A/N: I don't own the Silmarillion.
This is not the throne room in Tirion.
Or, rather, it is, but it's the throne room as he remembers it, not the throne room he was recently shown after his release from the halls of Mandos. Fingolfin can't help but relax a bit. It's a dream or a vision of some sort, surely, but it's a comforting one.
He smiles at the faces he sees around him. Some of them are still in Mandos. Some he has hesitated to speak to. But now here they all are, disturbed by whatever politics are current today, but blissfully safe.
And there is his father, on the throne.
Fingolfin's breath catches.
The familiar words, the words that have haunted his dreams, roll down. The issue at hand: Feanor's desire to leave Valinor and his words against the Valar.
Fingolfin knows his part. He knows what he is supposed to say. He is supposed to call for the restraining of Feanor and to disparage Feanor's loyalty to their father. He is supposed to drive in the final wedge. He has had this dream before.
He waits a moment for the words to come forth against his will, but nothing happens. His father's eyes merely remain fixed on him.
Fingolfin has many words he would say to his brother - yes, brother - and more than a few might be unkind, but he has to admit that his long ago remark had been unjust. Feanor's loyalty to the Valar is questionable at best, but having seen him grieve their father, there can be no doubt about Feanor's honor and loyalty to him.
He had wondered, on the Ice, what might have happened if he hadn't said those words. If he had offered any other, lesser, insult. If he had kept his own counsel. If, if, if.
So he says instead, "I have heard much rumor about my brother's views on these matters, but I confess that we have not spoken plainly of the matter face to face. I would be sure I know his views fully before I respond to them."
And then Feanor strides in, dressed for war, or at least the closest approximation Aman raised elves could imagine.
If this hall is part of Mandos, it is no part Feanor has yet seen. Has he wandered into some memory of his father's?
Then he looks down at what he is wearing and realization hits.
If it is a memory of his father's, it is not a good one.
He strides in. If this is a memory of his father's, then he will seek to improve it. If it is a test of Namo's, he will pass it.
He does not care for the hoops Namo tries to make him jump through, but his pride has long ago bent far enough to allow him to jump through them anyway.
When Namo believes his behavior might prove to be a good example, he is allowed to see his sons.
He sees Fingolfin standing before the court, and he steels himself for the insult he knows is about to fall.
If he had not responded as he had, he would not have been exiled. If he had not had been exiled, his father would almost certainly have not been near the Silmarils when Morgoth elected to steal them. If, if, if.
When he was a boy, he'd played the "if" game a lot, mostly as regarded his mother. He'd set it away as a waste of time as an adult, but in the Halls of Mandos, there is little else to do.
He moves his hand deliberately away from his sword.
And then Fingolfin - doesn't. Doesn't say anything inflammatory at all.
Is this some point Namo is making? Is this how his father wishes it had gone? Or has his approach this time been somehow different - less provocative to cause Fingolfin to choose gentler words, or more obvious, to make him be more careful?
"I would be happy to explain my arguments more thoroughly so that - " If this is his father's memory, this will make him happy. If this is Namo, it will please him as well. And … the idea is no longer as abhorrent as it once was. "So that my brother and all those not yet fully acquainted with my words might be persuaded."
If this is Namo's test, then he supposes what comes out of his mouth next ought to be conciliatory to the Valar.
Feanor has not yet been forced to bend that far.
For the sake of authenticity, he tells Namo in case he's listening, and then he gives a speech of hope and fire filled with all the dreams he never lived to see shine.
The fire of his brother's words is nearly irresistible, but Fingolfin does his best to resist anyway. He can only afford to lend half his attention to Feanor's words. The rest he must devote to figuring out how he will respond.
If this is a dream or a vision, it might not matter, but -
He can feel his bond to his wife, as of yet unstrained. He can feel the power of Feanor's words as an almost physical force. He can see a crack in the floor that he does not think he ever noticed before.
It occurs to him that this might not be a dream, and if there is any chance it is not, then it matters.
If he encourages their people to leave for Beleriand, he knows all too well what disaster could so easily strike them again. His daughter-in-law dead on the ice. Argon dead almost as soon as they arrive. Aredhel missing and then murdered. Fingon and Turgon falling in battle.
Feanor dead before Fingolfin even arrives.
And those are only the beginning of the tragedies. They might not occur this time around if he does things differently, but he cannot take the risk.
Unfortunately for this plan, he has already thought of Aredhel. Aredhel, who had pressed her lips together and called her marriage "complicated," and refused to speak of it more. Aredhel, who had broken down crying even in the Halls when she told Fingolfin of the grandson he had never known and who they could not find in the milling throng of Mandos.
Aredhel, who had refused to leave the Halls until she found Maeglin.
His daughter died for her son and refused to give up on him despite all that came after. He does not think she would appreciate him deciding to stop his chance for existence.
Turgon might choose otherwise but Idril - his granddaughter is safely born and halfway grown, but the man she will love is half a world away. If he successfully keeps her here, she will never meet him. Earendil, a smiling elf with a stubborn jaw, will never be born.
There will be no Elrond, talking wistfully of his brother and the fall of Numenor. There will be no Numenor at all. There will be no Celebrian, no Elladan, no Elrohir, no Arwen, and no Aragorn for her to choose mortality for.
Possibly no Gil-Galad, although he's honestly not sure.
He does not know most of those people well and some not at all, but he cannot imagine arguing to erase any of them for what might be.
