The Unrest of the Noldor by StarSpray

The Unrest of the Noldor

Read The Unrest of the Noldor

The tension in Tirion was so thick that Minyelmë found it almost difficult to breathe. She wanted to depart as soon as she arrived, but pressed on through the streets, suppressing shudders as she heard open talk of departing from Valinor, returning across the Sea—Fëanáro, she heard, was the source of these ideas, and he went even farther, accusing the Valar of keeping the Noldor as thralls.

It was absurd—and not the sort of absurdity that could be safely laughed at. Minyelmë hurried on until she came to the palace, where Lalwen was shut away in her room. “I can’t stand it!” she cried as soon as Minyelmë shut the door behind her, not stopping her pacing, up and down the room before the windows. The roses that climbed the outside walls and peeped into those windows seemed strangely incongruous that day. “All of this awful talk of rebellion—and Father can’t speak for or against it without igniting worse things than shouting in the streets.”

“Is it really so bad?” Minyelmë asked.

“The city is divided. The rebellious ones all stand behind Fëanáro, of course, but somehow Nolofinwë has become the head of the opposing faction.”

“Nolofinwë has his own ambitions, Lalwen,” Minyelmë said. Lalwen ceased her pacing for a moment to glare. “Don’t look at me like that. He didn’t somehow become the head of the opposition to Fëanáro. They have been opposed for years.”

“Nolofinwë does not want violence!” Lalwen protested.

“I didn’t say he did.” Minyelmë caught Lalwen’s hand, halting her pacing again. “Come away with me, Lalwen. Let us go riding and wandering. Perhaps all the way to Ekkaia, where it is quiet and peaceful. Or to the mountains north of Valmar.”

“I don’t want quiet, I want peace.” Lalwen turned away, to the window overlooking the square below. “No one is making anything anymore. The craft quarters are all shuttered, except the forges. And you know what they are making in there.”

“Sit down a moment,” Minyelmë said. “I cannot speak to you when you’re moving about like that.” With a huff, Lalwen obeyed. Her hair was still in a tangle from restless sleep, so Minyelmë picked up a comb and set to work. “There isn’t anything you can do here, except to stand in support of Nolofinwë, and that would just put you in the thick of things.”

“That is where I should be,” Lalwen said. “Findis has locked herself in Father’s workshop and won’t say a word about it, and Arafinwë is packing to go to Alqualondë.”

“Perhaps they are wise,” Minyelmë said. “This quarrel is between Fëanáro and Nolofinwë—and as far as I can see, only Finwë can resolve it.” Privately, though, Minyelmë did not think it was resolvable. Maybe they should just let Fëanáro take whoever would follow him and go back across the Sea. Let him seek Cuiviénen if he wished, and good riddance. He could have his own kingdom to rule or to ruin, and they could have peace again.

As Minyelmë separated Lalwen’s hair into three strands to begin a simple braid—today did not seem like the day for elaborate settlings—shouts rang out in the courtyard, and once again Lalwen yanked her hair free as she rushed to the window. Minyelmë followed, peering out just in time to see a figure fully armed and armored, naked sword in hand, stalk out of and away from the palace. “Who was that?”

“Fëanáro,” Lalwen whispered. Her face had gone ashen. “Why is his sword drawn? Oh, what has he done?” She turned and fled the room, still barefoot and in her dressing down, hair flowing loose behind her. Minyelmë followed at her heels, heart pounding, reminding herself that the blade had been drawn, yes, and it was clearly deadly sharp, but it had been clean.

The square was nearly empty by the time they reached it; the sight of a drawn sword had frightened everyone, it seemed. But Findekáno was there, looking lost, wide-eyed and very young. “Findekáno, what happened?” Lalwen demanded, grasping his arm.

“Fëanáro is talking of rebellion against the Valar, and my father went to ask Grandfather—to plead with him, really—to restrain Fëanáro. He’s been talking as though he is king, instead of Grandfather. All the lords were to be gathered today, but before Father even finished speaking Fëanáro came in—and drew his sword on him!”

“He did not strike, did he?” Minyelmë asked.

“No, but when Father tried to leave Fëanáro set the blade against his chest. I saw the fabric tear. Half-brother, he called my father, and accused him of usurping his place, and threatened him.” Findekáno spoke all in a rush, and when he stopped he gasped as though out of breath after running a great distance. “I need to find my brothers.”

“Go,” said Lalwen, releasing him. Findekáno raced away. Minyelmë stood with her in the square. Overhead an eagle was circling. “The Valar will have heard of this,” Lalwen said.

“If we are lucky,” Minyelmë said, “they’ll give Fëanáro his wish, and send him away back across the Sea.”

Lalwen snorted. She folded her arms over herself, as though chilled. “My heart tells me the Noldor’s luck is running out. You should go, Minyelmë. I would not have you caught up in this madness.”

“Nor I you.” Minyelmë leaned in to kiss Lalwen. “Come back inside. Get dressed, and let us at least go riding this afternoon, if you will not run away into the wilds with me. Let your brothers and your father clean up this mess they have made.”

Lalwen returned the kiss, but she shook her head. “I must go to my brothers,” she said. “And drag Findis with me, I suppose. You go, Minyelmë. When this is settled, I will come to you, and we will ride the length of Valinor and back again, before I return to Tirion. I am so weary of all this strife!”

“You should get dressed first,” said Minyelmë. “I’ll help you.” She had hoped for, if not leaving the city, at least a lazy afternoon in Lalwen’s company. That was not to be, but at least she could braid Lalwen’s hair in the way that she liked, a simple three-stranded plait then coiled around her head like a crown of ebony, twined with blue ribbons.

By the time Minyelmë left Tirion, a hush had fallen over the city. A step too far had been taken, and now it was as though all the Noldor were holding their breath, waiting for the consequences. It was a relief to pass through the city gates and turn her feet toward the wide open lands to the south and east, stretched out lush and golden-green beneath the Mingling Light.