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It's baaaaaaack!
The Stupid Silmarillion play strikes again!
In Scene Six, Nerdanel and Fëanor recount how they came to love each other. Per usual, this scene is a bit bawdy and very sacreligious. Flames will be given to Fëanor for amusement.
As always, comments and suggestions are welcome! And thank you for reading!
The Fëanorian Chronicles,
As Told by
Master of Lore Dawn Felagund, of Nargothrond
Master of Everything Curufinwë Fëanaro, of the Halls of Mandos
Act 1
Valinor
Scene 6: Of Winning the Love of Nerdanel
Nerdanel enters from stage right. She defies the expectation of feminine Elvish beauty, for she is neither svelte nor delicate, but strong and practical. Like Fëanor, her clothing is well-made and of beautiful material, but it is also sensible. She wears a short dress and trousers underneath, with boots much like Fëanor’s. She has long red-brown hair and a darker complexion than is typical of Elves. She is both purposeful and patient.
Nerdanel: (to the audience) Well met, good Edain. (She bows, and though courteous, the move is not graceful.) I am Nerdanel, the Wise, wife of Fëanor, the Spirit of Fire. I welcome you to this, the next part in our tales. (She pauses.) Long was my family faithful in service to Aulë the Vala, and being as how Fëanor was exceptionally gifted also in craft, it made sense that he as well should benefit from the tutelage of the wise Vala. It was here that I first met him, Fëanaro, the most brilliant of our people and the father of my children.
Fëanor dashes in from stage left and stops beside Nerdanel, gazing at her adoringly.
Fëanor: (taking her hand in both of his) Right, tell them, my beautiful Nerdanel, of the fire of our passion for each other, the tenderness of our love, the—
Nerdanel: (turns to Fëanor, jerks her hand from his, and uses it to smack him in the chest) Stop it, Fëanor! I’m still mad at you, you know!
Fëanor: (puzzled) How can you still be mad at me? ‘Twas but an hour ago that we renewed our marital bond—
Nerdanel: So you think that solves it all? You have used your sweet words and your beautiful example of Elvish anatomy to soothe my anger too many times before, husband mine! Not this time! This time you won’t come back, throw your so-called “new and improved” body onto me and quell my rage with twenty minutes of glorious and fiery passion. Not this time!
Fëanor: (wounded) You didn’t like the improvements?
Nerdanel: (tone changes to one of teasing amusement) Oh, no, husband mine, I did not LIKE the improvements. I LOVED the improvements. I have LONGED for the improvements for the last six-and-seven-sixteenths ages that we have been sundered from one another (she begins to move closer to Fëanor as she speaks) every night, in my cold, lonely bed with only the memory of you beside me, while you have languished in Mandos’ Halls, nothing but a bleak spirit lacking a physical embodiment with which I can toy—
Fëanor: (takes her into a careful embrace) And that you should toy with me is my dire wish, for it has been six-and-seven-sixteenths ages for me as well, and my spirit is not the only part of me that is on fire—
Nerdanel: This I know, fair husband mine, for I know well your spirit and your mind and every inch of your most-perfect-of-all-the-Eldar body—
Random Audience Member 1: Oh, please.
Random Audience Member 2: Feed us not your lies too, wife of kinslayer!
Fëanor: (draws away from Nerdanel slightly to address the audience) Hey, now, this is MY play, and I can script Nerdanel to say whatever I like. And if I wish for her to dwell again and again and again and again on the fact that I WAS created by Iluvatar to be the most beautiful of the Eldar, until even I become a bit nauseous of it, then by Eru, I shall! (Turning back to Nerdanel and speaking tenderly once more.) And I also wish that you should know my new-and-improved-most-perfect-of-all-the-Eldar body BETTER than the old one, my love. (He moves to kiss her.)
Nerdanel: (shying slightly from his kiss) And I shall, my beautiful Fëanaro. (He moves with her to kiss her again, and she smacks him in the chest.) But for now, I am still mad at you!
Fëanor: (recoils in alarm and looks hurt) Why? What have I done?
Nerdanel: (unbelieving) What have you DONE?! Well, I think your MANY crimes speak for themselves—I think everyone present probably saw the episode of Arda’s Most Wanted that featured YOU and did not paint so favorable a picture of ME—so I shall forsake their retelling for now and focus instead on what you have done to me! And our sons! Let’s see…. (She begins to count off on her fingers.) First, you left our home because you got exiled—
Fëanor: That I did, yes, but—
Nerdanel: (in a rage) TWICE! (Fëanor cringes.) And you took our sons with you, as though they needed further example of bad behavior, seeing as how the twins had already refused to talk for fifteen years, Celegorm would pine if he had to sleep apart from his blasted dog, and Caranthir had that weird fascination with knives—
Fëanor: I hardly think I was to blame for ALL of that. (Reconsiders for a moment.) Well, maybe I used to give Caranthir candy for doing that knife-swallowing trick to scare off Fingolfin’s brood, and I may have rejected the twins’ first overtures of speech because they were always so damned NOISY, but certainly I had nothing to do with Celegorm’s unhealthy love for his hound! I told you no good would come of Oromë’s invitation for Celegorm to go journeying ALONE in the woods with him, especially when Celegorm came back saying that Oromë let him blow his horn—
Nerdanel: You must always bring the Valar into this! ALWAYS! It is never your fault because the Valar are always—in some manner of mild coincidences, loose connections, and suspicious correlations—behind everything that goes wrong in your life! (Fëanor looks like he wants to speak, sees the anger on Nerdanel’s face, and thinks better of it.) ‘Twas you, Fëanor, who took our sons away, first to Formenos to live as exiled princes, enduring the stares of the other Noldor whenever they chanced to return to Tirion, then to Middle-earth, where one-by-one you got them all killed!
Fëanor: Not all. Maglor didn’t DIE, really, though he—like the other Elves who remained in Middle-earth—did eventually fade. (Defensively.) But that is hardly my fault, for that was the design of the Valar!
Nerdanel: (exasperated) The Valar again! Do you see what you do Fëanor? And forgetting Maglor, I still begrudge you for the death of six of our seven sons more-or-less at your hands!
Fëanor: Then you harbor false blame, for how could I have gotten them killed when I was already dead myself? (He looks smugly proud of his deduction.)
Nerdanel: You took them to Middle-earth, did you not? You encouraged them to swear a stupid oath, did you not? For Iluvatar’s sake, your last words to them were: (she mocks Fëanor’s voice) “Forget me not. Fulfill your oath.” Not “I love you” or “I will miss you,” but that rubbish! (Fëanor cringes, and Nerdanel continues triumphantly.) Oh, yes, I know all about what happened over there. Caranthir wasn’t TWO years with Mandos, and he was p-mailing me every day, telling me EVERYTHING. (She smirks with satisfaction.) And you always said that it was YOU to whom he was most loyal.
Fëanor: Keep Caranthir! Still I have the loyalties of my precious Curufin!
