In Darkness Bound by Fiondil

---

Chapter 68: The Faring Forth

---

68: The Faring Forth

The Vanyar remained in Tirion instead of returning to Vanyamar and watched in growing dismay and despair as the preparations for departure went forth. Ingwion spent the time sitting in his suite staring at nothing, playing the aborted dinner over and over again, wondering what he could have done or said that would have changed the outcome, wondering if the outcome could have been changed at all. He felt his fëa withering at the realization that he was going to lose the only person besides his twin who truly mattered to him and that surprised him.

When did Findaráto begin to matter to him so much? He had known the ellon since he’d been born, had helped watch over him as an elfling when his parents came for a visit, playing silly games and tucking him into bed, cleaning the occasional scraped knee and teaching him his tengwar. He had done the same with Findaráto’s younger siblings, indeed with Ñolofinwë’s children as well. So why had he found himself thinking of this particular cousin as his órë-háno, his heart-brother, who was almost as close to him as was his own twin? When did that happen?

He thought back over the last few years and it slowly dawned on him that he had begun to think of Findaráto as his otorno the day of the betrothal dinner, the day Findaráto had stood up to Ingoldo, something that even he, as old as he was, had not found the courage to do. He realized that at that moment he had seen, not Finda standing there facing down Ingoldo, but Findaráto. And it was such a subtle thing, too, yet now he saw that his whole universe had shifted at that moment without him even realizing it.

Now he was in danger of losing Findaráto forever and the thought drove him deeper into despair.

"Oh Valar!" he whispered. "How will I bear this?" But there was no answer and he started weeping in the dark.

****

Amarië had not stopped weeping since that fateful dinner and neither Lirulin nor Intarion could comfort her.

"I’ve lost him," she kept wailing. "I’ve lost him. Oh, Ammë will be so furious."

If the situation had not been so dire, Lirulin would have laughed. Intarion was no help as he stood there ranting and raving about the intransigence of the Noldor in general and Findaráto in particular.

"I thought I knew him!" he kept saying, "But obviously I didn’t. I’m sorry I ever brought you here, Amarië." The elleth merely wept all the harder.

"What are we going to do?" Lirulin asked her husband after she had seen Amarië to her room to cry herself to sleep. "I fear there is nothing we can do to convince Findaráto not to go."

"I know," Intarion replied with a sigh as he sat heavily in a chair, running his hands through his hair. He sat there, thinking furiously, wondering what else he could do, or even if there was anything he could do.

Lirulin remained silent, watching her husband, thinking about the poor elleth in the other room weeping away and becoming angrier by the minute at Findaráto for his blind stupidity. So like an ellon! she thought to herself. Then she noticed something in Intarion’s eyes. "What? What are you thinking, beloved?"

Intarion did not answer immediately and Lirulin had to still herself to patience when all she wanted to do was to shake the ellon and demand that he speak. As if he had heard her thoughts, Intarion gave her a sardonic grin and gestured for her to come into his embrace. She gladly did so.

"I am thinking of going with them," he said quietly.

"What!?" Lirulin exclaimed loudly and Intarion shushed her.

"Quietly, love," he said softly. "I do not mean all the way. I have no desire to leave Aman or you, but perhaps if I can get Findaráto alone...."

"Alone? He’s going to be in the midst of a... a host. How can you possibly get him alone?"

"I meant, away from Ingwion and Amarië," Intarion answered with a huff of annoyance. "They are the two most important people to him, I can see that, but emotions are running high and Amarië’s hysteria is not helping matters. Perhaps, once they set out, I’ll be able to talk some sense into him, show him the folly of what he is doing."

"Yet, if he is leading his household, how would it look to him and others if he turns back?" Lirulin asked. "It will be seen as cowardice and Findaráto is anything but a coward."

"I know," Intarion said with a sigh. "It’s not a perfect solution, I don’t think anything can be, but it’s the best I can come up with. We have to do something, if only for Amarië’s sake."

