She didn't blossom as other expectant ellith. She burned. The spark that had begun on the shores of Aman flared as they traveled north into the frozen wastes that connected Middle Earth to the Blessed Realm. Her skin glowed as though she stood in the leafy embrace of Laurelin. As the babe grew, the more she seethed, the flames of that extraordinary life filling from her feet and down the length of her silver hair.

"They say Fëanor's mother appeared like this during her pregnancy..." Iríssë whispered to Artanis as they sat at her side, the icy winds of the Helcaraxë whipping the tent walls. "Delirious with heat."

"At least she doesn't feel the cold. See how she perspires? As though she stands in the very heart of the forge of Aulë. The baby isn't due for weeks yet and still she grows and burns," Artanis replied as she mopped their cousin's damp forehead.

Vantaro huddled in a corner, his eyes narrowing. "Fëanor's mother died because of him. What if this kinslayer's brat does the same to my sister?"

Artanis and Iríssë exchanged a worried glance. Iríssë reached out to place a comforting hand on his shivering shoulder. Vantaro pulled away violently, wiping his nose with his sleeve.

"If she dies, I will have no one left. I swear I will kill the kinslayer and as many of his cursed brothers that I can get my hands on. I will wring the life from their worthless necks." He tore from the tent, striding out into the frozen dark. Iríssë took after him, leaving Artanis alone with Luimëníssë as she tossed restlessly on a pile of furs and linen.

Artanis pressed a cool cloth once more to her face. Luimëníssë snatched her wrist, her bloodshot eyes opening wide as she lifted herself up, hair damp at her temples and tangled around her shoulders.

"I want my mother," she rasped from her parched throat.

"I know, dear one."

"I want my mother. She should be here. This was not how it was supposed to be."

"I know, I know-"

"I want him."

Artanis swallowed hard. "Who, dear one? Vantaro?"

"No, no. I want to see him again-"

"We will see your husband again soon. I know it."

Luimëníssë's grip on her wrist tightened. "But you don't understand. I will never see him again. He is gone from me. Forever."

She was not speaking of Curvo. "Who is, Luimëníssë?"

Eyes rolling into the back of her head, she released Artanis and dropped off into a fitful sleep.

***

It was called the Dagar-nuin-Giliath, the battle under the stars. Upon their arrival at the banks of the Lake Mithrim, the hordes of Morgoth closed in on the army of Fëanor. Flaming demons, once great maiar of Aulë, rose up like beacons of death through the mountain passes of the Ered Wethrin, then descended down upon the Noldor with werewolves and troops of orcs.

Curvo stood with his brothers, back to back with Tyelkormo, as they faced down their enemies. Their bodies glowed with the power and light of Valinor that still filled their veins, their father burning brightest of all as he unleashed his rage on the enemy. The orcs could not withstand them.

A massive werewolf on it's hind feet lunged repeatedly towards Curvo, only to be driven back by his defense, his blade too keen for it's teeth. The golden eyes of the wolf scrutinized him with disturbing sentience, as though the beast knew him. As though the creature were seeking a vendetta of it's own against the favored son of Fëanor.

"They are retreating!" The cry came up from the battle weary troops. "They are retreating over the plains!"

So they followed hot on the heels of the survivors. Curvo felt a surge of hope that this would be the end, they would slay Morgoth, he would witness his father kill a god, then retrieve what had been stolen from them. Despite all that had happened, all the betrayals, this victory filled him with an awe for Fëanor that overrode his grief for his brother, his longing for his wife. It was best she was not with them now, he saw that as they continued to beat down their foe. Perhaps his father had truly known best, even after the loss of his youngest son.

Curvo knew though that he was only telling himself myths now about his father. It was the only way he could continue to do what he did. Otherwise he would shame his house and break the oath he had made with his brothers. And that was an unthinkable outcome.

It was Curvo's idea to separate their forces and surround the enemy, though Tyelkormo led their warriors, Maitimo following their father with the rest of their force. It was a stroke of genius on Curvo's part, according to Tyelkormo. The Noldor encompassed the last of the orcs at the birth place of the northern river and slaughtered them till only a few remained.

