Swift music like an enchantment by Kimberleighe

swift music like an enchantment

Read swift music like an enchantment

                Under the light of the Mindon, a celebration raged on.  A man lounged alone beside a large round table.  The index finger of one hand traced the rim of his wine glass as he stared at the festive crowd.  Gold ribbons snaked their way through the thick braids pinning his dark brown hair from his face. 

                “Enjoying yourself, Finno?”  An auburn haired man settled in the chair beside him.

                “As always, Russandol.”  Finno wearily lifted his full wine glass.  “I have been up since the last Mingling with Canyaráto.  Apparently, there’s something under his bed, and only I can keep it away.”

Russandol laughed at Finno’s dry tone, drinking from his own wine glass.  He spared Finno a wide grin.

                “I have no sympathy for you, Findekáno.  I have been through that six times now,” he replied.

                “Not all of us are cursed with so many brothers, Russo,” Findekáno sighed.

                “Cursed?  I do take offense to that, Findekáno.”  Another man joined them at the table, taking the seat beside Russandol.

                “As you should, Makalaurë,” Findekáno responded.

He idly played with the end of one braid as the brothers conversed quickly and quietly, no doubt regarding their father.  Fëanáro was notably absent from this gathering.  However, Findekáno had long ago learned to play deaf when his uncle was involved.  When his fingers began fraying the ends of the gold ribbons strung through his braids, Russandol leaned over to swat the braid from Findekáno’s hand.  The son of Nolofinwë scowled at his cousin, grumbling inaudibly.  Makalaurë watched, clearly amused by the entire exchange.

                “Where’s your lady, Makalaurë?”  Russandol returned his attention to his brother.

                “A lady?” Findekáno’s brows arched high on his forehead in surprise.  “Pray tell what lady has drawn you from the arms of—”

Russandol’s well-placed elbow into his cousin’s side caused Findekáno’s next words to be lost in a groan. 

                “I make the effort, Finno, to be seen with ladies,” Makalaurë appeared unperturbed.  “If you continue to attend to only your studies and his…” he motioned to Russandol, “…horses, then anticipate the rumors of some illicit affair between you two.”

                “Those have been circling since the day he became of age,” Russandol replied, taking another drink of his wine.  “Never mind that he is most certainly not my type.  Perhaps if he sprouted breasts and lost an appendage, I might be swayed.”  He grinned at his cousin, reaching over to smooth Findekáno’s hair.  Findekáno laughed softly when Russandol’s knuckles grazed his cheek tenderly.  “Though, I must admit, you are rather pretty.”

“Yes, I know.”  Findekáno vainly swept his thick dark hair over his shoulder to his cousins’ amusement.

                “One day, they will call you Findekáno the Vain,” Makalaurë laughed.

                “He does take longer to fix his hair than even I do.”  Irissë pressed a kiss to her brother’s cheek and squeezed his shoulder with her hand.

She settled in the chair beside him, immediately requesting glasses and wine from a passing attendant.  A silent and steaming Tyelkormo slumped in the chair beside her.  Irissë looked over at him.  Her expression was hidden from Findekáno, but he caught her hand gently cover her cousin’s.  Tyelkormo sighed, but straightened to sit tall in his chair.

                “Which is entirely my right as the eldest,” Findekáno replied breezily.

Russandol’s brows raised and he looked to Tyelkormo.  The fair-haired son of Fëanáro rolled his eyes.

                “I dare you to try, Nelyo.  Even Telvo will revolt against you,” Tyelkormo grumbled. 

Irissë laughed merrily, half-rising to wave over more of their cousins.  They came in waves: Findaráto, Artanáro and Nerwendë; the last four sons of Fëanáro; and finally Findekáno’s brother and friends.

                “We need a larger table,” Laurefindel commented, stopping behind Makalaurë’s chair. 

                “I agree.”  Turukáno offered his seat to his lovely betrothed.  “Though I would put that responsibility upon the largest family among us.”

                “You’re welcome to sit at another table,” Carnistir snorted, clapping Tyelkormo’s shoulder in way of greeting. 

                “And miss your smiling face?  I think not!” Turukáno paired his light sarcasm with a smile.

                “Ah, yes, Moryo, your sweet smile rivals the brilliance of Nerwendë’s hair.”  Findaráto joined in

Nerwendë’s scoff and Carnistir’s snort led the descent into playful argument.  Findekáno was content to observe, as he always did.  Findaráto and Russo could play peacemakers when, inevitably, one of his proud cousins felt wronged.  His attention was drawn to the sudden appearance of a semi-unfamiliar woman at Makalaurë’s elbow. 

