Nerdanel’s Sons: Prologue.

(Disclaimer: All of the characters, the main scenarios and the timelines are, of course, the wonderful creations of JRR Tolkien. Only this interpretation of the story and the mistakes are mine. All references are from The Silmarillion and HoME 1, 10 and 12.)

A/N I have taken the idea that Nolofinwë thought Fëanáro’s seeming inability to father a daughter was a slur on his masculinity from the story ‘Raven Hair and Silver Eyes’ by Elfine, and it is used with her permission.

With thanks to Bellemaine

“Seven sons she (Nerdanel) bore to Fëanor; her mood she bequeathed in part to some of them, but not to all.”

(Of Fëanor and the Unchaining of Melkor. The Silmarillion. JRR Tolkien. HarperCollins ed.p65)

Neldormindo. The first house of Curufinwë Fëanáro. Seventh Age.

I had wanted a daughter.

Ai - not to start with! I had been overcome with joy that our firstborn had been a son – and our secondborn - how else should it have been for Fëanáro and I? He wanted strong sons; I wanted not to disappoint him in any manner. But as our family grew in number I began to long for a daughter with whom I could share those aspects of my nature less easily conveyed to neri. It is true that Makalaurë was ever close to me, as was Ambarussa. Even Carnistir was more his mother’s son that has oft been told. As for Maitimo – was I not in love with our firstborn from the moment I set eyes upon him? But for me there was something missing in my life that I desired. So I spoke with my husband on the matter, he being not adverse to the idea of a daughter after the birth of Tyelkormo. I believe there was a time when Fëanáro was eager at the prospect of a 'Jewel' being added to his house who might remind him of his mother. But such a matter is in the will of Ilúvatar, not the will of Fëanáro! Although we could conceive our children at times of our choosing, we could not choose their gender. So it was that, despite my hopes, each of our subsequent four children was a son.

Though I admit to most transitory feelings of disappointment, I was delighted with each child I bore. I would not have exchanged any one of them for the daughter I dreamt of. Each one was I proud of, and loved with a fierceness far beyond my usual nature.

“As a lioness are you with your young, Nerdanel,” Serewen once said to me.

She was right – my sons were most precious to me. I would have fought to the end of my endurance to protect them; though I knew not then the greatest danger they would face would be from the indomitable will of their sire.

It is well known that, in due course, all of my sons were led forth by their father to carry war and vengeance against Moringotho. They were to turn their backs upon Aman and set as naught the love and care of the Valar. What is less well known is that I fought like a lioness for them - for the youngest two at the least to remain with me. But my opponent was too strong by far. What to say when it is the lion himself that the lioness must face in contest; and he wounded, wrathful, and deceived beyond reasoning with?

Now in the year 1362 Anairë and Eärwen each bore a daughter to their respective lords, while Indis had long since borne two daughters to Finwë. It was not unreasonable of me to feel again a sharp longing that Fëanáro and I should have a daughter of our own. But he was much occupied – and I was caught up in my desire to learn more of the beginning of days from the Valar, to which end I had been studying with the Maia, Elemáinë. So further years passed. I thought to put aside my wish. We were beyond the years of the children, I told myself. We each had each moved on to express our powers of body and mind in ways other than generation.

“Are not the seven sons he has given me enough?” I had pondered. “And who is to say that an eighth child would not be yet another son?”

But I felt incomplete as a mother. I could not overcome the thought that – should Fëanáro and I so will it, so focus our minds and hearts and spirits – we could yet get a daughter between us.

There came a time when I could be silent no longer. At the Great Festival of 1432, upon holy Taniquetil, I asked of my lord and husband that we again create life. Three times did I ask of him for that which I longed. At length he said: “Art thou not renowned as mother to seven sons? Let them be enough for thee! It was not without reason I named our youngest Telufinwë – for the last Finwë, the last of our children is he. I will not risk losing thee as I lost my mother. And did it not come nigh thy desire to depart of life after the birth of Curufinwë? Nay, beloved – our sons are enough.”

Enough for him, mayhap – but the seven were not enough for me. When we retired to our pavilion upon the sward, that he took me in his arms, I found I could not give myself fully to the union of love.

So I spoke to him of that which I had heard whisper amongst that gathered company. To my shame I kept not the words to myself, as had been my initial intent. A last attempt thought I, and that I knew, from an unguarded moment at a gathering of the ladies of the court, that Nolofinwë had made shadowed question of Fëanáro’s masculinity. Would that knowledge not aggrieve my husband that he might wish to prove his half-brother wrong, I rashly considered?

‘Unlike his brothers, the eldest son of Finwë seems incapable of siring a daughter – so does it seem that his seed has failed.’ Those words, though of certainty not intended for my hearing, had been repeated by one of Anairë’s attendants.

Fëanáro was ominously silent upon hearing the accusation. I had never said aught that would add to his contempt of any, that he was momentarily taken aback - then he scorned the suggestion. Though in that moment’s silence the familiar look of annoyance at the mention of Nolofinwë crossed his features, he sharply ridiculed the idea that he was in any way a failure.

“What said thou to those who would slur me, lady wife?” he questioned me archly.

What could I have said? I – of all folk - knew the insinuation for an utter nonsense. Fëanáro was powerful – the mightiest of the Eldar in all parts of body and mind.

“I made it known that they knew not of what they spoke, Finwion. But I would not indulge their game any further. ‘Tis but a rumour put about through jealousy.”

“Then treat such words with the contempt they warrant,” he had stated, as if that was an end to the matter. (Though I knew it would not be. I had seen the spark of flame in his eyes.) If siring a daughter is the only matter in which my half-brothers think themselves my betters, it but demonstrates the multitude of their inadequacies. But shall I not create something of beauty and wonder that will show them all the extent of my abilities.”

‘A daughter’, I had vainly hoped. So when he took my hand in his and again drew me close, I went to him readily - but I knew he meant something else.

Swiftly and in secret he soon worked upon that most renowned of his endeavours. He asked of me alone for aid and council in the early days of the undertaking, so that many knew him to be fully occupied on a creation of great import for most of the year of 1449 – but I was the only one who knew what it was he studied and crafted with such passion in his heart.

My lord wanted to create Jewels in which he could combine the light of Telperion and of Laurelin. I wanted us to create a daughter, in whom we could combine our love and skills.

But alas, it was never to be.

Seven sons I bore him. All seven did he eventually take from me into exile - six did his rebellion lead unto their deaths! Now, as I sit before my sculpting of their likenesses in the house of Neldormindo, that place where Fëanáro and I dwelt when first we wed, it is in my mind to record but a few brief memories of each of them, and the manner of their final parting from me.

Ai! Would that Fëanáro had given me a daughter. Sometimes do I even wish we had had seven daughters! Now would that not have taxed my husband that mayhap matters would have developed very differently. But all such speculation on my part is but pointless folly.

- - - - -

The dates of 1362 for the birth of Aredhel and Galadriel, and 1449 for Fëanor working on the Silmarils are taken from The Annuls of Aman. Morgoth’s Ring J. R. R. Tolkien. Edited C. Tolkien.

Neri  - Adult males Elves

Makalaurë – Maglor

Ambarussa - The twins. In this case, Amras.

Carnistir – Caranthir

Maitimo – Maedhros

Telufinwë – Father name of Amras

Curufinwë – In this case, Curufin.

Nolofinwë - Fingolfin

Finwion – Son of Finwë. Childhood name of Fëanor.

Anairë – Wife of Fingolfin.

Of the birth of Curufinwë.

(Disclaimer: All of the characters, places, and the main story line are JRR Tolkien’s wonderful creations. All references are from The Silmarillion, and HoME Volumes 10, 11 and 12. Nothing is mine, except the interpretation and any mistakes.)

With thanks to Bellemaine and Emalin

“Also the Eldar say that in the begetting, and still more in the bearing of children, greater share and strength of their being, in mind and in body, goes forth than in the making of mortal children.”

(‘The Later Quenta Silmarillion’ HoME 10. Morgoth’s Ring JRR Tolkien.)

The house of King Finwë. Tirion. The Year of the Trees 1179.

My son – my beloved son! Finwion hast thy father named thee. Son of Finwë - his son! Does he know by so naming thee; does thy father suspect my intent? He sees with his eyes my weakness, he perceives in his fëa my utter exhaustion – but I think he understands not my deepest longing? I have given all the strength and skill I possess to bring thee forth, child of mine - all the life that should have gone into the many children thy father desires, into sustaining my own life, into firing my own inspiration through the ages to come.

What now for me but to nurture and counsel thee for the short time I endure, and then to seek peace and rest eternal from the labour of living. What more can I give to my lord - give to the Noldor, than I have done in giving birth to thee? Mighty wilt thou become, my son – mightier in mind and in body than the measure given to any of the Eldar, that there will come a time when even the Valar will look to thee and marvel. Such is the intention of Ilúvatar, I do perceive. For why else should one with such a spirit of fire be brought to birth amongst our people? Why else should my life’s energy be so consumed?

Thy spirit is as strong as if thou were many. All of my powers to create hast thou taken, and seemingly forged into thy form most perfect. So strong a spirit hast thou, my son - more like unto a Maia than an Elda I do ponder. I quell at the impropriety of such a thought, it seeming near blasphemous. And yet …

Finwion hast thy father named thee – and I? I shall name thee for what I know thee to be, and for what my foresight tells me thou yet shalt be – I shall name thee Spirit of Fire; I shall name thee Fëanáro.

Neldormindo. The first house of Curufinwë Fëanáro. Seventh Age.

Now many of the records show that Fëanáro was renowned as the father of seven sons; yet with the usual bias of interest in him, say little if anything about me. Mighty in skill and in lore though he was, he could not have brought forth any sons without my assistance in the matter! It is true that, in the begetting of children, neri put forth a great share of their strength of mind and body – in this was my husband no exception - but the greater share of strength is required in the bearing; in the bringing to birth of a child. Of necessity are nissi the ones who give most of themselves.

I remember the sensations of being with child; the initial joy and delight at the creation of life, aye – of a certainty was each one of our sons conceived of our love and will, and the prospect of his forthcoming birth was a great happiness to us. But for my part there was also the slow-growing awareness of my own energy for life passing into the forming hröa of each of our unborn children, as my body took upon itself that shape of fecundity; of swollen breasts and stomach. Fëanáro was also aware of the draining of his strength, though he made light of it, as if it taxed him not. The fëar of our unborn children drew nourishment from both of us of course, through our own union of fëar - from his strength of spirit, which I mediated to them. So it was that our sons were not only conceived but brought to birth by both our efforts. Mayhap this was more the case with us than with some couples? For Fëanáro would always give fully of himself to his creations: be they gems, or sculpting, or Silmarils – or sons. And as with all of the Eldar during the years of the children, he and I were rarely parted.

Six times did I give forth of my gift of strength – a gift of love to my husband and to life. But our fifth son; his birth was reminiscent of Fëanáro’s own in a manner that caused both my lord and I to ponder greatly. Our fifth son nigh consumed me in body and spirit that was I almost lost, even as Míriel had become lost.

- - - - -

It was late in the Year of the Trees 1295. I had been working on a sculpture of the Lord Ecthelion’s wife Serewen, wanting it to reflect her likeness to perfection. By that time I had long established a reputation as a sculptress of uncanny skill. My craftings were so lifelike it was said that, if they knew not my art, friends would speak to the sculptures as if they had life. But that particular work was difficult for me because I was large with child. I had tired more easily in that pregnancy than with the four sons already brought to birth.

Fëanáro had spent more time with me than usual, giving of his strength of fëa to support and sustain me. Though he spoke not of it in words, I could sense the conflict of his concern and elation over the way our son was developing. We both knew the child would be different – we knew that son would be more like him than any of the others.

Now it came to pass that on the day of which I write, Fëanáro had ridden to my father’s house. Less than one day’s journey was it to the dwellings of the Aulenduri on a swift horse such as Tyelperocco. My lord wished to make final consultation with Narwasar on the planned addition to our house of Neldormindo before my time drew nigh, and to return the following day in the company of my mother. Never would Fëanáro have left my side had he known that day I was to give birth – he had always been with me in that time of my labour that no midwife could drive him from the room. But this child was indeed to be like his father. He was strong and eager for life. Too eager to be born was Curufinwë!

