Chapter Text
“Plagiarism, Iþtarnië! It’s pure plagiarism!” Fëanaro fell dramatically back into his chair. “I should sue.”
Nerdanel handed him a sweet bun, giving her husband a fondly exasperated smile. “And who is this foul reprobate, who dared plagiarize you, and made my husband wroth?”
Fëanaro took the bun with a quick thank you, chewing abstractedly as he considered the source of his current annoyance. “Nolofinwë.” Nerdanel raised a brow, motioning for him to continue. “He’s stolen my name again!”
“Oh, dear.” Nerdanel bit her lip, trying not to laugh. “That poor girl. Morëcaneth is not a good name.”
“Not quite so bad,” Macalaurë informed her cheerily, claiming a bun as he did so. “Uncle Nolvo decided to try for creativity this time. Her name is Faniel. Pass the jam, Ammë?”
“Well,” Nerdanel said as she handed over the jam, “that might complicate the plagiarism case.”
“Iþtarnië,” Fëanaro cried, handing her a cup of coffee (dark, two spoons of sugar, dollop of cream, brewed to perfection, exactly as she liked it), “this is serious!”
“Of course it is,” Nerdanel agreed, dark eyes dancing in amusement. “Intellectual property theft is a serious offense.”
“I deserve royalties!” Fëanaro cried.
“Absolutely,” Nerdanel concurred. “I’ll have the paperwork filed by tomorrow.”
“I put great thought into that name,” Fëanaro proclaimed.
At that, Nerdanel had to laugh. “My love, you named Moryo for his hair colour.”
“But with thought,” her husband insisted, dumping half the sugar bowl into his coffee. “I considered the linguistics-“
Macalaurë snorted, slathering jam on another bun. “You added a descriptor to Haru’s name.”
Fëanaro graciously ignored the interjection. “First he blatantly stole my Canafinwë! Findëcano! He could hardly be more obvious!”
“I consider it a compliment,” Macalaurë dryly informed his father. “My name is so perfect Uncle couldn’t think of how to ‘improve’ it. What’s a good synonym for ulo?”
Fëanaro paused, thinking a moment. “Mistë, Húro, Ulundë, Slisë, Raumo, Liantë.” He shook his head slightly. “Be that as it may, it was still my idea and he stole it.”
“Stole what?” Tyelcormo poked his head into the room, then made a beeline for the table. “Ooh, sweet buns!”
“Your names,” Nerdanel laughed, handing him the tray. “Your uncle’th been plagiarizing again.”
“And how is little Morë…caniel?” Tyelcormo asked, shoving half his bun in his mouth and handing the other to Huan.
“Faniel,” Fëanaro corrected. “Black hair, pale skin, ten fingers, ten toes, 26 inches, 18 and a half pounds.” He took a sip of his coffee. “Seems healthy.”
Tyelcormo sighed. “Forgot who I was asking. Ammë?”
“She’s a baby, Tyelco,” Nerdanel answered dryly. “There’s not much to say yet. She doesn’t like her swaddle, I can tell you that much.”
Tyelcormo grinned at her. “Sounds like she’s a wild one! Remind me in twelve Years, and I’ll take her hunting.”
Fëanaro sighed. “Yes, she’s very cute. And we are getting entirely off topic.”
Tyelcormo snorted, handing Macalaurë a bun and grabbing another for himself, throwing himself down beside his older brother. “Oh, come off it, Atar. What do you expect him to do? Uncle Nolvo is terrible at naming things! Everyone in Valinorë knows it!”
“And Aunt Anairë is worse,” Macalaurë continued. “Any word yet on her latest travesty?”
“Travesty?” Findecáno wandered into the room, Maitimo following behind. “Morning Aunt Nerdanel. Uncle Fëanaro. What’s a travesty?”
“Your name, my dear Alatompo.” Macalaurë smirked, gesturing at his cousin with an ink stained hand.
Findecáno groaned, dramatically dropping his head onto the table. “I thought we agreed never to mention that.”
“We did,” Maitimo agreed, handing his cousin the last sweet buns. He scowled at his younger brothers. “Did you two eat all of these?”
“Cano did,” Tyelcormo laughed.
