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2019-05-09
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Wrong Side of the Bed

Summary:

Being the eldest means one rarely gets a minute of privacy. Maedhros is fine with this, generally.

Notes:

These tidbits aren't so much in "chronological order" or "birth order" as they're in "the order I thought of them in." Enjoy!

Work Text:

Maedhros was woken by a soft thud, as something landed heavily on the left side of his bed, all bony elbows and freezing-cold feet.

“Makalaurë,” he groaned, “can you not sleep in your own bed for once? This sort of behavior was sweet when we were small children, but you are fully forty-seven years old. And,” he added, sniffing the air, “fully tipsy, it smells like.”

That famous golden laughter filled the air, slightly too loud for the late hour. “But my bed is cold , Nelyo, and entirely too far away, and contains a distinct lack of people to whom I can brag about the incredible success of tonight’s performance. I was asked for five encores.”

“At this point, my dear brother, I’d be far more interested in hearing about a performance of yours that wasn’t a triumph,” Maedhros replied gruffly, flicking an errant lock of Maglor’s curly hair out of his face. “It would make for a nice change.”

“Would you find it more interesting to hear about the girl I talked to at the post-concert party who is definitely in love with me? She told me I have a voice like a Vala.”

“It is the middle of the night, I’d find it much more interesting to go to sleep.”

Maglor sniffed. “Fine, be that way if you must. I’ll tell you about the entire thing in excruciating detail tomorrow, see if I don’t.”

“And I will be happy to listen, provided you don’t keep me awake all night by singing in your sleep.”

“You know I can’t control that. Inspiration comes to me when it will, you know, and who am I to…”

“Good night, Makalaurë.”

 

The candle next to the bed had nearly melted altogether, and Maedhros’ eyelids were becoming nearly as heavy as the enormous book he was attempting to study. He began to read the same sentence for what he was fairly certain was the seventh time, desperately trying to absorb a single word, when his door swung open to reveal a skinny boy of eleven, face flushed and tear-stained.

“Moryo, my love, what are you doing? It’s far past your bedtime.”

“Yes, and I went right away with no biting, but…” The little boy sniffed, rubbing his eyes furiously. “I had a nightmare.”

“Oh,” Maedhros sighed, annoyance fading. “Come here, baby.” He held out his arms and Caranthir climbed onto the bed, snuggling against Maedhros’ chest. “Shall I fetch Makalaurë and have him sing you a lullaby? I know that usually helps.”

“I thought of that, but he’s asleep in his music room. His hair is in the ink bottle.”

“Of course it is.”

Caranthir wriggled into Maedhros’ lap, looking with interest at the heavy book his elder brother had been poring over. “Will you read to me?”

“You wouldn’t like me to read to you from this book, it’s terribly dull. I’m just reading it because I need to study.”

“But if it’s dull I’ll fall asleep right away, won’t I? I always fall asleep when Father starts talking to me about jewelry.”

Maedhros chuckled. “Very well, it’s worth a try.” He cleared his throat and began to read, in the driest and flattest voice he could. “The differences in the culture between the Noldor and Teleri are quite apparent in the different styles of their architecture, the buildings of Alqualondë being constructed in a style that…”

A high-pitched snore interrupted him—apparently the subject of architecture was so dull Caranthir was unable to stay awake for more than a single sentence. With a smile, Maedhros blew out the candle.

 

Celegorm rarely came into Maedhros’ room after dark—the third brother spent so much of his days running about like a wild animal that when dusk came he would simply fall into his own bed and be out like a candle flame within seconds. Mornings, however, were an entirely different matter.

“Maitimo, wake up! It’s morning!”

Maedhros sat up, noting with a frown that the first rays of golden light had barely started to make their way through the window. “You call this morning?”

“If we can see Laurelin’s light, it’s morning. That’s science, Father says,” Celegorm said smugly, bouncing on the end of Maedhros’ bed. “And you promised you would take me to the creek this morning to go fishing. I’m going to catch an enormous fish.”

“Five more minutes,” Maedhros begged, pulling his pillow over his face. A mere second later, the pillow was ripped from his hands and thrown across the room.

“ No more minutes. Up! Mother says it’s healthy to get fresh air in the morning!”

“And what do you propose to do about breakfast? I’m not setting foot outside this house at this hour without some breakfast inside me, it would be absolutely uncivilized.”

“I packed us a picnic basket. We can eat at the creek.”

