Chapter Text
Vírinissë’s dress was dark blue, blue as the angrily churning sea before her. Her hair, red as the stained beach underneath her feet, fluttered in the soft sea-breeze. Víri kneeled down, trembling fingers reaching out to touch the red grains of sand.
She didn’t understand.
Three days had passed since Fëanáro left on stolen ships with her brothers at his side. Three days since the screams of the poorly armed Teleri elves had rang through the air, screams caused by her family. Their only crime had been a refusal, and Fëanáro had attacked them for it.
Atya. Atya, why?
That the Teleri fought back so well had been a surprise, and one that colored the docks red with the blood of both the Noldor and Teleri. Aunt Anairë's songbirds had been right: it was only Findekáno arriving that turned the battle in their favor.
It was only because of cousin Finno and his faithful host of elves that it wasn't the broken bodies of her brothers she found here.
Víri wasn’t sure if she should be feeling relief for that or not. Because her loved ones had survived, but at what cost? Never could she have imagined her family, her precious people, laying hands on another in anger. Let alone kill their kindred.
Kinslayers. Her father and brothers were kinslayers.
And Námo had Doomed them for it.
The Vala’s proclamation still rang through her ears. Filled with the might of the Doomsman of the Valar, they had been heard by every single elf on this side of Eä.
They haunted her, those words.
“Tears unnumbered ye 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. On the House of Fëanor the wrath of the Valar lieth from the West unto the uttermost East, and upon all that will follow them it shall be laid also.”
“Their Oath shall drive them, and yet betray them, and ever snatch away the very treasures that they have sworn to pursue. To evil end shall all things turn that they begin well; and by treason of kin unto kin, and the fear of treason, shall this come to pass. The Dispossessed shall they be for ever.”
“Ye have spilled the blood of your kindred unrighteously and have stained the land of Aman. For blood ye shall render blood, and beyond Aman ye shall dwell in Death's shadow. For though Eru appointed to you to die not in Eä, and no sickness may assail you, yet slain ye may be, and slain ye shall be: by weapon and by torment and by grief; and your houseless spirits shall come then to Mandos.“
“There long shall ye abide and yearn for your bodies, and find little pity though all whom ye have slain should entreat for you. And those that endure in Middle-earth and come not to Mandos shall grow weary of the world as with a great burden, and shall wane, and become as shadows of regret before the younger race that cometh after. The Valar have spoken.”
Her family would never be whole again.
Námo's proclamation made that clear. It wasn’t a curse laid upon Fëanáro and all those who followed him, it was a both sentence and premonition for what was to come. Even if they managed to slay Morgoth and reclaim the three of the silmarils, Aman was closed to them.
Forever.
Even the bonds connecting them to her felt dull, faded. As if they were beyond her reach. She’d tried reaching out to them with her fëa, but it was like there was a wall between them.
It was difficult to explain. She could ‘see’ a vague outline of them, an imprint of what and where they used to be, but Vírinissë could no longer feel them as before. Not her brothers, who’d always been an ever present presence in the back of her mind, nor her father’s bright flame.
More than Ulmo’s sea separated them now.
They had left on the ships they’d stolen, sailing towards Endórë, or as some called it, Middle-earth. Víri hadn’t made it in time. Ammë hadn’t made it in time. Their family was already gone by the time they arrived in Alqualondë, leaving them to stare after the disappearing sails of the ships they’d so dishonorably stolen.
They had only been in time to see the aftermath, to witness the horror Fëanáro had left behind him in his quest for vengeance.
Aunt Anairë had been in time to see Findekáno, pale and quiet amongst his warriors, the bloodsplatter still covering both his armor and face.
Uncle Nolofinwë and his host of elves had arrived just before them, and he hadn't left his son’s side since. He hadn't participated in the battle, and Víri knew her uncle well enough to see the queasiness he tried to hide. Víri would never forget the desperate embrace of father and son.
Nor would she forget the brief look of horror, the flinch, that crossed his face when her uncle realized what his son had participated in.
He was horrified.
Horrified, but still determined to follow after his eldest brother and king. Helped by the fact that the Teleri wanted them gone, Uncle Nolofinwë immediately declared to his wife and Víri’s mother that he would go on and aid his brother and High King.
