{DISCLAIMER: If I were Tolkien, things would have turned out less tragic.}

Caranthir/Carnistir looks around 15-16, while Amrod and Amras/Pityafinwë and Telufinwë/Pityo and Telvo look around 6.

I used Amrod and Amras' father name since they have the same mother name and that would have made it confusing.

Carnistir was finally enjoying some well-deserved peace, reading at a bench in the gardens. His brothers were either at lessons, loitering somewhere or accompanying their mother on her errand; all the ones left were the twins, who busied themselves with each other enough not to give their older brother no bother.

Out of the corner of his eye, Carnistir noticed one of the twins boosting the other on his back in attempts to reach a low-lying branch.

"Pityo! Telvo! Father said no climbing the trees." He called out to the younger ones. The twins, however, stopped only to resume what they were doing once more when they realized their older brother was once again absorbed in his reading.

A sharp snap followed by a dull thud and a sickening crunch soon sent the two youngest of Fëanor's sons wailing.

Carnistir dropped his book and ran over to where his brothers were. At the foot of the tree they were trying to climb was one of the twins doubled over in pain while the other twin knelt in tears beside his injured brother. The broken branch beside them pretty much explained the whole story.

"We didn't know it would b-break and Telvo f-fell!" Pityafinwë sobbed,

"Go get father!" Carnistir ordered at the younger elf, who soon sprinted in the direction of the forge.

"Let's have a look," Carnistir said gently, cradling his younger brother. The little elfling's wrist was bent in a way that told Carnistir it may be broken.

Soon enough their father came, a worried expression painted on his face. Gently, Fëanáro lifted his injured son in his arms.

"Carnistir! Bring your brother inside." Their father called out, disappearing inside the house with Telufinwë still crying in his arms.

Carnistir held a hand out, leading his little brother back in their house.

Pityafinwë's sobs eventually mellowed down into sniffles as he and his elder brother sat in the kitchen, awaiting their father and brother.

Unable to take his little brother's downcast look and sniffling, Carnistir then stood and took the jar of cookies their mother hid on the tallest shelf, far from small elfling hands.

Taking a cookie out, he held it out for his little brother, "Here, it will make you feel better."

"I can't,"

Carnistir was taken aback, he never knew Pityo to be the one to willingly refuse a treat.

"Come on, I'll get you some milk too and I won't even tell mother."

"I can't,"

"Why not?"

"Because me and Telvo always have one together. It won't be fair if I get one and he won't."

"He can get one later."

"But it's not the same."

"I don't think Telvo will mind if you have some without him."

"But still,"

Carnistir was shaking his head and his little brother's stubbornness when an idea popped into his head.

He took out a glass and made a show of pouring milk into it in front of his brother. Then he started to eat a cookie with exaggerated gusto.

The younger elf tried not to be swayed by his elder brother's act but couldn't help himself; Pityafinwë stared at the cookie in his brother's hand with desire.

Carnistir smirked, his plan had worked. Pushing a cookie towards his brother and pouring him a glass of milk to accompany it. The elfling tried to ignore it but soon gave up and tucked in.

"See, didn't I tell you it will make you feel better?"

Pityo nodded, "Thank you, Moryo."

Carnistir smiled and ruffled his little brother's hair affectionately, "I think I hear father and Telvo coming, maybe they would like to join us."