Chapter Text
What Feanor first saw when he regained consciousness was endless black. It stretched out in front of him, far and wide and into nothingness. There was no up or down, no left or right. It was empty. Time seemed to have frozen here and when Feanor called out into the darkness, there were only endless echoes and nothing else. Everything is so still that even the faintest whispers can cause a ripple through the suffocating darkness. Like a pebble thrown into still water, causing ripples to be sent far far away until it regained back to its former stillness as the pebble sinks.
This place gives one an eerie feeling yet also peace at the same time. The darkness threatened to swallow him but kept at bay, leaving space for him to breathe. A lamp was set by his leg and it was the only color in this endless black. Feanor had no choice but to pick it up and journeyed in this unknown realm. Where he was, he did not know. But the last thing he remembered was him dying in the arms of his sons. He looked at his body and found it translucent and cloaked in a grey cloak.
Was this his punishment for rebelling against the Valar?
Or was it his punishment for dying before fulfilling his oath he had sworn to the One?
Come…
A whisper echoed into the darkness and Feanor paused and looked around. ‘Who is there?’ he wanted to yell but it caught in his throat.
Come…
The voice said once more.
‘Where?’ Feanor wanted to ask but he still could not speak as there was a sadness so overwhelming that came from his heart and it crashed onto him. ‘Where?’ he called in his mind.
Follow…
The voice was distant and yet near at the same time. Feanor held on tightly to his lamp and followed a strange beautiful melody that came suddenly from the dark. Feanor did not understand the lyrics of it but it seemed that it was a woman that was singing. She sounded sad and her voice was filled with grief as she repeated the same song over and over again. Her voice trembled at each note but her singing did not stop. It sounded eerie and yet sad at the same time for her heartbreak in this song was raw and would have struck the hearts of any who have heard it.
For some reason, Feanor felt pain and longingness sprang from his heart. But why? He had never heard of this voice before and yet it seemed so familiar as if he had heard it thousands of times. Tears pricked at the back of his eyes and he felt consumed by his emotions.
Follow…
The voice gently said, fading far away now.
He obeyed, taking one step at a time, following the singing that rang throughout. Feanor couldn't help but wonder what the woman had suffered to be able to sing a song that was so raw with emotion.
Has she lost her husband?
Her children?
Her family?
What has she lost?
He asked himself as he felt as if he should know. What has she lost? The question lingered in his heart as he walked step by step into the darkness and the only thing that lit his way was the lamp in his hand. It was only then did he notice that his hands were trembling. From fear? Excitement? Or to find out the secrets in the unknown?
Feanor was not sure how long he had walked but the singing followed him and did not stop. It was a guide that led him through the darkness and he trusted it.
A large palace came into his line of sight and seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. It was the only other thing he had seen in this realm other than the lamp he now carried. The palace did not look extravagant and looked rather simple from the outside but as Feanor walked up the long flight of stairs leading to the palace, even he had to marvel at the detail of it.
Tall white pillars held the ceiling up and the massive doors to the palace looked holy and were carved with words and symbols Feanor could not read. The marble door shone when the light of the lamp was reflected on it and Feanor traced his fingers over the masterpiece. Vines, plants, stars and many many other things were carved on the beautiful door and they glittered like stars. Like a jewel. Like his Silmarils.
Feanor recoiled his hand back and simply stared at the door afterwards, making no move to try to open it. He would have killed to know who created such a masterpiece for even the Noldor, at the peak of their crafts, may not even have a chance to rival such a beautiful piece of work. The singing had stopped now and what was left was utter silence. Feanor did not have to wait long for the doors to slowly creak open. A gust of wind blew at him and he shielded himself from it with his arm. It feels cold now but how can spirits feel the cold? The lamp still burned in his hand, not bothered by the sudden gust of wind, giving him warmth and comfort like a mother’s embrace.
It was also dark in the palace and taking another look at the darkness he had left behind, he stepped in without further hesitation. The doors closed behind, blocking off all chances of Feanor escaping but he did not care now for he desired to find the woman who had sung the sad and somber melody.
A long hallway rolled out in front of him and tapestries were hung on the walls of it and as Feanor went down, he would pause occasionally to look at them. He raised his lamp as he admired the beautiful tapestries, seeing how the characters in them play out a full story. He was like a traveler that has ventured into unknown lands, whose curiosity was at its peak and wanted to find and know all the secrets that had stayed hidden in the dark for millenia.
