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She is just about to begin hacking into the hunk of stone settled before her when she catches sight of something in the corner of her eye— red hair.
“Atar, I thought you would be gone for another day,” She says with a smile, turning to face her father.
But it is not Mahtan standing next to her. There are some features of his in the face of the nér, features she knows just as well on her own countenance. But there are traces of something— someone — else. He is dressed like a prince, all silk and fine cotton, the fiery mane of his hair twisted into an elegant complex of braids. A circlet of copper wire and emeralds sits lightly atop his brow. And there is a fire in his eyes unlike any other she’s known save…
Slowly, her hand comes to cradle her abdomen, just above her womb. The nér is smiling back down at her and he is radiant .
“Oh,” She breathes, “You are beautiful, aren’t you?”
And then he is gone. In his place is a thin bond strung between her own fëa and something new .
Fëanáro chokes on his tea when she tells him. He takes a full minute to recover, hacking up his lungs while simultaneously beginning to cry— to anyone else it would look somewhat concerning. To Nerdanel, he looks beautiful.
When he manages to somewhat catch his breath, he is still weeping and drags her into a tight hug. She kisses his hair as he holds her, smiling a little when he begins rambling about all the things that they will have to do now that their first babe is on the way. His mind runs far faster than his words though, and soon he seems a little overwhelmed.
“Oh— Istarnië, meldanya,” He kisses her cheek, “We must tell my father! Our child must be announced to the court, and there must be preparations made for your— ah! What of Mahtan and Alcawendë? Have you told them yet? What of names? Have you any ideas? You said it was a boy, yes? I have always like the name Nelyafinwë for our firstborn—”
“Nárinya,” Nerdanel lays a hand on his shoulder with a somewhat exasperated smile, “Easy. Let yourself slow down a bit.”
Fëanáro visibly tries to draw himself back a bit, taking a slow breath and forcing his body to relax as best he can. But the excitement is still clear in his expression, the fire in behind his eyes is burning so bright his face is nearly glowing with it. Nerdanel can’t help but to lean in and kiss him. He meets her with a soft sigh, melting as he usually does against her. She runs her fingers through his hair and wonders if their boy might have the same thickness as his father’s does, or if it will be light and frizzy like her own.
It is a dizzying thing, the knowledge that she and her beloved will be parents.
Fëanáro’s hand moves to rest over her flat stomach, though there is nothing yet there for him to feel.
When they pull apart, his smile is so blinding that she nearly has to squint in the face of it.
“I love you,” He whispers and she shivers from the sheer devotion in his voice. He lifts his hand to her cheek, “You will be the best mother in Arda, I know it.”
“And you, the best father,” Nerdanel smiles, leaning in to peck his lips again. When she pulls back, there is a shadow of something in the corner of her eye. The smell of iron slips into the air for the briefest of moments. She pulls away from her husband to turn about the room with a small frown, which in turn makes Fëanáro frown.
“What is it?” he asks, worried— and distantly, she becomes aware that her beloved will be positively unbearable with his concern in the coming months— but largely, she is confused.
“Did you come from the forge?” She turns back to him and he gives her a strange look.
“I did not, Atar wished for me to meet with a few dignitaries from Valimar,” A match of annoyance strikes in his eyes for a split second before he shakes himself and returns to his worry, “Are you well? What is wrong?”
“I thought…” She trails off, staring at an empty spot on the wall with a furrowed brow. The lingering scent of iron is gone, and whatever she saw a small glimpse of is gone with it. Her beloved is beginning to look a little anxious now, and she forces herself to move on with a small smile. She lays a hand against his cheek, “It was nothing, likely just a trick of the light. Worry not.”
He doesn’t look convinced in the slightest, but Nerdanel has a feeling he won’t be convinced by much of anything she says related to her health until well after the babe is born.
She is burning up from the inside out, her screams tearing through the Healing Halls as she squeezes Fëanáro’s hand beyond the point of pain. Her beloved does not complain— he knows better than that— and he continues to praise her and urge her on, intermittently pressing kisses against her sweat soaked hair. The agony between her legs is unbearable, like she is being cleaved in two from the bottom up— or the inside out. It is terrible, it is beyond what she could ever have imagined.
