In Darkness Bound by Fiondil

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Chapter 59: Finwë in Mandos

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59: Finwë in Mandos

Námo watched impassively as Finwë, once King of the Noldor, appeared before him, confusion and remembered pain clouding the ellon’s eyes. He had kept the ellon in suspension until he was ready to deal with him and also to give Finwë’s fëa time to heal somewhat from the first shock of being separated from his hröa. Finwë blinked a couple of times as he gazed about him at the walls covered with storied webs, the light of several free-standing candelabra casting a warm glow about them. Then his eyes focused on the stone-carved throne before him and the one who sat in it, going slowly to his knees, shock and awe and a dawning realization of what had happened crossing his fair visage.

"Welcome to Mandos, Finwë," Námo said softly.

"I... I died," was all Finwë could think to say, trying to remember the details but his mind shied away from the memory of his last moments and he shuddered.

"Yes, you did," Námo replied. "And now...."

"Míriel!" Finwë cried, coming to his feet. "Is Míriel...?"

Námo raised a hand to still the ellon’s words and Finwë fell silent while the Vala called silently for Maranwë to bring Míriel to him. Even as Námo was lowering his arm a door opened and two people entered, one of them wearing the black surcoat with the Sun-in-Eclipse emblem of the Lord of Mandos.

"Lady Míriel, my lord," Maranwë announced.

"Thank you, Maranwë," Námo said. "See that we are not disturbed, but please find my wife and ask her to join us."

If Maranwë wondered at such an unusual request, for his lord could simply have called to his lady and she would come, he gave no sign, merely bowing and closing the door behind him. Finwë had turned at the sound of the door opening and stood gazing at the elleth who had once been his wife and the second half of his soul. Only when the Maia had closed the door did he move towards her.

"Míriel! I...."

"Finwë! What dost thou here?" Míriel exclaimed in consternation.

Finwë stopped, not sure how to respond. "I... I died," he finally said.

Míriel looked up at the Lord of Mandos, sitting on his throne, his expression impassive, his amaranthine eyes giving nothing away. She turned back to Finwë. "Died? In truth? But how?"

The once king of the Noldor sighed. "I... I think I faced Melkor in battle, but my memory...."

He turned to look at Námo, ignoring the look of shock on Míriel’s face. "I faced Melkor, but there was another with him... something... dark... something...." He gave a shudder, wrapping his arms around him and Míriel came to him and held him in her embrace.

"It is well, my husband who was," she whispered. "No harm can come to thee now, beloved."

"Míriel is correct," Námo spoke, his deep voice tinged with compassion. "No harm can ever come to you, Finwë."

"Tell me, my love, what hath occurred among our people since I left thee," Míriel said, still holding him in her arms. "I confess that I have given no heed to what may have befallen thee and our son, nor did I ever seek for tidings, but now, something within me yearneth to know. So, tell me, Finwë, what hath happened."

Finwë glanced at Námo as if seeking permission to speak, and the Lord of Mandos gave an almost imperceptible nod. "I can only tell thee of what I know, beloved," he said. "I have no knowledge of what hath occurred since I came here." He paused, looking suddenly puzzled. "How long have I been here?"

Námo almost smiled, though neither Elf noticed. "You died nearly three weeks ago, Finwë." The ellon gave him a look of disbelief and Námo smiled. "I let you... sleep for a time, to give your fëa rest. You suffered a grave shock, child, and you were rather distraught when you came to me."

"I... I do not remember," Finwë admitted, frowning.

"And there is no reason why you should," Námo said gently. "Even as we speak, your son is claiming the kingship of the Noldor. He is being crowned this very day."

"Then all is well with our people," Míriel said with a smile, giving Finwë a warm hug. "I am sure thou didst raise our son well, Finwë."

Finwë felt himself blushing, though he was sure, being dead, that he could not truly do so, and he remained silent, not sure how to respond to Míriel’s words. The silence became acute enough that Míriel glanced suspiciously at Námo. "Is it not well that Fëanáro taketh up his atar’s crown?"