Letting his sword fall to his side, Curvo heaved a breath, wiping the gore from his forehead, his thick black hair tied tight behind his head. A scruffy breathing like that of a great beast drew his attention across the cold waters of the Sirion. On the other bank, a pair of golden eyes watched him. The werewolf that had stalked him since their battle on the shores of the Mithrim still lingered.

"Come on then!" Curvo shouted and pounded a fist on his breast plate, the heat of battle still seething in his brain.

The werewolf snarled it's bloodstained fangs. "Not just death for you, son of Fëanor."

Curvo scoffed and raised his sword. "What curses do you dare speak against me?"

"I will end your line."

"I will end you this night," Curvo hollered, moving towards the shallow bank. "I will make you into a pelt for my wife's bed."

The gravelly laugh that rose from the beast made him pause before he stepped into the water. "Wife? She is the nothing but the spoils of war for you. She will never love you. How could she? You are as monstrous as the one you follow. I have no doubt you would let your own son perish for the sake of your oath. Any heir born of your union will never be yours, not really. Only hers."

"I will skin you alive-"

"This will not be the last you see of me." The Werewolf dropped onto all fours. "You will remember my words when you hold your first child. That is my curse for you."

But it was sooner that Curvo recalled the werewolf's curse. As he stood over his father dying of his wounds, the elf bemoaning that they would never conquer such a foe after he had seen the terrible might of Angband, no matter how many oaths they made, Curvo looked away. He did not kneel by his father nor help his brothers carry his wounded body, Fëanor's skin curling like parchment in a hearth as his spirit burned away his flesh. Even Minyarussa kissed his father's heated brow. But not Curvo. He ignored his father's call and turned his back on Fëanor at the last moment.

He would honor the oath he had made to Fëanor and his brothers till the bitter end. But he would do it for the sake of his own virtue and nothing more. Fëanor called out for his favorite son once again but Curvo did not reply.

Fëanor's body burned away to ash. Curvo did not know if Fëanor would even answer the call of Mandos, but would rather roam Arda as a homeless spirit. It didn't matter anymore. His father was dead, his wife on the opposite side of a great sea, and now they faced what they knew to be an unconquerable enemy. Such insurmountably odds would only result in him becoming as monstrous as his father. The wolf surely spoke true.

But how could the creature have known of Luimëníssë and their marriage? Was it the self same beast she had encountered in the forest before their separation? Though he refused to think deeper on the subject, it had buried a seed of concern in his memory.

***

Luimëníssë's baby was born only hours after Elenwë, wife of Turukáno son of Fingolfin, and their only child Idril fell into icy waters. Months of travel over the inhospitable landscape and the Noldor still had yet to grow accustomed to their dangerous surroundings. Torches and banners held high, their hair encrusted with snow till it shimmered in the starlight, the exiles pressed on with no other alternative.

Artanis and Iríssë banked Luimëníssë at the center of the long column of elves, shielding her from the worst of the vicious wind. A storm had risen up, blinding them as they walked towards a snowy mountain in the distance, hoping to find shelter. Their bodies hummed with the power of Aman, the light of the Trees lingering in their flesh. It gave them the strength to endure the Helcaraxë as it gave the Fëanor's people the strength to beat back the forces of Morgoth in Middle Earth.

To the left of the grouping, Turukáno struggled with his young daughter between he and his Vanya wife. Idril was only a few years older than Vantaro. He had originally been against their departure from Aman but was reluctant to be parted from his siblings, so out of love for them, he followed. Elenwë would not remain behind and leave her husband and so, with their young daughter, they joined the exiles.

A sharp, bright pain seared through Luimenisse's belly. She halted, unable to breathe or move until it passed. Artanis pressed a hand to her swollen middle.

"It is too soon. Much too soon," Artanis hissed to Iríssë. "But the child is ready."

