Hide and Seek by Ithilwen

Hide and Seek

“What story would you like to hear tonight, Ambarussa?”

“The Great Journey! Tell us about the Great Journey, Mother! And how Grandfather became the King!”

“No, it’s my turn to choose! I want to hear about how Father learned to make jewels!”

“I think I will choose the story this time, Ambarussa. Tonight I will tell you about the Valar, who guide us and protect us. And this story involves your Grandfather and your Father and me, because all of us came to be who and what we are through their guidance and love. Now be still, and listen...”

“Manwë Súlimo lives in the lofty airs at the very top of Taniquetil, and Varda Elentári among the stars she made for us. Ulmo loves the ocean’s deeps; Oromë and Yavanna, the leafy glades. And Aulë dwells in the mountains’ roots, where he teaches our people the secrets of the earth...”

* * * * * * *

The yelling frightened them. They would listen to it while they lay in their bed, their hearts racing at the sound of the angry voices, clinging to each other for comfort. Father and Mother never yelled in front of them, but after they thought their sons had gone to sleep, they clawed at each other in ugly tones, inflicting bleeding wounds on each other’s spirits with their harsh accusations. Ambarussa did not understand exactly what all the shouting was about; they only know that the following day, their mother’s face would be sad, their father’s mood dark and cold, and their older brothers subdued. That was always how it was after the yelling. And they would be ignored; “Go outside and play now,” their mother would say listlessly, or Maitimo, or Makalaurë. “Go play with your brothers.” And so they did, and when they asked their brothers Carnistir and Curufinwë why their parents fought so, the answer was always the same - “You’re just babies, you’re too little to understand.” And so they played with their older brothers, and at night they held each other close, and listened to the screaming voices, and worried.

Then one day Mother took them aside and told them that she would be going away now, to live with their Grandfather Mahtan. Mother said she loved them both very much, and would miss them. “Your father and I have decided that you will stay here, with your other brothers,” Mother said in a soft, sad voice.

“But we don’t want you to go!” they both cried. “We want you to stay here with us!”

“I know, Ambarussa,” their mother replied, sounding tired. “But that’s not possible. I have to leave, and that can’t be changed. I know you don’t understand why, and I can’t explain it to you, not really. Sometimes people don’t get along, even though they love each other very much, and they have to live apart. It’s hard to accept, but that is the way things are. And you cannot stay here with your father and also be with me at Grandfather Mahtan’s house - you can only be at one place at a time. Sons belong with their father, so you will stay with him, and he will take good care of you.” And then she kissed each of them softly on the forehead, and said, “Be good now, Ambarussa. Remember that I love you.”

And then she was gone, and the world became cold and empty.

* * * * * * *

“What song do you wish me to sing to you tonight, Ambarussa?”

Before the world had ended, Mother used to tuck them into bed every night; sometimes (especially when they had been very little) Father would also come in with her, but when the yelling had started he began to stay away. Some nights, now that Mother was gone, he would be the one who would put them to bed, telling them strange stories about his jewels that glowed like the Trees. They did not like those stories, because Father’s eyes had a scary light in them when he spoke about his pretty jewels. But on most nights it was one of their older brothers who helped them get ready for sleep, and who told them their bedtime story. Tonight it was their brother Makalaurë’s turn. Ambarussa liked it when Makalaurë sang to them; he had a pretty voice. But tonight they did not want a song; they wanted a story. One story in particular.

“Tell us about Grandfather Mahtan! Please!”

“All right, if that is what you want to hear, silly little brothers. I’ll tell you about Grandfather Mahtan. What do you want to know?”

“What is he like? Where does he live? Is he very tall, like Grandfather Finwë?”

“He lives far away, near the dwelling of Aulë. Did you know that when our father was young, he studied with Mahtan and Aulë? That’s where he first learned to make jewels, and that’s when he met our mother. You saw Grandfather Mahtan once, but you were too little then to remember him - he came to see you right after you were born. He has red hair just like yours, and a big booming voice, and...”

Makalaurë kept on talking in his pretty voice, and Ambarussa pretended to grow sleepy as they listened. Eventually, their big brother’s voice quietly trailed off, and he whispered, “Asleep at last. Sweet dreams, little brothers.” And then he left. He did not know that Ambarussa were not asleep.

After a long time spent intently listening for any sounds, they quietly got back up out of bed and carefully crept out of the house. Finally they knew where they needed to go.

Grandfather Mahtan, Makalaurë had told them, lived near Aulë. And Aulë lived at the mountains’ roots...

* * * * * * *

It’s strange how the enormity of our loss simply leaves me numb, but the small changes retain the power to cruelly pierce my heart, Makalaurë thought as he slowly wandered into the kitchen. The sweet perfume of freshly baked bread wafting on the morning air had delighted his nose as long as he could remember, and now its absence served as a cruel reminder that nothing in their lives would ever be the same. Their mother was gone, and with her the easy, familiar rhythms of their lives. Now there was no one in the household who could make bread, for that was a task assumed by women alone; neither he, nor any of his brothers, nor their father had ever baked it. I suppose one of us will eventually have to learn, or we will need to hire a baker, Makalaurë though gloomily as he watched Tyelkormo slicing fruit for the morning meal. But that will only bring the bread back into our lives; what will ever replace the love our mother kneaded into each loaf? I may be near my majority, but in truth I miss her every bit as much as the twins do. “Just fruit again?” he said aloud. “I had hoped in all your forest roamings, you might have found some eggs.”

“No such luck,” Tyelkormo responded angrily, “and I’m not likely to find any in the future, or any game for our table either, if we have to keep doing Mother’s work as well as our own. I’m tired of mending and cleaning and playing babysitter.” He brought the knife down savagely, chopping furiously, as if the fruit had offended him.

“It can’t be helped,” Makalaurë replied softly. “You know that as well as I do.”

“Do I? She never should have left. If she loved us, she wouldn’t have,” Tyelkormo replied in a bitter voice.

Makalaurë sighed. “Brother, it’s not that simple,” he replied. But Tyelkormo made no reply; only the tightness in his arms as he wielded the knife revealed his continued ire. I know that you and Carnistir and Curufinwë are angry at Mother for leaving us, Makalaurë thought, bewildered by his younger brothers’ reactions to their mother’s departure, but can you not see past your anger to appreciate her feelings? Do you not realize how much pain our mother must have been in, that she would make such a decision? And don’t you see that Father is not completely innocent? It takes two people to fight so, Tyelkormo. But he did not voice his thoughts aloud; his younger brothers had already made it quite plain that they viewed their mother’s recent departure as a betrayal, and they were not willing to extend to her either their understanding or their forgiveness. “Where is Father?” he asked as young Carnistir and Curufinwë strolled in to get their breakfast.

“Out in his workshop, where else?” Tyelkormo replied as he placed the sliced fruit into bowls, then handed one to each of his brothers. “He said he wasn’t hungry.”

“No, he never is these days. He’s lost interest in everything...” Except for the Silmarils, Makalaurë thought to himself. When Mother left, it wasn’t only her love she took from us. She took his as well - ever since she left, he’s had no interest in anything except those jewels. Is their radiance the only thing that eases the pain in his heart? Father, why don’t you go to her? I don’t know everything that happened between the two of you, but surely there must be some way to make things right again! It’s clear to all of us that you still care for her - why did you let her leave without protest?

His older brother’s voice brought Makalaurë out of his ruminations. “Filit, have you seen Ambarussa?” Maitimo absently grasped the bowl that Tyelkormo thrust at him; his grey eyes were filled with worry. “They’re not in their room; I checked. I thought they might have come out early for breakfast, but… ” He gestured helplessly.

“No, they’ve not come out here,” Makalaurë replied. “They’re probably off playing, you know how they like to hide and invent their own private games... Don’t worry, Russandol, I’ll help you find the little scamps.”

“If they’ve climbed on top of the roof again...” Maitimo muttered. “Younger brothers are definitely more trouble than they’re worth.”

Tyelkormo scowled, and Curufinwë and Carnistir protested bitterly that they had never caused any trouble; Makalaurë merely laughed and replied, “I’d apologize for all the pains I gave you when I was little, Maitimo, but in truth you deserved them all! Let’s go and find our smallest brothers, before they cause more mischief than even you have coming to you. Tyelkormo, I know it’s my turn to teach Curufinwë and Carnistir their lessons, but until we find Ambarussa, you’ll have to do it - I doubt Father is in any mood to be disturbed.”

“But I’m supposed to be meeting with Oromë today!” Tyelkormo protested, but his protests were silenced by a glare from Maitimo. “You’ll just have to wait until after we find Ambarussa before you can go. Live with it, brother,” Maitimo replied sternly, and then, placing his uneaten breakfast aside, he and Makalaurë set out in search of the twins.

The silvery light had waned, and slowly changed hue, and now everything was brightly lit with a brilliant golden radiance. Ambarussa had been walking for a very long time now, and they were getting hungry, but they had forgotten to bring anything to eat with them when they set out on their journey. They looked longingly at the brightly colored berries on a nearby bush, but remembered their brother Tyelkormo scolding them once before when they had picked pretty berries to eat. “These will make you very sick!” he’d yelled angrily, quickly snatching the berries out of their hands. “b>Never eat anything you find without showing it to me, or our older brothers, or Mother and Father first!” Since none of those people were here now, Ambarussa decided after a moment’s temptation not to try the berries. They still had a long way to go; they couldn’t afford to get sick now! Makalaurë had said that Grandfather Mahtan lived far away, and although they’d not stopped walking, the shiny white mountain still seemed a long way off. It would probably take until lunchtime to get there, perhaps even later. It was going to be hard to go without food for so long, but they knew they could manage it if they had to.

They steadily marched on, occasionally stopping to climb a tree to make sure that they were still heading towards the pretty mountain. It was hard to keep going the right direction, with all the trees surrounding them and blocking their view. Once one of them got a foot stuck in a crack when climbing back down to the ground, and almost couldn’t pull it loose. He was limping slightly, and both of them had many small cuts on their feet, for they hadn’t taken the time to change out of their bedclothes or to put on shoes. But that was all right. When they reached Grandfather Mahtan’s house, Mother would put her special salve on their cuts and help them get dressed in their real clothes, and then they would take her back home, and everything would be all right again.

