Written for Feanorian Fun Bingo

prompt: swordplay

Not a toy

Fёanaro heard the clinging of the steel clashing on the yard and he went to see which of his sons were practicing. He watched them for a moment with satisfaction. Tyelkormo was the least eager to learn, claiming that the new weapon was useless at hunting, thus it did not interest him at all, but right now he was facing Atarinke, who was attacking him fiercely, trying to use speed to compensate his little height. Tyelkormo used his skills mastered at Orome's side to escape his brother, laughing as he avoided another blow. His attitude only provoked little Atarinke. The sword he wielded was way too big for him and Fёanaro was about to step in and tell him to take a weapon appropriate for his height, when he froze.

The boys were not using the safe, blunt blades. In Tyelkormo's hand Fёanaro could see the sword he had finished crafting a few days earlier. An itchy line running across his palm was a reminder that the sword was sharp indeed.

Curufinwe used even more dangerous one, as it was too big for him and his movements were not all too confident, the momentum often making him lose balance.

"Tyelkormo!" Called Fёanaro with reproach, using the moment when his elder son jumped away again from the younger. Which was a mistake.

Tyelkormo turned to look at his father and Atarinke used that moment to charge at him again. His blade went freely through his brother's wide sleeve and only then did Tyelkormo jump away with a startled cry. The momentum dragged Curufinwe and sent him on the ground; the sword fell with a loud clang.

Atarinke sniffled as he glanced at his scratched palms, but then he looked up and his eyes widened in terror as he saw blood on his brother's sleeve. Tyelkormo seemed more surprised than hurt, but he lowered his sword and prodded his cut arm.

Fёanaro rushed to them. He grabbed Tyelkormo's arm and rolled up the sleeve to see the damage.

"What. Were. You. Two. Thinking." He hissed angrily. Even if the scratch was shallow, he could still see one of his sons charging at the other and feel the dread that they would harm one another.

"We saw Maitimo and Findekano sparring with real swords, but they would not let us," muttered Tyelkormo, having the decency to look guilty. Next to him, Curufinwe scrambled back on his feet, still looking horrified.

"I'll have a word with them later," growled Fёanaro. "I thought you to have more sense than this, Turko," he scowled. "And you? How could you think that wielding such a big sword was a good idea, Curvo? See what you've done?"

"Could it kill, Atto?" whispered Curufinwe miserably, glancing at the sword laying disregarded on the ground. "Like a bow or a spear on a hunt?"

"Yes, it can," replied Fёanaro sternly. "There is a reason why you have swords with blunt edges and ends, so the worst you can do is to bruise yourself. These are not toys."

"I-I didn't know." Big, grey eyes welled up with tears. "We wanted to try... And Finno said I'm too little!"

"And he was probably right," shrugged Fёanaro. "I think there is something you wanted to say to your brother, Curvo," he said pointedly.

"'m s'rry," mumbled the boy and clang to his brother's leg. "Sorry."

"Don't cry, Curvo," Tyelkormo smiled reassuringly at his younger brother. "See? It's just a scratch. I get worse in woods sometimes."

"You are right to be scared," interrupted Fёanaro before Curufinwe was too reassured. He crouched to be at the level of his youngest son. "You could have done a great harm to your brother. I don't want to see you touch any real swords unless I let you. And supervise you."

"Yes, Atto."

"You too, Tyelko," Fёanaro glanced up at his other son and purposely ignored the indignant look he was given. "Go inside and ask Amme to help you clean that."

"I'll manage on my own," said Tyelkormo hastily. Asking Nerdanel for help would require telling her what happened.

"Very well. You're going with me, Curvo. I see I need to explain you some things."