Our Share of Night to Bear by Elleth

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Chapter IV: The Letter

Anairë arrives at the Aulenduri homestead bearing urgent summons for Nerdanel.

Anairë sighed and turned the envelope between her fingers, reaching across the kitchen table toward Nerdanel. “Just take it. Indis sent me not to bring you to any judgement, but because she wants your help.”

“I know that Indis never bore me any grudge for Fëanáro’s actions, but would my help be desired by others now? My ties to the royal house are as void as yours are, or at least that is what will be said by the people who remained here, if any did, and more than that, even with all your goodwill you cannot claim I am completely innocent in this. If I had done more to sway him… tell me again why I should do so much as sit in council, even if a seat were offered to me.”

“Wallowing does not become you, Nerdanel.” Anairë’s mouth crooked in a mirthless smile; the dimming candles in the kitchen served only to cast it into deeper shadow. They had sat long in discussion already, Nerdanel had turned the sand-glass once, and her mother moved in and out quietly; leaving with a bowl of stew and returning it untouched, instead brewing a teapot’s worth of sage infusion and motioning a hand over her breast, mouthing ‘Pelórë’. Nerdanel nodded. Without Tyelperinquar, weaning tea would do her well.

The conversation with Anairë stalled at those moments, and Nerdanel returned to worrying at her sleeves. Anairë watched her through narrow eyes, and although the dispute with her sister not long ago had given her a clarity of mind regarding Fëanáro and the finality of their parting, it had done little to resolve anything else, and nothing at all to dim her grief. And if anything, Anairë bringing a summons from Indis revealed the threadbare excuse that there was nothing for her in Tirion.

Anairë cleared her throat. “At least try and pull yourself together. Our situations are not so different, but now is not the time to indulge in that grief. The Old Goat was the one who instigated it, but they all made up their own minds to follow, even Lavassúr.”

“Why are you still using that name? This is not one of your jokes.”

“It is not a joke at all,” Anairë retorted. “Indis is calling you to your responsibilities in the city. If you feel guilty, as you seem to be doing, then find a way to make up for it. Whether or not you deserve that blame is something you can decide later. What you need now is a purpose before you turn into a shadow, haunting the mist and...”

“... dropping vain tears in the thankless sea,” Nerdanel added, quieter. “I did not know you were there.”

“Nolvo asked me to come away with him, but… he did not want to hear what I had to say. I never truly had a place in his disputes with the Old Goa- Fëanáro, and that is all his leaving was about. He gave his promise to follow, and if not for that damned pride he takes in his propriety and honour… he claimed he did not want to abandon his people, but neither did he want to listen to me saying that if he stayed, or at least delayed, their minds would clear and, most of them would also remain, and the city would be rid of dissidents.” She paused and huffed out a breath, running a hand through her hair. The ride from Tirion had dishevelled her crown of braids, and in her agitation she mussed her hair further. “Will you take the letter or should I go all the way back to Indis and tell her she has to make do without you?”

Nerdanel had been the one to spot Anairë coming through the dark and silent land after the rain had subsided and then ceased entirely. First she had been a dancing blue light, her silver-netted lamp swinging while she rode, then a shape on a horse, and finally revealing herself as her sister-in-law as she came trotting into the lights of the courtyard. Martúro, who had in the stables with Lúcessë to tend to the horses, had caught her when she slipped, drowsy after the ride, and when her brother hurried into the house with their guest, his wife flitted before him and opened all the doors to let them through.

Anairë had recovered quickly with a brief rest and warm food to revive her, but daring ride through those conditions showed that she had not come not out of concern only, but as Indis’ messenger and stubborn as always in her support. And Nerdanel knew Anairë was right to ask, as shrewdly blunt as she always was, and took the letter from her fingers.

The golden wax seal bearing Indis’ personal crest she removed from the envelope without breaking it, as absurd as such pomp seemed in these circumstances, and unfolded the stiff paper to the view of Indis’ calligraphy. Usually perfectly measured and elegant in a manner that had always angered Fëanáro for the skill and grace she drew out of the signs he had devised, it appeared shaky and unmeasured now, and the writing was smudged in many places as if by a careless handstroke on the wet ink, or indeed sometimes as though some liquid had been wiped off the paper and blurred the letters.

She cleared her throat and began to read.

