Chapter summary: The wedding day, which is for their families, and the night, which is for Carnistir and Tuilindien alone.
Chapter length: ~6,700
A/N: Here it is, the last, long chapter of this story. I loved writing it, bringing these characters and their long courting to a happy conclusion.
Chapter XXV /Love bound by gold
The morning of the wedding it rains.
Tuilindien eats breakfast in bed – Indis had it arranged that way – looking out of the window on the opposite wall. She would prefer fine weather, but the rain does not truly matter. Nothing could suppress or outshine the warmth in her heart.
That warmth is almost enough to make her not even feel nervous. She is a little nervous as she expected to be, but only about being at the centre of attention all day.
She has had a tiny but insistent seed of anxiety in her chest ever since she decided to ask Carnistir to marry her that she might feel doubt or hesitation on her wedding day, even though she has not felt it on any day before for a long time now.
As she sits on the edge of her bed, keeping her bare feet off the cool floor, and looks out to the rainy garden, she feels at peace. Expectant, yes, and excited, and that little bit nervous, but perfectly at peace with what she has decided.
It is time for a new kind of life, and against her own expectations, she feels ready for it now that this moment is here. She feels that she has what she needs to build a new life for herself in Tirion: as Carnistir's wife, as a scholar, as a Vanya among Noldor, as a protégé of Nerdanel and Indis. She will keep of her own life what she can: for all that she loves Carnistir with all that she is, she loved her old life too. Her family, her home, all the public spaces and the hidden places she used to spend her hours in in the settlement around king Ingwë's palace.
She will keep them all close in her memory and her dreams, and she will visit as much as she can and write when she cannot.
It still hurts to think of living so far from her family – it always must, she suspects – but it is a hurt she can bear with acceptance and equanimity.
She realises that she woke earlier than she needed to, so she sits back on the bed, leaning against the soft padded headboard, tucking her feet under her. She listens to the rain and lets herself sink into imagining soft touches from strong hands, and sweet words, and all the good things that she hopes for from the night to come, if not the public celebration of the day.
The day is for their families, the night for Carnistir and her alone.
Her mother comes to her when some time has passed. Tuilindien does not know much, but the rain has started beating down harder while she was lost in her hopes.
Sailiel comes alone. Usually she and all her daughters dress and prepare for feasts and celebrations together, with each of them helping the others, even little Wilwarindëa as much as she can with her clumsy fingers. It is a family tradition.
But Tuilindien is also accustomed to her mother knowing, without being told, when she needs peace and quiet. This morning her mother's calm presence and practised movements suit her own mood well.
Sailiel asks, 'Are you well this morning, my darling?' as she enters Tuilindien's room, and after Tuilindien replies that she is very well, they speak little.
Sailiel lays out her own dress and jewellery that she brought with her while Tuilindien washes her face. Sailiel has already braided her hair into a high crown decorated with tiny yellow jewels.
'I am all here for you, my darling.' Sailiel smiles at her daughter in the mirror as Tuilindien sits down at the dressing table. 'Have you changed your mind, do you want more than the flowers in your hair?'
Tuilindien smiles back at her mother's reflection. 'Just the flowers, thank you.'
They'd agreed on a hairstyle before they even came to Tirion. Sailiel simply brushes her daughter's curls until they shine as a rushing river of dark gold down her back, and weaves in small white flowers. Tuilindien knows that they shall stay beautiful and unwilted all day for as her mother picks up each bloom, she hums a low, melodic tune that Tuilindien can feel holds in it some power.
It is peaceful, nonetheless, the humming and her mother's careful movements, and Tuilindien enjoys the serenity of the morning.
Sailiel helps Tuilindien into her dress, careful of her hair and the many flowers adorning it. Sailiel dresses too and puts on her jewellery. She wears many more jewels than her daughter: sparkling colours in her ears, around her wrists and neck as well as in her hair.
Tuilindien wears only her silver ring which she will soon exchange for gold.
