Chapter Text
In Aman, in the Blessed Lands, no darkness or pain or hurt was to ever touch the quendi again... Such was the promise of the Ainur, the kind words Manwë spoke to three young nér, smiling gently at them. They believed those words, touched by the great lengths the Valar had gone through to bring them there, to show them Valinor, to provide a safe haven away from the Dark Shadows lurking in Endóre. All of that shining light and hope was now crumbling like dust in the wind, like a building erected out of dry sand.
Telperion was shining when Olwë set out of his own home, leaving behind a mountain of responsibilities from his growing kingdom, and he knew that up north Ingwë was doing the same, both rushing towards Tirion. His wife had been alarmed when he rushed out of their bedroom, but upon hearing the news a terrible anguish had crossed her face and she gave him a solemn nod, wrapping his cape around his shoulders to keep him warm against the evening breeze. "I will handle your duties for as long as it is necessary," Airehíþie assured, "you take care of him. And... And do tell him we share his grief".
Little less than nine years. Less than nine years since they started to slowly pick up the pieces of what they had left, less than nine years since the Tatyar started to call themselves Noldor, since their king became the last of his bloodline. Less than nine years since his stupid elder brother broke his heart... Less than nine years that he and Míriel had been married.
Olwë arrived first. It rained, as if the world itself were falling apart mourning this loss, and it was a young nís who welcomed him and took his soaked cape, anxiously showing him through the deathly quiet halls of the house, which was not yet a palace, and which stood in the middle of what was not yet a city. The attendants, the 'guards'... all of them congregated silently around the doors that led to their King's chambers, and opened the way for him. In the antechamber stood the healers, dressed in practical white robes distinctive of Estë's devotees. The girl that led him there spoke in hushed tones to the leader of the group, who raised his head to offer a look of pity.
"Your Majesty." He bowed, speaking quietly.
Olwë could not care less about formalities and pleasantries.
"What happened?" He demanded to know. The courier, after all, had little to say beyond conveying the tragic news.
"I... Queen Míriel is gone"
He clenched his jaw for a second.
"Gone? How could she be gone? How- We are in Aman"
The poor healers didn't know how to answer- none of them had been under Estë's service for long, and none of them had any experience dealing with something like... like...
The doors opened at his back and the attendant sighed in soft relief, stepping back. Olwë turned his head and felt a wave of simultaneous relief and renowned worry.
"Rúmil!"
The Ta- the Noldo accepted the hug and for a moment they squeezed each other tightly. When they parted from their embrace, he saw the dark circles under his eyes and the unkept dark locks of hair falling over his shoulders, and he knew things were as worse as they could be. A tight knot formed in his throat as the healers and the attendant retreated to give them some privacy.
"I apologise for sending such a vague message, but I had little time... I am glad you are here"
Olwë tried to swallow and failed.
"Is he...?"
Rúmil's shoulders slumped even more and he shook his head.
"We have not been able to move him from that nursery." He said in a whisper. "He refuses to eat, to sleep... The elders are taking care of the city's affairs, I have been left in charge of the staff, but- I just don't know what to do"
So this was all real, it was truly happening. Rúmil held his shoulders as his knees weakened and he covered his face with his hands, quiet tears spilling out of his eyes. In Aman, in the Blessed Lands, no darkness or pain or hurt was to ever touch the quendi again... but that paradise lasted less than nine years before they were slammed back into reality.
Ingwë arrived less than three hours later, and they sat in that suffocatingly silent chamber around a low table, each with a cup of untouched cold tea before them.
"Míriel went into labour after Laurelin’s waxing, and there were no signs of anything wrong then," Rúmil told them finally once he had gathered the strength to do so. "It wasn't until waning hours later that the healers noticed something amiss... They just couldn't touch the child's fëa to monitor it. Soon after she started bleeding profusely and she had little strength to push, but they managed to stabilise her for a while, until— until she started to fade quickly, as if all of her strength was being redirected to her child." His voice broke for a second and he closed his eyes. "She was still awake for about two hours afterwards, just enough to say goodbye"
Olwë couldn't believe it. Míriel was strong, and more than that she had been so so careful in her pregnancy, delighted by the prospect of bringing their first child into the world. She spent countless hours preparing a beautiful nursery, a wardrobe full of tiny clothes, and dozens of toys to make sure that baby grew as the happiest child in the world. Airehíþie and Quildolore had shared her excitement, delighted that they would be aunts and that they could help her by sharing their own experiences. It just... It just wasn’t real, it couldn’t be. It was Míriel.
"And the child?" Ingwë asked.
Rúmil did not answer immediately and Olwë felt as if he were about to crumble.
"It can't be... please give us some good news!"
"... The boy is alive," the wordsmith finally said quietly, "but he hasn't woken up"
Not... woken up?
"What does that mean?"
"He breathes, but there was no first cry, and they still cannot touch his fëa." Rúmil lowered his eyes. "The healers believe he was likely born without it. That Míriel gave him all of hers unconsciously in hopes he could live. They think that once the last of hers fades away, his body will just- collapse"
Olwë couldn't hear this anymore- and more than that, he couldn't just stay sitting there.
"I will go see him." He announced.
Neither Rúmil nor Ingwë made a move to stop him.
He knew that knocking would go unanswered, and so when he reached the end of the hallway he pushed the door of the nursery open silently. The curtains were drawn shut and the far away sound of the rain echoed from the windows. The beautifully painted walls felt as if they were closing in around him as he walked in, judged harshly by the eyes of the animals painted to run across a green meadow. The dark wooden crib was the focal point, a canopy of soft red velvet set above it, laying entirely empty. Olwë searched around for a second in panic before he noticed that there was a bunch of rumpled fabric just behind it on the floor, and then another second later did he realise that was his best friend, his brother in everything but blood, sat with his back to the crib and curled into a tiny ball.
All of sudden, he had no more courage to step forwards.
It took him almost an entire minute to move again, hesitantly stepping across the room, and knelt just before him. His friend did not lift his head, his tight curls a tangled mess around his head. His knees were drawn up almost to his chest, where he held a tiny bundle of blankets. This close, Olwë could finally make out the laboured breathing of that tiny creature, the one and only sound that gave him any indication that it was alive.
"... Meldonya?" He called quietly.
There was no response.
Hoping to get any reaction, he reached to put a hand on his knee slowly. Even with how limited his sight was, he could tell that he had lost a lot more weight, as if he weren't just bones already, a small stick of a man that matched his wife in build.
"Anya," he tried again, his voice shaking, "it's me. Ingwë and I are here"
His touch did not seem to do anything, but at the call of his name he let out a wounded sound and a choked sob. Olwë didn't need anything else- he reached forwards and delicately wrapped his arms around his shoulders, drawing him in closer as he started crying.
That was the picture that Ingwë came into fifteen minutes later; Olwë was holding him to his chest, rocking back and forth, while the both of them were a mess of tears.
They had to get him to eat, bathe, sleep. Anya wanted to hear none of it, shaking his head vehemently and remaining stubbornly rooted right there next to the crib even when he was devoid of strength, until in between all three of them they managed to convince him, by promising Rúmil would hold the baby as Ingwë and Olwë helped him to the bathroom, sat just a few paces away within his line of sight.
His skin was pulled tightly over his bones, weighing nothing as he sagged against them, so Olwë sat with him in the shallow water of the tub while Ingwë painstakingly worked to brush away all the knots and tangles on his head. Weak as he was, with the light within him barely clinging on, he could not fight the exhaustion any longer and eventually passed out entirely in Olwë's arms. He was so terribly pale, fragile. Olwë had never thought he was fragile even during their childhood when he and his brother had surpassed him in height and weight easily, but there was no other word to describe him now; Anya felt like cracked glass, ready to break if he was lightly shoved the wrong way. Ingwë carried him back to the nursery, since Olwë's hands were shaking far too much, and the robes that they dressed him with now fell at least two sizes too big, even though last month they had seen him wear them just fine.
They sat in silence around the chaise where they laid him down, and an attendant brought in a covered bowl of porridge, a jug of warm wine, a towel, and a bottle of milk.
"Can the baby eat?" Olwë asked, eyeing the bottle.
Rúmil shook his head.
"Not on his own. Anya feeds him drop by drop. Here, let me show you"
Olwë almost let go when Rúmil put the little bundle in his arms, but he quickly adjusted to hold him properly. Ingwë leaned over his shoulder to see.
"Eru, he is so tiny..."
He was, fitting perfectly in between both his hands. In fact, he would not be surprised if the bundle of soft blankets he was swaddled in weighed more than he did. But he was a beautiful child, with a few wisps of brown hair and a healthy pink to his little cheeks. If not for his unsteady breathing and his closed eyes, he looked normal.
Rúmil gathered the clean towel on the tray and poured a small portion of the milk into it, forming a small pouch and squeezing until the first drop started to soak through, and very gently he coaxed the baby's mouth open to feed him. By this method, it would take at least an hour to go through the entire bottle, if not more! And Anya had been doing it by himself? Every time?
Olwë accepted the towel from Rúmil's hand and held it, and once again his sight was clouded by tears. Eventually Ingwë took over, so as not to soak the poor child in his tears.
Half the bottle was gone when Anya woke up again. He stirred slowly, alerting them with a weak sound. Olwë reached to brush his damp curls away from his face, holding his hand steadily as his golden eyes blinked open, unfocused at first.
"El...?"
His heart already laid on the floor entirely shattered, but the call of his elder brother's name was yet another blow, as if someone had taken a boulder and crushed those pieces into fine powder one by one. His weak raspy voice in that soft hopeful tone—
"No," he had to say weakly, hating himself for it, "I'm sorry"
Just as quick as a tiny spark had bloomed in his eyes, it was gone again. Stupid, he was so stupid. He should've let Rúmil or Ingwë be the first he saw, and not him with the same white hair and features of Elwë.
"My son..."
"He is here." Rúmil assured quickly, and in between him and Olwë they propped him up slightly with a pillow, adjusting the warm blanket on his lap, while Ingwë stood to come closer and show him that the baby was safe and being fed. It was only then that the tension left his body and he laid limp in the chaise.
Anya's weak fingers closed over Olwë's, and he held his cold hand between both of his, trying to offer even the tiniest sliver of comfort.
"Have the healers said anything?"
A brief uncomfortable silence rose in between them, and then Rúmil shook his head.
"I'm afraid not. We have sent word to Lady Estë and Lord Námo, hoping their maiar can come and offer some answers"
That was good, it had to be. If Estë's maiar could not find what had gone wrong, then at least Námo's could tell them why the babe would not wake. Except, if it was true that there was something fundamentally wrong with his fëa... No. It was best to not entertain such thoughts. Anya had already suffered more than enough, he did not deserve to lose his only child too. They would get there soon and the both of them would recover, they simply had to.
"Don't lose faith, all will be well." Olwë knew that could very well be a lie, but he was willing to delude himself too. "Come now, try to eat something, you'll need your strength"
But Anya could not even hold the bowl on his own. He and Rúmil fed him patiently, but he only was able to stomach a quarter of the bowl before he refused to have more, and then he demanded to have his son, so they placed the baby very carefully right next to him. His boney fingers carefully adjusted the blankets, his eyes focused only on the little one and nothing else.
"... I hope he doesn't have my eyes." He whispered after a long pause.
"Your eyes are beautiful." Ingwë said kindly, brushing his hair soothingly.
Anya hum-ed softly.
"El had silver eyes too"
... He did. Both he and Míriel. It made sense Anya yearned for even the smallest hint of his presence, especially now that they would never see him again. Olwë had never hated his brother more than at that moment; Anya was here, weak and fading, going through the worst of all pains, and his brother had abandoned him. Elwë had promised to give him the entire world, taken advantage of Anya's sweet earnest love, and simply left without as much as a goodbye. He glanced at Ingwë above Anya's head, and he knew the eldest also thought the same, that Elwë didn't deserve as much as a spare thought from their beloved. Rúmil pressed his lips in a line but said nothing, since he never had anything positive to say about him even back during their childhood. He probably ached for a time in the future when he’d be able to tell Anya ‘I told you so’.
"What is his name?" Olwë decided to change topic.
Anya fell silent again for a moment.
"S-She called him Fëanáro. I haven't chosen"
Fëanáro...
"Náro, then?" Olwë tried to smile.
Anya didn't smile back, but he squeezed his hand, and he fell silent after that for a long while, as there was truly not much else to say at the moment. Nothing good, anyway.
Rúmil glanced at the windows.
“You should try to sleep for a while at least”
He immediately tensed again and squirmed, letting out a soft whimper.
“I can’t, I have to look after him—“
“You also need to look after yourself,” Olwë pleaded.
Anya pulled his hand away and held his child protectively, shaking his head. He was evidently starting to panic, so Ingwë quickly let go of where he’d been petting at his hair and knelt besides Olwë.
“Alright, alright— I know you want to stay close to him, so why don’t we bring a basket or a crib to put by your side? He’ll be right here, and there will be a nursemaid watching over both of you as you rest. I promise”
As always, Ingwë’s deep calm voice seemed to do the trick, and Anya slowly calmed down as he silently analysed all the downsides and benefits of the arrangement.
“… Two nursemaids”
“If that makes you feel safer, we will call two nursemaids”
He nodded slowly.
“Ok… Ok”
Ingwë sighed in relief and kissed his forehead.
“Thank you, Anya”
The staff worked fast, in less than twenty minutes they had called for the nursemaids and found a suitable bedding for little Fëanáro. The crib in the nursery was not meant to be moved and it was much too tall for Anya to see comfortably from the chaise, so instead they brought in a stroller, a portable crib that was lowered to be at his height. He fell asleep promptly after that, and the three of them retreated to the antechamber…
They collapsed to sleep on the couches, nowhere near ready to tackle the upcoming days.
Olwë dreamed of the trees that saw him grow, of his sharp-tongued brothers and his mother’s warmth. He couldn’t really see her even in his dreams, he had long since forgotten what she looked like because she’d died when all three of them were very young… But unlike Anya they had no elder siblings to raise them, and it was a collective effort between the Nelyar to keep them safe. They grew well, given the circumstances, quite happy in fact.
As his dream shifted Anya was there, his eyes shining like precious gold while he leaned his weight against Elwë’s lanky figure. There was no light of the trees reflected in them yet, but they seemed about the right age, so he knew this had been shortly before the trip.
“… can’t say those things without backing it up,” he was saying between giggles while his adoring eyes were focused on Elwë, “my sisters keep asking me when exactly you plan on following up with that proposal”
Elwë had wrapped his arm around him, leaning down to kiss his temple. Back then Olwë truly thought he was in love, with the way he treated Anya.
“Soon.” He had promised. “If your sisters ask you, tell them we have waited because you deserve only the best”
Back then the most important thing behind the vows was of course, the security of knowing your partner could provide. They had very little, even as advanced as their people was growing to be… Elwë had been working for decades to rebuild their childhood home and improve it, wanting to offer the perfect house for his new spouse and any family they might have later. That project was never finished. Olwë didn’t think that house even existed any longer.
“Ha, if you’re not willing to marry him, I am!”
Olwë turned his head to see Míriel approach with a soft pout on her lips. Her long silver hair was gathered in a messy bun, her trousers smudged with mud. Anya’s face brightened even more when she approached and he eagerly opened his arms. Míriel sat down on the soft grass and burrowed into his embrace.
“I asked him first”
Elwë was, as always, jealous, and he tightened his grip on Anya’s waist to haul him closer, sticking his tongue out to Míriel.
“Anya, how can you let this dog take you away?” She complained loudly, resting her head on his chest dramatically. “Why is he better than me in your heart?”
Anya simply laughed, patting her head with a hand while he made no move to untangle himself from either of them.
“You are both equally beloved to me. El will be my first husband, but you will be my first wife. See? Both are first”
Olwë had run away after that because they had become even more disgustingly mushy with each other, and decided to go bother Elmo instead of being forced to third wheel. (Fourth wheel?).
The dream shifted again and this time he was sat in front of a fire by Míriel’s side, surrounded by dark trees that were unfamiliar and unwelcoming. She looked worn and tired, her hair loose and still wearing her travel clothing. Small tents spread around them and up in the canopies of the trees.
“I don’t think I can keep him together. I’m not enough”
Oh… this was…
“He loves you,” he heard himself say, “he will continue as long as you stay by his side”
She had turned to see him then, her eyes sad and full of tears.
“I know he does, but I also know that it is not the same. You grew up together, he and El— it’s just not something I can match. It’s not something I can even understand”
Anya and Elwë had been orbiting around each other since before Olwë’s mother died. When they discovered what love was, it was with each other, and they had been utterly inseparable since. It was impossible to think of Elwë without thinking of Anya and vice versa, they might as well had been married long ago with how they acted and how everyone treated them. But Olwë knew for a fact that Anya didn’t love Míriel an ounce less. He had met her during a hunt, when she easily soared over all the boys’ heads all the while shooting an arrow that hit the target perfectly; she was clever, skilled, strong, charismatic… one single conversation later and he was sighing in longing wondering when he’d see her next. And even if Elwë hadn’t liked her, even if he’d demanded to have Anya all to himself, Olwë knew that Anya would never stop loving her.
“He loves the both of you in different ways. I don’t think my brother understood his love for you either”
Anya had slowly picked himself back up with her help, clinging to her as the last beacon of hope he had, and they had made it out at last. They made it to Valinor, to safety…
But then they received word that Elwë was not dead.
And then Anya was King.
And then he was married.
And then Míriel was pregnant.
When Olwë woke up, it was to the dreaded feeling that Anya would likely fade away soon and join his wife in the Halls of the Dead.
The healers returned early before waxing, but they had no good news to share. The baby remained quiet and asleep, with no answers as to why. Most of the day Anya laid down holding him, except when Rúmil and Ingwë managed to get him up to at least walk a bit around the nursery. The baby was fed, painstakingly slow but fed nonetheless, and then Anya had sat on the tub with very little water while a nursemaid gently showed him how to give his son his first bath. He had cried as he did, because this was not what he had expected when his wife announced her pregnancy, it was not what they had dreamed of and fantasised about for nine months*. Fëanáro was four days old now. It was such a short time, and yet so long in these circumstances.
The next day, the fifth day, a maiar of Estë and a maiar of Námo arrived as promised. The healer examined the baby first, frowning in confusion.
“He is mostly healthy, for a premature baby. Underweight as expected, since he cannot eat on his own, but not dangerously so. I am worried about his breathing, but this is likely linked to his premature birth as well”
Nothing physical, as expected. The maia of Námo went next, and they remained silent for a very long time, pensive.
“He does have a fëa of his own, but I’m aftaid that I cannot reach it. It feels… small. Obstructed. This is the sort of response I’d expect from a traumatic event in which one retreats to the darkest corners of their mind. If he was like this before he was born, then that explains why his mother’s fëa was drained; she would instinctively try to protect him, try to bring him forth, with no control or say into stopping that torrent”
“There has to be a way to wake his fëa.” Anya pleaded.
The maia tapped their chin for a second.
“I would not be reserved in trying if we were dealing with an adult, or even an adolescent, but children’s minds are very fragile and there is no telling if it would cause more harm than good”
He fell silent for a moment and Olwë nervously squeezed his shoulder, more worried by his silent than if he were fighting and arguing. Anya had never been quiet like this before.
“How is my wife?”
She was already in the Halls, after all.
“She is healing.” The maia answered honestly. “Lord Námo does not forsee her returning soon”
What? Why? Olwë could not believe that she would leave Anya alone at a time like this— but then again she had suffered much during labour, perhaps she needed some time to fully recover.
“It will be a slow process, with the complicated birth and how the child absorbed all of her strength”
Anya didn’t raise his head, and after a couple seconds Ingwë and Olwë exchanged worried looks, but—
“Get out”
He flinched right at his side, mouth falling open at the outright hostile hiss.
“Anya!”
“Get out! I do not want you in my home!” He stood up, picking up the baby, and turned his back to the maiar.
Both maiar looked stunned, but they bowed their heads nonetheless and Rúmil escorted them out while muttering apologies for Anya’s outburst.
“They were trying to help.” Olwë pleaded with him, reaching to catch his elbow since he was worried over how long he could remain standing.
Anya tore his arm away, protectively holding the baby to his chest.
“You call that helping?” He snarled. “It is not my son’s fault! He didn’t do this to her! They didn’t have anything to say that I didn’t know already either way!”
“Anya…”
“I could see the pity in their eyes, how they think I am weak and stupid for holding on when they think— when you all think that there is no hope left!”
His back hit the wall and he slowly slid down to the floor, quiet tears rolling down his cheeks.
“He is all I have.” His voice was small now, all the fire he had shown mere seconds ago, gone. “My sisters are gone. All my nieces and nephews. El… El left me. And now Míriel too. I am alone”
He was the very last of his family, and that was unlikely to ever change. He had held on because of Míriel, she was his last lifeline when he had nothing else.
Ingwë knelt down and held his shoulders firmly.
“You are not alone. Are we not here with you, melinya?”
Anya didn’t smile or relax, but he let his weight fall against Ingwë as the golden haired Vanya lovingly kissed his brow and craddled him to his chest.
But two more days passed, and the baby had not given a single sign of proper life.
Olwë, Ingwë and Rúmil knew that it was time to let go, as much as it pained them to think that way. Anya was not going to get better as long as he kept holding that baby that might as well have been born dead, and if the baby had some light in him then he didn’t deserve to live like that either. But how to tell him? How to convince him that it was the best course of action? He was falling apart at the seams, and they were terrified that if they were to bring it up and it were to happen… well, Anya might completely fade away. Nothing was helping, and they simply could do nothing to help if he refused to receive that help.
“We have to do something.” Olwë whispered.
“Do what? He will not listen, he feels alone and abandoned”
“He isn’t, we are here—“
“It is not the same, no matter how hard we try to replace the people he’s lost.” Rúmil shook his head. “We may love him, but he’s been slowly losing himself for a long time”
“He’s been carrying a load far too heavy.” Ingwë agreed quietly.
Anya had been the one to take the lead of his people, placing himself as beacon to make way in the darkness. When the first of his family was taken away he had to force himself to continue, and it had taken a huge toll. They knew he despaired, that he would never forget dragging his sisters forwards as they cried and screamed for their lost children, that he would never forgive himself for having taken them to their doom. But he had to move forwards, he had to continue for the sake of everyone else, and it only made him feel even more of a monster. Having his heart broken had started a chain of events that led the three of them having to face the possibility of him dying.
All Anya had ever wanted was to live a comfortable simple life with the two loves of his life… he didn’t want to be a hero or a King. This twist of fate was far too cruel.
“He won’t listen to us…”
Rúmil sighed.
“No… He won’t let go until that child stops breathing”
And if the healers were right, it would happen soon. The baby could not survive like this even if he was fed and cared for. He would not even have a proper life. The Elders had started their preparations for two funerals, not only one.
“Maybe if we asked to see Míriel? Or tried to get word to her?”
Námo’s servant had said that she would not return soon, but surely if she found out that her husband and child were in such a dire situation, she might change her mind.
“I doubt that would work,” said Ingwë, “but we do not have many choices… we should at the very least try”
A far echo of thunder in the distance. It had not stopped raining since the day Míriel died, and the torrential rain had completely blocked the light of both trees, casting them into perpetual darkness.
“I will send an emissary now, then.” Rúmil pushed himself off his chair. “The sooner they can reach the Halls, the better our chances”
This was such a foolish quest, but they would try nonetheless. They’d do anything for Anya.
Olwë would never forget that ‘night’…
Rúmil had not yet walked away when a scream pierced the silence, the unmistakable cry of a child echoing from the hallway.
Still like statues they remained, as did every member of staff in that house, eyes wide staring in the direction of that sound, in between terror and shock. Surely it was the wind howling in the storm? Surely they had mistaken the sound of thunder for something else?
Ingwë stumbled forwards, forgoing his grace and formality, nearly crashing against the door before he pushed it open, the cries becoming louder as he did.
Anya was kneeling in the soft carpet, holding the wailing baby in his arms as he sobbed with equal intensity, out of disbelief and utter relief that at least one part of the whole nightmare was over.
That tiny babe, so small that he fit in both of Olwë’s palms, shone with so much light that for a second he flinched at the sight, an unexpected warmth hitting him in the face when there should be nothing but a cold draft even with the fireplace roaring in the corner.
“Rú… Rúmil…”
The wordsmith did not answer, frozen in place.
“Rúmil,” Olwë tried again, and he did not sound as weak this time, “the healers”
He did not turn away from the sight, but from the corner of his eye he saw Rúmil flinch before he booked it out of the room as fast as he could physically run.
