Elvenhome

by Soledad

Disclaimer: see in the Foreword.

Author’s Notes:

This story has been on hiatus for six years, so finding back to its original style was had work and I might no have fully succeeded. But there is the new part, after all, and that is what counts, right?

I have slightly modified the previous chapter, with which I never was fully content, so hopefully the transition will be a smooth one. This chapter has not been beta-read yet, so apologies for any mistakes.

Acknowledgement: My heartfelt thanks to Fiondil, whose stories gave me the necessary inspiration to continue this one.

17. The Flight of the Noldoli

Meril remained absent for the rest of the evening, and thus Celebrían spent her time in the unexpected company of Oivárin of Alqualondë – or Alqualuntë, as the Tol Eressëans preferred to call it. Their peculiar custom of using the older form of the names both of people and places was slightly confusing at first, moreso as she was less than fluent in Quenya still, but she was getting used to it.

Oivárin appeared her right after leaving the Hall of Tales, asking politely for a moment of her time, and she reluctantly agreed. She was not comfortable around strangers upon this strange island; even less so around male ones, but she saw no polite way to refuse someone who was clearly a respected person here – and afterwards she was glad that she had not. For it turned out that Oivárin had messages for her; from her Telerin kin in Alqualondë, none less.

“The Lindaran regularly exchanges messages with Lord Círdan,” explained Oivárin, mentioning Olwë by his title as King of the Third Clan rather by his name. “Often by the way of sea-birds or by Lord Ossë’s people who still visit the Grey Havens from time to time. So he knew from your coming, my lady, as soon as you set foot on Galdor’s ship.”

“But why would he care?” asked Celebrían in surprise. “He does not even know me.”

Oivárin smiled. “Not in person mayhap; but you are related to him twice over: through his brother Elmö, who was grandsire to your father, and through his beloved daughter, Queen Eärwen, who has been Noldotári ever since the flight of the Noldoli, and who is your grandmother on your ammë’s side. You have kin in Aman, Celebrían of the Golden Wood; kin that would have you among them gladly.”

“For that, I am truly grateful,” she said. “But I am not ready to face life at the court of the Noldóran yet; and to be honest, I doubt that I ever will.”

“You cannot know that, and ‘tis still too early to make a decision either way,” said the Telerin lord. “However, the Lindaran wanted you to know that you shall always be welcome to stay with him and his family in Alqualuntë, should you decide to move on. Olwë’s court is a much quieter place than Tirion; and perchance the closeness of the Sea would prove soothing for you.”

“Tell King Olwë that I am most honoured by the offer,” she replied. “But I cannot give him an answer just yet.”

Oivárin nodded, taking no offence at all.

“As I said, ‘tis till too early. My King has waited two Ages for some of his kin to return from the Outer Lands. He can wait a little longer.

He suddenly grinned and added with a mischievous wink. “And if he cannot wait any longer, he might just board a ship and sail over to Elvenhome to see you.”

Quite honestly, the thought of that shocked Celebrían a little. “He would not…”

“Why would he not?” Oivárin shrugged. “His heir has the best ship in Aman, after all; and Olwë himself is not above of sailing the Shadowy Seas at his leisure from time to time. But worry not, my lady; he shall not come to you without forewarning – nor would he show up without asking you first.”

He rose. “Thank you for your time. Should you want to send a message to any of your Amanian kin, or indeed have any questions about them that I might be able to answer, feel free to seek me out. I shall stay ‘til the end of Samírien.”

With that, he bowed and made attempts to leave, but Celebrían stopped him with a pleading gesture.

“Please, if you have the time, could you stay just a little longer? I would like to ask some questions now, if it pleases you.”

Oivárin nodded and sat again. “Certainly, my lady. What would you like to know?”

“Tell me about my kin in Alqualondë,” she asked, “and about the Swanhaven itself. I barely know aught else but a few names.”

“Gladly,” he said. “But that would make another long tale, and night has already fallen. Should you not be resting?”

“It matters not,” she replied. “My sleep has been less than restful lately. I would rather stay up late and listen to you, if you do not mind.”