Nerdanel: (smugly) ‘Twas Curufin who told me what you did to the ships at Losgar.
Fëanor: (clenches his fist in frustrated anger) Damn.
Nerdanel: (smacks his chest and resumes shouting) And then what of me! You left me behind in Aman with only sappy Indis and her hugs and her cookies and Curufin’s sniveling wife for company! Six-and-five-eighths ages I longed for you, wept for you—
Fëanor: (shouting) And I stand before you now, so you choose to yell at me?
Nerdanel: (shouting louder) Only because, after six-and-five-eighths ages, I can stand to be angry with you for another five minutes!
The couple stops shouting and stands in silence for a few moments, contemplating each other.
Nerdanel: I believe my five minutes are up.
Fëanor: I had hoped they were. I can endure the wrath of the Valar, the hate of Morgoth, and the blades of Orcs, but your anger is unbearable to me. (He holds out his hand to her.) Will you join me then, in the telling of the tale of our love?
Nerdanel: (obstinately) No!
Fëanor: (confused) Why not, my love, for I thought I had earned your heart’s forgiveness?
Nerdanel: Forgiveness you have earned but trust—
Fëanor: (looks deeply hurt and offended at her implication) No wound is more grievous, my love, then the words you now speak.
Nerdanel: (sighs) I mean that you tend to exaggerate, Fëanor. No, I am wrong. You DO exaggerate, Fëanor.
Fëanor: I do no such thing!
Nerdanel: You do. And you have. For as long as I have known you.
Fëanor: Then tell me, wise wife mine, of one such instance.
Nerdanel: I could tell you of many.
Fëanor: But I ask for just one.
Nerdanel: The day we met. (She ticks off on her fingers.) You told me you had journeyed hundreds of leagues from Tirion. You told me that twice Manwe had commissioned you to make jewelry for Varda. You MUCH enhanced the telling of your physical stature—
Fëanor: (defensive) Those things are true now! (A bit uneasily.) For the last few hours at least.
Nerdanel: I didn’t say NOW, my love, I am referring to THEN, when you were far from meeting your purported dimensions.
Fëanor: (devilishly) But wasn’t it fun catching me in THAT lie?
Nerdanel: (rolls her eyes) Anyway, my point, Fëanor, is that I do not trust you to honestly tell of our first meetings. You would have us in love at first sight, running off to wed after only knowing each other for a week’s time—
Fëanor: I was thinking more along the lines of five days. It seems more impressive, don’t you think?
Nerdanel: (with irritation) It was hardly like that at all, Fëanor. If you recall, I couldn’t stand the sight of you at first.
Fëanor: Why, my love, that is entirely outside the realm of possibility. For we were drawn to each other first as artisans, each expert in our craft, and from there, the romance blossomed as does Laurelin in the first song of morning. You loved first my mind, and it was the love of colleagues and friends, but then you discovered that I had been gifted the greatest body of all the Eldar—
Random Audience Member 1: This is sickening!
Random Audience Fangirl: I want you, Fëanor!
Fëanor: (pointedly) I recall Nerdanel saying much the same thing, (voice becomes more wistful as he goes on) as we worked long by Telperion’s silver light, warmed by the heat from the forge and the passion in our hearts. And we turned to each other—not just as friends—but as lovers, much akin to two Avari set sail on dark, lonely seas, glimpsing the Light of the Trees on the horizon for the first time. So when I placed my ring on her finger, after only five days in her acquaintance, ‘twas not the silver foretoken of betrothal, but the golden promise of marriage, and we sought not the approval of our people—nor even our parents—for we had won the sanction of the other’s heart, and is was as such that I wedded her that night, even as Telperion and Laurelin blended their lights, we blended our spirits, in the wild, beneath the trees, with only Iluvatar as witness.
Nerdanel: (sighs with exasperation) Fëanor, that is NOT how it went. For when we first met, you were being punished by Aulë, and though you were already well beyond me in skill, you were being made to repeat early exercises, much to your annoyance. And to mine as well—incidentally—for your chosen course of retribution against AULË to was to harangue ME.
Fëanor: (with contempt) Punished? Me? (He snorts in disbelief.) I was Aulë’s best student.
Nerdanel: Best in terms of skill only. Your behavior left much to be desired. (Fëanor rolls his eyes, and Nerdanel becomes more insistent.) I remember exactly as it happened, Fëanor. I was working on my latest project, a simple chain from which one could hang a pendant or a stone, if so inclined, and you—
The stage darkens, and Nerdanel’s voice fades. When the lights come back on, the stage is set as Aulë’s forge, with a glowing fire in the center, and worktables scattered about. Nerdanel works on one side of the room, bending studiously to her task. Fëanor works on the other, obviously agitated and up to no good. His body shields what he is doing, but he appears to be making a statue from stone, and every now and then, he looks at it and snickers. Aulë walks in from stage right, dressed in his smith’s apron and boots, carrying a hammer in one hand and a pair of tongs in the other, and Fëanor quickly hides his work beneath a cloth and looks innocent, as he begins to fashion a chain similar to Nerdanel’s.
Aulë: (walks up behind Nerdanel) That is fine work, daughter of Mahtan. You have learned much in the last few weeks.
Nerdanel: (blushing with the flattery) I thank you, Lord Aulë, for I have been laboring hard to master that which you so expertly teach.
When Nerdanel praises Aulë, Fëanor lets out a rather disgusting snort of laughter that causes both Aulë and Nerdanel to look in his direction.
Aulë: Curufinwë Fëanaro, you seem to have some sort of nasal disturbance. Mayhap you should be sent along to Irmo in the Gardens of Lorien for healing?
Fëanor: (sitting very primly and wearing his best innocent expression) I thank you for your concern, my Lord, but ‘twas only a bug up my nose. (He sniffles loudly and rudely, and Nerdanel looks disgusted.) I believe it has left me.
Aulë: (mistrustfully) I am pleased to know that, Fëanaro. Now do let me judge your work.
Fëanor hands him the chain on which he has been working, batting his eyes and smiling with the utmost innocence. Aulë scrutinizes the chain, as though trying hard to find a flaw in it—he even draws several crystals from his pocket to magnify and study it more closely—but it is perfect, and he hands it back to Fëanor with an uneasy smile.
Aulë: Your work, Fëanaro, is flawless, as always. It takes a sound mind and a steady hand to craft a chain so fine. Your progress continues to astound me.
Fëanor: It is only by your flawless instruction that my competence has been thus honed. (He bows very politely.) It is I who owe YOU gratitude, my Lord.
Aulë: (obviously swayed by Fëanor’s smooth words) Yes, well, son of Finwë, I….
Unable to come up with the words to express the pride he feels at Fëanor’s praise, he suffices to kiss Fëanor roughly on the forehead and quickly departs stage right, wearing a wide grin. Fëanor immediately loses his innocent smile, throws the perfect chain onto the table, and uncovers the statue on which he was working earlier.
