Somehow or other, led by nobody in particular, most of the Noldor, including Indis and her children, had straggled back to Tirion. One had to go somewhere. Indis and Findis, with Calatindil, Ilmarien and Laurefindë, who had attached themselves to them, had the palace entirely to themselves; or rather, had the dark and silent place that the palace had become entirely to themselves. The three women were in Indis' boudoir. Findis was quietly going around the room and lighting the candles that she had placed on every available surface.
"Fëanáro will turn up quite soon," Indis said. Her voice was eerily calm and matter-of-fact. Her face too was calm. It was as if, at some point during the last few Hours, a blanket of tranquillity had dropped over her to hide her grief.
"What d'you mean, Fëanáro will turn up?" This was Ilmarien.
"I mean he will turn up. Appear. In Tirion. After that, he will probably make some speeches in favour of a return to the Middle-earth. The people will follow him, because he will offer them something to hold on to, which is what they want just now. Nolofinwë will follow him."
"Really!"
"Really, Findis."
"Is prophecy another of your gifts, then, Mother dear? I had no idea!"
"No, hina. I have merely made it my business to know the sons of Finwë. Come on!"
Indis opened the door and walked out into the corridor. Findis followed her, picking up a candle.
"Hey!" Ilmarien called. "Where are you going?"
"To the kitchens, to bake the coimas for the departing. Where else?"
Ilmarien heard the soft sound of their feet on the stairs. She put her hands to her head, wondering what to do next. She was afraid to follow Indis and Findis into the dark nether regions of the palace; but she would surely be more afraid, after they were quite out of hearing, to remain in this room where the little flames burned so quietly. She snatched up a candle of her own and walked after Findis' footfalls as fast as she possibly could without breaking into a run.
.~.~.~.~.
"Come away! Let the cowards keep this city. But by the blood of Finwë! unless I dote, if the cowards only remain, then grass will grow in the streets. Nay, rot, mildew, and toadstool."
Findekáno had heard Fëanáro's speeches before, but this was a piece of rhetoric like no other, polished until it reflected the light with blinding intensity, the dull old weapons of oratory reforged and given a new glow. At one point, Fëanáro had begun to juggle with lit torches. It was awful. It was terrible. It was tremendous.
This was the first time that many of the Noldor had heard a full exposition of Fëanáro's mysterious 'ideas' from his own lips. Even those who had once laughed at him now listened with curiosity and more than curiosity, as they were sucked in by his burning eyes and fervent voice. Was not his vision a point of light in the darkness, whatever else it might or might not be?
But what exactly was his vision? What lay behind the rumours?
To the people, Fëanáro's great inversion of conventional history was most shocking in its simplicity. They knew of the Middle-earth as a dark place of war and nightmare. Fëanáro spoke of it as a fertile land and the true inheritance of the Eldar. In the history they had been taught, the Valar had intervened to rescue the Eruhíni from this place of horror. Fëanáro's Valar were jealous spirits who had diverted the course of their destiny.
Naturally, he spoke also of his burning desire to avenge Finwë and recover the Silmarilli from Melkor. This the Noldor understood as sons and craftsmen.
Fëanáro was standing in the lamplit circle by the palace doors, just clear of Aldarilion's shadow. Calatindil and Laurefindë stood listening on the palace verandah behind him. Most of Tirion was gathered around the edges of the square. The House of Nolofinwë and many of his political supporters were on the eastern side, the House of Arafinwë clustered together in the mouth of the Alley of Roses to the north.
Findekáno could see Fëanáro's sons, with Ambalindë and Losselótë, among the crowd to the left of their father. It was mildly surprising to observe that Losselótë in her porcelain perfection had not been broken during the preceding chaos. He did not look at Maitimo.
"Say farewell to bondage! But say farewell also to ease! Say farewell to the weak! Say farewell to your treasures - more still shall we make! Journey light. But bring with you your swords! For we will go further than Tauros, endure longer than Tulkas: we will never turn back from pursuit. After Moringotho to the ends of the earth! War he shall have and hatred undying. But when we have conquered and have regained the Silmarils that he stole, then behold! We, we alone, shall be the lords of the unsullied Light, and masters of the bliss and the beauty of Arda! No other race shall oust us! This oath I swear..."
But it was not he alone who swore. With horror, Findekáno saw the lanky form of Maitimo, laughing, leaping out of the shadows. Lalwen saw something else: she saw Curufinwë Atarinkë's little raven-haired Vanyarin wife clinging to his arm, her dark eyes lifted to his, her exquisite face fixed in a mask of mute appeal. He detached her, so gently, to join his father and brothers.
"Be he foe or friend, be he foul or clean,
brood of Moringotho or bright Vala,
Elda or Maia or Aftercomer,
Man yet unborn upon Middle-earth,
neither law, nor love, nor league of swords,
dread nor danger, not Doom itself,
shall defend him from Fëanáro, and Fëanáro's kin,
whoso hideth or hoardeth, or in hand taketh,
finding keepeth or afar casteth
a Silmaril. This swear we all: death we will deal him ere Day's ending,
woe unto world's end! Our word hear thou,
Eru Allfather! To the everlasting
Darkness doom us if our deed faileth.