Feanor's speech echoes and ends. All eyes turn to Fingolfin.
"I would think more kindly of the Valar," he begins, "but at the heart of the matter, I agree. Much peace and safety has been bought by coming here, but if some would return to our ancient lands, then why should they be kept back?"
There is more, but that's the bit that creates a memory he will always treasure whether this is dream or vision or truth: Feanor's face for a moment gaping in open shock.
This is not what Feanor expected.
There is no final conclusion that day, of course, but he hardly expected one. This is still a step forward he never dreamed of.
He could follow Fingolfin and demand answers, but he does not dare follow him now. Not with a sword still on his waist.
Instead, he goes home.
Nerdanel has already left him, but his sons are still there, still whole, still safe.
Maedhros looks at him anxiously, and it takes all Feanor has not to pull him into his arms. "How did it go?"
"No ruffled feathers for you to smoothe this time," Feanor assures him, allowing himself a comforting hand on Maedhros's shoulder. "Your uncle agreed with me."
He is not sure whether his children are more shocked by their uncle's agreement or by the fact Feanor has referred to him as such. He laughs, and he knows the sound is too relieved, too joyful, but he cannot help it.
"Come," he says, "let us eat, and I will tell you all about it, and then if you still do not believe me, Maitimo, you can go get your uncle's perspective from Findekano."
In another time, today had been the beginning of a break in their friendship, although not, thankfully as it turned out, a permanent one. As difficult as it is to let any of them out of his sight at the moment, he owes them this.
Fingolfin has anticipated there being problems. He has not anticipated one of those problems being names until he absently mentions to his wife needing to talk to Fingon only for her brow to wrinkle as she says, "Who?"
They don't know Sindarin yet, he has to remind himself, and he does his best not to slip again.
This - whatever it is - has gone on long enough for Feanor to dismiss the idea that it could be a memory of his father's and to doubt that it is a test of Namo's.
Which means it might be real, and if it's real, he has to at least try to fix things.
So he treats it like a project and sits down to determine his goals and the parameters for success.
One. Keeping his family well and alive.
Two. Keeping his Silmarils out of Morgoth's hands.
Three. If possible, remaining alive himself.
The key problems with this are threefold. First, he no longer has any idea what Morgoth might do. The debate in Tirion is still fierce, but it has not erupted into violence. History has changed, and he has no idea how that might affect Morgoth's plans. Second, without his trial, Morgoth has not yet been denounced to the world at large. Feanor is the only one who knows how much darkness the Vala tries to hide. Third, he is uncertain what arrangements he could possibly make that would keep the Silmarils safe from both Morgoth and Ungoliant, short of destroying them or giving them to another Vala.
If he destroys them, he destroys himself with them, and he would prefer not to face Namo again any time soon unless it is absolutely necessary. Giving them to the Valar would at least delay this problem until the Trees are destroyed - if Morgoth still goes through with that plan - but once they are, he has no confidence in them putting his life over the immediate need for light. Giving up would also mean giving up the life giving light of the Trees, something that will make their efforts in Beleriand that much harder.
It's a tricky problem, and one he has to solve alone. There is no one else to trust with it.
Not until Fingolfin is speaking to him and mentions Maedhros.
Not Maitimo. Not Nelyafinwe.
Maedhros.
They are in private, sitting together in Fingolfin's study to discuss the question consuming all of TIrion, so Feanor interrupts him with, "Fingolfin."
Fingoflin freezes.
Feanor can't stop a triumphant smile. "I thought so. I imagine it's been a while since anyone's called you by that name." He stops to consider. "Or, alternately, it will yet be a while until anyone else does. Meddling with time makes for difficult chronology - "
Fingolfin punches him.
The ensuing fight involves more shouting than violence, but Fingolfin has more than one punch built up from millennia of anger. Feanor refuses to push back, however, not because he doesn't want to hit his half-brother, but because in the back of his mind he can't help thinking that someone could walk through that door any moment, and if anyone's getting exiled to Formenos, it's not going to be him. Fingolfin, for his part, can only hit a man who won't hit back for so long.
"You left us!" he shouts. "I swore to follow you, and you left us - "
"You were calling yourself Finwenolofinwe," Feanor spits back, "forgive me for thinking a man angling to be king was not all that eager to follow - "
"So you left us to the Ice to die?"
"So I meant for you to go HOME!" Feanor roars.
They glare at each for a few moments, panting, before Fingolfin collapses into a chair and says rather blankly, "Oh."
Feanor sits down more gingerly and prods at the beginnings of a black eye which will be difficult to explain.
"Truce?" his brother finally offers.
"A truce," Feanor agrees. "We have a greater enemy to worry about." He wipes some blood from his lip. "A shame we can't frame him for this."
Fingolfin winces. "I was expecting you to hit back."
A knock on the door interrupts any reply Feanor could have made. "Father?" Fingon calls tentatively. "Uncle Feanaro? Are you alright? We heard … something falling."
A chair had indeed been knocked to the floor when Feanor had stumbled back from Fingolfin's second blow. Feanor very much doubts that was all Fingon and anyone else present in the house at the moment had heard.
Fingolfin's face is half buried in his hands. "All's well," he calls back, voice slightly muffled. "I'll explain later."
"Of course, Father," Fingon says somewhat doubtfully, and his footsteps slowly recede.
"Depending on what exactly he overheard, I wish you luck with that," Feanor says dryly.
Fingolfin groans.