Mana ngwen polne mai náne [Unfinished - Discontinued]

Fëanáro groaned when he woke. His back hurt, his side burned and he was certain he might have broken his arm. Blinking, he realized just how dark it was. And his eyes felt different. Older, weaker. Everything felt different.

“Did I fell asleep in the smithy?” Grunting as he sat up, Fëanáro winced when a sudden noise sounded near him. “Wha-“

Blinking rapidly, he saw Námo enter his room. Squinting from the light coming from behind the Vala, Fëanáro was sure for a moment, Námo looked worried. The Vala entered the room, murmuring in Valarin something. From the tone of it, it wasn’t good. Námo laid his hand on his head. The gentle yet huge hand moving on the top his head from side-to-side. He could have sworn the Vala’s brows raised new heights. He was about to ask him the reason he is here, when reality was bending and Estë was kneeling by his other side. The Valië too had placed her hand on his head, and Fëanáro could feel the ache in his hröa numbing down, until it eventually disappeared.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Fëanáro sat up straighter, even with Námo’s hand on his head. “Thank you, My Lady, My Lord.”

When Estë’s hitched gasp caught his ears, he knew something wasn’t right. The Valië just as soon departed as she had appeared, and Fëanáro had to avert his eyes. Even with Nienna, Vairë and sometimes Oromë showing up at their house, he couldn’t get used to their ways of transport.

“My Lord, what- what happened? Where are we?”

Námo’s attention was back on him again. And the way he looked into his eyes made him squirm. “Are you to say, you have no memory of the reason you are here? You don’t know what had happened?”

Fëanáro could only shake his head. “No, My Lord. The last thing I can recall is… Arno and I were in the smithy. I had begun to teach him how to bend the metal into a circle, when I felt-“ Fëanáro hissed as a numb sensation came over him.

Námo’s hand was back on his head in an instant, and the Vala murmured some more. “This is strange.” Was all he heard from him.

“I-I think I might have… Fainted? Is- My Lord, do you know if Arno is alright?” Sitting up suddenly might not have been his best idea. He hunched over, arm shooting over his stomach as he tried and failed to contain its contents. He had just enough time to not vomit all over the Vala’s boots. Coughing and leaning away from the Vala, Fëanáro felt another hand press against his back. Námo pulled him back into a slumped sitting position, offering him a cloth to wipe his mouth with, and a glass of water.

“Milyesta[1], take him to Vairë’s halls. There is someone who wants to see him. I have a few errands to make.”

Fëanáro watched wide-eyed as the Vala stormed off. Tilting his head to blink at the Maia, who entered, he pointed with his chin the way Námo left. “Is it a bad thing? That he left so suddenly?” Fëanáro clarified when the Maia’s brows furrowed.

“Lord Námo has told me something is not right with you. And now I can see why,” was the only answer he got before Milyesta helped him stand. “Can you walk?”

Fëanáro tested his legs. They hurt, badly. He gave them a long stretch, bending them at the knees and ankles, shaking them a little before nodding. “I think, if we go slowly.”

Milyesta put his left arm around her shoulders, holding it in place with her left hand, while her other supported him from under his right shoulder. The two started moving, and Fëanáro felt like his whole body was on fire. Every breath hurt, let it be inhale or exhale. They had to stop quite a lot, as he would lose his balance or cough, but eventually, they made it into Vairë’s Halls.

Milyesta sat him into a comfortable armchair, draped in browns and greys. She had fetched him a knitted blanket too, made from wool of dyed green. “I’ll be back in a blink. Try to not die.” And with that, she was gone.

Fëanáro grimaced. ‘It’s not like I want to die.’ But he ignored the tightness in his chest. He examined the blanket instead, each pattern something he had seen drawn up in his Amil’s[2] old notebooks. “Ammë[3]…” It was wishful thinking on his part, hoping he could see her again. They had visited her in Lórien, with Cáno and Ingo, then with Vanimë and Lalwendë. They even took Faniel and Finrún there, once they were old enough. But he couldn’t enter Mandos, where her fëa had resided. And after a while, he just… gave up.

“Onya!”[4]

Fëanáro’s hands stopped in its movements, eyes widening as he raised his head. His breath caught up in his throat. His mind raced. This couldn’t be happening to him! He watched as she entered the room, guided by Milyesta, and stopped in front of him.

Eyes of green nature stared into green of emerald.

“A-are you… Ammë?” It was a stupid question. Who else would it be, but how?

