Chapter Thirty-One: Sicil

No one could pinpoint where the rumours originated, but they spread like a plague. The Noldor were a curious people; to them, knowledge was currency – and no one suspected lies.

Lalwendë was weaving with her sister in a garden when she first heard of the so-called Secondborn. They had been sitting in the sunshine in companionable silence for a few hours, concealed by the low-hanging branches of the trees, when they heard two elves walking the path behind them.

'…if we were led here, to Valinor, who remains in Middle-earth?'

'Not all elves made the journey west.'

'But besides them?'

'I hadn't considered it.'

'It isn't only the birds and the beasts that live on the Hither Shores now. They say there is another race, one that the Valar favour more.'

'We cannot know this.'

'I am only repeating what I have heard. If there is a race other than the Eldar, then we…'

Their voices faded out of earshot, and Lalwendë shook her head, a bemused smile on her face.

'What strange things people say.'

She continued her weaving for a minute, until she realised her sister had gone still. Lalwendë looked up.

'Findis?'

Findis' head jerked up, and she smiled distractedly. 'I am sorry, I was thinking. Did you say something?'

'I was just saying that they were saying strange things, the elves who passed by,' Lalwendë said, watching her carefully.

'Have you not heard these whispers before?' Findis said in a low voice, turning to face Lalwendë. She seemed troubled. 'They are saying that the Valar took us from Middle-earth so that a race of mortal men could have it.'

Lalwendë frowned. 'How… how could anyone know that?'

'I don't know,' Findis said, 'but it doesn't sound like a lie.'

'But even if it is true, why should it matter?' Lalwendë asked, utterly puzzled. 'We live in Valinor. The mortals can have Middle-earth, for all we care. And besides, there are still many of the Eldar who stayed behind in Middle-earth, the Teleri.'

'It matters because the Valar favour them over us, or so people say,' Findis said, looking pained. 'There could be untold riches on the Hither Shores, and they were taken from us and given to these mortals.'

Lalwendë shook her head slowly. 'How have I not heard of this?'

'Because you spend all you time riding and fighting, instead of talking and listening,' Findis said with a hint of a smile. But then it faded. 'Some people have been saying –' she stopped and shook her head.

'Saying what? Findis!'

'Saying that we should sail back to take what rightfully belongs to us.'

'Who is saying that?' Lalwendë asked incredulously.

Findis pursed her lips. 'Fëanor, for one, and some of his sons.'

'You disapprove.'

'Of course I do,' she said levelly. 'Leaving Valinor would be utter folly. Besides, Father lived in Middle-earth for a time, and he left it behind to come here.'

'But he was convinced to do so by the Valar,' Lalwendë said slowly. 'But many of the Teleri stayed there, because they couldn't bring themselves to leave. Glorfindel, Fingolfin's friend, he told me he had wanted to stay. I cannot believe I have never considered this before.'

'Do not consider it too much,' Findis said, beginning to weave again. 'They are rumours. There is no way anyone could know this for sure.'

'But rumours have to come from somewhere,' Lalwendë said quietly. She left her weaving to go and ride.

Over the next few months, the rumours only grew. There was talk of fighting the mortals for possession of the riches of Middle-earth. There was talk of sending an army to stake the elven claim.

The rumours reached the ears of the High King. Finwë did everything he could to convince the Noldor that the stories were fabricated, but they were a proud people who weren't used to being challenged. Still, no one could remember where the news of the race of mortals had originated.

Fëanor didn't help. He began speaking to his circle of followers, and crowds of growing numbers, saying that the Noldor had been wronged, deprived of what was rightfully theirs. Unrest grew.

They were not the only rumours circulating Tirion. Fëanor was still consumed by his silmarils, so when he wasn't out making speeches, he hid them, and himself, away from the world. As a result, Fingolfin stepped in to fill many of his responsibilities as High Prince of the Noldor.

Again, nobody could pinpoint where the rumours had originated, but soon there were whispers that the children of Indis were planning to usurp Finwë and Fëanor, and take the throne for themselves.

People began throwing strange looks at Lalwendë in the streets. She began to keep to her quarters, and her rides alone in the valley became longer and longer.

One night she was sitting on the floor in her room, staring into the fireplace and thinking. She was disturbed by a knock at the door.

'My lady?'

'Come in,' she called back, standing up. The door opened, and a servant entered.

'I am sorry, Lalwendë. I thought you might be out.'

'It's alright,' she said, smiling. 'Am I needed somewhere?'

