The time had come.
Nerdanel remembered.
It was right after Turukáno's wedding that Fëanáro had come to her last time, and so he did again.
He found her in her dressing room, divesting herself of the gold and jewels she had been adorned with all day. He lingered in the doorway, watching her progress, just as he had before.
And again, just like before, he stepped forward when she went to unclasp the chains around her neck.
"Let me help you," he murmured, bending low and kissing her neck.
She leaned her head against his.
His quick, clever fingers undid the many hooks and clasps as easily as one might a row of buttons.
When he went to place the chains in a bowl on her dressing table, she looked up at him. "What is on your mind?"
He looked back at her and smiled faintly. His pale eyes shone bright. She knew his response before he even said it.
"I have an idea. My hands itch to get to work on it, but I think you will have some valuable insight." He looked away from her, to the open balcony that faced west.
There, the light of Telperion waxed to its height.
"Remember the Palantíri?"
Last time, she had chuckled. This time, she only smiled. Her words, however, were the same. "I could hardly do otherwise. They're rather one of my grandest creations."
He smiled in return. "You created a stone that could be used to see. I believe they fall in about eighth place of your grandest creations. The first seven places being taken by the children, of course."
"Of course," she agreed. She tried not to think of the horrors her children would cause and commit, and of the horrors they would be subjected to, if her mission and that of her daughters failed.
"Now, as we understand it, in order to see, we need light. Correct?"
"Vision is based on illumination, yes. Our eyes cannot perceive what light does not touch. That's one of the Palantíri's limitations. They cannot provide illumination, and so they cannot show you what is happening in the dark. That's why we can't use them to look for things beneath the ground, like ore." she confirmed.
"Precisely. I want to make a stone that does not enhance sight, like your Palantíri, but rather projects light," he said quickly, eyes burning with such passion.
And there it was.
Nerdanel forced her smile to remain. "An intriguing idea. I'll tell you what I can to help."
Fëanáro flashed her one of his dazzling smiles, the ones that used to make her go weak at the knees. (Nowadays, seeing that smile again just made her feel... nostalgic. She'd missed this version of him, and she would miss him again when -- if -- the time came.)
He took her hands and pulled her to her feet, then maneuvered her over to her favorite window seat. He sat beside her there.
"I received the inspiration for the idea today, at the wedding. I saw Artanis' hair, and then it struck me."
Oh, Valar. Now that she knew what was coming, she could already feel the secondhand embarrassment building in her gut. In an effort to avoid hearing it again, she strayed from the predetermined dialogue. "A means of how to gather light in stone?"
"No, exactly what light I would like to capture in stone. Treelight. Mingled Treelight." His face turned serious. "You have seen how Artanis' hair is both gold and silver and how it shines with the light of the Trees?"
"Yes...?"
Fëanáro sighed. "I asked her for a single strand of her hair and she refused. I really believe that she took vicious pleasure in doing so."
Nerdanel closed her eyes and sighed deeply. "I'm sorry."
"I shall try again," Fëanáro said dismissively.
Nerdanel gave him a look. "Are you certain that is wise?"
He blinked at her. "How do you mean?"
"Your niece is developing quite the reputation, and she has already rejected you once. What if she should hold it against you? You could alienate her completely, and possibly even Arafinwë's entire family and his allies -- which extends to Olwë, as you recall."
"Artanis is yet a child," Fëanáro dismissed with a little huff. "Children are capricious things. Olwë knows this."
"She's right in between Curufinwë and our twins, and closer to the former's age than she is to the latters'. She's been of age for quite a few years now."
"Being of age does not make one no longer a child." He pointed out. "Maturity cannot be quantified in the number of years we have to our name."
"Just think about it." Nerdanel pleaded. "I think you scare her."
Fëanáro frowned. "Scare her? Istë, how could I scare her? She's known me her whole life. She should be used to me."
"You scare her because she knows you."
His frown didn't leave. He stared at her, waiting for her to continue. She could feel his concern through their Bond. Her heart went out to him. He loved children. He would never intentionally scare one.
At least, not at this stage of his life.
