A big thanks to Silentforce666 and Oblivion03 for their lovely ideas and reviews. You guys inspired me to write this little epilogue! Also, thanks to Umeko for pointing out that the word for a male elf in Quenya is nér/néri (plural). I will be using that word in this epilogue, and maybe someday I'll stop being lazy and fix that in the main story (though when have I ever done that?)

Also, a couple other Quenya words are in this chapter, and their translations are:

Melda – My love/darling

Wencë – Maiden/young woman

Varyamo – Different/strange one

Laminyamo – Stupid one

Nairamo – Dreadful/horrible one

Ammë – Mother

.

Fëanáro was hard-pressed not to give vent to a sigh of relief when Nerdanel descended the stairs (after what felt to him like an age) with a fond, unconcerned smile upon her fair face. It was this that showed him, without any words spoken, that all his sons must be safe, for his wife would surely have been in a state of panic had she not been able to locate even a single one of their children. The anxious tap that his finger had been drumming out on the table top ceased as Nerdanel descended the steps to the ground floor, and Fëanáro schooled his sharp features into an expression of cool neutrality to hide the lingering traces of the worried frown he had worn not a moment ago.

"They are still abed then?" he asked calmly, pleased that his voice maintained a flippant, uncaring air.

Nerdanel smiled broadly and shook her head, not to deny the question, but in a fond, motherly sort of gesture.

"Yes, they are. All of them," she answered, and something in her tone conveyed to Fëanáro that her words held a deeper meaning than he might think. She seemed much too amused about the situation, and yet, even though Laurelin's light now shone brightly upon the new-fallen snow outside, Nerdanel had seemingly not roused their sons from sleep.

"Will they not be joining us, then?" Fëanáro inquired, crossing his legs in his seat so that one of the long limbs rested carelessly over the other. "They will be sorry indeed to miss a warm meal on a day such as this, do you not think?"

Fëanáro's pale eyes followed his wife as Nerdanel moved to the counter across the room and retrieved two plates of prepared food, placing them on the table before she answered briefly, "I thought I might let them sleep."

Fëanáro raised a dark brow at her as he thoughtlessly picked up his fork and jabbed it unceremoniously into a still-sizzling side of meat on his plate.

"It is most unlike you to let them sleep so late. Come, what has incited this change in you?"

Now, Nerdanel laughed, high and clear, dimples appearing in her cheeks as her face became alight with mirth.

"You are always so serious, my love!" she exclaimed merrily, "I see that you were worried for them, and yet still are, though you try to hide it. Lay your concerns to rest, Fëanáro. Your sons are well, and I would advise you to go see them. I am sure the sight would soften those hard edges you feign to have!"

Fëanáro bristled at her words, and he humphed softly, turning his head away from his wife to the window as if the sight of the white curtains fluttering about the pane was suddenly of great interest to him.

"I do not know what you are speaking of," he claimed defensively, taking a moody bite of his breakfast.

"I believe you do, though you fear to admit it," Nerdanel teased, playfully leaning forward to flick at a lock of his long, dark hair. Fëanáro hissed in annoyance, the sound reminiscent of a boiling kettle or an ill-tempered cat, and he swatted her hand away.

Nerdanel remained unconcerned at his cross behavior, but she withdrew her hand, and the two remained together in silence for the duration of the meal, so that by the time they were finished, Fëanáro had thought the matter was over and done with. But Nerdanel, as she stood and cleared the plates away, bent over the top of her husband's head and kissed his hair gently, saying with irrepressible fondness, "do not trouble yourself, melda, I will disclose to none that the first son of Finwë does indeed love his sons."

At that, Fëanáro snapped his head around to look at her, but Nerdanel was already moving off, the wave of her auburn hair as she walked appearing almost mocking, and Fëanáro felt an unbidden flush of embarrassment and indignation rise to his face. With a sniff, he rose from his chair and marched haughtily up the stairs.

.

Fëanáro did not intend to look in on his children, not at all. After Nerdanel's teasing, he had resolved that he wouldn't see them, no matter how his curiosity pulled at him, no matter how much he wondered why they had not yet arisen or why Nerdanel had seemed so amused at the sight of them before. He would not see them, he told himself, no matter how much he wanted to, for, contrary to popular belief, he did love his family. Just because his face was set in the hard lines of a Noldorian prince, many seemed to assume that he was uncaring, cold, incapable of showing love to his children. Just because he chose to remain distant from his heirs and not shower upon them affection and gifts every hour of the day, many thought him neglectful. Just because it was his custom to be a little stiff, many thought him cruel.

