Chapter summary: Tuilindien tries to reason out matters of the heart and meets with Carnistir.

A/N: It took me a long time again to figure out how I wanted to tell this part of the story, but it's here now and I've already done a lot of work on the next chapter as well.

This chapter is written from Tuilindien's point of view, whereas the next one will be from Carnistir's.

Chapter X /Matters of faith and reason

Tuilindien has trouble concentrating on the words on the parchment in front of her, and after a while she gives up and pushes away the messy notes she'd intended to write into a coherent whole. It is only a week until her presentation at the scholars' colloquium and she needs to finalise her plans very soon, but after an hour of trying and failing she has to accept that she is not going to get any work done before her midday meeting with Carnistir.

She'd been glad when he had run after her and asked her to see him again so soon, but her feelings have grown conflicted again since then. In the quiet of the night with only her sister's steady breathing from the other side of the room for company, Fëanáro's words had returned to haunt her and kept her from finding rest.

And in the morning on the way to the library her own father, her quiet and gentle father, had spoken to her with surprising vehemence about how one shouldn't marry a person who makes one as unhappy as she had seemed last night. Tuilindien had tried to explain that Carnistir had never made her feel anything but beautiful and interesting and wanted – if not in those words – but her father had proved difficult to convince.

'Promise me you will guard you heart well, Tuilë', he asked of her. 'For it is the most precious thing you can give away.'

She promised.

Now she wonders why Carnistir asked to see her, if he has any specific purpose other than assure himself and her that all hope is not lost for them though his father would prefer that.

Tuilindien hopes that Carnistir won't do any grand gesture like asking her to marry him. It is far too soon for that to be wise, and she is not ready to give an answer of any kind.

She leans back in her chair which is both beautiful and practical like everything the Noldor make, rubs her temples and prays that all of the other scholars at their desks are engrossed enough in their work that they don't notice her neglecting hers. She chose a spot in a quiet corner, close enough to a tall window that she can gaze upon the city of Tirion if she tilts her head a little.

Tirion is sparkling white and beautiful, and foreign and familiar at the same time. It shares many features with her home, the small town around Ingwë's palace, and with Valmar, yet it feels very different. The spiritual distance between Tirion and the cities of the Vanyar is longer than the physical distance.

The sheer industriousness and passion for craft and beauty that Tuilindien has met everywhere in the city of the Noldor is very different from the quiet reverence of Ingwë's court or the simple lifestyle on the plains where farmers live their lives in the rhythm of the seasons changing. If it didn't sound so trite, she'd think the difference much like the difference between her and Carnistir, one intense and passionate and the other quieter and more thoughtful.

She dreamt of him again last night – she dreams of little else these days. This time the dream was of the two of them dancing, and when she woke she was breathless in a way she's never been before.

This visit to Tirion has turned out very differently from what she expected. She has been able to commit less of her time and focus to her studies, and the way she views her upcoming presentation has changed drastically.

Ever since she chose a youthful work of prince Fëanáro's as her subject, she has been a little nervous of his reaction should he deign to pay any attention to a young Vanyarin scholar discussing his work; now, because of the personal connections, her nervousness has a new edge, knife-sharp. She fears he might actually show up to listen and, even worse, to make comments. The weakest part of her has already suggested that she change her subject.

But no matter Fëanáro's insinuations last night and her own insecurities that creep on her every now and then, she does have a little bit of ambition and courage. She will not listen to that weak part of herself. It would be disastrous to changer her subject this late. It would also seem like a display of strong fear or respect for Fëanáro, and in the end, she neither fears nor respects him that much.

It is the way of the scholarly community to comment and build upon previous works, often criticising them in the process, and Tuilindien was a scholar before she became Carnistir's… whatever she is.

It is ironic, very much so, that because she escaped at Finwë's celebration her sister's attempts at finding her a husband, she had met a man whose heart called to hers. Such an unexpected man, in so many ways.

Why him? she asks herself, far from the first time she has done so. Why, why, why. Why Carnistir, a Noldo whom she would probably never see again in the ordinary course of things, as they were of different peoples and he didn't even like hers? Why a man whose temper shifts so quickly that she can't keep up with it, making her nervous because she could not understand such a nature, having never really known anyone like him?