I was alone when the first pains, the first pangs of birth gripped me; and most ill prepared. Not for twelve days or more did I expect the child to seek birth. So gripped with weakness was I as the muscles of my stomach suddenly contracted, that all I could do was cry out. Carnistir, who was by then fourteen years old, and the much older Makalaurë came running to my workroom in haste.

I recall the shocked paleness of Carnistir’s face as he reached me, just as the chisel dropped from my hand and the strength in my legs failed. He caught me up, carried me back to the house through the open windows of my study, and up the broad staircase to my room. A poor reward I gave for his swift actions; I dug my fingers into his arm in my agony.

The rhythm of the contractions was too quick. The child was coming in too much haste!

“Fëanáro; I need thee!” I had called to my husband in thought, though my mind was already hazed and unfocused that I knew not at the time if he had heard my plea.

All seemed most confusing. Carnistir was shouting for Maitimo to send riders to my parent’s house; Makalaurë had run to fetch the midwife - to fetch Arnónë or Meldawen. I knew he would fetch anyone he could, for though they understood well what was to happen, none of my sons had wish to aid the birthing of a younger brother.

Then so strong was my pain that, for a time, I remembered no more.

There were short spaces of consciousness when I trembled, closing my eyes in my anger and agony. How could I be so weak? Never before had my strength betrayed me – nay, not in childbearing nor in any other matter.

Carnistir had laid me gently upon my bed, and had brought a bowl of cool, rose scented water to bathe my brow. His face still held a look of strained disbelief at what was transpiring before him. No coward was he - none of my sons were - but to aid his mother in such a situation was asking a lot of him.

“Thou art doing well, dear one,” I managed to gasp, trying to be encouraging.

Then the door swung open and Arnónë hurried in, her breath sounding harsh with her great hurry.

“Away with you, my lord prince! See that Maniel is on her way.”

That chief of my ladies took immediate control, moving straight to my side, lifting me up to support me in my efforts as my son would never have thought to do.

“Away, I say! This is no place for you.”

Carnistir would not usually have accepted such a tone of remonstration without complaint, but on that occasion he made a hasty retreat from my room, doubtlessly relieved that another had taken on the task he feared would be his.

- - - - - -

I heard softened voices around me, speaking with much concern. I thought: ‘this must be death. This must be where Míriel has gone?’ Surely I was in the gardens of Lórien at the least, for all was a dusk-light to my eyes? But awareness of the fragrance of the roses that grew outside the bedroom windows reached me. I knew I was still alive - still at home in Tirion.

Yet the tiredness!

The needy cry of a newborn reached my hearing, but no strength had I, not even to turn my head upon the pillow to look upon my babe. It seemed to me as if my body had been torn apart. My child was born, but instead of the expected surge of joy, I had barely the will to draw breath.

So tired.

I wanted to see him. I wanted to hold him, to have this new life snuggle against me that I knew the reason for what I had endured. Instead, I drifted in and out of a cool, shadow-world. The lusty calls, a demand for attention, a proclamation of life embraced, were the dream – the darkness was my reality. Only in that numbing darkness was the pain and utter weakness bearable.

Hushed words were again being spoken. With great effort I focused my eyes, seeing the drawn expression on the face of Arnónë close by, as she tried to administer a potion that would presumably aid my rest.

“Drink this, Lady Nerdanel. You need to sleep.”

She raised my head slightly, so gently for one who could be so abrupt, and held a small glass to my lips, trickling a warm, sweet amber liquid into my mouth.

And I was again exhausted.

Before I passed into the shadows, Makalaurë moved into my range of vision. Keeping vigil was he.

“We are here, Mother. Maitimo has gone himself to fetch father. Tyelkormo has gone to our grandfather’s house to fetch Alyu. All will be well.”

He did not sound convinced. His deep, beautiful voice was haunted with concern, though he endeavoured for it not to show.

“The child? What has happened?” I whispered to him.

“He is well. He is strong. ‘Tis thou who art weakened; thou who must take rest, lady and mother.”

I tried to understand what Makalaurë was asking of me but it was too difficult, and the potion was exerting its soporific effect.

Dream! I was in a dream of standing upon a seashore, as in my childhood days. But the sky was dull grey; the waters dark and cold. The waves upon the shore were tugging at my legs almost as grasping hands, pulling me forwards.

So very tired was I.

Again could I hear voices; Maniel, the midwife, her tone raised in something of anguish.

“How can this be? She had little trouble with any of the others. Too strong is this child, too eager was he to be born that he has consumed her strength – as Prince Curufinwë did to his mother.”

“Do not even say that!” Arnónë replied sharply, “This carrying and birthing is nothing like that which Queen Míriel endured. Neither will the Lady Nerdanel seek release from life – she is too strong to be brought down.”

“My mother is strong!” Makalaurë echoed determinedly. He was sitting beside me, holding onto my hand. The sensation of him willing me his own strength was comforting, but it was not enough. He had no bond with me that he could easily give of his own life’s strength to nurture me – yet he tried. As the sound of laughter upon the shores and of children playing in the white foaming breakers, his song to my spirit was of hope and joy. But no healer was he – and the bright blue sky he had sung of was again overcast with grey, that I felt as if my hand slipped from his grasp. He believed I would languish even as his grandmother had – that he was going to lose me.

“Amillë – thou must give battle!”

I tried. I turned my head to see that Carnistir, and also Tyelkormo kept watch by the door. Most serious of expression were they. Alyu, King Finwë’s foremost healer was standing by the window, conversing hurriedly with Maniel. Arnónë was praying to the Valar. They all thought I was going to languish - that I would not recover from my ordeal. Although none save Míriel had been lost in Aman through childbearing, they knew well that it was possible.

Then the images shifted. Again was I in the colourless world; the cold, deep waters pulling at my legs that it seemed as if I were wading, knee deep, into the strongest undercurrent. My body seemed so heavy, so tired was I; so cold.

And if I chose, I knew I could lay myself down upon that water and I would drift, and there would be no more pain.

“This is of no use! We must send again for help,” Carnistir was saying. “I shall ride forth to see what keeps our father!”

“Too late it is to reach Prince Curufinwë.” Arnónë, who had been present at the birth of Fëanáro himself, sighed, “Too long will it take for him to return from the dwellings of the Aulenduri, even if Prince Nelyafinwë has found him.”

I was aware of the methodical Alyu by the bedside, and of Makalaurë departing. The healer was laying crystals upon me, was trying to reach through the weakness of my body to the strength that remained in my spirit, by the touch of his hands. “Send for the Lady Serewen now, “ he suggested. “Or better still; send for Queen Indis. A good friend, and skilled in the art of healing is she. I would have present any who can call upon the Lady Nerdanel in love to strengthen her.”

The darkness sought then to envelope me completely, as if in defiance of Alyu’s words. But those words had the effect of bringing aid, if not in the way the healer had envisaged.

“You will not send for the Lady Indis!”

That commanding, well-known voice was accompanied by the sound of hurried footsteps upon the stairs, and a brisk stride down the gallery. I did not need to focus my eyes to know what expression those in the room bore. I did not need to focus my eyes to know Fëanáro was again with me.

“Send for Serewen, if it is your wish, but I will not have that Vanya in my house!” he instructed brusquely.

The power of his presence filled the room of an instant; the sound of his dissatisfaction with the situation colouring every word he spoke.

Then movement – and again Arnónë’s voice, that I knew my lord looked to the babe.

“Tend well to my son, and leave me with my wife. Now be gone!”

There was a rush of departing footsteps, of those seeking urgently to comply with his wishes; then blessed silence.

I sensed him drawing closer to me as a tangible source of warmth.

“Tell me what has happened to thee, Nerdanel. Why art thou so afflicted?”

“Over eager was our son to be born. He has taken all my strength,” I part whispered, part said in thought.

My husband took seat on the bed at my side, leaning forwards in great concern. But too weary was I to say more – even to him.

In fëa I begged of him: ‘Please, Fëanáro, let me be. Too late hast thou come to my aid.’

I began to drift again into that welcoming ocean, until the sharp authority of his voice halted me.

“Think not that I will let thee go, lady wife. I give thee not permission to depart! Though thy hröa is sore wounded by this birth, thy fëa is yet strong. Thou shalt be restored to full strength again.”

I stood in the water that now reached up to my waist, longing most desperately to fall forwards into oblivion, into the care of Námo Mandos. I dearly loved my family, but so consumed was my body and weakened was my spirit that I cared not to live. Yet on the colourless beach behind me, I knew he stood. I could feel the strength of his will focused upon me; sense the brilliant flame of his spirit reaching out to me. He spoke directly into my thoughts, with no small annoyance at my lack of response to him.

“Even in this condition, I will not have thee ignore my words. My gift of strength hast thou long been – and will I not return that strength to thee as needed? This child has cost thee more than I thought possible, Nerdanel. But understand; even if the cold darkness draws thee unto itself, then will I follow to pull thee from Mandos’ grasp. It will be a step to life or to death for both of us.”

I did not want to turn back. At that instant I earnestly desired release, but so compelling was he that I had little choice. Though he had said ‘to life or to death for both of us’, the possibility of his own death had not even touched his mind. So indeed did he mean that both of us would live.

“Nerdanel; come back to me! I will not permit thee to depart.”

And so on that day, his determination was far stronger than the coolness of the seeming death. I could not have disobeyed his wishes; I could not have defied his will. Neither in my right mind did I ever wish to during those years. I turned upon the beach to face him, to reach out to take hold again of life. Though the pain returned the weariness began to diminish, and the coldness was driven far away.

I managed to murmur: "Help me, Finwion. I am so weak.”

And he was become the forbearing, considerate lover again, rather than the masterful High Prince. He kissed my lips - far sweeter a medicine than Arnónë’s potion – then held me to him, stroking my hair and whispering words of encouragement and love. For nigh three hours did he sit thus, pouring his own strength and will into me, drawing me ever more into the vibrancy of life.

Then, when Alyu, Meniel and our sons returned, with Maitimo cradling the babe in his arms, I felt surrounded by such love and care that I was shamed to have caused concern.

Fëanáro took hold of his newborn son, his expression lighting with pleasure at what he beheld. He leant close to me – so that, for the first time, I could clearly see he who had been the cause of my anguish.

“A little image of his father is he – even as we believe he will be like thee, beloved. ”

Already the child had a shock of thick, raven dark hair, the shape of face, the colour of eyes of his sire. His small arms waved in frustration – tiny fingers grasping at my own, as he gave vent to his will to be fed.

Enough strength I had to nurse him, to hold him as I had wished from the start. But the action was enough to tax me that I slumped back against the pillows as Makalaurë stepped to the fore, to make good his claim to hold his latest brother.

“No more!” Fëanáro said to me when we were again alone. “No more children will I have thee bear. Five sons are enough, and more than most have brought forth.”

Before the sleep of healing overtook me, aided by a second potion of Alyu’s making, I murmured my agreement with my husband.

“So be it, Fëanáro.”

And I slept then in his arms.

- - - - - -

I believe I came to better understand Míriel after that birth. It was almost a year before I regained my strength – almost three years before I had fully recovered. Never did I truly wish to depart of life at that time – but I understood what the giving over of all ones strength and creative abilities could cost a mother.

For a long time Fëanáro and I thought that Curvo was to ever be our youngest. Atarinkë I named him – ‘little father’ – for he was like his father to look upon from the first. And as he grew, my name of foresight was mostly proven correct. Curvo was to be the son most dear to Fëanáro’s heart. That son who nigh destroyed me was to be so like his father in form, voice and skill, that Fëanáro gave him his own name.

But in one aspect was I wrong in my naming. Although Curvo had more of his father’s skills and nature than any of his brothers, he did not have his strength of spirit. My fëa had not been consumed by him in the manner Míriel’s had. Nay – the son whose spirit burned most like Fëanáro’s, whose ardour burned more eagerly at times than even his father’s flame – it was Maitimo!

