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Instead, Maglor rolled over on his stomach and propped his chin on his hands. “I don’t even know what the lights are going to look like. Will they spell something out?”

“Maybe.”

“Like a holiday greeting?”

“Sure.”

“Or?”

“Or a message from the Borg.”

“Curvo.”

“Just kidding.” Curufin spun the screwdriver. “Probably. Will you bring me that soldering iron?”

Maglor grabbed at something at random and passed it over, still stretched out on his stomach.

Curufin sighed deeply. “That is a wire stripper.”

Maglor groaned again and fumbled amongst the items littering the floor until his hand landed on something that made Curufin click his tongue and gesture impatiently for him to hand it over.

As Curufin set to work on something that involved the smell of burning rubber, Maglor curled up on the floor and drowsed, still humming Carol of the Bells under his breath. When he woke up, twenty minutes or twenty years later, Huan had joined him in a warm sprawl of legs and fur, and Curufin was nudging him in the ribs.

“Makalaurë. Wake up, it’s time to test them out.”

Maglor yawned and sat up, then sneezed as dog hair got in his nose. “Phthoo. Okay.” He looked around blearily. “You rigged it all up?”

“Yes. It’s connected to the outdoor lights and the tree.”

“And what does the light board say?” asked Maglor warily.

“Plug it in and see.”

Maglor plugged it in.

Every light in the house went out.

“Well,” said Curufin brightly. “Time for some troubleshooting. Give me ten minutes with the fuse box.”

“You take way too much pleasure in this,” said Maglor, dropping back, and leaping immediately up again as he landed on Huan. “Hey, is this your phone that keeps ringing?”

“Stay away from my stuff,” Curufin called from the basement.

“Shan’t,” said Maglor, and answered it.

* * *

4.

Telchar squinted at the computer screen, running her hands over her arms as she studied the numbers. “Is this accurate?”

“Of course it is.” Caranthir propped his head on his hand and looked at her from the other side of the desk. “Have I ever steered you wrong?”

“Too soon to tell.” Telchar poked at the screen. “This is seriously how much we’d make with the holiday promotion?”

“Yep.”

“That would potentially get us within 10% of being out of debt.”

“I know.”

Telchar rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I tend not to believe things that sound too good to be true.”

Caranthir shrugged. “I can’t help you with that personality flaw, but – ”

“Insubordination, son. How dare you tell me I have flaws?”

“ – I can just tell you what the projections say. Do the holiday promotion, and launch the PR blitz on the Imperial Mithril Pale, and you’ll make back at least 66%.” Caranthir waved a piece of paper at her. “I ran the numbers.”

Telchar leaned back in her chair. “Boy, we are not paying you enough, are we?”

“I’ve been saying that for months.”

“On the other hand, you are an uncertified undergrad, and I don’t even know if it’s legal for us to be using you on our books…”

“Legality is overrated, Telchar.”

“Oh, that is so what I want to hear from my accountant.” Telchar kicked him lightly under the desk. “But despite your questionable ethics, your numbers are rock solid. I’ll tell Azaghâl to launch the Imperial Mithril campaign ASAP. In the meantime, you want to take a tour of the floor and check out some of the new experimental batch we’re brewing?”

“I have an essay due tomorrow.”

“Is that a no?”

“No, that’s an ‘only if you let me drink it.’”

Telchar and Caranthir strode into the room that held the vast copper vats that held the fermenting hops, Telchar talking all the while about the new attempts they were making at increasing alcohol content without increasing the cost of production, and Caranthir jotted notes and drank samples with equal concentration.

After a certain number of samples had been consumed, a certain number of notes taken, and Telchar and Caranthir were staring to talk very loudly about dark beers, Azaghâl stomped across the floor to them.

“Okay, you two, out.”

“Azaghâl,” said Telchar, narrowing her eyes and wagging a finger. “I am your superior.”

“No, you aren’t.”

“I am older than you.”

“That’s true, but irrelevant. Either way, get outta here, we’re working and you two are loud and distracting. Take your young piece back to the office and you can do whatever you want there.”

"My young what?"

Caranthir snickered, and both Azaghâl and Telchar looked up at him in surprise. “Did you just laugh?”

“I haven’t ever heard the long ‘n’ angry laugh.”

“Shuttup,” said Caranthir, and buried his nose in his beer.

Back in her office, Telchar perched on the edge of her desk while Caranthir leaned up next to her, and they shared a pint glass of the Longbeard Lager.

“Is it hard to work with Azaghâl?” asked Caranthir after a while.

“Why would it be hard?” Telchar rested an elbow on Caranthir’s shoulder and peered at him. His hair was growing out and hanging into his face and she blew at his bangs until she could see his eyes.

