#fëanáro | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

doodle-pops · 2 months

Text

Turn Back the Sands of Time

Feanor x daughter!reader

Request: Can I request a fic for Feanor, coming back to Valinor after hia death, finding out Nerdanel had been pregnant when he left and she gave birth to a daughter. And if possible, this daughter has Miriel's sewing gift. – anon

A/N: I took a different route to how their interaction would occur and made this quite sentimental than I intended :)

Warnings: female reader, soft angst, softness and comfort, reconciliation

Words: 2.4k

Synopsis: With the return of your father to the Blessed Realm, an attempt at rekindling what was never forged, is pursued.

“Leaving so early?”

Your mother’s voice reverberated through the morning air, clear yet carrying a stern undertone. The sun had ascended over the hills and forest, casting its benevolent warmth upon the damp, fertile earth, coaxing the crawlies to retreat to their hidden abodes.

Startled by her sudden intrusion, you jerked in surprise, twisting your neck to find your mother positioned in the doorway. Her hands firmly rested on her hips, already adorned with small flecks of clay and dust. A hasty bun confined her hair, and she wore the familiar work coveralls that marked her dedication to the tasks at hand. “Oh, you gave me a fright!” you awkwardly chuckled, your attention momentarily diverted from the contents of your basket. “I’m... heading out.”

Her bare feet made no sound on the polished floorings as she traversed the distance, positioning herself beside you. With keen observation, she watched as you hastened your packaging, attempting to conceal the contents within the basket. Despite your efforts, you weren’t as clever as you believed. However, she remained silent, extending her left hand to rest against your waist. Leaning in, she placed a tender kiss on your cheek.

“At least be safe on the road. You can borrow a few of my cloaks, they’ll keep you warm, and good luck. I cannot tell you how to decide, but when you do, know that it is something you will have to live with.”

Suddenly, she vanished through the backdoor, setting you on the arduous path to Formenos after brief stops at Tirion’s market to procure supplies. Pastries, breads, salted meats, and fruits were gathered in an attempt to ease any potential awkwardness.

Alone on the road for five days, you revisited regions where you had once stealthily ventured. The surroundings were steeped in familiarity as you leisurely strolled by. The rhythmic clopping of your horse’s hooves on the gravelled road, the subtle rustling of trees and bushes, vast open fields where the wind hummed its tune, and the delightful symphony of birdsong and frog croaks accompanied your journey. Small creatures scurried at the feet of your horse, some perching on your shoulders or head. Nightfall descended, only to be swiftly replaced by the break of day, marking the conclusion of your expedition.

As you arrived at your destination, the wear and tear on the landscape became evident. Paint had faded, stones were missing from pillars and posts, wood showed signs of decay, and windows lay shattered. Face-to-face with the relentless march of time and the scars of neglect, you confronted the tangible evidence of one’s transgressions.

Dismounting from your majestic stallion, you carefully secured him to an apple tree before continuing on foot. The path led you through a gateway and into a garden adorned with a subtle array of colours—some signs of life still blossoming. Your keen eyes noticed the adjustments since your last visit, becoming attuned to the intense presence and weight that the surroundings now bore.

With each step, the gravel and dust beneath your sandals resonated against the cobblestone, creating a symphony of soft crunches until you abruptly halted before the colossal red door, proudly displaying the house sigil in shimmering gold. Tightening your grip on the basket and assuming a more composed posture, a sense of tension gripped your throat, akin to barbed wires constricting around it.

Summoning your courage, you knocked on the door, the sound echoing three times in tandem with the palpitations of your heart.

Initially, it seemed like no one was home, but an imposing presence lingered in the air, prompting you to raise your hand for another attempt. However, before your knuckles could make contact, the hinges groaned, and a towering figure emerged. A giant of an elf with fiery red hair and silvery eyes loomed before you, meeting your tentative gaze. While a hunch suggested his identity, he was not the person you had come to meet. An acute observation of his appearance left you trembling at your core.