"As for that Therindë," Námo replied, addressing her with the name by which she had been known in Life, "it is too early to tell." He had used the ancient pronunciation of her name, for she was unaware of the linguistic changes that had occurred during her time in Mandos. Even Finwë had unconsciously reverted to an older style of speech to accommodate her, though she knew it not.

"Tell me," she demanded of them both. "Tell me everything."

Finwë moved out of her embrace to face her, placing his hands on either side of her head, gazing deep into her eyes. "I want thee to know that I never stopped loving thee. What I did, I did for the sake of our people."

Míriel nodded, though she was not sure what he was talking about. Finwë took a deep (and absolutely unnecessary) breath and began. "When thou didst make it clear that thou had no intention of returning to Life, I grieved, not only for thee, but for our son. Yet, if I were to be honest, I grieved even more that I had no other children and I envied Ingwë and Olwë their good fortune in having many children. Yet, what could I do? So, I lavished all my love on Fëanáro. Then, one day, I chanced to meet Ingwë’s sister, Indis."

"Oh, I remember her," Míriel said, giving her husband a shrewd look. "She was besotted of thee, didst thou not know?"

Finwë gave her a surprised look, but then looked sheepish. "Not at the time," he admitted. "But later...."

It took much time for him to relate all that had happened. Lord Námo remained silent through most of the narrative, speaking only when Míriel required clarification, for Finwë had the habit of glossing over some of the more unpleasant details. At one point as Finwë was speaking, Lady Vairë appeared, though neither Elf seemed to have noticed, their attention fixed on one another. She stood silently beside her husband, though the two of them held their own private conversation.

*He is attempting to put himself in a better light than is warranted,* she bespoke her beloved, her tone one of wry amusement.

Námo smiled inwardly. *The Children are good at self-deception,* he replied. *Finwë is feeling a bit guilty at the moment and so it colors his narrative.*

Vairë nodded. *Míriel, I suspect, sees through his dissembling. She is a shrewd judge of character and she knows her husband well.*

*Indeed,* Námo said in agreement. *Almost as well as you know me,* he added slyly and she laughed, though neither Elf heard her.

Finwë was just coming to the part of the tale where Fëanáro was brought before the Valar when Míriel stepped back in dismay. Until then, she had remained silent, listening attentively, but now her expression was troubled. "I see that I erred in leaving thee and our son," she said sadly, "or at the least in not soon returning after brief repose; for had I done so he might have grown wiser."

"Or I might have," Finwë acknowledged softly.

Míriel’s eyebrows rose at that admission. "I deem that the children of Indis shall redress his errors and therefore I am glad that they should have being, and Indis hath my love," she said. "How should I bear grudge against one who received what I rejected and cherished what I abandoned?"

"I am glad, meldanya," Finwë said. "I feared... but no, what is done is done and naught can I do to undo it, nor do I know if I ever could even if I wished to."

"You cannot," Námo said solemnly and both Elves started at his voice, for they had forgotten that they were not alone. "What is past is past, and whatever mistakes of judgment you made, Finwë, your children, all your children, and the Noldor themselves must deal with the consequences. Such is the way of things."

"What didst thou do to my... our son, my lord?" Míriel asked respectfully.

"He was sent away into exile, Míriel, to think over his actions and to remember who and what he is," Námo replied. "The sentence was for twelve years. It hath been only five." He gave both Elves a stern look and they quailed at his expression. "Your son defieth us, coming to Tirion without our leave. Noldóran he may be, but he is still subject to our decree. Ingwë hath attempted to persuade him to return to Formenos, but he refuseth. It remaineth to be seen what he doeth next."

"You will not... chastise him?" Finwë asked.

Námo shook his head. "Not at this time. We have other concerns and Fëanáro is, quite frankly, the least of them. We will let him go his way for now. Mayhap with the responsibility of kingship, he will become a bit less... um... excitable."

"You mean, arrogant and stubborn," Finwë retorted, though there was a quirk of a smile on his lips.

"That too," Námo admitted with a nod.

"You have not told me all, husband," Míriel demanded. "What happened after that?"