- - - - -

neri – He-Elves

nissi - She-Elves

Curvo / Curufinwë - Curufin. I mostly use Curufin’s father name in this story (Curufinwë, the same as Fëanor’s own name), as it says in HoME 12 that he alone of the sons preferred his father name to his mother name. Nerdanel had called him Atarinkë, meaning ‘little father’, because of his likeness to Fëanor.

Carnistir - Caranthir

Makalaurë - Maglor

Maitimo/ Nelyafinwë - Maedhros

Tyelkormo – Celegorm

Amillë - Mother

Finwion - ‘Son of Finwë’. Fëanor’s childhood name, which in my stories Nerdanel sometimes uses.

Notes: Regarding Nerdanel’s name: I have seen various explanations of the meaning of her name, ranging from ‘Independent woman’ to ‘Daughter of the man (ner) who makes’.( Which I think would actually have been Nerdaniel?) According to HoME 12, some of the early character names have no exact meaning, (Finwë being an example) and Nerdanel may be another example of this. I have personally always thought it meant either ‘She who has a man’s (ner) strength / ability in crafting’, or possibly ‘She who makes men’.

The first interpretation would link with Professor Tolkien’s description of her in Morgoth’s Ring. She has skills in crafts (metal and stonework) which women of the Noldor seldom used; she is said to be strong, free of mind and filled with the desire of knowledge ( p272) Nólemë has suggested ‘Nerdanel’ could mean "a maker of (meaning possessing) manly strength" or "manly maker", both of which seem rather logical and apt to me.

I was recently reminded of the second interpretation by Enelya, who said ‘Nerdanel’ perhaps meant ‘man-forger’. Ner – ‘man’, ‘dan’ – maker, forger – ‘el’ – feminine ending. I really like the idea. : Nerdanel – ‘She who makes men’. This would, of course, refer to her sons, as well as to her sculpting of life-like statues; however it seems to me this name would more likely be given her after she had borne at least a few of her sons – an anessë, or given name, probably given by Fëanáro.

Although I really like this second meaning, I am using the first suggestion – a maker possessing manly strength - in my stories. I am no expert on Quenya though, and could be totally wrong.

Regarding Maitimo: I have taken the idea of his strength of spirit both from The Silmarillion, and from ‘Poems early abandoned’ in The Lays of Beleriand page 135. “..and Maidros tall (the eldest, whose ardour yet more eager burnt than his father’s flame, than Fëanor’s wrath: ..”

Of Maitimo the Tall: Part One.

(Disclaimer: The characters, world and timeline in which this story is set belong to Tolkien. Only the interpretation of events and any mistakes are mine. )

“But Maedhros restrained his brothers ..”

(‘Of the Return of the Noldor’. The Silmarillion. J. R. R. Tolkien. Edited C. Tolkien. page 127)

Neldormindo. The first house of Curufinwë Fëanáro. Seventh Age

Maitimo the tall – taller even than his father; than any of the noble descendents of Finwë was he. Maitimo the strong - the born leader, the fiery in spirit - but our eldest son inherited much from me, as well as from his sire. Far more than his colouring of hair was my kin gift to him; I bequeathed by both blood and example a measure of wisdom beyond that which I gave to any of my sons - even Makalaurë - and the will to restrain the excess fire that could burn in the hearts of his younger brothers. Oft did he act in union with me to the good of all our family, that he sought to bring wisdom to his brothers’ rashness, even as I sought to restrain Fëanáro when the fires of his heart burned too hot.

We achieved much when we worked as one - that glorious, copper-brown haired son and I. We could cool the red hot metal of the others’ moods and temper it that it could be forged into a thing of creative power and beauty, rather than become a destructive conflagration.

But his father took him from me – he and all his brothers. His father gave cause for him to become a murderer – a kinslayer, many times over. Long since did Maitimo of the White Flame perish in the lands beyond the Great Sea – yet do I ponder that the Maitimo I knew perished in the Long Night, at Alqualondë, at the place he was first brought into being.

And I have missed him through the ages! On days like these - in this house of Neldormindo where my firstborn once dwelt and studied - I miss him so much. So do I now turn to record my memory of our last encounter – he and I, and also of some small matters that come to my mind concerning his birth and first year of life. In such recollections may I continue to find balm for my sorrow.

- - - - - - -

How can a mother say farewell to her children, knowing that, in all probability, she will not see them again? What are the right words for such a parting: “Namarië”? It does not suffice!

My sons, born of the Blessed Realm, were to be led by their father to carry war and vengeance against Moringotho, to turn their backs upon Aman, to set as naught the love and care of the Valar. Despite my best efforts, I had been unable to alter Fëanáro’s determined course of action in any way; neither had I managed to persuade him to leave even one of our children with me – not even out of compassion for she whom he had loved so well. I knew that I had lost them all.

Was it in my mind that, in time, I would seek to follow them? That I would follow him, even as my estranged husband had said I would? Nay! If with any conscience I could have gone with my family, I would have done so at that time. Was I not aghast at the destruction of the Trees? Did I not grieve for the murder of King Finwë and for the destruction wrought at Formenos? Did I not then want vengeance as much as almost any other? I knew that Finwë and the Silmarils were dear beyond words to Fëanáro, and I abhorred Moringotho for what he had done to us all through his plan for vengeance. Particularly did I hate that Dark Enemy for what he had done to poison my husband’s heart with his lies. But I would not rebel against the Valar; I would not act in accordance with the Marrrer, for in so doing would I become a tool of the Enemy himself. Nor would I betray Aulë; an oath I also had made, and to that did I needs must hold.

“And what of the oath that thou didst make unto me on the day we were wed? Hast thou forgotten that solemn promise in thy loyalty to those who would keep us as thrall? Though it take many hundred years, yet in the end wilt thou remember thy promise to me with no small sorrow - wilt thou remember who and what thou art, lady!” had Fëanáro said to me in that, our final meeting.

A reminder of Námo Mandos’ words to him at the time of his first exile was he making. A reminder that he considered me the one deceived - the one disloyal.

“Though thou doest choose freely to desert me at need and for a second time, thou wilt follow me, and our sons. For in thy heart thou knowest where thy loyalty should lie, even as thou didst know in thy seeking of me at Formenos. Once thou doest perceive the cloud of half-truths with which Aulë has cozened thee and thy kin for what they are, thou, too, will attempt to follow. Aye, and mayhap I will be of a mood to heed thee when thou dost truly recall what it is to be my wife, instead of a stranger!”

Harsh words we both spoke on that day, Fëanáro and I. Words born of unbearable grief - of anger, and of thwarted hopes. But of that event I will write in due course.

Alas – that I failed Fëanáro in his darkest trial, and through that failure doomed all of our children.

- - - - -

In desperate urgency I had sought to find our sons before the host left Tirion. Carnistir and Curvo I had spoken with before I left the house, although Carnistir had parted from me in the vain hope I would be travelling with them all.

Curvo was never so easily deceived.

Yet five more sons were there that my heart drove me on to find, to encounter one last time before the sundering that was, by then, unavoidable. Difficult it was however, for the darkness still seemed to have hold on hearts and on minds, draining all life and will into itself. My own heart was empty of light, my feet weighed as if with a chain forged of the essence of the abomination. But I was determined; I would endure the foul night as best I could to offer whatever blessings possible to those I so feared for.

To say ‘farewell’ was my wish, not to try further to dissuade any from leaving. I knew after my words with Fëanáro that nothing I could say to my family would deter them. What could I have said that they had not already heard? How could I have reached Carnistir, devoted to me though he was, when Turindë was most likely to accompany him? In what manner could I have implored Curvo that Nolwen had not already tried? Even Makalaurë, even he had heeded not the plea for wisdom from his lady wife!

Nay, always first to them, always their bright flame was their father. In that time of the greatest darkness and despair to him alone did they look for light. That, I understood. Was it not in my own heart to look to him for a way forward? But by then I knew him half mad with grief that he thought with little clarity – rather, with a consuming hatred to the fore of his mind. None could turn him from what he purposed to do - but it was his will to purpose us all to follow him! If only he had trusted still in the Valar to wait upon their reaction. If only his grief and anger had not driven him into folly beyond measure, into adding to Arda Marred.

I remember coming upon Maitimo leaving our house for the final time. Striding across the narrow bridge that spanned the waterfalls and heading towards the main steps was he, sword at his side, ill-lit red cloak and copper-brown hair flying back in his hurry. A great sense of purpose he had, being commissioned by Fëanáro, (as my husband had earlier told me), to order the ranks of those still loyal to our House. Maitimo would do exactly as his father and king had commanded – would also keep watch on those lords of Nolofinwë who could yet cause further dissention. For our eldest son, who had felt most keenly the anguish of not being able to prevent the death of his grandsire at Formenos, neither prevent the theft of the Silmarils in his father’s absence; the focus of action would have been most welcome.

He saw me at once and drew close, pushing his way through a gathering group of soon–to-be-travellers, sweeping me a low and most elegant bow of acknowledgement. But his brilliant, expressive eyes held much sorrow.

“I understand thy decision, lady and mother; though with all my heart do I wish thou hads’t chosen otherwise and were yet coming with us.”

There was no time for pleasantries, no time for discussion.

“Look after them, Maitimo!” had I uttered with all the dignity left to me.

I lightly kissed his cheek, but then made to step back, not wishing to act in any manner that would dishonour him before those he must command, or to distress him further.

“Look after thy brothers, dearest one; aye and thy father, if it be possible.”

I noted the pained expression on his face. Maitimo alone of our sons knew the fullness of grief that had lain between his father and myself. He knew of my hopes for the festival, which had ended not with the darkness, but with Fëanáro's open call for rebellion – with his oath. He knew this parting from husband; children and grandchild would break what was left of my heart.

The flickering light of passing torches, held aloft by those whose desire for new things and strange countries had been fired by the fierce and stirring words of my husband, made strange, blood red shadows upon my son’s face and hair; made him look in some manner already dead to me. Almost as a dream it was; one from which I hoped to soon awaken. But there was to be no awakening for me from that long night. Not then - in some ways not ever!

My son simply nodded acknowledgement of my plea. “Will I not do all I that can! Farewell, dearest mother.” And then was the urgency of the situation, the crowd of those hurrying past us towards the stairs to the main gate, full upon him. “Sorry am I. Sorry that I must do this thing; but I will not fail my father again."

Must do? Yet I nodded in turn – that as ever, I understood him.

“Until our next meeting,” Maitimo whispered, holding my eyes for a moment longer as if fixing that moment in his mind. I realised from the rasp of his voice that he thought I would not long endure this separation in hröa. He raised his right hand briefly in a gesture of blessing upon me however, and I did likewise. With those wistful words my eldest son, my beautiful one, departed my presence forever.

- - - - - -

Maitimo the Tall….

My firstborn …..

My beautiful one…….

Now it came to pass in those days in which Nolofinwë first paid court to the Lady Anairë, eldest daughter of Lord Essilon, that my husband began to speak with me in earnest of his wish for us to bring forth a child.

Still very young were we – yet would I not have done all in my power to please him, then, or even earlier had he asked of me. All that was required was the union of love with intent – the will of Eru – and naught would prevent us from becoming parents. But whenever we spoke of such undertaking there was a hint of hesitation; the darkening of Fëanáro’s countenance that he recalled his mother’s doom. So although my lord’s words were indeed earnest - and I made clear my own enthusiasm for the joint work he proposed – yet did he who was ever most eager, delay.

Then came the day when he found me seated under the apple tree upon the lower terrace of our newly built home in Tirion, and I considering the plans of the Aulenduri of the city to make a road to Alqualondë, that the journey between the cities of the Noldor and the Teleri be traversed more swiftly when desired. Onónon, my father sister’s husband and first instructor of Fëanáro in smith craft had asked me if I would ride with him to speak with King Olwë of the final stages of planning. As an Aulendur myself, a princess of the Noldor and daughter of their Master Smith, my presence would be warmly welcomed and my words well heeded.

But I was not to ride with Onónon.

I noticed the instant he approached the upper terrace that Fëanáro was in no good humour. His very presence put forth an air of discontent.

