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Maedhros gave him a wordless, one-armed hug. “Sorry we didn’t get ahold of you sooner,” he said softly.

Celegorm shook his head in self-reproach. “Naw, I should have called back after I got that hang up from Moryo, but I was with Ireth and I just shrugged it off.”

“You’re here now.”

“I’m here now,” Celegorm agreed, his arm still around Maedhros’ waist. “Where’s the other demon?”

“In the bathroom with mom,” said Maglor, who was sitting on the floor in front of Caranthir’s chair and leaning against his knees. “He started getting sick after they took Pityo into surgery again.”

“What’s he getting surgery for?”

“They’re dealing with some of the damaged tissue and weighing what percentage of the burns require skin grafts,” said Fëanor, staring out the window and then glancing at Curufin. “Curufinwë, put your phone away, for god’s sake, be present. The doctors are evaluating what percentage of his burns need grafting. They are also concerned he may have some issues with…inhalation.”

“Of the chemicals?” said Celegorm, horrified, and Maglor turned his face against Caranthir’s legs.

Fëanor nodded shortly. “He was in such a state when we brought him in that his breathing was shallow and quick and it was hard to tell what was shock and what was an indication of something worse.” He passed a hand over his eyes and stood up. Curufin shifted in his seat. “I should go check on Telvo and your mother.”

“I can go too,” said Curufin at once.

Fëanor shook his head. “You don’t do very well around people being sick to their stomachs, if I remember correctly.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Thank you.” Fëanor laid a light hand on Curufin’s neck. “But it will be best for you to stay here with your brothers. I’ll be back.”

He left, and Curufin slouched back in his chair, tucking his legs under him, and pulled out his phone once more.

“I’m hungry,” said Caranthir, the first thing he’d said in an hour, and everyone glanced at him. “What?” He looked defensive. “It’s been ages since we ate, I’ve got like four beers in me and no food.”

“Beers?” began Celegorm, his eyebrows raising in disbelief and giving a faint grin despite himself, “You little scallywag, what were you – ”

“Seriously?” Curufin didn’t lift his eyes from his phone, his thumbs busy. “Not the time, Tyelko.”

Celegorm subsided, leaning against the wall and folding his arms. “So who’s gonna feed Moryo?”

“There’s a cafeteria downstairs,” said Maglor, glancing at Maedhros, who nodded.

“You can go, or we can bring some stuff back if you want to stay here and wait…”

“Yeah,” said Caranthir, and Curufin nodded without looking up from his screen.

“We’ll hold down the fort if you guys wanna go.” Celegorm checked his watch. “We can text if mom and dad and the kids come back and you’re needed. Bring sandwiches or something.”

“Nothing for me.” Curufin didn’t take his eyes from his phone. “I don’t trust hospital food.”

Maedhros and Maglor went off to search for the cafeteria, but got turned around in the echoing, identical hallways, trying to follow signs and vague arrows, and invariably ending up in random alcoves rather than where they were intending. There was something about the atmosphere that made them whisper rather than speak in their normal voices, and they were just debating whether they needed to take another set of stairs or find the elevators again when the sound of an argument, jarringly loud in the otherwise muted hallway, arrested them. They paused, drawing up as they passed a small, otherwise empty waiting room and familiar voices met their ears. One voice was very quiet, and the other was much louder, the speaker clearly in a towering rage. Maedhros and Maglor looked at each other and then shrank against the wall at the same time, listening.

“Stop trying to placate me!”

“Nerdanel, please keep your voice down, I know you’re upset, but this is a hospital, there are people sleeping, there are sick people...”

“I know that, you idiot, and our child is one of them!” Nerdanel’s voice was so sharp with anguish and fury that Maglor raised his hands to his ears again, cringing. “And you know why he’s here? Because of you. This was your fault, your fault he’s hurt, your fault our baby is burned.”

Fëanor drew in a sharp breath while out in the hall, Maedhros caught Maglor’s wrist, pulling his hands away from his ears. “I don’t deny I am responsible for the chemicals being where they were, but I told them, all of them, a dozen times, to stay out of there. The boy shouldn’t have been – ”

“He shouldn’t have been? Fëanáro, you shouldn’t have been! You shouldn’t have had those chemicals at all, you promised you were done with that line of research! What on earth were you thinking, keeping something that dangerous on our property? Without telling me! This was an entirely preventable accident, had you simply done what you were supposed to years ago! As you promised you would do! You hid the fact you were doing those experiments again from me, you hid – ”

“They were stored safely, he was poking around where he shouldn’t have been…”

Nerdanel let out a wild laugh. “You are unbelievable! Are you not even going to acknowledge the fact that under the terms of the settlement you never even should have had those chemicals? Is that why you hid it from me? You are not supposed to be working with those substances! It was part of the conditions of the plea bargain!”

