Chapter Thirty-Two: Lintitinwë

Melkor was missing.

Tulkas and many of the Maiar went hunting, but Melkor was nowhere to be found. At least he was no longer in Tirion; the Noldor had a chance to rebuild peace from the chaos that he had sown.

But the unrest continued. Many of the Noldor followed Finwë and Fëanor into exile at Formenos, and those who remained in Tirion hadn't forgotten what they'd learned – that mortal men now inhabited Middle-earth.

The allure of the unknown land to the east was not to be underestimated. Even Lalwendë found herself wondering about it; the mystery of the Hither Shores drew her attention, and a part of her longed to explore it.

She wondered about Formenos too, and whether her father and brother were alright. She barely saw Fingolfin anymore, and her own days grew busier as she helped him with the governance of Tirion. She had no idea how her father had managed it all alone.

Sometimes Lalwendë would go down to the sparring rings to watch others training. It made her feel like crying; not being able to fight, feel the adrenaline rush, the brute force, was like she was missing a part of herself.

One day, Galadriel came over to sit with her after sparring. She was sweating and bright-eyed, her long, shining hair braided and coiled around her head.

'Hello, melda,' she said, kissing Lalwendë on the head before collapsing beside her. 'Why do you look so sad?'

'You know exactly why,' Lalwendë sighed. 'Missing my sword feels like I'm missing my arm.'

'We should wrestle,' Galadriel said. 'You don't need a weapon to do that. Be warned, though – I will still defeat you.'

Lalwendë laughed. 'Oh, I know you would. But I won't wrestle.'

Galadriel's face grew serious. 'Why not?'

'My crime was violence, and my punishment is to be peaceful for as long as Fëanor is in exile,' Lalwendë said. 'I won't shy away from the consequences of my actions.'

'I understand,' Galadriel said. 'But remember, it isn't forever. It is only twelve years.'

Lalwendë grinned. 'What is twelve years?'

'Nothing,' Galadriel declared, standing and offering Lalwendë her hand. 'Now, let's go riding.'


The years passed.

Findis got married to Rúmil the Loremaster, though Finwë didn't return to Tirion for his daughter's wedding. Lalwendë was the last of her siblings left without a spouse, but she didn't mind; she had her brothers, and Findis, and her friends. She spent her time riding, reading Finarfin's scrolls, talking with her mother, and walking the well-known green corners of the valley.

Lalwendë's sword sat on a cabinet in her room, in plain sight. She sat up and stared at it every time she woke up, and Helcaruivë was the last thing she saw when she went to sleep. She knew she was tormenting herself, but she couldn't bring herself to put it away.

Seven years into Fëanor's exile, Manwë declared that there was to be a feast. He invited Fingolfin, Fëanor and Finwë and all their peoples to attend. It was intended to repair relationships – that between Fingolfin and Fëanor, and that between the Valar and the disillusioned Noldor.

Fëanor's exile was rescinded for the day. Lalwendë could hardly wait as she travelled to the feast with the elves of Tirion, walking between Fingolfin and Finarfin.

'Our father will be happy to see us,' she said, linking her arms with both of theirs. 'This is the longest we've ever gone without seeing him.'

'There are only five years left of the exile,' Finarfin said, rolling his eyes and immediately pulling his arm free. Fingolfin scoffed.

'Only five years. That is five more years of me being king. Nobody wants that.'

'Don't say things like that,' Findis scolded him.

'Stop counting the years and be happy that we will see him today!' Lalwendë said, smiling broadly. 'It is a celebration, and the Noldor will be together again. Our family will be together again. Be happy!'

'Fine, you infernal spring of joy,' Fingolfin said. 'Today, we celebrate.'

There was a huge, beautiful clearing, lined with tables of food and fragrant miruvorë. Yavanna had brought spring to Valinor, and the woods were green, filled with birdsong and the singing of elves and Maiar.

At the western edge of the clearing, Manwë and Varda – the king and queen of the Valar – were sitting on thrones woven of tree roots. The Valar had each taken elven form for the feast, but they had glowing eyes and an unearthly beauty around them that set them apart.

