1230

Like both of his older brothers, the fourth child of Finwë and Indis was named after his father. Like them, the new baby would be called by his mother-name for the first few Years of life, before the father-name could be modified to reflect the natural predispositions of the one to whom Indis had given the name Ingoldo. In Fëanáro's case, the modified Curufinwë had never superseded the mother-name. Even Nolofinwë was still on occasion 'Arakáno' in the heart of his mother and to some extent in that of his adoring younger sister.

Lalwen did not enjoy the essecarmë. She had never liked large assemblies; indeed, she was not particularly enamoured of other people in general, apart from those belonging to her own immediate family. (Them she was passionately interested in.) It was an unfortunate turn of fate which had seen her born into a royal family, whose griefs and joys must necessarily be shared by many others besides themselves. The advent of Finwë Ingoldo was celebrated in the palace atrium by several hundred guests.

To complete the horror, Lalwen had lost Nolofinwë.

Nolofinwë's company was everything that made life bearable on these dreary public occasions. The two of them would creep around the edges of the atrium, hiding behind Míriel's tapestries to spy on the guests. Nolofinwë could think of something amusing to say about every one.

Without him, Lalwen, forlorn, had decided to drown her sorrows in red wine at the nearest buffet table. The idea thrilled her with the excitement of the forbidden. She was allowed to drink wine on her begetting-Day, but only when it had been well-watered under the watchful eye of her mother. This would be something different: an adventure, if one enjoyed without Nolofinwë.

There was only one full decanter left on the table. Lalwen made a grab for it, but was pre-empted by a tall young woman who cast her a distinctly unfriendly look as she selected a glass. Apparently she had arrived first.

Lalwen amused herself while she waited her turn in wondering what Nolofinwë would make of her rival. She was about his age, tall, black-haired, well-groomed but rather cheaply-dressed: probably some minor aristocrat.

This individual now began, in fits and starts, with the ridiculously exaggerated care of a naturally clumsy person, to pour herself a glass. When about a tablespoonful of red liquid was swilling about in the base, she paused to add a few drops of water, still holding the decanter of wine in a most possessive manner, and to taste the mixture. She then frowned and added a little more water. This process was repeated until the liquid was an interesting shade of pale pink, at which point the girl returned the decanter to the table. Lalwen snatched it up.

"So," she said, "in fact, you didn't want it at all? You were just holding on to it to spite me?"

The older girl blinked at her silently, confused by the vivid force of this righteous little girl's personality, in what Lalwen could only consider a positively half-witted manner. She stepped a little closer:

"You finished using this decanter some time ago?" she suggested.

At this point, Nolofinwë, who had been searching for his sister in the dense crowd ever since he had first lost sight of her on the other side of the atrium, stepped up behind her and touched her on the shoulder. She immediately dropped the decanter, which smashed on the mosaic floor.

An enormous stain as of blood had blossomed on the strange guest's shabby gown. For a moment all three of them were still, before the stranger drew herself up to her full and considerable height and prepared to be angry, while Nolofinwë simultaneously began to apologise for his sister.

"Of course we will pay for your gown to be cleaned," he was saying. "For a new gown. Anything you desire." He paused. "Might I ask your name, lady?"

"Anairë. Daughter of Valandur."

"And a very charming name too, if I may say so. - I am Nolofinwë Finwion."

The effect of these words on Anairë was remarkable. Pale-faced, she started as if Nolofinwë had struck some terrible blow at her heart. The hand that she had extended in order to take his hung limp at her side; she looked half-disposed actually to hide it behind her back. Hastily, she bowed to both of them, muttering that she had had no desire to cause any offence.

"I think it is my sister who has caused offence to you," Nolofinwë laughed, taking her arm. "Come! You can borrow one of my other sister's dresses. It would be a shame for you to have to go home and change..."

And he bore away the dazed Anairë, who was still murmuring something about Not Wishing to Cause Inconvenience as he tracked down Findis' maid in the shifting throng.

Lalwen was left alone and more forlorn than ever, amusing though it had been to witness that moment of discomfiture in her late rival. She decided to go and see her mother.

Indis had retreated to the lying-in room to feed Finwë Ingoldo. Seeing her younger daughter at the door, she smiled and patted the bed beside them, so Lalwen jumped up, leaned her head against the bare left breast and watched the baby suck. She could hear her mother's heartbeat.

"Won't I be the baby any more?" she whispered after a short time.

"You are all my babies."

"But Arakáno is your favourite."

"Good mothers don't have favourites, selde."

"Findis is the eldest, Ingoldo is the baby now, so where am I?"

"In the middle!"

"Mother, I hate Nolofinwë being charming to young women."

"It's very natural, darling."

"It's not as though he ever bestows his favour on an even faintly interesting object. He seems to be drawn to the dullest specimens possible."

"What strange things you say, Lalwendë!"

"Mother, I don't want to go back to the party."

"All right, dear."

"Can I stay with you?"

"Of course."