It was not so, Fëanáro reflected with a scowl, striding with militaristic steps to his room. He simply wished to set an example to his sons about how a prince should act. He did not dote upon them because he did not wish for them to grow up to become spoiled and never develop a sense of self-sufficiency. And as for his stiff nature… well, he could not change that. Could he truly be faulted for the disposition he had been born and bred into? He thought not.

He sniffed again as he entered his chamber and closed the door behind him. He would think no more on this matter. He would let no one cast doubts in his mind that he held great love for his family, and he certainly would not look in on his sons to prove the fact to himself.

He wouldn't.

He let the reflections drop as he changed into a warm tunic and breeches, casting a heavy, furred cloak about his shoulders over all. It truly was bitterly cold, he thought as he tugged his thick hair back high upon his head, especially in these upper rooms without the warmth of a fire, and Fëanáro shivered even under his numerous wrappings.

In fact, now that he reflected on it, he thought it may have been one of the most frigid seasons he had ever seen in his long life, almost as though winds from the north blew the snow and ice down from the Helcaraxë itself. Unbidden, though he had resolved not to think of them, Fëanáro felt a sudden bright spot of concern for his sons blossom in his chest. The hearths in their rooms had all surely burned down to cinders by now, and they must be shivering in their sleep. He thought of the Ambarussa, Pityafinwë and Telufinwë, both so small and susceptible to the elements, unused to sleeping in their own beds as of yet, and of Turkafinwë, who had always had the peculiar habit of kicking all his blankets to the floor in his sleep no matter the temperature or season. Curufinwë, he knew, had inherited much of his own pride, and so would likely ride out the uncomfortable climate even though he had nothing to gain by doing so, and Morifinwë was too quiet and reserved to admit when something was bothering him. Even the thought of his two oldest gave Fëanáro pause, for he remembered how Kanafinwë had always hated the cold, being so sensitive to it, even though he was now nearing his one-hundredth year, and Nelyafinwë had, ever since he was young, showed the oddest penchant of wearing thin clothing to bed, and always sleeping with his shoulders bare of blankets.

He had told himself so many times that he wouldn't, but Fëanáro hardly thought about what he was doing as his feet carried him, almost of their own volition, to the nearest of his sons' rooms, that of the twins. He wasn't doing it out of worry, he said to himself as his mind caught up suddenly with his actions, but simply to make sure that none of his children caught a chill. That would be most inconvenient for him, he thought, ignoring that niggling thread of anxiety telling him to hurry with all speed to the entrance of the room. Keeping his composure, he walked calmly to the door and knocked firmly upon it, calling authoritatively, "boys, it is past time you were up. Come, there is fire and food waiting for you!"

There was no reply from inside. Fëanáro frowned, knocked again, then entered with some irritation, vexed that his sons should so blatantly ignore him, young though they were. He threw the door back on its hinges, his fast temper getting the better of him (not for the first time), and opened his mouth to admonish the twins for their disrespect, but found their beds empty. His frown deepened. He had not heard them get up, and there was no way they had awoken and gone downstairs without him hearing in the brief time he had spent getting dressed.

Softly, confusion wrinkling his brow, Fëanáro closed the door again, and went to the next room, then the next, and all with the same results: his sons were gone.

After the fifth fruitless attempt at locating his mysteriously absent children, Fëanáro began to feel some trepidation. He was not worried for their safety—Nerdanel's unconcerned behavior convinced him that they were well—but he was beginning to suspect that perhaps they were all in hiding, prepared to play some cruel prank on him, and that his wife was perhaps in league with them. That would explain her amusement earlier that morning. He considered briefly giving the whole thing up and going out to the forge to avoid possible humiliation at the hands of his own family, but he quickly brushed the thought away. He would not be driven to retreat because of a childish fear of falling victim to what he could only assume was a spiteful, immature prank.

Pride driving him, as often it did, Fëanáro opened the last door to Nelyafinwë's room, unconsciously bracing himself for an assault, and stepped inside.

The sight that greeted him therein was… not what he had expected.

Far from ambushing him within his own house, all seven of Fëanáro's sons were piled like a stack of rag dolls on Nelyafinwë's bed, a tangle of bodies, limbs, hair, and blankets. The twins looked as small and innocent as ever they did, cuddled happily in the middle of the bed, their deep, wine-red hair blending together in a perfect match of color, but all the others, even Nelyafinwë, who was usually so refined, were in such a disheveled state that even Fëanáro, after his initial surprise, had to smile.

