After Fëanáro left, the boys waited patiently, sure that he would emerge soon and invite them into the bedchamber to greet the newest member of the family.

"Do you think the baby is here right now?" Carnistir asked.

"Of course," Tyelkormo said, with an air of finality. "The midwife would not call Father unless the baby had arrived. I am sure Father is sitting with Mother right now greeting the baby and trying to think of a name for him."

"Or her," Macalaurë put in.

"Him," Tyelkormo said. "The baby is a boy, and Father is thinking of his name right now. Something-finwë, like always."

"Perhaps that is why he has not come out yet," Macalaurë laughed. "Perhaps the baby is a girl, and Father is trying to think of a name that does not end with -finwë."

"That would be difficult for him. Perhaps he is trying to think of a girl's name that does end with -finwë."

"I know!" Curufinwë cried. "How about Vénefinwë?"

Carnistir laughed. "You are a silly boy, Curufinwë."

"I do not know about that," Macalaurë said. "If it is a girl, I wager that Father will be so shocked that 'Girl-Finwë' would be all he could manage. Although he might make it Inyafinwë instead. 'Female-Finwë' sounds better."

Tyelkormo sniffed. "It does not matter whether it is Vénefinwë or Inyafinwë. The baby is a boy."

"Oh, be quiet, all of you," Maitimo grumbled. "I do not care whether it is a boy or a girl. I just want to know that it is born and that everyone is safe."

The boys were silent for a moment after that. Carnistir wrinkled his forehead worriedly. "Maitimo?" he said, "what if Mother died? Would Father still love us?"

"I do not think that would matter," Maitimo said. "Father loves Mother so much that, if she died, he might die as well."

Carnistir looked horrified. "You are lying, Matimo! Father could not die! There would be no one to take care of us."

"We could go live with Uncle Nolofinwë or Uncle Arafinwë," Tyelkormo suggested.

"But they already have children," Carnistir said. "They would not want us."

"I am sure they would not mind. They like children."

"But there are five of us," Macalaurë objected. "They might not wish to be saddled with five extra mouths to feed. We might be split up between them."

"I do not want to be split up!" Curufinwë wailed. "I want to stay with you, Maca!"

"Enough!" Maitimo cried, his voice shaking. "I do not want to hear any more discussion about this. Mother will not die, and neither will Father. You must believe that. You must!"

Maitimo’s outburst silenced his brothers. They looked at each other doubt and worry clouding their faces. After a moment, Macalaurë approached Maitimo. "I am sorry," he said. "I know you are upset."

"Why has he not come out, Macalaurë? Why has Father not come out to see us?"

Macalaurë placed a gentle hand on Maitimo’s shoulder but Maitimo shrugged it off and balled his hands into fists. "I cannot stand this waiting any longer," he said. "I am going into Mother’s room to see what has happened." He set his jaw and rose from the floor where he had been sitting.

Carnistir stared at Maitimo, astonished. "You cannot go in," he said. "Father will be so angry at you."

"I do not care whether Father will be angry or not," Maitimo said. "I will see what has happened to Mother."

"Perhaps Father will not be so angry at Maitimo," Curufinwë suggested. "He is the oldest."

Maitimo squared his shoulders and marched down the corridor. When he reached the door to the bedchamber at the end, he took a deep breath and reached out his hand. Before he could touch the door, however, it flew open, and suddenly Fëanáro was looking at him. Maitimo started, then turned red. "Father," he choked out. "I am sorry. I did not mean — I only wanted to -- I was frightened," he finished in a small voice.

"Oh, Maitimo," Fëanáro said, his voice thick. He put an arm around his son’s shoulders. "I am sorry to have kept you waiting for so long. Come with me to your brothers. This is something you should all hear." He steered Maitimo back down the corridor to the drawing room. The younger brothers all scrambled to their feet at their approach.

Fëanáro sat down heavily in his chair, and his children swarmed around him.

"Is the baby here?"

"Is it a girl?"

"Is Mother all right?"

Fëanáro glanced from one to another and did not answer immediately. Curufinwë took in Fëanáro’s stunned expression and began to cry. "Mother is dead," he wailed. "Mother is dead, and now Father will die, too, and we will have to live with Uncle Nolofinwë and Uncle Arafinwë, and they will not want us, and I will never see Macalaurë again!"

Curufinwë’s cries seemed to rouse Fëanáro from his shock. He shook himself and lifted Curufinwë onto his lap. "Hush, little one," he said. "Do not worry, any of you. Your mother is very tired now, but she is alive, and she will stay that way. She will not die, and neither will I. We will not abandon you."

"But what has happened?" Maitimo asked. "Has the baby come? Does it live as well?"

Fëanáro blinked, and the ghost of a smile flitted across his face. "Yes," he said. "It — they. . . something extraordinary has happened. Your mother has given birth to twins."

The older brothers stared at each other. Macalaurë was the first to find his voice. "Twins?" he said. "Two babies? That was why Mother was so big? There were two babies inside her?"

