Thirty Day Character Challenge: Feanor by eris_of_imladris

Prompt 3

Prompt 3: Strong Points, Part One. Think about at least three strengths of your character - talents they were born with, skills they have learned, positive character traits… Write a scene in which your character really shines at something.

Anyone could have found the silima, hidden deep within the earth, if they had looked hard enough, but it would take someone special to mold the silvery material into something incredible, and Fëanor was the Elda for the job.

His mind churned with inspiration at all hours of the day and night, and the silima lit something in his mind that he doubted would exist anywhere else, for anyone else. It was intimidating at first, the vision of the great crystal taking the light of the Trees and molding it into flesh, but he knew it was something he could do.

He had studied with Mahtan for many years, and spent many years working with Aulë at his forge, trying to figure out the best way to create and innovate. He was not there to copy what others had done, nor was he going to run straight to Aulë with this discovery, and risk having the Vala want to come up with the creative thing himself. In the material, Fëanor saw the greatest opportunity of his life to distinguish himself, to finally show the other Eldar exactly what he could do, and why being a smith was not a dishonorable profession, but something that a son of a king should be honored to do.

He pictured himself alone in front of them all, cheering and looking at him in awe, and allowed the vision to take over, realizing that if he did this successfully, there would be no Elda to surpass him, and he would be known as the light bringer, the one whose talent would be like Yavanna and Nienna’s magic and bring his own version of the Trees to life.

The vision encouraged him, and he came out alone for day after day, mining as much of the material as he could find. It appeared to be a small pocket only, on the height of a peak, and he left no instruction for his own apprentices, only to work on the orders that came in for him.

In his hands, he finally held the silima, which he called it because the silvery filaments of the material brought their own light, even without being crafted. They were like a heart of the world, and he held the heart in his hands, feeling it beat as his own. He alone could do it justice.

He found his way back to the workshop with the material under cloth, and immediately took to building a new wing of his smithy, somewhere where others could not even enter. When he pulled the cloth off in the workshop, it just looked right, shining in the light of Laurelin, and the finished product took form in his mind, almost as if the crystal itself was telling him how to create it, how to turn his ideas to the flesh of the rock.

This would require finesse. Any smith could hammer at a material, but as he soon discovered, it took only the slightest tap to disintegrate the silima. It was finer than glass in some parts, and harder than diamonds in others, and only his fingers could tell which part it would ve, and how to deconstruct the lump into workable parts that would be thin enough for the light to shine through, but still thick enough to hold their own form.

Any smith could have tried, but many would have given up. It was not a project of weeks or months but of years, and he felt the crystals taking time away from his family, from his young son, even from the second son he had created within his wife. Nerdanel understood all too well that his craft was calling him, but even she had taken to asking if he was still interested in his family with her, and a pang of guilt hit him whenever she even implied such a thing, as if he was like his father, to abandon his family.

He took to spending his days with Nerdanel and Nelyo and his nights with the silima, sleeping the minimal amount possible, seeing the finished products behind his eyelids even when he was determined to get sleep. His dreams were filled with shining crystals, and his vision clouded with them during the day, even when he managed to do his other responsibilities, turning in his work to Aulë, eating with Mahtan and his family.

Many smiths would have stopped when the new baby was born - a second son, a great honor for the house of Finwë - and the boy looked just like Fëanor, down to the little crinkle between his brows. He was shorter than his brother had been at birth, and had less of a strong cry, but he was an observant child, and perhaps other smiths might have taken advantage of that, but Fëanor still saw the crystals, wanted to dandle them before his son’s eyes rather than some toy made of prosaic wood.

He would ruffle Nelyo’s hair when he went to the forge each morning, and kiss his wife, and let his baby son squeeze his finger, and then he would head out again, off to do the minimum of other responsibilities before he could finally devote time to the crystals. His life, his love, his obsession, they burned bright in his mind and they were precious to him, as if they were members of his own family - for they were, in his eyes, the only way to truly reconcile himself with his father, to take his role as the elder son of Finwë. Lesser smiths might have been intimidated, but Fëanor had the strength to succeed, and succeed he would.