6. The Myth of Fëanor
I could not stop laughing. Why did I laugh? I laughed because I was in Middle Earth with my husband. I laughed at Elrond's study around us. I laughed at the fact that my husband told the twin sons of Elrond that he was the most infamous Elf in all of the history of Arda. Was I hysterical? Possibly, but I did not care.
No, I did not care. I laughed.
Now, let me tell you about my laugh. My husband says it is endearing. Others have called it infectious. But no matter what word you use to describe its nature, the fact of the matter is, it is loud. And loud to me must be deafening to an elf.
Elrohir threw open the door, a puzzled look on his fair face. "What are you doing to her?" he asked Justin with an accusing tone to his voice.
Justin threw up his hands. "I told her that I told you guys my name was Fëanor and she just started laughing."
"That is a laugh?" Elrohir asked skeptically, watching me with what appeared to be hesitant interest. After a short while he started to chuckle as well, a light merry sound in contrast to my rowdy giggles.
"I can not see what you find amusing, brother." Hearing Elladan's sullen voice in the doorway, I immediately reigned in my happy emotions and, wiping tears from my eyes, fixed him with an angry glare. Elrohir walked calmly over to him and grasped his shoulder.
"Peace, brother." He leaned out the open door and looked around. With a furrowed brow he turned back to Elladan. "Where is father?"
Elladan didn't answer, but walked over and sat down across from Justin and me. "I realize now you are not who you said. I apologize if we treated you harshly." He folded his arms across his chest and looked at Elrohir.
When it was evident he would say no more, Elrohir walked over and sat down next to him. "I do not understand."
Elladan looked at me for the first time since he entered the room. He then glanced at Justin before speaking to his brother in Elvish. The only words I could catch were 'ada,' 'Legolas,' and 'dagor.' I didn't have to understand the rest. I easily put the pieces together.
Without thinking, I reached across the table and grabbed Elladan's arm, "Your father is fighting Legolas?!" I let go of him and jumped up, heading towards the door. "That's not good! We have to stop them!" Suddenly there was a strong hand gripping my arm and I felt the sensation of spinning. Before I knew what had happened, I was eye to eye with the peredhel. And what lovely eyes they were, even if I did not like the way they were practically shooting daggers at me.
I expected a reprimand; or a snide comment. The irrepressible lusting fangurl inside me fully expected him to wrap both his arms around me and kiss me fiercely. Neither of us expected him to just stand there mutely.
"He does not know what to make of you, I think." Elrohir laughed from his place at the table. "Come, brother." he added soothingly, still making no move to rise. "She must know some of our noble tongue; enough to misunderstand what you said."
Elladan looked back at his brother but did not let go of my arm. I looked over at Justin. His face was a mixture of fear and confusion. Poor guy. He really had no idea what was going on. Although, in all honestly, I didn't know what was going on either, since Elrond and Legolas were apparently not fighting.
Elladan turned back to face me and I gave him the sweetest fake smile I could manage. "You can let go of my arm now."
With an expression I would have interpreted as embarrassment on anyone else, Elladan dropped my arm and took a step backwards.
"Can someone please explain to me what is going on?" Justin's outburst had saved Elladan from the scathing remark I was trying to come up with.
Elrohir smiled patiently at Justin. "My brother sometimes has a temper."
"I don't care about your brother." Justin said. I wished I had told him before all this not to be so snippy with elves who also happened to be seasoned warriors. "I want to know who Fëanor is, why you got so pissed that I said I was him and what the hell you just said."
"Fëanor is a myth." All eyes turned toward the door where Legolas stood. "He is a story told to young elflings to scare them into behaving." It might have been convincing if his voice did not betray his own doubt. "He is not real."
"He is real." I insisted.
"None of you are real." Justin muttered under his breath at the same time.
I hoped nobody heard Justin and continued as if I hadn't. "We just saw him, Legolas." Turning to Justin, I tried to answer his first question, "Fëanor lived thousands of years before this. He died in the first year of the first age. This is the very end of the third age."
"So if he's dead, why…? How…?"
"An interesting question." Elrond joined the Mirkwood elf in the doorway. "And one I have pondered since Legolas told me of his presence here. Shall we all take a seat? There is much that needs to be discussed."
