inundated with the fated thought of you by hanneswrites

It is late in the morning when Nerdanel starts out for the day. A basket filled with a light lunch, whittling supplies, a small journal, and her usual linen picnic blanket tucked under her arm, she makes her way into the forest settled behind her father’s home. Deep in the nestled woods there lies a small, open clearing filled with a radiant abundance of Vána’s golden flowers. She knows the way by heart at this point, having come here at least once a week in the months following her husband and sons’ departure from Valinor. It had become a routine place of solace and peace for her - quiet apart from the gentle sway of the forest in the wind and the rustle of wildlife around her - the perfect place to spend a relaxing day whittling away at potential mockups for new projects.

Only on very rare occasion would she stumble upon others in this part of the wood. Apart from her small field of flowers, it lacked any sort of defining feature to tempt anyone to venture this far from Tirion, and for that she was often glad. 

On this day, however, Nerdanel wanders down the well-worn path through the forest and finds herself to be very much not alone among the old, tall evergreens. It is soft at first - far off in the distance as she makes her way further into the forest, only growing louder as she approaches her little meadow deep in the woods. It becomes apparent as she makes her way around the last bend before the meadow that the song is coming from the clearing. 

Nerdanel sighs, closing her eyes for a brief moment as she contemplates turning around and coming back tomorrow. As she’s weighing her options, the voice tapers off and the song ends and for a split second Nerdanel thinks she’s in luck - perhaps whoever has wandered into the forest has decided to move on for the day. Her hopes are immediately crushed as a new melody begins. Her face falls and she lets out a long breath, her fingers tightening around the handle of her basket as she moves to turn around and head home - except, as the voice echoing through the pines reaches the chorus, she stills in place.    

It doesn’t take her long to place the melody - an old ballad she remembers being popular back when she was still quite young. She hasn’t heard it in centuries at this point and she finds herself smiling softly at this interesting upbeat rendition of it. Now that she’s actually listening to it more closely - she finds herself oddly drawn in by the smooth timbre of the voice resonating so clearly through the forest. All previous notions of agitation at someone being in her secret clearing fade away and she is left curious of just who has managed to wander all the way out here.

Nerdanel slows to a halt at the edge of the clearing, hidden behind only a thin cover of brush and branches, and she listens. She moves closer, steadily bringing a figure into focus as she closes in on the clearing. An ellon with hair that shines like polished gold sits among the sea of flowers that line the low-rolling hills of the secret little meadow she’s come to treasure so dearly over the years. She can’t quite make out who he is at this distance, but his voice sounds strangely familiar as she listens on. 

She loses herself in the melody for a long moment and her attention drifts - she thinks of things as they were before, of things as they are now, and she thinks of the last time she’d heard this song. The memory pops into her mind unbidden - a rare quiet night in her old household, the soft lilt of her Makalaurë’s voice accompanied by his harp wafting in from another room as she finished up a project in her studio. 

Nerdanel clenches her teeth and closes her eyes, taking in a long, deep breath and letting it out slowly. She lets the memory play out to its conclusion and allows herself a moment to feel everything that comes along with that - the all-too-familiar grief and burden and longing and loneliness washing over her and cresting, her chest tightening, her breath stalling in her throat, and then settling and fading as she opens her eyes, grounding herself in the present with the familiar sounds of the forest. 

The song comes to its end. And Nerdanel turns away from the edge of the meadow to head back to her father’s house for the day. 

This is unfortunately when her basket decides to snag itself on a particularly thorny tree branch. It catches her off-guard and she momentarily loses her balance, reeling forward and careening face-first into the underbrush surrounding the clearing.  

Nerdanel sighs and takes a second to collect herself before pushing up out of the bushes, frowning as she realizes the voice coming from the clearing has not continued and therefore most likely heard her fall. She is proven correct, as moments later she hears the distinct sound of footsteps growing nearer.  

“Are you alright?” The ellon calls from just a few feet away now, and Nerdanel curses internally. She swiftly rights herself on her feet, brushing leaves and twigs from her clothes. 

