In Which Arda’s Greatest Overachiever Steps Up and Melkor Is Released On Good Behavior
In the Chapter 6 of The Silmarillion, “Of Fëanor and the Unchaining of Melkor,” we’re given a short but impressive intro on the guy whose actions will upset the geopolitical foundations of Elvendom in the near future. We met him in the previous chapter and even got as far as the names of his kids, but now we’re taking a step back to look at his early life: the intensity of his birth, the tragedy of his mother, and the dilemmas of his father. Fëanor has so much to offer, and some of it will be to the betterment of all, and some…not so much. There is a bit of a call-back in his nature to the Ainulindalë, to the secret fire and to another who went often alone seeking greater power.
Speaking of whom, at the end of the chapter, Melkor will be released from his three-age prison sentence, which doesn’t bode well for anyone. So what does the most powerful of the Ilúvatar’s offspring brood about in prison? Certainly not rainbows and puppies.
Dramatis personæ of note:
- Míriel – Noldorin Elf, weaver, tragic mother
- Finwë – Noldorin Elf, king, husband to (it’s complicated)
- Fëanor – Noldor Elf extraordinaire, jack/master of all trades
- Melkor – Ex-Vala, ex-convict out on parole
- Manwë – King of the Valar, judge
Of Fëanor and the Unchaining of Melkor
This chapter is one part origin story, two parts character profile. It sets the stage for the deeds of (1) the most influential member of the Children of Ilúvatar, and (2) his (and their) bitterest foe. At first it seems odd to reintroduce these two in the same chapter, but they are as easy to compare as to contrast. It’s like a silvery coin flipped into the air. One side bears Melkor’s face, blackened but strangely still fair; the other, shinier side shows Fëanor’s face only slightly tarnished. How’s it going to land?
Fëanor is a complex character and he’s hard to sum up in few words, but if I had to describe him with just one, it would be rousing—for nothing about him is lazy, inactive, or complacent. He is a Roman candle blazing fiercely amidst every other Elf’s long, slow burn. An Elf of action and purpose, even when those things go wrong. Some readers respect him, some hate him. I think it’s okay to do both. He’s like that smart and politically outspoken person in your life who you usually disagree with but can’t help admire for their intelligence and conviction. Yet bullheadedness steers them toward trouble—and maybe the wrong side of history.
As with many nuanced characters, the story begins with a mother. Which is interesting, as maternal figures are markedly lacking, or conspicuously dead, throughout the legendarium. Tolkien himself lost his mother early in life, and it’s hard not to think this played a part in the lives of some of his more memorable characters.
Fëanor’s mother is Míriel, a weaver whose hands are more “skilled to fineness” than any among the Noldor. And up until the birth of her (in)famous son, the love between her and her husband, Finwë, King of the Noldor, is a deep and untroubled one, whatever may come.
We’re reminded that this is the Noontide of Valinor’s blissful days, and the same could be said for the Firstborn of the Children of Ilúvatar. If the long existence of the Elves was a single day, we’re already at midday—yes, this early in the book. As a race, they’ve still got a long time before Nightfall, but the point is they’ve already been around for a hell of a long time. How long? More than three unquantified “ages”—since Melkor’s three-age sentence was laid on him well after the Elves showed up. And an age isn’t exactly a blink-and-you-miss it span of time.
From The Lord of the Rings alone, we’re accustomed to talk about the “twilight” of the Elves. A fading, a diminishing. And the truth is, we’re going to start hearing about the start of that fading only a few chapters from now. But my point is, the Elves have already had a good and long run. We just don’t read about it all because it was, by comparison to everything coming, less eventful. The Silmarillion covers only the really big news.
So it’s in this Noontide that Finwë and Míriel have lived in joy and in prosperous times. The Noldor quarry, craft, and devise. And it is in the midst of such productivity that their baby is born. Now Finwë names him Curufinwë (which literally means something like “skillful son of Finwë”) but that’s not the name that sticks. His mother calls him Fëanor, and through the very process of bearing him, Míriel is “consumed in spirit and body,” and afterwards asks to be released “from the labour of living.”
Which…damn. Elves are immortal; they’re meant to live as long as Arda itself. There’s nothing about this in the handbook!
So, grieved over this heavy and very unprecedented request, Finwë turns to Manwë himself for help. But even the mighty King of the Valar cannot simply “magic” a person back to full hit points and mental health. Having no easy answer for his Noldor friend, Manwë recommends them to the Gardens of Lórien for care. Lórien is totally Valinor’s rehab center. And it’s where Estë, the Vala of healing and rest, also dwells. Perfect! There’s no better healthcare in Arda than Lórien. (It’s also the only game in town.)
For whatever reason, Finwë can’t remain there with her. Very limited visiting hours, one may suppose. And the whole situation sucks. On top of being separated from his wife, he knows Míriel will miss the first years of Fëanor’s young life—which any parent knows is an especially wonderful (if challenging) time. And of this, she says to him:
It is indeed unhappy, and I would weep, if I were not so weary. But hold me blameless in this, and in all that may come after.
It’s an especially sad and ominous moment. Míriel clearly senses or even knows something, about the power, possibility, and maybe precariousness of her son’s life. It is no throwaway name she gives him, for Fëanor means “spirit of fire.” And fire, as we’ve seen from the literal beginning, in both physical and metaphorical ways, can be a force of creative energy (the Flame Imperishable) or destructive evil (the Balrogs). Fëanor will show us more than a little of both.
But neither Estë nor Lórien can mend Míriel’s weary spirit. She has put too much of herself into Fëanor and has nothing left, not even basic nurturing. Her spirit departs, leaving her body “unwithered” but lifeless, and she drifts at last into the Halls of Mandos. This is the closest thing to true death an Elf can experience. If slain, they relinquish their bodies and go to Mandos and can even be rehoused in body after a great length of time. But Míriel’s not interested even in that. She’s not coming back. Does she fear what’s coming, fear association with it? “But hold me blameless…in all that may come after.” It is understandable, if abstract, to be physically spent—but why so sorrowful?
Breaking my own rule for just a moment, I’d like to draw in a quote from one of the History of Middle-earth books, The Peoples of Middle-earth, concerning this moment. Tolkien wrote:
The death of Míriel Þerindë—death of an ‘immortal’ Elda in the deathless land of Aman—was a matter of grave anxiety to the Valar, the first presage of the Shadow that was to fall on Valinor.
I mention this as a reminder that the Valar, for all their power, are not omnipotent gods. What has befallen this one Elf disturbs them. Interfering with Míriel’s choice to remain a disembodied spirit indefinitely was not something they were allowed to, or even could, do. Ilúvatar’s bylaws are quite clear. Moreover, her fate is a true symptom of the fact that even here in the bliss of Valinor…things are not quite normal. This is Arda Marred, remember…not, for example, Arda As Intended.
Of course, Finwë is especially grieved now. Not only is his wife gone—and his love for her was as real as it comes—but he had hoped for more children. In the great span of his life—or at least what his life could be—he is still quite young. Day after day Finwë sits with Míriel’s body beneath the silver willows of Lórien instead of with her spirit in the Halls of Mandos. We’re not told if this is because he would not be permitted to visit her actual spirit; he himself is both living and still incarnate. Visiting the Halls of Mandos doesn’t seem to be an option.