Then suddenly the trees began to thin out, and Ambarussa heard the sound of rushing water. As they stepped out of the forest, they saw to their dismay that there was a river sitting between them and the shiny mountain. Ambarussa had been in water before, when they took their baths, but this looked much deeper and scarier. It was moving so quickly! But Ambarussa were brave, and very determined. If the river lay between them and the mountain, then they would simply have to find a way to cross it, no matter how scary it might be. They stepped forward and began to look for a way to reach the other side.

* * * * * * *

They had looked in all the usual places; then they had started checking the unusual ones. By midmorning, their initial exasperation had given way to worry and fear, as Makalaurë and Maitimo realized that their small brothers were not simply hiding, but were in fact missing. There was only one place they had not searched yet; they had saved it for last both because it was unlikely that Ambarussa would have gone there, and because they both dreaded the confrontation that visit would bring. But at last they were left with no choice; Fëanáro’s workshop was the only area they had not looked in.

After a moment of hesitation, Maitimo finally spoke. “I’ll go tell Father the news,” he said, and Makalaurë heard the thin note of fear in his older brother’s voice. Their father had grown increasingly moody and short-tempered in the time since Nerdanel’s departure; what his reaction to Maitimo’s announcement would be, Makalaurë did not care to imagine.

“Father is going to be angry when he hears that our brothers have wandered off,” Makalaurë acknowledged, “but it’s not our fault! Surely he’ll realize that.” But in his heart, he feared otherwise, and a sudden swell of pity for his older brother filled his heart. “Do you want me to go with you?” he asked.

“No,” Maitimo replied. “You should go back to the house and tell the others that Ambarussa are gone - we’re going to have to start organizing a search.” And he turned and slowly, reluctantly, headed towards the workshop, to tell their father that his youngest sons were missing.

* * * * * * *

You are so beautiful, Fëanáro thought as he stared at the wondrous gems he had made, turning them over and over in his hands. And your beauty will never dim. You will brighten my days forever. Once I thought my wife as radiant as you, but she faded. Oh, Nerdanel, your flame was so bright when we first met - what happened to you, that in the end it burned so low? And then he remembered their last evening together, and he flushed with shame and anger.

They had quarreled occasionally before; Fëanáro had paid little heed to these spats, for what couple did not have such moments now and then? Initially their brief fights had been like an afternoon rainstorm - short, intense, and soon over. But over the years their quarrels had slowly become more serious, especially after little Curufinwë Atarinkë had arrived and he had revealed his ambitious plan to trap the Treelight in the new crystal he had devised, to make gems so wondrous that even the Valar themselves would be in awe of his skills. Nerdanel had seemed ill at ease with this proposal, claiming it was over-proud. How she could insist he so limit his skills, Fëanáro did not understand. He had ignored her advice, of course, and crafted the jewels, and they were even more spectacular than he’d imagined they would be. Why, even Varda herself had compared them to the stars she had fashioned, and hallowed them. But Nerdanel’s foolish uneasiness had persisted, and she said she did not want the gems inside their house. Fëanáro had brought them in anyway, keeping them in the deepest and most secure place in their dwelling. It was ridiculous, really, to act as though mere jewels could bring harm to them, or steal his affection from his family, as she claimed they had done. He merely liked to look at them every now and then. Why was that so wrong?

And so often she had criticized his treatment of their sons! As if he would ever do anything to harm his boys, or act against their best interests. But Nerdanel had increasingly insisted that he was placing too much pressure on them, ignoring the fact that he was merely trying to teach them to live up to their abilities. Any master treats his apprentices so; he would make no exceptions merely because he was their father as well as their teacher. What he demanded was well within their abilities to accomplish, of that he was certain. And if they chose to spend their time in idle pursuits at the expense of honing their skills as gemcrafters and smiths, well then they deserved his censure! There would be time for such frivolities as woodcraft and singing after they’d mastered the lessons he was trying to teach them. They simply had to apply themselves to their work, that was all. How could she not see that coddling them, as she would have had him do, would only bring them harm in the end? They would never master their trade if he treated his sons the way his wife had wished him to. They needed to learn; how else were they to make a living?

But it had been the arrival of the twins which had somehow tipped the balance of their relationship, sending it spiraling towards that final dreadful end. He had been patient at first; it was only reasonable to expect that Nerdanel would need a long time to recover her strength after bearing and then nursing two children at once! But even after the twins had been weaned, she had flinched from his touch, rejecting without explanation any advances he began. Nor had she seemed interested in moving beyond a purely physical union to the union of spirits which the Eldar embraced when their families were complete. Not that he had particularly wanted to leave physical lovemaking behind, for Nerdanel had still filled his flesh with desire when he looked upon her, and they did not yet have a daughter. But he would have willingly consented to a spiritual union if that had been her wish; she had borne him seven fine sons, after all, a family that any man could be content with. It was her unexplained remoteness, her continuing refusal to be touched in any way whatsoever together with her persistent unwillingness to discuss the revulsion she apparently felt when she looked upon him, her loving husband, that had both saddened and infuriated him. If only you had not pushed me away that night! Fëanáro thought in despair. I was not myself that evening, and what I did was deeply wrong, I admit that, but it never would have happened if only you had been more open with me! Why did you provoke me so? What had I done to deserve such cold treatment?

He had tried, afterwards, to mend the harm he’d done, but to no avail. Nerdanel had had no intention of listening to him; she’d left before the day was over, heading back to her parents’ household. Although their bond remained, for it could never be severed short of permanent imprisonment in Mandos, their marriage was apparently over. And all that was left of light in Fëanáro’s life was the glow of the gems he now held in his hands. I would even give you up, he thought wistfully as he cradled the Silmarils in his callused hands, if doing so would restore Nerdanel’s light to my life. I miss her so!

Behind him, he heard the door creak as it slowly swung open, and his wistfulness was instantly transformed into resentment at this unwanted intrusion. Can I not be allowed even a moment’s peace? Fëanáro thought angrily. Aloud, he said loudly, “If I had wanted company I would have requested it. Go away and leave me alone.”

“Father, I’m sorry to disturb you.” Fëanáro recognized the voice: Nelyafinwë Maitimo, his oldest son. “Have you seen Ambar... I mean, Pityafinwë and Telufinwë, today? Are they here with you?”

“Of course they’re not here - use your head, Nelyafinwë!” Fëanáro replied irritably, without turning to face his son. “You know I would never allow them in my workshop at their age - they’re still far too young, it would be dangerous. Shouldn’t you be off doing something useful?” he added when his son showed no signs of leaving him in peace.

“I... They’re missing. Makalaurë and I can’t find them, we’ve looked everywhere...” Nelyafinwë replied awkwardly. When Fëanáro turned to face him, he seemed to shrink slightly.

“You mean you’ve let them wander off - your own brothers!” Fëanáro said coldly. He felt the anger rising in his heart as he looked upon his firstborn. “Can you do nothing right?” he continued, voice low and tight. “Is competence in anything too much to ask from you?”

“I’m sorry, Father... ” Nelyafinwë whispered. “They must have slipped out during the night... I won’t let it happen again, I swear it!”

Fëanáro looked upon his eldest child, who appeared to be trembling slightly as he stood in the doorway of the workshop, and felt a sudden surge of disgust. What did I ever do to deserve this useless fool of a son? he asked himself. Almost before he realized what he was doing, Fëanáro had dealt his firstborn a hard backhanded blow across his handsome face; Nelyafinwë, who’d never before been struck in anger, simply stood staring at his father, his grey eyes wide with shock. Suppressing a twinge of guilt, Fëanáro said simply, “Go back to the house now.” Nelyafinwë wasted no time in leaving; after a long moment, Fëanáro returned to the bench where the Silmarils sat. Picking them up one by one, he carefully placed them in the velvet-lined box he’d made for them and then, placing the box under his arm, began himself to walk back to his house, there to organize the search for his youngest boys.

* * * * * * *

Ambarussa did not know how long they had been walking along the riverbank before they found a crossing place - they only knew that they were growing hungrier, their feet hurt, and they were not getting any closer to the pretty mountain. What if there was no way to cross the river? Ambarussa could not swim yet, but perhaps they could hold onto a branch and float across. Long ago, when they had still been small, they had watched as pretty birds floated on the sea, with people on their backs; when they had asked their father why those people were riding birds, he had laughed. Father told Ambarussa then that those were not birds, but boats, made of wood. If wooden boats floated on the sea, then wouldn’t a branch float on the river, and carry them across it? They did not know for sure - but if they could not soon find a place where they could cross the river, they would have no choice but to try their idea.

As they walked, the river slowly grew narrower, and the water in it flowed faster and faster. Finally they came to a place where the water rushed over a steep drop. At the edge of the drop there were many rocks poking up from the water. Ambarussa thought that if they were careful, they might be able to walk on top of those rocks and cross to the other side of the river. The water made an awful roaring noise as it fell over the drop, and the air was filled with mist. Ambarussa did not like this place - it was the scariest thing they had seen so far on their long journey. But they had found no other way to cross the river. So they carefully began to climb out onto the rocks.

The rocks were wet, and very slippery. And the cold water flowing over their feet soon made them go numb. Ambarussa were careful to move very slowly, and they kept looking at the opposite shore of the river. They did not want to look down! The terrible noise of the water was scary enough. It took a very long time to cross to the other side, and several times Ambarussa came close to slipping off the rocks. But finally they made it all the way across. They had to jump off the last rock to reach the riverbank, and one of them landed in the water, but although it was cold, it was not deep there, and he was able to wade to dry ground. Once they made it to the other side, they began to run. After such a long walk, the pretty mountain could not be very far away! They were cold, and wet, and hungry, and tired - the sooner they found Aulë’s home, and Mother, the happier Ambarussa would be.

* * * * * * *

“So, are you going to tell me how you really managed to bruise your face, Russandol? I don’t believe for a moment your story about Diadem throwing his head and hitting you - you’re too good a horseman to be caught off guard like that.”

Maitimo made no reply, and Findekáno sighed in resignation. He’d arrived at his friend’s house just as the search was being organized, and had of course volunteered to help. It had been quickly agreed that the best hope of finding Fëanáro’s young sons lay with the use of hounds to follow their scent trail, and Tyelkormo had already been dispatched to acquire some from Oromë, but it would take some time for them to arrive. In the meantime, Fëanáro had decided that someone should ride out along the road to Alqualondë, in case the twins had chosen to follow that path. There was no need to check the short road to Tirion as Findekáno had come that way, and had not seen any sign of Ambarussa on his ride. Maitimo and Findekáno had each volunteered to ride towards Alqualondë. They were both good horsemen; after checking the road for signs of Ambarussa, they planned to separate and each return cross-country by a different route, one north of the road and one south of it, in the slim hope of finding any signs of the twins that could be of use in guiding the other searchers. Besides, with two sets of eyes looking, there would be less chance of missing any tracks - for the road was paved, and any trail upon it would be faint.

