The Burden of Disgrace

Veryandil, in the meantime had found his time pleasantly occupied with the company of another young elf, also traveling with his parents. Together they spent a merry day under the fond eyes of their elders, their youthful energies spent in exuberant activity.

During a brief time of rest from their play, they perched on a low branch, and shared the contents of a small bowl supplied by the adults. Nibbling on the fruit-and-nut mixture, the two young ones spoke of their homes and families.

Rusco: My eldest brother works gems near Formenos and my other brother is a skilled hunter and dwells near the woods of Oromë. It is he that we travel to visit. He promised to teach me how to track the great stag!

Veryandil: I do not have brother or sister, but I have a new friend, Nyello, who is a great minstrel and healer. He is to teach me to harp.

Rusco: Does your friend live close by or must you journey to see him? Veryandil was silent for a time before he answered.

Veryandil troubled: He has no home. He wanders alone and is sad. But when he sings and laughs he shines with beauty.

Rusco: Then how do you find this friend?

Veryandil thoughtfully: He found me and has stayed near. We are journeying to Valimar to speak with High King Manwë.

Rusco: Your friend is here! Will he play and sing this night? I do so long to dance under the stars…if my parents agree, of course.

Veryandil: He does not go with us, but I hope he will come to speak to the High King.

Rusco: Why do you seek audience with the High King?

Veryandil: Nyello has done a wrong thing and must get permission from the High King to live in our lands again.

Rusco: What ‘wrong thing’ could one do to be forbidden from dwelling here?

Veryandil: He has not told me yet, but my atar has spoken names about him that sound very bad.

Rusco: You said ‘again’, Veryandil. Had he been made to live elsewhere? Who made him go? Where did he stay? Why does he want to come back?

Veryandil: I do not know the answer to any of your questions, and he gets angry when I ask him. He has dark dreams that torment him. But we are oath-friends and his heart is kind.

Oloriel: Peace has been restored, little one, in a private manner as expressed by a bonded couple.

Veryandil tentatively: Then you are no longer angry with Nyello?

Linwë’s frown was answer enough to that question.

Oloriel: The peace is between your atto and me, Veryandil. We have not spoken of your friend, Nyello.

Veryandil sadly: All day I watched for him and he has not come.

Oloriel: Then we shall hope for his soon arrival. Let us now go to see how we may help with the evening meal.

Veryandil eagerly: The kitchen garden has many strange plants, nana. Will you tell me of them?

Oloriel: Let us explore these new wonders, my son, and perhaps we may include some in the food prepared.

Veryandil skipped ahead in delight, but his parents could not overlook the occasional longing glance cast back along the roadway.

At the midday meal, Veryandil set aside a portion of his light repast and carefully wrapped the juicy plum, a small hand-full of nuts and a thick slice of fragrant bread into a neat cloth package, setting it beside him on the low bench. Linwë sighed, but said nothing.

As the bright afternoon waned, heralding the approaching night, Veryandil’s anxiety grew and he beseeched his father to allow him to wait at the curve in the road. Reluctantly permission was given, with the stern reminder to remain within full view of the guesting-house.

Veryandil carried two small packages now, the second containing a small portion of the tender meat from the evening meal. He sat cross-legged on the gentle slope beside the road and, after first glancing back to ascertain that he could be easily seen by his parents, fixed his patient gaze down the winding road.

Maglor seeing the child, alone and motionless, suffered a brief moment of apprehension causing him to quicken his stride to an easy, ground-covering jog. Close enough now to observe the intent, hopeful face, he slowed slightly, though still moving quickly and soon stood before the elfling. Veryandil rose gracefully and grinned happily at his friend.

Veryandil: I knew you would come, Nyello.

Maglor gazed wonderingly at the young child, not considering until that moment how strongly he had craved the open-hearted welcome of one of his own kind. Ruefully he realized that it was perhaps due largely to the child’s innocent lack of knowledge of the history of the Exiled Noldor that he was welcomed so eagerly; that Veryandil’s father mistrusted him was no surprise.

Maglor: You wait alone, young one.

Veryandil: It is not far to the guesting-house, Nyello, where we are staying the night. Will you come?

Maglor: Better it would be to keep distance between your father and me. Unfriend he deems me.

Veryandil proffered the pair of packages to Maglor. Upon viewing the contents, Maglor’s brow furrowed.

Veryandil anxiously: Are you not hungry, Nyello?

Maglor: It is not a strong need for me.

Seeing the look of disappointment on the small face, he unwrapped the food and ate it to the last crumb. Veryandil smiled happily, but then a frown settled on his fair features.