She took a fortifying breath, then continued, "You are her uncle, arguably the greatest of the Noldor, and amongst our people you are second in authority only after Finwë himself. You are intense. You can be single-minded. You have a history of getting almost everything you want. And you're just like her."
Fëanáro started. "Just like... Artanis?"
Nerdanel smiled tightly. "Ambitious. Driven. Insatiably hungry for knowledge. She sees herself in you -- a possibility of what she could be -- and it scares her. And that is why she dislikes you." A pause. "It doesn't help that you're known to greatly disfavor her father, uncle, and aunts."
"I do not disfavor them as much as she imagines." He scoffed. "They are innocent of their mother's crimes. Though I admit that I do not rejoice in their existence -- not when it has cost me so much."
"I know." She reached out and took his hand in both of hers. "And I understand. Artanis, young as she is, does not. Someday she may grasp the nuances of why her paternal family is the way it is, but until then, all she sees is that she has an uncle who hates those whom she holds dear, and now this uncle is demanding something from her."
"I wasn't demanding..." Fëanáro shifted guiltily.
Nerdanel squeezed his hands. "You know that you don't always come across as you intend."
He sighed. "Oh, very well. I will give her some space. For now." Fëanáro narrowed his eyes. "There are other things I can turn my attention to."
"Thank you." Nerdanel relaxed, releasing tension that she hadn't even known was building. She let go of his hand.
"Remember when we used to plot about returning to Endorë and exploring the lands that our ancestors left behind?"
She definitely felt the tension come creeping back. "Yes...?"
"Carnistir's Lady Haleth told me something interesting about Endorë not that long ago. Something that, if we still wish to go through with our plan, will affect it drastically."
Oh, no. What had Haleth done?
"What did she say?"
"She said that Melkor yet has Úvanimar wandering Arda, attacking elves."
Úvanimar. A term that described any creature that Morgoth had touched and twisted and was not an Úmaia. It covered everything from orcs to trolls to dragons, and so the term revealed absolutely nothing about what, exactly, Haleth had said.
Fëanáro continued, "So I was thinking we ought to start learning how to seriously defend ourselves."
"Oh?"
"Before, I'd assumed our skills in hunting and gentle sparing would be enough. Now, I'm not so certain." Fëanáro made a face. "I'll gather the boys to talk about it. And I think I ought to invite Lady Haleth to our training sessions. I'd like it if you would join us. I want you to be safe."
"Oh, of course." Nerdanel's mind whirled.
It had taken Fëanáro longer than this to begin training for deadly combat last time. The silmarils had already been made by that point.
What exactly had Haleth said?
"There is more," Fëanáro's lips thinned into a line. "There are... rumors... flying about Tirion that Nelyafinwë has alerted me to. Some of these I have even heard from the lips of my former apprentices."
Nerdanel was not fool enough to believe that these 'rumors' did not have their origin in Melkor. He was already at work, it seemed. "Rumors are rumors, love. Hardly substantial."
"Rumors have to come from somewhere." Fëanáro pointed out, then sighed, getting to his feet. "I will discuss the matter more with Nelyafinwë. For now... I am tired. It has been a long day. Come to bed with me?"
He held out a hand. She took it to stand.
"I'll be along. I still need to get ready for bed."
Fëanáro inclined his head, then turned and went on his way. She watched him go, a frown pulling at the corners of her lips.
This conversation had not gone exactly as it had last time. In part because of Nerdanel's own deviations and in part because of Haleth's... presence.
The good news was that they were definitely beginning to see the fruits of their labors in altering the timeline. The bad news was that Nerdanel didn't quite know yet if these were good changes or bad. She fervently hoped that they were the former.
For now, though, these were problems for tomorrow. She would worry about Haleth's evidently free tongue then.
Nerdanel went to get dressed for bed.
Carnistir didn't emerge from his room the next day. Not for breakfast, and not even in the afternoon when the twins tried to coax him out to involve him in a scheme to visit Tirion.
Nerdanel learned of this development just as she was getting ready to head out into the woods in search of Haleth.
The twins barged into her studio, as they were wont to do at this age, moaning and complaining about the lack of attention they were receiving from their elder brothers. They asserted that this was Entirely Unfair, as they were so Cute and Fun To Be Around. (These being their own words.) Besides, what was the point of having older siblings if they did not bow to one's every whim?