Before coming to Tirion Tuilindien along with all the other Vanyarin girls had expected to be enchanted by the beauty of Nelyafinwë or Turkafinwë whose fair forms are talked about even among the Vanyar. And she certainly finds them fair, pleasant to admire as one might admire a beautiful painting or a song played with skill. She finds far greater enjoyment at looking at Carnistir, seeing the animation in his eyes and watching the muscles of his face move as he speaks, even if he has no beauty of great renown.

Morifinwë Carnistir. Both his names describe his looks, for even among the generally dark-haired Noldor, he is a dark one with his night-black hair inherited from his father and grandfather, black brows heavier than Tuilindien has seen before, eyes of a grey so dark they look almost black, and a ruddy complexion inherited from his mother that flushes easily and turns bright red when he feels strongly about something, which is most of the time.

Tuilindien has not thought very much about marriage, but she has supposed that she would marry one day as most people do. On the rare occasions that she has thought about her future husband she has had in her mind a vague image of someone with golden hair and golden skin and a gentle nature – the kind of man she lived her whole life among, someone like her.

Is Carnistir's being so different from herself and everyone she knows the reason she is drawn to him? She has never been attracted by extremes before, though she knows that some people are. Is that why he is attracted to her? Does he find her enchanting because she is exotic to him? That is one more thing to worry about.

No, it isn't; she dismisses that worry quickly. The mental connection she and Carnistir developed so quickly proves that their feelings for each other go deeper than the surface, and she would do them both injustice if she thought otherwise.

In any case it isn't like she's the first Vanya Carnistir has ever see. There are Vanyar in his own extended family, after all, and many more in other families in Tirion. The white city was originally home to both the Noldor and the Vanyar, and most who'd married Noldor during that time remained in the city when Ingwë took his people to Taniquetil and the plains. There have been later marriages too. Because there were very few Vanyar in the beginning, many of them are closely related and seeking spouses among the Noldor and, less commonly, the Teleri, is not unusual.

The next thing she begins worrying about is Carnistir's family, his father most of all of course – the Noldor and Vanyar are on friendly terms in general, and Tuilindien had thought that Fëanáro would be able to overcome his prejudice for his son's sake. She isn't so sure of that anymore.

Yet it isn't just worrying and anxiety hindering her concentration, it is also all the good things about Carnistir, things that fascinate her about him and things she wants to know and experience more about. After all, before they had encountered Fëanáro they had danced together, and it had been both the most disconcerting and most wonderful experience of her life.

The memory of being so close to Carnistir, of being held and holding him, sends shivers down her back though the treelight streaming in through the high windows keeps the library warm. She glances around again but none of the other scholars seem to be paying any mind to her lack of progress, so she dares to keep daydreaming. It is easy to relax since libraries have always been her favourite place.

Her sister or mother would have been much better suited to falling for a temperamental Noldo than she is. Tuilindien loves peace, quiet, the still ambiance of libraries where dust motes dance in the air and the only sound is the rustling of parchment and the scribbling of quill pens.

She breathes in that quiet air now, leans forward on the desk on her elbows, stares unseeing at the book in front of her, lost in her thoughts.

If I end what has grown between Carnistir and me it will be out of cowardice, yet if I keep going on this path, it will be because I am afraid of how lost I will be if I leave it. This really isn't bringing out the best in me.

I have always wanted a peaceful life, yet I also want you, Carnistir, and you are as far from peaceful as can be, full of passion and fire.

I could drown in all that passion, lose myself in it.

How can the threat of drowning feel so tempting?

She can find no ready-formed answers in her own mind, try as she might. And this lovely tranquil library, a place of words and learning, isn't the right place to make a decision about Carnistir, because logic and reason are too little for the as yet nameless thing that has taken such a powerful hold on her spirit. This is a matter of faith, of choosing to believe in the feelings growing between them, and she will have to see if she has enough faith in them, and in him.

Tuilindien walks with slow steps into the great square beneath the Mindon, the greatest of the many white towers of Tirion, embarrassed to be early. The quiet library had in the end began to feel stifling, and she had hurriedly stuffed her books and scrolls and writing things into her satchel and left before she needed to.

