1. Chapter One
I´m a very long time Spanish fan of "The Silmarillion" of the age of 16 (nearly 17, though) but I didn´t got the Internet (do you say "got" for this?) until three months ago. The first thing that I found striking after reading the Silmarillion fics posted was that Finwë seemed to be completely forgotten. He isn´t my favourite character, but, as I had written a short story about him, I decided to translate it the first.
As was usual, the silver light of Telperion fell obliquely over the great stone citadel of Fëanaro, plunging it into a radiant pool of gentle light. On this particular day, to add further to the magnificent feeling of peace and quiet, even the customary activities had been replaced by a heavy silence.
Finwë closed his eyes and leaned backwards. The silence...he could not deny he preferred it to incessant running and shouting, as when his son was there with all his people. It helped him to feel how his thoughts crept slowly and in perfect order through his mind, like blood through the veins. It was soothing, and it appeased that constant anxiety he was ashamed for having let inside his fëa.
If he only could have seen himself as he was now, all those years ago...
Guiltily, he remembered the word he sent to Ingwë, King of the Vanyar, long time friend and close kin, only a few days before." While the ban lasts upon Fëanor my son, that he may not go to Tirion, I hold myself unkinged, and I will not meet my people. Nor will I attend the feasts of the Valar."
"What will he think about me?"
He would for certain be grieved at his friend´s rejection of the bidding of the Valar. Perhaps he wanted to know what strange madness had taken him, turning the wise King of the Noldor into a rebel like Fëanaro.
The feelings of his own sons he doubted not. For wasn´t Fëanaro threatening Nolofinwë with his sword drawn, the day the Powers banished him from Tirion? And he, Nolofinwë´s father as well, had sided with the offender.
Finwë knew he should expect nothing but bitterness at their part. And he also knew he deserved it.
"And you, Indis. I hurt you, Indis. Will I ever deserve the love you showed me then?"
She had never blamed him, and always supported his decissions, as when she asked him to go to Formenos, even if that meant leaving her alone.
"Indis" he had said. " you are my wife, and I cannot do this to you. If you do not want to come with us, I will not go away."
"I know your mind, my love, I know." was her gentle answer. She took him by the hand then, and looked into his eyes, while her rich golden hair glowed with the brightness of Laurelin. "But Nolofinwë needs me as your own son needs you. They need us, love. We must fulfil our duties towards them."
Why couldn´t he be aware of the sadness deeply engulfed in those beautiful lily eyes when she spoke thus and bade him farewell? So great was the hold his son had over him? Only at times like this, Fëanaro being away, Finwë was able to think clearly and to escape the madness.
What Indis said was true, but it was not all the truth. She was good and sensitive aside from wise and beautiful, as were the people of the Vanyar, so she refused to grieve him with the tale of the well- known hatred her stepson bore towards her. That, of course, made impossible her coming to Formenos.
However, Finwë knew too well it was useless, to try to change his mind now. Even if he did, nothing would be left of his decisions the very moment in which he saw his son again. And he also knew why.
How embarrassing it was to acknowledge all his failures and weaknesses! But he had to do it. He had to think clearly, master his pride, and begin to tell himself the truth.
By Ilúvatar, by the Valar, how he missed her.
He had thought that he would be able to live with it at first, when he courted Indis and married her. He believed then that the radiant blonde Vanya could make him forget, but it was not so. Instead, he gradually became more and more unhappy, as years passed and the memory of his Serindë faded slowly in the minds of all the people that knew her except himself. Even Fëanaro, who was always feeling bitter about his mother´s fate couldn´t remember her. Indis filled very well the gap left by her death, she did for everyone. He loved her with all his heart, they were happy together and had had many children. But he still needed to feel that, somehow, Míriel was still there near him. And, when Finwë looked at his first son, he saw his own wife in him, his lost jewel, entwined with him in a long and passionate embrace.
The embrace in which they had conceived him. The only thing that really remained of a long and passionate love which began in Cuiviénen only to end sadly in the land of the Valar.
The reason why Fëanaro would always mean to him more than any other in the Lands of the Living.
Deeply plunged in bittersweet memories, the former king didn´t hear the sound of footsteps nearing his chambers and stopping by the threshold of his door.
"Finwë, aranya*." ventured a voice he recognised at once by its appealing beauty. All his musings were shattered instantly, and he looked in front of him to see leaning on the doorcase a somewhat embarrassed son of Fëanaro.
-Greetings, Canafinwë. You may come in.- Finwë said, with a welcoming smile at his favourite of Míriel´s grandchildren. That Canafinwë, or Macalaurë, as his mother and brothers called him, was in fact much more alike to his grandfather than the other sons of Fëanaro. The resemblance was so striking that he remembered how his son used to jest about it when Canafinwë was younger. "He seems more your child than my own. Perhaps he is really yours?" the Spirit of Fire would ask, feigning accusation. But Finwë was never offended, and he always smiled back, reminding his son that Ilúvatar gave to little Cáno a most singular gift no one else in his family possessed, and himself least of all, as he humbly recognised; that is, his surprising ability as a singer. However, it was true that Canafinwë had inherited his grandfather´s preference for contemplative thought and quiet wisdom, while his other siblings were as restless as their father.
Well, perhaps not that restless.
"I did not mean to disturb you." that most charming voice began to apologise.
"Your presence is never disturbing for me. You know you and your brothers are always welcome to my presence.
"Thank you, aranya." Slowly, the young Elf entered the room" I...we were just wondering why you never go outside your chambers now. Since my father departed for Taniquetil you have not..well, you have not even moved. May I ask if you are... perhaps worried?
"Worried?" Finwë couldn´t help feeling amused at the careful watching he was submitted to at his son´s absence. "Maybe I am...but you certainly are."
Canafinwë made a movement of surprise at his grandfather´s perceptiveness, quickly noticed by Finwë.
"I wish my father was here now. I have dreams..."
"Dreams?" echoed Finwë. "Dreams about what?"
Feeling now a bit ashamed, Canafinwë shook his head. Surely he hadn´t come to upset his grandfather with his wild visions.
"They are of no importance. I...I do not even remember them."
The former King of the Noldor suppressed a frown at that, but he didn´t press his grandson further. It was not his way.
Instead, he smiled again to ease Cáno´s distress.
"I am always warning you against taking large dinners before going to sleep. Now, go to bed. You need rest."
Canafinwë smiled. For a moment, it had seemed as if he was about to say something more, but changed his mind in time.
"Shall I tell my father that you nearly succeeded in turning into a statue?"
"Ai, no! I will go outside for a stroll, I promise."
Now the two of them, grandfather and grandson, weren´t able to suppress a laugh, and Canafinwë seemed to have forgotten all about his gloomy thoughts. Glad at least for him, Finwë rose, and, motioning the young Elf to follow, he walked out of the room. Fëanaro´s second son went shortly after.
"Good night, aranya."
(To be continued)
*aranya: my king. Note for Quenya names: Fëanaro is Fëanor, and Canafinwë is the father-name of Maglor. Serindë was Míriel´s epessë, meaning "Broideress".