The Parting of the Ways by Lyra

The Parting of the Ways

Read The Parting of the Ways

The fire was burning high and bright, yet Finwë found it wanting. After the brilliance of the Trees, the light of the dancing flames was unsatisfying, their colours dull, their range limited; outside the circle of fire, everything was dark. Finwë was unreasonably annoyed by that darkness. He knew that there were trees and rocks and the huts and tents of his people, but none of them were visible. The waters were just barely discernible by the trembling reflections of reddish firelight. In Aman, the light had spread all the way to the horizon, all the way to the distant mountains; the sky had been pale, and everything had been visible clearly. Finwë could not wait to see that light again.

But it would take a long while yet. Still, they would be leaving soon: One more time of sleeping, and his kindred would begin their journey to the land of light. Most of them, anyway. For all the conviction that was burning in his heart, he had not been able to translate it into words that reached all ears. For all Elwë's and Ingwë's art, not every heart had been turned to longing for Aman.
Nonetheless, many of them would go, and that was good. But not enough. Finwë's heart was aching at the thought that some of the Quendi would never see the light of the Trees. They would understand, he felt, if only they could see; but they could not see without going. Never before had he felt that he could not find the right words.

He was pondering whether he should get something to drink and find some company, or whether he should lie down by Míriel's side to sleep, when the decision was taken from him. First, he heard soft footsteps, then the fabric of a woollen robe and a pair of glinting eyes became visible, and finally Morwë stepped into the ring of light. He was holding two bowls in his hands, a friendly gesture, but his expression was serious.
"Finwë," Morwë said, inclining his head politely. "Do you have time to talk?"
Finwë bowed in return, a hopeful smile on his lips. "Yes, certainly. I am grateful for this chance to speak with you again." He patted the woven reed-mat beside him, inviting Morwë to sit; Morwë offered him one of the bowls, which Finwë accepted gratefully.
For a moment, they both sat in silence. Finwë glanced at Morwë's earnest face, finding himself wondering how the other would look under the glorious light of the trees. Even in the inferior light of Middle-earth, the contrast between the darkness of Morwë's skin and the pale grey of his garments was striking; under the Treelight, it must be spectacular.
"You have not changed your mind, I suppose?" Finwë asked, wishing in his heart that, in fact, Morwë had.

But the other shook his head. "No. But I wish to understand yours better, before you go, if you must go."
"Ah," said Finwë. "I thought I had spoken my mind so often and so loudly that there was no question left unanswered."
"But there are so many questions left unanswered."
Finwë bowed his head. "I am sorry."
The corners of Morwë's mouth twitched upwards, but his eyes remained as serious as before. "I do not think that they are yours to answer. So you are not at fault."
"Maybe, but I still should have done better." Finwë sighed, and admitted, "I know that I have not done the splendour of the Blessed Realm justice. If only I'd had stronger words..."
"I do not doubt the splendour of the Blessed Realm," Morwë interrupted him. "It is, in fact, one of the things that rub me the wrong way. Why only there? If the Valar have the power to create such splendour, such light, why have they limited it to a secluded place? Does not the rest of the world deserve such light?"
"There was such light, once, but Melkor – the Dark Hunter – destroyed it."
"But Oromë said that they have imprisoned the Dark Hunter now. Then why do they not bring the light back?"

Briefly, Finwë looked troubled, pondering the question. "They say that not all servants of the Dark Hunter could be apprehended."
"Why not? Why did they not finish what they began? Did they lack the strength? Then we cannot expect them to protect us. Or did they not care? Then we should not trust them. Or was it yet something more sinister – a desire to keep these lands insecure, so we would be easier convinced to come into their realm of purported perfection?"
Finwë shook his head violently. "They did not root out the Dark Hunter's servants because it would have required tearing these lands apart – it is for our sake that they did not do it! And it is for our sake that they created the Blessed Realm, where the mountains keep out the darkness of this world."
Morwë swirled the liquid in his bowl as if to distract himself. "Then again I ask you, why is this world still dark? The Dark One, at the very least, is now imprisoned – within the same mountain walls that you trust to keep out the darkness, I might add – so why not bring back the light for the whole world?"

Finwë had no answer to that, and so he, too, looked down at his drinking bowl. It contained the tart fir wine so commonly drunk on these shores. He, too, had enjoyed it, not so long ago, before he had tasted the sweet wine of the Valar. Now, the resinous taste made his lips twist.
"I should have brought some of the food and the wine of Aman," Finwë mused, "and nobody would have doubted that the journey was worthwhile. I did not think of it then. I was so certain that the beauty of the light would be enough to convince everybody. I thought I would have the words to describe it all. We shall make new words, I imagine, words for the glory and the brightness, words for colours that you have never seen. We shall make new and beautiful things – we shall be able to dedicate our entire time to perfecting our crafts, when we no longer have to struggle for our lives!"