“Lady Nerdanel?” 

She finally looks up at him, meets his eye and realizes very quickly that she knows him. 

“Oh! Lindómo,” Nerdanel smiles politely as she smooths down the edges of her tunic, “My apologies for interrupting your day.”  

“Ah, it’s - fine, really,” He says, smiling back at her, and she is stricken for a moment by how bright that smile is. There is a long pause between them where the only sound is the light wind whistling through the trees.

“Right. Well, I should be--” Nerdanel starts - but she’s cut off by Lindómo almost instantly.

“Would you--” 

Lindómo grins sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck as he tentatively outstretches his other hand toward her. 

“Would you like to join me?” He asks. 

She cannot quite place her finger on why she hesitates, apart from being a bit surprised by the invitation itself - while she often spends time with Amarië, she realizes she knows very little about her brother aside from the fact that he and Amarië are, indeed, siblings. Back in the thrall of her youth when she and Amarië had met and become fast friends, Lindómo had been a consistent presence whenever she would visit their household. She had known him in passing, in the way that most know their close friend’s siblings. And though she would admit in her most honest of moments that she had briefly entertained the thought of him in a romantic context - that had been before--

--before Fëanáro, before her sons, before she’d watched them walk away from her for the last time.   

--before everything . 

Nerdanel finds herself looking at him for a long moment, taking in the gentle curve of his palm and his fingertips, the small braids twined in his hair, the delicate embroidery lining the edges of his tunic, and most of all - the clear brightness in his eyes and the soft, shy smile adorning his lips. It sparks something in her that she cannot quite identify - a subtle warmth that spreads through her chest, an echo of old familiarity and contentment that leaves her oddly curious. 

She takes his hand slowly, a small smile of her own crossing her face, “I think I’d like that.” 

Her heart flutters as his hand closes around hers and this too catches her by surprise as she lets herself be led further into the meadow. 

Lindómo has set up a small blanket among the flowers and as she settles down onto it, she notices a small pile of braided flower rings set off to the side. She plucks one out of the pile as he sits on the other side of the blanket and turns it over in her hands, admiring the clearly skilled craftsmanship of the braided stems and the well-chosen blooms. He’s clearly been weaving them for a while this morning. 

“You can have one if you’d like,” He says, and Nerdanel watches as he carefully plucks another golden bloom from the field around them. She raises an eyebrow at him as he selects another and begins braiding them anew. 

“Are you making these for someone?” She asks, and he shakes his head. 

“I mostly just like to keep my hands busy,” Lindómo ties off the end of one stem and Nerdanel notices, without really meaning to, a fine tremor in his fingers as he adds in another, “It helps me think.” 

There is another long pause as Lindómo continues his work on the flower ring, seemingly content to simply sit in silence beside her, and Nerdanel decides to pull out her whittling supplies. She thinks, perhaps, as she stares down at Lindómo’s hands as they effortlessly go through the motions of creating the crown weave, that scultiping something similar may be an interesting challenge for her. And thus, she sets herself to carving one of the flowers woven into the crown. 

After some time has passed and the sun sits high in the sky, Nerdanel speaks again, as the curiosity for what brought him this far from where she knows his home to be is still on her mind. 

“You have a very nice voice,” She says, smoothing her fingertip over the divet she just carved into the wood, “I’ll admit, you caught me off-guard earlier - I do not often come across anyone this far north.”

She looks up at him, catching the light dusting of pink on his cheeks as he pointedly focuses on the movement of his hands. 

“I have a fondness for exploring places that are often less traveled,” He says, and Nerdanel watches as he finishes off the flower crown with a small pink camelia, “It tends to yield hidden gems such as this.” He gestures to the meadow. 

Nerdanel chuckles softly and smiles, “This place is special, indeed. I am very fond of it myself.” 

They lapse again into a comfortable silence, the easy and familiar sounds of the forest cascading around them, and Nerdanel busies herself with her whittling. Lindómo lays the crown with the pink camelia between them and settles down on his back, hands laced behind his head and eyes focused toward the sky. He picks up another tune some time later, singing softly as the flowers sway in the breeze around them, and Nerdanel finds herself more relaxed than she’s been in a long while. 

