Wolf Luck by arafinwean

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Chapter 2

One thing a fractured foot allows is a lot of downtime. So I figured, why not spend that time writing? As such, you get a new chapter!

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Rúmil had always known there was something odd about his friend’s youngest child. Arafinwë always seemed to be watching, a far-off look in his eyes that made it seemed as though he was going through life in a trance. It made his other tutors angry and worried, they claimed that Arafinwë was not listening to their lessons only to have Arafinwë recite what they had taught him without any problems.

Now though, there was no trace of that wide-eyed, dazed expression, as Arafinwë sat in a high back chair in the library. His eyes sharp and considering as Rúmil went on with today's lesson plan.

“Rúmil,” Arafinwë said, his voice low and emotionless, as though he was considering something, “Forgive the deviation from today’s lesson but I have a rather urgent question for you.”

Rúmil raised an eyebrow and placed his hands on the table before him, a concerned expression taking over his face.

“What is it?” Rúmil asked, his voice low and careful.

Arafinwë looked at him, eyes taking in his concerned expression and the looseness of Rúmil’s body.

Rúmil couldn’t help but wonder what the young prince was seeing.

“Can I trust you?” Arafinwë asked, his voice lose and careless despite the serious expression on his face. Were Rúmil anyone else, he would have thought that Arafinwë was asking a question he already knew the answer to. But Rúmil saw the hesitance in Arafinwë’s face, the mask the golden youth wore unable to hide the emotion that shone through his eyes.

Rúmil moved around the table and strode over to Arafinwë to kneel in front of the prince. Rúmil met the eyes of the startled youth and carefully picked up the hand that held the ring bearing the sigil of the house of Finwë all of Finwë’s sons wore.

“My prince,” Rúmil said, fatherly affection coating his voice, “When I swore fealty to your father I told him I would lay down my life for him. I would do no less for you.” 

Arafinwë looked away, “I would not ask that of you.”

“You would not need too,” Rúmil said gently, and Arafinwë turned his head to look at him, “I would do so anyway.”

Determination lit Arafinwë’s eyes, they shone bright silver and gold and Rúmil was breathless as Arafinwë spoke; “None shall die for me,” he said words echoing around them, “I would sooner give my own life than have others lay down their life for me.”

The moment passed as a breeze through water, and what was left was a boy and man staring at each other. For a moment, Rúmil fragility in Arafinwë’s face before it was hidden by a mask of ice.

Rúmil cursed Indis for teaching her son to hide behind layers of masks and lies hidden by polite words. The queen had tried to quell the fire in her son’s heart, to force him into a facade of icy authority. Whether he knew it or not Arafinwë had stopped that by simply being himself.

Rúmil would not have him any other way. This boy made wiser than his years by the cruel words of others, by the coldness his own mother showed him, was someone Rúmil would follow just as he would follow Arafinwë’s brothers Rúmil would follow Arafinwë.

“Why ask such a question?” Rúmil asked, his voice gentle as he rubbed comforting circles on Arafinwë’s hands.

Arafinwë shifted in his seat, the light of Laurelin casting shadows from the great library shelves onto his face. 

It was true that Arafinwë was a fair youth, his eyes shining like gems from where they were set in his face, his golden hair rarely held back cascaded down one of his shoulders. In that moment Finwë’s third son looked every bit a king his father did.

Arafinwë cast his gaze about the library as if to ensure they were thoroughly hidden by stacks of books and paper before letting out a heavy sigh.

“There is something I must show you,” Arafinwë admitted, and Rúmil raised an eyebrow at his words, “It is a secret of sorts.”

“I will not betray you.”

Silence, a stillness reached them for but a moment before Arafinwë nodded. Taking his hand from Rúmil Arafinwë held his hand high and a barrage of color and imagery burst forth. 

Dancing figures made their way through the area the two were enclosed in. Fields of wildflowers bloomed and forests took root as Rúmil watched with widened eyes. It was as though he was seeing the essence of spring come out of Arafinwë’s hand. It was only Laurelin’s light that reminded him of where they were.

Of the danger, Arafinwë would be in.

“Enough!” Rúmil snapped, harsher than he meant too and the arrays of colors dissipated at once, meeting Arafinwë’s frightened gaze Rúmil forced himself calm.

“You cannot show such things to people,” he said, voice shaking, “No matter who they are. You cannot show them this.”

“Why?” Arafinwë’s voice was cool as a breeze before a storm, “Is it because people such as me were struck from the records?”

Rúmil feels his heartbreak. His prince should not know this, should not know how the names of those who crossed into Aman with magic in their veins died slowly. Rúmil’s sister had been one of them, she had hung on longer than most but had succumbed in the end.

The Ainur had taken their magic, they were told, payment for allowing the Quendi into their lands. They were told that their loved ones were resting in the Halls, that it would take some time for them to reembody. 

It had been centuries, and yet Rúmil had still not seen his sister.

