The Broken Throne by Ilma

Chapter 1

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Telperion shines brightly through the window of my uncle’s study, though the light seems somehow dull when I look into the eyes that stare eagerly into mine.

"Artanis, my brother-daughter. I thank you for your presence."

"Of course, Uncle Fëanáro. I would not dream of refusing such a request."

A spark of wild joy flickers in his eyes, though his face is calm. "That is well, then," he says. "For I have a great request to make of you." He hands me a glass of wine, which I accept and sip carefully, struck by a sudden unease.

"Then I bid you ask it."

"For years, I have watched you grow into your beauty…" My uncle’s gaze is intense, and I look away and take a drink of wine. It is strong and unlike any I have had before. "You are among the most radiant of our people," he continues. " A great gift has been bestowed to you."

"My beauty?" I scoff. "I can think of greater gifts still."

"I speak not of something so…simple as beauty, Artanis."

"Then what is this gift?"

He leans forward. "Light. You have been given light."

A frown creases my brow. "Have I?"

"Yes." He raises his hand, and I think he means to touch my face, but instead he trails his fingers down my hair. Feeling ill, I sit the goblet upon his desk.

"And…your request, Uncle?" There is a dead, leaden weight in my stomach, for he has in part revealed the nature of his desire.

"A strand, Artanis, of your golden hair—a single strand! Is that so much that I would ask of you? Nay, I think not." And when he says it, it does not sound like much; but in his voice all things sound as he wills them to.

"Uncle…" I begin uneasily.

"Come, what is a lone hair to you? Hmm?" He sounds calm, but his eyes show desperation and…madness?

"What is it to you?" I counter.

His next words come out breathless: "Radiance; light, pure light. Inspiration." In a gesture rare for him, my uncle takes my hands in his, and his grip is nearly crushing. "Such a small thing for you; and the profit shall far outweigh the loss! One strand, Artanis—give me one strand—and with it, I shall work wonders."

Yes, it is madness in his eyes. The ill I feel is physical and may soon rise from the stomach to my throat to his floor.

"What say you?" my uncle asks in a whisper.

I close my eyes, so I do not have to see his. "Nay."

"What?"

"I…nay! I say nay! You shall have not even a single hair."

He springs to his feet, and his anger is a tangible thing. "You would deny me in this simple thing?"

Before I consciously realize I am doing it, I begin to back away. He follows me and takes my face between his hands. He leans down until our noses touch, and I have no choice but to stare into the fire of his eyes.

"Artanis." His breath smells of wine. "Artanis, beautiful, golden brother-daughter, please. I beg this of you."

"I am sorry!" I wish more than anything that my voice were not so high and that I could hide the tears that begin to spill from my eyes. "I am sorry, but I cannot!"

"You can! You can!" His clutch on my head is becoming forceful and tight.

"No!" I writhe in his grasp and despite succeeding in freeing myself, I stumble backwards and fall to the floor.

And the door opens.

It is Ambarussa; which one I cannot ever say. His eyes widen, and I see the scene before him through his eyes: his father, face twisted in anger, hands shaking, and myself, sprawled on the floor and crying.

Then, I realize it is my chance. I pull myself to my feet and scurry past Ambarussa through the door. Once I can no longer hear their soft voices, I break into a run until I am out of the house of Fëanáro.

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Chapter End Notes

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