There were thousands of elves there. The dark haired Noldor were the most numerous, but almost as many were the golden-headed Vanyar. There were very few Teleri there; most of them had decided to stay at their coastal homes, unwilling to be parted from the sea.

Lalwendë was telling some ridiculous story to make Findis laugh when she caught sight of a familiar face. It was Glorfindel; he was standing with a group of Vanyar, but he didn't seem to be listening. His face was expressionless, and he was staring into the trees.

'Do you know them?' Findis asked. Lalwendë blinked.

'One of them. Do you see the tallest one, with the curly hair? I met him at Fingolfin's wedding.'

'He looks… taciturn.'

Lalwendë laughed. 'You are always too polite. He looks positively irritable.'

Findis smiled. 'What did he do to you at the wedding to deserve such hard words?'

Lalwendë shook her head. 'No, no, he was perfectly fine. Though he desperately didn't want to dance, and Fingolfin all but forced us to.'

'Oh dear.'

'Oh dear indeed, sister. It didn't help that he was the best dancer I ever saw, and when I asked him to dance again, he told me he'd rather not. I could have died.'

'I think you ought to go and talk to him,' Findis said. Lalwendë frowned.

'Why would you think that?'

'He's looking at you. You'd be rude not to.'

Lalwendë looked up quickly and saw that Findis was right. Glorfindel had found her in the crowd, and he was watching her with his startlingly dark eyes. Lalwendë smiled at him. He seemed taken aback, and he quickly looked away.

'Go on, melda,' Findis said, patting her on the shoulder. 'See if he isn't a little nicer the second time around.'

'One day,' Lalwendë promised her sister threateningly, but Findis just laughed and waved her away. Lalwendë sighed and made her way over to the group of Vanyar where Glorfindel was standing. They all turned to face her, and Glorfindel bowed.

'My friends, this is Írimë, daughter of Finwë,' he said. The other elves followed suit, bowing to her and murmuring greetings.

'Laurë,' she said, and then she blushed. 'Glorfindel, I mean.'

The corner of his mouth twitched. 'Will you walk with me?' he asked, gesturing towards the trees. She nodded, relieved, and they fell into step together, leaving the group behind.

They were quiet for a while, walking the tree line. Lalwendë clasped her hands in front of her. Feeling like she was starting to make a habit of it, she broke the silence.

'I wasn't sure you would remember me.'

He glanced down at her, his expression serious as ever. 'I do. Remember you.'

'It's been years since we spoke,' she said.

'I saw you at the trial,' he said. 'At the Ring of Doom.'

Her smile faltered. 'Yes. I saw you watching.'

It was another minute before he spoke again. 'Do you miss your weapons?'

'Yes,' she said immediately, and then she blushed again. 'Just because – I used to fight a lot. Spar with my friends, and train on my own. It brought me a lot of joy.'

'What do you do with your time now?'

'I ride, mostly,' she said. 'I spend it in the valley. And… I've been helping Fingolfin with – you know. His kingship, while our father is gone.'

'It must be difficult,' Glorfindel said. He sounded like he meant it, and Lalwendë glanced up at him. He wasn't looking at her, but his brow was furrowed as though he was in thought.

'It won't be long,' she said. 'Five more years, and my father will return. Everything will be as it was.'

Glorfindel looked down at her. 'Do you really think so?'

She hesitated, coming to a stop. 'I… don't know.'

He stopped too. 'These have been strange times. The rumours aren't whispered in Tirion alone.'

Lalwendë looked down. 'I'd rather talk about something else,' she said with a faint smile. 'Anything else, if you don't mind.'

'Of course.' They began moving again.

'Who are your friends?' she asked.

'They are elves from Taniquetil.'

'Ah. They seemed friendly.'

'I suppose you don't see many Vanyar in Tirion,' he said.

Lalwendë smiled. 'Well, apart from my mother, who is a Vanya. Making me and my siblings half Vanyar.'

Glorfindel frowned and looked down, and her smile widened as he cleared his throat awkwardly. 'I knew that. I forgot.'

