In the House of Feanor by Aiwen

Kids and Toys

Disclaimer: These stories are based on the Silmarillion, the Book of Unfinished Tales, the Lord of the Rings and the HoME by Proff. J.R.R. Tolkien. I make no money from this whatever, so kindly do not attempt to sue me.

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Kids and Toys

"What are you doing here, Ereinion? You should have been in bed half an hour ago."

Celebrimbor turned away from the discussion about magnetism he'd been having with his father to see Finrod leaning down to talk to Ereinion, who was playing quietly on the floor with some brightly painted wooden soldiers. Finrod extended his hand to Ereinion, but the child shook his head. "I'm not tired, Uncle Finrod." he said. "I don't want to go to bed."

"You will be tired and grouchy tomorrow if you don't go to bed," Finrod said, picking Ereinion up.

Ereinion struggled in his grasp. "I'm not finished yet. Just five more minutes."

"Not tonight, child," said Finrod, starting to walk towards the door.

"No!" yelled Ereinion, bursting into tears. He still had one of the toy soldiers in his hand and he hit Finrod over the head with it. Finrod turned rather red, and attempted to remove the toy from Ereinion's hand while holding on to the still struggling child with the other.

A sound suspiciously like a snicker burst from Curufin, and Celebrimbor turned round to stare at his father. Curufin pushed his chair back and walked across the room where he removed the offending object from the the child's hand.

"Thank you," said Finrod.

"You need to remember to remove the toy before picking up the child," Curufin said.

"Yes. I shall keep that for future reference, but for now I think I'd best cart this young one off to his mother for her to put to bed." With that, Finrod turned and left the room with Ereinion still hiccupping sobs.

Curufin walked back to the table where Celebrimbor still sat. "Did I do that when I was that age?" Celebrimbor asked.

"Frequently. We Feanorions are not easily separated from our toys." Curufin smiled for a moment, then resumed a serious expression, pointing at the paper in front of them. "Now, the pattern the iron filings create demonstrates..."

Comments on a Cousin

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The C's of House Feanor Comment on Their Cousin

Caranthir

Finrod irritates me just by existing. He doesn't have to do anything other than be himself. It seems that no matter what I do, he does it better. He speaks more languages, he rules more people, he has more money, his singing voice is better, he doesn't offend people every time he opens his mouth, he didn't kill anyone at Alqualonde, and he attracts female attention he then ignores because he's in love with someone who isn't even on the right continent! To top it off, everyone else likes him! Life just isn't fair.

Celegorm

Finrod's not such a bad fellow for the most part, but he can be annoyingly prissy. He disobeyed the Valar, same as the rest of us, but I feel like he's looking down on me because of Alqualonde. He likes hunting, but he doesn't like killing things. Sometimes I wonder if he just doesn't like getting his hands dirty, although he does do his share of cleaning up after the beast has been killed. These things weren't such a problem until I was forced to seek refuge in Nargothrond. I can't stand being beholden to him and having to be grateful. It makes me seethe inside.

Curufin

Finrod was never my favorite son of Finarfin. Too intelligent, too perceptive of things which ought to be other people's private business. He also has not left Valinor behind in his heart and that makes me uncomfortable. I feel a bit guilty for helping get him into this whole venture in the first place. But he should have stayed behind with his father of he felt so strongly about it. It's not my fault he's here.

Coming to Nargothrond was hard. I've always liked being able to run things and have people do what I tell them. I did not realize quite how much I'd come to expect that until we were refugees in my cousin's halls. Losing it hurt. Even most of my own people listen to Finrod ahead of me - my own son idolizes him and nothing I do or say seems to stop this. He has started acting ashamed of us and Finrod certainly has done nothing to discourage this.

