Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In a village, by a mountain-shadowed lake, there lived an Elf.

Now this lake was by no means an ordinary lake: for the mountain that shadowed it was none other than Mount Rerir, where Aulë laid to sleep the fathers and mothers of the western Dwarf-clans. At Narag-zâram his blessing was mingled with Ulmo's, and though its waters were defiled in the wars against Morgoth, the land beyond the Gelion did not wholly sink below the waves though all to the west was ruined.

In the misty morning of their history, as they awakened to the wonder of Arda, the western Dwarves wandered south from Rerir until they found the passes of the Blue Mountains. There, before any Elf had come to Beleriand, were delved the mansions of Belegost and Nogrod. They were the greatest cities in Middle-earth then, for even Khazad-dûm had not yet been finished; and all the land between Gelion and Lhûn was Dwarf-territory in those days.

Which completely fails to explain what an Elf-lady was doing there. Perhaps we should start over.

---

In a village, by a mountain-shadowed lake, there lived an Elf.

Now at the time Belegost and Nogrod were full-wrought the March of the Quendi had already begun; but it was slow and took many hundreds of years. For Oromë oft had to return to the war against Melkor, whose outcome was in grave doubt, and the Elves would not move without him; and in many lands they stopped to have children, and would not go on until they were full-grown. At each resting point some refused to march further; many of those were lost, for the evils devised by Melkor and Sauron roamed freely abroad.

The greatest sundering occurred in the vales of Anduin, in the lands the Elves then called Atyamar. The winter was hard that year, though why was not known; perchance it was ill luck, or the dark machinations of Sauron. But it was said by some of the host that Oromë had withdrawn his protection, frustrated that they would not move forward; and for that reason Lenwë and his followers refused to go on, no longer trusting that the choice to stay or go was as free as had been proclaimed. In later days they were called the Nandor, and both the Eldar and the Avari came up with inventive ways to look down on them – the former because they refused to keep going, and the latter because they left in the first place.

The Vanyar, who were even at that stage already closest to the Valar, were the first to begin the mockery. They claimed that Lenwë had merely been afraid of crossing the Misty Mountains; but at length the host could not find a way across, and went southward in defeat, finally straggling into Eriador through what was in later ages known as the Gap of Rohan.

So they passed the Isen, and then the Greyflood, and then the Brandywine – at each point with the Vanyar and Noldor pushing onward, only to have to wait for the Teleri and their skill at making boats. At no time did the Noldor consider learning this art, which would have saved much grief later on. Finally they came through the south end of the Blue Mountains, where the Dwarves had not reached; and so they crossed the singing river Gelion and went northwest into the forests of Beleriand.

It was then that Elwë disappeared in Nan Elmoth, and was not seen again for three centuries. This caused the delay of many of his kin, who had taken so long to search for him that they arrived at the shores of Nevrast just in time to see the island ferry go.

And so their leader cried aloud: "I will follow that light, alone if none will come with me, for the ship that I have been building is now almost ready." (1) But even as he said it, a message came into his heart not to attempt this peril, and to wait until the time was ripe and his work would be of greatest worth. Then he knew that the Valar had spoken, and from then on he was granted foresight beyond any other in Middle-earth.

Now when Círdan spoke to his folk of what had befallen, many heard and obeyed, though they had longed most for Aman among the Teleri, and the music of the waves ever remained in their hearts. Then they dwelt in Brithombar and Eglarest, on the shores of the Great Sea, until the power of Fingon was overthrown; and Ossë ever came to them as friend and teacher.

But some of the Teleri were discontented, and had been ever since the departure of Lenwë, though they held their peace then for fear of Melkor. And there arose a leader among them, Gledhennil by name, though he was one of the Noldor by birth and had joined the people of his wife Silchenniel.

And so he spoke: "The Valar claimed that they were removing us from Middle-earth to protect us from the Shadow. But now, when it has not yet been overthrown, they force us to remain against our will. Fair words they give us now that we will be remembered in song; but seeing as we are made to dwell in the lands nigh to where our lord was taken, this song will most likely chronicle a valiant last stand."

"I believe not that our lord was taken by the Shadow," said Círdan. "We are now far in the northwest, and Oromë reported that the Valar have routed the Enemy there. Their battle now rages in the lands that we have long since passed."

"But then it is far worse!" Gledhennil objected. "Who else save Melkor would have the power to take our lord, if not the Maiar who were to guard us? If you guess at the truth, then it is not only the Enemy we need protection from."

"A darkness is on you if you set Manwë and Melkor together," warned Círdan, "and the Valar's summons of us was not merely to save us from the ruinous war against Melkor, but also to free us from the dark whispers he has put among us."

"Your thought is unjust to me," Gledhennil replied, "for not all errors are equally grave. One can argue that one's lord has erred, without setting him beside wanton torturers and murderers. But let us suppose that I accept your words, and say that I need to be freed by the Valar from the darkness. How shall that be accomplished, if the Valar will not provide transport to their land, and we are unable to build it ourselves? And may I not ask why those who abandoned our lord first are taken to paradise, and those who sought him the longest must stay under the Shadow?

"When Lenwë refused to march further, angered as he was by Oromë withdrawing his protection to get us to move from Atyamar, I deemed him foolish. For freedom, it seemed to me, was worth less than the promise of protection against the Enemy. But by the message you have received the promise has been betrayed, just as Lenwë argued that the promise of free choice to leave or stay had been. We have been dragged along, like a leashed hound following meat dangled just out of his reach, only be told at the last moment that we are barred from even attempting the last stage of the crossing!"

"It is not that we are barred, but that we are advised not to try," Círdan noted.

"How do those differ? The others did not build their own boats, and simply took the island ferry. If it will not come, and we are told that anything we try will not work, then we are barred indeed," Gledhennil replied. "Well, it is no surprise that the Valar reward Olwë with paradise: he was not too patient in waiting for his brother, without whom we would never have gone on this journey at all. Such a breached promise was no doubt understood well by those who break their own. But this my heart tells me too: no safety shall Olwë's folk find in Aman. And eventually some among Finwë's folk will wonder if they have stepped into a gilded cage."

Then Círdan was troubled, for while Gledhennil's words seemed dark and fell, his foresight warned him that his prophecy was truer than he knew. "What then will you do?" he asked.

"I would go north and east, into lands where we have not yet wandered, where we can no longer see the Sea," said Gledhennil. "Remain here longing for Valinor if you will; for I will not forsake friendship just because you do not share my view. But if I will not be allowed to go there, I will not waste my days pining for it. At least this half-done journey has let us see what Endor is like, instead of remaining contented by the shores of Cuiviénen or Araman! The call of wandering has awakened in our hearts; why should we smother it again? Nay, let us go out into the world, and see what beauties we have missed along the way!"

At those words many hearkened to Gledhennil, even among those who shared not his view of the Valar, and passed the Mountains of Shadow to explore and dwell in Hithlum. The smokes and hazes of Melkor had not fully been cleared, and indeed Sauron still dwelt in the north in secret; but he had been instructed to confine his operations to the utmost secrecy, so that the Valar would not discover them. And so, while the lands were dim and twilit even at noon, they were at this time clean and safe right up to the gates of Angband.

Gledhennil dwelt for a time by Lake Mithrim; but after some decades he found it still too near the Sea for his taste. So he took a smaller group of followers, mostly those who had agreed with him during his debate with Círdan, and crossed the Eryd Wethrin eastward to the great plain of Ard-galen. And under the dark pine trees of Dorthonion, tidings came to him that Elwë Thingol had returned among his people. His queen was Melian, the first of the Maiar to meet the Elves by Cuiviénen, and one of the six to guard them while Oromë hastened to Valinor with tidings of their awakening. Thingol now stood among his kindred almost as another of the Maiar, and the southern Sindar were in awe at him.

The northern Sindar were then divided. In Hithlum, closest to Círdan, the news of their lord's return was received with joy; and they deemed that at least by the Valian arts of Melian they could learn some of what had been denied them. But further east the news was received with caution, on the grounds that causing your lord to lose track of time for three centuries was rather worrying in its own right, even if you knew the Maia in question and trusted her good intentions.

And so, while they acknowledged Elwë as overlord, they were determined to dwell outside Beleriand and not have to deal with the Maiar directly. They took to a nomadic life in Ard-galen and Dorthonion, and their tongue was estranged from that of their southern kin. Such trade as they had with Thingol went through the northern marches of Doriath, from Dimbar to Himlad; but beyond the Celon they would not go, fearing the enchantment that was still set on the wood of Nan Elmoth.

---

Now Gledhennil had a daughter, Rathlóriel by name, who had a great taste for bargaining at the trading posts of Himlad, and a tendency not to listen to other people's advice. This made her get quite rich and simultaneously make a lot of people angry.

So it was that one day, long after the return of Thingol, it came to her mind to leave Ard-galen behind, and go on a journey eastward beyond the end of the highlands with two close friends. Then she turned south where the hills east of Himring failed completely. This was not exactly what her father had had in mind, when he cautioned her against crossing the Celon; but she thought to herself that going around it did not exactly count as a crossing.

And so she went between the arms of the Gelion, through the land that was later called Maglor's Gap; and turning east at the northern ford she came into the eastern valley of the Dwarves. There she saw lights in the evening, and heard deep voices rising in song. Thus she became the first of the Eldar to behold the children of Aulë. For it was an anniversary of their awakening, and they had gathered by Narag-zâram to praise their maker.

Long she stood there in amazement, under the wheeling stars, as the Dwarves prayed in their language. For a long while they took no notice of her, as she hid among the shadows and stones. But at last the Dwarves turned to leave, and she stepped into the clear moonlight and called out to them.

The Dwarves then stared at her in equal wonder, and called back in greeting; but she could not understand their language, nor they hers. But thought was not subject to those limits, and so at length a thought came into her mind: What manner of fair creature are you? You have come to the hallowed land of our awakening, and unlike the fell beasts of the Enemy, you stand in silence and respect. But surely you are not a Dwarf, for you are tall, and have no beard.

And her thought returned to them: And what fair creatures then are you, who speak with tongue and craft with metal? But I will answer you first. We are the Edhil, who awoke by water as well, in the lands far to the east. Then we undertook a great journey westward around the mountains, seeking to find peace. Which we indeed found; but we had not foreseen that we would find other speakers like you. Stars shine on the hour of our meeting!

Ordinarily, the Dwarves would have been less willing to set aside their native secrecy. But though she knew it not, she had thought the best thing possible, for they had just looked into Narag-zâram and seen crowns of stars above their heads.

And so the Dwarves stood long in conversation with each other, before one of them nodded vigorously, and stepped forward. Then he turned his thought to Rathlóriel: Stars shine on the hour of our meeting indeed! If you wish to have your questions answered, then come with us to our cities, and we will teach you our lore and crafts!

Rathlóriel hesitated. On the one hand, she had heard a whole lot about Thingol's first meeting with Melian in Nan Elmoth. If she and her companions disappeared for a while down the Dwarf-mines, having gone past Celon, then that would be the first thing her parents and their people thought of immediately. Against that, however, her people did not tend to like her that much in the first place, beyond the respect they grudgingly gave her for being Gledhennil's daughter. It seemed much more exciting to continue this first contact – as far as both parties knew, anyway.

And so, in spite of all the warnings Gledhennil had spoken to his daughter, she and her companions followed the Dwarves to Belegost and Nogrod.

It worked out really well, all things considered.

---

"You know, prior to coming here a year ago, I had never thought an underground city could be so fair," said Lacheryn, tired after many long days of learning metallurgy, masonry, and Khuzdul in Nogrod.

"Nor so great," added Glaewen.

"Nor even possible," added Rathlóriel. "After all, we all grew up on the steppes of Ard-galen. It's not like we'd ever thought of a city greater than the trading towns on Doriath's north marches. What am I supposed to praise in particular, when literally everything I look at amazes me a dozen times over?"

Her companions snorted. "Truth undeniable," said Lacheryn. "But really, something must have caught your attention the most. For me, it was the light of the Sun, Moon, and stars, concentrated into the crystal lamps in the halls."

"And for me it was the forges, where shining jewels and blades were wrought. Would that I could match the skill of the Dwarves!" sighed Glaewen. "What about you, Lóriel?"

"Why ask? For her, it's obviously the golden roof and silver floor of the throne room," jested Lacheryn.

"Why, thank you very much," said Rathlóriel. "I see my taste for gathering wealth and sitting on it continues to be my most famous distinction. I will not pretend that it doesn't excite me, but my heart has been fired by something else here."

"Oh? And what charmer could have replaced gold in your heart?" smiled Glaewen.

"The road," said Rathlóriel abruptly.

"Ah, yes. The other half of your name. Truly your mother was inspired," said Lacheryn.

"Look, I'm serious," Rathlóriel protested. "The one we saw the start of, going eastward into Eriador from the other end of the city. Just think about what Telchar told us." (2)

"Seeing as he was our guide through all of this, you're going to have to be more specific," Glaewen pointed out.

"I know you can think, even if it's the middle of the night and you don't want to," Rathlóriel snapped. "But fine, I shall do it for you. Telchar told us about the other five Dwarf-clans scattered across Middle-earth. The Longbeards are in the Hithaeglir which our parents went around; that is far enough by itself. But the others are in some strange mountain ranges to the east that we know nothing about; our parents never saw them. They must be a truly vast distance away. And yet, Telchar said that they all regularly go by the roads of the north to confer at Mount Gundabad, where Durin the Eldest of the Fathers awoke. How long does this road go?"

Lacheryn moved to respond, and then paused in thought. "Well, it might not necessarily look that impressive along the whole route," she pointed out.

"But just the fact that it exists and covers more ground than our parents did on the Great Journey!" Rathlóriel waved her hands impatiently. "I should like to see more of it. And to get something like it for ourselves."

"You know, the road itself isn't portable," Lacheryn said. "It's the trade goods that are portable. The road stays there and the goods travel on it."

"Yes, you're very clever. Now, shut up and listen. I know the Dwarves have been boasting to us about how they make the only impressive things in Arda, and if anyone else has impressive things, they were either bought or stolen from them. Not surprising perhaps, if the only Elves they know are Nandor living in the woods."

"Wait. If they've known about the Nandor for a while, then how did they not realise you were an Elf?" Glaewen interjected.

"Well, like I said, they only knew about Nandor living in the woods, and thought all Elves were like that. But I'm too well-dressed to be a Nando. The Valian arts of Melian surely are helpful. Also, apparently they thought I knew so much about their sacred ceremonies that I couldn't be anything other than a Dwarf or a spy of the Enemy, yet I clearly was neither. What a strange coincidence that I said stars shine on the hour of our meeting when they were legitimately looking at starry crowns. Perhaps that night was written long ago into the fate of the world."

"I see that not correcting others' assumptions continues to be the key to excellent diplomacy. As it was with the Valar," Lacheryn joked.

"Yes, yes, let me get back to my point," Rathlóriel waved impatiently. "I don't see any reason we can't learn all of this. We ought to build lots of such roads beyond the Gelion. The land there is wide open and ripe for making something new. I want a great kingdom that trades with Doriath west and the Dwarves east, with roads connecting to new mines in Dorthonion and Hithlum. And then all the traffic of the Dwarves is going to come first into our hands, we can charge everyone for the use of our bridges, and we are going to be incredibly wealthy. Then Thingol is going to hear about it, and decide that he wants all that for himself as well. So we can loan him all the gold and silver we're getting to finance his projects, and then charge him interest on it."

"I can think of one particular problem with your plan," Glaewen noted.

"You think Hithlum is too far away for a first try?"

"Not what I meant, you loveable scoundrel, although that's also true. It's because in order to have a great kingdom, you need people willing to follow you. And unfortunately, no one likes you. The fact that your mind went straight to charging everybody else might have something to do with why. Isn't this precisely what got everyone to hate you in Himlad, anyway?"

"And yet here you are. You're not quite as crazy as me, but you're crazy enough to appreciate me. So while I can get two people who can tolerate me, each of you can probably get a lot more. And so on and so on, until we can get a whole lot of people willing to give this a try."

"You know, the incredible riches do seem like a solid argument," Lacheryn said.

"There we go, Lacheryn's convinced already. And you know why she's convinced, Glaewen? Because she's been here. The Dwarves have this going on already with each other, and it's working. Never mind what everyone thinks of me; I just need the Dwarves to be so impressed with me, that they'll be pleased to admit anyone I recommend. Once they see Belegost and Nogrod, no further argument will be necessary. Just that the Dwarves have throne rooms of silver and gold, we don't, and yet we know how we can get them and many more useful things." She spoke faster and faster, with a fey light in her eyes. "I will see this transformation of East Beleriand done, and Elu and Melian themselves will wonder at it."

Glaewen stared. "You're actually serious."

"I already said I was. Do try and pay attention. But yes, this shall be my great work, in which my heart shall rest. Until I find one greater."

"Perhaps," Glaewen said, "it shall be, if you can achieve it. But have a care, Lóriel, lest you reach beyond your grasp."

"My grasp may be larger than you know! But in any case, I am not alone," Rathlóriel replied. "I have a whole people who will aid me. And among my own, I am not alone either. I have you, and whoever will follow you instead of me."

"This is why I can't stay mad at you." She paused. "Is Lacheryn already asleep?"

"I think so. Maybe we should follow her example. We've been going without it for entirely too long."

---

When Rathlóriel and her companions finally emerged a few years later and returned to the far north much changed, they predictably caused great concern. But at length her parents were satisfied that no Ainurin interference had caused this, and soon Rathlóriel brought many of the northern Sindar to the east, though her father and mother did not follow. And once they saw the arts of the Dwarves, the words of Rathlóriel came true, as they were sufficiently convinced to let her try carrying out her designs.

The eastern Sindar who would hearken to Rathlóriel and her companions proceeded to settle in the rolling plains later known as the March of Maedhros, between Doriath and the Dwarves. There the Dwarves advised them in their search for metals; and in those days of peace, the slopes of Gorgoroth were filled with mines instead of tangled spiderwebs. The great roads of Beleriand were built, crossing the Gelion at its many fords before fanning out to the towns in the marches and the northern border of Doriath, as far as Dimbar. In those years of peace even Thangorodrim was mined, and much iron was recovered from there and thus denied from Morgoth when he returned. But not all the underground mansions of Angband were discovered, and Sauron still extended them in secret while his master was chained in Mandos.

In return the eastern Sindar sold the Dwarves food and defence; for Himlad and Estolad were fertile for agriculture, and the Sindar there prospered, selling what they grew and reared to Doriath and the Dwarves alike. And when news came from the Dwarves that the fell beasts of Sauron were plundering in Eriador, the northern Sindar answered the call. They had become fierce horse-lords who filled their foes' hearts with terror; and as the Nandor fleeing the Orcs flocked to Rathlóriel's banners, peace was secured in the north as far as the mountains of Angmar.

To Rathlóriel and her closest confidants the Dwarves granted the rarest gift of all: the right to settle beyond Gelion in Dwarvish land. And by the north shores of Narag-zâram, which in her Sindarin tongue she translated as Helevorn, there grew a strange yet fair mixed settlement of Elves and Dwarves, where each people learned the language of the other. Indeed Rathlóriel adapted the Dwarf-runes to North Sindarin, and her people became the first of the Elves of Middle-earth to read and write; her system was the ancestor of the Cirth of Doriath, which Daeron the minstrel adapted for the southern dialects after Finrod Felagund presented the Tengwar of Fëanor to king Thingol. (3) The land of Thargelion, under Rathlóriel's direct rule, was not the greatest in population: for the Dwarves' restrictions would only be relaxed in dire need. But it became known far and wide that this transformation of the Northlands had been executed according to Rathlóriel's design.

So it was that the power and riches of the Lady of the North began to rival those of the King of Beleriand; and tidings of this reached not only to Menegroth and the Falas, but also to Sauron deep underground.

---

Many decades after their first meeting, Rathlóriel was again abroad in Nogrod.

"I will be going on a journey in a week," Telchar said.

Rathlóriel paused to think. "Ah, it's the Festival of Awakening again."

"Indeed," Telchar commented. "But more than that. We have now reached exactly two great gross years since Durin woke from sleep. And so the ceremony will be much greater, and many of us will go to Mount Gundabad. Unfortunately, we can't invite you."

"I did not expect to be invited," she said softly. "This is an affair for your people alone."

Telchar nodded. "And it is precisely because you did not expect to be invited, that I said 'unfortunately'." He cleared his throat. "You are, of course, welcome to stay in the guest halls at Nogrod, with your friends Lacheryn and Glaewen. Some few of us will stay to keep the city secure and running. But most will leave. The king himself will, for it was his twelfth-great-grandfather who awoke first at Rerir—"

"Wait a minute," Rathlóriel interrupted. "Your current king is not he who awoke first at Rerir?"

Telchar was confused. "It has been thousands of years since Úri went to sleep in his tomb. And so did his successors, at decreasingly remote times," he pointed out.

"Is then the Enemy so strong, that twelve of your kings have already perished? Was it only by your axes that we were never afflicted west of the Mountains?" Rathlóriel asked in alarm.

Telchar raised an eyebrow. "It has been twelve generations," he said. "Does that not make the reason for our first king's death completely obvious?"

"It is not obvious to me. Why would he be dead, just because twelve generations have passed?"

Telchar frowned, then looked in shock as he realised the cause of Rathlóriel's confusion. "Do your people not die from old age?"

"We dwelt for thousands of years by Cuiviénen, and the first of us to awake were still there by the time we left. Indeed, they complained rather loudly that we were trying to escape their authority," she replied.

Telchar stared. "This would normally not be something I would ask a lady," he said, "but how old are you?"

Rathlóriel stared unimpressed, then nodded. "Normally I would not answer this either," she said, "but considering the circumstances: nine hundred and forty-five."

"And Lacheryn and Glaewen?"

"They're both five years older," Rathlóriel said immediately.

Telchar looked amused. "You're reluctant to reveal your own age, but not your friends'?"

"They would do me no less honour," she smiled.

"It's that kind of friendship, isn't it? Ah, they're always the closest." Telchar shook his head fondly. "And are the three of you accounted old among your people?"

"Far from it. The most ancient of us have long since surpassed ten thousand. They shall be calling us young upstarts for a long while, I fear."

"This is strange news to us," said Telchar slowly. "We do not share the whole of our lore on this to outsiders. But this at least I can say to you: if we are not slain before our time, we weaken after around two and a half centuries, and in about ten years from that weakening our spirits depart our bodies. Then they pass to our maker, who collects them; and it is said that they may come again in our children, waking anew to the wonder of the world, though it will be some time before they then remember their previous lives. Now you say that this weakening does not happen to your folk; what then happens to those of you who are slain?"

Rathlóriel was greatly troubled. "This we know not," she said. "Some said by Cuiviénen that we are ended, like all others among living things, as a tree that is felled and cannot be remade. And others said that the dark devours us, and we enter into its power. Since then we learned from the Valar and Maiar that it is not so; but of what comes after no tale tells."

Even as she said this, Míriel gave forth a great sigh in Lórien, and passed to Mandos in weariness; and only after that did the Valar consult Eru on what should be done with the Houseless.

---

So intellectually, Rathlóriel certainly had been expecting it for a long time when Telchar died.

It still didn't make it hurt any less.

"He is gone, and gone forever," she cried in anguish to Glaewen; for Lacheryn had gone on a journey north. When I was his age, I was still a young girl getting into trouble."

"Hardly young," Glaewen pointed out. "Although yes, getting into much trouble indeed."

"Yet young at heart! But in a twinkling of an eye he grew weak, and could not bear his weariness. All his wishes, all his thoughts, have fled into the grave. How can this be just?"

"The relations of the Dwarves to the Valar cannot be as ours, as they were made by one of them and we were not," Glaewen said in consolation. "They know something of their fate, though they will not tell us in full. It may not be long ere he walks again in life as one of his heirs."

"Perhaps," Rathlóriel said through tears. "Perhaps it will be, and I will recognize him, and greet him as an old friend. But will he remember me? Will he remember our first meeting by the shores of Helevorn, and how patient he was with us when we were slow to master the forge? If he will not, then one can hardly call it a true rebirth. And if he will, then why do none of the Dwarves we met seem to remember the past first-hand?"

"We may still be in the morning of their history," Glaewen reasoned. "Maybe it has not happened yet."

"And this is going to happen to everyone we know here. Ah, if only I had proof, that I could believe your words! Till then I must steel my heart, if I will keep dealing with mortals. Yet if I do it too often, it shall grow brittle, and break."

Glaewen said nothing, and took her hand.

"At least you are an Elf, and won't leave, will you?" she whispered. "You won't decide that everyone else is right about me, and leave me alone and friendless, will you?"

"For now I have no intention of doing so," Glaewen tried to joke, though dark forebodings now filled her heart.

Far away, in Aman, Fëanor locked himself in his room in grief.

A usurper sits on the throne of my mother, who has gone where I cannot follow, unless I myself should die of grief and return not. Which I almost believe I could, as wedding bells ring through fair Tirion upon Túna, and everyone but me is happy. But then my birthright will be stolen by the arts of that Vanyarin witch who entranced my father with her singing. I hate her! I hate her happiness, I hate the children she will have, I hate her voice!

Oh, why did this come to pass? Never has it happened to anyone else. And yet Mother was so strong, having endured her weariness for eighteen years (4), till I was full-grown. Maybe Ulmo was right, and I am marred.

No! I shall not believe a word they say, those proud jailers of my poor mother for all of eternity. I will show them. I will show them all. And when they see what the son of the Þerindë can do, those in the Ring of Doom will wonder to hear it.

He unlocked the door, slipped out in silence before the wedding, and left the palace behind.

---

But let us return to the reactions of the southern Sindar, under Thingol, to the tidings that came back from Rathlóriel. They were amazed – until they realized en masse that the Petty-dwarves they had been hunting west of Sirion were neither wild animals nor creatures of the Enemy, but fellow Incarnates. This caused much consternation and moral reflection, and yet not enough.

The Dwarves of the eastern mansions were greatly angered, especially because they found out midway through the construction of Menegroth. For though the Petty-dwarves had been exiled for evil deeds, still they were Dwarves, and no Dwarf could be pleased at their mistreatment and killing. To this the southern Sindar pleaded that the Petty-dwarves had come in stealth and attacked them from the darkness. At first, the Dwarves were not particularly impressed, since this seemed entirely too convenient an excuse. At length, the Dwarves of Belegost and Nogrod decided to forgive the grief and complete the work, since Thingol had after all paid the entire sum in advance, with a little help from Círdan's people fishing for pearls. (The Falathrim being even further west, they were in fact innocent of the whole sordid affair.) Nonetheless they did not forget it; and even as they crafted wonder after wonder for the armouries of North Sindar, they would not do likewise for Thingol.

But Sauron was not sleeping, though he kept himself secret; and before long foul whispers on what had happened spread like wildfire. From then on the Dwarves were ever colder to the southern Sindar than to the northern ones, and would not give up their secrets to them. (To the western ones they came seldom anyway, though that was just because Dwarves disliked the Sea.) And then there arose a rumour among the southern Sindar: "Beware of the great Dwarves! They may willingly make a shelter for you, but do not forget that they are akin to those who attacked you from the darkness, and refuse to help you in the making of weapons. Only for the winning of wealth do they care; if the Orcs had the mastery, they would support them instead."

But to the northern Sindar came a new rumour: "The southern Sindar have the guidance of a Maia beside them, and have less excuse to have done wrong. Is it not entirely too convenient a story that every Petty-dwarf came in stealth and attacked them from the darkness? Perchance the first thoughts of the Iathrim, when finding someone who looked different, was extermination. With your distinct language, can you be sure that you will not be next in their thoughts?"

So began the sundering of the Grey-Elves of Beleriand, as the northern Sindar rejected the overlordship of Thingol, and the Iathrim ever after looked upon them in suspicion. In Ard-galen, Dorthonion, and the north-marches of Doriath they continued to follow Gledhennil, who indeed took pity on the Petty-dwarves, and granted them lands in Ladros by Tarn Aeluin where they would be left in peace. A few took up his offer, but most would not trust any Elf after their traumatic experiences, preferring to hide themselves in the caves by the river Narog. But in Himring and Estolad the eastern Sindar looked rather to Gledhennil's daughter, seeking to differentiate themselves from the Iathrim to their west by following the greatest Dwarf-friend they could find.

In fact, they rather overdid it in compensation for rejecting Rathlóriel earlier. When Belegost and Nogrod celebrated a gross years of cooperation with her, large quantities of wine were imported from faraway Dorwinion. Some of it was then exported out of Thargelion, but the Sindar of Estolad then proceeded to conspicuously drink it on the eastern marches of Doriath without any passing the borders.

Naturally, when Thingol found out about this, he sent a strongly worded letter demanding that Rathlóriel explain herself. And before long he received a reply.

To Elu Thingol, King of Beleriand:

Beyond the Gelion, the highest authorities are the Kings of Belegost and Nogrod. When Dwarven celebrations occur, it is because they have commanded it. I only have authority over Elven affairs.

On the other hand, instead of sending me letters complaining about how my people choose to enjoy themselves, perhaps you might like to consider treating the next Incarnates you meet in a manner worthy of an Elf. Then, maybe, they would want to stay as your people instead of mine.

Rathlóriel daughter of Gledhennil, lady of the Elves of Thargelion, under the suzerainty of the Kings of Belegost and Nogrod.

Thingol was not amused.

"Did you have to send that?" Glaewen said in exasperation.

"Although I had remarkably little say in it, the good people of East Beleriand decided to follow me," Rathlóriel pointed out. "I would be a rather poor lady if I sent nothing."

"That's not what I meant!" Glaewen objected. "Did you have to be so rude about it?"

"I'd probably have written worse," Lacheryn shrugged, having returned that night from another journey to the north. "Surely you can't imagine that the southerners really thought the Petty-dwarves were just cunning two-legged animals. For one thing, animals tend to be naked. I doubt the Petty-dwarves were dancing around in such manner. Unless you suppose they were exiled for public indecency?" (5)

"You're starting to become too much like Lóriel. Please stop."

"You mean that caring for other Incarnates is something so rare that it's only characteristic of me? I was not aware most people were so morally bankrupt. It seems my example direly needs following," said Rathlóriel wryly.

"You're incorrigible," Glaewen sighed. Then she turned to her other friend. "Lacheryn, let us speak clearly, and distinguish fact from rumour. You doubt the Iathrim account of what they thought; I am not sure I agree with you, but at least you raise a reasonable objection. What think you then of their claim that the Petty-dwarves at least attacked them from the darkness, without declaration?"

Lacheryn frowned. "That at least might have some truth. The Petty-dwarves were exiled for some misdeeds, and mayhem seems more likely than public indecency. If so, it stands to reason that they might do it again," she said, pacing back and forth.

"It would be Orc-work indeed," Rathlóriel pointed out.

"You speak truly. But it is not only Orcs who do Orc-work."

"So you believe the tales told, that the Orcs assailing us from the south and east may have been Avari who turned savage and evil in the wild?" Glaewen pressed.

"Say not believe, for I have no proof. And if anyone had, they would not speak of it," Lacheryn shuddered. "But deem possible, that I will assent to. Only I do not believe they could turn so in the wild. No, a place must be worse than untended, but actively used for evil, for that to happen."

"And what sort of place do you have in mind?" Rathlóriel questioned.

"Do not ask! Not in the middle of the night. No, not even at noon!" Lacheryn shouted. Then she composed herself, and continued, "I went to the mines of the far north, where we get the best iron from Thangorodrim. And then, while we were searching for new veins, we came upon a maze of paths. Some of those tunnels we dug; but they were not alone! Down, down they go; into deep dungeons, where the air oozes malice, and all hope flees. And suddenly we felt an eye tracking us, and a voice pushing us onward, to go deeper into the unknown. We resisted, and tried to go back the way we had come; but we kept finding ourselves going round in circles. We—" Then she broke off, and breathed deeply.

"I had not heard of this," Rathlóriel said with great concern. "Did you not tell anyone?"

Lacheryn gulped. "A shadow of fear was on me, and strangled my voice every time I tried," she said. "So none could hear the full story, and none would believe me. Lóriel, this is the farthest I've ever got, and I couldn't do it if it were anyone else. You're always so unflappable, so with you around I can almost believe that everything will be fine—"

"I believe you indeed," Rathlóriel assured. "But I think you are not fine."

Lacheryn laughed bitterly. "I'm not, am I?" she said tiredly. "I've done a good job of hiding it, at least. Maybe I should've continued."

"I think more of you because you did not continue to hide it," Rathlóriel replied. "This is something we should know. So, the Iron Mountains are not safe, and we should withdraw from them. That will be hard, for the best ores are there; but we will manage with what we can, from the Eryd Luin and the mountains of Dorthonion, and whatever ores there may be in Eriador."

She paused, and then laughed bitterly. "Glaewen, perhaps you were right. I'm still not terribly impressed with Thingol, but Melian needs to know of this, and it would be best if she is willing to help. I don't want to be time-stopped by her, but this is something she has experience handling."

"If it is not a foe beyond her power," Glaewen interrupted in a voice cold as death.

"What do you mean?"

"It is told that when the Valar went to war, they encountered strong resistance in the northwest, where Melkor's old advance base was," Glaewen recited. "Yea, it must be the Three-headed Mountain of Tyranny, where the smokes and hazes were created to keep the Sun out. And still they linger, so that day is only a dim twilight even at noon. But the Valar have not cleared out the pits underneath. Mayhap they were not strong enough to do it, in which case no one is. And what horrors may lurk there still? What tortures were used to compel and corrupt those who were lost before and during the Journey? If brave Lacheryn here shudders to think of what she saw, what must have happened to them?"

They stood silent for a long time. Then Rathlóriel whispered, "There have been reports of changed behaviour among some of the miners who were thought lost and found again. Mysterious mistakes sabotaging our equipment in ways most prone to cause accidents, reacting to petty slights by pulling out knives…" She trailed off in great unease.

Lacheryn stared at her friends in horror, her hand over her mouth. "Have I really come out untouched? Lóriel, Glaewen, I swear to you, I have not willingly tried to kill anyone. But what might I have done in the frozen north, under this shadow of fear that only you could dispel? Can I trust myself now, or ever?"

"Lacheryn—"

"Yes, I can tell you now. Somehow I found a way out, but nobody else who came along was with me when I found it. But they must have found another way, for then some of their names became known as those who had done such Orc-work—"

"Lacheryn—"

"That horrible gaze, pushing me to do his will, though it took all my effort to say no, until I finally found the surface just before I was spent—"

She burst into tears.

Glaewen hugged her. "Oh, my dear, strong friend," she said. "It's over at last. You told us everything, and it was to your great honour. The Shadow may have corrupted many others, but it could not touch you."

"It will take more than that to extinguish the Lady of Leaping Flames," Rathlóriel smiled, covering her fear with good humour. "And now we know something about the Shadow's workings, that it may be overcome; and, I hope, destroyed."

"You now trust me more than I trust myself," Lacheryn sighed. "I can only think it foolishness. On my part, I don't think I shall ever dare to carry a knife again. What if I use it on somebody else?"

"Depends. Who are you knifing? If it's Eöl, you might be doing us a great service…"

"With all due respect, Lóriel: what."

"Well, it seems you still have your moral sense, even when I catch you off guard. You should be fine, then!"

"Lóriel, murder is not funny!"

"Proving my point once again!" Rathlóriel smiled.

"I think, for all our sakes," Glaewen said emphatically, "that we should halt this discussion until the sunrise. This is not a topic that we should speak of in the night, in a land all too near to the smokes and hazes of Thangorodrim. Not even to jest."

Her friends nodded.

But no sleep could Rathlóriel get, and she began to draft a pride-swallowing letter to Melian.

To Melian the Queen:

Forgive me for my earlier ill-considered letter to your husband. It was uncalled for and unnecessary, and I regret that I ever wrote it in my unjustified anger.

I realise I have no right to expect you to read this after that. But I beg you to do it anyway, because it is important.

A terrible shadow lurks under the north, and has already ensnared some of our people and compelled them to do evil deeds. I fear it is some remnant of Melkor's corruption; even though he sits now repentant in Valinor, that is not enough for his old evils to be undone. Worse still; some of his old followers may still be active.

Please help us. If you do not, it will surely turn its knife on your people next.

Your unfortunately insufficiently faithful servant,

Rathlóriel daughter of Gledhennil.

"Really? Right after you sassed Thingol with such bravado, you tearfully apologise for everything and beg his wife for help? Do you actually believe what you're writing? Do you think he's going to believe it for one second?" said Lacheryn.

"Go to sleep. You need it," Rathlóriel said tiredly.

"I can't. The memories of the darkness still haunt me."

Rathlóriel turned to her friend. "Then perhaps I should explain myself, as it may ease your pain," she replied. "Indeed, within my heart I still think Thingol is an arrogant ass with a distressing lack of concern for other Incarnates. As does pretty much everyone north and east of his borders. But that's not the most important thing right now. The Enemy is moving against us, and for all Thingol's faults, it remains that Melian has more experience fighting the Enemy than any of us, even the northern horse-lords. And if we don't stick together, we shall all be destroyed one by one – unless the Enemy is yet more cunning, and manages to get us to destroy each other without him lifting a finger in war.

"So I will gladly swallow my pride a hundred times over and say whatever Thingol wants to hear if it will keep my people safe from the Enemy, for my people are a hundred times more important than my pride. Call me weak-willed and laugh as you will; on my part, I shall be gladdened that you have recovered enough to do so!"

Lacheryn stared in amazement. "You would do all that?"

"For you and for everyone else who needs it. I am still uncertain why they chose me as lady. But choose me they did, so as long as they will follow me, I shall do my part, and protect them till death."

"Thingol may still refuse," Lacheryn warned.

"I know. I still must try."

"I wish you were in his place," said Lacheryn. "It is strange to say it, since I knew you since we were both very young. But you have grown into a wise, strong lady who I would gladly serve and die for."

Rathlóriel smiled through tears. "Thank you," she said. "But do try not to die. I see enough Dwarves doing it already."

Lacheryn took her hand, and a long silence followed.

Finally she spoke again. "I assume you at least have a backup plan if Thingol refuses?"

Rathlóriel shrugged. "Then the news will spread that I in my wisdom humbled myself greatly to seek alliance with the Dwarf-killer king of Doriath, for though I had many reasons to be aghast at his behaviour, my heart told me that neither of us alone could stand against the brooding Shadow in the north. And yet I was rebuffed by his arrogance and intransigence, and sadly perceived the end he would find: not an honourable one in battle, but a sordid one at the hands of those he despised, as he hid craven in the deepest treasure-chamber of Menegroth."

Lacheryn gave her an inscrutable look.

"I mean, the serious answer is that we will train with the northern horse-lords, fortify the hills that command access into Beleriand, and learn from the Dwarves how the Enemy's corruption may be resisted. And that is what I will tell my people tomorrow. Right now, however, I am trying to make you laugh. It would ease my heart a great deal if you did so."

"I think your sense of humour has become severely warped."

---

"Milady, there is a rider at the gates. He says he bears tidings from Menegroth," said Nelloriel. She was a young Nando from the area around Lake Evendim, who had chosen to enter Rathlóriel's service out of her curiosity about the Dwarves.

"Is that so? Then I shall go down myself and receive him," said Rathlóriel.

And when she descended the stairs of her fortress, she found a much higher-ranked face than she had expected. "Hail, Mablung of Doriath! It gladdens my heart that Thingol would send you. What news from Menegroth? Will the King and Queen of Beleriand then come to our aid?"

"I carry news indeed, but I was not sent willingly," he said. "If not for the insistence of myself and some few others, no answer would have been sent at all."

Rathlóriel stopped in her tracks. "Then Elu will not aid us," she said.

"Indeed," said Mablung. "Some of your people have already fled south, and there did foul deeds of mayhem and treachery. Elu will not aid those who disclaim him, then come running back only to try and kill his people in their sleep. So he spoke on his throne."

"But they do not do so willingly! They have been ensnared by the foul shadows that come out of the North! And they can be released – this I know, for I have done it with one who I knew well!"

"So I deem, as does Melian the queen, and together we urged Elu to reconsider," said Mablung. "But he will not. Farewell, Rathlóriel daughter of Gledhennil. May the Shadow be no darker when we meet again." And he turned to ride away.

Rathlóriel stared into the distance. But eventually, her gaze turned, no longer facing southwest to Doriath, but northwest to Angband.

"What shall we then do, milady?" Nelloriel asked.

Rathlóriel's eyes did not budge. "We fortify the north, and prepare for war."

---

So it was that the peace of Beleriand was drawing to a close, as Denethor son of Lenwë entered Ossiriand from the southeast. And even as Thingol welcomed him as kin, he sensed an opportunity; for he wished for a way to punish Rathlóriel for her perceived insolence, and break her iron grip on the trade between him and the Dwarves. But in this he was somewhat disappointed, since Denethor's southern Nandor had not fought Sauron's fell creatures as the northern ones had; and they saw not the value of what the Dwarves offered, feeling that their hewing of trees was distasteful.

Then again, the northern Sindar did not have a very good time either.

Chapter Text

Fëanor wandered aimlessly through the hills around Tirion.

I must have been out for at least five hours. Maybe the wedding has not yet begun, for Father will surely be looking for me. Well, let him wait longer, as he would not for the love of his life! He deserves this unhappiness. I deserve it too.

"Are you lost?"

Fëanor was jolted out of his thoughts.

Who could it be? No one comes here. That is why I fled to the hills in the first place!

"I can't deny that the view's beautiful," came the voice, "but you seem to have walked in the same circle seven times over. That's probably more than enough for appreciation to turn to boredom. Unless perhaps there is something else on your mind, and you are not looking at the view at all?"

Wait. There is someone else who thinks that appreciation can turn to boredom? Who is it who speaks to me with such understanding?

She appeared in front of him, walking in from a sharp turn in the path.

"You can talk to me about it, you know. I won't tell your sorrows to others and have them laugh at you."

Oh, if only you knew how quickly Father's courtiers would do that.

She sat down on a rock. "Well?" she smiled.

Well, I suppose it cannot possibly hurt any more than it does now, Fëanor thought to himself.

An hour later, tears were streaming down his face again, as she listened in silence and understanding. Thus came to pass the first meeting of Fëanor with Nerdanel, and it was far from the last.

In the meetings that came afterwards, they began to discuss happier matters as well; and Fëanor found that Nerdanel was a match for him in mind and strength. Freely they conversed about the making of things from metal and stone, and the sights of the hills and seas around Valinor. And so it seemed to Fëanor that the grey veil of grief on him had lightened, and the thought of his works and devices once again gave him joy.

By their fourth meeting, he was sure that he was in love.

Fëanor remained a reluctant presence in the palace while Findis and Fingolfin waxed to full growth, though the intrigues of Tirion felt as poison to him. Yet he grudged his half-brother and sister before their birth, and was ever unfriendly to them, though his unfriendliness did not pass the bound into direct insults. And so, by his own lashing out, similar intrigues began to appear against his half-siblings as well.

When Fingolfin reached the cusp of adulthood, Fëanor and Nerdanel were wedded in Mahtan's house; and for many decades they were not seen again in Tirion. Many of the great smiths of the Noldor were in attendance. But not a single figure from the court was invited, save Finwë the King only; and his son spoke little with him, beyond the most basic of courtesies. To Indis and her children were sent explicit disinvitations.

---

In the days of bliss that followed, ere the unchaining of Melkor, the eldest three sons of Fëanor and Nerdanel were born: Maedhros the tall, Maglor the mighty singer, and Celegorm the fair. Maedhros was dearest to Nerdanel: in form he most resembled her and her kin, but in spirit he was his father's fire tempered with his mother's patience and wisdom. But the younger two were favoured by Fëanor. For Celegorm eerily resembled his grandmother in form, and Maglor's voice ever stirred old memories in Fëanor's heart, hearing his mother sing like rippling water as she worked.

The first house of the Noldor went on great journeys throughout Valinor. They stood by the shores of the northern and western seas. They sought the secrets of metal, and the mastery of light. They learned the lore of earth and stone, and the beauty of living things. They studied the language of the Valar, and also that of the Teleri in Alqualondë. Alone among the tongues of the Amanyar it clung to the þ sound that Fëanor argued so passionately in favour of; (1) and that study won him fame, as he lectured to enraptured audiences on the historical development of the Eldarin tongues. Yet still it awoke unrest in his heart, for he thought of all that was barred to his mind, because he could not study the tongues of the Elves who remained behind.

A curse upon the misty domes of Varda! Only counterfeit stars in the sky do we see; not only can we not see the true heavens spanning endlessly above, but no sign of Endor is visible on the other side of the Sea. They say she raised it to fence Melkor out; but now that he is made captive, what purpose does it serve but fencing us in?

He looked back to the paths returning to Alqualondë, and saw a Telerin woman pass by, animatedly talking to her son. And seeing her hair, as starlike a silver as that of Míriel, his heart broke in two again.

How odd, he thought. Her son is golden-haired like Indis. Well, perhaps she married a Vanya.

He never returned to Alqualondë while the Trees still shone.

---

Now in the days of Fëanor's wandering, Lalwen and Finarfin were born in Tirion; and the youngest of Finwë's children proved just as ill-at-ease with the intrigues of Tirion as the eldest. For Finarfin was the only one of Finwë's line to be neither proud, nor strong, nor willful: and he was as ill-suited to navigating the minefield of the courts as his elder siblings were deft at it.

But that was a duty of being a Noldorin prince, and so he kept having to face Indis' disappointment. Why can't you be more like your brother Nolofinwë? were the dreaded words he always heard. On particularly bad days Indis went further, and said: even Findis can hold her own in court better than you can! The worst of those days had led to a scene that would have been surprisingly familiar to Fëanor himself, involving Finarfin leaving the palace in secret and venting to the first Elf he saw on the coasts.

He was extremely surprised to find that the fisherwoman he was talking to was in fact Eärwen. And seeing the princess of the Teleri dressed so plainly, and finding no deceit or hidden double meaning in her speech, the thought came to him that perhaps life did not have to be as stressful as it was in Tirion. Soon Olwë the King welcomed him without reservation as a son, and on his wedding day Finarfin perceived that here in Alqualondë he would find the unconditional love that he could not get from Finwë or Indis. Alone among the sons of Indis he clung to the þ; always he said that it was for the sake of the Teleri who kept it, but in his heart he also wished to implicitly rebuke the mother who had so stressed him with her expectations.

Four children they had together in quick succession, as they sailed up and down the coasts around Alqualondë: three sons and one daughter. The bearing of Galadriel, greatest save Fëanor among the Noldor, was greatly taxing to Eärwen's spirit; but in this way Finarfin's relationship with his full-brother was healed, for Fingolfin came from Tirion himself to comfort him. His wife Anairë nursed Eärwen through her illness; and though Eärwen never fully regained her health, thereafter they became firm friends. (2)

All that might even have moved Fëanor, had he ever found out about it. But at the time he was conducting research in the northern forests of Aman, and no news came to him.

Thus the flower of potential friendship between the lines of Míriel and Indis withered away ere it could fully blossom. Each petal faded and fell off, as Finarfin's children, more ambitious than him, moved one by one to Tirion and dropped the þ from their speech. They sided firmly with Fingolfin's sons; and when Galadriel refused to let Fëanor have a single strand of her hair, frost took all that remained.

---

But now new tidings were at hand, which took time to come to the ears of Fëanor and his kin. For Melkor carried out his plan, that he had devised in the pits of Utumno long ago when all seemed lost: to make a mockery of repentance, to feign total self-abasement, so that he could enter the very fortress of Aman itself, and ruin it from within. And he spoke unto Manwë and cozened him, bewitching the Elder King with fair visions.

Long he sang, of the ancient days before the count of time, ere jealousy of the Children to come had driven him mad, when he had acted as a true friend and partner of the other Valar. He sang of the spring of Eä, when he rent the four forces asunder, and made the first metal in the glowing fog of light and matter. He sang of the taming of matter, as nuclei and electrons were married and Eä made transparent for vision. He spoke of his labours with Varda, during the making of the first stars. For then Eä was young, and Arda yet unborn; and as he sang of the making of Asambar, (3) closest to the Sun and last of all his works before he turned aside from his appointed path in the Song, Manwë and Varda themselves were moved to tears.

Then he turned, and said, "Is it not clear that long reflection in Mandos has cured me? No more do I wish to dominate and destroy other wills; far fairer it now seems to exchange thoughts with them and win friendship! If I will be permitted to put my skill and tongue to use again, then I shall advise and aid ye, even as the lowliest of the Maiar. Thus shall the deeds of the past be redressed!" Which was not false, yet riddled with evasion; and so it sufficed to win his freedom.

Now Fëanor had long mistrusted the Valar, ever since his mother came to the keeping of Mandos and returned not; but at length he hearkened to the prayers and arguments of Nerdanel, and within his heart then deemed them well-meaning, but ill-prepared to deal with Incarnates who were very different from they were. But the unchaining of Melkor filled him with dismay, and reawakened his rebelliousness. For the thought then came to his mind: The Valar hold my innocent mother in jail for all eternity, just because she died under a strain too great for her to withstand. Yet they let the Marrer of Middle-earth walk free after a mere three ages! If this is not malice, then it is incompetence. And such severe incompetence it would be, that I would fain prefer it be malice!

And a thought came unbidden to his heart, which leapt anxious at the thought of how Tirion had become under his long absence. And lo! hearing the speech of his fellow Noldor instantly reawoke his pain, by its implicit rejection of their first Queen. For apart from Fëanor's most loyal followers, the sound þ had fallen completely out of use. Many children had been born to the Noldor in their bliss, and that sound was as strange to them as the tongue of the Dwarves would have been – though of Dwarves the Valar said naught, and Melkor knew not of them.

Mother, you were too good for us. What a cruel joke that the Teleri are more faithful to your memory than we are, though you chose our kindred and were our Queen!

But that was not the worst that he saw, though it was Fëanor himself who caused this to pass. For in his absence someone had to be found to do the duties of the crown prince; and at every ceremony held by the Noldor there stood Fingolfin by the side of the King and Queen. Tall, dark, proud, and wise he was, too much like Fëanor himself: and so the eldest son of Finwë perceived that he had been supplanted in the eyes of the people of Tirion. And his wrath was kindled still further as he beheld his half-nephews.

Fingon is the spitting image of his father, and that usurper dares to put Finwë's name on his son as well: his designs are clear. But Turgon has earned my hate still more than his brother. He revels in his Vanyarin blood, so that his following is full of puppets under the control of Indis the chief of usurpers. The sons of Findis, raised as Vanyar in Valimar, are now sinking their teeth into a Tirion that is none the wiser. Before long we shall grow as bovine and meek as those who sing endlessly at Manwë's feet on Taniquetil, making no original thought of their own! (4)

"This is an outrage," summarised Fëanor to Nerdanel.

Nerdanel sighed. "You always jump straight to the worst interpretation," she pointed out. "Just because your brother loves his mother does not mean he hates you."

"So it would be for most people," Fëanor replied. "But not for Nolofinwë. For love of his mother must perforce mean rejection of mine; and now the whole of Tirion loves her spawn."

"And they love you too! Did you not hear all the excited bustle about the greatest smith of the Noldor returning to his people?"

"It is one thing to have the smiths love you, and quite another to have the courtiers in the palace love you," he said angrily.

Then Nerdanel recalled her first meeting with Fëanor in the hills, and was troubled. "You have a point," she admitted, "but you cannot expect to sway opinions within the palace without being in it!"

"So I have also been thinking. When I first met you, it was as I said then: the city and its intrigues made me sick. And for a long time, I would not return and face it. But I think I am ready now. Let us return to live in Tirion permanently," Fëanor said.

Nerdanel looked in wonder. "And are you certain, that the palace will not break your heart again?"

"It shall, alas!" Fëanor replied in sadness. "But it is not only for myself that I think, but for our children. Our eldest is clearly going to make a splendid prince of the Noldor, and our second is a born performer. Would it be fair for their talents to be wasted out in the wild? The King's courtiers may break my heart through their disguised barbs; but seeing our children blossom shall heal all those hurts."

Then Nerdanel's heart was lifted, as she deemed that the ancient grief between Finwë's sons might be assuaged. And she was inspired, and said, "Let our Maitimo then be presented before the King! Within a week he shall have Fingon curled around his little finger. Then shall your heart be eased, as you shall learn that your brother intends nothing to put your birthright into peril."

"While I am here, perhaps," Fëanor replied. "I trust him less out of my sight. But still more shall be needed. I am quite refreshed from my recent projects, and feel ready to have more children. My half-brother has likewise returned to this pursuit, and now he has a young daughter. Let us have some more children, so that Aredhel will grow up as their playmate. And then we shall see who manages to wrest the other's child to his side."

"Fëanor, that's not—"

"Oh yes, Nolofinwë will be so very humiliated."

"By you becoming a really nice uncle to his daughter? Yes, I think he will be very humiliated indeed," she said, not entirely keeping her disbelief concealed. "But I agree about having more children. How does two more sound to you?"

"It sounds excellent," Fëanor smiled.

After all, that way my fair lady will surpass Indis.

---

Fëanor soon found himself with more than he had bargained for.

For he faced a terrible dilemma: despite all the intellectual reasons to hate Aredhel as yet another descendant of Indis, he could not actually do it. Not when every time he saw her, she was either riding happily with Celegorm, discussing metalwork and linguistics with Curufin, or arguing about mathematics and philosophy with Caranthir. Each sight of her in such friendship with his sons was a blow against the armour he had forged to seal away his heart.

It broke completely one day, when he returned home, only to find Aredhel complaining just like he did, about the dome of Varda obscuring the stars and Middle-earth. When he heard that, Fëanor locked himself in his room and laughed until he cried.

I named you well, Curufinwë. You have managed to humiliate Nolofinwë in a way I could scarcely have imagined doing myself. To hear such words from Indis' line! What a joy it is, for a father to see himself surpassed!

Somehow, nobody except Fëanor and his closest supporters – Nerdanel not included – suspected that Fingolfin was being humiliated in the slightest. Fingolfin himself was particularly oblivious to it. Fëanor did not understand why, but chalked it up to him being just that much smarter than his half-brother.

Thus Fëanor's opinion of the line of Indis was revised from "I hate them all" to "I hate them all except Aredhel". The single exception made it harder for everyone else to take the rest of the hatreds completely seriously. And remembering his past disastrous attempt to collaborate with Galadriel on the trapping of light, rumour ran as quick as lightning through Tirion that perhaps Fëanor just really wanted a daughter.

He indeed started wondering about that himself, and prevailed upon Nerdanel to try for one more child. And while Fëanor did not in fact get his daughter, he did become the only full Elf ever to have twins.

---

The days wore on, as the Noontide of Valinor drew to a close.

Slowly, the houses of the Noldor were teased apart, and strife was born between them. The friendship of Fingon and Maedhros, once inseparable, had turned cold as each ceaselessly advocated the views of their respective fathers. Turgon, who had once admired Fëanor for his linguistic and smithing skills, now turned ever closer to his Vanyarin cousins and contacts, and turned up his nose in disgust against Fëanor's arguments against the Valar.

Those arguments worried Nerdanel as well, as Aulë warned her that if her husband rebelled, he and all their children would find only death. Even Finarfin, who had once kept completely neutral in Alqualondë, was reluctantly drawn into the strife as it waxed. Understandably he was closer to Fingolfin his full-brother; but the shadow of Eärwen's continued illness remained on his heart. Thus he could now well understand the grief that had afflicted Fëanor since he was young, and he was troubled that his children could not find this sympathy, preferring to oppose Fëanor in every way on impulse.

Perhaps, if anyone had spoken of how Eärwen still languished, it might have been different. But well did all in Valinor remember how the Valar had spoken, deeming the death of Míriel a matter of Arda Marred that had polluted the fair realm of Valinor. And so even Eärwen's own children would not speak of this perceived shame to others, and though Anairë still nursed her in her illness, so secret was it kept that even Aredhel and Argon knew naught of it. Alone among his kindred Finarfin dearly wished to speak of it to Fëanor, in hope that it might have sparked a reconciliation; but Fingolfin bade him not to, anxious that any sign of questioning the Valar might be taken as Finarfin undermining him.

Thus while Finarfin kept his participation in the debates to an absolute minimum, and always pleaded for long consideration without haste, little was Fëanor convinced of his youngest half-brother's neutrality; for he naturally assumed, though it was not true, that the children of Finarfin did the bidding of their father, and so ultimately that of Fingolfin. The children of Finarfin brought many Teleri in their following to Tirion, though Finrod began to cleave rather to Turgon with his Vanyar; chief among them was Celeborn, the lover of Galadriel and a lesser prince of Alqualondë in his own right, though he was not directly descended from Olwë. (5)

And so Fëanor's earlier sympathy for the Teleri and their language grew to mistrust. Earlier he had tried to keep an open mind to the Teleri in general, seeing them as fellow victims of the Valar because of their sundering. But he now perceived that in Tirion he was beset in a ring of enemies, between the Holy Mountain and the Sea.

Yet Melkor's goal to bring the Noldor to civil war was still marred, for Aredhel stayed steadfastly above the strife. She refused to stop meeting the sons of Fëanor as she pleased, and Fëanor still could not bring himself to turn her away. Fingolfin would likewise not forbid his daughter from meeting her half-cousins and half-uncle, though his view of his daughter's friendships changed; instead of seeing them as a possible sign that the divide was healing, he saw it as a way to extract information from the other side. And even as the lords of the Noldor forged helm and shield, emblazoning them with the colours and symbols of the houses they followed, still Aredhel alone among the cousins would only wear silver and white without device, in implicit rebuke of the divisions, though she was torn this way and that. For this she gained the after-name Feiniel, the White Lady of the Noldor; but it was given by the courtiers to mock her perceived indecision, and she never used it herself. (6)

(Technically, Argon also was neutral. However, he also happened to be a child. Thus his neutrality was simply a matter of him not being aware of politics at all.)

And so Melkor stewed and raged internally as his plan was still not quite successful. But he soon mastered himself, and realised that his usual anger management plan of exploding a volcano would just get him thrown back in Mandos.

Perhaps, he thought in his dark heart, it is time for some improvisation.

---

The time had come, Fëanor reflected, to tell his fifth son everything.

He had done it four times over by now. He could manage it, though he was out of practice.

The signs had been slightly different for each one. But of course Curufin, the most like him in interests, had stirred this topic up by a linguistic question.

"Father, why do we speak differently from everyone else in Tirion?"

Well, that's certainly a reliable way to get my attention, Fëanor thought. "Why do you ask?"

"I was walking with Aredhel, and she remarked on it," Curufin said. Fëanor raised an eyebrow. "I know what you have often said to Maedhros: take no heed, for we speak as is right, and as king Finwë himself did before he was led astray! (7) But I would present my case and arguments before my father, master of the Lambengolmor, and seek his view of them."

"Let them then be presented!"

Curufin swallowed. "Language is a high art of beauty, and we the Eldar often direct its change for elegance," he pointed out. "But unlike Maglor's art of music, it has not only the tug on one's feelings as an end, but also the conveyance of information.

"If I wish to tell Aredhel to meet me by the fountain in Tirion's main square at the next Mingling, I must choose my words so that she will understand precisely what I mean. If I leave it ambiguous, then no matter how beautifully I do so, we will most like wait in vain. And she would have the right to be angered at me for doing so!

"What does this show? That the beauty of language cannot be divorced from its purpose in communicating thoughts. If I were to invent my own language, though fair in art and beauty it may be, it would yet live a half-life as long as no one else could speak it. Thus we must exclude arguments of elegance. Not only are they incredibly subjective – surely Maglor does not always see eye-to-eye with Elemmírë on musical matters – but they are also incredibly irrelevant.

"So what makes a way of speaking right? Only that most people you speak thus to will take your meaning, and deem the words you couched it in appropriate. But appropriateness will change depending on the situation: I would not speak in the market the way I would speak in the King's court. And even more clearly, it changes depending on the tongue of those who you talk to. The language of the Teleri differs greatly from ours, to the point that neither of our clans can understand the other without making the effort to learn. Still it would be ridiculous to say that our language or theirs is incorrect! Where shall the neutral judge be found? The Valar, who need not a language of their own? Yet even there my point is proven, for they speak to each of the kindreds in their own tongue, making no judgement at all.

"What grounds are left for us to keep our particular pronunciation, if any? Elegance has been thrown out, and it does not help us communicate with most of our people. Indeed many of the younger ones like Aredhel are so unfamiliar with that sound that it impedes their understanding of us. Meanwhile they have absolutely no problem communicating among themselves. Does that not put the lie to the old saying that the merger of þ to s would wreak havoc on the language and confuse dozens of stems?

"Neither does it help us communicate with the other kindreds. It obviously does not help the Vanyar understand us; Turgon would have need to do so far more than we, and he would have kept the þ if it really had such an effect." Fëanor's face darkened at the mention of Turgon, but Curufin plowed on. "Perhaps one could say it matches the Teleri, who keep þ just as we do; but their language differs in so many other ways that this viewpoint misses the forest for the trees. So all it does is keep us as a group apart from the other Eldar, and provide artificial boundaries against us understanding each other.

"And what will happen if we go down that road? Then arguments will not be taken on their merits, but based on the origin of the person making them. But talent is talent, regardless of where it may be found. As a maker of things like you, who knows that great inspirations can come from anywhere, I submit that this is an evil path to tread."

Fëanor stood silent for a long time. "You have put much thought into this, and ordinarily, I would consider it in detail," he said. "Only, a question. How much of that argument came from you, and how much from Aredhel?"

Curufin shuffled his feet awkwardly.

"Evidently the proportion is such that you do not wish to admit it to me. I understand. In truth, the arguments are quite reasonable, and were it any other change in language, I might even be persuaded. Feel free to tell that to Aredhel, by the way – for Nolofinwë's campaign to prove me a hypocrite by counter-protesting the change from z to r grows tiresome. Not that he can convince anyone in Tirion to speak as he wishes, save the sons of himself and Findis. After all, I am a loremaster and he is not."

Curufin snorted.

"But this you must tell her also: on this sound change I cannot budge. For as you know I am the son of the Þerindë, the only Elf in Aman who died in weariness and can never live in the body again. And she desired that her kin adhere to the old pronunciation when talking to her – at the very least, when saying her mother-name. She is now dead, and unable to defend herself. I must do it, though all others have forgotten."

"Who then must we defend her against?"

"This I have explained to each of your older brothers, when I perceived the time had come," Fëanor explained. "And by your words I see the time has come for me to explain it to you. Prepare for a journey tomorrow, for we go to the gardens of Lórien. Not to the front, where many come and leave healed. We will go far into the interior, where none but my house has gone since the King's remarriage."

He paused. "But I shall make an exception just this once. You should take Aredhel along, if she is willing. Then she might understand."

---

So it was that Fëanor, Curufin, and Aredhel went on the overgrown path to the garden where Míriel laid down her life.

All among the Eldar shunned that place now: for ever the blessed land of the Valar protested against the one place where death and decay had entered it. The wind howled, and the storm-clouds gathered. The rain battered at their cloaks, and flashes of lightning streaked the air. But still Fëanor walked onward purposefully, his head held high, just as he had with Maedhros, with Maglor, with Celegorm and Caranthir. Yet this was the only time he ever went there with one not of his house.

Fëanor stopped. "We have come now to the very place where Mother was sent, after her illness had so consumed her that she could not even stand," he said. "Here it is where she laid herself down, and with a great sigh passed to Mandos in weariness.

"For three years after her death, her body was tended by the Maiar of Estë. A fair house it was amid the garden of lórelot, the red dream-flower, as if its mistress had only gone on a journey, and would soon return. Long I stood there in vigil, believing that the Valar would let her have the rest and healing she needed." At the last words his voice cracked.

Curufin and Aredhel stood long in respectful silence. Nonetheless, eventually Aredhel could not hold back from voicing her confusion. "But her body isn't here," she pointed out.

"It is not indeed, and I shall tell you the tale explaining why," Fëanor continued. "For I was a fool to trust the Valar. Those quacks claimed they ran a place of healing: but they pompously told Mother to return again and again before she was ready, giving her yet more torment and anguish as the memories of her illness were forced before her. How could she heal under such circumstances? Did they not hear her loudly and clearly, when she said she was weary in body and spirit and desired peace? Yet no peace they gave her!"

Aredhel shuddered. Might I be treated the same way, if I were utterly spent after becoming a mother? she wondered.

"So it came to pass that Finwë wandered in sorrow throughout Tirion, taking no joy in whatever he did. And I tried to take solace in my studies and devices; yet all felt grey and ashen to me as well.

"But then a message came to him from Ingwë, king of the shallow Vanyar who do nothing but argue about whether they should praise Manwë or Varda first that day." Curufin snorted, while Aredhel tried to conceal that she was doing the same. "And he said: my friend, cease this vain mourning and self-destruction! Come to my house on the slopes of Taniquetil, and dwell for a season in the full light of the Trees!

"I know not if it was Ingwë who planned it, or if it was the Valar. Truly it matters not, for sometimes I wonder if the Vanyar can even think for themselves at all. But there it was that the voice of Indis his daughter came as a lark's song in the sky, and Finwë suddenly perceived that she loved him. Yea, that she had long loved him, though she had said naught as he desired Míriel."

"You think they planned that meeting all along, to catch the King when he was at his most vulnerable?" Curufin asked.

Fëanor grimaced. "You must admit its timing was suspicious," he said.

"But Grandmother herself often told us that story with fondness," Aredhel pointed out. "She does not feel that it needs to be secret. Does it seem plausible, then, that Great-grandfather Ingwë and the Valar would have worked in the shadows?"

"One may work for long in the shadows, until one judges the time right to reveal all," Fëanor said darkly. "I deem that that meeting was the appointed time, and from then on neither the King nor Indis felt the need to keep it secret. They were utterly brazen about it, though this was when the Statute had not even been proclaimed, and even the Valar were still publicly in doubt whether one of the Eldar should be permitted to remarry.

"When Father returned from his journey, and he was all aglow with new fire and joy, my heart was lifted. Surely, I thought, this can only mean that Mother will return to us. But then I listened to him recount his meeting with Indis, and I was horrified. How radiantly he smiled as he said this: in that hour the love that had long been hidden from me was revealed, and it refreshed me as the golden light of Laurelin! He did not even wait a day before petitioning the Valar for a remarriage, so quickly did he forget Míriel!"

Aredhel was shocked. Perhaps this comes too close to treason. But how in Arda would anyone expect Fëanor to have taken that well? she thought.

"Likewise I was stunned beyond speech or reason," Fëanor observed with a grimace. "But soon the Valar gathered for their debate, and all at last was made clear. Their plans were ready for action and exposure. Yea, they called me marred then, and spoke of the greatness of the descendants of Indis. Well, probably they did not have Aredhel here in mind. I rather think they were imagining Findis' rhapsodic skill at singing their praises endlessly without pausing for breath. Truly she must be the Valar's favourite among the King's children."

Curufin and Aredhel both snorted.

"Swiftly they moved. Just two years after putting Mother beyond healing, they declared her mortally sick, and banned her from further choice forever. Deftly did the Valar replace her and keep the King under a watchful leash. And all have forgotten and given up on her, even her own parents, at the words of the Valar. But the land has not forgotten the horror they deliberately let into it, as decay entered the Blessed Realm to consume the body of my mother; and ever it rages in grief and despair. All others deem this place accursed, and now only I and my sons ever come."

"And now me," Aredhel said.

"And now you," Fëanor agreed.

Even as the strife between him and my father bubbles to near boiling point, he still trusts me so much! Aredhel thought.

"So you think the Valar meant to cozen King Finwë himself?" she asked in horror.

"The histories of the time at Cuiviénen are little-studied, now that we have surpassed that era in knowledge: and so I shall not grudge you for not knowing them," said Fëanor. "But once you read them, there can be no doubt. For so it is truly said in them, by Rúmil's authority: unlike Ingwë or Elwë, my father did not trust the Valar's good will until he became one of the Three Ambassadors.

"He argued instead: the Valar sat in contentment in the West, for thousands of years, without stirring from Taniquetil. Yea, it was not even one of the Valar who first found us, but one of the Maiar! Melian it was who first spoke to us about them, and told us that all of Arda was under their domain. But then wherefore did they abandon Middle-earth? For consider: the One awoke us in these lands, which they propose to move us away from. Might it simply be that the Valar are jealous and wish to control us as vassals, and so take our land by force?

"I shall go on and add to his argument myself, now that we know yet more. Of the six Maiar who guarded us by Cuiviénen, we only see five now, for Melian came never back to Valinor. For unlike the others, she went to Middle-earth herself warned in a dream, without the leave of Manwë. Maia she is, and so she must be able to come and go from Valinor as she pleases. But those who have asked after the kind angel who guarded them against the horror of the dark are told that she cannot return. Is that not damning evidence of the Valar's desire for control?"

"But the King has never spoken so to us," Aredhel said. "Now it is only your following that spreads these ideas. Why then did he change his mind, and what proof do you have that he did so?"

"Visiting Valinor in person overawed and converted him, with the purity of one who jumps from one extreme to another," Fëanor said. "But even then, when he returned and convinced our folk to join him, he did not argue as Ingwë did, in remembrance of the loveliness of Varda and all her works.

"Nay, he argued thus instead. He told his kindred that he had learned of the Valar's power, and realised that if we did not go, we would become collateral damage during the ruinous war in Endor. So he thought we would be safe in Aman, where the Valar would only be teachers; and anxious was he that the skills of his beloved Míriel be enhanced. Terribly indeed was his trust betrayed: and the Valar must surely keep a watchful eye on him, to prevent him from doubting again.

"All this can be read in the histories of Rúmil my master, who was at the debate at Cuiviénen, and recorded it in the Sarati. They are little-read now; while I will never regret inventing the Tengwar, it does have the terrible side effect that works written in the earlier script may be suppressed just because few of the younger generations can read it. So Rúmil's histories have been replaced in general use by those of Quennar i Onótimo. But I know Curufin has taught you how to read the Sarati; and if you go into the highest floor of the library of Tirion, you will find Rúmil's treatise, and see that I have spoken true."

Aredhel's mind was reeling. This, she thought, the tutors in the palace never said. I must find this out for myself.

But a new thought came to her mind. "Even so, would it not simply be one mistake? The death of Míriel in the Blessed Realm came as a shock to all, and even the Valar did not expect it."

"So I thought once, to my disgrace!" Fëanor said. "But alas, I then learned that such betrayal is no stranger to them. You will of course have heard of the Teleri who were abandoned on the Hither Shore, within sight of Aman, as the Valar cozened Olwë's people with platitudes that their kin had a part to play that would be remembered in song."

"I remember," Aredhel said. "It was one of the stories in my reading primer, when I was a child. My tutor said its lesson was that good may not be apparent to us at first glance. But even then I doubted, for not a single song has passed the domes of Varda."

Fëanor looked wistful. "I came there with Maglor in his youth; and together we strained to catch a glimpse of the Outer Lands, whose songs and stories are forever hidden behind a cage of mist," he said. "Varda would not permit it, of course. But new and worse tidings have come, from the bravest among the Teleri who dared to come to Valimar and ask after the fate of their sundered kin.

"Mother is not alone; for evils have afflicted the Moriquendi who the Valar strung along and abandoned, and many of them have died and come to Mandos. And what do the Valar do to those with whom they cruelly broke troth?"

"They give similarly counterproductive healing?" Aredhel suggested.

