A Return is Heralded by Lferion

A Return is Heralded

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Anairë and Fingolfin were not in Tirion-upon-Túna when word came to them that Fingon was to be Returned. They were in Formenos, visiting Nerdanel. It was snowing -- fine, fat flakes floating down to settle on the sleeping flower- and vegetable-beds that Ambarussa Returned took pride in, the stone paved pathways, tile and slate and thatched roofs of the house, workshops, outbuildings, on window-ledges, carved tracery of stone. The statues and sculptures scattered about were even more liminal than usual, as if in the grey-and-whiteness of the winter day they could move and speak and dance as they had in life.

Formenos was not a graveyard; while reminders of the unReturned dead were present in the neatness and quiet of several of the workshops, and especially in the absense of a certain sense of sparking energy that anyone who had known Feänor would feel, if not recognize, but even more present was the bustle of life and making and getting on with things. Nerdanel had never been one to mope or bemoan her lot. And, unlike much of the rest of Valinor, there was no name that could not be spoken, no-one who could not be remembered, fondly, furiously, or otherwise.

Anairë and Fingolfin visited often, together and separately. They were both glad that they were spared the entirely of Tirion knowing they had been graced with a visitation by Eönwë (who was, at the very best of times, Not Subtle), who had been sent to apprise them of each of their children in turn. Fingon was the only one left -- rumor would have been flying before Manwë's Herald's feet had manifested on ground. Why else would he possibly have come? In the courtyard at Formenos, his appearance sparked a variety of feelings, but impetus to gossip was not among them.

Nerdanel was truly glad for them, sister and brother in heart and law. She was even glad on her own behalf -- Findékano had been as much a son to her as any of her own -- and an irrepressable hope insisted on taking root in her own heart: that if Fingon was to Return, might that mean Maitimo would, could as well? (And if Maitimo, mayhap Fëanáro?) But even hoping was running far too fast ahead of any likelihood, well beyond sense. She wouldn't uproot that seed, nor would she tend it. It wasn't material she could shape, only let be.