"You've got cake on your face." Fingolfin took his little brother aside and wiped Finarfin's chin and the corners of his mouth; Finarfin was only ten and prone to making messes when he ate. "Most undignified."
"Your mom," Finarfin replied.
Fingolfin put a hand on his hip, not sure whether to be amused or annoyed. "Who taught you that... turn of phrase?" He had a feeling he already knew the answer.
"Fëanáro," Finarfin said solemnly.
"I knew it," Fingolfin muttered under his breath, then he shook his head and said, "Well, Arafinwë, it doesn't quite work on me because, as you know, we have the same mother. My mom is your mom."
Finarfin's eyes widened and then he stamped his feet and shrieked, "MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMM! ÑOLO SAID YOUR MOMMMMMMMMMM!"
Indis poked her head into the hall and stifled a grin. "Ingoldo, settle down."
"ÑOLO'S MAKING FUN OF ME!" Finarfin clenched his fists.
"So when Fëanáro does it, you idolize him, and when I merely point out a statement of fact, you think I'm personally attacking you." Fingolfin pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Fëanáro is cool. You're a big dork." Finarfin stuck out his tongue.
"You know where Aracáno got it from?" Now Indis didn't bother to hide her smile. "Your mom."
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