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.