By the Rivers of Babylon We Sat and Wept
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b2memB2MeM Challenge: 2015 Spring Faire, Prompt: Last conversations at the borders of Araman by lignota
Format: ficlet
Genre: General, angst
Rating: PG
Warnings: N/A
Characters: Finarfin, Finrod, Angrod, Orodreth, Aegnor
Pairings: N/A
Summary: After the kinslaying at Alqualondë and hearing the prophecy of their Doom, some of the Noldor turned back at the borders of Araman. Finarfin has his last moments with his children.
By the Rivers of Babylon We Sat and Wept
“But in that hour Finarfin forsook the march and turned back, being filled with grief and with bitterness against the House of Fëanor… But his sons were nor with him for they would not forsake the sons of Fingolfin;” ~ The Silmarillion, Of the Flight of the Noldor
Year of the Trees 1495:
The beach was strewn with campfires.
Their light was so bright that Arafinwë could scarcely see the stars overhead. Over a hundred thousand Elves were camped along the shores and headlands of a bay that was teeming with ships. The golden beaks of the swan prows gleamed like coper in the firelight, their jet eyes glittering with accusation. About an hour of the Trees had passed since Lord Mandos had pronounced the Valar’s Doom upon them. Many Elves were still weeping while others, like Fëanáro and his sons, were grimly stoic as they sat before their fires.
They were four hundred leagues north of the Calacirya, in a cove called Hanstovánen by Telerin sailors. It marked the southernmost point of the vast region known as Araman. Arafinwë estimated it had taken them around nineteen days of the Trees to walk so far. He wondered how long their supplies would last. The soup suspended over their driftwood campfire held more slake and shellfish, foraged from the shore, than the grain they had carried with them from Tirion.
Yet only a tenth of their number were to return to Valinor with him.
He had not expected any of Fëanáro’s folk to abandon their fell oath and mad quest to reclaim their Jewels from Moringotto. But he had hoped that he might at least convince Ñolofinwë and some of his people to leave with him. Yet those who traveled in Ñolofinwë’s company would not listen to him, not even his niece and nephews. Arafinwë knew many feared to face the doom of the Valar as they were not all guiltless of kinslaying. Some in his brother’s following felt bound by the obligations of kinship while others were constrained by the will of Fëanáro.
“Perhaps we ought to fashion fishing nets ere we continue,” Findaráto said as he ladled the soup into wooden bowls. “Fresh fish would be a welcome addition to our meals”
It was unsurprising that Arafinwë had not convinced Lalwendë to return. He had never been close to her, for all that she was his nearest sibling in age. She had always been dearest to Ñolofinwë; Arafinwë suspected that was why she was here. Both Lalwendë and Ñolofinwë shared a love of horses and hunting, spending much time in the stable and archery range together. Fiercely independent, his sister was the only one of Finwë’s children whom had not yet married.
His daughter was just like her.
Artanis had inherited her uncles’ and grandfather Finwë’s disposition and was as high-spirited as she was obstinate. Arafinwë’s two elder sons possessed his own sedate temperament while his younger two children were of a more boisterous nature. His daughter seemed to view life as a competition and she was more daring and adventurous than all his children combined. Artanis was not here; Arafinwë had quarreled with her more intensely than with his sons and she had retired to Turukáno’s fire as she was good friends with her cousin Írissë.
“But do you know how to fish with a net, Brother?” Ambaráto asked from where he sat across from Arafinwë. “’Tis harder than it appears as I learned from Anatar Olwë and our Lindar cousins.”
The mood darkened at the mention of the Teleri. Arafinwë wondered grimly if his brothers-in-law and their children yet lived.
“Eärwen forgive me,” he whispered.
“What did you say, Atar?” Findaráto asked, tucking one of his front-braids back behind his ear.
“I said nothing,” Arafinwë replied, turning his face from the fire so none might glimpse the tears gathering in his eyes.
His eldest son was the most like himself, both in appearance and character; yet even he would not return with him. Arafinwë had been so delighted when Findaráto had decided to become a minstrel. Findaráto was as fascinated by music as he was by poetry and philosophy. Arafinwë has been slightly disappointed that his son had little interest in his own craft of luthiery though he thought his child was well suited to his chosen instrument. The boy had demonstrated talent for the lap harp from a young age.
“Findaráto is right. We ought to attempt to convince our uncles to allow us to spend some time fishing,” Angaráto said.
Of all their children, Angaráto was most like his mother. He had been a quiet and unusually serious child and he had changed little upon reacting his majority. He possessed Eärwen’s gentle spirit and good nature yet also Arafinwë’s skill with a carving knife. Angaráto was a woodworker and his fretwork was highly prized. But he would not return either even though his wife, Eldalótë, yet remained in Tirion.
“We can smoke the meat and help replenish our supplies. We have a long way to travel ere we cross the Sea,” Angaráto stated softly, gazing north with a distant expression.