They continued riding in silence for some time, each keeping a sharp eye out for any sign of the missing youngsters, before Maitimo finally spoke. “Findekáno, have you ever considered leaving home once you’ve reached your majority? Setting out completely on your own?”

“Of course; I suppose soon after I finally come of age I’ll marry and start fathering children, like most people do, and I’ll need to set up my own household then.”

“And if you don’t marry right away? Would you move out anyway?”

“What would be the point of that? No one leaves home until they’re wed - at least I’ve never heard of anyone doing so. Why would you ask such a question? Unless - are you thinking about doing that yourself, Russandol?”

“Yes.”

“I can’t picture you leaving your father and brothers behind like that - they’d miss you, and you know it! Besides, where would you go if you did move out, and how would you earn a living? You’d have nothing with which to build your own shop - most people depend on their family to help them set up their household, after they have wed and are in need of one. Somehow I can’t picture your father gifting you with the funds you’d need just because you’ve decided you’re tired of living under his roof and want your own place.”

“I don’t know where I would go, or what I would do.” Findekáno was shocked at the despair he heard now in his friend’s voice. “I suppose you’re right - it is a foolish idea.”

“I didn’t say that! It just surprised me, that’s all. You know, you could always move in with your mother’s kin, if you feel the need for a change. Or go ahead and move out altogether, if that’s what you truly want to do. Now that you’re of an age to wed, I’ve no doubt you’ll meet the right girl soon enough anyway. As handsome as you are, Maitimo, they'll be chasing you all over Aman!”

“Doubtless you’re right, Findekáno. That is the way the world works, after all. Though so far that girl’s not come along yet.”

“And working so hard at your father’s forge, just how many girls have you had a chance to meet? Apart from my spoiled little sister, that is. Now if you really want to do your old friend Findekáno a favor, wait a few more years until írissë reaches her majority, and marry her! Then you could finally set up your own household, and Turukáno and I would at last have some peace. Of course, the fact that your new bride would be an insufferable brat might pose a slight problem from your perspective...”

Findekáno’s jest accomplished its purpose; Maitimo let out a long laugh. “Not even for you, Findekáno,” he finally replied. “I pity the unfortunate man who eventually decides to wed your sister even more than I pity you for having to live with her now! At least I only have to endure six very troublesome younger brothers.” He suddenly broke off the conversation, staring intently at the ground just beside him. “Is that a footprint?”

It was a very faint footprint - but far too large to be from either of Maitimo’s little brothers. Distracted by their conversation, Maitimo and Findekáno had almost ridden past it without seeing it. Sobered, the two friends continued on, once more silent as they studied the road intently; if Ambarussa had indeed come this way, they would not miss the trail for lack of diligence.

It was getting harder and harder to see the pretty mountain - the trees were growing thicker, and were now far too tall for Ambarussa to climb all the way to the top of, as they had done earlier. But Ambarussa were not too worried, because they had walked so far they knew they had to be very close to the mountain’s root. Soon they would smell the smoke from Aulë’s forge, and that would lead them in the right direction. Then they would find Grandfather Mahtan, and Mother, and they would finally be able to rest.

The light was becoming soft and silvery again, and Ambarussa were almost running through the trees in their hurry to reach Grandfather Mahtan’s house when they heard the funny noises. They sounded like growls. Ambarussa stopped when they heard the sounds. Their older bothers had told them that many dangerous animals lived in these forests, and that was why Ambarussa had been forbidden to enter them. Could these noises be from dangerous animals? Until now, they had not seen or heard any animals at all. Ambarussa could not see the source of the noises because of all the thick scrub that surrounded them. Slowly they began to walk forward, carefully peeking through the bushes, until they could see the creatures that were making the sounds.

Ambarussa nearly laughed with relief when they saw the animals - they were doggies! They liked doggies; their big brother Tyelkormo often brought Oromë’s dogs to their house, and once he even let them play with some of their puppies. These dogs looked different from the ones Tyelkormo played with, though. They were very big, with shaggy grey coats, and their ears stood up instead of flopping down. Ambarussa were just about to walk out into the clearing to pet the doggies when one of them suddenly growled and snapped at its neighbor. That doggie didn’t seem friendly at all! It had a mean expression in its yellow eyes which made Ambarussa uneasy. Then Ambarussa saw the blood on the faces of the doggies, and caught a glimpse of something bloody lying on the ground in front of them. The doggies must be eating! Tyelkormo had told them that they must never disturb Oromë’s dogs when they were eating; he’d said they might think Ambarussa meant to take their food away, and bite. Ambarussa didn’t want to be bitten, so they waited quietly in the bushes while the big grey doggies growled and fought each other over their food. It took a long time for the doggies to finally finish eating, but eventually they ran off into the bushes and Ambarussa could move again. Ambarussa didn’t like to look at the bloody thing on the ground, so they walked around the edges of the clearing rather than crossing it. Once the clearing was behind them, they continued forward, steadily walking in the dim silvery light towards the mountain’s root, and their Mother.

* * * * * * *

When I finally catch you, little brothers, you are going to be sorry that you were ever born! Tyelkormo swore to himself as he rode through the woods with Lord Oromë. It had been bad enough when Father had insisted he should ask to borrow Oromë’s hounds; didn’t Fëanáro realize how embarrassing it was going to be for him to approach Lord Oromë with such a request? Then when Oromë had asked his young pupil why he was so late for his lesson, and Tyelkormo had finally stammered out his request, Oromë had insisted on knowing the reason he needed the hounds, and he had been forced to relate the whole embarrassing story to his teacher. His entire family had been shamed in front of the great Vala, and all on account of his stupid baby brothers! Worse, the Vala had insisted on accompanying him back to the house and helping with the search. Tyelkormo was sure he’d never live down his embarrassment. Well, I suppose I should be grateful I didn’t have to stay home and watch Curufinwë, he thought morosely as he watched the hounds sniffing about, searching for any scent. That task had fallen to Carnistir; he and little Curufinwë had been left behind “in case your brothers should decide to come home while we are out searching,” Fëanáro had said to them, fooling neither of them. Maitimo, Findekáno, Makalaurë, and Fëanáro had each taken several hounds, and were each riding out alone in a different direction; Oromë had said that Tyelkormo was still too young to venture forth unaccompanied, and so here he was, being dragged along behind Oromë like so much useless baggage. Just thinking about it made Tyelkormo’s face burn. You’ve never been anything but trouble since you both were born, he thought angrily. Well, it’s time you both learned to behave, and if Father won’t teach you that lesson, I will! I won’t have you shaming me again.

Suddenly Tyelkormo was drawn from his reverie when he noticed one of the hounds sniffing intently at a spot on the ground. “My Lord -” he began to say when the hound suddenly gave tongue. The next thing Tyelkormo knew, he was galloping behind Oromë’s swift horse, following on the trail of the hounds as they raced forward on the scent of their quarry. As he clung low and tight to his own horse’s neck, Tyelkormo suddenly found himself grinning. Hunting pesky little brothers, it seemed, might be almost as fun as pursuing any other type of game. Who would ever have thought it?

* * * * * * *

They had walked, and walked, and walked, but there was still no sign of Aulë’s forge, or Grandfather Mahtan’s house. They were no longer even sure if they were walking in the direction of the pretty mountain - the trees were far too thick for them to see it any more. Ambarussa were very hungry and terribly thirsty, but there was no water to be found anywhere, and no berries to eat either, only leaves. They chewed on some of the leaves to ease their hunger pangs, but they tasted terrible and Ambarussa had to spit them out. Their feet were sore and bleeding, and it hurt to walk. Finally they were too tired to go any further. They had to stop and rest! Ambarussa curled up together in a pile of leaves that had drifted against a large log and silently cried themselves to sleep.

They did not know how long they had slept before they were awakened by the faint noises. They sounded like howls. Doggies! Ambarussa huddled together for a moment, listening carefully. Yes, those were dogs coming towards them - the sounds were definitely getting louder. Ambarussa remembered how the big grey doggies had growled and snapped at each other, how mean they had seemed. They suddenly didn’t want those doggies to find them. Ignoring the pain in their feet, they stood up and began to run.

They ran as fast as they could, stumbling through the thick bushes, but the sounds kept getting louder. The dogs were running faster than Ambarussa could! Desperate, they began to look for a tree to climb, but all of these trees had branches far too high to reach. As the sounds behind them grew loud, they looked around for something they could use to fend off the dogs, but all they could find were some small sticks. They each picked up a stick in their hands, and suddenly there was a loud crashing as the first of the dogs burst forth from the bushes. Frightened, Ambarussa turned to face their pursuers.

To their surprise, these doggies were not the big grey shaggy ones they had seen earlier. They were patchy colored and had floppy ears, just like the ones their brother Tyelkormo played with. And these doggies were friendly, even though they were also very noisy. They howled and barked, but they also wagged their tails and licked Ambarussa’s faces. And then Ambarussa heard more noises, and they watched as two horses came running into the midst of the doggies. One of the horses was shining white, and the big man who rode on it glowed with a bright light. The other horse was brown, and smaller - and their brother Tyelkormo was on it!

Their brother looked angry, and Ambarussa shrank back when he got off his horse and came over to them. “What did you think you were doing!” he said. They tried to tell him they were going to the mountains’ roots, but he ignored them. “Get over here now,” he demanded when they refused to move.

“Enough, Tyelkormo,” the shining man said firmly, and with that their angry brother became quiet. The shining man called the dogs to his side and told them to stay, then he walked over to Ambarussa. He was very tall, but he knelt so they could see his face. Unlike their brother, he didn’t seem angry at all. “Come here, Ambarussa,” he said gently, “it’s time to go home.”