Not even waiting for a response, Fëanáro launched from his chair, arms extended and hugged his mother. Pressing his face into the crock of her neck, he held onto Míriel desperately. He could barely note how her arms – so full of life and warmth – wrapped around his shaking shoulders. How her voice sounded so gentle – Ilúvatar, was it always so light and quiet? Always filled with pain, yet soothing? The melody and calmness of it had wrapped around them as well. Almost like a blanket on a cold night.

Fëanáro didn’t fight the tears when they came. There was no use to deny them. All his life, he wished to know the woman Finwë fell in love with. The woman that is… was his mother, who loved him fiercely, as told by his atyatar[5] Mahtan. The one whose eyes, stature and skills he inherited. And now here she was.

“I have missed you, Ammë. Dreadfully so,” he managed to mumble. Burying his face deeper into her neck, Fëanáro felt the wetness from her cheeks at the side of his neck. She had been crying to, but she was wearing a smile. “I’m sorry.” It was but a whisper, but Míriel had heard it.

“You have nothing to apologize for, yonya[6].” Her voice felt like a soft spring breeze after the harshness of winter. It was a warm hug, which filled him with comfort. It was home and love. “It was my decision, but I have never stopped loving you.” Kissing his cheek, Míriel guided the two of them to the armchair – that somehow managed to fit the two of them – and ran her fingers through his hastily tied back hair. “I have spent many yéni[7], wishing to hold you in my arms. My guilt, the guilt I have felt-“

“Ammë, you shouldn’t-“

“But I should yonya.” Her smile turned sad, Fëanáro realized, and she was sad for something that wasn’t her fault.

“But Ammë!”

“I have left you, when you needed me the most yonya. There is no denying that. My guilt, a mother’s guilt, has been with me. But I have watched you grow, more than anyone.” Here, a faint, playful smile had appeared on her lips. “And I wish, I wish I could have been there, for all of you.” Her fingers brushed against his cheek again, her thumb gently caressing the line from his chin to the end of his left eyebrow. And again, and again. “I have wished for many things, but one came true. Mostly.” Pulling him into another hug, he let her brush his cheeks, kiss the top of his head and ran her fingers along his ear.

“I don’t want to leave you behind,” he had murmured this into her chest, like an elfling not wanting to go to bed. “I’m not sure I could.”

Míriel’s light laughter filled the room. It sounded like small chimes during a hot summer day. The ones that just felt like a piece of one’s soul. Those that spoke to his fëa and eased the pains. Musical.

“I know meldonya[8], I know it well. But I can’t leave, not yet. But soon.” Kissing his forehead, Míriel wiped her cheeks, free from tears. “I promise you, yonya. Things will be better. For all of us.”

Fëanáro buried his face into her chest again, arms tightly around her thin frame. Even when her starlight silver hair tickled his nose, he remained, never moving. Not when other maiar went and came, not when Milyesta coughed, not when she tried and failed to make them separate. He stayed there, until the ache in his chest, in his spirit was left numb, slowly fading.

“C-can I see you again?”

Her smile returned, one he saw on Nérdanel’s face many times, and she had touched the tip of his nose. “Whenever you feel like it.”

And his heart skipped. From joy or from a burden unshed, he cared not. For now, he had her mother, and he could visit. And that’s what mattered.

Opening his mouth to speak, Míriel had beaten him to it again. “Yonya-“ she hesitated but for a moment, “-never let the world take away the kindness of your heart.” With that, she stood, planting a final kiss on his brow before following Milyesta out of the room.

And he was left alone. Or so he thought. Another Maia, with the same flame like hair was waiting for him. Dressed in robes of the colour of the clouds and the deep forests, the Maia nodded towards the doors. “We should be going now. My Lord Námo is awaiting us.”

Fëanáro gulped. His meeting with his mother made him forget the curious circumstances he found himself under. “Let us go then…” He left the sentence unfinished, feeling this particular Maia wouldn’t give him the name he sought.

“Asiesta[9]. I’m Milyesta’s elder sister,” she finally told him, letting the silence stretch beyond comfortable. And it made Fëanáro squirm in his seat. Even when he finally was standing next to her, her gaze made him shrink in size – and he wasn’t a tall nér to begin with.

It was hard to keep up with the Aini, as she seemed to rather run to Námo then walk him there. She also seemed annoyed by his general presence, huffing or crossing her arms as she stared at him while he tried to keep up. It wasn’t his fault his limbs were on fire, even now, and he needed rests in-between. And when they finally, finally reached the end of the hallway, she motioned for him to go through the door.

