Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters of J. R. R. Tolkien, nor any of the various dramatic incarnations thereof. No profit is being made from this work.

Greetings! Welcome to this story. There really isn't all that much to say about it. I was noticing just how many time Tolkien mentions Fëanor's creative genius -- the guy seems to have invented just about everything, from a new and improved alphabet to the Palantirs, all sorts of pretty artificial gems, swords, the Silmarils, civil war, what have you. All this in addition to punching out more sons than any Elf ever had. Honestly, one wonders where poor Fëanor ever found the time to go berserk.

Anyway, I decided to let him "invent" just one more feature of life in Arda. . . and then I ran with that idea to see where it might lead me.

Enjoy the story. I'll see you at the end.

"I think," Macalaurë said slowly, "that I would like a little sister."

Carnistir grinned. "Then you will be disappointed," he said. "Tyelkormo and I both wish for another little brother, and there are two of us against one of you. We will win."

"Perhaps not," Macalaurë replied. "I am bigger than you are. Perhaps my wishes carry more weight."

Tyelkormo snorted. "I do not think so. You have wished for a sister for years, and see what you have gotten from it? Me and Carnistir and Curufinwë. It will be another boy, and there is nothing that you can do about it."

"Perhaps this time will be different," Macalaurë said amiably. "Maitimo, what do you want? Another brother or a sister?"

Maitimo looked up from the idle sketches he had been making. He glanced at the corridor that led to Fëanáro and Nerdanel's chamber, then back at his brothers. He made an effort to smile, though he could not erase the worry from his face completely. "Mother has always produced boys, and there is no reason to think that she will do otherwise now," he said. "At this point, I do not especially care whether it is a brother or a sister. I just want it to be born and for everyone to be safe."

The others fell silent. Maitimo had just voiced the fear that they all shared. Nerdanel's sixth pregnancy had taken an alarming turn early on, as her belly had swollen far too rapidly. In the last months, little Curufinwë had been sure she would burst. Fëanáro had assured him over and over that this was extremely unlikely, but he could not hide his own fear for his wife.

"The baby must be enormous," he had confided to Maitimo one night. "And she is so exhausted from carrying it. I cannot see how she will ever manage to give it birth."

In the end, there had not been nearly as much time to worry about that as the family had expected. Nerdanel's labor had started at Telperion's zenith, far sooner than was expected. "I do not mind in the least," she had declared while she was still able to move around the house a little. "I have grown so round and heavy that it will be a relief not to be pregnant any longer." Fëanáro had made the effort to laugh at that even as he dispatched messengers to fetch the midwives and inform both Nerdanel's parents and High King Finwë of the impending birth.

After the midwives had arrived and cloistered themselves with Nerdanel in her chamber, Fëanáro had vanished to his forge, making it clear to his sons that there would be no lessons that day. Ordinarily, they would have been overjoyed at the prospect of a day to themselves, but none of them thought of playing today. Instead, they sat in the drawing room, bickering idly so that they would not have to concentrate on the cries of pain that emanated from their mother's chamber.

Curufinwë had been sitting on the floor holding his special blanket and sucking his thumb. Now he removed his thumb from his mouth and glanced around at his brothers, an expression of growing distress on his face. "Where is Father?" he whined. "I want Father."

Maitimo sighed. "Father is in his forge, Curufinwë. He will come when he is finished there."

"I want him now!" Curufinwë scrambled to his feet and tugged at Tyelkormo's shirt. "Take me to the forge, Tyelko. I want Father."

"No," Tyelkormo said. "Were you not listening to Maitimo? Father is busy right now. He would be very angry and yell at you if you interrupted him. You will just have to make do with us." He reached over to pick Curufinwë up, but Curufinwë jerked away from him and sat down on the floor again, just out of arm's reach of his brothers.

"What is Father doing in the forge?" Carnistir asked. "It does not seem right that he should be there as if it were everyday. Mother is having a baby."

"That is why he is in the forge," Macalaurë said. "He is making something for Mother."

"What is he making?"

Macalaurë shrugged. "I do not know. A piece of jewelry. I think he has done that each time Mother had one of us."

"Why?"

"Perhaps it is a reward for giving birth," Macalaurë suggested. A series of short, sharp cries issued from the corridor, and the boys were silent for a few moments. Carnistir's lower lip trembled, and he screwed up his face to prevent his tears from falling.

"It is not fair," he said. "Father can make jewelry any time. Mother is having the baby right now, and she is frightened, and she wants him. He should go and hold her hand."

"The midwives would not permit it," Maitimo said. "I think that it is far better for Father to have something to occupy him. He is not good at sitting still and waiting."

"I am not good at waiting, either!" Curufinwë declared. "I want the baby to hurry up so that Mother will not cry any more. It is scary when Mother cries." He clutched his blanket, and stuck out his lower lip. He did not protest when Macalaurë laughed and lifted him onto his lap.

"Poor Curufinwë," Macalaurë said. "You are the youngest, and you have never been through this waiting before. Do not worry. It will be over eventually, and then there will be a new baby in the family."

At that, Curufinwë broke down and howled. "It is not fair," he sobbed. "I do not want a new baby! Mother does not need a new baby. She already has me! She told me that I am her baby!"

The others looked at each other with varying degrees of comprehension and amusement. Macalaurë smiled. "It is too late for regrets now," he said. "Mother will have that baby whether you will or no. But would you not like to be someone's big brother, just like the rest of us?"

Curufinwë sniffled a little as he considered the question. "A big brother like Tyelko and Carni?"

Macalaurë nodded. "And me and Maitimo as well. We all of us had to give up being the baby so we could be big brothers."

"I gave up my status four times, myself," Maitimo put in. "There is much to like about being a big brother, Curufinwë. You will be able to teach the baby new things."

"And Mother and Father will treat you more grown-up," Tyelkormo said.

"And you can play with the baby, too!" Carnistir added. "Not right away, but if you are good, Mother will let you hold him."

"Or her," Macalaurë said.

Curufinwë hugged his blanket and leaned against Macalaurë's chest as he considered everything his brothers had told him. "Will Macalaurë still sing to me?" he asked. "Even if I am not the baby any more?"

"Of course I will sing to you," Macalaurë laughed. "If you like, I will sing you something right now. Anything you want to hear."

Maitimo groaned and dropped his head into his hands. Carnistir looked terrified. Tyelkormo jumped up from his seat and whirled to face Macalaurë. "You would not!" he cried. "You know what he wants to hear!"

"I do," Macalaurë said calmly. "And if that is what Curufinwë wants, then I will sing it for him. What do you want to hear, Curufinwë?"

Curufinwë's face split into a wide grin. "Sing 'Whoop whoop whoop!'" he demanded.

"Not that one," Tyelkormo begged. "Anything but that one."

"That is what he asked for, and that is what I will sing," Macalaurë said. "You do not have to listen. You can go play somewhere else. Anyway, I do not understand why you dislike that song so much. It is about hunting after all."

"It is a silly song," Tyelkormo grumbled, but he did not move from the room.

Macalaurë smiled, bounced Curufinwë on his knees, and began to sing. It was a song he had made up himself, about a village's hunt for a clever fox that had broken into poultry pens and stolen various small objects from people's houses. It had a light, skipping refrain that described the chase in a long rush of nonsense words. Curufinwë loved the song, and little Carnistir enjoyed trying to sing along with the refrain. Maitimo and Tyelkormo found the song irritating, although Maitimo was less likely than Tyelkormo to leap on Macalaurë's back and wrestle with him to make him stop singing it.

The present performance was special, however, and Macalaurë knew that none of his brothers would try to fight him as he sang. He took advantage of the day's truce to improvise several new verses. Curufinwë crowed with delight at each one. Tyelkormo stuffed his fingers in his ears, and Maitimo looked more pained each time Macalaurë sang the refrain.

"With a whoop whoop whoop and a heigh-ho, along the narrow stretch," Macalaurë sang. Suddenly, Maitimo kicked his leg. Macalaurë stopped singing and was about to complain, but he heard the footsteps on the stairs and fell silent.

All the boys sat up straighter and turned to the doorway in time to see their father enter. Fëanáro's shirt was filthy and stained with sweat, his hair was disheveled, and his eyes were hollow. He held a small pouch in one hand. He surveyed the five upturned faces blankly.

