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Chapter Text

Year 380 of the Fourth Age. In general, it was a normal sunny day in summer for the Elves of Valinor. In Formenos people tried to keep on with their everyday life as there was a chance of possible rain coming later in the evening.                                                                                         

“Rûsa? Yuë? Where are you two?” Maedhros called for her two sons while getting help of her husband Rog and their youngest daughter Lówen to look for them. This was a rare day when her whole family would be together for a while, so where in the world were her two boys?                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                

“Maeglin would have mentioned if Rûsa was still in their house, and Snowflake is at our house, so he clearly is not out riding at the moment,” Rog commented as he came running to the agreed meeting place at the central fountain in Formenos.

“Cúwen saw no sight of them at the painting hall, and I saw neither at the walls either.”                             

And Fëanor and Nerdanel were away to visit Mahtan in Tirion, so their two grandsons by Maedhros would not be at their home. Muttering to herself in growing anger, the only female Fëanorian tried to think of where her currently missing sons could be.     

“Oh, of course! The dance hall!”

~X~X~X~X~X~X

Inside the dancehall, one blue-dressed dancer were moving slowly across the floor. His swift, elegant movements seemed to be almost be floating, into something that akin to a big and elegant bird. Like a swan about to fly out of the water. The likeness to a real swan was made even greater by the simple fact that the male dancer was an albino, with the left half of his long hair caught in small braids braided together to form one long single end and the right half hanging loose.  

“Rare to see you without collapsing in the middle of a coughing fit.”

Yuë stopped dancing, and his green eyes fell over some of the younger dance students that stood in the door. Oh great, one of those comments about his haleth again. Yuë mentally groaned as he reached for a slate and a piece of white clack, using it to write down:

My brother and I often spar to train up my speed to use during dancing. If done carefully, I can manage a longer training period without getting interrupted by a coughing attack.

They gave him a look of serious disbelief, which got on his nerves. Yuë knew that he was somewhat frail in health due to the dangerous circumstances at his premature birth, but he was no fragile porcelain vase that risked being destroyed at a more rough treatment!

“As if you even would be able to last more than a minute against that brother of yours, he is well-known for his skills on the training field despite spending most of his time painting…”

“And I prefer to not have my baby brother insulted about his dance skills from those who are far younger than himself.”

That was the only warning given ahead before Rûsa gave the three dance students a punishment Nerdanel had not only used on her children when misbehaving but even Fëanor himself when he was rude to Fingolfin: a slap in the back of the head with a hand.

“Well, Yuë, if you are finished, our parents would want you to come home so we can eat,” Rûsa smiled, since Yuë were wiping sweat from his face with a towel. The younger brother nodded to the elder, silently requesting some time for a quick shower and changing to his everyday clothes.

On the way home, Rûsa asked if there had been any comments that could be a sign of hidden bullying against his little brother. By hearing their accent in how they pronounced certain words, he had realized that the dance students were not born or raised in Formenos. Rather, they had to be exchange students from a dancing school in Tirion.

Thankfully not. But yes, people outside Formenos should be used to me doing normal things instead of hiding away in the house...

“If you are not too tired from the dance training, would you like a quick sparring?”

Yuë nodded eagerly, seeing a chance to do something they rarely could do because of various reasons. Each brother taking a starting position, Rûsa nodded to Yuë as a silent signal that he was free to move first. Which he did, with a speed no one would expect to see from him. In fact, even if Rûsa moved back his head, he was hit by a kick to the left side as Yuë tried a new angle in his spinning movements. While it did not get much effect against the muscular chest of his older half-brother thanks to the noticeable height difference between them, it still make him fall back a step.  

“Good kick there, Yuë! A movement further upwards and you would have gotten a straight-on kick on my jaw!”

Rûsa's words made his albino half-brother smile faintly, given how rare it was for him to actually get in a good hit on the older brother. Eighty years his senior, Rûsa was far taller with his two meters in height and also more muscular from an active outdoor life. Even so, Yuë hoped that he would be able to get in a new hit.

“BOYS!! Get over here right away, both of you!! ”

The sudden yell in anger from their mother Maedhros from the house made both of them lose balance; Rûsa landed in a rather comical way on his back and ended up tripping Yuë, who narrowly avoided getting his nose broken by the ground thanks to Rûsa quickly putting a large hand on his chest. However, the sudden touch in his chest, which was rather forceful, caused a sharp pain for Yuë and he collapsed down to the ground in a loud coughing fit.

“Yuë!” Maedhros gasped in horror as she arrived just in time to see her younger son fall down. Rûsa tried to explain what they had been doing, even if he ended stuttering over the words as he picked up his younger brother in his arms.

~X~X~X~X~X~X

Thankfully, it turned out to not be serious, but Yuë would have a hand-shaped bruise on his chest for a couple of days and he would need to stay in bed for the rest of the day.

So much for the plans of training alongside my brother when we had a chance… Yuë thought in a disappointed feeling where he laid in bed, his back against the window. While he still lived at home with his parents, the items shown in the chamber were those of a adult ner  whose great interests laid in dance and writing. Even if Yuë was mute from birth, he still tried to find ways to communicate with other Elves in order to avoid misunderstandings because he could not talk in a traditional manner. As a result, he was skilled in many styles of writing along with dancing. While his sickly health sometimes caused trouble in the middle of a performance, Yuë had won several prizes for his dancing and writing of small plays, which for him was important. Not the prizes themselves, but to be recognized for his own abilities rather than just as a grandson of Fëanor or as the second-born son of his mother Maedhros. While it also sometimes were annoying to have a famous former Lord of Gondolin as father, Yuë knew that Rog could not help that he had gotten the reputation as a hero from Gondolin after his death.

“Heeeello! Where is my favorite albino friend?” someone on the outside suddenly was heard in a loud voice. Mentally groaning as he was in no mood to meet up with the elf closest to be called his best friend, Yuë rolled over to his other side and walked over to the window, tossing away one of the minor fabric balls he used to move his hands right in different dance movements. A surprised scream was heard as the new ball hit the target.

“Hello there, Adamar. What news do you bring along?” Maedhros greeted  through a open window, seeing how the young son of Beleg was ducking for the balls thrown from her younger son’s window on the other side of the house.

“Greetings, lady Maedhros! I come with news that… there is gonna be a kind of dance contest among the Avari clans along with a Dwarven fashion show in a month’s time! Ow!” the young blond elf answered, before finally getting a second ball in the head. At hearing why Adamar had came, Yuë looked out through the window, a thinner blanket thrown over his shoulders to keep warm or his family would worry.  

“And yes, it was partly for you that I arrived here with those news, Yuë. I know how much you like to dance. Besides, I also heard that princess Saira would be there as a guest with her parents.”

There was a strong blush on Yuë's cheeks at the mention of Saira. Only his family knew about his crush on her, and it had happened more than once that Rûsa had expressed worry that people would blame his marriage to Maeglin if it became known to the public. Even now, with nearly 270 years of being married to each others, it was not unheard that people would throw rude comments about their kinship as a reason to why they should not have been allowed to marry in the first place.

Saira and her parent will really be there? Yuë asked by the use of Ósanwë, not wanting to take longer time by writing down the question.

“Yes, silly moon elf. Now come down for a proper greeting instead,” Adamar called, using the special nickname he had given Yuë back when they were much younger.

Being shy and withdrawn as he was, Yuë had picked up a habit of moving almost like a shadow, which showed itself as he hurried down to the meeting room in the house where Adamar awaited. But him being mute did not stop Adamar from telling a lot of what had happened lately in the woods of Valinor where Thingol and Melian had set up their new home, along with many of their former subjects from the First Age.

“...and Daeron was tossed out from the tavern again, he is far from being as popular as he once was back in Doriath during the First Age, nanaeth says it is because people have grown very tired of that he still have not gotten over Luthien and that he seems to have trouble coming up with a new theme in his songs…”

Yuë only nodded to what Adamar said. Daeron’s trouble with letting go of his millennia-old crush on Lúthien was infamous in pretty much all of Valinor and he was far from the famed minstrel he once had been. Rumours even said that Daeron had started to be overshadowed by much younger Elves who trained to become minstrels, simply because they varied their songs and themes more than focusing on a single target.

He really needs to get over Lúthien, yes.

“Hm-hm, yes, I also think half of his current problems are sexual frustration over being dumped by the girl he liked and he holds her as an ideal toward other young ladies who may try and make him see them as possible life partners. So at least half of his problems would be lessened if he got laid,” Rûsa agreed at hearing what his half-brother said mentally. Both the youngsters blushed, knowing that Rûsa tended to be rather blunt about sexual matters because he was married.

“Given that he was foolish enough to be the reason of my death and spent time in the Halls too, yes! As if I had anything with the quest for the Silmaril, the blame for messing up with Lúthien lays on Celegorm and Curufin! He is lucky to escape with only a life-long banishment from Formenos or risk bodily harm at being seen around here,” Maedhros commented, arriving with a tray of bread buns, as they could not reveal the secret of Rûsa being the former Warg Rider in front of Adamar. Not even her three younger children had been allowed to know that secret, only that Rûsa had spent his first life as a slave in Angband before he had been reborn as her oldest son.  

“Some people can indeed become fools in love…”

~X~X~X~X~X~X

Adamar stayed for dinner, before going back to the inn where he had rented a room for some days. Giving their parents some free time together, the four siblings took care of washing the dishes.  

“So Túrëo seems afraid of taking it a step further? Well, given what kind of mother he had, I am not surprised that he and his two brothers may still fall into the habit of not daring to stand up for themselves at times,” Rûsa said, handing over a clean plate to Lówen to dry. Beside him, Cúwen signed deeply before looking up at her older brother under her mass of light-orange curls.  

“I am not holding that against him, I am just worried that his mother may have caused a too deeply-rooted damage in him to the point that he may never be able to bring himself to become more than very close friends despite our mutual feelings, which is extra painful in that his younger brothers Vórimo and Almo have both married already and started their own families…”

While neither of the other three siblings said anything, they could guess why she was sad. Despite the unpleasant start caused by his parents' actions of revenge against Maedhros for pretty selfish reasons linking back to her youth in the Years of the Trees, Túrëo had become a close friend to Maedhros and her family over the years.

Perhaps he needs a little extra help? A small push in the back to get free from that final chain from his past? Yuë wondered as he polished the last dinner knife with a piece of cloth and laid it among the others on a bigger piece of cloth where he then would place them neatly in the right place.

“Perhaps, but sometimes it is needed for them to make that step alone.”

Both Cúwen and Lówen could be pretty blunt, so neither of their two brothers questioned it. Maeglin, who had helped to clean up the table, looked into the kitchen.

“If you are finished here, Rûsa, then l would be pleased to get some attention from you later,” she said with a faint touch on a small ring in her left ear that did not go unnoticed by him. Since his sisters were focusing on what they had in their hands, only Yuë spotted the faint smile around the corners of Rûsa's mouth, causing him to blush as he realized that it was some secret code between a married couple. Lucky, in that moment, Rog called them to the living room for some quick family talk before the children of the house left for their own homes.

Yuë watched his brother and sisters leave the family home from the window on his chamber. Out of the four, he was the only one still living at home with his parents because his sickly health could cause trouble if something happened and he was alone with no one else to be close by. Besides, with the almost daily training for the dance, he would have very little time to clean a house properly or make food. He was a good cook when it came to simple meals, but tending to the fire for cooking and heating was a big issue when the smoke could cause him to cough. Getting a coughing fit in the middle of starting a fire was not fun.

Sometimes I wish that I was stronger…

Maedhros winced at hearing the mental words of her younger son. She hated how he sometimes seemed to belittle himself for different reasons, especially when people talked about the difference between her sons. Rûsa, the healthy, willful and free-living oldest son who was in a steady marriage while people mostly remembered Yuë for his sickly health and muteness along with him being a albino. He was not often as forwards as his siblings, had only a tiny circle of close friends, and a shy personality often caused him to fall into the background.

“Sweetheart…” she started, placing a hand on his shoulder in a silent attempt to comfort him, which Yuë understood. If anyone of the family, it was Maedhros who knew best how it was to live with a frail health. She may have been a warrior in Middle-Earth, but to a terrible price of her own body being ruined by Angband and from the difficult birth of Rûsa, which nearly had killed her not just from birth complications but the torture she had suffered during the pregnancy as well. She could still recall how she sometimes could not even leave her bed at especially bad days.  

Thank you, mother.

The comfort from his parents and siblings helped a lot when he felt down. Even if his life was far from easy because of different things, he could trust his family  and close friends to stay at his side.

~X~X~X~X~X~X

As usual, Yuë was a very deep sleeper and did not wake up until that the sun was high in the sky. With a silent groan, he rolled over in bed towards the edge, his landing on the floor softened by his thick nest of blankets. As he sat up, he barely noticed how messy his white hair had become in sleep. Even washing his face with the lukewarm water in the bowl seemed to do little to properly waking Yuë up for the day. Thankfully his room was on the first floor, so there was no worry about him possibly losing balance in the stairs on the way down to the kitchen.

“Good forenoon, son. Your mother is training with her soldiers, your sisters have already left for their own works and I have a request to work out in the forge, but your brother is willing to make a new drawing of you while you trains on your dance today inside the dance hall.” Rog greeted along with the reveal of a simple breakfast for his still half-asleep son.

Morning, father.

Yuë waved faintly on a hand in thanks, before taking a huge slip of his tea. He tended to need several cups of tea before waking up properly. Out of the whole  family, he was a true sleepyhead who rarely could get up at dawn unless he had a very good reason for it. Quickly eating his breakfast, Yuë made himself ready for the dance training he did every day.

Despite having a sickly health and it was not common for him to suddenly collapse in the middle of a dance step because of a coughing fit, Yuë was a skilled dancer. He preferred dances with soft, gentle movements that reminded of water. Right now, with using a long silk scarf to make it flow around his body, he proved himself to be enough of a skill to be courted as a dance master if he would try for a licence to start teaching in dancing classes.

“You are graceful in a manner I would never be able to do,” Rûsa commented as he quickly drew up the basic of the position he wanted to paint his half-brother in. He planned to paint Yuë surrounded by swans just taken flight from the water, a fitting motief given that Yuë was a albino.

People may claim that I am the weaker one, but we are not alike our maternal grandfather and great-uncle Fingolfin in terms of relationship.

Rûsa nodded in agreement, they both hated it when people tended to expect their close sibling-relationship to only be a mask, that they one day would mirror Fëanor and Fingolfin during the heat of the events before the banishment to Formenos for twelve Years of the Trees.  

“We have different skills, and we are NOT copies of our grandfather and great-uncle. When will people get that into their thick heads?” Rûsa muttered for himself while starting to add the basic ground colour of the background in the painting. Yuë did not respond, as he currently was warming up with some simple dance movements. Then, picking up a long silk scarf, he began to dance. It was a dance known as the “Water dance” because of the soft, slow movements and the use of a blue silk scarf to mime the movements of water. Even as he moved around, Rûsa could still get a very good image of his younger brother in a moment of stillness.

“Hello there!” Adamar called as he arrived, carrying a small basket with some simple snacks inside. He had gotten a small shock the first time he had watched Yuë being able to eat roughly half the amount of food which Rûsa could eat. Granted, the older brother was known as a big eater, but sometimes the younger one could surprise as well. Or perhaps it was no wonder, seeing that Yuë was being active in a different manner thanks to the dance training.

“Nice of you to bring something small to eat, Adamar. How are things going for yourself?” Rûsa asked as he put down the paintbrush beside him on the bench.

The fair-haired young Elf smiled.

“Much well, thank you. I have finally started to match my famed father in how to use a bow. I know that I will never beat him, but he is a good teacher at least.”

Yuë ensured to not let his muscles become stiff just because he took a small break to catch his breath, listening to Adamar as he told a little more of the latest news from Thingol's halls. More than once as per some of his habit, Rûsa gave some pretty blunt comment about whatever it was that Adamar told them about, even Yuë made some silent comments by hand signs and from his facial expressions.

“So… the dance contest is gonna be held in a month, right? Do you know anything more about it?”

“I know that the Wood Clan, Mountain Clan and the Metal Clan will be holding it together, and the Dwarves threw in a offer for showing the different fashion styles of the seven Dwarven Clans over the past Ages.”

Yuë could already see that Rûsa mentally was making plans to travel there, for the chance of making drawings of the Dwarven models and their fashion styles. As for himself, he would enjoy a possible chance to meet up with friends from the Avari clans and loved to dance even if he would not win a prize. The was the spiritual meaning of dance which was important, not winning.

I would like to go as well, I have not met our paternal cousins for a while. And it is always fun to watch what will happen when the ideas of the Dwarves and Elves crashes.

All three of them laughed at the memories of such events they had seen in the past. Even the trio themselves had been involved into something similar over the years, it was hard to avoid misunderstandings at times despite good-hearted attempts to not mess up and offend others.  

“One thing is for sure, it is never boring with a Dwarf around,” Rûsa commented with a knowing smile, seeing Celebrimbor and Narvi together in the distance as they seemed to have a rare disagreement about the design of their new front door, with Narvi giving her Elven husband a firm slap on his butt in response for something he had said. The two younger Elves nodded, hoping that it would become a good event with the dance contest.

I hope that my health will not cause trouble again...I would prefer to not collapse in the middle of a dance because I have trouble breathing…

“You know that Calcanis eventually paid with her life for nearly killing you in mother's womb when it became clear that she was behind the poisoning, Yuë. No one expected your birth to be a premature one, not in a such manner. But you are a survivor, you managed to live when even the Valar themselves doubted that you would live for less than a few hours.”

Yuë did not seem fully convinced about that, going by the look in his green eyes. With a somewhat absent glare, he wrote down a few words in tengwar on a blank parchment Rûsa had yet to use.  

“A new song, my friend?” Adamar asked as he looked over Yuë's shoulder. The albino only nodded as he started to write down some lyrics for the song. Rûsa took the chance to paint the basic colours of Yuë's blue training clothes, adding the darker shadows over the light fabric in the drawing. Soon enough Yuë raised back to his feet to dance some more, Adamar following. However, the son of Beleg was not that grateful in terms of dancing despite being a fellow Elf and thus gave Rûsa a reason to try and hide a laughing fit when Yuë easily outshone his best friend during the dance steps.

~X~X~X~X~X~X   

Two hours later, Yuë had washed off himself in the bathroom. He needed to rest now during the afternoon if he did not want to collapse from fatigue or from overdoing his training.

I hate this weak health of mine...but if it is the price of surviving my premature birth, there is nothing I can do about it… In fact, Yuë had confessed to his family that he was terrified of dying, even with knowing that his soul would end up in the Halls of Mandos, a fear partly explained in that so many of his family members had not gotten a peaceful death back in the First Age. It had not helped that Yuë had actually come close to death several times during the first months after his premature birth, struggling for survival outside the womb too early and fighting with weak lungs just to breathe.  

On the other hand, I am pleased over that my brother and I am not too similar to each other, people are fools if they think that I would really want to mirror my elder brother in almost everything just because he is the older brother…

Yuë was proud over the small trumpf in that he was far better than Rûsa on dancing, as the elder brother tended to have trouble with his long limbs in the more swift dance movements and his tall height could actually be something of a hindrance for the more advanced dance steps. Small victory, perhaps, but still a victory.

With a small smile, Yuë allowed himself to fall down on his back and arms wide as he landed on his bed. Looking up on the roof, he was meeting with a well-painting dark blue night sky with stars and the moon shining on the clouds, another one of Rûsa's work from when Yuë had wished to re-decorate his sleeping chamber after coming of age as a sign of maturity. In fact, the theme colour was actually a mint green colour in a very elegant style which fitted the albino Elf very well. Picking up a book from the bed table while sitting in a cross legged style, he prepared to read for a while since he had eaten a light luncheon in response for his late breakfast and dinner would not be finished yet in a few hours.         

“Yuë? I have some newly-brewed mint tea if you want a cup?” his mother called from the other side of the door after a knock. Three careful knocks on his bed table told her that it was alright to enter. Maedhros entered with a small tray where she had placed the tea and some biscuits, smiling at her youngest son. Even if he was an adult now, she still wanted him to know that if there ever was a problem, he could always come to his family for help.

Mother, I would like to take part in that dance contest, but I would like someone to come along with me there in case I get ill.

His somewhat frail health was the main reason to why Yuë had not moved out to a house of his own in Formenos, he feared to be unable to get help if something serious happened and he was alone at home.

“Your brother have gotten a request to paint the Seven Dwarf-Fathers' wives in their various Clan cultural clothes, and Maeglin have planned to met up with her family there as well, so there is already just to come along.”    

That made Yuë smile, since his brother and law-sister would know what to do if things got messy for him. Besides, perhaps he finally would gain enough courage to reveal his feelings for Saira after so many years of silence about how he felt for her, even if she may end up rejecting him for someone else.

~X~X~X~X~X~X   

Author’s note: Adamar is a OC character borrowed with permission from an Roleplay-page on Facebook, where he is the son of Beleg Cúthalion and Nellas of Doriath. Maedhros is referred as the only female Fëanorian because she is the only daughter of Fëanor's seven children, her own four children are not viewed as direct Fëanorians because they are the grandchildren of Fëanor and Nerdanel

Chapter Text

As it had been part of his life since birth, Yuë knew that there was little he could do on days when his breathing issues simply were too much. Today was one such day, when dance training, writing or even leaving his bed for longer times was out of question.                                                      

Great, and here I wanted to plan for the dance contest…perhaps even do some practice...   

The bruise from yesterday was still visible on his chest, now having turned a purple colour which seemed even worse against the white skin because of his albinism, but Yuë knew that it would soon heal, it just needed some time.

Looking around in his room as he slowly turned around in bed, Yuë saw on the other prizes he had worn for his dancing. A few others for his writing as well, having creative ideas for theater plays which was popular among those who found themselves lucky to be given the chance to play what he had written. Not any big prizes, but they were a proof of his actual talents, not for being given pity for his sickly health or someone trying to win his favor simply because he was the second son to his mother Maedhros, who was second-in-line to the Noldorin Kingship after his grandfather Fëanor. 

As if being fifth-in-line to the throne ever have been useful for me. It is not like I even want to become High King…

Yuë shuddered at the mere idea of having to stand in front of a large crowd and trying to give some kind of speech. No, even by using Ósanwë because he was physically mute, it would not go well. He knew that his withdrawn personality would not be accepted, especially as the position of High King was both a social and political one, where the ruler in question needed to be seen by those he ruled over. And yet somehow the irony was that despite the Kinslayings, by abdicating in favor of her uncle Fingolfin, Maedhros had still ended up in a role of leadership in the wars against Morgoth and by outliving so many relatives to the end of the War of Wrath, had proven herself to somehow be an uncrowned High Queen for those who followed the House of Fëanor well until the very end. 

No, it was perfectly fine for Yuë that his sister Cúwen was been him and Rûsa in the order of succession, with their younger sister Lówen following him. His great-grandfather had needed to change the order of his succession when so many of his grandchildren had ended up with daughters as offspring, and after the Exile in Middle-earth, the female members of the Noldorin royal family was not going to accept that they could only inherit the throne after their male relatives. And Fëanor himself had made an early protest against the rules so long ago, by keeping Maedhros as his heiress even after the birth of his first son Maglor.  

Politics are so boring… how can the courtiers think that everyone in the family would want to be part of the power intrigues at the royal court in Tirion…? 

As if his many uncles even had time for playing that kind of games meant for gaining small amount of power. which could be easily lost again. Formenos was not going to run itself, and the soldiers needed to be kept in shape if their old battle skills ever became needed. 

“Yuë? I was asked to sweep clean the roof tiles here outside the window to your chamber, so you know what I am doing out here,” Rûsa called, before peeking in through the window, looking as if he just had been fighting with some of the birds who had their old nests on the roof, especially with a couple of loose feathers and dust in his dark red hair caught up in his normal braid over one shoulder. Yuë merely waved lazy in dismissing with one hand from the bed, more or less telling his brother to not bother about him and keep working with the task. 

As Rûsa swept the roof tiles while carefully balancing so he would not slip over the edge, Yuë watched his older brother in the corner of his eye. He had never really been jealous of Rûsa for being their mother's heir, if one did not count the times of bitter resentment when he recalled the story of how he had ended up with his sickly health in the first place.

I hope that deranged woman really suffers in the punishment of having to live a mortal life over and over again…!

It felt good to have someone to blame in times when he felt bitter about not being healthy, since Yuë knew the whole story and how it had started. He did not blame his mother, since she could not have known how a rejected suitor from her youth would be so consumed by the humiliation he had faced instead of getting his offer of marriage accepted and a deep desire for revenge, by trying to ruin Maedhros even more after her rebirth and destroy any chances she had for reminding people that she had not been born as a Kinslayer, with blood on her hands and murder on her mind already from the very moment she drew her first breath. 

“Whoa!” 

Rûsa had almost slipped on a roof tile, which was hard to avoid given that he was half a meter taller and, of course, weighting a lot more than Yuë thanks to his muscle mass, but managed to avoid any danger of falling down. 

~X~X~X~X~X~X

Inside the house, down in the kitchen: 

Rog saw that Maedhros was thinking seriously about something as they were washing the dishes together after breakfast, he had learned to read her mood by her eyes over the long time as they had been married, and personally he thought that he could guess what was on her mind.

“You are thinking about our dear moon child again?” he asked, referring to the family nickname Yuë had gotten as an infant because he had both been conceived and born at a night with a full moon. 

“Yes, I worries for how it will go for him in the matters of the heart and a possible marriage in the future…”

It was not that Maedhros had anything against the young lady who had caught the heart of her younger son, but at the same time, she was not sure whether it should be encouraged or not. 

“The problems Rûsa and Maeglin faced from prejudice-minded people when words came out that the High King had allowed their marriage to happen? That it was not a marriage meant to happen based on that they shared one common great-grandfather in the High King?”

Another nod, which showed some of her unspoken worry. 

“Unlike Aredhel, Finrod is remembered as a hero, the golden prince of his family. Maeglin was not the most sought-after princess in their generation when it came to marriage, but Saira is a child of Valinor, free from the trauma so many of us suffered by being born in this Fourth Age. If both my sons were to marry a second-cousin as a wife, people will view it as an attempt from my family to gain more power and preventing others from marrying into the royal family, for all of that uncle Finarfin's line is behind my own family and uncle Fingolfin’s descendants in the succession to the throne…”   

Even with Finwë having changed the rules about the succession early in the first century of the Fourth Age because of more female descendants among his great-grandchildren, a great contrast to the thirteen grandsons and three granddaughters fathered by his three sons, Maedhros knew that not all among the Noldor had accepted the change. Both her sons and daughters were indirectly suffering from distrust from her past as a Kinslayer, and for her stubborn refusal to reveal who Rûsa's father truly was. But she did not want to drag Taurion into the mess of royal polities among those who was not his own people, not when he had enough with being the chieftain of the Wood clan among the nomadic Avarin clans. 