Nerdanel grits her teeth and pushes again at the instruction of the healer, digging her heels into the mattress with enough force that she can feel the wooden frame beneath.
“You are doing so well, meldanya,” Fëanáro croons, kissing her knuckles. She glares at him with every bit of energy she can spare, which he accepts with grace and falls silent.
“Varda’s tits, get it out of me! ” Nerdanel cries.
“One more big push, my Lady,” The healer says, patting her thigh encouragingly, “And then your babe will be out.”
“Fuck!” She throws her head back with a howl, pushing with everything she has.
There’s a feeling like pressure being released, followed by a great amount of aching and burning. Then, a moment of silence filled only by her ragged breaths.
She thinks her heart bursts when her babe begins crying, squealing in displeasure at being taken from his comfortable place inside her womb. It is a sound like nothing she has ever heard before. It is beautiful .
“You did it,” Fëanáro whispers, breathless, “Oh, lovely, you did it. He is here, our boy is here.”
“Give him to me,” Nerdanel croaks, reaching out blindly for her baby, “Give me my son.”
“One moment, my Lady,” The healer pats her thigh again and she resists the urge to kick her. But in mere seconds, her little babe is laid against her bare chest, still shrieking and wriggling. Nerdanel looks down at him and feels so much love that her chest burns more than the pain between her legs. His little face is squished and beet red, eyes squeezed shut and little mouth smacking blindly against her breast. And oh — he is so small! Barely an ant in comparison to the great world around him. It is terrifying, holding this tiny thing in her arms and knowing that he will become something. That he will be someone and she will someday have to let him go.
She kisses his head and weeps, rubbing his little back. He is precious— the most beautiful thing she has ever created.
Fëanáro leans over them both with tears in his eyes. He caresses the babe’s little cheek with his finger, a reverent look on his face.
“He is beautiful,” He murmurs, awed, “Oh, meldanya, you have outdone yourself.”
“Maitimo,” Nerdanel gasps out through her tears, and she knows that tradition would call for her to wait until her boy is a little older to give him his Amilessë, she repeats with more conviction, “He is Maitimo .”
Fëanáro kisses her cheek with a bright laugh.
“Nelyafinwë,” He says, “Nelyafinwë Maitimo. The greatest of our creations.”
Nerdanel leans into him and continues to weep, her heart soaring with so much love for the little babe squirming on her chest.
There you are. You will enjoy this, beautiful one.
“What?” Nerdanel turns to her husband with a confused and somewhat dazed look. Fëanáro frowns back at her.
“I didn’t say anything,” He tells her, similarly confused. Maitimo continues to squeal and Nerdanel is drawn back to him when he throws up his little hand to find something to hold onto. She offers him her finger, which he can’t seem to properly latch on to, but he tries nonetheless.
“Perhaps the exhaustion is getting to me,” She breathes, words slurring a bit. Fëanáro looks extremely panicked for a split second before one of the healer’s apprentices steps in with a vaguely frantic look and lays a hand on his shoulder.
“Completely normal, you Highness. She has been laboring for hours now,” He says with a comforting smile, “Lady Nerdanel is just fine.”
“The afterbirth still needs to come out,” Someone says, “My lady, you will soon need to push again, just once or twice more.”
“ Ai , have I not done enough?” Nerdanel’s head falls back and Fëanáro’s fear breaks into fondness. He leans down and kisses her head.
“Just a little longer, Meldanya, then you may rest as long as you wish,” He whispers against her skin, barely audible under the sound of their boy’s unhappy cries. Nerdanel gives him a weak smile.
Finwë is positively enamored with the boy.
