Summary: Fingolfin and the missus bury the hatchet with Feanor at a lovely sit-down dinner...yeah, on Mars! Featuring a blinding cameo appearance by the Silmarils.

To my beloved reviewers: You guys are awesome, thank you, thank you! I hope this last installment will not disappoint :).

Fingolfin glared up at the dark, imposing house. Sufficating smoke belched forth from its chimneys, causing him to cough and sputter. He muttered an intelligible curse, and his fingers twitched animatedly. He was about to shove them into his trusty 'ole pocket when-

SLAP!

He let out an angry yelp, shooting a dirty look at his wife as he rubbed his hand. "I wasn't searching for pills, if that's what you're thinking," he said moodily. "Before we left I took one...and a half," he mumbled to himself, absently scratching a lotion-covered patch of inflamed skin.

Anaire linked her arm snugly through her husband's. "And there will be no more from now on," she replied, batting his hand away from the infected area.

Fingolfin's eyes went wide. "What do you mean, from now on?"

"Oh, I threw the rest out with the garbage," she remarked breezily, "and I told the healer to discontinue your prescription." She patted his bumpy, greasy cheek and steered them toward the massive double obsidian doors.

Fingolfin recoiled in horror. "Cursed thrall of Morgoth! Who are you and what have you done with my wife?" he hissed.

Anaire jerked him back toward the house and they ascended the steps. "Stop being so paranoid! You need to learn to control yourself...and it's the least we can do for poor Nerdanel who offered to have us in the first place."

"An invitation I was coerced into accepting," Fingolfin muttered under his breath as they finally stopped in front of the doors. He held his breath and willed himself not to scratch as Anaire rang the bell.

The loud howling of hounds nearly made them jump out of their skins. From within, a resonant female voice, obviously Nerdanel's, commanded someone to answer the door, which was met with varying degrees of high-pitched, whiny rebukes. The woman's voice spat some harsh, unintelligible reprimands, followed by the clatter of silverware and furniture, and then at last the door opened:

"Ah, welcome Fingolfin, Anaire! Please come in." When the wide-eyed couple stood frozen to the spot, Nerdanel cajoled, "Come now, we don't bite!"and ushered them into the entryway. They nearly gaped; Feanor's house was every bit as imposing and obnoxiously lavish as the outside, with wood-paneling, fur-covered floors and various hunting "prizes" mounted on the walls. Smack dab in the middle was an elegant bronze statue of, who else, but the man of the house.

At that moment Maglor came running down the stairs looking quite nervous. "Ah...Maedhros says he'll not come down tonight," he stammered, averting his eyes.

Nerdanel glanced sharply at him. "Yes he will, it is not an option," she retorted.

Maglor's eyes widened. "But Mother, he's locked his door and will not answer anyone's calls!"

She took a deep breath and raised her index finger at her son. "You tell him that he will come down to dinner, or I'll feed his genitals to the hounds!" she snapped. Maglor turned and ran back up the stairs like he'd seen a ghost.

Nerdanel sighed and smiled apologetically at the shell-shocked couple. "Kids!" she shook her head ruefully, throwing her hands up into the air. "Well, I hope you've brought your appetites, the cooks have prepared quite a feast," she chirped, leading them into the grand dining room. Suddenly her smile fell as she looked closely at Fingolfin. "Dear Valar, Fingolfin, you look dreadful! What happened?"

Fingolfin smiled grimly and began to speak. "What happened? I'll tell you what happened! Your-"

"Actually, he suffered an outbreak three days ago, at the reception," Anaire quickly interjected. "It was all very stressful for him, you know," she added with a chuckle.

Nerdanel joined in. "Well, he's definitely very brave, to be leaving the house looking the way he does," she remarked, "if Feanor's face looked like that I'd put a bag over his head!" The women chuckled again, and Fingolfin could only give a wan smile, gritting his teeth hard. "Where is that husband of mine?" Nerdanel mused with irritation, bustling about the room. "Feanaro!" she called.

The sound of angry shouting from a nearby room silenced her. Worried, she head over to the study and peeked in.

Feanor, dressed garishly in a purple satin kimono, stood at the edge of the balcony, obviously upset. "It's not my fault the smoke kills your flowers! I told you I wanted a fifty-foot wall on the property line!" he shouted across a considerable distance, pounding the railing for emphasis. An equally irate voice answered back, and then he yelled, "well, you know what? No one cares about your stupid, puny garden, so why don't you just DROP...DEAD!"

He stalked off the balcony and slammed the double doors behind him. "Damn old fart," he muttered, turning to face a full-length mirror.

Nerdanel rolled her eyes and sighed with relief. "Darling, I do wish you would continue your petty little feud with my father on another day. Our guests have arrived."

