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“Are you still not asleep?”
“I can’t sleep. Can you tell me another story?”
“Of course. During the war Melk-”
“No, not another war story. Something more fantastical, you know…”
“Sure, I’ll think of something.”
“Mmmmh...….”
“Long, long ago, in a land, far, far away, there lived a princess more beautiful than any other.”
“Wait, no, that’s not it.”
“There lived a princess smarter than any other. ”
“No, this doesn't sound right either. ”
“…”
“Stop getting impatient, I'm getting there. Where was I? Ah, yes.”
Long, long ago, in a land, far, far away, there lived a prince smarter than any other, by the name of Fëanáro.
Poor Fëanáro had lost his lovely mother when he was but a babe, it was o so tragic. And on top of the sadness of his dear mother passing away, was the arrival of a witch who came by and seduced his father the king, only several years after the tragic loss of his mother. Together the witch and the king had four horrible children. Life had become a living hell for poor little Fëanáro.
“Amya, Fëanáro broke my toy again! ” Cried the meanest of the daughters, with her sinister laughter. Her presence made Fëanáro so sad; what a horrible child, making our hero feel so desolate.
“Atya, Fëanáro disturebed my lessons again, he kept distracting the teacher with his off-subject questions ”, hissed the third son of the house. A viper, that one. He comes up with all kinds of malevolent schemes. The sons would from now receive private tutorship, poor Fëanáro, being isolated by those cruel children.
Poor little Fëanáro had it so hard living in a castle with villains. A witch for a step-mother and four bullying half-siblings. Life only got harder from here. The villainous witch made the hypnotised king banish Fëanáro when her foolish son failed his assasination attempt; Fëanáro had seen right through him and taken precautions.
“Fëanáro! How could you raise your sword against your own brother? ” The witch had screamed upon their return. They mistreated Fëanáro very badly, poor thing, being humiliated in his own house by the enemies who had infested his father’s castle like parasites.
One day he’ll get them, let’s root for Fëanáro. Come on, Fëanáro, we know you can do it!
I feel like I am missing some context.
“Fëanáro ran from his responsibilities and got lost in the woods, they say ,” were the whispers going through town. The witch and the hapless hypnotised king had sent the horrible huntsman to kill Fëanáro in the dark forest. Her first attempt had failed, so this time around her methods were even cruder. The monstrous huntsman on his foul steed accompanied by a pack of rabid dogs chased him through the dark woods all night long.
“I have brought thee home safely, be well in this hour of mingling light .”
O, how cruel are the gods, cutting off the poor birds' wings. No! Tearing them like leaves off a tree and throwing its weeping corpse back into its cage, how merciless could one be. The cage was but a filthy hut, far removed from the shimmering castle of his birth. In this backwater hut Fëanáro was stuck with someone who did not matter for this story whatsoever. I won’t even bother with a name.
“Once, I had loved you, but your madness and stubbornness are now beyond the vala, goodbye Fëanáro”, said the faceless woman as she left, truly, no one of importance.
Did she hurt you or something?
“Not in any way that matters. I just find her, eh, irrelevant to the joy I hope this story brings you. So, where was I…”
“The hut, right. ”
But in this hovel Fëanáro was not alone. In fact, the only people who had ever mattered, aside from his dearly beloved kingly father, were here. They were his seven jolly dwarves. Well, they used to be quite small, but now they were tall and beautiful. Filled to the brim with loyalty for our lovely prince. Because of this the days in the backwater shack were spent in joy and bliss. They would sing and craft and every form of beauty flowed freely in that house: rings, lamps and gems, unlike those ever seen before or ever after again. For where Fëanáro went artistry would surely follow.
And upon one of these lovely days a set of villainous visitors approached our hero’s home. They knocked violently. The door could not withhold their assault. They penetrated the hut, as a spear a deer’s flank. The seven fellows watched in disgust as their home was violated by these outsiders.
“Is this about the black king?”
“What? No? Didn’t you explicitly ask for something different this time? Or is this no good? See, the usual is better!”
“No, no, I love it so far, it just feels like there is something off about these events.”
”Of course not, as a craftsman myself it is my job to bend ugly reality into a wonderful story. Spinning hay into gold my dear, that is all I’m doing.“
“Right, the uninvited guests”.
