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Nerdanel sat alone in her workshop. The workbench her elbow rested upon had pieces of unfinished works littering its surface. The forge had gone stone cold. There were chunks of stone on the floor nearby which once had beckoned to her to fashion them into objects of beauty, but now just evoked nothing more than dusty shapeless lumps. Her hand hung limply, unwilling to pick up tools. Her eyes followed a beetle as it crawled across the bench and onto her leather shop glove, pausing at the apex of her wrist. She gently angled her arm to examine the beetle more closely, to see its smooth rainbow sheen in the dim light, but it, too, flew away.
She took off her gloves and shop apron. She hung up the apron. Ambarussa had let his apron fall to the floor, again; Nerdanel picked it up automatically and hung it back on its hook. She put her gloves on the shelf above the aprons on their hooks. Gloves had been stored on the shelf above each user’s apron for years, and decades, and might continue to be so for ages untold. The world could be broken apart and remade anew, and still the gloves would be stored on the shelf above the apron hooks.
In the palace that Fëanor and Nerdanel and their family had built in Tirion upon Túna, many of the living areas faced west, to catch the beams from the Trees as they shone through the gap in the mountains. Nerdanel now left the workshop through the large double doors that opened onto to a broad terrace open to the dark skies. With slow steps measured in the muscle memory of walking its breadth over the centuries, she walked to the edge.
No light came from Valimar now, but she could make do with the starlight.
The mountains surrounding the city loomed around her, their presence felt rather than seen. Usually she found their hard edges changing in the play of light exciting, inciting her to come explore the crags, feeding her creativity. Tonight (or perhaps it was day, she’d lost track of time), the wind coming from the north was dry, stripped of all but dust and cold stone.
North, where Formenos lay.
-----+-----
Nerdanel had been climbing for days, winding her way into the passes of Aman’s mountain peaks to the north of Valinor. Today she watched the birds circling above, noticing how they occasionally glided down to a particular spot on this mountain, well below the snow line. She could hear water flowing somewhere. Following her hunch, the sound was getting louder as she neared the area where she saw the birds disappearing. The exertion of climbing toward the birds’ spot left both her and her horse hot and panting for fresh water, and Nerdanel fervently hoped they would find the source of the enticing sound soon.
Suddenly, carefully guiding the horse through a narrow passage between two boulders, she was startled by a bird taking wing right in front of her, which splashed her with droplets as it took off. To her delight, she beheld a pool still rippling from the bird’s interrupted bath. There was a shallow cave sheltering the pool, fed from a spring flowing from between the rocks. Reflections off the water made the glow from Laurelin ripple on the ceiling of the cave. The pool was deeper near the spring, and more shallow toward the outside, before the stream flowed off the far side of the ledge and out of sight.
Although she wasn’t very skilled in nature magic, Nerdanel could at least sense that the water was untainted. She let the horse advance eagerly to the pool while she grappled herself closer to where the spring emerged to take her own drink. The water was clear and cold, and very welcome. Stepping back, she gave silent thanks to Ulmo for the clean water, and to Manwë for sending the birds to show it to her.
Scrambling back over the rocks after her drink, Nerdanel saw a hand-sized piece of stone that caught the light with a sheen on its surface. She picked it up and tucked into a pocket of her tunic. Making her way to the edge of the ledge, she took a moment to appreciate the outstanding view. Below her the stream wove in and out of view among the slopes of the mountain, giving her a sense of the path of descent she might want to navigate from there. Laurelin’s golden glow lit the haze over Valinor’s green valley.
Her keen eyes picked out the smoke arising from the faraway cluster of workshops and forges that marked her home. Her father, the smith Mahtan, appreciated his daughter’s need to balance periods of crafting with time outside the workshop for exploring.
He also appreciated the stones and bits of ore that she brought back from her travels. On previous forays she’d found several useful deposits of material here in the mountains, and her horse’s pack held more samples from this trip. She pulled the stone from her pocket to get a better look at it in the light. It appeared to be a broken piece of some sort of crystal. Nerdanel peered back into the cave. Yes, she could see some seams in the rock near the stream opening which could potentially be explored. She started walking back toward her horse, thinking to fetch her small rock pick from the pack and check the area by the spring’s opening, and looked at the rock in her hand again.