Her mother embraces her before they go. There are no words spoken, only feelings shared through the wordless connection that is weaker than the one Tuilindien shares with Carnistir but which has been a comfort to her all her life.
Her mother's embrace makes Tuilindien feel as though she were ensconced in a warm blanket instead of her light, gauzy dress, and going to join the rest of her family and being embraced by all of them in turn makes the glow in her fëa even warmer.
When they go to the great feasting hall and she sees Carnistir on the other side of the room wearing silver-grey clothes and a stern expression but also an excited blush, she feels her hröa must be glowing too.
Carnistir rouses early to Huan barking and the twins shouting – the former no doubt caused by the latter, as Huan is exceedingly well-behaved when not provoked – and finding rest again seems impossible.
For a moment he considers going to tell the dog and children alike to be quiet but he doesn't feel very inclined to do it, his irritation tempered by the happy awareness that it is the day he is to marry Tuilindien, and that tomorrow he will wake up beside her.
He lies there in his bed, staring up at the grey marble ceiling with its swirls and veins that he knows by heart, thinking of Tuilindien. But thinking of her brings frustration, too, because there are many hours left before the feast for their union even begins. He did not mean to wake this early.
He rolls over to his stomach and pulls a pillow over his ears.
When he rises not much later, having given up on rest, he washes and dresses in the clothes that have been carefully laid out. The surcoat is of charcoal grey with a hint of silver in the brocade fabric – only a hint, for Carnistir does not want to appear a glittering fool. The trousers are plain, fine linen in a lighter grey shade.
There is a cloak, too, of darker grey with a lining of burgundy velvet. His mother gave the cloak to him. It is unnecessarily warm for the crowded feasting hall where the ceremonies will take place, and Carnistir has a brief debate with himself about wearing it. Tuilindien will no doubt be wearing something of a lightweight fabric and pale colour that looks like light flowing down her body, as usual.
After a long moment of staring out of his window into the rainy garden he throws on the cloak. It is not like they will not look an unmatched pair anyway, even without the cloak. They are not like Tuilindien's sister and her husband, both fair-haired and delicate-featured, nor like Makalaurë and Tinweriel with their dark hair, equal height and fashionable clothes.
Carnistir doesn't pretend, not even to himself, that he understands why, with all their differences, he and Tuilindien love each other and connect as they do. It is enough that we do, he thinks, face no doubt flushed, as he leaves the peace of his room and enters the fray that is breakfast with his family.
The chaos lasts until the minute he and his father leave. They ride to the palace together, the rest of the family following not much behind. His mother kisses him on the forehead before they leave, her wish for his happiness clear though she doesn't put it into words.
Fëanáro says little on the short ride, and Carnistir even less. He doesn't want to start a fight with his father, and he has a feeling he might do it quite accidentally. It is safer to be silent. It is enough anyway – the most that he could realistically have expected – that his father is by his side on the morning of his wedding.
Even if Fëanáro seems to have trouble keeping a discontented look off his face.
Finwë couldn't beam with any more pride, though, when he comes to personally escort his son and grandson into the large room where the wedding feast is to be celebrated. It is the same hall where Carnistir officially betrothed himself to Tuilindien, now decorated in spring greenery. Carnistir spares a moment to think of how much effort it must have taken to gather that much green this early in the spring. He then paces around, getting in the way of the servants' last preparations, until his grandfather and father take him to a more private side chamber.
'It is my duty as your father to stop you making a spectacle of yourself today, Morifinwë', his father grumbles, though not unsympathetically.
'You had better stop Curvo from making one of himself later when he gets into the wine, too', Carnistir grumbles back.
He sits down and forces himself to stay still without fidgeting. He knows he can do it.
There is a tapestry of some hunting scene on the wall opposite of him and he quietens his mind by studying every single detail in it until it is time to step into the feasting hall again.
When he opens the door he sees Tuilindien. She is some distance away next to her mother who is, from afar, very similar in looks. But he could never mistake Tuilindien for Sailiel or anyone else, for as soon as he sees her, in his chest flares into life the dear, indescribable, wordless connection that leads him to her surer than a beacon in the dark.