Celebrimbor

I like Finrod. He treats me as an adult and actually listens to what I have to say. Unlike many of his people he doesn't look at me sideways because of my family's reputation and if I ask an awkward question he gives me an honest answer. That is more than my father has ever done. He's also really encouraged me in my technical studies. He comes up with the most interesting problems that are of real use to this city once I figure them out. I like feeling useful on my own terms, not merely because I am somebody's son.

---

Chapter End Notes

A/N: The idea for Caranthir's jealousy of Finrod in particular came partly from Dawn Felagund's story, When the Stars Smile. I'm presuming she doesn't mind my borrowing it.

How Not to Meet Your Adopted Children

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Maglor ran through the house looking for Elwing, or for the Silamaril if by some chance it had been left lying about. He crashed from room to room with his guards immediately behind him. No Elwing, no Silmaril. Where was she? He pulled open a closet door, not that there would be space for her to hide within, and backed up a space when two identical small children shrieked at him. What in Arda? Before he could react, the pair ran out of the cupboard and past him, one of them right through Ornendil's legs.

Maglor whirled in time to see the children darting out the door - directly into the battle occurring outside. "Stop them!" Maglor yelled as he ran after them, Silmarils forgotten for the moment. They couldn't lose these children too... it would destroy Maedhros.

They ran out into the battle which fortunately had settled down for the moment, swords still drawn, looking for the children. Ornendil spotted one and chased after him while Maglor ran after the other.

Maglor's long legs made short work of the distance and he grabbed the child by the back of his tunic, accidentally pulling him around so hard the boy nearly fell down. Maglor suddenly noticed that he was holding a sword to the boy's throat. He lowered the sword. The child burst into tears. Maglor looked around, hoping to see Ornendil. Maglor spotted him easily, for it was hard to miss someone holding a yelling and shrieking small child.

What was he going to do with them? He couldn't leave them loose in the middle of a battle, nor could he cart them around with him while he fought. "Ornendil, Celebdil, get these children back to our rear. I think they are Elwing's twins, and they are to remain unharmed no matter what else happens, understand?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Go, then." Maglor turned his mind back to retrieving the Silmaril.

That evening Maglor walked beside his brother Maedhros as they retreated through the forest away from Gil-galad's incoming forces and what was left of the Havens. Neither spoke, for what was there to say? Another brother dead, along with far too many other people. They did not even have the Silmaril to show for it.

Someone behind him coughed. Maglor turned to see Celebdil and Ornendil approaching. Each carried a small child on his back. "My lords," Ornendil said, looking rather nervously from Maglor to Maedhros and back. "What you want us to do with these children?"

Maglor looked at the children and thought about attempting to return them to the Havens below which were currently full of Gil-galad and his people. It sounded like a great way to be shot out of hand. "I guess we'll have to keep them, at least for now," he said.

Maedhros laughed bitterly, but did not object.

Author's note: Battles tend to be very chaotic, and I can easily imagine Elrond and Elros being carried off more by oversight than by intention.

A Question of Loyalty

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 Celebrimbor pushed open the door to Gil-galad's study. The High King did not look up from the half empty plate of food in front of him immediately, but when he did Celebrimbor could see that his eyes were dark-circled and he looked exhausted as well as dirty. Celebrimbor hesitated. Perhaps he should have picked a better time...

"Yes?" said Gil-galad.

"Why did you not call on my people to help defend the Havens? We would have come. My lord," Celebrimbor added hastily.

A strand of hair fell across Gil-galad's face, and he pushed it back absently. "There was too little time to call for full muster: we got there too late as it was."

"You called on everyone else," Celebrimbor said. "At least do me the courtesy of giving me a straight answer."

"What would you have had me do? Could you have killed your uncles if I had called on you, and if we had gotten there in time? And with your lot wearing the Star of Feanor the same as Maedhros', how would I have stopped our allies from shooting you and your people by mistake? There has been enough slaying of kin by kin without more happening because we cannot tell friend from foe."

"If we are not allowed to prove our loyalty, how will we ever be accepted? We have suffered enough from prejudice even before this. However, I do see your point about the friendly fire problem. Perhaps I should change the background color on which the Star of Feanor rests."

