The Tempered Steel by Lyra

Part III, Chapter X

In which the reconciled Noldor make plans for the future.

It was the strangest feast that Findekáno had ever attended. It was a disjointed affair: The high table stood in the great tent in the Fëanorian camp, with some additional trestle tables around it; the rest took place in the Nolofinwëan hall, now refurnished, and indeed on the way there, where further benches and tables had been put up. There was a steady coming and going, a to and fro of people and dishes. Most of the food had gone lukewarm by the time it reached the feasting people in the hall, but nobody seemed to care: There was more talking and cheer than eating going on anyway. Those who had missed the coronation were now filled in on the details by the lucky ones who had been present; the retellings generally ended in loud toasts, initially only to the new (and only true) king, but as the story grew more lavish and people began to discuss how these events had ever become possible, the toasts began to be made out to Findekáno and also to Maitimo, who had after all seen reason at last.

Findekáno heard none of it; he was, of course, seated at the high table, though not in the place that would commonly have been occupied by the crown prince. That was another strange thing: They had foregone the ancient protocol for the sake of more sensible seating arrangements. In the place of the king's wife, who was after all not present, sat his sister Írimë; on her right, where the crown prince should be sitting, sat Russandol, with Findekáno on his right, a lesser place (although he would not have exchanged it for anything in the world). On Nolofinwë's left, where his siblings should normally have been seated, sat Findaráto instead of his aunt Írien. Itarildë had been deemed old and reasonable enough to join them on the high table; she sat between her father and her great-aunt Írien, glowing with pride and excitement. Further down the table, Findekáno could see Irissë and Tyelkormo exchanging more or less friendly banter, while Carnistir seemed to be attempting conversation with Artanis. Judging by Artanis' face, he was not doing too well, but they both managed to remain civil. Not much conversation was occurring between Russandol and Írimë, or even between Russandol and Findekáno, after an initial "I think you may have achieved a miracle."
"I only continued what you started, Findo," Russandol had pointed out with a bright smile. He was smiling a lot that afternoon; in fact, Findekáno thought, he was radiating happiness as he looked around the table, his eyes shining, his posture perfectly relaxed.

And why not? They all appeared to be getting along as well as could be hoped, and indeed far better than Findekáno would have expected even one day earlier. Nobody now frowned when Findekáno cut his cousin's meat and broke his bread instead of waiting for a servant to do that; in fact, he occasionally caught benevolent and approving looks from his father and siblings, as if he were performing some slightly distasteful duty rather than feasting with his best friend, whom he could now openly call Friend again.
After a while spent with eating and observing his re-united family, Nolofinwë leaned over to speak with his nephew. "I must apologise for hitting you, Nelyafinwë. Does it hurt much?"
Russandol glanced at him with a glint in his eyes. He did not reply immediately; then he said, "Moringotto struck me like that, you know."
"I am sorry," Nolofinwë said, mortified.
Russandol shrugged. "It was different. He broke my nose. Do not worry, Uncle, I understand. It was a necessary evil."
Nolofinwë nodded, still grimacing. "I needed to know whether you were being sincere. Still..."
"No matter. To be honest, I had expected worse."
"You expected that I would strike you?" Nolofinwë asked with a wide-eyed stare.
Smiling again, Russandol explained, "No; I had not expected anything physical. I had feared that you might make demands that I could not meet, tributes that we could not afford or anything of the sort, or that you would ban us outright from your presence without listening further." He reached up, touching the little bruise on his left cheek. "This was a lot easier."