"I wish," Fëanor scowled. "For a while I believed that the Valar had at least tried with my mother, and were simply incompetent. But no. What do we hear? That the Valar have judged the Moriquendi unfit to be returned to life, and doomed them to languish for many an age. At least, that is what they did after Míriel came to their incompetent care. Before then they did not even consider returning the Moriquendi to life a priority at all. Is that not precisely one would expect if the Valar really wished to trap us all in Aman, and leave Middle-earth wide and empty for Men to inherit?

"'Tis a wretched thing to be unhoused; for then one is a shadow of regret, who can neither act nor speak, with no route open to live and love again. But at least Mother chose it, finding life more intolerable. What a sick perversion of justice it is, to condemn those fool enough to hearken to you to that fate! The choice was not theirs, but was thrusted on them against their will, by violence and terror from their brother's servants. And just as even Mother's family forsook her, most of the Teleri see this as answer enough, and cry not for their lost friends, family, and lovers. For them it is simple: the Valar have spoken, and that is the end of the matter. Could either of you trust those with such hardened hearts?"

"I would never be so faithless!" shouted Curufin over a thunderclap.

"Nor I!" agreed Aredhel. But then Fëanor swiftly held up a hand, and they quietened.

"I thought not indeed. Alas, that makes you better than almost all our people! I would that it were not so," said Fëanor. "A few of the Teleri have woken up from their trance, and it was only because of them demanding answers that we know this much. Well, after they got this reply, they then asked: why then do we not make war on Middle-earth, to root out the remnants of Melkor's evil? Surely that is easier than the war conducted for our sake against Melkor himself. Or if not, why should we not go and greet our sundered kin as lost friends, and bring them home with us?

"Then Manwë was grieved, and said unto them: Say not such words, if you still desire our protection! Already the Shadow has seeped into Valinor, as seen from the death of Míriel in the Blessed Realm. I shall not suffer more of it to come in: if you leave, your decision is final, and here you may never return. And so they backed down, having been threatened with the same fate that their kin had been condemned to. (8)

"So we see the Valar's lies and hypocrisy. They delayed endlessly to make war on their brother, so that he had time to commit uncountable and unspeakable crimes against our people. Yet after three ages they release him upon us – the very maker of the Shadow! – while those proud self-appointed kings and queens of Arda have jailed my innocent mother for all eternity. And unless I should die myself, I can never speak with her again."

His voice grew soft, and overcome with an immense weariness. "For a while I almost thought I could have died too."

Curufin and Aredhel looked up in shock.

"The wedding bells were ringing in Tirion, and all Eldamar was celebrating. Even Mother's own parents swallowed the Valar's decree that Father's bereavement was unjust, and held her guilty. Except for me, alone against the whole world and its tyrants. In that hour I felt myself the unhappiest creature in all of Arda, and desired to sleep, and never wake again. For every morning did naught but reawaken yesterday's grief. And I even began to believe part of the Valar's verdict – only it was not that Mother was guilty. Rather it was that I was the marred one, who by coming into existence killed her. Did not Ulmo say as much?"

"They should never have called you marred!" Aredhel said in alarm.

But Fëanor did not hear her, as tears streaked down his face, the grief still as raw as it had been hundreds of years earlier. "And I thought: would it not balance the scales, in a way?" he continued softly. "If I killed her, then I was a kinslayer, who deserved to die for it."

A long silence followed, broken only by rolls of thunder. "But you did not take that path," Curufin finally said.

Fëanor rose again, and his voice strengthened. "Indeed I did not," he agreed, "for that is when I met your mother. Long we roamed around Valinor, and many projects we embarked on together; and it was so that I began to believe again that there was something to life after all.

"But then she told me she wanted many children, and I was terrified of losing her just like I did Mother. I begged and begged that she reconsider. Please! Do not even think about it! I kill those who I love!

"At length, however, I conceded. This was her heartfelt wish, and I would not gainsay it. And I resolved in my heart: if she died and returned not, I would not follow the example of my father and condemn her unjustly. Sooner would I have died myself and joined her, than do such a thing."

He shook himself. "Well, there was no need to worry, after all! I am a master of words, so I can quite authoritatively say that no words could suffice to express my relief when I held Maedhros for the first time, and Nerdanel was fine! And he has been a great joy to us. Each one of you were, in turn: Maglor, Celegorm, Caranthir, you, and finally the Ambarussa. Though I feared so much before each birth, now that I have all of you, I would not give you up for anything."

"Mother must have been excellent with words to persuade you six times," Curufin noted.

"Indeed she was," Fëanor said. "Hear me then, Aredhel! Now I think you will understand why I cannot wholly be comfortable with the children of Indis: their existence reminds me too much of my first grief. But while grief was caused to me by the marriage that led to your father's birth, none was caused to me directly by the one which led to yours.

"So I will not begrudge your friendship with my sons! You are after all a talented and spirited young lady, and as Curufin has so helpfully reminded me: talent is talent, regardless of who it comes from. Discuss matters of language and philosophy with Curufin as you will, as you go riding in the woods with Celegorm, and discuss mathematics with Caranthir. But this I must insist on in my own speech, and of those who follow me: the preservation of the sound þ.

"I do this not because I feel that language should be drowned in golden amber, never to live or change again. I do this not because I blindly hate all of Indis' line – only those whose actions make it clear that they work against me. I do this because it is a cry against the injustice of the Valar. You are an Elf of good will, who has made it clear that you will not set their commands above the ties of love and friendship in need. That is how it should be: for we have knowledge of right and wrong within ourselves, and just because Manwë blesses a wrong act does not make it right. Will you then join me, and prove to all that I do not act merely to escalate petty, personal quarrels? Will you join me, on my quest to depart from Valinor back to the freedom of Middle-earth, and deliver the Noldor from the thralldom we find ourselves in?"

Then Aredhel's face was moistened as well by tears.

Now I finally understand how hard it is for Uncle. No others in Valinor understand him; those who have lost friends and family have accepted the Valar's slamming of the door shut, and deem it just. But how radiantly he clings to hope, though he knows it will cause him grief!

My parents tell me that Fëanor simply lies, using his old sorrow as an excuse, so that he can fulfill his heart's desire of treating the line of Indis cruelly. Do not trust him, for he will happily use you and drive you from Tirion when he is done with you, they say. Aunts Findis and Lalwen say the same. And as tensions in Tirion flame higher and higher, even my own brothers have started calling me a turncoat for meeting Fëanor so often.

And yet when I meet him, Uncle is happy to let me be friends with his sons, and even bares his deepest secrets to me. Who then is lying?

She turned to Fëanor. "Long have I thought that the divisions among the Noldor will come only to ill, and that we should be united as one people," she explained. "For that reason I have refused to wear identifying colours or devices, and dress in plain white and silver; for anything else would make us unable to talk to one another. Indeed, it is for that reason that I at first argued to Curufin that we should follow the majority, and accept the change from þ to s as having already been accomplished.

"But now I hear from you much that I had not previously known. And while I still believe that we should be united as one people, we would still have to come to a consensus on what policy to adopt on matters as serious as whether we should even remain in Valinor.

"So I say neither yea or nay right now: for such a thing I cannot do without much thought. What you say rings far too true to dismiss entirely; but I wish greatly that it were not, and all that I have heard from my family screams against it. I must do my own investigation."

"Consider well," said Fëanor. "I understand that it is especially difficult for you, for I am telling you that your kin are not as they seem to you. Your loyalty is admirable, and far better than what the Valar would have you do, were your kin seen as making choices that they disliked. So investigate as you will: I only ask you to be objective, and make up your mind based on what convinces you, rather than to flee from the wrath of another! Then come to me, and tell me either yea or nay. Either way, I shall accept it."

Aredhel stared in wonder.

"I grew up in the court of Tirion, and left it to apprentice as a smith under Mahtan," he explained. "I would appreciate a plain-spoken vulgar rebuke, over a verbal dagger hidden in silks."

---

At that time the Valar were holding counsel, for they were troubled by the discontent that had been stirred up in Tirion.

"Ye mighty of the Valar," spoke Yavanna, "we gather here today to discuss how we should respond to these fell tidings. There is great discontent among the Noldor; and from what we have seen, it is the High Prince Fëanor, son of Finwë and Míriel who has died and comes not back, who is the prime mover of it. All the Noldor have grown proud, but the son of Míriel most of all; and he treats our tutelage with scorn, and oft cries aloud that he shall deliver the Noldor from our trammels, and return to the wide world of Arda Marred from which we delivered them of old. How then shall we respond to this?"

"Let us answer them as we did those Teleri who asked after their sundered kin: with a firm no!" said Tulkas. "Then they shall surely cease to ask."

"Yet what works for the Teleri may not work for the Noldor, ever consumed by the mastery of lore and argumentation," cautioned Ulmo. "They will not take no for an answer blindly, not without an explanation of what will happen if they defy us."

"This I have done", said Aulë, ever the friend of the Noldor. "For though Fëanor has grown arrogant and will listen to me no more, still he hearkens at times to the counsel of Nerdanel his wife. And this I told her: that if her husband and sons should choose the path of rebellion, then the line of Míriel will follow their foremother into death everlasting until the end of Arda."

"Nonetheless the spirit of Fëanor is as his mother's," warned Vairë, "and it shall, I deem, prove hard to persuade by counsel. Particularly not when in his frame of mind, he is likely to consider said counsel as a threat, and cast it aside. So have a care, lest he likewise makes his own words a doom irrevocable unto himself. Yea, irrevocable they shall prove, even if Manwë and Varda themselves should seek to loosen them."

Then all were silent, until Manwë himself spoke. "Prince Fëanor, by speaking against us as the vicegerents of the One, has taken the first step down the path Melkor took of old," he said, and at once looked upon his brother. "Yet it is but the first step, and if the evil ends there, it will not be so bad. For it is in the nature of a pupil to feel as if he has surpassed his teachers; and as freely the Noldor came here, freely they must be permitted to depart, if stern counsel will not move them. We may indeed dissuade them, but a path must always be left open, so that their wills be not coerced."

The Valar nodded in agreement – particularly Ulmo, who had disapproved of the decision to summon the Elves to Valinor in the first place.

Manwë continued. "Now by his actions my brother proves himself repentant indeed, for he is ever eager to explain how to heal the hurts he once inflicted upon Arda." This was true indeed, but only because the evils of Melkor were so many that he deemed it a light matter to keep his mask on by undoing a few of them: and though weighty indeed those evils seemed to the Valar, he deemed them trivial, for he spoke not of all the tortures and cruelty that had been carried out in the pits of Utumno.

Then he said, "I judge therefore that we should hear my brother's counsel in this matter; for he has experience in going down this path, and turning from it. Let him speak, and tell us how he deems that Fëanor might either be convinced to turn aside; or if not, how the rest of the Noldor might be dissuaded from following him!"

Then Melkor rose from his seat, and said, "I thank my brother for permitting me to speak! Though I am generally unworthy of it at these councils, due to my past fall and transgression, I now see how my experience may now be turned to good: by serving as a cautionary tale, against others who have taken that path.

"Firstly, I deem that Fëanor will not repent, not unless he sees the first fruits of his actions. It was the same for me; even though I knew that only Eru had the powers that I wanted, still I deemed that I was unlike others, and that I would manage to seize the Flame Imperishable when all others among the Valar and Maiar could not. And so it was that all who counselled me to turn aside were met with anger and hatred, turning into fell violence. It was only when I was apprehended by Manwë, and all my plans and devices went astray, that I perceived how far I had fallen from my primeval nature, and repented in horror. So I say: do not speak to Fëanor, for then he will feel as if the restrictions came unjustly from us! He must first experience bitterness that he cannot deny is of his own making, ere he will turn aside.

"But we must also think of the Noldor as a whole. When I fell, I misled many other Maiar to my service, and they have proceeded to do great deeds of evil. To my shame and regret, some still lurk in Middle-earth, misguidedly awaiting their former master, though he has repented and will not come back," he lied smoothly.

"So let us then speak to Fingolfin and his folk, ever friendlier towards us; and counsel them wisely. Though I deem that Aulë's counsel will not work on Fëanor, I believe that it will work on Fingolfin. His people are already ill-disposed towards Fëanor, and with reason indeed; for if I have understood correctly, Fëanor grudged his half-siblings even before his birth, because of his resentment at the Statute of Finwë and Míriel. Impress upon them that to doubt Manwë is to doubt Eru, and that the latter has the direst consequences!

"Yea, are they not written in me? Though I have repented, still I have been diminished: for power has gone forth from me and lies no more under my will's control. The Hithaeglir I raised to hinder Oromë in his riding; no more do I wish to hurt him, yet still they stand as a formidable barrier. And though Fëanor is mightiest of the Eldar, still less he is than even the weakest of the Maiar; so if he should set out on my old path, then surely he shall destroy himself in short order, unable to restore himself and repent. Yea, and the same fate would meet his sons, and all who follow his current words for too long. Tell the people of Fingolfin to use the utmost persuasion to turn anyone who can be swayed away; for any Elf who steps on it shall find nothing but death."

"So be it!" said Manwë.

And Melkor smiled.

---

It did not take very long for Aredhel to make up her mind.

The next day, Aredhel went to the historical section of the library in Tirion, and consulted the texts of Rúmil who had tutored Fëanor in his youth. And there she learned that Fëanor's narration of the chronology of the Statute, as well as Finwë's views before and during the Debate of the Quendi, was all true.

But whenever she mentioned what Fëanor had confided in her, regarding his suspicions that either Ingwë or the Valar had engineered that meeting, she received no counterargument that reassured her. All she got was a lot of angry words directed at Fëanor, and counsel that she take no heed to this slander against the vicegerents of the One.

First she sought out her cousin Ecthelion son of Findis; for his work in Valimar involved recording the petitions of those who prayed to Manwë. Then she asked him if some among the Teleri had truly asked after their sundered kin, and whether it would be possible to cross the Sea and meet them again in joy; only to receive the response that they would not be reembodied.

Then Ecthelion glanced furtively around. "This is indeed true," he whispered. "But the topic should not be brought up much. Discussion about leaving Aman is a sign of the Shadow, and it grieves the ears of Manwë! Only Fëanor and those close to him would now dare to speak openly of it. Who did you hear it from, Aredhel?" he asked in great concern.

"From Fëanor himself," she admitted. "Then he did not lie to me?"

"Just because the words are true does not make he who says them less fey," Ecthelion replied. "Hearken to me, Aredhel! My mother has always misliked your friendship with Fëanor's sons; but my brothers and I convinced her that it was not bad in itself, for it may improve them just as Fingon could improve Maedhros for a time. Perhaps, we thought, you and he could save them from their father's open doubt and contempt of the Valar. And even when Fingon failed, still we had hope of your success.

"But now I worry if it is not going to happen the other way round, and that instead of them being pulled away from evil counsel by you, it will be you who they drag along to their ruin. Do not forget that to speak against Manwë is to speak against Eru, only at one remove. And beware lest you speak the unspeakable!"

Always this about being dragged along. Am I not a grown woman, who can make her own decisions of what she thinks? It seems no one believes that but the Fëanorians.

"I will consider your words, as I will consider Fëanor's, and make up my own mind. For that seems better to me than what you or Galadriel do, which is to stop your ears the moment you know something comes from his mouth," Aredhel replied, a little less politely than she intended. Then she walked away.

In any case, that was not a lie either. How many more things are my family going to hide from me?

Finally, at a dinner with her family, Aredhel dared to ask her father the same question that Curufin had asked his. "Father, why do Fëanor and his sons speak differently from us?"

"They say it is in defence of his mother, long since departed to Mandos," said Fingolfin. "When I was young, I wondered if it might be true. But the Valar have already decreed that all choice would be taken from Míriel forever, and that she will never be permitted to live in the body again." He spoke completely flatly, as if that totally closed the subject.

I would not have thought of it that way, ere Fëanor raised doubts in my heart, Aredhel thought to herself. But to someone like Fëanor who mistrusts the Valar, speaking like this cannot seem as anything other than gloating. How many times have we wronged him by unthinking speech, because we did not understand where he came from?

"So I deem that he is doing the same thing he always did when I was a child. Grudging me for nothing I did myself, just because he hates my mother; and always finding a way to hurt me, no matter how much I sought his approval," Fingolfin continued.

Fingon put his hand on his sister's shoulder. "Cheer up," he said. "It's nothing personal. They're just like that to everybody from Indis' line. They can almost be tolerable if you forget that, but just remember that their house's official position is that ours should never have existed."

"You surely took a long time to remember that, back when you were inseparable from Maedhros," Turgon replied calmly. "I wonder how many secrets of our house made their way to his ears?"

"For the last time, we are no longer friends—"

"Please. You were never just friends. Now, lovebirds, perhaps that would be a valid description—"

"Is that a new kind of bird? Where in Aman does it nest? Does it have gold on its head like big brother Finno?" came the excited voice of young Argon.

Fingon's face coloured in embarrassment. "Not now, darling," said Anairë.

But Aredhel's mind was elsewhere. "That is not what he told me," she mumbled.

"Then what did Maedhros tell you?" Fingon replied.

"Not him," she said, somewhat more clearly. "Fëanor spoke before me and Curufin, and told me that his shibboleth was not meant as a personal attack against our house. I would hardly have believed him; but he spoke at such length, that I needed to know if any of it was true."

Then Fingolfin sat up, and his face was angered. "So now my half-brother dares to lie to the face of my own daughter? What did he have the gall to deceive you with?"

Then Aredhel nearly lost her courage, for the gaze of Fingolfin when angered put fear even into the heart of Melkor. But she carried on. "He said that his quarrel was with the Valar and their decisions, not with our family," she said, her voice as level as she could make it.

"That is wholly outrageous," Fingon said. "Doubting the legitimate Rulers is the same as doubting the One himself. Here I thought my half-uncle was supposed to be a master at the use of language, and he comes up with a lie that is scarce creditable. I expected something more impressive from him."

"Unless it is not a lie at all," Aredhel replied to her brother. "He looked me in the eye, and said it. He even gave many long arguments explaining why he distrusted the Valar, and accused them of doing evil to our people."

Anairë looked at her daughter in great concern. "Then I think it might be best if you did as Fingon did, and cut off friendship with them," she said. "I know your father appreciates being kept abreast of Fëanor's doings through you; but you put yourself in danger even listening to such words. For they come too close to denying the One himself."

"I concur," Turgon said. "This has certainly gone too far."

Then Aredhel was angered. "I have asked many already, yet over and over again I get the same answer!" she replied. "It is always this: do not speak the unspeakable! Do not doubt the Valar and their righteousness! But what kind of proposition needs no proof? Just shouting a proposition from the rooftops is not enough in mathematics to prove it. If Uncle Fëanor is wrong, then prove to me why he is wrong, instead of opposing everything he says on impulse like Galadriel! The fact that no one has done that is why I find no peace."

"If one doubts the justice of the Valar," Turgon said, "then one shall end like those who left under Lenwë. A feckless people diminished, wandering aimless without guidance in the hills and dales, vanishing from the histories prematurely and accomplishing nothing. Such are the wages of making choices aligning oneself with Arda Marred."

"And did you think that for yourself, or did you copy it from whoever Aunt Findis copied it from?" Aredhel shot back.

"Is then your half-uncle dearer to you than your full aunt? Or did his foul words bewitch you?" Turgon replied.

"I am your sister and not your servant, and I have the right and ability to think for myself. Do not treat me as a child, for I am a child no longer," Aredhel replied.

"Aredhel! That's enough," Anairë said, as she tried to calm Argon.

"Mother, it will only be enough when someone will at least answer my questions!" Aredhel argued. "Without them I am pulled this way and that, and do not know what I should think. Turgon, at least answer me this, since you are closest to the Vanyar and their school of theology. Why did Manwë release Melkor?" (9)

"Why should he not have?" Turgon replied. "Melkor promised that he would repent, and return to Eru's allegiance. Manwë swore that if that happened, he would have to be given his freedom. Such are the terms of his office as vicegerent of Eru."

"With all due respect, brother," Aredhel said, "that's the most foolish thing I have ever heard."

The entire table sucked in a breath, as Anairë put her hands over Argon's ears. "Aredhel, what are you saying?" asked Turgon in horror.

"What, you mean you would just believe Melkor the moment he said he had reformed, though he had done so much evil before?" Aredhel said in scorn. "If I were to have been among his victims, I doubt you would show my killer as much mercy!"

"If I were to do that," Turgon replied, "then I would merely be a proud king humiliating a rival who I had forcibly conquered. Would you have Manwë turn into something as bad as Melkor once was? Nay, the path of mercy is that of wisdom."

"And cold comfort it would be to me, if I were one of his victims in Mandos! Well now do I understand Fëanor's quarrel with the Valar. I did not want to believe that they treat their brother far better than the Elves who die without reason. But it seems to be the case indeed. It also seems that the Valar cannot make reasonable decisions of statesmanship without inevitably becoming corrupted. Well, in that case we would do a better job than they would!"

"Sister! Would you side with Fëanor, who has ever wished us unmade, over your own brothers and father?" Fingon demanded.

"Who says that I side with Fëanor alone? King Finwë himself once thought the same!"

Then Fingolfin rose in wrath. "You dare to slander your grandfather the king, for the sake of a half-uncle who will hate you without reason? Remember who your father is, and ask yourself if you truly think Fëanor will ever accept you."

But his daughter remembered the kindness with which Fëanor had treated her, and her wrath was likewise kindled by the frustration that non-answer after non-answer had given her. "He already has," Aredhel said defiantly, meeting her father's gaze. "He treats me as if I were his own daughter, and trusts me even to take me to Míriel's grave. Why is it that you assume immediately that his reasons are personal and petty? Do you not dare to talk to Uncle, as I have?"

"Do I need to, when I have the sneering of all his sycophants as proof? All his philosophy is but smoke and mirrors to cozen the unwary; what his supporters really stand for is blind hatred against the Vanyar, against my mother, and against us," replied Fingolfin.

"But Fëanor gave me a long explanation for his actions and grievances, and then gave me free choice as to whether to hearken to him or not! Whereas all I am told by you is that I am not even allowed to raise these questions, just because I happened to be born on the wrong side of this family to be friendly with him. Who then is hating the other without reason?"

Fingolfin was moving to answer; but those last words struck a nerve, as he remembered humiliating barb after humiliating barb that Fëanor had thrown against him in youth.

"Very well," he finally said coldly. "You say you can make your own choices. Do so, then; but then you will not have me to run back to when Fëanor inevitably rejects you. Stay here, and repent of your words, if you are wise. Or leave now; but then never come back again. For then you turn your back on your own house. And if you by your future actions wrong it, I will not plead a lesser sentence for your treason. Neither will I be moved if my words prove correct, and Fëanor rejects you for your blood after all, as I warned you from the beginning."

Aredhel stood in shock. For a moment, her eyes turned to her youngest brother Argon; and her heart wavered. But then she steeled herself, and defiantly met her father's gaze; and then she turned, marched towards the front door, and walked out.

Once she was safely out of sight, she broke down, and cried all the way to Celegorm's house. Then she knocked at the door.

It opened. "Aredhel?" Celegorm asked. "What happened? You look terrible."

"I asked around to be sure if your father was telling the truth," she sobbed. "No one would answer me. And when I tried to reason with them and find a solid counterargument, I was thrown out of my house by my own father. I have nowhere to go. Will you let me stay?"

Celegorm stared. "Of course you can," he said in shock. "But what happened?"

"I do not wish to explain," she said, forcing each word past the lump in her throat. "The grief is still too fresh."

The Celegorm took her hand, and ushered her inside. "I understand," he soothed his cousin. "But you must understand that you will have to explain it at some point. Otherwise the rumours will spread like wildfire – for such is our family."

"I wish it need not be so," Aredhel whispered through tears. "I wish we did not have to be so divided. I wish we were all one people. I wish we all spoke the same way. So many things I wish, that cannot be. 'Tis bitter to live in Arda Marred! How much easier it would be for all, if I were either born as Míriel's granddaughter, or not born at all!"

"The latter would make me considerably less happy," Celegorm said carefully.

Aredhel gave an ugly laugh. "You are kind, but do your words not prove my point?" she said. "No one lets me have my opinions but you and your family. They make it all personal, and then project their foibles onto your father. Even my eldest brother, who was so close to Maedhros before, refuses to understand."

She shook her head. "At least I can trust you. You, your brothers, your father. You will actually listen and give arguments. I gave your father that kindness, and for that I won his trust, even to go with him and Curufin to the grave of Míriel. For trust I will with trust repay; and I will follow you, though all others advise me not to. Yea, I believe now that all of the Noldor should."

Celegorm stared in wonder. "You would truly do this, even though you are a granddaughter of Indis?"

"Aþanyë," she hissed. That is: I will do so.

Celegorm gave her a shocked look, and then nodded.

But soon the news came to Tirion that Aredhel had chosen a side at last, and the clamour and tumult through the city grew even louder.

---

"I did not mean for her to do that," Fingolfin said in shock. "I only sought to tell her where the ruinous path of speaking against the Valar would lead. How have I failed so badly as a father, that my daughter would rather destroy herself than stay with those who love her?"

Anairë said nothing. She had not smiled for the last month, ever since Aredhel had walked out and not returned.

"Have you tried to get her back?" said Fingon.

"I even wrote to Fëanor, as I rarely would, now that he spares no word against us," replied Fingolfin. "And this he immediately replied: she is safe with me, and happier than she would be with you. And were you a true father, who had enough trust in his children to brook their dissent against those who cozened you, then you would not have lost her."

"He gloats against you more easily than he breathes air," Turgon said in grief and frustration.

"I should go myself to get her back from Fëanor's clutches, sword in hand," Fingon said in anger. "For he it was who put those dark thoughts in our sister's head."

"You will not," Fingolfin said forcefully. "For then we would not show ourselves as the better house, that remained calm and did not act rashly."

Fingon nodded. "I apologise, Father. I overstepped. But we will get our sister back, won't we?"

"I will speak to Father tomorrow, before the council in response to this unrest has begun," Fingolfin promised. "And I will tell him that Fëanor has gone too far. For even if we ignore that he rejects the Valar, what he speaks is in any case treason, for King Finwë it was who led the Noldor to the light of Aman in the first place. If Father does not repent of it now, then he should make it very clear where the crown stands, and not let this talk fester any further. Then we can hope that there will be no more of us going this way; for two sons he will have to back up his words."

---

So he spoke the next day. But Fëanor came early to the council as well, and perceived that Fingolfin was plotting against him in secret, rather than letting his arguments be aired out in the open and answered. Indeed he perceived that this was merely the most recent example of an established behaviour by Fingolfin. And at Fingolfin's mention of two sons, his wrath was kindled, as he deemed that his birthright was truly endangered.

He drew his sword, and followed Fingolfin to the door of the king's house. Then he said, "See, half-brother! This is sharper than thy tongue. Try but once more to usurp my place and the love of my father, and maybe it will rid the Noldor of a would-be master of thralls." (10)

This was seen by many, for the house of king Finwë was in the great square of Tirion, beneath the Mindon itself. And when Aredhel saw it, from the window of the house of Celegorm her cousin, she fainted away as one dead.

When Celegorm found her several hours later, she was still catatonic in bed.

"I must be the worst judge of character in all of Arda," she mumbled, her head in her hands.

"No, that's Manwë, I think," Celegorm replied. "He did release Melkor after all."

She looked up. "Please, tell me that your father spoke truly. Tell me that my father truly made a move to usurp him. For if he did not—if he did not—" She sobbed, and could not continue. "What have I done?"

Celegorm put a hand on her shoulder. "Father spoke truly indeed," he said, "and I do not merely say this to make you happy. We have proof of it, for Nolofinwë was in conversation with the King before Father burst into the council. He said that Father's pride should be restrained, and that only two of the King's sons were loyal."

She sobbed again. "Ever I wished to be neutral, until it became impossible," she said. "But still I thought that matters would be resolved by debate, and one party convincing the other through words. I never thought that my father would move in secret to have yours disinherited. I never thought that yours would draw a sword on mine. At least tell me he will not use it. Tell me we have not fallen that far."

"He will not use it, save to defend his own," Celegorm said. "And I doubt that will be necessary after this warning."

"I preferred when it was unthinkable to need a sword!" she cried. "I do not think there is any crime worth dealing death to punish or deter."

"Even when the crime threatens to upend the stability of the order? Until today it was clear: the oldest son has the right to rule, when his father tires of it and turns to other pursuits. Already Ingwë has passed his leadership on to Ingwion. Grandfather would have done likewise, if not for the machinations of Nolofinwë that bade him stay as King longer than he would to maintain neutrality. But this cannot go on forever. Are we to make it a free-for-all, so that partisans of each side will group and fight each other until the strongest wins? How many deaths would then follow? More than one, surely; and that would be far worse."

"We could at least have a council!" Aredhel protested.

"And that would work, as long as each side will concede if they lose. Truly it would make sense to do so, since the winner would one day tire of being king, and the loser would have his chance to try again. But against such a reasonable argument, Nolofinwë's faction will still find a way to make trouble. They will say that the Valar will not permit Fëanor to rule as king – and knowing what you know now, can you honestly say that is not true?"

Aredhel looked at him. "And yet," she pointed out, "I doubt your father would accept it either, if a council was held and Nolofinwë were elected supreme lord over the Noldor."

"Truth undeniable," admitted Celegorm. "But only because the council would have to be held under the rule of the Valar. Its neutrality would be in doubt from that very fact. And so, as always, it is their meddling that makes peace impossible."

Aredhel looked downward. "I thought I was agreeing that we should remove ourselves from the Valar's influence. Not that I was agreeing to drawing swords against each other."

Celegorm stood in silence. "Will you then return to your father?"

Aredhel laughed bitterly. "I can never do so again. All Tirion knows that I finally took a side, though they know not that I took it for freedom of inquiry rather than for spiting my own father."

She sighed. "But now the two have become the same. The right to ask questions about the Valar's goodwill has become inseparable from supporting Prince Fëanor about everything. About the wrongness of the Statute – which everyone will interpret as saying that my father should never have been born. About the right to leave Valinor. About the right to draw swords on your kin, and threaten them with death. I was a fool to think these things could be teased apart, in the eyes of Tirion and Valimar."

And so she looked into Celegorm's eyes, and said, "I signed the warrant for my damnation as a traitor. There is no turning back for me now, not after swords were drawn. My father made that very clear even before that. All that remains is to walk this path to its bitter end. May its good outweigh its ill."

"It seems to me a thing most unhappy, that a daughter should be estranged from both her parents," Celegorm said. "It is hard enough for us already, for our mother will follow our father no longer."

Long Aredhel remained weeping in silence, as Celegorm took her hand to comfort her. But at length she ceased, and when she spoke again, it was in the softest of whispers.

"It is indeed unhappy," she said, "and I would weep still more, though even the Great Sea itself could not contain all my grief. But hold me blameless in this, and in all that may come after."

Celegorm stiffened. "You cannot mean that," he begged. "Please, whatever you do now, I pray that it be not that. Look at the woes caused by just a single death in Valinor."

"I know. I would that your father would realise that, and not even think about the possibility of increasing that number."

"It would break all our hearts. And not only ours, but also your parents' and brothers'. They love you. You must believe that from me; as a son of Fëanor I have no reason to speak well of them. They would be devastated at your death, even if their words may now make it hard to believe!"

"I know. It would be as far beyond possibility to them as the drawing of the sword was to me. Well, then at least your family and mine would be on the same side."

"You cannot think that the rejection of life will make anything better!" Celegorm demanded.

Aredhel smiled. "But whoever said I was going to lay myself down now, in Lórien?" she replied. "Your father took me to that place with Curufin. The weather there is truly dreadful. I doubt I could manage it amid the howls of thunder, even if I tried."

"Then explain yourself clearly, for goodness' sake, and don't make it sound like you want to—" Celegorm's voice broke.

She smiled even more radiantly. "I have already seen it. Death is coming for us all, whether we follow your father or mine," she said. "So it makes no difference, really. The only question which among us cousins it will come for first. I deem I shall be one of the first, and that you will escape it for a while longer. Maybe I'll even manage to last long enough to reconcile with Turgon and have him bid me farewell. But our ends will be the same as Míriel's. Eternal imprisonment in Mandos, without hope of return. None of us will live to see the freedom from the Valar we want so badly."

She paused. "Well. Maybe not. I think Caranthir has a chance. If not him, then certainly his wife. That's the only hope I can see."

"He's not even married," Celegorm said in great concern. "Aredhel, I think you need help."

She stared into the distance. "He will be, though not on these shores. You also will desire it, but it will not come to pass."

"Well, I certainly think you need help now. Really, I'm so much more handsome than my brother. How is he going to get a girlfriend and not me?" Celegorm tried desperately to joke.

But no answer came, as she drifted off into the world of dreams.

I think I should get Father to help with this after all, he thought.

Chapter Text

Dark clouds gathered ever stronger in the north, spreading southward as far as Menegroth, until the Sun hardly brightened the day even at noon. The climate grew cold and fell since the North Sindar had to flee from Thangorodrim, and an ice crust grew thickly on the feet of the Iron Mountains. Yet still three hundred miles of grass ran from the gates of Angband to the edge of Dorthonion, and much of the steppe remained open to the horse-lords: for still Sauron did not deem that the time was ripe to reveal himself, and the Orcs were still being bred in utmost secrecy.

All that came south from Angband, as yet, were smokes and vapours. The Valian arts of Melian ensured that no harm befell the Iathrim and Falathrim as the darkness wreaked havoc on the crops; but Thingol would not suffer that aid to come to the North and East Sindar, who he considered renegades and traitors. The fact that this ecological disaster shortly followed the North Sindar's flight from Thangorodrim naturally led to a lot of muttering that the North Sindar had followed the Dwarves a little too enthusiastically, and delving too greedily and too deep awakened something that should have been left to sleep.

But the Dwarves came to their friends' rescue, for they sold the North and East Sindar their prized lamps, that lit the halls of Belegost and Nogrod as if the Sun itself had come underground. To them the Dwarves willingly taught even the art of their making, so that many fair greenhouses dotted the plains of Estolad and Thargelion.

Seeing that Rathlóriel had indeed spoken truly, and that war was indeed coming, the Dwarves were moved to relax their restrictions. Thus many towns sprang up in Thargelion, so that it finally became a true rival to Estolad in population. Indeed, so many began to settle in Dwarf-territory that Thargelion was not enough for them, and the expansion reached the westernmost reaches of Eriador between the Mountains and the Lhûn. Yet it always remained a mixed land of a peculiar mixed tongue. North Sindarin, spoken on the steppe as far as Lothlann, was already deviating noticeably from the dialects of the south; East Sindarin in Estolad and Thargelion had been so thoroughly transformed by Dwarvish influence that it was scarcely recognisable to others as an Elvish tongue at all.

The watch on the Gelion was not relaxed; indeed, now that fell tidings had come to the eastern lands, it was redoubled. And though the Dwarves had until then been content to let the North and East Sindar handle their agriculture and defense, the axes of the Dwarves were once again sharpened for war.

"For," Zigilturg the chief ambassador appointed by Belegost said, "we were made to awaken first on Middle-earth under the Shadow, and to be the hardiest of all living things against the malice of the Enemy. Though we were then made to sleep until your coming, still we remain as Mahal made us, and so it is natural that you are more sorely oppressed by the Shadow than we."

Rathlóriel raised an eyebrow.

Zigilturg cleared his throat. "That is what I am officially supposed to say," he continued. "Still it grieves me greatly to learn that this has indeed come to pass. When it was only the Orcs, and we were in need, you and the brave horse-lords brought us centuries of peace and wealth. Now you are the ones in need, and I argued before our King: let it not be said that Dwarves ever deny fair payment for service offered and agreed on! And my plea was heard and accepted."

Tch. Rude, but I'll take it, Rathlóriel complained in thought to Glaewen. After all, I like getting the Dwarves' fair payment more than getting their fair words.

Lóriel, pay attention, Glaewen thought back exasperatedly.

"And would you willingly take on this burden, though your numbers be smaller than us?" Glaewen asked anxiously.

"They are smaller because we are mortal as you are not," Zigilturg said. "But our spirits are safely collected by Mahal, whereas you know not who takes yours. (1) You, alone of the Elf-kindreds, have won our friendship; and we will not suffer our friends to be taken and twisted by the Darkness. If the war be successful, then we shall feast together under the stars on fair Ard-galen; and if – Mahal forbid! – it should fail, then all of you will be permitted to pass the Gelion and seek shelter with us."

Rathlóriel and Glaewen stared in surprise.

"You have been at our side for hundreds of years," Zigilturg reminded. "You may not be Dwarves by birth, and nothing would suffice to make you Dwarves by adoption. But we will do you every courtesy short of that, and save for the places where our secret lore is studied and practiced, all our land shall be open to you. As it shall not be for the Iathrim and Falathrim, though we shall still allow them to trade with us."

"How much progress have you made on helping those who have already been hurt?" Rathlóriel said.

"More than we thought, and yet less than we hoped, alas!" Zigilturg sighed. "Some we have released when you had given up hope; but hope would not return to them, and ever they live in fear that their wills will be coerced again. Others we have not managed to reach. We have kept them comfortable as needed, though they are carefully watched and kept confined, to ensure that they do not spy or turn on us. And yet that is not the worst we have seen."

"What then has befallen?"

"There are those who in grief gave up hope forever, so that their spirits departed their bodies in horror of what they might have been used for."

A horrified silence followed.

Zigilturg shook his head. "But still we shall not turn any away as your western kindred do. Those of us who do great wrongs may be turned away to wander outlawed in the wild; but now that there is reasonable doubt on whether they do those wrongs by choice, we shall not sully the sword of justice by swinging it against the innocent. If you were unwillingly bewitched by the Enemy, and then drew a knife on your kindred, then it is the Enemy who drew it and not you."

"And how is Lacheryn?" Glaewen pressed.

"It saddens us that even one of the three great Dwarf-friends of old had to suffer that fate," Zigilturg sighed.

I'll still never get used to being called that, Rathlóriel's amused thought came to Glaewen.

Stop thinking to me and pay attention, Glaewen's exasperated thought returned.

"She surpassed all the others twelvefold," Zigilturg said in admiration. "We are sure that no sign of the Shadow remains on her mind, and that she is physically well. And she is somewhat able to function through her fear. Yet still that dark cloud menaces her, and not even her parents could fully lift it," he said.

"May we see her?" Rathlóriel said.

And so they were led to the room deep in Belegost where Lacheryn was staying.

She looked up listlessly. "Hello," she said.

"Good morning, Lacheryn," Glaewen said seriously. "Are you feeling better?"

"Not really." She stared at the ceiling.

"And how was today so far?" Rathlóriel asked.

"The same as all other days. I dreaded to sleep, knowing a nightmare was coming. Eventually I couldn't take it any longer. A nightmare indeed came. Then I woke up paralysed in a cold sweat, and terror struck me for a moment, thinking that once again my body was not under my control."

"But at least your mind certainly was," Glaewen pointed out.

Lacheryn exhaled. "Yes. I have that at least. The Dwarves have told me: the Enemy's touch is cleansed from me. I must believe it."

Then she looked at her friends. "Lóriel, what other things have you been doing in Belegost? I can't imagine you willingly neglected all your sizeable responsibilities with regard to making money if it was just to check on me."

"I would actually do that for you. Not for too many, 'tis true. My parents, maybe Glaewen, maybe Reniel, Festiel, and Lagriel on the steppes—"

"The three daughters of Arassaeglir the horse-lord?"

"Well, he's by far the easiest one to talk to," Rathlóriel said. "The steppe is vast, and I rather dislike riding without a sense of direction for ages. But he often shows up near the Pass of Aglon to trade, and I get information about what the North Sindar need from him—"

"—not to mention that his daughters have been the most enthusiastic spreaders of our ideas about making money, all the way to the other end of the steppe. And beyond; for Hithlum is positively bustling with the construction of mines and roads, and the road by the foot of the Gorgoroth now stretches all the way to Mount Taras," Glaewen interrupted.

"Ah, now we get to it. I suppose you're asking the Dwarves to accede to his requests," Lacheryn answered.

"No, I'm asking you."

"What?"

Rathlóriel glanced at Glaewen.

"Relations with Doriath have turned utterly disastrous," Glaewen summarised. "So they won't help us. Actually, Thingol was originally going to ignore us completely, but Melian convinced him that that wouldn't be proper. So he sent a messenger telling us that he was ignoring us completely."

Lacheryn blinked in disbelief. "Because that's so much better."

"Evidently," Glaewen said flatly. "After that there has been absolutely no communication across the Celon, so he has been as good as his word."

Lacheryn exhaled. "This is pretty funny," she said, though she did not laugh. "But I fail to see how this differs from our prior situation, ever since we learned the fate of the Petty-dwarves. At least a few now have a good home in Ladros under Lóriel's father, even if the rest are understandably too traumatised."

"Well, on the northern marches Elves and Dwarves together are raising towers, fortresses, and walls. Currently we mostly have them in the pass of Aglon and the Gap; but the plan is that they will go from the Pass of Sirion and Dorthonion, through the hills around Himring, to the Blue Mountains just north of Thargelion," Glaewen explained. "For we mean to meet the armies of Angband in open battle on Ard-galen, delaying them enough that our full forces, Elvish and Dwarvish alike, can reach and destroy them."

"Very logical. We can't exactly continue the wall outward onto the steppe. There's three hundred solid miles of grassland between Dorthonion and Thangorodrim."

"Yes," replied Glaewen. "It's just that this means that the Ard-galen Sindar, who previously could go through the Gap at any point, are now confined to a few checkpoints should they wish to go south. Since they've understandably been very angry at Thingol for deeming them all renegades, they're politely asking why."

"Well, it seems that you have a very good answer ready, so all that remains is to give it to them. Explain your plans to them, and hopefully they with their knowledge of steppe nomad tactics will be able to improve them."

"My thoughts exactly," Rathlóriel said. "Except for two things. Firstly, I still want to tax everyone who passes the checkpoint."

"You never miss an opportunity for making money, do you?"

"Secondly, I am a very lazy person who doesn't want to do it by myself. I want you to go."

"You want me to speak to the horse-lords?" said Lacheryn in wonder.

"Well, you are one, aren't you? I seem to recall when you weren't attending any of my meetings for months on end because you were having too much fun on the steppes."

"You mean, I was busy building a fair city on the other end of the steppe," Lacheryn pointed out. "While that involves crossing that area a lot to trade with you, it's not quite the same thing. In any case, I think we all know how badly that ended; even the Eagles of the Elder King had to flee southward to the Crissaegrim. So could you not have tried to find someone more suitable for the present situation?"

"Of course I tried. The fact that I chose you strongly suggests that I failed. Otherwise, I would probably have asked them instead."

"Lóriel, you must understand," she stammered, "that I have never been the same since my ordeal in Thangorodrim. I can hardly bear the darkness, even if it be the fair untroubled darkness of the Dwarf-halls which I once felt were warm and comforting. And I live ever in fright, that the Shadow might attack me again, and lock me into doing its will with me none the wiser. You may have dispelled the Enemy's control over me – at least I dearly hope so – but neither you, nor the Dwarves, nor my parents have ever dispelled the shadow of fear he laid. Do you truly think I am the best choice to put strength and courage into the hearts of their people?"

"All this I know, and ever it pains my heart," Rathlóriel said. "But so many others have fared far worse. You may not yet be as you once were; but you have faced the Shadow and come out alive and victorious. That itself is no small feat, and it is a sign of hope. Without you, the horse-lords of the north will hear: die, and be borne to the Houses of Lamentation beyond darkness, where flesh is devoured and spirits wrecked beyond healing! But with you, they will hear: the Shadow is weak. One of us alone can overcome it. United in strength we will be the first to descend on it and destroy it in our righteous wrath!"

Lacheryn wept. "I will do this, under one condition," she said. "Alone, I cannot quite believe it. With you, I feel a great pillar of strength, as if all the hurt that was done me can be turned against the one who dealt it. So when I ride north, ride with me! Stand beside me while I give my speech!"

"Now that I will accept, in spite of my laziness," replied Rathlóriel, "for I shall be glad to see you in bliss again!"

---

"Lacheryn!" cried Festiel excitedly. "Far too long it has been since we have seen you on the grasslands. And I see you have brought your favourite Dwarf-friend with you."

Lacheryn at first made no answer, but as she turned to Rathlóriel, her resolve was strengthened. "Too long it has been indeed," she said, "but now I am at last recovered. Shall I compete with you at horse-archery again?"

"You'll never win at this rate," Lagriel teased. "For I have done some practicing!"

"Oh, stop teasing her," Reniel sighed. "She's been through a lot. But it's good to see you – I had feared no one could ever recover from what you had suffered. Great hope it brings us indeed."

She turned, and stiffened. "And I see Lady Lóriel has come from Thargelion. Will we then be negotiating what's going on with all these new walls that are appearing? I mean no offense – you've been great friends up to this point – but we've recently experienced a southern lord barring us for no good reason. So we're a little bit on edge right now."

"I have been remiss in my planning," Rathlóriel said. "I know it is hard now that you can only trade south, and many of your people have had to flee the Shadow in that direction. So I understand that these walls cannot possibly be reassuring. I promise that they were built with no ill intention; it is rather that together with the Dwarves, I have devised and begun to execute a plan to drive back the Enemy who has done you and us this great hurt. But it is most likely your steppe-land that he will show himself on, and you who will be the first to find and cut off his grasping fingers; and I should have discussed further with your people, so that you would all understand, and give me valuable feedback on what tactics would be best for us to work together."

"You certainly should have," Reniel noted. "How do you plan to address this?"

"How do I plan?" Rathlóriel laughed. "But then I would merely be making the same mistake! No, this time I shall come to you. I have left Glaewen in charge of all my duties till I should return, and I have complete faith in her to execute them. I will ride with you all the way to your councils, where your lords come from the Eryd Wethrin to the west and the Mountains of Angmar to the east. And there I shall learn much of how your heroics are done, and I shall also find out how our old allies are doing past the Shadowy Mountains in Hithlum."

"And I see you gave the right answer," said Arassaeglir, who chose that moment to slip into the tent. "Really, I can't believe what your father Gledhennil told me of your youth in Himlad. He said that then you were most determined to do the opposite of what everyone else told you to do."

"Well, it got me rich," Rathlóriel pointed out. "But there is a time and place for that. Sometimes I'm sure I know what's best, and all that remains is to do it. Sometimes I'm sure somebody else knows what's best, and the correct course of action is to ask them."

"And what if you don't know who knows what's best?" Festiel asked.

Rathlóriel shrugged. "Try and find out, I suppose. Ask a lot of people, try whatever plans they propose, and learn from that. Whatever works will soon show itself."

"Direct as always, so much like your father," Arassaeglir replied. "Well! Come along, then. Let us see how the Lady of the Golden Road handles her horse-riding on the green roads."

---

That trip was a spectacular success for Lacheryn in terms of diplomacy – so much so, in fact, that Rathlóriel managed to continue taxing anyone who passed the wall of the Gap for trade. It was, on the other hand, a total failure at displaying Rathlóriel's limited horse-archery skills.

"You are somehow even more pathetically out of practice than me," Lacheryn prodded.

"Well, of course I am. This is really hard work, you know. Unless you spend ages practicing it on the steppe, you tend not to be very good at it. And even if I did try, I'd still be nowhere near as good as the horse-lords like you who have been doing it non-stop for centuries. Of course it's important for me to know what the experts need; but rather than becoming an expert myself, isn't it a better use of my time to make business deals with Dwarvish merchants? I'm actually good at that."

"It seems to me that training for war is an important part of ruling."

"So is making ourselves financially solvent for our armament campaign," Rathlóriel replied. "But in this case, maybe I shall make an exception, and listen to your advice."

"That's unusual," said Lacheryn.

"Mostly because I feel like spending time together with you, at an activity where you're better than me, will do wonders at increasing your self-confidence and nursing you back to health."

Lacheryn stared in wonder. "It has," she realised. "Did you have that in mind all along?"

"Zigilturg had a few suggestions. It is good to see that one of them worked, and that you are recovered!"

"Not wholly," she said. "And yet more than I ever thought I would be. For that I thank you and him, truly."

Rathlóriel smiled, and time went by slowly as they rode at ease back to Helevorn. Unfortunately, they were then greeted by Glaewen's solemn face, and they knew immediately that something was amiss.

"We have a problem," she said bluntly, once they had gone to the room in Rathlóriel's great castle by Lake Helevorn, that they used for important meetings. "It's Thingol. He's the problem."

"Yes, I'm glad you see it my way now. He's always the problem. What's new?" Rathlóriel replied.

"Right now he is specifically the problem in the form of a letter he just sent us," Glaewen clarified.

"But he said he was ignoring us. Has he then changed his mind? Dare I hope that common sense has returned to his mind, and he realises that we are all facing the same threat?" Rathlóriel responded.

"We all could wish," Glaewen replied. "Alas: no and no."

Lacheryn was confused. "But if he's not talking to us, then how did we get his letter in the first place?"

"First he sent it to Círdan, who he likes. Círdan in turn sent it to Annael in Hithlum, because although Thingol won't talk to him, Círdan will. Then it went through various horse-lords in Ard-galen, who Annael will talk to even though the Falathrim won't. Finally Reniel rode south through the Gap and got it to me. All this, even though we are literally right on his eastern border."

Lacheryn doubled over laughing.

"It is good to see you are healing," Glaewen smiled. "In any case, I finally got the letter many months late. Thingol has drawn evil conclusions from the massive military build-up we are doing close to his borders, and is rather impolitely asking what we are planning."

"If that isn't obvious!" Lacheryn exploded. "We are preparing against an attack from the north. And if he is as wise as he thinks, then he should prepare against one too, instead of wasting his strength dishonourably against defenseless Dwarves out in the wild."

"Unfortunately, it's not that obvious to him," Glaewen said. "For this is what he said: if it is the North you truly fear, then fortify the north only. Do not place force of arms south of Dorthonion, for those lands are mine by right, and border directly on the forests of Neldoreth and Region. I have already tolerated your insolence in occupying the plains east of Celon without my leave; defy me again, and I shall respond to your evil intentions in kind."

"He claims Himlad and the trading towns west of it, and demands that we leave them undefended? When it is our people who occupy those lands, not his Iathrim who hardly emerge from their forest? All that while saying that we should fortify the north where the threat lies, so that he can hide behind our skirts?" Rathlóriel demanded.

"So it would seem," Glaewen said. "This sits ill with me. For Aglon, I deem, will need reinforcements behind near Himlad to reach it. If we cannot put full strength there, then Dorthonion is at great risk of being cut off. Those who retreat to it would be easily surrounded if Aglon and the Pass of Sirion are taken, and Thingol would have an ironclad reason to do nothing since the Gorgoroth are unscalable."

"Putting my parents and their people at great risk, unless they should abandon their land entirely. But I know them too well, and judge that they will not."

"I have spoken to them. Alas, it is as you say."

"Do you think he's serious about attacking us if we do not withdraw?" Lacheryn asked in concern.

"He might be," Glaewen admitted. "If we think about it from his perspective: some of our unhappily ensnared people have gone south into his territory and attacked him unprovoked. Now we perform a large military buildup along his borders. We have explanatory circumstances indeed, and we have the right to defend ourselves against the real threat in the north; but that is already enough to set him on edge, since he suspects us of being in league with the Enemy."

"Very well. Suppose we do not withdraw, and he makes good on his threat. What would happen then?" Rathlóriel responded sharply.

"We would lose," Glaewen said, poring over a map. "From Dorthonion we could not reach those lands in time: we would have to use the only mountain pass at Anach, whereas he could simply head north on flat ground out of his forest. The Pass of Sirion is held by Círdan's people, and if it were us against Thingol, they would side with the latter. So we would have to come from the east, but Thingol could easily cut us off at the Fords of Aros."

She sighed. "At most, we could hold Himlad, but we'd keep nothing westward and we'd lose even the potential of Thingol joining us. If you will hear my counsel, then: do not pick this fight with Thingol. The Shadow is enough of a terror to face."

"My sentiments exactly. I will not let the Shadow sit back and watch with great joy, as we destroyed each other and he picked off the carrion. This I will not brook!" Rathlóriel shouted.

Lacheryn long remained silent. "Well, we did ask Thingol for help," she pointed out. "I suppose that if he wants to start taking responsibility for those lands, then he's at least doing some of what we asked. And yet I cannot shake off a feeling of dread, that great woe will come of this."

"To be fair, you have so far not shaken off a feeling of dread in general," Rathlóriel pointed out.

"Truth undeniable. But this, I feel, is more than that."

Rathlóriel shifted in her chair uncomfortably. "Still this I could say to Thingol, even as I acquiesce: if he claims to rule over those lands, then he had better do his duty and defend them. If he does any ill to the people he now claims as his subjects, on account of his dislike for me who they once followed, then I shall have to respond as well."

"I'll call for Nelloriel," Glaewen said. "She'll now have a chance to see how we draft such official communications from one ruler to another. But there's still the matter of what we say to the people from Dimbar to Himlad. They're not going to like us ceding the territory they live on."

Rathlóriel sighed. "At least we stayed for many years in Himlad – so it is our homeland that we are sacrificing, and not someone else's." She turned to Glaewen. "Well, let me think about it. But in the meantime, a change of plans for you. Your talents have gone underappreciated."

"Lóriel, what are you talking about?"

"Lacheryn and I took a detour on the way, to skirt the southern edge of the steppe and see what you've been doing in my absence from Aglon to the Blue Mountains," Rathlóriel smiled. "And what do I find there, but my war plans being carried out with even more skill than I would have found myself? How well-trained the soldiers are, and everyone says you are the one who ordered it! I was terribly impressed by how well the northern horse-lords can work with each other, and now I come home to find that we could learn to be as synchronised and adaptable! With doughty Dwarvish warriors by our side! You should be my chief sword, while I focus on making money."

"You spend so much time trying to make money that I already am your chief sword," Glaewen pointed out. "Honestly, the only reason why your battle effort managed to translate from runes to reality was that I did everything when you couldn't be bothered. Including making a ton of edits when what sounded amazing when carved in stone turned out not to be so amazing in reality."

"Fair enough, and all credit to you. But we could use the greatest talent at a place that is closer to our likely enemy. Would you be willing to make your home at Himring, and making that a significant military base? It will certainly be faster to reach Ard-galen and Dorthonion from there than here."

"I was going to ask that next, actually," Glaewen said. "It's just that Thingol's letter seemed a bit more urgent."

Rathlóriel beamed. "Well, consider it asked and approved, then! Do it as soon as you feel you can."

"I can't help but notice," Lacheryn pointed out, "that making Himring our military base means that our army is literally right on the boundary of what Thingol will let us get away with."

Glaewen and Rathlóriel exchanged innocent looks.

"Glaewen! What happened to the Elf whose reaction to Lóriel sassing Thingol was Did you have to send that?" Lacheryn replied, scandalised.

"She saw Thingol send a very mature message amounting to I'm not talking to you, go away. Since then, she reconsidered and wondered if Lóriel had a point after all," Glaewen grinned.

---

And so Rathlóriel rode west of the Celon, for the last time before the return of Melkor, and spoke in tears before the people of Himlad.

"My friends," she said, "I speak to you no longer as your ruler, but only as a friend across the river. For Thingol has presented me with an ultimatum: either I must disclaim everything west of the Celon, or find myself stabbed in the back while the Shadow in the north hungers."

A great clamour arose. "This is an outrage!" yelled many voices in the crowd.

"Indeed!" She raised her voice. "I would fain strike out in anger at such base tactics, and cry out in rage that he should steal away this land where I was born and raised! Yea, seeing every tree and flower and leaf here, my heart cries out that I should not abandon it!"

A great cheer went through her audience.

"This is our land!"

"Let that Dwarf-killer to the south know not to cross us!"

But she held up her hand, and they quieted down. Then she turned away, and her face grew wan and sad again.

"But I cannot. You and I both know the terror of the Enemy, while Thingol is shielded from them by our force of arms. We cannot withdraw our strength from the north, where the true threat lies. And so although our force may surpass Thingol's, compared to what he can bring, I am weak and he knows it. Thus he cruelly forced my hand, and all I could do was to beg that he would not hold your past allegiance against you."

"Such evil from one with a Maia by his side!" one of the north Sindar shouted.

Rathlóriel continued. "Círdan's people hold the Pass of Sirion to the west, and Thingol's people hold the south; you and I are forced to trust that no attack will come from those directions. That may well be, although I doubt not that he will give you petty inconveniences because of his hatred for our distinct tongue. But I will always be there, between the mountains and the Celon, ready to take any who would follow me, and extend my hand in friendship and trade to those who would stay!

"Our force of arms will still be to your north and east, so that I can still send my love and protection for this land from afar. Only by treachery could you be the first to come to harm; and should that befall, I shall avenge you! I am not gone – I am still next door!"

There was a great roar of approval.

"Lady Lóriel!"

"Her roads may be golden, but so is her heart!"

"Princess of the Northlands!"

Rathlóriel took a bow, and then rode off eastward.

---

"Aren't some of these the very same people who bullied you as a girl?" Lacheryn pointed out, once they were safely back in Thargelion. They were sitting for dinner in the middle of their capital, in a pavilion surrounded by willows overlooking Lake Helevorn. Still the lake was less idyllic than before, for a large acrid cloud of smoke had come forth from Thangorodrim, and the night was oppressively dark in spite of the Dwarven lamps blazing through the city.

"Apparently, all they needed to change their minds was getting rich off the Dwarves and having someone else in the south to be pissed at," Rathlóriel replied gleefully, as she dug into her roast mutton. "But you are correct. Well did I learn from that that crowds are fickle. That is why I feel the need to remind them ever so often how they got rich, by inviting the Dwarves to join us and throw a party."

"Especially when it happens on Thingol's borders and he's not invited?" Lacheryn replied in a deadpan tone.

"Very especially so," Rathlóriel answered with a wide grin.

"Out of curiosity, did you really get Thingol to agree not to hold their past allegiance against them?" Lacheryn replied, raising a cup of Dorwinion wine to her lips.

"Of course not," said Rathlóriel.

Lacheryn sputtered. "What?"

"Come on, that's obvious. The North Sindar of the marches don't know, because people like trading, and so a whole lot of unofficial trade happens on the border anyway. But none of the messages passed that way actually get to Thingol. For me to officially communicate with Doriath, I'd need to send my messages up north through the Gap, all the way across Ard-galen, and then down the Pass of Sirion. And it'd need to be translated at each step of the way, so that Thingol doesn't throw a tantrum and refuse to listen when we include what turns out to be an ancient Dwarvish loanword. (2) There has obviously not been enough time for that."

"But then..."

"I never said I had gotten Thingol to agree. I just said I had begged him to. Which is true: the letter is on its way."

"Well, he most certainly won't treat them fairly!"

"To what extent? If you mean will Thingol turn his sword on them, then I'm pretty sure he won't do that, the Petty-dwarves notwithstanding. If you mean will he be petty about their distinct language, then I guess he probably will. But that's exactly what I said."

"Don't you want the best for your people?"

"I want the best I can get. I think being harassed for their linguistic differences, while far from ideal, is better than being killed as enemy combatants," she said nonchalantly. "On the other hand, I also don't like Thingol, and nobody on his northern border likes him either, unless it be Círdan's people around Tol Sirion. So our people from Dimbar to Himlad will probably be quite slow to obey his commands, and quite a bit more willing to use the northern road to send me most of the iron that comes out of the Gorgoroth. Glaewen's already set up shop at Himring; she won't be all that far away should Thingol really give them trouble."

Lacheryn gave her an inscrutable look. "So you meant for them to technically be under Thingol's rule, but in practice listen to you? How devious of you. If I'd come up with this idea myself, I'd start wondering if it wasn't the Shadow trying to divide us."

"How exactly am I being devious? They've already distrusted Thingol ever since the Petty-dwarf incident, so they were going to be very slow to obey him regardless. Whether or not they would respect me, however, remained in question until I spoke before them."

Lacheryn shook her head. "Why do you always become a brilliant actress the moment you try to make Thingol look bad?"

"I don't even need to try. He does most of that on his own. And I truly do mean on his own. If he would only have listened to Melian, he'd at least have helped us in our war effort," she said venomously.

"I mean how you miraculously summon tears to your eyes on demand!"

"I'm not acting! Thinking about Thingol's small-mindedness naturally makes me feel sad!"

"But it is not just small-mindedness!" Lacheryn objected. "Doubt not the power of the Shadow! Was it not written in my illness? Do we not have many more who languish in Belegost, unable to be freed? Does he not have good reason to fear us? You saw how I was doing the Shadow's bidding, with you none the wiser until Glaewen asked just the right question!" Her voice cracked.

"Firstly: that's not a reason to hate our people when they're not under the Shadow's control. We have no proof at all that his people would be more resistant, and it's not our fault that the Shadow decided to set up shop in the north rather than the south. Secondly, there's even less reason for him to hate our language and stop his ears whenever he hears it."

She took Lacheryn's hand. "Really, I think you're having a relapse of despair. Do try not to do that. Really, I think you're overcorrecting for the way the Shadow made you say bad things about Thingol. There are enough legitimate reasons to criticise him anyway."

Lacheryn said nothing, but began to cry.

"Can we even win this?" she whispered. "When I am the most healed of all those who were taken, and still I keep doubting? Or is there nothing left, but to give in to the darkness, as it spreads across all the land?"

"Didn't I just tell you not to despair?" Rathlóriel pointed out in concern. "The Dwarves are pretty sure we can win. They say their maker built them to be resistant to the Enemy, so they should know. Indeed, we're working with them for all our plans. That includes those about war, just as it includes those about healing."

"Yes, but do they truly have experience with the Enemy's full power? Do we? The Orcs have not attacked for far too long. It worries me greatly. What if he is planning for a great strike in secret, taking care not to show us any glimmers of his plans?"

"What if the sky falls down?"

"I'm serious," Lacheryn said. "See you not Carnil blazing through the smokes?" (3)

"What about it?"

"Long ago, before all these griefs started, Melian would still come to Tarn Aeluin to teach us. She told us that Carnil was once a pleasant land, where rivers flowed and oceans roared: for the Valar knew not which of the realms of Arda would be chosen at length by Eru, and took care to make more than one ready for the coming of the Children. But the Enemy came, and ruined it utterly: frost has taken all the water, and the air fled in horror. What can be done against one who can do so much?"

Rathlóriel stared into the distance, as the acrid smell of Thangorodrim's smoke continued to irritate them.

"And yet, he was contested here," Rathlóriel pointed out. "He must have given his all when the Valar went to war against him. We know they took their own sweet time, such that we had only Melian to help us at Cuiviénen for hundreds of years. Now we are not allowed even that. But this world has not become an airless desert wasteland. Each time, the Shadow must be becoming weaker, until he is reduced to becoming a petty tyrant who can no longer even dream of corrupting entire worlds."

"Perhaps," Lacheryn said. "But Melkor even diminished may still be stronger than all of us combined."

"If he was, then wouldn't it be more logical for him to destroy us all at once, instead of biding his time corrupting only individuals who went too close?"

"He was a match for all the Valar when we were at Cuiviénen, and yet he was exactly stealing individuals, afflicting us with evil phantoms, and sending foul whispers among us!" Lacheryn said in anguish. "Now he is doing the same thing again. Might he not be stronger than he seems?"

Rathlóriel paused. "I admit, that is a good point," she admitted. "Thankfully it seems to indicate that the Shadow's power is somewhat marred by its incompetence at planning. But I can only prepare for what I understand. Unless you know something?"

Lacheryn stayed silent, as the clouds continued to gather over Thargelion.

Finally she whispered. "I can only tell you what my nightmare holds," she said. "A sudden total darkness, blocking the Sun and Moon utterly, and extinguishing all light and will. Then, from a distance, poison coming to choke all the land. Finally the return of light, but in the form of an evil fire turning all into dust and ashes."

Rathlóriel remained silent for long. Finally she said, "Well, it's a good thing you got me practicing riding by night."

"And the rest of that?" Lacheryn replied in disbelief.

Rathlóriel shrugged. "We have secret underground stores that should avoid the poisons and fires. I don't think anyone has seen all of Belegost and Nogrod, and we have plenty of stone buildings that should not burn down. We should certainly build some more, though."

She turned, her gaze once again fixed on the north. "I do not mean to dismiss your warning, by the way. I can tell it took a great deal of will to give it in the first place. Once again I am filled with awe and joy, that you could push through the cloud of terror that deterred you, and wrest this information from our foe.

"But I choose to react to it as I would any warning: to heed it and prepare, but not to panic. The Enemy is evil. We will fight it and destroy it, because that is far better than doing its bidding to save oneself."

Lacheryn wept.

"Lóriel, don't ever change," she whispered. "I still fear that whatever we prepare for, we will find terror beyond our darkest dreams. And yet your fortitude gives me strength from without, though I can no longer find peace within. The day you deem things unwinnable, there will be nothing left holding me from the dark abyss."

Rathlóriel took her hand. "I promise," she said. "I shall never change, not though all the world be broken and destroyed. As long as I live, I will always have my gaze firmly on winning and building, faint though the prospect might seem to all others. And though you find no peace within, still I shall win it for you."

---

Things went exactly according to Rathlóriel's design – for a time. For Thingol did not even manage to get most of the population he claimed between Doriath and the Gorgoroth; he only got most of the lands.

When Doriath established towns and administrators on the marches, the local North Sindar mostly responded by moving as far north as they possibly could; for in that time the Eryd Gorgoroth were still being heavily expoited for their iron. The northern road, with its many bridges across the rivers, still passed indeed at the feet of their precipices – although the future secrecy of Gondolin was still safe, because in those days Tumladen was a giant lake, and so it was in every map of Beleriand that had not been updated to include the Valar's biggest landscaping intervention before the War of Wrath. There the terrain was open and treeless and thus less familiar to Thingol, and as far as the North Sindar were concerned, moving there ensured that their old protectors in Dorthonion and the eastern marches were closest at hand.

And so the North Sindar flocked in droves to the fair towns that blossomed by the waterfalls, in the valley between the rivers Mindeb and Esgalduin.

They did not stay fair for very long. That land was later called Nan Dungortheb.

---

Finally Rathlóriel had to deal with the Nandor to the south and east.

This was in fact more than one problem, for the idea that the Nandor were one people was a grave misconception. Certainly most of the Eldar thought they were; for they did not have time to study all the different cultures and societies that had formed among the Nandor, preferring to focus on finding inventive ways to look down on them. Not that those ways were particularly inventive, since they mostly had to do with the original decision of the Nandor to forsake the March at the Anduin.

But that was really all that the Nandor had in common. They had neither a single language nor a single chieftain. Even Lenwë, who had verbalised their desire to forsake the March, was not truly a chieftain of all of them – just someone they had agreed with, regarding their distrust that the choice between staying and going was as free as the Valar had claimed it was. That had not translated to any allegiance, and indeed Lenwë made no move to object when his son Denethor decided to start journeying again. The fact that the Nandor only tended to stay together for as long as they wanted to do the same thing also led to their speech splitting into a bewildering variety of dialects. Naturally, their differing approach towards what counted as allegiance, as well as all the distinctions between Nandorin tribes, resulted in several misunderstandings from their western kin.

So the son of Lenwë took all those who would follow him and moved to the south, following the route the March had taken to the Gap of Rohan. In later days his people were called the Green-elves. But now this journey was no longer as it had been in the days of the March, for in the forests of Fangorn the Ents had since awoken, and Denethor became the first of the Elves to meet them. There the Green-elves tarried for long, as their friendship with the Ents blossomed and they learned a similar lack of urgency; and when Denethor decided to follow the path of the Great Journey still further, some of the Ents went with him and passed into the woods of Ossiriand.

There by the stream of the river Adurant made Denethor his home, in the light and the music of the shimmering waterfall known as Lanthir Lamath. Thingol came himself out of Menegroth to greet him as kin long sundered, and the people of Denethor adopted the tongue of Doriath, though they spoke it with peculiarities stemming from their earlier speech. A great festival was held there on the night when the lady Lindis daughter of Denethor wedded Galathil son of Galadhon son of Elmo. A daughter they had, Nimloth, who later married Dior, the fairest of the children of the world. But Elmo had had an older child, who was not with them; for Lillassëa his daughter had despaired of waiting for Thingol, and after a heated parting with much shouting between her and her family, she had departed long ago with Olwë.

And so the Ents roamed throughout Ossiriand and the wilds south of Andram, through the Forest of the Southern Silence and the willow-meads of Nan-tathren. Thingol and Melian welcomed them with open arms into the forest of Neldoreth; and for a while no Orcs survived coming in to trouble Beleriand from the south, as the Ents patrolled there faithfully.

The East Sindar had no objections with that result; but they would rather have caused it themselves. For as far as they were concerned, Thingol had stretched his fingers outside Beleriand proper which he claimed, and into the southern wilderness. The final phase of Rathlóriel's plan to develop East Beleriand went up in smoke; for even though the land south of Estolad was now truly safe, and it was just possible for an extremely daring and foolhardy sailor to navigate all the way to the mouth of the Gelion, the Ents seemed most unlikely to agree to her causing deforestation of Taur-na-Chardhîn as she had in Estolad.

And so mutterings came among the East Sindar that Thingol was planning to encircle them. But still Rathlóriel calmed her people, deeming that her strength needed to be saved against the north. Thus it was that when some Thingol-friendly Green-elves started to appear in Estolad and the southern woods of Thargelion close to the Dwarf-road, she ordered that nothing be done to oust them.

"Why do you want Thingol's spies here?" Glaewen had asked. "This is Dwarvish land, and even as they squat on it illegally, they sneer at its rightful owners for wild reasons. They say it is a bad thing to hew trees and hunt beasts. Well, they wouldn't have any peace, if not for us hewing trees for charcoal to smelt the iron for our swords. But never mind that. If it was just that they viewed the bodies of the kelvar as too closely akin to our own, and would not slay them for food, I would respect it. Indeed, I have had such worries myself. But they shun and afflict all hunters of beasts who pass through their lands, except for those hunters who follow Thingol their overlord. Those get a free pass. Now, tell me: how is that consistent?" (4)

"Ah well," Rathlóriel sighed, "I think it is consistently because Thingol rolled out the red carpet for them, and he doesn't like us very much. And if I kick them out, will he not have the excuse he has long waited for to strike against us?"

Glaewen shook her head. "I feel you've been listening too much to Lacheryn," she said. "I understand why she is always afraid. I cannot fault her for it. Yet it seems poor policy to me. Let us throw down the gauntlet, and tell Thingol that enough is enough!"

"I am telling him that," Rathlóriel smirked.

"How so?" Glaewen replied in disbelief.

"Because as soon as those squatters move far enough north, they're going to see our fair cities. And those will appear as a land of plenty unlike anything they have ever seen. Then, perhaps, they will change their minds like we once did, about hewing trees to make charcoal and winning wealth thereby; and Thingol will lose their allegiance without us doing anything that he can complain about."

---

Now many of the other groups of Nandor were content to stay east of Anduin, and they expanded all through Rhovanion. Some indeed passed further eastward, back to the Sea of Rhûn, and there met and mingled with Avari who had expanded out from Cuiviénen in time to get a hefty helping of "I told you so".

That being said, the Avari were ready to extend their hand in friendship again, and exports of wine from Dorwinion started finding their way to Rathlóriel by the route north of the Misty Mountains and the Blue. Shortly after that, they also started finding their way to Thingol via the south of those mountain ranges, because those two were unable to contain themselves when it came to one-upmanship. And as the East Sindar reached great heights in craftsmanship under Dwarven tutelage, they started selling their goods as far as Rhovanion, and even greater riches came to Estolad and Thargelion.

