…she came to him before the host started on its northward march…

They had chosen to camp outside the city, she noted. Those she had passed upon the road had told of all Tirion being emptied. They spoke of the new King and his words against the Valar and his all too evident desire to avenge not just his father’s death, but the rape of the Silmarilli.

She closed her eyes briefly. When she had been told of the oath sworn by the new King and his seven sons, she had known she had come too late. But still, she had urged her brown mare and the others that rode with her on. She had to do something, even if it was only for her own sake.

She rode to the edge of the large encampment, only to be halted by several heavily-armed Elves.

"Who comes to enter the camp of the King," one called, his voice ringing with a fell arrogance as his hand rested lightly on the sword hilt at his side.

She said nothing, nor did she lower her white hood to identify herself. To her left, she heard the stern and loud tones of Narondo, the leader of her escort. "We have come to see the King and bring word to him. Stand aside!"

But the Elves did not do so and stayed where they stood. Their leader, for that was how she recognized him, haughtily returned, "And what word would a few bedraggled Elves bring to the King? What could you possibly have to offer him?"

Narondo, she was aware, could have pun the younger Elf in his place with ease. But she found that the Elf reminded her of her third son. Their impetuousness was all too apparent in their nature. So, following an instinct long held dormant, she spoke. "The good King Finwë has harkened to the call of Námo and answers no longer to the calls of those outside of Mandos. But in his place stands his son, called Fëanáro by his mother." Here she chose to lower the hood that had obscured her features. She then continued her light admonishment. "Curufinwë the elder is now King of the Noldor. Would you bar the path of his wife?"

All who stood before her paled, recognition coming into their expressions. They bowed to her awkwardly, hampered by the many weapons the held in their possession. She did her best to hide a shiver that came upon her.

"L-Lady," the elder stammered. "Please, forgive us. We had no word of your coming. I-"

"Of course you did not," she interrupted. "I chose not to waste time by sending word ahead. My message is for the ears of the King alone."

The group of Elves immediately stood aside, informing her of the location of the King’s tent. As she rode her horse through the camp, sadness gripped her heart, as well as a sense of bewilderment. Many faces she recognized, but they were all milling about, working at some task that would aid in a rebellion against those who had helped them to rise so far. Had the world truly gone mad?

It certainly seemed as though it had. The Two Trees, dear Teleperion and Laurelin, had been destroyed. A monster had walked the lands of Aman. The King of the Noldor had been slain at the steps of his own house. Such things should not have been possible, but they had happened all the same.

As they came to a halt near the tent they had sought for, she could not restrain a joyful cry. Standing near the entrance of the tent were two of her sons, her two eldest.

They heard her shout and looked up from whatever conversation they had been holding. Their grim countenances faded, replaced by the beautiful smiles she had known since their births. They hurried towards her, Makalaurë taking the bridle of her horse while Maitimo took her hand and held it as she lowered herself to the ground.

"Amme," her firstborn said reverently, hugging her tightly against his strong, armored-again, she struggled to repress a shudder-form, "We did not know if you would come. It is wonderful to see you."

"Indeed," Makalaurë added, his voice appearing from beside her and Maitimo. "So many have left. It is a relief to see someone arrive."

She gazed upon her second born and saw the great grief in his eyes and nodded. She knew very well the reasons for his words. But she had not come to stand surrounded and sheltered by her sons. She had to do what she had come for.

"My sons," she said firmly, carefully removing herself from Maitimo’s arms, "I have come to speak with your atar. I must hurry for I know you mean to leave all too soon.

If either of them noted the faint tone of bitterness within her voice, neither of them spoke of it to her. Maitimo only nodded and moved towards the tent. She followed him silently, aware that Makalaurë walked a few paces behind her.

The interior of the tent was larger than it appeared to be on the outside. A large table stood in the center, covered by many maps and various documents. Several smaller desks stood off to the side and a thin curtain separated a small sleep space from the rest of the tent.

But she took little notice of this. Her eyes were drawn immediately to the form that stood hunched over the center table, obviously intent on what lay before him.

"Aranya," Maitimo in front of her said in a soft, respectful tone, "Someone wishes to speak with you."

So, he wished upon formality, even from his own sons, she noted, inwardly shaking her head. Was he really so unsure of his position? The King Finwë had rarely stood upon such things with his sons, finding it far too cumbersome. Yet another example of the incomprehensible events that were taking place. So much change in so little time.

"If you would, Nelyafinwë, deal with it in my stead. I am currently drawing up plans-"

"Aranya… Atar… please," Maitimo interrupted, a pleading note entering his tone. "I believe you should see her. She has come far to see you."

He looked up then and she saw the annoyance flicker briefly across his features, only to disappear behind a solemn mask when their gazes met. After a moment of silence, he said, "Very well, leave us. I would speak with her alone."

She watched both of her sons bow to their father before taking their leave. When Maitimo moved past her, he gave her a hesitant smile. One she could not quite return fully.

Once they were alone, their eyes once again locked. He eyed her with what appeared to be dispassionate interest. The same gaze he had used during the days of their courtship. He had used it when he wished to discern her thoughts, but while not appearing to do so. In those long ago days, he had used it so often she had learned to recognize it for what it was. At the time, it had both amused her and made her heart glad, for she had greatly returned his notice. But now, after they had endured so much pain and grief, she merely felt weary under his eyes.

It was he, in the end, who spoke first. Perhaps he believed he must be the first to berate lest he be berated, or mayhap he could no longer endure her silence.

"Long years have passed since you have come to this city, Lady," he commented. "Yours was the first loss of the many that followed."

