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Grief was a strange thing, in that it subsumed all the color of life but left its grey workings ticking along relentlessly. Nerdanel knew she was as much a widow as Indis--and more a mother of orphans than Indis could ever be--yet she pieced quilts and took in charity mending and learned to oversee the keeping of a new and quiet household as if these mundane metrics had taken over the empty spaces in her heart.
When Finarfin came--sometimes with Earwen and his two middle sons, sometimes alone--they talked. Indeed, they laughed together.
Nerdanel spoke of her sons as if they were only away on holiday, or as if all of them had followed Maedhros and Maglor over the hill of further schooling.
She did not speak of Feanor.
"I think I am doing well," she ventured to Indis one day. Galadriel was not coming home to Finarfin; Fingolfin and his family were gone. Nerdanel's boys were wanted reprobates. Feanor, wherever he was, remained himself.
And yet--a grey peace, had grief given her. A grey peace, in this long, horrid year.
"I think," Indis said calmly, but very grey herself. "That you are going mad."
When Nerdanel was allowed out of bed again, which was not for two weeks--
"Sister," said Finarfin, all grave worry. He dismissed the maid who had let her in. "Has the doctor--"
"The doctor has called it a nervous collapse," Nerdanel answered. She was trying to see Feanor in his face, but Feanor was not there. Maedhros, perhaps, in the furrow between his brows. "I wanted to ask you, Finarfin, because we are alike."
"Impulsive in marriage," he said, "but not in much beyond?"
"Just that."
"Ask whatever you will," he said, "But first sit down."
"How am I to live?" Nerdanel asked, not drinking the tea that was brought to her. "I have thought myself almost...almost well, but when a year's mark came I was helpless against the tide of time. Are we doomed to be helpless and weak ever, because we remained?"
(Remained, or were left.)
Finarfin studied her a long while. Then he cleared his throat. "I have not been idle," he said, "but it was shortsighted to conceal it from you."
"Conceal--"
"My inquiries. My research." There was Feanor in his face at last, bright-eyed and brave. "Nerdanel, my brother was right. Right about Melkor Bauglir."