Anya held the baby’s forehead to his, hiccuping between sobs, and Olwë still millennia later would swear he could see the first parental bond form right before their eyes, the fiery flame of that child wrapping itself tightly around the weak light of his father… tying them together, tethering him back to Arda.
He had never seen -nor would he see again- a fire as bright as this.
Nobody truly slept after that. When waxing came again Anya sat in between the comfortable cushions of his own bed that had laid abandoned before, gently rocking the baby. Recently fed, he slept comfortably as if he had not been born in a coma, as if that horrible week had been nothing but a nightmare. The light of Laurelin shone once again, bathing the room in a gentle light. Anya still looked rough, starved and pale, but there was a soft smile -if a bit sad- on his lips, and his golden eyes had slowly started to shine with a new spark.
The healers had been cautious, directly warning him that there was still a possibility that the child would not live long with his weak constitution and the strange way his fëa behaved. It was simply too much, and they feared it would crush his hröa from the inside.
“He will be fine.” Anya shook his head, refusing to listen. He did not even lift his head, his finger softly tracing the outline of a small puffy cheek. “My son is strong”
The healers exchanged silent glances, but did not refute him. Rúmil cleared his throat softly and brought forwards the documents he carried, sitting down at the edge of the bed to write on his own lap.
“It is time we add our little Prince to our new records. His mother name is Fëanáro, have you chosen one for him?”
Anya finally lifted his eyes, looking at him in silence for a moment before he once again looked at his baby.
“Curufinwë.” He stated after a pause, sounding very sure of himself. “Curufinwë Fëanáro, son of Míriel Þerinde and Finwë”
Rúmil stopped the scratch of his quill and everyone on the room blinked at him, utterly perplexed.
“Finwë?” Olwë repeated.
He nodded, happily leaning to kiss the baby’s forehead.
“I feel as if I’ve been born once again… I will take this opportunity for what it is and move forwards. A new life for me and him”
Rúmil nodded slowly and finished writing out both names, setting down his quill.
Anya— Finwë suddenly blinked, startled, and leaned back with a short breathless laugh of surprise.
“Is there something wrong?” Ingwë asked immediately.
He laughed again and shook his head, leaning back against the pillows.
“Ah, what did I tell you… he has silver eyes”
Little Fëanáro yawned, and as his three uncles leaned forwards he observed them with a pair of eyes of shining silver. He was so tiny and adorable, and although he looked like his mother through and through, the way those eyes shone was just the same as his father’s.
“Welcome to Aman, my little flame.” Finwë whispered, adjusting his grip to hold a tiny hand in his finger. “In here you will grow strong and free, and you will know none of the pain we have experienced. I can’t wait to see the man that you will become”
Even for a premature newborn, Fëanáro’s grip was iron tight and unbreakable.
Notes:
Airehíþie [Olwë’s wife]= sea mist.
Quildolore [Ingwë’s wife]= quiet dream.
Meldonya = my friend.
Anya = shortened form of Finwë’s birth name. I decided to not reveal his original name at all :)
SIDE NOTE— I know that at this point in canon quenya as a language is technically not a thing yet (at least not to its full extent) but uh, I’m not smart enough to think about it much so quenya words and names it is.* I have mentioned this only vaguely in-text in like part 1, but I go by the headcanon that elven pregnancies last 12 months. Náro is indeed premature, being born at 9 months.
If you saw me slip and mention ‘day’, ‘night’ or ‘sun’— no you didn’t. You absolutely didn’t.
Anyway! Here is the first part of the long promised part centred around Náro! And since this is about him, I thought we would start from… well, from the start ;)
You will see him in many different ways and stages of his life!
I’m not sure how many chapters this will be, it will depend on how long I ramble, but I will tentatively say five or six. When I figure it out I will set the chapter count officially!I hope you’ve enjoyed this introductory chapter, and as always thank you so much for your support!
Chapter Text
Airehíþie gathered as many gifts as they could possibly carry by the time they could afford to visit Tirion. It would soon be the first birthday of little Fëanáro, which meant being invited to a party to celebrate… a year was not such a long time for any elf, but this was already far beyond what the healers thought he would live. They had not heard many in-depth updates since the last year, especially since Anya— since Finwë had that terrible habit of never voicing the negative side of anything. And in a slightly worrying tendency, he didn’t seem too eager to share much about his son, barely mentioning the bare minimum in his letters. Olwë worried for this, but Airehíþie was much more patient and she insisted that he likely was too busy to detail every single little thing.
They met with Ingwë and Quildolore after arriving in the palace, exchanging a few words before Rúmil came to find them. He looked— tired, although not in a negative way, and he wore a calm smile that was more aligned with his usual mood, contrary to the anxiety that had plagued him a year ago.
“I saw everything you brought! He’s just a year old and you’re already turning him into a spoiled prince.” He said lightly, offering a quick hug to each of them, and a kiss to their wives’ cheeks. “I already have enough stopping Finwë from spending our entire budget on what that baby wants”
“He’s our nephew, of course we’ll spoil him,” Olwë winked before he dared ask; “How are the both of them?”
Rúmil sighed.
“Finwë still fights with me about sleeping and eating properly… To be honest, I am always worried about his mental state; I’m not sure he’s coping as well as he wants to pretend. The healers have prescribed him potions to help with sleeping, but I also doubt he takes them.” Stubborn as always, then… Rúmil frowned. “He’s relying too heavily on the baby, but the baby is also not fully well. When he cries it takes hours until he passes out from exhaustion, and he’s started to have what the healers call ‘seizures’. It’s rather terrifying, he starts- convulsing and shaking, but sometimes they just have him losing awareness”
“Oh dear…” Airehíþie clutched at her chest. Olwë himself could not bear to think what he would do should any of their own children suffer the same. “Is there a reason why he cries so much? Can those seizures be stopped?”
Rúmil shook his head.
“His fëa burns with too much strength, and it takes a toll on his body. The healers don’t know if he’s in constant pain because he cannot tell us, but we know at least that his own tears burn him. They’re extremely hot even for us to touch. As for the seizures… we don’t know yet”
Anya had definitely not mentioned any of this in his monthly updates. That fact alone was another warning sign regarding his own wellbeing.
“Can we see them?” Quildolore inquired softly.
Rúmil nodded.
“He’s been waiting for you. That, at least, I can promise he’s been looking up to”
Even now, however, it seemed that only further tragedy followed Anya… whenever things started to look up, there was always something just around the corner to beat him back down.
Rúmil brought them to the gardens behind the house, where flowers bloomed and trees arched to provide shade. Míriel had planted most of those flowers when they first settled in the area, and the staff dutifully looked after them to keep them thriving. From afar they saw Anya sat down in a pile of pillows under a gazebo with his back turned to them. A nursemaid and a couple of attendants stood by to keep an eye on them, but they seemed relaxed, which was in itself reassuring. He heard them coming eventually and turned his head over his shoulder, his golden eyes sparkling with genuine excitement to see them, a small smile blooming on his lips. He looked so much better already, despite still being thin and slightly pale, and he stood up to turn to greet them. In his arms, craddled like a precious little treasure, was his son.
Curufinwë Fëanáro was still tiny, dressed in a red soft cotton gown and no shoes, only a pair of warm socks. His hair had already started growing, being a warm chocolate colour, and his silver grey eyes held a distinctive spark of curiosity in them. He was Míriel’s vivid image already, in everything except his hair. Even his skin tone he’d inherited from her, as instead of black like his father’s, his was a lighter brown.
“Rúmil, you could’ve told me our guests had arrived!”
“They have only just come in, you didn’t miss a thing.” The wordsmith laughed softly while they finished walking towards him.
“It’s wonderful to see you, dear.” Quildolore was the one who got ahead to kiss his cheeks, before she leaned down to face the baby. “Is this little Fëanáro? He’s so adorable!”
Anya straightened proudly as the little one reached out to try and grab her pale hair.
“He is, isn’t he? The most beautiful and perfect baby.” He declared shamelessly, lifting him up to kiss his round cheeks, earning a delighted giggle in turn. “Say hello to your aunties and uncles, Curvo”
Fëanáro clapped his hands.
“A’ya!”
Anya chuckled and nodded.
“That’s right; aia”
“So precious…” Airehíþie covered her mouth, overwhelmed.
“Can I hold him?” Quildolore begged.
“That’ll be if he lets you!” Rúmil huffed. “He’s quite picky, for such a spoiled child”
“Oh, shush with you.” Finwë rolled his eyes. “Do you want to go with your auntie, Curvo?”
Without waiting for an answer he extended him forwards and Quildolore received him excitedly, folding her arms around her with experience. Fortunately he was well fascinated with her hair to make any fuss.
Both Olwë and Ingwë seized the chance to hug him and greet him properly, while both nís cooed at the baby.
“I see fatherhood is going well for you.” Ingwë smiled, brushing his curls away from his eyes in a familiar motion.
Finwë buried himself deeper against his chest, smiling softly.
“He’s the best thing that has ever happened to me”
Ah… even as worried as they were deep down, how could they even consider those grim possibilities when he looked so radiant and happy?
“We are truly happy for you…” Olwë reached out and pinched his ear lightly. “But that doesn’t mean we’ll forget how you’ve been omitting telling us facts about your health!”
“Ow!” He pouted softly as he rubbed the affected area. “It’s nothing—“
“If you are not well it’s not nothing”
He let out a sigh, shaking his head.
“No, truly. I… it’s the bond sickness.” Anya was obviously not happy to be talking about it, but the fact that he was talking about it at all was in itself a good sign. “I can deal better with it now, but I truly doubt I’ll ever be the same again”
What a painful reminder.
Anya had already been affected with bond sickness when they arrived in Aman, courtesy of Olwë’s bastard of a brother, and now that Míriel was gone that pain had doubled. None of them had thankfully suffered from it before, but every elf under the stars had heard the stories of how horrible it was to lose your spouse or spouses, how your entire world seemed to collapse as the bond was violently ripped away into nothing, leaving a gaping wound that not even time could heal. Those who suffered from bond sickness could still lead somewhat fullfilling lives, but they would always fall sick easily and have health problems in varying degrees. Anya was already thin and short for a Noldo, never having enough to grow to his fullest, and now that he finally had all the resources he had always deserved, he would be held back by the permanent pain he would always carry.
“She’ll be back someday.” Olwë assured, because she had to. Because he knew Míriel and he knew she would never abandon them.
Finwë managed a smile again.
“I know. Now, that’s enough about me. Tell me how things are faring in Alqualondë and Váli-màr”
“As well as they can be, with my sons entering their rebel phase.” Olwë grunted as he massaged his temple.
Finwë laughed at that. Truth to be told, all of their sons were much the same, inheriting the intense character from his side of the family, and he could only hope their teenage years would he over quickly.
“There is little to tell from my part,” Ingwë said lightly, “the construction is going well, and that’s about all there’s to say”
It had only been a year, after all.
“I’m glad to hear, I know you’ve all been worried about me, I don’t want that to get in your way”
Olwë squeezed his face between his hands.
“We are family, you could not be a bother even if you tried”
He laughed at that, gently shoving him off, and the traces of shadows in his eyes vanished.
“Ama”
The three of them turned after the little whine. Fëanáro was reaching in his father’s direction making grabby hands, all the while Airehíþie pouted, sad that he didn’t want her to hold him. By then Rúmil had decided to invite himself to the tray of snacks the attendants had brought over, smugly looking at them with his natural ‘I told you so’ smirk.
“Ai, you can’t let your aunties hold you for a few minutes?” Finwë picked him back up, and just like that the fussiness was over. “They came to see you from far away”
“Ama.” The baby repeated stubbornly, burying his face on the crook of his neck.
“It’s ata, Curvo. A-t-a? You can say it”
Fëanáro whined again.
“Ma-ma!”
He sighed, defeated.
“Fine, fine… I’m still ammë for now”
Quildolore giggled softly.
“He can’t say it yet, I see”
It was naturally easier for a baby to start with sounds like ‘m’, so most children called for their mother first… Fëanáro only had Anya however, so to him it was all the same.
“Oh, he can talk quite fine already, he’s just stubborn!”
“Wonder where he got it from…” Rúmil mumbled.
“I heard that!”
Laughter echoed in the garden as they all sat down to relax, joining Rúmil.
“Is it such a bad thing that he calls you ammë?“ Ingwë asked, reaching to offer a hand to the baby, and little Fëanáro took it curiously, examining his fingers. “You are both his parents for now, until Míriel comes back”
Anya rolled his eyes with a huff.
“Why do I even invite you here, hm?”
But he still looked very happy sitting there with his found family, sharing the joy that his son had brought him. They could only hope that Fëanáro was going to be fine, and that Finwë could handle this new life he was forced to lead.
They kept it to themselves, not wanting to upset him, but they worried deeply… they had, after all, seen the bandages around his hands and fingers. They had seen the red tender spots in the shape of little hands and the burn scar on his chest where he likely held his child to help him sleep every night. He kept hurting himself over and over without care— it was not the baby’s fault, but it spoke about the terrifying strength hiding beneath his skin, one far too great for any elda, let alone a one year old babe. It had just cemented their fears that, after all, the little prince of the Noldor might not live too long at all.
Chaotic was more or less the usual day in the palace, even in peacetimes. Rúmil observed it all with certain amusement and undeniable relief that he no longer formed part of the court, because he would’ve been driven absolutely mad. He only used to help back in the day when the Noldor were establishing themselves in Tirion, before the true hassles of running a kingdom presented themselves, and he’d left to follow his research at the right time.
A couple of old acquaintances greeted him fleetingly, and he caught a brief glance of one of the High Kings, before an attendant came to fetch him and brought him out to the gardens— In so many years the garden that Míriel had started had grown and changed entirely, now also being decorated with flowers planted by Indis, Findis and Lalwen’s hands, reconstructions done where mischievous grandchildren had destroyed certain parts, and expanded to fit a beautiful pavilion to sit in more comfortably. That was where Finwë was sat.
Before he turned to greet Rúmil he almost expected him to be holding one of his children or grandchildren on his lap, but all of them had grown into adults or near adults now. He also did not look the same as back then anymore, he hadn’t for a long while; after his marriage to Indis he had finally started to eat and sleep properly, quickly shooting up in height to make up for all those years of pain and malnutrition, his muscles slowly filling out with more exercise running after his sons, his eyes growing softer and his smile more genuine. Nowadays there was hardly any trace of sadness in him.
“Rúmil, old friend!”
He smiled, inevitably mirroring his grin, and reached out to hug him.
They had seen each other during Tyelkormo’s second wedding, but hadn’t had time to properly talk or meet since then due to each other’s schedule.
“It is good to see you, Anya”
They sat in the peaceful gardens, away from the busy palace.
“I’ve heard you’ve been busy,” Finwë commented lightly.
“Oh, do not try to put the attention on me, don’t think I haven’t heard of your little reconciliation with Elwë!”
At least he had the decency to look chastised…
“You know he’s not as awful as you think he is”
“I’m pretty sure he is and you’re simply biased”
Rúmil had never particularly liked Elwë and his uptight arrogant attitude, something about how he interacted with Anya made him weary and suspicious. Of course, his childhood friend had never paid any attention to his concerns, insisting that he was just being paranoid. Rúmil still maintained he’d been in the right, the entire ordeal with Elwë leaving him was proof. But Finwë was a grown man, he was entitled to his terrible romantic choices, Rúmil could only criticise him about it.
“We’re not fully together, if that reassures you,” he offered, “we can’t just go back to how things used to be”
“Small mercies…”
Finwë laughed, unashamed, and he reached out to serve them each a cup of wine to enjoy as they talked.
“I miss having you around,” he said affectionately, “there is hardly anyone else who will fight me on anything”
“Well someone has to knock you down a peg”
For the next hour or so he told him about his recent work, how things faired in his own household, and in turn listened about Finwë speak about his family, telling him about his wife and how the ‘children’ were faring. His eyes inevitably glanced towards the palace once or twice, and inevitably his friend asked;
“Looking for someone?”
He didn’t think it was wise to speak about that particular topic, so instead he brought up another, thankful that the difference was hardly noticeable.
“He’s still avoiding me, you know”
Finwë smiled.
“He’s just embarrassed, give him time.”
Rúmil raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptic, and he chuckled.
“He’s had two Ages to stop being embarrassed”
Finwë rolled his eyes.
“That doesn’t make it any easier. You’re his uncle, he hates that he has disappointed you. Why do you think he’s avoiding Olwë and the others as well?”
Rúmil quieted for a moment.
“I should’ve been there for him more,” he confessed after a pause, “he was broken after your death, and all of us ran away instead of letting him rely on us”
Fëanáro was fiercely independent but he wasn’t the type of nér to refuse affection and love from his family. He didn’t see a sense in lying to himself or others. Rúmil still couldn’t forget the look on his eyes when he left Tirion after Finwë’s death… he had helped raise that impulsive kid, taught him how to read and write, held him up on his shoulders to help him reach fruits hanging from the trees, and at the end he’d still left him behind. Now he didn’t think he knew the nér wearing that shining crown at all.
“I’m sure he regrets not stopping you”
He turned away to look at the clear small pond beyond the pavilion where a handful of colourful fish swam.
“After I left, I realised I was missing my favourite brush”
In their youth Rúmil had not been very patient with children. He still wasn’t, not very much, but it was worse then. He’d never gotten married or had progeny of his own… It was why that little elfling running around the palace had an easier time picking on him and teasing him. They would have fights in which Rúmil was always reduced to behaving like a child, but every time he ever needed to leave Tirion without fault, one of his things would vanish into thin air. It took them a couple years to realise Fëanáro held onto them so that he wouldn’t leave.
Finwë sighed and reached out to pat his leg.
“Well, I don’t see why it would be too late to ask for it back”
Not too late, hm? It had been so many years…
“I’m worried for him”
Rúmil jumped in place and turned to look at him, shocked.
“Why?” He immediately asked.
Finwë offered a weak smile.
“I’m not even fully sure. He acts like usual, he’s working successfully in repairing his relationships with the boys and little Tyelpe, and he’s delighted to have all his grandchildren and great grandchildren home, but— I know my son. Something else burdens him, and the fact that he can so easily hide it is…”
He trailed off and Rúmil frowned. That did sound worrying indeed, Fëanáro was a terrible liar.
“And he didn’t tell you?”
Finwë shook his head. Definitely alarming then.
“I suspect it had something to do with Míriel, but he doesn’t want to tell me about their conversation at depth, and he refuses to let me speak to her”
Rúmil had always liked Míriel, contrary to Elwë, but he couldn’t deny he felt bitter that she had simply never come back, even once she had the chance to, as if she didn’t care about any of them anymore. Fëanáro had grown up idolising her memory, eager to meet her someday, and if he was being guarded about whatever they spoke of when it finally happened, then something must’ve gone wrong.
“I’m sure if you pressure him enough he might cave in—“
Finwë gave him a look.
“We both know that he will refuse to tell me if he thinks it will hurt me”
Well… yes.
“Ah, this kid of yours is a big troublemaker…”
Anya let out a snort, lifting his cup of wine to his lips.
“Why is he only my kid when he’s trouble, eh? You raised him too”
“Only because if I let you raise him alone you would have turned him into an even worse brat!”
“Oh, come on, he was never a brat”
“Very much is!”
“Even if he were you’d still love him”
“Nonsense! You should grovel before me and thank me that I stayed a bachelor for your sake. Go on, ah!”
Finwë’s laughter was rich and genuine, lighting up the garden around them.
“Oh mighty Rúmil, I so apologise to you for forcing you to change diapers and play dolls with my son!”
Rúmil pounced after him and with another burst of laughter Finwë stood up and ran down the path towards the trees at the back of the garden, and for a moment there they were just two young nér running beneath the trees that saw them grow, chasing each other beneath the light of the stars.
Every morning started much the same whenever he was at ‘home’— Slowly opening his eyes to expect noise and chaos coming from his sons, only to realise the house was still and empty, and that it always would be.
Fëanáro stretched his arms over his head and yawned, turning his head to stare out the window to the dense trees that all but hid the fortress. It was still early, he could try to do some work after breakfast, and then maybe go fishing down to the river if he felt hungry at all… but he seldom ate lunch or dinner whenever he was there, submerging himself in his workshop to avoid the cold empty halls that only he inhabited. Formenos had been abandoned entirely once their family left. When he first arrived after being reembodied even the last parts of their frantic packing laid right there on the floor. Clothes, pairs of shoes too fine to bring along, scattered pieces of jewellery… Blood, still staining the stairs. He had tried his best not to cry as he cleaned it all up, but he had inevitably ruined a few items when his scolding hot tears melted through them.
Once he had meant the fortress to be an isolated but beautiful vacation villa for their family, somewhere to unwind and relax, and now it was just… forgotten, and awful. The forest had all but swallowed the garden, crumbled the outer wall, and yet the structure itself refused to fall like a persistent curse.
He ate silently, sat in the one chair that he’d salvaged from the kitchen, and then gladly closed the door of the forge behind his back, relieved to be back in a room that felt lived in, that still felt alive.
The palantíri sat atop his workbench, all three that his sons had brought him, and a fourth he’d added to the set recently. Unfortunately the others could not be reached anymore, so he’d cut off the connection entirely, rendering them completely useless even if they were to be found. These four he had altered to be able to tap all into each other, since they would be allocated to each kin in Aman. Additionally, a set of much smaller stones were spread in a cushioned box of multiple tiers, the newest version of the palantíri, which were small and light enough to be held in a single hand. He had compromised on showing images to allow for mobility, which meant that they could not see at all, but they didn’t need to be in any specific position to work and allow for its users to speak. He had made enough for most if not all of their extended family, although he had decided to only give a single one to married couples for now, as it cut down on the amount of work needed. Even then, it took many years to finish them.
He was doing the last finishing touches when a distant note in the Music caught his attention and he actively concentrated to push away the usual noise, focusing only on the bonds that tied him to his family. A few of them were fairly active, he could tell through them that Tyelkormo was miles away riding with Irissë, and that Nelyafinwë was laughing and smiling somewhere in Nestalondë, likely due to his group of little ducklings. But the one that echoed strongly belonged to one of his brothers.
Normally at such a distance no words were possible, but Fëanáro’s strength made up for the strain.
Yes?, he asked out to Nolofinwë, expecting it to be important.
I apologise for interrupting your resting time, a messenger eagle has just arrived.
An eagle? What did Manwë want? These days the Valar rather reach out to Nelyo, who was far more kinder and amendable to listening to their requests, while still being able to shut them down politely. He was their ambassador for a reason.
Emergency? Or trouble?
Nothing too bad could have happened, he would have heard it in the Music… at least he thought so. Sometimes he suspected -or at least feared- he had lost a lot of his affinity to it.
Neither, a summon to meet. It has been given to Ingwë, Olwë and Thingol as well.
That was even stranger. An announcement of some sorts it would be.
How soon?
A week out. Could you contact Nelyo? He has to be there, of course.
Nelyo, he said. Since when did he have the right to call his son so closely? Fëanáro rolled his eyes.
Fine, fine. I will see you in a week.
A tone of amusement Nolofinwë likely thought he wouldn’t feel echoed through the bond. Bastard.
Dress nicely.
He let out a soft huff and set his tools apart.
No.
With the sound of his half-brother’s laughter echoing in his head, he let the Music flow back into its usual level and stood up to stretch again. He better start packing… it would be best to bring the palantíri along as well, now that he thought about it.
Ah, what a shame, he couldn’t get started on the blueprints for his next project. But at least he could leave the oppressive fortress and see other people.
The tiers of the box were folded and closed, and he carefully encased the larger palantíri, carrying them out to the entrance. Should he bring multiple clothes changes…? Mm, shouldn’t be necessary, he’d stay with Nelyo and Findekáno at least for a night and he had his own wardrobe there. He did put on a fresh change before he saddled his horse at least.
“Time to leave again,” he mumbled to the sweet mare.
She had been a gift from Laurë, who had gone out to select the perfect pair to breed, and then raised her to his tight standards, something he had done along with Estel who like him was obsessed with horses. Her coat was an auburn colour, with a long wavy mane, and she was easily twice his size. Fëanáro, who often carried around plenty of things with him, found more useful to have a strong horse… besides, he had learnt to ride a horse normally, and he found it stranger to ride a pony like people did in Middle Earth.*
Should he tell Nelyo he was coming to visit?
Hmm. No, better leave it a surprise. He was sure at least one of his grandsons would appreciate it.
He was immensely glad to leave Formenos behind, galloping through the forests and fields with only his own thoughts and a melody that drifted from a cheerful scale to a more subdued humming as the day slowly bled away. It was never the same any day, the Music, ever changing and evolving…
Ah. The Music.
