Chapter Twenty-two: The Twins

Though our house did seem unusually quiet without Makalaurë and his songs, the years still passed, unpredictable despite their infinite recurrences and coincidences.

In time, Nerdanel was again expecting, and the light in her eyes seemed brighter than ever, as if she saw the character of the child within her and she was pleased and content. However, this time it seemed that giving birth to five other children had taken its toll. Her steps were slow and often heavier than before, and, though she glowed with delight, her appearance was careless and disheveled. Maybe it was that this pregnancy was difficult. Perhaps her dream of having seven children was losing its momentum.

But in any case Nerdanel was often weary, regardless of her odd and seemingly sourceless joy. She depended on us to do most of the chores she was wont to call her own. Because of the new tasks I was temporarily assigned, I was only able to go to my forge in the late hours of the night, and those early hours of the morning.

On one such night, as I was stumbling, half-asleep, through the dooryard of our house from the forge, squinting into the darkness, I heard the sound of advancing footsteps on the ground.

Cautious as I naturally was from years of living with a family that was not my own, I hid myself in the shadows of the house. For some strange reason, my heart was pounding hard in my throat, as though some doom were about to befall my family. Thoughts, all of them fierce and frightened, whipped through my head like a flock of startled birds, but I tried to keep a clear head as I peered from the gloom at the two advancing figures.

The starlight fell on the taller one's face, and I saw it was Tyelkormo, his face oddly peaceful, his eyes holding a strange confidence as he gazed up at the sky. Why was he out so late, without my knowledge?

Holding back the loud, reproachful words that instantly rose to my lips on a father's instinct, I struggled to remember what Carnistir had told me about his older brother.

He just came back into our room around midnight. . . And he told me, "Brother, I am in love. . ."

In love?

That was it.

As the pieces began to fall together in my mind, I turned my eyes to the slighter shadow walking beside Tyelkormo. Though the light of Telperion shadowed the face of my son's companion, I recognized the delicate gait of a woman. But strain my eyes as I might, I could not see who she was.

This discovered, I turned my attention to the conversation. I felt a twinge of guilt, prying into my son's business so, but my interest in the matter and the fatherly pride that Tyelkormo had found someone to love, was too much to pass this by. Besides, if I were to leap out of the shadows, I would both frighten them and be the recipient of my son's shamed but nevertheless famously fiery anger. Better for me to stay here, until they parted ways or left.

For a long while Tyelkormo and the girl were silent. The stillness buzzed in my ears until I feared that they had discovered my presence.

But then the girl raised her silhouetted face to look at Tyelkormo. The profile seemed familiar, and tugged at my memory, but I let the thought be, engrossed in the moment.

"Do you know what time it is?" She asked Tyelkormo, voice seeming to smile on its own.

Tyelkormo shook his head, and I was surprised at the innocent love in every line of his face. There was a beautiful freshness to it, as though he were yet unused to the feeling, as if the emotion were some strange wine.

"I do not care to know," he replied, voice sincere as he took the maid's hand. Unseen, I smiled kindly upon my son, wishing him only the best.

"Are you sure it is not right to tell our families?" The girl asked him, raising her other hand to rest lovingly on Tyelkormo's face.

Tyelkormo shook his head. "My father," he replied simply. As the girl bent her head in mournful understanding, I felt as if Tyelkormo had stabbed me in the heart with one of his spears. What had I done? Was he ashamed of me?

Guilt for my unknown crime began to gnaw at me, but I looked on, unable to suppress my curiosity.

"We cannot be truly happy until our kin knows of this," she pressed, "Tell me true--will there be anything to come of us?"

"Little bird. . ." Tyelkormo smiled, as if fondly recalling something, then continued gently, "I wish you could roost in my heart forever, but I think this time is unripe. There is a peace to be made yet."

I suppressed a sputter of astonishment--even the hunter had become a poet in the face of love.

The shadowy maiden nodded, appearing to take this into thought, though perhaps not readily, for Tyelkormo added, "Time will do nothing to us. Nothing."

"I wish it were so," she murmured wistfully, voice somber as if already lamenting what they had lost.

"It shall be so."

There was only a trembling silence, then Tyelkormo bent his head, holding the girl close, and kissed her. I averted my eyes politely, wishing for my son to retain at least a few secrets.

Their embrace was long, but when they pulled away, faces still almost touching, the maid laughed quietly, tenderly, and I froze, memories spilling loose through my heart, unwanted as they were. I knew it could not be, wanted it to not be. But as the girl turned, still smiling, her face fell into the silvery light, letting the radiance illuminate every smooth, rounded curve of her beautiful, too-familiar face.