Finwë told her as much as he knew, though he refused to speak of his encounter with Melkor. Námo picked up the narrative then, explaining how Melkor had destroyed the Trees and the aftermath. Both Elves were weeping, holding each other for comfort, as Námo told them of Fëanáro’s decision to withhold the Silmarils from the Valar.

"What now, lord?" Finwë asked despairingly when Námo finished speaking. "What becomes of me, of Míriel?"

"Would that I might set all the Tale of our people and of thee and thy children in a tapestry of many colors, as a memorial brighter than memory!" Míriel said with a smile. "For though I am cut off now from the world, and I accept that Doom as just, I would still watch and record all that befalls those dear to me, and their offspring also. I feel again the call of my hröa and its skills."

"Thy hröa lies inviolate in Lórien still," Finwë said. "Thou couldst return to it if thou didst desire it. I, on the other hand, have no hröa to return to."

"It matters not," Vairë said. "Míriel made her decision and the Doom cannot be put aside as if it were naught. That time is past."

"Dost thou not hear the prayer and desire of Miriel, my lady?" Finwë demanded. "Why will the Lord of Mandos refuse this redress of her griefs that her being may not be void and without avail? Behold! I instead will abide within Mandos forever, and so make amends. For surely, if I remain unhoused, and forgo life in Arda, then this Doom will be inviolate."

"So thou may deem," answered Vairë; "yet my lord is stern, and he will not readily permit a vow to be revoked. Also he will consider not only Míriel and thee, but Indis and thy children, whom thou seemest to forget, pitying now Míriel only."

Finwë scowled at her. "Thou art unjust to me in thy thought," he said in protest. "It is unlawful to have two wives, but one may love two women, each differently, and without diminishing one love by another. Love of Indis did not drive out love of Míriel; so now pity for Míriel doth not lessen my heart’s care for Indis. But Indis and I parted one from another without death. When the Marrer smote me I was alone. She hath dear children to comfort her, and her love, I deem, is now most for Ñolofinwë and Arafinwë and their children. Little comfort should I bring her, if I returned; and the lordship of the Noldor hath passed to my sons."

Then Námo spoke. "It is well that thou desirest not to return, Finwë, for this I should have forbidden, until the present griefs are long passed. But it is better still that thou hast made this offer, to deprive thyself, of thy free will, and out of pity for another. This is a counsel of healing, out of which good may grow."

Before anyone else could speak, there was a flash of multi-colored lights and Lady Nienna stood there. She looked directly at her brother. "Once I came to you, asking that Míriel be allowed to return to her hröa and you refused my prayer. Now, I ask you again, brother: Why should the hröa of Míriel lie idle and untenanted, when doubtless it would not now afflict the fëa with weariness, but rejoice it with hope of doing? Let Míriel have the joy of her hröa and of the use of its skills in which she delighted, and dwell not forever remembering only her brief life before, and its ending in weariness! Can she not be removed from these Halls of Waiting, and taken into the service of Vairë? If she cometh never thence, nor seeketh to walk among the Living, why should you hold the Doom set at naught, or fear for griefs that might arise? Pity must have a part in Justice and Finwë is willing to take her place here in Mandos. What now the harm?"

"None," Námo replied. He paused and stared intently at the two who were at the very heart of this conundrum. He remembered the arguments he had put forth for allowing the union of Finwë with Indis, the moment of prescience which had taken him as he foretold that the children of Indis would also be great and the Tale of Arda more glorious because of their coming. Yet, in spite of that, he still wished that these two Children had kept steadfast in hope. He sighed inwardly. It mattered little now. As Finwë pointed out, what was done was done and not even the Valar could undo it, or the Trees would be blooming even now.

"Very well," he intoned. "This then is my Doom: Míriel Therindë will return to her hröa which even now begins to decay, for with the demise of the Trees, Death hath truly entered Aman." He raised a hand to still the questions that were beginning to form on the lips of the two Children. "Fear not! Thy hröa is safe, yet time grows short. Art thou determined to take up Life again, my daughter?"

"Yea, lord, I am," Míriel answered.

"Then, thou shalt return unto thy hröa and when thou hast recovered the use and memory of thy physical form, thou shalt go and dwell in the House of Lady Vairë, never to leave it until the Renewing."

