Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Maedhros startled awake when a violent punch struck his gut.

He reached for a weapon that wasn't there, and grabbed his assailant instead. He threw the attacker down beside himself and used the momentum to straddle them, right arm pressed loosely to their throat.

Just a warning. For now.

The assailant... shrieked in delight?

"Again Nelyo, again!"

The warlord blinked blearily and tried to shift his worldview back into position.

"Elros?"

The elfling on his bed giggled excitedly.

"No, dummy. I am Laurë! Did you dream of someone? Was it a girl? I am going to tell amme right now!"

The child wriggled out of Maedhros's slack grasp and dashed out of the door.

With earthshattering glee he called:

"Ammë! Ammë! Nelyo was dreaming about a girl!"

"Indoor voices, darling!"

"This is my indoor voice!", thundered through the halls loud enough that in all likelihood all of Tirion had heard.

Maedhros slumped back on the bed with a wild look in his eyes.

The last thing he remembered... was jumping. Finally feeling the triumph of escaping the oath, because surely even the Void had to be better than this.

He remembered... Námo, the lord of Mandos looking at him in deep disapproval.

He remembered words, though he could not recall their meaning, and being flung, into what he had assumed to be the Void.

And perhaps it was. Perhaps this was a glimpse of what he had thrown away in his own stupidity. Perhaps this too would be taken violently from him, as he had torn away the lives of countless others.

But for now, he realized, he was just broken enough to crave even the illusion.

And so he sat up, took a brush with his right hand, and clumsily ran it through his hair while he listened to the noises of his family.

He dressed slowly and carefully, running his fingers over the fine and delicate fabrics.

Then he rubbed his fingers against each other, and wondered at the silken softness of them.

There were no callouses. Not a single scar.

He put his long hair into a simple braid and hesitated in front of the jewelry chest. He rubbed his earlobes and was almost surprised to find them pierced.

Swallowing nervously, he opened the chest and quickly selected a pair of sapphire teardrops to put in and, after a moment's hesitation, a golden comb he still remembered fondly. He twisted his braid around his head and used the comb to keep it in place.

Heart hammering in his chest, he opened the door to leave the room... and stared directly into his father's eyes.

Maedhros's eyes widened in disbelief when he realized that Fëanor was just as tall as him.

This was an early point in time indeed.

Fëanor frowned at him.

"Are you staying in today? I thought you wanted to visit the library? Don't forget to finish your assignment for master Rúmil. He will be expecting it in three days time."

"Er..."

Fëanor busteled into his son's room. made a beeline for the jewelry, and came back with several pieces.

He quickly pulled two necklaces over Maedhros's head, a wristband on each arm and added several golden charms to the sash of his simple robe.

The greatest of the Noldor looked over his son critacally, nodded and stood back.

"There. Now you are decent enough for a quick trip to the library if you feel better later. Remember, your education is important. Now come to breakfast, it is getting late."

Maedhros promptly turned around, returned to his room, and shut the door behind himself.

He barricaded the entrance, sat on the floor with his head between his knees and spent the next hour just breathing.

The first week in the past Maedhros spent determining that, in all likelihood, he really was in the past. He slowly remembered bits and pieces of his conversation with Námo, if you could call it that.
The Doomsman had apparently not known what to do with his broken fëa, and had conspired with Nienna and Estë to send it to the only place it had a chance to heal.

Into a world mostly unbroken.

When he finally felt like he could stomach the beloved but unfamiliar faces of his family again, he joined them for an evening meal.

Nerdanel gave him a quick hug, and Makalaurë immediately clung to his leg and chattered away at him.

Fëanor was already sitting at the table engrossed in what looked like a scientific paper.

"Are you feeling better, Nelyo? What did you do? Ammë always says she wants to sleep for a week, but I never thought someone could actually do it! Were you very bored without me? Ammë says her life would be very boring without me. I made a sculpture out of flour and oil while you were asleep! But ammë would not let me put it on the mantle even though she said it was very pretty. And she said to tell her first if I wanted to make one again, so she could give me clay! But it's ok, I know where the flour is, I don't need the clay. But I need your red earrings for the next one, can I have them?"

Maedhros picked his little brother up and settled him on his hip.

"I would love to see your sculpture, but you must not waste flour for one again. Food is precious. I will make you a deal, if you stay out of the kitchen ingredients, I will see to it that you get a nice red stone for your next project, hmm?"

He sat down Makalaurë in his chair and absentmindedly plucked the book out of his father's hands.

"No books at the table."

Maedhros was already halfway through a loaf of bread, when he noticed his parents open-mouthed staring.

On this evening, he climbed to the roof of the palace.

He could see Telperion gaining strength in the distance, and let the light of the silver tree wash over his bruised and tattered fëa.

All around him, Tirion was glittering, as beautiful as a Silmaril.

Maedhros let his gaze sweep over it, and felt his heart fill with love.

He had no illusions about having the ability to prevent the tragedies of the future. Never had he been the one to turn the odds around, and he knew that it would not work this time either.

But he also knew that he was going to try. If there was any way the innocence of this realm could last just a single day longer, if his efforts could save even a single life down the line, it would all be worth it.

Chapter Text

Living in Tirion once more was strange. While the peace and safety was soothing his torn heart, it was maddening how no one looked at him strangely, no matter how suspiciously he behaved.

His tutors continued to touch him unannounced, people were constantly walking up to him in his blindspot, and he had hit his right hand on numerous objects because he was not used to it being there at all.

He had enough control over his body to not have injured anyone in his violent startles, but the benign confusions his violent reactions garnerd were frustrating. These elves had no sense of self-preservation at all!

Maitimo scowled at the mirror.

Admittedly, his height was less than impressive right now. It was so very strange to look at people at eye level or even up!

Makalaurë was a delight, though. He had taken to singing simple songs whenever he was minding him, and, as expected, the little hellion immediately turned into an interested epitome of obedience.

Maitimo felt a simply ridiculous amount of pride over how beautifully the elfling was already singing along.

His parents seemed to be quite stumped by the ease their eldest showed in handling rambunctious little Laurë.
The redhead smirked. Once Tyelko came along, their opinion on what a 'rowdy' child was would change drastically. Their secondborn was quite a little lamb in comparison.

Speaking of which. He had not seen his father for three days now. Down in the forges again, his mother had said with a shrug.
He knew Fëanaro was an adult, but he exhibited less maturity than the Peredhel twins did at thirteen!

Maitimo scowled and put on just enough jewelry to be decent by Noldorin standards.

This sort of behaviour may have been standard in his youth, but in hindsight, it was quite possible that the Silmarils had been the product of delirious sleep depriviation rather than genious.

Well, he wanted to finally visit baby Findekáno tomorrow, and his father would be awake enough to watch Laurë even if he had to drag him away from his latest project himself.

Determination surrounding him like a cloak, Maitimo set off to the forges.

The attendants and guards he passed jumped out of his way wide-eyed and gave him a generous berth, but the redhead was far too used to such behaviour to take any notice.

When he reached the forges he gestured the approaching apprentices to stay back and continued straight on to his father's preferred workshop.

One look at the deep and purple bags under Fëanaro's eyes and the maniac energy surrounding him told Maitimo all he needed to know.

He hefted the large pail of water that stood next to the anvil, and unceremoniously emptied it into the forge fire.

Immediately, burning hot steam hissed into the air, and Maitimo grabbed his gaping and sputtering father by the scruff of his robe to haul him out of the room.

Once outside, he quickly shut the heavy door to the steam filled workshop.

Fëanaro immediately turned to his son and exploded.

"What do you think you are doing?! You just completely ruined two weeks worth of work in your tantrum! Not to mention what you did was very dangerous! Hot steam burns you just as surely as a flame if you get too close! I will have you on house arrest for a month for this, young man!"

Maitimo crossed his arm and raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

"You have not slept in days. I do not know how you have managed to develop such self destructive behaviour, but this ends now.

You will sleep, you will eat, you will spend time with your family."

When Fëanaro raised to protest indignantly, Maitimo held up a hand and shot him a quelling look.

"You will do this each and every day. No exceptions. I will not tolerate such dangerous tendencies in this household. Now off to bed."

With this he linked an arm with his father's and unceremoniously frogmarched the stunned and unresisting elda back to the palace.

The smiths of Tirion could do nothing but gape after their idol as he was led away by his half-grown son.

News of Fëanaro's undignified removal spread through the palace like wildfire.

Even Nerdanel, who was usually happily out of the loop of any gossip that would distract her from focusing on her art, heard them by evening, and decided to have a stern word with her firstborn.

When she reached home, she first checked on her husband.

She tiptoed into their shared bedroom on silent feet, and indeed, Fëanaro was in a deep slumber.

She sat next to him on the bed, and brushed the hair off his forehead with deep fondness.

He really did look very tired.

With one last kiss to his temple, she stood up and braced herself to give out a severe scolding.

She entered the dining room where she had left Laurë with his brother with her head held high and shoulders squared... and slumped at the sight of Maitimo feeding her sweet little bullhorn a home cooked meal while telling him a story of tiny people he called dwarves going down a mining shaft one by one.

Her confidence wilted even further when she realized that every 'dwarf' going down was illustrated by a spoonful of food vanishing into the elfling's mouth.

She sighed, grabbed herself a plate, and joined her children at the table.

After taking a bite herself and realizing that, while a bit bland, it tasted quite good, she decided that some kind of intervention was necessary.
She opened her mouth, but the only thing that came out was:

"You do know that he is perfectly capable of feeding himself?"

Makalaurë giggled and continued chewing.

Maitimo hummed in contentment.

"Of course he is. But sometimes a little indulgence is entertaining, right Laurë?"

The elfling nodded vigorously, swallowed, and opened his mouth again.

"The mine has been expanded! We need more dwarves!"

"Another already? Are you quite sure the mine is big enough?"
Makalaurë squealed in delight and nodded with his mouth open.

"Very well, here comes another dwarven miner! He is on his way to find some garnets, do you think he will find them?"

The elfling chewed, swallowed, and shook his head.

"No! He found a treasure!"

Maitimo laughed fondly.

"That he did!"

Nerdanel tried not to melt into a puddle on the floor.

They were so sweet!

After Makalaurë was put to bed, Nerdanel returned to the dining room and gathered up her courage.

"Maitimo, please sit down. We need to talk."

Her eldest marked the page of the book he was reading, put it away and sat down next to her.

"I heard what you did today. I realize you probably meant well, but you will not do anything like this again, and apologize to your father tomorrow. You know how important it is for the royal family to present a united front."

Maitimo gave her an unreadable look.

"Is pretending to be a healthy and happy family truly more important than actually being one?"

Nerdanel valiantly resisted rolling her eyes. There was no denying that he was related to Mathan. Maitimo already sounded like her father.

"You will understand better once you have found your craft. Your father is an artist. A few nights missing sleep will not actually harm him, but when the inspiration is there, you cannot just stop whatever you are making! Many times you have to get it done, because with every break you take the vision changes just a bit and it is maddening to have to redo it every time. You cannot just drag away a master from one of his pieces, especially for such trivialiti-..."

She wanted to continue her explanation, but one look at her eldest's stony face made her trail off.

He reached across the table and took her hand into his. His left. Suddenly this seemed inexplicably strange to her.

"Father's physical and mental health are not trivialities. Neither is yours. Or anyones. Art is beautiful and important, but not at the cost of the creator. No life can ever be less important than a piece of art, no matter how unique and precious. I remember you and father telling me that true beauty requires sacrifice, but I disagree. Not the most beautiful gems in the universe, not the stars nor the trees can ever be as beautiful as seeing my family healthy and happy. And that requires no sacrifice at all."

With this, he patted her hand one last time, stood up and left the room, leaving Nerdanel stunned and near tears without knowing why.

Chapter Text

The next morning came with the beautiful spectacle of the mingling treelight, and Maitimo was in exceptionally high spirits.

Fëanaro was well-rested and would be spending the day with Makalaurë, Nerdanel had an appointment, and Maitimo himself would be spending the day with his uncle's family and, most importantly, Findekáno-the-baby.

He marched through the palace with a spring in his step and was soon let into the personal chambers of the second son of Finwë.

Anarië greeted him at the door, looking cheerful and far more well-rested than a mother of a less than two year old had any business being.

"Good morning dear! Are you here for your cousin? He is just through the door."

With a quick "Thank you, aunt Anarië! And good morning!", the redhead made a beeline for the toddler playing on a blanket.

Findekáno looked up at him and immediately streched out his arms to be picked up.

"Mimo!"

Maitimo whirled around the squealing elfling, then hugged him close to his chest.

"Your Mimo loves you forever and ever, my sweet little Káno! I am not going to let you down again. I am going to continue cuddling you for the rest of eternity!"

The elfling giggled when the redhead buried his nose in his full head of wiry curls, but soon started to wriggle and point at the door.

"Mimo, go!"

"Yes my commander! Your loyal horsie will carry you wherever you wish to go!"

After spending half the morning trotting around the chambers and corridors with the elfling giggling and giving out random directions, he finally ran across his uncle.

He could already hear him talking to Anarië before he rounded the corner and looked forward to seeing him again.

"Hello uncle Nolofinwë! Look what I fou-"

His uncle looked at him and Maitimo blanched.

This was not the battle hardened warrior he was used to, of course not, but it was not the stern but kind influence he remembered from his youth either.

This was... a weedy youth.

"How old are you?!"

Maitimo would forever deny the high pitched squeak his voice turned to at the end of this question.

Nolofinwë raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

"Still the same age as last month, a hundred and two years and counting. Are you quite alright, Nelyafinwë?"

Maitimo felt the rest of his colour drain from his face.

While he had always known their parents had married young, it had always been an abstract kind of knowledge. While he had known that the only less than eighty years seperating their births was nothing compared to the milennia ahead of them, he had never really realized what it meant.

Hot shame filled him when he thought of how he had treated his father the day before.

He had horribly bullied a barely grown elfling that had not even reached his first yeni! Never would anyone have thought of treating Tyelpe that way, and his forge habits had been just as bad as Fëanaro's.

Maitimo buried his face in Findekáno's unruly hair and resolved to apologize to his father this very evening. They still needed to have a serious talk about unhealthy habits, but he would be much more gentle this time.

And he would make it up to Fëanaro. Perhaps he would offer to watch Makalaurë for a week or two so that his parents could have one of their long walks exploring the mountainside or a river.

Plan formed, he gave a nod and turned his attention back to a worried looking Nolofinwë.

The redhead smiled at him crookedly.

"I am sorry uncle. I thought I had forgotten something for a moment, but it is still far away. Tell me, what have you been doing lately?"

While Nolofinwë happily talked about his apprenticeship (Maitimo cringed inwardly. The great warrior king of the Noldor was still an apprentice.) with one of Finwë's personal advisors, Maitimo absentmindedly fed Findekáno small treats from a fruitbowl. He had yet to let go of the elfling since his arrival.

Nolofinwë cleared his throat and tried to hide a smirk with a casual inquiry.

"So... I have heard some strange rumors about an... incident in the forges yesterday. You wouldn't know anything about that by any chance?"

Maitimo sighed.

"I am afraid I let myself get carried away by my concerns for father's physical and mental health. But it was quite unnecessary to be so harsh about it. I just wonder how grandfather could have allowed him to develop such a blatant disregard for his own health."

Nolofinwë pouted but shrugged.

"Your father has always been very keen on being the only one your grandfather noticed. And Finwë has always been very proud of his achievements, going so far as to encourage Fëanaro to go further and further with his interests. I do not think he ever really noticed how many hours and sleepless nights it cost him to develop his skills and actually get his works to be the miracles they are.
He was always very indulgent with him."

Maitimo pursed his lips in disapproval.

Letting a child in your care develop at their own pace was important, of course. But not to the point where they endangered their health. Elrond had been especially prone to push himself to the point of exhaustion when he first learned the art of healing. But with a few firm words and enforced bedrest he had learned to pace himself quickly.

Perhaps Fëanaro had only developed his bad habits once he reached adulthood? But knowing Mathan, this was unlikely. On the contrary, his maternal grandfather was quite strict about such matters, so the disregard for his health must have already been in place, and his father would have likely already learned to hide it.

Maitimo sighed in annoyance.

Eru save us from young geniuses who think they know best.

He turned back to his uncle and smiled gently, barely resisting the urge to pat his head.

"Do not worry, Nolofinwë. I will take care of it. And thank you for your hospitality!"

When Maitimo turned to the door to head back home, he heard his uncle calling him.

"Always a pleasure, Nelyafinwë! But if you could perhaps leave my son?"

Maitimo looked at the elfling still nestled in his arms, flushed, and returned little Findekáno to his father.

When he returned home, he could hear Fëanaro explaining musical theory to an utterly enraptured Makalaurë, and he stopped at the door to look at them for a while.

His father looked animated and happy in a way he could barely remember. Now that he looked closely, he yould also see the youth and innocence beneath the ageless beauty of the eldar shine through. Maybe there was nothing he could do to prevent that innocence to give way to madness and cruelty, but he would certainly do his best to try and preserve it as long as possible.

When Maitimo confronted Fëanaro in the evening, he really did start with an apology.

"I am sorry for treating you so harshly yesterday, father. My worry for your health is no excuse to embarass you in front of your fellow smiths like this."

Fëanaro raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

"This does not sound like you are sorry for doing it, only that it had consequences."

Maitimo pondered for a moment.

"No, I truly am sorry for the methods I used. But I am not sorry for doing it. You need to take better care of your health, not just because you are the crown prince of the Noldor, but also for yourself and your family.

You are brilliant, and I admire your skills and your dedication. But all this means little, if you destroy yourself in the process. Please father, I do not wish to force you again, but I also refuse to sit by and watch as your inability to form a healthy schedule demages your body and mind."

Fëanaro looked at Maitimo skeptically.

"Something is deeply wrong with my fourty-five year old son telling me this. But listen, Nelyo: My creative imagination does not follow a schedule. It is simply impossible to predict how and when an idea comes, and when it does, I have to to something about it.
Many times it is so intense, that I feel like the need to create fills my whole body and sets it alight. I cannot sleep, cannot eat, cannot focus on anything else until I manage to purge it from my system. And this sometimes takes hours or even days.

Believe me, my son, it is not a sign that I love you or your mother and brother less, it just is.

My work is important and keeps your grandfather happy, and I refuse to let his attention turn anywhere else."

Of course, Maitimo thought in exasperation. This was, like almost everything, about being superior to Nolofinwë.

"Father, why? Why are you so obsessed with upstaging your half-brothers? You already are grandfather's heir, you have proven your worth to everyone and everything, why can you not let them have a moment of triumph too?"

Fëanaro pressed his lips together and looked away with a sour expression.

"You would not understand. And I am glad that you do not understand. But if you are that concerned, I promise I will try to come home every evening I can, alright?"

Maitimo looked at his father shrewdly but nodded.

"I will keep a close eye on the situation. If I catch you needlessly overexerting yourself again, I will interfere."

Fëanaro barked out a laugh, stood up and patted his son's shoulder.

"I think I got the warning. Just remember, one day I am going to drag you off a project after three days while you are spitting nails, and I am going to remind you of this day and enjoy it."

Chapter Text

The Serinde situation

In which a wild plot appears.

Time passed, Fëanaro's forge habits improved, though he had regular relapses that drove Maitimo to distraction, and the children grew in leaps and bounds. But after almost a year had passed with no opportunity presenting itself, the redhead decided to just take the initiative and visit his grandfather himself.

His father, always nosy to the point of stalking, immediately invited himself along.

"This is good timing. I was thinking about presenting him with my newest masterpiece anyway. Cannot let him think we are hiding his grandchildren away from him, now can we?
I made you a new circlet, gold and pearls. I don't usually like using pearls, but they go splendidly with your hair. We must have you looking your best when we visit the king!"

Fëanaro continued puttering around, opening drawers and closing them again, all the while muttering under his breath.

Maitimo sighed in exasperation.

"Father, you know I am perfectly capable of going there by myself? I am fairly sure I will not embarass you the moment I leave your sight."

The crown prince of the Noldor looked up distractedly.

"Embarass me? Of course not. But what kind of father would I be if I just let you go alone?"

'The not paranoid kind.', thought Maitimo grumpily, but could not suppress a fond smile.

"You could show him your essay on grain storage hazards. It was a bit cynical, but very well done."

This time Maitimo did roll his eyes. That essay had been downright optimistic. He had only covered fungi, weevils and small mammals. Not a word about flooding, landslides or thieves of the sapient kind. Caranthir would have been in tears from laughing at him.

But in the end he only smiled indulgently at Fëanaro.

"Of course, father. Will you show me what you have created?"

The smile that lit up the young elf's face was worth the two hour lecture on metallurgy and colour theory that followed.

Visiting Finwë had always been exciting in his youth, but this would be the first time Maitimo saw his grandfather since Morgoth had murdered him.

He barely got through the formal greetings with a grin and immediately drew the old elf in for a hug afterward.

Fëanaro made a strangled noise next to him, but Finwë only laughed and smiled at them.

"Let the boy have his fun, my son. He will only be a child for so long, after all. Tell me, how fares your family?"

Fëanaro immediately launched into a retelling of their recent accomplishments, from his own projects down to Makalaurë's newest hobbies.

And then Fëanaro presented Finwë with his newest masterpiece, a necklace this time, elaborate and set with a myriad of tiny jewels that gleamed like the night sky in their dark setting.

Finwë gave his son a nod and a smile, and Fëanaro seemed to slump in relief.

"The marvels you create never cease to amaze me! You are the pride and joy of our house indeed! Did you know that Olwë's daughter is approaching her majority at the end of this year? She is said to be quite the beauty! Perhaps you could fashion something appropriate for her?"

Fëanaro drew himself up and then bowed to his father.

"I will not disappoint you."

Finwë stood up and patted his son's shoulder.

"I know you will not."

Maitimo narrowed his eyes at the exchange.

This would set back all the progress they had made in selfcare for sure! Did Finwë have to phrase it like that?!

Did the king not know that his expectations would cause the greatest smith of the Noldor to go above and beyond even at the cost of his own health just to still his own insecurities?

Maitimo drew himself up in determination.

Perhaps Finwë simply did not know that Fëanaro still needed reassurance that he would not be replaced at the first sign of weakness.

This was a perfect opportunity. He would tell Fëanaro that what had happend to Miriel was not anyone's fault, and that she had not been replaced in the first place, because even if you were raised by someone else, that did not stop your actual parents being your parents. It just gave you more people that cared about you, not less.

And grandfather was right here! He would back Maitimo up, and together they could work on soothing Fëanaro's insecurities about Mir...iel.

Maitimo furrowed his brows.

It had been a very, very long time since he had thought of his grandmother.

He had grown up with her shadow looming over his family, but he had always thought his father was overreacting horribly to what had been a tragic but inevitable thing. He would not want to see a world without his uncles and cousins in any case.

But... He had grown far more suspicious and cynic since then, and an unexplained and mysterious death was raising his hackles quite severely.

And possibly even more importantly: the whole affair after suddenly seemed a lot less like a sweet love story, and looked far more sinister.

Denying an elf embodiment for all eternity really was quite cruel, was it not? And even if Miriel had agreed to it, this had been immediately after her death, after a long and exhausting illness.

Had they truly been clear that they meant not just immediate reembodiment? Even Finrod had taken a few decades to be ready to leave Mandos again, and he was... well, Finrod. There just was no comparing him to anyone else.

And even if Miriel had fully realized what she agreed to, and was completely willing to sacrifice her future for her husband, they had taken from her the right to change her mind.

Maitimo had long suspected that the Valar at least did not actually understand the concept of changing one's mind, but Finwë... Finwë did.

Miriel had agreed to forfeit her own eternal life just after the trauma of a drawn out and unexplained death. That was not a good time to make any desicions at all. And they had taken away her right to change her mind after she had had a chance to heal.

Maitimo looked at his grandfather, and thought of Turgon and Elenwë, of the anguished grief in his cousin's eyes. Could Turgon have decided Gondolin needed a queen and agreed that Elenwë would never be allowed to return? The very thought almost made him laugh. Turgon would have decked anyone who suggested something like that, and his right hook was not unlike a battering ram.

Something was deeply wrong about the situation.

For a moment he thought it could have been for Fëanaro's sake, but dismissed the possibility almost as soon as he thought of it.

Maglor and he had proven that nurturing an elfling's fëa was not dependant at all on the guardians being related to them or married to each other.

There had been no need to marry Indis.

That left only one conclusion:

Finwë had wanted another wife and possibly more children.

And he had sacrificed Miriel, someone he had claimed to love, to get what he wanted.

No matter how much he wanted to reassure Fëanaro that love was unconditional, and nothing he did or did not do would make his father replace him in his heart, he swallowed it down together with the taste of bile.

Because right now, he was convinced he would be lying.

Maitimo looked at his grandfather, and saw the charismatic smile and the easy grace. Finwë turned to him then, face gentle and eyes calculating, and Maedhros smiled back.

When he left, his father's arm hooked around his, the only thing he could think about was that his father was a genius. His father had seen something deeply wrong, but everyone else had just looked at the Valar supporting Finwë, and decided it must be alright.

He thought of their grandfather following them to Formenos, and Fëanaro's hypertension growing worse and worse even long before Morgoth appeared.

And he thought about how a certain disregard for the lives of those not considered important to them ran heavily in the whole line of Finwë.

He tilted his head.

Perhaps not the whole line. Eru bless the calming influence of Eärwen.

xxx

Mandos:

Fingon and the Fëanorions had split up to cover more ground in their search for Maedhros, and he was so focused on his task that he did not notice two blonde shadows creeping up on him.

So when suddenly two arms wrapped around Fingon's shoulders, his weightless form nearly went through the roof in surprise.

"Gah! Angrod! Aegnor! Are you trying to kill me again?!"

"No, no. Don't be so dramatic."

"Yes, we would definately use an axe for that. Or fire."

They looked at each other, grinned, and said together:

"A flaming axe."

Fingon rolled his eyes at his cousins.

"So, what is so important that you would abandon us yet again?"

"And without a word even!"

"No, wait! There might be a precedent!"

"Or two."

"Or twenty."

"You lost track of Maedhros again, huh?"

"We heard he was dead."

"Ugly business. But that means he should be around here, right?"

"And really, what kind of trouble could he get into here in Mandos?"

Fingon shushed them frantically.

"Don't jinx it! You both know how he is! There has never been trouble he did not immediately feel the need to stick his nose into! Just because we haven't found a problem yet, does not mean he did not sniff one out before he even arrived!"

As if to prove Fingon right, the moment they rounded the next corner, they saw the huddled form of a sniffling redhead pressed into a narrow alcove.

Fingon rushed forward, Angrod and Aegnor hot on his heels, and when he took the redhead's head in his hands, he almost fainted from shock.

Big watery grey eyes looked at him out of the face of a half-grown elfling, filled with confusion and helplessness.

"Oh, nooo."

Chapter Text

A year passed for Maitimo without any progress in the investigation into his grandmother's death, and then another.

With the help of the palace staff, he had managed to insert himself into nearly every meeting between Finwë and the members of his family.

Fëanaro, a natural busybody himself, was quite confused about this development, but took it in stride.

Nolofinwë on the other hand, did not.

Finwë's second son was growing increasingly more paranoid at the near constant presence of his nephew.

He and Anairë had, in the beginning, been overjoyed and more than a little smug, that they had aquired a dedicated babysitter that also seemed to insist on letting their son spend as much time as possible with his cousin Makalaurë behind Fëanaro's back.

But then more and more issues had started to crop up.

At first, it was small household troubles that seemed to miraculously resolve themselves.

The broken window segment was replaced without fuss.

The upholstery in the sitting room was exchanged and neither Anairë nor Nolofinwë had given the order.

The dripping faucet in the guest washroom fixed itself over a weekend out in the country.

But the situation reached it's breaking point at the end of the annual budget meeting for his household.

After hours of tedious calculations and estimations, Nolofinwë and his chief of staff had finally reached a satisfactory result.

They were just finished packing away the papers when the chief of staff stood and offered his hand to shake.

"I think we have a very promising year in front of us. Now let me just run this to prince Nelyafinwë for confirmation, and it will be approved in no time."

Nolofinwë inhaled his own spit in surprise.

"Just what do you mean, what does my underage nephew have to do with my budget?"

The other elf looked like a deer caught in headlights.

"I am not exactly certain on whose orders, but all palace affairs are to be approved of by prince Nelyafinwë. Especially if they concern the royal family."

Nolofinwë grit his teeth. Suddenly all the chance encounters just before an audience with his father or Maitimo sitting in on council sessions started to make sense. Through all of his youth Fëanaro had made sure to steal their father's attention and had hardly ever allowed his siblings time with Finwë.
Hardly a minute had he deigned to grant him alone in their father's presence, and he had come to expect such behaviour from his half-brother, but never had Nolofinwë expected Fëanaro would rope sweet Maitimo into his vile schemes!

Because this must obviously be one of Fëanaro's attempts to undermine his reputation and standing in the palace.
But to think he would sink so low as to manipulate his innocent (and underage!) son into carrying out his dirty work for him!

This time he had gone too far.

Nolofinwë dismissed his chief of staff through gritted teeth and stalked off in search of his brother.

When he eventually found him, it was in his study in the palace, pouring over books on engineering.

Nolofinwë threw open the door and advanced on Fëanaro menacingly.

"You! I have tolerated your jabs, your insults and your interference long enough! You are petty, and jealous, and your juvenile attempts to discredit me are entirely beneath a prince of the Noldor!
I have looked away in the past, but this! How dare you order Nelyafinwë to check my own household budget plans! How did you even convince him of such an insulting act!?
You may quarrel with me all you want, but leave our children out of this!"

Fëanaro looked at his brothers with dawning realization. He sighed, rubbed his temples and poured another cup of wine from the decanter.

"He got you too, huh?"

Nolofinwë deflated in confusion.

"What?"

The oldest prince of the Noldor looked at his younger brother in pity, and gestured at him to take a seat.

"Maitimo. He has been... "

Fëanaro visibly searched for words that would not cast his eldest into a bad light, and settled on:

"... Responsible. Very mature and keen on taking on adult responsibilities.
And while I would in theory like to encourage such behaviour, it may have got slightly out of hand. I fear, his dedication to this may just be a bit... extreme."

Nolofinwë looked at his brother dubiously. It was certainly unexpected to hear Fëanaro of all people call someone else too extreme in their dedication. The hypocrite.

"You cannot mean to tell me that it was Nelyafinwë who somehow convinced not only my household staff, but the whole palace to report to him first in all monetary affairs!"

Fëanaro leaned back and took a sip of wine.

"It would be easy if it was just monetary matters. I-"

The crown prince paused for effect, and looked intently into Nolofinwë's eyes.

"-now have a curfew."

The younger prince snorted, considered for a moment, and then blanched.