“You are very obvious, you know?” Amarië says, her fingers curling around the mug Lindómo sets in front of her. She gives him a sly smile as he sits across from her at the kitchen table. Lindómo says nothing in response, very pointedly keeping his eyes focused on the steam rising off of his tea in order to avoid looking his sister in the eye. 

“Something has happened that you are not telling me,” Amarië continues, “And I will figure out what it is eventually. You should simply save me the time and effort and tell me what it is now.” 

“Nothing has happened,” Lindómo says and he takes a long sip of his tea. He looks up at his sister, takes in the absolutely unimpressed look on her face, sets his mug down on the table, and promptly lets his head fall into his hands, sighing audibly.

“I met Nerdanel while I was out riding the other day.” 

“And?” Amarië raises an eyebrow at him, a knowing smile turning up the corners of her lips, “It is not as if you have never met her before.”

Lindómo pauses for a moment and takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and feeling the warmth seep through the porcelain mug and bleed into his hands. A tense feeling creeps it’s way into his shoulders as his mind unwillingly supplies him with small snippets of his encounter with Nerdanel - the soft curve of her smile, the delightful melody of her laugh, the golden light of the mid-morning sun reflecting the low undertones of her hair and making her glow like woven firelight--   

“Lindómo,” Amarië says, bringing him back to their conversation. He sighs once more and taps the side of his mug, trying to relieve a little bit of the anxious energy that had woven its way into his chest. 

“I have never spoken to her at length before,” He says, and when he meets his sister’s eyes again, she is grinning wide and bright. 

“Oh?” Amarië says, leaning forward on her elbows. 

“I rode out to one of the forests closer to Tirion and ended up settling down in a little grove to rest for a while - Lady Nerdanel arrived some time later, we spoke a long while about a great many things, and spent a good part of the afternoon together. It was--” 

Magical - glorious - lovely - divine--

“It was very pleasant,” Lindómo finishes, and he knows as soon as he’s said it that he’s made a mistake - because Amarië’s grin just grows wider and more mischievous.  He knows what she is thinking as he is very aware of the fact that Amarië is privy to his long-running adoration of Lady Nerdanel.     

“It is not an impossibility, you know” Amarië gives him a soft smile and lays her hand over his, giving it a reassuring squeeze, “Perhaps it was by fate’s design that both of you happened to be in the right place at the right time.” 

“Perhaps,” He says, “How is Findaráto, by the way?” 

Amarië narrows her eyes at him and gives him a disapproving look, but lets the subject drop anyway. Even as she starts in on a long overview of everything she and Findaráto had gotten up to over the weekend, Lindómo catches that mischievous glint in her eye that tells him that she will not be forgetting about this any time soon.

“You know, I was almost certain it would be Findaráto I would be sculpting today, when Amarië commissioned me for this she didn’t mention that you would be the model,” Nerdanel takes her time, mapping out exactly where the next marks needed to be placed upon the marble. 

Lindómo stands on the pedestal in the middle of the room posing with a long spear in both of his hands, casually drawn diagonally across his body. He’s clearly trying very hard to appear natural and relaxed in his posture, as Nerdanel had bid him to at the beginning of the session, but the tense concentration in his brow gives him away. 

“She did not deign to mention to me that I would be modeling either,” Lindómo huffs. His smile stays firm and playful. He sways a bit on the stand and Nerdanel considers ending early for the day - she’s been working for nearly three hours straight and Lindómo had truly come unprepared to model for her today, he was likely both bored and at least somewhat fatigued at this point. She decides to continue on for at least a little while longer, until Lindómo begins to shift his weight every few moments, plainly growing more and more uncomfortable as the minutes ticked on.  

Nerdanel ends the session early, and Lindómo seems both distinctly apologetic and regretful at this decision. It’s not unusual for her to cut first sessions short, after all - many people who endeavor to model in this context seem to not know exactly what they’re signing themselves up for, so cutting the initial sitting short is an inevitability she usually plans for.  

