Chapter summary: Carnistir and Tuilindien's private celebration of the harvest feast continues.

Chapter notes: I have enjoyed writing these two romantic, happy chapters so much that writing 77,000 words during over two years to get to these chapters definitely feels worth it now. I hope you guys enjoy reading this as well. It is very fluffy, and there is little plot.

Chapter XXI / Your hand in mine in the bright light, part II

They rest there side by side until the light is all silver.

Carnistir sits up first. He turns to get the cloth bag he'd left by the side of the blanket, unopened until now. It is the bag he had with him already when Tuilindien found him, when everything else he'd brought was in Varnë's saddlebags.

She sits up too and watches curiously as he pulls a cloth-covered bundle from the bag. He unwinds the cloth carefully, and pulls out one of the most exquisite items Tuilindien has ever seen. It is as splendid and beautiful as anything she has seen king Ingwë or his queen wear.

'After making the bracelet I pondered for a long time what I could make you that would surpass my earlier gifts and show you how much you have come to mean to me. More every day.' Carnistir's dark eyes are bright with emotion.

'Making you more jewellery to complete the set felt… not enough at first, but then I realised that this would be perfect.' He turns it in his hands. 'It is the best of your world and mine, Tuilë, my vanimelda. You sent me wreaths of flowers before, and I sent you jewellery I made of metal and gems. So as the culmination of my courting gifts, I wrought you a circlet of flowers of metal. They hold not even a memory of scent, but they will not wither in winter.'

He holds out the circlet, and she takes it. The twists of metal and the many little flowers and leaves that make up the circlet are delicate and fine. It feels both light and sturdy, and of course it must not be fragile since it is Carnistir's work. There are twinkling little gemstones in the centres of the flowers in many colours, but blue and green more than others.

Most wondrously, it glows. It has a soft golden shimmer around every part of it, more than is natural; more than any metal that Tuilindien has ever known can glow. She does not recognise this metal, though. It is too light to be gold.

'How does it glow?' she breathes. 'Carnistir, it is wonderful – beautiful – I have no words. But how does it glow like this? No ordinary metal does.'

'My father helped me with the glow.'

Carnistir admitted it as if that is a bad thing, but Tuilindien is delighted. 'Did your father know that you were making it for me? He must have.'

'He did.'

'And he helped anyway.' Caressing the beautiful gift in her lap, Tuilindien finds herself rather moved. 'Then he must approve of your continuing courtship of me. To actually help you make something for me.'

'Tuilë…' Carnistir moves to her side and puts his arm around her shoulders. 'Yes. It would be a lie to say that he is happy for our relationship, but he has come to understand that all he has to gain by disapproving is being alienated from me. We have got along reasonably well since he realised that. Not living in the same house helps, like it does with Tyelko and Curvo.

'We have not really talked about it', Carnistir continues. 'Perhaps we should have. But our discussions have become too heated so many times that we seem to have grown wary. So we did not talk about you. My mother had told him of our correspondence, though, while I was still not on speaking terms with him. Long before I asked him to help me with this circlet. I asked Curvo first, actually.' Carnistir grimaces. 'He made fun of me but agreed to lend his knowledge of metallurgy. It turned out not to be enough, though, for the effect I wanted to achieve. So I asked my father.'

'How did you do it – the glow? Or did he do it?'

'He guided me, but I sang it into the metal.'

Tuilindien runs her finger along the delicate curves and twists of the circlet, admiring the warm golden shimmer. 'I should like to see – and hear – you making something like this one day. If you would show me.'

Carnistir laughs a little, but flushes a deeper colour as well. 'I don't know when I will next do something like this. It is not everyday crafting.'

'I can believe that. This is very special.' It is as if the circlet feels ever so slightly warmer in her hands than metal should be, as well.

'But whenever it is that I do something like this again, you are welcome to watch. You must be quiet, though.'

'Of course.' Tuilindien answers Carnistir's smile with her own. A few moments ago, she would not have believed that she could be any happier, yet she is.

'There are a couple of other things about the circlet I want to tell you about', Carnistir says. 'The first is about the way it glows. It has a golden shimmer now, because the light is silver, but when the Mingling comes and goes again and Laurelin shines bright –'

Tuilindien doesn't mean to interrupt but cannot help making an amazed noise. Carnistir grins at her, delighted. 'Yes, the circlet will glow silver-white then.'

'That is…' She has no words, only something in her eyes that makes the shimmer around the circlet hazier.

