The Tempered Steel by Lyra

Part III, Chapter VI

In which Fingon tries to settle back in among his own folk, and in which diplomatic tricks are applied, and in which the Fingolfinian host have a counter-feast.

"So... what was it like?"

Findekáno looked up from the bowstring he was waxing. Irissë had paused in her work, flexing her aching fingers and looking at him with a strange facial expression, half stern and half curious. Findekáno assumed that the curiosity wasn't meant to be seen, but there were hints – the just barely perceptible tilt of her head, a slightly raised eyebrow – that a brother could decipher.
It had not been easy for him to return to his despondent people, and harder to be unable to share with anyone about his impressions and the mental turmoil that the Fëanorian feast had left in his mind. Even now that Irissë finally signalled some interest in hearing about it, Findekáno was uncertain what to say.
After some deliberation he opted for, "It was all right for what it was."
A sneer distorted Irissë's beautiful face. "You mean, a celebration of themselves?"
"Mostly, yes." But that was not entirely fair, Findekáno thought, grimacing. "Well, to be honest, they also celebrated me."
Irissë snorted. "Oh, did they?" Her eyes narrowed slyly. "Did you enjoy it?"
Findekáno was tempted to hide from her probing glance, but with some effort managed to meet her eyes. "Yes," he admitted. "A little."
His sister gave another snort. Findekáno hoped that it was good-natured rather than scornful. "What about it did you like?" Irissë continued. "Being celebrated as a hero? Or that it was them who celebrated you?"

Findekáno had to smile. "I know what you're getting at, but no, it wasn't just innocent joy that they were celebrating one of us. It really just was nice to be treated as a hero, rather than some kind of madman, for a change."
"I am not quite certain whether the followers of Fëanáro can differentiate between a hero and a madman, Brother dear," Irissë said dryly and started to twist a new string.
"That is very true," Findekáno replied. "Maybe that shows you how desperate I am for praise – I now take it from wherever I can get it."
"Ah, yes," Irissë said. For a moment, she worked on in silence. Findekáno watched her nimble fingers work around the skeins in her hand, uncertain whether their conversation was at an end. He began to toy with the block of wax in his fingers, kneading it until it went malleable.

"I suppose you must feel a little isolated," Irissë finally conceded when she had given the matter some thought. "Of course, part of that is your own fault. You stand out, and you aren't really trying to blend in, are you?"
Findekáno opened his mouth to protest, and shut it again: He did not know what he could have said. At any rate, Irissë was already going on. "And then, there's nobody you share your life with. You don't even have a room-mate who's forced to put up with you, so nobody has to go out of their way to talk things out..."
Findekáno wondered whether that was jealousy speaking. The room he had for himself, that was indeed a priviledge; his father was the only other person who had a bedroom to himself, everybody else had to share a bedroom with several others. Irissë was rooming with Artanis and their aunt Írimë; maybe she was longing for some privacy, and envying Findekáno the solitary bedroom he had simply accepted as his due as their leader's heir.
But no, Findekáno thought: He was being too kind to himself. Jealousy or no, Irissë had a good point. Findekáno had regularly drawn back into his room instead of trying to bridge matters with his people and his family. Hosting the Fëanorian messenger a while back probably hadn't improved matters. Occasionally, he made contact with the others; but he hardly showed that he wanted to be a part of their lives. He sighed.
"I suppose that I am lucky that I have siblings who still put up with me," he said. The wax had gone sticky in his hand.
His sister handed him the bowstring she had made. "Hey, you made Turvo laugh again. That's higher praise than anything they could offer you."
Findekáno decided to let it rest at that.

Other than that, nobody asked any questions about the feast. Findekáno tried to follow Irissë's covert advice to spend more time in company, but it seemed to him that his presence was not wholly welcome. He stood watch more often than he had to, and thought that his fellow guards talked to him less than they spoke amongst each other. He joined the fletching detail for a couple of days: Nolofinwë had ordered preparations for a hunt, which was to take place as soon as the weather permitted. Findekáno enjoyed the work in itself, as it gave him a sense of purpose and distracted him from undesirable thoughts. But there was little cheer and no songs while they cut feathers and boiled glue and fletched hazel shafts, and Findekáno imagined that he caught some sideways glances that were not friendly. He could not be certain; maybe it just felt that way after the extroverted appreciation of the Fëanorians. At any rate, it made him feel ill at ease; and when one afternoon his father had him summoned into the great hall, he could not help but worry. His apprehension did not lessen when the first thing that he saw when he approached the longhouse was a group of warriors. They appeared to be standing guard over a heap of sacks and wickerwork boxes, but Findekáno half feared that they would turn on somebody next: They were looking so fierce.
But Nolofinwë smiled when his firstborn entered the hall. Findekáno ducked his head in greeting and gave a cautious smile in return. His father returned his nod. "Thank you for joining us," he said, and Findekáno relaxed a little, allowing himself to look around. Many of their people were present; at this time of day, many used it to socialise and to warm up after working out in the cold, but now most of them were standing, arms crossed and faces dark. Surrounded by them stood four men whose fine travelling garb and well-fed faces suggested that they had come from the other side of the lake. That impression was confirmed when Findekáno recognised Failon among them.
Findekáno frowned. "Of course, Father. Can I help you?"

