Thirty Day Character Challenge: Feanor by eris_of_imladris

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Prompt 26

Prompt 26: Happy Holidays. What special days does your character observe? Research or invent the customs of a holiday your character loves to celebrate. (See Darth Fingon's Elven Holidays and Festivals or the Thain's Book for more information on canonical Middle-earth holidays.)

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** A/N: It's Finwë's birthday!

Fëanor slammed the hammer down on the metal again, shaping the plowshare as he grumbled under his breath.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” Mahtan said gently, but Fëanor simply continued to hammer. He watched the boy’s movements, watched as he – even with his injured hand, but now was not the time to scold him – pounded down on the metal, again and again and again. The rage seemed mindless at first, but he knew Fëanor better than that, and watched even closer. He was truly enraged, yes, but he was being careful with the steel even so, shaping it perfectly. There was no room for mistakes, or even anything else this could be: he was showing off his skill, trying to prove to himself that he could do great work. Mahtan knew exactly what to say to get him talking.

“I thought it was a marvelous piece, myself,” he said. “The wood – even though it’s not your usual thing, you carved it extremely well, and then the puzzle mechanism was extraordinarily sophisticated, and the ring replicated your father’s sigil perfectly.”

Fëanor let his hammer fall two more times, finishing what he was working on for the moment, and then hung his head. “He didn’t even look at it.”

“What do you mean?”

“He didn’t even try to open the box – he just said the wood looked pretty, and then put it aside, and one of the palace workers carried it out of the room with everything else at the end of the night. He paid it no mind, didn’t even give it a second glance,” Fëanor said, and before Mahtan could reply, he held up his sooty hand. “But when Findis placed two or three glass beads on a rope, he picked it out of her hands and called it the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, and wore it out of the room, and when Indis handed him something supposedly from the baby, he gave him a large hug and thanked him for it. Apparently, you have to be part of the family for him to look at or care about the gift.”

“That was extremely wrong of him,” Mahtan said, wondering how he was supposed to justify Finwë’s behavior this time. “Yes, it’s important to show young children that their gifts are important, but you are his son, his firstborn no less, and he should have figured out there was something more to your gift.”

“He didn’t even let me explain,” Fëanor said. “He just put it away without a second thought, and I… I worked so hard on it, I came in early and stayed late for months to make it perfect, and he didn’t even try to see it. He didn’t even care.”

“I’m sure he cares,” Mahtan said, but Fëanor scoffed.

“If he cares, why does he show me again and again that he couldn’t care less about me? He has his new family, that’s all he needs, but I still go back to him again and again like a desperate child. It’s pitiful on my part.”

“There is nothing pitiful in trying to honor your father,” Mahtan said. “There was no fault on your end, I promise you,” he added, trying to think of some choice words for Finwë later.

“I tried so hard,” Fëanor said, his voice raising slightly, and he sounded like a young child whose dreams had been crushed. Mahtan realized exactly how friable their bond was, how close Fëanor was to breaking ties with his father completely, and how that would destroy him.

“I will accompany you home. I have some words for your father,” Mahtan said gruffly.

“You can’t fight all my battles for me,” Fëanor said. “I have to do some things on my own.”

“But your father may not even realize he’s doing this.”

“My father isn’t dumb,” Fëanor replied. “He knows exactly what he’s doing.”

“But he may not be thinking about it.”

“He should be thinking about me,” Fëanor said.

“That he should,” Mahtan replied, “but it seems like he’s not doing a good enough job of it. And from one adult to another, and from someone slightly removed from the source of the conflict, I think things may work better if I help.”

Fëanor grudgingly nodded. “Do we have to do it now?”

“You can work for a while if you wish, but I would like to go sooner rather than later, if only to give Telvo the opportunity to lead the apprentices.”

“It was his day,” Fëanor remembered. “I’m sorry, master.”

“It’s fine, Fëanor. I told you you could do whatever you wanted in this forge, and I meant it – but I do want to make sure the other senior apprentices get a try at leading the forge’s operations.”

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“Ah, Fëanor, I wondered where you were,” Finwë said. “We just finished dinner, but I can have the cooks send something to your rooms if you like.” Fëanor nodded silently, and shuffled away. Finwë then turned to Mahtan, adding, “I had not expected to see you today, my friend.”

Mahtan bowed stiffly. “I wanted to wish you a happy birthday, and to talk with you, if you have a moment to spare.”

Finwë peeked inside the room to see Indis walking with the children to the nursery. “I have some time,” he said curiously, motioning for Mahtan to follow him.

The two made their way to the king’s study in relative silence, and Finwë motioned for Mahtan to sit in a wicker chair. “What can I do for you, Mahtan?”

Mahtan looked around the room, realizing that the object he wished to ask about was on top of a disorganized-looking pile of presents in the corner. “I spoke to Fëanor this morning about your birthday.”

“You did?”

“Yes, he and I are getting close,” Mahtan said, treading carefully. Not only could he not tell another father how to parent his son, but he also couldn’t order his king around.

“That’s good,” Finwë said.

“I wanted to ask you about a celebration you had last night, for your birthday.”

