Thanks to Fiondil for the beta.

Disclaimer: Playing in Tolkien's tidepool of emotion and making no money from it.

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I cannot believe that you are gone.

The city, the palace, my arms lie empty. Where life once teemed and milled about in pride and great purpose, now little remains. Pride in self and the works of mere elven hands has killed the joy we once knew here in Tirion. The great purpose to make and create is now perverted by the greatest maker our race has known into the need for vengeance in a distant land. Streets are silent. Homes and tools lie abandoned. Families struggle bereft and torn apart. And who is left to lead them? Lonely wives, mothers with empty arms, princesses without their princes, remnants of the royal family with no blood of the royal line in them.

My husband, why did you allow yourself to be swayed by someone who you never loved, who was never capable of loving you?

You were always the quiet one blessed with wisdom and graced with a noble, loving fëa. You always managed to avoid the edges of the strife and not be cut as your brother and half-brother were. You stopped seeking your atar’s love and approval long before he abandoned his family and folk for one so undeserving of his devotion. Your wisdom guided you as did your faith in the Valar. But where are your wisdom and faith now? Where are you?

Fëanáro swayed our children with his words of fair far away lands, stealing them from my arms as so many others stole away from their homes for this foolish quest. Why did any of them listen? Why did any of them go? Why did my cherished babes have to go?

Long have I wept for our children. Long have I wept for you. Will laughter ever ring again in these silent halls? Will those I love ever return to my arms? I swear they will never leave my heart.

 As I mop my tears from the desk before me, a breathless messenger arrives, proclaiming the return of many of the citizens of this fair city, led by a single prince. Dispatching two of the precious few servants who remain, I send word to Anairë and Indis asking them to meet me at the gates. Oh my precious Arafinwë, at least some of my prayers will be answered if you have returned to my arms.