#the white looks very handsome on curvo

[elesianne]

A Silmarillion fanfic, chapter twenty-two

Chapter summary: After their private celebration is over, it is time to return to the their families. Carnistir carves a promise in metal, and a feast is held in Tirion.

Rating: Teen and up audiences; Chapter length: ~5,900 words

Chapter notes: As I’ve been lamenting here on Tumblr, I tried to rein in my verbose tendencies but failed so there are still two chapters after this very long one. These are the bits that would be cut out of any respectable published romance novel, or summed up in a four-page epilogue, but I like exploring happy endings in more detail. (Not that this is a 'happily ever after' for Caranthir and Tuilë because as we know, Melkor and Fëanor between them will ruin everything eventually, but a... 'happily for a little while', maybe?).

As before, many details of Valinorean betrothals are from Laws and Customs among the Eldar (HoME 10), and some I made up.

(Read on AO3)

*

Chapter XXII // Love carved into silver

They stay in their own private world of loving words and soft touches and happy plans for the future until the morning. When the light turns golden, they pack the remaining food and the wrinkled blanket into Varnë's saddlebags and say goodbye to the little meadow.

Just before they leave, Tuilindien takes off her circlet and veil. 'The high feast is over', she says. 'And I think I would like to keep the circlet a secret until the betrothal feast. If it is a surprise, it will be even more greatly admired.'

He cannot deny being pleased by this consideration of Tuilindien's. 'Very well, then.' He deposits veil and circlet both carefully inside a saddlebag, and takes an indulgent moment to comb through Tuilindien's long, long curls with the fingers of his free hand, fluffing it where the veil had flattened it, setting it to flow nicely down her back.

It always does, though. It is always beautiful. Carnistir would like nothing better to stay here and run his fingers through it.

He would like that even more than usual. He is feeling a little tense because very soon he and Tuilindien will have to talk with their families about what they got up to while they were gone. He is not certain how they will react to the betrothal. He doesn't even know whether he worries more about his own family or Tuilindien's.

At least he won't have to face it alone. He gathers calm inside himself as they ride up the mountain, Tuilindien warm and relaxed in front of him on the back of Varnë who is eager to run and tries to climb the paths too fast.

Carnistir's worries turn out to have been in vain, for they find their mothers merrily having breakfast together.

Ambarussar are there too, apparently in the process of becoming acquainted with Cirincë with the help of a shared passion for fruit tarts. Lirulinë and her tall, handsome husband  lounge nearby, leaning against each other, the very picture of marital happiness.

Carnistir cringes as he remembers once being jealous of Tuilindien dancing with her brother-in-law.

Now he is confused by it all, and Tuilindien appears to be too.

'Lady Nerdanel, mother', she greets their mothers. 'We came looking for both of you but I must admit we did not expect to find both in the same place.'

Their mothers exchange glances and smiles.

'Well, my dears', says Tuilindien's mother who, for all that she is slender and holds flowers in her hair and her toddler in her lap, appears a formidable person to Carnistir. 'When the two of you disappeared from the celebration so promptly after your reunion, Nerdanel sought me out and told me of it.'

'I told her not to expect you back any time soon.' Nerdanel's smile is gentle but her eyes hold a sparkle of amusement. 'We decided to spend the time of the festival getting acquainted, as we anticipated that we would have reason to do so soon anyway.'

Her eyes are fixed on Carnistir's right hand and he realises that he forgot to take off the engagement ring. He isn't supposed to start wearing it until he has given Tuilindien her ring, too, in the official betrothal ceremony where they are to announce their intention to marry to their families.

That announcement seems to have been made already. Their mothers certainly know, as does Lirulinë who is getting up, practically grinning, and oh, now the twins have begun to wonder why everyone is staring at his hand and are coming to investigate.

He does not enjoy the fussing though it is less irritating than he'd thought it would be, and he is certain he is as red as a tomato while their family members congratulate them and exclaim over his ring, and the twins want to tell them how long they were allowed to stay up dancing last night…

But it is not so bad when he has Tuilindien at his side, and they have already thought up answers for their questions.

