Stone Faith for the Future
Mar. 20th, 2017 09:14 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
engarian.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
b2memB2MeM Prompt and Path:Faith, Red
Format:Short Story
Genre:Family
Rating:PG
Warnings:Mention of death
Characters:Nerdanel, Anairë, Eärwen
Pairings:None
Creator’s Notes:Tolkien provided the sandbox, I merely play with the bucket and shovel he left behind. No profit of any kind is made from my fanworks.
Summary:After her devastating visit to Mandos, Nerdanel was determined that her family should not be forgotten. A sculptor or great renown, she began to carve, but had to call upon help from an unexpected source to bring the finished pieces into public eyes.
Stone Faith for the Future
Eight large blocks of stone were delivered to Mahtan’s workshop, taking up all of the extra space in his storage shed. Nerdanel had plans. She had been bargaining for the specific stones for quite some time. Now they were all gathered together and it was time for her to get to work.
The first stone awaited in her studio, black as darkest night with a small sheen of inclusions randomly charging the unrelieved darkness. She picked up her mallet and chisel, walking slowly around the mass, choosing the first impact point with great care.
“How long is forever, Námo? Others may forget or push back those memories, but I will never allow the diminishment of Fëanor in the memories of the Noldor. This is my answer to your 'forever'.” She raised her mallet and began working. Time was irrelevant to her, it would take as long as necessary. She accepted some small commissions, enough to buy supplies and food for the household, but her entire focus was on her project. It was where her heart was.
After the monolith of Fëanor was complete, she moved a red-tinged stone into the workshop in its place and began to carve Maedhros. Where Fëanor was looking upward and holding his hand, palm up toward the stars, her eldest son was looking ahead with a level gaze, holding a quill in one hand and a scroll in the other.
A beautiful piece of mixed grey and black fine-grained stone that contained unexpected sprinkles of mica became an image of Maglor under her chisel and mallet. His hair was falling down across his face in a familiar pose that still made her want to sweep it from his eyes, and he held a lap harp against his chest.
She sculpted Celegorm from a blonde marble with swoops of darker hints of color throughout. His monolith featured Huan, his ever-present companion, curled up at his feet. Oromë had given the hound to her son in recognition of his exceptional hunting skill. The elf and dog were inseparable. The beast had been the cause of many social disasters at the palace as the boys were growing up.
Her choice for Caranthir’s stone was a dark grey, stark but beautiful to her eyes. She had always felt that her ‘dark elf’ was misinterpreted and hidden behind the more flamboyant of his brothers. He was quick of temper, but that wasn’t unusual in her family. She felt he was steadfast of heart, honest, and a good friend to those in need. She carved him gazing into the distance, a pack at his back because he was often wandering.
Curufin she depicted using a brown larger-grained stone, holding his infant son in one arm and some of his artisan's tools in the other. Of all her children, he was the only one to give her a grandchild and had proven to be a good father, if not a great husband. His talents in the forge rivaled Fëanor's, and he was the only one of their children to embrace the fire as his calling.
Finally, she sculpted the twins together, their arms around each other's shoulders. They were never far away from each other in life and she refused to have their carven images separated either. The stone she had chosen for them was a pale rose color with mild peach overtones. She carved their long hair blowing in the wind as they faced their futures together.
When the eight sculptures were finished, she stood back and took a deep breath. Now it was time to speak with the three Queens of the Noldor. She began by taking horse to Valinor to speak with Indis. Although Indis expressed no disapproval of Nerdanel’s planned placement of her sculptures, she also said that she would not speak either for or against her plan. Nerdanel sighed, but it was no less than she had been expecting.
The next meeting was the crucial one for her. She entered an inner salon in the Royal House of Tirion, mumbling a soft prayer as she waited for Anairë and Eärwen to come into the salon. The two best friends, wives of Fëanor’s half-brothers, were as different as day and night but worked perfectly together. Their differences had proved to be their strength when they worked together during the Long Darkness. They were in charge of the Noldor before Finarfin returned from the Flight accompanied by those who decided to turn back when Námo uttered his edict.
The comfortable room was so civilized, and so different from Nerdanel’s norm. She curtseyed deeply as the two entered the room together.
Anairë ran to her and pulled her up, clutching her close and hugging her tightly. She whispered into her ear, “Sister, mine, you have been missed. We never see you anymore. What have you been doing? More importantly, HOW have you been doing?”
For a moment, Nerdanel stood there, enjoying the fact that someone was welcoming her and treating her with kindness. It was a reaction she was unused to, after been shunned by many elves following Fëanor’s Oath and the subsequent division between the three sons of Finwë. She pulled away from Anairë, stepping back, looking at the two women dressed in brilliant colors. The new lights in the sky – Vása and Isil, gave a different cast to colors than the Trees had, and fabric colors, flower arrangements and wall paints had all changed to brighter colors in their palettes.
