Chapter Text
Finwë paced up and down the hallway in an impatience entirely inappropriate for a King.
And indeed, it was very uncharacteristic of the normally calm and composed King of the Noldor.
He supposed that if his people could see him now, many of them would have quite a lot to say about his behavior. He hadn’t been a king for long but he had already learned that politicians were one of the worst kinds of people. They all played nice and pretended to be sycophantic and agreeable and courteous until they sniffed out the slightest weakness - that was when they pounced like Oromë’s hounds.
Though today, Finwë thought that he had quite an understandable reason for acting slightly out of sorts. Today was the day he would become a father for the first time.
He and Míriel were planning on having a lot of children of course - one of their favourite things to do on the Journey whenever they had a free time after setting up camp somewhere was to lay down together and imagine all the children they would have together. Míriel had picked out so many wonderful names already, and she hadn’t even had a mother’s foresight yet to guide her. Finwë couldn’t wait to see what his beloved Queen would come up with upon given a glimpse into their first child’s future.
They really had been lucky with the timing of her pregnancy as well - she had gotten pregnant during the last year of their travel to the Blessed Realm. Early enough for the child to be one of the first Eldar to open their eyes under the light of the Trees but still late enough to not be born in Endorë - something that could have endangered both Míriel and the child.
Few Eldar had chosen to have children during the Great Journey and it had rarely ended well, given the dangers they had faced on their way to Valinor. Finwë and Míriel had truly waited for the perfect timing to have their perfect first child.
Finwë wondered what great things their child would go on to accomplish.
It would, after all, be the firstborn of a king and the greatest craftswoman of the Noldor. Even the most irritating, obstinate politician of their people had chosen Finwë as his king, and the prices for Míriel’s tapestries were sky high. Some of them had even been gifted to the Valar, and Vairë herself had complimented his wife’s work.
She truly was his jewel, and this child would be their first collaboration, their most beloved masterpiece.
Surely this little elfling that was currently in the process of making their way into the world would go on to become as talented at craftsmanship as their mother, or become a brilliant and sharp statesman. Perhaps even both, the perfect heir to Finwë who could offer reliable advice in court, and someone who would create wonderful artwork to delight the Valar.
Their child would be the brightest and most brilliant of the Noldor, Finwë knew it.
He was abruptly interrupted in his thoughts as the door to Míriel’s chamber was ripped open with quite a haste, and the healer attending his wife during the birth approached him with a worried look on his face.
“What is it? Is the child alright?”, Finwë questioned the young nér worriedly.
“Yes, your Majesty, you have a perfectly healthy son”, he answered.
But before Finwë could breathe a sigh of relief, the nér continued talking.
“But after the child was born, your wife, she - she just went to sleep and I find myself unable to wake her. She appears completely out of reach, and her pulse is getting weaker - like she is halfway to the Halls-“, Finwë stormed into the chamber, barely even hearing the Healer anymore through the strange noise in his ears. It was as if everything else in the world had gone quiet, a hushed sensation falling over Tirion in respect of their Queen.
Indeed, there upon the bed his beloved Queen laid, pale and unmoving. She barely even breathed. Finwë had never before seen Míriel look so small. She had always been so proud and confident - even the weight of a crown had not been able to take that away from her. She had been tired, recently, and overworked, but never so small and helpless. Míriel was everything but a weak and helpless nís.
Next to him, the Healer chanted and sang in his gentle and calming voice, but Míriel seemed to not even notice the song around her anymore. She appeared completely detached from the world as she breathed slower and slower - until it stopped.
Finwë stifled a sob as he sat down on the bed next to her and cradled her head to his chest. This shouldn’t have been possible. The Valar had assured him - they had come here specifically because this was not something that could happen here - no death should ever touch the Eldar here in Valinor, that was what they had been told. Had he chosen wrong when he led his people here? No, it couldn’t be - this was the Blessed Realm, the perfect paradise, they would be safe here, they had to…
Surely Lord Námo could tell him what had gone wrong. The Vala would explain everything and he and the others would ensure it would never happen again. Míriel would soon return to him and everything would turn out fine eventually. Death was not the end for their kind, and it wouldn’t be for Míriel. Námo would return her to him soon.
