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starsprayRating: T
Characters: Sons of Feanor, Elrond, Feanor, Daeron, various others
Warnings: n/a
Summary: After years in Lórien, Maglor and Maedhros are ready to return to their family and to make something new with their lives--but to move forward, all of Fëanor's sons must decide how, or if, they can ever reconcile with their father.
Note: This fic is a direct sequel to High in the Clean Blue Air.
Prologue / Previous Chapter
“What do you mean there’s a betting pool?” Curufin demanded as Caranthir snatched the paper out of his hands. It had been filled with lists of names and numbers and what looked like dates. Lisgalen dissolved into giggles. “Betting on my babies?”
“Everyone is just excited,” Celebrimbor said. “There’s never been triplets born in Aman before.”
“What are you even betting on?”
“When they’ll be born,” said Lisgalen. “They’re always early in Men—I knew a woman once who had twins and then triplets just two years later, and all of them came earlier than expected.”
“That’s horrifying,” said Caranthir, sounding fascinated. “Five babies in two years? How did anyone sleep?”
“Lots of aunts and cousins, in this case. Her twins were identical, like Ambarussa,” Lisgalen went on. “The triplets weren’t, though they were all boys. I’ve never seen entirely identical triplets, actually.”
“How many triplets have you known?” Celebrimbor asked.
“They ran in one family of halflings I knew in Bree,” said Lisgalen. “And halfling families tend to be large anyway, so you can imagine how many Tunnellies there were around Archet—you couldn’t take a step without tripping over one. Anyway, that’s also what people are betting on—whether they’ll be identical or not, and whether they’ll all be girls or all be boys.”
“You’re all terrible,” said Curufin, trying very hard to be stern and knowing he was failing.
“Ammë thinks it’s funny,” said Celebrimbor. “And if she knows anything about them, she isn’t sharing even with me, so it’s not like anyone’s cheating.”
Fëanor came into the workshop then, and Curufin said, “Atya, they’re placing bets on my babies.”
“Of course they are,” said Fëanor, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. He laughed and came over to kiss the top of Curufin’s head. “Everyone we knew placed bets on Ambarussa before they were born too—girls or boys, or one of each, since no one knew what to expect. That’s how Rúmil got that turquoise and chalcedony necklace he always wears.”
Curufin narrowed his eyes at Fëanor. “Are you placing bets too?”
Fëanor laughed again. “No.”
“Do you want to place a bet, Curvo?” Caranthir asked.
“And risk being wrong about my own children? No thank you.”
Autumn had passed them by and winter was settling in. The city had emptied as work for the feast next year finished up—which also freed up all the Gwaith-i-Mírdain in their neighborhood to turn their attention to absurd betting pools—and come spring many would be departing for the west to actually put it all together before the feast itself began just before Midsummer. Gil-galad had taken charge of much of the logistics when it came to food and travel and other amenities; he and Celebrimbor often laughed over how much more fun it was to put their skills to use for a party rather than for an army. Maeglin had also been roped into it; he was more at ease in Tirion now than he had been when Curufin had first met him, though he still seemed surprised whenever he came to visit Celebrimbor and found Calissë and Náriel there to greet him with as much enthusiasm as they greeted all their various uncles and aunts and cousins.
Fëanor had gone to lean over Celebrimbor’s shoulder to look at the paper. “It seems even your cousins are involved,” he said.
“What!” Curufin snatched the paper back. “Who told Finrod about it?”
“I did,” Celebrimbor said cheerfully. “But I also might have encouraged him to place some bets that are certainly going to turn out wrong.”
Finrod had, apparently, wagered that the triplets would be born on Midwinter Day—a full week after they were supposed to be born, and likely even longer after they would truly be born, if what Lisgalen had said held true. “Oh,” Curufin said. “Well, that’s all right then.”
The door that led to the street opened again, letting in a burst of cold air alongside Maedhros and Maglor. “Cáno!” Caranthir jumped up to go embrace him. “When did you all get back?”