Plus wouldn’t it be awkward visiting your departed loved one with Mandos, the Doomsman of the Valar, watching over your shoulder? I’m just saying. That guys knows things. You don’t want him staring at you.
Finwë sits with her, not wanting to be separate from her. Moreover—and this is huge—we are told that “alone in all the Blessed Realm he was deprived of joy.” That means everyone else has been well and truly happy at this point, traipsing for untold years through this veritable heaven on Earth. But not Finwë, who for all intents and purposes is a single dad now. So he finally walks away from Míriel and throws himself into being the best father he can be. He showers all his love on little Fëanor. And he’s good at the new dad thing, at least at the start.
His son grows swiftly, “as if a secret fire were kindled within him, ” into a tall, raven-dark, and handsome Elf prince. Fëanor seems to inherit the raw talent of his mother, the stature and charisma of his father, and the cumulative skill of the entire Noldor people. He is arrogant and stubborn, listening very little to the wisdom of others, but his mind is keen. Not only are his hands possessed of greater proficiency than any other among the Children of Ilúvatar, but he is also the most “subtle in mind.”
He’s even the inventor of the runic alphabet that the Eldar use from this point on. See, for all their love of speech, it’s only in only relative recency that an Elf came up with a written form of their language(s).
And as if it’s not enough to be the best at everything, Fëanor improves upon that, too. He’s like the Benjamin Franklin of the Elves; he seems to have discovered and/or invented everything of consequence. Only replace that whole key and kite thing with, say, a variety of light-emitting gemstones and a bunch of palantíri (yeah, the Seeing Stones were just a fun side project for him). “Seldom were the hands and mind of Fëanor at rest” is the point. The guy is a machine. But—and this is worrisome—he does his best work alone. As we’ve seen in the Ainulindalë, an uber-talented character going off alone isn’t always a good thing.
Anyway, from Fëanor’s hand come wonders the world has never seen. Gems that can capture and retain light are his speciality, and will lead us to those really important ones that show up in the next chapter. But given how productive he is even in his youth, there’s no way he didn’t at some point construct a diorama of the Gardens of Lórien or win every science fair. I bet on some bored afternoon as a small boy he threw together a silver-painted rocking horse model of Nahar, Oromë’s legendary steed, or made a clockwork Nessa doll that really dances.
At some point, Finwë finally gets out of the house and presumably stops smothering his son with attention. Remember, he’s the King of the Noldor and he still wants much more from life—and more children—and expects to have millennia to look forward to. So it’s just a matter of time, one supposed, before he meets and marries another Elf. This one is Indis, and is quite unlike Míriel. For one, she’s of the poetry-loving, Valar-devoted Vanyar, not a fellow Noldor. She also brings golden hair into a house of dark-haired men, and will pass those genes down to her granddaughter, Galadriel.
This remarrying thing is an absolutely unprecedented thing—Elves do not do this—and it “was not pleasing to Fëanor.” To say the least! And really, the whole situation is a metaphysical snafu. The death of Míriel—made of her own volition—and then the question of whether Finwë even can remarry vexes the Valar. Finwë and his family sure do make things complicated.
There is some fascinating behind-the-scenes discussion of this in Morgoth’s Ring, wherein all the Valar actually hold a council just to debate the matter. Legislation is proposed and made, Mandos gets involved, the late Míriel’s own spirit is consulted, and her explicit silence is deemed an approval, if nothing else. See, no Elf can have two spouses. If one is alive, the other can never be again. All Elves will be together in the end, whatever end, and if in death you reunite with more than one spouse, things are only going to be awkward. It’s all very crazy and fascinating and I recommend anyone check that book out (so much good stuff in there). But it’s beyond the scope of this Primer, so…moving on.
The main point is that all of this is really the result of Arda Marred. Melkor’s early meddling has poisoned the world in these less obvious ways. That the Valar brought the Eldar to Valinor and the light of the Two Trees is all well and good, but it’s also kind of just sweeping dirt under the rug. The dirt is still there, even if it’s beneath the surface. This is some of it.
And so a rift begins in the house of Finwë, with Fëanor spending more time away from his step-family, alone with his good looks and his mad skills. His much younger half-siblings, Fingolfin and Finarfin, eventually come onto the scene, and Fëanor isn’t the sort of big brother to show them the ropes. He’s got no time for anyone who isn’t Fëanor. With the exception of his father, whom he loves greatly. But when they hang out, there’s no way they talk about Indis and her sons.
When Fëanor himself comes of age, he is clearly Valinor’s most eligible bachelor. He’s the eldest son of the king, handsome and seething with raw talent and ambition. But Elves aren’t flighty about love, and though we know that Fëanor is proud, there is no reason to think he differs from his people in this. In fact, while he’s still quite young, he meets the daughter of a renowned Noldor smith from whom he’d learned “much of the making of things in metal and in stone.” I suppose, as a mentor. Which means that he falls for the boss’s daughter. Huh!
Her name is Nerdanel the Wise. Right away she sounds like the perfect foil for Fëanor. She becomes the cool head of their marriage, strong-willed like him, but far more patient. When his temper threatens to overtake him, Nerdanel alone can calm him. We are told that, unlike him, she desires to “understand minds rather than to master them.” When you have a heart-to-heart with Nerdanel, she wants to know your point of view first. If you try to have a heart-to-heart with Fëanor, he’ll Elfsplain to you how you’re wrong and how you should do what he says. The desire to influence or control others is not exactly an endearing trait, is it? Gosh, and where have we seen that before?
Still, let’s be clear. Aside from being a stubborn ass sometimes, Fëanor is no villain. Not yet. And certainly there’s nothing to suggest he’s a bad husband to Nerdanel. They are fire and ice; together they’re steamy. He’s passionate and headstrong, but he loves her, and I doubt he talks down to her as he does to others. Elves in Tolkien’s legendarium seem untroubled in familial relationships by the vices and petty desires that Men are plagued with. There’s no infidelity, no impropriety, no reality TV drama. With literally only the one exception we’ve just seen, they mate for life and are true to one another. They’re hardwired this way.
And so it is only Fëanor’s later deeds that will estrange these two. To the detriment of everyone. Once she’s not around him regularly, the dude is a loose cannon.
In any case, Fëanor and Nerdanel go on to have seven kids together—seven!—and throughout the long history of the Children of Ilúvatar, no other Elf parents will have this many. Did I mention he was an overachiever? Well, their kids are going to be movers and shakers in years to come, though they won’t quite make as indelible a mark as good ol’ dad. We learned in the previous chapter what their names are: Maedhros, Maglor, Celegorm, Caranthir, Curufin, Amrod, and Amros. Some of them inherit a measure of Nerdanel’s temperament, but most will possess Fëanor’s pride and tenacity. We’ll be able to see which ones take after him the most.
Speaking of pride, we come at last to Melkor. By the time his three-age sentence has finished, the three kindreds of the Eldar have long been ensconced in their posh homes in and around Valinor. The sons of Finwë and Indis are also already grown.
So the shackles come off, the doors of his prison are opened, and out into the Tree-lit realm Melkor is led to stand trial again—as was agreed. Before Manwë and all the Valar in their circle of thrones, he looks around and sees the Eldar gathered “at the feet of the Mighty.” These are the pesky Elves on whose account Melkor was laid low and locked up for so long? The ones who have benefited the most from his absence? Noted.
