AN: I had a question about updates and such, so: this should continue updating every week, for the foreseeable future. The rough draft of this story is finished, so hopefully it's not in danger of being abandoned halfway, though I do edit the chapters quite heavily before posting them.

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Chapter 4: Despair

Year 1495 of the Trees, Tirion

Nerwen put on her best jewels, smiling in happiness.

It seemed her premonitions would not come to pass after all, or not in the near future, at least. Melkor had been recognized as the Enemy once again and fled to some distant lands, and now a great feast was to take place where Fëanáro and Ñolofinwë were meant to heal the breach between them. She had not seen Fëanáro since his banishment, so she did not know if he was better disposed towards Ñolofinwë than he had been before, but she hoped he could, with no new lies to poison his heart. Ñolofinwë had taken her and her father's advice and offered peace even before Fëanáro left, and that boded well for the future, she felt.

Some worry remained in her heart, mostly about Finwë's estrangement from his people. She never had too much affection for this grandfather of hers, always seeing that he loved the children of Indis less than he loved his first son, and finding in his decisions the first source of evil in Aman. He still wore the crown, yet he had followed his beloved Fëanáro into banishment, leaving his own wife, two sons, and the whole of his people behind. Indis had returned to Valimar and Ñolofinwë was the king in all but a name now. Some of her worry was due to the fact that once Finwë returned, it would be difficult for her uncle to give up the power again – something she could understand quite well - and some of it was because the Noldor might not quite welcome back a ruler who had abandoned them

But for this day, she decided to leave her worries and heavy heart behind, and simply enjoy the feast.

Everyone from Tirion and Valimar was there, though from Fëanáro's household only he himself came, and it was glorious indeed. All were clothed in their best, and colourful dresses and robes swirled in dance as beautiful jewels glittered in the brilliant light. The Valar uncovered a little more of their glory than they usually did and it was a great joy only to behold them.

And then Fëanáro and Ñolofinwë met in front of Manwë's throne, and Nerwen held her breath, but Ñolofinwë offered his hand and Fëanáro took it, and then she heard her uncle utter those words: "Half brother in blood, full brother in heart I will be. You shall lead and I will follow. May no new grief divide us," and she quivered, because her premonitions returned tenfold, and she had a moment to regret that from a peace between brothers, something evil may come – was it perhaps a sign that Fëanáro hardly spoke in response, and offered no apology? - and that these dark forethoughts should mar for her the experience of the feast, when the light of the Trees suddenly disappeared, and they were all immersed in darkness.

Never before and never after had she felt such despair as now, as she stood on Taniquetil, watching everything she knew to be fair and noble disappear, uncomprehending.

She had never known a world where the light of the Trees did not shine, but she had heard the stories - recently, they were even told with a degree of nostalgia, though only by those who did not remember it themselves – of the serene beauty of a starlit sky.

There was nothing serene or beautiful about what was around them now, and the stars could not be seen. Instead, there was crushing despair, confusion, the chaos of voices raising in panicked questioning, and then Lady Nienna, sorrowful, but clear above it all: "The Trees have been destroyed."

And Nerwen wailed with the rest of Noldor and Vanyar as Lady Yavanna shrieked, her grief and despair more powerful than any others could feel, for the creations of her heart perished.

It was the darkest hour for all, and Nerwen felt lost without her foresight, not knowing what would come. She stood by Itarillë and Findekáno, staring into the darkness, as tears streamed down her eyes.

She heard, as if in a daze, The Elder King decree that The Enemy was at fault, with some other, darker help he knew not, and deep fear added another layer to her despair, for what terrible thing could it be that The King of Arda was unaware of it? Lord Oromë and Lord Tulkas set out to pursue after this was announced, but it did not lessen her sorrow, for apprehending the culprit would not bring the Trees back to life. And when they returned empty-handed, her fear of that unknown, dark horror in which the strongest of the Valar could be lost rose to almost blind panic, and only looking upon Queen Varda's light that shone undiminished made her keep her grasp on the knowledge that not all was lost.

The hope grew stronger as the winds of The Elder King chased the shadows away, and now the stars could be seen, distant, but beautiful. Lady Yavanna went to the remnants of the trees, so see if they could be salvaged, and though with grief she spoke of their death, there seemed to be some hope left in the light of the Silmarils.