But ever polite Fëanáro even went out of his way to leave a decanter of water on his desk as the monsters entered his private study. How thoughtful. These sadists brought cruel tidings, a great feast was to be held by his father and he was not invited. These miscreants had gone out of their way to tell Fëanáro personally. Probably to get-off on the sadness and frustration Fëanáro felt. Not seeing his father was the only thing that had made this imprisonment truly unbearable.
“Fëanáro, you know you can’t come because of your exile, but worry not, father will come and visit you next week. Just don't make any trouble. ” Said the black haired devil, who with his strong frame and strong will, tries to wrestle the king’s love away from Fëanáro, to whom it rightfully belongs. He was truly an ugly creature, if the prince wasn't as polite he should have kicked him in the head, that did the trick.
“You hate quite a few of them, don't you?”
“...”
“For the love of Elbereth. Fëanáro, for once in your life, please don’t start trouble. Even Ingwë will be there ”, venomously suggested the blond demon.
Poor Fëanáro, those mean half-brothers want to keep him far away from his beloved father. No, never, fight Fëanáro, we are all rooting for you.
“Ehh, yay?”
“Could you atleast try to seem enthused?”
And so Fëanáro decided that he would, no matter what, attend his father’s party, it was his duty and his delight. Plus, let’s be honest, seeing how blatantly those two scoundrels entered, who knows when they’ll attempt another assasination, kill him in his sleep or worse. An agonising, humiliating and completely undeserved death for this story’s hero. Fëanáro, go to that ball, escape your death!
But how would he get there? The castle is so far from here. And surely, those wicked brothers will have ordered lots of guards to stop him.
So, on the balcony sat our hero, lamenting. How could he possibly get to the ball? Just as despair clouded his mind, a warm hand grasped his shoulder reassuringly. His seven lovely sons were beaming at him. They were determined, they would get their father into the castle, no matter what. That night they forged an oath. That they would get their father to their grandfather no matter what, no matter the cost, no matter who tried to stop them, they swore to Eru. With the oath in place they started planning.
To cover the great distance to the castle they would need a mode of transport. They settled on asking to borrow the neighbour’s horses, not all eight of them having their own. Aside from that they needed light to guide them, for even the light of the two trees did not fully illuminate the forest they had to travers. They carried torches but Fëanáro also took his three supremely-unfathomably-extremely-fantastically-incredibly-extraordinarily beautiful and very very special light producing gems. It was settled.
“You really rushed those last two sentences, could you say that again?”
“No.”
Determined as they were, they barely noticed that their neighbours were reluctant to give them the horses, but if they didn’t want them taken they should have said something. It's not like they were super clear about not wanting to lend them and it's not like anyone was hurt. It was fine, because he is prince Fëanáro.
“Please, the horses are precious to us, don’t take them! ”
“Yon? Aaaahhh, yondo! Take them, please, please don’t hurt him .”
Fetching the horses was little trouble for Fëanáro’s seven kind companions. Those neighbours were irresolute, but that is no problem for these eight shining souls. They are very persuasive.
“Atya, I bruised his shoulder and I am quite sure Curufinwë broke their son's elbow, maybe we shouldn’t just take the horses ,” said the oldest, pretty Nelyafinwë, a child still so soft around the edges. Yes, very soft. What a shame that didn’t last long.
But our wise prince isn’t one to carelessly break his oath, the noble soul would keep moving forward. All saddled up, they went on their way. A great journey begins. With their lights guiding them they moved swiftly through the dark woods. Galloping at great speeds, they closed the gap between themselves and the castle. Fëanáro was one step closer to once again being reunited with his father. Our prince kept hope alive in his heart that he could free him from the wicked witchcraft that had been straining their father-son bond.
“Okay, you know what, this is pretty good.”
“O, it gets so much better.”
Misfortune struck. Watchers had been stationed near the forest’s edge. They could not pass them. But our hero is wise and cunning, not easily defeated by such a minor setback. He ordered everyone off their horses, that way they could sneak past the guards. Our hero Fëanáro, pretty Nelyafinwë and moderately interesting Kanafinwë, attached their wonderfully perfect gems to their horses and the eight of them formed a circle. A short back and forth followed and a plan was made. Two of them would slip past the guards and relay their numbers and positions. The two of them handed their torches to their youngest brother and sneaked off. The three youngest got together to look over the map, needing four hands, they handed the youngest their torches as well.
Everyone sat down, whilst Fëanáro, who intellectually reasoned that it might ruin his pristine robes to do so, leaned against a tree waiting, illuminated by the torches, now all held by his youngest. His sons were swift and surely would return quickly.