'I don't have the golden hair or the fairness of a Vanya,' she admitted. 'I won't hold it against you.'

'I am sorry. It was a foolish thing to say.'

She opened her mouth to put him at ease, but just then, there was a commotion at the northern edge of the clearing. The crowd was parting to reveal Fëanor. He strode into the clearing alone, and dressed all in grey, out of place among the bright clothing worn by everyone else. Ignoring the thousands of eyes upon him, he began to make his way towards the thrones.

Lalwendë bit her lip. 'Excuse me,' she muttered to Glorfindel, and began weaving past people to get across the clearing. She was hopeful, but a foreboding feeling in her chest said that trouble was coming.

Fëanor knelt briefly before the thrones before straightening. Lalwendë stopped a little further back. She found herself at Fingolfin's side, and he glanced at her.

'This could be trouble,' she whispered.

'It will be fine,' he whispered back. 'Fëanor knows better.'

She frowned at him, puzzled. 'I don't remember you having such a high opinion of our brother.'

He hesitated. 'I have… thought differently since the incident in the King's Chamber. We might be brothers, but it took shockingly little for us to be tricked into violence against one another. I was ashamed.'

'It was Melkor's doing, not –'

'But we left ourselves open to it,' he whispered. 'Fëanor was not guiltless, but nor was I. I have fostered animosity against him almost my whole life.'

Lalwendë stared at him. 'I think we need to talk.'

'Later,' Fingolfin said, and nodded towards Fëanor. 'Listen.'

'I bade all your people come from Formenos,' Manwë was saying to Fëanor, 'yet you are here alone.'

'Finwë says that while I am exiled, he holds himself unkinged,' Fëanor said calmly. 'My sons and the others at Formenos chose to stay with him in the north.'

There was a beat of heavy silence, but then Varda smiled.

'If we must celebrate without them, then we shall,' she said. 'You are welcome here, Fëanáro.'

Fëanor bowed slightly and turned to walk away. His eyes caught Fingolfin's, and Fingolfin stepped forwards to stand with him before the thrones, in plain view of the Valar and the crowd.

'Do you remember my promise at Máhanaxar?' he said, his voice loud and steady.

Fëanor nodded with pursed lips. 'You said you would forgive me,' he said.

Fingolfin smiled, and held out his hand. 'I am true to my word. I forgive you, and forget any wrongdoing between us in the past. From now, we will be half-brothers by blood, but fully by heart.' He held Fëanor's gaze firmly, his hand still outstretched. 'Where you lead, brother, I will follow.'

Fëanor's face softened infinitesimally, and he took Fingolfin's hand in his firmly. 'So it will be,' he said.

The festivities recommenced with even greater gusto, despite the missing faction from Formenos. Lalwendë stood rooted to the spot, her jaw clenched as the festivities went on around her.

Everything will be as it was. She had said as much to Glorfindel less than an hour ago, and he hadn't believed her. Now her father had refused the summons of the Valar, and her family remained sundered. Fingolfin had sworn his loyalty to the brilliant, proud Fëanor. Whispers of Middle-earth and the mortals there continued to circulate.

Nothing was ever going to go back to the way it had been before.

'Lalwen,' came a concerned voice, and she turned to see Finarfin. He placed his hands on her shoulders and squeezed comfortingly. 'What is it?'

'Our father didn't come,' she said quietly. His face softened.

'I know. But it is only another five years. What is five years?'

'Nothing,' she sighed. Then she made herself smile. 'Nothing at all.'

'There are nehtë-cakes and miruvorë over here,' he said, taking her hand. 'Come on, I'll show you.'

But just as they began moving, the earth shuddered under their feet. Shouts filled the clearing. There was a low, rumbling groan that sounded as though it came from miles away, and then suddenly –

The light around them, which had been a soft mixture of silver and gold, turned to pure gold. The sky was stained yellow, and everything around them was bathed in an orange light. Lalwendë turned to face Finarfin with horror.

