Fanfic Finwians One-shot Collection

[Tyelkormo the Fair]

Messenger of Death​

A sudden feeling of awareness pulled him out of his dreams.

At first, he could not quite place it, but as it lingered, an itch at the edge of his consciousness, he stopped trying to ignore it.
Perhaps, if he had been another person in another world where he hadn't been shaken awake from his slumber by constant danger, he would not have noticed it.

But he was Finrod Felagund who had crossed Helcaraxë and roamed the wild lands of Beleriand, and he knew the watchful gaze of a hunter as well as the adoring ones of a lover.
He sighed, pushing away the blankets which had done little to warm up his shivering body, and climbed out.

Celegorm was leaning against his dresser, still clad in his elegant red robes embroidered with threads of gold. His circlet was the only jewelry missing, his aquamarine necklace shining as brightly as his blue gaze fixated at him. Finrod had gone to bed with every candle snuffed out.

“How did you get past the guards?”
He did not know why he had even wasted breath on such a stupid question, and his cousin seemed to agree, for he scoffed and looked away.

Neither of them spoke for a while, the only sound breaking the silence being that of Finrod’s breathing. Celegorm even breathed as silently as death.
“Don't go.”

It was said softly, no emotion woven in the tone of his voice. Finrod tried to pretend he could hear sadness in it. He tried to pretend they were still cousins and brothers as they once were, even if just for the night. Even if just for that moment.
“I must.”

Another humorless laugh, one laced with condemnation. A younger and less wise Finrod would have shrinked into himself at the scolding tone.
“Yes, but even if you didn't have to, you would have. Wouldn't you? Another stray in need of help? You've always had a bleeding heart for them.”
“You would belittle me for my heart, son of Fëanáro?”
At the mention of his father, Celegorm stiffened as he always did. Finrod almost regretted it, but then he remembered the insult clouding his cousin's voice, and pushed it at the back of his mind along with everything else his Oath demanded of him.
“I would belittle you for leaving behind your people for the sake of one man. For leaving behind your family.”

There was something akin to hurt there, if it was not also part of his imagination. For why would Celegorm of all people care about how defenseless he was leaving Orodreth, with vultures like this silver haired wolf around?
And what a hypocrite it made Celegorm to be, to feel hurt over being left behind because of an Oath?
“And were you not the one who left us behind once?”
“I left you a home to return to. You're leaving us with a pile of cards, standing just to fall by a summer breeze.”
And perhaps he was. Perhaps his perfect city was just that. And perhaps it was never and never would be a home to the sons of his half-uncle, but he had little say in it now.
He had spoken. He had people looking up at him to lead this suicidal mission, and his pride would not allow him to back down now.

So, silence he took once again, and for a while, Celegorm was content. He held his bejeweled pendant in his open palm, eyes soft as he caressed it with his thumb. His hand closed around it at last, and when he turned to him this time, his eyes held fear within them. Finrod did not know what to think.
“If you go now, you will not return.”
“I know.”
It was no news to him. He had felt it the moment Beren’s feet grazed the green grass growing by the shore of Narog. Or maybe he had known it long before. He could not tell anymore. Everything was too vague, and he feared he did not have enough time left to figure them out.

This seemed to surprise Celegorm for a moment, his already huge eyes widening, even if barely.
Something settled in him then. He no longer looked like the hunter he was born to be. In his place was an exhausted man, the dark circles under his eyes visible under the faint light of the moon.

Finrod should have felt victorious, but something in him was already mourning a loss.

“You will suffer. You will suffer like my brother did, and I fear your Findekáno has long abandoned you, little one.”
It was said, and not unkindly, but the pity in his blue gaze did not sit well with Finrod. He frowned.
“So be it.”

He sounded more and more like the child he once was, and not the man he had become. Celegorm, despite his own childishness, could have that effect on you. As if he knew something others did not. Maybe he did.
It mattered no more.
Celegorm sighed, one full of weariness and sorrow. Then, he took small steps towards the bed until he was face to face with him, and all the while, his eyes did not leave his face, as if he was trying to memorize it.
Then, he did something he had not expected, and he couldn't help but flinch away at first.
Celegorm leaned up on his tip toes, and his lips left a soft kiss upon his brow.
His touch felt as cold as death.
Maybe it was death, and Celegorm his messenger.

“And so be it. I would have said I would meet you on the other side, but I do not know where my own path leads me after my time comes.”

The finality of his tone felt like a nail to the coffin. Whose, Finrod did not know.
He stood there long after the Silver Ghost had disappeared, feeling more like a corpse despite the light in his eyes and the breath passing through his parted lips.

He did not sleep another blink that night, and he felt no loss. Dead men needed neither food nor rest.
And he was no more alive than a falling leaf of an oak tree in autumn. He had just not reached the ground yet.

 

[Tyelkormo the Fair]

Hide & Seek​

“Are you sad, Uncle Nolo?”