If he had hoped that Morwë would be moved by this promise, Finwë was disappointed. "You speak as if you were intoxicated," Morwë noted, "and there is a light in your eyes that worries me. Are you yourself? Or are you altered, like the phantoms send by the Hunter?"
"I am entirely myself, I assure you."
"Good," Morwë said, although he continued to study Finwë closely. "You are so eager to leave our homelands that I have become worried. You speak of what you hope to find – but have you given thought to what you leave behind?"
Finwë tilted his head, confused. "Yes. Of course. I will miss each and every one of you – that is why I have hoped to convince all to come with us."
"That is not what I mean. I mean our way of life – the ways of our people. Already, Oromë, however kindly his intentions, has altered them, and you simpy go along with it! You no longer eat snakes or worms because you have been told that it is ignoble, but has it ever hurt any of us? You no longer worship the Earth-mother because Oromë says that there is only an All-father, but how can there be children without a Mother to bear them? And Indis – Finwë, you must know that she loves you, and I know that you love her. In the old days, you would simply have asked Míriel whether she is willing to let Indis join your bond, and Míriel might have said yes, or she might have said no, but it would have been between the three of you, not by some arbitrary rule imposed upon you by an outsider. The Valar are not like our people, Finwë, yet Oromë feels that he knows better how we should live our lives! How should he know what is right for us? How should the Valar know what we need?"

Once more, Finwë was uncertain what to say. Eventually, he opted for, "I trust them. I suppose I cannot explain it very well. But everything that I have heard and seen feels true. I cannot refute your doubts, I know that. Maybe I would have the same doubts, if I had not been to Aman. But I have been there, and I am entirely convinced that it is the best for our people. It is only in Aman that we can reach our full potential."
"Maybe. Maybe you can create marvels undreamed of on these shores. I only hope that you will not lose yourselves in the process." Morwë sighed. "I hope that there will be no ill will growing out of rejected love. I hope the Valar will not shape you after themselves, rather than letting you be who you are. But to me, it looks like they have already begun." Morwë emptied the dregs of his cup. "I worry, Finwë. There are too many things that I do not understand. Why should we have to leave our ancestral home, forever? Why are we told to do it now or never? Why can we not choose at any time, or go back and forth as it pleases us?" He rose, spreading his arms to indicate the invisible lands around them. "Here, we know that we can live. The world is wide and bountiful, and we are not confined by mountain walls. There may not be such light as there is in Aman, yet our future can be bright. We know where to find game and fish, where to find the right stones for tools and the right stones for building. If we want more, we can go wherever it seems good to us. The Hunter is gone – why, then, should we not continue to build our lives here, where we have begun so well? Even if the Valar deserve your trust, why should we make ourselves dependent on them, far from the fountain of life? Even Oromë does not deny that the All-father has set us here. To me, then, it is clear that this is where we belong - here, or elsewhere in this world: in places that we can reach of our own power, but not beyond an ocean that we cannot cross alone." He let his hands sink. "I do not wish to make you feel bad, Finwë. If my thoughts and questions do not change your mind, I must hope that you have chosen well. But I feel that we cannot reach our full potential anywhere but here. I cannot make your choice."

Finwë reached out for Morwë's hand. "I understand. And I am glad that a wise man such as you will be here to look after those of our people who will not make the journey. But I still wish I could take you all along." He smiled wistfully. "You know, I thought that Indis might choose to stay, so she no longer had to see me and be tempted. But her kindred has decided to go to Aman, all of them, and she will not be the only one to stay. I suppose Ingwë is a better leader than I am."
Morwë chuckled. "Or maybe your kindred are just more contentious than Ingwë's. Whatever the reason, I will do my utmost to guide them well. And I pray that one day, we may meet again, and can tell each other that we were both right."

They went to sleep soon after, and when Finwë parted with his host, the next day, neither of them tried to change the other's mind again. They exchanged formal embraces, the dark and the pale, and expressed their blessings and well-wishes to each other.

They never met again in life.

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Chapter End Notes

- What does Morwë look like? We don't know, of course. The mor- element in his name might refer to his hair colour, as in Morwen, or it could allude to his temper, as it in Carnistir "black as his heart" Morifinwë, or (most likely) Tolkien just chose the name because Morwë's a leader of Avari, i.e. Dark Elves, hah hah (Nurwë, the other Avarin leader, is even more mysteriously named). But I like to believe that Elves come in the same variety of shapes and colours as Mortals do - and a guy who already wears the "dark" in his name seems well-qualified to represent dark-skinned Elves. Too easy? Possibly, but I like the idea.

- Yeah, I don't think that the Avari just "don't have faith" as Verlyn Flieger argues (do the Vanyar, Noldor and Teleri purely "have faith" if they act only based on the testimony of their leaders? YMMV.) when they refuse the summons. Nor do I like the chronicler's musing that the lies of Melkor might have been behind the Avarin refusal. I think they had other, possibly more valid reasons, and Morwë here expresses (some of) them. FWIW, Morgoth's Ring tells us that even the Valar didn't agree on whether or not the Quendi should be brought to Aman. Why should the Elves be more "faithful" than the gods themselves?