Author's note: Quenya names:
Nelyafinwë is Maedhros, with short Nelyo. Mother-name: Maitimo.
Canafinwë is Maglor, with short Cano. Mother-name: Makalaurë.
Turcafinwë is Celegorm, with short Turco. Mother-name: Tyelkormo.
Morifinwë is Caranthir, with short Moryo. Mother-name: Carnistir.
Curufinwë is (take a wild guess) Curufin, with short Curvo. Mother-name:
Pityafinwë is Amros/Amrod, with short Pityo. Mother-name: Ambarussa.
Telufinwë is the little Amras, with short Telvo. Mother-name:
Curufinwë Fëanaro is Fëanor, needless to say.
Of course, I felt the weird urge to write this story with the Quenya names,
as they are still in Valinor. So there would be strictly no reason for
their names to be sindarin-ised yet.
Aurel is Maglor's later wife; courtesy to Altariel Artanis for the name,
which she gave to Ithilwen; so I used it.
Now, do elves paint? Do they draw? If they don't, then I'm sorry for making
Disclaimer: I still own nothing. Nope.
Never fear the Darkness
By Le Chat Noir
"You're going too fast."
Finding his dancing interrupted by his brother's stern voice, Nelyo stopped
short, nearly tripped over his left foot, and caught himself just in time.
Cano was pitiless as a teacher. Though Nelyo was considered a fairly good
dancer, the younger Fëanarion just felt the need not to be satisfied with
his brother's performance, and had insisted on giving him some lessons he
called 'basic'. Nelyo shook his head, as the dark-haired elf began to pinch
the great harp's strings again. Fancy being taught something by your little
The dancing resumed. Their lessons took place in the usually deserted Great
Hall of Fëanaro's House, as it was the only room that Cano deigned consider
large enough for proper dancing, so he said. He closed the doors firmly,
locked them whenever if they could find the keys, so no one would disturb
their peace and concentration. Nelyo had always wondered at his brother's
bizarre ways with anything artistic. When he himself sang, or danced, or
painted, it was for pleasure, and to amuse himself; but Cano seemed to be
bent on perfection itself, so as sometimes to be on the verge of throwing a
tantrum when anyone but talked to him when he was drawing or composing.
Well. What comes with genius …
Luckily, Cano was of peaceful nature, calm and more apt at charming people
than at raging at them, so those angers of his most often ended in a short
cutting sentence and a simple, hurt and dark glance than in anything too
loud for sensitive elven ears. Valar could Cano yell when he really wanted
It was easy to get carried away when Cano wanted to make you dance. It was
harder not to get carried away too much so as to properly remember the
complicated steps appropriate to his elaborate music. That was the reason
why, after some hours of weekly lessons, Nelyo often found himself drained,
and sweating just a little too profusely to still look like a respectable
princely Lord. But today, the lesson had barely begun, and so he was still
in pretty good condition when the door Cano sat near to was slowly, timidly
Immediately, the younger elf stiffened, and silenced the harp by applying
his palm to the strings, but as soon as he saw the red-headed woman who
peered inside, his features softened, and a large grin spread over his
face. Nelyo, laughing, waltzed towards her, and, with a sophisticated
artist's bow, offered her his hand.
Teasingly, Cano began playing a romantic song for young lovers, and his
older brother gave him a solid smack on the head, which had no more results
than making the other laugh and cringe.
But Nerdanel didn't laugh. She looked at Cano's harp, and Nelyo's dancing
shoes, and smiled a sad little smile, before walking past both her sons to
stand in the middle of the room, looking around as if it was the very first
time she saw it.
"So that was why you were locking yourselves up all these afternoons."
The young elves sent each other a guilty look, which in Cano's case was
also slightly perplexed.
She turned back to face them, and Nelyo could not help but notice how weary
she looked; how very weary. She stood there, and suddenly she was
diminished, from the tall, proud and wise woman who sole could temper her
husband's spirit, to a mere young girl, shy and naïve. And already distant.
