Melkor's return was supposed to herald an era of plenty and victories; it is, instead, the most disappointing time of Mirfin's life.

Mairon claims the second battle of Beleriand wasn't a crushing defeat: the God of the gods wanted, first and foremost, the noldorin king captured. It was necessary to lure him far from his troops, to sacrifice soldiers to achieve this goal. Mirfin is sickened by the rewriting of the rout: between the first Battle against Thingol and the second one against Fëanaro, the Tatyarsh lost two thirds of their warriors. A quarter of his beta died of unknown causes, now described as "mind shock", and his Gashan is dying of the same sickness, having lost no less than six children.

They have lost all lands won in the South. Lammoth has fallen against the troops of Nolofinwë, a rival king of Fëanaro. With Fëanaro has come the White Light, and with his half-brother rose the terrible Fire Light which burns the soldiers. Mirfin knows he won't be able to go out without his armor's helmet anymore, for the light will surely blind him.

The war is an utter disaster. Mirfin asks for the Suh-Luh, the ritual of acceptance of responsibility, but Mairon says it's a victory: no soldier is going to be decimated, no alpha is going to be flogged for failure. It's a sensible decision considering the staggering losses, but an all too visible manipulation.

The aftermath of the battle is hard on the First Singer. He collapses on the returning trip and sleeps for days, leaving his people leaderless behind a fading Gashan. Mairon assures him he fought well. Mirfin knows he owes his survival only to Fluithin.

After a few weeks, he is tasked with organizing surveillance on Fëanaro while he works. The noldo tries to talk to him; Mirfin doesn't answer. He listens to his language, though, and studies him: his height, the strength of his body, the nimbleness of his fingers, the shiny eyes, the way he braids his hair. He knows, by now, that Fëanaro is Miriel and Finwë's son. He would have known even if Mairon hadn't told him: the structure of the face is very much like that of Finwë and one doesn't need to be a genius to guess the noldorin king would be Finwë's child. Miriel always liked the name, had told Mirfin his next brother or sister would be called either Fëanaro or Fëanarë. He has his mother's eyes, made ugly by the light of the West.

Then the watch stops, and Fëanaro disappears.

He's hard to forget, because Fluithin is obsessed with him. She keeps crying for her "baby son" as if she truly was Miriel and the noldo really was her child. Her duties with the children and wounded fall back on the already weakened Gashans. Mairon can't come down anymore without her harassing him to get her baby back, until he finally relents and orders Mirfin to go and get the noldoran out of his hands.

He finds Fëanaro in a lightless cell, a thin carcass, still breathing, but so faintly he looks half dead. He weights nothing when two of his beta put him on stretcher. Mirfin covers him entirely, not wishing anyone to see him. The noldo doesn't even stir when they take him to Fluithin, when she cries and cradles him in white arms. Mirfin worries for their Mother goddess: it is unusual for her to carry one mother's face for so long, and she has been Miriel for months now. She caresses her "son's" hair with tenderness and sings lullabies to him.

In the following weeks, Fluithin dedicates all her time to nursing her beloved noldo back to health. Mirfin's Gashan hardly goes out of their chambers anymore. He tires, doing both his job and hers, in a world where their God of gods his both here and absent (Mairon still refuses to introduce his alphas to him), abandoned by their usual gods, Mairon being always needed at Melkor's side and Fluithin occupied with her "child".

By the time Mairon comes back to his Mulak and orders him to take Fëanaro, Mirfin is thoroughly fed up with the consequences of having the noldo in Angamando.

"The Lady can't keep him. He has regained consciousness and is disgusted by her, the ungrateful brat. I can't deal with both… I can't deal with Fluithin being hysterical right now. I managed to convince her that Fëanaro needs some time with his own kind. Hopefully she will come back to her old self."

The Mulak doesn't even know why Mairon tries to justify himself. Mirfin never refuses any of his orders.

"I will care for him as best as I can. I should, however, bring to your attention that my Gashan, Agarin, is not fit for her duties anymore. Should I entrust his well-being to one of her betas?"