Veryandil softly: My atto is angry with you, Nyello.

Maglor: He does not hide his feelings, little one.

Veryandil puzzled: He said a word about you that I do not understand.

Maglor: Did he speak the word to you?

Veryandil lowered his eyes, then dropped his head to avoid looking at the tall elf.

Veryandil quietly: He thought I slept.

Maglor: You did not ask your atto to explain?

Veryandil merely looked at the ground silently.

Maglor: Many times angry words have been spoken to and about me, Veryandil.

Veryandil hesitated before he spoke.

Veryandil: You will not be angry with me, Nyello?

Maglor: Are we not friends? Friends help each other.

Veryandil: Like you showed me the way back to my hróa?

Maglor: That is one example. Veryandil frowning: Why would atto be angry with you because of your family?

Maglor froze, his smile turned brittle and wary.

Maglor carefully: What word did your atto use, child?

Veryandil: Nossenehtar.

Maglor slowly: It means kin-slayer.

Veryandil: Does it mean that someone killed your family? But why would atto not be sad for you?

Maglor: Though my family was slain, that is not the meaning.

Veryandil confused: I do not understand, Nyello. Please tell me.

Maglor drew in a deep breath, his reluctance obvious even to the child.

Maglor: Do you remember when you asked my name and I told you I had many, but I did not want to use them anymore?

Veryandil happily: When you let me name you!

Maglor: Even when a new name is chosen the old names may still apply. This is such a name.

Veryandil concerned: It does not feel like a real name, Nyello. Atto made it sound very bad.

Maglor: It is, Veryandil.

Veryandil: Maybe when I tell Lord Manwë how you helped me, he will take the bad name away.

Maglor: Even Lord Manwë cannot erase a name given for a wrong deed.

Veryandil in frustration: You could not have done something so bad you cannot be forgiven by the Valar. Please tell me why atto called you nossenehtar.

Maglor: You will not wish to be my friend, Veryandil, if I tell you. Are you willing to break our friend-bond to satisfy your curiosity?

Sparkling tears formed in Veryandil’s eyes at the thought of losing this elf he thought of as an older brother and dear friend. Cuddling next to Maglor, Veryandil placed one small hand on the arm of his friend.

Veryandil: You will always be my friend, Nyello.

Maglor sternly: I shall not hold you to that pledge, young one.

Maglor slowly: Nossenehtar as you know means kin-slayer.

Veryandil nodded. Maglor taking a ragged breath: Your atto is correct, I am a kin-slayer.

Maglor swallowed hard, hands clenched into tight fists, face filled with grief and self-loathing.

Maglor: A kin-slayer is an elf who kills other elves.

Veryandil forgot for a moment how to breathe, his eyes wide with shock.

Veryandil: Nyello…

Maglor bitterly: I, Kanafinwë Makalaurë Maglor Fëanorion, am a nossenehtar; I have killed other elves.

Head bowed in shame, Maglor listened for the inevitable sound of a frightened child running back to his parents. Instead he felt a gentle tug on his tunic sleeve. Almost he shook loose, but the broken-hearted sobbing caused him to open his eyes.

Picking up the weeping child, Maglor cradled him in one strong arm, lightly stroking the dark head. But he had no words of comfort to offer and so stared into the trees as if seeking escape from the pain he both felt and caused with his words.

Veryandil after a time raised a tear-streaked, yet now hopeful, face to Maglor.

Veryandil hesitantly: Nyello, were they very bad elves and you had to fight them?

Maglor dejectedly: Many were unarmed and confused by the attacks. Some were friends; some children.

Veryandil brokenly: But why would you do such a terrible thing?

Setting the child to sit across from him Maglor tried to explain, but found no words. It was at this moment that Linwë made known his presence to his son.

Linwë quietly: Veryandil, please go now to your nana. Nyello and I have… must speak together.

Obediently Veryandil stood to leave, but then threw his arms about his atar. When he had quieted, Linwë once again bade him return to the guesting-house. Veryandil reluctantly complied. The two adults watched the child trudge away.

Linwë faced Maglor, confronting now this usurper of his son’s affection.

Linwë warily: Certainly my son told you of the purpose of our journey to Valimar.

Maglor curtly: It will be in vain, I fear.

Linwë: He will not be persuaded to turn aside. For several moments neither elf spoke.

Maglor: Nor can I change the past, Linwë, though from my heart I wish it so. During the lonely ages of my exile none has offered kind words or friendship nor did I think to ever hear my name spoken without scorn.

