Suilad! Sorry for the wait. Just so everybody knows Arato is one of Fingolfin's names. The book never really mentioned how much older Feanor was than Fingolfin, so, for simplicity's sake, I have them pretty close together. At this point Feanor is the eldarin equivalent of about 15, and Fingolfin about 10. Hope you all like it. REVIEW!
I Ai'aran "the little king"
A loud crashing sound ripped through the early quiet of the mist-veiled Tirion. It was followed by the rippling sound of Eldarin laughter as Feanaro and Fingolfin raced through the halls, knocking over candelabrums and whatever else was unlucky enough to be caught in their paths. The two ebony blurs barreled out of the great hall, down the broad steps, and into the surrounding forest. Eventually the elder slowed. The unrelenting little brother behind Feanaro tackled him, sending them both headlong into the lush grass. Fingolfin sat up spitting the dirt out of his mouth, but laughing nonetheless. Feanaro, though, was slightly more dignified in the picking of foliage from his face, hair, and clothes.
Fingolfin smiled proudly, despite the large smudge of mud across his cheek and forehead. "I caught you." He declared.
Feanaro gave him a despairing look. "Aye, you did, but, Fin, you wrecked the hall and nearly broke both of our necks doing it."
Fingolfin pouted, realizing he had been outwitted again. "I still got you, and I can do again."
Feanaro slapped his forehead in mock exasperation. "I do not doubt it." He looked over at his younger brother, who, while still a child, had begun to grow out of his innocence. His features were still too angular, his deep blue eyes were still too large, and his ears stuck out too far, but the bumbling youth was melting away. What Feanaro could see underneath was a warrior and a king.
Feanaro pulled himself from his trance and glanced around. Fingolfin had wandered off, again. He followed the barely noticeable track through the dewy grasses and he found his little brother waiting for him by the path that would bring them back to Tirion. Beside it flowed a small creek, with icy cold water. Arato grinned and held out his hand for Feanaro, who took it. They walked in silence for a while before Fingolfin suddenly turned and shoved his brother into the brook. Feanaro scowled at the elfling, getting back up, his whole rear-end soaked.
"You little fiend!"
Fingolfin took off running, smiling to himself in silent victory. He reached his father's bedchamber only seconds before Feanaro. Finwe looked quite stunned to see his two sons come flying into the room, one drenched.
"Arato! Curufinwe! What in Valinor —!"
They skidded to a halt, grinned, turned heel, and sprinted out again. They finally found refuge in the large study. Arato was content to let Feanaro explain to him the complexity of the Noldorin trade systems, language, and history. Occasionally he let slip a snide remark about Feanaro's incredible dullness in ever listening to their tutors.
Iaranto, the very instructor who Fingolfin happened to be commenting on, found them. He took them both by their collars and walked them to the King. Iaranto planted them firmly in seats opposite to Finwe.
"Three broken vases, one ignited tapestry, a cracked mirror, and seven, seven," the King repeated ominously, "Different Noldor who required a healer." He set down the list and sighed. "Explain yourselves."
"Well, I –." Arato began.
"It was my fault, atar." Feanaro cut in. "I was not thinking and I convinced Fingolfin to join me." Arato gave him an incredulous look, shocked that he could have lied so blatantly to their father. Yet, he was grateful for it.
Finwe shook his head. "Feanaro, when will you learn?" he made a disapproving sound. "Do not do it again, do you understand?"
"Aye."
"Then away with you! I need peace." Finwe laughed.
They sprung up from their chairs and beat a hasty retreat. As soon as they were out of earshot, Fingolfin spoke.
"An man quettelye esse?"
"Man quetten?"
"Caitelye." Fingolfin said accusingly.
Feanaro sighed and put his arm around his little brother. "There are times when one must lie."
"Mana?"
"Do not ask so many questions, Fin." Curufinwe said softy. "Silence is your best weapon."
The little elfling looked at him curiously, but wisely decided against asking him to explain. They walked in companionable silence for a while before Fingolfin spoke.
"What was your naneth like, Fea?"
"I never really knew her." He said.
Fingolfin stopped walking to ponder this, and had to jog to catch up to Feanaro, who had not stopped. "How can you not know your mother?"
"She went to Mandos shortly after I was born."
"I am sorry."
"I do not want your pity." Feanaro said coldly.
"Forgive me."
Feanaro looked down at his half-brother and saw not someone who was trying to be sly, but only a confused little noldo who had gotten his feelings hurt. "Lá mauya nin apsene."
Fingolfin grinned. "May no grief then divide us, Spirit of Fire." The wisdom, and foresight, which echoed in his words came not from Fingolfin the child, but Fingolfin the King.
A sudden flash of fire engulfed Feanaro's vision. He struggled against it. Struggled against the power of foresight which haunted him. The field spread out before him; it was bleak and all that was once green was charred black. Then it swirled and he saw Melkor, and in his hand was the great mace of the Underworld, Grond. Malice burned in his eyes. The small figure stood, undaunted, before him. The Elf held aloft a great sword, on which many runes were written. A cry of despair lurched to Feanaro's lips when he recognized the grim set of the features behind the helm. The blood-streaked hair which was lifted in the foul wind, and the blazing eyes. May Iluvatar bless that stubbornness and valour. He watched, helpless, as the Elf King was beaten again and again to his knees, and how each time Fingolfin staggered up again. A savage cry split the air when Morgoth crushed the Elf Lord beneath his iron-shod foot. Only then did Feanaro realize it was he who screamed.
Feanaro opened his eyes and was once again back in Tirion. His little brother was staring up at him, and many questions were in his eyes. Curufinwe knelt down and pulled Arato into a fierce hug. "Be careful, Fin." The younger son of Finwe nodded.
"I shall be."
Feanaro stood up and shook his head, trying to get rid of the last bits of the vision which still lingered in his mind. Just as he did so, the chiming of many bells announced that the evening meal was being served.
"We will be late!" Fingolfin sprang up and pulled Feanaro down the corridor towards the dining hall. The elder of the two grinned, nothing was more important to his little brother than his stomach.
Feanaro found himself drug into the large chamber and plopped down in a chair with his father to his right and Fingolfin to his left. He watched with amusement as Arato heaped food onto his plate before wolfing it down. Though after seeing a glimpse of his brother's doom, Feanaro had lost his appetite.
Fingolfin was so busy chattering with the others that when he grabbed his goblet to take a sip, he missed his mouth and the drink spilled down his front. Curufinwe tried to hide his laughter while mopping up his little brother, just as Fingolfin tried to ignore the fizzy sound of compressed hysterics coming from Feanaro. Neither succeeded. Soon they both were rolling on the floor, howling.
"Sons." At Finwe's authoritative voice, they stopped and drug themselves back onto their chairs. When they were quiet he continued. "Your mother," Feanaro shot him a glance sharp enough to slice through bone, "And I have something to tell you." He smiled, unaware of the fire that was burning beneath Feanaro's thin layer of control. "She is with child."
Feanaro stood so quickly that his chair toppled behind him, but he ignored it. He strode from the chamber, hurt beyond words.
I do not know what to say,
About some of the things I saw this day.
Never had I seen him cry,
Or heard him utter any lie.
He always seemed above such things,
But I cannot know what each day brings.
Unbeatable he always seemed,
But I cannot deny the grief that gleamed
In his eyes when he looked at me this day.
I am Arato Curufinwe.