"Tears unnumbered you shall shed, and the Valar will fence Valinor against you, and shut you out, so that not even the echo of your lamentation shall pass over the mountains. To evil end shall all things turn that you begin well; and by your foe's treachery and might shall this come to pass. The Dispossessed shall you be forever. Slain you may be, and slain you shall be: by weapon and by torment and by grief; and your houseless spirits shall come then to Mandos and there long abide."
Most of the host is at least disturbed by the message, whether they will admit it or not.
Feanor is not. "Though you laid a heavier Doom than this," he cries out, "still I would go on. I am neither so heartless nor so craven as to so quickly abandon my own blood. Yet I know not all here bear these ties. If some would turn back - "
A ringing cry of denial explodes from the Noldor.
The herald bows his head.
Between Finwe's negotiations and Finarfin's contributions, they have enough boats to get across in two crossings. Feanor is determined to be in the first for understandable reasons; Fingolfin refuses to wait for the second for what Feanor grudgingly admits are also understandable reasons. Finarfin puts his foot down on being the one left behind, though, which just leaves one potential leader to guide the second crossing: their father.
"It's probably wise anyway," Feanor says. "The fighting was fierce when we first landed. There's no reason to think that's changed."
"The Noldor's kings have always led the way into battle," Fingolfin points out in counter, though in truth he's as eager to prevent Finwe's second fall as Feanor.
"Yes, and look how that turned out," Feanor says dryly. "Finarfin's the only one that didn't fall in battle."
"Probably because I never charged multiple Balrogs at once. Or challenged Morgoth to single combat."
"To be fair, I didn't realize I was doing that," Feanor says. "That was the first time any of us had seen a Balrog; until I got close I had no idea what all that fire meant."
Fingolfin has … never actually considered that before when wondering how, exactly, Feanor had managed to be ambushed by Balrogs. Thinking about it now, he has to admit that thinking the enemy has set a fire was a more logical conclusion than thinking the enemy is on fire. As for his own adventure …
In fairness to his intelligence, it's not like he'd had any illusions about how that was going to end.
He probably shouldn't mention that though.
They do manage to convince Finwe, mainly by the novelty of all three of them being in agreement on something. Fingolfin's not sure how long the shock of that's going to last, but he's going to use it while he can.
There are no storms harrying them this time like he's heard there were the last. In fact, their journey is suspiciously quick. Fingolfin thinks he might see Ulmo's influence there and offers thanks just in case.
If they're not all going to die horribly this time, they'll need all the help they can get.
The first battle reminds Finarfin of his own initial charge upon reaching Beleriand before it had slowed to a grim crawl. They rescue Cirdan's flagging forces and push as far as Lake Mithrim. It's the first time Finarfin's gotten to see it unspoiled.
More importantly, he gets to see all of his family that went into the battle alive at the end of it, including Feanor. He's counting that as just as much of a victory.
Morgoth sends an envoy with his offer: three sons for three Silmarils. Fingolfin expects to have to restrain Feanor, but his half-brother just accepts with uncharacteristically stony wrath.
There is still the matter of him accepting though.
"Are you mad?" Fingolfin demands in the command tent. "You know what happened last time!"
"I could hardly refuse," Feanor snaps. "They are of use to him only as leverage. If I had refused to deal, he would have sent us their heads or worse. This buys us time for a rescue."
"We can't sustain another push," Finarfin says. "Not until the boats return with Father and reinforcements."
"I don't intend to make a charge," Feanor says, though his eyes dart down to the leather wrapped sword on the table.
"We are not sending my son in alone," Fingolfin says flatly. "Last time was nightmare enough."
The words are hardly out of his mouth when he realizes their folly. Of course Feanor does not intend to send anyone.
"I intend to follow his example and go myself."
Of course he does. But he won't be able to manage potentially carrying out all three, which means … "You'll need help," Fingolfin admits. "And Fingon's probably going to insist on being part of it."
Feanor grimaces. "So will Celegorm, which at least has the advantage of also getting Huan."
"I can come too," Fingolfin offers, but Feanor shakes his head.
"I need you here," he says. "To bring Morgoth the Silmarils." His mouth twists into a fierce, ironic smile at the words even as he unwraps the leather and pulls forth the sword.
All three Silmarils burn in the hilt. Their cleansing light bathes the blade until it too shivers with blinding holy light.
It is Finarfin who finally breaks the stunned silence. "Will even that be enough to kill one of the Valar?"
"Probably not," Feanor admits, "but you don't have to win. You just have to buy us some time and wound him enough that he'll allow you to retreat."
"I wasn't sure you knew that word," Fingolfin says, but the words are automatic. His eyes are still locked on the sword, mind whirling with the magnitude of what he's about to do.
Challenge Morgoth. Again.
Feanor offers him the sword.
Without a moment's hesitation, he accepts.
"And where will I be in all of this?" Finarfin asks. Judging by his flat tone, he already suspects.
"One of us has to stay with the people," Fingolfin begins apologetically.
"One of us has to stay alive at least until Ada can get here," Feanor says more bluntly. "And you're the one best suited for keeping everyone together if the rest of this falls apart."
Finarfin closes his eyes. His hand is tightly clenched around the back of the chair he's standing behind.
"If you die again," he says, "you won't have to worry about what will cause your third death, because I'm going to kill you."
"This will work," Fingolfin says firmly.
"The Silmarils will provide him some protection," Feanor agrees.
Finarfin's eyes snap open so he can better glare at him. "I was talking to both of you."
It probably says something about their family, Fingolfin thinks, that death threats count as meaningful expressions of affection.