"Did Maitimo improve?"
Cano faked a pensive frown.
"Well. I can't say that I am wholly satisfied yet…"
Nelyo wondered why he once more felt the urge to slap his brother's head,
but instead he sank to the ground, and whined with his best childish pout.
"Muuuum… he's making fun of me…"
The dark-haired elf laughed.
"And you're making fun of yourself, dearest brother."
Nelyo scrambled to his feet, and, taking direct and unfair advantage of his
height, ruffled the young musician's silky hair, making the long locks fall
directly into the latter's face.
"And *you* are lucky to be my favourite little brother, or you would still
be wondering exactly what happened to you a second after you uttered that
Cano pushed his hair back into place with a half-angry, half-amused
gesture, but found his fingers entangled in the knots, and grimaced.
A silence fell, somewhat uneasy, as Nelyo fiddled with his tunic, Cano
tried to smooth his hair, and Nerdanel watched them both with unreadable
eyes. At last she spoke:
"I'm glad you two have grown up. I trust you will take care of your
brothers when I am gone"
There was a second of perfect stillness. At first, Nelyo thought he hadn't
heard well; or rather, he feared he had heard all too well. But as he felt
more then saw Cano spring up from his seat as if he had been shot by an
arrow in the back, and let go of the harp, he understood that yes, it was
it, true, all true. However still it was with disbelief, a disbelief that
was only a last ray of hope, that the two brothers echoed together in
perfectly toned horror:
Nerdanel looked away, and her pale cheeks flushed ever so slightly.
For once, Cano was voiceless, dumbstruck, and stayed rooted there near the
gaping door with lips half-parted and eyes even wider than usual, while the
fragile harp laid on the ground, forgotten and shattered. With a cry of
despair, Nelyo rushed forwards and seized her by the shoulders, ready to
"You can't do this! You, you…" He found no argument. "you can't do this to
He searched her face for anything that he could rely on to bend her will,
make her think, while Nerdanel still sought to avoid his eyes. Everything
that he had felt, dreaded, dimly foreshadowed in the previous year or two,
everything he saw and wasn't sure he had seen, everything he heard and
wasn't sure he had heard, everything he had guessed and hoped he hadn't
guessed, everything crashed down on him. He felt his eyes brimming with a
hot liquid, that he did not try to restrain, and tasted salty when it
reached his lips.
"Mother… how can you…"
Cano, slowly, began walking towards them, and gently took one of her small,
delicate hands in both his large, nervous ones. The red-headed woman closed
her eyes, and a single tear rolled down her cheek.
"I've already bid goodbye to your brothers. It's only goodbye, after all,
isn't it? You'll come to Mathan's house, won't you? You'll come to visit
me. You'll bring the little ones along too. I'd want to see them grow up
like you two. And maybe I'll be a grandmother soon." She smiled forcibly.
"I see the young Aurel has developed some feelings for you, my little
Makalaurë. I would love to see the fruits of that union, too." As an
answer, Cano only squeezed her hand tighter.
"I trust you two will try to look after your father for me."
Nelyo snorted. "Look after Curufinwë Fëanaro?"
But Nerdanel's smile fell completely.
"If you can. You can look after him for me, make sure he doesn't get into
situations where he wouldn't be able to control himself. Maybe you don't
know how much he needs someone to restrain the fire of his soul…" A look
from both Nelyo and Cano assured her that indeed, they did know. "Just take
care of him, whenever you can, and don't let him flare too high, lest he
should burn. Let him rage, let him rage… but don't let him burn."
Nelyo looked at her inquiringly, and raised a brow.
"What is it you fear?"
The smith's daughter shuddered.
"I don't know. I don't know, but I fear…"
Abruptly, Cano let go of her hands, making both his mother and brother
start, and swirled around. The door was still open, and there were five
pairs of eyes peering round the corner, gleaming in the obscurity. Nelyo,
whose hands were still holding his mother shoulders, felt her sigh; a
light, imperceptible sigh.
