The Hardest Part by Ginger

Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Everything recognizable (characters, places, languages, events, etc) belongs to the Professor. I only borrow the sand box to have fun :)

Author's note: This story was inspired by the challange from October 2013, "Turning Point." It sparkled something in my mind as I was looking for inspiration to write a one shot about Nerdanel and Fëanor, so I decided to try it.

I realised, after completing the story, that Nerdanel and Fëanor's first meeting didn't really happen like it is told in this fiction. I hope it'll be alright though. The "teen rating" is mostly here because I'm paranoid. I stop my rambling here and let you read. Thank to Clo who betaed this.

Read Chapter 1

The Hardest Part

oOo

    Most of people, she knew, favored the hours of Laurelin, when golden light bathed the world in a glorious radiance. It was in this time of day that the creations of Yavanna, the plants, the trees, the flowers bloomed at their fullest, the air of Valinor fragrant with their sweet and delicate smells. She had fond memories of spring days spent basking in the warmth, lazing in the tender grass near the clear waters of a lake at her husband's side, of summer mornings in her workshop, leaning over a sculpture as the sound of her children's games and banters entered the room by an open window.

    But it was in the silver hour of Telperion that Nerdanel truly found peace. It was easy to be overwhelmed by such a busy house, full of slamming doors and heavy footsteps, of Makalaurë's melodies and songs, the twins playing, of the hammer of Atarinkë in the forge or the loud voices of Fëanáro and Maitimo as they were in the middle of a heated debate. She had sometimes felt dizzy surrounded by all this stirring and, when night came, she used to walk through the house, savoring the quiet and the silence around her. And at some point, Fëanáro would join her, wrapping his arms around her waist, embracing her from behind. Even the everlasting flame of her husband's fëa would quiet in the pearly glow of the night and they would go to bed, lying together.

    It was in the light of Telperion that she and Fëanáro were bonded in marriage, under a starry sky in the North of Valinor, where they had travelled right after the official ceremony of their wedding. It was also in the late hours of the night that Maitimo was born, after long and painful hours, she had delivered to the world the first son of Fëanáro. It was, finally, on  many summer nights that her family picnicked, sang and slept outside around a campfire in the wilderness of Aman, when Nerdanel and her husband had felt too confined inside the walls of the forge and the workshop and had dragged their sons behind them in one of their many explorations of the blessed realm. Those were some of her most cherished memories.

    It was indeed the light of Telperion that Nerdanel loved the most.

    But not tonight.

    She was standing by the window, looking out at the gardens down below. The gardens apparently looked the same as every other night.  But where the leaves of trees and bushes should have been dancing in the warm breeze, the singing of nightingales and the waters of a nearby fountain mingling together, everything was quiet and still. No move, no sound.

    Nothing.

    And the light... the light of Telperion, usually bright and pale, this light that colored the world in an ethereal  silver such as the color of the stars of Varda, this light was cold and lifeless. Shadows were longer, edges sharper, darkness deeper. There was no warmth, no life to be found in this night, even in the everlasting summer of Valinor.

    Nerdanel shivered involuntarily and hugged herself. She felt unsettled by the coldness she could see outside, but she wondered if it was really there or if it existed only through the filter of her eyes and mind, both tainted by the thing she was about to do, the choice she was about to make.

    As this thoughts crossed her mind, she turned away from the window and laid her eyes on the bed behind her. Amongst the crumpled sheets, she could see a form lying there, sleeping. At this sight, her heart sank and she could no longer keep away the ramifications and the implications of the decision she had made and which had never felt so real before.

    She was staring at this person; the lengthy silhouette, the strong shoulders and back shaped by years spent hammering metal in the forge, the  hands, delicate with their long fingers but rough and calloused, the silky raven black hair she loved to run her fingers through. And the face. The handsome face, the angular chin, the high cheekbones, the aristocratic and proud features, the brows, lately frowned in a permanent scowl, even in his sleep. And the eyes, closed in that instant, hiding silver irises always burning with an inner flame. It was those eyes which had her enraptured the first time they met. She used to love those eyes; she had seen them burn with love, desire, pride, determination, hatred and anger alike. She had felt them caressing her skin as he had been watching her across a room, in her father’s forge at the early hours of their story or in a ballroom during official festivals at court, igniting every part of her body and soul.

