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English
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Published:
2020-12-26
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504
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1/1
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Something’s missing

Summary:

In Fëanáro's life, something is missing.

or you know that feeling that something you don't know should be yours?

Notes:

I debated for a long time between putting the relationship tag on this story or just leaving it. In essence, there is that relationship - those relationships, in all fairness - but I think this is more about nostalgia and the certainty that 'something is missing'.

Work Text:

Something’s missing. Fëanáro feels it in the way his stomach sinks and shrinks each time he occupies the main seat in the Council Chamber. He feels it in the way his chest swells without the air filling his lungs at all. He feels it in the way his eyes search without finding.

 

Something’s missing. Fëanáro knows it. He cannot explain exactly what is missing; but certainty eats away at his spirit, distracts his mind from him, looks away from him.

 

Something’s missing.

 

He notices it when he sees Maitimo alone behind the table in his study, reviewing documents and taking notes, extending a hand that reaches unaided to the book he is looking for. Something is missing around, next to, in Maitimo - perhaps a laugh, a song ... or a gold ribbon braided in black hair.

 

Something’s missing.

 

He perceives it when he hears the lonely voice of Macalaurë, unmatched, with no other accompaniment than his own harp. Something is missing with Macalaurë - perhaps an echoing chant, two dancing bodies... or golden curls spilling over the bard's shoulders, preventing him from playing.

 

Something’s missing.

 

He sees it in the empty space between Tyelkormo and Atarinkë when they return from a hunt. Something is missing between Tyelkormo and Atarinkë - a pale hand that caresses the bow, a narrow waist that arches in the wind ... or a breath of white silks that catch the light of the world.

 

Something’s missing.

 

He listens to it in the monotony with which Carnistir runs the abacus accounts, without looking up. Something is missing with Carnistir - quiet hands that take notes, a warm voice that reads calmly ... or the brief whisper of feet that ascend a tower of light.

 

Something’s missing.

 

He feels it in the uniformity with which Ambarussar evade the world. Something is missing in the middle of Ambarussar - blue eyes, a laugh too loud ... or stringy arms that hold them together more than their identical faces.

 

Something’s missing.

 

Fëanáro knows it. When he stops the beat of the hammer and turns halfway, searching the threshold for someone who is not there, he knows it. When he concludes his speech at the Council, expecting a voice that never rises to rebuke him, he knows it. When he sits on the throne his father once occupied and looks for the ironic glint of star-like eyes that don't exist, he knows it. When he turns his head on the pillow and finds Nerdanel's red curls instead of black curls that would match his own, he knows it. When he gazes at the naked image of him in the mirror and waits in vain for arms to wrap around his waist and a dark head to rest on his shoulder, he knows it.

 

Something’s missing.

 

Everybody knows.

 

When gazes linger around Fëanáro, searching for something - or someone - that has never been, everyone knows.

 

And they murmur.

 

'Finwë should have married again, he should have had more children. Fëanáro must have had at least one brother… Can't you see that something is missing? ’