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“No.”

“No? Dude, homework gets priority, you know the rules! Do you want me to have to re-take Junior year? If you’re just stalking your crush on Instagram again, I don’t think Mom and Dad will view that as a reasonable priority over my schoolwork.”

“I am not stalking anyone,” said Amrod with dignity, though his cheeks had gone red under his freckles, “I’m working on a spread for the yearbook.”

“Homework still trumps nerd club. Gimme.”

“No.”

Amras threw his pencil at his twin, missing by a wide margin, and Amrod fired back with a pillow, which struck the corner of the desk.

“Careful, buttwipe, what if you’d hit El Diablo?”

“He’s totally safe in his tank, turdface. I’m not giving you the computer.” Amrod turned away and started typing loudly and pointedly. “Go use Mom’s.”

“Careful, Ambarussa,” said Amras, narrowing his eyes dramatically and affecting a low and dangerous voice as he got to his feet and headed out of the room. “I know where you sleep.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Amrod, his eyes still on the screen. “Tell it to someone who cares.”

In a couple minutes Amras was back, Nerdanel’s Macbook tucked under his arm. He threw himself down in his chair and opened it, sighing loudly. “Why does she keep so many browser windows open at all times? God save us from their generation.”

Amrod made a disinterested noise.

“Hah, did you know she has a Pintrest? It’s like…ninety percent succulents and some – what! Naked dudes.”

“She’s a sculptor, Ambarussa,” murmured Amrod, not looking up.

“Oh, yeah. Right.” Amras minimized more windows and made to pull up his school email account. “Ugh, this is so annoying, you know she gets mad when we log her out of her email because she can never remember her password to log back in.”

“Just go to add an account.”

“Do you see the hoops you’re making me jump through, kid? Hang on, what’s this?” Amras blinked and brought his face closer to the computer. He was still adjusting to how sight in just one eye affected him when he tried to read screens. “Telvo…”

“Will you please be quiet for like, five seconds of your life?” Amrod blew his bangs out of his eyes. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you’re talking to me and being normalish again and all that, but that means that I’m allowed to tell you to shut up.”

“Telvo.”

“And stop using that voice, you don’t sound threatening at all, you sound constipated, and you should tell your theater friends to stop encouraging – ” Amrod broke off as Amras let out a sound like an outraged rooster. “What?”

“Come look at this email.”

* * *

Maedhros held his phone to his ear and covered his other ear with his free hand. “What? Pityo, slow down.” He looked up and waved at Fingon to turn the music down. “Say that again.” He listened, and his face slowly dropped into expressionlessness.

Curufin had extricated himself from conversation with Finarfin under the pretext of getting a drink and was hunkered down defensively at the counter now. As he carefully pushed aside a napkin with FINGOLFIN 2016 written on it, he looked up at the tone in Maedhros’ voice. “What is it, Nelyo?”

“The twins found something.” Maedhros pulled the phone away from his ear and hit speaker. “Pityo, repeat what you just told me.”

“I was on Mom’s computer and her email was open,” Amras’ voice came out tinnily, while in the background there sounded a fair amount of clatter.

“What’s the background noise?” Curufin interrupted.

“Telvo. He’s…he’s kind of throwing a hissy, and I don’t blame him.” Even through the weak phone speaker, Amras’ voice sounded angry. “Mom got an email from Irmo. Firing her.”

“What?” Curufin stared at Maedhros, who nodded, shortly.

“Yeah. And that’s not all. You guys really have to hear all the shit he said…”

“Send it to us,” said Curufin at once.

“I can’t, it’s in Mom’s email, she’ll see the ‘sent’ history.”

“Print it to here.” Curufin snapped his fingers at Maedhros. “You have a wireless printer, don’t you? We can get them to remote in.”

“To hell with that,” said Amras. “I’ll print it here and we’ll bring it over.”

“No, you won’t,” said Maedhros, grabbing the phone back. “You can’t drive yet, and anyway, Telvo only has his learner’s permit, he can’t drive anyone under 18.”

“Family doesn’t count,” said Amras, and hung up.

“That’s not – ” Maedhros stared at the phone in his hand as the line went dead, “ –true.”

But Curufin already had his own phone out and was composing a text. “I’ll get one of the others to pick them up, I think they should hear this too.”

“This sounds like it’s turning into a very dramatic party,” said Finarfin, coming up behind Curufin and making him jump. “Is this how they often go?”

“Often far worse,” muttered Curufin, shooting a sideways glance at him.

“Goodness. And I just learned that apparently my son is very talented at beer pong.” Finarfin sighed. “Or rather, game to volunteer as ‘team drinker’.”

