From good to bad by Aprilertuile

This year, upon joining the Hunt for the season again, Tyelkormo had brought his twin brothers. So far it has had mixed results. 

Mixed in that they weren’t bad hunters, and integrated easily enough the bulk of the elven hunters of Oromë, they got along well with their cousin Irissë here, however they still clung to their childish notion of fun and whereas at home it hurt pretty much no one, here, it was a problem. 

It had let to more disputes than Tyelkormo appreciated in this instance. 

And so that’s why he was once again looking for his twin brothers. They had seemingly disappeared again, and every time they did, it heralded troubles somehow. 

Tyelkormo was quite sure that neither Carnistir nor Curufinwë had ever been half as troublesome as those two. 

He found them sitting in a clearing just on the outside of Oromë’s home with Irissë and Taurhoswë, a common friend who lived permanently with the Hunt. 

“There you are, Troubles.” Tyelkormo said upon finding them. 

“We’re not causing trouble.” One of the twins said. 

“Nor are we in trouble.” The second added.

“If anything YOU are in trouble.” They both noted. 

“Oh? Care to elaborate, Troubles?” Tyelkormo said amused. 

“The twins know you well, that’s all.” Irissë intervened.

“… And that leads me to be in trouble… How?”

“You have faith in Oromë.”

“That… Is not exactly new.” 

“No, brother. You have actual faith. It’s not that you like him or like it here. You actually believe in a Vala. Dad is going to hit the roof for that one.”

“Oh, darling brother, how easily you forget that if dad learns of that little detail, he’ll forbid every single one of us to get back to Oromë. You very much included. You want to keep your freedom? You keep my secret. So if you put me in trouble with dad, you’ll get into it as well. Understood?”

The twins exchanged a look at that:

“He wouldn’t?”

“Wouldn’t he? Tell me, where is little Tyelpe learning his craft now?”

“With… his father and dad?”

“Yeah, and why is Tyelpe learning his craft at home instead of, say, with Aulë?”

The twins exchanged a look again and deflated: 

“Because mom told dad that she had faith in Aulë when he finally noticed her little shrine in her workshop, and they got into an argument over faith of all things.” One of them said, unhappy. 

“Indeed. So who exactly is in trouble, dear brothers?”

“Us all if dad realises you belong to Oromë.”

“Exactly.”

“You’re very annoying, you know that?” Ambarussa grumbled. 

“Thank you, little dove, I try.”

“Stop calling me that, it’s ridiculous.” 

“Why do you even have faith ? Dad says faith is ridiculous beliefs of ignorant minds.” 

“And mom says there’s no harm in faith and it’s only the problem of those who do have faith. And are you calling me ignorant, you pests? As I recall I have two masteries over you AND I’m a better hunter so far. If anything, the ignorant ones are the ones who repeat the words of someone else without thinking about what it means in any given context!” Tyelkormo snapped. 

“Your masteries are cheating! You passed them by helping Curufinwë and Carnistir with their class work so of course you have an advantage.”

They both looked alarmed at the growl of anger that escaped their brother at that. 

“I, not our parents, and not our elder siblings, helped our brothers with their lessons when I DIDN’T actually follow those classes and you call it CHEATING when I understood enough of it on my own to be an actual help to our brother and pass those same masteries? You, little ignorant lazy pests who barely bothered to pass a single mastery? And the same one at that? Who do you think you are exactly to throw judgement at me over your own inherited illogical prejudices?”

Fuming, Tyelkormo stormed away. 

May they get eaten by a bear on the next hunt. 

“You don’t truly want this, my little hunter,” was the thought that came floating in his mind in Oromë’s amused voice. 

“Perhaps not but I still want a refund. Little brothers are a pest upon this world and should be eradicated. Garden pests may have their use, but sibling pests do NOT!”

He could feel amused laughter though there was nothing to be heard around him, and nothing to see, save a maia in owl form that turned toward him at that. 

“Why does the concept of siblings even exist, Tilion? We really don’t need them.”

The owl, Tilion, emitted a hoot of laughter and closed his eyes as if sleeping.

Tyelkormo raised his hands in a gesture of annoyance and just kept walking. The woods had always been comforting to be in, peaceful even. 

Several hours had passed when Irissë managed to find him near the river that crossed Oromë’s domain. 

“They’ll help hide it from your father.” She told him straight away.

“Will they?”

“I managed to talk them into understanding it’s in their best interest indeed despite your little useless spat. You Fëanárions are all a nightmare to deal with, just so you know.” She said unimpressed. 

“Well, thank you, Irissë.”

“Yes, well, some of us understand the concept of faith, you know, and some of our parents are actually encouraging and not condemning any matter of interest of their children.”

“Yes, yes, I know, your parents are absolutely perfect, which is why last year they betrothed you to an elf you had to humiliate in court to escape from. I see how perfectly accepting they are. No really, they’re so very accepting and listen so attentively.”

“The… Betrothal was more Grand-father’s doing than my parents. Also after I humiliated the elf at court grand-father agreed to stay out of my dating life, thank you very much.”