“All those rumours speaking of that I am secretly ashamed of Yuë… that we are hiding him away from the public despite that he is seen sometimes in dance tournaments and taking part of writing contests…”

She was proud of the skills her younger son had been blessed with, but very few knew of how withdrawn Yuë truly was in personality and that he actually preferred to fall into the shadow of his more socially active sisters and he could almost only come alive in his dancing outside the people he felt comfortable around. In fact, Yuë could almost rival Rûsa when it came to avoiding the public duties of a prince so high up in the succession, but part of the escape came from that by living in Formenos and refusing to move from there, they were so far away from the royal court in Tirion that it simply was impossible for her sons to be involved with the court. 

“Perhaps we should invite Saira to come and visit us after this dance contest? Having to spend time with her here as a guest in our home, where he would be rude by hiding away in his chambers, may help Yuë break out from his shell and actually bring himself to confess about his feelings for her.” 

Rog did not say that they should encourage Yuë to hope for something impossible, but Maedhros understood the unspoken words. At the very least, their son should have a chance for love.    

~X~X~X~X~X~X

Back upstairs Yuë had almost fallen asleep again because there was not much else for him to do on a day like this when his breathing issues was too hard to ignore, when his attention was called again, though for a rather different reason than what he first thought: 

“Yuë, can you check whether this is good?”  

Rûsa tossed something though the window, and the younger Elf caught the piece of parchment in one hand. Almost right away, his scholarly side cringed at what he saw written down.

You and your endless struggle to try and write the correct grammar, brother…

It was actually a love poem for Maeglin, pretty sweet in fact, but as always when it came to writing down things, Rûsa's handwriting and grammar was an honest mess. Yuë was used to how hopeless his brother was at trying to do a neat handwriting, but he knew that others outside the House of Fëanor actually needed a wordlist, almost a specially written lexion even, in order to be able to decode whatever it was that Rûsa had tried to write.          

“It is not the grammar I meant for you to check—is the poem good or not?” Rûsa muttered with slightly reddened cheeks. “I wanted to surprise Maeglin this evening with a nice dinner when she comes home from the forge and why not add in a nice poem as well?” He knew very well that Yuë was far superior to him when it came to writing and reading, not that Rûsa himself really cared about it because as long as it was somewhat legible, his family would figure out the written meaning soon enough. That difference had never been a problem before between them as brothers.  

It looks good, so you do not need to change anything in what you already have written down on the parchment. And I just can not understand why some people still finds it so shocking that you chose to be a house-husband by your own will, Yuë could not help but comment in a friendly teasing. Rûsa seemed to have expected such response, given how he smirked in return: 

“Well, where else should I spend my free time to paint my drawings, while my wife is the breadwinner by being a smith and I just earn some extra income by selling my paintings? Our dear grandmother's studio for creating her statues? Where all the stone dust from the marble and other decoration stones only would get stuck to the wet paint? Or grandfather's forge, where it would be a risk of that a small spark could set the whole painting on fire in a matter of moments?” 

Yuë had to laugh at the mental images his brother made him think off. Rûsa was right, it was for the best that he would create his drawings and paintings in the home where he and Maeglin lived as a married couple, where no one risked to make a mess of the hard work he laid down on each piece of art and causing him to have wasted all the time he needed to paint. 

“That reminds me. Here is something for you, little brother.” 

Again Rûsa tossed over something to Yuë who caught it. The small item turned out to be a miniature drawing of Saira, because Rûsa had never seen any problem with the idea of a marriage between his brother and the daughter of Finrod. Since Yuë already had been secretly in love with Saira for so many years but not dared to take the next step, Rûsa honestly thought that it was high time to simply push things into happening, and the dance contest where Saira would be a guest would be a good starting point in his view on things. 

“I will be home at my house if you need my help in something.”

Please tell Adamar that I will try and come out in the garden tomorrow for some planning about the dance contest.  

Waving with one hand in farewell, Rûsa easy climbed down the ladder he had used to get up on the roof and Yuë was left alone to daydream as he looked on the miniature of Saira.       

Chapter Text

In a villa outside Tirion;          

Saira focused greatly on her lessons in Khuzdul with a Dwarven teacher to ensure that she learnt the correct terms and pronunciation. Given that her father Finrod had been helped by the Dwarves of the Blue Mountains to build Nargothrond, and remaining a trusted ally with them, it was only natural that his daughter followed in his footsteps.             

“Well done, princess. You will be able to speak our language as if you had been born a Dam now.” 

“Thank you for all your hard work in teaching me, Mistress Ingvild,” Saira thanked her teacher. The Dwarrowdam was a well-known scholar from the beginning of the Second Age, and had been personally chosen by Finrod as a tutor to his daughter in the hope of that Saira might feel more comfortable around a fellow female. 

“Princess, there is a package for you from the mail carriage!” a housemaid called, entering the school room with a wooden box in her arms. 

“Oho, a new gift from one of your suitors?” Ingvild joked, knowing that her Elven student was highly sought after as a possible bride, not only for her beauty and lineage, but also for her personal charms. 

“I have already needed to reject two more suitors this year alone! Surely it is not fair for other maids of good family to see possible suitors be drawn to me like flies to honey?” Saira protested. It was not that she was uninterested in marriage and future motherhood, but a lot of her former suitors was rejected for not being her type, simple as that. 

Instead, she focused on opening the wooden box. The design seemed familiar from earlier, so she had a good guess on its hidden contents. 

“Oh!” 

A handwritten book of poems, three bags of her favorite teas among the Dwarven-made products and what seemed to be a rose made from purple glass. 

“ That fellow again, I see. He is the only one who bothers to stand out though Dwarven-crafted gifts beside his own handmade ones.” 

Amarië had arrived while her daughter had been focused on the new gifts. This mysterious suitor had sent anonymous gifts to Saira twice each passing season for nearly one century and a half, but the gifts alone was no clue to his real identity. One possibility was that he simply was awfully shy, and feared to be seen in public with the gifts.

“I will prepare my last things for the journey tomorrow, dearest ammë. This dance contest is not something I intend to miss!”   

The whole family would travel, Saira and her parents along with some trusted servants. It was a great honor to see more of the Dwarven culture. 

~X~X~X~X~X~X

As it would take them about two weeks to travel in order to reach where the dance contest would be held, Yuë suggested for Rûsa and Maeglin where they might be staying over at friends to the family for a night so they could rest in a proper bed with a roof over the head at least once on the journey. 

“According to the map… yes, that is a good idea with those people.”

Given how hopeless it was for Rûsa to even attempt writing a formal letter with his dyslexia, it fell on Maeglin to write a letter to the people they planned to stay with.  

After two days, they had packed all they needed for the travel alongside Yuë's competition suits in a separate bag and Rûsa had packed down some of his items needed for making drawings.   

“Celebrimbor and Narvi have already left, but I think we will meet them at the dancing contest as it is near the gate to the Dwarven realms.” 

Somehow, Aulë had gotten permission from the All-Father that the Halls of the Forefathers would have a gate to Valinor, and if any of the Dwarves wanted a second life, they were welcome to build a city around that gate. No one had been surprised that Narvi had been one of the first to gain a new body, for she truly desired to meet up with her Elven husband again. That the Dwarves actually could choose which age the new body would be in, and no having to worry about ageing, had been a huge bonus when the Dwarrowdam had chosen to reappear in her prime. 

I think that ammë was much pleased to meet old friends from the First Age again thanks to that gate, and it is always fun to see how the clothing styles changed over the generations, Yuë commented with a smile. He had truly proven himself a relative of Maedhros and Celebrimbor by being interested in the Dwarven race, especially the vast amount of fashion among the Seven Dwarven clans, which had often proven some form of inspiration for his own clothing. 

“It was very amusing to see the shocked faces at the royal court in Tirion the first time Celebrimbor presented Narvi as his wife!” Maeglin laughed at the memory, she had been present at that time because such a reveal was once-in-a-lifetime event, given that the oldest grandson of Fëanor was the so far only known Elf to have fallen in love with and marrying a Dwarf. A huge difference from the Elven-Mortal romances that normally happened if an Elf fell in love with someone from a different race. 

“Yeah, I think a lot of the courtiers got the shock of their lifetime there, since they never left Valinor at the Darkening!” Rûsa agreed, just as their mother came over to where her two sons and daughter-in-law was almost ready for starting their travel. 

“Your father and I will come to the dance contest too, but we have some things that needs to be finished before we can leave. Like ensuring that there will not be anything crazy from your grandfather again while we are gone.”

Out of habit that had started since her wedding, Maedhros addressed Rog as the father to her sons. It was to ensure that no one with ill intentions found out about Taurion being the biological father of Rûsa, or the secret about her firstborn. Rûsa being born in Angband and brought up into becoming the real identity of the feared Warg Rider in the First Age, had to be kept hidden in order to keep him safe, it was already bad enough with her own actions as a former kinslayer and all that with the cursed Oath. 

“Don't let grandfather blow something up again in his lab and I think things will be calm, ammë!” 

Maedhros smiled. Sometimes it was not such a big surprise that her boys could act younger than what they were, for while Yuë was 290 years old this year and Rûsa's official age being 370 years since they claimed him to be born in the tenth year of the Fourth Age, the different personalities of the two half-brothers could highlight that they were both mature adults, but in different ways. 

~X~X~X~X~X~X

The journey went fine for most of the first days, however, there were two days of rain that affected Yuë. Even with borrowing two extra cloaks to try to keep warm, it did not help much. 

I hate when it is cold or damp weather like this!

His wheezing was impossible to hide, and there was a faint tightness in his chest that did not help his breathing either. 

“We are nearly at the house owned by Dior and Nimloth, try and hold out until then.” 

Elrond had done his best to treat Yuë's lung and respiratory problems ever since the younger son of Maedhros had survived his premature birth, but not even he had been able to find a cure for the asthma Yuë suffered from outside giving him the recipe of a potion with equal quantities of ginger and honey to consume it 2-3 times a day. The famed healer recognized the symptoms of asthma from treating mortals in Middle-earth, yet he could not do much else, sadly. 

The trio of riders was met by a rather...unexpected scene at the house where they had planned to stay for the night: 

“How many times do I have to tell people that I do NOT WANT any gifts that reminds me of my parents!” 

It was a male voice who shouted, followed by the sound of something of fabric that was thrown out in the air and landing on the ground. It turned out to be a growing pile of clothes made out of blue fabric as new pieces of clothing were tossed out from a window on the upper floor, along with what seemed to be tapestries with similar motifs of a dancing She-elf and a mortal who watched her. Anyone who knew the history of Doriath knew who the couple was. 

“Ok, who has been idiotic enough to ignore that Dior does not hold his famed parents in a good light anymore?” Maeglin wondered aloud as some servants saw a chance to escape out of the house for a little while and came to take care of their horses.    

“A not so brilliant courtier at Thingol's court who thinks that our master must be worshipping the heroic deeds of his parents to show that their love was more important that the relationships between the Elven realms, my lady,” a housemaid quickly explained as their horses was taken to the small stable not far from the main house.

Oh, that explained the outburst from the master of this house. It was not that widely known, but Dior Eluchil had changed his view on his parents and their actions ever since the Second Kinslaying that had cost most of his own family their lives. Mainly because, in a sense, he was the one to suffer the consequences of the Quest for the Silmaril which had been started by his maternal grandfather Thingol demanding a nearly impossible bride price for Luthien from Beren, clearly not thinking of how the seven children of Fëanor could take offense of such an idea. 

“Lady Nimloth? Are we arriving at a bad time?” Rûsa wondered as they entered the main hall, and a brown-haired She-Elf of mixed Sindar and Silvan origins hurried out from a room to meet her guests. 

“No, it is just some idiot pushing Dior's patience about what people think about his parents again. As you know from our earlier meetings, he is not exactly happy with how he had to deal with things after them.” 

The former second King and Queen consort of Doriath had, a few years after their own rebirth and Dior choosing to be counted among the Elves, somehow managed to come to an agreement with the House of Fëanor; Yes, the whole Kinslaying could have been avoided in one way or another, but Dior had also been awfully young for a King ruling over immortal Elves while also being a married father of three small children and inexperienced with all the small details of not offend possible enemies. Besides, Luthien and Beren carried some of the blame for the whole thing, Celegorm had been ensnared by her inherited Maia powers and she had played with his feelings in the hope of gaining help to save Beren from Sauron, not realizing that Celegorm was not like any of the other rejected suitors in the past and that the Noldor as a whole had very different customs and traditions than the Sindar in Doriath.

“Anyway, Dior will come as soon as he has calmed down, so please enjoy your guest chambers and a nice bath before dinner. This whole summer has been a repeat of this nonsense and he is much displeased about it,” Nimloth promised, taking the role of a hostess for her Noldorin guests. 

Dior did indeed show up at dinner to share the meal with his wife and guests when he had calmed down from his earlier outburst. 

“Oh, you changed into the clothes I made for you this winter!” Nimloth smiled in joy at seeing what he was wearing.  

Even when dressing in plain, home-made clothing and his dark brown hair set up in a simple ponytail laying across one shoulder that was slightly too broad for a full-blooded Elf, it was impossible to hide that he was one of the fairest beings known in Valinor thanks to his lineage, but that beauty was marred by that he had demanded to be reborn with the scars from the fatal duel against Celegorm, as a personal reminder of what his actions once had caused and for not wanting people to think of Luthien when seeing him. As such, he had three great scars on the left side of his face, the kind left by long fingernails clawing deeply into the skin. Another scar hidden under his plain tunic, was from the deadly sword cut across his chest. 

“Greetings everyone. I hope that the journey went well?” 

“Yes, thank you. Uncle Celegorm asked us to tell you that he will be hunting around this area in a few weeks.”  

Some people might say that Dior's social skills were only mediocre due to being raised in Tol Galen, for it did not have any neighbors living around and that as a royal prince, he should have to socialize more in the south of Valinor where his grandfather had gotten a small realm to rule over and as a visitor to the other royal courts in Valinor, yet he and Nimloth were happy to live a fairly secluded life with few visits in addition to friends or relatives.   

“Eluréd is doing well with his studies in becoming a botanist under the teaching of Orodreth and Elurín enjoys working with wood carving,” Nimloth revealed when asked about what the now grown sons were doing after moving out. 

Besides, after a rocky start due to the past, Dior had surprised everyone by actually befriending Celegorm to the point of almost being his apprentice in hunting and wilderness survival. A lot of people questioned that to be true, given the whole history of what had happened in Nargothrond, but for Celegorm and Dior it was an honest attempt of putting the past behind them

It had started when Celegorm had given an honest explanation to Dior and Nimloth that he had never ordered his servants to get rid of Eluréd and Elurín in the first place, and that his original idea with the young princes was to take them hostage and try to exchange them for the Silmaril since with Dior and Nimloth having three children within four years and that the births had been very close for a She-elf who normally could wait several decades between each pregnancy, the most logical was that Nimloth could be too drained spiritually to try another pregnancy and that it would be very stupid to risk their two sons' lives. In a way that had been correct, because Elwing's birth only three years after their twin sons had not only been very draining for Nimloth spiritually, it had also left damage that would make a new pregnancy dangerous. 

“What are you intending to do with all those clothes you threw out earlier, Dior? Because I doubt that all of them can be given away to friends or remade into horse blankets…” 

The Half-Elven signed. 

“To be honest, we have run out of ideas on what to do with the clothes, since we have already made so many blankets and pillows to give away to charity. Blue only reminds me of her, so neither Nimloth or I wear them. Many of them are actually made in a wrong size for me, as several people think that I inherited the height of my maternal family when I am roughly the same height as a normal Elf.” 

Nimloth told the three guests that some clothes had been away to the House of Fingolfin since that was the traditional colour of their family in contrast to the red of the House of Fëanor and the white of the House of Finarfin, but that would not go in the long run. 

Maybe you could gift the clothes to the Dwarven merchants and tailors? If there are several ones in the same colour, pattern and fabric, I do not think it would be too much trouble to redesign them into Dwarven clothing, Yuë suggested after spending most of the meal in silence, even if he did use ósanwe to take part in the conversation from time to time. That was a good idea, the two married couples did agree, and also a bit hilarious, especially given that Thingol had gotten a serious phobia about Dwarves thanks to the manner he had died in and would most likely be horrified to learn that his grandson had given all his gifted clothing to the Dwarves for them to use.   

~X~X~X~X~X~X

After a pleasant meal in good company, Yuë felt satisfied with the day. He and Dior had bonded early on back when he was still an Elfling, in that they were the sons of famous mothers and fathers, and how that could be a troublesome legacy to live up to. 

At least Dior and Nimloth have each other for support and strength, even in dark times and bad days. That is one of the things I envy those who are married…  

Taking his ginger-honey medicine so he would be able to sleep peacefully, Yuë then made some light stretching exercises since the riding each day did not allow him to do his daily dance training as normally. Besides, in order to cover as much distance each day, Maeglin, Rûsa and himself had to get up early each morning. Tomorrow, however, he could sleep in as they planned to stay for two nights, with Dior and Nimloth needing some extra help to find all the gifted yet still unused clothes that they still had in their wardrobes and then join the trio to the dance contest to sell the clothes to the Dwarves. 

I guess that there will come a day when I can no longer send gifts for her. But right now, it is the only way I can show my love for her without risking to be found out. The memories of brother and Maeglin facing a lot of slander and even distrust due to choosing each other in marriage...no, I am not strong enough to stand against that, I may be a son born to one of the famed Lords of Gondolin but at the same time, I am the son of a Fëanorian, tainted with her old crimes from the Kinslayings…

People would not react well if they found out that the younger son of Maedhros desired to have the daughter of Finrod as his bride. Especially those who did not want the House of Fëanor to gain more power again. Yuë knew that his mother, maternal grandfather and uncles were not proud of what they had done in the past, and had done their best to make amends for the Kinslayings and a lot of other things the Oath had indirectly led to, but sadly there were people who kept viewing the family as untrustworthy, that they secretly awaited a perfect moment or situation to extend their power again. 

And it was the younger generation who paid for what their parents once had done, long before several of them even had been born; Celebrimbor had enough problems by being reminded by how Sauron had twisted the Rings of Power. Maglor's daughter Lindë with his wife Rainiel had to keep her own musical talent toned down or she risked to be viewed with distrust due to who her father was. Rûsa was viewed as socially inappropriate for various reasons Yuë had never really understood outside that his brother hated to spend time at the royal court. Cúwen was somehow viewed as too wild to be viewed as proper lady despite that she mostly was a little more outspoken than her brothers and well-known for determination. Lówen enjoyed acting as proper modest lady, but behind her sweet appearance she hid a big dose of irony aimed towards people who disrespected her family. 

At least Frëja could escape some of that, thanks to her mother being a Dwarrowdam and enjoying a career as a singer among her maternal race if it became too much for her among the Elves at times. Narvi was a famous name among the Dwarves, not only as one of the co-workers who had built the Doors of Durin in the Second Age, but for other reasons outside her legendary friendship-turned-romance with Celebrimbor.  

No, I have to stop thinking negatively. I have promised myself that if I manage to land myself in a good place in the ending list during the dance contest, I will confess my feelings to Saira even if she will reject me. 

With a final look on the miniature portrait of Saira that he had gotten from Rûsa, Yuë blew out the candle so his guest chamber was only filled with the light from the stars and new moon outside the window.  

Good night, beloved Saira.

For all of that he kept sending her those anonymous gifts, it still felt reassuring that he could at least give her gifts she liked. Last time he had been in Tirion, for example, she had been wearing a silver hair comb chip which he had gifted her on her begetting day. If that was not encouraging in their own way, then what was? 

Chapter Text

It felt very nice to be able to have a long sleep-in since they would not travel again until the next day. Yuë always tried to get up early in the mornings if he had a very good reason for it, but it was not the easiest of tasks for him. Today, however, it was not just Rûsa waking him up: 

“You need to get up now if you want to avoid risking to miss breakfast with our hosts…that cat is still alive?” 

A huge feline, black as a raven wing and showing no signs of age, was sitting on Yuë's stomach area as the younger brother just had woken up from its weight making it difficult for him to breathe. 

“Ancalagon, shoo. You are not allowed to do that on our guests outside my annoying son-in-law,” Dior ordered to the cat at seeing why Rûsa had not entered the guest room, and even tossed a cat toy so Ancalagon jumped off the bed, chasing after the toy. 

Are he a Maia like Huan or just one of those creatures who gets a very long lifespan because they have some form of origins in the Woods of Oromë? Yuë wondered, sitting up now when there was no huge cat on ten kilos holding him down. 

“Well, Anca is a northern breed as seen by his body build and long fur, but since those cats have been found in northern Valinor since the Elves first arrived and your uncle brought Ancalagon to us from the Woods, I can not say for sure what our furball to mousehunter really is.” 

And Dior had a good point. Both Rûsa and Yuë had visited the Woods of Oromë together with their uncle Celegorm several times over their lives, and where Oromë ruled, animals would hardly be called normal.

I will wash quickly and dress before coming. 

 ~X~X~X~X~X~X

After breakfast, the two married couples agreed to help out about the clothes that Dior had wanted to get rid of yesterday. 

“No joke about that you are desperate to clean all those out. Really, just how many of them are in a different colour than blue?” 

It was not that Maeglin had black and grey as her favorite colours, she simply wore them most often in the forge because on other colours, the soot would be visible pretty quickly.  

“Far too few,” Nimloth commented dryly, as she began to fold the clothes together so that they could be gathered in smaller piles that were easier to place in a carriage. Just in case, Dior had to test out some of the robes and clothes to make notes about how long they were, likely materials they had been made from and other details that the Dwarven merchants would appreciate to know. 

“Seriously, the length of this one...do they intend for you to basically just sit still and be unable to move, while watching others dance or something?”

Rûsa held up a long robe that looked like it had been very complicated to make, and to wear as well since it was cut and sewn in a matter that was aimed to not allow any fast walking or sudden movements. Dior made a displeased face at seeing what it was. 

“Oh no, no, no. That awful court robe meant for my grandfather's court down in the south is going, no arguments!”  

A female variant, meant to be a court dress for Nimloth, was refused as well. Maeglin could recall one time when she and her maternal relatives had been sent to Thingol for a state visit, and personally been grateful for that the Noldorin fashion was less restrained on movements. Those who had once lived in Exile, or been born in Middle-earth during the First Age, tended to favor clothing that did not restrain movement and as simply made as possible. Practical clothing, not something to impress others with as a sign of wealth or social standing, because in war and other times of crisis survival was the most important. 

While Rûsa and Maeglin helped Dior and Nimloth to sort through all the refused robes and clothes of blue fabric to bring to the Dwarves to sell, Yuë took the chance to do some dance training. He would have loved to be out in the fruit garden since the sun had returned this morning, but the rain from yesterday had made the ground muddy and he did not want to risk slipping in the mud so he injured himself in some way. In the small breaks between each dance he tested out, he sat down  and made a few poems.  

“Those runes...it is Cirth, right? But I guess that you are writing it as meant to be read in Khuzdul.” 

Dior had taken a small break, arriving with a few of the garments to see if Yuë might be able to wear them, and maybe having the garments resewn into something he could wear as a dance attire during the contest. 

Yes. Despite being mute, I have heard the Stone Children of Aulë speak their language around my family since I was a toddler, so I think that I should be able to speak it if I could use my vocal cords thanks to training on the words mentally and I am able of speaking with them though their sign language as well. Ammë and cousin Celebrimbor insisted on that, since not all the Dwarves are as fluent in Quenya or Sindarin as Narvi or the Dwarven allies Ammë had from Belegost.

Recalling how his own grandfather Thingol nowadays had a deeply rooted phobia of Dwarves thanks to how he had died, Dior said nothing about his mental image of how Thingol possible would react if he ever heard someone in the Fëanorian family speaking the language of the Dwarves.

“Those are among the smaller garments I was gifted, and since the tailors at the court of my grandfather have no idea of which sizes that I actually have on my clothes, we thought that you could try them.”

As they tested the garments Dior had brought along, it quickly became clear that Yuë, having a short stature by elven standards, were not tall enough for those. He was of a thin body shape, but still physically fit because he needed to keep himself in shape for his dancing, it simply was not as visible as his brother's muscle mass since Yuë needed to cover his skin from the sun.  

Might as well give all of the garments away. If I am to have a new dance costume, then I want it to fit properly and not be hasty altered since clothes are part of the impression a dancer gives to those who watches. 

 ~X~X~X~X~X~X

The next morning, the now expanded travel group on five Elves continued the journey. Dior and Nimloth had chosen to ride their own horses instead of using a carriage, so they all shared the burden of having a bag packed with the sorted garments as part of their luggage. 

During the journey, Nimloth took the chance to enlighten the three Noldor Elves about how things had once been in Doriath during the First Age, and what differences she found out now in their second life, having time to study how the Noldor had ruled Beleriand:  

“Personally, I think that lord Finrod had a better success with Nargothrond in terms of trade and power. With all the brothers and cousins having a realm for themselves or sharing with a sibling, it meant a shared language and origin for all the Noldor realms.” 

As Maeglin added in on how life had been in Gondolin, all five did agree that it was a pure miracle that Turgon's hidden realm had survived on its own without any contact or trade with the outside world. After all, Maeglin could tell how with time, the people in Gondolin had not been as pleased with the isolation as Turgon might have believed. In fact, she was hardly the only one who longed to leave the Hidden City again despite the dangers from Morgoth, Rog and many others Exiles who knew a life before Gondolin, felt trapped in the valley. 

“I think, that had not its Fall happened as it did, my uncle would have faced some form of hidden revolt eventually, where people chose to escape from Gondolin somehow.” 

She did not mention it, but Rûsa knew that Maeglin had been captured by orcs and brought to Angband while trying to plot a possible escape route where Turgon would not think about looking for his niece directly at the news that she was no longer in the city or valley itself. The red haired son of Maedhros looked away for a moment, touching the V-shaped scar on his left cheek as a silent reminder to himself that his three younger half-siblings was best off to never know about his horrible past as the Warg Rider. 

“Speaking about lord Rog...Rûsa, are you aware of a new theory about why you looks different from your siblings?” 

That caught the brothers' attention, though for different reasons.

If it is the same one that claims that I am not Atar's son because I am a albino while he is dark-skinned, I do not want to hear it, Yuë requested with some disapproval though the use of Ósanwë. 