Nerdanel was fascinated by the crystal. The stone, while sizeable, was marred by a series of flaws throughout, giving a faceted effect inside. She thought it was smoky in colour, but as she turned it in her hands, the facets throughout showed different colours. One of the facets was pale green and seemed almost to flow like water even when the crystal was still. Another seemed to reflect flames, prompting Nerdanel to turn and crane her neck, looking in vain for the source of the reflection. Other facets seemed to catch reflections of the night sky, although it was golden day. The longer she looked into its reflections, the deeper the stone seemed to be, revealing more facets within. She was put in mind of green leaves, deep blue water rushing past, soft grey cloth, ripples resembling hair, and vague faces. She imagined the faces turning their eyes towards her, searching for her…
A beetle crossed the face of the crystal, startling Nerdanel out of her contemplation of the stone. Her mouth was parched again. Blinking, she looked around, puzzled that she was now sitting on the ground by the pool, Telperion’s silver light touching the roof of the cave above her head.
Had it not just been Laurelin’s glow, just a few minutes prior?
Alarmed, she tried to stand but her legs were all pins and needles and wouldn’t support her properly. She was startled by birds taking off from the ledge; to catch herself, she flung out an arm and dropped into a roll, ending up sitting on the floor of the cave again. She stretched her legs in front of her to shake them awake and looked at the crystal, still clutched in her hand. She realised that as she had fallen, she hadn’t dropped it, on the contrary she had unthinkingly curled the hand with the stone in to her body, cushioning it from impact.
The crystal’s depths now showed sprays of rainbow light along the edges of the facets, contrasting with the soft grey depths. Nerdanel found herself thinking that this sample would definitely fascinate her father. She could see Mahtan’s approval as he examined it, and his smile as he showed it to his wondering apprentices. If only she had more samples, she needed to find more samples. She needed her rock pick to get samples. The rock pick was in her saddlebag.
Her horse was not on the ledge with her anymore.
Alarmed, she shook off the vision, scrambled up from the dirt and staggered to the edge of the ledge again. Telperion’s glow had indeed replaced Laurelin’s, meaning that several hours had passed, somehow, while she was in thrall to the stone.
She could see where the bridle dragged along the ground, following the edge of the stream. Shaking off a sense of rising panic, she shoved the crystal back in her pocket. Stopping to fill the waterskin she’d dropped while contemplating the crystal, she followed the horse’s trail down the mountainside.
Telperion was waning and Laurelin just beginning to wax, affording Nerdanel some better visibility as she searched. Having scrambled quite some way down the mountainside, her nose alerted her to the horse’s presence before her ears did. Clambering over a tight bend over some large rocks, she managed to narrowly miss putting her foot into a pile that the horse had left behind. The horse was drinking from the stream just ahead of her, ears pivoted toward her but the tail flicking idly. Nerdanel gave a little whoop of surprise, then asked aloud, “Hail, my sweet! Now how do you suppose you got around that bend, my darling?”
The horse brought her head around to look at her and blinked languidly. "My legs are longer than yours, and I am more clever."
Nerdanel jumped with shock. “Clearly!,” she gasped.
Laughter greeted this response, as the horse calmly turned her attention back to the stream. Laying a hand on the horse as she drew alongside, Nerdanel could see the top locks of a dark head of hair over the horse’s back and a pair of dusty booted feet underneath. She scolded, “have a care, your mirth is misplaced, I felt her absence most sorely. Who dares jest so?”
“Someone who admires such a fine mare,” came the response. The owner of the boots turned out to be powerfully built, with long locks escaping from a hasty braid. The rest of him was as dusty and scuffed as his boots, but his eyes were clear and bright in Laurelin’s waxing light as he patted the horse’s neck. “She is clever, you know, she followed the stream down. And glad I am to see that her rider is reunited with her, after a day and a night again in my company climbing back up. Are you hurt, my lady?”
