Five Times Nerdanel Said 'Yes' by oshun

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Interlude: Sea Fever

And all I ask is a windy day
with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume,
and the seagulls crying. –Sea Fever by John Masefield

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The road ran along the edge of a cliff, gradually sloping to an almost level strip of sand dotted by clumps of hardy sea grass. Beyond stretched the endless sea, which shimmered during what passed for the morning mingling of the lights in Alqualondë. The silver of Telperion did not shine strongly here; nights could be quite dark. But the golden light of Laurelin did reach the shore and had already begun to burn off the last of the fog.

Nerdanel squirmed in her seat. She had been dying to shift her stiff muscles for some time. Fëanáro, asleep over two hours, leaned heavily against her shoulder. She had covered him in a light coach blanket and tried to cushion him against the jostling of the carriage on the bumpy coastal road as well as she could. But now she no longer cared if she awakened him.

He opened his eyes, blinking like an owl, instantly giving her the sweetest smile--one of those innocent and artless smiles of his, which never failed to wring her heart.

“Good morning, sweetheart . . . everyone,” he said looking around at their companions. “Will someone please remind me why we had to leave so early today?”

The question was rhetorical, but Ñolofinwë took everything literally. “Olwë says the mingling of the lights is uniquely beautiful along this stretch of coast,” he explained in a pedantic tone

Fëanáro yawned audibly without covering his mouth, possibly with the conscious intent of annoying Ñolvo, and then, ducking his head, grinned up into his brother’s uncompromising visage. “And was it beautiful, my dear?”

Ñolofinwë stared open-mouthed at Fëanáro as though doubting the endearment could have possibly been directed toward him.

Arafinwë, amused, leapt into the exchange. “Well, you could have seen it for yourself sleepy-head, if you had not stayed up half the night drinking and talking with my father-in-law.

“Ah, yes,” Fëanáro sighed. “I felt raw this morning, worse than if I had not slept at all. But I feel fine now.”

“The mingling was as stunning as ever,” said Eärwen. “One could say spectacular. Shame you missed it. Although, if I know you, you probably are already familiar with this area.”

Fëanáro smiled back at her, amiably. “So is Nerdanel.” He looked up into her eyes again, happy, affectionate, buoyed by his love for the sea. “Sweetheart, I think we might have spent a few days at this very cove. Is this the one?”

“I’ll tell you when we get down to the beach, and I can look back up at the cliffs,” she said. “Don’t you think we should walk the rest of way? I feel like this wagon has gone about as far as it can go.” The wagon she referenced was actually an open carriage drawn by two large horses with room for at least eight passengers. It carried only the six of them and a prodigious amount of food and accoutrements, chosen and supplied by Olwë’s seneschal. Olwë was convinced that the Finwion brothers’ differences could be largely mitigated if they only spent more leisure time alone together.

When he suggested the outing for them, they had all acquiesced readily enough, while smiling conspiratorially at one another in a rare flash of agreement. It seemed to Nerdanel, as though each of them believed their snarled web of political differences, personal ambitions, and jealousies could never be unraveled by such simplistic means, but that no one should turn down a beach holiday planned and provisioned by someone else.

Olwë’s grandchildren and their cousins were to stay in Alqualondë. The Telerin king had arranged for the three couples to spend the day and one night together swimming and picnicking on a secluded beach. Nerdanel knew it would strain the bounds of tolerance among Fëanáro and his two half-brothers. Or perhaps Olwë was right. Maybe some of the weight of resentment and envy could be lifted by removing them to a neutral location and away from the pressures of their rambunctious families. Finwë’s sons stood out only as peaks visible above a heavy cloud cover, among the many divisions within the fractious Noldor,.

"This is a good place to pull over and unload," Eärwen announced. As they exited the carriage, Nerdanel noticed that Fëanáro surreptitiously slipped something--coin or small jewels, she could not tell--to the coachman and his assistant, despite the fact that they were in the employ of Olwë and doubtless well-compensated.

Throughout their marriage, Nerdanel and Fëanáro had traveled a lot with their children, usually on horseback. Never one to delegate, he had always played both captain and quartermaster, allowing only Maitimo to act as his trusted lieutenant. But, that day, when they scrambled out of the carriage and prepared for their final trek from the road down to the beach, Fëanáro relinquished all responsibility to Eärwen with a courtly bow. “At your service, princess. Strong back, willing hands. Tell me what you want of me.”

