Findekáno the Valiant by oshun

Celegorm = Tyelkormo, Turkafinwë
Caranthir = Carnistir

Findekáno knew it was a bad idea. But it was hot and he was bored. He followed Tyelkormo into his aunt and uncle's bedroom. Carnistir tagged along behind. Fëanáro's desk stood in front of the wide windows, much neater than the one in his office next to the forge. Only a few rolled scrolls and a small, stoppered glass vial were visible on its surface.

"Here it is." Tyelkormo picked up the vial filled with clear liquid and held it up triumphantly. "It'll burn through anything. Barely leaves a trace."

"What is it?" Carnistir asked, his mouth dropping open in what Findekáno thought of as his typical expression of stupefied innocence.

"Don't crowd me like that. It's caustic," Tyelkormo said.

"What's caustic?"

Findekáno ruffled Carnistir's hair. "Never mind. He means it will sting really badly if any of it touches your skin."

Maitimo appeared in the doorway, a book under one arm and his perfect eyebrows lifted in suspicion. "What are all of you doing in here? He'll kill you if you mess up anything on his desk."

"Don't worry. He showed me this stuff yesterday. It can make a sheet of parchment dissolve in an instant. Burns wood too, a lot slower. Really impressive." Tyelkormo smirked. "I know exactly what I'm doing."

"Oh, yeah. I just bet you do. Put it down and get out of there. I have to leave now."

After Maitimo left, Tyelkormo screwed up his face into a pinched grimace and said in a mincing, scolding tone, "Put it down and get out of there." He did put the vial down, however.

Then Carnistir pointed to a rolled-up scroll on the desk, "Oh, look. That's Aulë's seal. I know what Aulë's seal looks like."

"Leave it alone," Findekáno warned.

"Whoa," said Tyelkormo. "I better look at that. The seal's already been broken. He'll never know. He threatened last week to send me to study with Aulë if I didn't start applying myself."

"Could be worse," Findekáno said, cackling. "He should send you to study with Rúmil. That I would love to see. ‘A, duh, what's a sarat, sir?' or, more likely, ‘Why should I learn this stupid crap. My atto made a better set.' Heh. How about: ‘Oh, look, there's a bird. Is it time to eat yet?'"

Tyelkormo grabbed Findekáno in a neck hold and pinned him against the desk, cackling madly. "Say ‘uncle,' you skinny freak."

"How can I say anything when you are crushing my windpipe?" Findekáno said, appalled at the squeak in his voice.

"Well, you're talking now, aren't you? Nothing can keep your ugly mug shut. He-he-he!" Tyelkormo whinnied. "Say ‘uncle.'" He let go of Findekáno's neck and started tickling him. "Say ‘uncle.'"

"Hey, no fair. That's dirty fighting."

"Oh, no. Not dirty. Clever. Dirty is the way you look at my oldest brother. Ewww! Say ‘uncle,' freak."

In his peripheral vision, Findekáno saw Carnistir reach for the vial of fluid. "Stop. Uncle."

"Sissy!" Tyelkormo crowed, knocking into Carnistir, causing the boy to drop the vial, which splintered into a thousand pieces.

"Ow-ow-ouch! Amil! Atto! Atto!" Carnistir shrieked, shaking his hand wildly.

"Shut up, Carnistir," Tyelkormo said, picking up his sniffling brother. "It's not even a drop. Spit on it." A thin tendril of bluish smoke floated upwards from the desk.

"You spit on it. You spit on it for me," Carnistir screamed. Tyelkormo drooled on Carnistir's hand.

"Shit. You're dead now," Findekáno said. Fëanáro wouldn't send Tyelkormo to Aulë, or even Rúmil, more likely to the Halls of Mandos, he thought.

"What's going on in here?" Fëanáro burst into the room. He immediately lifted Carnistir and held him to his chest, examining the wounded hand. "It'll be all right, little one. What did your brother do to you this time?"

Apparently, Tyelkormo's saliva had helped. Carnistir's shrieks had turned to sobs.

"The cussic stuff got on me. It was an accident."

"Bloody buggering Aratar, Turkafinwë! Aulë's notes." Little more than a black stain remained on the desk where the scroll from Aulë had rested. "He sent me pages of comments on a theory I mentioned to him and I barely had a chance to glance at them yet."

Tyelkormo withered. It could be a very long summer. Findekáno thought for a moment. Fëanáro had a soft spot for him and was far less invested in how he turned out.

"I am so sorry, Uncle. It was an accident. I needed a pencil and I popped in here to take one from your desk." Findekáno cleared his throat and sighed. "I don't know . . . Maybe we could write Aulë and I could offer to re-copy his notes for you?"

"He should send us his original notes so that Turkafinwë could burn them again or use them to wipe his arse?" Fëanáro snarled, before lowering his voice. "I know you are lying. Findekáno. But I appreciate valor and loyalty to one's friends." He turned and walked out with Carnistir snuggled up against his neck. "Come on, little man, let's go fix your burn."

As soon as Fëanáro was out of hearing range, Tyelkormo started up again, grinning and slapping him on the back. "Oh-oh. Findekáno the Valiant! Hey, seriously, nice work, freak. What do you want? You name it. Want that sling shot I made yesterday, Findekáno the Valiant?"

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