RP 🎲 O Fëanoriel Runyaril ar i Vérë o i Silmarilli (Of Fëanoriel and the Oath of the 💎Silmarils)

Finwe's face goes deathly white as he faces the ire of his eldest son. It wasn't like he didn't expect the anger. It wasn't even as though he didn't know it was coming and was prepared for an explosion. It's just that feeling all of that, and those strong words, from his own child and most definitely his favorite one was very troubling.

He sits in silence for a few moments, letting his son go on the long tirade of words and clauses and theatrically staged accusations. There was no point in stopping Feanor. It was better to just let him run his course and then finish when he was good and ready to. Now, if Finwe had any strictness, any judgment for his eldest, this surely would have been unacceptable. The yelling was not only loud and rude, but it was also coarse and inappropriate to speak to your father in that manner. Feanor knew better than any that the father had an ultimate right in his own House, and this was indeed Finwe's house. But Finwe, too scarred by the loss of his beloved wife, and too scared to lose his son, his favorite one, his pride and joy, the only thing left of his former family, he made not one but many exceptions.

"Curufinwe," He begins, his voice coming with a smoothness that was almost too sweet to be possible in such a tense situation. "My son, I am so sorry. I did not realize how serious this was. Any of it. I'd rather leave Fingolfin's punishments of his own son between their family, and not get involved there, but I could never imagine him going after your son. To me, Nolofinwe loves you too much. He would never raise a finger against one of yours, and you know it." His eyes soften, and he takes Feanor's hand. "But I understand your concern, for those thoughts are also in my mind, those fears also plague me." He takes a step out, turning to Feanor. "You are right to say that we haven't time to waste. They had no plan of finding Nolofinwe. Only to check every study and every room in the House. We don't know where he is. But come, let us move in haste, for we may yet find them before they find him."

Nerdanel nods dutifully, deeply disturbed by this great outburst between Finwe and Feanor. To her, Feanor seems to have come on too strong. But she isn't about to challenge him for it. More than anything, it was just his way, and she couldn't change that. But another layer of meaning was behind her actions today, for indeed, Feanor and Finwe should be left to their own conversations. She would never dare interrupt, nor risk getting questioned or caught by her mindless trailing.

"Come, Amrod." She mutters, grabbing the hand of her son and walking with him. "Feanaro," she catches his eye as she turns back to face him. "I will go try to find them. Do you know where they might be?"

This is all that she will ask. She doesn't want to go any further than that. No more talking than is necessary should be had.

~~~

In the heat of the moment, Fingolfin had barely even considered the idea that Maitimo might not forgive him, or might have seen the apology as a facade and a way to get at Fingon. In truth, it was one of those things. Of course, Fingolfin had used the moment to get at his son. He knew how much pain it would be to Findekano to watch Maitimo receiving love. But he was sincerely sorry. It wasn't just a lie to get Maitimo's attention or his heart. He was genuinely sorry, and he wanted Maitimo to know that.

Still, now what? Maitimo's cry had been so blatantly output. It didn't seem like him at all, but Fingolfin supposes that all of this stress has doubtlessly taken a great toll on him. But does that excuse the words that he had uttered? That Fingolfin used to be a merciful man? That he used to be kind? That he was evil? Those weren't small words. They weren't the sort of thing that you said playfully or just instinctively in a fight. They were dark and full of malice. Cruel accusations. Words that should not have been uttered at your worst enemies.

So, for a moment, for a moment he almost wants to turn on Maitimo. To scream and yell, to crack the piece of cord just to frighten him, and to turn him away as swiftly as possible. But, no. No. This isn't Maitimo's fault. If it was just Maitimo, the dinner would have gone beautifully. If it was just Maitimo, apologies would have been made, words would have been exchanged, they may have parted ways but it would have been in peace, anticipating the next time they would see each other. No, this wasn't Maitimo. It wasn't Feanor or any of his House at all. This problem, this miserable, wretched, problem, it came from within. From within the mistake that lived in his own halls. From his own son. Fingon.

"You..." His eyes narrow at Findekano, clinging to one of the pillars beside the door. "You're the one at fault for all of this!"

Fingon draws a shaky breath, unprepared for this.

"Maitimo," Fingolfin catches his eye from off a little distance. "I'm sorry... I know I didn't want to do this. Certainly not in front of you. But you deserve to know the truth... To stop defending someone who is not worthy of it." He blows out a sigh, shaking his head slowly. "I don't know what your father told you, about why we were going to separate. Maybe he said it was just for comfort, so that you could be safer, and all of those are good reasons. But the reason, the real reason... it's Fingon." His eyes narrow darkly at his son. "It's you! You're the one who ruined all of this! You're the one who took EVERYTHING from me!"

Fingon inches back, shaking his head in protest. "No... no...."

"How dare you deny it! Who do you think you are?! Getting angry at your cousin when he has done nothing but help you when you should be in chains or struggling to figure this out on your own! You little ingrate! Have you no gratitude for the mercy I have bestowed to even let you stay here?"

Findekano shakes his head once more, his eyes brimming with tears.

"Well, you shall not be ingrateful anymore. You will learn to be thankful for my mercy. For I will give you what you truly deserve."

With that, Fingolfin rushes forward abruptly, tearing back a piece of Fingon's robes and striking him a few times with the rope from earlier, both on his back and his face, to which Findekano recoils in pain.

Then, Fingolfin in his rising anger grabs a large steel vase from inside the study and prepares to hurl it at Fingon, but a knock on the door startles him out of it.

He pauses for a moment, his eyes darting at the floor and at Maitimo, the great piece still held up in his arms. "Yes? Who is there?"

My eyes narrow.

Fingolfin? He is here?

I take a deep breath before I answer in clear tones, yet almost pleading:

"'Tis I, Fëanoriel Ancalírë. Please, let me enter...words must be spoken."

Fëanor listens to Finwë's words, calming down slightly. He can see the shock and perhaps even some hurt in Finwë's eyes, but he has no idea that that hurt actually runs rather deep. He simply thinks he's successfully communicated the severity of the situation to Finwë, and he is glad for that.

"I'm sorry I spoke to you like that," he admits, "but this is a very severe situation, and I'm glad you realize it now and agree with me. Come, let us begin our search for them. They could not have gone far, could they?"

But before they can head out, Nerdanel asks her question, and Fëanor searches his memory for when he last saw Fëanoriel and Maglor. With all the urgent and stressful things that have come up, it feels like so long ago since he last saw them. "I believe they were last in the courtyard," he tells her.

With a nod to Finwë, he heads down the halls, glancing in some of the various rooms and looking for any sign of Nelyo and Fingon.

