#and how the jewels burn Morgoth's hands when the deed is done

[crownedwithstars]

the reasons I think Fëanorians should not get the Silmarils back

it's a better and more compelling story this way. their fall from grace and the way they corrupt and destroy themselves because of a hopeless quest is peak tragedy, which would be ruined by their success.

it's a justified consequence of the Kinslayings: the right of ownership is not and cannot ever be more important than somebody else's right to live.

it's also a justified consequence of them stealing and destroying someone else's priceless semi-sacred property: Teleri will never get their ships back because Fëanor burned them out of spite, so it's only fair and square that the Silmarils are never returned to him or his heirs. 

if Stuff is so important to you that it causes you to ruin the lives of all your children, losing that Stuff forever is probably just karmic justice. (see also: "if more of us valued food and cheer above hoarded gold...")

And no, nobody else should have the Silmarils either. It's clear that having a Silmaril messes with your brain. At the end of the Silm, they should become public property. I would go even further than this and say that the actual resolution of the Silm, where nobody can have them and the single surviving jewel is carried as a star that everyone can indiscriminately see by a guy who never expressed a desire for it, is probably the only correct one. 

[warrioreowynofrohan]

I would LOVE to read a fic or just hear your headcanons on maedhros or maeglin in the halls of mandos, becoming elves again after they 'made themselves' into orcs. I think your idea is fascinating!

I’ve had a mental fanfic about Maedhros’ time in the Halls in my head for a long while that I never managed to write down. Your question’s given me the impetus to put one part of it on the page, so thank you for that. Beyond that snippet, I’ve added some headcanon.

I have written very little fanfic before, so I’m very nervous about this.

******************************************************************

The burning in his hand, sharper even than the fires into which he cast himself, had not abated with his death, not even in the Halls where all sensation was muted. It was not the flesh that had offended the holy jewel, not skin and blood and bone. It was the spirit that was corrupt, and the spirit that burned.

It enforced clarity. It meant that he could not deny the knowledge as his brother had, his brothers who had laughed at him when he had looked in their faces and shrunk back at seeing their eyes. Faces that might have still passed for Eldar at a brief glance. Eyes such as those he had seen in Angband.

The pain was a small thing in comparison to this knowledge.

He had feared it, during his imprisonment, more than any other danger. Needlesly. Morgoth had needed to do nothing at all. This was their own work, their own craftsmanship.

In any moment, the knowledge was nigh unbearable. In the measureless time the Halls offered, it was unimaginable. He might go a year, a hundred years, ten thousand, with nothing but the knowledge of what he had become.

When he could endure the knowledge no longer, he sought Nienna and cast himself at her feet. He could not look at her, could not raise his eyes from the floor, but managed to find strength for a voice scarce above a whisper. “Is there any hope? For any of us?”

Her voice was low, and deep, and gentle. “Look at me.” He raised his face a little, paused, forced himself to look up, and then collapsed back to the ground without meeting her eyes. She was Ainur; she could not be ignorant of what he was when he lay before her, whether he met her eyes or not. But he could not bring himself to; could not bring himself to see in her eyes the same revulsion and horror he felt in his whole being. “I have no right to seek you. I know what I have made of myself, and it is a thing abhorrent to Eru, and to the Valar, and to myself.”

Her voice remained unchanged, still gentle. “Maedhros. Look at me.” He dragged himself to his knees and, trembling, met her eyes, looked away in disbelief, then met them again, seeing no horror there but only love, and compassion, and measureless sorrow. “How-? How can you -?” he choked out.

“My siblings and I each have our own cares and loves. The seas are Ulmo’s, the winds Manwë’s, the plants and animals Yavanna’s. The lost and the broken are mine, and how should I not love them?” She placed a hand gently on his head. “There is always hope. Will you give me your hand?”

It was more claw than hand, charred and blackened across the palm and to the first joint on the fingers, and still clenched as it had been when he held the Silmaril, but he placed it in her own, and she began to weep. And as her tears fell on it a steam went up, and it began to cool, and the pain faded at last.

And then he was in her arms and she was weeping over him, her tears running through his hair and down his face and across his shoulders, and it seemed that by this his own tears were loosed and he too began to weep, choking out confessions of all things done and suffered in the past centuries, in no order or sequence. His sword at Sirion, plunging through the chest of a soldier who had stood by him in every battle of the long Siege. Flames at Losgar. The wrath and despair that consumed him after the Nirnaeth, crying if all we do must turn to evil whether we will or no, how may we be blamed for doing it? Salt and blood at Alqualondë.

He clung to her like a lost child, and sobbed harder at this thought. For the abandoned children of Doriath; for all those he had killed, and betrayed, and led into evil. And when at last he was done with weeping, still she held him, and smoothed his hair, and kissed his forehead, and he met her eyes with a gratitude deeper than any words.

He could see now a path forward, for the first time since he had entered the Halls. It was no a pleasant one; the thought of facing those he had killed, those who had suffered by his deeds, terrified him. But it was a path, and that was a greater gift than he had dreamed possible.

*********************************************************************

That’s all of what I’ve managed to put into fic. My headcanon beyond this is mostly a great many apologies (some of which are accepted, some of which are definitively not) and a gradual process of healing. After quite some time, probably a point after the fall of Ost-in-Edhil, other elves in the Halls start to seek out Maedhros. There are a lot of people in the Halls with regrets and wrongs and mistakes, some greater and some lesser; they find Maedhros a convenient confidant because no matter what they’ve done, he’s done worse and has no right to judge them (and some are inclined to tell him so at length; he’s used to it by that point). For the most part, he doesn’t advise, just listens.

At some point, Maeglin starts talking to Maedhros. Mostly unpleasantly; Maeglin is rather far past the point where he can conceptualize the possibility of being anything but orcish. But Maedhros is by this point pretty much incapable of taking offense at anything, and he’s the one elf in the Halls who’s able to sincerely regard, and treat, Maeglin as not fundamentally different from himself. And over time this relationship manages to pull Maeglin towards being something that more resembles a person, and to at least realize that he doesn’t want to be the way he is and, just maybe, doesn’t have to be the way he is.

Another element of this is that there’s a different part of the Halls where real orcs (i.e. orcs by no fault of their own) go, and Nienna cares for them. Healing is a very long process, but every so occassionally, one of them heals and returns to life as an elf. (With no memory of their previous life; it would be too horrifying for them, and additionally, this is a closely guarded secret because it would cause a great deal of trouble if living elves started speculating about which of their friends and acquaintances were former orcs. So as far as anyone living is concerned, they just come across as former Avari who have been rehoused.) At some point, in a rare exception to this secrecy policy, Nienna tells Maedhros about this and he starts assisting her in this work; just being there as someone to talk to when they’re already well on the way to recovery. As with Maeglin, it’s something that works because Maedhros doesn’t regard them with horror or see them as something fundamentally different from himself.

[atariince]

What do you think would have happened if Fingolfin had arrived un Hithlum and found his brother still living?

Hi and thank you for your very interesting question! I assume it is for the mun, but if it was for the muse, feel free to ask again – in any case here are the mun’s long considerations on that subject (enjoy), based on what we know of the characters, the situation, and of course on my headcanons.

[Usual disclaimer: Blahblah those assumptions are based on my reading of the texts, my interpretation and my headcanons  - therefore it’s totally okay to disagree (and I’d love to have your opinion), just don’t be a dick about it blahblah]

So what do we know? What does the published Silmarillion tell us about Fingolfin at that point?

First of all, at the end of chapter 9  “The flight of the Noldor”, we learn about Fingolfin’s (legitimate) “bitterness”, but also that the main motive behind his decision to cross the Helcaraxë is precisely this bitterness against Fëanor:

“Then Fingolfin seeing that Fëanor had left him to perish in Araman or return in shame to Valinor was filled with bitterness; but he desired now as ever before to come by some way to Middle-earth and meet Fëanor again.”

