Chapter Text
Aredhel had been alive for approximately four centuries. She had taken even longer to reincarnate than her father, as she refused to leave the halls of Mandos while her son was still there. Eventually, Namo and his family convinced her to abandon her crusade, as her son did not wish to see her.
That didn't mean she had completely given up. She periodically went to the gates of Mandos to ask for Maeglin, but received no reply; recently (a century ago, that is), they had begun to tell her that he was not yet ready to reincarnate, which was an improvement over remaining silent when she asked (which was downright creepy, in her opinion; not that the Ainur had improved their understanding of incarnates much since the Years of the Trees).
"Let's go back," her brother sighed. Fingon had been a great support in her lifetime. Turgon wanted nothing to do with his son, and she didn't want to speak to him either, after having the opportunity to beat him for ignoring her last wishes after his death. She had been overjoyed to see Argon again, but having died so soon in the ice meant they didn't always understand each other.
Her father was a sticking point. Fingolfin had been willing to be understanding and compassionate toward his precious daughter, who was kidnapped and subsequently killed by the evil Moriquendi she encountered while wandering; and Aredhel is quite sure that would be exactly what she would need if she were that woman, but she wasn't. She isn't entirely sure when her husband's mind began to degrade into the hateful, controlling demon who had followed her and their son to Gondolin, trapped them, and kept his thoughts hidden from her; but that wasn't the Elf she had originally married, and she had truly loved Eöl at that time.
Her father didn't understand that, and neither did her mother, but Anäire hadn't understood her in a long time; not since she'd turned out to be so far from the perfect omega (or beta, she would have settled for) princess she dreamed of. No, her parents didn't understand how she'd fallen in love with and married a Moriquendi elf of no known parentage.
"Findekáno," she thought as they rode along the roads back to Tirion. "He really understands what I'm up to. After all, he never believed in that perfect-love nonsense the Vanyar profess." Her brother, in fact, had a marriage almost more scandalous than hers; after all, he married another kin-killing alpha.
They arrived just in time for dinner. While living at her parents' house, it was impossible for her to escape the family gatherings her mother insisted on; They were the most tedious and boring thing in the world. She would much rather dine at her uncle Fëanáro's house than adhere to the formalities her mother and sister insisted on, than have to endure her niece's pride. But Fingon had begged her to try to maintain some semblance of family peace while she lived with them, and he struggled to travel from her matrimonial home to her father's palace and endured her husband's taunts with a strained smile. So Aredhel tried to hold on for the sake of her favorite brother.
As soon as she sat down, she saw that this was not going to be a good evening. Idril had come alone (Tuor was a pleasant man who generally managed to moderate his wife) and was wearing a sky-blue gown with elaborate jewels that caught the eye from every corner of the room. Anäire was at pains to praise her granddaughter for the outfit she had chosen, remarking on how pure, elegant, and proper she looked. "Like a true Noldor princess, such a beautiful beta," she continued, while Idril showed a demure smile that hid her pride.
Her mother had always dreamed of the perfect, devoted, and obedient princess she could dress and show off to the entire court. Aredhel had once hoped that her niece could become something more than the window doll Anäire expected, but it was too late. She could only be thankful that her own son would never be like that.
"So, how was the walk?" Fingolfin asked with a smile; bless his father for trying.
Fingon gave a strained smile. "Well, the weather is very nice, and if it holds, Russo and I can have a picnic tomorrow. Unfortunately, we haven't received any new answers." Turgon snorted.
Aredhel looked at him directly with a cold smile. “What is good news is that I've already found a place to move to. It has plenty of room for Lómion and a forge that I'm sure he'll enjoy.”
Her mother's face crumpled as if she'd smelled something terrible, and her father choked on his wine. Thank goodness he hadn't mentioned that the place was her uncle Fëanáro's house.
“Daughter, we've already talked about this. There's no need for you to move.” Her mother looked at her as if she were still a spoiled child “It would be inappropriate for you to move out of your parents' house without a husband, and you know how difficult it would be to find one for yourself."
"Then it's a good thing I've already done it," she said sharply. "After all, I'm not looking for a second husband, nor will I trap the one I already have in Mandos for eternity, no matter what Grandfather Finwë says."