“I cannot act as if I approve of Fëanáro’s actions here,” Nolofinwë said, face tight. “But he is my brother and High King. I must follow him.”
Behind them, Indis and Findis worked efficiently, directing the healers and handing out supplies before King Olwë even had the chance to object. They had come expecting to need to give aid, and thus had brought along both healers and supplies. Not warriors, healers.
And that made all the difference.
It was only because of them that King Olwë allowed the Noldor giving aid and more especially, the ones involved in the battle to stay, though it wasn’t hard to feel the unrest that decision gave him. The king of the Teleri wanted them gone.
Especially Findekáno and his troop of warriors.
Nerdanel nodded tightly, gaze fixed upon the red-stained beach. “Go, if that is what honor demands. But know this, brother, you are making the same choice as my husband and the Valar know it has led to nothing but pain and grief.”
Nolofinwë shot a glance at his wife. “I know.”
Aunt Anairë turned her face away, her whole body tensing with the things she wanted to say but kept inside. Víri knew how she felt. She, too, wished to scream at them.
Cousin Turukáno stood close, watching everyone with his face schooled into a carefully neutral mask that did little to hide his disquiet. He and his family had followed his father to Alqualondë, and their household with them.
His daughter, young Itarillë, was standing with her mother, her little face pressed into her mother’s skirts so she wouldn’t see the carnage Fëanáro had left behind him. She was too young for these horrors. She hadn’t even reached her full maturity yet.
“Father, we have to go,” Turukáno murmured, eager to get away from the bloodsoaked sands of Alqualondë. “We’ve outstayed our welcome here.”
Findekáno flinched.
Vírinissë felt a flash of pity for Nelyo’s dearest friend, knowing that this wasn’t what he wanted either. Yet it had happened, and Víri felt a desperate need to make up for her family’s part in it. She wouldn’t abandon them, deny the aid they were owed.
“Turko is right,” cousin Finno said, at last breaking his silence. “Father, we can’t stay here much longer. We are not welcome, not after what I’ve done.”
“Son-”
Findekáno shook his head, the ribbons in his braids gleaming in the light of the fire. “No, Father. I know what I have done. I know what my actions, and those of our kin have caused. But we must go on. Russo, Fëanáro needs us.”
Vírinissë’s heart wrenched at the sound of her brother’s epessë. For the love of Yavanna, she wished Nelyo was here with them.
She wanted the Nelyafinwë before the oath, before their grandfather was slain and darkness came for them all. The diplomatic prince who could soothe and charm like no other.
Her big brother.
“So you are leaving,” Aunt Anairë’s voice cut through the silence. “And you are taking my children with you.”
Nolofinwë winced. “Anairë-”
She held up a hand, her face tight with anger as she took in her husband’s mournful expression. “No. No, you don’t get to do this.”
“Amil, please,” Findekáno murmured. “It’s our choice.”
Anairë sneered, eyes flashing dangerously. “You will be going against the Valar, Findekáno. And for what? Justice for Finwë is a righteous wish, but don’t you see? My children, this is not the way.”
“Finwë would not have wanted this,” Nerdanel added, and Víri could see the doubt creeping over some of the faces gathered around them. “No matter how much he loved Fëanáro, his love and duty for his people came first. This is not the way.”
Murmures of agreement spread, yet even more looked at her uncle, waiting for his orders.
Many had followed Nolofinwë here, and Víri wondered how many would be left after they were gone. Would her haru's beloved Tirion even survive this sudden exodus of its people?
Nolofinwë looked like he wanted to agree, yet he couldn’t. “My father is dead, struck down without mercy by Moringotto himself. Fëanáro, our High King and kin, has gone after him. He needs our aid.”
And the worst part was, her uncle was right. Atar had only taken a small host of his most leal with him. Middle-earth was dangerous, and Morgoth even more so. He would need the help Nolofinwë would bring with him.
An army.
Uncle Nolofinwë nodded towards the host he’d come here with, and at his silent order, most moved over the beach towards the path leading eastwards. Never before had Víri seen so many of her people gathered, all grim-faced and wearing at least some kind of armor.