She should have remembered Carnistir's impatience, though. As soon as she looks around the square she spots him, early as well, pacing back and forth near Galathilion, the white tree made by Yavanna in the image of Telperion. This tree sheds no light, but Carnistir with his black hair and dark clothes seems surrounded by a bright glow cast by his white surroundings. He looks anxious, and beautiful to Tuilindien. She stops for a moment to admire both him and the tree.

Carnistir notices her soon and stops his pacing; they meet half-way.

'Shall we sit down?' Carnistir asks, brows furrowed, pointing to the benches around the tree and the many fountains on the square.

Tuilindien chooses a bench from which they can see the tree. It is slender and beautiful even though it is a small, pale echo of the glory of the silver-shining White Tree, and it reminds Tuilindien that this city, this square and the tree all belonged to the Vanyar in the beginning as much as they belonged to the Noldor. She is not so out of place here as she has felt herself to be; her own ancestors lived here, walked across this square on their way to the tower of Mindon where King Ingwë used to reside.

She moves her gaze from the tree to Carnistir, quiet and distracted-looking beside her, not quite close enough to touch.

'I'm sorry about my appearance', he says when he notices her looking at him. 'I was working with my father in the forge and wasn't able to leave early enough to change.'

Tuilindien realises only now that he is indeed dressed in work clothes: sturdy trousers and a grey shirt of light linen, both garments soot-covered in places. He rubs at a stain on his knee.

'I don't mind what clothes you wear', Tuilindien says after another moment of awkward silence. 'But… did your father try to stop you coming? Is that why you had no time to change?'

'No!' Carnistir's gaze meets hers. 'I talked with him last night, after the party. Well, we shouted at each other, to be more accurate. In the end he promised not to interfere anymore. I wasn't late because of him, not directly anyway. We just got so lost in our work that I lost track of time.'

'I see.' Tuilindien has experienced the same thing herself but finds it difficult to believe that Fëanáro has relented already. 'So your father doesn't mind that you continue seeing me?'

Carnistir scratches the back of his neck and tugs at the thick black braid hanging down his back. 'I wouldn't say that', he says, somewhat red-faced. Tuilindien notices he's speaking more diplomatically than is his custom, and it seems to take some effort. 'That will take more time. But he promised he won't speak against you again.'

'That is good', Tuilindien replies in an equally careful tone, keeping her feelings to herself as she has all this time.

'I promise, Tuilë, he won't hurt you again like he did last night.' Carnistir's expression is hesitant as he realises he used the shortened, affectionate version of her name. Tuilindien gives him a small smile, the nervous one she thinks she probably wore for most of the night when she met Carnistir for the first time.

'I am good at working stone, you know', Carnistir continues. 'Even my stubborn father's head cannot be much harder than that. I'll make him change his mind further.'

A giggle escapes Tuilindien, as nervous as her smile. Carnistir smiles back, the uncomfortable tension between them melting away and something warmer flowing in its place.

'I don't work together with him very often these days. I'm a member of the stonemasons' guild now and spend most of my time on building projects. My family is close, though, and all of us come back to father's workshop every now and then. I'm working there while Curvo is at grandfather Mahtan's.'

'I don't disapprove of you working with your father', Tuilindien hastens to reassure him. 'I am glad you are close with your family; so am I with mine.'

Another smile is exchanged and Carnistir says, 'If I manage to stop myself getting annoyed at him while we work side by side, it's a good opportunity to work on his attitude as well. I wouldn't expect an apology from him any time soon, though', he finishes somewhat despondently.

'I didn't really expect one.'

Carnistir moves closer to her on the bench. 'Tuilindien, may I see you again tomorrow? I don't have a lot of time today, I have a meeting with a merchant soon, but tomorrow –'

'Tomorrow I'm spending the day with Rúmil, going over my plans for the colloquium. He has very generously agreed to look over my work, since our research interests are largely the same. Not that I don't want to see you again', she adds quickly. 'But I am very busy for the next week, until the colloquium is over. The day after tomorrow we could perhaps have lunch together? I think I can take that much time off. On some other days as well.'

Carnistir agrees to that with eagerness that tugs at Tuilindien's heartstrings and makes her blush a little, and she doesn't mind it at all when Carnistir moves even closer to her. Testing her control of the mental connection between them, she tries to share a little bit of her quiet but deep delight that they are going to keep pursuing their relationship.