“Then will I be called upon a whim into the presence of the Lord Silwë? I say to you I am my own master, and will answer not to him!” My husband was addressing a messenger of the said ‘Lord Silwë’, who had followed him from the house.

The messenger made a bow of deference, “As you instruct, Prince Curufinwë,” and departed swiftly.

Ai! The Lord Silwë, steward of the king, never failed to bring out the more challenging side of my husband’s nature.

So I thought it wisdom to listen to Fëanáro, to encourage him to speak with me if he would, before I asked his leave to travel to the coast. He descended the steps to the lower terrace, then came to stand in the gold dappled shade of the apple tree, arms folded across his chest, his expression beset with agitation.

“My lord?” I looked up at him purposefully; seeking to encourage him to confide in me of his troubles sooner rather than later – for so to do was surely his intent.

He gave me no reply that I was concerned least he brood overlong upon whatever ailed him. So I spread out the skirt of my gown, and made gesture that he should lie on the grass - should rest his head upon my lap as he was want to do on those occasions he desired stillness to contemplate. But he shook his head.

“Finwion – wilt thou not share with me that which grieves thee this day?” As a gentle caress I made my question – gentle, yet with a hint of stubborn insistence.

“No help canst thou give me on this matter, Nerdanel. I must think upon it further.”

“Mayhap I cannot help thee, but what sort of wife would I be if I sought not to try?” I persisted. “Beloved – tell me what is the cause of thy pain?”

He sighed deeply, but there was a hint of sparkle again in his eyes, that they were no longer narrowed in temper.

“First before my father nigh every day is my half-brother - in discussion, in counsel, in requests. I will not have him first with a grandchild,” he said bluntly.

So did I know the desire to be a father was at the root of his mood – for there was no hint of a thought of Nolofinwë siring a child in the near future. Yet something had given cause for my lord to think thus?

“That is unlikely, beloved. Findis may yet wed, and bear a child before her brother. And neither she nor Nolofinwë are even betrothed.”

“Findis will wed later in years, if she weds at all,” Fëanáro replied, (showing a greater understanding of his half-sister than I had hitherto realised.) “But my father has this day told me my half-brother is so enamoured that he seeks to be betrothed to that most pious daughter of Essilon within the year!”

Upon hearing that news I understood well the situation, and Fëanáro’s concerns. No need was there for him to say more. Betrothals could, unlike our own, be of only a year’s duration, and most couples brought forth their first child within a short space of time after their wedding.

‘So be it!’ thought I in turn – but Nolofinwë, for whom I had much admiration, could not be permitted to perturb my husband and distract him from his studies. In that moment I recalled with great clarity the words Yavanna had spoken to me before I was betrothed. It was as if sudden foresight came upon me, that I beheld many lights of flame taking form in living hröar. In that moment I finally decided upon the immediate course of my life, and that I would soon speak with Fëanáro of that which would put an end to his conflict of desires.

Again I made gesture that my lord should sit with me in the cool of the trees to take rest, and ponder and discuss as he wished. He sighed knowingly, well familiar by then with my ploys to calm his restlessness. But he did as I asked. And as he laid his head upon my lap, I spoke to him of Onónon’s plan for Alqualondë in a manner that would give him some temporary diversion for his thoughts. Rarely could he resist making comment for improvement upon the designs of his former tutor; or on the plans of my father, for that matter! That time was no exception.

By the second mingling of the lights of that day Fëanáro and I – rather than Onónon and I - had departed Tirion, and were heading east along the Calacirya to make visit with King Olwë. So it was I had decided that upon that visit, and away from all thought of Nolofinwë, we would conceive our longed for child.

- - - - - -

Maitimo / Nelyafinwë - Maedhros

Makalaurë - Maglor

Namarië - Farewell

Moringotho - Morgoth / Melkor

Curvo - Curufin

Carnistir – Caranthir

(Notes: I am using information from an obscure reference in HoME 12, ‘Of Dwarves and Men’; note 7, that says after a discussion on Celebrimbor, that Maedhros appears to have been unwedded, also the twins. Celegorm was unwedded, as he plotted to take Lúthien as his wife. But Curufin was wedded, and had a son who went with him into exile, though his wife did not. Others who were wedded were Maelor ( Maglor?) and Caranthir.

Regarding the timing for the birth of children, I am using the reference in HoME 10 – Laws and Customs amongst the Eldar – which says: “But at whatever age they married, their children were born within a short space of years after their wedding.” And the added footnote: “Short as Eldar reckoned time.”

Of Maitimo the Tall: Part Two.

(Disclaimer: The characters, world and timeline in which this story is set all belong to Tolkien. Only the interpretation, a few easily recognisable characters, (including Onónon and Gaerion) and any mistakes are mine.)

With thanks to Bellemaine

“.. the fire of life was hot within him (Maedhros), and his strength was of the ancient world..”

(Of the Return of the Noldor. The Silmarillion. J.R.R. Tolkien. Ed. C. Tolkien. p 125 )

Neldormindo. The first house of Curufinwë Fëanáro. Seventh Age

Truly, the fire of life burnt most brightly - most hot in that firstborn of our sons. As I gaze now upon the sculpture I made of him, I am reminded ever more of how charismatic his flame was; of those who were drawn irresistibly to him. Ai – even some amongst the Maiar! Think not that Elwë was the only one whose beauty and strength ensnared the heart of one of the people of the Valar.

But as yet my writing has spoken little of Maitimo’s existence. Of his birth and earliest childhood I will record a few of my memories.

- - - - - -

Now the second mingling of the lights of that day saw Fëanáro and I depart Tirion, heading east along the Calacirya to make visit with King Olwë. Little persuasion had my husband needed to accompany me on that journey. He had made plain that he was restless to be away from the city. Onónon was also satisfied with the arrangement; it meant he could join Narwasar at my father’s house in discussion concerning necessary quarrying – in the further planning that those two masters of their art so enjoyed. My father sister’s husband had every confidence in me, and in my husband’s ability as prince and as stonemason in his own right to explain the situation to Olwë most clearly. Even had Onónon made request of his former apprentice to pay special attention to the cliff path that passed behind Alqualondë, that it would needs be widened and supported by a structure of many high arches to give suitable approach for riders to the northern edge of the city, and to the harbour.

We thought to make journey to the place of proposed building before we made formal visit to King Olwë, that it was known precisely what form of work should be undertaken, and how, mayhap, the Teleri could support our crafts folk in the endeavour.

Though he had spoken of matters general and of the work to be undertaken, Fëanáro showed signs upon our travelling that his thoughts were still most occupied. As we approached the eastern edge of the Calacirya, that Erresëa lay directly before us and lantern lit Alqualondë came into sight beyond the opal and diamond strewn shores, he chose to divulge to me the generosity of his considerations. (Aye – Fëanáro could be nobly generous of spirit and possessions in those days before Moringotho’s lies took hold upon him. Rarely with Indis and her children, that was true – but with others who sought his aid, and with some who did not.)

“Here upon this journey it is in my mind that the Teleri would find more benefit in light they could control, than in a road. This starlit land of theirs holds the beauty of the unclouded stars our forefathers first gazed upon, but it is easier I deem, to work and to play under a constant light that is within one’s power to command at will. Though they are used to torch and lantern light, such items can be cumbersome and imprecise. Mayhap something smaller, yet more solid would add to their lives?”

Thrice had I visited the city of the Teleri. Each time I had been in awe of its beauty, that I felt myself as one born in the Hither Lands. I had oft pondered the contrast of the light under the stars, and the light of the Trees. If I had to chose to dwell in only one form of illumination, then of certainty it would be the light of the Trees; but the starlight held a rare enchantment for me that in some ways I envied the Teleri their ability to move between both qualities of light so freely. Not that we Noldor were in any way forbidden from travelling hence, but it was more usual for our folk to explore to the west and to the north of Valinor.

“To that end am I thinking on how to devise gems that blaze greater and brighter than any our masons have dug from the earth,” Fëanáro continued pointedly, with just a hint of annoyance in his thought to me, that he believed I was not paying him full attention. “For our own use I intend such jewels, to give us light when we explore the further regions, and for those times of the mingled light when we would continue with fine crafting. But now I look upon Alqualondë and I think that to gift King Olwë and his folk with gems more useful to them than diamonds and opals would be no bad matter, and bring pleasure to my father.”

At his mention of gems I moved my fingers to touch the fire opal, Nármirë, his wedding gift to me which I wore oft times on a fine chain around my neck. He smiled in a manner most warm – all sense of annoyance fading fast. His elegant fingers moved to touch Laicasar in a copy of my gesture.

“As of thy crafting of this gem, and mine of Nármirë would I work,” said he, “but not merely through cleaving and polishing – through pouring will and form into an existent stone; rather to make one from skill. It takes great heat and pressure over much time to create natural stones, but my thoughts are to copy the workings of nature in far less than a year – aye, and to better them.”

I was enthralled by the possibility. (We had no knowledge of created gems at that time; Fëanáro being the one who discovered the means of such work. Neither were there smithies capable of forming gems before the one built under my lord’s workrooms in Tirion.) Most attentive I strove to be, adding comment where I could; speaking of my own crafting with the Maia Aratë, and the knowledge of the lore of Aulë I had been taught by my father. Not that there was much of import I could add to my husband’s knowledge, even in those early days.

We rode north at a canter into the twilight, still discussing gemstones with much enthusiasm until we reached the narrow path that curved up and behind the city of the Teleri. Then, as we slowed the pace of our horses, we again focused thought upon the task at hand. Both of us made much note of the lay of that land, and of the concerns of Onónon in seeking to carry the road along the ridge that jutted out under the sheer eastern sides of the towering Pelóri Mountains. The path was narrow indeed, that at many places only one rider could traverse it in safety. But although he paid close attention to his task, although he had spoken most thoughtfully of crafting gems, I perceived that Fëanáro’s mind was still on matters more personal – as indeed was mine.

He pointed to a spot where the path widened. There was a grassy incline from which a most wondrous view of the city and the Bay of Eldamar might be had.

“We will take rest here for a space, Nerdanel.”

A strange choice of places I first thought, in that unlike the stillness of the sea I was accustomed to, there appeared to be a place of wildness immediately below that cliff, that sea spray was sent hurtling into the air as myriad droplets of silver in the lantern light to rival the quantity of stars. I wondered if it were some special place where Ossë dwelt, or another who delighted in tumult and the roaring of waves?

But long had we ridden, and I was hungry. So we both dismounted, leaving our horses to wander and graze while I made to take out some of the provisions from our travel packs: bread, smoked meat and dried fruit, (though we always carried waybread for such journeys), and set them out upon a shared platter. We drank a little from our water bottles, and Fëanáro pulled forth from his pack a smaller bottle of amber limpë.

“We travel most well equipped, my lord!”

“We travel as is needful, and as befits us,” he replied, taking out also a silver goblet, filling it with the limpë, and offering it to me

Not often did we partake of such indulgence upon our travels, but that day was becoming almost a celebration. It seemed that in the act of departing Tirion, the weight of tension was lifted from my husband, and he was become of far merrier mood.

“To journeying, Fëanáro!” I took a sip of the rich and refreshing wine, passing the goblet back to him.

“To freedom!” His comment was most heartfelt, and rather unexpected. I knew not then in what manner he felt constrained? “To journeys in places unknown,” his brilliant grey eyes met mine over the rim of the goblet, “and to she who is my chosen companion, and my love.”

Even before partaking of the limpë, a strange and most contented mood had come upon me. My plan was developing as I had hoped. All that remained was for me to convince my husband there was no need for further delay – that I was more than willing for us to create a life together - that I would not be taken from him by childbirth. In the rooms accorded us by King Olwë, far from any mention of Nolofinwë’s forthcoming betrothal, I had hope of conceiving the much-wanted child, that Fëanáro had the gift he so desired and could inform his father of a grandchild-to-be upon our return to Tirion.

We sat upon the sward to enjoy our feast, conversing awhile longer over what we both thought the unsuitability of seeking to bring a road directly to the harbour from the narrow path we had followed. Though it could be done, we believed it preferable to take the way directly along the coast, with a spread of lesser roads reaching into the Swan Haven itself.

