Thirty Day Character Challenge: Feanor by eris_of_imladris

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Prompt 23

Prompt 23: Drop Everything and Read, Part Three. Take at least a half-hour to familiarize yourself with fan fiction created about your character. If you are working on a rare character about whom little has been written, you may substitute reading about a group of characters to whom your character belongs (e.g., Dwarves, female characters, commonfolk, craftspeople, etc.)

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** A/N: I responded to this prompt in two ways, with a series of observations from favorite fanfics and a fic inspired by one of them.

 

1. I’m not usually a fan of poetry, but this sestina’s beautiful language inspired me to delve into Fëanor’s mental process as he works on the Silmarils, and I’ve had a lot of fun with that: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12175533?view_adult=true (Credit: amyfortuna).

 

2. This hilarious piece, “Green Eggs and Silmarils,” is written in perfect Seuss-ian rhyme and I think it’s nice to see some humor in a fandom that tends to be focused more on angst: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1394323 (Credit: Zdenka).

 

3. This fic directly deals with one of my favorite headcanons for Fëanor – that he suffers from mental illness – while also making a point of the fact that mental and physical illnesses are treated/observed differently. I’ve been inspired by this piece a lot: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12653241 (Credit: consumptive_sphinx).

 

4. The Fëanor pieces in the Bunniverse series, as well as the ones about his sons and other family members, offer a nice look into their everyday lives: https://archiveofourown.org/series/751047 (Credit: Zhie).

 

The fic below is inspired by the premise of this story: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11690364/chapters/26318286 (Credit: silvertrails) combined with one of my favorite literary tropes, King Incognito.

 

The boy arrived at midday, when Nerdanel and her mother were putting away the dishes from their afternoon meal. He rode over the horizon with fire in his eyes, and when he arrived, he looked all around.

“Is Mahtan here?” he asked curtly.

“No, he’s out for the day,” Nerdanel’s mother replied.

“May I go to his forge?” he asked, more politely this time.

“Why?”

“I am one of his apprentices, and I know he has an order for a great number of horseshoes to go out soon. I thought I would help.”

Nerdanel looked at her mother, whose gaze told her to not be concerned, but perhaps to follow. Maybe the boy looked familiar enough to her, but all of her father’s apprentices looked the same to Nerdanel. “All right,” she said, and the boy took off, heading in a known direction, making for the forge.

Nerdanel followed for a short while, but the boy did exactly what he said - he took up one of the stations and began attacking the metal with anything but finesse, his hammer clanging and ringing out, and then when the shoes began to emerge, he took a lighter approach, his fingers moving nimbly over the metal until each piece was done.

Content that he was who he said, Nerdanel did not watch him for long, but when her father rode up several hours later, as Nerdanel was helping her mother set the plates for dinner, his eyebrows rose in alarm when he heard a methodical clanging noise. “Who is in my forge?”

“One of your apprentices,” Nerdanel said.

“None of my apprentices were supposed to come in today,” Mahtan said, and he swung his leg over the horse and raced towards the forge. About to scream and disrupt the intruder, he was instead surprised that he recognized the young man, and the horseshoes by his side were piled so high he could barely see the boy’s black hair or sweaty leather apron.

“Lad,” he called out, and the boy turned to face him, leaving his project on the table.

“I apologize for coming without your knowledge, but I thought I would help with the horseshoes,” the boy replied, sweeping his hand out to show his progress. It was remarkable to Mahtan, but this apprentice was capable of that, he knew.

“It looks like fine work,” he praised the boy. “Any idea how many?”

“One hundred,” the boy replied, “well, this is the hundredth.”

Mahtan picked up the shoe that rested on the table and passed it between his hands. “Sturdy, perfect shape, even all around… if the others are like this, there’s no reason to think that they’re anything less than perfect.”

“Thank you,” the boy said, something strange in his eyes, and Mahtan thought he had an idea of what it might be. He didn’t know for sure, but he knew enough of the day’s significance and the productivity the boy had displayed in his forge to know that something had to have gone wrong.

“I was just heading inside to eat,” Mahtan said. “Have you eaten today?”

“No,” the boy said, as if it was a surprise to him.

“Anything to drink?”

“No,” the boy said sheepishly.

“That’s just dangerous, lad - you’ve got folks who care about you, you can’t just work a day like that without drinking at all. You could have a heat stroke,” Mahtan scolded lightly, but he could tell from the boy’s face that there was already something going on, and he didn’t want to be too harsh.

The boy shook his head lightly. “With all due respect, master, I disagree,” he said.

“About what? You can’t question the heat stroke,” Mahtan said, “and…” He paused, taking in the look on the boy’s face, the way he wore a shirt that was too nice beneath the leather apron, and fine breeches rather than his smithing clothes. He had never shown up like this before, unannounced, nor had he ever been so productive in so little time. “You do have folks who care about you,” Mahtan said.

“You are very kind, master,” he said.

“I do not only speak for myself. It may be hard to believe, but you are loved,” he said.

“Not today,” the boy said ominously as he stepped through the door, making polite courtesies to Nerdanel and her mother before stepping over to the washing basin, cleaning the worst of the soot off his hands.

Mahtan remembered when, several years back, the boy’s stepmother had given birth to a baby girl, a golden-haired baby who his father fussed over incredibly. Then, the boy had been distracted during the day, and he had worked hard, but not like this, nothing like this. That was all he could think of, although perhaps he had quarreled with his father in addition to his stepmother, but something was clearly bothering him.

“Wife, set the table for one more, we have a guest for dinner,” Mahtan called out, taking off his traveling cloak and setting it over his chair.

“What’s wrong?” she asked as she brought out the napkin and silverware.

“I do not know yet,” he replied, “but the lad is dear to me, and I will not have him feeling like this for naught.”