'Fingon and Maedhros wish to see you. They are waiting in the Parmalambë room.'

Lalwendë's eyes widened. 'Thank you,' she said, and swiftly made her way out.

She found Maedhros and Fingon sitting together and talking quietly. They stood as she entered, both of them wary eyed. Lalwendë didn't bother with pleasantries.

'Is it really wise of you to be here right now, Maedhros?' she asked. He shrugged.

'We are still one people,' he said. 'Besides, you have no greater claim to be here than I.'

Lalwendë held up her hands, sighing. 'That isn't what I meant,' she said, and she turned to Fingon. 'What about you? Does Fingolfin know you're here?'

'I haven't told my father that I still break bread with Maedhros, no. But nor would I lie if he asked me.'

Lalwendë sat down heavily and rubbed her temples. 'So, you come to me,' she said. 'I will help if I can, but I make no promises.'

'So… it isn't true?' Fingon said carefully, not quite meeting her eyes. She sat up straight.

'What?'

'Are you and your brothers planning to usurp the King and his heir?' Maedhros asked bluntly. Lalwendë glared at him.

'No! He is our father, and Fëanor is our brother!'

'But Finwë favours Fëanor over Fingolfin and Finarfin,' Fingon said quietly. 'Everybody knows that.'

Lalwendë leaned back in her chair, clenching and unclenching her jaw. 'Is this why you wanted to speak with me? To question me like a criminal?'

'We came here to warn you,' Maedhros said. His auburn hair glinted in the low light as he leaned forward. 'Despite his seclusion, the rumours have reached my father.'

'By the mouths of his obliging sons, no doubt,' Lalwendë said drily. Maedhros frowned at her.

'We are still your family. Think twice before you speak ill of us.'

She sighed. 'I'm sorry, melda. Go on.'

'Fëanor is furious,' Fingon said. 'Maedhros and Maglor think he might make a move.'

Lalwendë frowned. 'Make a move? He's already been making a spectacle of himself, with all his public speeches about how we have been robbed of our inheritance in Middle-earth. What more could he do?'

'I do not know,' Maedhros said. He looked genuinely troubled. 'But this isn't like the speeches, Lalwen. This is not an intellectual debate, it's personal. I don't know what he might do, but whenever I see him…' he shook his head. 'He is about to snap.'

'I need to tell Fingolfin,' Lalwendë muttered. She felt ill, the prospect of her brothers fighting – really fighting – sitting in her stomach like a stone.

'Don't tell him it was us who told you, please,' Fingon said. 'And… I wanted to ask you, Lalwen, to do what you can. No one wants conflict here in Tirion. Tensions are high, people have started arming themselves, and if someone draws a blade on another, the Valar will be displeased.'

'I know,' she said quietly. 'I'll do what I can, but I can make no promises. Fëanor might be angry, but so is Fingolfin.'

'How did it come to this?' Maedhros groaned, putting his head in his hands. 'How could this have happened? Why are people spreading these lies?'

Fingon placed a hand on his friend's shoulder in solidarity. Lalwendë stood and made her way to the door before pausing and turning back to her brothers' sons.

'Maedhros, would you take a message back to your father, from me?'

Maedhros hesitated, but then shook his head. 'I am sorry. I don't want him to know that I came to you.'

She nodded, looking down. 'I understand,' she said, and she left them to go warn Fingolfin.

He was nowhere to be found. She went to his chambers, asked Findis and Finarfin if they'd seen him. They hadn't. She searched the gardens and the square, without luck. Hours later, her feet led her to the King's chambers.

She stood silently outside her parents' door for a long while, staring at the hard wood. She wished everything could go back to the way it had been just a few years ago. She wished things would stop slipping out of control; she felt like her world was collapsing around her.

After a long time, she knocked quietly on the door and let herself in. Her mother and father weren't sleeping; they were sitting together at a small table, speaking intensely. Their eyes found her as she came in and closed the door behind her.

'Tatanya,' she said quietly, looking at her father. His face softened and he beckoned her closer. Lalwendë's mother glanced between the two, then got up and left the room. Lalwendë came to a stop, standing in front of her father.

'You haven't come to me in the night since you were a child,' he said quietly. She almost smiled.

'I know.'

'What troubles you, my Írimë?'

She stared at him, and she felt her eyes fill with tears. She blinked them back.

'I want you to know that we're not – we do not want to usurp you or Fëanor, none of the rumours are true, and I – you must know that I –'

Finwë rose to his feet and drew her into his arms, and she buried her face in his shoulder and cried. He held her tightly, rubbing her back, until she pulled away slightly.