“Because he’s family.”

Telchar frowned, still leaning on him. “I’ve been working with family all my life, boy. Family means you can fight more, sure, because you know their weaknesses all the better and you’re not afraid to use ‘em, but it has more pros than cons, in my experience.”

“Hunh. Not in mine.” Caranthir thought a moment, tilting his head as he pondered. “Maybe that’s not true. But like, I’d kill my family if I had to work with them here.”

Telchar ruffled his hair as his dark head tipped towards hers. “That’s good, because your family would be terrible at brewing.”

“They would not.” Caranthir glowered, his heavy brows pulling together. “My father is the best engineer Beleriand has ever seen, you think we couldn’t brew?”

“I would never say such a thing.” But the way Telchar chuckled made Caranthir turn to her, frowning more darkly still.

“You’re making fun of me.”

“No.” Telchar poked him gently in the chest. “I’m just teasing a little.”

A flush was rising on Caranthir’s cheeks. “Same thing.”

“Not really.” Telchar’s hand went flat against his chest, pressing warmly against him. “Friends can tease a bit, just like family. Just because I tease doesn’t mean I don’t take you very seriously, Caranthir.”

Caranthir swallowed, raising his eyes to her face, and the dropping them again, fixing instead on the dragon tattoo across her collarbones. “Uh. Okay.”

“But one of the things you learn – especially working with family,” Telchar’s voice was light, “is that a bit of teasing between close friends is acceptable.” Her hand brushed up his chest to rest on his shoulder. Then she chuckled and tapped him on the point of his shoulder before pulling her hand back. “But if it’s not welcome, I’ll restrain myself.”

Caranthir looked at her a long while and she met his eyes, her own dark and twinkling.

“No, it’s fine,” he said at last. He smiled suddenly, swiftly. “My family would be shit at beer. They’re totally the wrong kind of snob.”

Telchar laughed and leaned back against him, and it was as they shared another glass of beer – Durin’s Deathless Stout – that Caranthir’s phone rang.

“Speak of the devil,” he said, and answered it.

* * *

5.

The sky was slate grey and threatening snow, but inside the large house was warm and brightly lit. Amras hung over the back of Amrod’s chair and groaned until Amrod looked up in annoyance.

“Do you mind?”

“No. I am so bored.”

“Dude, do your homework. That’s what I’m doing. And Dad said if we start it before dinner more consistently, he’ll increase our allowance.”

“Oh, whatever, you priss. You’re just trying to be the new Curvo.”

“I am too tall to be Curvo.” Amrod tossed his head, his bright bangs falling over his forehead. “And way more socially adept. But if his position as smartest in the family is going to be threatened, it will be by me, not you. Dumbass.”

“See? You are so fucking mean. You are Curvo.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“ARGH.” Amrod jabbed at Amras with a pencil. “Stop distracting me, asshole! I need to do this outline. Don’t you have a chem make-up test to study for?”

“My teacher said I could do a project instead, because I told him I am ‘bad at taking tests’.” Amras hefted himself on the chair back and let his legs swing. “So I just gotta come up with some b.s. project.”

“You are bad at taking tests.”

“See, I’m not even lying.”

“I think you just never study.”

“Mom thinks I have stress-induced dyslexia.”

“Maybe. But you’re also a lazy ass.”

“And you’re a bitch.”

Amrod groaned and put his head down on his notebook. “Will you please let me finish this problem set?”

“A minute ago you said it was an outline.”

“I have both to do.”

“Fine.” Amras dropped to the ground and wandered across the kitchen. He pressed his nose to the sliding glass door, steaming it up. Amrod turned back to his book and notes with a sigh, only looking up when he heard the sound of the door opening.

“Where are you going?”

“Out back. Dad might have some good stuff for that chem extra credit project.”

“Out back as in out back in dad’s workshop? Don’t be stupid. You know he told us not to go back there.”

“But I wanna go back. And he won’t let me if I ask…”

“That’s because he doesn’t trust you with his stuff.” Amrod flipped his pencil between his fingers. “Seriously, ‘Russa, just do some lame dry ice thing for the chem project and you’ll get at least a solid B-minus.”

“That is so boring. I’m gonna find something more interesting. Dad was like the top chemical engineer of the century, why would I not take advantage of that? I’m going out back.”

“Whatever,” said Amrod, turning back to his work. “But I’m not bailing you out of you get in trouble.”

Amras made a face at him and disappeared into the darkening backyard, his bright hair the only thing Amrod could see in the gathering dusk as he headed to the outbuilding in the back of the yard where Fëanor had his workshop.

