In the glow of the evening lamp of his father’s study, the young Feanor sat cross-legged on the floor at Finwe’s feet, and listened to his favourite song-story as it flowed from the lips of the Elven-king of Tirion. He paid rapt attention to his father’s singing, as the elder Elf sang of Miriel, his former wife and Feanor’s mother, whose body and spirit had been ravaged by the birth of her son, and who had departed while he was still an infant.
Finwe sang also of Cuivenen in the Helcar Sea and the beauty he and the other Firstborn heard in the flowing water and saw in the stars upon their awakening.
He also sang of Melkor, the evil Vala who overthrew the great lamps of the Valar and who was now held as a prisoner in chains.
Feanor’s young, bright eyes gleamed with the fire and thirst for knowledge possessed by all of the Firstborn, yet it burned more fiercely in him. His flowing black hair gleamed in the lamp’s golden light, and his dark eyes pierced through the hazy light from the Mingling of the Trees as he listened to the notes and the words that Finwe sang. Feanor shifted his position a little in order to be more comfortable. He wore a singlet woven of soft yellow cloth, made from the threads spun by the caterpillar of a most beautiful moth cultivated in his father’s realm on Valinor.
This garment had been sewn by Miriel for Finwe before the birth of Feanor and was of singular beauty, as she had been skillful in embroidering and this shirt boasted her fine needlework. Feanor loved it and wore it often, though it was too big for him.
He wore this singlet over leggings of the brown colour of maple wood. These were his favourite daytime clothes and he had not yet changed into his nightwear, so loath was he to leave his father’s side. He shifted again, his mind wandering slightly from the familiar song. Soon he dreamed that his beloved mother Miriel would be coming to look for him, to bid him to come to her. Although he would never admit it, Feanor had been hurt deeply by the knowledge that his mother had all but discarded him after his birth. He did not understand why she could not love him, why she could not stay to look after him and nurture him as a mother should. He never understood what was in her mind, in her soul, that she would abandon her baby boy in the way that she did. In the mind of the young Feanor, not yet reached manhood, he could not fathom a woman's reasoning, or her desires. Feanor never would be a good judge of women. He had profoundly been hurt by his mother's abandonment, and his need to feel wanted, to be useful, would drive him in all his future pursuits. It would also drive others away from him.
Young Feanor came to his senses with a start, yawned, and then stood up. His dark eyes, gleaming like onyx caught in the candlelight, aimed their piercing gaze upon his father.
“That was wonderful, ‘Atto’,” he murmured dreamily. “I wish I could hear you sing it every night, as I wish for Amme’s presence. Why did she leave us really, Atto? Can you not tell me now? Am I not old enough to know?" Finwe was sorrowful in that moment for his beloved son and he knew he could never tell Feanor why his mother had done what she did in any way that would not hurt him.
He stretched his long arms and arched his slender back. Although he was still a young Elf, he had grown swiftly, and the power and strength of what he would grow to be could be seen clearly in his lithe young body. Finwe gave a sigh of satisfaction at seeing his beloved first son growing more handsome and remarkable as the years drew onward. Where Feanor's mother had left a gap in his life, his father sought to fill it, and he loved Feanor with all his heart, and showed it.
So all that Finwe could manage to say was, “Ah, then the song would not be as special to you as it is now, being infrequently sung, my boy". He said it lovingly, reaching out and drawing Feanor close to his side.
“Good night, my dear child. Go now to bed and in the morrow we shall walk together through the kingdom, and I shall show you where and how we make our finest things. We have begun to work with metals here, and precious gems from the earth and the rock. Aule the Smith, of the Valar, has come to show our people how to work with these things in an artful way. This may be of interest to you, Feanor".
With a brief kiss for his father and a wave of the hand, young Feanor was gone to his bed and to his dreams; and to anticipation of learning the new skills that his father spoke of.