The Words You Left Me by eris_of_imladris

Honor

He hears the rumors before he hears Nolofinwë’s words themselves. As he thunders into the throne room, all he can hear is the triumphant call of vindication in his mind: I was right, I was right.

Nolofinwë’s words echo in his ears as if he screamed them. Of all the conniving ways he tried to get close to the father who he resembled too much, Nolofinwë had never gone so far, and Fëanáro had benefitted from his cowardice up to this point. But now, with so much at stake, Nolofinwë was flailing about in throes of treachery, his smug face not even surprised to see Fëanáro there.

The words fuel Fëanáro’s steps forward. Of course, Nolofinwë begins with basic flattery, lauding his father’s accomplishments and power. Finwë usually has little patience for the ones who attempt this method, but for his precious little Nolofinwë, he might listen. Fëanáro’s steps hasten.

Nolofinwë speaks then of two sons to honor Finwë’s words, and Fëanáro stops in his tracks, eyes blown wide as his hand flies to the sword at his hip. It is a natural response, in his mind, to being attacked.

The room is entirely silent, but he hears the words again and again, wounding him deeper than anything before. In front of the entire court, in front of every lord who mattered, Nolofinwë has shown his true colors, and nothing can take back the power that he has given himself. Who is he, to assume such things? And who but a treacherous weasel would speak of someone when they are not there?

And who is he to speak of honor, he who has had everything come to him so easily, who was loved and cared for from the moment of his birth, who was given chances that Fëanáro never had, who was assumed by many to be the rightful High Prince simply because his mother was stronger? Who is he to speak of disadvantage, when he has been on top all this time, without having to shine like the Trees to get noticed? He has no grounds to speak, but Nolofinwë stands his ground, glancing back at his father for the backup he will undoubtedly receive.

Fëanáro appeals to his father with his eyes, and Finwë speaks softly, trying to calm him, but Fëanáro hears nothing but the tone. The words are too soft, not harsh at one who started everything in the first place. The calmness of his words hurts more than the content of Nolofinwë’s, and Fëanáro’s shell shatters as he draws his sword.