His father, or grandfather perhaps, says something, but Carnistir is already walking away to his bride. She is dressed in one of her layered, draped dresses of diaphanous silk chiffon, this time in palest gold. It makes her hair and skin glow darker by comparison. She has white flowers in her beautiful hair.
He doesn't know if he appears to others shy and stilted on this day but if he does, it doesn't matter. He takes Tuilindien by the hand that for now bears his silver ring, and he tells her, 'You are utterly lovely, and I am very happy.'
'Carnistir.' Her smile makes her eyes bright, too. 'I am very happy too, already.' She touches his cheek quickly, gently, and he feels love pulsing from her, bright and tender. She then turns to curtsy deeply to someone behind him. 'Your majesty, your highness.'
His grandfather and father followed him, then. Carnistir mentally shakes himself to awareness of his surroundings beyond Tuilindien.
The first thing he sees is the amused face of his law-mother-to-be. He bows to her hurriedly.
Their rest of their parents and grandparents arrive and exchange pleasantries. Carnistir notes that his mother has a tight hold on his father's arm. He hopes and trusts that she will hold onto Fëanáro all day. His father has not said any rude things about Tuilindien lately, but neither Carnistir nor Nerdanel trust him entirely in that regard yet.
Carnistir doesn't let go of Tuilindien's hand either while they wait for the last guests to arrive and settle in their seats along the long tables.
There are welcoming words from Finwë, a musical piece from Makalaurë and Tinweriel (a love song, as is to be expected at a wedding feast; Pityafinwë, Telufinwë, and Tyelkormo make faces during it anyway), and then there is the sumptuous feast itself, with every Noldorin and Vanyarin delicacy on offer.
Carnistir tries some of both, but he has little appetite. He has attended many weddings in his life but only now does it occur to him that the feasting part of the feast should be last, not first, for it feels like an insurmountable ambition to even try and be sociable and appear presentable while waiting for the actual ceremony.
(Will his father embarrass him and Tuilindien? Will Carnistir himself embarrass Tuilindien?)
Once again it seems both fortunate and embarrassing that he has created for himself a reputation, both among family and people who don't know him well, of one who despises small talk and prefers to be alone. Few people attempt to talk to him.
Or perhaps it is as Tuilindien says when she squeezes his knee under the table and whispers to him, too quiet to be heard but with the aid of their soundless bond, 'It is not expected of couples to be excellent conversationalists at their own wedding feast.'
Her words appear to be for the comfort of both of them, so Carnistir squeezes back and tells her that he agrees.
She doesn't talk much either, mainly listens to various members of his and her family as they reminisce about their own weddings.
But she helps him.
When it is clear that he should say something but he struggles to think of it soon enough or is about to say something rude, she replies on his behalf. She does it in her own quiet, gentle way, and doesn't do it too often, and it doesn't anger Carnistir.
It is a relief, and helps him relax.
When the moment arrives that the servants have emptied the tables and the king rises, and everyone with him, Carnistir and Tuilindien's parents lead them to the empty dais in the fore of the room. It feels both too soon and far, far overdue.
He stands between his parents, as is the custom, and his father takes his hand, as is the custom. Facing them Tuilindien stands, radiant in her near-white dress, between her parents who wear darker clothes.
From the high windows a mingled light of Laurelin's gold and Telperion's silver falls upon them.
Tuilindien's mother and Fëanáro step forward for the joining of the hands. Tuilindien's hand feels warm and familiar as it slips into Carnistir's.
He quickly lifts his eyes from Tuilindien to his father and Tuilindien's mother as they begin giving the ceremonial blessings. Sailiel smiles, motherly and comforting in this moment though Carnistir knows that she can be steely and sharp-tongued.
Fëanáro's expression is far from a smile, but his voice isn't too harsh as he gives the blessing of himself and his family to Carnistir and Tuilindien's union, welcoming her into his family. This is the main purpose of the entire feast, to join families. Hearing his father speak formally but not coldly makes Carnistir finally relax.