Dear Nerdanel,

The city lies in shambles, as you well know. As far as we were able to estimate in this grief and confusion, only near a tenth of Tirion's population remained, and less than that of all the Noldor. They are left steerless, without bearings, without family, and in many cases without any support at all. But even so, they are many, and they have many troubles: Food-stores run low already; we have distributed what we could to those that came to the palace. I dearly wish we had more healers, for the fumes that came with the dark caused many of the waiting to grow drowsy, or even to swoon and faint, and they lie trapped in dark dreams that we cannot at this point undo. I have sent for Ilwë to lend her skill to us, if Ingwë is willing to rule without her by his side at this point, for, as you are likely aware, Estelindë has swayed the other heads of the Envinyatari toward departure with her, and they in turn swayed most of their followers. Much like them, Mirimon took the Coiviengolmor with him nearly to the last man.

At least the Yavannildi under your sister’s guidance are already greatly aiding us: They recruited many hands to harvest their Lady's wheat and fruit before they rot, and will help refill the granaries to at least continue providing for the people. Without them we would surely face starvation. In all this we have at least been fortunate that this calamity befell us at harvest, when we are not entirely at the mercy of depleted stores.

Nonetheless, it would be premature to speak of order, laws or economy as long as we have no plans. I have pleaded with the Valar in the Mahanaxar, at the bidding of the Valandili not least, and although they cannot now actively aid us, they have taken steps to ensure that such things as still live will not die in this darkness: the Lords Manwë and Ulmo ordained the rain to wash away the fumes, and the Lady Yavanna will purge it from the earth once their counsels are over. Until the dark may be ended she put her Sleep upon her domain: it waits its turn until this evil may one day be redressed. Their minds the Valar assure me are on pursuits that we are not comprehending, or not yet comprehending, although they shall in the end work to favour the Children. I have also sent messengers to the Amanyavari in the north-west, Faniel among them to translate. Undoubtedly their experience of continuing their life of old in such darkness as Aman offered before this will prove of worth to us; they may know of resources that we lack or have wilfully forgotten. I pray that their passage through Mandos softened their hearts toward the Eldar since the Sundering so many years ago.

In all else that must be done, I dearly need your voice - but I must warn you, also: The factions within the Council, such as remain, are both torn and hardened. The Valandili are struggling to hold on to their support and faith. Few who support your husband and his ideas remained, but those who stayed did so reluctantly. Some have taken the sides of either of my other sons, some support the House of Finwë in a strange idea of entirety, thinking that such divisions are idle now, when in truth any of that support is idle now that none of my sons remain. But their ideologies at least are easier to steer than the many who seek first and foremost their own interests, be they influence or whatever gain they hope this situation may yield. Believe me when I say that I would have been glad to dismiss them if we did not need all minds that have not yet succumbed to grief.

Please come soon. Findis (with Elemmírë, as they refuse to be parted) is with me also - Lalwendë departed, following her brother as she has done in all things. Irissë, Artanis and Elenwë are gone, and I do not yet know Amarië's whereabouts, although if she left then it is against her family's bidding and permission. Eärwen will join us again soon; she has ridden to Alqualondë to see if any harm came to her home and family in the Darkening, and she also will bring aid from the Teleri when she returns.

But let me reiterate, Nerdanel, that we need you, also. Knowing what you have lost I cannot bring myself to order you here, but I implore you. Anairë, should you choose to come, will accompany you, and we will ease the plight of our people as well as we may, lay the foundations for whatever new world awaits, and pray for light to return swiftly.

Indis

Toward the end, the words blurred before her eyes. Nerdanel let the letter sink and blinked her tears away. She glanced up at Anairë instead, clearing her throat uneasily. “I know the letter should compel me to go to Tirion, but if what she writes is true… my sister is outside in the fields. How do I know that she was not also affected by the darkness? And there is Pelórë, too… I cannot leave here now.”

Anairë nodded matter-of-factly, almost as though she had expected such an objection - perhaps she had. “Only Pelórë? Did Ravennë leave with Carnistir? I understand you would rather stay, but consider this: If she is fine she will return to Tirion to deliver the grain sooner than here. If she is among the unwell… you read the letter. The healers that remained are in Tirion, so her best chances lie there. Everyone’s best chances lie in Tirion now. You can move something there.”

“Perhaps - but even so, Indis sounds very composed,” Nerdanel heard herself say, even knowing that the mask of power and control was one that Indis often assumed whenever a situation threatened to slip from her grasp. She had never been so outwardly composed as when Fëanáro had won some victory over her in their petty war, and when she had farewelled Finwë before his departure to Formenos, she had been impeccably composed, bowing only to let her husband set the crown upon her immaculate coiffure.