They were silent for a moment and then Lirulin made a decision. "If you go, I will go with you. No, love," she continued when Intarion started to protest. "Your idea has some merit, but I think you need an elleth’s voice in this. I can appeal to Findaráto in ways you cannot, but perhaps together we can convince him to turn back. Yet, how do we join him? What real excuse will we give, for I think he will wonder that we who are Vanyar would want to leave Aman."

"He need not know at first that we are there," Intarion said. "We can hide ourselves in the crowd and then once we are away we can find him. Perhaps seeing us, thinking we have thrown away our lives for his sake, will shock him into some sense."

"Hmmm.... that might work," Lirulin averred. "But what of Amarië? I do not wish to leave her alone."

"I’ll speak to Ingwion, tell him our plans and have him watch over Amarië."

"And what if we cannot convince Findaráto to turn back? How long do we continue with him until we give up and return to Aman?"

"I do not know," Intarion admitted. "We’ll just have to wait and see what happens."

Lirulin nodded, snuggling further into Intarion’s embrace. "Have I told you lately how much I love you?" she asked coyly.

Intarion smiled. "Well now that you mention it...." but he got no further as she captured his mouth and began kissing him with a fervency that took him by surprise. He wrapped his arms around her more tightly and then all thoughts of Findaráto and the Noldor fled as passion for his beloved took over.

****

Days and weeks went by. Intarion spoke with Ingwion of his plan of which the ellon reluctantly approved though he had no hope for its success. Eärwen took Amarië under her wing, freeing Lirulin to plan for her and Intarion’s departure. Ostensibly, she pretended that she was merely arranging for their return to the Southern Fiefdoms where she and Intarion now made their home, saying that they intended to take Amarië with them so she might grieve in private for a time. Findaráto, when he heard of this, appeared relieved and thanked her for her solicitude. Lirulin gave him a cold look.

"I am not doing this for you, Findaráto," she said. "You desert Amarië. Obviously your love for her was a sham and meaningless. Perhaps it is better this way. I dread to think how it might have been for her had you married in truth and then discovered that you did not truly love her."

Findaráto had no answer to this and walked away, tight-lipped with suppressed fury, but whether at Lirulin for her harsh words or at himself for knowing them to be true, he could not have said. Intarion, when he learned of this, shook his head but made no comment.

And then the day arrived, the day that all had anticipated and dreaded at the same time. The day the Noldor, or at least the vast majority of them, would desert their homes and set forth into an unknown future that was darker than any could then imagine and who could say if, had they known for sure where this would lead them, that even then they would have hesitated and refused the journey? But they did not and so trumpets rang and banners flew and those who were going began gathering together, ready to fare forth....

****

Findaráto took one last look about his rooms and sighed. He knew in his heart he would never see them again. Someone came by the half-opened door and peeked in.

"Are you ready, brother?" Aicanáro asked. "It’s time to leave."

Findaráto smiled wanly. "In a minute. I’ll be right there."

Aicanáro nodded and went on his way. Findaráto swept his gaze once more around the sitting room, as if trying to memorize every detail. There were his precious books, the ones he was not able to take with him, and there was the miniature statue, only a foot high, depicting the Elentári with her arms raised above her gracing the sideboard. A small yet perfect diamond floated between her hands. It was a copy of the statue of Varda that graced the front courtyard of Ilmarin and had been a gift from the Queen of Stars herself, given to him as a betrothal present. He recalled Amarië receiving a similar gift and sighed, kneeling to double-check his bags, making sure that the cache of jewels he had decided to bring instead of his books were safely packed. He wondered why he was bothering with them. It was not as if he would have time to continue his studies in crystallography, but something compelled him to bring them. He rose and slung the heavy packs over his shoulders, only then noticing his hunting bow in the corner. He hesitated for a second and then shook his head. No. He was already overburdened as it was and he preferred to carry the harp Lord Manwë had given him instead.