For their part, one has to assume that the Elves have been briefed on who Melkor is and what part he played before their coming. Some of them will remember the days at Cuiviénen, when rumors of a dark rider plagued them—and some of their kind were stolen away and never seen again. But they’ve never seen his evils with their own eyes. (The fate of those missing Elves and the existence of Orcs is known to no one yet, not the Valar, not Manwë. Project Orc is still on the downlow somewhere back on Middle-earth.) So to the first of the Elves, the world was beautiful even back then, but not entirely safe. Oromë had eventually come, and it all had worked out in the end. But plenty of Elves now exist who had never been to Middle-earth or seen its darkness. Fingolfin, Finarfin, Fëanor, and however many hundreds or thousands had been born since Ulmo ferried the Eldar across. Twice.
Heck, even their kids and Fëanor’s seven sons might be on the scene by the time Melkor is unshackled. Tolkien’s chronology is less clear before the start of solar years; the exposition in these early chapters isn’t presented in a perfectly linear fashion, either. My point is, the Eldar who were born into the bliss of Valinor are all the young “millennials”; they never knew the fears of the twilight days but also began their lives with greater education than their parents. The Eldar now have the Valar to learn from—often face to face!
So Melkor now sees the Elves standing there, buddy-buddy with the Valar. Which sickens him. The Valar are his own social and spiritual caste. Yet here, the Children freely dwell as willing subjects and friends and students, not as slaves and workers. That’s how things should have gone down in his mind. And he would have gotten away with it, too, if it weren’t for those meddling Valar! Especially Tulkas, that musclebound oaf… Oh yes, Melkor’s had three ages to daydream about vengeance against him and everyone else who’s wronged him. But now that he’s out, it’s the Eldar he hates most. They’re the ones who ratted him out and got him thrown in the slammer.
So yes, these Elves. He sees the shining gems that they’re all decked out with. Which is totally the Noldor’s doing. One wonders if Fëanor himself is present at this trial. His bling would be the brightest.
And what happened then…?
Well…in Valinor they say
That Melkor’s dark heart
Shrank three sizes that day!
All right, so that’s not how Tolkien put it. Even so, envy takes hold inside Melkor. He hides his loathing, for he “postponed his vengeance,” and he throws himself at the mercy of the court. He even requests of his brother, Manwë, that he might go forward now as “the least of the free people of Valinor,” and work now to help mend all troubles he’s caused. He makes no mention of the Orcs, that’s for damned sure. If they knew about those experiments, this trial wouldn’t end well for him.
So he sues for pardon. Interestingly, Nienna “aided his prayer,” meaning she actually speaks up on his behalf. She’s the only one who does. Seriously, Nienna! The Vala of grief, the Vala who has mourned and will forever mourn the marring of Arda by the defendant. She backs him up here, wanting Manwë to be merciful and grant Melkor pardon. And what about Mandos, who knows some things about the future? Mum’s the word.
At last, Manwë relents and pardons Melkor.
All right, so…why? To be fair, we readers know how long this book is, and that this is still just Chapter 6 of the Quenta Silmarillion. We can read the chapter titles from the Contents page and get the gist of things (and presumably Mandos gets to rifle and skim through the pages a bit). But the Valar? No. They don’t know, they can only hope. They might suspect that Melkor isn’t going to keep his word, they might worry and watch and wonder if this was the wisest choice.
Corey Olsen, the Tolkien Professor, has an excellent comparison to make about this choice. In one of his SilmFilm episodes, he likens Manwë’s choice to Aragorn’s at the end of The Fellowship of the Ring when the dying Boromir tells him the Halflings have been taken by the Orcs:
The decision to turn away, not pursue Frodo, but instead chase down Merry and Pippin’s captors—from a purely objective ends-oriented decision-making process—was a stupid decision…. I mean, yeah, Merry and Pippin are friends and stuff, but look, if Frodo fails because he doesn’t have guidance, the entire world is going to be destroyed. I like Merry and Pippin, too, but come on! The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, right? Wisdom would suggest following Frodo is obviously the most shrewd thing for him to do if he wants to maximize the chances that the good guys win. Leaving Merry and Pippin to die in the hands of the orcs would clearly be a wrong thing to do. He has the power to help them…. Morally, he can’t leave them them to die. And Aragorn takes this as an indication that it’s therefore the right thing to do. This is his sign that he’s not supposed to follow Frodo now…. I’m not going to think about what is the wisest, shrewdest thing. Instead I’m going to follow what is right even when it looks like it’s the wrong thing….
It’s not that [Manwë is] stupid, it’s not that he’s foolish in the sense of he doesn’t think of these things, or acts rashly without thinking. It’s that he thinks and considers and yet chooses to show pity, chooses to show mercy, chooses to give the benefit of the doubt, and to follow hope instead of wisdom.
I think most of the Valar—even Nienna, Melkor’s ad hoc defense attorney—knows this is a big gamble and that they’ll probably regret it. But they are the offspring of the thoughts of Ilúvatar, the one whose mercy has been witnessed before. And so Manwë knows this is the right thing to do: to give Melkor one last pass, on the off-chance that Melkor turns over a new leaf. The only condition is that Melkor must remain in the city of Valmar, and not roam all of Valinor or, worse, all of Arda. He probably has to periodically check in with a probation officer and show that he’s not trying to take over the world again. The Valar want to keep an eye on him.
And Melkor plays the part of a penitent ex-Vala well. Three ages in the fastness of Mandos hasn’t changed the fact that he’s a “liar without shame.” He is good at seeming benevolent with his “words and deeds” and his many helpful pointers actually benefit both the Elves and the Valar. He might be evil, but he’s still a master of many things. He has been, since the Timeless Halls, the most talented at everything. Most talented of his peers…sounds familiar again, right? It’s downright Fëanorian, innit?
Manwë is fooled by his good behavior. He wants to believe that his brother might actually be…well, cured. Part of Manwë’s blindness is his own humility. He lacks the ego that drives Melkor. An he simply doesn’t understand evil. Of course, there are two among the Valar who aren’t fooled: Ulmo—hard to pull a fast one on him! And Tulkas—who just thinks Melkor is cruisin’ for a bruisin’ at all times. Yes, they observe Manwë’s ruling and don’t interfere. But Tulkas clenches his hands every time he passes Melkor on the street and, I’m thinking, makes a show of neck-cracking every chance he gets.
But it’s the Eldar that Melkor has in the crosshairs now. Hey may not be able to overthrow the Valar as he once dreamt, but he can mess up Ilúvatar’s precious Children. They’re vulnerable, and here he is right among them like a werewolf in…weresheep’s clothing? Maybe he can’t go after the Vanyar; those fair-haired, hippy-dippy, poetry-spouting bootlickers that stay too close to the Trees and to the Valar. More importantly, they’re too damned happy. And he won’t even bother with the Teleri. They’re nothing to him, those incurious, swan-loving Sea-elves.
But the Noldor—ah, the Noldor! He can relate to them. They’re intrinsically crafty, they yearn to know what they do not already. And more importantly, they’re restless. Yes, he can work with all this! Best of all, a lot of them come to trust him. Well, except that one cocky gem-crafting Noldo. What’s his name again? Oh yes, Fëanor. He despises Melkor, and never accepts counsel from him, despite all his skill. Whatever, if Fëanor won’t be manipulated directly, perhaps Melkor can pull his strings indirectly.
