DISCLAIMER: Fëanor, his Oath, and all of the Middle-earth belong to great JRRT.
AUTHOR'S NOTES:
1. This was written for Jen Littlebottom's "Character's POV at the time Fëanor and his sons took the Oath" challenge. This one deals with Finarfin, then known as Arafinwë Ingalaurë.
2. Tolkien's own poetic text of the oath (Morgoth's Ring, HoME-X) is used a the beginning of the story. This fic is based on the material from the published Silmarillion, the Morgoth's Ring, the Lays of Beleriand (HoME-III), and the Shaping of Middle Earth (HoME-IV).
3. Many ideas were used as an inspiration and guiding light for this fic: Blind Guardian's "Nightfall in Middle-Earth" album; Firnwen's "Oath Is My Name"; Eilian's "Chronicles of the House of Finarfin"; and my own Fëanor-haiku.
4. Please review. I am not quite happy with this fic, so if you have any ideas how to improve it, let me know. If you think it is fine, let me know. Also, if you spot a missing or an extra "the" somewhere, let me know – articles are such a pain if English is not your native language :)
*****************
"But Finarfin, who was also skilled in words, spoke softly, as his wont was, and sought to calm the Noldor, persuading them to pause and ponder ere deeds were done that could not be undone."
(J.R.R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion)
Í NÁRË VÁSA
'Be he foe or friend, be he foul or clean,
brood of Morgoth or bright Vala
Elda or Maia or Aftercomer,
Man yet unborn upon Middle-earth,
neither law, nor love, nor league of swords,
dread nor danger, not Doom itself
shall defend him from Fëanor, and Fëanor's kin,
whoso hideth or hoardeth, or in hand taketh,
finding keepeth or afar casteth
a Silmaril. This swear we all:
death we will deal him ere Day's ending,
woe unto world's end! Our word hear thou,
Eru Allfather! To the everlasting
Darkness doom us if our deed faileth.
On the holy mountain hear in witness
and our vow remember, Manwë and Varda!'
Each word falls heavy, like handfuls of wet earth on the grave of my father. Our father.
Their laughter is deafening, the laughter of the doomed. There is no mirth in it, not even triumph. Only echo of funereal music. An unborn scream dies in my throat.
Red flames of the torches quiver on the eight drawn blades, and their dreadful dance against the dark background of the night is slowly reshaping itself into the face of my eldest brother surrounded by shadow and flame.
Red flames dance on the eight swords drawn together, as a symbol of blood that will pour over them in the ages to come.
Brother mine, what have you done? You tied the destiny of our people and the whole Arda Hastaina to your three jewels. They have been washed in the blood of your father, do you want them to taste the blood of your sons?
Fëanáro we call you, the Spirit of Fire, but are you not also Fire that Burns Spirits? I nárë vása, i nárë ustala serceá… The roaring fire of yours will overtake our brother and all our children. It will beguile them, play with them, torment them, and destroy them. I see them rise to the platform, eyes shining, red torch-flame covering their faces with a crust of dried blood…
I have to save my people. Our people. And I will save those who want to be saved. I will give them a choice.
I slowly go forward, and the red flame of torches swirls around me.
***************************************
í nárë vása – "the flame consuming" in Quenya
i nárë ustala serceá – "the flame burning blood" in Quenya
Arda Hastaina – "Arda Marred" in Quenya, how Elves would call the world they lived in, marred by the Dissonance of Melkor and his later actions.
Fëanáro – full Quenya form of Fëanor's name, was used a lot more often than his father-name, Curufinwë.