It was so beautiful – Alqualondë - I thought. The entrance to the harbour was a sea-carved arch of living rock, lit by a multitude of lanterns that reflected in the darkened water and on the pearl encrusted buildings: most especially on the many halled mansion of King Olwë. A number of White Ships were in the harbour, made in the likeness of swans with beaks of gold. I wondered for the briefest of moments if the Uinenlindë was amongst those moored there?

“Thou dost think upon the Teler friend of thy youth, or upon the Silversmith?” Fëanáro was reading my thoughts, though little skill it took to guess them.

“Upon Gaerion, Finwion,” I replied. “I hope his life is a good one, and that the Valar have blessed him with as much joy as they have blessed me.”

My husband’s eyes narrowed momentarily, but he had always known it was him that I loved – that there had never been need of jealousy on his part. Neither Tolfaen nor Gaerion could have ever competed with the son of Finwë for my heart’s love.

And we sat; looking up at the stars as the first Quendi to awaken had looked to the stars.

“It is so beautiful here that I am filled with inspiration!” I said in thought.

Again he smiled in an affectionate manner. “Aye, the stars of Varda’s hands are a work most wonderful. Some time it may take me to better them! But is it not said that nissi should look first with love upon their lords, and only after with love and reverence upon the wonders of Arda?”

“I hear thee, beloved!”

My plan had been to talk with Fëanáro once in the city, but it came to me as he moved an arm to encircle my shoulders, to draw me closer, that we were Noldor – that it would be most fitting if our child be brought into being in such a place of primeval beauty and wildness.

“Finwion – thou hast spoken with me of thy desire to create gems; I would tell thee of my desire and deepest hopes in this place, if thou wouldst hear them?”

He drew a deep breath, retracting not his arm from about my shoulders, that I lay my head against his chest.

“Speak then, if it is of such import to thee.” There was humour in his words; dry humour, that I would oft speak of my hopes to him at moments he wished for my attentions as wife. “Tell me thy plans and what thou hast withheld from me thus far!”

Now I had rehearsed in my mind my argument – my way of persuading him to do what he truly wanted. It was so important to him that we had a child – it was so important to me! I made quick prayer to Yavanna for her support, and then began.

“Of late have I made study of the Namna Finwë Míriello concerning the nature of thy parent’s union.”

The indulgent smile faded from his face in an instant. I knew I trod on ground most perilous, but I would make my case.

“I have noted that which the Valar spoke forth, each one of them in turn. Though some most interesting and enlightening comments were made, yet does one, of now, hold my thoughts. For Námo Mandos said of the sundering of thy parent’s marriage that Indis the fair would be made glad and fruitful, that her children would also be great and Arda more glorious because of them.”

Ai – near the edge of the void were my words carrying me. My husband withdrew his embrace; his demeanour became one of barely suppressed irritation.

“I speak to thee of the love which is natural between a husband and wife,” he said rather sharply, “and thou doest speak to me of Indis!”

Swiftly I raised a hand to caress his face, putting forth that aura of love – of the great love I had for him – that he trust me to finish my words.

“Námo Mandos has said that Indis will be glad and fruitful, such is truth. But Yavanna spoke on a similar matter to me.”

Fëanáro continued to focus an agitated gaze upon me. He suspected I would make further comment on his father’s second wife, but it was not so. The words of Yavanna Kementári to me; the words I had hidden in my heart, that I had pondered in my fëa – it was time to share them with my lord and husband, to bring him the joy I was at last certain the Valië had intended.

“These words did Yavanna say unto me before even our betrothal: ‘Thou shalt bear much fruit Nerdanel, whichever of the two roads ahead of thee thou chooseth to take. Thy creations will be renowned in this land, and in others.’

“Two roads?”

He was most interested! The irritated gaze was replaced in that instant by a gleam of enquiry in his eyes.

“Aye, Finwion - two roads! That of an Aulendur, or that of thy wife.”

“But thou art both!” he stated.

From the touch of our fëar I knew he was already thinking as I had hoped. He was thinking of ‘much fruit’, and that the renowned creations could as well be our children-to-come, as any skill of hand. Now was the time to make my point.

“Devoted am I to Aulë. But know this, Finwion - I will call upon the Queen of the Earth to give her blessings upon me as a forger of children before a forger in metal or stone, that thy children be renowned in this land and in others. My love for thee is my first love, even as Tatië’s was for Tata. Know that I fear not to bear thee children – strong am I, and if I am to bear much fruit then I am not to share thy mother’s fate.”

He was silent; a different matter now for him to brood upon than Nolofinwë and Anairë – than creating gems, or building roads.

“So! Thou hast kept such words from me for a purpose? Thou hast known my heart is to bring forth children, but my mind has been clouded by my mother’s departure – yet thou spoke not to lighten my concern?”

And had I not pondered that point myself?

To my shame I knew I had hoped in part that the works of renown would be works of my hands, even as Fëanáro made works of great skill – but it had been in the garden on the previous day that I had known beyond any possible doubt where my greatest love lay.

“I would be a mother, Finwion! I would form our children before any further works of stone.”

There was the lightest touch of his thoughts, as he sought to fully know my heart – his displeasure was gone, his expression one of wry amusement - and he was satisfied!

“So be it, beloved!”

He reached for me, that I went willingly to his embrace and we lay together upon the grass on the hillside above Alqualondë in the manner of husband and wife, with the intent to create between us a gem most true – a new life.

- - - - -

Wise Olwë! Was he not the father of four at that time? He must have known what Fëanáro and I were about.

King Finwë had earlier sent messenger to enquire of Olwë’s thoughts on a road between the two cities. The Teler king now listened carefully to my husband’s explanation of the work proposed, and to his reasons for rejecting the first plan. He listened to me further expounding the virtues of swift travel between the cities, and of the skills of those Aulenduri who would oversee the building.

Most hospitable was he, most accommodating. But I am sure Olwë was well aware that we looked and smiled oft to each other, that we wanted to be away from all company. Ever was Fëanáro one to focus intently upon his work, and he was focused intently then upon me, and that tiniest spark of life that was forming within me.

Strange it was, as I remember it now; those first tugs upon my fëa, those first faint stirrings of life. Like children ourselves in our joy were we, that we were to be parents. We returned soon enough to Tirion, but spent much time at Neldormindo while our child grew to term, that I might have rest and the attention of husband and mother as needed.

With the due passing of time, Nelyafinwë was born in our house in Tirion – as Fëanáro himself had been born in Tirion. Maitimo, did I name the babe. For me was it love at first sight. For Fëanáro too, though few would know of it. That day of the birth he had been with me, he had taken our newborn son in his arms and gazed upon him as upon the wonders of Arda entire.

And I was happy - so very happy!

- - - - - -

It has been said by some who knew us not well, that Fëanáro cared little for our sons or that at the most, Curvo was his favourite and Ambarussa the elder was dear to him. Do not the Eldar love their children? Do not love and a deep feeling of kinship hold our houses together? It was even so with my family! So much has been made of my lord and sons’ later deeds that some find such statements hard to understand.

With all the love he could give forth did Fëanáro love his sons, but less openly than I, and in a different manner. Curvo was most like him in appearance; in mood, in skill, and so he could understand our fifth son mayhap better than the others. But in Maitimo burnt a flame second only in brightness to his own. It was to Maitimo he looked to act in his stead. As soon as he was of an age, Maitimo was ever the foremost of his father’s lords and advisors.

‘Nelyafinwë’ did Fëanáro name our firstborn - ‘Third Finwë’ - and that all knew of his great import; that he was the son of the elder house descended of Finwë. Nelyo was Fëanáro’s son, and so better than, and before Nolofinwë and Arafinwë in all things as far as he was concerned.

Now it is well known and easily told from his epessë, ‘Russandol’, that Maitimo had rare copper-brown coloured hair. A rich and deep shade it was, like unto my father’s hair rather than my own. My hair required the light of Laurelin to set alight any flame in its usual brown, but it was not so with my father and my firstborn son. From birth my son had much of my father’s look about him, both in face and in colouring. As he grew older he also demonstrated much of my father’s mood of enquiry and thoughtful consideration.

Fëanáro seemed not overly concerned with this, for he was a proud father. Did Maitimo not demonstrate much of his eagerness, his physical strength and sharpness of mind? In time this son was to be the tallest of the descendents of Finwë, and this he certainly inherited from his sire, for those of my father’s kin are but of average height amongst the Noldor. And like his sire, Maitimo was great in valour, in endurance, in beauty and in skill. And a flame as of white fire burnt in him.

My parents loved their grandson beyond measure. Only good did they ever see in him. That Maitimo was to follow my father in developing fine skills with copper, and eventually becoming an Aulendur himself, only bound further in love one who was already bound fast.

And Finwë! Ai, how proud was Fëanáro when his father came to see his first grandchild - how full of joy at what life had brought him!

Great was the love between us in those days.

- - - - -

Ai, my beloved son, they told me, those who returned from exile at the dawn of the First Age, how Moringotho had deceived thee, and how he had bound thee in hate and contempt to the face of a precipice with a hell-wrought band of steel. My mother’s vision became the horror thou didst endure. I cannot bear to think of it! I cannot bear to think of thy suffering before Findekáno cut thee free…

… I cannot bear to think that thou didst allow two further Kinslayings to take place – nor that the murder of the guards of the Silmarils in Eönwë’s tent was at thy suggestion.

Maitimo – dearest one, would that thou couldst hear me – that thou didst know my pride in thee was sorely challenged, but never did my love depart from thee – nor my hope.

- - - - - -

After such thoughts I deem it wise to return to a memory most happy – to one of the early days of Maitimo’s life when there was no hint of sorrow in my world. A memory I would record of a day of joy - and this is the telling of it:

Now Maitimo would take not of rest.

No matter what I tried, he was intent on staying fully conscious and waving his arms at the flickering shadows on the walls as the light of Laurelin waxed full. He should have been tired, for we had been most active that day in visiting friends. But he was always full of life and energy, always wanting to be involved in what was going on around him.

I walked around the room with him cradled in my arms. He laughed at me, and pulled on my hair.

I sat with him, singing a softly comforting song that my mother had sung to me as a babe. He waved his arms and legs with even more fervour. Mayhap he found my singing amusing!

I should have laid him in his crib and got on with my own work; at least, that is what Fëanáro had told me. But I could not bear for him to be out of my sight for long in those earliest days of his childhood.

So I had taken up implements with which to make elementary sketches of him, for most certainly did I wish to record his likeness in all forms of my art.

And then he spoke!

I believe the first words of any babe are precious to their parents. The young reach mastery of language at a very early age, but I had not expected to hear anything so clearly pronounced for many a day. Putting down the paper on which I had intended to sketch his likeness, I moved over to the crib.

“Maitimo, what is it thou dost say, dear one?” I bent over him with an encouraging smile, though I knew well enough what his first word had been.

He stopped moving, and looked back at me with wide and questioning eyes.

“Atar?”

“Thy father will be with thee soon,” I replied, with an answer I hoped would not become commonplace. “He is still about his work, but much does he love thee.”

My hand was on the edge of the crib. Maitimo sighed, and grasped hold of my finger tightly.

I recall that I felt a little saddened he had not called first upon me. But then, our son ever held his father in the highest regard.

Then did Fëanáro himself cry out to me, in a loud and impatient voice that echoed though the stillness of our house.

“Nerdanel! Come; behold my work!”

I would always endeavour to swiftly attend my husband, for he loved to show off his skills to those few whose opinions he valued. At that time he had been working for several days without rest on creating gems - small, pale crystals - trying to form them that they glowed with reflected light as of the brightness of Varda’s stars.

But Maitimo was still wide-awake. I would not leave him lying alone, nor seek Arnónë to care for him.

Picking up our son whose thick, cooper-brown hair was by then curling at the nape of his neck in the warmth, I left the house and crossed over the wide upper terrace to the workrooms. Clad only in a white shift was I, for I had thought to take rest myself once Maitimo had succumbed to slumber. I passed Arnónë, who was heading for the scriptorium but shook my head at her offer to care for my son. (Did she not love to tend to Maitimo, as she had once given aid to Míriel with Fëanáro!)