Fëanáro nodded. "Yes. Twins. Two of the tiniest little boys you have ever seen. They were so small that I feared they would break, but they opened their mouths and began to cry. It was the loveliest thing I have ever heard." He smiled broadly, and finally seemed to relax. "Come inside," he said. "Your mother is resting quietly now. Come in, all of you, and meet your little brothers."

Nerdanel looked up as her older children filed quietly into the bedchamber. She blinked, and then a slow, exhausted smile lit up her face. The boys huddled together in a corner, smiling uncertainly back at her.

"Come closer," Nerdanel said. "It is all right. I will not break, and neither will these two." She glanced down at the two little bundles nestled in her arms. Hearing her voice, one twin opened his eyes and squinted vaguely at his mother and his brother.

Curufinwë was the first to rouse himself. He grasped Macalaurë's hand and pulled. "Come on," he said. "I want to see." Macalaurë and Curufinwë approached the high bed, and Macalaurë lifted Curufinwë up so that he could see his little brothers.

"Oooh," Curufinwë breathed. "Look, Maca. They are so little."

At that, the other three stirred and went to their mother, crowding around the bed. Maitimo reached out and stroked one finger down the soft cheek of the sleeping twin, then offered it to the other. The baby grasped his finger and held tightly. Maitimo smiled broadly, even as a few stray tears slid down his face.

"They are really here," he said. "And there are really two of them."

"They look like you," Tyelkormo said. "They have funny little tufts of bright red hair."

Maitimo snorted. "My hair is not a funny tuft."

"But it is red."

"Yes, it is," Nerdanel said. "Maitimo's hair is red just like mine. And these two will also remain ginger."

Tyelkormo wrinkled his nose. "What do you mean, they will 'remain ginger,' Mother?"

"I mean just what I said," Nerdanel replied. "After seven children, I should know when a child will remain ginger and when he will not. Each and every one of you had a little patch of red hair when you were born. And you all darkened except for Maitimo. These two look so much like Maitimo looked when he was born that I think they will stay ginger, just as he did."

Tyelkormo's eyes went round, and he clapped his hand to his mouth to stifle a squeak of surprise. "I used to have red hair?" he asked.

Maitimo laughed out loud at him. "You did. I remember it well. You had a funny little tuft of red hair just like these two."

"How will we tell them apart?" Carnistir asked. Fëanáro stepped in and pulled back the blanket on the sleeping baby to reveal a green silk ribbon tied loosely around one ankle.

"This was originally one of your mother's hair ribbons," he said. "But when the second baby arrived, I bestowed it upon this one. I will have to make something more permanent, perhaps in silver, but this will do for now."

"So that is the first of the twins to be born," Macalaurë said. "Do they have names yet?"

Nerdanel and Fëanáro exchanged a glance. Fëanáro's mouth quirked into a wry smile. "Part of the reason that I did not come to fetch you directly was that your mother and I were debating that very question. She has not yet decided upon her names for the twins, but I have. The older one, the one with the ribbon, is Pityafinwë, for I had never seen a child so small before in my life."

"It is a good thing that they are small," Carnistir said. "Otherwise, Mother really would have burst."

Fëanáro ruffled Carnistir's hair. "It is good that they are small," he agreed. "I have called the second twin, the one who has currently claimed Maitimo as his own, Telufinwë."

Maitimo nodded gravely. "He is the last, then."

"He is," Fëanáro said. "After I witnessed his birth and saw your mother in the full throes of her extremity. . . I cannot in good conscience sire any more children and inflict such agony upon her again. These two are the last members of the family. Your mother and I have agreed on this. I have seven fine sons, and I will be content with that."

"Seven is plenty," Nerdanel said. "We will certainly not lack for work in this house, now that we have two babies at once. You will all have to help care for your little brothers."

"Oh, we will," Macalaurë said.

Curufinwë wriggled in his arms. "Me, too?" he asked. "Am I old enough to take care of them, too?"

"Of course you are," Nerdanel said. "You are their big brother as well. You will play with them and keep them amused, and they will love you dearly for it when they are older."

Curufinwë beamed with delight. "I will like being a big brother," he said.

Fëanáro laughed. "Yes, I imagine that you will. Now, all of you, there is still a little of Laurelin's light left. Go outside and play. You have spent far too long cooped inside in fear and worry. Your mother and the twins are alive and well, and they will remain so, but they are also weary and must rest. Go and play, for you will have the rest of your lives to enjoy the twins."

One by one, the boys leaned in to kiss their mother and pet the babies, and then they left the room. Fëanáro and Nerdanel watched them go. Then Fëanáro climbed on the bed and lay beside Nerdanel, taking Telufinwë in his arms.

"This is an unexpected pleasure," he said. "We may each hold a child now. And when we wish, we will simply trade babies."

Nerdanel looked from Pityafinwë to Telufinwë and frowned. "It is still difficult for me to believe that there are two of them. I gave birth to them, and I felt two babies come forth from my body, yet I cannot quite grasp that they are two."

