Mana ngwen polne mai náne [Unfinished - Discontinued]

The first thing Fëanor noticed upon opening his eyes was the light. There was light, but not the kind the halls of Mandos had. This was natural, something he had missed oh, so much. But it was more than the Sun - Anar - the Valar made, after the Trees had gone out. It felt different. It was somehow, something his body knew. Deep down, where not even Fëanor thought to look. And something in him, a yearning he had for years now, was left satisfied. Who would have thought light would be something his fëa would miss? Certainly not him.

Moving, or trying to move out of the bed, Fëanor grunted as he sat up, breathing heavily. Looking down, he noted how his right arm was bandaged up, tied tightly to his chest, which was also covered in bandages. What had just happened to him? Why was he here? Why was he back in his hröa? Hadn’t he died? Was this Námo’s doing? To torture him because of his sins? Was this what the Valar wanted? To taunt him even in death? Surely they weren’t so cruel, even with him. After those mistakes of his… Oath, fire, ash, blood. His kin’s, his boys’, his fault.

Tears burned his eyes, as he tried and failed to contain them. Thinking of his family. His beautiful and lovely wife, his Nerdanel. His brave and loyal boys. Oh, how bad had he failed them? In his madness, he had driven them to murder, and caused them to suffer. His family, the one he loved to death, now more than likely dead, because of him. Because he wanted to earn his place, his father’s love. To not be replaced, to… To be truthful, he didn’t even know the reasons anymore. He wanted his family safe. He wanted his father to look into his eyes. To look at him truly, like he did with the rest… And in trying to do so, he had hurt those he cared deeply for. Those he loved more than anything.

Manwë was right. And it hurt to say it. All he touched turned to ruin. His mother, even before he was born, the reason she died, was because of him. His siblings. And then his boys, Nerdanel; he had lost it all. And for what? He should never have made those damned silmarils. He should have never…

The tears were streaming down his cheeks, and there was nothing he could, wanted, to do, to stop them. Tears shed for those lost, either by his own doings, or someone else’s.

His body ached as he muffled a cry, wiping away tears with his – mostly – unharmed arm. He hadn’t cried for so long, the last he did was when Pityo… When Pityo died. ‘Murdered. Killed.’ His mind whispered. ‘Burnt to death by his own father. By you.’ Even if he wanted to say otherwise, it was true. Pityo was dead because of him. He had failed him. Had failed every one of his sons, in so many ways.

Oh, how many times he’d asked, plead and begged for Námo to let him go. To bring his boys back. To bring his family back. Or to at least let his family go. They were dragged into this by him, they shouldn’t be here. But the Doomsman remained silent. He had failed. Again. He was a failure. A failure of a son, a failure of a sibling, a failure of a husband, and a failure of a father.

“Yonyar[1]… I’m so sorry. I’m so, terribly sorry.” His voice died down, his face hidden behind his left palm, as he continued to cry. Why? Why couldn’t he be happy with what he already had? Why did he have to listen to Morgoth? Why? “I was a fool to think…”

A soft click caught his attention. His head snapped upwards, breath slowing. Becoming raspier. Wiping away the tears with the back of his hand, his green eyes focused on the opening door. And his breath hitched as Nerdanel, his Nerdanel, entered the room.

“Nerdanel! Meldanya![2]”

“Naró?” Startled she dropped the clothes she was holding. Rushing to his side, Nerdanel enclosed Fëanor’s body with a hug, careful of his bandages. “You are awake! You are awake and fine!”

Fëanor hugged back. Burrowing his face into Nerdanel’s lovely auburn hair, he noted she was crying. Ever so softly into his chest. His left hand was caressing her shoulder, gently rubbing circles into them as they shook. Pressing light kisses into her hair, Fëanor inhaled the elderberry scent she had on her hair. Nerdanel’s arms never let their grip loosen on him, but he didn’t mind it. It was everything, to hold her once more in his arms. Everything.

“I’m sorry Nerdanel. I’m sorry, I never wanted…” Fëanor closed his eyes, holding onto Nerdanel like she would disappear any moment. He could feel the tears burning his eyes again, but he bit them back. He will cry later. “I’m sorry for everything. I never wanted to cause you or the boys pain.”

Nerdanel stilled. “Naró?” There was uncertainty in her voice as she pulled back. Away from him. Her puffy, blue eyes searched his face, and it made Fëanor look away. Her fingers gently brushed against his cheek, bringing his attention back to her. “What are you talking about? Did you, did you see something?”

