By Love or at Least Free Will by grey_gazania

Though They Be Dim, Yet She Is Light Enough

The title is from John Donne's "Elegy II: The Anagram." Story inspired by the Silmfic Prompt Generator: spring flowers

Read Though They Be Dim, Yet She Is Light Enough

 “The Eldar wedded only once in life, and for love or at the least by free will upon either part. Even when in after days, as the histories reveal, many of the Eldar of Middle-Earth became corrupted, and their hearts darkened by the shadow that lies upon Arda, seldom is any tale told of deeds of lust among them.” — "Laws & Customs Among the Eldar", Morgoth's Ring

---

 

It’s been a never-ending string of dull, polite visits, this marriage business, and I’ve never felt more like a piece on a chess board than I have these past few months. My father loves me. I know this. But with Turgon hidden away in his secret city, my father also needs me wedded; he needs his heir to have an heir. The life of a king is too easily lost in this place.

 

Today we go to see Annael, one of Mithrim’s lords, and his eldest daughter. Her name, I’m told, is Ianneth, and Atto sees this as an auspicious sign. I only hope that she isn’t like the others I’ve met, either mild and meek or full of vain ambition, for I desire neither quality in a wife.

 

In truth, I do not desire a wife at all. I love my cousin. It is secret, and shameful, for he is both a man and my kin. But I’ve loved him all my life, loved his kindness, his humor, his unyielding will and, yes, his beautiful form.

 

If I wed, I will have betrayed him in the cruelest of ways. But if I confess the truth, I’ll have done the same to my father. And so I ride to the home of Annael.

 

He greets us at his door, leading us inside to sup with his family — his wife and his daughters, all as lovely as the others I have met, with honeyed skin and hair black and shiny as beetle shells. Annael and the older daughter — clearly Ianneth, for her sister is no more than a child – are graced with eyes of clear green, uncanny in this grey place.

 

As much as I've grown to love the deep woods and the tall pines in this land, I still miss the bright sun and rich colors of Tirion. Mithrim may be my home, but I can’t deny that it’s well-named. Grey skies, grey lakes, grey mist — many of the Sindar who live here even favor grey clothes. Annael and his family are no different; all their garments have a touch of smoke in the colors. Our cobalt robes seem to stand out like gems in comparison.

 

Dinner is delicious, but is accompanied by the same conversation that I've had with every other women. Does Ianneth have a craft? Why, yes, she's an herbalist. And my lord Fingon? Of course he does, dear — statecraft, and I laugh as though Annael is a great wit, as though I haven't heard the same joke a dozen times before. All too soon, the talk turns to politics and I can feel myself being slowly roped into the discussion.

 

Then Ianneth speaks. “Perhaps you would like to join me in a walk around the garden?”

 

“Of course, my lady,” I say, rising with a short bow. There’s something in her eyes, a hint of mischief that intrigues me, and so I follow her out the door with gratitude. I notice as we near that garden gate that she’s barefoot, a practice she shares with my cousin Artanis, and I smile to myself.

 

It grows into a grin of pure joy when she leads me in, for when she opens the gate, I feel for a moment as though I’ve returned to my aunt's garden Valinor.

 

Cherry peppers grow along the walls, startlingly red against the green leaves. Bright-eyed daisies line the garden path, and orange and burnished copper fish swim lazily in a small pond off to my left. Deep pink rhubarb stalks, sweet peppers in all colors, bushes dotted with deep black and red berries, clumps of crocuses and daffodils… They’re a balm to my eyes, and I turn to them like a flower to the sun.

 

“I’ve heard that many of the Noldor find Mithrim dull,” I hear Ianneth say, her voice gently teasing. “Is your highness among them?”

 

I laugh, and I think, then, that I could learn to care for this woman.

A Great Responsibility

Read A Great Responsibility

 

"Someone once said that beauty could save the world. What a great responsibility you have."

— Natalia Makarova

 

---

 

"Are you nervous?" Tinneth asked.

 

Ianneth's fingers paused in their work, buried in the complicated plait half-woven into her sister's thick hair. "Nervous?" she said.

 

"Your marriage," Tinneth said. "You haven't know each other all that long. Are you nervous?"

 

"Not now, no. Though if what Nana says is true, I may be once the wedding draws nearer," Ianneth said with a laugh as she resumed braiding. Tinneth fidgeted a little but stilled herself when Ianneth tugged gently on her earlobe, instead worrying the hem of her sleeve between two fingers in silence until Ianneth had twisted the last lock of hair into place.