Oivárin assured her that he did not, and thus they stayed up half the night, sitting on a talan high on the treetop, with Oivárin telling her tales about the Solosimpi of Alqualuntë and even singing her some of their songs that reminded of the never-ending murmurs of the Sea, until her lids became heavy and she fell into deep, healing sleep.

Then he called some of the ellith of Legolas’ household, knowing that she would not wish to be touched by any male, having them carry her to her chambers and tucked into bed.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

On the next day, people gathered in the Hall of Tales at the usual time to listen to the rest of Gilfanon’s story. Meril had been absent all morning, and Celebrían was beginning to wonder whether she would make an appearance on that day at all.

In the end, she did come, after all, but her fair face was very white and clouded with sorrow, and her eyes lacked their usual brightness. She took the place next to Celebrían’s and gave her e brief nod of greeting, but that was all.

Vainóni, sitting on her other side, managed at least a brief smile, even though her eyes were haunted, too. The memories they were facing while the tale of the Noldorin rebellion was told were clearly burdening them very much.

“As I have already said yesterday,” Gilfanon began, “it was decided that some of us would go with Fëanáro before the Elder King and demand his leave to go back to the Outer Lands. For most of us would not think of defying the Valar openly, even in our madness. We gathered therefore in the square surrounding Ingwë’s house in Tirion; or rather what had once been Ingwë’s house, ere the Vanyar would move on to their separate town on the slopes of Taniquetil.”

“And the house had been standing empty ever since?” wondered someone from the listeners.

“No; for it has gone to the Noldóran, and has thus become the home of Fingolma during Fëanáro’s exile,” explained Gilfanon. “Which is why we thought it the proper place for our gathering. Thousands came to hear Fëanáro’s words, bearing slender torches, so that the place was filled with a lurid light,” he shuddered by the memory.

“It was an unpleasant sight, to say the least, of those who had grown used to the brilliance of the Trees reflecting upon those white walls,” added Vainóni quietly, “or those who had never known aught else, having been born in Aman already. Many who were subjected to it for the first time started weeping and refused to be comforted.”

Gilfanon nodded. “Indeed so; and Fëanáro exhorted us skilfully to seize that darkness and confusion – not to mention the silence of the Valar – to cast off the yoke, as he called the days of bliss in Valinor, carrying with us what we might or listed.

“’If all your hearts are too faint to follow, behold: I and my sons go alone into the wide and magic world to seek the Jewels that are my own,’ he said. ‘And perchance many great and strange adventures will there befall me, more worthy of a child of Ilúvatar than a thrall of the Valar.”

“I imagine that such statements endeared him to the Valar very much,” commented Legolas dryly.

Gilfanon shrugged. “To that, I can say nought, for no-one can tell what the Valar were thinking – or doing – at that time. No message had come from Valmar as yet, and Lord Manwë was silent. But among us, there was a great rush of those who would follow Fëanáro, and though Fingolma spoke against his rashness again, we would not listen to him; and ever the tumult grew wilder.

“In the end, the one who would accompany him to the Elder King were chosen, although he prophesied that Lord Manwë would forbid us to leave; yea, even prevent us from doing so, or at least try. And thus he ordered the rest of his followers to prepare for the marching fast.”

“Before you would get Lord Manwë’s goodwill and blessing?” asked Celebrían, stunned.

“That was Prince Finarphin’s concern as well,” replied Gilfanon, “and he spoke yet again for heed and delay; but the rest of us would not listen.”

“It would have been hard, too, with all that shooting and arguing that was going on,” added Vainóni. “’What is Valinor to us?’ those benighted fools were shouting. ‘Now that its light is come to little, we would rather be gone and make a life for ourselves in the Outer Lands’… and so on.”

“Benighted indeed,” Legolas agreed, “for they have fled from the loss of light as they had known it to a darkness beyond their imagination. Spoiled as they had been in the Blessed Realm, they could not even fathom the true darkness of Ennorath and the perils of its sometimes harsh climates, deadly predators and the minions of Morgoth crawling forth from under every stone.”

