Quick name key, because I've used Quenya names for a pair of Elves better known by Sindarin equivalents:

Curufinwë Fëanáro = Fëanor

Nolofinwë = Fingolfin

--

“Ooh, you have such lovely ears,” the stranger cooed.

Curufinwë Fëanáro, heir to Finwë (who was High King of the Noldor), renowned inventor of Tengwar and palantíri and, recently, three Silmarils and actual weapons, father of seven sons, hand still on the hilt of his sword where he’d begun to draw it against his half-brother Nolofinwë (!)...blushed.

It was even odds, Nolofinwë thought, whether the stranger hadn’t noticed or simply took the blush as encouragement. Either way, he went on.

“So very, very lovely, all pointed and leaf-shaped…”

Much of the crowd appeared to have...not quite frozen, exactly, but certainly halted in place, watching this new turn of events with interest. Fëanáro had already drawn their attention, entering with a sword at his hip and harsh accusations against his half-brother on his lips. To see this terrible scene curtailed was a blessing, but the confusion that had taken its place…(and how long, really, could it last?)

The stranger was, indeed, a stranger; or at least, Nolofinwë did not recognize him, and he had yet to hear anyone in the crowd of his father’s lords voice a name. He appeared to be a Noldorin Elf, with the typical dark hair and grey eyes.

Typical Noldorin Elves, however, were not often inclined towards…

Well. Nolofinwë could hardly claim Noldorin Elves were not bold, particularly not while standing in his father’s court and (previously, at least) seemingly only seconds away from his older half-brother drawing a sword on him—but this?

His brother was still blushing. His married brother with seven sons. Bold, haughty, shameless Curufinwë Fëanáro.

Blushing, because…

Well, to be fair, the stranger was practically wrapped around him by now, still cooing compliments about his ears. Nolofinwë covered a smile and glanced at his father.

Finwë leaned back in his throne, a bemused expression on his face. He seemed unwilling to interrupt, which was, perhaps, fair given the previous sequence of events had very much appeared to be going the way of his beloved oldest son publicly threatening his second son immediately after said second son had been trying to convince Finwë to rein in his oldest…

“...go somewhere more private?” Nolofinwë caught the stranger murmuring.

Fëanáro hesitated, and motioned to Nolofinwë. “Yes, but I was about to—”

The stranger pressed scandalously close. A particularly gossip-minded lord looked delighted, and nudged his long-suffering neighbor excitedly. “Surely that will keep. Maybe forever. Hopefully forever, actually, since you’re mistrusting the wrong person—but certainly at least for as long as it takes to properly admire your beautiful ears…”

As Nolofinwë watched in mild disbelief, Fëanáro blushed again.

“We will resume this later,” he said, pointing at Nolofinwë. As he’d done the pointing with a finger rather than his sword (which was by now fully sheathed again), Nolofinwë couldn’t quite bring himself to object. (And what exactly had the stranger meant by ‘mistrusting the wrong person’? The more he thought about it, the less it sounded like it was only an endorsement of Nolofinwe himself…) “Much later,” he added, and let the stranger draw him away, still blushing, as Nolofinwë obligingly gave him a shallow bow of acknowledgement. He was hardly unsupportive of his brother’s position as their father’s heir, no matter what the man himself might think.

The stranger grinned at the assembled court and waved jauntily before wrapping that arm back around Fëanáro as well. “See you around! Eventually!”

Three of the lords waved back. Finwë inclined his head.

The assembly as a whole began to murmur, some rather cheerfully, as Fëanáro and the stranger strode out of the hall. A good number of them seemed relieved.

Nolofinwë hid another smile. Perhaps matters would resolve themselves. After all, Nerdanel had been looking more relaxed since the recent appearance of...yet another stranger, come to think of it, an Elf maid who’d seemed quite at home helping her corral Nolofinwë’s many nephews. Fëanáro certainly hadn’t seemed to object to her presence; or at least, he’d been seen to greet her in as friendly a manner as he typically used for anyone. Presumably this new stranger would obtain similar approval from Nerdanel, particularly if the blushing remained in effect.

...and on that note, Nolofinwë was going to cease ruminating on his half-brother’s personal life and simply feel grateful that the Elf’s temper had been defused before he could truly begin to threaten (! It still seemed incredible that such a thing could come to pass. Had their relationship—or Fëanáro’s mind—truly deteriorated so completely?

Perhaps he should pursue the train of thought the stranger had prompted with his comment on Fëanáro’s distrust of the wrong person…)

--

Huinesoron/Fëanor, implied background Kaitlyn/Nerdanel and some sort of open marriage type thing? Or possibly just ‘open for flirting’? Who knows. Take it as either Fëanor breaking some more rules of Elven society or just Shipfest silliness. Or even a veil of ‘more innocent than it looks’: it’s entirely possible Nerdanel is more relaxed because she’s gained a (very close) friend (who perhaps gives her some missing emotional support as well as a hand with her big family with its many talented and occasionally arrogant people), and Fëanor’s going to sit down somewhere with hS and be read sonnets to his ears until the blushing wears off!

...actually, I’m very amused by that concept. No matter what your reading, more or less innocent, I move that both of those things should at least be part of it.

As to how thorough a fix-it this is: who knows? Maybe Fingolfin looks into Melkor and, together with hS, manages to open Fëanor’s eyes to the fact he’s being influenced. Maybe some other people start watching Melkor, and perhaps even manage to prevent him from damaging the Two Trees. Mayyyybe the whole Melkor-killing-Finwë-and-taking-the-Silmarils-followed-by-Oath-swearing-and-Kinslaying-and-doom plot gets averted! Maybe it just gets delayed! Maybe it still happens in some form, but some of the worst parts get softened by virtue of Kaitlyn talking sense and hS distracting Fëanor when he’s about to do something stupid and thus keeping him from making bad decisions while worked up! Maybe it becomes a war against Morgoth without the Oath and the Kinslaying. Who knows. Certainly not me. I doubt I’ll write it.

Someone else is quite welcome to, though ;)

PS: Written without easy access to the Silmarillion itself; I relied on my memory and wiki articles from Tolkien Gateway. Hopefully the (interrupted) confrontation details aren't too far off, and the same with the non-Fëanor characterization, to a point (although, even if they are...shipfest).

PPS: Why does fic!hS never bother to give his name? First of all, no one seems to have asked. Second, while I'm pretty sure hS has posted something with a Quenya version of his screen name, I wasn't in a mood to go try to dig it up. (Why not just use "Huinesoron"? Wrong language to the point where it wasn't in use in Valinor at the time and I'm not even completely sure it existed yet in Middle-earth. Either way, it wouldn't be there.)

Why doesn't Kaitlyn get named? Because I didn't feel up to trying to figure out a Quenya name with the same meaning (or a similar one) to "Kaitlyn", that's why :D Very simple, really.

And on that note...enough notes!

~Z