Míriel gave him a profound curtsey. "I thank thee, my lord, both for the care which thou didst give me as I sojourned here, and also for thy compassion and mercy towards me and my beloved." She then turned to Finwë and the two of them gazed into one another’s eyes. "Farewell, my husband who was," she finally said. "Know that I never stopped loving thee and I look forward to the day when we may be reunited."

Finwë took her into his embrace and kissed her. "Tye-melin," he whispered. He released her but before either could say another word, there was another flash of light and then they were making their obeisance before the Elder King himself. He looked benignly upon them both.

"Rise, my children," he said and when they did, he gestured for Míriel to approach, placing his hand on her brow in benediction. "Thou hast my blessing, child, and my love. Go thou and embrace Life once again and may thou find joy in the doing."

Then Vairë came to stand next to Míriel, her expression deeply compassionate. "Time to go, child," she said quietly and when Míriel nodded she took the elleth by the elbow and they were simply not there.

Finwë sighed. "I hope she finds some measure of happiness, though she dwells not among our people," he said.

"She will," Manwë assured him with a smile. "She will find happiness in her work, weaving the Tale of your people as you gave it to her. Vairë and her handmaids will look after her, never fear. And now, what are we to do with you, Finwë of the Noldor?"

Námo raised an eyebrow at what he knew was not a rhetorical question, though he suspected Finwë saw it that way. *What are you saying, Brother?* he asked silently. *Unlike Míriel, who I admit was a special case, Finwë died in truth and you know what that means.*

*Yes, I do,* Manwë answered, *but like Míriel, Finwë is also a special case, or so Atar has told me.*

*Told you, but not me,* Námo shot back with some asperity and when Manwë raised an eyebrow at him, he had the grace to blush. *Forgive me. That was uncalled for.*

*Yes,* Manwë said without rancor, *but understandable. I do not know what to tell you, Námo, except that for reasons of his own, Atar does not want Finwë to experience the sleep of forgetfulness... at least not yet.*

*Very well,* Námo said. *I suppose he can have Míriel’s chamber. She will not need it and it opens out onto one of the gardens.*

The entire silent conversation had taken the time for Finwë, were he alive, to blink twice. Námo cast his gaze at the ellon waiting somewhat nervously to hear his Doom, his expression anxious. "I will have Maranwë escort you to your chamber, Finwë. For now, and until I say otherwise, if you wish to wander my halls, you need only call out and one of my people will escort you. Later, perhaps, I will grant you free reign to wander as you will. Yet, if at any time you wish to see me, only say the word and I shall come."

Finwë bowed. "Thank you, lord."

"Well, that’s settled," Nienna said with a satisfied smile.

"Yes," Manwë said, "and since you have everything well in hand, Námo, we will...."

But whatever Manwë meant to say went unsaid as something dark and dreadful fell upon them. Finwë was not sure but it felt almost as if a terrible windstorm swept through the chamber and the flames of the candles flickered and dimmed though they did not go completely out.

"Wh-what is happening?" he cried and he quailed at the expressions on the faces of the three Valar, for they were dark and foreboding, Lord Námo’s most of all. At first, he did not think any of them would answer him but then Manwë spoke, his voice filled with pain and sorrow and, yes, anger, and that frightened Finwë more than anything.

"Your son and your grandsons have just done something very foolish... and dangerous."

"Wha—?"

But in an instant there was a flash of incandescent light and then all three Valar were gone. Finwë stood there in shock and started when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up to see the Maia who had brought Míriel to him standing there. "Come, Finwë," Maranwë said gently. "I will show you your chamber."

"B...but what has happened?" Finwë cried out but Maranwë only shook his head.

"Come, child," was all he said and Finwë allowed himself to be led away, his heart filled with foreboding and he wept, though he did not know why.

"O Fëanáro, my son, what hast thou done?" he whispered, but, of course, there was no answer.

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Tye-melin: ‘I love thee’.

Note: This scene is derived in part from Morgoth’s Ring, ‘Laws and Customs of the Eldar’, under the section entitled ‘Of the Severance of Marriage’.