Thirty Day Character Challenge: Feanor by eris_of_imladris

Prompt 16

Prompt 16: Down Memory Lane, Part Three. Imagine your character keeping a box of little mementoes that are important to them. Write a list, make a sketch, or create a fanwork where these mementoes feature.

The last thing he unpacked in Formenos was the box of memories. He had thought the idea was stupid at first, when Nerdanel first brought up the idea, but she had been with child then, and she could have asked him for one of the Trees and he would have delivered. He had spent time with her carving this box, not too unlike the one he gave his father for his birthday many years before, and the first object to go in had been a small trinket Nerdanel carved that had fallen off the side of the box, that he had declared perfect anyway, and stored inside.

So many years later, the box looked battered and worn, but although he could likely recreate it in a day or two, there was no way he would get rid of it, for even the wood itself bore memories of the times he spent carving and joking with Nerdanel, her hands and lips on his, carefree.

Of course he had not seen it as carefree then, and many of the objects in his box were reminiscent of the times when he felt like his father had cared for him, or had acted kindly to him in some way. It was infantile perhaps, but it was comforting to run his fingers over the artifacts – a piece of the fabric his father gave him for a birthday once, elegant and embossed with their house’s seal; a page from a book his father suggested he use to write down ideas; a napkin from the great table where he sat at his father’s right side for all to see, no matter the day or occasion.

Other objects related to his family, the one of his making, with his wife and seven sons. There was a lock of Nelyo’s hair from when he was little, a shocking red that continued to this day; the first little flute Nerdanel had carved for Kano as a child, that bore a sharp and annoying sound but still made him want to sing; a feather from Celegorm’s first kill and the first flawed but still somehow perfect gem that Curvo had crafted.

He ran his fingers over the objects, realizing how much love was contained within. It was strange to think of love when so much hatred had passed so recently, and although Fingolfin had started their most recent conflict, it had been he who was banished to Formenos for twelve years. He and his children, and perhaps Nerdanel, if she would deign to come; she had been acting rather strangely towards him lately, but he was hoping that he would soon be able to open the door and let her in, and perhaps even use these sentimental objects to work his way towards reconciliation.

When the door knocked, he didn’t try to put anything back, feeling a surge of hope in his heart at the thought that Nerdanel had come and was finally ready to speak with him again rather than enduring their forced silence of some time. He went to answer it himself, and was quite surprised to see that the ellon before him had dark hair instead of red, and wore stately robes and a ring with his crest on it, a ring made for him many years ago.

“Atar,” Fëanor said, surprised. “I did not expect to see you here so quickly.” Or at all, he thought, but he kept that to himself.

“Where you go, I will go,” Finwë said, stepping through the threshold.

“But you are the king,” Fëanor said dumbly, unsure of whether he was pleased or alarmed by this new development.

“I am, but I am also a father,” Finwë said. “I do not agree with the decision of the Valar. It should have been for me to decide how to reprimand members of my own house, and in my mind, this forced separation is not the answer.”

“Will you act against them?” Fëanor asked, surprised.

“I would be a fool to try, but I will stay here with you during your time of exile, take time to spend with you and assure you of my love.”

“But if you are here, then who will rule in Tirion?” Fëanor asked, dreading his father’s next words, for he already knew the answer.

“It will be temporary only, and should assuage any problems. Giving Fingolfin a limited amount of time to rule rather than ruling it out entirely will pave the way for you, when you return.”

“And if the people like him?” Fëanor had earned the envy of many craftsmen, but there were few nobles who truly appreciated him, who supported his claim to the throne for more reason than their belief in the legitimacy or lack thereof of one of Finwë’s marriages. In his heart this fear dwelled – would he ever be able to earn the people’s love as his father had, or would the Silmarils be his only way to keep their loyalty to him?

“Regardless, he is a second son, and when we return together, I will speak publicly, stating your claim as my firstborn son and heir, no matter what. Even this will not be an obstacle, if you stay here and serve the time.” Finwë looked over at his son slightly more severely, imploring him to listen.

“I have no intention of breaking the will of the Valar in this matter, although it grieves me,” Fëanor replied. “And you are welcome here, with my sons and I.”

“Is Nerdanel not coming?”

“I do not know,” Fëanor answered honestly, and he looked back over to the box they had made together. “I hope she will come.”

“Did something happen?” Finwë asked.

“Many things have happened, but I hope we can reconcile.”

“I hope so as well,” Finwë said. “It is sad for a family to not be together.”

Fëanor wondered if he was thinking of his other family then. Indis had likely stayed with Fingolfin rather than coming to live with Fëanor; her daughters were very close to her and likely to stay nearby, and her sons were unlikely to uproot their families for the sake of someone who they barely had a relationship with. At the same time, though, his heart blazed bright at the thought that his father had chosen him above his other family, that even the mistake he made was not enough to stop Finwë from choosing him.

“I thank you for coming here, and if there is anything I can do to help you, please let me know,” Fëanor said with a slight bow.

Nelyo appeared then, finally the third Finwë in more than name alone, and he took his grandfather’s arm and began to show him around the home that Fëanor was building with his sons’ help. Fëanor himself turned back to the box, letting the objects pass through his hands once more before he closed it. There were some things more poignant than holding onto old things, and that included the demonstration of love he had received from his father on this day. Nothing could top that, and with that in mind, he would try – perhaps – to reconcile with his father’s other family. He now knew he was the most loved, after all.