Title: Lanëa Nyérë

Meaning: Lanëa Nyérë is the Quenyan translation for Weaving Sorrow.

Author: BittenBuggy

Beta: Saralitazie and Psychomare125

Summary: What is it to lose your husband to madness? To lose your sons to an oath? What comfort in the world is left to you when all that you love has passed?

The story of Nerdanel.

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"The wedding of his father was not pleasing to

Feanor; and he had no great love for Indis...He

lived apart from them, exploring the land of Aman."

Tiron: Year 1185 of the Trees

The preparations for feasting were greater than Nerdanel ever imagined. Droves of tables, lined with nobles and invited guests were near to overflowing. Flower petals were strewn across the floor and more flowers hung great lengths from pots in the ceiling. Light shimmered through the windows, reflecting off the jewels and crystals that gave everything a luminescent glow.

Nerdanel sat on the end with her mother beside her. They were only paces away from the Royal Table. Her father was placed next to her mother, and Nerdanel’s sisters across from them.

Horns sounded and the doors opened. The masses stood as the King entered, his betrothed on his arm. Tradition held that the bride and the groom sat at different tables, each with their own families. Indis floated gracefully to sit with her uncle and kin, the golden hair of her people shining like pale candles in the room darkened with the Noldorin. The Lord Finwë stood by his chair, Olwë seated on his left. It was then that Nerdanel saw Fëanor was not seated at his father’s right, as was his place. Wrinkling her brow, she tried to find him in the crowded room. Everyone was standing, which made Fëanor’s sable head difficult to find in a room full of their kindred.

Nerdanel’s heart swelled when she saw the face of her Lord. He was genuinely happy, something she had not seen in her lifetime. Indis, likewise, seemed fair beyond compare.

When they were seated, the feast began. Servants wove their way in and out of the tables, refilling wine glasses and bringing out the fruits, fresh from the gardens of Yavanna. Her mother was deep in conversation with her sisters and her father listened and responded dutifully. Nerdanel could not help but smile. It would have done her well to have been seated across from her sire; they were more alike in taste and mood.

Nerdanel looked up surprised as all social chatter came to an abrupt stop. The great doors of the hall swung up and Fëanor strode in. His head was held high and his stare dared any to challenge him. Nerdanel found it hard to swallow as she was torn by the unsteady flutter in her chest. She had not see the Prince for nigh a year, not since he had left Alqualondë. He had only grown in majesty and the hush that fell only intensified her rapid heartbeat. He had become a source of great mystery in the years they had been apart. Her father refused to speak of the prize Fëanor had asked. The hesitant smile that had been on her mother’s face had done nothing to confirm any suspicion.

Nerdanel looked quickly to Finwë, whose face was now darkened as his son walked right past his betrothed, then past the Royal Table without so much as a bow.

Nerdanel’s own ire started to rise, regardless of her pleasure in seeing him again, at this blatant show of disrespect. She loved her King, as did all the Noldor. Finwë was wise and gentle, with a love for his people that was boundless. She would not see his day soiled by his son, who thought himself above all others.

Yet no one dared to utter a word against the Prince and indeed, even the King kept his silence, though the irritation was clear in his face. So Nerdanel was nothing short of shocked when Fëanor suddenly stood before her, with a final warning glance around the room, and seated himself.

A few nervous Elves restarted their conversations and soon the incident was forgotten. At least, it was forgotten by the crowd. Nerdanel, though, refused to look at the subject of such impertinence. She ate in silence, even when his foot came to rest against hers under the long cloth of the table.

‘Willst thou not greet thy Prince?’ Fëanor’s voice was not so loud that everyone heard, but Nerdanel could not pretend to ignore him.

‘Thou doth not greet thy King nor thy atar.’ She spoke softly, anger flashing in her eyes. ‘What respect shall I pay who has none?’

Fëanor clenched his jaw, but said nothing. Nerdanel could hear her father trying to guide conversation away from the pair and she was grateful for his discretion.