~~~

So, all this is every bit as bad as Maitimo imagined, and even worse.

As Fingolfin begins to scream accusatory words at his son, Maitimo's heart pounds and his face goes white, and instinctively his hand flies to one of the many daggers he has hidden in a pocket. But he doesn't draw it-- not yet. The injustice of all this is astounding to him. Maitimo is arguably the one at fault now, for lashing out at Fingolfin with accusations that he isn't even certain are true, and he gets no punishment for it. It's like Fingolfin now has an irrational hatred for his own son and is blinded to all other realities.

Interestingly, though, Fingolfin doesn't deny any of the words that Maitimo spoke, so maybe the accusations are true after all. Fingolfin has become cruel enough to use Maitimo like a mindless pawn in his sadistic quest to make Fingon suffer as much as possible.

His anxious dread quickly gives way to panic when Fingolfin lunges at Fingon, tears at his clothes, and then cracks a whip.

It is then when Maitimo realizes he must act. Even if Fingon now despises him, he must still try to defend him, to make this right somehow.

"Stop!" he cries in a loud and impassioned voice, and jumps at Fingolfin, grabbing his arm and trying to grab the whip out of his hand. In the struggle, the edge of the whip grazes his cheek slightly, but he barely notices. "I am the one who deserves punishment here, not him! Please stop doing this!"

Fingolfin manages to break free of his grip, though, and then he goes for something far worse. A massive metal vase. Maitimo can hardly believe he's witnessing this-- such a thing hurled at a fast enough speed could cause a serious injury. This goes beyond mere discipline. This is unprovoked violence nearly like what his own brothers did.

So Maitimo continues to struggle against Fingolfin, grabbing his arm and trying to stop him from getting the vase. But despite Maitimo's height and strength, Fingolfin still has his strength outmatched and manages to grab the vase anyway, and prepares to hurl it.

That won't happen. Not on Maitimo's watch.

He didn't want to do this, but feels he has no choice now.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out one of his daggers and points it threateningly at Fingolfin.

"Stop it," he says severely, hoping his hands aren't trembling badly enough to render the weapon useless. "I... can't... let you... hurt him... he's still my friend..."

When he hears the voice of Fëanoriel, he jumps, startled. "Sister, get out of here!" he cries. "It's dangerous! Stay away!"



If only Finwë were here to see that Fingon had been telling the truth all along, and yet why must Fingon be hurt again in order to prove the point? Yet Maitimo realizes that now it's only his word alongside Fingon's, and that may be good for nothing. If Finwë or even Fëanor were here, no one would doubt their word.

A gentle smile surfaces on Finwe's lips, hearing the words of Feanor back to him. "Ah, it's okay... You're just scared. As any of us would be." He sighs, casting an arm around his son as they walk. "You don't have to apologize to me. You'll always be my perfect son, and nothing will ever change that." With the distance that he has received, first from Maitimo and now from Feanor, he instantly feels the need to bend. To soften. To let Feanor do what he wants and not oppose him anymore. He's lost too much in life to afford losing any more. After all, the only thing left of Miriel, the love of his life, is their beloved son Feanor. He cannot lose him. He cannot distance him.

"Of course, I agree with you." He nods, "I always have your heart, son. And if you do not see it in me, check again, for surely it is there. Surely, it is always there." To Feanor's question, he shrugs a bit. "I would think that they could not go far, but both of them were very determined... Let us start at the end of one hallway and check every room going down it. We must find them."

Finwe's dedication and determination in finding the two young Eldas is now shared and very strong. He wants not only to protect both Maitimo and Fingon, after hearing the severity of everything laid out to him, but perhaps now it is even more urgently fueled by a desire to appease his son. What Feanor wants, Feanor will get. And Feanor wants to find the two children. So, he will get it.

Nerdanel gives one nod before turning away. She wants to be brief. Contrary to most times, she doesn't want to talk. Just silently slip away, without another word. "Come, Amrod. Let us go. We must find your siblings."

Amrod stops, his body trembling. After all, he's still recovering. "I'll only slow you down, mother." He says quickly. "Leave me here. I'll only slow you down."

