Súlimëo Quentar: March Stories by Elleth

Snaring Light

Young Fëanor requests a gift off his mothers. Inspired by Independece1776's A Kind of Poetry. A drabble according to Open Office.

Laughing, Indis looked into Fëanáro's bright, expectant eyes.

"Some hair from both our heads, love? That is no hardship." She snatched Míriel's silver scissors from the tangled workbox and saw her wife (the thought still gave her such delightful thrills) nod assent without ever looking up from her swiftly-moving needles.

The gold and silver strands clutched firmly in his hand, Fëanáro forestalled the inevitable questions, dashing away. Míriel briefly rested her embroidery, smiling after her son. "I heard him boast to Finwë this morning that the Mingling would see him snare the light. We seem to be part of it."

Chapter End Notes

Written for the following prompts:

067: AU Card: Identify a cultural artifact associated with a people you're interested in - how might a different history change its significance?, Femslash: Women of the House of Finwë