Turukáno and Findekáno joined them, their respective households following.
“Írissë?“ Aunt Anairë asked her two youngest, her heartbreak a horrible echo of Nerdanel’s. “Arakáno?”
“Come with us,” Cousin Írissë pleaded, her white dress almost a beacon in the darkness. “Please, ammë, you can join us. Join atar.”
“Írisse,” her cousin’s mother said, her tone pained. “My fierce daughter.”
Víri barely heard the tragic goodbye between her cousins and aunt, eyes fixed upon the blonde head among Turukáno’s people. Bright golden blonde, and as familiar to her as her own crimson-and-copper locks.
“Isn’t that-” Her mother murmured, nodding towards where Víri was already looking. “Oh, dear.”
Víri stepped forward, wincing when she stepped into a puddle of Eru-knows-what. She hissed out a low breath, disgusted. But she didn’t have time to clean up. The golden-haired elf was still moving, and she needed to know. And thus she opened her mouth, and called a name.
“Laurefindelë!”
He turned to face her, and Víri ran to him, heart in her throat. Her eyes scanned over him, taking in his appearance. Laurefindelë was wearing his armor, sword at his side and a bag slung across his shoulders.
Vírinissë stopped in her tracks, leaning on the back of her heels. “You’re leaving.”
“I’m-”
Víri stiffened. “Were you even going to say goodbye?”
They’d exchanged so many letters over the time they’d known each other, and she’d thought they were friends. She’d thought they were on the same page. She thought they were building something.
She had hoped the next time they would meet, he would ask to court her.
But looking at him now, Víri found it hard to reconcile the elf in front of her with the kind nér she’d grown so very fond of. The nér she could imagine a future with.
“Eru grand me strength.” His eyes closed, and she could feel his shame. “I’m not good at this. I am sorry, Vírinissë. I never wanted to hurt you. I foolishly thought it might be better this way.”
Elves around them winced, but neither Laurefindelë nor Vírinissë noticed.
“Better?” She scoffed, breath hitching. “You are leaving the safety of our home against the will of the Valar. Leaving your family, leaving me. You heard Lord Námo, Laurë. What if you can never return?”
“I will return to you,” he swore, blue eyes serious. “I swear upon-”
“No oaths,” Víri interrupted him, voice clouded by tears. “Please, no more oaths.”
He nodded, pained understanding darkening his expression. They had all heard the Oath of Fëanáro.
“My apologies, mellon.” Laurefindelë murmured, stepping closer. “But that doesn’t make my intention any less true. I won’t swear an oath you don’t want, but you have my word nonetheless. I’ll return to you, Mírëfinwë Vírinissë.”
Tears welled up in her eyes, and Víri blinked them away, knowing tears wouldn’t help here. Nothing would. His mind was made up and still, he tried to comfort her. Yet Laurefindelë couldn’t promise her this. Not when Námo made it clear that all who followed Fëanáro would be barred from their blessed lands.
He knew it. She knew it.
Laurë was leaving her, and there was a very large chance they would never see each other again.
His hand cupped her cheek, and he lowered his head to hers, resting their foreheads together. For one moment, just one moment, both calmed as the presence of the other grounded them. She shakily breathed in the scent of him, heart breaking.
“I want to ask you to come with me,” he confessed quietly. “But I know your heart, Mírëfinwë Nerdaniel, and I won’t ask that of you.”
And that very same heart broke all over again.
She could go with him, Vírinissë knew it. Amil would be devastated, but she would understand. She could join him, and fight for the love that was only just starting to bloom between them.
For a moment, Víri considered it.
Her eyes fell upon what remained of her family. On her grandmother, aunts and mother.
On Indis, standing tall as both her eldest son and youngest daughter joined the host of elves intending on following Fëanáro.
On Aunt Anairë, whose stormy eyes didn’t leave her husband and children as they prepared to leave.
On Findis, pale but resigned as her siblings and nieces and nephews joined the host.
On her mother, who was watching them all in turn, on whom quiet devastation was written all over her face.