"Father?" Maitimo asked.

Fëanáro seemed to come back to himself. He blinked, and the old spark was back behind his eyes. He gave a hollow little laugh and flung himself into his favorite chair. "What are you all doing in here?" he asked, with a lightness that seemed forced. "I would have thought to find you running wild in the gardens, since I have released you from lessons today."

"It did not seem right to spend the day playing," Maitimo said.

"We were scared for Mother," Carnistir said. One by one, the others nodded their agreement. Maitimo remained still, and Fëanáro turned to him.

"What about you, my brave one? Were you also frightened for your mother?"

Maitimo blushed, the color in his cheeks making his red hair seem even more fiery than usual. "Yes," he admitted.

Fëanáro nodded. "I fear for her, too."

"You, Father? You are never afraid of anything."

"Do you really think so?" Fëanáro's mouth twisted in amusement. "I will have to tell you my secret, then. Gather around, all of you." He reached over and tugged at Maitimo's wrist. Maitimo followed the tug and sat on the floor, leaning against his father's leg. Carnistir scrambled into Fëanáro's lap, and Tyelkormo perched on the arm of the chair. Macalaurë, his lap still full of Curufinwë, compromised by wiggling his chair a little closer to Fëanáro's. Fëanáro stroked Maitimo's hair and looked at his children gathered around him.

"I have never been more terrified in my life than when Maitimo was born," he said. "And since then, there have been only four times in my life when I have felt terror equal to that moment."

"Those were the times when the rest of us were born, right?" Tyelkormo asked.

"Precisely."

Macalaurë swallowed. "Is it because of what happened to Grandmother?"

Maitimo bit his lip and looked stricken. Fëanáro nodded. "That is always in the back of my mind while your mother is giving birth."

"What happened to Grandmother?" Curufinwë asked. "She is at the palace where Grandfather lives."

The older boys shifted uncomfortably. Fëanáro smiled, but the smile did not reach his eyes. "Grandfather's wife is not your grandmother, Curufinwë," he said. Curufinwë looked confused, so Fëanáro elaborated. "The Lady Indis is not my mother. She married my father when I was just a little older than Tyelkormo is now."

"Where is your mother?"

Fëanáro sighed, and glanced down the corridor to the room where Nerdanel was. "She died. After I was born, she was very tired, and did not recover her strength. She traveled to the gardens of Lórien to sleep, and she never awoke. Much later, my father married Lady Indis, and she bore him your uncles."

"Are you afraid that Mother will go to sleep and never wake up?" Carnistir asked.

Maitimo's face twisted, and he let out a cry that was half a sob and swatted at Carnistir. "Be quiet!" he cried. "Do not speak of such things! You will. . . you will frighten Curufinwë."

"Maitimo!" Fëanáro wrapped one arm protectively around Carnistir and pinned Maitimo's hands with the other. Maitimo choked, and two large tears slid down his face. The others were silent, awed as much by Maitimo's loss of control as by Fëanáro's story. Fëanáro released Maitimo's hands, but the expected scolding did not come. Instead, he brushed awkwardly at Maitimo's tears.

"We all fear for your mother. You need not be ashamed of showing your fear openly."

Maitimo, even though he was nearly grown, buried his face in Fëanáro's leg. He did not make a sound, but he trembled and shuddered, and the others knew that he was weeping. Fëanáro rubbed his shoulders and stroked his hair. No one spoke.

Behind the door at the end of the corridor, Nerdanel let out a long, wailing cry. Maitimo jerked his head up, his face red and wet. Macalaurë clutched Curufinwë close and dived from his chair to sit on the floor near Fëanáro's other leg. Tyelkormo flinched, and Carnistir threw his arms around Fëanáro's neck. Fëanáro turned pale and patted Carnistir's back.

"Never again," he murmured. "I will sire no more children. I have not the heart to make any of you endure this waiting again. Six children is enough for anyone."

"I will like six," Macalaurë offered in a shaky voice. "Six of us will fit nicely around the dinner table with you and Mother."

"I am glad that my plan meets with your approval, Macalaurë," Fëanáro said.

They sat in silence for a while after that. No more noise came from the bedchamber. It seemed as though time itself was standing still, waiting.

The quiet step of the assistant midwife in the corridor startled them all. "My Lord Fëanáro," she said, "please come with me." Her face was clouded with tension, and she did not seem to notice any of the boys. Fëanáro took a deep breath and slowly disentangled himself from his knot of children. Curufinwë whimpered and clutched at his ankles.

"It will be all right," Fëanáro said. "I will let you know what has happened as soon as I am able." He flashed a brave smile at them and followed the assistant midwife down the corridor. The boys watched him go.

"Perhaps Mother really did burst," Carnistir said. Maitimo slumped against the chair and hid his face.

As soon as Fëanáro stepped into the bedchamber, he knew that something was amiss. After the other births, he had always entered the room to see Nerdanel neatly tucked into bed, lying against a stack of pillows, looking weary but immensely proud of herself and eager to show off the new baby. This time, Nerdanel hung naked, limp and exhausted, in the arms of the chief midwife. She did not look up when Fëanáro entered, but writhed and moaned. The assistant midwife hurriedly thrust a small, squirming bundle into Fëanáro's arms.

"May I present your son, my Lord," she said quickly, then turned back to Nerdanel.

Fëanáro pulled back the blanket and beheld not the oversized child the family had anticipated, but the tiniest baby he had ever seen. The little boy was wrinkled and purple, and had a tuft of hair that was such a bright red that Fëanáro could make out its color even though it was still damp from the first bath.

"Are you my son?" he asked, jiggling the baby nervously. "You are the smallest Finwë of all. Your brothers were giants compared to you." He tucked the baby more securely into the crook of his arm and turned his attention back to Nerdanel.

"What is wrong with her?" he demanded. "The baby is born. Why is she still in pain?"

"That is what we are trying to determine, my Lord," the midwife snapped. "If my Lord would hold his son and keep out of the way, we may yet discover what afflicts my Lady."

Fëanáro retreated to a corner and cradled the baby against his chest. The baby snuggled close, seeking the heat of his father's body, and Fëanáro wrapped the blanket around him. It had been some time since he had held a newborn, but he found the old skill returning to his hands. He could do this, he told himself desperately. Even if. . . even if the worst should happen, he would be able to care for this child on his own, if need be. He squeezed his eyes shut and wondered if his own father had felt this way.

Nerdanel let out a groan that seemed to come from deep within her still-swollen belly, then began to pant. The midwives looked at each other in surprise. "My Lady?" the chief midwife asked. "What is happening to you now?"

Fëanáro watched in astonishment as Nerdanel's belly rippled. The assistant midwife probed gently with her fingers and turned to stare wide-eyed at the chief midwife. "I feel hair," she said. "And a little head. There is another baby inside!"

"Twins?" Fëanáro gasped, not sure that he had understood correctly. He knew that sheep and cattle and horses sometimes produced twins, but he had never heard of an Elf woman bearing more than one child at a time. He also knew that when such animals had twins, the babies were small and weak, and one would often die. He looked down at the baby in his arms and wondered if it was as strong as it appeared.

"Twins," the chief midwife agreed. "And it appears that the second one is well on its way. Gather your courage, Lady Nerdanel, and lean on us. Your labor is not yet at an end. You must push once more."

Nerdanel took a deep breath, gritted her teeth, and pushed. Fëanáro stared, astonished, at a sight he had never seen before. For the first time, he would witness the birth of one of his children. His legs shook, and his stomach churned. Barely remembering not to drop the child he held, Fëanáro sank into an armchair in the corner and tried to prepare himself to see the second, unexpected birth.

2. One Heart In Two Bodies

After Fëanáro left, the boys waited patiently, sure that he would emerge soon and invite them into the bedchamber to greet the newest member of the family.

"Do you think the baby is here right now?" Carnistir asked.

"Of course," Tyelkormo said, with an air of finality. "The midwife would not call Father unless the baby had arrived. I am sure Father is sitting with Mother right now greeting the baby and trying to think of a name for him."

"Or her," Macalaurë put in.

"Him," Tyelkormo said. "The baby is a boy, and Father is thinking of his name right now. Something-finwë, like always."

"Perhaps that is why he has not come out yet," Macalaurë laughed. "Perhaps the baby is a girl, and Father is trying to think of a name that does not end with -finwë."