Ambarussa didn’t want to go home - they wanted to go to the mountains’ roots where Aulë lived, to be with Grandfather Mahtan and Mother. But they were so tired and hungry, and they sensed that there was no point in arguing. And so they went to the friendly man. And he gave Ambarussa some water to drink, and then picked them up one by one. One of them he put on his big white horse, and the other he sat in front of Tyelkormo. And Ambarussa found themselves riding back home, where they would again be with their father and their other brothers. Where they would be as far away from their mother as ever. Their long and dangerous journey had all been for nothing.

* * * * * * *

The arrival of the twins at the house of Fëanáro was quiet, almost anticlimactic. Filthy and exhausted, they’d raised no fuss when Lord Oromë handed them to their father, whose countenance was initially filled with honest relief at their safe return. When his youngest sons finally revealed the reason for their wandering, though, all expression had quickly drained from Fëanáro’s face; only his eyes had revealed for the briefest instant the terrible pain their innocent words had inflicted. Maitimo had assisted his father in feeding and bathing Ambarussa, treating their numerous cuts and scratches, and settling them into their bed. They fell into dreams almost as soon as their heads touched the pillows. Fëanáro had left the room almost immediately, but Maitimo had lingered; he was sitting next to their bed, watching his little brothers sleep while whispering a heartfelt prayer of gratitude for their safe return, when he heard the light tapping coming from the doorway. Curious, he broke off his meditation and went out into the hall, where he saw his father fitting a latch onto the doorframe.

“Father, what are you doing?” Maitimo asked, although the answer was obvious.

Fëanáro, intent on his work, didn’t even look up. “Putting a lock on the door,” he replied. “From now on, the door to this room will be locked from the outside after Pityafinwë and Telufinwë are put to bed. I won’t have them running off like that again.”

“But Father,” Maitimo exclaimed in horror, “my brothers aren’t animals to be confined in a cage! They are –”

“Children,” Fëanáro interrupted firmly. “Who are far too young yet to be sensible, and whose recent behavior has proven that they cannot be trusted not to roam. I will not permit them to wander away again. This door will be locked every night, and kept locked until the morning, until I say otherwise. Every night, Nelyafinwë – do you understand me?” As he uttered those words he finally turned to face his son, and the cold look in Fëanáro’s eyes left Maitimo in no doubt that his father was serious – and that the consequences of any disobedience would be severe.

“Yes,” he replied quietly. “I understand, Father.” You will have your way in this, Father, as you always do, Maitimo thought in despair. But do you truly believe that this is the best to deal with the problem our family is facing? My baby brothers are hurting - can you not see that? You’ll only be protecting their bodies this way, this will do nothing to heal their spirits! But when have you ever listened to me? If I protest any further, it will only make things worse, for me as well as for them.

“Good,” Fëanáro replied, then turned again to complete the work. “Be sure to tell your other brothers as well – I don’t want anyone violating this rule for any reason. This is for Pityafinwë’s and Telufinwë’s own good, Nelyafinwë. They are my sons, and as their father I will do whatever is necessary to keep them both safe.”

It did not take long for Fëanáro to finish installing the lock. Maitimo winced slightly as he heard the faint sound of the bolt sliding home. He remembered the times when, as a small boy, he had awakened and, unable to return to sleep, had quietly stepped outside to view the stars shining through the silvery Treelight, or had gone to join his parents in their room – how reassuring it had been, after a nightmare, to curl up between them, secure in the comfort of their embrace and their love. How would he have felt, he wondered, if he’d awakened in the night and found himself trapped so? After his father left, Maitimo gently placed his hand on the door. “I’m sorry, little brothers,” he whispered, “but there’s nothing I can do.”

* * * * * * *

Following the twins’ return, life quickly seemed to settle back into its previous rhythms. But that was mere illusion, as Maitimo soon realized. Beneath the placid surface, a subtle tension persisted, partially displacing the quiet sorrow which had been the dominant note before. Fëanáro’s emotional remoteness and volatility remained unchanged; although he had initially paid more attention to the goings-on of the household, he soon retreated again into the refuge of his workshop. Maitimo found his father’s withdrawal a relief. Before his little brothers’ frightening disappearance, he had longed for a return to normalcy, and for their father to resume his old place of authority in their family. But Fëanáro’s heart now seemed to contain nothing but pain and anger and suspicion; the very air itself was so thick with tension when he was present that Maitimo wondered how it was even possible to breathe it. And his mood seemed infectious, for it was shared by Tyelkormo and Carnistir. They clearly resented being forced to supervise Ambarussa more closely following their youngest brothers’ wanderings, and had become harsh and quick to scold them. And not surprisingly, Ambarussa remained subdued following their return. Ironically, for all Fëanáro’s concerns, they seemed to have lost all interest in exploration, showing no inclinations to leave the household grounds, and indeed seldom willingly left their older brothers’ sides. Their uncharacteristic clinginess and lethargy had both Makalaurë and Maitimo concerned, but there seemed nothing the two eldest sons of Fëanáro could do to restore their littlest brothers’ ebullience. Things cannot continue on this way, Maitimo realized, but I do not know how to make everything right again. “I wish I were wiser, Makalaurë,” he said to his brother one evening, after putting Ambarussa to bed. “Then I’d know what words to say to Father to make him listen to me for once! I’d know how to make him see our baby brothers’ unhappiness. But he refuses to acknowledge that anything’s wrong. And I don’t know how to change that.”

“You can’t, Russandol,” Makalaurë replied. “All you can do is what you’re doing now. We can’t force Father to listen to us, and reconcile with Mother. No one has ever forced Father to do anything he doesn’t want to do - and no one can! It’s just the way he is. You know that. Besides, Mother may not want to come back. We’ll just have to manage with Ambarussa as best we can. They’re young; surely they’ll eventually recover from this loss. They will probably forget Mother entirely in time,” he concluded sadly.

“Will they, filit? Father never forgot his mother,” Maitimo replied. “And he was so young when our real grandmother died, he couldn’t have many memories of her; Grandmother Indis was the only mother figure he ever really knew! Ambarussa are much older than Father was; I don’t think they will forget Mother at all. And I’m afraid, filit. They seem so listless and sad - might they waste away the way our Grandmother Míriel did?”

“Surely not!” Makalaurë said quickly, horrified. “Russandol, Father didn’t die when he lost his mother; neither will our baby brothers, I’m sure of that. Stop worrying so much!”

“I can’t, little brother; believe me, I wish I could! I wish I had your gift, to put my fears into a song and sing them all away. But I don’t, I have to live with them, and seeing Ambarussa behaving like this frightens me. And I don’t know what to do to help them!”

“Try helping yourself first,” Makalaurë said firmly. “Why don’t you ride to Tirion tomorrow and visit Findekáno? He always manages to cheer you up. Tyelkormo and I can take care of things here. And Father won’t care if you go - he knows you always stay out of trouble, unlike our younger brothers. Go see Findekáno and have some fun, and see if you don’t feel the better for it afterwards.”

“Perhaps you’re right, filit,” Maitimo replied slowly. “It has been a long time since I’ve been to the city. Are you sure you don’t mind if I go?”

“Of course not, silly brother,” Makalaurë said. “Would I have suggested it if I did? Just remember to bring back some sweets for everyone. And some bread! And eggs! And -”

“All right, filit, I’ll go!” Maitimo laughed. “And I promise I’ll return with enough treats to sate even your sweet tooth. Perhaps I will even be able to hire a bakerwoman while I’m there. Surely even Father must be getting tired of having no bread in the house!”

“I doubt you’ll be able to find one who’ll be willing to come out here and put up with all of us, but if you do, I’ll be forever in your debt! Especially if she’s pretty! But don’t spend your whole day buying supplies and hiring servants, Russandol; you’re supposed to be having fun, remember that. And don’t try to tell me that shopping for all of us is fun! I may be younger than you are, but I’m not that naive.”

“I promise you, Makalaurë, I’ll have fun. When I come back, I’ll probably be so relaxed you won’t recognize me! Thank you for the suggestion, filit. What would I do without you?”

“Brood,” Makalaurë replied. “And fret. It’s what you’re best at, and that’s why Ilúvatar made you the oldest. But in His wisdom He knew you’d often take it too far, and so He gave you a much more sensible younger brother to balance things out.”

“Sensible!” Maitimo sputtered. “You? The little boy who nearly drowned himself trying to sing underwater, because he’d heard that Lord Ossë and Lord Ulmo liked the music of the Teleri? The brother who thought that since birds sing, and they also fly, that he should be able to fly as well, since everyone told him he sang just like a bird? I almost didn’t catch you in time!”

“I was young!” Makalaurë protested. “It was an innocent mistake - why, anyone could have made it! And besides - you did catch me. It’s getting late. I think I’ll turn in now. Have fun in Tirion tomorrow, Maitimo.”

“Thank you, filit. I will.”

Makalaurë’s jests had briefly succeeded in raising Maitimo’s spirits, but as he walked down the long hallway to his own room, the sight of the locked door of his baby brothers’ room brought them low again. Makalaurë is right; I do need to take some time for myself, Maitimo thought, but that does nothing for Ambarussa. Somehow, I’ve got to find some way of helping them as well! May Irmo, Lord of Dreams and Visions, bless me with an answer soon!

To his surprise, his prayer was answered; he woke during the night with Makalaurë’s voice echoing in his mind - “No one has ever forced Father to do anything he doesn’t want to do - and no one can!” No one can? Not true, little brother, not true at all! Maitimo realized suddenly. There is someone who can force Father to act sensibly. But do I dare do this... Father, he knew, would be furious with him if he found out what he was planning to do. But what can he really do to me anymore? Maitimo thought. I’m of age now, and technically no longer under his complete authority. The worst he can do is disown me, and throw me out of the house - and would that be so bad, as things stand now? Not long ago I was thinking of leaving anyway. It’s worth the risk, for Ambarussa’s sake. Someone has to make him see reason! He shivered slightly; although he knew now what he needed to do, a part of him felt his actions would indeed be the betrayal that Fëanáro would surely regard them as if he ever learned of them. He will never know, Maitimo reassured himself. Father will never know. And I have to do this, for Ambarussa’s sake - and maybe even for his. I have no choice.

Maitimo left for Tirion early the next day, while the Treelight was still mingled, just before Laurelin began to wax. To Makalaurë’s surprise, his brother returned long before the day was out, seeming troubled and rather subdued. Even when you are supposed to be having fun, you still brood! he thought in exasperation. Did you have a fight with Findekáno? I wouldn’t think that possible! But Maitimo brushed off his younger brother’s inquiries, insisting that he’d had a wonderful time in Tirion and everything was fine.

