Nightfall by Ithilwen

The Kindler's Gift

Chapter 2 - The Kindler's Gift

The next few days were striking in their ordinariness. Maitimo was surprised when he learned that only his father would be journeying to Lord Manwë's halls for the Festival, but Finwë had told Eönwë that he intended to remain in Formenos until the ban upon Fëanáro was lifted and his eldest son was free to travel where he willed, and the rest of the Noldor in Formenos were apparently of like mind - or at least they saw no reason to undertake the rough journey, and to mingle with the potentially hostile people of Tirion, when they could celebrate perfectly well in the comfort of their own city. After Eönwë's party, together with Fëanáro, had departed, life in Formenos returned to its usual patterns - but at a much slower pace, as though everyone's attention was partially focused southeast, half-listening for any news. Maitimo resumed his labors at the quarry, but the stonecutters spent more time speculating about the probable events happening on Taniquetil than they did chiseling out the stone blocks for Fëanáro's grand tower, and little progress was made. No one else in the city seemed in the mood to work, either. Tyelkormo and the twins spent their days hunting for game, while Carnistir and Curufinwë Atarinkë spent their mornings at Fëanáro's forge, and their afternoons in idleness. Makalaurë was scarcely to be seen; when Maitimo did finally encounter him, four days after Fëanáro had left, he claimed to be busy digging a new vegetable bed for Aurel, but Maitimo saw the faint blush on his brother's face, and realized that Makalaurë and his wife had found their own private way of celebrating the Valar's Festival of the Gathering of Fruits.

Only King Finwë kept faithfully to his usual routine; but although he seemed outwardly untroubled and went about his normal duties as always, those closest to him noticed a certain change in his carriage, an ever-so slight slump to his shoulders that they had not seen before, and in rare unguarded moments a brief glimpse of tension and worry could be seen in his normally sparkling blue-grey eyes. But he said nothing about whatever might be troubling his heart, and neither Maitimo nor any of his younger brothers were bold enough to pressure their grandsire into revealing his inner worries - indeed, in their hearts they could scarcely believe that so mighty a person as Finwë could truly be troubled by anything. And so the days passed, each a strange mixture of languor and a vague, uneasy anticipation, until the climax of the Festival was reached and the world changed utterly.

Maitimo was finishing the rough shaping of a particularly large block of marble when it happened. It was the time of the mingling of the lights, when Laurelin began to wane while silver Telperion waxed to full brightness; the other stonemasons had already retired to rejoin their families, but Maitimo had lingered, unwilling to leave before he had completed the last few necessary strokes required to remove a large lump on one side of the otherwise square block. As he rhythmically chiseled away at the stubborn stone, hurrying as much as he dared (for he knew that Finwë would be wroth if he returned so late that he missed the family meal), Maitimo at first attributed the fading of the golden hue of the marble to the normal waning of Laurelin, and paid it no mind. But then he noticed that the intensity of the mingled light was actually decreasing, rather than remaining constant as Telperion brightened in step with Laurelin's fading (as was usual), and its hue was changing rapidly – far too rapidly – from golden to cool silver. Something's wrong, Maitimo realized suddenly, feeling an inexplicable dread take hold of his heart. Laurelin has never waned so quickly before! Abruptly forgetting about the block, he laid his tools aside and turned to head towards the ladder he needed to climb to leave the quarry pit, intent now only on returning home as quickly as possible. Grandfather Finwë was born at Cuiviénen itself, and saw many troubles before he came to Aman, he said to himself as he half-ran towards the ladder, surely he will know what we should do next – send a messenger to the Valar, I suppose, to ask what has happened to Laurelin. Yes, Grandfather will know what to do – and surely this strange ebbing of the Golden Tree cannot be dangerous! After all, the Valar told Grandfather that our people would always be safe here, and when have they ever broken their word? But despite this reassuring thought, the uneasiness in Maitimo's heart grew with every step he took.

Maitimo had covered less than half the distance to the ladder when he realized, to his horror, that Telperion's silvery light was also beginning to fade – and fast. The shred of self-control he'd managed to hang onto gave way in that instant to sheer terror, and he bolted the last few paces to the ladder in a blind panic. Quickly, he grabbed the smooth wood rungs in his dust-covered hands and began to climb – but he'd no sooner placed his feet on the rungs to begin the long ascent when Telperion's now-dim light flickered and died, leaving Maitimo, for the first time in his life, surrounded by total darkness. Completely blind now, his heart pounding in his chest, he clung to the ladder in fear – and then froze, stunned, when in his desperate, searching attempts to see something, anything, in the impenetrable blackness that now surrounded him, he accidentally threw his head back and saw Varda's stars in their full radiance for the first time.