'I'm sorry tatanya, I didn't mean to…'

'I know you, my daughter,' he said, his hands on her shoulders. 'I know how loyal you are to me, as your king and as your father. I know your heart is good and kind. Stop crying, melda.'

She wiped the tears from her cheeks and gave a watery smile as he kissed the top of her head. 'Things are changing,' she said.

'Things will change, but we will remain,' he replied.

Her hand crept up to clutch at the locket around her neck. 'Fëanor might – do something. He is angry.'

Finwë's face grew troubled, and he glanced away. 'I know he might. But he will act according to his own best judgement.'

More tears gathered in Lalwendë's eyes, and she looked down. 'If he and Fingolfin hurt each other…'

He pulled her back into his arms. 'Things may change, but we will remain,' he said again. 'Remember that, Írimë.'

She found Fingolfin the next day, walking in the square with Anairë. The square was full of people, and Lalwendë noticed grimly that some of them were wearing armour and carrying swords. She felt for her own dagger, hidden in the pocket of her dress, as she ran over to greet them.

'Lalwendë!' Anairë exclaimed. 'Is everything alright?'

'For now,' she replied breathlessly. 'Fingolfin, where were you yesterday?'

'I went into the valley with Anairë,' he said. 'Why, what happened?'

There were people all around them in the square, so Lalwendë stepped closer and lowered her voice. 'I am afraid that Fëanor might do something bad.'

'Do what?' Fingolfin said, glancing around them.

'I don't know, but the rumours – he's obviously heard them. And he'll believe them.'

Anairë looked faintly ill. 'What can be done?' she asked.

Fingolfin ran a hand over his face, his brow creased in furious thought. He looked tired, Lalwendë thought.

'I owe Fëanor no explanation,' he said at last. 'I owe him nothing, because he has given me nothing despite our kinship. If he chooses to believe this slander, that is his own trouble.'

'Brother, if you say nothing and allow this to fester –' Lalwendë began angrily, but he cut her off.

'No, Lalwen! If he asks for an explanation, then I will give him one, but until then, I will not scramble to undo lies that I have not told.'

She pursed her lips. 'So you will do nothing, and allow people to believe that we are planning to commit treason?'

He sighed, shaking his head. 'No… you are right,' he said. 'Fëanor can believe what he wants, but these rumours need to be put to rest.'

'What do we do, then?' Lalwendë asked anxiously.

'The King is in his court now. We'll swear fealty, reaffirm our loyalty, in the sight of everyone here in the square.'

She nodded slowly. 'It might be useless, but it's better than nothing,' she said. 'Now?'

'Now,' he agreed. He squeezed Anairë's hand. 'Wait for us here.'

They made their way through the square together, past Galathilion the White Tree, and past the stares of the people nearby. They climbed the steps to the chamber. Lalwendë glanced sideways at her brother and frowned.

'Are you wearing chainmail?'

'Yes. It's the shirt you made for me.'

'That doesn't mean I approve of it,' she scolded him. 'Carrying a sword is bad enough. It looks bad if we walk around expecting to be attacked.'

He snorted. 'Come now, Lalwen, don't pretend you aren't armed right now.'

She glared at him. 'I have a dagger. For emergencies.'

'Like I said. Hypocrite.'

They stopped at the doors to the hall. The King's Chamber was built overlooking the square and Galathilion. Its double doors were thrown wide open whenever the king was sitting there, and everything that happened inside was visible – and audible – from the square

Finwë was alone when Fingolfin and Lalwendë entered, and he looked more tired than he had when Lalwendë had seen him a few hours ago.

'What is it, my children?' he asked when they approached. 'Another public debate? More building of ships? More rumours of revolt?'

'Something different, tatanya,' Fingolfin said. The King noticed his tone, because he put down the parchment he had been reading and stared at them.

'What is it?'

'You know that there have been rumours circling the city,' Fingolfin began. 'That Findis, Lalwendë, Finarfin and I are planning to usurp you and Fëanor.'

'I am aware,' Finwë said, his eyes flicking between his son and daughter.

'We want to swear fealty to you,' Lalwendë said. 'In sight of everyone. We can bring Findis and Finarfin along too, if it would help.'

'A public demonstration of our loyalty,' Fingolfin said. 'We thought it could help.'

'It might,' Finwë said thoughtfully. He stood and took a step toward them, but at that moment there was a calamity in the square below. Fingolfin and Lalwendë turned to see Fëanor striding up the steps toward the chamber, taking them two at a time. He was dressed in full battle armour, a red-plumed helm on his head and a sword at his hip.