Nerdanel was compelled to remind them that their elder brothers had lives of their own. (Privately, though, Nerdanel remembered of her own childhood with her own elder brothers. She certainly could have commiserated with the twins at their age.)
The twins bemoaned this fact. Ambarussa, in particular, groused that Carnistir hadn't even bothered to leave his room all day, which hardly counted as 'having a life.'
Now, this caught Nerdanel's attention because, once again, she was seeing something that had not happened in the previous timeline. She seemed to recall that Carnistir and the twins had indeed gone into Tirion together the day after Turukáno's wedding. Something about returning a borrowed object to Arakáno.
The change meant, of course, that something had happened with Carnistir at the wedding which had not happened in the previous timeline. This "something" Nerdanel could easily imagine to be Haleth's doing. (This lead Nerdanel to the uncomfortable conclusion that she hadn't been keeping as close an eye on Haleth as she should have been. An irritating concept, as did not Nerdanel already have enough people to keep an eye on? Did she really need to babysit Haleth too?)
(But Haleth was a problem that would need to be handled later. Until then, Carnistir would have to be her priority.)
Nerdanel sent the twins on their way, asking that they go to Tirion without Carnistir. They could visit Maitimo, Makalaurë, or Curufinwë if they really needed the company of an older brother. While they were in Tirion, the twins could pick up some supplies that their household was running low on.
From there, Nerdanel made her way from her studio to the house, then upstairs to Carnistir's room.
She knocked gently on the door.
A moment or two later, Carnistir's voice could be heard, telling her she could come in.
She eased open the door and poked her head inside. She found Carnistir at his desk, presumably handling the household accounts.
"The twins tell me that you've yet to leave your room today. Have you eaten anything?"
Carnistir blinked. "I... no. I don't recall eating anything."
Nerdanel stifled a sigh. "Come along, then. Are you at a stopping point?"
Carnistir looked down at his papers, shuffling them a bit. "I can be, yes."
"In that case, to the kitchen we go." She held out an arm for him to take.
He rose and accepted the silent invitation.
"I sent the twins to Tirion on their own, and Tyelkormo never came home last night, so we shouldn't be disturbed."
Carnistir looked at her and transmitted his gratitude over their Bond.
Once in the kitchen, Needanel broke off in order to throw some tea together for her son. As she set water on the stove to boil, she asked, "Is something the matter, pitya? Did something happen at the wedding?"
He was quiet a moment, before saying with a sigh, "You are too perceptive, Ammë. Yes, some things happened."
Nerdanel hummed her acknowledgement. Then, she waited.
Carnistir poked around in a cupboard, emerging a moment later with cups and plates. "Haleth... said some things to me at the wedding. I've been trying not to think about them."
"I thought it might be to do with Haleth," Nerdanel murmured to herself.
He shifted, setting the plates and cups on the counter. "What makes you say that?"
She sighed but confessed, "I have reason to believe that she hasn't been... saying things she ought to."
"Such as?"
"Oh, just some odd things that might not go over well with certain people. Things that might have an ill effect on others," Nerdanel said carefully, unable to look at her son while she spoke.
When she was done, she glanced back at him and saw his brows had furrowed. "So she's mentioned the remarriage thing that her people do to you?"
Nerdanel started. "The what?"
His eyes widened and he flushed. "I -- oh -- er -- nothing. It's nothing! Just something that Atar should never, ever catch wind of."
Nerdanel continued to stare at him, gobsmacked.
He looked away, fiddling with the cup handles, clinking them against the plates. "Haleth's people regularly get remarried after a spouse dies."
Nerdanel had to close her eyes and took a deep breath. She'd heard something like that about edain before. She didn't doubt that it was true. But did Haleth need to go telling people? Especially while in the guise of an elf?
"Ammë, you won't send her away, will you?"
She opened her eyes to see Carnistir, ears twitched downward, still playing with the cups.
"Send her -- of course not! Carnistir, I would never. Do I throw Mellótë out when she and I have our disagreements?"
"Mellótë is a little different than Haleth..." Carnistir murmured. "Mellótë is your daughter. Haleth is comparatively a stranger."