They were so strong, the women of her family. The loss they would soon be confronted with, the loss they were already experiencing, and yet there they all stood in the blood-stained sand, spines straight and chins lifted.
Even as their husbands left, even as their brothers and sisters left for lands unknown to them to avenge their much beloved king. As their children and grandchildren left, leaving holes inside their hearts.
“I know, Víri,” Laurefindelë said, following her gaze. “I won’t ask that of you.”
“Laurë-”
He grinned cheekily, white teeth flashing. “I love how you say my name.”
She let out a watery-sounding chuckle, charmed despite herself by his humor. He always managed to make her laugh, no matter how dark her mood was. Even on this bloodsoaked beach, with the pained moans of the injured still audible and the smell of death all around them.
“I don't want to say goodbye,” Víri blurted, heart clenching.
“But?” He asked, smiling at her in that annoyingly soft way of his.
But she had refused her father's mad quest for a reason, and not even Laurefindelë could make her abandon her mother, her family, her people, now. The Nolder had done wrong, done an unimaginable wrong to the Teleri, and she owed it to them to make up for the harm her family had wrought here.
It broke her heart, but Vírinissë couldn’t go with Laurefindelë to Middle-earth.
Which judging by the soft look in his blue eyes, he knew.
“Don’t go,” she pleaded softly, unable to help herself. “Please.”
Stay, she pleaded with her eyes. Just stay with me.
Stay, and build a future together. They could court in truth now, and she wanted that.. She wanted more letters. She wanted laughter, talks and soft looks. She wanted star-lit walks in Yavanna’s gardens. Vírinissë wanted that so badly.
A home of her own. A family. A husband and maybe even a little leaf of their own to cherish.
But just as he had known the truth of her, she knew the truth of him. Laurë wouldn’t abandon his cousin and her young child, not when he'd sworn to protect them.
“Wait for me, please, meleth nîn,” Laurefindelë murmured. “No matter how long it takes, no matter how hard the road before us is, when I come back, I’ll court you as you deserve.”
Meleth nîn.
The words rang through her mind. He loved her. Laurefindelë loved her. Elation wove through the already complicated mix of emotions in her. Yet in her deepest of hearts a seed of disquiet bloomed. Here he was, the honorable elf she felt such a deep connection with. Here he was, choosing to leave her.
Like her brothers. Like her father.
There was no oath binding him, a bitter voice in the back of her mind whispered. Other than Elenwë and her child, his family remained in Aman. She remained in Aman.
Yet Laurefindelë was leaving anyway. Following Turukáno and Elenwë and young Itarillë.
But they needed protection they could muster as they traveled the unknown path toward where the others had gone, and who better than Víri’s honorable fool of an elf?
Laurefindelë was one of the best warriors in her cousin’s household and Itarillë was so young still, and not even Vírinissë - battered and bruised as her heart felt - could deny her that protection.
“Always,” Vírinissë swore, eyes closing.
What followed was a quick round of goodbyes, and Víri tried to imprint them all in her mind, knowing that they were doing the same.
Her gaze crossed with one of Laurefindelë's dearest friends, a young lord who was as fond of his flute as he was his sword.
“Protect him,” she mouthed towards the dark-haired elf, eyes drifting over to where Laurë was making faces at an exasperated Itarillë.
Ecthelion gave a courtly bow, his promise written all over his face. He would keep an eye on her love.
They watched them go.
Beside her, Indis murmured a blessing. “May Tulkas give you the strength you need to do what’s necessary to come back to me, my children.”
“Please. Be safe, be swift.” Anairë added fiercely, gazing up at the star-dotted sky. “And may Elentári guide them home.”
Víri glanced away from the disappearing golden head of her elf towards the turbulent sea, and said, “May Ulmo grant them a safe passage.”
According to Uncle Nolofinwë, Atar would send the ships back to them, allowing them to follow Fëanáro before sending the ships back to the Teleri. She could only pray that Ulmo would keep his seas calm, allowing them a safe voyage to Endórë.
Nerdanel said nothing, she just stared after the disappearing backs of the elves leaving. Víri turned to her mother, seeing the stress and grief she concealed behind a deceptively neutral face.
