The Tempered Steel by Lyra

Part III, Chapter III

In which Fingon arrives a day early for the feast.

It really was nothing like the Helcaraxë, Findekáno thought as he made his way to the Fëanorian camp, taking the long way through the forest – his father had opposed the short-cut across the frozen lake, and even if Findekáno had been eager to take that way in the first place, he would easily have obeyed Nolofinwë in this, now that he finally was permitted to see Russandol again.
It was a pity that none of his siblings or cousins had wanted to accompany him, for the sight of the forest in winter would surely have delighted them as it delighted Findekáno now. The snow glittered under the sunlight, rivalling his uncle's creations.Wind and frost had shaped it into delicate sculptures around rocks and tree trunks. Boughs and branches were encased in ice like living crystal as though Aulë had sought to create a wood made of diamond. Lichen hung from the branches, painting dots of pale yellow and green against the brilliant blue sky and the white snow, while the shadows in the snow appeared blue, almost purple. Findekáno startled a bunch of swans by the lakeshore, and some bucks and does who were eating the moss off tree trunks. Little birds watched him as he passed, singing a few notes of acknowledgement or warning to their brethren, who were picking the red berries and rosehips from the rowans and dogroses in the undergrowth.

Findekáno had been secluded in his father's camp for too long: Now he felt like a small child discovering his parents' garden, excited by every tree, every spot of colour, every rush of movement. His heart beat quickly, not with the exertion of his swift walk but with pure joy. The sheer beauty of his surroundings, the freedom of the wide wintery wood would have been cause enough for his journey. His delight was so great that he almost forgot the purpose of his march. What did it matter that his ears were freezing, that his lungs burned from taking in great hungry gulps of the frosty air? The world was wide, and free, and beautiful in spite of everything; he would have been happy to walk on forever.
But he was also happy when he did reach the Fëanorian camp in the fiery light of evening, looking forward to the reunion with his cousin. As he left the shelter of the forest and stepped out into the open, his hands already unbuckled his sword-belt while he peered up at the barricade, trying to make eye-contact with the guard on duty. He saw no-one, but even so, the gate was opened, revealing not one but five guards who watched his every step as he entered.
He frowned; having expected the usual interrogation at the gate, he found the situation disconcerting. The guards were hooded, their faces invisible in the shadows. They were also armed with spears and bows, and outnumbering him; although it made no sense, Findekáno feared that he was walking into a trap. He stopped halfway through the gate, out of reach of their spears, just in case.

"Findekáno Nolofinwion, here to--" he said before he was interrupted by one of the guards.
"Of course," the man said. His voice appeared to hold no threat, but Findekáno only allowed himself to relax when the others spoke up, too.
"You are welcome, Prince Findekáno, very welcome indeed," said one, bowing low. The other guards followed suit. Findekáno nodded in return.
"You are earlier than expected," said another guard. "Our lord will be overjoyed. - Oh no, you can keep that, my lord," he said when Findekáno held out his sword-belt. "Who is trustworthy, if not you?"
Findekáno blinked, and wasn't quite sure what to say. He settled for "Thank you."
"I will escort you to the hall, if you please," the first guard said. "Or do you know the way?"
"I think I do," Findekáno replied, "but you may escort me, if you wish."
The guards who remained at the gate bowed low again, and Findekáno thought he could see smiles on several shadowed faces.
Findekáno would indeed have found the way to the great house himself, but the young guardsman was friendly company, flattering him and telling him how much everybody admired his bravery. "I am so thrilled that I got to greet you," he said. "My friends will be so jealous."
"I wasn't aware that I was such a celebrity among..." Findekáno pondered how to put it. "Among my uncle's followers," he finally sad.
The guard's eyes widened underneath his hood. "Of course you are celebrated, my lord. You saved Lord Maitimo! We all wish we'd been in your place –"
Findekáno laughed, hard and cold, before he could stop himself. "No. No... what's your name?"
"Carnil, my lord."
"Right. No, Carnil. You don't." He could see the young man frowning, but he didn't want to elaborate. "Trust me on that. You really don't."
"All... right," the young man said, looking crestfallen. Findekáno felt, absurdly, ashamed. Carnil hadn't meant any harm, after all. No, said another voice in Findekáno's head, but he is young and clueless, and just because no harm was meant, that didn't mean none was done. "I do beg your pardon, my lord," Carnil said, overruling the little voice and adding to Findekáno's feeling of guilt. "I intended no insult."
"And I am not insulted," Findekáno said although his shoulders had tensed, although he had to press the words out between clenched teeth. He forced himself to relax again. "But you do not wish that you had been in my place. Take it from me. All right? Tell your friends that, too."
"I will, my lord," Carnil replied, glancing down at his feet. "I apologise."