“Just now,” said Maglor with a grin. He looked like himself again—well-rested and without any dark circles under his eyes, or shadows lurking behind them. Maedhros had had a sudden desire to go to Tol Eressëa a few weeks before, and Maglor and Daeron had gone with him; Curufin had no idea why, but it was the first time Maglor had managed to step out into the street without flinching, and now he seemed entirely at ease even with the city getting a little more crowded again as the winter holidays approached. Time by the seaside in Avallónë had done him good. “We thought we’d surprise you. Daeron’s gone to yell at some poor young loremaster and will be here later.”
“Gone to yell at who about what?” Celebrimbor asked as Caranthir turned to Maedhros—who also looked like himself, with an easier smile. Curufin breathed a quiet sigh of relief at the sight. Maglor had promised months before they would both be fine and they would both be in Tirion that winter, but Curufin hadn’t been sure it had been a promise either of them could really keep.
“I don’t know who, and I think it’s something to do with one of his songs—he was muttering about people making assumptions based solely on words chosen because they rhyme,” said Maglor, “but I’m sure he’ll be very glad to tell you all about it later. Have we missed anything interesting?”
“Want to place a bet on whether Curvo’s having girls or boys or both?” Caranthir asked.
“What do I get if I win?”
“Cáno!” Curufin protested.
Maedhros and Maglor both laughed at him, and Maedhros came over to wrap an arm around Curufin’s shoulders. “I think they’ll all be girls,” he said, “but I’m not going to wager anything on it.”
“I’m not either,” Maglor said, leaning down to kiss Curufin’s cheek. “But just to be contrary, I’m going to predict all boys.”
“Do you have any predictions?” Caranthir asked Curufin.
“No,” said Curufin, and leaned against Maedhros as the paper with all the wagers was passed around for everyone to laugh at in between talking about how excited Calissë and Náriel were—and how excited Celebrimbor was—as well as the upcoming Midwinter holidays and all the parties and gift-giving and things that went with that. Celegorm and the twins blew in with a burst of snowflakes after a little while, with Daeron in tow, and—
They were all there, all seven of them willingly in the same place as their father for the first time since they had all returned to Valinor. There was a thread of tension under the surface still, but Celegorm smiled at Fëanor when they exchanged greetings even if it was still a little uncertain, and Caranthir didn’t flinch away when Fëanor spoke to him or reached for something nearby. Maedhros and Maglor were both laughing—they were all laughing, all truly happy to be where they were. Curufin realized suddenly that he hadn’t actually allowed himself to hope for this. He’d wanted it too badly to ever really let himself believe it would happen, and it had seemed too impossible—the hurt had run too deep. Now—the hurt was still there, but it wasn’t all there was. It wasn’t even the biggest thing anymore, even for Maedhros.
Ambarussa liked to talk about all the things that had happened that had been thought impossible, and Curufin thought now that he should start listening more than he had been.
Everyone even stayed for dinner—and even Nerdanel came to join them. It was chaotic and loud and crowded and Curufin felt happier than he’d been since Maglor and Maedhros had come back from Lórien. The only thing that cast even the smallest of shadows over the gathering was the way Maglor demurred when asked to sing after dinner—Curufin hadn’t heard anything musical out of him except absent humming as he’d worked to repair Rundamírë’s vase that the girls had broken since he’d come back from the Máhanaxar—but even then he did it with a smile and a complaint that he was always the one asked to sing or tell stories, and that sometimes he wanted to be the audience instead. Daeron volunteered to tell stories instead—new stories that he’d learned on his travels over the spring and summer.
Later, Celebrimbor took Náriel to bed, and Curufin took charge of Calissë. “Is it still complicated?” she asked him through a yawn as he pulled the blankets up. “With Grandfather, I mean?”
Curufin kissed her forehead. “Yes,” he said, “but complicated doesn’t have to mean bad. Family is always complicated. Our family is going to get a lot more complicated very soon.”
“But in a good way.”
“In a very good way. Are you excited to meet the new babies?”
“Oh yes!”
“Everyone is going to be very busy when they’re born, you know,” Curufin said. He’d had this talk with both Calissë and Náriel several times, just as he’d had it with Calissë alone when Náriel had been born—he remembered being young and jealous of the new babies that got so much attention. “But that’s just because babies need a lot of care—even just one baby would be a lot, but three at once will be a bit overwhelming for your ammë and me, even with all the help we’ll have. You’ll be seeing quite a lot of your uncles and your brother, but not very much of me or your ammë for a bit.”