“It’s Finwë’s choice that it happened, and your parents’ choice to let it happen. Irissë, none of our parents are perfect. My father just happens to be more vocal than most but it doesn’t make him specifically worse on every point. For instance when Grand-father tried to find a wife for each one of us too, dad told him off and stopped it in its tracks. He’s not wholly bad. Just… Stubborn and prejudiced on some very strange subjects.”

“I’d like to point out that you’re the one fearing what he’ll do if he learns how far your so-called ‘friendship’ with Oromë goes.” 

“Yeah, well, I’m not Findis. I can’t see myself abandoning my family for my faith.”

“If your family’s the one pushing you away for it…”

“So far it’s been working as I want it to, no need to abandon either. I can even teach my people to respect the laws of the Hunt when out hunting and dad says nothing of it.”

“Did he even notice your shenanigans?”

“Eh. It’s just good practice if he asks. Oromë’s not… Following him doesn’t require stupid shit that makes no sense. Every single rule can be explained and explained well.”

She snorted in amusement at that. 

“It makes sense to you, not everything makes sense to everyone else. I do pick and choose with rules to keep when I’m out of the Wood, as do every other hunter out there. It’s just Oromë’s chosen hunters who keep them all.”

“One could argue we’re his chosen hunters because we do see the sense of upholding his rites and laws, not the other way around.”

She elbowed him in the ribs at that:

“You know well what I meant.”

“I know. It takes effort to follow him, as everything worth knowing does.”

“By the way, you have three masteries? The fuck with that?”

“Four. Linguistics, Animal Languages, Mathematics and Trade.”

“Linguistic like all of you feanorians.”

“Yes.”

“Animal Languages I knew already.”

“I’m trying to convince Makalaurë to give it a try but my brother prefers to serenade the girl of his dreams who seems completely oblivious.” Tyelkormo said looking aggravated at that, making his cousin cackle. 

“Seriously?”

“Yes. She’s a woodworker, she’s pretty good at what she does.”

“Ugh Fëanorians. How about you describe her before you describe her craft to me?” Irissë complained. 

“Small, quick, nice voice, atrocious accent, clear hair but not straight up blond, green eyes… very patient when working, very not patient with customers, which tends to amuse me to no end but also one of Carnistir’s teachers would have had a stroke if confronted with her attitude.”

Irissë snorted in amusement at that. 

“So the right temper to deal with you lot, and skilled or none of you would have ever noticed her, and she doesn’t bother with the classical quenya that you lot love. Got it.”

“And to go back to our initial subject, Mathematics for Curvo, and Trade for Carni. That one in particular was a plague. Mathematics at least I could see the sense of.”

"Why didn't we know you have four masteries? We know all the masteries of your brothers, your father made a celebration out of each one somehow."

"I don't even know if he realises I have those. I didn't quite tell him after the hm... quite epic argument we had about my lack of academic interests. I didn't want to give him hopes and plunge myself into a nightmare of further academic pursuits." 

"I need to ask, how did it happen at all if your parents don't know."

"I'm pretty sure it's all Curufinwë's fault. He arranged everything, including on the financial side, to add me to the exam session than him and later Carni, and you know how it is when one of my siblings says : 'I bet I can do it better than you...' I can't help it."

"And did they?" Irissë asked, laughing. 

"Of course they did. It's a subject they were both passionate about while it's just a subject I learnt incidentally to help them get better at it. I just passed it, they got it with all due honor, the poor elves."

She laughed at that.

"Your siblings know you too well."

"Alas, they do."

“Dare claim it was useless?” She taunted him.

“One, if I did, Carni would skin me alive, so no thanks and two… It did help me simplify the process of dealing with my side of the family’s politics, but I still wouldn’t call it interesting.”

“Afraid of your little brother, Tyelko?” Irissë cackled. 

“Have you met Carnistir?”

She just laughed at him for it. 

They stayed by the river, chatting until Tyelkormo rose to his feet, offering her his hand:

“Hm?”

“Our lord Oromë will soon gather us all.”

“Your lord, thanks. I’m just a free spirit who enjoys riding with the Hunt.”

And the horn of the Vala rang in the forest, calling all of his hunters back to him. Irissë shook her head, irritated:

“Your connection to him will one day stop being unnoticeable if you keep doing that you know.”

“And one day I’m sure dad will have come to his senses.”

“That’d be the day.” Irissë snorted.

All truths be told, if some of his brothers and their father seemed to suffer to be in exile… Tyelkormo didn’t find it so bad. Tirion was a viper pit at the best of times, and the less time he had to spend there, the better he felt. 

Since none of the courtiers felt like speaking against their king, most of them were just useless spineless cowards unable to do their job properly. Honestly, Tyelkormo wished luck to his half uncles to deal with that one. Finwë had turned the court into a passive mockery of what court should be, in Tyelkormo’s opinion. 

Not that he’d voice it. His father would hit the roof if he did. For some reason, he was more and more paranoid and with little to no reason. 

He may have little social grace when compared to Makalaurë and Maitimo who were the darlings of anywhere they chose to go, but he wasn’t ignorant either, and so far a few rumours that could be quickly dispelled were nothing to fear. 