                “Meldilmë!” Makalaurë smoothly rose to his feet with a warm smile.  “Have you met my brothers and cousins?”

                Findekáno was close enough to catch the lady’s quick breath as her gaze took in the large gathering of men and women crammed around a single table.  Artanáro merrily emptied the contents of the wine bottles into his cousins’ glasses, fueling what would most likely become a most interesting evening.

                “I do not think I have,” Meldilmë answered quietly. 

Makalaurë pointed to each as he recited their name.  He began with Ingwë’s grandson first.

                “Laurefindel- ah, hello, Ecthelion- Turukáno, Elenwë, Ambarussa—”

“Name us separately, Kano!  We’re not the same person.”  Findekáno couldn’t tell if Pityo or Telvo was speaking.  Both had worn their hair in similar styles, and their robes were different shades of the same blue.

Makalaurë sighed at his younger brothers, looking to Russandol.  Russandol peered over at them with a frown.  Immediately, one looked semi-apologetic; that was Telvo.  The youngest never failed to be easily chastised by Russandol.

                “My apologies, Pityo.  Meldilmë, that is Pityafinwë, the complainer, and our youngest brother, Telufinwë,” Makalaurë continued his naming.  “Findaráto, Nerwendë, Artanáro, Carnistir, Curufinwë, Tyelkormo, Irissë, Nelyafinwë—”

“Russandol, please,” the eldest son of Fëanáro interrupted with a smile.

Makalaurë just shook his head.

“Ah, and lastly, Findekáno, the Vain.”

Irissë’s and Turukáno’s delighted laughter rang out loudly.  Irissë nudged her brother in the ribs with a wide grin.  Findekáno just shook his head, grumbling into his wine cup at the moniker. 

                “Be careful, little brother.”  Russandol’s mirth was ill-hidden.  “Findekáno may seem just a pretty face, but he can be as devious as Curvo.”

                “I doubt that,” Curufinwë objected. 

Findekáno raised a brow, turning a steady gaze to his younger cousin.  Curufinwë’s thin lips twisted into a smirk as he returned the stare haughtily.  Tyelkormo’s murmur attracted his brother’s attention otherwise they might have stared at each other for the rest of the celebration.

                “Will you be singing for us tonight, Meldilmë?  Kano has done nothing but exalt your songs.”  Russandol’s voice drew him back to the conversation beside him.

Findekáno offered Ecthelion’s sister, Rosserína, a smile as she took Makalaurë’s seat.  Immediately, Laurefindel crouched beside her, whispering something in her ear.  She laughed, motioning her brother over briskly.  Findekáno’s gaze returned to Meldilmë who was smiling at Makalaurë.

                “The King has asked both Makalaurë and I to sing tonight,” she answered.

                “Grandfather has exceptional taste in music,” Makalaurë added coyly.

                At Makalaurë’s urging, Meldilmë took Russandol’s vacated seat.  Her dress was a light peach that his female cousins would have written off as bland.  On her, it only heightened her pink cheeks and grey-green eyes.  Intelligent eyes, his mother would have said.  He thought they were soft, just like her.  It surprised him to realize that she was gazing back at him.  He averted his stare to Rosserína for a moment before returning to find that her attention was still firmly placed on him.  Makalaurë, Russandol and Laurefindel loudly dissolved into laughter behind her chair, completely caught up in their conversation.  Laurefindel waved his arms dramatically, continuing to regale his cousins with the tale.  Meldilmë tilted her head slightly before leaning forward.

                “Which cousin are you?” she asked, offering him an apologetic smile. 

                “Findekáno.”  He shifted his chair closer to her.

                “I thought so, but I didn’t want to risk any offense.”  She raised her voice slightly so he could hear her over the liveliness of their table.

                “There are too many of us,” he conceded, briefly smiling.

                “Makalaurë has mentioned you before.  You are studying….what is it exactly?”  She rested her elbow on the table, supporting her head in her hand.

He looked towards his glass, his fingers tapping at the delicate stem.

                “I am an apothecary apprentice,” he answered.  “I will be going to Lórien soon, to learn under Estë and her ladies.”

                “Learn what?”

                “The body.”  He held out his hand to her.  Hesitantly, she placed hers in it.  He flipped it over, sliding his hand over her pale wrist and then tracing the blue veins to her elbow.  “And what lies beneath our skin; how it all connects and works.”

