Fёanáro's word were truly powerful. There was a compulsion in his voice that was almost irresistible. Only Cáno and Curvo had inherited that trait and later their children from them. It was only her exposure to their descendents that allowed Culwen to ignore his words.

She almost smiled at the thought. Only her fear helped her maintain her composure. For better or worse, the rebellion of the Noldor had begun. The voices of dissent were getting quieter by the moment as the power in Fёanáro's voice increased. A careful use of her Sight revealed the insanity that was so cleverly hidden.

Culwen snapped to attention as Fёanáro's voice rose. "The Valar would prevent us from avenging my father's death and retrieving the silmarils. I say, we will not return until the silmarils are once more ours."

Curvo turned to her. "His words only bring dark images," He muttered, "I fear the result of these choices."

"Yet still you will follow him," She said, "Though it will lead to nothing but death and destruction." The elleth looked at her husband, her eyes filled with despair. "What of our son? Will you condemn him too, when he is not even born yet?"

Turkafinwë approached the couple. "Curvo, you must join us. Our family must remain unified for this oath."

"This oath will only cause division!" Culwen cried. "Innocent people will suffer for something that can and should not be."

Fёanáro turned his attention to his daughter-in-law, eyes burning with fear and insanity. "Are the silmarils not a worthy cause?" He asked, his voice deceptively calm. "Would you defy me?"

"If I were to defy only one thing in my life, I would defy this," She said, "I will not interfere, though, but I caution all here. Beware of the promises of Fёanáro, for glory and power must be bought with suffering. What is the point if everything you have fought for falls in the end?"

He merely scowled at her and turned to her husband. "Curvo, join us. Swear this oath."

Curvo winced. Culwen turned to him. "Do not! This oath will only cause ill. Follow your father to all ends, but do not swear this oath."

"I would not leave my father and brothers alone in this task." He said mournfully. "I promise, next time I will listen to you."

She sighed. "No, you will not. This oath will prevent it. Cursed will be the line of Fёanáro, until both the silmarils and the great deeds of the Noldor are little more than stories."

He swore the oath; she knew he would even as she spoke against it. The surging chaos of the rebellion of the Noldor swept her away from Curvo, into the host of Arafinwë. She rejoiced at this strange fortune, for though she would follow her husband out of Valinor, she would not participate in any kinslayings.

It was not until the Doom of Mandos that Culwen could once more reach her husband. She twined her arms with his, noticing with alarm a large gash on his forearm. "This is bad," Culwen whispered, "It should be treated now."

Curvo shivered. "Why should I be treated," He said bitterly, "When there are some here who fell at my hand. You were right, love. There is no going back, even the Valar have proclaimed it."

"The Valar are fools," She told him, "Who assume that all desire to praise them and live in the light. They preach mercy, but show us none. In later years, countless pleas will be made to them by the Noldor but the Valar will not help until we are devastated."

"You bring no comfort," Curvo said, "Only what my heart tells me is the truth." They both looked up as Mandos ended his proclamation. "Why do any follow us?"

A commotion arose from the back of the crowd. Artanis let out a cry of shock as the newcomer came into their midst. "Lindëhísië," She asked, as her cousin made to join the Noldor, "What are you doing here?"

Lindëhísië gave a sly smile. "You did not expect me to follow, did you? Not after the murder of our people and the theft of our boats."

"Why then do you follow?" Culwen asked. "The crimes against the Teleri are grievous and pointless. And this I will tell you; much grief awaits you beyond these shores. Would you give up the security of your home and family for an uncertain reward?"

"What family?" Lindëhísië scoffed. "My brother and cousins follow Fёanáro; I will not remain as the only one of my generation. Indeed, there is a greater purpose that calls me. Though I know not why, I know that my fate lies on the other side of the sea."

Námo frowned at the Teleri elleth. "You would follow those who slayed your kin? You would follow a cursed people?"

"Their fate shall be my own."

"You follow, despite knowing what has been done," Námo said, "For this, you alone may return to Valinor as you wish. You are under no banishment, save that of your foolish loyalty."

Lindëhísië merely smiled. "So be it." She said.

Curvo clung to his wife, weak from both blood loss and a sudden premonition. "This exception changes all," He whispered, "From it will our redemption come."

And Culwen held him and thought of Eärendil, who, a Noldor and so under the curse, could never have reaved Valinor without Lindëhísië giving him her exemption.

Even knowing beforehand what would happen, the burning of the ships still took her by surprise. It seemed like she had scarcely gotten off the boats, had scarcely gotten on dry ground (and never before and, to the best of her knowledge, never again would she go on any sort of ship) before shouts started to run out.

She spun around, but it was too late. Curvo let out a gasp as he saw the boats, already consumed by fire. "What about the others?" Maitimo asked his father, having come to join Curvo and Culwen.