And then The Queen of the Earth requested them from Fëanáro, to bring life to the Trees again, and he refused.

And even as he did so, Nerwen's inner sight cleared from the darkness that had clouded it and she could sense very great evil ahead of them all, greater even than the destruction of the Trees, and she cried out again, because even not knowing what it would be, the idea was terrible to contemplate.

Then the messengers came from Formenos to announce that King Finwë had been slain by the Enemy and the Silmarils were stolen, and as Nerwen heard the first choked sob of her grandmother, the nature of the tragedy started to have clearer contours in her mind. She did not truly hear the words of Fëanáro's desperate speech, for her premonitions were occupying her mind, but she knew he stood before The Elder King, and as he spoke, her visions were becoming even clearer, and she saw, to her horror, that there was blood in them. Were more messages about death to reach them? Did the Enemy, perhaps, flee through Alqualondë, slaying their Teleri kin on the way?

Nerwen's mind returned from her visions to see that Fëanáro was gone, and the Noldor were leaving the Ring of Doom now as well, slowly and in sorrow, returning to their city. She joined them, her mind not quite on the road, tears still blurring her way, supporting Itarillë as her father held council with her uncle, and her brothers talked between themselves, as well as her cousins. She was too lost in the fear and darkness to talk, let alone give advice.

She remembered Lord Námo's pronouncement that the fate of the world was entwined with the Silmarils, and how proud Fëanáro had been that day. Now it was beginning to show, and just as she had feared, it did not bring anything good.

There was great sadness in Tirion in the weeks and months that followed, such as the place had not known before, and it was only interrupted when Fëanáro appeared in the city in defiance of the order to the Valar. Nerwen sensed, once more, a great importance of this event. All gathered around Fëanáro as he started to speak, and as he did, she could feel the strength of his will drawing the people in. She was strong enough to resist herself, but the did not have the power to protect the others, and so she stood apart from them in mind, thinking carefully over what was happening.

Fëanáro spoke of revenge, but he also spoke of freedom, of the lands of Middle-Earth that were waiting for them to be taken. He was filled with anger, and in his voice it turned into a power with which he aflamed the hearts of the people. "Shall we mourn here deedless for ever, a shadow-folk, mist-haunting, dropping vain tears in the thankless sea?" He asked. "Or shall we return to our

home? In Cuiviénen sweet ran the waters under unclouded stars, and wide lands lay about, where a free people might walk. There they lie still and await us who in our folly forsook them. Come away! Let the cowards keep this city!" And the crowd listened, with rapt attention, falling slowly but steadily under the spell.

Her father and uncle, unsurprisingly, were strong enough to resist Fëanáro's pull as well, and her brothers and cousins too, but there were not many more who could hold their own against Curufinwë for any length of time. His control would not hold forever, but she feared it would be enough. There was no stopping Fëanáro and the bigger part of Noldor from leaving if it was, and so only one question remained: what should she, and her family, do?

Nerwen thought of Middle-Earth, of the wide open spaces she had been longing for for so long, and saw clearly that after this, there would be no chance for her to see its shores. Once this rebellion took place, the Valar would not give blessing to anyone to leave Aman. As he had been doing slowly for years, Fëanáro was now, with finality, killing her dream.

That was when her fire roared bright, and she thought to herself, no! My life will not be decided by my half-uncle in his grief and madness. I can and will make my own decision, because I do not accept him as king, not someone who brought so much grief to our lives.

And, too, most of their people would go with Fëanáro. She and her kin were princes of the Noldor, and had responsibility to those loyal to them, and could not leave them solely in Fëanáro's hands, for who knew how he would treat them – he had always shown even less care for them than his father.

Thinking thus, Nerwen waited for a lull in Fëanáro's speech. She thought she found it, and went to speak to her relations, when suddenly once again her sight gave way to the strength of visions that assaulted her. They were still unclear, only blood was becoming more and more prominent in them, and it took her a moment to realize the reason for all this: Fëanáro and his sons were swearing an oath, a terrible oath in the name of the One, an oath that could not be broken till the end of the world, to reclaim the Silmarils and slay any who would try to prevent them.

