Crossing the Line
"Foolish, good-for-nothing little boy!"
"Hothead!"
"Brainless!"
"Cow-face!"
Feanor and Fingolfin were fighting again, Finarfin could not even remember why.
"Thief!"
"Liar!"
"Son of Finwe? You wish!"
"How dare you!"
Finarfin sat meekly on the ground, knees drawn up against himself as he squeezed his eyes tightly shut, willing himself not to cry.
Why did they have to fight?
Why did they always have to fight about everything?
Why could they not at least try to peacefully coexist?
But no, Feanor wished they have never been born, and he would always hate them for something they had no control over.
"Ugly, skinny little boy!"
"Savage callous-hands!"
"Spawn of darkness!"
"Mother-murderer!"
"Hah! Your mother is the wrong one, she has dishonored my mother's memory, and corrupted my father!"
"Liar!"
Finarfin clenched his fists as the tears came trickling down through eyes squeezed shut.
"Dishonorable, wretched-"
"ENOUGH!"
The two older boys froze mid-insult, staring wide-eyed at their soft-spoken, mild-mannered little brother who had just emitted a yell that rivaled that of Finwe himself.
The boys stared for some time, before Fingolfin ventured, "Arafinwe, was that you?"
"Yes. Someone needs to keep you two under control, and unfortunately it seems as if I, your baby brother, am the one doing it." Finarfin mumbled in response before leaving to go find dear Irime, she would be able to cheer him up, leaving the two stunned young elf-lords behind him.
Arafinwe-Finarfin