Chapter Text
Fëanáro's first thought when everything went dark was, No. I promised I wouldn't end up like ammë. Please don't let this be the deathsleep.
His second thought was abruptly interrupted by a jerk in his chest, followed by a sensation akin to what he imagined Ulmo felt when he was embodying a whirlpool.
This was further proven when he landed in a pool of icy cold water with a splash.
At least now I know this isn't a dream, he thought as he wrenched open his eyes. Orienting himself by light which seemed far too bright for his eyes, he broke through the surface, hitting his arm against a solid stone edge in the process. Gasping, he scrambled onto the damp stone floor and sprawled on his back blinking at the vaulted ceiling.
Fëanáro squinted. What was going on? Where was he? He’d just been having a drink with his brother after their ‘reconciliation’ and now- where was Nolofinwë?
He sat up and was promptly hit by a wave of nausea. Leaning to the side, he looked up and was greeted by the sight of a glass bauble. It was not quite tall enough for an elf to comfortably stand in and yet there was something within. Whatever it was had a hröa similar to an elf, but when he looked into its eyes it felt like a valar.
Stumbling, he jumped over the moat —moat?— that was surrounding it and jerked to a halt in front of the glass. It looked to be a cage, yet he felt nothing off about the being inside—not like he had with Melkor.
His eyes were drawn to a strange circular pattern on the floor surrounding the cage. It seemed to be writing in a different language. A different language! Giddily, he dropped to his knees to examine it better.
He was distracted by a thud. The entity in the cage had placed it's hand against the glass above him. Warily, he considered it. It wore no clothes and seemed to be male. He had a mop of dark black hair atop his head and was unusually—or perhaps this was normal for his species—thin and pale. Yet that seemed unlikely; Fëanáro could count his ribs. He didn't seem to be breathing yet he was moving around as if he were fine.
Cautiously reaching out with his fëa, Fëanáro found that there was still no sense of wrong as he had always felt around Melkor. But why else would the valar imprison someone—and it had to be the valar, because no one else could just hide an entire different species. He may be sceptical of some of the valar’s actions, but even he wouldn’t have thought they would seemingly unjustly imprison and hide away—what? One of their own? A second born? And why had they not just told the incarnates if they could just stumble across him as soon as it was dark.
It was dark. Of course! The light of the trees must have been cut off somehow. But that still didn't explain how he had got here. Realising he had been strangely distracted ever since he'd fallen in the moat, he got to his feet. Supporting himself on the metal bars surrounding the cage, he considered the situation. The light of the trees had disappeared, he’d felt that strange spinning sensation and then he'd landed in the water. He seemed to be in a dark room only lit up from within the cage—yet there were no torches to provide light. He filed that thought away to ponder on later. It was quite a small room, made to feel even smaller by the supporting pillars which were apparently necessary every two meters. Apart from those, the moat and the weirdly-designed cage, the room was empty. Glancing behind himself, Fëanáro saw a staircase leading up to—somewhere.
The entity within the cage was still looking at him. His dark eyes seemed to see right through his soul, further supporting the ‘Trapped Valar Number 2’ theory. Fëanáro knew he tended to be described as impulsive, but he could honestly not find a reason this creature should be left trapped here. After all, the valar hadn't bothered to explain, so it must not be important—and probably not another case of ‘beloved (evil) brother gone rogue’.
Never one to overthink things, Fëanáro decided he would free this being, before finally finding some answers on where he was and how he had gotten here. Perhaps the trapped maybe-valar might even be more talkative than the actual ones.
He pressed his hand against the glass. The being inside flinched back and got into a crouching position. This made it even more obvious just how much the cage was too small.
Surer now of his decision he considered the thickness of the glass. Then he looked at the supports. The metal curving around the glass was unknown to him. Yet another point to his theory of the valar having done this. After all, no other beings knew more about metal than he did.
Crouching done he chose weak points where the two materials were connected and pressed both his hands against it. Glancing at the creature he tried to smile reassuringly. He didn't look reassured at all.
“Hey,” he said, hearing his voice echo slightly. He hoped the being could hear through the glass. “I’m going to let you out now. Don’t worry. I know my way around creating with these materials and destroying them is just part of the process. You're in safe hands”
He adjusted his hands slightly before concentrating on the flow of the metal under his hands. Closing his eyes he began to hum. Directing his voice toward the metal, he sang of being forced together and naturally coming apart. He sang of separation and distance, concentrating on the seamless connection between glass and metal. He sang of isolation and loneliness. He thought of the distant relationship with his father and the one with his ammë that was cut off at the bud. He imagined forming metal between his hands and his perfect control over it. No material would not bend to his will. This one was no different. In fact, it seemed even more susceptible to his gentle nudging. The glass slowly peeled away from the metal beam as his voice rang throughout the room and bounced off the arches, before concentrating on the spot beneath his hands.
The trapped being's eyes widened and he seemed frozen in time for a moment. However, as soon as there was a gap the size of a hand he surged up. Faltering, Fëanáro slumped backwards. He felt a wave of unusual exhaustion wash over him and nearly fell to his knees, blinking back black spots from his sight. In doing so, he smudged the writing on the floor. Was he imagining the relief in the creature's eyes, as it blew faintly glittering sand at him? Fëanáro had barely processed this when he felt something reaching out to him via ósanwë. Hoping another elf might be answering his continued desperate calls, he tried to reach back before the room and everything inside it blurred and then went dark.