Nerdanel isn't sure what to say to that. Feanor had been adamantly against him going off by himself, and so had she, for good reason. But he had a point. He would only slow her down. So, much as she doesn't want to, she does what she always would in this situation, and turns to her husband. "What do you think, Feanor? Should I let him?"

~~~

Fingolfin feels a rush of fury in him as he hoists the metal vase high, almost so occupied to be distracted and not even fully realize what he is preparing to do. But everything changes as he sees out of the corner of his eye a flash of cool metal, a blade. His eyes drift in silence, focusing directly at Maitimo, and he whispers under his breath, "What are you doing?" It is strange and foreign to him that Maitimo would react so defensively. He's not attacking Maitimo, after all. Nor is he putting his life in any kind of danger. "I won't hurt you; don't you know? You may leave if you'd like. You are not my anger's object. You are not my fury's fix."

In truth, he doesn't know how to respond to this. Maitimo is not a formidable foe, but he can't imagine why Maitimo would ever raise a blade in his direction. Perhaps the boy is simply scared that he would get hurt, but Fingolfin had purposely avoided him. Almost nothing that Maitimo could ever do would drive Fingolfin to hurt him. Those punishments are between father and son, and Nolofinwe would never take such roles away from Feanor, unless in the worst circumstances.

He blows out a sigh, shaking his head slowly. "...why are you doing this?" In truth, he can't imagine why. Fingon is a fine friend he supposes, but he's far too unstable with emotion and young and just fiery that it isn't worth this sort of thing. Fingolfin can understand love, but this, love before justice... it seems so truly wrong. Is not what the Valar have always wanted justice? Iluvatar was just. He didn't punish wrongs that weren't wrong, but he punished sin that was sin. Fingolfin was only doing the same. At least, in his mind.

Fingon watches with so much shock that it leaves him paralyzed standing. Only one thought can be heard from his mind amidst the noise. So, is this all... my fault? He certainly hopes not. Too much conflict has been between everyone lately, and he doesn't want to feel responsible for it. Such is a crushing weight on his heart. All he's ever wanted is to be right and good, and enough. He glances up at Maitimo with his father, seeing the blade held out in air. "No, Maitimo," He coarsely says. "You can't kill him-please-" His eyes close miserably and he clenches them shut, allowing tears to pour down his face in silence.

Why am I like this? It's infuriating to him, really. How he always has to get the last word in. How he has to be the best at everything, and always, always prove himself right. Maybe if just once he could admit the truth, that he was wrong, then maybe everything would be okay.

Was father even being unfair? How much hurts has he truly caused? Does he deserve all of this? The beatings, the whipping... does he deserve it all? What would have happened if he'd just taken it silently? Why did he have to tell anyone that any of this was happening?

All of these questions circle in his head, each one after the other. But does any of it... does any of it even matter anymore? It's too late to take it back. It's too late to fix everything. It's too late. Or is it?

For the first time, glancing up at Maitimo and what he's done, to what length he's gone to attempt at protection, and seeing Fingolfin his father, and feeling that anxious dread as he sees the blade shaking beside him. Fingon thinks of something not for himself, not for any benefit for himself. In fact, it's the best choice for everyone besides himself.

"Father!" He cries out, earning the attention of Fingolfin, who still stands still, the knife pointedly aimed at him.

"What do you want?"

Fingon blows in a deep breath, trying to muster the courage to do this. It isn't there. But he tries. "Do your justice with me, father." He says quietly. "I won't move." Hopefully, father sees this act of surrender and leaves him be.

And with that, he stands totally still. Fingolfin takes the blade from Maitimo's hand, gently pulling until he can steal it out. It doesn't take much, since Maitimo was truly trembling. Then, he lays aside the vase. For now.

A strange feeling awakes in Fingolfin as he takes step after step forward, expecting Fingon to inch back into the corner, or run away entirely. Instead, he just stands there. Now, Nolofinwe would normally want to rip him apart, crush his heart and whip him, but a strange feeling arises. He detects that he almost also wants to hug him. The defeated look in his son's eyes is nothing short of heartbreaking. But nevertheless, justice must be served. However, justice was not so easily done, as Fingolfin struggles against Maitimo, still completely lost as to why the young Elda is working so hard to stop him, but rather surprised by the strength of Maitimo. He's very young, and yet he was already a formidable opponent. Yet, even Maitimo could not stop the wrath of Fingolfin. Indeed, it seems that nothing could.

He takes out the whip, flourishing it in the air and then dealing not one or two but fifteen lashes from it, until the boy's face is streaked red, hot and numb.

Fingon yelps, crying. He wasn't prepared for that at all. He was hoping that Fingolfin would see his heart and spare him the pain, but no.

"Open the door for your sister." Fingolfin says to Maitimo. "Let her in, but leave with her as quickly as you may. I'm sorry you had to see that."

Fëanor relaxes, relieved to see that Finwë has not reacted with hostility to his words, and seems to understand now what Fëanor was trying to communicate. He wasn't trying to start a fight with his father or make him bad for no reason; he simply needed him to understand the truth about the situation with the Nolofinwians, and it seems he finally does.

"You are a good father to me. You always have been, and I should have realized that you would readily understand what I had to say," he says with a sigh. "But regardless, it's in the past now, and we must move forward and find my son before anything bad happens."

Before they can completely part ways with Nerdanel, he calls after her, "Nay, do not let him be alone under any circumstance! I fear what he will do if he is left alone."

So they walk down the halls, searching every room for Nelyo and Fingon. Finally, as they walk down a more distant hallway, a faint noise of shouting reaches their ears. Fëanor casts an alarmed glance at Finwë, and runs towards the room.

~~~

Maitimo stands there numbly, too shocked to move at first as Fingolfin finally acknowledges him. All this is so wrong, so backwards-- now Maitimo is the one threatening Fingolfin with a weapon, and he barely seems to care, not reacting except with mild confusion. And though Maitimo tries to grip his dagger tightly, his trembling hands do him no favors and Fingolfin manages to pry it out.

The words of Fingon make him pause for a moment. He has no desire to hurt Fingolfin, let alone kill him; he had just hoped to maybe shock him into calming down, but this move seems to have had no effect.

Then, as if what Fingolfin had done before was bad, this new torrent of abuse was infinitely worse. Cursing himself for acting so weak before and allowing Fingolfin to literally take the weapon out of his hand, he springs into action with renewed strength as Fingolfin strikes the first crack of the whip. No, he won't be so weak and cowardly again... he will defend his brother in heart, no matter the cost.

At first, he takes the less aggressive route and simply pulls on Fingolfin's arm while shouting and pleading for him to stop. But his pleas seem to fall on deaf ears, and though Fingolfin seems to be struggling a little, he still maintains his grip.

Not wanting to draw another one of his weapons unless absolutely necessary, Maitimo then tries to grab at the whip itself, hoping to yank it out of Fingolfin's hands. But he only manages to deeply graze his own hands as he grabs it and then it is yanked out of his grip. In the midst of the action, the tip of the cord grazes his face a few more times too, but his adrenaline is raging so much that he barely feels any of it.

At this point, he seriously considers drawing his sword. That way he could cut the whip and end this. Not that he intends to hurt Nolofinwë with it, but it may be a drastic enough action to put everything to a stop.