“ Nonsense, all that stupid gossip because people are too slow-witted or ignorant of how it was to fight Morgoth, to try and imagine that our family were not bloodthirsty monsters from the beginning! If you look past the skin colour and actually look close, it is clear that Yuë have inherited the green eyes and face of his sire, I am merely looking different because ammë offered to be the new mother of someone who was about to be reborn and the stay in Mandos did not ease out the look I had in my first life!” Rûsa snapped over his shoulder in a surprisingly aggressive tone. Thankfully neither Dior or Nimloth was offended, it was a similar reaction to how they could respond about the legendary Quest for the Silmaril nowadays if someone was foolish enough to mention it, with how Luthien and Beren actually had caused a lot of trouble for their only child and the other Elven realms in the long run.  

“Alright, enough of that. We need to increase the pace a little if we can ride as far as possible today,” Maeglin commented, taking the lead as she set off in gallop on her mare, the other four following her. 

After seven days, they were finally there. The Dwarves had made a entrance to what today might call their domain in Valinor, near the Mansions of Aulë. As a tribute to the original they once had done in ancient times of peace, so had Celebrimbor and Narvi made a copy of the Doors of Durin, with the same password and all, now guarded by Dwarven soldiers to ensure that no unwelcome visitors were trying to sneak past. There had been some cases of Elves trying to cause trouble, sadly, as such, all Elven visitors had to register their names and reason for entering in a large look to keep a eye on them. 

“Oh ho! Maedhros the Orc-Scourge 's sons with company, it have been a while since you two lads were seen here! Still no wee one for you and your painter to husband, lady Maeglin?” one of the Dwarven guards commented at seeing who they were. 

“Not everyone wants children directly after the marriage,” she responded in good humour, while Rûsa pretended to not have heard the question at all. Of course there was some surprise over that Thingol's grandson and his wife was travelling with the sons of Maedhros, but when Maeglin helped Dior, acting as a interpreter, to explain in Khuzdul why he and Nimloth had came along, the Dwarven guards laughed. 

“Sounds like you will have a nice payback if his gifted clothing will end up being remade into clothes for the royal families and nobles.” 

After writing their names and reason for the stay in the register book, they were allowed to enter the Dwarven realm inside Valinor. 

Chapter Text

As this was the first time Dior and Nimloth were in the Dwarven realm, the two sons of Maedhros offered to be their guides. 

“It is nothing uncommon with Noldorin guests here, especially people who one followed the Children of Fëanor and former civilians of either Nargothrond or Ost-in-Edhil, and then we also have those among the Sindarin, Avari and Silvan people coming here too,” Maeglin took the chance to explain as they rode into a smaller street where stables could be find for the horses and other animals visitors often brought along.

“Red Warrior Caravanserai. It is the roadside inn where we always stays at when our families are here unless we are guests at someone of Ammë's or uncle Caranthir's old friends inside the underground city itself, because not all Elves might be comfortable with staying inside the mountain where the city actually is,” Rûsa smiled as he guided the group though the portal that led into the courtyard. The inn was indeed unlike the inns used by humans, for the caravanserai had a square walled exterior, with a single portal wide enough to permit large or heavily laden beasts to enter. The courtyard was open to the sky, and the inside walls of the enclosure were outfitted with a number of identical animal stalls, bays, niches or chambers to accommodate merchants and their servants, animals, and merchandise. 

“This architecture...is it a style from the East? I saw drawings of similar buildings in a history book once, after our rebirth and we wanted to update our knowledge of what happened after our deaths. Not only what happened in Beleriand, but the rest of Middle-earth because we always talked about travelling away to foreign places…” 

It was clear that Dior would have preferred to avoid the kingship of Doriath all together, even without knowing about the Second Kinslaying. If he and Nimloth had managed to leave Beleriand, away from the legacy of Luthien and Beren all together, perhaps their lives and marriage would have looked vastly different. 

Regrets are something we all carries. But at least the past can be left behind, and perhaps the future holds something better?

Yuë knew that even with all of Elrond's skills and knowledge about human illnesses, his asthma was unlikely to be cured, not to mention that his premature birth sadly had affected his health in other ways as well. But he had some of the infamous Fëanorian stubbornness, hinted when he had refused to die after being born so early and desiring to live. 

“And I hope that one day, you will find a way to make people realize that you can be just as fearsome as the two Elves who have the honor of being your parents. Though it would be preferable if that happened without you risking some form of injury,” Rûsa teased his younger brother in a friendly manner after they had left the horses in care of experienced stable grooms at the stable and most of the packing in a smaller chamber for stuff that would not be sold on the market. 

One day, brother, but not yet, I think.

Maeglin were at the reception counter to add in their names in the guest book and booking three chambers. It was perfectly normal for the two married couples to stay in separate chambers, but it would be rather awkward for Yuë in a chamber with a double bed and a third, single bed if he woke up to the sound of certain activities in the double bed, Besides, he would need peace and quiet to not get distracted as he trained on the dance movements he intended for the dance contest as well. 

~X~X~X~X~X~X

After some rest and a lunch served in the dining room, it was time to visit the main street for some sightseeing. Here both Dwarves from the seven clans and various Elves could be seen making business in the market stands or the shops along the streets.

 “Look, pearls from Alqualondë are as popular and valuable as always for the royals,” Maeglin commented at seeing one of the Kings from the Line of Durin walking past with his consort, the Dwarrowdam having several jewelry pieces with drop pearls carefully set into her braided hair as a sign of her rank by marriage. Because the Dwarven race had their realms in the mountains of Middle-earth, far away from the sea, pearls were rarely seen in the jewelry they crafted and that rarity made true pearls fit only for the Dwarven Kings and their direct family members. 

“As I once was familiar with the jewelry of Doriath, it is fun to see the different styles even if I will not buy anything,” Nimloth said with a meaningful look at her husband. Dior had hated to wear the ceremonial jewelry he must wear as King of Doriath, because that was one of several ways his own grandfather Thingol had shown off his wealth. Nimloth herself had not liked to wear jewelry either during her life, if one did not count the orange ribbon she always wore in her hair as a sign of being a married woman. 

I will go ahead to the training grounds for dancers, I have been there before and knows the way.

He had no plans to train today, not after all the riding during the journey, but Yuë wanted to check if there was any familiar faces among the other participants in the dance contest. While rare that he left Formenos at all, some fellow Elven dancers and Dwarven dancers had managed to befriend him, helping him to discover many various forms of dance since he was a Elfling whose first hobby had been writing poems. 

“We will eat dinner at the Golden Sun tavern, so do not eat too much if you are invited to some form of afternoon tea!” 

While afternoon tea had not been known in old times, the concept of it had spread when the Hobbits Bilbo and Frodo Baggins had arrived to Valinor in the final year of the Third Age, soon joined by Samwise Gamgee about 70 years later. All three of them were long dead nowadays, but they had been honored guests at the royal courts, because of their heroic deeds in the Quest for Erebor and the War of the Ring. Some rumors even said that when Bilbo were on his deathbed a few years after the arrival, the whole Company of Thorin Oakenshield had been allowed by Námo and Aulë to visit him so he got to meet them one last time before it was his turn to enter the afterlife. Said King of the Line of Durin and his company had neither denied nor confirmed these rumors, so for most part, everyone agreed that Bilbo indeed had gotten that visit and their silence was a sign of respect against their “burglar” as some of them were known to call Bilbo with fondness. 

At the training grounds for dancers, Yuë saw both familiar and new faces. As always when he left home for a longer period, it felt like a treat to see all the dancers training and performing. Some danced solo, others in groups. This contest would show both Elven and Dwarven dances, to show the different cultures among each race. 

Given that I managed to master the Dwarven sign language at a young age in order to communicate with them when I was unable to speak with a voice, I have respect among the Dwarves, not only for who my parents are.

Out of his parents, It was only natural that Maedhros, his mother, were more familiar for the Dwarves. With Rog away in Gondolin and unable to leave the Hidden City of Turgon, the tales of his hate of orcs and fearsomeness in battle had only become known afterwards when its survivals had arrived to the Havens of Sirion. 

“Ah! Young Yuë! What a surprise to see you here, are you intending to take part of the dance contest?” a familiar voice called as he felt the scent of freshly baked bread that had to come straight from the bakery. At first glance, the arriving Dwarrowdam carrying the large basket with bread buns could easily be mistaken for Narvi thanks to having the same white-blonde hair and dark skin, but at a closer look, the black eyes, lack of hourglass figure and smaller female curves revealed her to be Loki, the sister-in-law to Celebrimbor. 

Greetings to you, mistress Loki, he addressed her with the sign language. While not a direct relative, she was still family in a sense thanks to his cousin marrying her older sister. Besides, after using her afterlife to perfect her baking skills since she had all the time in the world to learn and master new recipes from the other Dwarven realms, Loki was now a famous bread baker in her own right and even worked for the ladies who once had been married to Durin in his second life, queen consort Ragnhild and their shared lover Hinata. 

I have heard whispers of that Durin still visits his later wives with the permission of his first queen consort, so perhaps he can be said to be drawn to them as different characters? His fellow Fathers of the Dwarves do that as well, though their descendants generally only have one spouse, Yuë wondered for himself as he got some free bread buns to have as a snack together with some refreshment drinks of tea and water on a table nearby. Since it was rude to spy on other people's privacy, he knew better than asking about such things openly. 

“So the ghost of Formenos have finally chosen to show up, huh?” 

Yuë avoided to spit out his tea in the last minute at the unexpected voice, knowing from memory that it was one of his least liked persons. Liltarion, the oldest son born to one of the most famous dance masters in Tirion, and someone who could have been called a rival in the dance world, had Yuë not been a prince and worked as professional dancer himself. This were not their first meeting over the centuries since childhood, where Liltarion once had openly called Yuë a sorry joke for a dancer when a asthma attack were triggered in the middle of a performance in front of the two judges in a friendly dancer contest for Elflings. Maedhros had not been happy over the insult towards her younger son and only the physical restraining from Rog had prevented Liltarion from learning the hard way that the Noldorin princess still had a habit of wearing a very thin gauntlet glove if she felt phantom pains from where her right hand once had been missing, and that this gauntlet could cause a lot of pain together with her body strength for the one who had the ill luck of being hit upon the head by Maedhros with a closed fist. 

I can even recall a few times when brother was punished in that manner, from my earliest years. I think one time was because he had sneaked away on a hunt without telling any of the adults…

Using the memories to appear as if he was spacing out instead of listening, Yuë spared his mind from whatever nonsense Liltarion were speaking in an attempt to brag about his dance skills or how important his father was at the royal court in Tirion as a teacher for new dancers who did performances at important ceremonies or festivals. 

“Taking out the trash is always needed unless you want it to start smelling,” Loki suddenly spoke up from behind the two Elves, and Liltarion found himself tossed over a shoulder, protesting loudly over how he was treated like a bag of flour while Loki calmly walked out from the training hall. Just before Loki vanished, Yuë thought that he saw something strange about the dance shoes Liltarion wore but did not get a enough clear view of the shoes to confirm what he believed them to possibly be. 

“Ugh. He always manages to ruin the mood when he is around...and he have you as a target for his bullying because he is jealous on you being a royal prince, right Yuë?” one of the other Elves commented, as she had sometimes witnessed similar scenes in the past. And the Dwarven dancers were muttering in their own language, finding it distasteful to see a prince of royal blood be bad mouthed in the way Yuë had just been by Liltarion. 

He will be scared away once he finds out that brother is here with me. He is terrified of Rûsa after that brother once released a true killing aura while comforting me from Liltarion openly said that I could not be Atar son because I am albino while Atar have the dark skin of his birth Avari clan. I think brother must have trained on that in secret after seeing how amm ë would use it to keep discipline among her soldiers. 

As the third grandson of the Crown prince and fifth in line to the crown among the Noldor, Yuë had been educated as needed for his rank in the royal family, so while his social skills were not the best because of his withdrawn personality and his frail health or asthma making social gatherings difficult, he was not impossible around people he liked. Besides, the question had not been ill meant, merely stating the truth. 

It better not be ballet shoes he wore. It is a dance that is not exactly banned here in Valinor, but I know that Elrond have spoken up about the damage done to the feet of ballet dancers and how it sometimes could flat out ruin the feet on the dancers in Númenor where it first was created. 

With Elves being immortal, Elrond had feared that a career as a ballet dancer could ruin the feet of a Elf by doing the movements over several centuries, and most likely, the only cure to regain normal feet again would be rebirth in a new body. In fact, ballet was one of the few dances which Yuë had never tried under all his life so far, because of what Elrond had told about the dangers of it and he really did not want to end up handicapped by his feet getting horribly damaged from a dance form that was not gentle on the feet in the long run. 

Chapter Text

Just in case things might get ugly later during the dance competition, Yuë told the others about what happened as they shared a dinner table in the tavern, choosing different meals for each one. 

“That guy is still able to even walk without crutches or other aids for walking? And here I thought that dangerous dance style had made him handicaped already because we have not seen him for a good half a century,” Rûsa wondered, putting some soup in his mouth before he might say something that was not so socially acceptable to say out aloud. 

“Maybe because you have mostly kept to small-scale dance competitions, Yuë? It is not like those grand dance events in Tirion is your style of showing off, after all,” Maeglin offered in a more tactful manner, though almost everyone around the table was used to that Rûsa simply was not that great in social behaviors despite that he could do reasonable well for a royal prince. 

As long as we can be kept separate for pretty much the whole event, I am fine. Would be sad if all the fun with this competition was ruined because of him.

Personally, Yuë doubted that Liltarion would be dancing against the Dwarven dancers as himself, after all as a son of a famous dance master in Tirion it seemed rather unlikely that he would see the inspiration that could be given from different cultures. And if he stayed out among the full Elven inns instead of here where both races would meet, it would be peaceful even outside the dance stage.

~X~X~X~X~X~X

The next day, after a good night of sleeping, did Yuë walk over to the large building that held the Dwarven guild for anything related to sewing and fashion. As this was tied to Valinor, some Elves could be found among the workers too, mostly old followers of his maternal family. 

“Ah, here comes the Diamond Prince of the Noldor! Here for taking part in the dancing with your Ruby brother as an escort during the trip?” one Dwarf commented loudly in good humour at seeing the new customer entering the front of the massive shop. Yuë smiled faintly, he and his brother had been given those nicknames because of their different hair colours. 

Yes. I would like to see if there is an already finished dance costume that could be altered to fit me. Preferable not white, black or anything else that makes me seem like a ghost. 

Of course, as a albino, Yuë knew the importance of being careful with what colours he wore in his clothes. Really dark ones, like black, could make him look creepy for others and while he did not have anything against wearing his brother's old cast-offs that Rûsa had outgrown long before Yuë was the same age, it was fun to buy something brand new from time to time. 

“What sort of dancing have you been planning for this competition, lad? The style of dance and costume has to match, as you know, and we all know horror tales of dancers that actually are woefully ignorant of the fact that their clothing is not matching the dance at all, because they only think of it as a random clothing piece from another culture!” 

Oh yes, that sort of tales was not unheard now in the Fourth Age, when new arrivals to the Halls of the Forefathers could tell of how Men from the West could flat out steal national costumes from eastern nations simply because they found it “fancy-looking” and degarde it all into harmful stereotypes. Cousin Celebrimbor had not minded that Narvi was remembered as a male Dwarf in history books, but he had taken great offense at people thinking that she had lived her whole life in Khazad-dûm simply because they made the Doors of Durin together and basically had her Eastern background eased out! 

I was thinking of this dance, actually. As it is meant to be done slowly and elegant, it does not trigger my asthma as much as other dance styles.

By showing a few steps and movements from his intended dance, the tailors were all in agreement for how he made it look like a painting come to life. 

“Then we have a few sets that should be perfect!” 

Having seen it happen a few times to his own mother when her old Dwarven allies had ordered a specially designed costume for her as a surprise, Yuë was not surprised at all when he was dragged behind a screen to partly undress and get his measurements. 

Meanwhile, Maedhros and Rog had just arrived as well. Being only two with only a set of spare horses without a lot of baggage, it had taken them less time to travel than their family members. They had made a short stop to some of the Avari clans outside, to visit his family. 

“Should we speak with Cúwen and Túrëo? I mean, given his family background it is understandable that he may not feel ready for marriage yet, but our daughter is not the most patient among women, a trait from my father…” 

In a sense, Maedhros herself could understand her oldest daughter. Once upon a time, before the Darkening of Valinor and the Exile to Middle-earth, she had also desired marriage with a man she loved. Now knowing that Rog had never truly given up about trying to win her heart during all that time, even when he was locked up in Gondolin because of her cousin's stupid rule that no one could leave the Hidden City, she hoped that all four of her children would find the same happiness with someone. 

“Perhaps he can find his courage here as well? Our son was hoping to finally confess to Saira if he manages to rank high enough in this competition. It is basically a challenge from himself.” 

Both of them understood why Yuë hesitated to admit his feelings. People were already gossiping badly enough about that Rûsa and Maeglin had married despite being second-cousins sharing only a common great-grandfather in Finwë, and the House of Fëanor was not respected in the same way as they once had been. 

“With some luck and support, we might leave here with a future son-in-law.” 

Maedhros hoped that Finrod would be kind towards her second son if he confessed to Saira, and if rejecting him as a suitor to his daughter, at least not leave Yuë with emotional scars that could damage future attempts of romance. The whole thing with Aegnor remaining faithful to the mortal Andreth and never taking an Elf bride, had shown her cousin that he might be wise but not so experienced in knowing what to do when it came to how others could act in love. Hopefully, Finrod had learnt from his mistakes now when he was married himself, and a proud father. 

~X~X~X~X~X~X

This first evening of the competition, following the presentation of the hosts and most important guests, was basically the dancers presenting themselves and a small part of their skills. Also, the seven Dwarven Clans took the chance to show a cultural dance that was unique to each Clan. 

“Oh, the famous step dance of Belegost! I have not seen it since last time I visited the realm just before the War of Wrath while Azaghâl's grandson was the newly-made Lord after his father!” Maedhros exclaimed in joy when she realized which dance Azaghâl, his wife Kym and several other members of their court was performing. 

“I really never should have gone to Gondolin, so many cultures over there in Middle-earth that I missed to visit and explore…” Rog muttered under his breath, feeling just a little bit jealous of his wife for the freedom she had outside the Hidden City of Turgon. 

Being from the East of Middle-earth, of the Blacklock Clan, it was only natural to see Narvi and Loki take part as two of the dancers in an all-female performance of a belly dance that showed some of their culture. 

“Nephew, you can have fun with Narvi later,” Maedhros joked with Celebrimbor when she caught him staring at his Dwarven wife and one could almost imagine that Narvi actually was teasing her husband by the movements she did. 

And finally, some of the Elven dancers were allowed to come out on the floor to show their part of the competition. Just like her sons and daughter-in-law, Maedhros did not find it anywhere close to inner calm when she saw Liltarion perform in a very advanced ballet. 

“If Elrond was here, he would demand that fool be pulled off-stage at once and get those damn shoes off his feet for a full examination of how injured the feet really are…” 

How Liltarion was not yet crippled in his feet from that horrible dance, Maedhros did not know. But she had a nagging feeling that this dance competition could perhaps end up as his final performance, for some reason, because surely it was only a matter of time before his feet were so damaged from the ballet that he honestly had to give up that career as a professional dancer? 

Then it was a relief to see Yuë perform. Dressed up in a muti-coloured costume with belonging hat that Maedhros knew to be based on the ruler of a human nation in the far East, her younger son moved slowly yet elegant, acting as if he was a painting coming to life or a stage actor portraying a highly refined being in a fairy tale from mortal lands. 

It spoke a lot about their skills in using their whole body movements and facial expressions as part of the full performance, that Yuë was given a bigger applause than Liltarion. Maedhros knew that it was not out of currying favor with her, but a sign of how good her younger son actually could be in dancing when he proved it. 

Chapter Text

While dance competitions were perfectly normal to happen among both Elves, Dwarves and Men, Maedhros knew that this time, with both Elves and Dwarves showing off dances from their different cultures, it was going to be a much bigger challenge than normally for many of the dances. 

“I wonder if it may be a little bit of a wake-up call for some of those youngsters who are here.”

With both Elves and Dwarves sitting as judges, it became a lot harder to show how one may be the best dancer in a local dance troop, because you had a lot more challengers to keep an eye on. Of course, the judges had been chosen among Elves and Dwarves who had regular contact with the other race, and thus knew better than to offend a hard-working dancer by an ill-thought judgment.

“I say, Maedhros, that your younger lad have a small advantage thanks to your family being regular visitors to our part of Valinor outside the Halls of the Forefathers,” Azaghâl commented to her during a midday break, “And not merely for that, but because he is not taken the other dancers lightly no matter which race they are.” 

“Thank you, my friend,” she smiled, “He is rather interested in cultures which he sadly is unable to ever visit in Middle-earth because he is born in Valinor in a time when Elves have all left those lands, so the Eastern Dwarven clans and a few scattered Avari clans who remained in the East, are his best chances to learn about those dances which are invented by Men.” 

She was proud of Yuë for this, because she knew how dangerous it could be to offend someone of a different race with less than pleasant results happening to oneself. The death of both Thingol himself and his counsellor Saeros at separate points in the First Age could be called a prime example of this mentally, and how the Elves, the First Children of the All-Father, could be just as flawed as the Younger Races.  

~X~X~X~X~X~X

After this first day, Yuë was very pleased that he had been able to pass the critical glares of the judges and managed to join the number of dancers who would remain in the competition for tomorrow. He had seen more than a few dancers having to leave the competition today, which in itself was just another proof that this was not something for fun as a hobby: 

It was a challenge of the very best Elven and Dwarven dancers, to assess how knowledgeable they were in dances beyond their practiced style. If there ever was going to be a dance performance with both races in the future, then everyone needed to show that they could fit in, and quickly adjust because it was like a to be an actor in a play: If you couldn't play more than one kind of role, you were considered to be predictable single-tracked in your performance and risked not having a very successful career. 

It is not just a show for different styles of dances. It is a test to weed out those who could not work together with others.

He was not that surprised that Liltarion had managed to pass on this first day, but Yuë did not doubt that over the coming days, the other Elf dancer was going to get a brutal wake-up call in that not everyone found ballet to be the most impressive dance to be performed. There was something called cultural differences as his ammë had always mentioned for as long as her albino son could remember. Of how Maedhros and Celebrimbor had compared the Dwarven culture in Belegost while Azaghâl and and his family had ruled it, with how the Line of Durin had ruled Khazad-dûm, during Narvi's lifetime and the following centuries until that Sauron had murdered his cousin. 

Even here in Valinor during the Years of the Trees, the Noldor, Teleri and Vanyar Elves had created their own culture differences! Their Kings had different styles of court dances back then, and this had only been proved even more in the Exile to Middle-earth as they explored the local Sinda culture in Doriath and made their own realms, where mixing of cultures and customs was almost inevitable. Gondolin did not really count there, because Turgon had insisted on the Noldor culture and customs he had grown up with as a member of the Noldorin royal family. 

While Saira was not taking part in the dance competition, she had come here with her father Finrod, who saw it as a good chance for his daughter to get some more insight into how different the dwarven cultures could be from the Elven ones. 

“It is a different kind of elegance, Atar! It is challenging the idea that the Eldar does not think much of the Stone-Children of Aulë being craftsmen!” 

Finrod smiled in pride at seeing her observance.

“Yes. Some of those dances would be very challenging to do for us Elves, and ballet first hailed from Nûmenor, performed by Mannish dancers who slowly made it into an art form which now even Elves can perform.” 

He spoke about how dance can be an art form in itself, as proved by the countless different styles already shown today. And this was just the Elven and Dwarven styles, imagine how it would be if there were Mannish dancers present as well! 

“Sometimes this sort of talk really highlights what we miss in exploring other cultures by being here in Valinor all our lives….” Saira lamented, echoing a thought of many Elves who were born now in the Fourth Age. 

“Sweetheart, please do not cry!” Finrod said in alarm when it looked like she was about to start crying, “I will see if there are any new books written about the Eastern cultures of Men from the four Dwarf clans there! There is a steady line of arrivals to the Halls of the Forefathers, there must be some book we can borrow with permission from their librarians, I promise!” 

She was not gonna cry for real, it was just fun to sometimes mess with her father like this even if she had been of age for some centuries now. And, well, it simply was fun to see Finrod lose some of his grace at times. 

~X~X~X~X~X~X

Even with performing another stylized dance where one moved slowly to highlight elegance, Yuë knew that he would only make himself disappointed in hope of winning the entire competition among the Elves who took part, while a Dwarf took home the victory among their race. 

It is better to aim as high as I can, unless I suffer such a bad asthma attack that I can not perform anymore…!

There was a very good reason for why Yuë had tried to build up his endurance and strength through dancing. He did not want to always be seen as the sicky one among the four children of Maedhros, the one who always needed to be sheltered and protected by others. He wanted to prove for both others and himself that he could be more than just that. 

Yes, he would forever be mute. Yes, his sickly health was always going to be around, but he was a far cry from his earliest years after birth, now in adulthood. As long as he was not completely helpless, he would not complain too much. 

Of course, peace was not to last. 

“How they can allow you to even be out in public, is beyond me. A ghost of the royal family, how can you even bare to show yourself?” 

Yuë knew that Liltarion was trying to make him upset, because it had been the same thing ever since their first meeting as Elflings in Tirion and Liltarion really wanted to follow in the footsteps of his father, who was the teacher for the new dancers at the royal court. For him, the fact that Yuë had real talent in dance, which he found by experimenting until he found a dance style that suited him, was a threat to Liltarion's own dream to become the best Noldorin dancer of his generation. 

“And you need to learn better manners towards others, youngling.” 

One Dwarven Elder had shown up, and now hit the dark-haired Elf hard on the shins with a heavy walking stick from behind. 

“Ow!”

Taking the chance to leave, Yuë hoped to avoid him until tomorrow at least. But he was a little worried that Liltarion had brought some of his friends along to this place. If they caused trouble behind the scenes… 

They have bullied me in the past, I can not be too careful here. 

Better safe than sorry. Perhaps some would see it as Yuë being something of a coward instead of showing the same courage his parents had shown back in the First Age when facing orcs and other enemies, but he really did not want to be around that group. And as he had overheard some of the old Dwarven Kings say once:

“Do not call someone a coward for refusing a challenge. It may be their survival instincts ensuring that they will live to see another day. A fearless fool may find themselves dead because they fail to see a mortal danger for what it is, and realize when it is best to retreat.” 

Yes, that was what his parents would say too. And many of his expanded family members who had lived in the First Age. 

Chapter Text

Far away from the dance competition and what happened there, Turgon had just finished one new architect's drawing for a new stone bridge that needed to be built over a larger river two days' journey from Tirion, the old one was no longer in good condition despite previous repairs and now it was time to build a new one.