‘Naught but chastisement comes from thy lips this noon? Though it be long since our last parting, no sweetness willst thou utter!’ His accusing tone had risen in volume.

‘If thou deservest more, mayhaps thy atar would be further inclined to oblige thee.’ She now refused to even look at him, her gaze fixed firmly on her plate. However, she did not miss the tight fist he made around his spoon nor the trembling way with which his anger was kept in check.

This was not how she had imagined their next meeting.

‘If it pleases thee, then.’ Fëanor stood up stiffly and came to the front of the King’s table, bowing low. ‘My King.’

Finwë’s mood brightened considerably as his son took the chair by his side. Fëanor glanced back over at Mahtan’s table, his gaze full of mocking placidity. Nerdanel gave the smallest of nods and turned back to her sisters, who were politely trying not to look as if they had noticed the exchange.

The end of the ceremony came with loud applause as voices and instruments took up song and merriment. The square beneath the King’s palace served as the dancing grounds and any who wished to merely observe stood upon the great steps or around the outer rim near the minstrels.

Nerdanel stood, engaged in light conversation with one of her father’s apprentices. She was laughing heartily, a wine glass in her hand. She could tell that Ambaron was about to ask for a dance when a firm hand appeared on her arm. She turned, as the bright smile of her companion dimmed considerably.

‘My Prince.’ Ambaron bowed.

Fëanor inclined his head in response before turning to Nerdanel. ‘Willst thou honour an Elf with a dance?’

Nerdanel turned to look at Ambaron for concession. He nodded indulgently with a tight smile. ‘I seek out the King to give my congratulations.’

Ambaron had barely taken a step before Fëanor pulled her into the crowd of dancing Elves. The song was lively and Nerdanel could not help but smile as Fëanor raised his eyebrows flirtatiously. He dipped his head slightly, searching her face.

'I offer apology for my behavior at the feast. I did not mean for it to upset thee.' His tone was sincere and Nerdanel was about to reply when she was passed on to another elf. She could not place his name, but she barely even glanced at his face. Her gaze was fixed on Feanor, who’s heated stare both unnerved and excited her.

It was not long before she was back in his arms. Nerdanel did not resist when he pulled her closer as they danced, nearly cheek to cheek. Nerdanel could smell the soaps he bathed with and she clasped his hand tighter, closing her eyes and soaking in such an opportunity.

So engrossed was she in her companion, the end of the song came as a surprise. She looked up slowly as she pulled away from him and her breath caught painfully in her chest.

His eyes burned.

She parted her lips to speak but his finger was there in an instant. He shook his head once and the crowds of people melted away. The finger on her lips turned into the palm that cupped her cheek. Oblivious were the two, even as the dancing started again.

‘Ere the second waxing of Telperion this day, Istarnië, I shall come for thee.’ With a last, lingering look, Fëanor broke their trance and walked from the square. Nerdanel stood, still shivering slightly from his touch as she watched until his retreating back faded from view.

‘Nerdanel!’ The maid turned sharply at the sound of her mother’s voice.

Nerdanel put a social smile back on her face as she came over to stand by her parents. Seeing that she was now in royal company, she brought down her gaze and curtseyed low. ‘Aran-nya. Tári-nya, I bid ye the fondest of congratulations. Thou shinest brighter than all the stars this eve, Tári-nya.’

The King smiled fondly at the younger Elf-maiden. ‘It is well to see thee again, sweet Nerdanel. It seems thou bringest great happiness to all. Indeed! My son hath not looked so gladdened in many a year with thee on the arm.’

‘Nor so gentled!’ Mahtan spoke with a low chuckle.

Indis’s smile faltered at his bold words. ‘Yea, my presence unsettles him. His belated equipage foretells much, I fear.’ Finwë put his hand on her arm gently with a reassuring smile. ‘Abate such fears, beloved. I deem his discontent fleet. He shath soon see how great love is between us and he shall be well pleased.’’