It was madness.
His brothers intended to head nine hundred and eighty-five leagues to the far north. From there, in the mist shrouded coastland known as Oiomúrë, the Sea was narrow and the far shore of Endórë could be glimpsed. They would use the ships to cross the great Ocean though Arafinwë thought it would take many trips to ferry all the Noldor that comprised Ñolofinwë and Fëanáro’s host. Yet perhaps it was no more desperate than his own southward journey in the hopes that the Valar would forgive them their crimes. Arafinwë tried not to contemplate what would become of them if they did not.
He closed his eyes briefly and, unbidden, and imaged of a Telerin maid with his wife’s silver hair came to him. A crimson blossom marred her breast and her hands were stained with blood as though she had tried to prevent her life from draining away. Her lifeless blue eyes reflected the stars above like twin pools. Her mouth was open slightly into an expression of confused pain. He opened his eyes and the memory faded. Arafinwë wondered if he would ever be free of the guilt.
“Do you know how to weave a net, Atar?” Artaresto asked Angaráto, who shook his head.
His only grandchild had inherited his father’s love of wood and Eldalótë’s artistry. Artaresto’s marquetry and parquetry were beautiful and of significant quality, considering his youth. In half an age, his grandson would be one of the most sought after veneerist among the Noldor. Artaresto was much like his uncle Findaráto with his scholarly pursuits and fondness for adventure. Yet if his own mother could not induce him to stay with her Arafinwë had no hope of swaying him now.
“I cannot believe many Noldor know the craft of net making. Yet I will happily learn if it means we will eat less of this seaweed!” Ambaráto said wryly, lifting a strand of slake out of his bowl.
His youngest son reminded Arafinwë most of his wife’s brothers for all that Ambaráto had inherited the Noldorin love of metalcraft. Arafinwë had been greatly pleased when he had been accepted as an Aulenildo not long after reaching his majority. Ambaráto was blessed with a keen sense of wit and was nearly as bold as his younger sister. He was playful, prone to jests and teasing but also generous and kind at heart. Yet Ambaráto was close friends with Findekáno and Arakáno and would not forsake them.
Not even for his own father.
“Have you never eaten the slake paper the Teleri make from this seaweed? ‘Tis quite enjoyable,” Findaráto said with a half-smile.
“Your discernment is suspect when it comes to food,” Ambaráto said dismissively. “You even like those foul fermented soybeans they eat.’
Findaráto laughed. “I admit, fermented soybeans have an unusual flavor and texture.”
“Yes, and it is remarkably similar to slimy, rancid cheese,” Ambaráto rejoined, grinning. “I suppose I ought to be grateful we must only eat slake!”
Arafinwë gazed at his sons and grandson. At Findaráto’s worried eyes and Angaráto’s stiff set shoulders. At Artaresto mournfully staring at his empty bowl and Ambaráto’s attempts to cheer them with his quips. He remained silent for he knew he had failed and did not wish to spend these last moments together arguing. Arafinwë did not possess a great measure of foresight, nonetheless, he knew with certainty that he would not see any of them alive again.
He was to return alone.
Glossary
“…About an hour of the Trees had passed”: One Valian hour is equal to 7 solar hours. It was denoted by the segment of the full flowering of the Two Trees.
“…nineteen days of the Trees”: One Valian day is equivalent to 12 Valian hours or 3.5 solar days. It was denoted by the full flowering of both of the Two Trees.
Slake (English): a coldwater seaweed (Porphyra). It grows in shallow seawater in the intertidal zone in temperate oceans and has been used as a source of food for centuries, such as Japanese nori (e.g. slake paper).
Moringotto (Quenya): ‘Black Foe’. The name Fëanor gave Melkor after he stole the Silmarils and slew Finwë. The Sindarin form is ‘Morgoth’.
Anatar (Quenya): ‘Grandfather’.
Atar (Quenya): ‘Father’.
“…half an age:” a Valian age is equal to 1000 solar years or 100 years of the Trees.
Aulënildo (Quenya): ‘(male) Follower of Aulë’. A word of my own construction (cf. Yavannildi).
Note: All names are in Quenya as they have had no contact with any Sindarin speakers yet. Here is a translation in the order that they appear:
Arafinwë: Finarfin
Fëanáro: Fëanor
Ñolofinwë: Fingolfin
Lalwendë (Írimë): Lalwen
Artanis: Galadriel
Turukáno: Turgon
Írissë: Aredhel
Findaráto: Finrod
Angaráto: Angrod
Artaresto: Orodreth
Ambaráto: Aegnor
Findekáno: Fingon
Arakáno: Argon
Format: ficlet
Genre: General, angst
Rating: PG
Warnings: N/A
Characters: Finarfin, Finrod, Angrod, Orodreth, Aegnor
Pairings: N/A
Summary: After the kinslaying at Alqualondë and hearing the prophecy of their Doom, some of the Noldor turned back at the borders of Araman. Finarfin has his last moments with his children.
