Feanorions: Prologue
There is a natural belief among the Quendi that Beauty and Truth are one and the same.
I first heard those words from my father's mouth when I was no more than a wild Elfling, eager to please and impatient to learn. Those words never left me and all my life they guided me. They were the light that kept on shining when the storm was raging around.
I know that others also find comfort in that innocent childhood knowledge. For in beauty those of my race, children to the One whose name shall not be spoken, delight and in truth they relish for it is the contemplation of the first that often leads to the latter. My kindred and the mighty Valar might shudder at the thought of my guilt but they cannot take this from me: I am an Elf. Beauty I hold in high esteem and truth I treasure above anything else.
But if I have learned something from the terrible events that unfolded beneath my feet. It is that what we cherish is only an illusion rocked by the versatility and weakness of our minds.
Believe me. Long have I pondered those words and thoughts on my life and my choices. What did I really want? What was the secret desire of my heart? Was it the unfathomable truth or the elusive beauty?
Long ago, I would have answered without any hesitation. Asserting that truth was the only quest I pursued: the truth of my claim on what was mine and mine alone and the truth of my revenge on my sworn enemy.
But now... As painful as it is to me, I have no certainty left. As time passes – and time passes slowly in that place of mourning for doomed souls – I come to understand bit by bit that not everything is as it might seem when we first behold our choices. In the ill-fated moments of decisions, the paths I took seemed straight and fair when I trod them, haughty and proud and unaware of the shadows that lurked. However, many years later when I think on them, they look like strong haze coiling around the centre of my light and smothering it.
It seems so unlike me: these thoughts, this pondering...these doubts...the regrets. I prided myself on never looking back and always asserting my decisions. But, here and now it is of little importance to confess that it was out of a fear I would not even admit to myself: fear of realizing that my choices were not the wisest, or in acknowledging how horrified my father would have been if he had seen my acts.
But here, long is the time and lonely are my hours. I wander here in a heavy darkness that no light comes to alleviate. Deprived of this heat that had once warmed my soul and comforted my fears, I walk aimlessly in solitude, remembrance, and shame. How long has it been since my immortal flame was extinguished? How much time has passed since I first walked the endless and bare corridors of this prison, where I cannot even relish in the love my mother wove through each of her tapestries...tapestries that hung close to Varda's? Someone please...tell me: how long ago was it that I answered Mandos' call?
I do not know. This realm of night and death never knows light, be it the silvery light of the stars I loved so much or the light Anor and Ithil which I long to behold but can only know through ephemeral visions of my sons. The blessed light of Aman will never touch my eyes again as I am to remain here till Arda ends. Thus declared Mandos, Vala of Death, and I abide by his words for Hope does not linger at my side anymore. This is my fate and, if I rebelled at first, with time there is nothing one does not come to accept.
And time is plentiful here. Time is all I possess. It has become my vastest Kingdom and my greatest servitude. I only exist in that Time that flows slowly. I cannot be otherwise as I am no more... ‘Darkness thou hast woven', the Vala of Doom had told me. ‘And in Darkness thou shalt remain'. All that I was has disappeared. All that I held precious was taken from me... be it beauty or truth.
Once upon a time, I was envied and admired. One of the greatest Noldo, I had lore, skill, and power. Subtle in mind, I was also skilled in hand. Some would say I was arrogant and bad-tempered, disrespectful of the true Power, and scornful of others. They would be right. But, in my place, who would have behaved differently?
Once upon a time, the world was mine, I was happy and I was not even aware of this. My father, the wisest of all, was alive, Nerdanel my wife was beautiful, and my sons courageous. The gems born of my soul shone with incomparable beauty under the mingled light of Telperion and Laurelin. What Elf could ask for more?
I loved them...and I hate he who took everything from me: my life, my joy, and my light. Be cursed, Morgoth! May you burn in the abysses you created! May your torment last till the end of Arda and beyond!
