Chapter Text
Once upon a time, the King of a distant land went into the forest to hunt for game. He was a great hunter, and though he had many retainers to accompany him, he traveled further and faster than any of them, and soon he lost them deep in the forest. He shot down a great stag, but after he recovered his kill, he realized that night had fallen and he was hopelessly lost.
The king left the stag and wandered for several days. Eventually he came back to the clearing where he had made his kill, and to his astonishment, found the stag neatly cleaned and roasting over a fire. Most miraculously of all, a small cottage sat snugly between the trees, covered in moss and mushrooms and looking for all the world as if it had been there for a hundred years. Yet the King was certain this was the same place as before, for he had left his hunting gear there, and it lay undisturbed by the fire.
From the cottage emerged two figures: one a beautiful maiden, golden-haired and fair-voiced, and the other a handsome man with a face as pale as the moon and hair as dark as the night. They looked nothing alike, but the man, who wore a long black cloak, bowed to the King, and introduced the maiden as his daughter.
“Your Majesty, I am Melkor the sorcerer, and this is my daughter,” said he, his voice cold and smooth.
“A sorcerer!” cried the King. “Then you might be able to aid me, for I am lost in this forest. Yet I swear I have been here before, and you and your cottage were not.”
“We have lived here as long as I can remember,” said the sorcerer’s daughter, and Melkor only smiled slyly.
“Certainly I can guide you out of the forest, o King,” he said, and only then did the King realize he had not introduced himself.
“How do you know who I am?” he asked.
“Everyone knows who you are,” said the sorcerer, and the King could not argue with that.
“Please, Melkor, show me the way home,” asked the King, and Melkor chuckled.
“I can, but shall I?” he questioned. “What will you do for me in return, your Majesty?”
“Anything you ask!” said the King, for he was desperate and lonely—and very hungry. The stag, roasting over the fire, smelled delicious, and he had not eaten in several days.
“Then when we leave, you shall take us with you, and marry my daughter when you return to your castle,” declared the sorcerer.
At this the King hesitated, for he was yet grieving the death of his wife, who had perished some years ago, leaving him with only one son. But he was very lost, and very hungry, and though the sorcerer unsettled him, the maiden was beautiful and kind, and so he agreed.
They feasted on the stag that night, and the King fell into a deep slumber. When he woke, the cottage was gone, and so were Melkor and his daughter, but a clear path led him straight out of the forest and back home. While he walked, he wondered if he had dreamed it all, for his encounter with the sorcerer seemed so strange.
But when he arrived home, it was to his own wedding with the maiden, whose name he learned was Indis. Melkor officiated the ceremony, and after that, everything was so busy that the King, whose name was Finwë, had no time to worry about anything.
Now, as we said before, King Finwë had been married once before, and had a son with his first wife who was then not quite of age. His son, whose name was Fëanor, was a brilliant inventor, and had gone on a trip to the countryside to look for ore. When Finwë at last had a moment to himself—and his new wife had kept him very busy—he remembered Prince Fëanor, and worry began to creep into his heart.
Melkor the sorcerer had conjured a great dark tower atop Finwë’s castle, and established himself as the kingdom’s wizard. Black smoke billowed from its chimney, and strange sounds could be heard from it at night; but though it unsettled everyone, nothing truly wrong had happened, and so they let the sorcerer be.
But in Finwë’s heart there was disquiet, and so before his son returned home, he sent his fastest rider to find him and bid him stay in the fortress of Formenos in the north for a time.
A month later, Finwë traveled in secret to Formenos, taking no one with him. There he embraced his son, and told Fëanor of all that had happened. Fëanor was much displeased that his mother had been replaced, but Finwë promised Indis was kind and good, though he distrusted Melkor.
“I will not return to a kingdom that has forsaken my mother,” Fëanor declared, “and I do not trust this sorcerer at all. Indeed I think he has bewitched you!”
“If he has, then there is naught I can do, for I am already wed to Indis; and no matter her father, she is a good wife, and I love her,” Finwë said.
At this Fëanor scoffed, but saw his father would not be dissuaded. Yet neither would he, and he remained firm: he would not return to the Kingdom, and would remain in Formenos.
Now Finwë sorrowed, for he loved his son dearly. Yet he bowed to Fëanor’s will, and promised to visit him often. Fëanor insisted his father tell no one of where or why he went, and then called upon Aulë, guardian spirit of those lands, to conceal Formenos from any save those who were welcome.
“But you, my father, shall always be welcome,” Fëanor assured him, and gave him one last gift from Míriel the Queen, Finwë’s first wife and the most talented seamstress in the world: a reel of magical thread that would always lead him home.