“I’ll have to make it up to you next time,” Lindómo says, and though Nerdanel insists that this is not necessary, he only persists. 

“I’ve been told I’m a somewhat decent cook - I’ll bring lunch for both of us for the next sitting, if you’re amenable?” His grin is wide and bright, a nervous excitement lighting up his features. 

“That sounds…nice,” Nerdanel says, his enthusiasm inspiring a warm fondness in her. She smiles softly at him and he holds her gaze for a long moment before turning to head out of her studio.    

“Until next week, then,” Lindómo gives her a wave and rides off into the afternoon sunset. And Nerdanel is left feeling pleasantly content for the rest of the evening. 

Lindómo does, indeed, bring her lunch for the next session. They end up talking most of the afternoon, even after Nerdanel has finished the work she had planned for the day, until the sun starts to set and Lindómo bids her a seemingly reluctant farewell. Nerdanel offers him dinner at the end of their fourth session, and he accepts, smiling as bright as the mid-morning sun. The company is pleasant and the conversation is easy - something that Nerdanel has missed in recent years. It comes to a point where seeing Lindómo as he heads down to her workshop starts to warm her heart in a way she’s not quite sure she wants to examine. 

And yet - over time, they fall into more and more of a comfortable and familiar banter, and their meetings become the highlight of Nerdanel’s week. She is oddly disappointed when the statue is nearing its completion and finds herself extending the project by slowing down and drawing out the most intricate of details. At first, she’s not satisfied with the carving of the embroidery of the statue’s clothes so she invites Lindómo back for another couple sessions to get it right, and then she’s not happy with how the ends of the hair curve and that adds another month.  

Part of her feels bad for taking up so much of Lindómo’s time and for consistently delaying the delivery time she’s promised Amarië, but every time she sees Amarië, her friend assures her that it’s nothing to worry about. And Lindómo - he seems, at least, to genuinely enjoy her company. 

Until finally, the day comes when it’s truly finished and she can prolong the process no longer. Nearly 6 months have passed since they’d begun. The marble stands shining and perfect, meticulously carved down to even the smallest detail, ready to be wrapped up and shipped off to Amarië. 

The day before she’s due to deliver the statue, Nerdanel finds herself restless. She makes her way down to her studio with the intent of starting work on a new project. Only, when she moves past the statue, her eye catches a peculiar glint reflecting in the statue’s marble eye. She steps closer and finds a small speck of golden leaf stuck to the statue’s eye. Carefully, she brushes it away. She takes a moment to admire the fine lines of the statue’s face and the intricate curves of the braids she’d carved into its hair, tracing a fingertip over the statue’s cheekbone and quietly contemplating whether it needed to be sanded down just a little bit more.

Perhaps she could invite Lindómo over for just one more session, just to get it right--

Nerdanel closes her eyes and sighs, her hand falling to her side. Her heart beats just a bit more quickly in her chest, a steady nervousness building in her, but for what reason? She makes her way down from the pedestal and sinks down into her studio chair, her gaze focused once more on the statue that’s taken her nearly half a year to complete. It feels incomplete. She knows it’s not.   

Today would have been the day of their next session, if the project had not finished, and she knows that this is likely the reason she’s feeling restless. The last six months of consistent companionship have been nice, and it is only in disrupting that now established routine that she sees how much she’s come to miss that easy and consistent sort of intimacy with another person.

Nerdanel slumps back in her chair, sighing heavily. She needs to go out more. Maybe spend some more time with some of her old friends. Maybe --

She stops for a moment, listening as what sounds like a horse makes its way up the small dirt path to her small studio building. She’s definitely not expecting anyone and she’s certain she told Lindómo that their final session was last week…and yet - as she moves over to the window and peers out, he is there, dismounting from his horse.

And it dawns on her in that moment, as she takes in the sight of him walking up to her door. The single drop that breaks the surface tension. So different from how it had been the first time around - it almost hadn’t even occurred to her - and yet, looking back on it, it could not have been more obvious. 