As a small boy, Maitimo had often looked up at the few faint stars which could be seen shining through the veil of Treelight that filled the sky of Tirion, and wondered how they must have appeared to the first Elves awakening on the dark shores of the far-distant Mere of Awakening. "Varda, who loves and cares for us all," his mother had often told him as she put him to bed, "made them just for us, so that the first people waking at Cuiviénen would see them shining brightly in the darkness, and not be afraid." After she finished her story and gently tucked him in, he'd lie there in his bed, stray beams of Treelight sneaking past the edges of the shutters to bathe his room in a faint silvery glow, and try to imagine himself waking at Cuiviénen, to see the warm and friendly glow of Varda's greatest creations welcoming him into the world.

Now he finally knew what vision had greeted the oldest of his kin when they had first opened their eyes so long ago - and he marveled that they had not died of terror on the spot, fleeing the awful sight for the safety of Mandos' Halls. For the stars were set against a background of nothingness - a blackness so deep and enveloping that Maitimo wondered how even such light as Varda's jewels emitted could pierce it. And yet they did, somehow - thousands of them, sprayed across the sky, the brighter ones forming dazzling patterns, the fainter ones drifting like a ribbon of smoke across the heavens. Their light was bright, yes - but not at all as he had imagined it to be: not warm and comforting, like the Trees, but remote and cold - so very cold! For a long moment he could only stare upwards mutely, shivering at the sight of Varda's power made fully manifest at last.

Finally, with an effort, Maitimo shook off his shock and forced himself to look away from the heavens, closing his eyes and climbing the ladder solely by feel. They are not so dazzling as a Silmaril, he told himself firmly as he climbed, nor so piercing as Varda's own eyes, after all. It is foolish to let myself be so unnerved by the mere sight of stars! And if the Trees do not return to their former radiance quickly, we will soon become grateful even for such chill light as they provide.

It took a long time for Maitimo to make his way from the quarry to Formenos, for he could not see to run, or even to walk quickly. But by the time he'd finally managed to travel the short distance to the city, he noticed that his eyes were apparently adapting to the gloom, and he was able to find his way more easily through the darkened and empty streets. As he approached the central courtyard near the palace, the streets slowly became filled with confused and badly frightened people, all heading in the same direction as himself, with the same goal in their minds - to find Finwë, in the hopes that their King would somehow make things right again. Maitimo, to his surprise, found people looking to him for guidance for the first time in his life. Realizing his obligations as a prince of the Noldor and as his father's heir, he forced the fear from his own voice, and encouraged the crowd to stay calm and keep heading towards the courtyard, where Finwë would doubtless soon reveal to them a plan of action. Yes, it was dark, he said, cloaking his own panic behind a steady voice, but they were in no immediate danger - and surely they did not believe the Valar would forsake them? So he spoke, over and over, until at last he arrived outside the courtyard square to find his family - and light. Torches and oil lamps had been placed at intervals along the courtyard walls, and a large fire was burning near the middle of the yard; at the sight of the familiar warm glow of the flames, Maitimo felt something inside him relax. And Maitimo also saw, to his surprise, that another reassuring light was shining out over the courtyard as well, for his grandfather stood on the rooftop where the people could see him, the Silmarils bound to his brow, their brilliance piercing the darkness. Finwë was speaking calmly to the nervous throng, telling his subjects to return to their homes where they could light lamps and build up their hearthfires and wait for further news in comfort and safety. He went on to remind them that, regardless of the absence of the Treelight, they were still in Aman, and under the protection of the Powers of Arda, to whom he soon would be sending a messenger. His family, Finwë assured the people, would arm themselves and watch over the city until the darkness was lifted - there was no reason to be afraid. And gradually, his reassurances began to have the desired effect. The tension in the crowd slowly began to recede, and the people began to disperse and return to their homes. Finally, the crowd thinned enough that Maitimo was able to weave his way through it to reach the main doors of the house and slip inside.

The house was dim, but in the comfort of the familiar surroundings Maitimo was almost able to convince himself that this was just due to closing the shutters; he kept his eyes fixed firmly on the floor and inner walls as he moved, determined not to allow the sight of the darkness filling the open windows to shatter this fragile and welcome illusion. Arriving at his room, he reached for the sword and armor his father had crafted for him so long ago, remembering his grandfather's promise to the Noldor that the House of Finwë would stand guard over Formenos. Although surely there can be nothing we need to defend ourselves against here? Maitimo thought as he donned his arms. There have never been any fell creatures in these lands, save only Melkor, and he has fled Aman to escape Manwë's anger and Mandos' bonds. What use will a sword be against the darkness outside? It cannot be slain by steel, after all. But the feeling of the sword hilt in his hand comforted him nonetheless as he continued upwards to meet his grandfather.

