By the time Laurelin's first blossoms began opening again, I had reached
him. He hadn't travelled far, only just around the corner. He had his back
to me, and for that I was thankful. I knew that the moment he saw me he
would comment on the fact that I had been wrong and he had been right, so I
wanted at least to have the first word. Unfortunately, I took far too long
pondering on how I might begin this conversation that he turned around and
saw me first. Or perhaps he knew I was there all along. But much to my
amazement he spoke no insult, no boast of superiority, but posed rather a
simple question.
"Did you find the beauty in that stone yet?"
Taken completely off guard by this, I just stared at him. I must have looked like a stunned rabbit or something similar, but he still did not leap at the chance to rile me, as would have been easy enough.
"Here, give it to me." He held out his hand before me, and without even questioning why he wanted it, or how he even knew I still had it, I reached into my pouch and placed it into his outstretched palm. I remember his touch still: both gentle and rough at the same time. And despite the cool wind, it was warm to the touch. So warm that it almost burned my own icy fingers. I drew them away quickly, but he didn't appear to notice.
He took a few steps towards an overhanging of rock, and placed the stone upon it. Crouching down, he picked up a rock that lay beside him. Then with a sudden strength and energy that contrasted drastically with his seemingly calm composure, he brought the rock down upon the stone, crushing it between the two hard surfaces. I remembered the waves crashing against the shore. But the moment was brief, and he stood up again, gathering the broken pieces in his steady hands.
He took my hand from my side and placed the pieces in it. When I opened my fingers I could not believe what it was I saw. Instead of a dull grey there was a bright purple crystal, its edges glistening in Laurelin's light. As I turned them over in my hands, I saw that on one side they were the same dark and lifeless color, but sprouting from the other sides was a shimmering garden of lavender gemstones.
I reached out to hand them back to him, but he refused, saying: "Keep them. It was not without reason that I gave them to you." And that was all he needed to say to explain everything. Why I wore the pendant he gave me around his neck, why I had returned to him even after I swore I wouldn't, and why he had not scorned me when I did. And as soon as that became clear to me, there was no longer any barrier between us, and my tongue was loosed and I was able at last to speak with him freely. We sat for a long while by the shores of the sea while we spoke of many things, chiefly of metals and stones, and the gifts of Aulë, and of his spouse, Yavanna.
"You know these lands well," I found myself saying. "Do you come here often?"
As innocent as the question had seemed, a cloud of sadness seemed to pass over his face when I asked it. "It used to be that I would journey to the Gardens of Lórien. But there is no healing for me there. Now I come here more often, to the gardens created by Aulë and Ulmo."
Yet again, I could not believe how little attention I had paid him before. Míriel was the only Elda in Aman ever to forsake her flesh and leave for Mandos' halls. When I had first heard tell that the bearing of her son had caused her so much weariness that she had chosen death, I found it hard to believe. Míriel was considered strong of spirit. Surely bearing a child, as consuming as it may be, was something that could be healed. But now when I looked upon this, her child, I began to understand. Even the strongest spirit could be broken by his. If only I had realised then just what it was I said.
"Do you remember your mother?" I could hardly believe that I had spoken that aloud. Never before had I been so thoughtless, and I was certain he would never forgive me. Indeed that was the impression he most certainly gave me at first. Standing abruptly on his feet, he turned away from me.
"Of course I remember her!" He said to the trees, yet he seemed almost to be convincing himself. Afraid that I would either cause him to become angry or weep, I quickly apologized. I did not want to be there when that spirit broke. And that one time, I managed to avoid it.
"I am sorry. I should not have asked. Forgive me."
He took a long time before he replied, or even turned to look at me, and I was certain I had failed. As each moment passed I grew more and more uneasy. The steady burning flame I had grown accustomed to had been caught in the wind. First it would become small, nearly disappearing, but then it would rise up, larger than it had been before, defying the wind. He finally turned towards me, and he no longer appeared to be the noble, brilliant figure I had seen before, but rather distraught, standing on the brink of reason and madness.
He picked up some scattered stones and began throwing them into the ocean, challenging himself to create a larger impact on the ocean's surface every time.
"There is no need to apologize." he said. "You know, no one has ever asked me that. And then," he stooped down to pick up another rock, "well, you made me realize that I did not remember her." I could not stand watching him, or anyone like this. Very seldom had I see any of my people behave in such a manner. There was little need in the Blessed Realm for anger or sorrow, and I had seen Fëanáro demonstrate both in the short span of time that I had known him. Whether Melkor had been honest or not when he sued for pardon, I knew not. Yet I could see now that there was a lengthening shadow in Valinor, and it had chosen Finwë's son as its aim. And there was but one thing I could do to fulfil the will of the Valar: I could lead him out from beneath the shadow.