“That is true; but you forget that we had come to Aman to be safe from all those perils,” replied Gilfanon. “Realising that not even the Blessed Real was entirely safe had thrown us off-kilter. And thus preparations were done in over-haste, while Fëanáro and his chose companions approached the gates of Valmar; for he feared that in the cooling of hearts his words could wane and other counsels might yet prevail. And for all his proud words, he did not forget the Valar and whet they could do.”

“A wise consideration, even if coming a little late,” said Legolas. “What did the Valar do then? For that little detail of this tale has never been elaborated.”

“Nothing,” answered Gilfanon simply. “They did nothing. When we reached the gates of Valmar, we found them locked and with all our skills, we could not open them. The Elder King would neither forbid nor hinder Fëanáro’s progress; for the Valar were aggrieved that they had been charged with evil intent toward the Noldoli, or that any would be held captive by them against their will”

‘Or so Eönwë, Lord Manwë’s herald, told us after the War of Wrath,” Vainóni supplied.

“Therefore they chose to watch and wait, for they did not yet believe that Fëanáro could hold the host of the Noldoli to his will,” Gilfanon finished.

“Apparently, they underestimated his hold over his clansmen’s heart,” said Legolas. “Should they not have known him and his kin better, after all those yéni?”

“Nay; in truth they saw more clearly than we ever did in this matter,” replied Gilfanon. “For indeed, as soon s Fëanáro began the marshalling of the Noldoli for our setting out, at once dissension arose.”

“I assume that had nothing to do with the fact that the Valar had shut their gates in your face, refusing to even talk to you,” said Legolas sardonically. “Not that people might have felt uncomfortably by the idea of turning the Powers against themselves.”

“That was part of the reason indeed,” Vainóni nodded in agreement. “The more important part was, however, that though he had brought the assembly in a mind to depart, y no means all were of a mind to take Fëanáro as King.”

“Why not?” Legolas was surprised, clearly hearing about that for the first time, and Celebrían began to wonder what else had Turgon not told his Sindarin subjects. “With Nólemë’s death, was he not the heir apparent? He was the firstborn, was he not?”

“Yea, he was the firstborn; yet his exile had not yet been lifted, and many of us blamed him for the loss of our King, who had followed him into exile,” explained Vainóni. “Nólemë had discarded his responsibilities as the Noldóran in favour of his son, and his subjects did not take their abandonment kindly. We Noldoli always had a very strong sense of duty,” she added with a mirthless smile, “be it our own or those who were meant to lead us.”

“Greater love, therefore, was given to Fingolma and his sons,” continued Gilfanon, “and his household and the most part of the dwellers in Tirion refused to renounce him, if he would go with them. Thus at the last we set forth divided in two hosts. Fëanáro’s House and his following made the vanguard; but the greater host came behind under Fingolma.”

“Which did not bode well with Fëanáro, for all that he had their father’s love, he always was jealous of Fingolma and the love of their subjects for him,” added Vainóni. “Fëanáro might have been made the mightiest in all parts of body and mind: in valour, in endurance, in beauty, in skill, in strength and in subtlety alike; yet he lacked wisdom and compassion, two very important traits of leadership, which Fingolma did have in glades.”

“And he marched against his wisdom,” said Gilfanon with a heavy sigh, “only because Findecáno, his son, so urged him and because he would not be sundered from his people that were eager to go, nor leave them to the rash counsels of Fëanáro.”

“And with him went Finarphin also,” supplied Meril quietly, “and for like reason; though both he and Turucáno were loath to depart. In truth, Turucáno even tried to persuade his wife to stay behind in Queen Anairë’s care with their daughter, who was but a small elfling at that time. But Elenwë could not bear to be separated from either her husband or her child, and thus her father asked an old friend of the family to go with them and keep them safe.”

“Glorfindel,” murmured Celebrían, this being one of the very few details that she had already known, as it was part of Elrond’s family history. Meril nodded.