Well, to be fair, his father’s prediction had come to pass technically, but Tyelkormo wasn’t blind. If his father had been less ill-tempered, nothing would have happened at all. Nothing COULD have happened at all. Finwë did pass laws that ensured the court’s complete immobility after all. 

“So deep in thoughts, my little hunter.”

Tyelkormo smiled:

“Yes well… I’m just wondering how the diplomats of the family are going to manage to repair the situation this time around.”

“Oh? Not going to try it yourself?”

The blond elf snorted, turning toward Oromë: 

“No thank you. I lack tact and frankly everyone’s at fault here and everyone deserves a serious time out, starting with grand-father.”

“Strangely enough I doubt we can exile the whole royal family of the noldor.” Oromë commented wryly. 

“Pity that.”

Oromë smiled at that. He was well aware of his young hunter’s general opinion on the court and the noldor’s leadership.

“Would you really want everyone to come to Formenos?”

Tyelkormo’s eloquent grimace spoke for him. 

“By the way, isn’t Formenos a bit out of your usual way, my lord?” He asked, changing the subject from this vision of horror. 

“Just a step sideway to a Vala, my Tyelkormo. Not that big of a stretch to see a friend. How’s your father adjusting?”

“I do believe you forgot you were asking after my father. The elf who feels you lot wronged him by just generally existing in his vicinity.”

Oromë emitted a sound that meant everything and nothing and Tyelkormo sighed slightly. 

“Honestly, I’m more worried about the repercussions of Grand-Father’s actions. He should never have followed us here. Better that he stayed in Tirion.”

“Oh?”

“His coming confirmed Dad’s worst fears about his place in the line of succession, as if we need one of those anyway. We’re elves and on Valinor, and the chance of Finwë of all people abdicating is abysmally low, so his need of an heir is non-existent. If he had stayed in power in Tirion he could have just kept going as usual ignoring his councillors and the rest of the family while not filling any paperwork to change his heir. Instead he chose to show support to dad, and came… Leaving the crown to uncle Nolofinwë.” 

Oromë tilted his head sideways. 

“I would have thought he’d appreciate his father’s support.”

“He appreciates the support, but it does mean that uncle Nolo became the de facto available heir to the crown and king of the Noldor. Let’s just say that dad is not taking that well at all.”

“You elves are complicated.” Oromë complained. 

“Nah, it’s just the family that’s insanely stupid about stupid things.” Tyelkormo sighed. 

“You included?”

“Not about the crown or rank, as you well know. I have merely other interests to draw my ire.”

Oromë muttered something about elves of the line of Finwë, and the fair haired elf looked at him sideways: 

“I heard that!”

“You were meant to.”

They soon separated, Vala or not, Oromë did have duty and other people to see to, and if Tyelkormo came back home without the promised game or hunting plan, he knew he’d hear of it until… Oh, about the end of eternity or until he snapped and murdered his brothers. Accidentally of course.

It took not long, a few weeks no more, before Tyelkormo came to the conclusion that exile would be perfect if he was alone there. The fortress was a mess of tension, anger and suspicion. 

Sadly, the more he avoided the fortress out of desperation himself, the more his father was becoming suspicious about his absences as well. It was ridiculous; they were in FORMENOS in the middle of nowhere! It’s not like he could use his absence from the fortress to go to Tirion and… Somehow betray his father in some way!

He wasn’t even the one getting letters from that damn city! That was Maitimo and Makalaurë. 

And just because he was usually riding with Oromë’s hunters before this whole mess started didn’t mean that he went to find Him, or indeed would find Him even if he did look, every time he went out in the wild. They only met that one time for the love of…

It was overall pretty insulting to be treated with suspicion by his own father just because he kept to the rites and laws of the hunt taught by Oromë. It was good practice! What was he supposed to do? Become a less effective hunter just because their father decided that all Valar were a worthless species out to ruin his life? What would be the stupid point?!

Needless to say, more than once already, Maitimo and Finwë had had to separate his father and him during agitated disputes on the matter. Someone was going to die before the end of this if that continued. 

For two long years they stayed there with little to no interactions with their kin.

It had led them to explosive arguments, Tyelkormo hadn’t thought it was possible to equal the arguments that Curufinwë and Fëanáro had during Curufinwë’s teenage years but somehow they still had collectively managed. 

It was Makalaurë’s music. 

It was Nerdanel’s absence.

It was Curufinwë and Fëanáro’s diverging views on a matter of forging pursuits. 

It was his own view of the valar and relation to Oromë. 

Cleaning was also a source of regular argument, with Huan who was shedding and carrying things inside to play. 

Letters were an all too usual source of howling dispute and horror thrown at one another’s faces. 

Tyelkormo was longing to leave Formenos again to ride with Oromë’s hunters. His presence here did nothing to help. Indeed, it seems that every day he and his father argued, just because he didn’t believe the Valar were just out to destroy this family while his father was convinced of it.

Or because Tyelkormo treated Huan as a dear friend gifted by Oromë, another friend.

He loved his father, he did. But Illuvatar be witness, the elf could beat a dead donkey in matters of stubbornness and paranoia. 

Tyelkormo clearly wasn’t the only one deserving of a name that warned of his quick temper, his father was far more deserving of it!