“I hope that everything goes well, over there, for Lithtarion, in getting the attention he deserves from Saira.” 

Turgon was not that surprised that the golden-haired daughter of Finrod and Amarie had a lot of suitors, not merely for her lineage but also for her gentle heart. Or that her love for the arts in the form of music and dancing had also drawn attention. 

What really had alarmed him, however, was the way Saira had refused to look away from Yuë in a rare public appearance of the second son of Maedhros during a dance competition for adolescence Elves, where Yuë had taken part in and managed to be among the top ten dancers. 

The former King of Gondolin had never had the same relationship with Rog, ever since the reveal that the Lord of the Hammer of Wrath had fancied his cousin since her youth, and married her now in the Fourth Age. Maedhros…

Well, to be honest, Turgon had never really gotten along with his cousins from uncle Fëanor. Almost every meeting from his infanthood had somehow led to a crash of personality with them, and a small part of Turgon even felt jealousy over that Fingon, Aredhel and even Argon had sometimes chosen to spend time with them instead of him. 

Maedhros marrying Rog and even having children with him, despite everything from the First Age and in the last Years of the Trees, felt like once again, the only princess of the House of Fëanor was overshadowing Turgon in some ways. She was the oldest of their generation, the first grandchild of Finwë, even getting Nelyafinwë as her father-name to mark her status as the heir of Fëanor despite being a daughter and most of the Noldor had expected him to name Maglor as his heir due to being the first son, at that time. Meanwhile, Turgon had just been the “second son of the High King's second son” from the moment he was born. Part of the reason he had founded Gondolin, was not just the vision from Ulmo, but a secret desire to finally step out from the shadows of his cousins and his older brother. 

Rog courting and marrying Maedhros, had felt like once again, she was overshadowing Turgon like in the past. And…

He honestly did not like the idea of Finrod having Yuë as a possible son-in-law. Even without being a kinslayer like his mother, the albino Noldor prince was the second-cousin of Saira, and Turgon did recall the scandal of Maeglin choosing to marry Rûsa. 

Yes, he knew that he had lost the trust of his sister-daughter due to events in the past, and this being a huge part of why Maeglin had rejected every single attempt of his to make her realize that marrying Rûsa would be a massive mistake in the long run, but Turgon has still tried to remind Maeglin that the oldest son of Maedhros was dangerous precisely because of his past as the feared Warg Rider, the weapon of Morgoth against the Exiled Noldor in every battle they had fought back in the First Age. 

But if he could prevent sweet, innocent Saira from making the same mistake, making her realize that there were so many other, less tainted, better elves to choose among, when it came to romance and marriage, then surely Finrod would be very grateful. 

And this was why he had sponsored Liltarion from a young age, hoping that the young Elf would attract Saira through his skills in dancing. Why he had told him that this dance competition was the ideal chance to spend more time with the famed Finrod and his daughter. 

However, though this action, Turgon had once again showed that he had not quite learned a lesson from the First Age about playing match-makers for members of his family: 

Namely that he had a poor habit of being blind to reality at times, and an awfully poor judge of character.  

He had believed that both Aredhel and Maeglin would settle down peacefully in Gondolin once they were married and busy with everything this would mean, failing in both cases to realize in time that he risked to set them up with a suitor who really would not make them happy at all. 

And how this was happening again, because he honestly did not know Saira as well as he believed that he did. 

~X~X~X~X~X~X

As it was, Finrod was already rather suspicious that Liltarion was taking part in the dance competition, because it was a very different one compared to the ones where the young dancer would be found at. His dear wife also found it a little too much of a supposed coincidence, as this happened more often than not in Tirion. 

“Honestly, I would expect to see him back in Tirion, rather than here. Because no matter how skilled he is at ballet, he fails to really stand out among other styles of dance here and it is painfully obvious that he have no idea how to behave towards the Stone Children of Aulë,” the firstborn son of Finarfin and Eärwen thought with a steady souring mood, which happened to match almost exactly what Saira showed on her face at that moment. 

“I swear that, atto, I will need to punch him one day to make him understand that I. Do. NOT. Like. him or even want him anywhere near me!” Saira muttered under her breath as she had lost her appetite, giving off a most unhappy aura which was hard to miss. 

Finrod did not blame his daughter. He had seen in the past that Liltarion be quite a bully towards others when he believed that no one would notice, using the fact that his father was the dance master of the royal court of Tirion as well that mysterious sponsor of  Liltarion, a identify which Finrod had not yet figured out. One clue was the fact that Yuë had been bullied before by Liltarion in the past, and how the second son of Maedhros had been the one blamed for starting trouble in the first place, further making Yuë even more unwilling to leave Formenos and more unknown among the Noldor beyond what already was known about him: The rarely seen albino prince among the grandchildren of Fëanor, Yuë being the only son of the three children born between Maedhros and Rog, born alarmingly premature and thus being sickly as a result.

Clearly, that mysterious sponsor of Liltarion was someone who did not like Maedhros or her family, and had both the financial means and connections to giving them trouble every time poor Yuë tried to prove himself the victim of  Liltarion's bullying alongside his little gang of fellow trouble-makers. Finrod could cross out most members of the Noldorin royal family at once as being this mysterious person, mostly because they all knew that Maedhros was well able of showing off why she had been a such feared warrior back in the First Age, even with the handicap of losing her right hand and the physical damage done to her body from hanging from that cliff for so many years. Besides, no one wanted her to slip back into her Kinslayer mood, the way she had been affected by not only her horrible time in Angband but also the Oath revealing a not very pleasant side of herself. 

Rog was also not someone to cross, when it came to his family. While he had failed to slay any Balrog in the Fall of Gondolin like Ecthelion and Glorfindel, he was enough of a deadly warrior to be feared in nearly the same way as his wife, and this was without mentioning the possibility of another risk… 

“I guess that we would be very lucky to avoid Rûsa finding a reason to let the Warg Rider slip into control long enough to scare Liltarion to death, literally.” 

Finrod did not doubt that Rûsa preferred to not do that, knowing the risks to how such an action could lead to the truth of his first life being revealed. This, however, did not mean that the older son of Maedhros may feel tempered to remind that foolish younger Elf that he was literally playing with fire in more than one way. 

“Have that mysterious sponsor even bothered to remind both themselves and Liltarion that Yuë actually is a member of the Noldorin royal family, and which branch of the family he belongs to?” 

And this was without the fact that Maeglin was highly protective of her younger brother-in-law, as was Celebrimbor of all his cousins. Finrod could almost see a mental image of them both raising up a heavy forge hammer in a very threatening manner, if Lithtarion dared to cross a line while they all were here over the coming days… 

Finrod was so lost in thoughts with a uncharacteristic absent look on his face, while Amarië ordered their meal to a waiter, that he failed to notice something in front of him before it was too late: 

“Princess, may I have the honor of inviting you out for drinks tomorrow?” 

Only her upbringing as a princess prevented Saira from showing her true feelings about Liltarion here among the rest of the guests of the tavern where she and her father had chosen to eat their dinner today. 

“I will give an answer tomorrow after the daily dances,” she faked a smile, secretly burning with anger on the inside over that he had the nerve to try and bother her again like so often in Tirion. 

“Yes, Saira first has a meeting with a few of my old friends,” Finrod hurried to add in before the youngster could insist on his offer being more important Amarië quickly nodding to make his words seem more real, feeling grateful that his daughter shared his interest in the Children of Aulë. With a bow that failed to hide his disappointment, Liltarion left. 

~X~X~X~X~X~X

When Saira returned to her guest rooms, she was happy to see a dwarven-crafted gift laying on her bed, alongside a poem. 

“Oh, atto! Look, that secret admirer of mine may be here as a guest too!”

A dwarf, dressed like a servant, smiled as he informed the father, mother and daughter trio: 

“It arrived here earlier today, addressed to the young miss. The Elf in question asked to not be asked of who they were when they arrived, clad in a full body-covering cloak, for they seem to know that many at the Elven court may…question them to be an acceptable suitor for her.” 

Ah. Whoever the mysterious Elf was, Finrod could not really fault them for staying low and only make themselves known through those gifts to Saira. It was impossible to not know who he was, as the famed ruler of Nargothrond and all that back in the First Age, and many people in Tirion insisted that as his daughter, Saira could not just accept marriage from anyone. 

“I will thank them by wearing this tomorrow in full sight, then.”  

In her hand, Saira held up a dwarven-crafted bracelet of gold, with her mysterious admirer's signature symbol for their gifts, carefully crafted into the gold with tiny emeralds and morganite gemstones: a modest woodland flower called linnaea. 

Chapter Text

The following morning when she woke up, Maedhros knew that it was not going to be a good start of the day for her. 

“Ow, ow, ow…those phantom pains again!” she grasped at noticing how her right arm had fixed herself in a very hard to miss position above her head. Even in this new body after her rebirth at the beginning of the Fourth Age, there were times when she could get attacked by the same phantom pains in her right arm, shoulder and her back which had haunted her for the rest of the First Age, ever since Fingon had saved her. 

“One, two…oooww!” 

Today was going to be one of the more hellish days, it seemed, from how phantom pains shot through her brain as she tried to soften up her muscles so she no longer had her arm held up like that. 

“Are you alright, dear?” 

After so many years of marriage between them, Rog knew that this could happen at unpredictable times, and it was not the first time Maedhros accidentally woke him up by kicking around in bed as a reflex from the phantom pains in her right shoulder. Some sleeping positions became very uncomfortable when she woke up like this, and even more so when she laid on her right side and found herself nearly unable to move without causing herself more pain, according to her brain. 

“....going to need a Dwarven massage at the bath house, might as well take my breakfast there because the very thought of eating without relaxing my muscles first…!” she grimaced, hissing loud as he gently laid his hand on her arm to see, feeling how tense she was. 

“I will warm up a teapot in the fireplace and pour some water on a towel to place on your shoulder while we dress ourselves. It may not be the warm bath water of the bath house, but it may help you to relax a little?” 

“Please.”

Their children needed to be told as well, because they had planned for a family breakfast together. 

But only half an hour later, when most people had woken up and started to prepare for a new day, messengers were sent to the various rooms where the Elven participants in the dance competition lived during the stay, asking them to gather alongside their Dwarven counterparts at the main square as quickly as they could. 

There, Durin revealed something unexpected: 

One of the lesser spirits once serving Sauron and Morgoth in the bodies of werewolves in the First Age, had somehow managed to broke out from its cage in the very deepest, most unreachable parts of the Halls of Mandos, partly thanks to a literal beginner among the Elves who served Estë as her Elven aiders in healing in the Gardens of Lórien, who had suddenly seen their first fear take form in front of them and in a moment of stupidity and panic, throwing a lamp on the lock so it was damaged. 

How, in the name of the All-Father, was even that possible in the first place? Yuë asked through the Dwarven sign language, somehow feeling not very surprised when the answer was a mix of overconfidence in one's own abilities and refusal to listen to warnings from the Maiar who served in the Halls to not go into those deeper parts. A classical example which showed how Elves were not always wiser than Men or other mortals. 

“And what does this have to do with us?” someone among the dancers voiced their shared thoughts, to which Durin answered: 

“A shapeshifter whose specialty was to take the form of the worst fear of an observer. May not sound that impressive compared to Sauron and other servants of Morgoth, but still very effective in its own way, and I doubt that any of you would want your own worst fear to be revealed in front of everyone during the dancing? Especially if it was something which you do not want others to know about?” 

“NO!! ” 

After a brief vote by raising their hands, where 80 % of the dancers voted for to temporarily pause the dance competition, so that it wasn't ruined by this or that someone risked getting hurt because of their worst fear, Durin praised them for understanding that this was a unusual situation and not the time to show off their dance skills out of pride or thinking that it was deliberate sabotage. He also promised that he and the other six Fathers of the Dwarves would pay for any extra cost that appeared for their long-distance visitors, but also made a point of mentioning that they better be wise enough to NOT trying to use this to leave behind an unexpectedly expensive bill, as all the dancers had written their names on a list of participants and where they were staying during their stay. 

“A good warning about not trying to piss off the Seven Fathers like that,“ Yuë thought for himself with a careful side glare towards Liltarion who looked pissed about not being able to use this offer for his own enjoyment, “because there are likely some visiting dancers who would love to suddenly get a chance to spoil themselves while someone else pays the bill.” 

His mother had taught her four children from an early age how this sort of behavior was not viewed with kind eyes among the Dwarves, and seen as poor manners among the Elves as well. 

~X~X~X~X~X~X

When Yuë joined his father, brother, cousin and Finrod in the male half of the bath house, they agreed that continuing to hold the dance competition as originally planned was asking for some rather serious trouble if that shapeshifting spirit did show up. 

“Believe me, that sort of spirit is no joke. It may not be a fallen Maia like Sauron or the Balrogs, but they can still cause trouble of their own, and given what sort of role both Morgoth and Sauron played in the world, them using that sort of “little helpers” is not so weird as it may sound,” Finrod explained, knowing too well that his own worst fear was to find himself back on the Grinding Ice. Not Sauron, nor the wolf that had given him fatal wounds, though they came a very close second if Finrod ever had to do a list on what would terrify him the most. And he was hardly the only one to fear the dangerous side of nature, after such a horrible way of finding out why Valinor had been a safe haven for the Elves in most ways.

“Ask any former slave of theirs, and they would likely give similar answers,” Rog said while undoing his hair braids so he could wash his hair. Hearing what they talked about and coming over, Dior joined in as well:

“I am glad that they do not keep us ignorant of this happening, because the alternative is not something pleasant.” 

The Valar and the Maiar serving them had learned a harsh lesson about failing to realize the more obvious risks and the need of damage control from when allowing Morgoth to be released from the Halls, and how he had managed to cause harm to the Elves who were supposed to be safe in Valinor. By taking action at once, things were slightly more under control and hopefully no one would be hurt by this. 

Since there is no dancing today as planned, I am going to get a full body massage over there, Yuë informed his father though ósanwë, with an added nod towards the room where some Dwarves could give the bathers a massage. 

“Please do.”

Once Yuë and Rûsa were out of hearshot, however. Finrod frowned in an uncharacteristic manner for him. 

“I have sent a letter to some friends of Amarië in Tirion to help try and uncover the identity of the sponsor behind Liltarion. He is beginning to toe a line of what is acceptable around Saira and I do not like how he has never really stopped bullying Yuë over the years, either.”

“About time. That kid is forgetting that my son is actually part of the Noldorin royal family, and that he is playing with fire in more than one way if he does not stop his behavior. Just because he is sponsored by someone who clearly is anti-Fëanorian, does not mean that Liltarion can act as consequences will never catch up to him.”

By calling Liltarion for a kid, Rog revealed that in his eyes, the dancer was nothing else than an overgrown, immature bully who had not changed much since he was an Elfling. 

“I made the mistake of underestimating what that family could do, especially with the Oath pulling on them to act, when my family got on their wrong side. Oath or not, I am not making that mistake again because I paid a very high price for it the first time,” Dior muttered to himself as he emptied a bucket of water over his head to rinse out his hair. 

Over in the parts for the ladies, a similar talk was happening: 

“Yes. Some guys are awful at picking up clues that the girl is not interested in them, and he is beginning to seem like the type to need a physical rejection to get this message into his head.” 

As the oldest grandchild of Finwë and the heiress of her father, Maedhros knew how it was to be pestered by unwanted suitors as an unwed princess. Unlike her, however, Saira did not have a small army of brothers to help scare away this problem, and it would be very out of character for her if Saira suddenly started to act more like Maeglin in the hope that this would scare away the suitors too.  

“Maybe you can send off a similar message to him by spending some time with Yuë? I heard that there was going to be a musical performance this afternoon, there may still be some seats left for you two. I believe it was “Stars mirrored in the lake” that would be performed,” Maeglin said, seeing a chance for both helping her brother-in-law with his crush in a natural way and messing around with that arrogant dancer. 

“That Dwarven musical inspired by uncle Aegnor and Andreth?! Of course I will go if we can get some seats! Yuë is so much more pleasant company than Liltarion, even with his muteness,” Saira exclaimed in surprise. Her entire family had been invited to the premiere about fifty years earlier, after the creator had of course first asked Aegnor if he was okay with his love story being the inspiration for the musical, and her uncle had admitted, while crying from his emotional reaction to the whole performance, that he was indeed happy to see how there was still people in Arda who preferred less dramatic love stories over the more famous ones like Luthien and Beren, or Idril and Tuor. 

"You found something that she really likes," Amarië laughed from the table where she laid, in the massage room for ladies. 

“Just because some love stories are more famous than others, does not mean that they will always be the preferred ones because everyone already knows them,” Maedhros smiled at hearing that her second son would have a pleasant afternoon, her mood much better now after a full body massage that had helped with her phantom pains. 

“Ow, ow, ow! You call this torture for a body massage?! Hands off me!” someone rudely screamed from the other side of the wall which separated the baths for males and females, and there was no mistake who that could be. 

“Seriously,” Maedhros signed in annoyance while giving a generous tip to the massager who had just finished working a full body massage on herself, “Elven massages are good in their own way, but for things like my phantom pains, Dwarven massage is far superior because of their physical strength. The first time I was given this treatment thanks to lady Kym noticing that I tried to hide how stiff I was in my right shoulder and back from the phantom pains acting up, I could not believe the difference in how I felt afterwards!” 

She had always felt indebted to the wife of Azaghâl for trying to make their Elven guest have a good time during her visits in Belegost. 

“Not even the best masseur in Gondolin could match the Dwarven massages I got in Nogrod when Atar brought me there, and she was someone who used her skills to try and prevent frostbite on those who crossed the Grinding Ice by massaging their bodies so the blood would flow around in the limbs by them feeling warmer!” Maeglin admitted, without disrespecting the She-elf in question. 

“How rude. What sort of weak or improperly done massages are that brat used to, if he does not even allow the masseur to start beyond laying their hands on him and gently kneading his muscles to warm them up?” Celebrimbor commented on hearing the scream of Liltarion from inside a more private bath chamber where people could wash off themselves if they did not want to be in the crowd. For him and Narvi, this use of the private bath chamber simply came from the fact that he had sprained his foot the night before, and that he had more space to move around here without annoying others. 

“Indeed,” Narvi agreed from where she was looking over his sprained foot in her lap, “you can not judge the differences of Elven and Dwarven massages if you do not let the worker do the basics on you.” 

~X~X~X~X~X~X

Despite his nervousness at being so close with Saira, Yuë was very happy to spend time with her. If even Aegnor believed that this Dwarven musical based on his love story was good and that even the Elves should see it if they could, then performers clearly had done a good job in all the important details. 

Maybe I can even take a little inspiration for my dances once the competition starts again?  The judges do want a little original from us who takes part, after all. I better watch closely if I am to try something like that. 

And the musical was good. Some of the finest singers and actors among the Dwarven race were the ones performing in the various roles, and they showed why they had ended becoming Masters of their chosen craft. The ones who had worked on the clothing, backgrounds and other stuff to transform the stage between the different scenes, had also made a wonderful work. 

It was impossible to miss why Aegnor had fallen for this mortal wisewoman back in the First Age, who had been respected among both Men and Elves during her lifetime for her knowledge and understanding in the lore of her people. Despite how it had ended in tragedy, there was something deeply emotional about their tale, an unspoken reminder to not expect all grand love stories to have a happy ending but still never doubting what the pair felt for each other. 

“I have difficulty in choosing which song is my favorite, but this one in the scene where they first met at Tarn Aeluin is a strong candidate alongside a duet song between them later,” she whispered, pointing towards the stage where the singer portraying Aegnor was beginning to sing. 

Afterwards, as the pair went to buy a music booklet with the songs, they did not miss that one of the friends of Liltarion was trying to sneak after them. 

“Having trouble, my prince and princess?” the seller asked in a low voice at noticing the odd movements as well. 

“That Elf is part of a small group who have bullied Yuë in the past, they may try something again when we go our separate ways, because the main bully is someone who would try dirty tricks to win this whole competition despite his lack of dance moves outside ballet,” Saira whispered, and Yuë clearly was uncomfortable at seeing the other male Elf. 

“One cup of raven seeds, it seems,” the seller said, using a secret code to the cleaner near the back wall, who immediately retreated into the shadows. 

When Saira and Yuë left the building with their bought souvenirs, a heavy sack filled with sand, used as a weight for the backgrounds of the stage where the musical had been performed on, was dropped from the roof on the Elf who tried to follow after them. 

~X~X~X~X~X~X

The following morning, just after dawn, Yuë went to the nearby forest to enjoy the sight of how the sunlight was slowly bathing the surroundings in a golden light. 

My heart is yours, forever more…

That duet song Saira had mentioned to be sung between the main actors playing Aegnor and Andreth, was truly impossible to forget. The song writer had done a wonderful job on the lyrics, and the second son of Maedhros could understand why Aegnor had been so emotional at hearing the song for the first time. 

“Think that you can present yourself as a possible suitor for Saira, just for taking her to a musical performance, Kinslayer spawn?!” an angry voice spat out, and the nice mood was broken by Liltation appearing between the trees. Yuë spun around, searching for a way to escape, not doubting for a moment that the other elf had his friends along, so they would be six against him. 

“It seems like you need a better warning in staying far away from her…and never showing yourself among people! The offspring of kinslayers are undesirable!” 

Yuë felt panic build up inside him at the sight of the knife Liltarion held. Even if he tried to defend himself with how some dance moves could be used for self-defense, he knew that his asthma could be acting up in a critical moment, and give his bullies an opening. 

Ammë? Ammë! Atar! he screamed though ósanwë, Rûsa! Liltarion and his gang are attacking me just past the forest edge!! 

It was the terrified scream of her younger son echoing in her mind that woke up Maedhros. But not only that, a sense of her hair being grabbed roughly from behind, and other hands restraining her so she could not move… 

Triggering up the memories of not only her capture in the trap Morgoth had laid, but also how she had been tricked into believing that Sauron had stabbed the newborn Rûsa to death as a part of the torture she had undergone despite being pregnant. 

And this in turn, triggered the memories of how everyone had dreaded that Yuë would not survive his premature birth, which had been caused by Maedhros herself being poisoned by dried yew being powdered and used instead of powdered sugar on some cookies she had gotten when being six months pregnant. The flashback of her younger son barely fitting into her cupped hands from how small and fragile he had been… 

“No…no!” 

“Nelyo…? Hey, did you bring a sword along?!” 

Before Rog could stop her, Maedhros had pulled out a long item from among her share of their packing and stormed out.

Where Dior and Nimloth were sleeping in their guest room, they were forced awake by a presence they had not sensed for three Ages of the Sun. That of Maedhros during the Second Kinslaying, the female warrior who had become known as the Orc-scourge for how she had proved to be more dangerous with her left hand than with her right, causing the orcs to flee in terror from her. 

“Oh no…this is not good!” Nimloth breathed, pushing down unwanted memories which this aura brought up to the surface of her mind. And they were not the only ones reacting to the terrifying aura suddenly appearing. 

“Who is triggering my aunt back into her Kinslayer personality?!” poor Celebrimbor said in alarm as he opened the window to see his aunt run towards the nearby forest, cursing his sprained foot as Rûsa followed after his mother, just barely holding back the aura that could reveal him as the feared Warg Rider of Morgoth, Maeglin being woken up by her husband basically throwing himself out of the bed so she fell down on the floor from the unexpected violent movements. 

Unaware of the incoming danger coming towards them, Liltarion tossed something up in the air from his hand and caught it again.  

“That should teach him to stay out of sight. Everyone knows that…?!” 

Suddenly a terrifying aura showed up behind the group, and they were too surprised to move at first. In fact, Liltarion found himself grabbed by the collar and slammed with his back first into a tree, knocking the breath out of him as his friends screamed in terror, fleeing for their lives. 

“What did you DO to my son?!” Maedhros snarled in his face, her sword pressed against his throat, “Where is Yuë?!” 

“N-not here…ugh!” 

Behind Maedhros, Rûsa knocked out the other gang members. Then, seeing what Liltarion had dropped to the ground when Maedhros had slammed him into the tree, her older son realized exactly why his mother had been triggered to act like this. His black eyes narrowed in fury, trying so hard to not release the Warg Rider despite wanting to do so. 

“Do not try to lie, you little rat!” Maedhros growled, pressing the sword closer to Liltarion so he could feel the steel cut into his skin, “Where. Is. Yuë?!”

“H-he r-ran off…into the forest…like a coward…!!” 

“You really are a child of an era without the threat of a Dark Lord hanging over the heads of everyone. My younger son, a coward? In the living hell called Angband, staying away from tormentors like you and your gang would be plain common sense for survival to another day!”  

Rûsa did not need an order from Maedhros to run into the deeper parts of the forest. He had a traumatized brother to find before something else happened to Yuë, and Liltarion was about to get a brutal reminder that he and his friends had assaulted a member of the Noldorin royal family, and this was a situation which his unknown sponsor could not protect him from. 

Chapter Text

By now, more people had woken up and noticed that something was wrong. 

“What is going on?” 

“Yuë was attacked!” Maeglin responded as Rog ran past her towards where the furious yelling of Maedhros could be heard, feeling though their marriage bond how furious Rûsa was and how he was fighting to not reveal himself as the mysterious Warg Rider of Morgoth, “one of the other Elven dancers have a history of bullying him since they were children, and he must have done something really bad this time for my mother-in-law to react like this!” 

“Maedhros! Stop, that is enough for now!”

Grabbing his wife around her waist, Rog pulled her some steps away from Liltarion, who had nearly fallen unconscious from the beatings she had brought down on him.

“It is NOWHERE enough!” Maedhros snarled at her husband as she tried to get free, “I am giving this insolent, overgrown brat the history lesson his childhood tutors have failed to give him: That orcs and other servants of Morgoth and Sauron are NOT the only ones able to cause harm, or that he can always be sheltered from facing consequences by that damned sponsor of his!!” 

“Cousin, calm down!” Finrod begged as he too helped to restrain her, while Maeglin prevented Saira from seeing more than what was needed because even if Saira was no stranger to injuries and such, the sight of the beaten up Liltarion and Maedhros in this dangerous state was not something she had seen before. 

“Maedhros!” Azaghâl called as he came running, with a group of Dwarven guards behind him in case they may be needed, “What is going…?!”

It was in that moment some light from the morning sun fell in among the leaves above them, revealing a sight which the present Dwarves could not ignore, Narvi even covering her mouth in horror: 

Several pieces of long, snow-white straight hair laid on the grass. A hacked-off braid, with a Dwarven bead to keep it together. Long enough to be waist-length.

There were only two members in the Fëanorian clan to have that colour, because Celegorm had inherited the silver hair of Miriel and one of those two was trying to restrain his furious wife, even if he undoubtedly shared her anger and fear for what had happened to their middle child. 

