Archive of Our Own

Her visitor had returned once more.

For a week now, he had stood in the shadows and watched her work for a while before leaving again. Never spoken a word, just watched from the terraces.

She had been trying to catch a glimpse of his face, but so far had no luck. Just a glimpse of a red tunic and black hair.

But her curiosity about the mysterious stranger was eating her, by now!

She sighed.

He did not seem to be working up the courage to finally introduce himself, after all.

Terribly impolite, really, but what could you do?

She was a patient woman, but even her patience had its limitations.

Perhaps she would have to succumb at last and eat dinner with her father and his apprentices rather than grabbing a bite to eat whenever she emerged from her work…

Once again, Fëanáro found himself watching the sculptor in the gardens on his way to dinner.

Day after day, he had seen her breathe life into the cold marble that was her medium.

Her hands were always steady, and he admired her ability to focus on one statue at a time.

It was a feat he had yet to manage.

His mind tended to jump from one place to another, going on tangent after tangent before returning to the original thought if it returned at all.

It was why he spent long hours in the forges, desperate not to lose that thread of inspiration and have another take its place, whenever focus finally came.

Perhaps that was the reason he had yet to introduce himself.

Too many times he had been burned when others could not live with his erratic mind, abandoning him quickly once they had gained what they came for.

He did not wish the sculptor in the garden to be another one of them.

In the end, she took the decision out of his hands, tracking him down to introduce herself.

They got on like a house on fire.

If Fëanáro was one thing above all he was brilliantly, vibrantly alive. He was always in motion somehow, even when standing still, and Nerdanel spent years trying to capture his energy in stone.

She never quite managed, but her statues were acclaimed for their liveliness.

Fëanáro lit up a room simply by being there, and his light warmed her.

It was her calm confidence that drew him in. Quickly she became his sounding board for ideas, just as he became hers.

Her grounding presence eased the feeling of being tossed around by the everchanging currents of life.

Finally, he was home.

He was a surprisingly good teacher, she thought, watching him help the newly arrived novices three years into his apprenticeship with her father.

Not the most patient, no, but never cruel.

One might even say he excelled at explanations for his mind provided many approaches to one and the same issue.

And how he enjoyed sharing knowledge!

His eyes would light up and excitement would enter his voice, whenever he taught.

It always made her smile.

He thought the same about her.

Fëanáro grinned, watching Nerdanel give pointers on a design.

No one could help you develop your own style quite as well as her.

She saw the diamonds in the rough and made them shine like no other.

He admired her patience and gentleness.

They had never intended to fall in love.

And if one were to ask Nerdanel when it happened, she would not be able to tell.

But when Fëanáro asked to marry her, it only seemed to be the natural continuation of their work together.

They had meshed metal and stone and turned it into art, had meshed ideas and reached new heights in their crafts.

Meshing their fëa was simply the next leg of their journey.

And who knew what new art the union of their bodies would bring forth?

No, she might not have planned it, but she was happy, nonetheless.

After the wedding, Fëanáro brought her north to the icy plains.

Their friends had laughed at the idea, after all who wished to go where there was nothing but snow?

But Fëanáro knew it was the perfect place for them.

And he was right.

Under Nerdanel’s hands, the ice turned into creatures, as beautiful as they were impermanent; and Fëanáro trapped the light of the stars in them, filling their icy bodies with the glimmer of life.

And sometimes, when they tired of their work, they wrapped themselves in thick cloaks and just lay there watching Varda paint the sky with colours unknown to any painter.

Here, they were at peace.

She had a workshop now!

Of course, she had had one in her father’s house, too, but it was shared, and thus often unbearably noisy, and she had preferred the solitude of the gardens for her work.

But this one? The one in their new home? This was all hers.

Here she could spread out to her heart’s content!

She grinned and slowly turned around the room, once.

“All mine!”, Nerdanel exclaimed with excitement.

Fëanáro laughed. “All yours indeed!”

She grabbed his hand.

“But do you know what the best part is?”

Fëanáro shook his head.

“I do not, beloved.”

Nerdanel pulled him close, kissing him.

“This one is all mine, too.”

