To Toraach - in my headcanon, the younger Fëanorians have only dim memories of their past lives and tend to remember the good things more clearly than the bad, but the older ones remember everything quite plainly, and thus carry more guilt with them.

To Umeko - You asked about Faniel and Findis, right? Yes, Faniel is Lalwen, in a way. The political drama that took place during Fëanor's time in Mandos is pretty complicated, and it'll be explained later on, but basically, Findis did rule as regent until Arafinwë returned to Tirion. Later on in the Second Age, when the Vanguard was formed, Arafinwë (who in my head never really wanted to be king) abdicated in favor of Faniel, the most pro-Fëanorian of the children of Finwë and the best to advocate for support for Nerdanel's cause - namely, recruiting elven women to fight Sauron in the name of her husband and his unfinished legacy.

To all my reviewers - I know you're all worried about Fëanor, so I'll put you at ease in the beginning. I'm glad you like what's been going on so far!

Rekindling ~ Part III

Poisoning is a very strange experience.

I wandered in twilit delirium for a time, seeing things that could not possibly have been real: wraithlike Telerin elves clawed at my chest with their bony fingers as if trying to tear out my heart; Nolofinwë sank beneath the black waters of the Helcaraxë, the lamp in his hand casting an eerie blue glow over his face, which was upturned to me in an expression of utmost pity; Fëarillë rode a massive wolf with eyes like live coals through a dense forest, charging straight into Gothmog and causing them both to burst in a shower of sparks. Strangest of all, I saw the little Treelight spirit breast-to-breast with Lord Turindo in a palace corridor, a needle-thin dagger in her hand, the point poised above his heart.

At one time, I thought a cup was placed to my lips, filled with cool liquid and something gritty and metallic, but I did not take much stock of it.

Most of all, I remember cold, a deep, piercing cold that chilled me to the core and set me to shivering uncontrollably. It reminded me horribly of the Void.

I was still shaking when the hallucinations began to slow and then cease, and I felt so profoundly weak that I could scarcely keep my eyes open. Faces hovered mistily above me, a gentle hand smoothed my hair back from my face, and as if from a great distance I discerned several voices. All were familiar, but I could not summon the energy to put names to them.

"Will he be all right, then?"

"Yes, the worst has already passed. He is lucky: I believe he swallowed very little of the toxin, and his constitution is strong. The charcoal will take care of the rest."

"Thank Eru for that. I pray he does not take it to heart. Turindo is a wicked man. He hated my brother long before there was any justifiable reason for it. He has been waiting for this opportunity; mark my words."

"Think of it, though: he is with us for a fortnight, and someone tries to slay him. How could anyone do but take that to heart?"

"'Tis horrible. Eru has seen fit to forgive him; so should we all."

"The children of Eru are not always so merciful as their Father. Even if they were, I doubt it would make a difference in Turindo's case. Forgiveness is not the question with him; it is the darkness that has always resided in his heart."

"Well...'tis certain that he will never again harm Fëanáro. I doubt that anyone else will either, after what happened tonight."

"Yes, 'twas good of Fëarillë to ensure that, in a way."

"Then it is true that she -"

"Yes, quite true. She ought not to have been so reckless."

"I hardly think she meant to do what she did. It does not seem like her..."

I registered little of this, and made sense of less. All I was certain of was that I was quite as cold as I had been in the Void, and I could not stop shivering. It seemed fitting payment, in a way, for my treachery on the Helcaraxë.

"S-so...c-c-cold," I heard myself stutter, feeling strangely disconnected from my own voice.

The haze over my vision cleared just long enough for me to see Nolofinwë kneel at my side and draw a quilt over my chest. "I know you are," he said, his hand lighting down on my shoulder and giving it a reassuring squeeze, "but you should feel better soon. I will stay with you until then, if you wish."

"B-but...I l-left you...in the c-c-cold..."

Nolofinwë smiled gently, sadly. "Two wrongs do not make a right. Have you not heard?"

I drew myself as nearly into a ball as possible as he strode to the hearth fire and threw on another log, then returned to sit beside me. He wrapped his arm around me and tucked the quilt in more securely.

"I shall keep you warm. Try to rest."

I nodded weakly. Even that slight movement seemed a tremendous effort.

