In-Betweens by Elleth

Chapter 5

For Rhapsody, who asked for 'my Nerdanel', and for the prompt 'Outsides' at the Fanfic 100 challenge. The line 'I am never wise around you' originated during Furius' and my LF/N chat sessions long ago, and is used with permission.

This chapter takes place not so long after 'Insides'. 

Her bare feet made odd sounds on the kitchen tiles. Drawing comfort from the familiar game she had played as a child, Istarnië stepped over the sand-coloured tiles carefully, setting her feet only on the brown and red ones, and so walked up to the water basin. Her cheeks still burned, and her heart was thumping loudly in her chest. The pump screeched, metal upon metal, as she worked it with more force than necessary, and she sucked in a sharp breath – surely she had woken all the house, surely - she was worrying needlessly.

She splashed two handfuls of water on her skin and hoped the blush would recede. She had caught a glimpse of herself in the corridor mirror, her skin was reddened from the tips of her ears across her cheeks and neck, and even down beneath the high neckline of her nightgown. She threw another handful of water into her face. Tendrils of hair stuck to her skin, and cold droplets ran into the fabric of her shift. Some dripped from her hands and splattered on the floor. She was drawing a fourth handful when arms snaked around her waist, pulling her close – closer than she would have liked - and a hand dropped over her mouth to stifle a shriek that did not come. He knew she was easily startled, but must have forgotten that it never happened with him anymore, as little as her family could startle her. She could always tell they were there. There was nothing to fear from either them or him.

"It is I." She could hear the trepidation in his voice as his breath ghosted over the wet skin of her cheek, and nodded mutely. Of course it was him, who else would sneak into the kitchen after her so late into Telperion's hours? The hand slipped from her mouth, but not without a caress of fingers across her lips – or perhaps she was imagining that. Istarnië shivered and pushed away, but not without reach of his arms. The water kept dripping from her cupped hands. There was a puddle on the floor.

"Fëanáro. What are you doing here?"
"I thought you stood by my door. Is it not my right to ask that question first?"
"I was going to bed and heard my name, and thought you called me. I waited until you were asking me to enter... but when I looked in, you seemed asleep." She twisted around to look at him, and saw that his eyes were wide and very bright in the darkness.
"I dreamt of you, and woke in time to see you. I thought I had dreamt you up, at first."
"You are speaking nonsense, why should you dream of me?" Of course, the only reason that seemed logical was the one that had driven her into the kitchen in the first place. She felt the blush deepen. Surely she must look like a beetroot by now.
"Can you not guess, Istarnië? Where is the wisdom you were named for?"
"I am not so wise. It was my father's wish that I should be called so, it is not my essë tercenyë, and you know that, Fëanáro. Do not mock me!" The words came out sharper than intended.

Water ran from her cupped hands to the floor and swelled the puddle. She would have to clean up.

Fëanáro said nothing, but he stared at her without blinking. Istarnië stared at the floor. Eventually he twisted away and stalked off, his steps near-noiseless on the tiled floor. He paused just out of the kitchen door.
"I depart come morning. My father summoned me," he said, and halted again after a few steps, before the flight of stairs leading to the upstairs rooms." Clothes must be made for his wedding, preparations must be made. If this is your farewell, I was deceived in you."
"You never said what you expected of me, and now you blame me for not knowing your mind? I am never wise around you, Fëanáro, and if you cannot guess that reason, then you are a sad fool indeed. Why did you not say all this at dinner last night?"

Her hands were empty now, the water had completely pooled on the floor, but Istarnië still held them cupped, until his eyes lit on them. She reached for a kitchen towel and passed it over her face, then turned back to him, sleep-tousled and bright-eyed still. He bit his lips.

"It is only for the preparations of the wedding, and the festivities, and then you will return, will you not? And I will be there – at the ball. My family, we were invited." She was unsure if he had even heard, soft as her words had been. He barely shrugged of his shoulders. "If she who they would have me call her mother permits my return – or our meeting."

Then he was gone, stomping up to his room. Istarnië remained in the dark kitchen, the towel in her hand, and stared at the door and spot where he had stood. Through the western window, a soft glow of gold rose, not yet as as strong as the silver that washed over the landscape.

With a sigh she tossed the towel down to dry the puddle, and decided to try again for sleep, walking across sandy-coloured and red and brown tiles to the stairs and up. His chamber was empty when she passed it, instead she found Fëanáro sitting on her bed in the dark. Her jewel was in his hands so that the light illumined his face and little else. She sat down beside him, and closed his left hand around it. Her anger evaporated. "Take it as a reminder."

His right strayed to her neck where the pendant usually lay, and she allowed the touch. "I have worn it for a long while now," she said. "Perhaps it is time to give it back."
When he opened his hand again, one tip of the jewel was stained red, and a smear of blood was on his palm.

"Very well," he said eventually, and leaned close to bury his nose in her hair and press his lips to her temple. A sliver of golden light slipped through a crack in the curtains from outside. Istarnië closed her eyes.