Black on white, stark and honest by Fiamma Galathon  

Fingolfin thought himself not a gossip person. 

It was of course unavoidable that, as a High King, he came in contact with gossip, but he tried his best not to pay heed to it.

He had his sister for it. Lalwen was delighted to be able to comb through the latest gossip and find useful information.

So it was exceedingly rare he found himself listening to the whispers of the servants.

But how could he not, when his ears caught ‘Lady Aredhel’ and ‘alive’ and ‘child’?

Fingolfin fancied himself to be a decent father. It was only his duty to find out about whatever could have happened to his daughter. 

They had no news from Turgon and her since Vinyamar was abandoned.

He only prayed nobody caught him sneaking around the castle like a elfling up to no good as he chased the rumors.

Near the servant quarters he hid under the ceiling, crouched on the support beam like a thief in the night.

Two maids were talking. He tuned in, ready to wait several hours for any relevant information.

Fortune was in his favor, apparently.

-Oh, you won’t believe what I heard!- the young elleth whispered excitedly to her friend. - The runners from Himring say that the Lords of Himlad, you know, them, right? Well, they apparently have a child!-

-How?- the other maid blinked at her incredulously. - Neither of them is married the rumor has!-

-Oh, I know, right? But the Smith has a son already, doesn’t he? - 

-...are you implying…?- she looked at her with huge eyes, voice going thin. Fingolfin frowned. He did not get the implication.

-Yes! Or that’s what the stablehands said the last regiment told them in passing.- the maid grinned madly, walking away with her friend who was looking somewhere between disgusted and intrigued. 

The king frowned harder. No letters came from Himring yet, and surely the birth of another child in the family would not go unremarked by Maedhros. 

An hour and not less than seven whispered conversations later Fingolfin was ready to drink himself into oblivion.

The theories ranged from his daughter marrying an orc, to Celegorm somehow getting pregnant. 

Celegorm could in fact very much not get pregnant, and he knew that because he had changed his diapers enough times to remember that little fact.

He dragged himself back to his office to find the strongest bottle of whisky he had. Opening the door he groaned loudly, letting his head fall against the doorframe with a thump. On the desk lay a missive from Himlad, brought via a Himring courier. 

Fingolfin took a moment to appreciate his own idiocy and lack of patience before he sat down and opened the battered letter.

He read it over once. Then twice. 

Looked into the distance for a troubling amount of time. Read it again. 

Found the folded piece of paper that doubled as a postscriptum. Read that. 

The following howl startled the birds living in the rafters. 

Fingolfin got up and took a hearty swing straight out of the bottle of his strongest whiskey.

*******

The letter brought by the Himring courier to Hithlum on 27th of Tuilë, delivered to the High King’s Office;

From Tylekormo Turkafinwë Feanorion known as Celegorm Lord of Himlad and Lady of the House of the White Tower Írissë Aredhel Nolofinwiel to His Majesty High King of the Noldor in Beleriand, Nolofinwë Finwion known as Fingolfin;

Hiya, Uncle. So good news, we found Aredhel. Well, she found herself, I just brought her back to Aglon. She is in mostly good health, even! Bad news, a Doriathrim noble had kept her captive for four years. Good news, he is now very much dead. As the official version of events states, a rogue band of orcs caught and eviscerated him, dumping his body into the Celon. They apparently had a taste for torture of a specific kind, the body was found without his genitals. 

Celegorm had drawn there a smiley face and a pair of hunting knives. 

Bad news again, we don’t know how this will impact the opinion of our dear Greycloak. So, yeah, that’s mostly it. Ah, we also got a new addition, but that’s kind of not my fault this time.

The writing changed there abruptly, from a barely legible chicken scratch to the elegant, sweeping cursive of one of his children.

All right, Father, disregard anything Tyleko said until now. I’m fine, I’m alive, I’m well and safe. The boys are taking good care of me. I promise to write a more hearty letter later, but this goes via Himring couriers, so I need to keep it short. Turko and Idril are also safe, we had left for a hidden city prompted by Ulmo’s advice, do not worry about him. The city in question is called Gondolin, just so you know., but now I will stay in Aglon for the foreseeable future. Pass my best regards to Finno, please! 

Your loving daughter, Aredhel.