“I know, Atya,” said Calissë. “But we’ll get to hold the babies and play with them and everything?”
“You can hold them and talk to them, but it will be a while before they can do much playing.”
“Oh, like the kittens.”
Curufin laughed as Lossë jumped up onto the bed, having decided to sleep with Calissë that night. “A little like kittens, but cats grow faster than elves—and they’re quieter.” He kissed Calissë’s forehead again. “Goodnight, Calissë. I love you.”
“Love you too, Atya.”
Rundamírë was already in bed, with her nest of pillows arranged just so. “I’m very ready for these babies to be born,” she informed Curufin as he came into the bedroom, “and judging by the way two of them have been kicking at my ribs all evening, they’re nearly ready too.”
“We’re all ready,” said Curufin as he leaned down to kiss her. “So, I learned about the betting pool today.”
“And I learned about it yesterday. Are your brothers getting involved yet?”
“Just Carnistir. He thinks it’s very funny.”
“It is funny,” Rundamírë said, and then grunted when one of the babies kicked. “I don’t remember any of our other children moving around this much.”
“They didn’t have to fight for space,” Curufin said.
“You seem very happy tonight,” Rundamírë said. “Not nearly as worried as you have been.”
“All my brothers and my parents were here tonight, and not a single fight broke out.” Curufin found a pillow that Rundamírë hadn’t commandeered, and joined her in bed. “I hadn’t really ever thought that would happen again. And now it feels like—it feels a little like I can breathe again.”
“I didn’t realize that was weighing on you so heavily,” said Rundamírë.
“I don’t think I did either.” He had been aware that it did weigh on him, though clearly not exactly how much until that weight had been lifted. Now he rolled over and rested a hand on Rundamírë’s belly, feeling one of the babies kick at his palm. “Do you have names for them yet?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, smiling dreamily, already halfway to sleep. “I’ve been dreaming of them—they’ll be so wonderful, will do wonderful things.” She had said the same thing about each of the girls, and about Celebrimbor. “Do you have names?”
“Not yet.” Rundamírë had had names for all their children long before they were born, but Curufin had to meet them first, to hold them and look into their little red and wrinkled faces and see their dark and bleary eyes as they blinked open for the first time, to hear their voices as the cried and wailed their first greeting to the world. He did know whether they were boys or girls, though, because Rundamírë knew and had told him as soon as she was certain, and it was going to be very funny to hear about everyone’s reactions to losing or winning their bets once the commotion of the birth died down. Worry still niggled in the back of his mind; he was Míriel’s grandson and her fate was always going to cast a shadow, no matter that she had returned and was as bright and full of life as anyone could be. But it felt less overwhelming now that he didn’t have to fear for anything else. Curufin still lay awake for a long time, watching the moonlight play on Rundamírë’s hair as she slept, thinking about names and the weight they carried, and about the even greater weight of the past and the ways it colored the present and would color the future.
Late the next morning Curufin found Maglor with Calissë and Náriel in the parlor, Calissë with her harp and Náriel on Maglor’s lap learning the scales on his driftwood harp, his bigger hands guiding her tiny ones. “Where’s Daeron?” Curufin asked, surprised not to see him there also.
“Apparently he met Pengolodh yesterday, and has gone to join him and Rúmil for lunch,” said Maglor.
“Was Pengolodh who he went to yell at yesterday?”
“No, but they met when he discovered that Pengolodh had beaten him to the yelling, or something.” Maglor grinned up at Curufin. “I was invited to join them, but I think they’d forget I was there anyway. My talents do not lie in—oh, I’m not even sure what Daeron was talking about this morning. Something linguistic, but I haven’t studied any of that kind of thing in so long that my eyes started to cross while he explained it to me. I’m afraid he’s going to bring back a stack of things for me to read so I can catch up.”
“Now you know how we feel when you start talking about music.”
Náriel was eventually distracted by Lossë and Pídhres, and when Calissë chased after her Curufin sat down on the floor beside Maglor. “You’re really all right?”
