Waves of Fire
Synopsis: "All stories have a beginning, and though this one ends in naught but sorrow, it began in joy." The complete tale of Nerdanel and Fëanor, from her point of view.
Author's Note: This is the beginnings of my attempt to create a complete version of the tale of Nerdanel and Fëanor, one that has fascinated me for a long while. I have more written already, but it can wait a moment for it's time.
Disclaimer: The characters, places, things and the original conception of the story belong to the Tolkien estate. I use them for my enjoyment only, and make no profit from this.
Fëanáro = Fëanor
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Many, many uncounted years have passed. And yet I still feel that familiar pang of loss every time I see the rays of Arien through my window rather than the warm glow of Laurelin. And the same salty tears fall down my cheeks when I see Eärendil sail across the night sky, for I can find no joy in gazing upon that jewel. Once it was a thing of beauty, and for some it still is. Yet for me it is a reminder of the beauty that once was; the beauty that was tainted by lust, by arrogance and by hate: the beauty that was made void by the blood-stained hands of my children: the beauty that was both created and destroyed by the one person I both hated and loved: Fëanáro, my husband.
Yet all stories have a beginning, and though this one ends in naught but sorrow, it began in joy. In the days of bliss, when Telperion still shone, and the Power of Terror was but a small shadow behind the bright light of Laurelin; and when the Silmarilli were but a new and small thought in the mind of their creator.
~
Please leave your review!
Synopsis: "All stories have a beginning, and though this one ends in naught but sorrow, it began in joy." The complete tale of Nerdanel and Fëanor, from her point of view.
Author's Note: This is the beginnings of my attempt to create a complete version of the tale of Nerdanel and Fëanor, one that has fascinated me for a long while. I have more written already, but it can wait a moment for it's time.
Disclaimer: The characters, places, things and the original conception of the story belong to the Tolkien estate. I use them for my enjoyment only, and make no profit from this.
Fëanáro = Fëanor
~
Many, many uncounted years have passed. And yet I still feel that familiar pang of loss every time I see the rays of Arien through my window rather than the warm glow of Laurelin. And the same salty tears fall down my cheeks when I see Eärendil sail across the night sky, for I can find no joy in gazing upon that jewel. Once it was a thing of beauty, and for some it still is. Yet for me it is a reminder of the beauty that once was; the beauty that was tainted by lust, by arrogance and by hate: the beauty that was made void by the blood-stained hands of my children: the beauty that was both created and destroyed by the one person I both hated and loved: Fëanáro, my husband.
Yet all stories have a beginning, and though this one ends in naught but sorrow, it began in joy. In the days of bliss, when Telperion still shone, and the Power of Terror was but a small shadow behind the bright light of Laurelin; and when the Silmarilli were but a new and small thought in the mind of their creator.
~
Please leave your review!