Findekáno continued to feel guilty about dashing the young guard's enthusiasm like that, but the thought was soon eclipsed by anticipation as he entered the house where he had spoken to Macalaurë, all those months ago. He dimly noticed that the house had changed more since then, but he didn't take the time to stop and study the architecture. Instead of turning right and into the great hall, he was now led along the entrance hall and up a flight of stairs, then along a corridor past wooden doors. Carnil knocked on the very last door – here as in the longhouse in the Nolofinwëan camp, the master bedroom was apparently located at the very end of the hallway, as far away from disturbance as possible. "Come in," they heard, muffled by the heavy wood of the door; Carnil opened it, and Findekáno stepped through briskly.

The room was large, much larger than the biggest bedroom in Nolofinwë's longhouse, but just as cold in spite of the pretty stove in one corner. There were two open double-casement windows, which let in both the fading daylight and the frosty air from outside. Between them stood a large, luxurious bed, but it was not occupied. Instead, Russandol stood on a footstool while a man in amazing many-layered robes was busy pinning up the hem of the stark black robes Russandol was wearing. From the spectacular attire and the intriguingly elaborate way in which he now bowed to him, Findekáno concluced that this must be Encaitar the master silk-weaver.
Then Russandol said one word, and Findekáno had no further thought to spare for the other people in the room. "Findekáno," Russandol said, his voice as warm and welcoming as an embrace. Findekáno felt the corners of his mouth creep steadily upwards into a broad, almost painful grin. Then Russandol stepped down from his stool, wincing a little as his leg touched the ground and took over his weight, crossed the distance between them, and wrapped Findekáno in a tight hug.
From so close, Findekáno could feel what the thick fabric was hiding: That there was still much less of Russandol than there should be, that he was still more bone and sinew than flesh. Yet when Russandol broke the embrace to study his face, Findekáno smiled at him, saying, "You look much better."

"You, meanwhile, look pale and half-starved," Russando dryly said. Then he pulled Findekáno close again. "I am so glad that you're here. I had not dared to hope for it. I trust you did not risk your father's wrath?"
"No," Findekáno said, returning the hug happily. "In fact, he sent me. He will only be wrathful if you will not let me stay this night, and the one after."
Russandol laughed. "I will happily let you stay the week, or all winter, or for as long as you'll bear with me! This is great news." He gave Findekáno a broad smile, and Findekáno realised that he had said the truth: Despite the persistent thinness, Russandol did look much better.
"Now, I'm afraid I must cut my welcome short; we should let Master Encaitar do his work, so he'll have these robes finished in time for tomorrow. My healers will soon insist that I get off my feet, and then we can speak more. Until then, I beg you excuse me. Please make yourself comfortable."

