4: The March of the Exiles

The Valar gave Fëanáro and any who desired to follow him and his sons into exile thirty days to leave Tirion for their new home. At the thirty-first First Mingling of the Trees they were to depart from Tirion. A place had been found well north and west of Vanyamar, a wide valley surrounded by a range of hills. A stream ran through it which would provide them with the necessary water for personal use. It was a barren looking spot but Fëanáro deemed it well enough when Fionwë of the People of Manwë took him there, pointing out the features that made it the most appropriate place to establish the Elda’s new home, given the parameters set down by the Valar.

"I will call it Formenos," the eldest son of Finwë stated as he and the Maia were discussing plans for the homestead, having agreed that a temporary city of tents would be erected until the actual manse was built.

"An interesting choice of name," the Maia said neutrally. "Dost thou believe that thou must fortify thyself against us?"

Fëanáro cast the Maia a wry look. "Should I call it ‘Formandos’ instead?"

Fionwë’s expression became completely unreadable. "Only if thou thinkest thyself a prisoner."

"Am I not?" Fëanáro snarled.

Fionwë gave him a cold look. "If thou wert truly the prisoner of the Valar, Finwion, thou wouldst have been remanded into the custody of Lord Námo forthwith. Be content that thou sufferest only exile from thy city and thy people for a time."

Fëanáro did not respond immediately to the Maia’s words. Instead, he gazed out at the desolate valley that would be his home for the next dozen years. "Formenos," he whispered to himself. "It shall be called Formenos."

"So be it," the Maia intoned, giving nothing away as to his own thoughts on the matter.

****

Findecáno stared at his cousin in dismay as the two of them stood alone in one of the many gardens surrounding the palace. "You don’t have to go, you know. The Valar only exiled your atar, not you."

Nelyafinwë shook his head, not looking at him, idly stripping the petals off a peach-colored rose where the flower was leaning over the stone balustrade bounding this particular part of the gardens. "I have to go. We all have to go. Atar shouldn’t be left alone...."

"And your ammë?" Findecáno retorted with more heat than he had intended.

The eldest son of Fëanáro flinched and finally looked up at his beloved cousin, tears in his eyes. "You will look after her for me, won’t you, Fin?" he asked in a voice full of pain and uncertainty.

Findecáno sighed, regretting his momentary anger. He gathered his cousin into his arms and gave him a hug and a brief kiss as between brothers. "You know I will, Nelyo, though I understand she as already indicated her desire to return to her own atar’s home."

Nelyafinë nodded. "So she has said." He stepped out of his cousin’s embrace to give him a wry grin. "You should have heard what she called Atar." He glanced furtively around to see if anyone was nearby and then leaned over and whispered into Findecáno’s ear.

The ellon choked with suppressed laughter. "She didn’t?"

The eldest son of Fëanáro nodded. "And then Atar said...." Again he whispered into his cousin’s ear and Findecáno blinked in shock.

"Oh dear," he said faintly.

"Ammë gave him a slap that sent him reeling," Nelyafinwë said, awe in his tone. "I never knew she had that kind of strength."

"She is the daughter of one of the finest smiths of the Noldor," Findecáno retorted with a snort. "What do you expect?"

Nelyafinwë sighed, brushing a hand through his red hair. "Well, anyway, Ammë made it clear that she would not stand in the way of her sons following Atar into exile if we felt we needed to." He looked suddenly troubled. "I just wish we could be a family again."

"And I still say you do not need to go," Findecáno said.

"But I do," Nelyafinwë said sadly. "We all do. Please don’t hate me, Fin," he pleaded.

Findecáno hugged him again. "I could never hate you, Nelyo. You are more than my cousin, you are my órë-háno, dearer to me than my own brothers."

Nelyafinwë stepped back from the embrace, a faint smile on his face. "That’s only because they are your younger brothers and most annoying. At least you only have two, whereas...."

The eldest son of Ñolofinwë laughed. "You are probably correct about that, otorno."

For a long moment the two cousins stared into each other’s eyes as if each were trying to gauge the other’s resolve. Finally, Findecáno nodded. "Valar aselyë, Nelyo," he said softly.

His cousin shook his head. "I do not think so, Fin," he replied sadly. "They seem to have deserted us."

"Say rather that your atar has deserted them," Findecáno retorted. "His arrogance is beyond belief and...."

Nelyafinwë placed a warning finger on his cousin’s lips, stilling his voice. "Let us not part as enemies," he said quietly. "I know my atar’s faults only too well."

Findecáno nodded, looking chagrined. "Forgive me, Cousin. I guess I am angry on my own atar’s behalf."

"I know, and I do not fault you, otorno." Nelyafinwë sighed and silence stretched between them for a time. Finally, he gave himself a shake, his red hair flowing down his back. "I must go," he said. "There is much to do before we leave."