Nerdanel caught herself. She might think of Haleth in terms of being Carnistir's wife, but Carnistir certainly didn't. She'd strayed into potentially dangerous territory. Yet, to navigate out of it, she did not wish to lie to her son, least of all about his wife -- future wife. "I still have a duty to Haleth, as hostess."
Carnistir did not look like he quite believed her.
She threw him a quick, thin smile. "Besides, the poor dear has nowhere else to go."
Carnistir returned to his food preparation, a troubled expression still on his face. "That is why she lingers with us, isn't it?"
"Something like that, yes."
As Carnistir went to poke about for something for a quick and easy meal, Nerdanel thought on her coming conversation with Haleth.
Probably things would not be as bad as Nerdanel's worst fears. Hopefully Nerdanel had caught Haleth's little slips in speech early enough that little or no damage had been done.
They just needed to have a little talk. Haleth was a reasonable woman. At least, Nerdanel hoped she was. They hadn't yet engaged in a true battle of wills yet. It was too early to tell if Haleth was always reasonable or if she became stubborn when challenged.
Nerdanel would soon find out.
Now that Mellótë was looking for it, it was almost frightening how quickly Melkor got to work after his release from Mandos.
Already, the market buzzed with talk about 'heirs' and 'succession.' Oh, nothing so bad as the extreme political factions favoring one prince over another that had been the hallmark of the latter days of Finwë's reign in Tirion. Still, Mellótë found it to be immediately distasteful.
After all, before Finwë's untimely death, when had elves in the Blessed Realm ever needed to worry about heirs or lines of succession? Elves were not made to die. They did not need to choose or train a replacement, because they would never grow infirm, they would never lose their touch, they would never grow ill or need to step down. They would never wither. In a perfect, unmarred world, they would never need heirs or successions.
The first time around, when the rumors had started, she'd not quite known what to make of them. At first, she'd even ignored or dismissed them. They'd seemed like just the newest fad in Noldorin debate. As someone with little interest in debate, she'd even thought on more than one occasion that it simply wasn't her business.
But the talk had persisted. The rumors had deepened. The debates grew more and more angry, especially toward the end. Mellótë had half believed them, by then, and the half that she did believe in scared her.
This time, though. This time she would be going in with eyes opened wide. More aware. More cautious. More suspicious.
As she stood at a stall, pretending to shop through watermelons, she listened to the talk of people around her.
What if Finwë should want to retire?
Would succession go to the eldest? But Finwë has two eldests. Would it follow the male line? But Prince Fëanáro has rarely shown much active interest in politics outside his scholarships. That would bring it down to Princess Findis or Prince Nolofinwë...
The Noldor could never resist a thought experiment. It would have only taken an offhanded remark on Melkor's part to set them off like this.
From one thought will grow another, and with very little further influence, Melkor would have finished planting the seeds of discord among her people.
"I do not believe Celecormë will care which melon you bring home so long as you are the one to present it to him."
That was Makalaurë, who'd insisted on coming with her to the market.
She glanced over her shoulder at him, small smile playing at her lips. "He may not care, but I do. And I refuse to give my father inferior melons."
The fruit vendor, who'd been waiting for an opportunity, pounced on her comment as an opportunity to expound on the perfection of all his wares. (All these melons were grown on his family's farm, did she know? His cousins picked these themselves, and their quality was guaranteed as the best melons in all of Tirion. She could direct him toward any other fruit vendor in Tirion and his fruits would put their fruits to shame.)
Mellótë decided to put him out of his misery by selecting one of his melons and offering his asked for price without any protestations.
The vendor looked disappointed that he wouldn't get to bargain with her. Mellótë felt a little sorry for him. Noldorin street vendors were known far and wide for their love of haggling.
It was a very Noldorin thing to love arguing for the sake of arguing. For crying out loud, every other corner in Tirion had been built with an elevated stone step just so that absolutely anyone could stand on top of it and just start up a debate in the middle of the street.
The nearest one was currently occupied by the debater interested in succession, but Mellótë had seen those steps occupied by everyone from linguistics professors to children challenging bedtime and yucky foods.
