Second Childhood by HannaGoldworthy

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Chapter 1

Nelyafinwë Curufinwion, later called Maitimo, was conceived during a time of political controversy regarding the possibility of his grandfather’s second marriage.  He was born a full season before Indís was crowned queen of the Ñoldor, and speaking in full (if baby-like) sentences by the time little Fíndis was born; if he had married and had his firstborn as quickly as his father had, the resulting child would have been close to Ñolofinwë’s age.

 

This was the sort of dry information any researcher could find in the records of Tírion, but younger generations seldom realized just the sort of impact these events had on the royal family.  Maitimo had had a hand in rearing, not only his younger brothers, but four of his aunts and uncles, and he had tutored and mentored a great many of his little cousins.  Findekáno in particular had caused no little controversy when, at the tender age of nine, he called Maitimo by the name Atto in front of the entire royal court.  In a tense moment, Fëanáro had smiled smugly at his half-brother.

 

“Perhaps you should tend to your own family, rather than spending your time trying to usurp a position you will never deserve.”

 

Ñolofinwë did not answer the barb immediately, but smiled the beatific smile of one restraining his temper from exploding.  “You should be proud of your son,” he said, grinning at Maitimo and deliberately avoiding Fëanáro’s glance.  “Not only is he the father you wish you had, he is the older brother I have never had.  And if my son wishes to call him father, well, I can respect someone who gives credit where it is due.”

 

Coincidentally, court had ended early that day.  Still, Ñolofinwë’s words followed Maitimo for many weeks, for his jab at Fëanáro turned into a recurring joke amongst the court whenever the princes’ backs were turned.  And, indeed, even late into his first life and throughout his second Maedhros remembered that conversation, for it seemed raising children and teaching them were his lot in life, whether he wanted it or not.

 

And today, at least a good ten millennia since that fateful day in court, the conversation was on Maedhros’ mind as he sat across the supper table from his wife, gauging her reaction as, once again, he surprised her with the latest bit of elf idiocy produced by his family.

 

For her part, Sarnai of Steel Clan, known to history as Borlach of the Loyal Easterlings, took the proposition fairly well.  By now, she had grown accustomed to being on her toes in regards to her in-laws.  Still, she took the time to chew her present mouthful slowly and wipe her lips before she said anything.

 

“Well…amongst humans, old age is said to be akin to a second childhood.  I suppose this is not really different from that.”

 

“Does old age amongst humans entail insulting the entire dwarf population by recreating the script of their sacred language and defacing the sacred carvings in Aulë’s Halls with the new letters?”

 

“You’ve met my great-great-grandfather,” Sarnai smirked.  “If he wasn’t in on it, he’s probably kicking himself not for thinking of it.”

 

“Sarnai, be serious.  They are asking me to take in my adolescent father in order to prevent him from becoming a juvenile delinquent.  I think this is insane.  I can’t imagine what it looks like to you.”

 

“It looks to me like a sound idea, at least if only to keep you busy.  Our children are grown, the house is empty, and I’m due back in the halls for re-forging within the year.”  Here, Sarnai twirled a lock of white hair significantly around her finger.  “You know you go crazy when you’re alone in the house.”

 

“I do not go crazy.”

 

“Dear, last time you decided to learn to speak Old Entish.”

 

“And it was a stroke of brilliance.  Once I’d finished the first lesson of ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye,’ you were in and out of the Halls before I realized.  This time I intend to learn ‘how are you’ and ‘I’m fine.’”

 

“Great, so you can learn to lie very, very slowly.”

 

“Merillenya…”  He used his legendary pout in addition to her pet name, but she had obviously been expecting that and swayed not a bit.

 

“Tell me honestly, Erdene” – it was not fair that she had an Easterling pet name to counter his Quenya, not at all – “who else would be better to raise little Fëanáro?  From what you’ve told me, he’s just about run out of positive adult influences in his life aside from his mother.  If he continues down the road he’s on, he’s just going to do something stupid and get himself thrown out of Valinor, again.”

 

“And the last time he did that, he dragged my entire family down with him.”

 

“Yes, but that was when you were young.”

 

He allowed her a playful glare.  “You are in no position to be calling me old, Lady White-hair.”

 

She rolled her eyes.  “Maedhros, you once said that you would give anything to be able to rewrite the past and keep your old Oath from ever being sworn.  Have you not considered that this is a way you can prevent it from happening again?”

