Star-Kissed

Feanaro sat on the floor amongst many aged scrolls; his piercing silver eyes were focused intently on the one he was studying. His sable hair was tied back with a few stray wisps framing his young face. He sat crossed legged with his head in his hands, his brow furrowed in concentration as his eyes roamed rapidly back and forth across the parchment. His bare feet stuck out from underneath his white tunic. Beside him was a small lantern that was glowing unsteadily, the flame being toyed with by the slight breeze that meandered through the room. When it finally went out, Feanaro let out an exasperated sigh.
“Undomekal! Come back, I was only just starting to find what I was looking for!” For all his inner fire and strength, Feanaro was still only a child as he pleaded with the cooling wax. He stood up and brushed off his legs before glancing down at the mounds of scrolls he had been sitting in the midst of. He quickly gathered them up in his arms and put them back on the shelves from which he had first gotten them. The stone was cold and hard beneath his feet as he left the study.
Once he emerged from the building out into the courtyard, the Elf child gazed up at the stars above him. “Ai! Ela! You see, elenirimbe, you shine even with the wind and night! If only your light could be held and kept!” He sighed and scuffed his foot against the stone. “Though I suppose you would not want that.” He sniffed. “No one likes being trapped within a shell to small for them! No one likes to be confined with no room to stretch! No room to shine. A trap, that is all it would ever be. They would marvel at your light, and say ‘Is it not wonderful?’ yet if they would only let you free, then they would be blinded by your brilliance! Unlike anything they had before imagined! Yet by the time they let you go, your light will have darkened from the strain!” He stopped, realizing how foolish he sounded, shouting up at the heavens. “You cannot hear me, can you, eleni? You stay there, smiling and twinkling down at everyone. Though you will always be there, for no one can conquer the skies.”
He walked quietly back through the large arch which led him to a green lawn with a tall fountain leaping happily in its center. Feanaro wandered slowly back to his bed chamber, slipping in by the means of the tall windows. He yawned, realizing just how late it was. He would have gone to bed had he not heard voices from down the hall. He silently crept out his door and down to his father’s room. A golden light spilled from underneath the closed door.
There were two voices, one he immediately recognized as Finwe’s, though the other he could not discern. It was that of a woman, he was certain, but he did not know who.
“Indis, I will ever only love you.”
“What of your wife Miriel?”
“She is gone – the past – and will not return. She is dead, Indis.”
The words hit Feanaro with such force that he stumbled backwards down the hall. He knew that his mother had been greatly wearied, though his father had always told him that she would return. Had that merely been an explanation to silence him? And yet, while his father should have been grieving her passing, he had taken a lover! Though what if they had been lovers before the death of his mother? Had his father been unfaithful to Miriel? Having so quickly forgotten her, the idea did not seem so absurd as it might have at another time. The questions poured forth like a giant wave. The lies he had been told were unbearably painful to him. He had hoped every day for her return to him – to them, his father too. How dare he shame her and take some Vanyarin harlot!
Feanaro collapsed onto his bed, his small body shaking violently from his sobs. Tears spilled down his face, but he did not wipe them away. Soon his cries subsided to soft whimpers as he lay prone on his bed, his face hidden in the fold of his arms. If his father had thought so poorly of his mother, what did Finwe think of him? Was he disgraced by his son? Was he too weak for the King’s liking? Did he only show his son love because it was expected of him? Did he care at all for Feanaro? All of the questions swarmed around him like angry bees, stinging painfully. Each soul-prick forcing another choked sob from the Elf child.
Feanaro let out a shuddering breath and sat up. He wiped his swollen, red eyes with the backs of his hands before climbing down from his bed and out the windows once again. He hugged himself tightly as he ran across the courtyard, tears streaming anew down his small face. So many lies. He reached the confines of his home and slipped over the walls like a shadow.
He ran until his legs became weak beneath him and his knees buckled. His throat was sore from weeping and his tears were spent. He shook from exhaustion as much as emotion. He curled up into a tight ball against the trunk of a large tree, his arms wrapped around his thin legs, and his head resting on his knees. His black hair was tousled and had long since come loose. His arms and legs were scratched terribly from the thorns he had run through.
