Another Man's Cage by Dawn Felagund

One of the absolute BEST Feanor stories in existence today and a classic in the genre. If you haven't read it - read it. If you have read it - read it again. 

- Erulisse (one L)

So happy that you are finally posting this here!

You snagged me I am reading it again. I remember every word almost. Love Nerdanel and Feanor fighting. You nailed it. Carnistir is such a little horror and so smart and sweet--he really does remind me of my autistic granddaughter. Baby Fingon has some of food disorder symptoms--I keep feeling like he ought to have outgrown it by now. I may read BF this part and see if he can relate.

Hallelujah! No, wait that's the wrong language... Eglerio!

Congratulations, Dawn! I'm so happy you're posting AMC here! Such an enjoyable story!

Besides introducing the idea of baby-mindreader-Carnistir with eating disorders, the way you show  Maedhros also marks a before and after in how he is viewed - from the violent madman of older stories to tragic heroe/frustrated intellectual/budding politician. And always soooo handsome!

(*starts rereading*)

It's been a while since I was here last and look! Wooo! Hoo! AMC's here :D

A belated comment to tell you how glad I am that you are (at long last) posting Another Man's Cage here.  To reiterate, it was your novel that, when I read it over the Christmas and New Year's holidays in 2006 (almost five years ago!) completed my reactivation of my interest in Tolkien, and furthermore, prompted me to try my own hand at fan fiction.

I don't think that the importance of Another Man's Cage can be overstated.  This is a defining work in Tolkien fan fiction, one that portrays Fëanor and his family in a humanistic way.   And although you may be critical of what you wrote seven years ago (I know we are all criticial of our earliest works, but hey, that's the beauty of the digital medium — we have the option to tweak if we are so inclined :^D), the novel reads beautifully, particularly with its superb characterizations.

So, here we are. A few days ago, pottering around, I saw that you'd begun uploading this here and I cheered inside, because it's Dawn and AMC and the SWG, and that reads like a list of a few of my favorite things. But, I didn't do more than that because the characters were calling (never drop out of the fandom for six months. Everyone is talking to me. There aren't hours in the day...) and I'd already started rereading AMC over on FFN in preparation of introducing it to my roommate within a week. (My roommate was badgered into reading The Silmarillion based solely on my continued laments about not having a Tolkien-literate real life friend and raving about AMC.)

And then I realized that editing AMC was on your to-do list, and that seeing it here must mean that these parts had been edited, and that seemed like a good thing to waste my time on, and several things jumped out at me.

1) This remains the best thing I've ever read, ever in all of history, and I will say so to anyone who asks.

2) Tyelcormo [which I just noticed we spell differently]'s statement in chapter one that he asks for what he knows he cannot have in hopes of getting what he would be content to have suddenly cast Beren and Luthien in a whole new light for me. Maybe demanding her hand in marriage was a ploy to get Thingol to surrender his claim to the Silmaril? *fridge brilliance, whether intended or not*

3) THIS CHAPTER. OMG, THIS CHAPTER! I'm literally almost crying over the brilliance of what I missed when I first read and reread this years ago. Because, hey, your Carnistir is somewhat precognizant. And, hey, he's sitting in the bathtub playing with model Telerin ships. And, hey, he's speaking in formal diction out of his usual speech patterns, pleading with Ulmo and Uinen to restrain Osse. And, hey, doesn't this sound like a certain ship-stealing incident far off in the future at this point? "I wonder sometimes where Carnistir, who cannot feed himself in a civilized manner and still cannot discern between toilet water and bath water, learns such silliness."

You are evil amazing. I'm not even going to go into the heart-wrenching-ness of Nelyo declaring no one will ever hurt his little brothers. I'm not capable of going there at this moment. But it's moments like these that make me think, "I will never be able to do this," and be one hundred percent okay with that.

So... I guess, I'm really grateful you decided to share this novel after all? And that you're re-uploading it here, inspiring me to read again and be completely re-bowled over by the delicacy with which you foreshadow/allude to future events. It struck me back when I first reviewed on FFN, and it's striking me again years later. =D

OMG, Dawn! I read these chapters and as one of a family of seven children, including brothers, and cannot believe that you with one sister understand them and the large family dynamic so well. Shame on Maglor! I cackle when I read sentences like this one: “Macalaurë gives me a guarded look, and I know that he is also thinking of the two children in his tales—one fair and one dark [great detail—that wicked, wicked boy!]—who were killed when wolves jumped into their nursery late at night.” That is my brother Jerry, next to me in age, six years older, speaking. It rings so true and vividly clear! He grew up to be a good and decent man. Guess there is hope for Maglor.