In the second of the workrooms – the one above the new smithy - my husband was all activity; moving from the shadows of the room to the full light of Laurelin with clear, white stones in his hand, then back again to the shadows to make further observation.

“Nerdanel, I have the answer!” he exclaimed. “Though these gems are not fully as I envisage, yet will they give of a silver-blue light when under the stars. Come, lady wife; see their beauty!”

He glanced up from his considerations briefly to look to me, as I stood in the doorway with Maitimo balanced precariously on one hip. Our son’s eyes were still wide open, but unfocused in dream as his fëa ran in that field of delight and innocence that was the preserve of the very young. Resting at last was he, and at the very moment he would have wished to be awake.

“Fëanáro! Nelyafinwë was asking for thee,” said I, with a pride in the babe’s early mastery of a word. But my husband had not heard my words, so engrossed was he in his accomplishment.

So I sat upon the bench nearest the table, Maitimo held carefully upon my lap, that my husband placed in front of me the two crystals he had been holding.

“Behold!” he announced with much satisfaction, then stood back, as if seeking my spoken acknowledgement of his considerable skills. “They will give of far more radiance under the stars, but are they not the most wonderful of my creations?”

So very pleased with himself was he; so proud of his abilities.

But he was wrong!

I studied the crystals carefully, noting the beauty and energy he had poured into their form.

“Aye, my love!” said I. “These gems thou hast made blaze with such light, they are truly a wonder - but I disagree with thee ”

He heard that comment, and looked surprised. After such a discovery it was certainly not what he had expected. And rarely did I disagree with him at that time. Rarely did I have the need!

“Nerdanel?”

Rising to my feet, I placed the sleeping Maitimo in his arms.

“Here is the most wonderful of thy creations, Finwion!” I announced with conviction.

There was a strange expression upon my husband’s face, an almost faraway look, as he heeded my words. He took our son without any complaint or disagreement, but then directed a most searching gaze at me.

“I had forgotten!” he said, his voice suddenly lower and softer in tone.

With great satisfaction I watched him cradle Maitimo to himself in a manner that showed me that he indeed held his child to be something of the greatest value to him.

“What didst thou forget, my lord?” asked I, in a mood to banter, for never did he forget anything.

“In all the recent activity, of thine as well as of mine, I had forgotten how much I love thee!”

Those words had a most warming effect upon me. Instantly disarmed was I from any further wish to provoke. Not that I had doubted him, but he had been so engrossed in his works those recent days he had little time for me or for our son. Then I thought further upon what he meant by ‘my’ activity.

“In my delight with our son, have I ignored thee, husband?” Dawning realisation was upon me that Fëanáro worked in part, because he felt excluded. “Art thou jealous of a babe?” asked I incredulously.

He smiled warmly. “Jealous? Nay, Nerdanel - save that he is ever at thy side or in thy arms! Then the smile lit also his eyes. “He was asking for me, thou didst say! He spoke?”

“His first word was ‘Atar,’” I informed him, pride mixed with a tinge of ruefulness that Maitimo’s first word had not been ‘Amillë’.

That knowledge pleased my husband considerably. So very proud did he appear, so very full of love for the son of our love.

“Come then, wife!” he laughed. “Let us both put this most wonderful of our creations to rest in his crib.”

The jewels he had made were a wonder, but his mind was on our child and I again, and his work was left as it was - for a time.

- - - - -

Notes:

One day of the Trees - 84 hours.

Maitimo / Nelyafinwë - Maedhros

Calacirya – Cleft of light in the Mountains of Valinor.

Eressëa - Tol Erresëa. Island in the Bay of Eldamar lit on the western side by light from the Calacirya.

Aulendur – Servant of Aulë

Curvo - Curufin

Ambarussa – The twins. In this case, Amrod.

Epessë - Aftername, or nickname, given mostly as a title of admiration or honour

Nolofinwë - Fingolfin

Findekáno - Fingon

Atar - Father

Amillë - Mother

Namna Finwë Míriello - The Statute of Finwë and Míriel. Taken from the debate of the Valar concerning the sundering of Finwë and Míriel’s marriage in Morgoth’s Ring.

Tatië and Tata – I am referring to the story of the awakening of the Quendi in ‘’Quendi and Eldar’ The War of the Jewels J. R. R. Tolkien Ed C. Tolkien. Tata was one of the first three Elves to awaken at Cuiviénen, and he and Tatië were the parents from whom the second clan sprang. (The clan from whom the Noldor were descended.)

Of Makalaurë the Mighty.

(Disclaimer: I am writing in the world created by JRR Tolkien and borrowing characters, scenarios and timelines created by him. Nothing is mine except for the interpretation, the mistakes, and a few easily identifiable secondary characters.)

With thanks to Bellemaine.

“ .. and Maglor the mighty who like the sea with deep voice sings yet mournfully.”

(The Lay of Leithian The Lays of Beleriand. J.R.R. Tolkien. Ed C. Tolkien)

Neldormindo. The first house of Curufinwë Fëanáro. Seventh Age.

The meeting had been called for the third hour after Laurelin came into bloom. Often would I have been early to such a presentation, but Makalaurë seemed unusually fretful that day, and it had taken me longer than planned to leave the house. Once at the Hall of Lore, however, I had quickly made my way to one of the seats in the third row, one partially blocked by a pillar from full sight of the dais. I had no wish to cause any disturbance, nor interfere with anyone's concentration on the forthcoming discourse, and I knew that Makalaurë was not the most silent of babes.

Few nissi attended the meetings in those days, though it was a matter of their preference rather than any law, spoken or unspoken. A nís always had as much right to attend such debates - to be heard in council - as a nér! But in those golden days there were rarely more than twelve nissi who made regular attendance. One of those was my father sister, the copper-brown haired Nessimë; another was Amortainë, the nigh silent, but ever observant wife of the loremaster Istyaro. There was the Lady Veryë Alcarinquatári, whose courage and resourcefulness on the Great Journey was renowned amongst the Noldor; and the exquisitely elegant, dark haired Anairë, who kept Nolofinwë or her father company while her brothers looked to the sport. I attended whenever possible – when children and work allowed. I always thought that my parents would enjoy greatly such discussions as we were privy to; but then again, most of those who attended were of Tirion's nobility, and lord and lady though they were, my parents would ever prefer to be about the forge and crafting. Mayhap one day I would insist they accompanied me - one day when I had not Makalaurë and his constant singing. Not that I nor any other knew with certainty what my son's songs were about at that age, for he sang in a manner long before he could speak. A touch later at forming his words than Maitimo was he; but a happy child nonetheless, and he wished us all to know it.

That day was Rúmil, then the foremost of our loremasters, to make a presentation on his studies of how the Telerin language had developed from Common Eldarin as compared to the development of Quenya. Many of the Noldor found the study of language most fascinating, and not the least of those was my husband. He sat in the front row, at the right hand side of his father and king, avidly absorbing all of Rúmil's assertions, and if I knew him, (which I did!), would be looking to find inconsistencies or errors upon which he could make comment. Maitimo, who sat at the right hand side of his father and prince, sensed my arrival, and turned in a noble and considered manner upon his chair to give me a nod of acknowledgement – and a broad, rather toothy grin.

Makalaurë yawned; unimpressed was he! I had never thought that such discussion of language would be his forte in life, but then from first sight of him, from first I felt his life stirring within me – I had thought mostly of the Music? Had my fëa not been full of the most astounding songs of joy, many of which I had poured into the work of my hands during the time I had carried our second son?

I wanted to listen to the presentation however, so I would be better able to discuss the finer points of the meeting later that day with Fëanáro and Ecthelion. Mayhap King Finwë would visit with us, for he took any opportunity to spend time with his eldest son. Most certainly would my lord invite some of his friends and those who shared his interests to our house, to further discuss and debate Rúmil's work. I willed not to be left out of such conversation through ignorance on my part.

Now I had missed Rúmil's opening statements, but arrived at the time King Finwë had risen to his feet to pose a question to the sage before the discourse proper began. After his yawn, Makalaurë started to make contentedly of his harmonious gurgling sounds, and I of necessity nursed him, to distract and silence him.

"Lady Nerdanel - this is no meeting for a child." Lastamo, who held himself as second in linguistic expertise to Rúmil, turned from the seat in front of me to whisper sharply. "You should leave your son at home with one of your ladies, if you wish to attend the Council."

Rarely indeed did I leave either of our sons with one of my ladies, and had Lastamo known me better, he would not have made such an assumption. But Fëanáro had also heard the comment, and had partially turned on his seat to glower at the opinionated nér. I knew that my husband would never disrupt such a serious meeting, but that he would seek to have words with Lastamo at its end I also knew! Before I could give the matter further consideration, or Lastamo a deserved reply, the heavy double doors of the hall flew open and the meeting was disturbed nonetheless. Two neri, both clad in dishevelled travelling clothes and both looking far the worse for some experience, stood in the light-filled doorway, calling upon the king.

Now it seemed that these two travellers, Túralasso, and Lelyar, (aye – he who was to later become our steward and friend,) had been wandering the lands in exploration. They had travelled recently into the unexplored far south. It seemed, amidst the whispers passing around the hall, that the explorers had journeyed along the narrow coast of Avathar. Very many miles to the south of the Calacirya had they travelled, with a third companion whom they had taken straight to the healers upon their return to Tirion. They had knowledge they wished to share with King Finwë, and in a hurry. To the western side chamber they turned, the king making gesture he would follow. My husband and eldest son were also upon their feet, for neither would willingly be excluded. Soon enough, many of the neri were crowding round to discover for themselves what had transpired.

I remained seated – still nursing Makalaurë. My father’s sister moved through the rows of empty chairs to sit at my side.

“We will know soon enough, Nerdanel!” said she with practiced patience.

And so we did! It developed that, in the cold and darkened land, out of the light of the Trees, the travellers had come upon (or more worryingly, it had chanced upon them!) a darkness greater than the rest. At first had they thought it but a trick of their minds; then they had thought to make a stand against an unknown enemy, but so fell was the presence that they had not stood for long. In fleeing from that ‘unknown’ had they all stumbled and one had fallen a considerable distance from a cliff into the sea. With great difficulty had they recovered him, and returned home.

I noticed Tulcavaryar and Veryë exchange quizzical looks across the hall, but both kept their counsel at that time. Almost all of those assembled in the Hall of Lore were on their feet, eager to know more detail. But much as I wished to know more of what had chanced, I retired then to our house, for that hall was fast becoming no place for the happy, singing Makalaurë.

Upon his return home, a few hours later, Fëanáro explained further to me the cause of the traveller's distress.

"They spoke to my father, urging him to send word at once unto the Valar; unto Manwë and Aulë and Tulkas, that an evil dwells yet on the borders of their land."

"Evil?" I questioned my husband. I, like all born in Aman, did not then have any real understanding of the word.

Fëanáro had begun looking through the precious parchments and illustrations stored in his study; searching for information that any other had made record of which he had not yet come across.

"A presence, they said – a great hunger - though it seemed formless; yet was it cold beyond cold, and empty. Lelyar said they believed they would be overcome by the foulness of the air, and lie on those shores as if dead until consumed. Túralasso thought they might have even been slain, as were some of our folk in the Hither Lands before my father led our people hence. Both neri seem most thankful to be back in Tirion."

"But how could this be?" I still did not understand. Though I had no fear of the darkness the neri had encountered, I was still concerned. Makalaurë's earlier fretting seemed to take on a new significance to me. "What place is there that is beyond the sight of Manwë; beyond the hearing of Varda? Where are the Valar not vigilant over their land?"

Fëanáro did not answer me then, but continued his search for information to assist him. "My father has taken counsel in privacy with the Lords Tulcavaryar and Silwë. Both advisors do wonder if some creature of the Hither Lands has made its way unto these shores. So have messengers been sent to Manwë. If the Valar knew naught of this, which is a surprising thought, then at least by the valour of the Noldor will they know of it now."

We did not know of Wirilomë in those days. Would that we had never come to know of her!