‘Where have I seen them before?’ Feanor thought as he continued walking down the hallway which seemed as if never ending. A familiar symbol caught his eye as he hurried past the tapestries which caused him to freeze in shock and disbelief. He raised the lamp with a trembling hand as he looked more closely at it. He was right. He did not see it wrongly. It was truly the eight-pointed Feanorian star which he had chosen as a symbol for his house. Why was it here?
He examined the tapestries that came after the one that bore the star and it left him crying in despair for he saw the fate of all his seven sons. Turco, Moryo and Curvo, died in Doriath in order to retrieve the Silmaril Feanor had wanted so badly to have back. His two youngest, Pityo and Telvo, always together since their birth had also perished together in the Havens of Sirion. Nelyo, his oldest, had jumped into the chasm fires of a volcano with a Silmaril and too met his end. All now left Kano who threw his Simaril into sea and attempted to kill himself by drowning in the sea like his brother had done but was thrown back to shore instead and left to wander the shores of Arda till the very end. Was it mercy or was it punishment? Punishment to let his last surviving son carry all the crimes he had done and the guilt from the kinslayings. Punishment to be all alone for all the ages of the world and never to see his family again. ‘Is this punishment or mercy?’ Feanor asked again.
There was no one to answer him as he kneeled in front of the tapestry displaying the deaths of his sons. He knew far too well that it was him who had caused the deaths and suffering of his sons. He had made them swear the oath which led to them perishing one by one into eternal darkness. His children, once bright and innocent, had been tortured and changed entirely by the fires of wars. Songs once used for joy and entertainment were used as a weapon to kill. Swords, daggers, spears and shields, weapons that should not have existed did, out of his vengeance and thirst for revenge towards Morgoth. He regretted his actions for causing his sons to die and for the sorrows of his kin but not and will never be regretting taking his revenge on Morgoth. For rebelling against the Valar and leaving Valinor.
Feanor sat there looking at the beautifully woven tapestries, overwhelmed with emotions and could hardly breathe. He had not been a good father to them once he had created the Silmarils. He could see it now. The SIimarils were not worth the lives of his six sons and the suffering of his surviving one. They were not worth the bloodshed and pain that his people had endured. Not worth the lives that were put in to get them. They were still the most beautiful jewels one could ever create but it was now stained with blood. Blood of many. His, his sons, Beren, Luthien, Thingol and the many thousands that had died from the kinslayings and the wars.
Did he go to Beleriand out of revenge for his father? Or was it because of his stolen treasures? Or freedom. The freedom to see and go onto the birth land of the Quendi once more. To show that even without the protection of the Valar, the Noldor can still survive and have prosperous kingdoms and have their crafts exceed the limits of any others have ever seen. What was it then?
The lamp which he had dropped out of grief and sadness, had rolled away and had stopped a distance from him. The flames flickered and then shook violently as if trying to get out from the lamp. Feanor, who had sunk into depression was questioning himself about his various decisions and did not notice the strange sight unfolding near him. The flames clashed onto the walls of the glass and at last, it broke free. It rushed towards Feanor leaving a trail of flames in the air which vanished after a few seconds. The flames surrounded Feanor and wrapped around him. Feanor was caught by surprise but to his even bigger astonishment, the flame did not hurt him but instead gently coiled around him. It did not burn even at such a close distance and only gave off warmth and light.
The flames spreaded out and floated in front, lighting up the dark hallway even more. When Feanor did not follow, it turned back and gently nudged him forward. It wrapped around the lamp and motioned for Feanor to pick it up as it went to the front again. Feanor picked up the now unlit lamp and this time, he followed after the flames. There was no evil nor bad intentions that came off the strange flames though it was unnatural and was floating on its own as if it had a life.
As he walked forward, the remaining tapestries became clearer. The downfall of Morgoth. The death of his grandson, Celebrimbor. The Last Alliance Between Elves and Men. The journey to the Lonely Mountains to slay a dragon. The rising of Sauron. The War of the Ring. The return of a king. And at last, the departure of the elves. Feanor stopped again as he looked at the last tapestry hung on the walls of this hallway. A boat departing from the Grey Havens and sailing into the horizon where the sun was setting. Like the fate of the elves had finally been completed and that it was time for them to leave the stages of Arda to make room for the new performers, the race of Men.