Nolofinwë jumped despite himself, before looking around for the source of the squeaky voice belonging to one tiny elfling with silver hair.

The prince sighed and massaged his aching eyes before managing a smile.
“Tyelko…no, pitya. I'm just…thinking.”
“Thinking about sad things?”

Nolofinwë wasn't sure what he was expecting. Certainly shouldn't have been entertaining the idea of Tyelkormo giving up so easily. The child was too curious for his own good.
“Some, yes.”
Tyelkormo’s lip pouted, and his faint, silvery white brows drew together in a thoughtful frown. It took everything in Nolofinwë’s power to not scoop him up in his arms and give him a hug.

Both he and Findekáno were in that age when they insisted to be treated like grown ups, but while Findekáno still accepted hugs and affection with grace, he doubted he would have the same luck with Tyelkormo.

Instead, he patted his lap gently and Tyelkormo, after looking around and finding no other comfortable place in that deserted hallway of his Haru’s palace, empty of any seats but the chair he himself occupied, came forward and climbed up his lap with some effort. Nolofinwë was not stupid enough to think about offering any assistance.

They sat like that for a while, watching the reflection of Laurelin’s light on the great pond in the western garden.

Until Tyelkormo, having sat still for too long, started fidgeting, throwing him careful glances with the same frowning face. Until he could not bear the silence any longer.

“Did what Atya said earlier make you sad?”
Nolofinwë froze in his place, not daring to look down and meet the eyes of a child.
How Tyelkormo had come to hear their conversation? True, it was not anything Fëanáro would think twice about before saying it in front of children, but Nolofinwë found it uncomfortable.
And it was not something he had not heard before, either.

You're not my brother, and no son of my father. Stop calling me that, Indis Son. I don't need to be your charity case. I have all the family I need.

But for some reason, today was one of those days that his heart decided to allow itself to feel the hurt. And by his luck, his little nephew was also privy to the hurtful words and his own broken heart.

“You were not supposed to hear that, Tyelkormo.”
He allowed some sternness to cloud his voice, and he felt Tyelkormo’s nervous shifting.

“I…Finno and I were playing hide and seek. I didn't want to eavesdrop. I know it's not something a good elfling does.”

Nolofinwë couldn't help but smile.
“No. It's not. And what should you do now, sweet one?”
Tyelkormo’s hand fell on his, where it rested protectively over the child's waist.
“I'm sorry, Uncle. Will you forgive me?”

Nolofinwë looked down to find huge blue eyes staring at him, shame and guilt evident, but also some hope.
He kissed his head, and if Tyelkormo was mad, then he could deal with it.
“Forgiven and forgotten.”

Relief washed over Tyelkormo's face, and he grinned and hugged his middle as much as his small arms could reach.

Nolofinwë returned it, and just like that, his pain was forgotten, even if for a little while.

Tyelkormo raised his head all of a sudden, his eyes nervous and he quickly looked away when his eyes found him. He clearly had something to say, but wasn't sure if he was allowed to.

People often called him a brat and inconsiderate, but if not blinded with anger, the child knew when to say what, and when he couldn't.

“You have something to say. Say it, my boy. I won't be mad.”
Tyelkormo’s gaze found his own quickly, not any less nervous, but definitely more confident. He nodded, nonetheless, and what exited his mouth was a welcoming surprise.
“Atya lies. He wants brothers. No, he needs brothers! Being a big brother is great! And Curvo also loves me like you love Atya. I think…I think he's saying that because he feels like being mean, and you're the one closest to him. I do that sometimes, but I always apologize, because I don't want Káno or Moryo to be sad because of me.”

Nolofinwë’s jaw hung open, and despite himself, he could feel his eyes swimming with tears he had refused to shed until then.

Tyelkormo's proud smile fell when he saw that, and a look of immense guilt overcame him. He could see the child's lip starting to tremble slightly, frustration at himself bringing tears to his eyes.
But before he could, Nolofinwë’s arms tightened around him in an embrace, so that his face was buried in his stomach. He couldn't bear to look at him.

“Why Moryo? And Kano? Why not Nelyafinwë? Or even Curvo?”
He found himself asking before he could think. He didn't know why it mattered, and his mouth seemed to have a mind of its own.

Tyelkormo took a minute to respond, and when he did, his voice came out muffled, but with stuttering or hesitation.
“Because…they get mad. And they get sad, so I know they care.”

They get sad…so I know they care.

Arafinwë cared not for their eldest brother’s affection. He did not insist on calling Fëanáro brother. He was just as proud as their mother. He didn't beg.

Not like Nolofinwë did.

They get sad…so I know they care.

Curious how the answer to years of pain and heartache came from the mouth of a child barely out of toddler-hood. But maybe it should not have been so, for what was their disagreements and arguments but two brothers butting heads and scuffling like mere children?


“Tyelko! I'm gonna get you! And then your candies will be mine!”
Findekáno giggled loudly from across the hallway, still out of sight.

