A/N: This story in a nutshell: it's about how Caranthir ends up married despite being fairly terrible at courtship, contains some fluff and some angst but neither is extreme, also includes light-hearted scenes with the sons of Fëanor (because nothing is more fun to write), has a slow pace, will have around 18 chapters, uses Quenya names because it takes place in Valinor.

Timeframe: takes place in the happy days of Valinor, and before my other fic Sparks fly out. Caranthir, who is here Fëanor's fourth son, between Celegorm and Curufin, is a young adult, Curufin has just come of age, and the twins are still little kids.

This is a fairly long, unabashedly romantic fic in which little besides of matters of the heart goes on. So if you don't like romantic stuff, this might be boring. On the other hand, if you would like to read a longish story just about how two very different people end up married, you're in the right place!

Chosen keywords: romance, courtship, developing relationship, family, anger management issues, elf culture and customs, the Noldor, the Vanyar

Characters: of the Noldor – Caranthir/Carnistir, all of the house of Fëanor, various other members of the house of Finwë; of the Vanyar – my version of Carnistir's unnamed semi-canonical wife, her family (original characters)

Chapter summary: A boring formal party improves considerably for Carnistir when he encounters a girl in the palace garden.

Chapter I: A garden in silver light, part I

Carnistir dislikes formal parties, and he hates long formal parties. And this one might well be the longest he has ever had to attend.

King Finwë is having a grand celebration to honour a lengthy official visit by King Ingwë to Tirion, and naturally all of Finwë's grandchildren are expected to attend and represent their family by wearing their very best clothes and being on their very best sons of Fëanáro are rankled by this, since he has passed on to them much of the dislike he feels for the Vanyar because of his father's second marriage to a Vanya. Yet here they are, Fëanáro and Nerdanel and all seven of their sons, for Finwë's sake. Fëanáro may feel animosity towards the Vanyar, but his love and respect for his father are greater.

So there they stand, lined up, and listen as several of Finwë's grandsons exhibit their talents. Macalaurë performs his newest composition, a long paean to the light of the two Trees, a subject close to the heart of the Vanyar and breathtakingly boring to Carnistir. He falls into a daze of sorts listening to his brother's beautiful voice and has to be kicked in the shin by Maitimo so that he remembers to join the applause when the song finally ends.

Then Findaráto and Findecáno sing another song, and though it probably isn't as long it also feels interminable. Because it's now his cousins and not his brother performing, Carnistir makes less of an effort to look like he's listening.

And there are many, many other songs and speeches and pieces of protocol to be performed besides the songs of Finwë's grandsons, and Carnistir has to listen and watch and try to look at least moderately attentive, because he is standing in front of a great crowd of people with his family. The Ambarussar are as bored as he is, but they are small enough that they can hide behind their older brothers and entertain themselves by making faces at each other. Carnistir tries to shield them from Nerdanel's eyes so that their mother doesn't have to drive herself to distraction trying to find ways to reprimand them silently.

Finally the official business and formal entertainment is over and it is time for dinner, a great banquet where Fëanáro's family are seated at one of the tables on a raised platform, better to be gawked at by all others. On Carnistir's right side is seated a young woman of Finwë's court whom he knows from earlier events and who knows him well enough that she doesn't even try to make polite conversation with him but instead talks exclusively with the man sitting on her other side, and the woman in his left side is soon so smitten with the handsome Vanya noble on her left that she ignores Carnistir completely.

This suits Carnistir just fine. He enjoys the excellent food in silence, deep in his own thoughts, and then escapes from the table as early as he dares, which is soon after dinner is over and musicians start tuning their instruments for dancing to start.

He heads out of the ballroom into the palace gardens. Once he gets outside he closes his eyes and takes in the fresh air, so lovely after the heat and stuffiness of indoors; though the halls of his grandfather's palace are large, they now feel quite cramped and suffocating. The king of the Vanyar and all Eldar has brought practically his whole court with him, and many other Vanyarin nobles and dignitaries too, and Finwë has similarly invited a great number of Noldor to this celebration. There are even some representatives of King Olwë from Alqualondë.

Carnistir needs a break from them all to remain civilised, so he heads out deeper into the garden to find a quiet spot where he can relax for a while. He can talk with his family or friends for hours, but formal events like this put him on edge. He finds making empty, courteous conversation difficult and is nervous about losing his temper, especially on this night that is all about Noldor-Vanyar diplomacy, not exactly the strength of his immediate family.

