Nightfall by Ithilwen

---

Summer's Twilight

---

Nightfall

Chapter 1 - Summer's Twilight

On the day the messengers arrived, Nelyafinwë Maitimo had returned from the quarry early. After a brief visit to his room, where he'd washed off the stone dust from his hands, he had ascended the staircase to the roof, which had quickly become his favorite retreat almost as soon as the palace had been completed. The view faced south, overlooking the central courtyard of Formenos. When he was weary in mind and body, Maitimo loved nothing more than to look out over the city and let his thoughts drift while he idly watched the people below going about their lives: the people who'd loved his father enough to follow him into this harsh land; the people whose labor was slowly constructing the towers and plazas of the new Noldor settlement, bringing beauty to the barren and dark northern hills.

Strange - even after all these years, I'm still not used to the dimness of the Treelight here, Maitimo mused as he walked over to the parapet. It unnerves me to actually see so many stars gleaming through the soft glow when I look up. How much brighter must those stars have shined in dark Cuiviénen, where Grandfather first saw them! I wonder - does the sight of them bring back good memories to him, or bad ones? I suppose I will never know. Sighing, he leaned on the decorative stone railing and looked out over the small city he'd played his part in fashioning.

This private rooftop retreat had been Maitimo's idea, and at first he'd been surprised that his proposal was even considered. But Grandfather Finwë had liked it, saying he already missed his palace balcony in Tirion, and Fëanáro was always eager to please his father. And so, to his astonishment, Maitimo's plans had been adopted. And the happiness he'd seen on his grandfather's face the first time Finwë had visited the simple garden Maitimo had designed had both warmed his grandson's heart, and inspired him to persist in aiding with the construction work long after his father and younger brothers turned their attentions elsewhere.

At first, sheer necessity had forced everyone to participate in the erection of buildings, but as time passed and the first essential structures were completed, Fëanáro and his sons were gradually able to resume their smithcraft, beginning with the fashioning of everyday implements and tools, and progressing later to the production of gems with which to beautify the city and its inhabitants. Now Maitimo alone of the house of Finwë continued to visit the quarry, aiding the stonecarvers chiseling out the rough blocks which would later be smoothed and shaped to fit perfectly into place in the walls of the great tower Fëanáro had ordered built in honor of Finwë. "A tower to surpass the Mindon," he'd declared it would be. Maitimo knew he had no great skill for delicate work, but at least he was strong, and the rough quarrying was something he could do well. And to his surprise, he found it satisfying in its own crude way. At least it kept him busy. Too busy to think about the life he'd left behind in Tirion, and the boyhood friend he still missed. I wonder... Does Findekáno ever think of me now? Maitimo thought sadly. I once believed I would forget him in time, but even after so many years our last argument haunts me still. Ilúvatar, why was I forced to choose between my family and my friend? Why couldn't I keep them both?

The sudden sound of laughter brought him out of his ruminations; looking down, Maitimo saw his young nephew Tyelpinquar playing tag with two other children. The sight brought a smile to his face, but it was tinged with a bit of sadness. His brother Curufinwë's wife had been one of the first women to bear a child in their new city; although Callótë was not the only woman to give birth since their departure from Tirion, the children in their settlement were still few, and little Tyelpinquar had few playmates his own age.

He seems happy enough, though, Maitimo thought as he watched the youngsters racing about madly. My brother and his wife dote upon him, and Father does, too; I never though that he would take such interest in his first grandchild, but when he is with Tyelpinquar it is as though he becomes a child again himself! I suppose all the love my young nephew receives from our family makes up in part for the lack of playmates here. He is happy, Father is happy, my brothers are happy, even Grandfather seems content here. If only I could be... "Why do I feel so restless?" he muttered to himself.

"Well, you always were a fidgety sort, Russandol, even as a child. Quite unlike me - I'm never anything but tranquil. A model of decorum. No wonder Mother always liked me best."

Maitimo turned, startled, to see his younger brother Makalaurë leaning against the trunk of one of the potted trees, an impish smile on his face. "Filit! What brings you back to the family roost?" he asked in surprise.

"Food," Makalaurë replied, laughing softly as he walked over to join his brother. "And your illustrious presence, of course. Aurel and I decided we'd like some company, thought we'd come over and stay for dinner. We didn't think anyone would object to a pair of extra mouths at Grandfather's table tonight."

"Object? Of course not!" Maitimo reached out and gave his brother a brief hug, then stepped back, the better to talk. "Well, not to Aurel's presence, at any rate... What such a lovely, well-mannered girl ever saw in you, little brother, is a complete mystery. I suppose it must have been the charms of your voice that won her over in the end, against all common sense. Where is your wife, by the way?"