“....organize several search parties, and throw that Elf into a prison cell,” Azaghâl ordered to the guard nearest him, unable to look away from the hairs lying on the ground.

Among the Avari clans and other Elves who had once been enslaved in Angband, part of the trauma of their enslavement came from being restrained by orcs as their long hair was brutally hacked off with daggers or even swords, generally leaving it a uneven mess at ear length, often leading to the pointed tips of Elven ears getting injured as well or even cut off in the process. 

Both Rog and Maedhros had undergone this during their respective time in Utumno and Angband. In his first life as a slave in that hell which had been the underground fortress of Morgoth in the First Age, Rûsa had only gotten longer hair in the last years of the War of Wrath because the orcs were too busy fighting to keep much control over the slaves, and as the Warg Rider he had been sent from one battlefield to another, not bothering with his appearance beyond stealing whatever mismatched pieces of armour he could get his hands on for better protection and live for another day. 

~X~X~X~X~X~X

As he ran deeper into the forest, trying to see if Yuë was somewhere around, Rûsa promised himself that Liltarion would not get away with this. 

“We need to find out the identity behind that sponsor of his! It can not be just anyone, not with the amount of money they have used to open up the doors to some of the finest dance schools in Valinor for him and all the times that Yuë was painted as the troublemaker on his rare visits in Tirion!” 

It had to be someone with both power and influence at the royal court, no doubt, and likely a former Exile, to explain how Liltarion would insult Yuë as a kinslayer spawn among other horrible words. Rûsa himself was rather desensitized to such insults, because as the Warg Rider he had slain his fellow Elves in battle because that was what Morgoth ordered him to do, and even did mercy killings to his fellow slaves at times.

Yes, Cúwen, Yuë and Lówen knew that their mother and her six brothers had not been part of the heroes of the First Age, but it was only with the Second Kinslaying that the more dangerous side of the Oath had revealed itself, and the Oath itself was only one of many factors to their House falling from grace. 

“It is people like Liltarion, who do not understand that we can still be dangerous if the situation calls for it! Back when Cúwen and Yuë were kidnapped, ammë was late in her pregnancy with Lówen, and all our uncles were out of Formenos for different reasons! Just like I allowed the Warg Rider to come out to save my siblings, ammë or my uncles could have shown that kinslayer side of themselves if it meant that the kidnappers could not recapture Cúwen and Yuë!”  

Liltarion was not the first Elf here in Valinor who had seemed more fit for Angband in the eyes of Rûsa. He had met bullies like him there while growing up in that hell, far too many to count, both Orcs, Elves and Men. That Yuë had become the target of such a person, that often got away with this behavior infuriated Rûsa to such a degree that whatever the older son of Maedhros had spotted Liltarion in Tirion, he often had to do the mental version of shutting a door into the face of someone else, just to keep his Warg Rider side tightly under a lid and avoid risking problems for both himself and his family. 

At least there was some small comfort in that the parents of Liltarion back in Tirion were more clever than their son, and did not deny that their son was asking for trouble in targeting a royal prince for bullying. Maedhros had gotten more than one letter from the pair, where they mentioned trying to make Liltarion understand that he was playing with fire but that their message did not seem to take root. Actually, Liltarion risked not only his own career as a professional dancer by this stupidity, but his father could lose his job as a much respected dance master in the royal court of Tirion too. What use would that sponsor be for the family, when their son was revealed to have been the true bully all along and even made himself a direct target for the wrath of Maedhros?

In a situation like this, Maedhros being a kinslayer in the past did not matter, Liltarion had bullied a member of the royal family and believed himself above consequences for such behavior. That sponsor had reached the end of their ability to frame Yuë as the supposed bully and Rûsa had a strong feeling that whoever the sponsor was, they would likely get hit with some serious consequences for themselves, especially if Saira gave testimony that she truly did not like Liltarion in any sense and that he just disgusted her with his behavior towards others while ignoring what Saira tried to tell him both with her voice and body language, with his bullying of Yuë as a very good symbolism.  

As it was, Maeglin happened to overhear Saira say something similar as the search parties was sent out in the forest:  

“I swear that if Liltarion thinks that I will somehow “be impressed” by my own second-cousin being a victim of his bullying because of what lady Maedhros did back in the First Age, he really has a very wrong idea about how I am as a person!” 

“Nothing unique to either race among the Children, I'm afraid,” Celebrimbor said, supporting himself against Narvi because of his sprained foot, “far too many examples to count, but a rotten personality will always reveal itself if that person is just given enough time to show their real colours. Entitlement has been the ruin of many, and the very idea of something not going exactly as they want may be a foreign thought that does not match their world view.” 

Yes, Liltarion could not only blame himself for failing to win Saira's affections and making himself some really powerful enemies by his behavior, Maeglin thought, and she could only agree that he was pretty unlikely to realise this unless it was literally beaten into his head. Or possibly hammered in an almost literal way, for the matter, when one recalled that there was more than one blacksmith in the Fëanorian clan. 

“People are, and should be, allowed to change and grow. You can’t hold the sins of the past against them forever or there’s no point to growth. But what one person can not always forgive is the chosen methods and the cost of something done by a different person. Because some people are so focused on a goal that they do not think of unintended consequences of their actions, merely the wanted ones,” Finrod signed, recalling how both their actions in Nargothrond and the whole “trying to arrange a marriage between Luthien and Celegorm to get Thingol into a alliance with their family” idea had backfired quite literally on Curufin and Celegorm. He had long forgiven his cousins, but made it clear that he would never forget what they had done back then. 

“And many of those people seriously need a lesson that their social rank, or connections can not always protect them, either. Some consequences are flat out impossible to realize ahead, but some are honestly enough obvious that they should not even be denied, or ignored, in the first place. Like that if you are rude towards others, or acting in a threatful manner and proving that you are willing to hurt other people either verbally or physically, maybe even to the point of death in case of physical harm, then you can not feel sorry for yourself and whine about people having very justified reasons to be distrustful and refusing to have anything to do with you, or that you will not be welcomed in their presence afterwards. It is simply a case of that you brought this upon yourself by your actions and you can not complain about facing consequences.” 

By those words, Maeglin was indirectly referring to how Turgon had utterly ruined the relationship between the two of them by his actions back in Gondolin and how she refused to have anything to do nowadays with her uncle. For all his supposed wisdom, a lot of his decisions as the ruler of Gondolin became very questionable in hindsight of what had happened in the First Age. Yes, Gondolin had escaped the eye of Morgoth by staying hidden, but it had came to the cost of the Gondolindrim being seen as unreliable by their fellow Noldor in times of true crisis like the Battle of Sudden Flame and the years after the Battle of Unnumbered Tears, and Turgon losing quite a huge amount of social respect as the “secret coward son/brother of the High King”. not helped by a habit of ignoring the reality in front of him and pretending that everything was fine. 

That rather disastrous habit of Turgon had lessened a lot since his death in the Fall of Gondolin, Maeglin had been told by her maternal relatives, but she still felt rather doubtful about it being 100 % true. Perhaps she still was being a little paranoid about her middle uncle and the way his actions had often proved to have a negative impact on her own life, like how she had been orphaned before even being of age, for example, but there was something about Liltarion that reminded Maeglin about that side of Turgon and she did not like that feeling at all.  

“Yes to all that you have said, but for now, we have my boys to find,” Rog called to the others, as Maedhros had already stormed off. 

~X~X~X~X~X~X

It was nearly dusk when Rûsa finally found Yuë. Much deeper into the forest than one could think at first, likely a result of his brother being in panic when tearing himself free from Liltarion and his gang, focusing only on getting away from them, not thinking of anything else or even paying attention to where he was running. 

“Yuë! Are you here?” 

He got a faint answer in his mind, followed by a familiar coughing attack caused by the asthma Yuë suffered from. 

B-b…brother….brother!” 

Yuë was well hidden under some thick bushes that covered him from sight, against a smaller rock. Their uncle Celegorm would have been proud that his lessons about survival in the wilderness had been useful here, but that was not what Rûsa thought of as he knelt in front of his brother, curled up into a ball. 

“I am here, little brother, I am here now.” 

By the Valar! The sight of Yuë in this distressed state, his green eyes nearly red and swollen from crying so hard, and the uneven state of his hair, hacked off into a mess, even one ear tip having dried blood on it as proof of that Liltarion had not been gentle in what he had done….

It was hitting way too close to home about Angband and his own past life as a slave there, for Rûsa's comfort. 

“We are not letting him and his gang get away with their actions towards you this time, Yuë. It is time to show them what the saying “ do not offend the wrong person ” actually means,” Rûsa promised as he hugged Yuë close, allowing his brother to cry against his chest, this time in relief over not being alone. And hopefully this would truly be the end of Yuë having to fear running into Liltarion in Tirion for a very long time, if he knew their mother right. 

Really, in hindsight of how their mother and uncles had been under the Second and Third Kinslayings, Liltarion had no idea how he should be counted quite lucky in how Yuë could have made revenge for the bullying a long time ago, if he had been different in personality. Not kinslaying, no, but rather Yuë using his status and connections as a royal prince to destroy Liltarion's chance to be a professional dancer before they even had been legal adults. 

Because there were many types of people in the world, and some of those could retaliate in ways others don't expect at all. 

Chapter Text

By now, words had spread across the whole dwarven city, and the nearby camps for a few of the Avari clans that helped to hold the dance competition. Many, who were friends with Maedhros and her family, naturally reacted badly to hearing what had happened that morning.  

“That arrogant little fool!” Taurion cursed under his breath as he ran around in the woods, a few others spread out to help in the search for the two missing princes, “That sponsor of his better be prepared for facing their share of consequences from all this too, because Liltarion's actions reveal quite a lot about them too, without intending to!”  

He did not know much about Liltarion's father, the dance master of the royal court in Tirion, but Taurion was pretty sure that the other Elf was unlikely to be ignorant of how someone could cause damage not only for themselves, but also for their near and dear ones as well, if things went really bad. 

The son of this dance master bullying and even physically attacking one of the royal family members? One would think that Liltarion, with a parent working at the court, would have some basic understanding that his actions would reflect poorly on his father too, and strain his reputation as well. Just because Liltarion had never been punished before and even been claimed as the victim with Yuë as the supposed bully in the past, did not mean that his parents were completely ignorant of what their son was doing, or what he risked to do to his whole family if he went too far. 

No, whoever that sponsor was, they would not enjoy that association with Liltarion after all this, and Taurion was willing to bet his best knife on that they would also find out what it meant to never live something down, unless that Elf already had gotten such a taste in the past…

No, wrong time for those thoughts. The two sons of Maedhros needed to be found, and while Rûsa could be trusted to keep Yuë safe, there was that shape-shifter that was the main problem at the moment. Taurion knew what his worst fear would take as form, and he really did not want to see that in front of himself. 

One of the nieces of Rog though one of his sisters, as well a few other younger Elves from the Sand clan, ran past Taurion. 

Back in their guest quarters, Amarië tried to prepare a draft of a letter to send to her royal in-laws while Finrod and Saira helped in the search.  

“This is not something that can be swept under the rug. If anything, it should be used as a reminder that pissing off the wrong people can be disastrous, and how people can ruin their own lives.” 

She knew that Liltarion could forget that dance career and possibly become a dance master himself now, because he would never live this down. Once his sponsor was found as well, King Finwë would likely use them as an example of what happened when one enabled bad traits in a person for petty reasons and how it could backfire on oneself. Like many others, Amarië had gotten the impression that this sponsor was someone with a grudge from the First Age aimed at Maedhros, because Yuë was her son, and while there was quite a number of reasons for why Maedhros could be disliked even now in the Fourth Age, it was alarming that one of her own children could be seen as a “easier target” compared to her. 

~X~X~X~X~X~X

He had made markings on the trees while searching for his brother, but it was long past sunset now. Knowing that it was better to stay in one place rather than walking around and getting even more lost in those unfamiliar woods on the way back, Rûsa built up a campfire by using some dry sticks he found nearby.

“Try and rest, Yuë, we are not going anywhere now.” 

Yuë was also exhausted from his own wild run into the woods and the amount of crying he had done from the new trauma Liltarion had caused. Even if Rûsa carried his brother on his back, he knew that the albino needed time to collect himself. 

Yes, brother….

Allowing Yuë to use his lap as a pillow, Rûsa tried to keep himself under control as he gently pulled his own fingers through the uneven hair. There was still dried blood around Yuë's right ear tip from where there was a visible cut, and there was a trail of blood drop on the shoulder of his tunic. 

“I am going to personally cut off BOTH his own ear tips as payback for this! Maybe that, alongside getting shaved bald on his head as punishment, will teach Liltaurion to stay away from my little brother!” 

Much as Rûsa tried to abandon everything that he had once done as a slave in Angband, this was a good example of a situation where it was so seriously tempting for him to just let the Warg Rider slip out for a few brief moments and teach someone a lesson that they never forgot. Especially those people who were in a rather desperate need of a wake-up call to the reality around them because they had no idea how short-lived they would have been in Angband if they ever had been brought there. 

“Some of them would not even last for a single day in that hell.” 

Opening his eyes slightly, Yuë changed position. 

Brother…is someone coming? 

Rûsa heard footsteps in the distance as well. Hopefully, that light was from a torch or oil lamp to help the bearer see better in the summer night, because tripping over tree roots you did not see at your feet was not fun. 

Expect… 

Brother? 

Yuë felt the redheaded brother tense up all of a sudden, and that made him sit up to see what made Rûsa react so strangely. 

Far away from the two sons of Maedhros, Dior and Nimloth was with another search group. 

“No sight of them yet, I am afraid, but I think Rûsa is behind this mark here. When you run off in blind panic, you generally do not pay attention to where you are going, only focusing on getting as far away as possible.” 

Indeed, they had found one of the trees where Rûsa had carefully used a stone to peel off a small part of the tree bark to make an arrow, pointing in the direction where he had come from. 

“Yes,” Maeglin confirmed when taking a look at the mark, “both Celegorm and my ammë learned this trick under Oromë back in the Years of the Trees, and they taught Ambarussa as well before the Darkening. I know that all four of them used this knowledge to not get lost in the unknown woods of Beleriand. I learned this as an Elfling in Nan Elmoth, and Celegorm is not that sort of irresponsible uncle to just let his nephews and nieces get completely lost in the woods on his watch.” 

Knowing her husband, Maeglin also understood that Rûsa must have recalled the same teachings about staying in one place so it became easier for others to find him. With the way Yuë had run off to get away from Liltaurion and his gang, there was a huge chance that the albino had gotten lost due to not paying attention to where he had gone. Not that she blamed her brother-in-law about not running back to their rooms at the caravanserai, it was hard thinking straight when your only thoughts were to get away from danger, and sometimes the most logical way of acting simply was drowned in the sea of panic or other intense feelings. 

“See if there are similar marks around here, we may be closer to finding them if we can find the right direction.” 

Looking around, Dior could have sworn that it was something in the air that made his Maia blood from Melian react. Not that he felt surprised, this did happen every time he sensed that a Maia or Vala was in the area, and he was a descendant of a Maia, so he was not exactly normal by Elven standards.

“If Rûsa follows what he has been taught by Celegorm and everyone else, he should have made a campfire, right?”

Dior climbed up in a tree to see if he could spot such a light from somewhere. If nothing else, he at least noticed a few other search groups with torches and oil lamps. 

“Nothing suggesting a campfire yet—?!” 

Suddenly, there was a horrified scream echoing through the woods. 

“Uh….that was Rûsa, right?” 

“Afraid that the shape-shifter must have found him. He is not the type to scream like that unless there are spiders involved, he can not stand them due to getting bitten by a poisonous one as a toddler and everyone in Formenos freaked out about finding that spider inside the city walls. And I know for sure that he never liked to hear that there were massive spiders in Nan Dungortheb,” Maeglin said with a shiver, sensing an echo of his honest panic in their marriage bond. She was not lying about why her husband was terrified of even small, harmless spiders, only about the place where he had gotten bitten. And that information about the spawns of Ungoliant came from Aredhel, who had never wanted to go near that valley again. 

“Hopefully he is not running around blindly, it would not be great if he got injured in a panic reaction to…well, if it was a massive spider he saw…” 

Dior was about to turn around to climb back down on the ground, when something suddenly appeared near him: 

A phantom image of the blood-splattered Celegorm during their duel against each other in Menegroth, mere moments before infecting their respective fatal wounds. The savage beast in Elf form he had become with the Oath revealing how the Fëanorians would indeed kill their fellow Elves to get the Silmaril back, acting more like a feral animal that desired to bring as many Elves as possible with him in death, rather than the noble hunter he once had been. 

“AAAAAAAAAH!!” 

With his own traumatic memories literally breaking though the surface of his mind, Dior reacted by instinct and lashed out with his inherited Maia powers as he fell off the tree branch, sending off a flash wave of golden light at the phantom image that made it vanish. Back in the First Age, those same powers had been barely present, probably a consequence of both his parents being mortal when he was born and Luthien having given up her powers as part of becoming mortal, so Dior had relayed on his skills with a sword to kill Celegorm, not wanting to meet his death without proving that he was no beginner with a weapon mean to be used to kill. 

“Dior!” 

His fall was softened by the two Dwarves underneath the tree. They did not like getting a body falling on top of them, but being familiar with the dangers of head injuries caused by an unexpected fall from a height, they agreed that Dior losing his balance because of his reaction to the phantom image was rather justified.  

“...T….that….” 

Nimloth gently hugged her husband to help him calm down, seeing how shaken he was from the reminder of how he had died back in the First Age. 

“Anyone would have a similar reaction at seeing something like that. I am not seeing anything wrong with your worst fear being to face that monstrous side of Celegorm again,” Maeglin offered in sympathy, glaring around to see if the shape-shifter dared to show up again. If she was the next target…

She really did not want to remember how close she had been to reveal the location of Gondolin, with Morgoth trying to break her through the reminder of how Turgon had “thanked” Húrin for his 28 years of silence about the hidden city. It was that refusal, which had led to a frustrated Sauron suggesting to a growing inpatient Morgoth to try a alternative involving Rûsa, and Maeglin knew that she would not react well on hearing a repeat of those tauntings the Dark Lord had whispered in her ears about that if that was how Turgon treated someone he had personally made a exception to the same law that made her an orphan, then what could she expect from Turgon, the sister-daughter who had lived in Gondolin much longer than the two mortal brothers, and was a close blood relative to Turgon compared to Húrin, who would only be a relative by marriage to Turgon thanks to his nephew Tuor marrying Idril? 

Thankfully, the marriage bond with Rûsa broke Maeglin out of those thoughts, by how she sensed a sudden stop to his panic and more something akin to the reaction people generally got at tripping over something at their feet. 

“I hope that he did not injure himself now, there are enough bad things happening at the moment!” 

~X~X~X~X~X~X

When it was nearly dawn, Maedhros knew a gut feeling about something not being right, and not merely for how traumatized her younger son would be from what Liltaurion had done this time. She trusted her oldest son to look after his brother, if Rûsa found Yuë first, but this was the same gut feeling that often had warned her about one or several of her brothers being in trouble as Elflings when they were growing up, and it had served her well more than once as her own children had grown up. 

“I can not put my finger on it yet, but I know that it is related to what happened yesterday!” 

“Lady Maedhros!” 

Someone from the Sand clan came running, calling her name. 

“One of our search groups has found your sons! Though we suspect that…you remember seeing that flash wave lord Dior sent around at seeing the shape-shifter taking the form of your brother as he and lord Dior were about to kill each other in Menegroth?” 

Uh-uh. This was not helping her unease in any sense. Maedhros could not blame Dior for having that sort of reaction on seeing the phantom image, he had literally fought to death with a monster that was only wearing her second brother's shape, someone who had not truly been her brother at that time because of how the Oath had slowly twisted Celegorm into someone he was not after how Dior had refused to give them the Silmaril after the death of his parents, not helped by how Luthien…seemed to have enchanted him as well with her own inherited Maia powers in a desperate bid for getting allies in freeing Beren from Sauron, and how the Oath had used this to reveal a darker side of Celegorm no one could have imagined back in the Years of the Trees before the Darkening of Valinor. Maedhros knew that Celegorm was not without fault, but she still viewed Luthien as being alarmingly naive about consequences in that situation, as proved in how the Quest for the Silmaril had caused a hell of political chaos around Beleriand through the death of Finrod and Thingol demanding Beren to give him a three-of-its-kind treasure as bride-price for Luthien that was not even his to begin with. 

“They are with Seth in his tent. No physical injuries, but he felt that he needed to check what that unintended flash of Maia power may…have for effect?” 

Valid logic for an Elven shaman like him. Maedhros herself knew the might of a pure Maia, especially thanks to Sauron during her own captivity in Angband, and while Dior had mostly reacted on instinct, he could have accidentally done something to harm others around him. 

“I will come, just need to find Rog first so he will hear that the boys are back.” 

She knew that this dance competition was becoming even more trouble than it should have been from the start. Those who had planned it, and now held it, were not to blame. They could not foretell that a lot of unrelated drama was going to happen right in the middle of it. 

Maeglin joined with her parents-in-law towards the camp of the Sand clan, also agreeing that things were really getting out of hand with everything happening. 

“So much for the original plan of Yuë having a good time here, and it becoming a small family trip…?!” 

Maedhros froze when entering the tent. Her eyes wide in disbelief, as if she could not believe what she was seeing. 

“You are not dreaming, ammë,” Rûsa commented in a way that was pure Fëanor when he was annoyed by something, except that there was something different about his voice that had not been heard since the first half of the first century of the Fourth Age. 

“Oh Eru,” Maeglin managed to say, once she got over her own shock, “Dior is gonna freak out at hearing that he…somehow managed to deage you without even knowing how he did it!?”

Indeed, right now her husband was looking exactly as he had done as an Elfling, back around the age of twenty to thirty. That he still wore his adult clothing, well, the tunic at least, very much oversized for an Elfling in that age, did only highlight how bizarre it looked.  

“If you think that it is a shock seeing me back in the body of my child self, think again when you see Yuë.” 

The cloaked figure behind him glared nervously over one shoulder, revealing a familiar green eye. 

“Yuë….my sweet moon child, what happened to you?” Maedhros asked nervously, using the nickname she had for her second son because it was connected to how he had gotten his mother-name at his premature birth. This seemed to give Yuë the gentle push he needed, and he removed the hood of the cloak he had been given by those in the search group that had found the brothers in the wood: 

Revealing not his usual self who was a green-eyed albino, but rather how he could have looked if he had shared the same skin tone of his full sisters Cúwen and Lówen thanks to them having the dark-skinned Rog as a father while Maedhros was a pale-skinned redhead, and inherited the raven black hair colour of their maternal grandfather Fëanor to contrast the golden copper curls of Cúwen and the platinum blonde hair of Lówen. 

“Yuë…!?” 

But the biggest shock came when Rûsa said: 

“Told you that they would react like this at seeing what happened to us.” 

Only for Yuë to respond, but not though ósanwë as he normally hid:

“I did not doubt that as the most likely reaction for a single moment, brother…?!”

Stopping himself at realizing that he was actually speaking with his mouth instead of his mind thanks to that he sometimes did move his lips as if he did intend to speak in a normal manner, Yuë quickly covered his mouth as Maedhros, understandably, fainted backwards into the arms of Rog, who looked between his son and his wife. 

“I think…we need to talk with Dior about this, and find a way to make you two go back to normal without needing to scare him half to death like how things happened when he sent off that flash wave,” Maeglin finally broke the silence. 

“Not before everyone has forgotten some food in your bellies and some proper rest- A lack of food and sleep can make things worse,” Seth interrupted from outside the tent, where he had just tasked one of his apprentices with fixing a light breakfast and soothing tea over the campfire.

“Alright, alright…” 

“I am going to make Haru Finwë banish Liltaurion from Tirion and the Dancers Guild blacklist him from anything related to dancing for his share in this mess!” Maedhros promised as she was woken up with some smelling salt, “he may not be behind my boys looking like this right now, but he caused part of the reason for it happening by attacking Yuë!” 

She had a very good point in that the Dancers Guild among the Noldor would not be able to ignore something like this.   

Chapter Text

As the Elves of Formenos had no idea what was happening at the dance competition, it was a normal everyday like usual for its inhabitants. Well, most of them, you could say. 

“Haru!” 

Cúwen was searching for Fëanor, knowing that he should be around his lab if nowhere else. 

“Yes, dear?” 

“What do you say about this new pot that I have just finished?” 

Like nearly everyone else in her maternal family, the oldest daughter of Maedhros had felt drawn to a craft that would require creativity, and she had eventually found pottery to match her. 

“It is a good design. Were you thinking of selling it?” 

“Well, having the skills to earn an extra income beyond my status as a royal princess is never wrong. After all, ammë and my uncles found out that quite a lot of their hobbies actually were useful as basic survival skills in Beleriand.” 

Valid point. His children had not lived for long during the Exile if they had been dependent on servants for basic household chores and pampered by never having to do that sort of thing. Most of their cousins had also gotten similar skills, but their generation had never revealed the true amount of this until coming to Middle-earth and only Fingolfin and Írimë being around from the older generation. 

“Um, Haru? Could you please…try and help Túrëo, if you can? Lately he has been rather withdrawn, and I worry about pushing him away if I ask him too many times about what is wrong.” 

Oh? Well, unusual request, but he could see why she was thinking of asking him to see if there could be something that Túrëo may open up about for Fëanor. Sometimes it simply was easier to talk with someone of your own gender if there was a problem hiding under the surface, and an older Elf may offer some good advice that a younger Elf wouldn't think of at first. 

Especially in light of how quite a few elder Elves had failed to inform a younger Fëanor that his mother was not unique in how much her only child had drained her of spiritual strength, even if his own soul had been unusual fierce straight from the very start, that was true, and how Finwë would not be the only single parent around, before they had came to Valinor, or that Indis was not the only known Elven stepparent! Quite a lot of history would be different, if he had been told this information at a young age, and a lot of his well-known crashes with Indis came from the plain fact that he was not used to share his father with others, as well that with her as the Queen consort of the Noldor, Miriel truly was never going to come back no matter how long her son waited for this to happen.

It had been a situation the Elves had not expected to happen in Valinor where they were supposed to be safe from the threat of Morgoth and his creatures, and looking back, it was painfully obvious that rather than viewing the younger Fëanor as “marred” in some way for not being happy in the blissful realm of the Valar, he had been surrounded by people who often deliberately tried to forget the horrors that once had been part of their lives and the younger generations had not understood this difference until the Exile in Middle-earth had shown exactly what sort of reality their elders once had faced before living in Valinor. 

~X~X~X~X~X~X

Fëanor found the other Elf in a rented workshop, where wood carvers and other crafts of work could be made by those who did not live in Formenos all year around.  