“I- Nerdanel, what?” Now it was his turn to look confused. “The- the Oath, us going to Beleriand, Alqualondë and-“

“Oath? Alqualondë? Beleriand? Naró what, what are you talking about?” Her hands came to his forehead, pressing against his skin. “Did- Indis said your head wound wasn’t-“ Nerdanel was panicking, pressing and poking Fëanor’s face and head.

Fëanor moved, reached for her hand, but she was already standing. In a blink, she turned on her heel and ran for the door, shouting for someone. “Nerdanel wait!” Fëanor hissed as the wound became apparent to him on his left side. He had to lean back. Pressing his back to the frame, he turned his head, looking down at his bandages that were now dirty red. Hissing as he moved to sit up straighter, his eyes wandered over to the window and his mouth fell open.

The Trees were there. The two Trees he hadn’t seen in Ages, were standing there. Untouched. Laurelin and Telperion were fine. He gaped at the sight.

‘How could this be? Melkor had destroyed them!’

“H-how can this be?” Ignoring the pain in his side, Fëanor forced his legs to move closer to the edge of the bed. He intended to stand, to see for himself the sight. However, his legs had other plans.

Fëanor cursed under his breath as his legs refused to move more than inches. The two limbs stubbornly stayed near the edge, never dropping over them. Grunting from pain, exhaustion and irritation, Fëanor rested his back against the frame again. It seemed like he was stuck. For the time being. So he listened for footsteps, while trying to figure out what just went down. Nerdanel had asked him if he saw something. And it seemed like she didn’t know what he did? How? Everyone knew! She was the first to voice her fears when it came down to it. So, how?

“This doesn’t make any sense.” Fëanor said, to no one is particular. “Alqualondë was… Everyone knows what I did! How can she not remember it? Why am I here, and like this?”

He didn’t have to wait long for an answer, as the door opened again, and in came Nerdanel, followed closely by Tanondile[3] and – surprisingly to Fëanor – Indis and a silver-haired boy. He stilled in his movements, as their eyes landed on him, with the boy arching his left brow and sighing. Fëanor gulped when he stepped forward with his tatyamil[4] and Indis, feeling suddenly like an elfling about to get scolded. Tanondile started to remove the sheets while Nerdanel placed the water bucket near the bed.

“I can-“

“Naró, look at me.” Fëanor shifted when Indis sat next to him. In her hands, she was holding a glass of something, that Fëanor was sure was meant for him. “I want to see if I overlooked something.” Her voice was gentle and calm. So Fëanor chanced a glance, expecting the worse. But instead of hate and pain, the loathing he was prepared to see was nowhere. He found only worry in the blue eyes.

Her fingers brushed against his cheeks, and Fëanor couldn’t help but flinch away from her. He didn’t want to, not truly. But he felt unworthy of her kindness. Unworthy of anyone’s kindness really. It wasn’t their fault. Yet when Indis pulled back, the sadness in her eyes made Fëanor’s stomach twist.

“Atya, how much do your wounds hurt?”

The question – and truth be told, the name that left the boy’s mouth – left Fëanor wide-eyed. His opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out of it.

“Looks like the stitches opened a little,” the boy continued without missing a beat. “But there’s no blood, so I’ll take that as a win. I’ll have to tighten them and maybe put some herbs in there. To keep it soaked up and clean.” Muttering on, he went to clean the wound on his side, and Fëanor chanced a glance, wincing when he saw just how bad it truly was.

Tanondile had finished with the sheets and blanket, and was now changing his pillows while Nerdanel returned back with another bucket and a sponge. His bandages were removed, and Fëanor watched as Indis mixed the medicine together, her Song filling the room.

“What happened?” He finally managed to ask.

An awkward silence filled the room, and Fëanor noted how Nerdanel pressed her lips together. “You remember nothing? Even before the accident?” He couldn’t see her face, but he could imagine how she bit into her lip, hoping he would know how to answer her questions.

“I… I can’t remember anything. When I woke, I thought I was still in the Halls of Mandos. But then I saw the Trees and-“

“What do you mean you thought you were still in the Halls of Mandos, atya?” The boy’s hands stopped mid-movement, but reassumed once more, albeit more forced then before. “Your fëa never left your hröa.”

All eyes were on him now, and Fëanor squirmed under their glances. How should he tell them that he, possibly, is from the future? Or at least, from a future. Or from elsewhere? How can he remember things so vividly? About what he did, what happened?