Carnistir seems to understand, for when he next speaks it is to say, 'I am very glad – and that isn't a strong enough word for it, but I don't know what else to say – that we will keep spending time together. If you have time, I'll have lunch with you every day.'

Tuilindien finds herself looking at her hands folded in her lap. 'I am only going to be in Tirion for three weeks longer. If that were not the case I would think that we should take things slower, that to see every day was foolish… I believe, or thought I believed, in long courtships. I thought it was best to see what feelings develop over a lengthy period of time.' She allows herself a nervous gesture, a smoothing of her skirt near her knees, as she gathers courage to say what she wants to say next.

Then she wrinkles the skirt by bunching it up between her fingers as she admits, 'That was before I knew that I could come to care for someone deeply in just a few weeks' time. Two weeks, really, that is all the time that has passed since we first met, isn't it?' She glances at Carnistir and he nods, and her gaze becomes captured in his eyes, the dark greys reflecting so much back at her. 'I will see you every day', she continues, quietly; she knows Carnistir will hear. 'It has been and continues to be necessary for us to have a fast-paced courtship, if we want to have one at all. And I don't want to waste a single day.'

'Let's not waste any, then', replies Carnistir. He lays a gentling hand on her tense ones, and she lets go of her skirt to entwine her fingers with his. His touch is as warm and reassuring as ever and Tuilindien relaxes, opening herself to their connection. Carnistir's emotions that flood to her are so joyful, affectionate and strong that she feels as though she were back on the plains of Valinor very close to the green mound of Ezellohar, gazing at the brilliance of Laurelin at its brightest, surrounded by the warmth that radiates from it.

She hopes her own feelings can bring as much pleasure to Carnistir.

They sit like that for a while, holding hands in silence while sitting far too close to each other for it to be decorous, communicating without words how glad they are to be together and intent on going forward together after the previous night's disasters.

When Tuilindien begins to grow restless, realising that they are having a moment that should be private in a place that is quite literally in the middle of the city, people walking past them all the time, Carnistir regains her attention by calling her name quietly.

'Tuilindien.'

'Yes, Carnistir?'

'You should know that I have never wanted anything as much as I want you for my own. For my wife.'

It couldn't be clearer from the way he speaks that he means every word so she doesn't even need affirmation of his honesty in the connection between them, but she receives it anyway. Stronger than ever before, there is in his rush of feelings a bright, singing thing that must be love, love of a kind she has never felt before.

She cannot help but savour it, and she knows that she could respond that she has never wanted anything as much as him and it would be just as true. But she is more cautious than he is and less able to forget everything else in the world, on a grander scale as well as in this moment. In the library she had hoped that he wouldn't propose marriage to her yet. Now she hopes that his words weren't a proposal.

'I care for you very much', she says softly, knowing that whatever he meant by his words, this probably isn't as much as he hoped for. 'Do not doubt that. Even so, I will not make any declarations stronger than that yet, and no promises beyond seeing you every day while I am here in your city.'

She closes her eyes for the short, difficult moment before Carnistir gets his emotions under control, trying to ignore the anger tied together with his disappointment. Anger colours so many of his emotions.

'I will try to be content with that', he says gruffly. 'I know I should be, but I am my father's son. We find it difficult to be content with anything short of everything.'

There it is again, the passion that both excites and scares her, along with a heartbreaking awareness of his own shortcomings that seems to be as much a part of him as his anger and the passion. 'Just give me – us – a little time to figure out how we fit together and in the world, Carnistir. Even if you and I know how we feel, there are other things we must take into account. If it were just you and me in the world, if there was nothing else to think about –'

'There isn't, not really. Nothing else is important.'

'No, my hasty Noldo, that is not right.' She lays her free hand on his flaming cheek, unable to keep from touching him more even while she tries to bring caution into their passion. 'Nothing else is as important as what we feel, but there are other things to consider. We do not lead solitary lives, but have families who are part of our lives, very dear and important to us.

'It would not be wise, for you or for me, to choose a spouse that doesn't have our family's approval. I don't think we could have a happy marriage following a wedding without the traditional blessings of parents, and a marriage should be a joining of two families, not just the two individuals. And the matter with your father is not fully resolved yet, I suspect.'