“Ah, yes,” Eärwen gave him that languid, flirtatious smile of hers, unselfconscious to the point of offering exactly nothing. “I’ll have need of that strong back of yours.“ Eärwen liked Fëanáro and was not intimidated by him in the slightest. They had known one another growing up, long before anyone had thoughts of marrying her to his younger half-brother. “Nerdanel, Anairë, can you carry down the blankets and bathing sheets first? Nolo, will you please bring that crate of glasses? It’s not terribly heavy but a bit clumsy and fragile. I know I can trust you to handle it with care. And we brought an entire case of wine. You can carry that, Áro. But, please, watch your step.”

She turned to Fëanáro. “And you, burly one . . . ” All of the women laughed at her description. Fëanáro might have been broader of shoulder and stronger of arm than his brothers, but retained an enviably lithe and graceful form. “We brought two large crates of food. I trust you to know if you can carry both at once or need to make two trips. I’ll gather the umbrellas and straw mats for the beach. Then we can all climb back up and drag down our personal packs.”

In a matter of minutes, they had gathered all of their supplies and tumbled down the slope with the last of the boxes and bags. To the back of them towered the cliffs with their narrow path leading up to the road. In front of them stretched the beach of pale, gleaming sand. A jagged line of seaweed along the beach, separating wet from dry sand, demarcated the reach of the highest tide. Nerdanel and Eärwen proceeded to spread the woven mats upon the sand, while Eärwen expertly unfurled three large umbrellas and planted them along one side. The men left the women to build their nest and scrambled out of their clothing a few yards away, with boyish horseplay and affectionate insults.

Nerdanel wanted to shout out to Fëanáro that he should leave on his braies. Nude bathing was not done among the nobility of Tirion. But she restrained herself, knowing he would either laugh at her or become irritated. Either result would only encourage him to make even more of a demonstration of stripping as bare as the day he was born. She shook her head, thinking that was not a battle worth fighting and this was his family. When Arafinwë dropped his last scrap of underclothing first, she could only smile and sigh in relief.

Eärwen grinned at her, as though she had read her thoughts. "Aró's more Telerin than Noldorin in his habits."

Only Ñolofinwë hesitated, striding in the direction of the surf still wearing his braies. Fëanáro and Arafinwë smirked at one another behind his back before running into the surf whooping. Ñolofinwë glanced up and down the beach as though to check one last time that they were truly alone before discarding his pants. To the south of them were sheer cliffs with only the narrowest strip of sand between them and the ocean and at the other end, where beach broadened out and stretched up the coast, stood a half dozen open-sided, palm-roofed shacks which housed purveyors of seafood and drinks. This was the beach that Fëanáro had referred to earlier. They had stayed here a week once in their feckless youth. Beyond the curve to the north lay a small fishing village.

“Is he always so shy about uncovering himself?” Nerdanel asked, before she realized she had spoken aloud.

“Only around Fëanáro,” Anairë answered dryly.

“I’m sure I do not know why that would be!” Nerdanel was thinking of how unembarrassed Arafinwë had been by comparison. They laughed at her. “Of course, I realize how difficult Fëanáro can be with him, about nearly anything. I simply meant Ñolvo is so beautiful unclothed.” Her face turned redder and their laughs grew louder, until the men glanced back in their direction.

“Oh, Anairë! Look how pretty Nerdanel is when she blushes,” Eärwen said. “They are all lovely, aren’t they?”

Nerdanel agreed silently but wholeheartedly as she watched the three brothers, tall and lean, handsome and proud. Some men might rival, but none surpassed the sons of Finwë as examples of masculine beauty. Ñolofinwë and Fëanáro were equals in height and in the length of their well-shaped legs. Fëanáro’s shoulders were noticeably more developed, as were his biceps, and the hard muscles of his chest. Despite their different mothers, their resemblance was so strong that anyone could see at a glance that the two of them were brothers. Arafinwë looked like a slightly smaller model of them, except for his distinguishing crown of bright golden hair.

“No wonder we have produced such magnificent sons. Finwë produced good breeding stock,” Eärwen said. Anairë snorted at her audacity at speaking of the highest princes and the king of the Noldor as though she were a horse dealer and Finwë a favored stud. Nerdanel had always loved Eärwen’s cheek. And, the Telerin princess seemed to be the only person who was able to coax Anairë to entirely relax.