He unclenches the his fingers of his free hand from his cloak.
At the end of their blessings, Sailiel and Fëanáro name Varda and Manwë as their witnesses, though not by those names. The rarely-heard names of the two greatest Valar in their own tongue flow fluently from the tongues of both Tuilindien's mother and Carnistir's own father, as does the name of Eru Ilúvatar. The name of The One is rarely spoken, only in the most serious of vows.
There is a silence in the hall, not even a child's voice to be heard. The quiet continues as Tuilindien takes off the slender silver band that Carnistir gave her a year and a half ago in this same place, gathered before the same people. She offers it back to him, holding it on her palm along with a golden ring.
It is only a lifetime of practise that makes it possible for Carnistir to keep his fingers from trembling as he takes off the silver ring made by a Vanyarin smith that he has been wearing for Tuilindien, and takes from his pocket the golden one that he has made for her. It feels cold in his fingers but will always feel slightly warm to Tuilindien's touch.
He and his beloved reach out to each other at the same time and exchange the rings, speaking the oath of love and care and loyalty to each other, swearing it all in the name of The One.
Carnistir has never said the name Eru Ilúvatar out loud before, and the act of saying it – to name the All High, the holy beoynd holy – makes something in him shake, like a rush of wind passing through the trees in a valley, and then settle.
Oaths sworn by the name of The One cannot be broken.
Oh, how she loves him. The love and the joy of this moment rush in her ears so that Tuilindien can hardly hear herself and Carnistir speak the oath and the Name. She thinks that her voice shakes a little, and her hands certainly do as she exchanges rings with her Carnistir.
His hands are as steady and warm as always; his face, when she raises her eyes to look at him, is red, as is his neck from the collar up, and even the tips of his ears.
Oh, how she loves him. She loves the determination in his beautiful dark eyes, his fierce focus and perseverance which encouraged her and brought them to his day, his strong arms that make her feel safe and cherished. He is always so ready to hold her within them.
He twines them about her waist now, after they close the small distance between them, and she smiles at him through a veil of unshed tears.
'Tears of happiness', she whispers to him.
'I know', he says.
He does not smile, but she knows it is no bad thing, just as he knows that her tears aren't either. The connection between them has never been stronger. It will be strengthened further when they join their bodies in the act of love, but the ceremony has already brought them closer.
And Tuilindien feels – it feels like her body can hardly contain all of her love without breaking, and yet she feels more complete and whole than ever for loving him. She hopes that he feels all of it. She certainly feels his love like a flame close to her skin, but inside; not burning her, but warming both her spirit and flesh, fëa and hröa, marking the edges of her and making her aware of her own body.
As they kiss, their families cheer, the solemn part of the ceremony over. Only the giving of gifts from their parents, in Noldorin tradition, remains, as well as a Vanyarin blessing.
But as Tuilindien feels her beloved's lips on hers and his arms around her, moving from her waist to sinking gently in her hair, she cannot think of their families. She is lost in a gentle-fierce storm of feelings, all of them right and true.
The rain has stopped by the time they walk out of the palace, hand in hand. A large group of jubilant and in some cases inebriated family members follow behind them to send them off to their new home.
Awaiting them in the Great Square are Tyelkormo and Curufinwë, both grinning and holding onto Varnerocco's halter. Around Carnistir's bad-tempered bay mare's neck is an enormous wreath of white and yellow flowers and green leaves.
'Our wedding gift to you, brother dear, fair new sister.' Tyelkormo nods to Carnistir and makes a show of dramatically bowing to Tuilindien. 'Your void-beast steed suitably adorned for the occasion, and to match you two.'
Varnë is definitely scowling if that can be said of a horse, and so is Carnistir who apparently doesn't much appreciate this surprise or the reference to the crown of yavannamírë blossoms on his own head that Tuilindien's mother placed there as a part of a Vanyarin blessing.
Tuilindien, however, cannot help but smile at the sight of Carnistir's grinning brothers and disapproving horse. Touching her own flower-crown, she thanks Tyelkormo and Curufinwë. 'What a wonderful surprise. Varnë looks beautiful, though I dare say she disagrees.'