In the afternoon, King Nolofinwë summoned his new council. The white-washed council chamber in the longhouse was a little small now, and some of the councillors found no more place at the table, instead standing against the wall. Now that they were allies again, Nolofinwë made sure that the privilege of a seat was not limited to his own long-time followers or even his immediate family. Irissë, Angaráto and Aikanáro had to stand just as well as Carnistir, Curufinwë and Ambarussa.
Although it was explicitly Nolofinwë's council, the meeting was dominated by Russandol, who after Nolofinwë's introduction laid down the plans and policies he had made for his people. He went so far as to reccomend which changes Nolofinwë should adopt for his followers; but his most shocking suggestion was that they spread out further, founding new settlements all over Heceldamar*. "While we are concentrated by the shores of this lake, Moringotto can easily overrun our settlements. And many lands are entirely unguarded at this time," Russandol explained. "We can never achieve our true potential if we always remain limited to such a narrow space. We must spread and increase our strength, make as many allies as we can – the indigenous people may be Avari, but they, too, hate Moringotto, and they may support us in battle. It is not enough that they do not mind trading with us: We must try and make them our friends in war as well as peace. We must make sure that Moringotto cannot simply take these lands. We cannot always hide behind mountain walls, as the Valar do. One day, we must face Moringotto in battle again; when that day comes, we must make sure that we stand a chance." He did not speak of the Oath, of recovering the Silmarils; it was not the right time.
"Yes, Nephew, what you say sounds wise. We will consider the matter," said Nolofinwë. "Now, to the question of taxation..."

Russandol stood in the doorway after the council session had ended, looking at the round table and white walls with a thoughtful expression on his face. Findekáno would have liked to go to him, but his father had asked for his and his siblings' opinion on something that concerned only their family. Still, he heard it when Russandol said: "The walls weren't yet plastered when I decided to ride out to the parley that ended so horribly."
Macalaurë, who had waited to see what kept his brother, bit his lips. "They were when I decided that we would not come to your rescue," he said.
Russandol smiled, and turned, and put his arm around his brother's shoulder. "You are so much wiser than I am," he said.
"After today, I seriously doubt that."
"I had help," Russandol said. "Now, I would like to see a healer."
"What is wrong?" Macalaurë asked at once. "Is your leg giving you pain again? Or is it your face?"
"Nothing of the sort! I could not be better. No, Cáno, I just want you to meet the admirable Istimë. Next to Findekáno, I owe her my life."
"Then I shall be honoured to meet her," Macalaurë said, relief colouring his every syllable.
Findekáno looked after them as they marched out side by side.

They dined on the left-overs from the feast, separately this time: The Fëanorians in their camp, and the host of Nolofinwë in the hall or their respective houses. Findekáno should have enjoyed the meal, for next to his father, he earned the most praise and admiration. Now that Russandol had mended matters, Findekáno's adventure no longer looked like folly, a display of misplaced loyalty and confused priorities; instead, it had become an investment in a juster future. It was delightful, of course. The warmth and joy that had filled Findekáno earlier still had not dissipated, and in some way, he felt as though he was walking on clouds. At the same time, he felt an itch to run to Russandol, to discuss the day's events with him in private at last. Findekáno longed to know how Russandol felt now, without his crown; how his brothers had reacted to the shocking decision, and how Russandol thought things would go on. He also needed to express the gratitude that he could not voice before witnesses. Openly, he and the others acted as though it was indeed as natural as Russandol had said that the crown should come to the eldest living son of Finwë, that the Fëanorians simply returned whatever was not rightfully theirs; but in his heart, Findekáno knew that matters were by no means so clear-cut and simple. He hoped that Russandol had not garnered too much enmity by taking property from his people that they had doubtlessly considered their own by now, and that he would be able to hold his followers together now that he no longer was king.
He expected that he could not well sneak away after dinner, being the toast of the party. But as it turned out, his father was quite eager for him to go and speak to his cousin again; and when all plates were cleared and the last jugs of wine and water made the rounds, Nolofinwë stood up for a short speech.
"What a day it has been," he said. "I don't know about you, but I must say that I feel quite exhausted after all these shocks and surprises." There was some laughter. "Therefore I must ask your pardon if I call it an early night. If you wish, you may continue to celebrate, of course; but I will take my leave. There are many things I have to think about." He smiled, and nodded; and under general applause, stopping here and there for a few personal words, he walked out.
Findekáno did not wait long before he announced that he, too, was tired, and asked Turukáno to take his place. Turukáno rolled his eyes at such a transparent excuse, but wished him a good rest and sweet dreams.