Nerwen stood still, shocked by such folly, her head still reeling from the visions. She searched for Maitimo with her gaze afterwards, but he avoided her eyes.

She did not muster the energy to move again until Fëanáro resumed his speech, and then she approached Findekáno first, knowing her best chances to be there, and said: "If we want to see Middle-Earth, we have to go now."

He looked into her eyes and saw the truth of it there, and so he simply said: "Yes."

That went easier than she would have expected, given that he had always been more hesitant about the idea of leaving than she was, and Nerwen had a moment to wonder whether he was caught in Fëanáro's spell a little after all. But she let it be and went to his father, and spoke to him softly. "Fëanáro controls them, or soon will," she said quietly, "but the charm will pass at some point, and then they will be left only with him, and with no real king to take care of them. We cannot abandon them like that. I know you despise him in this moment, and so do I, but we still cannot leave them."

And once again, Ñolofinwë saw the truth of her words in her eyes and assented. "Moreover," he said, "I made a promise to him, as sorry as I might feel about it now." Turukáno by his side inclined his head too. Nerwen saw Itarillë turn fearful eyes to her, but not even she could deny the truth of these words, and so she only silently took her mother's hand – Elenwë seemed terrified.

Anairë, however, was opposed to it. "This is folly," she said. "If our people wish to forsake the life of bliss we have here for this foolish plan, it is their choice, but we are not bound to follow. I remember the stories of those who came from beyond the Sea. Middle-Earth is not full of silent beauty, it is full of violence and darkness."

"Would you have me abandon my people, then?" Ñolofinwë asked her.

"You are not their king," she replied.

It was, of course, entirely the wrong thing to say, and Nerwen speedily moved away as her Uncle's angry words began to spill from his mouth.

Nerwen's dearest brother, Ingoldo, stood close by, and as she approached him, he said: "I heard your words, sister, and they are true. Valar will not keep us here, I believe."

She frowned. "Are you certain you wish to go, brother? I know the idea of having a land of your own intrigues you somewhat, but..." But he had more reasons to stay than to go, surely.

"Turukáno will not leave his father, and I will not leave Turukáno," Ingoldo answered simply.

"And what about Amarië?" Nerwen asked pointedly. Surely she was owed more loyalty than his best friend.

Ingoldo looked away. "I will ask her to come with me," he said.

Nerwen shook her head. "Brother, she is not even your wife, and she is a Vanya, loyal to the Valar. Why would she go with you?"

He frowned at this question. "Because she loves me," he answered. "You would not understand."

Nerwen looked at him incredulously, but the did not have the strength left to argue at the moment and passed by him to stand by her parents. She did not try to convince them - she knew they would not head her words, and in truth, they had little relevance for them. They did not desire Middle-Earth, and the Noldor were not their responsibility, not even if Fëanáro was discounted as king. Nerwen did not believe there was a place in Middle-Earth for her parents. She loved them, though, and if they were to stay behind, she wanted to bid them proper farewell, at least.

She was unsurprised when, as her father tried to urge caution again, a protest rose against him, but surprised a little that he seemed to accept the will of majority. "Father," she said softly to him, "will you and mother not stay?"

"Will you, or your brothers?" He returned her question.

"No," she admitted. Aikanáro stood firmly by Findekáno's side, and Angaráto was with him as well, though he seemed less determined.

"Then we will not stay either," Arafinwë said simply, and she accepted his decision, selfishly glad she would not have to say her good-byes even as a small voice in her head still insisted they would not be happy beyond the Sea.

The Noldor packed and prepared for the journey in days, but even as the march started, a dissent appeared against Fëanáro who in his arrogance made many enemies, and not all were willing to accept him as king. Most, in fact, expressed their loyalty to Ñolofinwë after seeing that he would leave for Middle-Earth as well, trusting more in his leadership, and Fëanáro stormed off in the direction of the sea only with a small host. Ñolofinwë set out after him with the majority of the Noldor, and Nerwen sighted a breath of relief. That, she believed, gave their people much better chances of survival and success.

