Mirror Image by Tyelca

Chapter 1

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“Curufinwë?” Fëanáro softly knocked on the door that was already slightly ajar. “Can I come in?”
From where he stood near the window, watching out over the sprawling city of Tirion, Curufinwë nodded almost imperceptibly. Fëanáro saw and pushed the door further open as he entered. He closed it again and took a chair from the dining table, sitting on it backwards so that he could rest his arms on the back. “What troubles you, my son?”
“Nothing, father. I was just lost in thought.”
“You must have been lost in thought for quite some time then,” Fëanáro remarked. After a short hesitation, Curufinwë answered. “I suppose I am.” From Fëanáro’s viewpoint he could not see his son’s face; the faint silver light of Telperion and the bright stars illuminated the dark tresses of hair, so like his own. It broke his heart to see his son so subdued, so drawn into himself.
“Will you tell me about it?” If Curufinwë wanted to keep his secrets, Fëanáro would allow him to do so; still, he hoped his son would confide in him. “I cannot help you if I don’t know what occupies your thoughts.” He did not draw closer to his fifth child; he knew Curvo would not appreciate the invasion of his space. Sometimes it scared him how similar his son was to him, but in other moments, like this one, he thanked Ilúvatar for knowing how to deal with his son in distress. It was so much easier to interpret Curufinwë’s little gestures, for it was exactly what he would’ve done himself. It was more difficult to read his other children, but he had quickly memorized all their telltales too.
Curufinwë sighed and finally turned around. His face was drawn and his eyes were dull. “Sleep evades me, father, and I know why, but I cannot do anything to improve the circumstances.” He took another chair and sat down, on the opposite side of the table. “It’s about Telperinquar.”
Fëanáro resisted the urge to interrupt him, or to go check up on his grandchild. He trusted Curufinwë was a good father, and he had seen the evidence many times. By remaining seated, he showed that trust. Curufinwë knew. “Thank you, father.”
His son sighed as he leaned back. “There is nothing wrong with Tyelpë. He’s as happy and as healthy as could be.” Fëanáro waited, knowing there was more to come. Curufinwë looked away when he mumbled the next words. “I just wish he would not be an only child.”
Fëanáro controlled his reaction, outwardly not showing his shock and concern. “And why is that?” he asked softly. Curufinwë was staring at the window like it was the first time he saw Varda’s stars. His voice was monotone when he spoke again and Fëanáro recognized it as the result of suppressed emotion. “I cannot imagine growing up alone… and I want Tyelpë to have the best youth I can give.”
“And you think having siblings is the key to ensuring he has?” Fëanáro couldn’t quite contain the pang of hurt from his voice; of course Curufinwë noticed it. “No, I did not mean it like that,” he hastened to add.
Fëanáro closed his eyes for a moment. Of course his son did not mean it like that; and he knew better than to let every reference to Finwë and Indis drag up the feelings of hurt and abandonment. Especially when he himself had seven children. “Sometimes,” Fëanáro began, “it is better not to have siblings. In my case, I wished I remained a single child. You know the story, so I won’t bother you with the details again. But know that, from the viewpoint of a child, the parent’s attention is split in half. Especially if there is an age difference; young children need much more attention that older ones.”
“I know, father, but I did not have any trouble in that area.” Fëanáro laughed, and the mood lifted. “At least one thing I’ve done right,” he said. He grew serious again. “But that’s all I ever wanted for you all, to be truthful. I wanted to be there for you when you needed me, nevermind the time or circumstances. I wanted to be a father first, and everything else is infinitely less important. I am serious, Curufinwë,” Fëanáro spoke. “Just be there for Tyelpë when he needs you, and everything will be alright.”
Curufinwë was silent for a moment, absorbing his father’s words. Fëanáro cocked his head. “That is not the only reason, is it?” he asked. Curufinwë shook his head weakly, staring straight outside, as if he was afraid to lose the control he so tightly maintained over his body.