So there we have it. By chapter’s end, we’ve got one important new character in play, an old one back in play, and this town ain’t big enough for the both of them. Somebody get the popcorn!
In the next installment, we’ll finally get eyes on Fëanor’s titular gems and we’ll try to figure out what sort of bonnet-dwelling bee Melkor is breeding in “Of the Silmarils and the Unrest of the Noldor.”
Top image: “The Secret Fire” by Deviant Art user noei1984
Jeff LaSala wonders what sort of screwy “secret fire” has kindled his son’s growth, because that kid won’t stop running and yet boycotts all sleep. Anyway, he once wrote a Scribe Award–nominated D&D novel, produced some cyberpunk stories, and now works for Tor Books.
To Miriel’s credit she wants Finwe to be happy. The fact that she supports his remarriage is the clearest possible evidence that she isn’t just malingering. It isn’t that she doesn’t WANT to be with her husband and son, she CAN’T. Even though she’s opted out of life she wants Finwe to continue to live it to the full and that means remarriage and more children. Heck she might have known Indis and that she had a thing for Finwe. Miriel wouldn’t hold that against her, Indis behaves completely honorably keeping her feelings to herself and not making trouble. Being a decent girl she probably sees Finwe and Miriel’s tragedy as a terrible thing rather than an opportunity for herself. Because she loves Finwe his unhappiness hurts her. Because Miriel loves Finwe she too is hurt by his unhappiness. Her condition is in no way his fault. He has done nothing wrong. He shouldn’t have to suffer.
Welcome to Arda Marred, Ladies.
The loss of his mother and subsequent spoiling by his father gets Feanor off on the wrong foot. Nerdanel is a corrective. She doesn’t let him get away with zilch and he respects her opinion enough to accept it. But the weakness is still there. In fairness to Miriel and Finwe it isn’t just his upbringing. Feanor is an atypical Elf. He’s a lot like a Man in his restlessness and drive. Lotus eating in Valinor would never have been a good choice for him. Gee, you think maybe Ulmo had a point?
Mercy is never a wrong decision. It can have bad consequences, as in this case, but that doesn’t make it wrong. Melkor MIGHT have felt remorse, he might have wanted to change. Nobody could really know. Who knows, maybe Mandos could see a possible future where Melkor did exactly that. Or maybe he just understood that nobody should be punished for what they might do.
Fëanor was always the most interesting of all the Elves to me, partially because he’s Galadriel’s uncle, but mainly because he’s basically the Eldar’s Anakin Skywalker. While he never goes full-on Vader, he does come damn close and he never finds redemption, either. I don’t think he ever even feels remorse for his actions, which…well, we will (or have) all see.
I remember from LOTR, Gandalf wishing he could use a Palantir to look back, and observe “the unimaginable hand and mind of Feanor at work”, or words to that effect. If Gandalf wants to watch while you make something…
Doesn’t Sauron imitate this good guy routine in Numenor? Though he does it with a false identity rather than false repentance.
It’s also a bit of Loki routine, pretending to be nice and helpful when you’re really there to wreck stuff.
a) “You’re a mean one, Mr. Melkor”
b) “I’m Luthien Who, who is no more than 2 (thousand)”
d) I can not get out of my head the image of Huan putting on the antlers to pull Melkor’s sled. Tevildo would never let himself be subjected to such indignities. Meow.
d) There are those who rush to defend Feanor based on his love for his father. To which I have only one thing to say: Oedipus loved his mother.
@2, I could never take very seriously the Anakin comparisons. At least in the prequel films, he strikes me as rather weak, and Fëanor is anything but.
@5, Oh the Realms In Beleriand You’ll Go (and Doom)! How the Balrog Stole Christmas. And instead of The Lorax, you just have Yavanna.
I just finished Return of the King again, and the similarities between Melkor’s malicious revenge and Saruman’s petty vengeance are so striking.
I’ll have to read either Morgoth’s Ring or the Silmarillion again. I could have sworn that Tulkas carries the chain around while Melkor is on parole in Aman, and rattles it whenever Melkor passes near him.
Ulmo, of course, is Always Right.
I pity Fingolfin. The guy so clearly, desperately wants his super-awesome older half-brother to approve of and like him, and Feanor never gives him his approval because he’s a terrible person (even if he is a charismatic genius at crafting).
Elves in LotR are said to epitomize beauty and sorrow, with Tolkien’s alleged philosophy that beauty is categorically derived from sorrow or something like that. So it’s interesting that Elves lived for a long time in beauty and pure joy.
Nerdanel is an unfortunate name for a character nowadays.
Haha, I’m sure Elves will Elfsplain things to other races sometimes.
Silmarillion carols? Heh. I’ve composed a number of Gollum-themed Fishmas (Christmas) carol filks over the years.
Nah, I thinkElfsplaining is more of a Fëanorian trait. Limited to he himself, most of his sons, and maybe a few others like Thingol. By and large the Elves are better than that. Even where they may seem to condescend in the legedarium, I think it’s unintentional.
Brett, yeah, that’s more unfinished History of Middle-earth lore. That chain has more backstory that doesn’t come up in the published Silmarillion. A shame, to be sure.
I don’t really have anything cleaver to add except: bravo! Tolkien gets a bad wrap for being too ‘black and white’ but I’ve always felt that was an effect of the storytelling mode he used and characters like Feanor show the difference.
Here it might be good to mention that, following the first 50-60 pages or so of mythological throat-clearing, our full introduction to Fëanor (and his sons) pretty much marks the point in the book where the level of intrigue and action begins to ramp up quickly. To this point it has been mostly world-building, but from here onwards (well, through the Quenta Silmarillion at least) it becomes much more a series of fantasy-adventure short stories that weave together into a larger, more coherent narrative. Knowing that the text will soon transition to a more familiar epic-adventure format may help those readers who may struggle a bit with all of the names and mythology to keep on reading—and hopefully they will be glad they did!
@JLaSala I meant the pre-prequel Anakin, haha. Before the prequels, Anakin was hinted to be powerful and talented, but also arrogant and seduced by power. I always saw Fëanor as Anakin “as he should have been.”
Still enjoying these. Commenting just to keep up with future discussion.
@3: It’s an odd thing to say, when you think about it. Olorin was there in Valinor when Feanor was a-crafting. I guess either he missed it the first time around, or Feanor is so fun to watch he wants to see it again.
That, or he’s referring specifically to the making of the Silmarils. I’m sure no one but Feanor was around for that.
Yeah, Gandalf was around, but Fëanor did most of his work alone or in the company of his sons. No way would some Valar-clinging Maia who hangs around weepy Nienna would be allowed into his workshop.
