Chapter Text
Carnistir stumbled into a bookshelf.
Thankfully, this was a bookshelf built into a wall, and so it did not fall over, creating a chain reaction of falling bookshelves, crushing the other library patrons and creating a huge disaster. Small mercies.
This was not, however, something that Carnistir noted as he crumbled to the ground, dropping his books to dig his fingers into his skull.
"Moryo?" A head poked around the corner, followed soon by another, nearly identical to the first.
The second one cried out as he saw their brother curled up on the floor. "Moryo!"
"Is it another vision, Moryo?" They hurried over, one at each side to grip his shoulders.
He flinched from their grasp. "No! Don't touch me. Just... just get Atar. Atar and Ammë."
He pulled his hands away from his face, now streaked with tears -- something the twins had not seen since they were very small.
And there was something else, something in his eyes --
He squeezed them shut before his brothers could get a better look. "Go! Now! Please!"
They scampered off.
"Oh, this is worse than morning sickness." Bodilë leaned over her law-mother's work table, trying desperately not to heave.
Nerdanel herself, leaning against a wall not that far away, responded, "I don't know. I've had worse."
Mellótë, the third woman in the workshop, was sprawled out on the floor, trying to get her eyes to focus on the ceiling. "I'm sure you have."
"But it's no fair comparing me to you!" gasped Bodilë. "You're seven times the woman I am!"
Nerdanel choked a laugh. "Now, now, we all have different strengths. Don't feel so bad!"
"Examples?"
"I'm not a silversmith."
Bodilë, who was, in fact, a silversmith, laughed, only to cut off abruptly with a dry heave.
"I think it worked." Mellótë slowly began to prop herself up. "I can sense him. Really sense him. Not just... know in my fëa that he isn't dead."
"Yes," Nerdanel took a deep breath and lowered herself to sit on the floor of her studio. "I can feel all of them."
Bodilë was quick to join them. Her eyes were closed. "I can feel my son. Telperimpar. He is not dead."
"And we are before the Darkening. Look! The light of Laurelin." Mellótë gestured to a window.
"Daughters."
Mellótë and Bodilë fell silent.
Nerdanel's eyes were closed, her brow furrowed. "There is someone else with us."
Her law-daughters looked around, but saw no one.
"Someone who... sleeps." Nerdanel's frown deepened as her eyes flicked open. "I can sense the shape of her, lingering here."
Nerdanel forced herself to her feet and stepped across the room to where a small, tarnished ring rested upon her studio's floor.
It was gold. A marriage ring. A glance at her own hand and those of her law-daughters revealed that they all still had theirs. This was to be expected. Mellótë and Bodilë were both responsible enough to never lose their rings, let alone allow any of their jewelery to get into such a scratched and tarnished state.
Nerdanel picked it up and rolled it between her fingers. "Are we sure that there is only two of you? Do either of you know if another of my sons married? In Beleriand?"
Mellótë and Bodilë looked at each other.
"No."
"Just Curufinwë and Makalaurë."
"Then who else --"
The door of the studio slammed open.
All three women jolted to see Ambarto panting in the doorway. "Ammë. We need you urgently. It's Carnistir."
Fëanáro dropped everything at the news of Carnistir's collapse.
He was probably going to have to order a new work table to replace the one that now had a hole in it from the acid he'd spilled, but what was a work table to one of his sons?
Ambarussa lead him through the city to the University of Tirion's public library. There, a librarian intercepted them and directed them to a private reading room, where Carnistir had apparently been moved to.
They entered the room to find Carnistir huddled on the couch, arms wrapped around his knees as though he were still a child, and Nerdanel sitting next to him, rubbing his back in soothing circles.
Ambarto was standing back with Fëanáro's law-daughters, who were whispering together. They must have been nearby when Carnistir collapsed. Ambarussa went to join them.
He settled himself on Carnistir's other side.
"What's happened?"
Nerdanel's eyes met his and for a moment something flickered behind them. Whatever it was, it made him quickly panic and wonder if this -- Carnistir's current distress -- was somehow his fault. He forced himself to look away, back at his son. This time, he noted that Carnistir had his eyes closed.
