AN: I originally intended to make the speech that was supposed to be in Quenya "Shakesperean" (with all those thous and thees), but I just can't tell if it the sentence works at all when I do that, and anyway it is Galadriel's first language, the language in which she thinks, so – given it's her POV – it should sound natural to readers. But it means I had to edit the Tolkien quotes - "translate" them into modern English – otherwise they disturbed the flow of the text too much...

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Chapter 3: Fear

Year 1490 of the Trees, Gardens of Lórien

Itarillë, Nerwen thought, was Eru's gift to alleviate her loneliness, and make her feel less sorry that Irissë and she were so different.

She was also one of the few lights in the increasingly darkening world.

They were walking together among the mellyrn that grew in the Gardens of Lórien, admiring their beauty. Itarillë was the only one of her family willing to accompany her there, and Nerwen often made use of her company, even though she knew that Itarillë's reasons were different from her own. She, too, learned much from Estë's Maiar about healing body and soul, but she rarely talked with the Valië herself. Her heart was closest to that of Lady Vána and she often met with her in the gardens instead. Itarillë sought some of the wisdom of Lórien, but some of it eluded her, and Nerwen knew that when she wanted to meet Olórin, she had to come alone. She argued with him about this frequently, but he could not be convinced.

"Let us go see the rose fields again," Itarillë suggested now.

Nerwen laughed at her. "You just want to avoid your grandfather as long as possible."

Itarillë made a face. "Can you blame me?"

No, she could not. The changes to her uncle in the last decades were frankly alarming. Nerwen had known for a long time that age did not ensure wisdom, but she had assumed, before, that once achieved, wisdom could not simply evaporate. Her uncle's example, however, seemed to be proving the opposite. Lately, Ñolofinwë was always angry, and in anger, wisdom disappeared.

Nerwen could not quite blame him. His anger was towards Fëanáro, and towards Finwë, too, for not doing anything, and he was justified. Fëanáro had always lacked moderation, but in the last years, he lost it entirely, speaking plainly of rebelling against the Valar and accusing them of dark intentions towards the Eldar, stating that they were kept like captives in Aman - and pretending to speak for all the Noldor as he did so. There were also rumour about weapons and armour being forged, something unheard of in Aman before. Nerwen sincerely hoped these were false.

Ñolofinwë loved Itarillë dearly and that made him spend more time in Turukáno's house, and thus with his younger son, than he had before. Increasingly, it was his younger son he shared his worries and anger with, as well – partly because Turukáno was more willing to enter into them, while Findekáno tended to wave them aside, stating that words were wind. That led to more fear, anger and close-mindedness than had Ñolofinwë still kept his eldest son's council.

It led to conflicts with his wife as well. Anairë was normally a mild, pleasant lady, but she was hard-headed and strong-minded where it truly mattered to her, and this did matter. It used to be that Turukáno was closer to her and Findekáno closer to his father, but now the situation was reversed, with Anairë resenting her younger son's defensive approach and supporting her older son's conciliatory one, though for different reasons – contrary to Findekáno, she did not think nothing serious was happening. She only thought, as Nerwen and her father did, that Nolofinwe was making it worse.

Nerwen could not pretend she did not know who was behind it all, either.

Fëanáro hardly spoke to Melkor now, but there were others who did: his sons, Atarinkë and Carnistir chief among them, and they brought the ideas Melkor put into their minds to their father. Equally, Turukáno lent his ear to the Vala, and told tales of it to his father, as well as to Ingoldo, which worried Nerwen. She had warned her brother many times, but it seemed in vain.

If there was one thing she was proud of, it was that she managed to keep Itarillë away from Melkor. It was not solely her merit, of course. Elenwë distrusted him, as all Vanyar did, and it only needed Nerwen's fire to convince her that it was worth insisting to Turukáno that it was not a good acquaintance for their young daughter. Nerwen was well aware that had Itarillë been a son, it would have been harder work, but as it was, she managed - with a little support from Findekáno, who trusted her enough to do that even if he believed her worries to be exaggerated.

As it was, Itarillë was kept away from the lies and hate spread by Melkor, and Nerwen only helplessly watched how it made Ñolofinwë more and more angry, and brought Fëanáro and most of his sons – with the exception of Maitimo, who was closer to Ñolofinwë than to his father in nature, and Macalaurë, who seemed to have some traces of her own father's character – beyond reason.

