silver on the tree
Nov. 21st, 2021 10:36 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sparklecryptidA cut scene from 'A Feast of Flames'.
Fëanáro knows his family. He knows the flicker and light of their flames like he knows the strength and polish of his own hands. Nelyafinwë burns bright as the molten rock that heats their forge; his eldest worries Fëanáro at times, the light in Nelyafinwë’s eyes grows only brighter when he hears of injustice and there is little Fëanáro can do - little that he would do - to temper it.
Turcafinwë is a different beast. He runs hot and passionate, quick to run and hunt and fight Turcafinwë is the flame of a campfire surrounded by those coming back after a successful hunt. He is the fire that lures people in and burns them if they mishandle him. Turcafinwë is dangerous.
Then again, aren’t they all?
Atarinkë is perhaps too much like both his parents. He could burn as bright as Fëanáro - as terrible and lovely as his father - but is tempered by Nerdanel’s steel edge. In that way his son is better than him, Fëanáro thinks, for Fëanáro himself has always been too quick to anger and slow to calm. Atarinkë takes time to plot, the cunning crease in his brow a sign that Atarinkë is thinking.
Atarinkë is more like the flame used to shape a weapon, Fëanáro thinks, useful to those it deems worthy and fickle and deadly to those it doesn’t.
Morifinwë is the light in the dark. The one that beckons people to safety. He is the flame that provides food and shelter to those in need and despite his tendency for brash words and anger Morifinwë is kind. He is the flame that stays lit no matter the dark around it. He is the one that reminds them of home.
The twins are wild and tinged with loss. They burn with a wildness only seen in Turcafinwë. They are brash and wild and full of enough light it makes the eyes burn. Their flame is reckless, willing to burn whatever comes close in order to protect their family.
They burn as one, and Fëanáro is unsure if he should be worried about that.
Kanafinwë is different from them. His flame more light and song than fire; he is an enigma, something strange for while Kanafinwë burns the wick and tinder never seem to dissipate. It is almost as if he is the one forced to watch the world go by, as though he has been chosen to walk and wander and record until there is no land left for him to wander.
His throat may burn and bleed but Kanafinwë sings and the world is force to listen.
Fëanáro knows his family. He knows the flicker and light of their flames like he knows the strength and polish of his own hands. Nelyafinwë burns bright as the molten rock that heats their forge; his eldest worries Fëanáro at times, the light in Nelyafinwë’s eyes grows only brighter when he hears of injustice and there is little Fëanáro can do - little that he would do - to temper it.
Turcafinwë is a different beast. He runs hot and passionate, quick to run and hunt and fight Turcafinwë is the flame of a campfire surrounded by those coming back after a successful hunt. He is the fire that lures people in and burns them if they mishandle him. Turcafinwë is dangerous.
Then again, aren’t they all?
Atarinkë is perhaps too much like both his parents. He could burn as bright as Fëanáro - as terrible and lovely as his father - but is tempered by Nerdanel’s steel edge. In that way his son is better than him, Fëanáro thinks, for Fëanáro himself has always been too quick to anger and slow to calm. Atarinkë takes time to plot, the cunning crease in his brow a sign that Atarinkë is thinking.
Atarinkë is more like the flame used to shape a weapon, Fëanáro thinks, useful to those it deems worthy and fickle and deadly to those it doesn’t.
Morifinwë is the light in the dark. The one that beckons people to safety. He is the flame that provides food and shelter to those in need and despite his tendency for brash words and anger Morifinwë is kind. He is the flame that stays lit no matter the dark around it. He is the one that reminds them of home.
The twins are wild and tinged with loss. They burn with a wildness only seen in Turcafinwë. They are brash and wild and full of enough light it makes the eyes burn. Their flame is reckless, willing to burn whatever comes close in order to protect their family.
They burn as one, and Fëanáro is unsure if he should be worried about that.
Kanafinwë is different from them. His flame more light and song than fire; he is an enigma, something strange for while Kanafinwë burns the wick and tinder never seem to dissipate. It is almost as if he is the one forced to watch the world go by, as though he has been chosen to walk and wander and record until there is no land left for him to wander.
His throat may burn and bleed but Kanafinwë sings and the world is force to listen.