“I cannot believe you of all people are bringing the trial transcript against me when you know how things were skewed. For god’s sake, I wasn’t going to manufacture them for profit, they were never going to leave my shop, it was just an experimental…”

“Fëanáro, are you actually making excuses – You are beyond – I can’t believe you…”

“Nerdanel – ”

“You weren’t there,” said Nerdanel, and now her voice was suddenly so low that Maglor and Maedhros had to lean forward to hear. “You weren’t there when it happened.”

“I was home within 15 minutes of it – ”

“Do you know what it’s like to hear your child screaming like that?” Nerdanel’s voice frayed and broke, and in the silence that followed, they could tell she was weeping too hard to speak.

Maglor leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes. Maedhros reached out bleakly and took his hand, and it was only when they heard Fëanor’s voice, a soft, tender whisper now, that they pulled themselves away.

2.

It was past midnight, but every light in the house at 1455 Mithrim Lake was ablaze, and the kitchen bustled with half a dozen people.

“Right,” Lalwen was saying, as she presided over the kitchen table like a general commanding her troops, “we need to divide and conquer here.” She jabbed her pencil down on a pad of paper before her. “First of all – food. Fëanor and Nerdanel are going to be entirely wrapped up in this, they shouldn’t have to be worrying about cooking. Who can take charge of organizing dinners that can be frozen and brought over?”

“I can,” said Fingon, who was standing at her right shoulder. “I know our parents will want to help too, but I can start with organizing people to make casseroles and stuff to bring over.”

“Good. Irissë, you’re on animal care?”

“Yes,” said Aredhel, “I’ve got Huan until Tyelko comes back, and I can go over and take care of the twins’ pets until everyone’s home.”

“The birds and the snake, right? There’s nothing I’m forgetting there? Okay. We should arrange hospital visits, get some kind of schedule going, though it’s up in the air how long they’ll be there…”

“They don’t know yet,” said Finrod, who was absorbed in his phone. “Pityo’s in surgery again, and it’s unclear how long they’ll want to keep him in the hospital, Curvo says.”

“When we know, we can send out an email. Someone may want to go over and see if there’s more we can help with,” said Lalwen, dragging a hand through her hair and making it stand up in spikes. “See if they need rides or anything.”

“I can do it,” said Fingon and Finrod at the same time.

“Didn’t Maitimo take your car?” said Finrod quickly. “Let me go.”

Fingon opened his mouth like he was going to protest, but then nodded. “Sure. Why don’t you go reconnoiter.”

Finrod whisked out the front door, nose still buried in his phone, and Galadriel came into the kitchen from the living room. “They’ll probably be back later tonight, if not tomorrow,” she said, “they can’t all sleep at the hospital. There’s stuff scattered all over, let’s tidy up and…”

“And make sure the lights are on, and the fire is going,” said Aredhel, getting up from where she was sitting with Lómion perched on her shoulder. “And someone should go over to Formenos and do the same there, though I don’t know how Uncle Fëanáro will feel about us breaking in, even with good intent.”

“I have a key,” said Lalwen, “I’ll do it.”

1.

Back in the hospital room, Celegorm was sitting in a chair with Amrod as Amras slept on in the bed. Amrod, who had after all finally made good on his threats and grown taller than Celegorm, was curled up against Celegorm’s side, his long legs pulled up to his chest, and Celegorm had a comforting arm around his shoulders.

“It’s okay, kid,” he was murmuring, “He’s gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay. I promise.”

Amrod shook his head mutely and buried his face in Celegorm’s shoulder, and Celegorm petted his hair, whispering soft things like he did when Huan was panicking over thunder. “Hey, hey, shh, it’s okay, I’m here, you’re gonna be fine, you’re gonna be okay, honey, yeah, I know, I know…”

Caranthir sat bent shouldered by the bed, his face turned aside, almost as if in prayer. No one was sure if he was awake or not. Curufin had gone out into the hallway to pace. Muttering something about needing fresh air, he went out to the entrance of the hospital. He pulled in a long breath of cold clear air, reveling even in the exhaust smells of the parking lot as preferable to the scent of the hospital. Then he looked around, checking his phone once more to see if he’d read the last text correctly.

“Curvo!”

