"Do you work with glass often?" I jumped, and I was lucky the chisel in my
hand did not slip and mar the small bird I was carving.
"I have not seen you for a while," I said, but Fëanáro was not going to have me dismiss his question. "And you have not given me a reply." He said, and his eyes seemed to say that he no longer saw any need for time- consuming introductions between us.
"No, I seldom work with glass. I prefer stone." I replied.
"Stone is fitting for one such as you. Glass is too fragile, too transparent."
"And what do you prefer?" I asked, wondering if I might be able to analyze his answer.
"Beauty, light." He knew he had stumped me, for his smile was victorious.
"That is hardly a material. You cannot construct something solely from beauty and light. You must use something solid."
"You are right," he replied. "And I have yet to find a material that is fitting for such a thing." Perhaps I should have listened to those words then, but another matter was pressing on my mind, and I paid little heed, if any at all, to what he was saying.
"Why do you dislike Indis so?" I knew the question wouldn't be welcome, but it was one that had been bothering me continually for the past few weeks. I felt somehow that it was my responsibility now to restrain Fëanáro from woe and rashness, not only because Finwë so willed it, but because I willed it. However he seemed to be of a fairly light mood at the moment, and I almost regretted having asked the question.
"Why?" He paused, and for a moment I was afraid that was all his answer would be. "Nerdanel, you do realise she is going to wed my father? You will say the Valar do not permit such things." He looked to me for some acknowledgement, but I gave none. I had known they would be married, whether it meant going against every law of the Eldar or not. He continued: "Well the Valar have betrayed their own decrees it seems, for they are permitting their wedding." I looked up from my work to find that the feigned happiness on his face was gone completely now, and in its place was the same bitter sorrow I had seen before, and had hoped never to see again.
"That is why I came here," he said. "There is something I need to do before it is too late, and I want you to be with me."
"What is it you have to do?"
"Say farewell. I am going to the Garden of Lórien." There could be no denying such a request. Though I tried to exert confidence, I was in truth reluctant to take his hand and make this journey with him.
~
The soft singing of a gentle breeze was all that could be heard in this sacred place. Around us, flowers of many hues sprang from the supple grass. The smell of blossoms in the air was sweet yet subtle, as it always was here. Before us a perfect hollow in the earth's surface was filled with perfectly still, indigo water. And of the far side of this lake was a tall willow, its lissom branches making a domed canopy over one area. If one look closely through the small leaves, one would see a raised slab of moss- covered stone. On it lay the figure of a woman, preserved in all her beauty. To one unknowing, she seemed to be in a peaceful sleep, from which she would awake only moments later. Yet she had lain there for many years now, maintained only through the loving care of Estë and her maidens. Indeed all that remained of Míriel, Queen of the Noldor, was a corpse, albeit a flawless one. For she had departed, never to return.
Having walked around the lake, Fëanáro separated the curtain of leaves and stepped towards his mother. I remained behind, unable to do anything more than breathe the enchanting air and watch.
He knelt down beside her, and simply looked for a long while. He did not shed a tear. He clasped her hand and I imagine it must have been cold. He bent his head to the ground, whispering inaudible words. And after long moments in complete silence and stillness, he rose. There was no change, no marked difference on his face, not even the smallest trace of fallen tear. Yet when he rose the air parted from around him and the wind came through the thick screen of branches. The tree itself was finally able to take a deep breath, and a peace enveloped the forest.
~
Not a single word was spoken on the journey home, and when we reached the borders of Lórien, Laurelin was in her last moments of blossoming. We sat down on a stone bench outside the walls of Tirion, watching Laurelin in the distance. Then Fëanáro finally let go of my hand, and he too was able to breathe regularly again. I felt that it was at last safe for me to speak.
"What did she say to you?"
He thought for a long while. "She told me my father was happy now, as was she. She told me to see weakness as well as greatness, and to remember I was not only her son, but my father's also, and that he loved me no less than she did. She told me that I must remember this when looking upon Indis, and all those who bear her likeness." Then, he paused, as if contemplating whether he should speak the last thought aloud or not. "She told me there was but one person I had to fear." He turned to me.
"And who is that?" I asked.
The sorrow I had long anticipated finally began to reveal itself. "Myself." Looking again at those eyes, I could feel the sadness there find its way into my own heart. That he had himself to fear was no surprise to me, but perhaps it was to him. However that may be, I tend to believe that he had long feared himself already. But to have a long fear confirmed in something far more painful than the fear itself.
His expression changing, his gaze turned to the copper pendant, the same pendant he had given me, that still hung around my neck. He long fingers lifted it gently from my chest and he looked at it closely, as if he were seeing it for the first time.
"It seems so long ago that I made this. I thought it was most fitting for you are the time." He said.
"It is. For is copper not the color of my house?"
"It was. Perhaps you are still outwardly of copper, but your spirit is of a more treasured substance, I deem." Despite the transformation he was undergoing, his eyes still said 'as is mine.' Perhaps my spirit truly was great, even if it was not of fire like his. Perhaps he was indeed the greatest Elda to walk the earth, but he loved me. Surely, there was some reason for such a choice. I should have known then that no matter how treasured the substance from which I was made was, it was too simple, too scarce. Then I saw only Fëanáro, only fire. And I knew I must make that fire a part of me.