Tyelkormo was in his room, windows opened, Huan longing on the bed the big nuisance, when the sound of his father’s voice attracted his attention: “Get thee gone from my gate, thou jail-crow of Mandos!” followed swiftly by the heavy sound of the entrance door closing. 

He closed his own window and went to the living-room where he knew he’d find at least two of his siblings and Finwë. 

His father was there before he arrived, face red of anger, while everyone else seemed curious as to what raised his ire this time around. 

“Melkor was here.” Tyelkormo said from the door. 

“He wanted the Silmarils. Offered my freedom. Just a trick. Again.”

“What happened?”

“I closed the door on him. That Vala of Might and Failure deserved it.” Fëanáro snorted dismissively. 

Finwë looked pale at the first mention of Melkor, but he was starting to look worryingly so to Tyelkormo’s eyes. 

Finwë wrote a message in haste, to send to Manwë against the dismissive protestations of Fëanáro. 

“Don’t you see the danger?! Haven’t you realised yet that this isn’t a game?!” Finwë finally snapped at him. 

Tyelkormo just looked as his father left the room, furious, probably going to gaze at the Silmarils again. He shook his head.

His father’s obsession with his own creations needed to stop. Once upon a time his father would have been the first to devise a plan to protect the fortress against Melkor… 

“Tyelkormo, Tyelkormo, can you call a bird? We need to send this message as quickly as possible.”

“I can but…”

“An elf will go too, but a bird might be quicker.”

“I’ll have a bird for you.”

Not like it was hard, he had his hunting birds available already. He just needed to convince one to bear a message instead of hunting. 

The bird left, and didn’t come back. 

Soon they received word from that Oromë and Tulkas were gone after Melkor… 

And it was Tyelkormo’s turn to worry. 

Oromë wouldn’t take his elven hunters with him, not on such hunts against such a foe, but his Maiar, certainly yes. 

Would they all come back unscathed? Would Oromë come back safely even? Melkor was a formidable foe. Some of the maiar of Oromë still bore marks of their previous fights with Melkor, marks that their shape shifting abilities never hid. Marks that he only saw because they let him see admittedly but still…

That night, after receiving the news, instead of listening to how this hunt was bound to fail because all Valar were terrible at what they did, from his own father, who didn’t see the hypocrisy of his words seeing he had himself apprenticed with Aulë and was pretty happy with what he had learnt there in the first place, Tyelkormo slipped outside the fortress and walked to the nearby poor woods. 

He closed his eyes, leaning against a tree, and then walked to where he had left a hastily built shrine to Oromë, within the woods. A very familiar sight to him, comforting if perhaps useless. 

He took a look behind him at the imposing fortress of Formenos, and then stopped at the shrine to Oromë he had made some times ago.

It wasn't a grand permanent shrine, but it was his and practical. 

He stayed there a while, thinking of the Hunt. 

He didn't pray. He rarely did. And he'd rather not distract Oromë anyway seeing he'd be the one to receive it in the first place. 

But he needed to think and he felt better outside by the Shrine, than inside hearing how all valar and maiar were useless and helpless and a plague on society set against their family. 

To Mandos with his father’s prejudices. They were different, certainly, but Oromë and his maiar were first and foremost his friends. 

It took long days, but Tyelkormo ended up finding his bird at his window with a letter at its leg : the hunt was over, and had failed.

Melkor seemed to have gone toward Araman, and to have hidden well. 

To Tyelkormo it seemed that Melkor somehow managed to organise himself well. It would be impressive if it wasn’t so threatening to them all. 

If only Manwë had not freed his cursed brother… 

More years passed, and nothing changed. Exile was just as mind-numbingly irritating as ever:

-Maitimo and his peace-keeping tentative deserved either a medal or a swift exile from Formenos, either or.

-Makalaurë’s harp would end up meeting a swift and tragic end if he kept singing at odd hours in the corridor in front of Tyelkormo’s room.

-Curufinwë… Probably needed to come out of his study for some air at times but there were battles Tyelkormo refused to bother starting for the certainty of losing.

-Carnistir was somehow the reason the whole family could still continue their trade from Formenos, and how Carnistir managed that, Tyelkormo had no clue whatsoever.

-And finally Ambarussa needed a babysitter and he did NOT volunteer. They were insanely bored and seemed well decided to make it everyone else’s problem. 

Not that Tyelkormo regretted coming. Between that and a cesspit of politics that couldn’t possibly change, ever, because Finwë had been an extremely stubborn leader who picked and chose his councillors to suit him instead of suiting their duties, in his not-so-humble opinion, Tyelkormo knew which punishment he preferred, and it wasn’t Tirion. 

Though that certitude found itself challenged indeed when he was called to his father’s living-room. Again. 

If it was again complaints about the shrine to Oromë he had made in the woods after a hunt that went particularly well at the start of their exile, he was going to scream and throw something at his father this time. 

And if this was about Huan then he would just leave Formenos and leave them in exile alone. He'd go back to the Hunt, there at least there would be less arguments over stupid things. 

All his brothers were coming. Half of them were already in the room when he arrived. Finwë and Fëanáro joining them soon:

“I will be straight to the point: I received a summon.”

“A summon?” Makalaurë asked. 

