A novella of the House of Finwë from the Darkening of Valinor to the fall of the Last Alliance upon the slopes of Mount Doom. Told by the long silenced voices of: Irimë Finwëion the Mistress, Glorfindel Fëanorion the Savior, Maeglin the Traitor, Gildor the Bastard, Celebrimbor the Martyr, and Celebrían the Victim.

“Vengeance calls me hence…Yet I am not the only valiant in the valiant people. And have ye not all lost your King? And what else have ye not lost, cooped here in a narrow land between the mountains and the sea? ...Fair shall the end be, though long and hard shall be the road! Say Farwell to bondage! But say farewell also to ease! Say Farwell to the weak! ... Journey light: but bring with you your swords! For we will go further then Oromë, endure longer then Tulkas: we will never turn back from pursuit. After Morgoth to the ends of the Earth! War shall he have and hatred undying!” –Fëanor

Artist: Gold-Seven

They had been damned for their pride.
Damned for their passions.
Damned by the Valar and by Morgoth Bauglir.
Hated and envied by both.

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Reborn into an older world and freedom, they had discovered that the jealousy of Gods does not fade, and that damnation has an agelong reach.

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In dark Angmar, the Mouth of Sauron feeds his ambitions with unspeakable acts. Coldagnir the Balrog begins to learn what freedom is, whilst in New Cuiviénen the Noldor battle with their own pride and passions.

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Every inner eye in the encampment was bent on the drama unfolding to the south, but Fëanor's mind seemed to focus all of them like a lens. There was no sound. This was the center. Fëanor's eyes were blank and blazing with impossible, unearthly light.

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~ At the end of the Third Age, Glorfindel and Vanimórë, son of Sauron, are the supreme Powers on Arda, having passed through Fos Almir, the Bath of Flame.
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The mighty dead have returned, and Glorfindel leads the Noldor to a haven in the east of Middle-earth, which they call their New Cuiviénen. Fëanor, released from the Void, will rule there as High King.
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But the ancient loves, hates and feuds of the Noldor have not dimmed or been forgotten with the ages, and their new life becomes a tinder-box of passion, pride and power. Ancient dooms and betrayals arise, and both new and ancient notes of the Great Music are played across the Fourth Age of Arda.
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Fëanor felt his sons' arms restraining him, heard their voices, but his eyes remained locked on those of Námo.

“Didst thou truly believe – any of you – that thou couldst judge me?” He burned fire back at their stainless chill and then, scornfully, he laughed.