I strayed out of consciousness again, asking myself what I had done to deserve a brother like Nolofinwë.

Eventually, I regained lucidity, though I still felt drained and feeble from fighting off the poison, and a faint chill lingered deep within me. When next I woke, warm sunlight was playing over my face, drying the cold sweat that dampened my bangs where they met my brow.

My stepmother was sitting beside me, quiet and regal. One of her hands lay lightly atop mine, her thumb running soothingly over my knuckles. Suddenly, Nolofinwë's words on the eve of the solstice returned to me, his pronouncement that he had never ceased to love me in spite of all my attempts to shun him. It struck me that Indis might feel quite the same, though I had been vicious to her in my youth and cold in my adulthood. I could not decide whether this should relieve me or make me feel guiltier still.

The motion of Indis' thumb ceased abruptly when she saw my eyes open. Yes, she had good reason to think that I would spurn such a gesture.

"I would not have expected to find you here," I said, my speech slow and hoarse, every word an effort.

She stiffened instinctively, but attempted to smile. The effect was not exactly warm.

"Nolofinwë would have stayed with you until morning if I had allowed it, but I insisted he get some sleep. You were resting rather uneasily until an hour or so ago, and I did not think you should be alone, so I..."

Her voice trailed off, and she averted her gaze, as though resigning herself to whatever rejection I was about to sting her with.

I do not think I could have stung her, and strangely, I did not want to. Once, I had thought her the root of all my suffering, the reason why my mother was condemned to remain in Mandos, the reason why I would never have a real family. Now, after all that had happened and all I had seen of Mandos, and those fëar who chose willingly to remain there and heal, my grudges against Indis seemed rather petty. She had never tried to replace my mother, after all. Quite to the contrary, even after marrying Atar, she had taken extraordinary care to ensure that she did not do so, treading around me as if upon ice. On those rare occasions when we met in my previous life, she had shown me nothing but gracious kindness.

No, Indis would never be my mother, but I was mature enough now to accept that Amil had chosen to consign her spirit to Mandos, and that it was her wish to remain. I would no longer hold it against them - either of them.

"I...I thank you for your company, milady. Where is my father?"

"He owes you a sincere apology for not dismissing Turindo ages ago, in my opinion, but he cannot bring himself to face you just yet," said Indis. "He does feel terribly guilty about this whole business. You must know that, even if he never tells you for himself. You inherited your pride from him."

Ah, so it had been Turindo who poisoned me after all! Given that knowledge, some small, nasty part of me wanted Atar to feel guilty. It was partially his fault, after all. How many times had Turindo tormented me during council in my past life, defaming my character before the people? How many times had his behavior been condemned by the other lords of court, and how many times had Atar ignored this, saying that no one in his right mind would believe what Turindo said about me, insisting that his retaliation against me would be terrible if he were dismissed? Because of that, because he had been permitted to stay at court, Turindo had been able to slip poison into my wine. He might indeed have killed me, and Atar would have been responsible for allowing it...

The next moment, these childish, venomous thoughts were swept away as the full gravity of my situation struck me, chilling me anew. Turindo had tried to kill me. He had nearly done it, it seemed.

I had been living among my people for a mere fortnight, and Turindo had tried to kill me.

I had known, of course, that there were those folk who hated me, but I had been so encouraged by all the forgiveness and warmth I had received thus far that I had come to hope I would never meet any of them. Perhaps some part of me had even begun to deny their existence. I wished dearly that I had not lowered my guard. As it was, the thought of someone hating me enough to make an attempt on my life was such a blow that I felt my throat tighten at once and my eyes begin to prickle. Lord Námo had warned me just before I left his halls that certain people would try to make my new life very difficult for me. Why had I allowed his words to fade from my mind?

But then, what was I to do, glance over my shoulder expecting to see a knife each time I walked into the great hall and put the life of a food taster at risk at every feast? Was I condemned to live in fear of an assassination until the world's end?

Ai; perhaps it would have been better had I never returned at all...

I turned my head so that Indis would not see the single tear that ran slowly down my cheek.

"What has been done with Turindo?" I asked, my voice thick.

There was a pregnant pause, and then, "...Do not concern yourself with it now. He has been...taken care of. Never again will he harm you."

