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"A surprise, of course!"

"But what sort of a surprise?"

"Don't you know what a surprise is, Atto?"

"Well, if your surprise is a disappointment to you, you will have only yourself to blame!"

Fëanáro only laughed at this, leaning his head against Finwë's shoulder. He was sitting with his father in his study, perched on the arm of his chair. Finwë was attempting to ascertain what to give him for his impending begetting-Day.

"I don't know why I should give you a present at all, yonya, when you refuse to do what I tell you! Did I not forbid you to leave Tirion on your own again? And have you obeyed me?"

At almost twenty-six, Fëanáro was an extremely beautiful child who had inherited his mother's eyes and his father's way with words, the skilful fingers of Míriel and the black hair of Finwë as well as his wandering tendencies. He also possessed Míriel's wilfulness.

"I must have forgotten, Atto. Don't be angry with me!"

This was surely one of the most superfluous injunctions in the history of language, since Finwë was entirely incapable of being angry with Fëanáro.

"I don't like you doing it," he said, adding, aware that this sounded pathetic: "You don't know how I worry about you!"

Fëanáro looked at his father with Míriel's eyes. The last shreds of his resolve, like snow in the sun, melted.

"Well, if you must go a-wandering, do try to be careful!"

"I will, I promise."

"Where do you go, anyway?"

"Well, sometimes I go down to the Shadowmere."

Visions of Fëanáro drowned danced before Finwë's eyes.

"Sometimes I go walking in the mountains,-"

"All right, that's quite enough. Don't tell me any more!"

Fëanáro reached out and picked up a letter from his father's desk.

"Who is this from?"

"Your grandmother," Finwë said. "She - er - will not be able to come to the party."

Fëanáro raised one dark eyebrow.

"She doesn't want to, you mean! Why are you always so delicate, Atto?"

After Míriel's death, Ulwë had left Tirion to live with her sister in Alqualondë. It was clear that she did not wish to be troubled by any contact with the child whose birth had taken her daughter's life. Nonetheless, out of some sense of duty, Finwë continued to invite her to Tirion. Sometimes she came. More often she did not. Ordinary Telerin women are distressingly capable of this kind of vindictiveness.

Finwë had never blamed Fëanáro for the death of Míriel. (He had sometimes blamed himself.) Fëanáro aroused the same frenzies of protective love in him as his mother had done. He was all that was left to him of her: something to be treasured and adored.