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Maitimo
Nerdanel would never forget the day she told her husband he would become a father. She had intended to tell him before dinner, but he had been so excitedly talking about this new idea of afar communication. Finally she had just dropped the news the second he shut up, as he opened the heavy door to the dining room. Which was filled with her in-law family. She saw Fëanaro’s face dawn in shock, and excitement, and then he looked like he was going to be sick. In fact, Nerdanel was sure the only thing that kept him from returning his afternoon meal was the hands of both his father and half-brother on him. But there was a smile brighter than Telperion when the initial surprise passed.
For the months that followed she barely had any time for herself. Fëanor even had her “teach him to sculpt” so he could spend more time on her workshop. It was like he feared something would happen to her if he let her out of his sight. It got on her nerves a little but Nerdanel tried to be understanding after what had happened to his own mother. Besides, it wasn’t like she didn’t enjoy his attentions or the afternoons spent lying together on cushions or out on the grass, hands pressed against her swollen belly simply feeling the baby move. Simply being a family.
Then the time came, and Fëanor did throw up.
He insisted on being by her side all the time, holding her hand and offering silent support as he fought to banish the horrified expression from his face. It was almost a contest of who could squeeze the other’s hand the hardest, but by the end of it all they had an armful of bright-copper-topped baby.
Nerdanel held him loosely on her arms for both of them to see him as he gurgled. He had a cute button nose, dark grey eyes, two perfectly pointed ears, a rosebud mouth, ten fingers and ten toes. He was perfect.
Fëanor wept over them both.
His father could give him a name later, when he regained his composure, but until then he was Nerdanel’s masterpiece, her Maitimo.
Makalaure
Maitimo loved children. When they had gone to meet Nolofinwë’s son, Maitimo had taken one look at the baby and had completely fallen for him. He asked regularly for his uncle to let him babysit the elfling despite being barely past his majority himself. They bonded so much that little Finno’s first word was “Nelyo”, much to the delight of his cousin and the dismay of his father.
So, it was only natural that when Nerdanel informed him he was going to be a big brother his joy was greater even than his father’s. Before the end of the week all of Aman had heard the news from the young prince himself.
She felt tired for most of the pregnancy and more than once she and Fëanor worried about the lack of movement from the baby.
One day she was awoken from her slumber on one of the settees of the hearth-room by a hard kick on her bladder, only to find a pair of startled dark grey eyes looking up at her from her belly. The last note of Finno’s favorite lullaby still hung on her son’s lips.
After that, every time they worried about the baby’s stillness they would ask Maitimo to sing or play the flute for his sibling and each time the baby would get more and more active at the music stimuli.
Fëanor actually managed to speak whole sentences during the birth of their second child, even if they were the same three encouragements over and over again. Nerdanel began labour at the mingling of the lights, but it wasn’t until Laurelin was alone in its light that the baby was born, crying and whelping loud and clear for everyone to hear him.
Nerdanel held her second son in her arms, Fëanaro stood above them. The child looked at his father and reached up to him. As those tiny hands grasped fervently at the golden-lit air Nerdanel had a vision of idle fingers playing the harp and making music worthy of the Ainur. And so Makalaure she would call him.
Tyelkormo
Ever since the birth of Nolofinwë’s second son Fëanaro had asked Nerdanel for another child. She was indignant at the beginning and told him off. It was no matter of competition! However, her husband had a way of getting what he wanted. He was very charming about it and very eager to please her in heart and body. And it wasn’t like she didn’t enjoy a bit of competition every now and then. Anaire had been bragging too much about her new baby anyways.
Nelyo, as expected, was delighted but Kano was a different story. He refused to acknowledge the pregnancy in any form and spent more and more time in the music room.
The baby came earlier than it should have, which took its toll on Nerdanel. Fëanor was wordless and non-responding of anything that wasn’t his wife, refusing to do anything but hold her hand, not even for his own child, and she was too weak to even hold her newborn.
Thus it came to Maitimo to care for the milky-haired baby, taking him to his mother’s breast to be fed and cleansing him and lulling him. But it wasn’t working. Except for the time spent sleeping or eating, the baby cried nonstop and nothing poor Maitimo did would soothe him. It had been four days and the exhaustion was dawning on Nerdanel’s eldest son.