She sought out Findekáno and told him: "Go to the beginning of the host with a small group, to make sure our way is clear and there is no treachery awaiting us, prepared by Fëanáro and his people. I sense some danger from that direction," she remembered the blood from her visions with dread, "and I want to keep the people safe."

He assented and left for that task, and Nerwen herself receded to the back rows, where her parents and brothers were. That was when Manwë's messenger appeared, and caused her some more relief. They were not forbidden to leave. That was good. She did not much worry about the warning that the journey would be hard, for she never expected it to be easy, but she turned to her parents and brothers once again, asking if truly they wanted to leave Aman behind. "You always thought we weren't true Noldor, sister," Aikanáro told her in reply, "perhaps the time has come for us to prove we aren't as bad as you assumed." Angaráto muttered his agreement to this, and she saw him give a sidelong glance to his wife – it was not only Nerwen who sometimes thought he lacked fire.

Never before did she see so clearly the difference in wisdom between her and her brothers. "You were never the one whom I criticized for lacking fire, Aikanáro," she said, with all the power she could muster behind her words. "It was for lack of wisdom. This is not a game. This decision is great and life-changing. I have dreamed long of Middle-Earth, and so has Findekáno, and our uncle has responsibility towards his people, but there is nothing that forces you to leave, and many reasons to stay."

"I do not see you making such speeches to Turukáno," Ingoldo said mildly.

"You know perfectly well what I think of Turukáno. He never showed any inclination to listen to me, and I have no reason to believe he would now. He heard my words to Uncle and took them as addressed to himself, too. His heart is set, as well as that of his sister," Irissë would have gone with Fëanáro's host, in fact, had Turukáno not begged her not to, "and I will not waste my breath trying to dissuade them. But you used to listen to me at least a little."

Something flashed in his eyes at these words. "And yet I will not yield. I did not do so for Amarië, I will not do so for you. I do not have to be gone long, but I wish to at least set my eyes on those lands."

Nerwen sighed. Ingoldo had been hurt by Amarië's refusal to go with him, and he was prideful and stubborn now, in his pain. She turned to her parents. "Father? Mother?"

"Our answer stays the same," Arafinwë replied, and Eärwen nodded her assent.

It weighted heavily on Nerwen's heart, and she could not abandon it in thought until they came close to Alqualondë and heard the sounds of battle. Then she ran, headless of all else, and the sight before her pierced her heart like nothing before. She heard her mother's desperate shriek behind her at the sight of her own people being slaughtered, and Nerwen herself had trouble comprehending the sight. How...how was such evil even possible? She searched for Findekáno with her eyes, he who was meant to guard the front of the host against anything of this sort, and when she spied him in the middle of the battle, something broke in her and silent tears fell down her cheeks as she was lost in the terror. So it was no the Enemy who would slaughter those of Alqualondë after all..

They watched, horrified, as all Teleri in sight were killed and Fëanáro's host took control of the ships and began to sail north, and Findekáno then, without stopping, marched on on the shore. Nerwen's family followed him slowly, partly in hopes of finding out what happened, partly in confusion, crossing the bloodied beach, but she began to feel that the suffering that Valar foretold would be much greater than any of them expected. Indeed, it was already turning out to be so. This, then, was the blood she had foreseen.

She knew not what happened in Alqualondë, but could hardly guess anything else but that it was somehow Fëanáro's fault, and she blamed herself bitterly for not taking the position at the front instead of Findekáno. She achieved nothing by her talk with her brothers and parents, and she underestimated the difference in wisdom between herself and her cousin and friend, the very same difference she had always tried to ignore for the sake of their friendship, and to keep her own pride at bay. She made a solemn promise never to lie to herself again.

Angaráto, she saw, was badly shaken by what happened, as was his son. He always liked the company of Eärwen's kin the most of all of her children, and spent much of his time in Alqualondë – on the very shore that was not behind them, covered in blood. But his wife and brother marched on, determined, and so he did as well, more hesitantly. His mind was stripped bare by the horror, and Nerwen could see that the image of Findekáno – his good friend Findekáno – slaying his kin haunted him as he went.

