Chapter summary: At another party held by King Finwë, Carnistir and Tuilindien's first time appearing as a couple among crowds is fraught with difficulties, though there are pleasurable moments too.

A/N: It took me weeks to write this chapter but at least it's a long one, the longest so far.

I couldn't resist writing a tiny little bit from Nerdanel's point of view since she is such an awesome lady.

Warm thanks to NelyafinweFeanorion for taking a look at this chapter and assuaging my neuroticism!


Chapter VIII / Seeking control among crowds

Fëanáro had agreed only grudgingly to attend this party, after plenty of cajoling from his father the king, and he isn't feeling courteous enough to actually arrive on time with his family. By the time they get to the palace Nerdanel is unhappy to be late, and Fëanáro and Carnistir are already irascible because they both know it is likely, and indeed would be appropriate, that Carnistir's sweetheart meets his parents at this social gathering.

Just before they step into the ballroom, Nerdanel stops her family and casts a strict look on all of them, from Maitimo who towers above everyone else to the unusually neatly turned-out twins.

'I know that you are not used to socialising with the Vanyar, but you will behave as well tonight, I trust, as you did at the welcoming feast, so that your grandfather will have reason to be proud of you for making his guests feel welcome.'

She pretends that she speaks just to her sons but trusts that her husband knows the words are directed at him as well. Honestly, in the last few weeks it has felt like Fëanáro is another child for her to guide. Nerdanel very much hopes that he will soon realise that Carnistir hasn't chosen the object of his affections just to spite his father but for worthier reasons, and also that he needs to overcome his own prejudices to support Carnistir's happiness.

She receives a chorus of subdued agreement and nods from her sons. Fëanáro looks like he is doing all he can to look impassive rather than sullen, which Nerdanel supposes is the best she can expect.

She takes her husband's arm and determines to stay close to him on this night. It will be difficult, though, with so many sons to look after as well.


Carnistir cranes his neck to see past Tyelcormo as soon as they enter the brightly lit ballroom, seeking out Tuilindien's slender golden-haired form. But just like at the welcome feast, there are too many similar-looking Vanyar with their backs to him that he could recognise Tuilindien for certain.

He is about to bolt from his family to go find her when he feels a strong hand take a grip on his forearm.

'Not yet, Morifinwë. There are a few people I want you to talk to before you seek out your… girl and disappear for the rest of the night.'

Carnistir scowls at his father, feeling a petty sort of satisfaction that he grew up to be ever so slightly taller and can look down at Fëanáro rather than up. He could yank himself out of his father's grip, see how much of a scene Fëanáro is prepared make to keep him from leaving… but he has promised himself that he will do everything right and proper in his courtship of Tuilindien, and thus cannot afford any kind of a scene.

So he counts his breaths and bites his tongue and follows his father obediently, if still keeping an eye out for Tuilindien. Thankfully his father doesn't seem intent on punishing him in any way, just keeping him away from Tuilindien for a while. This Carnistir infers from the fact that the people Fëanáro takes him to speak to are people he actually wants to talk to: stonemasons and architects.

They discuss Carnistir's plans for expanding the family workshop and improving the ventilation. Fëanáro is so busy at the moment perfecting his seeing stones that he is happy to leave the workshop improvements to Carnistir, but thinks his young son would benefit from the advice and co-operation of more experienced craftsmen.

Carnistir wonders if he should feel insulted by this, since Fëanáro himself never asks for advice and rarely takes anyone else to work with him except assistants, apprentices or his sons, all less skilled than he is. But even though Carnistir is very much inclined to view all of his father's actions with suspicion tonight, he can't detect condescension in his manner. It feels more like this attention towards Carnistir's project is his way of apologising.

And it is not a burden to talk to the other craftsmen, all of whom he knows of old, and the tall black-haired woman whose innovative designs are behind many beautiful and practical buildings in the city. They are interested in his work and offer good suggestions. It is a little difficult to concentrate on them, though, because he still looks for Tuilindien among the throng of Noldorin and Vanyarin nobility. He is beginning to feel a slight panic that she will think he has forgotten her.

He finally spots Tuilindien when his father is dragging him to speak to a third group of people, and he stops so suddenly that a short Noldorin noblewoman in a lavishly embroidered red-and-gold dress walks into him. He ignores her, and he forgets all about his father.

For Tuilindien is dancing, twirling in the arms of a tall Vanya. He is so handsome in his shining white clothes and with his golden hair flowing down his back, almost as long as Tuilindien's, that it makes Carnistir grind his teeth. Tuilindien is gazing up at her partner, tall herself but shorter than this vision of masculine beauty, and she seems to be laughing at something he said, her eyes sparkling with merriment.

