#pitayfinwe

“Nerdanel told me so before I left,” he replied, “I was looking for Ñolofinwe.”

It might have hurt if that is what he had meant by it. But always it is half-words with this one, meaning and purpose washed away with soft tone. Fëanáro sighed, it’s exhausting sometimes and he was so very tired.

“Peace,” he tutted, “He’s very fond of you and so has been keeping distance from me.”

Arafinwë had come to his side, resting his arms on the window sill. The sea breeze tugs at his golden hair and even Feanaro can’t deny how it suits him. He looked him over, wondering as he often did when he was near, if they shared any blood at all. Then something in the distance caught his eye.

Where the beach ended at the treeline began, flashes of red. He leaned across and see what could be a pair of dark figures disappear under the leaves. That fear that simmered in the back of his mind surged forward with no warning. Not tonight, surely?

“Nerdanel was with you, you say?” he said, voice steady even as his heart skipped a beat.

“Yes?”

“Who’s watching the children?“

“Maitimo was putting them to bed – “

“Maitimo is hiding under the stairs with Findekáno!” Fëanáro hissed as he stormed passed him.

The twins were put to bed in the same nursery as Artanis, only half a year older. Every step towards it felt like a running a mile. He could hear Ara’s footsteps behind him, though he had not the presence of mind to send him off. Perhaps, if he was here, they would not come. He was always alone when they come. Perhaps, he thinks desperately, he will ward them off.

He burst into the room, drawing a startled squeal for his niece. For a moment he can breath again. The little girl looked up at him with big blue eyes. Her little arm reached out of the crib in the direction of where the other two ought to have been.

His head turned almost against his own will. It is as though the ground disappeared from beneath him but still he stood, unable look away. Two empty beds and a cool, salt stained breeze pulling at the curtains by the open window. Not in all the nightmares he’d been enduring had he thought…

Ara joined them. A selfish, viscous part of him wanted to slap him for the relief on his face at the sight of his own daughter. But almost immeadialty he grew grave.

“I will gather some people to search,” he said infuriatingly calm, “they can’t be far.”

“No,” he gasped, “no, I must be alone.”

He raced through the house, paying no heed to any around him. Down the footpath at the back of the gardens and plunged into the forest. The light of the stones kept him from stumbling but he fears it shows him up like a beacon.

“Ambarussa,” he called out over and over until his voice was raw. But he could not stop. They were his children. They took his children. Soon the words lose any sort of coherency. Fëanáro ran haphazard through the trees until he couldn’t get a word passed his own ragged breaths.

He snapped around at the sound of footsteps. Arafinwë emerges from the undergrowth and he very nearly snarled. What was he doing here, why was he always here?!?

“I said to Get Away!” He cried out, though the words flailed with no bite or direction.

“You need help.”

“You can’t help me!” He backed away from him only to ram into the rough bark of a tree. The forest seemed to close in around him and he find it so hard to even breathe. Suddenly he felt warm arms wrap around him.

“I have to- I must go…” he snapped and tried to push them away to no avail, “I must find them”

“You will not find them like this!” Arafinwë shouted over his racing thoughts.

That was strange. He hadn’t known he could do that. Suddenly he was so very aware of Arafinwe’s deep soft heartbeat. He focused on nothing else until he could match in in time. The sea hummed faintly in the back of his mind and he shuddered. There was movement in the boughs above them.

“Damn you,” came a voice from the dark, “And you’re damned jewels.”

“Ambarussa,” Feanaro untangled himself and stepped forward only to be cut off by an arrow landing less than half an inch from his foot.

“No further.”

“Or what? You would maim me.”

In the shadows he saw him pass the child to his brother. Then he slipped onto the ground without a sound. The boy shyed away from the light as though it burnt but even so he would not flee.

“I shall send you to your mother in the halls so that we may all be spared the grief.” he said in a hollow voice.

“Pityo,” the other whispered but was answered with a hiss. Fëanáro’s heart lurched as he heard one of the little ones mumbling in his arms.

“Come now, let us not - ”

“Now you have something to say, Finarfin?” Amras said with more than enough venom to silence him. It was a strange comfort though, to know he saw them too. No small part of him had wondered if he was simply going mad.

“Return the children to us, Pityafinwë,” he tried to put some sterness into his tone but knew he fell short. If he could only stop shaking. Drawing near again the night is cut by the ringing of a sword. Fëanáro would laugh, it is difficult to tell in the half-light but the sword may well be one of his own.

“No further.” The boy shook his head. Tears spill across his cheeks but his expression doesn’t change, “I won’t let you near him again.”

“Pityo,” comes the voice from the shadows again.

“You will not remain here,” Fëanáro spoke softly. This is his son. “None of you have. You will strand them in the wilds, they will die.”

A pained look flickered acros Amras’ face.

“A better fate,” he said finally, and then more softly, “I, at least, would deserve it.”

“And your brother?”

He strode forward at that. Fëanáro is surprised to see Arafinwë start at his side as the blade hovered by his own neck. Pityafinwë’s face is still turned away but his eyes burn with a terrible fury.