By the Rivers of Babylon We Sat and Wept
“But in that hour Finarfin forsook the march and turned back, being filled with grief and with bitterness against the House of Fëanor… But his sons were nor with him for they would not forsake the sons of Fingolfin;” ~ The Silmarillion, Of the Flight of the Noldor
Year of the Trees 1495:
The beach was strewn with campfires.
Their light was so bright that Arafinwë could scarcely see the stars overhead. Over a hundred thousand Elves were camped along the shores and headlands of a bay that was teeming with ships. The golden beaks of the swan prows gleamed like coper in the firelight, their jet eyes glittering with accusation. About an hour of the Trees had passed since Lord Mandos had pronounced the Valar’s Doom upon them. Many Elves were still weeping while others, like Fëanáro and his sons, were grimly stoic as they sat before their fires.
They were four hundred leagues north of the Calacirya, in a cove called Hanstovánen by Telerin sailors. It marked the southernmost point of the vast region known as Araman. Arafinwë estimated it had taken them around nineteen days of the Trees to walk so far. He wondered how long their supplies would last. The soup suspended over their driftwood campfire held more slake and shellfish, foraged from the shore, than the grain they had carried with them from Tirion.
Yet only a tenth of their number were to return to Valinor with him.
He had not expected any of Fëanáro’s folk to abandon their fell oath and mad quest to reclaim their Jewels from Moringotto. But he had hoped that he might at least convince Ñolofinwë and some of his people to leave with him. Yet those who traveled in Ñolofinwë’s company would not listen to him, not even his niece and nephews. Arafinwë knew many feared to face the doom of the Valar as they were not all guiltless of kinslaying. Some in his brother’s following felt bound by the obligations of kinship while others were constrained by the will of Fëanáro.
“Perhaps we ought to fashion fishing nets ere we continue,” Findaráto said as he ladled the soup into wooden bowls. “Fresh fish would be a welcome addition to our meals”
It was unsurprising that Arafinwë had not convinced Lalwendë to return. He had never been close to her, for all that she was his nearest sibling in age. She had always been dearest to Ñolofinwë; Arafinwë suspected that was why she was here. Both Lalwendë and Ñolofinwë shared a love of horses and hunting, spending much time in the stable and archery range together. Fiercely independent, his sister was the only one of Finwë’s children whom had not yet married.
His daughter was just like her.
Artanis had inherited her uncles’ and grandfather Finwë’s disposition and was as high-spirited as she was obstinate. Arafinwë’s two elder sons possessed his own sedate temperament while his younger two children were of a more boisterous nature. His daughter seemed to view life as a competition and she was more daring and adventurous than all his children combined. Artanis was not here; Arafinwë had quarreled with her more intensely than with his sons and she had retired to Turukáno’s fire as she was good friends with her cousin Írissë.
“But do you know how to fish with a net, Brother?” Ambaráto asked from where he sat across from Arafinwë. “’Tis harder than it appears as I learned from Anatar Olwë and our Lindar cousins.”
The mood darkened at the mention of the Teleri. Arafinwë wondered grimly if his brothers-in-law and their children yet lived.
“Eärwen forgive me,” he whispered.
“What did you say, Atar?” Findaráto asked, tucking one of his front-braids back behind his ear.
“I said nothing,” Arafinwë replied, turning his face from the fire so none might glimpse the tears gathering in his eyes.
His eldest son was the most like himself, both in appearance and character; yet even he would not return with him. Arafinwë had been so delighted when Findaráto had decided to become a minstrel. Findaráto was as fascinated by music as he was by poetry and philosophy. Arafinwë has been slightly disappointed that his son had little interest in his own craft of luthiery though he thought his child was well suited to his chosen instrument. The boy had demonstrated talent for the lap harp from a young age.
“Findaráto is right. We ought to attempt to convince our uncles to allow us to spend some time fishing,” Angaráto said.
Of all their children, Angaráto was most like his mother. He had been a quiet and unusually serious child and he had changed little upon reacting his majority. He possessed Eärwen’s gentle spirit and good nature yet also Arafinwë’s skill with a carving knife. Angaráto was a woodworker and his fretwork was highly prized. But he would not return either even though his wife, Eldalótë, yet remained in Tirion.
“We can smoke the meat and help replenish our supplies. We have a long way to travel ere we cross the Sea,” Angaráto stated softly, gazing north with a distant expression.
It was madness.
