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“Oh, yeah.” Celegorm pulled back and glanced over his shoulder at the crowd of his cousins and siblings, several of whom appeared to be organizing a human pyramid from which to yell things and throw snowballs in Celegorm’s general direction. “Have you ever had the urge to meet a dozen members of my family all at once? No? Well, unless you run now, it’s about to happen. Listen, you raise dogs, right? This is just like that; you’ll be fine as long as you don’t let them sense your fear.”

Chapter End Notes

2. (I swear Mablung isn’t actually a villain. Just another young man with poor coping mechanisms.)

We ran home like a base hit (safe)

Chapter Summary

0. I feel like I should just warn for Curufin, being Curufin. Also there is fluff, if you need to brace yourself for that. Also some slightly tormented hook-ups in the last scene.

The light was failing and Maedhros’ clothes were soaked through, but he shook his head as Fingon started rounding people up to drive them home from the park.

“Maitimo, we only have three spots in the car, you better claim yours.”

“That’s okay, I think I’ll walk.”

“What?” Fingon frowned at him. “It’s getting dark, it’s freezing out, and we're like five miles from the apartment.”

“I’ll meet you at home, okay?” said Maedhros, very quietly, shooting a look to where the twins and Celegorm were still gathered with their cousins, laughing at a snow-matted Huan. “Make sure Tyelko gives the Ambarussa a ride home, or to the end of their street at least, if he's still avoiding mom and dad. I need to swing by the house first.”

“Our house?”

“No, my house,” said Maedhros, and caught himself. “I mean, my old place. My brothers’ place. I’ll be back around dinner, I promise.”

Fingon looked at him curiously but didn’t ask any questions, just picking a piece of ice out of Maedhros’ hair before brushing the snow from his shoulders. “Okay.”

As Maedhros headed down the sidewalk, he shook his damp hair out of his eyes and took out his cell phone to flick through his contacts for the number he was looking for. The line rang twice before a brisk voice said, “Yes?”

“It’s Nelyo.”

“Yes, I know. Caller ID has been around for this entire century, and even earlier than that, so rumor has it. Remarkable, isn’t it?”

Maedhros ignored this. “Where are you?”

“Are you taking census?”

“Just tell me where I can find you.”

A sigh echoed down the line. “I am sitting in a chair,” Curufin said, very slowly and patiently, “at my desk. In approximately the southwest corner of my room. This being the third room on the second floor of the house, the two story Victorian at 1495 Mithrim Lake Road, Beleriand, USA, 014 – ”

“I get it, Curvo. So you’re at home.”

“Are you tracking me down? It may be easier simply to install a homing beacon in the skin on the back my neck. Tyelko could use the microchip implanter from the shelter…”

“I’m coming over.”

“How delightful for us all.”

Maedhros hung up, dropping the phone into his coat pocket, and quickened his stride.

Back at 1495 Mithrim Lake Road in his room on the second floor, where he was not actually at his desk in the southwest corner, but on his bed, Curufin hung up and shot a look at the figure stretched out next to him. “So you're going to have to leave now. I’m still not convinced you’re right about troubleshooting that bug, but I’ll try what you suggest. And oh,” he added, his business-like tone slipping slightly, “don’t forget your shirt.”

* * *

By the time Maedhros’ light knock came at his door, Curufin was seated at his desk, bent over a circuit board, his spark gap sizzling next to him. The window was cracked to let fresh air in, and the room was quickly getting cold.

“Come in,” he said, as Maedhros waited, like he always did, for his invitation to open the door. “How was the football game?” he asked with a twitch of his lips that might have been a smirk.

“Cold,” said Maedhros, and cut to the chase. Celegorm would be home at any minute. “Have you talked to father recently?”

“Probably,” said Curufin, and turned back to his work.

“And when you talked to him, did you tell him you were going to cut him out of your life if he continued his attack on Oromë?”

Curufin stilled, his eyes flickering in the light from his desk lamp. “Why would you ask me that?”

“Just answer me. Did you tell father you weren’t going to speak to him again until he stopped going after Tyelko and Oromë?”

Curufin looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully. “Yes, I may have said something to that effect.”

Maedhros let out a breath. “Why?”

“Why not?” Curufin shrugged and made a note on his engineering pad.

Maedhros crouched down next to Curufin’s desk, looking at him seriously. “Did Tyelko put you up to this? Did he make you feel like you had to do this?”

“Excuse me?”