Suddenly, Kanafinwë cried out and pulled his father into the bushes and pretty Nelyafinwë did the same for the two siblings closest to him. Several guards came running towards them. All eyes were on the youngest, who still had been carrying all the torches, beaconing the sentinels. His eyes met Fëanáro’s through the bushes and the courage we all love Fëanáro for transferred to his son. He started sprinting.
And so, one went down, running away carrying the torches and scaring away the horses, distracting their pursuers, luring them away from Fëanáro.
“Fire, aaaaaahhh, the fire, it burns. Help. Help! Atya, help me! ” cried half of a pair running deeper into the forest holding all the torches, burning brightly. None could look away from the scene. The pale faced guards followed suit, clearing the forest of the pressing threat. The seven gathered back together, glad to be on their way again.
“Atya, how could you? Your son burned for you! How can we possibly go on ?” Said pretty Nelyafinwë, who had only inherited half his fathers wits and could not see the bigger picture. That mattered not, Fëanáro’s brilliant leadership would get him back on track.
The dark forest made way for marble tiles snaking their way to the glittering palace. The path to the city, to the castle, was now free of sentinels. They could now run to the castle, nobody standing in their way any longer. Your youngest son is a cheap price to pay, good job Fëanáro, now you will be able to reach the city without anyone attempting to stop you.
“First of all, what the heck?”
“It’ll make sense. It will all come together in the end. Now hush.”
The group walked on silently, the path illuminated by Teleperion. Their lavish robes and precious adornments slowed them down considerably but they marched on proudly. O, how beautiful they are. Fëanáro would outshine both of his horrible half-brothers. He would teach that witch a lesson and regain all of his fathers affection.
They had finally reached the walls of the city, the glistering castle gate in sight. The city was filled to the brim with pretty elves of all kinds of colours and houses, all making their way to the great feast held in the palace. The seven felt joy, victory finally seemed close at hand. Fëanáro in his excitement broke loose from the group and sprinted ahead.
The others tried to keep up, Kanafinwë skillfully dodging finely dressed elleth, another pushed ellons aside in an attempt to stay on his father’s heels. They had all nearly made it when Turcafinwë had crashed into another guest, their necklaces and circlets entangling. Curufinwë and Morifinwë turned around to help their brother when the tangled ellon grabbed them by their collars.
“Curse thee, spawn of Fëanáro, I will not have thee defile my family heirloom! ” Roared the angry ellon. That sounds like bad news, clearly the fact that it was Fëanáro who had made that piece of jewellery did not appear to matter to this hothead, how ungrateful, don’t you think?
“Honestly, I think they were in the wrong.”
“Glad you agree”.
“You aren’t listening to me, are you now?”
But the fussy elf had attracted a lot of attention with his indignant yelling and people would probably start to take notice that Fëanáro was there, even though he was supposed to be in exile. So our quick thinking hero moved on without them. Good move, it allowed the four of them to get away before anyone spotted them.
“Is this a recurring theme?”
“What? Leaving those three behind them is only a small price to pay. I mean, they were as good as lost anyway. ”
Three were lost, entangled in a fight with a stuck-up royal making a fuss in the courtyard about a piece of jewellery, calling his wife and many guards to his side. It just happens like that sometimes.
Fëanáro and his three sons had climbed the long staircase that led to the gate. Our hero moved himself elegantly through the masses that tried to worm themselves through the courtyard. His sons struggled a bit, but that was to be expected, not everyone is perfect.
Finally, they had made it through the gate. They were finally inside of the castle. But it was even busier than the city and the courtyard had been, the elves were moving as a solid mass, pushing and pulling, their tide washing our hero nearly into the wrong hall. He felt like he was being crushed by these peasants.
“Stop pushing will you, can’t you see we’re trying to form an orderly queue? ”
But his determination was unimpaired, he grabbed a hold of what was dear to him and he pushed through, making it to the main hall. It nearly seemed to fail, but a burst of strength filled him and the crowd opened up before him.
As he stepped out of the flow of parading elves into the throne room he noticed he was only holding two hands. With his left he held ‘not as good as you’d think’ Kanafinwë, with his right he held pretty Nelyafinwë.
One got lost after giving Fëanáro a final push through the door before getting swept away with the crowd, being pulled by the tide moving out of the castle. Not even getting a glance at their goal, even after getting this close.
