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"Tyelko is much changed," Nerdanel said to herself, though they sat in such silence that Colinde heard her without intending to.
She looked up at her mother-in-law, where the woman stood by the window, the daylight playing in her brown hair, making the tresses look the same cooper as Mahtan's. Colinde had lived with her for many, many years now, though the house was of such a size that it felt like she lived alone, and never had the past rested on the woman's shoulders like this.
"He is," she said, because it was true; gone was arrogant and lively Tyelkormo and in his place was a scared, poor creature, haunted by memories no one knew but him. Colinde remembered how this man had once insulted her with an efficiency that had left her ruined, and now, when time had made her stronger, the roles were strangely reversed. She had not voiced a single harsh word against him, yet Fëanáro's third son always looked at her as if he knew what she remembered of him, and felt her anger that had lingered.
He has become a prey, like those deers he so loved to hunt, she thought.
"We cannot fully understand his ghosts, mother," she said. "He is as he is now."
She did not mention whether she preferred this Tyelkormo or the one he used to be, for she knew the answer might upset Nerdanel.
"Mayhaps the Halls left him more haunted than he needed to be," Nerdanel said, but Colinde protested:
"The Halls did what they could. Nay, it is Turkafinwë who now has to decide how to act, and he has apparently decided to be a mouse forever."
He was much like a mouse; walking through the house quietly, so that Colinde only heard him from behind corners. He was everywhere where she could not see him. She could not decide whether he avoided her or sought her out; it seemed he changed his mind every day.
"He cannot stay one," Nerdanel said and turned to look at her. "He cannot stay this way, Colinde. He is afraid of every shadow; it must be a pitiful sight to even his former enemies."
Colinde had met some Sindar, seen and heard Dior Eluchil's opinion on Celegorm the Fair, and she doubted her mother-in-law was right. If Dior had seen his killer act like this for years and years, he might take pity on him. But then, he might also think Celegorm did it as an escape, to avoid the punishment that was his due.
"He must face his demons," she agreed. "But I cannot fathom how he is to do so."
"Had he no friends left, before he died? Someone who might understand and urge him to act?"
Colinde gave it a few seconds, but her mind came up blank.
"Only his brothers, it seems. Curufinwë, to be precise, but I imagine he will have the same issues once he arrives."
Colinde did not let her own pain seep through; to have all her brother-in-laws be reembodied, yet here she was, waiting for the only one that never came.
(Except Makalaurë, but from what Colinde gathered from Verciel, he would not come from the Halls, if he came at all.)
If it had been Carnistir, she thought.
If it had been Carnistir I would have done so much more.
Colinde had always had a generous heart, to the point her husband had warned her she was giving too much, and though time had made her more careful, it remained a part of her. She could forgive and though she would not love Tyelkormo nor give him the warmth she once would try to bestow, she saw Nerdanel's love and concern and decided to do what she could. Had it been Carnistir she would have acted similarly.
"I can try to speak with him," she offered. "I doubt he would listen or that my words will carry much worth, but I can try." She could not stop a wry smile. "If it has no effect, maybe Verciel will have more success."
Verciel, Makalaurë's proud and peasant-born wife, had put wariness in Tyelkormo when she entered the family; he had never dared utter an insult against her. Now, he would probably not dare open his mouth to speak in her presence. If Colinde asked, Verciel would be willing to speak to him, despite having a lower opinion of him than even Dior.
Nerdanel frowned, but said nothing. Colinde rose and checked to see that her skirt had no wrinkles, then with a nod she went out to the garden, where they knew Tyelkormo sat.
He sat on a small stone-bench, surrounded by Nerdanel's wild rosebushes. She had let them grow freely for many years and now preferred them that way. Now they could nearly hide a grown man, such as Tyelkormo, who sat with every intent to not be seen. His fair hair hung freely, covering his face.
He knew she had arrived; he could not not know. Therefore, Colinde carefully approached him but halted a few steps away from him. She waited, contemplated how she would approach the subject. Verciel would probably do it head on, for she had no intention to soften him. Nerdanel would be similar, but with more love. Colinde, on the other hand, had never been as confrontational as the other women. Indeed, it had been Carnistir who had taught her how necessary it could be. Or how unnecessary, in most of his cases.
"I remember that your father used to keep this garden in good check, once," she said. "He would never allow the roses to grow so wild. Or the green; I belive he once said gardens were meant for flowers and flowers only? Do you remember?"
Tyelkormo was silent for a long time, but Colinde had patience. Oh, she always had had too much of it.
