I own nothing.

I.

This is the moment of Findaráto that she will always remember best—the bright, shining expression he wears as they exchange their rings, their vows. The light of Malinalda herself would have to pale in comparison to the face of joy he shows to her. Amarië can see naught of her own face but what is reflected in his eyes, but she does not need to have her face reflected to her to know that she is radiant too.

Amarië came from her mountain city of Taniquetil, that which the Noldor and Teleri often call Oiolossë, to serve as a lady-in-waiting to the Vanyarin Queen of the Noldor, when Findaráto was still naught but a small boy. She had known him, of course, watched him grow, but the Queen's grandson and her lady-in-waiting had very little to do with one another. When Elenwë wed Turukáno, she looked at her former fellow ladies-in-waiting and joked that if they lingered long enough in Tirion upon Túna, they'd find their husband here too. Elenwë is not supposed to be possessed of even an ounce of her mother's foresight, but perhaps she has more insight into the future than anyone can guess.

"Oh, excuse me!"

Amarië turns a corner in the palace and nearly runs headlong into someone coming from the opposite direction. In the process, she also loses her grip on the sewing basket she was bringing to Indis, and watches despairingly as it slides out of her hands.

Indis is not a particularly harsh or exacting mistress. If anything, she is far more kindly and lenient than Amarië had expected a Queen to be. In all the time that she has served her, Amarië has not once heard Indis raise her voice at anyone. Not her servants, not her husband, not her children, children by marriage, step-son, his children, or her grandchildren. Her quiet demeanor is rather unlike what Amarië had expected from the Queen of the Noldor.

If Amarië is a few minutes late for having to replace every spilled needle, spool of thread and other bits and pieces back into the sewing basket, Indis will not be angry with her. Amarië can just imagine what she will say—"These things happen, dear; just bring the basket over here and we will set it to rights", or something like that. But that almost makes it worse. Indis's constant lack of anger at mistakes made by those around her makes taking advantage of her gentle nature feel utterly crude. Amarië always feels a spike of guilt to hear that accepting voice and see that understanding face, even if Indis's intent is not to inspire guilt, so…

So Amarië can't help but breathe a sigh of relief when the one she ran into reaches out and catches the basket before it can hit the ground and fall open.

"My apologies. I was not watching my step, I find."

Amarië looks up at the speaker and recognizes him almost immediately—Findaráto Ingoldo, the eldest of her mistress's grandchildren by her youngest child, Arafinwë. He smiles at her, a mixture of friendly and rueful, and though he has been a grown nér for many years, the expression puts Amarië in mind of a child standing on the cusp of adulthood.

Findaráto holds out the wicker sewing basket to her. Amarië accepts it with a wide smile of her own, grateful to be spared embarrassment, and drops in a brief curtsey. "Thank you, Highness!" she breathes, smile widening further.

Amarië will never be sure what did it—the sight of her smile, the sound of her voice, the way her skirt rustled when she bent in a curtsey. Findaráto blinks, and stares at her, and it's not a threatening look, but it's not the sort of look a child would give her, either. He doesn't looks like some child-adult anymore. He drinks in the sight of the shawl draped over her head and shoulders, obscuring her wheat-colored hair, takes in the sight of her sleeveless dress. "Ah!" he says brightly. "You're one of my grandmother's ladies, are you not? And your name, it was… No, don't tell me! Lady Amarië, is that your name?"

She bites back a laugh at his eager face. "Yes, Highness. I am she."

Findaráto began seeking out his grandmother's company far more often than he used to. Fëanáro had already been exiled to Formenos by this time, his father and sons gone with him. Though her eldest daughter was often with her, Indis was lonely and stung by Finwë's departure, his support of the son who had threatened to slay his brother, Indis's child Nolofinwë. Findaráto's company was welcome. That he, over time, seemed apparently more interested in the company of one of her ladies-in-waiting did not grieve Indis over-much. "Love is the well-spring of joy," she had said, perhaps a touch wistfully.

Aye, love does indeed seem to be the well-spring of joy, for Amarië suspects her heart will burst from it ere long.

Their families watch them from either side as they exchange their rings, exchange vows of betrothal, as Amarië's mother and Findaráto's father step forward to do their parts in the ceremony. It had taken weeks for Amarië's letter to reach Taniquetil and for her parents, younger sisters, aunts, uncles, cousins, nieces and nephews to take the winding road down off of the mountain and come to Tirion to bear witness to Amarië's betrothal. The same, it had taken long indeed for Findaráto's Telerin kin to come from Alqualondë, and for those residing in Formenos who were both permitted and willing to attend to return from the grim fortress town.

