3: Reactions Among the Eldar

"Finwë is a fool!" Ingwë nearly shouted, heedless of Elindis’ disapproving look. The royal family were staying, as they always did when visiting Valmar, at their estate just outside Eldamas, for they would not return to Vanyamar until the next day. "I cannot believe he would follow Fëanáro into exile. It makes no sense."

"Will you forbid him, Atto?" Ingalaurë asked.

Ingwë turned to his youngest son and grimaced. "Would that I could, yonya. High King of all the Elves of Aman I may be, but Finwë is also king and I may not supercede his authority in this, little though I countenance it."

"If Finwë follows Fëanáro he will take many of his people with him," Elindis said, pursing her lips in dismay. "They will not wish to be bereft of their king."

"And what of those who remain behind?" Ingoldo asked. Ingwë’s brother lolled indolently on a settee, his head in his wife Tinwetariel’s lap. "What happens to them?"

Ingwë shook his head. "I suspect that Ñolofinwë will hold the regency."

Ingwion snorted. "My cousin will not like that. He never sought the heirship."

"Ñolofinwë may well regret his words to release his half-brother when the time of exile is over," Ingwë said.

"Twelve years!" Tinwetariel exclaimed, shaking her head. "It seems rather harsh."

"Not harsh enough to my mind," countered Ingwë, scowling. Then he shook his head. "I like not this unrest among the Noldor. I deem it is Melkor’s doing. Fëanáro as much as admitted it."

"How does that affect us though, Brother?" Ingoldo asked, waving a hand in dismissal. "The Noldor were ever restless, never content, always seeking after new things, new ideas. This is no different."

Ingwë gave his brother a disgusted look. "On the contrary, this is very different. Before, the unrest was that of minds seeking new ideas, but now I think the unrest we see is something else, something deeper and more insidious. It is the unrest of a people who are discontent with their lives as they perceive them, a malaise of the fëa rather than the mind."

"And this talk of the Aftercomers," Ingwion interjected. "What is that all about?"

Ingwë sighed, running a hand through his fair hair, divested of crown and flowing freely. "I do not know and that troubles me even more."

"Could the Valar have deliberately withheld such information from us?" Ingalaurë asked, looking distraught.

Elindis leaned over and gave her youngest son a pat on his arm. "If so it was for a good reason. Did not Lord Námo say that they spoke not of these other ... Eruhíni because they knew nothing about them, only that they were destined someday to come forth, as we did, from Ilúvatar’s Mind?"

"I wonder what they will be like?" Indil asked shyly. "Do you think they will be like us?"

Elindis smiled at her daughter. "As to that, there is no way to know."

"Fëanáro spoke of thralldom," Ingwion interjected. "Why would he accuse the Valar of such a thing?"

Ingwë gave his son a sympathetic look. "I deem that is also Melkor’s doing. He has attempted to instill in us something that does not exist."

"What’s that?" Ingwion asked, obviously confused.

"Hatred for the Valar," Ingwë replied baldly and Ingwion wasn’t the only person in the room to gasp in dismay.

****

Arafinwë watched his older brother, his eyes full of concern and worry. They were staying at the Crown and Star Inn that sat on the road to Tirion, for Ñolofinwë had decided not to stay at the royal estate shared by the three royal families. The inn was not overly large, but it was comfortable and the best thing about it, as far as Arafinwë was concerned, was that their atar and their older brother and his sons were not there. Fëanáro had decreed that he would return to Tirion immediately to begin the onerous task of packing in preparation for their exile.

Thus, only he and Ñolofinwë, along with their families, were congregated in the inn’s common room, for they were presently its only patrons. They were sipping on wine and nibbling on sweets, or at least their children were. Their parents were simply drinking; Ñolofinwë was already on his third goblet.

"Where do you think they’ll go?" Arafinwë asked, not really caring, but needing to break the silence that was threatening to drown them. He was feeling suddenly suffocated and wished he were back in Tirion tending his gardens.

His older brother gave a shrug. "I heard Atar say that the Valar have left it to our dear brother to decide where he will dwell, so long as it was north of Vanyamar."

"North!" Eärwen exclaimed. "There is little to the north. It is rather desolate I understand."

"The land is not as arable as are the farms to the south," Ñolofinwë said with a nod, "but they should do well enough. Sheep thrive well in those lands, I hear."

Arafinwë cast his brother a wry grin. "Somehow I cannot envision either Atar or Fëanáro tending sheep."

That caused several of the youngsters to chuckle, though Arafinwë noticed his eldest son was not one of them. Findaráto, in fact, appeared to be deep in thought.

"What is it, yonya?" he asked the ellon solicitously.

Findaráto looked up, seemingly surprised at being addressed. "Nothing, Atto," he said. "I was just replaying the trial in my mind." He paused, a frown creasing his forehead. "Fëanáro mentioned the... Tatyanónar." he stumbled over the unfamiliar word. "Who are they? Why have we never heard of them before?"

Arafinwë glanced at his brother. As the elder, Ñolofinwë should answer the ellon’s question, but his brother was too busy downing his wine to bother. Arafinwë sighed and returned his attention to Findaráto. He noticed that all the other children were waiting for an answer. Artanis, he saw, had a curious gleam in her eyes that unsettled him. "I cannot answer you, Finda," he finally replied, using his son’s hated pet-name out of habit. Findaráto only tolerated his parents and his sister using it; no one else was permitted. "This is the first I’ve heard of them as well."

"Do you think the Valar actually brought us here so these... others could claim the lands that rightfully belong to us?" Findaráto asked.