A day and a night?! “No! No, I’m-“ the sudden intense look he gave her was as disconcerting as discovering the time spent in the stone’s thrall. “I’m fine. Thank you. We, we were separated further up,” she squinted back up the mountainside, but couldn’t pick out the ledge or cave from this angle. The birds she’d followed to find it were not in evidence at that hour either. “We were right at this stream’s source, actually, up there. Somewhere.” She turned back to find that he had turned his intense gaze to the rocks above them.
“Then I shall continuing following the stream upward!” With that, he retrieved a pack from the rocks beside the stream and heaved it onto his shoulders. He met Nerdanel’s gaze again; she felt a shock at the heat that suddenly passed along her nerves. “Fortunate you are, to have such a companion who bears the packs so lightly. As my journey goes on, my pack becomes heavier, rather than lighter.”
“What are you seeking, …” she began, but realised she did not know his name. She opened her saddlebag, and brought out a loaf of travel bread to show him. “Forgive me, I know not your name, but you are welcome to share in a breakfast before journeying upward, if you will. I, I am grateful to you for looking after my horse!” She felt the heat again as he nodded assent, shrugging the heavy pack off again.
They shared the bread and some of his dried fruits and made introductions. When Fëanor realised that Nerdanel was the daughter of Mahtan the smith, to whom he hoped to be apprenticed, he excitedly showed her rocks that he had been gathering to use in his craft. Among them were some pebble-sized pieces of the crystal that had beguiled Nerdanel, but these had been smoothed from the running waters of the stream. As she picked one up from his palm, she could sense an attraction, but it had not the depths of the crystal she carried.
As she felt his eyes on her, Nerdanel laid the stone back in his hand. She wondered if the attraction was for the stone, or the holder.
She brought out her crystal and handed it to him. She could sense its power but avoided looking into it. She gritted her teeth as she saw his eyes widen and lose focus as he gazed into it. Laying a hand on his arm, she breathed a sigh of relief as he wrested his gaze back to her, his eyes clouded with wonder and confusion. At that, Nerdanel blushed deeply and explained to him that the power of this stone had beguiled her into losing track of the time, and her horse.
She decided that she too would like to examine the source of the stream again and see if they could find more of this powerful stone, and the two of them set off as Laurelin’s light brightened the sky.
-----+-----
Formenos lay close to that source of magical crystal.
Nerdanel felt her hands clenched into fists at her side. Consciously she unclenched, splaying the fingers out to stretch them. The rings on her fingers clicked. She hadn’t bothered taking them off when she came to the workshop. As she turned each ring to feel its stone and metalwork, she remembered the love and care that went into each. This one was a gift from her son Carnistir, this one she’d made for herself, and this one came from her father, and this one…
She paused on a ring that was a gift from Fëanor.
-----+-----
Mahtan stopped in front of Fëanor at the stoneworking station. The younger elf had been using the grinding wheel set up under the cooling fountain, but stopped what he was doing upon seeing the mentor pause. Fëanor’s eyes took in Nerdanel watching them from across the room, before flicking back to Mahtan. Schooling his face to appear nonchalant, Fëanor handed the cabochon on its stick to Mahtan before stretching his arms languidly.
“The shaping is all there, but I am still a few grits away from heading into the polish.”
Mahtan gave the gem a brief scrutiny before nodding and handing the gem back to Fëanor. Frowning, he turned to the nearby forge, its fires banked. Picking up a set of tongs, Mahtan dug briefly into the ashes along the side of the forge, pulling out an object. As Mahtan held up the object, it sparkled in multicoloured hues upon Fëanor’s abashed face. “This is…?,” he queried.
“This is, something I’ve been working on, Mahtan,” Fëanor squared his chin. “It’s only rough right now. I’ve been watching, the times you have been practicing the making of gems.”