Unwanted, there was also a selfish reason for which Nerwen despised Fëanáro's actions. She still harboured hope that one day, the Valar would give her blessing to leave for Middle-Earth, but with Fëanáro's deepening madness, it seemed less and less likely. She detested that she had to pay the price for his mistakes, and missed the old greatness of her uncle, to whom she had not spoken for years – almost, in fact, since he made the Silmarils. That seemed to have been a breaking point for him, the point after which it all started to slowly tip towards insanity.

What hurt her even more than the loss of Fëanáro's companionship – which, after all, had been only occasional even before – was the loss of Maitimo's. Her friend of old was fiercely loyal to his father, and when she could not quite keep herself from criticising how her half-uncle acted, Maitimo began to curb the time he was willing to spend with her. They were still on friendly terms, essentially, but where once she would have called him one of her closest friends...his place had been taken by Itarillë, as different as they were.

This thought brought Nerwen back to the present, and she turned to her friend, awakening from her musings. "I do not blame you, but you know he does not like it when you are away for too long. He fears for you."

It was true, and yet it was a thing that would have been absurd to say in Aman only twenty years ago, for what was there to fear?

"Oh very well," was Itarillë's reply, and they headed back to Tirion. "I would like to be present at the council at the end of the week, anyway."

"Would you?" Nerwen asked archly.

"Well, like is perhaps not the right word. It will be unpleasant, I know it. But I can also feel it will be important, and I want to see what will happen there with my own eyes, so that I cannot be influenced by lies later."

Nerwen was very proud of Itarillë in that moment, and a little of herself, too, feeling that she had taught her cousin well, ever since she took her under her wing. "I have that premonition too," she said aloud, "so we better hurry. The hot heads that hold sway among our people now might well have need of our wisdom before the council is over."

Itarillë laughed at that assessment. She was still young, relatively speaking, and did not realize how far into madness have some of their relations descended and that she indeed could be called wise among them.

She laughed and ran and danced, and Nerwen followed her, glad to have a moment of joy, because her foreknowledge told her there would not be much of it left after the council, though she knew not what would happen. And so it happened that they did not hurry overmuch on their way and stopped by the Trees as they went, for the light of Laurelin was at its fullest at that time and both of them loved it dearly, and loved, too, the bright Lady Arien who could be found gathering its dews. There, they could forget about the worries of Tirion and simply bask in the brightness.

"How do you do it that you can look at the Lady?" Itarillë asked, lying in the grass with her eyes closed.

"I cannot, not for too long."

"Still. I am incapable of as much as glancing directly at her."

"Just try, and do not let yourself flinch. Come on."

Reluctantly, Itarillë opened her eyes and sought Lady Arien. She took a deep breath, and her sight alighted on the brightness. She last several seconds before she hurriedly looked away again.

"See?" Nerwen said cheerfully. "Now I will be able to take you to Taniquetil with High King Ingwë soon enough, for I will not have to fear you will flinch from the face of the Queen of All."

"I have seen Queen Varda before, you know," Itarillë muttered.

"Yes, when she descends from the mountain. But she always pulls a curtain over her brightness when she does that."

Itarillë frowned. "I thought she always...I mean, if it is the light of the One in her face..."

Nerwen crossed her hands behind her head. "Well, yes, of course she always has to conceal it somewhat when anyone beside the Ainur goes to see her. But she does it so much more when she descends from the mountain. On Taniquetil, she is...well, brighter than Lady Arien. As bright as her stars, at least."

The younger lady rolled to her side, facing her. "But I thought the stars...from what the eldest Elves say, they always seemed like small lights in the distance, you know? Surely the Queen is brighter than that."

Nerwen sat up and looked at her cousin. "You have never heard our Vanyar relations talk about this? The Queen explained herself, from what I gather. The starts only looked the way they looked from Middle-Earth because they were very far away. From up close...well, as I have said. As bright as Lady Arien, or even brighter."

Now Itarillë looked deeply interested. "I have got to go to Taniquetil," she stated.

Nerwen laughed. "First, try looking at Lady Arien again!"

The lady heard her, and came closer, making even Nerwen turn her eyes away. She laughed. "Careful, or I might burn you."

"I do not fear you, my lady," Nerwen replied, though her eyes were still turned away.

"No?" Another laugh. "Perhaps you should."

"I am sorry for...well, staring at you," Itarillë said quietly.

"Do not be! I am hoping that with some more centuries of training, you two will be able to hold a conversation with me while actually looking at me!"

"But, I mean...you could dim your light, could you not?"

Lady Arien's bright eyes narrowed, not that any of the two Elves saw it. "Yes, I could," she said, "but why would I do it?"