Now the question would be : Why? What exactly does he have to say to Fëanor? What would he do to him? Fight a duel? Kill him in cold blood? Yell at him? Or does Fingolfin just want to prove his half-brother that he and his people would not surrender so easily? That he and his people are stronger, nobler and much more resistant than Fëanor might have thought? (when you think of the pride of the Noldorin princes that would make real sense, tbh). 

And yet. 

What is the first thing Fingolfin did when he set foot upon Middle-earth?

He marched on fucking Angband.

When you come to think about it, it is quite surprising, right? He crossed the Ice to meet Fëanor, but although he doesn’t know yet that Fëanor’s dead (unless he met some Sindar before he reached Mithrim – aaaaaaaaand I’ll come back to that bit later), he first decides to knock on Morgoth’s gates. I did find it surprising for quite a long time. But, now I think I’ve come to understand it; Let’s return to this dear Noldorin pride, shall we? Fingolfin and his people have just accomplished a deed unprecedented in terms of resistance, survival, strength and determination. They’re to be admired. And Fingolfin must know it. How could he not acknowledge their own courage, how could he not be proud of their accomplishment?

And how do you think he would feel about the idea of showing up in front of Fëanor crowned not only with that exceptional accomplishment in the Helcaraxë… but also with the Silmarils?

Doesn’t it sound like a good way to avenge himself and his people?

It does make sense if he actually wanted to prove Fëanor that “Loook, I’m so much worthier than you’ll ever be. You might have left us to die, but in the end we found a way, and we didn’t only survive,  we also kicked Morgoth’s ass and recovered your stones. Suck my entire cock. bitch.” Well maybe he wouldn’t say it like this, but you see what I mean. Honestly, that’s just one of the ways to analyse his motives, and do you know what makes me think that’s part of his initial plan? This:

“Fingolfin unfurled his blue and silver banners and blew his horns (…) and the Elves smote upon the gates of Angband, and the challenge of their trumpets shook the towers of Thangorodrim.”

Obviously, it’s not like they try to pass quietly through the lands. Obviously they’re not betting on a surprise attack; Fingolfin and his people want to be heard, they want to be seen and acknowledged, they’re showing up as fuck and I do believe that they don’t simply want to challenge and impress Morgoth; the challenge and the impressive display is also a warning (?) for the Fëanorians. (Did it work? Spoilers: Pretty much.)

But Fingolfin eventually withdraws and goes to Mithrim because “he had heard tidings that there he should find the sons of Fëanor”… 

[in “The Grey Annals“ (The War of Jewels) Fingolfin learns about Fëanor’s death when he meets his sons in Mithrim. Nevermind.]

So, according to the Silm, when he marched on Angband he already knew Fëanor was dead. maybe that’s why he didn’t instantly try to find his nephews, and walked to Angband instead. Maybe not. Maybe the information about Fëanor’s demise increased his bitterness because:

1. His half brother died. I mean yes he thinks Fëanor’s a dick but STILL.

2. Morgoth’s troops must be freaking powerful if they managed to kill Fëanor - “Must see!”

3. “Who the fuck am I going to yell at if Fëanor is dead?”

So instead of drowning into his bitterness, he attacks. Not the Fëanorians, but Melkor. Best way to express your rightful anger, right? And of course, it’s also a strategic move: he needs to see by himself and test the defence of Angband.

In any case, he was prepared to deal with the sons of Fëanor since According to the Silmarillion, he didn’t learn about Fëanor’s death the moment he met Maglor, but long before. And that point doesn’t invalidate what I said: Since “Fingolfin held the sons the accomplices of their father”, they can also suck his entire cock. And it would still have been AWESOMe to show up with the Silmarils in one hand and Morgoth’s head in the other. YES. Even if Fëanor isn’t here to see it. It’s not as fun but it’s still fun. bitch. 

Aaaaand since he judged the sons “the accomplices of their father” I’m pretty sure he dealt with them more or less like he would have dealt with Fëanor. Therefore, with Fëanor alive, the situation at this point would have been pretty much the same ON FINGOLFIN’S SIDE, and probably his followers; “no love was there in the hearts of those that followed Fingolfin for the House of Fëanor”-> Fëanor, the sons, their people… I believe the presence of Fëanor in Mithrim wouldn’t have changed much of their reaction at this point.

But Fëanor’s reaction to his half-brother showing up would have probably led to a very interesting and tragic situation… which I can but try to imagine. 

Obviously, when Fingolfin marched forth against Angband with his trumpets and banners, the Fëanorians must have been quite impressed, completely dumbfounded and relatively horrified. That was something they had never expected. I’m certain Fëanor wouldn’t have been less impressed. And quite honestly, I also think he would have been very much admiring. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if Fëanor would have reconsidered his judgement and came up with much more respect for Fingolfin and his people (“maybe he’s not that useless after all.”) (I’m exaggerating, yes. But you get it.)

On the other hand, the presence of Fëanor in Mithrim wouldn’t have helped alleviate the tensions between the hosts. We know that “many of Fëanor’s people indeed repented of the burning at Losgar and were filled with amazement at the valour that had brought the friends whom they had abandoned over the Ice of the North”. Would they openly repent with Fëanor around? I’m not so sure. Moreover, “they would have welcomed them [Fingolfin’s people], but they dared not, for shame”. With Fëanor alive, it is not only shame which would have hindered them. As for Fëanor himself, if he repented (which he probably did, somehow. Maybe.), shame and pride and fear of treachery and his claim of the crown would have mingled into something pretty ugly and I’m fairly certain that he wouldn’t have even accepted to withdraw to the other side of the lake. Which would have obviously increased the tensions. Because remember: it’s not only about Fëanor and Fingolfin, but also about their respective followers… which were, well, numerous. And angry. And bitter.

Now, if you ask me: would Fingolfin have killed Fëanor? Attacked his people? I think not. Because if that was his plan he would have attacked the Fëanorians no matter what. And he would have done it with Fëanor dead. But he didn’t. He gave them a chance to repent and to make things better. 

But I believe that if Fëanor had been alive, the situation would have eventually escalated into an actual strife, if not war, but only after a moment, an accumulation of tensions. Little by little. Fingolfin would have done the exact same things, yes, but I doubt Fëanor would have had his sons’ reactions as they are depicted in the canon. Not only because Fëanor is Fëanor, but also because of the emotional state of the Fëanorians: in the canon, at this point, the Fëanorians are not only outnumbered, they’re also mourning. Their father is dead. Their brother, if he’s not dead, is being tortured. They’re not in a psychological position to challenge Fingolfin’s host. But with Fëanor alive (and Maedhros still with them), this very situation would have been different precisely because they would have felt stronger. More hopeful, somehow.

Now we must also keep in mind the intradiegetic bias ; Fingolfin is a revered king and most often he’s portrayed as the “good guy” in comparison to Fëanor who is the son of Finwë always associated with wrath. Therefore, the elven chroniclers would not portray Fingolfin as wrathful, if only for a question of relevant narratives rules (one character = one main personality trait -> I oversimplify the thing, but you see my point, right?). What I’m trying to say is that Fingolfin will always be portrayed as noble. We ought to see him as wise, and even when dealing with the worst (i.e.  the face to face combat with Morgoth) he must not be depicted like his wrathful half-brother��(check the difference of treatment between the last fight of Fëanor and that of Fingolfin and you’ll see my point). And when you have that in mind, you can question most of the elements I’ve expressed so far.

Yup. That’s what unreliable narrations do. I love them.

Actually I do believe that there might have been some use of euphemisms in the depiction of the situation in the Quenta Silmarillion as we know it, and you just have to look at some older drafts to detect some hints; In The Grey Annals, it is not a peril of “strife” between the princes, but of ”war”, a semantic difference which is relevant, if you want my opinion… In the pre-LOTR Quenta Silmarillion, not only “there was little love between those that followed Fingolfin and the house ofFëanor”, but here again “their hearts were filled with bitterness”. The same bitterness that led Fingolfin through the Helcaraxë precisely to find Fëanor…? Maybe. And you know bitterness is a double-edged motive, right?