Findecáno just nodded, afraid to say anything more. Nelyafinwë leaned over and, taking his head in his hands, gave him a kiss on his forehead then turned and walked away without another word. For a long time afterward Findecáno merely stood there, frozen in place by despair at losing his closest and best friend to his Uncle Fëanáro’s madness.

****

The transference of power from Finwë to Ñolofinwë was perfunctory and absent of any real ceremony. Only Ñolofinwë and Arafinwë and their families as well as Indis and Finwë’s High Council members were present for it. Fëanáro refused to be there and had forbidden his sons to attend as well. Arafinwë grimaced at the paucity of ceremony and witnesses, feeling slighted on his older brother’s behalf. Ñolofinwë seemed overwhelmed by it all and only Indis knew the full extent of his unhappiness.

Finwë handed his second-born son the rod of office as he intoned the words that gave Ñolofinwë the power of regency over the Noldor who would remain in Tirion. "The crown I withhold," Finwë said stiffly at the end, "for I am still Noldóran and do not abdicate my prerogatives."

Indis snorted at that but did not otherwise contradict her husband. Finwë blushed slightly and then relented somewhat and leaned forward to give his son a hug and a light kiss on the brow. "Listen to your ammë," he said softly. "She is very wise and will guide you well."

Ñolofinwë could only nod as Finwë turned and walked away to join Fëanáro, who waited impatiently at the gates of the city leading westward towards Valmar. Their route would force them along the road to the city of the Valar and thence northward past Vanyamar. The Valar had made it very clear at the outset that Fëanáro would not be able to ride across country, thus avoiding others.

"Consider it part of thy punishment," Fionwë said to him when he delivered Lord Manwë’s decree. "Let all of Eldamar see thee take the road unto exile in truth." Fëanáro had evinced an uncaring attitude towards the Maia’s message but those closest to him knew how he seethed at what he perceived to be further attempts on the part of the Valar to humiliate him.

When Finwë joined them, the march of the exiles began. There were many tears and much wailing on the part of the populace, for the king’s decision had torn the city apart. Not all were happy with Finwë and many had come to the hard decision to remain in Tirion under Ñolofinwë’s rule. Yet, some there were who felt obliged to follow the Noldóran to Formenos, not for love of Fëanáro, but out of a sense of duty. There were several households that were bereft of father or son, mother or daughter, as loyalties divided loved ones as surely as a sword divides the fëa from its hröa.

All along the route, people lined up to witness this second sundering of kin and many wept, not for those who went or for those left behind, but for what they feared would come from this rift among the Noldor themselves. At Valmar the exiles paused, reluctant to have to make their way from one gate to the other in order to take the northern road under the watchful eyes of the Valar and their Maiar servants. Finwë ordered them to set up camp, for there were elflings among them and they were already weary from the journey to the city of the Powers, made slow by the sheer number of people traveling.

"We will make for the northern road at the next Second Mingling," he told them. "For now, rest and see to the little ones."

He had, in fact, been reluctant to allow anyone not already of age to join them, but several families would not be separated and so he had finally agreed. Unbeknown to him or any of the other Elves, several of the Maiar, guised as Eldar, mingled among the exiles and secretly offered comfort to the children, many of whom were ignorant of the whys and wherefores of their enforced march, knowing only that their atto and ammë were either sad or angry or both. Many of them felt sure that they were somehow responsible for what was happening and were hurt and confused by it all. The stranger Elves who came to them, singing to them and holding them tight, helped to relieve some of that confusion from their minds and they gradually became less fearful. Their parents remained unenlightened by any of this, feeling only relief that their children were no longer teary-eyed and whining.

****

Traversing Valmar, though it did not take very long, was nevertheless nerve-racking for them all. Marching through the eastern gate, its pillars made of mithril and pearl, past the mansions of the Elder King and his Lady on their right and Lord Ulmo’s on their left, they made their way across the central plaza that fronted the Landamallë Valion at this end, heading for the northern gate of meteoric iron and diamonds. They studiously avoided looking at the mansions as they passed them. Of the Valar, themselves, there was no sign and only one of the Maiar, Eönwë, in fact, was visible to them. The Herald of Manwë stood before his lord’s gates and watched with stony indifference as the Elves processed by.

*Is all well, Olórin?* the Maia enquired of one of his fellows traveling with the exiles in disguise.