"My dear," her father interrupted before she could continue discussing her grandfather's life choices. "I'm sure your son will be fine alone in that house you've sought out; you don't have to leave. I'm also sure he'll appreciate the solitude; from what he told me, Turukáno valued it greatly in his first life."
Turgon snorted. "I don't know why you bother. He's not coming back." He rolled his eyes at the look she gave him. "I don't even know why Mandos lets those damned kin-killers get away, but at least none of them allied themselves with Morgoth." That monster will never come back to life, accept it—
“In fact,” Idril interrupted, her voice demure, “I don’t think his father will be allowed to be reincarnated either. Aunt, I say this because I care for you. You should consider Grandmother’s offer to allow her to find you a respectable husband. There is a nobleman in King Ingwë’s court who doesn’t mind that you have already been married, for his blessed Princess Indis was Grandfather’s second wife, and I am sure he would be willing to overlook your… terrible first attempt as long as you give him worthy children.” She ended her speech with a charming and comforting smile. Her father and grandmother looked at her with adoration and pride.
Aredhel breathed, filling her stomach and chest just as her husband had taught her. She picked up her goblet of red wine from the table and threw it with perfect precision so that it would stain first her brother and then her niece. After all, it was his fault for raising her like that. As they cried out in surprise and disgust, Aredhel turned to her mother.
"And how do you know there are nobles willing to marry me?" Her tone was as taut as a bowstring. "You haven't been wondering, have you?"
Her mother turned even paler. "Well, I wanted to be prepared, and you know I only seek the best for you. Speaking of which, what happened to your manners? I didn't allow that as a child, and..."
She broke off abruptly as Aredhel leaped onto the table and ambled forward, kicking plates and cups out of her way, staring at her mother, her sour, angry scent permeating the hall.
"By what right, I wonder, have you started offering MY HAND in marriage to idiots like those at the Vanyar court, when you know full well I'm already married? And no, not liking my husband is no excuse; I've been telling you for centuries that what happens between us is our business, and if I need help, I'll ask for it. Not that it helped much last time—
She stared at her brother as she said this, who at least had the decency to lower his gaze. She hadn't forgotten how he essentially ignored her last request on his deathbed and left his son an orphan. Aredhel understood that her brother was upset by her death, but for a Nér who was always telling him to control his impulses and behave, more was expected.
"Then—" She finally reached the end of the table, where her mother was; she kicked her plate away and planted her boots on the table. "Will you answer me, or am I wasting my time?"
Anäire was terrified. The acrid scent of her daughter spread throughout the room, aggressive and bloodthirsty. Suddenly, she remembered that she, too, had been in Beleriand. Though she hadn't participated in the wars, she had certainly learned to fight from her wildling cousins, and before that, she had been a great hunter of no small strength.
Luckily for her, she was spared having to answer when a deep voice gently cleared her throat. Everyone turned to look at the cloaked figure that had appeared in the middle of their hall. The figure hovered a few feet above the ground, featureless and wearing a grayish robe that marked it as one of Namo's Maia.
"Irissë Nolofinwiel, you are informed that your prayers have been answered; your son Maeglin Lómion will be reborn from the halls of Mandos," they announced in a voice that echoed throughout the room.
Aredhel stood still, frozen in place as her mind raced to process what she heard. Behind her, she heard Idril give a shaky sigh as her father cursed and began to scream.
"However," the Maia continued, unperturbed by the chaos, "the damage Morgoth caused to his fëa is too great to be healed in the usual way, so it was decided that he would return to the womb that gave him birth, to be born once more and that his fëa be nourished and healed little by little. This pregnancy will be faster than what corresponds to the Eldar, and the growth of this new hröa will be much faster; in barely ten years he should reach to achieve the physical and mental maturity she had on the day of her death. Your husband was informed of this procedure the moment it began to respond to his complaint, which the Valar considered justified” Their task accomplished, the Maia vanished from the very spot where she had been.
Aredhel finished processing the information and immediately began to jump and shout with joy. She leaped onto Fingon to embrace him, while weeping profusely. When she calmed down a little, she realized something.
"He spoke of Eöl. Shouldn't they have warned me if he was reborn? I'm sure he would have at least written me a letter..." She stopped speaking as soon as she saw that her father wasn't meeting her gaze.
She walked quickly over to Fingolfin and grabbed him by the collar of his tunic. Her mother screamed in fright.
