2. From This Day Forward

Nerdanel had written to Macalaurë, in her lovely, rounded script, that she would be honored to come to Formenos for the wedding. She was due to arrive five days before the event, and her impending arrival sent Fëanáro into a frenzy of activity. He gathered all of his sons together, handed them rags and mops and brooms, and ordered them to scrub the house until it gleamed.

“Move!” he cried. “Do not forget to dust in the corners. This house must be spotless when your mother arrives.”

The brothers looked at each other in confusion. Finally, Curufinwë stepped forward. “Father,” he said, “is this really necessary? It is our own mother we are expecting, not a Queen of the Vanyar or the Teleri.”

Fëanáro whirled around and glared at his son. “Do you hold your mother in less esteem than a Queen, then? Will you welcome her into a house of filth and slovenliness?”

He snatched the mop from Curufinwë’s hand, dunked it into a bucket of water, and swabbed it over the floor, jabbing it at Curufinwë’s feet. Curufinwë cried out as he stumbled backwards. Tyelkormo caught him, and pulled him out of range of Fëanáro’s frenetic mopping. Pityo and Telvo, who were accustomed to doing what their parents and five older brothers told them to do, began to run their dust rags over the furniture. After a moment, Maitimo shrugged and began to move a broom around in a corner. Macalaurë stood in the middle of the perfectly tidy parlor, sighed, and rolled his eyes. Carnistir gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder.

“You should not complain. In five days, you will be married, and then Father might allow you to give up some of these chores.”

“Either that, or he will add Calimë to the ranks of household staff,” Macalaurë retorted. “Or we will simply move out.”

Carnistir smirked, and fluttered his hand over his heart. “What? Then there will only be six of us to deal with Father’s moods. You wound me, Macalaurë.” He shoved his scrubbing brush into Macalaurë’s hands.

“What better reason to get married?” Macalaurë grumbled. Someone knocked on the door. “I will answer!” Macalaurë cried. He handed the brush back to Carnistir, and hurried to the door.

“If it is your mother, take her for a walk in the gardens!” Fëanáro called. “She cannot see the house like this.”

Macalaurë muttered something uncomplimentary under his breath, and opened the door. He was immediately enveloped in his grandfather’s firm embrace. “Macalaurë!” Finwë said. “How is my favorite bridegroom-to-be?”

“Relieved,” Macalaurë answered. “Father has gotten into one of his moods again, and he is making us all scrub the house down for Mother’s visit. Perhaps you can calm him.”

Finwë chuckled. “I do not know if anyone can calm your father when he is in a cleaning mood, but I will certainly try.” He released Macalaurë, and strode into the parlor, where Fëanáro was still shoving the mop across the floor in vicious little jabs. Macalaurë stepped forward and put a hand on Fëanáro’s shoulder.

“You have a visitor, Father,” he said. “And it is not Mother.”

Fëanáro looked up from his obsessive mopping, and a smile spread over his face when he saw Finwë. “Welcome, Father,” he said, and reached out to clasp Finwë’s hand.

Finwë took Fëanáro’s hand and pulled him into a brief, fierce embrace. “It is good to see you,” he said. Then he looked up, and nodded at the rest of the brothers, who had stopped their half-hearted dusting and sweeping. “Your brood is looking well. Come. Walk with me out to the forge. I wish to see the wedding rings you have made, since Macalaurë has told me so much about that. And there are other things we must discuss as well.”

Reluctantly, Fëanáro laid down his mop. “What might those be?”

“What you will do after the wedding. Things change when your sons become husbands, after all. That is an experience that I have had, and you have not. So, come with me to the forge, and we will discuss it together.” Finwë nodded once again at the brothers, and steered Fëanáro out of the house.

Carnistir watched them go, then turned and raised his eyebrows at Macalaurë. “You were bragging about your rings? I thought you did not care about them beyond ensuring that they would fit well.”

Macalaurë shrugged. “I do not. Nor did I ever brag to Grandfather about them. I might have mentioned that Father was making them, but I certainly did not brag.”

“But Father does not need to know that,” Maitimo said with a smile. “It was the perfect excuse to get Father out of the house, and that is all that we needed. Come, let us put the parlor back in order.”

By the time Nerdanel’s carriage actually pulled up in front of the door, the house was pristine. Calimë had come to meet and welcome her future mother by marriage, and she and Macalaurë were waiting at the gate. Finwë and Fëanáro were in the kitchen working on dinner, and that activity had calmed Fëanáro’s nerves enough that the atmosphere inside was pleasant and relaxed. Nerdanel climbed down from the carriage and embraced Macalaurë.