“It’s mostly about sorting the gifts and figuring out diplomatic responses to each,” Finwë said. “Trust me, you’re better off not being there.”

Mahtan shook his head. “No, I meant when your family was giving you gifts.”

“We do something small every year,” Finwë said. “For each of us.”

“Yes,” Mahtan said.

“Come to think of it, I was a little curious about Fëanor’s gift – where was it, now?” He looked over at the presents and rifled through them until he found the box. “I didn’t think wood carving was his specialty.”

“It’s not,” Mahtan said, hoping he was about to deal with this correctly. “That’s not what the gift is. It’s a puzzle-box, and one with a rather sophisticated mechanism. Traditionally used for presenting gifts in a rather splendid fashion, although some people use them as gifts. The true gift in this one, however, is on the inside, and I know for a fact that he has been working on both the mechanism for the box and the gift inside for many months.”

“I didn’t know that,” Finwë said, rotating the box between his hands and finally noticing a small switch on the left side by one of the carvings.

“He did the carvings, too; he insisted that my daughter Nerdanel help him with it. He wanted to present you with something truly splendid.”

Mahtan stayed silent as Finwë pressed the latch, and the clinking of several gears became audible as different latches appeared, only to form a particularly unique pattern resembling the house’s seal. Finwë pressed each button in the order that the seal was typically drawn, only for the box to unfold into several smaller compartments. In the largest, which was lined with deep blue velvet, there sat a ring with the house’s signet replicated perfectly, in a sturdy setting studded with small gems. Powerful and stately, the ring looked like something that Mahtan himself would have made, and it was something that Fëanor had poured many, many hours of time into.

“It’s beautiful,” Finwë said. “And I didn’t even know it was in there. I was with Indis, and Findis was so excited to show me what she made that I barely looked at it at all. I was going to look at it another time,” he said with a glance at the pile of gifts, many of which would likely be processed by servants or other palace staff.

“You are losing your son,” Mahtan said solemnly. “Every time he comes to the forge, or seeks refuge in my home, after seeing that he is not part of his own family, you are losing him, and one day, it will be final – it might not be until he is old enough to move out on his own, but you might lose him forever if you’re not careful, my old friend,” he said, trying to soften the blow.

Finwë nodded. “I understand,” he said, “and I wish I could be exactly what he needs and also give of myself to Indis and our children. It’s not an easy place to be.”

“I understand that,” Mahtan said, “but Fëanor is hurting. He hides it well, he has developed an excellent shell of silence and dedication to work, but when he’s at the forge, I can tell whenever something has gone wrong at home, and each time, he is less and less willing to try to work things out.”

“I had no idea it was that bad,” Finwë said.

“It has been for some time, but he wanted to try to make things up to you with this gift. He wanted to show you how much he loved you, and what he thought of you, and he worked so hard for so long only to show up off-shift this morning, telling me that you hadn’t even cared to look at it, let alone try to open it.”

“Is there a way to fix this?” Finwë asked.

“Not easily, but it can be done,” Mahtan replied. “I try to speak for you when he comes to me with these conflicts, but I think true reconciliation needs to begin with you, if I may be so bold.”

“Of course you can,” Finwë said, the ring resting in his palm. “But you know so much better than I, because I must admit, you likely know my son better… what can I do?”

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His father sat on his bed, and he stayed still, wondering what was going to happen next. It was so unusual for him to seek him there with no specific purpose, but there wasn’t anything Fëanor could do for his father at the moment, no place he could go, nowhere he could be of use. His curiosity nearly made him ask, but he was even more curious as to why his father sought him out now, rather than when he would be able to do anything for him.

“My son gave me a most wonderful gift,” Finwë said softly, stroking Fëanor’s hair. “There was a switch in the carving, and it led to a “My son gave me a most wonderful gift,” Finwë said softly, stroking Fëanor’s hair. “There was a switch in the carving, and it led to a gear that spun like it had been placed there by magic; I could scarcely believe this was to be mine. And it created a pattern of my seal, and tapping it in order revealed the rest of the box, and inside was an incredible ring matching Mahtan’s level of skill with a band that fits my finger perfectly.” Fëanor felt the ring on his father’s hand, felt him twirling it around. If he could twirl but it was not too loose, his measurement ideas had been correct.

Finwë stopped talking for several moments, and Fëanor wondered if Finwë had perhaps noticed he was awake, but then he started again, softer than before. “I hope he knows that I am trying… that I try to find a way to show my love for him and for other members of my family in a way that hurts no one, and apparently I have not been doing a particularly good job, but I hope he knows that I love him dearly, and no matter who else comes into my life, whether family or not, he will always be first in my heart.”

Fëanor nearly scoffed, nearly wanted to jolt up into a seated position and challenge his father on everything he had said, but there was something comforting in feeling his father’s presence there, feeling the way he kept stroking his hair, knowing that he was here in his chamber rather than spending time with his other family, the family he was trying to replace Fëanor with. It was nice to feel like he still had a place, even if his father had not known how to approach him openly. He had tried. It felt like forever since Fëanor even felt like his father had tried, and now, he had not only tried, but succeeded, as Fëanor felt a smile creeping across his face. Perhaps not all was lost, after all.