The Advancement of Learning by Cloaked Eagle

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Chapter 3: Memories of the King

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Chapter Three: Memories of the King

Parmiel sat in the library, staring out of the large West Window at the sunset. Far away, over the Westernmost Sea, Arien was bringing Anar down for the night, and covering the land of Valinor in the golden light of Laurelin. The young Vanya thought it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

This thought set her mind running once more over the history she had learnt from Finrod earlier that day. The whole of the Rebellion had come about due to the death of the Two Trees, from which the lights that were now Anar and Isil, the Sun and the Moon, had come. She had never before given them much thought – they were dead thousands of years before her birth, and not really relevant to every day life anymore – but now she was filled with an overwhelming sense of loss, the sense that in coming into the world after the Age of the Trees, she had missed out on her birthright.

"So there you are," said Finrod behind her, startling her from her thoughts. "When I saw you weren't at your desk, I thought you'd gotten bored and left."

"I was watching the sunset," said Parmiel by way of explanation, and then silently cursed herself for stating something so blindingly obvious. But Finrod merely smiled and stepped up beside her.

"It seemed to be taking a great deal of thought," he commented, looking down at her quizzically. She smiled involuntarily.

"No, I was just wondering... Lord Finrod, what were they like? The Trees, I mean."

Finrod blinked, and looked down at her in surprise. "My word, you do know how to ask a difficult question, don't you? No, don't apologise," he added, almost before the thought had entered her head. "I haven't thought about them in a long time, so it should be nice to do so again." The Noldo sat down on the floor, and closed his eyes. Parmiel waited eagerly for him to speak, to show her through his words the beauty she had been denied.

However, she was to be disappointed. After a few seconds, he opened his eyes and shook his head. "I'm sorry, Parmiel, but there is no way I can put it into words. The Trees were... the Trees. They were indescribable."

Parmiel's shoulders slumped, and she stared unseeing at the darkening sky outside. Finrod, however, was not finished. "There is one who could show them to you, you know."

"There is?" exclaimed the Vanya in wonder. "I beg you, tell me who!"

Finrod shrugged. "She who made them, of course. Yavanna."

Parmiel stared at him in shock. "No! I couldn't!"

He blinked. "Why not? She isn't all that different from you or I, you know. She just has a few more powers, and one of those is the ability to pass on a memory to one of us."

Parmiel shook her head. "But, but she's a Valië. I couldn't make that sort of request of her."

Finrod frowned. "Hang on, you live on Taniquetil. Aren't the Valar as familiar to you as, well, your parents?"

She blushed, and looked at the floor. "I've, uh, never actually met one."

Finrod stared. "You... haven't? But I thought you were a Vanya."

"I am. It's just... I'm scared of them."

"Oh. I see." He nodded. "I knew a few Sindar who were like that when they got rehoused here, they were terrified, even though they'd met Námo and Nienna, if not always Vairë, in the Halls. I never did understand that..."

Parmiel looked up at him. "Is Nienna really as nice as they say? Because all of the others seem to have so much power, it's overwhelming."

Finrod smiled slightly. "It is, really, isn't it? But yes. Lady Nia is... compassion embodied." At the other's blank look, he sighed. "Okay, Nienna has this quality about her. She makes you want to tell her everything that makes you sad, angry, anything like that. And she, she brings strength to the spirit... and turns sorrow into wisdom... yes," he concluded, looking back at Parmiel, "she's nice. But some of the others are too."

The Vanya looked at him curiously. "You've met all the Valar, haven't you, Lord Finrod?"

"I have that," he replied, and then held up a hand. "You're going to ask me to give you my opinions of them, are you not?" At her embarrassed nod, he smiled warmly. "I would be glad to do so, but not, I'm afraid, today."

Parmiel looked crestfallen, and Finrod frowned. "Parmiel, rest assured that I will tell you. However, this evening I have something else for you. As far as I am aware, there are no images of Nargothrond in the books here in Valmar. Am I correct?"

Parmiel shook her head. "There is one. It is an image of the Fall of Nargothrond, as seen by one who died there. He recorded the image as soon as he was able."

"Ah, well." Finrod looked nonplussed for a moment, and then continued. "You have not, however, seen a picture of my city at its most splendid?"