She told him, in their very first conversation, that she is a bad dancer, but she seems to be doing well enough at the moment even if her movements are not quite as graceful as those of some others. Then again the dance is one of the simple Vanyarin ones, with much repetition and few changes of partner – the dances that the Noldor favour tend to have more complex sequences of steps, often in rapid succession. Carnistir's own problem when dancing is that he tends to be too slow, one step behind his partner and thus often stepping on her toes.

Tuilindien's partner of the moment certainly isn't stepping on any toes: he seems a superb dancer. But if he is as good a dancer as he seems to be, he should surely know that he is holding Tuilindien too close, his grip on her waist unnecessarily tight.

Carnistir finds himself walking closer to them, prowling along the edge of the dancefloor. The high collar of his formal robes chafes and feels constricting, and he wants to snarl at the people, bejewelled and pompous, who block his way. The party tonight is again a terrible crush, reminding Carnistir of the dense tropical forests in the south of Aman where one is constantly becoming entangled in something.

The tall Vanya bends to whisper something in Tuilindien's ear, and her lips curve into a smile again and Carnistir's hands clench into fists and he is hot and cold at the same time–

And he sees Tuilindien's steps falter, a look of confusion and distress on her face. She looks around and sees him, their eyes meeting for only a second before Tuilindien turns back to her dance partner. Carnistir is not particularly proud of what she must have seen in his eyes, and felt from him a moment before, but he cannot help it. A new kind of fury and resentment has taken over him, and it is all the harder to shake because of its unfamiliarity. He tries to push it deeper down inside himself instead; perhaps Tuilindien won't feel it if he does that.

Through the haze that surrounds him Carnistir sees Tuilindien say something to her partner, and then the two of them stop dancing and start walking towards him instead.

Carnistir struggles to gather his wits, and he stands tall and straight and lets his features assume the haughty expression that comes so easily to him even when he is feeling anything but confident. His father has taught him many useful things, and not all of them in the workshop.

Tuilindien has her hand in the crook of the other Vanya's arm, and she too looks like she is fighting to compose herself. Carnistir receives a faint sensation, an echo of her discomfort, when they get close.

'Prince Morifinwë', she greets him and curtsies, and her formal greeting makes Carnistir want to grab her and drag her out of this glittering ballroom to somewhere where they can speak properly, somewhere where it is just the two of them, where they can forgo formality and worry less about onlookers.

There are times when he wishes he weren't of the highest house of the Noldor.

But he is, and he brutally squashes the wish of escape, instead using his high station to greet her in a more familiar manner. 'Tuilindien', he says, and bows to kiss her hand, keeping an eye on the man beside her. She has withdrawn her other hand from his arm, Carnistir notes with slight but savage pleasure.

The man looks a little confused.

'Alcarno, I'd like you to meet Morifinwë Carnistir, prince of the House of Fëanor. Carnistir, may I present my brother-in-law, Olordion Alcarno, my sister Sailiel Lirulinë's husband and a member of King Ingwë's court', Tuilindien says, reciting names with a purposefulness that only partially masks her discomfort.

Brother-in-law. Carnistir would blush from embarrassment if he wasn't already flushed with jealousy. But he was holding her very tightly, he defends himself while he nods at Olordion. The Vanya gives him a small bow, looking somewhat wary.

Carnistir isn't calm enough to be able to engage in small talk. He turns to Tuilindien again and says, 'You told me you aren't a good dancer, but you seemed to be doing well enough.'

He doesn't mean it to sound like an accusation, but it rather does, and he cringes.

'I can manage tolerably if I have a good partner who knows he has to lead me carefully. Alcarno has–'

Tuilindien is interrupted by the arrival of another young Vanyarin woman, one who looks very much like Tuilindien with her dark golden hair and delicate features. She is a little shorter, though, and it is instantly clear that she has a much more lively and less gentle manner.

'Tuilë, Alcarno, I'm so glad I found you! I saw you disappear from the dance floor; I hope all is well?' Without waiting for an answer, Tuilindien's older sister – for it must be her – turns to Carnistir.

'Ah, prince Morifinwë.' She curtsies deeply. 'Do forgive me for not noticing you at once. I am delighted to make your acquaintance, for I have heard much of you.'

Carnistir doesn't believe for a second that she hadn't noticed him. There is an assessing, calculating look in her eyes, eyes that are startlingly the same shade of blue-green as Tuilindien's.

Looking ever more discombobulated, Tuilindien again performs introductions.

