The Eighth by Cirdan

The Eighth

Read The Eighth

Maglor carefully brushed his mother’s hair with one of the brushes that Feanor had personally made and gifted to his wife.

Before, there had only been wooden combs or ivory combs.  No one had ever thought the design somehow inadequate.  The comb straightened tangled hair well enough, and the more difficult knots had to be undone with careful fingers before the combing continued.  Feanor, in his infinite genius, realized that different Elves had different types of hair and that this caused some hair to tangle more than others.  Feanor’s own raven hair was thick and long, and somehow, it tended to not tangle even when he’d been wrestling or riding in the wind.  When it became wet with sweat from a day in the forge, it quickly recovered its luster and loveliness when washed even with just plain water.  Nerdanel’s hair was not so easy to manage.  It was wavy and tended to tangle in small knots even when she did nothing more than turn her head this way and that.  The strands of hair were light and became mussed in even the slightest wind.  For this reason, and because of her ruddy complexion, she’d been considered homely in her youth.

Feanor had seen past her constantly disheveled hair to the beauty within her heart though.  And when they had become more comfortable lovers, he had presented her with a hairbrush.  Rather than the fine teeth of a comb, the hairbrush consisted of a beautiful wooden handle and a curved head of widely spaced golden bristles that made it look like a sea anemone, the wind-flower that lived in the tidepools of Alqualonde.  Each petal-like tentacle was rounded at the tips so that the hairbrush massaged the scalp rather than hurt it, as was sometimes possible with new combs.  Only then had Nerdanel realized that she had been reluctant to care for her hair, always tying it back in a ponytail or bun, because she had disliked combing it and fighting the tangles.  Some tangle still needed to be undone by hand, but at least the hairbrush didn’t create new knots, as the comb was prone to do.  Often, Feanor personally brushed her hair, and his sons had also learned this fine art from their father (as had many other Elves once other craftsmen learned to make hairbrushes).

On this particular day, the joyous task of brushing Nerdanel’s hair fell to Maglor (mostly because he was better at it than his brothers).  He took small sections of the potentially frizzy auburn hair and gently ran the brush along the ends.  Then he moved up the hair strand, brushing slowly and steadily, until the entire strand was neat.  He moved it aside and worked on another section.  When all was done, his mother would be beautiful, with wondrous waves of coppery hair bejeweled with small but brilliant diamonds that would attach harmlessly and be removed just as easily.  The occasion was Finarfin’s wedding, but even if there was no occasion, Maglor would have gladly tended to his mother in such a manner.  Her hair was so alive and full of energy (though it was this very energy that had caused her grief in her youth).

“I remember my own wedding with your father,” Nerdanel said wistfully.

Maglor paused briefly before continuing his task.  Her tone was not what he would have expected, for her marriage with Feanor was still strong in passion and romance.  She had just recently given birth to two more sons.  No other Elven family was known to have added seven children to their household.  Surely that was a sign of a blessed marriage.  But as was his wont, Maglor remained quiet and listened, and his willingness to listen made others more willing to speak.

“When we first wed, Feanor told me that I would always be the most important person to him,” she said.  Maglor almost jumped to reassure his mother, but he held his peace and instead comforted her with the touch of his hands to her hair.  It was like playing a harp, only more personal.  “’You will always be first in my heart.  Even if we lose a child, we could always have another,’ he would say.  ‘But you, you are irreplaceable.’”

Maglor kissed his mother on the cheek and began to speckle her coppery waves with the shimmering stars.

“I did not fully understand his words then.  I only understood that he loved me.”  Nerdanel held up a mirror to judge Maglor’s work thus far.  She nodded in approval.  Her hair was not golden like Laurelin or silver like Telperion, but nor was it dim and unkept.

For a moment, Maglor felt an old taste of envy.  The red hair of Nerdanel’s family had not been passed to him.  Rather, Maglor’s hair was brown and little else could be said about it.  But the red-brown hair of Nerdanel’s family was not simply a different shade of brown.  When properly cared for, it shone like finely polished copper, and in light, it was brilliant in its own unique manner.  The surge of envy was short though, and Maglor was soon himself again.

“Of course he loves you,” Maglor said.

“He does,” Nerdanel said.  She pulled a crystal jewelry box to her and began to sift through all the marvelous necklaces that she could wear to this occasion.  No other woman in Aman had such an expansive jewelry collection.  But it was no surprise.  Feanor’s jewelry crafting was second to no one.  She held up a golden necklace with rays of fine rubies embedded in clever golden spirals that would trail beautifully into her bosom and looked at herself in the mirror for several moments before finally replacing it in her jewelry box.

“He does, and yet I am no longer first in his heart.”  Her eyes scanned the jewelry box.  “When Maedhros was born, I became second.  And then you were born, and I became third.  And then Celegorm, and I became fourth.  Now, I am in eighth place, after all of you.”  She settled on a simple v-shaped choker of alternating gold, silver, and copper plates.  After Maglor finished bejeweling her hair, she handed the necklace to him, and he attached it for her.

“What do you think?” Nerdanel asked her second son.

“No jewel?” he asked, for the necklace, though beautiful, did not have the lovely jewels for which Feanor was praised above even his metalwork.

“This is Earwen’s day, and none should outshine the bride,” Nerdanel said.

Maglor searched the jewelry box for a better necklace.  Though Feanor would never admit it aloud, Maglor he knew that his father preferred jewelry that drew the eye to her well-endowed bosom, an added bonus from her many pregnancies.  He picked out a copper necklace with a diamond pendant attached to the bottom of single chain that dangled from the center of the necklace.  “How about this one, Mother?”

“Maybe."  Maglor removed the first necklace and circled the second one about his mother’s neck, holding it in place for her to judge.  “Oh, very well,” Nerdanel said.  “It is rather lovely.”  Maglor fastened the clasp in the back.  “He gave it to me shortly after Maedhros was born.  Maedhros has a baby bracelet of matching style.”  She stood and went to a full-length mirror nearby.  Maglor straightened the hem of her gown and then admired his mother’s visage in the mirror.  It was odd.  Maglor knew that Nerdanel still didn't think that she was beautiful.  He could never understand how she couldn't see it.  Did she doubt herself because Father no longer loved her as he had?

“What of you, Mother?” Maglor asked.  “Is he first in your heart?”

Nerdanel laughed.  “Clever boy.  But that is the nature of parenthood.”

Feanor knocked and then entered.  “Ah, Nerdanel, you look almost ready."  He kissed her ardently, and Maglor could not remember a time when Feanor did not go first to his wife before turning his attention to his sons.  Despite her darker complexion, Nerdanel's blush was visible.  "And now you are ready," Feanor teased.

"Stop it," Nerdanel protested as he took her in his arms and tried for another kiss.  "Finarfin will be offended if you're late to his wedding."

"Let him be offended," Feanor said.  He blew kisses at her since she was keeping him at a distance.

"Just one," Nerdanel said sternly.  They kissed, and it seemed that they totally lost track of time.  Maglor allowed them several moments before interrupting them with a loud cough.  They only laughed, and Feanor winked to Nerdanel.

Eighth, she'd said, Maglor thought and wondered if it was true.