“To Taniquetil, yes.”

Tyelkormo briefly wondered if it was truly a summon or a nicely worded invitation, though Finwë’s own face of anger seemed to indicate that it was indeed a summon. 

Well, rude. 

Though a summon to Taniquetil this time would only come from Manwë, so what else could be expected really? Manwë was… Different. More distant than Oromë or Aulë ever were and Tyelkormo stayed convinced that the Vala just didn’t understand social cues. And coming from him, that said a lot.

“I understand your distaste, but I can’t help but feel that to ignore it would be… unwise.” Maitimo said.

“I am not a pet or a servant to be so summoned at the will of a master!” Fëanáro spat.

Their exile was never going to end, Tyelkormo could just feel it.

“As I told you, it would be wise to follow through and perhaps see if there’s hopes of reconciliation! Only Melkor wished to see us all so separated!” Finwë argued.

That alone surprised Tyelkormo, Finwë wasn’t usually known to be willing do or say much to antagonize Fëanáro.

If they were honest two minutes, by going with his eldest son in exile from Tirion, Finwë tried to please his eldest son, and only proved he didn’t care much what happened to his other children.

The first rule Tyelkormo ever learnt with the Hunt and with every hunter ever: If you have a weapon in hand you don’t point it toward anything and anyone you do not want to kill.

Finwë knew to hunt. Fëanáro knew to hunt. Neither had great love for it but both could do it. So it was pretty safe to say they both knew the rule… And both disregarded completely what it meant that Fëanáro was so ready to pull a weapon against a half-brother.

Not that he was taking Nolofinwë’s side, but he could acknowledge that punishment had been warranted. Even if he chose to follow his father for he was his father.

“So my father has spoken, and my eldest, what do the rest of you say of this?” Fëanáro asked them.

“It’s useless. The valar have no right meddling in elven royal affairs!” Curufinwë said immediately.

Tyelkormo snorted softly at that.

“I feel… Dad should go regardless of what we think of the valar. The point isn’t to reconcile with the Valar but with the family. Get our place back, you know.” Makalaurë said.

Hm, yes, Makalaurë’s own name must be suffering from the exile. A minstrel that never travelled and was never heard anywhere else but his home wasn’t much of one to start with and would be soon forgotten.

Ambarussa exchanged a look, uncertain.

“Stay or go, it matters not to me.” Carnistir said.

Fëanáro looked to him and Tyelkormo sighed.

“Go. We’ll win nothing if we stay buried in this fortress until the end of Arda.”

And for pity’s sake, let his father not offend everyone in the process; that would only hurt them all in the end.

Ambarussa just nodded after Tyelkormo talked.

“Very well, majority has spoken. Then I will… endeavour to earn our return to Tirion.” Fëanáro said finally with clear distaste before storming out.

Finwë went after him, fretting, as always.

Tyelkormo shook his head witnessing that. Finwë would never learn, would he?

“Hopefully dad means that? I really have enough of being stuck here. Filial loyalty should have limits.” Makalaurë grumbled.

“You’re not the only one who put his life in stasis, Makalaurë.” Curufinwë commented.

“You all manage to get orders and to work more or less your usual way.”

“Tell that to Tyelko.”

“Please, he’s a hunter of Oromë and everyone knows he has his favour, he can go back anytime he wants.”

Yes, and that was honestly the first thing Tyelkormo planned to do once their father got the right to go back to his usual life. And if this time it betrayed his faith in Oromë to his father then so be it, he was far too tired of the whole crown debacle to bother trying to hide anymore.

Living for years together with no real escape from company had taken its toll and he wanted OUT.

There should be limits, as his brother so justly said.

His father took the time to prepare his belongings to travel, and locked the Silmaril in a safe in the fortress.

The fortress seemed honestly lighter once Fëanáro was gone. They just had to wait now. They could just wait now.

Not always his strongest suit, admittedly.

The night of the festival, even as the light of Telperion was shining, the brothers had set themselves to share a festive meal with their grand-father.

However in the middle of the meal, the light of Telperion disappeared, leaving them all at the light of the fragile candles they had lit for the feast.

“What…”

Finwë shivered:

“Get out of the fortress.”

“What?”

“Do not argue, do what I tell you, get as many of our people out. Just. Just get out of here.”

“What are you…”

“IT’S AN ORDER FROM YOUR KING! GET OUT!”

Maitimo took control of the situation, sending Tyelkormo to find a path that was not the main entrance and still safe to take in the darkness, while his brothers went to gather their people to follow him outside…

Tyelkormo had no idea what was happening inside, but one thing was sure, once the servants and guards were outside with him, it was unbridled chaos pure and simple. Everyone was panicking.

Only for them all to freeze in terror when they heard the wretched sound of a shout of pain… And so they stayed frozen until they saw darkness go.

“We need to…” Maitimo whispered.

But Tyelkormo was quickest, and ran toward the broken entrance door of the fortress, ran inside… And found, at the light of his father’s lamps… the lifeless body of his grand-father, bloody, bearing a deadly wound.

Tyelkormo heard people coming behind him and covered the body of their king with his cloak. He then stood at the entrance of the room, blocking it. He stopped Tyelperincar from entering the room, and then Ambarussa.