"They are two," Fëanáro said. "I am holding one, and you are holding the other. They are two separate people, Nerdanel. You must give them each a name."

"I cannot think of more than one," Nerdanel replied. "With all of the others, I could look at them, and I knew precisely what name would fit who they were or might become. With these two, it is different. I look from one to the other, and I can think of no other name than Ambarussa. The name fits both of them equally."

"But they are two people."

"Are they?" Nerdanel turned a troubled look on Fëanáro. "Are they really two people? There are two bodies, but what does that mean?"

Fëanáro glanced at Telufinwë, who stared back sleepily. "I do not understand. How could they possibly not be two people? Telufinwë is awake. Pityafinwë is asleep. Is that not enough proof? One person cannot be awake and asleep at the same time."

"It is not that." Nerdanel looked away and pressed her lips into a thin line. When she spoke again, her voice shook a little. "I have known each of the children who grew inside me. I cannot describe what I knew about them, but I knew them. I felt who they were, I felt that there was another, separate fëa residing within my body. But this time. . ." her voice trailed off.

"Could you not feel them?"

"I felt only one fëa," Nerdanel said. "All this time, as I grew rounder and rounder, I only felt one fëa growing inside. And yet there are two little bodies. I know both of these things to be true, Fëanáro, yet I cannot reconcile them."

"Oh." Fëanáro frowned, worried that he did not have an immediate answer to his wife's distress. Nerdanel shuddered, and clasped Pityafinwë closer to her. Pityafinwë's mouth opened and shut, and his hands grasped at the air, but he did not wake. In Fëanáro's arms, Telufinwë had gone limp, and Fëanáro saw that his youngest son had followed his brother into the realm of dreams.

Fëanáro eased Telufinwë into the crook of Nerdanel's free arm and slid off the bed. He located the old cradle that had been his and that each of his children had used in their turn, and set it by the big bed, on Nerdanel's side. Then he reached over and carefully laid first Pityafinwë and then Telufinwë into the cradle. The twins were so small that they fitted easily enough into the single cradle. Telufinwë flailed one little arm until he located Pityafinwë. He snuggled close to his brother, and then both babies lay still and quiet.

Nerdanel leaned over the edge of the bed, and she and Fëanáro contemplated their newest children for a few moments.

"I am glad you thought to use the ribbon," Nerdanel said. "They look so much alike."

"They do." Suddenly, an idea came into Fëanáro's head. "Perhaps that is why you only perceived one fëa, Nerdanel. If their bodies are so much alike that we cannot tell one from the other without a bit of ribbon, why should their fëar be so different? You only perceived one fëa because they are so much alike, and it never occurred to you -- to either of us -- that there might be two."

"I suppose," Nerdanel said, though her tone betrayed her skepticism.

"No, I am right, I am certain of it." Fëanáro's eyes lit up as they did when he was on the verge of an inspiration. "Look, imagine the jewels that I have been crafting in the forge. The red and blue stones that I am fashioning in the image of rubies and sapphires."

"I know the stones."

"Good." Fëanáro climbed up on the bed and knelt facing Nerdanel, looking seriously into her eyes as if she were a pupil he was instructing. "Now imagine that I have succeeded. Imagine that I have made gems so perfect in form, color, and brilliance that they are indistinguishable from the rubies and sapphires mined from the ground."

Nerdanel's mouth twitched. "No," she said. "There is always a flaw. There is always something -- perhaps not a flaw, exactly, perhaps merely the lack of a certain luster. In any event, there is always something to distinguish between the gems that we find and the gems that you create."

"You see?" Fëanáro said. "You cannot imagine it. You cannot imagine it because you have never seen such a jewel. I have not created it yet, and so you cannot imagine what it will look like. It is the same with the twins. You could not imagine that there were two of them, so you could not recognize the two fëar within you."

"Perhaps." Nerdanel frowned. "It seems logical on the face of it, and I suppose I should accept it. But it does not feel like enough, somehow. There is something different, something special about the way I knew my children before they were born. It has nothing to do with the realm of logic and art. I cannot think of the twins as being two. Perhaps later, I will be able to do so. Until then, I will give them no other name but Ambarussa."

Fëanáro snorted. "And if we need to call them?"

"You have given them each a separate name. Pityafinwë and Telufinwë are perfectly good names, and we will use those. Curufinwë need not be the only child to use his father-name for everyday." Nerdanel sighed, and sank down into the bedclothes. "I do not wish to think about this issue any more. I have just given birth twice, and I am weary. I wish to go to sleep now."

"Do that. I will settle the midwives' fee and summon escorts to take them home, and then I will stay near this chamber. Should you have need of anything, you need only call for me." Fëanáro pulled the covers up over Nerdanel's shoulders and kissed her softly on the mouth. Then he drew the curtains closed and left the room. Nerdanel turned onto her side and listened to the twins breathe. After a while, she followed them into the land of dreams.