Fëanor: (laughing devilishly) Flawless instruction? Pah! (Fëanor sniffs in distaste.) I crafted that chain LONG before I was apprenticed here to endure learning such repetitious trivialities at the threat of punishment! I need his instruction like I need twelve toes, or I’ll be an ass on a cracker.
Fëanor begins to angrily hammer on the statue, muttering to himself about his superiority and the injustice of Aulë’s punishment. Nerdanel watches him—though he pays her no mind—and looks as though she wishes to address him, then thinks better of it. She turns back to her own work, but her thoughts clearly cannot be silenced.
Nerdanel: (turning in Fëanor’s direction) Fellow disciple mine, you speak harsh words of our teacher and master. Have you no respect for his expertise, if not his station?
Fëanor: (scornfully) And what station would that be?
Nerdanel: He is a Vala, my Lord, and worthy of your respect.
Fëanor: (laughs) Do you know what I told my father when I stood but to his knee? Other Elves made pacts to be healers or farmers or to establish far cities at the ends of Arda, but I—(he laughs curtly) I wished to be one of the Valar! (Scoffing) Then I grew up. I grew up and decided to do something of WORTH, for the Valar often prefer to sit about in councils when they should have their hands against the world of their own making, speaking with the earth and listening to her commands, not forming laws by which we must live from mere fragments of thoughtless wind. THEY should do what I do, for I am a craftsman. (Low, slightly under his breath.) Should you wish to learn, you should forget your flighty Vala and step over here and learn from me.
Nerdanel: (takes a large step that brings her beside him) Here I am, fair prince, so demonstrate the cunning for which you are renowned.
Fëanor: (alarmed but covering it with an air of offense) You call me prince? Who are you to address me as such without introduction?
Nerdanel: I address you as such, for I know who you are, though you hide your office beneath grimy clothes and an animal’s demeanor. (Fëanor gapes at her, very much offended.) You are Curufinwë Fëanaro, and some say you are the greatest of the Noldor, but more say that you are the most SPOILED and PROUD of the Noldor, and you did not scoff Aulë until he punished you for succumbing to your foolish pride and undertaking a task too great for you. Such pride was how you earned THIS. (She jerks his sleeve up to his shoulder, revealing a large white bandage wrapped around his upper arm. Fëanor flinches away from her, and quickly covers his arm once more.)
Fëanor: (in pain) Ai! (Realizing he has cried aloud, he bites his lip hard and forces his voice to become even again, though he still cups his arm protectively.) ‘Twas an accident at the forge—something bound to happen at times to all who dedicate their lives without fear to such work—hardly the result of anyone’s folly, least of all mine.
Nerdanel: It was no accident, fair PRINCE, that nearly burned off your arm and did burn down several of Aulë’s buildings, frightened away most of Oromë’s steeds, destroyed several thousand yards of tapestry that Vaire was storing in that shed out back—thus wiping out all pictures of Balrogs and setting them up for some pretty hefty debates among future loremasters—and burning down many acres of Yavanna’s orchards—
Fëanor: Okay, okay, I get the point.
Nerdanel: Obviously you do not, MASTER, for it was you who decided to work with an untested metal and put it to too hot a flame—
Fëanor: (proudly) ‘Twas only untested for ‘twas mine own creation, designed to be strong yet light, perfect for armor, should the Valar ever need to defend themselves against an enemy like the Black Foe—
Nerdanel: The genius of your creations shall not repair the damage you have done. (Scathingly) And I can see the truth as well behind those rumors that you are mad.
Fëanor: I am not mad!
Nerdanel: Rambling about armor and the Black Foe as though there is any need for war in the Blessed Realm!
Fëanor: You purported wisdom fails when it comes to discerning possibility, Nerdanel. (At the mention of her name, Nerdanel stumbles back a step.) For I also know of you, daughter of Mahtan, the only woman strong enough for the flames of Aulë’s forge—or to challenge the King’s son—
Nerdanel: (backs away from him) Speak not my name, for I like you not, fell Fëanaro!
Nerdanel continues backing away, and Fëanor hops lightly from the stool on which he sits and follows her, until she is backed against the wall and can move no further. He stops just short of touching her.
Fëanor: Say it again, Nerdanel!
Nerdanel: (puzzled) Say what?
Fëanor: It!
Nerdanel: (tentatively) Um…it?
Fëanor: No, no, say what you said before!
Nerdanel: What you said before?
Fëanor: No, silly woman! Call me fell! Call me mad! Call me the longest, foulest string of obscenities you can muster! (She looks very confused, and Fëanor shrugs and smiles a little shamefully.) It kind of turns me on.
Nerdanel: (disgusted) Ugh! (She dashes away from him.) You DISGUST me, fey son of Finwë!
Fëanor: (moves in her direction, but swoons a little) Oh, YES! Say it again!
Nerdanel: (uneasily) You disgust me, fey son of Finwë?
Fëanor: No! Not like that! Shout it like you did before! WOUND me with your words!
Nerdanel: (shouting) Fey son of Finwë!
Fëanor: (falls to his knees) Iluvatar, yes! Like that! (Takes her hand.) Marry me, Nerdanel! Wed me, right here, right now! Rid me of this troublesome raiment! (He tears his shirt off over his head and, standing, throws it in her direction. It hits her, and she allows it to fall to the ground, giving it a look of disgust and shifting back a step.) Take me among the cinders, by the forge, where we will make our life together! (He begins to undo his belt.)
Nerdanel: (springs away from Fëanor) I will do no such thing! (She hurls his shirt back to him.) And keep your clothes on, for Iluvatar’s sake. It’s indecent! (She walks away from him and over to the table where he was working, and Fëanor reluctantly puts his shirt back on. She lifts the statue he was sculpting and turns it over in her hands.) I understand not how such beautiful work can derive from a mind that is so…. (She turns and looks at Fëanor, who stands with his hands helplessly at his sides watching her study his work. His shirt is on backwards, and his expression is one of gentle longing.) Strange?
Fëanor: (softly) I know not myself.
Nerdanel: (looks at the statue for a long moment, turning it and studying it) It is beautiful.
Fëanor: It is far from finished.
Nerdanel: I know not how a work such is this can be improved, Fëanaro. (Realizing she has spoken his name, softly and with some affection, she looks startled at him and quickly away.) It is Yavanna, the wife of our teacher Aulë, is it not?
Fëanor: (laughs devilishly) Oh, yes, it IS Yavanna.
Nerdanel: (puzzled by a sudden realization) But why is she…. (Gives Fëanor a mistrustful glance.) Naked?
Fëanor: (laughs) For it befits the title and purpose of the piece, my lovely Nerdanel: Revenge. You see, Aulë and Yavanna often stay at my father’s home in Tirion—
Nerdanel: (sets the statue down abruptly and backs away) Oh, no. My mother caught my father reading poetry about your father’s home in Tirion, and she made him sleep in his forge for three years.