Glad you said the things about mothers. Sometimes there are complaints that there aren’t enough females in The Hobbit and LOTR, but mostly those complaints have centered on female companions to male characters. What is less often noted (and the Silmarillion is better as you note), is the complete lack of any mothers at all in LOTR and The Hobbit. First, onscreen there are only 4 mothers I can think of in total (who have children who are alive/in Middle Earth) and all of them are Hobbits in the Shire (and thus are mentioned only at the very beginning of the story (Farmer Maggot’s wife and Lobeila) and at the very end of the story (Farmer Cotton’s wife, Lobeila again and Rosie Gamgee at the very, very end of RoK). None of them, other than Rosie I suppose at the extreme end of the story, have much effect on the story at all. And almost all of our main characters are motherless. Bilbo’s mom is dead, Frodo’s mom is dead, Sam’s mom is dead, Aragorn’s mom is dead (though IIRC, she died just right before our story starts in LOTR, but she had almost no hand in raising him), we know nothing of Gimli or Leglolas’s mothers, Boromir (and Faramir’s) mother is dead, Gandalf doesn’t have a mother. Eomer (and Eowyn’s) mother is dead. Gollum speaks of his grandmother but not his mother. Arwen’s mother left. Galadriel’s mother never left Valinor. Elrond’s mother is in Valinor. At least in the Silmarillion, there are some mothers who are actually maternal present. As you said, Tolkien’s own mother’s death when he was young has something to do with this, but I would have thought his wife’s example of motherhood to his children would have bled through in the writing somewhere.
“With literally only the one exception we’ve just seen, they mate for life and are true to one another. They’re hardwired this way.”
Although this is true, and not to jump ahead too far in the story, we will see another Elven relationship that is very rocky and while I guess neither one is ever untrue to the other in a physical way, that might be more due to no opportunity than anything else (Eol and Aredhel)
@17: Not to mention Celegorm and Maeglin, who creep on unwilling girls. The Silmarillion shows differently than what LaCE says.
One thing that I think becomes more clear in the Histories (The Shibboleth of Feanor, whichever History that is in) is that Feanor deeply resented the decision of the Valar to allow his father to remarry. To him, they were relegating his mother to Death forever, and took her ability to change her mind at some time in the future completely away by their decision. We get some of this in the Silmarillion, but the resentment is much more clear in the Histories (he even uses a different letter/sound on the basis of wanting to differentiate himself from his half-family, hence the title of the essay)
@18 Agreed, but if Luthien and Idril had actually been forced into the marriages that Celegorm and Maeglin had attempted, would the whole precept of marriage for life, no exceptions, held up?
@20, In Canon law a forced marriage is no marriage. I imagine the same rule applied in ME.
@15
This is not correct. After Arathorn’s death at a young age, she and the small Aragorn went to Rivendell to live for the young heir’s safety, where his identity was kept secret. While Elrond played the role of foster-father, his mother was there the whole time and presumably quite involved in raising him. Years later, after Aragorn was grown, she returned to her own people and Aragorn visited her there, though.
Is there any example in the canon of remarriage (or for that matter infidelity) among mortals?
Finwë’s marriage to Indis is the deviation from this “mate for life” rule. This doesn’t mean that other notable Elves—particularly the ones you guys have been mentioning—don’t have some shady relationships. Eöl and Aredhel are a good example, but while it turns murderous in the end, neither of them seeks out a different partner at any point. That’s the sort of thing I’m talking about. Even Fëanor becomes estranged from Nerdanel. Elves can have dysfunctional families, as we’ve seen, but I also think we’re seeing the only ones that do.
@@@@@21. princessroxana, I think you’re right. While that probably wouldn’t work with Lúthien (really, there was no chance of that), Aredhel’s marriage to Eöl seems legit, if regrettable. But, I’ll wait to say more about that when we get to that part of the book.
And @@@@@23. Tamfang, as for Men, the best example is Ar-Pharazôn, who it seems wanted to check off every item on his List of Horrible Things To Do. But I’d rather not talk about him this here, this early.
@@@@@22. gadget, I think you meant “@@@@@16”? But yeah, you have it right. Young Aragorn had time with his mother, far more than with his father. It would have been nice to have more discussion in Tolkien’s work about that time in his life.
In regards to Men and marriage, I cannot think of an example of re-marriage but I note that Denethor (rather like Finwe) did not remarry after the death of his wife and was described as becoming increasingly grim after that event (and we all know how that ended [both in the book and the film]). Perhaps we should infer between this and Finwe that remarriage would be Eru’s plan…
I think it’s highly significant that Fëanor’s name means “spirit of fire.” I sometimes try to puzzle out the complicated relationship between Elves and fire.
Several of Tolkien’s manuscripts suggest that Melkor’s original weapon was fire. According to the Ainulindalë, fire was his main contribution to Arda in its primordial state.
In The Lord of the Rings, Legolas was frightened only by the Balrog, a spirit of fire and darkness.
In The Silmarillion, there’s a sort of “good Balrog” named Arien, who lives in Valinor. (I’ll try to avoid spoilers.) Arien gathers dew from Laurelin, the Golden Tree (which apparently is very hot) and uses it to water Vána’s flowers. She is a noble Maia, but her eyes are so bright that the Eldar cannot bring themselves to look upon her. And the Eldar prefer the White Tree anyway.
Admittedly, that’s not much evidence to go on. Even so, I wonder if fire is disconcerting to Elves, just as darkness and shadow is often unsettling to humans.
In addition to fire, Laurelin is associated with the concepts of gold and sunlight. Curiously, both concepts are depicted as being “tainted,” at least in Middle-earth.
Regarding gold:
Regarding sunlight:
Haldir, an Elf of Lothlórien, spoke wistfully of a time in which sunlight was more wholesome:
Later in the book, Legolas says, “Yet beneath the Sun all things must wear to an end at last.” This statement stands out to me, since things in Valinor do *not* wear out, at least for as long as the world endures. Perhaps Legolas’s comment is an oblique reference to the sun’s tainted nature, which affects Middle-earth but not Valinor.
Admittedly, these are fairly nebulous ideas. But maybe Tolkien is suggesting that sunlight, fire, and gold are all interconnected, and that they are particularly frightening and deadly to Elves.
So, what does this imply about Fëanor? Maybe nothing. As Jeff pointed out, Fëanor was not born tainted. On the other hand, maybe he was always a danger to the people around him. I mean, he (figuratively) consumed his own mother during childbirth. And he has a talent for setting people’s spirits on fire, often to their detriment. If fire holds a special terror for Elves, what does that say about an Elf who is known as “the spirit of fire”?
I’m also struck by an early manuscript in which the Valar first see the sun:
I wouldn’t be surprised if some of the Valar felt the same way about Fëanor.
@20: Tolkien says somewhere (maybe LaCE?) that a raped Elf usually dies. Given that among Elves sex makes some sort of mental bond, I imagine that the trauma of being in the head of their attacker saps their will to live.
Actually, I have a nasty thought. An even nastier thought, that is. The ‘raped Elves die’ thing is in the context of married Elves. It doesn’t say anything about single Elves. I hope those poor souls don’t stay bonded, whether they live or die. That would be enough to justify just giving up and staying in Mandos.
@26: come to think of it, Elves are very associated with water, aren’t they?
@27 That starts down a rabbit hole that, thankfully, Tolkien never goes. Per Morgoth’s Ring, for Elves the “act” of marriage and marriage itself are the same thing. And “one so forced would have rejected bodily life and passed to Mandos.” Tolkien isn’t grimdark, for which I am eternally grateful.
How in Arda did I miss this? The Silmarillion is my favourite book of all time. I am hopping on board now.