"Stop," I took his arm, ready to hurl another stone, gently but firmly in my hand. But that was all it took. He let the stone fall, and turned to look at me. At last it was his turn to be shown, not mine. I let his arm drop, and he looked first at his own hand, his brow furrowed. Then almost without realizing what he was doing, he took my hand in his, inspecting it with the same attention he had given his own. And then with one sudden movement he let it fall and looked at me.
"How did you do that?"
I could hardly answer, for even I was not sure. I had never been a healer. If anything my hands were rough, smith hands. So that was what I told him, that I did not know.
"Your mother, is she skilled in healing?" He asked, still unconvinced.
"No, she is naught but a simple seamstress." I was just as amazed as he was with my new talent.
"Nerdanel." He sounded out my name, as if trying to read a hidden message in it. But I imagine he found no clarification in the name, for he said after: "Come, I think there are many things we could learn from one another."
And so it was that I found myself as if guided by fate walking along the shores of Valinor with the son of the High King, while he questioned me concerning all things. Then he would turn to himself, and yet he seldom boasted, and if he did it was unintentional. Instead he would speak of his mother, and his father, and of other things which were too lowly for him in his pride to speak of before others.
I did now know then, but I was the only person he had ever spoken to in that way. It must have been no simple task for him to say those words, for never before and never again would he ask advice from any other save me. And when they ask me how I ever learned to love him, I tell them simply that Illúvatar had given me the gift to turn fire into water.
~
Notes:
Elves and Cold: Some have said that Elves cannot feel cold. I for one find that hard to believe. Why would so many have died on the Helcaraxë if the cold did not affect them? So as for Nerdanel's hands being cold, for the purposes of the story, one will have to believe in the fact that elves can be cold. As for Fëanor being particularly warm, I think that is self- explanatory.
Geodes: I realise that I have just done something terrible with geology here. The rock Fëanor find is indeed a geode, which I know would most likely never be found on a beach, being a volcanic rock. If you must have an explanation, the only one I can offer is this: it is possible that during the shaping of Arda there was a volcano in this region, which is now most likely beneath the sea. Like Nerdanel says, she felt the place was ancient. I know this explanation isn't quite scientifically correct, but I am dealing with a different world here, so you'll have to accept it.
"Did you find the beauty in that stone yet?"
Taken completely off guard by this, I just stared at him. I must have looked like a stunned rabbit or something similar, but he still did not leap at the chance to rile me, as would have been easy enough.
"Here, give it to me." He held out his hand before me, and without even questioning why he wanted it, or how he even knew I still had it, I reached into my pouch and placed it into his outstretched palm. I remember his touch still: both gentle and rough at the same time. And despite the cool wind, it was warm to the touch. So warm that it almost burned my own icy fingers. I drew them away quickly, but he didn't appear to notice.
He took a few steps towards an overhanging of rock, and placed the stone upon it. Crouching down, he picked up a rock that lay beside him. Then with a sudden strength and energy that contrasted drastically with his seemingly calm composure, he brought the rock down upon the stone, crushing it between the two hard surfaces. I remembered the waves crashing against the shore. But the moment was brief, and he stood up again, gathering the broken pieces in his steady hands.
He took my hand from my side and placed the pieces in it. When I opened my fingers I could not believe what it was I saw. Instead of a dull grey there was a bright purple crystal, its edges glistening in Laurelin's light. As I turned them over in my hands, I saw that on one side they were the same dark and lifeless color, but sprouting from the other sides was a shimmering garden of lavender gemstones.
I reached out to hand them back to him, but he refused, saying: "Keep them. It was not without reason that I gave them to you." And that was all he needed to say to explain everything. Why I wore the pendant he gave me around his neck, why I had returned to him even after I swore I wouldn't, and why he had not scorned me when I did. And as soon as that became clear to me, there was no longer any barrier between us, and my tongue was loosed and I was able at last to speak with him freely. We sat for a long while by the shores of the sea while we spoke of many things, chiefly of metals and stones, and the gifts of Aulë, and of his spouse, Yavanna.
"You know these lands well," I found myself saying. "Do you come here often?"
As innocent as the question had seemed, a cloud of sadness seemed to pass over his face when I asked it. "It used to be that I would journey to the Gardens of Lórien. But there is no healing for me there. Now I come here more often, to the gardens created by Aulë and Ulmo."
