Disclaimer: Arda, Fëanor, Nerdanel, Finwe, Miriel and Indis, the Silmarillion and everything else is Tolkien's creation. I am just playing with his characters, and promise to return them safely when I am done. The title of this chapter comes from the song "Run to the Water" by Live.
The sentences "As much as you fear me" and "I am never wise around you" are courtesy of Furius, and used with her permission.
A/N: Huge thanks go to Aria7 for the beta, and Furius for having helped me in the middle of a writer's block. Thank you! :)
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Chapter 1: All We Have is Now
Then Fëanor rose, and lifting up his hand before Manwë he cursed Melkor, naming him Morgoth, the Black Foe of the World; and by that name only was he known to the Eldar ever after. And he cursed also the summons of Manwë and the hour in which he came to Taniquetil, thinking in the madness of his rage and grief that had he been at Formenos his strength would have availed more than to be slain also, as Melkor had purposed. Then Fëanor ran from the Ring of Doom, and fled into the night; for his father was dearer to him than the Light of Valinor or the peerless works of his hands; and who among sons, of Elves or of Men, have held their fathers of greater worth?
J.R.R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion
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It had been a while since Fëanor had fled out into the darkness that held all of Valinor in its grip, and only the stars were twinkling overhead. The stormy grey of his eyes, that had never known any other light than that of the Two Trees, was almost eclipsed by his pupils, so he could see in the heavy dark created by Morgoth, the dark foe of this world.
He did not know where his way would lead him, in this moment he neither saw nor felt, and it did not matter as long as he could try to outrun and escape the pain that danced in his racing mind. He could try to, but the images that brought the pain stayed with him.
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Finwe, his father, who embraced the unmoving body of Miriel Serinde, his mother beneath the silver willows of the gardens of Lórien. A farewell he could not comprehend.
His father, smiling gladly at the mingling of the lights, his hand twined with that of Indis of the Vanyar.
A choice he could not accept. His own hand was clenched around that of Nerdanel, and he could feel the thin band of gold around his finger. A deed his father did not look upon with gladness.
And at last, an image he had not seen, but knew it was true. His father slain, the Old King, the High King of the Noldor lying in a pool of red blood before the doors of the house in Formenos, and a shadow passing away. And he ran. Was this were he wanted to go, to see if it was true?
**
He fought hard to gain control over his thoughts again, but a sob escaped from his finely shaped lips when he failed, and the visions reappeared, the picture of his dead father lingered the longest and nearly drove him mad with a searing pain in his body, mind and heart. His father had been the only one who was there for him; ever after his mother had passed away, and ever until he had found his perfect other.
Unknowingly, the rhythm of his feet pounding the ground increased, and he raced faster, to flee from emotions which many of the Elves in this seemingly Blessed Realm had never known. Only him, only his life had been marred with pain, with guilt, angst and loss that none other knew. And he could not outrun them, in this moment he comprehended they were a part of him now, a part of the fire that burned in his spirit.
But there was one who could cool his soul for a time, and her he had to find.
Nerdanel.
He had to find a way to her.
He had reached the slopes of the green Hill of Túna, above him rose the towers and fair houses, shimmering white and ghostly in the darkness. Up there his father had lived, up there beneath the Mindon Eldalieva his palace stood where Nolofinwe now reigned. Nerdanel was not there. After their estrangement she had returned to the house of her father, near the great forges of Aule where he had spent many days, weeks and years and where he had met her for the first time.
But no, now she was here, she was here to celebrate the harvest, he had seen her during the festivities. She was in Tirion, and he had to find her.
He sped up the stairs considerably slower than before, his body was reacting to the distance he had run. Fine beads of sweat covered his face and his breath came panting, his heartbeat raced, and strength slowly but surely failed him. His lungs refused to take in any further breath, his lips turned blue slowly, and coldness crept through his limbs.
His mind was burning too bright for him to see, to feel as he raced on.
There was only one thing that mattered to him now.
To find the way.
He fell.
He fell and did not move for a moment, eyes closed and panting, the fire in him flaring up hotter than before – so hot that it started to burn and consume him. He needed her, not the cold crystal pavement on which he lay, it was not sufficient. Only a touch of her hand could help, and her words, for was she not Nerdanel the Wise?
Had she not been the one who had always bid him step one step back from the edge of the abyss before his feet and the red fire below? But she was not there now, and this time he felt how the earth crumbled beneath him, and he fell again, cursing himself for his weakness and cursing whatever music, and whatever fate had brought him this far.
His own weakness was by far more painful for he had not been there. Had he been there in Formenos, his father might yet live, or he might have passed away as well.
Anything to spare him the pain.