*Yes, all is well, Eönwë,* Olórin answered with a rueful chuckle. *The elflings have been comforted as best as can be expected under the circumstances. Our fellows and I have endeavored to encourage them to see this as a grand adventure.*

Eönwë raised an eyebrow at that, though none of the Elves noticed as they kept their gazes resolutely before them, refusing to look up. *Adventure? Hardly that. Certainly not for Fëanáro.*

*True,* Erunáro interjected. He and his brother Manveru were among the Maiar mingling with the Elves. *But the elflings neither know nor care about such weighty matters as trouble their elders. They only know they are being forced away from the only home they’ve ever known. Letting them think that it’s an adventure makes them more biddable and willing to be cooperative.*

*I think Lord Manwë erred in permitting this... exodus,* Manveru said from somewhere in the midst of the procession. *Fëanáro should be suffering exile alone, not taking half the populace of Tirion with him.* There was a hint of disgust mixed with exasperation coloring the Maia’s thoughts and his fellows all grinned in response.

*You may be correct, brother,* Erunáro said, *but that is neither here nor there at the moment — Oops, grab her before she gets trampled.* This last was directed at Olórin who, even as Erunáro spoke, was swooping an elleth not much older than twelve into his arms, preventing her from being knocked down as she attempted to elude her parents and climb one of the malinorni lining the avenue.

"Now just where are you going, youngling?" Olórin said kindly, sweeping his gaze around in search of the elfling’s family. The child’s parents had yet to realize their youngest daughter was no longer walking beside them.

The elleth wriggled, stretching her little arms up. "I wan’ t’ climb the twee," she lisped.

"Do you now?" Olórin replied with a laugh. "Well, these trees are not for climbing, Little One. Come, let us find your parents and if you’re good I’ll tell you the story of how the Two Trees came to be made. Would you like that?"

The elleth stopped squirming and considered the Maia’s suggestion for a moment before nodding, settling herself more firmly into Olórin’s arms as the Maia began describing how Lady Yavanna had brought the Two Trees into being. The other Maiar walking among the Elves smiled to themselves as they listened in, even as they and Eönwë continued to keep a careful watch on the Children.

****

The road towards Formenos left the main road to Vanyamar about halfway to the High King’s city and while it was normally a half a day’s ride between there and Valmar, the number of people making the trip to Formenos precluded a swift journey, especially with elflings among them. Fëanáro chafed at the delay.

"I wish to arrive at our new home as quickly as possible," he groused to Finwë and his sons as they watched tents going up on the plain where their intended road met with the main road.

"We are going as swiftly as we can, yonya," Finwë answered. "We will get there soon enough. I am only grateful we will not have to pass Vanyamar to do so. I do not wish to face Ingwë at this moment."

Just then Macalaurë happened to look up to see a cavalcade heading towards them from the direction of Vanyamar and recognized Ingwë in the lead. "From your lips to the Valar’s ears, Anatar," he said softly, though all heard him and turned to follow his gaze.

Finwë scowled but Fëanáro’s own expression lightened into grim amusement as Ingwë rode up. Ingwë’s expression nearly matched Fëanáro’s as he alighted from his steed. "Thought you would avoid me, did you, Finwë?" the High King of all the Elves of Aman said. He glanced around at the encampment and grimaced before looking back at his brother-in-law. "Come. It is time we talked." He gestured for Finwë to follow him away from the crowd and Finwë complied, reluctant though he was. Yet, Ingwë had spoken to him as High King and not as family and Finwë was no longer in a position to refuse Ingwë’s request. Fëanáro began to follow but Ingwë stopped and gave him a hard stare.

"This doth not concern thee, Therindion," Ingwë said, his tone cold. "Return thou to thy sons and see to the welfare of these benighted children who follow thee."

It was like a slap in the face and Fëanáro simply stood there with his mouth open in shock while Ingwë took Finwë’s arm and led him away.

"That wasn’t necessary, you know," Finwë said softly to his brother-in-law.

Ingwë gave him a sour look. "You coddle him too much."

"He’s my son and he needs me!"

"And you have two others who need you as well, or have you forgotten?" Ingwë retorted with a scowl.

"Of course not!" Finwë protested.

"You could have fooled me, Brother!" Ingwë replied with just as much heat. "If I had known this is how you would treat my sister and the children she bore you I would not have allowed the marriage for all that I knew she loved you desperately. Perhaps too much so, for I think you never got over Míriel."

Finwë looked away, afraid that Ingwë was hitting too close to the heart. Míriel had been the love of his life and while he truly did love Indis, he could not forget Míriel, who looked back at him through Fëanáro’s eyes. His first-born was a constant reminder of the love he had lost and he could not reconcile his feelings for her with his feelings for Indis.

"Why are you here, Finwë?" Ingwë asked after the silence had stretched for several uncomfortable minutes between them.

"My son needs me," was all he could say and even to his ears it sounded pathetic.