Finding an unoccupied quiet place proves harder than he had anticipated even though he knows every nook and cranny in this garden. Because he was sitting in the most keenly observed table during the dinner, he could not leave as early as many others had, and those others are now enjoying the fresh air and lovely scents of the royal garden in Telperion's waxing silver light. Many of the secluded spots in the garden are in the usual use to which they fall during celebrations where wine flows and people are merry: twice Carnistir interrupts a tender moment between lovers and has to hurry away apologising, his face turning the bright shade of red that his mother named him for.

He is already despairing of finding a free place to sit and about to resign himself to just leaning against some sturdy statue when he remembers one more place he could check. At the farthermost corner of the great garden there is a small clearing half-hidden behind high rosebushes, a little artificial glade with just one long wooden bench and some night-blooming flowers.

When he gets there he thinks for a moment that he has found his free spot but then sees a slender figure sitting at the far end of the bench, her white dress almost blending in with the great white roses in the bush behind her. She leaps up when she notices him.

'I'm sorry, I didn't mean disturb you. Or startle you', he says quickly, keenly aware of always doing the wrong thing on occasions like this.

'It's – It's all right, I'm easily startled', the woman says. Or girl, for she is rather young, a little younger than he is probably. And with that unmistakable blonde hair she must be a Vanya.

'I am sorry', he says again like an idiot. 'I'll leave you in peace.' She is probably waiting for someone anyway.

As he turns to go she says, 'You don't have to go because of me. There is enough space for both of us on this bench.'

He looks at her a little suspiciously; is she flirting with him? Women sometimes do because he is the king's grandson (rarely for other reasons; he is not the flirting type and women can see that, and many are a little scared of him for his famously short temper). But she doesn't look like she is trying to entice him, she just looks like she is being friendly in a slightly awkward way.

'I don't think I have the right to claim a whole corner of the garden for myself, and I would feel bad for driving you away', she continues. 'And I will probably leave in a moment anyway.'

Carnistir looks at her and the bench: this is a nice spot and there is no free space anywhere else. And she does not seem too bad, not for a Vanyarin girl anyway.

So he sits down, not quite at the other end of the bench but far enough from her that it is clear that they are not sitting on a bench together, they just happen to be sitting on the same bench.

'It is a lovely spot', she says, and her voice is melodious and unintrusive enough that he does not mind very much that he is not getting the silence he had sought.

'I have always liked it.'

'Do you know what those little flowers are called that smell so wonderful? We do not have them at Taniquetil.'

Carnistir wracks his memory, recalling a childhood afternoon spent wandering in the garden as his grandfather taught him and Tyelcormo about various plants growing there. 'Their name is silmelen, silver star.'

'Very descriptive name.' The girl smiles down at the flowers in the grass, which indeed are silvery in colour and have two opposing petals in many different layers giving them a star-like shape.

'Speaking of names, mine is Ingolmiel Tuilindien', she offers.

'I am Morifinwë Carnistir, of the House of Fëanor.'

'I know, my lord.' Ingolmiel smiles. 'King Finwë introduced all of his grandchildren.'

'Ah, yes. Of course.' He feels a little stupid, as he often does when talking to people he doesn't know well. 'But there are so many of us, surely you cannot remember everyone's names.'

'Not quite everyone. But I have a good memory for words and names.'

'My memory for names is not especially good. I sometimes embarrass myself at these courtly events by getting people's names wrong. I might forget yours in a moment', he says, though he still remembers her name quite well. He wonders why this daughter of Ingolmo is also called 'swallow', a swift little bird. She is not short, just slender like Vanyarin women tend to be.

'I will not mind if you forget my name', she says and smiles again. She seems to be a smiling sort of a girl. 'As long as you do not tell anyone that I am hiding back here, I shall be happy.'

Against all likelihood he finds himself smiling back at her. 'What are you hiding from?'

'My family, my sister especially. And may I ask what is the cause for your coming to this remote spot?'

She asked softly and politely, but he likes her frankness. 'Also my family. They would try to make me dance.'

'Oh, the horror.' As he is about to become irate, she shakes her head and says, 'I quite understand. I am also avoiding dancing. My older sister already had a dance partner chosen for me and if I had not slipped away while she was still finishing her dessert she would have thrown me at him.'

