The histories of the Eldar live in stories and songs- who knows this better than I, singer second only to Daeron of Doriath? But tales such as these too often leave out the live components of those whose stories are told, naming only deeds- and who knows this better than I, last survivor of the Dispossessed? I make this compilation with no purpose but to give one I love a story that makes him not the monster he was named during the darkest days of the War of Wrath, but the leader and caretaker I know him to be.

Maglor Fëanorion

The first writing in this collection, as I think is fitting, comes from me. The days before the darkening were happy in our home, though days tended towards organized chaos, our very own pocket of madness, for many yeni. Russandol was even then so different from our father that after Tyelkormo came old enough, neither Russandol nor I were required to help our father in the forge- neither of us were suited to it. Russandol had not the love of it, and I had not the patience. I know not what day this was, for it was not any great feast or any special day. I do not even know why I remember it so vividly. It was just a day among many in the house of Fëanaro, as he was known then, and his wife Nerdanel and their children.

I was in the study, writing a song. Father was in the forge, and Mother was in the kitchen. Ambarussa were just shy of their third Naming Day, Atarinkë was ten, Carnistir was seventeen, Tyelkormo was thirty, I was thirty seven, and Russandol had just celebrated his fortieth Naming Day. I do not know what had happened, for I had been in the study playing my harp, but the house was in an uproar.

"Maitimo!" Mother shouted as I poked my head out. Ambarussa were wailing and Atarinkë had joined in, distressed by their distress, I suspect. Russandol came in, Carnistir on his back; there were tears on Carnistir's face and his knee bled profusely through his ripped breeches.

"Yes mother?" Russandol asked, setting Carnistir on the table and fetching the small bag mother kept for cleaning up our numerous scrapes and bumps.

Mother came in carrying both the twins. They were still wailing. Atarinkë saw me and ran to me, clutching my midsection, and I hugged him.

Russandol finished cleaning Carnistir's scrape, relieved mother of one of the twins, and set about bandaging the scrape on Carnistir's knee one handed, all the while humming and murmuring nonsense to Ambarussa.

He saw me and Atarinkë and asked Carnistir if he was well. When Carnistir nodded, he immediately crossed to us and knelt down next to Atarinkë. "What is it, little one?" he asked.

Atarinkë quickly transferred his grip to Russandol's neck. "They were screamin'," Atarinkë mumbled into our brother's throat. "Shouldn't scream."

"But you screamed when you were that small," Russandol reasoned. "As did I. Who are we to deny him the great joy of being a baby? You can scream and no one screams back."

Atarinkë looked up, a frown on his small features. "Joy?"

Russandol smiled gently. "Well, would you want to lie around all day, and have everyone do everything for you?"

Atarinkë shook his head.

"Well, then understand that when they scream, it is only out of boredom."

I saw the smile creep up Atarinkë's face, and Russandol flashed me a secretive smile as he stood back up, bouncing Ambarussa on his hip and rubbing noses with him.

Mother looked terribly relived that the screaming had stopped. She looked very tired, for the twins still woke up in the night wailing, and she and father had not had a full night's sleep in many astar.

"Kano," Russandol suggested, "Why don't you play the song you've been working on for Tyelkormo, Carnistir and Atarinkë?" In other words, 'please, brother, get them out of our hair!'

I looked around. "Where is Tyelkormo?"

Russandol pointed. "Right..." he trailed off. "He was right there."

Mother looked alarmed. Of all of us, Tyelkormo was the worst about wandering off, and though nothing in Tuna was going to hurt us, none of her children needed help to get into messes or hurt ourselves.

Russandol handed Ambarussa to me. "I'll go find him, Mother."

I smiled down at Carnistir and Atarinkë. "Why don't we go in the study and play that song?"

Mother took Ambarussa from me, and I took the rest of my brothers to back to the study. The next time I saw Russandol was lunch. He and Tyelkormo had apparently made lunch while mother was napping in one of the rare periods where Ambarussa slept at the same time.

Father, I knew, was taking lunch in the forge; he often did. Carnistir set the table, and I volunteered Atarinkë and myself to clear up after the meal, which we all knew meant I would be doing it myself, but Atarinkë liked to think he was helping.

Almost as soon as we sat down, one of the Ambarussa began to cry. Mother sighed softly and started to get up, but Russandol stopped her. "I'll get him, Mother."

By the time Russandol had risen and walked out to the nursery, both the twins were crying. I was closest to the door and could hear Russandol murmuring, though I could not hear the words, and gradually the low mutter resolved into a lullaby, hummed or sung softly. I could remember Mother and later Russandol singing it to me when I was small.

The squalling stopped, and after a few minutes, Russandol returned. He smiled gently. "He just needed changing, Mother; it was nothing."

Mother ran her fingers through Russandol's rusty hair. "Thank you Maitimo."

An hour after lunch, the bell rang and Tyelkormo and Carnistir scuffled over who would answer the door, and in the midst of their tussling, Russandol, carrying Ambarto, answered it for them. "Findekáno!" he cried. "What brings you here?"

Our cousin grinned, shaking his untidy hair out of his eyes. "Father sent me with a message for uncle. Said he was more likely to actually read it if I brought it and you and Makalaurë gave him your 'wounded hound' looks."