The Gashan are responsible for the healers and, as such, Mirfin doesn't have any authority over them unless the Gashan dies. A dying political mate is the worst situation for him right now: he can't command them, and she can't either, which leaves her underlings fighting between themselves to know who will replace her.

"I will enact a temporary law granting you the power of the Gashan. It is fortunate that Agarin is dying, actually. Should he recover, Fëanaro will replace her once she dies."

Taken aback, Mirfin can only utter a strangled "him?". He, who brought death to his people? He who brings sadness to their Mother, only to reject her?

"Yes. He is an incredible crafter and has some basic knowledge in medicine. Moreover, he is a fast learner. I have no doubts he will acquire quickly what he doesn't already know."

"Isn't he an infidel? Did he renounce his loyalties to the West?"

"Until you deem his faith to be true, you will be the sole Great Priest for the Tatyarsh. As for his loyalties, he is not the vanguard of the west as we thought, but a rebel who fled from Valinor. They cursed him and he cursed them back. I do expect him to try to run away, and the experiment not to work at all. In that case I am expecting efforts rather than results from you."

"As always I will do my best to please you and our Mother, Great Smith."

"I know," Mairon assures him with a smile. "I know."

It's been a long time since Mirfin had any concubine. The quarters built for them are empty, at least until they settle here the nervous creature who is supposed to be his brother.

Fëanaro is still very thin, though less than before, and his greys eyes look too big for his gaunt face. The light in them draws the gaze to them and their unhealthy glow, to the deep shadows under them and their constant darting to the noldo's surroundings. Much like a trapped cat, he's searching for places to hide and ways to escape; it's futile, Mirfin having clasped a sturdy manacle to his left ankle. His hair, kept short when Mirfin fought him, has grown up to his waist, far too quickly considering the two years he spent in Angamando: Fluithin tends to have strange effects on those she heals.

Mirfin watches him silently at first, seated on a leather cushion at the opposite end of the room. His charge seems bothered by the chain despite the heavy fabric draped around the metal to protect his skin, but he's mainly watching him back without daring to meet his eyes.

The Mulak is no expert in dealing with broken creatures. Uruks and animals destroyed beyond measure are put down, liberating their spirit from their sorry states, and the others are guarded and protected by the Mother's wolfish attentions. Mirfin got a pup much like Fëanaro once. She was a descendant of Mairon himself, deserving respect for her blood, but weak in combat and prone to get wounded by her brothers and sisters, so that she became scared of everything, mewling for mercy and biting at will for fear of being bitten first. With Mairon's agreement, Mirfin finally slit her throat after she almost took his hand off.

The tatyarsh stands up and Fëanaro immediately freezes, eyes fixated on Mirfin's chest, watching for any threatening move. He grows increasingly nervous as his brother advances on him and recoils when the quendë sits back at arm's length.

"My name is Mirfin. Do you understand?"

He tries to convey the message through mind-speech, but the noldo shudders at the touch and refuses to hear him. Well, without osanwë and with valarin (a language of Power not to be used lightly) as their only common language, this is going to be difficult.

The Mulak points to Fëanaro and speaks the noldorin name, before pointing at himself and repeating his own.

"Mirfin," the noldo looks like he tastes the name more than he speaks it. He lets out a string of noldorin words, some that sounds a bit like old words from Mirfin's youth, some sindarin-like, others unknown. It's a question, one the white haired elf doesn't recognize. Fëanaro seems to understand and holds a hand forward, grabbing the ornamented necklace hanging from the Mulak's neck. His thumb circle a stone, a red gem. "Mir? Mirë? Miril?"

Jewel?

Mirfin shakes his head. His name is an unimaginative mix of Miriel and Finwë, and Miriel was born and named before anyone discovered gems. In her heart she named him Therin, the same name she gave to sewing, an art she invented during her pregnancy.

Therin is a secret name, though, and Fëanaro doesn't deserve to know of it.

"Mir means..." He frowns. Without osanwë, explaining orally is futile. He takes the gem back, a lamp, and makes the light play on the sharp edges. "Mir."

Another question. The noldo is so drawn back inside himself that he doesn't even emits thoughts, so that Mirfin cannot even try to understand the general sense of the words. Having a mind that closed amounts to terrible disrespect amongst his people, especially when speaking to a Mulak, but he guesses it can't be helped right now.