The piece of paper characteristic for a Himring courrier ended there, but an additional short note in the cramped, stilted handwriting of Maedhros was attached to it, folded inconspicuously in the corner.

Event report: Aredhel found running from Nan Elmoth around 40th of Corië by Celegorm, brought to Ost Aglon with only minor mind-strain. She had a four-month boy with herself, Celegorm seemed to have taken him in as his own. Curvo and Tylepë are stubbornly silent on the matter. Congratulations, Uncle.  - Maedhros of Himring

*******

Fingon found his father crying in his office, clutching a piece of paper like a lifeline. He stopped in the doorway. 

- Atto? - he whispered softly after a moment, stepping inside. His father looked up at him, and gave him a brilliant smile, even as tears ran down his cheeks. 

-Aredhel. They found her alive.- he choked out after a second, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. - And she has a baby boy. -

Fingon blinked at his father. - Yes. And?- 

- Yonya …? Wait, you knew?!- Fingolfin rose to his feet, eyes suddenly huge.

Fingon grinned sheepishly, holding his own letter from the courier up. - I got to know now, but I had some informations beforehand, if barely.-

His father smiled, shaking his head. -I finally beat Feanaro to something! I was first to have two grandchildren. Ha!- 

-Well, uh, atto. Read the letter again. - Fingon winced. Fingolfin blinked at him. Looked at the letter. 

-No! Ah, fuck!- he swore, throwing the letter down on the desk. -It’s a tie again!-

Fingon made the mistake of laughing at that. 

-Oh, do not chuckle there, son mine. Only you remain of my children yet to provide me with a grandchild, and you most of them need heirs.- his father narrowed his eyes at him.

He chuckled again, nervously this time.

Chapter End Notes

Fingon, furiosly scribbling to Maedhros; Help my father wants me to get a child, what do I do???
Maedhros, replying a few days later: What phenotype and age range you would like, love? Give me a week.

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Aredhel looked up from where she was braiding a string for her new bow, frowning. 

Come to think of it, it had been suspiciously quiet for a bit already. Tyleko was out with a regiment, Curvo was down in the forges, and Tylepe was socializing, apparently. But it was too quiet still. 

She looked out of the window at the sundial on the opposite wall, and blinked. Four hours?!? Had she been at this for four hours?

Oh, fuck, Lómion.

She got up, and went to check on her son, who she left sleeping in the nursery. While there was neither wailing nor any distress in their bond, it was better to check anyway. 

He was not there. 

She swallowed down the immediate bout of panic, noticing the red card had been flipped up on the crib. So Curvo took him somewhere. 

They had four colorful cards stacked at the side of the crib, and if any of them took Lómion with themselves they were meant to put their color up on it, so as not to cause unneeded panic. 

That had been the best invention of Tylepe ever. 

Aredhel breathed out in relief. All right. 

Wait. Wasn’t Curvo in the throes of a project again? 

She swore, sprinting down the stairs, jumping off the balustrade to skip two flights. While she trusted him completely, a forge was not exactly child-friendly. Dashing through the fortress she absentmindedly waved off the concern of a few servants, slalomed between the hounds lying around on the sun-warm cobbles of the courtyard, and skidded to a stop before the entrance to the forges built into the mountain walls, slightly winded.

Not in top shape yet, but getting there. She nodded at herself, taking a few gasping breaths. A month or two and she would be back in form. 

Aredhel steadied her breath before pushing open the doors, and was greeted by an unusually silent forge, no banging hammers or blowing bellows in sight. It was nearly deserted, even. 

Weird. 

A forge-helper slithered under the far wall, muttering something under her breath as she rearranged the materials in the crates. 

-Hello?- Aredhel called out softly, and the girl turned around, cocking one eyebrow, before she apparently recognized her and bowed shallowly. 

-Hello, Lady Aredhel. What can I help you with?- she asked politely, weighing a slab of copper in her hands. 

-Have you perhaps seen Lord Curufin? Perhaps with my son with him, since he seems to have kidnapped him.- Aredhel smiled, stepping into the quiet forge. 

