The dust of their arrival hadn't yet quite settled. Syeira had certainly expected a rougher welcome, but it hadn't been the small war she'd been prepping herself for, even before she had convinced Maglor to try and sail. Still there was a lot going on. Not the least of it was explaining herself. Being not of Arda had caused a bit of a stir, and she'd find herself having to explain a lot of things. At times, she missed the anonymous simplicity and easy acceptance of their life in that eastern beach.
Truth be told, though, the Valar barely fazed her with their questioning. Gods weren't as humbling or intimidating as the woman who was her mother in law. Not that she'd been anything but welcoming and kind to Syeira. More it was that her opinion meant more than any other, and Syeira hadn't actually gotten it. Not in full.
So armed with a tray of tea and a light meal, to smooth the way (she want above a bribe ok), she stepped into Nerdanel's work room, clearing her throat to announce herself, since her hands were too full to knock.
"I didn't make any of it, I promise." Her cooking skills had only moderately improved in the years alone with Maglor, and her lack of culinary talent was no secret. Making a good impression certainly wouldn't happen if she bought bland food and over steeped tea.
She sets the tray down and suddenly she has nothing useful to do with her hands. So one gets raked through her hair, and then hovers awkwardly, before she settles on putting them behind her back.
"I've never made anyone ill, but the best I usually manage is passable."
She nods, because it would be odd to refuse, even though her instinct was to say she didn't want to be any trouble. A contradictory set of feelings, so she just does as she's told, and sits. She really needs to stop over thinking everything.
"It's not the first time I've been questioned about myself, or been the subject of speculation and gossip. The people are at least civil, so that's a nice change from Faerun."
As long as no one tries to send her back, they can whisper about her all they like. She can't really blame anyone. The details of where she'd come from had been kept from the public at large, but enough people knew that the bare minimum had made it around. She wasn't from Arda, had no relation amount any of the elves to speak of, and had arrived at the side of the last exiled son of the House of Feanor. If her pain was reversed, she'd speculate too.
"I'm more concerned with how Maglor is adjusting, generally." Fussy and protective? You bet.
"Belive me, I was little better, in my time! It just takes practice, really."
She nods, passing Syeira her cup and curling her hands around her owwn.
"If they aren't, you're to tell me." She says firmly. "Or Arafinwe. I promise, he won't bite! He's a sweetheart, and you wouldn't even know he's the King, most of the time. We can't stop them talking - we're all Noldor, and curious! - but they shouldn't ever be rude."
She smiles wanly.
"That, I can't answer. He sees you more than he sees me, I think. We're still feeling each other out a little."
"I'll remember that." She won't say a word, not unless someone out right threatens her. Even then, she's likely to deal with it herself first.
That isn't to say she doesn't feel the weight behind Nerdanel's order. It reminds her of Jaheira. No nonsense, protective, quietly fierce. She can see where Maglor got it, that silent promise of a storm on the horizon, if something he cares for is even looked at askance.
The subject of herself is always an awkward one. But her husband is one she can turn to easily. It's always easier to focus on others than herself.
"If I may, I'd advise you to perhaps be a little aggressive with him, in the vein of being together and reacquainting. He's very uncertain of his footing in all this. Assumes the worst, and treads exceptionally carefully. It could take literal ages for him to come around if he's left to his own devices."
She smiles sadly, and very fondly. "Oh Makalaure. Forever putting off things you don't like, even now."
She nods at Syeira. "Thank you - I see I will have to try a little harder! You'll have to help me with that - I feel I hardly know him, any more. What makes him comfortable? What sort of foods does he enjoy these days?"
'Tears unnumbered ye shall shed; and the Valar will fence Valinor against you, and shut you out, so that not even the echo of your lamentation shall pass over the mountains. On the House of Fëanor the wrath of the Valar lieth from the West unto the uttermost East, and upon all that will follow them it shall be laid also. Their Oath shall drive them, and yet betray them, and ever snatch away the very treasures that they have sworn to pursue. To evil end shall all things turn that they begin well; and by treason of kin unto kin, and the fear of treason, shall this come to pass. The Dispossessed shall they be for ever.'