But there were some, particularly among the Tatyarin Nandor, who ever remembered with bitterness the parting words of the Vanyar, when Indis daughter of Ingwë had called them fainthearts who would not cross the Misty Mountains. This insult smouldered long in their hearts, for they did not know that at length Oromë himself could not cross them either: for they were far taller and more terrible until Melkor was evicted from Arda altogether, and the routes that were afterwards named the High Pass and the Redhorn Pass could not be taken. And so after studying the land in great detail, and devising the art of making garments that would withstand the great frosts, the hardiest of the Nandor were determined to dare the crossing themselves however they could.

They took for chieftain a lady, Losseneth by name, who was indeed one of the oldest surviving Elves at Cuiviénen: and she led them to the north until they saw the shadow of the Grey Mountains on the horizon. Then they forded the Great River and entered the lands where much later lived the Éothéod, above the confluence of the Langwell and Greylin; and after tarrying for a while where later Framsburg was built, they went to the northernmost end of the Misty Mountains and arrived at Mount Gundabad.

Now this mountain was sacred to the Longbeards, and hence the land of Angmar that surrounded it was still unstained. Yet they were at that time the most secretive of all the Dwarven clans, and were little inclined to let Losseneth's people stay. Swiftly then the Longbeards sent messengers bidding these Nandor to turn back and be gone from the sacred site which they were told they now profaned.

Losseneth was angered, but perceived that the Dwarves were too strong to fight. But still she defied them by moving onward the other way instead of going home. So she went further down the Great Road, until she arrived at Lake Evendim, which was then at the edge of the forest covering all Eriador.

Then Losseneth turned to her people, and said, "Now let none gainsay our courage! We have crossed the mountains, though the Minyar jeered that we could not, and though some self-righteous fanatics sought to waylay us. Having proven our point, let us once again live as we did by Cuiviénen and in Atyamar, between wood and water!" And from there they spread out through the hills of the north, for hundreds of years before the coming of Denethor.

The Firebeards and Broadbeams were far less secretive than the Longbeards. It was not long before they remarked on the coming of Losseneth, for Evendim was not far from the eastern extent of their territory. That lake indeed had a place in their traditions as well, as a lesser Helevorn to pay homage at on the path to Gundabad. But since they were less secretive, they did not try to drive the Nandor away, and only patrolled the area from a distance to ensure that Lake Evendim remained unstained by the Shadow. For the rest of Eriador they did not care much.

Since this was their first interaction with Elves, the Dwarves then thought of the First Children of Ilúvatar as a rustic woodland folk, who did not care much for the making of impressive things of metal and stone or the winning of wealth. But after this interaction with the Longbeards, Losseneth and her people were slow to trust their western kindred. They perceived indeed that the Firebeards and Broadbeams did not wish to oust them, and only wished to buy and sell goods and news; but those were all the relations that the northern Nandor and the western Dwarves had.

When Rathlóriel revealed herself to Telchar and his party, and came with Lacheryn and Glaewen to learn swiftly, the Dwarves repented partially of their past prejudices – though not in a very honourable way, because they simply decided that the North and East Sindar were a step above normal Elves. But Losseneth's people continued to multiply through the woods and hills of northern Eriador, in the lands where later the main cities of Arnor were: Annúminas by Lake Evendim, and Fornost and Amon Sûl in the hills.

When the Orcs began to trouble the northern Nandor, the Firebeards and Broadbeams at length summoned the northern Sindar to their aid. For though they tended to think that these Elvish affairs were not really their problem, especially because these were not the Elves they were close friends with, still they misliked the thought of Lake Evendim being desecrated. At last Zirak the silversmith, who had stayed often at Evendim to trade with the Nandor and give them some lessons in craft, argued in the halls of Belegost that the north Sindar were distant kin to the north Nandor, and would mislike the deaths of fellow Elves as much as the great Dwarves misliked the Iathrim's attacks on the Petty-dwarves. Yet the north Sindar were on the other side of the mountains, and this meant that much time was wasted when the northern Nandor could have been helped.

So it was that when Lacheryn arrived with the horse-lords to retake the lands, and announced that all had been avenged, she was told by Losseneth, "You certainly took your time in coming, just as the Valar did at Cuiviénen. For years we were afflicted, and forced to hide surrounded in the hills; and many, including my beloved Astoron, crossed the Misty Mountains themselves only to be brutally murdered by the Orcs. If you had come several years earlier, we would all be here, and not need to be avenged."

"But that fault is not ours," Lacheryn had objected, for then she had not yet encountered the dread tortures of Sauron. "We were only informed of your plight when the Dwarves told us; and we spared no time to come once we were told."

"Really? The Dwarves, who make no secret of calling us backward when they think we cannot understand them? They thought we were a priority to rescue at all?"

Lacheryn raised her eyebrows in shock. "You speak Khuzdul too?" she asked.

"Not perfectly, but the dialects I hear past the Lhûn sometimes seem like they're not sure if they want to be Khuzdul or Sindarin," replied Losseneth. "That made it considerably easier to learn."

"Well, perhaps you will believe me on this. The Dwarves deem Lake Evendim their land as well, as the eastern twin of their holy lake Helevorn. They misliked the idea of its desecration by Orcs."

"Yes, I've heard this kind of thing before. At least these fellows think that only Orcs could desecrate their land, not Elves. Would that the Longbeards were so nice," Losseneth said bitterly.

"Of them I cannot speak, having heard only rumours," replied Lacheryn. "But those tell me that the Longbeards are the most secretive of the Dwarves. I can well believe from the rumours that they evicted you from their land; but the Firebeards and Broadbeams will not. They will say that this land is theirs to be protected; but they will simply watch from afar and leave you alone. This was to them an Elvish affair, and it is why they called us."

"Then tell the Dwarves that I do not trust a supposed protector who thinks anything is more important than saving lives," Losseneth replied. "We do not deserve to die just because we like other things than they do, or because we are not Dwarves."

"This I will tell them," Lacheryn said. "For what it is worth, I am sorry. We may be the vassals of the Dwarves, and to them we owe a great deal. But this was not proper."

Losseneth nodded, and Lacheryn turned to ride away.

Thereafter the Dwarves were convinced to apologise, and deem these Nandor as legal residents of the Lake Evendim area. Even the Longbeards were chastened, and allowed northern Nandor to at least transit Gundabad to pass into Angmar and Eriador. From these came the Nandor who passed onto Forodwaith and formed the easternmost extension of the North Sindar on the steppe; and on the eve of the return of Melkor the northern mountains were patrolled by various mixed Sindarin-Nandorin coalitions indeed as far as the Iron Hills, and no more Orcs came to trouble the Nandor or the Dwarves further south. Among those Nandorin chieftains was Arassaeglir, who afterwards moved west, and was most often seen in eastern Ard-galen and Lothlann north of the Pass of Aglon.

But the damage lingered, and the Nandor of Lake Evendim still stood apart from the East Sindar. So too the Dwarvish prejudices against them lingered, and spread to the young East Sindar who had more dealing with the Dwarves than with their eastern kin. For they judged in haste that the Evendim Nandor had been routed because of their backwardness, and combined with their dislike for the southern Nandor under Denethor who were in league with Thingol, they were quick to look down on Losseneth's people for it.

---

Now Rathlóriel was far-seeing in terms of preparing for war, although rather less so in terms of how people would react to her general impoliteness; and she had become deeply concerned at her numbers ever since Lacheryn had informed her of the Shadow that had overcome Thangorodrim. And the thought came to her that she could repeat the same playbook that had once worked on the North Sindar, and was even now working with whatever Nandor crossed the Ascar.

So she extended an invitation to the Nandor of lake Evendim, inviting any young and gallant ones among them to cross the Blue Mountains and enter her service for a while, hoping to inculcate Dwarvish ideas of winning wealth into their societies upon their return.

"I can think of one problem with that idea," Lacheryn had pointed out.

"Just one? That's amazing, considering that I only spent about five minutes thinking it up," replied Rathlóriel. "But I'm surprised you think it has problems. Hasn't it already worked on the southerners?"

"But then you did it by stealth. Now you're going to sound a lot like the Valar trying to get ambassadors to visit Aman," Lacheryn said, her voice troubled.

"Well, even better then! That's exactly what worked when we went back to Dorthonion and convinced all your friends to join us settling the east!"

"My friends?"

Rathlóriel shrugged. "Until they were amazed by what the Dwarves had, I didn't exactly have friends besides you and Glaewen. No one else had such poor taste."

"If you're trying to make me feel happier, rest assured that it's working," Lacheryn replied. "But if you think it's a valid comparison, then I must disagree. When we went back, our people may not have exactly trusted you, but at least they trusted your parents. And they trusted me and Glaewen. With these Nandor, there is none among us who they trust. Indeed, just like with the Valar, they already have an experience of a supposed protector who can't be bothered to actually show up in a timely manner, even if their subordinates like Zirak know perfectly well that they need help. That is how they view the Dwarves; and as much as I'm a Dwarf-friend, I can see why."

Rathlóriel blinked. "And yet the Valar were somehow successful," she argued. "And unlike them, I intend to give them a truly free choice. So I should do better."

"We shall see if they believe the choice is free," Lacheryn said. "Well! If anyone can pull it off, perhaps you can. But I have met them, and I know that it will be harder than you think."

Speaking purely proportionally, she indeed had greater success than the Valar. At Cuiviénen there were just shy of fifty thousand Elves when Oromë came, and yet there were only three willing ambassadors at first: one from each kindred. At Lake Evendim there were only about five thousand roaming about, and that was the closest thing the Nandor in Eriador had to a concentrated population centre; yet she got one rather than none.

For Nelloriel daughter of Losseneth, who had been a very young girl when her father had been murdered by Orcs, had jumped at the call because she was young and curious about the Dwarves who sometimes passed through. And although her mother was not terribly pleased about this, still she remembered – as did all the Nandor – that they had turned aside from the Great Journey for freedom.

"My heart is made anxious by your desire," Losseneth had warned. "For remember that although they have apologized for it, Dwarvish secrecy is the reason you are fatherless, and they cease not to spread unkind words about us. Learn what you will, but do not forsake your own people as rustic or backward; and after your period of agreed service is over, I beg that you return to us."

"I promise," Nelloriel had said. But Losseneth looked at her daughter in her eyes at this parting, and knew in her heart that she would lose her. And indeed Nelloriel returned never again across the Blue Mountains.

For Thargelion had developed a tremendous amount in the hundreds of years that the Eastern Sindar and Western Dwarves had built it together. And so the shock started the moment Nelloriel crossed the Blue Mountains, when the best clothes she had dressed herself in seemed indescribably poor to everyone she passed.

Rathlóriel, and several of the oldest Elves in her service such as Glaewen and Lacheryn, tried to make Nelloriel feel as comfortable as possible, and not make the mistake that they saw the Valar as making: dazzling and overawing the ambassadors, so that their free choice could be questioned. Although they did not always succeed, still Nelloriel greatly appreciated the attempt. But many of the younger Elves did not remember those days first-hand, and for obvious reasons none of the Dwarves did either. Instead they looked down on her for her perceived backwardness.

Despite all of this, Nelloriel greatly valued all she learnt, and she was a hardworking student. Though she was less skilled at metalwork, she took very well to the Northern Sindar who often passed through, and even in northern Eriador she had been frighteningly good at horse-archery. She also learned quickly to read and write in the runes of the North, and trained for a time as Rathlóriel's private secretary; she it was who was by her lady's side, when Mablung was received and confirmation came that no aid would come from Doriath. But she always tried to stick closely with Rathlóriel and the older Elves who had invited her; and when no one was looking, she often wept silently in her rooms at what others unthinkingly said towards her.

"This will not do," Rathlóriel had sternly told her people. "I invited Nelloriel to come as a representative of the Nandor of Eriador, so that she could have the marvellous chance she desired to learn new skills. But also so that her people would be happy to make contact with us and see us as friends, rather than shun our work and afflict us as the Green-elves would gladly do if they lived with us. If you treat her this badly, what do you think she will tell her people when she returns?"

Then they were chastened, and tried not to let their lady see them mistreat Nelloriel; but it did not stop them from doing it out of Rathlóriel and her friends' sights.

But at length Nelloriel whispered to Rathlóriel and said: "You need not fear. Even if they treated me worse, still I would not want to leave this place. For the call of all I have learned here would ever live on in my heart, and it would ever compel me to remain."

Then Rathlóriel was shaken, for at those words her heart was reminded of all the Elves who had taken off to the West and came never back for the past centuries – even though the Teleri had already been renowned shipbuilders on the Journey.

Have I become just like those my father accused of breaking faith? Do our lost kin not come back because they have been overawed and dazzled? Did I make a mistake inviting Nelloriel in the first place?

"Please, milady, don't think that," Nelloriel pleaded. "You have been very good to me. The fact that you wonder so much about whether you did well is the greatest proof that you did."

Rathlóriel sighed. "Strange it would then be," she said, "that those who do best are those who worry the most, while the incompetent live with their minds untroubled. I had thought for a while that Lacheryn's continued worrying was a bad sign. But maybe this means I should listen to her more."

"Oh, Lacheryn! She's my favourite of your friends," Nelloriel said. "Riding in the Gap with her is something where I feel I can match all of you more quickly, and it gladdens my heart. But she always feels so sad for some reason. I wish I knew what afflicted her, and how to make her happier."

"I indeed know the cause of her sadness," Rathlóriel replied. "But if you'll take my advice, you shouldn't ask her about it. If she thinks it's obvious to you, then she will feel like she's not recovering as well as she wishes. And trust me on this: you really don't want to know what caused it."

Nelloriel nodded seriously.

---

But now there came a time in winter, when Rathlóriel rode north through Lothlann, and then turned into Eriador.

"Well met, lady Losseneth of lake Evendim," Rathlóriel said.

"Ah. You're the one who got the royal treatment from the first Dwarves you met, as I did not," Losseneth replied.

"Alas, you speak the truth," Rathlóriel admitted. "But then I was young and not yet wise to the ways of the world, and I knew not what kind of special treatment I was getting. And even though Belegost and Nogrod are my closest allies now, still I will tell you that how they treated you was wrong. But this I will still insist: I bear no guilt for how they treated me well, just as you bear none for how they treated you badly. For neither of us knew what we were getting into, though it ended better for me than for you."

"I see why the Dwarves like you, for neither of you seem to know the meaning of tact," Losseneth replied. "But at least you are objective enough to recognise when your friends are in the wrong. It is a rare skill; I do hope you continue to exhibit it. I only wonder how much trouble you will get into when the word spreads. For are you not a puppet of the Dwarves, unable to move or decide on who settles with you without their assent?"

"That has changed of late," Rathlóriel said. "For since your people were attacked, and we learned of the dishonourable delay that then ensued, we prevailed upon the Dwarves to grant us much greater autonomy."

"Really! Perhaps the world is healing. Too late for my husband, alas," Losseneth hummed. "My daughter tells me that she has been treated very well by you. Though I know her well, and suspect she is omitting something."

"I am not all-seeing, and cannot prevent the misdeeds of all my subjects," Rathlóriel pointed out. "But I can sternly correct them, and have done so. When I was a young girl at Cuiviénen, I was not treated particularly well either, chieftain's daughter though I was."

"Hmm." Losseneth paused. "So what is it you want from me? I was born in the wild woods of the East, and survived the long ages as so many around me died. I braved the Misty Mountains in defiance of those who would mock me, even if they were the most beloved by the Valar. I answer to none but myself."

"Friendship."

"Hmm. And is this friendship an invitation to uproot ourselves, settle in your lands, fight your war, and die horribly?" Losseneth replied.

"The Shadow already came for you. Right now it is preoccupied with us, who are nearer; but if we should fall, it will come for you again," Rathlóriel warned. "Do not think that saying you are out of the war will mean that the Enemy will not attack you."

"Of that I am sure," Losseneth replied. "But from what my daughter has written to me, I deem that your war is unwinnable. You were not at Cuiviénen as I was, and know not the dark shadows that roamed around it. If it is the Enemy and his chief lieutenant who returns to afflict us, just as he did at Cuiviénen and at Atyamar, then there is nothing you can do. Even Melian and Oromë could not wholly protect us. All we can do is hide. We are not craven before imagined perils, like the Minyar said to us of the crossing of the Misty Mountains. It amused me greatly to learn from my daughter that they could not cross it either. But this peril is all too real. Against a foe so strong, anything but flight is folly."

A chill went down Rathlóriel's spine, as she remembered the words of Lacheryn. But she steeled herself and plowed on, casting that chill aside and deeming it the first groping finger of the Shadow.

"The Shadow now is not the Shadow of before," Rathlóriel urged. "And even if it was, it would still be right to fight it though all seemed hopeless: because it is evil."

"So too do I dislike the march of time, that devours and consumes all. Yet that fight is equally hopeless. Have a care lest you reach beyond your grasp," Losseneth answered.

"I shall not be satisfied unless I do what I believe is right. Still I shall not force any of my folk or yours to come with me. Those who join me do so by their free will; and those who spurn me do just the same."

Losseneth gave her an inscrutable look. "Has anyone ever successfully changed your courses, once you have decided on something?"

"Few by counsel, none by force. But when I hear counsel that I weigh above gold, I care not who it came from, and heed it regardless."

"So what then makes you believe that the Shadow can be defeated?"

"I'm not sure you'll like my first answer," Rathlóriel replied.

"Oh. So you can learn tact. I was wondering. Anyway, whatever it is, it'll probably be nicer than what I heard from the Longbeards."

"Well, the Dwarves think it can."

Losseneth looked extremely unimpressed.

"Besides that: the Shadow has been defeated once already. These must simply be his leftover diehards."

Losseneth stared. "It has been defeated?"

"In happier days Melian told us the joyful tidings that the Enemy had been dragged in chains to prison. So it is not true that her folk can do nothing."

"Very well. Is she with you?"

Rathlóriel fell silent.

"So she is not. You seek to do what has never been done by Elven or Dwarven hands. Does it seem at least possible that you have an inflated judgement of your capabilities?"

"He is weakening," Rathlóriel insisted. "In the past he could corrupt vast stretches of land so badly that the air itself fled in horror. But by the time we encountered him, he was a cornered rat who had to corrupt us into doing his bidding, instead of do it himself."

"And yet that still made him strong enough. We still lost many, even though Oromë gave us weapons on the Journey."

"Yet those were not as good as the ones we now have," she said, motioning to her Dwarf-forged sword.

Losseneth stared. "You're actually serious."

"You seem equally serious about being able to hide. Did you manage it at Cuiviénen, without Melian beside you helping?"

Losseneth thought. "Not for very long," she admitted. "Mostly, we were running away instead of hiding."

"So there it is. If you say I cannot fight without Melian's help – maybe. I think I can, but I admit my proof is not ironclad. But if I cannot do that, then you cannot hide without her help either. And if we took that thought to its logical conclusion, then there would be no escape from the Shadow in the end, for it would expand over the whole world. Only death might free us from it – but I doubt that will be much better. Then would I not be correct, that it is better to fight it with all our strength, than to submit?"

Finally Losseneth nodded. "We may not agree on everything," she said, "but I can at least respect that you have not dragged anyone into this unwilling. Well, Lady Rathlóriel! I wish you well in this fight, but I will not join in. Still my land will always be open to you, and if you should lose and want to learn how to hide, we will teach you."

"That is all I sought, and meant by friendship," Rathlóriel replied. "Farewell, lady Losseneth. It is a privilege to count one so old and experienced as a friend."

"As it is a privilege to count one whose heart blazes with the fire of youth," Losseneth said. "Farewell, then. Treat my daughter well, for I know I will not see her again."

Rathlóriel stiffened.

"I know you have not imprisoned her," Losseneth said sincerely. "But such a sojourn could never have been temporary. Give her my love."

And Rathlóriel remembered, from the times when the North Sindar and the Iathrim were not at odds, the shadow that ever haunted the Iathrim royal family: that Olwë had gone over sea, and that the family of Elmo was itself split. Galadhon had never seen or heard of his beloved elder sister across the Sea again, and regretted greatly that their final parting had been filled with harsh words.

So she nodded, and said to Losseneth, "I will do so. Write to your daughter as often as you will; and whatever duties I give her, I will always spare her as much time as she wishes to reply."

"Spare as much as you will," Losseneth replied. "It will still not be enough, in the end. I had many centuries with my beloved Astoron. What I would give for but one more minute. But you are doing your best, and it is my daughter who wants to stay. I will respect that, though my heart will break."

Rathlóriel bowed, and rode away in deep thought.

Chapter Text

Celegorm rode through the streets of Tirion, barely heeding the shocked cries of the passers-by.

I have to tell Father about this. I cannot let my cousin do that to herself!

He urged his horse onward, ignoring all the traffic laws he was violating. (Normally he would also have ignored them out of principle, because Turgon had played a major role in passing them.) But as he reached Fëanor's house and hurried in, he suddenly heard the voice of his mother; and he stood still, listening from the shadows.

"I walked out on your madness when you started forging swords; but apparently it has no bounds! Now was it not enough to forge weapons made to deal death? Was it just irresistible to try them out on your favourite target?" said Nerdanel, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"In every case the house of Nolofinwë provoked us first!" yelled Fëanor. "Were you willfully blind to what was going on in Tirion? When even the sons of Findis went around sporting devices of silver and gold and gems? Long they did this, and I took your advice not to suspect them; and then it turned out that they were re-sharpening old swords and spears from the Great Journey! Including those of the King himself!"

"And as I said then: yet you were the first one who started secretly forging new swords!" Nerdanel objected.

Fëanor ignored her. "Now Nolofinwë sinks one step further in his evil. Once he worked openly; he and his sons made no secret that they were working to supplant me, and it was only by the silver tongue of Maedhros that Fingon's plans were foiled. But now Nolofinwë tries to grab the crown like a thief in the night, scurrying to tell tales to Father ere the council started. Fool that I was, I had been wasting my time trying to sway his daughter from his allegiance, though my closest confidants all urged that it would go ill. No, I said, I will trust her beyond all reason! She alone must be free of the usurping urges of the Vanyar! But they were right, to my shame."

A chill went down Celegorm's spine. Does Father think—

"If you think Aredhel betrayed your trust right after running away from her home to stay with Celegorm, then you are even more delusional than I thought," said Nerdanel in scorn. "Whatever happened to sending an open letter to Nolofinwë, telling him that a true father should have trust in his children?"

"Father was very slow to suspect her," admitted Maedhros.

"By which you mean it took Fëanor hours instead of minutes?" Nerdanel shot back.

"Far longer!" Maedhros urged, his gaze suddenly shadowed by regret. "He did not want to believe it, and long he railed against me for even suggesting it. Yet we must consider what her older brothers have done. I was great friends with Fingon, for a while. If he had been any other man's son, I think we might even still be friends. But he made it clear to me: his duty is to Nolofinwë, and he will support his father."

"Did Fingon actually say that?" Nerdanel replied sceptically.

"No, but he made it clear by his actions," said Maedhros. "By the end he was saying all manner of fair words to me, speaking of friendship and reconciliation. But the next day, he always sided inflexibly with whatever his father told him to do."

"Well, Fingon wishes so much that he were a Vanya that he braids gold into his hair," said Fëanor sarcastically. "Really, he is not too different from Turgon, who outright married one."

But as he said that, a twinge of pain cut into his sarcasm; and Fëanor looked away, remembering how he had tried to braid silver into his hair during his youth.

He had never let even Nerdanel see it; for he could never finish without breaking down in tears.

"It must have been difficult for Fingon, of course. I have no doubt that it was equally difficult for Aredhel," Maedhros continued rather more diplomatically. "But who else in Nolofinwë's house is close enough to ours, that he would know when to strike? Who else then had both Father's and Nolofinwë's ears? The choice thrust upon my cousin was impossible; I do not envy it, and I do not hold it against her that she chose to turn back in her agony. For in the end, we all had to stand by our respective fathers."

So Maedhros is the one who thinks so, when he was so close to Fingon before. I have heard enough! thought Celegorm. And so he crept back out of his father's house and rode in haste for his own; but the conversation continued.

"Do you really believe that? Did you have to side inflexibly with whatever your father tells you to do? Because you think it is your duty as a prince, even when what Fëanor says is objectively insane?" Nerdanel pleaded to Maedhros. "Ai, how many have you brought to ruin with fair words? I thought you were using them to convert others to your father's madness; but now I hear that your father was for once being reasonable, and that you convinced him into paranoia! Why could not your diplomatic skills turn towards something useful?"

"Why not then use your connexions with the Valar for something useful yourself?" Fëanor replied in scorn. "Ask the Valar to let us go! And see how much success you have. Then maybe you will finally realise that I am right."

"Look at you!" said Nerdanel to Maedhros. "Now you see your father speak so to your mother. In what magnificently convoluted way are you going to explain why Fëanor can do no wrong?"

"I think that it would not be a bad idea to make such inquiries, Mother," Maedhros said. "By Aulë's words as you report them, the Valar will curse us to death if we rebel. But we already have examples of people who stay in Middle-earth with the Valar's leave – the Teleri under Círdan, who were left hanging on the shore. Seeing as the unfreedom of Valinor has been demonstrated beyond reasonable doubt, and that we will not be persuaded to stay – why not ease matters by convincing the Valar to let us depart? Then it will no longer be a rebellion; and we will finally have free choice. That is what we truly desire."

Nerdanel felt a sudden, though familiar, urge to bang her head against the walls. "Ai, Maedhros!" she cried. "You drive a dagger into your mother's heart. Do not ask me to allow you to walk freely to death!"

"But if you succeed," argued Maedhros, "then the curses and evil omens that the Valar delight in will not be activated. For we would be departing with the Valar's leave – and they could not take that back, without proving themselves even more hypocritical than they already have."

"Why speak of them thus, and so openly? If the Valar are truly as evil as you claim – and I do not believe that at all – then they are the last people you want as your enemies!" argued Nerdanel. She sighed. "Too much are you your father's son."

"Of course he is his father's son," said Fëanor exultantly. "For his father's birthright has been endangered, and his mother sides with those who would seek to steal it. I have not forbidden you to talk to our sons; indeed, I even let the Ambarussa stay with you half the time, for well I know how bad it is to lose the mother's part in one's nurture. But all the evil that the Valar spread to them through you will find nowhere to take root. My full-grown sons, the five eldest, grew up with both you and me by their side; and yet they are all determined to follow their father."

"I rather meant that Maedhros seems to be peculiarly combining great intelligence with an extreme lack of common sense. As is a pattern with you."

This predictably set Fëanor off again; and at last she departed in grief and despair, perceiving that nothing would get through to either her husband or her favourite son.

They are all too far gone for reason, Nerdanel thought bitterly to herself as she walked back to her father's house. Even though it has come of madness, I will take the advice of my son. If they are truly all this determined to walk this path – then I must speak to all those who might have the Valar's ear most. I want nothing to do with this rebellion, and I have had enough of Fëanor's nonsense. If he gets what he wants and runs off back to Middle-earth, then shall I indeed bid him good riddance!

Yet still I cannot bear to see him dead. Still less my sons.

And as she thought, an idea crystallised in her mind.

---

But Celegorm had departed in great dread, after hearing the lies of Melkor that Maedhros had unwittingly repeated, though he knew not their true author. So at that time he was once again at home, opening the door to the guest room Aredhel was staying in.

Then he saw his cousin lying motionless on the bed; and he feared greatly that she had done something rash, and that he had come too late. But still he grasped her hand tenderly, and said, "Aredhel, wake up."

There was no response.

"Aredhel, not even the dead sleep this soundly," he said in mingled fear and irritation.

Her eyelids fluttered open warily. "How bitter the draught that was mixed for me," she said tonelessly. "Woe everlasting."

Celegorm said nothing, but squeezed his cousin's hand tighter.

"Let me guess," Aredhel continued. "You went to find Fëanor, while I was trying to sleep, and dream of the happier days that are gone and can never return. And then he suspected that I had betrayed him, by inciting my father to come early to the council."

"How did you know? How could you know?" Celegorm asked in disbelief.

"Is it not exactly what Fëanor would believe? I forgive him anyway. I would probably believe it myself, if I knew nothing else. Oh, what a terrible hole I have dug for myself! I would that I could sleep, and never wake again!"

"Stay this madness!" Celegorm pleaded.

She wept. "I believe you now, Fëanor," she said through tears. "Yea, I remain faithful to you in thought, though you will never believe it. What the Valar did to your mother, they do to me now. They want me destroyed for ruining their designs for the descendants of Indis, so that I can find no friends among the living. You were right about them. About the Valar, about the Vanyar, about my father, about everything. Suspect me as you will; I forgive you completely. Yea, for all that it is worth, powerless and lost as I am. Now comes the night!"

"Even if Father and Maedhros will not trust you, still I shall!" Celegorm urged. "This has gone too far. For too long I tolerated the mindless rabble that circles around Father, just because they hate the Vanyar blindly. Yea, they clench their fists against all those who followed Indis from Valimar to Tirion. Against the Vanyarised upper class of the city, who they claim have locked us Noldor out from a living. Against the Telerin merchants, for the same reason. But what they want for us is the same sort of idiocy that the most pious of the Vanyar wallow in! They it was who left us first for Valimar. They it was who stood aloof at Cuiviénen while the Tatyar and Nelyar intermarried. They it is who produced nothing while Father invented wonder after wonder.

"Nay, to be a Noldo is to recognise mastery regardless of kindred or field! Such scum poisoning the ears of my father are no better than the most bovine of the Vanyar who they despise; they master nothing, save envy alone. Alas for Maedhros who must keep them satisfied by sinking to their level! Alas for Maglor who follows whatever Maedhros drags him into! And alas for Father, unused to the palace, lacking a keen nose for sycophants!

"And now I say it goes further. A worthy Noldo – nay, anyone worthy – should recognise injustice and speak out. Thus do I stand for freedom, and for leaving the trammels of these self-righteous Valar behind. But I am not so blinded as to reject Huan, Maia though he is; for he stands in agreement with me! So too shall I stand by the side of my cousin, who despite all the naysaying of kith and kin speaks for the truth!"

Aredhel wept. "But you have many other friends who can do that. Friends who the Valar have not already turned their wrath against," she whispered.

"I have none other so faithful and true," Celegorm replied. "That is clear, now that your loyal heart has been revealed, beyond any other in Arda. Would I were wise enough to see it, ere you had to suffer this great grief! Still that mistake I shall redress, by not heeding the slanders of Vala, Maia, or Elda. Yea, more faithful shall I be to you, than King Finwë was to Queen Míriel!"

Aredhel stared in wonder. "You would defy your father for me? I, who must now forever be a forsaken outcast, to the factions of both your father and mine?"

"I defy him not! I stand forever faithful to what Father stands for. But that is not the same as following him without question when he has been misled by rabble. One day soon, I shall win his trust back for you, and all your griefs shall pass!" Celegorm replied.

She rose, her strength returning. "O heart so loyal, O heart so true! Let no one then divide me from you!" said Aredhel, smiling through tears. "Yea, though I still fear what the Valar will do to me, I shall not give them any satisfaction. They shall have to work for it, and strike us down themselves!"

"They shall not get the chance to! The King will surely wish for a trial, and the truth will all come out."

"No, but they must dearly wish to. For the one who gave me hope was the very one who argued that my father deserved the drawing of the sword!" she smiled.

"Do you still disagree?" asked Celegorm.

"Oh, I still believe not that swords should have been drawn. I do stand loyal, of course! My father gave yours a most serious insult. But it was still a grave tactical error for Fëanor to react this way," said Aredhel. "The Second House has always been thick in the intrigues of the palace. It does not strike without much thought and planning. If Father decided to do this in secret, then he must have been sure that he could get enough support for it, once it became a feat accomplished. And Fëanor, by drawing the sword, has given his half-brother yet more unlooked for."

"That," Celegorm said slowly, "is a cause for alarm that I had not thought of."

"Too true," said Aredhel. "And I fear it will give the Valar the excuse they longed for, to start an intervention and go over the King's head!"

Celegorm stared. "But they cannot do that," he whispered. "They are not to overwhelm or dominate us, even if they think it would be for our own good—"

"And yet inviting the ambassadors to Aman dazzled them anyway. Even if the Valar speak so, still no one has ever regretted planning for the worst, even if it does not come to pass."

Celegorm nodded seriously.

"Well, let us burn that bridge once we have crossed it," said Aredhel. "Let us give heed to the here and now first! You are the one who gave me a path forward, when all others were lost in darkness. Nothing will ever equal that memory, that will remain in my heart forever. And nothing can equal the joy you returned me!"

And at those last words, she threw her arms around Celegorm, and kissed him.

"You are the one for me," she whispered, as she released her grip. "I love you, and desire no other."

Celegorm was uncharacteristically dumbfounded.

"Aredhel," he finally said, composing himself, "we're first cousins."

"As your father tirelessly points out; half-first cousins. No law has been written against that."

"I rather think that that's because such a law could only apply to the house of Finwë!"

"It is good to see you remember that we are all from one royal house! Perhaps some unity may yet be on the horizon," Aredhel smiled.

Celegorm sputtered. "That is hardly the way to convince me that such a marriage would be normal!"

Aredhel laughed. "Normal marriages, for the house of Finwë? Perish the thought! I seem to recall that our grandfather's choices spurred the creation of an entirely new law. And I do recall you saying that you would be more loyal to me, than Finwë was to Míriel." She winked.

Celegorm smiled, though he threw up his hands in mock frustration. "So my speech betrays my heart! Well, let us jump straight to the point. Yes, I admit it: I love you too! No other woman, even among my own followers, understands my frustrations or my great work. I could look among all the beauties of Tirion and yet be dissatisfied, thinking only of how much better it would be to talk to you!"

He took her hand. "Such a curious dance this is, between the First and Second Houses!" he said. "The flower of friendship between Fingon and Maedhros withered, and yet it bloomed into more than friendship between me and you."

"A pity Maglor had to ruin the pattern," said Aredhel.

"He was always closer to the Third House – until they made their choice, as Fingon made his," said Celegorm.

She smiled. "But I chose otherwise."

"Yes. You did. And so did I."

Then they stood long in love and affection, as Laurelin waned and Telperion waxed.

At last Celegorm turned aside, and said, "We shall still have to keep it a secret, at least for now."

"Do we?" Aredhel mock-pouted. But then she sighed, and said, "I understand, of course. My father will view it as Fëanor corrupting me to your side. Actually, he probably already does. And until you present him with ironclad evidence, your father will surely view it as me compounding my supposed treachery by seducing you. It shall have to wait."

"Not to mention the issue of whether the laws will allow this," Celegorm sighed. "Maedhros knows the most of my brothers about them, but he is too preoccupied with explaining how he was supposedly an idiot to trust Fingon and that you must be just like your brother. We had better not talk to him now."

Aredhel sighed. "Fingon is doing the same," she admitted, "and Turgon will like it still less. Still. We deem the Valar illegitimate, and say that we can know right and wrong without them. So what need have we to exchange vows before Manwë and Varda? Our hearts shall know it all the same."

"And yet, I would still wish for a ceremony once everything has been healed," said Celegorm. "Just perhaps not one invoking Manwë and Varda."

But suddenly, there was a great clamour in the main square of Tirion. Celegorm and Aredhel rushed to the window, and stared in horror as Eönwë materialised to speak.

"Hear ye!" the herald of Manwë proclaimed. "The Valar are wroth and dismayed. For Fëanor son of Finwë has drawn his sword on his half-brother; and the Valar perceive that there is more at work here than the willfulness of youth. To the Ring of Doom shall be summoned all who have a part in this matter, from the least to the greatest. Thither also shall be summoned those with knowledge, or with grievances of their own that they would share." (1)

He departed; and within Celegorm's house there remained a deafening silence.

Then Celegorm turned to Aredhel, his face white; and he whispered, "You were right."

"Of course I was."

Celegorm paced back and forth, his anxiousness morphing into black anger. "This is a grievance between the houses of the Noldor, and though it has grown out of hand, still it is a family matter. We should be resolving it between ourselves. If the King himself may be overruled by the Valar at will, and his power taken over, then what does kingship in Valinor truly mean? Only proof that Nolofinwë was right in the Valar's eyes to demand as he did: that Father be silenced for his dissent, and his house disinherited, never mind that he is the King's heir and had the freedom to speak for what he believed in. The Valar are the real rulers here, and all else is a charade. One lovingly planned out with elaborate rules, to be sure; but they are all ultimately meaningless, to be swept aside at their whim!"

"Then what will you do?"

"But let us not despair!" Celegorm said firmly. "For the Valar are not so wise as they think. They deem that we will be cowed by their intervention; but this trial shall be a perfect place to denounce their illegitimate rule and argue publicly for the freedom they deny us! They mean to place the Eldar on trial; but soon the tables will turn. It shall be the Eldar themselves, who learn the truth of the matter, and hold them to account!"

"And in this my voice shall join with yours!" Aredhel said triumphantly.

---

The days that followed, in the house of Celegorm, were spent in bliss.

Those sworn to him were naturally already used to seeing Aredhel. Her continuous presence for months was admittedly slightly unusual, but not without precedent. The fact that Celegorm and Aredhel were now also in love was rather less precedented; on the other hand, as many people later found out to their chagrin, the sort of people who tended to swear to Fëanorians tended to have a high bar indeed, before they started questioning their lords' personal decisions.

Unfortunately, such obedience only extended to the situation where the Fëanorians were in solidarity against the outside world. It did not extend to the situation where the Fëanorians were at odds with each other. And so Celegorm still had to carefully select those of his followers who wouldn't immediately tell Fëanor about his secret courtship.

Not that Fëanor needed to be aware of that to be unhappy. And so he sent Maedhros to Celegorm's house demanding an explanation for why he was even still hosting and talking to Aredhel in the first place.

But Celegorm stood between his brother and cousin, and argued, "My cousin stayed in my house for months before the trial, in bitter anguish when her father rejected her for simply asking questions. My people have been with her for all that time, and are in a perfect position to prove that she did nothing wrong. Even now, after you drew your sword on her father, she stays with me. How can you say she is not true to us?"

"As was Fingon, right up to the moment he wasn't," said Maedhros wistfully.

"Then how is she supposed to change her mind?" demanded Celegorm. "Do you expect her to go back and say, sorry, Atar, I know I sided with the fellow who threatened to kill you? No, I didn't think it was urgent enough to send you a message or run back earlier? I rather think she has burned all the bridges with her old house!"

"Yet we are speaking of a house that hides in the shadows to steal Father's birthright in secret. Can there be loyalty, with them? Can there be such a thing as burning all the bridges?"

"I agree," said Celegorm, "which is why Aredhel walked away from that house."

Long Maedhros remained silent, differing emotions warring on his face. "Do as you will," he finally said, "but as your brother, I would be remiss not to warn you when I think you are repeating one of my mistakes."

"It is not a mistake," Celegorm answered angrily, going back into the house.

And Maedhros walked slowly back to his own, though the grief of his last parting with Fingon ever replayed itself in his mind.

---

Shortly afterwards, Aredhel got a visit from another son of Fëanor. His opinion was rather different.

"My congratulations," said Curufin sincerely. "Should I perchance start forging the silver rings for a betrothal?"

Aredhel started. "How—"

"Celegorm is my favourite brother, you know," said Curufin. "Even if he keeps it secret, it's still written on his face for me to see. Though I suspect only I and Caranthir know him well enough to find it obvious."

He exhaled. "I confess, I did not see it coming. And incidentally, I never saw you in quite that way, myself. But if Celegorm and you are happy, I shan't gainsay it." He looked up, and continued. "Also – Caranthir would like to inform the happy couple that it is in fact against the laws of Valinor. He looked them up: anything closer than second cousins is prohibited. On the other hand, he said, and I quote: then again, Nolofinwë behaves so unlike a brother to Father that I think we can equally well pretend he is not one. And also, this will probably really annoy Turgon, which is always a plus."

Aredhel sighed. "As you can see, we'll need something a little bit more discreet than the traditions."

"Indeed. I cannot for a moment imagine that Father will be pleased by this, since Maedhros has convinced him that you were a traitor like Fingon. But I know you better. Well, I suppose I must stand in Father's place and under his shadow then, as I always do," he said ruefully.

"You are unhappy in Tirion," she perceived. "Though maybe even in that you are under Fëanor's shadow. Any fool can see that he is also unhappy."

Curufin laugh bitterly. "First Father named me Finwë, as he was named himself; and that name he gave to all his sons. But when the time came to differentiate me from my brothers, he still chose to name me after himself. If only I could be like Maglor, who has Father's linguistic interests, Celegorm's equestrian interests, and musical interests of his own! Alas that I am Father's copy in talents; there is nothing I am good at that someone else in my family cannot also do. How will I ever be seen as something more than Fëanor junior? How can I ever rival my father's fame and skill, when he has been at his work for centuries before I was born?"

"Not in Tirion you can't, I imagine," Aredhel considered. "But whoever decreed that there be only one school of craftsmanship? You are a linguist, so surely you must know Telerin. Why not go to the land north of Alqualondë and study their distinct tradition in smith-work? They have a lot of silver in those lands, which they prize above gold. Perhaps you can marry their tradition with the new innovations in Noldorin jewelry. That will already be something new to start with!"

"Father dissuaded me from going to Alqualondë. He deemed it under the control of the Third House, and warned that they would blacklist me for my parentage."

"Really! The Lord of the First House thinks such prejudices wrong? I should like to know what rationalization he still has to distrust me, then."

Curufin smiled. "Point taken," he acknowledged. "But it is not just Father who says it. So Maglor has spoken; he used to teach the harp at the royal conservatory of Alqualondë. Great service he did to the Teleri; but all the high-ranking officials he used to talk to suddenly started giving him the cold shoulder. That was just after Finrod and Angrod moved to Tirion, and he greeted his old students with joy; but they shunned him."

Aredhel started. "This I had not known," she admitted. "But the smiths and courtiers are not the same people in Tirion. Probably they are not the same people in Alqualondë either."

"Well, I can see why Caranthir said that the going wisdom in the Tirion mathematics scene was not to share problems with you," Curufin joked. "For then you will solve them yourself, and there will be nothing left for the rest of us. Apparently, this holds true for all other problems as well."

"Was that said indeed?" Aredhel laughed. "Well, I cannot blame them for speaking the truth! But do feel free to come to me with your problems if they are of this kind, for it would please me to see you free and happy."

"It also pleases me to see you once again in good spirits," Curufin smiled. "And it is for that reason, first and foremost, that I wish you and Celegorm joy."

"It is appreciated," Aredhel smiled.

"Well! Then I shall go on a journey north to the lands of the Teleri, though Alqualondë itself I shall avoid," said Curufin. "Wish me joy and luck! But before that, I shall complete a great work summing up all of the Noldorin tradition I have learned thus far. For I know how much you longed for the strife to be abated, and for things to return as they were in our youth."

And on the day of his departure from Tirion, he came first to the house of Celegorm his brother, and presented Aredhel with a great green stone, set in a silver brooch shaped into an eagle with outspread wings.

"That is fair indeed!" Aredhel said in wonder. But then her face clouded, and she said, "Did you then imprison within it the light of Laurelin? Whatever happened to trying not to be a copy of your father?"

"Contrary to general opinion," he smirked, "I do listen to advice. No, I was not trying to copy Father – instead I was trying to imagine something new. 'Tis not the light of Laurelin that lives herein, but rather my imagination of the Sun, which illuminates Middle-earth outside the domes of Varda, and shines there through the green things that grow. The King himself saw it, though the Valar will suffer us to do so no longer, and it is he I asked for advice for on this. And I shall not conceal that light as the Valar do. Wear it freely; none will think it is a bridal gift, at least for now. Let its light heal the hurts of Tirion, as the words of Celegorm my brother healed you."

Aredhel smiled back. "That I shall do," she said. "Only, is your father planning on making that his policy regarding the Silmarils?"

"They belong to our house by right, and no other. All others who seek to challenge that, be they Vala or Elda, must be punished harshly," replied Curufin, his face dark. "And well do we know the Valar have their designs on them, from the moment Varda offered to hallow them. 'Twas well in hindsight that Galadriel refused a collaboration; Varda would have had her hands on them immediately, if our cousin had anything to say about it!"

Then he smiled. "But I shall hearken unto you! When the Valar have learned their lesson and withdraw their thieving fingers, then I say the time will be ripe to unveil them as our monument to Elven civilization and ingenuity, their unsullied light to shine forever beyond the fences of the Pelóri. For the Silmarils are the promise of independence. In Middle-earth all things will fade eventually, groaning under the remnant evils once unleashed by Melkor; and any departure would have had to be temporary, as we would have to return to the pure light as a cat ever seeking its catnip. Until the day those thrice-enchanted globes of light were wrought. A great blow did Father strike against the Valar!" (2)

"A great blow indeed," mused Aredhel. "But perhaps we should return to your thoughts on the Sun. For truly, hearing what you said, I can think of no better banner for us, who stand for truth regardless of our houses. All we want is freedom in the wide lands of Middle-earth where it shines; and for any of us who want it sincerely to be welcomed, even if they be Maiar themselves like Huan."

"What have you in mind?" asked Curufin in curiosity.

"Give me a piece of paper," she said.

And thus was designed the Winged Sun of the House of Finwë.

---

Nerdanel glanced furtively backward on one of the lesser-used paths across the Pelóri.

I have taken a quiet road, to reach Alqualondë from the north. No one should be here; yet I cannot shake the feeling that someone is following me. Ai, Fëanor, have you fallen that far? To suspect the comings and goings of your own wife, even as you argue for freedom?

She carried on walking, but turned around more and more often as the light of the Trees was obscured behind the mountains.

Is it just me, or are all shadows darker now than they once were?

Yes. There it is again!

"Hail, stranger!" she called out. "If you are a friend, then walk beside me as one, rather than hiding yourself! And if you are not, then farther has Tirion fallen than my worst nightmares have foretold."

The stranger walked forward, and took off her hood – revealing a mass of blonde hair.

Nerdanel stared. "What brings a Vanya this way?"

"No idea, because I'm not one," the stranger responded. "Also, can I put my hood back on now? We're high in the mountains. I'm cold."

"Yes, of course," Nerdanel replied. "Only – you say you are no Vanya. But—"

"How am I blonde, you mean?" said the stranger. "Well, the wonderful thing about the transmission of hair colour is—"

Nerdanel swatted at her hand. "Spare me the details, for I know them all," she replied. "The point stands. If you were a Vanyarin-Noldorin mix, then you'd be in the upper class of Tirion. And thanks to Fëanor being Fëanor, I would know you, because he'd describe you in his insults."

"I was from that class. Though it's good to know that it's not obvious. I have been doing a good job of staying out of politics, if you truly know me not."

Nerdanel stared at her face. "You do look quite a bit like Finwë, but you're not Findis."

"Indeed I am not. I wake up every day thanking the Valar for that. She thanks them more often, but for other reasons."

"Wait, you're Vanyafinwë!" Nerdanel realised in shock.

The stranger sighed. "And here I was enjoying being anonymous."

"But you're a woman!"

"Indeed."

"How—"

"Yes, everybody asks that. The worst part is, I can't even totally hate my name."

"What?"

"Because it's totally in keeping with Father's standards: trying very hard and still creating a disaster. I really do appreciate that Father wanted to name all his children after himself, including his daughters. Findis and Fingolfin were much older, but for all that I felt it from others in court, Father never favoured Finarfin over me because he's male. And I still love him for it."

She sighed. "But the execution could've used some work – and not only because of this problem. Also because like all my siblings' names, it's incredibly unimaginative and sounds far too much like rubbing in Indis' victory over Míriel. Especially because using wë as gender-neutral is pretty Vanyarin - you must have seen Elenwë the wife of Turgon?"

"We spoke once or twice."

"Likewise. And maybe if my name started differently, perhaps it would still have worked. The problem is that I got my dad's name. Growing up as a girl with the name Finwë was certainly an experience."

"You could use your mother-name, surely?"

Her face turned dark. "I don't have one," she muttered. "Apparently, only her sons were worthy of them."

There was a pause.

"Anyway, I prefer Lalwen. Even if I'd never be called that at court, because it just means so much more to me. I gave it to myself, you know. It is the name I whispered into my pillows as a young girl writing her first mathematical paper, and it is the one I used to sign it with trembling hand. I would have all my true friends call me that." She smiled. "Ah, those were the days."

"I would indeed like to speak to my sister-in-law as a friend," remarked Nerdanel.

"Me too," Lalwen said warmly.

"So why come you in secret by this way? Your favourite brother lives in Alqualondë, as son-in-law to its king. The Valar have no reason to be angry with you either. And surely Fëanor has no power over you?"

Lalwen laughed. "Power over me? You know, the craziest thing is, I once thought Fëanor could be the best big brother imaginable."

Nerdanel was lost for words. "What?" she finally managed.

"I'm serious," said Lalwen. "Did you wonder why I never married?"

"I assumed you were simply not interested," said Nerdanel politely, though she was very much wondering where this was all going.

She laughed again. "Would that Indis had taken that answer!" she said. "Alas, she was not too pleased with one of the reasons: my obsession with lore and the arts of the mind. When are you going to do your duty? Well, my siblings all did it many times over, so what's the big deal? But even more. Too much like Fëanor are you, I always heard. We must distinguish ourselves from him. If you stray onto his turf, he will come after you. No, wait, actually that one did come to pass. All right, maybe I'll give her one point out of four then. It's more than she deserves."

Nerdanel considered this. "You were not born yet when Fëanor and I were wedded," she said slowly. "So you did not grow up with him in the palace. Instead you pored over the books of mathematical lore that were your passion, desiring to do nothing else; and as that did not seem like doing your duty as a princess, you were scolded for it, and constructed a fantasy of a big brother Fëanor as a brilliant scholar and craftsman to look up to from afar—"

"I see the rumours that you could understand minds just by watching gestures and faces were true, then!" Lalwen strode forward. "And so I decided to rebel in a slightly more subtle way than Finarfin did, when he ran away from the palace and had a long talk with Eärwen."

Nerdanel started. "That sounds a lot like how Fëanor and I met," she pointed out.

"Yes, how hilarious that the blondes among Indis' children are the most like Fëanor in spirit," Lalwen replied. "It will never not be funny to me that Findis is dark-haired. Anyway, not only did I double down on studying lore, but I also decided to take up the most un-Indis thing possible."

"Which would be?"

"Do you like my shawl?" Lalwen smiled. "I wove it myself. Also, it's one-sided."

Nerdanel gave her an inscrutable look. "The King must've found that fascinating."

"That's certainly a word that can be used to describe his reaction," allowed Lalwen. "So! Armed with an interest in lore, and skill in the arts of his mother, my heart leapt up in joy when I learned that for once Fëanor would return to Tirion."

"And then he disappointed you in person?"

"You have said it," replied Lalwen. "I warned my niece that Fëanor would at most use her and then cast her aside, once he came up with whatever strange reason that appealed to him that everyone descended from Indis was doing evil. Alas for me, that I had to experience that myself! Yet still I cannot but admire his arguments from afar. How naughty of me, I know. I had better keep quiet about it."

She turned. "Well, that is why I am here. Now what brings you to this delightfully desolate part of the Pelóri?"

"I meant to go to Alqualondë—" said Nerdanel, who continued to feel as if Lalwen had not actually explained why she was headed that way at all.

"Well, in that case you're making a very inefficient journey."

"I didn't want Fëanor to notice," Nerdanel explained.

Lalwen stared. "Is that why your first thought was that I was going somewhere in secret?" she said, deeply disturbed. "You might be right after all, then. Tirion has gone crazy, if a wife has reason to fear her husband so."

"But you must be going to Alqualondë too! There is nothing else of interest so far north!"

"Worry about me later," Lalwen said kindly. "First I want to ask what you mean to do there."

"I meant to seek the advice of those who had once petitioned to the Valar."

"Interesting. Not the easiest of missions, I think. Was it your husband or one of your sons who suggested it?"

"Neither."

"Yeah, I figured."

"But I see no other way to save them from themselves."

"I often feel the same way, thinking about the Noldor in general," said Lalwen. "But let us return to your mission. That'll be quite difficult, since the old petitioners are scattered around all over the place, in tiny fishing villages along the coast north of the Calacirya. It'll be hard to gather them up again. Most Teleri who sundered their own families when Olwë left were not particularly prominent, you know. The notables usually made the decision to stay or go as a whole."

"But they were gathered once," said Nerdanel. "Lalwen, you must understand: for me, this is urgent. Aulë already warned me that my husband and children would die if they rebelled! If they are determined to leave Valinor, then all I can do is to make sure it does not happen as a rebellion!"

Lalwen smiled. "Well, then our goals are probably aligned!"

"Wait – you want to leave? Or perhaps, someone you care about does?"

"Remind me, what was the most recent news? Ah yes, Fëanor drew a sword on Fingolfin. Naturally I'm not inclined to take your husband's side. It was a rather naughty thing to do. Still, I thought Father was supposed to be king, and that kingship included passing judgements. If the Valar are now the ones giving the trial, then maybe – just maybe – Fëanor has a point that they have a tendency to overreach. At the very least it seems like I should say to the Valar, hey, maybe this is a bit much? If they're swayed into saying dear me, she's got a point, then maybe they will after all start letting us depart and return freely. Or, if not, at least we might be allowed the situation of the Teleri instructed to remain on the other shore. They govern themselves, but at least Maiar come to help them when needed."

"And do you want that, for yourself?" pressed Nerdanel, who was still feeling that Lalwen was dancing around the point without answering her questions.

"I don't know yet. But I should like to decide it myself, and not have it decided for me." Then Lalwen shrugged. "Of course, even that much will set Findis on edge, and Fingolfin seems to be trying to outdo her in piety at the moment. So I have to skulk in the shadows. But as always, the house of Fëanor is better at it, and I got spotted."

Nerdanel shook her head in amazement. "If you were not Indis' daughter, I think Fëanor might've gotten on very well with you. I had not seen that coming at all."

"I think he would have gotten on even better with Finarfin." Then she grimaced, and continued, "Although I'm not supposed to say why."

"I suspect you were not supposed to come here in the first place," Nerdanel replied.

Lalwen sighed. "Yes, but there's more to it than that," she said, her face shadowed by a grief remembered.

Wait. I've only ever seen that expression on Fëanor's face, when he contemplates Míriel. What is going on?

"Is this about Elwë?" Nerdanel said slowly, remembering the greatest grief that had befallen the Teleri so close to their journey's end.

Lalwen shook her head. "Not only. But I am forbidden to tell the tale, dearly though I wish to," she said. "Perhaps it is because I am the laughing maiden of the house of Finwë. I might give it a levity that suits it ill."

She smiled. "But in any case, I think it would be better if we coordinated our travels. There was just one, after all, of the prominent Telerin families that chose to sunder themselves, some leaving and some going."

"Olwë and Elmo," Nerdanel said in realisation.

Lalwen nodded. "Yes. Elmo and his wife would not be parted from Elwë, and stayed. Their son also would not. But their daughter is on these shores. She it was who gathered all those petitioners, and spoke to Manwë."

"And her son is Galadriel's lover," Nerdanel said, her heart sinking. "Fëanor was already not going to like this; now he will outright hate it."

"Blame it on me dragging you along," Lalwen shrugged. "But it has to be her. Only she will have both the right and the willingness to tell the story."

And they walked along the path in silence – until a further thought came to Nerdanel's head.

"Lalwen, you're a loremaster of mathematics."

"I am," she smiled.

"So surely you've interacted with Caranthir regularly?"

"I have. Still do, actually. Aredhel too; she's brilliant."

"Is he well then?" Nerdanel replied in concern. "Far too little have I heard of my sons recently, save the two youngest."

"I think so," said Lalwen. "Though I'm not exactly a great source. We're not really friends. Respectful of each other's work, that's all."

"And what has he been doing lately?"

She sighed. "Lately he had started to move into much more applied areas, talking at length about how economic organization would have to work without the Valar. At first I thought it was only theoretical – but now I think it was not. So many things he came up with, that I would scarcely have thought of myself. Here the grain sows itself as long as you scatter the tithe of Yavanna; one scarcely would remember what was needed at the shores of Cuiviénen. And yet he checked it against sources who were actually there. Most interesting do I find his work, in truth."

A chill went down Nerdanel's spine. "Then he's serious in departing."

"Give him some credit," said Lalwen mildly. "Celegorm, Caranthir, and Curufin are by themselves keeping Fëanorism within the realm of practicality. Unlike their father, they and their followings actually realise what departure for Middle-earth in defiance of the Valar would really entail, and have started grappling with those problems."

"Aulë has said it. It would entail death."

"That is hardly a new threat against a house like yours, that has lived ever under death's shadow. And whose banners are red. Red as the lórelot, the dream-flower that blooms forever deep within the gardens of Lórien." (4)

Nerdanel stared.

"Surely you have visited Míriel's grave? It's not signposted at all, but I figured out where it must be from Rúmil's texts. Once you get close enough, the storm itself guides you."

Nerdanel gave a shocked look. "But Fëanor—"

"Oh, I'm sure he likes to think that he is the only one who ever came there. Then again, I tried my hand at the craft of needles. There seemed no one better to ask for advice from." Lalwen exhaled.

"It seems to me most unlikely that you got the advice you sought," Nerdanel pointed out.

"True. But I only said ask," Lalwen replied. "I cannot say that I truly understand. But I do not forget that Míriel Þerindë devised this art. It creates a bond among any who try it; and in that loss of its founder, perhaps we can start to understand why Fëanor feels the way he does. If not all his later actions."

"And I cannot help but notice that you have been speaking all this time with the þ."

"Well, in case of Míriel's mother-name, that's just a basic matter of respect. She asked for it, after all," said Lalwen. "As for the rest of the language: I grew up in the risible situation where everyone was refusing to say þ but, probably at the behest of your husband, was still writing in the Tengwar where it formerly was. As a young girl I figured that if that was supposed to be good spelling, then I ought to talk in a way that made it sensible."

"Which no doubt led to explosive relations with Indis."

Lalwen's face grew uncharacteristically angered. "I cannot forgive her, when she deems herself guiltless in all the strife. No. I grew up with her manipulations. Maybe it was not so bad for Findis and Fingolfin because they were her perfect darlings. Maybe they did not see it, because Fëanor's bullying was more of a problem. It could well be. And yet. The Vanyar kept the þ before Indis' marriage to Finwë. She could have made things so much better with Fëanor, just by continuing to speak that way. But no. What did she say: I have joined the people of the Noldor, and I will speak as they do. Knowing full well that not all among the Noldor spoke this way, and that as stepmother she would have to have some kind of maternal relationship with Fëanor."

Nerdanel was utterly shocked. "You speak like my husband."

"Indis never wanted to be a mother," Lalwen spat. "Not to your husband, and not even to her birth children. She wanted to be a pious golden queen, and she got it. Fingolfin and Findis she loves as a perfect prince and princess. She never loved me or Finarfin, for we were not what she wanted. And she always let us know it. No doubt that is how she treated your husband: and although I like very little else about his actions, I will tell you that he had a perfect right to hate her."

Nerdanel stared. "Hate?" she whispered.

"Do you know what she told me when I took up weaving?" said Lalwen, clenching her fists. "I do hope you will not go the way of the founder of that art. She had everything in her hand, and she chose to throw it all away. As if she had any clue, what Míriel must have been going through, and how long she fought for life—"

"But how could you know that? You were not born yet," said Nerdanel, her mind spinning as she heard the same arguments her husband had once told her in the hills around Tirion.

"Someone wishing to cast life away at the first hardship does not wait eighteen years to do so," replied Lalwen.

She exhaled. "Thankfully Father was supportive," she said. "The King evidently has no clue how to manage the tensions between his children, but at least he tried his best. Oh, he has still caused a disaster that I am happy to stay away from, but I don't fully blame him. But I will not call that woman a mother."

"Finarfin—"

"Finarfin will say whatever he deems is best to keep the peace," snapped Lalwen. "He even goes so far as following Fingolfin in his Vanyarin pronunciation. I greatly respect what my younger brother does; but I could not bear doing it myself. So I simply stay away."

Is that why Lalwen refused to marry and have children? That she feared that no one would help or understand, if something went wrong?

And then, in an instant, Lalwen was back to her joking, laughing self again. "Incidentally, you should probably turn this way, if you wish to follow me any further. We are going very far north."

"Then I fear I shall be gone longer than I intended to be. But I suppose you have already agreed to take the blame," said Nerdanel.

"It'll be fine. I don't think Fëanor has fallen far enough to draw a sword on you," joked Lalwen. "And I am hardly ever in Tirion. Come, let us speak of happier things! And have some lembas, if you need any."

"If you hate Indis so much, then where did you get it from?"

"Wheedling it out of Fingolfin is the privilege of sisters," she winked.

---

After a long journey, Nerdanel and Lalwen came to the house of Lillassëa, mother of Celeborn, wife of Gildír, and daughter of Elmo brother of Elwë. It was nowhere near the city, instead standing solitary within the far northern mists of the Oiomúrë. Closest of all the lands of Aman it was to Middle-earth, and it had another name in the tongue of the Falathrim: Haerast it was called, the Far Shore that could occasionally be descried from the Hither Shore of Nevrast.

That was not a problem as far as the Teleri were concerned, for only Olwë and his descendants were deemed as royals. She was simply descended from a junior line – and one that the Teleri did not wish to talk about, having deemed that the parting in Beleriand was till the ending of the world. They had not even waited for Círdan, though he came just soon enough to see the last glimmer of Tol Eressëa in the night.

They knocked on the door, and Lillassëa gestured at them to come in, without speaking a word. She then went to the kitchen, and prepared for her guests drinks and refreshments.

"Are your husband and son not with you?" Nerdanel asked.

Lillassëa shook her head, as Lalwen gestured to Nerdanel in warning.

"Not now," Lalwen whispered in explanation. "If she wants to speak of that, then let her start the tale from the beginning."

Finally they sat at the table, and Lillassëa began to talk.

She looked upward. "I mislike the fact that my petition to Manwë has become a political wedge issue in Tirion upon Túna," said Lillassëa. "For all that most of us hate to talk about it, it was initially the great grief of the Lindar."

"And yet the griefs of the Noldor and Lindar have ever been intertwined. Their royal lines have been connected since the Awakening, whereas the Vanyar stayed aloof, ever proud that they were the first and later the holiest," replied Lalwen.

"The Noldor learned that pride once the host crossed the Anduin. I remember the days before it started, as a young girl in Atyamar. How productive was it of you to forge ahead with the Vanyar, only to have to wait until we arrived and sent boats? It seems that all of you want to cast us aside as inferior, just because we dwell beyond the Pelóri in the light of the lesser firmament of Varda. Well, so do the Valar," Lillassëa said bitterly.

"And do I, who spend my winters neighbouring with you, count as a prideful Noldo?" smiled Lalwen.

Lillassëa smiled back, sipping her tea. "You never have."

"How kind of you."

"Be not too hasty. It's because you look like a prideful Vanya."

Lalwen snorted.

Nerdanel stared at Lalwen. "Why would you live in such a place in winter?"

"Even the Teleri hardly know the art of making ships meant for the ocean. I have no doubt that the ones they already have will do in a pinch, but that's not what they're made for. We were brought here by a floating island, Nerdanel. If the Valar wish to trap us, then they could always permit us to leave – but then say they will not help. I have been working with Lillassëa to discuss what might be done; but it is difficult, when so many among the Teleri have quailed at Manwë's warnings. And I cannot do all of this alone. I fear we may not even have any ocean-going prototypes, and that we will be forced to brave the Grinding Ice."

Nerdanel put a hand over her mouth. "What are you saying?"

"That it would pay to be prepared. I may not exactly be friends with your sons, but Caranthir was most inspiring."

Nerdanel buried her head in her hands. "You are all mad," she said, "all mad."

"The state of the world seems to support that hypothesis, yes. With that said, you did follow me over here in the middle of winter. So maybe we shall have company in our madness."

Lillassëa snorted, as Nerdanel swatted again at Lalwen's hand.

"Is it true then that the royal lines of the Noldor and Teleri are intertwined, beyond the marriage of Finarfin with Eärwen?" asked Nerdanel. "That I had not heard."

"Has it then been forgotten, since his romance with a fair Vanyarin princess, just how much Telerin blood Finwë has in his ancestry? Granted, pretty much all those Telerin relations aren't here, since his parents refused to go on the Journey," Lillassëa said in amusement. "But let's say that his friendship with Elwë the lost didn't come out of nowhere."

She sighed. "There's more to it than that, though. Imagine this, if you will. A second cousin of Elwë – or something like that, I can't really remember the exact relation – marries a half-Noldo by the shores of Cuiviénen, in the days shortly after Oromë finally arrived. His silver-haired daughter invents the craft of needles, and her skill catches the eye of Tata's son."

Nerdanel gasped.

"She goes to Valinor, though she had doubts – because of Finwë's persuasion, and of the magnificent change that came upon him as one of the Ambassadors, riding back upon Nahar. She thinks that her skills will be much enhanced there. And truly they are – right up to the moment when they are not.

"Her parents grieve, and beg for her to return. Perhaps, if she had passed to Mandos immediately, it would have been different. But she waited eighteen whole years, because she wanted so badly to see her beloved son grow up.

"So her memories of life were all of her last, terrible weariness. It would have taken much longer for her to heal anyway; but the door was slammed shut, for the Valar's repeated questioning thrusted those terrors before her again and again. And her parents accepted the judgement. They will not speak their daughter's name anymore, or acknowledge their grandson; as far as they are concerned, they are childless."

Nerdanel shuddered. Is that why Fëanor never spoke of them?

"Dark whispers then come, that the Noldorin royal family has been cursed. But Olwë will not hear of it. In his house the name of Elwë is not spoken; yet still he wished to preserve one memory of his lost brother, by continuing his friendships on his behalf. So it came to pass that when Finarfin arrived distressed in Alqualondë, and found comfort from Eärwen, the Ship-king of the Teleri consented to give the hand of his only daughter in marriage."

She paused, and fixed her gaze on Nerdanel. "Three sons followed in quick succession. Finarfin used Telerin to name them, even as Eärwen used Noldorin. Aráto their father named them all, only distinguishing them as their personalities matured: Findaráto, Angaráto, Ambaráto. Though the last one rather prefers his mother-name Aikanáro.

"But then they had a daughter, and Eärwen prophesied as she was carrying her: she will be the greatest of the Noldor, save Fëanáro only."

Nerdanel sucked in a breath, as Lalwen continued to listen impassively.

"What happened then?" she continued. "I truly admire Finarfin; he is the most caring of husbands."

"And not your own?"

"Fortunately he never had to be put to the test," said Lillassëa. "Finarfin nurses his wife during her illness, even though it ever gets worse and worse. At length he even reconciled with his elder brother, and Anairë began to offer what treatment she could. A great devotee of Estë she is indeed! Her treatment has been more effective than any had imagined – although, alas, not enough to cure her.

"Of course Eärwen clings desperately to life. She has lasted twice as long as Míriel. For well does she know what everyone said about Míriel's choice; and though she now cannot even get out of bed, she will not put her children under a yet greater burden. And it is for that very reason that it is deemed top secret; only the royal house of the Teleri is allowed to speak of it, and only to those who Olwë approves."

"I do not recall receiving such an approval," said Nerdanel.

Lillassëa sighed. "I fear no greater punishment. My exile is enough," she said. "If you care about me, then simply tell no one.

"But let us think about what it meant for the children of Finarfin! His sons remember their mother when she was active and full of life. It was then that they cut their teeth in the court of Alqualondë. Oh, they had high positions there – as high as the ones Findis' sons, Glorfindel, Ecthelion, and Egalmoth, have in Tirion. Finarfin loved it there; it was far less cutthroat politically than Tirion ever was. At least, until there seemed to be ironclad proof that the Noldorin royal line was cursed.

"In those days when Galadriel was yet unborn, your Maglor was already quite a presence in Alqualondë. I am indeed a great admirer of his musical work. And he even taught Finrod and Angrod at the royal conservatory – though I see from your expression that you knew little of how close they once were. Yes, they were friends, before Maedhros had ever met Fingon.

"Yet after that, the shadow of Fëanor would forever lie over them. Most of all, over Galadriel. How do you think it was like for her to grow up? She ever felt the need to prove herself, and be as great as Fëanor, so that her mother would not be deathly ill for nothing. In mind, in spirit, and in body. So much so that even the Valar told her: no more! You are overworking yourself to weariness!

"It did not stop her; on the contrary, it egged her on. She felt that it would only be right for her to suffer as her mother was doing. For it was her spirit that caused it, she said. It took direct intervention from Finarfin and Angrod to get her to slow her self-destruction. And yet her elder brothers also started pushing themselves further, Finrod most of all. For even though their spirits were not the ones that drained their mother out utterly, still they wished to refute the rumours that arose from Fëanor, of the ills that came from losing the mother's part of their nurture. And they wished to ease their sister's burden, and take some of it upon themselves.

"Still worse there was, for the discontent of the greatest of the Noldor was already well-known. No, it would not be enough for the children of the Third House to be as great as their half-uncle. Galadriel would have to prove that she was that, and yet also completely unlike him. And that is why she is so ambitious. Finrod too, for he ever wishes to ease her burden; though Angrod and Aegnor are uncomfortable, and worry that their siblings go too far in their pursuit of greatness.

"The children of Finarfin once kept the þ in Quenya, as their father and Lalwen do. That is no surprise; Telerin keeps that consonant too. But one by one, they went to the court of Tirion, firmly sided with Fingolfin, broke friendship with Maglor, and dropped it. I do not know exactly how your husband begged Galadriel for a tress. Perhaps he was polite; perhaps he was not. But this I can tell you; no matter how he asked it, she would not have said yes. Not even if she had wished."

"But it could have been said!" Nerdanel pleaded. "Truly it should have been, for then there might have been peace and understanding. All I knew is that Maglor said he knew them well, and that they rebuffed him in Tirion. In those days I had convinced Fëanor that even if he could not stand his half-siblings, still his half-nephews and nieces did him no wrong directly. He must have been polite to Galadriel, as he was in those days even to Turgon, and still was until recently to Aredhel. So even I thought that the Third House had initiated hostilities for no reason, and was unfriendly to it in return. This changes so much!"

Lillassëa inclined her head. "And how do you suppose it could have been said, when the death of Míriel spurred Fëanor into his doubt for the Valar? We are the ones who chose Valinor for its safety. That doubt we cannot countenance – for that would be tantamount to admitting that my parents and brother were in the right for remaining on the other shore. And that would be too close to rebellion! So you see, we have to believe that all this comes from the marring. If the First House uses the shadow of death as its rallying cry against the Valar – then the Third House must repress it in denial. And thus we are all ensnared."

Nerdanel turned towards Lalwen. "Did you know this?"

"Yes, because Finarfin told me," said Lalwen. "And because I also stepped in to some extent, when their mother was ill, and when Finarfin had not yet reconciled with Fingolfin. But now they will not have me either. I burned my bridges with Indis in youth; and that makes me too much like Fëanor for Finrod's liking. Only Anairë will they allow to mother them."

Nerdanel turned back to Lillassëa. "Then what is the use of telling me this, if I cannot reveal it?"

