The Widening Gyre

[mybluerose]

B2MeM Prompt: March 26^th: End your story with a line of dialogue.
Format: Short Story
Genre: Gen
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Characters: Finrod, Angrod, Fingon, Turgon
Pairings: Cannon pairings mentioned
Summary: In Valinor before the Darkening, Finrod has interesting news to share with his brother and cousins.
 

The Widening Gyre

 

"Guess who I have found has been ordered to attend the festival?" Findaráto queried playfully, spreading his arms wide so that his golden armbands gleamed in the light. It was a quarter into the 9th hour when Laurelin reached her greatest bloom.

 

"Festival? What festival do you speak of, háno?" Angaráto asked, looking up from where he sat on the ground under the shade of a myrtle tree.  

 

"He merely speaks of the grandest of all the celebrations of the Eldar. Samírien is a little over three weeks away. Everyone has been talking about it," Findecáno stated, incredulous. He was crouching, weaving aromatic myrtle stems heavy with blue-black fruit into wreathes. Every seven years a festival was held to commemorate the coming of the Eldar to Valinor and every three years a lesser festival was celebrated in honor of the arrival of the Teleri. This year was a Year of Double Mirth when both feasts fell together.

 

Angaráto huffed. "I had forgotten. Some of us have been made to ensure that boundary stones are honored, even if the owners of the land are dwelling in Formenos."

 

His tunic and legs were spattered with mud. Angaráto had not been able to visit a bathhouse or even change clothes before his father had told him he was needed at the threshing floor to help overseer the millet harvest with his brother and cousins. The threshing grounds were a hive of activity. Several hundred carts and wagons bearing baskets piled with millet lined the road that connected the Noldor farmlands with the eastern entrance to Tirion. Golden light illuminated the endless acres of farmland, orchards and vineyards that stretched west and south beyond the city.

 

The faint breeze carried the scent of plowed earth. In three days, the prepared fields would be sown with barley, grass peas and flax. The threshing floor itself was a large rectangle of flagged ground, 500 paces from Túna. There, the cylindrical millet ear-heads were spread along the floor and trampled under the feet of cattle. Once threshed, the grain was regathered into the baskets and carted home to be winnowed by wives and daughters before being stored. Court officials with tablets and styluses documented how much grain each household brought so they might later calculate how much they owed in taxes. 

 

"Are there still problems with that? I thought your Atar put an end to it seasons ago," Turucáno said. He sat with his back against the tree, catching knucklebones on the back of his hand.

 

"It has been a reoccurring issue that I am certain my beloved háno has settled," 

Findaráto said firmly. "But come, you have not even attempted to guess who is ordered to attend the feast. I give you my oath that I am the bearer of most excellent tidings.”

 

"You and your word games," Angaráto grumbled. “you are a witty fool, hánonya.”

 

"Better a witty fool than a foolish wit,” Findaráto rejoined before sighing dramatically. “alas that mine own blood does not enjoy the most noble of Noldor arts!"

Angaráto scowled; he had always found his elder brother’s flamboyance and expressiveness to be wearying and, often, irritating.

 

Findecáno looked up swiftly, sending dark braids flying. "Is it your Anatar? King Olwë seldom attends more than the first day of any festival."

 

"Anatar is loath to be parted from the Sea for any length of time," Findaráto replied. "But, nay, it is not him."

 

"Who needs to be ordered to attend a festival?" Turucáno shook his head. "I would have to chain Itarillë to a wall to prevent her from going. She is too young to remember the last one."

 

"Artaresto as well," Angaráto added. "Though that might have more to do with a particular maiden who will also be there."

 

Findaráto laughed delightedly. "What a blessing! Why have you not informed me of this before?"

 

"Perhaps he fears your influence will cause his son’s betrothal to last as long as yours," Turucáno chaffed. Findaráto's overlong engagement was the subject of much censure and mockery.