Many years passed, and Queen Indis gave the King four more children. The eldest, Findis, grew into a beautiful princess, and when she was of age, Finwë sent her to the kingdom of Valmar as a bride for their prince. Next was Nolvo, his heir (for all the Kingdom had forgotten Fëanor, the King’s firstborn), and then proud Lalwen, whose rebellious streak amused her parents but infuriated her grandfather. Indeed, Melkor sent her away to a convent in her youth, and though Finwë protested, Indis was under the spell of her father, and could not refuse him, and so Lalwen departed. The last and youngest was Arvo, a gentle prince, who fell in love with the port-city of Alqualondë, and then its princess, Eärwen, and dwelt with her by the sea.
Still Finwë visited Fëanor often, though by Aulë’s magic, none could follow him and indeed all had lost the memory of Finwë’s first queen and first son. The King found great happiness with his new family, and grieved only that Fëanor could not live with them in peace.
Now as the years went by, Finwë’s children grew old enough to have children of their own. In Formenos, Fëanor married a peasant woman called Nerdanel, and they had seven sons: Maedhros and Maglor and Celegorm and Caranthir and Curufin, and the twins Amrod and Amras. They lived happily as craftsmen in the north, and Fëanor rarely spoke of his youth as a prince, content in his work and only reminded of his past when Finwë came to visit him.
In Valmar, Findis bore her prince an heir, and brought her babe home to visit but once before Melkor forbade them from returning, and banned Indis from ever traveling to her see her daughter. Again this troubled Finwë, but Melkor’s control over his daughter was complete, and Indis never spoke a word against him. Perhaps it was a sorcerer’s spell, or simple manipulation, but either way the result was the same.
Arvo had four children with his princess and they visited from time to time, but the strangeness of their grandfather Melkor drove them away, and they dwelt in Alqualondë most of the time. Lalwen, still confined to the convent, wrote often, but never visited, and never wed.
So it was that of all Finwë’s children, only Nolvo’s family dwelt in the castle. He had married a noble lady, Anairë, who gave him four children: Fingon and Turgon, his elder sons; a daughter, Aredhel; and another son, Argon, when Aredhel was almost grown.
Now when Nolvo’s children were young, Finwë’s days were very glad, and he spent more time in his castle with them than anywhere else. But still he vanished for a few days every month, and no one knew where it was he went. Melkor the sorcerer was deeply suspicious of the King’s absences, and ordered his daughter to discover where he vanished off to; but Indis did not know, and despite her father’s urging, she could not find out.
But she too wished to know, and when Nolvo’s children were mostly grown, Finwë’s absences grew longer and more frequent. At last, burning with curiosity, she begged her husband to tell her of his journeys, but Finwë turned his face from her.
“I cannot say,” he said the first time.
“I am sworn to secrecy,” he said the second.
“Can you not trust me?” wept Indis on the third occasion, and at last Finwë could keep her at bay no longer.
He told her then of his life before he became lost in the woods so long ago: of his first wife, talented Míriel, and the son she bore him; of her lingering illness, and eventual death; of Fëanor’s intelligence and skill and tendency to wander; of how he refused to return to a kingdom with a Queen who was not his mother.
Now Indis’ heart ached for the poor boy, for all he was older now than she had been then. “If only I could meet him, and his family!” she sighed. “Had I known of him, and his mother, I would have done all I could to love him as my own.”
“He would not have let you,” Finwë said, but he too had long wished for his family to be whole. Yet it was not only Fëanor who prevented this, but him also; for Melkor had only grown stranger and crueler over the years, and he worried the sorcerer would see his first son as a threat to his own grandchildren.
“Please do not tell your father of this, any of it,” he begged, and Indis swore to him she would not betray her husband’s secrets.
But Melkor had great power, especially over her. He sensed that she had learned something, though she never spoke of it, and spied upon her mind with his magicks.
On a time he summoned his daughter to his tower, and Indis went, for she could not resist his call. She bowed her head to him, and he said to her:
“Daughter, I know of your husband’s secrets. He leaves to visit someone—who? Another woman?”
“No!” Indis protested, for she knew that Finwë loved her.
“Then who?” Melkor demanded, but she kept shut her mouth.
“If not a woman, then a child,” Melkor mused, and saw Indis flinch. He smiled. “Yes, a child. But how old? A child of yours, that you hid from me? Or from some secret affair? Or...” And now he cast back his memory. He had spent years unending in the darkest parts of the forest, and did not know all of the neighboring kingdoms, but perhaps...
