The voice resounded from end to end of the entire host. Every other noise seemed to disappear; Nolofinwë could not hear the rumbling sea, or the whistle of the wind. No one spoke while the cloaked figure told the Noldor of doom and death.
He had imagined that the actions of the Noldor in Alqualondë would have had consequences. Perhaps they deserved it. Exile seemed the right decision, he thought. Had he been a king, he would have acted so.
But death? What kind of king commits the very crime he's punishing? Is this a sentence or a prophecy? Nolofinwë could not tell.
He felt anger, again. The Valar decided not to aid them long before they left Tirion, as if the death of his father meant nothing. Finwë was slain and that was in the order of things, was it not? Would Nolofinwë see him again returned from the Halls? No one knew, for the only Elda who died in Valinor before him was Miriel and that had been her choice.
Ai Fëanaro, for years I thought you grieved without reason and deemed your resentment excessive. Now I know only half of your pain and I would say to you 'I understand your madness, I'll be your brother in heart'. But you don't listen.
His hands were beginning to hurt from the cold and he curled them in fists.
The figure spoke on.
He could feel his brother's eyes on his neck. Disapproving, hard.
For this, brother, would you go on? He heard Arafinwë's voice in his mind.
We have a father to avenge.
We are not the only one, now.
Nolofinwë inhaled deeply. He was trembling, but it was not fear.
I promised to follow.
He will never trust you! What do you hope for?
I promised to Father.
He could hear Arafinwë's frustration through their mental bond. It was almost corporeal. Then other emotions took form. Resolve, grief.
So be it. Arafinwë excluded the brother from his mind and Nolofinwë almost turned to look at him. In that moment Fëanaro spoke and what words did he chose!
"We have sworn and not lightly, this Oath we will keep"
It sounded like the verse of a poem and it should have been ridiculous. Yet the power interwoven in his words kept Nolofinwë's eyes fixed on his half-brother, his king.
His striking figure was tall and straight, defiance visible in the set of his shoulders and jaw. For a moment Nolofinwë saw not the first son of Finwë, but a white entity, bright and burning. His light whispered, its warmth reassuring.
Thoughts formed in Nolofinwë's mind, secret things he never shared with anyone saved his wife, Anairë. Sweet promises of glory and freedom, a vision of a wild land, rich but harsh. A raw joy arose in his hearth, for in that land he was master of his own, and no deceitful quietness concealed his inner nature.
With a great effort he chased them away. The bright vision disappeared and he was staring again at the son of Finwë, his king. No matter his dreams, he had a duty.
"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"
He almost expected his following to burst into a cry of approval, but an eerie silence reigned. The seven princes were around Fëanaro, looking proud and arrogant.
We will go on.
Perhaps songs would be all that remained of them.
Nolofinwë was motionless on the shore looking East. His people hurried around him, gatherings their belongings, wrapping tents and clothes, reading the carriages. In his mind he still saw images of glory, those that the speech of his half-brother roused in Tirion. He didn't know who the king was in those dreams anymore.
"I will go on"
A soft voice near him put an end to his staring. Findekano was at his side, his gaze serene as he surveyed the scene before them. The white ships seemed to quiver with anticipation over the rolling waves, the sails slapping in the cold wind. The storm will not subside and perhaps that will be our doom.
Nolofinwë looked at his son with a mixture of pride and grief.
"My child", he chocked on the words and did not continue. Findekano reached and squeezed his hands, a gesture that should have been reassuring. "I have made my choice, father. I cannot turn back. Not now", not after I have killed kin for kin. Nolofinwë heard his thoughts and his eyes watered. He had hoped, in vain.
He sighed and shook his head. You shall lead and I will follow. In that moment, Nolofinwë knew Findekano had made that promise too, to someone else.
"I will come with you", he said at last, "have no fear, son". The idea of being separated from his sweet and bold Findekano strengthened his resolve. His other children would follow them, of course. He would not fight only for the dead, or for a promise. He would fight out of love, for them.
"I will never be afraid again, then", Findekano smiled, though Nolofinwë caught the lingering sadness.
Nolofinwë did not know exactly how the argument began between him and Arafinwë. They had just finished to dismantle some tents and were gathering their weapons, clothes and other supplies. Suddenly, they were face to face, trying to keep their conversation quiet, their voices straining in the effort.
"Our people want to go Arafinwë! What would you have me to do?"
"They're moved by Fëanaro's words. You're too", he shook his head, "The spell will break sooner or later. What then?"
