Precious Things: a drabble collection

[elvenpiratelady.livejournal.com]

Title: Precious Things
Author: elvenpiratelady
Rating: Teens.
Warning: Angst and foreboding, but nothing explicit.
Summary: Drabbles about the women whose lives were touched by the Silmarils.

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Nerdanel

 

‘Fëanáro?’

 

‘Yes, love?’

 

‘Do you love the Silmarils?’

 

‘Of course!’

 

‘But do you love them more than me?’

 

The pause lasts for too long.

 

‘I love you more than anyone in the world, Nerdanel,’ he says, and they do not speak of it again.

 

She doesn’t forget, though, and that worries her. She asked him a question, and he responded, but he did not answer her, and she cannot forget it. He said that he loved me more than anyone. Is that not enough?

 

No, it is not. She is still uncertain. Anyone, yes. But anything? She is not sure.

Lúthien

 

In the darkness before the throne, the Silmarils blaze like three suns, sharply etching shadows on the wall. She fancies that she can hear them singing, voices reaching far beyond the range of sound. The one that lies in Beren’s hand softly illuminates his flesh, highlighting veins like fine red rivers. He stares at the treasure glittering like a star in his palm for so long that she is afraid that she has lost him to its siren song – but then he looks at her, and her breath catches, for the love in his eyes shines brighter than any jewel.

Melian

 

Sleep is elusive: instead, she ghosts the silent halls. She doubts that she will ever sleep soundly again while the Silmaril is beneath her roof. She can sense it even now, calling to the shadows: the holy jewel only shines so bright because darkness surrounds it. Already, it has bewitched her husband. Thingol will not part with it – the jewel that bought their daughter, who was fairer than treasure and beloved beyond price – for any cause. Only she sees the evil Beren brought into their realm, but she can only strengthen the Girdle, and brace herself for the approaching darkness.

Nimloth

 

The messenger left almost a day ago, the sons of Fëanor will soon have their answer. The Silmaril – Lúthien danced for it, Beren bled for it, Thingol died for it, Melian faded because of it, and Dior will not yield it. In her heart, she knows it will end in blood. Her husband is well-liked, but he is not Thingol, and she is no Melian. There is no more magic to keep the darkness at bay.

 

She watches her children sleep, more precious to her than jewels, and she wonders if life without the Silmaril would really be so unthinkable.

Elwing

 

Covered in blood and mud with smoke staining her hair, she is no longer white and she no longer wishes to be Elwing. Elwing had a husband, but he is gone. Elwing had sons, but she cannot find them.

 

Elwing had a Silmaril.

 

That she has, hidden beneath her clothes and yet still glowing softly. She hates it now, the cursed treasure that has brought death and destruction to both her homes. She is pursued, but the cliffs are high and the sea calls to her. If the jewel is lost, her death at least will not be in vain.

Comments

[mistry89.livejournal.com]

Uncomfortable though it is to see them reduced to such base feelings, I thank you - being elvish/legend does not equate to being perfect.

[elvenpiratelady.livejournal.com]

Definitely not. I think the whole message of the Silmarillion is Elves are not perfect.