    Yes, she knew this body so well that she could have sculpted it with her eyes closed.

    And her eyes shut at this instant as memories flooded her mind.

    She remembered well the first time they really met. She had of course caught glimpses of the noldorin prince before, when her family had attended festivals at the palace. She had always found him handsome, but it was notorious that Curufinwë Fëanáro Finwion was one of the most beautiful, if not the fairest, elda to had ever walked Arda. But he was unattainable, they didn't belong to the same world and it had never bothered her before.

    The first time she really spoke to the prince was a few days after his arrival at her house, as her father's apprentice. She had been visiting her mother's family in a little settlement west of Tirion and had just come home. She was in her workshop, reacquainting herself with her environment, studying a nearly completed sculpture of a flying seabird she had started as a begetting day gift for her mother when she heard his voice.

    “Have you ever been in Alqualondë?”

    She startled at this sound, as the room had been quiet before. She turned to the entrance to see a tall and dark haired elf standing there, nonchalantly leaning on the doorframe. His gray eyes where fixed on her sculpture but looked up when she didn't reply to his interrogation. Nerdanel instantly recognized Prince Fëanáro and she wondered what he was doing there, interrupting her as she was working. She hated to be interrupted, and even if she wasn't  properly sculpting yet, she needed the tranquility to find her inspiration back.

    Caught off-guard, she could only reply with an animated question:

    “I beg your pardon?”

    The prince raised an eyebrow at her apparent hostility and repeated his words:

    “Have you ever been in Alqualondë?”

    “Why are you inquiring?” Nerdanel asked briskly.

    “Because I think if you have not, you definitely should,” Fëanáro replied. “It would give you the amount of knowledge of seabirds required to put more details into your work. Not that it is not well executed, I suppose it is better than what I have seen so far amongst your father's apprentices. But one is never to knowledgeable about the nature one wants to represent in art. Or so I think.”

     Nerdanel was speechless before  his audacity. How dared he... how dared he  entering her workshop and being critical of her work whereas they had never been properly introduced! And what condescension in his tone! Who did he believe he was! Crowned prince or not, he was no different from any other apprentice in her father's house. So Mathan had informed King Finwë when he had accompanied his son to request an apprenticeship from Nerdanel's father. And if so it was, she was about to retort exactly what she would have replied to any other of her fellow students.

    “I would like to inform you that this is an unfinished work. I have completed the carving of the general shape of the bird, but details and colors have not yet been put to the sculpture. If your eyes were as keen as your judgmental words  suggest, you would have noticed the state of this work by yourself. And to answer your question, your highness” she emphasised the title with sarcasm “I have already been in Alqualondë and had all the time I needed to sketch in details the nature I wanted to represent in art.”

    Silence thus fell in between them, and Fëanáro studied her for a time with a glint of interest in his eyes. Nerdanel didn't like his scrutiny and was about to go back to her work when the prince spoke again.

    “I meant no offense, Lady Nerdanel. I only wanted to point something that could have helped you, but I see through your other works displayed in this room that your talent is real and much present indeed.”

    He pointed at a sculpture of Yavanna holding a flower in her hands that was exposed on one of the shelves of her workshop. It remained hidden there despite of being, according to Nerdanel's father, a piece of high quality. But the elleth was especially self-conscious when it came to her sculptures of the Valar; she was always afraid of not making them justice and being irreverent.

    Nerdanel looked at the statue for a moment, trying to compose herself after the prince's words. They sounded sincere and flattering, but she couldn't stop herself from being suspicious. She had been expecting a retort in return for her insolent declaration. She knew the king's elder son was proud and she had thought that he would have reacted with equal temper to her insulting words.

    But he didn't. And when she looked back at him, she could see the same sincerity in his expression. He appeared uncomfortable to have admitted such compliments, but truthful nonetheless. Maybe had she been too quick to judge him?

