Nerdanel does not weep. She shed her tears centuries ago, and so her eyes are dry. But her hands are cold, so very cold, as if the life in her is leaving with every step Feanor takes towards the gate.

(They'd whispered of their fear of this exact thing, curled together, the marriage bond relit and bright between them, souls relearning each other's touch. They'd known, even then, that this could not be forever. It still hurts.)

Nerdanel stands, back straight and chin up, but her eyes are desolate and empty, and the light in them has gone out, the gleam of her faded into nothing more than memory. She doesn't move or speak until Feanor vanishes beyond the turnstiles, and then she only crumples silently to the ground, a puppet without strings.

(those with skill might hear her, her soul torn and bleeding, weeping the tears she will not let herself cry

Feanaro, oh, Feanaro, beloved )