Lalwendë's heart sank as he strode through the doors. Fëanor's face was furious, and his eyes were wild. He took in the sight of Fingolfin in conference with Finwë, and his lips drew back in a snarl.

'I knew it,' he spat. 'My half-brother wants my place in my father's heart, as well as my place by his side!'

Fingolfin went utterly still and utterly silent. He watched Fëanor like a statue, giving him no reaction. This simply enraged Fëanor more, and he took a step closer.

'Get out, and go someplace you belong!' he roared, and he drew his sword and pointed it at Fingolfin's chest.

Lalwendë's hands clenched by her sides, and her heart thundered in her chest; she could barely breathe. By drawing his sword, Fëanor had broken the sacred peace of Valinor. The Valar would be displeased. No, the Valar would be furious; they would want justice, and Fëanor would have no choice but to answer for his actions. This… this changed everything

But Fingolfin showed no sign that he had seen Fëanor's sword or heard his words. He simply turned and bowed deeply to his father, then turned to leave the chamber. Lalwendë, forcing herself to breathe evenly, did the same.

But Fëanor had other ideas. He leapt smoothly back and once again inserted himself between Fingolfin and Lalwendë, and the door. He whipped his sword up and pressed the tip to Fingolfin's throat.

Instinctually, before she could think of the consequences, Lalwendë shot forwards, whipping out her dagger and pressing it to Fëanor's throat. His cold eyes snapped over to meet hers, and his lips twisted.

'So, you have finally chosen a side,' he said coldly.

Lalwendë stared at him, wide-eyed. She wanted to argue with him, but she knew he was right. He'd forced her hand, but he was right. Slowly, a strange roaring in her ears, she lowered the dagger and stepped back. Fëanor looked back at Fingolfin.

'Look carefully on this sword, Fingolfin!' he said, his voice rising in volume. 'It is sharper than your tongue. Think twice the next time you try to take my place!' He lowered the sword and pressed it into Fingolfin, right above his heart. 'Try something like this again, and you will find it buried in your belly.'

Fingolfin was still silent, his face stony and expressionless. For a moment, he regarded Fëanor steadily, then he simply stepped around him and left. Fëanor was left standing in the doorway alone, breathing hard; after a moment, he looked up and met Lalwendë's gaze.

'What have you done?' she whispered. 'Everyone in the square saw what we did. They heard what you said.'

'Then they heard justice being done,' Fëanor said unevenly, and he left.

Lalwendë stared down at the crowd in the square. They had parted to let Fingolfin through, and now Fëanor strode along the same path. Most of the people were watching them walk away, but gradually they began to turn their eyes back up to the chamber.

Lalwendë watched their faces turn to her. Every single one of them was grave and solemn. Every pair of eyes on her face felt like an accusation. With trembling hands, in full view of the crowd, Lalwendë sheathed her dagger and put it back in her pocket. She turned and went back into the chamber.

'Close the doors,' she said quietly to the guards, and they did so. Hidden from the gazes of his people, Finwë sat down unsteadily. Then he buried his face in his hands.

'This will undo us, Írimë,' he said. 'This will undo us all.'

'Things will change,' she said quietly, repeating the words he'd said to her. 'But we will remain.'

He looked up at her, his blue eyes the weariest she'd ever seen them. 'You're right, melda,' he said. 'But you should not have raised your blade against him.'


Two days later, Finarfin knocked at Lalwendë's door. She opened it to find him looking at her with pity. She frowned.

'What is it?'

'You've been summoned.'

Her heart sank. 'Summoned where?'

'Before the Valar. You drew a blade on your own kin, and they are holding you accountable.'

Lalwendë swallowed thickly. 'So did Fëanor.'

'He has been summoned too.'

She rubbed her face, trying not to panic. 'I didn't mean to do it. It was instinct. I was only protecting Fingolfin, and I stepped away after a few seconds.'

Finarfin sighed and pulled her into a hug. 'I know,' he said. 'The Valar know that too. But everyone saw what happened. You need to go before them, and they will decide what will happen to you.'

She nodded, pulling back. She pulled the dagger from her pocket and tossed it back into her room. 'The Valar will be just. Where are we going?'

'Máhanaxar,' Finarfin said. 'The Ring of Doom.'

The Valar were beings who could change their shape to suit their mood. Sometimes they walked among the elves in the same guise. Sometimes they were like breaths of air, or spirits of water and earth.