Tyelkormo tensed and started struggling to get out of his arms, and Nolofinwë let him. He slid down his lap, held a finger to his lips to silence him, and disappeared down the other end of the hall like a silver tornado.
Nolofinwë sat there, unmoving but for the fond smile growing on his lips.

Findekáno did not take long to appear, small, bare feet soundless against the carpeted floor.
His eyes lit up the moment he saw him, and he bounded towards him with sweet giggles and wide arms, ready for a hug, and how could Nolofinwë deny him?

His son was scooped up in his arms easily, his slight figure disappearing amidst his own long and stuffy robes.
“Atya! Have you seen Tyelko? I've been seeking for hours! I can't keep seeking!”
He exclaimed loudly, and if Nolofinwë strained his ears, he was sure he could hear the squeaky giggles of another child, hiding somewhere down the hallway.

Nolofinwë grinned, and held a finger to his lips.
“Can't say. It wouldn't be fair now, would it? I believe in you. Go find him and get your ransom, son!”

And he set him on his feet again, and sent him away with a pat to his back. Findekáno pouted at first but seeing his serious face, determination replaced his sour expression and with a small wave of his hand, he was gone.

And Nolofinwë sat there, no longer solemn but full of hope he had not felt in a long time.

Fëanáro could hide behind his fake hatred and disgust as long as he wanted, and Nolofinwë was going to keep seeking for his love, until he found it.

 

[Tyelkormo the Fair]

Mirror Mirror In The Grave​

The first time he saw her, it was just a few days before spring and the new year's celebration, and of course, Atar's begetting day.



For some reasons unknown to his yet innocent, childlike memory, his Atar hated his begetting day.

Tyelkormo could not understand. What was there not to like?

Cakes, gifts, parties and all the other fun stuff one could do for their birthday.

But instead of all of those activities, his Atar would just disappear for the whole day and come back with red rimmed eyes and a haunted expression on his face.

Tyelkormo wanted to vanish that look from his face.

He hated whoever was that made Atar look like that. Like he carried the weight of the whole world on his shoulders.

His Atar was the strongest person he knew, but even he was not strong enough for whatever made him look like that.



It was years later, when he had grown up enough to disappear from their house without telling anyone and worrying them, that he decided to find an answer to this mystery.



So once the day came and Atar disappeared wordlessly from home after breakfast (he had not touched his plate at all, Tyelkormo had noticed) he followed him with all caution and care of hunting an elusive prey.



Atar had decreased the speed of his steed upon leaving the gates of Tirion, which had helped Tyelkormo in staying hidden from his eyes.

It didn't help that he could not risk bringing his own horse in such a mission and had to carry on on foot, so the lack of hurry and the mild pace helped him immensely.



To Tyelkormo's impatient mind, it took them forever to reach their destination. But in reality, it wasn't even noontime.



And it was then when he noticed where, exactly, his father was leading him too.



His surroundings were a swirling of bright lights, of trees made of glass and flowers oozing a sweet smell, making him relax and for a moment, he forgot just why he had come to that place at all.



He had heard stories of course, but there was always this underlying fear of the place quenching the curiosity he harbored for the halls of Estë and Lorién.

In there, all the broken hearts could be healed and spirits replenished and Tyelkormo just couldn't trust a place like this. Ammë always said fearing the unknown only held you back from achieving greatness, but Tyelkormo found a calm stability in the mundane life he lived and the path he had chosen for himself, for even the unknown held a pattern when it came to the cycle of life. It was never anything he wasn't prepared for.



He thought he had been prepared for wherever following his father would take him, but he had been wrong. He didn't like this place. He wanted to leave, but he had come too far to back down at that point.



Fëanáro’s path came to an end in a clearing. The small parts of the woods were empty except for a spot on top of the hill.

An ancient willow tree created the only shadow in its vicinity, and there was no place for Tyelkormo to hide.



He sighed as his father’s figure got smaller and smaller as he climbed up the hill on foot, having left his horse to graze in the strange looking grass as she pleased.

Fëanáro eventually disappeared in a slope beyond and out of his sight. So Tyelkormo waited.



He waited for hours and watched as Laurelin began vaning. He would have patted his own back if he could for being smart enough to bring his sketchbook and charcoal with him.

His Atar always returned late on his birthday, and Tyelkormo had counted on being left with nothing but to wait out whatever he was doing.



Woods of Lorién was a beautiful place, and Tyelkormo had been in a desperate need of new muses to draw. He wasn't sure if he did the otherworldly flora any justice, though he surely tried.



He had been in the middle of sketching the glass like texture of a leaf when the sound of leaves crunching under hooves reached his ears. He scrambled to hide somewhere, shoving his tools in his bag just as Mísiel and her master passed by the tree he had been leaning against.



He didn't have the time to breathe in relief for the mare came to a stop a few steps ahead, neighing in curiosity.



What are you doing here, little foal?