“Oh, Macalaurë, it is so good to see you!” she cried. “I have not seen you in far too long, and now it is almost the eve of your wedding.” Still keeping one arm firmly around Macalaurë, Nerdanel turned to smile at Calimë.

“You must be Calimë,” she said. “Macalaurë has told me so much about you in his letters. You are even more beautiful than the portrait he sent.”

Calimë blushed, and dropped a small curtsey. “It is an honor to meet you, my Lady.”

Nerdanel laughed. “Oh, none of that. You are as close to being my daughter as makes no difference. We shall both address each other by our names.”

“Thank you . . . Nerdanel.”

“Excellent.” Macalaurë grinned, gently removed Nerdanel’s arm from his shoulders, and moved to the carriage. “Let us take your horses to the stables, and then take your bags inside. Father and Grandfather should have dinner ready for us soon, and the others have been waiting all day to see you.”

He took the horses’ reins and led them to the stable. Nerdanel and Calimë followed, already chatting as if they had known each other for their entire lives.

Dinner was a cheerful affair. Fëanáro sat at the head of the table, and Nerdanel sat at the foot. Their sons, Finwë, and Calimë all crowded together, passing dishes up and down the table. For a little while, it seemed that the family was whole again, though everyone knew that that was an illusion. Nevertheless, they pushed that awareness to the back of their minds and concentrated on enjoying the moment. Nerdanel complimented the food, and shared bits of news from Tirion.

“What about the house?” Fëanáro asked. “Have you been maintaining it, as I asked you to? This term of banishment will not last forever, and I want the house to be in livable condition when I return to Tirion.”

“The house is in perfectly fine condition,” Nerdanel said. “I found the perfect solution for maintenance. Turukáno and Elenwë have moved in, and they will take care of the place until you return.”

“Turukáno?” Fëanáro cried. “Nerdanel, have you completely taken leave of your senses? How could you give my house to one of Nolofinwë’s children?”

Nerdanel bit back a scathing remark, then forced a pleasant smile. Calimë put her hand in Macalaurë’s in sympathy, and he clutched it tightly. “Perhaps we should adjourn to the parlor,” he said. “We can have tea there.”

Neither Fëanáro nor Nerdanel paid him any attention. “There is no reason for Turukáno and Elenwë not to live in that house,” Nerdanel said, keeping her smile firmly pasted on her face. “They have the baby to care for, and they wanted a place with more room than their apartment in the palace. I thought that the house would be better off with someone living in it, as I have my own life and my own business, and I did not wish to spend all my free time maintaining a house where I no longer lived. It was the perfect solution. That house is well suited to a young family, as you ought to know, and Turukáno and Elenwë will build a house of their own and move out when your term of banishment is ended.”

“Bad enough that someone else should be living there,” Fëanáro grumbled, “but the son of Nolofinwë, of all people?”

“Fëanáro, enough.” Finwë did not raise his voice, but his tone of command caused Fëanáro to sit back quietly in his chair. “Nerdanel’s choice was perfectly wise. Turukáno is as much my grandson as any of your sons are, and he should have the best resources available for his needs. You and Nolofinwë may work out your disagreements on your own, but please do not drag my grandchildren into your quarrel.”

An awkward silence descended over the table. No one seemed to feel like eating anymore, and they pushed bits of food around their plates. At last, Calimë sat up straight, and smiled a little too brightly. “Since we are speaking of living quarters, perhaps you will come and see what Macalaurë and I have done with our new rooms, Nerdanel?” she asked. “Macalaurë has been renovating the first guest suite as an apartment for us, and I would like to ask your opinion about the drapes.”

Macalaurë squeezed Calimë’s hand in gratitude, and the rest of the family relaxed a little, glad of the excuse to move on. “That is an excellent idea,” Maitimo said. He took Finwë's plate, and stacked it on top of his own. “Tyelkormo and I will clear the table, and then perhaps Pityo and Telvo will serve us tea in the parlor.”

After he had drunk one cup of tea with his father, Macalaurë went to the guest suite to find Nerdanel and Calimë. They were standing by one of the windows, examining the album of fabric swatches that Calimë kept there. Calimë looked up and smiled when Macalaurë arrived.

“I am glad you are here,” she said with a smile. “I seem to have displeased your mother.”

