to tell him how utterly useless it all was. But her tongue froze in her mouth and her body was welded to her chair. Like a pair of statues they sat, the king and queen of the Noldor, before the fury of their son.
"Thou it was who long ago spoke before the Quendi, bidding them accept the guesting of the Mighty in Aman."
There were footsteps in the corridor; there was a hand on the door:
Ah! Indis thought, almost complacently. That will be Fëanáro...
And it was.
"Thou it was that led the Noldor upon the long road through the perilous Earth to the light of Eldamar," Nolofinwë concluded. "If this does not now repent thee, two sons at least thou hast to honour thy words!"
And of course she was not surprised to see Fëanáro bearing a sword. She was in that state where she could not have been surprised by anything. It would have seemed entirely natural for Fëanáro to come in breathing flames and wearing a crown of fire. And of course he was scorchingly angry, full of insults and threats. But it was rather good of Nolofinwë to ignore him altogether. Such a pity he did not realise - or did he? - that this was the worst possible course of action.
It was only after they were gone that she realised the reality of the situation. And she wanted to run after them, and she wanted to cry out to them; but she could not.
She did not look at Finwë. The air was full of their shocked and guilty complicity.
