Echoes of the Hidden Light in the Great Song

Light of a brother and family

The palace of the Noldor, where Fëanor and Alcaron spent their early years, was a marvel of craftsmanship and splendor, a reflection of the might and skill of their people. Built atop the green hill of Túna, it overlooked the city of Tirion, whose white towers and golden domes gleamed beneath the light of Telperion and Laurelin. The palace itself was a vast structure of polished white stone and silver, with high, arching halls and open courtyards that welcomed the mingled light of the Trees. Its towers soared into the sky, their spires crowned with banners that fluttered in the gentle breezes that blew from the western seas. Balconies of intricately wrought metalwork lined the walls, and from these heights, one could gaze upon the entire city and beyond, to the faraway shores of the Blessed Realm.

Inside, the palace was no less magnificent. The floors were laid with rich mosaics, depicting the history of the Noldor and their journey to Valinor, their deeds celebrated in stone and precious gems. High vaulted ceilings shimmered with delicate carvings of leaves, stars, and flowing rivers, all traced with silver and gold. Great tapestries, woven by the hands of the most skilled artisans, adorned the walls, telling tales of the creation of the world and the music of the Ainur. Gardens bloomed within the palace grounds, filled with flowers that reflected the light of the Trees in hues unseen in the mortal world, while fountains made from crystal-clear water tinkled softly in the background, their music a constant, soothing presence.

It was in this splendid abode that the twins, Fëanor and Alcaron, spent their earliest days, their lives intertwined in a bond that was deeper than that of any ordinary brothers. They were always together, as if one could not bear to be without the other, and their presence filled the palace with a lively energy. Though the two were different in many ways—Fëanor with his fiery spirit and unyielding will, and Alcaron with his quiet wisdom and calm nature—their bond was unbreakable, and their differences only served to make them more formidable when they were united.

From the earliest days, the twins showed a shared love for learning, for the Noldor were a people of knowledge and skill, ever seeking to understand the world and master its secrets. Fëanor's thirst for knowledge was insatiable, and his mind burned with a desire to create, to forge wonders that had never been seen before. Alcaron, on the other hand, was more contemplative, his interests lying in the deeper mysteries of life, in the nature of light and stars, and in the quiet wisdom of the world. Yet they studied together, learning the arts of smithing and craft from their father's master artisans, the histories of the world from loremasters, and even the music of the Valar from the great bards of the Noldor.

Their days were filled with training, for even as children, they were expected to master the skills of the Eldar—strength of body as well as mind. They practiced with swords and bows in the palace courtyards, the clash of steel and the twang of bowstrings echoing through the halls. Though Fëanor's passion often made him the more aggressive in combat, Alcaron's calm precision and quiet focus made him his brother's equal, and their sparring matches were often watched with interest by the warriors of the Noldor, who marveled at the skill of the young princes.

But their childhood was not all learning and training. The twins were children still, and with the freedom of youth came mischief. Fëanor, ever the bolder of the two, often led the way in their playful schemes, but Alcaron, with his quick wit and silent laughter, was always at his side, ready to join in the fun. Together, they would roam the halls of the palace, their footsteps light and quick, as they plotted and executed pranks on their unsuspecting father, Finwë, and his new wife, Indis.

Finwë's second marriage had been a subject of much conversation and even controversy among the Noldor, for it was uncommon—nearly unheard of—for an elf to marry again after the passing of their first spouse. The loss of Míriel Therindë, the twins' mother, had been a wound to Finwë's fëa that many believed could never be healed. Yet in time, he had found solace and love again in Indis, a Vanyar princess of great beauty and grace. Though many in Tirion accepted the union, others whispered that it was a sign of Finwë's restlessness, his inability to let go of what had been lost. And some, like Fëanor, struggled with the presence of a stepmother, feeling that it was a betrayal of the memory of Míriel.

Indis, however, was gentle and kind, and though she knew Fëanor's heart was not easily won, she never ceased in her efforts to reach out to him and his brother. Alcaron, with his quiet and thoughtful nature, warmed to her more easily, sensing the sincerity in her efforts. He would often watch with silent amusement as Fëanor, with his rebellious spirit, played the role of the defiant son, while Indis, with endless patience, tried to make her place in their lives.

It was perhaps this tension that led to many of the pranks the twins played on their father and stepmother. One afternoon, in particular, became infamous in the halls of the palace. Fëanor, always looking for a new challenge, had concocted a plan to fill the gardens outside the royal chambers with a thick, shimmering mist created from the alchemical powders they had learned to mix during their studies. With Alcaron's help, they succeeded in their task, and soon, the gardens were enveloped in a swirling fog that caught the light of the Two Trees, turning the entire area into a sparkling, otherworldly realm.