He finally sat heavily into the offered chair.

Fëanaro looked at him in pity and pushed a cup of wine towards his brother.

Nolofinwë drained it.

"Do you have something stronger?"

His elder brother slumped over the table.

"Confiscated."

"And you just let him?!"

"I have not let Nelyo do a damned thing for years. I have completely and utterly lost control of him."

The second son of Finwë winced.

"I will bring you a bottle from my stores."

But Fëanaro waved him off.

"If Maitimo already got into your budget, he will have cleaned out your liquors long ago."

Nolofinwë blanched.

"How?! You cannot just go into the wine cellar and make off with a cartful of bottles! especially not an underaged elfling!"

Fëanaro looked at the now empty decanter woefully.

"He probably just supervised while he had the guards do it. Or the kitchen staff. They report to him. All of them. Found that out the hard way. Are you still allowed to work as many hours as you want?"

"Ye-es?"

"I would advise you to tone it down a bit and see what happens. Nelyo will probably try to reward you in some manner. It is always fun to see what he comes up with. He prepared a very neat treetop parcour at the archery range for us the last time I managed to be home for dinner every day in a week."

Nolofinwë let out a pained groan.

"Does he even realize that we are the adults and not him?"

"That, half-brother, I am not entirely sure of anymore. Do you want to know what he did with Irime and Arafinwë?"

The younger Noldo perked up.

"Do tell."

xxx

Fingon, Angrod and Aegnor approached the sniffling elfling cautiously.

When Fingon sat down beside him, he looked up with watery eyes and pressed himself further into the alcove and asked suspiciously:

"Who are you? What do you want?"

Fingon let out a pained sigh.

"I am your cousin Findekáno. What happened to you? What do you remember?"

Maitimo snorted and glared.

"Nice try. Findekáno is a baby. I am not saying anything until you tell me the truth."

For a moment Fingon was completely lost on what to say to that. There had never in his whole life been a time when Maedhros had not recognized him. It was disconcerting.

But he steeled himself and started explaining in a calm voice.

"I am sorry this happened to you. It must all be very confusing. We are all in Mandos here."

Maitimo startled and looked around frantically.

"I am dead?! Oh no! Father is going to be devastated! I cannot die just like that! I don't even remember anything. Or is that normal?"

Fingon laid a calming hand on the young elf's shoulder.

"Actually, your father is around here too somewhere. So is most of our family. Some... bad things happened, and many years have passed since we were children. I think..."

Fingon looked at Angrod and Aegnor for help, and his younger cousins stepped forward.

Angrod knelt down next to Maitimo and took his hands in his.

"Many bad things happened, and a lot of them specifically to you. We think that upon your death, the trauma must have locked away your memories of them. You will probably regain your adult body once the memories return."

The young redhead still looked suspicious.

"Very well. You said that most of the family was here. So take me to my mother or Makalaurë. They can confirm your story."

"Well, erm, actually, they are two of the few that are still alive."

Maitimo pursed his lips and glared.

"How convenient. My father then? You did mention he was around here somewhere?"

The three adult Finwëans looked at each other helplessly.

"You know what, let's just go directly to Namo. You will trust his word, right?"

With this, Fingon, Angrod and Aegnor marched the wary elfling through the halls of Mandos until they found the Doomsman himself.

It took uncommonly long, which did not endear them to Maitimo at all.

When they finally cornered Namo, the elfling was visibly ready to bolt at the slightest sign of inattention.

"WHAT BRINGS YOU HERE, PRINCES OF THE NOLDOR?"

Aegnor grinned and opened his mouth, but Angrod elbowed him sharply. It did nothing to their incorporeal forms, but Aegnor was startled enough to be distracted from yet another retelling of his painful death.

Fingon sighed and gripped Maitimo's shoulders. (Still taller than him. Fingon valiantly resisted the urge to pout.)

"Lord Namo, we have come across one of our kinsmen in an intolerable situation.

Our cousin Maedhros may have committed many sins, but he has somehow lost his memories of his whole adulthood. He is an innocent now, and I would beg your help! Either in finding a way to gently restore to him what was lost, or to at least make him more comfortable here. He has lost everyone he knows, and to know that we truly are his family would surely ease his heart and loneliness.

If you would just confirm our relation, or point us into the direction where his grandparents dwell, we will be on our way immediately. "

The Doomsman looked at them from underneath his featureless hood. A feeling of deep pondering radiated from him for a moment, but it took only a minute before he spoke.

"A TRUE INNOCENT HE IS, AND I CAN ALSO SENSE NO NEED FOR HEALING INSIDE HIM. VERY WELL, I SHALL GRANT YOUR WISH AND RESTORE HIM TO HIS MOTHER."

Fingon's eyes widened in alarm and he stepped forward to protest, but it was already too late.

In front of his eyes, Maitimo's form grew transparent and with a quiet 'woosh' vanished entirely.

All three elves stared at Namo in gobsmacked disbelief.

"Are you serious!? How could you! They are going to eat gim alive out there, and with no one to protect him even! He is just a child right now!"

Aegnor's voice threatened to crack at the end of his rant, but the Doomsman was entirely unmoved.

"OH MY. IF ONLY THERE WAS SOMEONE WILLING TO PUT HIS PRIDE AND PAST GRUDGES BEHIND THEMSELF AND FOLLOW HIM."

Fingon was stunned into silence for a moment, and so Namo took the chance to glide out of the room.

A moment later, a frustrated roar echoed through the halls.

Chapter Text

The celebration of his majority crept up to Maitimo in the same way his full height did: It all seemed a thing of the future until it slapped him in the face. Or, in the case of the second issue, on the forehead.

The doorways were, once again, his enemies.

Maitimo glared balefully at the offending piece of architecture and rubbed his aching forehead.

Beside him, two elflings were gaping at him.

He shot them a stern look, but the demage had already been done. Makalaurë and Findekáno started giggling and were seemingly unable to stop even after several minutes.

Maitimo sighed in exasperation, eyed the doorframe to judge it's flammability (high), and picked the wheezing and cackling elflings up around the middle.

This time, he ducked his head.

"Come, you malicious, marauding miscreants. Stop laughing at poor, pained people and get moving, or I will take you back to your rooms and celebrate my begetting day in peace!"

The renewed shrieks of laughter petered off into muffled caughs and hiccups after that, but when they arrived at the ballroom, the elflings were still notably redfaced.

Fëanaro approached them, quickly took the squirming children away from Maitimo and stood on his tiptoes to fuss over his eldest's reddened forehead.

The crown prince of the Noldor took a step back, looked him over with pride in his eyes, and tightened the grip on Makalaurë's and Findekáno's hands, who were already trying to make off in opposite directions.

"Are you ready to give your first speech, son?"

Maitimo smiled at him reassuringly.

"Of course I am. Stop fretting and give Findekáno back to aunt Anairë for me, alright?"

Fëanaro nodded, but looked at his own hand clutching the elfling's with furrowed brows, as if he had only just noticed that the second child attached to him was not actually one of his.

Maitimo approached the raised table of the royal family with long strides and took the place of honor on Finwë's right, and his grandfather gestured him to start the festivities.

The elves in the ballroom slowly quieted and looked at him expectantly.

Maitimo looked over the many familiar faces with nostalgia. So many of those gathered today would one day follow his father and uncle to Beleriand. He had seen to what great hights and deep lows they could be taken, and he had seen them kill and love and fight and live. In the end, he had been the one to fail them, but that did not dimnish their valour and loyalty.

And already, he was taking steps to circumvent some of the worst tragedies. He held no illusions that no others would devastate the Noldor in their place, but he would keep fighting for every moment of piece and happiness for them.

He took a deep breath and started to speak.

"My family, my friends. All of you have come today to celebrate my coming of age.

But let us be honest, is it truly me we should be celebrating here? I may be a member of the family of the great Finwë, but the true remarkableness of this occasion has little to do with me."

Confused murmurs ran through the crowd, and Fëanaro narrowed his eyes at his son.

Maitimo almost rolled his eyes at him. Did his father really think he would just give the speech he had prepared for him? He had not even done that the first time around. Granted, he had not changed much of it, but his father could be frightfully obsessive about such things.

"What is most important about this day, and only by chance I am the one giving this speech, is this:

Today marks the day that the very first child born to those who have never known the danger and strife of Beleriand is old enough to strike out on their own.

Today is a momentuous occassion not just for my generation, but also for the generation of my parents and grandparents.

This, here and now, is the proof that all their hardships during the great journey were not for naught, for they have succeeded! They have raised not only their own children to adulthood in prosperity and safety, no!
Their own children, already blessed with a childhood devoid of hardship, have managed what they could only ever have dreamed of before. They have their own grown offspring, and they have never had to know the pain and despair of seeing their own children suffer or even die.

So I thank every single elf who has toiled and sacrificed to make this possible. Thank you, in the name of my whole generation, for a childhood in innocence!"

Maitimo raised a finely wrought goblet filled with wine, and the crowd erupted in applause.

Out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of Indis discreetly dabbing her eyes with a lacy handkerchief, and Fëanaro's grip on his own cup was white-knuckled, but his frown was thoughtful instead of bitter.

He motioned the crowd to quiet down once more and raised his voice again.

"One more thing I have been given leave to tell you! I am proud to announce that in three months time, my second sibling is expected to glimpse the light of the trees! The house of Finwë is growing once again!"

This time the cheering and clapping was thunderous, and Fëanaro sat up straight and waved the masses with a delighted grin.

The feasting was merry after that, and the royal family crowded around Fëanaro and Maitimo to ply them with questions and advise.

It left the crown prince in an excellent mood, and when the excitement died down, he turned to Maitimo.

"Have you been thinking of which craft you wish to pursue? You would be welcome in the forges of course, but we might need to come to an understanding that the fires actually need to remain lit.

Or you could join your mother? You may have to bulk up a bit more to work with stone, but the starting point for sculpting is pottery anyway. You would have plenty of time.

Or maybe glassblowing? Woodworking? There are some marvelous Songs to work with the living wood among the Vanyar. Architecture? Just name your interests and I will arrange for an apprenticeship right away."

Maitimo sighed despondently. He already knew he would not exell at any of the crafts his father had recommended. He was skilled in swordfighting and diplomacy, and little else. And looking pretty, the cynical part of his mind supplied.

There was just no point in going through the same motions again, not in the least because he refused to be the same person this time around.

He needed something completely new. He needed... to decide who he wanted to be.

Or, he realized, who he wanted to be like. Surely there had been strong and positive influences in his life he could use as guidance?

Perhaps Finrod? Maitimo shuddered. While his cousin was very loveable, he was not someone he could emulate. Ever.

Fingon? No, apart from their basic characters there was really very little difference in their skills and interests.

No, he wanted to be not just a great warrier but... a... healer.

Elrond! There was one person he admired above all else, and it was the person his foster son had become.

Maitimo's grin lit up his entire face.

If it was Elrond who he wanted to become like most, the daunting task of choosing a skill to learn had suddenly become easy.

"You know, father, I think I will arrange this for myself. I have just the path I wish to try."

He would seek an apprenticeship in the houses of healing.

xxx

Angrod and Aegnor had left to round up the Fingolfinians and Finarfinians, and that left Fingon with the unenviable task of informing the Fëanorian side of the familily that he had found, and immediately lost, Maedhros.

Celegorm was heatedly debating search-grits in an everchanging environment with the Ambarussar when Fingon approached them.

He forced a chipper smile on his face and hailed them from a safe distance.

"Cousins! I have good news, bad news, and horrible news."

Three pairs of grey eyes stared at him suspiciously.
Fingon once more lived up to his espessë by continuing on valiantly.

"The good news is this: I found Maedhros, and he looked mostly healthy!"

The three hunters swished over to him with worrying speed but Fingon stood his ground.

"Where is he? Is he here? Is he hiding from us? Is he angry?"

Fingon cleared his throat.

"The bad news is, he was de-aged and is an elfling around fourty again and doesn't remember anything beyond what he knew at this physical age."

This stopped the three Fëanorions cold. They gaped at their cousin in disbelief, until Amrod furrowed his brows and his expression became one of dawning horror.

"Fingon. Where is he?"

The former high king of the Noldor swallowed.

"Namo reembodied him."

Dread filled the air around them, and Celegorm as the first to voice his grim thoughts.

"We need to tell father."

xxx

In the morning, when the festivities were winding down, Finwë looked over the courtyard in deep thought.

There was something off about his grandson.

Not in the same way there was something off about himself, but still there.

When Nelyafinwë had started bringing the palace under his sway, he had at first assumed it was a move against his capricious father.

He had let it go at first, because Fëanaro could use a little reminder that though his skills in crafting and lore were exceptional, especially for one so young, neglecting the political side of his growth was out of question.

But even after years of maneuvering, Nelyafinwë was restricting his moves on the board to minor inconveniences, and all of them benign.

It could, of course, simply mean that his grandson had been flexing his claws while waiting for his majority, but Finwë was starting to feel... suspicious.

Fëanaro needed a reminder to stay on track, and he needed it soon.

If Maitimo could not provide after all, he would have to intervene himself.

A few years, perhaps, since a little one would soon be arriving, but no more.

He looked over the balcony with pursed lips and spotted a cluster of young adults, a tall redhead in the middle holding court.

"Prove yourself, grandson. You have my attention. "

Chapter Text

The arrival of Turkafinwë Tyelkormo came as a great relief to Maitimo, for it finally distracted his father from nagging endlessly that he should at least try to find a more traditionally Noldorin profession. Apparently, while there were still household and work accidents, healers were generally seen as mostly redundant, with midwives the only universally respected exceptions.

To his great delight, Irimë was one of the older apprentices in the healing houses and had been assigned as his supervisor, probably in hopes of having someone to keep the arrogant princeling from doing any demage before he was properly broken in, he thought wryly.

Maitimo had of course learned a long time ago that disobeying healers always, always resulted in pain. In the case of his foster son, sometimes more directly than was strictly appropriate for a healer. Maitimo's heart swelled with pride at the memory.

So he dutifully ground herbs, washed bandages, stirred ointments and memorized every name of every plant he came across.

The last was a point of endless frustration. Never before had he truly appreciated just how much eldar loved naming things.

He always made sure to use his mildest manners, no matter how much it seemed to stir the paranoia in his aunt who knew perfectly well that Fëanaro's heir could be very opinionated indeed.

Whatever time he had with his family, he spent with Tyelko strapped to his chest in a sling, the only way he would sleep during the day, and on a few notable occassions, at all.

Fëanaro and Nerdanel were constantly bleary-eyed and exhausted, even worse than what he could remember of the twins.

So he made sure to take the little hellion as often as he could, and on many evenings could be seen walking in circles in the palace garden, a book in hand and a softly snoring babe at his chest as he read the medical texts out loud.

After he had stayed at the healing houses for several days in a row, he was greeted upon his return by a distrought Fëanaro, who admitted (very reluctantly) to having left Makalaurë in the care of Nolofinwë for the night and sending Nerdanel off to sleep.

"How do you always just know what he needs?"

The desperation in his words filled Maitimo with pity, and he carefully hugged his father with the now sleeping elfling between them.

"Do not doubt yourself in this. You are a wonderful father. Try to enjoy the time when you first get to know each of your children for who they are. Now off to bed. I've got him for the night.

Fëanaro looked grateful and tired enough that he might start sobbing for a moment, then turned around and went to sleep.

Maitimo roamed the palace throughout the night, with Tyelko sound asleep in his sling as long as there was movement.

For a long time he stood in front of a window facing west, basking in the faint rays of Telperion. Not for the first time he thought of his apprenticeship, and if it had truly been the right desicion.

So far, and to his great dismay, he had shown no more aptitude to healing songs than he had shown to any other craft. He could set a broken leg, mix burn ointments and massage knots out of twisted muscles, but all those skills could only help him so far, because no matter how much he practiced, his Song remained mediocre at best.

He had truly hoped to finally find something besides war that he was good at. But it had always been like this. He had thrown himself into every new craft with enthusiasm and progressed fast, only to have all hopes dashed when his skill plateaued while collegues still continued upwards.

The redhead released a sigh.

"Something troubling you, grandson?"

Maedhros whirled around, left hand reaching for a sword that was not there and right arm curled protectively around his brother.

Finwë smiled calmly and lifted his hands in a placating gesture.

"I did not mean to startle you. You looked like you could use someone to lend you an ear?"

Maedhros forced his shoulders to relax and a small smile to his face, but his hand stayed over Tyelkormo's downy head protectively.

He hoped his thundering heart would not wake the baby up.

"It is of no great importance grandfather. Just trying to find my place in life."

Finwë nodded knowingly, a small understanding light in his eyes.

"Irimë has told me that you have been frustrated with your chosen field lately."

The redhead forced himself not to scowl with the long practice of delicate political negotiations. It did not get much easier with time.

"I had hoped to progress faster than this. But it is a minor setback."

His grandfather nodded comisseratingly.

"All skills need to be learned and practiced, no matter how much... inclination one might have to them. A few stumbling blocks are expected in a beginner's trials."

The former warlord narrowed his eyes at the king of the Noldor.

"Stumbling blocks. Say, did you encounter those yourself? How did you go about... removing... them?"

Finwë's bland smile sent cold dread down to his very bones.

"Many times I have found, that such inconveniences are not much of an obstacle at all, but rather an opportunity. An opportunity to grow in skill, or an opportunity to change your path, or even a motivation to come at a problem from a different angle. Many times, rather than stopping me, they have turned out to be rather useful."

Maitimo returned the smile with a razor sharp one of his own.

"I guess that is one way of looking at it. But would that also apply to... let's say: people who have outlived their usefulness? It is after all a somewhat ruthless way of seeing things."

Finwë seemed to ponder this for a long moment.

"I prefer to think of it as not wasting opportunities you are presented with. There is after all no use to stubbornly pursue something doomed to fail, when a slight adjustment to the method of going after it will grant you the same results.

And if you truly want something, you should use all your wits and resources to attain it."

Maitimo's face heated in anger, and a hundred retorts about how peoples lives and happiness were never just a means to an end or an obstacle to be overcome, but before he could decide exactly what he wanted to say, Finwë continued.

" Tell me, my grandson, how are things with your father?"

Maedhros blanched and swallowed. That had sounded an awful lot like a threat.

"Tyelko keeps my parents up at all hours. He is quite averse to sleeping if not in motion."

"And how did he take you choosing healing for your first craft?"

"He has had little time questioning my career choice lately. "

Finwë nodded in satisfaction.

"So he did question it. I admit to having been quite surprised myself, for there are many better ways to gain renown, but I fully admit that it is very difficult to just keep up with Fëanaro in the more traditional Noldorin disciplines, let alone attempt to outshine him!
So choosing something completely different is, while unexpected, not a stupid move at all."

The king of the Noldor trailed off, lost in thought.

Maedhros, deeply disturbed, used the opportunity to give a shallow bow and removed himself and Tyelko from the balcony.

Finwë frowned and tapped his pursed lips.

"No, not stupid at all..."

xxx

In the original universe:

Maitimo fingered the edge of his collar nervously. While he was relieved to be alive again, he still did not know how he had died in the first place.

He did suspect it had something to do with the elves claiming to be his family. They had seemed nice enough, but he was not that naive. The one claiming to be Findekáno had had extremely suspicious stains on his hands.

Honestly, claiming that it was milennia in the future and that he was the only one missing his memories. How stupid did they think he was?
Lord Namo had given him directions to get to Tirion from here, so he shouldered the small pack of food and water, and started marching south.

Hopefully father would not be too angry.

After a few hours of walking, his mood lifted and he started whistling the few phrases he knew in the language of birds, and soon they were clamouring all over him, trying to wriggle into his pack, tweeting questions at him and one particularly forward sparrow tried to make off with one of his hairs.

He whistled a soft question in her direction, and when she claimed to need it for her nest, he carefully plucked the hair she had indicated out and handed it to her.

The sparrow made off with triumphant chatter and a rude remark to her less opportunistic collegues.

Maitimo giggled at her rudeness and at the offended cheeping coming from his shoulders and out of his pack, when the largest bird he had ever seen landed on a rock in front of him.

The elfling wet his lips and gave an inquisitive chirp.

The bird had stared at him with hostility, but cocked it's head to the side at the sound.

The redhead startled when the large white bird hopped off the stone and turned into a woman mid-air.

Maitimo clutched a hand over his wildly beating heart, but gave a respectful bow to what he assumed to be a Maia.

"My Lady."

The dark haired elf in the white dress grabbed Maitimo's chin and tilted his head from side to side.

"No question about who your father is, is there? I do wonder what the story there is.

Very well, turnabout is fairplay."

With this, the lady grabbed him, jumped, and the large wings unfurling from her back took them away.

Chapter Text

In which the path forward becomes clear.

The burn ward of Tirion was abuzz.

There had been an accident a few weeks back, and two apprentices and a master of the forge had been burned severely.

It had not been beyond their abilities, of course, but the scarring would take years to fade.

The real problem was one of the apprentices, who had been brought back because of an uncontrollable trembling of their whole body.

Twice now it had happened, and the healers were unable to find the cause.

Examinations after examinations all brought the same result:

The young elf was completely healthy save for his scarring.

Maitimo and Irime were changing the linens and eavesdropping shamelessly when yet another healer mercilessly questioned the cowering patient.

The redhead stuffed the sheets into the bedframes carefully, and aggrevatedly whispered to his aunt:

"How do they expect useful answers out of him if they don't let him calm down first?"

Irime sideeyed the healers.

"But what would he need to calm down from? As far as I can tell, nothing happened?"

Maitimo looked at her in surprise.

"The scars on his face say otherwise."

The youngest doughter of Finwë rolled her eyes.

"But that was weeks ago, he was released and is healthy. The scars should not even hurt him, let alone cause those tremors."

"Of course not! But trauma does not work like that, it's unpredictable. It's demage to the mind not to the body."

"What are you talking about? Accidents harm the body, it's not like anyone died, the fëa should be perfectly healthy."

Maedhros's heart sank. It could not be, could it? But this was Aman, the blessed realm. Just existing here was supposed to heal all hurts. Would the elves of Valinor simply not know of trauma and it's effects?

And the apprentice smith in the room was proof that it did exist, even here. But with no one to recognize it? Leave the ones suffering from it completely alone, and worse, thinking there was something wrong with themselves?

The redhead swallowed thickly, a sudden thought seizing his chest in a vice grip.

His own problems after his captivity had been obvious. But what happened to those whose wounds were less visible?

So when the healers left after telling the young smith to stay overnight for observation, Maitimo begged a highly dubious Irime to cover for him and approached the apprentice in an unobserved moment.

"Are you alright? Do you need anything?"

The elf sitting on the bed sighed despondently.

"Apparently I am. I just do not know what is happening to me."

"Did you start to shake when you came near the fire again?"

"How did you know?"

Maitimo shrugged, purposely nonchalant.

"It happens sometimes. You had a bad experience and were hurt severely from what I could gather. Give yourself time."

"But none of the others have those problems! They were injured just as bad as me, why am I..."

The elf swallowed thickly and whispered.

"I am the only one scared of fire. Is there something wrong with me? I love my craft, even though I have barely scratched the surface of what is possible. What if I am ruined now? What if I cannot ever go near a forge again?"

Maitimo smiled at the apprentice gently.

"You are too hard on yourself, of course there is nothing wrong with you. Everyone reacts differently to such situations. But I think you should talk with your master about this, maybe start out with other tasks to get used to the rhythm again. Your mind needs to learn that fire is not the enemy now, and in the meantime you can figure out what you can handle and work your way up to flames again. Whenever you think you cannot handle the situation anymore, try to get out.

Take a deep breath outside, maybe go for a run. A bit of running every day will help you settle anyway. And if you feel like it, you can come here and talk to me about it, alright?"

He was awarded with a wan smile.

"I am sure it will not be a problem in the future, but I will keep it in mind. Thank you."

The redhead gave him a last pat on the shoulder and left.

In the evening, Fëanaro found his eldest sitting in front of the fire, feet drawn up and head resting on his knees.

He approached carefully, because his son had been prone to flinch violently if startled, and knelt down beside him.

"What is troubling you?"

For a long while, Maitimo was silent, and when Fëanaro had almost stopped expecting an answer at all, the redhead asked him in a quiet voice:

"Father... when grandmother died, did you have someone to talk to? Did someone know to tell you that the fear and rage you felt were alright and completely normal? That there was nothing wrong with you and that you were allowed to grief as long and as hard as you needed?"

Suddenly hot all over, an old and familiar weight pressed on Fëanaro's chest and stole his breath. Trembling, he reached over to hug his son in a tight grip.

"Oh, Nelyo."

But he did not answer.

xxx

In Mandos:

It took a while, but slowly Angrod, Aegnor and Fingon gathered all the Finwëans they could find. Curufin had even brought his wife, once more near unseperable from her, and several of Maedhros's and Maglor's lieutenants had sniffed out their gathering like bloodhounds, forever seeking news of their lords.

Aredhel had dragged a mostly apathic Maeglin here, and Turgon looked absent in the way the newly dead did when the pain and trauma of their lives still haunted them relentlessly, but Argon, ever the friendly giant, looked downright chipper.

Angrod stood next to Orodreth and Finduilas, both still pale and wan, but slowly recovering.

The family had long tried to hide what exactly had happened around her death to avoid her sinking into even deeper despair, but she had found out eventually.

The raging tantrum the princess of Nargothrond had thrown when she learned that Turin had abandoned her to the orcs in order to go and knock up his own sister (her words) was legendary, but had in fact helped her recovery.

Gwindor, the former betrothed she had abandoned beforehand, had washed his hands of her completely after that incident. Orodreth had been neither happy nor surprised.

Fingon did a quick headcount, decided that everyone who was likely to show up was here, and that he better start before someone wandered off again in boredom.

He took a deep breath and steeled himself to lead yet another campaign against a Vala.

"Attention! This is the situation: Following Maedhros's death, none of the present interested parties were able to find him, and he sought none of us out.
While he was eventually discovered after a thorough search, he was not the same hardened warlord we hate to love-"

Turgon, attention on his brother for now, interjected from the back.

"Love to hate!"

Fingon rolled his eyes and continued on undeterred.

" -hate to love, but has instead turned into a cute, innocent, suspicious little bugger about my height. Perhaps even less. With only the memories one might expect from an elfling of Valinor."

"What? How?!"

"Don't be ridiculous, never, at any point in life would Maedhros have been smaller than you are now."

"Perfect! He can be Lomion's new playmate!"

"Come on, how much trouble can a single elf get into?!"

Thaking that as his cue, Fingon barreled on.

"This is Maedhros we are talking about, so a lot. As it happens, being shrunk into a size more suitable to pick up and carry away from said trouble was not the end of it. Our gracious host and overlord Namo has seen fit to reembody him on grounds of no remembered trauma and, apparantly, innocence."

He shushed the growing outrage with a raised hand.

"I am now looking for volunteers for the campaign to convince lord Namo to reinbody us in order to, once again, rescue our kinsman. I have been told in no uncertain terms that should I ever do so again without asking for help or even informing anyone, I would loose several body-parts vital to the continuation of my line. Joke's on you, by the way, Ereinion is mine.

Now, who is with me?"

Like a snake striking, a flame shot towards Fingon's face with unnatural speed.

It hissed and crackled into his ear, voice echoing through the sudden silence.

"Whelp! You dare presume to order around your betters? Never should you have even touched the crown you wore, your worthless line stole it from me! No rights to leadership can you claim in a tavern full of peasants, what rights do you think you have here?"

Fingon narrowed his eyes, ever-present pleasant smile gone in an instant.

His attention fully on the half formed fire, he spoke in a calm manner.

"Of every single person in this room who have at one point called themselves king, I am the only person who has not caused their own death by sheer, obstinated stupidity. Do you all realize that the next most successful ruler in Beleriand after me was Makalaurë?!"

Fëanor had flinched back, but this time it was Fingolfin's enraged: "Now see here!" that interrupted him.

"No, father! I will not! You lost all your rights to lecture me when you just up and decided to suicide heroically when things got tough! But guess what? We pulled ourselves up! We continued fighting! And we damn near won too! We lost in the end, but we had a plan, and we had asked everyone we knew would help and even those we knew would not. Not for revenge or glory, not for posessions or even the people who follow us, but for all the free people of the world. I may have lost, but it was to the forces of Morgoth, not my own pride and shortsightedness."

He leaned forward threateningly, fire blazing in his eyes and hair starting to frizz.

"So I dare you, uncle, father. I dare you both."

Startled, Fëanor regained his full elven form, and the two oldest sons of Finwë looked at each other helplessly. Before either of them could protest, Orodreth and Turgon chimed in.

"That's... not untrue. I deeply resent coming in second to Maglor in your ranking of effective rulers though."

"I feel like you're being a bit harsh to uncle Finrod, you know, but, well, fair."

The Ambarussar slunk over to Fingon, coming to stand at his side.

"Sorry, father."

"Well, I'm not. So, sorry, not sorry, father."

Caranthir groaned in the background.

"We have been dancing around each other for centuries about this, and you want a show of hands now of all times?"

Curufin scowled at his next older brother.

"Don't tell me you want to be disloyal too!"

"Think of it this way: Of those in the room, who has the best track record of respecting us and our wishes?"

Celegorm cocked his head next to them.

"But what has Irisse got to do with this argument? Does she want to be king too?"

A collective shudder ran through the crowd and Aredhel cackled delightedly.

Caranthir flushed and grit his teeth.

"Tyelko..."

Celegorm threw up his arms in exasperation.

"Sorry, sorry, just trying to get rid of the oppressive atmosphere. I guess it's Finno for me too. Sorry, father, but I am a lot more scared of what Nelyo will do to me if I throw another cousin to the wolves, than of you."

Next to him, Curufin blanched and started turning translucent.

"I support Fingon! Yeees. I will not do anything that might be misconstruted as not supporting Fingon any time soon. That would be bad. Especially for me. Nelyo got frightfully creative in his old age."

Argon snickered openly and both of Finrod's younger brothers turned predatory smiles onto the two Fëanorions.

"Good. We would hate-"

"Absolutely hate-"

"-having to tell your mother-"

"-or your brother-"

"-that you had mysteriously died from natural causes after stepping a foot out of line."

"I hear it's very natural to die after being burned alive, by the way."

"Very natural."

Next to Fingon, Amrod flinched.

Angrod looked at him apologetically.

"I'm sorry, that was tactless. Not there yet?"

Amrod shook his head.

"I can joke about it if it's me. My brothers, not funny."

Turgon scowled.

"I have no idea why you two insist on joking about death. It is not a laughing matter."

Sheepishly, Aegnor turned to his cousin.

"Because if I don't joke about it, it will swallow me whole. There will be tears upon my face for the rest of eternity, but I want the sorrow to be mingled with laughter and mirth. If everyone had to tiptoe around me for all my life, would I ever again be able to feel unbridled joy? Perhaps it is too late anyway and I have seen and lost too much, but I will still try."