He awoke at dawn, but not from the light. A white puppy, with long gangly legs and a whip-like tail, was nosing him curiously. He pushed it away. It insisted, making impatient dog noises.
“Kele! Leave me alone!” He shouted at it when it continued to prance around him excitedly.
It whined and sulked off, its tale between its legs.
Feanaro looked sadly at the puppy as it walked off, casting occasional glances back at him.
The Elf child snuffled as his tears came back. The young dog turned and came back to him, licking his face with a wet, pink tongue. Feanaro pet the furry face and a shadow of a smile crossed his lips. Sensing its acceptance, the puppy climbed into his lap and rested its head on Feanaro’s shoulder, ruffing contentedly. The young Elf wrapped his arms around the small animal and buried his face in the white fur and wept. He told the creature about what had transpired and how he feared his father did not care at all for him. The dog only licked away his tears and listened without ever questioning what he said. Just listening like the friend Feanaro never had. The deep chocolate eyes stared into silver ones when the child finished. “What do they call you?” He asked the pup suddenly.
The dog cocked its fuzzy head and looked at him, and barked.
“You need a name.”
He was rewarded with slobbery kisses.
Feanaro smiled. “You look like a dog with the body of a deer.” He laughed. “I shall call you Huan!” A yip of agreement.
Feanaro jumped up when there was a deep laugh behind him. “Huan, a fitting name for one who is destined to be great.” Orome chuckled.
The small child held the puppy tightly in his arms. “He is my friend! You cannot take him away!” New tears welled up in his eyes at the thought of losing his only friend.
“He is a gift, if you wish, Prince of the Eldalie.”
“I thank thee, lord.” Feanaro said as he struggled to get a better grip on the slipping Huan. The Vala smiled.
“What are you doing so far from your home, little one?”
“It is not my home anymore, they do not want me there.” He whispered sadly.
“Do not be foolish, Feanaro. Of course they do.”
“Then why did the Elven Lady stay so long into the night?”
Orome was taken aback. “Who?”
“Lady Indis of the Vanyar.”
The Vala stroked his chin. “Come child.” Seeing his hurt expression, he quickly added, “Bring the dog too.”
Orome helped Feanaro up behind him on his great steed, Nahar. Huan sat patiently in front of the Elf child. When Orome spoke to the horse, Nahar sprang away with a blurring speed.
Finally when they reached the walls of Feanaro’s home they found Finwe at the gates, his expression worried. The Vala leapt off of Nahar and helped down the Elf child and his dog.
Upon seeing Finwe, Feanaro backed away.
“Curufinwe!” the King shouted with joy as he ran up and embraced his son. “Curufinwe I was so worried for you! Where have you been?”
The silence from Feanaro was deafening, and the mistrust in his eyes pained the King. “Curufinwe?” Feanaro did not say a thing. “Quette!” The child shook his head. “Ion nin, an mana i din?”
Feanaro struggled out of Finwe’s grasp. “I am fine.” he said defiantly, against the way he truly felt. In truth he wanted to crumble. “I got lost in the forest and Lord Orome came upon me in the wood.” He gave the Vala a piercing glare, daring him to say otherwise.
“Was that the way of it?” The King asked Orome.
“Aye, it was.”
“My thanks, then.”
Orome nodded and leapt upon Nahar and rode off.
“Come child, you look cold and hungry.” Finwe took his son’s hand and led him inside.
Indis greeted them at the stairs, happy as well to see Feanaro home. Upon seeing her something feral flashed in Feanaro’s eyes, though it vanished almost before it could be seen.
He ate and then went back into his bed chamber. Once he was there, Feanaro threw himself upon the bed and screamed. The heart-wrenching ululation was muffled by a pillow, and no one heard it.

I am a shameful thing.
I am not the son of a king,
But the whelp of misery and pain.
Never shall I break an oath again.
I will regret nothing, nor shed a tear.
I will face my foes invincible, without fear.
None will change my course, but I.
And I will remember that only cowards cry.
I am Feanaro Curufinwe.
I will find a way.