"Of course," Findekáno said, and Russandol climbed back onto the footstool. Master Encaitar looked between them for a moment, apparently uncertain whether he should continue to work on Russandol's hem or pay his respects to Findekáno. Findekáno gave the guildmaster a nod. Master Encaitar replied with a low courtier's bow, the sort that initiated formal Vanyarin dances, making Findekáno blink in surprise. Even in the sophisticated environment of Russandol's lovingly decorated and furnished bedroom, it felt out of place, serving only to illustrate how different the world had become. He resisted the urge to shake his head.
"These do not look like festival robes," he pointed out.
"I know!" Master Encaitar emphatically said, giving him a grateful smile and another Vanyarin bow. Before the guildmaster could say more, as he surely would have done, Russandol said, "No. I do not want festival robes. But I'm sure we could find a set for you, best of cousins!"
Master Encaitar's face took on a dismayed look, but he exaggerated the expression so badly – eyes wide open, eyebrows raised high, lips drooping – that Findekáno was hard put not to laugh at him.
"At such short notice, I'm afraid we will not be able to create something new," he said in a plaintive voice. "Nor do we have anything in your colours, Prince Findekáno. But I promise that I will try my best with what we have in store..."
"That will not be necessary," Findekáno said with a frown. "I need no new robes."
Master Encaitar looked as though he was about to protest, but another person spoke up now. "Master Encaitar, we are wearing Lord Maitimo out. Pray hurry, so that he can soon recover his strength."
"Of course, of course," Encaitar said and returned his attention to Russandol's robes. Meanwhile, the man who had interrupted him came closer until he stood before Findekáno. Then he went on one knee, took Findekáno's right hand and kissed it. "Prince Findekáno. It has been too long since we last met, but I am glad I now have a chance to give you due thanks for bringing my lord Maitimo back."

"You are blushing, cousin," Russandol observed with a grin. "Try to get used to this; you might get more of it tomorrow. For some reason, they all seem to be really happy to have me back."
Findekáno withdrew his hand hastily, touching his cheeks. He could feel the telltale heat that suggested that Russandol was right.
"Well, you are welcome," he said somewhat gracelessly to the kneeling man, who looked at him with a bemused expression on his face, but rose. Findekáno recognised his face, now. The name of Varnacanyo had rung a bell before, when he had read it in Russandol's letters, but he hadn't given it much thought. Now he saw the person it belonged to: the son of two gardeners who had worked in Grandfather Finwë's garden back in the day. Their son had accompanied the king when he had left Tirion for Formenos, and Findekáno couldn't remember having met him again, ever after. So now he was Russandol's squire. Findekáno was amused to see that Varnacanyo was wearing a long, fur-lined vest. He himself did not find the room unpleasantly cold; but then, he was used to worse, and Varnacanyo clearly wasn't.

Still, Varnacanyo did not seem to mind Findekáno's graceless response, giving him a cheerful smile. "Would you like some refreshments, Prince Findekáno? A cup of tea is surely indicated. I can also get something to eat if you wish. It's not long until dinner now, but maybe some fruitcake?"
"That sounds wonderful," Findekáno said, both to make up for his incivility and because he was genuinely hungry.
Varnacanyo gave a small, flourish-less bow. "My lord?" he said, turning to Russandol.
"Not for me, Varnacanyo, thank you. I don't want to spoil my appetite for dinner."

Findekáno, in his turn, was glad to have spoiled his appetite, for otherwise, his dignity would have been sorely at risk. Even before dinner began, the most appetising smells came wafting into the great hall; without the fruitcake to occupy his stomach, he probably would have raided the kitchen. As it was, he could calmly sit down next to Russandol, leaning back into the cushioned chair and taking in the sight of the great hall. It was surprisingly bare, without the marble pillars, the painted walls and vaults and the alabaster sculptures Findekáno remembered from their grandfather's palace. Here, the pillars were made of elm wood that had been oiled but not painted, and the walls were simply white. There were not even curtains before the high, narrow windows. For decoration, there were only garlands and wreaths made of ever-green branches and plants: fir and pine, holly and boxwood, juniper and heather. They looked as though they have been newly put up, maybe in preparation for the feast, and still smelled fresh and spicy, competing with the scent of the beeswax candles, the smoke from the fireplace and the smells from the kitchen.