 

"You wound me!" Findaráto clasped a hand to his breast and staggered, feigning injury. "This is why Findecáno is my favorite cousin."

 

"Last week you told me Macalaurë was your favorite cousin," Findecáno said wryly. 

 

"And so he was, on that day! Whoever said one's favorite must remain the same?" the golden-haired Elda rejoined with a flourish and grin.

 

Angaráto groaned. "None of your philosophy—it is worse than your word play. I have not told you because my son enjoys little enough privacy and you gossip like a market maid."

 

"I do not!" his brother protested, looking genuinely affronted. "I am completely capable of keeping my own counsel when required."

 

"Has the date of the espousals been set?" Findecáno asked.

 

"Obviously not, or I would have heard of it," Findaráto replied. 

 

"This is why Aicanáro is my favorite brother," Angaráto stated dryly. "you always feel the need to meddle in personal affairs."

 

"I feel I should be insulted by that, yet as Aicanáro is also my favorite brother, I cannot fault your fondness." Findaráto retrieved the wineskin at his feet and gestured with it. "To Aicanáro! The most favored son of Arafinwë."

 

Turucáno rolled his eyes. "At times like these it is hard to believe we are of the same age, Tyenya. But enough of your raillery, whom have the Valar commanded to attend the festival?"

 

"None other than our uncle Fëanáro."

 

Angaráto grunted. "Then I shall be certain to thank him for all the work his absence has caused me these last five years."

 

"You shall have to wait your turn," Turucáno opined. "our fathers' deserve to get in a few blows first and I would like my own match with him."

 

Fëanáro's exile and the resultant removal of a quarter of the Noldor population to Formenos had led to a great deal of trouble for the remaining members of the House of Finwë. Indis had not followed her husband into exile and had returned to King Ingwë's household in Vanyamar. Nolofinwë was now ruling Tirion as regent with Arafinwë assisting. The absence of Fëanáro and his sons had resulted in their duties being reassigned to the remaining Princes in addition to their normal obligations. This had engendered much bitterness even in those whom had always been friendly with the sons of Fëanáro.

 

"I believe your youngest brother has voiced similar sentiments," Findaráto said with a wry smile. Aracáno, who had previously been considered too young for any royal duties, had been unceremoniously thrust into the role of governor of one of the thirteen Noldor tribes. It was a thankless task for his subjects were those whom had been previously overseen by Morifinwë and were unhappy that the stripling son of Nolofinwë was now their overseer and royal advocate. 

 

Findecáno laughed. "The more fool you, háno! You have seen Fëanáro in a boxing bout. He has never lost a match."

 

"Only because he refuses to concede defeat no matter how bloody he is," Turucáno scoffed.

 

"I thought you would admire such tenacity being no stranger to pugilistic arts," Angaráto said archly, his distaste for the more violent sports was well known.

 

"Obstinacy is not a virtue," Turucáno objected. "If our uncle was less intransigent, he would not have drawn steel on father."

 

Findecáno waved a hand dismissively. "Everyone agrees he ought not have done that. Yet, truly, much of the blame for this can be laid at the feet of the Valar. Why ever did they presume to meddle in what was clearly a private family dispute? Lord Manwë ought to have let Anatar handle his own sons."

 

"A private family dispute!" Angaráto sputtered in disbelief. "Hundreds in the Great Square saw him threatening his own brother."

 

"I would have given Fëanáro worse than exile," Turucáno said. "a good beating might have helped instilled a modicum of humility. The Valar were right to punish him for what is more sacred among us than the bonds of family? If our uncle did not wish to be publicly exiled, then he ought not have publicly threatened violence against his own kin and brought disgrace upon the King's House."

 

Findecáno sighed. "Yes, yes, we all believe that Anatar has long erred in not curbing our uncle's animosity towards our fathers. Yet I believe it is the Valar that are at fault. Never have they seen fit to interfere with Noldor justice before. Why do you believe Finwë decided to go to Formenos? He holds himself unkinged! The Valar chose him to rule us yet now they usurp his authority? Is it because they do not like what Fëanáro, for all his faults, has been saying?"

