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[31 May 2013|02:35am] |
The light of Telperion filled his chambers with a silver glow as Kurvo lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. Though it was late, and his family was abed, his mind would not rest. A thousand different ideas flickered through his mind, each one more exciting than the rest, each one pulling him a step further from sleep. Finally, he sat up, pulled his thick, black hair back with a rubber band, and quietly made his way to the forge, past the rooms of all his brothers.
Even his father was asleep at the moment, but he didn't mind if he was in there. The others, of course, would require supervision, for they had not his talent. But Fëanor had told his fifth son that he could use his forge whenever the desire struck him, and it struck him strongly now. He needed to create, to make something from nothing, to shape something beautiful out of something dull. The desire, the passion burned in him, ate at him like a hunger that nothing else could assuage.
None of his other brothers understood that hunger; that fire. Well, Makalaurë, maybe, but he was an idiot, and so didn't count.
Putting on a leather apron and goggles, he sat at the forge, finding a certain peace in the difficult and tedious work. This was what it meant to be Ñoldor, after all, and something in him felt more at home here than anywhere else.
So engrossed was he in his work that he heard not the steps behind him, but softly hummed to himself as he worked - off pitch, to be sure, but happy just the same.
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[25 Apr 2013|01:51pm] |
The wedding was over.
Anairë had been vaguely aware of the festival atmosphere that had absorbed the city for nearly two weeks, although she had spent a good deal of that time in bed, catching up on the weeks of sleep that she had missed making the dresses. She had been awake enough, though, to have heard many comments about how lovely the princess looked, and how beautiful her dress had been. That was enough to warm her heart, and give her hope that this wedding could be the life-changing experience she had hoped it to be.
Of course, there had not been any new orders yet. But it was soon, of course. But a month! Perhaps other weddings would not be planned until the excitement from Findis' wedding was over. Perhaps other couples wished theirs to be separate enough from the princess's that they would not marry right away. But they would come - they had to, yes? After all, who would not want their dress from the seamstress who had spent so much time making the perfect gowns for the Princess's spectacular wedding?
Still, as the days passed and she found herself with little work to do other than the typical mending jobs that she did for those in the neighborhood, she couldn't help but worry a little. She still, of course, had the payment from the wedding, and was putting it to good use making a few repairs around the house and replacing all the supplies she had depleted with the wedding dresses. The rest would be saved, but it would not last forever. And it would not change their lives as she had hoped. And if more orders did not come...
Well.
She must not give up hope, not yet. She had done everything she could, put her heart into Findis' dresses. And surely the Valar would not allow all her work to be in Vain. Surely they would allow her to change her life, as she had dreamed when she had been chosen by Findis so many months ago.
She put the mending down for a moment, taking a deep breath of fresh air as it blew gently through the open window before her. Laurelin was twinkling, and the golden light fell on her table, her hands, and her hair. She needed to get out of the house, to stop worrying about things that she could not change. It would be, or it would not be, and fretting over it would not change her fate.
She rose, brushing her hair so that it fell in thick waves down her back, and holding it back with an embroidered cloth headband. Now that she was not so tired as she had been, she was putting a great deal of time into her own appearance once again, not for anyone (as there was, in fact, nobody to impress), but simply because she liked to look pretty. For herself. It made the world seem a better place when she took the time to feel good about herself.
Then she set forth from her house, with a few coins in her pocket, headed towards the market. She could not overspend, but she could pick up some vegetables, and maybe look at the combs for her hair. She had her eye on one of the Fëanorian made ones, although it was so far out of her price range that simply looking for too long felt that it would bankrupt her. Still, she could look at it, and dream. It was surprising how much dreams could get you through!
She purchased some vegetables, and some mangoes (her personal favorite), some more thread and a few needles before making her way to the more expensive part of the market. This was where the crafts of the Ñoldor could truly be seen. Art, musical instruments, jewelry, works of smithcraft, woodwork and design that none but the Valar themselves could surpass. It made her proud of her heritage, all these beautiful things, even if she could not afford them.
She stopped at the table that sold hair accessories, fingering her favorite for a moment (although she could not possibly afford it) before turning to one of the less expensive ones and handing it to the vendor, digging into her purse for a piece of gold with which to pay for it. It was not as pretty as the one she liked best, but perhaps it belonged in a princess's hair, not hers.
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[24 Apr 2013|07:03pm] |
Except for a short - and unintentional - nap, Anairë had been awake for several days now. There was so much work to be done, and so little time to do it! This was something that had to be done perfectly; for her sake as well as Lady Findis'. Her dresses were soon to be on display in the most important and well-attended event that Tírion had seen in years, and she wanted all the ladies in the city - and beyond - talking about them for years.
Blinking in exhaustion, she stood, and went into the kitchen to put on a kettle of tea and splash some cold water over her face. She brushed her hand through her hair, not even wanting to know how it looked at the moment. But it hardly mattered. She grabbed a ribbon and tied it back tightly to keep it out of her face before pouring herself a cup of hot tea and pouring far too much sugar into it. Normally she would not allow herself quite so much - but if this wedding and these dresses went as she hoped, then they would not have to worry about the price of sugar anymore.
And that would be an amazing feeling.
Returning to her table, she took a deep breath and began working again, biting her tongue with a Ñoldorin determination.
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[24 Apr 2013|03:57am] |
Anairë had taken her time on the walk to the palace in Tírion today. She had given herself plenty of time so that she could absorb how wonderful this new development in her life was. She had truly been asked to make the wedding gown for Findis, the eldest daughter of King Finwë! With all the seamstresses in Tírion, it had been her work that had caught the princess's eye, and her work that they had chosen to display in such a glorious way.
It was the chance, the break that she had been waiting for. It was what her family needed. Surely now there would be many, many orders of rich Ñoldor ladies wanting dresses from the girl who had made the princess's wedding gown! And her family would have enough, at last. Her childhood had not been a bad one, not by far! But they had also always had to be careful with money, and she had never been able to have the lovely things that she had always wanted; she couldn't even afford her own dresses.
But this - this one dress could change all of that.
It didn't matter that Findis was in many ways unpleasant or demanding, or that she was going today for the tenth fitting because of how incredibly picky the princess was. It was all worth it, knowing what this could do for her, and for her family.
Reaching the tower, she turned and looked back over the white city, and the sea beyond, hope soaring in her heart. She felt that she had reached the peak metaphorically as well, through her own hard work, and through the blessing of the Valar. She smiled, her eyes shimmering in the light of Laurelin, before turning to knock on the door, the light still illuminating her face.
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| The Seven sons of Fëanor |
[20 Feb 2013|12:34am] |
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Then Fëanor swore a terrible oath. His seven sons leapt straight-way to his side and took the selfsame vow together, and red as blood shone their drawn swords in the glare of the torches. They swore an oath which none shall break, and none should take, by the name even of Ilúvatar, ( calling the Everlasting Dark upon them if they kept it not... )
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