((After The Last Days of Thargelion: Part two. Friends. 2/2 | The Laurelin Archives. ))
I was privileged to have the best instructors Thargelion could offer. Our Prince and his Lady had no children of their own, and though it was expected they someday would, when the Leaguer had proven beyond doubt that it would hold, those days never arrived. For some time, with my family relationship to Caranthir and my appearance, I was quite a favourite of theirs, though they favoured a few others as well.
The Nobles’ Tower housed three families. We had the top two floors for our dwelling area, and three floors below it for our library and study. I was not the only child who grew up there. I have already mentioned my three closest friends in those early days; the studious Hirindë, the artistic Rilya, and the soldierly Caro. None lived in the Tower, though all lived nearby. I had other contemporaries though.There was Antaro, and his sister Vinyarë, who lived on the middle levels. He was only a couple of years younger than me, while Vinyarë was close behind us by thirty years. We played together, wandered together and trained in riding and hawking, under Alcarwë and Elquassë respectively. Both our tutors came from Tirion, beyond the Great Sea, and had many tales to tell as well as instruction to give. I liked them both, though I found Alcarwë the more approachable. Elquassë was one of those who always seemed to hold some sadness within. Later I was to understand, but then believed her birds were her world, and she wished little for the company of others. We children were trained to work together as well as in competition. We were to be versatile. In anything competitive, Antaro had to win. Sometimes I let him. There was little difference in our strength and speed throughout the early years, until he was much advanced in the art of the sword. As I never bore a child, my strength never lessened. I was a better opponent than I think he realised. Well, his father was the Swordsmaster of Thargelion, and had been one of King Finwë’s favoured Lords. He had much to be proud of, at least he thought so. It was from Antaro I developed my habit of respecting folk for who they were and what they did, rather than any title.
On the lower levels dwelt the family of another respected Lord, though this time a Loremaster of King Feanaro. Quentaro was his name. He dwelt with his wife, Fealassë, who was indeed a spirit of quiet joy. She taught me much of the gentle creatures of land, sky and lake. They were to have a son, but not in my early years. Quentaro and Calatamo the jewel smith, were the greatest of my teachers. Quentaro and his wife were among the most respected of friends. I was taught in the Tower Library with Hirindë, Rilya and Caro. We three were blessed by the knowledge and wisdom bestowed upon us, and encouraged to pursue both.
They were happy days.
Several stand out in my mind, for differing reasons. We were all keen to learn the history of our people, and of why we came to this Middle Earth. We were all encouraged to question, and seek truth rather than any hearsay. But it was always obvious that Quentaro held our old King (because Fingolfin was King at that time) Feanaro, in the highest respect. “Learn from his life, his skills, his vision,” we were told, for there was no greater example. Many of our people thought that way. Was not our Prince one of his sons? Was Caranthir not a good ruler who saw to the safety and wealth of us all? Did he not live out his father’s ways before us?
We all had questions, but mine were formed from the knowledge I appeared similar to our Prince’s mother, King Feanaro’s wife, Nerdanel.
I waited behind after lessons one summer afternoon. It was a difficult choice because I knew it was one of the afternoons Estarfin would be working in Forodhir’s forge, and usually I would make a point of wandering nearby with my artist's materials and pretend to paint, while in truth I was trying to catch his eye. The information I was curious about was not more important to me than seeing Estarfin, but I had waited months trying to catch Quentaro in the right mood. A mood for talking freely about the past. And what I wanted, nay needed to know, was why Nerdanel had not come to Middle Earth with her family? I had heard tales, but I wanted facts. What had happened that she had seemingly deserted her husband and sons?
Quentaro called me to the highest floor of the library, having already set the other’s tasks to be accomplished in the evening. Set reading mostly. He would speak with me alone on the matter.
“We do not peer idly into the past of the family of our Princes. Their life is here. Our lives are here. But in your case, Carnifinde, I understand the curiosity. You do have the look of the Lady Nerdanel about you, and something of her manner. It is no surprise our Prince sees you are well provided for, not that your father is any unworthy Lord of Thargelion. Perhaps it is time you and I had a talk.”
I was eager, of course. I knew what was said among the folk of our land, and that little, and never in Caranthir’s hearing, for all knew he loved his mother well.
It was said his mother had become estranged from his father as the latter had become more vehement in his dislike of his younger brother, Nolofinwë, and more violent in his speech against the Valar, stirring up discontent among the people of his father. Those words were a simple explanation of a complex matter.