He looked up from where he had been cradling his wife’s head in his arms and glanced at the Healer. Part of Finwë wanted to blame the nér but he knew better - the elf had tried everything in his power to save Míriel. Whatever was wrong with her, the Healer was not at fault. He was the best Healer among all the Noldor. If he couldn’t help Míriel, then she was beyond reach for the Eldar. Her fate lay in the hands of Lord Námo now.
“What of my son, then? You said he was fine…”
“Indeed”, the Healer hurried over to the small crib and gathered up the bundle laid within. As he handed the child to Finwë, the King could see that the elfling was deeply asleep - perhaps better, he had been told that elflings made a terrible racket when awake, and he was prone to headaches from loud noises. His work already provided enough of a headache, so he would be happy to leave dealing with the child during the early years to the wet nurse. The infant looked perfectly peaceful and innocent as he laid amidst the soft and thick blankets that Míriel had made herself for their child. He looked every bit as perfect as Finwë had envisioned him.
“You shall be Finwë, for now, and we shall share a name until you have shown me who you are, child - then you shall have a name worthy of the mightiest of the Noldor.”
Finwë handed him back to the Healer, who carried him gently back to his crib.
“Did-“, Finwë’s voice wavered for a moment, “did Míriel give him a name already?”
The Healer shook his head.
“She hadn’t received anything yet before…”, he broke off, unable to say it out loud.
No wonder. This was exactly what they had left behind in Endorë. All this needless pain and suffering, it was never meant to happen ever again to their people.
Finwë stood up.
“Thank you for your service, regardless of this unfortunate matter. I am sure Lord Námo will clear up what happened, you did your best. If there is nothing else to be done for the child, you may leave now, Master Elerondo.”
Elerondo bowed and left the room in swift, long strides.
——————
The doomsman regarded him with what almost looked like pity.
“She has once again refused, King Finwë. I am to tell you that she will never return to life, ever. Míriel continues to insist that she prefers her rest and peace and that she has grown tired of life. I am afraid that there is nothing to be done if she refuses to return entirely.”
This was far from the first time that Finwë had asked for his wife’s return.
He had grown used to the crushing disappointment of being told that she did not care to return to life, to him, but never? Were he and little Finwë doomed to remain alone, without a mother to take care of the little elfling, without siblings to play with him and support him as he would grow older?
The thought saddened Finwë greatly.
His elfling was now five years old. Soon enough he would be old enough to walk and to talk and to ask for his mother, for a family he could not have.
Finwë left the Halls despondently, deep in thought over what could be done. Somehow, he had to build that big family he and Míriel had always dreamed of. He wanted all those small elflings clinging to him that he had envisioned. He wanted great sons to make wonderful crafts for all the Eldar and Ainur to admire, and beautiful daughters who would be the envy of the whole court, dressed in all the dresses and jewels the royal coffers could afford.
But how could he grow that family without Míriel? If the Valar would allow him to bond with another nís, perhaps…
A plan began to form in the mind of the King of the Noldor as he walked to his horse and started out on the journey back to Tirion.
—————-
It was only a few months after that little Finwë - tentatively called Tatyafinwë by some for now, in lieu of the real ataresse he would someday receive - could not be found in his crib one morning. The wet nurse, who was quite certain of having left the young Prince there the previous evening, fell into panic when she could not find the baby. She alerted the guards and the King, and the whole Palace was thrown into chaos as everyone searched and searched for the elusive elfling. Yet even after days, the Prince was nowhere to be found.
Finwë first requested help from Oromë, as he considered the Hunter a close friend in remembrance of the first journey they made together with Elwë and Ingwë to Valinor.
All he received was a raised eyebrow.
“It is not the matter of my kin to look after the children of the Eldar. You have your own people to look for the child.”
It was the first time that Finwë considered yelling at a Vala. He was not foolish enough to do so but the temptation was quite strong.
Next he went to Aulë. After all, the Smith was closest to the Noldor and had always been fond of their people.
“Should it not be your duty as a father to look after your son? It is a poor father who can not tell me where his child is. Truly, I had not thought the Eldar to be so careless with their offspring.”
Finwë had to clench his fists to keep himself from yelling this time. He started contemplating openly cursing the Valar for their absolute unhelpfulness in spite of their promises about this realm and their wish to look out for the Eldar when a Maia of Aulë approached him and offered his help. He suggested performing a search for the child through Finwë’s fëa bond with his son.
Finwë followed him to a private chamber and watched fascinated as the Maia started singing with closed eyes.
