See How They Burn by Grundy

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Chapter 1

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1.

Curufinwë Fëanaro had never before encountered a situation where being his father’s son was a disadvantage. But his position as Crown Prince of the Noldor was worse than no use here; it made everything more difficult.

He was actually worse off than any other nervous boy trying to get a girl to notice him, for he has heard the whispers.

The girls believe he thinks too highly of himself – which may be true, but he does have reason to think highly of himself, because he can’t help noticing that his mind is quicker and his talents greater than many of those around him. But he does his best not to let that go to his head, and to remain humble and bear in mind that in this house, he is an apprentice like any other.

But it was the object of his affections herself who had raised the prospect that a girl would be a fool to think that being the sweetheart (or Aulë forbid wife) of the prince would be an advantage – she had pointed out, in blunt words, just how much of a distraction and annoyance the formality and trappings of court life and high position would be to those who were more interested in their craft.

Another helpful nis kindly pointed out that there would also presumably be some danger in childbearing with such a partner. She did not need to explain, for the tale of Miriel was known to all in Aman. The girls had all sounded rather frightened by the prospect of a child that could drain them from within as he had his mother.

Which meant that any small hope he might have had that Nerdanel Mahtaniel passed his worktable more often than was strictly necessary, or that she glanced at him and not through him when she looked up from her own work with that expression of abstract fascination was in vain.

It was worse than her not being aware of his existence. She knew, and did not care to come any closer.

 

2.

Findis will remind him many years later in anger that he owes his sons, his wife, and much of his happiness to Nolofinwë, and though mention of the fact will enrage him, he will not ever deny it.

His sister brought their baby brother to visit him, several months after he had concluded that his love for Nerdanel was hopeless.

The little one, he had learned in letters from his sister and father (and overheard Mahtan say Indis had written him) has missed him terribly, and did not understand why he no longer came home every night, and indeed only rarely even on free days.

So Findis obtained permission from both their father and Mahtan to bring Nolo on a day when it would not be too inconvenient to have a toddler underfoot.

“Fëanaro!”

The joy in the child’s voice turned many heads in Mahtan’s huge workroom, but Nolofinwë had eyes only for his older brother as he yanked his hand free of Findis’ to race across the room to him.

Fëanaro laughed and swung his little brother up into his arms, happier for seeing the baby so happy.

“I missed you! Why don’t you come home? Are you so very busy? There is a new kind of bird in the garden, and Ammë says it comes only for the flower Yavanna gifted us at the festival of Vána! Have you seen them?”

He hadn’t realized how much he missed the child’s non-stop prattle, much though it occasionally annoyed him.

He tickled Nolo, for his baby brother can’t keep talking while giggling.

“I am very busy, little one – there is so much to learn here, and I would learn it all as quickly as I can that I may return home faster.”

That was not strictly true, but it reassured Nolo and made him smile.

“And since I have not been home, I could not have seen the new flowers or the bird that comes for them. You will just have to draw them and have Findis or Father send your drawing with their next letter.”

Nolofinwë’s face fell.

“It won’t look right if I draw them. I don’t draw well enough.”

“Don’t be silly, you draw very well for your age,” Fëanaro scoffed, perching his brother on the edge of his worktable, but being sure to keep an arm about him just in case.

“Not as well as you do,” Nolo said mournfully.

“I am almost grown, which means I have had much more time to practice my drawing,” Fëanaro assured him. “When you have had as much time as I have, you will be must better also.”

Findis had finally reached them at a more sedate (also less reckless and much safer) pace.

“There, you see, Nolo?” she asked. “He is happy to see you just as everyone has told you he would be.”

Fëanaro looked at his brother in some surprise.

“You are my only brother, why would you think I would not be happy to see you?” he asked.

Nolo turned red and mumbled something unintelligible about Ammë and Miriel.

Fëanaro tried not to sigh.