Fëanor: Yes, well, I saw it fit—since Aulë feels I am worthy of making nothing more than cheap chains that are fit to be crafted by children—to show him that my skills surpass that by making him a memento of one of those nights at our house in Tirion. (Brightly) There was an accompanying poem. Perhaps your father has read it?
Nerdanel: I do hope not.
Fëanor: I have devised this crystal—(he pulls a glowing blue crystal from his pocket) quite fantastic, really, though I do hold a bias—that can remember sounds and repeat those sounds if reunited with its twin, which I have implanted inside the statue. And THIS crystal fits into the statue like this…. (He pops the crystal into the base of the statue.) And Yavanna shall speak.
Yavanna Statue: (actually Fëanor’s voice doing an impression of Yavanna) Oh, Aulë, you DO know how to handle wood!
Nerdanel: (horrified) That’s awful!
Fëanor: (chuckles)Awful, but still funny.
Yavanna Statue: Oh, Aulë, you DO know how to handle wood! Oh, Aulë, you DO know how to handle wood! Oh, Aulë, you DO—
Nerdanel: (grabs the statue and tears the crystal from it) That’s enough!
Yavanna Statue: (actually Fëanor doing an impression of Yavanna sounding sad) Please! Take not from me my wood!
Nerdanel: Argh! Iluvatar!
The stage darkens, and when the lights come up again, the spotlight shines on Nerdanel and Fëanor, standing together at stage center. Fëanor has straightened his clothes. Aulë’s forge is left in shadow.
Nerdanel: (to Fëanor) Do you see how unbearable you were?
Fëanor: Aww, I think I was cute. So little an elf with so big of dreams. I thought I could move the world…. (He sniffles as though saddened by reminiscence.)
Nerdanel: (sternly) You STILL think that, my love.
Fëanor: So I do.
Nerdanel: (to audience) Anyway, given such a sickening display of his pride and…(she looks Fëanor up and down critically) perviness…I know not why I grew to regard him with affection. Perhaps it was the fire of his spirit that kindled a love for life in those closest to him. For as the tenure of our friendship lengthened, love is what grew within me, though how, I know not….
The lights dim, and when they come up again, Nerdanel is still crafting her chain in Aulë’s forge, and many links have been added as much time has passed. Fëanor is nowhere to be seen. As Nerdanel works, Aulë enters stage right and comes up behind Nerdanel, holding something in his hand and laughing openly with amusement. Nerdanel is not disturbed by his presence until she hears the voice of what he holds in his hand.
Yavanna Statue: Oh, Aulë, you DO know how to handle wood!
Aulë: (laughs raucously and nudges Nerdanel) Did you see this, dear? This trinket that the fair Fëanor has crafted for me?
Yavanna Statue: Oh, Aulë, you DO know how to handle wood!
Nerdanel: (flinches whenever the statue speaks) I did not think that you would like it.
The Yavanna statue chirps unfailingly, Nerdanel cringes, and Aulë laughs.
Aulë: Like it? I LOVE it! So many see my lovely wife and I as a mismatched pair. Some say Iluvatar may have erred when he placed the keeper of nature’s treasures with he who seeks to use them for his craft. They know not the love that burns between us, but fair Fëanor has seen through the hurtful words and angry shouts and broken furniture and mile after mile after mile after mile of scorched—nay, DEMOLISHED—forest…. (Aulë breaks off and looks uneasy.) Where was I?
Nerdanel: That Fëanor discerned your love for the fair Yavanna?
Aulë: Yes, dear, I remember now, and I thank you for the reminder! Anyway, dear Nerdanel, there is much love and passion between my wife and I, and this statue is a charming reminder of that which we share between us: my skill with wood. (He laughs and begins to walk offstage, gazing adoringly at the statue.) I leave you now, my student, for whenever I see this statue, it awakens in me the oddest desire to lie with my wife. Why a testament of my skill with the gifts from her trees should do this, I know not. I know not…. (He exits stage left, still laughing.)
The lights dim, and the spotlight comes on, illuminating Fëanor and Nerdanel standing close, side-by-side, at stage center. Her fingertips brush his as they stand, and their eyes meet.
Nerdanel: I know not.
Fëanor touches Nerdanel’s cheek, and as she steps at last into his embrace, the lights dim.
END SCENE
The previous scenes in this play are tagged in my LJ and may be found here.
The Stupid Silmarillion play strikes again!
In Scene Six, Nerdanel and Fëanor recount how they came to love each other. Per usual, this scene is a bit bawdy and very sacreligious. Flames will be given to Fëanor for amusement.
As always, comments and suggestions are welcome! And thank you for reading!
As Told by
Master of Lore Dawn Felagund, of Nargothrond
Master of Everything Curufinwë Fëanaro, of the Halls of Mandos
Act 1
Valinor
Scene 6: Of Winning the Love of Nerdanel
Nerdanel enters from stage right. She defies the expectation of feminine Elvish beauty, for she is neither svelte nor delicate, but strong and practical. Like Fëanor, her clothing is well-made and of beautiful material, but it is also sensible. She wears a short dress and trousers underneath, with boots much like Fëanor’s. She has long red-brown hair and a darker complexion than is typical of Elves. She is both purposeful and patient.
Nerdanel: (to the audience) Well met, good Edain. (She bows, and though courteous, the move is not graceful.) I am Nerdanel, the Wise, wife of Fëanor, the Spirit of Fire. I welcome you to this, the next part in our tales. (She pauses.) Long was my family faithful in service to Aulë the Vala, and being as how Fëanor was exceptionally gifted also in craft, it made sense that he as well should benefit from the tutelage of the wise Vala. It was here that I first met him, Fëanaro, the most brilliant of our people and the father of my children.
Fëanor dashes in from stage left and stops beside Nerdanel, gazing at her adoringly.
Fëanor: (taking her hand in both of his) Right, tell them, my beautiful Nerdanel, of the fire of our passion for each other, the tenderness of our love, the—
Nerdanel: (turns to Fëanor, jerks her hand from his, and uses it to smack him in the chest) Stop it, Fëanor! I’m still mad at you, you know!
Fëanor: (puzzled) How can you still be mad at me? ‘Twas but an hour ago that we renewed our marital bond—
Nerdanel: So you think that solves it all? You have used your sweet words and your beautiful example of Elvish anatomy to soothe my anger too many times before, husband mine! Not this time! This time you won’t come back, throw your so-called “new and improved” body onto me and quell my rage with twenty minutes of glorious and fiery passion. Not this time!
Fëanor: (wounded) You didn’t like the improvements?