    It had been their first exchange and from that moment, they had interacted on an every day basis, working side by side under her father's tutelage. There had been other arguments in between them, but it was rather inevitable considering their respecting strong personnalities. In the following months, Fëanáro showed an interest in her work, and then in her personnality; Nerdanel didn't understand at first why he was inclined to speak with her in particular. He showed no special interest in the other apprentices, kept to himself and remained rather secretive, but he was often talking to her or observing her from afar. It made her wonder and think of what she thought of him in return. She had believed that the prince of their people would be someone proud and pompous, as some of his detractors would murmur behind his back. Proud he was indeed, but not that condescending, except for the people he didn't appreciate. Or if he ever was, he soon realised, often after Nerdanel had reminded him that he was being rude, that his critic of another's work had been misplaced. Some things appeared obvious for his higher intelligence and he sometimes had difficulties to comprehend that some people needed more time to understand a particular notion.

    In the forge, the workshop or in the daily chores in which the whole household took part, he worked as much as any of them. He never complained about getting his hands dirty or accomplishing simple tasks. He was dedicated and hardworking, no one could deny it. She would learn later, in the first months of their marriage, that Fëanaro acted out of gratitude to her father, for having accepted him as an apprentice. First the elleth hadn't understood; he had been tutored by Lord Awlë himself, how could he feel so greatful to her father, even she didn't deny his superior talent, when he had been taught the craft by a Vala? And Fëanaro had explained that, even if he was honored to have received Awlë's teaching, the Ainur sometimes didn't see the world like the eldar and thus, he needed the guidance of one that could understand him as an equal.

    As for his talent...  Mathan was not exaggerating when he said that his latest apprentice was skilled and that his father name  suited him well. He learnt and understood faster than any of them, even more than some more experienced than him. His work, both in metal and jewel was marvelous and executed with so many details that every person who saw one of his pieces was filled with astonishment. Some of Mathan's apprentices started to feel jealousy toward him and, in return of their rejection, Fëanaro distanced himself from the rest of the group, becoming more secretive and  more arrogant. Nerdanel was caught in the middle, between the others that had been her friends and comrades for several years, people she had grown up with, and Fëanaro, about whom she had started to care, despite being unable to understand their exact relationship.

    In the months and years that followed, they got closer and closer, the elleth not distancing herself consciously from the rest of the apprentices, but because of Fëanaro ever demanding her attention and time, attention and time she gave him of her free will, as she realised later. And in those months they became closer, discovering their respective characters, qualities and flaws, how they challanged each others's art, work and minds for they had the same thirst for knowledge, even Fëanaro surpassed her in many fields.

    Until the day she realised what she believed to be friendship and camaraderie was far more than that. Of course there had been signs; how they could spend hours talking as if nothing existed around them, how they would stare at each other sometimes, without any apparant reason, how she wanted to discover every part of his being... and soon of his body. Because as this affection for his personnality was growing, so was a physical attraction, the two aspects of him mingling into a feeling she could not yet comprehend.

    Until that day. It was the most important day of her young life, the day she would take the examination to become a confirmed sculptor. She had gone to Lord Awlë's dwelling to be evaluated by the most talented craftsmen amongst the Noldor and, even if she was inwardly trembling with fear, she had got through the questions, the interrogations, the scrutiny and the prying of her elders with grace and in control of herself.

    Wwhen she learnt that she had passed the examination, she was transported with happiness and a even greater sense of accomplishment. As she went out of the lecture hall where the evaluation had taken place to tell the news to her family, she spotted Fëanaro waiting in a corner, arms crossed in an apparent nonchalant posture, a thin but happy smile upon his face.

    And when their eyes met, when she saw the pride and the contenment in his expression, her heart felt the urge to rejoice and celebrate with him, to share this pride and this happiness with him and him alone. She wanted to run towards him, to embrace him.

    But so sudden was this feeling that she didn't comprehend it; it had stricken her like never before.  Was it because they were in the dwelling of a Vala who made everything around him more beautiful, even feelings? Was it because she was happy, drunk with joy and pride, her cheeks flushed with delight to have her talent recognized by the highest authority in Aman that her heart was biassed? She had thought so at the time and had quickly dismissed the warmth she had felt as the result of so many intense emotions.