“Tyelko…”

“Nelyo. Grand-father’s gone.”

“Gone.”

“Dead. He’s dead. Our king is dead. You don’t want everyone in this room and you don’t want little Tyelpe to see this, believe me.”

“And the Silmarils are gone.” Curufinwë said in a blank voice, watching the state of the room.

“What can we do?” Makalaurë asked in a lost voice.

“Keep people out of here for one. There’s something foul in this room.” Tyelkormo said in a low voice.

He couldn’t point at what it was, but he could feel it. Something dark. Something sinister.

“We need to warn our father and uncle on Taniquetil.” Maitimo said firmly. 

“And to deal with the body. He’s our grand-father and king, we can hardly leave him on the bloody floor.” Carnistir pointed out darkly.

“I’ll…”

Tyelkormo could see calculation in Maitimo’s head. The will to spare them the horrible work battling with the knowledge that he was their father’s heir and knew better than all of them combined how to deal with court. How to write a proper missive to announce bad news.

“Maitimo, you deal with the missive and dispatch messengers.”

“It must be people, not birds.”

“Yeah. We’ll… Take care of our people and grand-father.”

Maitimo left them to it, going to his own office to write a missive.

“Do you want me to help with… That… Duty or to deal with the servants?” Makalaurë asked.

“I’m not dealing with our people at this time, do your duty with them and save me from it.” Tyelkormo answered curtly.

No, he wouldn't have the patience to deal with a bunch of panicked people begging to know what they should do like the children they weren't anymore. 

“And take Tyelpe with you while you do it.” Curufinwë decided, pushing his protesting son toward his brother.

Makalaurë pulled his nephew out, and Tyelkormo could just feel his brother’s relief and guilt when he left the room.

“What’s your plan?” Carnistir asked Tyelkormo.

“We can’t do miracles at this time, I’m afraid. Historically our people burnt their dead when they could recover bodies I believe I recall from Rúmil but I think if we do that before dad comes back it’ll be a nightmare.” Tyelkormo answered with a wince.

Their father was not going to take this calmly or reasonably, and this time around their mother wasn’t here to discuss things with him to help.

“It’s our grand-father. How can you be so… So calm about all that?!” Ambarussa asked them quietly, voice shaking with emotions.

“Because if we’re not calm, we have our people who will panic, my son who will panic, which will increase the danger we can potentially be in. If you want to fall into hysterics, go to your rooms and do it out of sight and away from people’s hearing!” Curufinwë snapped at their brothers, clearly out of patience.

“Because the hardest is yet to come.” Tyelkormo answered tiredly at the same time.

“What hardest?”

“You think it’s hard knowing grand-father is dead? Think. What kind of relationship did we have with him? Not really a close one. It’s all mostly father. And father doesn’t yet know his dad is gone. You want hard? Wait until dad is back.” Carnistir snapped.

Ambarussa left running, tears running down their cheeks.

“Should we see?” Carnistir asked Tyelkormo who shook his head.

“I’d rather not, it’s really not pretty. I’ll carry the… Body to his room and… Put him on the bed for now. Rúmil did say that elven bodies didn’t decay right? That’s why they burnt them? To save them from the desecration of animals finding the bodies or orcs or whatever?” Tyelkormo said, bracing himself to do that.

“I’ll try to…” Curufinwë said pointing at the room:

“Lock it behind us. Carni will go open grand-father’s room for me and empty the corridor until then, but lock the room and lock it tight, Curvo. No one should enter this place.”

They did that. Tyelkormo feeling sick at carrying the body of someone he knew. Someone from his family. Someone who could be just sleeping if not for the painful grimace of his face and the wounds on his body.

By the time they arrived to the room, he could feel blood seep through his clothing, and he felt he was going to throw up. It was definitely different knowing it was someone’s blood than being covered in the blood of an animal he had hunted.

Very different.

It took only hours until their father came back, but those hours were terrible. Most of their people were staying outside the fortress, too fearful to come in.

Tyelkormo had thankfully bathed and changed so he wouldn’t be a vision of horror to his father.

But it mattered very little. Fëanáro was incandescent with rage, tears running down his face, half mad with grief, and the tale he told them…

Oh that tale… Námo knew Finwë had died straight away. But he had said nothing. No. He, they, the valar, wanted his Silmarils and they didn’t care that Finwë was dead.

But surely it was a misunderstanding. Tyelkormo knew Oromë wouldn’t do something of the sort.

So while their father requested to be alone with his father for a moment, while his brothers stayed close at hand, he left the fortress, and went to the shrine.

Or that was his plan, but Oromë found him first:

“I have a question to ask you, my lord Oromë, and I need to know you’ll be honest in your answer.” Tyelkormo said in a blank voice before Oromë could say anything.

“I’m listening.”

“Father came back already. He told us an interesting tale… Of you Valar not informing him, or anyone really. Of the death of his own father, our king, in order to press your advantage and obtain the Silmarils.”

Oromë looked, for once, inscrutable and Tyelkormo closed his eyes against the tears of grief he could feel coming. Oromë was never inscrutable. Not to him. 

