Across the ages, their passionate yet dangerous bond has remained unbroken. She has known him by many names as Mairon the Admirable, Annatar the Lord of Gifts, as the sinister royal counselor in the last days of Númenor. As a demi-god in disguise, a...
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Luimëníssë had never seen the infamous Curufinwë Fëanáro. He had been absent from Tirion the couple of times she had visited the city during her youth. He stood in her grandfather's receiving chamber before Olwë's white seat that was carved with sea shells and ocean creatures, the largest three pearls ever found in the Bay of Eldamar embedded at the foot.
Lord Olwë appeared cool as marble, his pale hair dripping over his shoulders like ice. Fëanor marched across the shining floor, torchlight blazing off his armor and that of his seven sons. Luimëníssë stood off to the side with her mother, Calarmo at his father's right hand and Náretarnon at the left. A sheer veil covered her gleaming hair and her eyes, allowing her to spy on those present without being noticed.
"Lord Olwë, I come bearing ill news from inland." The power of Fëanor's voice shot through Luimëníssë like a spear. She forced herself not to shrink into the shadows.
His eyes were alight with either madness or genius, but his mouth was mean, greedy lips more ready to snarl than smile. Though in his tall personage, black hair and sharply angled cheek bones, Curvo was an exact copy of his father, Curvo's generous pout was in direct contrast with his father's. As were Curvo's midnight eyes which held secrets instead of readily revealing his passion like Fëanor's.
"Speak, son of my dear friend," Lord Olwë replied congenially, though his expression was guarded.
"I come here on behalf of your friendship with my father. For Lord Finwë, greatest of his kin, was brutally slain by the fell Vala once called Melkor. Though he shall be named Morgoth, the Dark Tyrant, forevermore by our people." The Teleri present gasped at this news. Never had one been killed in the Blessed Realm. Lord Olwë pressed a jeweled hand to his mouth, his silver eyes widening in horror. "I regret to bring you these tidings. I know he was closer to you than a brother." To Luimëníssë's surprise, Fëanor's strong voice faltered with emotion.
Lord Olwë rose from his seat, sweeping his robes behind his imposing figure. Striding directly down to Fëanor, he embraced him like a father comforting a son. Fëanor stiffly allowed him, though his expression remained livid with purpose.
"We shall honor him in our fëa and hröa," Lord Olwë spoke, a tick in his cheek as he swallowed his tears. "There was no other friend I cherished more than your father. He was as close to me as my brothers Elmo and Elwë who remained behind in Arda."
"That is what I have come to speak with you and your people about. Arda."
Lord Olwë trudged back to his throne. He rested his hand upon it and turned his head. "What is on your mind, son of my friend?"
"Morgoth stole not only the life of my father but the silmarils, the greatest of my creations. While this was occurring, he incited the fell monster Ungoliant to devour the Great Trees and spread his darkness over our lands. I seek to sail over the sea and make war upon Morgoth and take back what was stolen from me. And we need ships, the swiftest in Aman, to bear us hence."