When she had stopped chuckling, Anairë said in a laconic drawl, “I’ll keep the one I chose. I have no serious complaints.”

Nerdanel laughed, again, happy and at ease for the moment with the two women who could probably understand better than anyone else in Arda the joys and sorrows inherent in her own choice. “I wish I could say I have nothing to complain of, but still I have much for which to be grateful. Despite all of our problems, I am as mad about him as I ever was.”

Eärwen smiled and stood up on tiptoes to kiss Nerdanel on the forehead, “And he adores you, darling. That can never be underestimated. I can honestly say that Aró has not brought me a day of grief.” She made a Telerin superstitious gesture of warding off evil spirits, which made her Noldorin sisters-in-law laugh fondly at her, so confident were they in their people’s strong Kurwë and less certain in those days of the softer forms of insight and knowledge into the heart’s secrets that Eärwen valued so highly.

“Shall we rest a while before bathing?” Anairë asked, stretching out on her stomach and propping her chin on her hands, as though readying herself to watch a show.

Arafinwë swam just beyond a breaking wave and dived, not resurfacing. Nerdanel had seen him execute this particular stunt before and knew what to expect. Anairë gasped.

“I think some cheese and glass of juice would be nice,” said Eärwen, plopping down beside her. “It’s a bit early to start with wine if we have any hope of keeping up with them later today. Look. It is cranberry juice from the far north coast sweetened with apples and pears.”

“It really does look like wine!” Nerdanel said.

“Clever me, right?” Eärwen asked. “The labels with the red mark in the corner are fruit juice. That way we have a ghost of chance of surviving the famous Finwëan high alcohol tolerance without waking up with a splitting head. We drink one glass of this for every glass of wine.”

“Oh, you are good!” Nerdanel laughed. The wind picked up the hair pulled loose from her braid that clung to her damp neck--time to re-braid her hair and slip out of her riding clothes.

“I am also short and do not weigh much,” Eärwen answered. “Don’t mean to discourage you from drinking as much as you want . . . only if you want to slow down when Arafinwë starts pushing drinks on you.”

“Where did Aró disappear to?” Anairë asked Eärwen, the forced control of her voice betraying her concern. “He dove into the sea and now I cannot see him.” Before Eärwen could respond, Arafinwë broke the surface of water well out into the ocean, beyond the cresting waves, a momentary silhouette of the head and shoulders of a man black against the distant sky, before he dropped onto the surface of water and began a lazy crawl toward the shore.

“He’s a showoff.” Eärwen laughed. “It apparently runs in the family.”

Anairë and Eärwen leaned back onto their elbows upon the mats, looking out toward the sea, skirts hiked up to mid-thigh. Tall for a woman, Anairë had raven black hair that shone in the sunlight, while Eärwen was a tiny silvery-haired blonde. A contrast in appearance, but true sisters in that they shared an empathy she could not help but envy.

Living with Fëanáro and their brood had left Nerdanel with little energy to cultivate other friendships. Indis lectured her about not allowing herself to become isolated and she appreciated the older woman’s concern, but she had her work also. That devoured any free time she might have had left for women friends, while Fëanáro consumed any extra spiritual energy.

Most of all, she never stopped feeling she didn't give enough to the children. Only the piercing stab of her incessant longing for them permitted her to find room for them at all. No. There had never been enough time. Year after year it only got worse as their need for her became less urgent. If she had married anyone but Fëanáro, her art might have left only room in her nest for one lonely little hatchling. Yet, somehow, he had forced these five tall young men upon her, broader shouldered every year, and each with a force of mind and will only overshadowed by their father. She wondered what girls might have been like.

“Are either of you ever sorry not to have any daughters?” she asked her companions.

They looked at one other and grinned. “Interesting you should bring that up today. We’re both trying,” Anairë said. “Don’t say anything. It makes Ñolvo anxious for anyone to know about it. He mentioned trying for another before Turno was born. Oh! The well-meaning questions—‘Any luck yet?’ or ‘Where is that little brother you promised Finno?”—drove him absolutely mad. And when you and Fëanáro had Carnistir years before we had our second, he was furious.”

“How about you?” asked Eärwen. “Didn’t you ever want a little girl? The boys would adore a sister. You don’t seem to have trouble making babies and are such a good mother.”