"Perhaps. But some losses cannot be avoided," she returned. She paused, and then added, "Would that the loss of your atar could have been avoided. His fate was cruel, and not one he deserved, my lord."

A flash of pain entered into his eyes and his thoughts seemed to drift off. His eyes were bright as he said in a low voice, "No, no he did not. But his loss, and many others, will soon be avenged. None shall hinder us in this."

She shivered slightly and turned away, moving further into the tent. His words alone filled her with great misgivings, but the absolute and utter certainty with which he said them filled her with fear.

He appeared to come out of his reverie when she moved. Watching him from the corner of her gaze, she saw him gaze upon her, his expression revealing none of his thoughts. Again, it was he who spoke first.

"Your sons have greatly missed your company in our home. Especially Nelyafinwë and Kanafinwë." He seemed to waver for a moment, and then continued. "As have I, Lady. Indeed, your absence has kept a hole in my soul, Nerdanelya."

She closed her eyes and bowed her head lest he see the tears that welled up. This man, who spoke softly and with a gentle fire, was who she had missed ever so much. When she had left Tirion, she had left behind a man who raged violently at the slightest provocation. She had departed from a man who, in that rage, had lifted his hand against her, who had struck her. Now, like so many other times before, she questioned whether the gentle man she longed for truly existed, or if he was only a shell that poorly hid the fell one she had left behind.

"I have missed you as well, my husband," she replied, making no attempt to hide or disguise her grief. "But sometimes, that is not enough."

The words needed to be said, but she regretted them all the same. For, almost immediately, the tenderness that had adorned his expression vanished, leaving in its place a cold, uncaring detachment. Her heart began to ache anew when a fell fire, which he had obviously concealed from her, was lit in his eyes.

"Why have you come here, wife? You surely have not come to take the place of Indis as the King’s wife." Here snide tones began to overtake his voice. "You certainly found being the wife of the King’s heir distasteful enough. And you have no desire for positions of power and influence. So I ask you again, why are you here?"

… [Nerdanel] begged that Fëanáro should leave her the two youngest, the twins, or at least one of them…

"I have come," she said, stubbornly refusing to rise to the bait he dangled before her, "because I have been informed of what you plan to do. You plan to take the Noldor who follow you and return to the lands from which we came."

"Many know of my plans," he said, dismissively waving his hand as he turned away from her. "It does not surprise me that Aulë would tell you these things. Long has your family rested within his shadow."

She pressed her lips together determinedly at the veiled insult and continued. "I come not as a doomsayer, Fëanáro. I know better than almost anyone that when you choose your course, you are unwavering in your desire to follow it, no matter the cost. I have not come to attempt to dissuade you from your path. I come only as a mother. I ask that you allow the twins to remain in Aman. Or, if you insist upon having them with you on this journey, one of the others. I wish to keep one of my sons with me."

He stared at her for a moment and she waited for his answer to her petition. When he began to laugh uproariously, she glared at him fiercely.

"I fail to see what is so amusing, my lord," she hissed. "I have traveled here in the hopes that one of my sons might remain with me instead of setting out upon a quest already doomed to fail ere it begins."

His laughter halted abruptly and he glared at her ferociously. With not a trace of his former amusement in his tone, he coldly informed her, "I am afraid, Lady, that you cannot be accommodated in your request. I have a great need for all seven of my sons on our noble mission. I cannot afford to leave any of them behind."

"And what of your sons that had wed," she shot back. "Would you destroy their marriages…?" Just as ours was destroyed, she added silently. "Already Marunya curses Carnistir and names him a fool. Lintesúl weeps tears unaccounted for her spouse and bemoans the loss of Telperinquar her son. And Aiwëoma sings no more in joy, but laments the fate of Makalaurë. What of them? What of me? Am I to loose my sons and my husband in one swift stroke?"

He replied: "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, you desert also all of our children. For they are determined to go with their father."

"… And as for my son’s wives," he added harshly, "I would say the same for them. If their marriages are to survive, then the effort must be made, for their husbands will not turn from what must be done."

He turned away from her then, apparently attempting to dismiss her. "No, Nerdanel," he said in an almost cheerful manner, "you shall have none of your sons. They go with me to break the bonds of thralldom."

She clenched her fists angrily. If it would do her any good, she would have flown at him, beating, scratching, anything that would hurt him. Alas, she knew it would accomplish nothing except to arouse the full force of his fury.

"Fell and fey are you become, son of Míriel," she growled at him. "But heed the words I give you now…"

…Nerdanel was angry and she answered: "You will not keep all of them. One at least will never set foot on Middle-earth."

"… He will then return home where he belongs," she finished. "But you will not keep him, Fëanáro. This I swear. And you know as well as I the power of an oath."

…"Take your evil omens to the Valar who will delight in them," said Fëanáro. "I defy them."

"Return to your father’s house. Weep to your beloved master, Aulë. Let him comfort you however he may," he said. "I am done with you and will say no more."

So they parted.

The tears did not come until she had almost reached her waiting horse. It was Narondo who bore her up in his strong embrace when her knees buckled beneath her. Great was her grief, but as if from a great distance, she heard Makalaurë’s voice call to her. But she found she had not the strength to answer as her eyes slowly slid shut. She felt Narondo’s chest rumble briefly as he gave some curt words to her son.

She vaguely noted someone putting her on a horse as well as someone joining her, but she did not protest. In her heart she knew she would not see her husband or her sons for many years, perhaps until the undoing of the world. Fire and madness had taken her family from her. Only the fires of remaking could bind them together again.