Yet again, I could not believe how little attention I had paid him before. Míriel was the only Elda in Aman ever to forsake her flesh and leave for Mandos' halls. When I had first heard tell that the bearing of her son had caused her so much weariness that she had chosen death, I found it hard to believe. Míriel was considered strong of spirit. Surely bearing a child, as consuming as it may be, was something that could be healed. But now when I looked upon this, her child, I began to understand. Even the strongest spirit could be broken by his. If only I had realised then just what it was I said.
"Do you remember your mother?" I could hardly believe that I had spoken that aloud. Never before had I been so thoughtless, and I was certain he would never forgive me. Indeed that was the impression he most certainly gave me at first. Standing abruptly on his feet, he turned away from me.
"Of course I remember her!" He said to the trees, yet he seemed almost to be convincing himself. Afraid that I would either cause him to become angry or weep, I quickly apologized. I did not want to be there when that spirit broke. And that one time, I managed to avoid it.
"I am sorry. I should not have asked. Forgive me."
He took a long time before he replied, or even turned to look at me, and I was certain I had failed. As each moment passed I grew more and more uneasy. The steady burning flame I had grown accustomed to had been caught in the wind. First it would become small, nearly disappearing, but then it would rise up, larger than it had been before, defying the wind. He finally turned towards me, and he no longer appeared to be the noble, brilliant figure I had seen before, but rather distraught, standing on the brink of reason and madness.
He picked up some scattered stones and began throwing them into the ocean, challenging himself to create a larger impact on the ocean's surface every time.
"There is no need to apologize." he said. "You know, no one has ever asked me that. And then," he stooped down to pick up another rock, "well, you made me realize that I did not remember her." I could not stand watching him, or anyone like this. Very seldom had I see any of my people behave in such a manner. There was little need in the Blessed Realm for anger or sorrow, and I had seen Fëanáro demonstrate both in the short span of time that I had known him. Whether Melkor had been honest or not when he sued for pardon, I knew not. Yet I could see now that there was a lengthening shadow in Valinor, and it had chosen Finwë's son as its aim. And there was but one thing I could do to fulfil the will of the Valar: I could lead him out from beneath the shadow.
"Stop," I took his arm, ready to hurl another stone, gently but firmly in my hand. But that was all it took. He let the stone fall, and turned to look at me. At last it was his turn to be shown, not mine. I let his arm drop, and he looked first at his own hand, his brow furrowed. Then almost without realizing what he was doing, he took my hand in his, inspecting it with the same attention he had given his own. And then with one sudden movement he let it fall and looked at me.
"How did you do that?"
I could hardly answer, for even I was not sure. I had never been a healer. If anything my hands were rough, smith hands. So that was what I told him, that I did not know.
"Your mother, is she skilled in healing?" He asked, still unconvinced.
"No, she is naught but a simple seamstress." I was just as amazed as he was with my new talent.
"Nerdanel." He sounded out my name, as if trying to read a hidden message in it. But I imagine he found no clarification in the name, for he said after: "Come, I think there are many things we could learn from one another."
And so it was that I found myself as if guided by fate walking along the shores of Valinor with the son of the High King, while he questioned me concerning all things. Then he would turn to himself, and yet he seldom boasted, and if he did it was unintentional. Instead he would speak of his mother, and his father, and of other things which were too lowly for him in his pride to speak of before others.
I did now know then, but I was the only person he had ever spoken to in that way. It must have been no simple task for him to say those words, for never before and never again would he ask advice from any other save me. And when they ask me how I ever learned to love him, I tell them simply that Illúvatar had given me the gift to turn fire into water.
~
Notes:
Elves and Cold: Some have said that Elves cannot feel cold. I for one find that hard to believe. Why would so many have died on the Helcaraxë if the cold did not affect them? So as for Nerdanel's hands being cold, for the purposes of the story, one will have to believe in the fact that elves can be cold. As for Fëanor being particularly warm, I think that is self- explanatory.
Geodes: I realise that I have just done something terrible with geology here. The rock Fëanor find is indeed a geode, which I know would most likely never be found on a beach, being a volcanic rock. If you must have an explanation, the only one I can offer is this: it is possible that during the shaping of Arda there was a volcano in this region, which is now most likely beneath the sea. Like Nerdanel says, she felt the place was ancient. I know this explanation isn't quite scientifically correct, but I am dealing with a different world here, so you'll have to accept it.