It had been many years since Tirion had witnessed such a night. The moon and stars offered little solace, for they had shroud themselves behind layers of mist that fell softly upon the irised towers and fountains as if to cover a freshly opened wound. People stood uncertainly in small groups about the streets and would occasionally pass like gray shades before the threshold of Mahtan's house where his daughter waited for her father to return. They waited also.

Nerdanel kept vigil alone beside an empty hearth. Her father had offered to start a fire before he left, but she had firmly refused saying only that she would not have a fire this eve. He did not press her but left hastily to execute the errand with which she had burdened him.

When a murmur arose among those who hovered outside the house, Nerdanel knew her father had returned. She did not raise her eyes from the black hearth when Mahtan stepped through the door, but a rising tension was evident in her features.

"They will hear you," was all he said but his words were sufficient to renew life to Nerdanel's limbs, for she immediately sprung to his side, and he led her out of his house and through the streets of Tirion. A silent gray host followed them.

One by one, Vala and Valier solemnly made their way to their places in the assembly, slowly creating the Ring where many a doom had been declared through the ages.

Last came Mahtan supporting a trembling Nerdanel at his side, her countenance seemingly weak but concealing a terrible strength fueled by a rage yet to be unleashed. Some among the onlookers noted the strange light that shone from her eyes and wondered if she did not look as Fëanor had at the height of his madness.

Manwë himself was then heard throughout the assembly, the power of his voice a command in itself that all others should fall silent. "Nerdanel the Wise, daughter of Mahtan, for what cause did you demand our audience? What grievance would you bring before us?"

Hearing herself addressed, Nerdanel gently pushed away from her father and drew herself up fully to meet the eyes of the Vala. The words she spoke then were long remembered among the people of Aman, for they revealed a doom unforeseen by all save perhaps Mandos, but he as always kept a resolute silence. Many wept to hear her tale, for it proceeded from a heart long accustomed to grievous wounds but not quite equal to the burden placed upon it then.

"Many were the crimes committed by my kindred, but I profess to all who hear me, many more were the crimes committed against them; and the most heinous of all has now been revealed!" Here her voice broke into tortured sobs, and she fell to her knees as her father knelt beside her and offered his strength.

"Speak, Nerdanel! Speak and let us share this burden if we can," was Varda's gentle command.

Nerdanel looked up sharply to meet Varda's unbearably bright gaze, and when the light of her eyes met those of the elleth, it was reflected as a raging inferno. "Yea, I will speak!" she cried. "My husband and sons I have lost irrevocably, lost at the hands of the fiend once numbered among you. At his fall, a shield of darkness was removed from my eyes that I might know at last another evil wrought by his malice." Her voice softened suddenly and assumed a toneless quality that sent cold shudders through the frames of all who heard her. "All because I had kept the sweet knowledge within my heart. Not even Fëanor knew our spirits nourished the fëar of two babes, not one. And names I had given them in secret ere my arms received them, names that I had wrought-"

Here Mahtan grasped his daughter's shoulder to recall her from the cloud of grieving madness that had briefly seized her mind. Nerdanel's sudden intake of breath and her firm grasp on the hand at her shoulder assured him he had succeeded.

Tears fell once more from her swollen eyes as she continued in a clearer voice, "When for the fifth time I was with child, I bore a son all remember as Curufinwë, but I tell you, a daughter I birthed as well. Annalië I had named her long before her birth, yet ere she could receive a father name – nay! Ere she could be presented to her father at all! – by foul craft, a servant of Morgoth spirited my child away!"

The elleth was once more able to stand independent from her father, and she clenched her fists before the Valar, shaking one with all the fury of a tormented soul.

"Long before Fëanor ever conceived of the Silmarils, we were made victims of this crime, though unknowingly! Yea, many years ere my husband hearkened to the lies that spread among our people and guilt tainted his fëa, he deserved justice and vengeance! The debt to his family came first and remains to be paid! I demand that the stain upon our House be removed, for surely the wrongs we suffered outweigh the crimes of my husband and sons!"

It was then that Mandos spoke, his voice doing much to lessen the wrath in Nerdanel's gaze, "So say you with the wrath of a grieving mother, no more and no less than that of any mother of this age whose son or daughter had been unjustly torn from her, one way or another. Be comforted! Not by will of Vala or Valier, but through the mysterious workings of Eru himself, your demand will be granted and all debts paid, though not in a manner any will expect."

The voice of Mandos, as deep and as vast as the halls for which he is named, seemed to draw the last of Nerdanel's strength from her, and she crumpled to the ground at her father's side.

All who were present to hear the dread account were shocked and grieved by the revelation. There were those who feared that Mahtan's daughter was fey, driven to madness at last by the heavy misfortunes that had befallen all whom she had loved. However, the testimonies of Nerdanel's former handmaidens, those who had been in attendance at the birth of the twins, quickly dispelled that theory. They too had fallen under the dark enchantment of Morgoth's servant who had sought to wholly erase the knowledge that a daughter of Fëanor and Nerdanel had ever existed.

"For years upon years, Nerdanel's tale was pondered, discussed, debated, even disputed, but to no avail. Morgoth's purpose could neither be conceived nor revealed, and no trace of Annalië was ever found – until now."