Varnë tosses her head, dragging Curufinwë up to his toes until Tyelkormo tugs her back down.
Carnistir hisses to his brothers, 'A wedding gift, you say – more like a drunken fancy.'
'You wrong us', Tyelkormo protests. Tuilindien notes that he is flushed, less pale than usual, as is Curufinwë.
'If you knew how many bites we have sustained as we've fought to stop her from trying to get rid of the flowers, you would be more grateful', Curufinwë argues.
'We are very grateful', Tuilindien hurries to assure her new law-brothers before Carnistir can argue back. Their families are already gathered around them.
Carnistir rolls his eyes at his brothers anyway, and only then lifts Tuilindien on to Varnë's back. Slightly nervous even though they have practised riding together, she pats Varnë's neck as Carnistir swings himself up behind her.
The square ringing with their families and friends' shouts of congratulations, they ride into the glittering streets of the Noldor's white city, Tuilindien's new home city.
They are quiet for most of the way, communicating through small touches and shared feelings.
Only when they are close to their new house does Carnistir blurt, with the confusion in his voice which Tuilindien had felt in his spirit much earlier but has been waiting for him to speak of, 'I cannot believe that your parents gave me a farm as a blessing-gift.'
'It is only a small one', she tells him. 'And on the mountainside, so it is not the most productive.'
'It is a farm', Carnistir emphasises. 'My parents only gave you a jewel.'
Tuilindien lets go of the pommel of Varnë's saddle to touch the bejewelled choker around her neck. In its centre is set a large jewel, blood-red and blazing-brilliant.
'They gave me a precious jewel according to the customs of the Noldor', she replies. 'Among my people no such gift is traditionally given, only a wreath of flowers for the couple getting married. Out of respect for your people's traditions, my mother decided to have the wreath made from blossoms of yavannamírë from the little farm they wanted to give to us, combining the two traditions.' Tuilindien turns her head a little, rubbing her cheek against his chest for a second or two. 'They wanted us to have a place of our own to stay among the Vanyar, you see.'
'Hmm.' Carnistir turns Varnë to the short street at whose end their new house is located. 'Do they think that it will make me more likely to visit often?'
'Yes.' She cannot keep laughter out of her voice. 'And they are right, are they not?'
'They are', Carnistir admits, with some reluctance and embarrassment.
To comfort him, Tuilindien says, 'I am glad of it too.'
And then they are arriving at their house, and she makes noises of wonder and amazement. The last time she was here there was the half-demolished ruin of the old house in the place where now stands the new house designed and built by Carnistir.
He has written of it to her, describing some of its features in his letters, but finally seeing the house in all its glory has her astonished and wordless. She stares, straight-backed on Varnë's back, no longer leaning on Carnistir.
He brings the horse to a stop and dismounts. He has to call her name twice before she looks down at him and lets him help her down as well.
Once she is on the ground, they look at the house together while Varnë makes a renewed effort at eating flowers from the wreath around her neck. Carnistir lets her.
'It is a wonder you behaved for the duration of the ride', he tells her grumpily before turning to Tuilindien.
'I do not know what to say', she says after a long moment of looking at the house. Carnistir stands tense beside her, clearly waiting for her to say something. 'You must know – you must feel what I feel – that it is beautiful. That word feels too little but I have no better one to use. It is beautiful, and big but not too big, like you promised, and it is white but not too white. There are many windows –'
She runs out of words. She gathers her light skirts in her hands and runs towards the house. She can hear Carnistir follow her, dragging a recalcitrant Varnë behind him.
'Stained glass', she breathes quietly as she looks at the windows. 'You gave me many windows of stained glass.'
'I promised you I would.'
'The night we betrothed ourselves to each other', she remembers. 'You have not mentioned it since. I thought perhaps you abandoned the idea.'
'I keep my promises', he tells her. 'I said that I would give you a house that feels like home, with Vanyarin features and a large garden. I did all that.'