Carnistir rubs her back comfortingly. Tuilindien feels silly having to be comforted for receiving a lovely gift, yet it feels nice nonetheless.

He says, 'I know that your people hold the light of the Trees very dear. I could only make a pale imitation, of course. But it is one you can always have with you, if you wish.'

Tuilindien feels tears wetting her cheeks. Before she can dry them, Carnistir does it for her.

As he pats her cheeks dry with his long sleeve, he says gently, 'Don't cry, Tuilë. I still have more to show you about the circlet.'

'What more could there possibly be?' She leans her cheek into his hand.

'See.' He takes the circlet from her lap and points to various parts of it. 'Here and here and here, there are little clips. You can fasten your veil to this circlet if you want to use it on days of high feast.'

'Oh.' She touches the clips. They are tiny, smaller than her smallest fingernail. 'Of course I will wear it on high feasts, Carnistir. Of course.' She tilts her head up and he leans down obligingly; she gives him a watery kiss. 'I own nothing else as beautiful or as magnificent as this.' She chuckles. 'My only concern is that I might be more finely ornamented than some who are above me in station.'

'Among the Noldor you would not be', Carnistir replies with half a grimace, half a grin. 'We like to make peacocks of ourselves at every opportunity.'

Tuilindien laughs. 'Peacocks?'

He laughs with her. 'That is what I call Curufinwë when he makes a special effort of dressing up. He likes to wear bright colours and a lot of jewellery. I like how incensed he gets when I compare him to peafowl. Also, when Makalaurë was younger and still courting Tinweriel, he once had robes made – accidentally – in the exact colours of a peacock. She still teases him about them.'

'That is very funny. But what bird are you, my Carnistir? You who do not attire yourself in bright colours.'

'A raven', he answers so fast that he must have considered the question before – though why he would have, she doesn't know. 'With my black hair and my dark clothes.'

'You don't have a raven's voice! And you are dressed in white today', she argues, smiling. He looks very nice in white, she has decided. This is the first time she has seen him in clothes that are not dark. She likes him in his customary colours too, but the pure white makes his features and black hair stand out even more.

'For the festival. And for you.' He clears his throat. 'Would you like to try the circlet on?'

'Yes, of course.' She hands it to him. 'Would you put it on, fasten it to my veil? Without taking the veil off completely', she adds quickly. 'It would be good if you could do that.'

'I will', Carnistir promises.

Tuilindien stays very still as Carnistir carefully settles the circlet on her head and moves her veil little by little to keep most of it on her hair while he fastens it to the clips.

She finds that she is much less concerned about his careless words about her veil earlier now that he has given her a gift that shows that he acknowledges the importance of the tradition to her.

'There. Does that feel comfortable?'

'Yes.' Tuilindien moves her head, touches the circlet, amazed. 'It is just the right size. How did you know what size my head is?'

Carnistir flushes. 'I took note of it. I started planning making a circlet of some kind for you very soon after we met. Your hair… it is glorious. For someone like me, seeing something glorious means wanting to make something to make it even more so.'

Now Tuilindien has to duck her head. 'Thank you', she says. 'Thank you, Carnistir, darling. I cannot thank you enough for this gift.'

'You don't need to. It was my pleasure to make it.'

Now they are both red-faced and smiling like idiots. She has come to like it when they are that way together.

'How does it look?' she asks. 'I wish I had a mirror so I could see.'

'You look like a queen', he says. 'That is all I can say.'

She smiles so wide it hurts. 'That is very sweet of you.'

'It is true', he declares. 'You know me, Tuilë. I don't say things I don't mean.'

'Thank you', she says. She straddles his lap, thankful again for her choice of wide skirts, and kisses him. 'Thank you', she whispers against his lips. 'My beloved.'

Tuilindien doesn't kiss him for long because she has something to do.

She scoots back on his lap and sits on the blanket with her knees tucked under her, almost touching his knees. She pulls out a tiny pouch from inside her bodice.

Carnistir appears both confused and aroused by that, but Tuilindien doesn't let that distract her from what she is about to do.

Not for long anyway. She says, 'I suppose its lucky you didn't accidentally find this too early.' She feels light, weightless. She continues, 'I suppose it would not have mattered much, anyway. I am glad we talked through the things that we did, but my decision is the same as it has been for some weeks now.'

She takes the silver ring she'd had made out of its little pouch.

She had been certain that she would be crying when this moment came, but all she can do is smile.