Linwë: Only vague rumors and dark tales are told now of those times. I would hear from your mouth the truth.

Maglor: Already your distrust is evident. Need I add wood to the blaze? Black my deeds, and all are unforgiven; shame and guilt my constant companions. Yet for love of the child will I lay bare my crimes before you.

Maglor then recited the litany of his transgressions in a voice devoid of emotion.

Maglor: Madness and a dark oath; lies of the Enemy cunningly woven to ensnare even the mightiest elves; insatiable hunger to retake the master work of my atar, Fëanor, and longing to avenge the death of his atar, King Finwë. Oath-sworn, my brothers and I, and a never-ending path of destruction and death followed in our wake. Thrice cursed as nossenehtar and forever banned from the Blessed Realm, we could not avert our doom.

Teleri, Sindar, Noldor, Avari, even the Aftercomers, male, female, child; all who came between the Oath-bound House of Fëanor and the Jewels of Light we slew without mercy. Two only remained and we wrested them from the keeping of the Valar themselves, but found we could no longer possess them. One rests in the heart of Arda; the other in the depths of the Sea, Eärendil bears the third aloft through the Airs above. I am the last of our cursed House and come now to seek pardon. That I have been allowed to present my supplication for mercy is more than I had ever hoped.

Linwë coldly: Hardly fit companion for an innocent child.

Maglor: Indeed.

Linwë: Would that you had continued your Exile and never troubled this fair land, Kinslayer.

Maglor smiled grimly: It is a common sentiment.

Linwë without pity: Dissuade my son from his quest to the High King, and then go back to the haunts of the forsaken.

Maglor with narrowed eyes studied the other elf long before replying. Steeling himself against the outcome of the offer he thought to make, he considered the finality and hopelessness of the decision he would place in the hands of this embittered father.

Maglor softly: Not lightly do I present this choice to another.

Linwë glanced curiously at Maglor, but waited silently.

Maglor tonelessly: Another option is open to me. To submit to the keeping of Námo, bereft of hróa (here he shuddered visibly) from hence forth. It is that which I dread most.

Linwë stared wide-eyed at the wretched elf in sheer disbelief. Surely he would not allow another to decide his fate, especially one who had no love or compassion for him. Maglor gazed at Linwë with bleak resignation anticipating the inevitable rejection.

Maglor brokenly: For your son…for Veryandil…for love of a father for his son…for wrongs committed and unpardoned…for weariness of life and loneliness…will I enter the Halls of Waiting. Nothing more is my due. Choose, Linwë.

Gaping at the utterly defeated elf, Linwë was stunned into absolute silence. It was not his right to pass sentence, however much he mistrusted and disliked this sinister relic from the distant past. The empty stare, unblinking and tearless, that met Linwë’s shocked eyes lacked even a hint of life or fragment of hope.

An unreasoning fury swept over Linwë at the sight of the defenseless elf. How dare he put such a burden upon another! As sudden as the feeling came, it was quenched by a profound compassion for this once mighty son of House Fëanor, crushed beneath the unyielding weight of self-reproach and the agony of much deserved guilt.

Linwë gently: Nyello?

There was no reaction. Had he already abandoned his hróa? Tentatively Linwë reached out to cover one powerful warrior hand with his supple one, only to discover that the other’s skin was grown cool and he was entirely unresponsive.

Linwë urgently in mind to Oloriel: Beloved, bring our son quickly. Nyello is fading.

Oloriel and Veryandil ran swiftly to join Linwë.

Linwë: My son, can you reach your friend? He assumed my rejection and I fear he is departing for the Halls.

Veryandil cast himself into the lap of his friend, wrapping slender arms about the older elf.

Veryandil desperately: Nyello, do not leave! My atto bids you stay. Please go with us to Lord Manwë. Nyello!

Veryandil stroked the dark head, then gripped one long plait and tugging hard pulled Maglor‘s face close and whispered in his ear.

Veryandil: I will rescue you, Nyello. Wait for me!

Maglor moaned: Little one, free me to find the place of forgetfulness.

Veryandil choking back tears: Please stay!

Maglor murmured: Release me, child. Veryandil forcefully: Only if the Lord Manwë declares you must leave. We are oath-bound. Nyello, see me!

Maglor raised his arms to enfold the child within an embrace and leaning forward kissed the top of the dark head.

Maglor sighing: Very well, small and persistent one, until Manwë determines my fate. Go now and rest. May Irmo grant you dreams of peace.

Veryandil allowed himself to be led away, but not without many a backward glance.