“My Lord Námo is behind them. You should be able to spot him easily.” There was an unexplainable hostility in her voice, which made Fëanáro’s skin crawl. “Unless your eyes are useless as well?”

“I- Thank you Asiesta. I can find him now.” Not wanting to spend any more time with her as it was needed, Fëanáro made a dash for the door. Pushing it open he slithered into the next room, pressing the hard wood back into its place.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped away from the door, and just as the Maia said, there was Námo; standing with his family – well, part of his family – and he appeared to be conversing with them. Feeling lighter, he quickened his pace, feeling a hint of a smile already plastered across his face.

Maitimo seemed to notice him at first. He chuckled silently as his son had to do a double take, before he turned towards his direction, with Aracáno at his heel. The two were quickly approaching him, and Fëanáro was spreading his arms, when Maitimo raised his hand, formed into a fist and launched forward.

The punch was hard and strong. And he had to take a few steps back when his brother punched him to, making him land on his behind.

For a moment, he sat there, holding his face between his hands, staring at their feet. Raising his head, mouth open to ask them for a reason, he was met with their unmasked hostility. His hröa froze, unable to move, unable to think anything but the hatred he saw on their faces. He could barely register that they were speaking. Their mouths moving yet Fëanáro found himself unable to follow. He couldn’t understand what they were telling him. His mind wouldn’t let him.

“…And then you have the mind, the right! To just walk up here?!...”

“…Do you know what WE went through?! Have you any idea?! Did you even care for us?!...”

Fëanáro could barely care when the rest of the group arrived, and he was helped – lifted – from the ground by Námo himself. The Vala had pushed him behind his back. “This might not have been the wisest decision you two made.”

“I don’t care about wise decisions anymore!”

To his credit, Maitimo stayed quiet. But his eyes kept glaring at Fëanáro in a way he felt afraid. The same fear he felt when…

“You should Nolofinwë Aracáno. His fëa is not the one you have known.”

This caught everyone’s attention, and Fëanáro hid behind the Vala’s back even more. ‘Not the same fëa his brother had known? What does that mean?’ But right now, he just wanted to not be under judgmental eyes.

“What. Do. You. Mean?” his dear Carnistir has hissed with venom in his voice.

Námo sighed before pushing him towards some chairs and tables. “It is… That is to say, may sound unbelievable. And yet the truth remains.” Fëanáro felt safer when the Vala had placed himself between him and his…family?

“What?”

“Fëanáro’s fëa, or the lack there off-“

“What?!”

Fëanáro winced at the sudden loudness. His eyes found Námo’s face, and felt the tightness in his chest return. Was this why Lady Estë appeared and looked terrified? Was this why Lord Námo left as soon as he entered his room?What did he mean by him lacking a fëa? He was sure he had one!

“This morning, a sudden change happened. And when I… This Fëanáro, is not the same you have known. He may look like the one you saw last, but his fëa! It has changed to a…” Námo gestured to him with his hand. Looking lost. “The best way to say is, his fëa is younger. And feels different. From the time he was brought to my Halls,” he clarified, sighing.

“Younger?” It was Nérdanel who spoke. Their eyes met, and Nérdanel’s eyes widened. “T-this can’t be…” Her voice broke at the end, almost a whimper.

“Ammë? Are you alright?” Tyelcormo had his arms around Nérdanel, hand petting her back gently to calm her.

“I can’t feel our bond.”

And he was back under watchful eyes. But now many were missing the hatred from before. And were now staring curiously.

“He is…He isn’t…” Ingoldo tried, yet he couldn’t his thoughts.

“A different, yet same fëa.” If it was bad from Námo, it was worse from Indis, who hadn’t spoken a single sentence since Fëanáro got here, got punched.

“This Fëanáro is not the same he was, when he entered Mandos?” If it wasn’t for the punch from before, Fëanáro would have found Aracáno’s face hilarious. But alas, for the moment, he did not.

“Are you saying, that he isn’t the one we know?”

Námo took a deep, long breath. The silence stretched on, and Fëanáro wished he was dead. “His hröa is the same. His fëa is intact, but it isn’t the one that entered my halls many yéni ago. It is younger, untouched by the horrors of history. And not from the past you all share.”

That was when the room exploded.

[1] milya – gentel, weak, soft; nesta – to heal

[2] mother, formal

[3] mother, informal

[4] son

[5] Second father, father-in-law – personal invention

[6] son

[7] elven long year, 144 solar years

[8] meldonya – beloved child

[9] to ease + healing