"Did you have a vision?" Fëanáro asked. Carnistir was the only one of Fëanáro's children to have inherited their mother's Foresight, so perhaps --
Carnistir shook his head.
"Are you... are you ill, then?" The only illnesses Fëanáro knew of were of the fëar. Of those, he only knew of the one that had taken his mother from him. If his son faded and it was because of him and his tainted blood, he didn't think he'd be able to --
Carnistir opened his mouth. Then shut it with a click.
Slowly, he opened his eyes and looked directly into Fëanáro's own.
Fëanáro studied them, noting --
A marriage bond. That was... That was definitely a marriage bond.
Fëanáro blinked. The next moment he was embracing Carnistir, rocking him back and forth. "Oh, Morifinwë, it's nothing to be ashamed over."
Carnistir shook his head. Fëanáro could feel tears wetting his shoulder. "No, you don't understand. I didn't -- I'm not married."
Fëanáro forced himself to keep going, keep rocking his son and holding him close, and not to let his shock and disbelief show.
Carnistir continued, "I have not bound myself to anyone. There was no -- I was in the library. The library. I want it out of my head! No stranger needs to be in my head! And -- and without consent --"
Nerdanel stiffened over Carnistir's shoulder.
Fëanáro couldn't see the twins or the law-daughters anymore. Nerdanel must have shooed them away. Good.
Fëanáro began to hum soothing tones. Nerdanel quickly harmonised her voice to his.
"Don't worry. We can go to --" Fëanáro swallowed bile. "-- to Lórien if we need to. Visit Lady Estë. Or, in the meantime, we could contact a healer here, in Tirion. If you would like."
Nerdanel nodded firmly. "Whatever you're comfortable with."
"We can consult archives to see if anything like this has ever happened before."
Carnistir nodded into his shoulder.
"We love you, no matter what."
Nerdanel nodded. "Yes, no matter what."
Something in her tone...
Fëanáro looked up and frowned at her. Her tone was the one she used whenever she knew more than she was openly admitting.
She was acting strange. Then again, this was a strange situation.
He decided they could speak more on it later. For now, there was still Carnistir.
Fëanáro pressed his lips to his son's dark head of hair. "It will be okay, Carnistir. It will be okay."
"Talk about unintended consequences." Bodilë muttered, drawing patterns in the moisture of Nerdanel's studio windows.
Nerdanel was standing over by a block of marble, running a considering hand over it. She wasn't certain what her original plan for this had been, but she had a new idea blossoming in the back of her mind.
"This at least tells us who our mystery law-sister is linked to." Mellótë added, plucking at a lyre she'd stolen from Makalaurë's old music room while awaiting Nerdanel's return after she'd sent them back.
Bodilë, without warning, huffed and slid her hand over her designs, violently erasing them. She looked around, to Nerdanel and Mellótë. "How did this happen?"
Mellótë's fingers faltered.
"When we sent ourselves back in time with that Song, we didn't specify who, specifically, we were sending back. Instead we named those who had married into Míriel Therindë's line." Nerdanel said absent-mindedly. With her hand, she traced the shape of a face on to the stone. "We must have picked up Carnistir's wife by accident."
"And why can't we see her?" Bodilë demanded.
Nerdanel hummed. "I don't know."
"So then... what are we going to do about her?" asked Mellótë.
Nerdanel fingered the tarnished golden wedding band in her pocket. "Worry not. I have a plan."
Mellótë Quildaliltarë had spent the better part of her youth in Nessa's following, running and dancing with wild abandon through the woods and plains of the interior of Valinor. The only reason she'd ever stopped was because of an injury -- she'd broken her leg after a rather ill-timed jump.
She'd been taken to Lórien and treated, and then sent home to the District of Valmar to finish her recovery. It was there that she was approached by Princess Findis of the Noldor, who was looking to start a school of dance. She needed instructors and choreographers -- people who knew what they were doing.