The flames nudged him forward again as he had paused for too long and Feanor let it lead him to wherever he wanted. He walked for some more and he could feel the hallways shift. Feanor turned behind but he could no longer see the tapestries that once hung on the walls as he had entered a different one. The master of this palace. No matter who it was, was watching him.
Another door came into view and this time, bigger and much more breathtaking than the first one Feanor had seen. The sight of the magnificent doors stole his breath away as the glitter was now even brighter due to the flames that surrounded him. Feanor did not know how to describe it for there was no language nor words in Arda that can describe such a spectacular beauty. The doors opened in front of him and Feanor felt so small compared to it.
It revealed a large hall behind its doors and there was light. The flames went back into the lamp once Feanor had entered the doors and left him to admire the beauty of the vast hall. There was a clear dome overhead where hundreds and perhaps millions of beautiful stars could be seen and the light of all of them spilled across the white marble floors, making it also glittering like diamonds. But this was only part of the beauty of the hall as its true beauty lay at the very end of it.
A throne, carved out of perhaps white stone, and decorated with gold and silver glitter and shone brightly like the Two Trees, Telperion and Laurelin. The stars above only added on to its beauty. The walls in the halls too tell a story and from what Feanor could see, it told the story of how the One created Eä and how the Ainur helped shape it. This time however, it was no longer tapestries but paintings. The bright and vibrant colors made the characters look almost alive and Feanor thought he recognised a few familiar faces.
‘Welcome to the void, Son of Finwë, Son of Míriel.’
A voice echoed through the vast hall as Feanor turned to the throne and saw a figure cladded all in white, sitting upon it. His face was not clear as the glow that came off him was near blinding.
‘Who are you?’ Feanor asked.
‘I am known as Eru Ilúvatar or as the One as my children call me.’
The silence that echoed after was deafening as even as bright an elf Feanor was and how fast he was to accept new things, it still shocked him. He was currently standing in front of the creator of Eä. The creator for both the race of Elves and of Men. This is a shocking event to be placed in the history of elves and most would probably never believe that it actually happened.
It took him several minutes to pull himself together and he bowed deeply after. He opened his mouth and wanted to say something but he found himself stumped. He was a master at linguistics but now in this situation, he had no idea how to start.
‘I am sure that you are wondering why you are here. Am I right?’ Eru Ilúvatar gently said and Feanor nodded wordlessly. He gave a light chuckle as he continued, ‘You are here as you have failed to fulfill your oath that you have sworn to me.’
‘Yes, I know but why…’ Feanor’s sentence was unfinished and never had he been so unsure of what to say in his entire life but Eru Ilúvatar did not seem to mind.
‘There are many reasons why I have brought you here in my presence. Though before I explain it to you, I think there would be someone you would want to meet.’ He stood and descended from the throne gracefully. The light that shone from him was even brighter now that he was so close and Feanor backed away a few steps to not get completely blinded but still wanted to be near him. It was as if it was natural for him to want to be near his creator and perhaps, it was.
The doors to the hall opened once more and Eru Ilúvatar was at the front with Feanor behind him. The light of the lamp was completely blocked away from the light that came off him which brightened the whole place up everywhere he went. The hallway shifted quickly yet Eru Ilúvatar just kept walking forward until the scenery shifted to a garden. It was starlit and there was a gazebo that stood near a fountain.
‘There is the person you would want to meet. When you are ready, we shall speak again.’ With a swish of his robes, Eru Ilúvatar vanished from the garden, leaving Feanor behind.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
An elleth sat in the gazebo, with her back facing Feanor and she was sewing something on a long piece of cloth that trailed to her feet. There was a basket filled with many colorful spools of thread placed on the rock bench she was sitting on. A white veil covered her hair and a simple hair accessory dangled from her long silver hair. The color reminded Feanor of Celegorm’s hair except that hers was much more silver. Under the starlight, the elleth was working diligently on her piece of sewing and paid no attention to what was behind her.
Feanor walked carefully towards the gazebo, across the grass and came behind the elleth. She gave him a sense of familiarity which puzzled Feanor greatly as he was sure that he had never seen her before.
‘Pardon,’ Feanor heard himself say and was just about to continue when the elleth turned around. Feanor froze as he looked at her face and he backed away a few steps from the shock. How… how was this possible?