"Amma, tell me a story!"
"Not now, Arakáno! For heaven's sake! Can't you see I'm busy?"
"But Amma, you're always busy. Won't you tell me a story?"
"Later, dear."
"Amma... Please!"
"Oh, all right then!"
Anairë put aside her elaborate but uninspired embroidery and gathered her youngest son into her lap. His name was Arakáno; he was six Years old; and he was going to be tall, probably taller than Turukáno, certainly taller than Findekáno. The promise of it hung about his shoulders in a haze.
Nolofinwë, who was much taken with his namesake, could also see that this youngest of the grandsons of Finwë would eventually be the most renowned, and that he would grow up to perform deeds of unsurpassed genius; but this he kept to himself. It would be best not to let Fëanáro hear of these grand hopes.
At the moment, Arakáno could still be accommodated, reasonably comfortably for all involved, on his mother's knee. So there they were, entwined. Anairë was sitting in her sewing-room with Lalwen. She did not like Lalwen being there, but there did not seem to be a polite way of removing her.
"What sort of story would you like, chick?"
Arakáno leaned his head against his mother's shoulder and closed his eyes in anticipation.
"A story about the Middle-earth," he said, without a moment's hesitation, adding: "Uncle Fëanáro tells lovely stories about the Middle-earth."
Lalwen snorted with laughter at the expression on her sister-in-law's face.
"The Middle-earth?" Anairë managed, painfully reminded of one of the most embarrassing social occasions that she had ever endured. "Really? Wouldn't you prefer a story about when I was a little girl?"
Once again, Lalwen choked on her own merriment. This was too delicious!
"No," Arakáno insisted, sounding most definite. "Middle-earth, please!"
From Lalwen: "To give credit where credit's due, the boy knows what he wants!"
Anairë sighed. She was now forced to provide some sort of story about the Middle-earth. If she refused, Lalwen would certainly oblige, which would be a blow to her in their never-ending battle for the affections of the children. An inspiration came to her.
"Darling, shall I tell you the tale of Imin, Tata and Enel?"
"Oh, yes please!"
"Very well." Anairë cleared her throat. "The first of the first Quendi to wake by the waters of Cuiviénen were Imin, Tata and Enel, from whose names our words for the first three numbers are derived. There is no Tree-light in the Middle-earth, is there, yonya? What is there instead?"
"Stars!"
"Right! The three kings - they were kings, later - woke into the starlight, and they saw the stars before all else. Now when they had marvelled at the beauty of heaven, the first thing they did was to wake their destined spouses, who slept at their sides, as Ilúvatar had ordained.
"Their names were Iminyë, Tatië and Enelyë. The first love of these women was for their husbands, because they saw them first of all. So it is that reverence for the wonders of Arda has always taken second place in the hearts of women, after the love of their spouses."
Lalwen pursed her lips and moved restlessly in her seat.
"After a time, the kings and their wives left the place of their awakening and walked through the woods until they came to a glade, where twelve more Quendi, six neri and six nissi, were just waking. These Imin took to himself, to be his people - for they were golden-haired and exceedingly beautiful -, and they became the Vanyar."
"Anairë," Lalwen said sweetly, "why are you feeding the child all that rubbish?"
"What rubbish, sister?"
"I see no reason why children should be deceived, merely because they are not old enough to understand the difference between truth and lies!"
"It is a tale, not a lie."
"Although I must say," Lalwen went on, ignoring her sister-in-law entirely, "that Arakáno here could probably point out a few discrepancies in your story already. Would any sane child believe that the race of the Noldor springs from two separate groups selected at random by a fictional character?"
"Írien -"
"Incidentally, I find your pretty theory of spouses waking side by side absolutely sickening. What about the right of the Eruhíni to choose for themselves? And more to the point, isn't our boy going to be fairly confused when he discovers that this providential arrangement did not apply to his own grandfather?"
"Írien, for goodness' sake, be sensible. It is only a pretty story for children!"
"The real story of the Waking of the Eldar is not pretty. It is beautiful and true."
"Arakáno will know that tale when he is older."
"But why not now?"
And so it went on.
Meanwhile Arakáno, who hated it when his grown-ups quarrelled, especially about him, had slid off Anairë's lap to poke around in her discarded workbasket, disassociating himself from the conflict. Neither woman took any notice.