Everything was most certainly not fine, Makalaurë soon realized with growing dismay. For his brother had not even looked for a bakerwoman, much less hired one, and had brought back no bread or eggs. Worst of all, Maitimo had also forgotten the sweets! So much for all my hopes Makalaurë thought morosely. A full day of babysitting, not to mention browbeating Tyelkormo and Carnistir, and not even a single honeycake for my pains! I love you dearly, Maitimo, but some days you’re definitely more trouble than you’re worth.

The room was a marvel; the walls and floor were of finely polished semiprecious stones overlaid with delicate weavings, the cunningly crafted furnishings a testament to the supreme skills of the Noldoran artisans. Fëanáro had eyes for none of these things; his attention was given solely to the lone figure standing on the adjoining balcony, gazing out eastward at the distant sea. How long has it been since I was last here? he wondered. Surely it cannot be as long as that... But to his astonishment, he realized that it had indeed been many months since his last visit. For all his prodigious energies had slowly been sapped, first by the growing rift between himself and his wife, which he’d tried so hard to repair, and later by her loss. He’d not set foot outside his own household since Nerdanel’s departure, save to hunt for his missing sons. Shamefaced, he realized he’d become so wrapped up in his private sorrow that he’d forgotten his obligations; who knew how long it would have been before he would have again ventured here, had he not been summoned now?

His footsteps echoed softly as he walked across the stone floors, but the figure standing on the balcony did not turn to face him until Fëanáro was barely an arm’s length away. When he did, Fëanáro found himself staring as if into a mirror - for the brilliant grey eyes and raven-dark hair were nearly the same as his own. But the light in those eyes, though bright, was not so hot as Fëanáro’s own, but steadier and less foreboding, and the black hair was swept back by a silver circlet bearing glittering gemstones that almost rivaled the Silmarils in their beauty. Stones that had been cut by Fëanáro’s own hands, to adorn the brow of the one person he loved above all others living, the person whom he stood before now - his father Finwë, the King of their people. He dropped his head slightly, in respect. “Father, I have come as you requested. May I know the reason for your summons?”

“Do I need a reason to summon my favorite son to my side?” Finwë replied mildly. “But I have missed your company; you have been more than usually reclusive of late. Understandable, perhaps, but worrisome to me nonetheless. I grow concerned for you, Curufinwë Fëanáro.”

“You need not be, Father,” Fëanáro replied. “Do not distress yourself on my account, I beg you! I know I have been remiss in my duties towards you, for which I must apologize, but I am fine, truly.”

“Are you? I have heard stories that lead me to believe otherwise. I have heard of no new objects of craft fashioned by your hands for many weeks; you have never taken such a respite from your work since you were first old enough to begin to learn the art of forging metals! Though you were never over-social, neither were you ever one to neglect those friends you do have, and yet you have visited no one in Tirion for a long time - save only for the briefest of necessary business trips, and most of those you have delegated to your own sons. And rumor has it that your wife has recently journeyed to her parents’ household, with no intention of ever returning. Is this rumor true, Fëanáro?”

Fëanáro made no reply, turning away slightly to avoid his father’s gaze; after a moment, Finwë sighed and placed his hand on his son’s shoulder. “I am sorry, son. Nerdanel was very dear to me, and she matched you well. I have never seen more joy in your eyes than on the day you two were wed. Is there truly no hope of salvaging your marriage?”

“Ask her, Father,” Fëanáro responded, his voice rough. “For she will say nothing more to me. As for my part - if she wishes to depart, than I will not hinder her in her going. If there is a breech between us, it is of her making, and not of mine, and I will waste no more of my time in fruitless attempts to mend it. For my part, I would ask the Valar to sever our bond, were such a thing possible; but as it is not, I will turn from her as she has done from me, and remove all traces of her existence from my life. I need her not!”

“Perhaps you do not,” Finwë replied softly, “although there is more pain in your voice than pride, I think. But you cannot banish Nerdanel so easily from your life, Fëanáro, regardless of whether you succeed in driving her shadow from your own heart. You are tied to her through your sons; do not make them your weapons in this battle with your wife, I beg you.”

“My sons,” Fëanaró said as he pulled away from his father’s touch, “need nothing of her! She was the one who chose to abandon them, as they can plainly see; only the youngest even notice her absence now, and soon she will fade from their hearts. Of that I am certain.” He turned to face his father again, his eyes filled with angry fire, only to be startled at the sadness present in his father’s expression.

“As Míriel faded from your heart?” Finwë’s response, though gentle, quenched Fëanáro’s anger as suddenly as a gust of wind blows out a candle flame. “I once thought the same. Míriel had left me forever, and surely my young son, who after all had never known his mother, would warm to my new bride. His grief would eventually fade, and he would become content. But despite everything I could do, you steadfastly rejected every overture Indis made to you, clinging instead to the memory of the woman who’d abandoned you in favor of Mandos’ Halls. Even the name you’ve chosen to be called by is the one she gifted you with - and a constant reminder to me of my folly.”

“If you could cling so to Míriel,” Finwë continued, “who as a houseless fëa was indeed lost to you, than how much more desperately might your own sons cling to their mother Nerdanel, who is not dead but merely absent? I have heard about my young grandsons’ recent wanderings, and their reason for them. And I have also heard rumors that you are now keeping them confined rather than permit them to see their mother. Fëanáro, can you not understand their pain?”

“I will not lose my sons to her!” Fëanáro insisted, and Finwë winced inwardly at the anguish he heard now in his beloved son’s voice.

“If you lose their love, Fëanáro, it will only be because you allow your anger to drive them away. Nerdanel cannot steal away your sons’ affection for you, any more than you can force them to stop loving her. A child’s love for his father is far too deeply rooted to be torn out so easily. You will lose nothing by allowing them to go to her.”

“So is this why you have called me here today - to order me to give up my sons to Nerdanel?” Fëanáro’s voice nearly broke as he uttered the last few words. How can my own father betray me so? he thought in despair. Must I now lose everyone I love? To his horror, he felt tears welling up in his eyes - whether of sorrow or of rage, he was not certain - and he quickly turned and retreated from the balcony into the relative darkness of the room. He’d hoped he would be able to reach the door and escape before his father could utter the words which would rip out his heart, but Finwë caught him before he was halfway across the room. Escape denied, he was forced by his father’s strong grip, and his authority as King, to remain and hear him out.

“Fëanáro, how could you think I would do such a thing?” Finwë said. “I did not call you here to take sides in your quarrel with your wife. You are my son, and I love you; your marriage is not mine to interfere with, although I wish with all my heart that you could reconcile with Nerdanel, if only for your sake, for I know how much you loved her once. But I will not stand idly by while my grandsons’ hearts are shredded by their parents’ folly. And I believe you are too loving a father to wish upon your sons the same scars you bear yourself. All I ask of you is that you let them visit her, should they wish it. Will you do that?”

“Do I have a choice?” Fëanáro replied sadly.

“Of course you have a choice! And I know in the end you will make the right one. Fëanáro, there are already too many broken hearts in our family now; do you wish to see yet another generation suffer? It grieves me to cause you such pain, son, and I would not have done so but for my grandsons’ sake. And also yours, that you might not alienate them from you in your grief. Fëanáro, oh, Fëanáro, I am so sorry...”

As his father tried to soothe him, Fëanáro suddenly felt something give way inside him, and the control he’d been struggling to retain melted away. Unable at the last to stop his tears, he let himself be drawn into his father’s arms, and Finwë held him quietly while he finally wept.

* * * * * * *

It was nearly morning before Fëanáro finally returned from Tirion. The windows of the house, he saw, were tightly shuttered; no doubt his sons were still asleep. That was not important; there would be ample time to deal with them later. After stabling his horse, he proceeded directly to his workshop, as he had every morning since Nerdanel’s departure.

Everything appeared as it had previously. The benches and tools were covered with a thin layer of dust, cold ashes filled the furnace pits, and the windows remained firmly shuttered; only faint traces of Treelight strayed in where the tightly-fitted metal shutters met the stone walls. Fëanáro moved carefully through the gloom until he reached the hidden safe where he kept his most valuable works. Opening it, he carefully withdrew a small box, and throwing back the lid, watched as the radiance of the Silmarils drove back the darkness.

Fëanáro stood unmoving before his creations as he had done every day for weeks. You are indeed beautiful, so very beautiful. Even Varda herself could not create anything to surpass your radiance, he thought as he gently stroked his gems; at the soft touch of his hand, the Silmarils flared and shimmered, as if nourished by his own internal fire. But you are not the first beautiful creations I have produced, nor the finest. In my grief, I have allowed your loveliness to seduce me, to the neglect of my dearest treasures. It is time now for that to end. After a last, reverent caress, he firmly closed the lid, wincing as the brilliant light was suddenly cut off and the interior of the workshop was plunged again into darkness.

After a moment his eyes became accustomed to the gloom, and he could see well enough to move safely. Fëanáro walked over to the shuttered windows and opened them, allowing the mingled Treelight to fill the room, then went to the furnace pits and began to clean out the ashes. Once that task was complete, he built a fire in one of the furnace pits, then began to clean the benches and set out the supplies he would need later. Finally, after washing the ash off his hands, he picked up the box containing the Silmarils and headed towards the house.

As soon as he entered, he discovered he’d been wrong about his sons; from the soft clatter emanating from the kitchen, it appeared that at least one of them had awakened. But Fëanáro ignored the sounds, and moved quietly through the house towards the locked storeroom where he’d previously kept the Silmarils before his recent descent into near-permanent residence within his workshop. After carefully securing the gems he then headed to his bedroom, where he changed from the finery appropriate for a visit with his father into the plain coveralls he was accustomed to wearing while crafting. Only then did he return to the kitchen.

The cause of the clamor, he saw, was Nelyafinwë Maitimo; his eldest son had apparently decided on something more ambitious than mere sliced fruit for the morning meal. There was a fire burning in the stove, and several pans sitting on the stovetop; a small mountain of produce of various sorts was piled onto a nearby tabletop. Nelyafinwë had his back to the doorway, and had not noticed his father’s quiet approach. He was intently searching through drawers, apparently seeking some implement; when he finally heard the sound of Fëanáro’s footsteps, he asked without looking up, “Makalaurë, is that you? I can’t find the vegetable peeler anywhere; do you know where Tyelkormo might have put it?”

