Chapter 2:

Later that day, once the bookshop doors were closed and John and Callie had gone home, Feanor found himself perched on top of his desk, his eyes half closed. He knew that they could not help it, after all they were only kids, but didn't they see that he didn't believe in Elves or gnomes or fairies or whatever? He leaned his head back and closed his eyes completely in meditation.

Sara entered the room to see Feanor sitting on top of the desk, one of his long legs resting along the edge. If she had not seen the pained look on his face and heard his labored breathing, she would have found it comical. Sara ran up to him, taking a firm hold of both his shoulders and giving him a good shake.

"Feanor!"

He snapped back to reality, violently jerking away from her, yelling something she did not understand. She watched him lose his balance and tumble backwards. She cursed and tried to grab him before he crashed onto the floor, but was too slow. Sara expected to hear a mighty smashing sound when everything fell, but was completely dumbfounded when Feanor landed on his feet. Despite looking rather surprised he was completely unharmed.

His eyes darted around the room, as if he expected to see something that was not there. Then he began to speak. Sara did not understand the words, but they came off of his lips like butterflies taking flight on a gentle wind. His silver eyes were like fire. She wanted to tremble, but the words rendered her completely immobile. They were terrifying, ancient, beautiful. After a few minutes, Feanor shook himself out of his stupor. He noted the expression on Sara's face.

"What's wrong?"

She gathered what was left of her tattered wits and replied. "What was that?"

He looked confused. "What?"

She motioned toward him. "W-whatever that was you just did!"

He cocked his head, a piece of black hair falling in front of his eyes. "What did I do?"

Sara clenched her teeth. "Something about silmarilli, melkor, mandos, balrog, and nar." She sent him a scathing glare. "What the hell is going on?" He slumped back.

"I don't know."

"Who are you, Feanor?"

"Feanor."

"What are you?"

"Sara, I'm just as human as you."

"Liar." She stormed over to him and took a large chunk of hair in her hand, yanking it back violently. "Explain." She gave his pointed ear a vicious flick. After seeing them once, Sara had always harbored the suspicion that Feanor was not completely normal, but she had ignored it. Now, though, it seemed as if all of her fears were coming true.

"I can't."

"Yes you can."

He pushed her hand away. "I can't! I remember nothing! Absolutely nothing!" Sara stepped away and strode out of the bookstore, confused and worried. She pulled her jacket tighter around her thin body. What was he? Had she spent the last three years working under something that wasn't human? Some creature? An elf? Ask her a day ago, and she would have scoffed at the idea.

Sara unlocked the door to her apartment about fifteen minutes later. Jay, her tabby, met her at the door and rubbed against her legs, purring. She bent down and pet him absently before throwing her jacket onto the sofa and trudging over to her computer. There had to be something on this somewhere.

It did not take her long at all to find more Silmarillion websites than she thought possible. What astounded her though, was that she quickly found that her boss, whether he liked it or not, had a rather devoted . . . . following.

Sara found someone who was willing to chat with her about elves, not that it was hard to find someone, but this person at least seemed sane. Sara whispered to herself as she typed.

"Who is Feanor?" She clicked send.

The answer surprised her. "He's an arrogant jerk." She sighed and decided to ask someone else, she had to give her boss the benefit of the doubt.

The next answer surprised her even more than the first. "The hottest elf ever!"

"Okay . . . ." Sara decided to look elsewhere, because obviously Feanor was a touchy subject with . . . . . these people. She soon found an article, or rather a ten page thesis. It gave her a far better idea of who, and what, she was dealing with. If her Feanor was actually the Feanor. She fell asleep with her head resting on her folded arms beside the computer. She learned one thing, however, that night.

Either you hated him, or you loved him. She was not sure quite which she felt yet. At the bookstore she was leaning more toward hate, but now, she was not so sure.