“Lord,” said Curufin, his gaze traveling from Finarfin to Finrod, who was playing beer pong alongside Aredhel against Fingolfin and Turgon. Fingon was watching them as well, with the conflicted expression of an amused son wanting to take pictures, and a campaign manager wondering if he’d made a major miscalculation.

Currently, Finrod was in the process of elbowing Aredhel as she cheered loudly for her father. As a lull came in the noise, Finrod's voice carried easily, sounding pained but amused. “Irissë, stop encouraging him! I’m the one who has to drink every time he scores.”

Curufin, already exhausted from trying to explain his research interests to Finarfin without his usual impatience, pinched the bridge of his nose as Finarfin watched his son finish another solo cup of beer. “Yes, you should be very proud.”

“Listen, I’m texting Makalaurë if you’re not,” said Maedhros loudly, tapping his fingers on the countertop. “We need to get them over there to head them off before the Ambarussa decide to steal a car.”

“Is everything okay?” Fingolfin called from the makeshift beer pong table.

“Just some Fëanorion drama, apparently,” Finarfin called back, as Curufin sighed heavily.

“Typical,” said Fingolfin cheerfully, and made his shot, which went in. “Ooh, does this mean Findaráto drinks again?”

* * *

Forty-five minutes later, Celegorm, Maglor, and Caranthir arrived with the twins in tow, grand theft auto apparently averted. Soon the Fëanorions were all seated around Maedhros and Fingon’s living room as Curufin read the email from Irmo aloud. Fingon and Aredhel sorted recyclables in the kitchen while Finarfin talked quietly to his two children by the door. Fingolfin, meanwhile, was watching the council of seven with a certain amount of concern evident on his face.

After Curufin finished his reading, there was a ringing and ominous silence.

It was broken by Celegorm cracking his knuckles loudly. “Right,” he said, a dangerous smile on his face. “This means war.”

“Right,” said Fingolfin, and reached over the counter to pluck a beer bottle that had somehow ended up in Amras’ hands.

“Whoops,” said Amras. “Mistook that for a soda pop.”

"So," said Curufin, steepling his hands as he settled into his corner of the couch. "Where do we start?"

“I’m concerned about how this might impact Mom’s reputation,” said Maedhros, who was white-faced and tight-lipped, but who snagged Caranthir’s shirt as he leapt up. “Moryo – ”

“Where does he get his fucking nerve?” snapped Caranthir. “That limp-dick son of a bitch, how dare he talk to her like that?”

“I’m with Moryo,” said Celegorm, still looking murderous. “That shithead was lucky to collaborate with her even once, and - ”

“And she did not one, but half a dozen shows for him,” said Curufin. His tone was grim, if somewhat undermined by the snowflake sweater of Fingon’s he was still wearing. “Some loyalty he’s showing to an artist who's brought in thousands to his pitiful gallery. Is it really too much for him to bear when for the first time in a decade and a half she doesn’t perform exactly to his expectations?”

“How dare he have expectations,” snarled Caranthir, and kicked the coffee table. It lurched across the carpet with a complaining creak, and an empty cup toppled from its top. Caranthir kicked at it again, and Maedhros looked wearier than ever.

“Knock it off, that’s mine,” he said. “Or rather, it’s Fingon’s and mine, and we’d appreciate it if you please don’t break it.”

“I’ll break whatever I- ”

“Sit down, Moryo,” said Maedhros, and Caranthir threw himself back down.

“The question is,” said Curufin, putting his fingers to his lips, “what now?”

“What do you mean, what now?” piped up Amrod. “Like, is Mom going to be okay?”

“Of course she’ll be okay, she and Father have plenty of money,” said Curufin dismissively. “This is a matter of respect.”

“She’ll get other jobs, surely,” said Maedhros. “She’s known as one of the best, this one small, petty person being an ass to her won’t erase that.”

“But it’s a pattern,” said Caranthir, furiously, still red-faced and only staying seated thanks to the grip Maedhros now had on the back of his shirt. “That whole damn crew of them, you know who I’m talking about. Aulë breaking ties with Dad and the rest of them acting like he doesn’t exist – ”

“Súlimo and that fiction of a trial,” said Curufin tersely.

“That police chief,” said Amras quietly. “The one who arrested Dad.”

“Tulkas,” said Maedhros. “Yes, I remember.”

Celegorm fidgeted and looked at his hands.

“They’re the people who run practically everything around here, and they have it out for our family, don’t tell me they don’t,” said Caranthir fiercely. “It’s not right. The way they treated Dad was bad enough, but they are not allowed to shit on Mom too, not when she’s never done anything wrong.”

“I have to say,” said Curufin, looking at Caranthir. “That for once, I entirely agree with Moryo.”