Finwë was still standing tall and proud, looking out from the parapet, when Maitimo entered the garden; only a few people lingered uneasily in the previously crowded yard below, still unwilling to forsake the light of the slowly dying fire. For a moment Maitimo quietly stood and admired his grandfather, so masterful and fearless, silhouetted against the glittering sky. Of course Grandfather's not afraid, he realized, for unlike most of us here, he's seen this before. He grew up under this dim and icy light, after all, at Cuiviénen. How ashamed our panic must have made him feel! But Finwë turned towards him as Maitimo began to walk once more, the sound of his bootheels hitting the marble revealing his presence, and Maitimo was dismayed at the hint of worry he could now see in his grandfather's eyes. He does not understand what is happening either! His stance, his speech - it was all an act. He managed to hide it from the crowd, but Grandfather is just as bewildered as the rest of us. And Maitimo began to feel the fear building up within his breast again, despite the radiance of the Silmarils that shone on him from his grandfather's brow.

"So, Nelya, you've finally made it back," Finwë said to him. "And you've armed yourself - good. It's merely a foolish gesture, of course, for there's nothing to fight - but gestures are important at times like these. People will feel better when they see our family patrolling Formenos, never mind the fact that we're not actually doing anything of note. You did arrive in time to hear my promise to them, that we will watch over the city?" Maitimo nodded wordlessly and Finwë quickly continued, "Good. I've already sent a messenger off to Manwë, and your brothers out into the streets; I want you to join them. Just walk around acting confident, so people can see you're not afraid, that's all you need to do. In the unlikely event that you should spot something unusual, report back to me at once. I need to stay here where our people can find me, to forestall another panic, so I'm depending on all of you to act as my eyes and ears."

"I'll follow your orders, Grandfather, of course." But Maitimo found he could not bring himself to move, for that would mean leaving the comforting light behind in order to walk beneath the frigid stars again; he'd never before rejoiced in the beauty of the Silmarils so much as he did at that moment.

Finwë watched patiently, then gently prodded his eldest grandson when he still showed no signs of moving. "Go on, Nelyafinwë. Our people need to see their princes now. And though the city may seem strange to you at first without the Treelight to illuminate it, you'll soon find that Varda's light, different though it may be, is in no way inferior to Yavanna's." Maitimo flushed slightly at the mild rebuke he heard in his grandfather's voice; with an effort of will, he forced himself to turn away and head for the staircase.

I am sorry, child, for I know you are afraid, Finwë thought silently as he watched Maitimo reluctantly cross the now-deserted courtyard, stopping to grab a torch before heading out into the empty and silent streets. If it were up to me, I would have let you all stay here, huddled around the Silmarils, while I patrolled the city. But a King must think of the welfare of his people above all else - and right now they need to know that I am here, watching over them, and that their princes are bravely safeguarding their homes and families. And so I must send you forth from the light again. Would that your father were here also! Formenos needs a Spirit of Fire right now.

He reached up and took off the circlet bearing the Silmarils. They blazed in the darkness, and at the sight Finwë smiled faintly. How foresighted his Fëanáro had been, to catch and bind the Treelight so! He was convinced that the sight of that familiar light had done more to quell his subjects' fears than all his reassuring words. Perhaps I should ask Curufinwë Atarinkë to build a support for them, Finwë mused, if the Treelight does not soon return. We could position it to allow the Silmarils to shine over the entire city. It will not be enough light to illuminate the streets and avenues, but it should be brilliant enough to embolden people's hearts. For now, though, I think they are best returned to their hold. As long as my people remain inside their homes, wearing these is unnecessary - and tiring. I had not realized just how heavy this circlet is! But when has my Fëanáro ever been stingy; of course he'd use only the most lavish setting to mount his most beautiful creations... He stood there for a long, long time, lost in thought, remembering the joy that had been on Fëanáro's face that day when his son had first revealed the Silmarils to him. Finally, still smiling, Finwë turned to leave the rooftop garden, having decided to return the Silmarils to the secure underground vault his son had built to house the family's most precious artifacts. Once they were locked away, he would return to the rooftop and gaze up at the stars and remember the Valier who'd fashioned them, and who watched over the Noldor still. The heavens sparkle with the light of Varda's eyes... It may be dark, yes - but this is not Cuiviénen. We are not forgotten, he said to himself as he descended. The Valar will watch over us, and protect us; they do not break their word. As long as I can keep my people calm until the light is restored, everything will be all right.