"I do hope so," Nolofinwë said, walking towards him after a somewhat anxious glance between his hostile people and the Fëanorians. "Hold your peace while we step outside," he said sternly to the hall in general and nobody in particular, and then took Findekáno's arm and marched him back into the frosty dusk.
"Your cousin," he said when they were out of earshot, "has sent us a goodly portion of provisions, supposedly to repay us for the expenses of his stay. But it is far more than he consumed – absurdly so. He must know that. So what is his purpose? Does he mean to shame me? Does he want to buy our friendship? For that, it is not nearly enough. But clearly he wants us to be beholden to him. I cannot deny that I am tempted to accept this purported recompense, for the sake of my people, but first I need to know the price it will cost."
Blinking, Findekáno countered, "What price has Russandol asked?"
"None – directly. As I said, his messengers claim that he is sending these provisions to repay us for feeding him, but that makes no sense. That is why I am looking to you for help; you know him best. Maybe you can guess what he expects."
"I do not need to guess! We spoke of it. He wants us to go a little less hungry, and he expects that we will not take alms, so he has labelled them as recompense. It's a ruse that he hopes will make it easier for our people to accept it – without feeling beholden to him. That is all."
Nolofinwë raised his eyebrows in doubt. "That seems too simple," he said. "There is always some price. Does he expect forgiveness?"
"Not that easily."
His father's faze remained skeptical, but he nodded slowly. "Very well. I suppose I must consider it a kindness that he makes his offer in a way that allows me to save face. I can hardly afford to turn it down, anyway." He sighed. "But Findo, you should not have begged."
"I did no such thing! For some reason, he was perfectly capable of guessing at our plight." That made a lopsided smile appear on Nolofinwë's face, followed by a decisive nod. "I see. It is decided then. We can return inside."
He marched back into the hall, where the tension between the large group of Nolofinwëans and the messengers was almost tangible. Although nobody wore arms – at least not openly – even a brawl could have resulted in grievous injuries, considering the numbers. Findekáno was glad to see that some fistd unclenched, some tense shoulders dropped when his father looked around.
"My son has been able to dispel my doubts concerning your lord's sincerity," Nolofinwë addressed the waiting Fëanorians. "We are willing to accept his offer of recompense." Findekáno noticed some displeased frowns among their own people, but they turned into nods and righteous smiles when his father continued, "It is tardy recompense, but better late than never, I suppose."

One of the messengers opened his mouth to protest, and was elbowed into silence by Failon, who quickly said, "We will inform our lord of your complaint. He also asks that you send word if you notice now or later that he did not send enough; as he was not at his best while he stayed with you, he says that it is perfectly possible that he judged the numbers wrong."
"I see," Nolofinwë said. Findekáno saw the corners of his mouth twitch as he suppressed a smirk. "I will take care to check the numbers when we store the items you brought," his father continued. "I suggest that you spend the night here so we have time to see how well your lord judged his numbers, and tomorrow you can return with my answer."
There was no mistaking the relieved expression on Failon's face. "Your suggestion is very sensible, and we accept your invitation to stay the night with good will," he said.
"With good will," one of the other messengers echoed, taking the hint.
"It is decided then," Nolofinwë said. "We have no guest-house and cannot offer you the luxuries you will be used to, but you can stay in this hall until morning comes. None will harm you." He gave his people a stern look to drive the point home. "Now, there is work to do!"

Nolofinwë indeed made a list while his sons and followers unloaded the heavy bags and boxes and barrels from the sleds and carried them into the storehouse, but no-one honestly expected him to demand more. When they had finished their work, the formerly near-empty storehouse was half full again. No-one would stoop to praise Maitimo's generosity, but they found other ways to express their delight and relief as the storehouse filled up.
"Second helpings!" Angaráto said, for instance, wriggling his eyebrows at Findekáno as they passed each other.
Findekáno felt the corners of his mouth creep into a grin.
There were indeed second helpings that night as they feasted on a rich barley stew. Findekáno only ate one bowl, however. Isolation or no, he had to withdraw into the privacy of his room, where he dug out his quill and inkwell.

Findekáno Nolofinwion to Nelyafinwë Maitimo Fëanárion, in haste.
Best beloved Russandol, you must be mad! I will say what no-one else here will say: Thank you – a dozen times thank you for the provisions you sent us. It is so much! (How could we possibly claim that you sent too little? But your little game worked; as long as they can say that you only sent us what is rightfully ours, they don't seem to mind eating food that your House harvested.) I am not certain that it is not too much: You will not let your people go hungry for our sake, I trust? We can use it well, but so can you. And you shouldn't alienate (let alone starve) your own people. But if we could speak, you would tell me that you sent no more than you could afford, no matter what the truth – I know you well enough. But I hope that it is the truth.