“There was a Queen before you,” he surmised. “A Queen, who had a child. This is who he visits, and will not even let you meet him!”
Now Indis, seeing that her father knew it all already, burst into tears. “He does not want to meet me,” she sobbed. “Not him, nor his wife or children...”
Of course this secret prince had children of his own! Melkor seethed at the thought. Finwë grew older every day, and soon he would perish (Melkor would make sure of that) and his own grandson would take the crown. It was little matter, then, to control the kingdom himself—but if another son usurped the throne for himself and his brood...
“My dear,” he said, caressing his daughter’s cheek and wiping away her tears. “Fret not. I am sure the King is mistaken. If you came bearing gifts, this son would have to accept you.”
“Are you sure, Father?” Indis asked, hope rising in her breast.
Now Melkor began to concoct a plan. “Why, of course,” he assured her. “I will make them myself. One for each of them. What is it, three children? Four, like yourself?”
“Oh, seven!” Indis said. “Or—was it six?” She could not quite remember. “No, it must have been six,” she decided, “making him the seventh. What a wonderful idea, Father! What shall you make them?”
“Why, handsome shirts, finer than silk,” Melkor said. Now the nature of his power was twisted, for he could not simply kill, lest all his magic fade away. But he was clever, and crafty, and there were many other ways than death to make a problem disappear. “Are his children all full grown?”
“All but the youngest,” she said, “but he is tall like a man. Oh! I know! I shall bring his wife a gift of my own. A dress? Or a brooch? A pair of earrings?”
Now Melkor let her go, for he did not care about the wife. His plan was in motion, and there would be nothing at all Finwë could do to stop him!
The next time Finwë left to visit his son, Indis followed him in secret. She carried with her a necklace for Nerdanel and the seven shirts for Fëanor and his sons. They were beautiful, sown with suns and moons at the trim, and her father had spun them together with magical speed. She just knew her new family would love them, and she hoped they would love her too.
She caught up to Finwë by nightfall, and he was much displeased to see her. “I told you, my wife, that Fëanor shall not love you,” he said. “Even now he grieves his mother so.”
Now Indis noticed the spool of thread Finwë carried. She touched it gently, and felt the power within it thrum.
“So Míriel was an enchantress like my father?” she said.
“No,” Finwë said shortly, not at all liking the comparison. “She spun the thread, but not the magic. My son’s guardian spirit did that.”
“A guardian spirit! Then it must be him that kept all the world from remembering your life before,” Indis sighed. “Oh, Finwë, my love. I yearn to meet Fëanor and his children! Please, let me have the chance. I brought gifts for them all, and Lady Nerdanel!”
Now Finwë’s heart was softened, for he saw how good-hearted and honest his wife was, and so he relented, but warned her again of the frosty reception she was likely to have. This did not deter Indis at all, and she sang the whole way to Formenos, and Finwë joined her in a harmony.
At long last, Finwë and Indis arrived. Fëanor and his seven sons were expecting him, but the journey had taken a little longer than usual since Indis was with him. As soon as the young men and their father caught sight of the King, they dropped what they were doing and rushed over to meet him.
“Grandfather! It’s been so long!” cried the youngest, twins alike in mood and face. They were Amras and Amrod, still youths, and still young enough to fling themselves at their grandfather in a boisterous hug that nearly knocked him over.
Finwë laughed and embraced them, while Indis hovered nervously behind him. But Curufin, the next-youngest, caught sight of her right away, and scowled.
“Grandfather, who is this?” he demanded, and his father, whom he resembled mightily, matched his suspicious glare.
“This is Queen Indis, my second wife,” Finwë said, and Indis curtsied prettily.
“I said I wanted nothing to do with her, or your kingdom,” Fëanor growled.
“What is that you have?” asked Caranthir, the middlest, with equal parts suspicion and curiosity, for Indis had taken out the shirts Melkor had sown.
“Gifts for you, my step-grandchildren, if you would have them,” she said. “I know they cannot be equal to anything Queen Míriel has sown, but I wanted to show my love, if I could.”
Celegorm strode forward and inspected the shirts. “They’re exactly our sizes,” he said, surprised.
“Father, don’t be so dour,” said the second-oldest, Maglor, and patted Fëanor on the arm. “Come, she means well! Let us entertain our guests tonight! Oh, where is Nelyo? He’s missing all the fun!”
“In his tower, I believe,” said Fëanor, but he let his sons nudge him toward Indis, and they all accepted the shirts.