"And I see your point about being seen to be loyal. I don't distrust your loyalty, Celebrimbor, but this was not the time for you to show it."

"The refugees won't even trust my folk to help set up emergency shelters for them now."

"Give them time. With the Silmaril gone, the sons of Feanor have no reason to attack anyone but Morgoth." Gil-galad shook his head. "There are times when I wish Beren and Luthien had never succeeded in retrieving it from Morgoth's crown."

"I wish that Elu Thingol had just let them get married in the first place. It would have saved everyone a lot of grief and anguish."

Gil-galad laughed slightly and passed his hand before his eyes. "You could put it that way, yes. Now, if you don't mind, I haven't slept in nearly four days and I'm going to bed. Can we save further discussion on this for later?"

"Certainly, my lord. If I had realized you had taken no rest since you returned I would not have bothered you." Celebrimbor bowed and left the High King to his unfinished dinner and overdue rest.

The Complaint of the Feanorian Women

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The Ladies of House Feanor Wish to Register a Complaint...

Dear Professor Tolkien,

We the mothers, wives, and possibly daughters of house Feanor have a complaint we wish to make. With the sole exception of Nerdanel, we have been given neither names nor personalities. Yet we the wives of Caranthir, Curufin, and Maglor must exist because our husbands are married. Our potential daughters also should complain since they are unsure as to whether they exist or not. This is probably a most confusing state of affairs for them. Or possibly not, if they don't exist. They have terrible trouble making up minds that only exist in potential.

As for us, we are little better off. In addition to not having names, we have no fixed personalities, no fixed backgrounds, no fixed opinions, no fixed abode - in short, no fixed anything save the fact of our marriages into the House of Feanor.

We find this most unsatisfactory. Please, give us names and tell us who and what we are. If you will not, then we we shall be forced to rely on fan fiction writers and you might not like the results!

Sincerely yours,

the unknown women of House Feanor

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Chapter End Notes

A/N: this fic was inspired by "An Open Letter to Tolkein", that was written on behalf of Gil-galad by Qinga. It seems to me that these women have even more to complain about than he does.

Agarwaen, Meet Umarth

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Agarwaen, formerly known as Turin son of Hurin, blinked as he entered the forge. It was darker than the passageway outside, and noisier as well. At least the ring of metal on metal suggested there was someone here he could talk to about getting his sword reforged.

"Celebrimbor," someone called, "you have a visitor."

"I'm just in the middle of this clang I really can't leave this clang can it wait 15 minutes?"

The owner of the first voice walked up to Turin. "My name is Carantir, and I am one of Celebrimbor's apprentices. What is it you need?" he asked.

"I need to get my sword reforged," said Turin. "It's a very unusual blade, and I was told to ask for Celebrimbor."

"Well, he would definitely be the person to ask. How is the blade unusual?"

"If I may?" Turin drew it. "I understand this is made of meteoritic iron by Eol the Dark Elf. It's dull, and nothing I do will sharpen it. I think it's grieving for Beleg, who was its previous owner."

"Eol, now that is interesting. I've never had the chance to examine any of his work before. May I?"

Turin passed him the blade, which they took out into the corridor for better light. After somewhat longer than 15 minutes, Celebrimbor joined them. His eyes lit up as he caught sight of the sword. "Now that's interesting," he said. After some discussion they agreed that the sword could be reforged and that Turin was to come back for it in two weeks, borrowing a spare sword of Celebrimbor's in the meantime. As Turin was about to leave Celebrimbor stopped him. "What is your name?" he asked. "You probably told me but I don't remember."

"Agarwaen son of Umarth," said Turin.

"Really," said Celebrimbor, raising an eyebrow. "We must be related. I often think I'm Umarth, and my father is certainly Agarwaen." He shook his head. "But if you don't want to say any more of your past than that, I'm certainly not going to press you. See you in two weeks."