“I am.” Maglor hooked an arm around Curufin’s shoulders. “I’m sorry, Curvo. I am glad I ended up going before the Valar when I did, because having that hanging over me now would have been miserable, but I didn’t want to add to your worries.”
“You said you would tell me when you returned what it was that Eönwë did that frightened you. I know it was months ago, but I haven't forgotten.” He’d waited to bring it up again, hoping that distance would make it easier to speak of.
Maglor sighed. “Some of the words he used…echoed others that I had heard. It was coincidence, and if I hadn’t already been so nervous I might have borne up under it better. I’m fine now, really—as long as no one starts talking about how great or mighty I am or some such nonsense.”
Curufin did not like what that implied, but he let it go. “Are you going to perform at Midwinter?”
“No. I’m going to avoid our uncle’s court as much as possible this winter—and you and Rundamírë have been very kind in giving me the perfect excuse. It feels as though I used up a great deal of—oh, I don’t know, something—when I went before the Valar, and singing anything more than some of Bilbo’s old drinking songs still feels daunting.”
“That doesn’t sound like you’re fine.”
“I am. I’ve been here before, and I know I can get out of it again.” Maglor kissed the side of Curufin’s head. “I’m also not doing it alone this time. I’ll be fine, and Maedhros will be fine—we’ll all be fine.”
“You always say that,” Curufin said, making sure Maglor could see him roll his eyes. “This time, though, I actually believe you.”
He still made a point of getting Maedhros alone that afternoon, finding him in his room writing a letter. “What’s this about Maglor being sent into a panic by Eönwë calling him a great singer?”
Maedhros sighed and set down his pen. “He wouldn’t tell me, exactly,” he said, “but something in what he said must have very closely echoed things he heard in Dol Guldur.”
“But why would that be so horrible?”
Maedhros didn’t look at him, but frowned down at the paper. Curufin leaned against the wall by the desk and waited. “Music is who he is,” Maedhros said finally. “It has always been his greatest strength. His greatest—well, his greatest love, I suppose. He said after he got back from the Máhanaxar that he can’t be himself without it. But—in Dol Guldur, it failed him.”
Curufin shifted his weight on his feet to hide the shudder that went through him, remembering the sudden end to Maglor’s battle of song against the Necromancer. “And Sauron used that to mock him.”
“He must have. And then he was silenced entirely—he still doesn’t believe he’s as strong as he once was, you know that. He doesn’t want to be, either—and I do believe he means it when he says it. He doesn’t want everything that goes with it, any more than I want to go back to being Prince Nelyafinwë. It’s just…” Maedhros paused again, and then looked up to meet Curufin’s gaze. “The Enemy—both of them—they were very good at finding weaknesses. Or finding ways to turn strength into weakness. For Maglor it was his voice. For me it was—you know what it was. Some scars won’t ever fade, but Maglor’s learned to live with his and I’m learning to live with mine.”
“You don’t have to do it alone,” Curufin said, echoing Maedhros’ own words to him.
Maedhros smiled at him. “I know, Curvo. What I need from you is still just to be my brother—nothing more. That’s all Maglor needs too. You have enough to worry about with three new babies on the way.”
Almost a week later—three weeks shy of when the triplets should have been born—Rundamírë woke Curufin in the early hours, as the light of the setting moon spilled into their bedroom, shaking his shoulder roughly. “Curufinwë! By all the Valar, must you sleep so soundly?”
“What is it?” Curufin rolled over, still half caught in his dream—an annoying one of trying to clean up his workshop as it just got messier and messier in his wake. He blinked a few times, as Rundamírë struggled to sit up. “Is it—”
“Yes, it’s time!” Rundamírë hit his arm, hard. “Send Tyelpë for my mother and Lerinië!”
“Right, yes.” Curufin rolled out of bed and went to rouse Celebrimbor, who was a lighter sleeper and was halfway dressed before Curufin even finished explaining. Then he went to fetch Tindehtë.
By the time he got back upstairs the whole house was waking, and Calissë had ventured out of her bedroom, yawning and rubbing her eyes. “What’s happening?” she asked as Curufin came up the stairs, taking them two at a time.
