2. Chapter 2
"What troubles you, my husband?" she asked.
His mind was quick to return to business. "You have more experience in illness than me."
"Not too much. The servants care for the sick animals, and I'm rarely needed for such matters."
"But you've healed our sons when their hearts are heavy. Your hands are skilled in craft, but they are also gentle and nurturing." Feanor took her in his arms and drew her to a nearby couch. She sat in his lap but did not allow him any further distraction. She stroked his lovely jet black hair.
"Again, what is it that troubles you, beloved?" Nerdanel asked.
"My Silmarilli are sick." His beautiful face was crestfallen, and at the mention of the Silmarils, his body became wholly unaware of hers. "I've brought them out of the workshop and kept them with me, but still they remain despondent. I don't understand. As you know, I traveled to Ezellohar recently, and I brought them with me. For a while, the Silmarilli seemed well, but now, they've become dimmer again." Feanor brought forth the crystal casket, which was now decorated with a lozengal in green with the device of a tree and three Silmarils in the center. The Silmarils shone as brilliantly as ever, and they took the light of Feanor's eyes and blended it into their own Light.
"They seem fine, Feanaro."
"No." Feanor drew them from their casket and cradled them in his arms. Nerdanel settled back on his lap and almost lost herself in the beauty of the Light. "They no longer show me visions of what is and what can be. And before they fell silent, I'd been teaching them to speak."
"Teaching jewels to speak?" Nerdanel laughed. "Isn't it enough that you've designed emblems for them? Or that you've created jewels that can record and replay images and spoken messages? The Silmarilli are alive, but they are still jewels."
"Of late, they've become more than that." Feanor passed the Silmarils to Nerdanel, who held them as she had her seven sons. The Light flickered. Nerdanel almost thought she heard a soft cry in the still air. "You see?" Feanor took the Silmarils back into his own arms. He rocked them and hushed them as he'd seen Nerdanel do, as he himself had gradually learn to do as their sons had slowly been added to their family. "Light and sound are nothing more than waves. The two are almost interchangeable in principle. The Silmarils were doing so in practice until they became ill."
"The Silmarilli can speak?" Nerdanel said in surprise. Feanor nodded. He hugged the Silmarils and whispered soft words of reassurance to them. After a while, Nerdanel heard it, a soft music unlike any instrument that filled the room and yet seemed no louder than a gentle breeze. They were singing the Song of Light. Nerdanel laughed. "It would be the first song that you taught them."
"They were singing louder and more merrily before," Feanor said. He hugged the Silmarils to his breast. "Do you think you can help them?"
"They seem closest to you."
"Nay, but you are their mother. They're not used to being away from me, but I think that you'll be able to help them in ways that I cannot." Feanor passed the Silmarils to Nerdanel again, and this time, they did not cry out. They glowed warmly in her arms this time. "You see, they're no longer afraid."
Nerdanel smiled and began to bounce them around. She heard giggles but knew them to be her memories of Amrod and Amras when they were still young. The Silmarils gave forth their Light, but now, Nerdanel began to perceive the dimness of which Feanor spoke.
"They're just lonely, beloved," Nerdanel said at last. "They wish to be with their brothers, but they cannot ride or hunt or play like normal children."
"My poor children," Feanor said. "I've named them you know: Imin, Tata, and Enel."
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.