'The Tree,' he whispered, dread lacing his voice. 'Something happened to Telperion.'

As he spoke, the ground suddenly shuddered again. Someone fell into Lalwendë, and she was knocked to the ground with a grunt. A horrible, deafening screech echoed across the land, and then –

The golden light died with a flicker. There was utter silence, and utter darkness. Lalwendë felt her heart thundering in her chest.

Then people began to shout in earnest, calling for each other, crying out to know what was happening, shouting in fear. Lalwendë tried to push herself to her feet, but she was knocked down again, and then a third time.

She flinched away when a hand grasped her upper arm, but it held firm and hauled her to her feet.

'Are you alright?' her saviour called. She frowned in the dark, her hands fumbling to meet his hands.

'Laurë?'

'Lalwendë?' Glorfindel's voice came, surprised. His face was shadowy darkness. 'Is it you?'

'Yes,' she gasped. 'What is happening?'

'I don't know,' he replied. 'Stay with me, alright?'

'Alright,' she agreed, shifting clumsily so that she was standing beside him. She slipped her hand into his; it was warm, and it closed tightly on hers. He pulled her through the crowd.

She stumbled after Glorfindel, jostled from every direction by shouting elves. Adrenaline was coursing through her veins, and she wished more than ever that her sword was strapped to her side.

After a while, they came to a stop, and Glorfindel pulled their joined hands forward to rest on something wooden.

'What is it?' she called over the noise.

'The throne,' he called back. His hand stayed on top of hers. She took a deep breath.

'That means – the Valar are gone!'

'That's a good thing,' he replied.

'What are we going to do?' she asked hopelessly. 'What can we do?'

'We go to Tirion,' Glorfindel said. 'I'll take you back there. It isn't far.'

'What about my family?' she asked.

'They will go too, if they are wise. Lalwen, come on.'

'Wait,' she said, her hand going to the locket at her chest. She lifted it to her mouth and whispered into it. 'Pirindë.'

It opened with a click, and carefully, she took out the glowing crystal lantern that was inside before clicking it shut again. She turned to Glorfindel, who was watching her with wide eyes, and offered it to him. After a beat, he took it.

He stepped up onto the seat of the throne, putting himself a good height above everyone else, and held the lantern high above his head. Gradually, quiet spread around them like ripples in a pool as people caught sight of the light.

Lalwendë heard murmurs ripple through the crowd as the Noldor moved to find each other – more calmly this time. She let out a shaking breath, and Glorfindel lowered the crystal from over his head. Lalwendë looked up to see him staring down at her, his eyes characteristically unreadable.

He jumped down from the throne and passed the lantern crystal back to her. Neither of them said anything, but after a moment, Lalwendë heard her name being called. She turned to see Findis and Fëanor coming towards her.

'You kept my lamp,' Fëanor said, his eyes glowing. Lalwendë couldn't help but smile.

'Of course I did.'

'Have you seen Fingolfin and Finarfin?' Findis asked worriedly. Her eyes landed briefly on Glorfindel, silent beside Lalwendë, but she said nothing.

'No,' Lalwendë said, her smile gone. 'I couldn't find anyone.'

'You did well,' Findis said seriously. 'You did well to think of using your lantern.'

'We just… need to go home,' Lalwendë said, her hand twitching toward the phantom sword at her side. 'We don't know if it's safe here.'

'We don't know if it's safe there,' Glorfindel said quietly, but Fëanor interrupted.

'There they are!' he said, pointing in the dark towards a mass of people slowly making their way towards the throne. Fingolfin and Finarfin were leading the way, and all their hands were linked.

'Here,' Lalwendë said, offering the crystal to Fëanor. 'Take us home.'

He hesitated. 'It's still another five years before I can return to Tirion.'

'The Valar are somewhere fighting this darkness as we speak,' Findis said brusquely to him. 'They have more to worry them than one elf breaking exile. Come with us, at least to the gates.'

Fëanor stared at his sisters, then pursed his lips and took the crystal. He turned to face the crowd.

'Noldor, with me!' he cried, and he began to walk into the trees.