His features were the same as the portraits hung in your mother’s workshop, a stark difference to the descriptions your uncle Arafinwë explained. There were no scars, missing ligament or whitening of his hair, but it was still enough to elicit fright in your bones. The stories were enough, running their course to remind all of his actions.

“No trespassing, this is private property. Whatever business you are conducting, take it elsewhere,” he muttered under his breath with emptiness in his eyes before shuffling to slam the door in your face.

Luckily, you stuck your hand out. “Wait, please don’t! I uh…” you fumbled and exhaled, “I came to speak with Lord Fëanáro. Is he in?”

“If you are here to lay blame on him for his actions, I would suggest that you get in line—”

Waving your hands frantically in his face, you panicked. “No, no, no, no! You have it all wrong. I’m not here for that; I’m here to simply speak with him.”

“Speak with him?” Maedhros meditated. “Did King Arafinwë send you?”

Your eyes widened in disbelief at the surprising intensity with which your own brother reacted to your simple desire to speak with his father. It was truly perplexing that, despite all that had transpired, he continued to share living quarters with Fëanáro. Your assumption that their relationship had soured after recent events was swiftly proven incorrect.

Clearly, his perspectives on Fëanáro differed significantly from yours, and he held personal convictions that he preferred to keep to himself. The intricacies of their business remained shrouded in mystery.

“Uncl—King Arafinwë did not send me, I sent myself,” you stated with pride, straightening out any fears in your posture and stretching a confident smile across your lips. “Can you tell him that a…a Lady Y/N is here to speak with him?”

The moment your name fell past your lips, you saw the micro-expression of your brother’s eyes widening before composing themselves. His stance changed from no longer blocking the entire doorway to standing aside and granting you a peek inside. You were half expecting him to make a scene, yet he proved otherwise.

Maedhros’ eyes fluttered and flickered around your frame, contemplating on his next decision. Exhaling, he stepped outside, shutting the door behind and ushered around you figure to the left of the house. “He’s situated on this side of the house. It’s quicker and less…obstructive. Follow me.” And you partially understood what he meant—the bloodstains from where your grandfather was slain, still staining the floors. However, it was the unwarranted meet-and-greet of the rest of your brothers.

You weren’t here for them, and Maedhros was kind enough to spare you.

The journey unfolded in a discomforting silence, compelling you to tighten your grip on the basket as the minutes passed. Your elder brother guided you through a labyrinth of twists and turns, eventually leading to the distant sounds of a babbling stream and the faint rustling of paper being crumpled. As you approached an archway, entwined and covered in an overgrowth of vines, the scene unfolded before you—Fëanáro, seated on a bench, holding a charcoal, and engrossed in fervent scribbling on parchment, an expression of exasperation etched across his features.

Despite the openness of the surroundings, the air felt stifling. The heavens above offered a solution to wash away the lingering muskiness, and yet, it persisted. How could anyone discover peace or find reprieve in such conditions?

“I’ll leave you to speak with him.” He offered a polite smile, and with a bow of his head, Maedhros departed, leaving you to face his father in privacy.

Acknowledging the bow with a graceful return, you redirected your attention towards the man seated on the weathered wooden bench. His appearance had undergone a noticeable transformation since your initial encounter—his once neatly tied hair now cascaded loosely, and his attire, less polished, resembled something reminiscent of what your mother wore when she was in her element. Absent were the ornate rings that had adorned his fingers, and there was a notable absence of any jewellery embellishing his clothing. In this particular moment, he existed simply as Fëanáro, the man who had seemingly returned from the realm of the deceased. The elf who had…

“How long will you linger in the shadows, child?” came his soft voice. It was much mellow that the confrontation shared with your mother.

Taking a large gulp of air, you crossed the archway, entered his space to stand at the entrance and called out. “Greetings Lord Fëanáro.”

A resounding cry escaped his lips the moment his eyes fell upon your timid figure. Joy and agony intertwined in his heart as he realized that his child had come to visit him. With a swift, almost spring-like motion, he abandoned his seat, forgetting the letter that lay there, and hurried over to stand before your magnificence. It was the first time he had a clear image of the daughter he had denied himself the knowledge of. In your features, he saw not just you but also your mother and the reflection of his eldest.

