Strawberry Daiquiri by Artano  

Strawberry sweetness bursts on Finarfin's tongue as he sips his drink, interspersed with bright, tangy bubbles of lime. He sighs contentedly, staring over the gleaming white city tumbling down to the lush green fields beyond. The glass rests cool and heavy in his hand, a welcome contrast to the amber rays of Laurelin warming his skin. As he lifts the goblet to his lips for another sip, a soft breeze brushes his hair. Such a calm ending for such a tense day. He smiles wryly. Tense was an understatement. Feanor and Fingolfin had been at each other's throats whenever they laid eyes on each other. And when they weren't, their comments invariably seemed to be barbed jabs at the other's expense. Every year the family gathered for this festival, it was like watching a dance. With the intent to maim and hurt if one misstep occurred.

He grimaces at the memory of today's dispute. Fingolfin had overheard Feanor suggest a zoning proposal and had immediately begun debating it. That argument had lasted the entire afternoon, with each side appealing to him for support. Eventually, he had managed to escape to this balcony. Finarfin grimaces at the thought of spending an hour longer caught between them in the debate. He should have taken Eärwen's offer to help take charge of the kids and nephews that morning. Even that mob of chaos would be preferable to his brothers.

He glances back out at the city. The buildings gleam golden as Laurlelin's rays deepen. Vibrant gardens peak from behind magnificent buildings, like emeralds set in a gilded collar. There is no denying this city is beautiful, even with all the tarnished memories it holds. And he dearly loves his father and mother, who remain here. But he refuses to let his brothers ruin more of his life. The festival tomorrow will be a welcome escape from them, at least for a few hours. And then he would be away from here, with the "pressing business" he had arranged to call him back to Alqualonde the morning after.

Steps patter behind him, and he turns to find Finrod rushing towards him. He crashes into Finarfin's legs, burying his face in the long robe. "It's not fair!" he cries, tears lacing his voice.

Finarfin sets his glass down on the table. Gently, he disentangles Finrod's hands from his robe, kneeling down to face him better. "What's not fair, ëarsil?" he asks. With his sleeve, he gently wipes away the streaks from Finrod's face.

"They're not letting Turukáno play with them! And their reasons don't make sense! I tried speaking with them, but they didn't listen." His eyes glimmer with tears of frustration. "I hate it!"

Finarfin listens as Finrod describes what had happened, the boys they had met in the city who had invited Finrod and his cousins to join their games but refused to let Turgon play, claiming that he was too young, and how they had mocked Finrod when he tried to show that Turgon was as old as he was and just as able to play. Finarfin's thumb rubs soothingly across his son's hand.

"It's just…it's wrong," Finrod finishes, helplessness echoing in his voice.

Finarfin nods. "It is." A sigh escapes him. "It's hard when people don't listen to reason. When they hurt each other with little cause." His mind drifts back to his own brothers always assuming the worst of each other. How he had tried to reason with them and had met nothing but cold shoulders and hostility. "Sometimes they never listen, no matter how hard one tries."

"But why won't they?" Finrod huffs. "I explained their error, and they didn't care!"

"Not all people are open to hearing such things," Finarfin replies quietly. "Sometimes they can't see past their anger and hatred."

"But it's wrong."

Finarfin sighs, weariness creeping into his voice. "Yes, it is."

Finrod's small hands clench. "I wish I could stop them. I wish they would never hurt anyone again."

"It would be nice if we could do that, if we could prevent them from hurting people. But what would you do to stop them, Findaráto? Fighting them rarely solves the problem, unless it stops them physically hurting someone. Believe me, I've tried."

"There has to be something I can do!" Finrod interrupts.

"If you can't stop them, then sometimes all you can do is leave and do your best to help the person they're hurting," Finarfin replies. "Maybe you can think of how to help make Turukáno feel better?"

Finrod frowns, considering his words. He sighs. "I guess that makes sense. Fighting them wouldn't help Turukáno. I'll ask him to play with me tomorrow." Determination flickers in his eyes. "If others won't include him, I will."

Finarfin smiles and ruffles his hair. "That's the spirit."

Finrod's face lights with a grin. "I'll ask him to play every day we're here. Angaráto will like having someone new join in our games!"

Finarfin hesitates. The messenger was due to arrive tomorrow to summon him and his family back to Alqualonde. But seeing Finrod's gaze on him, he forces a smile. "That's sounds like a great plan. I'm sure Turukáno will be happy to have such nice cousins."

Finrod smiles brilliantly. "I'll go tell Ango we have a new friend!" Wheeling, he runs from the room.

Slowly, Finarfin stands and turns back to the balcony. He picks up his glass, staring down at the scarlet liquid. He didn't want to leave his family here without him. Not that anything would go terribly wrong; Eärwen was well-able to keep herself and the children out of Feanor and Fingolfin's disputes. But he couldn't shake the memories of his time growing up here, of the constant tension and fights. He didn't want to risk his children experiencing that.

He sighs and rubs his face. He would have to meet the messenger and turn him back before he made it to the city. It was going to be a long week. He lifts his glass, the cool liquid slipping down his throat. He would need more alcohol to survive this.

Leave a Comment