In the Ring of Doom, they were enormous.

The very sight of them struck terror and awe into Lalwendë. The Ring of Doom was a shadowy circle of fourteen towering thrones built of black, glittering stone. Three Valar, each the size of ten men, were seated in three of the thrones: Mandos, Aulë and Tulkas. They stared down at the elves as they arrived with eerily glowing eyes.

Hundreds of the Noldor had come – anyone who knew anything, or had anything to do with what had happened. They were led by Finwë, and behind him, walking silently side by side, were Fëanor, Fingolfin and Lalwendë.

Many of the Vanyar elves had come from Taniquetil. Lalwendë could see Ingwë, her mother's uncle, and many more of her mother's relatives. She saw Glorfindel, the elf she'd danced with at Fingolfin's wedding, standing on the opposite side of the Ring; he caught her eye, and she looked away quickly.

'It's going to be alright,' Fingolfin muttered, his hand finding Lalwendë's and squeezing it briefly. 'Whatever happens in there, we will be alright. The Valar are just.'

Fëanor shot him a derisive look, but then silence was falling.

Mandos, the Judge of the Valar, was seated in the middle of the three, and now he spoke a single word, his voice booming across the Ring of Doom.

'Fëanáro.'

Fëanor clenched his jaw and stepped into the Ring. He walked to its centre, then sank down to one knee. He was wearing full armour again, but today there was no helm on his head.

'There has been trouble among the Noldor for a time now,' Mandos rumbled, staring down at Fëanor's bowed head with his glowing amber eyes. 'And for a time, the Valar did nothing. We watched on as you, Son of Finwë, spoke in the square and urged your people to rebel against the Valar and leave Aman. Still, we did nothing.'

Fëanor looked up and met Mandos' gaze. He didn't look repentant in the least. Lalwendë watched on nervously.

'But when you drew your sword and threatened violence upon your own brother, we could stand and watch no longer,' said the Vala beside Mandos. It was Aulë, the great smith.

'I was defending my inheritance and my father,' Fëanor said. 'I was told that the children of Indis planned to usurp him, and me.'

Mandos lifted his eyes from Fëanor's face and met Lalwendë's eyes. She stiffened, but held his gaze. Then he looked at Fingolfin.

'Nolofinwë,' he rumbled. 'Step forward.' Fingolfin walked into the Ring and stopped beside Fëanor. He bowed.

'Did you plan a coup?'

'I did not,' Fingolfin said firmly. He glanced at Fëanor. 'Nor would I ever.'

'I was bound by honour to act on what I had heard,' Fëanor said stubbornly.

'You were bound by nothing to break the peace of Aman,' said the third Vala, Tulkas. He was the Warrior of the Valar. He had a bushy beard, and a wild glint in his eye, which shone silver like steel.

'If these rumours were false,' Aulë said, 'whence did they come?'

Fëanor paused. 'One of my sons told me,' he said. 'Caranthir.'

'Morifinwë, come forward,' said Mandos.

Lalwendë watched as Caranthir walked to the centre of the Ring and told the Valar how he'd heard the rumours. The elf who had told Caranthir about the rumours was called in, and then the next, and the next.

It went on for hours. The rumour was traced from person to person until, finally, Mahtan the Smith was told to step forward.

'From whom did you hear word of the treason of the children of Indis?' Mandos asked.

Mahtan frowned in thought. 'I spend all my time in my smithy, at my craft,' he said. 'I would have heard it from someone who came there.'

'Who?' said Mandos.

Mahtan's brow furrowed deeper as he thought, but then suddenly it cleared in realisation. 'It was Melkor the Vala. Melkor told me.'

There was a sharp intake of breath around the Ring of Doom as Tulkas smashed his giant fist on the arm of his throne and roared in fury. The terrible sound rang in Lalwendë's ears.

'He is the source of the rumours about the mortal Secondborn too, no doubt,' Aulë growled to the other two. Mandos nodded.

'There is no other way the Eldar could have known on their own.'

'He will pay a dear price for this,' Tulkas said, standing and clenching his fists. 'I will find him and bring him to justice before his brothers and sisters.'

He strode from the Ring, and his thunderous footsteps faded into the distance. There was a beat of quiet, and Lalwendë wondered if that was all, and they would be allowed to return to Tirion, the culprit identified. But then Mandos spoke again.

'Írimë. Fëanáro. Come forward,' he said. Lalwendë's heart dropped into her stomach. She forced herself to be calm as she and Fëanor walked side-by-side to the centre of Máhanaxar. She looked up at the face of Mandos. His luminous, amber eyes were fixed on her, and she felt like he was looking at her from the inside out.

