Certainly one of the most interesting pairings that I've read in a while, but you had me convinced! :) And some of the language ... oh my. The wind dissipated to a confused mewl. The flavor of amber darkness. Beautiful!

I'm usually not fond of archaic dialogue, but you make this work really well in this piece; it nicely compliments the beautiful and intricate prose. It didn't feel like a distraction, like it usually does, but actually enhanced quite nicely the mood of the story.

Also, we share in common that the "magic" of the Silmarils comes from Feanor's spirit, and that is why he feared to unmake them. Of course, in my version, it's not because of his passion for Manwe, but still, I really liked the inclusion of this detail in your version, as well as the idea that he learned it from Melkor. (Admittedly, my inner Feanatic rebelled at that before I remembered that I argue for all sorts of canon liberties on the basis of historical bias, so that could be the case here as well.)

Anyway, much rambling to say that I really enjoyed this and look forward to reading more of your work! :) All the best,

Dawn

Fëanor is so much scarier than Manwë. Wonderful eroticism also. I am one of those total geeks with a very strong conception of certain characters--Feanor among them--to the point that sometimes I have trouble believing an alternate version of my reality and you really caught me up in this conception of how and why Fëanor created the Simarils.

Since you asked a question (and I really want to continue this chat with you!), then I hope you don't mind if I leave another comment. :)

I may not have been perfectly clear: in my own "verse," Morgoth does not help Feanor with the Silmarils. Nope, for once I actually go by the book:

Melkor indeed declared afterwards that Fëanor had learned much art from him in secret, and had been instructed by him in the greatest of all his works; but he lied in his lust and his envy, for none of the Eldalië ever hated Melkor more than Fëanor son of Finwë, who first named him Morgoth; and snared though he was in the webs of Melkor's malice against the Valar he held no converse with him and took no counsel from him. For Fëanor was driven by the fire of his own heart only, working ever swiftly and alone; and he asked the aid and sought the counsel of none that dwelt in Aman, great or small, save only and for a little while of Nerdanel the wise, his wife.

And I'll admit that I did not choose the "historical bias" route for this one because I like Feanor too much and wanted the Silmarils to be his own. However, I appreciate your interpretation and, particularly, the connections you noted between Sauron and the Ring and Feanor and the Silmarils. I think you may be original on that one! At least, I've never seen another author write that particular explanation. :)

However, in my verse, the "magic" of the Silmarils is because Feanor puts a bit of himself into them. I'm currently writing a series of novels about the House of Feanor, and this will eventually be part of the series, but I'm not that far yet.

Thanks for letting me ramble. :)
Dawn

I'm not going to have anything near the appropriate language to tell you how much I enjoyed this. I've not read much Silmarillion-era fic, and I was a bit hesitant when I saw the "thee"s and "thou"s, but the rhythm came quickly. Like falling into Shakespeare!! I loved the unique take you had for Feanor and how he'd infused the Silmarils with his passion and longing and that it was for Manwe; very original.

Mostly it's your wordcraft that undid me. I must quote back a few phrases that were exceptionally gorgeous, though the whole story is a treasure to read:

All about him crackled with reckless beauty.

Manwë could sense the future of the Noldor as a discordant series of notes in the Song: anguish, suffering, and death, all because of this one’s pride.

Then slowly he parted his knees. “Is this what thou desirest? Sweetest and most bitter of surrenders? Here, I offer it.”

GUH. That's as articulate as I can get with *that* delicious image!!

Then he rose upwards like a curl of flame

His body glowed at the contact like sparks caught in a whirlwind against the backdrop of eternal night.
“Rekindle me, Windlord. Ride me again,” he begged.

 This is an exquisitely written story, unique and unforgettable with images that are burned into my mind's eye. Especially the one of Feanor at his forge wearing nothing but the low-slung loincloth and lone tear of sweat... which also proved Manwe's undoing. ;) Who could resist such a vision as that? Kudos, my dear.

Very strange pairing, but a delightful read. And oddly, the pairing makes sense. Never would have thought of it myself, so kudos to you! Very well done!

I never thought I would say poor Fëanor , I just did! I think the pairing is genius. Fëanor is as sexy as I have ever seen him portrayed, brilliant and with all the passion of youth. Imagine him just past majority. He would be irresistible and he is one of the few figures I can truly imagine seducing a Vala at that age, or indeed at all. One can’t blame Fëanor for his behavior half as much as might be without this bit of information. And I must say Manwë did not behave himself very well at all if he took him a last time then said it’s over without allowing his lover a word in return, or giving him an explanation. This was a beautiful piece and the archaic language added a very canon feel to the read. (I always did think Tolkien would have liked slash more than he would admit, creating all those beautiful elves.)

So after I have finally managed to register myself here after following the SWG for a long while on anon, it's time to leave feedback where I couldn't until now.

*

Gods I adore this story, every single word of it, and I cannot even remember how often I have read it throughout the past years. It is such a rare pairing but one which is so strangely intriguing and fascinating alike, and it is wonderfully written - the scenery, (especially) the dialogue, so vivid, so beautiful, and I never thought I would write 'poor Fëanor' but here I am, and say: poor Fëanor, because the end is indeed heart wrenching *sigh*

Thank you so much for writing this fic and I am certain I will re-read it rather soon :D

Seeing you join the Discord reminded me that I've had this fic bookmarked since last year! (So many delicious fics, I just need more me's to read them all!)

I have totally savoured this from start to finish: I echo much of what's been expressed in the previous comments: the archaic speech is well balanced with the rest of the prose, your similes and metaphors are absolutely exquisite, and the images your descriptions convey are incredibly vivid. (I feel some more paintings coming on!)

The reason you create for this pairing is totally believable, and the results of the trajectory of their affair explain Fëanor's feelings about the Silmarils and his subsequent actions so well. I always got the sense that Fëanor infused the Silmarils with some part of his spirit, but it never occurring to me to equate it with Sauron's ring, which seems so perfectly obvious now. (Once you've mention it, of course!) I have to admit it jolted me that he learned this from Melkor, but that just emphasises the intensity of Fëanor's pain, that he'd take heed of one he despised and disdained so greatly. (And how indeed would the loremasters know of this shameful secret?) It makes everything that happened so much sadder, not to mention darker. And Morgoth's plan that much more cruel: he held the greater part of Fëanor's feä captive for all those centuries. That really is adding massive insult to injury. 

Oh, but Manwë! I'm tempted to say that he should have known better, yet this also emphasises how little capacity he has as a Vala to truly empathise with the Children, while at the same time painting him painfully human. Its almost as if the Valar are caught in a space not quite fully in either spirit or incarnate, which leads to some disastrous, if well-intentioned, ideas and actions.

Ouch. Excellent and beautiful fic worthy of these two magnificent beings.  Thank you!