Fëanorians in 600 Words or Less by eris_of_imladris

Mistaken

Celegorm Headcanon: I like to think that Celegorm got Huan when he was young, perhaps even a child. Not sure how much sense this makes, but Celegorm needs more fluff and Huan is fluffy. (And of course it turns into angst at the end but I can’t help it so xD)

They were at it again.

Turko sat with his knees against his chest, close to the door frame, listening to the loudening voices a few rooms over. Well, there was one that was louder than the other, but he wasn’t surprised. His father had to be the best, and he had to win every fight, especially if his half-uncle Nolofinwë was involved.

“I left it right here, so unless you are calling me stupid,” Turko heard his father’s deep voice say, cold and measured and somehow scarier than if he was really screaming.

Turko felt a wet nose push at his side, and he reached out his arm, draping it over the oversized puppy as he tried to wiggle his way onto Turko’s knees. “Wait,” he told the pup, who sniffed eagerly at his hair as he stretched his legs out. Huan quickly settled himself down, letting out a sigh and stretching out his paws far past Turko’s feet.

“You are too heavy,” Turko admonished, but a quick scratch behind the ears let Huan know he was not being a bother at all.

The pair turned their heads when they heard a thud, then another exclamation: “So you are telling me my missive just sprouted legs and walked out of here?”

“I am telling you to be patient, and we will find it,” Turko recognized Nolofinwë’s voice, quickly followed by a retort from his father that he didn’t fully understand.

Footsteps echoed through the hallway, Fëanor stomping and Nolofinwë rushing behind, and the rustle of robes and two elves looking through the open doorway was the only attention given to Turko or the dog, who suddenly looked worried.

“Don’t be afraid,” Turko said. “No one will hurt you, not with me here.” He took out his wooden sword and thrust it into the air, at which Huan gave an enthusiastic bark. With his tongue flopped on the side of his mouth, Turko saw what looked eerily like a corner of parchment.

He pulled it off, looked at it, and read the single legible word before returning it to the dog. “You silly dog – but I promise, even with this,” he promised, with a toothy grin. “You are my best friend.”

Fëanor never found his missive, but Huan knew he had found his best friend, and contentedly fell asleep on Turko’s legs once more.

But many years later, when the sword was real and covered in blood, and the gulls shrieked as they flew over the bloodstained boats of the Teleri, the great hound saw Fëanor in the silver-haired elf.

“Huan?” he said, and kindness in his voice, but it sounded strange coming from a murderer, and Huan’s steps were fearful as he walked towards the boy he realized he had never truly known at all.