'We should link hands like the others,' Findis said as they began to follow him. 'This dark is foul-tasting, dangerous. I'm afraid that if someone gets lost in it, they may not return.'

Lalwendë took her sister's hand silently, a sense of dread replacing her fading adrenaline. She turned and offered her hand to Glorfindel. Half of her didn't expect him to take it; his home was at Taniquetil, not Tirion, so it didn't make much sense for him to go with the Noldor.

But after a moment's pause, he took her hand. His eyes held hers; in the dark, they were almost black. They began to move forward together.


It was a journey of a few days back to Tirion. In the confusion of darkness, they hadn't thought to bring food or drink for the return journey, but no one complained. They walked on under the stars, without sleeping or stopping to rest.

Their eyes had become accustomed to the starlight after a short time, and most of them had let go of each other, confident enough to move alone. Lalwendë had waited for Glorfindel to pull his hand from hers, something in her keeping her from doing it herself – but he didn't.

Throughout the journey, he stayed by Lalwendë's side. They walked in silence, hand in hand, hour after hour. Sometimes she looked up and his shadowed face would be staring out at the dark landscape. Sometimes he was looking down at her, his face troubled. When their eyes met, he would look away quickly. Once or twice, his fingers would tighten fractionally, as if on instinct.

When they reached the halfway point in their journey, she gathered enough courage to breach the question she'd been pondering since they'd left.

'Why did you come with us?' she asked softly. He glanced down at her. She waited for a reply, but none came. They walked on for another half hour before he sighed.

'Finwë is a good friend to me,' he said. 'He might be glad to know that I was there with his daughter during… whatever this is.'

Lalwendë stared up at him, but his face was guarded as he glanced back. 'Well, thank you,' she said. 'On his behalf.'

Glorfindel nodded, and they went on in silence. Still, their hands were linked.

Fëanor led them onwards and onwards until Lalwendë's feet ached and her eyelids drooped. It was a huge relief when the shadowy Pelóri Mountains came into view, then the Valley of Calacirya. Tirion had lost all its former shining glory, and only glinted dimly in the starlight.

They tramped wearily up the road to the gates of Tirion, the five children of Finwë – as well as Glorfindel – at the head of a long, winding procession. But just as they reached the gate, two Valar suddenly appeared before them.

Lalwendë inhaled sharply when she saw them, and the parade of elves behind them ground to a stop. Yavanna was there, the Vala of all the living things, her eyes glowing gently green in the deep darkness. Beside her was Aulë. Both of them looked weary.

'Fëanáro, Finwë's son,' Yavanna said, her deep voice reverberating in the valley. She sighed. 'I need your help.'

Fëanor stepped forward warily. 'What is it?'

'Melkor is responsible for the death of the Trees,' Aulë said, fury underlying his every word. 'He has drained the life and light from them. He has all but destroyed them.'

Lalwendë's grip tightened infinitesimally on Glorfindel's hand.

'You captured the light of the Trees in your silmarilli,' Yavanna said to Fëanor, leaning forwards. 'If you give them to me, I might be able to use the light within them to reinvigorate the Trees. Bring light back to our world.'

Fëanor stared back at her, his expression fixed. Lalwendë could see his mind working behind his eyes. His hesitation seemed to last too long for Yavanna, and she let out a sound that was something like an inhuman growl.

'Do you hear me, Fëanáro son of Finwë? Will you deny me the chance to undo the evils of Melkor and recall life to my trees?'

'Give him a moment,' Aulë rumbled. Yavanna looked up sharply, but he didn't balk. 'You ask him to allow you to destroy his greatest creation, a thing into which he poured his very soul. Give him a moment.'

'Did the light of the silmarils not come from my work in the beginning?' Yavanna argued. She was growing slowly larger as she spoke, the dull green light pulsing from her unearthly eyes. It was then that Fëanor spoke.

'If you ask me to break my jewels, it will break me. I will perish.' Real anguish broke across his face, and his voice cracked. 'If the light is to return in Aman, I will be the first of the Eldar to be killed.'