It can be said, though, that all is not entirely well.

None of Amarië's grandparents, either maternal or paternal, would leave the mountain. They wished not the leave behind them the strongest rays of the Two Trees, and Amarië's paternal grandparents were not entirely approving of her marrying a Noldo, not even one supposed to resemble a Vanya in form.

Finwë's absence is impossible not to notice; it bleeds like a gaping wound, noxious and infecting. Up from Formenos, Maitimo, Makalaurë with his wife and Curufinwë with his wife and tiny son say that the King their grandfather is well. The King their grandfather is overjoyed for his grandson and expresses his hope that Findaráto and his betrothed will visit him soon. Indis's lips thin noticeably at the news that Finwë will not come himself, torn between displeasure and grief.

Findaráto's maternal grandparents are also absent, giving their apologizes and saying that their duties do not allow them to leave Alqualondë. The rest of his maternal kin are here, though, and really, that's not what gives the spring air a sudden chill. If disapproval from her own family and the feuds and rivalries dividing Findaráto's was all Amarië had to contend with, she would still be able to exchange rings with her beloved without a care in the world.

They are not entirely sure how long they wish the period of their betrothal to last. Amarië knows that it will last at least a year, as is customary amongst the Calaquendi. Findaráto wants to wait two, maybe three years, but Amarië expressed the desire to get married right away once the betrothal period has passed, and is still surprised at herself and her uncharacteristic lack of caution. She finds that she is impatient, wants to wed right away, call Findaráto her husband and hear him call her 'wife.'

In one, two, maybe three or more years, there will be another ceremony like this one. It will be larger, most likely, attended by the entire extended family that can come. There will be more words exchanged, more vows made. A wedding ceremony, that this betrothal ceremony is but a prelude to.

But where is she going, and what is it that awaits her?

It has been many years since she last set foot in Taniquetil. Amarië's youngest sister, Elvëandil, who was just a small girl when Amarië went to serve Indis in Tirion, is grown now, married with children of her own. Amarië remembers how she felt when she first came to live in Tirion. The air down off of the mountain was so thick; it was like breathing soup, and just as pleasant. Amarië missed the sounds of bells and constant music and song, and found the clanging of hammer against metal in the many forges to be no comparison. The people were overly somber and serious, and oftentimes quite unfriendly or at least brusque around strangers, at least by Amarië's standards. And the way they looked at her when they would see her in the streets…

Untold years it took for Amarië to feel truly comfortable in Tirion, and often does she still find herself staring out of windows facing northwest, towards her mountain city. She still misses Taniquetil, for all that Tirion has been her home for decades now. In one, two, maybe three or more years time when she and Findaráto wed, Amarië will no longer be a Vanya. She will be the Vanyarin wife of a Noldorin prince. She will be expected to dwell with her husband, to go where he goes, and to never go somewhere without him without permission. Amarië does not consider this a great and terrible loss. It is not a loss if she is marrying one whom she loves and expresses interest in her people and her culture, but she will not have much opportunity to go home once she is wed.

And what sort of life will she have here, as the Vanyarin wife of a Noldorin prince?

Amarië has had ample opportunity to see what the people think of Indis. It came as no surprise to her that the followers of Fëanáro bore no love for Finwë's second wife, but when she came here, it still shocked her, just a little bit, to see that even amongst those who did not call themselves followers of the son of the Þerindë, there was precious little love felt for the Queen.

She is too foreign. Everything about her screams foreign, from her pale hair to her facial structure to the way she never seems entirely comfortable in Noldorin-style clothing, serves to remind the Noldor, over and over again, that Indis is not one of them. And they do not wish to consider her one of them. She is foreign, and therefore suspect. The Noldor and the Vanyar may once have dwelled together, but their paths have diverged, and are strange to one another—and if Amarië is honest, she is not sure how well-accepted Noldor living in Taniquetil are. Indis's demeanor, her behavior, hr very spirit, they are not correct, so she is not correct, and she is not accepted.

Elenwë has had better luck, and if she is not loved by the Noldor of Tirion, she is at least tolerated, and even liked by some. Amarië's former fellow lady-in-waiting has imparted words of wisdom upon her, in the hopes that Amarië will not suffer the scorn and disapproval of the Noldor as Indis has.