“Don’t you dare! You killed him.”

Fëanáro looked down the blade. The boy’s hand was shaking. A strange peace settled against his chest that, suddenly, made him feel quite out of place in this dark forest. He can hear the boys argue but it is as though they are somewhere else entirely, like a memory or a dream.

“Pityo, he didn’t know,” he heard Telufinwë say. He has joined them on the ground. There are terrible burn scars that spread up one of his arms, along his neck and the side of his face. One of his eyes is a dead milky white, “You said he didn’t know”

“It doesn’t matter, It wouldn’t have mattered if he did! He - “

“No.” He said was found that it was enough to cut him off, so he continued, “I would never do anything to hurt any of you.”

He knew it. He knew it like he knew Teleprion’s light would wan soon and Laurëlin would peer just enough over the ridges of the Pelori, and bathe the sea in gold. He knew it like he knew Nõlo was less than a day from saying something stupid. Like he knew Arafinwë would hover and he snap and Nerdanel would sigh and usher him away. He knew it like he knew Maitimo was under the stairs with Findekáno right now and would sulk the entire way home. Some things just were.

“I would never hurt any of you,” he said again and sagged in relief. Whatever happened, whatever was coming he understood now, it wouldn’t be this. It simply couldn’t be, “I love you more than anything.”

“Anything?”

He heard the edge in the single word. Telvo turned to him and he did not flinch. A feral, hungry shadow seemed cast on his face, that though it pained him Fëanáro was coming to recognise. And he realised, after a moment that he was not looking at him at all. His hand moved to the gems entangled in his hair. Telvo’s gaze moved back down to him, his offer clear.

There is a moment of fear and pride and something unnamed but ugly that wrapped around his fëa and made his hands clench around his greatest creations. There would be no others like it, it whispered, if you lose it now, you will lose it forever

But it is gone as soon as it comes. He made them for his children after all. The circlet on his head was always heavy but it felt as if it bore twice it weight as he lifted it off his head.

“Arafinwë.” He asked, never taking his eyes off the boys. Arafinwë’s presence is like a steady anchor, so dependable that it is difficult to notice most of the time. Fëanaro leaned into it now as the Silmarils glow in his hand.

Arafinwë stepped forward to take the children.

“Wait.” Pityafinwë looked between the twins and the Silmaril taut as a bow string until at last he screamed. He threw his sword to the ground and strode away but could not break past the circle of light. His brother offered him not comfort or admonition. He just waited.

“I won’t hurt them, Pityo.” Fëanáro said gently, “I won’t hurt him, I swear.”

The boy shuddered. Out of the corner eye he saw Telvo return the children to Arafinwë. He took a step forward. The boy’s copper curls shiver, he knew he was crying and had long gotten used to not understanding why. When he placed his free hand on his shoulder, he froze.

“Take them, it’s alright. They are yours.”

Pityafinwë turned sharply. His hand closed around gems. He winced but no sound escaped his lips. Suddenly and with agonising clarity Fëanáro’s mind flew back to his first child. His scarred hand. His heart leapt in his mouth

“Let it go!”

“I will not,” Pityafinwë stared down at his hand. Oh Valar, his could smell it. His expression shuddered for a moment, “I… I cannot.”

“You can,” Fëanáro insisted, grabbing ahold of his wrist, “you can put it down, they are yours, didn’t I say so.”

“You meant that.” His voice was thin and watery

“Pityo, my little one, didn’t I say so, whatever I can give you is yours,” he tried to pry his fingers away, “please ”

Pityo fell forward into his father’s arms and Fëanáro did not hesitate to pull him close.

“I want to go home.”

The coronet was dropped somewhere between them. He did not care, just nodded into his hair.

“Whatever you want.”

He did not move from where they sat, save to pull the other hanging a little away down also into his embrace. He wept and let them weep onto his shoulders. Soft apologies and comforts he whispered between the two of them, until Laurëlin light began to swell over the mountains.

And then they were gone.

Arafinwë came beside him and after a long moment he rose and took one of the children from his arms. Telvo, stirred a little, warm in a way that could have only been possible with enchantment and the last of he fear melts away. They walked in a silence Fëanáro would usually despise out of the trees and along the beach.

His brother stopped after a while and looked out at the waves. Fëanáro hung back beside him, but his impatience returned with the son. He is about to urge them on when Arafinwë speaks.

“In my dreams, my sons burn.” He said, eye fixed on the ever-dark horizon, “I don’t know how it happens, I just know I’m not there.”

Fëanáro takes a deep breath but whatever twisted thing that had made his home in his chest for Varda knows how long seems to have dislodged itself entirely. “It will not happen.”

“How can you be so sure - “

“You don’t know that.”

“Because you would not leave them alone, not knowing what you know now.”

“I know you. Well, better than I used to.” Fëanáro sighed and turned on his heel to start back toward the house, “Besides, should some time come where you cannot be there, I will watch over them.”

“Truly?”

“Yes, now stop fussing.”