Welcome aboard, DougL! Don’t miss the ones that preceded this one. Still early in the book…
Re: Gandalf and Feanor:
I think it’s stated somewhere, either in the Unfinished Tales or the History of Middle-Earth, that while the Istari are incarnate in Middle-Earth, they only have vague memories of and a longing for their lives in Valinor. Of course, they know where they came from, and who sent them and why, but they don’t remember details of their experiences there. So Gandalf probably doesn’t have any personal memories of Feanor at the time he speaks to Pippin about the Palantir. And of course, the opportunity to see the Blessed Realm would be an additional temptation for a Maia who longs for it but cannot even remember it.
Aaah! I never commented on this – I was on a kind of media blackout in between trying to read through Oathbringer and then avoid Star Wars spoilers and this article slipped through my radar!
I remember reading it, but there’s just so much to comment on, especially with Miriel’s death and the ultimate decisions spawning from that. In fact, at this point I don’t even know if I’m going to try. To this day I’ve never really figured out in any satisfying way (not that there is any satisfying answer) why Miriel was so consumed. Would there have been any possible way she could have been restored, or did she ultimately make the choice she did out of some kind of weakness, and if it was a weakness, is it the kind she could have been accountable for? Or was it really all beyond her control and ability to handle?
Post partum depression seems a little too mundane/modern and Tolkien seems to be going for something much more metaphysical here. Did Feanor actually take some of her life force? How/why? And I don’t have the time to look it up, but was there anything that ever indicated if the bearing of children does anything to an Elf’s vitality? I know they generally only have few, and they are very conscientious about when they conceive (if I recall, sometimes Elf spouses even live apart for a time – when you’re immortal, I guess that’s no big deal – but make it a point to be together for those early years) and I don’t recall how much of that was just cultural, or if there was a physical/metaphysical component to that. And what are we to make of Feanor’s seven children? Was he just extra virile and is that related to his extra ‘fire’? What of Nerdanel? Was he purposefully bucking convention?
@2 – I once went through this huge thought spiral (and maybe even posted on another Tolkien article here) about the similarities between Feanor and Anakin. Both overachievers, both fiery/overconfident/arrogant (but also in some ways have earned that arrogance), both push past boundaries, both have internal conflicts set off by the deaths of their mothers which they never get over, both have various interpersonal issues stemming from jealousy/entitlement/possessiveness, both ultimately die by immolation (Anakin in the metaphorical sense). There are many differences too, but they are the same ‘type’ in some ways. Anakin is a little more petulant/immature whereas Feanor is quite persuasive and does have quite the following amongst the Eldar.
@19 – my favorite thing about the Shibboleth is that in part it all came about because Tolkien noticed some discrepancy in the language that shouldn’t have occurred at that stage in the history when he transcribed the lyrics to some Elvish song. And I remember reading it and for about 10 seconds forgetting that *this was a completely fake language and a fake history and none of it ever happened.*
@23/@24 – I don’t think there was any infidelity here, but I know there was another Numenorean couple that was quite estranged, to the point that the wife basically raised her kids to distrust men, because she was bitter that her husband was a mariner (Aldarion and Erendis) and away all the time.
@26 – that is all really fascinating. But doesn’t Gandalf also inspire ‘fire’ in the hearts of people (in part through the Ring he gets)? So there may also be a ‘good’ connotation. But it does seem that on the whole, Elves are naturally more drawn to silver/moonlight/starlight.
@27 and others – also glad that this isn’t really explored. Elves aren’t human (in part because of the nature of their spirits/bodies) and I can understand the underlying idea (that rape is a vile act) but it’s the kind of thing nowadays that would have a lot of really unpleasant/unintentional connotations for actual assualt victims and the survivability of such trauma.
Erendis lost my sympathy for good when she jumped to the conclusion that Aldarion had deliberately broken his word to her when his ship was overdue. The possibility that he could be in trouble, he is, never crosses her mind. I’d have been on the next ship to Middle Earth to find and if necessary rescue my husband knowing only something DIRE could have made him break his word. I agree with Aldarion, Erendis doesn’t really love him. She never even tries to meet him halfway. All the concessions are on his side.
And I am off topic.
I agree with you that Erendis is not the most sympathetic of characters, ha!
If anything irks me, it’s that none of the Ruling Queens are portrayed particularly favorably. I believe her daughter ends up being a piece of work, if I recall.
Lisamarie, it’s hard to know what to comment about Míriel. There are so many ways to interpret her fate, and her choices. Corey Olsen, the tolkien Professor, has had some very interesting ones. At some point, she seems more like a victim and at others, complicit in some of what comes from Fëanor—why else would she be worried about being blamed for it? Still, I think she’s one of those characters that is worth talking about but not drawing conclusions over.
“The Laws and Customs Among the Eldar” chapter from Morgoth’s Ring is what you’re after. That’s chock-full of great lore, that one. I could and someday might talk about that as a stand-alone article. There is this:
And this is why there are so few Elf children. Fëanor having seven is obviously a rarity. He was special. And his mother was special before him. They broke the mould, as they say. But yes, I think it’s that “fire” of their spirit that’s part of it.
Yes! Thank you – I knew I had read something like that (I’ve read all the HOME books) but I didn’t remember exactly where or if I had remembered parts of it incorrectly (especially since there are often multiple/contradictory thoughts even within the HOME books), and didn’t have the books at hand.
@35, Ancalime is in many ways a classic child of a broken home, playing one parent against the other and unable to form a functional relationship of her own. Her granddaughters seem to have despised her which is interesting. But apparently she was a pretty good queen for all her messed up private life.
Tar-Telperien seems to have been based on Elizabeth I in being a very effective monarch though she refused to marry and produce an heir. She was isolationist in policy but so were many male monarchs.
Tar-Vanimelde was a party girl with no interest in government and happy to leave all that dull work to her ambitious consort. She should have refused the scepter.
Hm, perhaps I was remembering the tone in some of the details, aside from the last one, at least!
Regarding the release of Melkor from prison, there is a nice text about, part of essay Ósanwe-kenta:
“If we speak last of the “folly” of Manwe and the weakness and unwariness of the Valar, let us beware how we judge. In the histories, indeed, we may be amazed and grieved to read how (seemingly) Melkor deceived and cozened others, and how even Manwe appears at times almost a simpleton compared with him: as if a kind but unwise father were treating a wayward child who would assuredly in time perceive the error of his ways. Whereas we, looking on and knowing the outcome, see now that Melkor knew well the error of his ways, but was fixed in them by hate and pride beyond return. He could read the mind of Manwe, for the door was open; but his own mind was false and even if the door seemed open, here were doors of iron within closed for ever.’
‘How otherwise would you have it? Should Manwe and the Valar meet secrecy with subterfuge, treachery with falsehood, lies with more lies? If Melkor would usurp their rights, should they deny his? Can hate overcome hate? Nay, Manwe was wiser; or being ever open to Eru he did His will, which is more than wisdom. He was ever open because he had nothing to conceal, no thought that it was harmful for any to know, if they could comprehend it. Indeed Melkor knew his will without questioning it; and he knew that Manwe was bound by the commands and injunctions of Eru, and would do this or abstain from that in accordance with them, always, even knowing that Melkor would break them as it suited his purpose. Thus the merciless will ever count on mercy, and the liars make use of truth; for if mercy and truth are withheld from the cruel and the lying, they have ceased to be honoured.’