When Finwë and Indis stepped out into the garden for their usual evening walk, they were greeted by this strange and beautiful sight. But as they ventured deeper into the mist, the twins—hidden among the trees of the garden and laughing softly—began their second phase of the prank. They had placed harmless, glowing orbs in the trees, which, when triggered by movement, would gently fall and bounce around, creating an illusion of dancing lights that fluttered and flickered like mischievous spirits.

Finwë, at first startled, quickly realized what was happening and burst into laughter, his deep, hearty voice echoing through the mist. Indis, though initially taken aback, could not help but join in his laughter, her own amusement clear in her eyes. The twins, watching from the shadows, grinned at each other, their shared joy at the success of their prank shining in their faces.

But though mischief and laughter filled their days, there were also quieter moments, times when the twins would sit together on the balconies of the palace, gazing out over Tirion and beyond, towards the distant mountains and the sea. It was during these times that Alcaron would speak softly to Fëanor, reminding him of the deeper things in life—the beauty of the world, the light of Telperion, and the love of their family. Though Fëanor's fiery heart often burned with ambition and a desire for greatness, he would listen to his brother, their bond pulling him back from the edge of his restless thoughts.

Yet even in these moments of peace, there was a tension growing between Fëanor and Indis that neither Alcaron nor Finwë could fully ease. Fëanor could not forget his mother, Míriel, and though he loved his father deeply, the presence of Indis seemed to him a reminder of loss, of a part of his life that had been taken from him too soon. Alcaron, ever the more introspective, understood his brother's pain, but he also saw the goodness in Indis and wished for peace between them all.

Finwë, caught between his love for his sons and his love for his new wife, tried to bridge the gap, but it was a difficult balance to maintain. He adored Fëanor, whose brilliance and spirit filled him with pride, and he cherished Alcaron, whose calm wisdom was a balm to his heart. Yet he also loved Indis, who had brought light back into his life after the sorrow of Míriel's passing. It was a delicate dance, one that weighed heavily on him as he sought to keep his family united.

"It isn't fair, Alcaron," Fëanor muttered, his voice thick with resentment. He leaned forward, his hands gripping the stone railing as though it could help contain the storm brewing within him. "Amil'sa ná vanwa, ná maruvanë sinomë yáres mallo láma ceninya caita," (Our mother is gone, and now we will live here as though she never existed). His tone was bitter, filled with the grief he had carried since their mother, Míriel, had passed away. "Atanarya ná hanyan lúmissen, láse ná teras lá vaitya nánië." (It is wrong, father acts as though nothing has changed, as though we should accept it all).

Alcaron watched his brother carefully. He had heard these words before, felt the flame of Fëanor's sorrow and anger rising, but he could never let it consume him. Alcaron's mind worked in quieter ways, and he understood their father's heart in ways Fëanor did not. He sat beside his brother and placed a steady hand on his shoulder.

"Lé moquetta Finwë, hári ná yondo nas téra," (You must not doubt our father, for his heart is true), Alcaron said gently, his voice calm as always. "He has not forgotten our mother. He loved her, and he still does. But that does not mean he cannot love Indis and their child too."

Fëanor's eyes flicked toward his brother, the fire within them undimmed. "How can he love another? Amil návanië, melissë cuinyëo hya ná ilqua." (Our mother is dead, and now another takes her place). His voice was low, fierce. "And now... now Indis is having a child. It feels like we are being replaced, Alcaron. How can you not feel that?"

Alcaron sighed, his gaze drifting toward the distant sea. He felt the weight of Fëanor's words, the sorrow buried deep beneath the anger. But he knew their father better, understood the complexity of love that Fëanor, in his burning passion, could not yet see. "It is not like that," he said softly. "Atya, father, will never stop loving us. We are his firstborn, his sons. Nothing will change that. Indis... she is kind, Fëanor. I know it is hard for you, but you cannot believe she wishes to take our place."

"I cannot believe it," Fëanor snapped, his voice sharp. "I will never believe it. It was bad enough when he married her, but now—now there will be another child, another heir."

"Yúyo anto quetë, Fëanáro," (You are wrong, Fëanor), Alcaron replied, his tone steady but firm. "We will always be his sons, and no one—no new child—will take that from us. This child... it will not steal what we are to him."