“I… I’m…” He couldn’t find the words. Typical. So typical of him!

“Is that why you mentioned Alqualondë and Beleriand?” Nerdanel asked, drying his arm. “When, when you- When I walked in…” Her voice waivered, unsure how to continue.

“Enyo, I think you should finish this up and leave.” Tanondile put down the pillows, right behind Fëanor’s back. “Speak- tell the others that your atar is awake but still weak from his accident, and his memory is foggy at places. He should be ready to see you all later today, but for only a few minutes.”

Fëanor watched as the boy - Enyo, apparently - quickened his pace, tying the bandages back to where they were. He worked quietly and fast, and before he knew it, he was done. He gathered the remaining ones and stood, glancing back at him. Fëanor’s brow rose as he saw his eyes. They were pale green. Enyo nodded once and disappeared behind the door, footsteps almost silent as he walked down the hall.

‘Your atar. Atar. Your. Yours. Atar.’

“W-what?” Green eyes met blue.

“Fëanáro, if we can call you that-“ Fëanor nodded, not sure what else to do, ”-how much do you remember?” Tanondile sat beside her daughter, Nerdanel still holding the sponge, seemingly having forgotten its existence.

“Before you answer, here,” Indis handed him the glass, careful to not touch him. “It will help with the pain.”

Fëanor took it and drank it in a go. Grimacing at the bitter taste he handed the glass back. It reminded him so much of those herbs he had to eat. Back when none of them knew about swords and shields.

“I died.” He chanced a glance at the three nissi[5], waiting for a response. When all he got was silence and wide-eyed looks, he braced himself and continued. “I, our boys and I, we- I was-“

“Naró…”

His name died on Nerdanel’s lips as Fëanor met her eyes. “I made many, many mistakes. I-I didn’t… It was never my intention to… To just…” Seemingly lost for words, Fëanor tsked. So typical of him.

“What is the last thing you remember? Before, before you woke up here?” Tanondile asked, rubbing soothing circles onto Nerdanel’s back. “I wager you know, remember who we are?”

Fëanor nodded. That he did, even when it made him raise his eyebrows at certain things. “M-my wife, Nerdanel, tatyamil Tanondile and…” He could hear their breaths hitch. ‘Don’t get this wrong!’ “Queen Indis,” the sad smile on Indis’ face was everything he needed to know. That wasn’t the correct answer.

Indis sighed, and Fëanor fidgeted when she and Tanondile looked at each other. Something wasn’t right.

“You said our boys and you went to Beleriand.” When he nodded to confirm, and Nerdanel continued, clutching the sponge. “Was it… only the boys?” she managed to ask, making Fëanor further furrow his brows.

“Y-yes. The boys and me, and… Nolvo and- the rest.” Fëanor admitted, eyeing the patterns on the blanket. “We- I… We, the eight of us, took the ships, with- with our people, Ara stayed behind to be king, and Nolvo and the rest took the Helcaraxë.” Only when he finished did he notice the uncomfortable silence that lingered in the room.

He glanced at the nissi from behind his lashes. Their expressions were clear, they were confused. And it only took Fëanor a breath realize why. The boy, Enyo, was his son! His son! A son he never had before.

“He… The, the boy…”

Nerdanel let out a heart wrenching cry. And there was nothing he could do to stop it. He could only watch as his tatyamil hugged her, wondering if this is what happened after they left. After he committed the kinslaying at Alqualondë. After she felt their bond disappear. And if that was even possible, he felt worse.

“Naró, do you mean to tell us that you have no memory about Enyo?” Trying to ignore his sobbing wife and Tanondile as she cuddled her, Fëanor turned to face Indis. “When you said you and the boys, who did you mean?”

“We- I have… I remember, us having seven boys. Maitimo Nelyafinwë the eldest, with his red hair and blue eyes. He was- “Fëanor took a deep breath.” –he was more a father to his brothers then I. He took so much, so much responsibility on himself. I- I, don’t know what happened to him after I died.”

He felt a tear drop down his cheeks. Nelyo, his brave and loyal son. His pride and joy. The one who was more a father to the rest of his sons then he ever was. He deserved someone better than him.

“Our second was Macalaurë Canafinwë. He was, he liked music, and peace. He was amazing with a harp. He- When in Beleriand- I made him…” ‘You made him use what he loved. You made him kill with his craft.’ His mind whispered, taunting him to say otherwise.