Yes, the betrothal feast is to be soon, in Tirion, in the palace if grandfather Finwë will host –

'Of course he will', Nerdanel says, 'he will be delighted –'

And they will be betrothed for a year and a half before they marry, with the wedding to be in early spring –

'So that I can build our house to a liveable condition at least, though there will no doubt still be rooms to finish –'

This raises both questions about the house from Tuilindien's mother, and a grateful look from Lirulinë. She is in truth the main reason why Carnistir agreed to a longer engagement. He had wanted only a year, but Tuilindien asked for more.

'Lirulinë is with child', she'd told him. 'It is still early so she hasn't told anyone but family, keeping it a private joy for now. It is her first child. I want to be able to support her during her pregnancy, and to be there to meet her child when they are born. And of course I want her to be recovered from the birth and the baby old enough to travel in a carriage by the time of our wedding. I could not imagine celebrating my marriage without her there, Carnistir.'

What could he do but agree? He could not imagine a betrothal feast without any of his brothers, not even Curufinwë.

Who apparently is 'resting' somewhere, having overindulged himself earlier. Carnistir hopes he will not have to ride home alongside him. Curvo always is at his most grumpily sarcastic when he has drank too much wine.

No one appears to know where Tyelko is. They all agree that he will be found when he wants to be.

As the congratulations and admirations wind down, Carnistir and Tuilindien sit down to eat what has been left untouched by the twins and Cirincë's sticky little fingers. A while later Maitimo and Findekáno wander in and join them after introductions and congratulations.

'You should try to get used to the fussing', Tuilindien whispers to him. 'There will likely be much of it around our engagement and then wedding.'

'I will tolerate it', Carnistir whispers back. Maitimo and Findekáno were very nice, though Carnistir still doesn't understand the reason for and certainly doesn't approve of Findekáno's habit of patting his back repeatedly and so hard it's almost violent every time Carnistir has some good news.

He may not be able to be gracious about it all the time, but Carnistir knows he will be able to cope with the excessive fuss. He has had practice in his grandfather's court, and the stronger than ever connection that he has to Tuilindien and her calmer happiness helps him calm down.

He doesn't even mind that his father is not there. He rarely comes to the mountain where dwell both his father's wife's family and the Vala who made the remarriage possible. By helping Carnistir with the circlet, his crowning courting-gift, Fëanáro had given his implicit blessing to their union, and that is enough.

It is all more than enough for him.

*

Tuilindien and her mother invite Carnistir and his family to come stay at their house. Nerdanel accepts the invitation for herself and her eldest and youngest sons, expressing her regrets that they can only stay for one night.

So they ride down the mountain together again, though this time both are on their own horses. Fortunately Varnerocco and Mirwannë still get along, and Tuilindien and Carnistir are able to ride closely side by side and talk.

They talk with Makalaurë and Tinweriel, too. They share the journey halfway down the mountain. They are delighted for Carnistir and Tuilindien's betrothal, and promise to write a song for the feast.

As soon as they arrive to the small town around Ingwë's palace that is Tuilindien's home, Carnistir  begins carefully taking note of everything he sees: the architecture, the gardens, the statues and other decorations outside the houses.

A small white cat that must be Tuilindien's Snowdrop pads to the door to meet them as soon as they arrive, coming to rub against Tuilindien's leg and wrapping her tail around it. Tuilindien picks her up. The cat tries to rub her face on Tuilindien's, and it makes it a little hard for Tuilindien to introduce her to Carnistir.

'My darling', she says with feigned solemnity, 'this is an important member of my family you haven't met. Meet Snowdrop.'

'She seems very affectionate. She must have missed you.' Carnistir puts his hand out for Snowdrop to sniff. She does, rather desultorily, before returning to rubbing herself on Tuilindien.

'I was gone for a day and a half. Silly little cat.' Tuilindien pets her anyway, looking around. 'I see that my mother is taking good care your family. Will you come look around the house with me? And Snowdrop. She seems to want to be part of whatever we do.'

Carnistir takes her hand and she takes him on a thorough tour of her home and the small private gardens behind it. 'For you want to see it all, don't you? I have noticed you are very curious about my home.'

'For the sake of our house. Like I said, I want to build it so that you feel at home there.'

Tuilindien's lips curving into a smile makes him feel warm as always.