‘Manwe could not by duress attempt to compel Melkor to reveal his thought and purposes, or (if he used words) to speak the truth. If he spoke and said: this is true, he must be believed until proved false; if he said: this I will do, as you bid, he must be allowed the opportunity to fulfill his promise.’
‘The force and restraint that were used upon Melkor by the united power of all the Valar, were not used to extort confession (which was needless); nor to compel him to reveal his thought (which was unlawful, even if not vain). He was made captive as a punishment for his evil deeds, under the authority of the King. So we may say; but it were better said that he was deprived for a term, fixed by promise, of his power to act, so that he might halt and consider himself, and have thus the only chance that mercy could contrive of repentance and amendment. For the healing of Arda indeed, but for his own healing also. Melkor had the right to exist, and the right to act and use his powers. Manwe had the authority to rule and to order the world, so far as he could, for the well-being of the Eruhíni; but if Melkor would repent and return to the allegiance of Eru, he must be given his freedom again. He could not be enslaved, or denied his part. The office of the Elder King was to retain all his subjects in the allegiance of Eru, or to bring them back to it, and in that allegiance to leave them free.’
‘Therefore not until the last, and not then except by the express command of Eru and by His power, was Melkor thrown utterly down and deprived for ever of all power to do or to undo. Who among the Eldar hold that the captivity of Melkor in Mandos (which was achieved by force) was either unwise or unlawful? Yet the resolve to assault Melkor, not merely to withstand him, to meet violence with wrath to the peril of Arda, was taken by Manwe only with reluctance. And consider: what good in this case did even the lawful use of force accomplish? It removed him for a while and relieved Middle-earth from the pressure of his malice, but it did not uproot his evil, for it could not do so. Unless, maybe, Melkor had indeed repented. But he did not repent, and in humiliation he became more obdurate: more subtle in his deceits, more cunning in his lies, crueller and more dastardly in his revenge. The weakest and most imprudent of all the actions of Manwe, as it seems to many, was the release of Melkor from captivity. From this came the greatest loss and harm: the death of the Trees, and the exile and the anguish of the Noldor. Yet through this suffering there came also, as maybe in no other way could it have come, the victory of the Elder Days: the downfall of Angband and the last overthrow of Melkor.’
‘Who then can say with assurance that if Melkor had been held in bond less evil would have followed? Even in his diminishment the power of Melkor is beyond our calculation. Yet some ruinous outburst of his despair is not the worst that might have befallen. The release was according to the promise of Manwe. If Manwe had broken this promise for his own purposes, even though still intending “good”, he would have taken a step upon the paths of Melkor. That is a perilous step. In that hour and act he would have ceased to be the vice-gerent of the One, becoming but a king who takes advantage over a rival whom he has conquered by force. Would we then have the sorrows that indeed befell; or would we have the Elder King lose his honour, and so pass, maybe, to a world rent between two proud lords striving for the throne? Of this we may be sure, we children of small strength: any one of the Valar might have taken the paths of Melkor and become like him: one was enough.'”
I quite like this fragment.
@33
I was thinking about that. The three Elven Rings were forged by Celebrimbor, Fëanor’s grandson, so maybe it’s not too surprising that at least one of the rings would have an affinity for fire. Come to think of it, the Ring of Fire was the only Elven Ring that did not have an Elven bearer.
(Incidentally, I wonder if Elrond got the Ring of Air because his male-line ancestors came from the mountain city of Gondolin, while Galadriel got the Ring of Water because her mother was a Sea-elf from Alqualondë. It’s kind of a stretch, but it feels thematically correct. Though it was Galadriel who commanded Gwaihir to find Gandalf, which seems like a very “Ring of Air” thing to do.)
Of course, many humans are afraid of darkness and shadows, but they also consider those concepts to be cool. It wouldn’t be extremely odd for a human to take an interest in “shadow magic.” Maybe Elves had a similar attitude towards fire.
And Elrond apparently used the Ring of Air to command the river. Eh?
Very interesting that, although writing was invented earlier by Rúmil, it’s only with Fëanor that writing took off… and it just so happens to be around the same time (at least on the massive, epochal scale of life in Valinor) as the death of Míriel, the canary in the coal mine for the coming awfulness. In-universe, these two events are coincidental, but I think Tolkien may be connecting them for a reason. Blessed with immortality in a land that never dies, what use is writing to the Elves? Songs and literature could be transmitted orally; history and memories would be preserved in the immortal minds of those who lived them, and one could always go talk to that person, even if the events were long ago. But right at the moment when death first comes to the Undying Lands, so does writing — and with it, a way to preserve the history of those who are doomed to die.
@43:
Yeah! So a Noldo and his Vanya buddy could simply walk up to Aulë at some point and be like, “Great Aulë, canst thou settle a debate? Mine friend maintaineth that the mighty pillar upon which the lamp Ormal shone was of a functional, Doric design, while I believest it have been more Ionic in style. Since thou wrought both lamps, canst thou sayeth which of us is correct? Or mayhap it was Corinthian?”
And Aulë would be all, “First of all, Dorians, Ionians, and Corinthians are not things in Arda…”
@41, according to the Unfinished tales, the ring of fire, Narya, was first given to Gil-galad, who then gave it to Círdan, who in turn gave it to Gandalf when he disembarked into Middle-earth for the first time. LotR states it was first given to Círdan instead of Gil-galad. So either way, it did have Elven bearers for quite some time.
Since the Noldor were into arts and science, they might have invented writing in order to create technical manuals. That might have been what Jeff is implying in @44.
@45, Very true. I was thinking of the Ring-bearers more in a thematic sense than in a historical sense.
@46/deanfrobischer,
Noldor technical manuals. I enjoyed that. :)
I just hope that their technical manuals were, ummm, reliable.
@46, Noldorin technical manuals! What a game-changer that could have been! “‘For the less even as for the greater there is some deed that he may accomplish but once only; unless he has Curufin draft a technical manual upon the making.’”
@48,
Hmm, maybe Celebrimbor was taking notes. But didn’t speak up, because he had a little project of his own in mind …
@Keleborn: Celebrimbor would probably only speak to friends and enter confidentiality agreements regarding that project.
You’d definitely get good value from Noldorin tech manuals since it’s unlikely you would need to buy a new, revised edition each year…
@ian,
“Ah, to be able to perceive the unimaginable hand and mind of Feanor at their work, still in the original first edition!” – Gandalf
“Printed on acid-free paper, I hope.” – Pippin
Nerdanel, another one of Tolkien’s female characters I’d love to read much more about: the only sentient being– incarnate, angelic spirit, or demiurgic Power– in Arda that can ever make the proudest, willfullest, Mommy-issues-est Elf ever born listen?
There’s a line in Morgoth’s Ring about how her and Fëanor’s wedding is a surprise to many because Nerdanel was “not among the fairest of her people”. Which, being Elves, probably meant she was only, like, an 8 or something
. But I have this image of all these catty Ñoldo Aman Princesses sitting around the cocktail bars of Tirion upon Túna going, “what does that ginger bitch have that we don’t?!”
Cat Mara, I would guess the answer is sheer character. Poor Nerdanel. But I bet she’s not sitting around feeling sorry for herself but working hard on her art.
@53: Agreed. One would have to have a personality of serious mettle to get the attention of Fëanor.