“Impressive. The making and working of gems are two very different processes, though.” Mahtan replaced the sparkling gem gently back into its ashen covering. Gesturing at the spread of cabochons Fëanor had been working, he said, “I’m not sure you have the patience to work rough material into a gem, Fëanor. Now, the making of a raw gem, that requires pressure and fire, both of which you provide in ample supply.” Fëanor’s eyes gleamed with pride, until his mentor continued drily, “I will consider your next step, Fëanor, but for now, you need to work on the patience. Please continue with the cabochons.” He moved away to the next apprentice.
Fëanor clenched his jaw as he picked up the cabochon. Considering it again, he noticed an overly flattened spot marring the arc of the gem. Sighing, he took his knife and cut the wax holding the cabochon onto the stick, letting the stone fall to the floor. He gave it a savage kick into the sidewall of the forge before looking up and seeing Nerdanel still watching him. He snorted and stalked away, stripping off his apron and letting it fall to the floor as he walked. Without turning around, Mahtan growled at Fëanor to put away his gear properly. Fëanor pivoted midstep, returned to the station and swept the apron from floor to hook in one fluid motion before turning away again.
Nerdanel watched him go. Noticing that the tips of Fëanor’s ears were the same glowing red as the metal she was annealing, she smiled to herself and bent back to her work.
-----+-----
By the time Fëanor crafted the palantíri from the crystal they had discovered in the mountains, his polishing technique had become far more advanced. The two of them had also discovered that the restless visions the gazer could see in the stone were not completely random but of the past, present or even future. Additionally they could, by force of will, be guided. Fëanor had tried to attune Nerdanel’s original crystal fragment, but it was too fractured to allow more than a random view. Instead, he had presented Nerdanel with a small palantír fashioned as a droplet pendant, attuned to a similar item that he wore, so that they could communicate over distances.
Hers now lay between her breasts, dark and quiescent like her heart.
Turning away from the mountains, she walked back into the workshop, but the sight of all the empty stations was too confronting. Her seven sons had grown and were living independent lives before Fëanor had become obsessive about those cursèd Silmarils, but she hadn’t felt their absence as an abyss before. Nor could she blame her current dearth of inspiration on the lack of activity.
Walking to her workbench, she noticed all the tools were lined up in a neat row, arranged from smallest to largest. Once, she had been able to devote her mind wholly to her art no matter what was going on around her. Now she was reduced to fruitless fidgeting. Long seconds elapsed while Nerdanel contemplated an eternity of tidying unused tools. When had the wellspring of creativity ceased to flow?
What if she never felt that flow again?
-----+-----
She had fashioned statues of many of the Valar and Maiar. Although Nerdanel was acclaimed for the faithfulness of the likeness of each, she knew that they could adjust their outward seemings at whim. She had deliberately made the statues as comely and flattering as possible, so it didn’t surprise her when the likeness was lauded.
A likeness of Nienna, though, was a challenge. The reclusive Vala did not invite scrutiny of her self. She typically appeared cloaked in shapeless grey, unadorned and with downcast eyes. Nerdanel found herself rejecting most of the materials she’d usually use for the purpose as too gaudy.
Nerdanel thought about Nienna defending Melkor and showing him mercy when no one else would. She didn’t think she could. Melkor had been bound and banished when Nienna made a stand for his sake, despite all the hurts he had caused to Arda. Could anything beautiful be brought out of that?
She sat at the worktable, resting her chin upon her hand, turning over options in her mind. A beetle flew onto the table next to her, the blended light from the Trees bringing out the rainbow sheen upon its black wings as it skittered across the stone. Nerdanel smiled.
Nerdanel oversaw the installation of the work in Manwë’s palace of Ilmarin, high upon Taniquetil. Tulkas had carried the statue in a protective shroud to the heights, and sons Tyelcormo and Atarinkë had helped in the formation of the base and setting. A throng had climbed up from the valley to see the unveiling of this newest work, and Fëanor and all of her sons were all there with her. Makalaurë had composed some new songs for the occasion.
Eonwë had been dispatched to deliver the invitation to the unveiling to Nienna, but the answer she had given the herald was vague. Nerdanel couldn’t see her among the gathering, but at the appointed time she drew back the covering anyway.