Arafinwë gave his son a measuring stare and when he spoke it was with grave formality. "And in what manner dost thou imagine that these lands thou hast never seen belong to thee? Canst thou name their rivers and mountains? Canst thou describe to me the forests that grow there or the animals that dwell beneath them?"

Findaráto blushed and shook his head. "Nay, I cannot," he whispered, not looking at anyone.

Arafinwë nodded. "Until thou canst, yonya, leave behind all thought of ownership to that which thou hast no claim. Whatever was our heritage in the Outer Lands, we gave it up willingly to reside here in Aman at the feet of the Valar who have ever treated us with love and respect. Thine uncle speaketh ill of what is only good. The only thralldom we suffer is of our own making when we listen to the lies of Melkor."

"You never trusted him, did you?" Ñolofinwë asked, giving Arafinwë a frown.

"Nay, I never did, for all that he cozened us and spoke us fair. There was always something about his manner that struck me as not right and Lord Aulë never allowed him near his forge. I will trust Lord Aulë, who has ever been the friend and mentor of the Noldor, ere I ever trust Melkor, who betrayed Ilúvatar once and could do so again."

"And the fact that he seems to have disappeared is very telling, I deem," Anairë, Ñolofinwë’s wife, said.

There were nods all around. Then silence ensued again as each sat thinking. Finally, Arafinwë broached the one subject they had all been avoiding ever since Finwë had announced that he would follow his first-born into exile. He looked at Ñolofinwë, his expression sympathetic. "Are you all right with the thought of acting as Atar’s regent in Tirion, Brother?"

Ñolofinwë scowled, refusing to look at anyone. "No, I am not," he muttered, "but I will do so nonetheless and may the Valar have mercy on us all for our follies."

To that there was no reply.

*****

Indis stared at her husband in dismay and rising fury. The two of them were in their private chambers. "You are what?" she hissed. "Have you lost your mind? You cannot just abandon your people like this."

"I am not abandoning anyone," Finwë retorted with a scowl. "I suspect many of our people will follow me into exile for love of our family."

"Well I will not be one of them!" Indis proclaimed. "Fëanáro was the one who attacked my son..."

"Our son," Finwë interjected, beginning to grow angry himself.

Indis’ eyes narrowed. "I’m surprised you even remember you have other sons, my husband," she hissed. "I do not recall you comforting Ari after Fëanáro attacked him."

"He was unharmed...." Finwë protested.

"Nevertheless, you should have offered him some comfort to let him know that you did not blame him or believe in Fëanáro’s accusations. He was hurt by your indifference to his own pain." To that Finwë had no reply and Indis continued her diatribe. "And now you run away...."

"What!?"

Indis nodded, too incensed to moderate her words. "Yes! Run away. That is what you are doing. You are abandoning your kingdom and your other children and me. Who will hold the regency these next twelve years while you remain in exile?"

"I thought to establish a council of regents...."

"No!" Indis fairly screamed. "Ari is your proper regent. He is the next in succession and if you think to bypass him and his inheritance I will appeal to my brother. Noldóran you may be, Finwë, but Ingwë is High King of us all. He will not permit you to abrogate Ari’s rights."

Finwë had no reply to that either. Instead, he stalked out of the room with what he hoped was a modicum of dignity but a small part of him feared that his wife was correct: he was indeed running away.

****

The news that Prince Fëanáro had been sentenced to twelve years of exile for the attack on his brother came as no surprise to the citizens of Tirion. What did surprise them was Finwë’s announcement that he would join his beloved son in exile.

Surprise was probably not the right word — shock would be closer to the truth, shock and dismay.

"He cannot do this! He is our king!" was the most common sentiment expressed among the populace.

"If he follows the prince into exile, what will become of us?" was the question on everyone’s lips.

Unfortunately the answer that came to mind was disturbing to most and a sense of doom fell upon the hearts of the Noldor as they wondered what all this would portend.

****

Olwë, king of Alqualondë, received the packet of letters from the Noldorin courier with a gracious smile, thanking her for bringing them and asking for news of Tirion and his friend, Finwë. The courier’s expression became guarded and Olwë wondered at that.

"It is not for me to say, Majesty," the elleth replied in a carefully neutral tone. "I think what news thou seekest thou shalt find in these missives."

Olwë stared at the courier in consternation, but seeing the obvious discomfort she was exhibiting, he nodded and with another gracious smile said, "Thank you. If you will go with my steward, he will see to your needs while I see if any of these missives require an immediate answer."

The courier bowed, looking immensely relieved, and soon Olwë was alone again, staring at the courier’s pouch for several minutes before opening it. There were the usual documents of state that were passed between the three Elven kingdoms as a matter of course. He put them aside for the moment. Most of them would be handed off to others to deal with. He fished about and was disappointed to find only one personal letter from his daughter, Eärwen. Still, a letter from his beloved child was a thing to treasure in its own right and he was tempted to go in search of Lirillë so they might read the missive together.

He actually stood to do just that even as he broke the seal and began reading. He quickly scanned its contents and found himself sitting down again, the blood draining from his face. He was surprised to find his hands shaking and forced himself to take a few deep calming breaths. Then he began to read the letter again from the beginning more slowly, allowing the words to sink into his frozen consciousness as their import became clear.

"Finwë, you fool!" he muttered as he re-read the unbelievable words a third time, all thought of searching out his wife to share their daughter’s letter having fled.

****

Eruhíni: Children of Eru, i.e. Elves and Men.

Tatyanónar: Secondborn, i.e. Men; also called Apanónar "Aftercomers".

Note: Ñolofinwë’s amilessë or mother-name is Aracáno "High Chieftain", shortened to Ari.