She named her firstborn son Maitimo for he was her most beautiful creation. No statue could ever compare to the wonder of a child.

He soon was toddling after them, insatiably curious, always asking questions. Though he later began to look for the answers himself, he never grew out of wishing to learn.

Their second son was loud. Where Maitimo had been quiet, Makalaurë made himself heard. He cried, he babbled, he laughed. He was silent only in sleep.

The curiosity, however, was the same.

Tyelkormo, her third son, was the first out of all her children to walk.

His energy knew no bounds.

The gardens were his favourite place, and he often ran around while she worked.

Carnistir, the fourth of their children, far preferred to stay inside, often sitting quietly in a corner while his oldest brothers studied.

All he needed was a ball of yarn and he was occupied for hours.

The fifth son, she named Atarinkë, for he not only favoured his father in looks, but also in company. He was the first of their children to love the forges as much as his father did.

They spent many days together, working side by side.

Ambarussa, the twins, her youngest sons, were rarely found apart. Where one was, the other was never far behind and often chaos followed in their wake.

Still, they were always willing to help someone in need, and though the success varied wildly, the gesture was appreciated.

All seven of them brought her unending joy.

Maitimo’s favourite place in all the world was the large armchair in the sitting room.

It was perfect for storytelling, cuddling and answering all of his questions.

And he had many of them!

About the stars and the plants in the garden, about the animals outside and the tools in his parents’ workshops.

Today the heavens had drawn his attention.

“Why’s the sky always changing colour, Atto?”, he asked curiously, sitting in front of the wide window.

His father smiled.

“The colours we see depend on the Tree that is currently blooming. Do you remember what I told you about the Trees?”

Maitimo nodded.

“The Valar made them! Laurelin is gold, and Telperion silver.”

“That is exactly right! And since their light has different colours, so does the sky! It all depends on which one of them is currently blooming.”

“Is it Telperion, now?”

Fëanáro glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece.

“Indeed, it is! And you know what that means? It is bedtime for little elflings!”

“Awww noooo! I still have so many more questions!”, Maitimo whined, as his father lifted him up.

“Why do the trees glow? And why silver and gold? Why not green and blue? Why does the weather chaaaaange…?”

He yawned.

Fëanáro smiled.

“Save the questions for tomorrow. We will look for answers, then. Now it is time to sleep, my darling.”

There was an old harp tucked away in one of grandfather Mathan’s storage rooms.

It was barely tuned, forgotten by an apprentice long ago, and collecting dust on a shelf.

He and Maitimo had been playing hide and seek with their cousins when Makalaurë stumbled across it.

The dust made him sneeze.

Curiously, he plucked one of the strings, and it made a soft ‘plink’.

Makalaurë stared at it in surprise. It could make noises?

Intrigued, he continued to pluck the strings, eliciting more ‘plinks’.

Some of them were higher, some lower than the first.

He was fascinated.

How could a collection of strings and wood make such beautiful sounds?

And could he learn how to do it, too?

Ammë said, he had learned to sing before he had started to talk.

Would it be possible to combine the plinks and his voice?

Was it possible to make music that included both rather than one or the other?

He resolved to ask his parents for lessons.

But for now, he could hear his cousins calling for him.

Time to continue playing!

“Ammë, Atto, look what Lord Oromë gave me!”, Tyelkormo giggled as he stumbled to a halt in front of them, covered in mud from head to toe.

A small, grey ball of fur was nipping at his heels, flitting around him like an overgrown bee.

It yipped excitedly when it caught sight of Nerdanel and sniffed curiously at her boots.

She exchanged a wry smile with Fëanáro.

They had waited for the day Tyelkormo would drag something home with him.

Truly, it had been a wonder it had taken so long.

“I see, dear heart! And would you like to introduce us to your new friend?”

Tyelkormo grinned proudly. “This is Huan! Lord Oromë says he’s going to be really big one day! And he’s my friend now!”

Lord Oromë might have forgotten to mention how big exactly Huan would be some day. The pup was almost a year old, but he had already grown to reach Fëanáro’s hips in height. And he still showed no sign of stopping.

Currently he was trying to learn how to control his gangly limbs, not unlike Nelyo not too long ago.

