A ficlet written for Tolkien Gen Week 2020.

A lending hand

"Fëanáro! Fëanáro, where are you!"

The voice calling him sounded very much like Irime. Fëanáro puffed in annoyance and glanced over his shoulder towards the doors. Indeed, there was his little half-sister, looking frantic and distressed. She hovered at the doorstep, as she already knew she was not allowed inside the forge without an adult. "Fëanáro!" she spotted him finally and clearly forgot about the prohibition, for she ran straight to him. At his firm gaze, however, she stopped mid-step, torn between whatever urged her to seek him and the fact that she should not have entered.

"What are you doing here?" Fëanáro inquired sternly. Irime usually followed Nolofinwe around very much the same way Nolofinwe followed him, so he didn't bother asking how come she knew the way to the forges. "You may come."

"Ara is lost!" Lalwende rushed to her brother, her eyes welling up with tears and her lip trembling. "Fëanáro, help!"

"How come?" Crossing his arms at his chest, Fëanáro looked down at her. "What are you doing here anyway?"

"Looking for Nolo..." Lalwen bravely swallowed tears and met his gaze. "Thought he'd be here. But I wasn't sure of the way and went to ask and Ara wasn't there and..." she sniffled and suddenly she was clinging to Fëanáro, sobbing into his apron. "I lost him!" she mumbled somewhere around his thigh.

"Alright," Fëanáro sighed in irritation and grasped the tiny hands clinging to him. "Wait for me outside. I am coming," he stressed, seeing Lalwen's uncertain glare.

Having asked master Mahtan to be dismissed, Fëanáro dropped his apron and gloves on the bench and hurried outside. The sooner he dealt with his half sister's disaster, the sooner he would be able to resume his work. Nolofinwe of course was nowhere near, the one time he could actually be of use hanging around.

"So where did you lose him?" Fëanáro asked and fought the urge to roll his eyes as his sister grasped his hand and tugged.

"Over there, somewhere around the corner," Lalwen tried to run, but Fëanáro's hand held her firmly. "Come on!"

"I am," he huffed at her. "Stop pulling." He strode after Lalwen, who would not slow down. "Who said you could go this far alone anyway? Not Atar surely," Fëanáro asked sourly, remembering how not so long ago their father would first chide Nolofinwe for slipping out yet again, then ask him to pay attention and look after his brother, should he disobey his parents again. And now Lalwende too? Wonderful.

"Told you, looking for Nolo."

"And yet we are looking for Arafinwe," Fëanáro remarked pointedly. "No, you are not going alone anywhere, I will not search for both of you."

"But-"

"We are going together."

And then they heard it. A child calling Irime, his voice getting higher and higher as he must have realised his sister was nowhere within his sight. Before they reached the corner of the street, the calling turned into a whimper.

"We are here, Ara!" Lalwen cried out and this time managed to force her brother to run. "See? We are here!" She passed the corner of the building obscuring the view and halted as the stone pavement ended abruptly, revealing uneven ground. This part of the street was being rebuilt, but the works had been stopped and for a good reason.

Fëanáro groaned. "Oh great. HOW did you manage to find the only puddle within the next hundred yards?"

"Oh." Arafinwe silenced and waved madly at both of them, fortunately not past the point of being irrevocably upset. Clearly what was about to become a disaster, now turned into an adventure. "Naro!" no longer alarmed by the lack of familiar faces, the child grinned, splashing more mud around, including both Fëanáro's knees and his own cheeks. "Muddy!"

"Yuck," the eldest son of Finwe made a face and turned to his sister. "You've got what you lost. Just take him back home."

Lalwende paled. "How?" she looked helplessly at her dirty baby brother, not in the least bothered by the mud soaking his garments, now that he had his siblings around. "Please come with me?"

Fëanáro shook his head and leaning forwards, he grasped Arafinwe under the arms and picked him from the mud. Trying to keep him as far away from his own clothes as possible, he put the boy on the pavement. "Like that," he shrugged and winced as he felt muddy fingers grasping his own. "Just take him home and try not to lose him again."

Arafinwe, however, had another idea. "Don't want home!" Looking hopefully up at his big brother, he blinked. "Play?"

"I'm busy."

"Fëanáro, please."

Feeling the gazes of the elves passing by, many of whom clearly recognised the High Prince and watched the three of them with visible interest, Fëanáro dearly wished for this sorry spectacle to end. Lalwen too looked like she had had enough fright for one day and would gladly return home. Only little Arafinwe seemed to have forgotten the scary moment of being utterly alone and was ready to explore the unfamiliar part of the city.

"Very well, I will take you back," Fëanáro agreed finally. "But you are getting him cleaned up," he warned his sister and firmly held Arafinwe's hand to make sure the boy would not wander off again.

Lalwende nodded hastily. "Sure."

Fëanáro was already walking, Arafinwe trotting by his side. He didn't look back, knowing that Lalwen would follow. What he didn't expect was another tiny hand grasping his own and a smile that was usually shy. With some hesitation, he returned the smile and tightened his grip.