I did say that I would include flashbacks from the Silmarillion. And be warned, sometimes there are things that other elves won't even know about Fëanor and his family- things that never made it to the written word- Estela would know she had seen it first-hand, but as she was very young, she was easily overlooked then. Also, unlike many others, she still prefers to use the Quenya names for those she knew. Furthermore Fëanor's two half-sisters were left out of the published Silmarillion- their names were Findis and Irien Lalwendë.

Chapter Three

Estela closed the connection to Elrond from her mirror and sighed. She turned and left her rooms to go to the meeting room, where they held conferences and planned where next to go and what to do.

Tulcano, her favourite cousin stood there reading maps and old scrolls. She smiled.

This was a settlement, built and hidden from the eyes of just about anyone who was not invited or living there- a hidden city.

Outside on the ground level, there was a courtyard, with a forge. Telperinquar, another cousin was hammering away.

Estela left for the library.

One of the things about being the grandchildren of Fëanáro was that they were taught by the best, in well, everything- save for pride- that she had to learn to temper herself. So naturally, not only was the library stocked, but it was beautifully designed and made to take one's breath away.

Tree-like tendrils branched outwards to hold shelves in place, with sculptures of ents and ent-wives marking places and holding out their arms to extend to branches. The floor was green, and the ceiling was domed and painted with Varda, her Maiar and the stars they scattered throughout the sky. The walls were made up of mosaics of the sea, the harbour-city of Alqualondë where her mother had been born. There was also Tirion upon Túna where her father had been born, and where she was as well, and Valmar of the Bells, although due to her express wish, the hill of Ezellohar and the Two Trees were left out along with Formenos. Some things were just too painful, even with paintings and sculptures of the Valar and Maiar.

Estela felt at home here. For some reason, although she could not return, she could not consider Middle-Earth her home. No, she had seen far too much misery here.

My life is made up of misery, Estela thought. It was only ever in Valinor, but I left didn't I? When did it all start?

She knew perfectly when.

It was a day of festival in Tirion upon Túna. The Day had been bright, as it always was upon Valinor, and now the horses' hooves had thundered ahead of us. How she longed to ride! The restlessness of a child, the eager desire to be free and gallop over horizons with her father. Yet this day was a day of Festival, and now, to save the fine garments in which her mother had forced upon her, Estela rode in the carriage beside her.

Her mother was a princess of the Teleri by birth, Olwë's granddaughter. Her beauty truly was unparalleled. Estela's own features combined those of her father, grandfather and foremother Míriel with her own. Her delicate, small hands had folded neatly upon her lap, and her silver hair, had cascaded that day, as if it were Ulmo's most magnificent waterfall, waving gently, yet capturing Laurelin's light, making it appear brighter than ever imagined. Her face was more delicate and more beautiful and perfect than those of our kind normally were, and between long lashes her eyes were violet, a purple, more brighter and richer in colour and piercing than any gem. She was at peace, whereas Estela was eager to ride, fighting such fire in my spirit, the fire she had inherited from her father's father.

"Peace, Little One,' she murmured, her voice a high crystal-sweet music. We shall be there soon enough, and you shall dance for the greatest part of this night, until it is time for you to retire. However, all of the Noldor shall be there and many eyes shall be upon you, so I must ask that you restrain yourself from joining the antics of the cousins and uncles you so love, and to restrain them if you can." Her voice was gentle, but firm.

As they passed into the walls of Tirion, the great city of the Noldor upon Valinor, people, dressed in their finest garments turned and cheered, chanting loudly Estela's father's name, and her mother's. The hooves of the horses thudded on the marble stones and swished through the sands of diamond-dust. Estela gazed out towards the houses and towers of great beauty, built of marble and placed amidst courtyards and gardens of the fairest beauty. The domes and roofs of towers and houses were built of pure gold and silver, and many of the buildings were inlaid with gems or had flowers, spilling from walls and rooftops, growing beneath windows, and lining crystal steps. The horses came to a halt and now she heard her father dismount and our people roar with the greatest joy. A second roar ensued when mother and daughter emerged from the carriage to join my father. Most splendid and in all ways, magnificent and majestic, his red hair spilled from his head and was bound by a circlet of mithril. Her mother wore a similar, yet more delicate circlet studded with adamants, as did Estela, although she would have preferred her hair loose. Her wild curls had been tamed this day and she was gowned in the finest silks and lace, which weighed too heavy for her to run, but strangely, not to spin and dance. Her mother's foresight.

Together, the mounted the crystal stairs. Laurelin's light had bathed all of Tirion in a warm glow and the stairs beneath looked as if it were made of many colours of light, and nothing solid beneath. Little Estela was carried, by her father, and much as she loved him, the little girl would have preferred very much if she could walk. Still, out of love for her father, Estela had allowed herself to be carried up the stairs and was only set down when they reached the gold doors of her forefather's palace.

The doors swung open, and a herald announced them, they then entered a great hall with pillars of gold trees and ceiling covered with jewels of many colours. Finwë the king stood clapping enthusiastically as his eldest grandson emerged with his wife and child. He appeared delighted to see the little girl and so was Indis, his wife, gowned in blue. Estela had learned due to the listening she had done as a child, that Indis was not her grandfather's mother, but Finwë's second wife. She was every bit as beautiful as Míriel but in a very different way. Gold-haired, whereas Míriel was silver-haired, she was as tall, but she was soft-spoken and sweet, whereas Míriel Serindë was strong-minded and spirited. Estela learned due once again to all the listening she had done, that her grandfather did not hold Indis in high regard, neither did he hold Ñolofinwë although he tolerated Arafinwë, Findis and Irien Lalwendë his other half-siblings at the worst of times and was amiable to them at best. But they did try desperately to please him.

Nerdanel came rushing over to embrace the three of them as did Fëanáro who was laughing joyfully. Her six uncles and their spouses (if they had any) and children came over too and Estela must have been hugged and kissed countless times before Findekáno her father's cousin and closest friend came over as well to clap him on the back. Then Indis had lifted her and cuddled her. Estela saw her grandfather's face tighten as if he wished to snatch her away, but it thankfully vanished as soon as it came.

Estela was handed back to her father as everyone admired both her parents. Her mother's hair was molten silver shining and capturing any light, and her skin glowed brighter than a star. Her face held more beauty and perfection than any elf, and her eyes were unmatched, in colour, richness and radiance. Everyone sighed and little Estela knew that many people lamented that Fëanáro was the one to marry her.

It was the same for her father and numerous maidens besides. After Finwë crushed her in a glorious embrace, she was finally set down. Her two youngest uncles Nityafinwë and Telufinwë grinned at her, crooked smiles and copper hair like her own. Itarillë, Ñolofinwë's granddaughter smiled sweetly at her. And after the court had welcomed them they were ushered into a great hall made of fine glass. Estela pleaded to go with Itarillë, after which the two happy girls ran weaving through the crowds and passing gold tables and the gilded blossoms decorating the walls. But Estela suddenly stopped.

A discussion was being made. And not of good will.

Quenya names:

Fëanáro- Fëanor Itarillë- Idril

Ñolofinwë- Fingolfin

Arafinwë- Finarfin

Findekáno- Fingon

Nityafinwë- Amrod

Telufinwë- Amras