“No, but I used to keep it in the second drawer on your left - have you looked there?” Fëanáro noted with sadness the way his son stiffened at the sound of his voice. Nelyafinwë turned around slowly, as if he was reluctant to face his father. And I cannot blame him if he is, Fëanáro thought remorsefully. Not after the way I’ve treated him, and his brothers, recently. Perhaps the Valar will gift me one day with wisdom enough to know when to hold my tongue. Nelyafinwë’s eyes widened slightly when he saw how his father was dressed, but he said nothing. After a brief, awkward silence, Fëanáro asked, “Will you allow me to help?”

“If you like,” his son replied quietly, and turned again to rummage through the nearest drawer, scarcely looking at the utensils. Fëanáro opened the drawer he’d indicated and withdrew the missing vegetable peeler.

“I believe you were looking for this,” he said as he handed the peeler to his son, who took it from his hand with an awkward nod of thanks. “What are you planning to make?”

“I haven’t decided yet; some sort of stir-fry, I suppose. It can’t be anything that needs eggs, because we’re out,” Nelyafinwë replied. “Do you have any preferences, Father?”

“No,” Fëanáro said. “Anything you are willing to cook will be fine.” Nelyafinwë handed him some vegetables; after a few moments of slicing them, Fëanáro spoke into the silence. “Nelyafinwë,” he said quietly, “I need to speak with you.”

There was now no disguising the tension in his son’s tall frame, and his face had gone expressionless; but his eyes gave away his nervousness. “What do you wish to talk about, Father?” Nelyafinwë asked carefully.

Fëanáro hesitated for a long moment before answering. “My treatment of you, Nelyafinwë, and of your brothers these past few weeks,” he finally replied. “I’m sorry for -”

“It’s all right, Father,” Nelyafinwë responded quickly, cutting him off as he looked away. “I understand what you’ve been going through, how much pain you must have felt when Mother left, there’s really no need to say anything more about it...” His discomfort was apparent, both from the way he’d so uncharacteristically interrupted his father, and from the way he now spoke, nearly stumbling over the words in his haste to get them out.

“No,” Fëanáro replied firmly, placing his hand on Nelyafinwë’s shoulder, forcing his son to face him. “It is decidedly not all right. I was wrong to treat you as I did. As your father, I am supposed to care for my sons. All of my sons - even the grown ones,” and with those words he smiled briefly. “You’re a fine young man, Nelyafinwë, and you’ve done nothing to warrant the abuse I inflicted on you. I promise you,” and he reached out with his other hand to carefully touch the fading bruise on his son’s cheek, “I will never hit you again.”

Nelyafinwë’s eyes glittered in the soft light filling the kitchen, and Fëanáro felt his son’s shoulder slowly relax under his hand, but he remained silent. It was many moments later before his oldest child finally spoke. “You’re dressed in your work clothes; are you planning to start the forge today?”

“No; the glass furnace. I’ve already lit the fire; it should be hot enough to begin work after breakfast is over. Why don’t you add some more pepper? It will improve the flavor.”

Nelyafinwë nodded as he reached for the spice rack. “I’d like to help you, Father,” he replied as he sprinkled more pepper over the vegetables they’d chopped. “It’s been a long time since I’ve fired glass.”

“No,” Fëanáro replied. “It’s not that I wouldn’t enjoy your company, Russandol,” he said quickly as he saw the hurt flicker quickly through his son’s eyes. “But I have another task I’ll need you to perform today. I’ll tell you about it at breakfast, along with your brothers. Who, if my ears can be trusted, are coming down the hallway now.”

The quarrelling voices made the newcomers’ identities clear long before they set foot in the kitchen: Turkafinwë Tyelkormo and Morifinwë Carnistir. “All you ever make is fruit! I’m tired of it! Why can’t you cook something else for a change? ” “Whine, whine, whine - that’s all you do! Listen, you little pest, I haven’t seen you making anything at all. If you want something else for breakfast, cook it yourse - oh, hello, Father, Maitimo.”

“Hello, sons,” Fëanáro replied. Morifinwë and Turkafinwë had halted abruptly as they caught sight of their father standing in the kitchen, knife in hand and obviously dressed for work. “Go set the table - we are all eating breakfast together today. Where are your other brothers?”

“Makalaurë’s helping Ambarussa get dressed, Father,” Turkafinwë replied. “I think Curufinwë’s still asleep.”

“Then go wake him, or he’ll miss the meal. Morifinwë, you can set the table while your brother’s fetching Curufinwë.” Perhaps they are not as beautiful to look upon as a Silmaril, Fëanáro mused as he watched his sons set about their tasks, but nothing could ever be more precious to me - not even my pride. Not even that.

* * * * * * *

“Put your hands in his mane, and hang on tight. And don’t worry, I’ll be holding on to you. You won’t fall.”

Ambarussa nodded. Maitimo always said things like that. It was silly - of course Ambarussa wouldn’t fall, not with their biggest and strongest brothers holding on to them! And they had been on horses before, after all, most recently when that nice shining man and their brother Tyelkormo had brought them home after they had gotten lost. They knew what to expect. This was going to be fun! It was too bad they couldn’t both ride on the same horse, though - it was always more fun when Ambarussa did things together. But Maitimo had said no - he told them he couldn’t hold them both, and besides, Makalaurë would be lonely riding all by himself. They didn’t want Makalaurë to be lonely, so they had agreed to be separated. And now one Ambarussa sat in front of Makalaurë, and the other Ambarussa sat in front of Maitimo.

Ambarussa wished Father and their other brothers were coming, too. But Makalaurë said that someone needed to stay at home, and besides, they didn’t want to come today. He sounded sad when he said that. Ambarussa didn’t understand - why didn’t they want to come? they asked. But Makalaurë had only said they’d understand when they grew older. He and Maitimo said that a lot. Ambarussa hoped they’d grow older fast, because they didn’t like not understanding so many important things, but when they told their big brothers that, their brothers had laughed. “Don’t be in such a hurry, little brothers,” Maitimo had said. “Growing up isn’t always as fun as it looks.” Big brothers were very strange sometimes.

The horses galloped and galloped, and Ambarussa thrilled at the feel of the animals swaying under them. Their brothers’ arms were securely wrapped around their waists, holding them tight. Maitimo had said they would be riding all day, although they would have to stop several times to let the horses rest, and also to eat. They would have to sleep outside tonight, too. It would be nearly five days before they got there, Maitimo had warned them; it was very far away. But of course, Ambarussa already knew that. After all, they had tried to walk there themselves! They remembered how long they had walked - it must be very far away indeed, because they had never found it. But their big brothers knew where to go, and even had horses to ride on, so their feet wouldn’t get sore. This time, Ambarussa knew, they would finally succeed.

This time they would reach the mountains’ roots...

The radiance of Laurelin was just beginning to fade when Nerdanel finally left the forge for the day. Her father and the apprentices had departed earlier, to begin preparations for the evening meal, but Nerdanel had lingered, under the pretext of cleaning the mold she had crafted in preparation for the casting of her next sculpture. In truth, she was strangely reluctant to leave. She had spent so much of her childhood in this place; at times she felt as though she had never departed from it. The old, familiar rhythms of her parents’ household and her former life here came easily to her, soothing in their quiet way. While working by her father Mahtan’s side she could almost imagine she was still a young woman just beginning to learn the subtle arts of casting bronze and copper, that all the long years separating that Nerdanel from this one were naught but a dream. But the weariness of her fëa, once so high-spirited, and the grief she now carried in her heart said otherwise. And then there were the other memories...

For it had also been here, at her father’s forge, where she had first met the young apprentice who’d quickly won her heart. At times, when she entered the workshop, she would find herself momentarily surprised by his absence. All she had to do was close her eyes, and she could picture him as he had been so long ago, standing there at his accustomed place, so intent on his latest crafting he’d no awareness of anything else until she’d reach over and brush his hand, and he’d look up at her with eyes all but blind from the from the fire that burned within them when he worked. The fire that no one, not even Mahtan, perhaps not even Aulë himself, could equal. The fire for which his mother had named him... Fëanáro.

She’d found herself irresistibly drawn to that inner conflagration, for when she was with him she had felt more alive than at any other time, and when he withdrew it was as though the world itself grew dimmer, though the Trees still shone brightly as ever. He had seemed to her a great, shining presence, compared to which the other apprentices were mere wisps of shadow. And to her surprise, he had also seemed to feel the same attraction to her. He had had no eyes for the other maids who dwelt near her father’s household, but instead gazed upon her with a hot, devouring stare. Before long, they had begun to work together on projects at the forge. It was, Nerdanel reflected, a strange courtship indeed, with none of the usual exchanges of courtesies and trinkets - instead, they had exchanged heat, each one relaxing in the warmth of the other’s flame.

She had been very young then, and had not considered that what could warm might also scorch.

Fëanáro was also very young then - even younger than she had been. Brilliant, the most precocious of her father’s many students, and the one highest in his esteem. He’d asked for her hand even before he’d quite reached his majority. Nerdanel had not even needed to consider his proposal before answering it; surely it was obvious to anyone with eyes that they were meant to be espoused! So she had been shocked when her parents gave their blessing to the marriage only with reluctance.

“Why do you hesitate?” she had asked her father in frustration. “Can you not see that this is what I desire? Can you not see that he and I are matched? I thought you favored Fëanáro!”

“I do favor him; a more promising student I have never seen,” her father had replied gravely. “But I worry, daughter, for above all else I would see you happy. You are like him, yes - strong and passionate and stubborn. You match him in your strengths - and also in your weaknesses. But a marriage needs balance, and I would be far happier had you given your heart to one steadier and more mellow in temperament. And I fear that his fire may be so bright that it blinds him, as one who carries a blazing torch into a dark place, who can see nothing outside the circle of the torchlight. Are you certain of your choice?”

“You think you both are matched,” her mother had told her softly, “and perhaps you are indeed, for now, although I suspect in truth Fëanáro’s fire burns hotter than does yours. But, daughter, even if your spirit matches him now, you may not equal him forever. For although both parents give something of themselves to their children, we who must bear them give up more. You may find that over time your flame comes to burn with a softer glow than it does now - and will you still be matched to him then? I will not deny that I fear for you, Nerdanel. But it is your heart to give, and if you are certain that Fëanáro is where your heart will rest most content, then I will extend my blessing to your union despite my misgivings.”