The lingering looks, the fond warmth, the easy contentment that she felt around him - and her stubborn unwillingness to admit that she simply wanted to keep spending time with him, simply because she enjoyed his company, because she was unerringly endeared by his presence. 

Nerdanel hesitates in the doorway to her studio. There is a small thread of hope weaving its way through her as he gets closer and she cannot seem to stifle it, particularly as he grows close enough for her to catch the keen warmth in his eyes as he spots her. 

“The final session was last week, Lindómo.”   

“I know,” He says, and one of his hands comes up to show her a small picnic basket he’s carrying, “I thought since the statue has been finished, that you might have the afternoon free? And I was wondering if you’d like to go out riding together? Perhaps? If you’d like?”

She crosses the distance between them in one short, swift stride and stands before him, her eyes locked with his. Slowly, she takes one of his hands in her own and entwines their fingers together, watching his reaction very closely and carefully. Lindómo takes in a long, quick breath. His hand tightens over her own. A wave of relief washes over her and she pulls him closer. 

Lindómo leans into her touch, eyebrow arched mischievously, breath ghosting over her lips. He’s smiling, as he always seems to be, and she can’t seem to stop herself from pulling him down those last few centimeters into a quick, chaste kiss.

“I would, indeed, like that,” Nerdanel laughs softly as she gently rests their foreheads together.

Nerdanel knows her mother is up to something the moment she suggests traveling into Tirion for a day trip without her father, but she goes along with it anyway. They arrive in the city in the late morning and spend a majority of the afternoon wandering through the shops that line the white-bricked streets. Nerdanel finds herself tense as they wander - for it seems that each street they turn upon and each building they pass by carries with it some remnant of memory for her, both pleasant and not. They hurt the same in the end - the now old uneasiness of her memories of Fëanáro chill her just as the fond, faint echoes of her sons call her to longing. 

She thinks of Maitimo and Makalaurë when they pass by the small park in the center of the city, of Carnistir as they walk across the street from what used to be his favorite tea shop, of Atarincë and Tyelkormo when she hears a group of children laughing in the square, of her twins --

Nerdanel’s chest tightens and she stops abruptly in the middle of the street. She stands there, frozen for a good moment before her mother wraps her hand around her arm and leads her to a quiet alcove off to the side of the street. Sende cradles her face in both of her hands and wipes the single tear from her cheek; she pulls her daughter to her, tight and secure, and strokes her hair. And Nerdanel swallows and leans into her mother’s touch, letting it ground her as the city passes by around them.

It becomes apparent that they will be staying overnight in the city as Sende leads her up the long staircase to Tirion’s palace. While it is not particularly somewhere she wants to be, she trusts her mother enough to follow her - as there must be a good reason she’s dragged her all the way here. The guards welcome them through the threshold and an attendant ushers them through the halls, and Nerdanel thinks that perhaps they will be visiting Arafinwë, though she knows not for what purpose.

She is proven incorrect when the attendant leads them to a section of private chambers on the second floor - rooms that Nerdanel knows quite well. 

Indis. 

Her former step-mother-in-law’s hair is done up in a myriad of complicated braids and clasps and she looks utterly stunning sitting amongst the fine silk pillows laid out around the low tea table. She smiles as she greets them, beckoning them in with a polite wave. Nerdanel and her mother join her and a bemused smile of her own creeps across Nerdanel’s face when she finds a teapot containing her favorite blend of floral tea. It’s been so long since she’s seen Indis - so long since she’s been to Tirion, let alone the palace, and yet--

Indis meets her eye and gives her a grin, “Of course I remembered, darling. Did you think I would forget?” 

Indis takes her hands in both of her own across the table and smooths her thumbs over Nerdanel’s skin. She exudes warmth in a way that Nerdanel has always admired, like the comforting embrace of a fire on a cold winter’s day. Nerdanel quickly finds herself at ease in her presence.  