"Flowers were never one of his interests. He had the gardener keep it in good shape out of pride and necessity."
"Yes, he thought it a good education, to know the flowers, no? Especially for his beloved sons."
She imagined she could see something twitch in Tyelkormo's face, though most of it was hidden from her.
"If you seek to soften me with memories, my lady, you will fail."
There he is, she thought. Naturally, his father will bring him out.
"You are mistaken," she said and approached him more, standing so close she could, if she wanted to, touch his shoulder. "I do not mean to soften you. Rather, I want to make you on edge. You see, these roses are grown wild and free now - far from what your father once would have wanted."
"I imagine he cares very little of this little garden nowadays."
I imagine he cares very little at all, she thought, her memory of her father-in-law tainted by the Flight still.
"They are in such a state because your mother forgot them for a long while," Colinde looked around with tired eyes. "Indeed, this space looked more like those uninhabited woods far away. Until we together decided to do something about it. Your mother had spent all her time in her workshop, where no one could see her. But eventually it had to be done. The gardener had left with his family across the sea and no one would want to work for her, so I, Verciel and your mother had to do it ourselves."
Colinde looked towards the wall that surrounded it, remembering. "The people outside heard us and climbed the wall to see us. They stared at us through all our work. It took weeks. Not even Verciel's rage could chase them away." She chuckled. "We made quite the sight."
Tyelkormo sat silent.
"But we finished. Before everybody. And your mother decided she would rather have most of them just a little wild. 'To remind us', she said, 'of our work'."
Colinde grew silent, reliving the memory. Nerdanel had been red in the face from exertion and her clothes torn, indeed, she looked as if an animal had fought her, and with such a light in her eyes she had said it. All three of them had been so tired they barely remembered the people on the wall, who stared and stared at the women of Fëanáro's House, despite Nerdanel having left him so long ago. The shame was so old Colinde barely touched it.
"And what need do I have of this story, sister?"
Tyelkormo spit out the word 'sister'. Colinde was so careful and wary of him, once. Now, he seemed so harmless.
She sat down beside him, depsite the bench being too small. She could feel the tensity in his body as she did so and she now saw the darkness in his hair that was closer to Nerdanel's colours.
"Could you do it? Could you clean this garden up?"
"It need no more work now. The gardener keeps it in my mother's wished-for state."
Colinde rolled her eyes. "Could you face the crowds? The judgement that we faced those weeks? The judgement he faced because of your deeds."
Now, he looked at her. The hair parted and she faced him - his fair face that held a false youth, eyes that held fire but also the enormity of his fear. Colinde felt the familiar fear of him, of his words, but steeled herself.
"And here it comes," he said and his lips curled in that familiar way. "I wondered when you would tell me. Go on, tell me of my deeds."
"They are yours," she said. "You tell me instead."
She saw his hesitance and challanged him:
"Own them."
His eyes flashed, but only for a moment, for it soon gave way for the bone-deep fear. Colinde had known it would return.
"Go on, Turkafinwë," she said. "Can you do what we did? Can you meet the eyes of even your mother, knowing what you did? Will you avoid her gaze forever? Hide here, as if the world is not outside, waiting for you?"
Contempt.
"I do not remember my brother's wife being so daring."
She met his eyes, dared him, even though she would rather leave him here to his fears and cowardice, to let him be this lesser man he had become.
"I cut these bushes, Turkafinwë. I stood before Olwë and asked for forgiveness for deeds I had not committed. I had to go to the king, the man my family had so long insulted, and beg for money and finances for myself and your mother. And once your deeds in Beleriand reached us, I had to stand before everybody and be judged again and again and again. Every time. Never once did I hestitate in doing so. I, your mother, Verciel, yes, even Oloste, carried the burden because you were not here to do so. We will not anymore. You will stand for you actions, Turkafinwë Tyelkormo, and you will leave this house."
As she spoke, she knew her words might be harsher than Nerdanel's would ever have been, but they were those this man needed.
"We never asked you to, did we?" he countered. "You did it willingly, and we never asked you."
"But we had to. We had to answer to our loved ones' crimes, no? To answer why these people we once would have trusted with our lives, suddenly would be more likely to take them from us."
The silence that followed was deafening. Colinde let him wallow and instead tried to calm her inner turmoil. She felt anger so seldom she barely knew how to contain it.
"My brother would never have touched you. Not even at his worst," Turkafinwë said quietly, before he stood up and left.
Colinde followed his hurried back with her eyes and felt an old sadness rise in her chest.
If only, she thought; if only it had been the other brother.