"You almost have the same name as mine."
Aikanáro looks up from where he's polishing his sword at the edge of one of his grandfather's courtyards to see a lone, redheaded elfling.
He frowns and glances across open area around them.
There. He can see the other twin, not far off, just across the courtyard with Carnistir.
Aikanáro's face darkens. He looks back to the one who'd spoken with him. "You're Ambarussa... Pityafinwë?"
The child nods. "Pityafinwë Ambarto. Or Umbarto. I don't mind. You're Ambaráto Aikanáro."
Aikanáro tries not to be amused by how the child says this as if he doesn't already know his own name. But then, this is one of Uncle Fëanáro's spawn. One that he rarely sees not shadowing Carnistir or Tyelkormo around with his twin. (Aikanáro very much prefers Tylekormo to Carnistir. Tyelkormo is at least affable. Carnistir is really, really not.) Who knows what the child's motivations are for speaking with him?
Pityafinwë continues, rather unhelpfully, "Your mother-name is almost like my father's name, too."
Aikanáro tries not to grimace.
It's not a bad thing, exactly, to be compared to Uncle Fëanáro, commonly said to be the greatest of the Noldor, but... well. He makes Artanis uncomfortable, and Aikanáro trusts his little sister's uncanny judgement.
There's a pause. Finally, Pityafinwë bursts, "Did your father see visions about you, the way my mother did about me?"
Aikanáro blinks. "I... don't think so."
But Aikanáro can quickly grasp what the child speaks of. Even young as he was, he'd heard the rumors following the Ambarussa's birth.
Pityafinwë looks disappointed by his response. A determined expression crosses his face then, and he plops down with legs crossed, arms folded. "So why'd he give you that name, then?"
Aikanáro had never really thought much about it. "To match my brothers, I suppose."
"Findárato, Angárato, Ambárato." Pityafinwë tastes each of their names. "Like Findekáno, Turukáno, and Arakáno. Or Nelyafinwë, Kánafinwë, Turkafinwë, Morifinwë, Curufinwë, Pityafinwë, and Telufinwë... Did you notice that Findekáno is almost like Kánafinwë but reversed?"
Aikanáro patiently listens to the child reel off all those names.
He isn't sure he'd be able to explain the naming politics of the Finwean Royal Family when he barely understood (and did not care to understand more of) it himself. He is pretty sure that their inter-family politics isn't normal, though. At least, his mother's family isn't like this.
For one, they're a lot more laid back. Though perhaps that's just because they're Falmari. Falmari tend to be a lot more calm than the Noldor.
"I can't say I ever have."
Pityafinwë makes an odd huffing sound that practically bleeds frustration. "Do you ever think about names at all?"
Aikanáro shifts to sit up straighter. "Sure I do."
Pityafinwë rolls his eyes. "If you do, how come you never noticed my brother and our cousin have almost the same name?'
"Maybe I'm just not obsessed with them the way you are."
That makes Pityafinwë scowl. "Well, then clearly you've never had the pressure of an unknown and possibly terrible fate weighing you down."
"No, I haven't. But I'm sorry that you have." Aikanáro tries to imagine it. He finds that he can't. "But we do live in Valinor. You aren't likely to suffer a terrible fate here."
"Terrible things do happen in Valinor, though."
Right. Míriel.
That was something that would weigh on Uncle Fëanáro's line, wouldn't it? A haunting and heavy and, thanks to Ganfather Finwë's marriage to Grandmother Indis, irreversible burden.
Pityafinwë leans back, bracing his palms behind him. "I wish we could switch names or something. Yours means means 'Champion of Doom' while I'm just 'The Doomed'. I think that says something about what our parents see in us."
Aikanáro shrugs. "Or maybe it just means that I'm your champion."
Pityafinwë looks at him oddly, and then bursts out into snorting laughter. "That's so stupid!"
Perhaps. But it had gotten him to laugh, and laughter was certainly better than whatever strange bitterness that this child seems saturated with.