So said Namo. Those words echoed in Feanor's mind once his body ceased to exist and he woke within that Vala's Halls. They chased him and clung to his steps everywhere he went. He doesn't expect to ever be Reborn.
But time does pass. Some wounds heal. Some even learn. Feanor is nothing if not curious and eager to learn all he can, so he can master it. He faces every challenge squarely.
...And...Eventually...A door opens before him, leading into Light that he'd almost forgotten exists. Air. Grass. Wind!
He tips his head back, standing a few paces from the door, and just remembers how to breathe. So many senses to remember! His mind hadn't forgotten, but this is a new body with all it's innocence.
Nerdanel. He must find her. All else is secondary. He must...
Nerdanel the Wise, they call her, who turned from her husband's path. Nerdanel the Widow, Nerdanel the Faithful, who stayed when her family went.
But Nerdanel herself does not feel wise - if she was truly wise, surely, she could have found another road?
She is faithful, yes, but not the way they mean it, when they call her that. The Ages pass, the years rolling by unnoticed by most, and Nerdanel's home fills with statues of the lost as she waits. In the days of their youth their love was as fire, hot and heady and reckless. In the ashes of what their marriage became though, Nerdanel waits, tending the embers of what was and hoping.
One day, maybe, her boys will come home. One day, maybe, her husband, also.
Nerdanel is Faithful - in more ways than one.
Slowly, one by one, the Halls release their dead. And then, one day... the news is brought to her, that at last, her final hope is revealed.
She stands at the Gates of Return and waits, hands twisting around themselves, and waits to see what her own heart will say, when confronted with the impossible.
His heart tells him where she is before he sees her. He wears very little, but it doesn't matter. It's beneath his notice. Feet bare, just the slightest inner robe, unadorned, covers him.
He's strong enough to run. And he does, following his heart, hair wild in the wind as he ignores everything, everyone except her.
He doesn't ask, though perhaps he should. She is HERE. And without a word of greeting or ask for forgiveness, he reaches for her to pick her up and pull her close.
Even a fool can learn if given enough time to brood.
She has barely any warning before there is a flame before her, and she gasps in surprise as he picks her up, and the cold embers that she has tended to so carefully flare to joyful life.
Once in a while over the centuries, Arafinwe hunts down his sister-in-law. Sometimes to keep her company. Others to get her aide in some matter or another. And still others just to drag her out because she's spent far too much time alone in her workshop. He understands some of her pain - he does. But he cannot, and will not, allow her to completely self-destruct.
This visit he just...has...something rather important to get her to do. Regarding a certain new arrival from the East. He waits until the usual pleasantries are taken care of and they're well into the visit before broaching it.
"One of the newest arrivals from Middle-Earth has been asking to meet you. It seems that two of your sons are his fathers." Bland. Straight-faced. Eyes maybe a little too bright.
As the years have rolled on Nerdanel's fire has grown quieter and sadder. With every tale of death and woe, she withdraws further away from society, hiding behind the protection of the eccentric artist.
She always has a smile for her family, is always welcoming, but it is rare indeed now to see her at functions and parties and after the War of Wrath she no longer comes to Court.
When Arafinwe comes she ushers him in to sit down and makes him tea. Indeed she is pouring him a cup when he says that.
For a long moment she freezes, and then just before the cup can overflow she sets the pot down with a sharp noise.
"Surely you must have misheard" she says, almost lightly. "I am sure I would only be an imposition."
She'd promised, in the end, to Sail one day. In the end, it had been Elrond asking her to come with him when he left Middle-Earth. She'd watched the shores as the ship sailed, saw her uncle watching, singing them off one last time.
Setting foot in Valinor is an experience of its own, and she'd drawn all the poise of being who and what she is about her.
And then Canien...slipped away. The hustle and bustle of the port cries of crowds that she's not used to. It takes...a while. Before she hears of where one relative is. A relative she doubts even knows of her existence - or has her father been reborn?
She thinks not. No. She knows he hasn't. The lack of him even here is felt as a sore to her heart. But she knows she must seek his mother out. Introduce herself...
Properly.
