Work Text:
COURAGE is armor
A blind man wears,
The calloused scar
Of outlived despairs:
Courage is Fear
That has said its prayers.
The tree in their back garden was the tallest on their street; even taller than some that could be found on the palace grounds. Its top could be seen far above the wall surrounding the house. Findekáno saw it every day as he ate breakfast or sat in the window to read or play his harp. It was not special in any way - just tall and with thick branches like arms, stretching up to the sky.
One day, Findekáno put down his harp and opened the door to the back garden. He was alone in the house - Nolofinwë and Anairë had taken Turukáno to visit their grandparents on their mother’s side. Findekáno had been left behind to study the music piece his tutor had given him and the only servant in the house was busy with washing. Findekáno could hear the vague humming from the small courtyard on the opposite side of the large house, as heavy clothes were lifted and cleaned.
He stared at the tree for a while, taking it in. A wind made the green leaves flutter like butterflies. Findekáno started walking and when he was close enough, reached his hand out to touch the bark. It was thick and rough and he thought of his Uncle’s hands, also rough from working in the forge. He had never felt them, obviously, but as his cousin Kanafinwë had offered to help him study the music piece he had visited his Uncle’s household. Fëanáro walked around in his work clothes freely and Findekáno remembers the sooty hands as his Uncle dropped them in water and cleaned them with the same concentration and thoroughness he did everything. He also remembers how Kanafinwë had called him ‘a small little thing’ as he had held his cousin’s much bigger harp. ‘We’ll see what becomes of you’, he had laughed and it had rung like bells through Fëanáro and Nerdanel’s vast home. Findekáno’s cheeks had burned.
He clenched his fists, also the one on the bark, then he jerked his head to look up through the branches and leaves. And then he climbed.
The fall was quite violent, according to the maid who had happened to walk through the house as the prince lost his grip.
“But you were nearly at the top”, she told him as he lay in his bed and she saw his staring out his window, where the top of the tree swayed slowly in a gust of wind. He looked strange, not smiling. The prince always smiled.
*
Findekáno turned a page and sighed - the book made him tired. He should be done with it at the end of the day, yet it seemed to drag on faster than he could read.
He looked out the window and saw the same street he had been seeing since he was born. It was busy - carts were being dragged to the market square further down, people on their way to buy food or on their way back, children playing in the places where they did not disturb the flow of people, horses and, oxen. Írissë was there somewhere, he knew. She always wanted to play outside the house, not in the garden where everyone would have preferred her.
He sat and stared for a long time, ignoring the book with endless text, until he felt something shift. On the other side of the street something seemed to happen, ruffling and with voices growing louder.
Findekáno frowned and then rose to go out, not thinking he would need to do something with so many adults around.
Outside was filled with sounds but more prominently he heard Írissë's voice, louder than usual. He hurriedly tried to force himself through the mass of people towards the voice, because it came from the spot where people had begun to gather. A cold feeling of dread came over him and when he next walked into someone he did not even excuse himself.
Findekáno could years later still not figure out what it had been about. What could have spurred Írissë, hot-headed but not a fool, to challenge a bigger enemy than herself? For when Findekáno finally saw something between people's backs, he saw the much older son of the weaver from their street - he was kind, always greeted Findekáno when he saw him walk to his lessons for the day, but had a short temper and too many times had he fought with older and younger boys and girls, without any real reason, to be seen with any esteem. Findekáno had seen him fight many times, sometimes as a spectator, sometimes only when walking by.
He shuddered and stopped. He could probably try to force himself through the people before him, to get to them, to Írissë - who barely reached to the boy's hips -, to stop it.
The boy had once punched a nose bloody. He had looked mad in anger, mad in a way not Uncle Fëanáro or cousin Turkafinwë could be, but blinded and red and like a huge bull.
(Findekáno had seen both his Uncle and cousin angry and he could not fear them even if he tried. Something was different with their anger, it felt as if it was already part of them, as if you could not know them without knowing their rage. It fit their person so well, they would not be whole without it.)
How could a kind boy become something like that? Findekáno could not know, could not move, only his heart as it beat like a drum. The boy - Findekáno had forgotten his name - looked like it now and through the people Findekáno could see hints of white, his much smaller sister, but he could mostly hear her, as she talked and bit and was more on edge than Turukáno had ever managed to make her.
"You would not dare! You would never dare - I am -"
No, please no, Írissë, Findekáno prayed. Do not proclaim who you are, it will not make it better, please, no -
He could not hear the last of Írissë's sentence as it was erased by ruffling and shouts, but after the boy roared above everything and Findekáno felt himself shaking and he felt the instinct to run. Turn back to the house, to the boring book, to close the door and never have to see the furious face of the boy ever again.
Írissë shouted something and people around began to whisper and move and Findekáno could not see anything more.
He turned and ran. The screaming and protests and ruffling followed him until he shut the door resolutely against it.
During dinner Anairë, with worry under the tones, chastised Írissë, who was newly washed but one could still see the small bruises on her cheek and hands, and Nolofinwë sat quiet, radiating concern. They talked and looked little at their two other children, but they would see little even if they did. Turukáno ate calmly, not worried now that Írissë was back and safe. Findekáno looked down on his plate and felt as if every pair of eyes on him burned painful like fire. His own heart seemed to burn too, of shame.
*
“I am so proud of you”, his mother told him and smoothed out the fabric on his shoulder, despite that it probably needed no smoothing out. It was as stiff as Findkáno felt.