Tyelkormo gulped and remained silent. His father would be furious if he found him. He couldn't have it.



“Mísiel? What is it, girl? Come on. We'll be late for dinner.”

His father's voice was hoarse from crying, and despite the panic, Tyelkormo felt his heart squeeze tightly in grief.

His father might find out and he'd be furious, but he couldn't find it in himself to feel even an ounce of regret. He had to know. He had to find out the reason.



A second passed, and then another. And then, with a defeated sigh, Mísiel sighed in defeat at trying to coax him out and picked up pace again.



Minutes passed and it was only after making sure his father was a fair distance away did Tyelkormo allow himself to move from his place of hiding.

“That was close.”

He looked around, having noticed the light slowly turning into silver. It was getting late.

If he wanted to see what had brought his father to such a place, he should hurry.



He turned towards the clearing and began running. He ran and ran and the shed of the willow loomed closer, his guide through the small piece of land clear of any other trees or signs.



When he reached up there, he was out of breath and giddy in a way he could not explain.

The feeling was short-lived when he found what he had been looking for.



A bed of whitest marble and lying atop it was a woman clad in white with hair of silver.

One could imagine she was merely sleeping a peaceful dream if not for the lack of breathing.



This was a corpse. Of an elda. The only who could not find solace and healing in Aman.



Míriel Therinde. His grandmother.



Celegorm could feel his legs getting weaker and weaker the closer he got to her, and finally, they gave way when he was close enough to hold her needle-worn hand.



“Hello, Haruni.”

He heard himself whisper and tried to pretend she was smiling, hearing his voice.

It was easy to do so, for he just had to look himself into a mirror.

His hesitant hands reached out to touch her hair, and felt a sudden satisfaction when he found it to be as soft and silky as it looked. His hand found the end of his hunter braids.

Same hair.

He knew if she were to open those peaceful eyes, he'd see the same shade of blue reflecting in the mirror.



What would she have been like? Would she have doted on him more because he looked like her? Would she have been proud of who he had become?

Would she have told him stories and stroked his hair as she weaved and worked, him leaning against her knee, the soft fabric of her velvet dress tickling his face?

Would she have loved him as much as he loved her?



How could he love someone he never knew? How could he miss all these things he never even had?



He didn't realize he was crying until the first droplet fell on her dress, but when he did, he couldn't stop.

His body rocked as he buried his face in his hands and sobbed, throat clogged with emotions he could not begin to comprehend.

It choked him and squeezed his lungs in its vicious claws, and Tyelkormo didn't know if he could stop.



He had never felt something like this. He had never felt such sadness mixed with anger. He had never felt so sad it hurt.



Was this how his Atar felt like when he came here? All these years? Why? Why did he keep doing it to himself?

It hurt. It hurt so bad and he didn't know if he could stop. He couldn't breathe. He–



A gentle hand landed on his shoulder and he jerked away from it, landing on the floor a few feet away from the still figure of his grandmother.



Fëanáro stood there, his own face streaked with tears and a look of such understanding clouding his eyes that when he reached out again, Tyelkormo threw himself in his arms, seeking whatever comfort he could offer.



One hand stroked his back until his breathing calmed down, and the other tangled in his hair, keeping Tyelkormo’s head against his chest so he could listen to his heartbeat.

He sniffled and hiccuped as the sobs slowed down to heaving and all the while, he could hear his father whispering in his ear what appeared to be a nursery rhyme.



“...A forest full of stars aglow,

Alive, alive, they dance below.

Winter's gone, and spring's embraced,

With love's bright light, we are encased…”



His fist opened and he let go of the tight grip he had on his Atar's shirt.

“I'm sorry.”

He muttered weakly. The singing stopped immediately, but the hands grounding him never left. The heartbeat was steady against his ear, and it soothed the loss of the sweet tune.

“What for, sweet boy?”

“Fo-Following you. I shouldn't have done it. Should have respected your privacy.”

His father merely hummed and dropped a kiss on his hair.

“You should have, but I forgive you.”

Tyelkormo was stunned for a moment before he, ever so slowly, raised his head so he could look into his Atar's eyes.

“You do?”

The smile he gave him was small but genuine. He cupped his cheeks and wiped away the wetness from his face.

“You're curious by spirit, a trait from your mother. I adore it as part of her just as I adore you.”

And he kissed his forehead this time. Tyelkormo’s whole body felt weak with relief, and he returned to his father's warm embrace.

Minutes passed without words. Not even the sweet song Fëanáro was singing for him earlier could be heard.It was comfortable despite the circumstances, but Tyelkormo had to break it eventually, much to his own regret.

“Why…why does it hurt so much? I never knew her.”

His father's body went tense for a moment and his breath hitched, but as if he had imagined it all, any signs of discomfort were gone in a second.

“Because you just do. Don't try to find a reason for how you feel, my son. Emotions don't need reason to be validated.”