“I know you two are close, I know you want to…make amends for what you did during the beginning of their relationship. But you don’t have to feel like you’re in some way indebted to him…”

Curufin narrowed his eyes. “Give me the barest minimum of credit,” he growled, and the spark gap on his desk hummed and snapped as if in response. “Has anyone ever ‘put me up to’ something? Have I ever done something for any other reason than because I want to? I swear, you people who act like I am coercible, or malleable, or prone to thinking I owe anyone anything clearly have never met me.”

I have never been taken advantage of in my life, said a voice in Maedhros’ memory, and he muttered, half to himself. “You two are more alike than people give you credit for.”

“What?”

“Nothing. So Tyelko has no idea?”

“Of course not. He doesn’t need to.”

“You think he won’t notice when you no longer interact with our father?”

“It won’t come to that,” said Curufin, cool and assured. “Maybe he’d keep going regardless if it was a threat from another one of you,” he said it blandly, brutally, “but at the risk of losing me? I think not.”

Downstairs, the door slammed, and Celegorm called, “Yo, is anyone home? If we don’t order pizza or something now I swear I’m gonna just eat this dog. Yes, you. Oof, get down, pup.”

“Time to go,” said Curufin softly. “Do send your Nolofinwion my regards, and my condolences about the company downsizing I’ve heard rumors of.”

Maedhros got to his feet, staring down at his little brother for a beat, but didn’t say anything as he turned and made his way to the door.

“Shut it behind you,” said Curufin, intent once more on his work, and Maedhros did.

* * *

After weeks of heavy snow, a thaw came with unexpected intensity, plunging the landscape from deep midwinter into full-blown mud season. Melting snow banks still lined the street, but Maglor was wearing a tee shirt as he stood in their driveway, looking deeply unhappy.

“Have you found anything?”

“Give me a moment, damn. This kind of work cannot be rushed.”

Celegorm leaned low over the open hood of the car, his sleeves pushed up over his forearms, his eyes narrowed in intense focus.

Maglor waited patiently.

At last Celegorm straightened up, wiping an arm over his forehead and leaving a streak of grease.

“Well?” asked Maglor. “What’s wrong with it?”

Celegorm leaned his hip against the bumper. “Haven’t a goddamn clue.”

“Oh, seriously, Tyelko?” Maglor threw his arms up and aimed a kick at a chunk of muddy ice, sending it skittering into the garage door.

Celegorm shrugged. “I don’t actually know anything about cars. I just know how to look good leaning up against one. Ask Curvo if you want real knowledge.”

“I swear to god,” muttered Maglor, heading for the house, “someday I’m going to use your airhead to inflate the tires on the car, that’s all the good you do me… CURVO!”

Another half an hour passed. When Curufin finally emerged from the bowels of the car – still amazingly less grease-streaked than Celegorm – his lips were pursed and his eyes meditative.

“Well?” said Maglor again, with less hope.

“The fluid levels I dealt with, and I identified a minor leak in one of the brake lines. But the major problem is the transmission, and for that you’ll need to go to a garage.”

“You really can’t do anything about it?” asked Maglor.

“If I decided I didn’t care about getting schoolwork done and you also provided me with several hundred dollars worth of tools and labor costs – and a lift – then maybe.”

“So when hell freezes over,” Celegorm translated helpfully.

“Yes.”

Curufin and Celegorm both leaned against the car and watched Maglor with interest as he let out a groan and sagged to the ground, heedless of the mud and melting snow.

“You’re getting mud on your ass,” Celegorm said.

“And in your hair,” Curufin pointed out. “But it can’t be any worse than your usual conditioning regimen.”

They both flinched and put their hands over their ears as Maglor shouted at the top of his voice, “I’m supposed to be going to New York this weekend, I’ve been planning this for months, what THE FUCK do I do now　”

* * *

Cuiviénen was humid and warm with spice smells, quiet with the murmurs of studying college students. Behind the bar, Maglor, unaffected by the mellow atmosphere of the cafe, was being rather violent with the milk frother, and his manager shot him a quelling look as she passed through to the backroom. Wrinkling his nose in frustration but making his motions more slow and deliberate, Maglor returned to the drink he’d neglected.

“Chai latte, skim milk, for …” He frowned at his co-worker’s scrawl. “Nero?”

“That’s probably meant to be Ría, somehow,” said a familiar voice, and he started, raising his head. Ríanellë was standing in front of the counter, a bulky bag slung over her shoulder.

“Oh. Hey.”

“Hey.” Ríanellë smiled, and shifted her bag to her other shoulder as she took the cup with a nod of appreciation. “Thank you.”

“Sure.” Maglor made to turn away, busying himself with the espresso machine, but Ríanellë arrested him.