---

Chapter End Notes

A/N: Agarwaen: the bloodstained

Umarth: Ill-fate

This would make Turin the bloodstained son of ill-fate, and Celebrimbor the ill-fated son of the bloodstained.

Before the Fall

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Shortly after midnight, Celebrimbor walked up and down beside the wagons filled with equipment for the coming battle. He ticked off items on his mental list as he walked. Shovels, rope, hatchets, medical supplies, empty waterskins and full, food for horses, food for elves... he had checked it twice already, but he could not sleep and it would not do to be missing anything. He rubbed his eyes, wondering if he should go and try again to sleep.

"Celebrimbor?" said a voice behind him. He turned. It was Thorontir. "I see you can't sleep either," Thorontir said.

"True," said Celebrimbor. "I have checked these and checked them again..."

"I also checked them," said Thorontir. "Even Orodreth was here earlier." Thorontir looked at the floor and bit his lip. "I don't know about you, but I have a great sense of unease about this battle. The Mormegil's assertions aside, we are not strong enough to fight Morgoth alone and win. I keep thinking back to Finrod's words before he left. So far they have been all too accurate, and I fear the Fall of Nargothrond is almost upon us."

"I have little foresight, and in this matter none," said Celebrimbor. "Yet I share your unease, and not because of Finrod's words alone. We simply do not have the military strength present at the Nirnaith Arnoediad - and that was no victory. Also, anyone who calls himself 'the bloodstained son of ill-fate' is not likely to win a war." He paused for a moment, then added in a lower voice. "Even if he wins every battle but the one that matters most. I fear the morning."

"Why have you not spoken of this at Council?" said Thorontir. "Gwindor spoke alone."

"As Curufin's son, my advice is neither welcomed nor taken. Why did you not speak of it?"

"I hate the killing by stealth, the paranoia and the secrecy. At first, no price seemed too high to pay to end it. Against the darkness in the North we have no hope of victory save the Valar and they do not come. If we must die, I would rather die with honour than without. Yet now we stare death in the face, I am not so certain we do right."

"It is too late to change course now."

"I know. You should try and sleep. Arnil will have words for you if he hears you have not slept."

"True. He clucks like a mother hen. Anyone would think I were still a child of twenty." Celebrimbor grinned suddenly, the first smile he'd shown all that long night. "And you should go and say goodbye to your wife properly."

Thorontir laughed. "Sometimes you do act that young, my friend. Well... I shall see you again tomorrow, whatever it may bring."

Celebrimbor nodded. "Until tomorrow, farewell."

Please Don't Harass the Owls

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Gwaith-i-Mirdain Monthly Newsletter SA 1201, Yavie

 

Message from the Guild Master

In other news, our newly arrived master Annatar spends some of his spare time as a Great Horned Owl.  Please do not shoot the owls; he assures me he will not harm your livestock or pets.

 

Yours,

Celebrimbor

Of Mice and Maiar

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Annatar flew low over Ost-in-Edhil's houses, searching for prey. A rodent or two would do nicely, just enough to take the edge off his frustration over another argument with Galadriel. Killing the little pests was something he'd always found surprisingly therapeutic. Not far from Celebrimbor's great house, he heard a mouse scuffling. Tracking it carefully, he flew silently down and grabbed it. It squeaked faintly and died. Now if only dealing with Galadriel was so simple… He flew off again, clutching his mouse, and landed on one of the corner posts of the courtyard. Under the lamp, Celebrimbor was working on something, but he was far too busy to notice aught else. Annatar bent down to eat, and stopped.

The mouse smelt wrong, and there was foam around its mouth. It had been poisoned. Had he been in human form, Annatar would have grimaced, but an owl's face is not so mobile. What should he do with the disgusting object?

Annatar looked across the courtyard at Celebrimbor. It was well after midnight, and the elf ought to be asleep or at least doing something other than work. Someone ought to distract him. Annatar shook out his feathers and flew up behind Celebrimbor, silent as only an owl can be. As he flew over Celebrimbor's head, he carefully dropped the mouse.