Her skin was soft beneath his touch.

                “How intriguing.”  Her answer was polite, but she did not move away.

                “Yes, I had no wish to go into politics,” he answered, withdrawing his hand.

                “Which is a shame given our family,” Irissë cut in, obviously eavesdropping as she leaned over her older brother.  “He is naturally inclined for politics with his silver tongue.  I think you finally outmaneuvered Atar the other day.”

                “Sister, honestly!”  Findekáno shrugged her hands off his shoulder.  “I doubt Atar appreciates having that openly shared.”

His sister must have found more appealing conversation since she did not reply. 

                “I shall have to make certain I never oppose you in a debate,” Meldilmë replied.

They shared hesitant smiles.  He felt like a fool, smiling silently at her, but he was at a loss for what to say.  It was a singular moment.  He could count on one hand the number of times he had been similarly speechless and all of them included his furious mother.

                “Meldilmë, they are calling for us.”  Makalaurë touched her shoulder.

She rose, pausing beside Findekáno’s chair.

                “It was a pleasure to meet you, Findekáno,” she said softly. 

                “Perhaps I can find you later?” he asked quickly before she could walk away and he lost what little courage he had.

                “Of course.”  Her expression was a mixture of surprise and delight.

Findekáno openly watched her go; she looked back once.  When he turned back to the table, Russandol and Laurefindel’s expressions caught his eye.  Both looked similarly curious, but there was a devious glint in Laurefindel’s eyes.  Thankfully, most of their cousins had decided to follow Makalaurë to Indis’ Gardens. 

                “Oh, exquisite lady of song.”  The golden haired man dropped to a knee before Russandol.  One arm was outstretched, the other hand spread over Laurefindel’s heart.  “Please, save your sweet lips for mine.”

Russandol coyly smiled, touching his hand to his chest. 

                “Only if you gift me a thread of your luxurious hair.”  At that point, Findekáno’s face was blazing red. 

Turukáno and Ecthelion held onto each other as they roared with laughter.  Elenwë’s fingers hid her smile.  Findekáno pushed to his feet, intending to escape to the gardens.

                “Finno, come on!  It’s all in good fun.”  Laurefindel physically barred him from retreating to the gardens.

                “And you honestly wonder why I never bother speaking to any ladies.”  He pulled Laurefindel into a headlock.

                “You cannot blame that entirely on me,” Laurefindel laughed, slipping out of the grip.

                “Indeed, Finno.”  Turukáno wiped his eyes with his sleeve, having regained some semblance of composure.  “I think we can count on one hand the number of times you’ve bothered to talk to a lady other than our cousins.”

                “I was simply being nice to Makalaurë’s lady,” Findekáno grumbled.

                “I think we all know she is not his lady.”  Turukáno grinned broadly at Ecthelion.

                “Subtly, thy name is not Turukáno,” Ecthelion sighed.

                “I wonder what Kano can tell us about this Meldilmë,” Russandol commented to Laurefindel.

Findekáno did not hide his betrayed glare at his cousin.

                “Yes, though Finno, if you are not interested, I will gladly ask her for a dance, or more.”  Laurefindel’s suggestive comment irritated him, but he did not rise to the bait.

                “I have never been able to sway you from doing something, Laurefindel,” he answered with a sigh.

Laurefindel slid his arm around Findekáno’s shoulders with a wide grin. 

                “And you never will.”

Findekáno laughed and returned the gesture as they joined the migrating crowd.  Russandol suddenly murmured his farewells, striding away towards Nolofinwë.  It was then Findekáno realized the formality of his cousin’s robes.  Russandol must have anticipated his father’s absence. 

                “Oh the joy of duty,” Laurefindel muttered.  “We, the lucky grandsons, have escaped it today.”

                The bushes of Indis’ gardens were lit with silver lights that twinkled in the gentle Mingling light like low stars.  Swathes of sheer tulle of all shades draped loosely on branches, adding additional color to the gardens.  Already, the soft strums of a harp and sweet notes of a flute drifted through the air.  Makalaurë had chosen some of his most talented classmates to share the stage with him.  To the left of the stage, Findekáno could see his grandfather, mother, and uncle standing with their respective partners close to the glimmering Valar.  The anniversary of the completion of Tirion always brought Aulë, Yavanna and Oromë to celebrate.  For the first time, Manwë’s herald had descended Taniquetil with Ingwë to observe the festivities.  Finwë greeted Nolofinwë with a smile, and embraced Russandol heartily.  Findekáno was content to remain at the edge of the crowd, shaking his head when Irissë beckoned him to join her and their other cousins.  Like bookends, Laurefindel and Turukáno fell in beside him, sweeping him forward until they were close to the front.  Findekáno sighed, his gaze returning to the side and meeting Russandol’s.  He raised his brows, lips curving in a smile as he silently motioned to Ambarussa.  Their furtive glances and hushed whispers only spelled trouble.  Findekáno leaned forward, placing a hand on either of their shoulders. 