The little ones, Turkafinwë, Morifinwë, and Curufinwë, were on the left side of the mattress, closest to the door, lying contentedly on top of Nelyafinwë as if he were some kind of tall, red-headed heater. Fëanáro couldn't even see Kanafinwë, but he could only assume that the large lump under the sheets on the right side of the bed was his second-born. Even Huan was there, draped over his oldest son's legs, snoring gently through his wet, black nose, and Fëanáro reflected with amusement that Nelyafinwë seemed to be taking the mattress's job. In fact, only his head with its fiery halo of copper hair and left arm were visible from under the pile of bodies atop him. He would be sorry and sore when he awoke, yet… Fëanáro chose not to rouse them.

It wasn't because his heart was moved by the ridiculous, precious sight—it wasn't—it was simply because, from the look of them, their night had been a rather eventful one, and to wake them now would mean they would remain tired (and most likely irritable) for the rest of the day. It would only be an annoyance to himself, Fëanáro thought, if that were the case, and so he backed out of the room, shutting the door gently behind him and walking down to the forge to begin the morning's work.

All the way there, he ignored that frustrating smile that he could not seem to erase from his lips.

.

Maitimo awoke to three very distinct things that brought him abruptly to consciousness. The first was a very bright, glaring light that shone through his window, the second, a massive weight that crushed his stomach, legs, and chest, and the third… the third was the fact that his left half was beginning to slide off his bed. He jerked to full awareness as he realized that he was on the brink of a fall, but the sudden movement only made his situation worse, and with that weight on top of him restricting his limbs, he could do nothing to prevent his imminent crash to the ground. He gave vent to a most undignified sound that was somewhere between a squeak and a scream, but with just enough sense to realize that the weight that was falling with him were three of his younger brothers, he managed to snap one hand up to protect the head of the elfling nearest his reach before he hit the floor with a resounding bang and a sharp smack on the back of his skull. Maitimo groaned, unmoving, as his head throbbed harshly at the blow, but the little ones crowded on top of him were unharmed, though they came awake with many distressed cries as the fall jostled them from sleep. They all sat upright with such perfect synchronization that Maitimo may have laughed, had he not been put into such a foul mood by the rude awakening and his now-aching head.

"Wha-" Moryo—the one Maitimo had protected in the fall—questioned blearily as he looked about the room with confused eyes. He had surely not expected to wake up in such a violent fashion—upon the floor no less—and so his bewilderment was well-founded, the tall nér thought with bitter amusement.

"Nelyo?" the dark-haired elfling asked as he got a bearing on his surroundings and noticed upon what—or more correctly upon whom—he was sitting. "What are you doing on the floor, háno? Are you not cold?"

Maitimo trained his gray eyes on his brother, blinked once slowly, and replied evenly, "no, Moryo. I prefer the floor. I find it to be much more comfortable than my bed could ever dream to be."

Curvo peeped around his elder brother's shoulder and fixed Maitimo with a somber, disappointed expression—so much like their father's!—and shook his head.

"They should have named you Varyamo," he stated solemnly before clambering off Maitimo's stomach onto the cold floor, "you are very odd, Nelyo."

Tyelko sniggered at Curvo's dry assertion and added laughingly, "I think Laminyamo would be closer the mark!"

Maitimo frowned at their jests and snickers, displeased to be so mocked after he had just saved them all from a nasty knock, and with no warning, he sat up, unbalancing Moryo and catching the two offending elflings in his arms quicker than they could blink and tickling them with merciless fingers.

They howled with laughter, turning rather pink in the face, and began almost instantly to beseech their elder brother to stop, crying their surrender amid shrieks of not-so-joyous giggles. But Maitimo held firm to them, his long arms, well-formed with whipcord strength, capturing them fast. The elflings began to grow breathless with hilarity, and it was only then that the nér offered them a truce, saying, "take back thy words, fiends, and I'll take back my hand!"

"We're sorry, Nelyo!" they all but screeched, and Maitimo, knowing they could hardly offer a more sincere apology under the circumstances that he imposed upon them, let them loose.

The two tore away, backing up quickly, out of their brother's reach in case he decided to torment them further, then sat there, flushed and panting as if they had just run a great many leagues. Moryo smiled his quiet smile at the scene, but not wishing to incur Maitimo's wrath, he remained silent and scarce.

