Set after the flight of the Noldor but before the First Kinslaying.

I'm going with one of Tolkien's statements (listed on the Silmarillion Writers' Guild) that says that Nerdanel and Fëanor were estranged over their differing loyalties to the Valar even before the rebellion.

My sons have gone with Fëanáro. They have gone against the Valar's will, against all that is right, and they have sworn a terrible and unbreakable Oath. I can scarcely take it in. There is an awful clenched feeling in my chest, the ache of loss and horror almost physical pain, but I cannot cry. I'm almost numb.

I pause on the pathway. A gentle breeze tosses my tangled hair and caresses my flushed face. The stars glimmering above are the only source of light.

I look around and realize that I am in the gardens that lie behind my father's house. They are empty now, silent. I didn't plan to come out here, but now that I have, the sight of the familiar borders and winding paths soothes something deep inside me. Some shred of normality at least remains to me amid the chaos. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly.

After a moment I continue down the path, trying to let the peace of the gardens seep into me. But I'm tense and my heart is pounding fiercely, and against my will, tortured thoughts begin to spin into my mind. What could I have done to prevent my boys from entangling themselves in their father's doom? Will they turn back? Can they? But no - their Oath has exiled them.

Of course, of course.

There is no simple way out.

"There can never be a simple solution when my family is involved." It was Maitimo who had said that, laughingly, many years ago after the twins had somehow managed to get themselves stuck thirty feet up in a tree trying to retrieve a kite. Tyelko and Carnistir tried to rescue them and ended up falling into a bush, Atarinkë yelled some rather useless advice, Makalaurë stood there looking rather exasperated when his own advice was ignored, and Maitimo finally ventured to climb the tree - but before he was halfway up the Ambarussa suddenly found a way down, leaving Maitimo sitting on a limb shaking his head in amused disbelief.

The ghost of a smile hovers on my lips at the memory, but then I come back to the present and see the bitter irony his words unwittingly carried. I stop walking and press my hand against my face, closing my eyes.

I already knew there was no simple solution to this awful mess, but my thoughts are repeating in endless circles, constantly returning to the inevitable. When I went before Manwë a short time ago to plead for clemency, he told me that the only possibility of hope is if they plead for forgiveness and the One voids their Oath. But it is so unlikely, so unlikely that any of them will repent, at least not for a great while. Pride is one of my children's defining traits; they all have it in varying degrees. I moan in a strangled way and cover my mouth with a fist, mashing my knuckles into my teeth.

How can they possibly hope to stand against the might of Melkor? They are blinded by pride; my poor boys.

I know that terrible fates await them all.

How could Fëanáro have done this to them? To me?

I look up, and amid my blurring tangle of thoughts, I suddenly see a cluster of figures by a thicket of rosebushes. I must not be alone in these gardens after all.

"Hello?" I call, but quietly, and slowly walk closer.

In the starlight, so dim and strange after the radiance of the Trees, I come quite close to the figures before I realize they are only statues. Ones of my own make. And with a rush of emotion, I recognize them as my sons. I stand still, gazing at them, drinking in their familiar faces, and for a few euphoric seconds I feel as if they are really here next to me and these last few weeks have only been a terrible dream and everything's going to be alright and we can all be a family again.

But the feeling fades, and I take a step back. Though others have always said my statues look like living, breathing beings, I cannot see it now. My children's eyes are always so vibrant and full of life, and these ghosts' eyes are cold and dead. Hesitantly I reach out and touch the nearest one, Makalaurë, and instantly withdraw, the stone's chill lingering on my skin.

And then I remember the day long ago (so long ago! Makalaurë was barely into adulthood) when I put the finishing touches on this statue.

I asked him to sit as a reference so I could capture his smile. There was always a certain poetry about Makalaurë's smile, the way his lips quirked softly as if he knew some wonderful secret.

He flicked back his dark hair and grumbled good-naturedly about having to sit there (I knew he was anxious to get back to a song he was composing). "If you already have the real me, why do you need a copy, Mother?" he said with a laugh.

"It's a gift for your grandfather," I answered, smiling, my chisel poised in the air. "Likenesses of all of his grandsons. Now sit still, look at me... no, not that serious... for goodness' sake, smile a little!"