Besides, if the main reason Fingolfin crossed the Grinding Ice was to find Fëanor, you can be sure that the feud around the lake doesn’t only rely on bitterness. There must be anger, dismay, wrath and a little wish for revenge. And honestly, if it took the rescue of Maedhros +  the surrender of the crown by the Fëanorians (that is a complete humiliation) + the gift of their best horses to assuage the feud, then the latter must have been driven by something much heavier, much more dreadful than bitterness. It is not simply a political disagreement, they left them to FUCKING DIE. So thank you for the noble portrait of Fingolfin, but the guy must have felt much more revengeful than the narrator wants us to believe (and honestly, Fingolfin is probably one of the most interesting character to look at through the perspective of narrative bias).

But those are pure assumptions and I wouldn’t base my arguments on that… I just believe it is important to keep it mind. 

Another element that is essential (and that will be my last point), is that this episode exists from the very first draft of the Silmarillion (see the “Earliest Silmarillion” in The Shaping of Middle-earth, in which the main difference is that Fingolfin doesn’t march on Angrand after his arrival and goes directly to meet the House of Fëanor). This early existence implies that Fëanor’s death is crucial for the unfolding of the story, and it is crucial for it to happen at this point of the timeline – and when you come to think about it, it makes sense ; if Fëanor doesn’t die, Maedhros would have hardly been taken by Morgoth, so no rescue by Fingon, which is by essence, the tool that healed the feud between the two Noldorin hosts. Without Fingon’s rescue of Maedhros, you can be pretty sure the “peril of strife between the hosts” would have ended in an actual strife, with or without Fëanor - but with Fëanor, Maedhros would haven’t been captured, sooooooo…. No rescue, no peace. QED 

After all, don’t forget that “Morgoth arose from thought, and seeing the division of his foes he laughed” and the old pre-LOTR Quenta Silmarillion reminds us that “they achieved nothing” while the feud lasted, although Melkor was hesitating and thus was vulnerable… can you imagine the rest of the story if the Noldor couldn’t have put their bitterness and resentment aside to cooperate?  

Basically:

Fëanor survives -> no ambush -> no capture of Maedhros -> no rescue -> no healing of the feud -> no cooperation between the Noldorin princes -> no agreement as to who would be the king -> more tensions (war?) -> victory of Morgoth through the Noldors’ own incapacity to work together…

[lendmyboyfriendahand]

Amrodnor

Amrod was on the ships, but when he saw Feanor approaching with a torch, he jumped.

He swam to shore. He figured is his family was going to kill him, he might as well leave - the plan had been to go back to his mother, but that was no longer possible.

He ran into a group of Nandor, and joined their community.

His old names didn't fit – he’s no longer the smallest Finwe, having rejected his house. He keeps half his name, and instead of Doomed or Upwards-Exalted, he becomes Exalted-by-Fire; the burning of the ships was what gave him the strength to turn from an evil path.

It takes him a bit to decide on this, dramatic Finwean he is, and in the meantime the Nandor called him Bright Eyes, for the Treelight reflected in his gaze. He says this is a more appropriate name for a horse than a person, and they compromise on calling him Star Bright

So Amrod hangs out is southwest Beleriand, avoiding Sindar and Orcs and Noldor and Men alike for over four hundred years.

The Bragollach, the Nirnaeth; Beleriand isn't safe.

The Nandor decide to go east across the mountains. Amrod decides to see how the Noldor are doing - despite himself, he hopes his brothers are okay. He finds Nargothrond.

He says he is Rodnor Gil-Galad, called in his youth after his hair.  

Orodreth doesn't recognize him - Orodreth is young, born after the division between their families was already stark. Orodreth rarely saw Amrod in Tirion, and everyone saying he looks just like Amras means the brown hair throws him.

Celebrimbor does recognize him.

"What are you doing here?" "I'm trying to avoid our family!" "I thought you were dead!" "Don't you dare tell anyone you met me!" - excerpts from the whispered confrontation in Celebrimbor's workroom

Eventually they agree that yes, Feanorians are terrible and blindly loyal, and they're both glad to be out of it.

They spend time together, a bit, more as escapees from the same cult than out of a desire to reminisce about Tirion.

Celebrimbor accidentally mentions Fingon as if they both know him in public. People ask how Gil-Galad knew him. He fumbles and says they're related. Later he slips and says Celegorm “turned out to be the family disappointment after all.” That makes him pretty obviously Finwean, though he still doesn’t admit who.

Someone tries to draw him out, and spends a whole conversation deliberately referring to Maglor Feanorian, Fingon Fingolfinion, and Finrod Finarfinion.

Rodnor eventually says, “By that manner I suppose I’m Gil-Galad Erenion.” This shuts up the first guy for a moment, but people start speculating how he can be the descendant of multiple kings – did Thingol have any other kids?

 Turin arrives; Rodnor has no opinion of him or of men in general, and no official seat on Orodreth’s council. When the dragon kills Orodreth and kidnaps Findulias, Rodnor leads the survivors away to the south. He feels bad about abandoning them, but the number of soldiers they ‘d lose rescuing her is too high, and just because a life is royal (or family) doesn’t mean it’s more valuable. (Feanor burned a prince, his son, as easily as he killed fishermen.)

His opinion on royalty isn’t widely held though. The people of Nargothrond have decided he is Orodreth’s heir and started calling him Lord Erenion. He declares that Cirdan is lord of the Falas, which gets people to at least decide bring some of their issues elsewhere, and tries not to stress about the details.

So Rodnor is in charge of the Noldor in Sirion. Galadriel is in Doriath. They do meet when it falls, but only for a few hours as the Iathrim refugees settle in, and she speaks more with Cirdan than with him. He tells her of the Nandor tribe he was with and their plans for the journey, and off she goes to the East.

After the council is over and every newcomer has a bed, Rodnor goes to Celebrimbor. They mourn privately those who neither of them dare speak of publically. Rodnor is back in his own rooms long before morning. He spends the next few weeks solemn, but everyone is gloomy after news of another kinslaying.

Gondolin falls. There are suddenly a lot more Noldor in Sirion. Pretty soon they're calling him King. He considers telling them it's not true, that the succession hasn't come to him yet.

On the other hand, having a leader be whoever happens to be the son of the previous leader is kind of silly. The Sindar tribe he was with acknowledged Elwe, but not Dior. Your leader was whoever you trusted to do right by the community. When Denethor died, his son took interim authority, and then they all met and discussed it and decided that actually Enellas knew how to manage people better, and so Denethor’s son stepped down.

If Rodnor squints, this is the same. At the very least, if the Nargothrondrim hated him one of them would have proposed crowning the ten-year-old Eärendil instead. So King Gil-Galad takes up the throne.

 He was on Balar when the attack came. He told himself later he couldn't have stopped it, couldn't have helped. He could guess by how much more enchantingly beautiful the Silmaril around Elwing's neck seemed, that his brothers would attack soon, but not the month or day. And she was a queen, he could not order her to hand over the jewel. So all he did was warn her, not tell her his birth name, or leap across the council table and pull it off her throat. He could not have known there was no time to wait for Eärendil’s return. He had not set a watch on the island towards the city, but he had no reason to.

He did not want to kill his brothers, but he was a king and he could not let that make his decisions.

He can't stop himself from crying when he sees Amras's body. The Feanorians had tried to make a pyre, but must have left with it still burning and the wet sea wind had extinguished it, and the wood had barely caught.

"Relight the pyres."

"Your Majesty?"

"For the dead Feanorians, relight them."

"But they're murderers! They showed no such respect to us." Indeed, the city is still littered with the corpses of Noldor, Men, and Sindar alike.

"And we are better than they are. We will bury our dead, with a week of singing and lamenting, and tales of their deeds told by friends and kin. We will mark our people’s graves, and the Men will leave grave goods on theirs. And we will not leave the enemy dead to rot where they lie or be eaten by beasts, though they showed us not that respect." He sighed. "We have not fallen as they have, and we must hold onto that."

