A Different Kind of Hell [ Silmarillion ] 3

Chapter 19: Too Much Like Brothers

THANGORODRIM

Finno shut his eyes, trying to remember the bliss of Valinor, but all he could conjure was the same memory over and over and over. There'd been a picnic in the forests near Tirion. Nerdanel had wanted to spend a day with her boys—Nelyo, Káno, and Tyelko—as Fëanáro had increased their hours of study down in the forges. Finno had been invited to come along. He couldn't remember his exact age, but he had been young. Turvo had not yet been born.

While Káno had sat with his mother to demonstrate the newest song he's composed, Nelyo sat against a tree upon the river bank, heckling Tyelko over how far he could swim across. Finno remembered the fire in Tyelko's eyes as he boasted he could reach the far bank with ease.

Finno shivered, pushing himself further against the slightly curved partial shelter in the rocks. He didn't dare try to light a fire here. But by the Valar, did he want one. Biting wind buffeted his hood against the sides of his face. It sounded almost like a thunderstorm, or the crashing waves from whenever Ossë got in a mood. 

His fingers ached as he pulled his cloak closer. He tried to block out the occasional spray of snow that kicked up into his face and dampened not only his clothes, but also his spirit. Finno closed his eyes again.

Tyelko had dived shirtless into the river. Keen to prove his brother wrong, the young man started out into current. Nelyo just smirked as he watched, leaning forward with both hands draped over his propped up knees. Finno had done the same. He copied every movement Nelyo made. He laughed at every joke Nelyo laughed at. 

He remembered how Nelyo had let out a sigh, drawing Finno's attention from graceful strokes of Tyelko's swimming. Finno glanced back, eager to make sure that he wasn't annoyed with him. But Nelyo wasn't. He didn't even look annoyed, really. More amused. But he had cracked a smirk when he met Finno's gaze.

"Just wait, Finno." Nelyo had clapped him on the back. "Someday, you'll have to deal with silly younger siblings."

"Hey!" Tyelko's voice had rung out over the swift current of the river. "You just going to stand there, or can you match me?"

As Finno squeezed his eyes tight against another gust of wind, he remembered the way Nelyo's eyes had sparkled with mischief. His stomach twisted. He had watched Nelyo dive into the water to join Tyelko on the far bank. Káno's music had mixed with his mother's light laugh. There he had sat, alone.

And now he sat alone amongst the crags and boulders of Thangorodrim. The Enemy's foul darkness hid Finno from his sight, but as he was buffeted by sharp wind and icy snow off high peaks, he wished for the sun.

No. He wished for the fullness of Laurelin.

Finno did not like to be alone, not when there were others he could share life with. As he'd sat on the riverbank and watched Nelyo and Tyelko share laughter and playful insults, he felt adrenaline fill his body. He had stood half Nelyo's height, and Nelyo hadn't been able to stand in the center. The river would be difficult to cross.

But he had to do it. Finno wanted to be like them. Finno wanted to be like him.

Prince Nelyafinwë Maitimo, beloved by the people for the power of his voice, mild tempered but unyielding, joyful but attentive to the needs of the Noldor, Finno wished to be even half the leader his cousin was.

He hadn't expected the water to be so cold. He hadn't expected it to be so fast. The current wrapped around his ankles, his chest, dragging him down stream as he fought against it. He struggled for air. He thrashed at the surface.

Icy fear shot through him. Finno couldn't see beyond the blur of the river. He couldn't hear his own screams. 

Strong arms had wrapped around his midsection. Red hair filled his mouth as he was slung over a shoulder, forced above the waves. Before he realized what had happened, he found himself on the grass of the river bank. Finno coughed and sputtered, Nelyo and Tyelko both staring down at him in concern.