"Beautiful work in wood based jewelry and toys for children, as always.” 

He waited to say this until Túrëo had finished one new toy, knowing himself that people who were interrupting another person's focus could risk destroying the work they were doing. More than one of his half-siblings and one member of the younger generation had found out this the hard way at a young age, when he had almost literally explored in anger at them because the ruined work effectively meant that Fëanor had wasted all the time and effort to make it. 

“Prince Fëanor!?” Túrëo said in surprise at spotting him, quickly reaching for his walking stick and moving his metal leg in a way that suggested that he would rise from the chair he was seated on. 

“Sit down, no need to get up.”  

“....alright….” 

Spotting a free table that held freshly bought wood from the nearby woods for the carvers to work with, Fëanor pretended to look at a few various pieces of wood for something to bring home, as a way to try and make the other one relax a little more again. Celegorm would often carve things in wood as part of his outdoor life as a hunter, as did the twins if they felt inspiration. One never knew what sort of fine craft that could be made from a good block of wood. 

“Are everything alright with you? My granddaughter has noticed that you are not quite acting as yourself a lot, lately. Have a problem shown up?” 

Túrëo did visibly twitch for a moment, as if he half-expected that sort of question. 

“I…visited Tirion earlier this spring, for that huge spring market they hold every year, and when I was selling some of my stuff… I overheard the voices of some old…acquaintances of my parents, who tried to chase off the Avari sellers because they wanted “only” the works from Noldorin craftsmen there.”

Ah. No wonder he had been withdrawn for some time, getting reminded of his unpleasant parents must have triggered some flashbacks that Túrëo would prefer to not have. It was a sad fact that some very narrow-minded Elves still did not like the changes that had came over the passing Ages since the Years of the Trees, and while those was a very small minority, it was not unheard of such people trying to cause trouble in some form, simply because they refused to accept that this was the reality of Valinor now. Not that the Avari Elves and other tribes of Elves, who had never come to Valinor in the distant past, would overlook that sort of rude behavior. 

There had even been some such sabotage attempts aimed at the Dwarves, when they had begun to show up from the Halls of the Forefathers, though it had quickly proved to be a serious mistake given that Aulë had created his Stone Children to not be submissive to the Eldar. Maedhros, her brothers, Fingon and the sons of Finarfin sometimes had been needed to prevent that sort of drama from becoming far more dangerous. 

“I see no fault in that you were emotionally hurt by what those people did at the spring market, even if they may not have recognized you. You know a little too well what sort of social circle your parents had, and what personalities those people have.” 

“Thank you, my lord. I was not sure how to explain all this to Cúwen, though, given that there are some people who…well, are not exactly nice to your children because of the First Age.” 

Spotting his granddaughter outside the building, Fëanor made a discreet sign to her about hiding behinding the door so Túrëo did not notice her. Maybe the current tension between them could go away, if she overheard some details from this talk. 

“Some people simply can not let go of the need to be in the right. They tie their self-worth and identity to their beliefs and opinions. Being right can reinforce their sense of self and confidence, being correct often leads to approval and validation from others. This can enhance a person’s social status and strengthen their relationships, while being wrong can cause discomfort from being confronted with information that contradicts their beliefs, as well have real-world implications, such as losing credibility, respect, or even opportunities and this fear can drive people to defend their positions more vigorously.” 

Túrëo nodded, recalling how he had witnessed such scenes both between his parents and their social circle while he and his brothers had grown up. None of them had enjoyed this attitude much, because of how often they had seen the negative sides of it. 

“Anyway, it is their loss, missing out a way to enrich their own lives by new experiences. There is a reason why I think that the hidden city of my blockhead to a nephew would have been an ideal place for people like them, completely cut off from the rest of the world, no influence of other cultures, no one allowed to leave that valley, nothing to make its people start thinking with their own heads.” 

In her hiding spot, Cúwen made a face at hearing some of the words her maternal grandfather said. Fëanor was not exactly hiding what his view on Turgon was, especially with how this also matched quite a lot of the Noldor ever since the First Age, with the second son of Fingolfin being viewed as a massive disappointment as a leader of the Exiled Noldor in Beleriand compared to his father and brother. There was even a few whispers that Turgon was risking some form of a reverse take of his once self-chosen path of cutting off all contact with his family once moving to Gondolin, if Fingolfin felt that his second son was screwing up again in a way that would gain too much public attention and the royal family being forced to take action. 

“As for those acquaintances of your parents, just pretend that they do not exist. If they were that willing to ignore your mother after the death of her husband, and not aiding her or her children in any way, then they were never useful allies even in the best of times and proving the difference in having actual relationships compared to shallow ones. They cut ties with your family once already during a very difficult time, Túrëo, and therefore can not be trusted to have the best interest of yourself or your brothers at heart if they were to meet any of you again, especially if you and Cúwen do marry.”

The Noldorin Crown Prince did not need to mention the most likely scenario: Túrëo would hardly be the first in-law of the royal family, or various noble families for that matter, who struggled with people who only acted in self-interest once someone they once knew in the past had exchanged marriage rings with a high-status spouse. It was less common among the Elves than among the mortal races, but there existed enough such Elves to not be a complete unknown fact. 

“Thank you, sire. I hope that I was not wasting your time with this.”

“Not at all,“ Fëanor responded, “I know myself that words can hurt more deeply than what many can believe. After all, there was a idiotic claim that I must be marred somehow for not being able to accept Indis as my stepmother when my father remarried, or how I drained my birth mother of so much spiritual energy that she felt no joy in life after I had been born. Some of those fools even had the nerve of saying that everything connected to me must be marred as a result, once I was dead and my youngest brother had a hell to prevent that being the most well-known impression of me!” 

Ugh, the mere thought made his blood almost boil in anger. The worst part, however, was not that Morgoth could be blamed for that claim popping up among the Noldor with time. There had been Elves who believed that something was wrong with Fëanor because he could not match the Blessed Land somehow, and sadly a few of them were still around. A prime example of self-righteous view. 

“Fëanor?” Nerdanel called from somewhere outside, “either I am sharpening my stone cutting tools myself, or you better heat up the forge as you promised this morning!” 

Leaving Túrëo to think over what to do now when they had talked about this, Fëanor left the workshop. 

~X~X~X~X~X~X  

Late that evening, Cúwen returned back to the home of her maternal grandparents with Túrëo at her side. And as they were spotted talking outside the house, they wore an identical set of wooden hair pins with an eight-rayed star as the design. 

“I will write to my own brothers in Tirion and ask for their help in cleaning out any remaining old friends of his parents. I know that both sets of grandparents for those three brothers never agreed with the behavior and mindset of their son and daughter, but one can not be too careful…” 

Nerdanel laid a hand on the shoulder of her husband. 

“Yes. No one will be allowed to ruin the happiness for our granddaughter now that she has found someone to marry. People need to find a new hobby rather than trying to make our descendants and their loved ones come off as something unclean to be around.” 

Clinging to the past was unhealthy, and sometimes a rather hard-handed reminder of this was needed.

And even further south, in Tirion just a few hours later, there was another family drama about to break out. Because the parents of Liltarion had just found out that their oldest son had uncovered a very private detail about their past, something shared by their four younger children but not Liltarion himself. 

“ I TOLD HIM TO NOT DIG AROUND IN OUR PRIVATE PAPERS!! ”

That he had found the adoption papers for his younger siblings, was not what made his parents so upset with their currently absent firstborn. No, they had been open with that the birth of Liltarion had taken a toll on the health of his mother, and rather than risking her health become worse though a new pregnancy, the pair had chosen to adopt their younger children instead from the Halls of Mandos, because there was still groups of souls without relatives to call them theirs in some form. 

“He…found t-those …?! Oh, I am gonna make him regret snooping around in your home office and take things like this!” 

“Honey, wait a little…!” 

The dance master was barely able to stop his wife from storming out of the house, and the neighbours was even woken up by her screaming: 

“Demand some weeks leave from the court, and get ready for traveling north! We have a son to bring back home, before he shames both sides of his family tree by proving that he better belongs in Angband thanks to that thrice-damned sponsor of his enabled Liltarion to think that he can act as he pleases, without ever suffering consequences! We are the ones risking to be blamed for his poor behavior, because we are his parents and the ones raising him!”  

Given that this was not the first time Liltarion ended up causing trouble for his parents, with his behavior, the neighbors guessed that he really had crossed a line now, if his parents were acting like this in the middle of the night.

Chapter Text

It was late in the evening, as Rog heard a terrified scream from inside the tent.

“Yuë?!” 

His son was curled together in a corner where some sleeping mats had been laid out earlier, breathing heavy and quickly, staring in disbelief on his hands. Most likely, he had just woken up, and freaked out at his brain registering that his hand did not look as it normally did. A small mirror near his feet, which Seth used when painting his face for shamanic rituals, also seemed to be the reason behind the reaction, by triggering up the memory from yesterday morning when Liltarion had cut off his hair when Yuë had noticed that something was not right with his hair. 

“It is alright, yonya, it is alright,” Rog soothed the younger Elf as he knelt near him, gently pulling his son close into a hug. 

“...A…atar…” 

It felt so weird to hear Yuë speak normally, instead of using Ósanwë as he used to, but right now, he needed to calm down before a panic attack happened. 

“Deep breaths, try and steady your breathing. Just like that, slowly.” 

It took some time before Yuë stopped trembling in his arms, but Rog did not care about how long it took. This was not the first time his son had a panic attack like this, because the bullying from Liltarion had been going on since childhood and this with forcefully cutting off the hair of Yuë was the most traumatic act the other dancer had done. 

“He is not getting away with this, yonya. This is not Tirion where his sponsor can pull the strings and claim that you are the one causing trouble again. Far too many have witnessed how Liltarion acted towards you over the last few days, and none can say that you invited it to happen. He has no right to expect that Saira would ignore far more pleasant company for something she may like to do, like what you two did the afternoon before yesterday, nor should he use violence and threats to scare others away from her.” 

Swallowing thickly because he had been on the edge of crying, Yuë nodded in silent agreement over that Liltarion had indeed reacted very poorly to seeing Saira choose his company. The stage play had been about her uncle and his mortal lover, after all, and it would have ruined the whole experience for the daughter of Finrod if Liltarion had been seated next to her, constantly muttering negatively about both the plot and the Dwarven actors' performances. 

“Come, you need something to eat,” Rog offered, recalling that his son had not eaten much earlier in the morning before falling asleep from exhaustion over the events of the past 24 hours. 

“Yes…” 

From the way Yuë quickly covered his mouth with a hand, it was going to be really strange for him to suddenly be able to speak normally, until he returned to being the mute. albino prince everyone was used to. 

While the family ate a light meal, Finrod, Amarië and Saira arrived to see how things were with the sons of Maedhros. 

“Oh, stars above,” was all the cousin of the only female Fëanorian could say slowly in shock at seeing their current state. 

“No way that sponsor of Liltarion will manage to save him from having started this mess,” Amarië said after hearing how Dior had accidently transformed them to look as they did now. 

“It is not Dior's fault. I know myself that Celegorm was a monster in Elven shape at that time and many would be terrified of him in that feral state, more like an animal than an Elf. He had a perfectly natural reaction to seeing his death bringer suddenly show up like that, sans the whole Maia power reaction.” 

“I am going to personally punch that sponsor in the face if they tries to claim something like Yuë being the unwelcomed company for me and that he kept Liltarion away by hanging around me all the time,” Saira promised in a manner that reminded a lot about her aunt Galadriel in her youth. 

“Feel welcome to join me in that, because I know that Rûsa will do this as well for enabling harm to his little brother,” Maeglin replied from her seat around the small table. 

“Both Liltarion and his sponsor have been asking for a punch to the face since a very long time ago. No one should question me doing that as a well-known protective older brother who naturally does not react well to finding out that my little brother got a physical injury this time,” Rûsa commented, before adding another spoonful of vegetables on the plate of Yuë out of habit from when his three half-siblings were still very young. 

~X~X~X~X~X~X 

Unsurprisingly, poor Dior almost fainted in horror at seeing what his accidental outburst of Maia power had caused with the two sons of Maedhros. 

“Dior, most people would have a similar freakout as you had, if they had seen their own worst fear out of the blue like you did. Yes, it is troublesome that this is the result of you using your powers by plain survival instinct, but Rûsa somehow getting deaged to an Elfling and Yuë looking like he most likely would do if he was not born a albino, is preferable to you accidentally transforming them into orcs or something!” Maedhros told the former King of Doriath in a firm voice, which seemed to snap him out of the shock. 

“You are taking this with surprising calmness, I must say.” 

“I would be far more upset if I saw my boys looking like orcs, Eluchil.” 

Leaving his wife to handle this talk, Rog knew that Finrod would step in if it was needed. 

The Dwarves, naturally, were also shocked at seeing what had happened, but quickly turned upset at seeing the state of Yuë's hair. 

“You are not going anywhere looking like that, young one!” Kym said before vanishing for a little while, and soon returned with a master hairdresser who served the royal Dwarven families. The hairdresser quickly revealed how his race would handle a situation like this, swifting using his tools for making the hair more even and then revealing an extra box made in several layers, filled with long hair in different colours and textures. 

“I am making an extra income in helping with crafting the wigs for stage plays and the sort, with many civilians donating a little hair at times. Lets see….yes, this matches your Elven hair best.” 

Showing how hairdressing was an art form among the Dwarves, Yuë soon had gotten some very fine braids, fastened with Dwarven beads so there was no way of seeing where his own hair and the donated hair started. 

“There. Looking a little more like yourself, even if you still look different for now.” 

Slowly raising a hand to touch the finished hairstyle while seeing himself in a hand mirror to see the result, Yuë felt like Liltarion had lost this time. Yes, his hair was still cut off, and it would be some years before he had his original length back, but it still felt like there was some serious effort to help Yuë get away from this newest trauma caused by Liltarion. 

“...Th…thank you…” Yuë managed to say, feeling himself tearing up again. 

“It is fine if you want to cry, Yuë. You have been through a lot over the last few days, do not hold it in.”

And crying, he did. From a echo of the emotional distress and horror he had felt at getting physically grabbed and held still so Liltarion could hack off his hair with the dagger, the pain when his ear tip had been cut, the trauma of that his old bully had done something like this and proved himself to be willing to do something which orcs had often done on enslaved Elves in Angband. 

The following morning, Liltarion was dragged out from his cell to a chamber where interrogations were usually held. To show how much the Dwarves disliked what he had done, he found himself with his arms tied behind the chair, like how they would do with criminals. And naturally, he was not very pleasant either to those who questioned him, showing that he really did not seem to realise just how much trouble he was in for his actions. 

“Maybe a few days on just water and bread will make you more humble and thinking before you speak, then.”

But there was one punishment which could be handed out at once, without anyone questioning why. Namely that both Liltarion himself and all five of his friends were disqualified from the dance competition for attacking a fellow dancer, and would remain locked up until they were brought back to Tirion for a trial there. 

Liltarion was dragged out from the chamber under some loud, and rather foul-mouthed protests. His attempts of involving his own connections, like that his father worked for the royal court in Tirion, was quite empty in light of that he had attacked a member of the Noldorin royal family that his father worked for.

“Just so you know, this is not the only punishment you will get while being here,” Maedhros warned as her family was walking past Liltarion and the guards in the massive corridor, hiding the deaged Rûsa from being spotted by Liltarion by simply pushing him behind a stone statue. 

“Maybe if your freak to younger son was kept out of sight, things would be better for everyone. What sort of name is Yuë anyway? Did you name him like that because the race of Men is sickly and inferior to us Elves?” 

Maedhros stopped in the middle of a step, slowly turning her head around to send a serious death glare at the younger Elf. 

“Yuë is named after one of the finest Men who I am proud to have met, and that is all you need to know.” 

But Liltarion only sneered at hearing this. 

“What is so great about being named after a short-lived Man whose name is long forgotten by everyone? A member of the lesser race who kept falling for the lies of the Dark Lord, and likely planned to betray the Elves all along? I bet that he was one of the Easterlings who served the Dark Lord!” 

Maedhros was well aware that not everyone paid much attention in their history lessons while going to school, but this insult, aimed at both her son and the long-dead namesake of her younger son, could not be ignored. 

“I see that you are not one who had history as a favorite school subject, brat.” 

Suddenly, something happened out of the blue. Before Maedhros could slap Liltarion for his words, Yuë had grabbed the other dancer by the collar from where he was near the back of the family group and slammed him face first into the nearest stone pillar. 

CRACK!! 

It was enough force to not only break the nose of Liltarion, but also cause his mouth to start bleeding from the impact. 

“I find your lack of basic knowledge of the Men living in the First Age disturbing.” 

“Gökhan!” Maedhros called sharply in a language Finrod had never heard before, though he guessed that Yuë must be familiar with it somehow, for he did let go of Liltarion, who was quite stunned over that someone had reacted such to his words. Yet as Liltarion was dragged away by the guards before he could start throwing insults again, there was a strange aura around Yuë that no one had felt from him before, sans his closest family members, of course. 

“Ammë.” 

Signing, she responded: 

“He offended both yourself and the one who you are named after. You have all the rights to challenge Lilarion to a duel for disrespect towards someone who is not even around to personally teach him a lesson.” 

“A dance duel then.” 

Bowing to his parents, Yuë walked ahead. But there was no mistake about that he was angry, because Finrod got an alarming feeling that reminded him a lot about how his uncle Fëanor could react. 

“Maedhros…that word you said earlier, it is of Mannish origin, is it not?” Maeglin asked, and it was a valid question given how little contact with the race of Men she had back in the First Age. 

“Yes. The namesake of Yuë is indeed a Man, and someone I truly am proud to have met in person. Not one of the more well-known ones, I am afraid, but one who is found in historical records nonetheless. Yuë was especially insulted by Liltarion claiming that he was a servant of Morgoth.” 

“Hold on, aunt,” Celebrimbor said from where he showed up, having witnessed the earlier scene from a safe distance, “You said that my cousin is named after one of the recorded Men of the First Age, right?”

“That is right, nephew,” she answered. 

“Gökhan…” Finrod muttered, frowning with his eyebrows as he checked his memories, “It is not a name in Taliska, the shared language of the House of Bëor and the House of Hador….nor can I recall any similar-sounding name for those of the Haladin…” 

“He is not an Edain, cousin, and you never met him,” Maedhros informed, before her cousin almost fried his brain by this mystery. 

“I have never heard such a Dwarven name, and I am from the East where we had a slightly different naming tradition,” Narvi told Celebrimor, who had also realized that logic. 

“Gökhan…I do not think I heard that name during the Nirnaeth Arnoediad,” Rog admitted, though Rûsa looked rather thoughtful. 

“One of the Mannish slaves who lived in Angband after that battle, may have mentioned that name once, but I can not place it either, I am afraid.” 

Against her will, Maedhros smiled over the riddle she had given them. 

“He is more known under a Sindarin name, and as I said, he was not an Edain. Though some may view him as a honorable one.” 

That seemed to be the clue they needed. 

"Not a Edain...more known under a Sindarin name.. no one from Gondolin met him before or during the Nirnaeth Arnoediad..."

Saira was the one who caught on first: 

“Hold on, do not tell me…  Yuë is actually named after Bór the Faithful?! ” 

That made sense. How different his name was from traditional Elven names in both Sindarin and Quenya, and why Maedhros always seemed to get offended when someone called it a weird name. 

“Yes,” Maedhros said, “my Yuë is indeed named after Bór. Gökhan is the true name of Bór in his native tongue, meaning “ruler of the sky”. Yue was the traditional, gender neutral name among his tribe for premature babies, meant to avoid the baby becoming a ghost and unable to find the afterlife if they died soon after the early birth. Bór himself and his granddaughter Khulan were such babies, and got their other names in a proper naming ceremony when they proved to be survivors. It is just that he views Gökhan as a more private name, and only wants his near and dear ones to know it.” 

Now Celebrimbor widened his eyes in another realization. 

“Khulan, that was the name of the paternal grandmother of Aigul, the wife of Elros! I knew that she had some Easterling blood in her, but…oh Eru!!” 

No wonder that Yuë had gotten so offended over that Liltarion had lumped Bór together with the Easterlings once led by Ulfang and his traitorous sons, because it was their people who had caused much suffering for the House of Hador after the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, while the people of Bór had needed to flee to the coasts of Beleriand or back over the Blue Mountains to escape Morgoth and his wrath for them not betraying the Elves like the Easterling tribe of Ulfang had done. 

Liltarion had not only shown how little he had cared for historical heroes who was long dead, but a horrible view of Men that was a far cry from the truth during the First Age.  

Chapter Text

Normally, Yuë was slow in anger and not the type to use physical violence, but Liltarion openly insulting Bór the Faithful, who was his namesake, as one of the Easterlings who had served Morgoth in the First Age, and betrayed the Elves during the Battle of Unnumbered Tears… 

Something inside Yuë had, plainly said, simply snapped at hearing that insult. He was used to Maedhros getting called a kinslayer despite so long time passing since the First Age, he was used to not always being viewed kindly because of the contrast between his parents.  

Maedhros, who had gone from a respected warrior and Lady of Himring, to being shunned by her fellow Elves for committing kinslaying no less than three times, each one more horrible than the previous one. Rog, who had survived the Grinding Ice, the Battle of Unnumbered Tears and died as one of the heroes fighting in the Fall of Gondolin. 

But for his namesake to be the one insulted this time? After that Liltarion and his gang had done something that orcs would do on Elves who were caught and enslaved in Angband? Raising his hand to his hair, Yuë touched again where the first set of Dwarven beads marked the end of his own hair and the donated one which the hairdresser had used to try and make it less likely that Yuë freaked out in distress from recalling the forced haircutting the next time he touched his hair like this. 

“I will not let that insult go unpunished! I know that Ammë and Finrod will likely make it known in public that Liltarion has openly been disparaging one of the Mannish heroes of the First Age, but I refuse to just remain silent in the background for this as I normally do! Ammë named me after this Man for a reason that is not well-known among many other Elves because Bór and his people did not arrive in Beleriand around the same time as the Edain!” 

By the Valar, he was going to need some strong Dwarven ale to calm his thoughts and not do anything stupid without thinking. 

~X~X~X~X~X~X   

Of course, Maedhros and Rog knew that their son was pretty unlikely to react as he unusually did with what had happened over the past 24 hours, as they talked over a quite late evening meal consisting of a bread bowl with meat stew in the dining area of the caravanserai. Maeglin had brought some food to the chambers where she, Rûsa and Yuë slept, giving the excuse that her husband had accidentally hurt one of his feet while searching for his brother, and Yuë understandably was not wanting to be seen in public anyhow with his changed appearance. 

“I swear, that some people keep forgetting which family our son belongs to, on his maternal side. Because when Yuë glared at Liltarion earlier, I could have sworn that it was Atar who had taken a different appearance. He and Ammë did pass down that sort of glare to all seven of us, so I know that cold deathglare better than most people.”  

Rog nodded after that he drank some beer. He had not been too familiar on a personal level with his eventual father-in-law back in the Years of the Trees before the Darkening of Valinor when he still had been a common smith, but he had seen that deathglare from both Fëanor, Nerdanel and all seven of their children over time. Even Celebrimbor was said to have inherited that glare to some degree, according to what he had heard from blacksmiths who had once lived in Ost-in-Edhil during the Second Age. Whoever who got that deathglare set on them, generally had done something to deserve it. 

“Yuë is a prime example of your family not always following a set pattern in personality or temper. He is more like your mother, a much slower burning when it comes to anger. Honestly, I am surprised that our son has not snapped at Liltarion much earlier, though I have to admit that he has some serious self-esteem issues because of said bullying he has been a target of since he was little.” 

That was true. Yuë had suffered some really bad panic attacks in the past when Liltarion had managed to hit some serious triggers of their son, and it was only the support of his family and few true friends like Adamar who had prevented things from becoming even worse, when there even had been a really bad period some two hundred years ago  where they feared that their son would lose all his love for dancing by connecting it far too much to being bullied by Liltarion and his gang. Thankfully, Yuë had managed to take part in a few dance competitions where Liltarion had not participated and it had made a huge difference for him, by how there was people who actually thought that he was a good dancer and there was no nasty words about his family's past actions to ruin the mood. Yuë had even cried openly in joy for everyone to see, as he had held up his first trophy that marked him as the winner of such a competition.

Sure, that mysterious sponsor of Liltarion did often twist his parents' and relatives' efforts like making it seem like Yuë was the actual bully and Liltarion the victim, but the point still stood: Liltarion could not hide his true personality forever no matter what his sponsor did, and now he was in a situation where that same sponsor could not come running to his aid quickly enough. 

“That fool can forget any chances of becoming a son-in-law of Finrod by marrying Saira now, anyway. My cousin already knows that his daughter does not like Liltarion for various reasons and there is just no way he will accept a new family member by marriage, who disrespect the race of Men like Litarion did right before Yuë slammed his face into the stone pillar. Finrod was the first Noldo to meet the House of Bëor, which was the first one of the Edain to enter Beleriand, for Eru's sake! If you want to marry into a family, maybe try to check whatever you will match among them first of all because we Elves do not divorce like Men do if a marriage fails!” Maedhros groaned, knowing that if Finrod felt upset by how the much younger Elf disrespected Men, Aegnor would not react well to having a nephew-by-marriage who belittled his beloved Andreth for being a mortal woman. 

“Why do you think Litarion reminds me a lot of Nárion in some ways? From when he was courting you back in the Years of the Tears?” 

The mention of that former suitor of hers, who had been revealed to mainly wanting Maedhros as his wife because of her social status as the Heiress of the Noldorin Crown Prince, made her mood become even worse. Partly because that disastrous relationship had soured her younger self's view on courtship and fear that other suitors in the future would be having similar motives. And then Nárion had married another she-elf and had children with her, yet the rebirth of the House of Fëanor back at the beginning of the Fourth Age, had shown that he still held resentment over Maedhros ending their courtship, and attempted to poison them at a grand feast in Tirion. And then his wife had the gall of blaming Maedhros and her family for the execution of Nárion, even dragging Rûsa, Cúwen and Yuë into her thirst for revenge back when Maedhros was heavily pregnant with Lówen. 

“I knew there was something about Liltarion that felt familiar, yet I could not put my finger on exactly what. That same arrogance and belief that they can catch a royal princess as a bride! ” Maedhros muttered, drowning down some curse words with some ale, “That said, Nárion was more skilled in hiding his true character because while he was a noble, he also knew that his family-owned wealth from viticulture was dependant on getting the wine sold for a good price each year and that meant not offending those who liked the wines that he produced. If he got a bad reputation in Tirion to the point that not even the royal family or other nobles wanted to buy his goods, it would be harder to sell his wine to the Vanyar and Teleri courts as well because words get spread.” 