“The babies are coming, sweetheart.” Curufin scooped her up and kissed her cheeks as Maedhros’ door opened down the hall. “I need you to go to your Uncle Nelyo, all right?”
“Yes, Atya.” Calissë ran to Maedhros as soon as Curufin set her down. “Uncle Nelyo, the babies are coming!”
“I heard,” Maedhros said as he picked her up. “All right, Curvo?”
“Yes, for now. If Náriel wakes up—”
“Don’t worry, Curvo, I’ve got them.”
The next hours were a blur of anxiety and waiting and bustling. There was not much for Curufin to do except stay out of the way and let Rundamírë squeeze his hand until his bones ached. Her mother and her sister arrived with Nerdanel and Celebrían, who breezed in with such cheerful confidence that most lingering worries dissolved like mist in sunshine. Rundamírë had never suffered through very long or agonizing labors, and though Curufin had been worried that that would change, he need not have. The babies had decided they were ready to come out, and only a few hours after the sun rose the first of them came into the world with a sharp wail. It was a girl, and her sister joined her after only a few more pushes. Their brother took a little longer, but in what seemed to Curufin like the blink of an eye, all of a sudden he and Rundamírë were holding three blanket-swaddled bundles. “Nityanandë, Poicórë, and Nasartinco,” Rundamírë announced, touching each infant on the nose as she named them. They were almost identical, being so newly born that they looked almost like every other infant—but Nasartinco already sported a shock of red hair, and Poicórë had a thick head of darker hair. Nityanandë had the smallest bit of soft silver down on head, pale as starlight in the pale winter sunshine that shone through the window.
Before he was banished with the triplets so that Rundamírë could be cleaned up and take a little time to rest, Curufin leaned over to press a kiss to her temple. “You’re incredible, Arimeldë,” he whispered.
“Of course I am,” she replied with a grin, exhausted but bright-eyed and triumphant, and he knew then that she was going to be absolutely fine. He kissed her again and then let Nerdanel teach him how to hold two of the babies without fearing he would drop one. She picked up Nasartinco, and led the way out of the room. Down the hall was Rundamírë’s workroom, where everyone had gathered to wait, since it was the largest room on that floor of the house. Fëanor and Rundamírë’s father Laucatinco stood in the hallway, speaking together in a distracted sort of way; both of their faces lit up when they spotted Curufin and Nerdanel, and only a few seconds later Celebrimbor emerged with Náriel and Calissë in tow.
Once they got into the workroom, Curufin found his arms empty very quickly, as all grandparents and uncles and siblings wanted to hold all three babies at once. Nerdanel wrapped her arms around him and kissed his temple. “You are going to have your hands very full for some time,” she said. “I hope you don’t have any large projects planned.”
“Of course not,” said Curufin as he watched Fëanor help Náriel carefully hold Poicórë in her arms, supporting her head. Beside them, Celebrimbor helped Calissë do the same with Nasartinco. He tried to think of when he’d last been so brilliantly happy. When Náriel had been born, he supposed—but even then he’d been missing Maedhros and Maglor and Celegorm, who had all been away searching for their own peace. Now they were there alongside Caranthir and Ambarussa, laughing among themselves about who had guessed right or wrong about the babies. It was Amrod who had predicted two girls and a boy, and he was acting very smug about it.
Fëanor came over as Nerdanel went to sit beside Celebrimbor. “Was it as bad as you feared?” he asked quietly as he drew Curufin into his arms.
“No. I knew it wouldn’t be, I just—”
“I know, Curvo.” Fëanor kissed the top of his head. “You handled your worries far better than I ever did when all of you were born.” Curufin allowed himself to bury his face in his father’s chest for a moment, shedding a few tears of sheer relief before he was able to take a deep breath and lift his head again. Fëanor said nothing, just held on a little tighter.
After a few minutes Laucatinco handed Nityanandë to Nerdanel and left to check on Rundamírë. Fëanor stepped back, and Curufin then found himself surrounded by his brothers. “Told you it would all be fine,” said Amras.
