"I cannot begin to imagine what madness has seized the realm of Arda! To think that the Valar, those divine powers, would allow such an intrusion into the natural state of life, that they would allow such blasphemy against fate itself, against love!"
Fëanáro paused to breathe, and while he did I tried to silence him. It was not very often that he became passionate enough about something to begin speaking such fervent words. In truth he was, in his youth, rather quiet most of the time, making his will clear with nothing but his presence—and his eyes. It was my turn at present to use this skill, so I took his hands in mine. For the first time since I had met him he pulled harshly away.
"They will not be wed!" he exclaimed to the opposite wall as he gestured affirmatively with his arms.
"Fëanáro--" I tried.
His hands fell. Seemingly a sign of resignation, yet he continued.
"You cannot tell me that you believe it is right?" he began again. "Then would I know indeed that all of Arda has lost its mind. I no longer have a mother, and it would appear my father has virtually disowned me. Nerdanel, you are the last-" I knew what he was going to say, as did he. He pressed his lips together and tightened his jaw.
The last while had shown Fëanáro in many different states, most of them cynical and contemptuous. The open rage he had just displayed was, thankfully less frequent. The most common was the one he returned to now. He would simply stare in silence and become purposefully oblivious of the world around him. He must have known Finwë and Indis would be wed, but I suppose he still clung to some hope that the Valar would forbid it. It was that morning that he had been told their final decree. I do not know how involved he was in their counsels, or if he even attended, as it had not been a subject he was eager to discuss. Yet when he arrived at my father's forge there was no doubt about the fact that he found their decision downright foolish.
"Fëanáro, it is impossible for me to imagine your grief," I said, the first sentence I had been able to complete all afternoon, "but that is no reason for you to fall into self-pity." I knew that it was perhaps not the right thing to say at the time. I myself was feeling rather downhearted at the moment; after all, it was only one more of us being tactless.
He remained apparently unaffected, and would not answer me, although he could not help but send me a glare of obvious disdain. "Perhaps it is better if you leave, Fëanáro. You may return once both of us have had time to thoroughly digest this information." It was a cold dismissal, one that would almost certainly merit a rebuttal, but the awkward tension was becoming unbearable. He opened his mouth as if to speak, and I was ready to expect a quick-tongued remark. However, he quickly closed it, walking out briskly.
The forge seemed deathly silent and the air thicker than usual as soon as he closed the door, sending up only a small wisp of dust. I sat down on a stool, my head resting in my palms. My gaze was fixed on the translucent specks of debris floating in the air where a stream of Laurelin's light broke through a small red-stained window. I cannot say how long I sat thus, but it was much darker outside when at last I was woken from my reverie by a familiar voice.
"Nerdanel?" It was my father. "I did not think I would find you here." I turned to look at him, smiling slightly. "Have you not been outside all day?"
"You sound like mother. Today is the first day in ages that you have not spent your entire day in this dark forge." I grinned at him teasingly, and he nodded in agreement.
"Did Prince Fëanáro come to speak with you? The King sent a messenger here, looking for him. I came to see if he was with you, but it appears he is not."
"He was here," I replied. "His father would be better off waiting for him. He was not in any mood for conversation when he left."
"King Finwë worries an awful lot about him. Not that I wouldn't be worried if my only son, thank the Valar I don't have one, was turned against me, and apparently the entire world." He said this a little jokingly, as he said almost everything. I wondered if Fëanáro was aware that so many in Valinor perceived his troubles. Of course he was, I thought again, he wanted them to know.
"Well," my father continued, "not the entire world." He looked at me and smiled that smile he liked to use so much. I only shook my head, although an inadvertent smirk crept across my face.
"Are you going to give the news to the messenger or not?" I asked, slightly annoyed.
"I suppose I should." He said reluctantly, sneaking one more mischievous glance at me before disappearing back up the stairs.
Finwë ought to leave Fëanáro alone. He was only a few years away from reaching his majority, and to be over-protective of one's children was never encouraged among the Eldar. Although for not being encouraged it was very common.