“How strange that you should say that. I always think I handle the whole childbearing and mothering thing poorly. I was just this instant thinking about how I have let Fëanáro and the boys overwhelm me. They could suck the life out of a person.” Anairë’s smile turned absolutely brilliant at Nerdanel’s confession, while Eärwen chuckled softly.

“Don’t you remember that I almost died giving birth to Tyelkormo? True, Carnistir was an easier delivery. But I was worn out for years afterwards anyway. Everyone knows how difficult he was as a baby and a young child. And, finally, Curvo; he was the easiest to carry and deliver, and the ideal infant, almost as good as Maitimo. But still, it seemed like the right time to stop. I am tired. I don’t want any more. Fëanáro does want a daughter badly. It’s hard to keep saying ‘no.’ He’s a wonderful father, in almost every way.”

“’Almost’ is a big word,” said Anairë, in a wry off-putting tone, lifting her eyebrows dangerously. Nerdanel was never certain when Anairë was teasing and when she actually was as haughty as she sounded. She had a way of unintentionally--at least Nerdanel hoped it was unintentional--making her feel like a grubby, commoner.

“Oh.” Nerdanel released a heavy sigh and looked from one to the other of them. “I don’t know what you think you know about Fëanáro, but I suspect you have it all wrong.”

“Maybe, maybe not. I cannot speak for Eärwen, but I hear a lot at court,” Anairë dragged out her words into a perfect parody of that superior drawl characteristic of the nobility of Tirion, canting her chin up, nose in the air. She was teasing. All of three of them giggled. “Seriously, Nerdanel, Finwë can’t stop talking about what a wonderful father Fëanáro is. No wonder Ñolvo and Arafinwë are jealous of him.”

“Aró started tutoring the boys,” Eärwen said, “largely because he was so envious of how impressed everyone is with how much Fëanáro does so with his sons himself—the riding lessons, the tutoring, the apprenticeships in the forge. People exaggerate, of course. Fëanáro even gets credit for Macalaurë, despite him spending so many years at the Academy here.”

Anairë hopped in again as soon as Eärwen closed her mouth. They had obviously bottled all of these thoughts up for a while and now that they had the opportunity to share it all with her, it was boiling over.

“You know how people are,” Eärwen said. “Everything a man does for a child is praised all the way to Taniquetil and back, especially those like Arafinwë and Fëanáro who put so much personal time into it. But who do they call in the middle of the night when they awaken with a nightmare? Who do they run to when they are hurt or sick? Or when a fair maiden breaks their heart? It’s always the mother.” Nerdanel let it pass that hers had always called out, ‘Atto! Atto!’ as soon as they had been weaned from the breast.

“Fëanáro has always done so much with the boys.” Nerdanel said, trying and failing, she thought, to communicate the fact that on a daily basis he was more attentive than she was. But then there were those times when he might as well be on the other side of the sea. “Except when he disappears and does not come in from the workshop for days. If Maitimo didn’t take him plates at dinner time, he’d starve. To be truthful he did that far less when they were little.”

Eärwen giggled. “If you didn’t feed him, perhaps he would crawl out of his lair looking for food.”

“Maybe,” Nerdanel said. “But maybe mean as a hungry bear.”

“We admire him,” Anairë said. ‘We?’ thought Nerdanel. So, the two of them talk about us often enough to have a joint opinion. “Everyone does,” she continued, with such obvious affection in her voice it surprised Nerdanel. She had never been close to her sisters-in-law the way they were with one another. “ Everyone thinks of him as a priceless treasure of our people. But we worry about you. You need to spend more time away from it all, just for yourself. Eärwen and I have one another. I know you see Indis from time to time, but so rarely. Let’s make an effort when we all go back to Tirion. Shall we? We’ll invite you when we do things, just the two of us, and you must promise you will come.”

“I’ll try.” She decided that she would try. “So, you don’t think I am selfish for refusing to have another?”

At that moment, perhaps distracted by a sound, all three of them turned to see Arafinwë striding toward them, looking like a Maia of the sea, svelte and dripping. Such handsome men, the Finwëans. His golden hair was already drying in the bright warmth of the apex of Laurelin and the wind off the sea. She had always thought of Indis when she looked at Arafinwë’s magnificent hair. But as Tyelkormo grew older, she could see a lot of Arafinwë in him. Human hair color and other physical traits were not as easy to predict as the pea plants Maitimo had worked with as a boy or even those infernal roses which had given him such grief. Nerdanel wondered if she did have a daughter how beautiful might she be or alternatively, not at all pretty after all of those gorgeous brothers. That might be hard to bear. She could look like her mother instead of Fëanáro or the boys.