“Actually, Maglor, I admit I came here with ulterior motive. Any chance you’d be able to take a break sometime soon?”

-

Sitting with Ríanellë in the alley behind Cuiviénen was an odd sort of déjà vu, despite it being daylight and both of them were sober this time, though Maglor was wishing, slightly, that he wasn’t.

“What’s up?” he asked, trying to sound careless and casual.

“Ecthelion asked me to come by.”

Of the many things he’d been expecting her to say, this wasn’t one, and it took Maglor aback. “Why?”

Ríanellë patted her bag. “He had a bunch of your music and books and a couple cables to return.”

“Why didn’t he want to come by himself?” A thought occurred to him, and Maglor looked down. “…Oh. My brother told me…about your family and…mine. My dad, not my family, I guess. My dad’s factory, I mean. Well, sort of. Not that…but yeah. The accident. Has he decided he doesn’t want to…associate with me?” He raised his eyes unhappily, expecting to see dire accusation in her face.

But Ríanellë was laughing as Maglor stuttered through this incoherent statement. “No, that's not it at all. Oh god, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t laugh, but if you could see your face…Thank you, actually, I needed to laugh today.”

“Glad I could entertain you,” said Maglor, annoyed. “What is actually going on then?”

“Ecthelion headed off to basic training earlier than we all excepted,” Ríanellë said, and her smile faded. “He left last night, and asked if I could run a few errands he meant to do himself but couldn’t get to. Like returning your things.”

“Oh.”

“Yes.” Ríanellë held out the bag, and Maglor took it, knowing his cheeks were burning at his awkwardness.

“I didn’t know who you were,” he said, holding the bag in both arms and feeling foolish. “I didn’t recognize your last name or anything like Nelyo did. And I’m really terrible at talking about these kind of things anyway, honestly, I…I spent the last few years pretending the fire never happened. Because I was ashamed, I think.” His blush was getting worse; he could tell he was rambling, and probably over-sharing, but Ríanellë was watching him with clear dark eyes and there was nothing judgmental or accusatory in her gaze. “Even if I had known who you were – who Ecthelion is, too, I guess – I probably just would have acted the same. Acted dumb.”

“It would have been a stretch but I trust you could have pulled it off,” said Ríanellë, a hint of amusement in her voice. “Maglor, I really don’t need to have it out with you about Alqualondë. Like I explained to your brother, my family isn’t interested in recrimination or anything like that. It was just coincidence that our paths crossed, and coincidence that I spent an evening with you after you'd already been spending time with my brother. Ecthelion knew who you were from the start, and he always liked you.”

Maglor felt a surge of affection for Ecthelion. “Really? I liked him too. He’s an amazing flautist and was so easy to play with, it’s a shame I didn’t get to say goodbye.”

“He hopes to play some with the Marine Corps Band,” said Ríanellë, and she looked suddenly liked she was going to cry. “Oh, shit. Hang on.” She fumbled in her pocket, pulling out a familiar-looking red bandana, and hastily swiped at her eyes. “God, I thought I’d done all my leaking and wailing already. Apparently not.”

Maglor patted her arm feebly. “I guess it must have been hard to see him go, huh?”

“Yeah,” said Ríanellë, muffled into the bandana. “We were doing really good about being ready for him to leave, you know, we had everything planned out and we were all going to drive him down together…but then they moved the date up unexpectedly and all of a sudden we were having to say goodbye in like 12 hours and my mom and dad were being super brave about it and then he got on the bus and left and we all totally fell apart.” She blew her nose. “Oof. Anyway, yeah, he enjoyed getting to play with you. He said you were the most talented composer he’d ever met.”

“He’s never met Daeron,” said Maglor drily, “but that was nice of him to say.”

Ríanellë shrugged. “I dunno about Daeron’s song-writing chops, but I prefer your voice and style to his.”

“You’ve heard us both?”

“I went to a couple of your shows back when you used to play Thursday nights at Ulmo’s.”

Maglor groaned. “Oh my god, that’s so embarrassing.”

Ríanellë grinned, wiping at the last of her tears and tucking the bandana back into her pocket. “No shame in 80s cover night…”

“Not true. LOTS of shame.”

Ríanellë sat down on the same step they’d shared on Open Mic Night, and tucked her feet under her. “My girlfriends and I used to pregame in our dorm room and then go down to Ulmo’s to drunk-dance to your band’s music and not actually buy anything to drink there because even the $3 PBRs were too expensive for us. The owners thought we were the worst, which was probably true. My roommate had SUCH a crush on Daeron, though. Where is he, these days?”