Title:Gems of Light
Theme:The Jewels of June
Elements:Silmaril - Fire
Beta:None – Errors and poor decisions are completely my own.
Author’s Notes: Disclaimer: Tolkien built the sand box; I only play with the bucket and shovel that he left for me. No money, profit or non, is made from the publication of this story.
Gems of Light
The fires were banked and shielded, the door closed and locked, the windows shuttered. No light from the outside was allowed into the workroom, yet the walls and the deepest recesses were flooded with illumination, the shadows sharply defined.
An elf stood at a table and three shining, pulsing stones sat atop it. Fëanáro’s eyes were haunted and dark rimmed from sleeplessness, but his triumph reflected in the brilliance of the gems in front of him. They shone from the captured light of the Two Trees.
For years uncounted have I striven to entrap light into my gems, he ruminated. At first I snared starlight – the white lights of Varda's paintbrush scattered across the sky. Her lights captured in my gems, allowed them to speak. The radiance of that blue/white light was the pinnacle of my creations for many years. Holding that light in my hands I wooed my future wife by placing a star upon her finger, and with a gift of jewelry featuring one of the stones I appeased my stepmother. Yet I strove for more; I wanted to capture the illumination of my world and even join my own fëa to my gems. I envisioned their shine and glow, their remarkable LIGHT. I wanted to see how they would gleam and who they could entrance with their songs.
He grinned momentarily, then calmed again. The road between the star stones and these three had been long and arduous. He had obsessed about the making of these gems.
Thousands of earlier versions had been faulty in some form or another. He had shattered or crushed the defective gems, casting them out from the door leading to the forge. His sons, assistants, interns and students had learned to avoid him when he walked through the main room with his basket in hand to add more pieces to the walkway. But even the rejected shards were beautiful and as they accumulated they made the walkway iridescent.
The broken pieces gleamed in multiple colors whenever light hit them even though they were embedded into the walkway’s dirt. Over time more and more chips and faceted stones were pushed into the ground by the feet of those who walked to and from the Noldo prince’s busy workshop. Newer failures were added to the road frequently. Walking towards the forge when lights of the Trees mingled was fast becoming one of the wonders of Tirion; a must-see for all elves visiting the city.
It became a nuisance and Fëanáro ordered a wall to be built around the family compound to help control the curious and uninvited visitors. His determination to achieve success increased. He focused all of his attention on his experiments, only rousing from his workbench when summoned by his wife or one of his children.
Reaching out he took the three glowing gems into his hands, gazing into their almost-sentient depths. Now that he had finally achieved this long-sought goal, he was almost disappointed. Another task had always been awaiting him whenever he had achieved a goal in the past, but this time he had nothing intriguing to spur him on. When he had been younger he had invented a new system of writing. When that had been accomplished he had started working in the forge. Then he had apprenticed with Mahtan, captured starlight and wooed and married his beloved Nerdanel. Finally he had started to work on these gems. Now that he had captured both the Trees and himself within these crystalline structures, what else was there? His head cocked as he thought, the three gems being idly passed from one hand to another.
His sons were older now. They deserved the best blades for those times when ceremonial weapons were required.
He nodded. Alright, I will make weaponry – the most beautifully crafted that I can. And I will make sure that my sons know how to use these weapons because such a thing in an untrained hand can lead to injury. Once more he gazed at the gems, the pulsing spark inside each beginning to entrance his mind within an uncaring embrace. He placed them into a wax tray that he had prepared.
I'll start on the settings for the gems tomorrow. Within a few days I will shift my forge over to weaponry and armor. I'll have to order some iron from the northern mines near Formenos. By the time the materials arrive I'll be ready to begin work on those and my Silmarilli will have been set into my neckpiece.
He never questioned why he had named them “Silmaril” – radiance of pure light - or how much they were already becoming part of his daily thoughts. He never imagined that they would be forever associated with him, their very name carried as a curse on the lips of thousands who would die in the fruitless quest to retrieve them from the hands of evil in the distant future. He only saw their beauty. Covering the waxed tray he placed the assembly into his lock-box and, turning in the now dark room, opened the door and left the workroom. The Silmarilli, gleaming and vibrating in a high voice that not even elves could hear, waited patiently.