 

It made sense for Tinneth to wonder, she supposed; they were their parents' only children, and her sister was too young to remember their cousin Gwaloth's wedding. This would be the first marriage of a close family member that she would truly witness, and the first time in living memory that anyone from Mithrim would marry a prince.

 

In truth, that particular detail made her very nervous, but she wasn't about to burden Tinneth with her fears. "All finished!" she said instead, her voice bright, giving her sister a gentle shove in the direction of the mirror that hung on the wall. "What do you think?"

 

Tinneth peered at her reflection and beamed before turning to catch her in a squeeze. "Thank you!"

 

"I'm glad you like it," Ianneth said, returning Tinneth's grin. She brushed a strand of her own dark hair out of her face and patted the bed next to her. "Tell me," she said once Tinneth was seated, "what has you so fretful, little sister?"

 

Tinneth hesitated for a moment before asking, "Do you like him?"

 

Ianneth blinked and tilted her head, studying her sister. "What a question!" she said. "I wouldn't be marrying him if I didn't, would I?"

 

"Well, no… But Ada wants an alliance—"

 

"And he also wants me to be happy." Ianneth cut across Tinneth's words, voice firm. "Don't worry so. I like Fingon very much. He's kind and learned and witty—"

 

"And brave," Tinneth added. "I heard Ada talking about the firedrake."

 

Ianneth nodded. "Brave as well. And I've liked those of his family whom I have met, and they're the ones I'll see most often. And I'll come home to visit, and you will always be welcome to come visit us." She smiled gently at her sister. "I think you're more worried than I am."

 

Tinneth fidgeted again. "A little," she admitted.

 

Ianneth leaned over to press a kiss to the top of her head. "It'll be fine, Tinneth," she said reassuringly. "Now, go find Nana and show her your hair, all right?"

 

Once Tinneth had skipped off, Ianneth retreated to her workroom. There she set to work, cutting, drying, and grinding her stock of herbs — work she could practically do in her sleep, which was fortunate, because she was soon lost in thought.

 

It wasn't only about a stronger alliance between the Noldor and the people of Mithrim, this marriage. King Fingolfin's son needed a son. If not for that, Ianneth had a strong suspicion that Fingon would not have chosen to marry anyone at all. It was no secret that he had, to put it bluntly, rejected a long string of Mithrim's young women. Her trip to the garden with him during their first dinner had been a gamble, something that she had hoped would earn her at least a chance with him. She owed it to her family to make the effort.

 

She had still been surprised when he accepted their fathers' agreements and proposed to her.

 

Her parents ascribed his choice to her charm and intellect. Erethel, whose father ruled to the south and who had never been her friend, claimed that he had chosen her only for the fairness of her face and form. But Erethel was spiteful and still bitter that Fingon had shown no interest in her.

 

Whatever Fingon's reasons, he seemed to genuinely care for her, and he had already taken to asking for her thoughts on the various day-to-day political decisions facing him. She didn't expect love, not yet. It would come, she hoped; they both had great responsibilities to bear, and love would ease those burdens.

 

But affection and trust — those were more than enough for now.

Changes

Read Changes

 

“Nothing has changed, except everything." — David Mitchell, Cloud Atlas

 

***********

 

To Fingon Fingolfinion, lord of Hithlum and Crown Prince of the Noldor greetings from your cousin Maedhros Feanorion of Himring, head of the House of Feanor.

Allow me to extend my congratulations both to you and to your betrothed; doubtless she is a woman of many virtues to have so thoroughly gained your affection. I await your upcoming visit, and hope to extend my felicitations on such an auspicious union in person.

Best wishes,

Maedhros

 

The letter had arrived by bird that afternoon, and I had already read it thrice over, only barely holding back a wince each time. It may have seemed innocuous enough to an outsider, but to me the pain behind the words was palpable. If only I could have told Maedhros in person! After all, my seasonal visit to examine Himring's defenses was only a few days away. But my father had wanted to announce the news as swiftly as possible, and so it was that the formal announcement had reached my cousin first.

But I would see him soon. Surely I could still salvage this.

 

***********

 

It was an easy enough journey to Himring, for our lands were peaceful and our roads well-built. The weather also remained clear, so we made good time and reached the fortress exactly on our projected day of arrival. The trumpeters stationed on the ramparts announced us and we were greeted with all due pomp. Maedhros' welcome seemed as warm as ever, but he had always been adept at keeping up appearances — even more so since his long torment on Thangorodrim. Without that skill he would never have regained leadership over his more truculent brothers.

After I had refreshed myself, I joined him in his study as I always did when I visited. There was a great commotion below his window. Looking out, I saw Doronel, his second-in-command, leading a section of the guard through an unfamiliar bow exercise.