It was then that Makalaurë, who up to this point had remained as nothing but an unassuming and compact lump under the blankets, awoke. The four brothers who sat on the floor glanced up as Káno began to move, rustling the sheets as he sought his way out of the nest he had rolled himself into during the night. Maitimo, Tyelko, Moryo, and Curvo watched in some amusement as, after much struggling, his head finally poked out of the fur cocoon and regarded them all with dark, glassy, half-lidded eyes.

"I do not believe you could be any louder if you tried..." the harpist grumbled, his face clouded with intense annoyance that he must have meant to be intimidating, but the effect was ruined by the wild, black tangle of hair that floated about his head, mussed beyond hope by his deep slumber under the pile of heavy blankets. As it was, he looked more like a peevish bear brought too early out of hibernation than a powerful, intimidating Noldorian prince.

"Good morn to you as well, háno!" Maitimo laughed, stepping forward and nudging Makalaurë carefully to urge him out of bed (noticing as he did so that the Ambarussa and Huan were suspiciously absent). The dark-haired nér made a small whining sound in disapproval, only wrapping himself more tightly in the sheets the longer his brother tried to rouse him to complete wakefulness.

Maitimo shook his head, smiling, as Káno ducked his head back under the blankets, as one might dive underwater, hiding his face from sight and grumbling wordlessly his distaste for Nelyo's actions.

"Come now, Káno," the red-haired brother pressed, "you cannot stay abed all day. Look! Laurelin has been casting her light for hours already! Up, or I shall make you!"

Káno curled more tightly and gripped the sheets harder, adamantly refusing to heed his brother. He was not usually so stubborn. In fact, he was perhaps the mildest of Fëanáro's sons, and inherited much of their mother's patience and gentleness, bearing all things with calm and with reason, but when it came to mornings… Ai! He was more rock-headed than the sire of the house!

Maitimo debated for a moment leaving his brother to his slumbering fate, but soon dismissed the thought. It wouldn't be fair to leave Káno asleep while the rest of them went to the kitchens and ate their fill of food while he remained hungry. It may have been his own fault, should that come to pass, but Maitimo was willing to be lenient this morning.

Fiercely, he grabbed hold of the blankets that wrapped his brother and pulled them away with one swift tug, leaving the tired harpist lying, exposed to the cold, shivering upon the mattress. But though Makalaurë made a loud noise of complaint and attempted to grab a pillow in a vain hope to replace the warmth of the furs Maitimo had taken, the copper-haired nér would not be beaten. He remained unyielding to his brother's sounds of protest, but seized Káno around the ankle and hauled his weight with unwavering resolve off the bed.

Káno gave a loud cry that was more suited to a wencë than a second-born prince of the Noldor as he toppled from his comfortable nest and landed with a thud on the floor. Only then did Maitimo release his ankle, dropping his foot also to the ground, the heel hitting the boards with yet another painful sound.

"What in all of Arda did you do that for!?" Káno demanded after a moment of silent, stunned stillness, wincing as he raised his head from the ground to glare at Maitimo in angry betrayal. "You might have split my head open, you craven fool!"

Maitimo only smiled down at him, planting his hands on his hips and stating easily, "I believe I told you it was time to be up! Come, don't look at me so. The day is ahead of us, and we may yet reap the fruits of its promise, though we have slept through half of it already!"

Káno growled lowly, rising slowly and hugging his arms close to his chest to ward off the cold as he mumbled with a bit of the heat he had earned from his father, "you are much too cheery, Nelyo, and I do not like it. Your smile this morning brings me no joy."

Maitimo kept the grin in place and spread his arms wide in a helpless gesture.

"And here I remain unmoved," he countered, chuckling as the response earned him another dark glare from Makalaurë.

"I do believe you take pleasure in this, you villain," the musician pouted moodily, his mood blackened by Maitimo's unfailing good spirits in the face of his own displeasure.

The three younger brothers, who had watched this exchange silently up to now, huddled together behind Maitimo, looking on with equal parts amusement and horror at the nér's ferocity in dealing with the sleepy Káno. It was only by an ill stroke of luck that Moryo spoke the trio's thoughts precisely at the moment that the two eldest brothers' conversation lulled, and so Maitimo, not far from where the dark-featured elfling stood, heard the whispered comment he made to Tyelko and Curvo.

"He is Nairamo, above all else," he said conspiratorially.

Just like that, Maitimo turned on them, forgetting his conflict with Káno altogether as he towered above his three small brothers like a fearful wraith.

