Aftermath by Lyra

IV.

Dealing with B2 (violate Laws and Customs among the Eldar) - not really, as it happens, but assumed by other characters. Also sort of covers G3 (curses). And kind of breaking a fandom taboo, I guess. Therefore, probably AU.

Warning for vague descriptions of the kinslaying. And also for unplanned pregnancy and for fleeting thoughts of suicide, I guess.

She had lost all appetite for wine.

She had lost her taste for most foods, or only desired that which she could not have: sweet, ripe berries so juicy that they would explode in her mouth, fatty tuna belly prepared in the Telerin way, cauliflower smothered in butter and roasted almonds. Instead, meals were bland, prepared without love and eaten in haste. If she gained in girth nonetheless, Nerdanel blamed it on the lack of exercise. With all her administrative duties, it had been a long time since she had swung a hammer or taken a chisel to marble. She rarely even travelled, living on site in the palace with the other women of the royal house to be on hand for council duties. It was no wonder that her waist, never quite as slender as was fashionable, and further weakened by repeated pregnancies, widened as the unmeasurable weeks passed. It was just another outward sign of the pressure under which she stood.

And that pressure was massive. Her husband, she knew, had instigated the Flight. Her husband, no doubt, had instigated brutal murder in Alqualondë. Two thriving cultures, and he had torn them both to pieces. So many lives lost, and so many more irrevocably altered. At night, she lay awake, asking herself the same questions over and over again: Could she have prevented it? Could she have stopped him? Would he have been perceptive to reason if she had delivered it? If yes, was she not as guilty as he was? If no, how could she ever have loved him at all? How could she have loved a man capable of such evil? How could she not have noticed? And how, now that she knew, could some small and secret part of her mind love him still? No doubt others asked themselves these same questions; people had already grown colder around her, and her voice on the council no longer had the weight it had once been given. Nobody accused her to her face, but there had been whispered conversations that faltered as she approached; there had been judgemental looks, and there had been people who turned away when she passed, who muttered invocations as if to ward off evil. It was enough to make anyone feel drained of all energy, enough to make anyone's innards clench in shame and dismay.

Nerdanel was not surprised when, after another gruelling day of settling minor disputes and major exigencies, Queen Indis came to see her in private. Setting aside her bowl of gruel – it was tasting like boiled sawdust anyway – Nerdanel invited Indis to sit in a window-seat that had once offered a spectacular view over the city's elaborate architecture, now shrouded in indifferent black broken only by the occasional streetlamp or torch.
„I truly regret having to trouble you with this conversation,“ Indis said, her eyes shining softly in the dimly lit room. „But there is too much talk now.“
„I can imagine,“ Nerdanel said, folding her hands in her lap. „The Kinslayer's Wife – is that what they call me, or is it something worse?“
For a second, Indis looked as though she was about to cry; the corners of her mouth twitched downwards, and she blinked rapidly before she regained her composure. „There is that matter,“ she conceded. „But foremost, I think we need to talk about your child.“
Nerdanel closed her eyes, exhausted. „Which one?“

Of course, she was also the Mother of Kinslayers, but this was not something she dwelt on often. In spite of the horror, it was easy enough to imagine Fëanáro in the role of ruthless murderer: She knew how impulsive he could be, how he could lash out in anger, and it had probably been only a small push from the man who had drawn a blade on his half-brother to a man who actually drove that sword into the chest of Telerin mariners. But her sons? She could not envision their part. Had they followed their father's example, as they so often strived to do? Had Maitimo's hands trembled as he had dislodged heads from shoulders, or had it been just another distasteful necessity like gutting a chicken for dinner or assembling a funeral cairn for his grandfather? Had Atarincë mirrored his father's remorseless fury, or had he fallen to his knees and added vomit to the blood in the sand? Had Macalaurë already composed a heart-rending song to process his feelings of guilt – or to exonerate himself and his brothers?