 

Maedhros felt his heart sink, even as he looked at Sarnai with fondness.  She was right, of course.  He just hoped he was up to the task.

 

***

 

The next day, Maedhros found himself in the Halls of Aulë for the first time in centuries, relying on his younger brother to guide him through the veritable warren of new tunnels which the dwarves, dwarrow-kin, and certain Ñoldor had delved since his last visit.  Curufin had the whole thing memorized, true to form, and walked briskly enough that Maedhros had to work to keep up with him, even with his longer legs.

 

“Now, this isn’t your usual case of re-embodiment,” Curufin said as he walked, nodding respectfully at a master craftsman as he passed, and receiving a dutiful tug of a forelock in return.  “They tried to re-embody Father in the typical way, but he kept immolating the new body upon reentry.  Quite by accident, you understand.”

 

Maedhros did not roll his eyes for fear the distraction would make him hit his head on the ceiling, but it was a hard temptation to fight.  He knew much of this already; Curufin was just babying him, again.  “Far be it that Fëanáro makes anything easy for the Valar,” he drawled, just missing a low-hanging light fixture.

 

“Exactly, but they had to at least try to get him re-embodied before the coming Dagor Dagorath, to make sure that he would not pull out any surprises.  Somewhere along the line, Míriel suggested that she try carrying and giving birth to him again, and they went ahead with the plan since they were running out of ideas.”

 

Now that he had not known.  “Wouldn’t it have been safer to use a surrogate?  It did kill her last time.”

 

“Since his soul was already formed, all she really had to do this time was complete his body.  It was actually a great deal easier on her than a typical elf pregnancy, or at least that’s what I’ve been told.”

 

Maedhros had not heard of this undertaking, but he guessed that that was because it was such a risk that nobody dared tell anyone who did not need to know.  And, as the Finwë family hermit, long content to live away from politics on a secluded piece of farmland and be only a husband to his wife and a father to his children, Maedhros knew that until now, he had not needed to know about this.  He still didn’t want to know about this, but that counted for little in the grand scheme of things, so here he was.

 

“So, with this not being a typical re-embodiment, I’m guessing there are some odd things I still need to know.”

 

“Yes indeed!”  Curufin flashed a smile over his shoulder, as much in his element in the hustle and bustle as Maedhros was discombobulated.  “For one thing, he only remembers bits and pieces of his old life as of yet, usually as dreams.  We speculate that as he grows, his memory will completely return, but for now he’s simply Curvo.  He does not remember being husband, father, or even brother, and he never answers to the name Fëanáro.”

 

“And it seems you’re out of a nickname.”

 

“Eh, the kid calls me Rinko anyway.  Some of the most recent arrivals from Endorë laugh and wonder aloud where George, Paul, and John are when they first hear that – do you have any idea where that joke comes from?”

 

“Not a clue.”

 

“That will never stop bugging me.  Anyway, he’s not going to call you son, and I wouldn’t call him father if I were you.  It makes him distinctly uncomfortable.”

 

“Surely he knows who he is from the history books?”

 

Curufin halted in front of a small door, which looked to be attached to a normal dormitory room for apprentices in the forge.  “It is one thing to know that, cerebrally.  It is quite another to feel affinity to that name.  He is not the Fëanáro you know, not yet.  He is only Curvo, and he’s in the middle of a very difficult childhood.”

 

Curufin rapped smartly on the door, but opened it without waiting for a reply – a nasty habit he’d developed from watching their father, oh so very long ago.  There was a tumult inside as the room’s occupant dove for his packed belongings; Maedhros fought back a smile at the thought that his sometimes dour and strict father could have once (or twice) been a normal adolescent.  Somehow he managed to enter the room with a straight face – having to bend over double to get through the door helped with that, another reason he rarely visited the forges anymore.

 

The child whom Curufin greeted might have been a clone of Curufin when he was thirty; Maedhros well remembered the surly scowl which always meant his brother had just awoken too early to suit his night-owl habits.  It was the same lanky form with hands and feet too large for his body, the same cloudy grey eyes which glared blearily at him, even the same ways in which he fidgeted with his hands.

 

The green hair was new, though. 

Chapter End Notes

Why do the best fits of inspiration always hit right before a deadline?

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