I'm sorry it's taking me so long to update after being fairly regular for a while. I'm a bit daunted at the thought of writing Feanor. I want to be truthful and fair to one of J. R. R. Tolkien's strongest, most infamous, and most complex characters.

That being said I don't own Feanor, his father, brothers or any other family members of this famous ellon created by J. R. R. TOlkien nor Glorfindel or any of the places in the vast, vast world he sub-created.

Glofindel sat on the foot of his bed and sighed. "I suppose we should make plans. You of all people should be able to make a list of supplies."

Erestor stared up at the ceiling and replied, "Two bed rolls, thick blankets for the crossing of the Misty Mountains, canvas, rope and stakes for a tent, fodder for our mounts, and food for us: dried fruit, dried meat, bran, perhaps beans and oats for us as well as the horses if we take a cooking pot."

"We shall. We will take large mounts. I will take my usual white stallion. I have already spoken to Rochellon about picking you out a mount strong and calm when things are well also capable of fighting back in an orc ambush. Elladan has such a gelding he bought among men, who will bear elf-riders other than him, which fits that description. I imagine since it is you, he will share."

"I will thank him if he does."

"What else will we take besides weapons, blankets, and food for us and our mounts Imladris' Steward?"

Erestor closed his eyes. "By now, you have traveled far more than I particularly the route from here through the Misty Mountains and to the current palace and capital of Green Wood the Great."

"It is Mirkwood now. It is not polite to say, but we will not be able to hunt or gather till near the very end of our journey through their kingdom."

"I think while I will certainly make a list I will heavily rely on you to look over and add, remove, or otherwise make changes to it before we leave."

Glorfindel's lips quirked up into a slight smile. "You never did like to travel ..."

Erestor opened his eyes and looked to the familiar implements of writing and reading on the board near his bed. He sighed.

"No ... I never did ..."

. . .

He sat on a horse for the first time in his immortal life. He thought his posture impeccable after a little instruction from Narkal and his brothers, but all told him his form was still too stiff. He seemed the only one uncomfortable with both being up so high on a living beast and trusting its four hooves to carry him safely forward rather than using his own feet as he had all his life. They had never failed him. Neither had this horse, yet, but it had had far less time to show its true colors and was far livelier than his favorite tree.

Ascarant had no such fears. His friend's youngest brother had raced his mount ahead of them on the road till he was nearly beyond arrow-shot of his brothers, except perhaps for the twins, only to turn and race back to them again. He'd repeated the process several times already on this journey. Finally, Curuteith watched the younger ellon dismount saying he wanted now do the same thing on his own two feet. He passed the reigns to one of the twins among Narkal's brothers.

Curuteith stared at them both. From behind, he still couldn't tell them apart. If he watched their faces, however, he could see the subtle differences in the expressions they made. His friend had told them this was no small feat. Many longtime acquaintances of his whole family still addressed one of his twin brothers by the other's name on occasions. Another thing that made the twins difficult to discern from each other from where Curuteith sat was their matched riding postures.

They did not bend over their mounts back and push the beasts to their greatest speed for the fun of it like their younger brother. Instead they sat straight, kept their heads high, and from their occasional glances at the sky, distant trees, and far nearer grass, seemed to remain alert to minute changes in their environment. The hawks, sparrows, and rabbits he noticed on following their gazes gave further evidence of this to Curuteith.

Usually watchful of his surroundings himself, when not alone sketching, Curuteith now kept his focus on the beast which could pitch him like straw whenever it pleased. Over Rombar's singing just ahead of them as he also rode nonchalantly along, Curuteith heard a warm, low chuckle beside him. "She won't throw you mellon nin not without more cause than the fear you've made obvious since long before you mounted her."

Curuteith sighed. His shoulders sank a little along with his head as he muttered, "If only I could assume a relaxing stay at our destination once we reach it after this ... pleasant summer ride through the countryside."

He did glance enough away from the neck of the mare he rode to see some of the light and laughter leave his friend's face. Though, Narkal still replied with a low smooth voice. "You will be fine mellon nin."

"Staying in the home of the king's eldest son, maker of stones to see things far away with, lamps that never go out, and the very letters we write all things in is no small thing! Nearly all my family members, not just my mother and oldest sisters, but my father and brothers too, took me aside to give me advice on how to behave before Feanor and his family! I can barely remember all of it! What if I do forget at an inopportune time and offend him, or his wife, or one of his sons?"