I had a father then. Finwë was his name and I respected and loved him as any son should. I had a wife also. She was the brightest star of my world. Her laughter was the most beautiful song in all Aman. I loved her. I had sons. Seven they were and all of them were strong, brave, and beautiful. Maedhros, Maglor, Celegorm, Caranthir, Curufin, Amrod, and Amras. I was proud of my offspring as I was of few things in my life.
Once upon a time, I had in my hands everything life could offer.
And he took everything from me as he stole me from what I was. Twisting me into a creature of darkness as he stole the most beautiful thing I had owned and created: my Jewels, my soul, my flame...The Silmarils. I fell then...fell from the heights of glory and pride into the depths of folly.
I can still feel the light breeze of the wind on my face and still hear the murmurs of the crowd when I spoke those words that were the cause of everything. Events unfold and we do not know what will come from them. How they must have laughed at us, the mighty Valar...they who knew before everyone else what would come to pass if we were to forsake those shores.
I can still feel the bitterness of unshed tears as I spoke, the death of my father and the loss of my Jewels heavy on my heart. "After Morgoth to the ends of the Earth! War he shall have and hatred undying. But when we have conquered and have regained the Silmarils, then we, and we alone, shall be lords of the unsullied Light and masters of the bliss and beauty of Arda. No other race shall oust us!"
I did not know then that I had made the greatest mistake a father can make. I mistook the truth for the beauty and led my sons to their dooms. Together, speaking one after the other the verses of my madness, my sons, my little ones, took the Oath in my trail. Why, my sons? Why did you follow me? Out of love? Out of loyalty? Out of fear?
"Be he foe or friend, be he foul or clean, Brood of Morgoth or bright Vala..."
Maedhros, my firstborn, my heir, took his own life out of despair when the Silmaril he had fought for rejected him.
"Elda or Maia or Aftercomer, Man yet unborn upon Middle-earth..."
Maglor, the poet and the musician, the one who took the most after my beloved Nerdanel, cast his Silmaril in the Sea. He still wanders on the shores of Arda, his feä refusing to follow the call of Mandos.
"Neither law, nor love, nor league of swords, dread nor danger, not Doom itself..."
Celegorm the Huntsman, Lore Master, and craftsman of wood, fell in the attack of Menegroth, his heart pierced by the King's spear as he led his warriors towards the throne room.
"Shall defend him from Fëanor, and Fëanor's kin, Whoso hideth or hoardeth, or in hand taketh..."
Caranthir the warrior, hot-tempered and quick-witted, was killed by a well-aimed arrow a few minutes after his brother, his blood soiling the steps to the throne.
"Finding keepeth or afar casteth A Silmaril. This swear we all..."
Curufin, Celegorm's best friend, he who was so like me that his mother called him Atarinkë, little father, lasted longer than his two brothers and avenged them by killing Dior Eluchil but he sustained fatal injuries that cost him his life.
"Death we will deal him ere Day's ending, woe unto world's end! Our word hear thou..."
Amrod the Diplomat was burnt to death in the ships of the Teleri, which I myself set aflame.
"Eru All Father! To the everlasting Darkness doom us if our deed faileth!"
Amras, Amrod's twin, my last son, was beheaded during the attack of Sirion in the attempt of retrieving the Silmaril from Elwing's hands.
Together, my sons spoke the final verses that bound them to their terrible fate, their entwined voices sounding against the rocks, strong and assured in spite of what I asked of them. "On the holy mountain hear in witness! And our vow remember, Manwë and Varda!"
I left then and I took my people with me. I went away and the blood of my kin soiled my hands. But I am the only one to blame. What Morgoth did not take, I destroyed. I sought the beauty and I forgot the truth. I doomed my sons to finding the Silmarils. Truth sacrificed in the name of Beauty.
Maedhros, Maglor, Celegorm, Caranthir, Curufin, Amrod, and Amras. Fëanorian they are by their ill-fated choices, their endless pride, and faithful loyalty more than by anything else.
Fëanorian... My curse and my burden bore other shoulders than mine.
If I could change the way things had come to pass, I would do it, my sons. But time is immutable and what was will never be again.
Fëanorian...
My legacy.
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