Macalaurë grinned at the eldest unrepentantly. “There are more in the kitchen, Nelyo.”
“And who’s to stop you from tormenting Finno if I go?” Maedhros demanded.
“We will,” Nerdanel declared, taking pity on her eldest.
“We will,” Fëanaro confirmed at her glare, if somewhat unenthusiastically.
Maitimo shot his brothers one last glare before heading to the kitchen. “Shout if they cause any trouble.”
As soon as the door shut behind Maitimo, Tyelcormo leaned forward. “So? What’s the word on the amilessë?”
Findecáno sighed as everyone, even his usually sensible aunt, turned to look at him expectantly. “Atar was trying to talk her out of Hloinerynissë when I left.”
Fëanaro choked, splattering coffee everywhere. Nerdanel pounded him on the back, her own mirth joining her boys, who had fallen over laughing.
“Yes, yes.” Findecáno rolled his eyes. “Laugh at my distress, why don’t you?”
“Surely,” Fëanaro gasped, still slightly breathless, “your mother can come up with something less…less…” He gestured helplessly, the sheer linguistic insult having entirely stripped him of his own words.
“It was her second choice,” Findecáno said mournfully. “She preferred Mikinaikië.”
Fëanaro barely avoided choking a second time. “Where does she come up with these things?”
“Random pointing,” Tyelcormo began, Macalaurë’s broad shoulder the only thing keeping him upright.
“In an etymology text,” his brother concluded, wheezing slightly from the force of his laughter.
Maitimo returned, shaking his head. “Why doesn’t she ask for help?” he asked, dodging Macalaurë’s swipe at the tray. “These are mine and Finno’s, Cano. You want more, kitchen’s that way.”
Macalaurë mock scowled, and stuck out his tongue. Maitimo rolled his eyes. “How,” he demanded, “are you the same age as Uncle Arvo?” Findecáno laughed, and Maitimo grinned back at his best friend.
“Ammë!” Macalaurë whinged.
“Laurë,” Nerdanel chuckled, “I love you. But if I hadn’t rocked you and Arvo in the same cradle, I’d never guess you were the same age.”
“Atar!” Macalaurë exclaimed, “won’t you defend me?”
“You should listen to your amil,” Fëanaro said, gravity betrayed by the laughter he was completely failing to hide. “She’s always right. Even when she’s wrong, she’s right.”
“Good husband,” Nerdanel said, rewarding him with a kiss.
“Woe is me,” Macalaurë proclaimed, leaning back, hand on his heart. “I am betrayed!”
“Not so brother!” Tyelcormo cried, leaping up. “For I am with you!” He shot his brother a sly grin, moving lazily about the table. “After all, if you are younger than Arvo, then I should have to be the elder. And being your elder brother seemeth like a terrible chore.” He patted Maitimo’s shoulder sympathetically.
“It is,” Maitimo confirmed warily.
“Hmmph.” Macalaurë turned away, scowling. “See if I stop you from falling again, Turko.”
“Ah, but then I won’t share these,” Tyelcormo rejoined, proffering to sweet buns. He sat, eyes sparkling with mirth. “Am I forgiven, oh elder brother?”
“Forgiven!” Macalaurë laughed, taking his bun.
“Not by me,” Maitimo snapped. “Are you utterly incapable of being an adult, Cano?”
“Are you so certain you wish me to be?” Macalaurë’s voice lowered dangerously, the the room beginning to tremble worryingly.
“Really though,” Fëanaro hastily interrupted, resuming the prior discussion before the impending sibling battle forced him to replace the windows again. “Findecáno. Your mother cannot mean to name your poor sister so!”
Findecáno groaned, playing along. “Alatompo and Topatompon say otherwise.”He laid his head on Maitimo’s arm, forcing the red head to turn from his brother.
Maitimo chuckled, anger fading as he gently rubbed his cousin’s back. “She really should ask for help.”
“She should just ask me,” Macalaurë replied, good mood returning. “I could come up with better drunk!”
Nerdanel gazed thoughtfully at her second. “I rather think you could.” Then she laughed, and planted a quick kiss on Findecáno’s head. “Don’t worry,” she promised. “I’ll talk to your Amil. Your sister will have a decent name.”