"What have you done?" She knew her father too well. He used to make that face when he hid the letters Maedhros sent to Fingon, back in the Years of the Trees and later, after his rebirth. He had good intentions to protect them, but he had never learned to see them as adults.
He sighed. "About ten months ago, they came to tell you that Eöl had been reincarnated. You were with your mother, and it was only Turukáno and me in the hall at the time. We decided it would be best if you didn't find out until you were better, and instead, we doubled the security."
"Oh? And I suppose by 'decided’, you mean your son decided and you agreed?" She turned to look at Turgon, still holding her father. "I thought I made it clear the first time that you were not allowed to control my life. Not in my first life, and not now; I am neither your wife nor your daughter for you to make those decisions on my behalf." I'm not "sick" for wanting to fix things with my husband, nor am I stupid, much less a child; I think, after all, I know him better than you do."
"Aunt," Idril pleaded, "Don't make hasty decisions. Perhaps my father and grandfather should have told you, but I can assure you they only had your best interests in mind. Besides, it might not be safe for you to go looking for him now. You're pregnant again, and you don't know if he's stable or if he's still as crazy as he was when he died. You wouldn't want to risk your precious son's life."
Idril was sure Aredhel would listen if she made it sound like it was for Maeglin's sake; instead, she gave her a confused look before she started laughing.
"Pregnant? Dear Eru, you really didn't know him at all. It's my husband who's pregnant!"
"What?" Turgon finally stood up from where he was sitting and approached his sister. "B-b-but, when there are two alphas... it rarely happens, but she's always the one who gets pregnant."
Aredhel looked at them in disbelief. "Perhaps that's true, but my husband is an omega; so, of course, it's not our case."
Turgon's eyes widened comically as Fingolfin gasped, and Anäire finally fainted. Fingon blinked a little at the scene before beginning to laugh uproariously.
/////
Eöl finished his chant for the day as dawn began to break, sighing before turning and starting back home. After so many centuries as a homeless spirit (of which, he only remembers the ones he spent before arriving in Mandos), he had missed the forest, its winding paths, and the singing of the trees as he passed. It's true that this new home would never be as magical, dark, and familiar as Nan Elmoth, his first true home, had been, but this one is quite good, and he assumes he can make some allowances for his wife and son; after all, he owes them that.
He put his hand to his stomach, where a small lump was already noticeable, and he could feel the little fëa, so familiar and beloved, growing. His poor, long-suffering, misunderstood baby, he had accompanied him for years like a disembodied spirit, and that city had proved as terrible for him as Eöl had feared. Maeglin was too much like his mother to endure that kind of confinement, and too much like him to put up with his uncle's isolationist control.
"After all, that's why they left me." Eöl grimaced; he had become truly horrible toward the end. The magic within Nan Elmoth had always had the potential to twist, but it had never affected him much, until that last argument with his parents.
He shook his head, determined not to think about it anymore. He arrived at the house they'd built for him, made of dark wood and more like a small palace, but tidy enough for his liking. It had a small forge on one side and a stable with an armory on the other, designed for him and his wife.
When he was reborn, he had no plans beyond finding a place of his own, demanding his son's release, and apologizing to his Aredhel; so it was a surprise when, after a few hours of wandering, he came across familiar faces belonging to his son's house in Gondolin sought him out, believing Maeglin would have been reborn with him, but they sided with him as soon as he told them his plan. They also threatened to drag him out of the forest if, when the time came, his son didn't forgive him. Eöl was happy with the deal.
As he reached the door, he realized how hungry he was. Groaning softly, he went to the kitchen to eat some of the fresh fruit he had picked that morning. If there was one good thing about this place that Nan Elmoth didn't have, it was that he could have a garden behind his house with fruits, vegetables, and even herbs (medicinal or medicinal, it didn't make much difference) and his garden would stay behind his house. It was part of the charm that had drawn him to his forest, but it was good to be able to have fruit without spending hours begging the trees to let him into their garden.
Maeglin had never had a problem with the forest; he had been born and raised there. The trees adored him and indulged him with anything he wanted. The branches lowered when he wanted to climb, the trees gathered until they were practically intertwined or parted to leave a clear path (always bending to keep the tops together and form a canopy of leaves) depending on whether his son wanted to jump between the trees or run at full speed as if it were open country. The moles came out to meet him when Maeglin called them to play or simply to admire them with their usual attention to detail; they were his absolute favorites (Eöl had made sure there was a respectable family of moles living on the mountain of earth he had built; it didn't take much convincing; there weren't many places for creatures of the dark in that Blessed Land). He also quite loved birds, and he's sure he would have loved to fly if he could have taught him, though he'd never liked nightingales or other small birds and had favored crows, much to Eöl's amusement.