He nodded weakly, not quite understanding but knowing he wasn't going to get anything more of it.

“Would she…would she have liked me?”

“She would have loved you, just like I do.”

“I love her too. And you, Atto. So much.”

His father's hold tightened around his frame, and Tyelkormo hugged back just as fiercely.



“Do you want to go home now?”

Tyelkormo could only nod.



__________



“How did you know I was here? Mísiel?”

He could hear his father huff in amusement behind him. The rocking of the horse’s slow trots was comfortable and soothing, and Tyelkormo, exhausted as he was, had to fight back against the sleepiness creeping in.

“Yes and no. Her reaction raised my suspicions, but this is what gave you away.”

A piece of charcoal was held in front of him, and Tyelkormo reached out numbly to take it, not knowing to curse his luck or praise it.

He did neither, and just leaned back against his atar's firm chest. The hand holding his torso tightened protectively.



Rest easy, Haruni. We'll look after Atar for you.

 

[Tyelkormo the Fair]

Of The Arafinwian Hair Dye
​

"You know, Tyelko?”



Tyelko looked up from his coloring to look at Findo, eyebrows raised in question, and Findo continued now that he had his attention.

“You could have been my brother, and no one would have doubted it.”



Findo was smiling. His cousin, though, not…so much. Findo's smile dropped as soon as he saw Tyelko's eyes being filled with tears. He scowled, dropped his head and almost fell down in his hurry to get off the chair and run out of Findo’s room.



He sat there, as Atya would call it, shell-shocked, and could barely move until he heard his emmë call his name with anger.



Findo gulped.



_____



“Care to explain what happened, Findaráto Ingoldo Arafinwion? Why did I just see your cousin whom you had begged to have a playdate with for days running to the garden crying?”



Findo dropped his gaze. So Tyelko was actually crying. But why? What had he said to set him off? And crying? Tyelko?



Tyelko would have been ripping him a new one if he had said something offensive, but crying? Tyelko didn't cry. He made people cry.



“I don't know, Emmë. I didn't think what I said could make him sad.”



Ëarwen simply raised an eyebrow, but some of the tension left her body. And she nodded when her son was brave enough to look her in the eyes.

Findo pouted but obliged.

“I told him…I told him people wouldn't doubt it if we told people he's my actual brother rather than …calling him brother because we're friends and family. Because his hair looks like yours.”



Findo watched his mother sigh in frustration and massage the bridge of her nose like she always did when she didn't know what to do. And for some reason, she looked sad.

Even though Emmë didn't look angry anymore, Findo somehow felt worse than he did before.

“Emmë? Did I say something wrong? I…I thought it would make him happy. Doesn't…doesn't he like me enough to be my brother?”

And now Findo felt like crying too. He liked Tyelko, and he had always imagined having an older brother like him. Yes, he wasn't that older than Findo. Less than two years, Emmë told him once. But Moryo was just a few months younger than him, and Tyelko protected and took care of him like he did with Curvo and Findo himself did with Arto and Ango. He eyed his emmë’s round belly. And like he would do for the future baby.



But what if Tyelko didn't love him that much? The thought hurt more than he imagined.



Ëarwen cooed at him before pulling him into her arms. Findo went gladly.

“I'm sure Tyelko likes you a lot too. And you didn't say anything wrong, love. You just reminded him of some mean words other, bad elflings like to tell him.”

Findo frowned. Other people being mean to Tyelko? Findo didn't like that at all.

“What kind of things?”

This, his mother did not answer.

“It’s not my place to tell you, my love.”

She stepped back, before reaching to hold his face and raise it so she could look him in the eyes.

“Go on, sweet one. Go get your cousin to come back. And if he feels like it, he will tell you all himself. Don't push it, though. He's been sad enough.”



Findo nodded seriously, mouth set in a firm line. He bolted out of the hall and towards the gardens, already shouting Tyelko's name.

“Tyelko! Cousin! Please, come out! I…I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you…”



He looked around the garden, from the rose bushes to the great willow tree by the eastern walls, and found no sign. He was reminded of how good Tyelko was at hide and seek, and how only Finno was able to find him the last time they played and only after five hours. Findo would never be able to find him on his own.



He pouted and sighed.

“Please, Tyelko. I didn't mean it like that…I …I just wished to have someone like you as my older brother. I don't know what those elflings have told you, but none of it is true! I promise! Can you come out, please? I feel really bad about it.”



Seconds passed with no sign of any movement, even as he turned around so he could look at all the possible hiding places.



He was starting to feel discouraged when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He jumped, not having expected the sudden touch, and turned around to find a teary eyed Tyelko. He was pouting, his fluffy bangs covering most of his eyes so he could hide the redness of them.



Without wasting a moment, Findo reached out and pulled him in for a hug. Tyelko loved hugs, even if he tried denying it at times. They always made him feel better about what he was sad about.



At first, Tyelko didn't hug him back, sniffling and burying his face in the crook of Findo's neck. But eventually, he too, raised his arms and held him.



