After The End by cuarthol

After The End

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Fëanor held out his hands, receiving the pure, unbroken gems of his own making.  Tears streaked his face for the suffering of his sons for these: his treasures, their torments.  Long he gazed into them, recalling the light of Valinor when even his own joy was not yet marred.  Long he held them in memory of their making, but the pleasure they once brought him was dulled by time and myriad sorrows.

A touch on his shoulder, gentle but firm, drew him from thought.  He turned to look into the eyes of his father.  There was a sad smile on Finwë’s lips, but love unending in his gaze as he cupped Fëanor’s cheek.

Then Fëanor took up his hammer and brought it down upon the Silmarils, and they shattered and opened; light spilled forth, a flood filling the hollows and depths, banishing shadow, and all the light that was from the very beginning shone in the darkness.

What became then of the world he cared not, giving heed to no other creature but his father and his sons returned.  For an age of this new world they stood unmoving, the restored world being nothing but the restoration to one another.