"Light?" Fëanaro tries, using a very old word. "Jewel-light? Not jewel?"

"Yes. Light. Jewel-word is..." How can he explain "early" and "late"? There was no past sense in early kenya. He gestures: wait, and comes back with a slate. He draws a line to describe time and places light, jewels and the word mir. Fëanaro nods, and he doesn't look as nervous as before now that his mind his occupied with linguistic.

The noldo grabs a strand of hair.

"Fin?"

"Yes."

More gibberish, followed by Fëanaro pointing at the lamp.

"Narë."

"Yes. Your name is Faya-naro." He shows that narë is a very, very old world, older than mir. "I understand."

If anything, his charge looks vexed at not getting to explain his own name.

"Fëanaro is mother-name to me," he says in his oldest elven tongue. "Father-name to me is Curufinwë. Curu is..." he points to his head, his hands and mime doing something. "Making. Thinking. Finwë is father to me. Fin is..." he grabs a strand of hair, "wë means quendë."

"No. Wë is..." He searches for an old synonymous of "chief", but Wë at the end of the name used to signify that one was a leader, and they had no other word. "Mulak. Noldoran. Child-name to Finwë is Finn. Finwë is Finn-Noldoran name. Not child-name."

"No. Finwë is father to me. I know."

Mirfin takes his slate again and places himself close to Finwë, and Fëanaro very far away in time. The look on his face dares his little brother to contest that, as someone who actually lived when Finwë was young, he knows better than a brat born centuries later.

"Finwë is father to me in Kuivenien. I know more."

Fëanaro repeats the word "father" as if there is a mistake and Mirfin used a word wrongly, using the sinda for "king" instead. The Mulak doesn't understand why the younger elf is following this train of thoughts, until it hits him that he doesn't look like he knows who he is, despite the fact his name gives him away and is fairly transparent as to who his parents are.

"Brothers to you?" he asks. He shows his hands and mime counting on his fingers.

Fëanaro shows two fingers, and adds two more for sisters.

"Fingolfin brother to you?"

He nods.

"Nolofinwë and Arafinwë brothers to me."

Mirfin frowns. None of those names can apply to him. Fëanaro takes the slate away, draws a circle and divides it in two. He repeats "brothers" with a prefix Mirfin doesn't understand but may mean "half".

"Finwë is father to Nolofinwë and Arafinwë. Miriel is not mother?"

"No. Indis is mother."

Mirfin mimes "how many" and adds: "children to Miriel and Finwë?"

Fëanaro points to himself.

"Miriel dead," he adds sadly. He draws a line, very close to his own birth on the timeline. Mirfin is not surprised. Miriel had been very sick after his own birth and never recovered properly. No one could have forced his mother to have another child, though, and so Mirfin knows she decided to risk her life by her own accord.

But he doesn't understand why Fëanaro speaks of himself as a single child.

Unless no one told him.

His little brother doesn't seem to get it, and is moving to asking whether the tatyarsh are from the tatyar, and explains in broken kenya that the noldor are the tatyar. He is searching for a kinship between them without even guessing that his own blood is watching him in the eyes. Mirfin doesn't even know if he's angry, sad or feels nothing at the erasing of his existence from history. Of course Miriel, if she died when Fëanaro was very young, wouldn't have told him. Before Angamando, the adults kept a lot of things from the children, thinking they were too weak to understand. But what of Finwë? What excuses did his wretched father have?

It was all in the past. Another life. Mirfin doesn't belong with them anymore anyway.

He doesn't want to talk about the Tatyarsh and the Noldor. No, he answers harshly, the Tatyarsh aren't the Noldor. The Noldor are Finwë's thing, the fools he dragged to his accursed light. The Tatyar had been so much more! Mirfin knows some are living in Ossiriand now, and most living far in the east.

"Why are you here? Why come to this place?"

"Finwë dead," the former king answers. The words sounds like they strangle him. "Melkor kills Finwë"

Good.

"I do not understand."

"Finwë is father to me."

"Why are you here?"

"Because Melkor killed Finwë!"