He shook his head at himself. The letter was a disgrace, but Findekáno's mind was too preoccupied to do any better. He decided against starting over, laying down to sleep instead. He would not write, then – better to send no letter than to send such rambling lines.
But when the messengers returned to the Fëanorian camp in the next morning, Findekáno sent his letter with them, anyway.

It was a good thing that they had received and accepted the provisions from Maitimo, for the hunting trip was not as successful as Findekáno would have expected. Once the oppressive fogs lifted, they went out with high hopes. There were so many volunteers that they had formed three groups of hunters. Whatever the prevalent attitude towards Findekáno, his father trusted him to lead one of the troups. The others were led by Irissë and by Findaráto; they ventured into different directions, Findaráto's troup covering the other lakeshore, Irissë's troup the woodland to the North, and Findekáno's troup took the forest between their own camp and the Fëanorian settlement. But they did not nearly have enough time. In the summer, they had been able to go out for several days at a time, spending the short nights in the open and sleeping under the stars; now, that was out of the question. They went out at the earliest crack of dawn, but they would have to be back before darkness had fully fallen – with their kill as an additional load. The lack of horses was a great drawback now. To make matters worse, the snow was covered in a thick layer of frozen mist or thaw: It was slippery, forcing them to tread slowly, and it made tracking nigh impossible. Findekáno's group managed to spot a few deer, but the animals easily outran them as soon as they realised their hostile purpose. If they hadn't put up snares on their way deeper into the woods, they would have come back entirely empty-handed; as it was, their yield of a couple of rabbits and wrens was rather unsatisfying to Findekáno, who had secretly hoped to best Tyelkormo's hunting spoils.
Irissë's troup had been luckier in that they had shot two fat boars; but as Calimon had been run over by one and had to be carried home with an ugly flesh wound and a broken leg, Findekáno could not envy them their spoils. Findaráto's troup at least brought home a variety of waterfowl – swans, divers and ducks – and no injuries.

But to those who had not heard Tyelkormo boast of his successes, the hunt had been as fruitful as could be hoped: There was more meat now than they could eat at once, and though it might be stringier and less juicy than the game had been in Aman, no-one complained. Nolofinwë therefore declared it fitting that they should have their own feast in order to celebrate their survival, to honour the succesful hunters, and to conjure up warmer days.
To Findekáno, above all it showed how alike they and their estranged cousins were. The hall was smaller and more crowded, and there were less dishes on the tables, but their feast followed the same pattern. It had the same self-celebratory tone and the speeches contained the same formulae. Nolofinwë was hailed as the king, just as Maitimo had been, and Findekáno was asked to deliver a performance of the same old song that Macalaurë had played (and as nobody present but for himself had heard that inimitable performance, he agreed). Findaráto sang a sad but ultimately reassuring song that he had written about the Crossing of the Ice. Turukáno left the hall for the performance, but other than that, Nolofinwë's people seemed to find the recounting of their hardships as cathartic as the Fëanorians had found Macalaurë's song about the Battle-under-Stars and the death of Fëanáro. After a moment of commemoration, Nolofinwë gave permission to dance - and the people danced.

Turukáno returned to the table, nursing his cup of cider and staring at the dancing crowd in anger or envy. Findekáno kept him company, but dared not to try and comfort him. Irissë, who eventually joined them, did.
"I do not think, Turvo, that Elenwë would mind you dancing," she said with a lopsided smile.
Turukáno grimaced. "I am, in fact, quite certain that she would want to see me dancing," he replied. "But I'm afraid that I do not want to see myself dancing." He stared into the crowd again, and had to smile when he saw Itarildë prance around with the other children, exhilarated by the food, the music and the late hour.
How well I understand you, Brother, Findekáno thought but did not say; he could not suppress a sigh, however.
"Not you, too!" Irissë spoke up, her voice less gentle now than it had been towards Turukáno. "Who are you pining for? Some girl you never introduced to us?" Then her eyes took on that sly, probing look, and she smirked. "Cousin Russandol?"
Findekáno clucked his tongue. "I am not pining at all," he said. "I merely sighed because there finally is joy and music, and no-one will ask me to dance."
Irissë laughed. "That can easily be amended! My dear brother, can I interest you in the next dance?" She curtsied to him with exaggerated primness.
After a guilty glance at Turukáno, who shrugged and then nodded his head as if to say Certainly, go, Findekáno rose. He returned Irissë's mock-curtsy with an elaborate courtly bow, the sort that would have made even Master Encaitar proud.
"You can indeed, fair sister," Findekáno said, and offered his hand. "Shall we?"