Chapter 5: Sweet Addictions, Manipulations, And Swings

To be honest, I've got a real sweet tooth! I've tried almost all the sweets available in Aman, although, in my opinion, the Elves will never tire of inventing new delicacies, especially considering the Ñoldor's craving for invention. From juicy fruits to viscous honey, from the usual ripe berries to rare products made from brown chocolate beans growing in the south in the gardens of Yavanna, I loved all of them. Since early childhood, sweets had a calming effect on me. After quarrels or reprimands from my parents, I used to run into the garden, climb under a bush, and cry. But as soon as I ate a single piece of my favourite peaches or chocolate, my tears would dry up. Over time, I began to consume sugary products not only as a mean of calming down, but also to keep up my spirits, as my mother would call it. After all, living among our family would quickly deteriorate your sanity. Dad's daily tantrums alone would make things hard! But sweets can make all everyday troubles bearable, they give me strength, patience, and the will to live and enjoy life. Still, the idea of running away from home and, consequently, getting rid of my father's care has visited me more than once, but no one cooks such wonderful fruit cakes as our chef Vaenon… Although, Nerdanel rarely allows him to make such culinary masterpieces, she believes that the basis of a healthy and happy life is proper diet, so instead of daily servings of cream, caramel, and other wonderful things, we were stuffed with porridges, vegetables, and fresh juices, albeit I had nothing against the latter. So my mother didn't really like my predilection for the sugary food that 'decomposes the young body'. Of course, she understood that without such delicacies I would soon wither – it wasn't easy to live in a group of whimsical Ñoldorin princes – but she also had no intention of indulging all my desires, so we almost never had stockpiles of sweets and gingerbread at home. Those appeared only on holidays and were usually devoured by eight greedy mouths in one evening. But outside our home, it was quite easy to obtain the required dose of cakes and pies. The ever-welcoming Elves have repeatedly invited me to drink tea with jam, try pancakes with syrup, and that's not even talking about the feasts at Grandpa Finwë's palace! Although there was a dark side to it – there were always a lot of Elves at great celebrations, however, it wasn't the crowd that scared me but the fact that all three of the King's sons gathered under one roof. The atmosphere immediately heated up as soon as Fëanáro crossed the threshold of his father's house and met with his half-brothers. So I often had to endure severe inconveniences in order to receive the long-awaited prize.

My cunning and adventurous brothers quickly realised that I could be bribed with candy. After breaking Mother's favourite vase, Moryo offered me, a witness to the disaster, a piece of cake hidden under his bed for verifying his false account of what happened to Mum. Of course, I took the sweets, but I knew you shouldn't lie to your mother… So I gave away my brother's sin while he was hunting with Turco. Nerdanel reprimanded him but I was able to get away with it, the slow-witted Carnistir didn't figure out it was me who exposed him. Another time, when Nelyo was playing ball with Findekáno and accidentally tipped a bottle of ink onto a sketch of one of Fëanáro's works, I was offered a decent reward for remaining silent. I kept my word this time; firstly, since otherwise everyone would have suffered from Dad's wrath, so we just blamed it on a strong gust of wind, secondly, I respected Maitimo, he had an undeniable precedence among the rest of the brothers.

And so, sitting quietly on a bench in the garden, having nothing to do, I was composing a hymn to all the sweet-lovers. Either from hunger, or from the good weather, but the lines rhymed themselves, I just had to shout them out.

Hail the pastries, sweet delight!
Every kind, a tasty sight!
Puff and shortcrust, oh so light,
Crunchy, juicy, take a bite!
Rolls and pretzels, round and tight,
Cottage cheese tarts, pure white,
Little baskets, such a sight,
Poppy seed pies, day or night!

My poetic recital was rudely interrupted. A head poked out of the second-floor window – Carnistir's black hair and narrowed eyes – followed by another head in the next window, with Tyelkormo's pale golden locks. Both brothers glared at me as if I'd ruined something vital with my rhymes.

'Alassë! Why are you shouting so loud?' grumbled grumpy Moryo.

'I'm sitting on the bench, singing little ditties, and minding my own business, so stop complaining!'

'You've scared away all the birds in the garden! There's nothing to test my new arrows on!' it was the Hunter's turn to complain.

'Well, what can I do? I'm sad without chocolate and bored without anything to do. How about you come up with a game for me? Then I promise to keep quiet!' Pleased with my idea, I looked expectantly at my older brothers.

With a sigh of resignation, they exchanged glances and trudged downstairs.

'What shall we do with you?' Turco asked, his tone devoid of enthusiasm.

'Don't know. You figure it out!'

Generating ideas wasn't his strong suit, nor was it Morifinwë's. Luckily for me, a real inventor was strolling nearby – Macalaurë. A singer and composer, he always had lots of ideas. The minstrel held a lyre in his hands, playing a soft sad melody on the sonorous strings. When he saw my delighted grin and the brothers' defeated looks, he stopped about ten paces away from us.

'What's this odd gathering?' Kano asked.

'One loud young lady's poetry reading scared off every creature within a mile!'

'Poetry? Go on, then. Let me hear.'

I resumed my simple verses:

Hail the ice cream, cold and sweet,
In cups or cones, it's such a treat!
On sticks or in a fruity swirl,
With creamy toppings that make hearts twirl…

But even the poet interrupted me this time. Clearly, my creativity wasn't to his taste. No matter – I'm just learning. One day, I'll write ballads so brilliant you'll beg me to read them!

'What's your price for silence?' Kano asked with feigned sympathy.

'Chocolate!'

'It's not in season; the beans won't ripen until next month!'

'Then entertain me! Otherwise, I've no choice but to keep trying my hand at composing.'