    But when the same night, as everyone was celebrating her success at her parents' home, and she went outside to breathe a bit of fresh air, she saw him standing there, as if he had known that she would come. And as their eyes met, she saw the same contentment that had been there before, mixed with an ounce of absolute certainty that something, something she knew nothing of, was about to happen. The flood of emotions she had felt earlier returned at full force, with this desire to share with him and be close to him. And before she could realise what she was doing, she was in his arms, pressed against his tall body, kissing him as he eagerly returned the gesture.

    And there in his arms, everything made sense, as if all the events of the past years had to come to this instant. And as crazy at it sounded, she knew that she loved him. And that she always would, forever more. Her mother had already described her the feeling of complete love she felt for her father; this feeling of belonging together, of becoming one. Some elves realised sooner than others they had the mate of their life in front of them, that sometimes it was obvious from the first day, as Eru had blessed every one of them with a soulmate. And Nerdanel had watched her mother with childish indulgence and an ounce of awkwardness before those words that implied so strong an emotion that her young heart couldn't conceive of it. But when she realised she loved Fëanaro, she had eventually understood.

    After that, dozens of memories flashed before her eyes, instants of their lives together. Being married to Fëanaro hadn't always been easy; his fierceness, his strong personality and his stubbornness had been the source of many arguments between the two of them. But there had been moments of happiness too, because they still loved each other very much, so much that, out of this bond they shared, seven sons were given to them. Nerdanel loved every one of them as dearly as their father, they had been her greatest joy in their youth, her greatest pride now they were adults and each of them had shown a peculiar talent. Maitimo's deep knowledge of lore and cleverness in politics when he was at court; Makalaurë's indisputable talent for music and songs, his golden voice enchanting the world around him everytime he performed; Tyelkormo's love for nature, for its beasts and birds and the great hunter he had become under Lord Oromë's tutelage; Carnistir, if the most secretive and tempered of their sons, was the most perceptive of people around him, conscious of their need even before they realised it themselves; Atarinkë, who ressembled his father so much and had inherited his talent for crafting and speech, who gave them their first grandchild; and the twins, Ambarussa were still young, even they started to develop an interest in nature and hunting similar to Tyelkormo's, and they showed great potential to follow the trail of their brother.

    If Nerdanel had to thank her husband for something, it was certainly for their children. For the seven of them would always bind her to Fëanaro. No matter what happened, she would always love him as the father of their sons.

    'You will always love him, period,' murmured a voice in her mind. But Nerdanel still wondered. In those troubled times, after what Fëanaro had done, could she still love him? The answer seemed obvious; she was there, with him, tonight, so she still loved him in one way or another.

    But why did she feel like she was losing him? For the past year, her husband's hostility had increased; towards the Valar he judged harshly, towards his step-family he had never accepted, towards Melkor who had tried to lure him into his powerplay... And it had been worse since the creation of the Silmarilli.

    Nerdanel yet tried to temper him, to reason his judgement. She tried to make him see that the Valar didn't convoit his jewels and didn't keep them prisonners in Aman, that his half family had never showed signs of treason and animosity towards him, that Melkor didn't only want to steal the Silmarilli... Even if she was not as certain as she seemed concerning the last part. She was a great lover of the Valar, respected them, but not to the point of adoring veneration such as this of the vanyar. And, even if she wanted to believe that, in releasing Melkor, Lord Manwë had been clearsighted and reasonable, she couldn't trust the former Dark Lord. But openly agreeing with Fëanaro on this point would only increase his arrogance.

    And now... now things had gone to far.

    Nerdanel closed her eyes under the weight of the feeling that had her heart racing on this instant. She had wanted to push away those dark thoughts, to make the night last forever not to face the morning that would come soon. She wished to stay there, locked in her room with Fëanaro, forgetting the recent events and contenting herself with living with her family, omitting the world outside.