So she brings a few tools with her. In a basket she'd weaved herself, as her father had taught her. She knows that Elrond had sent a letter just ahead of her, but not what her uncle's fosterling might have said.
All she can do now, now that she's ridden all the way...is to knock. And wait.
"I'm busy!" Comes the exasperated cry from inside, and then footsteps, and Nerdanel opens the door, hands and hair and clothes all white with plaster dust.
"Arafinwe, I already told you... oh!" She stops mid tirade and blinks at Canien.
"Your pardon." She says slowly. "Do I... know you?"
So very like her father in the midst of one of his creations. Canien fights the sudden flash of loss and affection that clash horribly in her heart. She has her grandmother's hair, she absently notices. Just the same shade as her own mother and her father.
She presses a hand lightly over her heart and bows slightly, unable to look away. "Lord Elrond might have sent you a message, informing you of my arrival? I am Canien." And her accent is just like Caranthir's.
"That is not how Elrond sees him," she answers with wry amusement. Just a slight twist of her lips. "He sees you as his grandmother.
"I Sailed with him."
Canien steps in and gently sets the basket down on the newly cleared space. Then, takes a breath as she turns back to the older woman.
"I...should introduce myself fully. For the first time in a very long time."
From around her neck, she removes the one thing she's carried with her since she'd seen her father last. One of his prized pins from even before reaching Middle-Earth. Carefully wrapped and protected, visible only when the thong it hangs from is removed from her neck. And holds it out to Nerdanel.
"I am Canien. The daughter of Carnistir Feanorion."
"It won't matter." Not to Elrond. "He is stubborn. And horribly kind."
And courageous. Canien has been hiding who she is for so long, it took effort to even say her beloved father's name. Much less her relation to him.
But watching Nerdanel - her grandmother - react...she draws in a careful, steadying breath, and nods just once. And gently sets the pin in the other's hand.
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timeasmymeasure
/wildly makes things up
Date: 2018-08-13 02:34 am (UTC)Truth be told, though, the Valar barely fazed her with their questioning. Gods weren't as humbling or intimidating as the woman who was her mother in law. Not that she'd been anything but welcoming and kind to Syeira. More it was that her opinion meant more than any other, and Syeira hadn't actually gotten it. Not in full.
So armed with a tray of tea and a light meal, to smooth the way (she want above a bribe ok), she stepped into Nerdanel's work room, clearing her throat to announce herself, since her hands were too full to knock.
"May I come in?"
\o/
Date: 2018-08-13 06:19 am (UTC)"Syeira! Yes, come in dear. Let me..." she looks around, before tidying a small table where they can sit.
"And you brought tea! Thank you."
<3
Date: 2018-08-13 06:46 am (UTC)She sets the tray down and suddenly she has nothing useful to do with her hands. So one gets raked through her hair, and then hovers awkwardly, before she settles on putting them behind her back.
"I just thought you might be hungry."
<3 <3 <3
Date: 2018-08-13 07:09 am (UTC)Nerdanel pushes a couple of notebooks off to the side to allow them both to sit, shooing Syeira to the other chair.
"Why, that's very kind of you to say so. Thank you. Here, shall I pour us the tea? Is all going well with your adjusting?"
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Date: 2018-08-13 03:00 pm (UTC)She nods, because it would be odd to refuse, even though her instinct was to say she didn't want to be any trouble. A contradictory set of feelings, so she just does as she's told, and sits. She really needs to stop over thinking everything.
"It's not the first time I've been questioned about myself, or been the subject of speculation and gossip. The people are at least civil, so that's a nice change from Faerun."
As long as no one tries to send her back, they can whisper about her all they like. She can't really blame anyone. The details of where she'd come from had been kept from the public at large, but enough people knew that the bare minimum had made it around. She wasn't from Arda, had no relation amount any of the elves to speak of, and had arrived at the side of the last exiled son of the House of Feanor. If her pain was reversed, she'd speculate too.
"I'm more concerned with how Maglor is adjusting, generally." Fussy and protective? You bet.
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Date: 2018-08-13 03:14 pm (UTC)"Belive me, I was little better, in my time! It just takes practice, really."