Fëanáro hands Maitimo off with a proud grin, watching on as his father coos over the newborn and tickles his little nose. Maitimo sneezes and looks distinctly bewildered, but he does not cry as Finwë rocks him and murmurs increasingly nonsensical endearments over his head. Indis watches her husband with a mild smile— fond of newborns as a whole, but admittedly not so fond of this one’s father. She wisely does not ask to hold him— though she has Arafinwë to worry about anyway. The boy squirms in her lap, trying in vain to get closer to the small squishy thing that his father is holding. Findis, Ñolofinwë, and Írimë look over Finwë’s shoulder at the babe with varied degrees of curiosity and— in Findis’s case— pure adoration.
“His little fingers are so cute!” She cries, “Look at them!”
Maitimo waves his little hand around, then loosely latches onto Finwë’s closest braid so he might bring it to his mouth and gnaw on it. Finwë easily detaches the boy from his hair and Maitimo looks a little unhappy for a moment before deciding that his own hand is a fine substitute.
Nerdanel leans against Fëanáro’s hip where it rests against the arm of her chair, letting out a small and content breath.
“He is beautiful,” Finwë croons, running a finger down Maitimo’s cheek. When he looks at Nerdanel and Fëanáro, there are tears in his eyes.
And the room is suddenly dark— filled with an oppressive shadow. Finwë is knelt on the ground, bloodied and beaten. He is cradling a grown Maitimo in his lap, burying his face in his hair as his hand constricts around the boy’s throat. Maitimo convulses, and makes a strangled and pained noise. There is blood pooling beneath them both. From where, it is difficult to tell.
“Go to sleep,” Finwë weeps desperately, “Go to sleep. It is alright, indyo, go to sleep.”
Nerdanel intakes a sharp breath and surges forward to take her boy back against her chest. Finwë looks a little bewildered and his family is staring at her with vague offense.
“Meldanya, what is it?” Fëanáro asks, anxious once again. Nerdanel shakes her head and looks down at her boy— his face all squished and his little eyes are barely open. He is beautiful, he is untouched, he is innocent. There is no blood staining his pale skin. There is no pain in his expression. She runs a hand over his wispy hair and kisses his forehead, trembling a little. Her fëa reaches out to his, and Maitimo giggles, kicking his little feet.
“Foresight?” Indis suggests, her brow furrowed, “I recognize the look.”
Fëanáro glares a little at her before returning his gaze to Nerdanel, laying a hand on her shoulder.
“Melda, did you see something?” He asks her very gently and she bites her lip hard.
Yes , she wants to say— snarl, more like. I just saw your father choking our son to death .
She does not.
“It was…I don’t know how to describe it,” Nerdanel eventually settles on, and Indis makes a sympathetic noise.
“When our Aracáno was born, I had many visions that were vague and somewhat disturbing for how indecipherable they were,” She tells her, laying a hand on Finwë’s arm when he makes a noise of worry. Indis smiles softly at Nerdanel, “But everything we see is only a single path in the endless choices our children will come to make. Worry not, Nerdanel. Your son is safe.”
Nerdanel can’t seem to calm her racing heart, because there is something in her heart screaming at her that Indis is wrong , her boy will be—
Well. Something will happen to him and it will lead to Finwë attempting to kill him.
She knows that it will happen with every fiber of her being.
Her second son comes to her in a dream— it is the only fit of foresight she ever gets solely about him. He is tall and radiant much like his brother was. At one moment, there is a lyre in his hands. In the next, it is a knife dripping with blood.
Nerdanel sits up in bed with a sharp gasp, and Fëanáro jolts awake beside her.
“Nerdë?” He rubs at his bleary eyes, frowning at her, “What’s wrong?”
“I am pregnant,” She whispers and her husband seems to take a few moments to fully comprehend her words. Then, he smiles wide and pulls her into a tight embrace.
“ Ai , meldanya!” He exclaims, his voice still raspy with sleep. He kisses her cheek and Nerdanel feels the tears on his face when it runs against her skin. Her Fëanáro is so joyful that she can’t bear to tell him that their second-born will be a murderer.