It made Fëanáro grin.

The joys of growing up did not seem to be reserved solely for elves.

Despite his size, Huan was a gentle being.

Nerdanel had worried when Moryo began to toddle around, but Huan never snapped at him, not even when Moryo pulled himself up on Huan’s fur.

No, Huan was a good addition to their family.

There was a corridor in grandfather’s palace filled with tapestries.

Carnistir loved sitting in it, tracing the paths the threads had taken to create their patterns.

He marvelled at the ingenuity and the skill of the crafter, fascinated by how they painted entire pictures only with thread.

When his brother explained that they had been made by their grandmother, Carnistir’s interest increased tenfold.

There was so little they knew about their grandmother.

No one was willing to talk about Míriel, too afraid of upsetting the king or Carnistir’s father.

“I want to learn how to make them”, he declared one day to the silent corridor. Perhaps that would bring him closer to the grandmother whose ghost lingered in their lives.

“And when I do, maybe mine will hang here, too.”

And learn, he did.

It took many bleeding fingers and tangled threads, but he could not remember a moment in his life that was more exciting than when he presented his first small tapestry to his parents.

Later he would sneak into the corridor to show his own work to Míriel’s tapestries. Maybe this way, she could share in some of his joy in her craft.

Atarinkë’s fascination with his parents’ works developed early on, but from the beginning he preferred his father’s to his mother’s craft.

He liked the warmth of the forge, the clank of the hammers, the smell of fire and smoke.

But most of all, he delighted in the creation of tools. Things to be used. That served a purpose beyond decoration.

There was no better feeling than holding a knife he had made with his own two hands and use it to cut his dinner.

Not even his mother’s pottery could compare.

Thus, it was no surprise that he favoured his father over her.

That did not mean he did not love his mother.

Her work calmed him in ways the forge never did.

And when his father’s mind worked too fast and he wished to focus on his own ideas, he found peace at her side.

Yes, Atarinkë loved his mother. Just in his own way.

Ambarussa had come into this world together and when she named them, Nerdanel had believed they would be as inseparable in life as they had been in birth.

While this might be part of the truth, it certainly was not the whole truth, however.

For every now and then Ambarussa would spend their days apart, each following their own separate interests.

In the darker hours, Nerdanel wondered whether it harkened to days when their paths would diverge.

She hesitated to give them their own names and separate them by word if not by blood. So she did not. No matter what others said.

For now, they seemed perfectly happy to share, anyway, to both be her Ambarussa.

Telufinwë liked to learn by trying things out and getting his hands dirty. Pityo preferred to read about them first.

They complemented each other perfectly.

Pityafinwë loved causing mischief with his twin, delighted in causing trouble, but there were days when he was glad to be alone. Spend time on his own rather than as part of a whole.

He knew Telvo felt the same.

Together, they were great, but sometimes they were happier alone.

They learnt quickly that there was nothing wrong with that.

Time spent apart did not lessen their bond.

Indeed, more often than not, it felt stronger than ever after going their separate ways for a while.

Days apart were followed by nights whispering to each other, so neither of them ever felt like the day had truly been spent apart. They loved each other, after all.

When he was little, Ammë had taken Maitimo to visit the royal library in Tirion.

He had been waiting for that day for months, until she had finally found the time to take him, but it had been worth the wait.

He had spent a wonderful day wandering the long rows of shelves with books stacked up to the ceiling, and when they had left, he had declared fervently,

“I want to learn everything in this world, Ammë! Everything! And I will read all the books ever written!”

“Will you? How lucky you are then to have started so early! There are hundreds of books after all!” his mother had exclaimed.

She was right.

He had yet to even finish reading all the books in the library in Tirion.

But Maitimo was nothing if not determined.

And so, he spent many afternoons curled up on the chairs in the library, slowly reading anything he could find.

There was no need to rush.

After all, he had an eternity to read them all.

Makalaurë was just as curious, but where his older brother had interests as different as the mountains and the sea, Makalaurë only wished to know about one thing.

Music.

He devoured books about it like they were bedtime stories.

He hunted down instruments of all kinds and sizes, willing to try everything at least once.

No instrument was too strange, no sheet music too difficult.