"What," he questioned slowly, his face set in carefully neutral lines as the trio shrank and withered under his gaze, "was that, Moryo?"

The unfortunate little one shook his head quickly as if to deny that he had spoken and clung nervously to Tyelko, who stood next to him and appeared just as anxious about this turn events as Moryo.

Maitimo would not give them mercy, not after he had been thrice labeled in such derogatory terms, and so he was unmoved by their pitiable cowering as he drew ever closer to the frozen elflings and threatened softly, "do you also want to feel the wrath of my hands, Carnistir Morifinwë?"

He held his fingers up for the young one to see, and twitched them expectantly as if he was already envisioning seizing them all once more and tickling them until their sides ached.

They stood, motionless, for a long while whilst Maitimo awaited their answer, but after a time, Tyelko, the boldest (and perhaps the most foolhardy), exclaimed with a sudden fiendish rush of delight, "Laminyamo!" before he shot from the room like an arrow from the string, attempting to escape from the punishment promised from his eldest brother, and yet still depart with the last word.

Tyelko's flight was like a signal to the others, and with shrieks both of fear and excitement, they took off after him, yelling back their own cries of "Varyamo!" and "Nairamo!" as they went.

Maitimo gave a laugh and went after them, knowing that his longer strides would soon overtake them, and called to their retreating backs, "you young imps! You will learn to be sorry for your jests!"

They all cared not how much noise they caused, and the three elflings took to the stairs as quickly as they could manage, sliding down the railing to the bottom floor to escape their vengeful brother, who came unerringly behind, descending the steps by two and three at a time, yelling light-hearted threats behind them all the while.

.

Nerdanel heard every thump and shout of laughter that morning, and she smiled as she cleaned the last of the dishes left from the morning meal, pleased to hear her sons awake and in such high spirits. She listened as the small voices of her younger children shrieked in delight, and the pound of their feet sounded on the floor above her, so that she was able to trail their progress through the house with her ears. She knew not what the ruckus was about, but even so she was not at all surprised when three small forms burst into the kitchen and scurried to her in fright, speeding like harts pursued by a fearsome hound to their den.

"Good morning, dear ones!" she greeted with a small laugh, "what has brought you to me in such haste?"

Tyelko, Moryo, and Curvo looked up at her anxiously as they clung to her skirts, and replied "Maitimo!" in unison, the word leaving their lips grimly, as if it spelled out their own destruction.

Nerdanel scarce had time to react to the odd answer before Maitimo himself came skidding around the corner after them, his face flushed with joy and exertion as he exclaimed, "I'll have you yet, foul scoundrels!"

He stopped suddenly as he noticed his mother and the young charges she now guarded, and he planted his hands on his hips, his playful expression never once flagging.

"I see you've found a fortress to hide behind," he commented to the elflings, but to his mother he said, "I shall have to request, my lady, that you hand over these savages to receive their punishment. They have behaved most abominably this morning, and have yet to face their fate!"

Nerdanel could not imagine what this was about, but she knew that Maitimo would never inflict harm on her young ones, and so she put a finger to her lips, pretending to think deeply about his offer as she played along with the game, looking from the copper-haired nér to Tyelko, Moryo, and Curvo, who were all shaking their heads vehemently, beseeching her not to betray them.

"Hm… Perhaps," she said to Maitimo, who was smiling as he now sensed that she meant to ally herself to him. "What debt will you pay to me if I give them up?" she asked, holding back a laugh as three small pairs of eyes widened under her as the elflings realized that an ill fate was about to befall them.

Maitimo swept into an exaggerated bow so low that his long, copper hair fell, layer upon layer, over his face.

"Madame," he said with regal courtesy, "if you do this thing for me, I will put away the dishes on the top shelf so you shan't have to burden yourself with a chair."

Nerdanel laughed merrily, enjoying the ridiculousness of the whole situation, and replied, "I hold you to your word, my lord! Do with these hooligans as you wish!"

At these words the three elflings broke cover, screeching so loud that they could have alerted Manwë upon Taniquetil, and dashed around the kitchen table, trying to escape their red-haired tormentor, but this time, Maitimo had them trapped. In no time at all, he caught them up and meted out their punishment, and soon the room was alight with the children's laughter.

Just as Nerdanel began to fear that Tyelko, Moryo, and Curvo would faint from want of breath, Maitimo released them, himself panting with the effort he had just exerted, and said, "now have you learned your lesson, hellions. That should teach you not to insult me, but if it hasn't, I shall be happy to remind you again!"