"That would be difficult for him. Perhaps he is trying to think of a girl's name that does end with -finwë."

"I know!" Curufinwë cried. "How about Vénefinwë?"

Carnistir laughed. "You are a silly boy, Curufinwë."

"I do not know about that," Macalaurë said. "If it is a girl, I wager that Father will be so shocked that 'Girl-Finwë' would be all he could manage. Although he might make it Inyafinwë instead. 'Female-Finwë' sounds better."

Tyelkormo sniffed. "It does not matter whether it is Vénefinwë or Inyafinwë. The baby is a boy."

"Oh, be quiet, all of you," Maitimo grumbled. "I do not care whether it is a boy or a girl. I just want to know that it is born and that everyone is safe."

The boys were silent for a moment after that. Carnistir wrinkled his forehead worriedly. "Maitimo?" he said, "what if Mother died? Would Father still love us?"

"I do not think that would matter," Maitimo said. "Father loves Mother so much that, if she died, he might die as well."

Carnistir looked horrified. "You are lying, Matimo! Father could not die! There would be no one to take care of us."

"We could go live with Uncle Nolofinwë or Uncle Arafinwë," Tyelkormo suggested.

"But they already have children," Carnistir said. "They would not want us."

"I am sure they would not mind. They like children."

"But there are five of us," Macalaurë objected. "They might not wish to be saddled with five extra mouths to feed. We might be split up between them."

"I do not want to be split up!" Curufinwë wailed. "I want to stay with you, Maca!"

"Enough!" Maitimo cried, his voice shaking. "I do not want to hear any more discussion about this. Mother will not die, and neither will Father. You must believe that. You must!"

Maitimo’s outburst silenced his brothers. They looked at each other doubt and worry clouding their faces. After a moment, Macalaurë approached Maitimo. "I am sorry," he said. "I know you are upset."

"Why has he not come out, Macalaurë? Why has Father not come out to see us?"

Macalaurë placed a gentle hand on Maitimo’s shoulder but Maitimo shrugged it off and balled his hands into fists. "I cannot stand this waiting any longer," he said. "I am going into Mother’s room to see what has happened." He set his jaw and rose from the floor where he had been sitting.

Carnistir stared at Maitimo, astonished. "You cannot go in," he said. "Father will be so angry at you."

"I do not care whether Father will be angry or not," Maitimo said. "I will see what has happened to Mother."

"Perhaps Father will not be so angry at Maitimo," Curufinwë suggested. "He is the oldest."

Maitimo squared his shoulders and marched down the corridor. When he reached the door to the bedchamber at the end, he took a deep breath and reached out his hand. Before he could touch the door, however, it flew open, and suddenly Fëanáro was looking at him. Maitimo started, then turned red. "Father," he choked out. "I am sorry. I did not mean — I only wanted to -- I was frightened," he finished in a small voice.

"Oh, Maitimo," Fëanáro said, his voice thick. He put an arm around his son’s shoulders. "I am sorry to have kept you waiting for so long. Come with me to your brothers. This is something you should all hear." He steered Maitimo back down the corridor to the drawing room. The younger brothers all scrambled to their feet at their approach.

Fëanáro sat down heavily in his chair, and his children swarmed around him.

"Is the baby here?"

"Is it a girl?"

"Is Mother all right?"

Fëanáro glanced from one to another and did not answer immediately. Curufinwë took in Fëanáro’s stunned expression and began to cry. "Mother is dead," he wailed. "Mother is dead, and now Father will die, too, and we will have to live with Uncle Nolofinwë and Uncle Arafinwë, and they will not want us, and I will never see Macalaurë again!"

Curufinwë’s cries seemed to rouse Fëanáro from his shock. He shook himself and lifted Curufinwë onto his lap. "Hush, little one," he said. "Do not worry, any of you. Your mother is very tired now, but she is alive, and she will stay that way. She will not die, and neither will I. We will not abandon you."

"But what has happened?" Maitimo asked. "Has the baby come? Does it live as well?"

Fëanáro blinked, and the ghost of a smile flitted across his face. "Yes," he said. "It — they. . . something extraordinary has happened. Your mother has given birth to twins."

The older brothers stared at each other. Macalaurë was the first to find his voice. "Twins?" he said. "Two babies? That was why Mother was so big? There were two babies inside her?"

Fëanáro nodded. "Yes. Twins. Two of the tiniest little boys you have ever seen. They were so small that I feared they would break, but they opened their mouths and began to cry. It was the loveliest thing I have ever heard." He smiled broadly, and finally seemed to relax. "Come inside," he said. "Your mother is resting quietly now. Come in, all of you, and meet your little brothers."

Nerdanel looked up as her older children filed quietly into the bedchamber. She blinked, and then a slow, exhausted smile lit up her face. The boys huddled together in a corner, smiling uncertainly back at her.

"Come closer," Nerdanel said. "It is all right. I will not break, and neither will these two." She glanced down at the two little bundles nestled in her arms. Hearing her voice, one twin opened his eyes and squinted vaguely at his mother and his brother.

Curufinwë was the first to rouse himself. He grasped Macalaurë's hand and pulled. "Come on," he said. "I want to see." Macalaurë and Curufinwë approached the high bed, and Macalaurë lifted Curufinwë up so that he could see his little brothers.

"Oooh," Curufinwë breathed. "Look, Maca. They are so little."

At that, the other three stirred and went to their mother, crowding around the bed. Maitimo reached out and stroked one finger down the soft cheek of the sleeping twin, then offered it to the other. The baby grasped his finger and held tightly. Maitimo smiled broadly, even as a few stray tears slid down his face.

"They are really here," he said. "And there are really two of them."

"They look like you," Tyelkormo said. "They have funny little tufts of bright red hair."

Maitimo snorted. "My hair is not a funny tuft."

"But it is red."

"Yes, it is," Nerdanel said. "Maitimo's hair is red just like mine. And these two will also remain ginger."

Tyelkormo wrinkled his nose. "What do you mean, they will 'remain ginger,' Mother?"

"I mean just what I said," Nerdanel replied. "After seven children, I should know when a child will remain ginger and when he will not. Each and every one of you had a little patch of red hair when you were born. And you all darkened except for Maitimo. These two look so much like Maitimo looked when he was born that I think they will stay ginger, just as he did."

Tyelkormo's eyes went round, and he clapped his hand to his mouth to stifle a squeak of surprise. "I used to have red hair?" he asked.

Maitimo laughed out loud at him. "You did. I remember it well. You had a funny little tuft of red hair just like these two."

"How will we tell them apart?" Carnistir asked. Fëanáro stepped in and pulled back the blanket on the sleeping baby to reveal a green silk ribbon tied loosely around one ankle.

"This was originally one of your mother's hair ribbons," he said. "But when the second baby arrived, I bestowed it upon this one. I will have to make something more permanent, perhaps in silver, but this will do for now."

"So that is the first of the twins to be born," Macalaurë said. "Do they have names yet?"

Nerdanel and Fëanáro exchanged a glance. Fëanáro's mouth quirked into a wry smile. "Part of the reason that I did not come to fetch you directly was that your mother and I were debating that very question. She has not yet decided upon her names for the twins, but I have. The older one, the one with the ribbon, is Pityafinwë, for I had never seen a child so small before in my life."

"It is a good thing that they are small," Carnistir said. "Otherwise, Mother really would have burst."

Fëanáro ruffled Carnistir's hair. "It is good that they are small," he agreed. "I have called the second twin, the one who has currently claimed Maitimo as his own, Telufinwë."

Maitimo nodded gravely. "He is the last, then."

"He is," Fëanáro said. "After I witnessed his birth and saw your mother in the full throes of her extremity. . . I cannot in good conscience sire any more children and inflict such agony upon her again. These two are the last members of the family. Your mother and I have agreed on this. I have seven fine sons, and I will be content with that."

"Seven is plenty," Nerdanel said. "We will certainly not lack for work in this house, now that we have two babies at once. You will all have to help care for your little brothers."

"Oh, we will," Macalaurë said.

Curufinwë wriggled in his arms. "Me, too?" he asked. "Am I old enough to take care of them, too?"

"Of course you are," Nerdanel said. "You are their big brother as well. You will play with them and keep them amused, and they will love you dearly for it when they are older."