For the first time since they left, tears threaten to spill over. The statues tremble in front of me, and with a dash at my eyes, I hurry away from the lifeless effigies, walking further into the gardens.

I don't know where I'm going; I'm just wandering aimlessly, like a bird who's lost her way. My parents are probably wondering where I am, but they are dealing with their loss too, in their own ways, and know better than to offer me any more sympathy. I have no wish for useless condolences, for they won't bring my sons back.

Yes, I finally admit it to myself, and the reality jolts me at first when I put it into conscious thought: I only care about my sons now, not Fëanáro. My husband is dead to me. I had hoped once that we might finally be reconciled... but, horribly, I cannot find it in myself to forgive him. The bond we once shared is all in the past, forever gone like the light of the Trees. He doesn't care for me anymore.

Nor I him. There is only cold loathing when I think of Fëanáro now.

Logic had seemingly deserted him. No, not just seemingly. Grief at his father's death assuredly blinded him to an extent, and I share this sorrow, but what can explain his inciting the Noldor to rebellion and entwining our sons in his doom? My face burns, and I grit my teeth, sudden anger surging in my breast.

I suddenly come to a stop, for directly in front of me is another statue, a small one, a bust. And I look up to see the impassive face of Fëanáro.

My vision fades out for a second. Blood pounds in my ears, and before I can think, I grab the head, lift it high in the air, and fling it to the paving with all the strength I can muster. Part of it smashes and shards scatter over the path, the grass, my bare feet. But the main chunk of Fëanáro's head is still left intact. I seize it again and slam it to the ground, breaking it into countless fragments. And then again, and again. Panting with a crazed delight, I stand aside and grin wildly, feeling that I have won a victory.

No.

What am I doing?

Am I going mad?

I lift my hands in front of me and see rather than feel a trickle of blood making its way down my right palm. I must have cut myself on a shard and not even realized.

Suddenly, I'm shaking all over. I crumple to the ground and grip the folds of my dress between my fingers. The grief and worry of the past weeks rise up and threaten to drown me, and then it all becomes too much, and I realize after a moment that I'm sobbing harder than I ever have in my life.

I have been shattered into as many splintered fragments as that bust, and I don't think I can ever be put back together.

"Ilúvatar... please, Ilúvatar, just bring them back," I plead. "Grant them repentance and forgiveness... please..."

I double over and let my face rest on the cool paving stones, wringing the fabric of my dress distractedly. Over and over I pray and cry and beg, repeating myself so often that I wonder for an instant if I haven't gone mad already.

At last I raise my head and give an uneven gasp, wiping away the tears. The sorrow inside my fëa is dulled somewhat, but still there nonetheless. Trembling, I get to my feet, pull my hair over my shoulders and out of my eyes. I cannot go on thinking of what was and what might have been. I must try to move on, and I must heal.

But how? How can I move on, how can I heal when my children have left forever and plan to challenge a fallen Vala?

Has Ilúvatar even heard my pleas from where He dwells beyond the Circles of the World?

I don't know the answers. I stand here and simply try to cope with everything, feeling physically and emotionally exhausted.

And then I lift my glistening eyes to the stars.

"Grant me faith," I whisper, pouring every ounce of meaning I can into my words. I've never been more earnest in my life. "Grant me faith to trust that You will work everything for good. Please, please, please."

I have to believe. I have to believe that everything is part of the Music, part of Ilúvatar's plan.

And then, as I totally surrender control to Eru, there comes such a sudden and ineffable feeling of peace that I am left stunned. Fresh tears roll down my cheeks. I had thought I would never find peace again. I'd thought I was broken, and I still am, but something inside me is being put back together. An almost physical weight has been lifted from my shoulders. Eru is in control, no matter the circumstances, and all will work according to His plan.

I look up at the sky again. "Thank you." And through my tears, I actually smile.

My boys are still gone, subject to exile and a futile Oath that will bring sorrow and failure. I know this, and the knowledge is crippling, and it will be a long time before I will be whole again. But Eru Ilúvatar ordained the Music, and all will work for good.

For He is in control.

And I walk back to the house, the stars lighting my path.

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