In the corridor, Findekáno found that his father had been waiting for him. "I expect you'll want to go to him now," Nolofinwë said.
Findekáno briefly considered feigning ignorance, but then he decided that there was little point. "If I may," he said instead.
"By all means. You will express what I must leave unspoken, won't you?"
Now Findekáno put on a confused face after all. "Unspoken?" he asked.
His father smiled. "Whatever our people may think, my claim to the crown has always been rather feeble – customary at best," he said. "Until today – until Nelyafinwë made it fact. Of course, I could have been a good leader without the title of king; but it means much to my people, I believe, to follow the rightful king; to have followed him all along."
"It does," Findekáno confirmed. "It means much to me."
Nolofinwë put a hand on his shoulder. "There you go, then. Everything has become much easier now. But the sacrifice may have cost him more than he would admit. Let him know that I appreciate it – more than I can admit."
"Yes, Father – I will."
"And we will support his quest, of course, in any way that we can. He is still bound by his Oath, and if we try to hinder them, there will be strife again; they cannot betray their Oath, so they would have to betray us, whether they will or not. That must not happen. He needs to know that I am aware of this risk, and that I will do whatever is possible to aid their cause – and nothing to hurt it."
Findekáno stood open-mouthed for a second. "That is a great concession," he said. "We might as well have sworn the same Oath, then."
"In a way, I have," Nolofinwë said with a heavy sigh. "Do not forget that I swore that I would follow wherever Fëanáro leads."

Outside the palisades, in the camp, Maitimo had likewise retired early. Now that they were amongst themselves, the cheer had left their company. Macalaurë knew how simple it was to surrender a crown if you thought there was a more deserving head, Tyelperinquar did not particularly care for titles, and Ambarussa had been convinced by the ease with which they had been reconciled after Maitimo's abdication. But the other brothers agreed that Maitimo should have kept the list of reparations as well as the crown. After all, Nolofinwë's people had accepted their apology even so.
"Accepted our apology, yes," Maitimo said. "Forgiven us, no. How could they – and so easily? No; we had to show that we meant it -"
"You let him strike you without protest or resistance!"
Maitimo dismissed that argument with a wave of his hand. "That was a test, and I passed it. But it still only made them accept that we regretted our deeds. That was good, but only a beginning. By giving them more than they dared to hope for, I helped them to overcome their righteous anger all in one moment. That might otherwise have taken years to achieve, if not decades."
"And any step in the direction of reconciliation could have been ruined by a rash word or deed from any one of us or our followers," Macalaurë added. "Whereas nobody will forget what happened today."

"That's all fine and well," said Curufinwë, "but it still was our crown, and now you've made it look as if it never really should have been."
With a shrug, Maitimo said, "It was useless as long as only a small part of the Noldor actually considered the man who wore it their king. Now it has meaning again. And it does not matter whether you think that Nolofinwë really had a right to it: You've sworn your oath of allegiance to him, and that makes it real."
"Yes, yes," Tyelkormo conceded.
"I do not honestly see why you care so much," Maitimo went on. "Things hardly changed for you. I remain your direct lord, the head of your House: You answer to me first, and whether I answer only to myself or to one above me makes no difference to you."
"It makes a difference whether we have only you to convince, or you and Uncle Nolofinwë," Curufinwë pointed out.
"You have only Uncle Nolofinwë to convince; he may overrule me."
Macalaurë chuckled.
"Still, should you be killed in one of those battles that you see us fighting, it would have been a powerful consolation if there was a crown to inherit, at least," Carnistir spoke up in a hollow voice.
Maitimo gave him a hurt look. "Until you inherited the crown, Moryo, it would not be enough to kill me off; Cáno and Tyelko would also have to die. May we be spared from such a fate before we have fulfilled our Oath – but should you lose three of your brothers, I would assume that no mere circlet of gold could assuage your pain."
Carnistir shrugged. Maitimo shook his head, exasperated. "I think I've reached the end of my endurance for today," he said. "It has been a long day. Brothers, Tyelperinquar, I bid you a good night. I hope that sleep will help you to accept my decision."
"There is nothing to accept," said Curufinwë. "What's done is done."
"Then why are we still arguing about it?" Maitimo asked with a tired smile. "Good night, gentlemen."
"Good night, Nelyo," said Macalaurë.