"No, Lord," she replied, mortified at having contradicted him. Finrod saw her expression, and laughed.

"Parmiel, you need not fear that you will offend me. I have never been angered by being proven wrong, except in a few cases when my error led to tragedy. And let me assure you," he added, watching her face, "this is not one of those times." He paused for a moment, and then said, contemplatively, "If, however, you had seen many pictures of Nargothrond, Amarië would be angry at me when I returned home, and that most certainly would be a tragedy."

"Who is Amarië?" asked Parmiel, surprised that she had never heard the name before. Finrod gave her a startled glance.

"Amarië is my wife, and, seeing as we are both having such trouble sticking to the point, she is the one who painted this." From where he had placed it on sitting down he took a large roll of canvas and unfurled it across the floor, revealing a bewildering array of images. Parmiel shuffled around to give herself a better vantage point.

"These images are all of Nargothrond," said Finrod, "and Amarië started working on them as soon as I told her about you. How she managed to finish them all in one day I can't even begin to imagine, but she did it."

"They're very good," commented Parmiel, peering at one that showed the Great Hall and throne. "She must have a very good memory for details, to be able to draw it so clearly after all these years."

"Oh, no, she was never there," replied Finrod. "She was working mostly from my descriptions."

Parmiel nodded. "I see. I had thought you two were wed before the Sun rose."

Finrod coughed. "We were, as it happens. Amarië… did not accompany me to Middle-earth."

"That's not entirely accurate," said a female voice from behind them. Both elves jumped and turned to see a Vanyarin woman leaning against the shelves. Finrod winced.

"Hello, Amarië, we were just talking about you."

"Yes, I heard," she replied. Then, ignoring Finrod, she looked at Parmiel. "What my dear husband isn't mentioning in his statement that we were married before he left is that he actually ran off at the end of our wedding. So yes, we were married, but it was hardly real."

Finrod winced again, and looked at the floor. "I'm sorry, Amarië…"

Amarië looked at him in surprise. "Oh, I'm not moaning at you, I did all that yeni ago. I'm just telling the young one. Now then," she added, turning to Parmiel, who by now had climbed to her feet, "you're the one who intends to write a book about his-" she nodded in the direction of Finrod "-city?"

"Yes, milady," replied Parmiel, hoping that the Vanya woman would not be offended by her idea. She needn't have worried. Amarië grinned.

"Well, then, I think we shall have to talk. After all, to write about Nargothrond, you need to know all about its ruler…"

As Parmiel and Amarië walked off between the shelves, Finrod groaned and held his head in his hands. "I'm doomed," he said, "utterly doomed. She's going to write a book based on what my wife tells her."

"Well, then," said Galadriel from behind him, "you can join me in being horribly misrepresented."

Finrod looked up. "Thank you, sister," he muttered, "you always did know how to cheer me up."

"You're welcome," she replied, grinning. "Now come on, our brothers want us all to meet up. This is the only time you'll get out of Amarië's sight for a while, so let's go."

"Yes, Galadriel," he said, standing up. As they walked towards the door, he glanced down an aisle and saw Parmiel and Amarië deep in conversation. Shaking his head with a combination of amusement and regret, he followed his sister

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Chapter End Notes

 

Translations of the Quenya again. All of it, because I've lost track of what I already translated:

Arien – The Maia who guides the Sun

Anar – The Sun (Sindarin Anor)

Laurelin – The Golden Tree

Isil – The Moon (Sindarin Ithil)

Valië – Female Vala

Námo – Mandos

And yes, I'm now calling the city Valmar, not Valimar. Both names are used of it, so this is purely a personal choice. Sorry.

Considering the scale this story has reached, I hereby declare it a possible AU, on two grounds. First, any minor inconsistencies with Canon (such as the powers attributed to Yavanna), and second, the whole premise of this story. It's possible that Ingwë, Finarfin and Olwë would have got together sometime after the First Age and declared that the true story of the Rebellion was to be glossed over – even lied about – to prevent hatred of the Noldor, and that is the assumption made here. I don't know, however.

I'm aware, now, that Galadriel fought on the side of the Teleri at Alqualondë. However, as she therefore presumably killed some of the Noldor, I'd think the Noldor themselves wouldn't really like her if they knew.