Olórë Nolofinwëo
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Fingolfin stood on the shore of the dark sea, watching Fëanor's fleet sail into the distance.
"And now I am alone," he thought. "One brother has gone ahead of me, and one is left behind..."
He looked thoughtfully out over the breakers for a while, and then slowly walked away from them. Stretching himself out on the sand, his head propped up on a smooth rock, he sighed as he looked out over the sea again.
His mind began to wander – to slide into that restful, wakeful stillness that is the elven equivalent of slumber. And as he saw in his mind's eye the faces of his brothers, he began to think of what might have been. What if Fëanor had not had the gift of fiery persuasion... and what if Finarfin had had that gift instead?
As he looked up at the stars, Fingolfin began to hear in his imagination the voice of his younger brother, speaking as he had never spoken before...
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"Are you mad," he asked. "Have you taken leave of your senses? There can be no justification for slaying our own kin."
Finarfin raised his voice in an impassioned plea.
"The Teleri are our brothers! They are our own kin!
"They stand in our way not out of hatred, but out of love. They will not give us their ships, and they do not allow us to leave, because they know that it is wrong for us to do so! It is wrong for us to leave Valinor! And it is wrong to disobey the Valar! This is what they say to us.
"And are they not right? Have we sunk so far into madness that we need them to remind us of our duty to the Valar? Is this not something we ought to have remembered on our own?
"Still your anger, my kinsmen – still your minds, and reflect on the words of the Teleri. Theirs is the voice of reason. You know that to be true!"
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As they listened to the words of Finarfin, the Noldor began to see the wisdom in his reasoning. And the words of Fëanor began to seem crazed and unreasonable. One by one, the Noldor sheathed their bright swords.
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