It was Alalmë.

My son was in love with. . .no.

I could not think clearly; the names blurred in my head, along with the hatred and rage and grief, and always, always the cold ache of betrayal. How could my own son have done this to me? I was his father--I had loved him, raised him, taught him, praised him, and he betrayed me for. . .for her. The blood thrummed in my ears, every heartbeat as earsplittingly loud as a shriek of agony, and my eyes stung with tears. How could Tyelkormo have thought of any of Indis' revolting children or grandchildren or kindred, however distantly related, as anything other than spiteful fools, coddled by the Valar and honored above their firstborn half-brother? Did he too now love the younger children of Finwë, as the others did, like just another simpering courtier, just another careless subject?

I wanted to strike him for his arrogance and fall at his feet begging for the love he owed me as my son all at once.

When I managed to recover from the worst of the needles of agony that pricked every part of my body, Tyelkormo stood alone, looking up into the sky spangled with stars, and Alalmë was gone.

I waited until Tyelkormo was long gone into our house, then entered as well, my feet making no sound as I went to my chamber. My head was weary and hurt, and I longed for sleep, so I could heal, but a rising fury kept me awake.

As the first beams of the light of Laurelin crept into the room Nerdanel and I shared, I promised myself I would see to it that Tyelkormo would end his foolish infatuation with my half-sister's niece.

However, I kept silent upon the subject for many days, until one fateful evening, as the family sat around the table, eating dinner.

My sons were talking enthusiastically about everything that came to them, but at last Tyelkormo straightened and set down his goblet. His eyes flickered with unreadable emotion as he began to stand to his feet.

"Where are you going?" I asked, perhaps too sharply. Tyelkormo froze, looking at me with a startled shock that he quickly hid under the relaxed attitude he was wont to have.

"To the walls," he replied quickly, coolly. I wished I were unable to see he was lying, but my clear sight into the thoughts of others had not left me over the years. My heart grew sullen and angry with remembered rage.

"Go then," I sighed, then silently added to myself as I bit my tongue and gazed at the blank, wooden surface of the table, Go on. Go to your tryst with that wretched, shameless kinswoman of Findis.

When I looked up from the table, I saw my entire family had gone quiet, looking at me with wide, shocked eyes.

Nerdanel set down her goblet, gray eyes startled and surprised as her face stiffened. Tyelkormo stood fully to his feet, mouth working but no sound coming out. I could almost hear his heart pounding in the silence as he searched for words.

"You know," he said at last, voice trembling with emotion, and I realized I had spoken my thoughts aloud.

"Kinswoman of Findis--?" Carnistir said confusedly, looking between his brother and me anxiously but with rising disgust and contempt for Tyelkormo, "You love--"

"What of it?" Tyelkormo accosted his little brother mercilessly, looking ready to strike Carnistir with all the strength and surprise of a cornered serpent. "What of it if I do?"

Carnistir's dark eyes widened, and he seemed to prepare to reply with something equally harsh.

Nerdanel brought her hand down slowly but firmly on the table, stifling any bitter response.

"You have no quarrel with Carnistir," she said evenly, attempting to soothe the elder. Tyelkormo looked back to me, eyes frightened and defensive, all thought of Carnistir forgotten.

"How did you know about Alalmë?" He demanded.

Carnistir looked banefully at Tyelkormo, and Curufinwë's face was that of one whose world had been shattered.

He loved his brother dearly, but loved me just as much, if not more. He was the only one of my sons to share a name with me, and was like me in ways that were evident in both his face and heart.

Only Maitimo remained placid, watching Tyelkormo with eyes that both pitied and understood.

I evaded Tyelkormo's question. "How dare you love one of them!"

"Father," Tyelkormo's voice was slowly rising, with hurt and anger and fear. "Alalmë is not like her aunt. She is not Indis!" The words were a hoarse shout. His eyes searched mine desperately for forgiveness, for clemency. "The hurts they dealt you are not hers! Forgive her of all her imaginary wrongs!"

"Imaginary?" I laughed harshly, standing to my feet as well. "She is no different! She is not meant for you!"

"Father, I thought you would understand!" Tyelkormo's voice softened and broke with despairing emotion. His eyes were too brilliant to not be filled with tears, but he resolutely continued. "I thought I could heal the rift between--"

I stood, every breath ripping hard and fast through my body.

"It shall never heal! Indis supplanted my mother! She usurped my father's love for Míriel! He has forgotten her for Indis!"

"Finwë loves you still! He loves us! Míriel died of her own choosing, as it was Finwë's own choice to remarry!"

