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And so it came to pass that Feanor perished in the days before the rising of the Sun, and as his spirit rose from the ashes of his body, he refused the call to the Halls of Mandos, and instead kept watch over his sons and their people. And if the tears of the Noldor were unnumbered in the years that followed, then Feanor's tears were even greater by far. He wept as his brother fell beneath the mace of the Dark Lord, he crowed with triumph as Luthien the Fair brought Morgoth to his knees, and he cried out in anguish at the tragedies of Menegroth and then Sirion as his sons pursued their Oath so recklessly over the corpses of their erstwhile kin.
And even greater was his bitterness as he saw his sons rise from their bodies to join him over the long years, and when at last Angband was ruined by the might of the Hosts of the West, his glee lit up the skies in the most glorious sunrise Arda had seen since the first Rising. And then as the Exiles returned to Aman, and the Eldar faded away over the tumultuous passage of the Second and Third Ages, he fumed in the high, wind-swept places of the world.
And then he and his sons hitched a ride aboard the last ship to the Undying Lands from Middle Earth.
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