“Haru!” Maitimo squeals and Mahtan gives a bright roar of a laugh, crouching down to catch his grandson and hoisting him up into the air. Maitimo’s delighted shrieks fill the courtyard, and a few of Mahtan’s apprentices stop to watch them fondly. Nerdanel approaches just as her father finally lets Maitimo down. He turns to her and grins wide, pulling her close so he might kiss her cheek.
“Selyë,” He greets, then rests a gentle hand over the growing bump of Maitimo’s little brother, “How are you both doing?”
“All is well, Atar,” Nerdanel assures him, “Maitimo simply wished to see your smiths in action.”
“Well you have come at just the right time, my girl,” Mahtan tugs her towards the forge where Maitimo has already found his way. Inside, she is nearly blinded with the light of a Vala. Aulë is crouched on his heels, listening intently as Maitimo babbles on about his week. Nerdanel smiles and curtseys as much as she is able when the Vala turns his unblinking stare to her.
“My Lord,” She greets him reverently, “I hope my son has been polite.”
Aulë laughs and it is a booming sound that rings with warmth, “He is delightful, child! How I so love to witness the growth of the Eldar.”
“Ammë, Ammë!” Maitimo runs up to his mother and shows her a small, colorful rock, “Look what Lord Aulë gave me!”
“Very pretty, yonya,” Nerdanel pats his head, “You must make sure to keep it safe.”
“I will!” Maitimo chirps and then walks over to Mahtan to be hoisted up. His grandfather indulges him and rests the boy against his hip. He kisses the boy’s cheek and is rewarded with a sweet giggle that has Nerdanel’s chest warming.
Aulë is watching them, watching Maitimo, with a sudden look of…contemplation? There is an air of something around him— though there always is when it comes to the Ainur— and he tilts his head a little as he gazes at Nerdanel’s son.
“What a joy it is to watch how thy people prosper,” He says after a time, “I remember when thou wert a babe thyself, squirming in thy father’s arms. Such a bright child— it is only natural that thy own babe is just as brilliant.”
Of course Aulë was the first to see Nerdanel after her birth, before even Alcawendë’s father and sister. Fëanáro considered following in Mahtan’s footsteps with Maitimo, but Nerdanel refused to let the Vala see their babe before their shared family. She holds the Valar in great respect, but none of them would get to see her babe before her father and mother got to hold the first of their grandchildren.
“Thank you, my Lord,” Nerdanel curtseys again, smiling. Aulë nods at her, and he does not smile— for the Ainur never do— but he looks kindly. It is the picture of Nerdanel’s childhood spent sitting on a chair in the corner, munching on biscuits while her father and Aulë worked in a friendly competition to see who could forge the best something or other. She knows his non-expressions better than any Elda save Mahtan.
She looks at Maitimo, who is studying his new rock with intense focus, his little brow furrowed in concentration. He looks so like Fëanáro when he does that— the boy largely takes after Nerdanel in looks, but in temperament he is far more akin to his father. Nerdanel loves to look at him and see her husband in those bright eyes and wide smiles.
Then, she thinks of the babe nestled in her womb, and she frowns a little.
“My Lord,” She turns back to Aulë and bows her head politely, “I was…might we speak of something in private?”
Mahtan looks worried now— though just about anything seems to worry him when it comes to his pregnant daughter.
If Aulë has any such concerns, he does not show them, nor does he give voice to them. He simply gives Mahtan one of his non-expressive looks, expectant without seeming expectant. Mahtan very clearly does not wish to leave, but he would never disobey an order from Aulë and thus bows his head and withdraws from the workshop with Maitimo in tow.
“Where are we going?” Maitimo asks, entirely oblivious to anything that just happened.
“You haruni made cinnamon cookies earlier,” Mahtan tells the boy, “Why don’t we go try some?”
Maitimo’s excited cry fades as they move further away.
Nerdanel returns her gaze to the Vala before her, who is watching her.
“What worries thee, child?” He asks very gently, and the warmth he radiates settles something in Nerdanel’s fluttering chest. She shifts on her feet, uncertain how to word her concerns.
Then, “I have been blessed with foresight for both of my children.”