Nerdanel: (tone changes to one of teasing amusement) Oh, no, husband mine, I did not LIKE the improvements. I LOVED the improvements. I have LONGED for the improvements for the last six-and-seven-sixteenths ages that we have been sundered from one another (she begins to move closer to Fëanor as she speaks) every night, in my cold, lonely bed with only the memory of you beside me, while you have languished in Mandos’ Halls, nothing but a bleak spirit lacking a physical embodiment with which I can toy—
Fëanor: (takes her into a careful embrace) And that you should toy with me is my dire wish, for it has been six-and-seven-sixteenths ages for me as well, and my spirit is not the only part of me that is on fire—
Nerdanel: This I know, fair husband mine, for I know well your spirit and your mind and every inch of your most-perfect-of-all-the-Eldar body—
Random Audience Member 1: Oh, please.
Random Audience Member 2: Feed us not your lies too, wife of kinslayer!
Fëanor: (draws away from Nerdanel slightly to address the audience) Hey, now, this is MY play, and I can script Nerdanel to say whatever I like. And if I wish for her to dwell again and again and again and again on the fact that I WAS created by Iluvatar to be the most beautiful of the Eldar, until even I become a bit nauseous of it, then by Eru, I shall! (Turning back to Nerdanel and speaking tenderly once more.) And I also wish that you should know my new-and-improved-most-perfect-of-all-the-Eldar body BETTER than the old one, my love. (He moves to kiss her.)
Nerdanel: (shying slightly from his kiss) And I shall, my beautiful Fëanaro. (He moves with her to kiss her again, and she smacks him in the chest.) But for now, I am still mad at you!
Fëanor: (recoils in alarm and looks hurt) Why? What have I done?
Nerdanel: (unbelieving) What have you DONE?! Well, I think your MANY crimes speak for themselves—I think everyone present probably saw the episode of Arda’s Most Wanted that featured YOU and did not paint so favorable a picture of ME—so I shall forsake their retelling for now and focus instead on what you have done to me! And our sons! Let’s see…. (She begins to count off on her fingers.) First, you left our home because you got exiled—
Fëanor: That I did, yes, but—
Nerdanel: (in a rage) TWICE! (Fëanor cringes.) And you took our sons with you, as though they needed further example of bad behavior, seeing as how the twins had already refused to talk for fifteen years, Celegorm would pine if he had to sleep apart from his blasted dog, and Caranthir had that weird fascination with knives—
Fëanor: I hardly think I was to blame for ALL of that. (Reconsiders for a moment.) Well, maybe I used to give Caranthir candy for doing that knife-swallowing trick to scare off Fingolfin’s brood, and I may have rejected the twins’ first overtures of speech because they were always so damned NOISY, but certainly I had nothing to do with Celegorm’s unhealthy love for his hound! I told you no good would come of Oromë’s invitation for Celegorm to go journeying ALONE in the woods with him, especially when Celegorm came back saying that Oromë let him blow his horn—
Nerdanel: You must always bring the Valar into this! ALWAYS! It is never your fault because the Valar are always—in some manner of mild coincidences, loose connections, and suspicious correlations—behind everything that goes wrong in your life! (Fëanor looks like he wants to speak, sees the anger on Nerdanel’s face, and thinks better of it.) ‘Twas you, Fëanor, who took our sons away, first to Formenos to live as exiled princes, enduring the stares of the other Noldor whenever they chanced to return to Tirion, then to Middle-earth, where one-by-one you got them all killed!
Fëanor: Not all. Maglor didn’t DIE, really, though he—like the other Elves who remained in Middle-earth—did eventually fade. (Defensively.) But that is hardly my fault, for that was the design of the Valar!
Nerdanel: (exasperated) The Valar again! Do you see what you do Fëanor? And forgetting Maglor, I still begrudge you for the death of six of our seven sons more-or-less at your hands!
Fëanor: Then you harbor false blame, for how could I have gotten them killed when I was already dead myself? (He looks smugly proud of his deduction.)
Nerdanel: You took them to Middle-earth, did you not? You encouraged them to swear a stupid oath, did you not? For Iluvatar’s sake, your last words to them were: (she mocks Fëanor’s voice) “Forget me not. Fulfill your oath.” Not “I love you” or “I will miss you,” but that rubbish! (Fëanor cringes, and Nerdanel continues triumphantly.) Oh, yes, I know all about what happened over there. Caranthir wasn’t TWO years with Mandos, and he was p-mailing me every day, telling me EVERYTHING. (She smirks with satisfaction.) And you always said that it was YOU to whom he was most loyal.
Fëanor: Keep Caranthir! Still I have the loyalties of my precious Curufin!
Nerdanel: (smugly) ‘Twas Curufin who told me what you did to the ships at Losgar.
Fëanor: (clenches his fist in frustrated anger) Damn.
Nerdanel: (smacks his chest and resumes shouting) And then what of me! You left me behind in Aman with only sappy Indis and her hugs and her cookies and Curufin’s sniveling wife for company! Six-and-five-eighths ages I longed for you, wept for you—
Fëanor: (shouting) And I stand before you now, so you choose to yell at me?
Nerdanel: (shouting louder) Only because, after six-and-five-eighths ages, I can stand to be angry with you for another five minutes!
The couple stops shouting and stands in silence for a few moments, contemplating each other.
Nerdanel: I believe my five minutes are up.
Fëanor: I had hoped they were. I can endure the wrath of the Valar, the hate of Morgoth, and the blades of Orcs, but your anger is unbearable to me. (He holds out his hand to her.) Will you join me then, in the telling of the tale of our love?
Nerdanel: (obstinately) No!
Fëanor: (confused) Why not, my love, for I thought I had earned your heart’s forgiveness?
Nerdanel: Forgiveness you have earned but trust—
Fëanor: (looks deeply hurt and offended at her implication) No wound is more grievous, my love, then the words you now speak.
Nerdanel: (sighs) I mean that you tend to exaggerate, Fëanor. No, I am wrong. You DO exaggerate, Fëanor.
Fëanor: I do no such thing!
Nerdanel: You do. And you have. For as long as I have known you.
Fëanor: Then tell me, wise wife mine, of one such instance.
Nerdanel: I could tell you of many.
Fëanor: But I ask for just one.
Nerdanel: The day we met. (She ticks off on her fingers.) You told me you had journeyed hundreds of leagues from Tirion. You told me that twice Manwe had commissioned you to make jewelry for Varda. You MUCH enhanced the telling of your physical stature—
Fëanor: (defensive) Those things are true now! (A bit uneasily.) For the last few hours at least.
Nerdanel: I didn’t say NOW, my love, I am referring to THEN, when you were far from meeting your purported dimensions.
Fëanor: (devilishly) But wasn’t it fun catching me in THAT lie?
Nerdanel: (rolls her eyes) Anyway, my point, Fëanor, is that I do not trust you to honestly tell of our first meetings. You would have us in love at first sight, running off to wed after only knowing each other for a week’s time—
Fëanor: I was thinking more along the lines of five days. It seems more impressive, don’t you think?
Nerdanel: (with irritation) It was hardly like that at all, Fëanor. If you recall, I couldn’t stand the sight of you at first.