“Father please, I do not know what else to do!” Nelyo stood by his mother’s bedside, opposite to Fëanor, rocking his sobbing brother close to his chest “Father! Please, father” He was close on the verge of tears himself, frustration and worry for the baby adding on the lack of sleep.
It broke Nerdanel’s heart to see him like that, but she had not the strength to talk to him or to snap her husband into helping him. She could only watch his anguish in silence and pray to the Valar for her soon recovery.
At that moment a beautiful voice clear as crystal bells rose in song. It was a lullaby, its interpreter unmistakable.
Makalaure stood at the doorway, lips moving and eyes fixed on the baby. He hadn’t come to see him before.
The song got the child’s attention and he stopped crying, instead looking around for the source. The relief poured out of Maitimo so much that he swayed a little but quickly caught himself. He walked towards the minstrel and, without giving him time to react, placed the baby in Kano's arms.
The second born immediately stopped singing, making the baby wail again. Kano threw an alarmed glanced at his older brother, who just raised his eyebrows.
Nerdanel watched on as Kano sang once more to ease his brother, a small smile on her lips. Got a temper, didn’t he? The little Tyelkormo.
Carnistir
That time it was Nerdanel who asked for them to have another child, in hopes of a daughter. And in part due to a conversation with her father-in-law that spoke of the sweetness of Fëanor’s half-sisters.
Not wanting to repeat the traumatic experience with Makalaure, they told their children before hand of their intentions. At the mention of a possible sister even Kano seemed excited.
Of course, just a couple of weeks into the pregnancy and Nerdanel was able to tell she carried no daughter. Kano was not amused. Tyelko, on the other hand was ecstatic to teach his younger brother to hunt with him and even asked his father help him to make some small hunting tools for the child. Seldom did any of his children show interest in crafts. Fëanor was overjoyed. Maitimo joined them at some point, though more focused on elaborating useful or educational toys for his brother. Even Kano would stop by to play them some working music. Nerdanel was so happy to see her family together.
Then the little one was born. And Tyelko’s wailing spree paled in comparison. He just would not stop crying. Not even while feeding! He almost choked because of this and Fëanor had to hold him upside down for a couple of minutes until his wind pipe emptied.
Carnistir was so accurate a name that her husband didn’t call him anything else for months.
Atarinkë
Everyone was surprised when she became with-child again. It was almost unheard off for any family to have more than four children, High King Finwë’s own being an exception. But never before had a fifth child been born to the same mother.
Naturally, the news travelled fast and being married to a Prince –and the most famous of the Noldor at that- Nerdanel was soon a common conversational topic among the people, both in wonderment and in worry. And she was not naïve to think that most of that worry did come for her, but instead for what would become of her husband, whose family history was well known, if anything happened to her. Fëanor was well loved but it was no secret that he had a temper that only Nerdanel could master.
This worry caught up even to the High King, who came often to their house to visit.
Her own mother insisted on living with them until the child was born, should she need any help.
Fëanor also dedicated all of his time to be with her and care for her health. He didn’t say it, but Nerdanel knew how scared he was. Perhaps even more than with their firstborn.
Speaking of which, with their parents thusly occupied it was Maitimo who tended to most of the Household matters, as well as looking after his brothers. It was a heavy weight on him, she knew. But he had Nolofinwë’s eldest to help him through it. She could only speculate how close the two of them really were –like everybody else– but she had a mother’s insight. She knew her son; and she was happy for him.
That’s why when Finno came to ask them if he could arrange a hunting trip with their sons, Nerdanel convinced her husband to allow it though her due date was growing close. The boys needed the distraction and she appreciated the Nolofinweion’s intention. Besides, should anything indeed happen to her she would want Fëanor to grieve in privacy.
Strangely enough, out of all her sons, Tyelko would not accept to go hunting.
The time came and as she had expected her sons were away, all but her sweet Tyelko. It turned out that their fears were unnecessary. The baby was eager to see the new world and it was Nerdanel’s shortest, less painful labour.
Fëanor could not believe their luck. He stared at her all through it and simply smiled when it was over, the cries of their newborn filled his ears but his tearful eyes were fixed on his wife’s.
It was Tyelko that received the child from the midwife, holding him up for close inspection before letting out a dog laugh and saying “Well, hello little father”
That got Fëanor’s attention and he dared to move from Nerdanel’s side just enough to reach for his youngest son. Tyelko obediently passed him the babe and Fëanor let out a yelp of joy, “Curufinweion you are and Curufinwë you shall be, my son!”