“Is it true, my lord?”

Silence stayed between them for a while. 

“Is it true? The question needs a simple yes or no answer, my lord.”

Silence again, regret showing on Oromë’s face. 

“IS IT TRUE?!” Tyelkormo shouted at him. 

The silence lasted long enough that he turned to leave, tears falling down his face. 

“Those who are wiser… Thought that perhaps we could… Heal the greater, longer lasting harm if your father…” Oromë started quietly. 

“Finwë… Was our king. And more than that… He was our kin! The minimum of respect…”

“Tyelkormo, his death is but one death. It’s sad, but he can come back to life. The greater number would have benefitted from…” Oromë tried.

“Your kin… Killed my grand-father. Your other kin then lied about it to my family and both in order to steal what belongs to him… And you call the death of an elf… Not a kind of harm that deserves the minimum of respect?” Tyelkormo said, still with his back to the Vala, hands closing into fists.

“Just one elf in the grand scheme of things, Tyelkormo. He can and will surely come back to life but the trees…”

“Our kin over the sea live without the light of the tree. But a member of my family has been killed by one of yours. What are you doing Valar, to respect your promise of safety? That promise you gave to lure our people to these shores in the first place?”

Tyelkormo turned, but Oromë was gone. 

“YOU COWARD!” Tyelkormo called after him, knowing he would be heard… And ignored.

How could he have been so wrong?

Finwë was just an elf. He himself was just an elf. What were they all for the Valar? Not beings worthy of respect apparently. Not his grand-father, certainly not his father, or his uncles apparently. No… apparently not…

Was it all they were for the Valar? Just mere details to use or discard at their convenience. Tools to manipulate to their own end and if one died, well, too bad?

Was it all he was to Oromë?

Him, and his twin brothers and Irissë and every elven member of the Hunt?

“You coward.” He repeated in a broken whisper, tears falling down his face.

He didn’t know how long passed, but he walked back to the fortress in the dark, eyes slowly getting used to the light of the starts to light his path.

Upon joining his brothers again, they all noticed his face, his eyes. The fact he had cried.

“Tyelko?”

“Is dad still with…?”

“He’s making plan, and he’s not letting us help. You were gone… For a while.”

Tyelkormo nodded, but didn’t answer the implicit question. He didn’t want to answer it. He knew that Curufinwë at least wouldn’t let it go for long, but if he could save that discussion for later…

He would have thought that the death of the king of one of the nations of elves living on their shore would deserve more than to be hidden, reduced to a bargaining tool in an argument. And if a king deserved that, then what about others…? Tools, nothing more. And he didn’t know how to tell them that. He didn’t WANT to tell them that.

It only confirmed everything his father ever said about them. He had been blind. Stupid. Deaf possibly too.

And he neither wanted to say it aloud nor wanted to confirm their father’s tale to his brothers. Not just yet.

Fëanáro was in a fey mood when he left his office with one command: “we’re going back to Tirion, and we’re leaving this cursed land.”

And the seven brothers obeyed. They gathered their people, what belongings they didn’t want to leave behind… among which their weapons, and they left Formenos.

Tyelkormo felt that they travelled for far too many days but could have been the usual time for all he knew. The only companion he kept close to him in that was Huan. Every time one of his brothers threatened to approach him to talk about why he had been crying after confronting Oromë, he redirected them or found himself something extremely urgent to do with their people.

No, he really didn’t want to talk, and Huan was his best companion. Supportive as ever, adorable because Huan was never not adorable (despite his mother’s opinion on the inconsequential matter of wet dog and carpets) and most of all, he was silent and not trying to force him to talk.

Frankly they had other subjects of preoccupation at this time than his faith in Oromë being shaken, thank you very much.  

But he regretted to have lost his usual points of reference with the loss of the trees.

That might well be the only reason he even cared slightly about the trees now.

If they had been honest, he would have pitied the Valar for that loss. He would even have empathised with their demand for the Silmarils to help but what they did…

What they did and what they didn’t do. Tyelkormo had no hint that the Valar were doing anything regarding their fallen peer.  

And upon their arrival in Tirion, people gathered at his father’s call. And oh, how he knew to speak… He spread his anger. He spread his grief.

“Why, O people of the Noldor, why should we longer serve the jealous Valar, who cannot keep us nor even their own realm secure from their Enemy?” Fëanáro spoke. “And though he be now their foe, are not they and he of one kin? Vengeance calls me hence, but even were it otherwise I would not dwell longer in the same land with the kin of my father’s slayer and of the thief of my treasure. Yet I am not the only valiant in this valiant people. And have ye not all lost your King? And what else have ye not lost, cooped here in a narrow land between the mountains and the sea?”

The people were giving rapt attention, stirring at his father’s words and Tyelkormo’s heart followed suit, though it was still bleeding with the hurt of betrayal.

“Here once was light…”

His father was good. He himself just wanted to leave as far away from this place as possible. He didn’t care for the rest.

From where he stood, Tyelkormo could see Makalaurë pay rapt attention to their father, he could almost see him memorising it all.

There would be songs soon enough about this whole thing.