'Morifinwë Carnistir', she says, taking one of his hands in her own and holding the ring aloft with the other. Carnistir sits silent and still, surprised. 'I hope that you will not be too displeased with Vanyarin craftmanship; I want you to know that the quality of this ring does not reflect the depth of my feelings for you. For if you will have me, my darling, I would be yours as long as Arda lasts. I would come to live in Tirion with you, love you, and make with you our own family.'

The great swell of feeling Tuilindien feels from him makes her close her eyes for a second. Not for any longer, because she wants to watch the play of emotions on his face.

'I – I – of course I'll have you, I love you, Tuilindien, my vanimelda, my sweet girl –' he takes her face between his hands and kisses her, hard and fast, then leans his forehead against hers, breathing hard.

She pets his hair, still smiling, feeling like she'll never stop. The ring has fallen somewhere between them, or in the folds of her skirts, but she is not worried. They will find it, and it is not the most important thing right now.

Carnistir is. Carnistir who is feeling so much that he is overwhelmed. She must truly have surprised him.

She holds him close until he recovers and pulls back.

'I left my ring with Cáno', he says.

'What?' Tuilindien is confused at the mention of Canafinwë.

'I made a ring for you. I couldn't not do it, though I told myself not to hurry and not to presume. And I took it with me but when we were riding here, Cáno kept telling me that I shouldn't propose marriage to you the first time we see each other for two years. So I left it with him – the fool! I shouldn't have listened to him.'

'I wondered if you would bring a ring but I wanted to surprise you, so I didn't ask in a letter', Tuilindien says. She scoots back and picks up the ring from beside Carnistir's knee where it had fallen.

'You certainly surprised me.' Carnistir coughs, clears his throat.

'It was time for me to be brave and take the initiative. You did all of it at the beginning, until I asked you to give me time. I felt that I had had enough time apart from you now.'

'I feel the same', Carnistir says. 'I missed you, Tuilë, like I never missed anything before. But…' he looks at the ring she's holding up again. 'Are you certain? Are you sure that I am not too much for you?'

Now Tuilindien is the one surprised, by the tears in the corners of Carnistir's eyes. She thumbs them away gently as she replies, 'I could not love you so if you were too much for me, could I? And the way I love you – I cannot imagine loving anyone else like it, and I cannot imagine loving you any more than I do. Surely my heart could not contain it. But as it is – the way I love you – it fills my heart, it makes me feel strong and it makes me feel right.

'I'm sure that we will have our difficulties, but I am just as certain that we will have happiness.' She presses the ring into his palm, closing her hand over his softly. 'Will you try this on? I suppose I will have to re-give it to you officially when we announce our betrothal and you can give your ring to me too, but please try my ring on now. I am afraid I am not as good as estimating size as you are.'

She withdraws her hand and watches nervously as Carnistir examines the ring before slipping it on the index finger of his right hand.

It is a very plain band. Tuilindien knew that anything that she commissioned from a silversmith of the Vanyar would not be as splendid or strong as the jewellery the Noldor make, but she wanted Carnistir's ring to be the make of her own people. So she asked the best smith she could find to make a plain silver ring that is wide and thick like the rings she has seen Carnistir wear.

She is painfully aware that this symbol of her love and commitment to him is a mere trinket compared to the masterfully made circlet upon her head that he has sang light and warmth into.

But Carnistir seems not to care. He sits silent again, just looking at the ring on his finger. Tuilindien can feel something within him surge, then settle.

She notices that there are three faint freckles right above where the ring sits on his finger. She finds it terribly endearing.

'It is a little large', Carnistir says eventually. 'It's nothing I can't fix myself.'

'Is that… appropriate? For you to work on a ring I gave you on our betrothment?'

'I don't know.' Carnistir grins at her, all signs of his recent tearfulness gone. 'I don't care. I want to do it myself. And I want to do some more work on your ring too. I have realised there is something I want to add to it. No, I won't tell you what', he adds when he notices her curious expression.

She doesn't mind very much. Whatever it is, it will surely be wonderful. This brings to her mind the matter of formalities, though. 'Our betrothal feast – we must talk of the arrangements.'

Carnistir frowns. 'I haven't thought of it, though I thought of asking you to marry me.'

'I have thought of it.' Tuilindien smooths her skirts and takes his hand in hers, the one with her ring. It is a lovely sight, even if the ring is a little bit loose. She caresses those three little freckles.

'Of course you have.' A wave of fondness washes from him to her.

'I thought… actually, my love, could we go for a little walk as we talk? We have been sitting for hours, and I would like to stretch my legs.'