Finwë. Nerdanel felt new tears rise to try and choke her. Until that moment she had not allowed herself to think of him at all, had shut away the knowledge that he was dead. Dead, like starvation, it was a word that rolled oddly off her mind and even more strangely off her tongue, relegated to history texts describing how Cuiviénen had snatched away the lives of many in many different ways, and hushed childhood recollections of Queen Míriel’s demise.

Anairë sighed. It was not quite exasperation, but she had always been an impatient woman who had drawn energy from that very trait, but now was rapidly nearing the end of her own composure. “If you do not want to come, say so, but you cannot read that letter and claim that Indis is unaffected. If not before, then she cracked when she assembled a honour guard to bring Finwë back to Tirion; if he is to be laid to rest anywhere then not unkinged, but rather in his city. And… I understand if you would rather take time to prepare yourself, but - we do not have that luxury. The sooner we arrive, the sooner we can begin rebuilding - unless you think there is something that we ought to take from here - if your family has perhaps grain to spare...”

“We brought in harvest the week before the festival,” Nerdanel said in a low voice. “And the head of the Yavannildi resides in our house; we could not very well hamster our grain to ourselves. We have kept as much as we think is necessary, the rest she already has,” Nerdanel said.

“That is good to know.” Anairë seemed a little heartened by the prospect, and pushing back her chair she rose. “You ought to dress warmly,” she said. “It is growing cold without the light. That, too, is something Indis will need to take into account. She will need your counsel. Why were you so reluctant?”

“Very well,” Nerdanel said with a sigh, against her misgivings and the fear that had been growing in her. “Rainissë also thought I should go to Tirion, and perhaps it would be unwise to ignore the same thing said thrice… I do not want to come - there is something ill that this darkness yet holds in store for us, and I do not know what it is. I would rather not go into it - but I will ride to Tirion with you if we make haste.”

Anairë gave her an odd look and crossed her arms against the flicker of uncertainty plain in her eyes. “We will make haste no matter your premonition. Is there anything further that you can say about it?” The unspoken question was clear: Is Moringotto returning?

Nerdanel shook her head. “So far it is only a feeling. Perhaps it is instinct, perhaps I am simply afraid and it is nothing at all.” She coughed. “I have my prospecting gear in my studio, that is the warmest clothing I have, and there is something there that Rainë thinks I should take into the city; a statue of Niënna. Help me pack.”

“Gladly.” Anairë breathed a sigh of relief. “It took long enough to convince you.”

Nerdanel ignored her remark. She rose and regarded the dark for a moment. Through the gleam of light that still persisted in the kitchen and reflected off the window-pane, the bare twigs of the orchard trees reached like bony fingers, but they were grasping at a host of stars sharp and far between the torn clouds.

Chapter End Notes

I hope most of the info-dump is clear enough on its own, but there are a few terms from my worldbuilding that could do with explaining.

Envinyatari: The healers' association, taking its name from Quenya envinyata-, to heal/renew. Aragorn took his royal name from the same verb.

Valandili: 'Friends of the Valar', a political faction in Tirion's council.

Amanyavari: 'Avari of Aman'. Not all Avari refused Mandos' summons as per the Laws and Customs: "Concerning the fate of other elves, especially of the Dark-elves who refused the summons to Aman, the Eldar know little. The Re-born report that in Mandos there are many elves, and among them many of the Alamanyar [...]." Alamanyar is an earlier term for Úmanyar, Elves that did not depart for Aman on the Journey. I don't think it beggars belief that not all of them wanted to remain dead, and since the return to Middle-earth was difficult if not impossible, they would have had to settle somewhere in Aman. However, with their bitterness toward the Eldar, it makes more sense to me that they set up independent communities far away from Eldarin or Valarin influence.

Faniel is the third daughter of Finwë and Indis in early concepts of their descendants; it's unsure whether she survived into Tolkien's later ideas. She did for me, at any rate.

Pelórë is my OFC, Curufin's wife and Celebrimbor's mother. He, Caranthir, and Maglor were married as per Of Dwarves and Men; Ravennë is my name for Caranthir's wife.

Finally, my apologies for the delay in posting this. I'm fighting off a nasty bug and spent most of yesterday asleep, including the time I'd planned for editing and posting this.

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