1251

Nelyafinwë Maitimo, the first child of Fëanáro and Nerdanel, was such a sweet two-Year-old that Lalwen was often tempted to steal him. On the occasion of his third begetting-Day, she bought such a ridiculous number of presents for him that Nolofinwë had to help her carry them to their half-brother's house. His wife sniffed at this; but Anairë was herself carrying a grandchild of Finwë and had a right to be sceptical about Maitimo's charms.

This must be one of the nicest things about childlessness, Lalwen thought: to be able to truly appreciate other people's children. She knew already that she was going to love Nolofinwë and Anairë's child just as much as she loved Maitimo. Her mind played with the idea of an ever-expanding family tree, herself in the middle, pouring impartial love upon scores of nephews and nieces.

To Lalwen's incredulity and consternation, the spark of interest exchanged between Nolofinwë and Anairë at the essecarmë of their younger brother had not, as she had expected, died out on the Day of its birth. On the contrary, it had rapidly grown to make such a blaze that Nolofinwë's charming attentions were soon limited to one young woman alone.

Of course Lalwen loved Anairë for her brother's sake. In fact, she had lived with them throughout the seven Years of their married life so far, gladly forsaking her status as a daughter in the bosom of her parents for that of a sister-in-law in another woman's house. Her decision to do so had not been universally popular. Finwë complained that the palace was silent and desolate without her. Anairë, however, had upheld Nolofinwë in his insistence that their beloved sister was welcome in their home.

Nonetheless, for all this determined well-wishing, Lalwen would never fully be able to comprehend Nolofinwë's love and need of Anairë. Behind all outward differences, there was between them a simple and complete understanding that would always be outside her ken. Their hearts beat as one.

"Hello, Uncle Nolo, Aunt Anairë. Thank you for coming, Aunt Lalwen."

Maitimo himself, a very small and a very regal figure, was at the door to meet them. The golden light called coppery tints out of his thick brown hair. Lalwen was overcome. Dropping her various parcels on the steps of Fëanáro's house, she knelt to crush his fledgeling's body into he arms:

"Oh, you darling, darling, darling little thing!"

Nolofinwë laughed, a little uneasily, as Maitimo, with an air of offended dignity, detached himself from his young aunt. She made a delighted clucking sound as she followed him down the hallway.

Finwë and Indis, with Findis and the little Arafinwë Ingoldo, had already arrived for the party; Nerdanel was showing them to their seats around a table on the verandah. She waved to the three latecomers as they emerged from the house.

"Welcome, all of you! Do sit down. Have a glass of wine - no, Nelyo, not you - not even on your begetting-Day!"

Maitimo pouted exquisitely, but Lalwen made him laugh by perfectly mimicking his expression.

Nolofinwë was silently appalled to see Fëanáro pulling up a chair beside his own. He wondered if there was any polite way in which he could avoid making conversation with his brother. Unfortunately, Lalwen, his neighbour on the other side, believed that it was good for them to talk together. She was moreover occupied with unpacking the ludicrously expensive gifts, each totally inappropriate for a third begetting-Day, that he had carried for her.

"Amazing, to think what a difference two Years make," Fëanáro said. Nolofinwë had no idea to what he was referring and could only look at him with an expression of bovine stupidity.

It was not that Nolofinwë disliked his half-brother; it was that he could never find a word to say to him, as if Fëanáro exuded some dark mystification that settled gently upon Nolofinwë's brain and robbed him of cogent speech and thought.

He had been known to specially prepare witty comments before an audience with Fëanáro; but if such remarks did not dry upon his tongue, their places taken by utter inanities, they would turn out beneath his brother's piercing eye to be nonsense and hideously unfunny, the words of a babbling child.

Fëanáro was waiting for him to speak. It occurred to Nolofinwë that his brother had probably been referring to Maitimo, and that, even if it was not so, anything he could say would be an improvement on this fiery torment of silence.

He said, "You must be so proud of him."

Fëanáro looked as if this appalling platitude was a satisfaction to him. He replied that they were.

"Oh, are you?" Nolofinwë murmured. He very much wanted to kill himself.

"Aye."

The awful assurance of this dreadful syllable struck terror into Nolofinwë's heart. He could actually feel his blood congealing in horror, at his own conduct as much as anything else.

He said, "How nice. I must congratulate you."

"On the contrary. It is I who must congratulate you."

"I quite agree," Nolofinwë said, idiotically. He had no idea what Fëanáro must think of him. But surely Fëanáro was doing this on purpose!