The Tempered Steel by Lyra

Part II, Chapter IV

In which King Maglor deals with his brothers and with Uncle Fingolfin.

'Therefore you are asked to come and take your brother back on Elenya next week. You may bring Ambarussa to help you. I must warn you again that Nelyafinwë is, in my opinion and that of the healers, not yet fit for the journey. However he insists on returning to you…'
Macalaurë's brow creased as he read. The letter had been addressed to him personally, and thus he had decided to read it in private rather than summoning all his brothers to share the message. He was now very glad of that decision. Nolofinwë's letter was brisk to the point of being offensive, his suggestions were barely veiled commands; and while Macalaurë was ready to ignore the insolence, he knew that Tyelkormo and Curufinwë at the very least would have been furious. As it was, he could bring them the news in his own words, and hope that the joyous contents would occupy them too much to ask for the means of delivery.
And thus, although the letter seemed to have been worded as an angry challenge, Macalaurë ignored the aggressive undertone and finished his reading, focusing on the bare message. Wen he stowed the letter in his desk and went to find his brothers, he was smiling broadly.

Carnistir was easily found, brooding over some old book of records from before the Great March, and Ambarussa was watching the warriors' training, every now and then jumping in to offer critique or advice. But Tyelkormo, Macalaurë learned, had ridden off into the woods earlier and wasn't expected back before nightfall. With a shrug, Macalaurë asked the others to accompany him to Curufinwë's forge. If Tyelko thought he had to leave on a whim, he said, he'd have to put up with being the last to know the good news.
Curufinwë was loath to abandon the forge even briefly, but by now Carnistir and Ambarussa were curious, and they finally managed to convince him to leave his work in the capable hands of the other smiths while he and young Tyelperinquar, always at his father's heels, joined Macalaurë's company just outside the forge.

When in the old, innocent days one of the brothers had strange or exciting news to tell, it had never been Macalaurë. He had always been among those begging the other to disclose the secret. He was surprised that he briefly felt the urge to tease his brothers a little – he would have thought that after all they'd gone through he would be well beyond such childishness. But seeing his brothers standing around him, watching his face eagerly, waiting for the reason to their gathering, he remembered many such incidences in the past. Now it was Curufinwë who stared at him with impatient curiosity, Ambarussa who stepped from foot to foot like a skittish horse, and Macalaurë had to admit to himself that he enjoyed knowing more than they for a moment. But he could not contain the news for long; finally it burst out of him: "Nelyo is coming home!"
The others broke into cheers. Curufinwë clapped his shoulders hard enough to make his knees buckle for a second. Tyelperinquar had not joined the choir of cheers, but his eyes were bright. Ambarussa was almost bouncing with excitement.

Curufinwë was the first to speak. "When? How?"
"Elenya next week," Macalaurë replied, grinning like a fool; the news were only sinking in for good now that he had shared them. "Ambarussa and I will ride to Nolofinwë's camp to fetch him." Ambarussa, to whom this plan was entirely new, beamed.
"Why only you two?" Curufinwë asked at once. But Macalaurë had thought of an explanation by now.
"Because the two of us are the least likely to cause a fight while we're there." Most likely that really was the reason why Nolofinwë had chosen them, he thought. "I know I won't pick one, and if Ambarussa feels like it…" He grinned to show that he was joking. "I trust myself to be able to tame him. I wouldn't be too sure about you others."
"Hey!" his brothers chorused dutifully, but they were not seriously insulted.
"Are you sure you'll manage, though?" Curufinwë asked when they had calmed a little. "It seems a bit meagre, the King accompanied only by his youngest brother…"
"And his eldest, on the way back," Macalaurë reminded him. "At any rate this isn't state business but family business."
"Which is really the same thing with our family," Curufinwë pointed out. "You will at least take some guards with you, won't you?"
"I don't think that's a wise idea," Macalaurë replied. "Don't you agree that it might look like a bit of a provocation to Nolofinwë's people?"
"It's only proper," said Curufinwë with a frown. "And you cannot always take care of every little Nolofinwëan who might be offended by whatever we do."
"Not always, but I will now."
Curufinwë clucked his tongue disapprovingly and said, "I don't like it."
"Well, but I'm the one who has to make the decisions here, and I say we try not to offend them. In a week I'll happily yield all this kingly business to Nelyo, and maybe you'll like his decisions better," said Macalaurë, his mirth suddenly gone. Curufinwë had managed to turn the joyful news around, turn them bitter. Yet he did not look triumphant; instead his brow was creased, and his fingers twitched as though tempted to attack someone.