If it made a sound, he would attempt to snatch it up.

But no matter how many instruments he met and learned to play he favoured the harp he had found in his grandfather’s house.

It was the first instrument he mastered, and the one he never left behind.

Even after he had replaced the harp, he kept the old one close.

When his parents asked why, he said, “It is a reminder. This is where I began my journey. I do not wish to forget.”

Huan had been his companion for years now and for just as long, Tyelkormo had known he would join Oromë’s followers once he was old enough.

Today he was.

They would be out for less than a day, but Huan and him were finally allowed to run in the woods with the Lord of the Hunt.

He had found little rest the night before, too wound up to let himself slip into Irmo’s realm, and dragged his family out of bed ere the lights mingled for the first time. Not even Maitimo, who despised the early hours of the day could resist his excitement.

Huan was just as excited as his master to finally run side by side with his siblings again, but the early morning chaos was not to his taste.

He had settled in the quiet living room, instead, waiting for Tyelkormo to finally be ready.

Carnistir soon joined him, confused about all the ruckus his older siblings were causing.

The little boy curled up against his flank and dozed off, surrounded by the warmth of Huan’s body.

Huan woofed gently.

Life was good.

Carnistir loved his mother’s workshop.

It was tidy, not a stray chisel to be found, but still undoubtedly hers.

He loved the way Laurelin’s warm light fell through the windows, tinting everything in golden hues.

And he could find traces of her everywhere.

The homemade pot she kept her brushes in had been a collaboration of all of her sons.

Maitimo had helped him draw the picture, while Tyelko and Kano had spent hours debating which pot to choose.

Kano had painted it red, like Ammë’s hair, and Tyelko had stuck the drawing onto it.

There were tokens of affection from his father.

A quick sketch of their family pinned to a board, side by side with drawings of her statues. It showed their family, all drawn in charcoal, Maitimo’s preferred medium.

There’s a page from Makalaurë’s notebook, too. The first lines of a song. Carnistir did not believe it was complete, just a few lines scribbled down.

A collection of pretty stones and feathers that Tyelkormo had given her, gathered on many rambles through the woods.

A woollen bracelet he had made. The braiding was uneven and wonky, and the colour scheme atrocious. Still, it was here, in a place of honour.

She kept all their gifts.

No matter how childish.

It was his mother’s workshop, but their family had a place in it, too. This was home.

Atarinkë and his father disagreed on one thing and one thing only, while working together in the forges.

And that was the state of their joint workspace.

Tools, half-finished projects, Fëanáro piled everything onto tables, without apparent order.

The space around him was as chaotic as his mind could be.

It drove Atarinkë mad.

“He left the knife with notes for a new type of lock, Ammë! A lock! Can you imagine? How was I ever to guess I would find it there when the buyer came?”

Atarinkë sat on a table in his mother’s lovely, tidy workspace, legs dangling, but his mother had little sympathy.

Her son had inherited her desire for order, but after many years of collaborating with Fëanáro she knew pushing him to be organised was a lost cause.

He knew where to find everything, after all. “And if the others do not, that is hardly my fault, Nerdanel”, he had huffed the last time they spoke about it.

Nerdanel had only sighed and banished him from her workshop.

Pityo giggled quietly as he watched Ammë follow the tracks he had left in the gardens.

If anyone were to come across him now, they surely would believe him to be up to no good, but for once that was not the case.

Not at all.

All of their brothers and Atto had had to leave for a while, and Ammë had seemed quite upset about it, so they had decided to try and cheer her up.

Tiny wooden figurines were leading her to a secluded spot between the trees where Telvo and him had prepared a small picnic.

Pityo really hoped Ammë would like it.

And that Telvo had not burned the food.

Telvo stared at the small cake in suspicion. It looked too wobbly. Maybe he should have left it in the oven for longer?

At least the fruit seemed alright. But then again, there wasn’t much that could go wrong with cutting fruit, he supposed.

Telvo shrugged.

As long as it cheered Ammë up, it should be fine.

He wondered…

Oh, there she was.

“Surprise!”, he shouted when she came into view.

Nerdanel smiled.

“A picnic!”, she exclaimed in delight. “Oh, this looks lovely! Did you make all of this on your own?”