Fëanor: Why, my love, that is entirely outside the realm of possibility. For we were drawn to each other first as artisans, each expert in our craft, and from there, the romance blossomed as does Laurelin in the first song of morning. You loved first my mind, and it was the love of colleagues and friends, but then you discovered that I had been gifted the greatest body of all the Eldar—
Random Audience Member 1: This is sickening!
Random Audience Fangirl: I want you, Fëanor!
Fëanor: (pointedly) I recall Nerdanel saying much the same thing, (voice becomes more wistful as he goes on) as we worked long by Telperion’s silver light, warmed by the heat from the forge and the passion in our hearts. And we turned to each other—not just as friends—but as lovers, much akin to two Avari set sail on dark, lonely seas, glimpsing the Light of the Trees on the horizon for the first time. So when I placed my ring on her finger, after only five days in her acquaintance, ‘twas not the silver foretoken of betrothal, but the golden promise of marriage, and we sought not the approval of our people—nor even our parents—for we had won the sanction of the other’s heart, and is was as such that I wedded her that night, even as Telperion and Laurelin blended their lights, we blended our spirits, in the wild, beneath the trees, with only Iluvatar as witness.
Nerdanel: (sighs with exasperation) Fëanor, that is NOT how it went. For when we first met, you were being punished by Aulë, and though you were already well beyond me in skill, you were being made to repeat early exercises, much to your annoyance. And to mine as well—incidentally—for your chosen course of retribution against AULË to was to harangue ME.
Fëanor: (with contempt) Punished? Me? (He snorts in disbelief.) I was Aulë’s best student.
Nerdanel: Best in terms of skill only. Your behavior left much to be desired. (Fëanor rolls his eyes, and Nerdanel becomes more insistent.) I remember exactly as it happened, Fëanor. I was working on my latest project, a simple chain from which one could hang a pendant or a stone, if so inclined, and you—
The stage darkens, and Nerdanel’s voice fades. When the lights come back on, the stage is set as Aulë’s forge, with a glowing fire in the center, and worktables scattered about. Nerdanel works on one side of the room, bending studiously to her task. Fëanor works on the other, obviously agitated and up to no good. His body shields what he is doing, but he appears to be making a statue from stone, and every now and then, he looks at it and snickers. Aulë walks in from stage right, dressed in his smith’s apron and boots, carrying a hammer in one hand and a pair of tongs in the other, and Fëanor quickly hides his work beneath a cloth and looks innocent, as he begins to fashion a chain similar to Nerdanel’s.
Aulë: (walks up behind Nerdanel) That is fine work, daughter of Mahtan. You have learned much in the last few weeks.
Nerdanel: (blushing with the flattery) I thank you, Lord Aulë, for I have been laboring hard to master that which you so expertly teach.
When Nerdanel praises Aulë, Fëanor lets out a rather disgusting snort of laughter that causes both Aulë and Nerdanel to look in his direction.
Aulë: Curufinwë Fëanaro, you seem to have some sort of nasal disturbance. Mayhap you should be sent along to Irmo in the Gardens of Lorien for healing?
Fëanor: (sitting very primly and wearing his best innocent expression) I thank you for your concern, my Lord, but ‘twas only a bug up my nose. (He sniffles loudly and rudely, and Nerdanel looks disgusted.) I believe it has left me.
Aulë: (mistrustfully) I am pleased to know that, Fëanaro. Now do let me judge your work.
Fëanor hands him the chain on which he has been working, batting his eyes and smiling with the utmost innocence. Aulë scrutinizes the chain, as though trying hard to find a flaw in it—he even draws several crystals from his pocket to magnify and study it more closely—but it is perfect, and he hands it back to Fëanor with an uneasy smile.
Aulë: Your work, Fëanaro, is flawless, as always. It takes a sound mind and a steady hand to craft a chain so fine. Your progress continues to astound me.
Fëanor: It is only by your flawless instruction that my competence has been thus honed. (He bows very politely.) It is I who owe YOU gratitude, my Lord.
Aulë: (obviously swayed by Fëanor’s smooth words) Yes, well, son of Finwë, I….
Unable to come up with the words to express the pride he feels at Fëanor’s praise, he suffices to kiss Fëanor roughly on the forehead and quickly departs stage right, wearing a wide grin. Fëanor immediately loses his innocent smile, throws the perfect chain onto the table, and uncovers the statue on which he was working earlier.
Fëanor: (laughing devilishly) Flawless instruction? Pah! (Fëanor sniffs in distaste.) I crafted that chain LONG before I was apprenticed here to endure learning such repetitious trivialities at the threat of punishment! I need his instruction like I need twelve toes, or I’ll be an ass on a cracker.
Fëanor begins to angrily hammer on the statue, muttering to himself about his superiority and the injustice of Aulë’s punishment. Nerdanel watches him—though he pays her no mind—and looks as though she wishes to address him, then thinks better of it. She turns back to her own work, but her thoughts clearly cannot be silenced.
Nerdanel: (turning in Fëanor’s direction) Fellow disciple mine, you speak harsh words of our teacher and master. Have you no respect for his expertise, if not his station?
Fëanor: (scornfully) And what station would that be?
Nerdanel: He is a Vala, my Lord, and worthy of your respect.
Fëanor: (laughs) Do you know what I told my father when I stood but to his knee? Other Elves made pacts to be healers or farmers or to establish far cities at the ends of Arda, but I—(he laughs curtly) I wished to be one of the Valar! (Scoffing) Then I grew up. I grew up and decided to do something of WORTH, for the Valar often prefer to sit about in councils when they should have their hands against the world of their own making, speaking with the earth and listening to her commands, not forming laws by which we must live from mere fragments of thoughtless wind. THEY should do what I do, for I am a craftsman. (Low, slightly under his breath.) Should you wish to learn, you should forget your flighty Vala and step over here and learn from me.
Nerdanel: (takes a large step that brings her beside him) Here I am, fair prince, so demonstrate the cunning for which you are renowned.
Fëanor: (alarmed but covering it with an air of offense) You call me prince? Who are you to address me as such without introduction?
Nerdanel: I address you as such, for I know who you are, though you hide your office beneath grimy clothes and an animal’s demeanor. (Fëanor gapes at her, very much offended.) You are Curufinwë Fëanaro, and some say you are the greatest of the Noldor, but more say that you are the most SPOILED and PROUD of the Noldor, and you did not scoff Aulë until he punished you for succumbing to your foolish pride and undertaking a task too great for you. Such pride was how you earned THIS. (She jerks his sleeve up to his shoulder, revealing a large white bandage wrapped around his upper arm. Fëanor flinches away from her, and quickly covers his arm once more.)
Fëanor: (in pain) Ai! (Realizing he has cried aloud, he bites his lip hard and forces his voice to become even again, though he still cups his arm protectively.) ‘Twas an accident at the forge—something bound to happen at times to all who dedicate their lives without fear to such work—hardly the result of anyone’s folly, least of all mine.