The statue stood in a pool, its edge ringed with clear crystal teardrop cabochons. Nienna’s figure appeared indistinct – bent, not quite kneeling, arms held out in supplication. The face was etched and sculpted in the stone but not given colouring, or gemstones in the eyes as was Nerdanel’s custom. The statue was highly polished to a reflective shiny black, but with a rainbow-hued sheen along its curves when viewed from certain angles.
The assembled crowd gazed upon it thoughtfully, walking around and around to view from other angles. “It is lovely, truly,” Nessa hesitated, “but I don’t know if she will enjoy her likeness. It seems too …shiny somehow.”
Fëanor started bristling, but Nerdanel inclined her head to acknowledge the comment. She laid a hand gently upon Fëanor’s arm to calm him, then steepled her fingers together as she gathered up her response. “You’re right, it is dramatic.”
“What I was thinking was how we sometimes don’t see her, we just see how she reflects her mercy and compassion onto us all. This despite the fact that not everybody likes the way they’re reflected. But what she shows us is ourselves.” Nerdanel formed the curves of Nienna’s statue in the air as she spoke. “Is it her that is beautiful? Is it us? If we cried enough tears, we too would see ourselves reflected in the resulting pool. Would we wish to see ourselves then?”
The onlookers said nothing. A few looked thoroughly bewildered. Vana had her head cocked to one side, slowly nodding. Lórien’s brows had almost sunk to the bridge of his nose, but he was nodding as well.
Manwë rose from his seat. “Nerdanel, I think I understand what you’re saying about …all of us.” He looked around at the assembled. “I hail you, and I think this statue may be the best you’ve ever done. I truly can see all of us reflected here.”
Nerdanel inclined her head to receive the praise.
Estë moved her head back and forth, watching the play of the rainbow sheen on its surface. “What is this material, Nerdanel? It’s fascinating.”
“Yes, it is! It is a type of volcanic glass. It is natural, I didn’t transform anything. It’s a type called rainbow obsidian.”
“Volcanic? Do you mean from the fiery pits Melkor made? You obtained this stone from there?” She drew back as though the stone itself would leach evil into her being. The crowd tittered as Manwë frowned.
“Nerdanel.” The voice was soft but commanding; the onlookers fell silent and moved aside to admit Nienna into the circle. The Vala walked past Nerdanel and up to the edge of the pool, gazing upon her statue while the assembled held their breath. “This is how you see me?,” she asked without turning around.
Nerdanel was taken aback. Nessa was right; Nienna was offended. She opened her mouth to apologise but no words would come.
“I heard your explanation.” Nienna turned to Nerdanel then and took both her hands in hers, “I am honoured, Nerdanel. You have chosen your material well.” Tears stood in her dark eyes, and Nerdanel found tears welling up in her own as well. With the tension broken, the crowd around them broke into chatter. At last Nienna released her gaze, gave her hands a light squeeze and turned to go. A moment later she was gone.
She could still feel the warmth of Nienna’s hands along her fingertips. If Fëanor hadn’t been holding her shoulders, Nerdanel would have fallen to her knees, she was so awed. Her sons clamoured around her as well, until finally Indis edged through and led a stunned Nerdanel by the hand over to the pavilion and sat her down. Indis firmly dispatched the young elves to fetch drinks and delicacies from the refreshment table, until the small table beside Nerdanel was quite crowded with flowers and small plates. Then Indis laughed merrily, and bade her to eat and drink.
-----+-----
Nerdanel emerged from her reverie thinking of Indis, elsewhere in the palace. Neither elf had followed her husband into exile to Formenos, and Nerdanel had gone to stay with Indis. But, while she was estranged from him, at least Fëanor was not dead. Finwe had been slain in the aftermath of the slaying of the Trees, a turn of events so shocking that no one knew quite how to process it. When she was given the news, Indis had managed to persuade her own sons to stay behind and take up the leadership of the remaining Noldor, but the effort had come at a cost. Indis and her eldest daughter Findis had retreated with Nerdanel to Tirion, intending to travel back to Indis’ own people in Valinor. Indis had spent much of the time resting in the guest chambers, Findis sitting with her most of the time.