Mellótë was intrigued. It would require her moving to Tirion, but she'd always been open to seeing new things and visiting new places.
Tirion and its people left her in awe from the first day of her arrival. Once she got over the initial shock of the complete cultural shift, she found she rather enjoyed it.
Here were found people who collected skills the way one might collect rocks or butterflies. People came to learn the art of dance simply because they were curious about the experience. (Though Princess Findis had organized the school in a way that serious learners were separate from casual learners.)
Tirion was a city dedicated to art and Mellótë had loved every second.
Needless to say, it was in Tirion that she met Makalaurë.
Princess Findis had requested his help in organizing the music for the school's first exhibition. As Mellótë was one of the chief choreographers for the showing, she spent much time in collaboration with Makalaurë.
Things advanced from there in a whirlwind of song and dance and jaunts around the city.
After their marriage, they settled in a townhouse just a short way from Tirion's central theater and its school of dance.
It was to this place that Mellótë went after Nerdanel released her and Bodhilë.
It was exactly the way she remembered last seeing it before the Darkening -- the cheerful yellow flowers up front, the blue door, the painting in the entryway that had been a wedding gift from her new law-brothers.
There was the delicate vase her grandmother had gifted them -- it held cuttings of lilac. (That vase had been shattered when she'd fallen into it after the Trees had gone dark. She'd been rushing to pack their things, everything they might need for the proposed journey, but it had been so suffocatingly dark. When she'd last seen the entryway, it had held shattered china which reflected the flickering and dull light of the torches outside.)
(She'd never come back here after her rebirth. Makalaurë had not returned, and so the home they'd made together was nothing more than a house. She'd returned to Valimar, to her father's house. Returned to Nessa and her followers.)
(It was where she was when Nerdanel had sent for her and she and Bodilë had revealed their insane plan and -- well. The rest was... history.)
Now, though, there was humming coming from her husband's music room.
She smiled and went to see.
And there he was, Kanafinwë Makalaurë, bent over sheets upon sheets of paper, brush pen held in hand, writing down musical notations in a system he'd invented just for the purpose.
(She'd agreed to this for him. She'd done this for him.)
(She tried to hold in the tears.)
As if feeling her eyes on him, he looked up and smiled. "Back so soon?"
"I missed you."
His smiled widened, crinkling the corners of his eyes. "I missed you too."
She stepped into the room and made her way over to him. "What was the song you were humming just now?"
"New composition. I could use your ear. Would you like to help?"
She wrapped her arms around him and leaned over to kiss his head. "I would love to."
Fëanáro found himself in his father's study during the early morning Mingling. His eyes kept tracing over the various desk toys Finwë kept on hand just in case of visits from children, grandchildren, or, nowadays, great-grandchildren.
Finwë himself was sitting at his desk, looking troubled -- as well he should. What had happened to Carnistir was troubling. More than troubling -- it was violating.
Fingers tapping out an unsteady rhythm, Finwë said, "Before coming to Aman, it was not... unheard of, to force a bond."
"But since coming here?" Fëanáro pressed.
"This would be the first case." Finwë sighed. "It's alarming enough that perhaps we should get Ingwë involved."
"Involving Ingwë is really just involving Manwë. This is an elven matter," Fëanáro spat.
"If involving Manwë will help Carnistir, I will do it, with or without your approval, my son. How is he?"
Fëanáro scrubbed a hand down his face. "He was resting when I left home. He should still be resting... How did this happen?"
"I... it isn't pleasant." Finwë winced. "Usually it involves forcing someone else into an act of intimacy."
"He was in the library." Fëanáro muttered. "There were people around."
"I know."
"So how else...?"
"I'm not sure. This is why I think it would be for the best if we involved Ingwë, and through him, the Ainur. We have learned many helpful things from them in the past," Finwë pointed out.
Fëanáro shook his head. "I know. I know that. It's just... I don't trust them. They act like we belong to them. We are not property, Atar. And then there are the times when they promise to fix something but do not hold to those promises. They do not hold to their words, Atar."