“With Pityo, of course! You were sad because Atto left, so we wanted to cheer you up!”

Nerdanel wiped a tear from her eye.

“My sweet babies. Thank you very much! You made me incredibly happy. Shall we try your cake, darling?”

“I am uncertain it is edible, Ammë”, Telvo mumbled.

Pityo stared at him, distraught.

“Tell me you did not burn the cake, Telvo. Please.”

“I did not burn it! I may have done the opposite, though. Look at the cake! Does this look baked properly to you?”

Nerdanel inspected it critically.

“Perhaps not quite, but we will only know for sure if we cut it open. If you could pass me the knife, please?”

Pityo handed it to her, and Nerdanel carefully sliced through the cake.

Liquid dough spilled through the cracks.

No, this did not look baked at all.

A drop of dough fell to the ground.

They all stared at each other and laughed.

Being chosen to speak at his class’ graduation ceremony was a great honour, and Maitimo was proud to have been considered.

Still, he was nervous now, standing outside the hall.

“What if I forget my speech, Ammë? Or no one applauds? What if they all despise it?”

Nerdanel took his hands in hers to stop him from fussing with his collar again.

“My darling, darling boy. You know your speech by heart. You practised many times. And even if nobody likes it, your brothers are loud enough to make noise for the entire audience! Not that it will be needed, of course!

“Now, I really should find our seats before the ceremony starts. When you go up there remember we love you; we are proud of you, and you will be outstanding. I am absolutely certain. Good luck!”

She pressed one last kiss on his cheek and vanished through the door.

Maitimo took a deep breath.

He could do this.

Makalaurë was tuning his harp, keeping a careful ear out for any dissonant notes.

The concert would start soon, but no listeners had come in yet, so for now he could enjoy the peace and quiet.

He was so excited!

For the first time he would play the floor harp in an orchestra!

It was smaller than the one the big orchestra used, made for the hands of children after all, but still, it was immensely larger than the handheld harp he usually played!

He was finally old enough to be trusted with the responsibility of playing a solo instrument!

Makalaurë smiled.

Soon the hall would fill with guests, his family among them.

Maitimo had promised to cheer especially loudly.

Ammë had smothered him in kisses before wishing him good luck, and even though Atto had not said anything, the glint in his eyes told Makalaurë he was proud, too.

Oh, this was so exciting!

He couldn’t wait for the concert to begin!

Tyelkormo hoisted up the deer, already wondering where he could put it once he returned home.

Oromë had proclaimed he could take the whole deer with him, rather than sharing it with the other hunters as they usually did.

“It is your first true kill, and you should feast on it! An impressive shot for one so young! We have enough that none of us will go hungry tonight.”

Tyelkormo and Huan had preened at the praise.

However, that still left the question of what to do with it.

Perhaps Ammë would know?

Huan sniffed the carcass excitedly.

His master laughed.

“You’ll get your share! Don’t you worry. But first we’ll have to bring it home!”

Luckily, his mother was in the gardens.

She stared at him in mild horror as he presented the deer to her.

“That is… Did you kill that yourself?”

Tyelkormo nodded proudly.

“Where should I put it? I am uncertain we have a place for such things…”

Nerdanel nodded vaguely.

“Perhaps the butcher? I do not think we have the space for it, I’m afraid. But I cannot wait to taste the spoils of your hunt. It looks like an impressive kill!”

Tyelkormo blushed.

“Larger beasts fell today. But this one we bested all on our own!”

Nerdanel smiled at her son.

“Then you and Huan did great. Bring it to the butcher, and then you can tell me all about your adventures, alright?”

Carnistir paced up and down the room, hands clasped tightly to hide their shaking. He could not remember the last time he had been this nervous.

But then again, neither had he ever expected to move from making tapestries to designing clothes, so perhaps the nervousness should not be as surprising.

“Deep breaths, little brother. The people will love your designs. You have nothing to worry about”, Makalaurë soothed, leaning against the wall.

It was easy for him to talk. He had already established himself as a renowned composer, known far beyond Tirion’s borders.

He did not have to try to break free from their father’s name anymore, or to make a name for himself.