Nerdanel walked along Tirion’s corridors to her suite of rooms on the level above the workshops. Her hands hugged herself, rubbing along her upper arms and the armbands she wore. She knew every step, having lived in the space for so long, and could walk it with her eyes closed. Mere darkness could not impede her.
Her rooms contained well-crafted items of furniture, wall-hangings embroidered and woven in her favourite colours, a wooden wardrobe inlaid with gems forming images of the Trees on its doors. Gardens surrounded the royal house, and continued up and over its balconies and terraces, twining around balustrades made by Mahtan and Fëanor. Her combs, hairbrushes, nail files – all of her personal grooming items were handcrafted by herself or her loved ones. Her rooms contained everything she loved. Almost. She chided herself for feeling maudlin about her estrangement from Fëanor now, when it was too late.
As though against her will, her eyes lit upon a chest, carved with images of the carving tools that had created it, intertwined with words of love written in the Tengwar script Feanor had created. He had crafted it for her upon the birth of their third child. He had confided that he was overjoyed and relieved when Nerdanel recovered from birthing her sons without lasting incident.
Nerdanel opened the box now, but couldn’t bring herself to make a decision about its contents. Idly she picked up piece after piece, her heart twanging inside her chest as she remembered who had made them. At the very bottom of the box she saw a peculiar gleam. Pulling it out, she realised it was the crystal of palantíri stone that she had found so long before in the mountains. Its depths were dark, but the flat facet facing her reflected her own eyes. Slowly the crystal’s other facets began showing colours, the murky dark turning into a pure cold blue. The rainbow diffraction at the edges of the flaws became flames flickering around the reflection of her eyes, distorting them into resembling those other eyes she knew so well.
Her breath caught as she gazed at it, seized with a sudden desire to see Fëanor in the crystal, to see him gazing at her... She saw her reflection in the mirror above the dresser, gaunt with haunted eyes. “No,” she said aloud as she stuffed the crystal back to the bottom and hurriedly closed the chest, “I cannot.” The sound of her own voice in the silent house echoed. She found herself shouting at the silence, “I cannot. I cannot, Fëanor! I won’t!” There was no reply.
“I won’t listen. I won’t.” Squeezing her eyes shut in an attempt to stop the flow of tears, she unclasped the palantír pendant Fëanor had made for her. She resisted the surge of anger that tempted her to pitch it over the side of the terrace, and laid it on the dresser. But the anger would not be completely quelled and in a frenzy that grew in intensity, she stripped off the arm bands from her upper arms, then pulled ring after ring from her fingers, the gems flashing as she fiercely threw each memory down. She yelled an inchoate moan of defiance as she clamped her hands to the side of her head, thrusting her fingers into the mass of curls and flinging her hands outward again. The action pulled off the delicate net holding her locks, too roughly; pearls cascaded onto the floor with a clatter.
Her hair, loosed from its bonds, sprung in a red cloud around her face and shoulders. Shoulders slumped, she watched the pearls roll on the tiles, joined by fat splats from her tears. Then, the fury left her just as suddenly as it had emerged. She drew a shuddering breath. Untangling the remains of the silken hair net from her fingers, she chided herself aloud, “Now look what you’ve done, Nerdanel.” She stooped down to pick up the pearls.
Findis’ face appeared in the doorway. “Nerdanel? Are you unwell?” She stopped short a few steps inside the room when she saw the pearls rolling on the floor. She also stooped to help pick them up.
“I’m fine, I’m-,” she saw Findis’ red-rimmed eyes and sighed, “No. I am not well, Findis, the anger compelled me, but I trust it will pass. But tell me, how is your mother? How are you?”
Findis gave a small shrug as she continued picking. “She is much the same. When sleep comes it is a blessing. And I? I know about the anger. It makes me want to shout, too, it is unbelievable. I close my eyes, and I can see him there upon-, on the-,” she broke off to bite her lip.
