The Words You Left Me by eris_of_imladris

Due Place

Nolofinwë stands before his father, standing still even as he can feel the pure rage emanating from Fëanáro. He wonders what words he will conjure to get out of this, and is shocked when the point of a gleaming silver sword finds its way to his breast, and he is summarily instructed to take his due place.

Has he not taken his place his whole life? Nolofinwë wonders, even as he shuffles past Fëanáro. But he does not lower his eyes in deference, nor does he even whisper an apology. He is too shocked to say anything, too close to the strange phenomenon of death that only Fëanáro’s mother knew to come up with a retort.

He hears Fëanáro following him, and the confidence from before wells up in him again. He yearns to tell Fëanáro that he meant what he said, that he has done nothing but take his due place his whole life, and any scheming or deception Fëanáro has seen is born of his great mind that corrupted all too easily. But he resists the impulse, knowing that he is finally in the right, objectively, and no one will be able to question him if he does not defend himself.

The sword finds him again, Fëanáro’s eyes blazing as he spews more insults, threatens to take his life in front of all of Tirion. Nolofinwë wants to recoil from the hatred he sees in his brother’s eyes, and another part of him yearns to bend the knee right then and there and earn his brother’s love, but he can do no more than walk away. The tears enter his eyes when he is indoors again, the realization hitting him that even with taking his due place, Fëanáro hates him, and may hate him always.

There is a trial soon after, and Fëanáro looks small next to the Valar who preside over his judgment. Nolofinwë finds his voice then, telling his side of the story in the calmest words he can muster, hiding the shaking of his hands inside his long sleeves. The punishment is given, twelve years without Tirion, twelve years in which they will each have time alone to figure out what to do next. There is a possibility here for reconciliation, and Nolofinwë is eager to offer it, feeling guiltier than ever at his words taking Fëanáro out of the home he loves. And yet, the guilt is tempered by the knowledge that he will be able to forge a true bond with his father, for he can be the brightest once Fëanáro is in Formenos.

And yet, he finds himself alone in Tirion as Finwë leaves to follow his favorite son, taking a side Nolofinwë didn’t know could exist any longer. Nolofinwë knows at last that he must never speak against Fëanáro again lest he lose everything, and he takes the task of ruling as a punishment, never stopping to appreciate something that will become an impossibility as soon as Fëanáro’s time is up. And when it is, he appears before the Valar once more, in plain clothes, without the Silmarils, without Finwë. Fëanáro, at last, stands alone.

Nolofinwë offers forgiveness, holding out his hand and promising to always follow Fëanáro’s lead. He takes the high ground as a prince should, and he wonders how Fëanáro will answer this, now that he knows the consequences of treating him with violence.

And Fëanáro, master of languages, meets his sincerity with silence.