And long their father talked. Tyelkormo’s attention was spent more on trying to see if there was in the crowd people he knew. If perhaps a Maia or Vala had come instead of staying hidden in their respective territories.

“Fair shall the end be!” Caught his attention.

Fair?! Finwë’s end hadn’t been very fair at all. Painful probably. Bloody certainly. Ugly totally. But fair? No end will be fair in a land controlled by their ennemy. That, Tyelkormo was sure of.

But his father kept talking, and spoke an oath. A powerful oath that called on Eru himself.

Tyelkormo didn’t think. When his father stopped talking he leaped along his brothers, repeating the oath.

“Be he foe or friend, be he foul or clean, brood of Morgoth or bright Vala,”

Sadly, to hunt with Oromë as often as he did was an engagement. One sealed with… a vow…

To Oromë. To a Vala who considered the loss of an elf at the hand of his brother, nothing to speak about. Who thought that the loss of the trees that only helped those living on Valinor in the first place more important than the loss of one they had sworn protection to once upon a time.

His father’s oath was going against everything he learnt at Oromë’s side. Against his vow to Oromë’s Hunt.

“Elda or Maia or Aftercomer, Man yet unborn upon Middle-earth, neither law, nor love, nor league of swords, dread nor danger, not Doom itself,”

“I swear to fulfil to the best of my ability and judgement, this covenant: I will allow no harm to come to those under the protection of the Woods.”

He was going to cry.  Or he was going to laugh hysterically if he kept thinking on that. One or the other.

“shall defend him from Fëanor, and Fëanor's kin, whoso hideth or hoardeth, or in hand taketh, finding keepeth or afar casteth, a Silmaril. This swear we all:”

 “No life shall be disrespected by my actions.”

 “death we will deal him ere Day's ending, woe unto world's end! Our word hear thou,”

“I will uphold the Laws and rites of the Wood.”

 “Eru Allfather! To the everlasting Darkness doom us if our deed faileth.”

“No life shall be taken and reaped lightly, for to bring death is a responsibility I shall not make light of in the name of my lord Oromë.”

“On the holy mountain hear in witness and our vow remember, Manwë and Varda!”

“I will tread with care in matters of life and death. Above all I shall accept the consequences shall I break the Laws of the Woods or forswear the rites of the Hunt.”

And oh he could bet there would be consequences. He would surely be first to die in the attempt. He was a hunter… Who spoke an oath that betrayed his first vow as a follower of Oromë…

He could feel upon him the worried gaze of some of his brothers. Ambarussa of course and Curufin. They knew.

He chose to ignore them for the moment.

He could see people in the crowd react in fear at the oath they all spoke, but it was done. An oath couldn’t be broken. An oath would follow you anywhere you went.  

But of course, Fëanáro wasn’t the only one capable of speeches, and Nolofinwë spoke and so did Finarfin, and the people divided, and most seemed to prefer Nolofinwë’s house to that of Fëanáro.

It was logical, Tyelkormo thought. His father has been in exile for years while Nolofinwë was acting king. His father was known to speak harshly while Nolofinwë was a politician first and foremost. Of course people loved him more.

And again the Valar spoke, sending their Herald to convince the people to not leave.

So not only were they tools to the Valar, they were also dolls to stay put and dance only to their tune. It filled Tyelkormo with wrath though he kept his peace. He would do more harm than good in talking now and he knew that.

Through all that, he had a hand buried in the fur of Huan. The poor dog must be tired of being used as support.

Perhaps he should ask Huan to go back to Oromë.

At least he’d have the guarantee Huan would be safe. It’s not like Oromë was riding to war anyway.

When finally they left Tirion, they were exiled yet again, this time by their oath, how unsurprising.

And pointless.

Even had the Valar said nothing their oath wouldn’t have allowed them to stay here anyway. It seemed the valar were too afraid of them staying nearby to leave it to their oath.

Oh well, they were used to it.

As they started to march north, their mother arrived.

“Nerdanel.” Fëanáro greeted her.

“Your actions are folly.” She warned him.

“My actions are just.”

Her eyes fell in turn on each of her sons, before turning back to her husband:

“You cannot fail to see you can only fail and go to your death. You and all our sons. At least leave Ambarussa with me. They are too young. At least one of them Fëanáro! Leave them with me in peace and safety!”

Tyelkormo didn’t need to look at his brothers to know they felt like he did.

Well perhaps the Valar had a point in treating them like they didn’t matter. After all their own mother seemed to think the only sons of any import was their twin brothers, the rest of them could go die in Endorë cheerfully after all.

Huan whined softly at his side, and he leaned over him, whispering soft apologies as he relaxed his fingers in the fur of the poor dog.

And while he did that he missed their father’s answer to their mother’s demand. It didn’t matter anyway: Even if the twins had wanted to stay there, they couldn’t. They swore the oath as they all did. They couldn’t betray it. Or they could, technically, but not without consequences.

If their mother wanted to keep her twin sons, she’d have to leave Valinor with them… And that she refused to, and Tyelkormo didn’t know if it was a curse or a blessings.

Their family was already broken…

They continued North with their people, leaving the planning to Fëanáro. Their father knew what he wanted exactly. It was better to leave him to it than to interrupt him and risk his wrath over nothing.