make their words a doom irrevocable
(On Míriel Therindë, her descendants, and flawed prophecies.)
It’s generally accepted that foresight is a particular gift of the House of Finarfin. Finrod has it in spades, as does Galadriel. The House of Fëanor, on the other hand, is often portrayed as the opposite: blindly caught in their own doom, with no foresight or wisdom to cut their way free. I’d like to advance an alternative headcanon that I’m rather fond of: many of the Fëanorians had a sort of twisted gift of prophecy, where they saw parts of the future and, in their eagerness to prevent the events they saw, ended up causing them – kind of like anti-Cassandras, if you will.
Let’s start with Míriel herself, who doesn’t have a lot to say or do in the published silm (although I understand there’s more on her in the Histories). One of her two lines of dialogue, however, absolutely haunts me: “But hold me blameless in this, and in all that may come after.” This is what she tells Finwë prior to going to Lórien, where she eventually dies. Míriel knows something of the terrible things her son will do or cause to happen. That’s chilling! Is that part of why she’s so weary – she’s afraid of what Fëanor will do? But if she hadn’t died in the first place, would Fëanor have become the person he did? Did Míriel’s knowledge of the future, and her reaction to that knowledge, actually cause it? I think so!
Thesis established, we’ll move on to Fëanor himself. The text is pretty unambiguous about Fëanor’s foresight. A few examples:
On the making of the Silmarils: “For Fëanor, being come to his full might, was filled with a new thought, or it may be that some shadow of foreknowledge came to him of the doom that drew near; and he pondered how the light of the Trees, the glory of the Blessed Realm, might be preserved imperishable.”
On the exile to Formenos: “Thither also came Finwë the King, because of the love that he bore to Fëanor; and Fingolfin ruled the Noldor in Tirion. Thus the lies of Melkor were made true in seeming, though Fëanor by his own deeds had brought this thing to pass; and the bitterness that Melkor had sown endured, and lived still long afterwards between the sons of Fingolfin and Fëanor.” (emphasis mine, because !!!)
From his speech in Tirion post-Darkening: “Shall we mourn here deedless for ever, a shadow-folk, mist-haunting, dropping vain tears in the thankless sea?” Hmm who does that put me in mind of, Fëanor? Your own second son by any chance?
After the Valar exile him for his Oath: “Such hurt at the least will I do to the Foe of the Valar that even the mighty in the Ring of Doom shall wonder to hear it.” That certainly happens – but Fëanor isn’t the one to do it.
Drifting into speculation, why does Fëanor make the breathtakingly idiotic decision to burn the swan-ships? Does he maybe catch some glimpse of a future where his host and Fingolfin’s sit divided an opposite shores of a lake, and so seek to consolidate his own position as leader of the Noldor by abandoning those who would betray him? But in burning the ships, he eventually causes the kingship to pass to Fingolfin. Perhaps flawed foresight and terrible judgement strike again!
What about Fëanor’s sons – do they inherit his foresight too? Before I drift completely into headcanon territory, I’d like to argue that there is one son who canonically fits this paradigm: Curufin. From the Nargothrond Incident: “And after Celegorm Curufin spoke, more softly but with no less power, conjuring in the minds of the Elves a vision of war and the ruin of Nargothrond. So great a fear did he set in their hearts that never after until the time of Túrin would any Elf of that realm go into open battle”. But actually Curufin is kind of right? When the Elves of Nargothrond do eventually go into open battle, the realm falls. Building the bridge was a bad idea. In fact, even the company that Gwindor leads to the Nirnaeth all tragically die there (with the exception of Gwindor himself, who’s taken captive)! But, on the other hand, if Curufin hadn’t scared the entire kingdom out of fighting, the Nirnaeth might have been won in the first place.
Okay now have some headcanons completely unsupported by anything textual.
Consider Amrod on the crossing to Middle-earth, watching the dark mass of this strange new continent approach. He hasn’t heard his mother’s prophecy, “one at least will never set foot on Middle-earth”; all the same, he knows with sick bone-deep certainty that Beleriand will be the death of him. He cannot stay here. He has to sail back to Aman, as soon as he can. When they finally come to land, he slips away below deck instead of coming ashore to sleep, and tells his twin that he’ll be more comfortable on the ship – how can he say, I will die if I stay in Middle-earth? He doesn’t wake up again.
Consider Celebrimbor and Gil-galad talking at the very dawn of the Second Age, as the last remnants of broken Beleriand are swallowed by the Sea. “The wrath of the Valar,” says Gil-galad. “How can they dare aid us again, when they know what destruction it has wrought?”
“They will not come directly,” says Tyelpë, with a sudden flash of insight. “They will send emissaries instead: Maiar, to guide and counsel us.”
He remembers that odd certainty later, when one calling himself the Lord of Gifts comes to Eregion.
And now consider Maedhros, the original maker of misguided decisions, pondering Morgoth’s offer of parley. His instincts tell him it must be a trap, but he also has the feeling that it is not strength of arms that will save the Noldor now, but diplomacy and political savviness – all the qualities he was known for in Tirion once. And he is right! It’s his good sense and willingness to compromise that effect the reunification of the Noldor, a reunification that might never have happened had Fingon not rescued him from Thangorodrim in the first place.
Similarly, when he’s putting together the Union of Maedhros, does he know that all his efforts are doomed to fail? Or does he once again see too far into the future, to the plains of Dagorlad and the victory, against all odds, of a Last Alliance of Elves and Men against a Dark Lord in his fortress? “It is only by uniting all the Free Peoples that we can hope to prevail,” he tells his doubtful brothers, and insists that the sons of Ulfang are to join their alliance.
And also consider a time in Himring, not long after the Dagor Aglareb, when Maglor has ridden over for a quick visit and is explaining, cheerfully, that it’s a good thing his captain managed to dispatch that one orc from a recent raid before it could lop his head off: “Nobody else can command the cavalry, if I died you’d have a terrible gap in your defences, you know!”
But Maedhros grabs his wrist with sudden force and says vehemently, “Káno, you will never die—”
—Maglor thinks about that, later, by the Sea.