"Yes, your majesty"

"Have someone take a census of those who are left. And lists of the dead – ours and theirs." He needs to know how strong the rogue army was. If it is now leaderless, he would... he isn't sure. He wouldn’t have to declare a feast for victory over the Kinslayers, they'd lost enough of their own. But some kind of amnesty, with reparations, if any Feanorian soldiers wanted to rejoin... He thinks of the abstract plans now, while he is unsure, because he knows he'll barely be able to keep together if Maedhros and Maglor are dead and he is alone. (Three died last time.)

His eldest brothers are not among the dead invaders.

Lady Elwing and her sons are not found, either dead or living. Gil-Galad knows that his brothers would have no interest in taking her prisoner, for if she was under their power they could rip their glorious, wonderful jewel from her neck and cast her aside like so much wrapping. So he assumes that instead Elwing got away somehow, taking her sons with her. Whether the Feanorians have the jewel or she does is unimportant, he reminds himself, at least unless she returns. He decides then that Balar will never house the Silmaril – he'll bury it beneath the mountains with his own two hands if that's what it takes. His people deserve one place, just one, that isn't destroyed around them. Please Valar, grant them this, for Cirdan's sake if for none of the Noldor.

Ships come one day out of the West. King Finarfin leads them, and Eärendil is with them. Eärendil says that his wife Elwing escaped, but not the boys. (Eärendil is politely told he must either take off the necklace, stay on his ship, or go to the mainland.)

Gil-Galad realizes where they must be. It's hardly fair, but he knows at least they're being treated as well as can be. Maedhros and Maglor did alright by the five of them, and have never been cruel to children.

No one else seems so optimistic, though they are willing to believe that the boys are alive, even after seven years, simply to avoid believing the alternative. Gil-Galad and Finarfin cooperate to get a letter and a messenger (a newly arrived Noldo) that will be demanding but – hopefully – not provoke violence.

It takes two years more, with messengers from both parties expressing grave concern for the boys’ safety on a journey and reluctant to meet the other too close, but Elros and Elrond are returned. They meet Eärendil again, but he is on the front lines and so they spend most of their time in the camp. Gil-Galad has them sit in on strategy meetings to keep them occupied.

 The war is over, Morgoth is defeated, and the Noldor are allowed to return.

Gil-Galad finds he doesn’t want to.

Returning had been as much about getting out of Feanor’s shadow as finding safety, and he realizes he has done the first and the second is near at hand. If he goes back to Tirion, he will be again Pityafinwe, one of Feanor’s youngest sons, half of the twins with a missing twin. The child so redundant his own mother had known so, and asked Feanor to leave her one of the youngest without care for which. Pityafinwe had led no armies, fought no battles, earned no praise. Pityafinwe killed Teleri and was murdered by his father, and did nothing else.

Sure, he could try to be both, admit he was Pityafinwe to start with, but no one will understand. The will see him as the usurper of the crown that should have gone to – Eärendil perhaps?  and then Elros? or Galadriel? Maybe they’ll weigh his victories in battle against his theft of the crown, and say they make up for it, but maybe they’ll say anyone could have done them, or he should have done them as a general in the real King’s army. So he’d be Pityafinwe, who pretended to be a king for a bit but understands now that it’s not his place, and that his place is to be the sixth-born son of the (dead, disgraced) Crown Prince.

Besides, they’re making the ‘leaders’ apologize for leaving, and Gil-Galad spent enough years wandering Beleriand safe behind Noldorin fortresses he can’t really be sorry they came.

Gil-Galad does write a letter though, to the Lady Nerdanel, his mother. He tells people that it’s commendations for her grandson’s valor, and assurance that Celebrimbor will be regarded on his own merits in the Age to come. The letter does contain those, but it also contains “You were half right about my mother-name; I was fated to die but leapt out of Fate’s way.” It’s rather blasphemous, but Gil-Galad isn’t going to be setting foot near the Valar again.

ao3

[sweetteaanddragons]

To Catch a Falling Star

Belladonna Took has had quite the satisfactory adventure. She has at last seen the sea, just as she wished to, and so perhaps tomorrow she should return home.

Just at the moment, however, she has nothing better to do than lie in the sand and look up at the stars. Her favorite is the Evening Star; she has always loved the stories attached to it.

For a moment, it almost looks as if it is getting larger, but she shakes off this fancy with a laugh.

Except it quickly becomes increasingly obvious that this is not just an illusion. The star is getting larger - and, presumably, closer.

Belladonna pushes herself up onto her elbows and her eyes grow wide. It’s quite close now, so close that she rolls to one side and puts her arms up over her face, as if that will do anything in the face of whatever is happening.

Sand sprays up into her face. Belladonna tentatively cracks her eyes open.

There’s a pretty little piece of jewelry in the sand beside her. A white gem blazes in the center of it.

She has no idea what kind it might be. Hobbits aren’t much for such things, and the stories don’t mention it. They only speak of a brave mariner set in the stars to honor his courage. An elf had started to tell her more once, but then Master Elrond had approached, and he had shut his mouth rather guiltily. 

Still, it is a pretty sort of mathom, and if it really is a star, she probably shouldn’t just leave it lying around. What she should do it with it, she isn’t quite sure; take it to Master Elrond, perhaps? He is at least more likely to know what to do about it than any hobbits of her acquaintance, and perhaps if he has no use for it she can keep it as a souvenir. 

She picks it up cautiously - it as a star, after all, and might well be hot - but it doesn’t burn her at all. She slips it into her pack and settles in to sleep for the night.

She does hope that brave mariner isn’t too worried about what’s happened to his mathom.

. . . 

She hasn’t gone far the next morning when she runs into quite the most ragged elf she has ever seen. Perhaps he is on an adventure as well; she is all too familiar with what those can do to the wardrobe. She is hardly presentable herself.

“Good morning, Master Elf!” she cries cheerfully enough. None of Master Elrond’s people have ever been at all unfriendly, and she’s no reason why this elf should be any different.

“Good morning,” he returns. He tries to smile and fails rather badly. One hand clenches and unclenches at his sides.

“Are you alright?” she asks. She frowns. He is entirely too thin, even for an elf. “Would you like to join me for second breakfast?”

He laughs. It is strained, but genuine. She suspects she has surprised him. She has managed it with Master Elrond’s people more than once. “I cannot dally. I seek news of what occurred last night.”

“Oh! You mean the falling star?”

The elf stills. “Yes. I - Did you - ?” There is something terribly in his eyes, and his voice breaks on the words.

“It’s alright,” she assures him. She knows well how much the elves love their stars. “I found it. I thought perhaps to take it to Master Elrond.”

“Elrond,” the elf repeats, his voice barely a whisper.

“But you must know Elrond! If even a hobbit knows of him, I cannot imagine how an elf does not.”

“I knew him,” the elf agrees. The brokenness in his voice is no better. His eyes snap back to hers. “But you cannot have reached him yet. Where is it?” His voice is desperate, mad, and for the first time, Belladonna feels a little bit afraid.

She draws back a step. “I am not sure I should tell you. Your look is very strange.”

He laughs. It is not the surprised laugh of earlier. It is far worse, and it ends in a sound like a sob. “Strange and worse than strange! My Oath compels me still, for all that I wish it would not, and I fear it shall drag me to one last fell deed, worse, perhaps, than any before. Already it torments me.” Pain rippled over his face, and he clenched his hand again. “I cannot restrain it long - No. Long we held it then. I shall hold it - Ai! I must hold it now, I must, but do not take it to Elrond, I beg you. Do not - “ Pain contorts the elf’s face, and he falls to his knees.

If she is going to run, now is the time to do it, but Belladonna cannot bear to leave him like this. She does not quite understand what is going on, but it is plain this stranger has sworn some sort of Oath about the pretty mathom in her pack, and all the pain is wrapped up in that. 

The cure for his pain, then, seems very simple, so she reaches into her pack and holds it out to him. “Is this what you’re looking for?”

One clawed hand jerks toward the gem. The other makes an aborted movement to the hilt of his sword. “No. No, I will not be a thief again, I will not - “

“But I found it, so it’s mine, and I’m giving it to you,” Belladonna says firmly, and she presses the chain into his hand. The gem nestles into his palm.

