Embers by Elleth

The Gift

The rivalry between Fëanor and Fingolfin is no secret, but what of their families? A different kind of rivalry. (B2MeM08)

The Silmarillion and the History of Middle-earth both take note of more than one occurence fitting today's topic, and being historical accounts of Arda, they are necessarily biased in some way or another, and thus open for further exploration. One such case: The conflicts between Fëanor and Fingolfin have many stories written about them, but it is easy to forget that there are other sides as well. They may remain unseen or unspoken-of, but in some cases trying to pin them down may bring a wholly different level (or levels) to the story - what, for example, about their wives?

Telperion is waning when he walks into the bedroom, with his back held too straight and his eyes too bright. If that happens, she has learned, there is news from Tirion that he dislikes. He can never keep it a secret for long, so she waits while he undresses and washes and comes into bed.

"Anairë gave birth to a daughter today. They mean to name her Irissë."

Her back is turned to him, and she is painfully aware that his voice comes from a distance. It hovers over the space between them, that cold space in the middle of the bed that she so loathes. And yet, each night she moves closer to the egde. She has her reasons; a quick movement and a tumble to the floor have spared her his attentions many times.

"I will draft a message of congratulations come morning," she replies. "And make a gift." She knows he loathes that task and the admission that his brother has accomplished something he could not. Fëanáro keeps his silence, but he is not asleep. "In fact... I will start now."

She rises and puts on a dressing gown, and walks downstairs into her studio.

Laurelin is waning when she finishes her work, with her head bowed and her eyes red and tired. There are two statuettes on the table in her studio now: One a perfect likeness of Anairë in white marble, cradling a girlchild swaddled in soft cloths - a dainty thing that will fit well into their house in Tirion. The other is less delicate - unpolished brown soapstone that bears Nerdanel's face with a look of deep envy and empty arms. It is standing too close to the edge of the table, and when Nerdanel stumbles against it, the statuette topples to the floor.

"It is no matter," she says to Anairë and Irissë. "We were given seven children."
Her voice rings hollow in her own ears.