He walked to his room while eating his fourth peach, planning to sleep as long as he could before the cravings struck again. He missed his wife's cooking. He wasn't particularly sweet-toothed, but his son certainly was, demanding sweets from the moment of his conception.
He sank down into his nest and immediately let out a moan, a heat running from his groin to the rest of his body. He hurriedly took off his boots and clothes, leaving only his underwear, and brought his hands to his butt to feel the toy. His pregnancy had tremendously affected his libido, and although Aredhel and he had always been active, during that period they could barely keep their hands off each other. He was always eager for his wife's cock, and she was aroused every time she caught the scent of it, strong, seductive, and pregnant with her. They made love in every corner of the house and the forest, indoors or outdoors, and he could never get enough. Eöl couldn't even work, so he'd finally resorted to his stash of toys he'd made himself (he used them during his heat when he was alone and with his wife when she was enthusiastic), and for months he'd always had one wedged in his ass, small soft clamps arousing his nipples, or anything that would soothe the heat inside him. Aredhel had been pleased with this new arrangement, taking to the habit of surprising him at the forge or at any other time to fuck him on the nearest surface, and always found him stretched out and eager for her.
It was from these memories he drew on as he thrust the black glass cock into his ass while daydreaming about her. He imagines her kissing him, biting his neck, rolling him onto his back over her nest, and fucking him until he was satiated and happy. He came with a stifled moan, overwhelmed by the sensations of his new body, which, even after months, was easily overstimulated. He buried his nose in the blankets, longing to find the scent of his wife's wild forest and feathers, longing to feel her pressed against his back; missing her now more than ever.
He blinked, determined to hold back his tears. He had no right to shed them, as his situation was entirely his fault. Aredhel had every right in the world not to want to see or contact him again, not to answer his letters or show any signs of life. And, once their child was born, she could take him away, and Eöl would never see him again. It was only fair, which didn't mean it didn't hurt. It would be a while before he tried to write to his wife again; it was only fair that he let her have her peace and quiet.
Eöl held his fëa close to Maeglin's in her womb, determined to enjoy having him close for as long as possible. He didn't deserve it, but he had it, and he was going to take advantage of it.
Somehow, he managed to fall asleep.
/////
The knocking on the door woke him. It was broad daylight, and Eöl was pretty sure that Arien was at their peak, and usually no one knocked on his door at this time; the few visitors he received knew he was a nocturnal creature, so they didn't bother him during the day.
Grumbling softly, he walked silently to the door and knocked on it again.
"WHO IS IT?!" he shouted hoarsely, hating to be woken.
"A servant of our lord Namo; open your door, son of Melian," replied a cold, monotonous voice.
Strangely, the Ainur don't usually knock; neither warn, nor have manners so as not to frighten the Children of Illuvatar. His senses confirmed that there was, indeed, an unknown Maia in his territory, and Eöl worries that he's becoming careless while focusing on his pregnancy. He files it away for later review.
As he opened the door, the gray-clad figure nearly ran over him, entering his home, unconcerned with trifles like his host's permission. Eöl grew even more annoyed and considered speaking to him in the ancient Valarin he had copied from his mother so many millennia ago to make his annoyance clear; perhaps they didn't respect his territory as Eldar, but by Eru, they would as Maia. Or perhaps it was just his hormones talking.
Before he could decide, a tall figure with silver hair whizzed past him. For a second, his heart stopped, imagining the king, his father, in his home, his space, his nest, entering as if he had a right to it, to him. After Eöl had given up a part of his own soul on a whim, he had no right to be there, how dare he be in the same space as his baby…
"Wow, sorry, I know I shouldn't have barged in like that; "I was raised, believe it or not, but that Maia threatened to leave her back and came in so fast," the stranger stammered in a way his proud father could never have.
Eöl stared at him for a few moments before calming down, the anguish and anger in his scent slowly dissipating. The kinslayer before him relaxed his shoulders, though he still regarded him with suspicion in his quicksilver eyes, and bowed courteously.
