Work Text:
He is the sun, and you are nothing. That is when you are born, and so you do not know it yet.
You must learn at his side, and at his feet; you must learn following in his snowed-in footsteps. You must learn without asking questions, if you wish to remain near him.
You swear to someone (your mother? Yourself?) that you do not need him.
Your father tells you, with his kindliest smile, that you must not tell such lies.
He is your brother, Fingolfin. Of course he means everything to you.
Fingolfin son of Finwe will never amount to anything because:
He is a fool. He is a blood-traitor. He has hair that will not lay all the right way on his head.
(There are many reasons.)
You are nineteen, and he has not spoke to you since his marriage.
Then you lose your father’s respect, over another brother. He comes back to revel in that. To revel in the way you failed at being blunt and loyal, the two things even he used to grant you.
You may not hold your only nephew when his father is near. Nerdanel allows you one such moment, one chance. With the precious weight in your arms, you are dumbstruck. You look upon the beauty of this child—his child—and you think that if you were stronger, you would hate this child.
(In your heart, you have a higher principle of strength. It prevails, or your own frailty does.)
He is (not) your brother, Fingolfin. Of course you mean nothing to him.
“Remember l’affaires des poisons,” Anaire says, in one of her mischievous moods. Only you are permitted to see those moods, and she in them. “The French have their ways.”
“You may not poison my brother,” you laugh, and then you do not think of Feanor for many hours.
You are on the wrong side of thirty, and he is stealing your son from you.
You are on the wrong side of everything, because you love his son, too.
Fingolfin, father of Fingon, will never know how to inspire admiration, because:
He frequents banks. He wears stiff collars. He is not a metal-smith with a cunning smile.
He is still the sun, but the sun burns itself, sometimes. You’ve seen him do it. You always want to heal those hurts. You aren’t asked to.
Why do you love him? your mother asks you, when you bid her farewell. Why do you follow him?
But she doesn’t speak the words aloud.
You are on the wrong side of forty, and he has defeated you.
When you see him, you will tell him all that you know to be true.
(When.)