The Deceiver
By Regnet
The final kinsman of Fëanor debarked from the fair ship. The journey from Valinor was far from over, and the rest of the Elves lay across the shore with Fingolfin. Fingolfin had been deceived. There were too few ships for entire host at once, and Fëanor and his sons had been commanding the ships since the battle for them at the Havens. Fëanor had heard the strife and anger among the travelers and had deemed it necessary to take with him only those he judged loyal to himself.
Fëanor stood proudly on the shore, all that he saw to his satisfaction. The smile that crossed his masculine face was crooked and corrupt, as if he had something else he planned to do for the better position of he and his kin. His eldest son, the tall and mighty warrior Maedhros, approached, holding a torch to light his way in this evening.
"What of the ships, Father? Shall we send them back for Fingon and his kin? Shall these ships bear yet more?"
Fëanor burst into a cruel laughter, laughing loudly for all those to hear. "I have no more use for these ships! All that was left behind was unneeded, baggage that was expendable! Those who curse my name may go weeping back to the pitfalls of the Valar! I have no use for them!" He swiftly grasped the torch his eldest born held and half ran out to the nearest ship, throwing the torch onto the main deck, ordering those others who held torches to do the same to the other vessels. No ship was left undestroyed.
The sky was lit with the tall flames as the fair ships burned, the fairest ships ever to sail to the seas, and the fairest that ever would. The red light was sent high, for all to see, for Fingolfin to see his folly, to let him crawl back to the Valar empty-handed.
And far away, a single scream pierced the sky: a scream of anguish, hatred, and despair, almost too faint for Elvish ears to hear.
Fëanor spoke again, "Those who turn against me shall always receive their punishment!" He turned away, walking to the nearby river as the ships, making it as light as noonday, with only a red glow to make one wonder if it actually was noonday.
A faint weeping of two women was heard, though they stood faraway from the others. They watched the ships burn with tears falling down their faces. Fëanor took no notice of them, but his son Maedhros watched them, and pitied them.
Galadriel stood in the highest place, her hair streaming out behind her as she watched for the ships to return. They had woken to find themselves deceived by Fëanor, knowing that he had left in the night with the ships.
She had been watching all day, her fair face staring ahead for the return of the fair ships, but deep within her, she knew they would not return.
Suddenly, she saw a great red smoke rise to the heavens. The ships were burning. They had been betrayed.
Galadriel gave a scream of agony as she saw this, hating Fëanor even more. There had always been something about him that had made her feel uncomfortable in his presence, and even more so after she had refused him her hair.
-Memory-
"My lady Galadriel, if it please you, I ask for but one strand of your golden hair," he had asked.
"And what, my lord Fëanor, would you do with such a gift?"
"I would treasure it and encase it with jewels and precious metals, for such a treasure as your hair does not come oft."
Galadriel studied him from where she stood, his face bent in reverence. She knew she would never gift him anything of hers. She had been sure that he knew. But here he was, asking.
"No."
His head snapped up. He had not been expecting to be denied.
"If you would tell me why?" His voice was no longer flirtatious and sugar-coated, but hard and deadly, knowing he should have not been denied.
End of Memory-
She had not answered him, but left him. Ever after there had been anger between them, even as they left Valinor in the same company.
Galadriel's heart burned with anger at Fëanor. The rest of the encampment had heard her scream and had looked toward the sea. There was great wailing and weeping among them for Fëanor had left them with but two choices: either to return to Valinor, ashamed and humiliated, or to dare cross the terror that was the Helcaraxë of the North.
They dare not return to Valinor, and so it was only in reality one choice: to brave the horrors of the Helcaraxë.
Author's Note: The idea for this ficlet was taken from pages 98-99 in The Silmarillion. Galadriel's flashback, I am very certain, actually occurred though I cannot remember where I read it, though maybe in Unfinished Tales. If it occurred after this chronologically, I am very sorry (though I am not even sure it could have happened after this at all).
Disclaimer: Hopefully you recognized that I do not own anything in this story. Otherwise you should probably not be out in public unsupervised.