'Entertain you? Hmm… I've got an idea…'

At that very moment, Kano spun around and stomped off towards the old shed, a repository of various odds and ends. Mother had long wished to clear it out, but Father resolutely forbade it, insisting there were too many useful items within. I didn't mind the ramshackle structure – it lent an air of mystery and intrigue to the garden. You never knew what you might discover in there.

Macalaurë flung the doors open, and a musty smell assailed us. It seemed to be the dustiest place in all of Aman. Walking confidently to the back of the shed and rummaging through piles of debris, planks, and unidentifiable items, he triumphantly unearthed a large, rough-hewn, and crooked plank. Despite its sorry appearance, the minstrel gazed at it as though it were a priceless treasure.

'And? What do you intend to do with that?' Carnistir asked sceptically after a brief silence.

'Swings!' the singer declared proudly.

'What?' we exchanged bewildered glances.

'That's what I'm calling my new invention. You'll see in a bit!'

Kanafinwë dragged the plank out of the shed and into Father's workshop, with the rest of us trailing behind like a flock of curious ducklings. Although the second son of Fëanáro was not particularly skilled in woodworking, he surveyed the tools and quickly concluded that we would need an expert's assistance. Of course, with enough effort, Moryo and Turco could have crafted something serviceable, but laziness had extinguished any latent talent for sculpture or woodworking in them. The resourceful Kano soon had another brilliant idea.

'Kurvo!' he bellowed in his melodic voice, though right now it was far from musical.

From somewhere nearby came a rustling sound, and the fifth son of the Spirit of Fire emerged, covered in dust but looking immensely pleased with himself.

'What is it?' he grumbled, as usual.

'Dearest brother, we are in dire need of your help. No one but you could manage such a complex task!' a little flattery was all it took for Curufinwë Jr. to agree to anything.

The work began with sanding down the plank. Once the surface was smooth and free of splinters, the inventor directed that two holes be drilled on either side. Progress slowed here, as Kano's vision of swings gliding through the air on delicate strings clashed with reality – the strings snapped under the weight. A sturdier material was required, and the rope from Father's unfinished boat, abandoned for weeks due to his workload in the forge, was promptly requisitioned. Atarinkë securely fastened the rope to the plank, and the entire group sprinted back to the garden. There we encountered the next oversight in Kano's plan: he had envisioned the swings suspended in the air but hadn't considered what would support the ropes.

After wandering around the garden for a few minutes, Kurvo, ever the strategist, proposed securing the swings between two trees. We quickly found suitable candidates: two tall linden trees growing close together. Turco and Moryo were tasked with clearing large decorative stones to level the ground beneath. It was collectively decided that no ladder was needed – after all, the hunter had climbed trees countless times while tracking prey. We waited as Tyelkormo scrambled up one of the lindens. After a few attempts, we managed to toss him the rope ends, though he grumbled about our poor aim. Finally, strong knots were tied around the branches, and we stood back to admire our handiwork. Though I hadn't contributed to the crafting or securing the swings, it was my idea that had spurred the effort, so I considered it a collective triumph.

The swings swayed gently in the breeze, beckoning someone to test them. While my brothers lingered hesitantly, claiming to be overwhelmed by their success, I stepped forward, climbed onto the seat, and wriggled around until I found a comfortable position. Then, a new thought struck me: how were the swings supposed to 'fly to the heavens'?

'And now what?' I asked the inventor without turning around.

It seemed Kano hadn't considered this either, for he approached and did the first thing that came to mind – he gave the swings (and me) a mighty push. I barely managed to grip the ropes in time to avoid tumbling to the ground. Yet thoughts of punishing my careless brother were swept away as the wind rushed past me. In an instant, I soared skyward, cutting through the air until I was level with the treetops. The height and speed took my breath away. But just as I began to imagine myself flying above the garden, the swings arced backward. My brothers scattered out of the way as I flew not only high but far, thanks to the long ropes.

'Again!' I shouted to Macalaurë, who stood nearby.

Now he knew what to do. Kano gave the swings a steadier push forward, then another, and another, until his hands could no longer reach the seat. I laughed, soaring up and down, imagining myself a bird. The sky was my passion, flight was my dream. After all, even my name was tied to the heights. In that moment, I needed neither chocolate nor other sweets; all of it faded away before the sheer joy of this experience. The company below shared in the fun, laughing as Kano attempted, with little hops, to reach me.

'Well, let Maitimo or Turukáno push you now!' the minstrel declared in defeat after his tenth attempt.

I could have swung there until evening, or even until dawn, but everyone wanted their turn to try the new toy. When Father and Nelyo returned during the evening's Hour of the Mingling Lights, trailed by the Ambarussa, who had been mysteriously absent all day, we proudly presented our creation. Father grumbled his approval of the sturdy construction, as was his way. Maitimo praised the idea with his characteristic warmth. Pityo and Telvo were overjoyed and already whispering to one another, undoubtedly plotting some new mischief. All seemed well, but after all the happiness brought to me by my flight, I noticed the tension in Father's stern expression. It felt out of place amidst our joy. Acting on a sudden impulse that made my own head spin, I grabbed his hand as he turned to head back to the house and tugged him towards the swings.

'Sit!' I ordered Fëanáro. He appeared so taken aback by my audacity that he didn't even resist. 'Nelyo, give him a push.'

Maitimo, equally surprised, obliged the request. He started gently at first, then with increasing vigour, pushing our new invention higher and higher. All of us watched, half-expecting the Spirit of Fire to unleash another fiery storm. But no such tempest came. Instead, we heard laughter – soft at first, then growing louder and full of genuine joy. It was a laughter unlike any other, the laughter of someone flying free, unburdened by earthly cares and worries. It was a sound we rarely heard from Father, a sound that our simple invention – a swing – had drawn out from beneath the weight of his many responsibilities.