Embers by Elleth

Discovery

Nerdanel and Fëanor, and her POV about the creation of the Silmarils. What is there to see for someone locked out? (B2MeM08)

Discovery - discovery of what? Tolkien's world and source material are so vast that you can quite literally get lost in it, so that you stray from one topic to the other and never cease to find new things. Sometimes that may be frustrating; when you are looking for a specific piece of information, or a passage of text to quote somewhere. And above all, you can only scratch the surface, even after years of study. That, to me, is like the crack of light of light beneath the doorstep that Nerdanel sees in the story--teasing, nearby, and still out of reach. Still, sometimes the door opens and someone or something beautiful emerges to rekindle your interest in the stories and tales, and reward the passion, patience (or stubbornness) you had in searching for it.

There is light, again, from the crack beneath the workshop door. Her knocks have gone unanswered for six days, and there was no reply to her calling out. Sometimes, her eyes stinging with angry tears, she had stubbornly sat before the heavy door, next to the tray of the last meal not taken, but even that had no effect.

There are few sounds from within: Fëanáro's footsteps, the sound of one tool or another, and sometimes the hiss and smell of substances poured together--to what effect, she knows not. And often, there is light. A flicker like the Trees on water, a shimmer like the stars--and sometimes a blaze that makes her wonder if within he has gone blind. And then again, nothing.

This time, though, the light is constant, and she hopes that finally, finally, the door will open. Even Feanáro has limits of endurance, even when he is crafting, even though he claims it gives him strength rather than sapping it. She knows this from countless challenges before, when the frenzy of discovery drove him on, with matted hair and triumphant fever-bright eyes, and so completely exhausted so that he nearly pitched forward into her arms.

When the door opens this time, she is ready to tell him all that, and that she will no longer suffer it. She stands with the last tray of food not taken in her hand, and is caught by surprise by the look in his eyes: How did he become so young again? How is it that he looks so refreshed after a week's ceaseless work?

But then she sees the light behind him and she thinks she knows.