Aftermath by Lyra

I.

Touching upon O4 (religious taboos) - naming the Name (implied in the Oath and sort of played straight later). Also possibly mild B4 (sexual deviance), since angry violent noisy break-up sex would probably be frowned upon among the Noldor.

Warning for, um, angry violent break-up sex (though not particularly graphic), possibly AU.

Physically, it had been as rewarding as ever - possibly more so.

The length of his exile had reduced the painful longing that had kept Nerdanel awake for many a night to a mere memory, eventually convincing her that their passion had faded and died. But it had been rekindled the very moment she recognised Fëanáro in the torch-lit street, marching where he had been forbidden to tread. Her heart had clenched violently at his sight, and she would have thrown herself at his throat that very instant, if his face had not been so contorted with anger. Instead, she had shrunk back into the unlit side-road, and he had marched past, to fierce words and grand dreams and a fell oath. Only later did she seek him out, pleading with him to leave her one of her children as he marched north and east. Again, there were hot words: he had grown merciless in his need to enact his grief, and Nerdanel in her urgency had foregone all her usual thoughtfulness and diplomacy.

Still, they had not argued for long. Nerdanel couldn't even remember who of them had crossed the distance first, ending their vicious argument by sealing the other's lips with a bruising kiss. Maybe they had both thought of it at the same time. Either way, they had ended up on the floor of his make-shift tent, kissing furiously, then tearing at each other's clothing with deft fingers and undignified greed. She had been astride him almost before she knew what she was doing, and when he had entered her, she had given a triumphant cry because it had felt so good. And he must have felt the same, because he was hissing, „Yes, yes, yes - Eru, Eru, yes!" Nerdanel had reprimanded him, irritably, "Stop swearing!" It had made him laugh.
They had not been gentle with each other, and neither had cared, because even when her playful nibbles turned into bites hard enough to bruise, even when he dug his fingernails into her skin so deep that there was blood, it had been such a delight to feel the other so close, so strong.

They had made a great deal of noise – all of Fëanáro's followers, even the most innocent of their sons must have realised what was going on – but Nerdanel, usually so self-conscious, had not given a damn, and Fëanáro had never cared much for propriety. Even when their desperate love-making was followed by a gentler, more thoughtful bout, they had not bothered to keep quiet. Now, silence reigned – the unnatural silence of the Darkening, in which no crickets chirped and no nightingales sang. No footsteps nor conversation could be heard beyond the thin canvas walls; they must have scared everybody away. Fëanáro had fallen asleep, and Nerdanel lay awake, her head on his chest, the steady beating of his heart and the rushing of her blood the only sounds in her ears. In that moment, in the soft afterglow, she seriously considered coming with him. It was unthinkable to never have any of this again: the warm feeling of satisfaction in her underbelly, the glory of their union, the beauty of his features (now relaxed and entirely free of grief or fury).

But as the warmth drifted away on the frozen breath of the endless night, as reason once more found room in her mind, she knew that it was impossible. It hurt to think about it, but she could not possibly follow him. He had spoken against everything that she held dear; and she could not, in the end, understand his obsession. Though all the world seemed to have lost its mind – even Nolofinwë, even rational Findaráto seemed determined to depart from Aman! - Nerdanel could have no part in these deeds. She tried to find a way out, some justification that she had overlooked, something that would allow her to go with Fëanáro without feeling that she was betraying everything that was right and true. She could not find it. His road was wrong, and though she could not stop him, neither could she follow him.

After what might have been an hour or half the night, she rose. She found her discarded clothing, strewn all over the ground. She blushed to think of the spectacle they must have made. She got dressed quietly. Fëanáro slept on, the deep, undisturbed sleep of righteous conviction and satisfied lust. He would be furious when he woke and found her gone, Nerdanel knew, but for this brief night, he looked at peace. She took his cloak and pulled it up to cover his sleeping form, half-hoping that he would wake and stop her from leaving. She placed kisses on his forehead, his eyes, his lips. He stirred, mumbling something about love but did not wake. The mere thought that this was their final parting felt as though all the light in her life had been replaced by the inscrutable darkness. But it had to be done. Her place was here, and he would not stay. And neither would their sons. She knew it with brutal certainty. She did not even try to find and convince them otherwise as she quietly wove her way through the pell-mell arrangement of tents. One look back, blurred by tears, and she was gone.

That was how it had ended.

Chapter End Notes

The idea of Nerdanel coming to argue with Fëanor one last time before he leaves for good is from The Peoples of Middle-earth, specifically the "The Names of the Sons of Fëanor with the legend of the fate of Amrod" section of the Shibboleth of Fëanor. Of course, the only talk in HoME. They would, wouldn't they.