Reflexively, Macalaurë tensed for another argument, but Nerdanel merely laughed. “Oh, do not worry,” she said. “These rooms will be lovely for you, and I approve of the drapes most heartily. Calimë was telling me about your plans for the wedding feast and the ceremony, and I was somewhat surprised at how . . . well, how plain everything seems. You are still the son of the first prince of the Noldor, after all, and you should be married with at least some pomp, even here in Formenos.”

“I told her that it was our choice that the ceremony not be as opulent as one in Tirion,” Calimë added.

Macalaurë relaxed. He smiled, and put an arm around Nerdanel. “Do not fear, Mother,” he said. “Calimë and I have not foregone all traces of glamour. We have spent a fair amount of money, but not on jewels and flowers and fine fabrics.”

“We have hired the best dance band in all Valinor,” Calimë said. “They will arrive the night before the wedding.”

“All of our friends will be there,” Macalaurë said, “and they are all musicians. We wanted to provide an opportunity for them to hear the finest music available. The music will last longer than fine wine would.”

“I see.” Nerdanel nodded, somewhat mollified.

“And besides,” Calimë said, an impish smile on her face, “this is one party where neither Macalaurë nor I will have to perform. We can spend all night dancing if we wish, so we will take advantage of that and dance to the best music to be had in Tirion or Formenos.”

Nerdanel laughed out loud. “Oh, Calimë, you are made for my son,” she said. “I am truly glad that you have found each other, and I wish you every happiness.”

She reached out to embrace both of them, and for a moment, Macalaurë allowed himself to believe that his mother really had come home.

The next five days passed in a blur of activity. Nerdanel met Séretur and Almiesárë, and quickly became Almiesárë’s lieutenant in organizing the final touches on the wedding. Nolofinwë and Arafinwë traveled from Tirion with their families. Finwë commandeered one floor of the best inn in Formenos so that, he explained, the aunts and uncles and cousins could have their privacy. Everyone accepted this explanation graciously, and Macalaurë breathed a sigh of relief for his grandfather’s diplomatic skills.

“Why has Grandmother Indis not come as well?” he asked Finwë during a rare quiet moment.

“Indis sends her regards and her best wishes,” Finwë replied. “However, she decided that, with Nolofinwë absent, someone would need to remain behind and see that Tirion was in good hands.”

“Very . . . prudent of her.”

“Yes.” Finwë grinned, and waggled his eyebrows. “However, you should be forewarned. When next you set foot in Tirion, Indis will want to fuss over you and Calimë with all the grandmotherly affection she can muster.”

Macalaurë laughed. “I will remember that,” he said, “and warn Calimë as well.”

“Good,” Finwë said. “Now, I hope that you have not made any plans with Calimë this evening. I know that your uncles want to have drinks with you at the inn.”

As promised, Nolofinwë and Arafinwë did appear at the house just as the Lights were beginning to mingle. Turukáno was with them, and he and Nolofinwë hauled Macalaurë to his feet and playfully frog-marched him to the door. Fëanáro charged into the room, drawn by the commotion.

“Where are you going with my son, Nolofinwë?” he asked, with a scowl on his face.

Nolofinwë moved to stand face to face with Fëanáro. Being the tallest of the sons of Finwë, he made sure to look down his nose at his brother. “We are taking him with us to the inn, where we will set him horrifically drunk and teach him some of the finer points of being a husband.”

Macalaurë could not stop the grin that spread over his face at this thought, but Fëanáro’s scowl deepened. “I would think I had given him a satisfactory example,” Fëanáro said. “He does, after all, have six brothers.”

Arafinwë stepped forward, draped his arm around Fëanáro’s shoulders, and poked him in the chest. “No one doubts your prowess there, Fëanáro,” he said, laughing, “but there are some things that one simply cannot discuss with one’s father, which is why the Valar allowed Nolofinwë and me to come into this world, so that we could spare you and Macalaurë both the humiliation of having this discussion yourselves. We will return him tomorrow, only slightly the worse for wear.”

With that, Arafinwë clapped his hands, and Macalaurë left the house in the firm clutches of his married uncles and cousin.

Almiesárë and Nerdanel moved Calimë’s things into the newly renovated apartment the night before the wedding. The quilts and sheets were new, but they filled the clothes-presses with her old, familiar dresses, placed her books and some old toys on the shelves, moved her dressing table into the bedroom, and put her lute on its stand next to it. As a final touch, Almiesárë placed a portrait of herself and Séretur holding their baby daughter on the dressing table. “So she will not miss us so much,” Almiesárë explained.

Nerdanel nodded. “A wise thing to do.”