"Chatting with Grandfather at the moment; I'm sure she'll be joining us up here soon. I wish I'd thought to put a rooftop garden on the top of our house." Walking over to the parapet, Makalaurë asked, "So, big brother, who were you watching when I so rudely interrupted you? Did a pretty maid finally catch your eye?"

"Oh, she's pretty enough, but I think she might be a bit too young for me," Maitimo joked. "I think I'll leave her to our nephew." For the first time Makalaurë looked down, and spotted the children, still engrossed in their game. "He's rather short of playmates as it is; I don't think he'd appreciate losing even one - " Maitimo broke off his banter abruptly, suddenly noticing the slight tension in his younger brother's shoulders as he watched their nephew playing with his friends. "What's wrong, filit?"

"Our little brother was scarcely married a season before his wife conceived; Aurel and I have been trying for years now, with no success. It's breaking her heart; she wants a child so badly, Maitimo! And so do I." Makalaurë looked up, and Maitimo was taken aback by the sadness in his brother's eyes. He leaned out over the railing and called out loudly:

"Tyelpo, please take your friends and go play somewhere else for a while!"

The children looked up in surprise, then Tyelpinquar shrugged and nodded; gesturing to his companions to follow, he ran out of the courtyard, heading in the general direction of his parents' house.

"You didn't need to do that, Maitimo," Makalaurë said softly. "They weren't doing anything wrong."

"Did I say they were?" Maitimo replied. He put a reassuring arm around his younger brother's shoulders. "Don't worry, filit. It might seem like an eternity to you since your wedding, but you actually haven't been married all that long. Pityanárë's just being precocious again, as he has been in everything else he's ever done. Your children will come eventually, little brother, and I'm sure they'll be worth the wait. It can't be easy for Ilúvatar to fashion a fëa special enough to be your firstborn's; you just need to give him a bit more time." In an attempt to lighten his brother's mood again, Maitimo gently teased, "At least you've started the whole process; why, your backwards older brother hasn't even found a girl to steal his heart yet! But then, I've always been a slow learner compared to you..."

"Hardly, and you know it," Makalaurë replied. "But in truth, I am worried about you, Russandol. You're long past your majority now; you should have wed ages ago. I know you'll say you've not met the right person yet - but how will you ever find the girl for you if you don't go out looking for her? She's not just going to fall out of the sky into your lap, you know. And I know you've never really been happy here, although you've done your best to hide it. Father's banishment won't last forever; knowing him, I doubt he'll want to leave Formenos when it's over - but I think you should, Maitimo. For your own sake, I think you should go back to Tirion and get serious about finding a wife, and make a life of your own there."

"I have no intention of leaving my family! You, of all people, should know that - I'd be lost without my pesky younger brothers around to annoy me. And in any case, why should I go back to Tirion? There's nothing to be had there that I can't find here, filit."

"Not true - there's your old friend Findekáno. Isn't he a good enough reason to return?"

Now it was Maitimo's turn to stiffen. "What Findekáno and I had between us once is long over, Makalaurë," he replied coldly. "You know that."

"No, I don't know that," Makalaurë replied firmly. "I know you miss him. Don't you think he might miss you, too? He disapproved of your coming here with Father - so what! Are you really going to let an old quarrel keep you both apart forever? That would be crazy, brother! At least give him a chance to put things right between the two of you again."

"He's had that chance already. There's been nothing preventing him from coming north to apologize to me."

"Except his own wounded pride, perhaps," Makalaurë responded softly. "Maybe he believes that you wronged him, and has been waiting all this time for you to ride south to issue your apology. One thing I've learned from my marriage, brother, is that there are times when who's in the right doesn't matter in the end. Sometimes it's better to give in and apologize, even though you feel you were the one who was wronged, than to insist on standing on your principals at the cost of remaining estranged. Isn't Findekáno's friendship worth bending a bit to keep?"

"I think my meddling younger brother should tend to his own affairs, and stop trying to manage my life as well as his own," Maitimo replied, and there was no mistaking the anger in his voice. "If I want advice, I'll ask for it. And I don't recall asking you for yours."

"Maitimo, don't be this way!" Makalaurë pleaded. "I've only said what I have because I care about you. I didn't mean to upset you. What you choose to do with your life is your decision to make. I promise I won't bring the subject up again. But please - consider what I've already said. Don't just disregard it because I made you angry."

Ignoring his brother's words, Maitimo turned his attention to one of the small potted fruit trees. "Do you have any idea what Grandfather is planning to prepare for dinner, filit? Perhaps some plums would go well with the meal." He began to look over the fruit intently, although it was obviously not yet ripe.