Before the sadness could set in, Aredhel clapped him on the back and dragged her son up gently.

"Well, what are we still waiting for! Let's catch a Vala!"

Agreement and cheers at finally having a goal once more rang through the hall.

As all the cousins departed, only Fëanor and Fingolfin, still stunned, stayed back.

Fëanor turned to his brother incredulously.

"When did that happen?"

But Fingolfin could only shrug helplessly.

Chapter Text

Tyelkormo Turcafinwë grew in leaps and bounds and was soon joined by Turukáno and, to (almost) everyone's surprise, Findaráto.

Arafinwë had eloped discreetly and with the bride's parents permission.
He and Eärwen had celebrated their union upon a swanship with only three old sailors, a disgruntled mouser, and Varda's stars as witnesses.

That the news only teached Tirion by the time their first child was born was considered a dire failure for the rumor mill, and gossipmongers all over the town were doing their best to catch up on the newest rumors and regain their reputation as reliable sources.

Maitimo had been in good spirits and immediately arranged several playdates when Arafinwë rejoined them in Tirion with his family.

He truly should have known better.

It was hate at first sight.

The moment the three toddlers were put down to get to know each other, both Tyelkormo and Turukáno crawled over to the sweetly smiling and very shiny Findaráto. The two bumped into each other on their way to reach their cousin first, started shoving, and erupted in wails after they managed to hit each other.

Findaráto could only brabble in confusion, as neither boy actually reached him to play a bit.

From this day on, Tyelkormo and Turukáno would have to adhere to a strict schedule of cousin visitation rights until they were old enough to understand that clobbering each other over the privilege to play with Ingoldo was not acceptable.

Findekáno's idea to try and let them play together without the shiny they both wanted in the room was unfortunately fruitless too.
Their instinctive antipathy was utterly fascinating to their three cousins as they watched the toddlers glare and throw blocks into the vague direction of the other.

They had to be seperated once they started crawling closer to each other and were in danger of doing actual harm.

Maitimo's almost instinctive sigh of exasperation had a slightly foreboding feel to it, especially when he caught Makalaurë and Findekáno excitedly discussing sewing them soft toy swords to duke it out properly.

The tongue lashing they recieved for that idea had their ears burning for days after.

The celebration of Nolofinwë's first yeni was coming closer, and Maitimo paid it no heed until Irime started complaining about it.

Both of them were close to gaining their mastery in the healing arts, and though the redhead's songs of power had improved only marginally, his knowledge of herblore and anatomy was thorough and detailed, so that there was little doubt the two Finwëans would pass their trial period.

He had consequently been out of touch with palace life recently, so it came as a surprise when they were sitting together in the waning light of Laurelin, exhausted but content, and Irimë started ranting about the newest intrigue.

" -And then he went and invited Aulë and Yavanna! He did not even invite any Valar for Fëanaro's first yeni celebration! And Nolo is going along with it!
I mean, you know how Finwë is with everyone who is not Naro, Nolo is probably so dazzled by the sudden attention that he is just nodding along with everything he says. But still! This has desaster written all over it! Nolo should know better. They both should know better!
I mean, I have long since come to expect to be treated as 'the other princess', but come on! If you treat your children unequally, at least be consistent about it!
And just when things were relaxing somewhat between those two. Naro and Nolo even went drinking together last week! As in, actually planned and prepared and just the two of them, not just randomly meeting up and happening to have alcohol there."

Maitimo narrowed his eyes.

He had not known about that. Either his grip on the palace staff was slipping (entirely possible, he had been so very busy lately with his training and the children), or his father and uncle were getting far more discreet.

He huffed in annoyance. Nolofinwë was approaching his first yeni, and so far the drinking seemed to have been fairly responsible. He would probably have to accept that his father and uncle were now old enough to make their own desicions about their bad habits.
How they had slipped through his net of informants would need to be investigated though.

Maitimo was just musing on how to best approach this issue when another sentence of Irimë's rant broke through his thoughts.

"...And Nolo is hanging on every word he says, pitifully grateful for every scrap of attention. Seriously, it's like father wants what little progress they made to fall apart!"

Cold dread rushed through the redhead's veins. It could not be, could it?

He swallowed thickly and turned his attention back fully on Irimë.

"Do you think he would? Pit them against each other on purpose, I mean. Would it not undermine his own position if his two eldest sons were quarreling? It would look like he had no control over them."

His aunt turned thoughtful.

"I cannot say it would be advantegous to his position, no. But Atar has been... rather frustrated with Naro's lack of interest in matters of the state lately. He was pretty clear last month that the continued absence of either Naro or, well, you in court was a thorn in his eyes, and that he would be oh so grateful if he had any loyal sons who would... step up to their duties.
Ara is far too smart than to touch that with a hot poker, but Nolo has always been bitter about the lack of attention Father showed him.
And Fëanaro certainly did not help that by trying to insert himself into any interaction they did have."

Maitimo narrowed his eyes.

For as long as he lived, he had assumed it was jealousy and fear of rejection that caused Fëanaro to be so overbearing and posessive of Finwë.
But was that not essentially what he himself was doing?
Trying to monitor all of his grandfather's interactions?
And looking back, it was very obvious from many of their interactions that Fëanaro knew, at the very least on a subconscious level, that something was wrong. With his father, the situation of his mother, and his family in general.

Was it really so far fetched to think that Fëanaro could have been monitoring his father's interactions with his siblings too? There may be little love lost between them, but with the emphasis he put on family in general, it was quite possible he would have felt a certain obligation to protect them.

Especially while they were little ones.

And he could also see how Fëanaro's overbearing and sometimes caustic nature would have sent entirely the wrong message to everyone, and further frustrated all those involved.

Maitimo shook his head.

Whether the motivation behind the actions that had alienated his siblings was pettiness or protectiveness was something only the elf in question could answer.

The redhead narrowed his eyes into the direction of the palace.

"Please do not worry, Irimë. I will see what can be done about the situation."

His aunt rolled her eyes at him.

"I know you think you are being very mature, but honestly, the ancient wisdom spiel of my cute nephew not even past his first century is growing old. And makes me feel inadequate. Put off your big boy pants once in a while and go skinny dipping in a fountain. It will do you a world of good."

She looked at him speculatively.

"And probably make a lot of maidens swoon. Or drool. Whichever."

The outraged squak that escaped Maitimo was something Irimë would tease him for centuries.

xxx

When the giant bird shape approached the Vingilot, Eärendil beamed from ear to ear.

He lost the smile instantly when something white and red tumbled onto the deck the moment his wife landed.

"Elwing, what did you do?"

The part-maia furled the wings into her body and crossed her arms.

"I had every right."

Eärendil winced.

"It makes me very, very nervous when you say things like that. Now please tell me how much trouble we are in."

The bundle on the floor groaned and lifted his head.

"Where did you take me, lady Maia?"

The confused face of a very pretty half-grown elfling stared up at the mariner.

The blond elf almost shrieked.

"Elwing?!"

A timid voice chirped up at him.

"Hello?"

Elwing nodded in satisfaction.

"They took our boys, so it is only right that we get to raise theirs instead. I wonder if the other one has children too?"

Eärendil grabbed his braids in despair and pulled.

"Elwing, no! Do you even know if this is Maedhros's so-"

He interrupted himself to peer down at the elfling.

"Are you a nis or a ner?"

"I am a ner!"

Eärendil felt the sheer overwhelming urge to pinch those puffed up cheeks, but resisted valiantly.

"Do you even know if this is actually Maedhros's son at all? He could be some cousin from lady Nerdanel's side of the family!"

Elwing looked between them pointedly and lifted an eyebrow.

The mariner sighed.

"Yeah, ok, the resemblence is very, very obvious. But you still cannot just kidnap him! Someone is bound miss him!"

The elfling on the deck stiffened and watched them with wide eyes.

Elwing nodded cheerfully.

"Exactly! I am not stupid enough to try and hide something else that those damned Fëanorians want in a seaside tower. So here we are! And who is this lady Nerdanel anyway?"

They were interrupted by their kidnap victim attempting a mad dash to the railing.

Eärendil swiftly grabbed the scruff of the redhead's white robes and pulled him back.

"Don't do that! We are very high up, you could die if you fall off!"

The young elf scowled at them and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Yeah, nice try. But I already know where babies come from, and boys cannot have them."

The two half-elves looked at each other in utter confusion.

"What?"

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Once Maitimo started involving himself into the preparations of Nolofinwë's yeni celebration, it became very obvious that he had missed quite a bit.

To his great annoyance, Finwë's new movements seemed to have been largely innocent enough to warrant no suspicion from the palace staff, and had therefore already progressed a lot further than he would like.

And it would be a good way to finally show support to one of his other children, if it were not for the effect this had on both Fëanaro and Nolofinwë.

From what he could remember from his first life, the relationship between the two was already much improved, although it still confused him how this could have happened so fast. He had been trying to coax them into interacting with each other's children more, but this seemed hardly sufficient to cause such a noticeable change.

And since he did not exactly know how it had occurred, he had no hope of reliably reproducing the effect in the future. This made immediate counter measures all the more important.

But as important as it was to keep the fragile cameradrie intact, Maitimo could not bring himself to actually sabotage the celebration in Nolofinwë's honor.

It would have been dishonerable, cruel, and one look into his uncle's star struck eyes when Finwë finally turned his full attention on him had crumbled even the last traces of ruthless pragmitism.

With a resigned sigh, he decided that there really was no way around it.

He could not let Fëanaro attempt to upstage his younger brother. He would have to manipulate Fëanaro into upstaging Finwë.

Desicion made, Maitimo immediately went to search for his father.

When he found him in the forge, furiously hammering away at a piece of metal, he stood back and carefully cleared his throat.

All the smiths in the vacinity were attempting to finish up their current tasks and subtly moving out of the line of fire.

Only the very young master in the back that had been visiting him regularly to talk waved cheerfully.

Maitimo cleared his throat.

"I was wondering if you had time for a talk, father?"

Fëanaro startled and immediately stepped between the quenching barrel and his son with narrowed eyes.

When he made no move towards it, Fëanaro relaxed slightly, eyed the metal critically, and set it aside.

"I might. How urgent is it?"

"Not very urgent at all, merely something I think we need to discuss."

"That is worse than if you had said: Very urgent, Tyelko broke his arm and will not calm down without you, you know? Now I am really worried."

They exited the forges and walked down the marbled streets for a while, until Fëanaro asked:

"Is this a private sort of conversation, or should we just sit down to eat somewhere?"

Maitimo considered for a moment, but decided that complete privacy was not actually required.

They found a small inn seving lunch and seated themselves in a corner of the terrace.

They chatted about the elflings and their antics for a good part of the meal, lighthearted and casual.

It was only when the food was almost gone that Maitimo decided to breach the topic he had come for.

"Have you made any plans for uncle Nolo's begetting day? I admit to struggling to find something suitable to present him with."

Fëanaro immediately started to scowl.

"I do not see how he would notice anything us mere elves can give him. There will be gods in attendence after all."

Maitimo leaned back in his seat and raised an eyebrow.

"And since when has that impressed you?"

For a moment, Fëanaro was shocked out of his grumblings.

"I, well... It does not?"

"I wonder if grandfather actually planned to invite Aulë and Yavanna, or if it was done to cover up too many of the elven nobility declining the invitation. I hope this is not the case. It would be quite the insult to the line of Finwë."

Fëanaro straightened immediately.

"They would not dare. Nolo may not be wholly legitimate, but he is still my father's son."

Maitimo waved him off.

"It was just a wild speculation anyway. I am sure everything is in order."

"No, no, you may be up to something. Why else would father try to upstage my celebration if not to hide an insult? It makes perfect sense. Poor Nolo. Let us make sure everyone who declined to pay the proper respect to my half brother regrets it."

He was already vibrating with excited energy, barely able to sit still.

Maitimo smiled fondly.

"You truly are a good brother. I wish everyone had such an excellent example to follow as I do."

Fëanaro flushed and looked to the side.

"Yes, well. I suppose half-brother is some kind of brother too. An inferior kind, obviously, but still something."

Maitimo nodded sagely.

"I certainly would prefer half-brothers over no brothers at all too. They are quite a delight."

Now Fëanaro looked alarmed.

"I would not go quite as far as calling Nolo a delight..."

"But still yours? I think I understand perfectly."

Fëanaro cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"Ehm. What was it again that you wanted from me?"

Maitimo chuckled.

"I think you will be busy enough. I will simply ask mother."

"Good, good. Listen to your mother, she is very smart. Do you mind if I return? I need to write something down before I forget."

"Of course not, father. Have fun!"

Fëanaro was halfway back to the forge when he stopped and narrowed his eyes.

Maitimo was behaving strangely again.

He would have to send a discreet note to Nolo to tell him his nephew was plotting once more.

It certainly would not do to have all alcohol mysteriously vanish just before the celebration.

If Maitimo attempted that, they would be forced to involve father. There were limits to what one might endure to indulge their children.

xxx

"Explain this to me again. Why would you think dying is the same as being pregnant? Because let me tell you, I gave birth to twins, and I am most certainly still alive."

Elwing's eyes widened, and her hands flew to her mouth.

"Did your mother die in childbirth? Probably from neglect, the poor deluded thing."

Maitimo grimaced and made an aborted motion to his neck.

"Not my mother, no! My fa-... someone else's mother."

Eärendil laid a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Was your friend's mother a human? Childbirth is a lot more dangerous for them than for elves, you know. But we will not let anything happen to you anyway. Did you know we are even related? I am the grandson of your uncle Turgon. That means we are practically cousins!"

Despite the blinding smile he recieved, Maitimo was supremely unimpressed.

"I do not know any Turgon, I have memorized my family trees perfectly well and you are not on any of them. There has obviously been a misunderstanding, and if you would kindly help me back to where you found me, or alternatively to Tirion, I would be most thankful.

And what is a human supposed to be anyway?"

Elwing and Eärendil looked at each other in growing dread.

After a moment of silent communication, Elwing relented.

"Very well. I may have miscalculated slightly. What is your name anyway, little one?"

"You may call me Mimo."

The regal seriousness he said this with brought an impish smile to Eärendil's face.

"Well met, Mimo. I am Eärendil, the only grandchild of Turgon, son of Fingolfin. Erm, Turukáno and Nolofinwë in Quenya. And this is Elwing Dioriel, my wife."

Maitimo gasped in shocked surprise.

"You mean that elf claiming to be Findekáno actually spoke the truth when he said I had shrunk?!"

The shrill voice left the whole ship silent for a moment.

"Findekáno. Fingon told you that you had shrunk."

A crazed glee slowly spread over Elwing's face.

"Tell me, Mimo. This would not by any chance be short for Maitimo, would it?"

Eärendil blanched.

"Elwing, NO."

But she continued on as if he had never spoken.

"Is there anything in particular you like doing in your freetime? Playing with matches? Toy soldiers? Conquering sand forts?"

She stepped close to the him with a poison-sweet smile.

Taken aback, Maitimo looked between his two captors.

"I like babysitting, I guess?"

Elwing's expression soured.

"Why you little..."

"Elwing!!!"

xxx

Fingon squinted into the suddenly blinding light.

That had gone... surprisingly well.

Namo had dithered very little before granting them their bodies back. The only true argument had arisen when Aredhel had insisted on dragging the near catatonic Maeglin with her.
The Doomsman had tried to put his (metaphorical) foot down, insisting that he was likely to just fade again if he was forced into reimbodiement now, but Aredhel had raged about Mandos being no proper environment to recover for him, and after a while, Namo had exasperatedly agreed to give her the chance to try and heal him outside.

Turgon had opted to stay back, claiming that since he was actually somewhat sane, he intended to stay until he could be an actual asset instead someone they would just lose on the wayside because he got stuck in his head again and wandered off.

Fëanor was of course forbidden to return, and after his tirade about this had threatened to reach levels previously only seen in a teenaged Makalaurë, Namo had simply frozen him in time during their departure.

Near everyone had been relieved not to be responsible for unleashing him on the unsuspecting populace of Aman once again.

The clearing slowly filled with voices, but Fingon simply smiled and let his fingers trail over the soft grass for a little while more.

After a while, Aegnor crouched down beside him and nudged him gently.

"You ready, oh fearless leader? Because if you wait much longer, your father will attempt to stage a coup. And I would really rather not deal with those two Fëanorians that tagged along if they think their ruler of choice is threatened."

Fingon sat up and looked over dubiously.

"Those are just Reviadis and Candir. They are mostly harmless."

Aegnor groaned and rubbed a hand over his cheek.

"Only you... They are Maglor's and Maedhros's most fanatic lieutenants. Of course they are dangerous. Just not to you."

He considered this for a monent, and added desicively:

"I think they are nice. Very well, people! The Finwëans are finally back in force! We head for Tirion!"

"To Tirion!"

"We are going home!"

"For Maedhros!"

Chapter Text

The night before the celebration, Maitimo had an unexpected visitor in the healing houses.

He had just finished cleaning up, when Queen Indis stepped into the room.

With a cheeky wave, Irimë ushered the two other healers out and closed the door to give them privacy.

Maitimo gave her a small but reverent bow.

"My queen."

A small sigh escaped her lips.

"I wish you would call me grandmother."

Startled, Maitimo considered. While he had recieved such offers as a child, his loyalty to Fëanaro had never even let him consider such an option. But perhaps this once, it would work in his favour.

"Very well, grandmother. What brings you here?"

Indis looked startled for a moment, but rewarded him with a tiny, genuine smile.

"I came here to ask you what you think you are doing in pitting your father and my husband against each other like this."

Maitimo hummed.

He had ever underestimated Indis, and it seemed this time around was no different. She had chosen the location well for this confrontation, neither subject she intended to talk about should have eyes and ears in the healing houses, while she almost certainly did.

"Would you prefer to take a seat? I am afraid this should need all semblance of civility we can achieve."

He was rewarded with a dignified nod and after they took seats in two of the small bedside chairs, Indis went straight to business.

"I always took you for a sensible and intelligent young man, Nelyafinwë, so I was unsurprised to find your fingers all over my staff, but your recent actions have led me to doubt my assessment. I have never taken you for one to want power and position above the happiness and wellbeing of those close to you after all.

What on Arda could have moved you to stir resentment between your father and grandfather?"

For a long moment, Maitimo considered what to tell her. He knew so very little about his step grandmother, but that in itself was actually quite the recommendation.

"As much as I dislike drawing his attention, I would much rather Atar compete with grandfather than uncle Nolo. In my eyes, this option is much less likely to lead to the ruin of the Noldor."

Indis raised one of her elegant eyebrows.

"You see less harm in the king and his heir quarreling than two princes?"

"Father is not quarreling. He is supporting Nolofinwë against all who would dismiss any son of Finwë's as unimportant. And doing so with all the subtlety he posesses."

"And once he realizes that there are far fewer who would deny his claim than Fëanaro's?"

"Then he will do so in the knowledge that it is his own achievement."

"What if Fëanaro angers Finwë enough to name Nolofinwë as his possible successor?"

Maitimo pursed his lips.

That would indeed pose quite a problem. Knowing how far Fëanaro had gone without losing his title as crown prince in his own youth did little to negate those objections. Then, his father had shown Finwë nothing but devotion and reverence after all. Here and now, he was slowly but surely stepping out of the shadow of his past and starting to become more confident in his own self and worth.

"I hope that such an event can be avoided until I find a way to convince Atar that it was his idea in the first place. In truth, he holds very little interest in the business of ruling itself, but is terribly afraid of being cast aside and replaced."

Indis looked pained at that.

"I suppose that is my fault."

"In part, yes. And while I do not fault you for your actions or begrudge the happiness you have found and in turn brought to this family, they did have consequences."

"You certainly do not soften your words."

"Would a comforting lie be more to your taste?"

"It would not. I have had enough of those to last for a lifetime."

"I can only imagine. And my grandfather has been on of them, I suppose?"

The shrewd look he recieved for this rather unsubtle dig almost made Maitimo regret his words, but he lifted his chin defiantly, and Indis relented.

"My husband has always been refreshingly honest. He did not always reveal all of his plans and intentions, of course, but he was never one to mince words."

The queen of the Noldor stood at this, and turned to leave.

She hesitated at the door for a moment, and without looking back, she spoke again.

"You remind me of him. Your father has inherited Miriel's temperament, or so I have been told. But you most of all are alike to Finwë.

I will see you at the feast. Goodbye."

With barely a whisper of cloth, she vanished through the door, leaving behind the wide-eyed and deeply unsettled Maitimo.

xxx

The sixteen elves walking through Tirion's gates were certainly not expecting a grand welcome, but they still felt rather put out at being completely ignored.

The people seemed nervous and hectic, almost running to and fro, but while their eyes were shifting around rapidly in agitation, they completely slid over the group without recognition.

Fingon cleared his throat.

"Hm. Well, I suppose we must look quite a bit different than before. Do you think Maedhros got here first?"

"With that kind of commotion, I would be surprised if he were anywhere else. But it is somewhat difficult to see how he could have caused this as an elfling."

Angrod and Aegnor rolled their eyes in tandem.

"Not that difficult."

"This is Maedhros we are talking about."

"Who wants to bet that he has unintentionally staged a coup by now?"

"No bet."

Fingon eyed a few of the townspeople to gauge which of them would be most likely to have useful information, but then saw one of the fëanorian lieutenants already engaged in conversation with a slightly less worried looking elleth.

She gesticulated towards the palace and then made a suspicious motion with her hands that reminded him of an explosion.

Fingon forced a smile on his face while he could feel his eyes twitch.

Surely it could not be that bad? Nothing was on fire right now after all.

Reviadis clapped the elleth on the shoulder amiably and returned to his side.

"From what I could gather, Finarfin has recieved a visit from lady Nerdanel, my lord."

Fingon beamed at her, relieved. If it was only Nerdanel, the chaos should be constrained to structural demage.

Next to him Fingolfin sighed and looked at his eldest in exasperation.

"It does not bother you at all that she did not acknowledge Finarfin's kingship or called him by any title, does it?"

Fingon waved him off with a smile.

"Maedhros's followers are just quirky like that. I am sure she will be properly respectful once she realizes what a good king he is."

His father looked at him incredulously.

"You mean like they were properly respectful to me?"

"Exactly."

"In what universe were they ever- no. You know what? That is not relevant right now. Let us pay a visit to my brother. Mayhaps there we will find answers."

When the newly returned did reach the palace, they soon had a very good clue where they would find the high king of the Noldor in Aman.

They just had to follow Nerdanel's voice.

"And do not believe for a second that I will be satisfied with empty platitudes! If you had anything to do with this, I will find out, and I will end you!"

Aredhel and Argon started to snicker at the tirade echoing through the whole palace, but were quickly shut up by a scowling Orodreth.

Finarfin's voice, when they could finally hear it, sounded much calmer but undeniably desperate.

"Nerdanel, please! You are going to start a riot if you do not calm yourself! Perhaps there was a mistake with the message in the first place. You have to admit it sounded frightfully suspicious."

"That message was delivered to me by one of Namo's Maiar himself! If there really was a mistake, Namo will certainly hear from me himself!"

Celegorm and Caranthir eyed each other uneasily.

"I know she is not yelling at us, but... "

"Oh, yes. This does bring back memories. Perhaps we should sit this one out?"

"You are reading my mind."

They turned around as one and made to leave, but were intercepted by the twins.

"You are exaggerating. Mother hardly ever yelled."

"Try not to be such drama queens, that is Maglor's part."

Curufin swanned through them with a haughty glare and an upturned nose.

"Just because you two troublemakers could never keep your hands clean, there is no reason to let mother believe even for a moment longer that you are still deceased."

Caranthir scowled fiercely.

"I would not want mother to wait for the good news. Or Ingoldo."

Curufin stopped abruptly.

"Ah. Perhaps your reasoning was more sound than I first realized."

But before Curufin could decide on any action, Aegnor and Angrod grabbed his elbows and grinned predatorily at the Fëanorion.

"You would not want to deprive our beloved eldest brother the chance to greet you personally, would you? That would be unspeakably rude after all."

Curufin threw a panicked look at Fingon and whispered harshly:

"Remember that I supported you when it counted! Even over my own father!"

Fingon rolled his eyes at him.

"None of them is going to harm you. And you deserve a bit of mortification anyway. So take it like an elf!"

xxx

"What do you mean, drop him off in Beleriand?!"

"A ship is no place for a child. And I cannot in good conscience let you drop him into the snakepit that is Tol Eressëa's political scene. Do you know how many Doriathrim have sailed recently?"

"Are you calling my people snakes?!"

"You are the one who has been calling them snakes for as long as I have known you! I have met them! They would eat Maedhros alive as long as he is like this, and when he remembers, we will have a fourt- ... fifth- ... What number of kinslayings are we at? This would be a desaster!

So either we bring him to lady Nerdanel, and she can sort out that mess, or we drop him off with our sons. They all seem to have become fond of each other, so there should be little issue."

Maitimo, who had been watching the two of them wide eyed, timidly raised his hand.

"I would prefer mother, please."

Elwing narrowed her eyes at him.

"You are still in time out, young man. That was a very nasty retort. I will give you some leeway for actually raising my children instead of locking them away in a dungeon, but I will not hear such mean-spirited talk again."

Maitimo buried his face in his hands.

"I do not remember even meeting your children, let alone, what? Locking them in a dungeon? I would never do that! I was talking about Makalaurë and Findekáno!"

Eärendil sighed.

"Well, that is true. No matter how far he fell, he treated our children well. And I do think I remember mother telling me how much grandfather hated that Fingon had 'imprinted' so thoroughly on Maedhros.

So what will it be, dear. Elrond and Elros or Nerdanel? We are running out of time for a desicion."

Chapter Text

The celebration was, at least in Maitimo's opinion, a rousing success.

Any irritation Nolofinwë may have felt at Fëanaro hovering over his shoulder and absorbing every compliment his brother recieved as if it had been directed at himself was very obviously overshadowed by the surprise and joy over the very public acknowledgement and approval his elder exhibited.

As the highlight of the celebration, and with an impressive amount of fanfare, Fëanaro presented him with a circlet made from white gold, a myriad of tiny opals and a handful of perfectly cut sapphires, while glaring around the room as if waiting for someone to challenge him.

No one did, and Aulë almost immediately came over to inspect the work with critical eyes.

With a sigh of fond exasperation, Nolofinwë parted with his gift once more and talking about it kept both his brother and the Vala entertained for the rest of the evening.

Yavanna, after failing to grab her husband's attention for the third time, scowled and left them in search of Indis and Findis.

Maitimo kept himself in the background, the few polite interactions not distracting him from watching Finwë like a hawk.

The king of the Noldor looked far less pleased than he had at the beginning of the feast, even though his friendly and charismatic facade was near perfect.

As the evening progressed, Maitimo almost felt ready to relax his guard, when all of a sudden, his grandfather's eyes met his.

Maitimo stiffened, and across the room, Finwë started walking towards his second son.

Almost without thinking, he started moving too, and before his grandfather could reach his prey, he intercepted him.

"Grandfather! Could you perhaps spare me a moment of your time?"

Nolofinwë startled, not having noticed the two of them approach behind his back.

Finwë smiled in satisfaction, and for a breathless moment, he let his eyes shift between the two.

"Of course, Nelyafinwë. I will always have an ear for your concerns. Would you like to take a walk with me?"

Maedhros showed his teeth in a parody of a smile.

"That would please me greatly. The library?"

"Of course."

As they went, they left behind the wide-eyed Nolofinwë, who was suddenly reminded to take his half-brother's warning far more seriously.

Meanwhile, Finwë and his grandson exchanged pleasentries until they reached the library and secluded themselves in a private room.

They sat down opposite of each other and regarded their opponent warily.

Maedhros opened his posture deliberately and let himself lean back casually, and Finwë set his face into a most benign expression.

"What was it that you wanted to talk about, grandson?"

He considered his response for a moment, but in the end decided that his position was secure enough that he could at least try to get more information.

"I would ask your advice, if you are willing.

I have come across a situation that seriously concerns me. I even suspect that a great wrong has been done in the past. Several, in fact, but one so severe that I hope to be wrong.

And I would keep my peace until I had more evidence than just suspicions, but in the meantime, others are being hurt. Even, as I fear, in ways irreversible. What would you have me do?"

Finwë looked surprised at the query, but seemed to ponder the situation seriously.

"It would depend both on their station and your degree of familiarity with them.

If it is within your power, you could remove the perpetrator or even those being hurt from the situation for a time by giving them a task elsewhere.

If they are of near equal rank to you, it would require a more delicate approach.

There is after all little reason in involving yourself in situations if you cannot use the outcome for your own purposes.

So first I advise you to think carefully on what you wish your actions to look like.
Do you want to be seen as righteous? Do you intend to be seen as caring and an advocate of harmony? It would go well with your chosen profession, but I must warn you that if you plan to reach a position of power, gentleness and forgiveness will make you beloved, but a firm hand will reward you with obedience.

And many times, a harsh order will have more effect than a compassionate one, so if you truly wish to faciliate change, you must be desicive."

Maedhros hummed, his face an unreadable mask, but his insides boiling with anger.

"Is this the reason you pit your sons against each other? What outcome do you expect to reach in this case? That both of them are reliant on you and your attention? Does it strenghten your power base when you make sure they can never see past their differences and join forces.
Do you perhaps even feel threatened by the prospect? I do have to admit, the thought of what incredible feats father and uncle Nolo could achieve if they worked together in true harmony is quite intimidating. Perhaps even a Vala would crumble beneath the joint will of those two."

Finwë eyes were wide as he regarded his grandson in confusion and disbelief, but Maedhros was not finished yet.

"Does it calm you to know they never will become that powerful as long as you ensure they can never trust each other?"

Finwë rose to his feet, face flushed in outrage, but Maedhros had long since tired of the careful path yielding no answers and only further trouble, so he struck, merciless and with the presicion of a viper, with the last, possibly most important question.

"Did you, by action or inaction purposefully cause grandmother Miriel's death?"

xxx

When it came to calling the wrath of Nerdanel interrupted mid-rant upon themselves, Angrod and Aegnor volunteered their captive Curufin.

Fortunately for him, his mother was too stunned and surprised to be irritated, and engulfed him in a tearful embrace.

Finarfin's sons were also swept up immediately and with far more force than they had expected from their gentle father.

Several faces appeared in windows and behind pillars, clearly curious as to why the ruckus had suddenly stopped.

No few of those reared back in shock, and one almost toppled over a balcony railing and into a hedge had not a hand of unknown origin shot out from the shadows and steadied them.

In the meantime, Curufin was attempting to avoid returning to Mandos via being crushed by his mothers (very impressive) arms.

"Mother! wheeze- Let me- hurk- breathe!"

The vice grip loosened slightly.