He agrees, and they rise and leave the blanket they did so many good things on.

She leads him back into the little grove of yavannamíri trees. There are taniquelassi and lavaraldar too, in greater numbers. The trees let out a pleasant fragrance, especially the lavaraldar with their plentiful pale flowers with golden undersides. Among the trees winds a narrow path, probably made by deer of some kind passing through here often. They follow it. Tuilindien seems to know where they are going.

As they pass into the shadow of the trees, she begins talking about the betrothal feast they must have. 'I thought it would be best held in Tirion, with your grandfather hosting perhaps…'

She outlines her plans for their families' first meeting where they will officially exchange rings and promises to marry, and for their wedding as well.

Carnistir is grateful that Tuilindien has a plan already for how their formal betrothal can begin as smoothly as possibly. He has never paid much attention to the arrangements of such events – he was too young to be interested when Makalaurë become engaged to Tinweriel – but Tuilindien seems to have good knowledge of both Noldorin and Vanyarin traditions, and to have considered how they might adapt them so that they suit everyone.

He adores that she has thought of both their families equally, considering every single one of their family members from Fëanáro to Tuilindien's little baby sister. It is one of the things that has attracted him to her from the start, her strong regard for family.

He tells her that, and that the compromises and adjustments she has thought of should make everyone happy, though he has to add, '"Happy" is too much to expect from my father, but I believe he will behave.'

'It is lucky that it is my mother who will have to perform the blessings with him at our wedding, and not my father.' Tuilindien smiles fondly. 'She is clever and strong-willed and will not wither if your father shoots her hostile glances. My father doesn't like being at the centre of attention, so it is a good thing indeed that it is the mother of the bride and the father of the groom who take care of the formalities.'

'It would be even better if it were my mother rather than father.'

'Well, we cannot have everything we want.' Tuilindien doesn't seem to hold his father against him, though they have to pay special consideration to Fëanáro.

He stops and kisses her for it, for he feels that they have not kissed nearly enough since she asked him to marry her. He tries to put everything into that kiss – his appreciation, fondness, adoration for her; the love that burns deep in him and makes everything more beautiful. He holds her flush against him, caresses her face, then her hair, careful of the veil and circlet like he knows she wants him to be. He whispers her name when they break for breath.

She rests her head on his shoulder and draws patterns on his back. They feel like letters. He will ask about them another time.

Now, as a clement midnight approaches and a nightingale sings somewhere in the trees around them, he tells her, 'I bought us a house.'

Tuilindien lifts her head and looks at him, beautiful blue-green eyes wide in surprise.

'Or rather, I bought a piece of land that also includes a house, but it is not a very good house. Not good enough. I'm tearing it down and building a new one.'

'I don't need a very grand house', Tuilindien says tentatively.

He's certain that she means it, but that isn't the point. The point is – 'You'll move to Tirion for me', he explains, speaking fast, telling her everything he'd planned to. 'I want to give you a house there that reminds you of your home, so you won't be too homesick. The land I bought is at the edge of the city, in a quiet neighbourhood, and there is a large garden – an orchard now, actually, but we can make it into a garden. I know you are used to living in a less city-like environment and that you like wandering among nature.

'So we will have large gardens, with trees and flowers. And our house – I will build it of white marble but we can have stained glass windows like your people have, though the treelight is not as bright in Tirion. A lighter, thinner sort of glass should compensate for that, so you can have the kind of light you are used to.'

Tuilindien listens quietly, moved. He continues quickly, before the urge to kiss her overtakes him again.

'We will have a grand house, because of my position, but also because we need many bedrooms. Your family will be welcome stay with us as often as they like.'

'That is a big promise', Tuilindien teases gently.

Carnistir shrugs. 'I cannot promise that I will never be grumpy with them, or that I will be sociable. But I will welcome them.'

Tuilindien gives a choked little laugh. 'Fortunately, my mother is too well-bred to remark upon your grumpiness and my father is too absent-minded to notice. My sisters might be offended but they will survive it. Thank you, Carnistir, for thinking of them.'

'I have… thought about it a lot. How you must miss your family once you move.'

'I will', she says. 'I will, even if I make new friends in Tirion, and hopefully grow close with your family.'

'You can still visit yours. Or we can – I can come with you if you want, though my work will make it difficult at times.'

'We will make it all work', she says, dreamy look in her eyes as she thinks of their future life.