Fëanáro stopped his horse for a moment, paying closer attention to the sound. It was very alike to what it had been when he inhbited the Halls of Mandos. Could the Valar want to talk about the dead somehow? Ah, all of sudden he didn’t want to go…
Nestalondë was very lively even at night, and a few people noticed him and offered polite bows of their head, but for the most time there was no fuss made due to his presence, which was undoubtedly appreciated. He was jumping off his horse before his son’s house when the door opened and a pair of starlight haired boys skipped down the path.
“Haru!”
Fëanáro smiled and opened his arms for the both of them, squeezing their cheeks affectionately once he could take a good look at them. Alyanille and Nórimel wore the same pretend innocent look in their fair faces as Elyo did when relentlessly teasing his brother, but he indulged them nonetheless and slipped a couple gemstones into their eager hands.
“Atar, can’t you wait until you are at least settled before you start spoiling them to death?”
The twins giggled, knowing that their great grandfather would not listen anyway, and Nelyo shook his head with a smile.
“Off with the both of you, don’t let your mother see that just yet”
Alyanille pouted.
“But haaaaru”
“I can show you all I brought after dinner,” Fëanáro offered.
With that, they happily each kissed his cheeks and wandered back inside, cheekily moving out of Nelyo’s reach when he reached to pinch them.
Finally his eldest’s attention turned to him.
“We didn’t expect you to visit, I thought you would be in one of your trips.” He leaned down to let Fëanáro kiss his face, his eyes curving into half moons. “We would have had the boys help you carry all your things”
“It’s nothing, you know I can carry all of it,” he dismissed with a wave of his hand, accepting his help regardless to grab the main box out of his saddle before he hooked his hand into his son’s elbow and they walked to the house together. “Actually, Nolofinwë sent word to me that we have been summoned to meet with Manwë, for whatever reason, in a week’s time. I figured I would take the chance and come see your family”
“A meeting with Manwë? And they did not say about what?”
“No, but they have summoned all of us”
“Strange…”
The kitchen was bubbling with activity as Celebrían and Legolas prepared dinner, chatting away around the stove. Estel was sat by the kitchen island, calmly chopping some vegetables next to Findekáno, who along with Amdiridhren was preparing a pie for later. Nelyo put down the box at the entrance of the kitchen out of the way, and softly cleared his throat.
“We have company”
Everyone raised their head and smiled, to which he answered in kind.
“Uncle, what a surprise,” Findekáno greeted him with a quick hug. “Coming to see the boys?”
“To take my son away from you, actually.” He said in a harmless jab, to which he received a mock wounded expression and a snort from Nelyo.
“It’s work, meldanya. I don’t expect to be gone long,” Nelyo explained, pressing a kiss to Findekáno’s temple.
Meanwhile Celebrían wiped her hands on her apron and approached to greet him with a kiss on each cheek.
“It is good to see you, grandfather,” she said sweetly. “Have the boys already greeted you? They have been running up and down the house— even though they just returned from one of their hunting trips!”
Ah, to be young and full of energy…
“They did, they’re always polite”
Legolas offered a quick greeting, not quite used to his presence yet, but Amdiridhren and Estel were warmer in their welcome, and he sat with them around the island while everyone else worked at dinner. Fëanáro snuck a few gems for them too, easily bypassing Nelyo’s watchful eyes.
“And the boys?”
“Elyo is still at the hospital, he should be back soon,” Findekáno explained distractedly. “Ereinion went to the Aulëndili at the beginning of the week; Tyelpe and Lómion set a trap for him, he’s probably being used as a convenient tester of whatever experiment they are doing”
Fëanáro rolled his eyes. Tyelpe was very sweet and kind, but he was still Atarinkë’s son— and Ereinion was very naive still, despite all the times his brother and cousins had easily used him as bait or made fun at his expense. It was never done maliciously of course, but he still fell for it every time.
“He never learns. Sorry, Finno.” Amdiridhren commented.
Findekáno, who was his son’s number one ‘bully’, simply laughed in turn. Nelyo pinched his side to reprimand him and he squirmed away still giggling.
After a few minutes the twins came into the kitchen and their mother put them to work at kneading the dough for bread that would be baked the next morning, in order to burn off their energy. The youngsters happily chatted away, taking turns in telling of what they’d been doing the past couple of months Fëanáro hadn’t been able to see them, since he was away at court. The twins had attended one of the introductory camps to the Hunt and found it very interesting, but they were still undecided on if they wanted to go on a full season. Legolas on the other hand had been jumping around between Nestalondë and Artanor, visiting his paternal family constantly, and Estel sometimes went with him since otherwise he spent his days helping Elyo at the hospital. Amdiridhren was considering joining up for Yavanna’s service, although they also liked the idea of going to Vána or Nessa, which was nice to hear as well. Fëanáro had never served any Valar when he used to not hate them, and he could never consider doing it now that he tolerated them again, but he had seen just how happy Tyelko was in the Hunt… Surely they were not a terrible influence, in small doses.
“And your brothers?” He asked Amdiridhren.
“Well…” They laughed awkwardly.
As if on cue, faint arguing echoed upstairs, slowly picking up on volume.
“I told you not to touch my things!”
”Shut up, I didn’t touch your stupid box!”
”Then why is everything disorganised now, huh!? And you—! Why can’t you pick up after yourself! The bathroom isn’t only yours!”
”I was going to pick it up! Stop nagging at me!”
”I would stop if this wasn’t something you did every single day!”
Amdiridhren sighed, exhausted, as did Nelyo, who stepped out of the kitchen to go upstairs. Fëanáro didn’t exactly mean to pry, but his hearing was sensitive, and even if it wasn’t he could both perceive it through their bond, and they weren’t exactly being quiet.
“Hey, the both of you, tone that down.” He heard him say, likely wearing the same reprimanding look he had developed for his younger brothers. “Maltanasse, we already talked about this”
The young Vanya let out a half scream of frustration and slammed the door of his bedroom shut.
“They’ve been screaming at each other for weeks now,” Amdiridhren groaned, “it’s even worse than when Crabandil’s mother was around”
Fëanáro pat their shoulder in sympathy.
“Hm, that’s just how teenagers are. All your uncles were the same, especially Laurë”
At first, when Nelyo had picked up the first of his ducklings, they were more like his wards, but a few of them had no family to speak of anymore so at the very least he had gained three extra grandchildren. Some of the most recent arrivals in Nestalondë were in similar circumstances, but it was too soon to tell if they would be snatched up by Nelyo and Findekáno into their nest.
“Laurë is a foul monster, that is an unfair comparison,” Findekáno huffed.
“I don’t remember you being an angel either!”
Back then the spawn of his half brother was way more temperamental… something that their youngest was evidently picking up on. Maltanasse was about half a millennia old, at the peak of his teenage years when every elfling thought the entire world was against them. His rebellion had hit especially harder considering his distant relationship with his mother and his frustration with his own body that was finishing its last stages of development, ones he was understandably unhappy with. Fëanáro hadn’t asked much about it because he didn’t know if it was rude, but he knew that the boy’s relationship with Nelyo was slowly going downhill because of it.
“That’s not true— Nelyo, love, tell your cruel father that I was a good child!”
Nelyo walked back into the kitchen, looking slightly exhausted, but he smiled again at Findekáno’s shameless words.
“A good child? What about all the times you both stole and destroyed my jewellery?”
Findekáno gasped as the children all started laughing.
“That is not true!”
Dinner was served shortly after. Crabandil came downstairs to join them, although Maltanasse stayed locked in his bedroom, and once the table was clean and everything put away, Fëanáro sat in the sun room with his great grandchildren around them, and he opened his luggage box to show them the new palantíri.
“You finished them?” Nelyo asked, surprised.
“Just a few days ago”
Fëanáro lifted one of them and placed it in Nórimel’s hand so he could see it, and gave one to Estel, Amdiridhren and Crabandil as well. The last he offered to Celebrían and Nelyo.
“Woah… how does it work?”
“Here.” Fëanáro held the twins’ hands over the smooth palantír and guided their fëa to touch with it. “Once all of them are configured properly, you’ll be able to feel each connection. All you need to do is reach out to whichever you wish to contact. The receiving palantír will grow warm”
Nelyo smiled, easily tapping into the one he had at hand, since they worked mostly the same as the old ones.
“Why don’t you give it a try?”
The twins grinned and ran out of the room, and after a couple of seconds the palantír glowed softly, and Nelyo allowed the connection to go through.
“Is it working?” Nórimel’s excited voice echoed from it.
“Wait I want to try too!” Crabandil exclaimed before he could answer, exclamations of wonder echoing from everyone else.
Fëanáro helped the young ones and watched them in amusement as they went out to the garden to keep testing them. Nelyo sat next to him once the couch was empty, curling up on his lap, and he gladly reached to brush his soft wavy hair. He was so grown now, his first baby… Nerdanel used to fight him so she could hold him for more than five minutes before he snatched him away once more. He was so adorable, with his round cheeks and his shining smile, and Fëanáro used to take him everywhere safely tucked against his chest, at least as long as he was able to— he had grown already too tall to be held in his arms when he was just in his twenties, especially when Fëanáro was so short and slim, but even then his small hand had been clinging to his to follow him to the forges and to court.
“Atar? Are you alright?”
Fëanáro shook his head to chase off his nostalgic thoughts.
“Mm, I’m fine.” He leaned down to kiss his forehead. “I just miss you being a baby, that’s all”
Nelyo’s cheeks turned pink.
“Atar!”
“You were so adorable back then, and I didn’t gave to share you with your obnoxious husband”
”I’m not obnoxious!”
Nelyo rolled over to hide his red face on his stomach and Fëanáro smiled. He could be much taller than him now, but he still fit in his lap just fine.
In the distance he heard Elyo announce himself back home, quickly swarmed by his sons that wanted to show him their new palantíri, but he could go greet his grandson in a minute. For now he’d selfishly enjoy his son’s company.
Notes:
* I headcanon that in Aman, animals grow bigger. To Náro -and other Valinóreans-, normal horses in Middle Earth look like their equivalent of ponies. I thought it was a funny detail!
I did give Elladan, Elrohir and Estel full Noldorin names, which is how Náro calls them for the most part.
For Estel; Vanimóre (dark beauty), Márafinwë (from mára, which means good).
For Elladan; Nórimel (swift running star), Lérafinwë (from léra, meaning free).
For Elrohir; Alyanille (blessed star), Vercafinwë (from verca, meaning wild).
(I chose to keep up the star theme Elyo and Elros had going on for the twins)
Do remember that I am by no means an expert so do feel free to correct me if I have made any mistakes in composing any of these quenya names haha
I apologise for my long absence! I was so tired from university— not because I had homework, but because one of my professors sucks and she sucked the joy out of my life :’)
I also took a break because I was editing part one of the series, so you could probably go back and read the new version if you want! I didn’t change any of the plot, just re-wrote the earlier chapters to flow better and changed minor details to match up with later parts of the series.I can’t say how soon I’ll have the new chapter out, but hopefully it will be sooner!
As always, your support and encouragement is very highly appreciated, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter :)
Chapter Text
“I want to swim! Umi, take me swimming!”
When no answer was given after a few seconds the small boy stood on his tiptoes, hands gripping the edge of the table, and he stretched as far as he could to peek above it, staring towards him very intensely. The adult nér ignored him, quill moving quickly across the paper on the table with a constant scratching noise.
“Umiiiiiii”
A soft sigh echoed in the study.
“You don’t know how to swim, Náro”
“But you will be with me! We can stay on the shore”
It was summer and the day was sunny, it was no wonder the elfling wanted to go out, especially where all his ‘cousins’ were splashing around in the crystalline waters. All morning he had sat at the balcony, face pressed against the railing as he looked at them having fun, all the while he was stuck inside… He was not allowed to do many physical activities, much less unsupervised, and going swimming was a huge no. The healers had explained very calmly to him that he was sick, and he couldn’t do the same things everyone else could.
“Your father said no swimming. Go grab your dolls, you can sit here in the study”
His uncle was normally more fun too, but he had been looking at his papers for weeks now, having no time to spare him much attention. Normally his father would be there to play with him, but he was busy too and nobody else wanted to stay inside only to be immensely bored.
Dejected, he walked out of the study back to his room, picking up a few of the dolls strewn on the ground. They were all very beautiful, handcrafted by the best of the best and painted with bright colours. But even he could grow tired of the pretty toys and he didn’t bother moving fast as he put them in a box to carry to the study. After half of them were in the box he paused, eyed the door to make sure Rúmil was still submerged in his writing, and then walked back to the window that overlooked the shore.
His head always hurt a little, but he forced the noise away, listening to the echoes of voices nobody knew he could hear. His cousins laughed and played around, and a few attendants took care of the summer house walking back and forth, ever so busy.
“… Didn’t you see? The young prince has been standing at that window for hours”
His ear twitched, and he tried to focus on the words.
“Poor thing… I can’t imagine what King Finwë must be feeling”
Huh. But why? His father was quite fine and happy, last time he saw him that morning.
“I know, especially after Queen Míriel’s death. I don’t know if I could look at the child that caused her to fade”
…
”A child destined to die very young too”
”Maybe it would have been kinder if he never woke at all”
…
“Náro! You aren’t trying to sneak off downstairs, are you? Come back here”
Silently he stepped away from the window and grabbed the box, making his way across the hallway to the study, where he settled beneath the table.
At that moment he was much too young to fully understand what he had heard, but he wasn’t naive enough to not understand death. He had already heard plenty of whispers about it, even if his father and uncle thought he hadn’t. But that day was the first anyone ever said it was his fault that his mother died.
Was it his fault, then? If Fëanáro hadn’t been born sick and weak his mother might still be there and his father would be very happy. His father would not be so thin, he would smile more and he wouldn’t get ill so often.
Why couldn’t he be normal, be like other children?
“Umi,” he called, crawling beneath the table to pop up by Rúmil’s side. “Is mother coming back?”
The scratch of the quill stopped abruptly.
Rúmil set it down and looked at him with an expression he didn’t know how to decipher just yet, silent for a while.
“… Yes, I think she will be back someday. She is healing right now, and once she is better you can meet her”
Oh… So she wasn’t gone forever… Maybe he hadn’t done something so bad then?
“Can I see her?” Maybe if he said sorry she’d feel better much faster.
Rúmil reached out to pat his head.
“I’m sorry, little one, but that isn’t possible. Not even your father can do that. She is under Námo’s care however, so we know she will be safe”
He had never met Námo, but his Maiar had come to visit him many times to check on his health along with Estë’s. Rúmil had to be right, then.
Fëanáro sat back on the carpeted floors and played at Rúmil’s feet for another few minutes in silence, musing over his mother and a lot other questions spiralling in his naturally curious mind, until eventually he had to ask.
“Umi”
“Mhm?”
“Are you my ata too?”
Rúmil nearly toppled his pot of ink over and scrambled to prevent a mess, his face turning bright red.
“Of course not! Who told you that?”
“All children have two parents”
He let out a long sigh and leaned down closer to his level, holding his shoulders.
“Yes, you have Anya and your mother. I’m your uncle, alright?”
“But mother isn’t here”
“But she will be”
“Umi doesn’t have his own babies”
“I don’t want babies!” He let out in a high pitched voice, becoming redder.
“… You don’t?”
“Valar no, babies are gross and whiny. You’ll get it one day. Go back to your dolls, yes?”
Back to a calm silence, and eventually the scratch of the quill on the paper.
Fëanáro looked down at his dolls, where three of his favourites had been placed aside like a little family, two taller dolls and a smaller one in between, all dark haired. He didn’t exactly know why, but a hot burning feeling spread through his chest and he snatched one of them up, throwing it with all his strength against the wall. There was an audible crack as the delicate wood broke, and he turned and ran out of the study.
“What the—? Fëanáro!”
He didn’t listen to Rúmil’s call as he ran down the hallway towards the stairs, angrily swiping away the hot tears that were starting to burn at his cheeks, trying his best to not cry more in pain.
“Fëanáro come back here!”
A familiar feeling hit him like a wave, and then he was tripping down the stairs, his whole body ripped out of his control with a seizure, and everything was blackness after that.
They had barely ridden past the gates when Arafinwë plucked him out of the saddle and Fëanáro cursed at him, squirming to try and get out of it while he protested he was capable of getting down just fine on his own. Nelyo jumped off right after smiling in amusement, and did nothing to help him out of his half brother’s grip.
“I said put me down! You’re embarrassing all of us!”
A hand gripped at the back of his neck and a kiss was forced at his cheek as if he were just a fussy child and he hissed at that, but finally he was set free from being smothered and he didn’t hesitate to stomp down on Arafinwë’s foot in retaliation. His younger brother cursed and Eärwen shook her head as he leaned on her, saying a soft ‘You asked for it’ at his whining.
“And you!” He pointed his finger up at Nolofinwë’s face. “Don’t you even think about it!”
“I won’t,” he said placatingly, lifting his hands in an innocent gesture.
He squinted his eyes at him, not trusting it, but Nolofinwë set his hands behind his back as he leaned down to kiss his cheek, behaving decently, so he allowed it to happen.
Eärwen also greeted him with a calm smile, and he left his son to greet his aunt and uncles while he walked forwards to the awaiting arms of his father, who squeezed him tightly against his chest, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head.
“You’re getting thinner,” Finwë noted with a slight worry, taking a good look at him as he cupped his face in his hands. “Have you been eating well?”
“I have been busy, I promise I’m well”
His father didn’t look fully convinced but nodded, letting go of him so he could greet everyone else.
For Fëanáro’s disgrace, all three other kings were standing there as well and he resisted the urge to sigh or run to hide behind his father to avoid it.
Thingol was first, as he had been standing right next to Finwë. Ever since they had reconciled his hair that before hung loose was now braided in simple styles made by Finwë’s hand. Fëanáro offered a reluctant courtesy, regusing to engage any more, but Thingol reciprocated with just as much enthusiasm. While Thingol was his elder they really couldn’t stand each other and Fëanáro especially couldn’t help but be wary of him considering the type of relationship he had with his father and what had happened between them in the past. But as much as he disliked Thingol, he dragged his feet as slow as he could to stand before Olwë and Ingwë and their wives, eyes fixed on the details of their robes and not their faces.
“Good morning, Fëanáro,” Airehíþie encouraged him politely.
She still wore her hair in the same silver braids tied with chains and red coral, soft swirls tattoed in her bare arms. He grabbed her offered hand and kissed it briefly.
“Good morning, My Lady”
He repeated the gesture with Olwë. The thing he hated most about Thingol was that his face was uncomfortably familiar, given that they looked very much alike, nearly identical. Olwë was slightly taller however, and he wore the much more revealing robes of the Teleri contrary to the Sindar’s more conservative fashion.
“My Lord,” he said quietly.
Before receiving an answer he quickly moved on to Quildolore and Ingwë, kissing each their hands with the politeness required of him. Both Vanyar Lords had fine golden hair, with Ingwë being tallest of all present -save Nelyo- even leaning on an ornate crutch.
“You look well, Fëanáro,” Ingwë commented.
“Thank you, My Lord”
So awkward… Fortunately, Indis chose that moment to appear behind them at the doors.
“Ah, I see you have arrived, that’s good”
She stopped him gently before he could lean down to kiss her hand, smiling.
“There’s no need for that, welcome. Are you doing well? You look a little pale”
“Do I? I’m alright.” He shook his head, momentarily bringing his hand up to his face wondering if he truly looked sick. No wonder his father had asked after his health.
“It just might be the hot weather, we have been riding for a while,” Nelyo offered when he approached to greet Indis.
“That must be it, you both must be exhausted,” she kissed his cheeks and gestured for one of her sons. “Nolvo, dear, take your brother and your newphew up to refresh themselves”
“Yes, mother”
They excused themselves from the group and Fëanáro at least waited until they were in the empty halls to elbow Nolofinwë’s side, trying to squirm out of the hold he had on him.
“I’m fine, you don’t have to treat me like I’m invalid—“
“You didn’t look very good back there”
He let out a groan as Nelyo chuckled at his misery, once again swatting at Nolofinwë’s arm.
“I just hate formalities and I’m tired, it’s not a big deal”
“And you just like avoiding Olwë and Ingwë,” Nelyo pointed.
Fëanáro loved that child very much but he still gave him a glare, to which he smiled. Of course he would notice…
“I thought you liked them,” Nolofinwë said.
“What is this? An interrogation? Is it illegal for me to avoid people?”
He would very much prefer not to even think about the topic, thank you very much. It was hard enough as it was to have to talk to everyone in a formal capacity and keep himself together in the process.
“It was just a question, don’t be so defensive”
Nolofinwë snuck an arm around his waist and lifted him up before he could start going up the stairs, because of course he didn’t last that long before he returned to the same ways of Arafinwë. Contrary to their more excitable younger brother his hold was more secure, already expecting him to squirm and protest. Fëanáro might as well give him a tiny amount of credit for the fact he had never dropped him even when he retaliated with his worst.
“Hey! Put me down, I can walk myself!”
“I know that”
He smacked his shoulder and Nelyo chuckled behind them.
“Just let him this time, atar, it’s less energy spent going up the stairs”
“Don’t encourage him!” Fëanáro screamed when he was thrown over his half brother’s shoulder, and he brought down his fist over his back, instinctively holding onto his long cape with the other hand as he felt he was going to fall over any second. “NOLOFINWË!”
“Be still Náro, I don’t want to drop you”
“You wouldn’t drop me if you put me down!!” He screamed, unable to kick him when he was holding onto his thighs to keep him secure. “Nelyo! Nelyo get me off!”
Nolofinwë sped up his walk to get out of range and his son only made a half assed attempt to catch up with them as he laughed.
Once they made it to the bedrooms Nelyo went into his own guest room and left him to he a victim of Nolofinwë’s whims, but fortunately he was later set down on his bed and he scowled at his half brother, attempting -and failing- to kick him in the face.
“Make yourself useful and help me at least”
He rolled his eyes with a huff but obediently started helping with the complicated laces of Fëanáro’s boots.
“So,” he said after a minute, “does your mood have anything to do with you vanishing for the past week?”
“What do you care?” He shot back automatically.
Nolofinwë arched an eyebrow, unimpressed, and pulled off the first boot before moving on to the other one. Fëanáro sighed and let himself fall on his back, staring up at the ceiling and the chandelier hanging from it.
“No, I just hate these reunions”
“One day you’ll have to be less antisocial”
“I’m not antisocial, I just…”
It dawned on Fëanáro that none of his siblings knew exactly how complicated his relationships with his father’s friends were. Unlike them who had an extended family with them through blood, he had once been considered family through choice. He had called them uncles and aunts, relied on them easily… All of that had broken apart long ago. He couldn’t even really say any of those bonds had endured past him getting married and forming his own family. The only one who had still talked to him and saw him regularly was Rúmil, and even he eventually left. He couldn’t actually say if he avoided them out of bitterness or out of guilt however, unsure of his own feelings.
“You just?”
He pushed himself up on his elbows, finding Nolofinwë’s face had twisted into a confused frown.
“It’s nothing, don’t mind me. Where’s the washroom?”
He only took a quick shower, but by the time he stepped back into the room Nolofinwë was still there, sat on the bed while his luggage had been all set next to the wardrobe.
“If you are going to sit there stalking me then make yourself useful and go unpack that,” he pointed towards the heavier boxes at the side, “and be careful, if you break any of them I will kill you”
“I— fine”
He chose a loose tunic atop his leggings, to be tied close with a leather belt and choosing on a softer more comfortable pair of shoes with no laces.
“Are these the new palantíri?”
“Mhm.” He stuck out his arm from behind the privacy screen, showing him two belts. “Which one?”
“The darker one. I assume you’re giving one to each King?”
“Yes. Ours is in Nelyo’s house, Findekáno said he’d do me the favour to bring it to Tirion”
The door of the bedroom opened not a few seconds later.
“Here you are! Not done yet?” Arafinwë asked as he strolled inside. “Oh, the new palantíri”
“Open one of the smaller boxes”
He finished tying his shoes and stepped out just as Arafinwë opened it, showing the smaller palantíri. Fëanáro took two of them and offered them to each.
“Here, these are personal. They can’t contact the larger ones, but they can reach any of the smaller ones. I’ll give you enough for your children and grandchildren”
Arafinwë examined his with awe, but neither of them did much of anything besides hold them.
“You’re supposed to touch them with your fëa,” he sighed after a beat of silence.
“Oh!”
Once the two idiots had figured it out they glowed softly in their hands, signalling that it was a successful connection.
“Does this mean we can call you through this?”
“I didn’t make one for myself, you can contact me through ósanwë as always,” he shrugged.
“You almost never answer,” Nolofinwë pointed out.
“Well what makes you think I’d answer through the palantír, then?” He replied maliciously.