"Do not speak of my mother!" I snarled, furious to hear him even speak Míriel's name in this hour. Both of us were now vehemently enraged; I saw not that Tyelkormo was my son. Nor did I feel any kinship to him. All I saw were the words he spoke, and how they challenged my own.

"I forbid you to love Alalmë, or any of the kin of Indis or her children, whether by blood or marriage! It is not to be!" For a moment there was only silence, then Tyelkormo opened his mouth to reply.

Unthinking, blind, I lunged at him, wanting to stop the arguments before they came. I would not hear him speak as they did. I would not have him think as they did--

"Stop!" Nerdanel shouted, in an angry, steely voice I had never heard her use before as she stood as well, and came between us. "Both of you! You are not children! Fëanáro, you are above arguing with your own son! You should know better! I thought you would know better! And Tyelkormo, you are--no!"

Suddenly, she went pale, hands fluttering to her curved belly as she forgot us in her new worry. She gave a shallow gasp of astonishment as her eyes widened.

Then, like a flower rooted from the earth, she collapsed.

Before she hit the ground, Tyelkormo caught Nerdanel in his arms, cradling his lifeless mother close. Her eyes fluttered open once, looking at me helplessly but without any recognition, then trembled shut.

"Mother!" Curufinwë screamed as though his very being were being ripped apart, staring in horror at Nerdanel's bloodless face. Maitimo stood to his feet, chair crashing to the floor, dark eyes shocked, but still he was silent.

Heart pounding in my throat as all anger faded into fear and mad, agitated love, I said in a shaking voice, "Carnistir, Curufinwë, go get the horses. We are leaving. Now!"

"Where?" Carnistir asked suspiciously.

"What about Mother?" Curufinwë sobbed, eyes wet with tears. Maitimo extended an arm to comfort his youngest brother, but Curufinwë shoved his arm away furiously, eyes blind to all save his mother. "Help her!"

"We are going to Grandfather's house," I told them, though my eyes remained fixed on Tyelkormo and Nerdanel. "He will find us help."

The ride was an anxiously swift one, punctuated only by the ragged sound of Nerdanel's shallow breathing.

Each breath she took seemed quick and knifing, as though she was in labor, but that could not be--she had another fortnight before she was supposed to give birth. This was too early.

We came to Finwë's house, and I dismounted first, and knocked on the door. Nolofinwë answered it, his face surprised when he recognized me.

"Fëanáro--" he began, but I would have none of his idleness.

"Out of my way," I snapped, looking down at him with irritated contempt, though now was not the time to argue with my half-brother, "Where is my father? Tell me now!" I nearly shouted when my half-brother did not answer at once.

"He is at dinner," Nolofinwë replied in an unsure voice, glancing over my shoulder, to my sons on their horses, Tyelkormo still carrying Nerdanel's limp, trembling form. "He--"

Impatient, I shoved past him, calling for my sons to follow as I wound my way through the halls to the dining chamber.

Finwë, sitting at the table with Indis and his children, looked up when I entered. I noticed that, by some twist of fate, Nolofinwë's entire family was sitting with him.

Why had they been invited to dinner, and I had not known? I cared not at all now. Well, maybe briefly.

"Father," I said, strangely breathless, "It is Nerdanel. She--"

Tyelkormo entered, carrying Nerdanel. Finwë's eyes widened with shock, but it was Indis who rose and spoke first.

"One of you--send for a midwife," she ordered softly, then turned to us. "Tyelkormo, take her to your father's old chamber; I will show you the way."

My old room was just as I had left it so long ago.

Tyelkormo gently laid Nerdanel down upon the bed, then looked up at me with dark, somber eyes that held a fierce rage that barely passed as subdued.

Indis was silent for a moment, observing the bridled emotion in our eyes, then bowed her head and said, "I shall send for food or wine, if you have need of it."

"No," I told her, frustrated enough already that I was in her debt, "Tell the rest of my sons to come. That is all."

Indis nodded and left, and I knelt at the bedside, brushing Nerdanel's fiery locks away from her face. It was not visible, but I could feel her trembling like a trapped animal. She moaned quietly, brow furrowing as her hands clenched into pale fists.

"I am sorry," I murmured, letting the tears run loose down my cheeks when she did not reply. "Oh, beloved, I am so sorry."

I almost forgot Tyelkormo was in the room, but then he asked in a quavering voice, "Father?"

"What is it?" I retorted, both annoyed and grieved, eyes never leaving Nerdanel's ashen face.