“Do you feel better now?”

He felt him nod, and Findo reluctantly broke the embrace. They needed to talk.



Tyelko still looked a little snotty, so Findo reached into his pocket and took out his handkerchief. He held it in front of Tyelko's nose. Tyelko looked a little shocked at first. Probably had not expected Findo to carry handkerchiefs with himself like adults did. But he eventually caught on and blew his nose out.



Findo balled the dirty cloth and put it back in his pocket. He'd throw it into his laundry basket later.



“Can we talk about what happened? Why did you run out crying?”



Tyelko's eyes widened a little, and his pale cheeks reddened not so subtly. He looked down with a frown.

Findo bit his lip. He reached out to take a hold of Tyelko's hand and led him towards the shade of the nearest tree so they could sit.

Tyelko followed wordlessly and sat down next to him, pulling his knees to his chest.



None of them spoke for a while, enjoying the warmth of the late morning. Until Tyelko broke the silence.



“I heard…I heard some elflings in Haru’s court talking about me. About my hair…said it doesn’t look like my atya’s. Rihtarië said…said her mother had told her it’s because my atya isn’t really my atya. Said her emmë had told her that my emmë was infid…infidelity. I don’t know what that means, but it sounded mean. So I asked my haru Mahtan because I didn’t want my emme and atya to know. He got so angry that Haruni had to hold him so he could calm down. I still don’t know what it means, but it makes my haru angry and it means that my atya isn’t really my atya and it’s all because my hair looks like this! I…I hate it. I want black hair like my atya and Curvo, or even brown like Kano and Moryo. Just…just not this!”

He yelled, pulling at his hair harshly. Findo frowned and took the hand gripping the pale strands gently, pulling it away until Tyelko relented and let go.

He still looked sad though, Findo realized, his heart clenching.



He didn’t quite know what he could do to make it better. Could talking with the other elflings help? He knew he had a way with people and could often convince them to listen to him. but, he wasn’t sure how it could help. They had already said those words. Tyelko was hurt, and knowing him, he wasn’t going to forget them even if he forgave them. So what?



I want black hair like my atya and Curvo, or even brown like Kano and Moryo. Just…just not this!



Perhaps…

“What if you could change it?”



Findo heard a sniffle. He looked up and found his cousin looking at him. Tyelko’s eyes were wide, his brows drawing together as he frowned.

“But how?”

Findo hummed as he looked around. He hadn’t really thought about it, but how hard could it be? There must be some sort of paint or dye they could use. He looked down at his own brown shirt. It wasn’t always this color, surely. He had seen how people did it in Alqualonde, dyeing the silk threads in all the colors of the rainbow. But Tyelko didn’t want the colors of the rainbow. He wanted brown or black. What could they use?



