Spirit of Water by Elrond's Library  

Fëanor could do nothing but watch as the years paced with slow footsteps without him following. The Halls drove him mad, with nothing to do with his hands, no problems to solve, no question to answer, no argument to start or essay to finish. He roamed, watching, each woven tapestry a marvel that would not, could not answer him back. And one by one he watched, as his brother, his nephews, his niece, his sons, oh Eru his sons … Grief was a familiar ache, but his sons! Why them, their lights so bright, diminished only by the Oath, the curse he had laid upon them. He imagined he could smell the pyres of Doriath, the ruins of Sirion, and finally, the open, flaming earth that swallowed his firstborn. He continued to watch, waiting for his songbird child to join with all the rest, but the sea spray leapt to his tongue, dark waves dancing under the light of a silmaril cast away into the sea. His songbird disappeared into the tapestries, and he screamed and thrashed against the uselessness of it all. Salt was the first thing he tasted, as Fëanor woke outside the Halls, sea spray and tears indistinguishable. 

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