She strokes her hand across his cheek once more; he drops his gaze to their joined hands. He asks, 'Does your family disapprove of me? Your mother looked surprisingly approving last night…'

'She knows you have behaved honourably with me, and she and father have nothing against you personally. But they did both tell me, in their own ways, that they hope I will not join myself to a family, however high and noble, if that family does not accept me as I am.'

'And that is your primary objection too?' In spite of her cautious words, his drip with hope.

A deep breath and, 'Yes.'

His fingers press hers almost hard enough to hurt. 'I will overcome it, I promise. I will talk with my father again, and my mother too, and perhaps my grandfather – he surely understands and approves, and he could talk with my father too.' Carnistir speaks quickly, thinking out loud. 'No, perhaps not. Grandfather Finwë has never been able make my father understand his own second marriage. But one way or another, Tuilë, I will make him change his mind. He can be… unreasonable, but he does want me and my brothers to be happy, that I have always believed. I just need to make him understand that my happiness now lies with you, and I think I have already made some progress on this.'

His hope and determination is transmitted to her, but she doesn't know what to say.

'Do you trust me to do this, Tuilë?' He studies her closely.

She takes another deep breath and another leap of faith, another lunge off a high cliff into water whose depth she can't be certain of. 'I do, Carnistir, I trust you.' With all that great fire and will in you, how could you fail?

He lifts their entwined hands to his mouth and kisses her fingers. 'Then every day we will meet for our midday meal, and every day I will keep working on my father's attitude like I would chip away at stubborn stone. With constant pressure.'

Tuilindien presses his hand in turn. 'I believe in you. But I must remind you of one more unpleasant thing.' She gently extricates her fingers from his and moves a little farther away. 'We must return to propriety in our meetings, at least as long as we must meet in public. We have touched each other too much today, startled as we were by yesterday's events, but it will not do in the future. Gossip of us taking freedoms with each other will not help our case with your father or any others who might disapprove.'

Irritation bleeds an ugly dark stripe into Carnistir's happy mood. No doubt he wishes she were less concerned with propriety, but she will not back down on this. She knows it is for the best.

Carnistir's next words surprise her by echoing her thoughts. 'You know better than I do how to behave', he says. 'I must say, though, that I am tired of worrying about damned gossips. There should be nothing gossip-worthy about two young people courting. It happens every day with countless people.'

'I am tired of it too', Tuilindien answers. 'But people do gossip, my dear.' She fears the affectionate term of address might sound patronising; instead, it makes Carnistir's frown disappear. 'And they come up to me and pretend to be complimentary or concerned, trying to get information out of me, whenever something has been seen happening between us. Ever since our first meeting all people have wanted to talk to me about is you, and us. I ate breakfast in my bedchamber today because I wasn't in the mood for evading questions.'

'It's worse for you than me.' Carnistir is clearly realising that just now. 'Of course it is. I should have realised. Few people dare to openly pry into my family's affairs, and mine least of all my brothers' since I am well known for responding badly to that sort of thing. Whereas you're a guest at the court…'

Tuilindien nods, and Carnistir curses, too loudly. 'Valar-damned busybodies. Tuilë, let me know if someone harasses you too much from now, and I will put an end to it.'

She nods again, though she thinks that Carnistir attempting to 'put an end to it' might cause more of a scandal than their sitting close together sharing little touches will.

Even though they are no longer touching, she can feel his fierceness, in the form of near-violent protectiveness this time.

I truly need to find a Noldorin courage in myself, she thinks after they have said their goodbyes and she walks back to the library with slow, thoughtful steps. For I will need courage to withstand and indeed to enjoy the storm in you, my dear Carnistir.

A/N: I hope this didn't feel too melodramatic. As a Fëanorian, Carnistir is kind of a dramatic guy. And since I'm keeping this fic largely LaCE-compliant, divorce and remarriage aren't options for elves, so choosing a spouse is a very serious business for them.

According to HoME there were fourteen (fourteen!) Vanyar originally so unless they did quite a lot of marrying outside their own tribe, there was a lot of incest going on. Ugh, actually, this is probably one of those half-poetic things Tolkien wrote that it's best just to ignore or not take very literally at least. But that's why I mentioned Vanyar marrying Noldor and Teleri, anyway.

The next chapter will speed through the week of lunch dates and Tuilindien's presentation, concluding with Carnistir seeking romantic advice from Makalaurë.