An intense yearning surged within him, a desire to reach out and grasp you, to finally experience the touch of a creation that bore no marks of his mistakes. However, hesitation gripped his mind, as the unexpected loomed overhead like ominous clouds threatening to unleash a storm. The uncertainty lingered, questioning whether the rain would be cold or warm, if it would bring wrath or peace—or perhaps an outburst of everything.

“You…” He laughed breathlessly with disbelief at the tip of his tongue. “You’re all grown up. I was told about you during my return, unsure if a meeting would occur. I had glimpsed you at your mother’s, hoping to be acquainted. Unfortunately, I had not been blessed.”

“Hm, I decided to come see you on my own after…” your voice trailed off, indicating his reunion with your mother. “Well, she had the inclination that I was coming to see you, yet she did not stop me. I wanted to hear from you on my own.”

His facial muscles engaged in a silent struggle, battling the instinct to react to every nuance of your words. His hands, twitching with the desire to pull you into a comforting embrace, held back, understanding that such a gesture might inflict more harm than healing. Your perceptions of him were coloured by his transgressions. You possessed ample reasons to maintain a distance, not just from him, but also from your own brothers.

“What is there for me to tell you when you are aware of everything, my child?” he responded with reservation.

“Why?”

Your question lingered in the air, a stain that defied any attempts at removal; not even the heavens’ rain could cleanse it.

One question. Millions of reasons. One answer, and yet, he chose to walk away with his back turned and head hung in shame. His body collided with the bench with his head in his hands facing the floor.

“What answer might I give to you that would satisfy your perspective of me?” he uttered. “You’ve heard it all; I chose the Silmarils over my family… Why you ask? Pride, maybe arrogance or my blind foolishness. I led my children into death and one by one I watched them succumb to the same madness as me.”

“But you have me who was spared from the doom. I exist, someone you can change for. Someone who can be the answer to why.” Were the words wanting to spill from your lips, however, now was not the time. There was much to be possibly kindled to know how much your words weighed.

Stepping closer to where he sat hunched, you placed the basket beside him and knelt. Your hands were hesitant to touch his, but you managed to pry them off his face. “You know, there’s a saying that ammë says,” you whispered akin to the wind, “it’s something along the lines of, ‘second chances don’t come around often, but when they do, they appear in mysterious ways. It’s only if you desire it, then possibilities will arise’. If you want forgiveness, you can start with me. Show me the you who wants better.”

Fëanáro lifted his head, his mismatch teary eyes locking on your compassionate ones. He was stunned at your sympathy when his wife would not spare him the chance. If only he had not been so foolish, the family he desired would have existed before his very eyes. “You do not truly mean your words? Your mother would not pardon me—”

“I am not ammë; your quarrel with her is between you both. I am Y/N and this is between us. I choose to try building this relationship so long as you work with me,” you corrected with confidence laced in your voice. Your eyes were stern, filled with assertiveness and the reflection of faces you’d never met. “You have to want this.”

He considered with sorrowful eyes, too fearful of repeating his past and ruining his last blessing. With deliberate actions, he shifted to sit upright and meet you head-on. “Then I make no promises...no oaths.”

“Good, because I was prepared to convince you anyway possible since I brought treats for us to indulge, and I would hate for them to waste.” Your eyes darted to the basket filled with delicacies for you both to snack on during your formal meet-and-greet. “Imagine how awkward it would be had you rejected, and I had to return with a filled basket of treats.”

“You could have left it with your brothers. I’m sure they would be thrilled to learn their sister brought treats for them.” Fëanáro felt a surge of pride at the flow of your interactions, lacking awkwardness and tension. It gave him a sense of purpose to understand that all good things were not lost.

Though his refusal to utter the words of “Thanks” remained in his heart, for he knew Eru had heard and seen his gratitude.

Snickering as you reached for the basket to produce a blanket, you threw him a whimsical side eye. “I doubt that. You should have seen how the giant redhead was staring at me. I thought I was about to be thrown like a javelin out the yard,” you giggled.