Clearly, there was more to this than Indis was saying, and I suspected dark deeds were afoot. Dearly did I hope that none of my sons were involved in another act of kinslaying, a product of their furious desire to avenge the harm that had been done to me. I did not press my stepmother further, however. My mind was so overcome by despair and self-loathing that I did not think I could stand to hear that any of my kinfolk had killed in my name.

Indis seemed to sense my distress, for her hand returned to hover hesitantly over mine.

"Do not give up because of this," she said, quiet and fierce. "Turindo was a radical, and a dangerous one. He hated anyone who supported you, including your half-siblings, once they declared that they would join Nerdanel and Fëarillë in taking up your legacy of war against the Dark Lord's forces. No doubt he meant to kill all five of you, if he could, perhaps even your father as well. But remember, child, that he is one person, and there are very few in this world as vile as he. The vast majority are willing to forgive. Think of Her Excellency Helyanwë, and of Princess Eärwen. Think of all those who contributed to the Treatise of Truth for the sake of your honor. Think of your family and friends. Think of them, and you will see that your allies are far stronger than your foes."

She sighed quietly. "I only ever wanted to care for you, child - not as a mother, but as a guardian in whom you could confide and trust to advise you. It seems that all I did was serve as a reminder that your amil was forever lost to you. For that, I am truly sorry. I do not blame you for shunning me."

This did not soothe me; rather, it blackened my mood even further.

"You are too like your firstborn son, milady," I said miserably. "You are both selfless and forgiving to a fault. You have every right to blame me. My past behavior towards you was cruel at the very least."

She smiled sadly. "I will not say I do not hope our relationship will improve from where it once stood."

Her hand came to cover mine, gentle but firm.

"Go back to sleep," she said. "It is early in the morning yet, and I doubt you took any decent rest last night. Think of those who care for you. Allow your strength to return. If you need anything, we are nearby."

I sank back against the pillows, feeling somehow wearier than I had been before. How I wished in that moment that I had never created the Silmarilli, that I had died a hero's death in the Wars of Beleriand and returned to life with nothing but glory to follow my name!

But then...Indis had made a fair point as well. Not everyone was like Turindo; I knew that to be true in spades. And then there was Helyanwë, Helyanwë of the transcendent spirit who, in spite of all her people had suffered at the hands of mine, encouraged them to forgive and take steps towards peace. When people like her walked upon Arda, how could I give up? To do so would be to render in vain all that my family and allies had done for me.

"Milady," I said, "who is responsible for saving my life?"

There was another strange pause. "The Telerin ambassador," said Indis, almost too decisively. "She is a skilled healer, and she conducted herself beautifully. She knew within a moment what poison you were given, and how to use charcoal as an antivenom."

So, a Teler had saved me, a Teler who had been a part of the First Kinslaying and might indeed have died in it.

Yes, it was too soon to give up.

I slept deeply for quite some time. I do not think I dreamed at all, for which I was grateful upon my waking. The beautiful amber light of evening filled the room, casting a net of flickering lights over the ebony hair of my youngest half-sister Faniel, who was sitting beside me. She was as fair and youthful as I remembered her, her sky-blue eyes full of warmth and wisdom, her slender frame concealing hidden reserves of energy.

She smiled upon seeing my eyes open, and I felt the lingering chill of my close brush with death vanish.

"Goodness, but you do look better!" she said cheerfully. "I was terribly worried about you, you know. You were so pale and you were tossing your head as though you were caught in some horrid nightmare. Thank Eru that Helyanwë was able to respond so quickly, or you might be... I shall not think about that. It did not happen. You are alive; that is what matters. Anyway, Eärwen and her ambassador want to see you in Alqualondë when you are feeling stronger to work out the peace treaty, and to apologize for last night. They both feel awfully guilty about all this; they think their presence here, as well as Helyanwë's willingness to forgive you, somehow aggravated Turindo and tipped him over the edge. Personally, I think he was mad to begin with. I know not how he managed to poison your wine without Fëarillë and Findis and I knowing anything about it. We are, after all, the finest spies in Tirion; there are very few people who can sneak information past the three of us, and I am so angry with myself for -"

"Goodness, Faniel, do you not need to breathe?" I cut in, chuckling gently. My youngest sister had always been extraordinarily energetic, and she had a habit of talking so quickly that it was impossible to take in everything she said. Some might have found it irritating; to me, even in my weakened state, it was endearing. I always had gotten along with her better than any of my other half-siblings: her quirks had the unique ability to cool my resentment and my bitterness.