Curufinwë beamed with delight. "I will like being a big brother," he said.

Fëanáro laughed. "Yes, I imagine that you will. Now, all of you, there is still a little of Laurelin's light left. Go outside and play. You have spent far too long cooped inside in fear and worry. Your mother and the twins are alive and well, and they will remain so, but they are also weary and must rest. Go and play, for you will have the rest of your lives to enjoy the twins."

One by one, the boys leaned in to kiss their mother and pet the babies, and then they left the room. Fëanáro and Nerdanel watched them go. Then Fëanáro climbed on the bed and lay beside Nerdanel, taking Telufinwë in his arms.

"This is an unexpected pleasure," he said. "We may each hold a child now. And when we wish, we will simply trade babies."

Nerdanel looked from Pityafinwë to Telufinwë and frowned. "It is still difficult for me to believe that there are two of them. I gave birth to them, and I felt two babies come forth from my body, yet I cannot quite grasp that they are two."

"They are two," Fëanáro said. "I am holding one, and you are holding the other. They are two separate people, Nerdanel. You must give them each a name."

"I cannot think of more than one," Nerdanel replied. "With all of the others, I could look at them, and I knew precisely what name would fit who they were or might become. With these two, it is different. I look from one to the other, and I can think of no other name than Ambarussa. The name fits both of them equally."

"But they are two people."

"Are they?" Nerdanel turned a troubled look on Fëanáro. "Are they really two people? There are two bodies, but what does that mean?"

Fëanáro glanced at Telufinwë, who stared back sleepily. "I do not understand. How could they possibly not be two people? Telufinwë is awake. Pityafinwë is asleep. Is that not enough proof? One person cannot be awake and asleep at the same time."

"It is not that." Nerdanel looked away and pressed her lips into a thin line. When she spoke again, her voice shook a little. "I have known each of the children who grew inside me. I cannot describe what I knew about them, but I knew them. I felt who they were, I felt that there was another, separate fëa residing within my body. But this time. . ." her voice trailed off.

"Could you not feel them?"

"I felt only one fëa," Nerdanel said. "All this time, as I grew rounder and rounder, I only felt one fëa growing inside. And yet there are two little bodies. I know both of these things to be true, Fëanáro, yet I cannot reconcile them."

"Oh." Fëanáro frowned, worried that he did not have an immediate answer to his wife's distress. Nerdanel shuddered, and clasped Pityafinwë closer to her. Pityafinwë's mouth opened and shut, and his hands grasped at the air, but he did not wake. In Fëanáro's arms, Telufinwë had gone limp, and Fëanáro saw that his youngest son had followed his brother into the realm of dreams.

Fëanáro eased Telufinwë into the crook of Nerdanel's free arm and slid off the bed. He located the old cradle that had been his and that each of his children had used in their turn, and set it by the big bed, on Nerdanel's side. Then he reached over and carefully laid first Pityafinwë and then Telufinwë into the cradle. The twins were so small that they fitted easily enough into the single cradle. Telufinwë flailed one little arm until he located Pityafinwë. He snuggled close to his brother, and then both babies lay still and quiet.

Nerdanel leaned over the edge of the bed, and she and Fëanáro contemplated their newest children for a few moments.

"I am glad you thought to use the ribbon," Nerdanel said. "They look so much alike."

"They do." Suddenly, an idea came into Fëanáro's head. "Perhaps that is why you only perceived one fëa, Nerdanel. If their bodies are so much alike that we cannot tell one from the other without a bit of ribbon, why should their fëar be so different? You only perceived one fëa because they are so much alike, and it never occurred to you -- to either of us -- that there might be two."

"I suppose," Nerdanel said, though her tone betrayed her skepticism.

"No, I am right, I am certain of it." Fëanáro's eyes lit up as they did when he was on the verge of an inspiration. "Look, imagine the jewels that I have been crafting in the forge. The red and blue stones that I am fashioning in the image of rubies and sapphires."

"I know the stones."

"Good." Fëanáro climbed up on the bed and knelt facing Nerdanel, looking seriously into her eyes as if she were a pupil he was instructing. "Now imagine that I have succeeded. Imagine that I have made gems so perfect in form, color, and brilliance that they are indistinguishable from the rubies and sapphires mined from the ground."

Nerdanel's mouth twitched. "No," she said. "There is always a flaw. There is always something -- perhaps not a flaw, exactly, perhaps merely the lack of a certain luster. In any event, there is always something to distinguish between the gems that we find and the gems that you create."

"You see?" Fëanáro said. "You cannot imagine it. You cannot imagine it because you have never seen such a jewel. I have not created it yet, and so you cannot imagine what it will look like. It is the same with the twins. You could not imagine that there were two of them, so you could not recognize the two fëar within you."

"Perhaps." Nerdanel frowned. "It seems logical on the face of it, and I suppose I should accept it. But it does not feel like enough, somehow. There is something different, something special about the way I knew my children before they were born. It has nothing to do with the realm of logic and art. I cannot think of the twins as being two. Perhaps later, I will be able to do so. Until then, I will give them no other name but Ambarussa."

Fëanáro snorted. "And if we need to call them?"

"You have given them each a separate name. Pityafinwë and Telufinwë are perfectly good names, and we will use those. Curufinwë need not be the only child to use his father-name for everyday." Nerdanel sighed, and sank down into the bedclothes. "I do not wish to think about this issue any more. I have just given birth twice, and I am weary. I wish to go to sleep now."

"Do that. I will settle the midwives' fee and summon escorts to take them home, and then I will stay near this chamber. Should you have need of anything, you need only call for me." Fëanáro pulled the covers up over Nerdanel's shoulders and kissed her softly on the mouth. Then he drew the curtains closed and left the room. Nerdanel turned onto her side and listened to the twins breathe. After a while, she followed them into the land of dreams.

After Nerdanel had recovered enough to accept visitors, a messenger from the palace arrived. The letter he bore announced that High King Finwë, along with Queen Indis, the Princes Nolofinwë and Arafinwë, and their families, would arrive at Laurelin's next waxing to pay a visit and meet the twins. Upon hearing this news, Fëanáro summoned his older children and put them to work tidying and cleaning the house and preparing refreshments. Nerdanel sat on a couch in the drawing room in the midst of the activity, nursing Pityafinwë while Telufinwë lay beside her awaiting his turn.

"Please, Fëanáro, be calm," she begged. "There is no need for such fuss. They are family."

Fëanáro paused in the midst of picking up toys strewn around the drawing room. "They are not just my family," he said. "The High King and Queen are arriving. One cannot receive the High King and Queen into a dirty house."

Nerdanel rolled her eyes. "The High King and Queen are parents themselves," she said. "Surely they understand that houses with newborns are apt to be less than immaculate at times."

"I will not have Indis lay eyes on my children living in squalor."

"I do not believe that Indis has anything to do with this," Nerdanel said. "I think that you do not wish for Nolofinwë to see you or your surroundings as anything less than perfect."

Fëanáro snorted and flung a little wooden duck on wheels into the box of communal toys that sat beneath the drawing-room window. "Nolofinwë would relish the opportunity to inform me of my shortcomings," he muttered. "Ever he seeks to raise his star in Father's sight."

"That is because your father makes no secret of the fact that he favors you, his firstborn, above either of your brothers," Nerdanel snapped. "If you must expend so much energy on this childish competition with Nolofinwë, then consider that you have already won and leave the rest of the family in peace."

At her breast, Pityafinwë began to fuss, and Nerdanel turned her attention to the baby, making it clear that she considered the discussion to be at an end. Fëanáro sighed loudly and allowed himself several less than kind thoughts about his wife before he resumed picking up the toys.

At the appointed time, Finwë and Indis swept grandly into Fëanáro's house to find Fëanáro and the five older boys neatly dressed and waiting to receive them. Finwë did not even wait for Fëanáro to greet him before he enveloped his son in a hearty embrace.

"Congratulations, Fëanáro," he said. "Seven children, that is an impressive accomplishment."

"The accomplishment is more Nerdanel's than mine," Fëanáro said. "It is she who gave birth to all of these fine boys."