“Look at the trio of you,” Arafinwë said, his smile relaxed and flirtatious. “What a lovely picture you make together—garnet, gold, and onyx. Aren’t you going to try the water?”

“Absolutely!” said Eärwen. “Later. But we have been having so much fun just sitting here and gossiping.”

“Good. As long as you enjoyed your morning, I am happy. I need a rest. I didn’t sleep as much as Fëanáro did this morning. The tide was pulling against me as I swam back. I wonder if we are going to get a storm later? Look,” he said pointing at Fëanáro and Ñolofinwë still gamboling in the surf like a couple of school boys on holiday. “I think Ñolvo finally has mastered it.” He spoke of the wave-riding that Fëanáro had been coaching his brother at for the better part of the morning. “They are such a pair. Aren't they ridiculous?” Ñolofinwë and Fëanáro were laughing and tugging and shoving one another, slapping each other on the rear end in that way that only smug males involved in athletics ever do. “One moment they are all hard words and the next they are like that.” Arafinwë gestured over his shoulder in the direction of his brothers, before grinning at the ladies. “It’s always been that way. Maybe they are too much alike. Under different circumstances, I think they could have been really close.”

Anairë laughed. “You mean circumstances where Fëanáro is not being an insufferable know-it-all.”

“Anairë, Anairë! It takes two to carry on the way they do. Fëanáro and I never fight. Ñolvo is perfectly capable of being his own special type of jack ass.”

“Where are your britches, Aró?” asked Eärwen. “It’s not respectful to lounge around in front of your sisters-in-law without a stitch of clothing.”

He frowned and sighed. “Somewhere back there on the sand.”

“Don’t worry,” Nerdanel said. “Look. Fëanáro is gathering up everyone’s garments.” She laughed. “He is such a mother hen. That’s how I have survived five children.”

Ñolofinwë and Fëanáro reached them and Fëanáro flopped down onto the mat next to Nerdanel, laying his soaking head of heavy tangled hair upon her lap and looking up into her eyes with such a smile. “Talking about me were you?”

“What else?” asked Anairë, tart as vinegar, but with a warm undertone. "Who else could we possible want to talk about when we share a world with you, Fëanáro?"

“I love you too,” Fëanáro said, crinkling his nose at her. “I loved you before any of these people even heard of you. I just did not love you that way!” he rolled his eyes and she smiled at him with affection.

“I know your secrets, Anairë,” he said, turning his head away from her to address himself to the rest of them. “She’s much nicer than she pretends to be.”

“Did you know that Indis wanted Fëanáro to marry me when we were children?” asked Anairë. Nerdanel had heard all about that, dozens of times. Fëanáro enjoyed the story, but Ñolofinwë hated it.

“Oh!” Eärwen interjected. “And then just a few years little later, Finwë and my father had set their hearts on him and me. I was as interested as any gullible girl would be.” She wrinkled her nose at Fëanáro in imitation of the moue he had just given Anairë and squeezed his naked thigh. Only Eärwen could get away with something like that with him. “I was intrigued that he was considered the most desirable match in Aman--such a brilliant, handsome lad and the first prince among the Noldor, with all of their famous virtues. No one told me he had all of the infamous flaws also! Ada welcomed the chance to strengthen the bond between the Noldor and the Teleri. Then along came Nerdanel and stole the prize away from all of us.”

Everyone laughed, even Ñolofinwë, if ever so slightly grudgingly.

“I did nothing,” Nerdanel protested. “He somehow found me. I wasn’t even pretty--quite the opposite. Atar’s apprentices had never noticed me. Well, I guess they noticed me, but certainly not as a potential sweetheart.”

“Ignorant asses. Some of them were decent smiths, but fortunately for me they had lousy taste in potential conquests. That was part of it—their idea of conquests. Nerdanel never presented herself as the kind of a girl one would try to ensnare. You should have seen the maids they did chase,” Fëanáro said, passionate in remembered outrage. He brought her hand up to his face and turned it over, capturing her eyes, he kissed her open palm, with just a touch of tongue. The promise of the teasing gesture warmed her between her legs.

“You were not conventionally pretty back then,” said Anairë. “But you were a genius, a prodigy like him.”