I considered going to look for Fëanáro, but thought against it. For the first time, I knew it would be beyond my power to comfort him, at least until later. That was one of the most important things to know about him, as I would become too aware of in years to come. If you are unable to stop a fire before it grows too large, it is a waste of strength to attempt to extinguish the raging flames. Better to let them burn, until they discover there is only stone. Then it is safe to aid the last embers in cooling.
I did not end up having to leave Fëanáro be for very long. That very evening, as I was readying myself for bed, I heard my name being whispered outside my window. I knew there was no one else who could possibly be visiting me at this hour, or climbing to the window to do it. I couldn't help but laugh quietly when I saw him there, pulling himself easily through the windows that were always open.
"Have you forgotten how to use a door?" I inquired, but he was not amused. He gave me that look that meant he did not wish to explain at the moment. He didn't have to explain; I knew him well enough already to know that he would be forever against me were I to tell anyone of his adventure. As for climbing through the window, that was simple; he was Fëanáro, he did as he pleased.
He just looked around for a long while; it was the first time he had seen the room. My father loved to show the house to visitors, having designed most of it himself, but he was under strict orders from my mother not to show the bedrooms. It was an intrusion on our privacy, she would say. Well, mother, it would appear my privacy has been intruded upon, and I do not believe there is much that I can do to stop it. I watched him as he ran his fingers up and down the columns, supposedly studying the design.
I realised suddenly that the room was very dark, so I went to light a candle. His hand was suddenly on my wrist. "Don't" was all he said. I put it back on my desk.
After he didn't say anything for a while longer, I became restless. "Was there something you came to say?" I inquired. Still, he did not respond. "Will you be wanting somewhere to stay, if you are not planning on returning home?" He looked at me then, and his eyes were like I had never seen them before. Not decided and controlled, but untamed and almost mysterious. I tried to look away, and yet something held me. I felt I had to do something.
Before I could, it was he who took action. He suddenly reached out and took my face in his hands, kissing me. It was not a kiss of passion or of innocent love, but a cold kiss of desperation. Feeling no desire to return such feelings, I stood stiffly, and he pulled away.
"Nerdanel!" He yelled under his breath, still aware enough to know not to wake my mother or father. I stepped back, remembering it was never wise to encourage the raging fire. Then he did something I did not expect. He started trembling, sighing audibly, but still trying to stay strong. My heart told me embrace him, but my mind said otherwise. He looked at me as if I had just betrayed him. Finally, realising I would offer no support; he sat down on the bed, his back turned towards me. I knew he was crying, and it frightened me. It was as though a dry and furious fire had suddenly transformed itself into water, killing the flames it had held onto for so long. I could think of nothing better to do than watch.
"Please…" he said, almost pathetically, if that was possible. This newly formed river formed wells of pity within me. I stepped cautiously around to face him, but he made no sign of being aware of my presence. Tears were falling silently now, save for his small gasps every so often. I knelt down before him, and took his trembling hands in mine to steady them. He made no attempt to pull them away, but his gaze remained fixed on the floor. I tilted his head upwards, and kissed him softly. This time it was he who remained unmoved. I stood back up, and still he sat completely still. Perhaps he was too ashamed to admit he had been weak. I myself was almost too afraid to believe it.
It was the very first time I had seen Fëanáro the broken, Fëanáro the weak. I do not believe there was another Elda, save perhaps his father, who ever saw him in this state. All others looked upon him with fear and reverence, as if he were incapable of weakness, a being to be accounted among the Ainur. That had been my view of him until now. Now I knew he was indeed Elda, and as susceptible to weakness and he was to anger, though he rarely showed it. I left him sitting there, while I made my way to a spare room. He was gone in the morning.
Author's Notes: Please remember to review if you are still enjoying this story and/or if you have any constructive feedback. Many thanks to those who have been doing so, you're the reason I keep writing this. Thanks also to Itarille and especially Tinuviel-luthien for beta-reading every single chapter. Trust me, it makes all the difference.