Ambarussa tried to jump in before the situation could get worse. "Oh, but you've been a good king," he said.
"I know," Macalaurë snapped. "After all, we're all still alive."
Ambarussa took an involuntary step back at his unwonted harshness; but Macalaurë had already regained his control. "I am sorry. You didn’t deserve that." If there was an infinitesimal stress on the word 'you', his other brothers chose to ignore it. "Fine. I daresay we have a lot of planning to do."
"We should have a feast to welcome Nelyo back, and to celebrate his return," Ambarussa said at once. "I'm sure Tyelko will be glad to ride out and hunt some fine deer, and the harvest has been good…"
Curufinwë nodded. "It'll do all of us good, too, this close to winter. Warm people's hearts and all that. Although a week is too short to have new robes made, of course…"
"Your old ones will have to do, Curvo," Macalaurë said dryly. "But a week is indeed short, and we'll need gifts for Nolofinwë. And for Findekáno above all."
"Will we? I thought we weren't on overly friendly terms."
"All the more reason to follow the rules of diplomacy. And they have done us a great service in saving Nelyo, friendly terms or not."
"Fine, fine. What do you have in mind then?"
"I am not sure. That's why we are discussing this. Any suggestions?"
"A book for Nolofinwë," Ambarussa suggested, "one of those we have a duplicate of."

"Nolofinwë has books enough, Telvo," Curufinwë commented.
"I wouldn't be too certain about that, after they have crossed the Ice," said Macalaurë, "but it would be too embarrassing if he had a copy of just the book we chose to give him."
"A map, then?" said Ambarussa. "We've been scouting these lands for over a decade; surely we know them better than he does."
Curufinwë shook his head. "That's our advantage, and we shouldn't give it away easily." Tyelperinquar spoke up now. "Nolofinwë is not our enemy!"
"Indeed not," said Macalaurë, "and I do not see what the advantage of knowing the lands is worth against our own uncle. No, if we can get a properly handsome map drawn until Valanya, it should do very well. I'll ask the scribes about it."
"Fine, you do that. Anything else?"
Macalaurë raised an eyebrow at Curufinwë. "Why, yes. We'll need something for Findekáno, remember?"
"Findekáno's sword looked rather notched, when I last saw it," Carnistir spoke up, oblivious of the dirty grin Curufinwë couldn't prevent from creeping onto his face. "Curvo could make a new blade for him."
"That would be more than a simple host gift. My swords are priceless," Curufinwë said.
Carnistir shrugged. "It would be a noble gift. But it would be a noble gift for a noble deed."
"What, you mean we ought to pay Findekáno?" Curufinwë said, eyebrows raised. "That's a rather disgusting thought."
"And that isn't the idea at all," Macalaurë calmly stated. "Which is why we are talking about a gift. I like Carnistir's idea well enough, unless someone has a better one."
"Someone better has, because I really don't think I want to make a sword for one of them," Curufinwë insisted.

Macalaurë was shocked by the cold hatred in his voice; and he was relieved to see that Ambarussa and Tyelperinquar looked as perturbed as he felt.
"Findekáno is not just anyone," Ambarussa said, quietly. "He is the one who saved our brother. That is worth more than a sword, and far more than your pride, Curvo."
"Oh?" snapped Curufinwë. "So why don't you give him something more than a sword, and leave me and my pride out of the equation?"
Before Macalaurë could speak up and berate Curufinwë for his childish behaviour, Tyelperinquar raised his voice. "If my father insists on being obstinate, I can offer my services as a sword-smith."
"You?" Curufinwë snapped. "Well, that'll be a nice gift. You may have to pay Findekáno to accept it."
Tyelperinquar's face fell, although he stood his place without flinching: His father's brothers winced more than he did.
Macalaurë could no longer keep silent. "That is quite enough, Curufinwë," he said sternly. "If you are displeased by my decisions, fine, yell at me, snipe at me if you must. But chastising your son like that is unjust, and entirely unnecessary. You should be ashamed of yourself."
"I'll thank you not to speak of what you do not understand," Curufinwë said, the muscles in his face quivering with anger. "You know nothing about either smithcraft or about raising a son, so perhaps you shouldn't question my judgement."
"Enough," said Macalaurë, just barely managing to keep his temper in check. "You are being childish. Yes, you are the undisputed master of the forge around here. As such, certainly any sword you would make for Findekáno would be the best possible. But I cannot believe that you would have taught your own son badly, nor that he would not have inherited a good part of your talent."
"But we are all sons of Fëanáro," Carnistir pointed out, "and but one of us has inherited our father's hand in the forge."

