Chapter Text
It had begun, Finwë and Indis always maintained, at Nolofinwë’s very birth. He had been a small babe, and quiet - so different from Fëanáro! - but when he had first opened his grey eyes into Indis’ brown ones, a heady fragrance of roses had drifted in through the window. Indis had breathed a quiet prayer of thanks to Yavanna for her blessing, and thought that was the end of it.
It was not.
Two months later, Indis had walked into her child’s nursery to find him covered in dirt, as though he had been rolling around in the garden. He was giggling.
“Finwë,” said Indis, “did you take Nolofinwë outside today?”
“No,” said Finwë, puzzled, coming into the room. “Why, did you - oh.” He stopped and stared.
Nolofinwë smiled back at them. There was dirt stuck in his teeth.
None of Nolofinwë’s nurses, nor the gardeners, nor Fëanáro could tell them aught of how their little baby had escaped to the garden; and they were forced to let it rest. But Indis thought of the scent of roses which had suffused the room when Nolofinwë let out his first cry, and was troubled.
Three days later, it happened again; and two six-days after that, Indis entered the nursery to find her son stroking the velvety petals of a massive rose which had burst its way through the window. She stood in shock; then she scooped up Nolofinwë and went to find her husband.
“We must take Nolofinwë to the temple of Kementári,” she said. “He has been blessed, or cursed, or - touched, somehow, and - I must know.” Know if he will be like Míriel, touched by a Vala and taken too soon, is what she did not say; but she knew that Finwë heard.
He nodded decisively. “We shall go at once,” he said, and within the hour they had set out from the palace. Indis looked behind the carriage - it was customary to walk on these pilgrimages, but difficult with a babe so young - and inhaled sharply.
White petals were fluttering to the ground behind the carriage wheels.
They went south, south, south. Around them the grass grew greener and more vivid, the trees taller, the flowers fuller. Even the bees were louder, their humming penetrating deep into Indis’ skull.
Finally Finwë called a halt, at the edge of a wide wood. They could not reach Yavanna by carriage; they must go on foot, into the trees.
With little Nolofinwë safely bound to his back, Finwë extended a hand to his queen. He squeezed her fingers as they descended.
“It will be all right,” he whispered, “I am sure of it.”
His mind spoke differently, a whirl of silver-grey grief; but Indis took the assurance as it was meant, and returned the pressure with her own slight fingers.
They set off into the forest. It was cool, the air dappled with green and gold; the thick light of Laurelin flowed through the branches. It turned the black thatch of hair upon Nolofinwë’s head a rich, earthy brown and set Finwë’s eyes ablaze with fire.
My son, thought Indis. My husband! How I love them! As she spoke these words to herself she felt the air warm around her. Then everything grew very, very still.
What seekest thou, lord of the Noldor, lady of the Vanyar? came a whisper from the branches.
Indis cleared her throat, trying to force words out through her nerves. She looked to Finwë for strength; but he had fallen to his knees in awe. On his back, Nolofinwë burbled happily.
Fear not, rumbled the earth, ask what thou wilt.
“My Lady Kementari,” she said softly at last. “My son Nolofinwe - he is - different. We came to ask why.”
A squirrel chittered in laughter, somewhere to her left. Yes, he is different. He is beloved. All will love him save one.
Which one? Indis wondered; but Finwe beside her seemed to find his voice at last at Nolofinwe’s name. “Have you blessed him, my Lady?”
Blessed? mused a lark. Perhaps. I have given him strength that he will need.
“Need for what?” demanded Indis.
I do not know. I only know that at his birth the very ground cried out, whispered the wind. He will shake us! said the roots. He shall build us! wept the stones. We will embrace him at last, came a voice from the ground below Indis’ feet, but he shall be lifted high.
Indis looked at Nolofinwë, reaching one chubby hand out to touch a bird who was fluttering curiously about Finwë’s shoulder. It seemed impossible that someone so little could lift any stone, let alone shake the very earth, or earn the attention of the Lady Yavanna herself. He was her young son - so very young!
“Will your gift save him?” she asked.
Naught can save him from a Doom he chooses willingly, came a whisper from the heavily-laden air, but we shall be ever with him.
“We thank you for blessing our son,” came the voice of Finwë beside her, strong as stone. Indis herself stood still. She would rather have a child who accomplished little, and was known by few, and lived well and happily. She did not want the choking earth to embrace him, he who was son to one of the Vanyar, who lived upon the mountains and breathed the air of Manwë!
But one could not countermand a Vala; and so Indis also dipped her head in thanks. She felt a droplet of water fall upon her forehead; then another, cold little kisses.
Indis, Queen of the Noldor, came a voice from deep within the earth, We are sorry. Thy son shall be happy for many years under our light.
Unaccountably Indis felt the urge to weep. Why should joy be ever taken from her child, who dwelt in safety and peace in Aman? Why could her family not be whole? What a curse was greatness, which Finwë wore like a crown about his brow!
The air about them cooled as the great Presence of Kementári faded, and Nolofinwë beside her let out a long sigh. Finwë slipped an arm about her.
“We have our answer, at least,” he said. “Let us go home, and build a nursery closer to the garden.”
Indis leaned her head upon his shoulder and sighed. “Very well,” she said.
As they walked back, Finwë said, voice suddenly anxious, “I love you, my lady wife; and I love our son. Both my sons,” he added, for Fëanaro was never far from his thought, and Indis loved him for it. “I am sorry to bring you grief.”
“It is no grief to be wedded to you,” Indis told him softly. “It is no grief to raise your sons with you. It is only -” she stopped, and sighed. “It is a heavy burden,” she said finally, “to have a child who is destined for greatness. Already Fëanáro stands apart, and alone. Must Nolofinwë also leave us?”
“Our children shall not leave us,” said Finwë firmly. “Whatever comes, they will have our strength beside them.”
Indis felt another cold swell of foreboding; but she nodded again, and did not weep as Nolofinwë wrapped his tiny hands about her finger.