Absorbed in his work, Amrod only looked up again when Nerdanel wandered in, covered in clay and looking happy. “Hello, chick!” She kissed his ear, dropping a bit of clay onto his shoulder. “Homeworkin’?”

“Yeah.” Amrod propped his chin on his hand. “Good day in the studio?”

“Yes! Everything was listening to me, which let me tell you, was such a novelty. At least I can sometimes get my wheel to cooperate even if I can’t get my boys to.”

“Well, it helps that it has no higher consciousness or free will.”

“Free will is overrated, dear heart.” Nerdanel picked the clay off his shoulder and went to run herself a glass of water. “Which is what I told your brother when he complained that I wouldn’t let him take my car out.”

“Yeah, he whined about that to me. What’s for dinner?”

Nerdanel groaned. “I swear I just made dinner 24 hours ago. How do you feel about microwave soy pizza bites again?”

“Mooom.”

Nerdanel to crossed the refrigerator. “Such a picky little chicken.” She opened the fridge door. “Let’s see. Leftover lasagna, leftover broccoli, leftover soup…”

“Barf.”

“Thankless ingrate. We’re going to reheat some lasagna and I’ll make garlic bread, will that satisfy you? Don’t answer, you don’t actually have a choice. Where’s your brother?”

As Amrod opened his mouth, he was cut off by a muffled noise coming from out back, a rattling crash, a sound like something falling. Both Amrod and Nerdanel looked at each other, confused.

Then a new sound filled the air, this time horribly unmistakable, and they both went dead white. They were across the room and wrenching open the door in the time it took for the noise to reach their ears. Outside, it was even louder.

Screams were filling the air, the horrible, blood chilling screams of someone – someone familiar, someone whose voice was immediately identifiable – in unbearable agony.

And they were coming from Fëanor’s workshop.

Chapter End Notes

1. This chapter posts ahead of the week I will be spending on business trip, and I will be wrapped up from Sunday to Friday! I may post some other stories I’ve been sitting on, and/or do some drunk conference hotel room writing, but no dwmp update while I’m gone. This puts me on schedule to post next on Christmas Eve, but I may endeavor to move the update earlier if I can swing it. Apologies for the cliffhanger, and thanks for your patience with me! December through early January is super busy for me (after the conference I will be flying back and forth across the country twice to visit family and friends) and I may be slower to post/respond to things.

I still live for your comments even if I am slow to respond, they are my sweet sweet crack <3

In the bleak midwinter

Chapter Summary

I really didn’t intend for this to be my very merry Christmas Eve chapter, but that’s how my update schedule worked out…I am sorry! I am going to try to make up for it tomorrow.

Chapter Notes

0. Warnings for hospitals, injury, and all sorts of associated tension and family angst that one could expect. Plus an argument. Have I said sorry yet?

1. To make up for it, there’s, like, quite a lot of hugging.

2. Also: I can no longer find the 'insert horizontal line' button on AO3 and I am devastated.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

5.

Maedhros came into the waiting room, wild-eyed, his sweater inside out and his jacket trailing from one hand like he’d grabbed it and then forgot it needed to be worn to be effective. “Where is – what happened – is he – ”

Maglor, who’d been watching the door with such intensity that his eyes were watering, leapt up at once and seized his arm. “Hey.”

Maedhros clutched at him. “Where – ”

“Mom and dad are with him in the ER,” whispered Maglor. “We haven’t heard anything.” He flinched. “I mean, when I say we haven’t heard anything – not literally. Nelyo, it’s really – ”

Maedhros grasped Maglor by the elbows. “What, Makalaurë?”

“We could hear him for a while,” said Maglor, his usually warm, melodic voice cracking. “I think he’s, um, he’s in a lot of pain, I heard… he was screaming a lot, and mom and Telvo said that’s how they found him…”

“God.” Maedhros’ jacket fell to the ground, unheeded. “What did they say? Is he going to be all right?”

“Ye – I think. I don’t know. I mean.” Maglor struggled. “He’s not going to die,” he said, his voice so faint that Maedhros had to bend forward to catch the last word. “But we don’t know a whole lot beyond that.”

“And what – ”

“Maitimo,” said Maglor, as Caranthir made a noise behind him, “you’ve got to help us with Telvo.”

Maedhros released Maglor’s elbows at last, as if just remembering that the others were there, and turned to his other brothers. Amrod, who was still only in a tee shirt and jeans despite the cold night, was wide-eyed and shaking in a chair, being more or less restrained by Caranthir. “Why won’t they let me in,” he was saying, in a thin voice. “Why won’t they – if anyone should be there – I need to be with him.”