“Maitimo?”

“Ay, I thought he was going to toss me out! Though it seems that the others are here as well?”

“Would you be willing to meet them?”

“Maybe another time, I only came with enough energy to deal with you.”

Masterlist

Taglist: @lilmelily @ranhanabi777 @mysticmoomin @rain-on-my-umbrella @asianbutnotjapanese @batsyforyou @sakurayaxd @ladyenchanted @involuntaryspasms @stormchaser819 @aconstructofamind @addaigio @lamemaster @hermaeuswhora

165 notes · View notes

sillysistersusi · 2 months

Text

Understanding

Fandom: The Silmarillion

Summary: In his wildest dreams, Fëanáro would never have thought that he would end up asking Arafinwë for help with his children, but apparently it had come to this.

Or: Fëanor knows that Caranthir thinks he is the untalented one of all his brother and he also knows Finarfin feels a similar way. So he asks his brother to talk to his son. (Featuring little Celegorm at the end)

Warnings: self doubts, a little angst

In his wildest dreams, Fëanáro would never have thought that he would end up asking Arafinwë for help with his children, but apparently it had come to this.

Arafinwë had not looked mildly surprised when Fëanáro had come to him one afternoon and said, "I need your help."

Arafinwë had stood there perplexed, staring at him for a while, and it had caused a pain in Fëanáro that he had never known before. His thoughts had wandered to his sons and how lovingly Maitimo, the eldest, cared for the others. He had thought of Maglor singing to the little twins every night or how protective Tyelkormo had been of Curufinwë before he had been able to defend himself.

He could have been just that to Arafinwë. Fëanáro could have been a big brother.

Instead, his little brother stared at him as if he had never in his life expected Fëanáro to even think about visiting him and for a brief moment Fëanáro felt the need to hug Arafinwë, but then he caught himself. He wasn't here to make up for past mistakes, he was here to help his wonderful Carnistir, and he couldn't do that if he was wallowing in dreams of what might have been.

It took a while, but eventually Arafinwë caught himself and stepped aside. "Why do you not come in first, Náro?" he asked, stepping aside.

The nickname Arafinwë used for him when he spoke lacked any gentleness in tone that it had when he said 'Ñolo', but Fëanáro knew that he could not blame him. Arafinwë was still young himself, not even as old as his Maitimo, and so far Fëanáro had always sought distance.

And so it came that they sat opposite each other in awkward silence, drinking tea.

At some point, Arafinwë cleared his throat as he could no longer bear the silence. "What is it that you are asking me to do, Náro?"

"Why do you think I came here to ask for a favor?" Fëanáro asked before he could stop himself. Because it hurt that his little brother thought he would only visit him when he wanted something from him.

'But he is right,' said a quiet voice in the back of his head.

Arafinwë shrugged slightly before saying, "You said you needed my help."

"Oh." Fëanáro said involuntarily and felt uncomfortable. Had it been this warm the whole time?

"So?" Arafinwë asked and raised his eyebrows, looking so much like Ñolofinwë that Fëanáro would have liked to laugh. But he didn't.

Arafinwë's raised eyebrows, however, looked less superior and carried with them a certain insecurity that Fëanáro would probably have missed if he would not sometimes see a similar insecurity in Carnistir. He did however not try to cover it up with feigned superiority, which he had learnt from his big brother, like Arafinwë, but hid it with anger and silence. But Fëanáro recognised the insecurity that lay beneath the red cheeks of his still so young son. He knew this insecurity himself, but his own had stemmed from the death of his Ammē, while Carnistir's had a different source. Fëanáro could not understand the pain of his Morifinwë, but he could try to help in other ways which was why he had come to Arafinwë.

But Arafinwë's raised eyebrows actually looked less and less like Ñolofinwë's the longer Fëanáro looked at them. Ñolofinwë's always looked icy, sometimes even amused. Arafinwës looked, and Fëanáro couldn't think of a better description, like a light spring breeze. So gentle and vulnerable. Fëanáro would have liked to shake him, to tell him not to show himself so vulnerable or someone would use his tenderness against him, but he did not.