"Because even if you cannot and will not reveal it," explained Lillassëa, "the fact that you know it will be something. I am no counsellor; whether it will be profitable to you I cannot say. Whatever you make of it will be your decision. I only ask you to have a care; for like Lalwen, well do I know what it is like to burn bridges forever."

She spoke, and for a moment Nerdanel and Lalwen both saw the shining figures of Lillassëa's parents and brother, at their final parting by the pools of Ivrin.

"We parted with harsh words. I begged them to join Olwë, saying that Middle-earth was self-evidently not safe, and that in Valinor we would have to suffer this grief no more. But they would not forsake Elwë the lost. And I—" she turned away. "I regret what I said then. If the Valar would let me make the voyage and return to safety thereafter, then I would take that chance without a second thought. Yet what ship could bear me back across so wide a Sea? Manwë has said it: if we go without his leave, then we can never return in life."

"That is at least kinder than what Aulë said of my family," replied Nerdanel.

"Well, they want to rebel against the Valar. I do not. It is only overwhelming regret that burdens me," Lillassëa said, her voice quavering. "We were promised safety. And yet, not far away, swords are forged and used to threaten. How can I not think that my parents and brother had the right of it? And my heart tells me that my remaining family is going to be torn in two again."

Nerdanel started.

"My husband and uncle deem me foolish. Perhaps Valinor is now not quite safe, but Middle-earth is even less safe! said Gildír my beloved, before we parted for the last time. I have not seen him since. But I know my son. He knows that Galadriel his lover has ever dreamt of a faraway land where none would judge her, and where she would be at peace within. And there she dreams of teaching and befriending the Dark Elves and Men, ruling them with greater strength and wisdom than she thinks they could muster by themselves."

Lalwen gave her an inscrutable look.

"I also find myself sceptical," said Lillassëa. "But my son's heart has been fired by those ambitions. If she gives in and leaves Aman, then he will go with her."

"Does Manwë know?" Nerdanel urged.

"Probably," said Lillassëa. "He has not forbidden it explicitly. I think he will do as he usually does; wait for them to see of their own accord that this is a terrible idea. But tell me this: do you think it will ever happen for the Third House, fenced in on all sides by griefs? Do you think they will view Valinor as anything but a cage? Can you not see how it would appeal to Galadriel, to order things for once as she sees fit, without having to care for what others think of her? I can – for that is why she fell in love with my son. None but my family, among the upper classes of Alqualondë, would even begin to understand her sorrow. They cannot understand them. It would crush them with grief and regret if they tried – and that has already happened to me."

It suddenly came to Nerdanel's attention that in the bay a lone swan-ship bobbed, under the lights that adorned the dome of Varda.

"And her brothers?" whispered Nerdanel.

"Finrod is in denial," shrugged Lillassëa. "He is trying to live up to his mother-name, and attempts to make himself the perfect Noldo. Only, he lives in Tirion, so he needs to be Indis' idea of the perfect Noldo. His heart is with the Sea, and with dreams of faraway lands; but he tries to smother it, and pretend that he is happy in Valimar attending endless pomps of the Ainur. I understand he is even engaged to a fair Vanyarin maiden. What was her name?"

"Amárië," Lalwen offered.

"Yes, that was it," said Lillassëa. "I think she is one of Ingwë's many great-granddaughters."

"Of course she is," Lalwen interjected. "Nothing else would be fit for a perfect Elf, in Indis' view."

"Joke as you will, but of Amárië I will speak no evil! Vanya though she is, she astonished me; for she said she was willing to set foot outside the Pelóri and visit Alqualondë, for the sake of Finrod who she loved. Yea, she did this even though I saw into her heart, and found reluctance to walk where the Light shone but faintly. It was instead Finrod who told her not to, as he is ever concerned about how others will see him."

Lillassëa sighed. "Well, I think Amárië knows that even if they do marry, she will always have to share Finrod with the sea, much as it is not for her. And she is telling herself that that will be all right. But my heart tells me that it will never come to pass. They are both trying to smother their natures, and eventually they will be able to bear it no longer."

"Angrod chose rather more wisely with Edhellos, I feel," said Lalwen. "His following tends to be a mix of Noldor and Teleri, with ties to both Tirion and Alqualondë. So he and Aegnor stay out of the court of Tirion, which even after what befell Eärwen somehow remains ten times as poisonous as the court of Alqualondë. They are friendly with Fingon and Turgon indeed; but they do not seek to climb further and outshine them."

She took a breath. "But Angrod married so early and suddenly – like both Fëanor and Finarfin. He and Edhellos are restless, and I think they chafe more at living a lie than Finrod does. They come here often, with their young son; and she gave him such a strange mother-name: Orotráþo."

Nerdanel stared.

"It means mountain-climber," Lalwen explained. "In Quenya that stem is no longer productive, so she can claim that it is Telerin even as she calls for her son in Quenya. But is it not obviously a cry for the First House to notice, by finding an excuse to use the þ in at least one word without inviting rebuke? To the Second House that sound is not natural; but Telerin keeps it, and so the children of the Third House must suppress their instincts if they are to drop it. Moreover the name itself worries me; I wonder if Edhellos had a foreboding that we will need to take the path of snow and ice."

Lillassëa sighed. "And dear Aegnor is still less subtle. He insists on using his mother-name, and it even ends in náro. But unlike Angrod, he cannot stand up to Finrod, and he will not come to see me."

"Finarfin and I never trusted Melkor," Lalwen said suddenly. "The position of the Second House is: we do not like what Melkor has done in the past, but the Valar acted justly in restoring his freedom to act after three ages. So also does the Third House think, officially. Well, perhaps Finrod and Galadriel have convinced themselves to believe it. But Finarfin has no trust that this peace will last forever. And when in conversation with Angrod and Aegnor, he privately calls Melkor by another name: the Lying Mouth."

There was a short silence. "Well, there I go again, unofficially saying things to the lady of the First House that I am not supposed to say," joked Lalwen.

"I am not that anymore," said Nerdanel. "Fëanor deems me disloyal. I have hardly talked to my sons for the last thirty years, save only the Ambarussa." She wept. "They are so young. I cannot stand aside as Fëanor prepares to take them on the path to death everlasting."

"Sometimes," said Lillassëa, "I wonder if that is what the Valar will have in mind for me, should my regrets become too overwhelming for me to bear."

Nerdanel gasped. "Is that why your ship is here? And not in the quays of Alqualondë, where all the other swan-ships are?"

Lillassëa stared at the window, and nodded. "It calms me to know I have that option, even if Manwë has said that it will bar me from any return," she said. "Angrod helped me work on it, so that it might actually be able to cross the Sea safely. The others who pleaded by my side were not so lucky. It was deemed best to isolate them from their boats, lest they disappeared one day and drowned in the open sea. Or, at least, to put them under supervision from others living in their little villages, so that they would not think of it. But I was too highborn to gainsay."

"How can you find exile everlasting better than staying in paradise?" Nerdanel pleaded.

"I wonder how the daughter-in-law of Míriel can say that," mused Lillassëa. "Maybe this is a paradise for you. But not for everyone."

Nerdanel shook her head. "Not for me either, while my husband and sons are consumed by madness," she said. "But still, it is by far better than the alternative. Is it not said that the Elves of Middle-earth are becoming scattered and diminished, becoming a rustic folk of hill and dale, because they forsook the Valar?"

Lillassëa smiled radiantly. "And who says this? Ossë still comes to me, and though he is not supposed to, he confided that Círdan's people yet survive and that he talks to them. Still more of them are west of the Blue Mountains, though he is forbidden to send messages. So the Maiar have not wholly abandoned them; word that they do must come from the Lying Mouth. I still have hope, that I shall step on the fair green country of Beleriand once more."

As if in answer, it suddenly seemed as if the mists of Varda were fading; and all of a sudden, they caught a glimpse of the shores of Nevrast on the other side of the Great Sea. And instead of the false stars that adorned the domes of Valmar, they saw rosy Elemmírë, (5) low in the sky; and for a second it seemed that all three of them cast a shadow upon the ground.

"Is that the sunrise?" cried Lalwen in delight.

Lillassëa nodded numbly. "I never thought I would see it again," she whispered. "My husband and I thought it was enough of a grace, that we could at times catch a glimpse of the true stars. Star-watcher he was well-named; though he and his family all came to Valinor, they came with a trace of regret, that now is forced into silence. He will not join me now. But we never saw the rays of the sun, even reflected off one of its planets as we do now. Is it a sign, that we will be given freedom?"

And so they stared into the distance, until the mists returned, and darkness once again overshadowed Oiomúrë.

Lillassëa poured out a glass of white mead. "Now it is time to drink the cup of farewell, as the shadow falls between us," she said. "I apologise for my lack of hospitality! But this is all the lady of the mists can think to give; fair words and fair visions."

"Will you be at the trial, at least?" Nerdanel urged.

Lillassëa shook her head. "I have had my fill of trials. I am a nobody out here, and I like that better. Indeed I think that is likely how the Valar feel about the Lindar in general, since we lagged on the way, and still we dwell as a whole outside the Pelóri on the borders of Araman. So remote am I from the Drawing of the Sword that I will not have to come. No, I think it will be up to you."

"And if the Valar cannot be convinced?" she pleaded.

Lillassëa closed her eyes, and she seemed very far away, her mind deep in memories long past. "Then I will go under the ban. My parents and brother already live under it; it cannot be so bad, as long as I can hear their voices again."

Her voice trembled. "All have quailed before Manwë's words. I am all alone, king's niece though I am. The people who come here I could count on one hand, until Lalwen brought you: Lalwen, Finarfin, Angrod, Edhellos, and young Orodreth. Not even my son dares anymore. I have naught to give you. I have but one little boat, that could only bear two of us across the Sea in utmost desperation. I have neither the knowledge nor the resources to build an ocean-going fleet for your husband."

She got up. "Forgive me for being an abysmal host," she said, before hurriedly disappearing further into her house and closing all the doors behind her.

Lalwen took the hint, and rushed out together with Nerdanel. And in a small storeroom in her house, Lillassëa stared at a drawing she had made of herself with her parents and brother, when she was a child and Radagast was protecting the March in the Vales of Anduin.

"Four hundred years," she wept. "Father, mother, little brother! Can you ever forgive me? Even if you will not, I cannot bear this anymore. I promise. I will come, though my boat is no match for Ulmo's island; and though folly it is against the will of Manwë, I will beg him to help, so that I will see you all soon. Just wait a little longer, so that you may meet your grandson. Do not hold my mistakes against him. You will love him, Father. He is you come again in body and spirit. He—"

Her voice broke on the last words, and she cried herself to sleep.

Chapter Text

Further down the shoreline, beyond the wetlands south of Oiomúrë, stood the tiny village of Glanalondë, northernmost but one of the outposts of the Teleri.

In such places, forgotten by the world, were scattered those who had dared to bring their petitions to Manwë, before being refused. They were not to dwell in Alqualondë anymore, or even sail unsupervised, for Olwë ever remembered that the Valar considered his people the least of the Eldarin kindreds. They had lagged and seceded the most on the way, and many had preferred the wide lands of Middle-earth to the earthly paradise of Aman.

I am doing this for their own good, thought Olwë. I must keep dissuading them from their folly, by removing their opportunity to commit it until they grow wise. Or else the Valar will deem that the Shadow has fallen on us, even as it has on the Noldor. My daughter's suffering I must keep hidden; or else our people will be ripped further apart.

Ai, how many more times must our people be hurt by the words of the Tatyar? First Lenwë at Atyamar, then Gledhennil in Beleriand, then Fëanor in Aman! And every time some among the Nelyar have joined them for friendship and love. (1)

Yet love should not conquer all, when the price is so high. I will have no more eternal partings, not I who said goodbye forever to all my siblings. Only I am with the Valar; they made the wrong choice, and Círdan who longed so much for Valinor has to pay for it. Even Elwë did not use his stay to the fullest. He preferred the twilight of Middle-earth ere he was lost. If not for his friendship with Finwë he would still be here. If not for her love for Finarfin my daughter would still be well.

Too many times I have made the same mistake. No more shall we split up our long-suffering kindred!

Still it was bitter for those affected. With the sole exception of Lillassëa, they were not highborn, and Ossë would not dare to rebel and bring them news. And though they were watched, it scarcely was needed, for the watch they set upon themselves slept not. They sailed under supervision only by the shores of Araman, and sold their catch at the nearest market southward before going back home.

And they told themselves that they were content. Nothing ever changed, and nothing ever happened; and as far as they were concerned, nothing should happen, for wishing otherwise was the shadow reawakening.

Except in the mind of one; for under the cover of darkness, with the Trees hidden behind the Pelóri, Pelindë was creeping silently out of her house.

She had not been one of those exiled to Glanalondë or similar villages in the middle of nowhere for speaking out, for that was long in the past. Instead she had been born there, and from an early age her mind had been fixed on the glitter of metals and their chemical transformations. Yet out of fear that the story of Fëanor would repeat itself, her family harshly quashed her interests, and hid away what scrolls of learning she could get from the market.

But her spirit burned yet hotter in response, and in the Pelóri yet further up the seashore she had built a secret laboratory where she stored all her notes and materials. Often she went there when her family was on long fishing trips, and there made wondrous discovery after discovery under their noses.

That was all very well: but in order to learn the latest discoveries in her field, she had to see the meetings of the loremasters. Generally they were held in Tirion, but every so often they would come to the lands of the Teleri just north of Alqualondë. Now the viewing of those discussions was open to all who would come and pay, and many did, so that she could hide in the crowd if needed. But their schedules did not often match the times when her family went fishing, and so much subterfuge and secrecy was necessary.

"You will cover for me, won't you?" she had whispered to her last brother Rungar. For though he had no more interest in his younger sister's obsessions than his elder brothers had, he at least had the decency to feel that she was being wronged, and strongly believed that she had the right to learn what she chose. So while he would not gainsay his elders, he rapidly became skilled in the making of elaborate excuses in order to hide or direct suspicion away from Pelindë's absences on the days when the loremasters gathered.

"Always," he nodded back.

So she looked out under the stars of Varda, as a cool and frail wind blew through the window: and as all others slept in their fishing-hut she silently tiptoed southward.

She did not dare to walk normally until her village was far out of sight, and her destination loomed into view.

---

The day wore on, and as Rungar explained very convincingly to his elder brothers that his sister was merely ill and that he would stay behind to take care of her, Pelindë pushed her way into the crowd attending the presentation of the loremasters. A few grumbled with irritation as she entered the building in her plain and shabby dress; but she mumbled apology after apology, and at last got her usual answers of "pray don't mention it".

At least they will let me in. I can work with that.

One of the older ones cleared his throat. "Today we have a rather special speaker," he said. "Curufinwë the younger, a prince of the Noldor in Tirion, has taken an interest in the Telerin traditions of work with silver. Considering his mother's interest in the making of realistic images, he will give a lecture on some of the properties of silver and its compounds, ending with a discussion on what obstacles still exist in the path of using them to create a new art form."

Then what I have discovered is truly not known! she thought, just as one of the most strikingly beautiful Elves she had ever seen walked onto the stage.

Long he spoke, while she could barely contain her excitement; and at the end, she clung to the doorway, trying to catch some glimpse of the prince. Yet he was predictably mobbed by the notables of the Telerin research community, and all she got for her trouble was being shoved out of the way.

So she dejectedly went to each further day of the meeting, as Curufin was mobbed again and again, and she could not even make her way in.

I sold what little I owned for a ticket. All I can do is stare at the doors and windows. Fade and die then, my hopes and dreams! How could I have wished beyond my station? He is a prince, and I a lowly fisherman's daughter. He would have no time for—

And then suddenly, of all the people who appeared out of the crowd, it was him.

"You wished to speak to me, didn't you?"

Pelindë was stunned. How did he know?

"I saw the light in your eyes. You were very attentive throughout everyone else's talks; clearly, to you coming here is like a high feast of the Valar coming early." He sneered reflexively at his mention of the Valar.

"The Teleri do not celebrate those feasts—"

Curufin waved her off. "I know, unless they be Finrod or Galadriel," he said. "But your eyes shone even brighter when I was speaking, as if you were bursting to say something, but did not dare to interrupt. And then at the gathering afterwards, though your dress is completely out of place, you kept creeping to the doors and windows and looking at me."

He looked up impatiently. "Well, what is it? I have many responsibilities, and rather little time to get to all of them—"

"Your problem," Pelindë squeaked out. "I have solved it."

Curufin raised an eyebrow.

"The problem with exploiting the sensitivity to light of lunar caustic to capture fair images," she said, gaining confidence. "I have purified the most beautiful yet of the elements from the ashes of the sea; and with pure silver its fumes form a salt that does what you want." (2)

For a long time Curufin stared into the distance, his expression unreadable.

I will accept it if my hero says there is nothing in this. But 'tis a bitter pill to swallow.

Then suddenly he nodded, and said, "Show me."

Pelindë started. "I do not have a real laboratory—"

"Anywhere you found such results is a real laboratory. Well, which school do you work at?"

"None," she stammered. "I am but a fisherman's daughter, who can only work in secret. My lab is in the mountains."

Curufin's eyebrows shot up. Then he clicked his tongue in disgust.

"A shame that the Teleri spit on their best and brightest," he replied. "I almost sympathize with Galadriel now. She is annoying in her own right, but it cannot have been fun to deal with these mediocrities."

He turned. "Well, then! Show me your wonders!"

And as Pelindë walked along her secret path, she could hardly contain her excitement.

Be still, my heart! Let even tree and flower stand silent!

---

Curufin stared at the ghostly image of Pelindë rising from the silvery plate.

She is even greater an artist than my mother.

The wind blew gently along the beach, as the waves went back and forth.

Today I have found someone who I could not only talk to as an equal, but as a superior. She leads my mind down paths I would never have opened on my own. Ah, how can I leave her in this misery and want?

Tirion and Valimar knew no seasons, being in an eternal spring high on the equator. But the land this far north knew true winter. The last leaves had fallen from the trees, and outside the Pelóri, the light of the Two Trees was dim and faint. All he saw in the darkness, even with his elven-sight, were a flock of crows roosting in the leafless branches.

Would that Celegorm were here! What must they be saying? Why come they not to the lands of warmth? Or are they trapped here like my beloved?

The last light of Laurelin disappeared, as he stepped into the shadows.

Beautiful is the world, even when untended by the Valar! What wonders yet blossom on the other shore, where the waves are caressed by the silvery moon?

He took one more look at the plate, and smiled.

I know it as surely and quickly as Father did. Today we shall be wedded.

---

So many hours of joy! So many hours of bliss! Soon they must end; but even if the Valar punish me for my ancestors' sins, still I will thank them, that they allowed this meeting to happen at all. They do have mercy.

Tonight I shall weep. I already do, night after night, when none can see me; but now his beautiful face shall ever be etched in my memory. He will choose someone else, prince that he is; and I shall count myself content, to even have had the chance for this grief—

Curufin thrust a gold ring into her hand; and she stared in disbelief, seeing it catch the light of Laurelin creeping over the mountains.

"May I ask for your hand in marriage?"

Pelindë gasped. "But surely you cannot—"

"But surely I can," said Curufin.

"You are a prince," whispered Pelindë. "Would you choose a mere fisher-maiden, who had to teach herself how to read?"

"Pelindë," replied Curufin, "knowing what I do of your background, and your accomplishments in spite of it, I can safely say that you are the greatest chemical genius in all Eldamar."

"But your relatives—"

"The worthy among them will support me," said Curufin.

"And the others?" she whispered.

Curufin smirked. "My favourite brother has already led by example. Well, no doubt you fear being caught. Follow me on my journey home, then! I will keep you safe from those who would cage you; and I will have your findings communicated to the loremasters, and you shall get all the honours you deserve."

He slipped the ring on Pelindë's finger; and he embraced her, though her face was wet with tears.

---

"Pelindë?"

She turned, hearing the sound of running footsteps. "Rungar?" she smiled. "Thank you for what you did for me. I am only sorry that I never got to say goodbye."

"If I had known, I never would have," Rungar fumed. "How can you go with a Noldo? And a son of Fëanor? Even we in our village know his name, and that it means nothing but trouble. He ever calls everyone but his own people enemies!"

"Perhaps so," she said radiantly. "But not his sons. They will calm him, and he will not gainsay their actions."

"Not now, perhaps, but the time for that will come," Rungar replied. "Turn aside! Your father commands you through me."

"You are too late," said Pelindë. "For I am already carrying Fëanor's first grandchild. Telperimpar the silver-fist his name shall be, and he will outshine all but Fëanor himself. Father has no more claim on me. I am free."

Rungar sighed in frustration. "Not for very long, says my heart. You have only traded one chain for another. Whether or not you follow Fëanor to the bitter end, your doom will be the one that hangs over his house."

Pelindë smiled. "Even death everlasting would trouble me not," she said. "For what I had before was no life worth living; only your help made it at all bearable, though you repent of it now."

Rungar walked away.

"Weep not for me!" Pelindë said warmly, though he was no longer there. "At least this way, even if it all falls in darkness, there will be the memory of joy to brighten it."

Then she gazed at her ring. "I love you," she whispered. "Even if they all speak true, that your house is accursed by the Valar, still I will join it. And until all hope is lost, I will never stop pleading for mercy."

She needed no image of silver for her beloved's visage to rise before her eyes.

O fairest and mightiest of Elvenhome! They call you a copy of your father; in valour, in endurance, in beauty, in understanding, in skill and strength. But your flame is yet subtler and clearer. How joyful would I have been just to look upon you from afar, O light that shines through the silver I caused to blossom! I can hardly believe that I have more in my grasp.

---

Reactions in Tirion to Curufin's marriage were decidedly mixed; for a marriage across such a large class difference was utterly unheard of. Not even Fëanor's choice to marry Nerdanel had been such a case, considering that Mahtan her father had learned directly from Aulë himself.

Admittedly, it did wonders to attract many among the lower classes to Curufin's following. Indeed some of those Teleri who had been forced into exile managed to follow in Pelindë's footsteps; they joined themselves to the Noldor via marriage, to ensure they could not be compelled to return, and so became the most loyal of Curufin's supporters. But there were serious questions bubbling around the upper classes of Tirion, regarding whether Celebrimbor could genuinely be considered a Noldorin prince at all.

Of his brothers, Celegorm and Caranthir were the most supportive. Maglor was also fairly polite, although part of it might have been the opportunity to take more linguistic notes on Telerin dialectology. However, at this point Fëanor had an increasing distrust for the Teleri, and indeed for just about anyone; and Maedhros was busy being his father's right hand.

This outbreak of paranoia might have had something to do with Nerdanel's absence; and since the Ambarussar were quite young and still with their mother, no reaction came from them. Regardless, the upshot was that while Fëanor never criticised Pelindë to her face, he spent an inordinate amount of time asking Curufin if he was sure. This was partly because he worried that Pelindë might not be able to cope with the amount of backstabbing that went on in Tirion's court, and partly because he was utterly convinced of a nonexistent conspiracy by Finarfin to subvert the guilds of loremasters.

But all Fëanor's barbs and objections died in his throat when Celebrimbor was born.

Perhaps it was because even so late in his descent into madness, concern over maternal health was still so essential to Fëanor's character. Celebrimbor would, after all, grow up to be the second-most renowned smith of the Noldor after his grandfather. And Pelindë had been, for a few days, very tired. She had recovered completely indeed, but there would be no more children.

Curufin had, of course, named his son Curufinwë the third. There was never any other option. But though Pelindë was far indeed from the royal line of the Teleri, still the silver hair of Enel and Enelyë occurred ever and anon in their far-flung descendants.

She had named her son truly indeed; for Celebrimbor, as a newborn babe, was holding his silver hair in his fist, running his tiny fingers through it just as Míriel and Celegorm often did.

But it was a slightly different shade of silver from Míriel's. And for that reason, though Galadriel and Celeborn had no love for Fëanor or any of his sons, they could not find it within themselves to dislike Celebrimbor when they first saw him.

He has Mother's hair, thought Galadriel, as Celebrimbor reached out a hand to play with hers.

It probably also helped that Celebrimbor could have been taken for a purely Telerin child, and in particular looked absolutely nothing like Curufin or Fëanor. Otherwise, Galadriel would probably not have been able to resist swatting his hand away.

She met her fiancé's eyes and nodded.

I would dislike any prince of the First House; but Celebrimbor is not one. His mother is not highborn, so he is a Telerin commoner. May that free him from the shadow gathering thickly around his father – and my poor mother!

---

Everything came out at the trial, of course. The power needed to lie to Mandos, or refuse his questioning, was such that only the greatest of the Ainur could muster. Of Incarnates no one, not even Fëanor – although, since he considered himself completely justified in absolutely everything, the thought of doing so did not come to his mind.

So it became known that Melkor was the root behind everything; but so also did it become known that Aredhel insisted that she had not betrayed Celegorm, that the Silver Prince of the First House vouched for her, and that their friendship had indeed turned into a secret courtship. Caranthir flashed Turgon a brilliant grin in the courtroom, as the latter visibly hid his desire to gag.

"To the prince Turkafinwë, the verdict of the Valar is as follows: this is indeed unlawful, and we deem that it is a further sign of the Shadow," Mandos spoke after Fëanor had left.

Celegorm raised an eyebrow. "If I'm not mistaken, Tulkas just left the council to go find him," he said insouciantly. "Hadn't you better follow along, instead of wasting your time contemplating my love life? I had no idea that was part of your job description."

Raucous laughter bubbled from those his following who were present, as well as from those of Curufin and Caranthir: those who had hearkened to the words of Celegorm, and trusted Aredhel's innocence.

Celegorm raised a hand, and they stilled. "Although I can't help but notice a certain favouritism. You do only seem to like legalising unlawful courtships when it seems the result fits in with your plans. Perhaps you might've preferred it if it were the fair lady Galadriel who was seeking to marry a cousin?" (3) He grinned widely, and ran his fingers through his long silver hair.

The laughter came even louder – as did the gasps, as the oldest in the audience perceived that that particular mannerism of his was exactly one of Míriel's.

Mandos quelled it with his gaze. "I have not judged you, because you have at least not exchanged rings formally. Do not test me."

Aredhel stood up beside Celegorm, taking her half-cousin's hand. "And what force do your decrees have, to those who wish to depart your prison-land?" she said mockingly. "Before the finding at Cuiviénen we knew naught of what happened to our spirits upon death. Indeed Melian could not be helpful there, because you had not even decided it yourself. Do you suppose the Elves left behind in Middle-earth care a whit about your self-righteous rulings? How many of them do you hold unjustly imprisoned like Míriel, because their spouses remarried before you decided that it was an abominable part of the marring?"

"I marvel at you, daughter of Fingolfin," said Mandos, "that you would speak against the Statute that allowed your birth!"

"Naturally I do not speak against the marriage of Finwë and Indis," said Aredhel proudly. "I merely think that Míriel should not have been condemned to death everlasting without change of mind, when you said yourself that her will might change with time! You changed your own laws because one of your beloved Vanyar asked. Why could you not have changed it with greater mercy, and allowed Míriel to return when refreshed, with the understanding that she and Finwë would no longer be considered married?"

"Marriage is of the body—" said Lórien.

"And comes from love. Yet what love remains when one spouse, cozened by the new lover thrust upon him on the slopes of Taniquetil, takes actions condemning his companion to death?"

Shocked cries echoed throughout the courtroom, as Celegorm, Caranthir, and Curufin looked at each other in triumph.

Surely Father will never object to my beloved again. For she spoke against Indis herself, Celegorm thought.

"But even that does not end the listing of your crimes," Aredhel continued. "For you hold all the prisoners of Mandos unjustly, in a shadowy half-existence. Even those who did nothing wrong by your arbitrary standards!"

"None have come back from your jail save Melkor, the author of all our woe!" shouted someone from Caranthir's following.

"Well, that is natural. Dark Mandos must be neglecting his real job of releasing them, in favour of sighing over our lord's love life," replied another from Celegorm's.

"Ah, now that I can understand. I would do it too if I could; and yet, unlike the Valar, my duties call," said the first speaker dreamily; and many laughed.

"And how many of the Vanyar do you suppose married a first cousin in the earlier generations? There were only fourteen of them among the First Elves, after all!" Aredhel sneered.

"Be silent!" Mandos finally spoke. "I am the Doomsman, and judgement is mine."

Then Celegorm almost quailed; but he squeezed Aredhel's hand gently, and new strength came into him. "We shall make it easy for you!" he jeered. "Incompetent the Valar have proved at keeping the Enemy in chains where he belongs. We heard so much about a conflict of interest where an Elven father judges his sons; but nothing we have heard about a brother judging his brother Vala. We reject you utterly! Perhaps we shall name you in Oath when you are the evils that we must defend ourselves against. But for this free arrangement between two Elves? Nothing! You shall not have to bless our union, for we shall have it even without your name!"

Then there was pandemonium in the courtroom, as Celegorm and Aredhel walked out hand in hand, and even the gaze of Mandos took long to have its effect.

"And the same advice we give to the princess Írissë—" Mandos tried in vain to continue.

"Call me not that, for I am no longer she!" Aredhel shouted from the door. "That name was given by a father who washed his hands off me and disowned me. I choose the name my lover gave me; and if you will grant Galadriel that courtesy and not I, then shall I know indeed the depths of your bias and favouritism! Justice may not be healing, but this farce is not even justice!"

There was a storm of applause from the supporters of Celegorm, Caranthir, and Curufin. But Fingolfin was also there, having just stated that he would release his brother; and his face was like thunder.

It took all Fingon's efforts to beg his father to restrain himself. But they did not know just how much the three middle sons of Fëanor had to prune down potential followers to attend the trial: for Melkor had framed Aredhel with great skill. He had left it all to circumstantial evidence, without lifting a finger himself. Thus his involvement was not realised, and everyone else in the house of Fëanor considered Aredhel a repeated turncoat.

---

In the face of that particular bit of news, only two other facts about the house of Finwë were remembered.

The first was, of course, the utter hatred that Lalwen bore against Indis. Then again, that had never been a secret. Thankfully, Finarfin was much milder in personality, and his complicated feelings about his mother did not become widely known.

Moreover, much to the relief of Finarfin's children, Lillassëa had been absolutely correct about the Valar forgetting about the Teleri. Thus still not even Indis knew about the sorrow that afflicted the Third House – though whether this was a good thing or not was, in Lalwen's opinion, very much debatable.

But the second was that Finwë had held heretical leanings before he became one of the Ambassadors – and that now, after debating with his son, his doubts had started to reawaken. Moreover, when the verdict came through, Finwë made it clear that he would accompany his eldest son into exile. Indis and Findis were naturally greatly displeased; but he made it clear to them that there was no other option.

"If I do not do this, then my eldest and his following are going to spit on the verdict of the Valar and stay right where they please in Tirion," said Finwë the King. "It was all I could do, to convince Celegorm and Aredhel to wait."

Indis stared in shock and anger. "You dared to say to Írissë's face, that you should have waited—"

"I said nothing of the sort. I convinced them to wait and see if the Valar would relent when the exile was over."

"And yet this mockery of a relationship moved faster than your true one with Mother," replied Findis sarcastically. "How else could that irresponsible thrill-seeker have been convinced by you?"

Finwë ignored his daughter. "And if Fëanor defied the Valar this way, then we would have blood spilled in Tirion indeed, and not only by Fëanor's following. This is the only way I can make the situation better rather than worse. Far too often have I done the latter. I must somehow make amends."

"Then you would side with the son who drew a sword, over the one who almost was murdered?" Indis demanded.

"Of course the drawing of the sword was a step too far, and I will have words with Fëanor over it," Finwë said grimly. "But it is my place to have those words; and those only. I side with those who argue for my right to rule and judge. Not those who would unking me, by holding a trial over my head, and filling it with irrelevancies to the issue at hand!"

"I see the shadow of Míriel has never left your heart," said Indis.

"That I do not deny," said Finwë. "The house remembers its builders, though others may dwell in it thereafter. (4) Even if one of them was impatient."

"The other was faint. And even now Fëanor has the chief share of your thought. When he threatened death against our eldest son."

"Look at his actions, and tell me he does not need it! He has ever feared being replaced, Indis. He has been afraid since the very day the Statute was made. You and Míriel were friends once; yet Mandos keeps her and bars her from any change of mind. Does it not stab at your heart, that your choice condemned her to death everlasting? For it stabs now at mine!"

"What a wonderful way to prove my point, by echoing the words of Írissë."

Finwë ignored her. "The Doomsman said that your descendants would be great and glorious, and that they would preserve the Light of Aman till the End, even when all fair things here had passed away. Who, in Fëanor's shoes, would not fear that the Valar meant to usurp him? And yet 'twas he who reached out to Galadriel for a collaboration, even to do just as Námo said, though she scorned him and forced him to work alone!"

"My only granddaughter was wise, and saw the darkness that lies upon him," replied Indis.

Finwë's heart sank at the insult towards Aredhel. "Now tell me, has Fëanor not been proven right? Valimar and Tirion jeer that Fingolfin would be a much better king than doubting, marred, motherless Fëanor; and deep down, he still believes that the Valar were right about him."

"How strange, when it is me and my siblings who he loudly proclaims should never have existed," scoffed Findis.

"I already told you how I felt, in the days when Míriel had died, and I had not yet met your mother on the slopes of Taniquetil. I found no joy in anything, though I gave all my love to Fëanor; and as the only widower in Aman, I thought myself the living embodiment of the Marring, polluting the hallowed land. And so it was for him, though he gave all his heart and soul to his work."

"If you were so keen on caring for his feelings," replied Indis, "then why did you marry me and wish for more children in the first place?"

"Because I cared for my own feelings as well," said Finwë, "and in you I found a light out of darkness and despair. I regret that I hurt my son so, but nothing else had given me that. And for a while I thought he had found such a light in his own way; but now she has left him, and I cannot leave him alone.

"But I could ask you the same question. If you did not wish to care for Fëanor's feelings, then why did you marry me? You knew you would have had to be a mother to him. Instead you have ever wished to have the father of Nolofinwë Arakáno without the father of Curufinwë Fëanáro. But they are one and the same; so you will either have both, or neither."

"Then neither it shall be, until the Valar restore you to reason," said Indis. She collected Findis, and the two of them left Finwë forever.

---

And so, when the Second House walked through the crowds of Valimar, Fingolfin was horrified to hear the words of the Vanyar.

"Impious wretches!"

"Lending ear to the Shadow!"

"Finwë too should be considered exiled and tainted, just like his eldest! We should recognise only Ñolofinwë Arakáno as Ñoldorin king; yea, Vinya Finwë Ñolofinwë we should call him, the new king better than the old!" (5)

"Let's get out of here and enter Tirion," Fingon whispered to his father, who nodded.

Unfortunately, just as they disappeared into a quiet alley, Indis and Findis caught up with them.

Indis put a hand on Fingolfin's shoulder. "Fear not, my son," she said. "At least not all has gone ill. The Ñoldor will continue to have good spiritual guidance from their new king. Although I am saddened to hear that one of your children is lost to darkness."

Fingolfin was then torn between horror for what Melkor had led him to do, and disgust at his daughter's relationship with Celegorm; and he made no response, instead fuming internally.

"'Do you think Father wished for that, Grandmother?" Fingon said angrily. "We tried to follow your advice, and be as pious as possible. And what did it get us? Melkor played us masterfully, and we unwittingly did exactly as he preached."

"Your father the king is wiser than that. For unlike his daughter, he remained righteous, and followed and respected the Valar!" argued Findis.

"Firstly, he is not the king, and secondly, Melkor made us turn that righteousness into self-righteousness!" Fingon replied heatedly. "He inspired us to use evil wordings that closed hearts rather than opened them; and once those hearts were firmly shut, not only the First House sharpened its swords. How bitter the price we are now paying for it."

"And me too," Turgon said, with a haunted expression as his wife Elenwë stood beside him. "How confidently I spoke to my sister in defense of the pardon of Melkor, only to find that she was right to distrust him from the start! Of course I cannot be happy with the rest of what she has done. Actually, I am trying very hard not to gag. And yet, am I not culpable for driving her toward it? What if I had said something different, and allowed for some free debate?"

"Elenwë!" said Indis. "You are a Vanya. Surely you can guide my grandsons back, through the faith which you keep?"

But she shook her head, taking Turgon's hand in her own. "I cannot, for I do not keep it either."

Indis stared – but Elenwë did not flinch before her gaze. "I have joined the people of the Ñoldor," said Elenwë, "and I shall speak as they do."

Suddenly one could hear a pin drop, as Indis' face grew black with an anger rarely seen in public.

"You are worse than Fëanor," she said venomously to Elenwë. "You mock my words, and with serpent's tongue you twist them against your own people. What kind of a traitorous ingrate are you?"

"Only a loyal wife who stood by her husband," said Elenwë calmly.

Indis and Findis cycled through many colourful expressions before storming off, as Fingon and Turgon stared in shock.

"Mother will remember that," Fingolfin said in concern.

"When I chose your house, I chose all of it," said Elenwë grimly. "I will not give up on my sister-in-law and call her lost to the darkness."

Fingon looked at Elenwë in admiration; and Turgon, unspeaking, put a hand on his wife's shoulder.

Fingolfin, on his part, suddenly felt a great deal of sympathy and understanding for his brother Finarfin.

---

The next day, having reached the house of Fingolfin, they sat down for an official family meeting.

"Where is Mother?" whispered Fingon.

"Not now. When the other houses have gone," said Fingolfin.

So the descendants of Indis filed into the room. There were, of course, a few absences. Findis had refused to attend, though her sons were there; and naturally Indis herself was absent as well. Lalwen was hardly ever in Tirion, and was hurriedly bringing news to her friend Lillassëa. Aredhel was with Celegorm, while the young Argon and Orodreth were away taking their lessons.

But other than that, everyone was here. Even Elenwë and Edhellos, who were only Finwëans by marriage – though not Amárië and Celeborn, who was at that point only betrothed to Finrod and Galadriel respectively. The sons of Findis in particular were throwing unreadable stares in Elenwë's direction.

She met their gaze defiantly. "Are we going to have a problem?"

They looked downward. "We will not abandon our kin," Glorfindel said, speaking for his younger brothers.

"Then let us begin," said Fingolfin. "Firstly: we are not going to say a word about my daughter at this meeting. At a later date, perhaps, when tempers and passions have cooled."

Everyone nodded.

"Secondly: Fingon, you have made a summary of the rest of my house's position. I ask that you begin this discussion by reading it out."

"Certainly, Father," said Fingon. "Our position on the Valar is such: we are disappointed that the decision to pardon Melkor turned out to be so ill-founded. Still his evil deeds have come to light by the questioning of Mandos, and that is something. We wish for speedy progress reports on what the Valar are doing to find and chain him again, in order to reassure those of us with doubts that the millennia-long delay at Cuiviénen will not be repeated. That would be best to heal our shaken trust."

Finarfin, however, did not look much reassured. In fact, he looked rather ill, remembering what had happened the last time a group of Elves had petitioned Manwë to do something he did not particularly want to do.

But most of the others did; and in particular, Turgon nodded in approval. "Very logical," he said. "Though I believe we should also ask for an apology to be issued for the decision to release Melkor in the first place."

"My king—" began Glorfindel.

Elenwë gave him an icy look. "He is not here."

"A stress-induced slip of the tongue, nothing more," Glorfindel quickly backtracked. "My lord Fingolfin, I think this may be unwise. For to do so brings our position too close to that of Fëanor, who holds the Valar to account for imagined evils."

"I was deceived into forging swords. I was ready to use them to confront Celegorm, had not my parents restrained me with wisdom," said Fingon threateningly. "I hardly think that counts as an imagined evil. Unless you mean to say: it is imagined, because it is real also."

"I did not mean to belittle what you went through," said Glorfindel. "I only mean that it may not be best to speak so to the Valar. The Shadow is hard to pin down, and it may lurk in many places."

"Including my head, you mean?" Fingon growled. "If you cannot speak without stress-induced slips of the tongue, then perhaps you are too stressed to speak at all."

Glorfindel made to reply, but Fingolfin shot him an icy glare, and he nodded.

"I do nonetheless believe that Glorfindel's point should be addressed," said Edhellos softly, raising her hand from her position between Finarfin and Angrod, "even if the point I take from him may not be the point he intended. The Valar may indeed take our desire for them to apologise as a sign that the Shadow is still active on us, and refuse to give us a clear answer until it is cleansed."

"We were just sharpening swords," said Fingon incredulously. "Of course it is still active. Naturally we should wait to talk to the Valar until it has lifted a little."

"And yet it will not," urged Edhellos. "Our people are doubting, Fingon. The Valar have finally confirmed that the Second Children of Ilúvatar exist and are coming; but because they remained silent, Melkor could twist rumours into evil. Now Melkor is out and about, and it seems to many that the Valar take judging the actions of the House of Finwë as more urgent than bringing Melkor to ground. Fëanor oft decried the Valar for not intervening immediately at Cuiviénen when Melian came; how can we persuade our people that the First House has not been proven correct, when it claims that the Valar are ever too lenient towards their kindred? We cannot let this Shadow fester; we must extract its grip on us as soon as we can!"

"In that I agree," said Ecthelion, "but I believe that that can only be done by sending those who suffer under it to the Valar for treatment."

"And how do you suppose that will work, when the Shadow means that they doubt the goodwill and effectiveness of the Valar?" Edhellos replied. "Had we better not mediate with them first, by sending them to discuss matters with Elves who remain more faithful? After all, it is not evil merely to doubt."

Finrod and Galadriel promptly focused their glare on their sister-in-law; but Angrod came to his wife's defense. "Of course it cannot be!" he said. "The Valar themselves doubted that they would win against Melkor the first time. It was a mistake. They should, naturally, have trusted that Eru would not let Ambar be corrupted as Carnil was, beyond the possibility for habitation by the Children. But it was a mistake that did not corrupt them."

"Brother, beware! Even with those caveats you go too far," Finrod urged. "Manwë the blessed was made by the Lord of the World to be his vicegerent. If we now see wrong in the Valar's actions, it is because the Shadow is on our hearts, and twists us to interpret them in the worst possible way."

"And surely it must lie heavier on the threatener than the threatened," Galadriel added.

"Hmm. And how little, then, does it lie on the one who was uninvolved?" remarked Elenwë.

Galadriel froze.

"I do not take your meaning," Finrod said politely.

"The Second House trusted in the Valar, and was willing to have converse with Melkor when it seemed that he had been reformed. The Third House said the same, but shunned Melkor all the time – as Fëanor also did, and Maglor, Celegorm, Caranthir, and Curufin. I at least do not forget that part of Maedhros' attempts to keep friendship with my brother-in-law involved behaving somewhat civilly towards Melkor. Whereas Celegorm openly scorned him, as an escaped jailbird singing his way to an unearned freedom.

"You speak now of trusting the Valar; but it seems that you benefited, because you wisely did not. I wonder who warned you, and what you are up to. As I wonder why you are so eager to silence Angrod and Edhellos, even as they seem to be the sanest of all of you. What did the Third House learn and keep silent about?"

"Only the same thing everybody else did. In ancient times Manwë publicly warned anyone who would hearken, that we should beware if we ever spoke with Melkor," Finrod said. (6)

"Well know I that warning," Elenwë replied sarcastically. "You did not start out being an extremely pious Vanya, and nothing would ever make you pure enough for my parents. Do you even know who I am? My line is higher still than that of Indis', for my father's mother was the first daughter of Ingwë to be born in Aman. I danced on the unfading grass of Ezellohar, as my feet were wet by the dews of Telperion and the rains of Laurelin. There I whirled lightly like a snowdrop while the air-spirits of Manwë gave kisses. (7) For crying out loud, even Tirion is considered highly disreputable in those circles. And yet even I failed to take that warning seriously, because anyone with any common sense assumed as I did: that its purpose had been fulfilled, and that it ceased to apply the moment Manwë released Melkor!"

"But not everyone proceeded to doubt the Valar because of it," replied Galadriel. "I never did. It was only Fëanor and his house that did so."

"Ah, yes. The maiden with a radiant garland, to whom Fëanor begged tenderly and humbly for a collaboration. He may have hated all his half-siblings without further consideration, but back then he was even willing to speak politely to my husband-to-be, and gave him advice on his projects," mocked Elenwë. "Still you refused instantly and, dare I say it, quite rudely. Do you just oppose anything Fëanor does without thinking? Then I have a brilliant idea for you. Fëanor loves the sound of his own voice. So go ahead and turn mute."

Galadriel gave Elenwë a stare as sharp as daggers.

"You go too far by insulting my sister," warned Finrod.

Finarfin sighed. "Can we at least agree on one thing: that Melkor has ever sought to divide us, and even now has not ceased to do so?"

Elenwë looked toward Finarfin, meeting his gaze even as she towered over everyone in the room save Turgon. "This only I wished to say: that just because Fëanor says something does not make it wrong by default," she replied. "It is a lesson we should all have learned earlier, to fight logic with logic, and not with dogma."

Finarfin nodded. "I will answer Elenwë's concerns," he said. "Firstly: yes, Melkor came to me. Just as he came to Fingolfin, to Findis, to their sons, and to my children."

"And not to Lalwen?" Aegnor interjected.

"Well, she was focused on some mathematical problem I don't understand. So apparently, she didn't even look up, and assumed it was her housekeeper. And she said: not now, please, I'm busy."

Everyone gave amused looks.

"I understand she only realised who it was as he left. Then she had a good laugh telling me the story."

"Peradventure we should all become absent-minded loremasters," joked Fingon.

"I sometimes thought the same thing," Finarfin grimaced. "Anyway. He came to me, and said: are you not wasting your talents singing fecklessly by the sea? Greatness lies not in those who reck neither of seasons nor times. Tirion is the beating heart of Elvenhome, where the world moves to greater things; even Maglor has returned to the Ñoldor, minstrel though he is. And if you are not there, you will be swept aside by the waves. Already you have not been named a high prince, while Fëanor and Fingolfin have; but should not the three sons of Finwë have the same rights?"

Fingon and Turgon stared in shock, while Elenwë's expression remained grim.

"I sent him away with harsh words, telling him that the Teleri did not deserve his veiled insults, and that I would not abandon the kindred of my wife. But I confess that what he said did gnaw at me, though I forced those thoughts down, and they trouble me no more."

"I can ask for that to be corrected," said Fingolfin, who was looking rather ill. "Father has not quite left the city yet; I am sure he will agree to name you high prince as well. Of the three of us, you have acted the most like one."

"You are very kind," said Finarfin, "but seeing what princedom in Tirion entails, perhaps it is better not to have it! So I shall decline. In any case, I warned my children. I told them my belief that Melkor was not as he seemed. Angrod and Aegnor wrote back that their brief encounters with him led them to agree, and that they would heed my warning. But at that time Fëanor was the vanguard in speaking against the Valar; and Finrod and Galadriel said, Father, this is indeed worrying; but the Elder King released his brother. And those who defend authority against rebellion must not themselves rebel." (8)

"Yet they refused to talk to him anyway," Elenwë pointed out.

"That is no different from what Ulmo, Tulkas, and Yavanna did," replied Finrod.

"You seem eager to prove that Melkor had no influence on you. I wonder if you have truly considered what it would mean. For then you would seem to be overly ambitious by your own nature," said Elenwë.

"And what does that make you?" demanded Galadriel. "You are not of Finwë's line. You married into it. By your own words, are you not also overambitious?"

Elenwë laughed. "Does love exist without the thought of social and political gain, for you? You strike as far from the truth as you possibly could. I already told you where I lie in the line of Ingwë Ingweron. To my parents, Turgon was already one of my more disreputable second cousins, just for the sin of living in Tirion. Not the most disreputable, I admit, but I'm not going to name names."

Galadriel restrained herself from replying harshly, thinking of her own relationship with Celeborn.

He knows my shame. I am one of his most disreputable second cousins.

There was a lull in the conversation.

Maybe I cannot convince the Valar to take our concerns seriously, thought Finarfin. Even Elmo's daughter could not. They will simply take me to be supporting Fëanor, so polarised we are.

But that is exactly a problem I can try to solve!

"If you will take my advice, brother; do not call yourself king!" Finarfin said in a flash of inspiration. "What were best were you a prince of the Vanyar will inflame tensions among the Ñoldor. For twelve years will the First House go into exile. But not them alone!"

"That much is obvious," said Fingolfin darkly. "Our father is, after all, going with him. He has always overcompensated for the wrongs he thinks he did Fëanor by being overindulgent of him."

"And that kind of talk," replied Finarfin, "is precisely how we got to this stage."

"He drew a sword on me," Fingolfin hissed.

"And you went to the council in secret. That was far from the first time you told on him to our father in secret – although accusing him of treason was a new low from you," Finarfin added, his gaze firmly disappointed.

"And would you have said that if Fëanor had pushed his sword forward a bit further, and my lifeblood spurted out?" Fingolfin tensed. "Whose side are you on?"

"The side that wishes to point out that both his brothers have been forgetting that they are brothers," Finarfin replied.

"And I don't suppose you have contacted Fëanor on this? Let me know when you're planning to try, so I can plan your funeral in advance."

"You may recall that I ran away from the palace in youth," said Finarfin mildly. "I don't try and talk to people when I think they are impervious to reason. The fact that I'm talking to you is because you are currently my more reasonable brother, and I judge that nowadays you will at least listen."

"What mean you by currently?" Fingolfin demanded.

"I mean just that. There were actually a few occasions, long past, when Fëanor was actually more willing to listen to me than you were."

"Probably because he hadn't recognised you," interjected Fingolfin.

A few minutes of laughter followed; but Finarfin was among those who stayed quiet.

It was more than that, Finarfin thought. Maglor lived in Alqualondë and taught music to my two eldest sons. Fëanor was never there himself, but Maglor invited us to visit him when he was nearby on his journeys.

Fëanor's issues were about being replaced, and being thought a marred and inadequate heir. He hated Findis and Fingolfin, for they had Indis' love. He hated Lalwen, for she went onto his turf. But neither applied to me. We were never friends; but Fëanor was not outright rude to me, as he was to every other child of Indis.

He thought back to the day of Galadriel's birth. It should have been one of the happiest days of his life. And yet it was also the day when Eärwen had taken ill and never recovered.

That day mended my relationship with Fingolfin. For Anairë is a master healer; without her, Eärwen would probably be long gone like Míriel.

I had to seek Fingolfin. Olwë told me not to seek Finwë or Fëanor. So did Fingolfin. So did everyone.

We were only barely polite. Maybe he would have told me I deserved it for who my mother was.

Maybe he would not have.

Should I have told Fëanor?

The laughter died down.

Well, no use thinking about what ifs. I have to continue.

"I have now seen Celegorm, Caranthir, and Curufin speak," said Finarfin. "They are princes unlike anything we are used to, and their new style of argument has been most effective. Yea, they have carried over many to their side that Fëanor could not do so himself. A daughter of the Second House."

The Fingolfinians winced at the mention of Aredhel.

"And a daughter of the Teleri. If even the poorest of them by the northern wastes have been swayed, then how far must the Fëanorians have infiltrated Alqualondë?"

"Not far!" Galadriel urged. "Neither Celeborn nor I have any love for Fëanor or his sons. We would know if they came, and urge them off our turf!"

"And yet ever since Pelindë married Curufin, the number of Teleri in his following has simply exploded. No longer is it true that a Teler seeking to do business with the Noldor would automatically seek you or Finrod: it seems that Curufin's arguments do not even require much of his physical presence to spread.

"And now we even have a Maia of Oromë going to Fëanor's side. They all deem themselves his loyalists. Fëanor may be too unstable to see it, and Maedhros needs to toe too close to his father's line to allow it; but the following of Celegorm is swelling alarmingly."

"Even one of the Ainur has been persuaded?" Galadriel said in shock.

"Ask me not how, daughter, but clearly it happened," said Finarfin. "Now they will be isolated from us for twelve years. Twelve years, with nothing but their own arguments to convince them further and further! And here some of us have started saying that Fingolfin is the true king, just because Finwë was willing to discuss things privately with Fëanor, and was taken by anti-Valarin ideas before he was an ambassador! What will happen when the First House returns? Will we ever be one people again?"

No one really had an answer to that; and Fingon, Angrod, Edhellos, and Aegnor looked particularly downcast.

"I shall not call myself King indeed," said Fingolfin slowly. "Not while the true King lives."

Fingon, Turgon, and Elenwë looked in surprised joy.

"But what the people will say worries me. I cannot have my own following saying things like that. Neither can I assign them to Fingon, for then they would start calling him heir to the throne."

"I can control them, Father," said Turgon.

Fingolfin raised an eyebrow. "Can you?"

"Elenwë can control them," Turgon amended. "She did just now with Glorfindel."

"They will make a choice," said Elenwë forcefully. "If they wish to be Vanyar – fine, then they can stay in Valimar, wash their hands off us, and recognise whoever they wish as king. Not that those in Tirion need to care. But if they wish to live in Tirion, then their duty will be to keep the peace. Even if they be your sister or mother."

Fingolfin stared at Glorfindel, who looked ready to argue with him.

"I and my brothers will swear to follow Turgon," Glorfindel finally said, though he was older than both Turgon and Elenwë. "But because there are so many of us who might wish to do so, I ask that we be permitted to keep our individual houses as subsets of Turgon's following."

"I only care that you be under the command of Turgon and Elenwë, and follow them in all things. Or if not, to return to Valimar and have nothing more to do with the Ñoldor. Either is fine; in any case I do not care how you choose to organise yourselves beyond that."

Glorfindel nodded.

"Now go, with your lord. This is directly because you called me king. Well, if I am king, then my command implies that you are no longer a prince of the first rank, being sworn to one of them yourselves; which means that you no longer have an automatic right to be here. And if I am only a regent, then it was treason to call me king, that I could report to Finwë the true King ere he leaves."

"Of course," said Fingon, "we could deem that the matter was only settled when Father just said that he will not consider himself King. And so you have then not yet spoken treason. May it remain so."

"Elenwë, you should stay. I want to hear from Turgon how much they follow him when they don't have his Vanyarin wife right beside him," said Fingolfin.

Turgon motioned to his cousins, and they followed him unspeaking.

Then Fingolfin turned to Finarfin. "Now, brother; can you control your own following?"

"I will, as always, do my best."

"With the greatest respect, Uncle," said Fingon, "if you have always been doing your best, then I fear it may not be enough. For you said that half of your children did not listen to you."

"And yet Aredhel has not been listening very much to your father either," Finrod cut in before his father could respond.

"She can actually make the argument that she follows Celegorm. That is not open to you, unless there is some secret courtship I am not aware of," Elenwë replied. "Who's the lucky one? I'd say it was Maglor, except that you famously went one day from being his devoted student-turned-friend to not being able to stand the sight of him. Lovers' tiff?"

"Your bizarre fantasies do not seem particularly on-topic to our conversation," said Finrod. But Fingon failed to entirely conceal his blushing, and Angrod and Edhellos turned white as a sheet.

"I am doing you a favour, really. At least they do a better job explaining your actions without them turning into evidence of overweening ambition," Elenwë replied.

Then she turned to Fingon. "So! If you mean will the children of Finarfin not call Fingolfin king, then I think they certainly will," Elenwë interjected sarcastically. "First, of course, his eldest and youngest will complain that Fingolfin's piety is not as much as they want. Although no matter what, it still won't scratch the surface of what some of my former people have gotten to. But then they will abruptly realise that if Fingolfin is only a prince, then they have a lot more leverage than if he is a king."

"I believe you continue to misread the situation," said Finrod mildly. "Besides, Father has already pointed out that Melkor is dividing us."

"Yes, I see the trap you are digging," said Elenwë. "Any possible asking of questions is, once again, because we are all under the Shadow. For a house that stands against Fëanor at every opportunity, you surely are remarkably talented at driving people into his arms. You cannot have it both ways. If the Shadow is on both me and Fëanor, then it is also on you, and you should stop being so high and mighty. And if it is only on Fëanor, then you have no grounds to ignore my questions."

"Then what would you have us do?" said Galadriel agitatedly.

Elenwë looked at her disdainfully. "I ask that you all reflect on why the Ñoldor are doubting," she said. "Apparently, only I and Edhellos can do that. Which is saying something, because we're the only ones here with no Ñoldorin ancestors at all. But perhaps it is as has often been said; a friend may see things plainly, that to their friend remains hidden.

"Let us consider the situation. Manwë pardoned Melkor, and Melkor promptly spat on that pardon and went back to his old ways. Now no one can find Melkor, and the Valar don't appear to be taking the threat from him all that seriously, since there are no plans for watching the southern border."

Aegnor stared. "There are not?"

Elenwë nodded.

"That is indeed concerning," said Aegnor.

"Thank you. It should be so for everyone, except those who willfully choose not to see," replied Elenwë. "The main issue at stake is that the Ñoldor cannot bring themselves to trust the Valar. First and foremost there is the matter that we have a long history of such distrust; it took Finwë outright visiting the bliss of Valinor as an ambassador for him to be convinced, and even then he was rather choosing against staying than choosing in favour of leaving. But second, and no less important, is the matter that the reasoning for Manwë's pardon seems woefully inadequate to many of our people."

"Because they do not see the full truth—" said Galadriel.

"And yet you must consider how things look from the other person's perspective. Your sister-in-law has said that your own people are doubting; should not a good ruler ask why? What they know and what you know may differ. If someone has a different view from yours, then true wisdom would not be to pat yourself on the back and deem yourself much wiser, but to understand why that is so.

"Let us go through what I know. Vanya that I am, I probably know more of the facts on this case than anyone else here; though as I said, whether that makes me the wisest interpreter of them remains to be seen! Manwë keeps his thoughts open, for there is of course nothing dangerous in them. But Melkor keeps his closed – as is his right, let us not forget. The fundamental problem is that Manwë then had nothing to go on but Melkor's word. So he considered: if Melkor would truly give his aid, then the healing of the world that would result would be great indeed. Moreover Manwë's role was to bring all his subjects to Eru's allegiance, and he judged that enslaving or denying Melkor from action forever was something that required Eru's direct authority, that he was unwilling to seek."

Then she stared at Finrod. "Of course there is the point that Eru himself chastised Manwë for not acting earlier to reembody dead Elves. Of whom there are now many, none of whom have returned from Mandos. So many of the Ñoldor argue that Manwë should have learned his lesson, and besought Eru to grant him the right to imprison Melkor forever. Neither, does it seem to many of the Ñoldor, did Manwë consider how unlikely it was that Melkor had truly repented."

"In that I would say they erred," said Finrod, "for they should also have asked how much Manwë could have hoped for, regarding the healing of Arda."

"Calculating the expectation then, are you? I see you are not above using concepts which the Fëanorians introduce. Yes, I read Caranthir's papers."

Finrod gaped.

"I joined the Ñoldor as a whole, not just some of them," Elenwë replied disdainfully. "I realise many of us have little use for the written word, since the memories of the Eldar are as clear as spring water. But Fëanor and those who support him have ever been fixated on loss, for entirely obvious reasons; and I studied their culture as well. As evidently you have, though you hate to admit it. Do carry on, incidentally; perhaps healing may be found this way."

Finrod composed himself. "Perhaps the probability that Melkor had truly repented was indeed low. Yet the result would be so good, that it would outweigh all the lesser evils that would occur otherwise. See here; we may be at each other's throats, but Melkor was exposed without any wastelands having been created."

"Having yet been created. We have not tasted to the dregs the cup of woe he has mixed for us; and until he is caught and made to answer for his deeds, we had better not assume that we will not have more forced down our throats."

"And what if holding Melkor in jail, with no hope of eventual release, caused a ruinous outburst? Mightier than all the Valar combined was he created, and great destruction would have come to us all the same!"

Elenwë stared. "But then, at the very least, we would know where he was. Whereas now we are like a hunted animal, wounded with many wounds. We know the fatal blow approaches; but neither when nor whence. Is that really better?"

Finrod met her gaze. "Is that not what all existence entails?" he questioned. "The One alone has no limits; all else is bounded. So it is that the world must end one day, and Vala, Maia, and Elda alike are bound to it. Beyond then we have neither certainty, nor knowledge, nor hope."

"In the future, so far as we foresee, we may be bound to it," said Elenwë. "But not in the past. I certainly do not remember anything from before my birth. Nay, our spirits must be intrusions upon Eä from outside, just as Eru sent the Valar into Eä: they are now bound to Eä, but they were once outside it. And if we and they can enter from without, so must we be able to exit, if only at the End. Then we shall not be left scorned by Him.

"Neither am I convinced by your argument that Eä must logically be bounded in space or time. Yet none of this is actually the point. For as ever, you seek to change the topic through subtle manipulations; at least I only do so through jokes. We were speaking of the menace of Melkor; now you speak of the End of Days. Both would be catastrophes; but one is rather less remote than the other."

"It is not clear to me that the long delay makes it a lesser burden."

"Neither is it to me. But a threat that is nearer is also one that is more actionable."

"What action have you in mind, then?" interjected Fingolfin.

She looked at Fingolfin. "I judge that we should reassure the Ñoldor by doing precisely what the Valar are not doing. Let us set a watch on the borders of our cities by ourselves, such that nothing can pass our leaguer."

"The Valar will come asking questions," said Finrod.

"How wonderful that would be! Perhaps it will stir them to action, just like finding us by Cuiviénen did. We have a right to be worried," said Elenwë.

Finarfin did not reply; he merely looked sad.

So this is how it will be, then. The houses will still be divided in all ways, save one: in rebellion against the Valar.

Then she turned to the Finarfinians. "But what we need from the Third House is one who will be a counterweight against those who wish to test the limits of our patience. And from what I have heard, there are a few in the Third House who can give Finarfin aid. Edhellos, can you help?"

She stared in shock. "You want Angrod and I to take charge? And not Finrod?"

"I think any initiative for reconciliation would be a lot less believable if it came from Finrod," smiled Elenwë. "You are closer to the currents of discontent among the Ñoldor – those who think Fëanor had good points, while still not wishing to wholeheartedly join him or his sons. Surely you can discuss things with them, to see what drove them to their current point of view, and what stops them from taking the final step to follow Celegorm and his brothers. How can we mend the chasms between our people if we will not talk to the First House? After all, it is their lord who was constrained to leave Tirion against his will."

Edhellos stared, her face white; and she turned to Angrod, who looked equally stricken.

But suddenly, all the fear drained out of her face, and she smiled serenely and resolutely. "I see what you mean, and I shall do it," she said. "Thank you for giving me this trust. I shall not forget it."

"And neither shall I," said Angrod, as Aegnor nodded silently beside him. But Finrod and Galadriel's faces were unreadable, and Aegnor was worried, glancing back and forth between Finrod and Angrod.

"And will your house do anything?" asked Finrod.

Elenwë raised an eyebrow. "Of course we will, for our greatest desire is to have our sister beside us as a friend again. Would you not reach out if it were your own?" she smiled insouciantly.

"Please stop," said Finarfin tiredly to both of them. "We had just reached an agreement, too. And I would seek to plan it out with my family."

"And I trust that it will be done well," said Fingolfin. "Then I shall not impose on you any longer."

And so the children of Finarfin filed out after their father.

"Perhaps I can trust your brother, his younger sons, and his daughter-in-law," said Elenwë to Fingolfin, after Finarfin had left. "They have more or less been minding their own business and staying out of the spotlight. I do not say it to mock; I sincerely admire it, as in this family it must be wisdom. But I have seen what kind of ambitious creatures Finrod and Galadriel are. I will not have people call you king and undermine your father; but I will also not have them undermine you in your rightful role as regent, until the king returns," said Elenwë.

Fingolfin sighed. "My son has always allowed your free judgement, even when the two of you disagreed. But he has never shared, nor understood, your peculiar dislike of Finrod," he said. "I will of course be prepared, but I really think your thoughts are being coloured by your personal opinions. Indis never liked Finarfin: surely if she is now displeased with me, she would be yet more displeased with his line?"

"I will not gainsay your decision," said Elenwë. "You are the head of our house. If you wish me to be more cordial towards Finrod, then I shall; but I do not have to like or trust him in my heart."

"That will be a matter to discuss when Turgon is with us again," said Fingolfin. "But now the matter of Aredhel will need to be considered."

Elenwë stared. "So you meant to give Findis' children and the Finarfinians the impression that it had already been decided, when it had not? How clever of you, lord Fingolfin."

"This also seems like something Turgon should have a strong opinion about," Fingon objected.

"He told me that upon reflection, he could not possibly be objective on this issue, because his disgust was too strong. So he said that he would go along, however reluctantly, with whatever his wife made of it. He will never agree in his own heart; but he trusts Elenwë absolutely and unconditionally. If she is convinced, then he will stand by her."

Then Fingon nearly wept, thinking of that unconditional trust that had once existed between him and Maedhros, in days long past. But Fingolfin continued speaking, and he was brought back to the present. "Whereas you decided that you could in fact craft a case in your sister's favour."

Fingon blushed slightly.

"And what of Lady Anairë?" asked Elenwë.

"Not now," Fingolfin said. "Let us finish this first. Fingon, perhaps you would like to present your opinion to Elenwë?"

"The laws of Valinor forbid marriage in closer kinship than second cousins, and mentions first cousins as a case that is absolutely prohibited. On the other hand, as Fëanor never tires to point out, he and Father are only half-brothers; and those laws were written before the Statute of Finwë and Míriel," said Fingon.

"Surely that does not change anything," Elenwë pointed out. "First cousins once removed are just as related as half-first cousins, and that degree of kinship is already prohibited from marriage."

"But not explicitly. And it may be argued, if needed, that the laws were written without the possibility of step-relations in mind. Then they would require a clarification, and the precise degrees of prohibition may be reevaluated," said Fingon.

"I hope you have some other reason to argue for revisions to the law," said Elenwë, "because as it stands, this isn't convincing in the slightest."

"Because, as Uncle Finarfin just noted, Father and Fëanor have hardly been acting like brothers!" said Fingon heatedly. "Instead we are standing at the precipice, acting more like enemies than family. I broke off all friendship with Maedhros; my sister was the only one of us wise enough to realise that there had to be a way for us to talk. A marriage like this might be unprecedented, but both parties are willing; and if Celegorm and Aredhel had a child, then they would be a grandchild to both our houses!"

Fingolfin and Elenwë gave him inscrutable looks.

Fingon bravely continued. "Perhaps that could result in peace between us; and we are in sufficiently dire straits that anything, no matter how outlandish it may seem, ought to be considered."

"If you mean to petition so to the Valar," Elenwë pointed out, "then they will certainly consider it to be evidence that the Shadow is on us."

"Not right now, of course," said Fingon. "But later, when we have succeeded in calming things down by our own wisdom. I judge that both you and Edhellos were right. She was right, in the sense that shouting incessantly to respect the Valar, without understanding why the other side could not trust them, was futile. In that respect we should handle it through our own people, and do so as soon as possible. But you are also right, in the sense that we will have to talk to the Valar as well, and it would be best to ask for concessions only once we have demonstrated that our own measures have had positive effects. I simply argue that this should be one of the concessions we ask for, to bolster the others."

"Ah, yes. The important issues of establishing a watch on the borders, redoubling efforts to catch Melkor, and allowing half-cousins to marry."

Fingon blushed.

Elenwë sighed. "Even before the coming of Oromë, Melian warned and advised us against such marriages, though she did not ban them by force. Yes, Aredhel is right that we did them by the shores of Cuiviénen, when we knew not better. That does not mean we should continue that practice now.

"And you still see our sister only as our sister, Fingon. Yes, she is and will always be that, and I love her too. But her love for the First House is not going to bring them closer to us. For she deems herself disowned, and with some justice; and she has abjured us in response. Yes, I think she is hurting terribly inside as well, but the fact remains that her lack of trust for us is completely understandable."

Fingolfin narrowed his eyes, as Fingon gave his sister-in-law a sad look.

"So it is she who has become closer to them, while they have not budged an inch; indeed, she is now one of the most radical of the Fëanorians. Aredhel and Celegorm, by their insistence, place us in a terribly difficult position. They were already fully intending to rebel, and go on the warpath against the Valar, until King Finwë himself talked them down. But well I know that they will not turn aside in their hearts, and from the trial 'tis clear that to ask the Valar is to court refusal. I do not think they agreed to wait because they care a whit for what the Valar will say. Instead I believe they agreed to wait, because then they would appear to be the reasonable parties, and the Valar intransigent. Then yet more of the Ñoldor would gather to their views."

"And then they would swear allegiance to the House of Fëanor, and forsake us," said Fingolfin darkly.

"I did not say that," came Elenwë's sharp voice. "I said they would share Fëanorian views on the Valar. Which does not necessarily imply that they would forsake us. For despite all wisdom being against it, I say yea! Aredhel seems to be happy about this, and I want her free choice to be respected. Of course I would prefer it greatly if she changed her mind; but if she will not, then I will stand by Fingon, and support a petition. Preferably before these twelve years have passed."

Fingolfin stared in shock, even as Fingon his eldest son stared in wonder.

"Truly?" Fingon whispered.

"The Ñoldor are not sundered forever like the Teleri are," said Elenwë. "They are no doubt full of bitterness over their final parting; but it will not matter overmuch, for Olwë and Elmo are sundered by the Sea. They can think what they will, and it will remain but thoughts on the wind. So will it be if we anger the Vanyar: well, once upon a time we lived together, and then they all removed themselves to Valimar. They can continue to turn up their noses at us; not that we need to care."

"Elenwë, you are a Vanya," Fingon pointed out.

She narrowed her eyes. "Not anymore, I'm not."

Then she continued. "Now the Ñoldor are only sundered for twelve years. As Finarfin your uncle implied: that is more than enough for hatreds to fester. But then what? Finarfin did not say, but anyone with eyes can see what will come. Fëanor will return to the city, and he and his supporters will ask what the lord Fingolfin is doing playing at being king. High King Finwë may think that he has averted blood being spilled in Eldamar. And he has – for this year. But all he has done is play for time. I foresee that there will be blood spilled in Aman, and perhaps even before the twelve years are over; and that the Ñoldor will fight each other with swords. We need a permanent solution, so that we do not label ourselves as being the Ñoldor of Fëanáro and the Ñoldor of Arakáno. And, if your ambitious cousin has something to say about it, also the Ñoldor of Ingoldo."

"The elder or the younger?" asked Fingon.

"The elder on paper, but the younger in truth," Elenwë said grimly. "We need to forget all of that and simply be the Ñoldor of Finwë!"

Fingolfin and Fingon stared.

"Yes, I said Finwë, for all that he went with the House of Fëanor. As you said: he it was who spoke before the Quendi and argued that they should accept the guesting of the Powers. And now he repents of it, for as Fëanor said: a permanent sojourn, without possibility to return home, is not a guesting. He is our king, and that you have acknowledged: so we must try to understand why he thinks the way he does, instead of shut down all argumentation. For I seem to recall that that was precisely what drove Aredhel into Celegorm's arms. And also that being unkinged was a major part of why Finwë is leaving for Formenos.

"May I be frank, my lord?"

"Do so," Fingolfin said.

"This is not a matter of choice anymore. You already saw what Indis and Findis had to say. You have already walked down the same path I did, by accepting Finarfin's proposal, and denying your claim to the kingship. All those closest to the Valar will deem it as a betrayal and cut you off; but it is the only path left to get Aredhel to smile with us again. And it is the only path, I deem, that has any chance of not starting a civil war the moment Fëanor returns.