Rog poured up more ale for her. 

“And you were much younger back then, and it was the only one of your early romances that got serious enough that everyone believed that you would marry him eventually. Not exactly naive from being a sheltered and pampered princess, no that was never how you were raised, but Nárion was an early lesson in that even our fellow Elves could become enemies with time, and often because they can not move on from an event in the distant past.” 

That seemed to be a possible reason for why that mysterious sponsor of Liltarion seemed to target Yuë, and hurt Maedhros though her younger son being painted in a bad light for the public, as well trying to sabotage his skills as a dancer. Did they want the only female Fëanorian to feel powerless, that she was to blame for what her son was going through? Did they even aim to make Yuë resent his mother and ruin their family relationship because of her past as a kinslayer, by making Yuë flat out disown Maedhros and cut all ties to the House of Fëanor altogether, like how Celebrimbor had done with Curufin after Nargothrond? 

Over at the table for two where he and Narvi were also eating a late meal, Celebrimbor had been thinking in the same tracks.  

“Ha ha…” he laughed darkly, “no way Yuë would do that. It is far more likely that he will target that sponsor instead by ruining the dance career of Liltarion through causing permanent damage that not even Elrond can heal because Liltarion have suffered dance-related injuries in the past. Honestly, all my cousin needs to do is to deliberately stomp really hard, repeatedly, on Liltarion's feet during a dance duel, or aiming to kick his shins and hips. Because if that sponsor has already laid out so much money and connections on making Liltarion one of the finest dancers of their generation, well, that same sponsor should be made to carry the financial burden of his recovery costs and whatever happens if Liltarion can not make a dance career anymore.”

“Sounds like a fitting punishment, if you ask me. If that sponsor wants to cover the real behavior of him that much, then they can not come and cry about being shackled to him permanently because they have enabled something that they should have ended a long time ago. After all, even the parents of Liltarion is reported to not accept his bullying of a royal prince and therefore shows that they do not believe their son to be the bullying victim all the time,” Narvi said, recalling how there could be similar punishments among her own race at times. It was based on the two sayings “you reap what you sow” as well as “you made this bed, now lay in it”, which existed among all the Children of the All-Father in some form. 

Inside his chamber, Yuë was getting rid of his fury by dancing a different dance than otherwise. From when he had been old enough to learn that he was named after Bór the Faithful, Maedhros had shared her memories of the Easterling chieftain and his people with her son. 

“We perform those sword dances to honor our ancestors, my lady. It is meant to show that battle is a different form of dance, one where we can not always know the outcome of, where our skills with the blade, physical strength or endurance can often be the key part in our survival or death, as well the surroundings. A single bad step with your foot on a spot of wet grass, or on a slippery stone in a stream, can change everything in a moment.“  

True words of wisdom, taken from real life. The race of Men would know too well that they could meet death in various ways, and not always in a gentle or peaceful way. 

“I will restore his honor with this in the dance duel, to make Liltarion realize that ballet is not the best defense against something based on actual battle movements!” 

And… 

From the bottom of inside his travel bag, Yuë pulled out a set of clothing that he had gotten from Maedhros upon coming of age, hanging it up on a rank to remove any wrinkles in the fabric. This dance duel was the perfect time to make use of it. 

~X~X~X~X~X~X 

No one was surprised that Liltarion had accepted the dance duel straight away without thinking first. He had been angry over getting his nose broken against the stone pillar the previous day, and naturally wanted revenge on the one who had done it. 

“Just proves once again that he would be a poor fit into my family….” Finrod thought for himself, where he and Amarië had gotten seated next to Maedhros and Rog on the benches nearest the dancing area. Words had already spread about the mysterious Avari Elf from the Sand clan that had broken the nose of Liltarion after how he had openly insulted one long-dead Mannish hero of the First Age within earshot of Maedhros and now also challenged him in a dance duel, making many wanting to see it. 

“Good, Maeglin and Rûsa are hiding among the family members of Taurion. He will not stick out that much because there are so many of that tribe who have similar black eyes and dark red hair,” Maedhros said after searching for her older son and daughter-in-law over her shoulder for a moment.

“Excuse me, I would like to sit near my parents, please.”

Saira had now arrived, but it was her choice of clothing that caught attention. She wore a style that reminded of what the Dwarven actors had worn when performing the musical about her uncle Aegnor and Andreth almost two days ago, in a way more fitting for the taller and slender bodies of Elves. Through this choice, she was reminding everyone present that Andreth could have been her aunt by marriage if Aegnor had wed his mortal lover, and therefore did not accept how Liltarion had insulted the pair, or the friendships her father had formed with the Houses of the Edain. 

And she was wearing the dwarven-crafted bracelet of gold, with the linnaea woodland flower crafted of tiny emeralds and morganite gemstones.

“That will be a good sign for Yuë,” Maeglin whispered to her husband, “he will need all the emotional support he can get in this.”

Liltarion looked offended at seeing Saira dressed like that, but he got no chance of opening his mouth, before his challenger arrived into the dance area too. And Maedhros had to remind herself who it was in front of her right now, because with his changed appearance to how he would look like if he was not a albino at birth, Yuë looked strickening familiar to Bór and his sons by wearing that set of clothing that she had commissioned so long ago by the Elves who once had served her at Himring and had also met those Easterlings.  

“Who are you?” Liltarion sneered after a quick look at the unfamiliar Elf, though he had a nagging feeling in the back of his head that he had seen those green eyes before. The other Elf held out a drawn saber against Liltarion.  

“Gökhan of the Golden Eagle tribe. I am challenging you to this dance duel, in front of all those witnesses, to restore the honor of my namesake as well his three sons and all their men, who once served the Lady of Himring until their deaths in battle. You claimed that they were serving the Dark Lord, and that insult I refuse to go unpunished.” 

Yuë responded deliberately in the long-gone Easterling tongue that had not been heard since the First Age, which he had learned by teaching those memories that Maedhros had shared with him from a young age. In doing so, he was mocking how little Liltarion knew of the Men from the First Age, and how stupid it was of him to claim that Bór had been a servant of Morgoth all along without first. double-checking what he was talking about. 

Chapter Text

In the city of Tirion upon Tuna, it was a normal morning for most people. Including those who worked in the various city libraries or having a work connected to being scholars. 

“Something related to his son Liltarion must have happened again, for dance master Calairo to request an absence of leave from his work here at the royal court of my great-grandfather Finwë.” 

As the youngest child of Maedhros and Rog, Lówen was used to people not always paying attention to her, because now the Noldorin royal family had more Princesses compared to the Years of the Trees, where there had been more Princes born in the different branches. This suited her fine, for it allowed her to focus on her work and research. After all, she was a historian whose speciality was the Men of the First Age, thanks to Maedhros and other being able to tell her of not only the Edain, but the Easterlings who had never served Morgoth. 

“Argon, did you hear anything about why dance master Calairo basically ran off as soon as the King granted his leave?” she asked the cousin of her mother, who was seeking for a book that his mother would like to borrow again. 

“Not the details, but you know…his oldest son is not exactly someone with the best reputation, despite what that mysterious sponsor of his is doing to hide the nasty side of his personality.” 

Indeed. As pointed out by others over the passing years, Liltarion had failed to hide his true personality for those who were older and wiser, and while his sponsor was a good protection here in Tirion, the same protection could not be ensured whatever Liltarion left the city. This proved a hint to that the unknown Elf likely lived here in Tirion, most likely was not a relative of his, and could not always follow Liltarion on trips across Valinor for taking part of dance competitions, or as when he was younger, enrolled in well-known dance schools that were not near the capital of the Noldor Elves. 

“If he tries something again to Yuë, I will smack his head with a copper tea kettle as soon as he returns to Tirion!” 

Lówen was well aware of that Liltarion was a long-time bully of her ten years older brother since they was young Elflings, and like many others in the House of Fëanor, needed to restrain herself at seeing him in public to avoid accusations of making a scene in public or risk being seen as the troublemaker herself. 

“Add in freshly boiled tea water, and it should be an effective warning to leave your brother alone. I think Elrond will agree to heal the burns….eventually, and at a slow rate.” 

Now, Argon was not saying that to be cruel against a younger Elf, it was simply his way of agreeing that Liltarion may actually need a taste of his own medicine to finally leave Yuë alone permanently. Not something deadly, of course, but a reality check in that the albino prince had relatives who would not accept this behavior from Liltarion forever. 

“If you would like to visit, there was some tasty stuff left over from the afternoon tea my mother had yesterday with some friends of hers coming over. The servants have their share, but there are still a few sandwiches and scones left.”

That offer came at a good time, it was still some hours to lunch and Lówen had not eaten much breakfast today as she had wanted to finish overchecking a history essay for a student who sometimes struggled in that subject. 

~X~X~X~X~X~X

Fingolfin and Anarië were at court for the whole day, so it was only the two of them in the sitting room. 

“How is it going with gathering evidence against Liltarion and protecting the witnesses of his true behavior?”  

Argon knew why she had changed subjects like this.

“I have the written evidence still hidden in that extra space behind my bookshelf in my sleeping chamber.” 

As a young Elfling, Argon had wanted to keep some private stuff hidden from his older siblings, and surprisingly, his uncle Fëanor had actually helped to build that extra space when a maid serving Fingolfin had found some unexpected mold as a valid reason for needing to rebuild that corner of the chamber belonging to his youngest. As for where the mold had originally come from, well, Argon was having his sleeping chamber near the bath and the aqueduct leading the used bath water away, was running directly under that corner. It simply was a reminder that wooden buildings needed a repair. 

“Good. Because I want that sponsor to no longer be able to claim that my brother is the bully, and face the reality that Liltarion has bullied quite a high number of fellow dancers over the years.” 

It was understandable that Lówen did not like that mysterious sponsor who enabled this awful bullying of her brother, despite not yet knowing their true identity. She was polite towards dance master Calairo and his wife, for they really tried to make their son see the error of his ways, but that seemed to not be a hint to the sponsor. 

“The other witnesses, who are both his victims and their families, even a few respectable dance teachers themselves, know that they need to stay low until they hear that it is time to gather in a trial to make Liltarion finally suffer the consequences of his actions.”

Finishing his tea and placing the cup on the small table, Argon took a new finger sandwich. 

“Did you know that Liltarion actually has been expelled from more than one of those dance schools he was enrolled in, as an Elfling?” 

“No way?!”  Lówen expressed surprise, this being new information for her, “was it because of him bullying other students? It was because of that, right? ” 

“Correct about the reason for him being kicked out. I happened to find proof of both suspension and him being expelled in the register book of students for that school, when I was travelling around Valinor a few years ago, searching for witnesses against Liltarion.”

The cousin of her mother brought a copy of those records for her to look at, from his hidden space in the bookshelf. 

“That must mean that he lied to his sponsor about changing to the other dance schools, right? The ones where he actually did graduate from?” 

“Most likely. After all, those are the names of the finest dance schools in Valinor, and I strongly believe that his sponsor is not a part of the social circles where things like this come up. Someone who knows about dance as an art form, but only knows the basics of it because they do not do it themselves for a living.” 

At the royal courts, it was mostly ballroom dances that people needed to learn at a young age, and those were intended for social events among the nobles that differed from dance performers for the public. Not to mention dances which were part of ceremonies. 

“Again, thank you for all this help. Because my parents and maternal relatives worry that Yuë may actually be harmed for real by Liltarion one day, in the physical sense.” 

Argon poured up more tea for her before answering: 

“Liltarion is playing with fire, and that sponsor is enabling some dangerous behavior from him. There is a limit before it backfires on them both. Besides, that sponsor is quite dumb for not learning from history that my brother Turgon did manage to keep Gondolin hidden from Morgoth, but it came to a cost of being seen as unreliable in times of a real crisis and his refusal to leave Gondolin when Tuor passed on that message from Ulmo, was a direct cause of so many Elves dying in the Fall of Gondolin later. Besides, there is also the…way he made Maeglin a full orphan within a day of Aredhel dying. So Turgon is guilty of kinslaying himself with his own brother-in-law as the victim, no matter how much he dislikes your mother and her brothers for the Three Kinslayings. My own father says that yes, Eöl had to be punished for poisoning Aredhel to death, but making Maeglin an orphan was not the right way to handle it.”

In a different part of Tirion, almost like proving Argon right about that his second brother could cause trouble for himself by not thinking things through at first or ignored the most obvious consequences of his actions, Turgon suddenly knocked over a miniature of his beloved Gondolin with his outreached arm, as he had been standing next to it and then spun around at being addressed by a servant, making his long hours of working on the model be in vain as it broke apart on the stone floor.

~X~X~X~X~X~X

And things were not quite well at the royal court either, because the family of a promising young dancer among the Teleri showed up for an audience with Finwë himself…

With some really bad news, that Turgon could not cover up in time as the mysterious sponsor of Liltarion: 

Just one month earlier, Liltarion had ruined the not-even-started dance career of their son by pushing him down the stone stairs of a public building and causing the younger Elf to break both of his legs badly, forcing a healer trained by Elrond in Imladris to rush to the scene or there would be a death from the resulting blood loss as well the head injury. During a market day, in front of enough witnesses to pin down who it was behind the fall.

And according to what many had noticed even before that event, Liltarion had been acting in a threatening manner towards the Teleri dancer as well, even having his known gang of five join up in causing trouble. 

“Nolo,”  Finwë addressed his second son, “ride after Calairo and let him and his wife know that their firstborn must be arrested for causing serious injury and near death to a fellow dancer. And send out arrest orders for Litarion and his friends all over Valinor!” 

They could not ignore this, not in light of the growing evidence that Liltarion was not only targeting Yuë for his bullying. Just how many promising dancers here in Valinor had gotten his attention in a negative way, simply by being possible rivals or even better than himself at dancing? 

Chapter Text

While Adamar had not taken part of the dance competition, having a different errand to the this part of northern Valinor, he did heard about the shape-shifter that forced the event on a unplanned break and realized that his skills as a archer and huntsman, personally taught by his father Beleg, could be important in helping to ensnare that creature. 

“We have picked off the forest carefully, one area after another. The intended circle is getting narrower, so we should be able to trap it soon.”

He had heard about Rûsa and Dior getting frightened by what the shapeshifter had done, and held no judgement over it. Facing your worst fear was more difficult than what many people expected, even for those who were known to be brave. His own father Beleg did not like being outdoors during thunderstorms, for example, because it was during such weather that he had been accidentally killed by Túrin back in the First Age. Memories was a powerful force, and while Beleg had long forgiven the mortal with knowing that Túrin had been tortured by the orcs who had captured him and most likely mistook Beleg for being a orc about to start hurting him again, the association of his death with thunderstorms still remained. 

“Aha, over there!” 

Adamar knew that it was not a good time to catch the shapeshifter, currently a small dark cloud among the sun-light trees, but he kept an eye on it just in case someone else of the hunting groups arrived. 

“It is changing….oh no!” 

It took the form of a massive bear from how it would appear from the view of a much younger Elf, and if Beleg had been there, he would not have judged his son for suddenly climbing up in the tallest, nearest pine tree. As a young Elfling, Adamar had accidentally made a mother bear think he was a threat to her cubs by walking a little too close to the cubs and he had never really forgotten that terror, even with Beleg being quick to save his son. 

“Of course it figured out my fear of bears!” 

Oh well, he was not alone, so hopefully someone else in the group would arrive quickly. 

~X~X~X~X~X~X

“Gökhan of the Golden Eagle tribe. I am challenging you to this dance duel, in front of all those witnesses, to restore the honor of my namesake as well his three sons and all their men, who once served the Lady of Himring until their deaths in battle. You claimed that they were serving the Dark Lord, and that insult I refuse to go unpunished.” 

Yuë could see from the badly hidden confusion, quickly replaced by a sneer, that Liltarion had no idea what he spoke, by using the Eastern language which had been spoken by Bór and his people, now sadly an extinct language beyond still existing in the memories of the Elves who had met those Easterlings. But just like how Yuë had learned the language from watching the memories of Maedhros as a way to show respect for his Mannish namesake, he had now spoken it deliberately, because the other dancer did reveal just how little he knew of the Men of the First Age, by openly claiming Bór to be one of the Easterlings who had served Morgoth all along and betrayed the Union of Maedhros. 

“Clever, yonya, by throwing back his own ignorance in his face like this,” Maedhros whispered under her breath, already seeing that Liltarion undoubtedly believed that the, for him unknown Elf, must have insulted him somehow by supposedly “nonsense” words.

“I will teach you to not look down on me!” 

There was something about the green eyes that seemed familiar, but Liltarion could not place them exactly. He was used to identifying Yuë by how he stood out from others as a albino, and right now Yuë looked like a fair amount of Elves from the Sand clan with his darker skin, green eyes and black hair. But it was also that same moment that the Dwarves used for something else. 

“Let the duel begin!” 

A large suspended gong, previously used to mark the start of each day in the dance competition, was sounded with a mallet, signaling for the two Elves to start. And Yuë did not waste that moment by simply spinning around, nearly causing Liltarion to fall over on his face thanks to originally planning to give his opponent a punch to the face. 

“That fool,” Azaghâl said loud enough for those seated next to him to hear, “He needs to get his temper under control, if he wants this to be a proper dance duel instead of more physical violence being used.” 

Dance duels were normally a way to show off two different dance styles, not always side by side, but Yuë was already putting his body in different poses, while also using the same movements to not let Liltarion come near him.

“Ballet is a very elegant dance indeed, but it is not meant for that way of…” 

Yuë easily blocked an attempted high kick to his face, striking Liltarion on the outstretched leg with the scabbard of the saber he held in his dominant hand. 

“That is gonna leave a nice, long-lasting bruise, for sure.” 

Indeed, the differences between the two Elf dancers became very clear now: 

Compared to Liltarion, who struggled with the high speed, Yuë had never kept to a single dance style and spent his life experimenting with various styles, even mixing them at times to give his performance a different appearance. 

“Yuë really is making use of his temporarily changed appearance, and that he does not struggle with his usual asthma, either, for whatever reason. By presenting himself as a completely different person, Liltarion has no idea that right now, he is being challenged by his favorite victim,” Finrod said, watching the duel with full attention, Amarië and Saira not listening for understandable reasons. 

“Come on, cousin, give him a taste of what he always does to you! Just like that, not with words but with the dance moves you have learned,” Celebrimbor muttered without taking away his glare. Rûsa had seen many fights back in Angband, and he could tell that his half-brother was both having a plan ready, and be prepared for it changing with just a moment of warning. That was not something he could say for Liltarion, who began to look visibly unnerved by how his attempted insults were rewarded by a physical strike in some form and making him lose focus. 

“Stand still, you…?!” 

“Are insults and bullying the only way you know how to treat others?” Yuë wondered with a dismissing voice in the Easterling tongue, trying to push down his own feelings over how Liltarion was once again trying his old verbal abuse. To make himself feel better, he threw a small gold ring with a linnea flower crafted from a pink opal as the decoration, towards Saira, who caught it in her hands. 

“This…you…?!”

Saira looked in astonishment between the unexpected gift in her cupped hands, and Yuë, connecting the dots by what she knew. Most of the gifts from her unknown suitor were Dwarven crafted, suggesting a Elf who was on friendly terms with the Children of Aulë, and Yuë fit this detail far more than most of the Noldor. But she had never seen him as a possible face for this suitor, because of how rarely he was in Tirion and the way he tried to not get attention from others. 

“Do not think that the Noldorin royal family will accept another Avari marrying into their ranks!” Liltarion growled, his face twisted from rage over what he just had seen. 

“Ah, he used his usual gifts to Saira to enrage Liltarion. Smart use, making him think that Saira is being wooed by someone else,” Maeglin realized what her brother-in-law was planning, while Yuë copied a pose he had seen from a Dwarven performance based on what was known about the Fall of Gondolin, moving his saber like it had been the warhammer Rog had used against the orcs and balrogs of Morgoth as they attacked the Hidden City of Gondolin. 

And ended up cutting Liltation on the arm, leaving behind a gaping wound that bled so everyone could see. 

“Oh, now he begins to realize that he can be hurt for real, because it is a real weapon instead of a wooden sword with a metalic paint over it,” Rûsa commented with a clearly unimpressed look on his face. But from her seat, Amarië twitched one ear at hearing a faint sound, barely noticeable among all the cheers and shouts from the spectators. 

“Is that…the sound of a bone about to break?” 

She was no dancer herself, but she had heard about stress fractures, and there was something about the way Liltarion was trying to put more weight on one foot…

Was his feet so damaged from those pointe-steps that the bones were about to break at any moment? 

“What was it Elrond called it, after treating mortal dancers in Nûmenor? Something with the hips…?” 

In that moment, the body of Liltarion gave up from his repeated ballet movements from a young age. The achilles tendon on his right side suddenly tore as he lost balance from his toes breaking from doing a pointe, causing him to collapse with a howl of pain. Worse, it happened so unexpectedly that he fell badly on his hip and shoulder as well. Judging from the sounds of bones breaking, which was a sound the Elves from the First Age were familiar with, they knew that his road to recovery would be a long one, with both several broken bones and most likely muscle tears as well. 

“The winner of this duel is Gökhan!” 

But Yuë ignored the cheers for his victory, instead glaring coldly down on Liltarion, who was visibly trembling in pain and taking short, quick breaths from it.  

“Maybe THIS will teach you to quit treating other dancers as you have done.” 

Without remorse, he cut the other achilles tendon by stabbing downwards with the tip of the saber, effectively ruining the dance career of Lilitarion, just like he had done to so many other dancers here in Valinor. As much as this choice of action was out of character for him, no one could say that Yuë was being unusually cruel. Liltarion had tormented him by various means of bullying ever since they were young Elflings, and his insult of Bór as a supposed servant of Morgoth was the last straw. The second son of Maedhros was simply giving his long-time bully a taste of his own medicine by causing a possibly permanent injury that ended whatever goals Liltarion had with his dance career, and he was even merciful by the standards of Angband, which Rûsa knew very well. 

“Run and whine to your sponsor about being bullied, as you always have done. If you can, that is.”

With those swords, Yuë left the dance area without another look at Liltarion, who was frozen in both pain and shock over what just had happened, barely reacting until two Dwarven guards grabbed hold of him to drag him back to his holding cell. 

“No…come back here! Come back and face me, you coward! Coward!” 

But his babbling became mere nonsense as he cried from the pain and disbelief, making a sorry sight.  

“S-Saira….Saira?!” 

But the daughter of Finrod simply ignored Liltarion without even looking at him, and rushed over to where Yuë had just left, basically leaving an impression that she truly chose this unknown suitor over Liltarion once and for all. 

"Azaghâl," Maedhros adressed her old friend, "Arrange for him and his gang to be publicly shaved tomorrow on the main square. I do not want to see any of them with a single hair left on their heads after what they did to my younger son."

"That shall be fixed," he promised with a bow, getting a nod in return before Maedhros joined her husband, older son and daughter-in-law to see where Yuë went.

Chapter Text

Finrod watched the younger son of his female cousin, and his own daughter as they left the dance area. Finally, he spoke: 

“Nelyo…I would much rather welcome Yuë as a possible son-in-law, than Liltarion who seems to take her lack of interest in him as a challenge that he can defeat if he is just stubborn enough and scares away anyone who could be a rival for her hand in marriage. Especially now when your son chose to defend the name and honor of a Man who he never have met face to face, yet clearly valuables in his own way.” 

It warmed her heart to hear him say so, because Finrod himself knew how it was to be saved from death or captivity by the enemy. 

“Thank you, cousin. We can not know what Saira feels yet about finding out that my son has been her mysterious suitor, but I am sure that she will handle this situation just fine.” 

Maedhros knew that she should be satisfied with Liltarion finally suffering consequences for his behavior, and no longer could escape from it. But there was something on her mind that refused to leave. 

“I need to tell my soldiers about this disrespect against the mortals who helped us escape the Battle of Unnumbered Tears with their own lives as the cost. There is no way I will let this false claim that he was a servant of Morgoth become known only at the trial Liltarion will face for harming my son physically this time!”” 

Maedhros, all six of her brothers and many of their remaining soldiers after that battle, had Bór, his three sons and their fellow mortal warriors to thank for escaping death or captivity on that fateful day. Those Noldorin Elves was the ones who recalled Bór with gratefulness for that deed, and regret for not being able to repay that any more than doing their best ensuring that his widow, daughters, daughters-in-law, grandchildren and what remained of his people would not be enslaved by Angband as punishment for that refusal to betray the Union of Maedhros as the sons of Ulfang had done. 

“Yuë have already defended Bór against that slander today, now it is my turn and for those others who owe a life-debt to him!”

This would be a good use of that life-debt to Bór and those who had ensured their escape that day: Defending their good names against those who claimed a absolute lie about them, someone who was so ignorant of how the race of Men was not so different from the Elves about things, that he had no idea about basic facts that could be checked in a common history book. 

“I can imagine Lówen throwing that heavy book created from her research papers on him in court as her way of saying “ Educate yourself about the basic facts before you claim nonsense like that ”, just like she did with Turgon when she found out that outside Tuor, there was only two other Men the Gondolindrim had any meaningful contact with under those nearly 400 years that they were hidden away in that valley…”  

It was a very nice mental image given how her youngest child was very set on ensuring that Bór was not viewed in the same light as the sons of Ulfang, and an action which she could also see her soldiers cheer at if they witnessed or heard about. 

It was time to ensnare that sponsor, by using Liltarion himself as a bait. Time to make that counter-attack they had waited years for, and waiting to find a good moment to strike back with. Now that moment had came. 

~X~X~X~X~X~X  

Yuë had just came to a small drinking fountain, where he cupped his hands and wet his face to cool off himself somewhat after the intensive dance duel, drying himself off with a small handkerchief that he always carried with him in case there was a strong scent that triggered an asthma attack for him, when he heard someone call for him:

“Yuë!” 

It was Saira, looking like she had been in a bit of a hurry to not lose sight of him when he left the dance area. 

“This ring…the linnea flower on similar Dwarven-crafted gifts I have gotten over the years…are you that sender?” 

What was the use of lying, since she knew who he was, even looking like this and hopefully would return to his usual appearance?  

“You saw the public reaction when my older brother and Maeglin revealed their wish to marry. That is between two great-grandchildren of High King Finwë who are not exactly known to be…viewed as role models for many. But your father is Finrod Felagund, one of the most beloved members of the royal family. The founder and ruler of Nargothrond, who never swore that Oath which would destroy my mother and her brothers in time. The one who played a part in one of the most famous love stories of the First Age. How do you think people would react, if they find out that I hold romantic feelings for you? ” 

How could Saira forget? Tales of her father and his heroic deeds in the First Age was something she heard already in the cradle, of a time long before she was born. And how this formed a silent expectation for Finrod to remain a contrast to his cousins, the golden child to overshadow them, who was more remembered for their horrible deeds under the Oath rather than the opposite. 

