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Meadow, Grove and Gleam

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That morning, it was not that chatters of the elves that woke Fëanor, but the birds singing high above the trees. The birds of Arda.

He’d recognized them, almost instantly as no bird from Aman had ever recited such a tune of beauty. Yet with the beauty to his ears they brought, a great ache of his heart followed after, as the former King finally sat up below the tall green trees, that danced in the breeze.

Sliding from his hair and forehead, the dew of day break rested upon his eye brows, obscuring his vision of the land before him. Fëanor, using what little strength he had, made an effort to stand his ground. As he did so, he used a hand to wipe his face clean.

Like a statue, Fëanor remained in this same position, in a tranquil stillness.

He wished to simply observe the land after having been gone for so long. How many years ago had it been since he and his host had come ashore to the vast world he had grown to love so much. Oh how his heart swelled with pride when the memories of his people descending upon the Aman filled his weary mind.

Yet with such good memories, abhorrent ones came to follow. The cries and deaths of countless people, his people; blood unwashed upon his selfish hands. How could he, with a mind of such wisdom and knowledge be so fooled? How could he mistake foredoom for a chance of hope and opportunity? For an elf of such insight and perception, Fëanor failed to understand how he held no caution to these evil deeds buried within him, why did he act so foolishly back then? (halls of mandos)

In the midst of his thought, he caught wind of a family of deer prancing a few feet before him, running through their pasture.  He counted them, yet they ran much too fast for he failed to make out a number. But nonetheless, they remained tightly together, in an unbreakable unit. Fëanor’s heart throbbed as he only desired his family more than ever at that moment. How he yearned to lead them in an unbreakable unit to happiness and prosperity.

Fëanor motivated himself to walk forward. Where he would go, he knew not. Yet a place of residence fell to the far corner of his mind while his chest burned with an untamable sadness. A flame hotter than that of his soul dispirited him as he called to mind the faces of his sons and his wife. Though he pondered not on them in a joyous light, nor would he ever again.

After all, was that not why he was here, in Arda? The lack of family and kinship?

Fëanor had no place in Valinor, no home to call his own, no family who would accept him. Finarfin had decreed his banishment from all his former Noldorian kindred. Nerdanel, while in the residence of Indis, had fallen into the heart and soul of another, and no longer could he call her his wife. And as for the sons he had loved dearly and with all his might, he was told to stay away.

No place was there for him in his birth land.

The Void had called his name many times, and for nights and days he fought with his own demons in an attempt not to take his own life. For the Void would offer more contement than his rebirth in Valinor ever had.

Yet, by Aulë’s concern and Manwe’s never dying mercy, here he was on the land of Arda. A new chance he had been given, but not without further pay, as the Valar decreed he’d be forever weakened in his bones, no strength would he have to continue his craft, and an illness would follow him for all the years of his life.

Banished from Aman, no longer did he hear the praises of the song along the ocean waves, no longer did he hear the canticles of his home.

Yet, Aman was not his home, and no longer would it be.

He had been given a chance and despite the obstacles to come, Arda was his home. And Fëanor, former King and now forever banished elf of Valinor, would make the best of what he had.

He pressed on, still uncertain of his path.