“I need your help,” she stopped for a moment and took a deep breath.
“Oh, but surely you can have some tea first, dear?”
“Please, I don’t think I’ll have the courage to do this twice. I need help. Several Coránari ago I visited Mandos, standing at the entrance and searching for answers. I needed to know when, or if, my sons and husband would ever be reborn and returned to me. My heart tells me they are all dead now, except my two oldest,” she explained. Her eyes filled with tears and she fought them back, visibly shaken.
The two queens looked at each other, concerned. “What? …”
“Please,” Nerdanel gasped, took a deep calming breath and continued her story. “I begged Lord Námo for answers and he finally came to me. However, his response was ‘How long is forever?’ I admit, I was not thinking clearly afterward, but after screaming and weeping, I finally purchased stone and began to sculpt.
"I’ve sculpted my family – Fëanor and each of my seven sons, each carved from a different stone. I want to place them in a semi-circle, facing toward the East, where they met their doom.”
“Where were you thinking about, dear?” Eärwen asked. “Elves have long memories and they won’t easily forgive or forget your family.”
“I’m not sure, but I would like them to be looking out over the open sea. Please, I don’t want them to be forgotten. Not all that they did was evil and painted in blood; there was much good in what my family did for the Noldor. I can’t go farther on my own, but without your assistance the sculptures will sit in my stone yard and slowly wear away through many long years.”
“I think it is important that wounds heal and that memories of shock and terror are tempered, but the wounds caused by Alqualondë are still fresh and painful for the families affected," Eärwen said. “I have a memorial garden on a windswept knoll below the Pelóri Mountains facing out to the sea. It lies a day south of Alqualondë. I have carven benches situated there to allow quiet contemplation. If you will consent to your statues being placed there, I will arrange for their transportation and you may direct their final positioning.”
“May we see the sculptures?” Anairë asked.
“Of course. Whenever you wish.”
They arranged a time for everyone to visit Nerdanel's workshop. After more than an hour of the two women examining each statue, the two Queens left after exchanging firm embraces and an agreement for the transport of the sculptures. Within a few weeks of the initial viewing, Nerdanel was finally looking at the varicolored monoliths of her family, situated on an outcrop of the Pelóri Mountains and surrounded by sea grasses that were rustling in the ever-present breeze. As the wind ran through the reeds she thought she heard the word “forgive” endlessly repeating.
She reluctantly turned her back on them. It was time for her to return to living instead of her living death.
Format:Short Story
Genre:Family
Rating:PG
Warnings:Mention of death
Characters:Nerdanel, Anairë, Eärwen
Pairings:None
Creator’s Notes:Tolkien provided the sandbox, I merely play with the bucket and shovel he left behind. No profit of any kind is made from my fanworks.
Summary:After her devastating visit to Mandos, Nerdanel was determined that her family should not be forgotten. A sculptor or great renown, she began to carve, but had to call upon help from an unexpected source to bring the finished pieces into public eyes.
Stone Faith for the Future
Eight large blocks of stone were delivered to Mahtan’s workshop, taking up all of the extra space in his storage shed. Nerdanel had plans. She had been bargaining for the specific stones for quite some time. Now they were all gathered together and it was time for her to get to work.
The first stone awaited in her studio, black as darkest night with a small sheen of inclusions randomly charging the unrelieved darkness. She picked up her mallet and chisel, walking slowly around the mass, choosing the first impact point with great care.
“How long is forever, Námo? Others may forget or push back those memories, but I will never allow the diminishment of Fëanor in the memories of the Noldor. This is my answer to your 'forever'.” She raised her mallet and began working. Time was irrelevant to her, it would take as long as necessary. She accepted some small commissions, enough to buy supplies and food for the household, but her entire focus was on her project. It was where her heart was.
After the monolith of Fëanor was complete, she moved a red-tinged stone into the workshop in its place and began to carve Maedhros. Where Fëanor was looking upward and holding his hand, palm up toward the stars, her eldest son was looking ahead with a level gaze, holding a quill in one hand and a scroll in the other.
A beautiful piece of mixed grey and black fine-grained stone that contained unexpected sprinkles of mica became an image of Maglor under her chisel and mallet. His hair was falling down across his face in a familiar pose that still made her want to sweep it from his eyes, and he held a lap harp against his chest.
She sculpted Celegorm from a blonde marble with swoops of darker hints of color throughout. His monolith featured Huan, his ever-present companion, curled up at his feet. Oromë had given the hound to her son in recognition of his exceptional hunting skill. The elf and dog were inseparable. The beast had been the cause of many social disasters at the palace as the boys were growing up.
