Lairë 1190 Y.T

Findis is not yet tall enough to reach her father’s hip when she meets her little brother. She climbs into the bed where her mother is laying down, holding a strange blanket covered lump in her arms. Ammë looks a little tired but she smiles at Findis and asks her if she would want to hold her baby brother. She does.

The first thought that crosses her mind while trying to not drop Aracáno is that she loves him. She loves his silly scrunched up face and how he blows little bubbles out of his mouth when he breathes. He’s so warm and solid in her arms, and she feels something crack inside of her from how much she loves him.

Her second thought, far less kind and loving than the first, comes when he opens his mouth and shrieks. She really hopes she’ll be moved to her own rooms now, otherwise she might actually stop loving him if they have to share a nursery.

Aracáno is taken from her arms by ammë to be shushed and crooned over. As she watches her ammë softly sing her little brother to sleep with a smile on her face, she discovers a far stronger reason to hate the baby.

Her older brother does not come in, even though he sat for all those hours outside clutching her hand so tightly it almost hurt. “In case you’re scared” he had said, and had not listened to her when she said she wasn’t. But he stayed and maybe that means he’ll continue staying and it won’t make atar sad when he’s not around.

Instead he stands in the doorway, face drained and looking a lot like how Findis felt that one time she had the fish soup that had made her stomach turn and cramp up.

Maybe he’s worried he won’t be welcome after how mean he’d been all those months ago to ammë. She had been hiding in the servants stairwell when she’d overheard, and while she hadn’t understood all of it she’d understood the tone well enough.

But ammë always forgives her when she throws a tantrum and says mean things, so she’ll forgive him too. Findis swings her legs off of the bed, starting to walk over to reassure her brother.

He turns and storms out of the room before she can reach him.

Coirë 1197Y.T

She’s older when Írimë comes and she gets to sit outside and watch a gangly 'Cáno pace half bored and half worried up and down the hall. He’s grown six inches this past season and it’s funny how awkward in his own skin he still is. The fact that he keeps having to break in new shoes might be part of it, he keeps outgrowing the ones he has.

She remembers being jealous of him over their mother at the start and smiles to herself at her childish jealousy. She’d be better from the start this time.

The sound of footsteps down the hall interrupts her reminiscing. Though even if they hadn’t 'Cáno’s voice would have done the trick.

“What do you think you’re doing here?” He’s so terrible at keeping that hint of treacherous hope out of his voice.

Findis doesn’t turn to follow her brother’s gaze, she doesn’t need to, to know he’s speaking to Curufinwë. If there’s one thing her little brother seems incapable of outgrowing is his tendency to incessantly orbit their half-brother.

“I can go where I please in my father’s house, can I not?” Curufinwë’s voice drips with its usual pride. “Now scoot.”

She does turn to him at that, he sounds closer to where she sits than where 'Cáno stands. And he is, looming above her and staring at the gap she’s left between herself and the wall.

“Why?” She speaks before her younger brother can get riled up at Curufinwë’s tone. “There is plenty of space on the bench, so why should I move?”

He scoffs and mutters something that sounds a lot like brat under his breath. But he doesn’t ask her to move again, choosing to sit on her other side. Not too close, thought close enough that 'Cáno would have to find a different seat. Not that he was going to stop pacing anyway. And they should be done soon regardless, she remembered it didn’t take too long last time.

She’s wrong to think that and if she were a touch more superstitious she might believe it was her thoughts that ruined it. But it doesn’t matter, what matters is that the light of Telperion and Laurelin have mingled twice already and she can still hear her mother screaming.

Their father had taken 'Cáno with him to gardens an hour or so ago, her poor little brother had started yelling and begging to be let into the birthing room. As if he could do anything to help.

She feels her eyes water and she tries to brush the tears away discreetly. She can’t cry, her mother will be fine so she can’t cry. Tears mean something has gone wrong and it hasn’t. It can’t have.

Out of the corner of her eye she sees Curufinwë drop his hand into the space between them. He doesn’t speak and she does not look at him.

But this time it is her that grips his hand tight enough to leave the imprints of her nails on his skin.

Quellë 1230 Y.T

She doesn’t wait in the hallway this time. She goes to the gardens and sits on a bench there instead. It’s still a waiting game, but waiting out in the fresh air is much nicer than waiting indoors and flinching at every silence between the screams. There is nothing for her to do in there, she tells herself and pretends it’s a comfort.

Írimë is there, and so is 'Cáno. Her mother will be fussed over plenty without her hovering above her. And it’ll be quicker this time, the healers promised, so there’s no real point in her sitting and staring at a pair of wooden doors.

She’ll meet her sibling afterwards, and coo at how sweet and lovely they are when there are no meddling people around asking when she’ll start wanting one of her own. Alone in the nursery she won’t have to smile and dance around the question, as though it were some delightful secret she was keeping.

A ridiculous notion, the only secret is that she doesn’t want any. Doesn’t want them now and doesn’t want them ever. She’s held her siblings, played with them, and hummed cradle songs to them when they could not sleep. They’re her very own heart and she loves them more than she could ever put into words.

And still, as sweet and adorable as they were and still are, she cannot bear the thought of giving up any part of herself to a stranger she is not sure she could ever love.

Írimë comes rushing through the loggia and into her thoughts, feet slipping on the grass and screaming with glee into her mind. Findis does not tell her to calm down, not today, her little sister can be a proper princess every other day of her eternal life but today she’s stopped being the baby of the family. Sometimes, rules are better off broken.

