Me no own, don’t sue. Full disclaimer can be found at the pub, where all my money has gone.
[Author’s Note: Sorry for the poor neglect on my part. In truth, real life is getting hectic, and it’s becoming increasingly hard to find time to myself in which to write. It’s not an excuse, but please be patient with this fic, it might take a while. But here’s a pretty picture I made to keep my muse ticking over during the long wait:]
The warm glow from the golden Laurelin spilled down onto Tirion. The great Tree poured golden rain from the clusters of its horn-shaped blooms, whilst warmth and light radiated to the far reaches of Valinor. Nerwen stopped her horse on a grassy mound as the full view of Tirion was spread before her. Atop the hill of Túna, the glistening city stood proudly. The great towers reached high into the sky, casting a mighty silhouette eastwards, bearing the standards of the great houses who resided there. By far the tallest of these towers was Mindon Eldaliéva, whose silver lamp shone far out into the mists of the sea. The glittering golden light fell against the white walls and terraces of the city, catching the western side alight, as if it had been aglow with a dazzling flame.
Needless to say, the sight was truly magnificent, and Nerwen felt a faint smile adorn her mouth as she felt the tug of home. Urging her steed into a lively gallop, they bounded the last of the distance, until they entered the city and the steady pound of hooves meeting paving hit her ears.
Once she had deposited her riding gear back to the stables, she raced through the familiar halls, until she reached her quarters and started preparing for a very long awaiting bath.
Life soon returned to normal, with household duties to be attended to, and adventurous forages in the forests with her brothers amongst other things, her day to day life was kept quite busy. She was content.
One of her favourite things to do was to visit some of the many gardens that littered the city. To study the creations of Yavanna at leisure, delighting in the diversity and beauty of the plants. It was one particular visit to a secluded garden on the northern side of the city, where the mighty Pelóri Mountains stood tall in the distance, that anything out of the normal routine happened.
The light from the stars shone down from above, and the light from each Tree was equal, coating the garden in a brilliant silvery-gold. Nerwen lost herself in her thoughts, gazing into a sparkling pool, when light footsteps alerted her to another’s presence. Swiftly, she turned around, meeting the eyes of her new companion, an unspoken question radiating from her form.
“Well met, Fëanor” A tone of civility rested on her tongue. Her strange senses were once again picking up the usual traces of distrust and wariness, but for no logical reason that she could discern.
“The stars shine upon the hour of our meeting. This is a lonesome time to be out wandering the gardens, or if one preferred their own company. Would it please you if I left you to your thoughts? I would not want to intrude upon your solitude.”
“Of course not, I would be happy to share your company. Is there a particular matter in which you would speak with me?” A small frown adorned her forehead, as she tried to think of anything that could concern her direct counsel.
His smile was easy, reassuring, comforting and yet mildly discerning. “Oh no particular matter as such. I am fond of walking through such beautiful surrounds, I ever find more that fascinates my mind. The light is stunning is it not? And how it fills this glorious garden like the swell of a tide. Such a delicate swirling of silver and gold, surely it must be the most divine sight we may see in this life.”
His intense eyes flicked up at her, his gaze focussing on her shoulder as he still stood facing the distant mountains, body to the wall. A fine hand stretched from the hold on the cool stone, reached up as if to entwine itself in her hair, and suddenly, before Nerwen barely had time to register the movement, it stopped, and dropped once more to his side.
Ashamedly, against her nature, her breathing became shallow as her eyes found his and gazed into those fiery depths. She searched, looking for a purpose, an intention, an impression of his thoughts. He was truly indecipherable to her.
At length, he found his voice. His passionate tones were urgent, imploring. “Forgive me, my Lady, please. In the twilight of the Two Trees, your hair shimmers and dances before my eyes. I cannot help but long for a single strand, in which to craft into the most beautiful and radiant jewel I have yet made, or will ever make. I beg of you, to realise this dream for me, and grant my request. You must know that I do not ask you for this lightly, on a whim or a fancy. Your tress glimmers and glistens in the light, and I am completely lost in its brilliance. If you have any compassion within you, please let a craftsman achieve the ultimate goal of creating an object of unrivalled perfection.”
She stood silently for a moment, eyes wide in surprise, before she could school her features and regain her composure. “I am humbled by your request, Lord Fëanor, but I am unable to grant you what you so wish. I still stand by what I said to you on that day at the Archery Tournament, that my hair stays on my head. I will not give you, nor anyone a single strand, and that is how it will be. Please do not question me further upon this matter, I will remain with this judgement.”
And with that she fled into the relative solitude and privacy of her quarters.
Silence crept over the realm that night, as the mighty seven-metalled chain of Angainor was brought forward from the Halls of Mandos, dragging its captive before the great seats of Máhanaxar, where the council will make a decision.
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