“Tyelcormo Turcafinwë, he looked much like my amil… He was wild and untamed. He joined The Hunt, at Oromë’s request, and loved it. He was…”

When Indis reached for his hand, he didn’t flinch away.

“Then came Carnistir Morifinwë. He was quiet, liked his solidarity. His brothers- He was- I didn’t-“ He was singled out. He was always alone. ‘Whose fault was it? That he was always alone? That he felt alone. That he didn’t connect with any of his brothers that much? Yours!’ “I wasn’t there for him, not when I should have, when he needed it the most.”

Fëanor paid little attention to Indis wiping away his tears. The memories of Moryo, or their lack thereof, were too much. Moryo, little Moryo wanting to spend time with him, and he never did have the time. ‘Liar! You always had the time. You certainly had it for the rest of them. Save for the twins.’ He was a terrible father.

“Before the twins, we had Atarincë Curufinwë. He was close in age to Moryo.” ‘And why is that?’ “He- Nerdanel said he was much like me, so much in both body and mind. He took up smithing. He… When he had Tyelpë I-“ What had happened to his grandson? His kind-eyed, smiling grandson? They had brought him with them.

His hand unconsciously wandered over to Nerdanel’s, who took it and caressed his knuckles. His mind noted how the nissi moved closer, expecting a strong emotional reaction.

“After Curvo, I, I wanted to make… I made the Silmarils. I wanted… During the Exile to Formenos… Even before that, Melkor came. He-“ Fëanor shook his head. “I wasn’t in… I was mad. After I made the Silmarils… I was… I was jealous. I didn’t want anyone to have them. But it was only Melkor who wanted them.” He shuddered at the memories. Maybe if he put aside his pride, his anger… Maybe then it could have ended better.

“Naró, look at me,” Indis lifted his chin, brushing his cheek with her thumb. “Whatever you did, it can’t be that bad.”

Fëanor couldn’t help it. He laughed. It was a bitter one. One that was followed by tears. “Our twins, Ambarussar Telufinwë and Pityafinwë grew up in Exile because I let Melkor play with me. I ignored them completely, because of those damned gems.” His shoulder was shaking, tears now falling onto his clutched hand. “I ignored everyone because of them. Then it went from bad to worse.”

“Naró…” Indis reached out, to brush away his hair but Fëanor pulled away.

“I raised my sword at Nolvo! I raised a weapon at your son, because I was afraid! I was jealous and afraid that- that I will-“ Fëanor choked on the words. His face fell into his palm as his shoulders shook. “I’m the reason our sons, my brother, his children and Ara’s are more than likely dead.” He doubted anyone heard his whisper. But his confession earned him gasps from the nissi. They have heard it then.

Silence fell onto the room. Neither nís made a move to leave, nor to raise a hand at him. He had expected that, at one point. Expected it when he woke, but it never came from Nerdanel. It never came from Tanondile either, or Indis. The three nís who had every right to do so, didn’t. Never a hit, or really, a loud word even. Come to think of it, Fëanor never heard any of them speak louder than almost a whisper. Their faces lacked judgemental and angry expressions too.

And as the silence stretched on, it slowly became uncomfortable and awkward. Fëanor wiggled in his place, not knowing what else he should say. After all, he just admitted to wanting to cause harm to Indis’ eldest son.

“Are the seven sons the only children you remember having?” His tatyamil asked in a hushed tone. “You don’t remember anyone else?”

Fëanor shook his head. “After Tyelco, we- Nerdanel and I, she wanted a daughter. I wasn’t able to give her one. The boy, Enyo, is he…” Letting the end of the sentence hang in the air, he bit his lip, waiting for a confirmation.

“Enyo is our eldest son.” Fëanor jumped at the broken voice that left Nerdanel’s mouth. “He and Meda are our oldest.”

“Meda?”

“Meldatherindë. Meldatherindë Darnémë[6]. Our firstborn and her twin brother, Endatherindo Velúmo[7].”

“W-we have a, daughter?”

Nerdanel sniffed, wiping away the last of her tears. “We have four.”

Fëanor’s breath hitched. They had daughters. Daughters. Plural. And another son. “That’s… but that’s-“

“Twelve little elflings.”

“How?”

“Naró?”

“Námo said, he said that we only shall have seven. He said that. No more than seven shall you welcome into Arda.”

