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Sins of the Father
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The Birth of Fire

Author’s notes:
This chapter wasn’t planned at all – it came to me one night, unexpectedly. So it has no real number either. All Quenya names have been created by Artanis and given me as a gracious gift.



[Formenos, the high noon of a day unknown to us]

The child broke free into the outside world at the same moment when Laurelin’s light reached its greatest brightness.

His eyes opened not for the starlight like those of his great-grandfather at the Waters of Awakening, but to the bright shine of the Golden Tree, blinding and burning in its brilliance. And they were deep blue like the midnight sky above the lands on the other side of the Sea – the lands of their origins only the eldest of the Eldar in the Blessed Realm could still remember.

And the wet, fluffy hair on that tiny head was bright red like a crown of living flames.

Delicate little fists balled so tightly that the frail knuckles were white like silver as the child launched himself into life with a ferocity rarely seen even among those descended from the very fire that was Fëanáro.

Linnis(1) – the midwife, the sister of the mother – lifted the newborn and held him up, let him bathe in the bright golden light. It was strong in the height of midday, even for the eyes of the Firstborn, but the child cried not.

He looked straight into that golden brilliance and laughed.

The mother, exhausted from her long and torturous labour, hazed at him with awe. She was not a very young person, not even for an Elf, and this was her first child. She would have found him a marvel, even if he had been hideous.

Yet the child was a marvel, indeed, even for sober eyes: tiny, perfect and strong.
Strong in that small body, but even stronger in his spirits.

For in him burned a fire already that Vanyanis(2) only had seen once before.

Nay, not in the eyes of her husband, though Curufinwë, too, carried a secret flame in his heart, visible only for those who knew him intimately.

Not even in the eyes of her husband’s father, though Fëanáro’s fire burnt strongly and visibly for all, and people were attracted to it like moths to the flame, even if they wanted not. But the flame that was Fëanaro was an all-consuming one, and it awoke in her primal fears that were not known otherwise among the Elves in the Blessed Realm.

Nay, she only saw such fire in her waking dreams.

In visions about the Flame Imperishable that was present in all living beings and all things that were born of the thoughts of Ilúvatar. Every single inch of Eä was throbbing with that secret flame. But sometimes, very rarely, a few chosen beings were given a much larger part of it.
Fëanáro was such a chosen being, there was no doubt about that.

And now it seemed that she had brought to the world another one.

Whether it was a blessing or a curse, she knew not.

Linnis finally came and laid the newcomer in her arms, and she admired the perfect, tiny being that was born of her battered body for a few moments. The child looked back at her gravely. It was strange to see that serious expression on such a small face. As if her son had already known something no one of them had a hint about.

Vanyanis kissed the top of the flame-red little head and murmured gently: “Marunya… welcome to life.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Ten days after the birth – for the mother needed the time to recover – the family members from both parents’ side were gathered in the house, in order to attain to the child’s Essecarmë or Name-making ceremony. It was a rather big gathering, for though Fëanáro had seven sons, only two of them were married at that time, and Marunya (or Manaro(3), as he was also called by his mother) was the first grandchild gifted upon the whole family.

Curufinwë was anxious to get every thing done just right, according the laws and customs of the Noldor, for his firstborn son was the youngest member in the line of the High King. So, Finwë himself joined the feast, of course, and so did Fëanaro, leaving his workshop to honour the new hope of his family. Even Nerdanel and her father came over from Tírion, for what bitterness there might have been between them and Fëanáro, the child had no fault in it; and was just as much their flesh and blood as the High King’s.

Now the first ceremony of the new member of the family, the announcement of the father-name, was held in the backyard garden of the house, at twilight, when the light of the Two Trees began to mingle. Finwë, the eldest of the family, stepped forth and directed his words to the father who was holding the child in his arms.

“Curufinwë, have you chosen a name for your firstborn son?” he asked in the grave manner that had always been used in ceremonies of great importance, ere the merriment would begin.

“I have, my Lord,” Curufinwë answered, his voice trembling just so slightly. For a father, the naming of his first child was as strong a moment as birth. This was his first choice to truly bond with the new life that had grown hidden in his wife’s body for a full circle.

“Then give the name you have chosen for him,” Finwë ordered.

Curufinwë cleared his throat nervously, fearing that he might ruin this moment with some unintended mistake, then announced loudly and clearly: “I name my firstborn son Telperinquar(4).”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


(1) “musical woman” – she’s not a canon character.

(2) “noble woman” – also non-canon

(3) “hand of flame”, for both versions

(4) “silver fist” – the Quenya form for Celebrimbor. But you know that already.



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