Fëanáro truly did not see much need to make one for himself, seeing as the vast majority of his time was spent near family anyway. And the very few times he could not be found near any of them he was in Formenos, which was still near enough for him to reach them by himself.
“Aw, come on, you must miss us sometimes,” Arafinwë smiled, reaching forwards to grab him with the intent of giving him a hug.
“I don’t!” He protested, pushing his face away.
Nonetheless he let Arafinwë pull him into his lap, letting out a long sigh of exhaustion as he hugged him tightly, pressing their cheeks together. He could get out of the hold easily, but that only seemed to make them want to try harder.
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay here napping? You can join us for dinner instead of lunch”
“Why is everyone telling me that??” He groaned.
“Because you do look tired and pale,” Nolofinwë insisted.
“I hate you”
“No, you don’t. Not anymore,” the smug bastard remarked.
Arafinwë squeezed him tighter, smiling widely. “We are your beloved little brothers, aren’t we?”
“If you don’t let me go I am going to commit homicide”
In the distance a bell rang, the notice for them to go downstairs for the semi formal lunch.
“Alright, get off of me, I won’t let you make me be late”
“But—!”
“Árvo, he is going to hit you again”
Arafinwë sighed and let him go, finally allowing him to stand up. Fëanáro smoothed down his tunic and grabbed one of the big boxes, with his half brothers following after they took the other two.
Everyone was already in the dining hall, even Nelyo, who was sat next to his grandfather and conversing casually with him and Indis. He caught something about said conversation being about his children. Airehíþie, Eärwen and Quildolore were in their own conversation when he walked in, while Ingwë and Olwë casually talked about politics. Thingol sat quietly by himself at Indis’ side, looking very bored. Initially after they walked inside they weren’t noticed beyond a glance, but they definitely all turned properly when the three boxes were placed atop the table with a heavy yet gentle thud.
Finwë raised his head, interested, and smiled.
“What’s all this?”
Arafinwë offered a smile to everyone.
“A gift from our part, to Artanor, Váli-màr and Alqualondë,” he explained, gesturing to the boxes, “commissioned from the finest craftsman of the Noldor”
Fëanáro rolled his eyes, but abstained from driving his elbow against his ribs. Instead he reached forwards for the boxes, pulling on the golden ring above each lid. They unfolded to reveal the new palantíri; they were each different with a different hue of green and blue in the smooth perfect surface, resting on a personalised stand. One rested in golden vines with blooming flowers and stars, the second in a bed of crystals that had been reshaped in the rippling of water, and the last on golden eagle feathers. Soft gasps of admiration echoed from everyone present, even Thingol.
“We thought these might prove useful should we need to communicate urgently with each other, and to reduce the need for unnecessary travel,” Nolofinwë explained calmly.
“However,” Fëanáro added, “they also function as seeing stones beyond between each other. How far the user can see will depend on their inner strength, and in its seeing stage it cannot perceive living beings, only places”
“That is incredible…” Ingwë leaned forwards and reached to touch, but hesitated at the last moment. “How exactly do they work?”
“You must reach into it with your fëa, only enough to sustain the connection. They won’t drain your strength at all. They are also not attuned to a specific signature, and will work for whoever touches it”
Ingwë finished leaning his hand onto the cold surface and closed his eyes. A mere second later the stone lit up from the inside with a pure warm white light.
“They’ll be able to communicate between each other all at once,” he continued to explain, “but each connection must be accepted individually nonetheless”
They were not as complex as the old ones had been, a much simpler design in every way, but this suited their used much better. They were meant to be for small amounts of communication now, after all.
“They are truly wonderful,” Finwë praised him. “You’ve outdone yourself yet again, love”
Fëanáro subtly puffed up with pride, satisfied.
“Indeed you have! Please, sit down, let us have a toast,” Olwë gestured to the empty chairs.
The maids stationed in the room carried off the palantíri to clear the table, and the crystal cups in front of them were filled with fine wine. They toasted to his name, although the collective thanks were given to all three of them.
“You never cease to amaze us, Fëanáro,” Quildolore laughed. “Is there even one thing that is impossible for you to do?”
“You flatter me too much, My Lady. There is at least one impossibility on my path; I can’t seem to ever get my sons to see sense”
Laughter echoed throughout the table, and Nelyo had the decency to blush subtly.
“I would argue that is your fault for indulging us, atar”
“I’ve never done such a thing,” he huffed.
His father laughed a bit more strongly at that. (At his side Indis eyed Thingol, who couldn’t quite hide the starstruck look on his eyes when Finwë laughed, and hid a smile behind her cup).
“Never, he says!” Nolofinwë replied, baffled. “Not even Árvo, who is overly indulgent, has raised children as spoiled as yours!”
Fëanáro spluttered.
“The boys are not spoiled!”
Perhaps he never really scolded Makalaurë after he returned home drunk, and he always got him new jewellery and instruments whenever he broke or lost his things. Perhaps he spent a fortune in fabrics, fine thread and thousands of potions ingredients for Moryo, and perhaps he had never held off Tyelko whenever he ran his mouth in the worst circumstances. Perhaps he let Curvo have everything he wanted and never did a thing when someone complained about the twins’ lack of maturity and responsibility… And perhaps all of them had always had whatever they asked for no matter how rare or expensive it could be… But they were not spoiled! Not at all!
“Look at Nelyo! He’s proof!”
“Proof? He’s the only one of them who is remotely sane! In fact, it’s a miracle that you didn’t manage to turn him into a brat too!”
“YOUR kids are brats!” Fëanáro retorted childishly.
“Now, come on—“ Arafinwë tried to placate them.
“Shush, you are also guilty!”
“Me?? Why???”
Eärwen let out a sigh as they went on their usual bickering and harmless fighting, turning to her in-laws and nephew.
“Are they aware that most of the spoiling was handed out by father?” She asked, referring to Finwë.
Finwë didn’t bother to be embarrassed. They were his grandchildren after all, it was essentially his one job.
“Apparently not,” Indis laughed.
“Well, uncle is right in one account,” Nelyo mumbled, “my brothers are brats”
Their side of the table dissolved into giggling after that.
The Valar received them in a private room, which was a surprising decision, but it felt much more comfortable than standing in the circle where they passed judgement. They all wore smaller fána, and to their utter surprise Ulmo had even chosen to take on the appearance of a nér— or more concretely, a Man. Their Maiar all retired after the trays with tea had been set out, leaving them to have more privacy.
The room itself was not too different from the one where Nolofinwë’s divorce hearing had taken place, if a bit bigger to house them all. The furniture was simple and the wide windows faced Valinor as well, although more angled towards the mountains. From up there there was a good view of Pityafinwë’s sculpture in the distance.
“We thank you for coming here on such short notice,” Manwë said softly. “I hope we have not disturbed your duties too much”
“Not at all, My Lord.” Ingwë offered politely. “We are always more than glad to hear your calling”
Fëanáro silently raised a brow, but said nothing. By their expressions, it was clear they didn’t expect any different from him by now.
“If you forgive my worry…” Finwë spoke up. “This must be very important, if we have all been summoned, contrary to asking for my grandson only”
The King nodded, and let out a soft breath.
“Indeed it is. Something that will affect all of the quendi if it comes to pass. Truth to be told, this is something we have heavily debated and considered for many long years, even longer than you can possibly imagine.” He paused momentarily, carefully looking at the elder Kings. “It is, after all, pertaining to those lost to the darkness”
All their faces became pale and Fëanáro snapped his head towards his father, whose hand was tightly clutching at Thingol’s out of instinct. Indis reached out to hold his other hand, worried.
His father never spoke of the old days, and he only slightly opened up after his return from The Halls. They -as in him and his siblings- still did not know the full extent of all that he had lost in the Great March, but they knew it was terrible and painful, so much so that even thinking about it set him in a depressive mood for days on end. Only his close friends and Thingol were privy to the details… He didn’t think even Indis knew about all of it.
“As you know, a great number of the quendi still reside in The Halls,” Námo spoke then, one of his hands rested on his lap and the other was indulging his brother and keeping him entertained, as Irmo was twisting a few golden threads around his fingers like making rings on the fly. “These fëa belong to those born in the early days. Morgoth’s presence was much more prominent then, and his touch is not easy to forget. However, there is also another set of souls within The Halls, that you are not aware of…”
They were not…?
“Orcs,” Nelyo whispered.
Námo nodded, and at his confirmations a few gasps echoed around them.
“Corrupted as they are, their ancestors were also yours. Their souls are the same at their very core, and as they die they too come to reside with me”
That was something that they truly had no idea of. Fëanáro understood the principle, even as baffling as it seemed. After all, the first uruk were full quendi forced to endure torture beyond the imaginable.
“The purpose of The Halls is to allow rest and cleanse away the impurities that have caused you suffering,” Nienna said sadly. Her tears had started to run faster now, shining brightly on her cheeks. Her grief made her look hollow and tired. “Ever since the first came to my brother we worked to help them. You know firsthand that we will stay with you no matter how long it takes… But these souls we have been nursing for aeons without a single step given. Their pain is far too great, their memories far too heavy of a load to carry”
She started properly crying then, and Estë and Yavanna held her shoulders to comfort her.
Fëanáro swallowed the knot on his throat. This was why his father had never been reunited with his family. This was why so many of them never returned.
“It was recently then, that a new idea surged. One we no doubt owe to Nelyafinwë, as he encouraged us to think… Outside our normal bounds.” Námo inclined his head in acknowledgement to Fëanáro’s son, who nodded back silently and vaguely surprised. “This project might be the key, but it can only be attempted with the help of your people. All of you”
They shared looks in between one another, all of them. They were asking for their help, again? Yet— this did not feel like a veiled order, nor like the ask of something impossible.
“How would we be able to do anything?” Thingol asked, doubtful.
There was a brief pause as Námo looked towards Manwë, who nodded to authorise it completely.
“What we intend to do is to fully wipe their memory,” he finally said firmly. “No recognition from their old life ever again, as if being born for the first time. Unlike all the reembodied until now, they will come out of the halls as newborns to forge a completely new identity and experience. And even if by any chance, which would hopefully never happen, they ever found themselves in my Halls again, they still would never regain those memories”
Erase their old self! It was a terrible thing to consider, even if the circumstances were special!
“We know this is… not a perfect solution. We are not completely sure it will work either, as mentioned before. That is why a small number should be taken as a trial before it is fully approved”
Furniture smacked together harshly and Fëanáro jumped, turning to see that his father had nearly collapsed if not for Indis who managed to catch him. His chest was heaving and he had turned sickly pale. Both him and his brothers quickly hurried to his side, with Nolvo softly holding Nelyo back as an instinctive protection of their youngest, even if he was a full adult now.
“Finwë, it’s alright, you have to breathe,” Thingol was saying, brushing his tight curls back from his face. “Please”
But all he could do was shake his head vigorously, unable to say a word.
“Come on, my love, you are safe, all of us are,” Indis tried to placate him as she rubbed his back.
Finwë shook his head again, tears rolling down his cheeks, and Thingol knelt down before him on the floor, forcibly holding his face.
“Anya, breathe!”
The call of his birth name seemed to ground him and finally he started breathing again, shaking against the two of them. And then—
A terrible wounded sound came from his throat.
“Elya…” He cried.
Thingol received him in his arms as he sobbed like a child, muttering soft words of comfort as he caressed his hair and craddled him to his chest.
Fëanáro had to stand there to the side, and he flinched again when Arafinwë set his arm around him, and only then did he realise he was shaking. He had not realised how terrifying it could be to see his father break down like that. Fëanáro’s father was strong and steady, unbreakable under pressure. He had seen him grieve and cry, but not like this. Never like this.
The helplessness he felt started to boil over as everything eventually did in his cursed body and he turned towards the Valar.
“How could you ask this of him!?” He thundered, barely held back by his brother’s soft grip. “You know exactly what it means!”
Manwë inclined his head silently, as did Námo. All of them were somberly quiet.
“I… I have to agree with Fëanáro. This is beyond cruel.” Ingwë’s voice was unsteady, his hand shaking around his crutch, which laid on his lap. “My parents, my sister, Indis’ mother… In my darkest moments since, the hope of seeing them one day was what has kept me alive. How could I possibly bear to live on knowing they are no more?”
Olwë wiped his face with his trembling hands, standing to pace back and forth weakly.
“They deserve healing, but if this can be the one thing that gives it to them— We will still remember. Do we have to live looking at familiar faces that will belong to strangers for the rest of time until the Dagorath comes?”
The silence that followed was uncomfortable and extended.
In that time nobody moved much at all, and eventually Thingol slowly let go of Finwë, who had stopped shaking so violently. He stood up, facing the Valar, but he wasn’t sure of himself. His hair had been thrown out of order under Finwë’s hands, his robe crinkled and soaked with tears.
“I have been the one person who has hurt him the most before… But I fear that this will truly kill him”
It was not a protest, but a plea.
The Valar did not say anything else. Námo had nodded somberly, accepting their rejection. However, Nienna was not crying as much anymore. She stood up and walked towards them slowly.
Thingol tensed, but she knelt on the ground in front of Finwë’s hunched form, hands extended gently.
“His pain certainly wears him down, but that is not the reason for his grief”
Finwë slowly looked up, staring into her eyes for a long while in silence, before he reached out to accept holding her hands.
“It is all my fault, my doing,” he said in a broken voice at last. “I convinced them all to come, I was the one who started it all”
Fëanáro felt his brother’s hand tighten around his upper arm. Everyone was shocked by his confession, even each of the other valar, clearly not expecting this.
“I dragged each of my sisters away from the places where their children disappeared. I forced them to move on, and I couldn’t even force myself to stay after they too vanished,” he sobbed, desperately holding onto Nienna like a lifeline. He was not hysterical anymore, but this calm defeat was almost worse. Ingwë had turned his head away to conceal his tears and Olwë held his brother’s arm tightly. “I was the start, the first of their many pains… It is me who Míriel still can’t forgive, not after everything she saw me do”
He lowered his head again.
“It was all my fault, and even knowing that this project you speak of would probably be for their best interest, I am selfish in not wanting to let go”
Nienna let him cry for a moment as the room kept quiet still. And after a moment she squeezed his hands before she let go and gently wiped his tears from his wet cheeks.
“There is nothing you could have done to keep Mbelekhōrōz at bay. If you had stayed, you too would have been lost. It was not your fault”
She tugged his face upwards by his chin, brushing a stray curl away from his eyes.
“For every person you lost, you carried three more to the Blessed Realm. The choices you had to make were not fair, but nobody else could have made them. Look around you, my dear child, look at all you have built from the pieces of yourself that you tore away;” she gestured to his three sons, still quiet, still scared. To his grandson, whose stormy eyes looked on with worry. And beyond them to the windows, to a distant white city that was now thrice as big from what it had been when it started. “This path, painful and dangerous as it was, could not have been walked by anyone else. The sacrifice that you made was not leaving them behind… It was breaking yourself to pieces to give them this beautiful gift”
Finwë let out a long shaky breath, no more tears blooming beneath his eyelashes.
“… They will never be back, will they?”
That was the question that everybody feared asking. Thingol and Olwë could only stand upright by holding each other.
Nienna shook her head.
“Some of them won’t. But let me be very clear; we will do all we can, exhaust every option, before we ask you for the worst”
She finally stood up, helping him to his feet, and Indis received his weight readily, burying her face on his shoulder.
Nienna looked back at the other Valar and Námo nodded. He did not stand only because Irmo was curled up against him on his lap, all his colours drained of saturation.
“For now, any ‘trial’ would involve the souls of those who were born in the dark and have never known light,” he said. “Even then, we know the true meaning of what we ask, and we will not expect you to decide now. Go home, speak with your families. In a year, you may give us a definitive answer”
One year to make a choice between two equally terrible options.
Fëanáro didn’t have any strength in him to walk when they made it back to the palace in Váli-màr. It was Nolofinwë who carried him inside, but he couldn’t care less about portraying himself correctly for now… Even Ingwë was wrecked, and Quildolore had run outside to see him and help him off the carriage.
“Nelyo…?”
“He is well,” Nolvo assured him. “He helped mother carry father to his room. Do you wish to see him?”
Fëanáro fell silent for a moment.
“I want to see atar”
So Nolofinwë carried him to Finwë’s guest room. Nelyo and Indis were sat next to the bed, tensing up at the door opening, but they relaxed when they noticed it was them. Without even a word Indis arranged the bedding for Nolofinwë to set down Fëanáro against Finwë.
His father’s arms surrounded him almost immediately and Fëanáro closed his eyes, feeling safe and grounded again.
“I will be alright,” Finwë said quietly, his voice raspy after so much crying. “As long as I have all of you, I can move past anything”
“It’s not fair,” he said, his voiced muffled against his father’s robe. “They should have never asked”
Not to any of them, who had lost so much already. Fëanáro alone thought it was a barbaric thing to consider, and he hadn’t been alive at the time to see any of it.
“They are trying to do something kind”
“They always are, and they always ruin it all”
Finwë let out a shaky sigh, brushing his hair with his fingers in a placating manner.
“I think it is a good idea, for the souls of the uruks within the halls,” Nelyo pointed gently.
“That much we do agree on,” Indis sighed too. “This is all just… a lot”
Fëanáro thought about all the things his father had said and he had to remind himself to keep his cool. If he had known that was what they wanted, he would have ignored the summon entirely.
“You don’t have to pretend for our sake, father.” Nolofinwë finally spoke, sitting down next to them on the bed. “You have taken care of us all this time. Now let us do the same in return”
Finwë stayed silent for a second before he moved to sit up, and Fëanáro repositioned himself comfortably at his side, under his arm where he could also face the others. Nelyo was sat in his armchair with his knees drawn to his chest more comfortably, shoes discarded.
“I meant it, Nolvo. As long as I have you I can endure it all.” He looked down at him, the eldest, smiling softly. “When your brother was born, I was submerged in the darkest time of my life. I thought I had lost everything I cared about, and didn’t know if any of what we had been through had even had a purpose. The many comforts of Aman were not enough to soothe that aching…”
He rested his head on top of Fëanáro’s, like he always did when he was a young child. On his chest on that exact same spot rested an old burn mark as proof of it.
“Every healer Rúmil summoned to the palace told me Curufinwë would not survive. Even Námo’s and Estë’s Maiar told me there was no hope. I was close to giving up, close to letting go entirely,” he closed his eyes, and Fëanáro looked up to Nolofinwë’s eyes, which were misted with tears. “The moment he opened his eyes and cried for the first time, I felt I had been reborn. He became my sole reason to live… It was not an easy path, even then. I was alone, and I suffered double the bond sickness most others were burdened with. But slowly, as each of you came into my life, I found that it was possible to start anew and rebuild it all from scratch. The happiness your mother brought me, the joy of each of you being born— you all made me the nér I am today”
Nolofinwë lowered his head to conceal his tears but he gladly leaned down to join the embrace when Finwë opened his arm to beckon him close.
“I am proud of you, all of you.” He kissed each of their heads and smiled when Nelyo sat himself at Nolofinwë’s other side, while Indis curled up around their son. “I need you all to promise me that you will consider it and think it through properly. I know you will try to do whatever you think it’s best for my sake, but you are great Kings. You must think of all our people too. Regardless of what you choose, in the end there is no wrong answer, and I will know you decided for what you think is best for us all. Can you do that for me?”
Fëanáro sighed and nodded.
“Yes, atar. I promise”
“Yes, father…”
“I promise, haru”
Finwë nodded.
“Thank you, my loves.” And after a moment he added; “Where is Arafinwë? I want to hug him too”
Fëanáro huffed and turned to hide his face on his robe again.
“There’s no more space! He can stay with his wife”
“Atar—“
“He’s at fault for not coming with in the first place”
Nelyo let out a soft sigh of exasperation and Finwë finally let out a chucklr again. Not quite a full laugh, but a laugh nonetheless.
Notes:
Umi is a childish shortened form of Rúmil :)
On the subject of nicknames— my hc is that in ‘modern’ quenya male nicknames generally have a termination in an -o sound. Like Nelyo, Nolvo, Náro. However, in the old days when they spoke a language that wasn’t quite quenya just yet, it was with an -a termination, so that is why you have Anya as the short for Finwë’s name, or Elya as the shortened form of Elwë, contrary to shortening it to Elyo like Elenyamírë is cut.
There are probably some ‘modern’ names where the shortened form still has an -a sound but they’re likely much more rare. The only example ever shown actively in the series so far (in the newer generations that is) is Ilya as short for Ilvanyafinwë, which is how Elerondo refers to his brother now.
And at last, I finally finished this chapter! I started writing it on the 29th of April and yet I am only finishing it today, it was so hard to get it to flow like I wanted!
This one was a bit angsty but I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless :)
Thank you as always for your support, your comments and kudos always brighten up my day <3
Chapter Text
The weather was growing cold and a new set of warm beautiful coats had been delivered to the little Prince’s room— said little Prince had left them on the floor of the hallways after squirming out of them when he climbed up to the balconies of the empty ballroom.
“Your Highness! Prince Fëanáro!”
The boy giggled quietly to himself as the nanny looked around with the coat hanging from her arm, trying to find him with little success.
“Prince Fëanáro! Today it is very cold outside, you need to keep your coat on!”
He wasn’t cold however! Nobody listened when he said he wasn’t.
The nanny sighed and walked into the ballroom, to which he quickly ducked behind the railing of the balcony, going out of sight.
“Your Highness, please come out—!”
Fëanáro slowly crawled towards the stairs. If he was silent and quick, he would be able to run off to the staff’s corridor that led to the kitchens and laundry room, and from there… freedom!
Just before his genius plan could be put to the test a familiar laugh echoed in the ballroom and he stilled, glancing between the gaps of the railing.
“Escaping again, hmm?”
His father smiled as he approached the nanny, who sighed in relief this time.
“I’m so sorry, your Majesty, I only looked away for a minute and he was gone”
“Mm, don’t apologise, my dear. I would be more concerned if he listened to instructions”
Close behind Finwë walked a nís of long fine golden hair, dressed in an elegant dress embroidered with gold.
Ugh, he was so close to getting away…! But…
Fëanáro ran down the stairs and emerged in the first floor from behind a thick red curtain, with the nanny jumping in her place slightly and his father laughing again.
“Aunt Indis!”
She smiled kindly and crouched down when he stopped in front of her, reaching to pat his head softly.
“Good morning, little troublemaker,” she said playfully, tickling his stomach momentarily.
Fëanáro giggled and squirmed away from her fingers.
“I’m not making trouble! I wanted to play outside”
“Ah, I see. But it is very cold outside today, and we don’t want to worry your father, do we?”
Fëanáro pouted up at his father, who let out a soft snort, reaching to adjust his wild brown hair that was already slipping out of the braid the nanny had done that morning.
“I don’t feel cold, I promise. Pleaaaaaseeee?”
“I will consider it,” his father said placatingly. “First, why don’t you come with your aunt and I to have tea?”
“Alright!”
Finwë leaned down and picked him up, holding him against his hip, and Indis stood tall again to walk with them. Fëanáro was already a little too tall to be held like that by his father, but nobody ever protested that Finwë kept carrying him like a little boy, least of all Fëanáro himself.
“Your Majesty?” The nanny asked, holding the coat.
“It’s alright, we will be in the study with the fireplace. Take a break in the meantime”
She smiled and nodded, bowing to the three of them and leaving at once.
Fëanáro sat impatiently in the chair where his father set him down once they made it to the study, already feeling the warm air inside far too stuffy, but he didn’t complain again. Some of his toys were hidden beneath the tea table, and after a moment he slid to sit on the floor to play with them, since the tea was not yet properly brewed. His father and aunt were talking about boring grown-up stuff anyway… He wasn’t a dumb child, he could keep up with adult conversations if he really wanted to, but he chose not to. His father always became really worried if he butted in with his own opinions, because he didn’t like Fëanáro thinking about ‘bad stuff’. Rúmil often said that he was ‘overprotective’ and that he worried too much, that Fëanáro was growing old enough to understand things, but his father never budged on the matter.
“Curvo, my love, come sit with me”
He raised his head curiously and set his toys down on the ground, climbing onto the chaise next to his father and burrowing at his side comfortably. Finwë felt a little cold as he always did, so Fëanáro made sure that his own warm body was pressed against him so he wouldn’t feel too cold.
Finwë handed him his tea, served in his personalised and favourite red cup, and Fëanáro carefully held it between both hands, blowing into it before he tried it with a careful sip. He couldn’t be burnt by it, but his father still worried whenever he shoved a hot drink or food into his mouth, so he preferred to show him he was being careful.
“Curvo?”
“Yes, ata?”
Fëanáro glanced up at him curiously. His father looked… worried. Unsure.
“There is… something very important I want to talk to you about”
“About what?” He asked curiously.
