Fëanor's sons were prone to stopping by his forge randomly to visit their father, admire his latest projects, and make sure he was actually eating and drinking, since Fëanor had a tendency of getting so caught up in his work he would go for days without eating and then collapse once a project was done. However, for this latest project, Fëanor deemed it so important that he locked his forge and put up a NO VISITORS sign, explaining in a note below the sign that distractions would likely cause an unaffordable error.
But when the project was past its critical stage, Fëanor sent an invitation - not to his sons, but to his niece Irissë; Fëanor had always wanted a daughter, and Irissë was like the daughter he never had. He also trusted her keen hunter's eyesight to find any mistakes in his work that he might have missed, and that his sons were too partial to notice.
So Irissë came for luncheon, sitting with Fëanor in the palace garden, and afterwards he took her into the forge to show her a set of three jewels - they were his most special project to date, he'd made them from scratch in a molten liquid he called silima, and they were hardening in a mold, but it would take a few days yet, they were still in liquid form. Even as pure liquid, they were so bright the smithy didn't need any candles or lanterns.
"They're beautiful," Irissë said in a hushed, reverent voice.
"Thank you. I worked very hard on them." Fëanor made a grand sweeping gesture with his hand. "I'll be wearing them on a crown."
Then Irissë pursed her lips.
"What." Fëanor knew what was coming - that was part of why he'd invited her here, the other being she was the apple of his eye and he wanted to honor her with a preview of his greatest work. But even with inviting her to give constructive criticism, he was still dreading it with a project of this magnitude.
"They're... rectangles?"
"What's wrong with rectangles?" Fëanor folded his arms. "I remember when you turned fifty. The brooch I made for you was a rectangle."
"Actually, as you know, the corners of that brooch are rounded, it's more of an oblong shape than a rectangle."
"The apple doesn't fall far from the tree," Fëanor muttered, a mental image of Fingolfin in his mind's eye, then he returned his focus to the Silmarils in their molds. "So again, explain why there's an issue with these being rectangular."
"Rectangles don't really look right on a crown with triangular points. It doesn't quite flow. Too many angles. It would look awkward and clunky."
Fëanor sighed. "I wanted to make something unique. Not just the glow of the Silmarils, but the shape. Not a lot of people wear crowns with rectangular stones."
"That's for a reason."
Fëanor conceded she had a point, and rummaged around to find oval and circular molds. "FRRF," he swore as he went through his equipment; Irissë tried not to show her amusement.
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