Maitimo stood silent while Varnacanyo helped him out of his vest and robes and underclothes. Master Encaitar had done a good job, Maitimo had to admit; the many layers had been alien and unnecessarily complex, but they had been quite comfortable, pleasant to wear once he had gotten over his distaste for such lavish clothing. He did not speak when Varnacanyo unbraided and combed his hair and massaged his back and his tired legs. Varnacanyo likewise said nothing, until at last he brought Maitimo's nightshirt. Then he said, "I didn't think you'd really go through with it until I saw you coming back without the crown."
Maitimo raised his eyebrows. "You know me. Stubborn. If I make a decision, I stick with it."
"Yes, I should have known," Varnacanyo agreed. "Still, your father's crown..."
"I know you always wanted to serve the King of the Noldor," Maitimo said, briefly brushing his hand. "I am sorry. If you wish, I can ask my uncle whether he has a position to fill in his household."
There was a moment of silence as Varnacanyo aided him into the nightshirt; Maitimo briefly wondered whether Varnacanyo had actually listened.
"I can't believe you still remember my childhood dreams," Varnacanyo then said. "Things were so different then... and I so young and foolish." He tilted his head. "I have served the King of the Noldor for a while. It was pretty much exactly like serving Lord Maitimo. If you permit, I'd like to stay with the latter." And he kissed Maitimo's hand.
Maitimo pulled him into an embrace. "I am glad for anyone on whose support I can rely – especially when he has proven as steadfast as you have."

The clinking of armour alerted them to the arrival of company. A slight cough, and the voice of Vorondil: "My lord, are you willing to see a visitor?"
"Who is it, Vorondil?"
"The crown prince of the Noldor, my lord."
"By all means, let him in!" Maitimo said. Varnacanyo stood back as Findekáno entered the tent. Vorondil's leaving footsteps rustled the grass, then faded into the general noise of the evening.
Maitimo smiled. "My lord crown prince! How good of you to make time for me." Varnacanyo bowed low.
Findekáno felt his cheeks heat up again. "Don't call me that," he said.
"It's what you are – but suit yourself. I am still glad to see you."
"No longer a traitor among your own people, I hope?" Varnacanyo said with a wink.
"No, indeed not," Findekáno said with a sheepish smile; and turning to Russandol: "Are you?"
"I'm afraid so. I will now learn whether they'll forgive me in good time, or whether I'll have to beg for a place at my uncle's table in the future."
"For what it's worth, I'm sure we'd make room for you." Findekáno said it with a wink; but then he sobered. "You were so happy this afternoon – if anybody had told me half a year ago that I would ever see you so full of joy again, I would not have believed it. You were practically shining. It pains me that your happiness has already been diminished."
Russandol smiled, and for a moment, his eyes were shining again. "No, best of cousins, I am happy. It has been a great day. Look at what I achieved – almost single-handedly," he added as an afterthought. Findekáno groaned as Maitimo spoke on, "The Noldor are one people again."

Nodding in amazement, Findekáno said, "I would not have thought it possible. How long have you been planning this?"
Another gentle smile. "Actually planning this? For a couple of weeks. But bits and pieces have been with me for a long time. I knew from the start, I think, that I would have to defer the kingship to your father..."
"You said something to that effect back when you were recuperating – that you were rightly named Nelyafinwë now."
"There you go, then! Parts of the plan have been on my mind long before I truly knew what it meant."
Findekáno nodded again. "There's a problem, now that our families are talking again," he said. "You see, my family know the truth..."
"What truth?" asked Russandol.
Findekáno glanced at Varnacanyo, who frowned, but went to the tent-flap and turned away from their conversation – or pretended to, at least.
"About your hand, I mean," Findekáno said very softly. "I told them the whole story before I knew that you wanted to keep it a secret. So I suppose things might get complicated if they hear each other's differing accounts. I am sorry..."
Russandol seemed to be staring into nothing for a while. At last he shrugged. "I'd have to tell them the truth sooner or later, I suppose. Sooner now. Maybe Fúmella can help me – you know, the poet who so terrified you at our Midwinter feast."
"She didn't terrify me," Findekáno protested. "She just threw me off-balance, that's all."
"As you say. But her song may be useful in spreading the true story. She has not yet finished it, as far as I know. I will speak with her when we return. Do not worry; it is going to work out."
"If you say so."
"I do," Russandol said. "Well, no point in standing around like this. It's a balmy night, albeit on the humid side, I believe - shall we sit outside?"

