Merry Midwinter by Aprilertuile

Tyelkormo was standing in a corner of the kitchen, sipping a cup of hot sweetened tea, that he brought home from the Hunt, the tea had been a gift from Vana to all of Oromë’s Hunters.

Around him his two older siblings were being the unique voice of reason in the house, getting their younger siblings to eat breakfast even as Fëanáro and Nerdanel were busy pulling out the decorations for the midwinter festival.

Tyelkormo himself never saw a point in that festival. The Valar controlled the weather in Valinor, and they decided that one part of the year needed to be colder for the sake of the plant life, but everyone knew that they’d bring spring back soon enough.

“Ah, Tyelko, if you’re free, can you see if you can find the box of lights I made last year?” Fëanáro asked him.

“You mean the box of lights that you let your apprentices take back home last year as a memento of the insane celebration you decided that everyone needed to participate in?” Tyelkormo answered wryly.

“… Did I do that?” Fëanáro blinked, turning toward Nerdanel who frowned:

“Yes, dad, you did.” Maitimo answered even as he seemed to give up on stopping the food fight that Ambarussa were apparently desperate to start with Carnistir and Curufinwë.

Makalaurë and Maitimo joined Tyelkormo on his side of the kitchen, bringing their own mugs of their drink of choice, and all three of them, side to side, watched, as Ambarussa, Umbarto, Carnistir and Curufinwë were busy trying to paint each others with jam and cake, and their parents in the background were busy trying to see what decorations were left and what decoration needed to be replaced.

“Here’s to another chaotic midwinter, brothers.” Maitimo whispered, raising his mug.

“To our family.” Tyelkormo answered, gently hitting his brother’s mug with his own.

“May it be filled with less chaos than last year.” Makalaurë added amused, hitting their joint mugs with his own as well.

There was a crash near their father and the food fight stopped, as the children of Nerdanel and Fëanáro all looked looked up to see Fëanáro looking startled with the remains of a glass decoration in his hands.

“… To my defense…” Their father started, looking somewhat lost at what just happened with the decoration.

Nerdanel snorted at that.

Fëanáro instantly had a face of usual annoyance and Tyelkormo sighed. Family. He loved them, but he was just back and already started to miss Oromë’s hunt.

Next to him, Maitimo sighed, eyes wandering the room:

“You know what, brothers? I’m going to go gather firewood, if you want to come, you’re welcome, if you prefer to stay… Good luck and may your sanity rest in peace in Námo’s Halls.”

“Fleeing for dear life?” Makalaurë cackled.

“If you want to stay and clean up that mess, be my guest.”

Makalaurë grimaced, looking between their brothers who were back to eating, looking like a bakery just exploded on and around them, and their parents who were surrounded by glass shard and glitter…

The minstrel of the family followed Maitimo’s lead of walking toward the kitchen door, and Tyelkormo laughed slightly:

“Mom, Dad, we’ll go gather wood.” Tyelkormo said quickly even as Makalaurë and Maitimo were making their escape, himself on their heels, too fast for their parents to answer anything.

They were laughing when they reached the woodshed in the far side of the garden. 

As always, after sorting out the old house decorations, the crafters of the family all went their own way to replace what needed to be replaced.

Curufinwë and Fëanáro in the Forge, Nerdanel with clay sculptures, Carnistir with yarn work…

Makalaurë and Maitimo had both strategically disappeared, leaving Tyelkormo alone with the Ambarussa.

Tyelkormo had sighed, but took a look at the twins who were doing their best impression of being absolutely innocent, which all their brothers knew to be a lie on principle alone, and decided on the spot that they’d bake midwinter cookies.

That’d at least keep them busy enough.

As he was mixing the dough, and the Ambarussa were busy tasting the pieces of dried fruits and jams they wanted to add to the cookies, Tyelkormo started to hum.

He couldn’t help it, and if asked, he’d claim that it was entirely Makalaurë’s fault.

Soon enough however, he heard his younger brothers’ voices join his, singing a song of the winter:

“Midwinter night coming with wind and cold,

Snow on the peaks of old Taniquetil,

Falling on the plains of the tired world,

…”

It was fun and warm to bake midwinter cookies with his littlest siblings, singing songs of the festival.

His little brothers’ voices weren’t the best, none of them were Makalaurë, and yet, it was fun, it was warm, and none of them cared about how they sounded.

When he came back in from wherever he went to hide, Maitimo’s voice joined theirs, and as the rest of the family started to trail in, their appointed tasks probably finished, they all started to join them in singing songs of good cheer and silent snow, of cold wind and hot drink.