Love this chapter, with the doctor and Fëanor acting as tutor. And how gracefully you include the details of Celegorm’s birth and distinguish Fingon’s intelligence and courage from that of the more aggressive and superficially self-confident Celegorm. And I love the conspiracy of Celegorm and Maglor at the end--brothers against the world; that is also how it is with siblings, or at least it is in my experience: "That will be our secret, Tyelkormo, and it will go with us until the ending of Arda."

I fall in love with all of them all over again, every single time I read this novel.

Another wonderful chapter loaded with Felak!verse. I loved the characterization in this paragraph,

"Tyelkormo is excellent—not surprisingly—and fearlessly athletic, bouncing from trees and rolling across the ground to assault Nelyo at new angles. Carnistir—even at the tender age of four—also shows promise and fights like a whirlwind, descending mercilessly on his opponent, bludgeoning Atar's sword aside with relentless tenacity. Findekáno has begun with the rudimentary attacks and defenses, but now, Nelyo is working to 'open his style,' he says, and I can see that one day he too shall easily beat me."

I sigh and turn. Macalaurë stands in the doorway, his hand resting on the frame, his fingers curling and uncurling nervously. "Amil, I'm sorry," he says. Macalaurë, I suppose, understands the fleeting gift that is inspiration better than his brothers

Know that feeling all too well!

and I wonder, in an irksome little voice that I try hard to suppress, why it is considered virtuous for a child of royal blood to grow up inept in all practical matters.

I remembered the nanny I hired for Laura our first summer in Mexico. A girl from an upper, middle-class family, highly recommended because Laura would supposedly learn good Spanish from her. The girl could not make them a sandwich and had no idea of how to wash a plate and a glass when they had finished. I was stunned. Everyone told me I was naive--that I should have expected exactly what I got.

So glad to see this stuff here. :) And sorry for the horrendously plain review! 

-Maglor

A really lovely moment of intimacy and freedom- and huge affection and tenderness. Beautifully written.

Another such beautiful chapter- there is so much wrapped up in this and so delicately hinted at. Perfect. And Carnister is so funny- a little orc indeed!

I am amazed at the quality of your writing. Truly. I love the way Carnistir sees things in colours- there are some autistic children/adults who see things this way and it is so interesting to read. But the fight is just incredible- like two giants clashing- the violence and passion and then the love...

I need to stop again and tell you ,again, how sublime this is, laced with tragedy of course, we know the ending. And your lovely and perfect characterisations which outshine Tolkien's own pencil drawings. That is not a disrespectful comment on Tolkien because he focused on the narrative but I am sure, if he read htis, he would feel you have brought his characters to life.

Oh, I LOVE the way you write Carnistir and Tyelkormo and that lovely moment of thanks. I have never thought much about the younger brothers but you are giving them this gorgeous depth and affection. They are so vibrant and funny, and love their Nelyo.

(Did you know you have repeated one section at the end?).

I am in love with Carnistir. Never thought about him before And Maitimo, like everyone=- dazzled like Kano, by all of them!

Carnistir bares his teeth and prepares to bite Fëanáro on the neck, but Fëanáro quickly says, "What did I say about biting?" and Carnistir pauses with his lips skinned back from his teeth like a rabid dog and his eyes crinkled into a pout.
"But Atar, I love you. I won't make blood come this time, I promise."
"How about a kiss instead? Kisses don't hurt."
Macalaurë pops one of the brown lumps into his mouth, even though it is still so hot that his face pinches with the heat and he has to bounce it between his teeth to keep from burning his mouth. "These are good, Atar? What are they?" he asks around the lump of hot food rolling around in his mouth.
Carnistir pecks Fëanáro on the lips, then bites into one of his braids when he turns to acknowledge Macalaurë. "They're snails," he says, setting Carnistir on the floor to help Nelyo remove them from the baking sheet. "A Telerin delicacy."
Macalaurë retches and spits the half-chewed snail onto the floor. Carnistir scrambles over to it, and before I can say, "Ah no, Carnistir, don't!" pops it into his mouth and chews with a contemplative look on his face.
"Maybe we've found the secret to getting him to eat," Fëanáro says, scraping the snails from the sheet and into a big ceramic bowl. "Maybe we have to half-chew his food for him."
"This is good, Atar," Carnistir tells him earnestly, chomping the snail in his back teeth. "They taste better cooked."
"Have you eaten them raw?" Fëanáro asks casually, without looking at Carnistir.
"Yes, Turko told me he'd give me a gold necklace if I ate one. It was slimy except for the shell. That was crunchy, like eating a bug."