“Really? Again?”
“O well, you can’t blame our hero for having only two hands, on the contrary, he fought such a powerful current and on top of that was able to guide two sons. Bravo.”
“Sure.”
“Hush now.”
Once again victory was closer than ever, but, all attention turned their way. Fëanáro was still in exile, forbidden from attending this very party. A thousand faces would imminently turn and the witch would curse him. She might turn him to dust on the spot.
In an instant his sons broke from his side as he tried to blend into the crowd. Kanafinwë, only half-heartedly looking for a solution, stumbled upon the buffet table and started stuffing his face, unable to stop himself. Feeling starved like a millennium old wanderer, he filled his gullet inelegantly, but at least his mouth was shut. This disgusting spectacle made several heads turn. Including that of a pair of children, who, even though they had just lost their mother in the crowd, could not help but laugh at the pitiful creature.
“Okay, that one is clearly your least favourite…”
“What gave it away?”
“...”
So the shrill vagabond was stuffing his hole, not being particularly helpful. But Nelyafinwë, having learned from the best, his father, had a better, more extreme idea. The oldest of the seven saw a pit of fire before him and his heart was set. Striding towards it he grasped a hold of the jewel of greatest beauty he could find, the hand of his fun-ruining cousin.
“Findekáno, may I have this dance? ” Nelyafinwë asked as he took the dive into the circle of fire, the dance floor. Drums set a fast pace as the lutes ordered them to move their bodies at a furious pace. A passionate voice guides their bodies, quickly, hotly, sweating, melting. A fëa-burning performance that took the breath of anyone who witnessed it. It was self-sacrifice of an unforgettable scale. No pair of eyes in the room wasn't glued to the incredible performance.
“Favoritism.”
“Me? Never!”
One had been lost to the flames of passion, clutching something precious, forgetting himself and what he left behind.
Kanafinwë, lips covered in cream, found Fëanáro distracted by his son’s passionate display nearly forgetting his oath. He grabbed a hold of Fëanáro’s arm and slowly guided him to the other side of the hall, the throne upon which the king was sitting. Kanafinwë paced himself so as not to draw attention, swinging slightly from the left to the right. Fëanáro kept his head down so as not to raise any alarm. The two reached the throne after what felt like an eternity.
Fëanáro had started climbing the stairs that would lead him to his father when he noticed how light his arm felt. Fëanáro turned. The last of his sons was no longer at his side.
The last had been lost, wandering the crowded hall. A bad oyster, whose pearl he carelessly gifted to a green bearded guest, doomed him to wander, haggard and sweaty, until a restroom would cross his path. Yet, that fate might hold an eternity of suffering as well.
“...”
“Go on Fëanáro just a little more, you are so close!”
“Come on, I haven’t heard you cheer on our main character for a while now.”
“Yay… Whooho..”
“O, stop frowning will you? You asked for a story about the world before it was ours. Here I am telling you a story that doesn’t make the Eldar look like the trash they are. Either be a little more grateful or you are going to be sleeping downstairs.”
“Yeah, I’m not really feeling like loud screeching and cold toes tonight. I'll try lessening the sass, my lord.”
“No need to get formal with me. Now where was I?”
He had done it. After an exhausting journey he had finally reached his beloved father.
He had sacrificed everything he had to reach him. It was a joyous occasion, the oath had been fulfilled. The king looked at Fëanáro and everything was alright.
“Fëanáro, why are you here? I said I would visit you, ” asked the king, not fully cured of the witch’s hypnosis. But Fëanáro’s strength freed his mind from its shackles. The perfect prince was able to effortlessly break the spell now that his father was in reach. The whole journey had come to a happy end. The story had come to a happy end.
“Atya, is greed a worthy cause if it costs you everything you love? ”
The king rejoiced, recognizing his one and only son. The witch was banished from the land and her demon-spawn vanished off the face of Arda, victory! All was well, Fëanáro had succeeded. And they lived happily ever after.
“No my son, nothing weighs more than the life of a child .”
“...”
“Finally at sleep, huh?”
Far away from the sparkling castle, at the edge of the dark forest sat our king clad in black. A lazy grin on his face as he held out a carrot. Every horse in the area came to be fed from those lovely hands, all of them… See? My stories aren’t that bad. No bad story ends in the victory of the one who deserves it most...
I will wait on you, always.
"May your dreams be filled with dread and death, loveliest. Goodnight.”