Suddenly, Mandos – the lord of the Houses of the Dead – appeared beside Aulë. His robes were all black, and his face was almost grey in pallor.

'You will not be the first,' he whispered.

Finarfin took an unsteady step forward, his face aghast. 'What happened? Who…?'

'In the darkness, Melkor came to Formenos,' Mandos said. Lalwendë's heart turned cold. 'All fled before him except one.'

'Tatanya,' Fingolfin whispered, horror colouring his voice.

'Finwë faced him alone, at the gates of the fortress,' Mandos went on. 'He was slain. The silmarils were taken. Melkor has disappeared.'

'My sons?' Fëanor breathed. 'They are –'

'None were killed but Finwë,' Mandos said. He turned to Yavanna. 'The jewels are gone. It is hopeless, all for nothing.'

He disappeared with a sigh, and Lalwendë saw Aulë wrap his arms around Yavanna before they disappeared too.

There were shouts behind her as the news was relayed to the rest of the Noldor. People began to weep aloud. Fingolfin was muttering something to Findis. Finarfin had fallen to his knees. Fëanor suddenly let out a howl of enraged grief. It echoed across the empty city.

Lalwendë stood silently, starting to tremble. Her father was dead. Tatanya is dead. He was gone. She would never see him again. He was gone. Forever. Eternity. Tatanya is dead.

It felt like her body was folding in on itself. Her chest hurt, a sharp, crushing pain that made it hard to breathe. Her knees buckled, and she sank to the ground.

Someone went down with her, hands holding her steady. It was Laurë. Glorfindel. Tatanya is dead. He knelt and pulled her into his arms silently as tears began slipping from her eyes. She could hear the elves weeping behind her. The shaking got worse, and numbly, she pressed her face into Glorfindel's chest.

Tatanya is dead.

She didn't know how long she stayed there. It was hours, but there was no way to measure the passing of the days anymore.


She awoke in her bed. She didn't know how much later it was, or how she'd come to be there. She stretched her arms above her head and sat up before she realised that it was still dark outside.

Reality slammed into her like a spear to the chest, and she squeezed her eyes shut. Her father was dead, murdered by Melkor. The silmarils were gone. The Trees were dead. She turned in her bed, curled up and sobbed.

Time passed, and eventually, her tears dried. Moving like her limbs were made of lead, she lit a lantern so that she could see. Then she took off the dress she'd worn to the festival and pulled on the tunic she usually sparred in. She mechanically braided back her hair and put her boots on.

Then, with heavy hands, she buckled her sword and dagger to her belt, being careful to only touch the sheaths. The comfort she felt with them at her side was beyond words, but it did little to appease the aching in her heart. She washed her face, and left her chambers.

She found Fingolfin in the King's Chambers, his face gaunt in the shadows. He looked up from the message scrolls he was reading when she came in.

'Lalwen,' he said. 'Thank the Valar you're awake.'

'I'm sorry,' she said. Her voice was hoarse. 'I should have been here for you.'

He got up and came around the table and touched her face with a trembling hand. She moved forward and hugged him tightly. 'No. It's alright, little sister.'

She pulled away after a moment. 'What has been happening?'

He sighed, going back to sit behind the table. 'Fëanor has disappeared. He cursed Melkor, named him Morgoth, and then took a horse and rode away.'

'Morgoth,' Lalwendë said. 'A fitting name.'

'I think he has gone north to find his sons,' Fingolfin said tiredly. 'But I don't know. He could be anywhere.'

'He loved our father more than anything,' Lalwendë said quietly. 'More than the Silmarils. More – more than anything.'

Fingolfin's brow creased and he stared at her. 'You're armed.'

'I didn't touch the weapons themselves. Only the sheaths.'

He shook his head and rubbed his temples. 'Be careful, Lalwen.'

'I will be careful. But I will not go about unarmed right now. Even Fëanor is allowed his sword.'

'Finarfin would tell you not to do it.'

'Finarfin tells me to do things all the time,' she said sharply. 'I'm not about to start listening now.'

