~ The Thread Spinner ~ by Spiced Wine  

Siân, this is an amazing - truly amazing - novella!  To be succinct, I absolutely love it and tore through it this morning.  I will review properly soon (must head into the office now), but wanted to let you know how enthralling the lushly written story is and that Van and Mél's interactions - their voices - are completely spot-on!

Many, many thanks, my dear!

Hi!  I had to come and read this, I'm so excited to see what you did with the prompts.

In Mordor, long quiescent Orodruin was still in sullen eruption, turning the sunsets crimson and purple, setting the clouds aflame. Red. The colour of blood, the colour of war. 

Oooh, gorgeous.  So atmospheric.  I love your use of colour; reading this was like looking at a painting.

I am utterly intrigued by the premise.  I haven't actually read Pandemonium's work but I really must...I like Mélamírë already.  And your Van is a joy to read, as always - magnetic, compelling, dangerous.  This is the perfect thing to warm me up on a horrible winter evening.

<i>yet subtly different, like one melody played on two separate instruments.</i>

Oh, perfect description - you have such a gift for pinning elusive concepts to a beautiful, tangible image.

‘I am Fëanorion,’ she flashed. ‘I am not only his daughter.’ 

‘Really?’ He was intrigued. ‘Thy mother is Fëanorion?’ He wanted to laugh incredulously, and yet...it was not that surprising when one thought about it. Sauron had a taste for brilliance, and the Fëanorion’s had always intrigued him.

Ah, and of course Van doesn't know the truth about himself at this point.  The dramatic irony here makes me happy :)

This is a gorgeous character detail - for Van and his horse:

Vanimórë looked affectionately at the great stallion. ‘He is a cantankerous and ill tempered bastard. But he has a great heart. He suits me.’ 

And yay, a callout to your wonderful Maglor:

‘Thou art speaking of love.’ He smiled, remembering Maglor, wondering where he was now, only knowing that he lived. There had been something between them, forged of pain, and hate and desire, but he could not name it love. It was too furious, too desperate. 

I love this description of their relationship, it captures it so perfectly.

‘She is a goddess. So she says.’ He refilled their cups. ‘She was slain there, where Sud Sicanna was later built, by Melkor, in the days when he denned in Utumno. Or that is what she showed me. Her blood went into the land and she slept for Ages of the world. The tribes had legends of her, the Sleeping Goddess.’ 

Oooh!  Ooh, I like where this is going!

The verbal sparring between them is wonderful - two powers playing off each other, conflicting and bonding at the same time.

dust blew across it like lost wraiths searching for the peace of death.

Phenomenal description!  Evocative, rhythmic, perfect.  I am so envious.

‘You...you spoke of one like me, but long dead. Your words. You had a sister.’ 

Something in his face closed. 
‘I never showed thee that.’ 

‘But you did,’ she insisted, stubbornly, ‘have a sister.’ 

‘Yes,’ he said flatly. ‘I had a sister.’ 

Mélamírë stared at him. His eyes, in the fireshot dimness gleamed indigo. 
‘How did she die?’ 

For a long time, he did not reply, seeming to study her. Then, slowly, he exhaled. 
‘I was not strong enough to save her,’ he said, and through the adamantine barrier she felt unending grief, aching tenderness like the last kiss before death. And at the bottom, guilt, like a ball of molten lead. ‘I was only strong enough to kill her.’ 

:'( :'( :'(

Of course Mélamírë would bring all this up for him.  This is heartbreaking, even knowing he gets to see Vanya again.

‘Did you know about the One Ring?’ 

‘I knew. I told him it was a stupid idea.’ 

Surprising herself, she laughed, the gurgle escaping from deep in her belly. ‘Did you now?’ 

I laughed at that too.  It is pretty stupid, now I think about it...putting all your power into one object that it's possible to destroy is really quite dim.  

<i>Because, even now, she was not devoid of humour, she toyed with the idea of marrying two Glorfindel’s. </i>

Oh my, now that's an idea...a darker, more passionate, Middle-earth version of Goodnight Sweetheart.  Someone needs to write this!

What a fantastic novella this was, full of rich imagery, fascinating character dynamics and an absolute maze of possibilities.  I loved every moment of it; it was the perfect way to spend an evening.

Terrific first chapter. I am mesmerized. It's been a while since I have read your stories and the familiarity of lushness of the description and the poetry in your prose is like greeting an old friend. I love how he introduces himself to her--finally! The mixture of the two story-verses is truly a delight! On to read the next chapter!

I adore this part with horse:

Seran, who carried no-one but Vanimórë on his back, snorted and then proceeded to act as perfectly as if he were on parade. No doubt Mélamírë could have handled him had he misbehaved, but clearly Seran sensed she would stand none of his nonsense. Vanimórë gave the stallion a mocking look. ‘Oh, thou art a terrible old charmer.’

Loving the voices of Vanimórë and Mélamírë!

You are really pulling at my heart strings with this concept also!:

‘You are trying to comfort me.’ A faint note of accusation.

‘Yes,’ he acknowledged. ‘But I also think it likely to be true. He holds no love for me. I am useful, no more. But that does not mean another Sauron, a little different, might not love a daughter.’

Particularly love the ending of this chapter!

It was hard, it was almost impossible. She was hanging on by her fingernails.
She said, ‘I’m trying to make myself believe this is a dream. It makes things a little easier. Are you?’ Faintly teasing, faintly mocking, ‘a dream?’

‘I wish,’ he said lightly, ‘that I were.’

The waterfall winked and laughed at her.

I love how clearly you elucidate how much they have in common and yet how profoundly different their experiences have been. You are breaking my heart all over again with how deep Vanimórë's wounds are and how profound is his sadness. Not that Mélamírë is not sad or wounded, but he expresses it best--she still has hope and he is afraid to hope.

The suspense is killing me--a good way.

The sun was already setting with the swiftness of the desert.

Small detail but it really gives sense of place--familiar to me having lived somewhere that does not have the twilight we are accustomed to in more Northern climes!

and the endless, shimmering horizon.

Again the precision of the setting is enchanting.

I could read pages of their interactions and the relish precision of the characterization--stunning. Love the -- oops wrong bathroom --ha! Well, at least we got another delicious look at him! Thanks for that! Wonderful.

I love this exchange:

Her eyes narrowed over the blade. ‘Did you know about the One Ring?’
‘I knew. I told him it was a stupid idea.’
Surprising herself, she laughed, the gurgle escaping from deep in her belly. ‘Did you now?’

Flawless timing of the fleeting humor in this moment! And the next is another priceless exchange.

In Mordor, and beyond, I am known as the Slave. His slave. It is a title.’
‘You are also called the Dark Prince.’
He lifted one shoulder. ‘It is just a name. I could be called god-emperor of the stars. What I am, is a slave.’

All of your dialogue is fabulous and some of it even more brilliant. . .

This is wonderful also:

She thought of her father’s ambitions for her wondering, with teeth at her heart, how one whom had existed so long, and whom had lived among humans, could yet be so ignorant. Perhaps that would be his downfall in the end, some facet of humanity that he couldn’t comprehend, smaller than the clash of armies, yet greater, would slide past his assurance, his arrogance, his power, and bring him down.

I absolutely adore this story! I am so thrilled that you wrote it! And excited beyond belief to have it here where I can easily find it and re-visit it. I love both of these characters so much and you really have done them justice together! I am so jealous of how imaginative you are and how well you kept all the balls in the air and did not lose any of the wonderful luxuriance of your language! My compliments to you and a huge hug!