Calimë spent the night before the wedding in her old chamber in her parents’ house, with a small overnight satchel at her side, her wedding gown hanging all by itself on its hook, and Séretur keeping vigil outside her door for her last night at home. Although Séretur did not know it, Fëanáro kept a similar vigil outside of the chamber that Macalaurë shared with Maitimo.

The wedding would take place at Laurelin’s zenith. While Nerdanel and Finwë supervised the caterers and assistants in setting up the banquet tables, Fëanáro and Maitimo helped Macalaurë to dress. They robed him in a shirt, trousers, and surcoat of white trimmed with gold, and Maitimo braided a crown of flowers into Macalaurë’s hair. Fëanáro wore a lustrous, shimmering grey, which set off both the fillet of fire opals bound about his brow and his white-robed son, and Maitimo wore a green so dark that it was almost black. Together, they escorted Macalaurë to his place at the high table, to the cheers of all the wedding guests.

Calimë appeared a moment later, on Almiesárë’s arm, resplendent in brilliant white, her gown trimmed with gold to match her bridegroom. When she saw Macalaurë, she hurried to his side, and kissed him thoroughly, to everyone’s amusement. Almiesárë and Nerdanel laughed heartily, and Séretur suddenly seemed to have acquired a mote in his eye. Fëanáro held up a hand to signal for quiet, and began the first ritual, welcoming Calimë formally into his family, and presenting her with a necklace of many strands of the tiniest gold beads, cleverly strung so as to look like a fall of liquid gold around Calimë’s neck. Almiesárë then stepped forward and fastened a thin, elegant silver collar set with diamonds around Macalaurë’s throat.

The feast was excellent, and the wine flowed freely. Macalaurë’s stomach heaved with last-minute nerves. He wanted desperately to drink several bottles of the wine to calm himself, but he remembered the advice that Nolofinwë, Arafinwë, and Turukáno had given him, and limited himself to two glasses. Just as he thought he would faint from terror and anticipation, Fëanáro signaled that the marriage ceremony would begin. Maitimo, Tyelkormo, and Calimë’s two best friends whooped, and ran to raise the wedding canopy. Almiesárë whisked Calimë off to the side to pat some stray hairs back into place, Fëanáro took Macalaurë’s arm to steady him, and the ceremony began.

Fëanáro and Almiesárë chanted blessings, but Macalaurë paid no attention. All he could see was Calimë’s smile, the love in her eyes, and the way her hands shook as she removed her betrothal ring and placed it in his hand. Carnistir stepped forward to take the betrothal ring and give him Calimë’s marriage ring. In that instant, Macalaurë’s nervousness vanished. He hardly needed Fëanáro’s prompting as he spoke his marriage vows, calling on Manwë as his witness for the oath that would bind him to Calimë until the world ended. Something cool slid over his finger, and he heard Calimë repeating the same vow, calling on Varda as her witness. When their lips met, Macalaurë was aware of nothing save his beloved wife.

A great cheer shocked them both back to reality. The band played a fanfare, and friends and family clustered around to greet the newly wedded pair and wish them well. Macalaurë and Calimë had time for one brief dance together, and then everyone was dancing, drinking, and laughing. Macalaurë found himself dancing with Nerdanel, and then with Almiesárë, and he had a brief glimpse of Findekáno twirling Calimë under his arm. Turukáno and Elenwë swayed together off at the edge of the dancing, and Artanis held their baby daughter high above her head as she spun around, while the baby shrieked with laughter.

Finally, he managed to make his way through the crowd to Calimë’s side. She kissed him swiftly on the cheek, and fluttered her fingers against his arm. “Nature calls,” she said, and slipped away. Macalaurë groaned, and Arafinwë roared with laughter.

“Here,” he said, swiping a tall, slender glass from a tray that a waiter was carrying. “You may have one glass of sparkling wine to make up for your disappointment.” Macalaurë took a sip and giggled as the bubbles tickled his nose. He was about to drink more deeply, when he felt strong fingers laying claim to his arm once more.

Calimë had returned, and her eyes were shining with a great secret. Macalaurë handed the glass back to Arafinwë and turned his attention to his bride. “There is something you want to tell me,” he said.

Calimë shook her head. “No. There is something I want to show you.” She lifted her reticule under Macalaurë’s nose and opened it. Macalaurë had a glimpse of something white and frilly inside.

“What is that?” he asked. “Your handkerchief?”

“No.” Calimë’s smile grew even more impish. “My underdrawers.”

Macalaurë’s mind took all of one heartbeat to sort through the implications of that statement. But by that time, he had already clasped Calimë’s hand, and they left the dancing, hurrying to begin their married life in earnest.