'Yes, we will.' He gathers her in his arms again. 'And if we are blessed we will have our own family, children who will hopefully have your patience. They will fill our large house with their voices, and chase butterflies in the garden, and we will love them very much.'

'Yes', Tuilindien says. 'Yes.'

As he holds her he feels the shoulder of his tunic growing damp. In the wordless connection they have that is clearer now than it has ever been, he senses much joy and only little sorrow. He doesn't tell her not to cry, just holds her until she is done.

When she raises her head from his shoulder to look at him, she thanks him for his thoughtfulness with the house and the garden and tells him, 'You are so beautiful, my love.'

'I am not beautiful', he says.

'Tulukhedelgorūs and Ibrīniðilpathānezel, our beloved Trees, do not shine as beautiful as the light in your eyes when you look at me', she tells him. 'And you are beautiful otherwise as well. You must believe me.'

And he does, because the light in her eyes tells him it is true. In her eyes, he is beautiful.

He has never believed himself beautiful before. It feels almost too much.

To change the subject he notes, 'You speak Valarin.'

Tuilindien shrugs. 'I have learnt some. It is not my favourite subject to study, but I do like being able name things with the names the Valar gave them.'

She takes a step away. 'My love', she says. 'I told you in a letter that I have dreamed of dancing with you in the places where I like to wander. In the most wonderful dream we danced among white-flowering apple trees, petals falling like snow around us.' She looks around, gestures at the lavaraldar around them. 'We have no apple trees here, but the faithful lavaraldar bloom even as summer is turning to autumn. Will you make the dream true with me, Carnistir, though we have no music?'

Carnistir doesn't mind the lack of music, and he is glad for the lack of other people. 'Shall we dance that dance we danced at the ball where almost everyone in my family misbehaved?'

'The only one we've danced together.' Tuilindien's tone is a little wry. 'I still don't know all the steps. Your closeness and touch took all of my attention that night.'

'I will teach you.'

'Thank you.' Tuilindien lets go of his hand suddenly and dashes to a lavaralda with low-hanging branches. She chooses a cluster of mostly-open blossoms and carefully breaks it off.

She brings it to him, and takes her own hair-combs out of her hair. They are no longer needed, as the circlet now holds her veil. She fastens the pale golden blossoms in his hair with the combs, and looks happily upon the work of her hands.

'There. Now you are adorned like you were in my dream. Although – otherwise your hair is not well. I've made a mess of it and haven't fixed it. I will, later, I promise.'

He swallows at the thought of her gentle hands in his hair, combing and braiding. She hasn't done that before.

But now – now he takes one her hands in his and sets his other hand on her waist, and begins singing a song suitable for the dance.

For why not? They are alone in this mountainside forest, with no one to judge his singing but a nightingale, and he has Tuilindien in his arms, smiling, happy to be there, eyes shining up at him.

She moves well in step with him despite her claim of not knowing the dance. Carnistir believes that her connection to him helps her anticipate his movements.

So they move, sway, twirl in harmony, in happiness. Tuilindien's wide skirts move beautifully and swish against his legs as they wind around the trees, the grass soft under their feet. Telperion's silver light filters through the foliage and flows between the trees, creating areas of shadow and light that they pass in and out of.

When Carnistir's song comes to an end, Tuilindien begins her own. It is a slow old song about the Eldar coming to Aman and finding the light there. They sway in place, no longer dancing any dance that has a name.

Tuilindien's singing voice is a little higher than her speaking voice, Carnistir learns, and though he can tell that she has not trained much, it is sweet and clear.

Her song brings him peace and he closes his eyes. This was her dream first, but now it is a shared one. It is a dream he knows he will revisit often.

He holds her close, as close as he can, as long as he can.

A/N: In chapter 11 when Carnistir asked Makalaurë for courting advice and Makalaurë suggested that Carnistir sing to her, Carnistir rejected the suggestion instantly. Well… sometimes things change, and Carnistir has discovered many things about himself along the way. (And perhaps Makalaurë's assurance at the time that Carnistir has 'a quite tolerable voice' served as encouragement after all!)

The details of Eldar betrothals are from Tolkien's Laws and Customs among the Eldar (in History of Middle-Earth 10: Morgoth's Ring, but you can find a PDF by googling) though I do take some liberties.

Lavaraldar are trees mentioned in History of Middle-Earth 5: The Lost Road and Other Writings.

There are probably two chapters left in this fic. I'm not certain of that yet.

In the next chapter there are many family members to meet, and Carnistir engages in some romantic crafting again.