Fëanáro sighed, "You are the untalented and unloved Finwë."

As soon as he had spoken these words, any gentle expression on Arafinwë's face disappeared and Fëanáro saw tears welling up in his little brother's eyes.

Carefully, Fëanáro bent down and took the small teacup from Arafinwë's trembling fingers before he could drop it.

"I do not mean that maliciously or insultingly, because in my eyes you are not... Ara." he added, trying to use the voice he always spoke to Tyelkormo with when he asked him not to take any wild animals from the forest home as 'pets' again. "But I know you think that of yourself."

Arafinwë lowered his eyes, but immediately Fëanáro reached out his hand again, placing two fingers under his chin, forcing him to look at him again. "And my Carnistir thinks he is the untalented and ugly Fëanorian. I can reassure him all I want, but I do not understand his feelings, so I wanted to ask you to maybe talk to him about it."

"Did you mean what you just said?" Arafinwë asked quietly. "That I am not... "

He pressed his lips together into a thin line.

Fëanáro nodded. "You are not untalented, just differently talented. You are gentle in a way none of us are. And you smile at everyone, no matter how little they deserve it. And being kind and friendly in that way is a talent that few possess." He took his fingers from Arafinwë's chin, only to brush one of his golden curls behind his pointed ear. "You- you are better than I could ever be."

It took him a great deal of effort to utter these words. He had known for a long time that this was the truth, but he had never thought he would admit it. But this was about Morifinwë and Fëanáro had also known for a long time that he was prepared to swallow his own pride for his children. Why else would he be so nice to Ñolofinwë whenever he and his children visited them? Maitimo and Findékano had been practically inseparable since the first time they had met, and Írissë' was more or less glued to Tyelkormo and Curufinwë.

"And neither is Carnistir untalented or ugly, but I have trouble making him understand that, so I have come to ask for your help. "Fëanáro sighed again, but this time because he felt strangely lighter.

Arafinwë smiled gently. "I will try, but I can make no promises. For as we are similar in our destinies to be the outsiders, so we are different in spirit. Carnistir is short tempered and one might almost say shy, I am not, or at least that is what I would say of myself. But I can try to talk to him."

"That is all I could ask of you," Fëanáro said, a note of gratitude in his voice that caught Arafinwë's attention, as he had never heard it before. "Indeed, I ask you for too much already, Ara. I was never- I was never the brother I should have been and that thought alone is a deep wound in my heart to this day. I hope we can overcome this hurdle one day."

Arafinwë nodded. "That would be nice Náro." Then he smiled a little mischievously. "Will you also apologise to Ñolo for always being so cold towards him?"

Fëanáro grimaced and mumbled through clenched teeth. "I guess I have to."

Arafinwë laughed softly.

~•~

Carnistir had not expected visitors, but he had certainly not expected his uncle Arafinwë. His Atar was not as close to his brothers as he and his brothers were, so they rarely came to visit them.

And when they did, Carnistir was rarely if ever the person they came for. He always told himself that he didn't mind. That he had got used to being the unwanted one, but that wasn't true. Deep inside him an emptiness had spread when he had realised that even little Curufinwë was more talented than he was.

So he had withdrawn from his brothers, as they would leave him behind one day anyway. They would always shine in the bright light while he would stay behind in the shadow.

Carnistir couldn't remember the last time he had hugged one of them, but he didn't think they noticed. They were far too busy with their tasks and themselves to notice that Carnistir was drowning in the burden of his own existence.

No, when Ñolofinwë came by, it was because Findékano or Írissë wanted to play with Maitimo, Tyelkormo and Curufinwë, or because he was making another attempt to convince his Atar that they were a family.

Arafinwë came even less often, Carnistir thought he was a little afraid of his atar, even if he didn't understand why, because his atar was nice, and when he came he usually only spoke to Maitimo, Makalaurë or Carnistir's Ammë.