With another sigh he finished gathering his things and stepped out into the corridor, quietly closing the door behind him before setting off....

****

Laurefindil stared in dismay at the sight of his ammë hoisting a haversack over her shoulders. "Ammë, where are you going?"

She looked at him with grave eyes. "With you of course. Your atar has already gone ahead so he does not know I mean to join you."

"But...."

"Come, Laurefindil," she told him, gesturing towards the other haversack. "We’re late and there is no time for breakfast. We’ll have to eat along the way."

Laurefindil stared at his amillë, seeing the resolution in her eyes, and numbly did as he was told, wondering what his atar would say when he found out....

****

Hallatiro Pelendurion slammed the door behind him, refusing to acknowledge his emmë’s pleas or his atar’s curses. He was going and that was all there was to it. He was no elfling needing anyone’s permission. Lord Turucáno held his allegiance and he was not going to be left behind. What was there for him in Aman anyway? He did not believe in the new Noldóran’s plans for retrieving the Silmarils, jewels he himself had never seen, but the idea of seeing the wide world.... Yes. That was worth the risk. If darkness was all there was, why should he remain in Aman? He glanced about him as the crowds of people jostled him, looking for the banner that was Turucáno’s, wondering if he would see any of his friends along the way....

****

Amandil, apprentice jewel-smith to Master Martandur, hesitated on the front steps of the hostel where he had been staying. He should be returning to Vanyamar, to his master. The errand which had sent him to Tirion was finished. He had the gems that his master needed to complete the torque for Lady Lindórië. They lay nestled in a special pouch sewn to the inside of his haversack. Yes, he did need to get back home. And yet...

He had been here when King Fëanáro had been crowned and given such a rousing speech. He’d been so enthralled by the visions the Noldo’s words had created. A burning desire rose within him, one that he could not deny and instead of leaving for Vanyamar as he had planned once the coronation was over, he had lingered, watching the activity all around him, asking questions and secretly wishing he could go. When wish became resolution he was never afterwards sure. He only knew that he awoke one day knowing he could not return to his former life. He grieved momentarily for his family and his master, but the excitement of what he planned overwhelmed him and now... Yes! Now was the time. He had written letters to his parents and to Master Martandur, explaining what he was doing, hoping that in time they would forgive him. The hosteler, who had no plans to leave Tirion had promised him that he would see the letters delivered, shaking his head at the foolishness of the youngster. Amandil shook himself and hoisted his pack into a more comfortable position before heading for the main plaza, idly wondering whose banner he should follow....

****

Laurendil Rialcarion stared at the outside of his home one last time, the harsh words that had passed between him and his atar still haunting him, but he would not take them back. No. He would not go back. He sighed, picked up his small bundle of provisions, felt the sword hanging at his side, a heavy and unaccustomed weight, and headed for the main square in front of the palace where they were to gather. He was only a few streets away when he came upon his friend, Calamandil, who had been waiting for him. They warmly embraced one another.

"I didn’t think you would come," the ellon said to him softly.

Laurendil shook his head and gave him a small smile. "I promised you I would be here, otorno. I always keep my promises."

Calamandil smiled. "Come, let us see if we can find some of our other friends in all this."

Laurendil nodded and allowed Calamandil to lead the way. Under the silent regard of the ever shining stars they looked for Prince Findaráto’s banner and joined those already there....

****

Netilmírë, Master of the Potter’s Guild, threw her hands up in dismay as her daughter glared at her.

"I’m not joining the rebellion, Ammë," Ezelmiril insisted. "I’m simply going to Alqualondë to find Atto."

"Why your atar had to leave now to visit his friend is beyond me," Netilmírë exclaimed, "but he will be returning soon. There is no need for you to go."

"But I want to go," Ezelmiril said. "I’ve never been to Alqualondë and this is as good a time as any. I’ll have plenty of people around along the way and Atto will be so surprised when he sees me. I promise, I’ll bring him back as soon as I may."