She nods, passing Syeira her cup and curling her hands around her owwn.
"If they aren't, you're to tell me." She says firmly. "Or Arafinwe. I promise, he won't bite! He's a sweetheart, and you wouldn't even know he's the King, most of the time. We can't stop them talking - we're all Noldor, and curious! - but they shouldn't ever be rude."
She smiles wanly.
"That, I can't answer. He sees you more than he sees me, I think. We're still feeling each other out a little."
no subject
Date: 2018-08-13 03:40 pm (UTC)That isn't to say she doesn't feel the weight behind Nerdanel's order. It reminds her of Jaheira. No nonsense, protective, quietly fierce. She can see where Maglor got it, that silent promise of a storm on the horizon, if something he cares for is even looked at askance.
The subject of herself is always an awkward one. But her husband is one she can turn to easily. It's always easier to focus on others than herself.
"If I may, I'd advise you to perhaps be a little aggressive with him, in the vein of being together and reacquainting. He's very uncertain of his footing in all this. Assumes the worst, and treads exceptionally carefully. It could take literal ages for him to come around if he's left to his own devices."
The voice of experience.
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Date: 2018-08-14 06:06 am (UTC)She smiles sadly, and very fondly. "Oh Makalaure. Forever putting off things you don't like, even now."
She nods at Syeira. "Thank you - I see I will have to try a little harder! You'll have to help me with that - I feel I hardly know him, any more. What makes him comfortable? What sort of foods does he enjoy these days?"
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Date: 2018-08-13 07:32 am (UTC)So said Namo. Those words echoed in Feanor's mind once his body ceased to exist and he woke within that Vala's Halls. They chased him and clung to his steps everywhere he went. He doesn't expect to ever be Reborn.
But time does pass. Some wounds heal. Some even learn. Feanor is nothing if not curious and eager to learn all he can, so he can master it. He faces every challenge squarely.
...And...Eventually...A door opens before him, leading into Light that he'd almost forgotten exists. Air. Grass. Wind!
He tips his head back, standing a few paces from the door, and just remembers how to breathe. So many senses to remember! His mind hadn't forgotten, but this is a new body with all it's innocence.
Nerdanel. He must find her. All else is secondary. He must...
no subject
Date: 2018-08-13 07:40 am (UTC)But Nerdanel herself does not feel wise - if she was truly wise, surely, she could have found another road?
She is faithful, yes, but not the way they mean it, when they call her that. The Ages pass, the years rolling by unnoticed by most, and Nerdanel's home fills with statues of the lost as she waits. In the days of their youth their love was as fire, hot and heady and reckless. In the ashes of what their marriage became though, Nerdanel waits, tending the embers of what was and hoping.
One day, maybe, her boys will come home. One day, maybe, her husband, also.
Nerdanel is Faithful - in more ways than one.
Slowly, one by one, the Halls release their dead. And then, one day... the news is brought to her, that at last, her final hope is revealed.
She stands at the Gates of Return and waits, hands twisting around themselves, and waits to see what her own heart will say, when confronted with the impossible.
no subject
Date: 2018-08-13 07:46 am (UTC)He's strong enough to run. And he does, following his heart, hair wild in the wind as he ignores everything, everyone except her.
He doesn't ask, though perhaps he should. She is HERE. And without a word of greeting or ask for forgiveness, he reaches for her to pick her up and pull her close.
Even a fool can learn if given enough time to brood.
no subject
Date: 2018-08-13 07:59 am (UTC)"Feanaro!"
She prostests.
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Date: 2018-08-13 08:09 am (UTC)Feanor laughs at her protest but eventually sets her gently back on her feet, though he keeps his arms wrapped around her waist.
Then he sobers a little, looking into her eyes. "You have waited a long time. Was it worth it?"
no subject
Date: 2018-08-13 08:18 am (UTC)She looks up at him from the circle of his arms and shakes her head, eyes bright with joyful tears.
"You fool. I waited for you for so long! Why are you always so stubborn?"
no subject
Date: 2018-08-13 08:29 am (UTC)"I am a fool. I was never more a fool than to ignore you in those last days." See? LEARNING!
