Mahtan's Apprentice by WendWriter

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The Art of Persuasion

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The following day, Nerdanel went out, and saw a lone figure walk along the sandy shore of a lake near the woods of Oromë. He bent down to pick up a pebble, then skimmed it off the waves of the gently rippling water, which sparkled in the bright golden light of Laurelin.

Nerdanel guessed at once who it was, and ran towards him. "Fëanáro!" she called.

He looked around, pebble in hand, and straightened up. The pebble slipped from his grasp and he opened his arms as she approached.

"Beloved!" she cried, and leapt into his arms.

He picked her up and swung her around. "Ai, Nerdanel," he said with a laugh, "it is hard to remain in a bad mood when you are near!"

"What troubles you, my love?" she asked, noting his furrowed brow and tangled hair.

"Your parents disapprove of me," he answered in a low voice, his head turned downwards. "I know what they said, but how can they accept one such as I? They speak of having room in their hearts for me, but what does that mean?"

"Fëanáro, they told me they would let us wed if you cease complaining against your father's marriage, and say nothing more against Indis," she told him.

Fëanáro cupped her face in both hands. "The thought of being asked to accept a decision I believe to be unfair galls me to the core of my being, but no one will know how I feel if I say nothing about it. Nobody ever paid attention to my complaints, anyway. I will stop speaking out, but my mind will never change, Nerdanel."

"I have given the matter some thought, Fëanáro," she replied. "I know you have spent some time in the garden of Estë, but have you ever spoken to any of the Ainur about this? Perhaps if you did, you would understand it better."

With a snort, Fëanáro pulled away, turned his back on her and walked a few paces away.

Noting how his muscles bunched up beneath his tunic, Nerdanel kept quiet for a moment and waited for him to respond. She had heard about his temper, and had no desire to experience it. The gentle swash and backwash of the waves that lapped the lakeshore soothed her a little, but she could not take her eyes off the dun monolithic shape before her. There was a way to resolve this problem, but that meant getting Fëanáro to accept this. At the moment, he seemed unable to accept anything.

At last, he turned back to her and said, "Have you ever asked yourself how I became like this? My thoughts are so consumed with the nonsense that the Ainur and their servants have tried to drill into me, I just cannot think or act like other people. The bliss of Aman does not reach my heart, Nerdanel! This is what you do not understand - the force of irrational belief has ruined me. That, and the attempts of everyone, including my own father, to impose it upon me."

The strength of the rage in his voice frightened Nerdanel, but she knew that, if she failed to persuade Fëanáro to change his mind about the Valar, she would not be permitted to wed with him. She winced as she considered the implications of allowing Fëanáro's fury to fester. If she continued her relationship with him, his wrath might draw her onto a path that would lead to her doom. While she could not imagine her love for him coming to an end, she could see herself being parted from him, either through her choice - or his.

The glint in his steel-grey eyes did little to comfort her, but Nerdanel was determined to win him over, for his sake as much as her own. "You have not answered my question," she said, her voice calm and firm.

Fëanáro sighed. "What good would it do if I did go to Taniquetil?" he demanded. "They would either bludgeon or cozen me by other means into accepting the unacceptable."

"How can you be sure?" she persisted, her voice gentle.

"They persuaded everyone else," he snapped, his gaze turned away from hers.

"But you said you cannot think or act like other people," she argued, keeping her tone light and low. "Cozening would not work on you."

"I..." his words ground to a halt as he lifted his head to look into her eyes.

"Do you believe I am convinced?" she asked.

"I am not..."

She moved closer to him, put her arms around his neck and kissed her on his lips.

"I will go," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Will you come with me?"

"First I will get leave from my parents," she replied. "I think they will approve."

"I shall meet you at your door at the mingling of the lights," he affirmed.

A happy smile stretched her lips, and after one more kiss, Nerdanel returned home feeling happy and excited at the prospect of being able to help the one she loved.

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At the appointed hour, Fëanáro was ready to meet his lady outside her house.

Mahtan stood behind her as she opened the door, and watched Fëanáro intently. "Take care of her," he said sternly, "and do everything you can to ensure her comfort."

"I will," replied Fëanáro, with a slight incline of his head. He grasped the strap of his travelling bag, which was slung across his shoulder, and turned slightly to show it to Mahtan.

Nearby was a pair of horses saddled and ready to ride.

"Are those yours?" asked Mahtan.

"I have been staying with Glirel, who lives a few miles hence," answered Fëanáro. "When I told him where I was going, he was delighted to lend me the horses for myself and Nerdanel."

"She does not know how to ride," said Mahtan, his wary expression increasing in intensity.

"I will teach her," Fëanáro assured him.

Mahtan scratched his rusty beard and watched as Nerdanel made her way over to the horses.

Fëanáro looked away from him and helped his lady to mount the chestnut mare. When he had climbed onto the saddle of the black gelding, he turned back to Mahtan. "I will take care of her, my lord," he declared. "Farewell!"

"I will be back soon, father!" promised Nerdanel.

Fëanáro turned to her and said, "Hold on tightly to the reins as I am doing. Goredhorn* has never let a rider fall. Môrroch, make haste!"

The clatter of the horses' hooves on the stone-paved road echoed in his ears as he led his lady southwards.

"Fëanáro, where are we going?" asked Nerdanel, confusion in her voice.

"To meet my mother," declared Fëanáro. "Our first stop is the Isle of Estë."

He did not turn to look at Nerdanel, but he could sense her unease in the silence that grew between them. People kept demanding that he understand them. It was high time someone made an effort to understand him.

TBC...

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Chapter End Notes

*Goer = red, eredh = seed (nut), orn =tree: Chestnut

I took some letters away, as has been done before by Tolkien. E.g. Thranduil = thar-an-duil, across the river.