“Did you hear?” Her baby sister’s breathless words are an echo of her thoughts. “It’s a boy! We have another brother! And he’s so tiny! Oh I already know I’m going to be his favorite, you’ll see.”

“You’ll have to be the one making sure he doesn’t get into too much trouble then,” Findis teases, “I did my time with you and 'Cáno but I’ll be leaving this one to you.”

“Wait, what?” Írimë stumbles over her words like a foal learning to walk. “You’re joking right?”

“Well I’m sure 'Cáno will be more than happy to help, but it might hurt his pride if the baby clearly prefers you over him, you know how he gets. And I wouldn’t dream of ever competing with you on this, clearly your bond already runs deep.” A princess and a lady does not smirk, at least not visibly. That does not mean she can’t let it slip through her thoughts.

“I wasn’t being serious I promise! I’m sure he will love you just as much!” Her sister might be too gullible for her own good. “He wouldn’t stop crying, and 'Cáno was the only one who managed to calm him down, so I just got a little jealous. You’ll still help right? Ammë looks so tired, and her and atar haven’t found a nursemaid they like yet, so if you don’t help they might actually expect me to do all the work!”

She almost wants to wrap her arms around her little sister and tell her that of course she’ll help. That there is no world where she wouldn’t move earth and sky to make her life easier.

Almost wants to tell her about the servants and courtiers she’d made sure would never set foot in their house. Those that had whispered cruel untruths about Írimë after she was born, who had said there was something wrong with her because of how long and horrible and near fatal the birth had been, the ones that had made Findis understand real anger for the first time.

Instead Findis laughs at her sister’s rambling panic until it turns into a pout. Then shrieks indignantly when Írimë tackles her to the ground.

In between the laughing and trying to get her sister off of her, she almost misses Curufinwë’s shadow making slipping out through the main gates. Almost. It makes angry enough to taste bile. If he doesn’t want to be a part of her family, if all he wishes to do is be distant and cold, he should just stay away. Her siblings could do without the hope.

Tuilë 1495 Y.T

Two days and four hours into trying to reason with her siblings she feels her throat raw and aching, and her entire body shaking from the pent up irritation. Calm debate hadn’t worked, arguing hadn’t worked, nothing had worked. She had even begged them, actually pleaded on her knees with tears in her eyes. To please not leave, if not for her then to at least spare their grieving mother any more suffering.

Aranfinwë had let out a long suffering sigh and told her he couldn’t just leave the others when they hadn’t done anything wrong beyond words spoken in anger, and that they might still benefit from his counsel.

Írimë had put on a pained smile for her sake and argued that they might as well try their luck somewhere new, somewhere with no memories to stir up pain.

And Aracáno… Well, if Curufinwë decided to jump off a bridge Aracáno would roll his eyes, call him a reckless fool, and then throw himself off the ledge after him.

So, she decides, if she is to be ignored and aggravated, she might as well go annoy someone she wouldn’t give the air out of her own lungs for.

Her half-brother still has that crazed look in his eyes when she finds him, but at least he’s sitting down. At least he’s alone instead of surrounded by the raging mob he decided to stir up.

He doesn’t look up at her when she sits next to him. The sword in his hands is the same one he’d pointed at Aracáno all those years ago, and if she was a little more rash like the rest of her family she might try to take it from him and run him through with it. The way his hands are shaking he might almost let her.

“Let’s play ‘Literally Anything Else’” They haven’t played in a long time but they had used to, back when he was young and she was little and it had just been the two of them. A game born of a young elf being forced to spend time with an unwanted addition to his life, and the desire to not think about anything real that mattered.

“Our father is dead, murdered at the hands of our enemy and you want to-” His voice has changed in these past days, sharper yes, but far more brittle.

“You’re planning on dragging my siblings to their deaths on a stupid revenge quest. You can play a game for my troubles.”

The breath he takes sounds painful. “You can’t truly believe I trust them with this? I’m not taking them with me.”

Hope is a foolish thing to have in times like this. But when is hope not foolish? “Do you promise?”

He looks at her and nods. “I plan is to cross with my own people, and leave your siblings and their followers at the shore. Not even Aracáno is enough of an idiot to risk the ice.”

“Don’t call my brother an idiot.” But his words have lifted the heavy weight pressing down on her chest, so she nudges his shoulder in an awkward half-forgotten gesture. “We’re still playing the game, don’t think you’ve gotten out of it.”

The laugh he lets out is dry and ragged and she thinks it might be his first one in a long time. “You weren’t supposed to remember that stupid game.”

“Well I did, now start playing.” If she sounds like a child she thinks she can be forgiven under the circumstances.

Her half-brother sighs and for a moment she thinks he’s going to brush her off with some cruel word like he does to the rest of her family. To her surprise he doesn’t. “Fine… If I were literally anything else, I’d be a stone deep up high on a mountain, lodged inside an outcrop on a cliff side.”

“You’re so boring picking a rock, you didn’t even describe what type.”

“You only said to play, not to play well. I think I’m indulging you more than enough. “Your turn.”

She rolls her eyes. “If I were literally anything else I’d be a piece of driftwood floating down a river passing through a forest. I’d have lichen and moss growing on my bark, and little fish would swim below, and…”

She trails off when he scoffs and mutters something under his breath. Their conversation turns into something not-quite like playful teasing but not-quite like fighting either. They don’t talk about how she doesn’t try to stop him from throwing his life away. They don’t have to.