Disclaimer: As usual, I am not Tolkien and neither Nerdanel nor Feanor nor their sons are mine. Nor is anyone or anything else in Arda.

A/N: Written while I was sick, feverish and tired. It took about 24 minutes to complete this, so do not expect anything good.

Can be seen as prequel of "Fragments", but you do not necessarily need to know that story to understand this one.

Heart of a Flame

The artist. The creator. The destroyer. Yes, he had destroyed everything with his deeds, with his words, with his touch. He had destroyed her in the minute she had met, though she had not known. Gazes had met, and he had left her burning, set on fire by his spirit, and now shattered and empty.

Robbed of all joy her life had had, she now sought one to blame. Him.

Brilliant. Loving. Burning. Creating and destroying.

He had destroyed so much. So many lives.

The Teleri, dreamers, harmless, foamriders. He had stained their blue water and white foam crimson. Her sons“ lives. Seven, dark and fair and copper, now all would be lost to the blackness of the void. Her life. Once bright and fair and sorrowless under silver and golden light, now crimson and black and ashen.

Because of him.

One to blame? Oh yes. Him? No. She could not.

Crimson. her heart still bled, the fragments of him left in her cutting it, ever since the day he had left for Formenos.

Black. The darkness of Valinor now, only lit by the light of the stars and by torches slowly burning down.

Ashen. her fea, ashes, the only thing left of his fire in her soul.

No, she could not blame him. Those colours were him, and those colours were her. Even though they were not together anymore, not bodily, she stayed with him. She loved him still.

She could not make him responsible for everything.

Had he acted? Had she? No - they both had.

She had been there when he had mingled the light, shining like his own flame in silver and gold. His face had been streaked with tears for the very beauty and joy of it, as had hers been.

They both had created their sons“ lives, joining bodies, joining souls, joining hearts in a passion unknown before those days. They had created children of fire, dark and fair and copper. They were his sons, and her sons, for she too was a fire, though not as strong, not as blazing as him.

Two flames, consuming each other, mingling and melting.

Would he remember her? Oh yes, she was sure. In every moment he would remember her and feel that a part of him had also been left scorched and burned by her; in crimson and black and ashen, until the spirit of fire would meet the one to master him. It had not been her, she had never mastered him fully. She also was fire, yes, but she had never been able to consume his flame completely. She had only been able to cool it down.

She had not been able to on the first day of darkness, though, so maybe she was the one to be blamed for the horrible deeds in the end. On that day she had not been able to hold him back, as she had always done before, leaving him shaking in agony, but at peace for a time.

Had he not yearned for her touch and begged her to help him, once, long ago?

Had not their love been born this way? Had it not been destroyed thus?

* * *

And with this though in her mind, echoing again and again, leaving no trace of doubt who was guilty in the end, she swore a silent oath that she would remember him forever, bind herself to him anew and go where he would go, if only in mind.

If he was doomed, she was also.