'It is quite a crush again tonight, is it not? Most of the free space appears to be on the dancefloor, for not many are dancing this early in the evening', Sailiel observes amiably, the only one of the four of them that appears calm and collected. Carnistir remembers Tuilindien telling him that her eldest sister is as if created for court life, relishing in the mix of ceremony and machinations that make up the life of those close to people in power.

He scrambles for something to say, something that will show Tuilindien that he wants to get along with her family, but before he can compose a sensible sentence Tuilindien's sister speaks again.

'The next dance is a Noldorin one, I believe, but a rare one for two people with no changes of partner. You two should make use of that opportunity. Tuilindien is not very familiar with the steps, but you can teach her.' She says it lightly, as if a throwaway suggestion, but again the look in her eyes tells Carnistir that she knows exactly what she's doing.

He can hear Tuilindien making sounds of protest to her sister. But Carnistir thinks, If this is the way to convince her family of my honourable intentions, so be it, and he turns to her, giving a small bow.

'My lady Tuilindien, I would be honoured if you allowed me to share this dance with you. I shall endeavour to lead, even though I cannot promise to do it as adeptly as your brother-in-law.' The last sentence he says more quietly, hoping to reassure her. She looks so very much in need of it.

She puts her hand in his outstretched one, and both of them shiver at the contact.

Tuilindien's sister takes her husband's arm and leads him away, smiling like a satisfied cat.

Carnistir takes a deep breath and gathers himself, and suddenly sees his father whom he had forgotten all about amidst his jealousy.

Fëanáro is just twenty feet away, obscured up to this point by Tuilindien's tall brother-in-law but visible now. He is standing in a group of people, loyal supporters of his that Carnistir recognises, but looking at Carnistir. His eyes are unreadable.

He doesn't say anything or beckon Carnistir, nor does he approach him and Tuilindien, and after a heartbeat Carnistir wrenches his gaze away from him and back to Tuilindien where it belongs, his heart a little lighter than it was a moment ago.

This is the best he can expect from his father, he supposes.

'What is it?' she asks.

'I just saw someone I didn't expect', he hedges. 'It doesn't matter. I'm here with you now, and we are going to dance once the song changes. I will do my best not to humiliate you.'

'It may be me who causes the humiliation', Tuilindien says, worrying her lip. 'I was given a quick lesson on Noldorin dances before we came here, but I ran away early to polish an essay. As Lirulinë said, I really don't know the steps very well.'

'I find it hard to imagine you running away from a lesson.' In spite of Tuilindien's worry Carnistir can't help smiling at the image. Things are better now, with just him and her, still holding her hand even though their dance hasn't begun yet. Those on the dancefloor are still twirling in the simple Vanyarin movements.

'I fear dance lessons have always been where my good breeding fails. Carnistir, what happened? I was dancing with Alcarno when suddenly I felt a rush of such anger.' She studies him. 'I wasn't even aware that you had arrived, I heard your family was late. And I felt nothing in our connection until the sudden anger and unhappiness. It made me think there was something the matter with you. Are you well?'

The conflicting desires of wanting to be honest with Tuilindien and not wanting her to know just how quick he is to judge and doubt and, as he discovered a moment ago, feel jealousy, war within Carnistir.

'We can talk about it later if you would prefer that', Tuilindien says, glancing at the people around them. She is frowning, and unhappy.

It is enough that they have the worry for his father's attitude hanging over them; Carnistir wants no other shadows, no secrets between them, even if it means revealing more of his flaws to her.

It's not like I ever manage to hide them long anyway, he consoles himself. She would find out eventually.

Heedful of the crowd pressing close to them and the busybodies within it no doubt listening to their every word, Carnistir tugs Tuilindien's hand and leads her behind a wide pillar, hiding them from Fëanáro's view at least. He moves very close to Tuilindien, so close that it would be inappropriate if they weren't already an openly courting couple.

He says into Tuilindien's ear, the scent of her hair in his nose, 'When I saw you dancing with another man, and he was holding you so close, I was upset. I shouldn't have been, I know, but I am always so quick to react with judgement.'

Tuilindien draws away from him, just as he feared, though not very far. With wide eyes and hushed voice she says, 'There was no reason, Carnistir. Alcarno is my brother-in-law; I have known him since I was a child and he is truly like a brother to me. He was holding me tight because we wanted to make sure that if I stepped on anyone's toes it would be his. And even if it had been someone else I was dancing with–' Tuilindien bites her lip again, and it causes more heat to flood Carnistir's face – 'there would have been no reason for you to be upset either. I wouldn't do anything that you would need to feel jealous for.'

She is not just worried now but hurt, and he hastens to make it better, to make her stop hurting.