The cookies would soon be done and shared, with hot drinks at hand and teasing aplenty. 

Makalaurë was the living-room, reading his newest book, a music manual that at first had seemed interesting but alas seemed to be written by someone obviously stuffy who didn’t know a thing about music. The whole thing was so ridiculous that he could only laugh, and write furious notes in the margin, well decided to send his heavily corrected version to the publisher of that joke of a book.

He was leaning against Maitimo, on one of the couches of the room, in front of the fireplace. He watched from the corner of his eyes the twins approach them:

“Hey, Nelyo?” Ambarussa asked their elder brother, interrupting his reading of what looked far too much like a political treatise of some kind for Makalaurë’s taste.

“Hm?”

“Why do we even have winter? What’s the point of it?”

Makalaurë looked up from his book and turned slightly to face his siblings, curious as to Maitimo’s answer:

“… Why do you ask me?”

“We asked dad earlier but his answer was not convincing and he said to ask you.”

Tyelkormo, who was sprawled on the thick carpet in front of the lit fireplace, buzy whittling a piece of wood, Huan curled up near his legs, huffed in laughter as Maitimo looked at the twins and then at their parents _who both seem to think that pretending not to have heard a thing was realistic_ and then back at their little brothers:

“I have the exact same answer than dad, ask Tyelko for another answer.” Maitimo answered, letting himself lean against Makalaurë.

“But we can’t ask Tyelko! He actually likes winter!” One of the twins protested, making Tyelkormo snort in amusement.

Makalaurë bit his lips in order to not laugh slightly as well. Their littlest brothers didn’t seem to enjoy the cold for all they seemed to have fun in the snow.

“All the more reason for him to have answers for you.” Makalaurë offered them in answer.

There was a moment of silence, the twins clearly deliberating via Osanwë, and then both came to stand in front of their hunter sibling instead:

“Tyelko, why do we have winter?”

“I should really tell you to ask dad instead.”

“I’m not the one running around with one of the Valar. Also they already asked me and didn’t like my answer.” Fëanáro protested.

Tyelkormo rolled his eyes at that even Huan snorted sounding strangely amused to Makalaurë’s ears; the animal companions of a vala were always too strange for his tastes.

“How about you answer us, Tyelko. The Valar control everything, right? We could have warm weather all year long! So why bother with winter?” One of the twins asked, glaring at him as if he was the one responsible for the cold weather, much to Makalaurë’s amusement.

Tyelkormo sighed but sat up, facing his brothers:

“This period is necessary for plant life. Some plants need the rest that the cold provides, others need cold for their seeds to germinate.”

There was a cough from their father that sounded vaguely like the words: “terrible design”, and Tyelkormo obviously chose to act as if he hadn’t heard.

“It’s also true for animals. The seasons as they are also regulate animal lives.”

“But why? Why couldn’t they make a more efficient and enjoyable season?!”

“You don’t find it enjoyable, but who says it’s not efficient? Look at it this way. Tree leaves and plant that die in autumn will fall to the ground. Those tree leaves and plant remains will rot, and as they rot, they feed the soil so the plants can feed on it in turn to develop new leaves or grow from seed in an endless cycle of death and rebirth. It’s a continuous source to replenish the food in the soil to feed plant life. Plant life that then can feed animals…”

“Those that won’t die of cold, you mean?” Ambarussa grumbled.

“And those animals that die will be eaten by other animals or rot and feed the soil that’ll allow plant life to develop around it. It’s all the same, little brother. It’s a cycle, a delicate balance. Life and death aren’t separated, they’re intertwined and codependent. The season of winter that brings death to delicate plant and animal lives only makes way for the next generations of plant and animal lives to thrive and reproduce.”

“Who taught you that?” The twins asked him.

“Lord Oromë and lady Vána.”

“So… If I understand well… There’s really no way to make a case with the Valar to cancel winter and bring us straight to spring?” Umbarto mused.

Tyelkormo started to laugh at that, and Makalaurë was close to join him. Curufinwë had had similar thwarted plans once upon a time. Of all his brothers, only Tyelkormo really liked the season as it was.

“No, there is absolutely no way to petition the Valar to wreck havoc in the natural world just to please you.”

“Well there goes that plan.” Ambarussa grumbled.

Nerdanel’s and Fëanáro’s faces were both strategically hidden behind their respective books, but there was also no mistaking the giggle that Fëanáro didn’t manage to stop at the twin’s disgruntled conclusion.