"Forgive me!" Faniel laughed. "My voice is the last thing you need to hear, I am sure!"

"Oh, I would not say that. You may tell the princess and her ambassador, however, that I will absolutely not set foot in Alqualondë. Have they both gone out of their minds? I was poisoned in my own palace; do they not realize that I will be shot and killed as soon as I step through Alqualondë's gates?"

"Helyanwë assured me that if you come unarmed, you will not be hurt. Her people are longer so vengeful that they would attack a defenseless Noldo. Give us some credit, brother. Relations with Alqualondë have improved vastly since you left."

"You must have been a very good queen, then."

Faniel bowed her head and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, almost unconsciously. "I did my best. Having Fëarillë about to impersonate your ghost and frighten the radical Nolofinwëans into becoming less radical helped things along, of course."

"Fëarillë made herself out to be me?" The thought was almost laughable. I could not imagine the delicate little spirit passing herself off as a much taller and stronger-built nér.

"Oh, yes, and she did it very well! You should have seen it; she would cover herself in a black cloak, draw the hood over her face, and kneel in the chapel before the bier where Atar's hröa lay in state until his rebirth. If any Nolofinwëans came in, she would turn very slowly, just enough to let the candlelight play over the side of her face - which looks remarkably like yours, if you catch but a glimpse - and then she would put her hand into a candle flame and take it right off of the wick and hold it in her palm and wind it about her wrist... Oh, Eru, it was the strangest thing, and it was terrifying if you were unprepared for it! Sometimes she would walk the corridors at night, too, with a little ball of fire hovering in her hand. How could it have been anything but your ghost? Everyone was so completely fooled by the pyromancy Fëarillë could do that they neglected to notice she was far too short to be you!"

So Fëarillë was a pyromancer. It made sense: fire in its purest form was but light, after all. What other powers, then, did my little alter ego possess, and how did they fit into her dire warning that the energy in the Silmarilli, if unleashed, could destroy Arda?

Faniel paused to draw breath, and suddenly, her smile faltered.

"Yes, relations with the Teleri, are much improved, but...it seems relations amongst the Noldor leave something to be desired."

In listening to Faniel's cheerful, rapid speech, I had all but forgotten the dire events of the night before. At that moment, they came rushing back with brutal force, and I felt the cold begin to creep up within me once more.

"Faniel," I said carefully, "would you answer me something? Everyone has been dancing around it all day, and you are a candid soul."

"Well, I shall not answer it if it will hurt you, brother. You need to heal now."

I ignored her and pressed on. Her talk of Fëarillë and her capabilities had made me suspicious, and I would not be denied any longer. A memory rose to the surface, a memory of vague, dimly registered words:

'Twas good of Fëarillë to ensure that, in a way.

I hardly think she meant to do what she did...

"Faniel, what has become of Turindo? Everyone insists that he will harm me no more, but if he has simply been locked up in the dungeons, he could escape, no? And if he has been exiled, what is to stop him from returning to make another attempt on my life, or yours, or our siblings'? How are you all so certain that he is unable to put us in further danger?"

Faniel looked distinctly awkward, and this told me exactly how serious whatever had happened to Turindo was, for awkwardness was not at all in Faniel's character. She was always resolutely cheerful, no matter how embarrassing or uncomfortable the situation.

"Well, of course he is unable: he is dead."

Author's Notes

It may seem that Fëanor has gotten over what happened to him pretty quickly. He hasn't. He's trying to convince himself that he has, but there are going to be more emotional repercussions of this incident, and some drama with Finwë and other...things...to add on to it. Look forward to journeys to Alqualondë and Formenos and the outskirts of Tirion, the full explanation for the political turmoil that went on after Fëanor's departure, and the reasons why Turindo has it in for Fëanor and his supporters. Thanks again for all your interest and encouragement; it keeps me from letting this slide!