'Fine,' Fingolfin muttered, unsmiling. 'Apart from Fëanor going missing… the Valar have given up hunting Morgoth. He is long gone by now.'

The horrible feeling settled further into the pit of her stomach. 'What else?'

'Not much. Since the Trees were killed, a thick mist has come up from the valley to cover Tirion.'

'Hm.'

'There is not much we can do about that,' he said. 'Or about anything. We can only wait for news from the Valar.'

At that moment, cries began to echo through the city, spreading from the gates inwards. Lalwendë turned quickly.

'Or that,' she said. 'That could be something.'

Fingolfin was already on his feet, striding from the chamber. 'Something is better than nothing. Let's go.'

There was a big crowd gathering in the square. Most of them were armed, Lalwendë saw, and some were wearing armour. Many of them carried torches to light the way, and they cast an eerie red light over the scene. But what was bringing them there?

'There,' Fingolfin said suddenly, pointing into the crowd. It was Maedhros, Fëanor's eldest son, shepherding people into the square. Lalwendë glanced about and saw Maglor, Caranthir, and Amrod doing the same.

'This is Fëanor's doing,' she said. 'Something is afoot.'

'His exile has not yet been lifted by the Valar,' Fingolfin said, his eyes wide.

They made their way towards the centre of the square, and soon came across others doing the same – Finarfin and Findis, Fingon the son of Fingolfin, Galadriel and Finrod and Turgon. Lalwendë caught sight of Glorfindel winding his way through the crowd. He had already seen her, and he met her gaze grimly.

Galadriel found a place next to Lalwendë, her silver-golden hair glinting in the torchlight. She squeezed Lalwendë's hand and kissed her cheek.

'I am sorry, Lalwen,' she said quietly. 'About Finwë.'

'Me too,' Lalwendë said, but just then, Fëanor appeared.

He looked terrible. There were dark hollows beneath his eyes, and she could see his hands trembling. He was exhausted, grief-stricken.

'He shouldn't be in Tirion,' she muttered.

'You're wearing your sword,' Galadriel pointed out. 'None of that matters anymore.'

Quiet fell in the massive crowd, and Fëanor began to speak.

'The king is dead,' he shouted hoarsely. 'I was his heir. In Finwë's place, I am now the High King of the Noldor.'

There were mutterings in the crowd, and Lalwendë supposed they were from supporters of Fingolfin. She pursed her lips; that was going to be a problem.

'The Valar,' Fëanor cried, ignoring the lukewarm reception of his announcement, 'have failed to keep these lands safe. What loyalty do we owe to them?'

Lalwendë heard several people gasp around her. She stood steady, her eyes fixed on Fëanor. His words might have been shocking, but he was right. The Valar could have saved her father, but her father was dead.

'The creature that killed my father, your king, was the brother of the Valar!' Fëanor bellowed, his eyes shining with unshed tears. 'I refuse to live in the realm of the kin of the one who murdered my King!'

This time, there were mutters of agreement in the crowd. Lalwendë kept staring at Fëanor, ignoring the tears that slid down her own cheeks. Galadriel's hand tightened around hers.

'You have lost your leader,' Fëanor went on. 'You have lost your light. You have lost any faith in the Valar that once you placed in them. What remains for you in Valinor?'

'Nothing,' Lalwendë heard someone mutter behind her.

'We stayed in Valinor because here there was light, and in Middle-earth there was none,' Fëanor cried. 'Now they are both as dark as each other! Which will you choose? Will you stay here to mourn forever, a shadow-people in a mist-covered land? Or will you follow me, a free people, and return to our home on the Hither Shores?'

'What is he doing?' Fingolfin muttered.

'The road will be hard!' Fëanor said. 'But the end shall be fair! Come with me! Pursue Morgoth to the ends of the earth, and retake the silmarils – then we alone will be the lords of the Light!'

Now there were shouts of agreement. People called to Fëanor that they would follow him, wherever he went. There were cries of death to Morgoth!