"It's a technique my brothers picked up from the Laegrim," Maedhros said, standing just behind me and watching over my shoulder. "I think you'll be favorably impressed. When would you like to start your inspection?"

"Don't do this, Russandol," I said softly.

"You came here to inspect my defenses, did you not?" he said.

"When have I ever begun my inspection on my day of arrival?" I asked, turning to face him. "When have we ever not exchanged news, shared a meal, sat and talked?"

"Is there something we need to talk about?" His face and voice were utterly impassive. I forgot, sometimes, that he could be cruel, because he so very rarely directed it at me.

"Russandol…"

He was silent and still, his grey eyes like stone. "A letter, Káno," he finally said. "Not even a letter from you — a letter from your father."

I looked away, ashamed. "I wanted to tell you in person," I said, "I truly did. But Atto wanted the news to be announced as soon as possible. It would have seemed strange if we had not sent you a letter along with everyone else. Surely you see that."

"Of course. This is all about practicality, is it not?"

I felt a sudden rush of hot anger, anger that he was making this even more difficult than it already was. I glanced over at the door and, seeing that it was firmly shut, grabbed Maedhros and pulled him into a rough kiss. "You fool," I said, "do you think this is any easier for me?"

"You had a choice in this," he snapped, pushing me away.

"So did you," I said. "You set this in motion when you ceded the crown to my father. I have one living brother. One. And no one has seen him in yení, Maedhros. I cannot be the Crown Prince and remain childless. And you knew Atto was looking to strengthen our alliances in Mithrim. You knew he had me looking for a wife."

"I didn't think you would actually find someone!" Maedhros burst out.

"Did you expect me to reject every woman in Mithrim?" I said, throwing my hands up in exasperation. "I have to do this, Maedhros. I have no choice!"

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" he said acidly. "Because it doesn't, Fingon."

I buried my face in my hands and let out a long sigh. "Stop, Russandol," I said. "Just stop, all right? I am sorry. I am sorry that I'm doing this to you. I am sorry that there is no way for me to navigate this situation without hurting someone. I am sorry about everything."

He turned away from me, his arms crossed over his chest, and said, "Tell me about this woman."

"Her name is Ianneth," I said, fixing my gaze on the rigid set of his shoulders. "She is the older daughter of Lord Annael. She is an herbalist and a healer."

"No," he said. "Tell me about her. Tell me why, out of all the women in Mithrim, she is the one you chose."

I was silent. What did he want me to say? That I had simply chosen the most palatable of my options? That did Ianneth a disservice, and as much as I loved Maedhros, I was not willing to pay insult to my future wife.

"She is an admirable woman," I finally said. "She is lively, witty, kind, thoughtful… I've grown to care for her, Russandol."

"Is she beautiful?"

"Very lovely," I admitted.

"So it will be no chore, then, to lie with her."

"That is a necessary step in creating a child," I said, unable to keep a hint of waspishness out of my voice. He still wouldn't face me, and there was only so much time I could spend speaking to the back of his head without becoming irritated.

But even as I watched, some of the tension drained from his body, and his shoulders slumped as he let his arms fall to his sides. "I always knew I would lose you," he said, his voice very soft. "I just didn't think it would be so soon."

"You're not losing me," I said firmly. "I won't give you up, Russandol."

"You should," he said. "She will be better for you. I am doomed, remember?"

"So am I," I said. "Or have you forgotten that I came to your aid at Alqualondë? There is as much blood on my hands as there is on yours."

He shook his head. "You thought you were defending your kin."

"That doesn't make those I killed any less dead," I said flatly. "Now turn around and face me, damn it!"

He did, slowly, and I saw that there was a great sorrow painted across his face. He truly did think that I was going to abandon him — he whom I had loved since our youth in Valinor.

"I will not leave you," I said firmly. "I will do as my father needs me to do, and I will marry Ianneth, and I will treat her with all the care that she deserves, but I will not leave you. I do not yet know how I will make this work, but I will find a way. Nothing will change between us. I swear it."

"Things have already changed, Káno," he said softly. But this time when I placed my hand on the back of his neck and pulled him close, pressing our lips together, he did not resist.

I would make this work. Somehow, I would make it work.

 

Rats in the Walls

Read Rats in the Walls

 "This is a story of soft skin, and rats in the walls."

— Chris Pureka, "Burning Bridges"

 

---

 

“Fingon, would you do something for me?” Ianneth asked.