When Russandol's brothers arrived, and Findekáno took some amusement from analysing their different reactions to his presence. Macalaurë came in first, his eyes widening in surprise when he saw Findekáno, then lighting up as he smiled. First he greeted Russandol, bending down to put his arms around his shoulders; Findekáno noticed how he briefly pressed his face into his brother's hair, closing his eyes. Macalaurë would never again take his brother for granted, Findekáno thought.
Out loud, Macalaurë merely said, "Hey, Nelyo. I trust your day was agreeable?"
Russandol raised his right arm to return his brother's hug. "Agreeable, until Findekáno arrived: Then it turned better."
Macalaurë smiled, and turned his attention to Findekáno. "Yes. Welcome, dear cousin." He hesitated, and his eyebrows contracted for a moment of doubt. "May I embrace you?" he asked then.
"If you wish," Findekáno replied and rose. Macalaurë gave him a surprisingly tight squeeze, his arms trembling a little; then, it seemed, he regained his composure, let go and took a step back, giving Findekáno another smile. "Welcome again," he said. "Nelyo was afraid you would not be able to come. I am glad his doubts were unfounded."
"Until this morning, I had these doubts myself," Findekáno returned. "Father kept me waiting almost until the last moment."
"Well, I am glad he decided in our favour," Macalaurë said. "Now, where can I sit?"
"I told Findo that whoever sat on my right had to cut my meat, but he was not deterred," Russandol said. "Or maybe he did not want to contest Tyelko his chair. Do you?"
Macalaurë laughed. "I'm not afraid of Tyelko, but I think I'll take this opportunity to sit next to my brother's saviour. Moryo will find another seat, I'm sure."

Carnistir wandered in without acknowledging anyone's presence, frowned briefly when he found his own chair occupied, then shrugged his shoulders and sat down next to Macalaurë. Macalaurë and Maitimo spoke a few words of greeting, but Findekáno decided that if Carnistir couldn't even bother to say hello, he certainly wouldn't make an effort. At any rate, Carnistir hardly reacted to his brothers' attempts to talk to him, only nodding, then staring off into the hall, his brow creased in thought or anger. There was a deep furrow over the bridge of his nose, suggesting that he did that often.
The next to arrive was Ambarussa, red-cheeked from the cold, rubbing his hands vigorously as he entered. He greeted Findekáno with a broad grin. "How good you're here, cousin! It has been far too long. I hope you had a safe journey?"
"Perfectly safe," Findekáno said. "I took the long way to make certain."
Ambarussa extended his hands, and Findekáno took them. "Careful," Ambarussa announced cheerfully, "I have icicles for fingers."
Findekáno thought that he'd felt worse, but managed not to say so as he let go of Ambarussa' cold hands. His youngest cousin then turned to greet his brothers before sitting down in his chair at the end of the table. He leaned across to continue talking to Findekáno at once. "So, Failon tells us you're trying to grow millet over there? Not a good idea."

Findekáno frowned, both because he didn't feel comfortable discussing the food situation of his people and because he wondered what Ambarussa meant.
"Why is that?" he finally asked, adding at once, "Mind you, we're not exactly spoilt for choice. We had to make do with what you left us, and that was millet." His voice had grown hard and cold; he could not help it.
Now Ambarussa frowned as well. "Well, we also wanted millet, initially," he said. "But then we found out it doesn't grow well here. It needs a warmer and drier climate; you might get lucky when it's early in the year when you sow it, when there's no late frost and summer lasts long, but you might just as well end up with a measly harvest or none at all. We tried it, and found it wasn't worth the effort. Why would you want to repeat our mistakes?"
"Telvo has discovered his passion for agriculture, you see," Russandol said. His voice was calm and even, helping Findekáno to calm a little, too.
"Well, we can avoid your mistakes only if we know them," he pointed out. "But say –" He stopped himself. From what he remembered, it had always been the other Ambarussa who had cared about gardening and plants, while Telvo had rather been given to studying animals. There had been at least one major fight between the twins because the mice Telvo had been breeding to feed his hawk had broken into Pityo's collection and devoured some prized seeds. But surprising though Findekáno found Telvo's change of mind, it would have been unkind to point it out. Maybe it was Telvo's way of dealing with the loss of his closest brother.