He shared a look with Finwë -- the image of Míriel in the Gardens of Lorien flashed between them.
"Or perhaps the Ainur are just as marred as we are," Finwë tried.
"But at least we have a working sense of morality."
"Fëanáro," Finwë rebuked.
"I'm sorry, Atar." He wasn't, actually, but it made his father nod. (Was he a hypocrite for that?) "I just want Carnistir to be fine again."
"So do I, son, so do I."
Nerdanel saw the shape come to life under her hands, based on the faint impression of a woman she'd never met.
She was rather small, Carnistir's wife. Nerdanel expected that she wouldn't even come up to his shoulders.
There was a broad nose and wide lips and eyes shaped like almonds. The hair had tighter curls than Nerdanel's own, held back from her face with leather bands. Her ears would, of course, come to delicate points.
She wore... hunting gear. Nerdanel couldn't picture it clearly, but Tyelkormo wore hunting leathers often enough that she had a template to work off of.
Her hands were not large. Her fingers were not particularly long. She wore thick, sealed boots, good for wading through shallow streams as needed.
When Nerdanel was done, she took the tarnished ring from her pocket and slipped it onto her unknown law-daughter's finger.
Nerdanel then placed a hand to the statue's breast -- over where her heart would be -- and her mouth to the statue's mouth, as the Falmari do when reviving one from drowning.
Nerdanel opened her mind and breathed.
The statue became warm and soft under her hands, and then a nís was collapsing into Nerdanel's waiting arms. She eased her to the ground and brushed a few stray dark curls out of the girl's face.
Her law-daughter blinked up at her. Her brows drew together.
She was not particularly handsome, not by elven standards. Too short, mostly, but then, Nerdanel was not known for her looks, either.
"Wh... where am I? What is this place?" The girl asked in Sindarin.
Her voice...
Her voice was rough. Probably no good for singing. Surprising.
Nerdanel's Sindarin was... unpracticed, and so she responded cautiously in Quenya to see if the girl would understand. "It's alright. I have you. Do you remember your name?"
"H-Haleth. Haleth of the Haladin. Do they really speak Quenya beyond the circles of the world?"
Nerdanel blinked.
Haleth. Haladin. Those were definitely a foreign tongue. Perhaps somehow related to Sindarin. Fëanáro would be better able to tell, if he knew about Sindarin at this point (which he didn't).
But then...
Beyond the circles of the world? Why would she think...
Unless...
Nerdanel nearly dropped Haleth.
She'd made a mistake. Carnistir hadn't married an elf at all.
He'd married one of the edain.
Haleth, when she came to, was rather confused to see a she-elf bending over her.
The second thing she noted was that this she-elf had red hair -- a fairly unusual color. (Or was it normal in elves? She thought he told her about it once, but she couldn't quite recall.)
"You have not gone beyond the circles of the world, child."
Oh great, she was condescending, too. Haleth opened her mouth to make a pithy comment about human aging, but the she-elf continued, "You're in Valinor, the land of the Uttermost West. These are the Years of the Trees."
What.
Haleth groaned. "Don't tell me this is what happens to Men when they die."
The she-elf above her gave a tight smile. "No, not at all. It's just you."
Haleth moved to push herself upright. "Just me?"
Haleth paused when she noticed how easy it was. Her joints hadn't even protested. She twisted her head to look down at her hands -- hands which were now as fresh as when she was a young woman newly come of age.
The she-elf kept a hand on Haleth's back. "Indeed."
This didn't make sense. Last Haleth knew, she'd most assuredly been on her way to meet her brother and parents again. They should at least be here.
Then again, life was never keen on giving Haleth what she wanted. (Life wasn't, and now apparently death wasn't either.)
Haleth managed to sit up on her own. The she-elf removed her arm.
"How do you feel?"
"Fine. Fine! Better than I have in a long time!" Physically, at least. Haleth waved one hand in a careless gesture. "Which makes no sense at all! But I'm willing to put it down to elvish meddling."