*

Parting the next day is not easy, but the knowledge of their betrothal feast and thus their reunion being soon makes it easier. It is to be in two weeks' time, and Tuilindien and her family will travel to Tirion a week before for preparations.

The goodbyes are made more difficult by Maitimo standing there grinning at them as he holds the reins of Varnë as well as his own horse.

Carnistir kisses Tuilindien and runs his hand through her hair one more time anyway.

He wants to get to work on his and Tuilindien's rings as soon as he gets home, but of course there are more reunions with family members to be had and congratulations to be endured in Tirion.

Above all, there is his father to tell.

'Would you like me to come with you?' his mother asks when they arrive at his parents' house and are told by the servants that Fëanáro is in his study.

'This is my matter to take care of', Carnistir tells his mother. 'Until the end.'

'You make it sound unnecessarily ominous, dear.' Nerdanel smiles broadly as she pats him on the arm for good luck.

She turns out to be right.

'Did she like the circlet?' his father asks as soon as Carnistir steps into his study.

'She did', Carnistir replies, feeling a little off balance because of this abrupt beginning to their conversation.

'As she should. It is an excellent piece of work, even if you needed my help for the unusually demanding feature you wanted to include.' Fëanáro closes the notebook he'd been writing in and lays down his quill, and looks up at Carnistir.

Carnistir doesn't thank him for the half-compliment. Instead he takes out the ring from his pocket. 'Father, I am here to tell you that during the harvest festival Tuilindien proposed marriage to me and I accepted. She gave me this ring as its mark. We have chosen to have our betrothal feast in two weeks' time. Before we departed from the festival, I asked grandfather to host the feast in the palace and he says that he is happy to do so.'

Fëanáro is quiet for a long moment during which it feels like all of Carnistir's body parts itch in turn.

'You have all the arrangements well in hand, then.' Fëanáro stands up and comes to stand in front of Carnistir. He looks at the ring. 'It is not much, but it is at least in your style.'

Carnistir tries to not let his hand – the right hand with the ring – clench into a fist. 'She knows me well', he says. And then he has to ask, to make sure – 'Father, will you be there for us at our betrothal feast, and will you grant us your blessings when we are wedded a year and half from now?'

'I will', Fëanáro replies. His reply feels remarkably simple and straightforward given everything that he has said before.

His next words feel to Carnistir more in keeping with his character.

'A year and a half?' Fëanáro asks. 'I would not have thought that you'd want an engagement any longer than the year which is traditional. Did your – did Ingolmiel insist?'

Carnistir lists the Sarati signs in his head for a few seconds, just in case. 'I think you can call her Tuilindien now, father, since she is to be family. And she suggested it, because of some… family circumstances of hers, but I think it a good idea as well.'

'Because of the house?' At Carnistir's surprised expression, Fëanáro rolls his eyes. 'Did you really think that I wouldn't find out that you've bought property? Even if you didn't tell anyone in your family about it.'

'I told grandfather.'

'Hmph. In any case, I truly hope that you intend to tear down that dilapidated house that stands there at the moment. If you don't, it was a terrible purchase.'

'It is hardly dilapidated. But I do intend to tear it down. I don't know who built it all those centuries ago, but it is neither practical or beautiful. I have been drawing plans for weeks now for a new house.'

'I hope that you will let me see them before you finalise them. I know that you earned your mastery in that area and are very adept at designing buildings that are, as you like to say, both   practical and beautiful, but in all likelihood I will still have some ideas for improvement.'

That is… Carnistir supposes that is the best he can expect from his father. He supposes it is Fëanáro's way of caring to offer to improve Carnistir's plans for his future family home.

'I will show them to you', he promises. He hesitates briefly before asking, 'Do you mind that the feast will be in the palace and not here, hosted by you?'

'Of course not. Canafinwë's was there as well, and it is only right that yours is too. You are a royal prince of the Noldor, Morifinwë, though you don't always act or dress like it.' Fëanáro slings his arm across Carnistir's shoulders. 'Curufinwë is in the workshop. Let us go tell him that you will need to work there too at some point so you can size down that Vanyarin ring of yours. It's half a size too big.'