A small red-headed boy, no more than three years old, parted from the
group, and toddled forth, despite one of the older children's desperate
attempt to grab him back. He fixated on her with large, teary eyes, and his
lower lip quivered uncontrollably as he grabbed her skirt and held onto it
as tight as if he was holding life itself.
"Mother… please don't leave me…"
Nerdanel caressed his hair with a loving hand.
"I'm sorry, little one. I'm sorry."
She swept him in her arms, and soon all her other sons were surrounding
her, tears streaming down every single face. Only, one small boy was
staying apart from the group, a small boy not much older than his youngest
brothers, and watched the scene without making a move. Nerdanel embraced
all her children, and last of all Tyelkormo, who refused to let go until
she gently pushed him away. But Atarinkë still stood apart, and didn't
budge until she had reached the door, and opened it in full. Then,
suddenly, he sprung forwards and ran up to her, violently seizing her by
the waist and buried his face in the folds of her dress.
"I'll make you proud, Mother, oh I swear I'll make you proud of me one
Fiercely he uttered those words, and the two figures stood still, unmoving,
bathed in the light of Telperion streaming in from the doorway. Maitimo
looked at them, and thought he recognised his young brother no more;
Atarinkë who was always so taciturn and openly despising everything
relative to sentiments; Atarinkë who, in their parents' silent rows, ever
siding with his father.
"I see not even your beloved sons can guard you from leaving."
The icy voice came from the doorway. With a start, Curvo let go of his
mother's waist, and stumbled five steps back, nearly falling to the ground
in his precipitation. All gazes were instantly turned to the seeming origin
of the words, but Nelyo noticed that once more, Nerdanel had straightened,
with weariness in her stance, but tall and proud again, as one last time
she stood in front of her husband, and one first time defied his will. He
had come, unheard, silent as more than silent as only he could be, and now
stood leaning on the frame. He wore black, as had become his habit when at
home, and also bore on his brow the silver wreath, the symbol of Finwë's
Heir. Tall he was, and eerily fair, but that day as Nelyo looked upon his
face he found it even paler as usual, so his coal-dark eyes burnt even
darker and brighter.
At first, he was staring at the ground, but then he lifted his gaze to look
his wife in the eye.
"Do I hold a chance?"
Nerdanel stared back.
In a second she was gone, Nerdanel, the wise Nerdanel, and the great door
was closed behind her, leaving the Hall to be lighted only by the high,
perfectly crafted windows. Fëanaro stood still for a moment, looking each
his sons in turn in the eye with a piercing gaze, and then turned back
without a word, his steps echoing in the long corridor, and then fading
away. Cano stared at his retreating frame, until the black of his clothing
merged into that of the darkness, and all that could be seen of him was his
crown, sparkling faintly still. Spirit of Fire, heart of ice, he thought,
and tore his eyes from the open door, to turn them to the definitely shut
The little Telvo suddenly burst into tears, and it was all that Nelyo could
do to kneel beside him and try to soothe his silent sobs by hugging him
tight, tighter than he had ever held anyone in his life.
Curvo walked slowly back towards them, with a dark scowl on his face, and
spat on the ground through clenched teeth, resulting in Cano sending him a
reproachful look, which somehow turned out to be more compassionate and
understanding than reproachful.
"Mind your manners, Curufinwë Fëanarion."
Author's note: Anyone have an idea on what 'Tyelperinquar' might have had
as a shorter form? Or do I have to go on calling him Tyelperinquar
throughout the story?
Always wondered what Tyelkormo and Atarinkë might have looked like as kids.
Yeah, Atarinkë kind of despises teary farewells and all… and with him being
the one to resemble his father the most, I thought it would be interesting
to try to depict him as more than a heartless, cunning Elvenlord. And my
first attempt at Fëanor. Hope I didn't manage him too badly.
Next chapter, enter the Lady Artanis, the Lord Atarinkë all grown-up, and
little Tyelperinquar… Now hope this one will be easier to write…