"Indeed," Indis said, nodding politely to Fëanáro and then moving to kiss each of the boys. "You are all so handsome, and it seems that you have grown a little more each time I see you." Carnistir, forever hoping to catch up to Tyelkormo, beamed at this praise. When Indis reached Curufinwë, she knelt down to kiss him, but he twisted away from her, hiding behind Macalaurë's leg.

"You are not my grandmother," he said.

"Curufinwë!" Maitimo said sharply, but Indis merely sat back with a somewhat resigned little smile.

"Do not worry about it, Maitimo," she said. "I have been through this with each of you, and I am sure I will go through it with the new little ones. Curufinwë, I know that I am not your grandmother by blood, but I still love you. Shall we pretend that I am your grandmother? I would like that."

Curufinwë, intrigued by the prospect, peeked at Indis. She made a funny face at him and offered him a piece of candy. "You see," she said. "I have sweets, just as a grandmother ought." Curufinwë giggled, and reached for the treat. Finwë laughed out loud, and suddenly the tension in the atmosphere evaporated.

"That is indeed the role of the grandparents, to bring treats," he said. "And it happens that I have brought some treats of my own for my firstborn and his expanded family to share." He signaled to a footman, who stepped forward bearing a basket. This Finwë presented to Fëanáro. Fëanáro opened it and laughed with delight. Immediately, the children clustered about him to see what was in the basket.

"Kumquats!" Fëanáro cried. The children shouted and clapped their hands.

"I plucked them this morning from the bushes in the palace courtyard," Finwë explained, as Fëanáro popped one in his mouth. "I remembered how much you and Nerdanel enjoyed raiding those bushes when you were small. Now I will go in and see her and my two newest grandsons. Stay and greet your brothers, for they will arrive directly."

Even as Finwë spoke, the door opened again. "Greetings, Fëanáro, and congratulations!" came Anairë's cheerful voice. She strode into the room, her arms held out, Findekáno trotting at her side. Fëanáro smiled at her in spite of himself and allowed her to embrace him. Findekáno flung himself at Maitimo, chattering excitedly.

"Mother said that Aunt Nerdanel has had twins, Maitimo! Is that true? Are there really two babies? I want to see them!"

Maitimo laughed. "Yes, there really are two babies, and you will see them. But perhaps you should wait for your brother and your cousin first."

"Turukáno and Father are coming directly," Findekáno said. "But I want to see the babies now."

At that moment, Nolofinwë crossed the threshold, with Turukáno in his arms. Fëanáro straightened his spine and contrived to look as regal and lordly as possible. Nolofinwë stiffened, then set Turukáno on his feet and bowed formally.

"Congratulations, Fëanáro," he said softly. "I am overjoyed to hear of the new births in our family."

Fëanáro’s mouth twitched at that, but he kept his voice calm and even. "Thank you, Nolofinwë," he said. "It was an unexpected surprise, but a welcome one. The twins are rare and precious jewels, the final shining stars in my firmament."

Nolofinwë’s smile grew forced, but Anairë laughed. "Oh, do listen to yourself, Fëanáro," she said. "You sound as if you had personally carved them from the finest alabaster. At least give Nerdanel the first chance to boast." She glanced at Findekáno, who was wriggling and hopping on one foot with impatience. "Be patient, darling," she said. "Uncle Arafinwë and Aunt Eärwen are coming, and they are bringing our gifts for the babies. Once we have our gifts, we will go in to greet them."

Findekáno sighed, but he did not have long to wait. Arafinwë arrived with a great shout of greeting, followed by Eärwen, who held Findarato’s hand as he toddled along. Arafinwë carried a large bundle, which he handed to Macalaurë. "Those are gifts for your little brothers," he explained. "I believe that Father has already brought kumquats for you. If you are still hungry, you will find pomegranates in that bundle. But first, let me greet your father."

With that, he flung his arms around Fëanáro and clapped him on the back. "Congratulations, Fëanáro!" he cried. "Two at once, now that is something to marvel at. You must tell me how you managed that feat. . . and how Nerdanel managed it as well. Such a slender, graceful thing she is, I do not know how two babies could possibly fit inside her at the same time."

Fëanáro was smiling broadly in spite of himself, and Nolofinwë looked more relaxed. Arafinwë turned and draped one arm over Nolofinwë so that he could embrace both of his brothers at once. "This is a joyous occasion indeed," he said. "It is too seldom that we are together, all three of us and our families."

Findekáno was almost bursting with excitement. "Mother," he whined. "Uncle Arafinwë and the presents are here now. Can we please, please go in and meet the babies?"

"Of course," Fëanáro said, politely disengaging himself from Arafinwë’s arm. "Father and Lady Indis have surely had long enough to cuddle the twins by themselves. Come in, all of you." He relieved Macalaurë of Arafinwë’s bundle and ushered the family into the parlor.

Nerdanel reclined in a pile of cushions on a long couch, one baby nestled in each arm. Findekáno raced forward and slithered past Finwë’s robes to get a good look at his newest cousins. "They are so beautiful!" he crowed. "They are almost as beautiful as Turukáno."

"Almost?" Tyelkormo sniffed.

"They are very little," Findekáno explained cheerfully. "Turukáno was bigger than that."

"But there are two of them, so that is all right," Tyelkormo said. "It is a good thing that they were so little, or else they would not have both fit inside Mother."

"They will grow to be perfectly normal boys," Nerdanel said. "With the amount that they eat, you will soon marvel that they ever could have been as small as they are now."

"In that case, we should give them our gifts now," Eärwen said. "Who has the bundle?"

Fëanáro brought it forward. He sat down on the end of Nerdanel's couch with the bundle perched on his knees and began to unwrap it. Several pomegranates were the first to fall out. The children squealed and began to chase the fruits.

"Maitimo, go to the kitchen and fetch a knife and some bowls," Nerdanel said. "We will have those with our tea." Maitimo nodded, but did not move.

Fëanáro dug deeper into the bundle and pulled out a quilt and two little pairs of warm knit booties, one pair yellow and one pair green.

"Anairë and I had been working on the quilt for some time," Eärwen explained. "And then Anairë came rushing over to see me and said that you had not only given birth well before you were due, but that you had had twins as well."

"And I said that we had to make something else, so that each baby would have something," Anairë chimed in. "Booties were the quickest thing we could think of, and I thought that the babies should have something new of their own, since I am sure they will be wearing many clothes inherited from their brothers."

Nerdanel beamed. "Thank you both, ever so much. They share a cradle, so the quilt will benefit both of them. And the booties are marvelous. Since they are different colors, each twin can wear his own color."

"But that would be boring," Findekáno said. He took one yellow and one green bootie and placed them carefully on Telufinwë's feet. Tyelkormo laughed and put the other mismatched pair on Pityafinwë.

"Findekáno!" Anairë scolded. "What are you doing with your cousins?"

Finwë laughed. "I think it is clever. They both have matching pairs now."

"But will you be able to tell them apart?" Indis asked.

Nerdanel smiled. "Fëanáro has taken care of that problem already," she said. She pulled back the blanket and lifted up Pityafinwë's arm to reveal a little bracelet of tiny silver rings and blue beads, cunningly crafted so that it could be clasped anywhere along its length to accommodate a growing child. "Telufinwë has a matching bracelet with red beads," Nerdanel explained. "Fëanáro made them just after the twins were born, and I find them quite useful in determining who is who."

"Did he make anything for you?" Eärwen asked.

"Oh, yes." Nerdanel shifted Telufinwë to free one hand, then held up the enameled pendant that hung from a chain around her throat. Eärwen and Anairë both gave approving little sighs as they leaned in to inspect it.

Fëanáro stood up and placed the quilt on the couch at Nerdanel's feet. "I believe it is time for tea," he said. "Maitimo, your mother told you to fetch a fruit knife and bowls. If my Lord Father and his sons will excuse me, I will prepare tea and refreshments." He inclined his head graciously, then prodded Maitimo towards the kitchen.

"Do sit down," Nerdanel said to the rest of the family. "There are plenty of seats; do not be shy. I apologize that I am unable to assist you at the moment --"

"Oh, never you mind about that, Nerdanel," Indis said. "We are all family here, and you have just given birth." She and Finwë pulled chairs and couches into a wide conversation circle, while Arafinwë and Nolofinwë dragged a tea table to the center of the circle.