There had been an incident when Feanaro had marched to his father’s halls and placed his sword point at Nolofinwe’s throat over his frequent running to Finwë with malicious words. Feanaro was exiled from Tirion by the Valar for this act, and his father gave up his crown to go with him, that Noldfinwë then ruled the Noldor. But Nerdanel was a good friend of the Lady Indis, Nolofinwë’s mother and King Finwë’s second wife. She was cozened by Indis, and was appalled by her husband’s actions so she would not go with him and their sons into exile in Formenos. That was the first breach.
The second and final blow came after the murder of King Finwë. Feanaro was determined to pursue his father’s slayer, and the thief of the Jewels of the Noldor, back to Endore. The Valar forbade it, but as they offered no aid, but sat in contemplation, Feanaro mustered the Noldor to seek justice that many followed him. He asked Nerdanel to go with them, and be a true wife again, but she refused, and foretold disaster. Now Feanaro knew why this was, for she was a daughter of the great smith, Mahtan, and he was devoted to the Vala Aule. Aule had told Mahtan to have nothing to do with Feanaro in departing Aman. And so it was he and their sons were sundered from she who had once been a major light in their lives.
That is what was said. But it never sat well with some, nor did it with me. Nerdanel was said to be a strong-willed nis, yet she was cozened by Indis, and by Aulë?
In the upper library my tutor and I moved to one of the tables, one in full light from the window. He brought a single large book from the highest shelf, opening it to reveal a cut-away section that held letters and smaller documents. “Take a look through these letters, but with care, they are precious.”
“Prince Caranthir allows personnel letters to be kept here?” I looked over at Quentaro with surprise.
He smiled knowingly. “These are not the most personal ones. He keeps those well hidden. I have not set eye upon them, nor do I expect any save he and his Lady, and his brothers have. The other Princes likely have some letters of their own, well kept. What is here is mostly penned by Nerdanel, and for her family's general reading. But look and see what you think? The usual tale is true, up to a point. But some things are missed out.”
I picked up the first letter, concerned by its flimsiness. Doubtlessly it would have been copied more recently and the copy stored somewhere safe, but this was the original, penned in Tirion. I flushed slightly, not embarrassment, but at the honour bestowed on me. I held in my hand a letter written by Nerdanel herself.
“Carnistir, beloved son,
I write to you and to each of your brothers, in exile with your father. Would that I were with you all.
But you know part of the reason why that cannot be at present. It is my hope that King Finwë’s calm presence will aid your father, and that Nolofinwë’s lack of easy access to him will lessen the troubles, that reason may prevail.
Now there is this, which I have hinted at before. That Melkor is found to be whispering to those of our folk who remain in Tirion about the injustice of your father’s treatment, which is a truth, but also that Nolofinwe acted entirely of his own accord in running to Finwë that day. I find from his mother that he had a visitor not long before that action, and one much under the influence of Melkor. I also find some of my ladies saying we should not accept the Valar’s judgement, that makes Indis’ eldest son our effective King, but rather rally to Formenos.
Carnistir, I fear for all. The lies spread, and Prince is turned against Prince. I speak to but few of our folk, for I dare not allow Melkor to know what Indis and I attempt. He thinks us of no account, little nissi taken up by our wanderings in nature, our arts and thoughts of peace. Neither of us are so. Save for peace. There is a sickness being spread. I fear neither your father, who usually sees so much, nor your uncle, see what is happening under their noses.
The worst of it is that we believe Manwë himself does not see it. He still speaks lovingly of your father and grandfather, looking forward to their return to Tirion. But his eyes are closed to the actions of his own ‘brother’, who wrought such darkness on the Lands of our Awakening.
Keep secret among your brothers what is known. Tell your father, if he be in a mood to listen. If not, then keep it hidden, aye even from him. He needs so much to think clearly, calmly, and we both know such news could well enrage him, and undo any good work your Grandsire is accomplishing. Be safe and cautious, dear one. May the day we can be reunited come soon.”
I placed the letter back in the box with the greatest care. “It is quite a personal letter. I am surprised we are permitted to read it?”
Quentaro was watching closely for my reaction. “A few are permitted, Carnifinde. Only a few, and only in this Library where few have access. A half- dozen of our Loremasters and mistresses have read these letters, so we at least know more of those days, and of the ever present danger from Morgoth. But what did you think of Nerdanel’s words?