"Well met, the Prince of the Noldor, Turkafinwë Tyelkormo Fëanorion greets you."
That was a strangely appropriate greeting for what his wife had told him about his wayward cousin. And it must have shown on his face, because the tallest Ellon laughed; a sigh was heard from the doorway.
"At least we can tell Nelyo that you tried." The elf at the doorway was one he already knew; With his black hair intricately braided with red jewels, Curufin Fëanorion looked exactly the same as the last time Eöl had seen him; except, of course, for the small detail that he sported a lustrous pregnant belly.
The Noldor fixed his eyes on him and nodded slightly. "Curufinwë Atarinkë Fëanorion; well met, kinsman, we meet again."
He looked them over before shaking his head; it was too early in the day for that shit.
"Eöl," he said without looking at them, as he went to make some tea for himself and his unexpected guests.
He heard a burst of laughter behind him and decided it was too early (or late, depending on his schedule) to figure out whether they were laughing at him or getting angry about it. A chill ran down his spine when he sensed the Maia was about to speak. The Ainur always had this strange strength in their voices when they spoke, and none that Eöl knew bothered to control themselves for the sake of the other races.
"Wait and sit down," he interrupted them before they could begin. "I don't know how they explain it to you, but people are usually given a courtesy to recover from an intrusion into their home, especially at unsociable hours, before moving on to the undoubtedly important matters you're bothering me about."
The Maia tilted their head to one side. "We Ainur do not abide by the same rules and customs as you incarnates; we have no need to drink," they said finally.
"But you enter our homes and dictate our customs on these shores; So, of course, you will follow the basic courtesy dictated by your host," Eöl replied as he poured the tea and tried not to grind his teeth as he spoke.
Luckily, the Maia didn't say anything else. His other two guests had sat on the sofa in front of the low table where he had placed the tea and seemed to be trying their best not to laugh. They accepted the drink with a courteous smile, and Eöl placed some mild-flavored biscuits that he knew wouldn't make pregnant people vomit in front of Curufin. He forced himself to be a good host until he had to be otherwise. He politely ignored the brothers whispering little poison-detection spells into their teas—being polite wasn't being stupid—and tried not to act surprised that two kinslayers knew one of his spells.
Once seated in his armchair, with a cup of soothing tea, he briefly recapitulated his situation:
- There was an unknown and rude Maia (by Eldar and Maia standards) in his house.
- Said Maia had brought two known assassins to his house (apparently under threat) who had been very close to his wife and might want revenge; in addition, they had already killed Eöl's immediate family in Doriath.
- One of those kinslayers was pregnant like him, and if he were to judge by the Maia's presence, their situations might be much more similar than they would appear at first glance.
- In his anger at how he had been woken up, he had rushed to answer the door just as he had been when he went to bed. Only an undershirt and a dildo in his butt.
Simply magnificent.
"Well, now that we're all settled," he turned his gaze to the Maia. "Why are you in my house?" -
"Eöl Thingolion, son of Melian, our sister; your son's situation is similar, not in process, but in result, to that of other Eldar; therefore, the Valar agreed to imitate your method of healing fëa. You three are the first to do this, and it has been decreed that you live in harmony so that your pregnancy and childbirth can be more easily supervised. You, son of Melian, are charged with the supervision of these children of Fëanor to ensure their commitment to peace; we took into account the massacre of your people and know that you will not be lenient."
The Maia rose and disappeared into thin air, leaving three wide-eyed elves with an untouched cup of tea. Silence fell.
"We must send word to Atar," Curufin said after a minute of silence.
Celegorm stood up without saying anything and took a strange device out of his bag. He began speaking in his language, and somehow, the object responded to him. None of that particularly mattered to Eöl at that moment.
He hid his face in his hands as he leaned back in his chair. He would have to put up with people in his house for MONTHS; he who, since he was able to make the decision, hadn't even had servants so as not to have people hovering around his space. And he was going to have to live with two murderous princes.
When he looked out of his hands, he saw both princes staring at him, slightly uncertain. He let out a very loud sigh.
"First of all," he pointed at them both with his finger, "Did I know your children in life? And who the hell got you pregnant?" He was definitely too tired to be tactful, and he needed to know what to expect if he was going to live with him.
