Silmarillion Semi-Drabble
Oct. 26th, 2005 01:54 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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That Which is Earned
It is not my first formal event, nor my first time amongst those of status. Yet my stomach turns nervously as I lace up my tunic and I grow frustrated as my attempts to braid my hair fail, my hands shaking too much to perform the usually simple task.
I feel panic rising within me – I can not be late! Yet nor can I leave before being properly attired, it would be disrespectful. Panic is not an emotion I am used to and I do not know how to deal with it. In my heart, I start to wonder if I should even attend at all.
Then I hear the door open and the soft steps of my father as he approaches me. He laughs lightly as he takes in my pale face and unbraided hair.
“Let me,” he says, picking up the brush. I relax, visibly relieved as he deftly braids my hair in the fashion of his house – of our house.
“There, all done.” His tone is so soft – I cannot remember hearing him so gentle since I was a child. Glancing in the mirror I nod in approval and turn to him, smiling.
“Thank you.”
He puts his finger under my chin, raising my head until it is held high.
“Be proud, my son,” he tells me, “You have done well. Tonight is your night.”
It is the greatest praise I could ever hear and spontaneously I hug him – a rare event these days.
“I will not let you down, father.”
Then, before I can further embarrass myself, I turn and leave, more confident now. Tonight I will sit in the halls of Oromë, with the greatest hunters in all of Aman, and know that I deserve my place amongst them.
END
ETA: It's from Celegorm's POV, in case there's any doubt. :)
That Which is Earned
It is not my first formal event, nor my first time amongst those of status. Yet my stomach turns nervously as I lace up my tunic and I grow frustrated as my attempts to braid my hair fail, my hands shaking too much to perform the usually simple task.
I feel panic rising within me – I can not be late! Yet nor can I leave before being properly attired, it would be disrespectful. Panic is not an emotion I am used to and I do not know how to deal with it. In my heart, I start to wonder if I should even attend at all.
Then I hear the door open and the soft steps of my father as he approaches me. He laughs lightly as he takes in my pale face and unbraided hair.
“Let me,” he says, picking up the brush. I relax, visibly relieved as he deftly braids my hair in the fashion of his house – of our house.
“There, all done.” His tone is so soft – I cannot remember hearing him so gentle since I was a child. Glancing in the mirror I nod in approval and turn to him, smiling.
“Thank you.”
He puts his finger under my chin, raising my head until it is held high.
“Be proud, my son,” he tells me, “You have done well. Tonight is your night.”
It is the greatest praise I could ever hear and spontaneously I hug him – a rare event these days.
“I will not let you down, father.”
Then, before I can further embarrass myself, I turn and leave, more confident now. Tonight I will sit in the halls of Oromë, with the greatest hunters in all of Aman, and know that I deserve my place amongst them.
END
ETA: It's from Celegorm's POV, in case there's any doubt. :)
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no subject
Date: 2005-10-26 06:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-26 03:30 pm (UTC)I agree :) Felak *hearts* your stories.
(Of course, you're on my flist. So that doesn't make too much sense. :-/)
I told you in your LJ already, but I love this so much. You probably already know that I am convinced that Feanor must have done *something* to earn such unfailing loyalty from his sons; this piece is a wonderful example of it.