"You are here, you are here, I half expected to never see you again, but I have you now, one of my sons! I am going to put you under house arrest for the rest of your existence, young man, but I got you back!"

Curufin looked around frantically, but both the twins, who had been used as distractions far too many times by various older brothers, and Celegorm, who simply knew him far too well, had vanished from sight.

That only left...

With a small sigh of relief, he spotted Caranthir, scowling less than usual and completely clueless.

"Mother! I have missed you every day, but please reign in your strength! I may be able to handle it, but Moryo's back will break like a twig!"

Nerdanel's head shot up and she zeroed in on her middle son.

It only took a moment, and before he knew, Curufin's feet had left the ground and there was a second body pressed against his.

"Ack-!"

Caranthir was staring dumbly (and breathlessly), not yet comprehending what had actually happened, and Curufin slumped.

He had completely forgotten that their mother was perfectly able and willing to pick them up and carry them around like blocks of marble if she was truly upset.

A furtive glance into the direction of their cousins told him everything he needed to know.

He was never going to live this down.

xxx

"I did not take him just to give him back immediately! I am well within my rights to claim him as my son in recompense for the children he stole from me!"

"Elwing, dearest, please do not start another war! And besides, his mother has done nothing wrong. I know you are a kind and compassionate soul, you of all people know what it feels like to have the last link to your family stolen from you!"

She looked at her husband as if stricken, and tears were slowly gathering in her eyes.

"How can you say that? How could you even compare those situations? I never had the chance to raise even one of my children, while this woman had seven! And all of them left her willingly and as adults, and I..."

A sob wrecked Elwing's body, and her face turned red and blotchy.

"I just wanted to be left in peace..."

Eärendil had turned pale and tears were glimmering in his eyes. He stretched out his arms to envelope his wife into a hug, but she took one more look at him, unfolded her wings, turned towards the young and awkward looking Maitimo and fled the ship with him in her arms.

They flew through the night in silence, only the faint and steady swelling of the waves beneath them.

After a long while, Maitimo turned towards his captor and murmured quietly.

"I am very sorry that you lost your children. I love my little brother with all my heart and would do anything for him, I cannot even imagine how much it would hurt to lose him.

And from what I understood it was my fault. I do not know what hapoened, cannot even imagine what would be able to move me to do something so despicable, but I am sorry.

I am really, very sorry."

Elwing, still in bird form, let out a mournful caw, and Maitimo closed his eyes tightly over the tears threatening to fall and snuggled deeper into the down.

After a long moment, her feathered head turned around to rub gently against his cheek.

The night was still young, and they both had much to think about.

Chapter Text

"Did you, by action or inaction, purposefully cause grandmother Miriel's death?"

The silence lurked like a dangerous beast between them, while Finwë tried to make sense of the accusation that had just been hurled at him.

"I- How would you even-? No! No elf has ever intentionally caused the death of another, why by Eru would you think I did something like this to my own wife! If I did not want her, I would have simply not married her!"

Maedhros frowned intently, but could detect only genuine shock in his grandfather's features. Shock, but also... wariness.

"Hm, but perhaps it was never her in particular you wanted. You wanted an heir. You were expected to find a queen to rule at your side. Back then, there was not yet talk of Ingwë ruling over all of the elves, was there? No, but once he was, would it not be terribly convenient to have a direct line into his graces and confidence? Only you already had a wife, and so you gambled: Once your heir was born, you had no more true need of her. The remarrige might have been refused after all, so one son was necessary. Just in case."

Maedhros had leaned forward, chin resting on steepled fingers, and expression cold as ice.

Finwë's face had become ashen, and drawn into a grimace when he hissed back.

"I cared for Miriel! She was my friend and support all my life, I never would have harmed her like this! What gives you the right to accuse me of such a foul deed?!"

"My right-", Maedhros snarled and stood, pacing the room in agitation.

"My right is that I will be the one who watches everything he loves crumble to dust!
I will be the one who will know, that even this may be better than the suffering that came before! I, of all the Noldor, no, of all the elves will be the one to lose even the last shred of hope!

So do not talk to me of my rights. I would rather hear you find a way to defend your actions toward those you proclaim to lov-"

Maedhros's eyes widened in realization, and his head whipped back around to his grandfather.

"But you did not. Not once did you claim to love. Not Indis. Not Fëanaro. Not Miriel.

No, you did not love her, and so it was an easy thing to replace her, was it not? And so you did. Immediately. Without care who it might hurt. Without feeling."

"I asked!"

Finwë had jumped up from his seat now too, and his face was flushed so red that a pang shot through Maedhros at the reminder of Caranthir.

"I know! I know I do not understand feelings the way other elves seem to grasp instinctively! I know, and so I asked! I asked the one being I could be certain would not use this deficiency against me or my people, the one where I could be utterly sure the answer would be honest and not influenced by politics, greed or vanity!
And Manwë gave his answer! The conditions were met! I may not be able to love the same way others do, but that does not make me a bad person! And it especially does not make me a murderer!"

"And has it never occurred to you that the Valar might not truly understand elves either?! They are divine beings of singular purpose! How would they even grasp the concept of changing one's mind? How could they know the way depression harms the mind? Or that trauma needs time!"

Finwë looked taken aback at this, and immediately protested.

"They are divine! How could they not know?!"

"Divinity does not make them elves! They would not know that a child needs to rage against grief, for they have never been or had children. They are made with one task to fulfill and one aspect to embody, and would never understand the need to discover new paths if the old one already fits well enough."

"Are you talking about Fëanaro? Because I certainly cannot blame anyone for not understanding him fully."

"But it is you most of all who needs to! You are the one who holds the power to break him utterly, and I cannot let it continue!"

"And now you accuse me of breaking my own son?!"

"Is that not what you are doing? You encourage his worst tendencies, you try and cause strife between him and his brother, who would otherwise be his most steadfast ally."

Finwë rolled his eyes in exasperation.

"A bit of sibling rivalry never hurt anyone. Fëanaro needs all the focus he can get, or he will not be able to hold the different factions of the Noldor together. There are a number of bristling hedgehogs in the court, and if he does not step up his game, they will roll right over him."

"If you have to bend someone so far out of shape that they break to fill a certain role, perhaps it is better given to someone else!"

"Even I can see that would spell desaster! And who would you propose to take the role as my successor anyway?! Yourself?"

Maedhros flinched back at this, wide eyed.

"Never! But instead of having your sons compete against each other, how about you encourage them to share the task between them?"

Finwë snorted.

"They would strangle each other within the week!"

The glare Maedhros sent him was withering.

"And whose fault is that?"

For a moment, it looked like Finwë would counter the argument with more vitriol, but then he slumped.

"I do not understand them. I can predict elvish emotions quite reliably, but I am afraid I do lack the necessary detachment from those two.

I truly do not mean to actually harm them."

Maedhros softened. While the anger and grief over all the lost opportunities during his first time around still tormented him, he was indeed relieved and hopeful that his grandfather had after all acted out of ignorance rather than malice.

So he stood next to him, and carefully laid a hand on his arm.

"You know what? You need not worry about harming father anymore."

He leaned in close, and murmured quietly into his ear.

"I will not let you."

xxx

The reunions in Tirion were tearful and moving, especially when Finrod, who had wisely proclaimed important business elsewhere the moment he had seen the approaching Nerdanel's stormy expression, joined them.

But soon the conversation came back onto the topic of the missing oldest Fëanorion, and all parties realized that they were equally stumped.

Both Caranthir and Aegnor had vanished without a trace during the initial discussion, and only a smirking Aredhel seemed to have noticed them leaving.
When questioned, she only shrugged and pointed at her son's head who was sleeping pillowed in her lap.

"If I did not have more important things to worry about, I would have joined them. Do not worry your pretty little heads, they will turn up sooner or later."

Nolofinwë's scandalized "Aredhel!" was mostly met with blank looks.

Not even Finarfin seemed to expect proper ladylike behaviour from his niece anymore.

The question of high kingship was avoided studiously for now, but not even Fingon missed the calculating looks the two sons of Finwë recieved from the pair of fëanorian supporters.

He decided not to worry overly much for now.

While he held no illusions to their capability and willingness to further their lords agendas by any means necessary, Maedhros and Maglor had always drawn a firm line when it came to anything more than a bit of (mostly) benevolent scheming inside the family.

And their apparent willingness to do away with opposition in the middle of the night had proven incredibly useful a surprising number of times.
Negotiations went so much more smoothly when you could convince your counterpart there was a very good possibility they would be vanished if their demands were too outrageous or their behaviour out of line.

So when the discussion flamed up again, he sidled up to his sister discreetly.

"How many members of Caranthir's... network do you think have been reborn by now?"

Aredhel dropped her grin immediately.

"In theory, not many. But they have always been a special kind of slippery, so probably many more than anyone suspects.

The ones I took over from Argon on the other hand... I would say around a quarter. He will probably need some time to reconnect with them."

Fingon nodded, relieved. If there was any trace to be found of Maedhros, those two would be the ones to succeed.

xxx

Her burden was snoring softly as Elwing finally lowered her altitude when the peaks of the blue mountains drew near.

She told herself again and again that this was the right, the only desicion even. Morgoth had been cast into the Void and the Valar would hardly release him again, especially since she was not, technically, breaking any of their decrees.

But as much as she told herself that it was only logical to come here, that it was even a kindness done to a former enemy, she knew deep inside her heart that it was selfishness that drove her.

She had seen the grief she had caused her own children. She had seen but been unable to come to their side.

She could still remember the feeling when she realized removing herself from the situation had not, in fact, granted her children a quick death instead of the drawn out suffering she had expected if those monsters had had the chance to use them against her.

It had been a mixture of relief, confusion, rage and self-loathing that had turned her stomach so violently she had emptied her stomach over the side of the Vingilot.

For a long, horrible time she had not known if her miscalculation had brought the doom upon them she had hoped to spare them from, but then she had seen them.

Old enough to ride on their own, they had been, and wary of their surroundings. But they had carried themselves with an ease and confidence that spoke of support rather than harm.

It seemed even monsters had lines they would not cross.

Or at least those particular monsters did.

She stretched her wings once more, slowly circling down to the ground.

And apparently even monsters had been children once.

The weight on her back shifted, uncurled and she felt a head touch against her long neck.

"Oh! We are above land again! I do not think I recognize this from my maps. Where are we?"

She cawed irritably and snapped at the long red hair that had escaped it's loose braid and was now tickling her fiercely.

Maitimo giggled and carefully gathered it back into a bun.

Elwing carefully set down outside of the settlement that was growing at the shore of the Gulf of Lhún, and when her burden had scrambled down from her back, she changed into her elven form.

She took a deep breath, took her hostage's hand in hers, and marched towards the houses.

Chapter Text

Nolofinwë's first yeni celebration marked a turning point not only in the relationship between the high king of the Noldor and his oldest grandchild, but also in the relationship between Finwë and his children in general.

Wheras he had been mostly distant before, he now made an awkward effort to involve himself more directly in their lives instead of pulling the strings from the sidelines.

His two youngest children, who had inherited Indis' even temper were taking it in stride.

His three oldest on the other hand, did not.

The first time Findis knocked down Fëanaro's door in a fit of rage that had her frothing at the mouth, it came as a surprise.

"WHAT DID YOU DO, NARO?!"

Nerdanel stuck her head through the door of her studio and looked at her younger law-sister disdainfully.

"Why hello, dear. I believe this is the first time you have come to visit us? Please, make yourself at home, be as loud as you want! If you wake up the baby, I will rip out your voice box and replace it with a frog's. Morifinwë apparently finds them soothing."

Findis took an involuntary step back in shock, but soon squared her jaw and looked at the smaller elleth defiantly.

"Where is he? If he is indeed responsible for this, you may not have to worry about another child ever again."

Nerdanel's expression soured further.

"Just be quiet while you try to beat him up, or else.
He is down the hall in his study. The last door to the left."

Findis sniffed haughtily at her sister in law and swept past with measured steps.

Nerdanel grimaced, and before she retreated, she hissed after her.

"Ribbit."

The Finwiel's tiny flinch made her nod in satisfaction.

Findis entered her brother's study much quieter, but her thunderous expression more than made up for it.

"What did you do to father?! He has so far invaded my new home no less than three times, has very awkwardly assured me that he did not expect me to marry for politics twice, and has arranged surprise meetings with the Maia of seven, seven! different Valar, who have all been under the impression that I was looking for a Ainur to join in service!"

She took a deep breath while Fëanaro just buried his face in his hands.

"So I ask you again. What. Did. You. Do!?"

"Lfhmlonwthmaimo."

Findis tilted her head with a perplexed expression, but could not make sense of her brother's mumblings.

"Come again?"

Fëanaro looked up with a tortured and commisserating expression.

"Left him alone with Maitimo for an evening. We really should have known better. But Nolo and I thought that at least as long as they were busy with each other, they would leave us alone. It appears we miscalculated. Badly."

Findis snorted.

"Come on, he is barely into his second century. What could he have said to father?"

She startled when Fëanaro bolted upright, eyes wild and expression eager.

"You mean to say you have escaped Maitimo's attentions so far?! What is your secret?! I need to know!"

"What is wrong with you? That is your son you are talking about! And he has ever been unfailingly polite and helpful to me."

"Your secret. I need it. Since the little menace has joined forces with father, there is no escaping them! Spending time with the little ones is wonderful an everything, but I Need to create! I have not been able to work through a single night since Nolo's yeni celebration! If it is not one of them arranging playdates and child minding duties to intentionally block me, it is the other warning off prospective clients with interesting proposals whenever I am not completely and utterly free! I am bored! I am an adult! I do not need a bedtime schedule!"

Findis raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

"Are you finished?"

"No!"

He paced up an down like a caged animal for a minute.

"Yes!"

"And what do you propose to do now? The situation is untenable. Father is driving me crazy!"

Fëanaro mustered her carefully for a long moment before nodding reluctantly.

"I suppose you may join the next underground meeting."

xxx

At first Elwing tried to wrap an arm over Maitimo's shoulder, but soon had to give up because no matter how young he appeared, he was still quite a bit taller than her.

She soon regretted not thinking to bring a cloak, as both their features were quite distinctive, and the moment they set foot in the growing settlement, people started staring at them.

Between the boy's white robes of the returned that could never completely hide their otherness, his flaming red hair and her own feathercloak and beakish nose, there was really very little chance of no one recognizing them.

She just hoped that appearing together like this would throw them off at first.

It did not take long before heavily armed guards surrounded them and politely but firmly led them to the middle of the settlement, where a large hall housed the current king of the Noldor.

Maitimo gripped Elwing's hand tightly, and his eyes had gone wide as dinner plates at the sight of the many, many swords, axes, spears and other assorted weapons.

She felt little pity towards someone who had spent their childhood in such complete safety that the mere sight of a scabbard scared them, but there was a certain tragic loss to every innocence cut short, even if it belonged to one such as him.

Elwing furtively glanced to the trembling youth at her side.

Perhaps even especially if the innocence lost belonged to someone like him.

They were led before the king, and Gil-galad rushed forward to greet her with such wonder that she once more felt the guilt over not having tried harder, not finding the words to properly argue her case before the powers.

"Elwing! I never thought I would see you like this again! But how is this possible? I thought you were forbidden to ever set foot on middle earth again!"

"Technically, it was only Eärendil who they forbade from returning. That they meant both of us was heavily implied, but not explicitly stated. I could not risk angering them by exploiting a loophole while Morgoth still lived, of course, but I have an actual reason I could argue in front of the Valar now."

"What reason could you possibly have that they would- Oh."

Gil-galad's eyes were drawn to the redhead at her side like a moth to the flame and he swallowed.

"Who is- Is this him? But how can it be?"

"My best guess would be that it had something to do with the suicide. Perhaps Mandos simply is not able to deal with that kind of death.
In any case, Maedhros himself has been returned, and not just to his body, but also his childhood."

Heavy silence filled the room, and all guards turned pale and stiff.

After a while, Gil-galad found his voice again.

"How much does he remember?"

Everyone's eyes on him, Maitimo turned to Elwing and whispered into the silence.

"Who or what is a Maedhros?"

xxx

"Alright! I think we are clear! No one should have seen anything."

"Since when is this so easy? Should Nelyo not have caught us by now?"

Tyelkormo grinned triumphantly.

"He is in one of his tea-and-chess meetings with grandfather. He will not be a problem for several hours. The real issue is mother, actually."

"No, she is not!", Makalaurë crowed in delight.

"I hid a letter she was waiting for two days ago and put it on the table before we left. She will be very, very busy. How about you, Findekáno?"

Said boy frowned glumly.

"Turukáno told mother we were going to explore. We are actually here with permission."

Turukáno scowled at his older brother.

"There is no need to say 'permission' like an insult. It was a perfectly logical course of action. This way we can claim parental knowledge no matter what strange bussiness we get into this time."

Findekáno heaved a tormented sigh.

"Where is your sense of adventure?! But anyway, Ingo?"

The boy smiled beatifically.

"I just slipped out of the window. My parents are used to it."

They were, in fact, not used to it. The panicked searches all over Tirion were frequent, but in no way taken lightly.

All of his assorted cousins looked at him dubiously, but for the sake of their planned adventure said nothing.

Ingoldo continued grinning.

Makalaurë looked around and then quickly lifted the large slab of stone covering the sewer.

"Let's do this! Go, go, go!"

xxx

The five elflings crept through the sewer carefully, Makalaurë up front with his eyes darting over every shadow Turukáno's torch threw.

Turukáno was barely watching where he put his feet, intently studying the map he was holding tightly in his other hand.

"Left turn coming up. Be careful, this one has an incline."

A small white rat skittered across their feet and Tyelkormo feeped at it cheerfully.

"Come on, it is not steep."

"Are we sure this is the right way?"

Turukáno, eyes still glued to the map, did not even bother to be offended.

"Of course. Just one more turn. Right over there."

The five elflings grinned at each other with apprehension and excitement, and took the last turn together.

"Who dares disturb me in my home?"

As one, they bowed before the great white rat.

"Mother Ratzinsky, greetings. We have come to you out of curiosity and to bring you a gift."

Findaráto stepped up to her, a circlet of white gold with a gleaming pink gemstone of Fëanaro's own forges in his hands as he presented it to mother Ratzinsky.

The rat inspected it carefully, nose twitching and whiskers trembling while she sniffed and nibbled at it carefully, but soon drew up in surprise.

"This is a fine gift indeed! It will grant you an introduction and my goodwill for now.

But speak! No rat has ever been born naive enough to think an elf, even as young as you are, woud approach us without very specific motivation.
So tell me what it is that you want from mother Ratzinsky."

Findaráto beamed at her with all the brightness he could muster.

"I would be happy if the only thing I took away from today's meeting was a new friend! But we did have an idea for a business proposal, if you are willing to hear it."

The great white rat carefully shifted the circlet in her paws and settled it delicately between her ears. The pink gemstone reflected the light from both her eyes and the torch and several smaller rats gathered around to squeak at her admiringly.

"You may speak."

xxx

When Makalaurë shifted the sewer cover to the side again the elflings climbing back into the light of the trees were still trembling from giddiness and excitement.

"I cannot believe that worked."

"Our parents must never, ever know."

"Agreed."

Chapter Text

"I hereby declare the thirty-second meeting of the union against parental oppression open!"

"This is already your thirty-second meeting?! Seriously? What have you achieved so far? Are there any currently running operations? What are your main goals?"

Nolofinwë coughed awkwardly.

"Well, there have been some efforts towards demage control, but mostly we-"

He looked at his half-brother helplessly, and uncharacteristically fumbled for the right words.

Fëanaro lifted his head from his arms with a sour expression.

"Complain, grumble, gripe, groan, grouse, bemoan, bitch, rant, whine, -"

Nolofinwë rolled his eyes heavenward and continued.

"- Analyze the situation."

Findis blinked in surprise.

"That is strangely inefficient of you two. I would have expected you to have several schemes running by now."

Fëanaro groaned.

"That is, in a way, the point. We cannot just start running a scheme against our father, the high king! It is not just highly unethical, it is wrong and practically treason!"

Nolofinwë nodded, looking downtrodden.

"And going against my very young nephew feels even worse."

Findis looked at them incredulously.

"You two are having scruples about maneuvering against family members. You."

Both of her brothers looked at her in confusion.

"Of course. Why would we not?"

"But you- You always- I cannot- You know what, never mind. I am not ready to jump down that rabbithole.
What we need is a plan of action that will not harm them, their feelings, or their reputation, but still will return to us the freedoms we are used to."

Fëanaro slumped once again.

"Speak for yourself. I barely remember what it was like to have no restrictions imposed on me."

His brother frowned at him.

"To be perfectly honest, you were running a bit wild. Some, not all! Not even most of them, but some of those restrictions seem fairly reasonable."

This earned him a fierce scowl, but eventually Fëanaro relented.

"I do actually feel more inspired when I am well-rested. I thought the lack of sleep made it easier to get in the zone, but looking back, some of the ideas that came out of that were a bit... dubious."

"The hair extensions?"

"The hair extensions."

Findis blinked at this.

"What is wrong with hair extensions? That sounds like something fairly benign."

The smith sighed happily at the memory.

"It was glorious."

"It also could have crushed an elf under it's weight."

"Only if they interrupted the flow of magic to the runes. But yes, one moment of inattention, and snap squish."

"You wore it for two weeks."

"Yes, but then Mathan caught wind of it. My ears are still ringing from that one."

Findis cursed herself for asking in the first place.

"You two are menaces. But back on topic, what do we actually need?"

They pondered this for a while, until Nolofinwë started hesitantly.

"We need a distraction? Our lives would be far easier if they had someone else to focus on."

Fëanaro perked up at this.

"Arafinwë?"

"Will not work."

"No, Arafinwë is far too amiable. They could just write him a list of expected behaviour, and he would comply."

Nolofinwë sighed.

"Life was much easier when it was just Maitimo trying to run our lives."

Findis sat up straight at this.

"You may have a point! We may not have to redirect both their attentions, it would already be a relief if just one of them was otherwise occupied!"

This caused Fëanaro to slap a fist into his hand.

"Divide and conquer! I like it!"

Only the youngest of the three remained reluctant.

"But how? We cannot just arrange for some diplomatic incident. One severe enough to tie up father for years may just as well cause a war!"

"Fëanaro, no."

The legendary smith pouted.

"But the Vanya are annoying enough to deserve it! Or even a proper rebellion against the oppression of the Valar!"

"Fëanaro, NO."

"Spoilsports."

Nolofinwë drew a hand over his face and covered his eyes with it.

"Why can you not just send Maitimo to another city for some time? He is your son after all."

"Oh, sure! Why not expect me to order father around as well! Do you know what would happen? He would give me a Look. And then we would both politely ignore that conversation ever happened."

Fëanaro started pacing in agitation, but his sister soon interrupted him.

"Wait! I think I have an idea. Nelyafinwë has, since he completed his exams, started making a name of himself as a healer of the mind. This is a field that, as far as I know, not even Este herself has discovered. I think she would be very, very curious if she knew of it."

The grumblings of her older brother were entirely expected.

"I mislike the Valar, and Este in particular. I should like to keep my son close, not send him to Lorien of all places."

Nolofinwë snorted completely unprincely.

"For someone who mislikes the Ainur as much as you, your opinion of their ability to resist the force of nature that is your son speaks quite highly of them! Would there even be a Lórien left once Maitimo is through with it?"

Fëanaro blinked.

"On second thought, let him at them."

xxx

"How much does he remember?"

Everyone's eyes on him, Maitimo turned to Elwing and whispered into the silence.

"Who or what is a Maedhros?"

Elwing took in the stunned silence with satisfaction and patted her kidnap victim's shoulder.

"That's you, dear."

"Oh."

She turned to their audience with a smirk and continued.

"He prefers Mimo, nowadays."

Gil-galad sighed and shook his head.

"Get Elrond. This is now officially his problem."

One of the advisors formerly hailing from Sirion groaned in despair.

"As if lord Elrond's collection of... misfits was not large enough already."

Instead of sending for the Peredhel, the guards ushered Maitimo and Elwing to him through the curious crowd.

One of the guards was poised to knock on the door, when voices from the inside made them pause.

"I do not care what you saw, there will be no action taken until I have spoken to the king!"

"But lord Elrond! It may already be too late by then! What if some vindictive Doriathrim gets there before the king?"

The next part was too quiet to overhear, but Elrond's response made the topic quite clear.

"You will not disrespect our king like that!"

"I am not saying he would! Just that he might not take this as seriously as-"

"Stop right there. We trust Gil-galad. And do you remember why?"

The second speaker took a while to answer, and the involuntary listeners had a moment of morbid curiosity to wonder what the answer Elrond seemed to expect would be.

"... Because lord Maedhros would have wanted us to trust him."

"Exactly."

The guard at the door heaved a longsuffering sigh and mumbled something distinctly uncomplimentary under his breath, but finally knocked.

Elwing's breath caught in her throat when the door opened and a young lord stepped through, so different from the mischievous child she remembered.

Elrond's eyes widened when he saw them, he quickly led them inside and dismissed the bad-tempered but relieved looking assistant.

The guard cleared his throat when an uncomfortable silence between the three threatened to settle in.

"Do you still need us, lord Elrond? We were not given further instructions except that all of this-"

He gestured vaguely around the two new arrivals.

" -Is your responsibility now."

The young Peredhel blinked at him smiled innocently.

"I am sure I will be able to deal with them on my own. You may leave."

When they were finally alone, Elwing took a half-step forward.

"Elrond, I..."

But suddenly all the words she had always wanted to say seemed hollow and misplaced.

Every reasoning and argument and apology she could make would be unable to bring back the time they had lost.

So through the thick lump constricting her throat, she muttered a simple:

"I love you."

Elrond's shoulders untensed, and he gave his mother a small smile.

"Thank you. There were times when I wondered, but growing up has taught me much about hopeless situations.

And I... I love you too, mother.

And you-"

With this he turned to face Maitimo with a deeply unimpressed expression.

"What did you do now?"

Maitimo stood up straight and glared.

"Hey! What makes you think it was my fault!"

Elrond crossed his arms and lifted an eyebrow.

"Oh, I do realize that it is very rarely your fault, atya, but it is almost always something you did."

"That makes no sense! But wait... You called lady Elwing your mother... and me your father."

He whirled around so fast his red hair was flying through the air and shrieked.

"WE ARE MARRIED!?!"

The tension finally broken, Elwing laughed and laughed until her eyes blurred with tears.

xxx

Irimë and Arafinwë were deep in discussion when the very, very unusual sight of their three older siblings hurrying past with their heads bent together startled them out of their conversation.

Irimë very nearly gaped after them, and only the ingrained poise and dignity of a life as a princess gave her the fortitude to resist.

"Do you have any idea what they are up to now?"

Arafinwë blinked.

"Perhaps this is about father's behaviour lately?"

"Oh! That makes sense. Do you think they mind it?"

This time, Arafinwë blinked at her.

"Do you not?"

Irimë grinned at him mischievously.

"I thought it was nice, actually. Strange, but nice. How did you deal with it?"

"I just asked father to back off a bit because the sudden change was making me uncomfortable, and he did."

Irimë looked at her three retreating siblings who were clearly desperate enough for a solution that they were actually working together, and snickered.

"Three horses that not a single one of them thought of asking."

"No bet."

Chapter Text

"Three, two, one, now!"

Findis straightened, and rounded the corner just as the Maia left their father's study.

Both Nolofinwë and Fëanaro stayed behind and listened intently.

"My lord Tavasz! What a surprise to meet you again so soon!"

The poor Maia seemed thoroughly relieved at the sight of Findis. Nolofinwë and Fëanaro shot him pitying looks.

"Princess Findis! I am very fortunate to happen upon you like this. Are you well? Have you considered my proposal from last week?"

Findis let out a sigh.

"Father has been hounding you about offering me a place at Estë's side again, has he not? I am sorry to disappoint you, but after careful consideration, I have come to the conclusion that I have little interest or passion for healing. I will continue to consider Vana and Nessa for the meantime."

The guilty relief in the Maia's face was almost insulting, and Fëanaro had to press a hand on his mouth to stifle the snickers.
Nolofinwë elbowed him with a scowl.

Oblivious to their antics, Findis continued.

"But since you are already here, I might have something that will interest you."

She took the Maia's arm and desicively led him down the hallway.

"Let us go down to the healing houses. My nephew, well you will have to judge for yourself, I admittedly have very little knowledge of your arts, has made some waves here in Tirion.
Some even say that his new methods are surpassing Estë's skills!"

They turned around a corner and vanished from view.

The two Finwions emerged from their hiding place and grinned after them.

"And now for phase two. Make sure Maitimo has a patient to demonstrate his skills on."

Nolofinwë furrowed his brows.

"You still did not tell me how you plan to accomplish that."

Fëanaro glanced to his brother out of the corner of his eye.

"... Honestly, it is probably better if you do not know that little detail."

This only made his younger brother groan.

"Perfect, now I will keep imagining different scenarios on how you will ruin some poor innocent elf's life. Wonderful.
I will not let you out of my sight."

Fëanaro grinned predatorily.

xxx

They headed to the forges, and as soon as they were within sight of the other smiths, Fëanaro began to rage.

"How dare you talk to me like that! I am your better in all matters!
And you!"

He pointed at a terrified apprentice, who pushed herself into a corner with wide eyes when Fëanaro turned his burning ire on her.

"What are you looking at?! Am I some sort of spectacle for you? I will give you a spectacle!"

By now several smiths were looking into the room with trepidation, and two brave souls quickly grabbed the apprentice to lead her away.

Fëanaro immediately honed in on the young blacksmith that was still regularly visiting Maitimo for advice after he had helped him with his anxiety years ago.

"And you! Are the pipes ready? I do not care if we only recieved the order yesterday! This is not the kind of project we can leave sitting on a shelf! Construction needs to start as soon as possible!
THAT MEANS RIGHT NOW!
Where do you all think you are going? I am talking to you! I want each and every one of you right here until I can MAKE YOU UNDERSTAND THAT I AM NOT JOKING ARA- Hurk!"

Nolofinwë could only watch in horrified fascination as two particularly burly forge masters grabbed his older brother by the arms and started dragging him out of the door.

"What-? Hey! Wait! That is not how this was supposed to- NOLO! STOP LAUGHING!!!"

Turning his wheezing barks into coughs was not easy, but when his sides started to burn, he consoled himself with the thought that at least Maitimo was going to be able to properly demonstrate his abilities as a mind healer.

There was certainly no one alive who needed them more than Fëanaro.

xxx

When Maitimo saw his aunt Findis dragging around a Maia that looked very uncomfortable in her presence, his first reaction was to look for cover.

His second reaction was a double take when he saw his father's determined expression on her face.

Thoroughly alarmed now, he quickly ducked into his office, in vague hopes of escaping whatever scheme was afoot this time.