His brothers intended to head nine hundred and eighty-five leagues to the far north. From there, in the mist shrouded coastland known as Oiomúrë, the Sea was narrow and the far shore of Endórë could be glimpsed. They would use the ships to cross the great Ocean though Arafinwë thought it would take many trips to ferry all the Noldor that comprised Ñolofinwë and Fëanáro’s host. Yet perhaps it was no more desperate than his own southward journey in the hopes that the Valar would forgive them their crimes. Arafinwë tried not to contemplate what would become of them if they did not.
He closed his eyes briefly and, unbidden, and imaged of a Telerin maid with his wife’s silver hair came to him. A crimson blossom marred her breast and her hands were stained with blood as though she had tried to prevent her life from draining away. Her lifeless blue eyes reflected the stars above like twin pools. Her mouth was open slightly into an expression of confused pain. He opened his eyes and the memory faded. Arafinwë wondered if he would ever be free of the guilt.
“Do you know how to weave a net, Atar?” Artaresto asked Angaráto, who shook his head.
His only grandchild had inherited his father’s love of wood and Eldalótë’s artistry. Artaresto’s marquetry and parquetry were beautiful and of significant quality, considering his youth. In half an age, his grandson would be one of the most sought after veneerist among the Noldor. Artaresto was much like his uncle Findaráto with his scholarly pursuits and fondness for adventure. Yet if his own mother could not induce him to stay with her Arafinwë had no hope of swaying him now.
“I cannot believe many Noldor know the craft of net making. Yet I will happily learn if it means we will eat less of this seaweed!” Ambaráto said wryly, lifting a strand of slake out of his bowl.
His youngest son reminded Arafinwë most of his wife’s brothers for all that Ambaráto had inherited the Noldorin love of metalcraft. Arafinwë had been greatly pleased when he had been accepted as an Aulenildo not long after reaching his majority. Ambaráto was blessed with a keen sense of wit and was nearly as bold as his younger sister. He was playful, prone to jests and teasing but also generous and kind at heart. Yet Ambaráto was close friends with Findekáno and Arakáno and would not forsake them.
Not even for his own father.
“Have you never eaten the slake paper the Teleri make from this seaweed? ‘Tis quite enjoyable,” Findaráto said with a half-smile.
“Your discernment is suspect when it comes to food,” Ambaráto said dismissively. “You even like those foul fermented soybeans they eat.’
Findaráto laughed. “I admit, fermented soybeans have an unusual flavor and texture.”
“Yes, and it is remarkably similar to slimy, rancid cheese,” Ambaráto rejoined, grinning. “I suppose I ought to be grateful we must only eat slake!”
Arafinwë gazed at his sons and grandson. At Findaráto’s worried eyes and Angaráto’s stiff set shoulders. At Artaresto mournfully staring at his empty bowl and Ambaráto’s attempts to cheer them with his quips. He remained silent for he knew he had failed and did not wish to spend these last moments together arguing. Arafinwë did not possess a great measure of foresight, nonetheless, he knew with certainty that he would not see any of them alive again.
He was to return alone.
Glossary
“…About an hour of the Trees had passed”: One Valian hour is equal to 7 solar hours. It was denoted by the segment of the full flowering of the Two Trees.
“…nineteen days of the Trees”: One Valian day is equivalent to 12 Valian hours or 3.5 solar days. It was denoted by the full flowering of both of the Two Trees.
Slake (English): a coldwater seaweed (Porphyra). It grows in shallow seawater in the intertidal zone in temperate oceans and has been used as a source of food for centuries, such as Japanese nori (e.g. slake paper).
Moringotto (Quenya): ‘Black Foe’. The name Fëanor gave Melkor after he stole the Silmarils and slew Finwë. The Sindarin form is ‘Morgoth’.
Anatar (Quenya): ‘Grandfather’.
Atar (Quenya): ‘Father’.
“…half an age:” a Valian age is equal to 1000 solar years or 100 years of the Trees.
Aulënildo (Quenya): ‘(male) Follower of Aulë’. A word of my own construction (cf. Yavannildi).
Note: All names are in Quenya as they have had no contact with any Sindarin speakers yet. Here is a translation in the order that they appear:
Arafinwë: Finarfin
Fëanáro: Fëanor
Ñolofinwë: Fingolfin
Lalwendë (Írimë): Lalwen
Artanis: Galadriel
Turukáno: Turgon
Írissë: Aredhel
Findaráto: Finrod
Angaráto: Angrod
Artaresto: Orodreth
Ambaráto: Aegnor
Findekáno: Fingon
Arakáno: Argon
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Date: 2016-03-23 10:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-03-23 03:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-03-23 07:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-03-25 12:32 pm (UTC)(The discussion of slake also reminds me of a plot bunny I had once for a recipe fic challenge that came up--a genre I don't write, usually, because I'm not much of a cook--which involved Galadriel trying to work out in Araman how to cook things she wouldn't have considered edible before and recording the experiments in her travel diary. I didn't have the time to do the research, though.)
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Date: 2016-03-29 03:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-04-19 05:54 pm (UTC)