"But say, what grain should we grow instead?" he said. He could see in Ambarussa's eyes that his cousin knew precisely what he had originally meant to ask – a sort of raw hurt that he knew all too well. But Telvo did not acknowledge the narrow miss, choosing instead to focus on the question Findekáno had made up in its stead. "Rye grows all right here. Barley and oats are best."
Findekáno wrinkled his nose. "Those are all... inferior crops, aren't they? I mean, barley and oats... that's animal fodder."
"In the luxury of Eldamar, yes," said Ambarussa. "But beggars can't be choosers. You'll have to lower your expectations, now that you're here."
"Oh, because I came here straight from the luxury of Eldamar, did I?" Findekáno retorted, rising from his chair before he was aware of it.
Ambarussa stared at him wide-eyed. "I never said you did, did I?"
"Well, you damn well made it sound that way," Findekáno said, grinding his teeth. Only now did he realise that Russandol was watching him, a pained frown on his face; Varnacanyo had taken a step forward, apparently prepared to hold him back should he try to attack Ambarussa. Findekáno felt ashamed and angry at once. He sank back down into his chair. "Don't you tell me to lower my expectations," he snapped in Telvo's direction, giving the gold plate before him an angry flick with his fingers.
Ambarussa studied his own plate, the tips of his fingers brushing the finely stamped rim. "Mother used to have a saying," he said in a quiet voice. "She used to say, If you simply assumed that anything you perceive as insulting happened out of ignorance, not ill will, a lot of conflict could be avoided. -- Generic you. Not you, Findekáno, specifically."
Carnistir seemed to awake from his trance. "None of us heeded that piece of advice," he pointed out with brutal honesty.
"It's still good advice," Ambarussa insisted.
"It is," Findekáno agreed. "Just let me get over my shock that a son of Fëanáro pleads ignorance."

"Well, that should tell you how serious Uncle Telvo is," said a young voice, and Tyelperinquar stepped onto the dais. He was still wearing his leather apron from the forge, and the sleeves of his grubby shirt were rolled up, revealing strong sinewy arms and neatly scrubbed hands. "Good evening, Uncles," he said to the gathered brothers. "Especially to you, Uncle Findekáno. It is good to see you again, and in good health." He bowed formally.
Findekáno half-rose to return the bow, his irritation forgotten for the moment. "And you, Tyelperinquar," he said. "How much you have grown. You look just like your father did at your age."
Tyelperinquar sighed. "Yes, and I have my mother's eyes; but I hope I am my own person for all that."
Findekáno sat down, not certain what to say, while Tyelpo shook hands with his uncles. "Speaking of your father," Russandol said, "where is he?"
"He'll take a bit longer. Uncle Tyelko had something to discuss with him so they sent me ahead. We don't have to wait for them, they said."
Macalaurë let out a long sigh and stood up. "I'll go get them."
"Yes, please do," Maitimo said, and when Findekáno gave him a confused look, he explained, "Dinner is the one time in the day we all spend together. That was Macalaurë's custom, and I think it is sensible, so I have adopted it. If we now eat before those two are here, they'll probably use it as a precedent in the future, and we can't have that."
"Oh, my," Findekáno said. "Family politics."
"Indeed. We have a lot of those, don't we."