Her choice of words makes him smile again and banishes the storm that had been gathering. 'She sounds like a very determined woman.'

'She is, and unfortunately for me her current determination is that I must find a husband and enter the same state of wedded bliss that she is enjoying. Which would be nice enough, I suppose, but not if it requires dancing.'

By now Carnistir has been completely swept into the conversation and forgotten that he had been seeking silence. 'What is wrong with dancing?'

'Nothing, if you can do it. I cannot. I have two left feet.'

'I think I have three.' As Ingolmiel giggles a little that, he explains, pleased at her reaction, 'I must have, because I seem to be stepping on my own feet so much of the time I surely could not manage it with only two. Not to mention stepping on my partners' feet too.'

As she smiles again, looking both shy and mischievous, he notices that she has small dimples. She says, 'You are doing an act of charity, then, hiding here instead of being on the dance floor', sounding like she cannot quite believe that she is teasing him.

He would laugh out loud if he were not so fascinated by those dimples. 'Yes, I am very charitable. Also because by staying away I am giving my younger brother an excellent chance to step in and practise his skills in entertaining maidens.'

He also has a rare mischievous look in his eyes – he is feeling remarkably light and frivolous – and apparently Ingolmiel can see it, for she says cheerfully, 'Tormenting younger siblings is how one survives being bossed around by older ones, is it not?'

'Absolutely. Although my younger brother – the next youngest, I mean – is such a crafty bas–, I mean, a crafty one that it is hard to fool him in any way.'

'My little sister – and I also mean next youngest, I have another little sister but she is just a baby – is quite sweet so I try not to be too hard on her', says the Vanya girl – Ingolmiel, 'scholar's daughter', and Tuilindien – he can still remember her names, and he is still wondering why she is called 'swallow', especially if she is not particularly graceful as her description of her dancing skills lets him understand. The reason for his own mother-name always becomes apparent to anyone who speaks with him for longer than a moment, but many others have names that are subtler if just as meaningful.

He tries to think of something to say, because for once he finds that he actually wants to continue a polite conversation. Not that their conversation is particularly polite (tormenting siblings is hardly a polite topic of discussion) but still, it is a conversation with a virtual stranger at a party. His mother would be proud of him for keeping it up this long. But family is an easy subject for him – he has so much of it, it is easy to think of things to talk about.

So, since he cannot think of a new subject, he continues on that. 'So you have three sisters at least?'

'Yes, I have three. It feels like very many but it is nothing compared to your six brothers, is it?'

He grimaces. 'I have always thought that my parents should have stopped at four children like sensible people.' He realises that this sounds exceedingly grumpy. Which it is and which often is his mood, of course, but he also does love his brothers, even the irritating ones, and maybe it would be good to let this girl see that side of him too and not just the dourness. So he says, 'The twins are all right, though. Very nice, as children go.'

'They are a very sweet pair, with their lovely red hair and similar features. People must be cooing over them all the time. I know that many at this party were.'

He says that they look sweet, but they can also be little rascals; and he tells her of how just a week ago they sneaked into his room while he was gone and scribbled all over some important design sketches of his and then burnt them to get rid of the evidence when they realised what they had done. Ingolmiel laughs and commiserates and says that her little sister has also mistreated her papers. They fall into comparing their siblings' antics, and neither of them remembers that she had intended to leave soon to let him be alone.

Eventually they drift on to other subjects, including themselves, and he learns that she is a scholar of languages, studying to become a loremistress, and would rather be at a library or debating the intricacies of etymology rather than at a party, though she often has to attend parties because her grandfather is one of his lords. (For a moment he is surprised that she is of noble birth, for he had judged her unadorned white dress quite plain; but then he remembers that the Vanyar prefer simpler clothing than the Noldor, and like to wear few embellishments even with their most formal clothes.)

He says that he also finds parties difficult to bear sometimes and that during dinner he had participated very little in any conversation and instead had come up with some ideas for the new ventilation system he is planning for his family's smithy.

'You see, the air quality at the end of a long workday is absolutely dreadful, and windows –', Carnistir freezes in the middle of the sentence as he realises that he is talking about forge ventilation to a pretty girl at a courtly party. A Vanya girl – the Vanyar in general are not interested in crafting things, and a young female scholar is the least likely of all to be interested. Sheer horror at his own stupidity overcomes him and he struggles to keep it from showing, though he has no doubt he is blushing furiously anyway.

