The air in Onymë Ennorë was tense, the joyful celebrations of Arinyanénar and Aistalë's union fading like the morning mist. Galadriel's suspicions about the House of Fëanor had simmered beneath the surface for years, and they finally erupted on a fateful evening in the royal chambers. The sons of Fëanor—Maedhros, Maglor, Celegorm, Curufin, Caranthir, Amrod, and Amras—had been invited to a formal dinner with the royal family of the Avari, a gesture of unity following the marriage. Yet unity was the farthest thing from what transpired.
Galadriel's temper flared as the conversation turned to the Oath of Fëanor and its consequences. "Your father's oath has brought ruin upon us all," she declared, her silvery grey eyes blazing with a light that seemed to rival the sun. "Do you not see that your pride will be the undoing of all the Eldar? Your relentless pursuit of the Silmarils is folly!"
The room fell silent. The sons of Fëanor exchanged tense glances, and it was Caranthir who spoke, his voice sharp and cutting. "Do not lecture us, Lady of the Noldor, as if your hands are clean. Your kin, too, bear the stain of rebellion. Do not forget that you walked the same path to Middle-earth as we did."
Galadriel's jaw tightened, but she refused to back down. "We came seeking freedom and new lands, not for the sake of greed or a cursed oath." Her voice rose. "And now your obsession threatens to destroy even what little peace remains!"
Caranthir's face darkened. "Watch your words, Galadriel. You forget who you speak to." His hand moved to the hilt of his sword, and his brothers tensed, recognizing the dangerous turn the argument was taking.
Galadriel, undeterred, stepped forward. "And you forget where you stand. This is not Himring or Thargelion. You are in the realm of the Avari, and I will not tolerate threats within my husband's halls!"
Caranthir's patience snapped. In one swift motion, he unsheathed his sword, its dark steel gleaming menacingly in the firelight. "Perhaps it is time someone silenced your tongue!"
The room erupted into chaos. Maedhros and Maglor immediately stepped forward, their voices urgent.
"Caranthir, stop this madness!" Maedhros commanded, his tone a mixture of authority and desperation.
Maglor moved closer, raising his hands in a gesture of peace. "Brother, put the sword away. This is not the time or place."
Celegorm, Curufin, Amrod, and Amras joined in, attempting to restrain Caranthir, but he shrugged them off with a force that sent Curufin stumbling. "Enough!" Caranthir roared. "I will not be insulted in this manner!"
Before he could take another step toward Galadriel, Anórien entered the fray. His presence was commanding, his flaming red-orange hair and piercing eyes giving him an almost otherworldly aura. In his hand, he held Solarion, his spear, its golden blade glowing faintly with the light of Arien.
"Caranthir," Anórien said, his voice cold and steady, "you will lower your blade, or I will make you."
Caranthir sneered, his grip tightening on his sword. "You think to challenge me, High King of the Avari? Do not meddle in Noldorin affairs!"
Anórien didn't hesitate. With a swift movement, he stepped forward and struck. Solarion flashed like the rising sun, its golden light blinding. Caranthir barely had time to react before the spear's blade grazed his arm, drawing blood. He stumbled back, clutching the wound, his expression a mix of fury and disbelief.
The other sons of Fëanor erupted into anger. Celegorm and Curufin were the first to draw their weapons, followed closely by Amrod and Amras. They surged toward Anórien, but he stood firm, his spear spinning in precise, lethal arcs.
"I will not allow you to bring war to my halls!" Anórien declared, his voice booming with authority.
The fight was brief but brutal. Anórien's skill with Solarion was unmatched, and the weapon itself seemed to blaze with the wrath of the sun. Celegorm's sword was knocked from his hands; Curufin was forced back with a slash across his tunic that narrowly avoided a deeper wound. Amrod and Amras fared no better, their attempts to overwhelm Anórien thwarted by his unyielding strength and precision.
Only Maedhros and Maglor refrained from joining the fray. Instead, they tried to stop their brothers, their voices pleading. "Enough!" Maedhros shouted, his tone commanding. "This is not the way!"
When the dust settled, Caranthir and his brothers stood defeated, their pride shattered. Anórien lowered his spear, his gaze hard and unyielding. "You have brought dishonor upon yourselves and the House of Fëanor," he said. "I will not tolerate your presence in my realm."
Galadriel, still furious but now composed, stepped beside her husband. "You are banished from Onymë Ennorë. All of you, save Aistalë, who has proven herself true. Leave now, and do not return."
The sons of Fëanor, bruised and humiliated, exchanged glances. Maedhros and Maglor looked torn, their expressions heavy with regret, but they did not protest. Maedhros nodded solemnly. "We will leave," he said, his voice quiet but resolute. "But know this: you have drawn a line that cannot be easily erased."
Anórien met his gaze without flinching. "So be it. Let this line remain."
With that, the sons of Fëanor departed, their cloaks billowing as they disappeared into the night. The tension in the hall lingered, but a sense of resolution settled over the room.
Anórien turned to Galadriel, his expression softening. "It is done," he said quietly. "They will not trouble us again."
Galadriel nodded, though her gaze remained distant. "I only hope that this decision does not come back to haunt us," she murmured.
Arinyanénar and Aistalë, who had witnessed the confrontation from a distance, exchanged a glance. Their path forward had just grown more complicated, but their love remained steadfast. Together, they would face whatever challenges lay ahead.