Her choice for Caranthir’s stone was a dark grey, stark but beautiful to her eyes. She had always felt that her ‘dark elf’ was misinterpreted and hidden behind the more flamboyant of his brothers. He was quick of temper, but that wasn’t unusual in her family. She felt he was steadfast of heart, honest, and a good friend to those in need. She carved him gazing into the distance, a pack at his back because he was often wandering.
Curufin she depicted using a brown larger-grained stone, holding his infant son in one arm and some of his artisan's tools in the other. Of all her children, he was the only one to give her a grandchild and had proven to be a good father, if not a great husband. His talents in the forge rivaled Fëanor's, and he was the only one of their children to embrace the fire as his calling.
Finally, she sculpted the twins together, their arms around each other's shoulders. They were never far away from each other in life and she refused to have their carven images separated either. The stone she had chosen for them was a pale rose color with mild peach overtones. She carved their long hair blowing in the wind as they faced their futures together.
When the eight sculptures were finished, she stood back and took a deep breath. Now it was time to speak with the three Queens of the Noldor. She began by taking horse to Valinor to speak with Indis. Although Indis expressed no disapproval of Nerdanel’s planned placement of her sculptures, she also said that she would not speak either for or against her plan. Nerdanel sighed, but it was no less than she had been expecting.
The next meeting was the crucial one for her. She entered an inner salon in the Royal House of Tirion, mumbling a soft prayer as she waited for Anairë and Eärwen to come into the salon. The two best friends, wives of Fëanor’s half-brothers, were as different as day and night but worked perfectly together. Their differences had proved to be their strength when they worked together during the Long Darkness. They were in charge of the Noldor before Finarfin returned from the Flight accompanied by those who decided to turn back when Námo uttered his edict.
The comfortable room was so civilized, and so different from Nerdanel’s norm. She curtseyed deeply as the two entered the room together.
Anairë ran to her and pulled her up, clutching her close and hugging her tightly. She whispered into her ear, “Sister, mine, you have been missed. We never see you anymore. What have you been doing? More importantly, HOW have you been doing?”
For a moment, Nerdanel stood there, enjoying the fact that someone was welcoming her and treating her with kindness. It was a reaction she was unused to, after been shunned by many elves following Fëanor’s Oath and the subsequent division between the three sons of Finwë. She pulled away from Anairë, stepping back, looking at the two women dressed in brilliant colors. The new lights in the sky – Vása and Isil, gave a different cast to colors than the Trees had, and fabric colors, flower arrangements and wall paints had all changed to brighter colors in their palettes.
“I need your help,” she stopped for a moment and took a deep breath.
“Oh, but surely you can have some tea first, dear?”
“Please, I don’t think I’ll have the courage to do this twice. I need help. Several Coránari ago I visited Mandos, standing at the entrance and searching for answers. I needed to know when, or if, my sons and husband would ever be reborn and returned to me. My heart tells me they are all dead now, except my two oldest,” she explained. Her eyes filled with tears and she fought them back, visibly shaken.
The two queens looked at each other, concerned. “What? …”
“Please,” Nerdanel gasped, took a deep calming breath and continued her story. “I begged Lord Námo for answers and he finally came to me. However, his response was ‘How long is forever?’ I admit, I was not thinking clearly afterward, but after screaming and weeping, I finally purchased stone and began to sculpt.
"I’ve sculpted my family – Fëanor and each of my seven sons, each carved from a different stone. I want to place them in a semi-circle, facing toward the East, where they met their doom.”
“Where were you thinking about, dear?” Eärwen asked. “Elves have long memories and they won’t easily forgive or forget your family.”
“I’m not sure, but I would like them to be looking out over the open sea. Please, I don’t want them to be forgotten. Not all that they did was evil and painted in blood; there was much good in what my family did for the Noldor. I can’t go farther on my own, but without your assistance the sculptures will sit in my stone yard and slowly wear away through many long years.”
“I think it is important that wounds heal and that memories of shock and terror are tempered, but the wounds caused by Alqualondë are still fresh and painful for the families affected," Eärwen said. “I have a memorial garden on a windswept knoll below the Pelóri Mountains facing out to the sea. It lies a day south of Alqualondë. I have carven benches situated there to allow quiet contemplation. If you will consent to your statues being placed there, I will arrange for their transportation and you may direct their final positioning.”
“May we see the sculptures?” Anairë asked.
“Of course. Whenever you wish.”
They arranged a time for everyone to visit Nerdanel's workshop. After more than an hour of the two women examining each statue, the two Queens left after exchanging firm embraces and an agreement for the transport of the sculptures. Within a few weeks of the initial viewing, Nerdanel was finally looking at the varicolored monoliths of her family, situated on an outcrop of the Pelóri Mountains and surrounded by sea grasses that were rustling in the ever-present breeze. As the wind ran through the reeds she thought she heard the word “forgive” endlessly repeating.
She reluctantly turned her back on them. It was time for her to return to living instead of her living death.
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