Macalaurë blinked, effectively nonplussed for the moment, but Tyelperinquar was speaking again. "Do not worry, Uncle Macalaurë. I know that my father likes to strike wild when he is angry, but that he means little of it. You need not defend me."
"I do not do it because I need to," Macalaurë stated flatly, "but because we ought to support and aid each other. We have difficulties enough without making an effort to make life even harder. Tyelpo, I appreciate your offer, and I should very much like to see your work. Curvo, if you truly believe that no one but you is up to the job, then I'd say the obvious way out would be for you to do it. I am not going to beg, if that's what you're hoping for; and if you don't watch out, I am not going to ask anymore, either."
Curufinwë glowered at him, but no longer looked as though he were about to strike. "A week is too short a time for good work."
"It cannot be helped," Macalaurë pointed out. "Do you think you can do it?"
Curufinwë bristled again. "Do I think I can do it? Of course I can."
"Excellent," Macalaurë said, "that's settled then. I trust you'll put your usual care into this work."
"I do not deliver shoddy work," Curufinwë growled.
"I know," Macalaurë said, offering a cautious smile, hoping that all the ruffled tempers were on the way of cooling. It was hardly believable that such good news should cause such heated arguments. He glanced at Tyelperinquar, who stood impassively. He wished he could have known whether the youth really felt as brave and indifferent as he acted. Curufinwë still stood clenching his fists. "Is there anything else?" he finally asked. "Or can I get back to my work, to which you have so graciously added more?" Before Macalaurë could reply, he turned on the spot and marched back into the forge, slamming the door.

"My goodness," Macalaurë said. "What is his problem?"
"He is furious because he did not go and rescue Uncle Maitimo; therefore he is jealous of Findekáno; therefore he is less than thrilled at the idea of making a gift for him," Tyelperinquar said evenly. "And I probably should not have called him obstinate."
"He was being obstinate," Carnistir pointed out.
"Well, yes," Tyelperinquar said, "but would your father have appreciated it if you had called him obstinate, even though it might have been true?"
His uncles exchanged bemused and slightly horrified glances. "Not in the least," Macalaurë admitted. "Still I am sorry that Curufinwë was so harsh with you. I am certain he did not mean--"
"I know what my father does and does not mean, don't you worry," Tyelperinquar said. "You do not need to defend me. I am no longer a child."
"I know that," Macalaurë said, surprised. "I just thought..."
"Well, I appreciate your concern, but there is no need for it."
"Very well," said Macalaurë, spreading his hands appeasingly. "If it displeases you so, I shall not speak up for you again."
Tyelperinquar gave a thin, sad smile. "I know you mean well, Uncle." He looked at the others and nodded at them. "I am sure we all have work to do. I for my part ought to help my father. A week is a short time for a good sword."
And with that he left them, following Curufinwë into the forge, with his uncles looking after him bewildered.