Arafinwë had done nothing to deserve this, he did not deserve the fate the highest of the Valar would deal him if they knew about his magic. Arafinwë was a child still, yet that would matter little in the eyes of those who would wish him harm.

Arafinwë would not be a danger. The Valar would have no reason to seal his magic away because they would never find out Arafinwë had magic in the first place.

Rúmil would ensure it.

“How did you find out?” Rúmil asked, his voice quiet even in the library, “We burned any mention of them.”

“There’s a fine line between legend and history,” Arafinwë replied, “Neither you or your contemporaries thought to hide the truth very well.”

Rúmil raised an eyebrow.

“There was also a note,” Arafinwë added hesitantly, “I found it in a book I took from the library, it mentioned someones sister having their magic sealed. Upon further research, I could find no references to such an event happening. All references to magic were either found in dissertations on the Ainur or in folklore.”

A harsh laugh escaped Rúmil’s throat. Leave it Nécano to leave notes buried in books. The silver-haired man was always a trickster, always refused to leave well enough alone.

“I believe it’s time you met someone,” Rúmil said.

“Who?”

“The late queen's brother.”

_____

Nécano was a pale man. His hair shone silver and his eyes were white save for the pupil. His skin the color of freshly fallen snow he was a stark contrast to Arafinwë.

When Arafinwë and Rúmil arrived at his residence, the pale man took one look at Arafinwë and raised his brow.

“It seems you brought me a wolf,” Nécano said, amused.

“He found your note.”

“Then he has found something he shouldn’t have. Unless he’s willing to face the consequences of such knowledge.”

“Should I be denied knowledge of my history?” Arafinwë asked, a single golden eyebrow raised, “If I am to die, I should be at least told why.”

Nécano froze, eyes staring at Arafinwë as though the young prince was a ghost.

White eyes darted to Rúmil.

“He has the gift then?”

Rúmil nodded, “He does.”

Nécano laughed, harsh and feral.

“Come in,” Nécano said, gesturing to the door of his villa, “We should discuss this inside.”

____

Nécano, Arafinwë thought, is an odd man. Beset by the grief of losing his sister or something else. Perhaps it was his homeland Nécano mourned, knowing that he would never see the shores of his home again. Perhaps he mourned both the passing of his sister and the loss of his homeland at the same time.

But the man was knowledgeable, and Arafinwë could appreciate that. So he sat and listened as Nécano told them of how Mírel had been hale in body if not mind upon arriving in Aman, of how her strength faded with time. Of how determined she was to give life to her son that she carried on even though she should have been dead by then.

Nécano told him of how the Ainur had forced them to give up their magic. How they told them that there was no need for such a weapon in their lands. Too caught up in what he was being told Arafinwë didn’t inject that magic wasn’t necessarily a weapon.

“The Ainur think those with magic a threat,” he observed, “That we could take their power from them should we wish.” Arafinwë open his mouth to continue but-

There’s a wind roaring in his ears, screams of outrage echo behind him as he fell from the sky and into the open sea. His own laughter rang in his ears just as the waves swallowed him.

“ Arafinwë!” Rúmil exclaimed, reaching over and shaking Arafinwë out of his trance, “Arafinwë-”

“I’m fine,” Arafinwë cut him off, the dazed expression sliding off his face to be replaced with a mask of politeness, “Fine.”

“What did you see?”

Arafinwë smiled grimly, “My death.”

Stunned silence met his response.

“Do you fade, little wolf?” Nécano asked, his head tilted to the side.

“No,” Arafinwë replied, “I fall.”
______

Arafinwë grew older, and though his strength in magic grows, nothing else changed. Nolofinwë still fretted over his well being, his father paid little attention to him, and Rúmil and Nécano became fathers to him in their own right.

He learned much from them, even as they learned from him and each other.

When asked what he thought of Arafinwë’s father, Nécano had laughed a sad laugh.

“When you are older,” he promised, his eyes far off, “When you are older I will tell you.”
_______

Arafinwë was almost of age when he met Eärwen. He spied the princess making dancers of water float through the air as he stumbled into a seaside cavern to escape the noise the ongoing festival brought.

The dancers fell to the floor in an act of rain as Eärwen stopped suddenly as she noticed the prince.

“Peace,” Arafinwë said raising his hands. 

Eärwen narrowed her eyes and Arafinwë let dancers of light erupt from his palms.

_______

Years pass, and Arafinwë failed to fall even as his magic continued to grow. The gold prince could manipulate all four elements as well as light by now. Were they not in Aman, Rúmil had little doubt that Arafinwë would be on the front lines, protecting their people.

Still, Rúmil worried for the youngest prince. They had grown only closer over the years, so close that there were times that Nécano teased them of being father and son.

It was true that Rúmil thought of Arafinwë as a child he would never have, for Finwë himself held little interest in what his youngest did and as such Arafinwë came to the loremaster often for advice.

Yet as he was there watching his former student get married he thought for a moment that everything might turn out alright.

He didn’t know how wrong he was.