                “He’s watching you,” he murmured.

Immediately, Pityo and Telvo’s heads swiveled to look at Russandol.  Findekáno marveled at Russo’s ability to chastise with a brief look. 

                The sweet sound of a soprano voice drew his gaze to the stage.  Makalaurë’s fingers nimbly pulled at the harp’s strings.  Meldilmë’s hand rested on his shoulder and she watched Makalaurë play.  Their song began soft and intimate like a lullaby.  He could not take his eyes off of her; she was enchanting.  With her face angled up to catch the golden light, she glimmered as if she had been borne of Yavanna’s tree.  The minutes passed in recollection of Tirion’s building, of the sweat and love the Eldar had poured into the City.  At one point, he could almost see the shimmering outline of the City built up to silver points; that was the unique magic of Makalaurë’s music.  When her eyes scanned the crowd, they passed over him once, and then suddenly returned.  For the last few notes, she held his gaze.  The applause was deafening when her voice finally faded.  Findekáno released the breath he’d been unconsciously holding.  He leaned towards Laurefindel.

                “Don’t ask her to dance.”

It took Laurefindel a moment to tear his gaze from the stage.  Findekáno noted the stubborn line of his cousin’s jaw.

                “And if I do?” he challenged.

Findekáno just lifted a shoulder, his gaze following Meldilmë off the stage.

                “Don’t.”

His request (Laurefindel would classify it a challenge) did little to keep Laurefindel from securing dance after dance with the singer. 

                “It is unlike you to be idle.”  Irissë perched herself on his knee.

Unlike his pin-straight hair, his sister’s curled in a mess of waves that always fell free down her back. 

                “Who says I’m idle?” he replied, smoothing a few curls out of her face.

Irissë placed an arm around his shoulders with a knowing smile.

                “You cannot expect for everything to always fall into your lap, Finno,” she began.

He ignored the rest of his sister’s words; his gaze was fixed on the lady approaching.  Irissë stood, but did not leave.  Meldlimë’s hands fell to her hips as she raised a brow.

                “I believe it is terribly rude to keep a lady waiting,” she said.  A slight tremor broke the proud line of her jaw as if her courage had reached its limit.

Instantly, he pushed to his feet, clasping his hands behind his back. 

                “Your attention seemed otherwise occupied,” he replied, peripherally noting his sister’s departure.

                “Laurefindel’s stories have no end,” she responded evenly.

                “He tells them well.”

                “He likes to hear himself talk.”

Findekáno laughed and then held out his hand.

                “Can you forgive me for keeping you waiting?” he asked.

Meldilmë placed hers in his firmly with an enigmatic smile.  He never let it go.

---

Chapter End Notes

Characters/Notes:

Findekáno: also called Finno; eldest son of Nolofinwë.

Russandol: also called Nelyo, Russo, Nelyafinwë, or Maitimo; eldest son of Fëanáro.

Canyaráto: also called Aracáno; youngest son of Nolofinwë.

Makalaurë: also called Kano or Kanafinwë; second son of Fëanáro.

Irissë: daughter and third child of Nolofinwë.

Tyelkormo: also called Turkafinwë; third son of Fëanáro.

Findaráto: eldest son of Arafinwë.

Artanáro: second son of Arafinwë.

Nerwendë: daughter of Arafinwë.

Laurefindel: grandson of Ingwë.

Turukáno: second son of Nolofinwë.

Carnistir: also called Morifinwë; fourth son of Fëanáro.

Meldilmë: singer; friend of Makalaurë’s.

Ecthelion: cousin of Laurefindel.

Pityafinwë: Pityo or Ambarto (though he refused to answer to it); one of the twin sons of Fëanáro.

Telufinwë: Telvo; the younger twin son of Fëanáro.

Curufinwë: also called Atarinkë; fifth son of Fëanáro.

Rosserína: sister of Ecthelion.