Gems and Jewels
Feanor took only a few of the fine jewels he had made and possessed with him to Middle Earth. No, he and his seven sons left many treasures behind.
Nerdanel stood day after day in the small field behind the home she had once shared with such a large family, among the great cold blocks of marble now devoid of any small boys, watching from their stony seats as their mother carved figures from the white blocks, enraptured as they watched the rough rock come alive.
Nerdanel steadied her callused hand, shifting the pike carefully to sit exactly where she wanted it, bringing down the mallet, chipping off another small piece.
She let out a huff of air, blowing a lock of thick dark brown hair out of her eyes, ignoring the marble-dust sprinkled over it like flour.
Feanor had insisted she abstain from her statue work during her many pregnancies, much to her chagrin. Other than the sudden oaths and going to Middle Earth, which there hadn't really been time to counsel him against anyway for it had all happened much too quickly, it had been the only decision of his that she had disagreed with, but had failed to sway his heart with by means of her insistent counsel.
She smiled at the memory, sighing softly as she laid her tools down on a stump located nearby for that very purpose, before raising her eyes to the eight statues standing poised before her, captured in graceful motion, and she barely stifled a gasp.
They looked as if they were almost breathing, white marble statues, shining in the sunlight, the gems and jewels she had set in the marble as their eyes glittering as if they really saw.
She had extracted Maedhros' from a ring he used to wear for the longest time, given to him by Fingon as a gift. The two were such good friends, though Nerdanel had not been there when the friendship her oldest talked of so often was formed. She had taken Celegorm's from an old collar Curufin had made him for Huan, and the gems in Maglor's eyes were once in a hair ornament from which he had taken great joy from wearing in his youth.
She hadn't made a statue of Feanor. It pained her too deeply, and she could never get him just right. She would cry out in exasperation after hours of the heart-wrenching work, cleaving the statue's head in two in defeat, never getting the nose quite right, or the way his hair sat on his head and brushed his shoulders.
She knew her husband and sons were never coming back, but she still needed these lifelike marble echoes of them to keep her large lonely house from becoming too empty. To keep her heart from utter loneliness.
To keep herself from being completely consumed by regret.