 

"A hánonya!" Turucáno cried, the knucklebone he had thrown falling to the ground uncaught. "Tell me you do not believe our uncle's nonsense about us all being thralls."

 

"Of course not! It is a ridiculous allegation," Findecáno said, exasperated. "we might not be thralls, yet that does not preclude that Valar were displeased enough with his accusations that they were overly harsh in their judgment."

 

Turucáno appeared to be about to contest this statement when Angaráto spoke. "Findaráto, never have I heard such silence from you when there is debate to be had. What say you to this?" 

 

Findaráto frowned, looking uncharacteristically serious. He did not reply immediately, gazing at the threshing floor while gathering his thoughts. The others waited for Findaráto was considered the wisest of Finwë's grandchildren. 

 

"I know not whether our uncle ought to have been exiled for his crime. It is the first time something so grievous has occurred. Yet I say it was unwise for Lord Manwë to permit any to follow him to Formenos. There is more division and dissension among the Noldor than ever before. Ere Melkórë sowed strife and mistrust among us we all considered ourselves to be of one clan. Now you hear people say they are followers of Ñolofinwë or Fëanáro or my father or one of us Princes. Many of our people feel they must declare loyalty either to the Valar or to Finwë. If forced, most shall choose their friends and kin over any of the Ainur."

 

There were nods and murmurs of agreement at this.

 

"Current circumstances might be trying," Findaráto continued. "yet I have hope. The Valar have ordered Fëanáro to attend Samírien because they would see him reconciled with Ñolofinwë. If they can publicly mend the rift between them, I deem it shall greatly lessen the division among us."

 

"I do not see why you are so hopeful. Commanding Fëanáro has always been the way to ensure that he never does what is asked," Turucáno said drily.

 

"Nay, I believe Findaráto is correct. It is very likely Fëanáro and father shall reconcile," Findecáno said. "When I last spoke with Maitimo he mentioned that his father regretted what he had done."

 

Angaráto gave a derisive snort. "I am certain he regrets it. For the first time in his life our uncle has receive punishment for his misbehavior. He probably most regrets not threatening your atar somewhere more private."

 

"Must you speak such aspersions?" Findecáno demanded. "How can our clan unify if Fëanáro’s own kin refuse to grant him any chance at repentance?"

 

Angaráto bowed his head and placed his hand over his heart in a gesture of acquiescence. “You are correct, tyenya. For all his faults, Fëanáro is yet our uncle and deserving of our good will. I ought not give the strife sowers more grist for their mills.”

 

“I suppose that means I cannot demand satisfaction from him with my fists? O the sacrifices I must endure for the sake of peace among kin.” Turucáno relied wryly to much laughter.

 

Glossary:
Háno (Quenya): ‘Brother’.

Atar (Quenya): ‘Father’. 
Hánonya (Quenya): ‘My brother’.
Anatar (Quenya): ‘Grandfather’.
Tyenya (Quenya): ‘Dear kinsman’. A form of address reserved for relatives and close friends. Literally, ‘my thou’.

Vanyamar (Quenya): the city of the Vanyar at the foot of Taniquetil. An attested place, the name is my own invention.

“A hánonya” (Quenya): ‘O my brother’.

Melkórë (Quenya): older form of ‘Melkor’.

 

Translation of the Quenya names in the order that they appear:

Findaráto: Finrod

Angaráto: Angrod

Findecáno: Fingon

Turucáno: Turgon

Itarillë: Idril

Artaresto: Orodreth

Aikanáro: Aegnor

Arafinwë: Finarfin

Nolofinwë: Fingolfin

Fëanáro: Fëanor

Aracáno: Argon

Morifinwë: Caranthir

Maitimo: Maedhros