Chapter Text
Finarfin didn't know what he was expecting when he awoke. His older half-brother peering down at him was not it. Finarfin gave a rather undignified squeak and scooted away. Finarfin was unsure why Fëanor would be in his room let alone anywhere near the palace in Tirion. The last he had seen of his brother, Fëanor was waving his bloodied sword as he rallied his followers to the ships in the harbor of Alqualondë. That was four months ago.
As his brain caught up with what was happening, Finarfin looked his brother over. Fëanor looked awful. His clothes were tattered and his body was littered with raw burns. The only bright side was that his eyes looked less crazed that they had for the past several years.
"Fëanáro?" Finarfin hesitantly, "How… I don’t understand…."
"Me neither," Fëanor grunted. He clearly didn't want be here either.
"Are you alright?"
"I’m fine," Fëanor waved Finarfin’s concern off. He absentmindedly rubbed his hands together, either ignoring the painful looking burns there or completely unaware of them. Neither option was good, in Finarfin's opinion.
"You don’t look fine," Finarfin pressed. Despite the decades of bad blood between the half-siblings, Finarfin didn't like to see anyone hurt.
"I. Am. Fine. Drop it Ara," Fëanor growled irritably. Finarfin decided that he couldn't have been hurt too bad if he still had his god-awful temper.
There was an awkward pause.
"Sooo… how’d you get here anyway?" Finarfin finally asked, more than a little curious.
"No idea," Fëanor shrugged, "One minute I’m with my sons, the next I’m here watching your dumb face sleep."
Finarfin glared briefly at his brother. Fëanor ignored him.
Uncomfortable silence reigned again. There were several times Fëanor looked like he was going to say something, but each time he changed his mind.
"And what exactly do you plan to do now?" Finarfin sighed.
"Mmmh?" Fëanor started out of thought, "Do now? Right, I’m going back to Arda."
"Arda?" Finarfin was puzzled by the name.
"The land across the sea." Fëanor gave him the I-can't-believe-that-you-are-so-dumb look he was famous for.
"Ah," Finarfin shrugged, "How do you plan to do that? May I point out that you stole and burned the only boat in Aman.”
He had hoped that the jab would get under Fëanor's skin. It didn't.
"I’ll walk." Fëanor was entirely too smug.
"You’ll walk?" Finarfin wasn't sure that he heard correctly.
"Across the Helcarxë." Fëanor had clearly thought this through. Finarfin felt pure terror build in his chest. The pressure made it hard to breathe.
"No, no, no!" Finarfin sprang in front of Fëanor, "I have already lost my children and my other brother to that cursed land. I’m refuse to loose you too."
"You can’t stop me," Fëanor shrugged before side stepping Finarfin and disappearing thought the open door. Finarfin raced after his brother. By the time he made threw on a robe and made it to the door, Fëanor was no where in sight. Finarfin sprinted down the halls, desperate not to loose his only remaining brother. He skidded to a stop next to a a startled guard.
"M’lord?" The guard asked hesitantly, gripping his weapon tighter as though fearful of an incoming attack, "Is everything alright?"
"Fëanáro? Where did he go?" Finarfin panted
"Across the sea," the guard’s worry was clearly mounting.
"No, which way did he go?"
"Sir? I’m sorry, I don’t understand the question."
"Never mind. Thank you." Finarfin couldn't afford to waste any more time. He needed to find Fëanor. He turned back into the palace and raced to the servant's gate. Fëanor was not their either.
Finarfin was panicking by now. He had well and truly lost Fëanor. He spent the rest of the day scouring the Tirion and the surrounding area, to no avail. With a saddened heart, he went to bed. His sleep was restless and full of unpleasant dreams. They were full of fire and death. It was the same as always. Fëanor was burning.
When he awoke, he found a very confused and frustrated Fëanor standing by his bed.
"Fëanáro?" Finarfin croaked.
"What did you do?" Fëanor demanded, getting up in Finarfin's face.
"What do you mean?"
"I made it all the way to the Pelori and I stopped for one minute to rest, one minute! Now I'm back here. Who did you bargain with? Was it Morgoth? What was your deal?"
"What?" Finarfin spluttered, more than a little confused.
"Who did you bargain with?!?" Fëanor roared, "I don't want to be here."
"I didn't do anything. You've always been the rash one."
"No, Nolo's always been the rash one. I've been the angry one," FEanor corrected, "You were always Atar's pet."
"I was never Atar's favorite. That was you." Finarfin shook his head in denial.
"You were always the baby. Everyone liked you and spoiled you."
Fëanor's self-satisfied smirk was driving Finarfin up the wall. The king lashed out with his fist. The blow was aimed at Fëanor's nose and it should have struck true.
Finarfin was startled to find that his hand passed right through his older brother. He tried again and got the same result. He tried to whack his brother with a pillow. No matter what he did, everything passed right through Fëanor's body.
"Mmm, so I guess I'm not corporeal? Mandos, you made a deal with Mandos for my soul," Fëanor didn't seem at all concerned, in fact he seemed rather delighted, "What else can we try? Ara, stand up, I want to try and walk through you."
Finarfin burst into tears. He recent premonition suddenly made more sense. Fëanor quickly discovered a down side to not being corporeal. Every time he tried to comfort his younger brother, his hand's were useless. Fëanor was distressed that he couldn't wipe away Finarfin's tears or give him a hug. He debated what to say.
"Hey, I'm sure it's not that bad?" Is what Fëanor finally settled for.
"Not that bad?" Finarfin's eyes were red-rimmed, "Don't you get it? You're dead!"
The announcement didn't seem to disturb Fëanor all that much.
"I know, and unfortunately my soul is, for some reason, tied to you.... but," Fëanor grinned manically, "Think of all the fun we can have."