Even in the middle of the blizzard, raging heat swarmed Luimëníssë's body like a hive of angry wasps. She fell against Artanis, Ingoldo noticing their plight where he walked with Vantaro. He waved over their cousin Findekáno who was stronger than him, enough so to lift another person easily.

A sharp cry went up as the ice on the edge of the cliff where they trudged cracked. The elves caught on the side where it slid apart were sucked down into a raging, icy whirlpool as they slipped down the slick sides.

"Who is that crying?" Luimëníssë asked as the pain ebbed like the tide. "I hear wailing."

She did not know till later that it was Turukáno, cradling his daughter to his chest and rocking on his heels, weeping over an icy river. Elenwë had been on the far left holding one of Idril's hands with Turukáno on his daughter's right. The ice had dropped fast, Elenwë and the other elves around her were pulled down before they could be rescued. Idril would have fallen as well if her father had not been holding her hand. In the last moment, he swept his daughter up, snatching her from the same watery death that had killed her mother.

"It is only the sound of the wind," Artanis lied to her cousin. "Come, Findekáno will carry you. There is a crevice in the mountain up ahead."

Ingoldo, Vantaro and Iríssë ran ahead to an ice cave where they quickly pitched a tent, spreading furs on the glassy floor best they could. Artanis followed soon after with Luimëníssë and Findekáno.

Her vision churned as though she were peering into a cauldron of boiling light, the blood in her veins turning to ash as the heat centered at the core of her body. Each wave was a flare of fire. Artanis braced Luimëníssë from behind, helping her to stand as the time drew near. Iríssë crouched in front of her, her arms filled with clean linen.

"Please, I want him here with me," Luimëníssë moaned to Artanis through gritted teeth as her head rolled back.

"The babe is almost here, cousin-"

"I want him by my side," Luimëníssë begged, tears escaping her eyes. "Rembano."

Iríssë let out a joyous shout. "Almost!"

Like a gust of rain dousing a forest fire, the heat rushed from her body as the baby dropped into Iríssë's waiting arms. Luimëníssë blacked out after the intensity of the birth. When she came to, she was wrapped in furs on the icy floor. Artanis and Iríssë were speaking. But there was no cry of a babe.

"My child?"Luimëníssë asked wearily. "Is he- I can't hear him-"

Artanis turned towards her as she opened her eyes, a bundle in her arms.

"It is a boy. He is well, only very quiet."

Placing the small being in her arms, Luimëníssë cuddled him to her chest while Iríssë pulled her silver hair into a loose braid, Artanis smiling down at her with tears in her eyes.

"You see, cousin? He is perfect."

Luimëníssë tugged back the layer of linen around his little face. Her cousins had quickly washed him while she had slept. His head gleamed clean of hair, pursed lips pressing together but he didn't utter a sound.

"He's been quiet the whole time," Iríssë said in awe. "He didn't cry at all, only blinked up at us as though he were waking from a dream. Like he expected us to be here."

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say he was here before," Artanis added. "But I do not believe he is one of the reborn out of the Halls of Mandos. His spirit... it is as fiery as his grand-sires yet very still, like deep water. See how he listens?"

The babe's eyes opened lazily and took in his mother for the first time. Their shade was the same as her own, brilliant silver, matching the icy ledges outside the cave where they huddled.

A beautiful boy. Solemn even as an infant, wise as though he'd been there before in the deep recesses of time.

"What shall you call him?" Artanis asked.

"His father is not here to give him his name," Iríssë murmured, her brow furrowing.

"No, he is not." Luimëníssë held her child closer, lifting her head.

Her voice had taken a note they had never heard in her. Whatever innocence that her mother had sought to preserve was lost forever, the childish lilt in her bright tongue faded like the Trees. It caught the other two ellith by sad surprise. But too much had transpired, too much loss endured. 

She had to be stronger now. There would be no one to save her as she had once hoped, even someone she could manipulate like Curvo. She would have to carry on alone for the foreseeable future.

Iríssë shifted awkwardly. "Very well then. What shall the newest heir of Finwë be called?"

"Itano, the shining one," Luimëníssë murmured to her child. "And he is my heir."