    But she couldn't. She couldn't stop time from passing, couldn't stop Fëanaro and their children from leaving for the North on the first lights of Laurelin. The powers had sentenced her husband to exile, and their sons had vowed to accompany him to Formenos. She had tried to reason  her husband, to leave them out of the mess he had created when he had raised his sword against Nolofinwë. But to no avail.

    «They are adults, Fëanaro,     » she said to him. «     They are old enough to make their own choices and not to follow you everywhere you go     !»

    «But I have not heard them protest,» her husband retorted.

    «It is because they are faithful to you beyond belief! And their sense of duty blinds them.”

    “You should be proud of them, then,” Fëanaro replied. “Is this not how we have raised them? To stand together in all situation? TO take care of each other and always put family first? They are only practicing what we have taught them.”

    Nerdanel sighed in frustration. “I cannot believe that you would willingly force your own children into exile, they will become outcasts, associated with your deeds. Have you thought of that, Fëanaro? Of the impact it might have on their reputation? Think of Nelyo who has just started his carreer at your father's court! And Makalaurë's and Atarinkë's wives!”

    “If Kannafinwë's and Curufinwë's families want to join us, I will not stop them. And our sons will be associated with my deeds, as you put it, whatever happens. We are a family, Nerdanel, I have the impression you sometimes forget it. If I recall well, our sons are not the only ones to follow me. Many of our friends at court, in Tirion and even beyond would come. What surprises and hurts me is that my own wife has not yet voiced her decision. That in keeping silent, you are showing that your family is not important enough to have you renounce your pride”

    Those words... Oh, those words had hurt. She knew that her husband always had a way with words, and it had sometimes made her proud to hear him defending himself or one of their sons when someone dared to confront them. But she hated this talent of his when those harsh words were aimed at her.

    But, if she was honest with herself, she could understand Fëanaro's words. She knew they were spoken out of anger, and that he could expect from her to take his side. As his wife, she was supposed to support him, whatever it took.

    This time, though, she couldn't. This time, he had gone too far, and even her hadn't managed to reach him, to repress his violent temperament. They had been almost estranged, and events had escalated dramatically ever since.

    Nerdanel was aware, however, that Fëanaro's violence wasn't the main reason for her refusal to join him in exile. It ran far deeper than that, a conflict that had existed for years, rarely addressed as they had never been able to reach a common ground on this matter. If she condemned the acts of her husband, especially towards Nolofinwë, it was his defiance of the powers, his blasphemous words about the Valar that were the real problem. She was dedicated to them, because they had offred the eldar a safe place to live, far from the darkness and the permanent danger of Endor. They were, if not the creators of Eä for it was Eru, the shapers of Arda and for the protection and guidance they offred, they had to be respected. How Fëanaro could deny all their knowledge and power was beyond her. And how ungreatful he was to reject their love when Lord Awlë, one of the Valar, had taught Fëanaro a great deal of what he knew!

    At this thought, Nerdanel felt anger rising in her, but she repressed it. She didn't want to feel anger that night, the last night before she left it all behind. Her husband, her sons... not forever, she hoped. They would go to Formenos, spent twelve years far from Tirion, far from politics and intrigues and, she hoped, they would come back with a more peaceful heart and their hostility quietened. Fëanaro would have time to reflect on his actions, and he would apologize to Nolofinwë, ask the pardon of the Valar and all of this would only be a bad memory. A memory that would certainly let its mark on their lives, but not to the point to cause permanant damage on their family. It was what Nerdanel wished, she needed to believe in those things because she couldn't fathom losing neither her children nor her husband, despite of what Fëanaro had done. There had to be forgiveness for the children of Eru, Lord Manwë had forgiven Melkor after all...

    She looked up at Fëanaro's sleeping form and images of the last hours they spent in each other's arms came back to her. Her feet had led her towards his room, their former room, which she had not visited for a long time. And there he was, in the semi darkness, most of the curtains drawn, blocking the light of Telperion. He stood by the window, his back facing her.

