Danafinwe Feaelenion Feanorian (Book 1)

The Hunter & Aule

"He left you standing there?" Finno howls with laughter. Nearly keeling over. His empty hand covers his eyes. I avoid getting pulled into the fountain by letting go of the arm he offered. Finno is the unlucky one. He ends up soaked.

I howl with laughter. Oh, how karma is a bitch.

Finno glares. To which I return with a grin.

"Yes, he left me standing there with nothing but my thoughts." Finno chuckles as he climbs out of the fountain. We have bought ourselves quite the audience. Several elves watch us or rather watch Finno flail about before taking a dip. "Come on Turca's waiting."

I steer us away from the main part of the city and towards the great gates. We head for Orome's encampment. Turca is waiting when we arrive. His arms crossed. He thought I was joking when I mentioned I was bringing Finno last night.

"I thought you were drunk when you said you were taking Findekano with you."

"I don't get drunk, you on the other hand," Turca rolls his eyes.

He stares at Finno. Distaste and confusion lace his words. "Why are you soaked?"

"He fell in the fountain."

"...I fell in the fountain." Finno doesn't even try to deny it. Good. 

I crane my neck to search for Orome. It was him who passed along the message to Turca about wanting my council. "Where's the famed Vala who so desperately wants my opinion."

"Here, Nyarrë," Orome smiles calling me by one of my several Epesse's.

Storyteller some call me. Others call me Danafinwe or simply Dana. Orome prefers to call me storyteller or Feanaro. I suppose he's right to call me by Father's Amilesse. I do have a spirit of fire. Just not in the sense of Fathers.

Father finds it oddly comforting. I am undecided.

"Hello,"

"Aule sent this for you," Orome hands me a letter. The red seal marks it as Aule's. I stuff it into my belt and ask what he needs me to look at. Orome leads me to his great steed.

I smile and bow to the silver horse. He bows back.

I ask permission to pet him. The silver horse gleefully agrees. His mane is silky smooth. My fingers can get lost in the touch of it. I mutter a few complaints to the horse. I see why Turca loves being affiliated with the hunters. "I assume you you want your bow to be looked at?"

"Indeed," Orome unslings the bow from his horse's tack. He holds it aloft. "I fear Aule's standards have slipped. I keep missing."

I slide my hands up and down the upper and lower limbs. I check the recurves of top and bottom. The grip is worn ever so slightly. It's been made for someone with much larger hands than my own. That much is easily given away.

I go as far as to pull the string back and watch the limbs curve. Hoping for something to be given away. But nothing does. I wonder if it's not the bow itself.

I bite back a retort. This is a vala I am talking to. Not my family.

"Whatever you want to say, say it." Orome gives me a reassuring look. "I can take it."

"I fear my lord your aim may be the problem. From what I can see there is nothing wrong with your bow. If you would allow I'd like to perform a test."

"Granted,"

I walk over to the targets by the far side of the encampment. I pull the bow back one last time. Admiring its quality. One of Aules more stunning pieces.