He flinches back, and then stares down at the gem in wonder. “It doesn’t burn,” he whispers.

“I was surprised too,” she admits. “They say the stars are fire, so I expected it to be hotter.”

“It burned last time,” he says, still in a daze. “We stole them, and they burned us.”

Magic, then. It seems absurdly obvious. “Well, this one was a gift.” She begins rooting around in her pack. “I’ve some bread left. Shall we split that for second breakfast?”

He stares at her like she is just as much a wonder as that mathom of his. “You gave it up freely.”

“You seemed to want it more than I did,” she says with a shrug. She frowns as she considers the date. “And it might be my birthday in any case. It’s only right to give a present on my birthday.”

The elf laughs. He laughs so long that she is beginning to be considered it has become hysterical, especially when tears start flowing freely down his cheeks. “It is done, it is done, it is finally done. I have done it, Father! I have fulfilled your oath at last!” A wild grin split his face. “Here, catch it.” He tossed the gem to her, and she caught it, startled. “There’s no compulsion to take it back. I could throw it away. I could give it away.” Wonder spreads across his face. “I won’t have to go into the Everlasting Darkness.”

Belladonna’s mouth drops open. “The what?”

The elf calms himself slightly, though not by much. “My apologies. I suppose I owe you an explanation - I owe you everything, far, far more than an explanation, but I suppose that’s a start. I am Maglor Feanorian.”

Well, introductions are always a good place to start. “Belladonna Took, at your service.”

He blinks. 

His name starts to tug at her a little, and she begins to wonder if his name was the explanation. “You’re in one of those elvish history songs, aren’t you? One of the sad ones.”

“Several,” he says, almost apologetically. 

“I never paid much attention to those,” she confesses. “I’m dreadfully sorry.”

“I shall endeavor to offer a better explanation then,” he says and frowns up at the sky. “On the road, perhaps. I suppose there’s nothing for it but to take this to Elrond and hope he has a better idea what to do with it. I do hope his father . . . “

“But you said it mustn’t go to him!”

“Not with my Oath unfulfilled,” he says gravely. “But now it can, and should, and must. He has the greatest right to it of any left, and it was his father who so shortly ago was carrying it through the sky.”

“Oh,” she says faintly. “How do you suppose it fell?”

Maglor’s look grew grim. “His father is a mighty warrior, who once slew a great dragon. I cannot imagine what beast has emerged from the void to best him. Perhaps Morgoth has broken loose once again and the end of days is at hand. Well can I believe that Eärendil would cast away the Silmaril rather than let our black foe once more again it.”

“Oh,” she said again, more faintly. Then her innate sense reasserted itself, and she said, “Or perhaps he has merely tripped, and the silly thing fell off.”

“Silmaril,” Maglor corrects automatically. He appears rather taken aback, but something that is almost a smile is pulling at his lips. “And perhaps you are right at that! I suppose we shall know one war or another soon enough. To Elrond, then! Will you travel with me?”

“I suppose I had better, since you still owe me a story,” she agrees, passing the glittering mathom back to him. “And to keep you from jumping to the worst possible conclusion. First we must eat, though, and then we can walk, and you can tell me all about that mathom of yours!”

“Very well,” he concedes, and he takes the bread she offers. “I must confess, though, I am unfamiliar with that word. What, precisely, is a mathom? A jewel?”

“Or any other thing that’s pretty enough, but without much purpose,” she agrees. “The sort of thing you put on your mantle to attract dust and regift a hundred times before it’s regifted right back to you  - are you quite alright?” 

“Quite alright,” Maglor coughed out, the second he was done choking on his piece of bread.

[readbookywooks]