But, no... he worries that that would worsen the heated anger and tension going on here, not soothe it. Something needs to help Fingolfin see how truly insane and unjust all this is. He has struck several blows already, so already Maitimo has failed to prevent much of the damage, but he realizes there is one last thing he can do. After all, he is wearing armor, so how bad can it really be?

At the very last crack of the whip, Maitimo jumps directly in front of it, allowing it to strike him. The cord lands across part of his jaw, neck and collarbone, but once it reaches his chest it does no damage, since his armor protects him there.

"Have you done enough?" he screams, his voice hoarse and raw. "Can you see now how cruel and unjust your punishment is? How would you like to see Fëanaro do anything to me like what you have done to your son? Is there anything I can do that would justify such treatment? He has not even treated my brothers with such cruelty, though they tried to kill me three times!"

He adds, answering the question which Fingolfin had asked earlier but he had been too numb to respond to it at the time, "Findekano saved my life. He intercepted what my brothers intended to deal as a deadly blow to me, and not only that, but he followed me to my House when I was in danger, and he never left my side during that whole time. He defended me when you did not believe my story. How, then, could I abandon him to your cruel devices? Nay, I will not leave as you ask me to. I will not let my sister in and expose her to this danger." He glances back at Findekano, his eyes aching with anguish at seeing him in such a battered state. "In fact, even if my father himself commands me to leave, I will not! My first duty is to the one who faithfully stayed by my side and protected me, and anything else comes second!"

But, to his dread, Fëanoriel bursts in at that moment, and though Maitimo completely agrees with everything she says, he urges her, "Please, I told you to stay away from here! I don't want to see any of this happen to you too!"

Finwe smiles, laying a gentle hand on his son's shoulder. "Of course, my son. I love you so much, and I'm always trying to be the father that you need, that you deserve. I never want to be at odds with you. I never want our desires to conflict. And it seems, it seems that they never truly do..."

In truth, their desires did conflict sometimes. But more often than not, Finwe would just bend. He would smile and put his own desires and ideas aside in order to appease Feanor and keep his son happy. It was something that he had done for all of Feanor's life. Desperately afraid that he would lose the last fragment of his original family and his wife. And of course, there was an underlying desire to give Feanor everything because he lost his mother so early also. A son so young without his mother was very sad, and Finwe always gave Feanor everything that he could, perhaps even spoiling the child, hoping that nothing would ever be taken from him again, just as was his mother.

Nerdanel gives one nod. "Of course. Come with me, Amrod. We may move slower, then, if you'd wish it." And with that, she and Amrod take off down the hallway, turning corners and seeking after Maglor, starting with the courtyard as a potential location.

Finwe rushes after Feanor, sharing the same wearied and concerned look as they both make their way to the shut door. "Whose voices are those?" He mutters. "What are they saying?"

~~~

Fingolfin watches numbly, pulling away to see that he has hurt Maitimo in the process of beating Fingon. His eyes close and he feels a deep dread. If anyone sees this, it will look as though he had beaten Feanor's beloved eldest son. Tears form in his eyes too, hearing the horrible accusations that Feanor's children scream against him. That he is evil, even akin to Morgoth, that he has lost all sense of ethics and morality. None of it is true, in his mind. No. He's doing the work of the Valar by punishing Fingon. They want justice. He too, wants justice. Findekano has ruined everything. He's destroyed every relationship, every hard-worked goal, everything.

But the whipping doesn't seem to be working, fair or unfair. Maitimo keeps stepping in the way, and it grieves Fingolfin to see him suffer. No, he can't deal these blows anymore. There's too much risk, especially now that he sees Feanoriel in the room also. Instead, he settles for the other kind of damage. The more painful kind. Emotions, the heart.

He hasn't forgotten just how much it hurt Fingon when he treated Maitimo with love before, and just how much Findekano seemed racked from it. He needs to teach his son the lesson, or he may never learn. He has a duty to force Fingon to swallow reality, no matter how bitter and painful it may be for him to take.

"Maitimo," he says tenderly, taking a step forward, and walking beside the young Elda, his back turned to Fingon, however Fingon is still very close, sprawled out over the floor and weeping. "Why did you jump in front of this?" He gestures to the whip in his hands, shaking his head slowly. "I don't want to hurt you..." He gently traces over the small mark on Maitimo's cheek where the whip nicked him. Looking Maitimo in the eyes, he whispers, "But it seems that I have... Are you okay? How can I help you?" His eyes are so softened, so gentle and sweet, shining with real concern for Maitimo, but of course, the other motive of increasing his son's pain. "I'm sorry," he gently mutters. "I'm sorry that you were hurt." And with that, he takes a well-placed step back, directly positioning himself to stand on Fingon's hand and wrist, crushing it with his heel, yet acting if he didn't realize it and had simply forgotten that his son existed. "How can I make it up to you?"

Findekano remains silent, sprawled over in seething pain and silent anger. Normally, he would pick the fight with his father. He would rage at the indignance and demand that he be treated better. But right now, here, with Maitimo and everyone else, and with his father's actions and words, he can only bring himself to cry. It feels as though his father is just plunging daggers into his heart, another one with every turn, each one more painful than the last. Tears sting against his scratched face as they pour from his eyes.

If he could, he would just stop everything. Everything. He would go back to hiding in that study. In fact, glancing up at Maitimo and at his sister, he wishes that they'd never found him. That he'd never told anyone what his father was doing. That everything had just continued in silence.

Why did I tell them? O Why did I have to tell them?

Fingolfin turns a glance to both Feanoriel and Maitimo. First, to Feanoriel. "Feanoriel," He whispers. "I am not hurting your brother. I know it may look that way, and I apologize profusely for it, but I am not." Then, to Maitimo, "Son, I am not going to hurt you. Fingon deserves this, and he knows he does. It's only justice." He raises his hands in the air. "But worry not, you do not need to repent. I know your words to me, while cutting cruelly, were not coming from a place of sincerity and right mind. I need no more apology than for you to say that they were not meant." He smiles.

At both the naming of Maitimo as son and the continued standing and stepping harshly on his hand, Fingon truly wants to burst. But again, there's no voice left in his dry throat, and no strength that he has to get angry or stand up and yell, and he knows that even if he does it will only make things worse. It's best to just leave things be, ride out the storm, if he may, and if it will ever end.

Fëanor smiles gratefully at Finwë, fully believing him when he says their desires are often the same. After all, Fëanor has never had a difficult time persuading Finwë of anything, and Fëanor attributes this to his own persuasive abilities and Finwë being of like mind to him in the first place. He has no clue that Finwë is secretly bending his own will to Fëanor's much of the time.

His gaze darkens in grim concern as they approach the room and the cacophony of voices grows louder. Though the mixture of voices is somewhat muddied, he can easily recognize the voices of his two eldest, and his face goes pale.

"Nelyo and Fëanoriel are both in there," he says breathlessly to Finwë, and doesn't hesitate before thrusting the door open and storming in.