"You’ve always been a stubborn child," Netilmírë said, sighing. Her daughter smiled, knowing that she had won the argument.

"I will be home soon," she promised, giving her amillë a kiss, "and I’ll bring Atto home with me."

Netilmírë nodded, gave her daughter a fierce hug and let her go. A frisson of fear swept through her as she watched Ezelmiril saunter off and she could not help wondering if she would ever see her again.

"Damn you, Voronwë!" she hissed to herself. "Why did you have to go to Alqualondë now of all times?" There was no answer to her question and when her daughter disappeared around the corner of the street, giving her a final wave, she sighed and went back inside, hoping that spending some time in her studio would help ease the cold lump sitting in the pit of her stomach....

****

Intarion and Lirulin stood in a private courtyard with Ingwion and Amarië. Ingwion hugged them both. "You’re sure you want to do this?" he asked them.

Intarion nodded. "We’re sure. If we can convince him to return...."

"And if you cannot, then I have your solemn oath that you yourselves will return," Ingwion insisted gravely.

"You have our word, Cousin," Intarion replied. "My oath on it, but I cannot promise that we will return anytime soon. It may take us awhile."

"I know, but I will look for you in Vanyamar."

"You will see that our horses reach our estate safely?" Lirulin asked, speaking of their wedding gifts from Lord Oromë. It had been decided that taking them on the journey would be too risky, and besides, most of the Noldor were walking anyway, and Intarion preferred to remain incognito. The horses were too recognizable.

"Of course," Ingwion assured her. "I will make the arrangements as soon as the city settles down and I can find someone trustworthy who is going to the Southern Fiefdoms. If necessary, I’ll take them myself. Now you’d better get going," he said. "The Valar be with you."

Intarion and Lirulin gave Amarië hugs before shouldering their packs and walking away, passing through an arch onto the street and turning left to head towards where all were gathering. Ingwion took Amarië by the arm. "Let’s go," he told her. "We need to be at the front portico for this."

Amarië nodded mutely and allowed him to lead her away....

****

The front portico of the palace and the square that opened up from it were crowded with people and horses. The banners of the king and his sons, as well as those of the other princes of the House of Finwë, fluttered in the light breeze. All watched as Fëanáro handed over his authority to Anairë and Eärwen in a brief ceremony devoid of any pomp. The two had declared that they would rule together and the manner in which authority was invested in them was based on Ingwion’s description of how Ingwë had divided the regency between his sons. He had told Findaráto about it once and Findaráto in turned spoke of it to Fëanáro. The king listened to his nephew’s suggestion and nodded. "Thank you," he said, "I think that will work here as well."

And so Fëanáro handed Eärwen a sword, one that he himself had crafted. "With this sword, guard those who look to thee for protection," he said to her and then turned to Anairë and handed her the rod of office, or actually a fair copy of it, for the original would go with him. "With this sceptre, rule wisely and well for the benefit of all." The two ellith bowed to him and then Fëanáro turned to face the crowd. "Unto Lady Anairë and Lady Eärwen have I given over authority to rule those of our people who have chosen to remain in Tirion. They are both capable of leading you and I have every confidence that you will honor them and give them your trust. And now, let us away."

With that, he nodded to his sons and strode away to where their banners were at the head of the cavalcade. Ñolofinwë and Arafinwë allowed their children to make their final farewells to their amilli and then it was their turn. It was sometime before either released his wife and then without another word they walked away, calling for their banners. Already, those following the banners of Fëanáro and his sons had left, the people wending their way down the main avenue to the eastern gate while those who would not leave lined the streets and silently watched them depart. Amarië and Ingwion stood beside Eärwen and watched the slow procession of people moving away. Amarië just caught a glimpse of Findaráto’s banner as it disappeared into the darkness and remembered her vision. She burst into tears and Eärwen gathered her into her arms, handing the sword to Ingwion, who held it with distaste.

