For our father's begetting day, we had decided that each of us would make something for him ourselves. I agreed and started working on my gift before I remembered the problem I would have: no skill. I cannot make a forging like my eldest brother or a song like the next oldest. I only make him smile ruefully when I try to make him laugh as the twins can nor can I gift him a sheaf of decorated arrows or tooled leather leggings as my other brothers will.
I have worked a bronze hanging with a stanza of one of his favorite tales on it. Many times I have worked bronze and it was not well wrought, this one I fear will displease him. On the morning of the day, I rise early to hide my work before I disappoint him and in the hall I meet him.
"What is that you carry son?" He is noble and impassive as ever when he opens the conversation.
I bring forth want little courage I have and show the hanging to him. "I made this ... your begetting day ... present." Is all I can remember saying. Then I see something rare and precious, my father smiles. Not a pitying smile but a true brilliant smile, as the stars smile upon us, and he smiles on me. Then he comes to me and hugs me, tightly. I hear him say in my ear: "Celegorm, I have always loved your way of always trying to succeed. The hanging is the best craftwork you have done."
He holds me from him so I can his eyes, deep as the sea, and hear him, he strokes my hair. "Remember Celegorm, always reach for what you want and never stop trying." The hanging I made him was the only one of our creations that he put in the public rooms of our halls.
It is fitting that I should remember this of Feanor, my father on this, his begetting day. On that day that I gifted him a badly made bronze hanging, he gifted me with a lesson that has made me stronger. Now as I feel my lifeblood draining from this wound that Sindar, Dior of Doriath has given me I can remember too that I have always followed his words. As my fea and hroa separate I know that I have always reached for what I wanted and have never ... stopped ... trying.
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.