Nerdanel resisted the urge to shift nervously. Fëanor’s words still echoed in her mind and filled her with a hunger she had never known. Now in the company of his father and his new bride, such thoughts were disconcerting.

Mahtan abruptly raised his wine glass in toast, ‘Fire-new this love be. Fineless and fain may it be always.’ His voice boomed and carried over to the ears of all in attendance.

‘Yea!’ Came the chorus of agreement.

‘Eterne, as the very emepery of the Eldalië!’

‘Yea!’

‘We drink to ye, King and fair Queen, be ye never dry for love!’

‘Yea and cry aim!’ The Elves resounded, their glasses clinking.

Nerdanel sipped delicately while scanning the crowd. Fëanor had disappeared. No one else seemed to heed, some in fact seeming relieved. The lack of hostility in the air was enough for her to know he has left the celebration. She sighed, it was a small wonder that many simply stepped aside when his mood went foul.

‘Nerdanel, willst thou not answer thy Queen?’ There was a subtle rebuke in her mother’s voice.

‘Apologies, my Lady, my mind was adrift.’ Nerdanel lowered her gaze in an effort to gain pardon.

‘I would have thee come to dine in the fortnight. Mahaps it would do much to stint such sullenness.’

Nerdanel did not know the reason for which she was asked, but accepted gladly. ‘Yea, Tári-nya. I am humbled by such request.’

Indis smiled warmly and turned her eyes from the young maid to her new husband. How beautiful they seemed together. Gentle spirits both, kind and without thought of malice.

The silver haired King came to stand beside his dear friend. ‘Finwë, mine Elves saith thy wine hath surpassed mine own! This must be remedied, for thee hast sworn many-a-time, that which is brewed by the seas holds the taste of freedom! So come, confess before my kinsman and end this hand-mill quest!’

The King smiled graciously at his inebriated friend. Olwë led away both her King and her father to the group of Elves seated on the steps, their wine glasses near to overfilling. Loud exclamations of praise rose up so that every Elf at the celebration had to laugh.

The celebration continued for long hours, and such merrymaking as Nerdanel had never seen. Young Elves took the maids to the dancing square, til they could no longer stand from the potent wine or sheer exhaustion. Smiles passed like glimmers of golden light around Tiron, mingling it with Telperion as Laurelin always had. The trees and flowers came into bloom, soaking in the joy that permeated the very air. Even the stars seemed to reach out their pointed fingers so that some of the mirthful laughter would warm them as well as they stood guard over Aman. This was indeed a most magical night.

A pair of strong arms came around her from behind. Nerdanel turned her head to see who had taken such liberties - not that their affections would be denied. Elves were tender by nature, never to shy away from the sensation of touch. In all the senses they reveled, such was their way to show comfort and love.

‘Do mine eyes deceive, or doth the fairest of maidens stand alone this night?’ Fëanor’s whisper came close to her ear.

Nerdanel smiled at his exaggerated flattery and leaned back against him. ‘Nay, indeed, my companion hath left for but to fill the wine glasses.’

‘What need hast thee of wine? Is not my company enough? I deem thee more than sufficient for mine own needs.’

‘Honeyed tongue thou hast, Fëanáro. But the Elf that leaves a maid alone for so long must be wont to rid himself of her.’

‘But if the Elf returns, to be only with the maid?’

‘Such an Elf wallows in his own indecision!’ Nerdanel turned in his arms, but did not break herself free from their hold. She caught the gaze of the Queen over his shoulder and Nerdanel inclined her head in respect. The Queen just smiled knowingly and laid a hand on her husband's knee.

‘I am undecided no more.’ His voice was low and serious. ‘Come.’

The Prince took her hand and led her out of the square, into the courtyards beside the palace. Nerdanel smiled as she remembered a time they used to run through these gardens, pretending they were an eagle of Manwë, or Oromë on his quests to the Hither Lands. Sweet were those memories, yet it seemed new memories would be made this eve.