"Well, you already know my Tyelpë, at least by name, even if you called him Celebrimbor," the dark-haired Noldor replied. "As for the father, he doesn't know he has a son, and he'll remain so if I have anything to say."
His brother snorted. "Perhaps you have nothing to say; you know he's a favorite of the Valar, and I'll bet anything this won't remain a secret."
"He's right, he won't let us keep them so easily," Eöl pointed out. They were all outcasts despised by the Valar, each for their own reasons.
Curufin let out a pitiful moan. "Very well. He's from Findaráto Ingoldo, perhaps you know him as Finrod." He slumped back against the sofa, making a gesture dangerously similar to a pout.
Eöl blinked. "Is that the one who died biting a wolf because of Lúthien and her husband?" -
The Noldor glared at him for a moment before nodding. Eöl rubbed between his eyes before looking at the silver-haired Ellon.
"My babies," he said, looking at him with a strange smile. "They are commonly known as Elúred and Elurín."
"When did you fuck my nephew?" The question left Eöl's mouth before he could think it through.
Both brothers stared at him wide-eyed before laughing. "Wouldn't you like to know?" Celegorm replied mockingly.
"I didn't know Thingol had another son."
"Neither you nor almost anyone else; for all practical purposes, he doesn't. It was that way in Beleriand and it will remain that way here." He raised an eyebrow at them, daring them to contradict him.
The silver-haired one shrugged. "It suits us better." We don't like Turukáno in the least, but this family doesn't need the disaster of knowing he executed a Sindar prince”
"Although, wouldn't it be nice, for once, to see him get into trouble for his impulsive decisions?"
He left the Noldor chattering about his brother-in-law's stupid decisions; if they thought that way, maybe living together wouldn't be so bad. He walked down the hallway to prepare the guest rooms. The brothers hadn't brought any luggage, but they said something about telling their father, so he probably won't be able to get back to sleep and will have to stay up to receive it.
"Most of the things in the pantry shouldn't make you nauseous, check them before eating anyway. If you want dildos or the like, feel free to find them, but don't touch mine," he shouted behind him.
A wild laugh sounded behind him, but Eöl couldn't find the strength to care.
/////
Finrod had run out of the dining hall as quickly as possible, which was very fast. Most of the elves he'd been eating with, including his parents, had never needed to develop the kind of quick reflexes that were necessary in Beleriand, so they had remained in shock at the news longer, giving him precious seconds to escape.
A son, Finrod had a son. He let out a maniacal laugh as he hurriedly packed supplies. He had lived with his son, in his kingdom, and hadn't known. Did Tyelpë know? Celegorm definitely knew; those two didn't keep secrets from each other. He undressed hastily, removing his silk robes and any ornaments that might hinder him. All his jewellery had been designed to be practical in a fight or flight situation, but since returning to his parents' home, he had been wearing some of the remaining jewellery from before he left Valinor (it didn't matter that many of them had been designed and made by Curvo).
Once dressed in a much more practical riding habit, he gathered his camping gear and supplies, as well as his bow and knives (it had taken a lot of convincing to get his parents to keep them). He ran to the stables and saddled his favorite horse as quickly as he could. It was nothing like the warhorses he used to keep, but he took it with him hunting and it was more reliable than the Telerin horses, which were only used for trail rides.
He was already mounted and leaving the stables when he heard his name being called loudly. He looked up and saw his father and mother, their braids dishevelled and their fine clothes dishevelled, staring at him in disbelief from a window. He grimaced; that was exactly why he missed this the first time.
"I'm sorry, I can't make this mistake again!" he shouted as he began to ride away from the palace. "Give my apologies to Amarië!"
He galloped at full speed through the streets of Tirion, scaring some elves. At another time, he would worry about the chaos he was causing, but at that moment, he had only one thing on his mind.
Curufin, his precious, terrible, adored Curvo. The last time they saw each other, he could barely say anything he wanted to; his mother was too busy yelling at the omega to let them speak properly, and there was so much he wanted to say. He wanted to scream at him, apologize, kiss him, fuck him until he was tired, never see him again. He wanted to keep him where he knew he wouldn't leave until Finrod knew exactly what he wanted from him, and that he wanted Curufin from Finrod. Before all that, he had to find him and Tyelpë, make sure they were okay, and if what that maia had said was true (of course it was, the maias of Namo had no sense of humour, he should know that), no force in the world was going to separate him from Curufin during her pregnancy. Not the Valar, not his parents, not Curvo himself.