It was a surprised that he would give his own name to their fifth child and she didn’t miss the smallest glimpse of hurt on her blond son’s eyes for a second there. But when the proud father finally passed her their baby, Nerdanel had to agree with them. The resemblance was uncanny. As for what she would call him, Tyelko’s idea wasn’t half bad. Atarinkë did have a nice ring to it.
Ambarussa / Ambarto
Nelyo was actually upset when they told their children she was once more with-child. It was during Kurvo’s wedding banquet and in spite of it having been announced quietly as to only be heard by those on their family table, Nelyo’s reaction got the whole Hall’s attention. The usually collected and diplomatic prince stood so abruptly that he threw back his seat, a crude complaint spilling from his lips.
Fëanor’s reaction was immediate. He too sprung from his seat and soon the argument grew in heat, while the mood around the room dropped enough to freeze. At one point, Kurvo had gotten up as well and stood side by side with his father, almost two heads beneath his brother’s height but not with less ferocity in his words “I bid you, brother, remember who you are talking too! You disgrace him, and mother, with your snivelling! Know your place!”
“It is you who should remember your place! It is to Curufinwë Fëanaro I speak to, not his namesake! You can bow down and lick our father’s boots all you want once we are done talking, elfling!” He pushed his brother aside to tower over their father. “I have been there each time! For you, for her, for all of them! But I will not idly stand to see you kill my mother like you did yours!”
The sound of hitting flesh echoed in the high walls of the Hall, silencing everything else and drowning everyone in its wake with still shock.
Despite being at least a head taller than his father, Nelyo looked very small with his hand gingerly touching his reddened cheek, eyes wide and empty of any thought. A few red drops fell to the marble floor from where Fëanor’s rings had bitten into his son’s flesh.
Fëanor on his part looked vivid, teeth flashed and breathing hard. His hand was still raised, ready to come down on his son again any second.
Finwë stood, but a blue-clad figure was already running across the Hall towards them.
Findekano slammed himself against the redhead’s side, wrapping his arms around his and pulling him away as gently as he could.
This seemed to enrage the great crafter even more and he made to halt them, but his name was sharply called by the High King at the same time Nerdanel reached for his hand and squeezed it tightly. With much effort, Finno pulled his cousin out and they saw no more of them.
Afterwards Fëanor locked himself in his smithy, whether by bitterness, anger or guilt Nerdanel couldn’t tell. Most of the time Kurvo was with him.
Her other three sons took care of her, but Kano would not speak to anyone whereas Tyelko and Moryo would often argue about what the quarrel had brought upon the family when they thought she wasn’t listening: the older blaming their father and the other their brother.
Every once in a while a letter would come for Nerdanel from Findekano, telling her that they were faring well in Alqualondë with their cousins. The letters always were on Finno’s handwriting, but at a corner there would read a small “receive my love” sighed by her son.
When they handed her the little bundle of blankets the first thing that caught her attention was the muss of red hair on his head, and her heart clenched for her sundered eldest son. She named him Ambarussa.
Other than the surprise of finding she had to deliver another baby right after she had birthed Ambarussa, all when smoothly. The oldest was quieter than his twin, who wailed and tossed around each time he stopped feeling his brother’s skin next to his even for a second.
Nerdanel saw no reason to give the second child another name, they had shared her insides so why not her name? Besides, to each other there would only be one Ambarussa. Fëanor disagreed and insisted she graced each with a name of his own.
She wasn’t sure why she said it, nor where it came from, but it left her lips in a dead cold tone nonetheless, as she looked at the older of the two: Umbarto. Fëanor stared at her wide eyed, holding said child close to his chest, and Nerdanel could tell how disturbed he was. It would hunt his heart from then on, but he cleared his throat as nonchalant as he could and said “Ambarto” and dropped the matter. He had his own names for them the very next day and never once used Nerdanel’s.
A week after the birth, Nerdanel caught him in the twins’ nursery. The widow was open; he had climbed to get inside. His dishevelled long red hair glistened in Telperion’s light as he stood tall above the twins’ cradle. And he wept.
She did not approach him, instead letting him have his moment. In the morning he was still there, arms full of presents for his mother and brothers. He knelt by his father’s feet and asked for forgiveness, and Fëanor dropped to his knees as well and embraced his eldest son. If they wept none of the presents mentioned it, but Nerdanel knew her family was as closely knit as ever.