Celegorm stood up, pacing restlessly. Finarfin had moved over to stand beside Fingolfin, and Finrod and Galadriel were watching the proceedings with matching, razor-blue stares.

Maedhros was starting to look uneasy. “All right,” he said, “I know it’s not okay, I know we’re angry and worried for Mom, but let’s not get carried away.”

“You can’t just want to sit there and do nothing.” Curufin stared at Maedhros, and Caranthir turned to stare him down too. In the silence that followed, the drumming of the rain on the roof seemed to swell, punctuated by the scratch of branches against the windows.

“What do you want to do?” demanded Maedhros finally. “You’re talking like there is anything on earth we can do about this. What’s your plan?”

“We’re going to have a plan?” whispered Amras, his eyes wide and eager. Amrod had unconsciously wrapped his fingers into his twin's sleeve and was twisting it tighter and tighter until Amras nudged him. "Ouch, Ambarussa."

Curufin didn’t answer, but he shot a look across the room, trying to get Celegorm to meet his eyes. Celegorm didn’t look up.

“I think the answer is obvious,” said Maglor, speaking for the first time. He unfolded from the corner where he’d been propped up watching without saying a word, his eyes glittering as he listened to the conversation. Everyone looked at him, and behind them, Finarfin and Fingolfin each moved imperceptibly closer to the doors, as if preparing to have to block them.

“What?” Caranthir shifted forward on the couch, Maedhros' hand slipping from the back of his shirt, and Celegorm dragged his gaze away from the floor to stare curiously at his brother.

Maglor straightened up, untying the bandana tied around his hair as he did. He shook his hair free and then re-knotted the bandana carefully around his throat. His brothers watched him, waiting. The room was silent with the intensity of their focus, the rain pounding like a heartbeat on the roof, and Maedhros didn’t even notice when Amras reached over to steal a sip of his beer.

“What do we do about it?” Maglor finished tying his bandana and raised his chin, his eyes still glittering.

There was a faint sound as everyone leaned forward even further, Amras dropping his stolen beer bottle in excitement.

Maglor spread his hands out before him and smiled. “We egg the shit out of Irmo’s gallery.”

In the kitchen, Fingolfin visibly relaxed as Finarfin exhaled softly beside him.

“Why,” said Fingon, amused at his father’s elbow. “What were you expecting?”

* * *

When Anairë came by to pick up her husband, she was startled to see the stream of people leaving the apartment.

“Are those all of Fëanor and Nerdanel’s boys?” she asked, turning in the stairwell to look after them.

“Yes.”

“Surprising,” she said, handing Fingolfin his umbrella. “I wouldn’t have thought they’d all come over for your impromptu campaign party.”

“They didn’t.” Fingolfin shook his head as he followed her back down the stairs. “They were having a council of war.”

“Uh oh.”

“I know. Arfin and I were prepared to step in, but…” Fingolfin sighed. “I think nothing worse than a touch of light vandalism will come of it.”

“Vandalism? Council of war? Over what?”

“Findekáno has forbidden me to know anything about it,” said Fingolfin, smiling. “He said the last thing I need to kick off my campaign is being accessory to misdemeanor.”

“Good lord, Nolofinwë, what are they up to?”

“Don’t tell anyone,” said Fingolfin, in a stage whisper, “but – whoops, missed a step there – that beer was better than I thought – but they’re off to teach Irmo a lesson for a certain missive he sent to Nerdanel.”

Anairë stopped dead and Fingolfin walked into her. “That hideous email where he patronized and belittled her and insulted her art?”

“Apparently. You know about it?”

“I got it out of Nerdanel at our last lunch.” Anairë started walking quickly down the sidewalk, the hood of her raincoat falling back and the rain starting to plaster her hair to her head. “Hey. Hey, boys! Wait up.”

“Anairë!” Fingolfin grabbed for her sleeve. “What are you doing?”

Anairë's shoes snapped against the pavement. “I read that email, it was foul. I can’t believe Nerdanel hasn’t gone over to spit in his eye.”

“But what are you doing, are you going to try and stop them? They’re determined to egg the gallery, and they’re not likely to be dissuaded.”

“Who wants to dissuade them?” said Anairë, and she started jogging, waving to catch Maedhros’ attention.

“Wh – You can’t go with them, Anairë!”

“Maybe not,” said Anairë, “but I am going to buy them their damn eggs.”

Boy, we grew up bad

Chapter Summary

What happens in Void County stays in Void County (in theory.)

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

The taproom at Blue Hills Brewery was almost entirely empty, the stools and benches put up on the wooden tables, the floors swept clean and still shining with mop water in places. There was a sign hung on the door reading ‘Speak, friend, and enter – LATER, we’re closed’, and the only light came from the wall-bracket above one table near the bar. At this table were two women, large flagons in front of them.