Thankfully Ingolmiel does not seem to notice his sudden discomfort, or is polite enough to choose to ignore it. 'What about windows?' she asks, her eyes fixed on his face as they have been for a while now. As they had settled into their pleasant conversation she had stopped looking down at the flowers on the ground and he had ceased staring at the sky and they had turned towards each other.

She actually looks interested, Carnistir realises. Perhaps talking to her about forge ventilation is not the terrible social faux pas he had thought it to be, seconds ago.

'Windows are problematic', he starts again and explains. And having told her the main points of his ventilation plan, he next tells her that he is also in the process of drawing up plans for an extension to the forge and workshop. There are now many grown brothers working there and the twins' training is about to begin, and they are running out of space.

'And you would not believe how angry my father gets when a project of his goes awry because someone distracts him at a crucial moment or spills over something or upsets some delicate arrangement.' Carnistir means to speak flippantly but Ingolmiel can see that this is a serious matter to him, something that disturbs him.

No, she believes his words but finds them hard to understand, and she is a little shaken by the hint of apprehensiveness she saw in his eyes. Ingolmiel tilts her head a little and considers what to say in reply, deciding not to directly comment on what he said. 'My father is so even-tempered that we – I mean the rest of my family, my mother and my sisters and I – quite often get exasperated when he fails to see the importance of something that we are upset or dismayed about.'

'I find that hard to imagine', says Carnistir, honest and direct as he tends to be, and then regrets it and tries to make it better. 'I mean, there are so many short-tempered people in my family, I am more used to everyone snapping often. Also because I am myself more like my father than my patient mother.' That is not helpful, he curses himself.

But by now she has recovered enough to pick up the conversation and keep it going while he gets over his discomfiture, and they move on from family to other, hopefully safer topics. Carnistir is thankful for her tact, though he wonders how such an innocuous thing as family turned out to be a subject capable of raising incomprehension and uneasiness. But then again my family is not exactly usual.

As they keep talking, at one point he gets restless and tired of sitting and stands for a moment, gesturing with his hands as he explains something he is particularly excited about. And when he sits back down again he doesn't take a seat so far away from her but at a reasonable talking distance.

And as soon as he sits closer to her he knows it was a good idea, because now he can tell for sure – he had been wondering about it – that her eyes are a remarkable colour, a blue-green that he has never seen in anyone's eyes before. It must be a Vanyarin trait; he hasn't been acquainted with very many Vanyar, and his annoying cousins who inherited Indis' golden hair have nevertheless very Noldorin eyes, grey or blue-grey. Never greenish.

He tries not to stare at her too much, but she doesn't seem to mind; indeed, she often looks at his face too, seemingly studying his features. He tries to keep from blushing though he knows it is likely a futile attempt. But it is much nicer than he would have thought to have a girl looking at him like that, though he doubts she gets as much pleasure from looking at him as he from looking at her. He knows he is not a bad-looking young man, in spite of his unfortunate complexion, but he is not famed for his beauty like Maitimo or Tyelco, either.

In fact Ingolmiel, or Tuilindien as she is known among family and friends, does very much enjoy looking at Morifinwë while he looks at her. She has never before been quite so pleased to be the object of a man's attention, though she cannot say why – what causes the difference. What is so special about this shy-at-first, then-eager-to-talk Noldo prince with heavy black brows, whose mood, reflected so clearly in his face, seems to shift like leaves in the wind as he talks? She understands that she is unusually taken with him, but she does not know why.

She had been exhausted after striving to be sociable, charming and dignified, all at the same time, for hours at the party as she tried to make her mother proud (her mother, who is one of Ingwë's councillors, is more at home at grand functions than anywhere else). She had also been feeling a little light-headed from the strong Noldorin wine, and for these reasons she had been very grateful to find a solitary, restful spot in the garden where she could collect her thoughts and clear her head.

Yet when he had joined her she had not minded at all, as soon as she had seen him and how contrite he was for startling her. And then she had started talking to him even though he had seemed like he would have been content to be left in silence, and he had turned out to be happy enough to talk if awkward at times.

Now the silver light brightens while they keep talking and stealing glances at each other, except that it can hardly be called stealing when both delight in gazing at the other and both realise it.

A/N: The next chapter picks up directly from here.