Every Fire is a Lesson Learned by Agelast

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Chapter 1

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She receives a pardon from a pardoned king, and with the prudence that made her famous, she bows her head and bites her tongue and says nothing.

She says nothing when she feels the first cut, a sharp pain in her chest. There is an absence there. When the news arrives that her husband’s burning spirit now dwells in the Halls, she shows no emotion. The messenger is disappointed and the rumor spreads to those who still care to talk of her that Nerdanel has grown cold in her heart.

(It is true.)

There is ashes where once there was great fire. But that is the fate of things that burn for a time, no matter how bright, no matter how strong.

She knows.

 

Every death is accounted for, every death is felt. Her sons... She remembers them all as bright boys, still, fractious and loud, but always children. Half-hers, and even now she thinks she gave up that half all too easily.

 

They all fall, far from her, and there is nothing she can do.

 

She dwells in silence and thought, her works her only company. Still she cannot have her seclusion -- for Arafinwë’s sake, she must attend a gathering or two once every year, so she can be seen as the contrite rebel (she, herself, never rebelled, but it is easy to forget that, by and by), who speaks when spoken to, who listens, head cocked, to the story of various projects and concerns. Sometimes she speaks, and the people listening remember that she was once accounted to one of the greatest craftsman among a nation that prized such things above all else.

 

Only Indis visits her in turn. Even before the disaster, the two women held no animosity towards each other. (Those feelings belonged only to Fëanáro.) Now, they are friends. There never was a reason for them not to be.

 

Indis comes with good intentions and light chatter, a dabble of sunshine in in the dark, and Nerdanel does not send her away.

 

“I should stay here. Arafinwë has his hands full now that Artanis has come back,” said Indis, her hands on her hips, her lips slightly pursed. You’ve not been eating again, she seems to say.

 

Nerdanel shrugs and there is not a little irony in her tone when she says, “Ah, the palace has finally proved too small...?”

 

Indis laughs -- it is odd to hear laughter, for Nerdanel had grown used to silence.

 

Indis shakes her head, her hair bright and shining and - wrong - Nerdanel has asked her many times to bind it when she comes into the studio, it is much too easy for mishaps to occur.... Like her own, a crown of copper upon her head.

 

It is the only crown she would ever wear. Unlike Indis, Nerdanel never thought that she would have made a very good queen. She never had a chance to see if that was true. (To her intense relief.)

 

“She has grown up to be the most powerful -- most important person in Middle-earth. She chafes at being the youngest child again.”

“Poor girl.”

“Oh, she will see it through.”

They share a smile. Of course.

“Of course. She is your granddaughter, after all. Galadriel. That is what she is called now, is she not?”

“Oh, yes.”

“It suits her.”

 

They share an companionable silence for some time, as Nerdanel goes back to her task.

 

But then, Indis pipes up again, saying “You have another visitor.”

Nerdanel cannot suppress a sigh. “Two in one day! I will soon be overrun.”

“You will want to see him,” says Indis definitely.

“Is it another descendant of yours?”

“Well... Yes. And he’s traveled far to see you.”

 

“Well, show ---” But of course, her visitor is already there and she can guess who -- of course, of all the sneaky things to do -- that duplicitous Vanya!

Cautiously, she turns to the son of Eärendil, who looks as nervous as she now feels. She takes a breath. Now it is finally time to speak. And to listen.

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Chapter End Notes

 

The title is borrowed from Ellie Goulding's song, "Guns and Horses".