"My parents made it very clear, when shields started being carried. Break off the engagement now, and tangle no more with the impious Ñoldor who do such insolent deeds in Aman. For some of them go so far as to make no distinction between the houses of Fëanor and Fingolfin, deeming all the Ñoldor tarred by association; and they say that it is a pity that the blood of Indis could not restrain the heretical leanings of Finwë. That is what Indis and Findis are going to spread, given half the chance. We must not allow it!"

"You told me naught of this," said Fingolfin in concern.

Elenwë looked down. "I also chose love over family, when I told them that I would not leave Turgon. They will not speak to me ever again. Fëanor ever complains that he is motherless, and blames the Valar; well, now I am both motherless and fatherless, and I can only blame myself. I gave up nearly everything else, by sticking with the Ñoldor and my love," she sighed.

Then she looked up with resolve. "But I will not regret standing by my adopted people, in the time of their greatest need. I had the free choice to do so, even knowing the consequences, and I cherish that. And good has come of it! Indeed I argue that our problems have come because of a lack of freedom: peradventure the Valar have not realised that we have grown, and as all children, naturally begin to chafe at tutelage. Such is, I deem, how the One made us.

"Indis said that she had joined with the Ñoldor; but by her actions she made it clear that for her, the Ñoldor did not include the house of Fëanor. But that house now includes our sister and our king. We must follow it, to prove we do not mean to usurp Finwë's throne! And we should not have hearts so hardened as to reject our sister, not when the fault lies partly with us!

"As Finwë has taken the reins, the First House will step back from defiance of the Valar, and stop at mere questioning. The King will cooperate with the Valar, and share any information he obtains that may help capture Melkor; he merely does not see himself as being under them. Let us then meet the First House in the middle, as they have done! If Aredhel is to trust us again, then what better to do than to correct our mistake, and outright say we respect her choices and are open to negotiation? Our house was ever closest to the Valar, for all that Finrod and Galadriel sought to outdo us: you were Indis' favourite among her children. If we of all people show that we do not blindly repeat the Valar's words without long consideration, and have learned our lesson, then it will mean a hundred times more!"

She exhaled, and Fingon stared at his sister-in-law in gratitude and concern.

Fingolfin looked down for a long time. "Still it will be long before Aredhel trusts us again, and longer still before the sons of Fëanor do. In the meantime, we will be undermined repeatedly by those who once stood beside me as a sign of the mixing of the Vanyar and Ñoldor."

Elenwë tilted her head. "They would find it a bit difficult to do so with me around. As long as they stay with the Ñoldor, they have no ground to stand on, should they wish to criticise me. And if they return to the Vanyar, then our problems are solved, aren't they?"

Fingolfin nodded slowly. "Then, much as I am unhappy with my daughter's choices, I will not refuse her outright," he said. "Instead you will counsel her to wait, if she will not change her course; and I in turn will wait for an opportune moment before I can ask the Valar for an exception to be made. But if she should wed Celegorm in rebellion without waiting, then I will not protect her from the Valar's wrath. Not because I do not desire it, but because I will not be able to.

"But Elenwë, this is the first I am hearing of this. Should something—"

Elenwë waved him off. "They will not listen," she replied. "Even if Ingwë himself were to speak, they would find some reason to consider him tainted. You have a whole people to worry about; my troubles are a mere trifle beside yours."

"But what about Mother?" Fingon asked.

Fingolfin trembled. "She left us," he said. "Today I woke up, and all that was beside me was a note." (9)

"Father, show it to us!" Fingon said in alarm.

"I cannot!" Fingolfin urged. "It contains secrets of the highest order. Not even you and Elenwë are permitted to know them."

"Still you could omit that, as we stand at the opposite end of the room, and read what remains!"

Fingolfin nodded, and began to read.

"To my darling Ñolofinwë Arakáno, she wrote: thank you for so many wonderful centuries together. You were the best husband I could have wanted, and though you were a prince, you always shielded me from the worst of the court's strife.

"But no longer can it be so. My family has been split apart. My daughter left me; and seeing how we have been manipulated, I am filled with horror that I drove her to it. And now the city is split between those who deem you or Finwë as king. Whether I make lembas or not, people will chatter even further; either that I am usurping the role of the Queen, or that I am neglecting it. I cannot do this under your mother's gaze.

"The Shadow has its grip on all of us. It will take a master of words and minds to save us from what we have done to ourselves – and I am not one. I cannot cope with this. I was made to be a healer of bodies, not of our people.

"I know that I am a hopeless faintheart, running away at your darkest hour. But seeing what I did to Aredhel, I would only make everything worse.

"I do not ask that Argon forgive me. What happened with my daughter is proof. I am a bad wife and a bad mother. I love you still, though I deserve it not in return. But if beyond hope I still have your love, then seek me not, and leave me to my grief!"

Fingon stood in horror. "Have you told Turgon?" he said.

"I will when he returns. But he will take it less well than you. For he is the most like her."

Fingolfin sighed. "Anairë was not made for this. She was happy here, when we were not forging sword and mail, and we did not have the Marrer of Middle-earth spreading the Shadow among us. But now, if she were to remain in Tirion any longer, she would sicken and despair, as a fair flower overtaken by frost. And I cannot forgive my mother for driving my wife to this."

Well do I understand why Finarfin ran away from the palace in youth. It was nothing but a cage. Only now, Alqualondë is a cage for him too, and he has nowhere left to run. And neither do I.

"But too few people are left beside us, and our house is horribly weakened. My father and daughter have left to support the First House. My wife cannot aid me, and my mother is to blame for it. I have only myself, and not even all my children. Maybe I was ill-named. Fingon, Elenwë: you are both wiser than I am."

He turned to Elenwë. "Forgive me for thrusting this upon you," said Fingolfin. "But I have no other choice. Will you stand as the bread-giver of the Second House? Will you stand as our first lady, as no one else can?"

Elenwë nodded. "This I shall do," she said. "Yea, I shall do it, though I was not born a Ñoldo, and though this responsibility comes unlooked for. But this I promise; whatever duties I have by your side, I shall perform them faithfully and truly."

Fingolfin nodded in response; but his mind was elsewhere.

Why did I ever say that to my daughter? I only hurt myself with her absence. She is going on the warpath against the Valar; surely that is self-destruction as well. Why did I hurt her so much, that she would prefer that?

I am not rejecting them, even if I seek to give her more leeway than they would like. I have an errand, and it is to restore the bonds that should exist between family. The Valar cut off such ties for the Teleri. But only twelve years of Exile have they mandated for us. It cannot be wrong for us.

Oh Aredhel, why were you always so strong-willed? I will even call you by your chosen name if you prefer. But please, come home. Do not have me lose another who I love. Please, come home...

---

Amárië stood in a garden.

How this decision stabs at my heart! But I must do it.

Finrod approached from the entrance. "You asked to meet here," he said in concern. "It is unlike you."

"It is. And yet we always end up in these gardens, the closest in all of Tirion to Valimar. And never, as I often asked, where you grew up by the shores of the Great Sea."

"I am not like the Fëanorians," he said vehemently. "I dream not of faraway lands, when there is a paradise to explore here, with you by my side."

Amárië gazed at him sadly. "Do you really believe that?"

Finrod made no answer.

"Tirion is in uproar, at the workings of the Lying Mouth. Far we are from rooting them out. But this we know at least; the most effective liar is one who is not one at all, for they have come to believe their own lies," said Amárië softly.

"I made no attempt to deceive anyone," said Finrod heatedly.

"If you say anyone else, then maybe you speak near the truth," said Amárië. "I always knew from the beginning that I would have to share you with the Sea; and though it appeals not to me, I made no complaint of that even within my heart. I was ready to give way so that you would be happy. But you wall your own heart off, such that even your own mind cannot penetrate through to it! Is it so important to follow every last social grace of my people? Is it so important to follow every last bit of philosophy officially decreed by Ingwë's house? I do not. Elenwë does still less. And your brothers have found a happy medium, using their Telerin upbringing to their advantage in Tirion, rather than locking it all away. Why do you do this to yourself? Do you envy us?"

Finrod looked down. "Do not the Vanyar walk in the pure light, with the wells of Varda at their feet? Every street corner has a Maia beside it. With our strife, and the words and deeds of the Fëanorians, we will never have this in Tirion." (10)

"The Teleri never had it, and still want it not. It cannot be your inmost desire alone that speaks. Well, then. Will you be honest with me?"

For a moment, Finrod considered. I could tell her everything, even as Angrod told Edhellos. Then we would have to be wed indeed, so much does Mother's illness have to be kept secret; but at least it would explain matters.

In Arda Unmarred the mind's normal state would be openness. We would have the right to close it, but in a world free from evil, there would never be the need. Nay, there would be no secrets to be kept forever; only surprises, to be revealed to the delight of the one to be surprised.

But the shame that I conceal comes from the Marring.

And so the moment passed.

Amárië slipped her silver ring off her finger, and put it in Finrod's hand. "I suspected as much," she said sadly. "Farewell it is then, dear lord. I release you; think no more of me. All I ask is that you be honest to yourself, ere you try to find another maiden to woo."

Finrod stared in shock. "What do you mean? Our love was real!"

Amárië turned away. "It was, on my part," she replied. "Even the mask you crafted for yourself was lovely; and what little I saw of your spirit behind was lovelier still. But I cannot play this game anymore. Go back, Finrod. Return to the Sea, or at least go halfway like your brothers."

"Do you wish me ill, because of what Elenwë your elder sister has become?"

Amárië shook her head. "She is true to her own nature," she replied, "though it cost her everything else. I wish her well; but her nature is not mine. Neither, I deem, is yours."

"You speak as one who believes herself scorned, and seeks therefore to wound the one she accuses!"

Amárië gazed at Finrod. "I am only wounding myself."

And she walked away, hiding her tears.

---

Finrod knocked on the door to his sister's house in Tirion.

"Ingoldo," said Galadriel in greeting. Then she saw his expression. "What has befallen?"

"Nothing much," said Finrod. "A parting, like many another. Too many there have been in recent days. Those who of old were friends, brothers, sisters, and lovers, who now scorn the one they once cared for."

"Yet today's hurt lies closer to you," she said gently.

Finrod did not answer. He did not need to.

"We are ever confined," Galadriel said, "both by the Valar holding us in tutelage, and by our own secrets."

Finrod nodded.

"Mother is very ill."

"I know."

"More than usual. I just visited her with Celeborn, and Anairë told me to expect the worst. She hardly woke up. And when she did, she did not even recognise me."

Finrod took her hand in silent sorrow.

"Maybe it is for the best that she forgets me. For without me, this would never have happened."

"Oh, sister," said Finrod, "I would not be without you for the world."

She looked up at her brother in tears. "I have never known Alqualondë as it was in your youth. I can never, and I barred you from it. We can hardly go there anymore: well I know how they treat even Celeborn. Maybe Father was right to name his daughter in Quenya, though he named his sons in Telerin. I always use the Telerin name my lover gave me. But I am just hiding, am I not? For in truth I am a disgusting, marred Ñoldo, who wishes to escape the rightful judgement of others by founding her own kingdom. How is that different from what Fëanor is doing, founding Formenos where Finwë rules without the Valar above him?"

"You are not marred!" Finrod said in alarm. "For you are wise. You do not wish to go in hate against the Valar; your nobility and generosity will not permit that. You wish to rule your own, with the mercy and understanding that you learned from them. In no way are you like Fëanor!" (11)

"That I know you believe indeed," Galadriel said. "But whether everyone else will believe it is another story. Particularly not when Angrod seems like he wants to restart his old contacts with Maglor."

Finrod looked grim. "I will explain why this is folly to him," he said. "One day, I promise you, we shall have a fair realm to order by our own wisdom; and I shall not have to answer to anyone who holds us in bonds against the legitimate Rulers. Neither Fëanor nor Fingolfin, but only the Valar themselves, shall we revere. The day approaches; but it is not here yet. Your desire is not evil: your talents deserve to brighten the wild and untutored lands and peoples of Middle-earth. Manwë will not forbid it!"

And in the royal palace of Alqualondë, Anairë continued to work herself to the bone.

For the part of her letter to Fingolfin, that her husband had not read out loud, had said: I have gone to Alqualondë. Eärwen's condition has greatly worsened in our strife, and the arts of Estë are the only thing I still can dare to call myself an expert in. I must save her. If not, I am nothing.

---

But Angrod would not hearken to the words of Finrod his brother.

"Surely you cannot have forgotten what it would mean for us, if we did not oppose Fëanor?" Finrod urged. "Especially for our sister?"

"Father managed just fine opposing nobody," Angrod replied. "Your road we have tried, and it has brought us to ruin. Now I will try another."

"I will not have you reveal our shame," warned Finrod.

"Not that," said Angrod. "But there is a wide distance between scorning Maglor and telling him our entire life story. Far too close I have been to the first, to the point of rudeness. I will correct this, whether you will it or no."

Finrod moved towards him, but Angrod took his brother's arm in his iron grip.

"I mean it," snarled Angrod. "This is not the time to oppose Fëanor blindly. You have seen what he and Uncle Fingolfin were willing to do to each other. Play your stupid games if you must; but I will have no part in them, when we dance at the edge of an abyss. Neither will Aegnor. And I shall go further, by dragging us back from the brink as our younger brother dares not!"

Finrod shook his brother off. "Continuing to tangle with the darkness of the First House is exactly the way to careen over said abyss!"

"As I said, do as you must," said Angrod. "But do not hinder me, when I carry out Father's command!"

At that Finrod nodded, and walked off.

"Á þak' i fendë!" came the voice of Angrod, hissing the þ on the second word. ("Close the door!")

Finrod looked back in shock, before resuming his journey.

---

"Do you feel happy?" said Elenwë to Amárië.

Amárië shook her head.

"Do you then at least feel happier than you did earlier?" asked Elenwë in concern.

"I believe I shall in time," said Amárië, forcing the words past the lump in her throat. "But not yet."

She looked up at Elenwë. "Still. I remember that you asked me the same questions, long ago when I told you I was getting engaged to Finrod."

"I did."

"You did not give your own view of Finrod, until I repeatedly asked for it."

"Indeed I did not."

"You said: I neither like nor trust him, sister. On the other hand, my betrothed thinks much kindlier of him than I do. It is thus possible that I am ill-suited to appreciating his fine qualities."

"Your memory is clear."

Amárië looked down. "Do you think yourself vindicated?"

"What I think of Finrod is not relevant," said Elenwë. "We are not speaking of politics in Tirion, but about your personal affairs. I am not the one agonizing over whether I should be in a relationship with him or not. What is important is that we are sisters, and that I should be there for you if you need me."

"That is kinder than how our people treat you."

"I know. You are the only Vanya who talks to me anymore."

"Can you bear it?"

Elenwë nodded. "Do not trouble yourself over me, really. I have gotten over it."

"I don't think you have."

Elenwë looked down. "No," she agreed, "I don't really think I have either. But if I say it to myself enough times, I think I will."

"You are fooling yourself too."

Elenwë sighed. "You speak truly," she said. "But I will not be happy with the Vanyar either. Too good I am, perhaps, at understanding where the other side is coming from. I know too much of the discontent of the Ñoldor to ever again take things as simply as I did in childhood."

"Neither can I," said Amárië.

Elenwë stared into the distance. "But you will go back."

"I will have to. Unlike you, I did not marry into Tirion, and now I never will. If our parents demand that I leave the Ñoldor behind, I must obey. Either by my own will, or because I am dragged. And the Valar will surely approve, since Tirion is most under the Shadow."

"You see why I can trust them no longer."

"Do you think they will succeed in bringing Melkor to ground?"

"I rather doubt it. They have not even begun the basic measure of starting a watch on all the borders. Just on the north, which is going to drive Melkor to the south as surely as if they had put up a sign there reading 'kick me'. We will be correcting this ourselves; hopefully it will stir them to more effective action."

Amárië stared. "And if it does not?"

Elenwë raised an eyebrow. "Then the Valar will have neglected their mission, to be the enemy of the One Enemy. It will then be ours to fulfill: to fight the Dark, and make Arda clean again."

Amárië started. "You speak the old heresy, that was rooted out when Oromë found us at Cuiviénen," she said slowly and seriously. (12)

"Well, Melian let our ancestors say it. Besides, what else is there? If the Valar aren't going to do it, and neither are the Maiar, then there surely aren't all that many options but the Children of Ilúvatar."

Amárië wept.

"Your big sister has come a long way, hasn't she?" joked Elenwë.

"But if it was so much as known that you said it in Valimar—!"

"I trust you," shrugged Elenwë. "I have known you for longer than anyone else, save of course our parents. The fact that you didn't jump to saying I was under the Shadow shows that my trust was not misplaced. And you are not Finrod's betrothed anymore, so the fact that I don't trust him doesn't matter now. Let us be honest with each other, one last time."

Amárië fidgeted. "I wish I could love Finrod as you do Turgon."

"Well, they are different people. Turgon trusts me absolutely, even when we disagree; and I trust him likewise. I never minded Turgon's friendships even though I casually detested Finrod at first sight. And on Turgon's part, he found it endearingly funny that our views on Finrod were so diametrically opposed."

Amárië wept. "I wish there were someone for me," she said. "I loved Finrod."

"I know."

"But he loved me not back, just as he did not love himself as he truly was. It does not matter. I will never love again so deeply."

"He might."

"He will."

Elenwë stared in concern.

"I released him," Amárië whispered, "and my heart tells me that he will find another. Well, he is the fairest and most beloved of the descendants of Finwë. (13) And yet I shall still be alone forever."

There was a long silence.

"And now I shall lose your companionship as well."

"But not my friendship, I hope," remarked Elenwë.

"Never," Amárië said seriously. "I shall always remember you in my heart. But you know that I am constrained. And even were I not, still I would go. Know you what our parents say now of you?"

"Nothing good, I imagine," said Elenwë.

"Worse still!" said Amárië. "Our people have ever been proud, Elenwë. Proud that the Minyar were the eldest, and later that we all went to Valinor together, while the Tatyar and Nelyar made secessions along the way. Only you remain with the Ñoldor now. Mother and Father say you are cursed for it, and that if the Ñoldor do decide to depart for Middle-earth, you will not make it. If you go, then you will die before ever seeing it. I will not put myself under that."

Elenwë looked grim. "I take that curse and cast it aside," she said. "Our parents have already disowned me. No doubt they have been saying it with great relish. I defy it nonetheless."

"Elenwë, this is serious!" pleaded Amárië. "I now know what you believe, and my heart tells me that you will not recant. If you die, long will Mandos hold you!"

"I know. Long he already holds those who suffered and died innocently, even according to his cruel judgement. No doubt I can look forward to a couple of millennia of being bodiless, should I die by ill fortune."

"It need not be so long even so!" Amárië cried. "You have not done great evil. No sword have you drawn against your sister; instead you have only privately spoken to her against the Rulers. If you would consent earlier to be healed, then swiftly may Mandos return you to your natural course. You need not remember it—" She paused for breath.

"And so I would have a poor choice," replied Elenwë slowly. "Either I may be obdurate, and so be condemned to the seeming death of Míriel. Or I may recant out of fear, and then I would die in truth, having my memory forcibly excised."

Amárië stared. "Tirion has changed you."

"Frankly, I think that this is my natural course. I took to being a Valar-questioning Ñoldo like a duck takes to water. Although I see it doesn't fit you as well," Elenwë joked.

In response, Amárië wrapped her arms around her sister and sobbed.

"Weep not yet," Elenwë said kindly. "I am still here. All we have talked about were shadows on the horizon. They may still not come to pass."

Amarië shook her head. "No," she said, inconsolable. "It is too late. The hour of parting is come. Namárië, höanésa vanimelda! Farewell, beloved and beautiful elder sister! Neither in light nor in shadow shall I look upon you again, until the world is broken and remade."

"So, we will meet again, then. That's still a cheery thought to hope for."

Amárië stood, her eyes still wet with tears. "Farewell!" she cried, as she walked away. "I am twice bereft. In mere hours, I have seen both my betrothed and my dear sister walk into darkness. My people will forget and reject you. But I never will. I will never forget your honesty and steadfastness, to walk your path regardless of what others think. This I promise you: I will keep your secret forever. I will beg our parents to do so as well, for my sake. And I will remember you, till the world is ended!"

Elenwë watched her, unspeaking, until Amárië was out of sight on the road to Valimar.

Then she heaved a deep sigh.

I am now the first lady of Fingolfin's house. There is much to do, and too little time to do it.

---

But yet another conversation was now going on, deep within the heart of Valimar.

Indis looked at Findis and her sons. "It seems we were too hasty, in expecting Arakáno to live up to his name and duty as Finwë Ñolofinwë," she said, using the Vanyarin pronunciation.

Findis nodded.

"He will not condemn his daughter as she deserves, having hearkened to the arguments of his eldest son. He shirks his rightful role as king, now that Finwë's heresies and favouritism for Fëanor the fell have been exposed. And from his daughter-in-law I hear words just as foul as those from Fëanor's mouth, making a mockery of her lineage from the eldest of Ingwë's children to be born in Aman."

"Yet we are already sworn to Turgon," said Glorfindel. "And we cannot decry Elenwë in those terms, without proving ourselves hypocrites; for then logically we would then have to stay out of Tirion and rejoin you."

Indis nodded. "Turgon at least has stayed out of all this, refusing to say a word even as his family does worse and worse," she said. "Yes, I think we can still support him in public, even if we like very little of what his wife does. He is one of the few princes from whom the Ñoldor might still get good spiritual guidance.

"But one will not be enough. I had never expected to see a day when my older son was the one estranged from the Valar, while my younger one was doing his duty. Ingoldo the elder was ever the prince people flocked to, when they did not wish to be part of the strife between Fëanáro and Arakáno. That was wrong when Arakáno was still pious; but now it is the only right choice."

"Even though the Third House is so close to the Teleri, who dwell in the twilight beyond the Pelóri?" said Findis doubtfully.

Indis sighed. "I know Amárië takes Finrod for another of them," she said, "but I have talked to him myself. They have improved, while we were not looking. They do not go much to Alqualondë anymore, and Finrod will see sense."

And thus, in secret, were first whispered the words: Finwë Arafinwë.

Chapter Text

"Let her go," wept Nienna.

Mandos stood impassive.

"You foretold it long ago, when you let Míriel have her will," she said. "She is not as a Vala, and the doom that she accepted for herself has become a burden most grievous. To her son, and her husband, and now to herself."

"Her doom self-chosen was to be cut off from the world," replied Mandos pitilessly. "She refused her nature, and abandoned being, as if she were one of the Second Children rather than the First. Ever shall the Kindreds look upon each other's fate with envy. Her punishment shall be the same as those of the Aftercomers who reject their Gift; neither shall she live, nor shall she die. Instead she will have an impotent half-existence that remains still within Arda, seeing the Tale from afar, but participating in it never again. Yet you have set that doom at naught, by continuing to meet her spirit, and giving her news of the son who she would not continue caring for!"

"She knew naught of the Second Children, as did all the Eldar until Melkor came again among them!" wept Nienna. "And you have said naught to refute my words. We did ill by continuing to press Finwë's suit, for it forbade Míriel from having the rest she so desperately needed. Thus it was that she remembered her brief life only by its sorrowful ending in weariness. But now, when she is finally given her rest, and it heals her, she is forbidden the return she now desires!"

"The Statute was just when it was enacted; and it remains just. Míriel was given a warning, which she heeded not. She exercised her will, and the consequences followed. There ends the matter."

"We only agreed because Míriel could not be healed soon enough to return hope to Finwë. But, as we now know to our shame, that did not mean she would never be healed!" Nienna protested.

She knelt before Mandos. "Two alone have restrained Fëanor from his worst impulses: his wife and his mother," Nienna pleaded. "But Nerdanel will stand by him no longer. For that reason have I told Míriel of what has befallen, for my pity must stand beside your justice; and she is horrified. The marring of Fëanor has not yet been written into the fate of Arda, and though she remains weary, she has begged to be released. If you have no mercy for her, then at least have it for her son, so that she may let him grow wiser!"

"I said—"

"Shall we take the one path of healing that may yet remain? Or shall we be obdurate, and aid and abet Melkor's designs to destroy the greatest of the Noldor?" Nienna urged. "For that is what we do now. We accept the Marring in our words, and will not compel others to walk the higher road. But in our hearts and minds, we live only on that higher road, and fathom not the world we have entered! Thus do our actions ever breed ill will from the Noldor, though we are free from malice. For their minds work through their bodies, which are of the matter of Arda Marred; and they naturally think in terms of what came with the marring! Of distrust, of plots, of the theft and injury they do each other!"

"Yet you have said it. We and our actions are free from malice; and it is only the Shadow on the Noldor that leads them to interpret us so."

And Nienna fell silent.

"My answer is final," said Mandos. "An Elf may not have two living spouses. If I were to hearken to your words, then the Statute would be upended, and justice and Doom overthrown; and Indis who made free use of it would be wronged, for surely Finwë would return in haste to Míriel!" (1)

Then Nienna left, weeping ceaselessly; and of Míriel no more was said by the Valar, until the destruction of the Two Trees.

Yet although the Eldar themselves were not present at the debates of the Valar, still all their writs and conversations were recorded; and from Ecthelion they passed into possession of the royal archives, in which Caranthir had eyes and ears.

---

Finwë knocked on the door to his granddaughter's room in Celegorm's house.

She never got any visitors, save those specially screened by Celegorm her beloved. There was too much of a risk, so deeply was she hated as a supposed traitor by now.

But anyone who got this far had to have passed said screening.

"Come in," she said.

Finwë did so – only to see her laboriously carving letter after letter into a wooden block.

"Aredhel, what are you doing?"

She made no response, so focused was she; and so the King of the Noldor stepped gingerly towards her, and began to read. Then he perceived what he was reading, and all the colour ran out of his face.

"Can this be authentic?" he whispered in horror.

Aredhel nodded grimly. "The First House I may have joined," she said darkly, "but the secrets of the Second still come to it. See here! For I have the original, sealed with the crystalline arrays of the House of the Fountain; and it is that which I am copying, to ink onto sheet after sheet, which Celegorm volunteered to nail to every door in Tirion."

"Granddaughter, please!" he begged. "Already I have talked you down from wedding your cousin. Are you so eager to go on the warpath against the Valar? When you now know what Mandos has said against Míriel?"

"Did they not declared war on the First House already, when they thrusted Indis upon you upon Taniquetil?" she hissed, calling her 'grandmother' no longer. "The Valar were in two minds; even Manwë spoke against the Statute. He called it the liberty of a lower road, that countenanced the evil of death, and could not heal it. (1) 'Twas Mandos who refused to hear the counsel he had already heard; and ever is it he who disgustingly compares the death of Míriel to the mere unrequited love of Indis. First he condemned Míriel arguing that Indis' descendants would be great; and now again he argues that Indis would be wronged. Yet he deems that worse than letting Míriel breathe and speak! It was one thing when Míriel found life more unbearable; but now this denial is simply torture, of one kind with what Melkor would devise. Mandos claims that to force others to good would make good foul and seem evil; but he outright blesses evil, and claims it to be good."

She exhaled. "But he did not count on one descendant of Indis, who denounces him for what he is. Mandos must be overthrown: for my sake and for all others'. The unchaining of Melkor should have been the last straw for all, as it was for the First House. Even now it remains the vilest crime committed within Valinor, that aided and abetted all the others."

"That I do not deny," said Finwë the King. "But Fëanor drawing a sword on your father was, I think, also quite a big deal."

Aredhel blinked. "Yes, of course it was," she readily agreed. "But I judge that Fëanor was guiltless in it. For if everything Melkor told him had been true, then he would have been completely justified: both to suspect me, and to threaten my father. The Valar released Melkor, and deemed him reformed; so how could they consistently punish Fëanor for heeding his words unintentionally? Celegorm went above and beyond the call of duty, trusting me when all wisdom spoke against it. Such loyalty won him my love; from no other could I find it. But how can I fault others for not having such heroism in them? Fëanor would have been a hero like his third son, had he reacted to Nolofinwë's treason with quiet forbearance; but I will not call him marred for taking the road of justice! True justice, not Mandos' mockery thereof!"

Finwë shook his head in wonder. "How can you speak so strongly against your own father?"

"He disowned me," Aredhel snarled. "Just for the crime of asking questions, he threw me out of his house. And he told me it was final. You will not have me to run back to when Fëanor inevitably rejects you, he said. Well, indeed it happened. Fëanor and Nolofinwë both suspected me of treason; but at least only Fëanor had a valid reason to do so, being misled by Melkor. Nolofinwë had no right."

"And yet Melkor's shadow is on all of Tirion. Nolofinwë also was misled, into thinking that asking questions was treasonous," Finwë pointed out.

"The Valar certainly think he was not," Aredhel replied haughtily. "Instead they rewarded their trusted tool with kingship in Tirion. Their favouritism has never been a secret; 'tis only the moral turpitude they now fall into that I wish to expose, holding Indis' power-grabbing above Míriel's life."

Finwë sighed. "For all that my eldest still suspects you," he pointed out, "you sound exactly like him."

Aredhel stared.

"I mean it. I have just had this exact same conversation with Fëanor about the Valar, and about Fingolfin. And I got the exact same answer."

"Because it is so obviously right."

"I am not finished."

Aredhel continued staring defiantly.

"I do agree that you have good points. If I did not, I would have said nothing in Fëanor's defense at the trial, and I would still hold myself king in Tirion. But I am phrasing my complaints a lot more politely, whereas you and Fëanor are lashing out. And I think you are hurting inside, terribly."

His face grew sad and worn. "What happened, granddaughter?" he asked tenderly. "Once you were staying steadfastly above the strife, and rebuking anyone who lashed out so. But now you are running straight to the most extreme position possible."

"It is the Valar who have wronged me," Aredhel sneered. "Them, and my parents and brothers."

"Even Argon?"

Aredhel paused. "All right, he is too young to truly be held responsible," she agreed. "He never said anything against me; and he was the only reason I thought twice before walking out. But time has passed. The venom spouted by Fingon and Turgon will have surely poisoned his ears by now."

"Do you not miss the days when they were your beloved big brothers?"

"It was all a farce," Aredhel sneered. "When the time came, they chose the Valar over their sister. If the Valar said: imprison her, for she is marred, they would do so in a heartbeat. If the Valar said: force her away from her love, and marry her off to dim-witted Galdor to avoid scandal; they would do it too. And they would simply get over it, were I one of Melkor's innumerable victims trapped in Mandos forever, and judged unfit to ever return."

But even as she shook her fist, tears sprang unbidden to her eyes; and she tried to hide them.

"You know," said Finwë, "I will not think less of my granddaughter, if I learn that she is an Elf like any other, and is filled with sorrow to be estranged from her family."

"They cut me off," she said with quavering voice. "With them I would get no freedom. They will not let me think for myself. They will not let me do anything by myself. Already I am constrained, Grandfather. I cannot leave this place, beloved though it is. Celegorm hid that from me, telling me only that he greatly desired to stay by my side; but when he escorted me to the trial, I saw the terrible truth. All but Celegorm and those closest to him think I am a traitor to both sides! Even Caranthir and Curufin cannot convince all their following!"

"But at the trial—!"

"My beloved and his brothers only sent the few who were as heroic as they were!" Aredhel screamed. "Though Celegorm was the most heroic of all, for he stood by me when there were truly no others; the rest had him as an example. But he cannot convince many. The Valar have framed me, Grandfather. So deftly did they place the evidence that even Fëanor, the most brilliant in mind of the Eldar, cannot think of any explanation other than my treachery. And I know from Celegorm that he did not want to believe it!"

She sobbed. "I have no proof but my own word. Alas that I was trusted in the days just before the Drawing of the Sword, and could freely roam around. There are so many people I talked to and could have talked to: I have no alibi! If I had been jailed then, would it not have been better than being jailed now?"

And suddenly, all the energy seemed to leave her, and she looked downward.

"Not even denouncing Indis and Fingolfin will win back their trust now, so deeply has my life been ruined," she said tonelessly. "For they will all treat my treachery as a given fact, and refuse to give me the light of day a second time. Say farewell to earth and sky! I am jailed forever, within the walls of Celegorm's house. But at least here I am loved. There I shall be in jail too, but I will be hated."

Then she buried her face in Finwë's shirt, and sobbed.

"Please, Grandfather," she said in a hollow whisper. "Do not force me to go back there. I would rather die like Míriel."

Finwë stared in shock. "Those are terrible words, for someone who has decried the state of the Houseless as torture," he pointed out.

"It is. And yet such a life would be so bitter to me, that I would choose eternal imprisonment in Mandos, over the same in Aman."

"Even if it would forever part you from Celegorm?"

Aredhel looked up. "Not for long," she whispered. "If the Valar could force me so, then he and his house must have lost utterly. Then soon would Mandos take him."

Finwë made no answer, but embraced his granddaughter.

"I had such dark thoughts once," he whispered, "and so did Fëanor."

"I know he did. He told me."

Finwë's eyebrows climbed even higher.

Aredhel burst into tears. "Ai, Fëanáro! I named the Valar the evils they were. I denounced your stepmother. I denounced my own father. I denounced your untrue wife, for siding with those who would seek to have you disinherited. What more must I do? You were always so kind to me, until the Valar framed me. Now ever you rail against me and yet I look up to you still. What more must I do, that you will trust me again?"

She sobbed bitterly; for she did not know that it was in fact Melkor who had done what she accused the Valar of, hating her for staying initially above the strife he had authored.

Finwë sighed. "You did not deserve any of this," he said. "Do not fear, granddaughter. I will protect you. I will vouch for you, and I will not have your will be forced. If Celegorm be the one you desire, I will support you."

Aredhel stared. "You will?"

"Because I truly fear what you would have done to yourself, had Celegorm not trusted you."

Aredhel looked down. "I don't know," she mumbled.

"Maybe not indeed. My mind was clouded as if with fog, during those terrible years between Míriel's death and my coming to the house of Ingwë. But I know from Celegorm precisely what you said then, and I see how you are ever thrusting yourself into the line of fire. Yea, ever you publicly take the most extreme position, hoping to goad the Valar into showing their intransigence. As if you have given up, no longer caring if you live or die."

"Does it not matter to you that we are half-cousins?" she whispered.

"I am not sure I understand," Finwë admitted. "But it seems to be the one thing that is healing you. How can I then, of all the Elves of Aman, speak against it?"

She buried her face further into Finwë's shirt.

Finwë ruffled her hair. "I love you as I do all my grandchildren," he said, "and I wish you well. But I do hope you will take a bit of advice, from one who now admits he was rash.

"I felt Míriel had wronged me, Aredhel. Again and again, I petitioned her to return, not knowing that I was making her condition worse and worse. I was lashing out, speeding my suit to Indis to force my beloved to make up her mind. Maybe Míriel was also lashing out in her refusal to return; but I did so far more reprehensibly, for it was she I condemned to death. You at least are doing far better than me; but even if your actions will not kill those you love, still they will hurt them! Though it may seem strange, your parents and brothers love you, and lashing out at them will not help."

"You don't understand," Aredhel sobbed. "I only want to hurt the Valar. They hate me. They planned this all along. They wanted Indis to birth the children closer to their heart, and so they had to destroy Míriel. They wanted to dispossess the First House; and so they had to destroy me, who retained friendship with them. Celegorm has only given me some respite; but their hate will not change with the passing of the seasons. He cannot protect me without falling under their curse himself. Not even you can protect me, for kingship in Valinor is a proven farce. I just want a little time with my love, and to deal Manwë as much damage as I can, before the end comes. I am of the Quendi, and my strength is small: for not much longer can I stay this curse. Call me selfish as you will for my wish; yet I ask nothing more!"

Finwë embraced his granddaughter yet tighter, as tears streamed down his eyes.

It is as I feared. And yet. How can I gainsay her, knowing what Mandos has said? Ai, Míriel, what did I do to you, when I convinced you to come here? Was Lenwë right all along?

"Still Nienna has mercy," said Finwë.

"That she has indeed. But she is forbidden from granting it. Mandos is judge, jury, and executioner. I had to defy him in court, so that the people would fear him no longer. He must be overthrown, and that will require even some Maiar to rally to us. Huan alone will not suffice. And good luck with that."

"Then perhaps some subtlety might be helpful."

He released his embrace, opened a bag, and took out a piece of cloth.

"Do you recognise the banner woven here?"

Aredhel took it, and gasped. "I designed that," she said. "It is the Winged Sun, which I designed after looking upon the Green Stone of Curufin that I wear."

"And I think it is a wonderful design. So far Melkor has deluded us into fighting each other, and had us display our allegiances with symbols and banners. But may we not turn his evil to good? The banners, if taken for themselves, are things of beauty. The line of Fëanor, red as the lórelot. The line of Fingolfin, blue and silver as the twinkling stars on the domes of Varda. The line—"

"—of myself, who stayed out of it, wore no defining badge, and was mocked ceaselessly."

Finwë looked sad. "Even now, when you wish to wed into the First House, you wear a dress of pure white rather than red."

"I had thought it to be white, before it was refracted into many colours. But now I think it is rather the white of colour that once was and has faded and died, even as my hopes and dreams for peace have," she said wanly.

"Not all. For I am adopting your banner," said Finwë.

Aredhel gaped.

"It will, of course, carry the meaning you gave it. But so too shall it serve as a rebuke. For talk of the Sun, and of freedom from the Domes of Varda, is clearly associated with the House of Fëanor. Very well – but Manwë did not forbid him from speaking so. He only stepped in after the Drawing of the Sword. And it would be good to remind all concerned, that Fëanor is my heir."

He rose, and now he spoke not as Aredhel's beloved grandfather, but as the king he was: he who had persuaded the greater part of the Noldor to relocate to Valinor, as a speaker equal to Fëanor his eldest son.

"Thus reads the message that even the Valar should take therefrom! Indeed Fëanor went too far in his threat, and the Drawing of the Sword deserves punishment. Yet mine alone remains the crown, and mine alone remains the right to reward and punish. Not even Manwë deemed Fëanor guilty in aught he said erewhile. And for one who dared to deny his right as the eldest son, though Fëanor overstepped in his retaliation, still some rebuke was justified. Therefore take counsel with yourselves, and remember who and what you are! For perilously close you are to compelling the Children; and in the hour you take that step, you shall cease to be Eru's legitimate vicegerents."

And Aredhel was stunned, to hear Mandos' words to Fëanor reflected back upon him.

Then Finwë smiled again. "But it does not need to be said out loud for them to understand. Nolofinwë should understand it as well."

"I rather think he understands completely," Aredhel whispered, "and chooses not to heed it. How many would be so heroic, preferring exile and scorn to the Valar making one's life easy?"

"I think we both did."

"I am no hero," Aredhel said with a haunted look. "I did not know what I chose for myself."

"Neither did I," said Finwë. "The Valar guaranteed our right to return home after the war was over, and yet it was not so. They could perhaps do with a reminder."

He ruffled Aredhel's hair once more. "Do not think you are alone, granddaughter. Indeed you have enemies; but they need not stay enemies. For you have powerful friends beside you as well. This I promise you, Aredhel: we will make things right again."

And seeing Finwë's shining face, as long ago the Elves at Cuiviénen had, Aredhel could almost believe it.

---

There was, on the other hand, one ever so slight problem with Finwë's plan.

Its subtlety was completely lost on the people of Tirion. Instead, among the silent majority who had had enough of all those different banners and devices, the adoption of the Winged Sun by the crown was greeted with joy. For it was taken as a banner of neutrality that was somewhat more obvious than Aredhel's prior refusal to use any banner at all.

Considering its anti-Valarin origins, this was deeply ironic.

---

"Mother, why do we have to go north now?" complained Amras.

"Your father and I agreed that we would each have you half the time," Nerdanel said tenderly. "We have had six months together. It is time for you to rejoin him."

"No, we haven't," objected Amrod. "There are still two and a half days to go."

Nerdanel sighed. "It tears at my heart too, Atyarussa," she said. "But they are all going far north to Formenos. If you do not go with them now, then you will have to go alone later, and the road is long."

"And the winter will be cold," said Amras. "Oh, how I dislike winters. I wish we could stay here, in the spring and light of the Trees."

"That has always been my thought as well," said Nerdanel. "But your father and brothers think otherwise."

"Father has been changing," said Amrod. "We fear his temper now, as we never did before. Myself more than Ambarussa the elder."

"And now we will have to be with our brothers all the time," said Amras warily. "I know them not well. They had all long grown up by the time we were born; and so we had to stay alone, in Fëanor's house, seeing only Maedhros often. But he only parrots what his father says; and I like very little of what I heard about the others' deeds, be they in Tirion or in the lands of the Teleri."

"Neither do I," said Nerdanel lovingly. "But at least many people who can see reason are going with your father's people. Finwë himself is going, and even Rúmil will be there, his old teacher before discontent ever came into his heart. And it will be a short time, before you can return, and join me again!"

"And yet not enough," said Amrod, holding back tears. "I wish that I could stay with you forever." Amras nodded.

"That choice you may make soon, when you are full-grown," said Nerdanel. "I am sorry that your childhood is being blighted so. Yet do not fear your brothers overmuch! They are poor role models in many ways; yet I remember how they once were, and judge that they will not hurt you."

They reached the awaiting host; and Nerdanel smiled serenely. "See? Here is another of your big brothers."

It was the first time she had seen him in thirty long years.

"My greetings," said Caranthir to the Ambarussa. "I regret that due to the strife, I know you less well than I should. My father-name is Morifinwë – though I prefer my mother-name Carnistir."

"His face looks like yours," said Amras to Nerdanel.

"Exactly," said Caranthir.

"Do they all prefer their mother-names as we do?" said Amrod, considering the situation.

"All save Curufin," confirmed Nerdanel. "And considering that I named him 'Little Father', I have to admit that his choice was probably not meant as a statement against me. It was truly not one of my more inspired moments."

Amrod and Amras shared a look. "Then maybe it will not be so bad," they said in unison.

Caranthir looked at his younger brothers. "So, you must be Minyarussa," he said, pointing at Amras. Then he pointed at Amrod, and said, "And you must be Atyarussa."

Amrod and Amras blinked. "How did you know?" they said. "No one else can tell us apart."

"Probably not, if you insist on talking in unison," said Caranthir. "But really, it's obvious to me. I have an eye for colours, and one of you has slightly darker hair than the other. Father said he liked Minyarussa more, and if Curufin is any indication, he tends to like people who look more like himself."

Amrod and Amras snorted.

"See? Already you are treating each other like brothers," said Nerdanel warmly. "Farewell, then. Be good, my sons – and that goes for all three of you. Take care of them, Moryo."

"We have agreed that I will be taking them back and forth," noted Caranthir.

"We have indeed," said Nerdanel. Then her tone suddenly became serious. "And when I say to take care of them, I do not mean to put wild ideas into their heads."

"Those ideas seem not so wild to me," said Caranthir.

Nerdanel sighed. "We have been over this far too often. Let us not mar this rare meeting by arguing further. One thing only remains."

She fished out a stack of letters, and handed them to her youngest sons. "Pass these to the King – and Moryo, this one you know who to give to," she said, handing over a small envelope. "And when you return, do so carrying their replies."

Then Nerdanel gave the Ambarussa each a final embrace, and a kiss on the forehead.

"Farewell, my sons. Love each other, and do no evil. And may the Shadow be no darker when we meet again."

She vanished into the distance.

Then Caranthir turned to his host. "All right, we have all our people and supplies. It is time to march!"

"Lord Caranthir?"

"Which disorganized moron is not ready at the last moment?"

Lalwen lowered her hood. "None of yours," she said breezily. "I expected no less. But may I not bid you farewell as a colleague?"

"You may," said Caranthir. "Well, that's done."

"Wait!" she urged. "Is anyone carrying lembas for you?"

Caranthir shook his head. "We do not wish to be reliant on the Valar," he said. "Then they could withdraw its blessing whenever they wanted, as they have already done to us. Yea, and to all those who anger them. Do you not know how sickly Pelindë is?"

Lalwen stared in shock.

"Since Celebrimbor was born?" she whispered carefully.

"Before that, too. She was inhaling all the fumes in her poorly ventilated secret laboratory."

Lalwen exhaled. "But she will get better?"

"She will always be short of breath," Caranthir sighed. "Too much damage has already been done. And as always, it is the fault of the Valar. For it is because of them that her parents quashed her talents. Without them she could have learnt safely; but she was driven to desperation, and knew not better. And now, though they say Valinor is hallowed, she cannot heal. It is the same story of the Valar withdrawing their gifts, just like how we were coerced and threatened on the Great Journey, by the lembas slowly losing its virtue: I will not trust it. So much for this land, a paradise only for the Valar's pets!"

"I suppose you have a point in your second argument," said Lalwen. "But your first I believe not at all. By that logic we could stretch the game of blaming back indefinitely. Isn't everything simply the fault of Melkor for rebelling? That seems a sounder argument to me, though it gets no closer to solving the actual problem."

"Indeed it is Melkor's fault," said Caranthir. "But the Valar must be held to account, for aiding and abetting him; and for their bias against those who point out their flaws! We will do things ourselves, bitter though the labour may be! No longer will we give Yavanna a tithe; she is as intransigent as them all, and deserves no honour."

"Well, you are consistent at least," replied Lalwen. "But not all that practical. How mean you to leave Valinor in the first place?"

"We may dare the frozen north, or cross the Great Sea by ship or by flight. That is, if Curufin's latest ideas will bear any fruit."

"Curufin and not Fëanor?" Lalwen replied disbelievingly. "Your father's mind must be gnawing on deep hatred indeed, if it can find no time for practical invention."

"Speak to me as a colleague, or not at all," warned Caranthir.

"O very well, if that is how you find it natural to treat your half-aunt!" mocked Lalwen. "But if you do intend to dare the treacherous water and ice, perhaps you might spare some thought to one colleague in particular. She has been thinking of the same; and, at the very least, you might enjoy the challenge of proving her wrong."

"I might indeed. But I will not do it here."

"Why not? 'Tis only Fëanor who was sentenced to exile."

Caranthir huffed disdainfully. "I will not remain in a city where Nolofinwë the usurper rules."

"I think you will find very little difference regardless of who is ruling," Lalwen said drolly, "when the courtiers are the same. Attempting to push anything through them is like trying to drain the Great Sea."

Caranthir smiled. It was a rare sight. "O very well," he echoed. "Perhaps we may discuss it further indeed. But I think I would rather not do it here. If we are to discuss how to brave the north, then practicality demands that we actually be in the north, so that we can back up our theories with experiment."

"Let it be so!"

And his host marched onward.

---

Nerdanel ascended a hill.

"How did it go?" asked a worried Fingon, doing his part of the watch over Tirion.

Nerdanel nodded. "I have sent the letters, and I even had a little productive discussion with another of my sons," she said.

"A little?"

Nerdanel shrugged. "We are all growing accustomed to such minuscule successes."

"Would that I could have had even that!"

Nerdanel sat down on the grass. "'Tis strange to think I would be in the same boat as your father: wishing not to rebel against the Valar, but fearing greatly for our loved ones who do," she exhaled. "Now we must walk down that evil road ourselves for love; for our children will not turn aside, and all we can do is to beg that the Valar allow their proposed courses and thus have them cease to be rebellious."

"We can but hope," agreed Fingon.

"But will the Valar do so? Surely they will say: acts do not become good because we bless them, or bad because we call them rebellion. Rather it is that we bless them because they are good. And so what we want is a contradiction in terms."

"Well, if we can pare it down to just leaving for Middle-earth, then perhaps it will not be so bad," said Fingon. "It was promised to Grandfather, that that would be allowed once Melkor was dealt with. And maybe our crisis will be averted, if those of us who wish to leave remain with Grandfather, while the rest of us pick Father as their new lord. The Sundering of the Teleri was tolerated, and not deemed evil. It would merely tear at our hearts."

"Except that now that Melkor is out and about again, that seems to imply quite a delay indeed," observed Nerdanel.

"Yes. It always comes back to that, does it not?"

Then there was a short silence.

"Your sister saw my husband draw a sword on your father, and she acts as though she feels nothing," Nerdanel whispered. "The Eldar are meant to wed for life; and yet Fëanor parted from me without death, as Indis did to Finwë. Are these the unnatural things that happen to those who rebel? Can we even still save those we love?"

"So, who are we holding guilty now, in the case of my parents?"

Nerdanel was shocked. "I am sorry," she said quickly. "I did not mean to imply—"

"Tirion is in great turmoil," Fingon sighed. "Lovers have grown cold. Siblings fight on different sides. Parents are estranged from their children. It stands to reason that the innocent feel terror at it, even more than the guilty."

Mother, I hope Alqualondë brings you rest and healing. It ever did so for Finarfin. I will not trouble you with news or letters from Tirion, as you have asked. But may you return in joy soon, when we have healed the strife!

Yet as his thought turned to Anairë his mother, Fingon was filled with dark foreboding.

"In answer to your question, I will readily admit that my sister acts as though she feels nothing. But I do not think that reflects her heart," said Fingon, though his gaze never wavered.

"Poorly do my actions now reflect my heart too," said Nerdanel, "as I fight as a proxy, for what my heart recoils from. Ai, Fëanor! Little reason have I to hope that you will see reason. And yet false hopes die last, if they ever can die at all!"

"I wish they could." Then Fingon sighed again. "So perhaps we should drive one away with reason. What shall we do, if Melkor is not found in time, and the Valar refuse to let Grandfather leave?"

"But surely he is the king!"

"Not anymore," said Fingon. "You see, there was about to be yet another argument, regarding who exactly would be king. Should it be Grandfather, though he entertains Fëanor's heresies, so that Father is merely the regent? Or is it Father himself? Well, Manwë has spoken now. A king he is who Eru anoints, through the Valar as his vicegerents. So they are now crowning Father, with Elenwë standing in Mother's place as first lady even as Indis stands as Queen Mother. For one cannot have a king who rejects the Valar. It would be like rain without water, or frost without ice. As you said: another contradiction in terms."

Then Fingon turned abruptly, for the first time in the conversation. "Or so they say!" he said bitterly. "Plan after plan, lovingly formed, only to be thrown into the dust. Yea, surely we may still reassure the Ñoldor somewhat. So I stand here, head of the policing of Tirion alongside Aegnor; Manwë will tolerate that. But we are forbidden from doing the one thing that might make Fëanor hearken to us. Our house now rules in Tirion, and the lies of Melkor have turned true. Ruined are Elenwë's plans for us to be the Ñoldor of Finwë, for never again shall that differ from being the Ñoldor of Fëanor. Alas! Manwë accepts the Marring in word, but all his deeds deny it, living in the Timeless Halls of Eru where we cannot go. Whereas Fëanor rejects and protests against it, arguing for a higher road; yet all his deeds accept it with his violence and wrath.

"All we have is you, Aunt Nerdanel, and the Ambarussar. You may pass messages. And we have Angrod and Edhellos trying for the Third House. The Valar did not exile the House of Fëanor forever; we are not yet forbidden from trying to heal the strife. And yet, by the consequences of their actions, I am! Now Father is set to rule in Tirion; and what will come, if Grandfather returns, and his quarrel with the Valar has not ended? Verily would I persuade Father to return the throne, if my heart alone spoke. But will Manwë allow it? Or is it already rebellion?"

"Who then, according to you, now rules the Noldor?" Nerdanel asked.

"Finwë," Fingon emphasised immediately. "Finwë, as it ever was since he led the Great Journey, and as it ever shall be until he tires of it. Your husband indeed deserved some punishment for drawing the sword, and his rights may be held in abeyance till then. But there is nothing Grandfather did that goes beyond what Fëanor said ere he descended into violence; and we will not have Manwë deprive him of kingship without just cause. Father is a regent, nothing more."

"And yet my husband is going to see it as Fingolfin bolstering his credentials for claiming the kingship once Finwë is truly tired of it," Nerdanel pointed out. "He'll then say that what Fingolfin planned all along was to prove that he could keep everything running smoothly without drama, in the face of a tantrum by his spoiled, impossible son. Yes, I know it's not true at all, but good luck convincing Fëanor otherwise."

Fingon sighed.

"Did I ever tell you why Fëanor decided to be a nice uncle to your sister?" Nerdanel was suddenly inspired to ask.

"You did not."

"Because he thought it would somehow humiliate your father."

Fingon looked perplexed. "How?" he said, in total confusion.

"Somehow," Nerdanel shrugged. "This was his baseline for sanity beforehand."

"I'm aware," Fingon smiled. "That was when I was very close to Maedhros. It's a bit hard to avoid Fëanor if you're friends with his heir."

"Sometimes I think we should never have moved back to Tirion. Fëanor truly was better beforehand, nephew. Even I find it hard to believe now, but his paranoid tendencies were so much less evident back then."

Perhaps indeed. But then I would never have met Russandol.

"In that case, maybe the exile will do some good!" Fingon replied flippantly, hiding his thoughts. "But honestly, even if the plan was ridiculous, Fëanor has certainly succeeded. So many jokes are being told in poor taste, saying that since Father cannot exert authority over his daughter, he hardly seems competent in exerting authority over the Noldor."

There was a pause.

"And do you think your sister truly wants to marry my son?" Nerdanel whispered.

"I must make her believe that we respect her free choices," whispered Fingon. "I at least do, and so will Elenwë. But I think that father and Turgon do not understand. They think it is all a cry of frustration. Surely she does not really want to marry Celegorm, they say, for the very thought is ridiculous. Bonds of the family are one thing, and bonds of love are another. Well, it doesn't really stop the Vanyar and Teleri from marrying second cousins, generation after generation. After enough repetitions, it seems to me that that should become worse.

"Moreover I know my sister. She must be innocent, though with my words I forfeited the right to welcome her back. Father warned her this would happen, yet still she does not deserve her heartbreak! Now she can go neither forward nor back, and only Celegorm and those closest to him will publicly stand by her. Should it be a surprise, then, that she latches onto him so strongly? How can I justly separate them, when he is the one thing holding her from blackest despair?"

My sister I have caught sight of. But not Maedhros. No doubt he was among the first to leave; he is Fëanor's heir, and must stand beside him. And yet my heart yearns greatly to bid my cousin a gentle farewell.

Ai, Russandol! Once it was obvious that you would feel the same way. Is it still so now? Have you found a truer friend than me?

Nerdanel stared into the distance. "You think Aredhel would go to even further extremes, if she thought it would win back my husband's trust?"

"Not her alone! Once there was a free debate at Cuiviénen. Melian tolerated it and even participated herself; then Oromë quashed it. At first, my sister only wished to renegotiate our agreement with the Valar, and ask politely for more liberty within their system. Now it has been rejected and denied.

"I fear for her if we do nothing, Aunt Nerdanel. I fear for all the Fëanorians. For if every other way out is denied them, will they feel they have anything to lose with violence?"

Nerdanel gasped.

"Surely Finwë will put a stop to such talk—"

"And that is why we will not call Father king. No matter what Indis and Findis, who you hold in such esteem, have to say."

And Nerdanel left in deep thought.

---

The first envelope Aredhel opened was, of course, the one signed by Argon.

I miss you, big sister. You taught me so much, and you were always my favourite sibling. Turgon is boring; all he talks about is philosophy. It catches his interest, but it sparks mine not at all. Fingon is nice, but he's so much older and he's always busy. Could you come back? Tirion is so much less fun without you.

I love you.

"You know I can't do that, little brother," she said shakily to herself. "But I love you too. Never doubt that. You were the only reason I hesitated, before I turned aside from my old house. It is only that you do not understand. And for the sake of your happiness – I hope you will never have to."

Her hand trembled.

"What can I say?" she wept. "Brother, you already came too close to woe, by sneaking this to me! Well do I know how the courtiers in Tirion think of me now. If I send you anything, you will treasure it, and gaze at it fondly and often. And soon you will be found out. Do not ask me to drag you into my misery, for I love you!"

She never sent a reply.

---

"Makalaurë?"

"Eldalótë?"

He turned in surprise, and their eyes met in the dim light of Telperion.

"If you sought me, then you have left it late," said Maglor. "The last I saw you was at my farewell to Alqualondë. Then you sang beautifully, in a white dress, with roses in your raven hair—"

"And you accompanied me on the harp for half the songs, as Angrod did on the piano," she said.

"There we all had a thousand happy memories."

"We did."

"And I had a silent competition with Angrod going, on who would win your fair hand—"

"I knew of it too."

"You chose him; yet I never stopped loving you."

"I know. No doubt it inspired those thousand fair romances, flowing from your pen."

"It did." Maglor sighed. "I bore no grudge, and ever forgave everything. I knew there was half a chance I would find bliss, and half a chance I would find woe. Both fates I had accepted.

"This only I ever wondered: why did Finrod turn so hostile toward me, when he came to Tirion himself? Angrod had much more reason to want to avoid me, for he may not have known that I bore no envy towards him. I would have gladly played at your wedding, had you or he asked. Yet he was much less obvious about it than his elder brother."

Edhellos turned away. "I am forbidden to say," she whispered. "You both had your needs. I was there when he could not bear his pain; and for that reason I married him. But you cannot know more than that."

"And how do you think it would have been with me?"

"I suspect it would have been the same, loving all artists. Thence would come the greatest love and the greatest sorrow," she said. Then she stared into the distance. "But with him, the shadows will pass. He will not suffer overmuch. Would that I will not either!"

"Am I then to be a more tortured artist?"

"It may make you remembered as a greater one," Edhellos replied.

Maglor laughed. "That bargain I welcome with open arms," he said, though Edhellos' face grew wan and sad.

But then a sharp smirk, ridden with sarcasm, came to his face. "But why come you to me now, after so long? Does then the Third House wish to gloat that the First House has been driven forth from Tirion?"

"Your father was driven forth," Edhellos urged. "You only chose to follow him; and since you alone of your host are still here, perhaps your heart is not at one with that choice. The Ambarussa are yet too young, and will ride back and forth every few months. Could you not at least do the same?"

"So you suddenly miss me that badly? What would Angrod say?" Maglor laughed.

"He gave me his blessing," Edhellos said seriously. "Contact between the houses has almost been cut off. We will not look at each other, and when we hear another speak, all we dare to think of is what personal gain may be behind it."

"I believe that for Finrod and Galadriel," Maglor said venomously. "Ever they seek to swarm around Indis' sycophants, rising higher and higher. Either Arafinwë condones this, or he cannot control it. I know not which is worse."

"But we need a way to talk," Edhellos begged. "Please. You have always been the most reasonable of your adult brothers. Your following is the least extreme among those who share your father's view of the Valar: you say that the Valar have acted unjustly, but do not ascribe malice to them. That is not so far from what Angrod and Aegnor say on the opposing side. They do not doubt the Valar's goodwill, but they ask that they do more, and dark doubts have awakened in them."

Her voice quavered. "We cannot have our differences become an unbridgeable chasm wider than the Great Sea itself. We must talk, while a few of us can still reach across it. Already there are too few, and soon there will be none."

"Your husband may not have directly betrayed me. Still he broke the friendship and stayed away. Can I be sure that reaching out a hand again will not end the same way?"

"At least trust my son!" pleaded Edhellos. "He is young – about the same age as your youngest brothers. He has not been part of our strife. And he even will keep the þ while talking to you."

"Now that I can hardly believe," argued Maglor. "Your husband is a prince of the Teleri, being son of Eärwen daughter of Olwë. But the Teleri hold to those arbitrary rules of Aman, saying that a royal princess cannot grant her status to her grandchildren, though a prince can. Your son Artaher grew up in Tirion, not Alqualondë, and that consonant would be strange to him."

"Yes, that is his Quenya name," said Edhellos. "Angrod gave it to him, according to the traditions of the Third House. But I named him in Telerin."

Maglor's eyebrows shot up. "You gave him a mother-name? When only the followers of the First House give them these days?" he said sharply.

"The children of Finarfin have them," Edhellos revealed.

Maglor gave a dismissive gesture. "I know," he said. "Then it was still in recent memory that Indis had provided mother-names for Fingolfin and Finarfin, though those names were really quite obnoxious jibes at Fëanor: high chieftain and eminent Noldo. And most of Father's following was not in Tirion. But the world today is quite different! Now only the First House gives them, so closely bound up are mother-names with the fate of Míriel Þerindë."

"Nonetheless I spoke the truth. And his name is Orotráþo."

Maglor looked absolutely stunned.

"Teach him his music – he has his parents' talent," Edhellos pleaded. "For I want some kind of proof that the houses can once more be in friendship even when not in total agreement. Otherwise we are lost."

She beckoned to the bushes; and Orodreth walked to the side of his mother.

Maglor smiled. "Well, even after all this time, teaching still remains my weakness," he said. "Hello, little one. Do you know me?"

"I have seen you in concert many times," Orodreth said excitedly, "and I always longed to play like you."

Maglor ruffled his head. "And your mother has been teaching you?"

"She has!" Orodreth replied. "But I want to learn the harp too. Uncle Finrod is nice, and I have learned much of lore from him. But this is your instrument first of all, and I want to learn from the best."

Maglor laughed. "Flattery will get you somewhere," he joked. "Then how would you like to meet me every two months, when I ride to Tirion to give lessons?" he said.

"Yes, please!"

"Consider it done, then!" Maglor smiled. Then he turned back to Edhellos, and on his face was a look of pure wonder. "You raised him to know me first and foremost as a musician, rather than for the strife in Tirion?"

"I and Angrod," Edhellos corrected.

"So you think we might do all the things we used to, as carefree youths?" he said disbelievingly.

"Is there ever a true repeat, in music?" said Edhellos sadly. "A theme first exposed in the home key, ready for a grand journey, can never quite be as the same theme returning in nostalgia after a long excursion far away. Even if all the notes are the same, the weight of memory lies upon it. And this memory will itself be mutilated, for one voice will no longer be there."

Maglor closed his eyes, thinking of the first lesson he gave Finrod.

"And where do you think we are in the music?" Maglor asked.

Edhellos turned away. "After the return, evidently," she said. "But the moment of greatest tension is yet to come."

"That is not usual."

"And then will come naught but exhaustion. And, of course, the ending. There is only one way that could ever go."

Maglor stared. "In bliss or in woe?"

Edhellos looked away, her face wet with tears. "O Makalaurë! I took another love; but you I still care for, and now fear for. For the time draws near when I can no longer be there for you as friend or colleague."

Maglor raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean? Peradventure your current initiative has Angrod's leave, but not Finrod's?"

"Think nothing of it," she whispered. "It has Fingolfin and Finarfin's leave, and that is all that matters."

"My father and brothers think that Finarfin has sway over his following and the Teleri in particular. But I know most of you. I think it is Finrod who is really issuing commands, treacherously taking over the place of his father," Maglor replied haughtily.

"Think as you will. But treat my son well!" she said desperately.

Maglor nodded. Then the horse-lord of the Fëanorians mounted his mare, and galloped at lightning pace to Formenos.

Orodreth looked up at his mother, who was gazing into the distance. "Ammë, what's wrong?"

Only that I know that peace will not survive me. The Lying Mouth is a terrible enemy, and his darkness has penetrated the fortress of Valmar.

The Valar barely won the first war, and then they knew where Melkor was. Now they know nothing, and he has shown how deeply he can cozen the Elder King.

He wanted us at each other's throats. I am now publicly known as the ambassador from Tirion to Formenos. I am standing directly against the Enemy, and he knows who I am.

Any day may bring the fatal blow. Maybe this is Aulë's curse: rebellion will equal death. But this is my duty, to heal the strife at our lord's command, and to correct our inexcusable rudeness from before. Ai, I need time that I have not! Is this how it must be for the Aftercomers? To love the world in its bliss, and yet be forced soon to leave it, will they or nill they?

"Nothing," she whispered.

The leaves rustled sadly, as a chill wind blew from the north; and the last of the Fëanorians disappeared out of sight.

---

So time flew on, and even as Aredhel and Edhellos kept being wracked by premonitions of their deaths, the physical separation between the houses became a near-total barrier.

Indis and Findis were as good as their word. Having decided that Fingolfin and his house were no longer as pious as they had been brought up to be – which was somewhat true, though not as much as they imagined – the Lord of the Second House found himself without their support of old. This was good in the sense that he was no longer being called king quite as often, and hence was no longer undermining Finwë quite as much: only the Valar themselves called him by that annoyingly long name of Vinya Finwë Ñolofinwë, the new king Fingolfin.

Unfortunately, it was also bad in the sense that said support withdrew to the suburbs and the smaller cities, as well as Valimar and Alqualondë. And slowly but surely Finarfin, who had stayed away from expressing any anti-Valarin sentiments himself – not even the one Fingolfin dared to express, concerning how it would be really nice if the Valar apologized for letting Melkor loose in the world – found himself with a following greatly resembling Fingolfin's previous pious faction.

It was not, of course, a coincidence. They were happily calling Finarfin and Finrod by their shared mother-name Ingoldo. For so Indis and Findis thought: what better than to call them the ideal Noldor, while unsubtly alluding to their descent and resemblance in hair to Ingwë?

Finarfin, quite simply, did not know what to do with this. He merely stared privately in horror at what kind of a disaster he had unwittingly created for Fingolfin his full-brother. Angrod and Aegnor were likewise troubled in heart; being the middle sons, their followings at least still resembled their earlier states, composed primarily of people who most of all wished to stay out of politics. And while Galadriel was indeed still very respectful for the Valar, the average Vanya tended to look down on the Teleri, and would not go to her because of her Telerin beloved. But slowly but surely, the pious Vanyarised Noldor started flocking to Finrod, driving the Teleri who had once followed him to Angrod; and the following of Finrod thus grew great indeed.

It was in this tense world, where not even the Second and Third Houses were entirely at one, that the Ambarussar came of age.

Maedhros was his father's eldest son and heir; and so those attached to him were only outmatched in loyalty by Fëanor's direct following. The friendship of Maedhros and Fingon was in deepest winter; and from their eldest brother's following the Ambarussar got only the most stultifying repetitions of the worst aspects of Fëanorism. Maglor had his responsibilities as the official ambassador from Formenos to Tirion, and was often absent. Celegorm was fending off a ton of pointed questions, and Aredhel still could not leave his house.

As for Curufin, he spent all his time beside his wife and son. Half the time, he was by Pelindë's side in the laboratory, finding wonder after wonder in the last flowering of Eldarin science west of the Sea; and then he did not wish to be disturbed. The other half of the time, he was nursing Pelindë's frequent illnesses, which still struck her as the strife of the Noldor weighed yet heavier on her heart; and then he, even more so, did not wish to be disturbed.

But Caranthir took the twins into his following, and shielded them from the madness without. There they went together to the uttermost north, and roamed around Valinor even as Caranthir had done in his own youth. Occasionally he even dared to sneak with them around the northern end of the Pelóri, to speak to Lalwen for advice on sailing ships, plus commiserate with her on the unfortunately total lack of progress on traversing ice sheets. It had been so total that Fëanor had briefly considered taking Melkor's advice, at least until he detected a (for once true) conspiracy behind what he heard, and slammed his door in the face of the Great Death.

The only problem was that Caranthir was a bit too good at shielding the Ambarussar from all that madness. And so it came to pass that another six-month interval came to a close, and Caranthir brought the twins back to be embraced by their mother.

"How is your father?" asked Nerdanel.

"Love and joy have been returning slowly to him," said Amras in wonder. "Being away from the palace has truly done him much good. So different Father always seemed from the stories you shared of him in his youth; but now we see glimpses of it!"

"I concur: Father is changing much for the better," Amrod added. "How he dotes on Celebrimbor! How courteous he is to Pelindë!"

Nerdanel's eyebrows climbed extremely high. "He is?" she whispered.

"Why, yes," Caranthir drolly interjected. "He indeed praised Pelindë as a loyal soul, who would not betray those who rescued her from misery. And then he went on an hour-long rant about those he deemed unlike her. First about Aredhel," he said with a wince. "And then about Fingolfin, and finally building up to a dramatic though oft-repeated finale about Indis."

Nerdanel facepalmed. "I admit that that sounds far more in-character for Fëanor," she pointed out. "But that is not what I or the King Finwë had in mind by reconciliation. And I am fairly sure that Fëanor knows it."

She gave the Ambarussa a meaningful look. "Also: while I understand you did not wish to upset me; this is something I would've appreciated being informed of."

"Spare them your questioning, Mother, for they concealed nothing," said Caranthir. "They simply walked past on the way to another lesson, and reported only the little they heard. Unfortunately, I was calculating our finances next door, and heard everything else."

"Yes, and you relayed the information to me. Well done. But do you plan on doing something about that problem?" Nerdanel arched an eyebrow.

Caranthir arched one in return, looking annoyingly similar to his mother in that moment. "Considering that Nolofinwë's treachery has been rewarded by getting to sit on Grandfather's throne in Tirion, I do not think it wise. You are, for all that Father and you are estranged, still the lady of the First House; and you should act in our interests. It is evidently not in our interests to apologise now, for then the greater fault would be seen as lying with us. Perhaps we may consider it when the King returns to Tirion, and when Manwë apologises."

"I think you're trying to come up with clever ways to say never."

"So you agree they mean never? Well, then it speaks volumes about Manwë and his puppets!" said Caranthir, taking out a sheaf of letters. "Nonetheless I still have much to give you, Mother. Maglor sends his love, and together with him I have worked on a letter giving the situation in detail. Though you should burn it after reading it. I fear the other Aulendur will spy on us and send it to Indis, who they have just publicly endorsed."

Nerdanel wanted to scream in frustration.

If it were only up to my beliefs, I would have stood with my parents in a heartbeat. But I must save my husband and sons from death everlasting!

He turned. "Furthermore I bring tidings in reply to what you brought me half a year ago," he said conversationally. "It gladdens our hearts that the Ambarussar's idea of organising an open debate between our factions has been accepted; and that it will be held on neutral ground, halfway between Tirion and Formenos. Though we are not so gladdened by the fact that it is not Fingon or Turgon who accepts it, though we were willing to send Maedhros. That would have at least shown that they are learning from their mistakes; but it seems they are not. Instead we have to go so far down the line of succession that it is Angrod who will debate us. How do you think we should respond to that insult?"

"Can you blame them?" replied Nerdanel. "When the strife waxes so high in Tirion itself, that everything they do is scrutinised for how pious it is? Already it is said that Fingolfin and his elder sons are estranged from the Valar. For they sharpened their swords as well, and they will not deem Finwë overthrown and exiled. So too do they say it of Angrod and Edhellos, for the sin of remaining in contact with my sons! Every step they take now is on thin ice, balancing between angering the Valar and burning bridges with Fëanor; and it ever threatens to give way. Will you fault them for doing the best they can?"

"If they may be rationalised with excuses, then so may we," replied Caranthir. "The First House is willing to make a most magnanimous concession. If Nolofinwë and Arafinwë wish to send the sixth-oldest of their princes, then we will send the fifth-oldest of ours. I shall be the one to debate with Angrod."

Unfortunately, it was not seen as a concession at all: Caranthir's personality probably ensured that. And when the debate was held, the divisions between the Noldor were all too obviously laid bare for all to see.

Everyone in Tirion judged that Angrod had won. Everyone in Formenos judged that Caranthir had won. And everyone outside either city proceeded to turn up their noses and say that Angrod should never have accepted.

Somehow, hearing that last concern kindly expressed through the mouths of Finrod and Galadriel was particularly aggravating.

---

"We are truly alone," whispered Angrod to Edhellos.

His wife nodded listlessly.

"Aegnor is a gentle and noble spirit; fell he is only in mock battle, when he trains to guard the borders of Tirion ceaselessly. Perhaps too gentle; for he cannot say no to Finrod at his most intransigent."

Edhellos nodded again.