She turns to him. 'Show me, please.'
They hand Varnë off to the one groom Carnistir had instructed to wait for them, and then Carnistir takes his bride into the house he made for her.
Hand in hand, they wander from room to room. The house is quiet: all of their servants apart from the one groom were sent to work at the wedding feast, and accommodation was arranged for them at the palace's servants' quarters so that Carnistir and Tuilindien would have the house all to themselves this first night.
There are candles left burning in every room, though, and in their warm light he shows her all the rooms, both finished and unfinished. There is something to marvel at in each.
The house is a mixture of Noldorin and Vanyarin architectural features, and a few Falmarin ones too, Carnistir admits. 'Findaráto managed to convince me to try a few such things, and I kept the ones that seemed to fit'.
'It all flows together beautifully', Tuilindien says, leaning her head on his shoulder. He puts one arm around her and gesticulates with the other, pointing out details.
I will make my new home here, she thinks. Here in this beautiful house he built for us, and here within the circle of his arms.
'Tuilë?' Carnistir peers at her face.
'I am sorry, my love. I was lost in my thoughts for a moment, a happy reverie inspired by all this beauty around me.'
Cinder appears from the shadows suddenly, a little black shadow herself. She circles around Carnistir a few times and then takes off again to chase something only she can see.
Carnistir and Tuilindien continue their tour, smiling. They put out the candles as they go, leaving the rooms behind them to wait in darkness.
In the end there is only one wing of the house left to see.
Carnistir's voice is a little scratchy when he tells her, 'Our bedroom is this way.'
Instead of replying Tuilindien takes off, with careful movements, her crown of yellow yavannamírë blossoms.
'Before we go in there, we must go to the garden.'
Carnistir is so confused he cannot even feel annoyed or impatient, though he has been waiting for the first night together in their shared bedchamber for years.
Before he can ask why, Tuilindien begins explaining. 'Blessing-crowns like these are customarily not discarded but given as tribute to the Valar. In the case of wedding crowns, to Yavanna and Vána who watch over all things that grow and bloom.'
Carnistir can feel himself turn red as well, though it is exceedingly silly in these circumstances. 'I assume it has something to do with children, then?'
Tuilindien nods. 'The flowers are given back to Yavanna and Vána so that they may help the couple bring forth children when they so desire.'
'There are no altars in the garden', he has to tell her, to his shame and vexation. 'I wanted to decide together with you where to put them.'
'That is alright.' Tuilindien thinks for barely a second. 'We shall go and find the tree that carries most leaves and blossoms this early in the spring, and lay our flowers down around it, and that shall be our altar.'
He would never have thought of that, but it seems perfectly fitting for the Valier of things that grow and bloom.
He leads her to the stairs closest to the garden, picks up a lantern with one of his father's blue-white light-stones inside, and out they go back into the silver night. Though crisp, it is warmer than the last: true spring is fast approaching.
They look for the tree with most leaves and blossoms. They find it, an old lairelossë in the orchard, near a pavilion that Carnistir had had built in a little clearing for Tuilindien to read in. For their children to play in, perhaps, one day.
'Is there something we should say?' he asks awkwardly as they stand in the shadow of long branches.
'If we wish to, I suppose. But it is enough to hope and pray in our hearts, I think.' Tuilindien kneels and sets her flower-crown, now a little crushed, at the base of the tree's wide trunk.
Carnistir follows her example, laying his crown beside hers.
After a moment of silence Tuilindien bows her head. 'Will you take the flowers out of my hair, my love? I would like to leave them here too.'
For once it is easy for Carnistir to say, because it is not an empty gesture of politeness but from his heart, 'It would be my pleasure.'
With careful fingers, he teases the little white flowers out of Tuilindien's curls.
Unlike the flower-crowns, these blooms are not the least bit crushed or withered. They are as whole, alive and fragrant as if they were still growing in the place from where they were plucked many hours ago. Carnistir's fingers tingle when he touches them. There must be an enchantment in the flowers, small but persistent, lending them vitality.
