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Disclaimer: The usual, all characters belong to Tolkien estates. I don’t own anything, but I wish I own Feanor.

 Mother

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“Mother” he never said that word to a living elf woman.

 Instead, He abased himself to the exquisite pallid creature, which lied on the platform that was her tomb, and called her ‘Mother’ repeatedly, ever since he was old enough to form words in his mouth and understood them.

 

 She was in his dream humming a forgotten tune, and rocked him gently. Her silvery hair trailed down to her ankle, and her head lowered, exposing the graceful nape in the back.  Mother. Her eyes are forever closed, and he wondered if she is only the fragment of a dream.

 

But he knew. He knew she existed, and walked around Tirion under the golden lights of Laurelin. Her masterpieces decorated the white walls of his father’s House while her name was forgotten among the courtiers’ mouths. Only he the master artisan understood her skills in the creation of beauty had rivaled his own.

 

He knew because he was in her womb, and had perceived her thoughts. Mother and fetus are connected, not just the blood that was shared between them, but through the conjunction of souls during the gestation. She nourished him with her visions, and gave him all her wills, her strength and her soul. Upon her birthing bed she cried ‘Feanor’ as he screamed his first sound in the world, while she went to an eternal slumber, and he to life.

 

Mother, she lingered on.

 

Her essence in him weaved Laurelin’s and Telperion’s lights into one glory as he encased the Light with his feä. She gave him the energy to bring forth her fated children, his brothers.

 

Mother, he knelt beside her body in Lorien, holding the Silmarils above her snowy face, Behold your beautiful children. He placed the Silmarils on her abdomen, and folded her frozen hands over the jewels. Touch the fate your death tried to bring.

 

Feanor then closed his eyes and laid his head on her stiff shoulder. The Silmarils in her hands shone brilliantly, casting an unearthly glow around the elf woman’s tomb, making her more beautiful than Varda Elentari.

 

The world beyond Lorien rolled on gently without missing a heartbeat.

 

Note: This fic is not betaed. If anyone wants to volunteer to beta it, please drop me an e-mail.