Varnacanyo and Findekáno carried the cot before the tent. They sat down, Maitimo loosely wrapped in his blanket, looking out at the canvas walls of the other tents and the torches that were lighting the paths between them.
"Father has asked me to tell you what he could not say today," Findekáno sat after a moment of companionable silence. "He wants me to thank you for turning his feeble claim to the crown into undisputable fact, and to ask whether it has been very hard for you."
A shrug. "Your father knows, as I do, that a crown can be a terribly heavy thing – especially when it is not undisputed. I would always have had to expend more strength than it's worth on defending my title, and your people might never have accepted it. Now I'm just a lord among others, which is fine for them, and responsibility enough for me."
"You, my lord, will never just be a lord among others," Varnacanyo spoke up.
"I was going to say just that," said Findekáno.
"Don't dash all my illusions at once," Russandol said, putting on a pout; Findekáno had to laugh out loud, and Russandol joined in, just because he could.

When they had sobered again, Findekáno said, "Father also says that he will support your quest for the Silmarils, so that your Oath will not come between your House and ours."
Russandol heaved a long sigh. "I would have to address that matter eventually, yes."
"Well, now you know Father's stance."
"Yes. Your father is generous and wise."
"I know," said Findekáno. "But so are you."
Maitimo paid no heed to the compliment. "My brothers will eventually understand it, too, I hope. It may get easier once they receive their own principalities, if the king follow my advice. That would do them good – their office and responsibilities would keep them busy, and they'd have no more time to pine for a decorative but ultimately useless crown."
The mists kept the warmth of the day from escaping, enveloping palisade and camp and forest like a cozy grey blanket; still, Findekáno suddenly shivered. "So you really meant what you said – about leaving this place."
"Yes," Russandol said with a sympathetic grimace. "I know how it sounds, but I think it is necessary. Right now, we are sitting like fish in a weir. There is so much uncharted land here, so many opportunities, yet we huddle by the shore as if frightened of our own potential. You have only just arrived, I know; but we cannot always hope that Moringotto will stay in Angamando, content to blight our crops and shadow our days. We must make sure that he cannot reach the heart of our land so easily. Ideally, we would beleaguer him, but I am not certain we will have time enough to grow to such strength. His strength is great; we must try to match it, or at least provoke him to make a mistake. For that, we need more room."
"And would you go far away?" Findekáno said, wrapping his arms around himself.
"Likely. I expect that the realms closest to this place will go to you and your brothers. I will be content with some undesirable realm of strategic importance."
"I knew you'd say that."
"Because it is reasonable, I hope."

Findekáno scrunched up his nose and poked out his tongue, the way he had expressed his displeasure as a small child. "It probably is. It's just... it was so wonderful that we were reunited at last. I missed you every day, Russo, and I thought that would be over now. But now it seems that we are going to part again before long. I find it unbearable to just imagine it."
Russandol leaned against his shoulder. "Don't imagine it yet, then," he said. "It will take some time to chart and assign these wide lands. And your father may decide against it, anyway."
Findekáno sighed. "Not if it's as sensible as you make it sound." He stared up at the misty sky; it no felt longer comforting, instead reminding him of the threat in the North again. "It's never going to last, is it? Whenever we find happiness, it is going to be brief before something destroys it. And it's not just Moringotto – we're up against reason, and duty, and your damned Oath."
"Yes," Russandol replied soberly. "But that cannot be helped; such was of old the fate of Arda Marred. And Námo's curse probably doesn't help our cause."
"I still don't see why we always have to suffer from it," Findekáno insisted, hardly ashamed of his childish words: The sentiment might be silly, but it was heartfelt.
Russandol wrapped him in his blanket, holding him close. "Ah, best of cousins, don't let it ruin the good times. Darker days will come, yes, but today, the future is ours. Today, all is right."
"Yes," Findekáno echoed. "Today, all is right."

Chapter End Notes

*Heceldamar is one of the Quenya names for Beleriand. I was not certain whether any of the other options were already appropriate: Valariandë, the direct cognate, might already exist, but possibly only among the Fëanorians or indeed as a back-translation of "Beleriand"; Ingolondë (literally "land of the Noldor") does not yet fit while the Noldor inhabit only a tiny part of it. Hecel(da)mar, the name "used in the language of the loremasters of Aman", appeared to be the safest choice.