Makalaurë followed her gaze to the debater. "Who do you think will win? Atar, Findis, or Nolofinwë?"
"No one." Mellótë cradled her watermelon close. "No one can win this."
There was a beat of silence. Then, Makalaurë asked, "Is something wrong?"
She started. "How do you mean?"
He looked at her, concern written in the furrow of his brow. "You can be solemn at times, but you're not usually this dour."
She smiled weakly at him. "I'm just worried."
Makalaurë hummed. A musical sound, even when he did not intend it to be. "About the debates or about your upcoming performance?"
Her eyes strayed to the head of his favorite mandolin, visible over his shoulder from where it was slung from a strap across his back. She could not see them clearly from where she stood, but she knew the strings were specially made and plated with gold. The mandolin's body was a rich mahogany, and the entire thing was Sealed with a Song of Preservation.
Makalaurë had taken it with him to Beleriand, last time. There, he'd learned to use it as a deadly weapon, giving it the name Faerist. Soul-cleaver.
(Here and now, though, it was still nothing more than fancy mandolin. She would do well to remember that.)
"Both." She sighed.
He rested a hand on her shoulder. "I can't do anything about the debates, but your performance is going to be perfect. They always are. You've worked hard on this one. Anything you put that much of your soul into is going to be beautiful."
This drew another smile from her, a little stronger than the last. "You're just obligated to say that because you're my husband."
He gasped dramatically. "Are you insinuating I would lie to you? Never! I love you too much to spare you from the truth!"
"Isn't it usually the other way around?"
"No."
Her smile grew yet again. (He'd always been good at that, making her smile.)
A passerby bumped into Mellótë, sending her stumbling a step forward. She nearly dropped her watermelon before Makalaurë caught her.
He eyed the busy market around them with mild distaste. "This is apparently a dangerous place to stand. Shall we move on, Melilot?"
"Yes. That would be nice."
He slipped his hand into hers. She shifted the melon to her hip.
She felt she'd heard enough here. Besides, she wanted to head towards home so she could prepare something special for her father while he was in town and staying with them.
(It was so good, having him to visit. She'd missed him. Leaving her father behind had been her biggest reason for hesitation in traveling back to the past with Nerdanel and Bodilë. She and her father had been all each other had.
Before Maglor had ever entered her life, Mellótë had had her father. When she broke her leg in Nessa's following, it was to her father's house that she went to recuperate. After her rebirth and subsequent release from Lórien, it was to him again that she had gone, and he had accepted her back with tears and open arms.)
(Ever had Mellótë been the apple of her father's eye. Nothing she'd ever done was enough to warrant severe censure from him, not even participating in the Rebellion of the Noldor.
At first, this was because he'd been too overjoyed to have her back for anything else, and after the euphoria had worn off, they'd sat together and discussed the madness of the Darkening of Valinor and the mistakes they'd each made. There was a little awkwardness, to be sure, a little coolness, certainly, but it had worn off with time.)
(She knew that should she ever need it, her father would always be there for her to fall back on, and that was part of what had made it so hard to leave him. Because she needed him. She would always need her father, her safety net for when everything fell apart.)
(Her father still existed in this time, of course he did, but this version of him lacked the wisdom and experience his older self had. The current him didn't know about the sins she'd committed. All his life was joy, his only regret that his wife had been away for so long.)
(Still, all her lives, Mellótë had felt that her father understood her, and she him, until now. Now, there was a... disconnect, and her father didn't even sense it. He didn't know who she'd become, not anymore.
She wished to keep it that way, even if it hurt.
Safety net gone.)
Makalaurë brushed his arm against hers. "You're getting lost in your head, my love."
Warmth brushed across her marriage bond, soothing her fëa, pulling her from unplanned reflections.
She smiled up at him. "I apologize. I was only thinking about dinner. Perhaps we should head home?"
"I think that would be for the best." Makalaurë sighed dramatically. "I am worried that your father might finish visiting his friends early and beat us home. You know he'll get bored and poke around my music room and read my unfinished sonnets."
She laughed. "He will not!"
"No, no, I've caught him before, lounging on the chaise in my music room!"
"He was sleeping!"
"He said that it was my sonnets that put him to sleep!"