His father took a deep breath.
“It is… about your mother”
Oh?
“Is she coming back now?” He asked, trying to not sound too excited.
But the anguished look in Finwë’s eyes quickly snuffed out that hope.
“… No, love. I’m sorry”
He tried to not be disappointed, but he inevitably was. A lot of people had come back from the Halls already, but not his mother. Everyone kept saying she was going to be back soon but she never did, and the longer they waited the more people whispered about how it was his fault. Fëanáro was now old enough to understand that it was his fault, and he was frustrated that he didn’t know how to fix it.
“I… she isn’t coming back”
He fell silent for a moment.
“Why not?” He asked quietly. “Does she not love you anymore?”
Finwë plucked the teacup from his hands and set it back on the table, angling his body to face him.
“That’s not it, she loves the both of us very much and if she could she would be here, but she needs time to heal and get better… and she doesn’t know when that will be.” He held Fëanáro’s hands gently. “That is why… she doesn’t want us to be alone forever”
He clutched Finwë’s hands, afraid.
“What do you mean?”
His father hesitated again.
“I spoke about this with Lord Manwë and Lady Varda,” he said slowly, licking his lips in a nervous gesture, “and… they are not opposed… to me marrying again”
Fëanáro remained silent and he tried to continue, rubbing the back of his small hands in a soothing motion.
“I know this is all very sudden and that it doesn’t make much sense, and I am not trying to replace your mother in any way. But I… I’m hurting too, Curvo. You are a smart boy, I’m sure you already know that your mother’s absence causes me pain, and I thought I would live with that pain until the far off day when she comes back, but I— I found someone who made it go away. I know this is selfish of me, but— but— She gave me her blessing, and I would very much like to have yours too. You don’t have to see her as your mother, but she’ll be here for me and for you”
He didn’t understand.
He just— He just didn’t understand.
Why couldn’t they wait for mother to be back? Why wouldn’t she come back? Why had she said yes if she really wanted to come back? Why did Manwë agree to this?
They were doing fine, they were happy! They were all good the two of them! They weren’t alone either, there were his aunties and his uncles and Rúmil and- and—
This was not fair, this wasn’t how it was supposed to go! If mother didn’t love them then she could have just said that from the beginning!
He didn’t want this! Why wasn’t what they had already enough? Why couldn’t Fëanáro make ata happy enough?
“Things are going to change but we’ll still be here for you and I’m never going to leave you alone”
No… Fëanáro didn’t want to listen anymore.
Indis stood up from his chair and he nearly jumped, having forgotten that she had been sitting there the entire time. She knelt next to the chaise so she could be close to them.
“Your mother can never be replaced, Náro, and I am not trying to do that. You don’t have to think of me as anything other than a friend like you always have”
The reality of what was going on dawned on him then.
His father wanted to marry Indis.
Indis, who had been there since Fëanáro could remember due to being the niece of his uncle Ingwë. She had come around to all of his birthdays and given him pretty dolls as gifts to add to his toy collection. She prepared the best rice cakes in Váli-màr and helped him choose ribbons to gift to everyone. She had come to their palace in Tirion hundreds of times over the years, helping without asking for anything in turn… She was a good friend to his father, making him laugh like very few people could, making food for him when he fell sick and helping him when he was busy.
Indis, who was good and nice, beautiful with her golden hair and her pretty dresses…
But Indis wasn’t—
“NO!”
Fëanáro ripped his hands away and ran off, throwing the door open and sprinting as far as his legs could go far away from the study.
“Curvo!”
The heartbroken voice of his father ripped another wound into his bleeding heart but he refused to stop, pushing between the legs of the surprised and alarmed staff until the halls were somewhat deserted, and he kept running up the stairs and past startled guards.
His tears were boiling hot causing more pain added to the one he already felt in his chest, but he did not stop until he had made it to a secluded room at the top of a lone tower, shutting the door with a loud bang.
The rug burned against his palms and knees when he crawled under the big desk until he was tight against the corner, out of sight, although not out of hearing range as his sobs shook his body, knees hugged tight to his chest.
“Come back…” he said miserably to the empty dusty room, sobbing uncontrollably. “Please come back…”
It hurt. It hurt so much. This betrayal was not something he could brush past.
Fëanáro let out a wail as the tears started to dig into his flesh, burning deeper than they ever had before.
“Don’t leave me alone! Come back!”
But the room remained silent otherwise.
The weather was getting colder, and Fëanáro took in a deep exhausted breath as he opened his eyes, staring at the tall ceiling of his bedroom. It was cloudy, the sun obstructed even though it was only just rising, which made him feel a bit lethargic when he stood from the bed and walked to the privacy screen to get dressed. The house was still silent as he walked downstairs, but Nerdanel was already moving around the kitchen while she hummed a nice upbeat song under her breath. He stood by the entrance for a moment, leaning against the doorframe, just watching her. She was still every bit as beautiful as the first time he’d seen her… How exactly had he managed to convince her to marry him? Even though the affection remaining in his heart was nothing like it used to be back then, he still considered himself lucky that once he had called her his wife.
“Do you need any help?”
She turned to look at him and offered a friendly smile. Her long orange hair had been gathered into a neat ponytail that swung and bounced with each of her movements.
“Good morning, Náro. Hm, not much, I thought of only making some porridge this morning, I don’t believe anyone is in the mood for a big meal. Can you prepare the garnishes?”
“Mm, I will”
Very few things had changed around the kitchen even with the pass of the years they were not there, and they moved with the familiarity of a routine they had formed ever since their boys were born. While he chopped some vegetables he could picture himself in that exact same spot with baby Laurë strapped to his back and Nelyo sat on the counter swinging his legs back and forth, a bowl on his lap as they made a cake together.
“Alright, what is it with you?” Nerdanel leaned her hip against the counter, leaning her head to the side to try and get a better look of his face. “You have that nostalgic look again”
Fëanáro glanced at her briefly and shrugged.
“… I suppose everything that’s been happening has put me in a mood to recall old times”
The Music that echoed in his ears was slow as nostalgic as well.
She let out a small sigh.
“I was somewhat hoping I’d wake up today to find it was all a dream”
Wouldn’t that be nice… He set down the knife safely out of the way and turned to lean against the counter too.
“This is all a mess. I know I promised father to think about it, but I don’t think I can. Not only for him, either. If that were the boys, or even their cousins…”
Nerdanel nodded even though he never finished the sentence. Putting it into words almost made it real, and he didn’t want it to be.
“It’s a pain none of us would wish on anyone”
Nerdanel knew it better than him. She had been the one who waited patiently for them. He turned to grab her hand and kissed her knuckles, then pressing her hand lightly to his forehead in a deeply thankful gesture.
“I don’t know how you handled it all that time”
She let out a soft huff, reaching to brush his hair behind his ear.
“Oh, I had to hold on to foolish hope… But I also knew all of you. I knew you would return”
Squeezing his shaking hand, she pulled him against her chest and brushed her fingers through his hair as they hugged for a long moment. She did not ask about his exhaustion or the unrest lying beneath his skin, simply offering silent comfort, and he closed his eyes, cheek pressed against her shoulder.
“You are not alone, Náro. Promise me you won’t forget that”
He wasn’t surprised she knew. Who else if not her would be able to see it?
“I… I’ll try”
She kissed the top of his head and squeezed his cheeks as they parted.
“Let’s finish with cooking, I’m rather hungry”
He let out a soft snort and nodded, going back to his task.
They were done with all the preparations when there was a soft knock on the door. Telperinquar didn’t wait for an answer before he invited himself inside, already dressed for the day.
“Good morning, haru, haruni”
“Good morning, love,” Nerdanel greeted him, kissing his cheek. “What a surprise to see you here this early”
Fëanáro inevitably felt his mood lift and he tugged his grandson down to kiss his forehead, which Telperinquar complied with without protest.
“Off to the forge this early?”
“Not quite, Lómion and I will leave for the mines later. We’ll be gone for a couple weeks, and I thought I’d come by to see you”
Ah, of course. It was not a strange thing to happen these days, and nobody could blame the two for not wanting to split ways for too long. Technically they could still be considered newlyweds.
“Oh, that’s nice dear.” Nerdanel smiled and pat his cheek. “Have you told your father?”
“I was going to but he’s with Angaráto, so I will leave him to enjoy whatever romantic outing they are on,” he laughed.
Fëanáro reluctantly had to admit that it was true that Curvo had been on cloud nine thanks to Angaráto… Although he would not admit it, the blond was steadily winning some points in his favour.
“Will you have breakfast with us?” He asked.
Telperinquar smiled.
“Of course”
None of their sons woke up in the next hour while they ate, but they were perfectly happy with spending time one on one with their grandson.
Telperinquar told them all about the new classes he’d been teaching and how their work was going. Over the years he had slowly grown to smile and talk with more ease, something that brought him great relief. He would never be the same innocent eyed elfling that had sailed away from those shores tucked against his father’s side, but he was happy and safe now, finally free of the chains Fëanáro had tied him with, and free of the weight of the betrayal of whom he had considered a friend.
It was a shame he would leave, however… Fëanáro didn’t think he would have any free time to see any of his grandsons for a while.
“Is there too much to do in the mines?” He couldn’t help but ask. “You normally don’t stay there too long”
Telperinquar smiled.
“Lómion is being secretive about whatever he hopes to find, and who am I to protest? I just go along with what he says”
Irissë’s son had quite the character, but the boy never seemed to be wrong when it came to this. Besides, Telperinquar had taken the examples in the family to heart in always keeping his spouse content.
“Right, of course.” Nerdanel laughed at his words. “I will not question the nér that has revolutionised the mining sector”
He chuckled softly as well.
“I promise I’ll tell you as long as he lets me find out… Will you be alright in the meantime?”
“I have work to distract myself with,” Nerdanel sighed. “And I will be helping Moryo in the study too, don’t worry for me”
Fëanáro shrugged.
“I’ll find something to do”
“Hm..”
Telperinquar thought about it for a second, probably already guessing that he had absolutely nothing to do for the foreseeable furure less he went back to court, and therefore nothing to take off his mind from the current… thing. Trouble. Stuff.
“Why don’t you come with us?” He suggested, for his surprise. “We can ask Elyo and Ereinion to come with too, they’ve been wanting to see the newer tunnels”
Fëanáro didn’t really want to intrude—
“I wouldn’t be of much use,” he pointed, since he had never been inside any mine, not even in his youth.
“That’s not important,” his grandson dismissed. “It’s quite the place to be in, even if just to sightsee”
If he put it that way…
“You should go,” Nerdanel encouraged. “You haven’t spent time with the boys in a while, and a break from court will do you well”
“It’ll be fun,” Tyelpe added.
“Are you sure?”
“Of course I am”
Well, Fëanáro was not going to say no to spending time with his grandsons…
Since they had joined impromptu their departure was delayed, but Lómion was perfectly agreeable to their company. That afternoon Elenyamíre and Ereinion joined them from Nestalondë with their things, and just past nightfall Nerdanel, Moryo and Laurë bid goodbye to their cart in the outskirts of the city.
He was surprised that his other two grandsons had been able to join with such small notice, but Elenyamírë assured him that Estel could handle everything in the hospital in the meantime, and Ereinion didn’t have much to do at home anyway. Besides, Nelyo and Findekáno were always happy to push them to take a vacation here and there.
“I can’t believe you have never been to the mines,” Tyelpe had said, shaking his head.
“They weren’t a big deal back in the day,” he shrugged. “Not until your husband came along”
Lómion let out a huff from the front of the cart.
“I don’t know how you all survived without me”
Elenyamírë laughed heartily at his response, but he wasn’t too far off. He didn’t think any of the Noldor craftsmen could even imagine not having all the resources they did now thanks to that clever boy.
“What does your father say about it?”
“I don’t really talk to him,” Lómion shrugged in disinterest.
“I think he’s proud,” Tyelpe said. “… In whatever way Eöl can be proud, that is. He at least has nothing bad to say, which I think might as well be praise”
“… You’re not wholly incorrect,” Lómion admitted.
“He should be proud of you,” Ereinion affirmed, “it’s the least he could do”
“Yes, well, he probably knows nothing on how to be a decent father, even with Atarinkë’s influence”
Fëanáro wasn’t privy to whatever relationship Atarinkë and Eöl had, but he had a vague idea considering how Eöl behaved somewhat like a scorned lover around him. It would, unfortunately, be wholly in line with his son’s terrible taste in lovers over the years… Thankfully, if there had been anything there at all, he had long since left Eöl in favour of the much more appropriate Angaráto. And although he knew Atarinkë wasn’t keeping a close eye on Eöl anymore, it seemed that whatever he had done worked in keeping him in line. So far nobody reported any incidents or trouble as far as he was concerned.
“There’s some men that can’t be fixed,” he huffed.
All the boys laughed at his remark.
“Is that speaking from experience?” Tyelpe asked, that cheeky child.
“See how you speak to your elders!”
There was another round of giggling, but he couldn’t bring himself to hold it against them.
They stopped a few hours later to camp for the rest of the night, and by that time he had already mostly forgotten all of his worries, instead trying not to laugh too much at the harmless competition between the boys as to who could cook dinner best. Tyelpe had won in the end, by only a small margin, with Elyo in close second. More than full of good supper they slept peacefully under the night sky.
When Fëanáro woke up both Elyo and Ereinion had burrowed close to his bedroll due to his warmer body and he chuckled under his breath, working to prepare breakfast before they all woke up. At the other side of the campfire Tyelpe was curled up around his husband, peacefully sleeping.
They set out once again along with the sunrise, deeper into the mountain range along a narrow road just big enough for the cart.
“I think you would probably get along with a Noldor best”
At some point during the morning, the conversation had somehow shifted to the topic of Ereinion being the only one of his present three grandsons that was still single. His face was tinted red under the merciless teasing his cousin and brother subjected him to.
“You’re a bit…” Elyo paused. “Meek”
“Meek??” Tyelpe repeated with a laugh.
“Awkward! I meant awkward!” He quickly backtracked. “So yes, another Noldo would probably fit him well. Someone to set him straight”
“I don’t need you to play matchmaker for me!” Ereinion protested.
“You can’t possibly spend the rest of your life bitter and alone”
“I—“ He spluttered. “I am not bitter!”
“You’re at least a little pathetic—“
Ereinion reached to grab his brother by the neck and Telperinquar let out a cackle, doing nothing to intervene. Elenyamírë shoved him out of the way expertly, since they were plenty used to trying to murder each other.
“Some people are into the pathetic-ness,” Lómion said with a straight face, which made even Fëanáro laugh despite it all. “They like soaked little kittens”
Ereinion buried his face into the bags and screamed.
“I hate all of you so much”
“Don’t worry, some day you won’t be forced to live in atya’s house all alone,” Elyo chuckled.
“You live at home too!”
“At least I have a wife”
“And I still wonder what she sees in you”
And then it simply continued into an endless stream of jabs against one another that was at least good entertainment to have.
Despite their constant bickering their relationship was pretty healthy as far as sibling relationships go. Both of them had gotten closer over the years since their reconciliation, and Fëanáro at least had never seen them say or do anything truly hurtful to one another. He sometimes even forgot they were full adults that knew when to stop the teasing.
Soon after lunch time -which since they didn’t stop meant only eating dried meat and snacks on the wat- they approached the mine, which was bursting with activity.
The narrow road between the mountains widened into a small rockey valley where the tunnels had been dug, simple wooden constructions done at the sides to house workers when they stayed for long shifts, and rails that came up to the surface to transport ore and stone.
They were welcomed nicely and they settled in one of the cabins that was empty at the moment. Not long after they had made themselves comfortable Gimli the dwarf came to find them, and it was truly no surprise to see him there.
“My, what a surprise! Lord Elrond, I never expected to see you here!”
Elyo smiled and nodded.
“I’ve heard a lot of good things about the mine and have been wanting to see it. I trust Master Gimli has been happy here?”
“More than happy,” he laughed.
He walked with Fëanáro, Elenyamírë and Ereinion along a sturdy wooden walkway that surrounded part of the tunnels to show them while Lómion and Telperinquar talked with their workers.
“I am surprised but delighted to say that that laddie is more than just skilled. Even within my kin there are very few who can listen to the whims of the mountain, and even less who can do it with such accuracy! He no doubt would make his masters proud”
Back in the First Age mining was truly not of much importance for the folk in Aman. It hadn’t been for the quendi in Middle Earth either, to be honest; most still preferred to trade with dwarven neighbours for their needs. As much as elves were skilled for many things, they did not have the same affinity for the earth and its treasures… In those old times, should there be a need for anything else, it was more common to pray for Aulë’s help. In contrast, Lómion had been raised by a man that placed more pride into doing things his own way by himself. Eöl was skilled and capable, that much he could admit, and he had taught the boy well. But he also had a higher gift due to the fact that he was taught by dwarves in their own ways… Lómion had grown closer to them than to his own kin in many ways, and he had never forgotten their influence in his upbringing, honouring it in bringing their gifts to Aman. And he did give full credit of his skill to them, not to himself. He wanted everyone in Aman to see what dwarven kind was capable of.
“His passion is rather contagious too,” Fëanáro observed.
Not only had he brought new wonders for the craftsmen who relied on the mines, but an entire new craft for those who were inclined for it.
“Aye, how can it not be when he radiates such energy?”
“He has come out of his shell a lot”
They turned to see Tyelpe approach.
“He was so quiet when we met.” He smiled nostalgically. “Even when we first walked out of the Halls, he had a hard time talking to other people. Ever since he started working on these projects, he started gaining confidence”
Fëanáro glanced at his grandson-in-law, at his posture while he gave orders and answered questions from the miners. Mm, that was indeed the posture of a nér that had found his true passion and had flourished thanks to it.
“He also had you to encourage him,” Elyo said, nudging him with his elbow.
Telperinquar blushed slightly.
“Don’t give me credit for his achievements”
“That’s not what I said!”
“Hey! Are you all coming or not?”
Fëanáro tugged the boys back towards the walkway.
“Come on, let’s not keep your husband waiting”
Fëanáro was not used to standing aside as a student anymore, but he managed to keep still, fascinated with the mine.
This was the third that Lómion had started from scratch, and it was also the most extensive. It did not go terribly deep, but it did spawn sideways beneath the mountain range, reaching multiple ore veins and chambers full of gemstones. They were also surprised to know that it wasn’t the only thing going on in the mine; plenty of scholars came by to observe as they dug deeper to examine the layers of the earth be exposed, which according to them could tell them exactly how and when the terrain was shaped. Fëanáro imagined they could simply ask the Valar if they wanted to know, but looking at their faces he understood that their curiosity had to be sated by their own hands, and he had to admit they were incredibly intelligent in how they were learning to read the story of Arda this way.
The tunnels they went down were the deepest in the mine, but they were not the narrow corridors he had imagined, instead being wide channels well illuminated by torches, with gold glittering all around them.
“Part of these are natural caves that were inside the mountain, air pockets that we connected,” Lómion had explained as they carefully climbed down. “It saves effort and time”
“It is still very incredible how far you dug in such a short time!” Ereinion remarked.
He offered a lopsided grin.
“I have a fair share of tricks under my sleeve. Come, this is where I’m digging now”
They spent most days there, watching the miners work effectively and faster than they imagined, but Lómion also taught them how to do it too, just for the fun of it. Even in the parts where it looked like plain rock, he never failed to find something or other.
“How do you hear it?” Fëanáro had asked eventually. “Even I can’t”
The Music could clue him in as to many things, but it seemed useless down there. And even if he tried quieting it down, he couldn’t tell anything out of the ordinary except the muffled echo natural to the mines.
“I don’t know, I just… do it. It’s like… a melody. Like air blowing through crystal or glass”
They had tried to imitate him when he laid down in the stone and pressed his ear to it, but it was all the same for everyone else.
“I feel like a crazy person,” Ereinion had said blunty, which made his brother laugh.
“Then you will find it crazier to know I can see it too”
Lómion stood up and tugged his goggles up to rest on his forehead. The dust had left an imprint around his eyes and he blinked slowly to adjust to the light in the tunnel. For the rest of them it was quite dim, although to him it was probably very bright. Fëanáro didn’t know how sensitive his eyes were, but judging by the fact that if he or anyone else looked through his goggles they couldn’t see through them, then they must be very delicate indeed.
“This I believe I inherited from my father. Our eyes are not blessed to withstand the light of the Ainur, made to see in a world with none of their light. I can see traces of… things, in the air. I can also see your fëar, to some extent. I can’t do it as well as Eöl and it works best in pitch black darkness, but it’s useful nonetheless.” He touched the stone wall, fingers tracing a vague path. “Around… here. Why don’t you try?”
Ereinion looked unsure but Telperinquar shoved him lightly and Lómion guided him to hold a pick axe. Sure enough, a few strikes later he hit another small vein of silver.
Fëanáro had to ask more about that sight of his someday…
“He’s pretty awesome, isn’t he?” Tyelpe sighed at his side.
Fëanáro smiled.
“This is why he’s my favourite in-law.” He paused and then added; “Don’t tell Findekáno I said that”
Tyelpe let out a snort.
As they days passed however, he had to hand it to that young one; it was gruelling work that could exhaust anyone else. Fëanáro was not easy to tire and he lasted longer than his two younger grandsons, but he didn’t have Gimli or Lómion’s iron endurance. By the end of the second week he had relented to being a spectator, which in itself was already fun enough. They spent hours just watching and also listening to the experts excitedly talk about what they were doing.
As it turned out, there had been a reason Lómion wanted to bring Tyelpe out there, and a reason why he had readily agreed to more company; he did have something to brag about.
Around two and a half weeks after their arrival, his team struck gold. Figuratively.
Tyelpe was sitting with them taking a break in an upper chamber when the miners cheered down the shaft and they exchanged brief looks of confusion. Not too late after Lómion crawled out of the narrow entrance of the tunnel, goggles hanging down his neck, and offered a bright silent grin.
“What is it?” Tyelpe inquired.
Silently triumphant, Lómion lifted his hand to show off a small chunk of gleaming white metal.
There was a momentary silence.
“You owe me… an entire lifetime of gratitude”
They stared in shock.
“You did it…”
“I did it”
And then a huge grin to mirror his was drawn on Tyelpe’s face.
“You truly did it!”
Lómion laughed as he was swept up in his arms, wrapping his arms around his neck to kiss him properly. Fëanáro laughed from the side as Ereinion and Elyo ran to hug the both of them and they spun around in a little group like children, laughing and celebrating.
The miners crawled out of the tunnel soon after, some running to go back to the surgace to pass on the news while the rest took a well deserved excited break.
While the youngsters talked excitedly Fëanáro happily sat to the side, content to seeing them have this moment, until Lómion came to sit at his side minutes later.
“This is for you, grandfather”
The boy put the piece of mithril on his palm, pushing his fingers closed around it.
“You worked hard for it,” Fëanáro protested, “you should save it for your husband”
“I’ll get more for him,” he replied smugly, but then his smile softened. “It’s a way to show my gratitude… I only have Tyelpe thanks to you, grandmother and Atarinkë. And not only that, but you have welcomed me into your family with open arms from the beginning, even as hard as it is for you to let go of him. The light and happiness you have all brought to my life cannot be put into words”
Fëanáro didn’t really know what to say for a moment. He held the piece tighter in his hand and lifted his other hand to place it over Lómion’s.
“… You are right, it is not easy for me to let go. I hurt them irreparably, Tyelpe more than most of them, so in this new chance they have given me I have to try my best to protect them, to make sure they are not hurt again. He is a precious child… And I feel blessed that he has found you to be his partner”
As much as he would like them to remain his little babies forever, he was grateful that each of them had found people more than worthy to hold their hearts. Well. For the most part.
Lómion offered a kind smile, for once looking his young age, and Fëanáro gladly accepted the hug that followed.
He was so, so very proud of these boys.
The next morning Ereinion and Elenyamírë stayed with him in the surface. The miners were all extremely motivated and excited and they did not want to be in their way, so they sat in the walkway above to take a well deserved break after following Lómion and Tyelpe for so long. They each leaned over his shoulders as he measured and weighed the chunk Lómion had gifted him— it was small by every standard, but being such a precious rare metal, it was likely worth a fortune. Gimli, who was the true local expert on mithril, was obviously too busy to detail everything to them, so for the meantime he could only observe so much of it.
“What will you do with it?” Elyo asked curiously.
“I’m not sure yet. It is well enough for pieces of jewellery and small accessories…”
“You could make a ring,” Ereinion suggested.
“Mm, that’s true. I will consider it carefully, it has to be a good piece to commemorate its finding. Perhaps I will ask Tyelpe to help me”
He was always very happy to craft with his grandson.