On the holy mountain hear in witness
and our vow remember, Manwë and Varda!"
It was a fine show, certainly, but little Lalwen Finwë's daughter squeezed her eyes shut and covered her ears against the glitter of her nephews' swords and the throb of their voices. She knew what she was seeing, for upon her had been laid the appalling curse of clearsightedness. It was far from perfect; she had made enough attempts to stifle it with alcohol; she saw her own immediate family with such blinding clarity that the rest of the world was blurred and distorted for her. But it was there.
There was a disturbance in the crowd. Nolofinwë, propelled by sheer rage, had joined his brother in the spot of lamplight. It was not clear to him in what way he had effected this transference. A moment ago, he had been harmlessly listening; now, he was somehow in Fëanáro's Presence, which was like a live thing. It turned its attention upon him as Fëanáro did. Its eyes too were a brilliant grey so dark that they were almost black.
"Enough of this!" Nolofinwë heard himself crying. "Let none listen to this fool! He - speaks only folly!"
Curufinwë laughed softly.
Terror rose in a wave to cover Nolofinwë's head. It was suddenly enormously tempting to run off into the darkness, let Fëanáro laugh as he would! His eyes, roaming around the crowd as if looking for an escape, fell upon Lalwen's angry face. You fool! she mouthed. Leave it! Then he saw Anairë.
His wife's face was like an open flower, radiating all her love and pride and confidence in his superiority. Nolofinwë felt suddenly ready to defeat Melkor in single combat.
"My father speaks truly." Turukáno stepped into the circle. "You will live to regret this madness!"
"Indeed?" Fëanáro said. He turned towards Findekáno and Arakáno. "Are the House of Nolofinwë then all of one mind? What do you say, my nephews?"
Arakáno looked at him. His expression spoke of defiance; and yet, even decades later, Nolofinwë never worked out to his own satisfaction what the boy thought he was defying. Certainly he was about to go against his father's will, but there was also in his eyes a more direct challenge to Fëanáro, as if he dared his uncle to misinterpret his words.
He said: "I would avenge my grandfather!"
Findekáno said nothing. He could not, after that speech, bear to say anything in support of his father's sensibleness. That part of him which had loved Maitimo was awake and rampant.
"Few are your supporters, onóro!"
"I support him," Findaráto said in his clear voice. He stepped forward to join Turukáno.
"Shame, that three of Finwë's children should shrink to avenge his murder! You are welcome to your toadstool inheritance!"
Nolofinwë moved slightly, as if breaking free from a trance.
"Do you name me a coward?"
"Even so, and with reason. Have you not always been a coward, a sneaking conspirator? To escape a fair debate, have you not plotted behind my back?"
"You lie!"
By Findekáno's side, Lalwen was sobbing brokenly.
"Somebody stop them! Oh, please, somebody stop them! They must be stopped..."
A hand touched her arm. The individual who stood beside her was tall and well-built, even for one of the Noldor. He wore his golden hair quite short and had a rather winning habit of tousling it with his fingers. His face was pleasant and handsome, his eyes a light, pellucid grey.
"I will stop them," said Arafinwë. And he stepped out into the square.
"In the Hour of Finwë's death," he cried, "all disputes should be suspended in common grief. He was our father and we loved him; is not that enough? As to this other matter: there is no cowardice in love. I love this land, as did Atar Aranya, and wish not to leave it.
"Finwë wept to leave the starlit waters of Endórë. Part of his soul remained there, as he told me once - and yet he chose the western road. Why? For us! For his children, as yet unborn, he desired light. Who are we to gainsay him?"
"That light is passed now," Curufinwë sneered.
"Maybe so, but I trust in the Valar. A new light will be kindled."
"What new light?"
"How should I know any better than you, nephew? What mind, in the time of the Lamps' fall, could have foreseen the Trees? People of the Noldor, light may have dazzled the eyes of our fathers, but our minds are confused by darkness. The undoable may be done in a moment - but repentance lives for all eternity!"
"My grandfather speaks truly," Artaher agreed. "Leave this land now and there can be no return."
"I desire no return," Fëanáro hissed. "Stay then, stay with your brother to quake in the fear of regret!"
He would have said more, but Arafinwë cut him off.
"I am not one with Nolofinwë, onóro, for he will disagree with you on any point you choose to name. I speak because you are wrong."
"Our forefathers were dazzled by the light, as you yourself have said." Tyelkormo's bright hair was a golden spark in the torchlight. "Was not their judgement suspended in the light of the Trees? We have learned now from their mistakes. Let us return!"
"Nephew, you misunderstand me. Atar Aranya never regretted his choice. If we were in Cuiviénen now, do you imagine that we would be so rich or so comfortable and so learned?"
"What we had would be our own - not the corrupt gifts of the Valar, which we now see to be more ephemeral than the shape of water!" It was Fëanáro who answered, smiling a strange predatory smile. "This darkness is their true gift!"
There was a murmur of assent from the assembled Noldor.
"The shadows of Endórë will be darker. Let us think before we rush headlong -"
But Arafinwë's words were drowned out in the cries of the people: "Nay, let us be gone! Let us be gone!"