Nerdanel opened her eyes again, and found that Indis was now giving her a reproachful look. The Queen's fingers were playing with the folds of her grey gown, a rare display of nerves.
„The eighth,“ Indis said pointedly.
For a moment, Nerdanel felt as though she was drowning, or buried inside a cave with walls that closed in on her ever further, threatening to crush her. She struggled for breath; she had to will her heart back into action. „I don't know what you mean.“
Indis sighed again, turning to look out of the window as if there was anything to see but her reflection. „I think you do.“ Her breath was clouding up the glass; she wiped the mist away with slender fingers. „Please believe me that I do not blame you, daughter dear*; we are all eager for distraction and use whatever comfort we can find in these dark days, and who needs and deserves comfort more than you do? But if such comfort yields fruit...“ She tilted her head, aiming a look at Nerdanel's rounded waist. „It cannot be ignored.“

Nerdanel found her hands clutching her belly – surprisingly taut if it was caused by overeating or too little exercise, she had to admit – and fought down the lump that was rising in her throat. „It is not what you think it is,“ she burst out.
Indis lips wrenched in a pained smile. „Whatever it is,“ she gently said, „it is causing dissent. It is quiet as yet; but it will grow louder. You Noldor have always been vocal and violent in your convictions.“ Her hands, small but firm, took Nerdanel's restless fingers. „I cannot advise you, Nerdanel; I have no solutions, and there is no course of action that I want to see you take. But I felt that we needed to address this matter – before others do.“
Despondently, Nerdanel nodded. There it was again, that little twitch in her guts that she had so far ascribed to dismal food or horrid news or heavy guilt. It was hardly a twitch anymore, more like – a kick? A whole series of kicks, in fact.
Her hands left Indis' comforting grasp, and she jumped to her feet, trembling.

There it was, she thought; the living proof that she had loved the monster – even when he had already shown that he was ruthless and ungovernable, when he had already sworn the oath that had divorced him from all rational counsel, all restraint. She was the Kinslayer's Wife, the Mother of Kinslayers, and now, apparently, bearing a brother of kinslayers too: Thrice-cursed, thrice-condemned, the final fruit of the cancerous growth that had sickened the Noldor and slain the Teleri. She wanted to scream, to tear down the walls, to wear her hands bloody and raw and then run to the coast, to drown herself in the grieving waters at Alqualondë. But she was Nerdanel the Wise, and she did none of these things; blood could not pay for blood, and death could not pay for death.

Instead, she merely paced in agitation until her churning mind returned to its usual steady flow. She breathed deeply, laid her hands on her belly again. Child of a Kinslayer, she thought wearily. Then again, he had not been that at the time. Not yet. Still, it was probably better not to say it; better, perhaps to be accused of sleeping with another man, than to burden the child with that legacy before it was even born.
Indis had also risen, watching her, her fair brow marred in a worried frown.
„I must ask you to accept my resignation, my lady,“ Nerdanel declared, her voice steady once more. „The House of Fëanáro should no longer have a voice in your council.“ She could not bear Indis' sympathetic gaze; her eyes slid away, catching her reflection in the window, the disarrayed state of her hair, the tell-tale bump underneath her sombre dress. She had not seen it, she realised, because she had not wanted to acknowledge it.

She took a deep breath. „I will leave Tirion. I will not be the cause of further unrest among the Noldor. I – beg you to forgive me, and to recall some pity for me, if you can.“ Tears were rising to her eyes now.
„I can,“ Indis said, pulling her into an embrace, „although I accept your resignation. It may be necessary. But your wisdom will be missed, Nerdanel, it will be sorely missed – as you will be.“ And she kissed her upon her forehead and her lips.
Nerdanel let herself be held, closing her eyes.
„What will you do?“ Indis gently asked. „Where will you go? Your parents' house?“
Nerdanel shook her head, hurling teardrops against Indis' robe. „It is too close. And my parents are needed here; they must not be burdened with the load of my trespasses.“
„Then where?“ Indis asked urgently, tipping Nerdanel's face up to study her eyes. „You will not...?“
Again, Nerdanel shook her head, forcing a reassuring smile onto her lips.

„I will go to Formenos,“ she said.

Chapter End Notes

* Technically, of course, Indis is Nerdanel's stepmother-in-law, and Nerdanel is Indis' in-law stepdaughter. In my interpretation, they care a lot less about the "step-"thing than Fëanor.