Indis' scream broke the silence, and Fëanor, from where he lay on the bed in his room, grinned. Then Finwë's voice shouted. "Curufinwë!"
Fëanor appeared at his father's side, an innocent smile on his face. "Yes, Atar?"
The High King of the Noldor stared at the toy that had sent Indis storming away. He sighed. "Curufinwë, about your sense of humor…."
Fëanor was still smiling. "What about it, Atar?"
Finwë picked up the letter that had accompanied the gift. Written in fine flowing script, it read 'To my dear step-mother.
"Indis is furious."
Fëanor's innocent smile widened. "So I heard."
"Because of your gift."
"Shame." mused Fëanor, picking up the small box. The delicately crafted spider wobbled on its spring. Slamming the lid shut, he announced. "I really thought she would like it. Ah well."
Finwë was staring irately at his son. "Curufinwë…"
Fëanor waved his hand. "I understand, Atar. You had better go console the Lady Indis." He wandered away, outside into the streets of Tirion. Laurelin's light was bright and gold, and he walked along till he saw the warm radiance glinting off a mass of fiery curls. "Nerdanel."
She turned to him with a mischievous smile. "How did it work?"
He tossed her the box. "Brilliantly. Really, Nerdanel, you are a prodigy."
"I am." she returned modestly, examing her work with a critical eye. "Who's next then, Fëanáro?"
Fëanor did not even pause. "Ñolofinwë (Fingolfin). He's a hopeless brat."
Nerdanel frowned playfully. "Your prejudice is astounding. You were just making necklets for Findis and Írimë. What do you say to that?!"
Fëanor rolled his eyes. "It won't hurt him, Nerdanel. Except his pride, and he needs that."
"Says you!"
Hand in hand, they wandered towards the forge.