"Tyelkormo," Nerdanel said, "run upstairs to the drawing room and bring down some toys so that you and Findekáno and Carnistir may play quietly while we have our tea. Macalaurë, would you mind the smaller children? They may stay here in the parlor, but do not allow them out of your sight and do not allow them to make a terrific mess."

"Yes, Mother." Macalaurë opened a chest and pulled out a blanket, which he spread on the floor. Tyelkormo returned with a basket of toys and Fëanáro and Maitimo came in from the kitchen bearing trays of tea, small cakes, and fruit. Macalaurë placed Curufinwë, Turukáno, and Findarato on the blanket. "I will keep the older babies amused," he said. "I can play singing games with them. Perhaps I will sing 'Whoop Whoop Whoop' for them."

"No!" all of the adults chorused.

"Teach them a hand-clapping game," Anairë suggested. "Turukáno is very fond of those at the moment.

"Yes, Aunt Anairë." Macalaurë began to chant softly and clap Turukáno's hands together while Curufinwë and Findarato watched with interest. Tyelkormo, Findekáno, and Carnistir were absorbed in the palace they were building from wooden blocks in the corner. Maitimo poured tea for the adults and was then allowed to sit and take refreshments with them. The women exclaimed over the babies and listened as Nerdanel recounted the story of their birth. Fëanáro, his father, and his brothers shifted in their seats. Finally, Arafinwë broke the tension.

"After all the labor of bringing them into the world, Nerdanel, these children are precious indeed. May I hold one of them? My father and mother have had plenty of time to hold their grandchildren, and they must meet their Uncle Arafinwë now."

"Of course," Nerdanel laughed. "Come and take Pityafinwë. I cannot hand him to you, for both of my hands are occupied."

Arafinwë leaned over and scooped Pityafinwë into his arms. He nestled the infant in the hollow of his shoulder and sat back with a sigh of contentment. "This is the best part of being an uncle," he announced. "I have the great pleasure of holding my brother Fëanáro's beautiful child, breathing in his wonderful newborn scent and looking at these tiny, perfect little fingers. And when he cries or wets, I will simply return him to his mother."

Even Fëanáro had to laugh at that. The conversation resumed and blended with the babble of the children playing in their various corners. Nolofinwë alone was silent, gazing at Telufinwë with a mixture of loneliness and longing. Nerdanel noticed his attention and smiled at him.

"I do believe that I would like to have my arms to myself again," she said. "Would you like to hold this one, Nolofinwë?"

A slow, shy smile lit Nolofinwë's face. "I would," he said.

Nerdanel gently placed Telufinwë in his uncle's arms. Fëanáro's eyes narrowed at the sight of his half-brother holding his last-born child. Nolofinwë gazed at the baby, entranced, as though he had laid eyes on a fruit of Laurelin itself. Seeing this adoration, Fëanáro's expression softened just a little. All was as it should be, he decided.

"When do you plan on holding the naming ceremony?" Finwë asked.

Fëanáro traded glances with Nerdanel. "I had thought to wait for a while, until Nerdanel is stronger and the twins have grown a little larger," Fëanáro said. "They are still so small that they make me nervous."

"I can understand that," Finwë said. "You will need an extra baby gown. I know that you have one that all your other children have used. I believe that I still have your old naming gown stored in a box somewhere. Would you like to have that as well?"

"I would appreciate that greatly, Father."

"Let me know when you intend to hold the ceremony," Indis said. "We will host it at the palace."

"I had thought to hold it here," Fëanáro countered. "It is private, and there need not be a large fuss. Macalaurë, Tyelkormo, Carnistir, and Curufinwë all had their naming ceremonies here."

"These last two are different, Fëanáro," Finwë said. "Eru has blessed you, alone of all people, with twins, and that is a significant thing. They must be named at the palace, where all the people may witness them."

"I will not have my sons put on public display as if they were common curiosities! Bad enough that Maitimo was displayed to the crowd. Must these two also suffer the same indignity?"

"They will not mind," Maitimo offered. "I have not suffered for having been named at the palace."

"They may not mind," Fëanáro said, "but I will. I will not have strangers gawking at my children again."

"We can discuss this later," Nerdanel said firmly. "We will not be holding the ceremony for some time yet. Let us not turn this pleasant gathering into an argument."

"I agree," Anairë said. "Have you settled on their names? Are Pityafinwë and Telufinwë permanent?"

Nerdanel nodded. "Fëanáro has never changed his mind about his names for the children yet. They have already become Pityo and Telvo to us, and I cannot imagine them bearing different names."

"And what of your names for the twins?"

Nerdanel pressed her lips together and glanced down at her lap. Fëanáro raised an eyebrow at her. After a moment, she looked up, and her lips quirked into a half-smile. "Ambarussa," she said.

There was a polite silence. "Ambarussa is lovely," Indis said. "What is the other one's name?"

"There is no other name," Nerdanel replied. "They are both Ambarussa. Pityafinwë Ambarussa and Telufinwë Ambarussa. I have thought long and hard, but I cannot create another name. Ambarussa fits them both, one no less than the other. They will share the name, as they will share so much in their lives."

"I suppose that it would work," Eärwen said slowly. "It is not as though they share a father-name as well. They have a name to share, even as they shared their mother's womb, and they have their own names as well, to indicate that they are separate. It is unusual, but then everything about them is unusual."

"They are unique and should be acknowledged as such," Finwë declared. "If their mother, Nerdanel the Wise, deems it proper that they should share a name, then there is surely a reason behind that. They are fine little boys, Fëanáro. Ever your accomplishments fill me with great pride."

Fëanáro sat back in his chair, surveying his family gathered together, his children dominating the room with their sheer numbers, the youngest receiving the full adoration of their uncles, and he smiled at his father's compliment.

Maedhros grunted with effort as he caught a blade aimed for his throat on the edge of the shield strapped firmly to the stump of his right arm, then twisted and drove the point of the shield into his opponent's wrist. The Elf shrieked, more in surprise than pain, and fell to his knees, his sword clattering from his hand. Maedhros thrust his sword into the Elf's chest, tugged it sharply to remove it, and sliced across the Elf's throat for good measure. The Elf collapsed, dying, but Maedhros had already turned his attention elsewhere.

Through the bloody confusion of combat that filled the great hall of the keep at Sirion, Maedhros thought he saw a slender figure fleeing up a staircase. An unearthly light shone through a cloth-wrapped bundle in the woman's hands. It was Elwing, Maedhros realized, and she had his father's Silmaril in her grasp. There was no way that he could stop her, for too many fighters stood between them. He fended off an assault from his left and looked wildly around for his brothers.

There was a strangled cry, and a combatant near him suddenly pitched forward, twitching from the shock of a blow that had laid the back of his neck open. Maglor stood behind him, his eyes wide, and his blood-spattered face nearly as pale as that of the Elf he had just killed. Maedhros caught his brother's arm. "Elwing is trying to flee with the Silmaril," he gasped. "She went up that staircase. Gather your men and find her, quickly."

"The twins," Maglor said. "Have you seen them?"

"No. Go and find Elwing."

"Our men are turning on us, Maedhros!" With that, Maglor was gone, cutting a path through the crowd that had collected at the bottom of the stairs.

"There he is!"

Maedhros whirled around just as a body hurtled through the air and knocked him down. He found himself struggling for his life against an enraged, snarling warrior, who he recognized as belonging to Amrod's company. His shield arm pinned awkwardly beneath him, Maedhros clawed desperately with his left hand.

"You murderer!" the warrior growled. "You even kill babies. You left Dior's sons to die in the woods, and now you attack his daughter in her own home!" Maedhros scrabbled desperately at the warrior's face as the warrior tried to work his hands around Maedhros's throat.

Somehow, one of Maedhros's fingers found the warrior's eye, and the warrior started. It was all the opening Maedhros needed. He smashed the heel of his hand into his opponent's nose. The warrior's head snapped back, and blood spurted. Maedhros squirmed out from under him, stretched out his hand, and grabbed his sword, which he had dropped. Summoning a burst of strength, he rose to his knees and swung, lopping off the head of the one who had attacked him.

Feeling vaguely sick, Maedhros struggled to his feet. If Maglor was right, and their own warriors were turning on him and his brothers, then there was no safety to be had in this battle. He had to locate Amrod and Amras, the only two people in the great hall whose loyalty he could trust. If he could keep his brothers at his side, they might yet live through this fight.