Nerdanel: It was no accident, fair PRINCE, that nearly burned off your arm and did burn down several of Aulë’s buildings, frightened away most of Oromë’s steeds, destroyed several thousand yards of tapestry that Vaire was storing in that shed out back—thus wiping out all pictures of Balrogs and setting them up for some pretty hefty debates among future loremasters—and burning down many acres of Yavanna’s orchards—
Fëanor: Okay, okay, I get the point.
Nerdanel: Obviously you do not, MASTER, for it was you who decided to work with an untested metal and put it to too hot a flame—
Fëanor: (proudly) ‘Twas only untested for ‘twas mine own creation, designed to be strong yet light, perfect for armor, should the Valar ever need to defend themselves against an enemy like the Black Foe—
Nerdanel: The genius of your creations shall not repair the damage you have done. (Scathingly) And I can see the truth as well behind those rumors that you are mad.
Fëanor: I am not mad!
Nerdanel: Rambling about armor and the Black Foe as though there is any need for war in the Blessed Realm!
Fëanor: You purported wisdom fails when it comes to discerning possibility, Nerdanel. (At the mention of her name, Nerdanel stumbles back a step.) For I also know of you, daughter of Mahtan, the only woman strong enough for the flames of Aulë’s forge—or to challenge the King’s son—
Nerdanel: (backs away from him) Speak not my name, for I like you not, fell Fëanaro!
Nerdanel continues backing away, and Fëanor hops lightly from the stool on which he sits and follows her, until she is backed against the wall and can move no further. He stops just short of touching her.
Fëanor: Say it again, Nerdanel!
Nerdanel: (puzzled) Say what?
Fëanor: It!
Nerdanel: (tentatively) Um…it?
Fëanor: No, no, say what you said before!
Nerdanel: What you said before?
Fëanor: No, silly woman! Call me fell! Call me mad! Call me the longest, foulest string of obscenities you can muster! (She looks very confused, and Fëanor shrugs and smiles a little shamefully.) It kind of turns me on.
Nerdanel: (disgusted) Ugh! (She dashes away from him.) You DISGUST me, fey son of Finwë!
Fëanor: (moves in her direction, but swoons a little) Oh, YES! Say it again!
Nerdanel: (uneasily) You disgust me, fey son of Finwë?
Fëanor: No! Not like that! Shout it like you did before! WOUND me with your words!
Nerdanel: (shouting) Fey son of Finwë!
Fëanor: (falls to his knees) Iluvatar, yes! Like that! (Takes her hand.) Marry me, Nerdanel! Wed me, right here, right now! Rid me of this troublesome raiment! (He tears his shirt off over his head and, standing, throws it in her direction. It hits her, and she allows it to fall to the ground, giving it a look of disgust and shifting back a step.) Take me among the cinders, by the forge, where we will make our life together! (He begins to undo his belt.)
Nerdanel: (springs away from Fëanor) I will do no such thing! (She hurls his shirt back to him.) And keep your clothes on, for Iluvatar’s sake. It’s indecent! (She walks away from him and over to the table where he was working, and Fëanor reluctantly puts his shirt back on. She lifts the statue he was sculpting and turns it over in her hands.) I understand not how such beautiful work can derive from a mind that is so…. (She turns and looks at Fëanor, who stands with his hands helplessly at his sides watching her study his work. His shirt is on backwards, and his expression is one of gentle longing.) Strange?
Fëanor: (softly) I know not myself.
Nerdanel: (looks at the statue for a long moment, turning it and studying it) It is beautiful.
Fëanor: It is far from finished.
Nerdanel: I know not how a work such is this can be improved, Fëanaro. (Realizing she has spoken his name, softly and with some affection, she looks startled at him and quickly away.) It is Yavanna, the wife of our teacher Aulë, is it not?
Fëanor: (laughs devilishly) Oh, yes, it IS Yavanna.
Nerdanel: (puzzled by a sudden realization) But why is she…. (Gives Fëanor a mistrustful glance.) Naked?
Fëanor: (laughs) For it befits the title and purpose of the piece, my lovely Nerdanel: Revenge. You see, Aulë and Yavanna often stay at my father’s home in Tirion—
Nerdanel: (sets the statue down abruptly and backs away) Oh, no. My mother caught my father reading poetry about your father’s home in Tirion, and she made him sleep in his forge for three years.
Fëanor: Yes, well, I saw it fit—since Aulë feels I am worthy of making nothing more than cheap chains that are fit to be crafted by children—to show him that my skills surpass that by making him a memento of one of those nights at our house in Tirion. (Brightly) There was an accompanying poem. Perhaps your father has read it?
Nerdanel: I do hope not.
Fëanor: I have devised this crystal—(he pulls a glowing blue crystal from his pocket) quite fantastic, really, though I do hold a bias—that can remember sounds and repeat those sounds if reunited with its twin, which I have implanted inside the statue. And THIS crystal fits into the statue like this…. (He pops the crystal into the base of the statue.) And Yavanna shall speak.
Yavanna Statue: (actually Fëanor’s voice doing an impression of Yavanna) Oh, Aulë, you DO know how to handle wood!
Nerdanel: (horrified) That’s awful!
Fëanor: (chuckles)Awful, but still funny.
Yavanna Statue: Oh, Aulë, you DO know how to handle wood! Oh, Aulë, you DO know how to handle wood! Oh, Aulë, you DO—
Nerdanel: (grabs the statue and tears the crystal from it) That’s enough!
Yavanna Statue: (actually Fëanor doing an impression of Yavanna sounding sad) Please! Take not from me my wood!
Nerdanel: Argh! Iluvatar!
The stage darkens, and when the lights come up again, the spotlight shines on Nerdanel and Fëanor, standing together at stage center. Fëanor has straightened his clothes. Aulë’s forge is left in shadow.
Nerdanel: (to Fëanor) Do you see how unbearable you were?
Fëanor: Aww, I think I was cute. So little an elf with so big of dreams. I thought I could move the world…. (He sniffles as though saddened by reminiscence.)
Nerdanel: (sternly) You STILL think that, my love.
Fëanor: So I do.
Nerdanel: (to audience) Anyway, given such a sickening display of his pride and…(she looks Fëanor up and down critically) perviness…I know not why I grew to regard him with affection. Perhaps it was the fire of his spirit that kindled a love for life in those closest to him. For as the tenure of our friendship lengthened, love is what grew within me, though how, I know not….
The lights dim, and when they come up again, Nerdanel is still crafting her chain in Aulë’s forge, and many links have been added as much time has passed. Fëanor is nowhere to be seen. As Nerdanel works, Aulë enters stage right and comes up behind Nerdanel, holding something in his hand and laughing openly with amusement. Nerdanel is not disturbed by his presence until she hears the voice of what he holds in his hand.
Yavanna Statue: Oh, Aulë, you DO know how to handle wood!
Aulë: (laughs raucously and nudges Nerdanel) Did you see this, dear? This trinket that the fair Fëanor has crafted for me?
Yavanna Statue: Oh, Aulë, you DO know how to handle wood!