~~~

Though Maitimo's heart desperately aches for some kind and soothing words from someone, he only stares coldly at Nolofinwë, and flinches away from his touch. This affection from him is not sincere, and worst of all, it clearly has an ulterior motive: to hurt Fingon all the more. And Maitimo can't stand that he is being used like this, as ammunition with which to hurt his best friend. He can hardly imagine a crueler manipulation than that.

Even though Fingolfin almost certainly intends to hurt Fingon with this tactic, what he may or may not realize is that it hurts Maitimo too. Perhaps someone less perceptive to the hearts and emotions of others might not realize that they were being used as a mindless pawn like that, but Maitimo is fully aware of that, and he has never wanted anything less than the best for his brother in heart. Being aware that he is being used to hurt him is exceptionally painful.

"Stop doing this to us," he snaps, his words cold and biting. He turns his face away from Fingolfin and shoves his bloodied hands in his pockets. "I know what you're after, and I will not be your mindless pawn, a mere weapon which you desire to use against Findekano!"

Then, the reaction of Ancalirë surprises him greatly. With her aggressive words and even more aggressive actions against Fingolfin, Maitimo has never seen such a dark side come out of her before. In a sense, it alarms him to see that in her, but there's also a part of him that's secretly cheering her on. Fingolfin must have been so shocked that she successfully managed to shove him away from Fingon. Maitimo is glad for this, since he had thought about doing it himself.

Taking advantage of Fingolfin's momentary distraction, Maitimo rushes to Fingon's side and slowly helps him sit up, being careful not to touch his wounds, though he accidentally leaves a few blood stains on Fingon's clothing. Embracing him gently, he whispers, "It's going to be all right, brother. I won't let him get you again."

Out of the corner of his eye, though, he carefully watches Fingolfin and Fëanoriel. If Fingolfin seemed reluctant to hurt Maitimo in any way (physically, at least) he hopefully feels the same desire not to harm Fëanoriel. But Maitimo no longer has the slightest scrap of trust in his uncle, and watches them warily.

At that moment, Fëanaro bursts in. He takes a quick glance around the room, shocked to see his daughter struggling against Nolofinwë, and Maitimo holding the battered form of Findekano.

Everything is as he feared, and much worse.

"Everyone, stop what you're doing right now!" he roars in a thunderous voice, his face flushing and his eyes glinting with heated anger.

Maitimo's heart just about jumps out of his chest. Startled, yet massively relieved to hear the voice of his father, he turns and glances at him.

"Nolofinwë, what you have done to your child is utterly detestable and despicable!" Fëanor cries, observing the beaten state of Findekano. Though he has his anger with the boy, he has always loved justice, and can see that such a punishment is disproportionate. He can't imagine doing such to any of his children; not even Celegorm, who shot Maitimo with the poisoned arrow. "I cannot believe that you would stoop to--"

His words are cut off as he meets Maitimo's gaze, and can see several marks on his face too, and his hands are bloodied.

Enraged all the more, Fëanor storms up to Nolofinwë and cries, "And you have had the audacity to hurt my child too, after all he's been through-- I can't believe you, half-brother!"

Technically, he doesn't know for sure that any of this is true. But what else could it be? Fingon and Maitimo had to have gotten hurt somehow, and Fingolfin is holding a whip in his hands. What else could the explanation possibly be?

I stand back, shocked by the sudden arrival of Fëanáro. I fall to my knees in surprise, my head bowing down low, not daring to meet anyone in the eye. I fear that I've done something wrong, that I might have gone too far.

Or maybe I haven't.

I can't tell now.

Fingolfin's eyes widen as Feanoriel makes her claims and struggles against him. "I am NOT a fallen one!" He roars, his voice tense and bitter. There's so much anger in him right now, anger at his son for stealing everything from him. His beloved brother, the one he had always sought love from. Feanor. Even the whisper of that name was as a sweet breath of fresh air on his face. How he remembers back in these very halls, running around and laughing, always seeking his brother's approval, always trying to earn his love.

Feanor, he would whisper each night. I love you, brother.

But Feanor's response would never come. Only the muffled mutters to "go away" and to leave him alone. Still, no matter how much rejection he faced in it, Fingolfin would still keep coming. He would still make songs and letters and poems for his brother and do everything he could to earn his love. His eyes lace with tears. "You don't know what I've been through." And with that, he takes another step away, trying to avoid Feanoriel. He doesn't want to hurt her, after all. Just like he didn't want to hurt Maitimo. The only one he wanted to feel pain was Fingon. And he sees a perfect opportunity for it.

"Fingon Findekano Nolofinwion..." He mutters softly, repeating the words of his niece.

Fingon lifts his head, wondering if the fight is over, and even if his father is done with attacking him.

Fingolfin sighs, a dark smile coming to his lips, as he glances at Fingon and then immediately away. "I don't have any son of that name."