“Oh, speaking of that…” Elenyamírë shifted at his side. “I have always been curious; was it you or uncle Atarinkë who taught him how to forge?”
Ah, a good question indeed.
Fëanáro smiled.
“Atarinkë had the honour of bringing him to the forges for the first time, of course, but he was only a small toddler then. He felt anxious to be the one to teach him, so I instructed him on his first lessons, and then his father took over for the more exciting stuff. After a few years, he went back and forth as he pleased”
Tyelpe liked being with both of them in equal amounts, and there were also days were the three of them would work together, although that was a rarer occurrence… While it was true that they shared a craft and passion, each of them naturally drifted to their preferred styles and methods, not to mention their own ways to handle their work spaces. Atarinkë was far more disorganised than Fëanáro or Telperinquar were, for example, but between him and his grandson they had completely opposite ways of organising their things. So, for the sake of avoiding tension and arguments, every Noldorin craftsman knew to keep family or lovers separate when it came to the forges. Fëanáro was pretty sure that Tyelpe and Lómion were likely the only pairing in between all the smiths he knew that could tolerate to work together more often.
“Did you ever wish you could have taught Maedhros or our other uncles?” Ereinion asked.
Fëanáro let out a laugh.
“I did teach them! None of them took to it much, but they are good enough”
From Nelyo to Pityo, they had all spent their early years strapped to his chest and back, or sat on his lap as he worked. He had guided their hands on their first lessons and pushed them to be up to a good standard, but never shoved it into their faces more than they could tolerate. He had to admit he was a bit disappointed that only Curvo had loved it, but he would never want his sons to stray from what made them truly happy.
“I knew atya could forge, but I confess I thought he had learnt out of necessity”
“Mm, Nelyo is likely third best after Tyelko,” he nodded. “He’s strong and has good endurance, but he doesn’t have much eye for fine details”
And then, a thought crossed his mind. Maybe it was a bit too forwards, but…
“Would you like to learn?” He asked to both of them. “You don’t have to take it up either, but your father and uncles know, we might as well make it a tradition”
That way he also had an excuse to spend time with them.
“I would like to,” Elenyamírë said with a radiant smile.
“I mean… yes, why not?” Ereinion was more subdued, but his interest was there.
“Come on, then.” Fëanáro stood up and offered a hand to help them up. “We can make use of the forge they have here, it’s small but it’ll do. Besides, your cousins will be busy in their own world for a while”
Elenyamírë and Ereinion let him hold their hands as they walked down towards the forge, already asking some questions about what exactly they were going to do.
For the first time then, Fëanáro found that he wasn’t too upset about not seeing them grow up like he desperately wanted to; he still had plenty of things to teach them and show them even now.
And he couldn’t wait to get started.
Notes:
Wow… I wrote this all… today!! I legit wrote it all at once! It was a pleasant surprise haha, recently my writing has had its ups and downs so I was relieved to get it in one go.
I know this chapter was very angsty at first with the flashback bit, so I turned it more wholesome at the end there to compensate!
The children… they yearn for the mines…
Writing their little group hanging out was so much fun. They are grown men that have done some pretty cool stuff, and yet they are like silly teenagers when spending time as cousins. One can hardly believe they used to be Lords and Kings.Lómion finally did it! He found the mithril!
I will say, it’s probably a small deposit which would still make it a very rare resource bc that’s the charm of it. Also, he’ll share the credit with Gimli because they’re working together on it and Gimli is the true expert on it. I think Tyelpe knows his fair share because he got to work with it on the SA, but Gimli is a dwarf and mithril is a huge deal for HIS culture, y’know?
Side note; I believe I’ve seen some people include mithril in FA stuff, but Khazad-dûm didn’t become a big settlement until the SA, so while Tolkien never specified when it was discovered, it stands to assume that it was likely on the SA, which would make it entirely new for Aman right now.Well! Some threads are unravelling and parts of the story become clearer but I will also say… a lot of it isn’t going to end up the way you think, not at all!
I started sort of struggling to write Náro but I may be getting the hang of it slowly. He is very easy to work around other people too, surprisingly.… I still don’t know how many chapters this will be though!
Oh! I made some art recently!
This piece of the Arafinwions
And this doodle of Finwe & baby Náro that I made for father’s day <3
I hope you like them!Thank you very much for your reading and support! Comments and kudos are as always appreciated, you guys are amazing <3
I hope to be back soon! Byeee!
Chapter Text
Tirion was seldom this busy, and Fëanáro always hated it. The only reason he was not sulking in his chambers was that at least it meant multiple interesting people from all over Aman came to the city…
Looking around between the nobles mingling, he slipped past mostly unnoticed thanks to his informal clothing and lack of regalia. His father had done his hair earlier as he always did, but Fëanáro had plucked away all the gemstones in his long braid and squirmed out of his formal robe, instead swapping it for something more neutral that allowed him to pass off as one of the staff walking around. Some had mistaken him for an attendant already, requesting drinks and appetisers, which he had ignored altogether.
He spotted his father near his wife, looking around probably in search of Fëanáro, and he quickly slipped away towards the gardens to be safely out of sight. He didn’t think he was anywhere near ready to talk to him for now... If this wasn’t an ‘important’ party he would have stayed locked up in his bedroom. Rúmil was out travelling again, which meant he was completely alone in the palace for the most part.
“My, what a surprise to see you here”
Fëanáro jumped and turned around, tilting his head back to see the nér face to face. Mahtan smiled in amusement at his reaction. The smith was wearing simple garments too, in his preferred copper, although his beard had been elegantly braided to match his hair. He easily towered over small thin Fëanáro.
“Mahtan-anyára! My apologies, I didn’t see you”
He bowed his head respectfully and kissed Mahtan’s hand as he ought to do for all his elders.
“Think nothing of it,” the smith dismissed. “What is our young Prince doing, sneaking around in a servant’s clothing?”
Fëanáro’s cheeks warmed up in embarrassment.
“… I admit I do not enjoy parties too much,” he cleared his throat.
“That much we have in common, then,” Mahtan laughed.
Fortunately, he didn’t seem inclined to make Fëanáro go back to his father, so he allowed himself to relax.
“Are you staying the entire week, sir?”
“Just so. Your father commissioned me for a gift for your new brother”
Fëanáro had practiced very carefully for his face to remain neutral at the reminder, but he still failed miserably at keeping a nonchalant look. He just wasn’t good at lying. Mahtan smiled with some compassion.
“Every elder sibling feels that way at the start,” he said kindly. “With time, everything will feel easier”
Everyone had said that, but it hadn’t become any easier in the years since his father married Indis, and even less since their daughter was born. Fëanáro could at least ignore Findis, but now that they would have a son…
“I guess”
Sometimes he thought about begging Rúmil to go with him whenever he travelled, but he always had that look on him that told Fëanáro he was glad to be rid of him for a while. He didn’t think he would agree to bring him along.
“You know what would cheer you up? Find yourself a hobby, son. Something to occupy your mind with”
Fëanáro slumped against the balcony.
“There’s nothing good to do in the palace, atar never lets me go out on my own and he thinks I’ll break if I do anything at all,” he whined.
Mahtan laughed again.
“Still as overprotective as ever!”
“Uh-huh. I haven’t had a single seizure in over two years! I take my medicine in time and all”
The only thing his father allowed was for Rúmil to teach him about his scripts and research, which granted, he did like a lot… but he was young, he still ached to do more exciting things. He could only ever go out riding whenever his uncles visited, since they managed to convince his father to relax, but most of the time he was stuck at home doing nothing.
“Hence dressing up have breathing space?”
“… Maybe”
Mahtan smiled, indulgent.
“Your father loves you, Fëanáro. He wishes to keep you safe… With time, he’ll see that you are ready to face the world”
Right…
“I hope so. I bet it’s fun to go wherever you want”
Mahtan looked out to the gardens. The previous summer Indis had planted a row of bright pink and white roses behind the peonies his mother had placed before he was born. It looked very pretty, and he hated it.
“From time to time, perhaps. I do enjoy being at home with my family as well”
Fëanáro had never met Mahtan’s family because he would always come to the palace on his own, but he knew he had a daughter around his age. Maybe one day he would have a family too, one that would be glad to have him there.
“So you prefer being at home?”
“There’s nowhere else where homecooked meals await me, is there? Besides, my forge is at home too”
Fëanáro rested his chin on his forearms atop the balcony railing, and a short silence extended between them.
Maybe if he focused well enough the roses would spontaneously combust just from glaring at them. Maybe if he wished it really hard he would open his eyes in the morning to find it had all been a bad dream and everything would be back to normal. Maybe if he pretended long enough, Arda would just right itself.
“Fëanáro?”
He blinked and raised his head.
“Yes, anyára?”
Fëanáro shook in excitement the entire week before he set off, reviewing his things again and again to make sure he had packed everything of importance, that he wasn’t leaving anything behind. His father had promised that his bedroom would stay locked up once he left anyway, to keep everything safe, so he didn’t worry too much about leaving a few things that made too much clutter on his luggage.
He woke up very early on the day, and he was ready at the doors of the palace before Laurelin finished waxing, placing the last of his bags on the carriage that had been arranged for him.
“Remember to behave yourself,” Rúmil reminded him, adjusting Fëanáro’s sash and dusting off his shoulder. “Be respectful and listen to Mahtan and his spouse”
“I will, I will”
“Don’t be so nonchalant, you brat! As if I didn’t know how much trouble you can cause!”
“Rúmiiiiil!”
The wordsmith looked down at him with narrowed eyes and he sighed.
“I’ll be on my best behaviour, I promise”
“You better”
They shared a tight hug for a moment before Rúmil stepped aside and Fëanáro stood by patiently as his father once again went over checking and adjusting his clothing, as if Rúmil hadn’t done that mere seconds ago.
“Are you sure you want to leave this early? You haven’t even had breakfast”
“I packed all my meals, and it’s better like this anyway, there won’t be anyone on the road and I’ll be there before lunch”
Finwë looked anxious, reaching out to brush his hair and hold his face.
“Your medicine?”
“All packed”
“And your coats? Your stationary? Your—“
“Atar, I’m ok. I have everything”
He opened his mouth, then closed it. The look in his eyes… Fëanáro didn’t know what it meant, but it made his heart hurt. He stared up at his golden eyes for a long moment, the silence spreading around them neither comfortable nor uncomfortable, just… existing.
“Atar?”
Finwë blinked, his eyes seeming a bit wet, and he shook his head.
“It’s nothing, Curvo. I’m going to miss you”
Fëanáro almost gave up right then, feeling the urge to dismiss his plans and simply stay by his side— but behind his father’s silhouette he spotted Indis in the distant gate, Findis at her left hand while the right was placed over her round belly.
He darted forwards and hugged his father tight, squeezing him as hard as he could, and Finwë wrapped his arms fiercely around his shoulders, reciprocating with matching intensity.
“I’ll miss you too, ata”
Please… Please don’t forget about me… Don’t replace me…
When they parted he quickly wiped away the warm tears on his cheeks and Finwë kissed his forehead one more time.
“Be safe, my love. I will see you in a few months”
“Mm…”
Fëanáro stared out the window as the carriage steadily rolled away from the palace, a place where he would never live again. He didn’t know it for sure then, but it would be his father who visited him and not the other way around, and he would not see Indis or her children again until the hundred day celebration of his firstborn daughter, when Nolofinwë, Lalwendë and Arafinwë had all been born already.
He didn’t know then that this was the start or a rift that would only grow bigger and deeper with time, until it opened into a chasm that would consume him in the very same fire that burned in his fëa.
For the next few months life resumed its usual routine. Fëanáro assisted court, visited his sons in his free time, spoiled his grandchildren and great grandchildren, tried to avoid his brothers’ coddling, and sat to have tea with his father and Indis once or twice whenever they were in the palace. He only ever thought about the impossible question whenever he couldn’t sleep at night in his solitary bed, but he didn’t inch any closer to finding the answer.
When spring rolled around their workload lessened more and more, and finding himself idle he turned to leave Tirion for a while. All his sons were busy in their own right, rebuilding the lives they should have always had before he ruined them, and he couldn’t bring himself to interrupt their happiness even if they would welcome him with open arms.
With the decision made, he packed a small bag and prepared to set out past lunch.
He ran into an unexpected presence when he was walking through the garden.
Fëanáro froze instantly, staring silently, and resisted the urge to turning on his heels to flee.
“… Good morning”
“Good morning, Fëanáro”
Rúmil had changed a lot since the old days. His long dark hair was arranged in different braids, held back from his face and decorated with thin bronze wire instead of ribbons or pins. He wore red makeup around his eyes in elaborate patterns, and he dressed in an elegant black and red semi formal robe with long sleeves.
“You look well”
Fëanáro nodded silently. In reality he was supposed to greet him properly, likely also kiss his hand, but he stayed standing as he was and Rúmil didn’t seem to expect him to do any of that.
“Thank you,” he mumbled.
Another small tense silence.
“… I have to go, I was on my way out”
“Ah, my apologies, I did not mean to hold you back,” Rúmil let out a sigh. “Let me accompany you to the stables”
Fëanáro cursed in his head but he nodded silently and he resumed his walk, Rúmil following to settle on the same pace thereafter. It was still a long way to the damned stables.
“We hadn’t seen each other in quite some time. How are your boys?”
Why, Valar, why? What had he done to deserve this!
…
Actually, nobody answer that.
“They’re doing well”
“None other has married since Tyelkormo?”
Fëanáro kicked a stray rock out of his way.
“Not yet, Ingoldo hasn’t asked for Laurë’s hand. Pityo started to date Arakáno, and Curvo has been seeing Angaráto lately”
Unexpectedly, he didn’t find himself worried over their wellbeing. As much as he hated to admit it, they were safe and happy.
“Oh. I see that… your nephews…”
“Have a thing for them?” Fëanáro said bitterly.
Rúmil let out a soft snort.
“Mm, quite so. I remember them all begging for Russa— For Nelyafinwë’s attention”
“They are brats, the lot of them”
He kept telling himself it could be worse. Atarinkë at least could have stayed with Eöl, Eru forbid.
“But they are happy”
“… Yes, I suppose”
“You have raised them well”
Fëanáro didn’t know where this conversation was going.
“I think the credit deserves to be given to their mother rather than myself”
He had indulged them too much, unable to see where they fell short. To him they were the seven most perfect beings in the entire world, how could they have faults or flaws?
“The both of you”
He nodded silently, and for a minute they said nothing more, before Fëanáro glanced ahead, and saw they were not too far off from the stables.
“Your work leads you to travel much still, then?”
Rúmil felt slightly surprised in his fëa that curled next to his. He tried to ignore it.
“Not quite as much these days. I have spent a good few long years bored inside my household… Nothing of particular interest arose until recently”
“Ah”
“I figured I should reconnect with Anya and our old friends”
Mm. With how often they were talking and seeing each other, Fëanáro almost felt transported back to his childhood where they all felt like family.
“That’s… good”
Rúmil nodded.
“You could come for tea once in a while”
Fëanáro could almost weep when they arrived at the stables and gave an uncomfortable shrug as his answer, reaching to grab the bridle of his horse, all saddled and ready. He stroked his mane, rubbing his nose before he started to tie his bag to the saddle. Everything else had been packed by the attendants and stablehands, thankfully.
Rúmil observed him silently, leaning against the wall.
“If you would not be opposed, perhaps I will visit someday. It has been a while since we last talked”
Fëanáro paused, hand tightening over the saddle, and then pulled himself upwards to mount the horse, and only then he turned to look at Rúmil, hesitant.
“… Perhaps”
Rúmil offered a smile.
“Until my visit, then”
Fëanáro nodded.
“Until then…”
He rode out without looking back, but the conversation wouldn’t leave his head in the long miles that he had ahead of him.
That said, Rúmil did not see Fëanáro for the next month anywhere in Tirion, as he clearly wasn’t staying in the city or its surroundings. That in itself wasn’t strange, Fëanáro had never liked staying for extended periods of time after he had settled with the Aulëndili, hating the stiffling air of the court, but he had the nagging feeling that something just… wasn’t right. However, with how strained their relationship was, he did not think it would be too wise to push it. He would wait a while longer before he tried contacting him again.
He let out a long sigh, staring up at the ceiling of his room within the palace. When had things become like this?
… It was his fault, he knew it. He should have never left, he should have reached out and asked, offered more comfort than a few words of shared grief. Maybe then a lot of things would have been different. Finwë would have wanted him to stay with his son through those times and he hadn’t.
“Rúmil…?”
He turned his head, reaching with a hand to pull the blanket properly over his bedmate’s shoulder.
“Go back to sleep”
A warm body pressed against his shoulder.
“You’re not sleeping…” he mumbled, eyes still closed, his long eyelashes brushing his cheeks.
“It’s nothing,” he assured in a soft voice, kissing his forehead gently. “Sleep”
His breathing slowed and evened shortly after and Rúmil was back alone with his spiralling thoughts, his hand distractedly rubbing his bedmate’s shoulder in a comforting motion.
After a while he sighed again and carefully extracted himself from their tangle of limbs, picking up his discarded robe to put back on. Putting on his shoes, he grabbed a ribbon and slipped out of the door, closing it silently.
It was not yet dawn and the corridors of the palace were both empty and quiet, only the soft echo of his steps to be heard. He worked his hair into a simple braid as he walked, tying it with the ribbon, and walked over to his old study. Although he hadn’t lived in the palace for many long years, it had never been completely cleared out and there were some decent supplies in there, a lot of his old work and some of his favourite books… He sank onto his favourite armchair after picking a random tome and sat it on his lap.
The book that he opened was not to his handwriting or the hand of other Noldorin authors. The distinctive swirl and hurry was none other than Fëanáro’s.
Ah, and here he was trying to distract himself.
His fingers traced over the old pages. Despite Rúmil’s best efforts, Fëanáro had never mastered proper calligraphy and his writing was inelegant even when he put in the effort of making it intelligible. He thought too fast, his mind worked much faster than his hand could move, and the result was often a messy scrawl that couldn’t be corrected out of him. But despite the terrible handwriting his redactions and essays were masterful, deep detail and care put into the words. Even poetry, which he had hated deeply, flowed beautifully out of his hand, as proved by the booklet he had in his hands.
They had sat in that same armchair, with the young toddler perched on his lap and Anya sitting across the small table, as he taught him to read and write. He remembered Anya’s boney hands around his warm cup of tea and his twinkling eyes, he remembered Fëanáro’s light weight and his sweet eager voice.
“Umi, what does this say?”
“Umi, how do I write that?”
“Umi, read for me”
“Umi—"
And at some point he had stopped inviting him to sit on his lap. At some point Fëanáro had started sitting across from him as his tongue poked out of his mouth in deep concentration.
At some point he had stopped coming to the study.
And then he had left Tirion entirely.
He turned to the last page, where young Fëanáro, not yet past his thirties, had drawn a small lineup of little persons, a smiling family.
That was all he had ever wanted, a stable family.
“Aw, is that one of Curvo’s first books?”
He flinched and lifted his head, never having heard the door opening. Finwë smiled, leaning against the doorway, and ultimately came inside to sit on his spot across from Rúmil. He wasn’t dressed for the day either, only wearing a robe half open on his chest as he was used to doing, and a pair of loose pants underneath. Rúmil closed the book and passed it over, and Finwë’s smile turned nostalgic as he looked at it.
“What are you doing here this early?”
“Woke up and couldn’t sleep again,” he replied cheerfully. “I felt you were awake and figured you’d be here”
Was he that predictable?
Rúmil sighed, sinking down further on the chair.
“Yes, I couldn’t sleep either”
Finwë acknowledged him with a hum, but he was more focused on the booklet.
“Our Curvo has always been so talented,” he said, mostly to himself.
“You have a very brilliant son”
Finwë looked at him, as if wanting to say something, but ultimately didn’t.
“Yes…” He set the book down on the tea table between them. “He doesn’t hate you, you know”
Rúmil let out a huff.
“Right. Last time I managed to find him he barely spoke a few words and ran off as soon as he could”
‘Quiet’ and ‘avoidant’ were not words that were supposed to go in the same sentence as Fëanáro.
“He’s likely just nervous”
“Or he doesn’t want to speak to me at all. He doesn’t do these things, Anya, he’s not like this!” He lifted his hands towards his face and brushed it in a very old gesture of frustration that nobody even used anymore. “He’s all closed off. If he yelled and cursed at me then at least I would know what to apologise for”
That was what he had initially expected, to be on the receiving end of his blazing fury, and at the end… nothing. He wouldn’t even look him in the eye. It was so out of character that it left him confused as to how to act.
“… I know, I know he isn’t normally like this”
Rúmil instantly felt terrible for the way that Finwë frowned.
“Anya…”
“I’m afraid,” he confessed, “I fear that if I ask too much or push too hard, he will pull away once again. I hate to see him like this when I know something weighs on him, but I don’t know how to fix it, or if I can even help fix it”
Who could blame him for feeling that way? His past mistakes weighed on him. They weighed down on everyone… he hadn’t been the only one to dismiss Fëanáro’s rejection of Indis and his half siblings.
“But he is not upset with you anymore”
Finwë frowned slightly deeper.
“No, but I know the matter of Míriel remains unsolved. And yet he will not let me try to speak to her!”
Rúmil remembered when he had told him of the moment he learnt about their… ‘issue’. The only reason he hadn’t ultimately gone and asked Námo and Vairë about it was that he did not want to upset his son any more. But knowing Anya he was not surprised that the issue kept bothering him. Rúmil, if asked and if his opinion had any value, would say that he was on his side. He too was very upset with Míriel.
“I take it he doesn’t want to speak of her either”
“Not one word”
Truly strange. Fëanáro had asked so much about his mother all throughout his childhood and teenage years, and even all grown he had not stopped fantasising about what it would be like to have her there, and then now… nothing?
“Perhaps he will come to you once he is ready,” he sighed in defeat. “You are his father and he loves you”
His friend gave him that strange look once again but a small smile graced his lips and he nodded.
“I suppose”
A small comfortable silence extended between them and Rúmil turned his head towards the window at the other end of the room. A slight twinge of light blue had tinted the sky, dawn was inching closer.
“What is that?” Finwë asked in a strangely eager voice.
“What?” He turned to look at him, confused.
Finwë leaned over the table and tugged Rúmil’s robe away from his neck, and he simultaneously felt dread and felt his face turn bright red. He slapped his hand over his neck and pushed him away. He hadn’t noticed when that— When it had happened!
“Nothing! It’s nothing!”
“It’s not nothing! Come on, aren’t you going to tell me about it?”
“Of course not! Why would I want to share my personal affairs with you!?”
He had an obnoxious grin in his face.
“Oh, come on! You have been single all this time without signs of ever being interested in anyone, and then all of sudden you have a lover? That is big news! Should I start waiting for wedding invites?”
Rúmil grabbed the pillow from his armchair and threw it at him, and Finwë broke down laughing.
“Stop saying ridiculous things! There’s not going to be a— a—“ Valar, no thank you… “It’s nothing like that! I’m allowed to have unserious relationships! For all you know I have had plenty of lovers!”
His ‘good friend’ let out a snort.
“No you haven’t”
And he was right, the bastard.
“I hate you”
“No, you don’t!”
Also correct, unfortunately.
Rúmil let out a groan and buried his head in his hands.
“I want you to be happy,” he then said, with much more softness than he expected. “You deserve that. Wether that is with a partner or not, I will support you”
Rúmil lifted his eyes. Eru, he hated when Anya did that, it was so difficult to argue with him afterwards.
“… Thank you.” And then, because he wasn’t willing to let him have the last word; “Although perhaps the reason I have not found a partner is that someone has been collecting every available elf—”
Anya blushed and threw the pillow back at him.
“That is not true at all! I have had three at most!”
Rúmil started cackling.
Ever since they were children Anya had attracted people like bees drawn to a flower in bloom. His smile, his gentle but firm demeanour, his determination and his stubborn streak. He had been followed by a very long line of poor nér and nís that would do anything he wanted, and he had simply never realised it. His charm had been passed on in identical fashion to Fëanáro and his boys, evidently. (Wether Rúmil had once been one of those starstruck suitors or not… that was something he wasn’t willing to disclose).
“You are the worst! See if I try to console you again!”
With a huff, he snatched the book from the table and sulked down on his chair to continue reading it, making a show of ignoring him.
Rúmil could have kicked him out, this was his studio and that was technically his book, but he simply picked up another one to hide his smile behind, and settled into the comfortable quietness shared with his best friend.
“If you want to make amends, go look for him,” Indis had pointed out another week later, rolling her eyes. “Just tell him. It doesn’t have to be a two way conversation, you are simply making excuses to not bring it up”
She was right, of course, and Finwë had nodded along with her words because he was terrible and also obsessed with his wife. Rúmil— Well, he couldn’t deny that her words had struck a sore spot. He was also avoiding Fëanáro, complaining instead of reaching out and making an effort… So he decided he might as well follow her advice.