Only when the last banner disappeared from their sight, though there were still people making their way from the square or simply milling around quietly conversing with one another, did Anairë speak. "Well, they’re gone," she said in a dead, cold voice. She turned to Eärwen still attempting to comfort Amarië. "Let’s go find some tea," she added and turned away to enter the palace.

Ingwion stared after her in disbelief. Then he glanced at Eärwen who gave him a grim smile. He snorted. "I think I want something stronger than tea after this," he muttered and when Eärwen began ushering a still weeping Amarië into the palace, he followed, dragging the sword behind him, not caring if he was marring the marble floors or dulling the sword’s point....

****

The eastern gate was wide open. Before them lay Finwë Park and beyond that was the Calacirya. Fëanáro reached the outer wall of the park and stepped out onto the plain that opened up into the Calacirya, ordering the trumpets to sound once again to mark the official departure of the king from his city. The trumpeters had blown only a few notes when Fëanáro detected the almost overwhelming scent of lavender mixed with lovage and then he was facing Eönwë, Herald of the Elder King. The sound of the trumpets died almost instantly as everyone took in the sight of the Maia standing there, taller than any Elf, dressed in a silver-washed mithril coat of chainmail, a white cloak trailing behind him and a sword strapped to his belt that for all its plainness shone with deadly beauty. Those looking upon that weapon had the uncomfortable sense that they were seeing not just any sword but the Sword from which all others were but pale copies.

The Maia gave them a cool stare. "I am Eönwë, Herald of Manwë, and I bid you halt to hear the words of the Elder King," he announced.

"It took them long enough to respond," Nelyafinwë muttered darkly to his atar.

Fëanáro gave him an amused look, then turned his attention to the Maia. "Speak then, Herald of Manwë, though I cannot promise any will listen."

If Eönwë was upset by Fëanáro’s insolence, he gave no sign. Instead, he gave them a searching look and raised his voice though it was doubtful that those still in the city could hear him or even knew he was there. "Thus says Manwë, Elder King of Arda: Against the folly of Fëanáro shall be set my counsel only. Go not forth! For the hour is evil, and your road leads to sorrow that ye do not foresee. No aid will the Valar lend you in this quest; but neither will they hinder you; for this ye shall know: as ye came hither freely, freely shall ye depart. But thou Fëanáro Finwion, by thine oath art exiled. The lies of Melkor thou shalt unlearn in bitterness. Vala he is, thou saist. Then thou hast sworn in vain, for none of the Valar canst thou overcome now or ever within the halls of Eä, not though Eru whom thou namest had made thee thrice greater than thou art."

For a long moment there was no sound, even the breeze had died while Eönwë had spoken so that the banners all hung limp in the dark. Then Fëanáro laughed and it was as if cold water had been thrown on them all, breaking the spell of the Maia’s words and many blinked even as Fëanáro turned his back on the Herald and addressed the Noldor.

"So! Then will this valiant people send forth the heir of their King alone into banishment with his sons only and return to their bondage? But if any will come with me, I say to them: Is sorrow foreboded to you? But in Aman we have seen it. In Aman we have come through bliss to woe. The other now we will try: through sorrow to find joy; or freedom at the least."

Then, he turned back to Eönwë, his expression haughty and his face suffused with anger. The Maia’s own face was innocent of any emotion, but his eyes shone in the dark like twin silver-grey orbs and many there found it difficult to look at them directly, for their light spoke of ages unspeakably ancient and unknowable to the Children and some felt incredibly young for all that they had seen many yéni and remembered waking by the waters of Cuiviénen.

"Say this to Manwë Súlimo, High King of Arda," Fëanáro cried, "if Fëanáro cannot overthrow Moringotto, at least he delays not to assail him and sits not idle in grief. And it may be that Eru has set in me a fire greater than thou knowest. Such hurt at the least I will do to the Foe of the Valar that even the mighty in the Rithil-Anamo shall wonder to hear of it. Yea, in the end they shall follow me. Namárië!"