Aulë nods sagely, “As many expectant mothers are. But that is not what has caused thy fear.”
“No,” She agrees, “It is not. The things I have seen…they are not pleasant. For my son, Maitimo, I see only darkness and hear a voice so frightening that it lingers in my head even long after the vision has passed. And the babe…I have seen only one thing. He holds a knife dripping with blood and…I have the most terrifying feeling that it is not blood from an animal.”
Aulë regards her, his expression still serene but largely blank. Then, he hums and shifts his gaze to an empty corner.
“The future is not a set path,” He says after a time, though he looks somewhat troubled, “Thy visions art only fragments of endless possibilities. Foresight is oft a warning, though there is little cause for such things in this land of peace. Thou hast seen a dark path, of that I verily agree. But use this not as reason to fear, but a reason to further act. Guide thy children to something better.”
It is both exactly what she wants to hear and nothing close to what she needs to hear. She shudders a bit and lays a hand over the bump of her babe, her face pinching. Aulë still looks troubled, but thoughtful too.
“I thank thee for telling me this, child,” He eventually nods at her, “I shall keep it in mind in the days to come.”
Nerdanel nods and gets the sinking feeling that this changes nothing.
Maitimo holds his baby brother with all the care in the world. He is so young himself, but he is so great in comparison to the small thing cradled in his arms. He smiles down at Makalaurë, and the babe peers back up at him with a vaguely befuddled expression.
“Hello,” Maitimo says, “I am your big brother, Nelyafinwë Maitimo.”
Makalaurë blinks at him and then settles in his arms with a small yawn. His eyes close and he falls quickly into sleep. Maitimo smiles and looks up at Fëanáro and Nerdanel.
“He likes me!” He whispers excitedly. Nerdanel and Fëanáro share a fond look before Fëanáro reaches down to take Makalaurë from Maitimo’s arms.
“I will settle him in bed, why don’t you—”
The second Makalaurë leaves his brother’s embrace, his eyes snap open and he begins shrieking in displeasure. Fëanáro almost drops the baby in surprise and Nerdanel similarly flinches. Maitimo is frowning and reaches out to take Makalaurë back. Once the babe is again settled in his arms, Makalaurë stops shrieking and smacks his lips before closing his eyes.
Nerdanel and Fëanáro gape down at their boys, bewildered. Maitimo looks grave when he regards them.
“He likes me,” He repeats, far more solemn this time.
“...I suppose he does,” Nerdanel agrees, rather at a loss for anything else to say. The two parents stand a little awkwardly over their sons, unsure what to do.
“We can’t have him grow a dependence on Nelyafinwë,” Fëanáro mumbles in her vague direction. Nerdanel slowly nods, her brow furrowing.
“Perhaps if we just…wait until he’s fully asleep?” She suggests and her husband gives her a flat look.
“Meldanya, you remember how easily Nelyafinwë woke as a babe. I have a feeling our Kanafinwë shall be even worse.” He shakes his head and runs a hand over his hair, looking thoughtful. Makalaurë is peacefully resting in his brother’s arms, his little face lax with comfort. Maitimo himself doesn’t seem all that bothered by holding the babe, if anything he seems rather happy. He’s humming a little tune under his breath, rocking slowly in his chair as he looks down at his brother in awe.
“Maitimo, yonya,” Nerdanel crouches before her boys, smiling gently, “Would you like to spend the night with your brother? Just this once?”
“Yes!” Maitimo exclaims in a whisper— and Nerdanel does have to wonder how he already knows to keep himself quiet around his brother. Yes, they talked to him about how things would change with a baby in the house, but Nerdanel rather expected him to learn through experience rather than instruction. He is smiling wide and holding his brother in as close to an embrace as he can get while still supporting his head. Nerdanel kisses his forehead.
“ Ai , what a good brother you are,” She croons and Maitimo preens. Fëanáro is frowning when she rises and she shrugs at him, “Just one night while we figure out the best way to go about this.”