But that afternoon, after Carnistir had retreated to the library because Tyelkormo had been too loud for him, Arafinwë simply sat down next to him with a book, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

This already made Carnistir mad, although he was unsure why exactly it made him so angry.

However, when Arafinwë cleared his throat and asked how he was doing, Carnistir exploded.

He slammed the book shut he had only half-heartedly read anyway and snapped, "What are you doing here!"

Arafinwë remained calm, so unlike other people when he shouted at them, and slowly closed his own book.

"I know how you feel," he said, but he did not look at Carnistir. The words seemed to flow easily from his lips, but somehow Carnistir was sure they were difficult for him.

"You do not know anything," he hissed, although in the depths of his heart he really wanted to say something to reassure Arafinwë. But it was easier to push people away than to let them see your ugly inner self. Than to let them see who you really were.

Arafinwë smiled slightly in response. "How I wish that were true." He paused for a moment. "But you will realise that I know very well how you feel. You think you are not worthy of belonging to this family."

Carnistir swallowed. He didn't like the direction in which this concersation was heading.

Arafinwë was not fazed by this and continued. "You feel out of place because it seems to you that your brothers can do everything and you can do nothing."

Carnistir's hands began to tremble slightly and his heart started to beat faster.

"You are afraid people will forget you exist because you think so little of yourself. You think your family would not even notice if you disappeared from one day to the next because you are so unimportant." Arafinwë smiled sadly. "Yes Carnistir, I think I understand you very well."

"Why?" Carnistir asked cautiously and plucked nervously at the hem of his trousers, his eyes fixed on his feet. "Why do you understand me so well?"

"Because I am like you. At least in a way." Arafinwë admitted. "I had no 'talent' in that sense. My greatest joy was and sometimes still is to make other people happy, and yet I was never able to please my father. Sure, he loved me anyway, but he always preferred Náro and Ñolo. Lalwen and Findis did great things too, but they always had a stronger connection to Ammë than to Atar anyway. I always felt like I was sitting in the middle, unsure of where I belonged. With the fear that I did not belong anywhere."

Carnistir swallowed. "So you do not think I- " he swallowed again, for the words frightened him. What if Arafinwë laughed and said that he was worth nothing? "So you do not think I am worthless?"

"No."

That made Carnistir look up.

"Neither you nor I are worthless just because we are different. I think that is what makes us special. My dear Carnistir, do not make your worth dependent on what others expect of you. You do not have to be anyone other than yourself, because that is how you are at your best." Arafinwë smiled so gently that Carnistir could only smile back.

Arafinwë looked surprised.

"What?" Carnistir asked and felt himself turning bright red.

"Nothing," Arafinwë grinned, "except that I have never seen you smile before. You should really do that more often, it is really adorable."

Carnistir didn't know what to say to that. Most people just teased him about his red cheeks, but no one had ever told him his smile was 'adorable'.

"But my brothers do not think like that. Especially Tyelkormo!" Carnistir grumbled and his smile disappeared.

Arafinwë looked a little disappointed, but then said, "I thought Náro did not care about me until a few days ago. I had always hoped I was wrong, but I did not really believe it. But he does care about me, and from what I have seen, your brothers have a much better relationship than me and my brothers have. Why do you not have a word with Tyelkormo about everything we discussed right now?"

He certainly wouldn't do that. Tyelkormo teased him about his cheeks, made him angry to make them redder and sometimes hid to then jump on him to scare him.

He shook his head.

"What is he doing?" Arafinwë asked. "Lalwen used to play tricks on me all the time when I was younger, but I still love my sister and she loves me."

"He teases me and makes fun about my looks all the time!" Carnistir yelles and turned even redder.

"Please do not shout," Arafinwë said calmly, "For I am not your enemy and I do not believe Tyelkormo is your enemy either."

Carnistir ignored him and snorted softly.

"Have you ever told Tyelkormo that you do not- "

Carnistir jumped to his feet. "Of course I did!"

"Did you tell him angrily after he teased you? "Arafinwë asked calmly.

