The chill wind howled endlessly, slowing blood, numbing thought. Wet. When last had he been dry? Unlike his father, he had not heeded great Námo’s words. His siblings were all eager for adventure, there were elves here who followed Finarfin, not Fingolfin and his sons. Duty chosen above love, he had pressed the silver ring into his father’s hand. “Tell her I release her, and why I can no longer send for her when it is safe. Tell her – for me, there will be no other.”
Now, witness to Turgon’s grief, he gave thanks that Amarië had remained behind.