Sons of Fire and Blood by Ar-Feiniel

Little Father

Curufinwë Atarinke - Curufin

Even a son of fire is not immune to tears.

As a child he never cried
Never sobbed and never screamed,
Those storm-cloud eyes
Never filled with tears,
That fair light face
So reminiscent of his father
Was a mask of dignity
That never cracked in sadness.
In this, they said, he took after
Fëanáro, peerless prince,
Steadfast and stoic
Even in childhood.

But he was also unlike Fëanáro.
As a youth he never showed anger.
His fiery eyes might blaze,
His knuckles might tighten,
His fingernails might dig
Into his palms,
But never did he raise his voice
Or strike vicious blows at objects,
Cause carnage in deadly fury
As did many of his brothers.
No.
Curufinwë smiled.

When Tyelkormo accidentally
Smashed his prized pottery vase,
Curufinwë smiled.
When Carnistic took a pair of scissors
To his sleek and shining hair,
Curufinwë smiled.
When Macalaurë almost deafened him
With his loud obnoxious voice,
Curufinwë smiled.

When Tyelkormo found his mallorn bow
Snapped neatly in half,
When Carnistir woke up to find
His hair sheered off,
When Macalaurë lost his voice
And came down with some illness,
Curufinwë smiled.

But when his father died,
Crumbled to dust before his eyes,
Blew away into the wind,
His mask shattered like
An axe through wood,
He pulled at his hair,
He could not speak,
And the tears came
Thick and heavy
Like the rain from the heavens.