“Is it proper food, or is it just week-old cakes and a half-empty bottle of raspberry cordial ike last time?”

“It’s a full bottle of raspberry cordial this time, and Mother baked scones last night and said we could have some! Please get up, or all the fish will have swum away!”

“They’re not going to swim away just because we waited an hour, Tyelko,” Maedhros scolded. But, with a yawn, he swung his feet onto the floor and ran a hand through his hair. “All right, fetch the picnic basket and we’ll go.”

Celegorm whooped with delight and leapt off the bed, crashing in a heap at Maedhros’ feet before hopping up again, seemingly unharmed. “Brilliant. Last one out the door is a rotten egg!”

 

Curufin, so he claimed, was far too old at eighteen to be taking naps, and so Maedhros was rather surprised to find his little brother sprawled on Maedhros’ bed in the middle of the afternoon. On closer inspection, though, the small boy didn’t appear to be sleeping.

“Is there any particular reason you’re lying about in my bed at the moment, or did you simply forget that this is my bedroom?”

Curufin lifted his face, revealing tired and red-rimmed eyes. “Go away.”

“That’s simply not an option, Curvo. As I have just said, this is my room. Now tell me what’s wrong.”

“Fine,” Curufin huffed, sitting up and running his hands through his hair, making it stick out at all angles. “I miss Father.”

“What do you mean, you miss Father? He’s just at the healer’s with Mother, he’ll be back any minute.”

“I know that, but now that Mother is so close to having the new baby he hasn’t got any time for me anymore. He cuts my lessons short so he can go to the healers with her and he never has time to answer any of my questions.”

Maedhros considered giving his brother a lecture on selfishness and the difficulties of bringing new children into the world, but decided against it. Of all five of them, Curufin was closest to their father, and he could understand all too well how it felt to not be the baby anymore.

“You know,” he said, sitting down on the bed, “I felt almost exactly how you feel when Makalaurë was born. Of course, I was only ten then, so I was much less mature than you are. But I was convinced that now there was a new baby around, Mother and Father wouldn’t have any use for me anymore. And they were very focused on the new baby when he came along, because he was small and helpless and constantly screaming at the top of his lungs. But when he got a little older and began following me around everywhere, I realized I loved him very much, just as I love every single one of you, and just as you are going to love our new baby brother or sister. And Father’s going to be incredibly proud of you for being such a good big brother.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

When their parents returned from the healers later that day and informed the other children that their new baby sibling would, in fact, be two new siblings, Curufin was delighted. “After all,” he said, “now I can make Father twice as proud.”

 

The lore exams for which Maedhros had been studying for the past five years were finally finished, and he was so exhausted he felt he might pass out in the middle of the street. Upon arriving home, though it was barely the Mingling of the Lights, he choked down a piece of stale bread and collapsed into bed, asleep within seconds.

He woke some hours later to find himself being pinned down by two small ginger-haired lumps, one straddling his chest while the other sat on his ankles.

“What are you imps doing in my bed?”

“This isn’t your bed, Nelyo,” Amras giggled, bouncing up and down on Maedhros’ feet. “It’s Mother and Father’s bed!”

“No it isn’t…” Maedhros glanced around the elegantly decorated master bedroom, realization dawning. “Oh, drat. It is. I must have fallen asleep here by accident, I was so tired. Where did Mother and Father sleep?”

“In your room,” Fëanor drawled from the doorway, where he stood with Nerdanel, an indulgent smile on his face. “Only fair, isn’t it?”

“You could have woken me, I would have been happy to move!”

“But you needed your rest, our clever scholar,” Nerdanel said soothingly. “And you did look so peaceful.”

“Well, I was peaceful, until these two little rascals decided to come crush the air out of me.”

“Oh, I told them to come in here,” Fëanor said. “I though I deserved some revenge after being forced to sleep in that horribly messy room of yours all night.”

“And an excellent revenge it was. May I…”

“No, no, you’re not going anywhere. Boys?”

Before Maedhros could shield himself, his other four brothers threw themselves onto the bed, knocking the air out of his lungs and, he was almost certain, cracking at least one of his bones. He groaned, desperately trying to restrain Curufin from tickling him under his arm. “I have spent the last two days working harder than I’ve ever worked in my life, and I am still not going to get a moment of peace today, am I.”

“Not a bit,” said Maglor, kissing him on the cheek. “Should have thought of that before you became the eldest.”