That was why a couple days later he packed up a bag and rode to the Aulëndili for the first time in well over a few millennia.
Nerdanel and Fëanáro’s house hadn’t changed much since the last time he had been there, back before the exile, when he used to make regular visits to the boys as they grew up -usually accompanying Finwë. Painted new colours, certainly, and a little overtaken by vines, but still homely and cosy. He passed by new sculptures in the garden that he instantly recognised by Pityafinwë’s hand, and rustic windchimes that were no doubt hung on the trees and outer doorway by Tyelkormo.
The door was open as usual, inviting into a hall with a new green carpet, and he raised his hand to knock on the door and announce his presence.
“In the sunroom!”
He smiled to himself and rested his boots on the shelf by the door, walking the familiar pathway to the designated room.
As it was, he found the twins, Morifinwë and Makalaurë inside, alongside Arakáno, who as Fëanáro had told him sat by Pityafinwë’s side holding his hand. They looked very well indeed; the twins had an easier air to them, not as tense as he had last seen them, and Makalaurë didn’t avoid raising his head anymore. They all did look very shocked to see that it was him visiting.
“Oh!” Pityafinwë gasped. “Hellooo?…” He paused, eyeing something over Rúmil’s shoulder, mouthing words hesitantly, and after confirming, he finished in a questioning tone; “uncle Rúmil…?”
He turned his head and Atarinkë instantly adopted an innocent welcoming look. Morofinwë sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“Good morning,” he said, smiling with certain awkwardness, “I apologise for interrupting you”
“No, it’s nothing! We were surprised, that’s all!” Atarinkë shook his head. “It is good to see you, uncle”
Rúmil had still felt reserved about the boys feeling comfortable in his presence, but he let that tension go as Atarinkë grabbed his hand with ease and kissed it. Right, he would just take it as one of their antics then.
“Mm-hm, very good,” Makalaurë nodded, taking the time to greet him next, followed by Morifinwë and then the twins and Arakáno. “We hadn’t seen you since Tyelko’s wedding”
Ah, yes…
“That’s true. I should have reached out and come to see you sooner, I missed all of you”
“We missed you too, uncle,” Morifinwë offered him a seat. “Haru told us you had been living in the south.
“I was, for a while. Now being in Tirion doesn’t feel as oppressive… But my life has been rather boring. How have you been doing?”
They each spoke excitedly and happily about settling back into their peaceful lives, eyes shining as they spoke of the things they loved doing. Rúmil had heard some of it from Anya but he was glad to hear it all over again from their words. Pityafinwë proudly boasted about being able to leave his twin behind for almost a month now -a rather heartbreaking reminder, but a happy achievement nonetheless-, and Arakáno looked at him as if he had hung the stars as he explained that he had plans to advance more quickly on his masterpiece soon, since he wanted to finish it eventually. Telufinwë was proud of his twin, and he was doing some small recitals here and there -which Rúmil reminded himself to attend sometime-, but he spent more time helping Morifinwë around his studio, which was thriving in business and apprentices. Morifinwë had never been particularly social and he turned up his nose as he dismissively spoke of the eager youngsters that wanted to learn from him, but Rúmil knew him well enough to see beneath it where he was slowly coming out of his shell.
Makalaurë shyly mentioned that Ingoldo had suggested they travel around for a bit, doing performances in a sort of tour, and he was for once somewhat eager at the idea of performing once again, so he would likely be back on a stage soon, for himself rather than to make a petty point or to sing for his brother. And when Atarinkë’s time to talk came all his brothers groaned, since he sighed all love drunk and spoke of how amazing and perfect (and also did he mention amazing?) Angaráto was, and how much he missed him and wanted to see him. Rúmil couldn’t help but smile anyway. Atarinkë had always been affectionate and eager to love and be loved, but this was the first time he was visibly happy and fulfilled.
“Are you going to stay for a while?” Makalaurë eventually asked.
“Maybe,” he said, “I was hoping I could speak to your father”
“Ohhh”
Morifinwë elbowed him to make him shut up and instead said;
“He isn’t here, hasn’t been for a couple weeks. He hasn’t been at court?”
Definitely just… weird.
“No, not for well over a month…”
“Then he probably went to see Nelyo!” Telufinwë pointed out. “He’s been spending some time in their house here and there”
That made sense… Unfortunately Nestalondë was a few hours ride away so that meant a longer trip that anticipated…
“Stay for the night at least?” Atarinkë begged. “Please?”
Rúmil smiled, surprised they wanted to spend time with him but pleased nonetheless.
“Alright, one night”
“Great! I can show you what I’m doing in the forge—”
“Atarinkë, stop hoarding all the attention!”
“It’s not my fault you don’t speak up first!”
“I’m simply not obnoxiously loud like you!”
Rúmil could possibly say he didn’t miss hearing the bickering, but he would be lying.
Before he set out in the morning he sat in the kitchen and wrote out a poem for each of them, a plight for success and happiness much in the same way he had done when they first came of age and started their own careers. The practice had not survived long after the arrival of the Noldor in Valinor, but he and Anya had grown up with it. Back in the old days where danger lurked in every shadow, their prayers and well wishes seem to carry much more power. Written word was not always a thing but once it had been created by his hand they carried it in their pockets and displayed it in their homes to invoke good luck and protection. Now it was more of a pretty memento, they didn’t really need any luck to succeed, but he hoped that it would somehow help in keeping them happy.
The twins and Makalaurë were still asleep as they often woke late, so he tucked the poems beneath their pillows as he leaned to kiss each of their foreheads, and Atarinkë and Morifinwë saw him leave soon after.
Rúmil had never been in Nestalondë so far, but once he arrived hours later he was as marvelled as he’d heard everyone to be. It truly was a thriving small city full of life and colour, much more homely than the grand cities in Valinor. It reminded him somewhat of the smaller settlements all throughout Aman, but none of them were quite as lively as Nestalondë, which was a rather endearing mix of busy creative Noldor, nurturing Sinda and Avari, and elegant Vanyar. Tirion had more variety of people these days, but it was not as clearly mixed.
He didn’t need indications as to where to go, but he allowed himself to sightsee in the meantime. Stores and restaurants filled the main square and street, all starting to become busy at that hour of the day. There was even two or three separate inns! He imagined they existed for those who came to visit family or the hospital, which was a rather innovative creation. The hospital itself was also very active, but thankfully not due to serious injury, although knowing how reckless some young people could be, Rúmil knew they probably did get some ‘harder’ work from time to time.
The house at the very end of the city was as beautiful as Anya had described it, and he smiled as he saw that their door was also wide open.
He didn’t need to announce his presence, since at that moment a young looking nér was walking past it with a book in hand. He dressed in practical robes, with a white outer layer that covered them in protection, and his brown hair was peppered with miniature stars that sparkled when hit by sunlight, which told him this was probably Elenyamírë. He looked much younger than he was, likely due to his Maiarin heritage… He seemed to sense his presence and raised his head, blinking in surprise.
“Good morning,” he greeted politely.
“Good morning,” Rúmil answered similarly. “Elenyamírë, correct?”
He nodded, closing the book but keeping his finger in between the pages to retain the pace.
“Yes…”
He evidently didn’t know who he was, which he was absolutely fine with and actually even a little bit excited about, but right at that moment Findekáno came down the stairs. He blinked in surprise too, but smiled with ease.
“Rúmil, what a surprise!”
Elenyamírë’s eyes widened in surprise and he let out a soft amused sigh.
“Hello, Findekáno. Apologies for stopping by unannounced, I should’ve asked Atarinkë or Morifinwë to let you know I was coming”
“It’s nothing, we get plenty of surprise visits,” he dismissed with a hand wave. “I see you’ve met Elyo”
“Just now, yes”
“It is an honour to meet you,” Elenyamírë smiled, and greeted him in the traditional way of the Noldor, with a kiss to his hand. Rúmil had heard plenty of him being raised Noldo, but it was still a little fun to see it.
“The pleasure is all mine, Anya— your great grandfather speaks a lot about you and your brother”
“He does?” Findekáno asked, surprised.
Rúmil let out a small chuckle.
“He never shuts up about any of you”
“… Well, that does sound about right”
Elenyamíre seemed very amused but he probably was called through ósanwë because he grimaced and bowed his head.
“It seems I am needed back at the hospital, I’m sorry I cannot stay”
“It is alright, do not let me hold you from your duties. We might get another chance to chat”
“Go on,” Findekáno encouraged.
Elenyamírë said his goodbyes and walked out of the house from where Rúmil had come, hurrying away.
“Would you like to sit down? We have some pretty good snacks”
Findekáno led him to the kitchen, which was a bit upside down as some preparations for lunch had been started already, and they sat around the island in the middle of the room, where he was offered iced tea.
“I am very impressed with what you’be built,” he had to say. “Nestalondë is beautiful”
“It is! I never imagined we’d end up like this,” Findekáno let out a soft snort. “Nelyo still blames me for it”
“How come?”
“I once made a throwaway joke about him becoming a Lord of his own city”
Rúmil couldn’t help but laugh. It sounded very much like Nelyafinwë indeed.
“Does he not like to manage it? He could pass on the responsibility”
“I don’t think he realises that is an option,” he said with an innocent little smile, to which Rúmil laughed again. “He does like it, despite his complaints, or he would have run away long ago. He was born to be a leader”
“Mm, indeed. He takes a lot after your grandfather”
The both of them did, although Findekáno more in appearance than anything. Now that his eyes shone gold instead of blue the resemblance was even more uncanny.
Anya was a lot like that in their youth, too. He didn’t want to be the leader, didn’t want to have the responsibility, but he had always been the best at it regardless.
“I keep telling him that too!”
“Vanimelda, please stop conspiring against me with my uncle”
Findekáno started laughing when Nelyafinwë walked into the kitchen and hugged him from behind, placing a fleeting kiss to his cheek. Rúmil smiled, they did make quite a sweet picture. No wonder Fëanáro sulked so much and so often about his sons being stolen away.
“Don’t worry, the conspiracy did not get very far”
Nelyafinwë rolled his eyes and offered a brief greeting before he sat down with his husband.
“Very reassuring… It’s good to see you, uncle. How have you been recently? I heard you were staying in the palace with haru”
“I have, otherwise who is supposed to keep him in his place?” Both boys chuckled at that. “Although by now I tire of watching him trail after Indis like a puppy and the only other option I get is hearing him talk about Elwë”
Finwë insisted he didn’t understand why he had a personal vendetta against him, because he was blind, the poor thing with terrible taste.
Findekáno inevitably found it more amusing, while Nelyafinwë let out a soft sigh, lips twitching slightly.
“You will never let it go, will you?”
“Only if he ever dumps him”
“Uncle—”
“Fine, fine, I will stop complaining,” Rúmil sighed. “Tell me about you instead, then. I’ve just met your second eldest but I don’t know the rest of your children”
“Was Elyo home?” Nelyafinwë asked his husband.
“Mm-hm, for a few minutes to look for a book he needed.” And then to Rúmil he added; “Ereinion and Crabandil are out today, they wanted to go pick some mushrooms—”
“— So Amidiridhren went with to prevent them from picking up poisonous ones again,” Findekáno completed.
Rúmil could understand. He had never been any better at identifying the differences and had depended heavily on Anya to not poison himself multiple times.
“And Maltanasse is visiting his mother,” Nelyafinwë said. “So none of them are home… If we had known you were coming we could have arranged for something”
“Ah, do not worry— I chose to come last minute. Actually… I was hoping to find your father here”
Nelyafinwë smiled knowingly, but shook his head.
“I’m afraid you’ve missed him for about two weeks, he probably is back at mother’s house”
Rúmil didn’t have time to feel disappointed. Instead, that instinct was back; the gut feeling that something just wasn’t right. He frowned to himself.
“Your brothers haven’t seen him in a while either”
Both youngsters exchanged a confused glance.
“Not at all?”
He shook his head.
“He hasn’t been in Tirion either”
“That’s… weird,” Findekáno concluded.
Very much so.
“Could he be in one of his trips?” Rúmil guessed.
But Nelyafinwë shook his head.
“No, I can still feel him through our bond, which is why I assumed he would be with my brothers”
Rúmil had to think that it wasn’t anything strange. He hardly knew Fëanáro anymore, they didn’t have a relationship of any kind, so what did he know about his habits and quirks?
“Uncle—”
He lifted his head and Nelyafinwë tilted his head. He had the exact same look that his grandfather did, the one he was still trying to decipher.
“You look worried, or at least anxious to speak with him.” And before he could deny as he was prone to do, he continued; “why don’t you go back to the Aulëndili and visit Tyelpe? There’s no one who knows atar best except perhaps haru”
Well… It was not a terrible idea at all. Telperinquar understood his grandfather with such an ease that was enviable.
“Do you think he knows?”
“Well, I hope so. I won’t worry until he denies knowing a thing. I could come with, if you’d like”
Somehow, he felt that he had made the offer just for the sake of encouraging him, and his cheeks warmed up, feeling embarrassed that he was so easy to read.
“No, that’s… You’re probably busy on your own right”
Not half an hour later he was ready to leave again, right back to where he came from… Neither of them were upset by him leaving, and they gave him the address for Telperinquar’s apartment if he couldn’t be found in the forges.
“You’ll come visit eventually, right? The boys would like to meet you”
“I will,” he nodded. He wanted to see Nelyafinwë’s children, and meet the famous grandchildren too.
“Uncle—“
Rúmil paused, already up on his saddle, and turned to look at Nelyafinwë, who offered a small smile.
“Make sure he’s alright. If there’s anyone who can pull him out of his shell it’s you”
He… wasn’t as sure of that. Maybe that could’ve been true once, long ago. But now? Still, he nodded slowly because he had to try regardless, and for some unfathomable reason Nelyafinwë trusted that he could.
As he rode away, he started silently praying to whatever Valar would listen that Telperinquar could tell him more. He had already wasted enough time as it was.
“No, I haven’t seen him either”
Rúmil felt his heart sink and he sagged into the stool he had been offered.
The forges were noisy and full of people coming and going, but he didn’t pay attention to any of them. Telperinquar was dressed in his usual work attire, hands smeared with soot and grease, and his braids slightly out of order. His husband was behind him hunched over a workbench, very focused on whatever blueprints he was sketching.
The place had hardly changed since he had last been there, but still… no trace of Fëanáro.
“So, you had all assumed he was somewhere else, yet he is nowhere with any other member of the family”
Telperinquar nodded slowly, wiping his hands with a cloth. He looked so much like his grandfather, that boy.
“Well, if you put it like that…”
So, he truly wanted to be alone. And also he truly did not want to see or hear from Rúmil.
“I think he hates me”
This was not something he wanted to discuss with any of the boys, but it just slipped out at that moment of defeat. He rested his elbows on the workbench, burying his head in his hands.
“What—? I don’t think he does,” Telperinquar said kindly, pulling another stool close to sit at the other side. “If he did he would be very loud in making it known”
“Maybe I don’t deserve even that after all of this”
There was only silence as a response, but Rúmil would not blame the kid for not knowing how to answer. After a moment he took a deep breath and pushed himself up slowly.
“Thank you for your time anyway, Tyelpe. I’ll let you go back to your work”
“Alright…”
They both stood up to say their goodbyes, but right as they did Telperinquar’s eyes suddenly widened.
“Wait! I think— I think I know where he is!”
He blinked, taken aback.
“You… do?”
Telperinquar nodded, and his expression shifted into a grimace.
“… Yes, and I think neither you nor haru will like the answer”
Notes:
Ányara means elder!
On the subject of the poems— I took inspiration from Chinese calligraphy, where you write characters like ‘prosperity’ and the like :)
I don’t think I have ever written this out because it’s long and complicated but now you get an infodump on my hcs for Noldorin greetings!
From stranger to stranger (or just informal situations where no elder of your family is involved)= right hand to the heart, then raised to your right temple, folded to touch the back of your fingers to your temple lightly, then offered forwards as if giving. It is also used for goodbyes.
Towards elders, when you are being introduced to them specifically or an elder you know = kiss their right hand. (Noting here also that it can be seen as a very formal gesture between family, which is why we see Finwë ignoring this when it comes to his grandchildren).
Towards children = hand to the heart and then to their head kind of like a head pat. Mostly done to little children but I can totally see Náro doing this for his sons even now…
In family, from father to sons, formally = hand to the heart, then to their cheek with the fingers folded inwards.
From father to sons, informally/privately = kiss to the bridge of the nose and then forehead.
From father to daughters, formally and informally = a kiss to each cheek.
From mother to any children, formally = same gesture of hand to heart and cheek, but with both hands.
From mother to any children, informally = a kiss to each cheek.
From children to parents, formally = they’re supposed to kiss their hand too and nobody really does it lol.
From aunts to niblings = kiss to each cheek.
From uncles to niblings = nothing set in stone but generally a kiss on the forehead.
In between siblings there is nothing set in stone.I probably have missed to fully follow that guide here and there bc I don’t always remember it lol
I hope you liked this chapter!! I’ll try to get the next one out sooner, if my other wips allow it
OH BEFORE YOU GO!!
I drew Finwë
Chapter Text
“Uncle! Uncle, please—”
Rúmil stopped dead on his tracks, hand shaking where it held the strap of his bag against his shoulder. His entire body was shaking, barely holding together; his long hair was loose and half tangled around the ribbon that had tied it together not long ago, and the makeup on his face had smudged and run down his face in a mess of sweat and tears. He looked horribly pale under the light of the stars… Stars, because there were no more trees, no more light. The air was cold and snow fell over the green fields of Valinor, a remnant of Morgoth’s presence, but the cold did not register to him at that moment.
“I can’t stay,” he choked out, not turning back to face her. “I can’t. Not now, not— I’m sorry”
“But he needs you,” Russariel said, and her voice broke into a sob.
Rúmil’s eyes clouded with more tears, turning the hellish landscape before him into a blob of dark colours. He stumbled forwards before he started walking with more decision, further and further away. Russariel didn’t call after him again, but the faint echo of her crying haunted him all the way past the gates.
He looked back only once, when the snow had turned into a harsher blur, and all he could see was a warm light coming from a window, and a figure standing out on the balcony before it. He recognised that slender figure even before he saw the short hair blown by the wind, but he couldn’t bear to look on for more than a few seconds. He turned back to the road, and ran off.
“Formenos?”
Telperinquar lowered his head, nodding silently.
Night had just fallen and they found themselves once again back in Nestalondë, where Finwë had met them soon after their arrival, and he hadn’t stopped pacing the room back and forth for a few minutes.
“Where exactly is Formenos?” Lómion asked.
“Not too far…” Nelyafinwë clarified. “But that place— that is where we were exiled. Where… things started to go down”
Rúmil brushed his fingers through his hair, stressed.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” He asked Telperinquar. It was not an accusation, more like a plea.
The boy looked even more guilty at that.
“I just… didn’t know how! And it was so long ago when he told me, I had thought he had stopped going there! If I had known I would have said something”
Finwë stopped his pacing at once.
“I’ll go look for him,” he declared.
He was going to march out of the room, but Nelyafinwë stood up and stopped him.
“We all want to find him, haru, but confronting him about it won’t help. He’s been avoiding talking about this with all of us, with you— even with ammë. He’s a horrible liar but he is good at avoiding people. What exactly would you say to stop him from avoiding the conversation?”
That… was very much true. Fëanáro had continuously refused to elaborate on whatever he was feeling even to his father, and had gone out of his way to make sure no one suspected where he was during his mysterious absences. For years, everyone had assumed that if they hadn’t seen him around he was likely with someone else in the family, because that was the way it usually was. At most, they thought he was travelling again.
“Then what do you suggest we do?” Telperinquar asked quietly.
Nelyafinwë eyed everyone in the room, and then locked eyes with his husband, who nodded slightly.
“I think… wait here for a moment”
Rúmil blinked in surprise as he left the room.
Elenyamírë listened patiently to the entire story, nodding here and there, and didn’t interrupt to make any questions or comments, waiting until all of them had said their own piece about their concerns for Fëanáro. Then, he had nodded solemnly to himself.
“It sounds like melancholy,” he stated surely.
“Melancholy?” Finwë echoed, confused.
“Correct.” He stood up and walked to the wall of the studio they had reunited in, grabbing a book off a shelf. Once he sat down he opened it, patiently turning the handwritten pages. “It is… an illness, of sorts, which affects the mind. As you are aware, my expertise in healing extends past the ailments of the hröa; melancholy is one of the most common illnesses of the fëa I have observed”
They exchanged glances and Rúmil cleared his throat, daring to ask;
“You know a lot about it, then?”
“Thankfully,” he nodded. “The symptoms were first recorded by an édain healer that passed through my valley. She already had a very strong thesis to support it, and passed on her knowledge to me, upon which I have continued to add my observations”
“Is it very bad?” Telperinquar asked hesitantly.
Elenyamírë pat his cousin’s leg in a comforting motion.
“There are different stages and shapes that it may take from person to person, but I would not be inclined to believe haru is in any danger. However, his tendencies to isolate himself, the avoidance, his mood mellowing down… You mentioned weight loss as well, I believe? These are all classic symptoms”
He extended the open book towards Finwë, who took it to start reading the list of symptoms, and Rúmil leaned over his shoulder to read over them as well. The book was a very well done medical journal, he couldn’t help but observe, and the list was divided in columns, translated into the common édain tongue of Middle Earth and sindarin.
“Well, what is the cure?” Rúmil asked.
Elenyamírë opened his mouth, rethought what he was going to say, and closed it again for a second.
“It is not as straightforwards to treat the fëa, not the same way the hröa is. The process most of you went through in the Halls of Mandos is a form of healing of your spirit, and you have seen how drawn out it can be…” He shook his head. “What I and other indo-aþari have observed is that fëar afflictions cannot be fully cured. What we strive for with treatment is for the patient to learn to manage it and grow their life around the illness instead”
But that… Rúmil saw Finwë’s hands shake slightly and he reached to place an arm around him to steady him.
“No cure?” He repeated.
It almost felt like, once again, he was being told to give up. However, Elenyamírë didn’t dismiss him like all the healers all those years ago.
“That doesn’t mean he can’t get better,” he assured, reaching out to take the book out of his hands, leaving it atop the table so he could hold them. “The vast majority of my patients have continued to lead peaceful fulfilling lives at a normal capacity”
That was— definitely reassuring.
“Then, we can treat him now?” Telperinquar asked.
However, Elenyamírë grimaced.
“That would be the problem— healing the fëa is a delicate matter. It can only be successful when the patient is open to their troubles and is willing to discuss them to unravel the source of the illness. Haru is very expressive, yes, but he is prideful, and defensive…”
Fëanáro didn’t like expressing his weaknesses. He could be aware of his flaws, but he rarely displayed them for all to see. He needed to want to be healed in order to get better, but it was severely unlikely he would give that step forward.
“He will likely be mad if we bring it up,” Nelyafinwë sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Probably,” Findekáno nodded with a sigh.
“For how long has this persisted?” Elenyamírë asked. “Is this recent, post reembodiement?”
“Yes—” Finwë said.
“No,” Rúmil answered simultaneously.
They looked at each other with surprise but then Rúmil elaborated as all eyes turned to him.
“Well… He definitely had the same avoidance whenever Indis and his siblings were brought up, didn’t he? He had a lot of unresolved anger after you told him you’d marry her; she used to be his aunt and then overnight he would barely look at her. And he hid it very well for a long time, but Míriel’s absence was an even worse sore spot back then”
The— Anya’s great grandson nodded.
“Mm, it seems his melancholy started early in life, then. It remained undetected for a while, but it likely started spiralling badly during the exile, and mellowed out again on a stable course”
It had been there all this time…
“What do you advice to treat it, at his reluctance?” Lómion, surprisingly, was the one who asked.
Elenyamírë considered it in silence for a moment.
“I will be blunt for a second… I believe he likely has other ailments that have not been treated either. The mood swings you have described to me are small tell-tale signs, but I will not say more at the moment since I cannot provide a full diagnosis without his input.” Unfortunately, it made sense. Mind healing had not been a proper discipline until he brought it from Middle Earth— Námo and his Maiar practiced it, but they did so exclusively within the Halls. Estë and Nienna offered similar help, but only to those who sought it willingly. Nobody had advocated persistently to treat others until Elenyamírë and his son opened their hospital. “Since he is unlikely to accept the treatment we offer in the hospital, then my advice is to simply be there for him. Melancholy drives people to dark thoughts and self doubt, which is why reassurance from family and loved ones is imperative. Let him know we are aware of his struggle and that we are available to help, when and only when he is ready to reach out and take it. Surrounding him with support and love is the best we can do”
That much they could manage… Rúmil knew that Fëanáro didn’t lack people who loved him, and once they became aware of this they wouldn’t hesitate to be there for him. It felt… a bit strange, in a way, to keep this from him, but it was for his own good. With any luck he’d eventually ask for help, or at the very least it would lessen on its own.