Curufin looked up. A bright haired figure was standing at the corner, keys in hand, a scarf hastily wound around his neck in lieu of a jacket, lit by one of the street lamps. Curufin raised a hand in greeting, and Finrod immediately strode over to him.

“Curvo – ” He reached out, a question in the gesture. “Tell me.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Curufin said, shrugging. “It looks worse than it is, they say. Obviously it’s not a good situation, but it’s one we can handle. They’ll manage his pain, and they have a good burn center here, and – ” His voice faded and he shook his head impatiently. “It’s going to be fine,” he said. “Don’t make a fuss.”

“I won’t,” said Finrod, but he opened his arms, and after a moment of hesitation, Curufin went into them.

They stood together in the circle of light from the street light, Curufin’s face hidden in Finrod’s shoulder, and Finrod held him carefully. “Lalwen is organizing things at home,” he said, his breath warm on Curufin’s ear. “The troops can be deployed at any moment for anything you need. Anything any of you need.”

Curufin nodded.

“Do you have updates I should pass along to them?”

“I should talk to my father first,” said Curufin, but he didn’t move.

Finrod touched his hair. “Do you not want to go back in?”

“Just give me a moment to get the…the air in there off my skin.”

“I can go in for you if you want to wait out here a bit longer,” Finrod offered. “I can talk to your father.”

“No,” said Curufin, and now he raised his head, though he didn’t pull out of Finrod’s arms. “He won’t understand why you’re there.”

-

It was far into the small hours when Fëanor, who had come back into the room somewhat after Nerdanel, finally stood up, rubbing his eyes, and gestured to Maedhros, who was one of the only ones still awake. “You should take your brothers home,” he said quietly. “No use everyone ruining their backs sleeping on chairs and the floor here. We’ll call as soon as we know anything. You and Makalaurë can drive your brothers home.”

“What about Telvo? He won’t want to leave. ”

“He will stay with us, of course,” said Fëanor, looking at Amrod, who was asleep with his head on his mother’s shoulder. “Your mother and I will take shifts at home with him, if we can talk him into it. But the rest of you should get real sleep.”

“We’re on it.”

“Good.” Fëanor smiled briefly. “Where’s Curvo? He’s been downstairs for over an hour, do you think he’s gotten lost? Oh, never mind, I’ll go find him and tell him you all are about to leave.” He strode out of the room, and Maedhros bent down to shake Maglor and Celegorm awake and usher them out into the hall.

The three of them looked at each other as they stood out in the hallway, waiting for Caranthir to say goodbye to their mother and Amrod. Over the nurses’ station, a frayed holiday wreath blinked on and off. They watched it with tired, red-rimmed eyes.

“Merry Christmas,” said Maglor bleakly, as the red and green lights cast eerie shadows over his face.

“Happy fuckin' holidays,” said Celegorm, with a humorless grin.

“At least we’re all together again,” said Maedhros, and reached out a hand to each of them.

Chapter End Notes

3. Happy fuckin' holidays, guys.

<3

This has turned into disaster lately

Chapter Summary

The holiday’s over, back to work, back to rivalries of yore.

Chapter Notes

0. Okay so over New Years (happy 2016, y’all), in between the very important naked singing hour and the equally important debate over the constitution as a meta-document, we spent an absurdly long period of time ‘helping’ my friend assess her potential matches on Tinder.

And I blame that for the first part of this chapter.

1. Warnings: Aftermath of injury, incest jokes, marital discord, some light violence, they don’t call him ‘hasty riser’ for nothin

2. Items 3 and 4 are unrelated.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“He looks like he’s sleeping a little restlessly. Do you think we should get mom? Maybe his meds need to be adjusted.”

“He’s probably restless ‘cos you’re hanging over his face and hissing like a teakettle. Shut up and let him sleep.” Caranthir nudged Amrod with a toe. “And mom says we’re trying to decrease the amount of painkillers he’s on.”

Amrod hovered for a second, still peering down at his twin’s sleeping face, but then yielded and retreated back across the room to sit on the arm of Caranthir’s chair. “Yeah, okay, fine.” He jogged his foot, his fingers tapping on the chair until Caranthir pinched him to make him stop. “Ow.”

“Can you be quiet and keep still for like, five seconds? Are you capable of that?”

“Yes, but I won’t. What are you doing?” Amrod tried to look at Caranthir’s screen.

Caranthir angled his phone away. “Don’t read over my shoulder.”

“Are you texting someone?”

“No.”

“Who is that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why was her face on your screen?”