    When he felt her entering the room, his stance stiffened. He didn't turn back, staring at something that only him could see. She stepped towards him, once, twice... and stopped. The silence stretched between them, and Nerdanel started to question her reasons for coming there. Her heart had led her in this room, at her husband's side, because she knew, deep within, that this would be their last night before a long separation. And even if  she had decided not to follow him, her heart couldn't help from telling goodbye. Not farewell. Goodbye.

    Fëanaro must have felt something because he eventually turned in her direction, their eyes meeting. For a second, she could see the tumult of emotions raging inside his head, doubts, hostility, fear... even an ounce of surprise to see his wife before him. But all those feelings quickly disappeared, replaced by a cold expression and the raising of a moking eyebrow.

    Nerdanel held his gaze, not wanting to give up. She was there for a reason, she wanted to spend this night with him. Of course, she knew that there was a possibility that Fëanaro would reject her, but she needed to at least try.  She concentrated, her fëa tentatively approaching her husband's. It was not a cry for help or an invasion of his psychical space, it was just a brush, a murmured question: 'will you?' Will you let me say goodbye to you? Will you let me love you for what may be the last time? Will you forget what lays between us just for one night?

    At first, there was no reaction from him. He stared at her, his expression became inquisitive and suspicious, but he said nothing. Nerdanel tried again, putting in this brush of their spirits all the love she could find in her heart and, again those words; will you, for one last time, before you leave?

    And he finally reacted. His features relaxed in a mix of resignation and sadness and his fëa met her in the middle, accepting. For an instant, Nerdanel felt like they were in the first years of their marriage again, when their lives were made only of love, desire and companionship. The recent events weren't forgotten, it was impossible for them to do so. But they were put aside, because, deep within, they were still two elves in love with each other, two beings that had shared too many memories for them to be destroyed forever.

    As their fëar had met, it was now the turn of their bodies to collide. They joined in a passionate and desperate kiss, embracing the other as if their lives depended on it. The heat of Fëanaro's body, the contact of their skins, desire flaring up in her belly... all this was familiar to Nerdanel. It was home.

    The hours that followed were still a blur in the elleth's memories. She remembered impressions and feelings, of Fëanaro's touch on her body, of the pleasure that resulted of it, of the joining of their bodies and souls, this blissful sensation of becoming one. They had made love until they were out of strength, both forcefully and slowly, with anger and resentment, with despair and fear, and finally, with tenderness and melancholy, for this life they had together and which now seemed lost to them. They had lived mostly apart for the past months and this reunion was the first and the last of a long separation.

    And then, sleep finally claimed their bodies. They fell into slumber, locked in a tight embrace, as they didn't want to let the other go. But those peaceful instants had no lasted long for Nerdanel, and she  eventually found herself getting out of bed, feeling restless and distressed.

    Now, she knew it was over, time had come for her to leave as the mingling of the light would soon arrive, announcing the start of a new day. She didn't want to be there when Fëanaro would wake up, she wanted to keep the memory of their night together, not the scowl and reproaching eyes he would lay on her when morning would come. She would have enough time to mourn their love and be miserable when her family would be far away in the North.

    So she stepped away from the window, came closer to the bed and kissed her husband's forehead in a light brush of her lips and went out of the room before her resolution wavered.

    On her way to the entrance of their house, she passed by a series of closed doors. Behind each of them, one of her sons was asleep. She paused before them, imagining the faces of her children, and her heart constricted with pain and longing. Oh Eru, how she loved them! How she would miss them in the years to come... She had to go, suffering this way would lead her nowhere.

    When she passed the last door of the corridor, Nerdanel noticed it was slightly open. She realised it was Makalaurë's room and she felt a sudden urge to take a look inside.

    Her son must have heard her because, when she stepped closer to the door, he was on the threshold of his bedchambers. Nerdanel looked up at him and their eyes met, the gray of her son's eyes so similar to his father's that it was painful for an instant. When he recognized her, Makalaurë's features turned sad and a pale smile appeared on his face.

    Nerdanel felt a lump form in her throat and she wanted to reach out, to embrace her son and never let go. Makalaurë was the one of their children who had inherited most of her personality, a quiet demeanor, a thoughtful heart, rarely, if never, getting angry. But she also knew he had inherited his father's determination, sense of family and pride and that, even if she tried, she couldn't have him change his mind. Makalaurë, as his other brothers, would follow Fëanaro as they felt it was their duty and place. And she would not stop them.