Down the back of Celebrimbor's tunic. The elf jumped, and swatted at the back of his neck before reaching in and extracting the disgusting ex-mouse. His expression was priceless, and Annatar hooted with laughter, causing Celebrimbor to look up.

"Annatar, you crazy Maia, I'll get you for this," Celebrimbor yelled, waving the mouse. Annatar hooted again and flew off, leaving Celebrimbor fuming impotently on the ground.

---

 

The next morning Celebrimbor went in just slightly late to his work at the house of the Mirdain, the mouse wrapped in a scrap of waste paper in his pocket. He went to the lunchroom, and put his lunchkit in the coolroom with the others. He then picked up Annatar's rectangular metal box with the eye engraved on the lid. A little twist of mind and song and the lock opened. Celebrimbor popped the mouse inside, right on top of Annatar's sandwich. Then he closed and locked the box before putting it back in its place.

All went normally enough at work – he'd always been a bit of a night owl and turning up late wasn't so unusual. He made sure he arrived a bit early for lunch, though.

Celebrimbor was already sitting down and eating when Annatar wandered in, extracted his lunchbox and sat down beside him at the table. "How are the light-storing ithildin experiments coming?" Annatar asked.

"Slowly," replied Celebrimbor. "I can only get it to store enough light for two cloudy nights. Beyond that, the mithril requirements get unreasonable and the whole thing isn't likely to appeal to anyone without very deep pockets and an obsession with starlight."

"It might work on something intended for Gil-galad then, but not something likely to appeal to a large market," commented Annatar.

Celebrimbor snorted. "Gil-galad is actually not that interested in magical jewellery, surprisingly for a Noldo king. I blame it on his Falmari upbringing."

"Really," said Annatar. "With the stories I hear about his armor, I had assumed the opposite."

"Oh, that's expected. He has to keep up appearances. His taste in clothing and so on is fairly simple when he's not on display."

Annatar shrugged and opened his lunch box. His jaw dropped. "What is this?" he demanded, holding up the mouse by the tail.

"You left your dinner behind last night, so I thought I'd return it." said Celebrimbor.

Further down the table, Elcaran and Carantir gawked at the mouse and snickered.

Annatar turned the mouse in his fingers and expertly lobbed it into the garbage bin over the other side of the room.

"For the record, I only eat mice when I'm an owl, and I don't eat mice that aren't fresh even then. Let alone poisoned ones. Kindly keep them out of my lunchbox."

"Then don't drop them down my shirt!" said Celebrimbor. Laughter rippled from down the table and Annatar scowled.

"Poisoned?" asked Celebrimbor, suddenly worried.

"Oh, I'm fine. It smells. It was probably just someone trying to get rid of the pests." said Annatar.

"Just… be careful. I don't want a repeat of that time you turned up bleeding with an arrow sticking out of your shoulder." Celebrimbor remembered that incident all too well. He'd dreamt of having to explain to Aule why his emissary was dead for the next week. "People around here aren't really used to the idea of owls being people, and they don't think."

"Celebrimbor, I am FINE," said Annatar, laying a hand on his arm. "Though now you've fouled my lunch, I am left rather hungry."

"Here, have some of mine," said Celebrimbor. "I brought extra."

---

 

A/N: I see a friendship as developing between Annatar and Celebrimbor, totally genuine on Celebrimbor's part and only half-feigned on Sauron's. This causes Sauron a good deal of confusion when his plans require that he betray and then break Celebrimbor. Of course it is devastating for Celebrimbor, who has just been betrayed by what he thought was his best friend, whom he has defended against both his King and the woman he tries not to admit he is in love with. There's some classic tragedy material here.

My interpretation is influenced by Pandemonium231's Eregion series of fanfics. It is really good, if dark and quite AU.