Shadows of leaves moved upon the grass as Findo stared at the ground. He frowned and looked up. The light danced upon his face, and Findo smiled.




~~~



“Come on Findo! Tell me what happened. I promise I won’t be mad.”



Maitimo, despite his words, looked as livid as he could. And therefore Findo was convinced telling him anything was not a good idea. Which explained his silence as he stared at his own feet swinging back and forth.



Tyelko wasn’t crying anymore. He had wept and sobbed and sniffled on his brother’s shoulder until he had tired himself out and now slept in Maitimo’s arms. Findo wished to be held too, but he understood it was his own fault they had come to this, and so he had swallowed his tears until he didn’t feel like crying anymore.



“Findo? If you don’t talk I’m forced to ask your father to speak with you. Do you want him to find out?”



Findo gulped. No he did not. Atya always told Emmë everything, and he didn’t want them both to be mad at him on top of Nelyo and his parents. Possibly Haru and Haruni too.



“Tyelko wanted to change his hair. To be like Uncle Fëanáro or Kano and Moryo. So…I helped him?”

Finrod wasn’t quite sure where to look. At Nelyo’s tired face or his own sorry masterpiece that was Tyelko’s hair. The now pale orange strands glared at him. Findo looked away.

“You…what does that even mean? How did you help him?



And that he had an answer to.



“Are you sure this is going to work?”

Tyelko sounded skeptical. Findo brushed it off with a laugh as he crushed the boiled oak bark which was slowly forming a paste texture, getting ready to be put on Tyelko’s hair.

“Just trust me!”



Findo grimaced. Tyelko had indeed trusted him, and now they were in this mess.



“I made him a dye out of oak bark. I really thought it was going to work, Nelyo! I just didn’t use enough! If you just let me–”

“No!”

Findo looked down immediately. Right. He shouldn’t have said that.



“I'm very, very disappointed in you. I thought you knew compassion best out of all of our cousins, Findaráto. It is not Tyelko's fault he has white hair. And it is not a fault at all! He's perfect the way he is. You should have told him that instead of trying to fix his problem.”



Now, Findo really felt like crying too. It had not been what he had intended at all! He too thought his cousin was perfect the way he is. Yet, it had been what Tyelko had wished for. He wanted to change his hair color, and Findo had respected it and had tried to help him. Why was he being scolded now?

He sniffled quietly, swallowing down the sobs trying to escape his throat. He wasn't the one who's been wronged here. He shouldn't be crying.



Yet, he could not quite help his voice breaking when he explained things to Nelyo. He was forgiving. He would understand why Findo had done what he had done.

“I–I know! I love him–I love him the way he is too! But–but that's what he wanted! I– Findo just wanted to help!”



He whimpered, realizing he was starting to sound like a baby again. Even Arto didn't talk like that anymore.



He heard his cousin sigh, and he almost jumped when a warm hand landed on his shoulder, squeezing it gently. He looked up and through teary eyes, he found Maitimo looking at him with a gentle smile.

“I know, dear one. I know. But sometimes what people want is not really what they need. Say, if you had a stomach ache, and you wanted more candy, am I supposed to give you more candy or some medicine to relieve you from your pain?”



Findo sniffled and wiped his eyes, pouting. While he would have said candy in a heartbeat, he knew from experience what it did to elflings when one had too much too quickly. It was never worth the pain.



“...The medicine?”

He pulled a face when he said it, and Maitimo couldn't help but laugh.



“That is true. While Tyelko wanted you to help him fix something he didn't need fixing, it wasn't what he needed. He needed you to tell him that he should not think of what others said. And he needed you to tell him that he is beautiful the way he is, and that we all love him this way.”



Findo looked deep into the kind eyes of Maitimo and nodded.



Someone mewled. Findo looked up, watching as Tyelko’s eyebrows drew together. His eyelids fluttered, his white lashes sticking together from all the crying. He slowly opened his eyes. Maitimo held him tighter as his lips trembled, and shushed him before he could start crying again.



“Hush now! You have cried enough. There is no need for more tears.”

Tyelko sniffled but bit his lips to stop himself from crying. He grasped his brother's collar to pull himself up in his lap. Findo grimaced, seeing his peach colored hair falling and framing his face again.

“But…my hair–”

“You know what Atya would say. Don't do something if you are going to cry about it later. It is your mistake, and you should own it and try to redeem it. You have hurt yourself this time, Tyelko. Do you know how you should apologize to yourself?”



Tyelko’s frown deepened. He shook his head. Findo didn't blame him. He was just as confused. How did one apologize to oneself?



Maitimo, though, appeared a little smug.

“No worries, then. I will show you how.”



~~~



“What are we doing here, Timo?”

Tyelko asked, holding onto Nelyo's hand tightly as they walked towards somewhere in the forest behind Uncle Fëanáro's estate. Findo had never been here before, and he could understand why he rarely found his half-cousins in the public parks of Tirion. Who would go there, when they could play in such a magical place?



Maitimo stopped, and Findo barely held himself to not collide with his back. He took a step back and rounded him, listening to the trees sing their songs. He did not understand what they wished to share, but he found their voices melodical nonetheless.



“Can you call upon Ninquë?”

Findo frowned. Who was that?



Tyelko looked confused too, but for completely different reasons.

“Why do you need her?”

Did Tyelko knew who Ninquë was?



“Just do as I say. You will know soon enough.”

Tyelko still looked confused. He sighed, appearing defeated. He took a few steps away from them, breathed in, before letting out a loud caw.



Findo jumped despite himself, not having expected it at all. He stood silent for a moment, but before he could open his mouth to speak, a flash of white passed by him, flew over their heads before finally landing on Tyelko's outstretched arm.

Tyelko smiled and gently scratched the white crow’s head, greeting it like an old friend. The crow, too, cawed and then bowed in greeting.



“Well, she is here. What did you want to say?”

Tyelko finally tore his eye away from his friend to address his brother. Findo took a moment to remember their reason for being there at all.



He looked at Maitimo, and found him watching Tyelko with a raised eyebrow and a smile.



“Tyelko, do you think Ninquë isn't her parents chick because she does not share their coloring?”



Tyelko gasped, offended. He threw a worried glance at Ninquë. She didn't seem to have understood Nelyo's words.

“Of course not! Why would you say that, Timo?! It's so rude!”



Findo…Findo understood.



“Well, if you don't, why do you think you're not Atya's son like us when you clearly are?”



Tyelko's jaw was hanging open and Findo…

he was impressed. Maitimo knew his little brother so well that he also knew the only to get through his stubbornness sometimes was just to let him find the answers in his own tongue.



“Weren't you the one who convinced the rest of the murder to accept Ninquë between them? I remember you saying you told the leader how Ninquë was no different from them just because she was white. You told them to love her just the way she is because Eru had meant it for her to look like this. So why can't Eru have meant for you to look like this too? Why can't you accept that you are as much of a son of Fëanáro as the rest of us, even if you look different?”



