I own nothing.
There are many who stare up at the new orb, given the name of Rána, and look on it in wonder. They might question where it came from; Enerdhil does not know if they do, for they certainly have not shared it with him. They might question where it came from, and they might not. Enerdhil does not know. He does know, without a doubt, that no one is questioning how it came to be.
The Valar must have put it up in the sky. That seems to be the general consensus. Enerdhil does not question that point; he sees very few other ways Rána could have gotten into the sky, without the intervention of the Valar. But what amazes him, really amazes him, is the sheer lack of curiosity anyone expresses as to what Rána is made of, and how it was fashioned.
"It must be massive," Enerdhil mutters to Cilintírë, who sits next to him, trying to warm her hands by the fire.
"Undoubtedly," she agrees, nodding her head and staring up at the sky where Rána hangs, waxed to full roundness. "To give off as much light as it does, even if some consider this light "faint"—" Cilintírë snorts; she lived for many years at the base of Oiolossë, and has confessed that after dwelling in the light of the Trees for so long, she is relieved to see any light again "—Rána must have a massive surface. Miles across, at least."
"How high in the sky must it be, then?" Enerdhil cranes his head around when he hears a familiar voice. Nolamírë appears out of the dusk and the snow, bearing in her arms a goatskin full of melt water (Well, Enerdhil hopes it's melt water). She glances up at the sky, frowning slightly. "Cilintírë, if you think that Rána is miles across in diameter, it must be incredibly high in the sky to appear as small as it does." She hands off the goatskin to her father, and holds her hand up. "As it stands, Rána is currently about…" Nolamírë's brow furrows. "…About three hand-spans.* Of course, if it's a flat, circular object and not a sphere, we could have this all wrong."
Cilintírë huffs under her breath. "The great expert speaks."
Enerdhil takes the cork off of the goatskin and takes a deep swig of what thankfully is melt water—and not even salt water this time, either. "Do you have any word on how the hunting is going, Nolamírë?"
Neither Enerdhil, Cilintírë, nor Nolamírë have any experience in hunting, nor in the wielding of weapons, despite the former two being blacksmiths—blacksmiths have been of late the best-educated among the Noldor in the making and wielding of weapons of war. They are camp followers in the following of Arakáno, under Nolofinwë. They are not soldiers, nor warriors, nor hunters. They rely on what meager rations are apportioned to the host.
She shakes her head, sitting down beside the two of them by the fire. "No, Father. I've not heard a word. What do you suppose it's made of, then?" she asks, turning the subject back to Rána. "Glass?"
"No, no!" Cilintírë exclaims. "Glass is far too brittle for something of that size. Crystal, perhaps."
Perhaps.
They question the nature of the orb in the sky. Enerdhil is happy to question it, happy to let others question it. The Quendi need to keep their minds sharp and active if they hope to survive out here. They need to retain the keen, questioning minds they had in Aman. If they lose that, and yet survive the Helcaraxë, what will they have left when they emerge on the other side?
And Enerdhil stares up at the orb in the sky, and wonders. He wonders about the size and shape of Rána—just how big is it, and is it a flat circle or a sphere? What is it made of? For what reason was it put into the sky? How is the light it emanates generated? Why, why is it there?
When he asks himself these questions, the cold of the snow and the Ice seems somewhat lesser. The pain in his stomach and the weakness in his limbs, telltale signs of starvation, seem somewhat lesser. He thinks less about what he has left behind, what he is unlikely ever to see again.
*My guess is the Sun and the Moon were closer to the Earth when the Earth was still flat.
Arakáno—Argon
Nolofinwë—Fingolfin
Rána—the Exilic name for the Moon, signifying 'The Wanderer' (Quenya)
Oiolossë—'Ever-snow-white'; the most common name amongst the Eldar for the mountain (and city of the same name, in my canon) of Taniquetil; I have, however, made it a name more commonly used by the Teleri and especially the Noldor, to explain how the Elves of Middle-Earth came to call the city by the Sindarin translation of this name, 'Amon Uilos'
Quendi—Elves (singular: Quendë) (Quenya)