“Yes, I know—”
“Have you given them father-names yet?” asked Amras.
“I’ve barely gotten to hold them,” said Curufin. He did already have some ideas, but he wasn’t quite sure yet.
“They’re beautiful,” Maglor told him. “How’s Rundamírë?”
“Tired but well.”
“As we told you she would be,” Caranthir said.
“If anyone says that one more time,” Curufin began, though he didn’t know how he intended to finish the threat—which was just as well, because Lerinië came to summon him back to Rundamírë along with the babies. This time Curufin only had to worry about Nityanandë, because Lerinië picked up Poicórë and Celebrimbor followed with Nasartinco in his arms. Calissë and Náriel darted into the bedroom after them to climb up onto the bed with Rundamírë.
“Hello, my loves!” Rundamírë said, smiling at the girls and at Celebrimbor. Curufin slid onto the bed next to her as Celebrimbor set Nasartinco in one arm, and Lerinië placed Poicórë in the other. “What do you think of your sisters and brother?”
“They’re very wrinkly,” said Náriel.
“And tiny,” Calissë added. “And they don’t look alike at all, not like Uncles Ambarussa, or Elladan and Elrohir.”
“I can already tell they’ll be as inseparable as Ambarussa, though,” Celebrimbor said. It was true—whenever one was carried just a little too far from the others they all started fussing. It was a good thing they had thought to ask Maglor for a bigger cradle. “Do you need anything, Ammë?”
“To sleep through the winter like a hedgehog, perhaps,” said Rundamírë. Calissë and Náriel giggled. “But no, I don’t need anything at the moment. I’ve been very well taken care of, and now I just want to rest a while.”
Celebrimbor gathered up Náriel and Calissë, all of them kissing Rundamírë before leaving, and at last Curufin and Rundamírë were alone with the three new babies. Rundamírë sighed and leaned against Curufin, closing her eyes, looking very content. The next few months would be exhausting and at times trying, but for now the triplets were asleep in their arms and it was quiet, and there was nothing to worry about at all.
They spent the day dozing and juggling the babies and figuring out how nursing would work, and Curufin started to get to know each baby the way that Rundamírë already did. Their newborn spirits were bright and sparkling, and by evening he was able to tell Rundamírë the names he had chosen. Poicórë he named Alassië; Nityanandë he named Silmenis; Nasartinco he named Meneltir.
“No Finwë?” Rundamírë asked, quietly amused.
“I did think about it—but no.” That was a tradition from the Years of the Trees, and it didn’t feel right to bring it back now. Neither Meneltir nor his sisters needed to be tied to the past in that way, and the name Nasartinco already honored Rundamírë’s father.
It would take a few days or a few weeks to settle on which name was best for each child for everyday use—and in the future they would decide for themselves which they preferred, or perhaps they would gain a new epessë, or several. Curufin couldn’t wait to watch them grow, to see who they would become and what they would do. For now he just tucked them into the cradle and set it gently rocking, and watched their faces as they slept.
- - -
Author's Note:
When I decided to introduce triplets to this fic I forgot for far too long how confusing how everyone's multiple names can be. As I've mentioned in notes on previous fics and will again at the end of this one all names for all OCs (with a couple of exceptions, including the kittens) are as usual from Chestnut's brilliant list, and for simplicity's sake here are the triplets (in order of father- and then mother-name).
Alassië - “joy woman” / Poicórë - “pure heart”
Silmenis - “starlight woman/silver woman” / Nityanandë - “little harp”
Meneltir - “firmament gazer” / Nasartinco - “red metal”And while we're at it, Calissë and Náriel also have both father- and mother-names although they haven't come up in the story itself except for that time Curufin double-named Calissë:
Calissë - “she who shines” / Elenárë - “star fire”
Aicalta - “sharp radiance” / Náriel - “flame crowned woman/flame daughter”(As an extra bonus: it was mentioned in The Future's In Our Hands, but Celebrimbor's father-name is not Curufinwë in this ficverse, because I like to be contrary. It's Tulcafinwë, tulca meaning strong/steadfast per elfdict.com (and I just smooshed the words together and thought they sounded fine, do not come for me if the construction is off please).)