"You know that the Noldor are less accepting of strangers than they were. In days of old, they were more accepting of those of other different Kindreds of the Calaquendi, but that's changed. Whatever shadow falls over Aman affects this as well. But even before then, the Queen was never loved.

"It is true that in Aman, the Calaquendi wed only once, or at least they are supposed to. In the hearts of many, Míriel Þerindë is still Queen, and Indis only a pretender to her throne, a harlot out in the open." Elenwë grimaces, at the bitter taste of calling her gentle former mistress 'harlot' for any reason, Amarië can imagine. "You know what many of our own people think of the Queen's marriage."

That it is no marriage at all. Amarië nods and adds her grimace to Elenwë's, and the younger nís goes on, "But do you know what I think it was? I think what truly turned so many of the Noldor against the Queen is that she did not immediately abandon all of the cultural trappings of the Vanyar.

"Oh, I am not sure that the Queen would be any better-loved if she had immediately begun dressing, talking and acting like a Noldo; for all I know, if she had done that, they would have said that she was trying to make them what she was and despised her for that. I can only say that it worked for me." Elenwë gestures at her close-fitting, restrictive Noldorin dress for emphasis. "I do not know why that is. It could only be that it is because I wed a Noldorin prince, moreover one not likely to ever be King, and that I wed a nér who was not once wed to another. But it worked for me, Amarië."

It is unlike Elenwë to be so candid: Elenwë, who, if two people were rutting on a table in front of her, would likely only reach over them for the tea set and do her very best to ignore the moaning, face going red all the while. And Amarië suspects that Elenwë's suspicion is correct: it is not that Elenwë immediately abandoned Vanyarin dress and customs that endeared her to the Noldor, but the fact that she did not wed their King.

The people dislike Indis because of who she is, and whom she wed. How she is or isn't dressed and how she does or doesn't act, and their reaction to it, is only a symptom of their dislike, not the cause. Amarië will not abandon the ways of her people. It will make no difference.

But can I live with that?

I must.

It will not be easy. Amarië knew that when Findaráto first broached the topic of marriage. He had that dreamy look on his face he often got and no idea of what it meant to her, separation from her people and the rest of her life spent in a place that is not home. In a place where she will always be a stranger, and never one of them. But when she said this to him, he smiled kindly, that warm, kind smile, and said "Well they'll just have to learn to love you the way I do."

"I should hope you don't mean exactly the way you do," Amarië retorted, but his words were reassuring, and remain so.

Amarië has seen her share of marriages turned sour, of two Quendi united in love, but later torn apart. By family feuds. By arguing, by miscommunication. By irreconcilable differences, gaps that simply can not be bridged, they no longer love each other, but are bound together for all eternity, for that is the law. But Amarië can believe that the love she and her beloved share will endure. She can believe that, she does believe, she has to believe it.

Just as the golden light is twined with silver and dusk falls upon them, they exchange rings. Simple silver bands they are, without adornment. Small and light for Amarië's hand, and wider, but still light for Findaráto's.

Amarië smiles, and in a breach of protocol (but one typically overlooked, and frankly even expected) leans up for a kiss. This is how she will best remember him: adoring and adored, his mouth soft and warm against hers, her golden prince, as they exchange silent vows to never be parted, by time, or distance, or death.

Findaráto, Ingoldo—Finrod
Turukáno—Turgon
Arafinwë—Finarfin
Fëanáro—Fëanor
Nolofinwë—Fingolfin
Maitimo—Maedhros
Makalaurë—Maglor
Curufinwë—Curufin

Malinalda—'Tree of Gold'; a name of Laurelin, the younger of the Two Trees of Valinor; a name I envision to be one of its older titles, and thus still commonly used by the Vanyar
Oiolossë—'Ever-snow-white'; the most common name amongst the Eldar for the mountain (and city of the same name, in my canon) of Taniquetil; I have, however, made it a name more commonly used by the Teleri and especially the Noldor, to explain how the Elves of Middle-Earth came to call the city by the Sindarin translation of this name, 'Amon Uilos'
Nér—man (plural: neri)
Calaquendi—Elves of the light (singular: Calaquendë) (Quenya)
Nís—woman (plural: nissi)
Quendi—Elves (singular: Quendë) (Quenya)