He had been hoping they might have this conversation later with Nolofinwë then he had with Findis, who had been all of four when she had overheard one of their father’s advisors saying something which had made it clear that Indis was not Fëanaro’s mother. It had thrown the elfling into profound confusion, and some fear that Fëanaro was not actually her brother – a downright existential crisis for a child who adored her big brother.

“He has been very concerned,” Findis told him in an undertone.

But he does not mean to have that conversation in so public a place as the workroom, with so many eager ears listening in; they do not need to be made privy to the inner life of the royal family, and he will not have his father or his siblings becoming a matter of curiosity and gossip. Particularly not the baby.

“That is purest nonsense, and whoever said such things is foolish indeed,” he told Nolo firmly, with a hug to reassure him. “We can speak of it more later if it worries you, but I thought you might be interested to see some of the projects Master Mahtan and his students are working on.”

To Findis, he added, “I think you can trust that I will take good care of him. You need not stay in here if you would rather not.”

He knows that the noise, smells, and heat of the workroom are not to his sister’s liking, and that given the chance, she will take herself outside to admire the gardens Mahtan’s wife Rilmë was ever improving.

Findis gave him a look of grateful relief and with a caution to Nolofinwë that he must behave or he will not be allowed to visit again – a caution that is hardly necessary when Fëanaro has taken care of her as a child and knows perfectly well how to handle his little brother – escapes into the fresh air and treelight.

“Isn’t she silly to think you need to be told to behave?” Fëanaro asked his little brother teasingly. “Now, I have many interesting things to show you. Would you like to walk, or do you want me to carry you?”

Personally, he thought a child of Nolo’s size would see more from a higher vantage point, but he is not about to have his brother throw a tantrum for being picked up if he is in a mood to be independent.

Fortunately, that is not the case today.

“You,” Nolo replied decisively, holding his arms out.

So Fëanaro swung his little brother onto his hip and began to point out the various apprentices and masters who work under or with Mahtan, and their projects as he makes his way toward one in particular he knows will fascinate the child.

Yúlon was working on a mechanical dog that will walk and wag its tail when wound up. It is purest chance that his worktable was just next to Nerdanel’s, for Fëanaro had no other design in taking his brother to see the intricate toy that the rest of their people will not glimpse until the Aulendil exhibit their works next season.

Thus it was with the greatest surprise that he registered Nerdanel Mahtaniel, who usually had no time for him, actually speaking to him.

“Is this your brother, Fëanaro?” she said, and for once the tone of her voice is soft and amused.

Nolo inadvertently helped his older brother by being struck by a fit of shyness, for at three, he is not often out in public. He clung tighter and hid head in his older brother’s shoulder.

“Yes, this is Nolofinwë,” he replied, doing his best to meet those incredible hazel eyes and not get tongue-tied.

Happily, he still had an armful of shy baby brother…

“Nolo, where are your manners?” he chided gently. “Surely you can say hello to Master Mahtan’s daughter? Her name is Nerdanel”

Nolo cautiously turned his face toward her, cheeks somewhat red because he is not sure if he has misbehaved.

“She’s perfectly friendly,” Fëanaro continued, “and if you ask nicely, perhaps she’ll even show you the model she is working on for her next sculpture.”

 “’Lo, Nerdanel” Nolo whispered, still clinging to his brother rather endearingly.

“Hello, little one,” Nerdanel said, bestowing him with a smile that Fëanaro would have loved to have turned on him. “How old are you?”

All Tirion knew perfectly well Prince Nolofinwë’s age, but Fëanaro thought it quite clever of her to treat his brother like any other child.

Nolo held up three fingers.

“Three?” Nerdanel asked, as if surprised. “When I was three, I liked to play with clay. Do you like working with clay?”

Nolo couldn’t answer that with hands, so he was forced to finally speak.

“I don’t know,” he replied cautiously. “I’ve never tried it before.”

“Perhaps you’d like to try now?” Nerdanel suggested.

So it was that Fëanaro and his little brother both spent the afternoon happily getting their hands incredibly dirty messing about with clay at Nerdanel’s worktable and neither one of them registered the time until her father clapped a hand onto Nolofinwë’s little shoulder and suggested that it was time to wash up for dinner.