"Well, yes." Carnistir was confused. What did that have to do with anything?

"Why do you not try telling him calmly? It is possible that he does not realise how much he is hurting you." Arafinwë asked carefully and motioned Carnistir to sit down again. But he did not. He stopped and glared at Arafinwë with dark eyes.

"I am sure he is doing it on purpose," Carnistir snorted sourly. Because if he didn't do it on purpose, Carnistir would have pushed him away for no reason. Tyelkormo was by far the most affectionate of his brothers, but since Carnistir expected only bad things from him, he had never given him the chance to be close to him. It hurt so much to see how well he got along with Curufinwë, who never seemed to be irritated by anything. Because he wasn't as full of faults as Carnistir was.

Arafinwë reached for his hand and squeezed it gently. "Why would he do that? He is your older brother, is he not?"

Carnistir shrugged his shoulders. "Because I am different from the others- "

"What you are is not bad." Arafinwë interrupted him in a loud yet calm voice.

"And if I am never enough?" Carnistir asked quietly. He wasn't quite sure where those words had come from, for he hadn't thought about saying them at all. They seem so out of place and were way too private.

A squeeze behind his eyes made him realise that he was on the verge of tears. He bit his lip to hold them back, but Arafinwë had noticed them, for he sat up. Carefully, he crouched down to Carnistir's level and cuddled him in his warm arms. Carnistir had been pushing everyone away for so long that he couldn't remember the last time he had been hugged.

Though he did not hug Arafinwë back, he let himself fall against him and sink into his warmth. Then he heard his soft voice say, "For your Atar, and I am sure for your Ammë too, you are enough, and you have always been enough, for they love their son whether he invents a new alphabet, is the best singer in all the land or becomes just an ordinary elf. Because parents, especially yours, who love you in a way that is rarely seen, will always be proud of what you achieve. Because what seems small and insignificant to you is a great achievement to them."

Carnistir buried his face in Arafinwë's shoulder and wept. Why did he seem to know so well what he was thinking and feeling? Why did it feel good to know that he did not have to carry this burden alone? To know that there was someone who understood him and told him it was all right and that he was enough?

Why did it hurt less when Arafinwë told him he was not alone in this?

~•~

Arafinwë had promised to come back and had left in the early evening.

But Carnistir still had something to do before he would went to bed.

As expected, he found Tyelkormo in the bushes at the edge of the forest. His Ammë had forbidden him to go into the forest since he had lost his way there as a younger elfling and they had searched for him for two days. Oromë had finally discovered him by chance while hunting and had brought him back. And he had told his parents that he could well imagine Tyelkormo as a hunter. Since then, Tyelkormo had been obsessed with the forest.

Carnistir knew that despite the ban, he sometimes went into the forest in secret.

Tyelkormo was just about to take a closer look at a giant worm when he noticed Carnistir's presence.

"Moryo?" he asked in surprise and Carnistir realised that he had never visited Tyelkormo on his own before.

It had left him speechless. On the way here, he had gone over what he would say to Tyelkormo thousands of times in his head, but now he simply couldn't find the words.

"Is everything all right, Moryo?" he asked, his voice sounding worried rather than mocking. How unusual for him. "Are you lost? Was someone mean- "

But his voice broke off abruptly as Carnistir stumbled forwards and wrapped his arms around him.

"M- Moryo? "Tyelkormo seemed confused. "Are you hurt? Has something happened?"

But Carnistir shook his head. He still couldn't get a word past his lips, but he hoped his actions would be as loud as his words, maybe even louder.

And Tyelkormo seemed to understand, because he wrapped his arms around his brother and whispered: "It is all right now, I love you."

And even though Carnistir was unable to say it back, he hugged Tyelkormo tighter and in that moment he knew his brother understood.

#cross posted on ao3 #caranthir #finarfin #celegorm #feanor #fëanor #fanfic #fanfiction #arafinwë #carnistir #fëanáro #sons of feanor #tyelkormo #the silm fandom #the silmarillion #tolkien #silmarillion fanfiction #silm fanfic

21 notes · View notes