“I am glad to see you again. It has been far too long, in my opinion,” Indis says, and Nerdanel agrees with her. She’s missed this. Long has she held Indis in fond regard and the time she used to spend with her when she lived in Tirion are fond, treasured memories now. The three of them spend a long while catching up, drinking tea, and eating an assortment of biscuits Indis has delivered later on in the evening. 

It is only when the sun begins to set, casting long shadows in from the open terrace behind them, that Indis broaches the subject that Nerdanel suspects her mother brought her here to talk about.

“I have heard that you’ve grown fond of someone,” Indis says, her eyes sparkling conspiratorially, “A vanya, even.” 

Nerdanel quickly side-eyes her mother, who is very conveniently not looking at her and is instead admiring the flowering trees framing the terrace. She huffs and meets Indis’ gaze, hesitating only a moment before coming to the conclusion - as her mother likely knew she would - that of anyone in Valinor, Indis would likely be the most sympathetic and knowledgeable person to talk to about the situation she’s found herself in. 

“His name is Lindómo -  we have been…courting,” Nerdanel admits, and she realizes as the words leave her mouth that this is the first time she’s spoken those words aloud - the first time she’s acknowledged to someone else the feelings that have grown between them. The words flow from her as effortlessly as breathing. The pressure that has long built inside her released in a cathartic flood, the dam broken beyond repair. And Indis sits and listens until she’s finished, that fond smile never leaving her face. 

“It is not easy,” She says, as she sips delicately at her red jasmine tea, “But things of worth are hardly ever easy, hmm?” Indis chuckles to herself and props her head up on her hand, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. 

“You have never been one to back down from a challenge, my dear. I doubt you would have found yourself with Fëanáro if you were,” Indis taps her perfectly manicured nails against the side of her teacup, her eyes focused on Nerdanel with an old fondness, “What I do not doubt is that you will make the choice that is right for you - whatever that choice may be.” 

When they go to part ways for the night, Indis leads Nerdanel to her room and pulls her into a tight embrace outside of the door. 

“Do you regret the decision you made?” Nerdanel asks and for a moment Indis does not answer her and she thinks she might need to clarify what she’s referring to - but then Indis sighs and smooths a gentle hand through Nerdanel’s hair.

“No.” Indis does not continue and Nerdanel does not ask her to, she simply presses a soft kiss to Nerdanel’s forehead and gives her one last hug before disappearing down into the shadows of the hall.  

Her head rests softly on Lindómo’s shoulder as they gaze up at the stars. The night is pleasantly cool around them and Nerdanel finds herself content in their familiar and easy silence. Lindómo’s fingers entwine with her own and she feels something warm and smooth press into the skin of her palm. She turns her head to look him in the eye and is met only with that warm smile of his that makes her heart flutter in her chest like she’s young again. 

Nerdanel’s breath hitches as her fingers curl around the object in her hand - round and solid and very clearly a ring.  

“Marry me,” He asks, voice quiet in the night air between them. Crickets chitter in the distance and Nerdanel turns the ring between her fingers, feeling the delicate metal of the band and the small inlaid stones along the surface. She cannot see it well in the darkness, but even from just feeling it, she can tell it is already so different from the one she’d worn before. 

She wonders, absently, as she slips it on her finger, if Lindómo had bought it, if he’d forged it himself, if he’d asked her father for help with it. In the end, she supposes it doesn’t matter. 

It fits her perfectly, she thinks, even if it is just a bit too big. 

She moves closer, her forehead coming to rest against his, and meets his gaze steadily in the stilled darkness. 

“Yes.”   

Nerdanel smooths her hands down the front of her dress and takes a deep breath, trying and failing to not let her nerves get the best of her. Lindómo stands beside her as they wait, a comforting hand placed gently on her upper back. His thumb rubs small circles into the tense cords of her shoulder and she takes small solace in the calm and easy confidence he’s projecting to her. 

The great doors that lead to Manwë’s throne creak open before them, beckoning their entrance, and Nerdanel stands tall, takes Lindómo’s hand firmly in her own, and they make their way inside. 

