elf rights activist

“How can you be so content with that?! Eru, you were a king longer than I and are his elder, too!!!” Fëanáro and Nolofinwë both had just taken a stern lecturing on insubordination from their younger brother. From Arafinwë. The baby. He had not even been fully of age when Fëanáro’s eldest son had been born!!! And while it was true that they had been in his court, he, the king of the Noldor, the Noldorin monarchical situation was odd, and they are, after all, his elder brothers.

“Am I?” Nolofinwë asked, brow arched, turning to Fëanáro, seemingly deeply amused by his deep seated upset.

“Are you what?!”

“His elder. One does not age in the Halls, and both you and myself have spent the majority our ages on this earth in there, whilst he has been out here. By many standards of reason, one could easily make the argument he is our elder brother now.”

Fëanáro’s ears flattened, and his face blanched at the sudden feeling of horrific realization blossoming in his stomach.

“And,” Nolofinwë said, primly, smoothing the wrinkles from his clothes and fighting back a smile, “By that same reason, I am well and truly your elder brother as well.”

It took every fibre of ounce Nolofinwë was in possession of, and he was in possession of quite a bit, to fight back peals and gails of hearty laughter at the look of sheer, abject horror on his brother’s face. “Fëanáro......?”

“If I commanded you to give me the Silmaril, as your High King, would you do it?” Fingon asked him this in all seriousness. It was an imprudent question, one that Maedhros recognized as belonging to the Fingon of their shared childhood, who would drive their tutors to distraction by questions that had no easy answer. 

Maedhros cast down his eyes. “It would go against the Oath. I ask your pardon, my king. I cannot answer your question.” 

“That flash of anger I saw in your eye says otherwise. No law or love, indeed, would gainsay Fëanor’s brood.” 

“Oh. So this was a test that I failed.” 

Fingon looked into his eyes and smiled. “It was hypothetical, Maitimo. I will be dead long before you have a Silmaril in your hand. No, don’t say it. You know I have no prophetic powers. It is merely logic, that’s all.” 

“I miss the times when you were an imprudent child. You as a world-weary king is a sad sight indeed.”