- - - - -

Makalaurë the mighty: mighty in strength and song – swift of foot, and masterful of horse was he. My beloved, golden-voiced second son! Though he had not the colouring of my father’s kin, yet did that son have much of me about his face and expression. Also did he have a great beauty that was surly of his sire’s bequeathing.

He was tall, though grew not to the height of Maitimo nor of Carnistir, but he had an astounding sense of presence when he so wished. Now I have read in certain works those things which would suggest my second son was of a soft and gentle nature. Nay - by no means was that true! Makalaurë was powerful, and clever in thought. If he were not the born leader that Maitimo was, yet could he command all with his voice when required. (Had not Fëanáro named him Canafinwë?)

Never was Makalaurë soft! But he could be gentle when he chose; of nature was he considerate of others, particularly of the young. Would that he had been a father of many!

As a bard, a harper, is his renown; but far greater than all other bards was he. Like saying that Fëanáro was a jeweller was saying Makalaurë was a minstrel! Both were exceptionally gifted neri in their own ways; both were the foremost practitioners of their arts; proudly confident of their supremacy.

Now very few years in the reckoning of that Age separated my first two sons, and they were ever close in companionship. Close at the end as at the beginning, have others said unto me. Did not Maitimo and Makalaurë, the first of my children to have life, the last of my children to know death, (if indeed Makalaurë is dead!) stand together in defiance of Eonwë and the Vanyar and Noldor hosts, preparing to die rather than surrender the two remaining Silmarils?

Ai! Even he – even Makalaurë succumbed to the poison of the oath!  But he was reluctant to slay at the last. He thought of others, and of home, it is said.

Makalaurë knew his strengths. He never tried to compete with his elder brother, but ever sought to stand with him in any situation and to watch his back. That he failed to keep Maitimo from the clutches of Moringotho must have caused him deep anguish. I can only make guess at the conflict in his fëa at having to reject his dread enemy’s terms for Maitimo's release. I can only make guess at how he must have felt upon learning that Findekáno had undertaken that which he had not – that Maitimo be freed.

"Russandol did Makalaurë call his elder brother! Copper-top', had he laughingly called out shortly after he could first walk. Strange that such a name, spoken in fun, was to become accepted by Maitimo as his epessë. Or not so strange! It was a name of great love and respect, after all.

- - - - -

When Makalaurë was but three years of age, (as we then reckoned time) there was the great festival of the gathering of first fruits held at Valmar. A most joyous time it was that Manwë himself had instigated as the celebration to give thanks for the provisions of Yavanna, and to praise Eru Ilúvatar. Of all of the festivals, save the one on the twenty-first year, (which we yet observe) was that the merriest. At that time many of the Valar took upon themselves a physical form that they might walk and talk among us - eat and drink with us. Also were there many of the Maiar present, as well as the Vanyar and the Noldor. The Teleri came, but in very small numbers and rarely, for they thought little of seasons or times and were ever content with their city and the waves of the sea. The Nermir and Tavari who were before Arda and not of it, but travelled oft in the company of Yavanna Kementári, were drawn to Valmar at that time; though they remained mostly in the meadows and woodlands to the south. For them it was but a time of joy and play – they have never been as we Eldar, nor are they bound to this world and its sorrows that they may be as carefree children enjoying the spectacle.

This was the lesser festival, however; the one we celebrated every seven years to also commemorate the arrival of the Eldar in Aman, and it lasted but a day. But the travelling to and from Valmar meant that we took much longer than one day, for we moved as a host, and at a stately pace. The journey was of itself a joy; as long processions of our folk, many singing and dancing, wound their way from the gates of Tirion along the Calacirya and across the plain of Valinor to the city of the Valar.

Now the Vanyar host were to arrive on the eastern side of Valmar before us, because they had been the first to arrive in Aman. We were all to camp on the far side of the city to Ezellohar. The time of the waxing of Laurelin would be spent in renewing friendships, in merriment, in song and dance, and in story. Then, as the light of the Trees mingled, we would all make our way in most solemn procession around the city, to stand before the closed gate of Valmar until, at the word of the High King Ingwë, we would all break forth in unison to give voice to the Song of Light. A song of longing and desire that is still sung to this day – it has lost much of its first unbounded sense of bliss. That ancient song gives account of the yearning of the Eldar in the darkness of the Hither Lands for the light of the West; of the utmost joy of our people when first they beheld the Valar in their own lands, and of our entreaty to enter once again the gates of their city, to walk and dwell a while in their courts.

At the sound of the song, the gates of Valmar would be opened unto us, and we would all pass through; first the Vanyar, then the Noldor, then any of the Teleri with us. Varda Elentári herself would welcome us, and we would walk among the Maiar to be led to the feasting in the great halls of our hosts. This had been the way of things every seven years from a time before my birth, and much pleasure and delight did I take in participating.

I had with me on that occasion the copper circlet that Aulë had given me upon my oath to him as servant, and also the rowanberry red cloak that was a sign of his favour. I wished to honour him and my father's people by entering the city in the company of the Aulenduri as one of their number, instead of entering with Fëanáro. I wanted to enter the city as I had as a child, and not so done since becoming an Aulendur! Betrothed of the prince I had been by the time of my oath – and his wife thereafter, that I had always been amongst those of the House of the King.

We had given little thought to the darkness that had so concerned our travellers those two years earlier, for the Valar had been informed, and we trusted them to take any action that was required. (Though had Fëanáro spent many days searching Tirion and the surrounding estates for any who would know more of what those travellers encountered, and to our house did he invite Túralasso and Lelyar to discuss their discovery). None could overcome Manwë, and none could harm us while we were in his care we thought. So with joyful abandon we all made that journey, speaking with our family and friends, and pausing to take refreshment from the gentle streams of clearest water, or from those fountains that had been set by our artisans into wide glades upon our path.

Although I set out at the side of Fëanáro and our sons in the vanguard of the procession, mounted upon the fine, dappled mare I oft rode, soon had I drawn back to find my parents. I dismounted, choosing to walk with them a while. The party of King Finwë, all clad in bright raiment of festival and adorned with many jewels, ever led this parade from Tirion. So did the king ride at the head of the cavalcade with his three sons - Fëanáro to his right, and Nolofinwë and the young Arafinwë to his left. Indis, Findis, Írimë and Anairë rode close behind, with many of Indis’ ladies in attendance. Much laughter and song came from that group! For the first time Maitimo and Makalaurë rode to the side of their father, and most proudly, for this was the first of the great festivals since before Maitimo's birth. Both our sons were eager to participate, and to behave in a manner that brought honour upon their father. Though Maitimo was close to full grown, was at that point twixt being a most beautiful child and a well-formed nér, yet was Makalaurë still very young, and he looking at all around him with most eager eyes. Though he would wish to be part of everything that transpired, yet first, at that age, would he always follow his beloved Russandol.

So proud was I of them: of them all! Even was Fëanáro speaking upon that journey with Nolofinwë. For the sake of his father, for the sake of the festival, he endeavoured to make more enquiries of his half-brother's concerns than was usual.

"So glorious and noble do the sons and grandsons of King Finwë appear," my mother had said to me as we passed alongside the banks of a stream that was laden with white lilies of particular beauty. "I wonder that even the sight of the entourage of High King Ingwë, garbed in their white and blue, will look as grand?"

I had laughed at her comment, for both the reason that the Vanyar host with whom we would meet and camp later that day were the highest of the Eldar, and I knew from Indis and certain others, the most beautiful in form and in mood; but also because my mother was mostly complimenting members of her own family.

"Most glorious indeed are thy grandchildren, lady," I retorted with amusement. " And I, for one, ever find thy daughter's husband to be beguiling."

"So I am to expect another grandchild soon, Nerdanel? Mayhap this time it will be a wendë?"

"Nay, mother!" I blushed at the trap I had set myself. My mother laughed in turn.

"Aye; thou shalt have more children. Thou canst take not thy thoughts from thy lord – even when thou art with us!”

We had two strong and clever sons; neither Fëanáro nor I were in any rush to add to their number as then. Though I knew his mind - that he hoped for us to bring forth at least one other child into the bliss of Aman - yet was it many years before Tyelkormo was born.

- - - - -

By the time my parents and I arrived at the planned encampment many folk were already sitting in groups upon the sward, partaking of refreshment to the sound of harps, flutes and songs from roaming minstrels. Pavilions had been set up wherein the lords of both Vanyar and Noldor would meet. An array of white and gold for the Noldor there was – of white and blue for the Vanyar, with designs and motifs telling of the presence of the leading houses of both kindred. Other tents also were placed about – still finely emblazoned with emblems denoting allegiances or craft guilds. All was most merry, that we were called upon by many to join with them in their feasting, even as we sought to make camp. Soon enough I would be expected in the central pavilion of King Finwë, to rejoin my lord and our sons. But for a time I sat and talked with the Aulenduri, as was my want - until Makalaurë came to fetch me.

Unusual it was for him not to be in the company of Maitimo, so I knew something had occurred, or there was something of particular importance on my second son’s mind. He made bow most elegantly, in acknowledgement of his much loved grandparents, but he wished to speak with me and for us to be away from that company at once.

"Let us not keep thee then, indyo,” my father said. “On a day like this there is much to occupy young hearts and minds. But where, pray, is that elder brother of thine?”

Maitimo had been expected to join us for a short time, to speak further of the gift he has fashioned to be presented to Aulë.

Makalaurë lowered his eyes at the question, as a smile of slight embarrassment touched the corners of his lips.

“Has Maitimo been delayed, dear one?” I added to my father’s enquiry. Maitimo had been most proud of the copper goblets he had worked upon under my father’s guidance and I was surprised he had not sought our company.

With a sigh, as if breaking a confidence, Makalaurë made answer. “My brother is rather occupied at this time. We went to explore the woodlands yonder” he gestured to the south, “But it seems he is more popular than I with those spirits who gather there. Last I saw him, he was trying to extricate himself from the attention of several of the female Tavari.”

My father and Tulcon laughed heartily at this. My mother smiled, knowingly.

It was not Maitimo’s fault that so many were drawn to him – his beauty was such that I expected as much. Those Tavari were but playing with him – and would cause him no harm. Neither would he take their attention as anything other than fun. Those sprites were not like us – nor was there ever any thought of union between one of their kind and an Elda.

Now as Maitimo was expected to confer with my father, Makalaurë wished to confer with me on what he hoped to be a delight for his father. His grandfather, King Finwë, had asked my dark-haired son to sing at the festival before both Noldor and Vanyar, and the whole assembly. A great honour was this. It was usual for both kindred to put forth the best of their bards and singers for such a grand occasion. Promising though he already was, yet Makalaurë was very young. All knew that Aimeno was to sing first from the Vanyar - then Findis, first of the Noldor, for she had inherited her mother's sweet voice. But few knew that these renditions would be followed by my son’s presentation of ‘The Song of Aman’, which had been given the Eldar by the Maia, Lirillo. Of that moment it was a secret kept from my parents, Maitimo (I had thought!), and most particularly from Fëanáro.

"Much do I wish to honour my king and grandsire's trust in me, " Makalaurë said, as we made our way to the edges of the gathering. He tried to match pace with me, as he tried with father and brother, though at that time was he still only of the height of my waist. "But even more, I wish to please my father, that he may know my skills are of value even though I do not oft work in crafting with metal and stone as does he and Maitimo."

"Thy father knows that already! And also that thy music is a form of crafting most profound," said I gently. Ever did I seek to reassure Makalaurë in the earliest of years that his gifting, though different to his father's, was still extraordinary. "Thou wert filled with an echo of the Music from before thy birth, and thy father understands that as well as do I. Mayhap my name for thee should have been Fëalindo, for thou hast a spirit of song in thy heart, even as thy father has a spirit of fire."

He lowered his gaze again, and a small, satisfied smile touched his lips. But there was more on Makalaurë's mind.

"Mother?"

"Aye, my son!"

"Wilt thou not reconsider and walk with us all this festival? It is the first Maitimo and I have attended, and - and we - would rather enter Valmar as a family.”

Still Makalaurë lowered his gaze; his thick, dark hair falling forwards to obscure his features from my view. But his words, his voice had pierced my spirit.