Makalaurë sighed. Brother, I do love you, he thought as he watched Maitimo inspecting the still-green plums, but you are exasperating in your stubbornness! Aloud, he said only, "I think those might still be a little tart, Russandol. And I have no idea what Grandfather has chosen to make. Perhaps we should pick some fresh flowers to decorate the table, instead." He began to clip blossoms for a bouquet, careful not to spoil the appearance of the flowerbed by taking too many blooms from one place; after a moment, Maitimo turned his attention away from the plum tree in favor of cutting sprigs of honeysuckle, and for a long while the two worked side-by-side in companionable silence.

When they straightened up at last, arms laden with fragrant flowers, it was to find that they were being watched. The woman observing their labors had crept behind them so quietly they'd been unaware of her presence. "So my husband has decided to become a gardener at last," she said. "It must be your influence at work, Maitimo; at home I can't get him to do so much as pull a single weed from the herb bed!"

"Aurel!" Makalaurë exclaimed, and Maitimo said almost simultaneously, "On the contrary, sister, it was the thought of your beauty that inspired my shiftless younger brother to take up such hard labor! He thought you'd appreciate the flowers, but your loveliness puts them to shame. No one will be looking at our pitiful bouquets while you are nearby."

"Husband," Aurel replied, smiling as she reached out to take Makalaurë's hand, "did you know your brother is such an immoderate flatterer?"

"I'm speaking nothing but the truth," Maitimo insisted. "It's good to see you again, Aurel. I'm glad you and Makalaurë decided to come by today."

"So am I," Aurel replied. "We've been meaning to visit for some time, but we've both been so busy... Of course, the work we both do is nowhere near as demanding as your stone quarrying, Maitimo, but it keeps us occupied just the same."

"But not today," Makalaurë added. "Today, at last, we're all together again - or nearly so. Only our little brother Curufinwë's absent, but I suppose that can't be helped. Do you think he'd bring his family over to join us if we sent a message to him now, Russandol?"

"I suppose it's worth - what is that?" Maitimo had been looking at Aurel when he saw the cloud of dust out of the corner of his eye; turning, he focused all his attention on the unusual sight, straining to make out details in the faint light. Following his gaze, the other two had also turned to watch.

"I think... Yes, it's riders, approaching from the south," Makalaurë finally said. "Ambarussa, perhaps?"

"No, they wouldn't have ridden out in that direction - the best game is in the foothills, not out on the plain. And besides, whoever it is is riding much too sedately to be our brothers. When have Ambarussa ever traveled so slowly? They always gallop as though they're deliberately trying to break their necks," Maitimo replied. "Is that some sort of standard the lead rider is bearing? I can't quite make it out."

"I believe I can," Aurel said, very quietly; at her tone, both Maitimo and Makalaurë turned to stare at her, concerned. "I think we need to get your Grandfather. Unless I miss my mark, the lead rider is Eönwë."

This time, when they looked, both Makalaurë and Maitimo were able to see the device of Manwë borne on the approaching herald's standard. Together, the three Noldor turned and quietly descended from the rooftop garden. After years of peaceful neglect, it appeared the Valar had again taken an interest in Finwë and his eldest, rebellious son. His heart filled with a vague foreboding, Maitimo suddenly found himself wishing that they had not done so. Grandfather is the wisest of all our people, he kept telling himself as they searched for Finwë. He has always known what to do before; he will know what to do now. Everything will be all right.

* * * * * * *

"Eönwë will need to leave for Taniquetil tomorrow, if he is to arrive in time for the Festival. Curufinwë Fëanáro, will you obey Lord Manwë's summons and return with his herald to his Halls on Taniquetil when the time comes for Eönwë to depart?"

Finwë looked upon his eldest child with a loving father's concern. Fëanáro, he had thought, had changed greatly over the long years of his exile - and those changes had been for the better. As he had watched his troubled son planning and later supervising the construction of the small city of Formenos, Finwë could almost have imagined his firstborn had been transported backwards in time; once more he was Mahtan's young apprentice, filled with enthusiasm, impatient with excitement, brimming with the fierce creative fire for which his mother had named him. That flame had burned lower over the subsequent years, but as it ebbed, the restlessness that had always driven Fëanáro seemingly gave way to contentment. For the first time in his life, Finwë thought his beloved son actually appeared truly happy, and he had rejoiced. But then Eönwë had arrived bearing the summons of Manwë, and Fëanáro's contentment had instantly vanished like a poorly-fastened cloak abruptly slipping off its wearer's shoulder, leaving him naked in his distress. Now, as he watched his son pacing about the room, tension apparent in his every movement, his eyes again filled with anger and sullen resentment, Finwë silently mourned. Once you worked gladly at Aulë's side; he was as much your friend as your teacher, he thought sadly as he waited for Fëanáro to answer his question. Now the Valar's simple summons to Festival drives you into a rage. Does the hurt they caused you when they judged you guilty and banished you to this place truly matter more to you in the end than all those long years of friendship? Can you still not find it in your heart to forgive?