"You see why they need me, us. We cannot leave them alone under Fëanaro"
Arafinwë regarded his brother for a moment. Nolofinwë felt naked and exposed under his knowing gaze.
"Nelyafinwë is not a bad leader. He has the love of many already. Even among our following he's respected enough". They might not need us to lead.
You mean: they might not need me. "Do not test me, brother. He's loyal to his father to a fault and we have seen the consequences, have we not?"
Arafinwë flinched for a moment, but soon Nolofinwë realised he had said the wrong thing.
"Don't think for a moment that you can use what happened in Alqualondë against me! Those were my people, killed by my kin! By Ulmo, how will I ever look at Eärwen in the face again? Or at her father? How will I tell them that the son of Anairë also killed? And how will you tell Anairë? If there wasn't strife between our families, now I fear there will be hatred. How many families have been destroyed that night, brother? All because we could not wait and think! No, we had to leave in hurry, without thinking of the problems we would face. Look at were we are now! How long do you think it will take for our people to revolt against Fëanaro? What will he do then? "
"It's exactly for these reasons that I cannot leave! Fëanaro needs counsel…", Nolofinwë answered weakly. Arafinwë's word had cut deep and renewed his anguish.
"Counsel? He won't ever listen to you. He never did", his tone was flat and that hurt Nolofinwë more than he cared to admit.
I know. "He will listen", he muttered.
Arafinwë sighed: "Our people will listen to you more than Feanaro. You know this. They look up to you for guidance. But there are many who have left families behind, lovers, friends. Many have lost them to Mandos. The enchantment of Fëanaro's words has broken already for them. They won't leave Aman. You understand what I'm saying, brother?"
Nolofinwë kept silent for some moments, feeling the cold making roots in his bones. "You will turn back", his voice was thick with repressed emotions. "You're leaving".
"Yes."
Nolofinwë drew in a sharp breath, as if struck. At a loss for words, he stuttered: "And father? He must be… Melkor…"
A deep sorrow was visible in Arafinwë's blue eyes as he sighed again. He reached for Nolofinwë's hands and took them. They both looked at their joined hands, Nolofinwë wondering if that was the last time he would hold his little brother. Arafinwë bit his lips then spoke again.
"He will be avenged. And when time will come, I too will take my revenge on him. Not now. I wish to part in friendship from you, brother. Nothing I will say would change your mind, I know. Had things been different I would have followed you. You'll make a… good leader. The Noldor will…", he faltered, swallowing and closed his eyes.
Nolofinwë looked worried at his brother: "Arafinwë …"
"They will need you", he said quickly. Nolofinwë suspected that wasn't what his brother had wanted to say.
Arafinwë, what have you seen?
The youngest son of Finwë shook his head and attempted to smile. Nolofinwë thought he looked miserable.
"Nothing brother. Nothing. Take care, will you?"
"Of course! I will fight for you too, I will avenge father in your stead!"
Arafinwë drew his brother close and hugged him. Nolofinwe could feel his brother shaking in silent tears. "I know you will!"
They parted, but Nolofinwë still held Arafinwë by the shoulders. His brother was trying in vain to wipe away his tears. "I have one more favour to ask you, brother"
"Anything"
"Look after my children"
"Your children? They…"
"They have made their choice, I fear", he laughed, without joy, "They're eager to see a new land, to build a new life over the sea. I understand them, you know? What remains here for them? But there is much to do and someone must take care of matters here"
Nolofinwë furrowed his brow: "Do they know? That you will stay in Aman?"
Arafinwë shook his head: "No, not yet"
"I see. Of course, brother. I will love them as my own. I already do"
"I know. I wouldn't ask anyone else", he said as he touched his ring. Finwë had it made for Arafinwë's coming of age. A gift fit for a High Prince. "I will leave this to Findarato"
"He will be a good leader", offered Nolofinwë, unsure of what else to say.
"He is young still. He will need counsel, from time to time"
Nolofinwë's hands went to cup his brother's face: "I will be there for him"
"Thank you Nolo", said Arafinwë with all the affection he was able to convey.
They parted; Nolofinwë watched his brother making his way through the people, looking for his children. He knew he wouldn't change his mind, not on this matter.
A presence made him turn. It was Nelyafinwë.
"We march until we reach the Ice. It should not be far. Tell your people to make haste, we set sail in but a moment". His tone was brisk yet polite and he turned to go, without expecting Nolofinwë's response.
"Wait"
Nelyafinwë halted: "What is it?"