'I know', Carnistir grumbles, but lets his father lead him out.

*

The next day Carnistir goes to Makalaurë for advice about the detail he wants to add to the engagement ring he will give to Tuilindien. Though Makalaurë estimated things wrong when he told Carnistir not to take his ring with him when he saw Tuilindien again, he has given him much more good advice than bad.

And the poet-musician of the family seems best suited for this, for Carnistir is wondering about words.

It is close to dinnertime when Carnistir manages to make his way to Makalaurë and Tinweriel's home, but fortunately Makalaurë is at home and at leisure to talk with him.

'I'm waiting for Tinwië to get finished with dressing and then we'll go to the neighbours for dinner. She'll likely take a while yet.' Makalaurë gestures for Carnistir to take a seat. He is perched on a windowsill himself, a habit he had in childhood and never grew out of.

'What brings you here to my humble abode so soon after returning to our home city? You haven't quarrelled with father again already, have you? No, you are not nearly red enough in the face for it.'

There are many things Carnistir could say in reply to that, several of them less than polite. Makalaurë's eyes twinkle in good humour, though, and the happiness and contentment that filled Carnistir when he was with Tuilindien haven't left him yet.

'I told father of the betrothal and it went well', he says. 'Or what passes for 'well' with him regarding Tuilë.'

'I am very happy to hear that.' Makalaurë adjusts the pearl-studded sleeves of his silver coat. 'Why is it that you came to me, then?'

'Tuilindien's ring', Carnistir begins. 'I did not engrave anything inside it originally. I didn't even think of doing so. I made it in more hurry than I should have.'

Makalaurë nods. 'Because you bought that house and have been contracting workers and tradesmen for the demolition and rebuilding.'

Carnistir throws up his hands. 'Does everyone know about that? I only told grandfather! Did he tell you?'

'No, and he never would if you told him in confidence. But people talk in this city, Carnistir, and most of all they speak of us, the royal family.'

Carnistir tugs at his hair, takes a few breaths and lets it go. 'About the ring. I've come to feel that I should engrave some words – some message to Tuilindien – inside it after all. You did that for Tinweriel's rings and she for yours.'

As Carnistir mentions that, he sees Makalaurë unconsciously touch the golden band on his right forefinger. Carnistir wonders what Tinweriel's words are but doesn't ask. He has a feeling that Makalaurë would rather keep them private. He only knows that Makalaurë engraved the rings he made for his bride because Fëanáro made a teaching moment of it for Carnistir, who was beginning his apprenticeship in fine metalwork at the time. With all the songs in my soul, Makalaurë had chiselled inside the silver band, and into the gold, I am yours.

'Tuilindien gave me a ring already, and there is no engraving in it. Do you think I should carve something into hers anyway?' Carnistir frowns, trying to think of words he would want Tuilindien to carry with her always. No mention of song will do for him.

Makalaurë shrugs, affecting nonchalance, but Carnistir thinks that Makalaurë would like his younger brother to follow his example and make it into a tradition.

'If the right words come to you', Makalaurë says.

'How do I know what are the right words?'

'You will know', answers Makalaurë unhelpfully.

'You are so incredibly annoyingly cryptic sometimes.' It isn't the first time Carnistir has said that. 'How does Tinweriel tolerate it?'

'Oh, you know the answer to that now. Why else did your gentle Vanya agree to marry you, a hot-headed Noldo? The inexplicable and immeasurable power of love.' Makalaurë jumps down from the windowsill, quick and graceful as a cat. 'Believe me, Moryo, you will know it if you find the right words.'

He comes to embrace Carnistir. 'Tinweriel and I are very happy for you. You worked hard for your chance at happiness and it paid off. Now if you only have patience with the formalities, they will soon be over and then you get to truly begin your new life with your beloved.'

'Thank you, Cáno', is all Carnistir can say to that.

*

It takes so long for the right words to come to Carnistir that the betrothal feast is only a few days away. He practises writing the words – both the ones for the engagement ring, and for the golden wedding ring he will make as soon as he has time – on parchment until he is satisfied with how the bold yet flowing tengwar look. He takes the parchment with him to the workshop to try to replicate the script in metal.