She took a deep breath, and with it came no pain.
This had to be some kind of dream.
Haleth brought her focus back around to the she-elf. "Now. Are you going to tell me who you are and who's behind all this?"
Was it Thingol? (Unlikely, he kept to his forest at all times, but then he was also strange.) Was it Felegund? (Slightly more likely, he had such an odd fascination with her people.) Or was it him? (She does not know if this would be likely or not. He always respected her boundaries, but he was also a creature fey and unlike to her own people and their ways. It had lead to misunderstandings and strange happenings before.)
(A part of her hoped that he would be here, if not now, then later. He'd been there, holding her hand as she was slipping away, but...)
The she-elf inclined her head. "I am Nerdanel. It is I and my daughters who have unwittingly brought you here."
Haleth narrowed her eyes.
She knew that name.
But where from? It was important somehow, she knew.
"Nerdanel."
"Yes."
"In Valinor. In the Years of the Trees."
"Yes and yes."
... Nah.
Nope, her mind was probably just playing tricks on her. Age. It did that to you sometimes.
Haleth leaned forward to rest her elbows on her knees. "Why have you brought me here?"
"Well, it was an accident. You see, this is about your husband."
Haleth laughed. "Oh? What husband?"
Nerdanel took Haleth's hand and, with a pointed look, motioned to her wedding ring.
"This husband."
Haleth immediately wrenched her hand away with a scowl. "Yeah? And what's it to you?"
Nerdanel gave that tight smile again. "It tends to be my business who my sons decide to bind themselves to."
Nerdanel. In Valinor. In the Years of the Trees.
Oh.
Oh no.
This was her mother-in-law.
Haleth forced herself to sit up straight, looking at Nerdanel with new eyes. Now that she is paying attention...
He'd inherited her rosy complexion. And the shape of her eyes.
Haleth swallowed. "Caranthir, is he... here?"
"Carnistir," Nerdanel said, "is here. He's in his rooms, trying to recover from... you."
Haleth jerked back. Her eyes narrowed again. "Excuse me?"
"He's not yet married you. Yet the marriage bond remains, does it not?"
Haleth frowned and closed her eyes. She clumsily tugged on the bond, the way he'd shown her all those years ago...
Absolute panic and the feeling of doors slamming shut was the only greeting she received. Not even a trace of the warmth and acceptance she was used to.
She shuddered.
Something had shifted. It had happened just a few minutes ago -- but Carnistir had felt it.
When the bond had first attached itself to him, it had been so sudden that it had sent him into a sort of shock. But after that, there had been nothing. There was nothing for long enough that he was able to gather up the courage to poke at it. The bond hadn't responded at all.
It was like a long, dark tunnel, stretched and empty, with whatever was on the other side impossibly far away.
There had been some small comfort in that.
Whatever had done this to him -- whoever had done this to him -- had to be a powerful being. It was good that they were far away. Far away meant that he was safe as he could be for now. (As safe as he could be with some unknown entity out there with a backdoor to his mind, his innermost thoughts, the very essence of his being.)
But then something had shifted.
And now they -- whoever was on the other side of the bond -- had tried to reach out to him.
He'd been quilting, which was relaxing enough. (Cousin Turukáno was getting married and Carnistir wasn't about to let Angaráto and Aikanáro outdo him in the gift department.)
But then there had been that creeping sense of someone else there had invaded his senses and he'd -- he'd managed to shut them out. He'd pricked himself in the process, but he'd done it.
And now, as he took shuddering breaths, trying to re-center himself, he thought to himself about how... pathetic an attempt that had been. A mere weak tug on his mind, easily shut out.
Maybe it was an attempt to trick Carnistir into letting his guard down.
Though... maybe not. That thought made him sound like his father. Don't get him wrong, his father was a great man! Just... also a paranoid one.
Still. If getting him to let down his gaurd had been the goal, that attempt had done the opposite of its job.
Carnistir set aside quilt, needle, and thread. He stood and walked to his door.
