New Challenge: Potluck Bingo
Sit down to a delicious selection of prompts served on bingo boards, created by the SWG community.
Feanor presented the scepter of sapphire to Manwe, and the Noldor rejoiced.
Such skill. Such subtlety.
Each work more brilliant than the last.
Feanor's heart became heavy, and he felt empty. He was without energy, and yet he was restless. He couldn't concentrate on his projects and became irritated with them. Just as often, he had no interest in them.
The feelings didn't pass.
What other marvels will he create?
We'll see. He must be in his forge even now.
He didn't want to see people. He didn't want to eat. He didn't even want to get out of bed. But they would not leave him alone, and so he went to his forge. He had trouble sleeping, and then he had trouble waking. At last, he slept and did not wake.
Feanor's fire departed from his body and passed in silence to the halls of Mandos. No words did he speak to the Judge, and Namo told no one of Feanor's coming.
The years passed. The feelings lifted. Feanor returned to his body, which remained fair and unwithered. He took up his tools and returned to his work.
Truly, he is thrice greater than any that has arisen among the Eldar.
His gifts of skill are the greatest that shall ever arise among the Eldar.
The feelings returned. His works were no less excellent, and yet he felt no pleasure in their forging.
Again, Feanor rested, and his spirit fled from his body.
The feelings passed.
Such fire!
Such light!
Such life!
Even the Valar were filled with wonder and delight at the handiwork of Feanor. He was proud and happy.
Then he looked at his creations and found them worthless. He couldn't sleep. He felt guilty for being alive. He felt unworthy of this gift. He had never asked to be born.
Feanor languished and then slept.
To me shall Feanor come soon.
Then he died; but he had neither burial nor tomb, for so fiery was his spirit that as it sped his body fell to ash, and was borne away like smoke; and his likeness has never again appeared in Arda, neither has his spirit left the halls of Mandos.
Silmarillion, p. 125