Learning
"Did your Amme bake you good things to eat like mine does?" Arafinwe asks as he excitedly accepts several warm pastries from Indis as she hands them out to the three boys, fresh out of the oven.
Findis is not there, she stopped caring about such things long ago, but the boys will never stop caring, they will always hurry to Indis' kitchen the moment they can get a whiff of her baking. They are all there now, Nolofinwe leaning against the wall with a book, Feanaro sitting on the counter, and Arafinwe clutching Feanaro's knee with his free hand, gazing up at at him expectantly.
Irime will arrive on the scene momentarily to claim her pastry, they know, the moment she is called.
Feanaro sighs, gazing down into the inquisitive blue eyes before him, sparkling bright.
Arafinwe always wants to learn as much as he can about Miriel, Feanaro has tried 'I-don't-remember's and 'none-of-your-business's, he has tried scowls, he has tried ignoring his half-brother, but nothing seems to work.
"No." he says finally, and Arafinwe's eyes widen.
"Why ever not? Did she not love you?" he asks incredulously around a mouthful of pastry, baking being an un-shakable condition of a good mother in his eyes.
"She always said she was too tired." Feanaro murmurs, gazing out of the window and through the fluttering curtains his mother wove herself before he was born, one of the only remnants of her left in this house now, and over the rolling hills as the buttery crust melts in his mouth.