Suddenly, all the tears and emotion that Findekano had been trying to hold back flooded down like a great wave. His head drops low and his eyes pour with tears. There's nothing more painful than this. All the beatings, the scratches on his face and arms and neck, painful, grueling, none of them come close to the amount of pain that strikes him now. His heart feels like it's shattered. Like his father had just stomped apart everything that he was working to reconstruct. He had tried to remain quiet and only shed silent tears, but now, he can't hold back the volume. It's over. He feels like this is the end, possibly of life itself.

Fingolfin glances up in shock as he sees Feanor, and immediately stores the whip away, wiping the tears from his eyes and trying to look put together. "Brother," He begins. "I did not mean to hurt your son. He jumped in the way; I swear to you that he did. I did not want to injure him, and in fact, I tried to help him even just now." He flashes a glance at Maitimo. "You can ask him if you do not believe me. But, you have my word. I did not intentionally lay even a finger on him with ill intent."

He is taken aback, however, by Feanor's anger that Fingolfin would hurt Fingon. Feanor was one of justice. Wouldn't this have been exactly what he would have wanted? Now that he saw how bad things were, wouldn't he understand?

"But you saw what Fingon did," he remarks. "He deserves this all."

Just then, Finwe comes bolting in, his strong and usually very calm demeanor fading away to reveal a confidence and intelligence that would remain unmatched. "What in Arda is going on in here?" He loudly shouts, eyes darting from Fingon to Maitimo and so forth. Whatever happened, it's not good, and it needs to stop. His eyes narrow on Nolofinwe. "Did you do this?"

The shock is almost too much to contain, seeing Fingon clearly very beaten and Maitimo beside him with a few wounds also. And then there's Feanoriel and Nolofinwe in the middle of it all.

"Someone," Finwe speaks up. "Please explain all of this. Now." He taps his foot on the ground with anticipation, waiting for someone to suck up their pride and speak up. He wants to hear the whole story. Quickly.