    "Amil," her son murmured, almost inaudibly.

    On this instant, Nerdanel was reminded of a younger Makalaurë who had come to her after a nightmare or when Fëanaro and her had a particularly violent argument. Her second born would join her in her workshop and would either sat at her side, singing a lullaby with his beautiful voice or silently hugging her to bring some comfort to his mother.

    Nerdanel gave up and held her hand out to brush her son's cheek. Makalaurë closed his eyes, enjoying the short comfort of her motherly touch and then took her hand in his to kiss her knuckles with all the love he could find in his heart. Their eyes never left the other's and this exchange was so meaningful, as a promise that he would always love her, and that he would come back. That they all would come back and everything would be alright. Nerdanel couldn't find the strength to believe him, but she smiled nonetheless, thanking Eru for small favors and those few seconds of respite.

    But the instant passed and Makalaurë reluctantly released her hand. Nerdanel pressed it against her heart, taking within her the love her son had given to her. The lump in her throat reappeared at full force and tears prickled her eyes, threatening to come out. She admired the profile of her child for a last time and turned away, heartbroken.

    She almost ran what distance remained between her and the main door and, when she stepped outside, she felt out of breath. She realised that she was repressing sobs that only wanted to come out, to free the pain and the sorrow that constricted her chest. She Knew, deep in her, that there was still hope, that her family's departure wasn't final. But she couldn't find the strength to think of it right now.

    So, she started to walk toward the stable, where her horse had been prepared. She would go to her parents' house, isolating herself from the prying eyes of the people of Tyrion, as the wife of the one who defied the Valar and drew his sword on his own brother, their beloved Prince Nolofinwë. She couldn't bear the thought of living everyday amongst so judgemental a crowd and had favored exile, in her own way.

    A few minutes later, she was heading outside the domain she had built and shared with Fëanaro and their sons. She didn't look back, unable to guess what would be her reaction if she did. She had made a choice, she knew she couldn't follow Fëanaro, it would be against all she believed in and she was true to her principles. The only thing she could do now was waiting for their return, loving them from afar and hoping for a better future.

    And it was what she would do in the years to come. Twelve years. It was only a blink in the eternity of an elda's life. Twelve years and they would come back.

    Nerdanel spurred her horse on and entered the countryside surrounding the domain. All around, nature was waking up, the silver light of Telperion now mingling with the golden radiance of Laurelin, announcing dawn. She looked westwards, where her parents' house was located; her destination, the place where she would spend the next twelve years. She closed her eyes, repressed the pain and the tears and she raised her chin with a semblant of pride, in a mask she sometimes wore to hide her inner turmoil. It was a facade only, but it would have to do until the pain she felt receded.

    In this house where she had lived all those years, in the room she had shared with the person she had loved the most, an elf woke up, heart beating furiously, as if in panic. He sat up in the bed, feeling disoriented, his mind hazy with sleep... until realisation downed on him. He turned his eyes on the spot beside him to find it empty, the cold sheets long deserted. His heart constricted as the images of the previous night came back to him. He closed his eyes under the weight of the sudden emptiness he felt, but quickly repressed it. He couldn't let himself be overwhelmed by distress.  It was she who made the choice not to follow him and their sons, she who was at the origin of their separation. He wouldn't let her poor decisions affect him. They might have shared love one last time the previous night, but those hours were now long gone, swept away by the blinding light of day.

    So, he held his head high, cooled his feature and threw back the distress and pain at the back of his mind, locking the door of his heart. He wouldn't ploy under shame and distress as the so-called powers of this land wanted him to. He would go to Formenos, strengthen the fortress he had there to protect his treasure. And he would carry on with his life. No matter what. It didn't matter that his wife wouldn't be at his side, he had long known she wouldn't support him in this. It had hurt. So much. And it still did, in a way. But he could tame the pain, as he tamed the light of the trees in his jewels. If he could do that, nothing was impossible.

    Nothing.

The end.