Fëanáro did not answer for many long minutes, and Finwë's heart filled with fear as he waited in the silence. Was it possible that his angry son might willfully disobey the direct order of Manwë? What will the Valar do if you choose to openly defy them, Curufinwë? I do not know, and I do not wish to find out! Please, bank your fire this once, Fëanáro, and yield to Lord Manwë's will! Finwë begged silently.

"What choice do I have?" Fëanáro replied at last. Though his voice was quiet, Finwë shuddered at the sight of the darkness that suddenly seemed to fill his son's angry eyes. "Though Aman may be vast, in the end it is but a cage, a kennel in which the lordly Valar have quartered those hounds whose baying voices pleased them most, that they may be close at hand to simper and fawn before them. What dog so tightly leashed would dare disobey its master's command? I am no fool, to provoke such a painful beating as they doubtless would administer should I, already a rebellious cur in their eyes, fail to come promptly to heel. I will go. I will attend the Festival. For your sake, Father, I will even reconcile with Nolofinwë, provided he recognizes my position as the firstborn and thus your rightful heir. But that is all I will do. The Valar can force me to attend - but they cannot force me to celebrate my captivity, no matter how brutally they may jerk on my collar. I will wear no princely raiment when I depart. And I will not bring the Silmarils - those I would leave here in your care, Father. The Valar already have the mighty Trees to content them; by what right do they lay claim to my small lights also? And as soon as the Festival is over, I will return directly home to Formenos. If I must dwell in their cage, then I will sit in the corner farthest from their side. And perhaps, one day, this lowly cur may yet find a way to slip between their bars and escape to freedom at last."

"Freedom?" Finwë replied. "You think you would find freedom, if only you could flee from Aman and the Valar's care? Curufinwë, my bright Fëanáro, you know nothing of the darkness in which our people dwelt before Oromë found us, or the constant cloud of fear that muffled our spirits as we struggled to protect ourselves from the horrors lurking in the woods and waters surrounding our birthplace. Our life in the shadowed lands was the life of a hunted animal; only when the Eldar finally arrived on the shores of Aman did we at last know the meaning of freedom."

"And yet, many chose to remain behind, to reject the safety you pleaded with them to accept. Perhaps for all their dangers, those lands offer our kind something this bright, secure, and tranquil place lacks," Fëanáro replied softly. "If the price of safety is abasement, then perhaps the price is too high for some of us to pay. I bow to no lord save you, Father - and I never will. And if Manwë demands that I grovel before him, then he is my jailer, not my protector."

Finwë turned away to gaze into the fire, that his son might not see the tears forming in his eyes. "He was appointed Lord over Arda by the One who made us all; acknowledgement of that fact is all that Manwë requires of you, nothing more. But I know in my heart it is not all that he desires. He wishes to be your friend, Fëanáro. Whatever faults the Valar may have, Curufinwë, they love us, and only wish our happiness. Why do you refuse to see that?"

"If they truly wished my happiness, then they would let me be," Fëanáro said bitterly. "It is little enough to ask for - and yet they will never grant such a petition from me, and we both know it. I would ask you to remain here, to watch over your loyal people and to protect my Silmarils, until I can return from the Festival and resume my rightful place by your side. And perhaps one day, when the decree of banishment is finally lifted and the inhabitants of Formenos are once more free to travel where they will, you will be able to return to Tirion and take up your crown again, as I know you long to do, and then perhaps you might convince Manwë and the other Valar to leave me here in peace."

You may indeed come back to my side soon, Finwë silently despaired as he watched his son stride quickly from the royal chambers to begin his preparations for the next day's journey, but I know now that I have lost you, despite my efforts to save you from yourself. I have failed at the most important task of my life - but it is not I who will bear the consequences of that failure, but you, of all my children the one dearest to my heart. Fëanáro, I am sorry.

* * * * * * *

Later that evening, Maitimo was walking down the hallway to his own modest room when he thought he heard the sound of weeping coming from his grandfather's chambers. The sound was muffled and faint, and he paused for an instant, confused, before shaking his head and chiding himself. Grandfather is a King, he said to himself sternly, and never in my life has he ever behaved less than regally. He would never cry! It's only the wind I'm hearing, whistling through the shutters on the windows. If you can mistake that for weeping, Nelyafinwë Maitimo, it only shows that your wits are even more scattered than usual, and it's definitely past time to get some sleep. And then he continued on to his own room, putting the sound out of his mind as he thought about the tasks he was planning for the morning, after he'd seen Eönwë and the other travelers off on their journey and was again free to resume his duties at the quarry.