He sets them on the ground respectfully. Tuilindien tucks herself to his side and lays her head on his shoulder for a quiet moment.
Her hair smells faintly of the flowers.
Then she straightens and turns and kisses him on the lips, soft and sweet. She did not speak to the Valier, but she speaks to him now.
'You have been calling out to me for so long', Tuilindien say, touching his lips with a gentle finger. 'I am here now.'
Entranced, he cups the side of her face, caressing her cheek. For his answer, though, he must tell her, 'It was you who called out to me. I would have not pursued a Vanya otherwise.'
He does not mean it badly, only that she is the only one he would have chased after and worked hard for.
Tuilindien seems to understand. 'I love you, Carnistir', she says, softly but with conviction. 'And I am yours now. Will you have me?'
She puts her arms around his neck and rises on her toes, just a little, to make up for their difference in height, and kisses him hard and pulls him close to her.
Carnistir is a little taken aback that she does it here, at their improvised altar, but very soon – in a split second – decides that Yavanna and Vána are not ones to mind a display of love.
He laces his hands in Tuilindien's hair that is now free of adornments. There is just the soft, curly mass of it, turned into pale gold by the silver light. He kisses her with both ardour and tenderness, with all the passion in his body, and all the affection in his spirit.
Those feelings are more than he thought he could ever feel: stronger, surer than any anger he has ever felt. Yet they don't make him lose control like anger does. He wants to and he can go slow, as slow as is comfortable for Tuilindien and as allows him to savour every feeling, every touch on this first night.
When they break for air he leans his forehead on hers and tells her, 'Yes, yes, I will have you, my love, my vanimelda, I am yours.'
They kiss, touch, clutch and explore each other – Carnistir doesn't know for how long.
It is he who starts the undressing: he unclasps Tuilindien's silk cloak, because it gets in the way of caressing her, and that irritates him. He lets it fall to the ground next to the flowers they gifted to the Valier, and Tuilindien doesn't seem to mind.
'The shoulders of my dress can be unclasped too', she whispers between delightful little gasps as he kisses his way down her neck, tasting and nibbling.
Carnistir takes the hint and quickly figures out how to open the tiny clasps half-hidden in the fabric. The jewel-decorated wide straps slide down Tuilindien arms, and then the whole dress. It pools on the ground, a pale puddle at Tuilindien's feet.
She still has a chemise and petticoat on, but she presses her body close against him, as if hiding from his gaze.
'You can take my clothes off too', Carnistir says with a dry mouth. To comfort her by evening up the situation, and to keep things moving. He likes the direction they've been moving very much, and has accepted that they may not be going back inside the house to complete their union.
As Tuilindien reaches for the brooch fastening his cloak, Carnistir's heart beats fast, as if wanting to gallop to the next moment.
He kisses the top of her head as she bends it to open the brooch and draw the heavy cloak from his shoulders.
He undoes his own belt, because he thinks she might be too shy for that step.
Tuilindien's fingers dance down his side to the hem of his grey surcoat, caressing at his thigh. 'It looks like silver in this light', she says dreamily before pulling the surcoat up and off him.
If this were any other moment he would be tempted to point out that actually, most things look silvery in this light.
But even in this moment, Tuilindien's remark shakes him out of his haze of his desire and he realises now, with less clothes on, that it is actually rather cold and it would not be as perfect as it could be, should be to join with Tuilindien in cold, wet grass.
Yet the house feels so far away –
Ah. Carnistir's eyes happen on the nearby pavilion . It has large windows, but they are glazed. It should be a little warmer inside.
He remembers that the long benches in there are cushioned and there are large pillows, too, for Tuilindien to lean on while she reads. They could be used for something else too…
While he forms plans in his mind, Tuilindien runs her hands down his back under his tunic, caressing his skin and sending flares of heat up his spine, and then pulls it off with a careful movement.
As she is about to touch his bare chest, he takes hold of her wrist, gently, and then sweeps her in his arms. She doesn't resist in the least, relaxing in his hold, trusting.