The water fight that ensued at the sinks was definitely just about making Nolo laugh.

And after that day, Nerdanel Mahtaniel no longer kept her distance, and her opinions on princes drastically altered.

 

3.

“I do not see why we cannot just be married quietly and skip all this fuss and bother,” Fëanaro grumbled.

He thought it rather ironic that for all she’d once scorned the formality and public ceremony of the court, he was the one who would be perfectly happy to dispense with it.

“Because it will please your father,” she replied.

Even without her saying it, he knew she was also thinking ‘and Indis’, for his father’s wife was as pleased by their engagement and excited about the wedding as his father, and determined to have a ceremony worthy of the Crown Prince. Much as he might detest her presence, she was doing everything in her power to welcome Nerdanel to the family and make the transition from ‘respected sculptor’ to ‘Crown Princess’ as easy as possible.

“Besides,” Nerdanel continued firmly, one finger marking her place in the list of functions the newly betrothed royal couple were expected to attend over the coming months, “Respected though I may be for my craft, I am not a noblewoman. You have already carried your point on that score, it will do you no harm to give way on a lesser matter.”

He stared at her.

“I am supposed by all to be the creature of the court, yet you are the one that understands politics. How did this happen?”

She shook her head and went back to marking down things in her appointment book.

 

4.

The best part of the wedding formalities finally being over is that he can take himself and his bride off to the complex he has been building in Formenos. It is far enough north to have distinct seasons, unlike Tirion, and he thinks she will find inspiration in the constant change much as he does.

More importantly, it will be just the two of them and the few hand-picked servants (who are both loyal and tight-lipped) he has asked to accompany them. Which means they will also not have to put up with his kid sister walking in on them at inopportune moments.

Fëanaro will readily admit that Irimë is charming and adorable, and impossible to stay angry at.

He would just rather she not be charming and adorable and impossible to stay angry at when he is in bed with his wife.

He would also like to not have to continue bribing her to not to mention the incident to her mother. He knew, even if she hadn’t, that while what they had been doing was perfectly natural and permissible and normal between a married couple, he should have made sure the door was locked.

He disliked having to have such awkward conversations with his younger siblings, no matter how hilarious or sweet Nerdanel found it.

At least Irimë knew to knock first now.

 

5.

He was a little surprised when his wife broached the subject of children not long after their return to Tirion.

He still remembered the whispers of the girls at Mahtan’s (and has heard enough since to know that they aren’t the only ones wondering if his children will be as all-consuming to bear as he had been.)

But apparently any worries Nerdanel may still harbor on that score have paled in the face of the sweetness of baby Arafinwë Ingoldo.

He had known, of course, that his father had begotten another child, though he had not returned to Tirion in time for the birth. He had insisted to Nerdanel that was only considerate – “if we go back now, too much of the focus will be drawn to us, when it should be on my new little brother.”

She had reluctantly agreed, but now he wondered if perhaps she had been hoping to be present for the birth, for as an unmarried nis, she would of course not have been permitted in the room when her younger brother was born.

He felt foolish when that had belatedly occurred to him, for he could well understand a nis wanting to have a better idea what she would be letting herself in for before agreeing to beget a child.

He had seen her eyes on him when he was holding little Ara for the first time, and he had felt the glow of her regard and her echo of his own joy and satisfaction when the little one recognized him and bestowed a remarkably charming toothless grin on his grown brother.

“Do you think that perhaps we might think about a child?” she asked him when they were wrapped around each other in bed later that night.

“A child? Already?”

She laughed.

“You say already as if we have not already been married some years!”

“Give it a few years more, my love. Think of poor Ara – what respect will his nephew or niece have for him if he is practically their own age?”

She snorted.

“You will not be able to use your baby brother as an excuse forever,” she told him firmly.

“But…”

He hesitated.

“But?” she asked softly. “If you have concerns, Fëanaro, it is usually best to voice them rather than let them fester.”