“Laurefindil swore a solemn oath to Elenwë’s father that he would guard and protect all her descendants, as long as any of them would roam the Outer Lands. An oath he found binding even after death and rebirth, and to which he still holds, as far as I know,” she added, with a questioning look at Celebrían, who nodded slowly.

“He has served Elenwë’s progeny for three Ages and keeps doing so indeed. Without him, the Elves remaining in Middle-earth might have failed to fend off the darkness many times,” she said. “He is the greatest our kind still dwelling in Ennorath; and the dearest friend we ever had. It comforts my heart to know my family under his protection.”

“One could not wish for a more loyal friend or a greater warrior,” Legolas, who had fought alongside the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower in Gondolin, for many years, agreed warmly. “Were he and Elenwë the only Vanyar who joined the rebellion of the Noldoli?”

“They did not join the rebellion,” Gilfanon corrected. “They went out of loyalty towards their friends or family; but yea, to my knowledge they were the only ones. And not many of the Solosimpi went with them, either. Only a handful of those with family ties to the Second Clan. And it was fortunate, for of all the Noldoli of Valinor, who had become a numerous people during the Age of the Trees, but one tithe refused to take the dark road that would lead them back to the Outer Lands. Some did so for the love they bore to the Valar – Lord Aulë above all, who had taken many of them as his apprentices – some for the love of Tirion and the many wonders they had built and worked in that fair city; but none for fear of peril they might encounter along the road.”

“We have always been a valiant people,” commented Meril softly, “if not always a wise one, unfortunately. How else could we have assumed that the Valar would let us go just like that?”

“They did not?” asked Celebrían. She knew of the Curse of Mandos, of course; but that had supposedly happened after the First Kinslaying at Alqualondë, and the story had not reached that point yet.

“They did not,’ replied Gilfanon. “Even as the trumpet sang and Fëanáro was about to pass the gates of Tirion, a messenger came at least from Valinor; and it was no lesser person than Eönwë, the herald of the Elder King himself, terrible in his power and beauty, wearing a glittering suit of armour blanker and brighter than once the light of Silpion had been, and a great sword ten of us could not have lifted with united strength. He barred our way with his mere presence, in a shape as large as the very hills, and he cried out in a voice that shook the earth from Tirion to the Pelóri and the Southern Fiefdoms. His words filled our hearts with dread.”

“What did he say?” asked Legolas with morbid fascination, and many a younger Elf among the listeners were too spellbound to even breathe.

“He said: ‘Against the folly of Fëanáro shall be set my counsel only’,” Gilfanon quoted, his eyes half-closed as his mind was walking the paths of the past. “’Go not forth. For the hour is evil, and your road leads to sorrows that you cannot foresee. No aid will the Valar lend you in this madness; yet they will not hinder you, either. As you came here freely, freely shall you depart.’”

“They actually let you go?” one of the younger Sindar in the audience asked, perplexed- “All you had to do was to ask?”

“In theory,” answered Gilfanon with a mirthless grin. “They still hoped to turn us back from our way, in truth. For Eönwë continued the message thusly: ‘But you, Fëanáro, son of Nólemë, by your Oath are exiled. In bitterness shall you unlearn the lies of Melko. A Vala he is, you said; then you have sworn that terrible Oath of yours in vain. For even if Eru, whose Name you have abused for your vengeance, had made you thrice greater than you are, you could never defeat one of the Valar; not now, nor ever in the Halls of Eä.”

“True enough,” said Legolas, “but I doubt that such a statement would have made Fëanáro change his mind – what was left of it anyway.”

“No,” said Meril. “There was no reasoning with him on that day… or on any of the days that would follow, for that matter. Instead of listening to the herald, he turned to us, laughing and teasing.

“’So!’ he said. ‘Then will this valiant people send forth the rightful heir of their King alone into banishment with his sons only and return to their bondage? Go then, if that is your desire, and lick the boots of your masters humbly. But if any will come with me, to them I say: Is sorrow foreboded to us? Verily, in Aman we have seen it. In Aman we have come through bliss to woe. The other now we shall try: through sorrow to find joy… or at the least freedom!’”