“Amil?”
“I’m fine, child. Truly.” Nerdanel hummed, knowing none full-well that none there believed her. “Come, daughter. It’s time to get to work.”
And there was a lot of work to do.
Fires had to be put out, and the injured had to be brought to the Healing Halls. A tent had been erected for those too injured to travel, right there on the beach. The dead had to be transported, their bodies carefully covered before being carried to King Olwë’s private courtyard.
Broken bodies, sightless eyes. The moans and whimpers of the dying. The crying, and the blame-filled eyes of the Teleri as they warily watched the females of the House of Finwë offer the aid they so dearly needed.
The King himself watched stoically, but not even the darkness could hide the grief in his eyes as the injured and the dying were brought in. For days they worked, mending what they could and respecting what they couldn’t.
It was horrible.
Never before had Víri seen such pain. Even her grandfather’s murder, carved into her brain as it was, had prepared her for the pain of the Teleri. Pain her family had wrought by their senseless violence. It was heartwrenching.
“How could this have happened,” Aunt Anairë whispered as they worked side by side, horror making her voice hoarse. “How?”
Never before had they seen so many broken bodies. Never before had they witnessed this much death. Aman was meant to be safe.
Instead her grandfather had been murdered by one of the Valar in his own forge. Instead the Two Trees had been destroyed by Melkor himself, casting them all in an unforgiving darkness. Instead her people, grieving and afraid, had attacked the Teleri.
“I don’t know.” Víri said, voice quiet. Looking out over the Healing Halls, filled to the brim with pain and hurt, she repeated, “I don’t know.”
Arafinwë hadn’t known either. The last of her uncles on this side of Aman had arrived in a hurry, intent on following after his brothers, breaking his mother’s heart all over again.
Her cousins went with him, hadn’t even hesitated, leaving her as the only grandchild of Finwë on this side of Aman. It wasn’t a comforting thought, and even three days later Víri still couldn’t believe this was actually happening.
Haru murdered, the Two Trees destroyed. The Oath. The exodus of the Noldor. The kinslaying and the unimaginable grief left behind. But despite the horrors playing on a loop inside her mind, Víri didn’t stop working. She couldn’t.
And neither could the others.
They’d been working tirelessly. For the past three days, together with Noldor and Teleri both, with her mother, grandmother and aunts.
Healing the injured, soothing the grieving and managing the hole that the loss of Fëanáro, Nolofinwë and Arafinwë and their households had left. Working until her voice was raw from use and her mind too tired to think anymore.
(Altiel had been the only one who looked her straight into the eyes, but even she had flinched seeing the silver-grey of the monster who’d come for them gazing back at her. Her dear friend recovered quickly, regret shining in her own eyes.
“Víri-”
Víri shook her head, hand clenching around the torch she was holding. “No. Please, Altiel, don’t you dare apologize. Not to me.”
“I’m still sorry,” Altiel said quietly, meeting her eyes. “You don’t deserve my fear.”
Her breath hitched, an hysterical laugh bubbling up her throat. “You’re sorry? Altiel, look at what my family has wrought! They, they-”
Víri’s eyes fell on her friend’s left side, and she fell quiet. She was wearing a bandage, Altiel’s whole arm was wrapped up.
“What did they do to you?” The words came out quiet, angry.
“Do you really wish to know, mellon nîn?” Altiel asked, her silver brows furrowing with unease. “Surely there is no true need-”
She could easily read the concern her friend felt, and had to resist the urge to scoff. How could Altiel be concerned about her? She was the one who was attacked, the one who got hurt. Who lost two fingers and whose left side was covered in burns.
“Altiel,” Víri took a deep breath. “I've already seen the aftermath of my family’s folly. I tended to the wounded and sang for the grieved. Yet I still can’t reconcile these terrible actions with my brothers. With my father.”
She shuddered, still feeling the pain of the elves she’d tried to help.
Altiel gave her a searching look, her own eyes clouded with tears. “Víri, I am so sorry.”
“And I’m sorry for what happened to you,” Víri choked out. “It should never have happened. So please, tell me.”
It didn’t take long for the whole story to come out.