Tyelko…he was crying again. But this time, silently. As if his mind had yet to process the information through his shock.

Findo…well, he was crying too. But just because he thought this moment was too beautiful, and it deserved some tears.



It was beautiful to think Eru had used Findo to convince Tyelko to love himself. It was beautiful that this crow who, much like Tyelko had helped her once, was the one helping him understand how perfect he was.



It was just, beautiful. Eru was beautiful.



Ninquë cawed, this time more quietly. Tyelko laughed, through his tears. Nelyo chuckled, and Findo smiled.



It was a beautiful day.

 

[Tyelkormo the Fair]

In The Woods Somewhere​

“Lauri?”

The child’s voice echoed in the deadly silence of the woods, sickly sweet and innocent.

He had been calling his name for a few minutes now, as he often did just as Arien rose upon the sky.



“Lauri! I'm gonna come and find you! Then you'll be It!”

He giggled and his voice faded away, as if he was getting farther away from bim.

Maglor let out the breath he was holding as the forest grew quiet once more, and he finally dared to leave the refuge of the grand birch tree which had become his home last night.



He drew his tattered cloak a little closer, the early morning dew making his joints ache as he began to move slowly.

He looked around, searching for the flighty creature who had been haunting him for days now. When he didn't spot those bone-white tresses flowing behind the little wildling, nor those mischievous eyes watching his every move, he finally allowed himself to relax.



Until he couldn't. As if summoned by Maglor's train of thoughts, he felt a small hand pulling at his fingers. He yelled and scrambled away, holding on to a tree as if it was his lifeline.



The child looked at him with his wide, bright eyes and then broke into a fit of giggles. His white dress robe trailed behind him as he moved closer and with each step he took, Maglor pulled back further against the tree, hoping to become one with it eventually.



“Boo! Got you!”

He ran towards him, and Maglor flinched before he realized what the little beast was doing. He felt his small arms struggling to hold his waist. He looked down, and watched him smile up at him.



“You're It now!”

He frowned a little and shook his head, a conversation privy with himself going on inside his head because Maglor knew that look. Knew when it was the right time to hide away in his room because the little devil would be running around looking for victims to bother and tease for the day. Or when he just wanted cuddles and needed to be held and in haste, else his jewel-like eyes would be shedding diamond tears soon, and oh how Maglor was a weak man when it came to them.



This was a thoughtful look, as if his precious little head was busy pondering over this one-sided little game of Tag.



“I don't want to play anymore. You're not going to catch me anyway.”

Maglor took no offense over this blatant truth.



Little Tyelko looked up at him with his shining eyes and buried his face in Maglor's stomach. He felt his own hands running through his silky tresses, messing up his crown of flowers, and watched with regret as the forget-me-nots fell up their feet.



“Do you want to see this caterpillar I caught? I named him after you. He is slow like you, but I think he's going to end up a pretty one. Again, like you.”



Maglor's blackened hand touched his hollowed cheeks, and wondered how much of his little brother’s words held truth in them.



Tyelko let go of him and stepped back and broke into a run, leaving a laughing trail as he disappeared among the trees.



“Tyelko! You'll get lost!”

He bellowed behind him as he took slow steps forward, his eyes searching.



There far beyond, he spotted something pale and shining. He walked and walked through his pain and exhaustion until he reached there.



His mother would skin him alive if he lost Tyelko again.



He looked around as he passed by the tree he had spotted from afar, yet there was no sign of pale hair and clothes.



A hand landed on his shoulder. He jumped and turned around.



Blood-soaked hair and a sad little smile greeted him. Celegorm's armour glowed pale gold. His brother took Maglor's hand, thrusted something in his open palm, closed it and stepped away.

“Keep this safe for me, will you? I am going to move ahead. They have taken one treasure from us. It would wound me to lose this one too.”

Maglor heaved and pushed down the bile raising in his throat.

“And it would wound me to lose you, hanacë. Do not go in alone.”

Celegorm's eyes softened even as he pulled off the armour and cladded himself in naught but a tunic and cloak.

“Do not worry, brother mine. I shall be back before you know it.”



No, you will not.



Maglor blinked, and when he opened his eyes, he was gone.



“Tyelko?”

No one answered.

He turned around, his eyes wandering wildly around and about just for a single sign. The forest was empty. No Dorithrian soldier. No brothers. Nothing.



Maglor was alone.



Tap!



Tap!



Tap!



Something rolled down the hill and the stone, and rolled and rolled until it reached his feet.



Maglor heaved a breath and finally dared to look down.



Snow-white hair matted blood-red against the fairest face, and a pair of violet blue eyes stared at him.

Blood soaked the soil and his bare feet as life left the severed head of his little brother.



Maglor's toes curled into the muddied ground. He stared into those lightless eyes before opening his locked palm.



The lilac jewel shone until it felt like it would burn a hole in his hand, but he kept it in his shaky hands. He shall not lose this, until there was a neck to hold it once more.