Tyelkormo and Curufinwë did not appear delighted that Macalaurë had torn them from their private discussion. As they entered the hall, Curufinwë was marching ahead rather forcefully as though channeling his displeasure into his feet, even though his face betrayed little. Tyelkormo, on the other hand, was pursing his lips, then tightening them, grimacing as if chewing on something unpleasant – his thoughts about being patronised, perhaps. However, both were perfectly friendly towards Findekáno.
"My apologies, cousin," Curufinwë said smoothly as he nodded in greeting. "If I had known that our guest of honour is already gracing our table, I would not have been so tardy."
Findekáno studied his cousin's face, searching for a wink or a sneer – Curufinwë's voice didn't give anything away, but Findekáno could not imagine that Curufinwë would say something like that without irony. Before he could make up his mind, however, Tyelkormo clasped his shoulder with almost painful enthusiasm. "Valiant cousin! How good to see you." He slumped into the empty chair on Maitimo's left. "What do you like better, venison or boar?"
Findekáno's dignity was again sorely tested. His mouth began to water at the mere thought of either meat, and his treacherous stomach rumbled.
"An evil question to ask when you've already delayed our dinner," Macalaurë said in a tone that immediately reminded Findekáno of his aunt Nerdanel: mild and diplomatic, but slightly reprimanding. Findekáno was grateful for his intervention, but at the same time, he was annoyed that Macalaurë seemed to think he couldn't fend for himself. He turned to Tyelkormo and said, "I cannot honestly decide, cousin. It depends on what you do with the meat. Either can be absolutely delicious, so, given the right treatment, I like them both."
Tyelkormo grinned, and Findekáno felt an urge to return the grin even though he hadn't forgiven his cousins at all – aside from Russandol, of course.
"Well," Tyelkormo said, "it's good then that I shot both!"
Russandol rolled his eyes while Curufinwë chuckled. Findekáno simply snorted to show his disdain. "Well, then, which shall we have tonight?"
Tyelkormo's grin broadened. "Neither!" he said with a glint in his eye. "Today, we must feast on humble pie; all the good meat is for tomorrow."

Now Findekáno rolled his eyes as well, but he decided not to dignify Tyelkormo's meagre jest by paying it further heed. He changed the topic instead. "So how is it, hunting here in winter? Satisfactory?"
"Quite so; the game is fatter now than it was in the summertime. Of course, it's not what we were used to; the deer are leaner, and the boar tougher. But it beats rat or squirrel, and we ate that, too, in our time." Findekáno's eyes widened in surprise; looking at the golden plates and fine robes, smelling the delicious promise from the kitchen, it was hard to imagine that the Fëanorians had ever been reduced to eating rats.
"Telvo was speaking from experience," Carnistir butted in as though he'd heard Findekáno's thoughts. Ambarussa, still studying his plate, sighed. "Yes, well, I don't think we should complain to Findekáno of all people."
Tyelkormo shrugged his shoulders. "Well, cousin, don't worry. Despite Curvo's words, our dinner is not going to be that humble tonight."

Indeed, to Findekáno it seemed a feast in its own right. There was indeed pie, but it was filled with rabbit, not rat. There was a salad of celery and leeks, nuts and dried apples, and even the barley turned out to be perfectly palatable, soft and pearly-white and seasoned with garlic and leeks. There were hard-boiled eggs and boiled turnips also, and a dark wine with a strange, powerful taste that turned out to be made from elderberries. Findekáno again wished he could have convinced some of his siblings to accompany him, or at least young Itarildë. How they would have enjoyed the meal!
The food was excellent, and the company was also annoyingly agreeable; again and again, Findekáno had to force a smile off his face. Sharing his cousins' dinner and their potent wine, it was all too tempting to also share in their laughter and their stories, tempting to pick up their friendship as it had been left so long ago. But of course, that was out of the question. They had, after all, made painfully clear how little they valued that friendship, and charming and congenial though most of them were now, Findekáno would not trust them again – not so soon, maybe not ever.
The single exception among his cousins occasionally cast him a questioning glance, raising an eyebrow when Findekáno alone refused to laugh at a genuinely funny story Ambarussa told of the festival preparations. Findekáno gave him a minitesimal shrug in reply. He would explain himself later, if that was truly necessary.