So effective and puissant was Fëanáro’s voice that none who heard it was unmoved and those who might have had second or even third thoughts of the dark road before them stiffened their resolve to continue. For a moment no one moved and then to the astonishment of them all, Eönwë, Herald of the Elder King, bowed low before Fëanáro as one full answered and then he simply wasn’t there, leaving behind the faint scent of lavender and lovage.

"Come," Fëanáro said calmly after a moment. "Let us continue on our way."

****

"The line seems to have stopped," Findaráto said to Arafinwë as they found themselves halting in a small square halfway down the hill of Túna.

"There are many who must pass through the gates," Arafinwë said equably, "and only so many can pass through at a time. Once we are all clear of the city the going should be faster."

Findaráto nodded as he glanced up at his banner which was being carried by one of his retainers and sighed. "I just want to get out of here," he said quietly, more to himself than to anyone else.

Arafinwë wrapped an arm around his first-born’s shoulders and gave him a hug. "So do I," he said just as quietly. "Ah... look, they’re moving again," he added as those before him inched their way forward.

****

"When will we be able to reach him?" Lirulin asked Intarion where they stood amidst those who were following the banners of Prince Arafinwë and his sons, waiting for those in the front to move.

"I don’t know," Intarion answered. "I suspect we’ll have to wait until we’re clear of the city. Perhaps when we stop for a rest and something to eat."

"I hope he listens to us," she said with a frown. "How far do you mean for us to go before we turn back?"

Intarion sighed. "As far as we need to," he answered.

"Even to the shores of Endórë?" she demanded.

"If necessary," he replied and there was something in his voice that made her shiver.

"Are we doing the right thing?" she asked suddenly. "If not even Ingwion or Amarië could convince Findaráto to remain behind, do you seriously believe we can convince him?"

"I have to try," Intarion said, giving her a shrug. "I could not live with myself if I didn’t at least try." Then he looked up. "Ah... It looks as if we are moving again." He took Lirulin’s hand in his and squeezed it. "Shall we?"

She gave him a nod and together they joined the others as they continued moving forward out of the city of the Noldor and towards an unknown destiny.

****

Ingwion stood on a balcony overlooking the main plaza before the palace. It was empty now, not even guards were there, for what was left to guard? He shook his head. He did not think Intarion and Lirulin would succeed where he had failed. Findaráto, all of them, were lost to him. They might as well be dead in truth for he knew in his heart he would never see them again. All the rage and sorrow and grief and fear that he had bottled up inside him all these weeks suddenly came to the fore as that thought struck him.

"Damn you, Melkor!!" he screamed into the dark as he pounded the balcony rail with his fists, ignoring the pain. His voice echoed eerily across the plaza, slowly dying away. He wanted to weep, but he ruthlessly pushed that desire away. There was too much he needed to do. It was time to return to Vanyamar. Even as he turned away to go back inside he bleakly wondered what his atar was going to say when he learned of the flight of the Noldor and that those who remained behind were being ruled by two ellith, one of whom was not even a Noldo.

****

Rithil-Anamo: Ring of Doom, the Quenya translation of the foreign word Máhanaxar that was adopted and adapted from Valarin.

Notes:

1. Eönwë’s speech and Fëanáro’s answer (with some adaptations) are taken directly from the Silmarillion, Chapter 9, ‘Of the Flight of the Noldor’.

2. Laurendil’s friend, Calamandil, will become Thandir (see Elladan and Elrohir’s Not So Excellent Adventure, Stirrings of Shadow and in my Tapestry series, ‘MARCHES: Crossing the Ice’ for more about Thandir); Hallatiro will become Haldir, one of Glorfindel’s captains who dies during the flight from Gondolin; and Ezelmiril will become Calemmíriel, Sador’s grandmother. Martandur’s apprentice, Amandil, is mentioned in Elf, Interrupted: Book One, chapter 100.