His parents had been treating him like glass ever since the incident at the library. They hadn't even let any of his brothers come in to bother him while he was "recovering". The respite had been nice, but... but he couldn't just sit here wait for Doom to come to him. Not anymore. He needed to go out and do something.
He opened the door and stepped into an empty hall.
It was the middle of the day. He should be here alone, save for his mother in her studio.
He took a breath and headed for his father's personal library. He had some research on the fëa to do.
Mellótë stepped into Nerdanel's studio.
It had been perhaps a week since they'd successfully come back in time. She'd been at home, going over her papers, reacquainting herself with who, exactly, were her students at this time and what, exactly, they'd been going over in class. Makalaurë (Makalaurë!) had been in the next room over, peacefully working through a new (for him, at least) composition. It was the kind of peaceful afternoon she'd not had with her husband since after Fëanáro had drawn a sword on his brother.
That was when the messenger came, saying that Nerdanel had asked to see her. Makalaurë had looked concerned at the summons, had even told Mellótë that she needn't go if she did not want, but she'd brushed off his concern and rushed to the studio anyway.
She'd spent most of the walk to her law-mother's trying to remember which argument she and Nerdanel were supposed to be having. There had been many, both before and after her marriage to Makalaurë, none serious, most simply just petty disagreements. (Those arguments had disappeared under the weight of shared grief after Mellótë had been released from Mandos' Halls.)
She'd forgotten how frequent their quiet bickering had been until Makalaurë had asked her, with a laugh, if she was feeling well.
She was still pondering if they should pretend to be fighting about something as she arrived and opened the studio door.
"You sent for me? What is wrong -- oh." Her gaze fell on the sight of a small, strange woman sitting on one of Nerdanel's work tables, swinging her legs back and forth like a child.
This unknown looked Mellótë up and down, assessing her. She held an apple in one hand. She bit into it with a loud crunch.
"'M Haleth." She grunted with mouth half full. "You?"
Mellótë winced. She looked to Nerdanel for help.
Nerdanel appeared more rattled than Mellótë had ever seen her. This was not comforting.
"Haleth is Carnistir's wife. Haleth, this is Mellótë, wife of Carnistir's older brother, Makalaurë."
"I suppose you are one of the Sindar? Or do you hail from the Laiquendi?" She asked, trying to be polite but also unable to restrain her budding curiosity.
Haleth guffawed.
Mellótë was unsure what was so funny.
Nerdanel cut in. "She's one of the Atani."
Mellótë took a deep breath. She would not overreact to this. She would remain calm. She would remain --
"What?!"
Mellótë looked sharply to the door, where Bodilë was standing, mouth agape.
Bodilë continued, voice becoming more and more shrill, "Are you saying we accidentally dragged on of the secondborn back with us --"
Nerdanel, thankfully, lifted a hand to cut her off before she could go much further. "Now that all of you are here, I think we ought to make sure we are all on the same page."
"Finally." Haleth spared a narrow eyed glance at Bodilë. "She hasn't told me anything."
"First off: full introductions. I am Nerdanel Istarnië, wife of Fëanáro Curufinwë -- Fëanor. Each of you are married to one of my sons." Nerdanel looked toward Mellótë.
She'd be going next, then. Mellótë performed a slight bow. "I am Mellótë Quildaliltarë, the wife of Kanafinwë Makalaurë. He was called Maglor on the other shore, and I was Melloth."
Haleth's eyes sparked with recognition at Makalaurë's Sindarin name, but not at Mellótë's.
Bodilë, shutting the door behind her and moving further into the room, went next. "I am Bodilë Hervórë. Curufin -- Curufinwë Atarinkë -- is my husband. We have a son. Telperimpar. He was called Celebrimbor in Endórë?"
Haleth eyed Bodilë again. "Yes. My -- Caranthir mentioned him from time to time."
Bodilë smiled.
Haleth looked back around to Nerdanel, then Mellótë. "I am Haleth of the Haladin." Dryly, she added, "Should I have a second name as well? Sometimes Thingol's folk will call me Arwen, if you need one."