The son of Indis did not move. The distance between them seemed immense. He spoke quietly: "Some are leaving"
He saw Nelyafinwë stiffening as he turned to pierce his uncle with his gaze. His eyes shone white and he resembled Fëanaro in his rage. But then the light dimmed and he sighed. He ran a hand through his hair, dark red in the light of the dying fires of the camp.
"Who is leaving?"
"Arafinwë and some of his following"
"I see", he seemed tired, almost vulnerable. Nolofinwë thought he saw a flicker of doubt and sadness cross his features, but he dismissed the thought. It must be the faint light, playing tricks. Yet he's not much older than Findekano and already burdened…
"Father will be…"
Pleased?
"…informed. I will tell him to delay our departure for some time, but still, we cannot tarry long", he looked at Nolofinwë then, a softer gaze in his eyes, reminding him of the happy youth that called him uncle and looked up to him in matters of politics and court. His smile was less carefree, though, and brief. He nodded at Nolofinwë and left. What do you think of this, Maitmo? he would ask in Tirion over a table full of papers, a glass of wine in their hands, the light of Laurelin finally giving way to her silver companion. And Maitimo would keep quiet for some moments, lost in thought while his brilliant mind came up with a remark that could sparkle another debate. They would spend hours like this, sometimes the papers replaced by a chessboard and their words with laughter. He had valued his nephew's counsel and he knew that Maitimo held for him a sincere affection. He would ask the same thing now but he imagined what Nelyo's answer would be. I'm loyal to my father. Nolofinwë could almost see a reddish eyebrow rise in challenge. Aren't you too? He's your king now.
The news of Arafinwë's departure sent the encampment in uproar. Fëanaro was silent amid all of the commotion. He watched as his sons bid a stiff farewell to Arafinwë.
Nolofinwë embraced his brother again and so did all his children and nephews.
At last, Fëanaro came forward. His mouth was a thin line, his hands barely still; Nolofinwë could see, feel the restrained tension underneath his skin. He was sure the others felt it too.
"So in this I'm proved right once again, the children of Indis are but cowards, fleeing before the upcoming storm. Return to the golden cage, Arafinwë", the name from his lips sounded like an insult, "and lick the Valar's feet. Perhaps they will accord you their friendship then. But vile is he that forsakes his freedom for favour. This is well though, for I have no need for burdens of your ilk. "
Angarato and Artanis let out outraged cries, while Turukano and Nolofinwë scowled. The others were either stunned or too angry to speak. Findarato had to place a placating hand on his cousin's arm, for Findekano was about to retort in rhyme. Of the sons of Fëanaro, only Nelyafinwë had the decency to look ashamed, but he soon masked his regret behind his practiced blank expression, lest somebody caught him. Nolofinwë saw him all the same.
Arafinwë kept silent for a moment, holding Fëanaro's gaze without flinching. Then he shook his head, pity and sadness written on his features.
"I only hope you will find some peace, Fëanaro son of Miriel. For your own good, if not for that of your kin", something akin to rage flashed in his eyes then and Nolofinwë felt a shiver down his spine; "Yet rejoice, for we will not see each other again. Farewell".
With a last nod, Arafinwë mounted his horse and left. The host began to move behind him.
Nolofinwë followed him with his gaze, a cold uneasiness settling in his heart. Arafinwë had seen something, again.
He felt his neck itching and turned. Fëanaro was the only one that remained there and was looking intently at him, as if he wanted to read his mind. He raised an eyebrow in a silent question. Fëanaro shrugged, his mouth still a hard line. "We are leaving now", was all he said before following his sons towards the ships.
Nolofinwë realised he had been keeping his hands closed in fists. He opened them, his eyes scanning the rings he wore and the calluses on his fingers. "Yes, my king", he muttered.
There is much to do.
This is much an experiment. I wanted to explore a bit Fingolfin's character, especially what drove him to follow Feanor and what he felt when Finarfin turned back.
Tips, constructive criticism and simple opinions are always welcome :)
Thank you for reading!
Edit (15/9/16): I corrected a couple of mistakes. Also, I used the Quenya names:
Nolofinwë - Fingolfin
Arafinwë - Finarfin
Fëanaro - Fëanor
Nelyafinwë Maitimo - Maedhros
Findekano - Fingon
Turukano - Turgon
Findarato - Finrod
Angarato - Angrod
Artanis - Galadriel
Every passage you can recognize is, obviously, taken from the published Silmarillion