Ascarant called from behind them having been looping a bit to keep an eagle flying over them in sight. "Careful raising your voice while riding Curuteith! Your greying, gentle nag may throw you!"

Curuteith rolled his eyes while clenching his jaw.

Narkal smiled, and instead of chiding his youngest brother, which Tarman was already doing anyway, addressed his friend. His voice however, was lower and more tense than Curuteith had heard it become today despite his light words. "Simply remember to speak praise alone of him, as you just did, and Feanor will be satisfied."

Curuteith finally looked away from his horse's neck to stare hard at his friend. Sure enough all the joy and some of the light had left Narkal's face. It never failed to be so, when the skilled smith mentioned the elf who would host them all: the greatest smith among elves, and superior to every other member of their kind in every other way as they all and even the Valar admitted.

Curuteith looked ahead again this time behind his mount's ears and to the road and house before them. "Will he really ask about our work?" That was why he'd been invited. Tarman said news of the objects Narkal was making from his designs had reached the eldest son of their king even away from the city. So he'd invited, which really meant commanded, all knew, him to come with his old student and Narkal's brothers on this visit. Curuteith's heart stilled momentarily at the thought.

Now it was Narkal's turn to sigh softly before he replied. "He doesn't like to hear much talk about things of beauty, when they are not his own creations being discussed, but he will be suitably impressed with our creations we are wearing, have brought with us, and my brothers wear now. Those we bring as gifts to him will make him smile. Then he'll show us the silmarils and nothing else will be on any of our minds for some time. Say nothing bad about him or his father, and say nothing good about our king's other children, and your presence will satisfy him."

Curuteith frowned. He did not like being unable to say anything good about Finwe's other children. During parties he had liked to stay near Finarfin's side. The golden-haired ellon always smiled a welcome to him without saying a word that demanded a response. Then Finwe's youngest son would listen to whatever chatter was being directed toward him by someone else and allow the shy, or at least quiet, son of Tirion's best stone-mason to like listen to the speaker, or pretend to, beside him. Not even his family was so bold as to pry Curuteith away from the apparently willing side of the youngest son of their own king to get him to participate in parties more. Though he did this less often after beginning to seek out Narkal or his friend's parents at such gatherings, Curuteith still appreciated this once common kindness the gentlest son of Finwe had provided for him.

"Is there any reason other than coming from his father's second wife Feanor does not like his half-siblings?"

Narkal frowned while keeping his gaze on the horizon. His voice came forth very low indeed though a slight breeze already carried it away from their destination. "That is not a question you should ask once we arrive or even for a long while before."

Curuteith nodded. Elven hearing made certain that, without a loud noise nearby to drown it out or it being spoken in a specially made room, conversations were never private. He sighed. He was doomed. His family had pointed out many times even as they insisted on helping him pack he made few to no good impressions when he first met others. And though he'd seen their king's favorite son and the most talented elf to ever be born over other elven heads many times, they'd never actually been introduced. He didn't think their gazes had even met.

Narkal now turned a smile upon him. He leaned over and patted the neck of Curuteith's mount. "Come now, mellon nin! Ride a little faster, it will take your mind off our destination while getting the suspense over with faster!"

Curuteith curled in on himself causing his gently plodding mare to turn her head to look up on him. She was gentle Tarman had said, but she had a bit of curiosity especially when it came to this very nervous ellon on her back whose friend's brother had rented her services for. Curuteith murmured a "No thank you" as she watched.

Narkal looked forward again and shook his head. Perhaps, being his eldest brother, he knew what Ascarant was up to as he looped up behind his Curuteith's horse and gave the mare a light smack on her rump. Narkal made no sound nor looked as it happened.

The mare jolted forward more than a dozen strides with a snort. Curuteith grit his teeth and leaned forward while clinging to her like a bird to a tree branch in high wind. Ascarant laughed. Once the mare stopped and stood still waiting for explanation or command, Tarman looped up to a respectful distance and studied his only older brother's guest before turning back to once more chide his youngest brother for making said guest uncomfortable.

Narkal, however, rode right up beside his friend. Once there, he smiled and laid a hand on his Curuteith's shoulder before asking. "Feel better?"

Curuteith gave his friend a spiteful glare. "No!"

Now all Narkal's brothers laughed even the sweet singer and grim twins. Narkal smiled even more sympathetically before giving his friend another pat on his shoulder, grabbing the mare's reigns and urging both their steeds slowly forward again. This time he took care to keep a his friend and friend's mount out of arms-reach of Ascarant.

What do you think?

God bless

ScribeofHeroes