Nerdanel guessed she meant her father. She stood up, carefully poured her gathered pearls into a small bowl on the dresser and passed the bowl to Findis. With shaking hands, she gathered her hair into a knot at the base of her neck. “Grim times indeed, Findis, and I haven’t the gift of foresight to see when or how it will end. May Námo keep him well in Mandos for the day we see him again. May Nienna have pity on us all.”
Findis nodded morosely and handed the bowl of pearls up to Nerdanel. She stood and clasped Nerdanel’s forearms, murmuring, “May Nienna have pity, but we shall see what mercy comes.”
Findis left and Nerdanel was alone again in her rooms. She shook the bowl of pearls lightly, allowing herself to simply watch the shimmer of the pearls in the low light for a few moments, reminding her of beetles. Sighing, she put the bowl on her dresser and started scooping up the jewellery she had scattered in her frenzy. The palantír pendant she nestled among soft garments in a drawer.
Would she know if Fëanor called out to her?
Would she answer if he did?
“Nerdanel.” She paused – that certainly didn’t sound like Fëanor’s voice calling her name.
A moment later, a thrill went up her spine as she recognised that quiet tone. She remembered hearing it once before, spoken by the edge of a pool on Taniquetil. She turned and Nienna was there, standing upon the threshold of the terrace that faced west.
She had never noticed before that Nienna had a soft glow about her, so soft that in normal light you couldn’t see it. But of course ‘normal light’ was now gone.
Without a word, Nienna crossed the room to Nerdanel and took her by the hand, leading her to a low chaise in a bower, Nerdanel’s favourite reading nook. She bade Nerdanel to sit as she sat beside her, then folded her arms around Nerdanel. Leaning back onto the chaise, Nienna leaned Nerdanel back to lie against her, and simply held her, rocking her ever so gently.
Enfolded in the warmth of Nienna’s embrace, Nerdanel once again felt the anger and tears spring to her eyes, but with Nienna’s support felt able to let go. The tears flowed freely down her face, down her neck, across her collarbones, onto Nienna’s hands and arms, but still the Vala held her. She began to shake with the grief coursing through her body, her breath gasping as though her very fëa was trying to shake loose from her body, but still Nienna held her. Nerdanel reached up to clasp Nienna’s encircling arm as though it was the last anchor left on Arda.
Perhaps it was.
Eventually Nerdanel simply leaned into Nienna, spent and boneless. Her ears were ringing with the silence as the blood calmed its torturous coursing through her head. How long they spent in that embrace was difficult for Nerdanel to tell. Sound returned slowly – the small chirps of insects and rustling of the leaves, Nienna’s even breathing. She heard low voices coming from down the hall; Indis and Findis singing together, a lay of grief and of comfort. Nerdanel nestled her head against Nienna, who joined in the singing. Her voice was soft and warm, a caress for the soul. The tears flowed again at the sound, but they were tears of relief.
Nerdanel sat in the darkness which was no longer quite so dark. She found herself staring not at the starry sky, but at a beetle walking along the windowsill. The faintest gleam shone along its body. Though it was too faint to see now, she knew well the pink, the green and the rich blue against the black. She had worked those colours and that gleam into her portrait sculpture of Ulmo and that of Manwë, had worked them as the sheen of water, and pearl, and starlings’ wings. But she remembered that what she had always wanted all along was to emulate the beauty of a simple beetle.
“How do you feel about beetles, Nienna?”
“Beetles?” The Vala sighed, “so many creatures created, and they all fit somewhere in the Great Music, in Arda.” She shifted herself slightly.
“We sang alone for Eru, at first. Each tone moved through the halls, each of us heard the thoughts of Eru from the voice of another. I heard, too, the silences between the thoughts, where the tones of thoughts were near to other thoughts but, the silences were their own. They too were part of Eru, but as we all began to sing together the silences moved aside.”