"And Maglor likewise cannot say no to Fëanor and Maedhros. Every meeting with him is one step forward and two steps back. All we managed to do is create a bond of friendship between him and Orodreth. Our son has grown up almost as much with the First House as with the Third; I can but hope Maglor will remember it, and be merciful to him. But it won't sway our half-cousins one bit in anything related to politics."

Edhellos nodded sadly.

"Why do we keep trying? How do you never complain?"

"Because it is our duty as the chosen ambassadors."

"Yes, that is what drives me onward; for I am ever dutiful, seeking no praise," said Angrod. "But what drives you, when we know it is all in vain?"

She turned away. "Because I must savour every hour of peace, be it lasting or no, before it is all ended."

Oh Finrod! You spoke of the ruinous war that would end the world. But far sooner will the great battle come, and the world will go on without us, when our doom is full-wrought.

And yet these last Fëanorian-Finarfinian summits in Valinor, so to speak, came to a most ignoble end a year after Melkor came to Formenos.

For Pelindë innocently questioned a policy of Fëanor in Formenos, only for the latter to conclude that Finarfin was the mastermind of a supposed conspiracy to sway all Teleri within Alqualondë or without. Fortunately, he then took it upon himself to fuss over Pelindë further, deeming her a little too naïve for Noldorin politics. Maybe in that narrow thought he was not wrong, so desperately cutthroat said politics were – though he did not really have the right to say that, since he had come close to making them literally cutthroat.

Since Angrod seemed to be the most likely source of that imaginary malignant influence, that strand of communication was cut off; and so were the southward rides of the Ambarussar. For they would come of age the next day, and had to take their side once and for all.

---

Amrod stared at Amras. "You mean to stay here."

"It will be better for Father if he does not come back to Tirion," Amras said earnestly. "The intrigues of the palace ever weigh heavy on his heart. He is at his best, when he does not hear of them, and spends his time in the forge creating wonder after wonder. Our eldest brothers have ever said so."

Amrod looked down. "He is finding joy in this place indeed," he admitted.

"And the tensions are so high," Amras pointed out. "If we go south, then it shall be a doom irrevocable, and we can never change our mind. Aredhel is living proof of what happens to those who do: they become forsaken outcasts, hated by both their old allegiance and their new."

"Then you only say this because we are in the north right now! If we were in the south, would that argument not say that we should remain with Mother instead?"

Amras grimaced. "Still inaction will ever be perceived as better than making an active choice. What we are doing is not the same as what Aredhel did, publicly shunning her father before she betrayed ours. And even if going south would not drive Father to further paranoia, then still he would be anxious to meet us, and on entering Tirion his heart would break again."

"Yet still I feel for our poor mother, who will be abandoned by all her children," said Amrod.

"Say not abandoned! Say rather that Father and Mother both have their needs, but that Father's are greater," argued Amras.

"Well I know that," said Amrod. "It is what the King said to Father. And yet I wonder how I would have felt, were I Fingolfin in that situation."

"Why do you give him an extra Finwë?"

"Because that was his birth-name, just as it was for Fëanor and Finarfin his brothers. And it seems most hypocritical of us, to argue ever in favour of calling Grandmother Míriel by her original mother-name, but not to call our uncles Fingolfin and Finarfin by their original father-names."

"Surely you can't be planning to do the same to all our brothers, then. Finwë Nelyafinwë? Finwë Kanafinwë? Finwë—"

"Yes, yes, I get the idea," Amrod said, turning crimson.

Amras sighed. "Language evolves, Ambarussa," he said. "Now the name of Finwë has lost its meaning, and people take it simply to mean King. It is just like how káno means a chieftain to us, but only a herald to the Teleri. Nolofinwë's names now are not the same as when they were first given."

"I somehow don't think they take it to mean King when it refers to Lalwen. She is a Finwë too."

"A name she dislikes greatly. She never uses it when she can help it, and she never comes to the palace either. Have Nolofinwë or Arafinwë taken that step, of removing themselves from politics and changing their names? I doubt they ever will, but unless they do so, it will not be a comparable case."

Amrod sighed. "Well, I will not be parted from my twin," he said. "If you are sure of your course, then I will stand with you. And yet I still fear that it will go ill."

---

So it was that Edhellos came never again to Formenos. It seemed to all that she was now in high spirits, hastening to enjoy the bliss of Valinor as Melkor departed southward and his cloud lifted; and if Angrod guessed what truly lay behind her change of mood, he told no one.

Yet Orodreth never forgot that his happiest childhood days were spent learning from not only Finrod, but also from Maglor.

He and Celebrimbor were, incidentally, still the only representatives of the third generation of Noldorin princes. Idril was yet unborn; for in the absence of Anairë, it was Argon who Elenwë was mothering almost as a son. Indeed it was that experience that awakened her desire for a child of her own; but Turgon ever urged his wife to wait for a time less fraught.

That never happened, of course. And when Manwë announced that he was inviting Fëanor to a festival, Elenwë shuddered.

She ran straight to the palace, past the courtyard with Nerdanel's sculptures of the fourteen Valar – the fifteenth sculpture was languishing in the artist's studio as she decided what on earth to do with it – and into the office of Turgon her husband without announcing herself.

"This is a yet worse disaster than Melkor coming to Formenos!" she exclaimed.

Turgon slowly looked upward. "How?" he asked, genuinely confused. "Manwë said to Fëanor that he was still in his love and would be honoured."

"But he also said that Fëanor should not deny his bidding!" Elenwë explained. "This will do everything to convince Fëanor that he is right. He has been saying that the Valar care not one whit about recapturing Melkor, and prefer to interfere pointlessly with Noldorin affairs. Obviously that isn't true, but that's exactly how it will look like to him; for Melkor has not been found, and yet Manwë says this will bring healing! What does he think is going to happen by putting Fëanor and Fingolfin on a stage and telling them now kiss? They will hate each other more than before!"

"My father will mean it in truth, when he forgives Fëanor," said Turgon.

"Well I know that," said Elenwë. "But Fëanor does not. He does not know that the Second House is no longer so sure of Valarin goodwill. All he has is a vague and incomplete idea of what the Third House officially thinks, from what Angrod said at the debate; and he deems that the houses of Fingolfin and Finarfin are at one with each other. Their leaders are indeed; but not, I deem, their seconds-in-command. And neither do Finwë the King or the sons of Fëanor know this."

She indeed saw clearly, having studiously read every new text that circulated and was signed by Celegorm; and she was vindicated, when Finwë and the sons of Fëanor refused to obey the command of Manwë. But even with her clear sight she did not foresee just how great the mutual hatred would yet fester.

---

Of the destruction of the Two Trees and theft of the Silmarils much is told elsewhere. Though, it is true, not everything. Not the desperate ride of Aredhel past the webs of Ungoliant, her first since the Drawing of the Sword; for her iron will to find Celegorm overrode all else. Not how Pelindë, sick and tired as she was, found the strength to flee Formenos carrying her son: when she could run no further, she hid among the bushes, and in the midst of the Unlight kept Celebrimbor and herself concealed even from Melkor. In the hour that Maedhros announced the death of Finwë, and Fëanor fled from the Ring of Doom, still Curufin continued his desperate search, seeking ceaselessly in the measureless hours of the Darkening for his family. No words were spoken at their reunion, as the tears were enough.

Countless sadder stories there were also, from those who survived only to find Finwë's mangled corpse, and thought as Fëanor did that they had failed their King. And from those who fled, only to meet the zigzagging path of Melkor trying to shake off Ungoliant's pursuit, and found their deaths. And among the people of Fingolfin, yet worse befell.

But Melkor went whither he would; and in the hour of reunion of Curufin and Pelindë, a terrible cry was heard in Lammoth and echoed through all the North.

Lacheryn whimpered, trembling in the corner of her room in Belegost.

"What was that?" Nelloriel whispered.

Rathlóriel rose. "The herald of death," she replied in a voice cold and hard as the mountain-peaks. "It is time to fight. Haste us to Himring!"

And the Balrogs came with winged speed from Angband, over Ard-galen and Hithlum; and all too many Sindar in the far northwest perished in flame, save those who were protected by Lake Mithrim and the streams feeding it, or lucky enough to be deep underground in the mines of the Eryd Wethrin.

Far away to the east, Festiel the middle daughter of Arassaeglir urged her horse to exhaustion.

Everyone must be dead. Faster, my horse! The inferno rages behind me. Please. I want to live. I want to live. I want to live...

Both her sisters had fled to Dorthonion, where the slopes withstood the fires; and there Gledhennil was organising a defence. But a terror seized her on contemplating the idea, and she alone had continued riding.

The flames were closing upon her; but she also saw a great storm brewing atop Himring.

Just a little more. I have to get there. I have to get there...

The rain drenched her from head to toe; and, for good measure, she threw herself into the spring of Celon.

She would live.

---

Lothlann survived, and so would all the horse-lords east of the Celon; and many were the tears shed in the Gap when Festiel gave her terrible tidings. But the wall was not wholly spared by the flooding either.

So it was that as the flames died down, Sauron ordered the Orcs to issue forth from Angband, and Thangorodrim blew its top in great joy to welcome its lord. All the North was wreathed in darkness impenetrable, and its doughty warriors were wracked by confusion.

Meanwhile, Ungoliant turned south, passed through Dor-lómin, and crossed the Shadowy Mountains.

The enemy had come to the North Sindar, and it was on both sides of Rathlóriel's wall. And to make matters worse, it was quite a while before anyone realised that that had happened.

One by one, the fair towns between the Mindeb and Esgalduin fell into darkness impenetrable, their inhabitants slain with no warning. For Ungoliant called out many nameless things from the Eryd Gorgoroth, and they worked together, ere she mated with them and devoured them. Few indeed were those who escaped hardly across the Aros into Himlad, destroying the bridges behind them to deny them to the spiders. Many could not get out; for the Unlight robbed them of wit and will.

The pass of Aglon was under heavy assault by Boldog, and even with the heroic valour and skill of Glaewen's army, all she could do was ensure that Himlad behind was not yet lost. Rathlóriel was likewise desperately holding the Gelion, and any Orc that came close to that great river was soon felled by her swords and the Dwarves' axes. Great was their joy as those two friends retook the Gap, and found each other still alive and dealing great blows against the Enemy.

But neither could break out. Dorthonion remained surrounded, and no news came of the horrors that had overtaken the lands directly to its south.

In the last desperate weeks of its battle, even the Petty-dwarves came forth from Ladros. They died honourably; but to no avail, as the few survivors burrowed even deeper into their caves in occupied Dorthonion.

They never forgot, however, that Gledhennil's Sindar had fought and died by their side; whereas the less said about the Falathrim and Iathrim actions regarding the Petty-dwarves, the better.

---

Gledhennil stared defiantly at Morgoth.

"So," said the Lying Mouth, "here is one who spoke against the Valar. Halfway you have come to joining me; do you not thirst for revenge against those who abandoned you?"

"I spoke so only because they could not protect us from you," Gledhennil spat, "and I wished that they would kill you, and deprive you of the ability to act forever."

Morgoth laughed. "That they cannot do," he said. "I defiled their fortress, and escaped by my own power. I am the Elder King of the World. And those like your daughter who wish only for riches will find none without my blessing, for I am the Giver of Gifts."

"Do not mock her," he retorted, "for she will be your ending. We have learned much without the Valar's aid. A great queen she has become, and she is routing your puppets as we speak. She is coming for us."

"Never," Morgoth mocked, "unless she is dragged here by me in chains."

"And when she comes," Gledhennil taunted, "her army will throw down your walls. She will call you as you are, the Black Foe of the World, and it shall be you who quakes in fear, in the deepest of your dungeons. But it shall avail you not. You shall be tortured even as you threaten me now, and executed like the least of your Orcs. And every bit of your essence which you spread over our lands she will eradicate like the common vermin you are. Yea, more skilled shall she be than the Valar, for she will go unerringly for your throat without whelming the land into the sea in the process. And your treasures she will take, and your crown will be beaten into a collar for you, before the One himself intervenes to expel you from Eä!"

Morgoth gave a cry of rage; and as far as Gledhennil was concerned, the next years were an unrelenting monotony of tortures.

But he never gave in and called him Lord.

My daughter is coming, he thought, even as every other thought fled. My daughter is coming, and she will have her revenge.

---

Now having striven against Melian, and done what she would to turn the Gorgoroth into a place of horror, Ungoliant crept slowly but surely eastward. First she crossed the Esgalduin; and though she could not poison its spring, blessed as it had been by Melian, still she turned Dor Dínen into a place of dreadful silence. No living creature would roam there, nor bird fly over it; and all who journeyed there in after days, where the mazes of Melian and Ungoliant met, were beset by spectres and phantoms. Impotent they were, unlike westward in Nan Dungortheb; but the terror they inspired was enough.

Melian would indeed have wished to expand the Girdle. But she was wrestling in thought against both Melkor and Ungoliant, and her strength was not enough. Weaker than most Maiar she had been, ever since the birth of Lúthien trammeled her in incarnation; and still more she was weakened as her spirit poured itself into protecting the land. Already she could not even protect all that Thingol claimed, and Brethil remained open to attack from without.

So it was that Ungoliant came, as a slow menace, through Himlad into Estolad. Then Himring was assaulted as well from the south, and the Pass of Aglon was finally forced by the Orcs.

Himlad was now lost too.

---

The fair farms and greenhouses of Estolad were all wrecked.

Many had sought to flee directly westward to Doriath; but Melian could neither make the Girdle wide enough, nor open it to so many without putting the whole into jeopardy. And she could not do that, when far too many of Ungoliant's foul offspring were still trying to penetrate south from Nan Dungortheb.

And so those who lived had to take the longer route east, so that the towns of Thargelion swelled with refugees, as did Belegost itself. But from Estolad all had fled or been killed; save two.

"Lady Lacheryn!" shouted Nelloriel, pushing through the cloud of unwill out of love and concern. "Feel you no fear? Why head you this way?"

She turned back. "For too long I have felt nothing but fear," Lacheryn replied. "Yea, it closed on me from every direction. But no more! I have broken free of the Shadow, and I am not under its will. Now it has sharpened me. My friends helped me, when I was in need. Now I shall repay the debt, and fight when they cannot!"

"Wait!"

And Nelloriel ran forward, even as Lacheryn stepped towards the centre of the gloom, heedless of the strangling thongs that weaved tighter around her; and she looked upon Ungoliant without flinching.

"Gloomweaver, Lightquencher, darkness primeval!" Lacheryn shouted. "Now shall you swallow our people no longer. I do not fear you, for I see now that I have fought you in spirit for the last twenty years!"

She took a phial, that she had obtained from the Dwarves of Belegost; and doused the great spider with it and set it aflame.

"Die now and devour yourself, slime of Morgoth! The wrath of Arum you may have eluded, but not that of Mahal!"

She ran forward, unheeding to the flames devouring the dry grass all around the desolated plains of Estolad; and stabbed at the spider's all too many eyes over and over again.

Then Ungoliant turned to flight; and a madness of grief suddenly came upon Nelloriel, as she saw her lady fight to the death.

"You will not hide!"

And she leapt into the flames.

---

The darkness in Angband's prisons was oppressive; and even as Lagriel was dragged along blindfolded by the Orcs with her fellow prisoners, she could still feel the malice oozing forth from the walls.

"Down on your knees!" one of the Orc-captains shouted.

They all did so.

"Good," he said with relish, "so the obedience of a slave fast becomes you."

He walked around slowly. "But a greater destiny yet awaits some of you," he smirked, "because our lieutenant Mairon is in need of Elvish souls for his experiments. Guards! Drag forth the numbers I call!"

"Thirty-seven!"

A muffled struggle was heard, followed by the closing of a gate, and a dreadful silence.

"Forty-five!"

The same happened again.

Please let it not be me.

"Sixty-seven!"

Please let it not be me.

"Eighty!"

Please! Aran Einior, Elbereth, Arum, Mahal, whoever is listening. I beg you, let it not be me!

"One hundred and four!"

A set of arms grabbed her unceremoniously; but the gag placed on her had loosened just enough from all the rough handling, and she let forth a terrible scream of despair.

"Spare her and take me!" rang a clear voice.

And even the Orcs paused.

Reniel?

The voice rang out again, though it cracked this time. "Spare my sister," Reniel begged. "I know there is no mercy in your hearts of iron. But I will offer myself as ransom. Torture and ruin me as you wish, all the more so since I have consented of free will; but let her go. I have offered my own damnation; but to receive it you must let her go. Take my sister to the gates, and let her go free in life, without any cloud of fear or dread upon her. Let my sister go."

Lagriel was in utter shock.

The Orcs looked uncertainly towards their captain.

"Well! That can be arranged, up to a point," Boldog said in triumph. "For more shall we receive from a willing than an unwilling sister. But you presume too much, if you think we shall free anyone whose will is not yet broken. Guards! Take the other instead to Gorthaur, and send the one you have to the mines!"

And so it was done.

Lagriel knew much of mining, having learned from the Dwarves; and having always carried the lamps of Belegost and Nogrod with her, she slowly committed the paths to memory, hoping to find a way out.

But time and again, when she was sure no Orc above could see or hear her, she wept bitterly.

An Elf-lady came up to her. Angband being Angband, it was always the same question.

"Who?" said Silchenniel sadly.

So it came to pass that in the deepest mines of Angband – though the work assigned to the slaves of Morgoth never ceased – still songs were ever sung of Reniel's selfless love.

---

The woods grew wild east of Doriath, as the ruined cities of the East Sindar crumbled into dust. And with Ungoliant dead and no longer blocking their way, the Orcs were now free to plunder between the Celon and Gelion.

Thingol had finally come out to destroy them, as the confusion caused by the previous attacks had caused great delay. Then again, since that timing meant he only came out once it was actually one of his vassals who was threatened, the North and East Sindar tended to reach certain conclusions.

Meanwhile, Rathlóriel emerged from her city, going out with the Dwarves and taking out her grief and anger on the straggling Orcs that tried to pass through the Gap. But too dearly bought was the victory even for Thingol, the greatest of Elven-kings east of the Sea. From Doriath no lords came out ever again of the Girdle while it lasted, save three: Beleg, Mablung, and one other of greatest infamy.

But Rathlóriel was overcome by a dull haze of despair.

The south of her land had been taken; and though she still had traffick and help from Belegost, none could now come from besieged Nogrod.

Lacheryn and Nelloriel's bodies had been so badly burned that hardly anyone could recognise them. Only Losseneth could recognise her daughter; and since Lacheryn's parents had both perished defending Himring, only Rathlóriel and Glaewen could identify who had fallen as one of the east's greatest heroes. And all the surrounding land in Estolad was poisoned by the filth of Ungoliant, and would not be clean again for a hundred years.

Rathlóriel buried them beside together on the top of Maltaras, in the middle of the misty forest where bubbled the spring of the little Helevorn; and beside her, while she wept, there stood Losseneth, singing a song of grief in her native Nandorin.

"They were both heroes," Rathlóriel whispered. "They avenged us all."

Losseneth nodded. "You were right indeed, Lady Lóriel," she said, too grieved to show much emotion. "The Shadow can be overcome. And yet the price is so dear."

And Rathlóriel thought of the despairing faces of Thargelion, which had climbed over six hundred thousand in population as refugee after refugee fled past the Gelion; and of all the North Sindar that followed her and only her.

For there was no one else left to follow. All the other lords and ladies were dead, except Glaewen, who was in agony due to a poisoned wound from an Orc-arrow.

"O Manwë! You stand upon Taniquetil, and you see all – and you do not come in might, to avenge us! A few who called out to Ulmo and Aulë gained help. Many more did the same and got none. Is there no crime of your brother too serious for you? Then shall I remember that you and he are of one kindred!"

She sobbed. "What wrong did we do that we should be punished so?" she cried in despair. "O my poor mother! How must the Orcs be tormenting you? And my father too; in what desperation must he lie now? Or perhaps they have been killed, and forced to wear the bodies of monsters to ride against me! A jail-crow of Mandos sits now on Lacheryn's throne, and his lapdogs would fain have marched over her bones! And I can do nothing but rescue them after she is gone! A curse on Manwë! A curse on Varda! A curse on everyone sitting idle in the West! May the earth swallow you up, leaving naught but memory!"

Losseneth, unspeaking, took her hand.

"Still now one thing can be said," whispered Losseneth. "No longer do your people scorn mine. And in our grief the Sundering has been redressed. Henceforth we are one people, whether west or east of the Blue Mountains. And we will all follow you. You are a great queen, Lady Rathlóriel; and thanks to you, at least something has been kept clean from the terrors."

Rathlóriel nodded, her throat too tight to speak. But her mind was far away; and forgetting all that was around her, she collapsed onto the ground, and wailed like the small girl she had not been for over a thousand years.

For who among daughters had held her parents in greater worth?

---

Festiel walked up the stairs to Rathlóriel's office in Helevorn.

"Go away," she sobbed, hiding under her desk. "I wish everyone had snubbed me, and I had no friends. Then I would not be feeling the pain of losing them."

"You stink of wine," Festiel pointed out. Then she gave her lady a slap in the face.

"Ow," said Rathlóriel.

"Stop being stupid, my queen," said Festiel heatedly. "Yes, it's terrible that your parents are both taken, and that you are now Queen of the Northlands. But do you know what I have to deal with? Both my sisters are being put to torment in Angband, and my father is unreachable in Hithlum. I can only assume he is all right if I decide to hope blindly against all wisdom."

She inhaled briefly. "And my Vanya mother long ago disowned me. By the banks of the Anduin she and Father had an argument on whether or not to proceed with the march. At length she said she would make the decision the next day. Then she crept out, in the middle of the night, and ran ahead to the Vanyarin host, even though I was barely of age and Lagriel was a child. And yet I didn't start destroying myself like you're doing."

Rathlóriel looked vaguely stirred – though that was somewhat compromised by her current state of being an undignified heap on the floor.

"Don't you remember what you said to Nelloriel?" Festiel urged more warmly. "Strange it would then be that those who do best are those who worry the most, while the incompetent live with their minds untroubled. I promise you this: you've done two thousand times better than you think you've done. There are over half a million survivors, when the Shadow expected to kill us all. Himring has been retaken, the Dwarves are aiding us, and the horse-lords are regrouping in Eriador. We are badly wounded indeed, and many of our old lords are captured or dead: for they always ensured that all their people could flee before them. But we have their heirs. You have Losseneth, my queen. You have me. You will have Glaewen if she pulls through. And you have the Dwarves still. There are so many people who love you and will help you, if only you will let them."

Then fire returned to Rathlóriel's eyes, and she nodded.

Her attempt to get up, however, was somewhat marred by her head spinning. And so she fell over again, and vomited.

"How much did you even drink?" Festiel said disbelievingly. "Promise me you'll never do something this stupid again."

"I promise," slurred Rathlóriel. "I just wanted the pain to stop for a while. But this is worse. I am an idiot."

Festiel sighed. "I'll do your job for today," she said, "since you and Glaewen are both out of commission, and Nelloriel is dead. And I suppose I shall have to clean up," she looked in disgust. "But I'm still going to be passing everything by you when you're being one with the floor."

Rathlóriel groaned.

---

Time passed.

Rathlóriel had long since sobered up and dried her tears. The front line was stable, and Thargelion itself was safe. The Gap was holding, and the horse-lords were mounting attack after attack to destroy the supply chain of Angband. And at length, she felt ready to go on a stealth mission west of Gelion, trying to get a sense of the utter devastation that had wrecked her lands.

So upon her throne on Lake Helevorn she set Glaewen.

"I am not sure I'll ever be able to fight like I once could," Glaewen whispered, as she stared through her left eye. The other one was made by the Dwarves of Belegost out of glass.

Rathlóriel gently took her hand. "Yet you are still here. You, alone of the first hundred to befriend me. The first place in my heart you shall have; and you shall stand as my heir."

And so Rathlóriel turned south with her party, and approached the Celon. But all of a sudden, she felt an enchantment emanating from Nan Elmoth.

"Who goes there?" she shouted.

A figure clad in jet-black galvorn emerged from the trees with his servants; and Rathlóriel flew into a rage.

"Does Thingol then not even wait for the dead to be buried to take over our lands?" She clenched her fists.

"What lands?" Eöl mocked. "By your own words to Thingol, Dwarvish power only operates beyond the Gelion. We are only reclaiming our own. But of course, perhaps something could be thought of, if the lady fair before me would consent to a joining of interests—"

His hand reached out. But suddenly there was a flash of steel, as Rathlóriel drew her sword, and her people followed.

"Touch me again," she said, breathing heavily, "and I will kill you, Thingol's cousin or no."

Eöl stared. Then he nodded abruptly to his servants, and disappeared into his forest out of sight.

Rathlóriel stared into the west. "Thingol, Thingol!" she shouted. "Well do I know now what you have planned. To let us die, and take our lands for yourself! Come out of your forest, if you dare, and answer me! Answer unto all those who have lost their lovers! Answer unto all those who have lost their siblings! And answer unto all the children who have lost their parents! Or show me contempt, not even worthy of a reply, if you will. But this I say to you: if you will not come out and face me, then one day I shall destroy you! Yes, you and your kingdom, never to rise again: for you deserve it! Murderer, kinslayer, willing to forsake your own people to the hells of Angband! Cower in your forest, for you are not fit to be seen under Moon or Sun!"

She wept bitterly, as she led her people on grimly back to what still held. For she did not know that Eöl had come there on his own initiative, and that Thingol had been most reluctant to let him settle outside the Girdle, accepting only after the payment of Anglachel.

---

Lalwen awoke groggily.

That's strange. This doesn't feel like my bed.

She opened her eyes.

Wait. Why am I on a boat?

"Lillassëa, what are you doing?" screamed Lalwen.

She smiled serenely. "The light of Aman is fallen. Melkor has ruined it utterly, and soon his curse shall fall upon Middle-earth," she said, as she determinedly steered her boat eastward.

"Then why are you going that way?" yelled Lalwen.

Lillassëa looked upward, with a fey light in her eyes. "We are all going to die," she said matter-of-factly, "in Valinor or no. Myself, my parents, my brother. But why should I not greet them once more in the body before that happens?"

"I didn't sign up for this!" Lalwen protested. "What of my father? What of my siblings?"

"You don't appear to be terribly close," Lillassëa said, her voice not sounding as if it was entirely in touch with reality. "They are estranged from you, just like my son and husband are from me. Whereas I have missed Galadhon for four hundred years and more."

"No, they're not! Fingolfin and Finarfin talk to me! Caranthir talks to me!"

"But you don't go to the palace. You acted in a way that forced you to forsake being a royal. So did I. And you have been my very best friend."

"Well, if we are friends, then turn around this instant and let me go!"

"I'm afraid I can't do that."

"Why not?" screamed Lalwen.

"Because I don't know where we are. Valinor has long since disappeared beyond the mists."

"You—" Lalwen exhaled. "I don't want to die, just because you lost your mind in grief and despair! Cease this madness!"

As if in answer, a storm began.

"Here it is," said Lillassëa reverentially. "Ossë! How wonderful it is to know you are here!"

"It's not wonderful at all!" sputtered Lalwen.

Lillassëa raised her arms. "I come!" she sang. "Bear me on your waves!"

"What?!"

And she was washed overboard.

Lalwen had no time to react emotionally, as she desperately tried to remember everything Angrod had taught her about ships.

---

Lillassëa awoke on the shores of empty Nevrast.

"See? I knew we would make it," she said, though Lalwen was not there beside her. "They must not be far now."

And she ran heedlessly to the east.

Unfortunately, reality finally reasserted itself, once she got far enough from the Sea that Ossë could not give aid. Her body was eventually found by Mablung, near the Meres of Twilight, rotten beyond recognition and pierced with a hundred Orc-arrows.

And there she lay till Beleriand was destroyed, beside her brother Galadhon, who had fallen in battle trying to aid Círdan.

---

Lalwen collapsed on Lillassëa's very battered ship, totally drenched and exhausted.

"Well," she said matter-of-factly, "that was the worst day of my life. So far, anyway. One thing redeems all: that I made it. Thank you, Angrod, for giving me the knowledge to survive this.

"And as for Lillassëa – out of respect, I will not say anything bad. I only wish I could have stopped you. Farewell, old friend. I hope you will find peace in Mandos, as you could not in life."

The sound of gulls crying filled the air.

"Also, my clothes are about ninety-nine percent water by now. Ossë, would you mind being helpful and telling me where the hell I am?"

She tried to squeeze all the water out of her shoes, only to miserably watch them crumble apart.

"I'm guessing that's a no, then."

She sighed, and retrieved some lembas from her cloak.

"Good thing I'm never without this. And also that I wheedled a ton out of Fingolfin."

---

Some sense of direction did eventually come, in the form of a mountain emerging in the distance.

"Wonderful. I'm pretty sure that's land," said Lalwen, who was trying to maintain her sanity by giving herself running commentary. "Of course, this doesn't look like any mountain I know, so I still have no idea where I am."

She patted Lillassëa's battered boat fondly. "I'm sorry. Your owner is gone, and I must ask yet more of you. But only for a little while."

And so she sailed further.

"You may be swift," Lalwen whispered to the river. "But I have braved the storms of the Belegaer itself. You will not trouble me."

---

Lalwen stared at the shallow lake that was the source of the Ringló, shivering in the wind even though it was early summer.

"Now what?" she complained. "Once again, I'm high in the mountains, and I'm cold. Ossë, you got me this far. Whither should I turn, and how can I not freeze my toes off?"

No answer came – unless, perhaps, the answer was actually that she had arrived after the snow had melted, and that she had taken the right river. For unlike most of the White Mountains, this one was at least not capped by everlasting snow.

She sighed, wrapped her hood and cloak tightly around herself, and partook of some more lembas.

"Here you shall rest in the mountains, Máralenda," she whispered to the boat. "Farewell. If your owner was right, and her parents and brother live still – then I shall come back for you, and bring you to them. Till then, may Ossë and Uinen watch over you, in memory of a princess of Alqualondë. Yea, for that she was, even though she wished to return home and was scorned."

Now Lalwen had just come out of Aman, and as an Elf was greatly resistant to tiring and hurt. And thus she did not in fact freeze her toes off, but rather walked down, through the passes of the White Mountains, and into the land later known as Anórien.

And as she finally passed into a safe land of warmth, her body remembered that it had been awake for three straight days without sleeping. So it was that she cast off her hood and cloak, and slept upon the green sward, below the slopes of Calenhad.

The Sun was blocked out by a massive eruption of Thangorodrim to the west, combined with another one by Orodruin to the east. But though she knew it not, she had made it to the lands where it shone.

Tomorrow would be another day.

Chapter Text

Fingolfin watched in horror as Fëanor fled into the darkness.

When I was young, I wanted to love my big brother. He did not want to love me back.

He was always bitter over his first grief. Cursing the Valar, cursing Indis, cursing the Vanyar. I thought him childish. Immature. Unable to get over it.

But now I have lost a father too, and I doubt I will ever get over it either. He has lost father and mother both now. How can I not forgive all his bitterness?

Only five of his sons came; they must have been those who were out riding through the Green Hills. Celegorm and Curufin are missing. Surely, then, my daughter perished alongside her grandfather. Would she not have been beside Celegorm?

Yet he did not know how much more woe he would have to suffer; and soon.

"He will come back," Findis said to herself over and over. "The Valar will restore Father, and he will come back. Everything will be fine. He will come back."

Fingolfin, on the other hand, was not as convinced.

Oft I have repeated such words to myself, as my mother advised; to keep myself pious, in the face of all the heresies being spouted forth in Tirion. And I believed them.

Why can I not make myself believe them now?

One could immediately tell who was a Noldo in the crowd; for their faces were all filled with horror, and their gazes clung to Fingolfin for dear life. For the flame of Fëanor had just been swallowed by the all-encompassing darkness, and five of his sons had just hurried into it after him.

Fingolfin felt like his knees would give out beneath him; but Fingon his eldest son and heir rushed to his side, and Turgon with Elenwë and Argon followed after. And together, the four of them kept him steady.

He stared back at the crowd, and nodded.

"We shall go back to Tirion," he said, in a clear voice, "and see what has befallen our fair city, and what must be rebuilt. Well it is that it is a day of festival, for many of us have come with lampstones! We will need them now, to light our terrible path."

"I shall not," said Indis haughtily. "I shall remain mourning with the Valar and Maiar, just like the Noldor who have remained faithful and stayed in their friendship."

She nodded at Nerdanel, who had collapsed on the ground in utter fear, and was clinging on in desperation to her parents and to one of the Maiar of Aulë. In later days that particular Maia was better known as Saruman; but he was then still uncorrupted and pure in heart.

"Yet it is clear what most of our people wish to do," said Fingon, "and it is our duty to go alongside them, whatever our heart might say against it."

Fingolfin turned to move; and so did his sons and their people, as well as the followings of Angrod and Aegnor.

"Wait!" a terrified cry came from among the Vanyar.

Elenwë turned back. "Tirion is our city," she said to Galadriel, "though maybe you still feel it is not yours. And we are anxious to see what has become of it. Nothing you say will restrain us."

"No," said Galadriel, "I do not mean to restrain you."

Many turned to look in shock.

"Take me with you," Galadriel whispered. "I will not be parted from my beloved."

And she pushed her way through the astonished crowd.

"You should go," Indis whispered to Finrod.

"Grandmother, are you sure?"

"Keep an eye on your sister!" she whispered more forcefully.

Finrod nodded to his father, and the Third House strode away.

Thus the greater part of the Noldor went forth, following Fingolfin and Finarfin, in terror and dread at what they would find.

---

"Will there be any food?" Turgon suddenly said.

Elenwë stared. "Plants do not grow in the dark," she said. "Then the Valar will have to—"

And a cry of great woe was suddenly heard from the vanguard.

"Brother!" shouted Finarfin.

The rest of the host pressed on; and as they turned the last corner on the road, they thought they understood Fingolfin's dismay.

Tirion had been utterly wrecked. Its towers were overturned; the harvest surrounding the city was rotting and gave a great stench of decay; and all its springs were poisoned by the filth of Ungoliant. (1)

"I suppose we must handle it as we can," Edhellos said, her voice trying to conceal her horror.

"There is worse still!" snapped Fingolfin. "For I felt my marriage bond—" And his voice broke.

The sons of Fingolfin stared at each other, all the colour draining out of their faces.

"But that can only mean that Melkor has just attacked Alqualondë!" cried Aegnor.

Shocked cries echoed throughout the ruins of Tirion, as the Noldor hasted through the Calacirya. They thought of nothing but the bringing of aid to their friends, even though Melkor was a foe beyond everyone at Formenos.

---

"It still looks undamaged," Angrod said in confusion.

They entered the city, to be greeted by Olwë the king and Lindómë his queen, the elder sister of Círdan; and on seeing Celeborn alive and well, Galadriel rushed forward to embrace him in tears.

"I have no words to express the joy that the Noldor live still," Olwë said.

"Alas, not all do. Father is gone," Fingolfin said, in a voice cold as death, "and still more besides. I felt my marriage bond break, and thought Alqualondë attacked and brought to ruin, even as Tirion was in our absence. But it seems it is not so."

Then a look of utter horror appeared on Fingon's face.

So the great search was roused throughout the Swan-haven of Eldamar, as every nook and cranny was combed. And then a great wail of despair was heard.

All the Noldor and Teleri then ran, towards the shore, where Turgon was sobbing beside Elenwë and Argon.

He was cradling his mother's body in his hands. (2)

She had – evidently, quite deliberately – tidied everything up in her seaside cottage, went out into the darkness, and stabbed herself.

Olwë looked utterly stricken.

"She told me she had failed, and that after the Darkening, Eärwen would never wake up," the king of the Teleri whispered, though all could now hear him. "I told her she had done well, and better than anyone save perhaps Estë herself. Then she begged my leave, to settle some personal affairs. That was common enough; and we always lived in the twilight, trusting to our lights more than the Trees. She gave me no hint that she was planning this. I swear, if I had realised—"

Míriel had been the first Elf to die of free will; but at least that had been compounded by her long illness beforehand. Not until Anairë, however, had an Elf ever slain themselves by violence; and this now appeared as a new horror to all those who remained.

And for long in those measureless hours, the house of Fingolfin remained inconsolable in grief; and all wept for their king and grieved beside him. At least, until Olwë re-emerged from the palace, and tapped Finarfin on the shoulder.

"She only has a few more minutes to live," he whispered. "And she asked for you."

Finarfin gaped. "She is lucid?"

"Anairë said that might happen in her last moments."

"Then I should gather my children."

"That I would have advised," said Olwë, "except that she begged me not to have them come. She even begged to spare me this sorrow, though I am her father. All she said was that she had a final secret, to tell you alone ere the end."

Finarfin nodded abruptly, and he raced through the palace by the side of his father-in-law.

Then he opened a plain, wooden door; and Eärwen's dead-looking eyes lit up with one final glimmer of recognition.

Arafinwë, her thought came to him, so weak but still so calming. My beloved. My one and only. Forgive my selfishness, that forced you to see yet more of the Marring enter Valinor. But I did not want to die alone, as Míriel did.

"Oh, my dear swan-maiden," Finarfin said in tears, "any such grief is redressed by seeing you healthy in mind, for one last time."

He could almost hear her laughing sadly, though her body did not move.

My first life is over. Soon I shall find rest. But ere I say farewell, there is one last secret I would confide to you.

"What is it, beloved?"

That my favourite among my children was Galadriel, just as it was for you. All my suffering, all my pain, was worth it for bringing her into the world. Tell her and Celeborn if you see fit; I put that last choice in your hands.

Finarfin was stunned into silence.

And then Eärwen breathed forth a great sigh, and died.

Now strikes the gong of parting. I hear the herald of Mandos, and it will brook no delay. But, dear lord, this I promise you. I go not in the will to remain in death, but only to tarry there awhile for healing. This is not goodbye forever. I know not when yet, but I will return!

For a brief moment, her spirit lingered, and Finarfin almost felt her caress upon him as if it was their first meeting by the shores again.

And then it fled west.

Finarfin had no memory of how he had gotten out of the palace afterwards. He simply surmised, afterwards, that he could not have borne to stay there any longer.

That room was never used again.

---

"What will we do?" Fingon finally said, voice breaking.

Fingolfin, unspeaking, stared at Elenwë.

She was the only Vanya there; all the rest were holding vigil in the Ring of Doom. She had always towered over all other Elf-women, even Galadriel, being almost the equal of Turgon her husband in height. Now it was impossible to look away: for she stood there, her deep golden tresses waving in the cold east wind, as if the light of Laurelin had somehow survived. (3)

"The same that Fingolfin the King said, in the Ring of Doom," Elenwë said, her voice strong as steel. "We will return to Tirion, mourn for all those we have lost, and rebuild anew."

Turgon turned, and stared upward at his wife, clinging to her skirts, as if she were indeed Varda herself shining in might and majesty before them.

"Can we?" he whispered.

"People of the Noldor!" Elenwë shouted. "I grieve alongside you, that Finwë the King has fallen to Melkor by violence. And that the Queen Anairë, mother of my heart, fell to the despair that the Marring brought into Aman."

There were sharp intakes of breath in the crowd.

A Vanya refuses to acknowledge Indis as Queen?

"Yes, Anairë was Queen; for Indis made her desire very clear, to abandon and look down on us! Also do I grieve for all those who ran into the darkness at Formenos; now I fear greatly that they meant to be swallowed by it. And I grieve for our fair city, brought to ruin and desolation.

"But it will not always be so! On the Great March we found many places ruined by the evils of Melkor and his lackeys. But they were made clean and fair, and we came from woe into bliss. So shall we do that a second time! We are the Noldor, the Deep-elves, the greatest in knowledge and skill and crafts. Though we knew it not, for centuries upon centuries we were preparing for just such a catastrophe; for the vast stores of lore of the Eldar are held within our heads! Now it is time to put them to good use. Fair shall the end be, though we see it not yet!

"And how do I know we can do this? Because we have our faithful friends of ages beside us! In ages past we aided them in the building of their fair city, when they wished to abandon Eressëa and settle in Aman. Now our fair city is in ruins; may friendship then be with friendship repaid!"

She strode before Olwë.

"Olwë Ciriáran! We were ever united by love; now we are united too by a grief shared, for Eärwen was both your and our beloved princess. May we dwell here, as we mourn for the lost, and make plans to rebuild?"

And all the Noldor and Teleri stared in sorrow and wonder.

Indis abandoned us in our darkest hour, the thought ran among many of the Noldor of Tirion. Once, long ago, she said she was joining with the Noldor; but now she stays with the Valar, and cares not for the ruin her fair city has gone to. The Valar would not spare us any Maiar, when ordinarily we had so many by our sides. All the Vanyar abandoned us. They will not understand, that it is our city that was ruined, and that it is our king who has been murdered. All they can think about is the Darkening – and not even its tragedy. Just the good that will come out of it, never mind all the woe they have conveniently avoided.

Save one. Elenwë is one of us. She is our queen.

Olwë nodded. "Be our guests, then," he replied, "and be in my love!"

---

"Mother—" Celeborn said to his father.

"Is gone," Gildír confirmed sadly. "I felt our bond break."

Celeborn wept, while Galadriel put a hand on his shoulder.

"She was murdered," Gildír continued. "Finarfin talked to me and the other lords of the Teleri, and relayed the words of the Valar. Melkor went to the north, they say, and he should be returning to his old haunts in Middle-earth. And I have heard that many, whose relatives were sent there, felt their bonds breaking just as I did. So it must be that all the outlying villages are ruined by Melkor's assault. No rescue is possible; between here and there, the ground has collapsed and is impassable. We cannot heal it in time for anyone still living there. Unless the Valar intervene – but they are themselves overwhelmed."

He sighed. "I had had disagreements with Lillassëa, regarding whether Valinor or Middle-earth would be safer. But it is all the same now, surely? There, across the Sea, where Círdan lives, is a mortal land filled with death. And here, where I live, is now the same. Melkor has done what he willed: to bring the fortress of Aman to ruin from within. His vengeance is wrought; and if we are lucky enough to be alive, it is then only because we were beneath his notice!

"So not only my wife, but also your beloved's aunt, must be dead. Today is indeed a black day in the history of the Eldar. The only daughters of Olwë and Elmo both sleep in Mandos. And Olwë is distraught; he thought to guide his people to become wiser, but Melkor intervened, and swallowed them into death."

Celeborn looked utterly inconsolable.

"Until today, so many in the palace had given me hurtful looks in Alqualondë," Galadriel said, her voice cracking. "Nobody would understand; and the one House that would understand, I could not show I was anything like. Now everyone understands, and yet I wish they did not have to! Least of all my beloved!"

Gildír put a hand on Galadriel's shoulder.

"And it will be even worse for my surviving cousins," Galadriel wept, thinking as all the other Noldor and Teleri thought that the Fëanorians were dead. "Míriel was at least given the chance to return, though she rejected it; I can at least hope that Mother will do otherwise. But Anairë, ai, poor Anairë! In her despair she slew herself; yea, she did not merely withdraw her spirit, but destroyed her body by violence. And Mandos said, when he answered questions raised after the Statute was made, that that will condemn one to the Halls forever. My cousins cannot even have the hope to see their mother again, unless they should die too!"

Gildír stared in wonder. "Even now, you think of others first, before your own grief."

Celeborn finally looked up. "That's my beloved," he said firmly.

"Well, you have my blessing for your wedding."

"We did not mean to proceed to that yet. It seems like a poor time to have a feast," objected Galadriel.

"I think you should probably move it up," continued Gildír, "if you want to be sure I'll be there to witness it."

There were two sharp intakes of breath.

"You think there will be another attack, Father?" Celeborn spoke in great alarm.

"Many more," Gildír replied sadly, "though of course I know not where and when the Enemy will strike. But even if it will all be cut off without warning, why should we not snatch whatever joy we can, to lift our spirits?"

He took out a pair of jewels on chains.

"This one is the one I was going to give to you, Celeborn, my son and only child," Gildír said sadly, raising his left hand. Then he raised his right hand. "And this is the one Eärwen always had in mind to give her daughter, when she grew up and got married. Now I have received it from Finarfin, and you shall have it, Galadriel."

And then he took out a pair of golden rings, and looked towards Galadriel.

"As you say – it will be impossible to hold a feast. And even if it were possible, still it would very much not be in good taste," Gildír continued. "So I will not complain, if you decide to forgo all the ceremonies and witnesses save Manwë, Varda, and the One. Neither will Finarfin and Olwë, speaking in the place of Eärwen."

Then Gildír placed all those jewels on the table, and got up.

"Farewell, my son!" he said in tears. "Farewell, daughter of my heart! May your doom be other than mine, and may all your treasures remain with you till the end!"

It was, of course, not so. And when Celeborn went one last time to a deserted Lothlórien, and buried his only granddaughter beneath the green hill of Cerin Amroth, he finally knew precisely how much it was not so.

But that was yet far in the future, and the work to reconstruct Tirion continued.

---

Argon gasped.

"Look," he said, his voice filled with joy and wonder unlooked for.

"What is it, darling?" Elenwë said.

Then she and Turgon rounded a corner, and realised what had so amazed Argon.

Tirion was nearly razed to the ground, and its buildings stood in ruins. Except one: by sheer chance, the house of Turgon still barely stood, its walls teetering but still recognizably intact.

Turgon gingerly went in, humming songs of power to keep things under control; and in one corner, he saw a drawer that had somehow survived the disaster.

He opened the first compartment; and within it, there was still an almost complete and up-to-date plan of Tirion, that could be saved from the wreckage.

"Let us remake our fair city on a hill," said Elenwë. "Let us remake it as it had been, as a show of defiance against Morgoth."

"But there is one more thing still in this drawer," Turgon said reverentially.

The house, of course, collapsed as soon as its owners left for the last time. But two things had been saved from the wreckage: the complete town plan of Tirion, and a portrait of Anairë.

---

The houses of the common people were being rebuilt first; for the princes deemed that their luxury could wait, until all the poor had what they needed to survive through the horrible snowstorms that now enveloped the city. The houses of Turgon and Angrod were exceptions, for the sake of young Argon and Orodreth; and they were being reconstructed earlier. For Fingolfin was overwhelmed by work and grief, and Elenwë had come to love Argon as dearly as if he were her own son.

"See now, beloved?" Angrod said to Edhellos, attempting to reassure her. "The fatal blow has come, but we have survived it. You have survived it. And now we are experienced, and will be ready."

"I hope so," Edhellos whispered.

But all the Maiar were still mourning upon Taniquetil, save those who were tending to the all too many victims in Mandos; for the Valar knew neither what Morgoth had done, nor where he had gotten Ungoliant from, nor how many more giant spiders and other nameless things might be preparing to attack them at unawares. And they were struggling to think of how to resolve the darkness.

The Noldor were, on the other hand, being a little bit more productive as they saw it.

Fingon worked with Aegnor in redoubling the watch over the city. Turgon was in charge of reconstruction, while Galadriel and Celeborn kept Tirion and Alqualondë connected, making sure the pass of Calacirya was still usable through the terrible snowstorms. Finarfin, along with Angrod and Edhellos, was splitting his time between Fingolfin's court, Fingon's army, and Galadriel and Celeborn's Telerin outreach.

Meanwhile Finrod became the liaison between Valimar and Tirion, keeping communication alive with the Noldor who remained most faithful to Manwë and Varda – though unfortunately, those tended to be spouting annoying lines like Indis'. She was saying that the people of Formenos would not have died had they cared more for the feasts of Manwë than their jewels, and that Melkor went to find them because their hearts were already sinister and corrupted. (4)

Many of those on watch had left their posts and gone to the festival, because they held the words of Manwë to be an important part of reconciliation between the Houses of the Noldor. They were indeed forgiven, for Fingolfin and Fingon themselves had approved their actions, deeming them reasonable in the face of a command by Manwë that all should attend. But they would never do that again: for the state of those who had remained in Tirion did not bear thinking about.

"Why do you think nothing is being done?" Argon whispered to Fingon.

"Turgon would know better," Fingon shrugged. "But I have a guess of my own, from what he says. If the dome of Varda were removed, then the polluted light of the Sun would stream in, removing the little that remains of Aman's blessing; and the spies of Melkor would enter freely. But if it stands, then there is no hope of bringing any light to Valinor, as temperatures continue to plummet in the utter darkness."

"Oh, so that's why we are starting military exercises!"

Fingon smiled, and nodded. "Indeed, little brother," he replied. "We will need to fight Melkor, and avenge our grandfather's murder."

"And perhaps we could reclaim the Silmarils, so that we will have the old light back again!"

Fingon's face fell. "I rather doubt it," he said kindly. "The pure light of the Sun lives no more, ever since Melkor ravished Arien, desiring both to ruin her and to wrest her powers by force. So great was her grief that she wished to give up her spirit beyond the Circles of the World, and Eru allowed it. Do you think the Marrer would have been any gentler with Fëanor's jewels, where part of his heart also lay?"

Fingon sighed. "Well, the First House must all have been swallowed by the darkness. No word has come from Formenos; and seeing what has happened here – I shudder to think of what must have happened, at the brunt of Melkor's assault."

"Then Aredhel is—"

Fingon nodded. "She must be with Mother now. And with her beloved."

If I had known that Formenos would have been their grave!

Argon wept in silence.

"Winter has come to Tirion," Fingon said grimly. "All the leaves have fallen from the naked trees and crumbled into dust. The woods stand as sleet-covered wastelands, and avalanche after avalanche wracks the mountains."

"And is that why some of the buildings look different?" Argon questioned.

Fingon nodded. "We will need to adapt the old plan to this new reality," Fingon said grimly, "or we will all freeze and starve. So also will we have to import food from Alqualondë, for the crops will no longer grow well in this frost. And we must now work for our labour, for the Maiar have other weightier things to do than to help us."

"How can that be?" Argon asked in sorrow.

"The Valar themselves have no idea what Melkor has raised against them," Fingon said tonelessly. "Until they find out, they do not know how to counter it. That is what Turgon relayed to me from Finrod. Well, I worried beforehand that they had forsaken us; it is well that it is not so. But by their words, we learn that there are some things beyond even them."

Even now the thought comes to me that Mother was right: that Valinor can never be blessed again, its matter irredeemably corrupted, unless it be whelmed into memory forever. And yet Mandos is not more powerful than Manwë; at least in the body we may fight and take our revenge, whereas unbodied we could only await the End in sorrow.

Rest untroubled then, Mother! Rest untroubled, Russandol! All that has harmed you will be far away, and peace we will win for you with our swords.

But the thought of asking the Valar for help no longer came to his mind.

Not a single Maia had come, to the joint state funeral Fingolfin had held for Finwë, Anairë, and all the Fëanorians in absentia. They had not even informed Fingolfin that the First House was still alive.

---

Finrod walked back on the road from Valimar to Tirion, with his grandmother and aunt by his side.

Amárië thought I would never be good enough to be a Vanya, and bade me go away from the light. Well do I understand why she thought so: for now so many of the Noldor are doing that of their own will, along with her own sister. They scorn what light they could still find in the loveliness of Varda and all their works.

I must not be tempted onto this path. The Vanyar cannot forget their love for the Valar, and I must inculcate in myself the noble and generous spirit they have. Alas that only my father and sister retain it among the Noldor! But at least Indis looks on me with approval now, as I have ever wished for. Amárië, I will not ask that you take me back; but let all see that I am not as you claimed!

And so he put Amárië out of his mind, the misunderstanding forced by typical Vanyarin opinion thus becoming wholly cemented. But far away, on Taniquetil, Amárië was covertly praying, hiding her thought from her parents and cousins.

Guide my big sister, she thought. Give her foresight and wisdom on so dark a road. I am forbidden from following, and yet I love her still. And from the fragments I hear from Tirion it is clear how noble and bright her spirit shines.

I love you, Elenwë. You are now the fourth High Queen of the Ñoldor, and you shall be the fairest and most beloved. Would that I could be by your side!

Spare her, Varda Queen of the Stars! Spare her from the curse that was laid upon her!

---

Unfortunately, Finwëan family drama flared up again, when Fingolfin decided that he wanted to alter the old plan slightly by adding a monument to all the victims of Morgoth.

It was at a meeting of the House of Fingolfin alone when that happened; of the Third House, only Galadriel had been invited. Indeed, she was now a permanent addition to those meetings.

"Why are you inviting her so often?" Elenwë had said to Fingon.

He had sighed. "Because I miss having a sister."

Elenwë had looked shocked, and then nodded.

Unfortunately, Indis and Findis had showed up unannounced this time, which immediately made the conversation turn much more acrimonious.

"What do you mean?" Fingolfin hissed. "My wife is a victim of Morgoth too! Why else would she have succumbed to such despair?"

"It was not Melkor who killed her," said Indis, refusing to use the name Fëanor had devised for the dark Vala. "It was rather that your wife was just as faint as Míriel."

And suddenly, a look of pure hatred appeared on Fingolfin's face.

"Get out."

"My son—" interrupted Indis.

"Get out. And I never want to see you again, or hear a word you have to say. I know what you did. Day and night you hounded her, deeming her not good enough for your high chieftain, because she was only half-Vanyarin like I was. You wanted a devotee of one of the Aratar, in order to match Fëanor's choice of Nerdanel. Then you called her weak, for being unable to control her daughter."

"Who walked out on her and you—"

"And for that Írissë has much to answer for. But she is dead too, and I will not speak ill of her; only her mother has the right to judge her, in Mandos. It is you who I have the right to judge: and will not forgive you. You drove my wife to despair, even more than Írissë did. You begrudged my happiness, and ruined it. And you stayed aloof in my darkest hour. Lalwen was right about you; alas that she is dead too. I am only sorry I did not see it before, and failed to cut your poison out of my life. Then my wife paid for it, her mind breaking after thousands of minor insults, until her entire remaining self-worth was connected to saving Eärwen. Then she had nothing. Get out."

"I raised you to respect the Valar—"

"What part of get out of my sight is unclear to you?"

Indis looked frantically around the room.

"I don't care if you're my grandmother," said Fingon. "That was so far out of line that even I, who Turgon likes to say missed my calling as a devotee of Nienna, will not forgive you. Get out and stay out."

Turgon stared in silence, though it was clear that he too was angered.

"Go climb up Taniquetil. And this time, start singing for forgiveness, and pray that Manwë successfully gets the lies of Morgoth out of your head," mocked Elenwë. "Well do I know now that they have reached the Vanyar too. No, I won't ask you to jump off the mountain. Anairë deserves better than being stuck with you again."

"Yes," muttered Indis, "you surely enjoy winning and becoming queen, don't you?"

"Insofar as it means the Noldor are free from your nonsense," said Elenwë, "yes, actually."

Indis stared, meeting Elenwë's utterly unimpressed gaze, while Findis was rooted to the spot on the other side of the room.

"Come then, granddaughter!" Indis finally said, taking Galadriel by the hand. "A black day it is indeed, when only Finrod and you are faithful among the princes of Tirion!"

"No!" said Galadriel resolutely.

She yanked herself away, and struggled against the iron grip of her grandmother's hand. But the floor was slippery, and she fell to the ground, tumbled down the stairs, and hit her head.

Elenwë rushed downward to aid her.

"Are you all right?" she said.

"No," Galadriel groaned. "Everything hurts."

Elenwë carried her cousin-in-law back up and into the room, as Turgon and Argon called hurriedly for the healers. Indis had already fled.

"Make sure she is comfortable before they arrive!" Turgon shouted.

Everyone nodded grimly. Since the Darkening of Valinor, the Marring was now apparent even in Aman. Things rotted and died. The land was no longer as friendly and bountiful as it once was. All injuries took longer to heal.

Aman itself had lost its blessing. It was now becoming perilous to bodies, just as Middle-earth had been.

"I need to say this to you, Fingolfin," Galadriel slurred, as her head continued to spin. "I thought I was staying in solidarity with the Valar, against the fell words of Fëanor who meant to drive us from Tirion. Fell indeed they are, and yet I wronged you still. Knowing what Grandmother did to your wife fills me with shame. It was so much like how she kept implying to me that Celeborn was inferior for being a Teler, and that I should consider all the Vanyar she presented before me. I should have spoken against her, Fingolfin. Maybe I could not have stopped her, but I should at least have tried. But I was blinkered by the closeness of the Vanyar to the Valar. I see it clearly now: none of us are free from the Shadow! Lalwen was right indeed; alas that I can apologise to her no longer. And alas that I cannot kneel before your wife, and beg for a forgiveness I do not deserve."

"You never said anything against her!" Fingon urged.

"But I should have done something! All these years, decades, centuries: Grandmother has been doing wrong, and thought it to be right. Melkor has had his claws deep in us indeed."

She forced herself to keep going, in spite of the pain. "Build that monument, my king," she whispered. "But the inscription should simply be: in memory of all the victims of Morgoth. And the statue atop it should be of Aunt Anairë, just as she was at your wedding, with flowers in her hair."

And with a surge of effort, she turned to Elenwë.

"My queen," she said, with throat tight. "My queen."

And she lost consciousness, just when Turgon and Argon came back with the healers.

Then Elenwë turned to stare at Findis, who had backed into a corner, trying not to be seen.

"Well, now someone who wasn't at fault has apologised," she said. "And what about you, who aided and abetted Indis at every occasion?"

"That is slightly unfair," Fingon interjected, "considering what Indis tends to do when a younger relative tries to gainsay her. Particularly when said younger relative is female. I'm not sure Findis could ever have dared to say no to her face. It took a really long time even for Galadriel."

Elenwë looked at her brother-in-law in disbelief. "Turgon was right," she said. "You really did miss your calling as a devotee of Nienna."

"I apologise," Findis finally said. "That was not proper. Both on my part, and on Mother's."

"And you think that adequate, for what you did to your own sister-in-law? My mother?" Turgon thundered.

"I had no idea I was doing that," Findis objected. "Death by violence had been beyond our thought in Aman; and as for death by free will, we had only Míriel as an example."

"Still, basic decency should have stopped you from making snide remarks at every possible occasion," Elenwë muttered.

"I would not have gainsaid my mother."

"Amazing. Did you think of that explanation at the exact same time Fingon floated it as a possibility? Well, now we may be able to tell. Are you going to go straight back to Valimar, with Indis?"

"Yes."

Elenwë turned. "Well, case closed, gentlemen," she replied.

"But not because I agree with her on this. Rather because the lot of you are running towards open contempt for the Valar. If it were just about questioning Indis' actions, maybe I might consider it. But when this comes together with becoming the new vanguard of Fëanor's rebellion, now that the old one is gone? I'll take my chances with Indis, just as Nerdanel has."

Findis turned and left.

Fingon sighed. "Ah well. That's probably the best we could've expected."

"Well-spoken, O most pious devotee of Nienna."

"All right, all right," said Fingon, colouring in embarrassment.

"It's nothing personal. I was once a most pious devotee of Yavanna. Now, shouldn't we send word to Finarfin and Celeborn?" Elenwë replied.

"Probably," said Fingolfin, his head in his hands.

---

Fingon knocked on the door to his brother's house.

"Come in," said Elenwë.

Fingon opened the door and sat down.

"Turgon needs to be at the palace today, so I'm taking care of the children while working. Feel free to join in."

"I shall," said Fingon, "but I did have one question."

Elenwë raised an eyebrow. "Ask away."

"You said you were a most pious devotee of Yavanna—"

"—and, seeing as Yavanna and Oromë are often allied, no doubt you want to ask if I knew Celegorm."

Fingon nodded.

Elenwë looked away, her mind running through memory. "Your cousin was closer to Oromë on the hunt, while I was closer to Oromë the lover of forests. We did not know each other well, before I decided that such a life was not for me. But it did give me fond memories, when I learned that your sister was riding through the woods with him."

"If you were there that day, would you have said something?"

He did not need to say which day he meant.

Elenwë looked down. "I thought my sister needed me most; I had no idea yours needed me more. Yes, Fingon: I would have said something. Whether it would have helped, I cannot say. She did not come to me; no doubt she did not trust me. I wish she had."

She turned. "Well! No use crying over what might have been. We the living still have to work."

---

The title of high Queen of the Noldor had not always followed the King's wife – since, naturally, not all Kings were married. But there always had to be a queen, since the highest lady among any Elven folk had duties and rights involving the keeping and gifting of lembas. Though, it is true, this was sometimes defied, as when Lalwen successfully wheedled Fingolfin into giving out some of what Indis would probably have denied her. That lembas only worked because Fingolfin had never been forbidden from re-gifting his share as he saw fit.

The palace was now rebuilt, and where there had once hung a portrait of Finwë, there was now one of Fingolfin. For all in Tirion naturally assumed that Fëanor was dead, swallowed up by the oppressive darkness that he had run into without a torch. Legally speaking, in any case, a king had to be able to carry out governance from the capital; and Fëanor was barred from Tirion for the next seven years.

After all, the people still living in Tirion tended to have followed the Second or Third House beforehand. They thus tended to agree that the Drawing of the Sword was rather a big deal. Indeed, even Finwë might have given Fëanor the same verdict the Valar did, except for the pertinent facts that Melkor had been involved, and the Valar had gone over his head. Where the people of Tirion differed from the Valar – and thus from most of the Vanyar as well – was that they thought Fingolfin had become king after Finwë had been murdered, and not as soon as Finwë left for Formenos. (5)

But on the other side of the great hall, now much more austere as so many of the gems of the Noldor had fallen into darkness, there were two portraits. There was a new one of Elenwë indeed, but also one of Anairë, that had been saved from Turgon's house.

"She was queen for one hour," Fingolfin said, in a tone obviously brooking no disagreement. "Between my march out of the Ring of Doom, and her death."

Fingon quelled almost all gazes with his own stare, sitting at the right side of the king as his heir. Meanwhile Elenwë sat at the king's left, while Turgon her husband sat beside her.

"All right, but why is it now Elenwë and not Galadriel?" Glorfindel asked.

A hundred pairs of eyes suddenly stared at him.

"What exactly is your mother putting you up to now?" Fingolfin ground out.

"I do not mean to deny honour to your daughter-in-law," Ecthelion hastily commented. "It is only that I think we should write down the rules clearly. There has been so much death of late, that we cannot afford any ambiguity should Morgoth strike again. We must always know who the king and queen are, and who to obey."

"And, what, everyone immediately looking my wife in awe wasn't enough?" Turgon sputtered.

Egalmoth moved to speak, and then thought better of it, his mouth hanging open.

"Galadriel called Elenwë her queen, before Fingolfin and Fingon. There ends the matter."

Glorfindel nodded, and motioned towards his brothers to sit down.

"Although there is one good point here," Edhellos said softly. "Perhaps indeed we should have a clear written law, about who is the highest lady among our people. Anything will work, as long as it adheres to what we have agreed: that the Queenship has gone down from Míriel, through Indis, through Anairë, and then to Elenwë."

"You may do this in your own time," Fingolfin muttered, "though I confess I had thought the universal acclamation of the Noldor clear enough."

And then the court moved on to other matters, as Pengolodh scribbled down everything that had been said. On the other hand, considering later events, it might have been better for all concerned if more time had been spent on this part of the agenda.

---

It was not any of Fëanor's sons who had found him. For Aredhel had ridden through the darkness, the Elessar of Curufin shining on her breast; and she it was who came first.

And seeing Fëanor, catatonic with grief, contemplating whether or not to fall on his sword, she knelt.

"The king is dead," said Aredhel with clear voice. "Long live the king."

She took the first banner she had drawn, of the Winged Sun, and put it in Fëanor's hands.

He turned and stared.

"Your father it was who led the Quendi to the Light of Aman," Aredhel said. "Now that Light is lost, and Grandfather would have wanted you as his heir. Command us, king. You shall lead, and we shall follow."

Fëanor made no response.

"I stand faithful to the rightful King of the Noldor," said Aredhel, "and I saw how the Valar meant to rob him. I saw how they took off their masks, and commanded him to give up the works of his hands, to which even Aulë admitted they had no right. And I saw his pure spirit, who would have gladly done so and accepted death everlasting, had those who asked that of him only been worthy of trust."

Fëanor raised his head unsteadily.

"I will follow you to the ends of the Earth," she continued, "in your vengeance against Morgoth, who slew your father and means to devour your jewels."

"He does not mean to. Far worse in fact."

Aredhel stood in confusion, as Fëanor spoke for the first time.

"Yes," said Fëanor darkly. "He is hastening to his old fortress. His old demons are with him. Death and torment are coming for the Elves of the North. Already I see them, one by one, being taken into the deepest dungeons without hope. He does not mean to destroy my jewels; he means to corrupt my handiwork, and twist them to his own ends.

"We must stop him, as swiftly as we can. And we must guard our treasures better, against all those who would dispossess us. My father's killer, or indeed their kindred. Any who parts me from mine must pay for it. My father. My mother. My birthright. My jewels."

"So may it be then!"

Fëanor looked in shock.

"Let us haste to recover your own indeed; for then the light that sustains us will no longer be kept by the jealous Valar, but shine gloriously in our own paradise of freedom! Spirit of Fire your mother named you; but now I give you a new title! You shall be the Lord of the Lights."

Aredhel raised her sword.

"This oath I shall swear before you!" she said. "Anyone who holds or retains a Silmaril, and surrenders it not, is your enemy. Be they Elf, be they Aftercomer, be they Vala or Maia, or even Eru Himself. Your friends shall be my friends, and your enemies shall be my enemies. No unjust law shall restrain this righteousness, nor shall love or mercy, nor shall dread or danger, nor indeed shall the Powers and the fate of Arda itself. Yea, I will defy even Doom for you, even if Eru Himself pulls the strings of fate to dispossess you! As soon as anyone outside your house receives a Silmaril into their keeping, and claims it for themselves, they are your and my enemy. And I shall help you reclaim your own. With violence, if need be."

The sons of Fëanor had by now found where their father was kneeling on the ground, and were now staring in wonder.

"I shall not shrink even from dealing them death. Hear then my word, Eru Allfather!"

Everyone sucked in a breath at once.

"The everlasting Darkness I have just ridden through; to it then doom me if my deed faileth. On the holy mountain hear in witness and my vow remember, Manwë and Varda!" (6)

Please, Fëanor. Too long have I suffered. I have now named the Allfather in witness, and sworn before Manwë and Varda. The same we do when taking oaths of marriage; and that we know is unbreakable, unless we are trapped forever in Mandos. I have bound myself forever, though my strength is small beside that of Manwë and Melkor. I will die for your cause. Trust me. Trust me!

There was a clamour of voices, as Maedhros, Maglor, Celegorm, Caranthir, Amrod, and Amras all drew their swords and echoed her words.

Fëanor rose, and put his hand on Aredhel's shoulder.

"Daughter," he said, with voice choked and tears running down his face, "daughter. Oh, how much have I wronged you?"

Her sword fell to the ground, as she embraced Fëanor.

"Father," she said, voice likewise choked by sobs. "Will you believe now, that I always stayed true?"

Fëanor nodded. "I am so sorry," he said, "that the fell whispers of Melkor came even into my house. But Celegorm was right. Yours is the truest and noblest heart in all of Eldamar."

He blinked, and for the first time he saw all but one of his sons before him; for Celegorm had been searching for Aredhel, instead of riding towards Tirion. But Curufin was still not there, searching desperately for Pelindë and Celebrimbor throughout the wrecked and poisoned lands around Formenos.

"One thing I will then do at least, as we prepare the forges once more, to make swords and armour for all those who have lost them!" shouted Fëanor. "Let it be the last thing we do in Aman the formerly blessed, as redress for it having been delayed unjustly. You and Celegorm shall be married, and you shall stand as High Queen of the Noldor. Let the Elessar, which alone survives among our great works of old, be your royal jewel!"

"Joy to the Silver Prince and the White Lady!" Maglor shouted, turning Aredhel's sobriquet into an honour instead of an insult.

"Hurrah!"

And the cheers of the crowd were the first joy that returned to Eldamar. But eventually they quietened down.

"Now let us hasten as we can to Formenos, to help Curufin search for his wife and son!" shouted Fëanor.

It still went achingly slowly, as the horses could not handle the dark, and so much of the land had been wrecked by Melkor and Ungoliant.

---

Now there came a time, precisely one year after Fingolfin took up the crown, when he went to the palace alone and stared once more at his wife's portrait.

"Why did you do that to yourself, beloved?" he wept. "All that hurt you has passed, like clouds after rain. Indis is driven forth from Tirion. Even Findis has repented. Olwë holds you blameless in his daughter's death. But you saw no hope, and parted yourself from me forever. And forever it is: for Mandos will not release the self-slain.

"You thought you failed me, Anairë. You called yourself a bad wife and a bad mother. But is it not I who failed you instead?

"Now I will never see you again, or hear your beautiful voice, or do anything by your side. Not unless I die too. Dark Mandos! See you not how great her griefs were? Will you not be merciful, and grant her pardon? Or will you only pardon your own kindred?"

Dark Mandos, of course, gave no response. He was still standing silent in the Ring of Doom.

"Even so I shall never use the Statute," Fingolfin said in tears. "Not even when it was necessary for my birth. For she was my one, and my only."

And maybe even then, if Fëanor had seen his half-brother so, his later deeds might have been different. But at this point, Fingolfin did not even know Fëanor still lived.

---

"You know," Elenwë said to Turgon, one and a half years after the Darkening, "I still want us to have our first child."

Turgon turned around. "Are you quite sure?" he asked, not quite believing that he had heard correctly.

"Yes."

"Well, let's take stock of the last two years. Everything was failing, a ton of Elves died to Mandos' attack, and a ton more died of starvation when the crops failed," Turgon snapped. "We worked in these measureless hours to light our city, as well as Alqualondë. The crops are still often failing, now that Yavanna is elsewhere in thought. Melkor and Ungoliant destroyed the ground as they passed. Many were trapped in cave-ins, and could not get out. Many more were caught weaponless, and what was left after Melkor was done with them was unrecognizable as Elven; would that we had never melted down our swords!

"Others were trapped and suffocated by Ungoliant's vapours. Those who succumbed died in agony. Those who survived live still in agony. And as for those, who lost so many of their loved ones, or cannot forget the horrors they saw – by now Mother is not even the only one who took their own life in despair. She was merely the first, or perhaps the second if you count Míriel as such. Now there are dozens, and all of them are gone forever."

When the Darkening had just happened, no one had spoken of the casualties in such terms. Surely, everyone thought, the Valar would restore them swiftly: for either they had not understood the horrors and why they could not heal, or they thought the Valar could heal all hurts, and that Míriel had been culpable. Only she had ever been called gone forever.

But now the Noldor and Teleri knew death in truth. The bodies of the dead had all rotten, even in Aman. Míriel's had not until the Valar had finalized her doom. The bones of Anairë and Eärwen now slept in the same grave, on a green hill in the middle of Alqualondë.

"Father is now King of the Noldor, as he never thought he would be: alas that his mother-name of High Chieftain has proven prophetic indeed. He and Finarfin are up to their necks in work. Nerdanel and Findis have joined the Vanyar, to abide in grief beside Manwë and Varda, for whatever good that will do. All the Fëanorians have been swallowed whole by the darkness, and most likely we will never see them again. The rest of us are trying to live as we can."

"Of course, I had the sense to wait a while before I asked you. But now I can scarcely think of any time better."

"Then we have different definitions of the word 'better'."

Elenwë smiled. "I think not," she said. "For how could there ever be a better way, to show that the royal family believes that the Noldor still have a future? This I say unto you, with a mother's foresight: the time grows short. But if we trust in estel now, then the unstained light of Aman will not be lost as Varda so fears, but shine forever pure as a star in the heavens."