Now, the Maia hadn't said where he was; only that she had taken him far from where he and his family were staying to be in the company of other Eldar who were in a similar situation. There was only one way. He focused on the bond that death hadn't erased and that he shared with Curufin. He still lamented the circumstances under which they had forged that bond, but he could never repent.
He felt little, a mere echo. Curvo probably wouldn't even notice he was looking for him, and Finrod would make sure it stayed that way; he didn't want him to run away again. He headed in the approximate direction their bond was leading him and prayed quickly, the Valar would be on his side.
/////
Dior didn't know if he was experiencing the best or worst day since his reincarnation. Knowing that his children were finally going to return was the best news of the year; Being told the news in front of his grandfather, as well as openly revealing who the other father was and where they were, wasn't so good.
As much as it displeased him, keeping his twins' parentage a secret, even from them, was the best decision he could have made at the time. The court of Doriath had no kindness for kin-slayers or the Noldor in general, not even before the Second Kinslaying. Celegorm was especially hated for his history with his mother and his actions during the quest for the Silmaril. Though Dior had reason to suspect he was missing some details of that story, he never got around to asking during their time together; he was too cowardly. He truly regretted that cowardice when he sought to defend the father of his children and found himself helpless.
He couldn't declare Celegorm the father of Elúred and Elurín, he couldn't defend his choice to take him as a lover, so he couldn't marry him, mark him, or loudly proclaim him his omega, he couldn't even hint that he didn't hate him.
Or perhaps if he could have, damn the consequences, it might have saved Doriath the last time; but he didn't, and now his decisions were coming back to haunt him. He groaned, turning over in his bed to bury his face in the pillow, wondering what his next step would be.
He already knew that his ex-wife, Nimloth, wasn't going to hinder him; they had separated in the halls of Mandos, claiming that they were married by an arrangement made by their grandparents. Melian had argued that it was necessary for them to bear a daughter to fulfill some kind of prophecy inscribed in the Song, so once their duty was fulfilled, they asked for a mutual divorce. The Valar didn't like changes, even the smallest ones, but they had to grant them this since they weren't going to abide by the rules of a marriage or live as married couples, whether the gods liked it or not. Nimloth was a good alpha, but he didn't love her, and Dior suspects she resents him a little for having to give birth to their daughter, as alphas often have difficult births. But she never spoke a bad word to her twins. While she was a little cold, she treated them as fairly as possible. Dior found it hard to blame her for preferring her own daughter once Elwing was born, but he thought she might be more loving to Elúred and Elurín once she became a mother.
And soon after, Doriath burned, and the only man he ever loved killed him, and Dior killed him in turn, and his children died in oblivion because of his cowardice.
Dior was no fool. He knew logically that the culprits of the twins' deaths were the soldiers who abandoned them in the forest. But they were invariably loyal to Celegorm even when their actions might disgust their lord, and Dior had no doubt that the children would have been treated with adoration if they knew they were the children of their prince, if Dior hadn't hidden it even from the father who gave birth to them.
He hated playing with people's minds; it was one of his mother's old tricks, and it made all visitors to Tol Galen continue to consider her immortally beautiful even in her old age. Every so often, men and women fell in love with her natural charms, and she never did anything to stop it; their father only sighed as if they were innocent pranks. Dior truly loved his parents, but he didn't want to be like that.
And yet, he was. He slipped into the cracks of Celegorm's mind while he was at his most vulnerable after giving birth, made him forget his babies, and took them away; he wouldn't even allow him to name them. He felt sick with guilt for years and was unable to be present at Elwing's birth. He wasn't even able to confess his misdeeds to his beloved at the hour of his death, but at least he had released the spell on his mind so Celegorm could heal in Mandos.
He discreetly stuck his head out the window to listen to the trees, and they told him they were all asleep. After shouting and raging, his grandfather had had him locked up like he had once done with his mother. Fortunately, the guards were unused to real work after a lifetime of protection under the Belt and his subsequent reincarnation in peaceful Valinor (they would never be prepared for the attack; they were warned, and there was nothing they could do), so it was easy for them to slip away, and the trees protected him as he walked away from the palace. He hadn't been told Celegorm exactly where he was, but he felt a strong bond with his children, a vestige of his Maia heritage, so he could find them.
He would find them.