Tolkien Fan Fiction
| 39 |
| Spirit of Fire |
Meril asked for a happy moment between Nerdanel and Fëanor. This obviously isn't anything of the sort, but I got dispensation to be angsty this time nonetheless. ;-) |
| Where he sought hands to do his will, she sought hearts to know them. Hence at the forge (so halved by absences, Séno couldn't riddle it whole) she works the patient flame anew. Bellows heave, metal flows—liquid lead, burning in the belly, his rages that she couldn't quench. Etch carefully, swallow acid resentment—nevermind the pain. One day she'll vomit wisdom; she's but to sicken of love—or not, it doesn't matter. That's the consubstantial catch that forging teaches: We only live, only suspire Consumed by either fire or fire. Nerdanel pauses, breathes deep, then bends to work again. |
Who then devised the torment? Love. Love is the unfamiliar Name Behind the hands that wove The intolerable shirt of flame Which human power cannot remove. We only live, only suspire Consumed by either fire or fire. —T.S. Eliot, Little Gidding |