I own nothing.
The flames of the burning ships had been extinguished at last by the water. With the last of the burned Swan-ships sinking beneath the waves of the ocean, Fëanáro felt oddly light. It was as though some massive weight that had been pressing down on his shoulders was finally lifting. His sons stood behind him, uncertain, and he felt the eyes of his firstborn upon his back, disapproving and aggrieved. This Fëanáro could ignore. If he tried, he felt sure that he would have been able to laugh.
For one moment, the lightness faded from him. There had been many waiting on the other side of the sea for those ships.
There was Nolofinwë. There was Arafinwë. There were their children, and there was Irimë. They were waiting for the ships. They were waiting for their kin on the other side of the sea to come back for them, and ferry them across into Endóre.
Fëanáro felt a pang of regret for his nephews and nieces. Truly, he did. They were the progeny of a usurper and an entirely too Vanyarin Noldo, but they were only following their fathers. Any regret he felt, however, washed away entirely when his thoughts turned to his half-siblings.
Findis had been the only one sensible enough to stay behind when it became clear she wasn't wanted. The other three weren't that sensible. There was Nolofinwë, he who was always intent on usurping Fëanáro's rightful place, he who was overreaching, and could not remember his due place. Arafinwë was more a Vanya or a Teler than he was a Noldo; he resembled the former and spoke like the latter. He had also turned back, showing no stomach for full measures, just as always. And Irimë, she had given up her place in the family long ago, when she wed. Her parents were now the parents of her husband, not Finwë and Indis. There was no place for them, not here, not with him. What right did they have to vengeance?
With any luck, Nolofinwë and Irimë would turn back now, and return to Tirion. Fëanáro smirked. Nolofinwë could be King in Tirion. He could be King over a half-empty city, gutted of its strength. Nolofinwë could be what he always desired to be—be King without any real right to the throne. Fëanáro would even let him.
Do you hear, Father? he wondered, smiling faintly. You always wanted the two of us to get along, and now it can finally happen. I'll even let him have what he wants.
But the one he wished to say all of this to would never hear him again. There was no forgetting that, and Fëanáro could not be happy, remembering his loss.
Fëanáro—Fëanor
Nolofinwë—Fingolfin
Arafinwë—Finarfin
Endóre—Middle-Earth (Quenya)
Note: I like to imagine that Fëanáro refuses to refer to any of his siblings by their mother-names, and thus he is one of the (very) few people in my canon who will refer to Lalwen as 'Irimë'.