Fëanáro still seems reluctant, but nods nonetheless, “Very well. There is little harm it would do, anyway.”
“Come now, Maitimo.” Nerdanel helps her boy out of the chair with Makalaurë still in his arms, “Would you like to know how to change his diaper?”
“Yes,” Her boy says with a serious expression, “I wanna be able to help!”
Nerdanel ruffles his hair with a breathy laugh, “You won’t be able to help with everything, yonya, but I will teach you all I can. After all, it might be helpful if you ever desire to have your own children.”
“I won’t,” Maitimo says brightly, entirely certain. Nerdanel raises her brow but chooses not to comment— Ilúvatar knows that she took great issue with her elders telling her that she would someday desire children enough to brave the troubles of pregnancy. They were right, but that didn’t make it any less infuriating at the time.
“Well, then it might be helpful if you end up with more siblings,” She amends, to which Maitimo gasps in excitement.
“I’m gonna have more siblings?” He exclaims— still whispering, which she is rather impressed at.
“Ah, maybe someday, melyonya,” She smiles at him, “But not anytime soon. I must recover from bearing your brother first.”
Maitimo nods with an intense look and turns to his baby brother still asleep in his arms. Nerdanel watches fondly as he murmurs quietly to the sleeping babe.
He would make such a good father.
I cannot see this again. I cannot let them do this again. I will take you somewhere safe, just let me help you!
She stops short, which makes Maitimo stop as well. He looks at her with a confused frown.
“Ammë?” He calls to her.
They are the sons of Elwing.
Maitimo is flickering around the edges, becoming wispy like fog on a dense morning. His face looks so different for a split second, his shoulders broader and his body longer. There is a weight to his stance, like the world is pressing him down and he is only on his feet by the sheer stubbornness of his will. There are bags under his eyes, the darkened skin stark against the pallor of his face. His cheeks are gaunt like he hasn’t eaten in decades and his hands are shaking where they hang limp against his thighs. For the barest of moments, Maitimo is entirely foreign to her.
And then he is simply her boy, holding his brother and watching her with growing concern. Nerdanel shakes herself and clears her throat.
“Apologies, yonya,” She murmurs, her head aching terribly, “I do not…I must be more exhausted than I thought. Come, let us get you both ready for bed, yes?”
She smiles at her son again, but she knows it is far too strained. He looks at her suspiciously, like he doesn’t know if he should call her out on her strange behavior.
But he is young yet, and he is still of the age that he will not be contrary to his mother for anything. Or perhaps that is simply how he is— her Maitimo, an obedient son and loving brother.
Makalaurë makes a small noise in Maitimo’s arms, drawing them both from the tense moment.
“Alright,” Maitimo says, still unsure but unlikely to voice his concerns. Nerdanel nods and leads him to the nursery.
Her third son comes to her while she watches Maitimo and Makalaurë play in the gardens of their home. At one moment, she is alone at a bench, sketching out an idea for a new sculpture. At the next, there is a nér with pale hair standing before her, his expression haunted.
“Makalaurë,” He whispers, his voice trembling, “What if there is no finding him? What if he is already gone?”
In a mere blink, he is gone. Nerdanel is left with a racing heart and a new bond strung out from her fëa.
She is not a fool— every one of the visions shown to her are painting a picture. She can see it in pieces, not entirely clear but somewhere close to legible. Something happens to her Maitimo, Finwë tries to kill him, Makalaurë harms someone, and Tyelkormo fears for someone's life.
The dark voice is not yet something she fully understands, but based on the feeling she gets when she recalls that rasping timbre, she is fairly sure they have something to do with the dark future of her family. And the voice that spoke in desperation— I cannot let them do this again — she is somehow certain that it was Maitimo.
They are the sons of Elwing.
Elwing. Elwing . It is not a name that she recognizes. In Quenya, it has no discernable meaning. In Telerin, it is slightly more comprehensible, but still largely gibberish.