Maitimo carefully sat in his chair, thought of Fingon, who had repeatedly accused him of being a busybody, and after a moment of thought, took a sheet of paper to rewrite the notes of the last meeting.

This, just this once, was none of his business.

Aunt Findis had never caused a scandal before. Whatever it was, it was bound to be harmless.

The feathers of his quill stroked over his chin, and his eyes stayed fixed on the door.

The knock came as much as a relief as a feeling of doomed resignation.

"Come in!"

"Maitimo! May I introduce you to lord Tavasz. He is a disciple of Este, just like yourself!"

The Fëanorion furrowed his brow and opened his mouth to voice an automatic protest, but Findis's smile turned predatory and she continued on without waiting for his input.

"You simply must tell them all about your new treatment methods. I have heared they are a rousing success. Tell me, is there someone coming for your aid today? Perhaps we could even sit in on one of your sessions?"

"What? No! Therapy is an intensely private matter! It takes time to build up trust and an outsider listening in would not only require the patients explicit consent, it would automatically skew the results!

And I do not have anyone scheduled for today in any case."

The Maia shifted uncomfortably as he looked from one Finwëan to the other.

Findis simply smiled serenely.

"You do not? Oh my, we will simply have to hope something unexpected turns up."

Maitimo narrowed his eyes, but just as he opened his mouth to continue objecting, a commotion outside in the hallway interrupted him.

The polite knock on his door was underlined by muffled, but very, very familiar protests.

He already knew this would not be a good day when the doorway revealed two sheepish looking smiths and a thoroughly frazzled Fëanaro.

"Truly sorry to bother you, sir, but could you please talk to him? I am afraid he is in one of his moods again."

Fëanaro grumbled in protest, but sullenly let himself be manhandled into a chair.

Maitimo smiled painfully.

He really, desperately needed a vacation.

xxx

Gil-galad and his advisors had attempted to keep the arrival of Elwing and, most importantly, Maedhros, secret.

It had been a hopeless attempt from the beginning, but the very obvious secrecy at least had the one effect that no one talked to him about the guests. Which was, he thought ruefully, more than he could have hoped for.

Meanwhile, they seemed to have trouble of a very unexpected kind, and a whole city was eagerly craning their necks and listening carefully to catch every bit of gossip they could gather.

"You cannot just wander off like this! It is too dangerous! What if you had stumbled upon an enemy?!"

"But Elrond! You said the enemy was defeated! And besides, the squirrel really needed help!"

"The squirrel is an UNREPENTANT PRANKSTER and will do anything for a handful of nuts! You can help them, you can feed them, but never, ever just follow them somewhere! They do not realize elves cannot climb vertical surfaces, and they love watching us fall out of trees!"

"But-"

"And far more importantly, just because The Enemy was defeated, does not mean every enemy was defeated! And right now you could not even hold your own against a warg puppy!"

The young redhead brightened.

"There are puppies?"

"Mimo!!!"

Maitimo crossed his arms in front of his chest.

"There is no way puppies are already evil. We should go and rescue them. Maybe the squirrels know where they are?"

"NO!!!!"

"You are being paranoid. I am sure the squirrels did not mean to lead me down that ravine, and if there are puppies in danger of being turned evil, someone has to do something about it. How dangerous could it be anyway? I am sure if we explain to their parents very carefully that we only mean to help, they will agree too."

Elrond suddenly looked completely blank.

"Paranoid. YOU are calling ME paranoid. You propose to go up to an orc nest, politely ask the adult wargs if you can make off with their children, and are calling me PARANOID?!"

Maitimo glared mulishly.,,

"If the shoe fits."

"THAT IS IT! I AM GOING TO CHAIN YOU TO AN ERU-DAMNED CLIFF!!!"

xxx

A cold, foreboding shiver ran down Fingon's spine.

A sudden feeling of urgency gripped him, and he rubbed his arms to ward off the dread creeping into his mind.

This was Valinor. He was sure nothing too bad would happen to Maedhros here.

As if to answer his unspoken doubts, the door opened to admit Argon and Caranthir.

Fingon looked up anxiously as the very tall form of his youngest brother managed to slink in unconspiciously.

"Any news? Have you found any trails, rumors or suspicious disappearances?"

Caranthir hesitated.

"The only suspicious disappearance remains Maedhros himself. But we did chance upon a very drunk mariner trying to drown his marital woes in wine.

Your nephew Eärendil seems to have had a disagreement with his wife over 'that sweet boy she took'."

Fingon buried his face in his hands and groaned.

"She is one of Thingol's, right? Whatever posessed the poor boy to marry into that line?"

Caranthir only shrugged and Argon continued with a wry smile.

"Her name is Elwing. And, well... Maedhros and Maglor slaughtered her people, stole her children and drove her off a cliff or a tower. I could not get a clear answer on that one. It is only through Ulmo's intervention that she is alive at all today."

"Oh, Russo... Why?! And our only lead is the possibility that this elleth took him... where?"

The two spymasters glanced at each other.

"Thargelion. Or what is left of it in any case."

Fingon could already feel the migrane building up between his temples.

"You are telling me that Maedhros was released perhaps three days at most before us, and in the meantime has managed to get kidnapped by an Eluchiel with a grudge, crossed the sundering sea back to Beler- I mean Middle Earth, caused marrige problems for Turgon's grandson and has possibly landed himself in the hands of the elves whose families he slaughtered not even a century ago?!"

Both Argon and Caranthir nodded grimly.

"I... I am going to... I need to... We could... No, that will not work. Asking for forgiveness instead of permission was such a bad call last time, I think..."

With determination in his face, he stepped outside onto the balcony.

"MANWË!!! I really, really need some advice!"

Chapter Text

Tavasz, the Maia of Estë, was indeed impressed with Maitimo's skills and revolutionary approach to include talking into the process of healing, and petitioned for him to travel to Lorien and help the unfortunate souls there.

Maitimo wavered for a long time, and indeed delayed for years until Curufinwë's birth reminded him that he was not as young and tolerant to the noise and utter chaos his gaggle of young relatives could produce that he had previously fancied himself to be.

And although he was loath to leave them to their own devices, matters were looking surprisingly hopeful. Fëanaro was mostly friendly with Nolofinwë, and even Findis seemed to have taken to them for some strange reason.

Finwë had promised to be diligent in his correspondence with him, and Maitimo would like to dare anyone who might have ambitions to seperate Makalaurë and Tyelkormo from their cousins to try.

Both Findaráto and Turukáno had exhibited a viciousness he heartily approved of, but seemed to make everyone else vaguely uncomfortable.

Carnistir was a more solitary child, and while he would occassionally tag along with his brothers, Maitimo suspected that even with far closer ties, it would take until the birth of Arakáno that he truly found someone whose company he would genuinely enjoy.

But chaos and unprecedented noise levels aside, (and since Curufinwë was a fussy baby those were nothing to sneer at) the true turning point of his desicion had been when Irimë had cornered him after work one day.

She had entered his office just when he was cleaning up, and fixed him with a glare.

"Look, I do not pretend to understand your motivations behind half the things you do, but you need to consider giving Fëanaro, and I cannot believe I am saying this, more freedom."

She did indeed look pained at her own words, and so Maitimo just raised an unimpressed eyebrow at her.

Irimë scowled.

"I know. But you need to give him the chance to grow up. I admit the thought of Fëanaro of all people reaching maturity through trial and error is terrifying, but it will need to happen sooner or later."

Maitimo had his own opinions concerning his father's ability to achieve maturity if left to his own devices, but said nothing.

His aunt looked at him expectantly, but when no reaction was forthcoming, she changed tactics.

"Did you know what they are calling you? And the boys? They call them the five sons of Russandol. They count Naro as your child instead of the other way round. That is not healthy. Neither for you, nor for him. He may be the most volatile character I have ever seen, but even so, he deserves a chance to discover his own self without a constant presence looming over him.

He deserves his own agency. Even if it is dangerous, or you might not agree with it. He still deserves to discover it on his own."

For a long moment, Maitimo wavered.

He loved his family with a fierce intensity, and wished nothing more for each of them to learn to soar in any way they chose, but he had seen where this particular freedom led to.

Was it truly worth risking everything on such selfish desires? It was not only all their happiness on the line, but the very lives of his brothers and cousins. He had been making good progress, was it truly worth risking everything for the chance to see Fëanaro unfettered?

But even as he thought it, he knew the answer.

He slumped when the knowledge that he would never, ever lock one of his loved ones in a gilded cage and watch them wither without the freedom they craved, sank in and he knew what he had to do.

Few desicions had ever been more difficult and painful than this one, so he looked at Irimë with a wan smile.

"You are right, of course. He has calmed much over the last decades, and while my heart tells me to keep him close for the rest of time, I know that this is indeed the time to let go.
I wonder, do all parents feel this ache when they realize that their child must now plunge into the abyss, lest their wings start to wither?
When you have given them everything you could, and realize it might still not be enough?"

Irimë rolled her eyes at him.

"Stop being so dramatic. That is your father we are talking about, not a fourty year old elfling! He is an adult with an admirable elleth at his side to guide his way, and a large family to support him if he lets us.

But he needs room to breathe. So go away, have some fun, and tear up Lorien in a mad attempt to remake it to your liking. The world will still be flat when you come back."

Maitimo barked a hollow laugh, but aquiesced.

Fëanaro had indeed come a long way from the angry and insecure princeling lashing out at everyone to quieten the hurt inside him, and perhaps it was time to let him spread his wings unchecked.

He nodded desicively.

"You know, I think I will."

xxx

"Manwë! I could really use your advice!"

Fingon leaned heavily on the balcony railing and peered out through narrowed eyes, as if trying to hasten an answer through sheer force of will.

Behind him, Caranthir caughed.

"Do you truly think this will work? Perhaps we should travel to Taniquetil if you wish to-"

Caranthir grimaced.

"- Ask for permission."

"And why would he do that?"

All three of them startled when the playful breeze slowly took form.

"Travel far to reach the air, I mean. Not ask for permission, I do have an inkling what that might be about, even if I have not heard it said out loud."

Fingon beamed and bowed at the waist.

"My lord! I have waited long to thank you for your blessing and aid in rescuing Maedhros from torture. You have my deepest gratitude. I do not know if I could have survived having to kill my best friend in such a way."

Manwë leaned forward, now half bird half breeze and overall elvish in form, and awkwardly patted him on the head.

The movement ruffled Fingon's hair and blew into the few loose strands that had come undone from his braids.

He laughed delightedly.

"But once again I must beg your favour. And for near the same reason this time! Or at least similar, for never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined to see Maedhros so young.

I am sure you must have heard by now, but we have lost track of him again. And that would not be such a problem, if he had at least managed to stay in Aman! But somehow he has once again found himself more trouble than even I could have imagined!"

Manwë ducked his head in a motion that seemed almost bashful.

"I have been informed that listening to everything the air carries is considered rude among the children. I cannot truly help it, but I have made an effort to not consciously do so."

Fingon crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow.

The feathers on the elder king's neck bristled.

"- Yes, I have heard. It has proven shortsighted to apply this discretion to Finwions and their descendants."

This caused Argon to snicker at Caranthir's expression.

"Can you tell us if he truly is back in Middle Earth? Already?"

Manwë gave them a single sharp nod.

Fingon groaned and hid his face in his hands.

"Alright, alright. Can we work with this? We can work with this. First: Is there a way to bring him back unharmed?"

At this, the elder king hesitated.

"Not an easy one. And even fewer that would not break with the Song even further.

No, this is not a path we can take."

Fingon hesitated and looked out towards the sea.

"Then we need to join him. Once again, we need to leave behind the safety of Valinor to cross the ocean."

Manwë turned serious and inscrutable.

"What makes you think that I will allow it? Did you not learn your lesson the last time?"

"I think I did. And that is the reason why I am hopeful that this time you will help me. The last time we left for Beleriand, we were full of wrath and hatred and fear. We set out to seek revenge for murdered kin and wounded pride.

But this time, even though we have harmed and been harmed, we look to the future with hope. We do not set out in anger, but in the joy of beeing reunited with those we love."

Fingon paused for a moment, but for the sake of honesty, he continued.

"And some exasperation, though I hope you will find it in yourself to forgive us for this."

Manwë's eyes still remained inscrutible as he answered.

"Many a young elf has faced and is still facing worse danger. In truth, the young firstborn of Fëanor is in the hands of your own son and those who love him fiercely. There is no need for you and yours to cross the ocean once again."

Fingon fell to his knees, even though Caranthir squeaked in protest.

"Please! You have seen that Maedhros is capable both of great good and great evil. Would you not, if your own brother had shown the same potential, want to offer a guiding hand? Would you not at least be nearby, where you could intervene if things went horribly wrong again?"

He looked to the side and barely whispered the next part.

"Would you condemn me to once again watch helplessly while one I love as a brother slowly succumbs to hopelessness and misery?"

And here Manwë faltered, because for a long time had he wished for nothing more than his own chance, just a single glimpse of compassion among the selfishness of Melkor's actions.

And even though he knew that the consequences would be unpredictable, he felt the finality of a desicion overcome him.

"I will allow you and those who follow you to cross the sundering sea."

xxx

Mimo, as he had come to be known around the still growing town lately, had climbed up as far as he dared into the tree.
His gangly limbs had been a source of endless frustration to him as he had shot up without seeming to be able to stop over the last years.

He sighed despondently.

He had climbed up here in order to properly sulk, but now it only made him feel lonlier.

He missed his parents and little Laurë fiercely, and could not help but remember the few angry discussions and arguments they had had over the last decade.

He sighed again and whispered into the wind.

"I want to go home."

Echoes of his name shouted in the distance had him slowly climb down again.

These strange people had been kind to him, and he had seen genuine fear in their eyes the first time he had hidden himself, and he never wanted to cause such an expression again.

He nimbly jumped down when he reached the lower branches, and as soon as he touched the ground, he heard a startled hiss.

He whirled around, and one look brought a brilliant smile to his face.
He crouched, and slowly stretched out his right hand.

"Here, kitty, kitty. What a beautiful kitty you are!"

The large, orange cat with long silken hair that shone like flames fully gaped at him.

Chapter Text

The city guards shuffled uncertainly in the face of Fëanaro's glare.

He crossed his arms in front of his chest and loomed.

Unfortunately, this did not seem to have the desired effect.

The captain in the front cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Lord Maitimo is still in Lórien?"

The three almost-grown elflings that were each clutching a coat obviously not belonging to them around themselves tightly, shifted nervously behind the guards.

Fëanaro nodded and narrowed his eyes.

A beat of silence, while the captain looked around helplessly, before Fëanaro rolled his eyes and decided to let the elf out of the corner he had talked himself into.

"What did my son and nephews do?"

Relieved, he started to talk.

"Sire, we have been chasing those three for the whole morning. There have been several complaints about indecent exposure. Those three are far too old to run around the city in the nude!"

Turukáno looked ahead mulishly and started to open his mouth in protest, but grimaced and fell silent again when Makalaurë, who stood next to him, kicked his shin.

Findaráto just smiled serenely.

Fëanaro's eyebrows rose in surprise. While he could certainly see his own sweet but horribly dramatic son and even Findaráto running around unclothed, Turukáno was a true surprise.

"Just how indecent are we talking about?"

"Yes! Exactly!", Turukáno burst out, and this time no one stopped him.

"Noldorin standards for what counts as undressed are ridiculous! I was not nude! I mean, later on I did take off my clothes, but that is not the point! The point is that I was covered!"

Makalaurë nodded vigurously.

"This society has implemented artificial rules about the elven body that diverge further and further from the natural state of our culture. It demands a ridiculously high level of economic security and standing simply to not be considered 'indecent'. This focus on material wealth is concerning on many levels, and completely unique among the Noldor.
We were conducting an experiment on how far our community as a whole has lost touch with the roots we come from in order to hoard more and more shiny baubles."

Fëanaro sighed.

"Is this because I missed the concert? I am very sorry, my son. I promise to not even touch my tools for the whole day the next time you play."

Makalaurë glared defiantly.

Next to him, Turukáno hissed.

"I was not naked!"

Findaráto patted his shoulder.

"You were."

Fëanaro pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Alright, tell me from the beginning."

Earlier this morning...

"I am just saying, nobody would bat an eyelash in Alqualondë. People are far less uptight there."

Turukáno scoffed.

"I have seen Falmari wear jewelry all the time. I am sure it cannot be that different."

Findaráto shook his head.

"You don't understand! Of course Falmari wear jewels and pearls, but it is not required the same way it is in Tirion. You could walk the streets without a single piece,
and still be considered completely decent."

Makalaurë groaned.

"It is so annoying! I spend a whole hour each morning just making sure all the pieces match and I did not accidentally mix aquamarines with amber or something like that. That is time I could spend composing! Or practicing. What an utter waste."

Findaráto nodded commiseratingly.

"It always takes me ages to get my hair just right."

It was indeed glittering with pearls and golden wire.

Turukáno looked at them dubiously.

"You two could always just wear less jewelry."

He was summarily ignored.

Makalaurë sighed wistfully.

"I just wish I had a choice. What if I wanted to walk down the streets without so much as a simple circlet?"

Turukáno rolled his eyes.

"You could. People are not actually going to be scandalized by no gems in sight. They will look at you strangely, of course, but it is not like you are running around naked."

Both of his cousins looked at him incredulously.

"Honestly, I suspect being naked except for your jewelry would actually cause less offence than the other way around."

"You two are being utterly ridiculous."

"Want to bet?"

xxx

Fëanaro rubbed his temples.

"So you all ran around Tirion in the nude because of a bet? How did you think that was a good idea?"

"Actually, at first we just conducted an experiment on which would be considered offensive, so Turukáno took off all of his jewelry but kept his clothes, and Findaráto stripped but left his jewelry on.

I was supposed to be the control group and note down the observations."

"And how did it go?"

Turukáno threw up one hand in exasperation, the other still tightly clutching the cloak.

"They all scolded me! Not a single elf looked shocked at Findaráto, but I was the one they approached and tried to educate!"

Both of Fëanaro's eyebrows rose in surprise.

"While that is indeed an unexpected and somewhat strange outcome, by my count that would have only led to one and a half naked nephews. How did you lose the rest of your clothes?"

"We hypothesized that it was just people being used to Findaráto being special. And so Laurë took off his lothrs too. He left the gems, of course, he was Ingoldo's substitute."

Makalaurë nodded seriously.

"And while I did indeed get more negative attention than Ingoldo, it was still nowhere near as much as Turukáno."

This seemed to have caused great offense to the Nolofinwion.

"Can you believe it?! I was dressed properly! I had a nice tunic and a finely embroidered vest! An they called me the indecent one!"

Fëanaro valiantly tried to school his expression into a neutral one. He was quite certain breaking out in giggles would not convey the message he intended to send.

"So how did you end up naked too?"

"Well, the market started to fill up, and we were attracting more and more attention. And then someone called the guards, and we decided to... relocate our experiment.

Unfortunately the relocation was done in haste, so we actually forgot to take our clothes with us. So we paused and debated what to do next, and Turukáno was willing to trade his vest for Laurë's circlet, when a new group of elves approached us and actually started yelling at Turukáno and completely ignored us. So we started yelling back."

Fëanaro started to nod in approval at Findaráto, but the guards' scowls caused him to clear his throat instead.

"Try not to raise your voice next time. A properly scathing insult should always be delivered calmly for maximum effect."

The Nolofinwion flushed and stared at the ground in front of his feet.

"I should not have lost my temper. But one of them was sneering at Makalaurë, and the other was sniffing and calling Ingo 'Teler' down his nose like it was an insult.
So I... threw off my clothes and started shouting about prejudices and classism and how a few baubles should not determine the worth of someone."

Findaráto patted his best friend's arm to comfort him.

"I suppose the guards heard the commotion, and so we ran again. They caught us trying to sneak into the palace."

A long moment passed while Fëanaro struggled for words to this, both feeling guilty for having used the word Teler as an insult himself before, and at the same time trying to convey his pride in them for defending each other. On top of that he felt like the last person in Arda to have any leg to stand on when it came to being discreet about wearing jewelry.

He looked at the guards helplessly, but they just stared at him knowingly.

"Err... I am proud of you three for standing up for what you believe in. But next time, please consider that there are other ways to faciliate social change than running through Tirion in the nude. You three are of legal age now, and if you feel this is important, you can gather supporters and start raising awareness. Please consider asking me, or even better yet, Nolofinwë for advice the next time you consider taking illegal action. Nolo knows every loophole in the law texts that ever existed, that I can guarantee."

He looked around the room, but all eyes were still directed at him expectantly.

"And... erm... Punishment. For forcing the poor guards to hunt you down. I expect an essay on the historical and cultural importance of clothing among the different groups of the eldar. Five thousand words each. Now off with you!

All three miscreants grinned at each other and scrambled off.

"And and put on some clothes!"

xxx

The large orange cat flattened it's ears but reached forward to sniff curiously.

It immediately recoiled and hissed.

Mimo drooped.

"I suppose I smell strange now too? I feel so out of place in this world. I just want to go back where I belong."

The cat looked at him incredulously, and started hissing, spitting and pacing in front of him with bristling fur.

Mimo concentrated hard, but cats were far less easy to understand than birds.

"You... are saying that elves never stay where they are supposed to? I think?"

The cat gave an angry yowl.

"We do like to wander around a lot, I guess. like deer herds."

The cat stopped in it's tracks. The ears flicked uncertainly.

Mimo took it as a sign of encouragement and continued.

"Well, we also like to stay in cities. That would be like... A herd staying at a stream or watering hole for some time? But most of us like to roam around too much to remain there forever."

The tail twitched violently, and the cat ducked to the ground.

"Defend yourself? What would we need to defend our stream, er... cities from? Oh, right! There are actual enemies supposed to be around here. I guess we would defend ourselves then. It is only natural."

Another vicious hiss.

"Go back into our own territory? I guess... that would be Cuivienen? But my generation and even my father's generation have no memories of it. Does the sun reach there too? I love the stars, of course, but I do not think I want to live in darkness all the time.

Do you know if iit is near here? I would like to see it sometime, I think."

The cat immediately straightened, a calculating gleam entering it's fiery eyes.

It mrowed gently.

"You do?! You could show me the way? That is amazing!"

Mimo jumped to his feet, but that very moment, another voice calling for him in the distance echoed through the woods.

For a single moment, the young elf wavered.

A smile spread across his face, and with swift hands he snatched the startled cat into his arms.

It yowled in protest.

"Come on! I have to introduce you to someone! Maybe Elrond and lady Elwing would like to journey there too! Did you know lady Elwing can turn into a bird? She is really amazing!"

The cat hissed furiously, but it was already too late. The young Noldo crashing through the woods had attracted the attention of every single elf in the area.

Chapter Text

Esteemed grandfather,

Thank you for the pictures of the Ambarussar you commissioned for me, I can scarcely believe how much they have grown already! Has it truly been less than a year since I have last seen them?

I will come to spend the summer in Tirion, but in the meantime I have been thinking about our latest predicament.

Here is what I suggest you do:

xxx

Fëanaro looked at his brothers, eyes dull with disbelief.

A cacophony of noise was ringing in his ears.

"How... how did this happen?"

Next to him, Arafinwë looked helplessly towards the chaos.

"I had not realized that there were quite so... many of them by now? They are all ours, right? It is hard to focus."

Nolofinwë shifted nervously from foot to foot.

"Findekáno and Turukáno are usually very responsible. They will keep track of their siblings at least. I hope. I cannot quite spot them all right now..."

Fëanaro winced at another shrill shriek ringing over the hills being echoed by the alarmed bleating of a goat.

"Makalaurë, Tyelkormo, Carnistir, Curufinwë, Ambarussa, Findekáno, Turukáno, Irissë, Arakáno, Findaráto, Aikanaro, Angarato, Artanis."

Nolofinwë counted them with a pinched expression, and then gave a relieved sigh.

"Thirteen. I can see thirteen children. That is good."

For a moment, the three brothers basked in the feeling of accomplishment.

Then Fëanaro flinched and turned his head back to his next younger brother.

"Ambarussar count for two. There should be fourteen."

They paled, and Arafinwë gasped.

"There is only one girl! Where is Irissë?!"

"This was such a bad idea..."

xxx

On a lovely beach on the shores of Alqualondë, Nerdanel stretched languidly. A book dropped to the ground from where her hand had gripped it before she had fallen asleep.

Next to her, Eärwen giggled.

"You were wise in wearing a light dress! I would not have thought it possible, but you really do burn."

Nerdanel sat up and inspected her front critically. There were thin red stripes of irritated skin between her neckline and the tan skin of her collar.

"It is the reflected light. Both the white sands and the water throw it back and intensify it, and so I burn."

Just behind them and the sleeping Anairë, Finwë and Olwë were engrossed in quiet conversation.

On the path from the city, Indis came strolling down with a basket and a large smile.

"Are you hungry? I have bread, cheeses and some fruit."

Immediately, Eärwen and Nerdanel sat up and reached for her.

"This was a marvelous idea."

xxx

"Throw me that rope!"

Tyelkormo sighed.

"You worry too much, uncle! Irissë is fully capable of taking care of herself!"

Nolofinwë scowled back at his nephew.

"Is her trail going over this rock or not?"

"Yes, but-"

"Then throw me the rope!"

xxx

Fëanaro's eye twitched and his eyes rapidly flicked from head to head. They had long since given up on trying to break up arguments among the children and were solely focusing on keeping them within eyesight.
If they lost another one, there was next to no chance at keeping this trip from descending into a large scale search and rescue and utter humiliation.

Suddenly, he sat up straight.

"Food! They must be hungry by now. While they are eating, they should be mostly calm and stationary, right?"

Arafinwë brightened from where he was untangling several twigs from a sobbing Aikanaro's long golden hair.

"Perfect! With any luck it will tide us over until Nolo returns. Do you think you could start a fire? The ingredients are already prepared, we just need to put them in the pot."

Fëanaro spang into action, enthused about a possible solution to their current predicament, and went about setting up a campfire.

The sparking rocks set fire to the dried leaves and grass in no time, and with a relieved sense of accomplishment, he started rummaging through the saddlebags for the pan.

It was almost too late when he saw a tiny, freckled hand reach out to grab a burning stick.

With a sharp intake of air, he snatched the toddler's hand and with the other, he upended the waiting pail of water over the flames.

It hissed, crackled, and fizzled out.

Heart beating wildly, Fëanaro slowly looked down at his youngest son.

He swallowed thickly and croaked:

"No fire."

xxx

Laurelin was slowly fading, and the mingling of the lights was approaching.

The three Noldorin princesses were strolling leasurely back to the palace, followed by their law parents and Olwë.

Anaire sighed in contentment.

"Do you think the boys will be alright?"

"We chose a destination with literally nothing but hills and light forests as far as one can see. I am sure they will be just fine."

xxx

To their parents' resigned disappointment, the sweet bread and small cakes had been devoured within minutes, and the raw vegetables had not been able to tempt the rowdy elflings for long.

But on the other hand, the snacks had given them a new boost of energy.

By now, Arafinwë had lost a bushel of hair, a sleeve, and Fëanaro had sacrificed his left shoe to an angry (and hungry) goat.

"Uncle Ara?"

"Yes, Irissë?"

"Do you know why Laurë, Turukáno and Findaráto are planning to overthrow the goverment?"

"That is a question best directed to Fëanaro, dear.

Wait, Irissë!? When did you return?!"

She looked at him in puzzlement.

"I was only gone for an hour. I already fed the berries I picked to the little ones. I have been back for ages."

Fëanaro and Arafinwë looked at each other, then at the treeline where Nolofinwë and Tyelkormo had vanished.

"Oh, no."

xxx

When they finally returned to Tirion, Nolofinwë had a limp, Arafinwë a bald spot, and Fëanaro an infected arm where Artanis had bit him.

All three of them had deep purple bags under their eyes and flinched at sudden noises.

The children were bounding up to their mothers and chatted excitedly, loudest of all Tyelkormo.

"Ammë! You would not believe who I met in the woods! Oromë! And he was really impressed with me!"

Finwë strode up to his sons with a wide smile and decidedly vicious gleam in his eyes.

"I must say, I had a wonderful time with my law-daughters! We will have to repeat this soon!
Ah, what a pity that I cannot take the three of you the next time. I am afraid the constant arguing would not be relaxing at all!"

The three Finwions swallowed and looked at each other despondently.

xxx

... Perhaps the young elflings will even cool their tempers and force them to work together in harmony. I cannot stress enough how important the unity of the Noldorin royal family is, so I hope you will attempt this or something similar.

Best regards,

Maitimo Nelyafinwë

xxx

"No."

Mimo, the struggling cat clutched securely in his arms, narrowed his eyes.

"I am now almost an adult. I feel it would be enormously beneficial for my development to start being responsible for a pet. And a cat, as a fairly self-sufficient animal, is ideal to start out with. It can and will communicate it's needs quite clearly, wether I actually understand cat or not. Which I do. Somewhat.
If there is anything this strange future has shown me, it is that I need to act maturely and take responsibility over at least a part of my people sooner rather than later.
And while I know I am young yet, this is an opportunity to grow in a safe environment.
And I desire nothing more than being useful to my people."

Elrond raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

Behind him, Elwing snickered.

The Peredhel pursed his lips.

"Just who do you think taught me to argue?"

Mimo cuddled the cat closer to his cheek.

It hissed and tried to push itself off with it's paws.

"Please?"

The large grey eyes started to shine.

Elwing stopped snickering.

"Oh, he's good. When did he stop using those and went for growly and petulant threats instead?"

Mimo, who still seemed to have all children's ability to sense weakness and clamp down on it, turned his sad gaze to her.

"Perhaps I was ripped away from everything I knew and was left with nothing to comfort myself back then too?"

Elrond pinched the bridge of his nose.

"That too is an actual technique I was taught, and I was not prepared for the knowledge that you have used it yourself. Extensively even, I would suspect. Never did I imagine feeling pity towards Fëanor of all people."

The cat's fur bristled at that name, and it started yowling angrily.

It was summarily ignored by elves and peredhel alike, and the sad face of an overgrown elfling now turned back to Elrond.

Elrond sighed in defeat.

"Very well. But there are conditions.

If you ever think the cat has gone missing, you do not go looking for it on your own. Tell me, or someone else, first. Never, under any circumstances, leave the city without me, Elwing, Gil-galad, Celebrimbor or Galadriel. Do you understand me? No one else!
Always remember that unlike you, this cat is an adult and knows far better how to keep itself safe than you do. If it ever runs off, it will be fine. You most certainly will not be."

Mimo nodded along eagerly, but grimaced at the last statement.

"I feel like you think I am useless
sometimes."

Elrond stepped forward and gently cupped the elfling's cheeks.