 

They were sitting on the mossy ground beside the pond in her garden, watching as the golden carp circled lazily among the budding water lilies, their scales glinting softly under the setting sun. Fingon’s arm was warm around her waist, his fingers moving as he idly played with her loose hair.

 

“Anything, Ianneth,” he said. “You need only name it.”

 

She lifted her head off his shoulder so that she could see his eyes, so unearthly and bright, brighter even than the weak evening sunlight that filtered down through the mist. “It’s my sister,” she said. “Ever since we announced our engagement, she’s been fretful, like she’s afraid I’m never going to come back once I leave. I’ve tried to reassure her that we’ll still see one another, but it’s been no use.”

 

Looking away from him, she dipped one slim finger into the pond, swirling it slowly through the water and watching as the carp scattered. “I thought perhaps the three of us could go out riding tomorrow,” she said. “Maybe spending some time with you would ease her worries. I don’t want her to think you’re stealing me away from her.”

 

“Of course,” Fingon said immediately. “I know how close you and Tinneth are.” He fell silent for a moment and then confessed, “I envy that, a little. I was never quite so close to my own sister. It was my brother Argon whom I always understood best, and he died more than three yení ago.” His smile was sad as he said, “I wish you could have met him. He would have liked you a great deal.”

 

“I wish I could have met him, too,” Ianneth said. “And your sister as well.”

 

At that, Fingon laughed. “Aredhel would have found you tame,” he said. “She found all of us time, save my cousin in Himlad. They ran wild together, Aredhel and Celegorm – at least, until the rift between my uncle and my father poisoned things between them. But before that they were inseparable.”

 

Ianneth stayed quiet. She knew none of the details of that story, only the outline – that Fingon’s uncle Fëanor had threatened to slay Fingolfin and had been banished by the Belain for it, and that after the Darkening and the carnage at the Swanhaven he had abandoned Fingolfin and his people on Valinor’s shores, leaving them with no recourse but to cross the Grinding Ice into Beleriand. She knew, too, that after Fingon’s impossible rescue of his cousin Maedhros, Fëanor’s eldest son, Maedhros had ceded the crown to Fingolfin. Fëanor’s descendants would never rule the Golodhrim.

 

And she knew one other thing. She knew that her soon-to-be husband had had a hand in the deaths at the Swanhaven. She knew that he was one of the Kinslayers.

 

Her father had tried to keep the rumors from her, though she didn't know whether it had been out of fear for the alliance or simply a desire not to dampen her happiness. But Fingon himself had told her, the day before he asked Annael for her hand. Out in the forest, under the heavy boughs of a pine, he had taken her fingers in his and, in a soft voice, admitted his crime.

 

I saw my people, my family, in danger, he’d said. I came to their aid. I didn’t know the truth, not then. I didn’t understand. Looking away, he’d whispered, It haunts me, Ianneth. I don’t ask you to forgive me; I'll never forgive myself. Our fathers do not wish me to tell you this, but if we’re to wed, you deserve to know the truth.

When he’d met her gaze again, she saw fear shadowing his shining eyes, and she’d considered him in silence for a long, long moment.

 

It was a terrible crime, this thing he had done. Eru's children weren't meant to kill one another, and part of her wanted to turn and flee. But her father needed this alliance, and she had grown to care for Fingon. She'd made herself stay still, her hands still in his as she weighed his words.

 

He had not begun the fighting at the Swanhaven; it had already been in motion before he arrived. He had acted with ignorance, not malice. And she knew – she knew -- that he wasn’t a murderer by nature, for he was kind and brave and caring, and he stood steadfastly in the path of evil, defending all that was good and dear.

 

She’d risen up on her toes and kissed his cheek, gently squeezing his strong hands. You’re an honest man, Fingon, she’d told him. It’s not my place to give or withhold forgiveness, but know that I don’t condemn you. You thought you were defending your kin.

Fingon’s voice jolted her out of the memory. “—won’t be at the wedding,” he was saying. “We've never been terribly close, and Maedhros will already be there to represent the family. It's unlikely Turgon will come, either, though I wish he would. I don’t even know where his city is, and I doubt he has any plans to leave it. But Finrod will certainly attend, and likely Angrod and Aegnor as well.”

 

“I look forward to meeting all of your cousins," Ianneth said automatically, trying to catch back up with the conversation. She'd yet to meet any of them save Finrod and Aegnor, who had come up together to visit Fingon a few months after Fingolfin had announced his son's engagement. "The sons of Finarfin were very kind."

 

"Oh, yes," Fingon agreed. "Finrod, Aegnor, and Angrod are very dear to me. Really, in some ways they're as much my brothers as Turgon and Argon."

