Chapter Text
Hiraeth
(n) A deep longing for something, especially one's home.
Like all newborn elfings that came before her, the eighth child born to Prince Fëanáro and his wife, the lady Nerdanel, received her father-name and mother-name at her essecarmë.
The naming ceremony was a tradition spanning back to the first elves and as Finwë’s granddaughter, her essecarmë was held right beneath the light of the Two Trees. It was a beautiful spot, made even more beautiful due to flowers spontaneously blooming all around them, showing Yavanna’s joy at the surprising birth of their youngest.
Because no one, not even the proud parents themselves, had expected the little bundle of joy they were currently looking at. Truly, when Nerdanel's fäe changed, accommodating for the little spark growing inside her, no one had been more surprised than the wedded couple themselves.
Nerdanel had borne seven children already. They had a grandson. Yet it seemed that Eru Ilúvatar still had one more gift left to give them.
She hadn’t dared to believe it. Neither of them had, not truly, her belly swelled with the undeniable evidence of it. Not until Nerdanel had finished with that very first sculpture while still heavy with child. So life-like it had been, they could see every individual hair of their babe. They could see the sparkle in her eyes and the happy grin on her elfin little face.
A daughter.
Varda’s stars twinkled merrily in the dark sky, their vividness only enhanced by the silver-gold light of the mingling between the Two Trees; Telperion and Laurelin.
The younger of Fëanáro’s sons were delighted by the sudden wealth of flowers and with both the twinkling lights strung up and in the sky, and were quickly joined by their cousins in searching for the best ones to make an everlasting flower crown for the newest Fëanorion.
Their eldest two; Nelyafinwë and Makalaurë were keeping an eye on their younger brothers. His nephew, Findekáno had joined them and was - as he often did - talking excitedly with Nelyo. His eldest was listening intently, head tilted as his younger cousin babbled on.
Fëanáro wasn’t sure if he liked the closeness between Nolofinwë’s son and his own, but he wouldn’t take his grievances with Indis’ line out on the children.
He wasn’t that petty.
The people were quiet but merry, all eagerly waiting for the ceremony to begin. Fëanáro cleared his throat, and signaled for his children to come join him and Nerdanel.
Cradled in her father’s strong arms, her mother, all seven of her brothers and one nephew surrounding her, the elfling felt safe and cherished. Her family was there and that was all that mattered.
But there were more people too, some that she knew, and many she did not. It would have made her uncomfortable - the staring, that is. Yet her baby-brain didn’t care; her gaze was fixed upon the shining golden beauty that was Laurelin.
Her eyes - Fëanáro's eyes, Miriel’s eyes - appeared to be lit from the inside with the shining silver light of Telperion, yet she already showed a clear preference for the golden light of Laurelin.
“My family, friends and noble elves of Tirion, be welcome!” Prince Fëanáro declared grandly, beaming down at the wide-eyed babe in his arms.
While it could have been a private ceremony with only close family, he did like to have an excuse for a party. Even if that meant that Indis and her brood where there as well.
Meeting Nolofinwë’s wary blue eyes from where he stood with his own wife, Fëanáro quickly turned away from the half-brother that shouldn’t have been born half of anything. The brother who should have shared the same gray eyes as Fëanáro himself or perhaps the gentle green of Finwë.
Not blue. Never blue.
Standing beside him, his beloved Nerdanel also gave her greetings, though in a less dramatic fashion than her husband. As she spoke, his wife took his hand in hers and wove their fingers together, hidden by the elaborate robes they were wearing. Her presence steadied him, as did the infant in his arms.
Her fëar, still so tender and small, was burning brightly. Healthily. She was strong, this little flame of theirs. So very strong.
His own fëa flared brightly, drawing the attention of all who'd gathered. “We were graced with seven sons, my wife and I, but now, at last, we have been blessed with a little jewel of our own.”
The small crowd of gathered people murmured excitedly, surprised by the announcement of their beloved prince. After seven sons, there was now a princess at last!
Fëanáro beamed and held up the little one so she could see the people gathered to meet her. The elfling blinked her shining silver-gray eyes and yawned, pouty lips forming a little ‘o’.
None of the adults could stand in the face of that much cuteness, and more than one of the nís and nér gathered there let out a coo.
Smug, the father of the little elfling caressed her soft head, soothing the child further. Born with her mother’s fiery red locks and her grandmother Miriel’s graceful features, the eighth child born to Fëanáro and Nerandel was promised to grow into a true beauty.
Nerdanel too murmured soft words of love, helpless against her one and only daughter's adorable visage. Fëanáro was not far off himself. If he didn't know any better, he'd have thought himself bespelled.
But no.
Just like his sons before her - their seven brilliant, beautiful boys - Nerdanel and he had just created the most perfect little elfling together.
“Son?” Finwë prompted softly, drawing the couple out of their new parent daze. Indis chuckled quietly at his side, amused by the besotted look on the face of her stepson and his wife.
She and Fëanáro still weren’t as close as she'd once wished to be, but they were always the closest whenever a new child has been born. It had surprised her that first time with little Maitimo, how full of love her husband’s stubborn son truly was.
Every time Nerdanel gifted him with another child, it was like all that prideful anger and wrath disappeared from the proud nér and suddenly she could see her dear friend Míriel again in her son.
And in his children as well.
The eldest of her grandsons was standing there now, as besotted as his parents as he gazed upon the small form of his little sister, a tiny crown made of pretty yellow blooms cradled in his hand.