They marched on and they watched the storm that destroyed many of Fëanáro's ships, and Nerwen thought it justice served, at least a little. When it calmed, they continued on their way and she was trying to come to terms with the tragedy even as she was making sure their host kept together, when suddenly they were stopped by the figure of Lord Námo on their path. Her worry rose even higher, if possible, because his hints of the future were hardly ever encouraging, and if the crime of Alqualondë was indeed as fierce as she feared, the Valar would never look at any of the guilty kindly again.

She listened to Lord Námo's ominous voice, and one sentence particularly sounded in her head - "On the House of Fëanáro the wrath of the Valar lies from the West unto the uttermost East, and upon all that will follow them it shall be laid also." The injustice of it made her want to scream. She had wanted to leave for Middle-Earth before Fëanáro even conceived of the idea, and now she was told she was following him simply because she recognized this as her one chance and was unwilling to let it go. And at that moment, she realized that she could not heed the warning, and could not stay. If she was being forced to choose between Aman and Middle-Earth for ever, she would have to choose Middle-Earth, come what it may. She would not be herself if she did not. There was unbendeable strength in her that simply did not allow to submit to a ruling she regarded as so unjust.

Nevertheless, she fell to her knees in front of her parents, taking their hands, and begged them: "Please, please, stay."

"You still intend to leave, even after you heard this?" Her father asked in shock.

"I must; you know why, even though you do not understand. But there is nothing forcing you, and I beg you, take mother and return to the Valar."

Arafinwë turned his sight to his sons. "And you?" He asked.

Ingoldo shook his head. "I do have some Noldorin fire inside of me," he said. "I can see future in front of me in Middle-Earth. If my sister is to have a realm of her own, then so will I, the place where the most beautiful works of art will be made."

"Not even now will you think of Amarië?" Nerwen asked. "Not even when you know you will not be able to return to her?"

"Spare me your insistence," Ingoldo replied. "We will be slain, as Lord Námo said. I have killed no one, and I have faith that eventually I will be allowed to come back from his halls. Then she can have me for the rest of the ages, but I will set my eyes on Middle-Earth first."

Nerwen found herself beyond words at this speech, and Arafinwë turned to his remaining sons. Aikanáro said, speaking for Angaráto too, as was his wont: "We have talked with Findekáno many times about the realms he would rule in Middle-Earth, and we promised to take part in it if he ever got the chance. We will not leave them now."

Nerwen felt very bitter now for encouraging her brothers' friendship with her closest friend, in her attempt to stir the fire of one and encourage the wisdom of the other. Angaráto seemed not to be quite as certain as his brother about leaving, and Artaresto clearly longed to return, but Eldalótë spoke, saying: "Fëanáro's deed was not our own. We would never follow one who slew our cousins, but we will follow your brother across the Sea – we will not leave those realms to be a reward for a murderer!"

There hardly was anything Angaráto could respond to that, so he only nodded, under his wife's and brother's look, and clasped his son's hand tightly. Ingoldo spoke again, saying: "And I will not leave them, father. Take mother and go back to the Valar, and I will take care of them all."

Arafinwë gave a sad look to all of his children, and then said: "I cannot go, not against the will of the Valar and with those who slew my wife's kin. Fare as well as you can in Middle-Earth, and listen to your sister's advices. She has always had the most wisdom of all of you."

Nerwen had to blink away tears at this pronouncement from her father, one she had wished she could hear for so long. But there were more important matters to settle. "Will you not at least send Artaresto back with Father?" She asked her brother desperately.

"Would you rob me of my son?" Eldalótë replied for him, with such viciousness that Nerwen fell silent.

They were embracing and saying their farewells when Anairë appeared by them, furious. "What of you, sister and cousin," she asked, turning to Eärwen. "Will you, too, follow this foolishness?"

Eärwen seemed taken aback at this vehemence, and still to struck by grief over Alqualondë to say anything, so her husband replied for her: "No, sister – we are returning to beg forgiveness of the Valar."

"Good, then – allow me to go with you."

"Aunt!" Nerwen cried, horrified. "Has Uncle changed his mind?"

"No indeed, but I am not obliged to follow him in every foolishness."

Now it was Arafinwë who was too struck to speak, and Eärwen who replied, quietly: "But what of your marriage vows?"