“That may well be, but will they love them for what they are, or the name attached to them?”

Distantly, applause roared.

Carnistir tensed.

The moment of truth.

His mother entered the room, smiling widely.

“They loved your clothes!” she announced delightedly.

“Well done! I am immensely proud of you, my son!”

It had taken weeks, but Atarinkë was finally satisfied. This was the sword he would present to the guild.

He had debated for days on end about the choice of metal, the shape, the colour of the hilt, but now he felt he had finally done his vision justice.

This would gain him his mastery, he was certain.

The guild masters agreed.

He would join their ranks.

“You have gained your mastery! How wonderful! I did not even know you were already trying for it! Why did you not say anything?” his mother asked.

Luckily his father interrupted before he had to explain himself. His wish to overtake his father’s accomplishments and gaining his mastery earlier than even Fëanáro had done may be a good enough reason to convince his father, but his mother would consider it ill-advised.

“Well, let us see your project then, son! I have been curious! You were terribly secretive”, his father added.

Atarinkë unsheathed the sword and proudly presented it to his parents.

They smiled brightly.

The Ambarussa were nothing if not determined. They had decided they were going to present the best possible cake to their parents this afternoon and by the Valar, they would do so. Nothing would stop them today.

The occasion?

Nothing, since they had narrowly missed Ammë’s begetting day, and Atto’s was not for another two months.

Ever since that very first failed attempt at making a cake to cheer their mother up, Telvo had been determined to improve, to find the perfect recipe.

And now he had finally found it. It had taken countless tries and failures, but he had honed his skills. He was ready for this.

While Telvo had baked, Pityo had used his discarded creations to polish his artistic skills.

He learned how to form the most delicate shapes to decorate their cakes, make icing in a myriad of colours and replicate entire buildings in edible materials.

Today, he had built a smaller version of their house on Telvo’s cake.

It looked remarkably life-like if he said so himself.

Now the only question left was how to present the cake to their parents.

“It might be a bit large…”, Telvo hummed consideringly.

Pityo cocked his head, taking in the table covered in cake, and nodded.

“Maybe… we should bring the parents to the cake instead. This has grown far bigger than I expected… I do not think we could carry it.”

They looked at each other, nodded decisively and went to collect their parents.

Nerdanel woke to a quiet house.

This pregnancy was more taxing than the previous four, and she spent more time resting than she desired to.

But her family was adamant that she be careful, and she often submitted to their gentle nagging.

Even if it meant leaving her two oldest in charge of their siblings.

She found Maitimo in the drawing room on the couch, Tyelkormo tucked under one arm, and Carnistir under the other. On his lap was a big book.

“Ammë! Come look!” Carnistir exclaimed.

“We’re finding plants from the garden! There’s pictures and everything!”, Tyelko added excitedly.

Nerdanel smiled.

“Truly? That sounds fun! What have you found so far?”

“Dandelions! And clover!”

“Sunflowers! Nelyo says they can grow taller than him! And he’s a giant!”

Maitimo blushed crimson at Carnistir’s words and Nerdanel laughed.

“What do you think? Shall we go outside and look at all of those?”

“Yes, yes, yes!”

“Can we, please, Nelyo?”

Their older brother laughed.

“We certainly can! Off you go!”

And the two boys ran off.

Tyelkormo was sneaking around the house, gathering up equipment and provisions for their trip. Quiet as a mouse he pulled on his boots and opened the front door. Huan immediately slipped past him, barking excitedly.

“Hush, boy, we do not wish to wake Ammë! The twins are not letting her rest enough!” Tyelkormo hissed.

“Too late, my darling child.”

Tyelkormo whipped around to face his mother with a guilty look.

She laughed.

“Do not worry for me. All five of you have kept me up at times and still I live, the twins will be no different. Now off you go! You do not wish to keep Lord Oromë waiting, do you?”

Tyelko grinned.

“Of course not! Come now, Huan! I will see you soon!”, he called out, waved one last time and sped down the road.

Someone tugged on her sleeve.

“Why does Tyelko like running around in the woods so much, Ammë? It is dirty and there are bugs everywhere! The forges are much better!”

Atarinkë pressed himself against her leg.