The boy returned, surprised to find a place at the table for him next to his master. “You did not need to do this,” he said softly.

“You are welcome in my home, I told you this, and I told your father this,” Mahtan announced after the family prayed together.

“Perhaps he will take you up on it,” the boy said sarcastically. “Although I am sure you do not need a son, with your daughter’s skills.”

Mahtan looked over at his wife before turning to the boy, who hesitantly took some of the food in front of him, a small amount. “Take more, lad, you must be hungry from all that work,” he said.

“I did not realize how hungry I was until just now,” he replied, but he took an extra spoonful before passing it over to Nerdanel.

“Would you care to explain what you meant earlier?” he asked after the boy had taken a few bites of food.

“I… I would not bother you with my family matters, master. You are responsible for my craft.”

“And in order to do that craft, you must be well - anger can only carry you so far. It works well for tasks like horseshoes, but I don’t intend to keep you there forever,” Mahtan said.

The boy sighed, scratched the back of his neck, and then spoke a simple sentence: “He has my name.”

The four words told Mahtan all he needed to know, but he had no idea how to actually solve the situation. He tried to think like his wife, who now stared at him confusedly - what would she do? She would try to make him feel understood, and heard, and like he had a voice, when he was feeling like one had been taken away.

“It was wrong to do that,” Mahtan said, and the boy’s head lifted up. “It was disrespectful to you and who you are, and it only builds the case against him.”

“I knew you would see it,” the boy said eagerly. “I knew it. And I knew - this is not stupid of me, is it?”

“For your father to take your name? Not stupid at all. It is callous and I think he might have gotten ahead of himself without thinking of you.”

“He certainly did not think of me, seeing as I have been gone all day without leaving word,” the boy said, taking some bread and scooping some of the sauce onto it, taking a large bite.

“You did not tell him where you were going?”

“I did not tell him that I was going,” he clarified. “But my apron is missing, and I have only one smithing master, so I should not be very hard to find.”

It was another test, Mahtan could see - the boy was fond of tests, of trying to figure out what was going on in people’s minds, and he took the evidence as facts. Contrary to his reputation, he was more than capable of being patient, but he needed there to be some sort of reason for the patience, something he was waiting for. The longer he waited, the more he thought he was uncared for, the more his anger must have grown.

“Today is a busy day for him, perhaps he has not yet left the room,” Mahtan said softly.

“I do not doubt that, but…” He sighed, taking his fork and poking at some of the vegetables. “Do you think I am stupid?”

“Stupid? Where in the world did you get that idea?”

“From… I do not wish to say, but someone I care about has called me stupid by association.”

“You are one of the brightest Eldar I have ever met, lad,” Mahtan said. “Smart does not even begin to describe it. You have a keen mind like I have seen in few cases before.” He paused, taking in the look on the boy’s face, before he added, “Who called you stupid?”

“No one called me stupid, but when you point at me and you point at something with the intelligence of a rock, and then you call the rock wise, what does that make me?” He speared a green bean angrily.

“Some may have wished to praise the other, but it is inconsiderate, and rude, especially that you did not know beforehand or have any time to react.”

“Or any place - how was I supposed to react in front of my father? I do still love him, even after all he has said and done, even after every fight we have had. But now I cannot help but wonder…” He speared another green bean. “If you are looking for someone in his position, do you look for someone skilled in a forge, or do you seek someone wise?”

It took Mahtan no time to understand what the boy was saying, although the rest of his family looked confused. “You cannot possibly think he means to disown you,” Mahtan said.

“I cannot help but wonder,” the boy repeated. “Why else would he do this?”

“For the love of others, and he seems to have forgotten…”

“Yes, he has forgotten that he has a firstborn son who he made promises to, who he swore he would love and care for no matter what.”

“You do not know this will happen,” Mahtan said.

“It has been happening slowly over the years, and this is… a heavy blow,” he admitted.

Mahtan placed his hand over the boy’s. “I will tell you this - you always have a spot at my forge, and a home in my home, but I believe your father will come around. Did you quarrel?”

“I did not stay long enough to begin one,” the boy said. “I left when I felt the anger getting too heavy, and I rode out here and made the shoes.”

“That is the mark of a wise man, whatever anyone may say,” Mahtan said, squeezing the boy’s hand. “A lesser man would have stayed and let his anger take advantage of him, but you turned yours into something productive.”

“Thank you,” the boy said, and a few tears began falling from his eyes. He hastily stood up, only to find himself in Mahtan’s large, strong arms. He allowed himself to cry for a brief moment, then whispered a word into Mahtan’s ear.

The master smith looked surprised and saddened when he sat back down. “I can understand your anger, and your pain,” he said.

“It is not fair,” the boy replied. “Simply by virtue of who he is, he has so much more than what I can ever hope to have, plus the looks.”

“You are not ugly,” Mahtan said, looking over at the women to support his claim.

“I never said I was ugly, but I do have some of my mother’s features, and…”

“Which is something to be proud of,” Mahtan said.

“Not if it makes me look less like my father,” he replied. “How am I supposed to compete?”

“This is not a matter where you should need to compete,” Mahtan said.

“But I would be a fool to trust that I do not need to,” the boy replied solemnly as he ate his last forkful. “Thank you for dinner, it was excellent,” he said to Mahtan’s wife.

“You’re welcome,” she said. “Will you be staying for tea?”

“He will stay as long as he needs,” Mahtan said, and when his wife took the dishes to the kitchen, he followed her.

“This might be a problem, if he needs to stay for a long period of time,” she said.

“Trust me, if he has no home to go back to tomorrow, we have much bigger problems than a boy sleeping in our house.”

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Chapter End Notes

I'm working on continuing this fic as a larger project; I've got it posted at http://archiveofourown.org/works/12957348