Nerdanel: (flinches whenever the statue speaks) I did not think that you would like it.
The Yavanna statue chirps unfailingly, Nerdanel cringes, and Aulë laughs.
Aulë: Like it? I LOVE it! So many see my lovely wife and I as a mismatched pair. Some say Iluvatar may have erred when he placed the keeper of nature’s treasures with he who seeks to use them for his craft. They know not the love that burns between us, but fair Fëanor has seen through the hurtful words and angry shouts and broken furniture and mile after mile after mile after mile of scorched—nay, DEMOLISHED—forest…. (Aulë breaks off and looks uneasy.) Where was I?
Nerdanel: That Fëanor discerned your love for the fair Yavanna?
Aulë: Yes, dear, I remember now, and I thank you for the reminder! Anyway, dear Nerdanel, there is much love and passion between my wife and I, and this statue is a charming reminder of that which we share between us: my skill with wood. (He laughs and begins to walk offstage, gazing adoringly at the statue.) I leave you now, my student, for whenever I see this statue, it awakens in me the oddest desire to lie with my wife. Why a testament of my skill with the gifts from her trees should do this, I know not. I know not…. (He exits stage left, still laughing.)
The lights dim, and the spotlight comes on, illuminating Fëanor and Nerdanel standing close, side-by-side, at stage center. Her fingertips brush his as they stand, and their eyes meet.
Nerdanel: I know not.
Fëanor touches Nerdanel’s cheek, and as she steps at last into his embrace, the lights dim.
END SCENE
The previous scenes in this play are tagged in my LJ and may be found here.
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(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-22 09:30 pm (UTC)Oh lord... too funny! They bicker so wonderfully! Talk about your odd couple!
And as for:
especially when Celegorm came back saying that Oromë let him blow his horn
*Dies* I nearly choked on my drink! Nice mental image though! :P
(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-22 09:36 pm (UTC)I'm always so proud when I can make someone choke on her drink!
Erm...I mean...sorry about that.... *offers towel and Fingon, who is apparently very skilled in first aid, particularly mouth-to-mouth resuscitation*
>:^P
(Would I be totally evil to suggest a Celegorm/Orome challenge called "Blowing the Valaroma"?? *looks around for
(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-22 10:09 pm (UTC)Heh I am actually writing a Celegorm/Orome ficlet, but it's really angsty... though I'm not sure I can look at it without laughing now! Bad Dawn, bad! ;)
(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-22 11:20 pm (UTC)Whee! Angsty or not, this is a totally new one for me!
*eagerly awaits*
No pressure or anything.... ;)
Bad Dawn, bad! ;)
*whistles innocently* 0:)
Blowing the Horn of Valaroma
Date: 2005-11-23 03:57 pm (UTC)(please be serious)
Re: Blowing the Horn of Valaroma
Date: 2005-11-23 04:42 pm (UTC)Re: Blowing the Horn of Valaroma
Date: 2005-11-23 05:11 pm (UTC)(Actually, I'm doing a comic bit for Tux's holiday present! But something serious or hott wouldn't be amiss either.... ;^P)
(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-22 11:24 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-22 11:28 pm (UTC)I don't know how far back you've read (if at all) but this play was actually my first stab at fanfic, though I didn't know it at the time (as I don't think I'd yet realized that fanfic existed). I wrote it so that Hubby could learn a thing or two about the Sil characters I rambled about all the time...so it had to be stupid and naughty and entertaining enough to hold a (disinterested male's) attention.
Somehow I got talked into posting it, which I sometimes regret and make up for by posting it as infrequently as its readers will allow....
(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-23 01:18 am (UTC)Hey look, I made it into your play!! ;)
(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-23 02:28 am (UTC)(Actually, I think there's two Audience Fangirl parts. And I think Arandil ended up getting promised the part of Nerdanel....)
(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-23 03:15 am (UTC)Well, I'll have to be another Audience Fangirl!
(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-23 03:31 am (UTC)IIrc, you have a fight in one of the scenes....
Oh! And in Scene 10, there's a fleet of (I believe) five Maedhros fangirls...more than enough to go around! ;^P
(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-25 01:27 pm (UTC)*swoons* Ooh, good...
(no subject)
Date: 2005-12-08 01:40 pm (UTC)HA! Hear that, Tarion? We get to have a catfight!
(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-23 04:53 pm (UTC)Well, I certainly hope you don't have just a two person audience!
(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-23 04:54 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-23 05:13 pm (UTC)>:^( <--angry 'gund
(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-23 05:13 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-23 03:13 am (UTC)Fantastic!!
Don't have much time to comment, but I love their bickering! It's so great!
(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-23 03:36 am (UTC)Yes, well, I see their bickering as canon. Consider: "...at first she restrained [Feanor] when the fire of his heart grew too hot...."
Translate: She bitch-slapped his sorry ghost-pale face and screamed, "Listen to me, ya bastid!! Or ta HELL with the idea of one kid--much less SEVEN!!!"
Okay, it's late, I'm silly and stupid (whether it's late or not ;^P), I'm going to stop now before I further damage the tattered remains of my pitiful, whimpering-for-mercy reputation. :^D
(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-23 12:21 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-23 05:15 pm (UTC)Stupid Silm Play
Date: 2005-11-23 03:55 pm (UTC)Re: Stupid Silm Play
Date: 2005-11-23 05:16 pm (UTC)(Would you believe that I almost spell "soup" as "soop"? I wonder about me sometimes....)
And yes! I saw the post about Celegorm! One word: Whee!!!
(And good luck on the homestretch of NaNo. You're almost there!)
Scene 6
Date: 2005-11-25 05:41 pm (UTC)OMG, she knows every inch of his most perfect body and I don’t!
LOL! Celegorm would pine if he had to sleep without his blasted dog!
LOL! Oromë let him blow his horn! Oh, that’s it! I’ve gotta do a Celegorm/Oromë fic! Ha! Just did one!
Awwww – his *precious* Curufin. I am so in love with the “Little Father”.
LOL! Knife-swallowing trick to scare off Fingolfin’s brood!
LOL! Sappy Indis.
LOL! Curufin’s sniveling wife!
LOL! I’ll be an ass on a cracker!
LOL! Wiping out all pictures of Balrogs!
OMG – Nerdanel tells Fëanor, who does a striptease for her, to put his clothes back ON???
LOL! A NAKED Yavanna statue!
ROFLMAO! Oh, Aule, you do know how to handle wood! (This reminded me of the ubiquitous “talking bass” wall-mounted fish from a couple of Christmases ago!)
A very funny scene, Dawn, on a par with the rest!
Re: Scene 6
Date: 2005-11-26 06:39 am (UTC)Yes! He has to be as...erm...tall as Mae, remember? :^P
And thank you for the comments! The next scene, btw, is my favorite, so I'll have to post again soon....
(So I say now. Just wait 'til I actually I face pasting in those 500 italics tags!)