And Turgon stared in wonder, remembering how Elenwë worked tirelessly, coming even to the poorest parts of the city where people needed food and shelter. And there she looked upon them with compassion, giving all she had, and accepted them into her own house when they had no home to go to. When they came without adequate clothes, now that Tirion was in eternal winter rather than spring, Elenwë had given them from her own wardrobe. When they came without food, Elenwë gave them lembas. And when they came without light, Elenwë took the Fëanorian lamps out of the palace, and gave them too.

"Very well," Turgon finally said. "I trust your judgement and foresight, as I do in all other things: and I will heed your words."

He wept. "Yet who shall return me the joyous heart that died with my mother?"

Elenwë took his hand, and stared in grief at the emblem Turgon had made for himself, so different from all the other devices of the Noldor.

It was a plain, unadorned scarlet heart on a blue background.

---

So it was that Idril became first of the Noldor to be born after the Darkening. Last of the Calaquendi was she; for as she was born, and was held up by a window according to tradition to see the Trees, Telperion gave forth one last flower of silver, and Laurelin one last fruit of gold. The light of those still lingered in her eyes. And then they both died, last fruit and flower and all: for the Sun and Moon had already existed for the last four and a half billion years.

Thus also did she receive her name, although it was far removed from both her father's and mother's naming traditions. It was technically her father-name; but it had been her mother who had insisted on it, while her father had still been struggling for inspiration.

It meant "Sparkling Brilliance".

---

No such thoughts of a child came, however, to the First House. For Celegorm and Aredhel, more than even Fëanor himself, were eager to leave as soon as they could. Having a child now would only delay their journey, and besides they would have wished for any child of theirs to be raised in the wide lands of Middle-earth.

And to the Third House came some other thoughts, as Galadriel and Celeborn kept coming with many Teleri to help the rebuilding of Tirion.

"If something should happen," Celeborn had said, the day after the Mindon had been made anew, "I want you to have everything I own. I will obtain the documents, and we will be sure of that."

Galadriel turned swiftly. "No," she said sharply, "don't even think about it. I know your mother is also among the dead, but so is mine."

"I have no desire to die," he said, though Galadriel did not calm down until he opened his mind to her fully. "But this stroke of Melkor came out of nowhere. We live in these measureless days dreading another; and it would certainly seem appropriate to have plans."

"Have we then become like the First House, obsessing over inheritances?"

Celeborn looked grim. "We have all become like the First House, after the death of the Trees."

He took her hand. "I was so afraid, when Fingolfin sent word," he whispered.

"I was afraid too," whispered Galadriel. "The land is in so much pain, and so are we now. All of a sudden, accidents can creep upon us, and we may be taken off our guard. I thought those who lost the blessing of the Valar had deserved it, hearkening to the words of Indis my grandmother. But then I became one of them."

Above, there was only darkness, as the smokes and hazes Melkor made to ruin the Dome of Varda from within obscured everything.

"I had a dream," she whispered even more softly, "when I was unconscious. Melkor himself came to tempt me with a poisoned gift, as I lay dying. I knew it was poisoned, as all things he gives are; but I also knew, that if I did not take it, I would have no hope but to forsake the body like Míriel. And as I thought that, I suddenly felt so weary, in my dream, as if something that had been sustaining me was suddenly bereft of its power. And you were still bright and shining and full of life!

"I moved to reach out my hand – and then I stopped, transfixed with horror at what that would entail. I withdrew, and tried to run – but somehow, I got nowhere. And then I woke up."

Celeborn looked very concerned. "What do you think that might mean?" he urged.

"I fear I shall find out someday," she sighed.

Then she turned away. "You worried me greatly, so perhaps it is my turn to do the same to you," Galadriel whispered. "If something should happen to me, then do not seek to follow. Everything I own shall be yours. And though the world may seem cold and empty thereafter, still I will ask you, to live on for me."

Celeborn nodded seriously. "I swear before you, beloved," he said, "that I will do as you ask."

Galadriel embraced him. "That is all I wanted to hear and more," she whispered.

She kissed him gently on the cheek. "I love you."

"Do you want children?" Celeborn suddenly asked.

Galadriel looked up slowly.

"That is, knowing that Valinor is so marred now, and that there may not be hope for its renewal?"

"You have been speaking to Turgon, haven't you?"

"To Fingon, actually," replied Celeborn. "He is fast becoming my favourite among your Noldorin cousins."

For a moment, Galadriel's face was overcome by sorrow again; but then it passed.

"There's not exactly that many left," Galadriel pointed out.

"I am perfectly aware that I am choosing from a set of three," Celeborn replied. "Fingon was his father's favourite, and Turgon was his mother's. I greatly mourn what befell their mother, but in this case my heart is with the father. For every time I look upon Fingon, with his valour and skill, with his wisdom and forgiveness, a thought strikes me: this is what Fëanor should have been."

He saw clearly indeed: for that thought had come many a time to Fingolfin himself. Many tears it had provoked as well, when it prompted Fingolfin to wonder how his childhood would have been had Fëanor been a good big brother.

"And yet I also know your parents' favourites."

Galadriel spun around quickly. "Who told you? My parents never revealed it!"

"Finarfin revealed it to me," Celeborn said, "and bade me keep it secret to all but you. For Eärwen only revealed her favourite to him on her deathbed."

Galadriel froze.

"You were, Galadriel. My lady crowned with a radiant garland was the favourite of both Finarfin and Eärwen."

Galadriel stood thunderstruck; and then she nodded.

"Then my mind is made up," she said firmly. "Yes, Celeborn. We shall have children."

And in this, as in all other things, she was second only to Fëanor among the Noldor. For she had twins.

Celeborn had happily deferred to his wife for the naming. The elder, a boy, she named Amroth: the high climber. But the younger was a girl, and she named her Celebrían the silver queen.

They were the last descendants of Finwë to be born in Valinor. (7)

---

Fingolfin looked at the city of Tirion, still hurting from its wounds, but returning to life.

Greenhouses were being built. Lamps were hung from every street corner. The markets were starting to come to life again, even though the road to Alqualondë through the mountains was now treacherous and beset by avalanches, and even though rot and decay still stained the formerly blessed land.

We did it ourselves. We believed in ourselves. Fëanor ran off into the black yonder with all his sons: they are probably all dead. My father is dead. My younger sister is dead. My daughter is dead. My mother hounded my wife to death, and my elder sister sits idle in grief upon Taniquetil.

Not everyone is dead. I have Finarfin. I have all my sons still, and he has all his children. And we have their spouses: Elenwë, Edhellos, and Celeborn. We took the terrified, huddled masses of Tirion, and told them that we could rebuild. Just as Finwë took the masses at Cuiviénen, and showed them their beautiful future in Valinor. And we have rebuilt.

I have a granddaughter, and Finarfin has two more grandchildren. Children have started being born again.

Yes, I am king now. I was not earlier, when the Valar claimed I was. But now I have truly earned it; and still more has Elenwë earned it, to be the queen of the Noldor.

The Winged Sun of the House of Finwë now waved proudly from the restored palace; and in that all the Noldor saw a rebuke to the Valar, concerning why preserving the Dome now seemed to be a bigger issue to the Valar than letting some light – any light – shine in the Blessed Realm again.

"They say it is because removing the Dome of Varda would let Melkor's spies run freely into Valinor again," Finrod had explained.

Elenwë stared in disbelief. "You mean, as already happened?" she retorted in scorn. "Congratulations! The Valar let Melkor roam around the place freely, and he knows all their secrets by now. And they never looked in forgotten Avathar, where Ungoliant was happily spinning her webs and committing various delightful atrocities on the local wildlife. The damage is already done: now can we at least have some light?"

"You are moving too quickly," Finrod sighed. "The Valar have been fighting Melkor for the last four and a half billion years, Elenwë. He has done so many things they thought were evil – but in the end, they turned to good."

"That line made sense millions of years ago, when the Incarnates had not yet come. It doesn't particularly make sense now."

Finrod had no answer to that.

Moreover, there was another problem. For over in Formenos, as the forge crackled back to life, the Noldor were saying something very similar about Fëanor's capacity to rebuild, and the same flag fluttered.

And deep within Valimar, as Fingolfin and Elenwë railed against the Valar for allowing the Darkening to happen in their negligence, some very unwanted cries of Finwë Arafinwë still came: for Finarfin had still not said anything against the Valar.

To be fair, that was because he had not said anything political at all, focusing on returning to Tirion its soul. But still that opinion was remembered, and lingered among those who were filled with fear at Fingolfin's current mood.

And there came more whispers, saying: a King is he who the Valar anoint as vicegerent. To speak against them is to unking oneself.

---

Now at that time, the doom of the Noldor was drawing closer, as the two married sons of Fëanor were returning to Formenos for the last time to greet their wives.

Celegorm had returned, to find everything already packed, and Aredhel and all his closest followers dressed for war.

"Are you ready for this, dear heart?" Celegorm said in wonder.

Aredhel nodded grimly. "I sought you through the cloud of darkness, and judging by the trail of Ungoliant's blood we found, one of my arrows hit its mark," she said. "The time comes close. Soon I may prove myself in battle, and Fëanor shall smile upon me still more!"

"Oh, beloved," Celegorm said, giving her a kiss on her cheek, "he always has, since you swore to him your fealty."

"Yet now we shall be put to the test," said Aredhel firmly, "as we move upon Tirion, and break free from the shackles of the Valar that hold us."

Celegorm started.

"You would even fight against your own father?" he whispered.

Aredhel looked back. "If he betrays the King again, then yes, I will."

Celegorm took her hand in concern. "You don't have to do this," he said tenderly. "I would spare you that, if I could, and take on that duty."

"Let none ever call me a turncoat again," Aredhel said in a tone that brooked no further discussion. "We must act now, and not delay. Verily I know that if we wait a few more years, the ban upon Fëanor will expire; but every hour we spend here brings more torture to the Elves of the North. Every hour we spend is another one for Melkor to build his army. And every hour is another one that Pelindë cannot spare." (8)

For when Curufin entered his house in Formenos, he was greeted by the sight of his wife dozing off in a chair in the living room.

How pale and weak she is now. And yet still as beautiful as the day I first met her.

Almost all the other houses had been restored just enough to make it livable. So it was for most buildings in Formenos, except for the forges; no one would do any more, for the intent was to leave and never return.

Fëanor had been working day and night, with a terrifying energy; and had spared no one his schedule. That is, except for those who had been severely injured during the assault; and it was their houses that were reconstructed lovingly.

Her eyes fluttered open.

"Kurvo?" Pelindë rasped.

She shivered, though she was wearing a thick coat.

"Have you had enough rest?" Curufin said in concern.

She nodded, and then promptly doubled over into a coughing fit.

He went to the kitchen, and started preparing for her a herbal tea, from what little still could grow around Formenos in the dark.

"What was discussed at the meeting?" she forced out after she drank, though her throat ached at each word and swallow.

Curufin froze.

So perceptive she has always been, he thought. I cannot delay this.

"Father gathered us all, and said we were going to leave this place tomorrow," Curufin said softly.

"Already?" she said, attempting to stand and failing.

Curufin took her hand. "Rest, beloved," he whispered. "I beg you, do not exert yourself so."

She nodded weakly.

"The north is cold, even more so now that the Trees are gone," he said. "It will not be good for your health to stay."

"But everyone is leaving," she murmured, "not only you."

She coughed violently.

"Stay calm," Curufin urged. "I will get you a quill and paper, that you may rest your voice."

And he did so.

They have already packed, she wrote, her hand still swift despite her illness. And they are preparing for war. Fëanor must mean to return to Tirion. Then he must wish to break the Ban, claim the kingship, and make war on Melkor to retrieve the Silmarils.

She shed a tear.

I cannot come, she wrote. Would that I could but beat the drum alongside you!

"Yet you cannot stay here either!" said Curufin.

Yes. Carry me to Tirion, she wrote. I want to be with you, for as long as possible. Fight them, Curvo! Fight to recover our own! Fight against those who would rob and kill us! And fight against those who did this to me!

Her last words were scarcely readable, so violently was her hand jerking; for she was coughing again, and fell out of her chair.

Curufin caught her.

I could not run, she thought to him urgently. I never could. I cried to Nienna for help and mercy. But I was so close to the foul vapours of Ungoliant. They are more than poison, Kurvo! True darkness it is, not merely the absence of light; and now it has burrowed inside me, and hungers. I shielded our son with my own body. It took far too long, but at last Celebrimbor has fully recovered. But I never will, I who was so weak already. Darkness, darkness everlasting! Maybe I will be too weak to even hear the call to Mandos. And if I do, then he will jail me, and I will never be allowed to return. No one has returned. Not even my parents and brothers, though they did Manwë's bidding by jailing me; all confirm they are victims of Melkor too. All who survived from our part of the coast are those who follow you. And now maybe I will be the next victim of the curse upon your house.

"You will not!"

She looked up, and stared directly at her husband, with eyes full of terror.

Help me, she thought desperately. Help me!

And Curufin's mind flashed forth with images.

The room filled with all the portraits of Míriel, that Fëanor had collected when they were removed from the palace, and never let go of.

(They were all beyond saving when Melkor had had his run of this place.)

Fëanor's last visit to his mother's grave, when he had taken along Curufin and Aredhel.

(Father's heartbreak is eternal. Will mine be as well?)

The sounds and lights from afar, as Manwë declared Fingolfin to be king in Tirion just before their Exile.

(And no doubt that he claims still, even though Finwë would have wanted Fëanor as his heir.)

Caranthir's tapestry depicting what Fëanor had been asked, just before Maedhros had come speeding with the news.

(But who shall deny Yavanna? Mandos knew it would have killed Father. Still Tulkas commanded. Father would have accepted death, if any of you were worth trusting.)

His desperate ride to find his wife and son.

(They were pale and cold as death. Long did my son's life hang in the balance. Still now does my wife's. The Valar will not stir from Taniquetil. They will do nothing. They will crown Nolofinwë before my grandfather's body is cold, and while Morgoth has gone whither he would.)

The vision Fëanor had shared with him, that even now he still saw in fragments through his Silmarils.

(Darkness, darkness impenetrable. The Three-headed Peak of Tyranny. The captives in Angband. The slavery and murder of the North Sindar, from whom the Valar withheld Aman, pulling the rug from under them, as they later did to us.)

The king, his sword bent by lightning and his head smashed, before the ruined gates of Formenos.

(The Valar mean to annihilate us root and stem. And yet Grandfather proved more able at resisting Morgoth and his lackeys than all of them!)

And now his wife, so close to death, and in utter terror at the prospect of being jailed by Mandos.

(There is no cure. There can be no cure, if Aman itself is tainted. Not unless we get back the unstained light. It must be enough – but the Valar will not even let stained light into their ruined pleasaunce. It is cold, and colder each day; and still more does my wife languish because of it. She cannot end up like Míriel. She cannot. She cannot—)

He looked out at the Halls of Mandos, with a gaze filled with hatred.

(Be he friend or foe, be he foul or clean—)

Chapter Text

"How the tables have turned," Rathlóriel sighed, turning over a wineglass in her fingers and turning her gaze ever to a locked cabinet. "Hopefully, the Nandor who settled next to the Grey Mountains are still there; all those friends of Losseneth's people, who stayed near the Langwell and Greylin, and off to the north of the Forest River. The Longbeards may be ridiculously secretive, but I assume not so much as to prefer death and torture to giving up a few secrets. But now Angmar is taken, and they are cut off from us. Now it's Thingol who has all the Dorwinion wine he could want, and I who cannot hope for more."

"Don't even think about it," said Glaewen helpfully; for she was sitting in front of said locked cabinet, and it contained the last sixteen bottles of heady Dorwinion vintage. "The last time you had free access to this, you somehow managed to get yourself hungover as if you were a Dwarf."

"That was one time!" Rathlóriel protested.

"Exactly. The Lady of the Golden Street has exhausted her budget for self-destructive acts."

Rathlóriel laughed bitterly. "Are we keeping those sixteen for our victory celebration? Seems a bit far away, if you ask me."

"True, but we're making good progress," noted Glaewen, taking out a map. "See now! Himring has been retaken, and all is well from Little Gelion to the North Downs. Our horse-lords are striking constantly against the foe in the north. Morgoth keeps having to hold his Orc-captains in the steppes, to ensure his foot soldiers don't flee from our cavalry; and they often just flee anyway."

"Except that Dorthonion is still lost, and Thingol did a completely obvious landgrab of Nan Elmoth and the lands south of Estolad. I suspect the only reason he didn't grab Estolad itself is that so much of Ungoliant's poison remains there," Rathlóriel said bitterly.

Glaewen sighed. "Better him than the Orcs, I suppose," she said.

"He is a little better," Rathlóriel snarled. "But Eöl is worse. After so many tears, we finally expelled the Orcs from fair Thargelion, only to find that Eöl took the opportunity to turn even Nogrod against us! He had the gall to slander Arassaeglir and Losseneth, and exploit how Nogrod retained more prejudices against the Nandor than Belegost did! And he managed to get Nogrod to sign a trade agreement with Doriath, calling the Petty-dwarf killings merely a regrettable misunderstanding! They somehow bought it!"

Glaewen took Rathlóriel's hand.

Rathlóriel buried her head in her hands. "And I can't even do anything about it, for I have not the strength to simultaneously fight Thingol and Morgoth."

"And Eöl's also disgusting for other reasons," Glaewen interjected.

"That too. As if we needed things to get any worse! Fortunately, a while back, I drew a sword on him and was completely ready to use it. Then he skulked away into his forest."

"I had the misfortune of seeing him too. And he said, very loudly, that I wasn't worth bothering with because I was ruined."

Glaewen's scars had all healed, for such were the powers of the Elvish spirit upon the body within which it dwelt. But even that had limits. Her right eye was still missing, and always would be, unless she sailed to Valinor and came to Lórien.

Which she could not do. Not since Aman had been veiled from Middle-earth again after Círdan received his vision, and especially not now that Melkor was loose in Beleriand.

Rathlóriel slumped in her chair. "I wish Lacheryn were here," she said bitterly. "Nelloriel, too. It's not the same without them. And so many others. My parents. Arassaeglir. Reniel and Lagriel. The list just keeps going on."

"Hey now," Glaewen said warmly, "where is the Dwarf-friend of old, who loved mortals though they were brief?"

"She loves them still," Rathlóriel replied. "Although not quite the way you do."

Glaewen gave her friend a sad look. "Do you remember Telchar's funeral?"

"Rather better than I remember what I had yesterday for lunch."

Glaewen laughed tonelessly. "You were in such anguish, and I comforted you with what the Dwarves say about themselves; that it would not be long before he walked again as one of his heirs."

"You have said it."

Glaewen sighed. "And then much later, I fell in love with Naragbund the jeweller, and suddenly it became a matter most personal."

"Yes, Lacheryn had such sparkle in her eyes when she told me what she had seen," Rathlóriel said joyfully. "Him in your arms, kissing on a boat trip on Narag-zâram—"

"—and then you nearly made me die of embarrassment on the spot, as the two of you unfurled a great banner of congratulations," Glaewen reminisced. "Did it not occur to you that there was a reason I did not want it widely known? Oh, wait. It's you. Of course you didn't. His parents wanted him to follow tradition and be one of the priests sent to Gundabad. Do you know just how angry they were when they found out that he was romantically involved with me? An Elf, who could never have borne his children?"

"And here I thought you were simply not interested in having kids."

Glaewen gave an extremely unimpressed look. "Rathlóriel, we have literally been living side by side, in the same cities, for centuries. Did you never wonder why you never saw any half-Elven, half-Dwarven children?"

"Well, for all I know, they might just always look like one or the other."

"Rathlóriel, when something doesn't interest you, do you even take the effort to learn anything about it?"

"No, I delegate somebody to learn about it and tell me what's really urgent for me to know for my work. Look, I don't have time to become an expert in everything, you know?"

Glaewen gave her a disbelieving look.

"I'm kidding," Rathlóriel laughed. "Of course I've known this for a while."

Glaewen shook her head. "You're incorrigible," she replied. "Anyway. Yes, it's not possible, and we knew it, and it was a big part of why his parents objected so strongly."

She leaned back in her chair, and smiled. "Not that it stopped dear Naragbund, of course. He was so sweet. He simply told his parents that his heart was his and not theirs, and that he was going to marry me anyway. And we did so twice; once in an Elvish ceremony, and once in a Dwarvish ceremony."

"Yes, yes, I know all this. Lacheryn and I were literally there as your bridesmaids."

"Well, excuse me that I feel the need to walk through good memories," Glaewen said softly, "for nowadays we seem to be finding only bad ones. And even this one ended ill. Our love was fair indeed; but the spectre of death always clouded it."

She looked up. "On the day we wedded, there was a comet in the sky," she said with trembling voice. "I knew which one it was. I had seen it often before. But it returns only every three and a half centuries; and I almost broke down in tears, knowing that my Naragbund would never see it again. Suddenly, everything seemed so urgent. And I kept having to think: act now in the spring, lest your love not see the fall!"

She slumped. "He lived so long, for a Dwarf. But not forever. I nursed him in his decline; but I missed his moment of death."

Rathlóriel suddenly looked sorrowful. "You never told me this part," she observed.

Glaewen nodded. "I was going to return to his side, from my duties on that day – when suddenly, I saw that comet in the sky again. And somehow, I knew in my heart: my Naragbund was gone. And it was so."

Rathlóriel took her hand in sorrow.

"It has been so long since Telchar died," Glaewen whispered. "I don't know if I can ever hope to see Naragbund again. Even if the Dwarvish tales are true, if he came back, he wouldn't know me. And yet still my heart aches for my lost husband! Ai, Lóriel! Was my love wrong? Is this my punishment for daring to love across the gulf that separates our kindreds? Is this my punishment for entering a marriage that would bear no fruit in children?"

"Why would it be wrong?" Rathlóriel responded in genuine confusion. "It made you happy, and it made him happy. That's enough to make it good in my book. Yes, living in Arda Marred has grief as an occupational hazard, but now it's clear that that affects Elvish loves as well. I only hope that the Dwarvish tales are true, and that Naragbund remembers you and finds you again."

"You still don't believe it," Glaewen accused. "As a matter of fact, I'm not sure you even believe that anything good can befall us Elves after death."

"You're right. I don't. But I wish I did."

Glaewen laughed tonelessly. "How is it that you're completely tactless, and yet in a way I can't get mad at?"

Rathlóriel looked down. "With us there are further issues," she said grimly. "We don't die naturally. If left to our own devices we would go on for millennium after millennium without wearying. The Dwarves at least have relatively consistent tales about where they go afterwards: maybe their Maker at least has some plan for them. But we know so little; what tales we had by Cuiviénen contradicted each other seventeen times before breakfast. All right, Melian said we continue to exist, and that the darkness doesn't overpower us. Still that leaves room for plenty of darkness."

At that time it was just past noon; unfortunately, the Sun was mostly asserting its existence as a patch of sky where the clouds were dark grey instead of pitch black.

"Funny. I see that too, looking out of my right eye."

Rathlóriel tilted her head in amusement. "You can make jokes about that already?"

"There is a difference," Glaewen said by way of explanation, "between seeing darkness because there actually is darkness, and seeing darkness because you can't see at all. And I think the latter is what's truly going on, regarding our fate."

"But if we can't see anything at all, then who's to say it isn't darkness? You're never going to get your eye back. Your spirit needs to work within your body, and it can't cheat by magically seeing out of that side now. Wait – unless actually it can?"

"Let me check," Glaewen said, covering her good eye with her left hand. "No."

"Yeah, I thought so."

"Then again, I have the strong feeling that I still exist, even though I wouldn't have denied that my right eye was part of me previously. Probably that's how Melian can be right. Lacheryn can still exist as an unclad spirit, even if her body has long since withered into dust."

"That would be good. It gives me some comfort, that she might watch over us, and be happy," Rathlóriel replied tonelessly. "But by my argument, her unclad spirit then wouldn't be able to do anything either. Which seems rather sad, and unnatural to us. Before we were warriors, we were builders and craftswomen. We were not made to turn inward on ourselves, bereft of the ability to act!"

"So it seems to me," Glaewen mused. "But who knows? I think Thingol getting time-stopped for a couple of centuries is proof positive that whenever the Ainur are concerned, the normal physical laws of Eä can start getting abrogated. We did receive some help from Ulmo and Mahal: and maybe they will not scorn us. And maybe they will restore Lacheryn, just as she was."

"The way things are going, I suspect that if they restore Lacheryn, they'd do it on the other side of the Sea. And then we're still not going to see her," Rathlóriel said bitterly.

Glaewen sighed. "Yes. It would still be a loss."

"Also, this isn't at all like what the Dwarves say happens to themselves. Instead they say they get reborn into their own children."

"Yes, but we're not Dwarves. Just because something is true for them doesn't mean it's true for us. I mean, they die of old age and we don't. If we're biologically that different, then we're probably spiritually quite different too."

"Point taken."

Rathlóriel sighed. "And we're still in a steaming pile of compost, with no way to lash out except killing straggling Orcs."

She stared pensively into the distance. "We're the only two left from the oldest days, aren't we?"

Glaewen nodded sadly.

"So it goes. Now I am harsher. Quicker to anger. More impulsive and less subtle. All the others are gone, and the better part of me has died with them."

"Oh, Lóriel," Glaewen sighed. "How can I hear that, and not weep for you? And yet I am still here, and you are not alone and friendless."

"Festiel was very insistent that I had friends, yes," Rathlóriel replied. "But it seems that they are dwindling in number alarmingly quickly."

Rathlóriel wept, and Glaewen took her hand.

"I want my father. I want my mother. I want Lacheryn," Rathlóriel forced out. "I want all the other ladies and lords who used to rule their own followings. Then I was just one among hundreds; but now only Helevorn stands, and I am queen over all the survivors. Now they love me indeed, and follow me as the only one left who kept her life and her land. But I would gladly trade all this power away, just to have them all back!"

Glaewen hugged her.

"Don't leave me," Rathlóriel begged. "Don't ever leave me. I know you are my greatest general. But I could not bear it if you died too. Please."

"For now I have no intention of doing so," Glaewen replied.

Rathlóriel gave her an inscrutable look.

"Well, I said that the last time," Glaewen pointed out.

"It's still not funny."

Glaewen looked down. "It indeed doesn't seem funny to me anymore, now that my entire family but you are dead."

"Then why'd you say it? And—wait a minute. I'm your family now?"

"You did name me as your heir, didn't you?" smiled Glaewen. "Most of us have lost too much family. We'd better start finding some ourselves if we are to heal."

Rathlóriel snorted. "I'll be your totally obnoxious younger sister, then."

"So, you'll be acting the same way you always did?"

Rathlóriel stuck out her tongue, and mock-swatted at Glaewen.

"I do have another worry, but I think it might be better if I didn't raise it," Rathlóriel noted.

"Now you learn tact?" Glaewen smiled.

"Losseneth said I'd made some progress. It's good to hear it confirmed by a second opinion."

"You're not using her as a replacement Lacheryn, are you?"

Rathlóriel gave Glaewen a sheepish look.

"Well, stop. It's just as unhealthy as your recent alcoholic binge."

"I'm the same person. Isn't it natural for me to talk to her in the same way?"

"Yes, but she's not. Anyway, I've known you since you were ten and I was fifteen. There is nothing you could say that would unnerve me. Spill."

"All right, then," said Rathlóriel. "Do you then think Melian might be able to get you your eye back?"

Glaewen froze.

"Well, maybe there is," she whispered, as she turned to the side.

"You don't have to answer if it makes you uncomfortable," Rathlóriel said soothingly.

"I think she could indeed," Glaewen replied anyway, her head facing to the side. "Yes, I have considered it. She was one of those who entered the world and shaped it. But how can we reach her now, when Thingol likes us not? I cannot pass through the Girdle, and neither can all the others of our people who were maimed by the servants of Morgoth."

Her left eye turned towards Rathlóriel. Her right eye, naturally, carried on staring straight forward.

"Glaewen, do you even know how unnerving that is?" Rathlóriel tried to joke.

She did not answer.

"I will give myself a hard question, as it seems unfair that you are asking them all," whispered Glaewen. "The foul phantoms started coming already at Cuiviénen. Suppose the Valar came. And they said – I may go to Valinor, and have my eye restored. But then I may not return. And those of my friends who chose otherwise, I would never see again. Moreover this is a one-time deal – if I rejected it now, it would never be offered again. Do you think I should take it, in that case?"

"You should," said Rathlóriel immediately.

"And what about Naragbund?"

"Well, maybe you could ask the Valar for pity?"

"And would you come to Valinor? Knowing that it turned out to be a trap?"

Rathlóriel paused. "Well, maybe I have duties to my people—"

"So too do I have duties as your heir," whispered Glaewen. "That is, if people will accept me, maimed as I am, and unrelated by blood."

"Of course they will. Because I said so."

Glaewen buried her face in her hands. "Perhaps Eöl was right. I am ruined. It takes so long for me to judge distances now, even in this fortress; how can I ever fight again?"

"With some retraining, I think," said Rathlóriel. "But even if that should fail, say not such words! You are still an extremely capable civilian administrator, and thanks to the horse-lords, I have no shortage of military talent. And as for our lack of blood relation: let's face it, we grew up practically as sisters. I'm an only child of only children, whose grandparents are all Avari. I'm still unmarried, so why shouldn't I put you as my heir?"

"Do you wish to marry, now that you are queen?"

Rathlóriel sighed. "I never thought death or torment could take Mother or Father," she replied sadly, "even though it was all around me. Even after what happened to Lacheryn, I thought my parents could somehow be spared. They survived the whole Great Journey and made their own way. How could they ever be gone? Well, maybe I must now think indeed of what should happen if I fall in battle. And yet if I did marry and have children, I would have to disinherit you in favour of them. Ai, would that I were not Queen!"

Glaewen took her hand. "I am content," she said. "Marry or not as you will, for no other reason than whether it is your desire or not."

"And what of your question?" Rathlóriel whispered.

"I don't know," Glaewen responded. "I swear to you, I don't know. I hope this never happens to you, Lóriel. I am ever tormented, by the feeling that my eye is still there, and in as much agony as when the Orc-arrow first hit it. And ever it seems to me that I see phantoms out of it. What I would give to have it back in truth, and in full health. And yet – and yet –"

She wept. "May the Valar be kind, and not give such hard choices!"

---

Lalwen awoke at midnight.

"Here I am in who knows where," she said to herself. "Probably everyone I knew thinks I am dead. Well we may be to each other! I'm certainly not going to try my luck sailing backward: it was a near miracle that I pulled it off this way. Thus their tale shall continue, far from mine; and mine far from theirs."

She gazed upward at the stars.

"How you sparkle before me!" she continued. "From that alone I know I have arrived in Middle-earth. I should have liked to decide for myself; but no matter. Now I must deal with the cards I have been dealt. Here I shall abide, it seems, until the world is ended."

Quickly and deftly, she got up, threw her cloak around herself, and climbed the hill of Calenhad.

"This is strange indeed," she said. "The Swan is in the sky; yet no summer does this feel like. The winds are cool, and the light was dim, during the terrible day in which I sailed across the Great Sea. If I did not know better from the stars, then I would have sworn that it was late autumn."

She lowered her hood, and let the wind gently blow her hair. In Valinor it would have had a tressure; but it had been lost on her terrible journey, and her hair now went free in the wind.

"Which way shall I turn?" she asked herself. "To the West we once went; but Lillassëa said it had been ruined and fallen. She was my friend, and I trusted her; I do not think she would have descended into such madness without good cause."

A chill went down her spine, and not only because of the wind.

"Can it be then that Melkor has dealt his stroke?" she whispered to herself. "Oh, Lillassëa, did I wrong you once more in your last moments? A poor friend I have been, then! For all I know, I should be thanking you profusely for saving my life. Maybe it is not that I am dead to my father and siblings, but that they are dead in truth. Perchance I am then the last of the living! Ai, Manwë and Varda! To go from having eighteen nephews and nieces – to none at all!"

She collapsed to the ground, and wept bitterly.

"Ossë, Uinen, guide me still!" she cried. "Your lord was the one who dissented, and said that the Quendi should not abide alongside the Powers. Maybe he still watches over every stream and lake in Middle-earth; and if so he must guide the Tatyar and Nelyar who remained with Lenwë, they who lived by the Great River. Point my feet well, that I may reach it!"

And she got up, and slowly strayed through the wide lands of Anórien.

---

Now most of the land later called Gondor stood empty, as the Nandor were ever more interested in returning back east, than following the Anduin to the south.

With one particular exception. For Lenwë, long after the departure of Denethor, had gotten curious in precisely the latter manner. It has been told that the Nandor often stuck together only for exactly as long as they wanted to do the same thing; but nonetheless Lenwë was revered as the one who had dared to stand up to Oromë himself and have his way. Thus when the rumour spread that he wished to relocate, many of the wandering companies of Nandor gathered themselves around the Gladden Fields, and came to hear what he had to say.

"Too many centuries have I spent in these lands," he said, "and I wish to go southward. The Great River itself I do not plan to cross; but my heart is anxious to learn how its further course looks. At least on the Great Journey we saw some of the wide lands of Middle-earth; but why should we only go eastward and back? I wish to go where none of us have yet been, even as Losseneth did. I know some of you come from the lands immediately to the south, though none have yet proceeded far beyond Amon Lanc. Are there any who will be my guides?"

Then many were interested, and so it was that with a company of thousands Lenwë marched forth again.

By the time he got past the marshes, quite a few had decided that they were actually not that interested, and turned back. Thus, from then on, the Nandor of Ithilien were sundered from the rest of their kindred.

---

Lalwen walked on slowly, pausing often to eat the fruits of Anórien, and to drink the water of the streams that ran down from the White Mountains.

"I shall travel only by night, resting in the day," Lalwen said to herself by way of decision. "For well do I remember the warnings of the Valar that the Sun is now a polluted fire, tainted by Melkor and untended: the Dome was made to keep it out. Alas for Arien who had to bear his assault, and released her spirit in grief from Eä! But it shall be needed. Perhaps not if Melkor were still in jail; but if he could attack Valinor itself, then he may yet use that marring against me. The Moon only shall I welcome; though it reflects the Sun's light, still do I see clearly the strife in Tar-menel! Tilion must have returned at last, standing victorious against the foes sent by Melkor; and he makes it as clean as he can." (1)

So it was that she went gracefully in the moonlight, and going steadily eastwards she passed beyond the later route of the Royal Road, and reached the Great River at Cair Andros.

"Here comes a sign that I have been guided well!" Lalwen whispered. "For in the distant north I see a great fall of water; never could I have crossed there. But here there is an island to let me pass."

And so she stepped into the water, and came into the fair country later known as Ithilien.

---

"How the fields blossom with herbs and flowers! How the nightingale sings!" Lalwen said in wonderment. "If I knew not better I would take this for home. And maybe it shall be mine now; for there is no use in regretting what can never be again. I see a range of mountains to the east, and a pass: is that then a new sign? For my heart now sings of Tirion upon Túna in the Calacirya! Its court may have been poison; but its beauty never faded."

Now her coming into Ithilien had been seen by many of the Nandor who wandered there; and they were amazed to see Lalwen from afar. For her hair shone as a fountain of gold in the moonlight, and her hood and cloak, though worn and much the worse for their soaking, were spun with Valian arts far beyond anything the Nandor knew of. Oromë had only begun to teach the Elves much after the Nandor had left, when the cruels of Sauron and the waning of the lembas had necessitated self-defense and protection; and of the arts of beauty and decoration little was taught until the Three Clans had all reached Aman.

"Is it then one of the Maiar who has returned to greet us?" Rímalthen said in wonder to his sister Baraloth.

"Probably," Baraloth shrugged, though she looked equally awed. "All the Minyar have long since left; yet she has their hair. And she seems fairly unearthly. Her eyes sparkle with piercing flame; and I would think an Elf with such rich clothes would probably be wearing shoes along with them."

"Unless she lost them in the river, perhaps."

"True," Baraloth admitted. "But I think the eyes are a stronger argument."

"That it is indeed." Rímalthen smiled. "So, what do you say about greeting her?"

"I'd say it's terribly foolhardy, and also that your foolhardiness is the best thing about you," Baraloth smiled. "It seems to promise a most interesting life!"

They emerged from the woods. "Hail, stranger!" Baraloth called.

"Hail, stranger!" Lalwen called out, figuring that repeating a greeting would probably generate an adequate response.

"Okay, I'm pretty sure we were wrong. She's not a Maia," said Rímalthen, stepping out beside his sister.

"So you take back everything you said, and now have the opposite opinion?" Baraloth said in amusement.

"If she was, she'd speak without an accent, and she'd have something more interesting to say than just parroting our words back at us," Rímalthen explained.

"Among my people it is generally considered rude to talk behind their backs, expecting not to be understood," Lalwen huffed in Quenya.

"Hmm," considered Baraloth. "You were right. She does seem to be a Minya indeed. Just listen to those consonants!"

"Yes, my dear linguistic expert. You are very smart," Rímalthen said with a wink. "But how can she be here then?"

Baraloth threw up her hands jestingly. "Why are you asking me? Let's try and figure her language out first. Then we can ask a real expert on her situation!"

Somehow, using ósanwë did not occur to anyone. Then again, prolonged use of language did tend to make it difficult for Incarnates to use ósanwë properly. If not for Rathlóriel having then been a total social outcast who mostly only spoke to Lacheryn, Glaewen, and her parents, she might not have had all that much success on that fateful night when she met Telchar and his party by Lake Helevorn.

---

Several entertaining gaffes later, Lalwen had successfully gotten her name across, and was now speaking good enough Ithilien Nandorin to reliably be understood.

"My name is Lalwen, and I came from south of the western mountains," Lalwen gestured. "Then I crossed them."

Baraloth looked down. "You do seem a bit underdressed for that," she remarked, pointing at Lalwen's unshod feet.

"Tell me about it. I came by sea out of the Uttermost West, and I sailed through a storm. My shoes got really wet, and broke apart. Otherwise I would surely be wearing them now. And especially I would have been wearing them in the mountains," Lalwen complained.

"That must have hurt," Baraloth agreed.

"Not that much, actually. I'm surprised," said Lalwen.

Rímalthen and Baraloth looked at each other. "Did the Gwenedhil who departed for Aman then go halfway to becoming Maiar?" Baraloth whispered.

"I'm still learning your language. Could I ask that you speak more clearly?" Lalwen interjected.

"Wait, so you sailed here from the land of the Valar?" Rímalthen realised. "That must have been quite a journey!"

"Quite," Lalwen said seriously, "and one I do not think I can reverse. For if I believe my best friend, a great catastrophe happened there, and she sought to save me from it, sailing me out into the darkness."

"And where is she?" Baraloth said excitedly.

Lalwen shook her head. "I do not think we will find her," she said. "She was swept off the ship. Probably she is dead. For all I know, I might be the only one of my people still alive. And maybe I am the only one who still speaks my tongue."

Neither of them was really sure what to say to that.

"The Black Enemy of the world was released," Lalwen warned. "Maybe you have heard who he is. He was the author of our woes at Cuiviénen, he who beset it with foul phantoms and carried off many as prisoners. The Valar caught him; but then he made a mockery of repentance, and sued for pardon. The Valar are free from evil and understood it not, so they accepted. Thus he walked freely in their fortress."

"Oh, no," said Baraloth in realisation.

"Good, you guessed it immediately. Maybe the Valar ought to have."

"But this is terrible!" sputtered Rímalthen.

"Tell me about it. I lived through it. Though, it is true, not the aftermath, since I got taken away by ship."

"And what do you think will happen now?" Baraloth asked.

"I don't think I'm a particular expert in peering into the minds of fallen Maiar," said Lalwen drolly. "I have not tried, and it seems too obviously an unhealthy idea. Maybe he conquered Valinor, and is delighting himself by bringing it to ruin. Maybe he is back to his old haunts in the North. Most likely – considering what I saw in the sky – he is busy trying to assault the Moon, and reconquer it for himself, to surprisingly little success. Then we shall perhaps have respite for a while on Earth; but I would guess that his lieutenants are aware of his arrival, and will be performing his orders in his absence. So now that I have found you, I mean to give a warning. Peradventure the knowledge I gained in the Blessed Realm shall be of use."

"And are we sure that you're not one of his lieutenants?" Baraloth suddenly asked.

"Sister, what kind of a question is that?" Rímalthen sputtered.

"No offense was taken," Lalwen replied, "for he took a fair Elven form, and freely walked among us. And I," she said, standing on tiptoe and beginning a dance, "am very pretty."

Rímalthen and Baraloth suddenly seemed very transfixed, almost as if they were being pulled into a world of dreams; and Lalwen hastily stopped.

"On the other hand," she said, unsheathing her dagger and smiling, "if I were one of his lieutenants, then I would probably have killed you by now."

The two siblings now looked extremely unimpressed at Lalwen's antics, before pulling out their own daggers.

"Very good," Lalwen said warmly. "Being ready to stab strange people passing through your woods is an encouraging sign. It means I shall have an easier time urging you to unite and make allies against Melkor."

"Do you ever stop joking?"

"Sometimes, when the situation is sufficiently dire. But not that often. That's why I call myself Lalwen, for I am the laughing maiden of Eldamar."

"You call yourself that?"

"I wasn't kidding when I said I was very pretty," Lalwen sang, "for pretty is in my name. It starts with Vanya."

"Yup, definitely one of the proud Minyar," Baraloth sighed in frustration.

"On the other hand, my name also sucks, so I renamed myself Lalwen instead. Also, I'm not actually a Minya. My mother is, but I don't like her very much. Naturally it's awkward to have Vanya in your name if you don't identify as one: I'm Tatyarin."

"So are we!" Rímalthen said. "A while back, our grandparents followed Denweg down south to this new land. We were born here."

"Denweg," Lalwen muttered to herself. "Ah! Lenwë! So many of you have survived, and by the looks of it, you have thrived!"

"You mean in Valinor they said we had not?" Baraloth sputtered. "It sounds like you fellows are just like the annoying Sindar of Thingol."

"Thingol," Lalwen repeated. Then she stared. "Þingollo. Þindikollo. The after-name of Elwë friend of my father."

Rímalthen stared. "And who," he then asked, "is your father?"

"Finwë," Lalwen responded.

Quick as a flash, Baraloth drew her dagger and pointed it to Lalwen's throat.

"Sister, what are you doing?" said Rímalthen in concern.

"She's lying," Baraloth said seriously. "Finwë married Míriel, who was mostly Nelyarin. This impostor claims to be his daughter, when she clearly looks like a Minya. Unless you give a good answer within ten seconds, I will kill you, foul spawn of Melkor."

Lalwen, heedless of the dagger to her throat, began laughing.

"Míriel died, Baraloth," she explained. "Míriel died, all of Eldamar knows it, and it is strange indeed to her stepdaughter that she should have to say all this as if it were news instead of ancient history. Míriel died, and Finwë remarried Indis daughter of Ingwë."

"That no-good excuse for an Elf who called us all fainthearts when our king abandoned the journey?" Baraloth sneered.

"Hey now," Lalwen said. "I am her daughter, and I don't like her either. I'm on your side. Even Father was by the end; I may not like my birth-name at all, but at least being named after Finwë beats being named after Indis. Now, could you please take that dagger away from my throat?"

"Wait, are you telling me your original name is Vanyafinwë?" Rímalthen interjected, scarce concealing his mirth.

Lalwen rolled her eyes. "I would appreciate it if my last thoughts in life were not about how my name sucks, but yes. Now forgive me if I repeat myself, but would you please take that dagger away from my throat?"

Baraloth relaxed her grip, but did not withdraw it.

"It is a good dagger," Lalwen said seriously. "My half-brother could make much better ones, but this isn't bad. A blacksmith could probably do well for themselves selling such things at our markets."

"I forged it myself," said Baraloth, finally hiding her dagger away again.

Lalwen raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry, I can't take this anymore," she said politely. "How fares your mother?"

"That depends. Which one of us are you talking to?"

"Rímalthen just called you his sister, didn't he?"

"Well, yes. We have the same father. But I'm older, and my mother died from having me."

In response, Lalwen threw back her head, and gave a somewhat crazed laugh.

"Are you all right?" Baraloth said in concern, as ten minutes passed and Lalwen still could not stop laughing hysterically.

"No," Lalwen replied, still laughing. "This is too funny. Somehow, the two of you are perfectly fine with each other! And somehow, remarriages are no big deal for you!"

"What else should we do when our partner is dead and gone?" Rímalthen replied in confusion.

Lalwen continued laughing. "You don't know. You truly don't know. You—wait. If remarriage is no big deal for you, then why did you think I was lying?" she said, suddenly serious.

"Oromë said that marring and death would not enter Aman. But it seems that was not true."

"I think they truly believed it," Lalwen said soothingly, though her face was wan and sad. "But they were wrong, and paid a terrible price for their mistake. And that is why we need to get to business. I imagine Denweg is your king. So where does he live, and what does he call his land?"

"What's a king?" Rímalthen said in confusion.

Lalwen stared blankly. "Someone you follow and call leader?"

"Well, we only stick around with each other for as long as we want to do the same thing," explained Baraloth. "If you don't like your friends, you can always move and find some new ones."

Lalwen gave an inscrutable look. "Every other sentence, I start feeling that our people would have done better staying with you. But never mind that. How much respect do you give Denweg?"

"A bit more than usual, because he's the one who spoke out first about the unfreedom of the March," said Rímalthen.

"Good. If I talk to him, and he has something to say, will you guys probably make a break in your schedules and send someone to hear him out?"

"Yes, that's why we live here," confirmed Rímalthen. "Although those who moved further away will probably not bother."

"Excellent. Can you take me to him?"

"Yes."

There was a pause.

"Ah, right. You'd think I'd remember these things, as a loremaster of mathematics. Will you take me to him?" clarified Lalwen.

"Also yes," said Rímalthen. "But not right away. He lives to the east, in the land of Mordor."

Lalwen stared. "Sounds ominous."

"Not really, it's just that there's a nice big volcano over there. It makes the soil very fertile and turns the place into a lush garden, but occasionally it does get quite dark. Fortunately it's a nice volcano that knows us, and it won't seek to cause us harm."

He said that as a complete matter of fact, not realizing how impressive that feat actually was: for the Nandor ever knew the most among the Elves, of the stones of the earth and the plants that grew.

"So his main city is actually in the mountain pass, where trade west and east goes," Baraloth mentioned. "We can take you there, if you want. We were headed that way anyway."

"Great. Now, peradventure I might get a pair of shoes along the way?"

"Depends. How urgent is your message?"

"Considering the total lack of warning I got for the disaster I fled – probably pretty urgent. You never know, a piece of the Moon might come flying off and hit us."

"Can that actually happen?" Rímalthen considered.

"Seems mathematically possible, although I confess I have no idea how one would prove it for any given rock," Lalwen shrugged. "Perhaps we would need to ask Tilion about the chemistry and geology of his domain. Well, getting to him might be a problem. But I am forgetting my urgency. Yes, actually, I think I should get it to Denweg as soon as I can."

"Can you wait a day? We'll need to take you to get measured."

"On the other hand," Baraloth said in consideration, "you do want to get more of us spooked into listening to you, yes?"

"That would also be ideal," Lalwen agreed.

"Well, you have to admit, you look remarkably odd, clad in those fine Valian-spun garments and yet not wearing any shoes. And somehow having come this way through the mountains none the worse for wear. So our initial working hypothesis was that you were a Maia who came back for us, like Melian. You are as tall as she was, after all."

Lalwen blinked. "What gave me away?"

"The fact that you didn't know our language fluently. A Maia should've picked it up instantly. But you seem to know it now. So if you go before Denweg dressed like this, and speak to him in our dialect—"

Lalwen raised an eyebrow. "Not correcting others' assumptions. The key to great diplomacy?"

"Well, it worked when the Valar tried it on your people, didn't it? Denweg left because he realised the journey wasn't as free as had been advertised. No, sorry, that was unfair. You were born in Valinor, so you didn't have a say in the matter."

"Didn't you just imply that you distrust the Maiar?"

"We distrust most of them," Baraloth shrugged. "But not Melian. She always allowed for a free debate, and we respected her power and wisdom. And apart from your golden hair, you do resemble her a lot. In most lovely night-hued garments, with dances sending people to sweet dreams—"

"The cloak jet-spangled and girt with silver—"

"With tresses going free in the wind, down to your silver feet—" (2)

"All right, all right, I get it. Just lean into that aesthetic as much as possible, and then people will listen," Lalwen sighed. "Goodness knows there aren't enough people who listen to me. I wonder how Caranthir is doing?"

"Who?"

"Oh, never mind."

And the three of them went forth, to the place where afterwards was built the Tower of Cirith Ungol. Though, thankfully, that name was far from applicable at this date.

---

"Anairë, once the wife of Fingolfin," intoned Olórin.

The spirit bowed down.

"You came here, slain not by the malice of Melkor or Ungoliant, but by your own hand."

Anairë remained silent.

His voice sounded gentle and sad. "Why came you here? Why did you lose hope?"

"I failed Eärwen," she finally said. "She is beyond saving. Her mind dwells forever in memory now, and will not go on with the Tale. Now the bliss of Aman is gone too; what more could I do? I failed her. I failed everyone. My daughter saw that, and rejected me. The Queen rejected me. Olwë will have rejected me—"

"And Fingolfin?"

"He deserves a better wife. And his children deserve a better mother."

"Then perhaps," Olórin said, "you may wish to see what they have done in Tirion for you."

And there, in a garden she had loved in life, she saw Fingolfin unveiling a statue of herself. She was dressed just as she had been at her wedding, with flowers in her hair; and her sons stood in life under the pedestal, with tears in their eyes.

It had not been sculpted by Nerdanel. She was still grieving with her parents in Valimar.

Anairë wept. "I still do not wish to return," she whispered.

"It is evident that you require healing," said Olórin. "But I must dissuade you from abiding overlong."

"Why?" she said in anguish. "At least here it is safe. Here I will be held blameless. And here, none will judge me anymore!"

"Not everyone is judging you poorly!"

The vision shifted; and now she saw a scene far away in Alqualondë, where Olwë and his wife were scattering Anairë's favourite roses on the beach where she had killed herself.

"If only I knew," Olwë wept. "Anairë, you were no failure! You had been with us for so long, during Eärwen's long illness. You were like another daughter to me. You tried your best to save one; why then did you deprive me of the other?"

Lindómë placed a hand on her husband's shoulder, and then the vision dissolved away.

Anairë made no response.

Olórin sighed. "I understand, Anairë," he said. "I understand why you were so distraught. Your sorrows were great, and were wholly unmerited. But running away from life cannot lead to healing."

There was still no answer.

"How long had you thought of doing this to yourself?"

"Over a century."

Olórin stared in shock.

"Then what stayed your hand?"

"Eärwen would not have wanted me to do it," she said. "and I still had a tiny chance to save her. Only that. But now my failure is complete. Lock me up here forever, guilty as I am. I welcome the thought."

"I do believe Indis has much to answer for," he replied in concern. "It seems the lies of Melkor have spread among us far more than we had thought. Findis, at least, has begged forgiveness from your husband; and she did less wrong than her mother. But there is someone I think you should meet. It may do you good."

Then Olórin disappeared, and the corridors of Mandos shifted and gave way.

Another Elven spirit appeared, and resolved itself into a very familiar form.

"Anairë?" Eärwen said, looking as she had in full health even though she was there only in spirit. "What happened? How came you here?"

"You remember," Anairë said, voice breaking even though she no longer had a body.

And she wrapped herself around her friend's spirit, sobbing bitterly.

"I am so sorry," Eärwen said soothingly.

"You of all people have nothing to be sorry for," Anairë wept.

"Nevertheless I am sorry," she said, "that it was my illness that led you to such despair. Even if I do not remember most of how it ended."

Anairë wailed.

"Shh," Eärwen said soothingly. "Everything will be fine. You are a hero, Anairë, not a failure. Your work gave me so many more centuries to see my dear daughter Galadriel grow up; and it will mean that I only needed decades, rather than centuries, to be ready to depart this place. I am only sorry that of the last decades I remember nothing, when they must have been the hardest for all those who cared for me. I would not have had you lose hope, this way!"

"Do you then know?" Anairë sobbed. "The Light of Aman is lost. Melkor surely means to destroy it. What hope is there?"

"I know of that now," Eärwen smiled. "Olórin told me everything. I got here not long after you did; but he let you have peace for ninety years."

Anairë stared.

"Ninety years," Anairë whispered. "Has it been that long?"

"It has," said Eärwen. "You have come a long way already, Anairë. When you first came, you were totally unresponsive, having only just used violence against yourself. Ai, sister of my heart, what drove you to such despair?"

"I do not want to say yet," whispered Anairë. "Still. Ninety years. Míriel was only given twelve. Why did the Valar change their mind?"

"Olórin begged to be assigned to your case, and the Valar agreed with his argument. They will not hold you guilty, Anairë. Requiring healing, of course; but 'tis no shame to admit that."

Anairë wept again.

"There will be a new beginning," Eärwen said. "We will come through sorrow as we did. Yea, griefs great, and griefs unmerited. But all of that will come untrue."

Anairë hugged her even tighter, though it was still only in spirit.

"Well, in any case, we are here together now," said Eärwen. "I will wait for you, and when we are both ready, we will leave together in bliss. Until then, I will stay here, and comfort you as I can. But promise me, Anairë. Promise me that you will try. Even if you feel you cannot live for yourself – at least try to get yourself ready, to live for me."

And Anairë clung on.

"I can hardly believe this will come to pass now," Anairë whispered. "But I will try. I promise you, Eärwen, I will return – when I feel ready. I cannot make promises as to when. But for your sake, that shall be my goal: to be ready. And then I will return alongside you."

"That is all I asked," said Eärwen soothingly. "Rest now, dear heart. You did well."

And the spirit of Anairë drifted, as it had not in life for centuries, into a calm and dreamless sleep.

---

Another five decades passed in the world without.

"How are you feeling?" said Eärwen.

Anairë wept again. "I was trying to find a good memory to walk in," she whispered. "But they have all been poisoned, by all the living reminders of my failure."

"You're not a failure, Anairë. Don't you remember?" smiled Eärwen.

"I tried to tell myself that," wept Anairë. "And yet they were all haunted, by those who thought I was."

"Did any memory bring you more success?"

"A few almost worked," whispered Anairë. "Those were the ones where you had only just become sick, and I had first met you. Then I still believed that I could cure you; and it gave freedom from the palace, and the twin storm-clouds of Indis and Findis."

"And so you used a memory where you wheeled me out under the stars, and I sang you the songs Lillassëa taught me as a girl, that come from the Hither Shore?"

"Yes," said Anairë. "But even so, you were already sick, and I knew how it was going to end. Alas that even that memory was haunted!"

"Well, then," said Eärwen, "I think you should come and walk in my memory."

"I did not know you before that."

"Nonetheless I will open my mind to you. Come! Let us see my childhood on Tol Eressëa, as Alqualondë was being built in splendour."

"But I still know how your tale ended!"

"It hasn't ended yet, for I am ready to go! Besides, at that time Míriel lived still, and all storm-clouds were distant. Come with me, and let us fish for pearls by the shores!"

"You seem so alive," Anairë wept. "Yea, even though you are as dead as I am."

"That is simply the sign of one who is ready to return. But you are not yet. Well, you promised, didn't you?"

Without further ceremony, she was swept along to the shores.

---

"Well! I had such fun in those days," Eärwen smiled. "And did you see Gildír and Lillassëa smiling at each other? Celeborn was but a glint in their eyes, back then."

"Maybe there is indeed still healing in Aman," Anairë whispered, scarce daring to believe it. "I almost forgot my pain."

"Á karë sí ankárië!" Eärwen urged. "Try harder! Believe then in your own worth, and doubt no more. I believe in you, Anairë. You tried so hard to save me, and I have been saved. Now it is time to set out on the road to save yourself, and it is one that I will walk with you."

For the first time since Aredhel had walked out, a ghost of a smile lit up on Anairë's spirit.

"This I will do for your sake, love-sister!"

And as she walked further in more memories, it suddenly came to Anairë's mind that she could experience them all for herself, if she would agree to live again in the body.

But then a troubled thought came to her mind.

"Eärwen," asked Anairë, "if I agreed to live again, would I have to go back to Tirion?"

Eärwen froze. "Where would you like to live?"

"I don't know. Somewhere free from palaces. Somewhere free from controlling mothers-in-law. Somewhere free from hurtful barbs. Maybe a cottage out by the seashore. Like the one Lalwen went to, only perhaps less cold and depressing. It doesn't really matter, as long as you stay by my side. Although I'm not sure that can come to pass; surely you will have a duty to your people, and to Finarfin your husband?"

"All such duties were taken by others, when I grew ill," Eärwen said kindly. "And all my children are grown. If you need my company to feel safe, then I shall be happy to grant it."

"Whereas my Argon was not yet grown, when I came here," Anairë said. "Oh! How is he faring? I erred in leaving him so soon. I hope he grew up to be a fine young Elf, just like Fingon who he so resembled as a baby. By now he should be finding his own love; I only wish to tell him that I am sorry for abandoning him. Well, you get information from Olórin. Where does my Arakáno reside now?"

Eärwen paused. "Not far from the Sea," she finally said.

"Oh! That's good. Maybe his heart has turned to one of your people, then!"

Eärwen exhaled.

If you had asked any more, she thought, then I would have had to say: on the western shore, not the eastern. Yea, in the Halls of Mandos, not far away from you.

Ah, Anairë! What can I say, when your Fingon slew my mother and brother, and yet I still love you?

But we are very much getting ahead of ourselves.

---

Celegorm and Curufin were sitting in the same tent with their wives, on the terribly slow journey back from Formenos to Tirion, as the storm raged outside. By now some of the horses had been trained to handle the Dark, but the land was filled with potholes: yet another unwanted gift of Melkor, who had been busy being petty and corrupting every bit of Valinor he passed. (3) Everyone was walking, save for Pelindë who had not the strength: she went with Curufin and Celebrimbor in the only carriage.

"How are you feeling, Pelindë?" Curufin said tenderly.

Pelindë responded with another coughing fit, upon which Celegorm hurriedly passed her more healing infusions.

"Kurvo, I think your wife's experiments might have made her immortal," Aredhel said.

Curufin raised an eyebrow. "Firstly, we're already immortal. We're just getting bad at staying that way. Secondly, not funny."

"I'm serious," Aredhel said in consideration. "There have already been so many who died, being strangled by Ungoliant's darkness when unable to flee. All were much healthier than her to begin with, and all but one are now dead. And yet, after so long, Pelindë still clings to life and occasionally seems to get better. What am I supposed to think?"

"I don't want to die," Pelindë whispered. "I know my body is ruined, and can hardly sustain me. But I don't want to shiver as a naked spirit before the pitiless Mandos. I have to force it to work. It has to."

Aredhel stared. "Oh. Oh."

"You have that look on your face as if you've just solved a fascinating mathematical problem. Do explain to us lesser mortals what you mean," Celegorm interjected.

"An Elf would ordinarily die if injured beyond recovery," Aredhel said, "and their spirit would depart the body, and pass to Mandos. Yet that spirit itself has tremendous power over its body; and that is why, in the wide lands of Middle-earth where Grandfather was born, we lived on a wholly different scale from everything else. All other things obeyed the laws of Nature, and forests grew and fell while our ancestors stayed just the same; for our spirits stayed the decay."

Curufin gazed in shocked understanding.

"Your wife has said it," Celegorm said kindly. "No doubt her spirit wants to flee its broken raiment. But she has grown up. She no longer believes those children's fantasies that the Valar will have any mercy; yet she will not be parted from you or her son. So she forces herself to live, and pours her spirit into keeping her body functioning as well as it can. Which isn't perfectly, but it shows her incredible willpower anyway. You chose brilliantly, Kurvo – especially considering that your algorithm was to not look for a wife for ages, only to suddenly marry the very first girl who impressed you and wasn't already taken."

"Turko, that's not very different from what you did," Aredhel pointed out.

"Yes, it is. Unlike Kurvo, I was looking for a wife for ages. It's just that nobody impressed me before you. Not even close."

In response, Aredhel leaned over, kissed Celegorm on the cheek, and winked.

"That's even less funny!" Curufin exploded. "Do you know who else was forcing herself to live, for her husband and son?"

This time it was Aredhel's turn to gaze in shocked understanding.

"Ah."

"Yes, ah," Curufin gritted his teeth. "I can't lose her. Do you know what's at stake here? Grandmother did not trust the Valar, and was wary even after Grandfather convinced her that her skills would be enhanced here. Then she died after one child, who the Valar don't even like. Mother, however, trusts them just as much as Indis the usurper, and she was permitted to have seven in perfect health. But now my wife, who the Valar dealt collective punishment to, is punished again unjustly. Before this, she trusted them despite them wronging her! Now she is assailed by sickness, which was not ever supposed to come into Valinor. Am I not permitted to notice a pattern?"

"I don't know, I seem to be just fine," Aredhel said, though she suddenly sounded like she was trying to reassure herself.

"Oh, just wait until you have a child," Curufin muttered. "Then the Valar will curse you."

"Kurvo!" Celegorm objected. "What are you saying to your sister-in-law?"

"Huh. Maybe that's another argument that children should wait until we leave this prison-land behind," Aredhel said in consideration.

"Where is Tyelpë, anyway?" Celegorm interjected.

"With Maglor and Caranthir," Curufin replied.

Celegorm put a hand on his brother's shoulder. "I was jesting earlier, but you have done really well too," he said.

"What do you mean?"

"Do you think I didn't notice how desperate you were to find a cure, studying just about every herb that was still clinging on to life in this icy wasteland? And it seems one has had some virtue. When I smell it, it is as if I were already transported across the Sea, to the wilds of Himlad where Finwë in youth walked in the twilight of the Sun and Moon."

"That one I found as my last hope," Curufin said, "when I searched with Father himself."

"Then of course it worked, Curvo!" Celegorm said rapturously. "Sickness assailed us by the shores of Cuiviénen, when Morgoth and Þauron sent it against us; but those who would become our leaders have ever been the most skilled at combating it. Is it not said that the hands of a king are the hands of a healer? Well may we know then that Father is the true King of the Noldor, against all those who would seek to dispossess him. And this plant Maglor has already named aþëa aranion, the medicine of the Kings."

For it was indeed the Fëanorians who brought that plant of renown to Middle-earth, and introduced it to the North Sindar and Men. Many wished to deny it, particularly after Huan brought it to heal Beren, and it became a symbol of the descent of the Númenórean Kings from Thingol; but the name itself proved them liars. In Sindarin it was called athelas, clinging to that Quenya þ even as everyone else shrank from it. (4)

And slowly but surely, Pelindë had been regaining her strength, small though it had ever been.

"But it still is not enough," Pelindë said softly. "All Kurvo has done is buy me time. For now, maybe it will be enough to spare me from the unpitying Mandos. But it will not cure me. Maybe, maybe, with the unstained Light of Aman, it might be done; for then there might be a blessed land in the world again. That hope I still cling to; but it has to be won back."

She focused her gaze on Aredhel. It was most unnerving, in her current feverish state.

"I'm sorry that I can't swear your Oath," she lamented.

"You have nothing to apologise for," Aredhel said warmly. "It's obvious that your health won't permit you to fight. None will think of you as guilty, least of all I. For well I know that you trusted me when others would not."

"But then I might have to leave all of you," she said, trying her best to add emphasis. "I know I have gotten a bit better. In Formenos, Kurvo had to carry me down the stairs, and then I coughed up so much blood all over the pavement. I really thought I would die right there and then."

Everyone winced.

"That was hard to forget indeed," Aredhel whispered.

All but two had backed away in shock and horror. One of the exceptions, of course, had been Curufin. The other had been Fëanor himself; for a long moment, he stared rooted to the spot with an unreadable expression, and then slowly turned to his favourite son and nodded silently.

"Now I can speak again, if softly. But I will never have enough strength to hold a sword," Pelindë said.

"We will not leave any loyal heart behind!" Celegorm urged. "Even if you cannot fight, still your mind remains sharp, and we would have you advise us."

"And yet how will we leave? (5) Olwë took away our boats because he thought some of us might seek to sail for Middle-earth. Now almost all of us are dead – and only now he remembers we were his people—"

She broke off, gasping for breath.

"He will not lend you his boats. He will refuse, out of a misguided protectiveness, not understanding why we cannot just go back to normal and think everything will be fine. Without them, you will have to take the path of snow and ice, even as Lalwen told Caranthir. And then you must leave me behind. I will not survive that."

She closed her eyes. "Rungar was right. I will never be free. Already staying free from Mandos taxes me so. I have not the strength to be free from Manwë as well."

There was a horrified silence.

Curufin took her hand, and exhaled. "It is all right," he whispered. "She is only asleep."

"So that will be the way the Valar hurt us," Aredhel muttered in anger and defiance. "They will use the Teleri as their grasping fingers, barring the way, while our numbers are whittled down by the icy cold. They wish to weaken us so that we are sitting ducks for Morgoth's slaughter. Every day they prove that Morgoth is of one kindred with them.

"Either way, people will die. We have a duty to ensure as few die as possible."

She looked up. "When the time comes – we will speak to Olwë. And if he refuses, then we will take the ships by force."

There was a flash of lightning.

Celegorm looked up in alarm. "I thought you said that there was no crime worth dealing death to punish," he said slowly.

Aredhel nodded. "I did think that. But that was when the Trees still shone, and I did not understand how deep the corruption of the Valar was. They are going to use other Elves as a catspaw to kill us. And I think we have a right to deadly force in one circumstance: when defending ourselves, against those who would kill us."

"But then we would be stealing the Telerin ships, and killing their folk," Curufin objected. "This, when we wish for revenge against the Enemy who stole our jewels, and killed our father."

"The Enemy who killed your wife's parents and brothers, for all that most of them were inexcusable asses," Aredhel retorted. "The Enemy who killed Olwë's own niece. The Enemy who is killing Olwë's followers who were abandoned across the Sea. They were Teleri too, for all that Olwë disowned them. And if this were to happen, they would be killing us first. Let me make that very clear: we will not start this, until and unless the Valar do. But if they do, then we will cut off their grasping fingers, even as we wish to cut off those of Morgoth."

"And then they will have the excuse they dearly wish for, to curse and damn us," Curufin replied.

Aredhel raised an eyebrow. "But you have said it. Look at your wife. Did they not already do so?"

Curufin's eyes strayed then towards the sheathed sword of Aredhel.

Perhaps I have stayed up too late caring for my wife. But somehow, I hear the metal singing; and it cries out for blood.

And as he thought that, his body realised that it had been awake for thirty hours without rest, and he yawned.

And immediately, Aredhel's expression relaxed. "Go to sleep, Kurvo," she smiled. "Keep your wife company in her dreams, that they may be no darker. We will discuss this at another time. It is only a storm cloud on the horizon, and with some luck, it will not come to pass. Your wife is a Teler, and perhaps Olwë will have mercy seeing her poor health. Surely he will not order her onto the Ice."

"He might order her to stay."

Aredhel laughed sadly. "If he wants to get that legalistic; she married you, and is now a princess of our people."

"Galadriel doesn't think so."

"Of course she doesn't. She has a most fascinating reaction to anything associated with the First House, that might metaphorically be called running away in disgust."

"It may at times literally be called that as well."

"Yes, my point exactly. On the other hand, this does have the hilarious side effect that she was really nice to your son. Because she doesn't think he's a prince of the First House."

"I rather think it's because it'd take a special kind of evil to be mean to a newborn."

"Hmm. Perhaps that too."

For a moment, Curufin looked away, as if he were calculating something in his mind. Then he closed his eyes and fell asleep.

"Your brother is so cute when he's sleeping," Aredhel said in amusement.

"He always was," Celegorm replied.

"Shall we?"

Celegorm nodded. Then he took an umbrella, opened it, and they went out into the night hand in hand.

---

"Hello, dear brother of mine," Celegorm drawled. "It has been a while, has it not?"

Maedhros looked back in irritation, from his position taking the watch. "Is this about your wife again? I already apologized, didn't I?"

Celegorm squeezed Aredhel's shoulder, and then impishly kissed her on the cheek.

"Surely you did," Celegorm said, running his fingers through his hair. "And honestly, she understands why you said what you said. No one would've thought otherwise, unless they knew her well beforehand. But I still have the right to be pissed at you."

"What do you want from me, then?"

"Not much. Just the right to be casually rude, I guess."

"You've always been that, to me. But somehow, not to Maglor."

"He at least didn't blab his suspicions to Fëanor. He bade his following to not speak either for or against my wife; and that I can find no fault with."

Maedhros sighed. "I will tolerate it as always, just so long as I can keep you in line, when we need to display solidarity as one House."

In another world, could it have been Fingon by my side, and Celegorm apologizing to me?

"I'm glad that's settled. Now it's my turn to take over the watch."

"What, with your wife?"

"I volunteered to join," Aredhel offered, giving Maedhros a wink.

Maedhros rolled his eyes. "As long as you take it seriously," he said, before walking off. "I'm going to get some sleep."

---

"How many days remain?" Celebrimbor said excitedly, as he made a move on the chessboard. (6)

Caranthir sighed. "Is that, what, the sixtieth time he asked?" he said to Maglor in exasperation, as he contemplated his reply.

"The sixty-first. You missed one. As you also just missed that your nephew has perpetual check."

Caranthir swept away the pieces, conceding the draw with a sigh of frustration. "You'll wriggle your way out of anything, won't you? Clever boy."

"Also," Maglor remarked, "I remember you were equally irritating as a child. Actually, all of you were, except Kurvo."

"I'm sure your strong voice was equally irritating to Nelyo."

"Touché. Though I notice you didn't disagree with me about Kurvo."

"Why, Kurvo was quite simply the most perfect child anyone could ever want," Caranthir sniffed. "That was already clear from his earliest youth. No one else was ever more studious than me."

"What about me?" Maglor objected.

"Káno," said Caranthir disdainfully, "you are a great master of winging things by the seat of your pants at the last moment. Brilliant, yes. Studious, not quite."

Celebrimbor looked up in excitement. "You mean you can do that?"

"No, you can't. At least not if you want to achieve your full potential. Stop listening." Caranthir paused. "And to your answer: we are not far. In two days we shall reach Tirion."

Yea. And then the die shall be cast.

"Also, Tyelpë, it's way past your bedtime. We should take you back to your parents."

Maglor threw up his hands in frustration. "We're only off duty because we're supposed to be taking care of Tyelpë!"

"Yes, and for me that's fine. I've finished all my work already. You, on the other hand, have filled your schedule with all kinds of nonsense in order to have an ironclad excuse not to start. So you see, I'm helping you."

Caranthir covered Celebrimbor's eyes, gave Maglor a rude hand gesture, and led his nephew back to Curufin's tent.

---

Nerdanel walked hurriedly, torch in hand, northeastward out of Valimar.

I have been troubled by terrible dreams, saying that this is the last chance. And yet I know not why.

"Who goes there?"

Her heart leapt up.

Turko!

He turned, and the light shone upon her.

"Ammë?" Celegorm said in wonder.

She gave him a loving embrace.

"Lady Nerdanel?" came the voice of Aredhel.

Nerdanel turned, and promptly embraced Aredhel just as lovingly.

There was stunned silence.

"Based on what Moryo told me, I didn't think you were all that in favour of my marriage," Celegorm noted in perplexion.