While he carries her to the pavilion, Carnistir's heart aches at her trust in him.
He deposits her on the pavilion's steps and then dashes back to get his cloak. It is soft and warm. He wants Tuilindien to have something like that to lie on when they lie down together.
Tuilindien kisses him on the threshold when he gets back, quick but intimate. He opens the door and leads her inside, looking around to see everything in order.
'I thought – the long cushions on the benches, and the smaller ones too, on the floor –' He is even farther from eloquent than usual. All coherent speech seems to have left him.
Tuilindien understands him, though, and together they put together a makeshift bed on the floor. Before Tuilindien lies down Carnistir spreads his cloak on top of the cushions for her to lie on, a velvet sheet for his bride.
She could not look lovelier than she does there on the burgundy fabric, dressed only in her underclothes, her hair spread out around her, soft brown skin flushed. For a moment he can do nothing but stare. Tuilindien blushes more when she notices, but she looks at him too, and doesn't try to cover herself anymore.
He shakes himself out of the daze again. Why stare when he can touch, kiss, taste, explore all of her?
Join his body with hers, become truly married.
He joins her on the cushions, settling over her on his hands and knees.
Looking into her eyes… after all the persuading he had to do during the early days of their relationship, all the apologies and mistakes, all the waiting and the fear that ate at him until this day that she might change her mind, he finds he has to ask.
'Are you certain that you want to bind yourself to me here and now?'
Tuilindien's eyes are a summer day's sea of blue and green, liquid-soft, bright, full of feeling. 'I could not be more sure', she answers, rising up on her elbows. 'I have made a promise to you already, and I find that… I was never more free than now when I am binding myself to you. I never wanted anything more. You do not need to be so careful, or hesitant. Don't you understand, my beloved, my desired, my fierce Noldo? I want all of your fire tonight.'
She opens her spirit more fully than ever before, and he knows that it is all true.
He lets go of his control, and does everything that he wants to do because she wants it too.
It would not have mattered if they had stayed outside under the tree, he realises later. It could not have mattered because they create their own fire that burns hotter and sweeter than they could have imagined.
'Yours, I, love, love', Tuilindien gasps when he holds her tight and joins himself to her.
He cannot speak but it doesn't matter because she knows him and she knows what is in his heart and how his spirit and body adore her, his vanimelda, his fair, gentle beloved, his desired –
And he knows her, despite all their differences he knows her and as they lie in each other's arms, after, that connection continues to make him feel euphoric even as their bodies cool down.
He dries the tears on Tuilindien's cheek and pets her hair. She draws figures on his back with a finger and whispers indistinct sweetnesses in his ear with a broken voice.
They fall, gently, into a shared reverie, a hazy world of lovely half-dreams and half-memories for them to explore together.
Carnistir rouses.
Without turning his head, without opening his eyes, he knows that Tuilindien's spirit is still in Lórien's hold while her body is tucked close to him, his arm around her and her head on her shoulder. She breathes peacefully, and Carnistir finds he doesn't wish to wake her. He would have her find more rest if she can. He could not be in less of a hurry to go anywhere or do anything.
When he opens his eyes he can tell that it is fully morning, for out of the pavilion's skylight he can see golden light in the air. He can hear birds in the surrounding trees starting to sing their morning chorus.
The air is still cool as it is on spring mornings and Carnistir can smell night-dew from the outside, but he is not cold, not with his wife close to him, her long, long hair draped all over his chest.
He smiles, though there is no one to see it.
It is the first in an eternity of mornings together.
A/N: I know that Carnistir and Tuilindien will not actually have an uninterrupted eternity of happy mornings together, but I blocked that from my mind when writing this, because they don't know it yet.
(I'm sorry for that one tiny bit of foreshadowing.)
This is it for this particular fic but I have ideas for many more about Carnistir and Tuilindien. I have one little fic that is almost complete about how much Carnistir adores Tuilë's hair and how hot and bothered it makes him feel. So look out for that in a few weeks' time perhaps? The other fics about their future are still largely unwritten.