"I have not seen you for a while," I said, but Fëanáro was not going to have me dismiss his question. "And you have not given me a reply." He said, and his eyes seemed to say that he no longer saw any need for time- consuming introductions between us.
"No, I seldom work with glass. I prefer stone." I replied.
"Stone is fitting for one such as you. Glass is too fragile, too transparent."
"And what do you prefer?" I asked, wondering if I might be able to analyze his answer.
"Beauty, light." He knew he had stumped me, for his smile was victorious.
"That is hardly a material. You cannot construct something solely from beauty and light. You must use something solid."
"You are right," he replied. "And I have yet to find a material that is fitting for such a thing." Perhaps I should have listened to those words then, but another matter was pressing on my mind, and I paid little heed, if any at all, to what he was saying.
"Why do you dislike Indis so?" I knew the question wouldn't be welcome, but it was one that had been bothering me continually for the past few weeks. I felt somehow that it was my responsibility now to restrain Fëanáro from woe and rashness, not only because Finwë so willed it, but because I willed it. However he seemed to be of a fairly light mood at the moment, and I almost regretted having asked the question.
"Why?" He paused, and for a moment I was afraid that was all his answer would be. "Nerdanel, you do realise she is going to wed my father? You will say the Valar do not permit such things." He looked to me for some acknowledgement, but I gave none. I had known they would be married, whether it meant going against every law of the Eldar or not. He continued: "Well the Valar have betrayed their own decrees it seems, for they are permitting their wedding." I looked up from my work to find that the feigned happiness on his face was gone completely now, and in its place was the same bitter sorrow I had seen before, and had hoped never to see again.
"That is why I came here," he said. "There is something I need to do before it is too late, and I want you to be with me."
"What is it you have to do?"
"Say farewell. I am going to the Garden of Lórien." There could be no denying such a request. Though I tried to exert confidence, I was in truth reluctant to take his hand and make this journey with him.
~
The soft singing of a gentle breeze was all that could be heard in this sacred place. Around us, flowers of many hues sprang from the supple grass. The smell of blossoms in the air was sweet yet subtle, as it always was here. Before us a perfect hollow in the earth's surface was filled with perfectly still, indigo water. And of the far side of this lake was a tall willow, its lissom branches making a domed canopy over one area. If one look closely through the small leaves, one would see a raised slab of moss- covered stone. On it lay the figure of a woman, preserved in all her beauty. To one unknowing, she seemed to be in a peaceful sleep, from which she would awake only moments later. Yet she had lain there for many years now, maintained only through the loving care of Estë and her maidens. Indeed all that remained of Míriel, Queen of the Noldor, was a corpse, albeit a flawless one. For she had departed, never to return.
Having walked around the lake, Fëanáro separated the curtain of leaves and stepped towards his mother. I remained behind, unable to do anything more than breathe the enchanting air and watch.
He knelt down beside her, and simply looked for a long while. He did not shed a tear. He clasped her hand and I imagine it must have been cold. He bent his head to the ground, whispering inaudible words. And after long moments in complete silence and stillness, he rose. There was no change, no marked difference on his face, not even the smallest trace of fallen tear. Yet when he rose the air parted from around him and the wind came through the thick screen of branches. The tree itself was finally able to take a deep breath, and a peace enveloped the forest.
~
Not a single word was spoken on the journey home, and when we reached the borders of Lórien, Laurelin was in her last moments of blossoming. We sat down on a stone bench outside the walls of Tirion, watching Laurelin in the distance. Then Fëanáro finally let go of my hand, and he too was able to breathe regularly again. I felt that it was at last safe for me to speak.
"What did she say to you?"
He thought for a long while. "She told me my father was happy now, as was she. She told me to see weakness as well as greatness, and to remember I was not only her son, but my father's also, and that he loved me no less than she did. She told me that I must remember this when looking upon Indis, and all those who bear her likeness." Then, he paused, as if contemplating whether he should speak the last thought aloud or not. "She told me there was but one person I had to fear." He turned to me.
"And who is that?" I asked.
The sorrow I had long anticipated finally began to reveal itself. "Myself." Looking again at those eyes, I could feel the sadness there find its way into my own heart. That he had himself to fear was no surprise to me, but perhaps it was to him. However that may be, I tend to believe that he had long feared himself already. But to have a long fear confirmed in something far more painful than the fear itself.
His expression changing, his gaze turned to the copper pendant, the same pendant he had given me, that still hung around my neck. He long fingers lifted it gently from my chest and he looked at it closely, as if he were seeing it for the first time.
"It seems so long ago that I made this. I thought it was most fitting for you are the time." He said.
"It is. For is copper not the color of my house?"
"It was. Perhaps you are still outwardly of copper, but your spirit is of a more treasured substance, I deem." Despite the transformation he was undergoing, his eyes still said 'as is mine.' Perhaps my spirit truly was great, even if it was not of fire like his. Perhaps he was indeed the greatest Elda to walk the earth, but he loved me. Surely, there was some reason for such a choice. I should have known then that no matter how treasured the substance from which I was made was, it was too simple, too scarce. Then I saw only Fëanáro, only fire. And I knew I must make that fire a part of me.