Fingon would be speaking about all of this, explaining it all, but he doesn't have the strength to right now. He only glances wearily up at Maitimo, lifting his crushed fingers to return the embrace to the best of his ability. "I'm so sorry," He mutters. "I never should have said anything. I never should have gotten you involved. I should've taken this all in silence. I've failed you now, too... I'm so sorry..."

~~~

Nerdanel walks with Amrod and they make their way closer to the courtyard, seeking Maglor.

Fëanor's gaze darts around the room as he takes in the information-- observing the positions of everyone in the room and listening to the words of Fingolfin. Though, he's not inclined to believe a single word out of his half-brother's mouth. And he nods in agreement with Finwë, glad to see his father taking charge of the situation.

"Indeed, one of you must tell us how all these things transpired," he agrees, staring with a piercing gaze around the room. "But first, Nelyo, Fëanoriel, come here and stand beside me."

Maitimo gives a tiny shake of his head. And now that the panic and adrenaline is fading, his emotions begin to release more fully. He grips Fingon a little tighter, and tears fall from his eyes, stinging as they go across the marks on his face. "Father... do not make me leave him..." he mutters, his voice hoarse and cracking.

Fëanor sighs. He's so tired of having his own children defy his command-- Nelyo did also defy him by seeking out Findekano-- but he finds it hard to harden his heart against his eldest now. Not when Fingon is in such a wretched and pitiful state, and despite the wrongs he did, he does not deserve such a fate. Fëanor can understand that it is a noble thing Nelyo is doing in protecting him so fiercely. So, he bends his will, and to Maitimo's amazement, comes and stands beside them, standing between them and Nolofinwë.

"My father's command still stands. Someone must tell us what has transpired here," he says sternly.

Maitimo glances around, realizing that logically, this falls on him. Fingon is in too painful a state to relay the tale, Fëanoriel wasn't present for much of it, and Fëanor won't take Fingolfin's word seriously. Maitimo hates to be the one burdened with reliving all this, and his fading adrenaline is beginning to leave him deeply exhausted, but he must do this, for his sister and especially Fingon.

He takes a deep, yet shaky breath and begins.

"Finwë and I had gone off together to talk about some things. We came to a study, and found Findekano there. He was hiding from his father because he feared further punishment. I tried to comfort him, and together we explained the whole situation to Finwë and begged him for his aid in approaching Nolofinwë and trying to find a peaceful resolution to this conflict, but he... did not agree..."

Maitimo chokes back tears, unable to look Finwë in the eye. It feels so wrong and awkward to lay out these grievances against him like that when he's literally standing right there, but Maitimo has committed himself to telling the whole story and providing all the context as truthfully and completely as possible. He's lost confidence that Finwë will help him, but perhaps Fëanor still might.

He continues: "Findekano then said he would go back to his father and face any remaining punishment alone. But I went with him because I thought, perhaps foolishly so, that Nolofinwë would not hurt his son in front of me, and that we could have a peaceful discussion. But I was horribly, drastically wrong..."

He closes his eyes briefly, shutting back tears, but unable to prevent them from falling anyway.

"Nolofinwë then made a mockery of us both-- at least that's what it felt like to me-- apologizing profusely to me for some things he spoke to me last night, while continuing to hurl bitter insults at Findekano. Some harsh words were then spoken between me and Nolofinwë. I don't remember exactly what all was said. But I know I said some bitter and harsh words to him, and he then blamed it on Findekano, and then... began to beat him again... he even picked up that-- that massive metal vase over there-- and intended to throw it...."

For a few moments after that he is unable to speak, fighting with his sobs. His strength is fading, but he doesn't let go of Findekano.

"When I saw him about to do that, I drew a weapon. A small dagger. I had no wish to use it, but I knew I had to defend Findekano. But Nolofinwë took the dagger from me, and thankfully did not throw the vase.

"Nolofinwë continued to blame Findekano for the conflict, despite all my aggression and harsh words. So he whipped Findekano again, many, many times... I struggled against it. I tried to wrestle the weapon out of Nolofinwë's hands. I even grabbed it directly, but to no avail, and he does speak the truth, I even threw myself in front of the last stroke in some attempt to help him see how... how insane his actions are."

In a way, there's some evil part of him deep down inside that yearns to lie and tell everyone that Nolofinwë hurt him intentionally. It would serve no purpose except for giving Maitimo some temporary, petty satisfaction at getting back at Fingolfin in some tiny way. But he can't afford to be the slightest bit dishonest, if only for Fingon's sake. If his testimony is discovered to be untrustworthy, no one will believe any part of it and he will only continue to make everything worse.

"Fëanoriel came in, and she defended Findekano too, and also spoke some harsh words against him, but he did not react as far as I'm aware. And that's when you both came in, Father and Grandfather."

However, referring to Finwë causes Maitimo's bitterness against him to resurface, and impulsively, he glances up with deep anger towards Finwë and blurts out, "If you had come with us as I had asked you to, Grandfather, and believed me that the danger was real, perhaps none of this would have happened!"

Finally, the last ounce of his composure breaks, and his body is racked with sobs.

Fëanor listens to all this silently, his dismay growing with every word spoken by Maitimo, though it is concealed under the mask of grim sternness he wears. Some of his anger at Finwë resurfaces, hearing how Maitimo had begged and pleaded with him to help, but he wouldn't, and now it was too late.

He has never been the most expressively affectionate type, but he kneels down to get level with Maitimo, and places a gentle yet firm hand on his shoulder as a silent gesture of comfort. It pains his heart that his eldest has borne such a burden of responsibility. His heart and mind were yet unhealed from his own sufferings, as Finwë had helped Fëanor see, and now he has had to walk through his closest friend's sufferings too? He should not have had to; those older and wiser than him should have better protected him. Both of them.

Fëanor speaks coldly and evenly to Fingolfin, his mind reeling: "So now you say you are exiling Findekano from your House, and no longer consider him a son? Is this true?"

Finwe stands, shocked to hear this whole story read out to him like a book. It is what he wanted, after all, so he isn't surprised that Maitimo stood up and told it, but the events are enough to make him pale with horror and disbelief.

But more than just horror... more than just a genuine shock and surprise and anger. A prickling sense of guilt spikes in his mind, telling him that everything would have been fine if he had just stepped in. He wanted proof that Fingon was really being beat by his father, but now as he glances over at the young Elda, covered in red marks, scratched all over and beaten to a pulp, he wishes he'd just believed them. He wishes he hadn't needed proof. And as he looks at Maitimo, the sheer desperation shining in his young eyes, the fear and the bitterness and pain, it kills him to see. Maitimo and Fingon are young boys. They should have eyes full of wonder and awe, marveling at how amazing the world is. They are sons, heirs, they should be looking to their fathers for everything on how to live and who to be, and what's more, their father's should be that light for them. Their hopes should be high and their dreams limitless. Instead, these two look so distraught. Their eyes are red with tears and their faces are sad and worn with care. He stares long at them, but then immediately averts his glance away. He cannot stand the sight. It's like fire to the cornea.

What went wrong? It's the only thing he can manage to ask himself. Feanor and Fingolfin both seemed like great kids growing up. They had their arguments, with each other and with him, but still, they were all a tight-knit family. Feanor was better at essentially everything. He was stronger, more commanding, and showed far more promise in the crafts of smithery and the art of fighting. But still, they were both excellent. They had tender hearts and Finwe loved them both so much. So how could Fingolfin turn out so cold and heartless to hurt his own son? And how could Feanor be so oblivious to Maitimo's pain? Sure, Finwe knew that Feanor wasn't great at emotions, but it seemed really a bit incompetent to not even notice that Maitimo was hurting when the boy was literally crying in front of them. And Finwe also knew that Feanor didn't excel at those sorts of deeply sensitive conversations. But still. Why would Feanor leave things as they were, instead of finding someone who could help? So many questions bother Finwe, and he can't imagine why everything has played out the way it has. But at the end of it all, everything is in the past. It's came and gone. There's no use in regretting, no use in hoping hopelessly. Far better would strength be spent on that which was still not fully set. And so that, is where Finwe directs his attention.