The smile turns to more of a grin. "Would you have me be any other way?"
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Date: 2018-08-13 08:38 am (UTC)"You were, you are, oh Feanaro! I missed you."
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Date: 2020-08-19 04:21 pm (UTC)This visit he just...has...something rather important to get her to do. Regarding a certain new arrival from the East. He waits until the usual pleasantries are taken care of and they're well into the visit before broaching it.
"One of the newest arrivals from Middle-Earth has been asking to meet you. It seems that two of your sons are his fathers." Bland. Straight-faced. Eyes maybe a little too bright.
no subject
Date: 2020-08-20 12:26 am (UTC)She always has a smile for her family, is always welcoming, but it is rare indeed now to see her at functions and parties and after the War of Wrath she no longer comes to Court.
When Arafinwe comes she ushers him in to sit down and makes him tea. Indeed she is pouring him a cup when he says that.
For a long moment she freezes, and then just before the cup can overflow she sets the pot down with a sharp noise.
"Surely you must have misheard" she says, almost lightly. "I am sure I would only be an imposition."
no subject
Date: 2020-09-13 02:02 pm (UTC)Setting foot in Valinor is an experience of its own, and she'd drawn all the poise of being who and what she is about her.
And then Canien...slipped away. The hustle and bustle of the port cries of crowds that she's not used to. It takes...a while. Before she hears of where one relative is. A relative she doubts even knows of her existence - or has her father been reborn?
She thinks not. No. She knows he hasn't. The lack of him even here is felt as a sore to her heart. But she knows she must seek his mother out. Introduce herself...
Properly.
So she brings a few tools with her. In a basket she'd weaved herself, as her father had taught her. She knows that Elrond had sent a letter just ahead of her, but not what her uncle's fosterling might have said.
All she can do now, now that she's ridden all the way...is to knock. And wait.
no subject
Date: 2020-09-13 02:10 pm (UTC)"Arafinwe, I already told you... oh!" She stops mid tirade and blinks at Canien.
"Your pardon." She says slowly. "Do I... know you?"
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Date: 2020-09-13 02:21 pm (UTC)So very like her father in the midst of one of his creations. Canien fights the sudden flash of loss and affection that clash horribly in her heart. She has her grandmother's hair, she absently notices. Just the same shade as her own mother and her father.
She presses a hand lightly over her heart and bows slightly, unable to look away. "Lord Elrond might have sent you a message, informing you of my arrival? I am Canien." And her accent is just like Caranthir's.
"I brought tools as a gift. May I enter?"
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Date: 2020-09-13 02:36 pm (UTC)"A letter? I suppose there might have been one. Elrond? He's the one my boys kidnapped. What business has he sending letters to me?"
Guess who rarely checks her mail. There's a reason Arafinwe and Earwen, and even Anarie learnt to just show up when they want something.
"Well, you're here, so come in. Tea?"
She looks around and clears space absently.
Nodding, Nerdanel steps back, beckoning her in.
no subject
Date: 2020-09-13 02:46 pm (UTC)"I Sailed with him."
Canien steps in and gently sets the basket down on the newly cleared space. Then, takes a breath as she turns back to the older woman.
"I...should introduce myself fully. For the first time in a very long time."
From around her neck, she removes the one thing she's carried with her since she'd seen her father last. One of his prized pins from even before reaching Middle-Earth. Carefully wrapped and protected, visible only when the thong it hangs from is removed from her neck. And holds it out to Nerdanel.
"I am Canien. The daughter of Carnistir Feanorion."
no subject
Date: 2020-09-13 02:59 pm (UTC)"Is not going to go down well."
Just saying.
Her hands fly up and her eyes lock onto the pin.
"Carnistir's daughter?" She reaches a trembling hand for the the pin and then looks up at Canien.
"My... granddaughter?"
no subject
Date: 2020-09-13 03:08 pm (UTC)And courageous. Canien has been hiding who she is for so long, it took effort to even say her beloved father's name. Much less her relation to him.
But watching Nerdanel - her grandmother - react...she draws in a careful, steadying breath, and nods just once. And gently sets the pin in the other's hand.
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