Russandol laughed. Father's rather active dislike of his brothers was something of a legend, and we all remembered to screaming match between mother and father when Russandol and Findekáno became so close. Mother adored Findekáno, though father (who by this point was actually rather fond of him) pretended dislike for appearance's sake. It was something of the truth that he would read a message couriered by Findekáno when he might not have read it if his brother had brought it.

"Afternoon, Makalaurë," Findekáno said, flashing me a grin. "And who's this rascal?" he asked, sweeping up Ambarussa, who apparently had escaped mother and was crawling across the floor towards the door. "Already bent on escape, are you?" Findekáno asked, tickling the babe gently.

Ambarussa laughed musically, tugging on Findekáno's already disheveled hair.

Russandol laughed warmly. "Not the hair, Ambarussa! It is a disaster enough without your help!"

Findekáno made a face at Russandol just as mother came in.

"Boys, who was at the door? Oh, afternoon, Findekáno."

Findekáno ducked into a half-bow. "Afternoon, Aunt. How fare you?"

"Well, thank you. Oh, let me take him." She reached for Ambarussa, but Findekáno shook his head.

"It's no trouble, Aunt. I've just got a message for Uncle. Hi, Tyelkormo."

Tyelkormo waved. "Want me to take father the message?"

"Would you?" Findekáno asked. "That would be wonderful." Findekáno handed over his missive and dropped onto the couch, still jiggling Ambarussa.

Russandol took the seat beside him and Atarinkë poked his head over the back of the couch between them. Russandol laughed. He always laughed more when Findekáno was around. "Is that where you've been hiding, Atarinkë? Behind the couch?"

Atarinkë nodded solemnly and reached over to gently tickle Ambarussa and then Ambarto. "Hidin'," he pronounced.

"An excellent idea, in all this madness," Findekáno told him, matching his solemnity. After a moment, he nodded to me. "Get your harp, little player, and entertain us!"

I shrugged, but Atarinkë sealed my fate. "Play him your new song!" he yelped.

Findekáno grinned. "Oh now you have to play, Makalaurë! I must hear your newest work of art."

"It's okay," I mumbled, flushing red and finding my harp to cover my embarrassment.

"Of course it's wonderful, Kano," Russandol said, as if he could not believe I thought otherwise. "You wrote it. Your songs are like father's jewelry with words."

I flushed red to my eartips, but shook my head. He always said things like that, to all of us. When Carnistir drew father a picture, it was Russandol who told him what a wonderful work it was and hung it on the cupboards in the kitchen for all of us to see. When Tyelkormo brought home his first catch from a trap he made himself- he was always a great hunter- it was Russandol who congratulated him on his good work and taught him to pluck and clean it.

Russandol just prompted me with a nod, so I played and sang. Pretty soon all three of my youngest brothers were sound asleep on the couch, Atarinkë between Russandol and Findekáno. I stopped and Russandol silently led Findekáno to the nursery so they could lay the twins down for their nap.

"Where are Tyelkormo and Carnistir?" Russandol asked mother as they came back through the kitchen.

"With your father."

Russandol nodded. "Atarinkë is sleeping on the couch and the twins are down. Can Findekáno, Kano and I go out for awhile?"

Mother nodded. "Be sure you're back in time for Findekáno to get home before his father begins to wonder where he is."

"Yes mother," Russandol said brightly, and beckoned us both with a tilt of his head.

After an hour or so of wandering around the woods around the house, Tyelkormo and Carnistir joined us, saying mother had sent them to us. Our wandering quickly degenerated into a game of tag, and somehow it was decided that Russandol must be it.

Russandol chased us until Carnistir was falling down with exhaustion and Tyelkormo was not far behind. Russandol looked positively done in, but still offered Carnistir a piggy-back ride back to the house.

Findekáno could not stay for dinner, but instead started off for his home, and we sat down to dinner. Father asked mother how her day had gone, and she smiled. "Wonderful, dear, how was yours?"

Father rambled on about work for a time, and I confess, none of us children were listening, too entertained by Russandol's spot-on imitation of our father's mannerisms to actually listen to him. Father caught him at it when Atarinkë ceased to be able to hold in his giggles, and he scowled, but we could all see the smile in his eyes. He asked mother, "This herd did not give you trouble?"

Mother smiled down the table at Russandol. "I think they ran your oldest a little ragged, but they did not trouble me any."

Father ruffled Russandol's hair, and he blushed. "It was nothing. I just wanted to help mother."

It was then, I think, that I realised that I had the best brother in Arda. "Russandol," I asked, "Why?"

"I'm your big brother," he answered. "I'm supposed to look out for you."

"But who looks after you?" Atarinkë asked.

Russandol seemed taken aback.

"I do," Father answered.

I saw the flash of relief in Russandol's eyes that he tried to hide. There was still a little tenseness between Russandol and father sometimes, even ten yeni after Atarinkë's naming. I think father thought Russandol was angry, and felt he had a right to be, and so never tried to clear the air, because he thought he deserved Russandol's anger. I know Russandol was very hurt by his naming Curufinwë as he did, and sometimes still feared that father did not love him.

Russandol and I shared a room, and I was in bed already when he finally staggered in and collapsed on his bed. He had been helping mother and father get the others to sleep.

"Night, Kano," he mumbled.

"Goodnight, Russandol," I answered.