They left her company only regretfully, but time was running short. When they finally arrived in Tirion, they had to go directly to the palace if they wanted to be present at the council. It was already in progress, and they mixed in the ranks of the Noldor nobility. Most who mattered were gathered there – though there were a few notable absences as well. Nerwen's father refused to come, she knew, stating that whatever was said would only increase enmity as long as it was not behind closed door between just Finwë, Fëanáro and Ñolofinwë. Findekáno was not there either, claiming that the council would only give legitimacy to the whispers all around them. That meant that of her brothers, only Ingoldo was present, standing firmly by Turukáno's side, as always. Aikanáro and Angaráto were loyal to their parents first, and to Findekáno second. Besides, Angaráto was on a prolonged visit in Alqualondë at the moment, with his wife and son. Nerwen rather thought Eldalótë would have liked being at the council, but she could hardly travel back for it when her husband did not. It would send entirely the wrong kind of message.

Nerwen noticed Turukáno had all three of his sworn companions with their eldest sons standing behind him, and grimaced a little, exchanging a fleeting look with Lord Laurefindil. That would not help to calm the situation. She was relieved to see that, at least, her uncle had refrained from such an obvious show of strength.

Shortly after Itarillë and Nerwen arrived in the council room, they were witnesses to Ñolofinwë stepping in front of the king and speaking against Fëanáro. "King and father," he said, "will you not restrain the pride of our brother, Curufinwë, who is called the Spirit of Fire, all too truly? By what right does he speak for all our people, as if he were King? You it was who long ago spoke before the Elves, bidding them accept the summons of the Valar to Aman. You it was that led the Noldor upon the long road through the perils of Middle-Earth to the light of Eldamar. If you do not now repent of it, you have at least two sons to honour your words."

Nerwen's dread increased, especially at the last words, and it was justified when Fëanáro in full armour emerged from the shadows. So the rumours about weapons were true, she thought, horrified, even as her half-uncle said in anger: "So it is, even as I guessed. My half-brother would be before me with my father, in this as in all other matters!" He drew the weapon he had by his side – a sword, she had heard he called it – and turned it towards Ñolofinwë. "Begone, and take your due place!"

Nerwen was it shock. It was only in his darkest mutterings that her uncle spoke about his suspicion that the weapons Fëanáro was making were intended against him, and never had she taken it seriously. Fëanáro was further into his insanity that she could have imagine.

Ñolofinwë, clearly employing all of his power to keep his anger under control, simply bowed to

Finwë and turned to leave. Nerwen saw Ingoldo slip out as well and had to catch Itarillë to stop her from following immediately after, for she saw that Fëanáro turned to go as well, and so they went only after him, and saw how he stayed their uncle and grandfather at the door – and, to their horror, he put the tip of his sword against his breast. Once again, Nerwen had to hold Itarillë fast, as they listened to Fëanáro's words. "See, half-brother!" He said. "This is sharper than your tongue. Try but once more to usurp my place and the love of my father, and maybe it will rid the Noldor of one who seeks to be the master of thralls."

Nerwen froze these words, and she watched her uncle silently leave before she woke up and hurried after him, Itarillë in tow.

"Uncle!" Nerwen called.

He turned to her, and she could see the anger burning in his eyes, which softened only when they fell on Itarillë. "I am sorry you had to witness that," he said, and turned to walk on.

Both ladies joined him, and Itarillë said: "I am not. Rumours will soon spread about the council, and as an eyewitness, I will not have to wonder whom to trust."

"I would have hoped you would have trusted your father and me," he replied, a little of his anger seeping through.

"Of course," she said quickly, "but what if you each told the story a little differently? It happens, you know."

"It any case, it does not concern you, Itarillë. The conflict is between me and my half-brother. Now, I have to go in search of my full one, if you will allow me."

"Can I go with you, Uncle?" Nerwen asked immediately, sensing a lot could depend on the result of this talk.

"I can hardly prevent you from seeing your own father. You will see what he says about the matter. But see Itarillë home safely first, I do not want her walking alone now."

Itarillë made a face, but Nerwen shot her a look and said only: "Yes, Uncle," dragging the younger lady with her.

"I am sorry," she said when they were out of hearing distance, "but they would never talk openly in front of you. I swear I will tell you as much as I can, afterwards."

Itarillë nodded in understanding. Ñolofinwë's house was fortunately directly next to the palace, and Turukáno was there at the moment, pacing, Elenwë and Anairë both attempting to calm him down, each in her own way. Ingoldo should be here, Nerwen thought fleetingly, he was good in making his friend see reason amid worries. However, he had probably gone to see father and tell him the news, and so Nerwen left Itarillë with them, and found Findekáno, dragging him outside by his hand.