Then again, with a name like his and the stories surrounding it... Aikanáro really can't blame him.
"Hey, you don't know! Not yet!" Aikanáro grins at his baby cousin. "Be not so quick to judge! Here. Let's grab some practice blades. I'm good at sparring. I'll teach you what I know about how to fight, and then when or if your Doom comes, you'll be able to fight it off!"
Pityafinwë lights up. "Really?!"
"Of course!"
And that's what they do.
(Later, after years of pain and toil on the Grinding Ice, he would arrive in Beleriand and shortly afterward discover that Pityafinwë had long since met his Doom. Aikanáro would realize that he should have taught the boy to swim instead of fight.)
Aikanáro is a little surprised when a messenger comes announcing the arrival of a Fëanorian hunting party.
Angárato is away, visiting his son under the pretext of business, but is really just there to spoil his granddaughter. (Or at least, Angárato's version of spoiling, which involves spears.) So it seems that hospitality is entirely up to Aikanáro.
He goes to greet them, and is even more surprised by who's in charge of the visiting Fëanorians. It's not Tyelkormo, like he expected, nor Curufinwë, who would have been his second guess. Instead, it's Telufinwë Fëanárion.
Still. He smiles. Greets his cousin cordially, and orders for Telufinwë and his party to be taken care of. Food, shelter, (baths,) all that.
He makes an offer for Telufinwë to join him for dinner. (That seems the cousinly thing to do. He hasn't seen Telufinwë since Mithrim when Aikanáro first heard of Pityafinwë's fate. He isn't quite sure what Telufinwë will want from him.) His cousin readily accepts.
Dinner is... awkward, to say the least.
Telufinwë seems to have no appetite and does little more than push his food around his plate. He will occasionally take a deep breath and open his mouth as if to say something, only to close it with a click and go back to poking at his food.
Aikanáro does not bring this up.
It's only after Aikanáro himself has finished eating that Telufinwë sets aside his utensils and pushes away his plate.
Aikanáro waits a few seconds more, and then --
"I'm here to talk about names," he begins quietly.
Aikanáro instantly goes on alert. Telufinwë is many things. Quiet when speaking is never one of them.
"As you know, your Uncle recently banned Quenya -- a foolish, petty, and not easily enforced rule, but Maitimo says to cooperate. And so we need standard, official Sindarized names."
Aikanáro nods slowly. "I... wouldn't think you would need my help in something like this."
"I don't." Telufinwë says. "It's not about me that I'm here."
Well, then, why else would be here? Who else in their common acquaintance would possibly need Aikanáro's input (out of all people) but wouldn't be able to come themselves? Who --
Oh.
He goes very still.
"Your brother already goes by Finrod," Telufinwë continues, "and given Angarato's preference for his father-name, I assume he will go with Angrod. I wanted to know if you were planning to follow their pattern and go with Amrod. Uncle Nolofinwë's sons have already done something similar."
Yes, Aikanáro had heard about that. He waits for Telufinwë to continue, which does not take long.
Telufinwë picks up speed through his explanation. "I suppose I cannot stop you if you and your brothers decide to do the same, but before your people arrived at Mithrim, the Northern Sindarin population already there would call me Amras and -- when they learned of my brother and translated his name -- it was Amrod. So. I need to know if we should keep using that name or not."
Aikanáro needs a moment to parse through that word vomit.
"I... I've been using my mother-name. I go by Aegnor. It's not a direct translation, but this is close enough. Of course Pityafinwë can use Amrod."
Telufinwë slumps back and nods tiredly. "Thank you."
His cousin regains his appetite after this, while Aikanáro finds he cannot stomach desert.
Instead, he pushes his cake around on his plate and thinks, You were right, Ambarto. Our names really are the same.
Oh how the tables have tabled.
Anyway, that was dumb, but now you poor unfortunate souls who actually read my weird stuff have to deal with it.
Once more editing has been done by me, surprise, please expect mistakes and kindly forgive them. Thank you for reading.