Fëanor drew his sword and held it up in the torchlight. Then Maedhros stepped forwards and did the same. He was followed by Maglor, Celegorm, Caranthir, Curufin, Amrod, and Amras, until there was a circle of blades with their tips pointed to each other, flickering red. Lalwendë felt cold.

'I swear by the name of Illuvatar the All-Father,' Fëanor said heavily, 'to pursue to the ends of the earth any Vala, elf, man, or monster, any creature good or evil, great or small, that would keep in their possession a silmaril.'

His sons began to repeat the words. Finarfin looked like he was going to be sick, and Fingolfin looked utterly enraged. The second the oath was sworn, he strode into their circle to face Fëanor.

'Are you a fool?' he growled. 'Do you wish for death? Because that oath will bring it to you, mark my words!'

'I have the courage to take back what is mine,' Fëanor said heavily. 'That is all.'

'You call the Noldor to follow you into this certain death? To endure endless suffering and loss, all for the sake of your jewels?'

'All for the sake of honour,' Fëanor sneered, stepping closer to Fingolfin. 'All for the only light that is left in the world! Besides, I recall your own promise not so long ago, to follow where I would lead. Do you forget your own oaths so quickly, brother?'

'Enough!' Finarfin called, stepping between the two. They fell back, mirror images of each other, glaring and clenching their fists. Finarfin sighed.

'Fëanor and his sons have sworn their oath in Eru's name now. Nothing can be done for that, and there is little wisdom in fighting about it.' He turned to face the crowd. 'But all of you still have time to consider your decision. Do not be hasty! This is no small choice! Think carefully before you follow Fëanor to the perilous road to Middle-earth! Because once the deed is done, it can never be undone.'

Lalwendë stared at her three brothers, all three of their eyes burning in the firelight, each so similar and yet so very different to the other two. It felt like there was a fist in her chest, squeezing her heart. She knew what she wanted to do, and it terrified her. Galadriel glanced down at her.

'You are going to go, aren't you Lalwen?' she asked quietly. Lalwendë nodded once.

'How did you know?'

'I want to go too,' Galadriel said grimly. She let go of Lalwendë's hand and walked forwards, drawing in a deep breath. 'I will swear no oath,' she announced loudly, her eyes on Fëanor. 'But I will follow you to this new country.'

Finarfin stared at his daughter, his eyes suddenly filled with heart-wrenching dismay. Then Fingon, Fingolfin's eldest son, stepped forwards too, his eyes on Maedhros.

'I will go with you,' he said. Turgon, his younger brother, came to stand beside him.

'I will go with you to Middle-earth,' he echoed.

The cry was taken up among the Noldor. Weapons were brandished in the air. It was like a fever had taken the people and driven them half mad. Lalwendë's hand twitched towards her sword.

'I beg you to take heed!' Finarfin was shouting over the chaos. 'Delay your departure! Think of what you are doing, for the your own sake!'

'Prepare yourselves!' Fëanor cried, and there was a great cheer. 'We march forth tomorrow!'

Lalwendë began to move through the crowd. She needed to pack.


Azshar couldn't take any more pain.

Waves of it crashed through her body, ravaging her limbs and immobilising her. With a momentous effort, she opened her eyes.

She was lying on her back on the ground, and someone had covered her with a cloak. She was shaking, spasming weakly and uncontrollably. She could hear the sound of flowing water nearby. Azshar groaned, unable to move.

In seconds, someone was kneeling beside her, his hands on her face.

'Azshar,' he said urgently, his voice sounding faraway and ringing faintly in her ears. 'Can you hear me? Are you awake?'

The shaking grew worse, and another surge of pain painted the world white. She groaned again.

'Stay alive,' the voice pleaded. 'Stay alive. I'm taking you back to Lothlórien.'

Everything turned to black, and the memories pulled her down again.


Let's gooooooo

Does Findis canonically marry Rúmil? No. But Mr. Loremaker deserves to be happy, so yolo I guess.

Join us next episode when Findis gets FOMO, Galadriel keeps trying to flex on everyone, Fëanor really effs up this time, Lalwen goes swimming, and Glorfindel waxes poetic. S