And so in the end she had had her way, for it was indeed her place alone to choose her mate and no one else’s, and she had chosen Fëanáro, as he did her. And the first years of their union were as joyful as she had imagined they would be. Their love for each other was bold and fierce and whole-hearted, and they had delighted in each other’s company. And that was all they had between them for many years, all that they allowed themselves following the wedding night which had sealed their union, for Fëanáro had desired to study with Aulë before establishing a workshop of his own, and she had also wished for more time to devote to her art before they began their family. So they had defied convention, not that either one had ever cared overmuch for such things, and sublimated their passion through their work, and treasured the memory of the one time they had united in love, and waited. Nerdanel had not recognized then the true depth of her husband’s desire for her, or the monstrous strength of will that his restraint of it demonstrated, to deny himself her touch for so long; and so she did not consider how it would be, should that will ever be set against her own. Not that it would have changed things in the slightest if I had, she thought ruefully as she carefully placed the now-clean mold back on the benchtop, for in my naiveté I could never have imagined our minds and hearts would ever so diverge. What a child I was then! And what a price we both paid for our folly! She sighed quietly as she prepared to close the workshop for the evening.

Those years of passions both fulfilled and denied passed by simultaneously more slowly and more quickly than seemed possible, and the day had finally arrived when they could set their self-restraint aside and love each other fully. And love each other they did, intoxicated with the delight of ardor finally fulfilled. And Nerdanel had quickly found herself with child. Pregnancy proved more burdensome than she had anticipated, but the joy she had felt the first time she’d held little Maitimo in her arms more than compensated for the drain that carrying a child had placed on her hröa and fëa, and if she had no longer possessed quite the same energy she’d had before his birth, his presence in her life was surely adequate compensation for such a small loss. Fëanáro had been delighted with his small son, and proved as attentive and loving a father as any child could have wished for. The early years of her eldest son’s childhood were the happiest years of their marriage, Nerdanel realized in retrospect, but at the time she had taken their happiness for granted, certain that life would always be so blissful. Both she and Fëanáro had desired more children, and they had both agreed that little Maitimo needed a sibling, but several years passed before she again conceived. After Makalaurë’s birth, Nerdanel had found that caring for two children was far more than twice the work that caring for one had been; she found herself spending less time at her husband’s side, while he in turn was laboring ever longer in his workshop as he discovered new ways to create wondrous gems more beautiful than anything the Eldar had previously created. His work brought him fame, which lead inevitably to more demands for his services, requiring more time spent at his forge, and so the first thin crack in their relationship began to form.

The rift had continued to widen once Maitimo became old enough to work at the forge with his father. Fëanáro had always been strict, although loving, with his sons, and at first she had not been concerned by his treatment of their firstborn. But try as he might, Maitimo could never seem to please his father, and Nerdanel had slowly become concerned for him. Fëanáro had dismissed her repeated suggestions that Maitimo be sent to her own father Mahtan to serve his apprenticeship; why send the boy away when he could learn all he needed to know by working at his father’s side, Fëanáro had replied, perplexed. His son had talent enough, he was certain of it; Maitimo merely had to learn to strive harder, pay closer attention, and really apply himself. When she had continued to insist that he was placing too much pressure on their son, her husband had grown angry and refused to listen, insisting that he loved Maitimo and was only doing what was best for the boy, as any caring father would do. These quarrels had always ended with them standing on opposite sides of a gulf of incomprehension, each refusing to believe that the other could really be so blind. And often they had ended in frantic lovemaking, as they used their bodies to purge the heat from their hearts and soothe each other. And so it was that Tyelkormo was conceived, and Carnistir, and Curufinwë Atarinkë. During each pregnancy their quarrelling had abated, as their excitement over the new life they had created, their mutual hope of a possible daughter this time, and the necessity of supporting the developing child in Nerdanel’s womb brought them temporarily closer. But the longed-for daughter never arrived, and following each birth their arguments resumed again, intensifying as first Makalaurë and then Tyelkormo became old enough to work at their father’s side. And Nerdanel had found that each birth left her feeling more drained, while Fëanáro’s spirit seemed little changed. Too late, she realized her mother had been right. She had passed too much of her strength into her sons. Reluctantly, she had decided that their dreams of a daughter should remain dreams; it was time to acknowledge that their family was complete. But before Nerdanel had had the opportunity to discuss this decision with her husband, Fëanáro had revealed his own plans to her - plans to create jewels more magnificent than any ever before made, by capturing Yavanna’s Treelight and imprisoning it in cages of crystal.

Her husband’s ambition had horrified her, for it had seemed to her that Fëanáro in his pride sought to rival the Valar themselves. She had begged him not to fashion them, for a shadow fell upon her heart whenever he mentioned his dream to her, but obstinate as ever, he had paid no heed to her pleas. He had spent more and more of his time immured in his shop, striving to create the casings for the gems he’d already crafted in his mind. With Curufinwë and Carnistir being so young, she had had no time free to spend at his side, and in any case his workshop had come to feel an alien place, where she was an unwelcome intruder. And then one day he had journeyed to Valimar, and when he returned to their home, he had brought with him a small box, which he placed in their bedroom. That evening, after the children were asleep, he had opened it, and she first beheld the Silmarils.

They were radiant beyond anything that Nerdanel had ever seen; when Fëanáro opened the box that held them, the shuttered room burned bright with luminescence almost painful to behold. And her husband’s eyes had burned, too, and Nerdanel had quailed before the heat she saw there. “Are they not beautiful?” he had murmured to her. “Is there anything in all of Arda to compare with them?”

“No,” she had whispered, and did not know whether it was the first or the second question she was answering. Almost without realizing it, she had found herself reaching out to touch the gems, but at the last minute her hand had frozen above them. They burn, a voice had whispered in her mind. She had closed her hand into a fist and slowly withdrew it. “You should give them to the Valar,” she had whispered to him.

“No,” he had replied. “The Valar already have their stars; these will be mine.” He had then slowly closed the box, and the room was again plunged into darkness. “Perhaps I will give them to my father,” Fëanáro had continued after a moment, his voice seeming strangely uncertain.

“That would be best,” she had replied. Fëanáro then gently placed the box on their dresser, and turned again to face her; in the gloom she had seen his eyes glittering. “I know you did not wish me to craft them, but I had hoped they would please you, Nerdanel, once you saw them. There was a time when you loved the creations of my hands,” he had said sadly. He had then reached out and gently brushed her cheek with his hand.

At the sound of his voice, so filled with sorrow, Nerdanel had felt something stir inside her. An inchoate emotion, vague and fragile. Pity? Compassion? Surely it was not love. When his hand stroked her skin, an old and more familiar burning had begun to fill her. How long has it been since we have treated each other with tenderness? she had wondered. How could we have ever allowed ourselves to become such strangers? In the darkness of their shuttered room she had stepped closer to her husband and whispered, “You please me, Curufinwë Fëanáro. You were all I ever wished for in my heart - and so long as I have you in my arms, I need no stars to fill my hands.”

For the moment, their quarrels and their griefs had been forgotten, and they had lost themselves in the pleasures of each other’s touch. They made love tenderly, and for a brief while it was as it had been when they were young and newly wed, the union of their flesh forging a temporary union of their hearts and spirits. Afterwards, contented and replete, Nerdanel had lain next to her sleeping husband and felt his warm breath against her skin, and the beating of his heart, and known that in spite of everything that had happened between them, she loved him still. She had gently stroked his thick, glossy hair and vowed that she would do whatever was necessary to close the gap that they had allowed to form between them over the long years of their marriage. Surely what had once been solid, but was now so torn, could somehow be mended and made whole again?

Two months later, when her courses still had not come, Nerdanel had realized she had again conceived. And for the first time she felt herself afraid.

Fëanáro had not shared her apprehension. He had been delighted, and certain that at last they would have the daughter they both had so long wished for. But Nerdanel had found that this pregnancy was far more draining than any of her previous ones had been. Never had she felt so tired! She had kept her exhaustion, and her fears, to herself, though - for how could she explain to her husband and her other children that, far from being pleased to be bringing yet another life into the world, she in fact wished this child had never been conceived? And that, but for a momentary weakness of her flesh, it never would have been? They would not have understood, of that she had been certain. And besides, there was nothing now that could be done about it. And so she had kept silent.

When at last she had gone into labor, she had been relieved. Soon the worst of the burden would be behind her, for her husband and the older children would be there to help her care for the infant, and she would no longer be supporting it with her body and her fëa. But unlike her previous labors, this one had seemed endless. She had groaned and strained with the effort to expel the child, but to no avail. And suddenly Nerdanel had been certain that she could not endure this birthing, and that like Míriel she would pass into the Halls of Mandos out of weariness, for she had no more strength left in her.

But Fëanáro had held her, and encouraged her, and in her desperation Nerdanel had reached out to him across their bond, and felt his strength flow into her in response. And the moment of weakness had passed, and she pushed once more, and their son Pityafinwë Ambarussa had finally entered the world - to be followed quickly, to their astonishment, by his twin brother Telufinwë Ambarussa.

Nerdanel smiled at the memory of her youngest sons as she swept the floor of her father’s workshop. They were so alike that most people outside of their immediate family could not tell them apart, but she would forever remember the first difference she’d discovered between them. For, unlike his younger twin Telufinwë, Pityafinwë had insisted on entering the world rump first, and his backwards presentation had been the reason for her long and tiring labor. Twins were extremely rare among the Eldar, and she had never met another woman who had borne them; so she had not known until her delivery that the reason for her exhausting pregnancy had been that she was carrying two children at once.

Her strength had been slow to return following her difficult labor, and the memory of that moment when she had thought she would enter Mandos cast a shadow on her heart that persisted long past the point when she had recovered physically. She was certain that she no longer had strength enough to bear another child, and knew she would never lie again with her husband. But she had been afraid to open herself up to the spiritual union that a husband and wife ordinarily shared once their families were completed. For she knew her once-brilliant fëa no longer matched her husband’s in strength, if indeed it had ever had, and she had feared Fëanáro would overwhelm her in that union, and leave nothing of herself to her. Worse, she had not wished to reveal to him the fear she had felt during her pregnancy and labor, which he would certainly learn of if they joined together in spirit, for she had been certain that he would not understand it and would think her weak. For when had Fëanáro ever tired in spirit? And when, despite all their efforts, they had again begun to quarrel about their children, Nerdanel had found herself wondering whether they would even derive any pleasure from such a joining should they attempt it. Would their fëar even recognize each other if they merged? Or would she find herself touching a stranger? She no longer knew.