Altiel had been on the docks, working on one of the smaller boats when Fëanáro and his sons arrived. She’d tried to help when the battle broke out, but only got hurt for her good intentions.
The horror of what happened, of what her family had wrought upon the Teleri, upon her friend, was enough to make Víri want to disappear into a hole and never come out. But she couldn’t.
There was still work to do.)
The scent of smoke filled her nose, and Vírinissë blinked out of the memory of her oldest friend, confused. There was no fire in the Healing Halls, only pretty crystals that glowed, so where did the scent of smoke come from?
A few beds over, Nerdanel let out a sound, more of a whimper. She leaned against the wall, seeking support.
“Ammë?” Víri asked, concerned.
Nerdanel met her eyes, and smiled reassuringly as she straightened up again. “It’s nothing, dearheart. Just a little-”
Then the Music twinged the very same moment those words left her mother’s mouth, and both Víri and Nerdanel rubbed at their chest, feeling identical stabs of pain, deep within their fëa. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.
“Nerdanel?” Findis called, brows furrowing when she noticed both mother and daughter reacting the exact same way. “Mírëfinwë?”
“What-”
Nerdanel shook her head, brown eyes troubled. “I don't know what's happening, hinya. I don’t know.”
But it couldn’t be good.
She couldn’t feel her brothers anymore, not as before. While the connection born from blood and love hadn’t been severed, they had been blocked. Víri couldn’t sense them anymore, yet she knew it had something to do with them.
Were they hurt?
She let out a shuddering breath, legs trembling with exhaustion. Vírinissë had experienced more in the past few days than she’d in the almost three hundred years of her life, and she was done.
Just done.
Her fëa fluctuated in response to her inner turmoil, broadcasting her exhaustion to those who were sensitive to such things.
“Go, child,” Grandmother mouthed from across the room, eyes kind. She nodded towards the window, which looked out over the sea.
She shook her head, unwilling to abandon her family when they were all working so hard. There was no time for a break, she was needed here.
“Go, Vírinissë,” her mother urged, agreeing with Indis. “We can manage without you for a while. Rest, before you fall over.”
Indis stared at her, one brow rising pointedly.
Víri went.
Staring out over the angry sea, Vírinissë let out a shuddering breath.
Despite her determination not to cry, the tears were streaming over her face. Little drops of crystalline water, just silently running down her cheeks. She couldn’t hold them back anymore, not any longer.
The wind blew softly through her hair, bringing along the clean scent of sea and salt. It felt cleansing. Inhaling deeply, Víri closed her eyes and lifted her face up into the breeze.
She had been working day and night, and it had only been her knees giving out from underneath her that she finally agreed she needed a break. But her mind couldn’t stop racing. She kept seeing those lifeless eyes, kept seeing the moment they first arrived.
King Olwë tolerated them, knowing that they weren’t to blame for the actions of their kin. He was wise, and kind and he needed all the aid they could give him.
But Vírinissë was still Fëanáro's daughter.
Even with the all-consuming darkness lingering around them, her silver-gray eyes still gleamed with the might of Fëanáro Curufinwë. Víri might have chosen duty over vengeance, her mother over her father, but that didn’t change her blood.
She was her father’s daughter.
And the Teleri could barely bear to lay eyes on her.
It would have been better if they were angry, she thought. But they weren’t angry. There were no bitter curses spat at her. No hatred. No, instead there was fear. They flinched away from her, before noticing she wasn’t Fëanáro who had come back to hurt them again, but his sole daughter coming to give aid.
Their gratitude hurt even more.
Arms wrapped around her from both sides, and Víri stared numbly out over the sea as her mother and aunt tried to comfort her. But there was no comfort to be found, not here.
“Come, daughter,” Nerdanel murmured, voice taut with grief. “There is nothing to be done here.”
But Víri didn’t move. She couldn’t.
“I want my father back,” she whispers shamefully into the wind. “I want atya, the one who taught me how to weave and who would let me sit on his bench in the workshop. The atya who wouldn’t get angry even when I painted all over his schematics.”