'I am so sorry, Tuilë. I'm not… this is all so new, I have never felt like– I have never courted anyone, and I am not very good at it, and I think I will get better and I hope I will get more reasonable and I didn't really think that you would do anything wrong, I mean, anything to give me cause for–'

'Carnistir.' Tuilindien's voice is very quiet, and to his utter mortification Carnistir realises his had been rising in volume.

'It is all right, Carnistir.'

'No, it isn't', he says, rather miserable, and aware that the orchestra is segueing to another song, the one he and Tuilindien are supposed to be dancing to. 'I'm sorry you had to feel my anger again. I don't know how to control it so that you don't.'

'We will learn', Tuilindien says in a determined manner, though Carnistir can feel that her determination is at least partially a facade, not backed up by conviction. 'We will practise, and we will learn to control it.'

'Do you know how? To practise?'

'I have heard a few tips. But we should– I mean, if we are still–' Tuilindien gestures at the dancefloor where new couples are taking up their starting positions.

'Yes, of course.' He leads her there, and bows to her as they take their places for the dance: holding each other by one hand, standing side by side to begin with.

A moment before the change in music signals the first steps Tuilindien asks, a new kind of vulnerability in her eyes, 'You will guide me, won't you? I don't want to embarrass myself and you in front of everyone.'

'You won't.' Carnistir presses her hand. 'I have you.'

His shame for the jealousy and the fear of it happening again are washed away by the gratitude and relief he feels in the answering squeeze of her fingers.

He determines to dance better than usually. For once he actually wants to do it well; surely he just needs to concentrate.


The problem is her concentration, Tuilindien decides already after a few steps which, it turns out, she remembers but doesn't manage to execute with any kind of grace or elegance. If only she could concentrate on moving her body the right way, then it would be all right.

Usually it is easy for her focus her concentration on anything she wants to, especially her studies, though she rarely forgets all about the world around her like her father tends to do. It is infuriating not to be able to do it now, to have her thoughts skittering every which way instead: to Carnistir's startling jealousy, to wondering what her sister and brother-in-law thought of him, to the people all around her and Carnistir, many of whom are probably watching them with curious eyes. Tuilindien knows that this dance is meant to be a declaration of sorts, and she is quite happy Carnistir chose to do it, but it doesn't make being watched any easier.

She is not accustomed to being at the centre of attention: she has never sought it out and there is nothing about her that would have made it happen on its own. She is not brightly vivacious like Lirulinë, or able to command a room's attention with carefully weighed authoritative words like her mother. She is happier in libraries and family rooms than she is at great feasts or balls, though she is used to court life since childhood.

But the worst hindrance to her concentration is Carnistir himself as he is at this moment: constantly touching her, at the very least holding her hand but often twining both his hands around her waist to lift her or hold her close. His body is warmer than ever and he looks at her so ardently, his eyes the same stormy grey as the fine robe he is wearing and brighter than the dark jewels on his collar…

Feelings and thoughts flow between them, amplified by the physical contact and closeness, and Tuilindien is not always certain which ones are hers and which come from Carnistir. The feelings are of pleasure, happiness and desire, and the thoughts are of more, of being even closer to each other, of touching even more, of doing things that have thus far been the stuff of secret dreams, hazy and formless, but now so very keenly needed.

They try to keep moving to the music, to follow something resembling the right steps, but it is very difficult when their shared desire keeps escalating. The images they send to each other are so wonderful that Tuilindien doesn't even want them to stop, though it makes dancing difficult.

I wish we could stop moving and just touch; running my hands down your chest, touching you over your heart to find out if you are even warmer there than elsewhere, would be so wonderful–

If mine were the only eyes on you and I could look as long as I liked, I would spend hours studying you so that I will always know every golden inch of you–

Peeling away your robe to discover whether you have freckles all over, and how far down your body your blushes extend–

Twisting my hands in your hair and pulling on it, only gently, just enough to make you arch back and expose your neck so that I can kiss you there and feel on my lips the vibrations of the sounds you make–

Tuilindien gasps and stumbles a little. Carnistir pulls on her hand, trying to help her balance, and she steps on the toes of one of his feet but then regains her footing. The embarrassment of this episode helps her regain some of her equanimity as well, though the warmth of desire lingers in her.

'I'm sorry, I lost my concentration', she murmurs to Carnistir as they skip a twirl to catch up to the other dancers.

He is redder than she has ever seen him before. 'It is very hard to focus.'

'We really need to learn to control our mental connection, and soon', Tuilindien says quietly while they circle each other, upheld palm to palm.

'Yes. Did you–' Carnistir clears his throat. 'When I was feeling jealous and realised that it made you unhappy, I tried to push it deeper inside to keep it away from you. Did it work?'