“Hardly like him!” Nerdanel interjected.

Anairë pursed her lips at her disapprovingly before continuing. “And Fëanáro could see only that about you. Now when I look at you, I wonder how we could ever have thought you were plain. You’re stunning. You must have been then also.”

“Fëanáro is right. The common man likes a bland pretty face. Nerdanel was always striking, transcendentally intelligent, more likely to appeal to a man than a boy. Everyone expected an explosion when they came back to Tirion together wed,” Ñolofinwë said. “But Amil seemed happy enough when you brought her home with you.” Fëanáro shrugged in dismissal at the mention of Indis. “I think she actually admired Fëanáro for knowing what was best for him and being right to have ignored her prodding. And Atar, of course, can find no fault with anything that Fëanáro does once it is done.”

“By the Valar!” said Arafinwë. “What a day that was when they came home with little Russo! I still remember how excited I was. Russandol was such a smart and handsome little creature. I thought I had a playmate.”

“And you did,” Fëanáro said. “Stop complaining! We stayed at the palace nearly a year. An interminable year!”

“Seriously, who could have thought Nerdanel was plain?” Fëanáro asked in honest puzzlement. “I suppose she didn’t tart herself up in a lot of frilly dresses or paint her lips.”

Nerdanel could not help but love that about him. He had never seen that homely girl, with none of the winsome grace of Eärwen or classic Noldorin beauty of Anairë. He saw something else and it was perfectly transparent that he loved what he saw.

“But you have never regretted me pursuing and winning you, have you? Not seriously, I mean!” He touched her face holding her gaze, so open and vulnerable to her. When he allowed her to see all of himself like that it took her breath away. He was far from ordinary, but still familiar and beloved. Her Fëanáro. A little dangerous, always appealing, and he did need her.

“No. I never seriously regretted it. Despite the times I locked you out of the bedroom. Or handed you your travel pack and told you to leave and never come back.”

“Don’t say things like that in front of these people, sweetheart! Ñolofinwë can’t be trusted any further than you can throw him. He loves to tell tales.”

“You always think you are so interesting,” grumbled Ñolofinwë.

Fëanáro laughed and Arafinwë said, “Oh, but he is. Maybe not to you, but to the rest of Aman. They think he is a lot more complicated that he is. Tragic and romantic.”

“Stop before you get yourself in trouble again,” said Eärwen. “This is supposed to a pleasure trip.”

“It’s really all right. He hasn’t the wit to annoy in any serious way,” said Fëanáro.

Nerdanel couldn’t tell if he was joking or serious. She did not find their constant needling of one another as amusing as they apparently did. “So,” she said. “Who’s hungry?”

“We have cheese, wine, bread, fruit and cakes in those baskets over there,” said Eärwen. “The tradition is to cart picnic food to eat during the day and then buy seafood at one of the places further down the beach in the evening.”

“I think I need a glass of wine,” said Arafinwë, pushing himself to his feet with a groan. “Can I get you one, Fëanáro?”

“Thank you. You know you can.”

“No!” snapped Eärwen, and then more amiably, “Let me open the wine, dear.”

“Why?” Arafinwë said, clutching a bottle to his chest.

“Give it to me, Aró! You always get cork in it.” She tried to wrestle the bottle away from him, with no success. Her reach was too short.

“She’s afraid I will open the wrong bottle. I cannot believe after all these years she still thinks we do not notice she waters half the wine!” Arafinwë crowed, totally delighted with himself. Eärwen took advantage of his momentary distraction to push him onto his back and straddle him.

Arafinwë howled in protest. “Are the four of you going to sit there and watch me take this kind of abuse!”

Fëanor took the wine bottle from Arafinwë. “I’ll just open this if you don’t mind.” He wrinkled his nose and stuck the bottle under Anairë’s nose. “So, do you think it is one of the right bottles?”

Squinting at the label, she said, “That one’s good.” The non-combatants laughed. Meanwhile, Arafinwë had rolled Eärwen onto her back and appeared to be kissing her breathless.

Nerdanel would never forget that day on the beach--warm enough, but not too warm, the sky and sea a magical blue. But best of all, Fëanáro seemed utterly relaxed and at ease with his brothers, who grew ever more ebullient under his affectionate attention. And she, after all those years and children, and countless Finwëan family gatherings, had never felt so included in the comfortable friendship between Anairë and Eärwen.

--to be continued