“I cared for the silence. I felt the silence in the halls, and gathered it to me as other music crowded it aside. And as the song developed with more themes together, the space between was no longer truly silence, it had its own sound, for I who would hear it. When I sang before Eru, I knew my part. I brought the sound of being aside, and apart, and alone, for all to hear.”
Nerdanel was transfixed by the cadence of Nienna’s voice. She scarcely wanted to breathe, lest she disturb the flow of the poetry of the telling.
“Once we Valar were given leave to go to Arda and make it our own, I did not go right away. I remained aside, apart, but even without the most mighty and their followers, it was not wholly silent. Those of us who remained outside Arda, we sang still. The echoes and the silences were still precious to me. But know this, Nerdanel,” her tone deepened, “I came to remember that silence only came about between the song. Using the powers of rest, I could bring shape to the music, making the tones softer, allowing the music to swell, and to breathe.”
“But I could not shape these tones, without the others. I too entered into Arda, then, alongside those who grow and those who create. And also, alongside Melkor.”
“Melkor?” Nerdanel swiveled to try to look into Nienna’s eyes. “The destroyer?”
Nienna’s eyes did not meet hers. “Melkor seeks, always, to create.”
“I…I do not understand. Melkor has ever sought to take what is not his, and- and,” her hands flailed, “break it, twist it, turn it into dust. All he creates is despair.”
“Ever, he sought the power to create,” Nienna repeated, “he found he could only affect the works of others. But he did find that he could destroy.”
She stroked Nerdanel’s hand. “Nerdanel, do you not see, that even as I found the my silence could bring shape to the music and make it more beautiful, Melkor’s destruction could shape the works of Arda into something more precious. I could see that Arda could not continue to grow unchecked; from Melkor’s works I learnt that breaking down and destroying could bring a transformation. From decay, from rot, from the broken pieces of Arda’s body, come the materials to heal it and make it anew.”
“How do I feel about beetles.” Nienna repeated the question solemnly. “I treasure them. They are, as Melkor, and Yavanna, and I, made them.”
Nerdanel gasped, “as you made them!”
“As we made them.” Leaning over, she scooped up the small beetle onto a fingertip. “I don’t need the light to know their colours.”
“Arghh, but the light,” Nerdanel sputtered as she gestured toward the window, “Melk- Morgoth destroyed the light, he destroyed the Trees, he destroyed-“ She bit back a sob. “How can that be something more precious?”
“Yes,” silent tears traced down Nienna’s cheeks. “The broken pieces of Arda’s soul. But I remember also, that you were able to find beauty and inspiration from Melkor’s works, once. Did you not fashion my image from the detritus of broken Arda?”
Nerdanel’s breath stilled as she remembered shaping and polishing the obsidian to create her statue of Nienna. “You flatter me, perhaps. I chose the obsidian at first, because it reminded me of these little beetles we have here, with their gorgeous colours. It was only later, as I crafted the work, that I realised how the reflections illustrated your mercy.”
“An inspired choice,” Nienna murmured, “but I cannot take any credit for the inspiration. You are a true daughter of the Noldor, crafting your connection to Arda.” She sat up gently, releasing Nerdanel to sit beside her on the chaise.
Nerdanel suddenly felt cold, bereft of the warmth of Nienna’s arms. Her eyes followed the Vala as she rose.
Nienna answered Nerdanel’s unspoken question. “Yes, I shall go now. But know this, Nerdanel – only Eru can hold everything. Everyone else must let go of things, or never hold them at all.”
Then she smiled at Nerdanel.
-----+-----
Nerdanel stood on the terrace. The darkness left by the trees’ destruction was not complete, for the stars remained. She remembered Nienna’s words and saw the spaces between the stars. She saw the spaces left by Fëanor, and Finwë, and each of her sons.
As she breathed out, she felt the sound of being apart and alone, and it was indeed beautiful. Almost as though Nienna was there with her, she felt the threads of craft coming to her from the aside spaces. After spending so much of her life with them, the spaces they had occupied were still clear in her mind, but already the edges of their absence were reaching out into the spaces of the world. The whole was not broken; the material was simply different.