His eyes drift across the room to rest on Maitimo, and he watches the boy as he turns over those words in his head.

"If you had come with us as I had asked you to, Grandfather, and believed me that the danger was real, perhaps none of this would have happened!"

It's true. He can't deny it. Fingolfin may never have done all of this, gone this far, if Finwe had stepped in from the beginning. If he had walked inside, protecting both of the children, maybe no one would have gotten hurt and everyone would still be just fine. He closes his eyes, letting the guilt simmer for a moment. He wants to shove it away, to tell himself he wasn't the one at fault, but he knows better than to do that. Pushing away the truth has never made it stop being the truth. It only numbs the mind with fantasy until the reality comes back harsher than before. He lets out a sigh, shaking his head slowly, almost too little to even be noticed. I have to at least try to make this right. He tells himself, redirecting his thoughts once more to what can be done, rather than what can't be changed. And with that, he decides it's time to do something. Right now.

Before Fingolfin has the moment to answer Feanor's question, or perhaps he is simply ignoring it, but Finwe can't tell and doesn't care to know, he makes a remark, "Nolofinwe," He begins, a sternness and twinge of solid discipline to his voice. "You do not have to exile your son. He is not coming home with you, that I will make sure of." His glance shifts to Fingon, and so does the tone of his voice, until it is a much more pleasant and gentle one. "Findekano will find a different place to stay. Whether that is with his mother, in her own lands, or with me and Indis, is not your concern, Nolofinwe." He faces the father again, his tone matching suit. "Sons are a tremendous gift, and right now, I don't think you should be trusted with them. I will have to consider if even your three others ought to stay."

His eyes turn to Maitimo for a second. "Maitimo, I wish to commend your strength today, and also to offer my most sincere apologies." His eyes soften, melting with love. "You defied me, and I'm so glad you did. I only wish that I had seen my wrongs sooner and had righted them when I still could. I'm sorry to you. You should not have needed to endure any of this. You should not have had to face this great challenge alone. I should- I should have gone with you, and I'm sorry that I did not. You are right to say that I may have been able to prevent all of this."

He also looks to Feanoriel, offering a general nod in her direction. "Thank you for being here also... You are a very young lady with very great aspirations, and a heart of gold."

Finally, Finwe takes a deep breath in. He enjoys all the commending of strength and all the gentle love. He enjoys smiling at Feanoriel and at her brother and offering some comfort to Findekano and helping him out. He enjoys even smiling at Feanor, and comforting him. But now comes the tough portion. Now comes the part of this conversation that he has been dreading. He doesn't enjoy disciplining anyone, especially an adult. But right now, Fingolfin needs to be disciplined. He takes a few steps forward, beginning.

"Nolofinwe..." His eyes meet with his son in a piercing gaze. "I don't know what you were thinking. I don't wish to hear your sick excuses. I don't want any kind of explanation. No justification is needed, and none should be given. Nothing can justify this." His eyes narrow. "Now, I shall not deal you to suffer the worst humiliation here, in front of everyone. You will go privately aside with me soon, very soon, and then we shall discuss all of this in the gravest and minute detail that can be done, and you shall learn a lesson about parenting and justice and punishment." His eyes go dark, at Nolofinwe and he shakes his head slowly in disbelief. "Look to your brother," He says with a slightly lighter tone, pointedly glancing in Feanor's direction. "Look at the way he parents and how he loves his children and doesn't punish them horribly, even if they deserve it." He nods. "I want you to take a lesson from your brother. He would never hurt his child like this... And that therefore then means that even if only for that reason alone, you should not either."

Fingolfin listens to this with both discomfort and a certain level of guilt. Perhaps it is just the words that are being pointedly directed in his direction, but it feels so very wrong. He had only tried to do what he thought was right, but now, now everything is different. Now, it doesn't seem right. Now, everyone is condemning him for this deed that he has done as if he had committed some unspeakable crime. He braces himself for the humiliation and hurt, and vows that once he is done speaking this mandatory talk with Finwe, he will seek out Indis. She has always understood him. She has always reached his heart. She will understand. She will know how to go on. She will help him.

So, now Finwë is finally agreeing that Findekano should be taken somewhere safe. Maitimo knows he ought to be glad about that, and he is, to a degree. But why did it have to take Fingon getting hurt again to reveal that? And for all of Finwë's high words of praise he had bestowed on Maitimo the night before, it clearly must have been Fëanaro and not Maitimo to inspire him to take action. So much for that praise, then. It's all meaningless.

And just as the praise is meaningless, so too does the apology of Finwë seem to Maitimo. He knows he ought to be more forgiving, but he finds it just about impossible right now, when Finwë's inaction caused so much destruction. If Maitimo were the more direct subject of the destruction, he would probably have an easier time letting go of his rage, but since it was directed at his dearest friend, Maitimo does not feel he can let go of that indignation.

And now what? No one has even bothered to thank him for telling the story, painful as it was to relive, and no one has offered him any meaningful help. It hits Maitimo in that moment how alone he truly is now. Fëanor always seems to find some reason to be angry at him, or about to be. Nerdanel has blatantly mocked his pain, and Fëanoriel has been so wrapped up in her own griefs that Maitimo knows he cannot expect much of her. Maglor and Amrod have their own issues, Fingolfin has gone insane, and there is no way Maitimo can see Turgon and Aredhel. He was depending on Finwë for a while but obviously that trust has crumbled. And perhaps worst of all, Fingon has now revealed the resentment he justly feels towards Maitimo. And the Valar are silent. He has no one anymore. No one.

He did his duty as a friend in defending Findekano, or at least attempting to and failing miserably. And now that duty is complete, since Findekano is finally going to be taken to a place of safety. And it seems as though Turgon, Aredhel and Argon will be protected too, so that is all good news.

But it does make Maitimo wonder what purpose he has now in life, if anything. All he has done is cause problems, and the moments of true honesty from many of his family members have revealed that.

Meanwhile, Fëanor is listening to the words of Finwë and oblivious to Maitimo's inner turmoil. He can't help but feel pride swell up in his heart as Finwë lectures Fingolfin on how he ought to be more like Fëanor. It's satisfying to hear, and also true. Though Fëanor has had his failures as a father, he feels he has overcome them and learned to do better by his children. He can't help but smile and stand just a little taller as he hears these words.

"Well said, Father. I support you in these commands you give. Now, enough of all this talking-- we must take Findekano to a healer."

So the room shuffles with movement as a few come beside Findekano to help him stand, heavily supporting him. Maitimo stands aside, gazing numbly at him.

My duty here is complete, though I have failed to do it well, he thinks to himself. Unable to bear the presence of everyone else, all these people who ought to be his family but secretly disdain him, he bolts out of the room.

He runs up a flight of stairs and finds himself in a room with a balcony, and he stands on it and gazes out, trying to allow the glimmering green landscape of Valinor and the brilliant light of the Trees to calm his thoughts, but it does nothing for him.

"Where are you now, Valar?" he mutters softly. "You saved my life, but for what? Irmo, you promised me things would get better, and they have not! If anything, they've only grown worse!" His voice grows louder and increasingly agitated as he continues to vent his frustrations to the Valar, with no clue if they're even listening or if they care. "Nienna, where is your pity? Yavanna, where are your pastures of safety? And... Mandos... why have you not just let me fade already? Why have you not just taken me to your Halls where at least I can have peace and solitude and slowly pay off the evil deeds I have apparently done?"

Impulsively, he gets up on the railing of the balcony and stands on its edge, staring grimly at the ground below. "I'll take myself to your Halls if I have to," he says bitterly and tearfully. "I will, and I mean it!"

His grief is so great that he is not thinking rationally at that moment. Not at all considering that his beliefs about his family are unfounded, comprehending the magnitude of an eternity in the Halls of Mandos, or considering the horror and grief of his family as they would find his broken and lifeless body on the ground. He is only thinking of one thing, and that is how to get the swiftest end to his pain.