Finally, he rose to his feet again, and continued on his way, walking now, no more running. He needed to find her, but he had already fallen. What had been left of him would still be left when he arrived.
He told himself that if he had arrived earlier she might have yet been able to help him, to hold him back.
But he had not been fast enough. His weakness. His fault.
But she could help him still.
He clung to this thought with the hope of one gone mad, though he knew of the futility of his deeds.
The white streets of Tirion were empty, and shadows played therein as he walked, scurrying silently along the walls and through the trees. Two shadows, haunting him. His mother and his father, spirits released from Mandos to deal vengeance for what had happened? To look after him?
The lamp of the Mindon Eldalieva gave only enough light to make everything seem still less real, more ghostly, and he almost believed it. Maybe it was them.
But there was light in the windows of her house. He did not need them, no shadows, he needed the light and the fire and her voice and touch.
"Nerdanel?" He called out, his voice sounding no more like his own, but broken and ragged with sobs. He did not remember when he had started to cry.
Again. "Nerdanel!"
More urgent this time, and more desperate.
The door opened, and there she was, bathed in the light of a white candle in her hand.
"Nerdanel."
Relieved. The shadows played with the candlelight, and withdrew from his sight.
He fell to his knees before her, not heeding the pain as his skin was scraped by the stones.
She was there; she would take it away, if she only touched him, if she only spoke to him.
"Fëanaro." Her voice was but a whisper, and she cast the light aside, kneeling in front of him, worry and bewilderment written in her face. As much as she feared the darkness, he was the one who mattered now.
"Fëanaro, what has come to pass? Why are you here?"
She knew, but she asked him nonetheless.
"All we have is now. Heal me, as you have always done. I beg you, heal me ere greater evil happens. My father has been slain. All we have is now, Nerdanel. Touch me, speak to me."
His voice was calm now.
She did not speak, but looked into his eyes, saw the trembling fire within and saw that this was not the usual fire, but a flame too hot for anyone to touch, lest he would be scorched and burned beyond any recognition.
He already was half-gone. Her lover, the young elf she had learned to know, he was caught in a cage amidst the flames, and now she could see what she should have seen long ago. This was why he had come. He needed her to keep the fire in control. To free himself from a self-wrought prison.
She reached out. She could not let him suffer, despite the danger for herself.
She touched him for a fleeting moment, and then drew her hand back.
He looked at her, silent for a moment, but an inevitable question on his lips.
"Do you fear me, Nerdanel?"
"As much as you fear me."
Silence, in which she looked into his eyes once more, and saw him tremble, somewhere deep amidst the flames.
"You do," she said, and fell silent again.
He did not disagree.
"I am the only one who was never intimidated by you, even though I knew you, perhaps better than you did yourself. I seek to understand, you seek to reign… but you never understood how to reign over me, and from this comes your fear."
"But then you do fear me also."
"I do. I saw your fire flare up and allowed myself to be burned ere I could understand. But then I saw that I would never be the same, but a part of you, a part which I did not know. Fëanaro, I fear not only you, I also fear myself."
Stunned silence, and a hesitant word.
"Why?"
"Because you showed me what fire could do; and not only are you gifted and yet cursed with it."
"But one can fight fire with fire. Will you help me?"
He still was on his knees before her, pleading now.
"I would, but I can not. I am not strong enough, not anymore. Your fire has become stronger than I ever was. I would wither away with another touch, and burn to ashes."
"You cannot help me?"
The look in his eyes was that of a frightened child. She was almost moved to say yes, but it would only delay the inevitable.
"No."
Shock was in his face, and unwillingness to accept.
"Nerdanel, my father has been slain, and my stones are gone! I cannot bear this. You must help me. They have all failed me, do not do this to me as well."
His words must have moved something within her, for he reached out for her, and she did not move.
"You love me still." His words were not a question.
"I do. I am never wise around you."
The time between two breaths passed, before his hands came to rest on her slender shoulders, and he burned a kiss on her lips.
A tear fell from her eye when he realised she had been right.
This was why.
The young prince caged by flames burned to ashes, but not without a last desperate struggle to regain his freedom. In vain, the fire was too hot.
And Fëanor ran again. Where, he did not know.
By the door, Nerdanel watched him depart and shook her head sadly, touching her lips. It had been as if he had wanted her to breathe for him, but how could she have done that when she herself was not able to draw a breath?
"Forgive me, Fëanaro. If you had just come to me sooner… you cannot outrun the pain. Not now, not ever."
Her voice died away. She rose to her feet and went into the house, closing the door against the dark.
"Now has passed. I was not able to help you now… but maybe I will be able to help you on the shore, even when kindred blood stains your hands…"
TBC