“We tried, but we cannot get another child. I’m… just not good enough. Not like you,” he brought out. A sob almost broke his voice.
Fëanáro’s breath was a sharp intake, the sound harsh even to his own ears.
He stood and rounded the table until he was directly in front of his son. He knelt down and searched Curvo’s eyes. “Never believe such things,” he said, willing the words to penetrate into his son’s mind. “Never believe you are not good enough, my son.” Fëanáro saw the grey eyes glisten dangerously, so he rose and put his arms around Curufinwë, embracing him. He stroked his child’s back and hair when Curufinwë put his head on his father’s shoulder and waited patiently as soft sobs rocked the adult body in his arms. His tunic became wet with tears, but Fëanáro did not care. He was reminded of the time when little Curvo was still small enough that he could effortlessly pick him up and swing him around. It never failed to make Curvo laugh, but those were happier times, when none of his children had grown up yet, when even Nelyafinwë, who was now taller than him, barely reached his waist.
“Did you know,” Fëanáro said softly, “that your mother and I agreed, long before Nelyo was born, that when we would get children, she would give them a name suitable to their character, and I would give them one that represented their prowess, their interests and their skills. Your mother did not name you ‘Little Father’ because she saw me in you, though she definitely did, Atarinkë.” Fëanáro used the name his wife had given the child in his arms deliberately. Curufinwë had long since made clear he preferred to be called by his fathername, something Fëanáro respected. Now he wondered if that too had been an expression of Curvo’s mental anguish, if this tragedy did indeed reach so far back. He did not think this was the time to question his child, however, so he continued talking. “She named you so for another reason entirely. She knew, even when you were only a few days old, that you would make an excellent father.” Fëanáro chuckled. “It was very strange, having a newborn in my arms and her talking about how this little baby would one day have his own children. But she knew. From your birth on, she knew you would make an excellent father.”
Curufinwë’s sobs had turned into soft sniffs, but Fëanáro kept stroking his back. He knew his fifth son needed the comfort; he was glad to give it. It had been a long time since he’d had any reason to comfort his children, most often after a bad dream or an unpleasant fall.
“Ssh,” Fëanáro shushed. He did not know how long he sat with his son in his arms, but time had never interested him. Even after Curufinwë became silent Fëanáro did not let him go. Eventually he pushed his son only as far away so that he could look into Curufinwë’s eyes. “I did not name you Curufinwë because you were the same as I. You were only just born; how could I have known how you would turn out to be? I just knew, when I held you in my arms for the first time, that you would one day become a great craftsman, and not just in the literal sense of the word. You care for the things in your charge, shape them and guide them to become the greatest they could possible be.” He paused to let his words sink in. “Do you understand, Curufinwë?”
“Yes, I think so,” his son answered hesitatingly.
“If Telperinquar is the only child you’ll ever have, then that is fine, my son. If, in the future, you do get more children, then that is fine too. Love them for who they are, not for with how many they are. That’s all you can do, and all you have to do.”
“But everyone expects me to be like you,” Curufinwë pointed out, his voice still thick.
Fëanáro let out a breath. “Their expectations do not dictate your life, my son. Remember that. And I can promise you that your mother and your brothers never wanted you to be a copy of me, and I am certain a many others don’t want that for you as well.”
Curufinwë nodded and wriggled out of Fëanáro’s arms. Fëanáro smiled as he saw his son regain his composure.
“Look at me, my son,” Fëanáro said. Curufinwë did. “I do not, and did not ever, want for you to be a reflection of myself, Curufinwë. When I look at you, I can see all the best parts of me, shining back a thousand times brighter. You are my example, my son, and I am proud to be your father.”

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Chapter End Notes

Fëanáro is Fëanor, obviously, Curufinwë is Curufin, Tyelpë, short for Telperinquar, is Celebrimbor and Nelyo, short for Nelyafinwë, is Maedhros.