Mellótë clutched Makalaurë's arm tighter in her effort not to fall over from laughing. "He likes to tease, you know that!"
Makalaurë snickered beside her, teaching over to tuck a stray lock of hair over her ear.
Together, they began to meander toward their house, content in each other's presence.
They were almost home when they passed by one last debater on a street corner.
Mellótë stopped still in the middle of the road.
The debater was speaking about the Awakening of a Second People.
Catching up with Haleth was harder than Nerdanel anticipated.
Somehow, she always contrived to be busy.
First, the twins kidnapped her to Tirion when they could not have Carnistir. Then, Bodilë spirited her away for some "girl talk." The day after that, Haleth left the studio's apartment before the Mingling and was off who-knows-where in the woods until Fëanáro came home from the forge, head full of prototypes of what would eventually become the silmarils.
Nerdanel finally found Haleth several days later, in Carnistir's work room, listening to him ramble about, of all things, his grandmother Míriel's herd of alpacas, which the King's household still cared for.
Nerdanel knocked on the doorframe. When both turned their heads to look at her, she smiled. "Hello, Carnistir, I've been looking for Lady Haleth for a while now. Would you mind if I snag her for a bit?"
Carnistir, of course, blushed. "Oh, of course. I'm sorry for taking so much of your time, Lady Haleth."
Haleth looked back at him with a soft, if rueful, smile. (Nerdanel was not aware that Haleth had those. Haleth's smiles tended to be bitter and/or sarcastic, in Nerdanel's observation.) "Don't be sorry. I'm the one who sought you out, and I've been distracting you from your work."
His blush deepened and he murmured something incomprehensible.
Haleth's smile, though, only grew brighter.
And then she looked at Nerdanel, standing in the doorway. The smile died.
Carnistir followed Haleth's gaze. "Amil..." he began hesitantly. No doubt their conversation from a few days ago was still fresh in his mind.
Nerdanel lifted a hand, stalling him. "I will bring her back. Worry not."
Haleth followed Nerdanel out into the hall.
Almost immediately, Haleth began squinting at her with suspicion. "What's happened?"
"Near as I can tell, you did."
She narrowed her eyes further. "Is this about Fëanor at the wedding? I'm not going to apologize."
"No, it's not about you losing track of Fëanáro at the wedding." Though that was still irritating to think about. "It's about the kinds of things you've been saying to him, and to Carnistir as well."
Haleth paused in the middle of the hallway and looked up at Nerdanel with still-narrowed, still-suspicious eyes. "I won't apologize for telling it like it is, either."
Nerdanel pinched her lips together. "It's not about that either! You've been telling Fëanáro and Carnistir Valar-knows-what about orcs and Men without even consulting with the rest if us first. Now Fëanáro is about to start organizing war training far earlier than before and Carnistir thinks there's a bunch of elves abandoned by their spouses in Mandos!"
"I -- what? I never said anything about Mandos to Carnistir! And -- what--" Haleth exhaled roughly. "Let me get this straight. You wanted to change how things went last time, and now you're mad that things aren't going as they did last time? With Fëanor?"
Nerdanel took a deep, calming breath and lifted a hand to stay her. "I am not mad. I am merely concerned. We must be cautious. Even with Foresight, we cannot always anticipate the results of our actions. Which is why I would have liked it if you consulted me and your sisters first. We are all in this together. Your risks are ours as well."
Haleth made a sour face. "I am not a child. You needn't lecture me."
"I am not lecturing you."
"You sound like you're lecturing me."
"I am sorry if that is the case," Nerdanel paused and took a breath, considering her next words. "Please. We are working against the Dark Enemy's designs here. We must be subtle to avoid detection."
"... I understand what you're saying." Haleth sounded begrudging. "But, Nerdanel, you must understand, we cannot stay hidden forever. Nothing can stay hidden forever. We will need to stand against him eventually."
"I know. But we have the power to choose where and when to reveal ourselves and what we know. I'd rather not leave it up to chance."
Haleth sighed. "Like an ambush."
"Yes."
"Fine. I will try to be more careful." She made another face. "But I will make no promises."
Nerdanel breathed a sigh of relief. "That's all I ask for."
It was one less thing to worry about.