Brows furrowed, Tuilindien thinks. 'Probably. The sensation of your… displeasure diminished even though I was getting closer to you. I was a little surprised by that.'

'I shall try that again, then. Although…' Carnistir lifts Tuilindien and looks up at her, holding her aloft a second longer than others hold their partners without even noticing. 'I don't really want to stop imagining what we would like to do to each other if we weren't here.' A dismissive gesture with the hand he withdraws from her waist indicates the crowds around them, showing how little he cares for everyone else.

Tuilindien concentrates on moving her feet right, and on suppressing the renewed flush of desire that Carnistir's words brought. It is such a strange thing, desire: it makes her feel restless in her own skin, yet happier in herself than ever before because Carnistir wants her. Oh, the sweetness of being wanted by him…

And now she is clumsy again. She takes a deep breath and doesn't reply to Carnistir because doing so would distract her. There is not much left of the dance now, and they manage to control themselves and their movements in satisfactory manner for the last moments. It is with great relief that Tuilindien makes her curtsy to Carnistir at the end, and they walk away from the dancefloor with swift steps.

Tuilindien can see half-hidden smiles on the faces of people around her; she fixes her gaze straight ahead to see as few as possible. She isn't certain if she and Carnistir danced badly enough for it to count as a humiliation, but it was probably some sort of a spectacle anyway. One of lovesick fools, probably.

Is that such a bad thing? she asks herself. She is roused from her thoughts by Carnistir asking her something as well.

'I missed the dinner because my family was so late. I think there are some refreshments in the side chamber, there usually are. Would you like some?'

If he is hungry then of course they must seek out the refreshments. 'Some wine would be good after the dancing.'

'Yes, it would.'

They are heading towards the side chamber when suddenly Carnistir pales, and the quiet hum of happiness in the now more controlled connection between them is replaced by unease.

'Ah, Tuilë', Carnistir begins but before he can say more, a cool male voice greets him.

'Morifinwë. Would you introduce us to your companion?'

Carnistir's parents have appeared at their side, unnoticed by Tuilindien because she was looking ahead so determinedly. Trying to quell the nervousness in her stomach, she turns to them now.

Prince Fëanáro and his wife are both dressed very splendidly, he in dark red and she in dark green. The shining silk of their clothes is far surpassed by the many gems that are sewn into the fabric and glitter in their hair, in Nerdanel's necklace, in rings around their fingers.

Fëanáro completes the look of royal illustriousness with an expression that could be described as dignified, or as arrogant. It reminds Tuilindien of the way Carnistir looks sometimes, but apart from that she cannot see much resemblance between father and son. Nerdanel shares more features with Carnistir, from her ruddy skin tone to her deep-set grey eyes, though Carnistir's are darker.

At the moment Nerdanel's eyes are warm and curious, and Tuilindien takes solace in that. She is more nervous now than ever before, she thinks, more even than she was prior to her final examinations before all of the loremasters of the Vanyar.

Carnistir makes the introductions and Tuilindien makes deep curtsies to both of his parents, the elegance of the curtsies slightly hampered by the fact that Carnistir is still holding her hand. She doesn't mind it, though.

'We are very pleased to meet you, Ingolmiel', says Nerdanel with a smile and what looks like… a pinch on her husband's arm?

Fëanáro smiles, but far from easing Tuilindien's apprehension, the sharp cold smile makes her want to run away. That reaction in turn makes her feel like she shouldn't be doing this, shouldn't have let Carnistir begin courting her because she is not brave enough, not like these Noldor with their fiery hearts and fierce pride–

Stand your ground and you will find that you are braver than you think. Her father's gentle words, said years ago to allay her childhood fears, drift into Tuilindien's mind. She has a tendency to give up too soon on things that are difficult or frightening but now that she is no longer a child, she knows that is an easy way to miss out on good things. Things which are hard to come by will in time prove the more valuable, likes her mother to say.

So she stands tall and refuses to be cowed into being ashamed of who she is, of being Vanyarin, and her serene expression falters only a little when Fëanáro says, after a pause that was much longer than is polite, 'Yes, we are very interested to find out what about you has captivated Morifinwë so.'

He says it like he doubts there will be much to find, and Tuilindien holds on to Carnistir's hand and braces for worse to come.


A/N: The next chapter will pick up directly where this one ends. I originally intended for this eight chapter to include all the events at the party, but it became way too long so I had to split it into two.

Thank you for keeping up with Carnistir and Tuilindien's awkward but earnest courting – if you enjoyed this chapter and have a moment, please leave a review. I love hearing from readers!