All her grandsons-by-marriage were quite in love with their newest little sibling. Rowdy as they usually were, this time they were as calm and gentle as could be in the presence of the newest little one.
Young Telpinquar, standing hand in hand with his father, was leaning up on his little toes in an attempt to catch a glimpse of his new aunt. Fëanáro’s twins spotted his struggle and quickly snatched the child up, giving him a higher vantage point.
Indis felt a spike of fondness at the sight of those young elves, who all so clearly loved each other. She knew and despaired of the rift between her own sons and stepson, but at least her children’s children cared about each other as family should.
They were truly Eru-blessed, Indis mused as she watched the happy family. Eight healthy children, one for each point of the star the House of Fëanáro claimed as their own.
Fëanáro grinned charmingly, sharing a bemused look with his wife. “My apologies, father.”
The High King of the Noldor sent an indulgent look towards his most beloved son, understanding their distraction. His newest granddaughter was a special one, and though it hurt him, he could see his wife so clearly in her tiny features. Míriel’s granddaughter in truth.
"Before Eru Iluvatar in the Timeless Halls, before Manwë and Varda, I do claim this child as my own daughter, blood of my blood, to love, to teach, to nurture and to cherish, until and beyond the ending of the world." Fëanáro spoke the traditional words, claiming the child in his arms as his own. “I name thee Mírefinwë, firstborn daughter of my house.”
Míriel.
Oh, how he wished his wife was here to see their son thrive. Finwë’s breath caught in his throat, touched beyond belief. All his male children and grandchildren had been named for him, but of course Fëanáro would name his first daughter for his most treasured mother, too. The mother he’d lost, and missed still.
Mírëfinwë.
“Without further ado, I present to you Princess Mírëfinwë, our treasured Finwë!” Fëanáro declared grandly, his spirit warm and proud as he pressed a kiss to her forehead in an age-old blessing. “Elen síla lúmenn' omentielvo, hínya.”
Then Nerdanel stepped up, taking her daughter into her arms and proclaimed strongly he knew she was meant to be, “Before Eru Iluvatar in the Timeless Halls, before Manwë and Varda, I do claim this child as my own daughter, blood of my blood, to love, to teach, to nurture and to cherish, until and beyond the ending of the world."
She pressed the customary kiss to her daughter's forehead. "I name thee Vírinissë, the firstborn daughter of my house. Elen síla lúmenn' omentielvo, my dearest.”
Princess Mírëfinwë Vírinissë cooed sweetly in her parents arms, seemingly accepting her new names with easy grace.
The people cheered, and Makalaurë perked up as the formalities finally seemed to be over. A tiny harp appeared in his hand, and then he started to sing. Fëanáro’s lips twitched up as he recognized the tune, and he shared a fond glance with his wife.
“Well chosen, my son, my daughter,” Finwë told them, stepping up to give his own blessings to the babe and parents both. “Well chosen indeed.”
Makalaurë's song echoed through their ears, telling them about love, family and new beginnings.
“Thank you, Atar,” Fëanáro said, grateful. “I am glad you could join us on this special day.”
Maitimo joined in, voice deep and tuneful, and soon all Fëanáro’s sons were gleefully singing along with the song their second eldest brother had composed for the birth of Mírëfinwë.
The High King laughed, “Of course! It is not every day one gets to witness his granddaughter’s essecarmë.” He turned to look over his shoulder and with a fond look, he asked, “Don’t you agree, melda?”
Nerdanel hummed along the familiar notes as she gently rocked her little girl, and turned towards the elegant form of the queen of the Noldor. Vírinissë blinked at the sight of her, tiny hand flexing as the golden-haired nís approached.
“We are glad to be here,” Indis murmured as she stepped up to her husband’s side. Smiling softly, she added, “You have a beautiful daughter, Fëanáro, Nerdanel. Truly.”
The red-haired elf leaned against her husband, and smiled warmly. “Thank you, Indis. We appreciate your presence here.”
She quite liked the queen, even if her husband certainly did not. She understood his hurt at his father’s decision to remarry Indis after Míriel’s death - she thought the way he handled it quite distasteful herself - but the Valar had blessed Finwë’s second marriage.
It was done and it couldn’t ever be undone. They just had to live with the consequences of Finwë’s decisions.
Personally she preferred it if there was less tension between them all, but her husband was stubborn. And despite many yéni having passed, he was still hurt.
It didn’t help that Nolofinwë was as stubborn as his older brother, though both Anairë and Nerdanel had tried their best to reconcile the two brothers over the years.
But Nerdanel was stubborn as well. She could wait.
Fëanáro’s fëa, connected as they were through their marriage bond, eased at her touch and he took a deep breath. “Yes. Thank you, Indis.”
Findekáno pulled his siblings towards his cousins, one more reluctant than the other. Arakáno and Irissë were grinning widely, as eager for mischief as always. Turukáno scowled as his brother pulled at him, looking pleadingly to his newly wedded spouse. Lady Elenwë only laughed, an amused Artanis at her side as their golden hair swayed in the warm breeze.
Findaráto, not wanting to be left out, quickly got his hands on a flute and joined Makalaurë.
Irissë's long white dress provided a vivid contrast among the red and blue of the others. She found her place next to Tyelko, and soon they were singing as loudly as possible as only those two could.
Still surprisingly tuneful though.
Watching the children having fun, none of the elder elves could hold back their smiles.
All was well.
For now.