Two of Elwing's guards attacked him. Maedhros hamstrung one of them, and he went down to be trampled in the bloody rushes that littered the floor. The other one proved more difficult to subdue, but Maedhros fought desperately, and soon managed to bury his blade in the other's gut. Just as the guard collapsed, Maedhros heard the hum of a war arrow. Then, a second later, a horribly familiar wail of pain nearly stopped his heart. Maedhros wrestled the dead body of the guard off of his sword and glanced along the path the arrow had taken.

Amrod was on the ground, writhing in pain, the arrow protruding from his chest. Maedhros knew that the wound was mortal, but not close enough to the heart for a quick, painless kill. He twisted and struggled, trying to force his way through the press to reach his little brother. Amras dropped his sword and knelt down to take his twin in his arms. Maedhros opened his mouth to shout a warning to Amras, to scold him for his foolishness in the midst of a battle not yet won.

He never had the chance. Even as Amras scooped Amrod up for a final embrace, one of the keep's defenders seized his chance and drove his sword through Amras's spine at the shoulders. It was over in an instant. Both twins fell dead in each other's arms.

"Ambarussa!" Maedhros cried. A body slammed against him, and he crashed to his knees, barely remembering to raise his shield above his head. He could no longer muster the will to attack. So he remained on the ground, using sword and shield to protect himself until he realized that the noise of battle had vanished, and one of his lieutenants was hauling him to his feet and saying something to him. He shook his head, and the fog cleared enough for him to understand that they had won. The defenders had all died or fled, and the sons of Fëanor had won the day.

Maedhros took this information in without comment. He forced his legs to carry him over to the tangled bodies of Amrod and Amras. Amras's empty eyes were wide with the shock of his death. Beneath his body, Amrod's face was twisted from his final pain. Maedhros grasped the arrow embedded in his baby brother's chest and tugged at it, even as his eyes blurred with tears. His lieutenant covered his hand with his own and stilled its frantic motion.

"Leave that, my Lord," he said. "I will care for them. But you must find Lord Maglor and the Silmaril without delay, and then we must be gone from this place."

In his mind’s eye Maedhros saw Maglor lying dead in a pool of his own blood, the Silmaril clutched in his stiffening fingers. He wanted to vomit at the idea that the price of regaining his father's handiwork might be the sacrifice of his entire family, but he could not delay finding out. Better to learn such a thing now and have it over with. Then, he supposed, he could claim the Silmaril and lay down his own life in peace, knowing that he had fulfilled his family's terrible oath.

Summoning a last reserve of strength, he crossed the great hall and mounted the stairs where he had last seen Elwing. Her trail was not hard to follow; overturned furniture and the occasional body littered her path. Maedhros followed the trail down a corridor and up a long spiral staircase until he came to a lookout room at the top of one of the keep's towers. The door was ajar, and he slipped inside, his heart hammering in his throat.

Many of the bodies on the floor were women, Elwing's ladies-in-waiting, lying in disarray where they had fallen defending their mistress. But there were male bodies as well; the women had taken Maglor's bodyguards down with them.

Maglor himself stood frozen in the center of the room, staring out the open window, his back to the door. At the sound of Maedhros's footsteps, he turned around. He started at seeing Maedhros alive, and moved as if to rush to embrace his brother, but stopped short at the look on Maedhros's face.

"Maedhros. . . " he choked, but no more words came.

Maedhros swallowed. "Sirion is ours," he said. "But we do not have much time. Where is Elwing? Have you got the Silmaril?"

Maglor slowly shook his head. "I pursued Elwing to this room with a company of my men. We fought hard, but their defense was desperate, and in desperation, a courtly lady may prove supremely dangerous even to battle-hardened warriors. Even as I reached for her, Elwing twisted from my grasp and hurled herself from the window."

Maedhros ran to look out the window and was stunned at the sheer drop to the rocky inlet below. The waves crashed, and he realized that the sea must have already claimed Elwing's body. With a sigh of defeat, he turned back to his brother, the only thing left to him at the end of this terrible day.

"Our victory is no victory at all," Maglor said. "Come, I do not want to remain in this house of death any longer. Let us rejoin the twins and go home."

Maedhros’s heart hammered in his chest. "No," he said, the words coming out with surprising ease. "The twins are dead, Maglor."

Maglor reeled back a step and gasped for breath. "Pityo. . . and Telvo?" he said. "They are both dead?"

Maedhros nodded. "They died together. I tried to reach them, but the battle swept us apart."

Maglor stared at him for a long moment, his mouth working soundlessly. Then his face twisted into a grimace of rage. His hand flashed up, and he slapped Maedhros across the face, hard enough that Maedhros staggered back from the blow. Maedhros’s sword clattered to the ground. Maglor screamed, and began to scrabble frantically at the straps and buckles of his armor, shucking off his shoulder guards and breastplate even as he sank to his knees on the braided rag rug.

Maedhros released the catches that bound his shield to his right arm and took a step toward Maglor, reaching out to embrace his brother, but Maglor ducked away from his grasp. "No!" he cried. "Do not touch me! I do not want your comfort. You have taken my family from me, and you have left me with not even one whole brother!"

Maedhros froze. He had had many bitter arguments with Maglor in the years since they had fled Aman with Fëanor, but never before had Maglor said anything so bitingly cruel. Maedhros supposed that he deserved it, though, for it was at his insistence that they had attacked Sirion. He stood and watched helplessly as Maglor doubled over, moaning, too hurt even to weep.

Just then, they heard another voice in the room, the voice of a small child. "Nana?" it asked. "Elros? Elros!"

Another childish voice answered. "Elrond? Where is Nana?"

Maedhros traced the sound to a corner where one of the ladies-in-waiting lay under the body of the warrior who had killed her. The corpses twitched, and two identical little boys, not much more than toddlers, crawled out from beneath them. They held tightly to each other’s hands. One looked around the room, silently taking in the wreckage. The other gazed at the open window. Maedhros and Maglor stared back at them. Maglor had stopped moaning and sat absolutely still on his heels.

The twin who had been looking around the room huddled a little closer to his brother. "Elrond," he said, "I want Nana."

The other twin pointed at the window. "Nana is gone, Elros. She flew."

Elros clung to Elrond and began to sniffle. Slowly, Maglor held out his arms to the twins, a look of grief and pity on his face. Desperate for the comfort of an adult, the twins edged closer to him. Maglor wrapped an arm around each of them, and they buried their faces in his sweaty, blood-stained shirt.

The bottom dropped out of Maedhros’s stomach as he realized who these little boys were. He swallowed a wave of nausea and forced himself to pick up his sword. Maglor turned a horrified expression on him.

"Have you gone mad, Maedhros? What do you think you are doing?"

Maedhros swallowed. "Those are Elwing’s children, Maglor. We cannot allow them to live. They have seen what we have done here. If they live, they will grow up to take their revenge on us, and that will only lead to more violence. The cycle must end here." Feeling sick to his stomach, Maedhros took a step toward them.

The twins screamed, and Maglor clutched them to his chest. "No," he said. "You will not kill them, Maedhros. There has been enough blood shed this day."

"You know what they will do to us if they live."

"Do you think we do not deserve all of that and more?" Maglor cried, his voice cracking. "Pityo and Telvo are dead. I do not want any more little ones to die today."

Maedhros’s hand clenched tighter around the grip of his sword. Unbidden, an image of the twin sons of Dior, Elwing’s brothers, came to his mind. You murderer! Amrod’s warrior had called him. You even kill babies. He remembered all the times he had cuddled and played with little brothers and cousins and even his nephew, and then he looked at these children cowering and whimpering at his approach. Maglor, the first baby he had ever held, watched him with wary eyes.

"What future do you see for the sons of Elwing, Maglor?" Maedhros asked. "Their people are dead, and they are too small to take care of themselves."

Maglor swallowed. "I will take care of them. I have spent too many years fueling my hatred. I want something to love."

"They will not love you. You pursued their mother to her doom."

"But I can still love them. And if I give them shelter, clothes, food. . . perhaps their hearts might soften towards me." Maglor glanced down at the twins pressed close in his arms.

The sword in Maedhros’s hand was almost unbearably heavy. "Maglor. . . they are not Pityo and Telvo."