And so she had begun to avoid her husband, rebuffing his touch, not knowing how to tell him what she felt. Not even certain herself of what she felt towards him. She had seen the hurt in his eyes when she silently pushed him away, a hurt that was gradually replaced by a growing anger as the years passed and she had persisted in her refusal and in her silence. Their fights slowly became more vicious, their disagreements over the raising of their sons and the storage of the Silmarils merely a cover for their true reasons for their battles: Why will you not let me touch you? Why will you not leave me in peace? What has happened to you, my once beloved spouse? Do you no longer love me? Fëanáro had again retreated into the haven of his workshop; she for her part had hidden in the comfort of her youngest sons’ nursery, their innocent joy in life a balm to her tired spirit. In her heart, though, she had known that things could not continue in this fashion forever; they would either have to find a way to bridge the cold silence that had grown up between them, or their marriage would end. But she had been too afraid to try.

And then came the night that destroyed any hopes for their future together. Fëanáro had been tense throughout the evening, for he had spent the day in Tirion, where he had been forced to endure the company of his younger half-brothers. She had never completely understood the reasons for her husband’s loathing of Nolofinwë and Arafinwë; for her part, she had tried to improve her family’s relationship with them, allowing her older sons to befriend their half-cousins. Fëanáro had assented to this, mostly for Maitimo’s sake, for their oldest boy and Nolofinwë’s eldest son had rapidly become inseparable, and separating them would have broken Maitimo’s heart. But Fëanáro’s intense dislike of his younger half-siblings had never lessened, though he tried to mask it for his eldest son’s sake. He had spoken very little during dinner that night, and drank far more wine than usual, leaving Nerdanel and the children to chatter among themselves undisturbed.

When they had finally retired for the evening, it was late, and Nerdanel had had no thoughts other than sleep, for she knew her youngest sons would be rising early and she would need to be rested to keep up with their antics. When Fëanáro had reached for her, she had turned away almost reflexively.

And then she had suddenly felt his hands on her again, this time roughly pulling her towards him, and saw the cold anger in his eyes, and the hurt there. She had tried to pull away, but he managed to roll on top of her and pin her down with his body, and she was not strong enough to push him off. “No more,” he had said, voice slurred from drink and rough with anger. “You have denied me for far too long now. Tonight we will again be a husband and wife.” And then he had begun to kiss her roughly, ignoring her pleas for him to stop, his weight preventing her from escaping.

As she had lain underneath her husband, feeling his excitement mount, she had considered her options. She could try to fight, but she knew she would not win. She could call for help - but who was there to hear, other than her sons, and she would not involve them in this. She could flee her hröa for Mandos - and leave her parents bereft, and her children motherless. Or she could submit. Submit and let him lie with her, and pray that Ilúvatar would not create another child from this union.

She had chosen to submit. She had allowed Fëanáro to couple with her, and for the first time had felt no pleasure in their joining. And when it was over, and he had finally fallen asleep, she had crept silently out of their room and into the garden where, bathed by the silvery radiance of Telperion, she had quietly wept.

The following morning she had told him their marriage was over. Fëanáro had been genuinely remorseful, and had begged her to stay. He had promised her that he would never touch her again, and had pleaded with her not to abandon him, not to break up their family by leaving this way. But she could no longer bear the thought of remaining in that house, and so she had departed, holding back her tears for her sons’ sake. How she had hated to leave them, especially little Ambarussa! But for all his faults, she knew that Fëanáro truly loved his sons. And she had also known that she did not have the means, or the energy, to wrest them away from him. She had had only enough strength left to save herself. So she had left her children behind, reluctantly, to return to the household of her birth. And there, slowly, she had begun to heal. Her parents had been quietly supportive, and she had gradually resumed her old place in their household. Soon, though, she would be leaving again, for she wished a home of her own. She could almost pretend now that the years of her marriage had been nothing but a dream. But she could still feel the bond linking her fëa to Fëanáro’s, a bond that would bind them forever, and her heart still ached for her children, whom she had not seen since her departure.

As she shut the doors to the workshop, Nerdanel wondered how her children were coping with their loss. Did they believe themselves abandoned by their mother because she did not love them? She wished there were some way she could have made them understand, especially Ambarussa, who were still so young. Do they miss me as much as I miss them? she wondered. Do they understand that I will always be carrying them in my heart, as I once carried them in my body? Do they know they will always have my love?

The light was changing to a mingled silver and gold, and she was slowly walking towards her parents’ house, enjoying the peace and quiet of day’s end and admiring the way the Treelight glimmered on the snow-capped mountain peaks, when she thought she heard hoofbeats. She paused, listening - yes, those were horses, galloping fast. Who could be coming at this hour? she wondered. Nerdanel knew her curiosity would soon be satisfied, for the sounds were growing rapidly louder; soon the riders would be coming into view.

And then the horses came within sight, and for an instant she stood staring at their riders in utter disbelief. Surely it couldn’t be... She found herself running towards them, but she didn’t need to go far, for they galloped up to her and the riders quickly dismounted, and she suddenly found herself holding Ambarussa in her arms while her two oldest sons stood smiling at her.

“Hello, Mother,” Maitimo had said quietly, a strange gleam in his eyes. “I hope you don’t mind if Ambarussa stay here with you for a while. Makalaurë and I are tired of babysitting.”

“No,” she replied, tears of joy streaming down her face, “No, I don’t mind at all.”

* * * * * * *

It was late, and they were supposed to be asleep, but Ambarussa were still far too excited to sleep yet. They had finally found her! And she had kissed them and hugged them so hard they almost couldn’t breathe. And then she had played with them all evening, and finally tucked them into bed and told them their bedtime story, just like she had always done before the world had ended.

Maitimo had told them that he and Makalaurë would be going back home in a few days, but Ambarussa would be staying here at the mountains’ roots with Mother for a while. But he and Makalaurë would eventually come back and bring them home. From now on, he had said, they would stay part of the time here with Mother, and part of the time at home with Father and their other brothers. Ambarussa thought it would be much better if Mother would come home with them, too, and they didn’t understand why she said she couldn’t. Parents could do anything! Everyone knew that. And Ambarussa would miss their big brothers when they left. They didn’t know anyone else here besides Mother; who else would they have to play with when their brothers went away? Somehow they would have to find a way to bring their mother home where she belonged, and then they could all be happy again. Ambarussa were sure they could find some way to do it if they only tried hard enough.

But all that mattered now was that they were with their mother at last. Ambarussa knew that, whatever came later, they would not let her go away again.

What once was lost, now was found. And Ambarussa could finally rest content.

Chapter End Notes

The names used in this story are Quenya, and their meanings can be found in the essay “The Shibboleth of Fëanor”, published in The Peoples of Middle Earth (History of Middle Earth, vol. 12). When more than one name is listed for a character, the first name is the father-name, the second is the mother-name, and the third is an epessë (a nickname). The names are as follows:

Curufinwë Fëanáro - Fëanor
Nelyafinwë Maitimo Russandol - Maedhros
Kanafinwë Makalaurë - Maglor
Turkafinwë Tyelkormo - Celegorm
Morifinwë Carnistir - Caranthir
Curufinwë Atarinkë - Curufin
Pityafinwë Ambarussa - Amrod
Telufinwë Ambarussa - Amras
Findekáno - Fingon
Turukáno - Turgon
írissë - Aredhel
Nolofinwë - Fingolfin
Arafinwë - Finarfin

Filit - Quenya for “little bird”; an affectionate nickname Maedhros has given his brother Maglor.

This story takes place a few years after the events in “If Wishes were Horses”. How old are the children in this tale? Since Elves don’t become fully mature physically until at least age 50, but mature mentally faster than humans do, and since at this time there’s no sun or moon to measure time by (just the Trees), it’s hard to give exact ages for any of them. Suffice it to say that Maedhros has just passed the age of majority, and is about the equivalent of a human 21 year old, and Maglor is about 16 or 17. Celegorm is about the equivalent of a human 12 year old, and Caranthir is the equivalent of a human 10 year old. Curufin is equivalent to a human 8 year old. Amrod and Amras are still toddlers, equivalent to a 3-3 1/2 year old human child. Maedhros’s friend Fingon is about 19.

Pregnancy and Its Effects on Elf Women: During pregnancy, an unborn elf-child draws support from both its father’s and mother’s spirit (fëa) (see “Laws and Customs among the Eldar” in Morgoth’s Ring (History of Middle Earth vol. 10) for more information). However, this appears to affect the mother far more than the father. Tolkien states in “Laws and Customs among the Eldar” that “there was less difference in strength and speed between elven-men and elven-women that had not born a child (emphasis mine) than is seen among mortals” (Morgoth’s Ring, p. 213), which implies that there was a greater difference between elven-men and elven-women who had carried a pregnancy to term, the gestation and birth somehow diminishing the women’s strength. And in The Silmarillion, we are told that Míriel, the mother of Fëanor, “was consumed in spirit and body” in the course of bearing Fëanor, “and after his birth, she yearned for release from the labour of living” and enters the Halls of Mandos; her spouse Finwë suffers no such problem (see Chapter 6, Of Fëanor and the Unchaining of Melkor, in The Silmarillion). Nerdanel had reason to worry about the effects an unprecedented six pregnancies (with seven resulting children) would have on her.

Elves and Rape: Tolkien never addresses the possibility of spousal rape in regards to Elves. The sole statement he makes on the subject of Elves and rape concerns the situation of a married Elf being raped by someone who is not his/her spouse: “But among these evils there is no record of any among the Elves that took another’s spouse by force; for this was wholly against their nature, and one so forced would have rejected bodily life and passed to Mandos” (Morgoth’s Ring, p. 228, Note #5). “Laws and Customs among the Eldar” states that marriage between Elves (or more specifically, the first act of sexual intercourse, by which the marriage is created) involves a permanent bond between their spirits; I am assuming that it is the interference with this bond which results in a married Elf dying when he/she is raped by someone other than his/her spouse, more than the physical effects of the violation. Since Nerdanel already shares such a bond with Fëanor at the time when he rapes her, she does not automatically die as a result of his assault, but she does have the option of “dying of grief”, so to speak.