Manwë and Varda sit in twin thrones at the far side of the room, just as tall and as intimidating as she remembers them being the last time she was here. Lindómo squeezes her hand in his and they soon find themselves standing before Manwë’s throne. Manwë’s birds flutter all around them, perched and singing from nearly every surface in his hall. Nerdanel glances quickly over to Varda and finds, surprisingly, a gentle smile gracing her delicate lips. Lindómo speaks, and Nerdanel does not hear what he says as she stares curiously into the dark void of the Queen’s eyes. The Queen’s smile widens. 

Nerdanel feels Lindómo move next to her and her concentration snaps back to him - to the determination written so plainly on his face, to the warmth of his hand in hers, to the love wrapped in a tittering nervousness exuding through their tentative bond. Manwë’s face is impassive and distant as he looks down upon them but Nerdanel meets his gaze all the same. She holds it, and stands her ground before them even if some part of her expects the worst - that the judgment placed upon them will be a resounding no . She knows not what she would do then. And then - Manwë grins. 

“Yes,” Manwë says, unmoving as stone as one of his doves comes to rest on his shoulder, “We have taken counsel with Mandos and we have decided that your request may be granted. The Valar will not stand in the way of your bond, should you wish to form one, nor will we reject it.” 

Nerdanel’s breath stills in her chest, her heart dancing with astonishment and barely contained joy.

Nerdanel makes her way out of bed, warmth filling her chest as she hears the distinct sounds of her husband and their daughter in the kitchen. She wraps her morning robe around her shoulders and heads down the hallway, smiling as she props herself against the tall pine threshold that leads into their little kitchen area. The smell of well-seared sausage and fresh bread lingers in the air. It seems that her two most precious people have busied themselves with making breakfast this morning. 

She takes all of it in for a moment, allowing herself to fully wake up as she watches the two of them. Lindómo is frying up a batch of pancakes while Olthariel patiently holds the serving plate for him to pile them up on. Her hair is neatly braided and threaded with little fresh-picked daisies - which Nerdanel takes to mean that the two of them have likely been up and busy for a while now. Her gaze flits to the table, where a little vase sits full of those same daisies, intermixed with bloomed daffodils and a single white lily. 

Long rays of sunlight filter in through the kitchen windows. Her robe is comfortably warm around her. Her husband and her little girl are safe and happy and here with her and they have nothing they need to worry about or do today unless they decide they want to head out into the forest to explore a little bit later. Nerdanel takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. Contentment washes over her like a soft rolling tide. 

It’s perfect. It’s more than perfect, she thinks, smiling to herself as she steps into the kitchen. 

“Good morning!” Olthariel beams up at her, wrapping her in a tight hug. Nerdanel smiles and runs a hand through her daughter’s hair, bending down to give her a little kiss on the top of her head. 

“Looks like the two of you have been busy this morning,” She says, gently plucking one of the larger flowers from Olthariel’s hair and twirling it around between her fingers. Her daughter giggles at her, bright and free, and Nerdanel helps her set the rest of the table for breakfast.

Lindómo sets the serving plate down on the table, stacked high with a wide variety of oddly shaped pancakes, and Nerdanel cannot help but chuckle at the excited little grin on Olthariel’s face as she gestures for the two of them to sit down with her. 

Lindómo takes the daisy Nerdanel had pulled from Olthariel’s hair and tucks it delicately behind his wife’s ear, grinning softly as he leans down to press a kiss to her temple. 

“Atya said he was going to take me out riding later,” Olthariel says, her eyes growing wide as she watches her father dump a considerable amount of fresh strawberries and blueberries onto his own plate to go along with his breakfast. He offers her one and she takes it, placing it gently in the middle of her stack. 

“That sounds fun,” Nerdanel replies, her gaze meeting her husband’s across the table. His hair still glows like fresh-polished gold in the sunlight and that brilliant smile of his still fills her with an affectionate fondness.    

“Would you like to join us?” He asks, and Nerdanel cannot help the grin that crosses her face. 

“I think I’d like that.”