It actually makes me like Feanor a miniscule bit that he didn’t go for his spouse based on looks (or even a spouse he could dominate), but rather a strong/intelligent personality. I wonder if maybe he wasn’t so bad in those days.
@53: The description of her art in Morgoth’s Ring sounds awesome: “She made images, some of the Valar in their forms visible, and many others of the men and women of the Eldar, and these are so like that their friends, if they knew not her art, would speak to them; but many things she wrought also of her own thought in shapes during and strange but beautiful.”
Maybe that was the attraction: Fëanor, the driven, the crazy-talented, heir to the High-Kingship of the Ñoldor, men and women alike fawning over him, and suddenly he meets this woman who’s every bit his match in terms of will and talent, who understands the creative urge like no-one else he’s ever met, but also tells him to STFU… with a suitably pretty cast you could have a miniseries on your hands that would give Twilight a run for its money… and, oops, I think I just heard Professor T start to spin in his grave
@55, I think, judging from all the loyalty he got even after going nutcase, that Feanor must have been one seriously cool dude in his pre-Silmaril, pre-Melkor days. And a fantastic father and husband. Which is why Nerdanel the Wise stuck with him so long as she did and why his boys followed him to destruction. As the Valar argee, the marring of Feanor was one of the great tragedies of Arda Marred.
I, for one, just don’t see the Noldor—or any Elves, really—being catty like that. Although we see plenty of bad apples among the Eldar, they’re usually individuals who go very wrong and even that tends to be gradual. As a whole, they seem to be an enlightened race, which doesn’t always mean worldly. They can be naïve. But they’re still fairly ascendant compared to Men. Which leads to the whole “ennoblement of Men” topic.
But remember, this is a race of beings who marry for life/eternity. Whatever makes them this way, I think, would keep them from being as petty as all that. I just can’t imagine there being any Desperate Housewives of Tirion.
In any case, I absolutely think Fëanor was a remarkable young Elf once. Showing more promise than arrogance, more creativity than ambition. I believe Nerdanel wasn’t just foolish for choosing him. They were a match before he went where she refused to go. But yeah, there’s a reason that Manwë weeps for Fëanor’s marring. He could have gone a whole other way. As I think princessroxana is suggesting.
On rescuing Merry and Pippin instead of Frodo:https://ordinary-times.com/2012/12/10/mordor/
@2: Feanor does find redeption, late indeed, but better late than never. Tolkien wrote somewhere that after the Battle of Battles (Dagor Dagorach) the victorious Valar recovered all three Silmarils and returned them to Feanor. He gave them to Yavanna, who used them to bring the Two Trees back to life. The Valar razed the Mountains of Valinor to allow the light of the Trees reach the Middle Earth.
Revisiting this thread and seeing a few things to add to:
Elves and fearing fire (or Fire)- might it have something to do with their origin under the stars? They get several Ages of just starlight, especially those who don’t complete the Great Journey. They are made for stars, less so for the sun and fire.
Feanor improved writing but he started with something Rumil invented. Why Rumil invented it…? Elves of Cuivenen lost some of their own. Maybe that was why? Or to communicate across the tribes, or distances on the Journey?
Feanor’s impetus to improve it may have something to do with his mother, or not. I like the connection, but can’t dredge up any canon support for or against.
Aragorn knew that Merry and Pippin had been captured. Two members of the company who knew all their plans. Gandalf mentions to Théoden, “Dare you think what they might now be suffering, or what Saruman might have learned to our destruction?”
Saruman or Sauron. Because Sauron was clearly getting impatient with Saruman’s lack of contact. He had already sent a Nazgûl to check on Saruman.
If they talked — and look how Pippin acted when confronted by Sauron in the palantír — the quest was doomed. Sauron would have stopped his wars and focused everything on finding Frodo and guarding the Cracks of Doom from him. And was it Gandalf who said that if Sauron put all his focus on finding the ring that they couldn’t hide it from him. That’s why distracting Sauron was so important.
Going after Merry and Pippin was a strategically smart decision at that moment. Aragorn had no way of knowing the Rohirrim were going to take care of this problem for him.
Merry and Pippin had to be kept out of the enemy’s hand whether that enemy was Saruman or Sauron.
I’d say that it’s difficult for me to believe that someone who calls himself “Tolkien Professor” to have overlooked that — especially since it’s spelled out right there in the book — but I remember college professors and their tendency to be so pumped up with self-love for the theories they come up with that they’re blind to the obvious. I hope someone has poked his balloon by pointing out what the book says in no uncertain terms.
“If Éomer had not defied Wormtongue’s voice speaking with your mouth, those orcs would have reached Isengard by now, bearing a great prize.”
As Gandalf said to Pippin after the palantír theft, “If he had questioned you, then and there, almost certainly you would have told all that you know, to the ruin of us all.”
In this case…Merry and Pippin being in the hands of the enemy is a disaster to the quest and, hence, to all of Middle-earth. And retrieving them is the opposite of a “stupid decision.” Because, as far as Aragorn knew, he, Legolas and Gimli were the only ones to do it.
As the father of a gifted child who is also on the Autism Spectrum sometimes the sort of impression I get of Feanor is of a gifted Aspie:
Creative and brilliant, focused on doing his own thing in his safe space and able to see and do things that others don’t conceive of. But even with a strong sense of personal justice has difficulty in seeing how his actions have caused others trouble – or perhaps more realistically; unable to bear the emotional burden of taking ownership.
@63: Interesting point. My nine-year old daughter is on the spectrum. I could easily see her devising the Tengwar system or setting fire to the ships at Losgar, depending on her mood.
@62
Also, Aragorn knew that the Ring had already corrupted Boromir and lead him to his doom. He probably realized that the Ring was setting its hooks into the Company and that the non-hobbits (including him – he would have remembered Isildur) would become a danger to the quest before long if they stayed with it. He agonizes over it a bit, but when he figures out that Sam went with Frodo, it helps settle the decision for him.
@62 Maggie A (bit of a delayed response here):
You wrote:
Gandalf says that to Théoden waaay later, in hindsight. In the actual moment, and without Gandalf’s help, Aragorn had much to consider. Saruman could possibly extract information from Pippin and Merry, sure, but the actual safety of Frodo and the chances of him completing the mission were paramount. But there on Parth Galen, Aragorn says it clearly. “My heart speaks clearly at last . . .” He wants or at least intended to stay with Frodo, but that’s not what feels right in his heart at this time. “The Company has played its part. Yet we that remain cannot forsake our companions while we have strength left. Come!”
Aragorn has verbally acknowledged the threat of Saruman (“Orcs travel fast. But Saruman has many ways of learning news. Do you remember the birds?”) but he says nothing to Gimli or Legolas about fear of what the two hobbits will say if brought to Saruman. That’s not what he’s deciding on here. It’s pretty well “spelled out,” as you say, right there in the scene itself. It’s a decision of conscience. Of what is sensible vs. what is right.
Aside, Dr. Corey Olsen isn’t infallible, but he digs into this stuff deeply. Puts things in proper context. I highly recomend his Exploring the Lord of the Rings podcast (which is currently up to “The Ring Goes South”). The moniker “the Tolkien Professor” isn’t a self-aggrandizing one. It’s just a label that’s been used of him and so he keeps it. I recommend his first interview on the Prancing Pony Podcast, for better context.