- - -

Despite the argument, and despite his objections to the task, Curufinwë delivered a beautiful sword to Macalaurë the evening before the journey to Nolofinwë's camp. He didn't speak while Macalaurë admired his work, but when his brother thanked him, he nodded graciously. "I do not deliver shoddy work," he repeated. "We can't have them think that the House of Fëanáro is no longer capable of forgecraft, can we?"
Macalaurë smiled. This was as good a reason as any, and quite possibly as close to an apology as Curufinwë was likely to offer. Macalaurë was happy to accept it. He looked at the sword again, pulling it from its sheath so the polished blade caught the last daylight, its sheen gleaming amid the bold lines and waves in the folded steel. Close to the hilt, a blessing was engraved into the blade in elegant Tengwar, and the hilt itself was wrapped in firm but soft leather, twined with silver thread and blue silk. Five small sapphires embedded in silver and arranged in a half-circle formed the pommel. Macalaurë swung the blade experimentally, and it cut the air with a satisfying swish. "It is beautiful," he said again, sheathing it. "I knew I could rely on you."
Curufinwë nodded and returned to his beloved forge, and Macalaurë set the sword onto the table where the map was already rolled up and stowed in a protective hull of stamped leather. They had been busy this past week: The feast had to be prepared, and they had set to the work with unwonted enthusiasm as if to chase away the memory of the fight between Curufinwë and his son. Tyelkormo was delighted to have a reason to go on an extended hunt (although, as Macalaurë had expected, he had been offended that they had not waited for him with the news), and for a few days, the forests were full of the sound of horns and hoofbeats.
The brothers were not the only ones in the camp to prepare things for Nelyo's return, for he had been well-beloved, and all had mourned his loss. Now they were making wreaths of the year's last flowers, of ivy and evergreen branches; festival robes that had long spent their days at the bottom of a chest were washed and pressed, and there was only one topic of conversation. Even the first frosty nights couldn't diminish the excitement.
Macalaurë had removed his possessions from the grand bedroom on the first floor, and all the books and tools, clothes and trifles that had long ago belonged to Nelyo had been brought out of storage to await his return. Macalaurë had taken up lodging in Ambarussa's room, and he had the impression that his youngest brother was secretly happy that someone was sharing his room again, although he knew that he would never be able to replace Pityo.

It was still dark when the two brothers left the camp the next morning, a third horse carrying the gifts and a set of clothing for Nelyo in tow. It was Roccalaurë, a proud stallion, and he was less than enthusiastic about his role as a beast of burden and sashayed restively until Tyelkormo promised him that he would be carrying a worthy rider on his way back.
Almost all the camp had gathered to bid them farewell; people were waving and cheering as they rode out into the misty darkness. Macalaurë smiled and thanked each of them. Indeed he could not have stopped smiling if he'd wanted to. He felt full to the brim with joy and anticipation. For once, the dark line of trees along the lakeshore seemed to conceal promises rather than threats. When they had finally left the camp behind and the morning grew brighter, he spurred his horse into a gallop, Ambarussa and Roccalaurë following – surprised but delighted. When the sun rose, pale in the foggy air, Macalaurë burst into song before he was aware of it. He would have to be sombre and dignified once they had to deal with their uncle, he knew, but for the moment he felt as though he was young and careless once more and happily indulged in this feeling. The sun rose higher, melting the ice crystals that were glittering on the ground, turning spider-webs into glorious jewellery. The dwarf-wrought mail they were wearing underneath their warm cloaks and jerkins clinked cheerfully to the rhythm of the ride.

When the other camp came into sight, they sobered, slowing their horses' gait and sitting more upright. By the horn-signals they knew that they had been sighted, and sure enough soon the gates opened.
Here, too, a crowd had gathered, but there were no cheers this time. Instead, people stared at them coldly, silently, their expressions somewhere between hatred and condescension. Four guards stepped outside to bar their way, one of them reaching for the bridle of Macalaurë's horse, two taking care of the others. The fourth raised his head stiffly and said, "Please dismount and leave all weapons with us." Despite the 'please', it was clear that he was commanding them. Macalaurë barely managed not to show his irritation. His mare pranced uneasily as the stranger took hold of the bridle. Macalaurë patted her before following the guard's request.
"I am Canafinwë Macalaurë," he said, masking his unrest with familiar formulae, "King of the Noldor in Middle-earth, here with my brother Telufinwë Ambarussa, to take our brother Nelyafinwë Maitimo back home." He saw the guard scowl angrily as he proclaimed his title and added, in a more placable voice, "We are here at the invitation of your Lord, our uncle." He stood on the ground now, but he was still taller than the other, and although he and Ambarussa were wearing only simple travelling clothes, they still out-dressed everyone in the crowd – including Nolofinwë, who was now stepping forward and addressed them in a smooth voice.
"Indeed so. But you will have no need of weapons here, and it would be appreciated if you left them at the gate."
Macalaurë remembered that they had disarmed Findekáno as well when he had come to visit, and he finally nodded his agreement. They unbuckled their sword-belts and handed their daggers to the guards. Macalaurë took the long, wrapped parcel, clearly sword-shaped, in his hands. "This is a gift," he declared, "so I must ask that you allow us to take it in."
The guard cast a questioning look to Nolofinwë, who gave a small nod. Then he stepped out of the way. The Fëanorians walked forward until they stood before their uncle.