"You are not useless. You are learning. Would your father expect a new apprentice to fold steel? And since you reminded me, there will be not a single lesson skipped without good reason. You will learn the basic skills of survival, and unfortunately, swordplay is one of those."

Mimo scrunched up his nose.

"I did not actually eat the giant wild carrot, you know? And I told my sword instructors a dozen times that I am right handed! Why in the name of Tulkas are they constantly insisting I use my left?! I realize being able to use your offhand is a valuable skill, but should I not start with the hand I have an actual chance at getting good with first?"

The young elf flushed as even the cat seemed to turn a judging and incredulous stare at him at his outburst.

Elrond rubbed his temples and closed his eyes.

"Hemlock. Out of all the plants that look similar to wild carrots you picked hemlock. But that is no failing of yours and will be corrected with due haste.
And I will talk to your instructors. Now take your cat and find it something to eat."

A radiant smile lit up Mimo's face, and he bounced forward until he was directly in front of Elrond.

"Thank you!"

And with a small peck on the Peredhel's cheek, he ran off.

The fond smile twisted with sadness the moment he was out of sight, and Elwing tentatively laid a hand on her son's shoulder.

"There is no malice in him at all."

For the first time in many years, Elrond was gripped with impotent anger at the world.
He breathed deeply, and let it go.

"The greatest crimes are rarely committed out of malice, but out of the sense of being right."

xxx

Thunk

Namo stopped in his tracks.

Shh shh Krrt

For a short moment, Namo wistfully contemplated pretending he had not noticed his wife and continuing on.

krrt shh shh thunk

He turned around slowly.

In the corridor, a giant loom had appeared, and Vairë's hands were dancing over the thousands of fine strings.

Her eyes were fixed on the scene she was creating, but her disapproving aura laid heavily on her husband.

"EHEM. MAY I HELP YOU WITH SOMETHING, DEAR?"

The fingers continued to dance, and Namo shifted uncomfortably.

"You may."

A particularly resolute thump filled the silence of the hallway.

"You may explain to me exactly why you decided to take two souls from their own universes and switched them out."

"AH. YES. THAT. I WAS OVERCOME WITH PITY AT LAST. THE DOOM OF THE NOLDOR HAS RUN IT'S COURSE, AND THERE IS LITTLE PURPOSE LEFT FOR THEM.
TO HEAL HERE OR ANYWHERE ELSE IN THIS UNIVERSE, WHERE THE BROKEN REMINDERS OF HIS PAST WOULD TORMENT EVERY HOUR OF HIS LIFE WOULD HAVE BEEN A NEAR IMPOSSIBLE TASK."

shhh shhh krrt

shhh shhh krrt

"Why him? There are those who are even worse off, and many who would deserve it more."

"BECAUSE HE IS MAEDHROS. WHERE HE LEADS, THE OTHERS WILL FOLLOW."

thunk

"There were other ways. Ways that would not have endangered the little one so terribly. You could have constructed him a different body or dulled his memories. You could even have returned him to the form of a babe, innocent and ready to take a second chance."

"WELL, I DO ADMIT THAT THIS WAY I HAD THE ADDED BENEFIT OF RETURNING MY HALLS TO A SEMBLENCE OF TRANQUILITY. THE NOLDOR HAVE FOLLOWED FINGON OUT IN SEARCH FOR HIM."

Slap

Namo reeled back, almost confused as his wife stood before him with her hand raised and a viciously twisted expression on her face.

He had not seen her move.

She hissed, milky grey eyes gleaming in anger.

"Do not lie to me. This was not about the Noldor. You adore them. You crave the life and light they bring to your halls even in death. No, I can think of only one reason you would feel guilty enough to let them go before you have tried truly everything in your power to give them a good start.
This is about Him, is it not?"

The Doomsman looked away, and said nothing.

Chapter Text

The ride back to Tirion was not as long as Maitimo remembered it to be, and of course far more pleasant than anything he had experienced in Beleriand.

He found himself almost struggling on his watch, the knowledge that Valinor truly was safe right now a frustrating buzz in the back of his mind, trying to lull him into sleep.

He resisted, of course, but the mere fact that it had been an option at all disquieted and frazzled him in equal measure.

There were guards at the gate, unarmed of course, and their most important function was to bring news of interesting arrivals directly to the king.

The map vendor just behind the gate had the same function, but with a small key difference: he would make sure the information reached the queen.

Maitimo saluted them lazily as they both trot off on 'urgent business' the moment he stepped through the gates, and idly wondered where his own spy had got to.

As soon as he thought it, he made out a figure sitting on a balcony with a book in their hand waving at him.

He scrutinized his spy's setup with an approving eye, and the momentary distraction almost cost him.

A bright figure threw itself off a low roof and would have landed on Maitimo's back had he not sidestepped in the very last moment.

"Nelyo!"

A cry of protest rang out, and Tyelkormo rolled to his feet with a pout already in place.

"I will get you one day, you just wait!"

Maitimo laughed brightly and opened his arms for Tyelkormo to leap into.

"You are broader than me now! When did this happen?"

"I am now an official member of The Hunt! Well, I will be soon anyway. There are trials and such. But it is only a matter of time, and then I will grow taller than you as well!"

"Keep dreaming! How is Curvo?"

"Causing a marrige crisis. Ammë has threatened to move back in with Mathan if Atar calls him mini-me one more time. I think she is horribly embarassed about calling him Atarinkë that one time."

"It has caught on?"

Tyelkormo nodded with a gleeful grin.

"The little gremlin is telling everyone who will sit still long enough that it is his mother name. Father is backing him up, naturally."

Maitimo rolled his eyes with a fond smile.

An arm crept around Maitimo's, and suddenly Makalaurë was pressed up against his side.

"Did you bring me a souvenir?"

Maitimo furrowed his brows.

"I was in the gardens of Lorien, what could you possibly want from there? An amputated hand?"

His brother looked at him askence.

"Well, did you?"

A put upon sigh later, Maitimo dug his hands into the pocket of his cloak.

"Three mallyrn seeds. Carry them with you at all times."

"I knew you preferred the pretty songbird over the rest of us. I want a present too."

Carnistir had fallen in step with them, and was now glaring at his older brothers mulishly.

Maitimo reached out to him and pulled him close, and with a kiss on the forehead, he pressed a cloth-covered jar into his hands.

"These are glowing fungi. You can breed them, but they need darkness to survive. Just do not attempt it in the palace's root cellar. That would not end well for either of us."

Carnistir flushed and lowered his gaze with a small smile.

"...Thank you."

"Hey! How come I get nothing!? Do I get nothing?"

"I am sure there is nothing that could compare to the chance to enter the Hunt."

Tyelkormo pouted.

With a quiet laugh, Maitimo relented and produced a small satchel.

Tyelkormo opened it with gleaming eyes, but only looked at him in confusion when he saw what it contained.

"This is just some waybread corn. I am not a farmer."

Maitimo slung an arm over his shoulder.

"I know you like to bake. And if you keep those on you, you will always have the option to support the people you love without having to draw blood.
The Hunt of Oromë will suit you well, but I do not ever want you to think that your skill with arrows and knives is the only valuable contribution you can make."

Tyelkormo blinked at this.

"I am not sure I get it?"

"Once you have made your first kill, you will understand, I think."

Makalaurë rolled his eyes.

"Could you be any more gloomy?

By the way, somehow Findekáno owes Tyelkormo a huge debt of gratitude, and I want to know why. Do you have any ideas about why? How did this happen?!"

He only shook his head and laughed.

"Come, let us go see the others."

They almost made it to the palace without attracting too much attention, but just before they could enter, the group of Fëanorions was waylaid by their two oldest cousins.

Findaráto wormed his way between Maitimo and Tyelkormo without much resistance from the latter, but Makalaurë was loath to relinquish his position, and practically hissed when Findekáno tried the same on his side.

Maitimo's eyes widened in alarm when Findekáno started to grin challengingly at them, but with both arms in a vice grip, he could not prevent what happened next.

"Oof! Káno, you are an adult!"

Findekáno, who had climbed on his eldest cousin's back and whose legs were gripping his waist tightly, laid his chin on the shoulder in front of him with a triumphant smirk.

"You can take it."

On the far side, Carnistir hid his face in his hands.

"You are embarassing me. I refuse to be related to you today."

"Then you can give me your mushrooms! Maitimo would not bring random strangers gifts, right?"

"Shove it, Tyelko!"

Findaráto perked up.

"Gifts? What gifts?"

Maitimo sighed.

xxx

Later, after the greetings were done and the excitement of the day slowly calmed down, Maitimo looked at the gaggle of children fondly.

It had taken a long time, but since he had spent so much time in Lórien, he had realized that not only were the relationships between the various cousins different, so was his own to them.

He had always been the oldest, of course, and had been responsible for supervising their various shenenigans, but he had always felt like one of them.

Now they looked at him with a certain trust and reverence that was only ever afforded to a parent and not a peer.

It had broken his heart when he had first noticed even Makalaurë look to him as an authority figure instead of a target for his constant teasing.

And now that he spent so much time away from home, Curvo and the Ambarussar barely knew him.

He was gripped with a sudden longing so fierce that he had to sit down and hold the redheaded elfling squirming in his lap as close as he could.

He missed his family. He would never choose their existance over their innocence, but the absence of the shared memory and tragedy weighed like a heavy stone in his heart.

Telvo looked up at him in concern, and his little hand touched his brother's cheek.

"Mimo crying? Mimo is sad?"

Maitimo drew in a shaky breath and smiled.

"I am a bit sad that I only see so little of you. But you know what? I am here for the whole summer, and when I go back to Lorien, I will tell lady Estë that I will return to Tirion permanently."

xxx

The gardens of Lorien were as beautiful and calm as always, but this time it failed to give Maitimo the usual sense of acceptance and tranquility.

He walked among the giant silver trees with a sense of restlessness, alike to the trepidation he had felt when he had first set foot in here and not.

He walked by the sleeping form of an elleth, curled up under the sheltering leaves of a large fern.

He felt a stab of guilt at the thought of abandoning those who needed his aid, but soothed himself with the knowledge that he had taught others what he knew of healing the mind.

Most healers here struggled still, and without any experiences to truly empathize, likely would for a long time.

But there were a handful that had been adults on the great journey, and they showed the most promise.

He would always be able to return after the Ambarussar had reached adulthood.

Estë herself came down another path, silvery white robe flowing and shimmering.

She fell in step with Maitimo once she reached him.

"You are disquieted. Was your trip to Tirion unsatisfactory?"

"No. if anything, it was revealing. I cannot remain in your gardens any longer. The seperation from my family is growing too long."

Estë looked at him shrewdly.

"You are not healed yet. I would prefer to keep you longer."

He answered her with an irreverent snort.

"I am here to heal, not be healed. And while it pains me to leave behind those who need me, I am not gone forever."

Mischievous eyes glanced at him and the Valië quirked a smile.

"I have found that every soul in my care requires a different approach to healing. If caring for others is what helps you, I am not going to argue!

But I do have one request of grave importance. Your unique skills have impressed my siblings and I, and have given back hope to us where previously there has been little.

Never did we fathom that the mind was something that should, nay could be healed alongside the body.

I think your return to Tirion will even be helpful in this regard, for I cannot fathom him being able to reach calm in such close supervision."

Maitimo stopped abruptly, blood rushing in his ears. He had not forgotten, of course, but...

"I do not know what has been told to the younger generation of elves, but there is one even among the Ainur, who could dearly use your skills. He has done great evil in the past, and his sentence is almost over by now.
Manwë has been urging us to release him early ever since he has learned of your skills and realized that the drive behind his brother's evil might be an illness.

I am not quite certain that it is, but I do agree that if there is any chance at all for Melkor to find healing, we must try.

So this is my last assignment to you as a healer of Lorien. Take our brother Melkor with you to Tirion, and do everything in your power to soothe his rage. If you succeed, there should be little future evil that cannot be prevented."

She smiled once more, and continued on.

Had she looked behind her, she would have witnessed as once again, the whole world was crumbling under Maedhros's feet.

Chapter Text

Maedhros sank down on his knees and gripped his hair until he could feel the pain.

He wanted to call after Estë that he would not, could not, that he would rather die.

He wanted to scream that there was no way, the Ambarussar were far too young, it was not time yet! If he could just explain everything, perhaps there was still a chance to prevent Morgoth's return completely.

A thought shot through him like lightning, and he straightened.

It was much too late. In his hubris he had not told the Valar, mistrusting both them and himself, arrogant in thinking only telling could make things worse.

And now it was too late.

Was Morgoth already around? Had Manwë used Maedhros's own meddling to free his beloved brother even earlier?

Was he already free right now, only held back by the inattentive and trusting king on the Taniquetil?

Could any unsuspecting elf stumble over him right now and not even know what they were dealing with?

Maedhros forced his trembling hands down when he noticed the first strands of blood red hair floating gently to the ground.

His right wrist itched.

But no. Estë would certainly not insist if he told her he could not treat Morgoth. And indeed, if she saw Maedhros right now, she was unlikely to let him escape her clutches for a good, long while.
But but now that the possibility was out there, she would ask one of his pupils, or even attempt it herself.

And then The Enemy would be on the loose with no way to track his movements.

Maedhros stood, hand clenched into a tight fist.

He could not show weakness. Not anymore. He suspected not ever again.

He would take the assignment. Attempting to extract information from Morgoth in the process was a fool's hope, but at least this way he would always have an eye on him.

And who knew, perhaps he would even find a way to rid the world of this blight.

Permanently.

It was time to get to work.

xxx

Arafinwë leaned over to refill his older brother's winecup.

"Soo... that was a pretty big mess you left for me to clean up. Again."

Fingolfin grimaced and took a sip.

"That was... I want to say not my finest hour, but I honestly do not regret it. I rode out with no hope of succeeding and still came so close! I wounded him, permanently even. I challanged Morgoth, and I think just finding out that there was a chance of success was worth the sacrifice.

Would it have been better if I had taken Fingon with me? Perhaps. But I did not want my son to throw his life away to a cause that seemed hopeless. And Turgon had unfortunately absconded with the few warriors that could have made a difference.

Would it have been better if I had coordinated with Maedhros to launch a campaign to reclaim the pass or the gap while the enemies were distracted? I do not know. Perhaps it could have been turned into a victory, perhaps Morgoth would have smelled a rat and stayed behind his gates.

And just let me say this, little brother, claiming that you cleaned up my mess seems mighty bold to me."

Arafinwë's eyebrows rose to his hairline.

"And just who do you think led the host of Aman to victory in battle?"

"Gil-galad of course. And Eonwë. You and Ingwion may have given the nice speeches at the beginning of battles, but if there was a single strategic movement that did not originate from those two and their staff, I would be very surprised."

The high king of the Noldor in Aman opened his mouth to protest, blinked, and closed it again.

Fingolfin's face softened at the obviously distressed expression.

"There is no shame in it brother. I lost my youngest son and spymaster in the very first battle, before we had even properly set foot into Beleriand. I have wished many times that there had been someone to explain to me how war and battle actually worked, who could have guided my hand in these early days."

Arafinwë looked at him dubiously.

"I have known you for a long time, brother. But taking advice on matters you are passionate about has never been one of your strengths.
Speaking of, how exactly did you get dethroned by your own son? Fingon has always been so easy going!"

To this, Fingolfin's tone turned surprisingly dry.

"That, my dear brother, was nothing less than a coup d'etat. You should probably worry about your own son. There are elements in your city that might get the idea that stealing him a kingship to get back into his good graces would be a marvelous idea."

Arafinwë blinked twice.

"What?"

xxx

Elwing watched, arms crossed over her chest, as her son and the horror she had cried herself to sleep over countless times during her youth played with wooden swords.

And it truly could not be called anything other than play. They rolled around in the dust, sidestepped more than they made actual contact, and casually swatted each other with the broad sides of their training weapons. Or at least tried to, in Mimo's case.

Elrond seemed to have grown very, very good at swordplay, despite his profession of a healer. It would have been necessary, back then.

She would not have stopped the pride welling up in her if she could, and even the rapid progress little Mimo was making seemed to elicit a semblance of that feeling within her.

She could not help but like the youth, almost completely grown as he might be.

Quiet steps approached her from behind, and she noticed her son tense almost imperceptably.

She turned, and immediately flinched at the fëanorian star on the strange elf's throat.

She had to look twice, but under the battle-hardened lines and scars, they appeared to be an elleth.

"What do you want?"

The Fëanorian snorted.

"Many things, few of which you can give me."

Elwing hissed, and already she could feel needle-like teeth growing on her tongue.

But the strange elleth turned towards her fully and squared her shoulders.

"I killed your people. At Doriath. And Sirion. To tell you I am sorry would be an insult to us both, but I do regret the course we have set us on. And I..."

She trailed off, the heavy scar tissue at the corner of her mouth pulling her face into a permanent sneer.

"I want to thank you. For being better. For being not spiteful and vindictive despite the losses you have suffered. My comrades and I have done many things we never should have out of love for our lords. But seeing you rescue him, and growing to care for him even just a bit has made me realize that we were wrong.
We were wrong to follow our lords' orders even when we knew that they were being pulled by an unbreakable chain.
I think now, looking at your actions, that it would have been so much kinder even to them to refuse their orders. Would it not have been true loyalty to follow the orders of their hearts, rather than their voices?
Would it not have been a great relief for them to know that we would turn around and sit on them until the worst of the madness passed whenever the oath grew to strong?"

She cleared her throat awkwardly, and Elwing could only stare, sunned.

"I suppose what I wanted to say was, we have talked. The few that are left of us. And we have promised, not sworn, of course, never sworn, we have promised each other that we would never do that again. Follow orders that we know in our hearts would destroy the light and innocence in our lords.

We belong to Elrond now anyway, so I think it will not be an issue, but still. There are few things I want less than see him or the little one walk the same path as Maedhros and Maglor. And I, I mean we, will do our part to prevent it. So, thank you."

The Fëanorian hesitated for a moment, gave Elwing a respectful bow, and stalked off, leaving behind two wide-eyed peredhel.

xxx

The cat slunk around another corner, the disgustingly shrill and cheerful voices of those damned elves piercing the air again and again.

It flattened it's ears, but forced them up again.

Being considered nothing more than a beloved pet was useful and opened doors. And for the doors to remain open, it would be necessary to look somewhat amiable.

Within reason.

It avoided another pair of feet and cursed the chaotic nature of Eru's creations.

There was no grace, no simplicity and next to no proper patterns to them.

The cat nimbly hopped onto a windowsill and climbed a trellis up onto the shingled roof.

It stretched out it's awareness furtively, but no one seemed to be paying much attention.

The cat did not shift, and it had no need to.

This form was as good as any other, the material plane requiring one, but the true power laid in song.

For a moment the cat hesitated, thought of the danger ahead, and of losses in the past. But it had gone too far, done too much to simply let this opportunity slip by. When else would it gain entry to one of the two only remaining elven cities this effortlessly?

Even though it would have liked time and resources to plan this attack better, there was one ally it could still call on.

And there was one thing this fana was particularly useful for: stealth. Even if this failed, it would be safe.

A voice, elvish, human or... other was something that was noticed, was heard.

So, with a self-satisfied expression, the cat began to purr.

Power flowed through the rumbling sounds, carrying far.

The cat was careful, so very careful, and aware of the powers that lurked around it.

But it continued to purr, a music even older than the songs of elves, until fire lit in it's eyes.

And over the mountains, in a forgotten cave in the north, not far from where the original fortress had stood, another flame answered.

Chapter Text

Maedhros looked at the heavy double doors with the dread he should have felt on that fateful day years ago.

He had known it to be a trap then, but he had felt confident in his ability to turn it to his advantage.

None of that optimism had survived his imprisonment.

His right wrist itched.

He had never thought there might yet come a situation where he would have to face this foe outside of battle ever again, and had long since resolved to end his own life if he ever came too close to being captured once more.

Back then, he had been lucky. Morgoth had thought little of him. Boring and ornamental at best, not skilled and capricious like his father. His interest had not lasted beyond the first few years, and then he had been useful as a taunt.

But afterwards, Morgoth would have known better.

He knew himself too well by now to think he could not be broken.

No, he knew the levers which would have been applied to him all too well.

And then he would have been used against his family, the people he had sworn to defend.

This time, it probably was no trap. At least not an intentional one.

It was much more likely to have been orchestrated by Manwë than Morgoth. The enemy honestly could not be particularly happy with giving an elf access and control over his comings and goings like this.

And in a way, the position of therapist did give him a small amount of power.

If he could persuade Manwë and the Valar that Morgoth was still dangerous, still violent and rotten to the core, perhaps some of the worst could be prevented.

Maedhros took a deep breath.

There was no use delaying the inevitable any further.

He laid his hand on the door, and pushed.

When he entered, Manwë, Estë, Namo and Melkor were standing together and talking quietly.

Estë looked up and smiled at him.

"Come, Nelyafinwë Maitimo. This is Melkor, our brother."

Maedhros inclined his head carefully and did not shudder. He had forgotten the pale blue eyes and unblemished face. The Silmarils had burned so harshly, and seeing Morgoth without their taint was even more startling than having his own skin unblemished.

"Ah, it is you and your skill I have to thank for this opportunity. I truly regret my past actions, and if you can help reassure my brother that I will never do anything like it again, I will show you my gratitude."

Estë laid a hand on his arm.

"You know that the healers of Lorien will help all those in need. There is no need to show gratitude."

Maedhros almost grimaced.

He agreed heartily with Estë, though more for the reason that Morgoth showing gratitude was always painful and usually even more devastating than his ire.

He looked straight into the eyes mustering him.

"I have chosen to be a healer because I wish to help and serve my people in any way I can. I am certainly willing to do my part to ensure the future will not be a repeat of the past."

Melkor took a step forward.

Maedhros straightened his back and held his ground.

"It is always good to see that there are those willing to assume responsibility. Those willing to take necessary action even if it might not be easy or glamorous."

Maedhros forced a smile onto his face, careful to crincle the skin around his eyes.

"I can understand having done things that should not have happened, and I would be honored to help you on a path that ensures you will never again harm another being."

Melkor's gaze sharpened, but before he could say anything else, Namo intervened.

"I DO NOT LIKE THIS. THE MARRING THAT HAS ALREADY BEEN DONE IS IRREVERSIBLE. THE DEMAGE IS FINAL, AND NO POWER WE HAVE CAN HEAL THE WOUNDS DEALT.

THIS IS A MISTAKE."

Melkor's expression grew pinched, but he said nothing.

Manwë held up his hands placatingly.

"There is risk in mercy, of course. But how could we not grant it? How could we call ourselves right and good if we do not practice the forgiveness and kindness that we preach? Especially now that we know that evil is an illness that might be cured."

Maedhros cringed at that wording.

"That is not how therapy works. Evil has little to do with illness of the mind. Trauma can in some cases forge a path towards it, of course, but to say evil is an illness itself is wrong."

Manwë waved him off, eyes still brimming with hope.

"Of course, of course. I am certain you know what you are doing. And I realize that you might not succeed. But the mere chance is an unlooked for boon."

Estë laid a hand on Maedhros's arm, but his muscles were tightly curled and would lot loosen anytime soon.

"I need to have another word with Maitimo. You may prepare for your departure in the meantime."

She pulled him aside, and once they were alone turned to him with a worried frown.

"Is it too much? Do you wish to put a stop to this? I may not know how or why you have hurt your spirit like this, but I do not like the way you look today.
Just say the word, and I will call everything off. "

In that moment, Maedhros was torn. Estë of all the Valar had only ever aided them, and never judged them for their actions. He hesitated, and looked at her in indesicion.

But in the end, he was unable to let go of his secret, unwilling to lose the influence the position of a neutral observer granted him.
Uncertain of his own ability to stay his hand from bloodshed, and unbelieving in the Valar's ability to make sound judgements where Morgoth was concerned.

"I... thank you. I have heard stories of the horrors he has caused and cannot help but be wary of him. I am sure it will get better with time. There is no need to look for someone else to treat him. I will tell you if it gets too much."

He smiled, a bit pinched but genuinely thankful that he had been given the choice, but Estë's frown deepened and she took his right hand into hers.

Maedhros almost startled to find it there, but quickly collected himself.

"If there is anything, any hint or suspicion that you might be in danger from Melkor or someone else, I beg you to come to me. Lorien has only seen the surface of what he has done, but I sometimes walk the halls of Mandos to look after those who need it most.
And no matter what tales you have heard, the reality was much worse.
Manwë is convinced Melkor is genuine in his regret, but Namo is wise and sees more than most of us.
So I beg you to be careful. It is not so rare that healers come to harm by those they are treating, and in this case any overreaction of him could easily cost your life."

Maedhros looked down on their hands, and lied.

"I will be fine."

xxx

Estë could not leave the gardens for long, but Manwë had decided to accompany them as far as the gates of Tirion.

There he gave Melkor strict instructions to keep his name and nature secret, and to follow his healer's instructions carefully if he wished for an official release.

Maedhros was also surprised when he caught a glimpse of chains of Aulë's make around the enemy's wrists, proving that even Manwë was not naive enough to just let his brother roam completely unchecked.

Curiosity burned in him as to what their exact function was, but Manwë did not mention them.

With a stern look at Melkor, and a bright smile at Maedhros, he finally departed and left them alone in front of the gates.

His knuckles white where his hand was gripping the reigns of his horse, he gestured Melkor to follow him into Tirion.

The return of Fëanaro's oldest son spread through the city as fast as always, and soon Makalaurë was skillfully weaving through the crowds to reach his brother.

It was not long until he glimpsed him on the road, unusually grim-faced and in the company of a hooded figure.

Determined to wipe the pinched look off his brother's face, Makalaurë grinned and prepared to attack.

But before he could even come close, two piercing grey eyes found his and froze him in place.

In this moment, Maitimo looked dangerous, intimidating, and he shivered.

An almost imperceptable shake of his brother's head, and Makalaurë understood.

He turned around, just in time to intercept Findekáno rushing by with a large grin.

"Stop! Don't go down to him!"

Findekáno turned and frowned.

"Why not? We always do. Maitimo does not mind."

"Not this time. Come, help me gather the others."

"Laurë, what is going on?"

"Something is wrong."

xxx

"Red! Red, where are you? I will not pull on your fur this time, I promise! I need to finish brushing you. Red!"

The cat once more wondered at the boy's gall at calling someone, anyone else red.

It knew there were mirrors around this hovel, so the hypocricy must hit the elfling in the face daily!

"Red!"

It quickly rounded another corner, intent on losing the little menace.

He would have to find a hideout soon, or else the whole town would be on the lookout for him if the elf continued shouting like this.

It was just about to dart past another building when a swift hand grabbed it's neck.

It hissed menacingly and swiped it's claws at the exposed forearm, but was deftly manhandled through the door and inside the building.

"Hush, I mean you no harm. If you sheathe your claws for a moment, I can shut the door."

The cat flattened it's ears and yowled threateningly, but made no further move to attack.

For now.

The elf shut the heavy door and turned back to the cat with a commisserating smile.

"As someone who has had the pleasure of having their hair brushed by Maedhros Fëanorion, I understand completely.
I swear, he must not have any pain receptors left in his scalp by the viciousness he attacks his own hair. I do not imagine he has ever learned to be anything but brutally efficient while brushing.
I suspect it comes from having a whole flock of long-haired rapscallions running after him for centuries.
You can hide in here until it is time for his lessons.
You can sit up there, and as long as you keep your whiskers out of the fire and your paws away from the hammers, you will be fine."

The elf deposited the cat gently on a shelf, and went back to the anvil.

It looked around in interest when it realized it had stumbled upon the forge, and studied the crude and makeshift furnishings.

It had not been very long since the refugees of broken Beleriand had settled here in Lindon, and it still showed, even in it's capital.

But there were also tools of exquisit make, the like that would not have looked out of place in Aulë's forges or even in the hands of the smith himself.

Soon the cat's attention was drawn back to the elf hammering a slab of metal again and again.

His forearms were strong and wiry, and although they were handling the steel expertly, had more of the look of a jewel- or goldsmith. Long and nimble fingers, a calm and steady grip. Good eyes for details.

After an hour of watching, the cat settled down and let the familiar sounds and sights of the forge wash over it, and slowly purred itself to sleep.

Chapter Text

The palace staff immediately straightened at the appearance of a stern looking Maedhros.

Whispers followed them through the halls, and by the time one of braver maids approached him, there was none of the easygoing affection left.

She courtesied with a grim expression.

"My lord?"

"Please have a room prepared for our guest. In the west wing. Fourth floor should do well.

I will introduce him to the king over dinner."

The maid hesitated for a moment.

"My lord, the king has plans with prince Fëanaro this evening."

Maedhros waved her off.

"This is more important. Father will understand."

"Of course, my lord."

She walked off with long, purposeful strides.

A rough chuckle made Maedhros refocus his attention fully back onto his guest.

"I see that the introduction I was given was perhaps a bit insufficient. My brother did say you were of the line of Finwë, but I had no idea how much power you posessed."

Maedhros narrowed his eyes, but could not regret his unintended reveal of just how much influence he had accumulated.

As long as Morgoth thought the best way to the Noldorin throne was through him, he would not focus on his father and uncle.

"Finwë is the king of the Noldor. I am his oldest grandchild.
I would not normally impose upon his schedule like this, but he tolerates it because he knows I would only do so for matters of great importance.

We are a very tight-knit family after all."

Maedhros severely hoped he had managed to keep all doubts on the last statement out of his voice. It was much, much better than last time, but both Fëanaro and to a lesser degree Nolofinwë were prideful. The possibility that a few well-placed words might cause an even greater rift than ever before had haunted many of his sleepless nights.

Melkor scrutinized him closely, but said nothing.

Finwë did indeed cancel his dinner plans with a put out and now very curious Fëanaro to welcome his grandson home.

He also showed himself to be very interested in the guest Maedhros had brought from Lorien.

"I have never heared of Estë letting her patients seek aid elsewhere. I must admit that such unusual behaviour is concerning."

Melkor smiled at him sharply.

"Ah, but I am afraid I am under very strict restrictions to keep quiet on this matter. I hope it is not too much of an inconvenience that Maitimo has brought me with him."

Finwë's gaze turned sharp at this, and he gave Maedhros a small pat on the hand.

"Maitimo has my trust on such matters. He will tell me everything I need to know."

Maedhros nodded deferently.

"Of course, grandfather. And I feel it is very important that you do know."

Melkor's eyes widened, and he rose to protest, but Maedhros continued on without hesitation.

"This is the Vala Melkor. His sentence of imprisonment has nearly ended, and I have been tasked with helping him find a way to peacefully coexist with Eru's children."

Finwë's face had now fully turned into a pleasantly charming mask.

"That is indeed something I needed to know.
I am responsible for all of Tirion after all.
And to think that an old enemy of the eldar could have been roaming the streets without my knowledge is unthinkable.
It seems my trust in you has not been misplaced, grandson."