The Maia frowned almost imperceptibly.
“I am unable to locate the Prince, your Majesty. His fëa bond with you has been broken and been replaced with another in its place. There is a weak trace left, but someone is deliberately obscuring the other end of the remains.”
“Blocking a former bond?”, Finwë’s mind was reeling. “Who could even do such a thing?”
“A particularly strong Maia, perhaps, but…”
Finwë gestured for him to continue as the Maia drifted off, seemingly lost in thought.
“Forgive me, your Majesty, but- I could be wrong, of course - it appears to me as though this is the power of a Vala rather than a Maia.”
Finwë grew cold.
It all made so much sense now. If a Vala was behind this, then of course the Valar would not help. There was little use in accusing the Valar of anything - who knows what they would do to him if he dared do such a thing? And he didn’t even know which Vala had taken his son and for what purpose. Surely if he accused the wrong Vala then they would be greatly offended.
Perhaps he and the Noldor could leave…but no, the Valar might not let them leave, especially if this was done by only one or a few and the other had nothing to do with the whole matter - they could grow terribly angry if the Noldor chose to leave against their will without proof that one of their own had taken the younger Finwë. Not to mention that if Finwë left, he truly might never see his son again.
He had just requested the right to remarry shortly before his son vanished. Perhaps it was best to wait for the Valar’s response and bide his time. He didn’t even know why his son had been taken.
What if there was wrong with the child, like there had been with Míriel, and it had all been done with the right intentions?
Or what if this was the price for forming a new marriage bond?
Finwë couldn’t act until he had all the answers.
“Thank you for your help. How can I possibly repay you for the service you have done for me today?”
The Maia smiled pleasantly.
“There is no need to repay me, King Finwë. Think of it as a gift, perhaps, to you and your people.”
—————-
Lord Astarindo hurried out to wave the Healer into his house.
“Thank you so much for coming, Master Elerondo, and on such short notice - I keep telling my daughter not to sneak out and hunt without the supervision of a Maia but she misses the freedom of Endorë - but what is that?”
Elerondo was carrying a small bundle in his arms. At closer inspection, the blankets moved as the elfling underneath poked out his head, blinking sleepily. Lord Astarindo stared stunned at the small child the Healer was holding.
“I was unable to find someone to watch over my son and he is too small to be left alone at home yet. I hope you don’t mind me bringing him with me”, Elerondo explained.
The Nobleman nodded hastily.
“Of course that is perfectly understandable. I shall call for a servant to watch over him.”
They strode quickly through the hallways. His daughter had protested calling the injury in emergency but this was not the wild anarchy of Endorë and she needn’t be in pain here in the Blessed Realm, not even from a broken ankle.
“I was unaware that you were married - does your wife also work then?”, Astarindo continued. He was uncomfortable with long silences.
Elerondo shook his head. There was a distant grief in his eyes.
“My wife, Nauþiel, never made it to Valinor. My son was born during the Journey, and she was lost to an attack soon after”, he said in a curt, carefully expressionless tone.
Lord Astarindo cringed.
“My apologies, I didn’t mean to bring up any bad memories.”
Elerondo nodded and they went silent again.
Astarindo glanced at the dark haired little elfling.
Poor child.
His own wife was currently with their daughter, insistent on keeping her company while they waited for Master Elerondo to arrive. Astarindo couldn’t imagine losing her or having to raise his daughter without her. Only few Elves whose partner had died in Endorë had survived with all of their mind intact. It was a horrible experience from what he had heard.
Nauþiel.
A rather out of fashion pronounciation. Some had wondered why the best Healer in Tirion stuck to the older form of Quenya - very few Elves did. Apparently none had thought to ask him about his wife before - it would make sense to use the outdated form out of respect to his late partner.
They arrived at his daughter’s room. Before they entered, Astarindo told the maid cleaning the hallway to watch the child. Elerondo briefly looked anxious as she took his son from him. The Lord pitied him. This boy was likely all he had left.
“What is his name, Sir?”, the maid asked respectfully, as Astarindo opened the door.
“Elemelimion Fëanáro”, Elerondo answered.
“Hello little Fëanáro! Aww, you’re adorable, aren’t you?”, they heard the maid coo behind them, before Elerondo turned his attention to Astarindo’s daughter. The Lord put any thought about the child out of mind in favour of his own, hurt child.