 

"And the Sons of Fëanor?" Ianneth asked. She couldn't deny being curious about those particular cousins; the stories told about them in Mithrim often seemed to verge on the fanciful.

 

For a moment Fingon's face, usually so expressive, went blank and still. Then he took her hand in his, twining their fingers together. "Maedhros is the eldest. He and I have always been very close, despite our fathers' troubles."

 

"I know that much already," Ianneth said, stroking his hand with her thumb. "Everyone knows of how you rescued him from Morgoth. But what of the others?"

 

He sighed and, smiling ruefully, said, "I may as well speak plainly. They're soon to be your family as well as mine." But he didn't continue right away, instead looking down at their clasped hands in silence.

 

"Maglor is next," he finally said. "He holds the Gap. He's fine enough, I suppose, but we never had much in common, and if I'm completely honest, I still haven't quite forgiven him for leaving Maedhros to Morgoth. I haven't quite forgiven any of them for it. I know Maedhros doesn't hold it against them, but I can't imagine doing such a thing to my own brother."

 

He shook his head slightly before continuing. "Celegorm and Curufin hold Himlad together. Celegorm is much like Aredhel, proud and wild and impulsive, though he's a better orator than she was. As for Curufin... We've never been friends. He's Fëanor writ in miniature, and I only hope his son doesn't turn out the same way.

 

"Caranthir holds Thargelion. He's-- difficult, I think, might be the best word. He can be sensible enough on his own, but his temper is dreadful, and he and Finarfin's sons can barely stand to be in the same room with one another."

 

An unexpected smile flickered over Fingon's face as he added, "I think you would have liked his wife, though. She was very sweet, and wise in her own way. But she stayed behind in Aman, like Curufin's wife."

 

"Are any of the others married?" Ianneth asked.

 

"Maglor was," Fingon said. "But Melindil drowned while Fëanor and his people were crossing the sea. She was a musician, like Maglor."

 

"I'm sorry."

 

Fingon shrugged.  "I didn't know her very well," he said. "I don't know Amras or Amrod very well, either, to be truthful. They were still children when Fëanor was banished to Formenos, and their lands are quite far from here. I rarely see them. But they're loyal to Maedhros, and he is loyal to my father, so I suppose that's the part that really matters."

 

"It seems a shame to have politics so mixed up in relationships that should be built on love," Ianneth said, saddened by his words. "I know that politics are always a part of marriages, but for cousins..."

 

He let out a short, unamused bark of a laugh. "My grandfather saw to that when he married my grandmother. I've accepted that I can't change it; I can only make do."

 

She lifted their joined hands and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. "Then let me help you make do," she said. "As your wife, and as your friend."

Hearts

Read Hearts

 

“Next to my own skin, her pearls.” — Carol Ann Duffy "Warming Her Pearls"

 

***********

 

"Come riding with me," Ianneth said, taking my hand in hers. She and her family had only arrived at Barad Eithel two days before, but despite the fact that the wedding was still a week away, her mother and my aunt Lalwen had combined forces to form a veritable whirlwind of preparations.

 

"Did you not spend enough time riding on your journey here?" I teased.

 

"What I've spent enough time doing is having my dress tailored," Ianneth said. "If my mother and your aunt insist on fussing with the hem one more time I may go mad."

 

I let out a laugh. Placing my hands about her waist, I lifted her briefly into the air and spun around before setting her down. "Then let me rescue you, my soon-to-be-bride," I said with a grin. "A-riding we shall go!"

 

***********

We didn't go terribly far -- only a mile or so, to a small pond that lay nestled in the foothills. Once we'd set Cordof and Pilin loose to drink, Ianneth dropped to the ground, lying in the grass with her arms spread wide and her face turned towards the sun. "I love this land," she announced. "I love all of Hithlum. The mountains, the lakes and rivers, the sun and the breeze, even the mist. I would rather live and die here than cower away behind Melian's magic for eternity."

 

"Where on earth is this coming from?" I asked, sinking down beside her and searching her face. I'd never heard her mention either death or the hidden kingdom of Doriath before.

 

She waved one graceful hand in a dismissive gesture and said, "Thingol.  He's made his displeasure about our marriage known to my father. Thralls, he calls my people, because we dare to live out in the open, and yet he still acts as though we're his subjects. And to think he says the Golodhrim are arrogant! At least you respect our ways and fight beside us."

 

"My father and I have not heard this," I said, troubled by her words. "Annael said nothing of it."

 

"Oh, Ada is ignoring him," Ianneth said, tugging me down to lie beside her. "We owe Thingol nothing. You and I will wed, and that will be that."

