A triple drabble (300 words) about Fëanor and the Silmarils. Thanks to Rhaps and Space for your help and advice!

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Fëanáro...

It came upon a whisper, a siren's song, and woke him from a dreamless sleep. As he lay quiet, the soft caress of his nebulous mistress incited in him fire and he left his wife's side to follow into the star-filled night.

Create us...

Coming to him unambiguously, the mysteries of such creations, he began to form his vision through the rhythm of her song. Soon two others, subtly different; yet just as beautiful and haunting, joined her voice. Forsaking all else, he remained until he had given form to his beloved masterpieces.

Fill us...set fire in our depths...

Fëanor's hands ensnared the radiance of silver-hued Telperion and golden-blaze Laurelin in heavenly form; Varda blessed, incorruptible fire.

Love us...protect us from all others...

Turning from friend and family, abandoning reason, thoughts focused solely on safeguarding the Silmarils. But he was betrayed and his ultimate enemy ripped them away into blackness. Loss of his father kindling fury in his blood, he vowed to retrieve his treasures by life or death and his sons, all bound to the same cursed oath.

Kill for us...

Slaying his kin, forever sealing his doom as foretold, he took his final steps into utter madness. Blinded by all else, Fëanor's heart heard the lament of his creation but the cries of the innocents he slaughtered fell on deaf ears.

Fight for us...do not forsake us...

Assailed by armies of Morgoth, he faced his doom. Mortally wounded by a servant of his enemy, his sons mournfully bore his hröa away. Fever of his vengeance scorched his fëa and again he made his sons swear to save his precious paramours before the flames consumed him completely.

Die for us...

Whispered song carried on the breeze corrupting his heirs with obsession to possess jewels of everlasting light.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~