“Are you not worried any longer?” he finally managed to get out.

She can take the memory from his mind – not only the discussion she had been party to when they were younger, but so many, many whispers before and since.

She sighed.

“I cannot say it does not ever cross my mind, my love,” she said. “But I do not see why it should be so. Your father has begotten four children since that have not drained their mother. And you put much of your spirit into all your other creations, I do not see where the creation of a child would be so different – with your spirit supporting the child also, I do not fear that he or she would need to take so much from me that I would have no more to give.”

The thought that perhaps the failure had been not himself or his mother, but his father, had never before occurred to Fëanaro. But perhaps it had to Finwë, for Nerdanel is correct that Indis has not suffered for bearing his children – and he has seen with his own eyes how attentive his father has been during her pregnancies. Well, the ones he was present to see, at any rate. But he does not imagine it was any different with Arafinwë. Had his father not been so during his own gestation?

Oddly, the notion that it was his father who could have done more is not quite as abhorrent to him as the accustomed accusation that it was Miriel or himself that had somehow not been as they should have. But he still does not like the idea that one of them must have been at fault.

“Perhaps there was something else we do not understand about the time when my mother carried me,” he mused, struck by the possibility for the first time. “They were but newly come to Aman, and all was different than the years across the sea.”

“Indeed,” Nerdanel agreed, though neither of them had been alive to see the time they spoke of. “Much is different now. I do not think we should spend over much time worrying. We should look to the future, not the past.”

 

5.

When he sees his newborn son, Fëanaro, who never lacks for words, is struck dumb.

It is some hours before he is coherent enough to bestow a name on the child, and it is only several days later that it occurs to him that it was perhaps not the best choice of name, not that he will ever say so. (He’s only ever had to name things before, not people, and never a child!)

But that can be overlooked, because the name Nerdanel has given is like their son himself – absolutely perfect.

This is the greatest thing either of them have ever created, and he knows it.

Well-formed indeed.

 

6.

By the time they announce the begetting of their third son, Fëanaro has begun construction on a house of his own in Tirion. The palace is growing crowded, as he is not the only married son these days, and between Finwë’s five children, their spouses and suitors, Maitimo’s dog, Kano’s music, and little Findekano behaving as even the best-tempered of children sometimes will, the noise and commotion could at times drive one of Nerdanel’s statues to distraction.

That was another problem – his father had designed space for Miriel’s embroidery frames and experimental looms, but he could not have foreseen having a sculptor for a law-daughter, or two sons who often quarreled over space in the too-small forge they had set up in one of the outbuildings.

Better to build a complex that will have space enough for himself, his children – both those sons already begotten as well as the sons and hopefully daughters yet to come – his wife, their work, their servants, apprentices, horses, pets… in short, a place that is less a palace than the home of a working craftsman, prince though he may be. A place that is meant for them.

He has also dropped a helpful hint in Nolo’s ear that he may wish to think about something similar for himself, for once Ara starts having children as well, he too may find a house of his own both a necessity and a blessing, and it will not do to wait until he urgently needs it to begin building.

 

7.

He sees Nerdanel one last time before the host departs Tirion. It is the first time he has been in his own house in some years, and he has never before seen it by darkness.

He tells her he has not come to fight, or even to try to change her mind about remaining. He has already seen the results of both those choices, for Curvo took the first path with his wife, and Kano the second, and he cannot see where either of them will look back on the manner of their parting with anything but regret in their time across the Sea.

He just wants her presence, a memory of her as she is now to carry with him into the unknown of the lands their people left behind.

They share a meal, and a bottle, and then, to his immense surprise, a bed.

They have not been intimate since his exile to Formenos, not even when he first returned to Tirion after his father’s death, when one might have expected that comfort might be offered or requested in that way.

He does not mean to beget a child, but he also does not mean not to – it will be Nerdanel’s choice whether or not she wishes some tangible piece of him to hold onto in the years to come.

He will not know the outcome either way.

But he will wonder, as he sails East, what she decided, and whether she has come to regret her choices.