 

She rose up on one elbow and pressed her lips against mine in a slow, sweet kiss, one that I returned as I pulled her into my arms. Lying in the cool grass with my face buried in her sun-warmed hair, I was forced to admit something that I had been trying to ignore.

 

My feelings for Maedhros had not lessened, but I was quickly falling in love with Ianneth, too.

 

The Eldar were never meant to split their hearts between two people, but I had know since my youth that my own heart was a strange and unruly thing. Did I not love another man, and one who was my own kin? That was not meant to be so, either. I could only conclude that this was yet more evidence of what I had long suspected. Something had gone awry when I was made.

 

What a marred world we lived in, that loving the woman who would soon be my wife should cause me such distress.

 

"Fingon?"

 

I was brought back to myself by Ianneth's voice and the gentle touch of her hand on my arm.

 

"That's my name," I said. I took care to keep my voice light, but Ianneth wasn't fooled.

 

"Are you all right?" she asked. "You seem upset. I swear, my father isn't trying to deceive you."

 

"I know. I'm just a little sad," I said after a moment. "I've missed my mother and my siblings more than usual, these past few days. I always thought that if I married, it would be with them at my side."

 

The half-lie made me teeth ache, and I ran my fingers over the strand of grey pearls around Ianneth's wrist, not meeting her eyes.

 

"They're with you in your heart," she said gently, tapping my chest.

 

I took her fingers in mine and lifted her hand to my mouth, brushing my lips over her smooth skin. "I can always count on you to bring me comfort," I said, feeling my face go soft as I looked into her beautiful green eyes.

 

"And I can count on you to bring me joy," she said. "I hope it will always be so."

 

She kissed me again, and I responded eagerly, pushing my worries aside for the time being.

 

---

Chapter End Notes

"He [Thingol] had small love for the Northern Sindar who had in regions near to Angband come under the dominion of Morgoth, and were accused of sometimes entering his service and providing him with spies." - J. R. R. Tolkien, "The Problem of Ros", The Peoples of Middle-earth

Now Join Your Hands

Read Now Join Your Hands

 

 

"Now join your hands, and with your hands your hearts." — William Shakespeare

 

***********

 

“Are you nervous?” Lalwen asked, looking Ianneth over with her sparkling grey eyes.

 

“A little,” Ianneth admitted with a sheepish smile. “I feel like there’s a frog in my stomach.” She tried to hold herself as still as possible while she spoke, for her mother was busy dressing her hair with delicate seed pearls. It wouldn’t do to disrupt Amareth’s work, not when the wedding feast was less than half an hour away.

 

Lalwen laughed. She had a warm, golden laugh that came easily, proving that her mother had named her well, and Ianneth had already grown accustomed to hearing it echo through the corridors of Eithel Sirion.

 

“Pay the frog no heed,” Lalwen said. “Fingon chose well. My brother and I are honored to have you join our family.” In the absence of Fingolfin’s wife, Lalwen had stepped into the role usually held by the bridegroom’s mother, and she was filling it with great enthusiasm. Smiling at Ianneth, she added, “I used to worry that Fingon would never find a partner who suited him, but it seems he was simply waiting for you. The pair of you were clearly made for one another.”

 

Flattered, Ianneth felt her cheeks heat as she blushed. While it was true that this union had begun as a political alliance, she had quickly grown to love her soon-to-be spouse, and she knew that he had done the same over the course of their engagement. Now, finally, they were to be wed.

 

She may have been nervous, but she was also overjoyed.

 

“There,” Amareth said, pinning one last strand of Ianneth’s hair into place. She nudged her daughter to her feet and ushered her to the mirror that hung on the wall of Lalwen’s room. “What do you think?”

 

“Oh, Nana, it’s perfect,” Ianneth said, turning to hug her tightly.

 

“Careful!” Amareth chided, though she was beaming. “You mustn’t wrinkle your gown before the wedding has even begun.” She smoothed the sage-colored lace that covered Ianneth’s shoulders and then steered her daughter back to her seat. “Close your eyes,” she instructed.

 

Ianneth complied, holding herself as still as stone while her mother brushed a fine coat of powdered mica over her eyelids.

 

“Oh, that’s very striking,” she heard Lalwen say. “You should wear that more often.”

 

Amareth laughed, and Ianneth blinked her eyes open as she heard her mother step away.

 

“It’s traditionally reserved for weddings,” Amareth told Lalwen. “It brings luck to the bride.”

 

“It brings out the eyes of the bride,” Lalwen said. “This bride, anyway. You look stunning, Ianneth.”