Silently, he took her to a small clearing. Fountains held tumbling waters on either side and the trees broke open to reveal the mingling light in the sky. The grass was soft beneath her feet, its giving fingers inviting long reverie on more gentle days.

‘Istarnië.’ Fëanor’s voice was softened as he held both her hands in his. ‘I have something to ask of thee.’

Nerdanel swallowed hard and closed her eyes briefly before looking up at him. Her eyes widened at what she saw in his face. Uncertainty, doubt, clouded his features. ‘Anything, Fëanáro.’

‘I leave on the morrow. Mine atar’s company hath been stolen and I shall not abide under his house another day.’ His voice was not bittered, rather, eager it sounded. ‘I ask thee to be my companion.’

She took a step back, shaking her head and pulling her hands from his. Her heart sunk in her chest. He had not asked what she hoped. He was not deterred, and stepped towards her again.

‘Many wonders of this world we shall see together. In early youth did we go far, though not nearly far enough! Doth thou not see, Nerdanel? How much there is for us!’ He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her towards him.

‘Fëanáro, I can not!’ She put her hands against his chest and pushed.

A look of disbelief crossed his face. His eyes searched hers, for some sign that she could be swayed. ‘I know thy heart. What reason willst thou give?’

‘I have not need to give thee reason.’ She said sharply, the pained look on his face making her angry. She felt the need to defend herself, against him, for the sake of her heart. She had thought he would proposition marriage, tell her of his love. Instead he had simply asked for a companion to bide his time with until he was of age to live on his own. The thought made her sick and she turned away from him.

‘Istarnië-'

‘Thou hast not my leave to call me by that name any longer.’ Nerdanel’s voice was barely audible as she wrapped her arms around her abdomen, bowing her head and squeezing her eyes shut to stave off tears.

There was silence behind her for a long time. Nerdanel could not look at him, could not face him. She did not need to wonder if he was still there though, his confusion was tangible enough. A hesitant hand came to rest on her shoulder, turning her around and she resisted the urge to pull away. He drew her gaze down with his own and from under his tunic, he produced a blue velvet cloth. Before she could speak, Fëanor had unwrapped the gift. Her eyes widened when she saw a necklace nestled in the folds.

‘Fëanáro-‘

‘Nay!’ He said, silencing her. ‘I wished to present it to thee under more favorable circumstance, but now is the better time, if thee shall still have it.’

Tears collected in her eyes as he lifted the crude jewelry. The tiny links were made of copper, badly misshapen. The gems were cut unevenly and had been polished without skill, so they forever looked dull. The over-large jewel set into the center was crooked, but to Nerdanel, it was the most precious gift.

Wordlessly, for there were no words to give thanks for such a gift, she turned, lifted her hair and Fëanor placed the necklace around her throat. It rested off-balance, so that she could never forget she wore it.

He let his hands linger on her neck as he circled around to stand in front of her, then slid up to cup her face so that his thumbs rested on her cheekbones. Two identical tears fell from her eyes, but Fëanor leaned in to brush his lips across her eyelids with the utmost gentility.

‘Hush... No tears. Never cry for the sake of me.’ He whispered, swooping down to catch her mouth in a chaste kiss. Nerdanel gasped, belatedly closing her eyes and knocking her nose against his. Fëanor pulled away and smiled as the maid before him blushed. When she opened her eyes again, he was already gone.

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A/N

1. It was brought to my attention by Sindohte that I need translations for some of the non-Elvish dialogue as well:

Archaic English Translation:

-Fineless: endless

-Fain: glad

-Eterne: eternal

-Empery: empire

-Equipage: attendance

-Cry Aim!: phrase of encouragement

Elvish (Quenya) Translation:

-Aran-nya: my king

-Tári-nya: my queen

-Atar: father

-Eldalië: Eldar