He must admit that Makalaurë was once again right. For he knew for certain, as soon as he thought of them, that these are the right words from him to Tuilindien.

With barely steady hands, channelling all his love for her, he engraves into the silver With all the fire in my spirit.

Into the gold, to be worn forever, he will write I give myself to you. Together they form the message he wants Tuilindien to feel against her skin and in her spirit.

Against his better judgement he has allowed the Ambarussar to come in the forge with him like he had come, years ago, with Makalaurë. As he gently sets the finished silver ring on a tall wooden table beside his practice parchment, the twins come to look at his work. They are just tall enough to see the tiny letters on the inside of the silver band.

'We're sure that she will like the writing very much', Pityo solemnly tells his Carnistir after the twins have conferred for a moment in that silent way of theirs.

Telvo frowns as if lost in thought of things mysterious. 'I don't understand it, but it's very beautiful, I think.'

Carnistir ruffles Telvo's hair, and then his twin's, and then he asks them to leave. For once they obey without question. Perhaps they can sense that his heart is full, so full that when they are gone he simply sits and looks at the rings he has made, feeling amidst his fire a song. It is a wild, sweet, rushing tune without words, and it makes him understand all the love songs Makalaurë has sung over the years.

*

Tuilindien rides to Tirion with very different feelings and expectations than last time, though the cause of the apprehension in her heart is similar: a small doubt that she may not be accepted among the Noldor, and might come to miss her home.

Indis does much to relieve that fear. Tuilindien and her family are invited to stay at the palace as Finwë and Indis' guests until the feast and on their first day in Tirion, the queen invites Tuilindien for a private audience.

There are more Vanyar living there than Tuilindien had known, Indis tells her, and assures her that they are always prepared to make more of their kind feel welcome.

The rest of the week that Tuilindien spends in Tirion before their betrothal feast passes in a blur of preparations as well as meeting scores of new people, for almost everyone in Carnistir's family seems to be intent on her making as many new acquaintances and friends among the Noldor as possible.

Tuilindien is grateful while also feeling a little overwhelmed. When she lays down in her bed at night, the world keeps spinning around her in a swirl of colourful clothes and new voices.

On the morning of the feast her nervousness is eased by the cheerful presence of her sisters. Lirulinë brushes and braids Tuilindien's hair, and Cirincë flits around doing small tasks and filling the room with eager chattering.

Cirincë had been sad when she realised that Tuilindien will be moving away, but fortunately she  is the kind of child who is able to decide to make the most of the time that is left. It also helps that she is a little idealist who finds Tuilindien's romance with a Noldorin prince highly romantic.

Now she listens and watches intently as Lirulinë braids Tuilindien's hip-length hair into many braids and makes a crown of them. It is one of Tuilindien's favourite hairstyles. On this special day, Lirulinë makes it much more splendid than usual by carefully placing the glowing circlet of metal flowers among the braids.

'Tuilë!' Cirincë runs to her and apparently cannot help but touch the circlet. Tuilindien is careful to stay still to avoid spoiling Lirulinë's hard work. 'It is even prettier than the other jewellery Carnistir made you. It glows, and it is warm. How does it do that?'

Tuilindien smiles. 'You will have to ask Carnistir, sweetheart.'

*

In the end the betrothal feast passes in a blur that Tuilindien hopes will be clearer in memory when she dreams of it later. At first she is anxious about all that could go wrong – of Fëanáro's reactions, of Cantiel choosing this day to become a fretful, loud child, of Carnistir's temper being sorely tried by all the socialising and formalities. She even fears that her pink dress and Carnistir's maroon robes will look terrible side by side.

None of that happens. It is clear that Fëanáro is not as happy about Tuilindien and Carnistir's forthcoming union as everyone else but he is courteous enough, if more tight-lipped and less interested in getting to know Tuilindien's family than his wife.

Tuilindien is too happy to care about that very much. Hand in hand with Carnistir, she stands in front of their gathered families in a large, beautiful room in the royal palace of the Noldor.

Carnistir is red-faced but he speaks the announcement of their intention to marry loudly and clearly, and his hands do not tremble when he slides his silver ring to Tuilindien's finger. She can only look at it for a second, just long enough to notice that its surface is covered in tiny engraved flowers and vines, before it is her turn to give Carnistir a ring.

