Tolkien, artist

WIP Meme

From lady_branwynlindahoylandjust_ann_nowclodia_metelli,  and probably others.

When you see this, post a snippet from your works-in-progress.  

I couldn’t sleep.  On one hand I was excited about the offer from Lord Aulë and kept thinking of more and more designs, analyzing them and then tossing them out of contention, one by one.  These new works must be my best and would take all of my free time.  I needed to finalized the design decisions on them as quickly as possible. 


My appearance before the Court was the other reason that I couldn’t sleep.  Even though I knew that nobody had been harmed and that only Turukáno, Laurefindel, Huan and I had been embarrassed, I still had to appear before the King, Queen, and the full court on Aldúya, which happened to be … later today. 


I decided that it was hopeless to continue trying to sleep, so I put on a night tunic (my favorite one, a castoff from my grandfather), grabbed my sketchbook and slates, and picked up my pouch of chalks and inks.  I was going to find a nice quiet corner where I could work out some designs without waking Halwatindë.  Carefully opening my chamber door, I walked into the hallway, closing the door silently behind me.  At this hour most people were sleeping, but I could go to the library which was always open and welcoming. 


Passing grandfather’s room, I changed my plans.  I saw light coming from under his door and stopped to knock gently. 


“Who is it this early…” grandfather said as he opened the door.  “Oh.  ‘Yanwë, child, what are you doing up at this hour?” 


“I could ask the same of you, Anatya,” I smiled.  “But I just couldn’t sleep.  I have images running through my mind, I see the King and Queen today…I am torn in different directions.  I thought, since I couldn’t sleep, I would settle down with my slates and sketchbook and try to work on some project designs.” 


“Come in, child.  I was working on the household accounts.  We may as well be sleepless together.  Choose a corner, settle down and we’ll both get some work done.” 


I was rarely invited into grandfather’s rooms, so I looked around curiously as I found a good place to spread my materials around me. 


The ceiling was quite high, allowing for a catwalk around three of the walls with compartments and shelves for scrolls and books.  The wall to the right of the entry was a floor to ceiling bookcase with a central fireplace; the other two walls only had the shorter bookcases on their upper levels.  There was a rolling ladder that allowed access to all three sides of the catwalk.  On the main level, the wall to the left of the entryway had a door in the center that I knew led to my grandfather’s bedroom and bath chamber.  Grandfather’s large desk was placed diagonally in one corner and the final wall, the one opposite the entryway, consisted of arches and windows, allowing the light of the Trees to always be a feature of his room.  Outside of the windows were the compound’s gardens.  There was a small sitting area in front of the fireplace with a low table and some overstuffed chairs.  I settled down on the floor at this table and grandfather lit a lamp for me, placing it on the tabletop. 


I set out my inks and chalks, took up one piece and my slate, and began working out designs.  In the other corner, my grandfather was working on the accounts; the quiet sounds of his quill against the parchments and my chalk on the surface of my slate were the only sounds in the room. 



* * * * *



A peahen screamed outside the window, a loud and raucous sound that woke me up thoroughly and instantly.  I sat up, momentarily disoriented.  Where was I?  Why was I lying on the floor?  Then I remembered my late night journey.  Looking down, I realized that grandfather had placed a light blanket over me and had stacked my materials and re-capped my inks for me.  I sat up, put my materials back into my pouch, took my slates and sketchbook and walked to the door.  It was time to get dressed and face the day.  

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LOLOL. I suppose that all depends on your definition of comfort, since her grandfather is Feanaro.

- Erulisse (one L)
Feanor, really. He is a major landholder, responsible for a household, and more than likely needs to double-check the numbers to make sure he can afford his latest exploit (or that he can purchase a nice new glass furnace for Helyanwe - LOL). My Feanor is very down-to-earth, and adores his granddaughter.

- Erulisse (one L)
He is a major landholder, responsible for a household, and more than likely needs to double-check the numbers to make sure he can afford his latest exploit (or that he can purchase a nice new glass furnace for Helyanwe

I always assume the royals have an exchequer to deal with that, clerks at the very least, depending on their rank. I could see Fëanor going over certain figures with his clerks, possibly (probably because he's superb at figures, and finds it fun.) but not because he has to.

adores his granddaughter.

And his grandson too, I'm sure.

I don't see a very down-to-earth person creating or even imagining the Silmarilli, Erulisse.

Edited at 2012-01-16 08:56 pm (UTC)
Oh, I do. But I will be the first to admit that our views of Feanor are vastly different. I adore yours, and if I ever post more than snippets and short stories about Helyanwe and Feanor, I think my vision of him will flesh out.

He's a bit less fond of his grandson, leaves him more to his father's (Curufinwe's) guidance. But all four of them work well together in the forge, along with their apprentices and assistants.

Royals actually often had their wives in charge of keeping the books, double-checking the exchequer's figures and making sure that the households ran smoothly. He no longer has his wife living with him, so has taken over that responsibility on his own again. He's a bit "thumbs-on" with his staff - wants to keep a bit of an eye on them.

- Erulisse (one L)
you have to keep in mind this is one very small snip of a very large work.
But I will be the first to admit that our views of Feanor are vastly different

Yes, absolutely. I just see common sense as concomitant with 'sensible', and people of creative genius often seem to have little idiosyncrasies. I could see Fëanor as being a bit OCD, but with to paraphrase a mind and hands that were never at rest, being 'driven by the fire of his own heart only', and with all the marvelous works he created, I could envisage him working through the nights on something - just not accounts, checking them perhaps after his clerks had finished with them, maybe. But in the abundance and peace of Aman, I would doubt he needed to see if he could 'afford' something, especially if he could probably make it himself.

Edited at 2012-01-17 08:42 am (UTC)
Things will be much clarified when/if I ever post the entire tale. :-) After all, this is a WIP, and just a snippet of a very large tale. This is hardly carved in stone. Relax, my dear friend. I won't destroy your Feanor - *hugs*.

- Erulisse (one L)