The girl made a face. -Yeah, of course. He came in some two hours ago, threw everybody out and went into his private studio. Was even slightly polite, which was alarming.-

-Could you show me there?- 

-Why not, not like he can yell at you.- she shrugged, and put the copper slab down into one crate, dusting her hands off. -Right this way, My Lady. Sorry for the soot.- 

-Oh, do not worry, some dirt never hurt anyone.- Aredhel laughed softly, walking after her into the bowels of the mountain. Curvo’s workshop was on the lowest level, with an impressive blast-resistant door and his name etched into the stone above it with some glowing metal. 

It fit him, honestly. 

The girl scurried away as soon as they got there, excusing herself on the basis of work, leaving her alone before the door.

Aredhel snorted and opened her mind, reaching out to Curvo on the other side. He indeed was accompanied by Lómion, who was both content and excited. 

She sent her cousin the best approximation of a questioningly raised eyebrow and the image of his door. Shuffling could be heard from the other side and it opened after six separate locks clicked open. Her eyebrows truly rode up her forehead at that. Paranoid bastard.

Curvo peeked out, hair disheveled and eyes glittering, grinning at her madly. -Oh, hello ‘Risse. - he greeted her, opening the door wider and beckoning her inside. 

-Ahahmamah!- Lómion also greeted her cheerfully from the place on his hip, smiling gummily at her. 

She stepped into the chamber, rolling her eyes at them. - So what were you two doing there? - she inquired, looking around curiously. There were odd contraptions hanging on the walls, that looked somewhere between elaborate torture mechanisms and…was that a palantir prototype? Aredhel blinked, and decided not to ask.

-Ah well. - Curvo shrugged, walking over to his work desk on which glittering gems were strewn around, along some scraps of leather and wood. - Since he will be teething soon I thought I would make him a nice teething ring, so I brought him there to decide on the design.- he smiled at the boy, and Lómion smiled back at him, ears quivering excitedly. - He has opinions on the gems! Ai, you will be a great smith when you get bigger, pityonya. - he bopped him on the nose, earning a happy giggle. 

Aredhel melted a bit at the sight. -That’s very considerate of you, Curvo.- She picked up one aquamarine the length of her pinky, with a beautiful blue color, and held it up to the light. It was beautiful. It would make for a really nice hair-bead. 

She was slowly building back her collection.

Maybe she could sneakily ask Tylepe for a nice carved one out of a gem or another. He was the family jewelsmith after all. 

-What has the little smith chosen then?- she asked, setting the stone back and taking Lómion into her arms. Curvo grinned, gray eyes sparkling like Tyleko’s did after a successful hunt for a particularly big beast, and held up three gems in his palm. One was crafted, she could tell, and the two others were natural, but besides that she didn’t know what they were, except for pretty and sparkly. 

- He has excellent taste, don’t you, nolpainkë? Yes, yes you do. That’s a really nice Illmarin Night here, the best I have currently. - Curvo held up the crafted gemstone, a deep black with speckles of glittering something that made it look like a starry sky. - And those two are shards of one smoky quartz with a tourmaline intrusion, look, there, see? Those will be just great for the handle.- 

Aredhel smiled indulgently at him, understanding only a few words out of what was said, but Lómion clapped his hands happily, nodding along. 

- Nolpainkë? That’s what we are going with?- she chuckled, realizing Lómion was positively covered in both dirt and gemstone dust. 

-Oh, uh, well.- Curvo stuttered, looking at her with wide eyes. - Doesn’t it make sense? But. It’s just a nickname, not, well.- he gestured helplessly, and she shook her head at him. 

-Well, nobody said he cannot have two ataressi. - she reminded him gently, catching his hand in her own . - And don’t tell him I said that, but Tyleko is. Not the best at naming things.-

Curvo looked at her with blazing eyes, swallowing harshly, before dragging her and Lómion into a hug. - Írissë . - he breathed out, voice trembling. 

-Ababa. Bah.- Lómion patted his shoulder, and Aredhel just pressed a kiss to the top of his head. When he next looked at her from where he had pressed his face into the side of her head his eyes were shiny with tears as well as Treelight.

-I will strive to find the best name possible to counteract my brother’s foolishness.- he murmured, smiling through tears. - Let's not be hasty, tiny mole may be quite fitting for now, but he will grow tall yet and what will people say about that? Ai, ‘Risse.- Curufin shook his head, covering his eyes. - Do not spring those revelations on me like this, I beg you. -

She only smiled warmly at him, Lómion in her arms smiling even brighter. 

Chapter End Notes

I hope you enjoyed!

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