After months of recovery, Nerdanel finally gained enough strength to walk around again, to be able to carry her babies around, join her family at the dinner table, and was (understandably) desperate with enough suppressed inspiration to return to the works of her studio, which had been left alone ever since she had been forced into bedrest during the late stages of her pregnancy.

Her first few projects were, unsurprisingly, that of their little twins (sleeping in their cradle, sitting up, reaching out, attempting to crawl, and more), looking so real and natural that she would feel the desperate urge to tend to her babies before long, even with everyone else (her sons, her parents, her in-laws) there to take care of them.

She still seemed to tire more easily from even least strenuous activities, taking it one step at a time, and accepting support from him or whichever son was nearby (mostly either Neylo or Káno) whenever a spell of dizziness had taken over.

Sometimes, she would drift off into a distant trance, whether staring distantly at a half-done project, seated at the heart of the fire, or at the twins whenever they played or slept...but would tense up or jerk away from him, almost with fear, whenever he approached her, trying in vain to cover her reaction with a fake smile.

It pained him.

Observing and feeling her fëa through their marriage bond, which seemed strangely weaker than before, Fëanáro often wondered if the healer had been wrong about his wife's recovering health and something had internally injured her when the twins were born, even though Nerdanel continuously insisted that she was fine and just needed some time to regain her strength, especially when Atarinkë's wedding date was rapidly approaching.

It was normal, he reminded himself, for it had taken years after each of his sons were born before the fatigue had completely passed, each time a longer wait for every child she bore...but her fire had been strong, and with his support, they had always pulled through, even when the aftereffects had at one point given cause for great concern for her health.

But now, the bearing of the little Ambarussa had taken more strength out of her than the previous times before, and especially now after having seven, and with the distance she was placing between them, and with Nolofinwë gaining his father's attention, and Melkor lurking more closely to home than he ought to have the right...

(All will be right, all will be well, whispered his silmarils in the darkness of his forge, their cool light cupped soothingly in his hand as he listened to their song, their grace and their beauty bringing him reassurance, for no darkness may touch thine light, whilst in us may life prevail).

He listened to their song, relied on their whispers, protected them from all eyes, convinced that all would be well...and scarcely noticed at all the more worried looks his wife sent in his direction whenever his thoughts burned as such, sometimes forgetting that one of the twins was still nestled innocently in his arms.