“I…was afraid…for those who already judge me for reasons outside that.”

Eru, it was so difficult to get their words out now, when she was standing there in front of him. 

“You know how many already see me. The ways I get treated by those who do not like my maternal family. My Atar being a former Lord of Gondolin, is a thin shield against it, and that sponsor of Liltarion is just one of many who believes that I am a troublemaker because of that. They do not see a royal prince with my own connections and people who I may call help from, just an easy target for their own needs to be in the right. Even the few times I have made use of it, they have not been scared into changing their ways.”

Whoever that sponsor was, Saira knew that Maedhros and Rog would likely sue that person for defamation of their son once they knew how it was. Yuë had also been an adult since nearly three centuries back, meaning that he too could do that to this unknown person. And with the way the sponsor had always painted Liltarion as the victim of bullying while claiming Yuë to be the one who attacked him, there was no way that Elf could escape that connection with the disgraced dancer now.

“But your kindness has always been a comfort against those people. You have never rejected me in some form or ever done something to deliberately hurt my feelings, and that honest acceptance of me as myself….is why I fell in love with you, Saira. I wanted to confess earlier, but I was afraid of making you a target for unkindness if those same people learned about my feelings for you, and gain yet another reason to make me even more of an outcast than what I already am.”

She was going to have Liltarion and his damned sponsor a taste of that reality, Saira privately promised. This was unforgivable. 

“Then I say the same thing as I once heard Maeglin defend your brother with: My choice of spouse is no one's business but my own. People have no right to claim that they know things better than me, who is most suitable to be my husband or anything like that. I can listen to the judgement of others, get advice on what to do from those I trust, but in the end, the choice is mine to make, because there are those with a view that I do not agree with. ”

This was something Maeglin had told Turgon, more than once after the revelation that she and Rûsa wanted to marry, mainly because he had been one of the most loud protesters against the marriage within the family and the daughter of Aredhel and Eöl had not forgotten how her uncle had attempted to play match-maker for her in Gondolin despite her clear disinterest at that time. And in their own way, Finrod and Amarië had told their own daughter the same, that Saira was the one making that choice for herself, for arranged marriages was not the ways of the Elves and they trusted her to make a good judgement of the character for any possible suitor that came seeking her hand. 

“And this is my way of proving that.”

Without hesitation, Saira pulled the ring on a finger. One of her pinkie fingers, for she refused to place a ring on her left ring finger before she was properly engaged, but it was still an act of showing Yuë that she did not reject his romantic feelings for her straight away. 

“Let's wait with a courtship until all this is dealt with, shall we?” she asked, and he could only nod mutely in agreement, feeling like his voice was lost for words.

Soon, his family members came, and they all congratulated him on the victory he had gotten against his long-time bully. Liltarion did not yet know that he had been defeated by his favorite victim, but that did not matter in this moment. Yuë had proved that he was able to fight back, under the right circumstances, and the dangers o funderestimating him, or thinking that he would never strike back in some form. 

~X~X~X~X~X~X  

Throughout the rest of the day, Yuë felt like everything suddenly was a little more light around him.

He had gotten a dance to finally get some revenge on Liltarion for all those years of bullying and slander, with a justified reason though that claim that Bór, his Mannish namesake, had been a servant of Morgoth. 

Liltarion had ruined his own dance career by how his beloved ballet had come to destroy his body, and most likely was going to suffer permanent injuries with Elrond and other healers from Imladris not being very likely to treat those same injuries, because they knew what he always did to Yuë and other dancers. He was finally going to see how little the protection of his sponsor was worth now, when there was no way for that Elf to claim the usual thing: that Yuë was the one bullying Liltarion, and causing trouble for a talented rival out of jealousy.  

And best of all….

Saira now knew that he was her mysterious sponsor, yet did not reject him on the grounds of them being relatives or anything such that would be a perfectly valid reason, and which he would have accepted with grace if it had happened, despite the resulting heartbreak. 

“Now, if brother and I could only return to our real selves again, it would be nice…” 

As pleasant as it was to be able to speak with an actual voice rather than just Ósanwë, and not having to worry about an asthma attack, Yuë longed for things to return to normal. Or as normal life would be for the coming months, with the planned trial against Liltarion in Tirion and hunting down his sponsor so their toxic influence was finally removed from the public. He knew that Rûsa wished for the same, so they now waited for a clue on how to fix their changed appearances without involving the shape-shifter scaring Dior like that again. Preferable as soon as possible, before people outside this Dwarven city wondered where the two sons of Maedhros could be, by not being seen for several days. 

Chapter Text

One of the more unexpected skills the Maia most commonly known as Gandalf, had picked up during his long time in Middle-earth as one of the Istari, was the feeling of trouble happening somewhere. Even if it was not something he could fix himself, he wanted to see if there was a form of damage control he could help with.  

“Out of all things to escape, it has to be something that brings out your worst fears!” 

The moment he had heard about the shape-shifter escaping the Halls of Mandos, due to using its powers on a newcomer, he knew that it had to be captured fast. There was no way of telling how Elves, especially those who knew the horrors the Dark Lords and their minions were capable of, would react if they suddenly saw something which triggered their trauma.

“At least we have help in keeping it here to the north of Valinor, it would be a disaster if the shape-shifter somehow managed to get into one of the bigger Elven cites where there are a good number of Elves who lived through the early terrors of Morgoth and the First Age.” 

Shadowfax, the famed Mearas horse from Rohan who had came with Gandalf to Valinor at the end of the Third Age, had been granted the closest thing to immortality Oromë could give a animal which was not a Maia by nature, like Huan, and it was on Shadowfax that Gandalf now covered vast distances in his search for the shape-shifter, hoping that it really had not disrupted the dance competition he heard about, anymore than causing a unexpected break for the dancers. 

~X~X~X~X~X~X   

Yuë was not interested in seeing Liltarion and his friends undergo the public punishment of getting the hair on their heads shaved off. For him, it was enough victory in defeating his long-time bully in the art of dancing which had started their relationship as rivals, even if it was under a name few would associate with him as a prince of the Noldor and a member of the House of Fëanor. 

“I will see how he looks like when we are back in Tirion and sues him for having slandered one of the Mannish heroes of the First Age alongside doing physical harm to me,” he said to his mother, carefully touching the injured but healing ear tip on his right ear, feeling grateful for the tip not being hacked off alongside most of his hair. 

“Yes. Take the chance to do something more pleasant instead, for I am quite sure that the trial will drain you emotionally for different reasons. Neither Liltarion or his sponsor will escape consequences from this trial, but it will not ease away the years of bullying and trauma you have suffered from their actions until now.” 

Seeing him leave with a cousin from Rog's older sister to buy something tasty on the food market, Maedhros knew that her younger son likely was not looking forward to that trial.  

If they just could return both her sons to normal before then, she would have one worry less about how they currently looked and if people would realize that Gökhan was in fact her younger son, as he would have appeared if he was not a albino. Since Dior was not even sure exactly how he had transformed Rûsa and Yuë with the Maia powers he had inherited from his maternal grandmother Melian, it began to look like they needed to involve the former queen of Doriath to figure out how to make them appear as their normal selves again. 

“I really do not want to, though…” 

Her own past history with Thingol and his family from the First Age, made Maedhros very hesitant in letting her sons near Melian. Even if Melian was used to Elves and even was the only known Maia to have birthed a child in the same way as the Children of the All-Father in a body of flesh and blood, the only daughter of Fëanor was not sure if Dior's grandmother truly was the best Maia to ask for help in this situation. Rûsa was never truly comfortable around the Maiar thanks to Sauron and the Balrogs serving Morgoth in the First Age, and Yuë was one of the very rare, few Elves who did not have the typical Elven resistance against extremes of nature, illness and disease because of how prematurely he had been born. 

“If it was someone like Olórin, however, I would worry less. By being so long in Middle-earth and seeing so many different cultures, he truly learned the difference between Elves and Men, so alongside Elrond…”

Suddenly, Celebrimbor called her name;

“Aunt Nelyo! Olórin is coming here!” 

Oh, finally some good news. Maybe they did not need to send a message for Melian, after all. 

It was quite a tale about the two sons of Maedhros, Gandalf had to agree, after hearing what had happened over the past few days. But he could see the logic of how Dior had not really been thinking in that moment, but simply acted on survival instinct, to get away from the phantom image of Celegorm as he had appeared during the Second Kinslaying in Doriath.

“Even a Maia as myself can have a hard time thinking right in such moments because there is often only a few moments to choose what to do or react to what is happening, and I have learned a lot about facing dangers where you can not use those Maia powers, when I appeared as a elderly Man and could not reveal myself not be a common mortal in the lands where the power of Sauron was strong.” 

This seemed to make Dior relax a little, for the visible tension in his shoulders vanished. 

“And yes, grandmother Melian is used to Elves but I do not think she is the most helpful here. She seemed to half-expect me to know things by instinct back when I grew up in the First Age, rather than needing to be taught how and why, because it came naturally for my mother while growing up.” 

Making a careful examination of the two Elven princes, Gandalf believed that he might be able to help Dior reverse the transformation without needing to scare him again through use of the shape-swifter. 

“Get a pair of hand mirrors to help here, will you, Narvi?” Gandalf asked, while Celebrimbor was sent on a quick errand to get some full-body covering cloaks for his cousins.

~X~X~X~X~X~X  

The idea was that Rûsa and Yuë would look into the mirrors, focusing really hard on recalling how they normally looked, as a way to help Dior return them to normal. 

“Sometimes a team effort is better than expecting a single person to do all the work alone, as I have seen many times back in Middle-earth.” 

By having them wear the borrowed cloaks inside the tent of Seth, they would also ensure that there was some form of basic privacy while this happened. Yuë had not shown any signs of having an asthma attack during those three days that he had looked like this, but there was no way of telling how he may react to return to his usual breathing. 

“Take me first, because I remember how it was growing up,” Rûsa suggested to Gandalf and Dior, hoping that it would avoid everyone getting alarmed over his brother suffering an asthma attack as soon as he was back to normal. 

“Alright. Focus really hard now.”

With his intensive focus into the mirror, Rûsa began to be surrounded by a warm, gentle light. His limbs and body grew taller and longer, his adult muscle mass returning. It was no longer an Elfling standing there, but the first child of Maedhros in his adulthood. 

“ Finally, ” Maeglin breathed in relief, “It has been so weird seeing you as a child again.”

“You speak for all of us about this,” Rog told her gently in the same manner as he always did back in Gondolin when Maeglin had been wording what people would feel but not always mention aloud, partly because few wanted to get on the bad side of Turgon. 

“Rather a small child, than accidentally become more orc-like,” was all Rûsa commented, knowing that he would not have reacted well to that happening. 

“Are you ready, Yuë?” 

He swallowed hard, and no one else in the tent could blame him for being so visibly nervous. Even with seeing his older brother returned to normal, being scared of something going wrong without warning was understandable. 

“...just get it over and done, please!” 

He held up the mirror in front of his face, his familiar green eyes a small comfort but his skin and hair colour not looking right. 

“Alright.” 

He did not really recall how the transformation had felt in the woods, because it had happened so suddenly, with his attention being more on Rûsa tripping over the tree root in his panic yet refused to let go of Yuë's hand and causing them both to fall into a small, but thankfully dry stream bed. 

“Relax, Yuë. You can open your eyes.”

Swallowing hard again, he obeyed what his atar had said. Indeed, his normal skin and hair colour was back, only broken off by the donated black hair which marked where Liltarion had hacked it off. 

“Try and say something, yonya.”

No sound left his mouth this time, proving that his muteness was back as well. Though the same attempt with Ósanwë was successful, meaning that Yuë was fully back to normal. 

I am back to my usual self…

And then he started to feel a tightness in his chest, causing him to cough and wheeze as he held a hand towards his heart. 

“I knew that you would likely feel some form of reaction from everything over the past days!” Maedhros expressed in alarm, catching her younger son before he fell over, Rog aiding her. 

“Maedhros? Where are you? I heard something about Yuë…”

“Over here, Elrond!” Rûsa called, opening the tent door so the healer could find them. Why Elrond had come all the way here, they did not know, but he had managed to time it really well. Yuë had gotten a really bad asthma attack, likely caused by his lungs suddenly being back to normal, and he now knew the difference in being able to breathe like any other Elf with a healthy set of lungs. 

~X~X~X~X~X~X

In Formenos, Celegorm had just noticed a messenger bird. 

"Nelyo's handwriting? "To whoever in the family that gets this letter first"? That is not a good sign, I remember her writing like that back after the Battle of Sudden Flame...!!" 

Opening the letter in alarm over why she had used that phase again, he read the first lines. If anyone saw him, it would be like seeing him freezing in shock, staring blankly in honest disbelief at what his sister had written. And then he verbally explored loud enough to be heard at least a street away; 

"THAT LITTLE PIECE OF #¤&%#!!!!"  

This was followed by Celegorm rushing towards the local training area, letter held tightly in one hand, knowing that a good number of the former Himring soldiers kept themselves busy there today. 

"Oi, guys! You have no idea what that bully of Yuë have done this time to my younger sister-son!" 

Everyone paused in hearing what he said. 

"What happened, my lord?" 

Celegorm held out the letter to his sister's former second-in-command to read. 

"He did not only physically harm Yuë by hacking off his hair like the orcs would do to enslaved Elves, but he had the ignorance of claiming that Bór was a servant of Morgoth and intended to betray us all along!"

One could have heard a sewing pin fall to the ground in the shocked silence, following this reveal. 

"WHAT?!" 

"Bór...A servant of Morgoth like Ulfang's sons?!" 

"If he and his own sons had not remained loyal to our lady that day, all of us would have been slain or enslaved!" 

"We own our lives and freedom for the rest of the First Age to him!" 

"Lady Maedhros herself did name Yuë to honor this man and his trible, I remember that name being used for their premature infants!" 

"We will not let this strain on his name and legacy remain, my lord! Where is that dancer, right now?!" 

Turgon and Liltarion had just gotten more enemies to face in the trial. 

Chapter Text

As he treated Yuë for the asthma attack, Elrond got to hear the whole story of what had happened here over the past days. He was furious to hear how Liltarion and his friends had acted the morning after Saira and Yuë watched the musical, and could not blame his maternal grandfather Dior for reacting as he had done when the shapeshifter had taken the form of Celegorm in that fateful duel between them in Menegoth so long ago.

“I have long dreaded the damage to other promising dancers this sponsor is causing by how this Elf keeps enabling the bullying Liltarion is known for. He is on dangerously thin ice with his parents already, according to what I have heard from trustworthy sources in Tirion, and I think this event by targeting Yuë yet again and leaving visible physical harm on him, will be the final drop that makes the cup overflow. As in Liltarion getting disowned by them and truly only having that sponsor to hide behind.” 

When hearing what had led to Yuë challenging Liltarion to a public dance duel, and what happened to make him win, the famous Half-Elven healer was aghast by how ignorant Liltarion was about the First Age, to the point of mistaking Bór as one of the Easterling serving Morgoth and betraying the Elves. 

“That….I have no words…not keeping track on who is whom among the Men of the First Age, I can forgive because there was quite a number of them, but believing that all the Easterlings were serving Morgoth while none of the Edain ever fell for him…that is like saying that everyone of the Men living in the East and South of Middle-earth during the Second and Third Age served Sauron, and that there was no one among the Free Peoples of the West who fell for his false promises about power, wealth, whatever he would use to ensnare them!” 

On the other hand, he had quite a lot to say about how Liltarion had pushed his body to the point of ruining his legs and feet in that manner: 

“I knew that this would happen eventually! Even if I, a master healer, heals those injuries, I can not always reverse the damage done to his muscles and bones! Not when he has a history of ignoring medicinal advice and keeps dancing ballet! I knew that there would come a day when he cripples himself out of pride! Those self-caused stress fractures are the least of his problems in daily life from now on, with tendon and ligament issues, and joint problems!” 

As he had been treated by Elrond before in the past, more times than he could count, Yuë knew better than to defy what he was told. He had only done it maybe three times, especially when he was going through puberty in his 50s and was at an age when you like to test boundaries, and bitterly regretted it every time. 

“No damage to your lungs from this or anything else that is physical injuries outside the knife cut in your ear tip, thankfully. But I would like you to take a six months-long rest from dancing, because I have never treated anyone who was physically affected by a shapeshifting Maia power before and I do not know if something unexpected may show up later.”  

Just the very idea of even doing basic dance exercises right now, made Yuë feel even more exhausted. It was not the first time he would need to take a longer break, anyway. As a very young Elfling it could be weeks between one dance practice and the next for him, either because of a bad asthma attack or his poor stamina back then. And taking part of the dance competition again when it could be re-started once the shapeshifter finally was captured? No, he doubted that to be a good idea, after what had happened over the past days. 

I do not want to be seen in public outside Formenos before my hair has grown out somewhat. 

That was not vanity, no, but an understandable desire to not give people at the royal court in Tirion more things to gossip about himself. Yuë already stood out by being a albino and for his muteness, Liltarion cutting his hair off like this would indeed cause the sort of attention that Yuë had always disliked.

 ~X~X~X~X~X~X      

Since he already was there in the Dwarven city, Elrond did check on Liltarion in the prison cell, mainly to have a good view of the self-caused damage on the other dancer and be able to witness that this amount of injuries was not something which could be blamed on the younger son of Maedhros, like that sponsor might attempt to claim when they heard about what had happened to make the House of Fëanor openly sue Liltarion and his gang. The Dwarven and Avari healers had set his broken bones perfectly straight, so they would not heal wrong, proof that many of them were familiar with this sort of injuries, but Elrond refused to do anything else than that check-up. 

“No use in healing him when he is the type that will only do something like this again at a later point.” 

Of course, this was not heard by Liltarion, who had been given a powerful Dwarven-created sleeping drug meant to knock someone out before an operation or something else that would involve a lot of pain, and well, his rants and similar unpleasant comments could be ignored by the guards but it was much easier for everyone if he simply was quiet for longer periods. 

“Can not have him trash around in the bed and risk making his current injuries even worse, Master Elrond, and then act as if it is our fault that he can not obey a simple order to lay still in bed. Yes, we could tie him to the bed with some ropes, but he would likely paint it as us doing a poor job as healers.” 

Elrond, who himself had actually needed to do precisely that a few times in Middle-earth and here in Valinor because of a patient getting spasms because of something they had eaten to cause poisoning, did agree that a stubborn patient could be a danger to themselves if they could not lay still or obey other orders about their recovery from an experienced healer.

“I can understand why my foster-aunt mentioned that she would not be surprised to witness that if the sponsor is so set on making Liltarion seem like a victim and Yuë as the one who starts the bullying all the time, then they should adopt him into their own household instead of having his long-suffering parents handle the fall-outs of his behavior.” 

Given the number of other promising dancers that Liltarion had ruined the careers of by his bullying and even causing physical harm to, Elrond could not blame the dancemaster of the royal court in Tirion and his wife for finally reaching the absolute end of their patience with their oldest son and his sponsor. Even among the Elves, there were some people who never learned to change their ways unless they were buried underneath a mountain of the consequences resulting from their behavior. 

“The main reason why he has not already been punished like this, is thanks to his sponsor and their own network spinning the truth into falsehoods. But now? Oh, that earlier protection will turn into sand that slips between his fingers, don't doubt about that.” 

That Liltarion would be thrown out from the Dancer's Guild after this scandal and the upcoming trial, was pretty obvious, as well the likelihood that he would be sent in exile to an isolated place somewhere in Valinor, far away from Formenos and other settlements, as a way to show that he had reached the very end of how many people he could offend. 

“And that about Yuë cutting his achilles tendon to ruin his dance career…”

With how Celegorm had used his hunting skills to kill orcs in Beleriand, there had been situations where he did cut the achilles tendon on captured orcs and then dumping them in the wilderness as a way to pay back the suffering they did on the Elves and Men living in Beleriand. It did look unreasonable at first glance, before one recalled the very long distance back to Angband that would be covered by crawling back on hands and knees. And no effective way of hunting for fresh food and the sort, making a slow death by starvation and thirst very likely to happen. And being defenseless against large wild animals or people who would only be happy to kill an orc. 

Yuë had used a very simple, but effective way to destroy the self-confidence and pride that Litarion had in his own talent as a dancer, and ensured that his bully would be reminded of his loss every day now by no longer being able to stand up without support. 

 ~X~X~X~X~X~X     

Azaghâl did understand Yuë choosing to withdraw from the dance competition on the grounds of health reasons, especially with how Master Elrond recommended a longer break from dancing for the sake of avoiding possible physical damage from the last days. 

“Does not mean that the lad can not get a consolation prize like everyone else who does not win the competition. Just need to give it more of a personal taste as a memory of him giving his long-time bully a taste of his own medicine.”

And he knew exactly what might please the Elven Prince to have. Maedhros had told him who she had named her younger son after, and it was impossible to miss how Yuë had reacted to his name-sake being insulted as a servant of Morgoth. Besides, Azaghâl had planned to give this item to Yuë next year on the anniversary of Maedhros meeting Bór face to face for the first time, so he simply changed the day this little surprise would be revealed. 

That evening when Liltarion had woken up from his drugged sleep, Rûsa made good use of his reputation as a somewhat overprotective big brother, smiling in a unnerving way that any fellow slave from Angband would have known, if they had been in that hell for more than a few months. 

"I have wanted to do this for years. Maybe this will finally teach you to keep your mouth shut around my little brother in public." 

When he left the cell, and once again gave the Dwarven guards a well-filled purse of coins as a extra promise of silence about this visit, Liltarion was bending over in pain from a broken jaw and some lost teeth. 

Chapter Text

Despite that he could no longer take part in the dance competition and would miss the chance to win, thanks to the strict recommendation of Elrond to rest for the coming six months, Yuë refused to be a sore loser about it. 

My goal here was the challenge to myself that if I managed to be among the dancers that remained after the first two days, I would confess my feelings for Saira, and accept the outcome whatever she said yes or no. 

That last part of his plan had been made easier, with both his parents and other relatives telling Yuë that not everyone met their future spouse at a young age, and that even Elves sometimes needed a few failed romantic relationships before finding the right one. The thought of being rejected by Saira had hurt, yes, but he still had wanted to see her happy if she chose to marry in the future. 

“Yuë? They have caught the shapeshifter!” 

Oh, that was a surprising piece of news to hear. 

How? he asked by using the Dwarven sign language. He saw how one muscle near the eyebrow of Rûsa twitched, as if his brother could not believe how it had been done: 

“Cousin Celebrimbor and Narvi, being out near the edge of the forest after getting those new smithing hammers that they had commissioned a few months ago to celebrate some important date in their relationship before they wed back in the Second Age. A ghost image of Annatar suddenly showing up in front of them. Do the math.” 

Alright, no hard guess. Their cousin understandably freaked out at the sight, given that Annatar was in fact just another disguise of Sauron, and Narvi most likely doing whatever she had sworn to do to the Fallen Maia if he ever showed himself near her husband again. 

Knowing Narvi, I am not going to ask what she did to that shapeshifter, but I am sure that she gave a good show of how terrifying Dwarves can be even without full battle armour and armed to the teeth with their infamous battle axes. 

His brother nodded in agreement, having made a similar guess when he first heard the story not even half an hour ago and did not doubt that the Dwarven wife of their older cousin was able to make it come true. Narvi loathed Sauron in a way few could understand, because the Fallen Maia had ruined the attempts of Celebrimbor to remind everyone that the bloodline of Fëanor was not merely associated with blood and death, but that it once had been associated with creativity and beautiful crafts, like in the days before the cursed Oath had been sworn, and with how much the Rings of Power was associated with Sauron and his One Ring… 

Yeah, small wonder that Narvi had done as she did, and how it had allowed Gandalf to help capture the shapeshifter.   

“So, the dance competition is going to restart again tomorrow. I think everyone will have a better time now when Liltarion and his gang are firmly behind lock and key.” 

That thought alone lightened the mood of Yuë. 

~X~X~X~X~X~X

Indeed, the following days were a lot more peaceful, and joyful, without having to worry about Liltarion and his gang suddenly showing up to ruin the whole event for the other dancers. By wearing his usual full-body covering clothes, and his straw hat with the thin silk veil that protected his face from the sun, Yuë made a point of showing himself on the stands with the other spectators. 

“It is good that you show yourself. Or people were going to wonder what had really happened beyond you getting your hair hacked off like that,” Rog told his son, seeing how quite a few eyes were on him. 

Beyond my ear getting cut, I was not physically injured or anything else happening that could cause me to stay out of sight. Besides, I want to see how it goes for everyone else. 

He wanted to be seen in public, so Liltarion did not think that he had gotten some last, small victory in what was to come. 

Yuë and Saira had agreed to not try any real similarity to a proper courtship before the trial of Liltarion had passed, but instead, they used the free time outside the daily events of dance competition to be seen together. As far as most onlookers would know, the daughter of Finrod and Amarië was simply showing family support for a relative who had a long, not very pleasant history with her wanna-be suitor. 

“Your unsigned poems which were sent home to me, were always nice to read because you try to use your familiarity with the Dwarven race to be more original,” she smiled as they enjoyed some nice tea and freshly-baked bread buns with different fillings from the bakery where Loki worked. 

I am the sister-son to one of the most famous singers and bards among the Noldor. I would be a poor poet if I did not pick up some of the basics from uncle Maglor about themes and rhythm, Yuë said through Ósanwë, and she nodded. Some form of being an artist or craftworker was literally within his blood from both sides of the family, so it would have been just another reason for more unpleasant gossip if Yuë had not found any craft to match himself with. 

On the last day, one Elven dancer and one Dwarven dancer were chosen to become the winners for their respective races. They had earned the well-deserved victory through hard work, and few could disagree about who that did win. 

~X~X~X~X~X~X  

As promised, consolation prizes were also awarded to everyone who had been eliminated earlier in the competition.

“Here is yours, lad,” Azaghâl said while handing Yuë something which was covered with a cloth. From the weight in his hands and what he could judge from the shape, the albino Elf guessed that it might be a small statue of some kind. 

“Remove the cloth, Yuë.”

He did so, and everyone else grasped in surprise: 

“B…..Bór….? Holding….Yuë as a baby….?” Maedhros whispered in a trembling voice, overwhelmed by the motive. 

“Well, you know the reason better than anyone else, old friend. Felt that it matched what your lad did to defend the good name of someone who is no longer there.” 

Yuë did not care if everyone could see him crying openly. He was too busy keeping his hands steady, so he did not drop the small statue to the ground and ruined all the hard work Azaghâl had laid on it. 

Thank you…thank you….thank you… 

It was all he could say in this emotional moment.