"I still am not. But what is that, beside the chance to see you once more?"

"You could see your sons as much as you wanted," Aredhel noted, "if you would come with us."

"I will not defy the Valar. For I know well that this is what you mean to do."

"I marvel that you can still trust them, after they spent the last few years doing absolutely nothing. Did they even offer condolences for Finwë's death? Or attend his funeral? No doubt you held one too."

Nerdanel was silent.

"Yeah, I figured. What is it you want here?"

"To see Fëanor one last time."

"You'll get the same answer from him as before," said Aredhel, "but it can be arranged."

---

"At least leave me the Ambarussar," Nerdanel pleaded. "Amrod, at least, if I must pick one. They are the ones I have had the most time with, since we became estranged; and I know Amras is dearer to your heart than his twin, for his interests are closer to yours."

Fëanor laughed. (7) "Were you a true wife, as you had been till cozened by Aulë, you would keep all of them, for you would come with us. If you desert me, then you desert also all our children. For they are determined to go with their father."

Amrod and Amras both nodded.

And seeing Fëanor's scorn, Nerdanel grew angered. "You will not keep all of them," she hissed. "One at least will never set foot on Middle-earth."

"Take your evil omens to the Valar who will delight in them," Fëanor said haughtily. "I defy them." (7)

Then Nerdanel walked out of the tent.

"I marvel at you," remarked Aredhel. "If you truly believed that Amrod would die, and truly cared about him, then your response would have been to drag him away in desperation and love. For a loyal heart would rescue the one it loved from Mandos himself – be it parent for child, or lover for lover. Yea, even from Morgoth."

"I can believe omens while being powerless to stop them!" Nerdanel sputtered. "Surely you can guess what Fëanor would have done, if I did as you suggested. In any case, it is the marring of my husband that is the worst tragedy, even more than the death he is dragging himself and his children into. For without that marring, then swiftly could they all be restored to life, duly corrected and restored to their natural courses."

Aredhel snorted. "You actually believe that. Where then is Finwë?"

"He would not repent of his heresies—"

"Where then are all the Nandor and Avari who died in Middle-earth?"

"They did not wish to come to Aman—"

"And here I thought this was all about convincing the Valar that departure did not necessarily equal rebellion. That's why Nolofinwë said thou shalt lead and I will follow. Well, based on what I hear from Moryo, they denied you. So what more reason do you have to spread poison?"

Nerdanel looked down.

Aredhel sighed. "Well do I see that you have been holding Indis in great esteem," she replied. "Probably that is how you are coping with your grief; and so I will not burst your bubble further. But although I should really be escorting you away, maybe there are a couple more people you should see, ere you leave us."

---

Nerdanel and Aredhel stepped into the tent.

"You did always wonder what kind of lady your Kurvo would choose, didn't you?" Aredhel asked. "Well, here she is. Pelindë is her name, and her son is sleeping over there. His father-name is Curufinwë the third; but his mother named him Telperimpar."

Nerdanel stared. "That is a Telerin name."

"Why shouldn't Pelindë give a name in her own language?"

Nerdanel was thunderstruck. "I always thought Kurvo, so like his father, would choose a Noldo."

"You assumed wrongly."

Curufin carried on sleeping soundly, due to the extreme sleep deprivation he had been putting himself through. Celebrimbor likewise slept on, since he was still an Elven-child. But Pelindë's eyes fluttered open, though they did not seem to see.

"No," she wheezed, her wild gaze landing on Aredhel, "you cannot be here. I know you are dead, lying poisoned in bed just like me. But faster, faster! The Sea will drown everything we do."

Then she coughed violently again, and the blanket was covered in red streaks.

Nerdanel stared in horror.

Aredhel took her hand. "Worry not, sister," she said warmly. "Nothing has happened to me. I landed an arrow on Ungoliant, and your husband has found something that will help you. Now drink."

She did so, and the wildness slowly faded from her eyes.

"What—" Nerdanel finally said.

Aredhel turned. "You stayed in Valimar, didn't you?"

"Yes—"

"I suspected as much. So you never saw any direct evidence of Melkor and Ungoliant's attack. Well, she was at the epicentre of it, shielding your grandson with her own body, and breathing all the poison that came."

Aredhel looked down. "She is the only one still alive."

Not even the tales of Cuiviénen said that such things could befall us, Nerdanel thought in horror.

Nerdanel stared at Aredhel, as if she wanted to say something; but then she nodded at Pelindë again.

"Well met," Nerdanel finally said. "I am your mother-in-law."

Pelindë nodded. "I was a maker of fair images, like you. But now I am too weak, and I fear I shall never be able to work again. All I can do is write down everything I knew, that it may not be lost."

Then she fiddled with the locket she always wore, and opened it.

Nerdanel stared closely; and then the image of Curufin, so close in form to Fëanor her husband, rose before her as if he were standing there in joy.

She blinked back and forth between her son's sleeping form, and the form that kept rising before her eyes; and her eyes overflowed with tears.

"Then I am not surprised my Atarinkë chose someone so much like me," Nerdanel replied.

"I know my current state gives you much horror," Pelindë whispered. "Kurvo has the matching one of the pair. Aredhel, if you will?"

Aredhel bent over, and opened Curufin's locket without waking him.

"Ai, Manwë and Varda. She was so beautiful," Nerdanel said with trembling voice.

"If Kurvo were awake, he'd insist: she is still beautiful," Aredhel said firmly.

And then Nerdanel remembered how Fëanor had paid no heed to all the comments that he could have chosen someone fairer.

"He really loves her," Nerdanel whispered.

Pelindë gave a hollow laugh. "In this at least I am blessed! People are more willing to believe Kurvo's love for a half-corpse, than for Turko's love for his half-cousin!"

Ai, daughter of my heart. I never knew you, and it still pains me to hear you call yourself so.

"Once she lived in Glanalondë, confined there by Olwë in response to the cruel dictates of the Valar," Aredhel explained. "She sneaked out to the meetings of the loremasters, and Kurvo rescued her from her misery. What she showed you was the first image she made of him, on that fateful day when he asked her to demonstrate her process. Then Kurvo learned swiftly, and she consented to have him make a picture of her. That you have now seen too."

Could it have been me, had I followed Fëanor to Formenos?

"But why are you joining Fëanor in his rebellion? When Middle-earth will be even worse for your health than Aman?" Nerdanel whispered in shock and horror.

Pelindë stared deeply into the eyes of her mother-in-law.

"I am in Aman," she whispered, "and my health is gone nonetheless. I have no trust that the Valar will ever allow me to leave the Halls, when no one but Melkor has left. And yet I want to live. Once, when I was young and foolish, I said that my old life before meeting Kurvo was no life worth living. But now I am confronted with the terror that is the Halls' half-existence. The Everlasting Darkness strangles me tighter and tighter. Please. I want to live." (8)

She gasped for breath, and tugged with all her small strength at Aredhel's hand. "Nienna, give me strength and wisdom! You alone of the Valar do I still trust, and you I will beseech. Help me! Have mercy on me, and on those who I love!"

Her grip slackened, and she burst into tears. "Don't let me die," she whispered, her eyes unseeing. "Don't let me die."

Aredhel gently took Pelindë's hand. "Rest. I shall sing you to sleep, though Káno would do better."

"Not sleep!" Pelindë begged. "Too close, too close to death it is. Lórien and Mandos are brothers. Only calm me. Please."

Nerdanel looked down.

"Valinor is so marred," she whispered. "Valinor is so marred, if such things can come into it."

She stepped slowly to the tent's exit.

"I have no right to dissuade anyone anymore."

She never told Aredhel that Anairë was dead; and she never came among the Noldor again.

---

All too slowly, the terror left Pelindë's eyes.

"Forgive me, sister," said Aredhel, "I should not have left you alone."

Pelindë nodded weakly. "I forgive you," she whispered. "Yes. I forgive you. You came. Stay with me."

Aredhel nodded.

"If I should die nonetheless—" Pelindë whispered.

"Don't say it!"

"—then I beg you, do not let me be alone. I have not the strength of Míriel. Please. Anybody. Even being beside Galadriel or Celeborn would be better than being alone, for all that they would dispossess my son."

"I promise," Aredhel said. "But please, let us speak no more of this. You are getting better, Pelindë! And—" her voice broke. "Kurvo loves you. We all do, and we will help you."

"Thank you," Pelindë whispered. "I promise, Aredhel. The Valar want to curse our house. But to the Halls comes not only dark Mandos, but also Nienna; and never will I stop begging her for mercy. For you, for Kurvo, for his parents and brothers, and for my son."

Her eyes moved to Celebrimbor's sleeping form.

"I am glad beyond measure to see him in full health; for that means I do not suffer in vain."

She closed her eyes.

I must think of something happy, from the days of my health. The first day I discovered how to do that with silver, perhaps. Maybe my first meeting with Kurvo, when I won for myself freedom. Or the brief bliss I had, between my marriage and the Darkening, when Tyelpë was a babe in arms.

She still had nightmares.

Chapter Text

“I do not think she died here,” noted Celeborn, as he walked back towards the swan-ship holding his wife and his two sleeping children.

Galadriel gave her husband an incredulous look.

“Well, there aren’t any bones—”

“Most victims of Melkor surely wish they had that much preserved,” Galadriel pointed out.

“—and the ship is gone.”

At once, Galadriel went into deep thought.

“I do not think Melkor would have any need of such. After all, he is a Vala,” Celeborn explained. “So it must have been Mother and Lalwen who departed in their ship; and I know your brother Angrod worked on it. No storm would have sunk it, and they must have successfully reached Middle-earth.”

“You have much faith in my brother. I wonder if it is too much; for your father said his bond broke.”

“Well, Melkor would have arrived first. That does seem to be a reliable herald of death. But not before that.”

Galadriel looked sorrowful. “Once again you come near my heart’s desire,” she said. “Indeed I had wished to depart Aman; for in Middle-earth none would judge me, and I thought that would give me peace within. Well, for a brief moment, just after the Darkening, none judged me here too. Yet that is past, and Middle-earth is groaning under great evil. How shall I find peace?”

Celeborn took her hand.

“Yes, beloved,” said Galadriel. “I still cannot stand to stay here; but now it is rather because I am tormented by despair! Your father has said it: here is marred, and the Hither Shore is also marred. Yet we have kin on both. Long ago, when I was a child, Mother told me so many beautiful stories of faraway lands and peoples. Those she heard from your mother – her cousin – though Olwë tried to prevent her from listening; and later still, I met you, and heard them from their source.”

She held back her tears, though her voice cracked. “I felt as if Círdan, Elmo, and Galadhon were right here beside us as family. Even Lenwë, whose wife was Melwen sister of Olwë.”

She did not mention Thingol, for all on the Hither Shore thought him long gone beyond hope. At best, they thought, he might be found in the Halls of Mandos – from which none but Melkor returned, as far as they knew.

“They must lie now in desperate straits, now that Melkor has returned to his old haunts close to where they remain. By now we have helped Fingolfin rebuild, and the Mindon stands blazing again through the endless night. Do we not likewise have a duty to help Círdan and bring him to safety?”

“Olwë will not permit it, for all that Círdan and Lenwë are his brothers-in-law,” Celeborn replied sadly. “He will not have our kindred divided further. Any Teler in whom such thoughts awake has no choice but to join us or your brothers. Which quite a lot of them are now doing, to his great displeasure.”

Galadriel sighed. “It sounds like Grandfather indeed.”

She had never been close to Olwë as her brothers had been, for her mother’s illness had estranged her early on from the court of the Teleri. Instead she had met Celeborn and his parents in the northern coastlands, away from the city; for that was where the Valinorean descendants of Elmo lived, and they were the only Telerin royals who would have her.

All her Telerin first cousins had been openly hostile, though the reason of course had been kept secret by the King’s decree; and her birth had destroyed the friendship that afore stood between Finarfin and Olwë’s sons. Yet still Finarfin and Eärwen had stood by their daughter, though Finarfin was devastated to find that the what he thought was Olwë’s unconditional love was nothing of the sort; and for Galadriel’s sake, even though he loved not his city of birth, Finarfin had returned to let her grow up in Tirion away from those hateful words.

Quenya was her native language, as it had not been for her brothers.

“For a while things were mended, at the Darkening,” Galadriel said shakily. “But no more. I am a living reminder that even if Melkor’s taint were cleansed, still there would be death in Valinor: that which found Eärwen my mother, just as it found Míriel. Maybe I deserve Exile, as much as Fëanor did!”

“Oh, beloved,” Celeborn said, “that is not you talking. That is the despair, that has crept with Melkor into the souls of all those who are living in these lands; and I will not let him take you! Whatever you wish to do, I shall be at your side. If you wish to continue rebuilding, I will be with you. But if you cannot bear to live here any longer, and wish to sail away – then I shall join you there, in the south, far away from his depredations.

“And together, we shall not sail despairing into the darkness. Rather shall we sail to bring it light; for the succour of the forsaken, and for dreams of new things untained by past sorrow. A new city in new lands, where our children will flourish.”

Galadriel looked at the ship, which her husband had helped her build; and wept.

It was an exact copy of the one Lillassëa had been working on.

---

Fingon and his company ascended the tallest hill around Tirion.

Aegnor has given the emergency signal. Perhaps the attack has come. There is no time to spare!

“What have you seen, cousin?” he urged.

And then the question died in his throat, as he got to the top beside Aegnor, and it became unnecessary to ask. For in the darkness below, the host of Fëanor was gathered for all to see, with its torches and banners flying.

“I thought they were dead,” Aegnor said in mingled shock and awe. “We all thought they were all dead.”

Sister! Cousin! Fingon’s heart leapt.

Then Fingon noticed precisely who was at the head at the procession, and froze.

“Please tell me that that’s Curufin,” Fingon said in horror.

“If I did so,” Aegnor noted calmly, “then I think I would be lying.”

“It might still be! I see only one so far with that face!”

“You are fooling yourself, cousin! Hear you not what they say?” Aegnor rebutted.

For the clamour of their voices was swelling, and the words they were singing were becoming clear.

The King has returned! Yea, he has returned, to the city of his father! Let all come forth to arms! Death to the Enemy! Vengeance against our foes! Cursed be the Valar who rejected Finwë Noldóran, for they are the kindred of he who spilled the King’s blood! Hail to Fëanáro Curufinwë his heir, maker of the Silmarilli, Lord of the Lights, only son of Míriel Þerindë, heiress of Enel who awoke where ran the sweet waters of Cuiviénen! Come away! Come away!

“Heiress of Enel?” Fingon turned in shock.

Aegnor shrugged. “That she was, the way Fëanor would reckon it.”

“You never told me.”

“The Teleri do not like to mention Míriel because she died – and the same they now do to my mother. But Fëanor is correct. Elwë was descended from Enel by a line of oldest sons; but Míriel so descended from eldest child to eldest child, treating daughters and sons alike. I think Fëanor’s ambitions stretch beyond Tirion.”

“He’s not even supposed to be in Tirion in the first place!” Fingon sputtered.

“Said who?”

“Said the Valar—” Fingon broke off, and turned slowly. “So, it’s rebellion. Uncompromising rebellion.”

“Naturally. They’re claiming the kingship, not compromising,” Aegnor replied flatly. “But I don’t think we can exactly stop them.”

Fingon paused to consider their forces, and slowly nodded. “So, what do you propose we do?” he asked.

Aegnor considered briefly. “I suppose we go and hear what they have to say.”

---

Fëanor spoke on and on, and the fire of his words held all the Noldor in rapture.

Save one, who was ever stealing glances back towards the road; for there Pelindë and Celebrimbor sat in their carriage, guarded by Aredhel.

My hope lives and dies with her, thought Curufin. Every time she recovers, even slightly, my heart is eased. And every time she sinks further, my heart is in blackest despair.

We must avenge Grandfather. We must reclaim our jewels. But those are all things we have lost. I have not lost her yet.

His eyes took on a terrible resolve.

I will do anything, if it means she will live. But I still want revenge on those who wish her dead.

He drew his sword; and by the side of his brothers, the favourite son of Fëanor repeated the terrible words of the Oath.

Everyone gasped.

---

“What the hell are you playing at?” yelled Fingolfin. “You surely were at your most creative when coming up with ways to deem your father’s remarriage illegitimate. But look at you now! You swear by Manwë and Varda, never mind that you were railing against them, and name the One in witness. Did you decide that Nerdanel leaving you without death was enough reason to go and marry yourself to your stones?”

“It seems Father leaving the city without death was enough reason for you to forget all about thou shalt lead and I shall follow,” sneered Maglor. “Do not think he failed to notice who was putting up the rightful banner of the High King!”

“We thought you were all dead!” Turgon objected. “And where is my sister? For I would have words with her!”

“Somewhere from which she cannot be dragged away, as no doubt you would do by force!” replied Caranthir triumphantly. “Your father disowned her and forced her out of your life; therefore do not be surprised if she wants you out of hers as well! In any case, now you know we’re not dead. Some congratulations and well-wishes might generally be in order. But the first thing that comes out of your father’s treacherous mouth is an insult! Well, I never. It’s almost like you’re not happy to see us alive. Perhaps our inconvenient place in the succession influences you?”

“Wherefore are we treacherous?” retorted Turgon. “Ever you said there should be a council, and that the Noldor should choose their leaders through reasoned debate. But now Fëanor claims the kingship only because he is the eldest son, though most of the Noldor are too wise to follow your madness; and you turn truth and justice on their heads, by deeming the majority as traitors! Rather shall I be consistent, and follow the laws of the Valar. On this they are clear: Fëanor has with his violence impaired his rights!”

“And what force have those Valarin laws, on those who would escape their prison, which they cannot even keep safe?” interjected Maedhros.

“They have force on those you would push into your madness against their will!” Turgon shouted. “We cannot have one rule for your followers, and another for Father’s. And here is my will: I will not turn black into white, or night into day! My father is the King, and I will not follow you into evil!”

“But apparently, you will follow him into treason,” Maglor remarked in deadpan.

“Oh, so your will matters, but not your sister’s,” Caranthir added. “Truly, it’s a wonder you still have to ask why we’re keeping her away from you. Are you like that to your wife, too?”

Turgon lunged at him, only to find himself restrained by Finarfin and Finrod.

“Oh, my,” said Caranthir, who was now elegantly fanning himself. “Apparently, it’s only naughty to attack your relations if you do so with a sword. With fists, it is all right.”

“It is not treason, to be against a pretender, never accepted by the Valar, who just announced his unshackling from all moral laws!” Fingolfin shouted to Maglor.

“What is all this?” Finarfin said softly in horror. “It is as if we have learned nothing! Melkor has extinguished all light and joy in Valinor; and here we stand once more, ready to destroy everything good that remains! How fast do we forget the simple joy of rebuilding, and of a quiet night at home with food and cheer and song, in favour of struggle and death? How fast do we seek to destroy one another? How fast do we swear to abolish all limits on our actions, yet bind ourselves so that we cannot be unbound?”

“Well met, Arafinwë,” Fëanor replied sarcastically. “You at least never sought to usurp me as your brother did; and maybe that is the one good thing that came from your total lack of ambition. But I say to you: what food and cheer and song have we? All food we have is in defiance of the Valar, who begrudge light to us; what little remains is all our own! And do we not have struggle and death here already?”

“Do not think I do not know it, brother,” Finarfin said calmly. “My wife lies dead, and so does Nolofinwë’s. Lalwen sleeps now in Mandos beside Olwë’s niece. It is not only our father, and your mother, who are gone.”

“Then I am sorry you must suffer as Father once did,” Fëanor agreed. “Though I hope, for your children’s sake, that you will act otherwise than he.”

Finarfin gawked.

Maybe I was right. I should have gone to Fëanor, all those years ago. He would have understood. And maybe Galadriel and he would have been something other than unfriends forever.

“But now they will all lie jailed unjustly while Melkor wrecks the world without!” Fëanor shouted, half to Finarfin, and half to the world without. “If you claim to be a son of Finwë, then act as if you are one! Act to avenge him, instead of pretending to be a Vanya like Findis and Nerdanel believing Manwë’s lies! Or have ye all fallen so far, that all this death strikes you as natural, instead of a despicable part of the Marring to be attacked and destroyed? I protest it, as I ever had! I protest the jailing of Mother! I protest the jailing of Father! I protest the agony Pelindë suffers, just as I protest the deaths of Anairë and Eärwen!”

“What agony? What happened to your law-daughter? Where is she?” urged Finarfin.

Fëanor ignored him, so focused was he on his speech. Instead Maedhros whispered into Finarfin’s ear, and his face turned pale.

“And I will turn it all against the Marrer, who wrote all wrongs into the Tale of Arda, and against his brethren who aided and abetted him!” Fëanor raved. “Yea, I would do this even myself, with only my sons and law-daughters beside me, if none others stayed true; and there in the wide lands of Endor shall I seek vengeance and redress, and find adventures more worthy than those of Manwë’s thralls! Finwë fought to more avail than the Valar; so shall we recover our own, with naught but our own wisdom and valour!”

There was a great storm of applause.

“But Grandfather did not win!” objected Finrod over the cheers.

“Yet he tried,” Fëanor said darkly, “and if I had been there, and many others, it may have been otherwise. Wherefore do you forebode defeat for us? Even Pelindë, who had ever been frail, strove against Ungoliantë herself, and shielded her son from the evil!”

“At a terrible price to her own health, so Maedhros tells me,” said Finarfin. “So I seek only calm, and for us to consider thoroughly before we set out, so that lives may not be spent in vain! Brother, did you at all think of speaking to the Valar, and asking for help and advice? Especially if your daughter-in-law is so ill? Whatever possessed you to take her on such a strenuous journey, instead of granting her rest?”

“Yes, what a marvellous idea, to go to Lórien the incompetent. Is he even open for patients?”

Finarfin fell silent.

“You see? And you yourself where petitioning to the Valar gets you; for you are husband of Eärwen cousin of Lillassëa. Do you not recall how she was left to die, seen as a stain on the Valar’s pleasaunce just as they treated me?”

“Yet it did not lead her to fell violence,” noted Finarfin.

“Her folly was not to try and leave earlier,” Fëanor replied darkly. “No doubt my half-sister dissuaded her, and led herself and her friend only into death. But we have learned from them. Pelindë has no trust, and neither do I, that the Valar will ever cure her. They will simply poison her with their false remedies, until she is beyond healing. So shall they prove that they and Ungoliant are of one kindred. And then they will cheerfully declare her mortally sick and jail her forever, just like my mother. What is Valinor now, with its light and blessing come to nothing, but its trammels as strong as ever? As lief and liever would I have the world without!” (1)

“So too would I have revenge on my father’s killer,” Fingolfin finally replied, having broken away from arguing with Maglor. “But I would not have it come with rejection of the Valar! Less still would I turn it solely into an expedition to recover your stolen treasures!”

“It matters not what you would have, usurper,” sneered Caranthir. “The Valar hold us all captive against our will. Seek to escape, and they will hold you as enemy, whether you deem them so or no.”

“And yet they have not,” Finrod said mildly.

“Because you have not tried to leave yet. Just wait and see what happens if you do.”

---

Elenwë stared open-mouthed, looking at the road from Formenos to Tirion from the Mindon above.

She felt a tap on her shoulder.

“Did you see her?” a rapidly growing Argon asked, standing beside a silent Idril.

Elenwë did not turn back. “Yes and no,” he said tonelessly. “I saw Aredhel, for the first time in years; and I thought I would be pleased beyond measure to find her alive. But she is less recognizable even than Curufin.”

“Who is impossible to recognize, because he looks exactly like his father?”

“No, because he now looks haggard and worn, as if he is in despair greater than my husband’s after Anairë’s death. Even his hair now seems paler, as if it is now touched by a memory of Míriel’s and overcome with a dusting of frost. But this is far worse still.”

Argon fell silent.

“I saw Aredhel in the distance, and stared deeply into her eyes; and all of a sudden, they focused on me. They were not the eyes of our sister, law-brother. They were the eyes of Fëanor, when he drew a sword on Father in this very square.”

Argon stared in horror.

“The terror I warned of has come to pass. The House of Fëanor has passed the point of no return, and we can drag them back no longer. Yea, now it will be worse to try; for they will drag us with them.”

“Then—”

“I read it in her eyes, Argon. She has wedded Celegorm without the Valar’s leave. Maybe the other sons of Fëanor do not know what they are getting into; they did not rebel merely by stepping into Tirion. But Celegorm and Aredhel rebelled even before Fëanor, with malice aforethought.”

“I thought you said not to consider our sister as lost to the darkness!” Argon pleaded.

“At the time, she was not lost,” Elenwë answered sadly. “But now she is. Nothing more can be done.”

Argon stared.

“I am the highest Elven-lady among this people. I am the queen and the breadgiver. And I have a duty to keep my folk safe,” Elenwë said in a voice as hard and unyielding as stone. “Aulë has said it for all to hear. Rebellion against the Valar will lead us to death. Before, this meant talking down Fëanor and Finwë, so that they would not rebel, and we could remain one people. But now Finwë is dead, and Fëanor his son has proclaimed his rebellion as surely as Celegorm and Aredhel have. If they wish to lead us to Middle-earth – where duty calls us anyhow, to avenge he who slew our king – then we cannot go under their banner. Only then can we save our people.”

“Are you not repeating what Indis said long ago, excluding and denying Fëanor from the Noldor?” Argon said in alarm.

“I am,” Elenwë whispered, “and I hate that I am doing so. But I have no choice. The Valar have made their stance very clear. My hands are tied, if I want my people to live.”

She looked down.

“Forgive me, Aredhel, if you still can.”

---

Nay, let us be gone! Let us be gone! came the shout of the Noldor from where they had left.

“That is the signal!” said Curufin, guiding Pelindë’s carriage with his following through the alleys. “Turko, go with Huan and seek out Father! Then we must get to the front of the host, so that the usurping Second House will be nowhere near Aredhel, and cannot steal her away.”

But within the carriage, Aredhel was still staying closely by Pelindë’s side.

“How are you feeling?” she asked as the carriage raced at breakneck speed through the alleys of Tirion.

“I am going,” Pelindë said hoarsely, while coughing ceaselessly.

“No, you’re not,” Aredhel urged. “Six times already you have said it; and every time, you pulled through.”

“No,” Pelindë moaned. “This is worse. Tirion is so high up. The mountain passes will go yet higher. I am so cold.”

Her voice cracked, and she coughed again.

“See now what the Valar do to us?” Curufin shouted to all those who had left the square to follow him. “They will not restore light to Aman. All that you have to fill your bellies is by your own work, with what lesser lights we can make by our own ingenuity. But they forget what we are. They say we are free to leave, but only point to the Grinding Ice, which we cannot pass. Now they let us freeze, as the temperature plummets day by day in this endless winter. Only those who will sit pretty and mourn with them uselessly will get their help. For the rest: nothing!”

“Cursed be Manwë as much as Melkor!” a shout came from the crowd.

“Your vows are ours!” a great cry sounded.

Pelindë had been feverishly writing her chemical treatise from her clear Eldarin memory, whenever she was healthy enough. But now she was in desperate straits, and the final chapter still languished half-done.

“Keep it,” wept Pelindë, her eyes crazed. “Keep it with Kurvo. I am spent. I cannot write any more. Bid him to keep it, even if it hurts him too much; and let him use it to teach one he finds worthy.”

“Pelindë, please—” Aredhel urged.

“It is all useless!” she wept, her hands failing even to clench. “Nothing helps. Nothing will help anymore. It was only a respite from the Darkness, and now it comes again. Yea, far greater is it than it had been before. The Valar are useless. So is Fëanor! So are you!”

“I’m so sorry,” Aredhel said. “But I have been doing my best—”

“I know. And that is useless! ‘Tis not only you; everyone’s best is useless!” she sobbed, summoning all her strength to speak. “Rúmil spoke most honestly to me, Aredhel. I like him far more than any others who have taken up medicine in this terrible hour; for he conceals nothing, and remembers much from Cuiviénen. And do you know what he said to me, yesterday? He said he marvelled that I still lived, so much has the Darkness taken!”

She bent over in agony, and coughed up a bowlful of blood.

“Pelindë!” Aredhel cried out in alarm.

And Curufin’s heart broke again, as he heard those words from outside.

“Faster!” he shouted, though he did not speak the language of horses as his brother did.

We cannot brook delay. Every hour will let Melkor collect his power, and then more of the Elves of Middle-earth will come to ruin. Every hour will give Nolofinwë a chance to usurp power, and waste our time having to fight him.

I have to get my wife out of here. Out of the Valar’s prison, and out from their unjust wrath.

In the distance, Celeborn and Galadriel sailed southward, passing the house in which Pelindë had been born.

---

“What do you think?” Aegnor asked, as Fëanor and his sons prepared to march.

Fingon sighed. “Well, Fëanor has clearly just demonstrated that he has no business ruling anything other than a smithy. That Oath was beyond the pale, and demonstrates that he has learned nothing since he drew a sword on Father. We cannot follow someone who swears that; and not only because Aulë warned that rebellion would lead Fëanor and all his children to death. And I wonder myself, if it includes Aredhel and Pelindë as the daughters of his heart.”

“It must be hard, since one of them is your sister,” Angrod noted.

Fingon looked up. “Speak not of her so,” he said. “She made her choice, and does not wish to be that anymore. Nothing more can be done to save her, for she wedded Celegorm brazenly against the Valar’s will. And yet it remains true that Morgoth needs to be dealt with, while the Valar don’t seem to be doing anything.”

Ai, Russandol, what have you done to yourself? I will not forget you, though you have forgotten me. Yea, as long as I live, I shall shield you from your Oath, and from the curse of Aulë. The world shall know you as a hero!

“Father must claim the kingship and march alongside us,” Fingon continued.

His cousins turned.

“What are you saying?” Aegnor said sharply.

“There will surely be many of us who wish to march – but do not wish to take Fëanor as king,” Fingon continued. “And for that, Father and I must go with them, to lead those who would be led by us. Yea, and Turgon too.”

“And what happened to Fëanor leading, and Fingolfin following?” Angrod objected. “He will not take that well at all.”

“That was when we wanted to plead that the Noldor were again united, and wished to depart as a whole without strife!” Fingon sputtered. “How can you think of those days as anything like the current ones? Those beautiful days of youth, while Tirion was still in spring, the Trees still flowered and bore fruit, Maedhros and I were riding in fair green fields under Laurelin’s light, and our mothers were—”

His voice cracked.

“Forgive me,” Fingon composed himself. “I know it is different for you. You had far more warning than I. I am still so ashamed that I never saw it. Ai, what kind of a son am I, who could not see his mother’s torment and grief?”

He held his head in his hands.

“No. We cannot lose any more people to death. Then we needed to show that we could reconcile, and that we were one people under Finwë. But now the Noldor are already two peoples: one in Tirion, and one in Formenos. The unity Elenwë and I wanted is lost forever – partly by their actions, and partly by the Valar’s. We must accept that, at this point; anything else would result in violence, and Elda drawing sword on Elda. But at least we may march as neighbours and allies, if not as friends.”

“So, is that your law-sister’s plan now?”

Fingon nodded. “Fëanor has already rebelled against the Valar with full will. So too did Celegorm and Írissë. To court them is to court death. That is not Írissë, cousins. What has replaced her is something fearful, that would stare at me and think not brother but enemy. It is as if Fëanor himself is wearing her face; and the same must hold for Celegorm, who defied the Valar alongside her. Not so the others; even Curufin did not burn with a flame that much like his father’s. I do not think they fully appreciated or understood what they swore.

“If the majority of us take Father as the High King, then we can save everyone else; and seeing that, perhaps those who courted Fëanor and survived will be inclined to change their mind. Yea, maybe even six of his sons.”

Russandol, I will save you, even as you are so careless at breaking my heart! I will help you, even from afar, as tenderly and faithfully as your mother did. Yea, I will do one better. Even were you in the hells of Angband, I will dare all the perils to wrest you therefrom! For I know your spirit, and this I know truly: you alone can save the unity among the Noldor.

You galloped through the wastes left by the Marrer, to bring those terrible tidings in your beautiful voice. Yes, this I will say: Káno may be a greater singer for the world, but you are the greatest for me! None others could have done what you did, without flinching in horror. And for one moment, all – yea, even the pitiless Valar – saw your father and grieved with him.

Then you fell into the darkness, and I thought you dead; and I wept in this endless night, holding waking and dreaming as one. Then did I bind every letter your fair hand sent me, with the gold I braided my hair with, and I carried them wherever I went; but my heart was cold as Formenos, and I wet them with my tears. Now I know you are not dead; and I will have it so that I shall weep no more!

“And yet it would require some interesting mental gymnastics,” Angrod pointed out, interrupting Fingon’s reminisces, “to reject the Valar to the extent of marching forth from Tirion, and yet accept their judgement to unking Fëanor.”

Fingon stared. “You will not call Father king?”

“You seemed pretty adamant about not calling him king earlier,” Aegnor accused.

“That’s not the same and you know it. You’ve also been calling Father king since Grandfather’s murder.”

“We were doing that, while we thought the First House extinguished,” Angrod replied. “That was clearly legitimate, based on what knowledge we had. But now?”

“By no means would a majority of the Noldor take Fëanor as king either!” Fingon objected.

“Maybe, maybe not. I think it would be a close call,” said Angrod. “When Finwë was exiled, and not yet dead, the absolute majority of the Noldor would have taken him for king. The Valar were not especially happy about that. Now Finwë wished for Fëanor to succeed him; how can we consistently respect Grandfather, and yet spit on his last wishes? Particularly when we cannot even coherently claim we follow the Valar, when Fingolfin and you rail against their incompetence even as Fëanor does?”

Fingon’s face turned white.

“I never thought you, of all people, would side with Fëanor,” Fingon said softly. “How can you argue in his favour, after the Oath?”

“Were you not there, when Yavanna spoke to him?” said Aegnor. “First the Valar requested that Fëanor relinquish his jewels; but then they commanded him. The masks came off; a thief revealed thieves.”

“I was there,” Fingon answered, “but I thought otherwise. You sound like Russandol, when he was dutifully repeating everything his father said. But it seemed to me that he did not wish to believe it, whereas from you I sense no such reluctance.”

“Because we cannot look the same way at the Valar after that,” Angrod answered.

There was a brief silence.

“I am not in favour of the exact wording of the Oath, of course,” explained Aegnor. “I think its phrasing can all too easily be turned to ill. But the sentiment behind it? That I understand perfectly.”

“The jewels may be Fëanor’s; and yet the light that beautified and sanctified them is not!” Fingon objected.

“That the Valar said indeed, when they claimed it to be theirs,” agreed Aegnor. “But by what right do they do so? If the light was from the Valar, and they had only lent it to Fëanor; why, then by the same logic it was truly from Ilúvatar, who only lent it to Varda! And nothing could we claim as ours, Máya or Elda alike; for everything proceeds from Eru, and we can only make things out of His raw material.”

“But that is the truth!”

“Of course it is. But that is not the sense in which we usually say things are ours. By that we mean: these are the works of our hands. Eru gave us the materials, yet it is we – with the free will that He gave us – who chose how to sculpt them. And that should not be set at naught. The love of our works was planted in our hearts by Eru, and though like all love it can be taken to excess, still it is proper and good in moderation. If you said that Fëanor had been too possessive with his love for the Silmarilli, refusing to wear them at the festival of reconciliation: then I would say you had a just argument. The Valar, however, wanted total abnegation on Fëanor’s part, even knowing that it would deal him death; and that I will not brook!”

Fingon stared in horror.

“That light was already multiplied and preserved,” added Angrod. “Varda herself preserved a portion of it when Melkor ravished Arien, and she used it to light the Two Trees. There was never any thought then of returning the blessing to the Sun; for that is impossible. So too should it be impossible to re-light the Trees; and for that reason I doubt Yavanna. If Varda was permitted by Eru to hold on to the light, and begrudge it to Middle-earth; then on what grounds can she forbid Fëanor to hold on to what he has? Especially when he means not for himself to be the master of the unsullied light, but for the Eldar as a whole, wherever they should go?”

“Do you believe he would allow it to us?” Fingon questioned.

“Well, he surely doesn’t seem to have a problem with your sister,” Angrod observed sarcastically, “even though he surely suspected her beforehand.”

“She won Fëanor’s trust by doing something sickening!” objected Fingon. “Fëanor said it himself; she it was who devised the words of that Oath, that now binds Maedhros and his brothers! She was determined to stick with Fëanor all the time, even right after he had drawn a sword on Father, and while he was condemning her as a traitor! And she crafted those sick words, clearly not flinching from drawing said sword herself, against her own father!”

“Did she, now? Is Fingolfin now planning to take not only the Kingship for himself, but also the Silmarilli?”

Fingon fell silent.

“And I see you do not hold Maedhros guilty,” Angrod continued.

“He is Fëanor’s son. But Aredhel is Father’s daughter! She should have been with us!”

“Do you think she would have felt any better with Fingolfin? Look at me in the eye, Fingon. Can you honestly tell me that your father, if he were to have received Aredhel back into his custody, would not likewise condemn her as a traitor and barred her all contact with the Fëanorians? Especially Celegorm who she loves?”

“We were glad to know she was alive—” Fingon sputtered.

“No, you bloody well weren’t. Or at least, not after she swore her allegiance with Fëanor. Just think about what your brother said. Where is my sister, for I would have words with her?”

“I would have words with her too, because of what that creature wearing her face is! She has gone so far as to be willing to deal us death! Even Maedhros shows reluctance!” Fingon shouted.

Aegnor shook his head. “Let’s face it: the love of Indis’ line is just as conditional as Fëanor’s is.”

“What—”

“Oh, don’t get too upset. Most love in Valinor is such. Olwë’s too. The difference is that Fëanor’s conditions are actually reasonable: side with him loyally, with proof that you’re doing so, and he won’t even care that you’re Indis’ grandchild. Or a Teler from the middle of nowhere, for that matter. Why, in either case he’ll even let you marry one of his sons,” Aegnor said darkly. “Now riddle me this: did she draw a sword on you?”

“No, but she looked as if she would—”

“Giving people dirty looks is not a crime. Otherwise Mandos should be the one in his own prison.”

“And she was always supposed to follow her brothers, and stay under our protection!”

And suddenly, he felt Angrod’s iron grip on his arm.

“Her brothers,” Angrod said coldly. “What, even Argon, as young as he is? Are we going back to the nonsense Findis’ sons have been parroting about the proper place of an Elven lady?”

“That’s not what I—”

“Say it,” Angrod taunted. “Say it to our faces. Yes, say to the brothers of Galadriel what a daughter of the Noldor should be permitted to learn.”

“You make me sick,” added Aegnor. “All the more so, because we were once close to you as brothers. Thankfully Galadriel was young enough not to be part of our group; I shudder to think of how you would have treated another sister of yours.”

“It’s not about her being a daughter!”

“Then why do I hear nothing about keeping Argon under your protection? And why are you so keen on excusing Maedhros of everything, while you will not give your sister anywhere near that level of courtesy when she loves and trusts Celegorm? When she was not even there at Fëanor’s speech in Tirion, and you are relying by what you yourself decided to see in her eyes? And when you treated her with so little respect, that you drove her straight into Fëanor’s arms?”

Fingon fell silent.

Aegnor gave his cousin a withering look. “I see why Celegorm is keeping her from you. If it were up to you or Turgon, maybe she will not be married off. I still have a nonzero amount of faith in you, as little might be thought. But at the very least, she’s not going to see the light of day for many years.”

Angrod nodded. “You are a complete and utter hypocrite, regarding how you hold Maedhros above all other Fëanorians,” he said in a voice filled with contempt. “You make every single excuse for him, never mind that he doesn’t even want to be your friend anymore, and that that Oath is as much a warcry against the Valar as Fëanor’s entry into Tirion or Celegorm’s marriage. But for your sister, the mask came off. You don’t respect her at all, do you? Did you ever?”

“We let her meet the Fëanorians as she pleased, which was a mistake—”

“Yes, you did. You were also calling her a turncoat for meeting Fëanor so often, before she actually became one!” Angrod shouted. “And what did you tell her, when she was asking you questions? You shouted her down, ever repeating the same platitudes without proof! I know for a fact that such opinions are actually debated among the loremasters, because my elder brother is one of them! Why did you not permit her to learn the intelligent arguments? We had no problem with Galadriel doing that! And why are you at all surprised, then, that Aredhel took Fëanor’s side?”

“We let her go to the library in Tirion and read them—” Fingon objected.

“So she learned all the arguments herself and found yours wanting. You might want to stop before you dig a deeper hole for yourself,” said Aegnor sarcastically.

Fingon stared daggers at his cousins.

“For a long time, I wondered why she was so eager to stay with the Fëanorians,” Angrod said darkly. “Maybe it made sense when Fingolfin had just disowned her; but for a long while, Fëanor mistrusted her too, and I wondered why she would not return to her birth family. Surely both sides would denounce her as faithless; why not stay with those no doubt more familiar? Well, now I know. Because as over-the-top as Fëanor can sometimes be, you are yet more loathsome.”

He motioned to Aegnor, and withdrew his hand.

“We are not friends,” he said; and the younger sons of Finarfin walked away.

---

“So, are we siding with Fëanor then?” Edhellos said in concern.

“Not explicitly,” Angrod said. “For some our following may be reluctant to do so. But we do not seem to have any good, legal reason to reject him – at least not if we want to do as he asks, and leave Valinor. And power among the Noldor must transfer according to the ancient laws; by the King’s choice, or to his oldest son if he fails to decree his legal choice ere he retires. Both land squarely on the son of Míriel.”

Edhellos nodded. “The Darkening and its aftermath destroyed all trust I had left in the Valar,” she whispered. “So what will we do?”

Aegnor looked backward, the light of the torches reflecting off his flame-like hair. “We will follow Father,” he replied. “Certainly, to many Fingolfin seems more stable than Fëanor at the moment. He has won much love, by rebuilding our fair city on the hill; naught does anyone know of how he would mistreat his own daughter if given the chance. And while we thought the First House annihilated, he was legally king in good faith.

“But now that we know Fëanor is alive, it is different. Fëanor was Finwë’s eldest and his choice as heir. I will not cut myself off from those who follow him – not when they have the better argument, in spite of the Valar’s wrath. It will have to be enough.”

“For now,” Edhellos whispered. “For now.”

---

“March and claim the kingship, Father,” Fingon pleaded. “Our people need you. Or else they will fall under the Valar’s curse.”

He made sure not to mention Maedhros.

“Are they our people, if they are influenced by Fëanor to wish to leave?” Fingolfin shot back. “Particularly my disgusting excuse for a daughter?”

“I like Fëanor not at all; and I am filled with sorrow that Aredhel jumped after him on the same ruinous path to self-destruction. And yet I am persuaded that Melkor must be dealt with,” Fingon argued.

Fingolfin looked towards Turgon, who promptly glanced in Elenwë’s direction.

“When the Valar transported us to these shores, the choice was proclaimed before Finwë to be free, and we received guarantees that we could go home afterwards,” Elenwë replied. “And we were influenced because Middle-earth was dark and in ruins, while Valinor was shining and blessed. Now Valinor is no better than Middle-earth; on what grounds can they keep us? Nay, I say this is not rebellion, but us doing our duty on their behalf. We criticize the Valar indeed; yet we do so only as Ulmo does, writ small. As loyal subjects who love them, and wish to see them do their best!”

So it was that Turgon too left on the march. Of course, he marched extremely reluctantly, with Findis’ sons beside him dreading the evil that would grow at every step; but he marched all the same, by the side of Elenwë his wife, who stood by Fingolfin as queen of the Noldor of Tirion. For he ever had a vision of Idril’s wedding under the light of the Sun, though when he strained to see the face of her bridegroom, the vision always ended.

But ere Angrod and Aegnor had reached Finarfin, Finrod had done so; and he had spoken to his father first.

“Father, you are the only son of Finwë left, who does not accuse the Valar of wrongdoing or idleness,” Finrod had said. “There are those who wish to march, not out of rebellion, but out of love and concern for Círdan’s people left behind on the Hither Shore. Shall we leave them to the rash counsels of Fëanor and Fingolfin? Or shall you lead them, and spark wisdom in their hearts?”

Finarfin looked at his eldest son. “Surely, if we were to try to leave with them, we would lose the high ground you speak of. In this at least Fëanor spoke truly: the Valar will not tolerate departure.”

“But I am sure they will,” Finrod said, eyes gleaming, “if we go on our own, and not under Fëanor or Fingolfin. I have had dreams, Father. This I know, maybe from the One himself: we have a mission in Middle-earth, in keeping with His designs. It is not yet time for us to stay in the West, home of our people forever and untouched by time. Not yet. There will be one more day for us!”

Finarfin looked stunned; and then he nodded tiredly.

Fëanor is indeed the eldest son. And Fingolfin has done ill again, denying and rejecting Fëanor’s love for his father, and lightly gainsaying his promise, he thought. Now he is proudly saying that he is only following his half-brother because he swore before Manwë to do so; but by his actions, he is clearly not following at all. For likewise I hear the name Vinya Finwë Ñolofinwë from his lips: no doubt his goal is to prove the Valar that he is doing everything according to their decrees, but they will sit ill with the Fëanorians as always!

But surely Fëanor will not hold most of the Ñoldor to his will for long either. He could not persuade them to call him king; so should he be unable to persuade them to leave, once the horror of the journey reveals itself. Many will soon be returning to Tirion. Surely.

Far away on Taniquetil, the Valar stirred not.

---

Celegorm’s horse appeared from another path.

“Father is there, Kurvo!” he shouted. “Carry on riding straight ahead, and await us where you first glimpse the Sea.”

Curufin stared upward. “But that is not our banner!” he hissed. “We should be using the Winged Sun of Finwë! Father is the King!”

Celegorm looked grim. “Nolofinwë will not give it up. Too deep his usurpation now lives in the hearts of the Noldor of Tirion. We cannot use the Winged Sun, without creating confusion; for it already flutters from every house in Tirion. And we cannot use the eight-pointed star either, as that was Father’s device when he was crown prince. It would be an admission that the kingship did not lie with us. So this is Maglor’s compromise. We will fly the Three Silmarils before Laurelin on our banner; and then it shall be clear to all who we are, and what our ambitions are, without forsaking our rightful claim!”

“I see Arafinwë’s banner too,” Curufin frowned, seeing with his keen Elven-sight Angrod and Aegnor speeding forth.

Celegorm shrugged. “He does not claim the kingship, and he has very pointedly refused to say who he thinks the king is. And by flying his own banner he creates room for all those who do not wish to make up their mind yet.”

“And are you sure that’s a good thing?” Curufin said sceptically.

“I am,” Celegorm said seriously. “Because it means that there are many in Tirion, who even after Nolofinwë has had his run of the place for years, are still not sure he should take over Father’s rightful place as king. Yea, and that there are some even in Arafinwë’s house who think so. Even Arafinwë himself.”

Curufin stared in shock.

“At first, I always deemed him the truest copy of Indis,” Celegorm explained. “He certainly did look the part; and Finrod, his eldest son, certainly matches his grandmother in body and spirit. But I think Arafinwë is different, and that his younger sons are too. I do not forget that he never explicitly took a side. Why would he do so, though all Tirion deems the First House marred rebels, unless his heart cleaves rather to Curufinwë over Nolofinwë?”

Then my plan was wise, thought Curufin. Yes. I must find Arafinwë, and speak to him.

And within the carriage, Aredhel and Rúmil were desperately trying to save Pelindë’s life.

---

Rúmil looked up.

“She will live, for now,” he said. “The immediate danger has passed.”

“My thanks on your excellent work. Yours, and my law-sister’s. None else would have saved her,” Curufin said listlessly.

“If not for Aredhel’s immediate response,” Rúmil nodded in her direction, “even I could not have, by the time I was summoned. Half the credit must go to her.”

“No,” Aredhel said softly. “Caring for the sister of my heart is not praiseworthy. It is simply common decency.”

There was a pause.

“In any case, you are welcome. But if we cannot get her somewhere warmer, she’s not going to last another month,” Rúmil said bluntly.

“Is that what you told her?” Curufin said sharply.

Rúmil nodded. “At your command, I will hide nothing – though I think it perilous for her state of mind, to know how desperate her situation is,” he warned. “Especially now. The slightest exertion might kill her.”

“It would be worse for her not to know. Then the nightmares would have more to work with,” Curufin warned.

Rúmil shrugged. “Maybe. I may know more about healing the body. But ‘tis your wife’s spirit you speak of, and no doubt you know her better.”

He turned.

“Also, there is always Valimar,” Rúmil pointed out.

“She does not want it. The Valar proved themselves our enemies, when they asked for the Silmarils. Pelindë does not trust them to heal her,” Curufin said flatly.

“Maybe she is right. But every other path will bring her death yet more surely.”

“Not if we can get her into the Outer Lands, where the Sun still shines.”

“You will not be fast enough,” Rúmil replied.

Curufin made a gesture of dismissal, and Rúmil left. Then he stared at the sickbed where his wife lay.

“I will,” he snarled. “Whatever it takes. Once I saved you from the misery forced on you by Manwë. Now I will save you from Mandos too.”

His vision was blurred by tears.

“I will not treat you like Father treated Mother. I know you have railed against us and insulted us in your agony, as the dark dreams have grown worse and worse, and grown all-consuming. Father is unhappy, for he knows not such things firsthand, and is too used to hearing insults from the court. Those vipers mean them; but I know you do not! That is the Darkness talking, not you! And though it has consumed everything else, still you love me, and recognize me even in those tormented dreams! And I love you. I will save you.”

His hands trembled.

“I saved Celebrimbor, who I feared for as much as you. I found the kingsfoil, brought it to him, and he was cured. He has not had a full relapse since then, though there were moments that were all too close. I still dare not let him swear the Oath, for all that Father urges me. But you never recovered, and each time you come closer to death.”

He looked up towards the sky and shook his fist.

“Manwë and Varda! Maybe by your sick logic I deserve to suffer. But then let me be the one who suffers! Not Pelindë, who did nothing wrong even by your dictates! May the Everlasting Darkness take me instead; but not her! Never her!”

And he wept bitterly, as his sister-in-law took his hand.

He and Aredhel, working in shifts, still got scarcely more sleep than Pelindë. For she kept waking up in utter terror from the latest phantom come to torment her in her nightmares. None others, save Celebrimbor her son, could comfort her now.

---

Now having answered the herald of Manwë, Fëanor came to the shores of Elendë; and then he turned northward. For he deemed that there was no hope of escaping Valinor without ships, which he had not; and knowing the plight of Pelindë his daughter-in-law, he deemed that he could inflame the Teleri to righteous anger. Thus he would both strengthen his forces and diminish further the pleasaunce of the Valar; and his heart leapt with black laughter at the latter thought.

But the sons of Finarfin were filled with foreboding; and while many of the most reluctant marchers stayed with their father, they went ahead with their people to the docks, bypassing Olwë altogether.

“What do you have in mind?” Finarfin had asked his eldest son.

“I do not think Olwë will be moved,” Finrod replied. “You know how he treated all those who had thought of leaving, like Aunt Lillassëa: withdrawing their boats, so that they might grow wiser. Too deep runs the hatred remembered between the hosts of Elwë and Olwë, so that even Círdan his brother-in-law he would forsake. I must go to the docks, and make an agreement myself with the fisher-folk of Aman!”

Angrod and Aegnor looked at each other sceptically.

“Then we had better go too,” they said in unison.

“Father of my heart, will you not join us?” Edhellos asked in alarm.

Finarfin shook his head. “Fingolfin has already claimed the kingship, and Fëanor ever fears being undermined. You know I cannot speak to Olwë on this matter; after knowing what happened to his niece, he will not let a single Teler out of his city, save those who have married into the Noldor such as you, Celeborn, and Pelindë. And those he has washed his hands off.

“So, if I am to negotiate, I will have to go in secret to the docks. But knowing my position, can Fëanor take independent action on my part as anything other than me undermining his claim to the kingship? He hardly believes as it stands that I differ from Fingolfin in any part of my position. This will prove it in his eyes; for you know that Fëanor himself is more than half-Telerin, through Finwë’s mother and through Míriel Þerindë. Going myself might actually be seen by him as usurpation.”

He sighed. “But for you, Edhellos, it is different. You grew up here, and you can say you are only visiting home. So it is for my sons – though not for my daughter.”

And he waved off his family, though his heart was filled with dark foreboding.

---

Pelindë awoke and wept.

Ai, I am still alive. At least in that way I am free from Mandos; but I will never be free from Manwë. And soon, all too soon, I shall suffer again while awake, as I do while asleep.

She had not even been awake for a minute when she began coughing; and then she forced more of her husband’s healing infusions down her throat.

Every day they get less effective. Is it just the darkness consuming me more and more? Or are the Valar doing what they did to the lembas, so that its virtue ever diminished on the long road?

She tried feebly to sit up, and failed.

Ai, Nienna! I cannot! she thought in grief and despair. How far has my strength faded? How close is your brother’s icy touch? Oh, to die so young, when I had only had one brief taste of freedom!

Her coughing fits returned.

Their carriage continued going slowly, through the streets of Alqualondë, as Celebrimbor lay asleep in his father’s arms.

“Kurvo—” she gasped.

Only a terribly hoarse whisper came out.

Will I ever speak again? she thought despondently to Curufin. How fitting it should be that my last word to you should be your name!

Curufin took her hand in silent sorrow.

Kurvo, when are you meeting Olwë? I remember Father said you should show him what has befallen me.

“We have already met him,” Curufin replied. “Negotiations were a complete failure, and Maedhros urged me to take you on a last trip through Alqualondë. For I know you have never seen it.”

Pelindë stared.

“I saw how desperately ill you were,” Curufin explained. “Father commanded more and more forcefully; we should expose the Valar’s cruelty by any means available! But I saw you, and this I knew deep in my heart; you could not have managed it. Rúmil confirmed it: the exertion would have killed you. So I begged him. Please, I said, let her rest. Already the travel is taxing her beyond measure. It took so long; but he finally acquiesced.”

And so you took me here.

“Yes. Do you want me to hold you to the window, so you might see the streets of your people’s capital?”

Pelindë wept. Am I now that useless an invalid?

“No!” Curufin said tenderly, though his wife was inconsolable. “You have done so much. It will be enough. Your treatise and discoveries are already enough to ensure you immortality among the loremasters. And still, even now, you continue to use the last of your strength to help advise me. You deserve to be crowned with laurel, Pelindë; and I regret that the fighting among our people meant it could never happen.”

A laurel wreath will sit poorly on a grave. And I am making everything slower, and hurting your plans. Yea, I will never again be anything but a burden!

She let out some strangled sobs. And as she sobbed, she gasped for breath, and held desperately on to Curufin’s hand.

May Tyelpë forgive me, she thought in utter despair. I can give him nothing more. I will not even be there for him as long as Míriel was for his grandfather.

Curufin stared deeply into his wife’s eyes. “I think Fëanor’s wrath is leading him too far. For he did not even think of Míriel,” he confided.

Pelindë stared. You never used to say anything against him.

“But now I will,” Curufin said darkly. “I fear that his hatred for the Valar is becoming his first priority. Yes, they are worthy of it; but that hatred should only be a means to an end – that end being setting up a society of free Noldor east of the Sea. Now I think he is seeing his fellow Elves not as Elves, but as tools; and I believe he has forgotten that end altogether! How else can I see it, when his first thought now when looking at you is not how you could be cured, but how your agony might be used for political advantage? How fast does he give up on you, when it was always grief for his mother that weighed on his heart?”

I will not fault him for giving up on me. It is all I can do not to give up on myself, too.

Curufin sagged in utter defeat. “If you truly cannot,” he said, “then I will not force you to go through more agony. If nothing but death will bring you release, then so be it; and it is I who will go in shame before Mandos, even to beg for mercy for you.”

But I cannot. It would destroy you, Pelindë thought, and tears streamed down her face.

Curufin looked down. “Yes. Please. Forgive me for being an abysmal husband, putting his wife through such pain – but please. Hold on for a little while longer.”

Before what?

“I cannot say. Not yet.”

Well, I have trusted you all this time, from the day you gave me freedom. You have never led me wrongly; so shall I trust you once more.

Another coughing fit followed.

Now. Let us focus. Let us think of anything but that. What did Olwë say?

“He proved himself a liar and hypocrite!” Curufin exploded. “He says his white ships are as our gems; the work of their hearts, whose like shall not be made again. He twists it so that others will think of the Silmarils; but does not every Telerin family have its own ship, save those unfortunate enough to be distrusted? So many have been built, and will be built! Every Telerin nér know how to work with timber, as his wife and daughters weave their sails! Although I find it hilarious that no one ever thinks of having it the other way round for once.”

A ghost of a smile forced its way to Pelindë’s agonized face. You wished for Caranthir to weave the sails, and for Aredhel to build the ship?

“Oh, Pelindë,” Curufin said. “Even now, you try to ease my heart’s pain?”

And mine also.

“That would be wonderful, but the traitorous Teleri will not help us build any,” Curufin finally continued. “They claim it is against the will of the Valar. All we have is the little information Lalwen got us, and even that was bleak and discouraging. To sail up and down the shore is one thing; to cross the ocean is another entirely. Well, do they not then prove us right? The Valar would then say we are not held imprisoned; but that means they want us to take the Grinding Ice, and suffer and die.”

Like me, Pelindë thought back despondently, as Curufin took her hand.

The coast was certainly better than the mountains. But without the light of the Trees, and without the Sun and Moon, it still was not that much different as far as Pelindë’s health was concerned.

Arafinwë, where the hell are you? thought Curufin.

Pelindë’s grip slackened. Well, Olwë has ever expected to go unopposed. He could pull all those stunts against his own people, playing the card of what the Valar would want; and it always worked. Even against his own niece.

Then a horrible grin appeared on her face. But he does not know Fëanor; and he does not know that Fëanor will not take no for an answer.

Curufin froze.

“That’s him!” an angry shout came in the distance.

“Yea, that is Fëanor indeed! He who had violence, rapine, and murder enter the Blessed Realm!”

“As if Melkor had been a bad dream!” Curufin snapped.

“His wife is a Teler. Traitress she must be, opening the gates for the tyrant whose house she married into!”

A hail of arrows were shot from the Telerin bows. But the Noldor had been doing exercises in Formenos and on the terrible trek southward; and they were ready.

Curufin leapt out, and drew his sword.

“You will not touch them!” he shouted in perfect Telerin.

Out of a corner of his eye, he saw Finrod in the distance, rallying the Teleri to his side and arming them with swords; and in Curufin woke an incandescent rage, burning hotter even than his father.

“Learn now what is sharper than thy tongue, Findaráto!” Curufin snarled. “Oh, yes. You were at the far back of the journey, turning ever back to see the Mindon and taking so much treasure as a solace on the road. As a bribe, rather! Now you appear here, while your father at least honestly remains behind; and you stir up the Teleri against us. You threaten death to my wife with your actions; and I will make you pay!”

And the streets and docks grew slick and slippery with the mingled blood of slain Teleri and Noldor alike.

---

“What,” said Galadriel flatly, “are you going to do to me?”

Celeborn was covering his children’s eyes. It did not avail them a great deal. They could still hear everything, and they had seen too much already; and they were crying.

“At last,” Curufin said grimly, “we have mastery over the ships, that were unjustly denied us.”

He stepped forward.

“I am going,” he said through clenched teeth, “to let you go.”

Galadriel stared in open-mouthed shock.

“I could, of course, give you death,” Curufin said threateningly, “as I have given so many today. But two things stay my hand. Firstly, I know you were not here beforehand, but were returning from the north; and so you did not know the real cause of the quarrel. In that way you at least differ from your traitorous brother Finrod.

“Secondly,” he said, turning to Celeborn, “I have seen your heart, and know its desire.”

Celeborn started.

“I know who your mother is. I know she has ever meant to leave Valinor, deeming it a terrible cage and no paradise in truth. You it was who volunteered to chart the frozen north, or so I hear from Arafinwë. It is entirely obvious to me that you and your wife want to go to Middle-earth. So go.”

“Why,” said Galadriel in confusion, “are you being so kind to us?”

Curufin looked away. “You married a Teler, as I did. We require ships to cross the Belegaer; otherwise we cannot go to war. But before this tragedy befell, Father meant to convince your people to be at our side. If you wish to go yourself, what reason have I to stop you? This only I command; stay in the south, and be far away from the politics and strife among the Noldor. I will not ask you to act for us; I only ask that you act not against us.”

Then he strode back to the carriage, beckoned to Celebrimbor, and carried Pelindë out.

“And take my wife and son with you. Please.”

“Atar!” Celebrimbor started.

Galadriel and Celeborn looked at each other, and then at Pelindë’s emaciated form, in complete shock and horror.

“What?” Galadriel whispered.

“The Valar are going to kill and curse us,” Curufin spat. “Yea, me too, for all that I fought only in self-defence as you did.”

“I saw,” Galadriel said with trembling voice. “I was already fighting, for first I had seen things only from a distance. I thought Melkor had come to ruin Alqualondë, even as he ruined Tirion; and that he and his followers had come, taking fair Elven forms as he did when he walked among us. So I drew my sword and jumped into the fray. But then I saw Celegorm and Aredhel spattered with blood, and knew it to be them truly. And then I saw you. You, going innocently in your carriage, before you were attacked out of nowhere; and it filled me with horror. Ai, now I know not who started this evil!”

“Well, you fought against us at least. That will surely make Uinen pleased with you,” Curufin said bitterly. “So take them. I beg you, take them. My followers are giving you all the medicines that Pelindë needs; she has been deathly ill, ever since she shielded her own son from Ungoliant herself. They are still not enough; but they will at least buy her life, if not health.”

“You would even send your only son to us?” Celeborn said in shock.

Curufin looked away. “I know you are an amateur silversmith as well,” he said, “and that the Teleri are known for those things. He can learn from you too. My heart would have him learn from me, and probably he would learn more that way indeed; but I cannot keep him under the curse of the Valar, when there is a way to free him from it. And I cannot send Pelindë away alone. I cannot join her, for I will bring their curse with me; but I can bring my son. He is innocent even by the sick definitions of the Valar.”

He turned back. “Please. Help them, and treat them as if they were your own kin. Sail as far south as you can, in the lands of the Sun. I must do anything I can, to let her live.”

Pelindë looked up listlessly. But you swore the Oath, Kurvo, she thought through tears. That is the one thing that cannot be compromised. Everything else will be.

She turned, and the blood she coughed up mingled with the blood that had run from the wounded and dead.

Galadriel and Celeborn stared in horror.

“I swore the Oath indeed; but I swore it for you,” Curufin said firmly. “Yea, I swore it as vengeance against our enemies. But I intend it to work differently. Maybe the one thing Father cannot compromise on is the Silmarils; but to me that is but a second priority. My first priority is you; and I will never compromise on that, though I may have to on everything else. And I will even defy Father, if it will keep you alive!”

Everyone stared in shock, as Curufin passed a weeping Pelindë to Galadriel’s arms, and put Celebrimbor on the same boat.

How is she so light? Galadriel wondered in terror.

“Atar, don’t leave me!” wailed Celebrimbor.

“I almost lost you forever as well, Tyelpë! The Valar are not sleeping; and any time longer you spend with me will awake their wrath!” he urged. “I cannot help you. Go now, Tyelpë! Go to your Uncle Telporno and Aunt Artanis; you and your Ammë will be going on a journey with them!”

Celebrimbor wept, enveloping his father in a hug.

Curufin hugged him back. “Stay with your mother,” he urged. “Be good. Be great. I have stolen you away from the Valar’s curse; I only ask that you not get yourself under it again!”

Then he released his son, and shouted to Celeborn’s following. “Stay on your boats,” Curufin commanded, “and begone from here! Yea, begone swiftly! Already Uinen rises in wrath against us; the storm is brewing! Go now, while time is!”

“Atar!” Celebrimbor called out with cracking voice, as a wind sprang from the west, and the storm-tossed waves rose and brought Celeborn and Galadriel’s following out of sight.

Curufin stared out to sea.

“Farewell, my son! Farewell, beloved!” he shouted. “Farewell, eternal silver queen of my heart! I know I will never see you again in life; but I have done what you asked. You doubted you could ever be free of Manwë; but now you are. Farewell! Fare free!”

He could hold his tears back no longer.

“I love you!”

“Atar!” he heard once more; and long did that call echo in his ears.

And still he felt the ache of a thought returning to him.

I love you, Kurvo!

Then it was cut off brutally, as the boats went through the misty Dome of Varda; and Curufin’s knees gave out from under him, as he wept bitterly.

---

Of the sons of Finwë, only the youngest was innocent of the Kinslaying. And of their children, only Turgon, Argon, and the Ambarussar were – the latter three because they were either only on the cusp of adulthood, or just past it.

Fingolfin and Fingon were at the forefront of the Second Host, while Turgon and Argon were at the back looking after Idril (3). And they arrived seeing his kin falling in battle, not knowing who had begun the slaughter; and they drew their swords. In like manner had Galadriel fought for the Teleri when she arrived; but Finrod, who had also fought on the Telerin side, had come sooner to Alqualondë. While attempting to negotiate with the fisher-folk he had seen Fëanor's first attempts to take the ships by force, and he drew his sword in defense of his mother's kin.

So also were Angrod and Aegnor there, with many of their people; but in the horror of battle, they made another choice, long before Fingolfin and Fingon joined the fray.

“The Teleri are our family,” said Aegnor in horror, as he looked from afar and saw them casting the Noldor into the sea, and Fëanor’s folk being driven back.

“Yes. But so are the Eglathrim,” Angrod pointed out.

Then he stared at his wife. They had left Orodreth behind with Finarfin his grandfather.

“Beloved, I know it is hard for you,” Angrod said. “For you are yourself a Teler. It is even worse for you than for us. You should go. Return, and watch over our son.”

“And yet I married a Noldo. Your people are my kin as well,” Edhellos rebutted forcefully.

There was a brief silence.

“And are not all we Teleri under such a dilemma?” Edhellos said slowly. “Evey action we take at Olwë’s command is a knife in the back of our kin among the Eglathrim. That is what Olwë is doing, to his own brother-in-law. He will not give aid. The Valar strung Círdan along, and cozened him with a vision that he should abide his time, to live forever in song. But it seems that song will be a lament for the fallen, unless we do something.

“We know from the Valar that under the Sun, with its polluted light, things move at a faster pace. There must be many more Sindar, Nandor, and Avari than there are Falathrim. They are all our relatives, for Olwë left two brothers in Beleriand, and his sister with Lenwë her husband in Rhovanion. Are their lives worth any less, because they did not come here to Valinor? The Valar certainly seem to think so.

“Would we dare to speak to Lillassëa’s face, and tell her that her brother and parents deserve death? When we could prevent it, and yet refused? Olwë will be fine. He will not put himself in any danger; he will just think he knows better than others. But without the ships, the Falmari of Beleriand will soon all be killed or enslaved in the pits of Angband. They are being forced to suffer innocently, by the Falmari sitting pretty in their huts by the Sea.”

Then Edhellos’ face turned resolute, thinking of all the time she had spent helping Lillassëa with her ship, and of all the stories she had thus heard of the Outer Lands.

“But let it not be said that all the Falmari lacked honour. To arms for those lost on the Hither Shore!” Edhellos shouted.

If she had known what would then happen, she might have taken Angrod’s advice instead.

---

Without the arrival of the Second House, the Noldor would have lost. But without Angrod and Aegnor, they would never have lasted long enough for Fingolfin and Fingon to arrive, and force the victory. And a great deal of that was due to Edhellos, who had given her speech to her husband and brother-in-law’s host; and she was deadly indeed with a sword, wielding Þostar as quickly and skilfully as Fingolfin wielded Ringil. Many a Noldo of Fëanor’s host – including Maglor himself – were utterly astonished to see, when a Teler was about to pin them, that Edhellos had come to their rescue.

“Hold this part of the docks without fear,” she had said to Maglor. “I and my people will go ahead.”

He nodded, and willed himself to focus in the midst of battle; but his heart was filled with wonder.

Unfortunately, most Teleri had a rather different reaction to what Edhellos was doing. And eventually, she was indeed confronted by one who wished to put a stop to her rampage once and for all.

“I gave you life,” her mother said in hatred. “Now I shall take it!”

Of what happened after no tale tells; for she only said it once, to Angrod her husband, and then never again. But it never stopped haunting her.

---

“I am utterly sick,” Edhellos whispered to her husband that night.

“All the Noldor are sick now; such is the vengeance of Olwë,” Angrod whispered back. “He meant to deny aid to Círdan; now it will not be denied, but the blood we spilled will have the Valar curse our aid.”

“And none will deserve that curse more than me,” Edhellos whispered.

“We will protect you, and not force you to return—”

“It’s not even that!” Edhellos sobbed. “Do you know why I say I am cursed? She gave me life! She gave me love! She gave me everything! And then I did this!”

She stared down at her hands.

“To be fair,” Angrod pointed out, “she did try to kill you first. And she came frighteningly close.”

“But I deserved it,” Edhellos said in despair. “I drew my sword first, against my own people. She should have been a hero – I cannot dare to call her Mother, not after what I did. The one who saved the Teleri, and put a stop to their traitor. But the story is all wrong now, and we are victorious.”

She heaved a great sigh. “Well, may the Elves of Middle-earth look on us with pity rather than hatred,” she said. “This alone I can hope for: that cursed aid proves better than no aid.”

And she drifted off into a mercifully dreamless sleep.

Needless to say, the Host of Finarfin was now two hosts that were utterly refusing to talk to each other. Not even Finarfin’s supernatural level of diplomacy could save this disaster.

---

“What in the blue blazes were you even thinking?” Fëanor shouted.

Curufin stared back defiantly. “She is my treasure,” he replied. “She is my only treasure. And if I must cast her away to save her, then I will do that.”

“I understand that you love your wife, and that she needs help. But was it necessary or wise to do it this way? Uinen has sunk so many of the ships. We do not have enough to ferry all the Noldor to Middle-earth. And you went and let Galadriel and Celeborn, of all people, keep their large ships and go! Now they will come first, forgetting your kindness, and they will poison the minds of the Eglathrim against us! And to their tender mercies you leave my only grandson! Was such insanity necessary—”

“Yes.”

Fëanor looked in utter disappointment and anger.

“You would upend all good strategy and good sense, letting traitors use what is ours by right?” he lashed out.

Curufin tensed. “What else was I supposed to have done? I saw Uinen’s wrath rising! The Valar certainly mean to kill us; they have given up on dealing us slow death, and gone for a fast one. But they do not mean to kill Galadriel or Celeborn, for they are their favourite pets. So much do the Valar love my half-cousin that they will even permit her to leave. I had no other choice. I had to take Pelindë to one who could protect her, before it was too late!”

“You trust their protection—”

“She would have died!” Curufin screamed. “She would have died, so spoke Rúmil! And you have gone utterly addled in your mind, if you have forgotten the tale of your mother, which you ever impressed before us! Apparently, it was not important enough to tell the Ambarussar about! And now I hear what you whisper, saying you are unsure about Edhellos’ loyalty. She killed her own mother to save herself and the Noldor! If you will not see why she is horrified even as she remains loyal, then you are sick!”

And he turned and walked out of the tent, leaving a sputtering Fëanor behind.

---

Outside the tent, Aredhel was waiting for him.

“You did the right thing, Kurvo,” she said softly and uncertainly. “Turko called me the most faithful heart in all of Eldamar. But I beg to differ, and claim that it is you.”