But before he could return to Russandol's room to relax and talk in private after the meal, Tyelkormo stopped him. "Cousin, may I have a word with you?"
Findekáno was less than eager to have a word with Tyelkormo, who in his opinion was arrogant and short-tempered even for a Fëanorian. He didn't trust his own temper, either, especially as they had both drunken enough of the elder wine to be not fully in control of themselves.
"Can it wait, or is it important?" Findekáno asked, trying to keep the apprehension out of his voice.
"It's important to me. It can wait if you want me to have a sleepless night."
Truthfully, Findekáno was half-tempted to leave Tyelkormo to suffer that sleepless night, if that wasn't just a ruse to make him feel guilty in the first place. But Tyelkormo was giving him an intent stare, and his cousin's eyes didn't suggest any falsehood or ruse. Then again, with those blue, round, infant-like eyes, Tyelkormo tended to look deceptively innocent anyway. Findekáno sighed and nodded his agreement. "Fine. If you must."
"When the others are gone," Tyelkormo specified, making Findekáno regret his agreement. He gave another pointed sigh. "Go ahead," he told Russandol with a lopsided smile. "I'll follow you forthwith."
At once, Varnacanyo hurried forward, taking his place on Russandol's right side. Russandol was already leaning on Macalaurë; now he wrapped his right arm about Varnacanyo's shoulder before he slowly walked ahead. Findekáno looked after them, his forehead creased. Tyelkormo, meanwhile, was studying his own hands as if immensely interested in the dirt under his fingernails.
"Right," Findekáno said when they were alone but for the maid who tended the fireplace, out of earshot. "What's so important, then?"
Tyelkormo let out his breath abruptly. "I take it Macalaurë transmitted our thanks, when he last saw you," he said, his tone strangely clipped.
"He did," Findekáno said, trying to figure out where this was going.
His cousin nodded. "Of course; he would. But I would still use the chance to thank you again, in person."

This was not what Findekáno had expected. He couldn't deny that he was relieved that Tyelkormo's grave matter turned out to be so straightforward and simple – if that was all. Still, he could not keep himself from snorting, pointing out, "I did not do it for you."
Tyelkormo pursed his lips. "Did I say that? No, I didn't. I know full well that you didn't do it for me, and you know what? I don't care why you did it. For Nelyo? Possibly. For yourself? Perhaps. For some purpose I won't guess? I don't care. You did it. I am glad to have my brother back, and I owe that to you. So here," he spread his arms like an actor about to proclaim some dramatic truth, then bowed so low that the tips of his golden hair brushed the floorboards, "I swallow my pride, and express my gratitude. I thank you, Findekáno Astaldo Nolofinwion, for rescuing my brother; and I am in your debt." He straightened again, his lips tightening angrily. "There you have it; take it or leave it."
Findekáno felt a strange twist in his chest when Tyelkormo bent his proud neck before him, swiftly replaced by the warmth of grim satisfaction. It was immediately followed by guilt; he felt he should neither delight in the sight of somebody bowing before him, nor warm up so quickly to one of Uncle Fëanáro's brood. He was at a loss, and didn't know what to say, and masked his confusion with brusqueness. "What do you expect now, cousin?" he said. "That all is forgiven, forgotten because you swallowed your pride for a second?"
"I did not ask forgiveness," Tyelkormo pointed out, clenching and unclenching his fists in rapid succession. "I said thank you. Now you can say 'You are welcome, cousin', or you can say 'I do not want to hear it': I cannot make the decision for you, and I won't try."
Findekáno snorted. "And now you'll tell me again that you'll have a sleepless night?"
The corner of Tyelkormo's mouth twitched, as though he felt the urge to laugh but didn't dare or care to. "No, cousin; I've said my piece, so I can sleep in peace." Now he did smirk, apparently pleased with his word-play. "As I said: Take it or leave it." He bowed again, in his normal manner: a sharp nod of the head, no more. "Good night, cousin Findekáno. Rest well."