A Fire Consuming

Chapter Two

A/N: Thank you so much for reading this far. As you all know I do not own anything, except for my OC's. If you'd like, don't forget to vote and or comment. Thanks!

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Adjusting his circlet, Fëanáro looked into the mirror. His grey eyes seemed to stare back in an accusatory manner. They almost dared him to make a fuss at the feast – to make his presence known. After all, why not? He was smart; he was his mother's son. From the whispers he had heard she had been inquisitive, intelligent, and of a peaceful disposition. The latter was a trait that he had unfortunately not inherited. There were times that he had wished that he had inherited her dark eyes as well.

Many trips were made to the gardens of Lórien. Finwë wished to insure that his son knew whom his mother was. How peaceful and beautiful she looked. She appeared to be merely sleeping; the body had neither decayed nor changed in any way. That was what scared him. He almost wished that there would be some sign of change, some signal of hope. Soon, very soon his ammë would change her mind and choose to be reborn. His father would be happy, and he could finally – finally apologize for the hurt he had caused his mother.

No one mentioned the pain she had suffered – that was something he had figured out for himself through the aid of eavesdropping. Many of his old attendants had gossiped relentlessly how he had taken his ammë's vitality and will to live. That could not be true; how could he have hurt her? He had been just a baby at the time. That was not something that the young boy was able to comprehend, nor did he want to.

Thankfully, Niquessë would always come and hush up the offending speakers. She did her best to ensure that the child was loved. Between his father and nurse he felt as though he could fly. He was loved, and no one would ever usurp that place.

His father walked into the room, calling Fëanáro back to reality; smiling, he looked down at his young son, who looked back at his father with adoring eyes.

"Well met, Atar." Fëanáro bowed his head in the traditional Elven salute to royalty, feeling quite pleased that he had actually performed it correctly.

Kneeling to be at eye level with his young son, Finwë smiled. "I see you are now clean. Niquessë did indeed work her magic. I was worried that I would have to introduce the crown prince as Fëanáro the slayer of mud beasts."

Puffing out his chest, Fëanáro replied with laughter, "I am quite certain that that would put your guests at ease."

"I am sure that it would." Standing up, he took his son's hand. "That reminds me: we are also to be visited by emissaries from the king of the Vanyar. His own sister is to be in attendance tonight; you should know that she was a good friend of your mother. I believe you will like her."

"What is her name? Does she eat clouds, and fowl like all the Vanyar? Who is she?" He fired a stream of questions towards his father. It was someone new. Two new people in one day; the prince could not believe his luck!

"Slow down and allow yourself to breathe," Finwë chuckled. "I am quite certain that the guard outside your door heard your questions. Speaking of which, I heard you gave your new guard quite the welcome."

"Yes, yes I did. I simply allowed him to understand my genius," he deadpanned. "Though you have still not answered my questions. Who is she?" he pressed, waiting for an answer.

Taking a deep breath, Finwë smiled. "SHE is the sister of High King Ingwë, and a friend of your mother – by extension she is my friend as well." He paused and then asked in puzzlement, "Who told you that the Vanyar eat clouds?"