Of the Flight of the Noldor

After a time a great concourse gathered about the Ring of Doom; and the Valar sat in shadow, for it was night. But the stars of Varda now glimmered overhead, and the air was clear; for the winds of Manwe has driven away the vapours of death and rolled back the shadows of the sea. Then Yavanna arose and stood upon Ezellohar, the Green Mound, but it was bare now and black; and she laid her hands upon the Trees, but they were dead and dark, and each branch that she touched broke and fell lifeless at her feet. Then many voices were lifted in lamentation; and it seemed to those that mourned that they had drained to the dregs the cup of woe that Melkor had filled for them. But it was not so. Yavanna spoke before the Valar, saying: "The Light of the Trees has passed away, and lives now only in the Silmarils of Feanor. Foresighted was he! Even for those who are mightiest under Iluvatar there is some work that they may accomplish once, and once only. The Light of the Trees I brought into being, and within Ea I can do so never again. Yet had I but a little of that light I could recall life to the Trees, ere their roots decay; and then our hurt should be healed, and the malice of Melkor be confounded.' Then Manwe spoke and said: 'Hearest thou, Feanor son of Finwe, the words of Yavanna? Wilt thou grant what she would ask?' There was long silence, but Feanor answered no word. Then Tulkas cried: 'Speak, O Noldo, yea or nay! But who shall deny Yavanna? And did not the light of the Silmarils come from her work in the beginning?' But Aule the Maker said: 'Be not hasty! We ask a greater thing than thou knowest. Let him have peace yet awhile.' But Feanor spoke then, and cried bitterly: 'For the less even as for the greater there is some deed that he may accomplish but once only; and in that deed his heart shall rest. It may be that I can unlock my jewels, but never again shall I make their like; and if I must break them, I shall break my heart, and I shall be slain; first of all the Eldar in Aman.' 'Not the first,' said Mandos, but they did not understand his word; and again there was silence, while Feanor brooded in the dark. It seemed to him that he was beset in a ring of enemies, and the words of Melkor returned to him, saying that the Silmarils were not safe, if the Valar would possess them. 'And is he not Vala as are they,' said his thought, 'and does he not understand their hearts? Yea, a thief shall reveal thieves!' Then he cried aloud: 'This thing I will not do of free will. But if the Valar will constrain me, then shall I know indeed that Melkor is of their kindred.' Then Mandos said: 'Thou hast spoken.' And Nienna arose and went up onto Ezellohar, and cast back her grey hood, and with her tears washed away the defilements of Ungoliant; and she sang in mourning for the bitterness of the world and the Marring of Arda. But even as Nienna mourned, there came messengers from Formenos, and they were Noldor and bore new tidings of evil. For they told how a blind Darkness came northward, and in the midst walked some power for which there was no name, and the Darkness issued from it. But Melkor also was there, and he came to the house of Feanor, and there he slew Finwe King of the Noldor before his doors, and spilled the first blood in the Blessed Realm; for Finwe alone had not fled from the horror of the Dark. And they told that Melkor had broken the stronghold of Formenos, and taken all the Jewels of the Noldor that were hoarded in that place; and the Silmarils were gone. Then Feanor rose, and lifting up his hand before Manwe he cursed Melkor, naming him Morgoth, the Black Foe of the World; and by that name only was he known to the Eldar ever after. And he cursed also the summons of Manwe and the hour in which he came to Taniquetil, thinking in the madness of his rage and grief that had he been at Formenos his strength would have availed more than to be slain also, as Melkor had purposed. Then Feanor ran from the Ring of Doom, and fled into the night; for his father was dearer to him than the Light of Valinor or the peerless works of his hands; and who among sons, of Elves or of Men, have held their fathers of greater worth? Many there grieved for the anguish of Feanor, but his loss was not his alone; and Yavanna wept by the mound, in fear that the Darkness should swallow the last rays of the Light of Valinor for ever. For though the Valar did not yet understand fully what had befallen, they perceived that Melkor had called upon some aid that came from beyond Arda. The Silmarils had passed away, and all one it may seem whether Feanor had said yea or nay to Yavanna; yet had he said yea at the first, before the tidings came from Formenos, it may be that his after deeds would have been other than they were. But now the doom of the Noldor drew near. Meanwhile Morgoth escaping from the pursuit of the Valar came to the wastes of Araman. This land lay northward between the Mountains of the Pelori and the Great Sea, as Avathar lay to the south; but Araman was a wider land, and between the shores and the mountains were barren plains, ever colder as the Ice drew nearer. Through this region Morgoth and Ungoliant passed in haste, and so came through the great mists of Oiomure to the Helcaraxe, where the strait between Araman and Middle-earth was filled with grinding ice; and he crossed over, and came back at last to the north of the Outer Lands. Together they went on, for Morgoth could not elude Ungoliant, and her cloud was still about him, and all her eyes were upon him; and they came to those lands that lay north of the Firth of Drengist. Now Morgoth was drawing near to the ruins of Angband, where his great western stronghold had been; and Ungoliant perceived his hope, and knew that here he would seek to escape from her, and she stayed him, demanding that he fulfil his promise. 'Blackheart!' she said. 'I have done thy bidding. But I hunger still.' 'What wouldst thou have more?' said Morgoth. 'Dost thou desire all the world for thy belly? I did not vow to give thee that. I am its Lord.' 'Not so much,' said Ungoliant. 'But thou hast a great treasure from Formenos; I will have all that. Yea, with both hands thou shalt give it'. Then perforce Morgoth surrendered to her the gems that he bore with him, one by one and grudgingly; and she devoured them, and their beauty perished from the world. Huger and darker yet grew Ungoliant, but her lust was unsated. 'With one hand thou givest,' she said; 'with the left only. Open thy right hand.' In his right hand Morgoth held close the Silmarils, and though they were locked in a crystal casket, they had begun to bum him, and his hand was clenched in pain; but he would not open it 'Nay!' he said. 'Thou hast had thy doe. For with my power that I put into thee thy work was accomplished. I need thee no more. These things thou shalt not have, nor see. I name them unto myself for ever. ' But Ungoliant had grown great, and he less by the power that had gone out of him; and she rose against him, and her cloud closed about him, and she enmeshed him in a web of clinging thongs to strangle him. Then Morgoth sent forth a terrible cry, that echoed in the mountains. Therefore that region was called Lammoth; for the echoes of his voice dwelt there ever after, so that any who cried aloud in that land awoke them, and all the waste between the hills and the sea was filled with a clamour as of voices in anguish. The cry of Morgoth in that hour was the greatest and most dreadful that was ever heard in the northern world; the mountains shook, and the earth trembled, and rocks were riven asunder. Deep in forgotten places that cry was heard. Far beneath the rained halls of Angband, in vaults to which the Valar in the haste of their assault had not descended, Balrogs lurked still, awaiting ever the return of their Lord; and now swiftly they arose, and passing over Hithlum they came to Lammoth as a tempest of fire. With their whips of flame they smote asunder the webs of Ungoliant, and she quailed, and turned to flight, belching black vapours to cover her; and fleeing from the north she went down into Beleriand, and dwelt beneath Ered Gorgoroth, in that dark valley that was after called Nan Dungortheb, the Valley of Dreadful Death, because of the horror that she bred there. For other foul creatures of spider form had dwelt there since the days of the delving of Angband, and she mated with them, and devoured them; and even after Ungoliant herself departed, and went whither she would into the forgotten south of the world, her offspring abode there and wove their hideous webs. Of the fate of Ungoliant no tale tells. Yet some have said that she ended long ago, when in her uttermost famine she devoured herself at last. And thus the fear of Yavanna that the Silmarils would be swallowed up and fall into nothingness did not come to pass; but they remained in the power of Morgoth. And he being freed gathered again all his servants that he could find, and came to the ruins of Angband. There he delved anew his vast vaults and dungeons, and above their gates he reared the threefold peaks of Thangorodrim, and a great reek of dark smoke was ever wreathed about them. There countless became the hosts of his beasts and his demons, and the race of the Orcs, bred long before, grew and multiplied in the bowels of the earth. Dark now fell the shadow on Beleriand, as is told hereafter, but in Angband Morgoth forged for himself a great crown of iron, and he called himself King of the World. In token of this he set the Silmarils in his crown. His hands were burned black by the touch of those hallowed jewels, and black they remained ever after; nor was he ever free from the pain of the burning, and the anger of the pain. That crown he never took from his head, though its weight became a deadly weariness. Never but once only did he depart for a while secretly from his domain in the North; seldom indeed did he leave the deep places of his fortress, but governed his armies from his northern throne. And once only also did he himself wield weapon, while his realm lasted. For now, more than in the days of Utumno ere his pride was humbled, his hatred devoured him, and in the domination of his servants and the inspiring of them with lust of evil he spent his spirit. Nonetheless his majesty as one of the Valar long remained, though turned to terror, and before his face all save the mightiest sank into a dark pit of fear. Now when it was known that Morgoth had escaped from Valinor and pursuit was unavailing, the Valar remained long seated in darkness in the Ring of Doom, and the Maiar and the Vanyar stood beside them and wept; but the Noldor for the most part returned to Tirion and mourned for the darkening of their fair city. Through the dim ravine of the Calacirya fogs drifted in from the shadowy seas and mantled its towers, and the lamp of the Mindon burned pale in the gloom. Then suddenly Feanor appeared in the city and called on all to come to the high court of the King upon the summit of Tuna; but the doom of banishment that had been laid upon him was not yet lifted, and he rebelled against the Valar. A great multitude gathered swiftly, therefore, to hear what he would say; and the hill and an the stairs and streets that climbed upon it were lit with the light of many torches that each one bore in hand. Feanor was a master of words, and his tongue had great power over hearts when he would use it; and that night he made a speech before the Noldor which they ever remembered. Fierce and few were his words, and filled with anger and pride; and hearing them the Noldor were stirred to madness. His wrath and his hate were given most to Morgoth, and yet well nigh all that he said came from the very lies of Morgoth himself; but he was distraught with grief for the slaying of his father, and with  anguish for the rape of the Silmarils. He claimed now the kingship of all the Noldor, since Finwe was dead, and he scorned the decrees of the Valar. 