"Haleth Arawendë, then." Nerdanel proclaimed.
Haleth's lips pursed, but she inclined her head.
"Now," Nerdanel continued, "As you may note, all of us here are women who married into the line of Míriel Therindë. None of us are at the time we properly should be. This is because we figured out a way to go back in time using the Song. You have our apologies for dragging you along, Lady Haleth. We did not know you existed."
Haleth shrugged. "To be fair, I had no idea most of you existed, either. Except for Nerdanel, of course. And now that I think about it, Bodilë's existence was implied..."
"To be fair, of Bodilë and I, one of us never made it to Beleriand and the other died soon after getting there." Mellótë answered.
Haleth set down her apple's core. "Right. So, why did we travel back in time?"
Nerdanel spoke now. "To save our chosen house from the doom they wrought for themselves."
"You speak of the Oath?"
Mellótë did not know if she should be more surprised that this atan knew about the Oath, or that this atan seemed so unperturbed speaking about it.
"In part, yes."
"We also speak of the Doom of Mandos." Mellótë murmured. "And what prompted it."
"And we seek to prevent the destruction of the Trees, if we can help it." Bodilë added. "Though I still am of the mind to allow the creation of the silmarils, in case that fails."
Haleth shook her head.
"You disagree?" Bodilë challenged.
"I do, in fact. Perhaps you elves could stand to think outside of elvenkind for once. Your people and the dwarves, supposedly, have already awoke at this time, have they not? But Men will not awake until the rising of the sun. The sun will only rise if the Trees die. If Men do not awake my people will not be born and I will not be born and Caranthir and I will never meet." Haleth tilted her head. "It's quite a knot you've constructed yourselves here."
"She's right." Mellótë admitted. "What of Beren and Lúthien and Tuor and Idril? And we all know that Aegnor would choose Andreth again and again regardless of consequences."
Bodilë snorted. "I heard the only reason he didn't choose her the first time was because the Head of his House told him no. Ironic, since he did nothing to stop the marriages of Artanis or Artaresto."
"I have no idea who any of those people are." Haleth interjected, effectively halting the gossip. "Except Lúthien. What's she got to do with anything?"
"We are getting off-topic." Nerdanel interrupted.
"Right." Bodilë agreed. "But before we get back to business, are we going to talk about her ears?"
"Who's ears?" demanded Haleth. "Mine? What, never seen the ears of a secondborn before?"
"I've seen diagrams." Bodilë said defensively. "But I'm not talking about that. I'm saying that they should be round, but they aren't. They're a right proper elvish shape."
"What." Haleth glared at her law-sister.
Mellótë noted that Nerdanel was looking more and more uncomfortable by the minute.
"She's right." Mellótë added quietly, because this was something she'd been curious about as well.
Haleth turned her glare on Mellótë. When she could see no guile in her face, she slapped her hands over her ears.
Blood drained from her features. "What... what's going on?" She turned on Nerdanel. "What have you done? You said you brought me here, what else did you do?!"
"I carved you a body out of stone. I didn't know you were of the atani!" Nerdanel protested.
"So you made me an elf?" Haleth hopped down off the table and went over to the window, where vague ghosts of their reflections could be seen. Her hands still covered her ears. "The clothing is one thing, but my body?! Even my freaking eyes are glowing! Exactly how elvish am I?"
"I didn't change your fëa?"
"Is that a question?"
"No!"
Bodhilë leaned over to Mellótë. "Did you know Nerdanel could carve working bodies from stone?"
Mellótë hesitated. "Well... no. But she did study under Aulë for a while, didn't she? Her family is rather favored by him and we all know how he made dwarves."
"You know what? I can't deal with this." Haleth swiftly made for the exit.
Mellótë and Bodilë moved to stop her.
"Let her pass." Nerdanel sighed.
Haleth left in a flurry.
As soon as she was out of sight, Nerdanel moved to follow. "Stay here. I'll make sure she doesn't get lost and after she's calmed down, I'll try to speak with her."
They watched the both of them go.