This made me laugh so hard, I choked on my breakfast!!

You have this wonderful sense of humour that creates very real family scenes but exagerates them just enough for elvishness to be credible. Such a gift- I have not written or read anything since i startd reading this and often puase in the hard working day to think about this fic. I dont do that often.

These last few chapters have had me completely enthralled- I LOVE that Tyelkormo can talk to animals and its finally revealed - and of course that will be why he is beloved of Orome later. Just love that Fingon protected our little Carnistir and I always love Maitimo. You have just got this so completely utterly right. I keep admiring your writing but am absolutely lost in it too- and then the little nuances and foreshadowing hits me like a wave. Those nightmares Carnistir has, the finding of the Orc drawings, Rumil, and Maitimo's fear now of what lies in Angband.

I feel several strands pop free of my scalp, and it hurts! I scream, and he tries to jerk to comb away, but it is embroiled now in my hair, and more strands are pulled from my head. The dull gray that is Macalaurë begins to churn and foam like an angry sea, and when he tries to untangle my hair from the comb, I bite his arm as hard as I can, grinding my teeth into his wrist until I can feel the ridges in the bone through his skin. He yelps and shoves me away, and I scamper into the corner of the bathroom, jumping into Atar's bathtub to get as far from my brother as I can manage.
"You hurt!" I shriek, thrusting an accusing finger in his direction. The comb is still caught in my hair and bumps against my shoulder.
Jaw set, Macalaurë hurls the washrag to the floor and flounces from the room, and I hear him calling for our brother Nelyo, who has been given the day off from chores to study.
Irritating Macalaurë is immensely pleasurable for some reason, like watching a pending storm stir up a flat, boring summer sky. There is a tingling pressure in my belly, and I realize that I have to pee, so I do it in the bathtub, soaking my underwear, just to hear what Nelyo will say to Macalaurë.
I hear Nelyo's heavy footsteps growing nearer, interspersed with Macalaurë's pattering ones. "The little imp is unbearable," Macalaurë says, and Nelyo shushes him. "He will hear you," Nelyo says, and Macalaurë retorts with "I care not."
"That is precisely why he acts the way he does. Because you 'care not.'"
Nelyo is irritated at Macalaurë, at having been interrupted. Turko and I have been forbidden from trying to get Nelyo to play with us on certain days of the week. Amil says that he is preparing hard and cannot be disturbed. I wonder, sometimes, for what he is preparing that could make him ignore his brothers.
Nelyo comes into the bathroom. He is barefoot and wearing a loose tunic over worn trousers. His hair is secured at the nape of his neck in a sloppy knot, and his lips are dotted with ink. He sees me crouching in the bathtub in my underwear with a comb caught in my hair, and the irritation prickling his color is smoothed by sympathy. "Carnistir," he says, "little one," and, stooping next to the bathtub, reaches to lift me under my arms. The hot, sharp smell of urine hits us both then, and he grimaces and turns his face away. Pee is pattering into the bottom of the bathtub from my dripping underwear.
"He is soaked!" Nelyo shouts to Macalaurë, who is hovering in the doorway.
"Soaked? There was no water in the bathtub—"
"He has wet himself, Macalaurë." Nelyo stands abruptly and retrieves one of Atar's red towels, monogrammed in gold with the Star of our House at the corner.
"Well, he hadn't done that when I left to get you a minute ago!"
"Did you think to ask him if he needed to relieve himself first?"
"He's four years old, Nelyo! I didn't still piss in my pants at that age; neither did you, and neither did Tyelkormo!"
Nelyo gives Macalaurë a cold look and turns to peel my soaked underwear from my body and envelope me in the fluffy warmth of Atar's towel. He wraps me too in his arms as he pats me dry. Nelyo has the same gift as does Atar: the ability to make me feel as though I am a pea being folded inside a pod, hidden and protected from the cruelty of the world beyond. I snuggle into his neck and hear myself mew in contentment.
"How do you do that?!" Macalaurë rages, and I hear him storm from the room.
Nelyo kisses the top of my head, and I reciprocate by kissing his neck, adding the tiniest of nips when I know by the rumble of laughter in his throat that he won't notice.