“That’s it?” Telperinquar asked, surprised.
His cousin chuckled.
“It is rather simple, yes. Haru is highly functional; he maintains his work at court and the forge, and he has kept good relationships with everyone in the meantime. I would only start worrying if that changed”
Finwë cleared his throat.
“Do you think he needs to speak with or about Míriel?”
Elenyamírë considered it.
“About her… perhaps. With her… I can’t fully say for sure. There are equal possibilities of it helping or making it worse. Especially if we don’t know what exactly he expects from her, or what she’d say”
He nodded slowly.
“Thank you, truly… I… I never noticed nor knew how to help and—” His voice broke off.
“You did your best with the tools you had, haru,” Elenyamírë assured him, squeezing his hand. “What’s important is that you have tried to do better by him and continue to do so”
Rúmil’s stomach turned. He felt sick to his stomach, he felt— he rubbed his hands across his face.
“Uncle?” Nelyafinwë asked gently, placing a hand on his shoulder.
“It’s nothing,” he mumbled, eyes lost and staring out towards the carpet. “I’m alright…”
It was a cloudy windy day, but Fëanáro had no plans to go outside. Matter of fact, he hadn’t moved from his spot on the bed at all, curled up on his side atop the covers. The bedroom was almost completely empty sans the bed, a dresser, and the curtains that often covered the windows, although they were completely open now. The garden outside didn’t exist anymore, trees towering above and their wilting leaves slowly falling to the ground in an almost soothing way. He wasn’t very eager to get up, there wasn’t much left to use in the forge and he hadn’t scheduled to return for another few days… Perhaps he should pack up and go back to Tirion earlier, he hated being bored.
The Music shifted abruptly and Fëanáro wholly flinched in surprise, sitting up on the bed at the sudden cacophony of noise. What in the Void…? But then, somehow between it’s noise, he heard it; horses.
Damn it.
He scrambled to put on his slippers and picked up an outer robe, throwing it over his sleeping light shirt and pants.
The wind was chilly as he stood at the doorway of the abandoned manor, but he had a good view of the narrow road and the horses approaching at a steady gallop. In only a few seconds after he had run outside, both of them slowed down and stopped just past the ruins of the wall that had once separated Formenos from the forest.
His father, he expected. Rúmil was a surprise.
“Curvo!”
Fëanáro didn’t have it in him to pretend to be angry or upset at Finwë, and he allowed him to sweep him up into his arms, making no sound of protest as he was crushed in a hug.
“Atar,” he said, voice muffled against his cloak,” what are you doing here?”
“What are we—? We were worried for you!” His father pulled away, craddling his face in his cold hands. “What were you thinking, vanishing without a trace for so long!”
Fëanáro felt his cheeks turn warmer.
“I’m a grown nér, atar, I’m fine”
His father shook his head.
“No, you don’t get to do this, not— not like this, not here”
Finwë’s voice was broken and he felt awful for it, but he didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t expected them to figure out that he had come there to be alone… They certainly hadn’t the many times before.
“I was going to return tomorrow,” he explained.
Finwë looked like he wanted to say many things more, but after opening his mouth he thought it over once more, suddenly distracted by brushing his fingers over Fëanáro’s cheeks.
“You’re freezing,” he said, voice still shaking.
Fëanáro blinked.
“I’m alright, I don’t feel the weather, remember?”
He didn’t notice any difference to how he usually handled weather… Fëanáro’s fëa burned with fires akin to the sun, he didn’t feel the burn of fire or summer’s heat, nor did he suffer from bellowing winds or freezing cold.
Rúmil stepped closer and Fëanáro nearly flinched when he reached out, but he only touched the back of his hand to his forehead. He instantly frowned and moved to take off his cloak.
“You are cold, Náro. Come on, let’s get you inside”
He wanted to protest but they gave him no time to do so, and soon thereafter they were walking into the house, quiet and empty. He saw his father’s jaw tighten and Fëanáro winced.
“My bedroom is at the back of the first floor”
It was the only place where the three of them could truly sit to talk, and that was where they brought him. His father grabbed the blankets from the pillow and swaddled him up in them, making him sit on the bed. In the meantime, Rúmil busied himself lighting up the hearth that laid cold and untouched at the wall opposite to the bed.
“… Did Tyelpe tell you?”
His father nodded without looking up at him as he adjusted the cocoon of blankets.
“Yes. Thankfully he had the sense to not keep it to himself”
Unlike you.
Fëanáro picked at the loose threads of one of the older blankets. The colour was really ugly but it had belonged to his twins and he liked to keep it close.
“I never wanted to worry you”
He truly didn’t. He wasn’t upset at Finwë anymore, he didn’t want to cause more trouble.
“I promise I’m not lying,” he insisted. “You wouldn’t really notice my absence and I’d be back soon”
“Of course we would not notice,” Finwë raised his voice and looked up at him, “we wouldn’t because you kept it a secret on purpose and misled everyone to think you hadn’t gone anywhere!”
His father was rarely ever angry at him. Truth to be told… he didn’t think he had ever seen him like this. Even in the rare occasion where he’d scolded Fëanáro for being a complete arsehole to Nolofinwë he had not been this furious, and he couldn’t help but jump at the sudden volume of his voice.
The Music had quieted to a meek hum in the background.
“…”
“Just tell me why,” he pleaded, reaching to grab him by the shoulders. “I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me, if you keep running away”
“… I don’t need help—”
“You do!” Fëanáro jumped again and he was shaken insistently for a second. “You need help, you are not alright nor acting like yourself! Say something, do something! Scream and rage at me if you have to!”
“Atar…”
“Just act normal for once, for Eru’s sake!”
He opened his mouth, shocked, and Rúmil took hold of Finwë’s shoulder and arm, bringing them both out of their trance.
“Anya, stop that,” he said firmly, pulling him off. “You’re scaring him”
Fëanáro would have liked to deny that he was, but he had always been a terrible liar. His fingers clutched at the blankets until his knuckles turned white, completely frozen in place. After all… his father had been disappointed in him many times, but he had never… he hadn’t…
A tense silence fell over the room, only the creaking of the new fire and the distant howl of the wind past the windows making any noise.
Finwë’s eyes filled with tears and he shakily reached out, his hands falling over Fëanáro’s. His thumbs rolled in a comforting motion, encouraging him to lessen his grip.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I—”
“Anya didn’t mean to yell at you,” Rúmil said quietly, crouching down next to Finwë. “But I want you to understand that your behaviour terrifies h— all of us. You are so quiet and distant…”
That—
He didn’t mean to be.
Fëanáro let out a shaky breath.
“I thought you might be happy that I am not so loud anymore”
His father let out a wounded sound.
“When you are loud is how we know you are being yourself,” he said, tears spilling down his cheeks. He reached upwards to hesitantly brush his hair away from his face. “Even when you get mad, it— at least then I know why you are upset”
But that was the thing, wasn’t it?
…
“… I’m too tired. I don’t want to be upset anymore”
Fëanáro was old. He felt old. Heavy, slow and exhausted. He hardly had enough energy to keep up with all his responsibilities, he didn’t have any left to continue fueling the fires of his anger. Truth to be told, he was starting to become so tired he sometimes didn’t have the desire to pick up his tools anymore.
“Then at least let me help,” he pleaded softly. “If you are tired I’ll carry you, I’ll help with your duties, I’ll sing you to sleep like when you were a baby. Let me be there for you”
He didn’t want to be a burden for his father anymore. Not now that he finally had nearly everything he wanted and deserved. All the family was finally happy and fulfilled, why would he want to bring them down?
“Atar…”
His father reached out and pulled him into a hug.
“You are my precious son, Curvo. My greatest treasure. What sort of father would I be if I didn’t support you?”
He closed his eyes and rested his head on his shoulder, letting out a sigh and letting his body relax.
“I’m sorry,” he apologised.
He didn’t know what else to say. How to begin to apologise properly.
But his father didn’t ask for more and they remained in an embrace for a long comfortable minute.
“I am sorry, Náro”
Fëanáro didn’t look up to him just yet. He sat with his back against the headboard and Rúmil at the end of the bed. Finwë laid at Fëanáro’s side, asleep for now. Night had fallen and the trees covered all the starlight above. The room was covered in an orange light from the fire in the hearth.
“I don’t know why you’re apologising”
“… For leaving. For not being there”
That was… not what he expected.
“Nobody would have expected you to”
Rúmil’s jaw clenched.
“Anya did, at least. I thought I could, far before anything remotely like it happened. I was a coward instead”
Fëanáro traced the miniature stars embroidered on the bed covers with his fingers, eyes fixed on them as if they were the most interesting thing in the room.
“You didn’t have an obligation to stay”
But try as he might, the bitterness clung to him like a second skin. It had never left him, it remained and refused to disappear.
“You never did, anyway,” he added. “You never stayed”
A brief silence.
“During my travels?” Rúmil was confused.
He made a noncommittal noise.
This was why he wanted to avoid this particular conversation. It was just… pointless. It was always pointless.
“I never meant to abandon all of you,” he tried to explain. “My research brought me to a lot of places whenever I wasn’t needed at home— Besides, you hardly ever noticed my absence as a child”
Fëanáro scoffed.
“See? Nevermind me saying anything”
Another silence, although shorter.
“I don’t understand what you expect from me,” Rúmil gave up, pleading.
“You never do,” Fëanáro snarled, surprising himself with an anger he didn’t think he had in him anymore.
Heat burned in his chest, dry and fast-spreading.
“Well I— I am sorry! I truly did not mean to hurt you!”
Fëanáro snapped his head up.
“That is the thing, Rúmil, you never do!” He raised his voice. “You are always blind to the consequences of the things you say!”
Finwë stirred with the noise and Fëanáro brushed his fingers through his hair, itching to let it all out.
Why was he angry again? He was so tired but the fire had just ignited on its own and it was sizzling, begging to be let out.
He was suffocating, he—
He scrambled out of the blankets and stood up, walking off towards the window to look outside of it.
Distantly, he begged The Music to come back, for its noise to drown out his senses.
It remained hardly audible in the background.
“But I’m trying to understand now,” he finally answered, standing up from the bed too.
“You can’t, you can never understand how it feels,” he clutched a hand to his chest, grasping at the soft fabric of his night shirt. “You don’t know what it is like to have this void, to be this— this different”
“You’re right, I can’t,” Rúmil agreed. “I know we could never truly help with your mother’s absence”
The rage that had started to mellow came back. The embers became a bright beacon once again. He turned around sharply, eyes shining brightly.
“Stop bringing that up! You don’t know what you’re talking about!”
Rúmil nearly flinched but ultimately stood firm.
“Of course not! You won’t speak a single word about it to anyone! I know that it is a sore spot…”
“I said stop it!”
“… but she is still your mother and we know how much it hurt you”
“It’s none of your concern…”
“Isn’t it? Míriel was your father’s wife. She was my friend! I knew her since she was a girl, I thought I knew how much she loved you and wanted you”
“That isn’t—”
“It wasn’t your fault”
Fëanáro’s heart was racing. He took a shaky breath.
“Yes, it was”
“It wasn’t,” Rúmil emphasised. “It wasn’t your doing and she should know that”
Míriel—
Fëanáro tried to push that away.
“It’s not important anymore”
“Of course it is, it has always been”
“Leave it alone”
Rúmil stepped a bit closer.
“You don’t have to pretend it doesn’t hurt”
“No—”
The blur of emotions he was experiencing were making his head spin.
“Náro—”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about! She— She left me, I don’t need her anymore!”
Why couldn’t he get it? Why couldn’t he listen and understand what he’d been trying to say?
Finwë didn’t move from where he had sat, his side leaning against one of the posts of the bed. His silent encouragement was appreciated as well as it could be in his state of disarray.
“Náro, Míriel—!”
“I KNOW! I don’t need her! I DON’T WANT HER!” Once it had started, he couldn’t keep it in anymore. “It was never about her! I know she doesn’t love me but I knew that! I always did! I didn’t want her back, I wanted you back! I didn’t want you to leave me alone anymore! She was never my mother but you were my atto and you didn’t want me, you didn’t love me!”
When Fëanáro received the news of his father’s second marriage he had run up to Rúmil’s study. He had been gone for weeks already, and he hadn’t been there to see him cry himself to exhaustion, curled up underneath his desk. He hadn’t seen him do the same for years afterwards every time he felt alone and sad, because he was never home in the palace anymore. He had regained his freedom when Fëanáro became old enough to not need tending at all hours of the day and he had eagerly taken back to it, because after all— Rúmil didn’t wish to have a partner. He didn’t wish to have kids. He liked being a bachelor, he didn’t want the weight of a family dragging him down. Rúmil thought children were a burden, that they were only tolerable as long as they weren’t his own.
The palace stopped being his home not because Indis and her children had come to live within it, but because Rúmil had left. Fëanáro couldn’t bear to stay when the family, his family, had been torn apart entirely. He used to have two fathers, uncles, aunts and cousins. All of that was gone. Forever.
And everyone knew. His sons knew that Rúmil was their grandfather even without him saying it, his wife knew what he meant too. His father had tried to drop hints here and there. And still, Rúmil. didn’t. see it.
Fëanáro felt invisible.
He was invisible—
“Náro, I’m sor—”
The first thing he became aware of was his father’s face, blurry but slowly coming into focus, hovering above him.
“… rvo! Curvo! Oh thank Eru, you are awake!”
Rúmil came into view a second later, his expression just as panicked, and something wet and cool was pressed against his forehead, wiping away at the sweat on his skin.
His body ached, all of it, and it felt heavier than it had ever been before. His head was throbbing with a terrible headache, and even if he tried to speak his tongue felt heavy and uncoordinated. There was a faint smell of something burnt in the background.
Dizzy and disoriented, he choked out a sob and started crying like a little child.
“Umi…”
Finwë helped as he was lifted off into Rúmil’s lap, who craddled him to his chest and rocked him softly.
“I’m here,” he said, voice tearful and strained. “I’ve got you, yonya. You’re alright, you’re safe”
The light coming in through the curtains was golden, from the late afternoon. Fëanáro still felt terrible, but he at least was fully coherent and aware now.
The room was comfortable and welcoming, although impersonal. The bed linens and curtains were white, and there was little much else aside from a bedside table and a few chairs for others to sit and keep company. Was this… Elenyamírë’s hospital? His grandson must have felt him wake up through ósanwë, since only a minute later he was opening the door and walking inside. His father and Rúmil lingered on the doorway, each looking equally wrecked and fearful of approaching him just yet.
Elenyamírë sat next to the bed, offering a reassuring smile.
“Hello, haru. How are you feeling?”
He let out a soft breath and blinked very slowly.
“Tired and sore…”
“That is to be expected. You had a really bad seizure,” he explained gently, reaching out to take his pulse at his wrist, before he moved to touch different points on his chest and collarbone. Fëanáro had no idea of what could it be for. “I was told you’ve suffered them your whole life, when was the last time you had one?”
Fëanáro didn’t remember.
“It was a long time ago, when I was still a child”
Elenyamírë nodded as he grabbed a notepad from the bedside table and made some notes with graphite.
“And the others?”
“Others?”
The boy looked up at him and then glanced back at his… at Finwë and Rúmil.
“I’m not… sure what you mean,” Finwë confessed.
Elenyamírë looked a bit concerned, and a bit like he wanted to strangle every healer that had ever practiced medicine in Aman before his arrival. Fëanáro couldn’t help but be amused and his lips twitched into a subtle smile.
“The seizure you just experienced is one type of the possible ones you can experiment.” As always, his grandson was detailed and precise in his explanation. “Seizures can happen in isolation due to outside inputs, but in your case it was a persistent and reoccurring phenomenon, which means that it is an underlying condition. We call it falling sickness, and it is a lifelong ailment that doesn’t go away. You were born with it”
That much of being born with it he knew but…
“There are different types?”
“Yes. They can be as subtle as having you feeling confused and disoriented, or causing small memory lapses. They could confuse your senses to perceive false inputs… The convulsions are the most visible, but it is wholly possible and I think very likely that you suffer from different types of them and that the other ones are far more reoccurrent”
Oh…
That— That explained a lot.
“I… don’t know if I have had them. I don’t remember”
Elenyamírë squeezed his hand.
“It’s common to have no memory of the seizure itself. It also could be you just did not realise that you were experiencing one, as it may be the norm for you”
Yes, maybe… Fëanáro went once more over the list he had just made and—
He slowly blinked.
“You said… I could perceive things that aren’t real?”
Elenyamírë tilted his head.
“Smells or sounds, yes— Tastes as well”
Oh.
“Haru?”
He felt so stupid now…
“I constantly hear The Music,” he confessed. “I think it is due to my… constitution. But… sometimes, it feels reactive to my mood, which isn’t possible at all”
The shifting in volume and intensity was probably not normal.
Elenyamírë’s eyes widened.
“Oh! Do you hear it now?” Fëanáro nodded. “With a string echo, subtle and deep?” He nodded again and his grandson relaxed. “Alright, yes, that is what it sounds like at the moment. What did it sound like to you yesterday?”
For a moment he had almost forgotten the boy was part Maia. No wonder he could hear it too.
“A sad lament, with a few interruptions for a very loud cry, and then faint until I could barely hear it”
“Aha!” Elenyamírë looked triumphant as he noted down his findings. “You definitely have seizures constantly, then. Does this happen every day? Multiple times a day?”
Fëanáro tried to recall.
“No, maybe a few times a month”
Elenyamírë nodded and continued to write.
Finally, Finwë cleared his throat and dared step into the room to go to Fëanáro’s side, brushing his fingers through his hair, which he found soothing and calming.
“Yesterday his skin felt cold to the touch. Could that be a symptom too?”
“Hmm… Not in any of the cases I’ve studied, but they have been exclusively in Men. It is possible the symptoms vary a lot more with quendi… Are variations in temperature usual to you, haru?”
He shrugged vaguely.
“I don’t feel temperature changes easily. But… I think it does vary. I have a good grip on how the temperature of my body affects things around me, yet sometimes -rarely- I burn through them”
“Mm…”
A moment later, the scratch of graphite on paper stopped.
“Well then, we know of at least three seizure types you suffer; convulsions, auditory hallucinations, and unusual temperature changes. There could be more, but these seem to be the most common”
Rúmil walked into the room and leaned against the wall, looking pale and tired.
“When he was a child the healers tried many medications, but none helped very much…”
Elenyamírë nodded.
“Unfortunately, we can’t rely on medication. Falling sickness is persistent throughout a lifetime. It can be managed, definitely reduced, but not eliminated. One of my healers has proposed that the reason it occurs is due to faulty signals in the nervous system, which we cannot fix.” He gave a stern look to Fëanáro. “Eliminating stress is a good first step to avoiding them. You need a healthy balance of work, diet and sleep. That will lessen them”
He squirmed on the bed, mildly guilty because he had absolutely none of those things at the moment. Fëanáro was a chaotic person, having routines and strict limits was not something he had ever put into practice.
“I will try to find some medications to go with it. While they won’t do much, they could help regulate them and help with stabilising your mood. It’ll involve some trial and error to see what works in an elda and what works for you specifically, but it will help you”
He nodded slowly.
“Thank you, Elyo… Truly”
His grandson smiled kindly.
“There’s nothing to thank me for, haru.” He leaned in to kiss his cheek and gathered his things. “I’ll go give the news to atya and Tyelpe, for now stay there and rest”
He gave a nod to Finwë and Rúmil as he stood up and left the room, gently closing the door behind him.
The room was submerged in a brief silence after that…
Fëanáro didn’t know how to feel exactly… He had thought that all his childhood ailments had went away and that he had become, eventually, somewhat normal. Although at the same time, did it truly make a difference if he knew or not? He had lived well and mostly comfortable, having no idea that his illness had persisted past childhood. And now he had a proper explanation as to how all the strange things he experienced could start to be linked together.
“I’m so sorry, my love”
Fëanáro lifted his head, blinking in confusion.
“What for?”
“I know we didn’t have the resources or the means to treat your illness back then…” Finwë sighed, fingers trembling where they were gently petting his hair. “But still, I ache to think there were so many things we were blind to. I wish I could have done more”
Oh…
“I never blamed you for that. I know you did your best”
Matter of fact, he had gone far and beyond what was possible. He had endlessly fought every healer, strong armed them into doing something even when they wanted to give up, when they adviced to simply make him comfortable for the short time they expected him to live. Now, as a father and grandfather himself, he knew how far he was willing to go; Finwë would have fought the Valar themselves if he thought that might lessen Fëanáro’s pain in the slightest.
Finwë managed a smile and leaned in to kiss his forehead.
“My precious child… my little flame”
Finwë curled up by his side and Fëanáro relaxed, leaning his head on his shoulder and closing his eyes momentarily.
Rúmil didn’t move until long minutes later, perhaps close to an hour, and he hesitantly sat at the edge of the bed, facing him. Fëanáro looked at him in silence, waiting with certain anxiety about whatever he was going to say.
Another rejection? An excuse?
“… I won’t dare ask you to forgive me, I don’t deserve it”
… Somehow, an apology did not make it into the list of possibilities.
“I don’t know if I could,” he whispered.
There were a lot of old hurts that he hadn’t managed to forget. Things that had been perhaps inconsequential in the great scheme of things, but that had scarred his childhood self forever. Fëanáro had been a tiny sponge, attentively listening to every word spoken around him, especially by those who were not kind in their thoughts.
Rúmil nodded. His eyes were full of unspilled tears, marked with deep eyebags and redness as both a sign of crying and lack of sleep.
“But I want you to know… I do love you. I always have,” he took a deep breath, blinking to try and keep the tears at bay. “I had convinced myself long ago that I liked my loneliness, and yet when I saw you I was struck by the realisation that you were the most precious thing in the world— but you weren’t mine. You had your own father, and at the time we were convinced you had your own mother too, I was just the uncle that babysat you in their stead. I kept running away because… because I knew I was too attached and I knew I could never handle it when the time to say goodbye came”
While Fëanáro was left scrambling to contain his own onslaught of sudden emotion Rúmil held his hands and leaned down to kiss his knuckles.
“I was blind and cowardly, too lost in my own head to see the damage I was creating. It only took me an entire lifetime of not having you with me to realise how badly I had messed up. I failed you when you needed me the most… So this time, I won’t do it again. I promise I will never go away again unless— Unless it is you who tells me to fuck off.” Fëanáro let out a weak laugh but it got lost in between his hiccups and sobs. Rúmil tried to smile too, pressing his cheek against their joined hands. “I’ll grovel before you all you want and I’ll spoil you so damn much people will start to think Anya is a reasonable parent in comparison”
Fëanáro had cried a lot in the last few hours -or days, he was not sure how long he was unconscious- but this… he had not cried like this since he was young and lonely.
“I just want you here,” he wailed. “That’s all I want. M-My sons miss their other grandfather and I want my g-grandbabies to know you too”
He made to extend his hands but Rúmil was already jumping forwards to wrap his arms around him, squeezing him tight. Finwë reached to steady the both of them, holding them together—
For the first time since before the ages of the Sun, their family was back together. Both his fathers, right there, with him. The old pains and hurts that he carried vanished at least for that moment, leaving space for a wave of relief.
His tears didn’t burn his own skin for once.
Notes:
Indo-aþar is a construct I’ve made, coming from indo=mind and aþar(o)=doctor. Thus, mind healer/doctor :)
(As always, feel free to call me out on possible quenya mishaps)This chapter turned out way more medical than I initially expected omg—
In case it wasn’t very obvious, the reason Náro’s narration is very choppy and inconsistent is because he is, in fact, having multiple seizures back to back and he gets blank spots where he doesn’t remember.ALRIGHT. GOD I FINALLY GOT THROUGH WITH THIS ONE—
I was so excited to write it out and now that I’ve done it I’m back to wondering if it’s good enough, but I’ll trust you guys to tell me if it is or isn’t.
Also now we see where his ‘mommy’ issues /actually/ come from… wink wink ;)We have two more chapters left, if I manage to keep it to schedule, so stay tuned for the next!
I hope that one won’t take me so long…Comments and kudos are as always appreciated, thank you guys for reading <3
[Aug 24th; I MADE A SMALL EDIT on the last chunk because I realised some particular phrasing was confusing but it was truly minor so I doubt you’d notice haha—]
ART CORNER of what I’ve been up to recently;
Another Laurë
Elyo & Ilya!
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