"With him into banishment went his seven sons, and northward in Valinor they made a strong place and treasury in the hills; and there at Formenos a multitude of gems were laid in hoard, and weapons also, and the Silmarils were shut in a chamber of iron. Thither also came Finwë the King, because of the love that he bore to Fëanor…." Quenta Silmarillion, Chapter 7, "Of the Silmarils and the Unrest of the Noldor"
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"Macalaurë, are you coming?" I watched him sitting on the hard, bare floor, leaning against the wall, shoulders slumped, hands lax upon the harp that rested on his lap.
"Sorry, love, I will not play and keep you from your sleep," he answered, as though there could be any peace for me alone in that wide and cold bed in the darkness of Formenos, far from everything that once had been our life.
I could not answer, more bereft at the sorrow reflected in his face than I would ever be at the loss of our home and my family. My forever beloved and friend would be always for me the most luminous and gifted of all the handsome sons of Fëanaro.
Noting my silence, he looked up and spoke; perhaps he even believed his own words. "Twelve years is not so long. I love you. Is that not enough?"
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