Feanor smirked at his reflection. "Have they? I shall come out to greet them shortly." He turned to retrieve something from a small iron chest as she closed the door.

"Come, come, sit," Nerdanel ushered the hesitant couple into their seats at the large dining table. "He'll be right out. I shall summon the children." With that, she walked over to the foot of the staircase, took a breath, and gave an ear-splitting whistle.

Fingolfin groaned and rubbed his temples. He had developed a terrible headache from restraining all his rage thus far, and the thundering of footsteps that now followed Nerdanel's cattle call did not help things at all.

"Don't touch it! You'll get that cream all over your fingers!" Anaire hissed, swatting his hands.

Fingolfin batted her off. "My skull is screaming," he complained, discreetly wiping his hands on the edge of the linen tablecloth. Suddenly he spied Maglor heading into the kitchen, holding a white bottle and a small drinking glass. Getting an idea, he stood to follow him. "I'm going to get a drink of water. Save my seat," he said to Anaire, patting her hand.

Slowly, Fingolfin pushed the kitchen door open, trying to make as little noise as possible. He watched Maglor open the small bottle and empty two blue tablets into his palm, then fill the glass half-full with water. Fingolfin smirked and stepped closer. "What have you there, my boy?" he asked conspiratorily.

Maglor started and nearly dropped the glass. "Ah, you startled me, Uncle," he chuckled, looking somewhat embarrassed. "Actually, I'm just, uh...well, taking a little something that will make the evening more bearable, you might say," he explained, suddenly cocking his head at Fingolfin. "Um, what happened to your fa-"

"Oh, don't mind me," Fingolfin smiled, gazing at the pills with intense interest. "What are they, exactly?" he asked politely, stepping ever closer.

"A combination pain reliever and sedative, really," Maglor replied before tipping his head back and washing the pills down with the water.

"You don't say." Fingolfin's eyes glinted greedily, now standing right beside his nephew. He slung an arm around his shoulders and whispered, "Say, would you mind sharing with your old uncle? My head is killing me, and who knows how long this night is going to last!"

Maglor's eyes widened at Fingolfin's expression. "Well, uh, no, I'm sorry, uncle, I can't," he stammered nervously, "see, they were prescribed specifically-"

"Ah, come now, what's the hurt in giving away a few?" Fingolfin tightened his grip on the elf's shoulder while the other hand twitched violently. "Be a good lad and give your uncle a few," he commanded gently, his eyes growing wider and more crazed as he stared at the bottle.

Maglor recoiled and pulled his hand away. "No, uncle."

Finally Fingolfin exploded. "Give me the pills!" he hissed as his free hand latched onto the bottle in a death grip.

"Uncle, no!" Maglor cried as he tried in vain to wrestle the bottle from his deranged uncle. "Someone help!" he yelled to the ceiling.

"Shut up, you little pansy!" Fingolfin spat as he yanked the bottle away, the motion sending Maglor backwards into the wall. With a muted cry of triumph, Fingolfin frantically shook out four tablets and downed them with the remaining water in the glass. He sighed contentedly and smiled down at his mortified nephew. "Let's just keep this between you and me," he whispered before walking out.

Anaire looked worried as a very smug Fingolfin strolled over to the table. "Is everything all right? I heard a commotion."

"Oh, everything's just fine," he replied dismissively, sliding into his seat. "The boy was struggling with a jar and needed a...helping hand." He smiled and kissed Anaire on the cheek, not caring that some lotion got on her skin nor caring about her annoyed reaction to it. He sighed and examined his nails. Now tonight would be halfway bearable!

(A/N: Of course, had Fingolfin bothered to read the fine print on the bottle, he would have noted that the pills can interact with other medications and may produce delightful side effects including: headache, heart palpitations, profuse sweating, vomiting, delirium and hallucinations).

A great deal of clamor announced the arrival of Caranthir and the twins, who shrieked upon seeing Fingolfin and ran to Nerdanel crying, "Monster, monster!" At the same time, Maglor entered from the kitchen with his head down, sullen and his chin quivering. He took the seat farthest away from Fingolfin, not daring to look up.

"Hush now, little angels, it's not a monster, it's your uncle!" Nerdanel consoled them. "What's with you?" she asked Maglor with some irritation, who shook his head and waved his hand dismissively, staring at the silverware. She sighed with exasperation and glared at Caranthir standing by the entryway. "Where is your father?"

Caranthir rolled his eyes skyward, suddenly jerking as a mysterious hand slapped him from behind. He took a breath and announced, "All rise in the presence of the Supreme Cosmic Genius!"