'You broke the peace of Aman by bearing arms against your own kin,' he rumbled. 'Melkor is responsible for the lies he spread, but neither of you are blameless in your actions. There will be consequences.'

Lalwendë glanced over at Fëanor. He was looking straight ahead, stony-faced. She looked down at her feet. Don't take me from my family, she pleaded silently. Do not take me from my family…

'Fëanáro,' Mandos continued. 'You are exiled for twelve years from Tirion, the city in which you threatened a life. Use this time wisely; take council with yourself. Remember who and what you are. After this time has passed, all your wrongs will be forgiven – if those you have wronged will forgive you.'

His golden eyes rose to the edge of the Ring, where Fingolfin was standing. Fëanor turned to look back at him too, and Fingolfin took a step forward.

'I will forgive you,' he said, his eyes on Fëanor. Fëanor said nothing, and turned away.

'Írimë,' Mandos said. Lalwendë looked up, wishing her heart would stop racing. 'Like your brother, you are not blameless in breaking the peace. You –'

'Wait,' said Fëanor, interrupting him. Lalwendë looked over at him sharply; he looked bitter, like there was a foul taste in his mouth. Mandos shifted on his throne to look down at Fëanor.

'Yes?'

'She is not to blame,' Fëanor said. 'She drew her blade in defence. There is no malice in her.'

'You think the Valar cannot see into your hearts?' Mandos said. Fëanor looked down. 'It is for me to judge her actions and intentions, not for you, Fëanáro.' He turned back to Lalwendë. 'And yet he speaks truly. While your actions were violent, your fëa is pure. Therefore, for all the years that your brother is in exile, you are forbidden to hold a weapon.'

'Must I leave my home?' Lalwendë asked.

'You may stay in Tirion, if you so wish.'

She nearly collapsed with relief, but at the same time, she already chafed against her punishment. For twelve years, she couldn't touch a weapon. No more sparring, or forging swords with her father. Nothing to defend herself or her family if things got worse…

She nodded her understanding, her head bowed.

'Then the matter is ended,' Mandos said, standing to tower over them. 'Let this be forgotten. Let there be peace in Tirion again.'

Aulë stood too, and then the Valar disappeared from the Ring of Doom. There was a beat of silence before voices erupted from the elves who had stood by, watching. Lalwendë turned to face Fëanor.

'You spoke for me.'

'Do not make more of it than there is,' he replied grimly. He had turned, and was motioning for his sons to join him in the Ring.

'Will you return to Tirion with us before you go to Formenos?' she asked. He glanced back at her.

'I cannot. I will go from here.'

Before he could stop her, Lalwendë stepped forwards and threw her arms around him.

'It wasn't your fault, what happened in the King's Chamber. It was Melkor.' She felt him reluctantly return the hug, for just a second before he pulled away.

'I will see you in twelve years,' she said. 'You'll be fine.'

'I won't be alone,' he said, glancing up at his sons, who had gathered around them. Finwë was there too.

'No, you will not,' he said firmly. 'I am coming with you into exile.'

Lalwendë's jaw dropped in disbelief. 'Tatanya… you are the King!'

'Fingolfin will rule in my absence,' he said. 'For now, I must stand in solidarity with my son.' He stepped forward and kissed her on the forehead. 'Goodbye for now, Írimë. Go back to Tirion. Enjoy the peace.'

She couldn't believe what was happening. Finwë was standing in solidarity with his son – but what about the two sons and two daughters he was leaving behind? Where was his solidarity with them?

Before she could protest more, the group moved away, leaving the Ring and turning north to begin their journey. As she stood there, staring after them, Lalwendë's siblings came to join her. She turned away from the retreating Fëanor to face them.

'What happened?' Findis asked.

'Father has chosen to go with Fëanor,' Lalwendë said. 'Fingolfin is the king in Tirion now.'

Fingolfin turned pale. 'What?'

Finarfin looked grim, but unsurprised. 'Let's just go back to Tirion,' he said. 'We can face our troubles there. Let's go home.'


Obviously Írimë was not trialed in the Ring of Doom according to the Silmarillion, but if I didn't pointlessly insert my protagonist into important plot events I would get bored. I hope to see you next chapter, when Findis plays matchmaker, Lalwendë nearly dies like Mufasa in the Lion King, Melkor turns out the lights, and Fëanor listens to literally no one.

Lots of love, S