Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air.
-Sylvia Plath
Nerdanel had timed her journey just right. The skies were dimming and soon all of the realm would be shrouded in darkness. She wanted to get to Formenos just before the darkness took over... because she wanted to see. She and her beloved Melkor had been planning this for some time, and it was going to be glorious.
She glanced through the trees - Formenos was in sight now, still a distance away, but they would be there shortly. She and Melkor paused. "Get in," she said, gesturing to the wheelbarrow.
Melkor made a face of disgust.
"This was part of the plan. You want to get past the guards without having to kill them all." Nerdanel smirked. "You want witnesses." Her face was stern once more. "So get in."
Melkor rolled his eyes, and climbed into the wheelbarrow. Nerdanel restrained a laugh watching the huge corrupted god stuff himself into the space. She quickly covered him with a cloth, and resumed pushing the wheelbarrow down the trail.
Of course, the guards weren't going to let her past the gates immediately. "State your business."
"I am here to see my father-in-law Finwë," Nerdanel said. She tried to remain calm, but on the inside she was giddy with anticipation.
She hated waiting - she wished that Melkor had been willing to just kill the guards - but at last Finwë came to the gates, giving her a wary look.
"Fëanor is not here," Finwë said coldly. He raised an eyebrow. "He is in Valinor at the reconciliation feast with Ñolofinwë. I am surprised you did not know that, the news has been all over the realm -"
"I did know that, and it is not Fëanor I am here to see." Nerdanel squared her shoulders. "It is you."
There was no love lost between Finwë and Nerdanel - Finwë had disapproved of the marriage; he had been right for the wrong reasons - and now Finwë took a step back, as if he sensed something was off.
"I have a gift for you," Nerdanel said. "It's in the wheelbarrow."
Finwë's nostrils twitched with disapproval, as if to say how common without saying it aloud.
As soon as Nerdanel uncovered the wheelbarrow, the sour look on Finwë's face turned to one of shock, eyes wide, mouth opening. He took two steps back reflexively, reaching for the sword at his belt. He didn't get a chance. The horror on his face was frozen... and then melted off as Melkor sat up, breathing thick plumes of black Unlight. Even as Nerdanel had been waiting for this day for a long time, she still recoiled, a chill going through her as she watched Melkor lash a bolt of dark energy, slicing open Finwë's chest and ripping out his heart, blood spilling onto the ground as Melkor drew the heart to himself.
Finwë's body continued to melt away with the black Unlight... but not before one of his servants ran towards Melkor and Nerdanel, armed with a sword, then saw what was happening and thought better of it, and simply snatched up Finwë's signet ring as it fell, running away, screaming. Two of the other servants heard the commotion and ran out and now Melkor blasted them as well.
After Finwë's body and the two servants had melted into a puddle of black goo, Melkor climbed out of the wheelbarrow and took a bite of the bleeding heart, chewing thoughtfully. He offered it to Nerdanel, who had lived long enough with the Elves to feel a touch of revulsion, but she took a bite as well, not wanting to be rude to her lord.
Nerdanel stood watch by the gate as Melkor marched through, continuing to feast on the heart, spilling a path of blood along the floor. The sky was darkening and Nerdanel's breath hitched at the glory of it. Beautiful darkness. She felt the most alive she had in years. She felt power.
It was getting harder and harder to see, and Nerdanel felt a touch of apprehension - she loved Melkor but she did not entirely trust him, and much could be done in the dark - but at last there was a piercing light, rivaling the brilliance of the Trees. Melkor bore the crown of Silmarils on his head, and carried a heavy chest of jewels as if it weighed nothing.
"We have taken what we came for," Melkor said. "Your father will be very proud. Let us go and celebrate."
Nerdanel touched Melkor's face - even there, the light of the Silmarils was too hot, and she had to immediately withdraw her hand, lest she be burned. Melkor put the chest in the wheelbarrow and they were off.
When the fleeing servant reached the festival where Fëanor and Fingolfin were reconciling, he showed the signet ring as proof that Finwë had fallen. He did not tell Fëanor that he'd seen Nerdanel with Melkor - such was Fëanor's grief over his father that the servant thought it would be adding insult to injury.
_
Fëanor was surrounded.
He had known when he rode out for the time of vengeance that there was a chance - a good chance - that he would fall. He was willing to risk it, preferring to go out fighting Morgoth than fading in his grief, if it came to that. But this was bad beyond the worst reaches of his imagination. The ring of Balrogs was the most terrifying thing Fëanor had ever seen in his life, wild, primal fire and smoke in the shape of winged men, bearing brands and whips of flame.
Fëanor could not flee even if he wanted to. And though he knew he was doomed, he was not going to run. He fought as long and hard as he could, the fire of the Balrogs meeting the flame of Fëanor's wrath - if he was going to go, he would take as many of Morgoth's host with him as he could. The pain of the lashing whips, the searing brands, burning his flesh, was the most excruciating pain of his life... a physical mirror to the pain of his soul, the unvoiced screams, the hurt he'd lived with for so long. The pain of the fire touched those inner wounds... strengthening his anger, his ferocity. The harder they hurt, the harder he fought back, feeding on the seething, consuming pain like fuel, gone berserk.
But then, as whips wrapped around him, binding him in place, his eyes looked up at something like a firebird... but there was Nerdanel's red hair, flowing like plumes. She grinned at him with sharp teeth. Fëanor shook within his bonds.
"You," he breathed.
All of the years of insults and mockery and neglect, draining him, pushing him deeper and deeper into his forge, escaping through his art... he realized now she never loved him, she had been against him all along, the first betrayal in a series of too many. He felt like a fool for not seeing it, for thinking that he was the problem.
Nerdanel threw back her head and laughed. "Do you want me to put out the fire, Fëanáro? Is it hurting you?"
Fëanor didn't like the sound of that. Before he could say I don't want anything from you, Nerdanel spat in his face. And laughed some more, her laughter horrible, shrieking.
Nerdanel raised her hand and a whip of flame appeared, like those of the Balrogs. She took Balrog form herself now, all fire, all power, all despair. She lashed him severely, and then the leader, Gothmog, lashed him so hard he toppled. Nerdanel loomed over him, laughing and laughing.
Fëanor was raving when his sons bore him away. He tried to warn them. "Your mother," he said over and over again, but could not get the words out.
"Shhhhh." Maglor brushed Fëanor's hair away from his face, unshed tears in his eyes. "Rest."
The woman calling herself your mother helped kill me. Then... "I'm going to die." It was not a question. He could feel himself start to go. He could use what was left of his energy to tell them he saw Nerdanel there with the Balrogs, or he could get them to finish what he'd started, so at least his death would count for something.
There was only one choice.
When he let go, he burst into flames, turned to ash. Maglor caught some of it in his hands, holding it fiercely. The rest of the ash blew on the wind...
...blew to where Nerdanel was sleeping in Morgoth's camp. She rose to taste the ashes she could catch... to eat the power, just as she'd eaten a piece of Finwë's heart.
The ashes were bitter. Soon she felt the urge to vomit, like she'd eaten poison.
She heard a voice in her head, familiar: You have sown the wind, you shall reap the whirlwind.