I am sorry to paste such a chunk but it makes me HOWL with laughter. I love Carnistir and his biting- horrible little troll that he is! And is makes me a little sad too because of his nightmares that is a foresigh of what is to come- strange, poor little Carnistir. And the spitting out of the hot soup made me chuckle too- but he really is a poor little thing but the idea of Tyelko blinking through the spat out soup is so funny. And when you end it with such terror, it is emphasised. Wonderful writing.

How much this chapter hurt, three years ago when I read it! And--do you know--on re-reading it, it still does.

Such a lovely ending!

(Well, at least for the time being, it is a happy end.)

"What about you, little one?" Fëanáro says to Carnistir. "How do you fare on this lovely day?"
Carnistir bares his teeth and prepares to bite Fëanáro on the neck, but Fëanáro quickly says, "What did I say about biting?" and Carnistir pauses with his lips skinned back from his teeth like a rabid dog and his eyes crinkled into a pout.
"But Atar, I love you. I won't make blood come this time, I promise."
"How about a kiss instead? Kisses don't hurt."
Macalaurë pops one of the brown lumps into his mouth, even though it is still so hot that his face pinches with the heat and he has to bounce it between his teeth to keep from burning his mouth. "These are good, Atar? What are they?" he asks around the lump of hot food rolling around in his mouth.
Carnistir pecks Fëanáro on the lips, then bites into one of his braids when he turns to acknowledge Macalaurë. "They're snails," he says, setting Carnistir on the floor to help Nelyo remove them from the baking sheet. "A Telerin delicacy."
Macalaurë retches and spits the half-chewed snail onto the floor. Carnistir scrambles over to it, and before I can say, "Ah no, Carnistir, don't!" pops it into his mouth and chews with a contemplative look on his face.
"Maybe we've found the secret to getting him to eat," Fëanáro says, scraping the snails from the sheet and into a big ceramic bowl. "Maybe we have to half-chew his food for him."
"This is good, Atar," Carnistir tells him earnestly, chomping the snail in his back teeth. "They taste better cooked."
"Have you eaten them raw?" Fëanáro asks casually, without looking at Carnistir.
"Yes, Turko told me he'd give me a gold necklace if I ate one. It was slimy except for the shell. That was crunchy, like eating a bug."

Oh- I know I have told you this before- but I LOVE Carnistir. And this is one of the funniest things I have read!

I think I missed the loveliness of Findekano's song in this chapter on th efirst reading- it hit me much as it did Macalaure- with a bright and vivid image of treetops and htis deep love...to find it is Fingon's for MAedhros as they are later, is a wonderful touch - presumably the song Fingon sang in the wilds when he searched for Maedhros. It made me cry a bit at the terrible sorrow that awaits them- but then, every time I read your Carnistir, it brings that dreadful truth into this lovely scene of domesticity. Let me tell you again, Dawn, that you are a consumate writer and I have lost count of the number of times I have picked a chapter to read in a quiet moment, or thought about it.

I meant to say - I liked especially the last chapter when Arafinwe recognises that he bares his neck to Feanaro like Tyelkormo did to the wolf in the prevous chapter - its a great analogy.

And in this, poor Nelyo- gentlest and sweetest that he should have his heart broken again- its like he is fading before our eyes. But at least I know what's coming this time and wont rush through it to make sure he's OK. The chapter beneath the stars when he proposed is really visible, tangible- very very well written and the emotions sharp and focused.

"He knows that I will choose him, that I would let him hold my face beneath the water if it was what he deemed best for me. I will let him destroy me."

Gradually you have stepped up the sense of foreboding and the anxiety, discord increases but it never dominates and you have htis wonderful gift for showing the prosaic and normality of life. I love this relationship between Macalaure and Nelyo- but the insight you show into character is a masterclass in itself, and the delicacy of the foresight and future is superbly balanced.

Have I told you how utterly delightful Vingarië is, how sweet and how convincing she is- with her runaway tongue and slighlty gauche manner she is perfect for Macalaurë. They are just lovely together and all the time there is this underlining of the fact that they will never have the life they hope for, and that one by one, all the lovely children of Feanor will die... so sad. Beautifully written.

This made me cry the first time I read it and did again. And Nelyo's apparently irrational fear is in fact, so brilliantly, beautifully rational- not only for the actuality of what can become of 'us' but the knowledge that is is also not quite his fate but close enough to have been. Your writing is so far beyond fanfiction, Dawn. It is moving, provocative and so deeply, intensely satisfying and in amongst this lovely domestic story, the seeds of tragedy, and it makes me so sad.