Nerdanel debates bringing it up to her husband— the name, her visions, her fears— but…something stops her. She can’t put her finger on what it is, but everytime she goes to speak with Fëanáro, a host of red flags pop up in her head and she keeps her lips sealed. It is not that she worries he wouldn’t believe her. No, she knows without a doubt that he would take everything she has witnessed as the full truth. There is just…this nagging thing in the back of her head that holds her back. She can’t push past it.
So she is largely alone in this.
She bears her third son with as much love as the first two, and he is beautiful when he finally comes into the world. Maitimo takes to caring for him just as easily as he did with Makalaurë— and thankfully Tyelkormo is better at being away from his big brother for longer than five minutes. Nerdanel watches them all with love in her heart and so much fear that it is beginning to eat her alive.
Something is going to happen. Something is going to hurt her family.
A year after Tyelkormo’s birth, her fourth son comes to her in a dream much like Makalaurë did. He is scowling and glaring at something just over her shoulder. But he is just as beautiful as the rest of his brothers. She sees him with a needle and thread in his hands. She sees him with blood splattered on his cheek. She sees him with tears held stubbornly back in his eyes.
Then I suppose we come to an impasse, háno.
And then she wakes with a new bond.
Fëanáro is surprised and somewhat sheepish when she tells him of their newest addition. He kisses her cheek, then her lips, brimming with so much joy that it hurts her heart.
“You are so good to me, Nerdë,” He murmurs against her skin, “My beloved, my beautiful wife.”
Nerdanel kisses him and tries not to cry.
It takes one sentence from Melkor’s lips to know that he is the catalyst to her family’s downfall.
Fortunately, Fëanáro is just as distrustful of him as Nerdanel is, so it is not strange for her to try and steer their children away from the Ainu whenever she can.
But a year after Melkor’s release, her husband makes the Silmarilli and she knows with a grim sort of finality that there is no changing what’s coming.
Atarinkë’s conception, bearing, and birth all blur together for her. She loves him, she does — but there is a weight in her chest that was not there for her past four boys. She can’t enjoy him the way she did with Maitimo, Makalaurë, Tyelkormo, and Carnistir. Everytime she holds him, all she can see is his scowling face almost identical to Fëanáro. All she can smell is blood.
By the time the Ambarussa greet the world, she knows that she cannot stay. She cannot witness her family be torn apart by whatever dark future is coming for them. She refuses to witness her boys be dragged under with their father, who is so angry and bitter that she hardly recognizes him anymore. He did not cry when the Ambarussa were born— even when he did so for every one of their sons. He hardly seemed present, in spite of his hand loosely held around hers for the entire process.
She manages perhaps a decade more before she is absconding in the middle of the night.
“Ammë?” Maitimo is in the doorway to the kitchen, his brow furrowed and his lips pressed thin. He is stiff, weary, confused . Her hand aches where it clutches at the strap of her bag, the cut from the plate shard pulsing with painful heat. Maitimo regards her sadly, something resigned in his expression.
“Maitimo,” Nerdanel breathes, and she knows that she should say more. She knows that he deserves better than a mother who refuses to remain until the end. All of her boys do.
But she can’t . She can’t force herself to watch this.
Maitimo is silent for a painfully long time. Then, he turns away with a small sigh, “I will gather what I can for you to retrieve later.”
The words shock her more than she would like to admit. She had known, somewhere deep down, that her eldest would not stop her if he found her in the midst of leaving. He has never opposed her decisions before, so why would he stop now? But sometimes he seems so much like Fëanáro, sometimes there is a light in his eyes that frightens her. Sometimes, he is entirely foreign to her.
“Thank you, yonya,” She whispers and Maitimo grimaces only just.
“Tell Haru I will visit soon.” He nods at her and then leaves without another word. It hurts— stars above it hurts her— but she too leaves.
Then Fëanáro is exiled. Then the trees are dead. Then there is a messenger sent to her father’s halls with a breathless description of all that has happened in her absence.
Finwë is dead. Maitimo is gone. Her husband and sons have sworn an oath that will damn them for eternity.
Nerdanel falls to her knees and weeps.