By the time of Findis' ninety-eighth begetting-Day, some thirty Days later, the family had become more or less used to Ilmarien's presence. In truth, she had hardly any effect on the arrangement of the household, which was so vast that the addition or subtraction of one person made no real difference. The staff were put to little inconvenience, as she had brought with her two maids who shared the rooms that she had been given, a beautiful and luxurious suite on the west of the palace, directly over the kitchens, overlooking the Square of the Folkwell. Ilmarien declared herself so comfortable there that she intended to stay all summer.
In Lalwen's words, Findis 'got out of bed on the wrong side' on her begetting-Day. She was undoubtedly suffering beneath the strain of not appearing to resent the long Hours that Calatindil now spent with Ilmarien every Day. For the sake of that other fiction, that his adoration was an intolerable burden to her, the pretence had to be maintained, but she was cloaking her irritation with her mother's cousin beneath a general unpleasantness.
In anticipation of the celebratory feast that was to be held in the atrium, Fëanáro, Nolofinwë, Lalwen and Arafinwë were invited to the palace for breakfast. Finwë would have invited Calatindil as well, except that Findis had forbidden him. After the meal, everyone produced gifts for the heroine of the Day. Findis accepted those of her siblings, especially the exquisite broach that Fëanáro had wrought for her, tolerably graciously, but her patience was visibly wearing thin by the time that Ilmarien presented her with a crystal necklace, which she put on to keep it out of the way.
"Really, Father, don't we have enough of that in this place?" she sighed over Finwë's offering of some embroidery silks.
.~.~.~.~.
About half an Hour later, Ilmarien ran into Findis in the colonnade that encircled the interior garden. She greeted her with a guileless smile and a breathless comment on the fine weather, which, as she claimed, must show that even the Valar were celebrating the great Day.
Findis nodded curtly. She plainly wished to be left alone, but Ilmarien, with the persistence of a small terrier, followed her along the colonnade for some twenty feet, covering her cousin's silence with her own chatter:
"I do admire your gown," she enthused. "Why don't you let me have the name of your dressmaker? While I am in Tirion, I don't see why I shouldn't have some good gowns made up in a Noldorin style. 'When in Alqualondë, do as the Teleri do', and all that. Would you believe it, I've never been to Alqualondë?"
"It seems to me," Findis said coldly, "that you have more than enough clothes already."
"Oh, I know I have plenty, but when it comes to clothes, 'enough' is simply not a word in my vocabulary! Besides, I'm dying to use some of the beautiful stuff I found in your Great Market. On the other hand, I should probably take some home for Mother and my sister-in-law. Have you met my sister-in-law, cousin?"
Findis did not reply, for, at this very moment, one of the many doors to the interior of the palace was opened and Calatindil came out, his handsome face half-eclipsed by a crimson weight of damascene roses. Ilmarien was rather disappointed when he did not appear to notice her presence. Instead, going up to Findis and giving her a theatrical little bow, he pressed this enormous bouquet into her hands. She received it with a dismissive twitch of one dark eyebrow.
"Roses today, is it?"
"Guess how many."
"144."
"Seventy-two, actually. Would 144 win your heart, who is the queen of mine? I could get 144."
Findis snorted.
"Your cruelty breaks my heart."
"I think not."
"Will you heal it? You need only marry me."
"Enough."
"At least will you accept a gift from me?"
"No," Findis cried, suddenly flying into a temper, "I will not! I don't want your gifts! And as for you" - turning on Ilmarien -, "you can have your wretched necklace back! Here it is! Catch!"
Tearing off the offending item, Findis hurled it at her cousin. It hit Ilmarien's cheek and fell to the pavement.
Findis turned and strode off into the garden. Calatindil hurried after her, but eventually lost her in the twists and turns of the shrubbery, which she knew much better than he did.
Ilmarien retired to her rooms and stayed there for the rest of the Day, having decided that it would be best for her not to attend the feast. This was not such a hardship as it might otherwise have been; she had a shrewd idea that Calatindil would not be there either.