"And your people do not?" Ingwë asked coldly. "I have been told that families have been torn apart by this and loyalties divided where there should only have been harmony. Melkor’s lies are shrouded in truth, I deem, for the very thing you and Fëanáro accuse him of is what you are doing to your people all on your own."

Finwë looked up then, his features set. "I have made my decision. I asked no one to follow me or my family into exile but I will not refuse them either. As for Melkor...." he grimaced as if the very name of the Vala left a bad taste in his mouth, "I am not entirely satisfied with the Valar’s explanations concerning Melkor’s insinuations about these... Aftercomers."

Ingwë gave Finwë a measuring look. "These Aftercomers as you call them are Eruhíni, no less than we. What their purpose for being is anyone’s guess, but I will trust Lord Manwë’s words or even those of Lord Námo before I ever trust those of Melkor. You Noldor were ever fools to be so willing to listen to him."

"He served us well enough and taught us many things," Finwë countered.

Ingwë nodded. "Not the least of which is how to disturb the Sérë Valaron which none have broken until now. I do not know what was in Fëanáro’s mind when he pulled live steel upon his own brother...."

"Half-brother," Finwë said almost automatically and then blushed at the cold look Ingwë gave him.

"...his own brother. I always thought building an armory was a bad idea. Against whom do you think you will need such weapons? The Valar or the Maiar?" The High King snorted in disbelief, then raised a hand to forestall Finwë’s reply. "Well, that is as it may be. I will see that Ñolofinwë has my full support during the next twelve years."

"Indis will help him," Finwë said, not knowing what else to say.

Ingwë nodded. "She’s much smarter than you are, Brother. I wish you’d listened to her instead of Fëanáro. All of this could have been avoided." He swept a hand to encompass the encampment.

"Is that all, Ingwë?" Finwë asked, pulling the rags of his dignity together. "I have to see to my people."

For a long moment Ingwë just stood there giving Finwë a considering look. Finwë forced himself not to look away. Finally, the High King nodded. "Yes. I’ve said my piece. Valar aselyë, hánonya."

Finwë shook his head. "Of that I very much doubt."

Ingwë gave him a brief smile. "You may be surprised." Then he turned away and went to his horse. In minutes he and his guards were riding away, leaving Finwë and the Noldor to themselves.

****

Somewhere in the encampment, several Elf-guised Maiar met around one of the campfires to quietly discuss their charges and plan for the last leg of their journey to Formenos.

"Three more First Minglings should see them there," Manveru said.

"I’ll be glad to return to my usual form once we’re done with this," Erunáro commented. "I’m beginning to regret volunteering for this assignment."

Olórin snorted. "You have no sense of adventure, my friend."

Before Erunáro could respond three elflings approached, having recognized the Maiar as the friends who had comforted them along the way. The oldest, an ellon not much more than twenty or so, appeared to be their spokesman.

"P-please, w-would you tell us a story?" he asked in a whisper as if he feared to be overheard or censured.

The Maiar glanced at one another for a brief second, then Olórin nodded to the elflings and gestured for them to come nearer. "And what story would you like to hear, my children?" he said solicitously.

Before long they were surrounded by many more elflings and not a few of their parents as they listened avidly to the tale of the making of Arda, unaware that the storyteller and his companions, who made the occasional comment, were Maiar who had been present when the Valar Sang Arda into existence.

****

Formenos: North Fortress.

Formandos: North Prison; Mandos literally means ‘Castle of Custody’.

Órë-háno: Heart-brother.

Otorno: Sworn brother.

Valar aselyë, hánonya: ‘The Valar be with you, my brother’.

Fëa: Soul, spirit. The plural is fëar.

Hröa: Body.

Anatar: Grandfather.

Notes:

1. The concept of ‘days’ is used here for the sake of convenience. While the Two Trees shone, the Valar and Eldar marked Time between one First Mingling of the Trees to the next when Telperion was waxing and Laurelin was fading. This is what is meant by ‘day’ in this story.

2. Nelyafinwë, also called Maitimo, is better known to readers as Maedhros. ‘Nelyo’ is an attested nickname. He was also called Russandol for his red hair.

3. Therindion ‘son of Therindë’ is the matronymic Fëanáro adopted after Finwë married Indis in honor of his mother. See The Peoples of Middle-earth, HoME XII, "The Shibboleth of Fëanor’.

4. Tolkien at one point gave Ñolofinwë three sons rather than the two we know of from the Silmarillion, thus Nelyafinwë’s reference to Findecáno having two brothers. The third son, Aracáno, supposedly died crossing the Helcaraxë and so never came to Beleriand or received a Sindarin name. As was a common practice among the Elves of this period, Ñolofinwë named this son after himself, giving him his amilessë or mother-name. Had he survived long enough to reach Beleriand and take a Sindarin name, according to Tolkien, it would have been Argon.