To Macalaurë's profound relief, Nolofinwë did not intend to test his power further. It would have been a good time; after all, he had something that his nephews wanted dearly, and he must know that Macalaurë would be hesitant to insist on his rightful honours under the given circumstances. It was all the more praiseworthy that he did not press it.
In fact, when Macalaurë had reached the gate, his uncle gave a low formal bow. "King Macalaurë," he said, and there was only the tiniest hint of bitterness in his voice, although many in the crowd were muttering angrily, "and Prince Ambarussa." He straightened. "I welcome you to our settlement."
With a relieved smile, Macalaurë returned the bow. "We thank you, Lord Nolofinwë," he said, following the formal road down which Nolofinwë had begun. "It has been a long time."
"That is not his fault," somebody in the crowd hissed. Nolofinwë turned his head sharply to see who it was; he said nothing, but his gaze sufficed to silence the complainers. When he looked back at the brothers, his face betrayed nothing. Macalaurë admired his composure.
"Well," Nolofinwë said. "Come inside."

Meeting the rest of the family was less easy. Turukáno, towering over the others, pointedly looked away; he did not even bother to hide his clenched fists. Then his young daughter, who apparently forgot her grudge when she saw and recognised the red-haired twin, waved shyly. "Hullo, Uncle Ambarussa," she said, and the brothers could not help but smile and hail her in return. After that, Turukáno saw himself compelled to acknowledge them as well. He gave them a very stiff nod and a glare that could have turned a flowering tree to stone. Irissë seemed to be strangely amused by that, and the ice between her and her cousins was somewhat broken, but the others were more successful than Turukáno in pretending that they didn't exist. Artanis held her head high and looked through them, although her aloof smile was more pleasant than the others' stony faces. It was an extremely uncomfortable moment, and Macalaurë felt helpless and useless until Findekáno arrived. Although the eldest of his uncle's sons was more reserved than he had been at their last meeting, he greeted them civilly, and Macalaurë felt a little less uneasy.
To Nolofinwë he said, speaking loudly for all the camp to hear, "We thank you for your hospitality, and especially for the care you have shown our eldest brother. Let me offer you these gifts in token of our gratitude."
Nolofinwë took the map with an air of indifference, but the sword was admired by all that could catch a glimpse of it, and Findekáno took a long time to examine it. He smiled, a little sadly. "This is a fine sword, and direly needed: My old blade broke upon the mountain."
What mountain? Macalaurë wondered, but he only said, "I am glad to hear you have use for it." There was something in his cousin's eyes that made him nervous.

Normally a common meal or at least some sweetmeats and a few cups of tea would have been indicated now, but it was easy to see that most people were unhappy about their presence, and neither Macalaurë nor Ambarussa objected when their uncle suggested that they come to the point at once. They followed him to a longhouse while the rest of the crowd stayed behind. Macalaurë could hear them talking behind his back; he could not make out their words, but he assumed that they discussed their manners and their gifts.
It was strange to walk through this house in which they had lived not a year ago. Macalaurë now saw how primitively they had constructed it, how many things they could have done better (and had done better in the new settlement). Everything made a certain make-shift impression, from the chapped beams to the rough, uneven plaster of the walls. The impression was strengthened by the fact that there was little by way of decoration now: no mirrors, no tapestries, hardly any furniture; only some paint had been applied here and there to ease the austerity of the place. Macalaurë realised that the Nolofinwëans had little to spare, and he suppressed a grimace to think that it was his fault also.
It was a gloomy little procession that walked through the long hallway. Findekáno no longer smiled; Macalaurë tried to speak to him, but his cousin was distracted, and even when Macalaurë thanked him again for saving Nelyo, the other only nodded mechanically without paying much heed. At least the house was not all that large, so they did not have to walk like this too long. Soon they reached the door of a room that, with a pang, Macalaurë recognised to have once been his own.