The fire seemed to linger in Fёanáro's eyes, even after the ellon turned away, flashing with an uncontrolled fury. "My half-brother and his people matter not. They will return to the Valar and beg for mercy."

"They will not!" Maitimo cried. "You and Ñolofinwë are too akin in spirit. They would sooner cross the icy waste of the Helcaraxё than to bow down now to the Valar."

Fёanáro took a threatening step towards his eldest. "Your loyalty should be to me, Maitimo," He said, a torch flaming in his hand, "Instead of to Findekáno."

"What would you know of loyalty?" Maitimo hissed. "You have none to your family and none to your people, for if you did then you would not have left them. Look at what you have become! Do you really regret nothing?"

"There is nothing to regret!" Fёanáro snapped. He looked around, his scorching glare passing over all of his people. "Would anyone else betray me?"

Culwen wrapped her arm around her husband as a sudden chill came into the air. She looked anxiously at the rest of the people; most of the elves seemed to be in shock, save one. Alatatir sat on the ground, Cáno by her side, with tears pouring down her face as she looked at the burning boats.

Fёanáro turned back to the boats, only to find Maitimo blocking his way. "Get out of my way!" Fёanáro commanded. Maitimo, winced, guilt contorting his face as he looked at the ships.

"They are already burnt beyond repair," Maitimo said sadly, "May our kin, may those in later years know that I, for this reason alone, stood aside."

Culwen almost laughed then, as she thought of the cleverness of a great historian, a descendant of Elros who had died a few centuries before she was born. Her amusement died as she thought of those on the other shore, especially of Elenwë, who would not live.

"Thus shall the crimes of the house of Fёanáro increase." She muttered. Her husband only nodded, the distance in his eyes showing that a flash of foresight had hit him.

Turkafinwë, his eyes filled with a horror that was unusual for his usually carefree spirit, came to Curvo's other side. "This is too much." He muttered.

"Indeed," Alatatir said, "This is almost a greater insult than the kinslaying. Never shall the burning of the boats be forgotten. I wonder if Fёanáro realizes the tragedy, what this fiery death really means."

"In the same way will he die," Curvo said, "An eye for an eye."

Culwen sighed. "So shall it be. In these last days, our fate has been determined. We are now in Middle-earth, in the land of my birth. From now on, we must fight to survive. There is evil in this world that none here have imagined."

"Sister?" Alatatir's gentle voice drew Culwen out of her thoughts. It had been nearly a month since Fёanáro's death and a day since Maitimo had set out to negotiate with Morgoth. The message had come from Morgoth; it was Maitimo or the war.

"What is it?" Culwen snapped. "It had better be important."

"I think that it is," Alatatir said, "Though my visions are not clear. You could probably tell better than me, in this case. At the very least, it is good news for our family."

Culwen sighed. "You speak in riddles. Good news would be welcomed indeed, if I did not fear that there would be some cost to it."

"Perhaps there is a price," Alatatir conceded, "But do not begrudge me this joy. I am expecting a child." Culwen's eyes widened. "You know of her, of my daughter. Please tell me just this: what will she be like?"

"Most would wait to find out for themselves." Culwen gumbles, but sighed at the misery in Alatatir's eyes. "The Makalauriel will be fair, with the same powerful Songs as her father. Her power will only be matched by her stubbornness, for she will yield to none, save her king."

Alatatir sighed. "Thank you," The elleth whispered, "I have only one more question: will she be happy, in the end?"

Culwen smiled, almost, thinking of a Sindarin king who missed so much his clever Noldor wife and her counsels and songs, and of their children. "She will be happy," Culwen said, "Not just in the end, but many times before then."

"Thank Eru." Alatatir breathed. They stood in silence, in blessed silence, for only a moment before footsteps approached them.

Ambarussa appeared. "You are needed," He said, "To decide our next action. We must determine Maitimo's fate."

"It has already been decided." Culwen said, but they both followed Ambarussa to the meeting.

Moryo and Turkafinwë were already shouting when they arrived, with Cáno trying to separate them. He glanced up at the sound of a door opening and let out a sigh of relief. "We are all here," Cáno said, "Let's begin."

"There is nothing to debate," Turkafinwë said, "We must save Maitimo, even if we must go back to Valinor. That is what Morgoth promises: that Maitimo will be released if we leave."

"We cannot return," Moryo yelled, "The Valar have made sure of it. 'Tears unnumbered ye shall shed.' This is only the beginning of our punishment; will we relent before it has even become? There is no escape for us now."

"What of our brother?"

"You are foolish, more so than I thought," Culwen snapped. "If you believe that Morgoth will keep his word. In all likelihood, Maitimo is already dead."

Curvo was the only one who wasn't following the conversation; his face was pale and tearstained and his hands were shaking. His foresight was being overtaken by the pain that Maitimo was in. "It might be better if he were dead." He muttered.

