Voices in the Wilderness by Ithilwen

The Banished One

Voices in the Wilderness

Chapter 1 - The Banished One

So it has come to this, Fëanáro thought bitterly as he rode away from Valmar. By the decree of the Valar, I am to be barred from the city of my birth, because I dared speak the truth to our people about the Valar's treatment of us and because I stood up to confront my half-brother's ignoble scheming. So much for the mighty Valar's vaunted love of justice!

His face flushed in anger and shame as he remembered his recent humiliation. To be peremptorily ordered to appear before the Valar, as though he were in truth their subject and not his father's, to endure their withering barrage of questions, compelled by Mandos to answer their queries truthfully, his guilt assumed from the beginning - how dare they! Who were they, that they presumed to judge him! By your orders my mother Míriel is imprisoned in Mandos forever, though she is blameless - and yet you, Manwë, allowed that fouler of Arda, Melkor, to walk freely where he will, he thought savagely, spreading his lies and fanning my half-brothers' pride, encouraging them in their attempts to usurp both my place among our people and my father's love. And yet you dare claim the right to judge my conduct? Your own actions have proved my words correct - we are but thralls here in Aman, mere pets to perform for your amusement. Perhaps the Vanyar you so favor are content to grovel at your feet, and the Teleri, who think of nothing more than play, like children - but not so the Noldor. No, my people are not toys meant for your amusement - they are proud, and mighty, and love their freedom too much to be subjugated by you forever. They will follow me, I am sure of it. The Valar will at last learn that, while they may have the power to force us to bend to their will, they cannot coerce us to love or respect them. And in the end, we will find a way to throw off their yoke, and find our rightful place in this world, sole masters of ourselves at last.

He smiled grimly as he rode home to begin the preparations for his exile. The Valar had banished him from the city of Tirion only, and that but for twelve years; they had no doubt assumed that he would be forced to meekly crawl to Alqualondë, or one of the smaller settlements scattered along the coast of Aman, there to dwell for the long years of his exile before returning again to the place of his birth, humbled. As if I would ever set foot again in that city, he scoffed. I loved Tirion once, but now it means nothing to me. My departure from it will be permanent; let the Valar see how little their "punishment" means to me in the end! They have but provided me with the reason I need to found a new realm, where those Noldor who still feel something of pride can dwell in freedom! Let those few craven ones remain in Tirion, to simper before the Valar! I will miss them not at all. And I shall bring the Silmarils with me, and forge even more and brighter gems, and the new dwelling of the Noldor will as far outshine poor Tirion as my Silmarils do a glass bead! Formenos will be a wonder...

The thought of the new city he would build, and how it would humble the arrogance of the Valar in the end, almost drove the pain of Fëanáro's recent humiliation out of his heart. Almost...

His anger burning more softly, he urged his horse on, galloping swiftly. There was much he needed to do in the short time he'd been allotted to prepare for his journey, and Fëanáro was eager to begin.