"Oh, bloody hell," Nerdanel muttered, smilingsheepishly at Fingolfin and Anaire. "He does this every time we have company."

Finally, Feanor appeared in the doorway, his arms outspread in an arrogant display. His purple satin robe flowed to the floor, and the brilliant Silmarils shone like laserbeams, with one hanging on a chain from his neck, one adorning his belt and the third bound to his brow. Everyoneshrunk instantly from the sudden assault to their eyes, squinting and shading them as though staring into the sun.

"The White Menace!" Feanor's sons whispered simultaneously, exchanging glances of dread.

"Welcome, welcome, a thousand welcomes!" Feanor exclaimed in a booming voice, stepping down and up to the table. "Good evening half-brother Fingolfin, Mrs. Fingolfin," he continued, putting his fingertips together and giving a slight, though mocking, bow. "Come to see how the other half lives, eh? Catch a glimspe of high society?" He smirked, raising his brows at a disapproving Nerdanel.

Anaire instinctively grasped her husband's arm, only to find it remarkably limp. She glanced suspiciously at Fingolfin, who seemed unusually mellow, his usually bulging eyes half-lidded.

Suddenly Feanor burst out laughing. "By the gods, half-brother, you look terrible! What gives?"

Fingolfin gave a wan smile. "Hive attack. What gives with the spiny cactus hairdo?" he volleyed back, snickering.

The smirk of Feanor's face abruptly disappeared. "Egg frosting. Not quite all of it has come out," he retorted coolly, glancing sharply to his left at the sound of snickering. "But I digress. Please, sit, make yourselves at home," he gestured for all to pull up their chairs. The moment they did, two servants rushed in and began cramming the table with enough food to feed a grandstand crowd. Fingolfin and Anaire exchanged a glance; no pleasantries, no "grace," just a lavish gorgefest. They shrugged and happily joined in the gorging. Hey, it was a free meal!

Feanor momentarily lifted his head above the action. "Where is Nelyo?" he asked, looking over at Nerdanel. "Wife, I told you to order him to come down tonight-"

"And here he is now," Nerdanel interrupted his tirade, smiling gratefully as a brooding, gloomy Maedhros walked, head down, into the room and over to his seat on Feanor's righthand side. He landed in his chair with a moody thud and promptly snatched the bread basket out of Caranthir's hand. "Good evening aunt, uncle," he muttered, throwing food onto his plate.

Anaire gave a weak smile; Fingolfin, clearly in the beginnings of a medicated haze, saluted him with his wine glass before slowly tipping it into his mouth. "Whoa, that was slow-motion. Weird," he giggled, waving his fingers in front of his eyes. "Whoooooooo," he cooed, waving them in front of Anaire's face.

Feanor closely regarded Maedhros, chewing lazily on a wad of meat. "It's about time you showed up, Nelyo. 'Tis good to get your mind off of yourself for a change." He looked over at Maglor, not seeing Maedhros's withering glare. "How about some music, eh? Kanafinwe, go play one of your new pieces for our guests," he commanded breezily, gesturing over to a large harp and ignoring Nerdanel's reproachful look.

Maglor froze in mid-chew, eyes wide. "But Father, I've only begun eating-" he protested.

"Kano." The thinly veiled threat in Feanor's low tone made everyone stop and look over at Maglor. With the melodramatic flair typical of a true "artiste," Maglor carefully set his silverware down and rose gracefully from his seat, looking on the verge of tears. He sniffed loudly as he walked over to his instrument, then finally sat down, let out a long-suffering sigh, and began to work his magic with slender fingers. With a satisfied smirk, Feanor's chest puffed up once more as he took a long drink from his glass.

"Where are the others? Celegorm and Curufin?" Anaire ventured tentatively.

There was a round of snickering from the young 'uns, even Maedhros smirked. Feanor smacked his lips and gazed serenely into the distance. "They are presently carrying out the terms of their...sentence," he said calmly. Suddenly the sound of a toilet flushing echoed from above, and he chuckled merrily. "Ah yes, they must be fulfulling their janitorial duties at the moment."

Anaire's eyes widened incredulously. "You mean they're cleaning the bathroom? At half past eight?"

Feanor's eyes glazed over in evil delight. "Bathrooms, my lady.They've experienced rather...heavy usage this past week." He laughed again and took another drink. "I should imagine they will finish in time to have their evening meal of gruel and water," he added off-handedly. He noticed Fingolfin gaping at him with wide, wild eyes and frowned. "What in blazes are you gawking at?"

Fingolfin lifted a trembling finger and leaned over to his wife. "Look! You see that? He has snakes growing out of his head!" he whispered fearfully, cowering behind her.

"You speak to me thus in my own house, half-brother?" Feanor demanded, growing irritated.