The nissi stayed quiet, neither sure how to move forward. Fëanor wasn’t sure what else he could offer to tell them, when clearly, this time, place, was oh so different from his own.

“Why did Námo tell you that?”

Fëanor shrugged, as much as the bandages let him. “I asked him once. About, if we could have a daughter. I- There might have been something else said, I can’t recall it however.” His tatyamil looked thoughtful at the answer she got, brows furrowing in a manner it reminded Fëanor when Nerdanel did the same during their courting years.

His eyes unwittingly landed on Indis, who hadn’t said a thing since Fëanor told them he almost harmed Nolvo. She had been quiet ever since she stepped into the room, always looking at him with worry in her eyes. But not the kind one might show towards a dangerous situation. No, her worry was the same he saw in the eyes of Nerdanel. When one of their boys got into something bad, when they had to leave for Formenos, or when they made the Oath. And it only took him a moment to come to a conclusion.

“Indis?” He wasn’t sure if she did hear him, but when she blinked up at her name, Fëanor gulped. Suddenly not so brave and sure in his idea. Opening and closing his mouth, Fëanor tightened and untightened his grip on the blanket.

The Queen sighed, slowly reaching her hand towards his, giving him a way out. Fëanor let her take his hand. “You are not Naró. Not ours, that is.”

Fëanor could only nod. He felt like an impostor. He had no memory of this family. His family. ‘Are you sure? How does a family act?’ These quendi, they were nice. They had, a family. Bonds and ties to each other.

“I come from elsewhere.”

“We figured that much yonya.” Tanondile giggled, brushing a lock of hair out of his face. “Now, don’t look so surprised. Our Naró has a…”

“Tendency?” Indis offered with a slight smile of hers.

“A personal tradition?”

Fëanor could only blink as Tanondile and Indis went back and forth, bickering about him. Well, the other him.

“Naró, the Naró I know and married he…” Nerdanel giggled, smiling at memories Fëanor had no access to. “He, when he is awake, likes to communicate through our bond. No matter if we are next to each other, he likes to do it. Once you didn’t say back anything, or-“ Here, Nerdanel went as red as her hair, maybe even redder. “Anyways. You didn’t answer, and you called mityamil[8] by her name. Something you never do.”

“And you looked at Enyo like you never saw him before.” his tatyamil added, finally taking away the sponge from Nerdanel. “He might suspect something. Boy is smarter than he looks.”

Fëanor sighed. Waking up in a completely different time, with a slightly different family wasn’t what he imagined. Nor having more children – daughters! His mind still couldn’t place where they came from. But he will do his best. Even if it’s a new chance, something Námo and the Valar came up with to torture him some more, he will do his best. He has to.

“How does, this Naró act?”

The three looked at each other.

“I don’t want lie to them.” ‘And yet you had no problem doing that before. What changed now? Are you sure you can be a real father?’ “But I also don’t want them to- To think something is wrong. W-with me.”

“Our híni[9] will want to see you. So will the others.”

“Others?” Fëanor hadn’t meant to, but he needed to know who else was here. And why.

“Your siblings. My children,” Indis clarified once he saw the confused look on Fëanor’s face. “Vanimë, Aracáno, Lalwendë, Ingoldo, Faniel and Finrún. As well, as their families. And of course-”

Fëanor opened his mouth, but nothing came from it. How many siblings he had now? “That’s… good?” He managed to say finally, cutting Indis off.

“I’ll bring in your food. I’m sure either Meda or Enyo, or Naryo have already finished it. And then we can talk,” Nerdanel offered with a shrug.

“I- Thank you. I’m sorry that this happened. I never wanted to destroy any family. I-“

Nerdanel’s arms were around him in a moment, gently rubbing soothing circles into his back. “It’s not your fault. I believe you.” Yet Fëanor didn’t. He was the one to blame, for this too.

Once the nissi left, and he was alone again, Fëanor let his tears free.

[1] My sons 

[2] Melda – dear, beloved; -nya – my,suffix

[3] Smith-lover

[4] Mother-in-law : second mother (personal invention)

[5] elf women, nís is singular

[6] Melda – beloved; therindë – broideress (here its a simple suffix); dar – wait; né – past tense; më – female suffix

[7] Enda – center/spirit; therindo – male suffix to therindë; velu – to unfurl; lúmë – time (changed to –o for male suffix)

[8] mityamil – heart, inner mother (stepmother, personal invention)

[9] children – hína is singular