She wanted her brothers. She wanted Nelyo’s warm hugs, Káno’s comforting songs and Tyelko’s terrible jokes. She wanted to hear Curvo’s grumpy but hilarious observations and one of Moryo’s surprisingly beautiful poems. She wanted to make flower crowns with the twins and watch Tyelpë make jewelry again.
She wanted Uncle Nolofinwë and Uncle Arafinwë and her cousins. She wanted Thúlion and her friends from Formenos who'd followed after their High King.
She wanted Laurefindelë, and that breathtaking potential between them.
But they weren’t here anymore.
Víri let out a shuddering breath, lips trembling, and continued, “I want the father back who was so patient with me. Who always kissed my hurts better whenever I fell or burned myself on the forge. The one who held me in his arms whenever I was sad or just wanted a hug. I want him back. Not whatever shell of himself that he became, angry and paranoid and uncaring.”
A tear fell down her cheek, the only expression of grief she allowed herself and one that Anairë and Nerdanel could feel all the way down to their bones. “But I can’t- I can’t keep doing this, Ammë. It’s too much. I can’t keep doing this anymore.”
The Teleri were so angry, so bereft, and it hurt.
It was her father, her brothers, who’d attacked them. It was goofy cousin Finno and the people who'd followed them into a slaughter. They’d slayed their kin, turning the white sands of Alqualondë red with the blood of their people. They’d stolen the boats the Teleri built with their own hands and left.
Left her.
Left their family.
And Víri knew, she knew how scared they had been. How grief and anger had warred with the fear of the darkness surrounding them. Morrigotto and Ungoliant had destroyed the Two Trees, and that with it they’d seemingly taken the light inside them as well.
The imprint of that night was still all around them, begging to be painted. To be sung about and to be told. To be known so it would never happen again. But Víri was too numb to paint right now. She was too empty for many things.
“Weep, niece,” Aunt Anairë commanded, her own voice thick with unshed tears. Her son had participated in the attack, too. “Weep, grieve and rage. We won’t judge you for your feelings.”
She too had lost those dear to her. Her husband and children had left to follow after Fëanáro, leaving her here without those she loved the most.
Nerdanel nodded in agreement. “Scream, my love. Let out your anger, your confusion and hurt. Scream, and know we’ll be there when you need us. Always.”
Always calm and composed, her amil. But Vírinissë knew her mother. Nerdanel was as angry as she was. Her sons, Víri’s brothers, had been taken from her, and that was something she could not tolerate.
Víri whipped around to face them, feeling like an angry mess. “As should you! Both of you! Scream, cry and rage with me, because you too have been left alone and confused.”
Nerdanel smiled sadly as she watched her daughter struggle.
“I was unable to do what I desired most,” she murmured. “For all my efforts, I could not turn Fëanáro from his course, nor save our sons from his righteous rage.” She stared out over the churning water. “Perhaps I did not try enough.”
“No, Nerdanel,” hissed Anairë, her own fury palpable. “Don’t you dare say such things. You tried the best you could.”
Amil's eyes softened at her friend’s words, and she opened her mouth to reply.
Vírinissë saw the moment it happened.
From one moment to the next, Nerdanel’s eyes widened, fëa flaring wildly as she sank to her knees in obvious pain.
“Ammë!” Víri exclaimed, panicked. “Ammë, what’s wrong? What’s happening?”
But her mother barely seemed to hear her.
Vírinissë and her aunt hurried to support her, their own fëa reaching out in an attempt to find out what was happening to Nerdanel.
They felt it at the same time.
A broken bond.
Marriage between the Eldar was a bond forged by love and oath. They swore their vows to Eru Ilúvatar himself, and it created a bond that couldn’t ever be broken. It was a connection so deep, it was felt even through the block that now existed between them and their other bonds.
Deeper yet than a bond between parent and child, which was strong, very strong, but still had to be fostered from both sides to remain. Deeper than the bond between siblings, which too was a choice.
Víri's breath hitched, tears welling up in her eyes as she attempted to follow the thread deep within her. It couldn’t be.
Not him.
Not her father.
“Fëanáro,” Ammë moaned softly, pain and grief written all over her face. “No. No.”
Fëanáro Curufinwë was dead.