'There is an engraving inside my band too', Carnistir whispers as she places, with much less steady hands, her plain ring on his right index finger. It fits perfectly now.

Tuilindien dearly wants to take off the ring on her finger to inspect it and see what is inside, but they are still in the middle of the betrothal ceremony.

So she squeezes his hand as she raises her eyes to his, gathering courage from the determination, passion and joy she sees there and feels in his spirit.

She turns to their families and formally tells them that they will celebrate their wedding when a year and a half have passed and winter is turning to spring.

She feels her lips curving to a smile as she speaks, and when the necessary words are said, she turns back to her beloved and embraces him.

She raises her head from his shoulder to find that they have become surrounded by family members, most of them beaming, all of them wanting to congratulate them and wish them happiness in their betrothal.

There is an extravagant meal next, all the best that the palace kitchen can provide. Some of the dishes are such works of art that Tuilindien can barely bring herself to eat them.

'That is the purpose they were created for', Carnistir reminds her. 'Make their purpose fulfilled, Tuilë, by enjoying them.'

She does.

After the meal there is musical and lyrical entertainment, directed by Makalaurë and his wife. Besides the two pieces that they perform together beautifully, she on the flute and he on the harp, there is also a song sung by blushing Ambarussar who do not quite succeed at not shuffling their feet awkwardly as they sing.

It is just as moving as Makalaurë and Tinweriel's masterful, romantic performance. Tuilindien applauds them loudly and goes to give them a warm embrace as they return to their seats.

'Thank you for a lovely performance', she tells them. 'Carnistir and I are very glad that you sung for us.'

'We're glad that you are marrying Carnistir', Telvo says, his face taking on a colour that even more closely resembles his flame-red hair.

The formal entertainment is concluded with Lirulinë reading a poem. It is not of her own creation, for as Tuilindien well knows Lirulinë is a terrible poet – but she is excellent at reciting poems, speaking the words clearly and with emotion and with her whole body.

The long poem is one Tuilindien has heard before at betrothal feasts among her own people. It discusses family ties and changes in them, changes that come like the changes of seasons, so that things that grow might grow right; it speaks of the sorrows and joys that joining with another elf to make a new family brings.

It is a Vanyarin poem, and Lirulinë pronounces its words in purest, most conservative Vanyarin. Complex consonant clusters trip off her tongue, Valarin-borrowed words that are more common in Vanyarin are included, some long final vowels that are now foreign to the Noldor echo in the room. Lirulinë smiles at Tuilindien as she speaks their language, eyes sparkling, though there is something a little sad behind the brightness.

Tuilindien is glad that a poem of her people in her language is included in the performances. She tells that to Lirulinë when they speak later when the entertainment is over and the families are mingling freely.

'I am glad that you liked it, sister.' Lirulinë smiles at Tuilindien, then turns to Carnistir who seems determined to stay close to his betrothed. 'How did you find it, brother-to-be?'

Tuilindien senses slight alarm from Carnistir and opens her mouth to help him – though she is not sure how – but Carnistir overcomes his panic quickly.

'I found it long', he replies, tempering that terse reply with, 'And a fitting choice for the occasion, and skilfully recited. I thank you for the performance.'

Lirulinë's eyes twinkle again. 'And Tuilindien told me that you do not know to speak prettily at social functions. I am glad that she appears to have been mistaken.'

Tuilindien cries out her sister's name. 'Lirulinë, please –'

Carnistir interrupts her, speaking to Lirulinë. 'She was not wrong. I am untalented in the niceties of social situations, though I have practised and made some progress in recent years. I would still rather speak directly of things that matter.'

'Very well, I can understand that.' One hand resting on her stomach, Lirulinë smirks as she asks, 'I shall ask you, then, why have you not shown Tuilindien the piece of land where you intend to build your home?'

Tuilindien would like to chastise her sister again, but she can see that Carnistir is match for Lirulinë in this direct discussion. He is not even incensed. She feels from him amusement more than anything else.

'I am bringing Tuilindien there tomorrow', he replies. 'The site has not been in a state fit for visiting. My workers began demolition of the old house there four days ago. By tomorrow the work will be at a phase where it is safe to walk around.'