Nerdanel smiled down at him.

“Now, sweetheart, but our lives would be terribly boring if everyone liked the same things, don’t you think? Just imagine how crowded the forges would be, if all your brothers also liked smithing!”

Atarinkë shuddered.

“No, no, I have changed my mind! Tyelko can stay with his bugs and trees. The forge is far too small for Huan, anyway.”

Nerdanel laughed.

“Quite right! Now, back to bed! Just because your brother has an early start does not mean we should have one, too!”

Tyelkormo cursed.

Ammë had asked him to watch the twins while she talked to a customer, and he had lost them!

He had looked everywhere, but they were nowhere to be found.

And now he could not even ask Huan for help, because the hound had also wandered off!

Then he heard a quiet snuffle.

Tyelkormo stopped dead in his tracks.

He cocked his head to the side.

That sounded like… a small toddler!

He peeked into Maitimo’s room.

And finally, there on the soft rug, he found his quarry.

There Huan laid, tongue lolling out, looking up at him with a content face.

Ambarussa was tucked into his side, their faces buried in his soft fur, snuffling quietly in their sleep.

“Good boy”, Tyelkormo whispered.

He knelt next to the large hound.

“Let’s settle the two of you in a proper bed, hm?”

Cradling a twin in each arm, he rose.

One of them huffed, and Tyelkormo froze.

But they settled again and continued to slumber peacefully.

Makalaurë observed his family.

The storm had driven them all inside.

Even Tyelko, had come in for once, settling down with Huan on the rug and promptly dozing off. He truly could rest anywhere.

Makalaurë envied him the ability.

His parents were bent over blueprints, gesturing furiously, with mad grins on their faces.

They were lost in the excitement of a new project.

A glance at the table suggested it was an extension to their house to accommodate for the twins’ future rooms.

Right now, they were still young enough to stay in the nursery, but they would soon outgrow it.

For a moment, he wondered what the new space would look like, but soon his mind returned to the present.

Maitimo was telling a story. It was one he had told many times, to many of his brothers, so the words came from memory more than from the pages of the book in his lap.

Moryo and Curvo had judged the story too boring, having heard it many times before, and abandoned it in favour of playing in front of the fireplace, but the twins listened with wide-eyed wonder.

They sat curled up at his feet, oohing and aahing, the tale still as exciting as the first time they had heard it.

Huan yipped in his sleep and Maitimo grinned. Even in dreams his brother’s dog was racing around.

Outside, it continued to rain.

Carnistir looked up when the door to the library was thrown open.

Makalaurë stood in the doorway, clutching a stack of parchment to his chest.

“I see you, too, have sought refuge here, brother! Would you mind if I joined you?”

Carnistir stared at him suspiciously.

“You are not planning on making music, are you? For I came here to find silence. If I wished to have noise while I worked, I would have stayed outside.”

Makalaurë shook his head.

“No music, I promise! I, too, am seeking silence to work in peace. This is Master Rumil’s rhetoric class.”

He presented the pages to Carnistir.

Carnistir nodded magnanimously.

“You may stay.”

“Thank you kindly, brother dearest!”

He settled on a chair away from Carnistir, and soon both brothers were lost in their work again.

When their mother threw a glance inside the library later, she smiled.

They looked so peaceful!

She had wondered when she had not seen two of her rascals quarrelling with the others outside, but it appeared there had been no need to worry.

Better leave them to their work.

None of their family liked to be interrupted while they worked.

Maitimo felt the frustration lingering in the air long before he entered Atarinkë’s room.

“Is it not working out as planned, Curvo?” he asked, closing the door behind him.

Atarinkë only growled in annoyance, swiping at his hand, when Maitimo tried to take a look.

He raised his hands in acknowledgment.

“Alright then, little brother. You do not have to share your ideas if you do not wish to. But perhaps it would help to talk someone through your thought process? I often find it helps me spot the errors in my work.”

Atarinkë sighed.

“I know what the problem is. I just do not know how to fix it! The cogwheels refuse to fit together!”

He slammed his hands on the table.

“Perhaps turning the paper will help? The writing looks backwards…”

Atarinkë’s head dropped against the table.

