Nolofinwë found the palace atrium empty, save for Ilmarien, who stood alone in the vast expanse of floor. Although there was no artificial light-source of any kind, his eyes had adjusted to the darkness enough to pick out the silver-gilt of her hair. She too was still wearing her festival gown of translucent gauze spangled with silver stars; but it was beginning to look a little crumpled and not so fresh as of yore. The same could be said of Ilmarien's lovely face. In her hands she held a lock of golden hair.
He did not see Findis, though she stood watching in the dusky gloom around the edge of the great room, invisible in one of her brown velvet dresses, dissolved into the shadows.
"Ilmar", Nolofinwë said, "have you seen my sister?"
She looked up at him.
"Which sister?"
"Írien."
"Perhaps. I cannot remember Do you know what your son has done?"
"Which son?"
Ilmarien continued to look at him, her eyes utterly devoid of that foolish delight over everything with which he was so familiar, until he knew which son.
"Oh! Turukáno - Laurefindë?"
She nodded. Nolofinwë put his arm around her.
It went without saying that Ilmarien Ingwë's daughter would not march with the Noldor to Endórë. She was a Vanya, a very Vanyarin Vanya, reverence for the Valar bred in so deeply that one could know her for an Age without knowing it, so rarely did she feel the need to make it manifest. Besides, both Ilmarien and Calatindil were creatures of the highest civilisation and culture. They would simply wither away in the Middle-earth.
.~.~.~.~.
Nolofinwë found Lalwen sitting in her old childhood bedroom, weeping quietly.
"Do you miss living here, Lalwendë? Perhaps you should never have left."
"Anairë?"
"She will not come", he said in an uncommunicative tone. For this grief he would never allow his sister to console him.
The worst horror of all was Anairë's refusal to be angry. She was not parting from him for any fault of his, as she explained. She merely had a duty to support their poor sister Eärwen. Could they not behave like rational beings about it? Come, let him kiss her farewell and have done with foolishness!
Lalwen said, "Do you hate me?"
"How could I hate you, little Laughing Maiden?"
His sister reached out and clasped his wrist with her small strong hand.
"You could still remain", she said in a low voice. "Everyone would understand. You would have her."
"I beg you, do not speak of that. I have made up my mind."
"Please! I cannot bear to leave Tirion!"
"So it comes down to that, does it? But you need not come, Lalwen. You can stay here."
"Without you? Never!"
"Are you sure? I would not cause you sorrow."
"You have caused me sorrow."
"Then stay! Or perhaps you would prefer to travel with Fëanáro?"
It was hard to know whether this was sarcasm or a genuine suggestion. Lalwen suspected it was both.
"Fëanáro! What do I care for Fëanáro? Nolo, why do you think I make your life a misery? Why do you think I scream at you so much?"
"Because you hate me?"
"Because I adore you. You see, I have appointed myself your conscience, so as to make sure you live up to my idea of you. You can hardly leave your conscience behind, now can you?"
"Lalwen."
"Yes?"
"When I - You know I did not expect Manwë to let me release Fëanáro."
"Didn't you?"
"I did it to win myself favour in the eyes of the people. And with you."
"Did you?"
"Aren't you going to say anything? Go on, tell me what a worm I am!"
"No!" Lalwen exclaimed, suddenly tightening her grip. "It is the deed that matters. Who cares why you thought you were doing it? You are wrong. I know you better than that. It is the deed that matters. And I love you for it."