'Why, O people of the Noldor,' he cried, 'why should we longer serve the jealous Valar, who cannot keep us nor even their own realm secure from their Enemy? And though he be now their foe, are not they and he of one kin? Vengeance calls me hence, but even were it otherwise I would not dwell longer in the same land with the kin of my father's slayer and of the thief of my treasure. Yet I am not the only valiant in this valiant people. And have ye not all lost your King? And what else have ye not lost, cooped here in a narrow land between the mountains and the sea? 'Here once was light, that the Valar begrudged to Middle-earth, but now dark levels all. Shall we mourn here deedless for ever, a shadow-folk, mist-haunting, dropping vain tears in the thankless sea? Or shall we return to our home? In Cuivienen sweet ran the waters under unclouded stars, and wide lands lay about, where a free people might walk. There they lie still and await us who in our folly forsook them. Come away! Let the cowards keep this city!' Long he spoke, and ever he urged the Noldor to follow him and by their own prowess to win freedom and great realms in the lands of the East, before it was too late; for he echoed the lies of Melkor, that the Valar had cozened them and would hold them captive so that Men might rule in Middle-earth. Many of the Eldar heard then for the first time of the Aftercomers. 'Fair shall the end be,' he cried, though long and hard shall be the road! Say farewell to bondage! But say farewell also to ease! Say farewell to the weak! Say farewell to your treasures! More still shall we make. Journey light: but bring with you your swords! For we will go further than Orome, endure longer than Tulkas: we will never turn back from pursuit. After Morgoth to the ends of the Earth! War shall he have and hatred undying. But when we have conquered and have regained the Silmarils, then we and we alone shall be lords of the unsullied Light, and masters of the bliss and beauty of Arda. No other race shall oust us!' Then Feanor swore a terrible oath. His seven sons leapt straightway to his side and took the selfsame vow together, and red as blood shone their drawn swords in the glare of the torches. They swore an oath which none shall break, and none should take, by the name even of Iluvatar, calling the Everlasting Dark upon them if they kept it not; and Manwe they named in witness, and Varda, and the hallowed mountain of Taniquetil, vowing to pursue with vengeance and hatred to the ends of the World Vala, Demon, Elf or Man as yet unborn, or any creature, great or small, good or evil, that time should bring forth unto the end of days, whoso should hold or take or keep a Silmaril from their possession. Thus spoke Maedhros and Maglor and Celegorm, Curufin and Caranthir, Amrod and Amras, princes of the Noldor; and many quailed to hear the dread words. For so sworn, good or evil, an oath may not be broken, and it shall pursue oathkeeper and oathbreaker to the world's end. Fingolfin and Turgon his son therefore spoke against Feanor, and fierce words awoke, so that once again wrath came near to the edge of swords. But Finarfin spoke softly, as was his wont, and sought to calm the Noldor, persuading them to pause and ponder ere deeds were done that could not be undone; and Orodreth, alone of his sons, spoke in like manner. Finrod was with Turgon, his friend; but Galadriel, the only woman of the Noldor to stand that day tall and valiant among the contending princes, was eager to be gone. No oaths she swore, but the words of Feanor concerning Middle-earth had kindled in her heart, for she yearned to see the wide unguarded lands and to rule there a realm at her own will. Of like mind with Galadriel was Fingon Fingolfin's son, being moved also by Feanor's words, though he loved him little; and with Fingon stood as they ever did Angrod and Aegnor, sons of Finarfin. But these held their peace and spoke not against their fathers. At length after long debate Feanor prevailed, and the greater part of the Noldor there assembled he set aflame with the desire of new things and strange countries. Therefore when Finarfin spoke yet again for heed and delay, a great shout went up: 'Nay, let us be gone!' And straightway Feanor and his sons began to prepare for the marching forth. Little foresight could there be for those who dared to take so dark a road. Yet all was done in over-haste; for Feanor drove them on, fearing lest in the cooling of their hearts his words should wane and other counsels yet prevail; and for all his proud words he did not forget the power of the Valar. But from Valmar no message came, and Manwe was silent. He would not yet either forbid or hinder Feanor's purpose; for the Valar were aggrieved that they were charged with evil intent to the Eldar, or that any were held captive by them against their will. Now they watched and waited, for they did not yet believe that Feanor could hold the host of the Noldor to his will. And indeed when Feanor began the marshalling of the Noldor for their setting-out, then at once dissension arose. For though he had brought the assembly in a mind to depart, by no means all were of a mind to take Feanor as King. Greater love was given to Fingolfin and his sons, and his household and the most part of the dwellers in Tirion refused to renounce him, if he would go with them; and thus at the last as two divided hosts the Noldor set forth upon their bitter road. Feanor and his following were in the van, but the greater host came behind under Fingolfin; and he marched against his wisdom, because Fingon his son so urged him, and because he would not be sundered from his people that were eager to go, nor leave them to the rash counsels of Feanor. Nor did he forget his words before the throne of Manwe. With Fingolfin went Finarfin also and for like reasons; but most loath was he to depart. And of all the Noldor in Valinor, who were grown now to a great people, but one tithe refused to take the road: some for the love that they bore to the Valar (and to Aule not least), some for the love of Tirion and the many things that they had made; none for fear of peril by the way. But even as the trumpet sang and Feanor issued from the gates of Tirion a messenger came at last from Manwe, saying: 'Against the folly of Feanor shall be set my counsel only. Go not forth! For the hour is evil, and your road leads to sorrow that ye do not foresee. No aid will the Valar lend you in this quest; but neither will they hinder you; for this ye shall know: as ye came hither freely, freely shall ye depart. But thou Feanor Finwe's son, by thine oath art exiled. The lies of Melkor thou shalt unlearn in bitterness. Vala he is, thou saist Then thou hast sworn in vain, for none of the Valar canst thou overcome now or ever within the halls of Ea, not though Eru whom thou namest had made thee thrice greater than thou art.' But Feanor laughed, and spoke not to the herald, but to the Noldor, saying: 'So! Then will this valiant people send forth the heir of their King alone into banishment with his sons only, and return to their bondage? But if any will come with me, I say to them: Is sorrow foreboded to you? But in Aman we have seen it. In Aman we have come through bliss to woe. The other now we will try: through sorrow to find joy; or freedom, at the least.' Then turning to the herald he cried: 'Say this to Manwe Sulimo, High King of Arda: if Feanor cannot overthrow Morgoth, at least he delays not to assail him, and sits not idle in grief. And it may be that Eru has set in me a fire greater than thou knowest. Such hurt at the least will I do to the Foe of the Valar that even the mighty in the Ring of Doom shall wonder to hear it. Yea, in the end they shall follow me. Farewell!' In that hour the voice of Feanor grew so great and so potent that even the herald of the Valar bowed before him as one full-answered, and departed; and the Noldor were over-ruled. Therefore they continued their march; and the House of Feanor hastened before them along the coasts of Elende: not once did they turn their eyes back to Tirion on the green hill of Tuna. Slower and less eagerly came the host of Fingolfin after them. Of those Fingon was the foremost; but at the rear went Finarfin and Finrod, and many of the noblest and wisest of the Noldor; and often they looked behind them to see their fair city, until the lamp of the Mindon Eldalieva was lost in the night. More than any others of the Exiles they carried thence memories of the bliss they had forsaken, and some even of the things that they had made there they took with them: a solace and a burden on the road. Now Feanor led the Noldor northward, because his first purpose was to follow Morgoth. Moreover Tuna beneath Taniquetil was set nigh to the girdle of Arda, and there the Great Sea was immeasurably wide, whereas ever northward the sundering seas grew narrower, as the wasteland of Araman and the coasts of Middle-earth drew together. But as the mind of Feanor cooled and took counsel he perceived overlate that all these great companies would never overcome the long leagues to the north, nor cross the seas at the last, save with the aid of ships; yet it would need long time and toil to build so great a fleet, even were there any among the Noldor skilled in that craft. He resolved now therefore to persuade the Teleri, ever friends to the Noldor, to join with them; and in his rebellion he thought that thus the bliss of Valinor might be further diminished and his power for war upon Morgoth be increased. He hastened then to Alqualonde, and spoke to the Teleri as he had spoken before in Tirion. But the Teleri were unmoved by aught that he could say. They were grieved indeed at the going of their kinsfolk and long friends, but would rather dissuade them than aid them; and no ship would they lend, nor help in the building, against the will of the Valar. As for themselves, they desired now no other home but the strands of Eldamar, and no other lord than Olwe, prince of Alqualonde. And he had never lent ear to Morgoth, nor welcomed him to his land, and he trusted still that Ulmo and the other great among the Valar would redress the hurts of Morgoth, and that the night would pass yet to a new dawn. Then Feanor grew wrathful, for he still feared delay; and hotly he spoke to Olwe. 