“Of course, it would be something this simple. Thank you, Nelyo.”

He sighed.

“I will try again. Maybe this will solve the issues.”

“That’s the spirit, Curvo! Do not miss dinner, though, alright?”

Atarinkë waved his hand. “I will be there, I promise, Nelyo. Now shoo, I need to concentrate if I ever wish to complete this design!”

“Alright, the five of you are the first to try this menu, aside from me and Pityo, so do tell us how you like it. Next to your plates you will find a list with points for consideration. Answer honestly or face our wrath.

This is for the anniversary dinner our parents insist on having and it is in all our best interests if the food is as perfect as possible.”

His brothers shared a sceptical look.

Telvo huffed.

“It is hardly as bad as you make it out to be. Have we given any of you food poisoning with our recent creations?”

“Of course not”, Maitimo soothed.

“It is simply…”

“HUAN! Get down from the table!” Tyelkormo shouted, cutting off whatever excuse Maitimo had been about to give.

“Huan! We have prepared food just for you, there is no need to steal from the table!” Pityo called from the kitchen.

Huan’s ears perked up, tail wagging in anticipation, and Tyelkormo rolled his eyes.

“Off you go then…”

“Look, the left-overs of the meat. Just for you!”

There was a clang of metal.

Then Pityo appeared, holding a tray.

“The hound is fed, now let us eat, too!” he exclaimed.

His brothers sighed but ate without further complaints.

Makalaurë hummed.

“Truth be told, this is far better than I feared! Well done, Ambarussa!”

“Why thank you, brother dearest! I am ever so glad the food meets your approval!”

It was winter and his mother had somehow found the time to knit pullovers for all eight of them, his father included.

He had not known she knitted.

If one could call it knitwear.

Carnistir shuddered.

They were absolutely garish.

Obnoxious colours, uneven sleeves, dropped stitches. Truly, a nightmare come alive.

“I do not understand your complaints!” Makalaurë shrugged, standing there in a sickly yellow monstrosity.

“Right you are, brother. They are quite possibly the warmest item in my wardrobe! And do I not look fabulous in this shade of red?” Ambarussa added, smirking.

Carnistir threw his hands in the air.

“Of course, you would think so! Neither of you have any sense for colour!” he hissed.

“Oh, calm yourself, Moryo! It is not as if we are planning on going outside in these!” Atarinkë clapped him on the shoulder good-naturedly, before blanching.

They both stared in horror as Tyelkormo flounced past, wearing a green-striped, sleeveless disaster of a pullover.

“Did he… Did he truly cut off the sleeves?”, Atarinkë wondered, astonished.

“Perhaps you would like to reiterate your previous statement, Curvo?” the other Ambarussa suggested.

“Nelyo! Please tell me you have retained your sanity in this madness!” Carnistir exclaimed.

“Mine is a bit tight around the chest, perhaps” Maitimo offered. He looked at his brother.

“Moryo! Why are you not wearing yours? Ammë will be so disappointed!”

Carnistir whimpered.

“A rare sight indeed! I do not remember the last time they were all home for dinner!” Fëanáro wrapped his arms around Nerdanel’s midst, resting his chin on her shoulder.

She turned to press a kiss on his nose.

“Truer words! The house feels empty without them.

I know, I know, the twins are still here, and Atarinkë spends more time here than anywhere else, but the other four are always busy! And so are you! Whatever shall I do when they have all left the nest?”

“I am sure we shall think of something when the time comes. But for now, we should be quite safe. I do not believe any of them intend to abandon us just yet.”

Nerdanel sighed.

“And yet I fear the parting may be closer at hand than we would both expect…”

Fëanáro squeezed her tightly.

“We will weather it like we have all other challenges. Together. Do not let your heart be clouded, beloved one.”

Nerdanel bit her tongue.

Together had been harder and harder to come by recently.

Fëanáro was ever buried in his work, being drawn deeper and deeper into his own mind.

Happy moments like this one had become sparse.

Perhaps it meant they were all the more important to enjoy.

She laced their fingers together.

“Perhaps you are right. Let us enjoy the night. We shall see what the future will bring!”

And with that they joined their children in the merry making.