By Any Other Name by Tyelca

Chapter 1

Curufinwë stared at the parchment, feather inked and poised above it. The letter was finished; it contained all he wanted and needed to say, and more. He knew the contents would never be read, but that didn’t matter. He needed to get the words out of his head, but it hurt to do so as every stroke of his brush reminded him of his father that was now long gone.

Into the flames, as this letter would do too once he had signed it. There would be nothing left but ashes, and that was nothing less than appropriate, even if it hurt to think it. Maybe the spirit of his words would die too and go to Mandos, where his father could read them. He hoped so, but did not believe Námo to be merciful.

But that was neither here nor now, so Curufinwë pushed the thoughts aside and focused on the matter at hand.

He needed to sign the letter with his name.

No one was ever going to read it so nobody would care about which name was sprawled at the bottom, and even if these words somehow reached his father he would recognize his son’s hand. There was no need to sign it. But he wanted to, for he always did; it wouldn’t be his letter without his name written down on it, the thoughts not his own if he did not claim them.

Atarinkë hurt too much to put down on the parchment; he had not seen his mother in a long time and his mind filled with images, what-ifs and could-have-beens as he thought of her. The other implications of that name he carried were too painful to even think about.

But writing down Curufinwë felt wrong, as if he were taking his father’s place. In Aman he always used to sign his letters with Curufinwë Fëanorion, to prevent confusion as he carried the same name as his father. But seeing that Fëanáro had been extinguished, there was no one to confuse him with now. No reason to not simply put Curufinwë underneath the words.

He put the feather down on the parchment and traced the letters with the inked tip. A black smear was left behind and Curufinwë took in a deep breath and slowly blew over the ink as it dried. He watched the letters for a while, trying to make sense of the emotions he felt, the unwelcome ones he normally had no problem locking away. No matter how he tried to rationalize it to himself, it felt fundamentally wrong to close a letter with the same name his father always used to do, especially one addressed to his father.

Hesitating, he dipped the feather in the inkwell and held it there for a moment. His mind warred with his heart; rightfully, the name Curufinwë now belonged solely to him and he was proud to carry its legacy, but the weight was heavy and he was not certain he could do it justice.

In truth, he did not want to be the sole Curufinwë in existence; sharing it with his father had always provided him with a handhold, a standard with which to measure himself. He still did not want to acknowledge that his father had gone, no matter how many years had passed. He did not want to take his father’s place, but his innate realism was cold and detached, and thought it sentimental.

For now Curufinwë pushed it away. He would honor his father’s memory as well as he could.

He picked up the feather and wrote Fëanorion behind his father-name. He studied the letter, reading through the contents one last time. When he came to the end he felt tears prickle in his eyes, but he did not let them fall. He folded the letter and bound it with a black silk ribbon.

He pressed the parchment to his lips, held it there for a moment, and then tossed it into the fire.