I paused for a moment, considering what I had just read. “It seems as if Nerdanel did not want to be parted from her family. That possibly she and Indis were almost…spying on those who harkened to Morgoth? But I thought Indis and her daughters went to dwell with the Vanyar when Fingolfin ruled in Tirion?”
“That was after King Finwë was murdered, and both her sons initially followed the march to the sea. Nerdanel retired to her father’s house, and Indis to her people, the Vanyar. Not out of disapproval, but out of grief over what had transpired.” Quentaro sat on the edge of the table, turning his face to the soft golden sunlight as if he would bathe in it. “Dark tales,” he muttered. “Lies and more lies to break our people asunder. Morgoth has ever hated us, the Firstborn of Eru’s children.”
It came into my mind then, to ask about the Secondborn, of whom I had heard a little, and was curious, but that discussion was for another day. Quentaro handed me a second letter.
It was from Nerdanel to Indis.
“My dear friend and Queen,
I write to say I will most gladly accept your offer of spending time with you while this present situation unfolds. It had been my intent to return to my father’s house, but he dwells away from the city by some distance, and I would be here to watch and learn. I believe you and I are of one mind on certain matters. There is more to what has happened than normal brotherly rivalry, and more than either my husband or your eldest son would reasonably want to do. Some of the wise say they both have become proud of their rights and accomplishments. I do not deny it, and while I will speak no ill against Nolofinwë, neither shall I speak ill of Feanaro. He has become changed of late, more violent of thought and intent, yet I understand why. His Father understands why. I have tried and tried to reason with him, but whenever I believe I have made ground, a new rumour comes to his ears, and my argument is swept aside. Loathe am I to give up on him. Were the source of the rumours removed, I believe we would all have a chance again. Stubborn and unyielding, the sons of Finwe are like their sire save your Arafinwë.
I shall write no more, but look forward to speaking of what may still be possible with you, in the privacy of your home, rather than the Palace.”
I folded the letter and handed it back. My mind was racing. What I read was both alike, yet unalike to the stories I had heard. Something was hidden from more general knowledge, something likely of Morgoth’s devising and Manwë’s blindness? Two nissi, both concerned for husbands and sons, trying to understand. I wondered how I would have reacted in Nerdanel’s position? But I knew naught of such a position at that time. To my mind she showed not the real reason behind remaining in Valinor, even though her husband and sons departed. Even though her sister, Istarnie, my forbearer, departed with the sword Urussë that Mahtan had made for her.
“It was nowhere near straightforward,” I commented.
“Nowhere near.” Quentaro said.
“Is there other evidence to support this?”
He lowered his head, a small knowing smile on his lips.
“There is Irimë, in Barad Eithel,” he replied.
“Nolofinwë’s sister. Would she speak with me?” I wondered, for all I knew of Irime was she was the closest of his siblings, and had followed him to Middle Earth.
“I know not if she would speak, but she was also close to her mother and so - ”
We both looked up as the sound of heavy bells rang out from the Citadel's shorter towers. Warning bells.
Quentaro hurriedly replaced the letters in the book-like file and put it back on the shelf.
“We must go, young one. There is an attack.”
“But not on the Citadel!” I protested. An attempt at a direct attack would have all bells tolling.
“One or more of the Hill Forts has been overrun, we cannot yet be certain what the outcome shall be.”
I laughed slightly, foolishly. “Of course we can. The attackers will be destroyed.”
Quentaro frowned and urged me to my feet. “We follow orders, Carnifindë. We evacuate the tower, and those so appointed take up positions of defence.” That meant him, though not me.
I complained, to my shame. But he was right then about following orders. Although the Citadel was in no danger, one of the forts had come under sustained attack that had taken some time to recover. Our Prince and Captains needed to know folk were ready, just in case it was the first wave of something more sinister. He was right when the bells rang out over a dozen years later as well.
And as for that second letter, it was the following week before I caught Quentaro alone to ask him, how did we have a letter from Nerdanel to Indis, when neither of them travelled to Endore?
“How indeed?” was his answer. “Who else could have had possession of such a letter but one who intercepted it, that it never reached Indis, although she and Nerdanel would likely have discovered that fact when they next met.”
“They were spied on? And then the spy was among those who sailed?”
“Of course,” he sighed. “Not all of those under the influence of Morgoth were left in Valinor.”
*Using references from The Silmarillion and The Histories of Middle Earth, especially ‘Morgoth’s Ring’, and The Shibboleth of Feanor in HoME 12. JRR Tolkien, ed Christopher Tolkien, but with own interpretations added.
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