 

Someone pounded impatiently on the door. “Can I come in yet?” Tinneth demanded. “You’re taking forever.”

 

Laughing, Amareth opened the door to let her younger daughter inside. Tinneth, too, was clad in a new gown for the occasion, blue as a robin’s egg and embroidered with silver thread. She let out a delighted gasp when she saw her sister.

 

“Oh, Ianneth,” she said. “Your dress! Your hair! You look so pretty!” The girl was only stopped from hurling herself into her sister’s arms by her mother’s restraining hand on her shoulder.

 

Standing, Ianneth took Tinneth’s hands in her own and squeezed her small fingers. “You look lovely, too,” she said. “Now sit still and let Nana do your hair.”

 

“Yes, do,” Lalwen said, glancing at the clock on her dresser — a complicated device of gears and rods, so different from the water clocks that Ianneth had grown up with. “It’s not long until we need to welcome everyone to the feast.”

 

While Amareth began to braid Tinneth’s hair, Lalwen finished her own preparations, slipping on her shoes and clasping a gold chain around her neck. The aroma of violets filled the room as, beside her, Ianneth carefully dabbed scented oil behind her ears and on the insides of her wrists.

 

“All finished,” Amareth said, sliding one last pin into place. “Ianneth, Lalwen, are you ready?”

 

“We are,” Lalwen said as Ianneth nodded.

 

Together, the quartet headed outside to join Fingon and Fingolfin in greeting their guests. Half of Hithlum seemed to have turned out for the celebration, so many people that even Fingolfin’s grandest room wouldn’t have been able to hold them all — most of Fingon’s kin, all of Ianneth’s relatives and friends, various lords of Hithlum’s Grey-Elves, and every one of the Golodhrim who held a position of importance or was dear to the groom and his father. Even Lord Círdan had come from his twin coastal cities to offer his good wishes to his allies.

 

Representatives from the Elves of Doriath were conspicuously absent, but Ianneth did not let that trouble her overmuch.

 

Beside her, Fingon stood tall and handsome in his wedding robes, his hair braided with its usual strands of gold. The brooch that Annael and Amareth had given him at last night’s family feast, his wedding gift, was pinned at his left shoulder, holding the drape of his robe in place. The polished amber seemed to glow in the sunlight, highlighting the single, delicate feather preserved within. Ianneth, too, wore the gift that Fingolfin and Lalwen had given her — a pendant of milky green stone, shaped into a smooth heart and adorned with two clasped hands in finely-detailed gold.

 

She took hold of Fingon’s hand now, lacing their fingers together, and he looked down at her with soft, loving eyes. For a moment, the world seemed to narrow until it held just the two of them, just this time and place, and she was filled with a warm joy that she was certain must be lighting her up from the inside out.

 

“I insist on stealing the bride for a dance later,” a voice said, interrupting her reverie. When Ianneth looked around, she saw Finrod standing before them, his own grey eyes twinkling with happiness.

 

“I wouldn’t dream of denying you,” Ianneth said, leaning forward to accept his kiss on each of her cheeks — a greeting custom of the Golodhrim with which she was still not entirely comfortable. But Finrod, with his quick wit and his kind heart, had swiftly become Ianneth’s favorite among Fingon’s cousins, and she now counted him as a friend in his own right.

 

The line of guests continued on, Fingon and Ianneth welcoming each in turn, until the time came for the feast to begin. Fingolfin’s cooks had outdone themselves, working for days to craft a sumptuous banquet comprised not only of the Golodhrim’s delicacies, but also many dishes traditional to the people of Mithrim. The sun shone, the food was plentiful, the wine and mead flowed in abundance, and soon the air was filled with the sounds of merrymaking.

 

Some time later, as everyone was finishing the final course of the meal, Fingolfin stood and gestured for silence.

 

“My friends,” the king said, “we are gathered here today to celebrate the marriage of my dear son Fingon to the lady Ianneth, a most admirable woman who many of us are privileged to know. I ask now that the bride and groom stand, that they may exchange their vows and receive our blessings.”

 

Ianneth and Fingon both rose, as did Amareth. Butterflies were fluttering in Ianneth’s stomach, but she couldn’t help smiling when Lalwen caught her eye and winked. As Amareth and Fingolfin took hold of their children’s hands and joined them together, Ianneth looked again into Fingon’s eyes.

 

She loved him. Perhaps she hadn’t at first, but she did now.

 

Once more, Fingolfin spoke. “May the Lord of the Breath of Arda bless you and your union, as I have given you my blessing. Fingon, do you agree to take Ianneth as your wife?”