Yet, Anairë’s words were warm and kind and he smiled.
“Thank you, mother.”
“Remember: when they stare at you, it is only because it is your celebration. We will be there - we will try to stay close to Finwë, so you can easily find us”, his mother said and Findekáno nodded, ignoring the nervousness in the pit of his stomach. It was his coming of age celebration. He had reached fifty just a few weeks ago and Indis and Finwë thought it fitting to host their first grandchild’s - or, Indis’ first - coming of age at the palace, inviting the whole court and more.
“We need to go”, Nolofinwë said as he entered the room, having just left Turukáno and Írissë in the garden, the former with a book and the latter with a toy. Findekáno’s father was an impressive man and in court attire more so. He placed a hand on Findekáno’s shoulder and kissed his forehead.
“You will do fine. It is not your first ball and it will just be slightly different”, he reassured and smiled and Findekáno felt like he might just make it. When Nolofinwë said something, his children believed him.
“I will see you in an hour”, Anairë said before both his parents left. The few moments after it became clear they had taken his bravery with them and Findekáno felt his nervousness reappear.
He decided to go into the garden with his siblings to pass the time. Too late, he realised too much had passed.
The prince smiled the whole time, through the whole ordeal. He laughed and joked and the guests thought: He is nothing like his mother and father. They looked at Fëanáro's sons, each with a talent, and wondered: What will become of this smiling prince?
*
Tulkas was a Vala with an unclear function and his followers did not have the best of reputations - they fought and feasted and all in good mood. The Hunters of Oromë were also fond of feasting after a good hunt but they contributed with their skill in handling bow and spear. What for did the followers of Tulkas practice fighting? There was no Melkor for them to win over anymore and what enemies still existed in Aman to bind and chain?
Those were questions many asked, except the followers themselves because they did not need a reason. They did it out of pure enjoyment. At least, that was what Findekáno had heard.
They did not sound very frightening then , Findekáno thought as he stood before the gate to Tulkas' Halls, but now they do.
He felt once again like the boy before the tree in his garden but less determined. From within he could hear singing and laughter and he clenched his fist.
He had repeatedly been told he need not follow any Vala. He could stay in Tirion and continue his studies and work with his father or mother or someone else of his choosing. His father had seriously told him that only because his older cousins had so specific skills, did not mean he need to. Findekáno had agreed, yet now, three months later, he stood before the Hall of Tulkas.
Of all Valar a prince could have chosen, Tulkas was perhaps not the best choice. But Findekáno had seen them once or twice, as he had seen followers of Oromë, of Vána, of Irmo, of Yavanna, and he had known in his heart that they could teach him something. Something he had been trying to learn for all his life, without knowing what exactly, something he had wanted to find out when he climbed that tree in his garden so many years ago.
He knocked. It grew quiet behind the gate. His hands fidgeted with his shirt and he could not stand still. What would he say? What exactly did he even want here?
The gate opened and light and warmth greeted him. He could see fires and rows of tables and chairs and many, many elves - young and old, with tattoos or scars from their time at Cuivienen, and they were all staring at him.
Yet what drew Findekáno's eyes was Tulkas where he stood beside the gate, having opened it. Huge - the gate was like a door to him - and bright, like light made into a being. Yet his face felt familiar and real - skin ruddy like some of Findekáno's half-cousins, as if it was cold, and a rather well-kept beard and hair which shone like molten gold. He was dressed in what Findekáno supposed was what was meant to be worn to feasts and celebrations rather than hunts or wrestling, though it was far from the adorned robes with pearls and gold and silver seen in Tirion. His eyes still made Findekáno uneasy, the only ethereal feature in the otherwise normal face. They were like holes, but made of light.
"What brings Findekáno, son of Nolofinwë, son of Finwë, to my Hall?"
The voice made him shake from within. It was not the voice of an Elda or any other creature one usually met. It was a voice able to sing in the Song of Creation and it could be felt.
What should I say? Findekáno panicked, not able to make a sound. What do I want here?
For a moment he wondered if he should run away.
Then he remembered what lay behind him - Tirion with its court and Finwë; Nolofinwë and Anairë who met every challenge together; Írissë who wanted to be something she could not yet grasp the meaning of; Turukáno who read books and seemed content in the background; Findaráto and his siblings who felt more like guests in Tirion on the rare occasions they were there; Maitimo with his perfect smile and practiced manners; Fëanáro and his absence yet so significant that that itself was a presence; Kanafinwë with a voice made to create reality out of dreams; his tree in the garden of his parents' house -
Findekáno saw the tapestry which lay behind him and he realised he could not run back. He did not know his own place.
"I wish to learn how to defeat fear", he said, though it did not feel like his own voice.
It rang true to his heart and the silence that followed felt more asphyxiating than ever.
Then Tulkas laughed and all his worries dispersed like taken away with a wind. It filled the silence and Findekáno found himself smiling.
"All shall be taught in due time, Findekáno son of Nolofinwë", Tulkas eventually said as he welcomed him into his hall with a gesture of his hand. "But you chose the hardest lesson."
The prince eventually came home and perhaps with a more varied reputation than before - a follower of Tulkas? Would he join every feast available and start to pick fights? Yet Findekáno returned taller and brighter and sharper than before, yet he still laughed and smiled and some joked that he was indeed like the Vala he had accompanied, and called him Astaldo in jest, after Tulkas.
Others said he seemed to have learnt something. They were not wholly wrong; Findekáno was still learning.