Melkor gave them a calculating frown.

"You would disobey Manwë? Just like this?"

Maedhros shared a look with his grandfather and purposefully leaned back in his chair.

"Manwë is a good king, and we trust him.", he lied through his teeth.

"And for this reason I am convinced that the decree if secrecy was never intended for my grandfather at all. The Noldor place their trust in him, not just to rule, but also to protect them. He absolutely needs to know, there is no way around it."

He tapped the desk slowly with his left hand.

"And besides, I have been given full discretion as far as your therapy goes. That also means that while everything you tell me I will treat with utmost secrecy, Manwë's opinions and orders I can disregard if I see it hindering your progress in the long run.

And I fear not telling Finwë would have created great resentment later on, when and if your full release is decided, effectively undoing much of the work on reintegrating you into society. I have found that in many matters, honesty is the best and only way."

Melkor smiled at him with benign interest.

"That is one way to put it, I suppose. I am very curious indeed to what you will have in store for me."

Maedhros swallowed, suddenly feeling like a wasp trapped in a spider's net. Struggling fiercely, but ultimately doomed.

His wrist continued to itch.

xxx

Fëanaro sat down heavily, eyes wide.

His hands were shaking as he drew them over his face.

"We should not have done that."

Nolofinwë pulled him to his feet and steadied him.

"I... am sure the Valar would not have released him among us if they thought he was still dangerous?"

Fëanaro scowled.

"Just as they thought my mother would not die? I have little trust in their opinions."

Nolofinwë winced, but squared his jaw.

"I still do not think the evasdropping was a mistake. At least now we are aware of the potential danger."

His brother shook his head.

"No, not the evasdropping. Do you not remember? We were the ones who arranged for Maitimo to come to the Valars' attention! We did that! And now my son is expected to... To what? Fix him? Fix the primordial personification of evil? And for what! Just because we were feeling stifled?!
This was such a horrible mistake."

Nolofinwë looked stricken for a moment, but his guilt quickly gave way to determination.

"Well, we are now warned. There is little we can do, but we can keep an eye on the situation. We can prepare ourselves. But I would refrain from spreading the knowledge for now, in case Maitimo has plans in place already."

Fëanaro looked up wearily.

"Do you think Maitimo truly intends to help him heal? The enemy that threw down the lamps and that our parents were fleeing from when they came to Valinor?"

Nolofinwë pursed his lips.

"I am certain he will try. He takes his craft very seriously after all. But I also think that if Melkor showed signs of falling back into his violent ways, Maitimo would not hesitate to do what he thought would protect us."

Fëanaro nodded thoughtfully.

"I suppose you are right. But he is in grave danger in any case. I wish we could just throw that abomination out of our city and make him the Valar's problem again."

"That might not be easy. And downright impossible for as long as he is under Maitimo's protection. I think the best course of action for now is to keep a close eye on the situation, and be vigilant unless we want to get entangled into one of Maitimo's own plans."

"You think he has a plan?"

Nolofinwë looked at his brother with a flat expression.

Fëanaro brightened.

"Time to see if Nelyo needs anything."

Nolofinwë held up a hand.

"We might not be able to do that openly right now. We have no idea how far Melkor's power reaches."

Fëanaro deflated again.

"Findis?"

"Findis."

"She will not be happy we went off without her today."

"No, she will not."

xxx

The cat's eyes widened as it was carried towards the forge it had been spending so much time lately, suddenly certain that the elfling it had conned had found it's secret hideout.

It stiffened in the arms holding it, but the gentle fingers kneading absentmindedly behind it's ears made it hard to focus.

The elf hesitantly knocked on the door, and the cat stared at him askence.

Mimo flushed.

"Yes, alright, forge. Who is supposed to notice a little knock when they are hammering metal. I will just... go inside. Yes."

He pushed the door open and stepped inside.

"Celebrimbor? Could I talk to you?"

The smith looked up with a smile and gestured to a stool.

Mimo clutched Red to his chest and settled in to wait.

After a few minutes, Celebrimbor inspected the harpoon he was making and ran a careful finger over it's edge.

He nodded, satisfied, and put it aside.

"What can I do for you."

He shot the cat a small conspiratorial grin, which was answered with a flat stare.

Mimo hesitated.

"Elrond told me you are a relative. He said I was your uncle. Is that true?"

Celebrimbor pulled up another stool and sighed.

"I am. Curufinwë the third, at your service."

The elfling quirked a smile at this.

"You cannot be Makalaurë's then. Will I get more siblings?"

The smith snorted and smirked.

"I thought Elrond would have drawn you up a family tree already?"

"He said he would when the time was right.
He said that knowledge was as much joy as it was a burden, especially since I cannot have this family right now. He wants me to remain carefree for as long as I can. But you are here, and I would like to... talk? If you wanted?"

Celebrimbor smiled at him gently.

"I would like that. And I would dearly like to know more about you and your family too. You see, until I was born, much time went by and even more happened. It would be nice to know what it was like. Back then, in the beginning.
But first, come here and let me show you something.
Touch this plate. Can you feel it?"

"I know! I have seen this star before! Some of Elrond's assistants have it engraved on their armor. But I have never seen one so large!"

"You are correct. This is what became your father's symbol, some time after you fully turned into an adult.
This was during a time, where the house of Fëanor represented all the ideals of the Noldorin society.
The four main prongs of the star stand for knowledge, patience, skill and vision. They are the four main requirements to reach mastery of any craft.
Back then, the Noldor as a whole and your father in particular, were so in awe of the unending possibilities of craft and beauty, that their whole society revolved around their love for discovering new things. New skills, new materials, ever more beautifully intricate ornamentation and embellishments.

They celebrated the world around them and the world inside them with equal fervor, back before the corruption came to Valinor.
Which brings me to the second set of rays.
They represent the unity of the first set with the world around us. The four main elements, as they are present in any craft..."

For a long time, Celebrimbor talked and told of days long past, and Mimo listened with rapt attention while petting the cat.

The cat could not help but relax under the gentle fingers, the forge fires warming it from outside, while the feeling of a steadily approaching flame warmed it from within.

And on this afternoon, just for a moment, it thought it almost a pity that soon Lindon would be nothing but ash.

Chapter Text

Maedhros tapped his chin with the back of his pen.

"Let's go back to the Singing. You said the Discord was not the start of your resentment against Eru and the other Ainur."

"Resentment might be a strong word. The lack of anything tangible also reduces the intensity by which all things are felt. But yes, I was... unsure of the task I had been given. I certainly wished for something else."

"And so you decided to forge a path for yourself?"

Melkor pursed his lips and nodded thoughtfully.

"In a way. I certainly decided early on that I was willing to go to any length to see the results I wanted realized."

"That is one point that we will need to address in depth. Any cause may look like a good one in our own minds, but there are always lines that should not be crossed. I do realize that many of those lines are in actuality social constructs that are defined over time when societies use trial and error to find out what actually benefits their communities as a whole, and what is detrimental to their overall survival in the long run.
But as we are not in formless space anymore, but inhabit one such cultures, we can benefit from the experience gained by our forefathers.

The most basic laws we have now mostly revolve around preserving life and dignity.
There is no reason strong enough to take a life in sport. There is no cause worthy of killing a sapient creature in anything but self defense.
There is nothing, absolutely nothing that would justify the slaughter of innocents."

"You seem to speak from experience."

Maedhros startled violently when the dark lord was suddenly close to his face, smirking knowingly.

He swallowed, sure he had not seen him move.
But Melkor was already retreating again, and for a moment, Maedhros thought his imagination had played a trick on him.

"But no. This is Valinor, and you were born and bred here. There is no possible way you could have gained such experience yourself. There is nothing much to be gained here at all, is there? This, right here, should be eternal, unmoving, unchanging paradise. Nothing less, and certainly nothing more.

I think we are done for today, little elf."

Melkor stood, and with a patronizing pat on Maedhros's head, he left.

Once the petrification left him, he hissed furiously.

Morgoth would need to die.

xxx

The next logical step was, of course, to aquire a sword.

But even though Maedhros did know the basics of smithing, he had no way of discreetly using a forge, or even just entering one without arousing suspicion.
Granted, the suspicion would lean more toward the smiths protecting their work from interference and less towards deadly weapons used solely to slaughter other thinking creatures.
But the end result would be the same.

And even if he could, any sword forged by his hands would be mediocre at best.

And so he took the only feasible course of action, and asked Finwë for help.

Finwë sipped his tea calmly while he listened to his grandson carefully describing what he wanted and pursed his lips.

"Are we finally done carefully dancing around the topic of your strange knowledge then? Because I really cannot ignore the strangeness of your request this time."

Maedhros set down his cup and kept his expression mild.

"You could."

"I suppose. But I do not think it would be a beneficial course of action. You want to murder your patient. And this after what you accused me of all those years back."

"I did not say what I needed the large hunting knife for."

Finwë leaned forward.

"And I appreciate that. I would hate to be implicated if this goes to the void. As it is likely to do. Why is a usual knife not enough?"

Maedhros sighed.

"I honestly do not even know if a sword will be enough. He is still at the peak of his power. But I have to at least try. Both for the Noldor and for everyone I have wronged... before. And I am more than willing to give my life for the chance."

Finwë pursed his lips thoughtfully.

"That still does not answer my question why you would risk everything in this mad attempt. Would it not be wiser to leave him to the others of his kind? They have successfully dealt with him before."

Maedhros scowled darkly.

"I do not trust them to make the right desicion, or indeed to interfere at all. And if I told them I might tip my hand and be bound from any further action."

"Your lack of faith in the protection of the Valar is rather concerning. Here, Melkor is alone and without allies. How much demage could he cause before Tulkas interferes?"

Maedhros's grim face was stony when he answered.

"He would not need to lift a finger. He would drop a hint here, twist the meaning of a word there, and we would do the demage for him."

"A manipulator, then. Always dangerous to work against. But I agree that this might make a knife a viable solution then. If he is a talker and seducer, he might not expect a blade.

Still, this would need to be done by the best of the best, and as such-"

"No."

Maedhros interrupted his grandfather with a determined shake of his head.

"Not father. We cannot teach father the art of swordsmithing. I would rather beg Aulë himself and risk him stopping me than endanger the peace and unity of my family like this. That is the way that lies our downfall."

Finwë's eyebrows rose in surprise at those strong words.

"Hm. Well, there is Mathan, of course, though I would not recommend it, or..."

Finwë trailed off with a faraway look in his face.

"...You compromise on the knife. Forget the sword, and make it a common knife instead, but Sing the steel into demaging only evil. Have it enchanted so strongly that it is like acid to those with evil intent and a twisted, darkened heart.
If it is done properly and strong enough, it should work better than any length of steel."

Maedhros blinked, and could almost feel the phantom burn on his left hand.

"... Just make sure the sheath and handle are protected."

Finwë scrutinized him closely, sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

xxx

Small sniffles coming from the bushes stopped Mimo in his tracks.

He peered down carefully, and sure enough, thin red strands of hair were caught in the branches.

He knelt down carefully.

"Hey, are you looking for something?"

More sniffling, and a tiny shake of the head.

"Are you sure? Because this is a great place to collect snail shells. I foung one almost as big as my hand right here! Just under this bush!"

A small snort came from the bush.

"Snails don't get that big."

Mimo smiled.

"My hands are pretty small."

Two large green eyes were peering at him suspiciously now.

"Give me your hand."

Mimo carefully stuck his hand into the bush, and felt the elfling's fingers inspect it carefully.

"Your hands are big. No way did you find a shell this big."

"Hm, maybe not quite as big, true. But almost! Maybe this is a special bush, and everyone finds the shell that fits into their hand just right! Why don't you try it?"

There was reluctant shuffling, and then a small hiss of pain.

"...My hair is stuck on the branches."

Mimo hummed softly.

"May I help you?"

The elfling hesitated, but nodded.

"And then we look for a shell."

Mimo reached in carefully, and slowly untangled the twigs and branches from the red strands.

"All done now. And look! There! Just behind you is a shell. Maybe it is yours!"

The small hand closed around a snail shell and the child let out a surprised "Oh!"

"Will you come out and show me?"

The elfling crawled out from the thicket and opened her hand in wonder.

"It really is just the size of my palm!"

Mimo grinned and inspected the shell dutifully.

"It is! How marvelous! Come, we should show your parents!"

The little elfling deflated and sighed.

"Amma is always busy. She has no time to play with me. Do you want to play with me? Your hair is pretty. Just like mine."

"I would love to! But my guardian always tells me I should ask him when I make a new friend. We should tell him and your Amma first. He said it is very important."

The elfling heaved a put upon sigh.

"If we have to."

"Perfect! Maybe Elrond will even know where to find your Amma. Come, let's go!"

They crossed the town hand in hand, and found Elrond at the healing houses.

He looked at the two redheads deeply unimpressed.

"Mimo, the kidnapping of children is strictly prohibited in this kingdom. As is adopting them without permission."

The tall redhead cleared his throat.

"Actually, we were just looking for her mother to ask her for permission to play. And to make sure she knew where-"

The door flew open and a distrought Silvan elf flew inside.

"Lord Elrond! Have you seen my daughter?! Someone told me the kinsl- TAURIEL!"

She rushed forward and enveloped the little girl into her arms.

"I was so worried when you vanished! I know you get bored watching us weave, but you cannot just run off like that!"

Tauriel cuddled deeper into her mother's arms and closed her eyes.

"I did not think you would notice. But I would like to go and play with Mimo now."

Her mother choked, coughed, and eyed the young Noldo warily.

"I am not sure that is such a good idea..."

Mimo grinned up from where he was rummaging through a drawer.

"I do not mind. I like playing with the little ones!"

The Silvan elleth turned green, and looked at Elrond helplessly.

Elwing, who had been attracted by the commotion, pinched the bridge of her nose.

"He means it. He really, genuinely means it."

"Aha!"

A cry of triumph came from the floor where Mimo was crouched.

"I found it! This was my snail shell! Look at this, almost as big as my palm!"

Tauriel inspected it and snorted.

"You dummy! That is a sea shell!"

Mimo hid his grin behind a woeful mask.

"Oh no! I was so sure it was a snail shell. Will you teach me the difference?"

The little girl nodded brightly and sat down next to him.

Her mother looked at the two peredhel in helpless confusion.

Elwing simply shrugged.

xxx

Fëanaro felt a surge of trepidation once he stood before the king's study.

He could remember feeling this way most of his life, but lately, it had been missing.

It had been missing, and he had not even realized until it had returned just now.

He laid his hand on the doorknob and straightened.

It was disconcerting how different his interactions with his father had become with the knowledge that even if he might be replaced in his father's heart, there was always someone else to catch him, to stick by his side no matter what.

And he had even slowly come to realize that his father's relationships with Nolofinwë and Findis and the others were all different anyway.
There was literally no way Arafinwë would ever hold passionate discussions about metalwork with their father. Just as he himself would be (and had been) bored to tears by Nolofinwë's passionate speeches about obscure laws Finwë seemed to genuinely enjoy.

Fëanaro shook himself and pushed the door open.

"You summoned me, father?"

"Come in and close the door, my son. I have a very important task for you."

Fëanaro swallowed.

"I am listening."

Chapter Text

Fëanaro, Nolofinwë and Findis had shut themselves into Fëanaro's private laboratory in the forge, and were looking at each other in trepidation.

Findis shook herself, and with another nervous glance at the locked and barred door, she swallowed.

"Are we sure? Are we absolutely sure Maitimo has commissioned this knife? Could it not have been father's idea?"

All three of them shuddered at the implications of that, and Nolofinwë shook his head.

"It is not in his nature to be this direct. There might be some small chance that he would think of it as a precaution, but even that is not likely. Father would have found other ways."

Fëanaro's hands were buried in fis hair, and deep rings had appeared under his eyes over the last few days.

He shook himself.

"I am certain my opinionated Maitimo means to murder a god. And since he is going to father about it, he has absolutely no intention of letting me know about it.
What did I do wrong? I know my opinions on the Valar have never been particularly pleasant, but even I would not shove a poisoned knife in their back! I thought he knew so much better than this!"

Findis snorted.

"Well, we certainly know where he gets his opinions from, do we not? Nerdanel might be a thoroughly unpleasant woman, but she has integrity and would never stoop to such violent behaviour."

Fëanaro's head hit the writing desk and he groaned.

"Please stop flirting with my wife. She is considering taking you up on the offer, and I would really, really rather she forget you exist."

Findis furrowed her brows.

"I am certainly not flirting with that- hrm. I have no idea what you are talking about. And anyway, should we not focus on the actual problem? Instead of your paranoia? Maitimo is planning a murder! How do we stop him?"

"We do not."

Both Findis and Fëanaro looked up at their brother sharply, and Fëanaro grew dangerously still.

"What do you mean, we do not. His life will be over no matter whether he succeeds or not. There is no way the Valar will not find out! They will throw him into Mandos, or even the Void! I will not allow for that to happen!"

Nolofinwë's eyes closed in pain, but he continued with determination.

"Fëanaro. Please consider who you are talking about. This is Maitimo. He is sometimes overwhelming and ruthlessly effective, but if he has decided that this person is actually dangerous enough that he needs to die, then I trust his judgement!

You know of the horrible deeds Melkor has done in the past, and you yourself have claimed that you do not trust the Valar to actually do something about it!
And you are the crown prince! You might be the king of the Noldor one day! You have to see that the wellbeing of your people must come first to even that of your family!"

Fëanaro glared and shook his head.

"No. I will not accept that. No crown could ever make me put my family in second place!"

Nolofinwë slumped.

"Then perhaps, you should give the position of crown prince to one of your sons."

"But I do not want that kind of life for them either! My birthright should be an honour and a thing to be cherished, not a barbed hook going under my skin!"

"Then, I fear you have little understanding of ruling at all. It is the duty and pleasure of seeing all of your subjects as your kin, and treating them all in the way you would treat your children. But it also means to guide and direct with a firm hand and to consider your resources carefully. And if it saves your people as a whole, to let your own son be the knife in the dark. Even if the fallout may ruin him."

Fëanaro roared angrily, stood, and stomped towards the door.

"Where are you going?!"

"I am going to make a dagger! And as for the kingship? You can KEEP It!"

xxx

Fëanaro closed himself into his workshop for the next months, and Findis buried herself into books for enchantments of all kinds.

Nolofinwë kept a close eye on all the happenings in court, and tried to check on Maitomo as often as he could.

He did not like what he saw in either one.

As if the court had somehow sensed his brother's rash words, unrest seemed to settle over them.

Suddenly, voices were questioning Fëanaro's suitability as the crown prince, their future ruler. And where before, those kind of discussions had held fond exasperation, and the certainty that it would never come to an event where anyone else needed to take the crown anyway, now there seemed to be a new urgency about it. A 'but what if', that had never been there before.

Whenever he met his father's gaze over the nervous crowd, there was a hard glint in his eyes.
The court seemed like a hostile and suspicious place all of a sudden, and Nolofinwë did not like it at all.

Maitimo himself was faring little better, though he avoided all politics now.

But his spine was always rigid and his jaw clenched nowadays.
There were circles under his eyes, and whenever Nolofinwë could catch a glimpse of his right wrist, he could make out fresh scratch marks.

Aman had suddenly turned from a calm and peaceful paradise into an uncomfortable and suffocating glass dome.

Nolofinwë held out for only two weeks before he was cornered by Arafinwë and Irimë in his own study.

"Alright, what is going on. I know you always wished for Fëanaro's attention, and we are happy for you that you finally have it, but it is making you miserable! What is he doing to you?"

Nolofinwë, already on the verge of throwing something out of the window, hissed in anger.

"He got to you too? The bastard! No wonder Maitimo wants to- "

He shook his head to clear it, then started to pace in front of his startled younger siblings.

"Fëanaro is not the problem! The one spreading those damned suspicions is!
They are calling him power hungry and unhinged all of a sudden, and no less than three courtiers have approached me this week to ask me what I was going to do about it! And all of this while I should be making preparations for... after!"

Irimë raised her eyebrows.

"You cannot deny that Fëanaro is a bit... intense. And you have to admit that he would never back down from any path he has set his mind on. And those are not the best qualities in a future king."

Nolofinwë choked out a laugh at the irony and buried his face in his hands.

"Just... help me get some supplies. And at least one seaworthy ship. Discreetly."

Arafinwë and Irimë exchanged a determined look over their older brother's shoulder.

"Tell us everything."

xxx

This time it was all five of Finwë's children that gathered in the dark and shuttered backroom of the forge.

Fëanaro placed the half finished knife on the table before them.

For the first time in his life, the star that he had carved into the blade was five pronged.

He looked at each of them grimly.

"Are you ready?"

Irimë was the first to nod curtly and place a single finger onto one of the rays.

The next was Nolofinwë, and Findis followed him closely.

Arafinwë hesitated for a moment, but then steel turned his blue eyes grey, and he joined them.

Fëanaro closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.

When his finger touched the star, white hot power surged through them and filled the room with unbearable brightness.

The enchantment could begin.

xxx

"- Are you sure you want to know, little elf? I would not like to be the cause of you dying on the spot just from the shock. I have only ever caused such reactions on purpose in the past."

Melkor reclined on his large armchair and smirked.

"Your kind is so very delicate after all."

Maedhros sat stiff and upright in his chair, the dagger he had recieved from his grandfather just last night burning a hole into his conscious mind, though it was sheathed and unable to physically hurt him for now.

"I am sure any distress you might cause me with the retelling will be worth it. It is important to face your past actions to learn from them if you wish to avoid repeating them.
Avoidance and denial only fosters resentment against the very victims whose presence would remind you anyway.

The feeling of guilt that resurges every time you would see one of them would ultimately cause you to interpret their very existence to be harmful to you, and that would cause a vicious spiral of violence."

Melkor snorted, but tilted his head in consideration.

"Hm, there is nothing like looking around myself to remember why I am doing what I am doing, that is true. And everything about Valinor seems so very keen to remind me all the time! Did you know I talked to a few of your little friends? They are all so very delightful! They have told me many things about you and your family.
But did you know that there seems to be a spot of trouble in paradise? A few of them seem to be quite worried. About your father, specifically. They even seem to be of the opinion that Fëanaro has-"

Maedhros, already tense as a bowstring, suddenly snapped at the sound of his father's name falling off the enemy's lips.

Without so much as a rustling of cloth, he jumped.

Dangerous and fast as an uncoiling snake he surged forward, unsheathing the dagger without noise, and in a single movement buried it inside Melkor's neck.

For a long moment they stared into each other's eyes, Melkor stunned into silence and Maedhros hard and cold.

"Ah."

Slowly, the dark lord's hand came up to feel at his throat, and his brows furrowed in confusion.
He looked at Maedhros like he was seeing him for the first time.

"You..."

His hand closed over the one holding the knife, and slowly pulled it out.

Maedhros's eyes widened, and he started trembling in fear and rage when he saw the wound.

There was no burn. No acid crawling into the flesh, and no venomous taint spreading.

It was clean and clear, and was already healing itself.

"No, no!"

Melkor grabbed his jaw in a vice like grip, still holding the hand with the dagger away from himself.

"Did you truly think this would work? Did you think a simple kitchen knife could kill me?"

He searched his face, intrigued and interested for the first time.

"But you did. You truly were willing to murder me in cold blood. Perhaps not for all I have done in the past, but for a single mention of your father."

A sharp smile spread over his face, and he carefully cracked his neck.

The wound was already gone.

"Perhaps this will be worthwile after all."

He let go of Maedhros's face and hand, and the elf crumpled to the floor.

"Until tomorrow. Maitimo."

Melkor left, and behind the closed door, a scream of helpless rage tore through the air.

Chapter Text

Maedhros stared at the knife, his mind constantly repeating the last hour over and over.

Drops of blood still clung to it, the only witnesses that he had ever attempted...

Slow and trancelike, Maedhros reached for the tip of the knife.

But the phantom burn of the Silmarils in his hand stopped him at the last moment, and he flinched back.

He did not dare. Morgoth had not even seemed to notice the enchantment, and Maedhros did not know what to make if that, but one thing he knew.

If there was a ward against evil on the knife, it would certainly work on him.

He carefully sheathed it with trembling hands, and leaned heavily against the wall.

Everything had gone wrong. He had thought he was making progress, that perhaps the worst tragedies could even be avoided altogether, but in the end he had called them up himself.

The knife had been of his father's make.

He had not realized it at first, because the sheath had been completely unfamiliar, and the star had been wrong.

But there was no denying the feel of how it had lain in his hands, the pattern in the folded steel.

And even worse, he had shown his weakness in his reaction particularly to his father's name.

Maedhros buried his hands in his hair in desperation.

He had shown his hand, and he had failed. And now he had blocked himself from all other options, for Morgoth now knew he was coming for his life.

He would be lucky if the other Valar had not noticed, but there was no question who they would believe should the enemy see fit to tell them of his attempt to murder him.

What little influence he might have had was gone now. In a reckless fit of rage, he had lost the battle.

Maedhros stood up, and returned the knife to it's place at his back.

He may have lost the battle, but the war was not over.

He would do whatever he could.

xxx

On the next day, Maedhros stood in the door woodenly when despite everything, Melkor arrived just on time for his therapy session.

He brushed past the elf confidently, and sat down with far more enthusiasm than ever before.

"I think I am starting to appreciate your methods. You clearing the air like this has truly lifted a weight from my shoulders. A weight of boredom. I do not think I have felt this alive in a long time!

Now let me return the favour. Tell me about yourself. Have you killed an elf before? You must have, there was no shock in your eyes and no surprise over the resistance of the flesh.
But I cannot figure out how! You were born here, not just adopted. Many people have seen you as an elfling, a babe even. But it simply could not have been here! My brother is awfully naive, but he is not that blind."

Maedhros pressed his lips together.

"What are you doing here."

"Is it not obvious? On a beach covered in small grey seashells, all looking exactly the same, I have turned one over and discovered it to be red.
Are there more of you? Are you unique? Is Namo recycling fëar now? Ah, so many tantalizing mysteries! Come, come, tell me about yourself. When have you first felt the urge to set the world on fire and watch it burn."

Maedhros thought of the dagger he was still carrying and eyed the Vala in front of him in contemplation.

Perhaps the heart would be a better target? He should try. Just in case.

Melkor leaned forward, suddenly serious.

"Yes. There it is again. The coldness that should freeze the heart of any of the eldar. Not even my precious has ever looked like this. Like they know the worth of a life, and will weigh it against the world.

I am asking the wrong question, I think. I already know everything I need about you. Except one thing."

His steely blue eyes captured Maedhros's, and despite his best intentions, he felt entranced.

The next question rang inside him like a bell, shaking his entire being to the core.

"What do you want?"

For a moment, Maedhros imagined he could see the nothingness from which the world had been Sung in these eyes, and he swallowed heavily.
But at the same time a familiar steel straightened his spine, and though he still felt compelled to answer, it was something he chose.

"I want you and everything you have wrought eredicated from this world for good."

Melkor looked startled, and for a moment, Maedhros imagined his hand twitching towards him.

"But what a foolish goal to have! Do you think only the icy mountains and fiery beasts to be my work? How naive you still are, even covered in this mantle of frost. You too are one of mine, as sure as there ever was one."

Maedhros bared his teeth and growled.

"I am not, and never have been one of yours. You may break my body and warp my mind, but never, never have I shown you anything but defiance."

"You have? That is no small feat. An yet..."

He leaned even closer, and raised a hand to almost touch his cheek.

Maedhros refused to flinch or draw back, but his wildly beating heart could likely be heard loud and clear.

But the fingers never touched his skin, always hovering out of reach.

"But there is no need to follow my command for you to be one of mine. Just look around yourself. Who do you think you would be without me? What would you do from day to day? What would you think, dream of, strife for?"

Maedhros swallowed, eyes wide.

"I would be happy. Content. Safe."

Melkor drew back and mustered him, a strange expression in his eyes.

"Safe from what? How could you feel safe if you did not know what danger was?
How could you be content if have no concept of misery?"
And how would you know happiness, if it was the only thing you ever felt?

No. Everything about you screams in writhing agony and blazing glory. I somehow doubt there has ever been a creature so wholly mine as you.

What do you think this paradise would look like if left in peace? I wonder. Would you start tearing each other apart? Slaughter each other in sheer confused frustration?

Or even worse, would you start slowing down in all your movements? If every day, every interaction you had remained the same, would you grow numb to life? This is eternity after all, and with nothing to cause the end of the world, an eternity that is truly forever.
Would you just... stop at one point? Turn into marble statues, stuck in the way of life with nothing, and no escape?

After all, what would be the point?"

Maedhros's hand went for the dagger, but his face remained an icy mask.

"No matter what you do or say, I will be there to defy you. Your words are poison dripping into the ears even now, but I know what the world you would create look like. So what if life here is simple, easy. So what if the greatest worries of my people are the colours of the next season? There is pleasure in watching a sapling grow and dough to rise, and it is a greater pleasure than a victory on a battlefield.
Nothing can justify the destruction you would wreak, and nothing could be worth it.

And in the end nothing good..."

But here Maedhros had to pause and shallow. He cursed himself for showing hesitation, but he could not help think of the twins Maglor had picked up. But in the end it did not matter. They had been good despite their circumstances, not because of them.

"... Nothin good that would not have come forth anyway came from it.

Whatever little there is left of me, I will use to protect and cherish the innocence, the naivety of these people. And nothing you could do will stop me."

He had never taken his eyes off the dark Vala, so he could see every shift, every muscle move, when his expression slowly transformed into something different, almost serene.

Melkor rose, and turned to go.

But at the last moment, he turned to face Maedhros one more time.

"Thank you."

xxx

"Watch your elbows!"

Mimo hopped to the side and pulled his elbows in with an exhilerated grin.

"Good!"

Today Elrond was teaching him, and the peredhel had long since become Mimo's favourite.

They were the same size now, and while the young redhead still held the lankiness of youth, his strikes were growing stronger, and his feet more agile.

He surged forward, and tried to duck under his teacher's guard, but Elrond danced away at the last moment and avoided the blow.

Instead of stumbling, as he had done so many times before, he quicky turned and slashed a small wooden dagger upwards with the momento of his turn, and almost reached Elrond's sides.

A firm hand closed over it in just the last moment, and his teacher grinned down at him.

"Well done! Get some water and we will continue."

Mimo bounded over enthusiastically, and after a large gulp of water, immediately started babbling at Elwing.

"Did you see me? I did it! I almost had it this time! I will be just as good as Elrond in no time!"

Elwing reached up to pat his head with a slightly strained smile, but sighed fondly.

"Just remember that you will be hurting actual people when you take up a real sword. I grieve that this is necessary, and pray that you never lose sight of the lives and pain on the other side of it."

Mimo nodded seriously, and sat down next to her.