"Father--I am sorry. I--" He swallowed, then continued, voice hoarse and reluctant, as if the words he spoke were not his own, "I will not defy you again. Your will shall be mine, from now on. Alalmë--I will forget her." I almost forgave him, for the wounded heartache in his face was plain as he spoke of the girl. "I promise. Your blood is that which flows in my veins, not--not hers."

I was about to reply, but at that moment Curufinwë darted into the room, followed closely by Carnistir, and more slowly by Maitimo.

"Will Mother be all right?" Curufinwë asked earnestly, unable to take his eyes away from Nerdanel, "Arakáno said a midwife is coming. Will that make Mother better?"

"Who is Arakáno?" I asked, surprised.

"A tall boy!" Curufinwë informed me, eyes glowing with sudden admiration as he turned from his mother, "With long black hair. He is almost as tall as you, Father! And strong! He lifted me up like I weighed nothing!"

"He lifted--" Suddenly I felt unusually protective of my fifth son. "When did he--"

"He is the youngest brother of Findekáno," Maitimo put in calmly. "He is a son of Nolofinwë."

"Will Mother be all right?" Curufinwë asked suddenly, remembering the matter at hand, and tears threatened to fall again from his eyes.

"She--" I began lamely, then remembered what I was about to say to Tyelkormo. "Listen to me, all of you. Mother is--sick because of my argument with Tyelkormo over our--associations with the children of my stepmother, Indis. I know you all love your mother, and I do too, and I do not want this to happen again. I want you--all of you--to promise me that you will never, ever love the kindred of Indis. I will allow you to--to be friends with them. But I will not allow you to love them, for you must always remember the hurt they did us. That way, none of us will be hurt again, and Mother will not be sick."

"Father?" Curufinwë asked in a quiet, frightened soberness.

"Yes, Atarinkë?"

"Are we not the kindred of Indis?"

"We are not," I responded gently.

The little boy's expression darkened, and there was a lingering quiet as he thought.

"I promise, Father," Curufinwë told me somberly at last, walking to my side and taking my hand in his little one. "I do not want Mother to get sick ever again."

"I promise," Carnistir said, voice eager and fiery. "I do not want their friendship anyhow. You are my family, Father."

"I promise," Tyelkormo murmured, voice sad but resolute.

We all looked to Maitimo, but my eldest son remained silent, raising his eyes from his mother to meet ours. For moment he held our gaze, then he turned away and left the room.

I did not get any sleep that night, but only waited restlessly with my sons outside the door of my chamber, anxiously waiting whatever news was brought to us, good or ill.

Curufinwë, despite his constant worry for his mother, was the one who slept the most, head lolling on my shoulder as his eyes fluttered open and closed, drifting in and out of sleep and dreaming. Carnistir sat at my feet, knees pulled up under his chin as his brow furrowed in thought. Maitimo leaned against the wall, face placid though his eyes revealed his uneasiness. Tyelkormo sat beside Curufinwë, alternately staring at his hands and at his youngest brother with a thoughtful, sad expression.

And I remained restless, only motionless for fear that I would startle my dozing children if I stirred or got up to pace.

The labor going on in the next room was unusually quiet, almost eerily so, broken only by the midwife's quiet orders and the hasty feet of those sent on errands for supplies, coming and going from the chamber. The only evidence I had that Nerdanel was still alive was the fact that the midwife remained in the room.

I was still wracked with guilt for causing Nerdanel's untimely labor, and lamented my rash temper over and over. If I had not argued so with Tyelkormo, if only I had spoken to him quietly and evenly, far from the rest of my family. . .

So many things could have been avoided. But the fate had been cast, and now I did not know what would happen.

"Prince Fëanáro," someone said, and I leapt forth from my thoughts.

"What?" I looked up eagerly, afraid and curious. It was the midwife, tendrils of smoky hair falling from the knot at the back of her head, blue eyes and pale face weary from a night of work.

"My prince, your sons have been born," she told me slowly, taken aback by my sudden energy.

"Sons?"

How many infants had Nerdanel given birth to? How many children had grown in her womb? More pity and guilt settled upon my already heavy heart, threatening to send it even deeper into the black despair that I wore like a heavy cloak.

"Twins," the midwife replied, giving me a tired smile, "And well worth the trouble we went through for them. Come see."

Standing slowly, trying not to wake Curufinwë, I followed her into the room, too afraid to ask after the twins' mother.

Golden light spilled from Laurelin through the window upon Nerdanel's pale face, kindling her coppery hair into a delicate halo. Her eyes were closed, and my blood chilled in my veins as I waited for them to open again.

After what felt like an eternity, they did.