Fëanor fell silent for a moment, brooding. He looked away, the weight of his own emotions pressing heavily on his shoulders. Alcaron watched him closely, knowing that his brother's pride was as fierce as his love, and that pride had a way of turning to anger all too quickly. Alcaron had learned, through years of shared laughter, play, and learning, how to soothe Fëanor's fiery heart. But now, as they grew older, he feared it would not always be enough.

Finally, Fëanor spoke again, his voice quieter, but still laced with frustration. "You speak as if you do not care. As if you are content with this new family."

Alcaron shook his head. "It is not about contentment, Fëanor. I simply see that there is more than one way to love. Amil ná masta námeo, lá Indis seruva tan." (Our mother was our first love, and Indis will never change that). "But Indis has done nothing to harm us, and father deserves to have joy in his life again. Would you have him remain forever in sorrow?"

Fëanor's hands clenched into fists. "Nanyë yuruna, lá ceninya," (I am angry, not blind). "I do not wish father to suffer, but it feels as though I am the one left in sorrow now. What about us? What about amil's memory?"

"Her memory will always be with us," Alcaron said softly. "It is in us, in who we are. And this new child is not a replacement, but an addition. She will be part of us, part of this family. We cannot lose what we had with our mother, and we cannot ignore what we have now with Indis."

Fëanor didn't respond immediately. His gaze was distant, as if he were looking for something beyond the horizon. Alcaron knew his brother well enough to understand that it was not easy for Fëanor to hear these words, to accept the possibility of peace where he felt only conflict. But deep down, he also knew that Fëanor loved their father fiercely, and that love would be enough—at least for now.

Just as the silence between them grew heavy, a messenger came, his voice echoing through the halls. "Híni ninyë, tulil ar cenuval," (My princes, come and see). "Your sister has been born, and the King wishes you both to meet her."

The twins exchanged a look. Fëanor's brows furrowed, but there was curiosity in his eyes as well, the same spark that had always driven him to explore the unknown. Alcaron smiled faintly and stood, offering a hand to his brother.

"Shall we go?" Alcaron asked quietly.

Fëanor hesitated, but after a moment, he took his brother's hand and stood, his face a mix of emotions. Together, they walked through the wide, gleaming corridors of the palace, their footsteps echoing softly against the marble floors. As they passed through the doors and into the chambers where their father and Indis awaited, the light from the Two Trees shone more brightly through the windows, casting a soft glow over the scene.

Finwë stood beside Indis, his face radiant with joy. His deep eyes were filled with love as he gazed at his new daughter, swaddled in white silk, her tiny form cradled in Indis's arms. There was a peace about him that Alcaron had not seen in a long time, a lightness that spoke of healing and hope.

Indis, too, looked serene, her golden hair shimmering in the light. Her face was soft, a gentle smile playing on her lips as she watched the twins approach. There was no tension in her eyes, only warmth, and Alcaron could see that she hoped, as always, for acceptance from her stepsons.

"Come, my sons," Finwë said, his voice warm and filled with pride. "Meet your new sister."

Alcaron stepped forward first, his heart filled with curiosity and something like quiet joy. He gazed down at the tiny bundle in Indis's arms and smiled as he saw the small face of their new sister, her eyes closed, her delicate features peaceful. "Yéva Findis," Finwë said softly, looking down at the newborn. "I have named her Findis, for she carries both the light of the Vanyar and the strength of the Noldor."

Alcaron looked at his father and nodded. "Laita tyé, Findis," (We welcome you, Findis), he said softly, touching the small hand of his new sister. "She is beautiful."

Fëanor stood back for a moment, his face guarded. But as he saw the joy in his father's eyes and the small, innocent form of his sister, something in his expression softened. Slowly, he approached, standing beside Alcaron as they both looked down at the newborn.

Finwë glanced at Fëanor, his voice gentle. "Fëanáro, ná atwa esselya cenya ilqua, melinyet," (Fëanor, she is part of our family, and I love you all). "Your mother's memory will never fade. But I hope you can find room in your heart for this new joy."

Fëanor looked up at his father, his eyes searching Finwë's face. After a long moment, he nodded slightly, though his expression was still troubled. "I will try," he said quietly, his voice a mixture of resolve and uncertainty.

Indis, who had remained quiet throughout, looked at Fëanor with kindness. "You are her brother," she said softly. "And you will be the brightest light in her life, as you have been for your father and for Alcaron. She will need you."

Fëanor said nothing in reply, but his gaze softened as he looked down at Findis. Alcaron, sensing the shift in his brother's mood, placed a hand on his shoulder. "Tulyë sinomë, hína," (Come, little one), Alcaron whispered to the newborn, though his words were meant for Fëanor as well. "We are a family, and we will always be together."