Legendarium [ Tolkien One-Shots ]

A New Era

The flames splashed reds and yellows across his drawn face. The Long Night remained just that, long, but the conflagration in the firth of Drengist lit the area almost like the Two Trees once had in Aman. The great elf lord clenched his fists at the memory.

So much had been stolen from Fëanáro. First, his father. Finwë had bled out in Fornost, first victim of what Fëanáro knew would be an endless war. The Black Enemy had played his hand, he’d attacked where Fëanáro would hurt most. He had stolen from the elf what would never return: the one who meant everything.

To add insult to injury, the Black Enemy had seized Fëanáro's greatest possessions, the silmarils. Of all he had crafted, of all he had created, they alone contained his heart and soul. Almost like his own children.

Fëanáro looked at his sons who stood around him. Curufinwë, ever alike to him, smirked at the burning Telerin swan ships. Fëanáro had explained it was the only way to truly begin anew, to start over, to usher in a new age. And in this new age, elves would live without shackles, without bonds to hold them back. Here, upon Beleriand, the Noldor could live as kings like they were meant to.

And yet two of his sons stood together, two of the ones that shared their mother’s hair. Pityafinwë and Nelyafinwë, the youngest and the eldest, watched the burning ships with deep set frowns. For a brief moment Fëanáro felt pity for them. But the knowledge that these deeds meant their survival, and more importantly, their revenge, caused him to sneer at their hesitance.

“Nelyo!” Fëanáro barked to his eldest. “Gather the people. We move once the flames are gone.”

For a moment, Fëanáro wondered if his son would object. But after a stare down, Nelyo nodded his head and began to walk away. But a voice halted both in their movements.

Pityo’s voice sounded quiet. “Father, this is madness.”

Though the crackling of the burning ships continued, it seemed that all other noises halted. Nelyo turned back in shock, first glancing at his youngest brother, and then to his father. Moryo, seemingly ever put out, now had but a look of surprise that rivaled Nelyo’s own.

“What did you say?” Fëanáro’s voice seemed but a growl as he turned his broken form towards his youngest child.

“Our cousins, they could help us.” Pityo’s eyes widened as he quieted down. “And the Teleri…”

“Were weak! They were working for the Valar!” Fëanáro drew his sword and flung it straight into the ground. “They obeyed the very beings who hold kinship with he who does not deserve a name.”

“But-”

“I should've left you in that forsaken land with your mother as she wished.” Fëanáro spat at his son. “You speak of things you do not comprehend. They stole from me, they stole your grandfather! The Ainur slaughtered him, and then demanded payment after, as though it was some kind of gift.” His eyes flashed in fury, reminiscent of the flaming ships around them. But as Pityo shrunk back, he softened. “This is the only way. Do you not trust me?”

After a moment, Pityo nodded his head. “Father, I trust you with my life.”

Fëanáro smiled at his sons fondly. They alone brought him comfort in his broken life. “Remember this day, my sons. Today marks the day we began anew, today marks a new era. And in this new age, elves will do what the Valar would not. We will take our revenge.”

The Fëanorians looked from one another to the burning ships in the dark world around them. Though Varda’s stars shined far above, it was the comforting glow of the ships that brought Fëanáro hope.