Such was the power of the Elf Lord's voice that it had lulled Anna into a sort of calm stupor and rendered her capable of hearing his relation without excess of emotion, even when her name was mentioned. His latter words, however, broke the spell, and shock – not to mention disbelief – was painfully evident in his listener.

"Annalië Fëanoriel, you are among the greatest of mysteries yet unsolved by our people," Glorfindel said with a wry yet strangely comforting smile. "I advise you to make for the havens with all possible speed and take the westward voyage, for your mother has waited overlong for any sign of hope, and your presence would greatly ease her suffering."

Anna raised a cold palm to her forehead and closed her eyes in an attempt to calm the dizzying storm that raged between her temples. Sadness, frustration, and anger threatened to spill from her eyes as hot tears, but she stubbornly refused to release them.

"You must understand," Anna struggled to say, "that I haven't really come to terms with…I am not entirely convinced that, well, I'm not caught within a dream or something."

Glorfindel nodded in understanding and sighed as his eyes drifted to some distant point beyond the walls of the study. "You will find that, as time passes and the years become heavier burdens to bear, our people are just as likely to live in dream as in reality. Who is to say that there is a very great distinction between the two? For us, they are but realms of thought, and wisdom can be found in either."

Pausing as he noted the strange, almost puzzled expression on Anna's face, the Elf Lord laughed and said, "But then, you are still quite young in the reckoning of our people, are you not? Yes, I see it clearly in your eyes, though it is beyond my ability to comprehend."

"Did my mother have auburn hair?" Anna asked abruptly.

"Auburn?"

"Was her hair red?"

"Yes, her hair was indeed red," Glorfindel answered softly, "which is a rarity among Elves, as are your own brown tresses, I might add."

"But my – Curufinwë? – his was not. His hair was dark."

"Yes, he favored his father, as do you." Glorfindel's eyes furrowed, and he leaned forward to look intently at his companion. "Only three of your brothers inherited your mother's hair."

Anna nodded slightly in reply and took a deep, shuddering breath before venturing to ask her next question, "Who is Angrod?"

"You have heard of him?"

"I have seen him as I have seen the others – in dreams," Anna explained self-consciously. "Didn't you just say we often live in dreams?"

"Yes," Glorfindel admitted, "and I wonder if your kin have beheld you in their dreams as well. Perhaps you have met them in spirit; it is possible for us. Why do you ask of Angrod?"

Anna colored deeply and shrugged in feigned indifference, but the kind Elf Lord overlooked her discomfort and said, "He is the youngest but one of the sons of Finarfin, your father's younger half-brother."

"My cousin?!" Anna gasped.

"Indeed. You have many, you know," Glorfindel remarked with no small amount of amusement. "Does this distress you?"

Anna tried in vain to stifle the flurry of emotions that assailed her upon hearing this revelation while scolding herself for her folly. Was she distressed? Why should she be? Why was it so important for her to know that what she had believed to be a figment of her imagination was a living, breathing person?

"Did he die?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"He and those under his command were overcome by the forces of Morgoth, the first Dark Lord, in the Dagor-Bragollach." In answer to the question in Anna's eyes he added, "The Battle of Sudden Flame. They were caught at unawares by a great barrage of fire and a host of dragons and balrogs. I did not witness the battle, but songs are often sung of his bravery and long endurance ere he fell."

After a long silence, he observed, "You do not inquire after the fates of your own brothers."

"I can guess well enough what probably happened to them based on what you've told me so far," Anna replied wearily. "They didn't survive either?"

"No, but those tales can perhaps wait for a later time. You have heard enough of our people's woes for today and would do better to look forward – and West," Glorfindel pointedly added.

Later that evening, Anna stumbled into her chamber and, once she had firmly closed the door behind her, slid to the floor and rested her head upon her knees. For a while, naught could be heard from her save shallow breaths and occasionally a deep sigh.

When at last she lifted her head, the first object to catch her eye was the travel bag she miraculously still had in her possession. With scarcely a thought, she dove for the bag, ripped it open and proceeded to take careful inventory of its contents. Each item, from her toothbrush to her pajamas, seemed to suddenly hold a tremendous value, and she handled the most mundane article as she would anything that was extremely dear to her.

She soon came upon the iPod, and when she recalled Susan's thoughtful gift, the tears that had long been held at bay fell in streams from her cheeks. Heedless of her tears, Anna activated the iPod, slipped on her earphones and scrolled until she found Susan's play list. When the opening music to an obnoxious Cyndi Lauper song accosted her ears, Anna giggled like the little girl she never was.

Sifting through the tracks Susan had undoubtedly found great enjoyment in compiling, Anna was not surprised to find that her selections continued along the same vein: boisterous, flamboyant songs that normally would have annoyed her to no end. However, she could not be annoyed at the flood of poignant recollections that each song stirred from her memory, and she relived each with relish as if they belonged to a part of herself she would be forced to relinquish forever.

Anna soon became lost in her reminiscences and would have drifted to sleep, but Susan's music came to an abrupt stop. Anna examined her iPod and recalled with a groan that she had not charged it before leaving school. She had intended to do so when she reached New York.