I had not truly considered the wishes of my sons in my intended actions I had not thought they would be concerned - having their father with them, having the excitement of the festival about them. How wrong I had been – how negligent as a mother. But I had already spoken with my parents, and with the others of the Aulenduri of my proposal. I sighed at my folly.

"I cannot do as thou hast asked, Makalaurë, for I have given my word to my father, and it is in order to honour Aulë that I do so. Next festival, then shall we of certainly be together!"

I knew my words had not sounded as convincing as I intended. What consolation was it for a young one to wait another seven years? For a moment I thought my son would add to his appeal, but then he sighed resolutely, and made to look joyful again.

"As thou dost wish, lady and mother."

So my second son and I spoke again of his song as we made our way across the vast lawns, back through the assembled hosts of Noldor to the tents of King Finwë.

- - - -

"Fëanáro - wouldst thou rather I accompanied thee, and our sons? Wouldst thou rather I sought not to walk in procession with the Aulenduri this festival?"

Makalaurë’s plea would not leave my thoughts – again and again I could hear his request – his most reasonable request for his mother’s company. So I sought the opinion of my husband.

"Already have we spoken of this, Nerdanel," he leant towards me, whispering his reply. By then the Kings of the Eldar and their families were seated on ornate chairs upon the lawns, awaiting the commencement of the bards’ performances. "Proud am I that thou art an Aulendur. If it is thy wish to walk with those other servants of Aulë I have no complaint. Only this would I say to thee - seek not to distance thyself from us on other occasions!"

We had already spoken, my husband and I – for never would I have suggested doing such a thing without his understanding. But while Fëanáro understood my reasons, our sons did not.

"Dost thou consider me no true mother for being so unaware of the wishes of Nelyo and Cáno? This is their first time at the festival, and mayhap they are right in that we should be together as a family?" I persisted, in an attempt to assuage my guilt.

Fëanáro sighed with exasperation. He turned his attention from the introduction being made by the herald of King Ingwë to address me in thought.

‘My lady and wife; our sons know of the great love thou hast for them – they are no fools! Of preference should we ever be family, but if in this matter thou dost seek to be foremost an Aulendur, then in being thyself dost thou also please them."

No further conversation was possible without great lack of courtesy, not even of that more private form. Even to converse in thought at such a moment would have been unthinkable. The first of the singers came forth from the white and blue robed section of the crowd, making to stand in the clearing between the seats of the lords and the vast numbers who sat patiently upon the grass. So we gave our full attention to Aimeno, and listened with much pleasure. The song he presented was new of composition, but with the intent to evoke memories of old from those amongst us who had lived in the Hither Lands, without the light of the Trees.

Robed in a sleeveless white gown of Vanyar fashion, with girdle and circlet of copper, Findis sang next of the glory of Taniquetil - a song of praise to Manwë and Varda. So full of light and joy was her performance that all rose to their feet when she had ended to applauded her. There was a tangible sense of delight in the air, of mirth even, which seemed to come upon us all.

Then, as the crowd settled in anticipation of further song, Makalaurë stood forth, with his silver harp in hand. So small did he seem in the face of that multitude. Surely, I thought, they must believe no great music can come from so young a child? But my son would not be daunted by numbers or expectations, so he raised up his voice with a sweetness, with a hint of power yet latent, and despite their earlier enthusiasm, all were silenced.

Fëanáro started at first sight of Makalaurë. Stern of feature he appeared, as one in conflict of pride and displeasure. But he knew our son would not fail him – that in stepping forth, Makalaurë knew himself equal to the challenge. My husband’s hand moved to rest upon my forearm in acknowledgement of the ‘surprise’ though he spoke no word.

Now ‘The Song of Aman’ that Makalaurë weaved with words and music, which came as if from the Valar themselves, held all enthralled, and brought us from sorrow into glory sublime. In his song we gazed first upon the primordial light of the stars of Varda, then flew above the high mountains, as if with the eagles and hawks of Manwë. We plummeted to the rich depths of the gem filled earth, to marvel at the works of Aulë. We swam as if in the seas of Ulmo, and ran light of foot in the forests alongside Oromë. At the finish, our young, untried son made echo of Yavanna’s song of power, poured forth for the creation of the Trees, so that all thoughts were drawn towards Ezellohar, and the mingling of the light of the Trees was indeed almost upon us. None rose to their feet when Makalaurë had finished - none applauded. He walked silently away to take seat amongst the younger princes, beside Maitimo, still with his head held high. As I turned my gaze to follow him, I saw Maitimo offering him soft-spoken words of encouragement, and that copper-haired son passed to his brother some small gift, a measure of acknowledgement between them alone. For a few moments no one else make a sound. I could feel the cloud of awe around me – I could feel the tension in my husband, as he waited for the crowd's response to his son's offering.

Then, at last, King Ingwë rose slowly from his seat. He looked to the face of his queen – to his sons and daughter – then addressed the assembly.

"This day, have we heard music that was of surety an echo of the Great Music. Never before in my hearing has anyone sung with such skill, that I can but hardly bring myself to speak - so moved am I."

He, who was High King of all – who was first amongst all kindred - made a nod of acknowledgement to my son. Then he turned to make bow to Finwë. "I thank thee, my friend, for such a privilege of harkening to one such as your grandson. Truly is he blessed in skill as a bard most mighty – and will be greater hereafter.”

Upon hearing such words the entire crowd rose to their feet. Loud indeed was their applause. But Makalaurë sat beside his elder brother and looked to the gift he had been given. His gaze remained lowered, though a slight and secret smile touched the corners of his lips.

“Canafinwë will improve in skill as he comes to maturity," Fëanáro spoke again to me in thought, rather than against the volume of the applause. "His voice has not yet the power to do such a song justice, but a satisfactory effort has he made."

I turned upon my husband in angry disbelief at what he had said - only to find he also was upon his feet, applauding with much enthusiasm, and smiling rather mischievously at me.

- - - - -

Before the closed gates of Valmar we stood; a great multitude of Vanyar and Noldor, ready to sing, to give thanks for the light and to seek again to walk in the presence of the Valar. I noticed many who still had a look of glory upon their faces from the singing of Findis and of my son. My parents looked as full of joy as I had ever beheld them. Tulcon and Mötamë stood hand in hand, gazing with longing at the city before them. The solitary Narwasar I also noticed, red-cloaked as all of the Aulenduri, but casting frequent glances to a group standing a little way to the right of him; to a nís with unusual dark, honey blonde hair, and a rather serious expression.

Then Ingwë and Finwë stood forth before their people, as they had stood first amongst the Eldar in the presence of the Valar. As the light of Telperion began to wax, I was more than ready to join in a song of thanksgiving.

I reached out to my husband, at whose side I stood, and lightly touched his hand.

"Thou couldst still have worn the red cloak, Nerdanel," said he, without turning his attention from his father.

"Aye, so I could! But I am thy wife and mother of thy sons. As such will I wear the white cloak of a Lady of the Noldor this day, rather than the red of an Aulendur."

So fixed was his attention that he spoke not in reply at his victory, but his eyes were full of merriment. Leaning forward slightly, I noticed that both our sons had equally amused expressions upon their faces.

Then King Ingwë gave the signal, and we all burst forth into the Song of Light.

- - - - -

"But there is still time mother, there is still time for thou to speak with our king and father again. Of surety thou must know he would have thee with him!"

Makalaurë was tightening his sword belt and picking up his blue cloak in a hurry to be away. He was unusually drawn of expression, that most thoughtful son of mine.

"Nay, Makalaurë," I replied, with an effort to still the emotion in my own voice. I had come upon my second son to say ‘farewell', not to hear another argument as to why I should be going with them. "I have spoken with thy father, and alas, for the last time. He will not wish of my presence now, should I beg him."

My son looked across the room at me with disbelief. "That is not so. Never has it been so, whatever he has said! Our father is beside himself with grief and anger – and is it not thy place to give him loyal support, as do we? Think upon what thy decision means for all of thy family, for if thou dost accompany us, then mayhap will others?"

An oval portrait of his own beloved did Makalaurë then pick up, and place with grim faced reverence into a second cloak he was rolling to carry upon his back. Then a dagger made by my father for use in hunting – a sapphire ring fashioned by Curvo, and a small circlet of copper - a bard’s circlet that was far too small for him, but had been forged as a gift most considerate by his eldest brother so many years before. Few items indeed did my second son take from our home, for his father had said: “Journey light, but bring your swords!"

"Nothing I say or do will make any difference to Nolwen. Fast firm is she of her own mind that she will not leave Valinor. Her anger against Curvo for taking Tyelpinquar with him burns as hot as mine, that thy father takes thee from me."

"Wilt thou not reconsider? Come with us, mother!" Makalaurë, he who had always been close to me made his last plea in a voice deep and sorrowful – and full of enchantment. But unlike Maitimo, he did not understand my predicament. "Mayhap Nolwen is immovable, but if thou dost change thy course then my lady..." His voice trailed off, betraying the torn emotions he felt that Enyalimë, his wife, had refused to leave Valinor; had begged him to stay.

So aware was I that there was no time for debate. We had once had all the time in Arda to converse – so I believed. Now time was measured in moments as heartbeats. The crowds were assembling on the lower concourse. The sound of many feet and many passion filled voices echoed through the mist filled streets of our doomed, emptying city.

"I cannot leave.” I sighed with regret. “I cannot come with thee, though to remain does break my heart," I willed myself to be strong – not to recant of my intent at the time the test was upon me. For what if I did change my mind? What if I did go, even at this late time, and repent of the words I had spoken in anger to my husband? I could be with them again; I could be with all my sons unto whatever end they were travelling. For an instant I wavered.

Observing my hesitation, Makalaurë spoke further, weaving a picture most grim with his musical voice. "If thou hadst been there; if thou hadst been at Formenos to see what was done to our folk, what that evil which robbed us of wit and will, what Moringotho himself did to our grandsire; if thou hadst seen the house broken and ravaged and the chamber or iron torn apart, differently wouldst thou think."

I closed my eyes tightly, to stop the vision he created and the warm salt tears that would betray me. Always could Makalaurë speak to my heart, where even Maitimo and Ambarussa failed. But to Aulë was I bound by oath. And I loved the Valar – I could not be part of this rebellion against them, nay, not even for those others I loved.

"I was not there at that time, and that of thy father’s doing!" said I, with determination not to succumb. Swiftly I reached out to my son, and Makalaurë came close to me so that I could kiss his brow and bless him upon his journey. "I wish the path before thee were easier, and always have I wished thee joy, my dear one."

He kissed me in turn, a wry smile touching the corners of his lips. "When we have done what is needful; when we have vengeance for our grandsire and the Silmarils are restored to us; when Arda is safe from Moringotho once again, then will I return for thee and for Enyalimë. I will come back for thee!" he stated with such determination that I almost believed him. But my insight told me that once he left the shores of Aman I would not see him again for many an age.

Then was he gone from the door of our house, and away to the great gate to join his father and brothers.

He whose powerful voice could cleave hearts and minds with its golden glory was gone. "Farewell, Makalaurë!" I whispered, as his form faded swiftly from my sight amongst the crowds. "May the Valar yet recall thy songs of thanksgiving unto them. May the Valar yet watch over thee."

- - - - -

Makalaurë - Maglor

Maitimo - Maedhros

Wirilomë – Ungoliant

Findekáno - Fingon

Nermir and Tavari – Fays of the meadows and fays of the woods; as mentioned in The Book of Lost Tales.

Tyelkormo - Celegorm

Nolofinwë - Fingolfin

indyo - Grandchild.

Fëalindo - Spirit of Song, I think

Tyelpinquar -Celebrimbor

Notes:

Regarding the celebration of the festival, I have used ideas from both HoME 1 and The Silmarillion. I am implying that there was a festival every seven years in Valmar, to celebrate the gathering of first fruits, and to praise Eru. Also, the arrival of the Noldor and Vanyar in Aman was celebrated at this time.(HoME 1), But every twenty-one years there was a feast of the greatest magnificence, lasting seven days, upon Taniquetil.