'You renounce your friendship, even in the hour of our need,' he said. 'Yet you were glad indeed to receive our aid when you came at last to these shores, fainthearted loiterers, and wellnigh emptyhanded. In huts on the beaches would yon be dwelling still, had not the Noldor carved out your haven and toiled upon your walls.' But Olwe answered: 'We renounce no friendship. But it may be the part of a friend to rebuke a friend's folly. And when the Noldor welcomed us and gave us aid, otherwise then you spoke: in the land of Aman we were to dwell for ever, as brothers whose houses stand side by side. But as for our white ships: those you gave us not. We learned not that craft from the Noldor, but from the Lords of the Sea; and the white timbers we wrought with our own hands, and the white sails were woven by our wives and our daughters. Therefore we will neither give them nor sell them for any league or friendship. For I say to you, Feanor son of Finwe, these are to us as are the gems of the Noldor: the work of our hearts, whose like we shall not make again.' Thereupon Feanor left him, and sat in dark thought beyond the walls of Alqualonde, until his host was assembled. When he judged that his strength was enough, he went to the Haven of the Swans and began to man the ships that were anchored there and to take them away by force. But the Teleri withstood him, and cast many of the Noldor into the sea. Then swords were drawn, and a bitter fight was fought upon the ships, and about the lamplit quays and piers of the Haven, and even upon the great arch of its gate. Thrice the people of Feanor were driven back, and many were slain upon either side; but the vanguard of the Noldor were succoured by Fingon with the foremost of the host of Fingolfin, who coming up found a battle joined and their own kin falling, and rushed in before they knew rightly the cause of the quarrel; some thought indeed that the Teleri had sought to waylay the march of the Noldor at the bidding of the Valar. Thus at last the Teleri were overcome, and a great part of their mariners that dwelt in Alqualonde were wickedly slain. For the Noldor were become fierce and desperate, and the Teleri had less strength, and were armed for the most part but with slender bows. Then the Noldor drew away their white ships and manned their oars as best they might, and rowed them north along the coast. And Olwe called upon Osse, but he came not, for it was not permitted by the Valar that the fight of the Noldor should be hindered by force. But Uinen wept for the mariners of the Teleri; and the sea rose in wrath against the slayers, so that many of the ships were wrecked and those in them drowned. Of the enslaving at Alqualonde more is told in that lament which is named Noldolante, the Fall of the Noldor, that Maglor made ere he was lost. Nonetheless the greater part of the Noldor escaped, and when the storm was past they held on their course, some by ship and some by land; but the way was long and ever more evil as they went forward. After they had marched for a great while in the unmeasured night, they came at length to the northern confines of the Guarded Realm, upon the borders of the empty waste of Araman which were mountainous and cold. There they beheld suddenly a dark figure standing high upon a rock that looked down upon the shore. Some say that it was Mandos himself, and no lesser herald of Manwe. And they heard a loud voice, solemn and terrible, that bade them stand and give ear. Then all halted and stood still, and from end to end of the hosts of the Noldor the voice was heard speaking the curse and prophecy which is called the Prophecy of the North, and the Doom of the Noldor. Much it foretold in dark words, which the Noldor understood not until the woes indeed after befell them; but all heard the curse that was uttered upon those that would not stay nor seek the doom and pardon of the Valar. 'Tears unnumbered ye shall shed; and the Valar will fence Valinor against you, and shut you out, so that not even the echo of your lamentation shall pass over the mountains. On the House of Feanor the wrath of the Valar lieth from the West unto the uttermost East, and upon all that will follow them it shall be laid also. Their Oath shall drive them, and yet betray them, and ever snatch away the very treasures that they have sworn to pursue. To evil end shall all things turn that they begin well; and by treason of kin unto kin, and the fear of treason, shall this come to pass. The Dispossessed shall they be for ever. 'Ye have spilled the blood of your kindred unrighteously and have stained the land of Aman. For blood ye shall render blood, and beyond Aman ye shall dwell in Death's shadow. For though Eru appointed to you to die not in Ea, and no sickness may assail you, yet slain ye may be, and slain ye shall be: by weapon and by torment and by grief; and your houseless spirits shall come then to Mandos. There long shall ye abide and yearn for your bodies, and find little pity though all whom ye have slain should entreat for you. And those that endure in Middle-earth and come not to Mandos shall grow weary of the world as with a great burden, and shall wane, and become as shadows of regret before the younger race that cometh after. The Valar have spoken.' Then many quailed; but Feanor hardened his heart and said: 'We have sworn, and not lightly. This oath we will keep. We are threatened with many evils, and treason not least; but one thing is not said: that we shall suffer from cowardice, from cravens or the fear of cravens. Therefore I say that we will go on, and this doom I add: the deeds that we shall do shall be the matter of song until the last days of Arda.' But in that hour Finarfin forsook the march, and turned back, being filled with grief, and with bitterness against the House of Feanor, because of his kinship with Olwe of Alqualonde; and many of his people went with him, retracing their steps in sorrow, until they beheld once more the far beam of the Mindon upon Tuna still shining in the night, and so came at last to Valinor. There they received the pardon of the Valar, and Finarfin was set to rule the remnant of the Noldor in the Blessed Realm. But his sons were not with him, for they would not forsake the sons of Fingolfin; and all Fingolfin's folk went forward still, feeling the constraint of their kinship and the will of Feanor, and fearing to face the doom of the Valar, since not all of them had been guiltless of the Kinslaying at Alqualonde. Moreover Fingon and Turgon were bold and fiery of heart, and loath to abandon any task to which they had put their hands until the bitter end, if bitter it must be. So the main host held on, and swiftly the evil that was foretold began its work. The Noldor came at last far into the north of Arda; and they saw the first teeth of the ice that floated in the sea, and knew that they were drawing nigh to the Helcaraxe. For between the land of Aman that in the north curved eastward, and the east-shores of Endor (which is Middle-earth) that bore westward, there was a narrow strait, through which the chill waters of the Encircling Sea and the waves of Belegaer flowed together, and there were vast fogs and mists of deathly cold, and the sea-streams were filled with clashing hills of ice and the grinding of ice deep-sunken. Such was the Helcaraxe, and there none yet had dared to tread save the Valar only and Ungoliant Therefore Feanor halted and the Noldor debated what course they should now take. But they began to suffer anguish from the cold, and the clinging mists through which no gleam of star could pierce; and many repented of the road and began to murmur, especially those that followed Fingolfin, cursing Feanor, and naming him as the cause of all the woes of the Eldar. But Feanor, knowing all that was said, took counsel with his sons; and two courses only they saw to escape from Araman and come into Endor: by the straits or by ship. But the Helcaraxe they deemed impassable, whereas the ships were too few. Many had been lost upon their long journey, and there remained now not enough to bear across all the great host together; yet none were willing to abide upon the western coast while others were ferried first: already the fear of treachery was awake among the Noldor. Therefore it came into the hearts of Feanor and his sons to seize all the ships and depart suddenly; for they had retained the mastery of the fleet since the battle of the Haven, and it was manned only by those who had fought there and were bound to Feanor. And as though it came at his call, there sprang up a wind from the north-west, and Feanor slipped away secretly with all whom he deemed true to him, and went aboard, and put out to sea, and left Fingolfin in Araman. And since the sea was there narrow, steering east and somewhat south he passed over without loss, and first of all the Noldor set foot once more upon the shores of Middle-earth; and the landing of Feanor was at the mouth of the firth which was called Drengist and ran into Dorlomin. But when they were landed, Maedhros the eldest of his sons, and on a time the friend of Fingon ere Morgoth's lies came between, spoke to Feanor, saying: 'Now what ships and rowers will you spare to return, and whom shall they bear hither first? Fingon the valiant?' Then Feanor laughed as one fey, and he cried: 'None and none! What I have left behind I count now no loss; needless baggage on the road it has proved. Let those that cursed my name, curse me still, and whine their way back to the cages of the Valar! Let the ships burn!' Then Maedhros alone stood aside, but Feanor caused fire to be set to the white ships of the Teleri. So in that place which was called Losgar at the outlet of the Firth of Drengist ended the fairest vessels that ever sailed the sea, in a great burning, bright and terrible. And Fingolfin and his people saw the light afar off, red beneath the clouds; and they knew that they were betrayed. This was the firstfruits of the Kinslaying and the Doom of the Noldor. Then Fingolfin seeing that Feanor had left him to perish in Araman or return in shame to Valinor was filled with bitterness; but he desired now as never before to come by some way to Middle-earth, and meet Feanor again. And he and his host wandered long in misery, but their valour and endurance grew with hardship; for they were a mighty people, the elder children undying of Elu Iluvatar, but new-come from the Blessed Realm, and not yet weary with the weariness of Earth. The fire of their hearts was young, and led by Fingolfin and his sons, and by Finrod and Galadriel, they dared to pass into the bitterest North; and finding no other way they endured at last the terror of the Helcaraxe and the cruel hills of ice. Few of the deeds of the Noldor thereafter surpassed that desperate crossing in hardihood or woe. There Elenwe the wife of Turgon was lost, and many others perished also; and it was with a lessened host that Fingolfin set foot at last upon the Outer Lands. Small love for Feanor or his sons had those that marched at last behind him, and blew their trumpets in Middle-earth at the first rising of the Moon.