"Come with me," she said, "I have to tell you something on the way." And she retold him the tale of the conflict, adding what she did not want to admit in front of Itarillë, because she did not wish to worry her: "I am afraid, Findekáno."

"Of Fëanáro?"

"Yes...and no. I am afraid that this is only the first sign of a greater darkness that is coming, and that Fëanáro will be the one to bring it upon us," she explained.

"You used to predict it would be Melkor," he pointed out, but she could tell by his tone that he took her warning much more seriously now than he had before.

"The origin of all this evil is with Melkor," she insisted as they rounded the corner to the long street that led to Arafinwë's house, "but he cannot actually bring this kind of darkness. Even if he came and killed here among us, it would not be a greater evil than brother drawing a sword against brother. Melkor can bring death, but Fëanáro can bring betrayal."

"I do not want to head your words," Findekáno admitted, "yet it seems you were right all along, with your grim prophecies."

Nerwen smiled a grim smile. "That is a habit of mine," she said. "Go back to your brother now and make sure he does not do anything harsh, and I will talk to our fathers."

Findekáno nodded to her, and she continued alone to her home, trying to prepare her arguments for the debate she knew would take place. She was distracted by her own anger, however: towards Fëanáro, certainly, but perhaps even more so towards her grandfather, who sat by and let his own son be threatened. All had always known that Fëanáro was his favourite, but he had not, until now, shown his preference so blatantly. She knew her uncle was deeply hurt by it, and she burned with the injustice of it all. It was easier for her father, in a way – while Finwë probably had even less love for him than for Ñolofinwë, Arafinwë was simply his mother's son, and he could bear it more easily.

Drawing a weapon in Aman! And against one's brother, as well, to threaten him with death...she knew her half-uncle did not truly mean the threat, but still, it had been uttered, when even to think of such would have been impossible some years ago. The idea if spilling blood of another Elf...how absurd! He was certain her uncles would never have even conceived of the possibility if it was not for Melkor. It must have been him who whispered to Fëanáro's sons that there was a way to be rid of their scheming uncle once and for all, and it must have been him who whispered to Turukáno that there was deathly danger to be feared from his family…

And now, if this feud continued, he would get what he wanted. Surely that was not a desirable result? Yet what else could be done, after such a terrible breach of all that was proper? She was not against forgiveness, but of such a deed? But when there was no other way out?

Thoughts like this chased each other in Nerwen's head, but by the time she arrived home, she was decided. Above all, Melkor must not be allowed to win.

She found the two brothers in deep discussion already. Her mother was sitting to the side, watching them with her calm, impenetrable eyes, and Ingoldo was next to her, his face displaying worry more clearly. "Artanis," her father welcomed her softly, pressing her hands. "You were there as well?"

"Indeed, father."

"And I suppose that you agree with your uncle, that our eldest brother was beyond reason?"

Without a doubt. "He was, father, but then he had been for some time. It only manifested clearly now."

"He drew a sword on me," Ñolofinwë emphasized. "That means start of a feud."

Nerwen sighed. "It made my blood boil too, uncle," she admitted, "but..."

"But forgiveness is often the best medicine," her father finished for her.

Ñolofinwë turned to her: "I could have expected what my brother's opinion will be, but I have to say I am surprised you agree with him. You used to be closer to my way of thinking."

Nerwen sighed once more. Yes, and you used to be closer to mine, she thought. Aloud, she said: "I sometimes miss the fire I have in my father, yes, but he never lacks wisdom." She hesitated, but decided time for mincing words was past and continued: "You used to have both, Uncle, but now I worry your anger over Fëanáro's actions is making you lose the second. He started the discord in Aman, yes – if we discount the ones who first spread the lies – but let us not be the ones who help it spread. If you continue the feud, it will grow. If you offer forgiveness, there is a chance it will heal."

"Yes, Ñolofinwë," her father added. "If you cannot take this advice from me, take it from my daughter, who as you know never lacked fire. Do not make it worse."

Ñolofinwë took a deep breath. "I will think on it," he said, and he left.

Nerwen put her hopes in Anairë, Itarillë and Findekáno, and hoped he would seek council with them, too, and not only with Turukáno.

Her father took her hands in his again and kissed them. "Do you see what lies ahead of us?" He asked her, used to trusting her foresight.

"I fear," Nerwen replied, "it will be darkness."

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AN: My spellcheck keeps trying to change Ñolofinwë to "fun-loving". Yeah, that's exactly how I'd describe him in this chapter...

Names: Laurefindil – Glorfindel, Kanafinwë Macalaurë – Maglor, Arafinwë – Finarfin, Itarillë – Idril, Morifinwë Carnistir – Caranthir