Chapter Text
The gleaming towers and cities of Valinor are the envy of the world. In the morning light of the trees they glittered pure white. The streets were clean and the flower borders were beautifully full, overflowing with purple and yellow crocus buds in the early spring. From the rooftops doves sang to one another, serenading the dawn and the elves who had left their homes already to begin work or perhaps visit the market.
Since the creation and awakening of the eldar the Valar have watched them, waiting for their moment to seize the lesser beings. They felt a claim to them, a deep desire to capture and use them for their own comfort. The elves were first taken to Valinor as friends and esteemed guests, the chosen three were treated like kings on their visit. This quickly changed when the three peoples arrived on the shores, it became apparent that they were always meant to be servants. As time progressed the Valar created many rules for the eldar and the most obedient among them were given power over the rest.
Firstly the elves were to obey the commands of the Valar to the letter, with Manwë's word overriding all others. They would be assigned jobs based on their perceived talents, and given homes according to their status. The elves were to remain in predictable places, they would require written permission from a maia to stray from this strict path. During the day, maia guards walked the streets. They told all who surrounded them that they existed to keep the peace, but they were enforcers and eavesdroppers. No home was made which could effectively contain all sound, and Manwë's maiar had the keen hearing of hawks. To make too much noise was a crime, if the bird song was ever drowned out by elven chatter then this rule was broken. The elves were not permitted to express dissatisfaction on any matter, nor were they able to portray sadness. Later came the more aesthetic changes; elves were permitted to wear only white and light blue clothing to match the cities in which they resided. The royal elves were given deeper blues to signify their status, but only Valar could choose other colours, and their Maiar were to follow the example of their Vala. Alongside this, elves could only have hair which was deep black, blonde, silver, or white. Manwë found that other colours clashed too harshly with his vision, ruining the outlook. Elves which did not fit this model were forced to dye their hair or face consequences. These made up only some of the many rules elves had to commit to memory. Their lives were perfect, and Manwë wanted to keep it that way.
Indeed, just as Manwë wishes it, life in Valinor stayed the same day-to-day. Those who did not obey this were taken away to the dungeons under Taniquetil where no light could reach and hope died at the roots. It was well known that torturous things took place in the dark, but to breathe a word of it would send you to join them. There was no relief in death either, those who passed to the halls of Mandos were punished for such insolence while they were there, then returned soon after without a chance to heal their fëar.
In the halls of his father, Fëanor paced restlessly. He was no longer permitted to go outside, that had proven to be too great of a risk. His soul was made of fire and his words and actions could not be contained to the satisfaction of the Valar. Perhaps he should have considered himself lucky to be home again, after all not everyone who caused trouble for their divine leaders returned, but Fëanor would never think like this. He despised his conditions, his life, and his home. He was not alone in such thoughts, but there were few so bold as to say it.