Danafinwe Feaelenion Feanorian (Book 1)

Curufinwe's Search

1403 YT

"I don't understand why mother made me go with you," Curvo sighs. There it is. His good mood has finally spoiled. "You're grown enough to do this on your own,"

Father has been hard on him since we arrived. Curvo let slip that he hasn't thought of a project for his admission into the metalworkers guild. Again. The deadline to submit the first drafted idea is tomorrow. We arrived in formanos yesterday. Not a lot of time to figure out what you're going to make.

Curvo has never missed a deadline.

"I can but mother is covering your scrawny ass from fathers fury,"

Curvo grumbles that he can fend for himself.

"I'm sure you can," A good job he's doing. Spent most of yesterday holed up in his room. Supposedly drafting ideas. None of them are up to spec, nor fathers standards. Something we all deal with. No matter our craft.

One instance was when I first expressed my love for writing. Father bought the finest tutors to teach me. When I finished with the tutors, father took over and scrutinized each passage I wrote. This went on for years before I was finally capable of doing things myself. And freely. Then writing became more enjoyable and my first book was published. Of course, father still expects me to work as hard as I did when I first endeavoured to become a writer.

Curvo has father breathing down his neck. I had my tutors.

I switch the bag of ingredients from one hip to the other. "What's next on our list?"

"Wine from—" Curvo is cut short when he collides with a female the size of grandmother Indis. They collide hard.

The materials the female was holding drop to the ground. Clattering and clanging come from the materials. Loud sounds that can only come from metal hitting ground.

She's a smith.

"Watch where your going," Curvo growls.

"YOu watch where you're going," The female fires right back. A snarl on the precipice of her lips. Curvo hesitates to retort. "Look what you made me do. My smith master needs these for a project. If any of these metals are damaged in any way you are buying replacements,"

'Curvo, help her pick up her materials,'

'She bumped into me,' Curvo growls, glaring up a storm.

I sigh. 'Just do it,'

Thankfully I don't have to say it a third time. Together they pick up the materials. From what I can see she's carrying three types of metal. Silver, gold and tantalum. Three beautiful metals. Father usually makes crowns and circlets out of the three types of metal. He combines tantalum with gold or silver to make soft metals more durable.

Once the female's certain her materials are safe and sound she tells Curvo he's lucky nothing broke. She leaves us with a thank you before turning briskly on her heel.

"She was a character," I state. Certainly worthy of a tale or two. At least to our family. They will get a hoot out of this. Turca will have a field day for weeks. Serves Curvo right for not looking where he's going.

Beside me, Curvo grumbles incoherently.

"Well, she certainly ruined your day,"

"She ran into me, why should I help her pick up her things?"

Oh for Varda's sake. Is my brother this dense? "When people run into you in the market and you're the one holding items do they stop and help you?"

"I'm the son of the crown prince," That doesn't make a lick of a difference. People help people pick up things they've dropped. It's common etiquette. I guess Curvo is that dense. Or he's never run into anyone. At least not like that.