"Do not think of that." Culwen said, wrapping a gentle arm around her husband's quivering frame. "Even a moment of happiness makes everything worth it." He gave her a weak smile.

"If Morgoth will not release Maitimo," Turkafinwë spat, "Then we should storm his gates. We will steal the silmarils and force him to release Maitimo."

"That didn't work last time," Moryo snapped, "Even with father there. Why should it work now?"

Cáno sighed. "There is no use in arguing; we must take a vote. All for attacking Morgoth?" The Ambarussa and Turkafinwë raised their hands. "All against it?" Curvo, Moryo, and Alatatir raised their hands.

"It's a tie." Turkafinwë said. He glared at Culwen. "Culwen, you need to vote. Cáno can't, since he is moderating the vote. You must break the tie."

"I know that." She told him, then sighed. "I wish that this did not come down to me, but I will still say; not until the gates of Valinor open will an army best Morgoth. For that reason alone, I vote against it."

Cáno looked like he was going to cry and Turkafinwë scowled, but the argument was over. There would be no rescue for Maitimo, from his brothers at least.

"What are you doing?" Culwen paused as she heard Turkafinwë's angry voice, for once not directed at her. She peered inside the tent that she had just been about to enter and saw him towering over Curvo, who looked even smaller in the force of Turkafinwë's anger.

"What do you mean, brother?" Curvo snapped. "I was going to that horrible make-shift forge, but it appears that you are in my way."

"That is not what I meant." Turkafinwë growled. "Why did you vote against rescuing Maitimo?"

"Have you not heard what the Sindar have told us?" Curvo demanded. "We should hope that Maitimo is dead. There are things worse than death."

"And you are abandoning him to those torments." Turkafinwë snapped. His eyes, suddenly filled with suspicion, narrowed. "It's her, isn't it. She put you up to this."

"Culwen did nothing of that sort," Curvo responded, a forced calmness beginning to enter his voice, "And I am getting tired of you constantly criticizing her. The discussion is over and there is nothing that you can do. It is not our place to rescue Maitimo."

"Who will do it, if we do not? What do you expect to happen?" Turkafinwë said, with scorn in his voice.

Curvo winced. "I don't know." He said softly, as he closed his eyes. The air seemed to stand still as he tried to See into the future, in a desperate attempt to See exactly what would become of their brother. Even stubborn Turkafinwë reacted when Curvo let out a cry of pain and crumpled to the ground.

Culwen's heart nearly stopped as she saw her husband unconscious on the floor. The elleth ran to join her brother-in-law as the terrified ellon leaned over his brother. "Curvo?" She asked fearfully. Turkafinwë's eyes filled with terror as he gathered his younger brother into his arms.

"Get Alatatir." Turkafinwë ordered. "Even if it is some odd side effect of the Sight, she will still be the best person to consult."

Before long, Alatatir had arrived and Curvo was gently laid on a bed. The elleth carried her daughter in her arms, with little Nárlindё only a few days old. The small elfling looked so fragile and innocent, it was hard to reconcile with the strong, confident elven lady that she would later become.

Alatatir frowned at Turkafinwë. "Turko, why do you always create more chaos? Don't we have enough problems without you?"

"It's not my fault." He protested. She merely sighed and shook her head. "Curvo will be fine, right?" He added anxiously. "He hasn't been poisoned and isn't injured, so what happened?"

"I don't know," Alatatir admitted, "But he seems fi—" She broke off. "Look, he's waking up!" They gathered around the bed as Curvo slowly opened his eyes. "How do you feel?" She asked.

He let out a groan. "Miserable," He muttered, "Why does my head hurt so much?"

"Did you hit it?" Alatatir's voice was calm, with only her questions revealing her fears. "A headache that bad could mean that you have a serious concussion."

"I haven't done anything," He protested, before squeezing his eyes closed in pain. "Except try to See the future."

Turkafinwë gently stroked his brother's ebony hair, as Curvo quietly whimpered in pain. The elleths crept to the other side of the tent.

"This worries me," Alatatir whispered, "It worries me a lot. I can think of no cause, but if it ties to his foresight then it is a serious problem. A seer cannot always control their visions. Do you know anything?"

Culwen sighed. "I know nothing," She replied mournfully, "Nothing about Curvo and nothing about other seers. Since I do not have that Sight, I had no need to learn such things."

"Do you not know any seers?" Alatatir asked.

"My aunt is," Culwen said, "But nobody ever talked about her gift. Everyone only talked about how powerful her mother had been, and I think she preferred it that way."

Alatatir bit her lip. "Back in Valinor, I would ask Findo or Artanis, but now—" The elleth gestured to their surroundings. "Now we have nothing. I'll get something for the pain; try to distract him until I get back."

"That is no comfort." Culwen muttered. She replaced Turkafinwë at her husband's bedside. "Love," She said gently, as she remembered why she had come to find him, "I'm pregnant."