It took a little while for Elrond to convince Legolas that Fëanor had indeed lived, and to sort out which of the stories were true. No, Fëanor did not eat little elflings. Yes, he was involved in the kinslaying. Yes, he did burst into flames as he died. No, he did not eat little elflings.
While they were sitting with Elrohir at one end of the table getting that all sorted out, I sat at the other, trying to catch Justin up on seven thousand plus years of Middle Earth history. Why couldn't I have married someone with an appreciation for good literature? This would have all been so much easier had he read the Silmarillion.
I was pretty sure he wanted the short short version of who Fëanor was and why he was so bad. So, accepting the fact that he would never have a true appreciation for the history of the world we were visiting, I tried to sum up Fëanor's story in a few short sentences.
"Fëanor made the Silmarils, these amazing jewels that captured the light of the two trees of Valinor." There was that blank look again. "Ok, never mind about the two trees. The Silmarils were really incredible, ok? Then Morgoth, the first Dark Lord, killed Fëanor's father and stole the Silmarils. So, Fëanor swore an oath to get back at Morgoth, made his sons, his half brother and some of his nephews swear the oath, and went to sail back to Middle Earth to chase after Morgoth. He needed to borrow the ships of the Telerin Elves, who I believe Legolas is descended from, but they wouldn't let him, so he killed them and took their boats."
I heard a distinct snort from Elladan, who had apparently found our conversation more interesting to listen to than his father's. I pursed my lips and narrowed my eyes at him. "What? You think you could tell it better?"
"I would tell the true story." He turned in his seat so he was completely facing us and leaned forward, placing his arms on the table. "That is not what happened."
His words came as a surprise and they made me doubt myself. Had I remembered incorrectly? Was that not what I read? Slightly hesitant to question an Elf on the history of Middle Earth, I nervously rubbed my palms on my lap. "Are you sure?"
"You failed to mention the part where Fëanor attacked my Grandmother, demanding a lock of her hair, and nearly killed her when she refused. You left out the part where he forced her brothers to slay their own kindred. You…"
"Ok, ok!" I held out my hands in a gesture of surrender. "I get the picture." I turned to Justin. "You see; Fëanor was probably the worst name you could have given these two." I waved my hand in the direction of the twins.
"Oh." Justin said quietly, and then frowned as if he were thinking. "This happened thousands of years ago, right?"
"Yes." I looked at Elladan to see if he was going to contradict that too. He was too busy glaring at me to challenge anything.
"So, how was his Grandmother involved?" He asked slowly. The conversation on the other side of the table had ceased and all four elves were watching to see how I would answer. No pressure at all.
"Elves are immortal, remember." I answered and then quickly glanced around the room. It was weird talking about elves in front of a bunch of them. "They can live a long time." Just then, someone knocked on the door and it swung open to reveal an elf with brilliantly shining golden hair.
"Glorfindel, enter; join us." said Elrond.
I watched the legendary balrog-slayer in awe as he spoke. "Nay, Lord Elrond; I merely bring a message to you. The Halfling has awoken. Gandalf bids you come as soon as you are able."
Elrond rose, as did his sons and Legolas. I stood up and motioned to Justin to do the same.
"Forgive me," Elrond said. "I must leave now, but you are free to continue the conversation." He turned to Glorfindel. "This is indeed good news." he said as he walked towards the door.
Justin leaned towards me, picked his foot up, stuffed it in his mouth and whispered. "Frodo is here, now?" Note to self: another thing I should have told the husband before was that elves have super sensitive hearing.
Elrond froze. Glorfindel's eyes widened in a shocked expression. Elladan continued to glare. (I was beginning to wonder if he was capable of any other facial expression.) Elrohir exhaled in a barely audible gasp. The only one who didn't have any sort of reaction was Legolas. He was also probably the only one who didn't know who Frodo was at this point.
As Elrond slowly turned back around to face us, Justin took a step towards me and grabbed my hand. I knew he realized he had, yet again, said something wrong, and had no idea what it was. I squeezed his hand with a reassurance I did not feel.
"How do you know of Frodo?" The harshness to Elrond's voice and the firm set to his jaw would have frightened even the most stoic of men.
Justin looked at me with wide eyes and expression that clearly screamed, "Help!"
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.