Her eyes were bright as she gazed upon the two infants that slept in her arms, but the glow dimmed as she raised her eyes to me.

"Seven," she murmured, satisfied but exhausted, "Now there are seven."

I almost laughed and wept at the same time for her determination, and came to the bedside, looking down upon the sleeping twins.

Even then, their faces were eerie echoes of each other, as if one child had looked into a mirror and admired his image so much that he had invited the reflection to join him for a lifetime. They looked almost exactly as Maitimo had when he had been a babe, for tufts of reddish hair crowned their heads.

But they were even smaller than he, weaker, feebler, because of their premature birth. My heart nearly broke with guilt and love as I gazed upon them. They would always be small and frail, for the rest of their lives.

"We will need to take especial care of them," Nerdanel told me in echo to my thoughts, her voice firm, as though she spoke to a child, "They are so little, and so fragile--"

"Have a care for yourself," I warned her, but she shook her head adamantly.

"No. I--" She bent her head close to me confidentially. "I believe I will love these two best."

I shook my head, smiling in wonderment at her calmness after such an ordeal, then looked down at the sleeping twins.

"I think I will name this one Pityafinwë, because he so little, and this one Telufinwë, because he is the last."

Nerdanel smiled at my choices. "Yes. Little and last. That is what they are."

"What will you name them?"

"Ambarussa. Because of their lovely hair." She kissed each russet head tenderly, mouth curved in a proud, loving smile as she did so.

"Both?"

"Both."

"You are naming both of them Ambarussa? How can we tell them apart?" I asked disbelievingly, but Nerdanel nodded somberly to my first question, and then said, "Very well. I will name one of them Ambarto."

"Which one?"

"Time will tell."

Author's Note:

Wow! Lots of reviews! You people know how to make a girl happy. (beams)

Welcome to my whacky world, Calvusfelix! It's always nice to see a new face appear in the reviews. Thanks for adding your rather significant two cents; they really made me stop and think.

The issue of whether the suffix of 'the Fair' to Celegorm's name is to be interpreted as a description of his hair color or just of his physical beauty is a valid one, to say the least. For this story, I'm going to go with the latter idea for a few reasons. Firstly, drawing on my rather limited knowledge of genetics, wouldn't it be a phenomenon for a son with fair hair to be born to dark-haired parents? I myself have no idea, the question is strictly rhetorical. :-) Secondly, Celegorm was the 'jock' of the family: he hunted, rode, etc. These demanding hobbies would without doubt make his body attractive and toned and. . .yum. . .but I digress into absurd girlish fantasy.

As for Fëanor's subtlety, hm, point taken. All he's done so far in this fic is seethe and gnash his teeth. I'll have to work on that in future chapters. Thanks again for reviewing.

Glad you like it, Mizamour and Ellfine. Your enthusiasm and encouragement are always much appreciated.

Dawn Felagund: Nice to hear from you again! Where to begin? You left me such a gloriously long review, I have no idea where to start. . .

Firstly, as to Nerdanel's 'are you ill?' inquiry: Gah, I have no excuse, really. You got me on that one. :-)

Second: pertaining to my reference to my own writing as 'poor'. . . Ok, ok, I admit my stories are better than some (happy now?), but definitely not on a par with the works and authors in my favorites. They're there because I admire them muchly. But, in my defense, I am being a bit of a nasty writer at the moment by making poor Fëanor and his family play second fiddle to my Batman Begins fanfic, Dark My Light. Which, by the way, was posted August 5th. If you Tolkienites happen to also be fans of le Bathomme movies or comics, check it out! (pause) See how awful I am? Tsk, promoting a story in an author's note for another story. . . Hm. But things in Fire are going to get exciting soon. So I may divert my fickle interests to the eldest son of Finwë for a time (at least a week or so) while Dark My Light garners reviews.

By the way, love your inheritance idea. Far more legit than mine. However, I need the friction of inheritance and hierarchy to keep my fic going. :-)

Finally, some of you (namely, Dawn Felagund and Unsung Heroine) have been inquiring after my email address. Much as I am honored by your desire for closer communication, I'm going to have to refuse it because of some issues beyond my control. I am a teenager who still lives with ever-watchful parents. While I trust your intentions, my folks by nature mistrust everyone I meet online, and they have forbidden me from the get-go to release my email address. You are not the exception, but the rule. Please don't be offended in least--it is nothing personal and has nothing to do with my own thoughts about you. I would have loved to assist with the Silmfic workshop, Dawn! Please let me know in your review if there are any little things I can do to help--a little publicity in my profile, perchance?

Love, love, nothing but love,

Blodeuedd