“Freedom?” echoed Legolas. “I should not be too hard on him, for without his madness there would have been no Gondolin and my life would have been so much poorer. But he was truly delusional. And an ignorant fool, too; for he was born in the peace and richness of Valinor and knew nothing about the perils of the Outer Lands.”

“That he did not,” admitted Gilfanon, “nor did he listen to those of us who had survived the Great Journey and knew what we were about to face. He went so far as turning back to Eönwë and shouting him in the face. ‘Say this to Manwë Súlimo, High King of Arda,’ he cried. ‘If Fëanáro cannot overthrow Morgoth, at least he does not delay to assail him and sits not idly in grief. And Eru perhaps set in me a fire greater than you know. Such hurt, at the least I shall do to the Black Foe that even the mighty in the Ring of Doom shall wonder to hear it. Yea, in the end they shall follow me!”

“Madness!” Legolas declared, shaking his head.

“But not entirely untrue,” countered Oivárin, who was sitting near the storyteller’s chair. “For has not the Host of Valinor indeed follow the same path when they marched into the War of Wrath, to deal with Melko once and forever? In a way, F♪7anáro might even have had a glimpse of foresight.”

“Now that,” said Legolas with emphasis, “is a gross exaggeration.”

“Is it?” asked Oivárin. “I have no love left for Fëanáro; I had lost too much due to his madness, and I would be the last to say that he was right. Yet it seems he was not entirely wrong, either. Not in everything. Let us face the uncomfortable truth: without the exiled Noldoli returning to Middle-earth, our home of old might have fallen to Melko entirely. The ones of our kind still dwelling in Ennorath did not have the strength to keep this evil at bay forever.”

“Perhaps so,” Gilfanon allowed. “And perhaps Eönwë shared that glimpse of foresight; for he bowed before Fëanáro as one full-answered, and departed; and all voices of disagreement among us were overruled for the time being.”

“What did you do then?” asked Oivárin. Gilfanon shrugged.

“We continued our march. The House of Fëanáro hastened before everyone else along the coasts of Elendë; and not once did the throw a backward glance to Tirion upon Túna, not caring that Nerdanel was standing upon the wall and looking after her departing sons, her heart breaking. Slower and less eagerly came the host of Fingolma after them.”

“Save Findecáno; he certainly was eager enough, hurrying before the rest to catch up with his cousins,” commented Meril darkly.

Gilfanon nodded. “So he was; and with him went Nerwendë and Aracáno, both ensnared and excited by the adventures waiting for them. Finarphin and Findaráto, however, went at the rear, and many of the fairest and the wisest of their House. And often they looked back to catch one last glimpse of their fair city; until the lamp of the Mindon Eldaliéva was at last lost in the night.”

“It must have been the hardest on them, of all the Exiles,” said Oivárin, “as they did not truly want to leave and only went out of obligation.”

“They took the memories of bliss with them,” replied Gilfanon, “and many of the precious and wondrous things they had crafted, as a reminder of happier times; to give them solace on the way.”

“Solace… or burden?” asked Oivárin doubtfully.

Gilfanon could only shrug; it was Meril who finally answered the question.

“As with memories, the two are often the same,” she said; then she looked at Gilfanon. “Let us end the storytelling for today, Ailios. For next we shall come to the horrible events that happened at Alqualuntë, and I for my part do not feel like facing those dark memories when night is about to fall.”

“There is no need for you to participate, my lady,” said Gilfanon gently. “I can do it for you.”

But Merlin shook her head. “Nay; I am the only one of my family who was there, and thus the duty of telling the truth falls to me. All I ask for is a night of delay; I already had enough painful memories to relive for one afternoon.”

Gilfanon consented, and thus the storytelling was ended for the day. In that night, no merriment was made. The minstrels, scattered all over the various small clearings in the forest, sang old ballads and laments for the people gathered around them, and the air was heavy with melancholy.

Tempers were understandably rather subdued, and Celebrían returned to her talan early, grateful for the unseen presence of the Súruli to ease her heart. Even so, though she was spared the nightmares, as always when those elusive spirits watched over her, her sleep was restless that night.

~TBC~