'I see. Very good.' Lirulinë smiles like a cat who got the cream.

Tuilindien rolls her eyes at her.

*

Carnistir is true to his word. The next morning they ride to their future home on the southwestern edge of the city.

The white house on the city-facing part of the property is half a ruin, as Carnistir had told her. It is strange and a little painful to see the bones of a house thus on display. She trusts Carnistir, though, in his conviction that the house was unsuitable for them.

She forgets all about it, anyway, as they wander into the orchard behind the house. There are orange and pear trees, peach and plum and a little further on –

'A yavannamírë tree! See, Carnistir.' She runs to the lone yavannamírë, inspects the fruits its old but sturdy branches bear. 'Oh, this fruit seems very good. Please, Carnistir.' She turns to him. 'Please do not have all the fruit trees chopped down.'

He takes the fruit she offers to him as proof, clearly amused. 'I will not if you do not wish me to. I don't intend to be a tyrant with the garden. You have as much say in it as I do.'

She beams at him. 'Let us keep many of the trees, then. I do not need a very strictly landscaped garden. Is that something you have envisioned for here?'

He shrugs. 'I haven't had much time to think of the garden.'

'Because you have been busy designing the new house and planning the demolishing of the old house.' She nods. 'I can make plans for the garden, if you wish, though I have little experience of such work.'

Carnistir offers her his arm and leads her further into the garden. 'Let me show you all of it now, then, so you can make plans.'

'We shall have a fountain', Tuilindien begins her list of hopes. 'But only one. Some gardens have far too many. We shall have one large one, and seating around it. Plenty of flowers, and flowering bushes, but perhaps we will leave all the fruit trees in the more distant half to still have a little orchard… Oh, Carnistir, this is a splendid property.'

She leans her head on his shoulder as they stroll slowly around their future garden. There is a slight crispness to the air that reminds them that summer is over, but they pay no mind to it.

They have a garden to plan and a house too, and a visit by Carnistir to Tuilindien's   grandparents' estate in the summer for they do not wish to be apart for their whole betrothal period.

'I will hire someone to supervise the building work while I am gone.' Carnistir frowns. 'I will ask Curufinwë, perhaps, if he doesn't try to argue with my ideas.'

'With your ideas? Or with you?' Tuilindien teases.

'It is sometimes difficult to say which. He has been surprisingly decent recently, as I've told you.' Carnistir grins. 'I think he might be a bit jealous, though.'

Tuilindien raises her brows. 'Of your being engaged to be married? You have told me he has been denigratory of our relationship, and of courting in general. Or do you mean jealous of the house?'

'Both, to a degree, I think. I think he is jealous that I am moving to a new phase in my life. He has always been precocious, ever since he was a child. And he always felt for some reason that he should achieve everything at the same time as I do, if not before, even though he is many years younger than I am.'

'I can see how that must have caused strain in the relationship between you and him at times.'

Carnistir snorts. 'Most of the time, actually. It is easier now that I live elsewhere and we don't spend so much time together. There is less opportunity for comparison.'

'That must be a good thing. Anyway, Curufinwë is still very young. If he marries someone soon, he can still do it somewhat precociously.'

Carnistir snorts again. Apparently it is a reaction that talking of Curufinwë often elicits in him. He replies to her, 'Curvo has declared that he has never met anyone he would care to marry and he has no chance of meeting anyone new because he spends all his time studying or working except when our parents force him to attend some event.'

'You never know.' Tuilindien smiles to herself. 'Neither of us was looking for anyone when we met.'

'That is true.' Carnistir stops and draws her into his arms. 'I am very glad that I happened upon you when I was hiding from social duties at an event my family forced me to attend.'

'Likewise, my darling.' She raises her arms to twine them about his neck – a movement that has become wonderfully familiar – and kisses him, ardently, while images of their future dance behind her eyelids when she closes her eyes to enjoy her other senses.

*

A/N: In the next chapter, Carnistir and Tuilindien's year and a half of engagement is spent in part together and in part apart.

I'll try to post the next chapter within a week, and the one after that soon as well.

I would love to hear what you thought of this chapter :)