"Stop that! What's the matter with you?" Anaire whispered, swatting Fingolfin on the arm. "He's still quite tired from the wedding. He meant nothing by it," she explained dismissively, pretending not to hear Caranthir's muffled muttering of the word, "junkie."

"You know," Nerdanel interjected brightly, "watching Turgon and his lovely bride's behavior at the wedding reminded me so much of our own courtship and wedding," she mused wistfully, looking over at her husband.

Feanor snorted. "Plus the fact that your old man nearly disowned you when he discovered why we were marrying."

Nerdanel blushed. Anaire smiled quizzically. "I don't understand."

"Are you dense, woman? She had a bun in the oven!" Feanor retorted, jerking his thumb towards Maedhros, now as red-faced as his mother. "Of course, we were very young then. I had no idea of just how fertile she would be," he added, smirking salaciously at his wife. Nerdanel gasped and slapped him playfully on the arm, letting out a girlish giggle. Everyone else pretended not to see this embarrassing display.

"People are trying to eat, you know," Maedhros grumbled, glaring at them both. "And I don't think aunt and uncle are interested in hearing your disgusting sex stories."

Suddenly Fingolfin jerked, drawing his knees up to his chest and gaping in some vague direction. "Did you see that wall move?" he hissed at Anaire, clutching the tablecloth in a white-knuckled grip.

Anaire shook him by the shoulders. "What is wrong with you tonight?" she whispered, staring into his extremely dilated pupils. He'shigher thana bloody kite, she thought, her eyes narrowing in growing anger.

Fingolfin recoiled from her. "Are...are you an assassin?" he whispered fearfully. Anaire shook her head and gestured vaguely. "I do apologize. My husband is obviously not himself tonight."

Feanor straightened in his chair and glared at Fingolfin. "It's all right, Anaire. I think I know the real reason for your husband's unacceptable behavior." He leaned forward on his elbows and jutted his chin out. "We may as well stop beating around the bush, half-brother. Let's just get it out into the open. We all know that your son Fingon chased my eldest because of jealousy!"

All fell silent, even Maglor stopped playing. Maedhros dropped his head into his hands. "Oh, Eru, don't start," he mumbled.

Some small degree of sanity must have struck Fingolfin for he sat up in his chair and focused his gaze on Feanor. "What did you say?"

Feanor smirked and sat up straighter than the spiky hairs on his head. "That's right. Look at my Nelyo," he boasted, gesturingto Maedhros. "The fairest in all the land, and shapely in every sense of the word. Why, he could have any female he desires, be she elf, Maia or Vala! He was not named 'well-formed copper' for nothing. Your son only wishes he had such beauty! Now he's trying to smear my Nelyo's reputation!"

Fingolfin leaned forward on his elbows, his smile deranged. "I've got two words for you, Fire-boy: keep dreaming."

Feanor sneered and leaned in closer. "And here's my reply, Crater-face: sour grapes!"

"Can't you shut up!" Maedhros finally exploded, shooting out of his seat and rattling the silverware. "Why do you always have to be such a jerk?" he yelled at a startled Feanor. "I hate you, I hate this place!" With that, he stormed out and thundered up the stairs, followed by the predictable slam of a door. Thespooked hounds promptly began howling.

Feanor stood and pointed accusingly at Fingolfin. "This is all your fault!" he exclaimed angrily. "How could you invite them into our home?" he yelled at Nerdanel.

Finally the dam burst. Nerdanel shot up and yelled back at her husband, the twins began howling along with the hounds, and Caranthir began to gleefully sing that stupid "99 Bottles of Rum" song at the top of his lungs.

Fingolfin recoiled in horror and flattened himself against the nearest wall. "Snakes! Snakes! Get them off!" he shrieked, frantically pulling at his hair and clothes. Giving another maniacal shriek, he turned and ran through the room and out of the house, with Anaire right behind.

And so they fled the dark, imposing house of smoke and chaos. Anaire dared one last glance over her shoulder. Through the window, she could see Feanor and Nerdanel fiercely making out atop the disheveled table, while the twins screeched in disgust and ran from the room covering their eyes. She shuddered, vowing never again to step foot inside that forsaken house, when Fingolfin's blood-curdling screams shocked her back to reality:

"The poison fills my blood! I don't wanna die! MOMMYYYYYYY!"

THE END

A/N: Sorry it took so long to update. I've had to share my laptop with family members as of late. Poor Fingolfin and Maglor, I know they got the most merciless treatment, but they're too cute to resist! Turned out longer than I thought, but am considering writing a short companion piece about Celegorm and Curufin's "punishment" (he he he)...please tell me what you think!