"There is but one loyalty from which none can be absolved," Anairë replied in a hard voice. "'Tis a pity my husband does not remember this."

And so it happened that Nerwen's sight was blurred by tears once again as they continued on their journey, and as they heard Arafinwë and Anairë calling that all who wanted to return were welcome to do so with them.

The rest marched or sailed on, and stopped only as they approached the Helcaraxë, where they debated what to do now. And when she saw Fëanáro's ships departing, Nerwen's vision cleared by another degree and she knew in that moment that the Ice lay in their future. Terror gripped her heart, for those lands were terrible, and she tried to quell the hatred that flared in her for Fëanáro, but with little success.

Ñolofinwë ordered to wait until the ships returned for them, and Nerwen did not have the heart to tell him they would not. Instead, she went in search of Findekáno while they waited. She found him by the sea, staring towards Middle-Earth, terror in his eyes.

She merely stood next to him in silence for a long while, then asked: "What happened in Alqualondë?"

"I do not rightly know," he admitted in a distant voice. "If the Valar say that we slew its guardians unjustly then I suppose it must be true, but I arrived in the middle of the battle, and simply hurried to defend out kin."

"Even when you knew Fëanáro was at the head of that host? You knew the extent of his madness."

Findekáno shook his head, still not looking at her. "I did not – not that it extended as far as kinslaying."

"You know it was him who drew the sword on his own half-brother, your father!" She cried.

That finally made him look, directly into her eyes. "There is a world of difference between drawing a sword and killing someone with it," he replied, his voice echoing with the painful, horrible experience, and his eyes shining with unshed tears.

Nerwen stayed silent. She knew she could hardly fault Findekáno for not having the foresight she had, but she found she could not entirely forgive him his part in this, caused by his failure to consider a situation. She would not hold a grudge against him, but she felt a rift appearing between them, caused by the horror of death. She, too, like her brother, could not forget the image of Findekáno, sword in hand, his tunic red with the blood of her kin.

The days they spent waiting in Araman were cruel, cold and empty, and when Ñolofinwë finally realized Fëanáro left them behind, all could sense his anger. Nerwen knew her uncle, though, and knew such anger would only drive him forward. She did not try to argue, because she knew that bridge had been burned when they had not heeded Lord Námo's words. Valinor was no longer open for them, so what choice but the Helcaraxë did they have?

Faced with the horror of it, however, made her realize the extent of her guilt. As she saw her kin dying around her, as she saw Elenwë fall with exhaustion and slip into the cold waters and perish, and with her many of those who tried to save her, as she saw the despair and ruin, she bitterly rued the moment she helped convince Ñolofinwë to leave Aman. Her reasons had been true, and her sight had been clear at the time, but now she resented any responsibility she had for any one of those elves who were suffering and dying around her. Perhaps Ñolofinwë would have marched anyway, and perhaps everything would have been the same, but at least she would have known she had no fault in it. She did not regret the choice for herself, but as she comforted Itarillë in her grief and tried to give her the strength needed to continue on the march, she was burned by shame over the fact that she could not prevent the presence of those she swore to protect. Her brothers, and Itarillë, but also others, those she counted among her people, her more distant kin. Death and suffering was all around her, and after years of urging the people on when they marched, and letting her dearest friend weep on her shoulder when they stopped, after years of silent looks and whispered words shared with Ingoldo as they tried to keep their cousin and his daughter alive, and their people as well, helping the weakest and most desperate and giving them strength while Ñolofinwë and Findekáno marched at the front of the host and attempted to inspire...after all this, she realized that her banishment had not, after all, been unjust: she might have had no hand in the killing in Alqualondë, but nothing she ever did would make up for having a part in this. She had no right to blame Findekáno, or indeed any of the sons of Fëanáro, for there was as much blood on her hands now.

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AN: Yeah, that was a fun chapter to write.

Apart from the Silmarillion quotes, there are also some almost-quotes from one of the songs from my favourite band's Tolkienist album. If you caught some, have a cookie! (They appear at various places of this story, actually, so the cookie promise stands till the end.)

Oh, and only one name this time: Artaresto - Orodreth