Indis insisted they try them on that instant, and so, shrugging off their simple tunics, the men slipped into their new garments. For a moment, Maglor and the twins admired the softness of the fabric, while Caranthir and Celegorm inspected the stitching and Curufin squinted at the hem. Even Fëanor could find little fault with Indis’ gift, though he sniffed that it was nothing compared to the robes his mother had left him.
And then, something dreadful occurred.
Slowly at first, the edges of the shirts began to glow. At first, Maglor exclaimed in delight, thinking it a charming quirk of the garment, but then all seven of Finwë’s descendants cried out in horror: for the glowing intensified to a bright flame, burning and consuming first the shirt, and then every one of their wearers.
“Sorcery! Trickery! Deception!” Fëanor cried, and Finwë wailed, rushing forward. Indis, meanwhile, stood still as stone, utterly horrified. She knew at once this was a trick of her father, but she was powerless to stop him.
Even as the flames consumed Fëanor and his sons, the men began to change. They shrank, shifting and warping, losing their arms—sprouting feathers—and transforming entirely into birds!
At once seven birds flew skyward, away from the inferno below: a great black swan, a white owl, two swift ravens, and two little sparrows; and last of all, a mighty phoenix, still burning bright.
Fëanor’s sons cried and sang in fear, scattering away from their father yet aflame. Finwë screamed his son’s name: “Fëanor! Fëanor! Fëanor!”
“A phoenix,” whispered Indis, knowing what would come next—and then the scarlet bird was utterly consumed by its own fire and fell back down to earth as ash.
Finwë howled in despair, falling to his knees and sobbing, his tears dripping onto the pile of soot that was once his eldest son. Indis found her spell was broken, and rushed, crying, to his side, but he flinched away from her.
“A phoenix, a phoenix,” she gasped, hoping against hope. “He will rise again!”
But a great wind blew, and Fëanor’s ashes were swept away, scattered to the ends of the earth. Above, wheeling in the sky, his sons had lost themselves to their bird forms, and soared away, leaving their grandparents broken and distraught.
Finwë collapsed, his sobs turning into a dry heaving that was dreadful to witness. Indis, weeping herself, knelt next to him and laid a hand on his shoulder.
At once, Finwë leapt to his feet, his face red and raw from grief. “Do not touch me, woman!” he thundered. “This is your doing! I should never have let you come with me—I should never have married you!”
Indis gasped. “Husband,” she began, but Finwë cut her off.
“You told your terrible father about my son,” he accused, and she could not deny it. “It was he who wove those accursed shirts! He who hexed my son and his sons! He who destroyed them all!”
“I did not mean to,” Indis wept. “I did not know!”
“It does not matter.” Finwë’s mouth was set with grim determination. “You did this. Your weakness against his evils, whether you went willingly or not, is the reason this happened.”
“Finwë,” she cried.
But he turned away. “Do not follow me home,” he commanded. “From this day forth, you are no wife of mine. If I set eyes upon you again, Indis Melkoriel, I shall slay you myself.”
Broken and bent with grief and horror, Finwë walked away. Indis pounded her feet against the hard earth, weeping and wailing, for she had lost everything. And the worst part was that Finwë was right: This was her doing. She should not have told her father, even though he seemed to already know. She should not have trusted his gifts. She knew he was conniving, and resented Finwë, and yes, that others called him wicked—but...
But he was her father. And his power over her, while she was in his presence, was complete.
Only, now...
Now she was banished from his presence. Melkor remained in his tower in the castle, and Indis could not go to him. Now she was utterly alone.
“You...are Indis?”
Indis was so startled to hear this voice that she stopped crying. She looked up, and there stood a woman. She was plain, and dressed plainer; and for a moment, Indis had no idea who she could possibly be. A servant of Fëanor’s?
Then she realized. “Nerdanel?” (She could not help her next thought, but at least she caught herself before saying it—My goodness, but you would have looked awfully ridiculous with the emeralds I was planning on giving you!)
Nerdanel crouched before her. She, too, had been crying.
“I saw everything,” she murmured. “You did not do this out of malice, did you?”
Indis shook her head. “My father... he is a mighty sorcerer. And—evil.” She shuddered to admit it, for she had been blind and blinded from it before. “I cannot resist him...”
Nerdanel brushed a lock of golden hair out of Indis’ eyes. “My family is gone,” she rasped. “So is yours. There is nothing left for me here. Will you come with me, back to my father’s realm? He serves the guardian spirit of this land, and together we might find some way to reverse this awful fate.”
Indis nodded. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I do not deserve such kindness...”
“But my boys deserve a chance,” Nerdanel said simply, and helped Indis to her feet. “Let’s give them one, if we can.”