"I know. But I also feel... This is the first time I have ever been good at something. I know I can use my skills in to aid my people and family. The feeling of being able to contribute makes me happy."

Elwing was about to give him a sarcastic reply, when something caught her attention.

She quickly turned into a seagull, and ignoring the startled expression on Mimo's face, she rose into the air.

And sure enough, in the north, she could just make out a reddish glow.

Something was approaching Forlond.

Chapter Text

From one moment to the other, everything fell into chaos.

Forlond had erupted like an anthive around Mimo the moment Elwing had returned with the news.
Elves and men were running back and forth, and Elrond had changed from a doting teacher into a cold and pragmatic general in a heartbeat.

For a long moment, the young Fëanorion simply stood there in disbelief, unsure what to do. He had never wielded a real sword, not even in training, and he could see human boys who looked younger than him throw themselves into armor with practice and haste.

Mimo swallowed, unsure.

Should he ask for a weapon? He had only been practicing for the year he had been here, but he was- Well, not bad. Or would he be of better use with the children, who followed his lead easily and he would not be in the way of the real warriors?

He was wavering, and then a reddish blur streaked past his feet.

Instincts honed by now, he jumped forward to grab his cat from the ground and held it close.

"I am sorry. Without me, you would be long gone from this place by now."

He swallowed, and rubbed his cheek to the struggling cat.

"I will do my best to protect you. I promise."

xxx

Elwing stood in the highest tower at the northern wall, and her eyes were fixed at the approaching flame.
Gil-galad stood next to her, and his lance was gleaming in the last rays of the setting sun.

"Did you see orks? Or trolls? Any other creatures accompanying it?"

Elwing shook her head, but did not turn to him.

"None. It is alone. But that may or may not be to our advantage."

Elrond joined them, and he had strapped his curved sword to his side, and behind him came two banner bearers.

"I have sent a message to the iron mountains, and asked them to shelter our old and young. We cannot wait for an answer. Please give word to send them now."

Gil-galad nodded.

"Would it be worth my breath if I asked you to lead them to safety."

Elrond's already blank face turned to stone.

"No, my liege."

"I suspected as much. Continue overseeing the evacuation. But come to my side in two hours time. We will ride out then."

Elrond bowed and left.

Elwing frowned.

"You are well fortified here. Why would you risk meeting it in the open? It cannot hope to stand successfully against you, Galadriel, Celeborn, Oropher and all of yours. There are simply too many warriors gathered here."

Gil-galad nodded, jaws clenched tight.

"No, it cannot. And that worries me more than a tousand orcs would. We are missing something. And in any case, your warning may have given us time, but not enough.
Elrond will stop the evacuation in two hours. But we cannot hope it will be enough time to get everyone to safety. I estimate a third of our most vulnerable will still be in the city when the battle begins."

The knuckles on his spear whitened. The banners behind him were fluttering in the wind blowing in from the sea.

"We will ride out, because even if it cannot win against our fortifications, that will matter little if our people burn to death behind us."

Elwing winced, and the horrible pictures of... past events rose in her mind unbidden.

Her fingers stiffened, and feathers sprouted.

"I will fly out again. I will tell you everything I see."

Gil-galad nodded, and continued staring north, where the last of the Balrogs was approaching.

xxx

Two hours later, thirty of their strongest and bravest rode out into the night to meet the flame of Udûn, with Galadriel remaining behind to defend against a surprise attack.

Gil-galad was counting on it, and had hoped that there would be a clue, a hint, from where it would come, but had not been able to find anything in time.

Hooves thundered underneath and around him, almost soothing in the way they lulled him into the single minded focus of battle.

Almost there, and then suddenly a searing cord of fire whipped towards them.

"BREAK AND SURROUND!"

A horse shrieked, and a whip cracked, but one of the elves dove underneath it to slash at the Balrog's ankle.

A roar, more anger than pain, and the elf was back in the saddle.

A cheer rose through their ranks, and suddenly Gil-galad himself was within range.

The whip was held in the hand far from him, so he dared to try for the chest from horseback.

His lance whipped out, and hit the shoulder, but it slid off and he quickly pulled it back again.
The horse beneath him whinnied, but they were already out of range again when the whip lighted the night air behind them.

"HARRY IT! DO NOT LET IT GET CLOSER!"

But the Balrog was hardened from countless battles against elves, and did not let them gain the upper hand.

It burst into flames, and all but the bravest horses shied from it, and continued it's lumbering path towards the city.
The cover of darkness that had aided them until now was gone.

Gil-galad cursed, and waved Elrond over to himself.

"The river! You have power over it! Will it be enough to douse the flames?"

Elrond looked torn, but ultimately shook his head.

"It could, but not from here! I can only ever guide it, but not force it where it is not it's nature to flow. We would need the Balrog practically standing next to it."

Gil-galad looked over and winced.

"That is too close to the city.

RALLY! MAKE PASSES IF YOU CAN! WE HAVE TO SLOW IT DOWN!"

The elven king hefted his spear again, and prepated for another attack, when one of his banner bearers let out a scream.

"Sire! The city!"

Gil-galad whipped around and paled.

The westwind had driven out the clouds, and a large plume of smoke was rising over Forlindon was clearly visible in front of the stars.

xxx

Sauron was struggling against the surprisingly strong grip of the elfling, and was cursing himself for choosing such a visible coat once again.

But he could not risk revealing himself yet, the elf had not led enough of the opposition away, and worst of all, Melian's pet witch yet remained.

He growled dangerously, but it had no effect.

And now the stupid thing was even carrying him right towards where he had planted the-

BOOM!

Shouts of surprise and shrieks of pain filled the air, and debries hurtled at them at explosive speed.

Sauron was surprised at the power of the explosive he had set, and was just about to change out of his breakable form when the body of young Maedhros curled around him protectively.

"No!!!"

For a moment, he had imagined the scream coming from himself, but that would have been impossible. And as more like it filled the air as well as dust and smoke, he had already forgotten it.

A cough, and then another, as acrid smells clogged the elf's throat and lungs.

The elfling uncurled slowly, pained but seemingly mostly in one piece, and Sauron quickly slipped out of his arms.
The elf would have no hope of finding him in this dust.

A loud creak, like a large wooden beam being brought to the brink of it's strength sounded behind him, and for just a moment, Sauron hesitated.

But no deafening crack followed, so he shook himself and darted away.

He was slipping through the feet of soldiers and guards stomping towards the wreckage unseen, his coat now turned near black with soot.

He climbed up to the wall, and jumped onto the battlements.

Sauron hissed in annoyance as the elves, even few as they were, seemed to be slowing the Balrog down considerably.

But the distraction would not be effective much longer, so he jumped back down, quickly changed into his true form, and cracked one of the fastenings holding the drawbar in two.

The guard beside him screamed in alarm, but Sauron danced around him and set to work on the next one.

Then a sword was coming down at him, and with a growl he jumped back, elbowed the guard into the throat, and grabbed the hilt of his sword while he sunk to the floor.

The next two fastenings he pried off undisturbed, but then the stomping of a whole group rang in his ears.

Sauron stepped to the side, and an axe buried itself where his head had been moments ago, but another bolt clattered to the ground.

The warriors were descending on him now, and he parried three swordstrikes, whirled around, and with one more heelstrike, the drawbar groaned, and shifted towards the ground.

He smirked, leaped at the elven soldiers, and turned back into a cat in the last moment to slip by them.

There was absolutely no uneasy feeling in his stomach when the last thing he heard from them was:

"THE CAT! SAURON IS THAT DAMNED FËANORION'S CAT!"

xxx

Elrond urged his horse to run faster and faster, and still his heart sank when he realized the distance to the city had shrunk considerably already.

His mother flew out to greet him, and quickly told him of the latest desasters.

"There was an explosion in the smithy, but it looked much worse than it was. But it was only a distraction to demage the main gates.
Celebrimbor was injured. The other smiths are trying to repair it, but I doubt they will be finished in time.
You have to kill that thing before it reaches the city! We cannot fight off a Balrog from the outside and Sauron from the inside at the same time!"

"Sauron!? Sauron is here? How?!"

Elwing looked grim.

"We invited him in ourselves. He was the cat that tried to show Mimo the way to Cuivinen."

Elrond cursed, and his anger caused an aura of electricity crackle around him.
He looked like he was about to go and strangle a cat personally, but shook himself out of it.

"I need to give news to the king and rejoin the fight. Can you keep an eye on Mimo, mother? We know he was innocent in this, but I am not certain everyone will have clear enough heads to realize this. And I do not even want to think what could happen if he fell into the hands of the deciever."

Elwing nodded, even paler than before, and flew back.

Elrond turned his horse back north, and when he glanced at the star of hope, he saw it.

Small black spots high in the air, crossing before the shining ship carrying his father.

Chapter Text

Elrond urged his horse to go faster and faster, and soon reached the fight again.

The Balrog had now abandoned all pretense of fighting them, and was running towards the city at full speed.

Those who had lost their horses or had been injured were now far behind, safe in the night for now.

Only four remained in the fight, and Elrond rushed at Gil-galad's side before rejoining it.

"Sauron himself has infiltrated the city! He has weakened the gate! We have to stop it!"

Gil-galad swore, and shook his head."

"We cannot! it is refusing to engage, and we cannot stop it by force! Return to the city gates! Prepare the metal pikes!"

Elrond nodded grimly and turned back once again.

His horse was foaming at the mouth when he returned, and he saw that the preparations were not progressing as fast as he had hoped.

"OPEN THE GATES! PLANT THE SPIKES!"

The soldiers that heard him obeyed immediately, but they were scattered and disorganized.

He could faintly hear Galadriel leading the search for Sauron, but could not pay it much attention.

Large metal spikes were carried out, and dug into the ground, but he could already see that they would not manage enough in the time it would take the burning shadow to reach them.

Another batch was carried through, and the darkness was slowly receding in the approaching glow.

"THOSE ARE THE LAST! START WELDING THE MAIN GATE SHUT!"

He looked out grimly, and in a moment of weakness he longed to have Maedhros returned to his full power.

He shook his head.

Now the only thing left to do was wait.

xxx

Maedhros felt like he was losing his mind.

He knew, knew that the enemy's words were nothing but manipulations, but still they would not leave his thoughts.

Memory was replaying the conversation over and over and over, and every time he thought he had detected the lie, the hidden falsehood, he started to doubt again.

He was turning the knife over and over in his hands, but the horrible, frightening conclusion stayed the same wherever it turned to.

The dark lord had lied. He must have.

But little he had said was anything but common sense, and while the interpretation was audacious, it did not truly ring false.

He did not want to think of the ultimate conclusion this would lead to, did not even want to acknowledge the mere possibility.

But the knife...

The Silmarils had burnt Morgoth.

That had to be proof for his corruption, right?

But was it truly?

Varda hallowing the gems had been a public affair. Maedhros could not quite remember, but he thought he had seen the dark Vala in the crowd.

Would he have reacted differently to the knife had he known it to be warded against evil?

Maedhros swallowed, and looked at his distorted reflection on the blade.

Would he have known to pretend?

No, the enchantment must have malfunctioned.

But there... there was a way to know for sure.

He quickly rummaged through his desk, and found a deceptively sharp paperknife.

Just in case.

As if in trance, he took the enchanted blade, and slowly guided it to his own hand.

A tiny pinprick, just at the top of his right index finger, and his world exploded into agony.

His mouth opened for a scream, but no noise passed his lips.

Dark veins started to spread out, criss crossing over his finger and slowly crawling onto his palm.

The knife clattered to the floor, and his hand grappled for the other blade.

It missed, and with a wail of agony, he crumpled to the floor.

The door opened and closed, and a gasp rang through the office.

Maedhros could feel himself being turned to the side.

" -diot elf, wha-"

Then, a sharp sting.

Relief, sudden and sharp edged dimnished the pain in his body.

" -nd just ho- "

Then he noticed the blood.

Blood was spurting from his stump, and he looked at it in confusion.

" -ealer! Do som-"

Then a large hand clamped around it tightly, stopping the flow to just a trickle.

" -ou are the healer! Do something about it! I cannot help! You are the healer! Get it together!"

Slowly Maedhros's world shifted back into focus and he blanched.

Pain had given way to shock and numbness, and he felt more level headed again, even while his body grew colder and colder.

Alarmed, he forced himself into the tunes of a song made for stabilizing patients and warding off shock.

Slowly he could feel the pain returning, and sighed in relief.

He reached into his drawer for compresses and bandages, and with a sharp note of song to reduce the bloodflow, he wrapped his stump with practiced ease.

Now trembling heavily, he let himself sink back against the side of his desk and panted heavily.

He opened his eyes, fully expecting to see Fingon, his Fingon crouching in front of him, and flinched violently.

Terror coursed through him at the sight of Morgoth, splattered with blood and holding a stained paperknife in his hands.

Despair clawed at him, and realization.

"It is not you. It is me. I am the villain. I am the senseless murderer. The beast that would walk on corpses and trail blood after himself if it served his goals."

Melkor frowned in confusion, until his eyes fell upon the dagger that had pierced his throat but a week ago.

He picked it up to inspect it closely. When he placed it down again, he sighed wearily.

"Ah. So there was my misstep. I had wondered. It is enchanted, is it not? To punish those who go against the will of our creator?"

Maedhros said nothing.

"And then there was no reaction from me when you stabbed me."

Maedhros closed his eyes again in a pained and exhausted grimace.

"I could tell you that the punishment has made me see the error in my ways, and that I am truly repentant. Or even that the enchantment was not strong enough for more than a tickle to one with power such as me.
But you are far too smart to believe that, are you?"

Maedhros cradled his aching stump to his chest, and looked up at him tiredly.

"Are we but toys to our creator? Simple entertainment? Do they delight in our screams as we are pushed over the brink?"

Morgoth took his chin, and tilted it up.

"Any other I would kill for this knowledge. But I do not think it will be necessary with you.

Eru is not cruel. And neither are they kind.
They simply are.
And even before your world was sung, they knew it would need to be broken to become truly whole.

The beauty in perfection is a shallow one.
There always needed to be both for a world to become worth living in.
Both creation, and destruction.
Both peace, and strife.
Both marring, and recovery.

Of bliss and life, there is little to be said, before it ends. As works fair and wonderful, while they still endure for eyes to see, are ever their own record. And only when they are in peril or broken forever do they pass into song.

This is my task, Maitimo. I was the first of my siblings, and to me fell the part to become the counterweight. As much as they create, I will destroy, until there will be nothing left under the bottom line.

Then, and only then will the children be able to take the pieces, the building blocks, and become something truly great.
Something worth living for."

This brought a glare back to Maedhros's eyes, and his pallor recovered some.

"That is unfair! I did not want to become a murderer! I may have chosen the path, but I did not know where it would lead! I never intended to become..."

He gestured helplessly at the crumbling hand lying on the floor, slowly vanishing into dust.

Melkor turned to him with icy steel in his expression.

"Someone had to be the first to walk this path unprepared. Would you have preferred it to be your children? Your grandchildren?"

He took a pained look out of the window.

"... Your brother?"

Maedhros lowered his head in understanding.

"No."

"It was always going to come to tragedy. I would rather everyone know what it looks like from the start."

"There is no, absolutely no reason that justifies murder."

Melkor shook his head, and dropped his voice.

"You know that now. Did you know before?"

Maedhros did not look into his eyes.

Too much blood clung to his hands to do anything but agree.

"You are not going to stop. Even if you mean to help and not harm, you will still break us all."

Melkor nodded.

"Until there is nothing left but rubble."

But then, suddenly a vicious fire returned to Maedhros, and he stood.

"I do not care what reasons you might have. I will not let you."

Chapter Text

Sauron hid, but a satisfied purr was rumbling through him.

He could feel the Balrog approaching.

It was time.

Time to strike one more desicive blow against those horrible elves.

The Balrog would have very little chance if they actually managed to concentrate their efforts on it. It fell to him to make sure they could not.

He stood, and shifted his fana to a tall, redheaded elf-like creature with burning golden eyes.

He knew where to strike. Where the most vulnerable would be in the way of their own protectors' efforts.

He glanced at the sword he had liberated earlier, and set the edges on fire.

"Come out, you worms! The glory of our lord has come before my eyes, and before the day is over, you too will have seen the light! Only one there is that is worth your worship, and your souls I will send him as tribute!"

Screams rang, and powerful exhileration made Sauron shiver.

Too long had it been since he had tasted the power, the stench of fear of the creatures lesser than him.

They had hidden themselves away, in a large open cave they had hewn into the cliffs. But they had not yet completed it, and the weak were gathered under a large overhang, half out in the open.
It was safe from fire, and had several openings towards the sea.
But for the still quite large amount of people crowded into it...

He grinned, cat like and playful.

...It was little more than a mousetrap.

He could hear shouts behind him, and the fierce presence of Galadriel approaching, so he knew he would have to be quick.

The flaming sword he lifted menacingly, and then he charged.

"NO!"

The voice was powerful, and so familiar, and for a moment, Sauron blanched.

But it lacked the hoarse and gravely undertone, and was altogether far too young.

Mimo had planted himself between him and the crowd of the vulnerable, arms stretched wide and completely unarmed.

He was still sooty from the explosion, and several bleeding cuts ran over his arms and back.

"Red! Sauron! Whoever you are in truth, I will not let you harm them! It was my fault that you are here in the first place, and I am responsible for the demage you cause. So if you want to hurt anyone, you will have to go through me!"

Startled murmurs ran through the crowd, and many elves shifted in uncomfortable surprise at their young defender.

Sauron was about to hiss at the little whelp that this would not be a challenge, when he saw Mimo's expression falter and a much quieter whisper.

"Are you alright? I was so worried..."

Disbelief and rage flowed through Sauron, the memory of the elfling's body curling around him, of quiet hours dozing in the forge, and he raised his sword.

One more look into those grey eyes, full of worry and determination.

With a furious scream, the sword clattered to the ground.

Sauron was just about to turn around and flee, confusion, humiliation and helplessness warring inside him, when with a flutter of wings, a strong hand gripped his shoulder.

He froze.

xxx

The Balrog had reached the gates.

Gil-galad and the remaining warriors sent their horses back to gather the injured, and joined the defenders just behind the spikes.

A grim silence fell over them, even as the first rays of dawn bathed the river in a red glow.

Their defense would hold, or it would not. There was nothing to do but fight.

Elwing settled next to her son, in the form of a vicious looking harpy.

Her dagger-like claws cut into the wood of the upturned cart she was perching on.

She too was ready for battle.

whump, whump, whump, whump

The weapons were clutched tightly in their hands, and the approaching flame grew larger and larger.

whump, whump, whump, whump

"HOLD!"

"FIRE!"

Arrows flew out when the Balrog came into range, but they clattered off it with little effect.

"SPEA-ARGH!"

A fiery whip had snapped out, and before the fiery shadow had even reached their fortifications, it's weapon curled around Gil-galad's arm.

"NO!"

Elrond surged forward, but his mother was faster.

The harpy shot off, beating her powerful wings, and gripped the whip in her talons.

A screech, and with a vicious snap, the whip was cut in two.

Relieved cheers were short-lived though, and the enemy started pushing it's way through the metal pikes.

But still it pushed forward and forward, until the defenders were with their backs to the gate.

Grimly, Gil-galad looked at Elrond.

"Call the river. We need to do something."

Elrond nodded, pale but determined, even though he knew they were still far, and the power he would need was more than he could spare.

He started his Song, mumbling and crashing, rising and foaming.

A faint rushing, and the river answered.

But it was too far, not enough, too much of a detour to be accomplished easily.

And then a voice joined in.

Sweet and quiet at first, until it rose and clashed.

Wild and unbridled, and finally the river came.

Cheers, and the Balrog howled in rage where it had been forced back, but it would not be deterred.

The river calmed again, and it stepped forward.

The defenders groaned in dismay, but stood steadfast.

A step, another, and the gigant form of an eagle hit the earth between them.

A figure jumped off, with gold gleaming in their hair, the first rays of the morning sun lighting it up like fire.

Three more figures became visible, and joined the first.

The other dark haired figure slowly settled an iconic helmet with a large spike on their head.

The Balrog flinched.

"Should we really have brought Ecthelion? That seems... mean."

"Shut up, Ingoldo. That thing is lucky father wanted to have a word with Sauron. They trampled all over my body!"

"Ouch. That cannot have been good for your hair."

"Who cares about hair?! My death made Turno cry! Nobody makes my little brother cry but Ele- Hey! Glorfindel! Wait!"

Seeing the familiar charging figures, the Balrog finally turned, and with a great angry roar, ran towards the mountains.

Cheers roared, and Fingon turned a bright smile towards his son.

xxx

Suddenly, a vicious fire returned to Maedhros, and he stood.

"I do not care what reasons you might have. I will not let you."

Melkor only shrugged.

"It is my purpose. The reason I was created. My kind do not have the same range of agency the children were given. I have yet to decide whether making me aware of the wrongness of my own actions was a kindness, cruelty, or simple necessity."

"And you have never thought to resist? To find other ways? Or even that there are more ways than one to create the strife you claim we need? That in the end, the appearence of tragedy is enough? Even if just sometimes, mitigating the worst of the demage is not just possible, but actually helps in the long run?
Who cares about scorced earth, if there are no survivors to mourn it?"

"And who would you have me choose? Who would you have me play god for, and whom sacrifice?
It is horrible enough to play my part, without the thought in the back of my mind reminding me that perhaps I could spare this one. Or that. It has to be equal for everyone."

Maedhros's face turned into a pained grimace.

"And yet, as much as it hurts and makes you question: If I could spare this one, could I not have spared all others too if I just tried hard enough? It is still worth it. Every single time."

Suddenly, Melkor's face cleared in understanding.

"Ah. So that is how. You are not from this world. Namo has meddled."

"SO I HAVE. AND NOW I THINK, IT IS TIME TO PUT EVERYTHING BACK IN IT'S PROPER PLACE. MY BROTHER HAS SPOKEN TRUE THAT YOU CANNOT REMAIN HERE WITH THE KNOWLEDGE YOU HAVE GAINED."

Maedhros stood, and flushed an angry red.

"So you will not even give me a chance?! Was all this for nothing? Why send me here at all if I am to be removed before the true challenge even starts?!"

The doomsman bent down, and picked up the enchanted knife that had cost Maedhros his right hand this time around.
On the blade, a five pointed star shone as bright as a Silmaril in his grip.

"DO YOU THINK YOU HAVE CHANGED NOTHING? YOU WILL NOT BE HERE TO FIGHT THE BATTLES YOURSELF. BUT THAT DOES NOT ERASE YOUR INFLUENCE."

Impotent rage still gripped Maedhros, but he had learned his lesson on the futility of disobeying the lord of Mandos.

In a last desperate bid, he turned back to Melkor.

"I have felt the fire of fell purpose consume me. I have become numb and blind to the suffering I have caused. And until today there is nothing that hurts more than the rare moments of compassion and love.
But it was only that hurt that has allowed me to become a person again. To regain a sense of self outside the monster I had become.
So I implore you: Every single show of mercy, hidden as it may be, is worth it. If you will not do it for my people, then do it for yourself."

Melkor shut his eyes tightly, and turned away. But then he tilted his head in a single, almost imperceptible nod.

A sense of exhaustion and finality overcame Maedhros then, and in that instant he knew there was nothing more he could do.

He looked at Namo, and nodded.

The longer Maedhros gazed into the featureless hood of the doomsman, the more knowledge, the more memories he knew were not his own started to make their way to his consciousness. Settling there as if behind a veil, they showed him blurred images, muffled conversations, and with them the picture grew until he knew.

Already he could feel himself being pulled, merging and released again, and his eyes fell onto Melkor's steely blue one more time.

He could see weariness and longing in them, and determination, and felt all of it echoed in himself.

He reached forward with his good, once again his only hand, and laid it on the cold cheek.

Melkor's eyes widened, but he moved forward willingly when Maedhros captured his lips in a simple kiss.

"If you touch the little one, I will find a way to break the universe, and end you."

And then the pull became too strong, and he felt himself hurtling through the nothingness of the void.
Then, just when he felt like he was being torn in two, everything stopped, and he looked into a mirror.

The other one raised a hand to his own face, and touched his cheek in a mirror image of himself touching Melkor mere moments, or perhaps eons ago.

Their foreheads knocked together.

"I am sorry."

"I am scared."

"What are you scared of?"

Maedhros looked into the wide grey eyes of his mirror image, and for once, he felt only peace.

"I will never have the life you had."

"No."

"I will never get the chance to have the same experiences you had."

"No."

"Everyone will already have memories of someone that is not me."

"Yes."

"I do not want to pretend to be someone I am not."

"Then do not. Be yourself. Is it truly so bad that our lives will never be the same? That our place in our family will be different? You will still have a place. Go, and find it. Let them dote on you, as you would have doted on them.
I have been told the lot of a younger sibling is cruel and painful, but I am quite sure they were exaggerating."

The mirror image gave a weak smile.

"I am scared of what will come."

"I am too. And I think the knowledge is both a burden, and a relief."

The mirror image nodded thoughtfully.

"Yes. No matter how hard it is, we will not fail. Not truly."

Maedhros smiled sadly, and sent one last image of the family he had left behind.

"They are yours now. Cherish them well."

Their eyes met one last time, and they were back where they belonged.

xxx

Maedhros stumbled, and opened his eyes.

Light, unbearably bright, and yet unmistakable.

The sun was rising.

Loud gasps, and even a scream pierced his ears, and he clutched at his head.

There was only one hand.

For a wild moment, he considered whether he had simply imagined everything, whether his mind had finally crumbled under the pressure of both the oath and his sins, and when his eyes adjusted to the different light, he saw the afterimage of his other version's worried face.

He gave him a small, fond smile, and straightened.

But before he could say anything, a small red blur hit him just above the knee.

The crowd gasped, and one or two looked like they wanted to throw themselves between them.

"Mimo! Oh, Mimo! I was so worried! It was scary!"

The haze of the half memories he had gained through the brief connection lent him a name, and a sense of familiarity.

He knelt down and cupped her hand gently.

"Tauriel. Please step back. All will be well, but we are not finished yet. Will you be alright for a little longer?"

The elfling stepped back and nodded bravely, though tears still clung to her eyes.

His face hardened, and he turned towards Sauron and Eonwë.

He looked over the dirty and wide-eyed form of the fallen Maia, and pity surged inside him.

"It is over. Let it go."

Resentment flashed in Sauron's eyes, and defeat.

He sank down in front of Eonwë, and bowed his head.

"I surrender myself to your judgement. I have not-"

He looked to the side angrily, as if unsure what to say.

" Will you- make it stop? I just want to stop."

But Eonwë frowned.

"It is not I who can make this desicion. I will take you back to the Manhaxar, where those with the right to do so will judge you."

Sauron narrowed his eyes and hissed up at the herald.

"Never! It is you I seek forgiveness from, not them!"

Eonwë shook his head sadly.

"And I have no power to decide such matters."

Fury coursed through Maedhros at this, and he stepped forward.

"Right?! What right do they have? Did Sauron harm them? What did he actually injure but their pride?

If any were to judge him, it should be those from these shores. And yes, even you. You have fought fiercely in defense of this land, and have not walked away unchanged."

"You cannot vouch even for yourself. Do not think I have forgotten our last encounter! Your judgement is just as due as his!"

"And he too shall be judged by those he has wronged, herald."

Maedhros flinched, not having noticed the old warrior come up to them and take Eonwë's arm in a steely grip.
There was little that could visibly age an elf like that, and he lowered his head in aquiescence.

"If there is one thing the last months, and I suppose the last night, have shown us, it is that you cannot truly know your enemies before you actually know them.
And this one has made it quite obvious that his worst fault is not malice, but an overinflated sense of responsibility, obedience, and martyrdom."

He shot Maedhros a baleful glare, and his walking stick shot out lightning fast to hit against his shins.

He winced in pain, but could not truly refute the accusation.

"And even the deciever, for all his crimes, dropped his weapon well before you arrived."

Sauron looked up at the old elf then, full of surprise and mistrust, but said nothing.

From the side, on silent feet, another person approached.

Maedhros took a long moment to realize how extrordinary his presence here was, and even Sauron gasped and stared.

"Uncle Nolo! But how?!"

Fingolfin squeezed his shoulder, and looked at Eonwë mildly.

"I cannot thank you enough for your help in locating my wayward nephew, and in bringing us here. Perhaps you would choose to stay for a time? Just a century or two. I believe you too have someone you might wish to catch up to, before your duty calls you back to the side of your king."

He looked the fallen Maia straight in the eye then, and Sauron swallowed thickly.

"Many endeavors may look hopeless in the dead of night. But sometimes, it is the smallest seed of hope that bears the most rewarding fruit."

Eonwë looked at them without blinking, and after a while, he tilted his head forward in a single nod.

"I will not be missed for some time. I think there will be no harm to... wait and see."

xxx

"If you touch the little one, I will find a way to break the universe, and end you."

Melkor simply nodded, and Maedhros started to shrink in front of him, to become less and yet more, and startled when he suddenly crumpled to the ground.

He surged forward to catch the elfling, almost an adult, who looked battered and sooty, but unmistakably his.

Small droplets of tears were clinging to the boy's lashes.

"Why?"

Melkor looked up angrily to his brother.

"Why did you do this?! What purpose could you possibly have to show me everything I crave, and then snatch it away again. Is my task not difficult enough?"

Namo glid forward, and hovered comfortingly.

"YOUR TASK IS THE MOST DIFFICULT OF ALL OF US. AND I HOLD NO DOUBT THAT YOU WILL SUCCEED. WHAT I FEAR IS NOT FAILURE, BUT LOSING YOU TO IT. I DO NOT WANT IT TO CONSUME YOU IN A WAY THAT FORCES YOU TO BECOME YOUR TASK.

AND SO I HAVE SHOWN YOU THAT NO MATTER WHAT YOU DO, THERE WILL ALWAYS BE THOSE LIKE HIM.THOSE WHO WILL BE FORGED INTO STEEL BY YOUR FIRE INSTEAD OF BEING BURNT ALIVE.
YOU HAVE THE STRENGTH TO ACCOMPLISH YOUR DUTY.
WHAT I WANT YOU TO HAVE, IS THE STRENGTH TO SURVIVE IT.
TRY NOT TO BE OUTDONE BY A SIMPLE ELF."

And with that, he vanished, leaving behind a disbelieving Melkor with an unconcious elfling in a blood splattered office.

He carefully placed him into the middle of the slowly cooling liquid, and stood with a heavy heart.

"Perhaps I still have a little time. What are a few centuries of delay, if you can grow into your strength in the meantime."

Melkor let himself vanish, and reappeared on the top of a mountain overseeing Valinor.

With a turn of his wrist, he broke at first one, and then the second of his shackles.

Manwë would know. Soon he would find the elfling, where a fully grown healer had been before.
He would draw his own conclusions.

"And so it begins."