#its finarfin's turn to deal with a Feanor that doesn't remember him

[sweetteaanddragons]

Do You Remember Me?

“They tell me you’re the king now,” Feanor said with bright eyed curiosity. “Is it always one of your responsibilities to welcome the newly re-embodied?”

The first sentence, Finarfin had to admit, was not wholly unexpected.

. . . Even if it was said with far more cheerful curiosity than he had heard from his half-brother in - a long time.

“Not always,” he admitted. “Time would not permit it. But I was eager to see you again.”

Anxious. Furious. Bewildered.

But eager.

Feanor’s face brightened. “Again? We knew each other?”

Finarfin’s cautious smile froze. He turned, very slowly, to face Namo where he sat on his throne of judgement.

“My lord?” he asked through teeth that were still gritted into his most diplomatic smile. 

“It was decided that it would be unjust to require Feanor to remain in these halls since even the commanders who fought at Doriath were long since returned, and he committed fewer crimes than they.”

“ . . . Technically, yes,” he agreed. “Although I would point out that my nephews who died at Doriath are also not yet returned.”

“In their due time,” Namo said. “Unlike Feanor, their spirits were not yet healed.”

Finarfin inclined his head.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Feanor offered.

Finarfin resisted the urge to scream.

“He does not remember his own sons?”

“He does not remember anything,” Namo said.

“But I’m learning more all the time!” Feanaro said. “For instance, if my sons are your nephews, you must be my brother. Older, I’m presuming, since you’re king. Or do we use a different system?”

“It’s gotten . . . complicated,” Finarfin said. “Since people started leaving. And dying. And secluding themselves in whatever exile they find most aesthetically appropriate.”

And, apparently, returning with amnesia.

He took a deep breath and tried addressing Namo again.

“Why doesn’t he remember anything?”

“It was unjust to leave him to languish,” Namo repeated, “but it seemed likely to stir up trouble to send him back to the world of the living as he was.”

“Apparently, I committed crimes,” Feanor said helpfully. “Though no one will tell me what they were. Do you know? I’m afraid I don’t remember our legal system, so I can’t even make educated guesses.”

“You stole some boats,” Finarfin said blankly. “Among other things.” Although frankly, half of what Feanor had done wrong hadn’t technically been illegal for the simple reason of no one thinking there was a need.

“I was a thief?” Feanor frowned. “Hmm.” 

“It was also decided that it would be safer if he was not informed of his past,” Namo interrupted. “Lest his pride cause divisions.”

Lest he try to retake the crown, Finarfin interpreted.

Which was all well and good, except, “How exactly do you propose to stop someone from telling him?” Even if Nerdanel refused to see him, plenty of Feanorian supporters had been released - and even if they were all kept away from him, there were plenty of people who would inadvertently inform him through accusations.

“Enforcing that restriction will be one of your roles as his . . . guardian.”

Finarfin balked. “Guardian? He’s not a child!”

Namo stared at him implacably.

He was very good at it.

It was only years of experience with diplomacy that kept him from rubbing at his growing headache. He could see, if he turned his head and squinted, the logic behind thinking Feanor would be less dangerous if he knew fewer things. It was just that the problem with this kind of thinking was that a Feanor who did not know things was a Feanor who was dedicated to learning things without much concern for how many new problems he created in the process. 

And even that paled next to the biggest logical leap of this whole mess, which was, “And Feanor consented to all of this?” To forgetting his birthright? His family? Had he thought he had some trick to get around it? Did he have some trick to get around it and this was all some clever ruse? Or - 

Namo looked almost confused. “This was his sentence.”

A cold feeling crept up Finarfin’s spine. He did not think it was just due to the draft in the frigid stone room.

“This was his justly decided punishment and pardon,” Namo continued. “Do you ask those you judge in Tirion for consent?”

Finarfin considered bringing up some interesting political theories being discussed in Tirion about the consent of the governed.

He also considered screaming and never stopping, but he’d been considering that for roughly three ages now, so he was able to push that urge aside.

“I see,” he said, still smiling. Sometimes he thought his face would freeze like that. “I’ll just. Take my brother and go then. Shall I.”

“This is acceptable,” Namo said.

“Grand,” Finarfin said, smile cracking, as he grabbed Feanor by the arm and all but dragged him out of the receiving hall and out into the sunlit world. 

It was the first time Feanor had ever seen the sun, he realized. Remembered or not. His brother was looking around at the light in wonder.

“In the interest of fairness,” Finarfin said, “I feel I should warn you that if you had all your memories, we would probably be in the middle of a shouting match right now.”

Feanor tilted his head. “Because I steal boats?”

“Because - well, that’s part of it.” He paused for a moment. “Please don’t say that in the present tense again.”

“I don’t even feel particularly interested in boats,” Feanor said, sounding bewildered. “Why did I want them?”

Finarfin opened his mouth to answer before stopping himself. “I am not rationalizing your horrible choices for you.”

It was possible that the words came out a bit more shakily than he intended.

“Alright,” Feanor said, looking alarmed. “Please don’t be upset - brother? My king? I’m sorry, I still don’t know your name. Or how I’m supposed to address you. Or much of anything, really.”

Finarfin wanted very badly to sit down and cry.

But he wanted to get Feanor away from here even more badly, so he forced a smile onto his face and said, “My name is Arafinwe, but you’re welcome to call me Finarfin if you prefer. Or brother, though you’ll be angry at yourself later if you do.”

“Even if the Valar don’t let me get my memories back?”

It was probably not wise to say such things in the very shadow of Mandos’s Halls, but -

“Feanor,” he said, very seriously, “you have never waited for the Valar to permit anything in your life. I beg you, don’t start now.”

If his brother couldn’t remember how to fight just now, then, well.

Finarfin would just have to remind him.