The three younger brothers all cried aloud, "we understand, Nelyo!" and retreated, giggling, behind their mother once more in case Maitimo tried to seize them again.

He didn't, and Nerdanel looked on her eldest with a smile as she reminded him, "now, what of your promise?"

Maitimo picked himself up from the floor, and nodded back, honoring his word, though he had said it half in jest. As he began placing the dishes Nerdanel had just washed on the high shelves that only he could reach without the use of a chair, Fëanáro stepped into the house through the back door in the kitchen, tailed by the Ambarussa and Huan. The sire of the house appeared to be in a foul mood, his fur-lined cloak and dark hair caked in hard, crystallized snow, his nose and cheeks showing red as he frowned deeply. And yet, Nerdanel noted with bemusement, the little twins seemed unconcerned, even delighted, their smiles broad as they hopped along behind their father.

"You have brought two young monsters into the world," Fëanáro said to his wife darkly as he shut the door and hung up his ice-laden cloak beside the fire.

"It is not as if I made that decision all by myself," the elf woman threw back as she moved to help Maitimo with the rest of the dishes. "And they don't look very monstrous to me."

It was true. Pityo and Telvo were the very pictures of innocence as they quietly tugged off their frozen gloves with their small, white teeth and brushed snow from their deep red hair without so much as a peep about the cold.

Fëanáro's frown deepened, but Nerdanel could see that he wasn't truly as upset as he pretended to be, as was often the case.

"Do not fall victim to their innocent wiles!" the dark-haired elf said, throwing an accusing finger at the twins, "for I made the same mistake, and when my guard was down they pelted me with snow inside my own forge, and then ran off cackling like the fiends they are!"

Tyelko snorted softly in amusement, but he passed it off for a cough as soon as his father cast his withering, gray gaze on him. Rambunctious and impulsive as he may have been, not even Tyelkormo would risk the wrath of Fëanáro.

Nerdanel, however, knew her husband's moods and was undaunted. She laughed freely and said, "they are young and fearless! What else could you expect of them, love?"

Fëanáro mumbled something about "respect" under his breath, but pursued the matter no further as his wife remained unsympathetic, and even moved to help Pityo and Telvo with their coats as if to spite him, leaving Fëanáro to pout in silence.

It was then that Makalaurë stumped his way downstairs, still bleary-eyed and vexed from his rude awakening.

"You might have roused the spirits in Mandos with all your noise," he complained to Maitimo and the three elflings. "I could not have fallen back asleep even if I wanted to. What's for breakfast?"

"You've missed it," Nerdanel replied as she and Maitimo finished putting away the last of the dishes, but at the hurt look that not only Káno, but all seven of her sons cast her way, she relented, "but, I suppose I could make an early lunch for us all."

"You spoil them," Fëanáro commented as her reply elicited cheers from the young ones, and grins of triumph from the two eldest, "so I suppose I'll have to help you so you do not cook enough to make us all fat."

He rose and went to the oven, heating it with logs from the stack beside it, and Nerdanel smiled at his back, appreciating the assistance, even though Fëanáro pretended to be reluctant.

"I'll help you, Atar!" Curvo piped up predictably, content to mimic his father and learn from him in all ways. Fëanáro accepted the offer easily, and proceeded to instruct his young doppelganger in the proper way to build up a fire, and curious Tyelko joined them.

Then, as if that had been a signal, all the others arose at once to help in any way they could.

"I guess I shall get the plates down again," Maitimo sighed, while Káno sleepily mumbled something about needing a very strong cup of tea. Moryo and the Ambarussa shot off to the pantry to assist their mother in the preparing and cooking of the food, and even Huan barked happily in encouragement.

Before she knew it, Nerdanel found herself surrounded by a flock of busy néri and one excited dog, all eagerly contributing to the preparation of the impromptu meal. With another smile, she clapped her hands together and began to work with them.

So it was that that morning, though the cold snow frosted the windows and chilled the land, the house of Fëanáro felt not the ice of winter, for the warmth of that hour filled them all, and the weather had no sway over the glow of that late breakfast and the family that ate it together.

So much for "little epilogue." This ended up being about 2700 words longer than the actual main story. Oh well, it was fun anyway. Also, Fëanor is a tsundere confirmed!

The ending felt a bit rushed to me, but I hope you enjoyed this story anyway, and thanks to all for reading it! Happy November! Stay warm!