Maglor nodded. "I know. And I am not Eärendil. We have all lost someone we loved. Perhaps our wounds will heal together in time."

Maedhros sighed. "They will turn on you in the end."

"Perhaps they will. And I will have earned it if they do. But perhaps, with love and a new home, they will not."

"If they grow up to hurt one hair of your head, I will tear them asunder." Maedhros blinked, and his voice grew thick. "You are all I have left. I cannot bear to see any more of my little brothers die."

He raised his sword. Elrond and Elros flinched, but Maedhros ignored them. He set the sword down on the floor near its scabbard and ripped a piece of cloth from one of the curtains. Then he knelt down and began to clean the blade. Maglor, Elrond, and Elros watched him in silence. When Maedhros had wiped all the blood from the sword, he replaced it in the scabbard.

The twins relaxed a little, sensing that the danger was over. Maglor trembled as he held them and pressed his lips together into a thin, tight line. Elros grasped a fistful of Maglor’s shirt. "I want my Nana," he said.

"Me, too," Elrond said. A tear traced its way down his cheek. Elros sniffled loudly, and then both twins began to cry.

Maglor rocked them and stroked their hair, as he had done with his own twin brothers so long ago. As he rocked back and forth on the floor, he began to hum softly. Elrond and Elros sobbed and shuddered. Maglor’s own tremors grew stronger, and he gasped for air. His mouth worked, and Maedhros realized that Maglor was singing. It was a rough, raw sound, as if each word was a blade piercing Maglor’s body. After a few moments, Maedhros could make out the words.

"With a whoop whoop whoop and a heigh-ho, along the narrow stretch. . . ." Maglor’s voice was a rasping parody of itself, but he did not stop singing. "With a rat-tat-tat and a tippy-tip-top and down the rolling bow-wow-wow. . . " The rhythm of the nonsense words seemed to calm Maglor’s shaking, and he began to weep in earnest, still singing through his tears. "With a noodle-oodle-oodle and a bugle sound, through the woods he ran, bully boy, and through the woods he ran."

Maedhros remembered all the times that he had scolded Maglor for singing that silly, irritating child’s song. He thought that he would gladly give up his left hand to hear Maglor sing it again properly, laughing merrily at the sound of his own voice prattling through the tune. He would listen to it a hundred times over if he could soothe his weeping, shattered brother by doing so.

As quietly as possible, he rose to his feet and walked out the door, leaving Maglor and his twins to their shared grieving. He stumbled down the staircase and made his way back to the great hall. Those of his men who still remained loyal had been hard at work separating the bodies of the dead. Those who had died defending the keep lay together at one end of the hall, while those who had died under Maedhros’s command lay at the other end.

Amrod and Amras lay together, apart from the rest. Maedhros went to them and knelt down stiffly. Someone had removed the arrow from Amrod’s chest and closed the eyes of both twins. Maedhros bent to kiss each twin’s brow, and realized that their bodies were already growing cold. He signaled to his lieutenant, who brought sheets clearly plundered from a laundry room somewhere in the keep and covered the bodies.

"What has become of Lord Maglor?" the lieutenant asked.

"He is alive," Maedhros said. "He mourns Lords Amrod and Amras and is unable to come to us yet. He will come when he is ready." Maedhros paused, as an idea struck him. "Maglor will need to ride in one of our supply wagons," he said. "See that one is prepared with plenty of room. And search the pantries here for candy."

The lieutenant blinked in surprise. "Candy, my Lord?"

"Yes. Candy, cakes, biscuits. . . there must be something small and sweet in the pantries. I will require four pieces of candy."

"Four pieces of candy, and a space in a supply wagon. I will do as you say, my Lord." The lieutenant bowed and walked away.

Maedhros awaited his return in silence, still sitting beside the bodies of Amrod and Amras. After a while, the lieutenant returned and placed four little balls of a sweet-smelling, gelatinous substance in Maedhros’s hand. "Four pieces, my Lord," he said. "Are you sure you do not want the entire jar?"

"I am sure," Maedhros said. "You may take the jar if you wish, but I have no need of it." The lieutenant shrugged and went off to arrange the space in the supply wagon.

Maedhros looked up and saw Maglor walking toward him, holding the hands of Elrond and Elros. The twins wore matching woolen cloaks, and each one carried a stuffed toy. As Maglor approached Maedhros, Elrond and Elros began to tremble and huddled closer to him. Maglor stopped and knelt down.

"This is my brother Maedhros," he told the twins. "He will not harm you, I promise. I will not allow him to harm you." Elrond and Elros peered suspiciously at Maedhros. One of them stuck his thumb in his mouth.

Maedhros took a deep breath and offered the candy to the twins on the palm of his left hand. The twins looked at the candy and then at Maedhros, and he hoped that they did not realize that he was offering them sweets from their own pantry.

The twin who was not sucking his thumb reached out to Maedhros, but pulled his hand away quickly. He turned and looked a silent question at Maglor. Maglor nodded to him, and the twin plucked a piece of candy from Maedhros’s hand. "Thank you," he said politely, and began to eat it. The other twin, his courage bolstered at seeing his brother eating such a treat, removed his thumb from his mouth and took a piece of candy. He, too, thanked Maedhros.

"You are welcome," Maedhros told them. "You are very polite little boys." The twins chewed the candy and looked at him silently. Maedhros gave the third piece to Maglor and kept the fourth for himself. None of them spoke any more words as they shared the treats. The candy was sticky from the warmth of Maedhros’s palm, flavored with rosewater and powerfully sweet, but Maedhros did not mind the taste.

Maglor licked his fingers and started to rise. As he did so, he caught a glimpse of the two sheet-covered bodies behind Maedhros, a few locks of red hair straying from beneath one sheet. Maglor gave a short, sharp cry and sank back to his knees. Elrond and Elros immediately pressed close to him. One of them even dared to put his arms around Maglor’s neck.

Maedhros reached out to brush at Maglor’s tears, and this time, Maglor did not shy away from his touch. He allowed Maedhros to wipe at his face with his hand and then gently cup his jaw.

"We will take them back to their realm, Maglor," Maedhros said. "We will bury them in the forest where they loved to hunt. Perhaps their fëar are already reuniting with Father and Celegorm and Caranthir and Curufin."

"If they have not been swallowed by the Darkness," Maglor said.

"That is our punishment if we fail in our Oath, but we have not failed yet. We two still remain, and we may yet have a chance to fulfill the Oath and redeem the fëar of our family." Maedhros managed a shaky smile. "And you have a new family of your own now. I have ordered that a space be prepared for you and the twins in the supply wagon, for I thought you would not wish to take the children before you on horseback."

Maglor nodded. "You are correct. Thank you." The depth of his tone indicated that his gratitude was not just for the offer of space in the wagon. Maedhros sat back on his heels.

"You were always the best of us, Maglor," he said. "You should have something to love. I wish you and the twins joy of each other."

Maglor tried to smile, but the effort did not reach his eyes. He rose and took the twins’ hands. "Come, Elrond, Elros," he said. "You are sticky from the candy. We will find a place where you may wash before we set out for your new home."

He led Elrond and Elros away. Maedhros sat on his heels and watched them go. Then he bade the soldiers place the dead in wagons to be transported home for burial. He reached out and touched Amrod and Amras’s heads one last time.

"Farewell, Pityo. Farewell, Telvo," he said. "Your names will never be forgotten. I swear it."

END

Many thanks to those who have read and enjoyed this story. This last chapter is something of an experiment. It's partially an epilogue, but partially a chance to play around with the theme I had for this story. The phrase "the last sons of Fëanor" can mean two very different things.

Those people who have read other stories of mine will be entirely unsurprised to learn that Maglor's song "Whoop whoop whoop" is real. It's an old Anglo-American nonsense song variously called "Berayna," "Beau Reynard," "Poor Reynold," or a host of other, similar names. Reynard is the fox, whose clever exploits the song celebrates. I learned a version from North Carolina that Custer LaRue sings on an album called "The True Lover's Farewell," on the Dorian label. The tune is sprightly and angular, and it is a measure of Maglor's skills as a singer that he can sing it even while weeping.

The candy at Sirion is similar to Turkish Delight. Many thanks to Dawn Felagund for advice on making candy like that and for a recipe to go along with it.

And, once more, thank you all for reading. I hope you liked the story. I'll see you next time.