Chapter Text
“What are you doing, Amme?”
A tiny elfling, barely old enough to walk, tugged at the finely woven grey linen of the master broideress’ skirts, his tiny hand practically crushing the fabric. In her lap was a wooden hoop, her work stretched tightly between the rings. Thousands of precise and intricate stitches meandered across the black silk cloth, flowers and birds taking shape in luminous golden thread and silver sequins.
The broideress was silent for a long moment, drawing in a deep breath and closing her eyes. Her pale silver hair was drawn up into a loose bun without braids or embellishments, and no jewelry graced her ears or neck. Míriel opened her weary eyes and looked down at her son.
“I am embroidering.” She said quietly. “Would you like to see?”
Fëanáro nodded his head excitedly, then climbed up onto the plush velvet settee beside his mother. His eyes sparkled in wonder when he beheld the beauty and complexity of Míriel’s craft.
“You made those flowers? With a needle?”
Míriel turned to face her son. “I did. Would you like to try?”
Fëanáro didn’t hesitate. He reached for the hooped embroidery, only to have it gently pulled away from his grasp. His first impulse of course, was to protest.
“I want it! T’is pretty!”
Míriel shook her head, chiding gently. “No, my darling. It is my work and not yours. And would it not be better if we worked together, to create something new?”
She stood up and put her hoop aside, just out of the reach of her only son, whose bright eyes already held a glint of fire. He was about to cry, but was quickly redirected when he saw that Míriel had picked up a piece of grey linen that matched the fabric of her gown, along with a skein of white crewel thread.
“Is that mine?”
“It is ours.” Míriel said with a weak yet tender smile. “We shall work together, and create something beautiful. Every masterpiece begins with a single stitch, after all, and even the greatest craftsmen start off as students. And you, my dear…I know you shall be great someday, a master in both scholarship and craft. But you must start at the beginning, with your very first stitch.”
Fëanáro couldn’t help but giggle as his mood shifted, too young to understand the sadness in Míriel’s voice. He watched closely as she hooped the fabric and threaded a needle; it was much larger and less sharp than the ones she had been using before. In her lap, it became obvious that the fabric in the hoop was in fact a remnant from her gown, which filled him with delight.
“T’is part of your dress!” He exclaimed. “I will make something so pretty with it; something just for you!”
He reached for the needle in his mother’s hand, only for her to hold it just beyond his reach.
“I know you will, and it gives me joy to know that you wish to make something for me. But you must not be hasty, for needles are sharp. Do you have an idea of what you would like to embroider? Perhaps a daisy, or a little leaf?”
“A star!” Fëanáro blurted out. “A big shiny star!”
Míriel nodded slowly as she took a few tiny backstitches, anchoring the thread to the centre of the hooped linen. “A big, shiny star.” She repeated. “That will be quite lovely. Now watch this. I will show you what to do, how to use the needle. Sewing is not difficult, but it takes focus and concentration.”
She began to embroider, her skilled and nimble fingers quickly stitching out the outline of an eight-pointed star. Fëanáro watched intently. Even at this young age, his mind was already sharp, immediately grasping the mechanics of the craft.
“My turn!” He said as he reached for the needle yet again. “I want to sew now. T’is my star!”
“Very well then.” There was a trace of laughter in Míriel’s voice as she handed over the hoop, letting her son take charge of the project. “Your star. Make it your own, my darling.”
He traced over the star with one finger, then proceeded to add his own stitches, criss-crossing Míriel’s work at odd angles. He ignored her when she offered him a thimble, and scowled when she gently suggested he follow the direction of her own stitches.
“Do take care, little one.” Míriel said quietly. “And take your time; do not rush. Do you see how pretty it looks when the stitches line up? You must take pride in your work, for everything we create contains a bit of ourselves, a part of our very essence.”
Fëanáro kept stitching until the embroidery was finished, a triumphant smile brightening his face as he held it up. “Look! I made this! I made something!”
“Indeed, you did.” Míriel said as she removed the finished work from its hoop. “Perhaps I helped a little bit. But never forget, you are my little star…and my greatest creation.”