 

“I do,” Fingon said, smiling at his bride.

 

Now it was Amareth’s turn. “May the lady of the Stars bless you and your union,” she said, “as I have given you my blessing. Ianneth, do you agree to take Fingon as your husband?”

 

“I do.”

 

Releasing their children’s hands, Amareth and Fingolfin each took a half-step away from the couple, and Fingolfin said, “Then I call upon Eru Ilúvatar to witness this marriage and to bless your future.”

 

Now Tinneth stood, holding in her hands a small pot of honey, which she held out to them. “I pray that you give each other sustenance, and that you always have sweet words for your love,” she said, her young voice trembling as she spoke.

 

Ianneth gave her a reassuring smile, dipped her pinky finger in the honey, and held it to Fingon’s lips. He did the same to her, and when they had each tasted the honey, Tinneth stepped away and sat down. The ceremony concluded with the exchanging of the rings, and then it was time for the dancing.

 

Ianneth danced with Fingon. She danced with her father. She danced with Fingolfin. She danced with Finrod, Aegnor, and Angrod. She danced with her own cousins. Three times she danced with Tinneth, the young girl giggling as her sister twirled her around, her blue skirt spinning out like the petals of a flower.

 

The celebration continued even as the sun began to set, the lanterns that had been strung along the courtyard walls lighting the night with a pleasant glow. She and Fingon had stopped to catch their breath and share a drink, and they were laughing over a glass of mead when Maedhros approached them.

 

He bowed to Ianneth and then extended his hand. “May I?” he asked.

 

“Of course,” Ianneth said, smiling at him and passing the glass back to her husband.

 

She had met Maedhros only that day, and only very briefly. He had missed the family celebration last night, delayed by a sudden, violent storm while crossing Ard-galen. He and his party had only just made it in time for the wedding, arriving that very morning. And Ianneth had to admit, she was curious about her husband’s dearest cousin.

 

It took them a few moments to find their rhythm as they rejoined the dancers, for Maedhros truly was tall. With the other Golodhrim, Ianneth at least reached their shoulders, but with Maedhros, the top of her head barely made it to his chest. They shuffled awkwardly until they found a posture that suited them both.

 

“I’ve been looking forward to meeting you,” he said. “I wish I’d been able to be here earlier, but it rained so hard that the road flooded, and the land around us turned into a veritable swamp.”

 

“Fingon has mentioned that that can happen,” Ianneth said. “He tells me that such storms are rare, but when they come, they’re torrential.”

 

Maedhros nodded. “He’s correct.”. They lapsed briefly into silence as he lifted his arm and Ianneth spun beneath it. “Tell me about yourself,” he said, once they were facing each other again. “Fingon tells me you’re an herbalist?”

 

“Yes,” Ianneth said. “My mother began teaching me healing and herb lore when I was young, and I found it fascinating, so I’ve continued my studies.”

 

“And you breed your own cultivars, he said,” Maedhros continued with a smile. “Apparently you’ve done quite a lot with roses, to breed hardier plants?”

 

“Yes,” Ianneth said again. “It sounds as though Fingon has told you a great deal about my work.”

 

“Well, I have some interest in botany myself. Perhaps we could exchange notes?” he proposed. “The climate at Himring is rather different than it is here, but there are still plenty of useful plants that grow in both places.”

 

Ianneth smiled. “I’d enjoy that,” she said. “Fingon never mentioned that you were interested in herb lore.”

 

“He’s had a lot on his mind, I’m sure,” Maedhros said. “I’m very happy for you, you know. The way he looks at you — I can see that you bring him joy. I can’t remember the last time I saw him so carefree.”

 

The words were kind, but Ianneth could sense an inexplicable sadness behind them. Still, Maedhros was smiling, and Ianneth had no desire to press him, not when she knew how much family strife he and Fingon had endured.

 

They fell silent as she spun again beneath his arm, and when the song ended, he returned her to Fingon’s side. “Congratulations to you both,” he said, kissing each of them on the cheek. “I wish you nothing but happiness.”

 

Then he melted back into the crowd, leaving the bride and groom alone in the lantern light.

 

 

---

Chapter End Notes

This chapter was written for SWG’s “Season’s Greetings” challenge. The customs of the marriage ceremony (the ring exchange, the blessings from Manwë and Varda, the naming of Eru, etc.) are drawn from “Laws and Customs Among the Eldar”, which can be found in Morgoth’s Ring. The exception is the honey ceremony, which is a traditional part of Persian weddings and is the sweetest (no pun intended) marriage tradition I’ve ever seen.