And now Fëanaro glares with utter disbelief, as if he can't understand that his father's death isn't logically linked with him coming here in Mirfin's mind.

"Melkor took Silmarilli to me. Silmarilli are..."

"I know. Bad Light from West."

Mirfin looks disgusted, Fëanaro disgruntled.

"No. Silmarilli are good, white light. Like stars. Very good."

"No. Light from West is bad. Light from West in stones is bad. Bad to spirit."

"Who speaks this?"

"I speak this. Light from West is bad to spirit. Bad to you."

"You do not know. You go not to the West."

"Finwë goes West. Finwë goes back. Spirit to Finwë is bad from Light from West. I know. What do you know? You do not know life from no bad Light."

Mairon helps him, his mastery of kenya is growing worse by the minute. He must keep his calm. Fëanaro isn't Finwë, he never had any chance to know better. Fluithin always says one shouldn't punish a child for something he can't know; Mairon agrees with her, only he usually adds that once the mistake has been done and explained, it's alright to beat a child who trespasses again. Fëanaro is like a child who hasn't been taught properly.

What irks the Mulak is that the noldo seems to be thinking exactly the same about him.

"You not talk bad about father to me. Finwë is very good king and quendë," Fëanaro warns him, only he's far too weak right now for Mirfin to feels threatened, and their bad kenya makes him sound ridiculous. Mirfin snorts with disdain.

"Finwë is spirit-sick because bad light from West. Bad king and bad father and bad mate. You do not know, child. Finwë speaks bad words to you." He holds up four fingers. "Sons to Finwë. Not..." he holds three. "Miriel is good. God mother and good mate and good quendë. Not Finwë."

How can he explain that Miriel knew, that she never wanted to go West, and left only because she loved Finwë?

But Fëanaro withdraws, looking at him suspiciously, obviously more decided to believe their foolish father than a brother he doesn't know and is nothing more than a jailer to him. He spits a word in his own language and turns his back to him, a gesture for which Mirfin should punish him with the lash, but a child can't be punished the first time he does a mistake he can't understand; and how to explain, since they don't speak the same language and his mind stays resolutely closed?

Mirfin lets out a frustrated sigh and leaves the noldo to his disillusions.

Working with Fëanaro is exasperating.

Mirfin cannot spend more than an hour per day with him, but it's enough to make him want to strangle Finwë for the mess he made of his little brother. That, and the Mulak lacks the tool to deal with his charge.

Fëanaro is, in turn, an intelligent student, making incredible progresses in language with Mirfin and the beta tasked with teaching him the Holy tongue; a stubborn opponent obsessed with Finwë; a worried father and king and, sometimes, a scared animal paralyzed by his most basic instincts. Of all his phases this one is the worst for Mirfin. He doesn't know how to deal with the trembling body, the vacant eyes, the constricted throat which impairs his speech.

When Fëanaro is in this state, reason and words can't reach him. Mirfin tries to treat him the only way he knows: like a wayward pup to be domesticated. The first time Fëanaro freezes, he lets him be, because he doesn't know what to do. The second time he pets his head in a soothing manner even as the noldo recoils under the touch. The third time his brother accepts the touch with a tensed immobility. After that, the elda almost leans in, and the crisis seem shorter and less violent. He brings him food and water himself and takes the time to brush and braid his hair.

He doesn't tell Fëanaro he gives him child braids.

Everytime the ner annoys him, Mirfin reminds himself he can't be considered as an adult. An adult can speak and write perfectly, and Fëanaro cannot; an adult knows how to bear pain, and the noldo doesn't. An adult knows how to be polite, properly submissive and how to follow the rules of the society he lives in: Fëanaro is neither of those and can't even grasps the concept of common good, proud as he is to have caused the death of hundreds of thousands for the sake of a single quendë. Whatever Mairon says, Mirfin can't picture his charge as a future Gashan, his ally and equal. If anything his bad leadership of the Noldor should disqualify him altogether for the charge of guide of the Tatyarsh.

He decides to free Fëanaro from the manacle after a month. His behavior has grown more agreeable lately, and he can't keep him forever tied anyway. He locks his door, though, but it's still a good reward.

The next morning, Mirfin finds the door open and Fëanaro gone.