Parting and Gifts

The week passed in a blur. Arinyanénar and Aistalë spent their days exploring the capital, sharing stories, and learning more about each other. She had an easy way about her, a calm that balanced his restless energy. Whether walking in the gardens, talking under the stars, or exchanging playful challenges—he with his sword and she with her sculptor's chisel—their bond deepened.

But all good things end, and now they stood in the courtyard of the palace, the sun rising high and golden. Maedhros's company was preparing to depart. Horses stood saddled, their coats gleaming in the morning light, and attendants bustled about.

Arinyanénar faced Aistalë. She looked as radiant as ever, her copper-red hair tied back in a loose braid, her traveling cloak fastened at her shoulders. Her calm smile didn't quite reach her eyes, though, and he knew she felt the same bittersweet sting as he did.

"I wish you didn't have to leave," he admitted, his voice quiet enough for only her to hear.

"I'll miss this place," she said, brushing her fingers against the hem of his sleeve, almost absentmindedly. "But my father needs me back home. There's so much to do."

He nodded. "Still, it feels… too soon."

Before she could respond, he reached into his bag and pulled out the blue cloak Melian had gifted him. The fabric shimmered faintly in the sunlight, like a piece of the sky had been woven into it.

"This," he said, holding it out to her, "was given to me by Lady Melian. It's a special cloak—no normal weapon can pierce it. I want you to have it."

Her eyes widened in surprise. "Arinyanénar, I can't take that. It's far too precious—"

"It's yours," he interrupted, his tone firm but kind. "Think of it as a gift. Something to remember me by until we meet again."

She hesitated but eventually took the cloak, her fingers brushing his as she did. "I'll treasure it," she said softly, folding it carefully over her arm.

They stood there for a moment, the noise of the departing company fading into the background. Then, with a deep breath, she stepped closer and pressed a light kiss to his cheek.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice carrying a note of finality.

He didn't trust himself to speak, so he simply nodded, watching as she turned and joined her father by the waiting horses.

As Maedhros and his company rode off, the banners of the House of Fëanor disappearing into the distance, Arinyanénar remained in the courtyard, his gaze fixed on the road.

A chuckle broke the silence, and he turned to see his father leaning casually against one of the pillars, arms crossed.

"Giving her the cloak? That's bold," Anórien teased, a sly grin spreading across his face. "And the way you two looked at each other... I almost expected you to follow her."

Arinyanénar rolled his eyes. "It's not like that, Father."

"Isn't it? You've been glued to her side all week." Anórien smirked. "She's a fine match. Strong bloodlines, talented, beautiful. I'd say you have excellent taste."

Before Arinyanénar could respond, Galadriel approached, her expression far less amused than her husband's. Her silvery grey gaze was cool, and her voice carried a measured weight.

"Anórien, this is not a matter for jokes," she said firmly, turning to her son. "Arinyanénar, I trust you understand that the House of Fëanor has a complicated history—especially with our family."

He frowned. "Mother, Maedhros and Aistalë have been nothing but kind. They've done no wrong to me, to us."

"That may be so now," Galadriel said, her voice softening only slightly. "But the shadow of their deeds—and the Oath—follows them still. Be cautious, my son."

Anórien sighed, waving a hand dismissively. "Galadriel, must you always see ghosts where none walk? Maedhros is an honorable man, and his daughter is no more bound by that Oath than you or I."

"That doesn't mean we should forget their past," she countered, her gaze lingering on Arinyanénar. "Or ignore the dangers it could bring."

Arinyanénar stood in silence, caught between his parents' opposing views. His father's easy confidence was reassuring, but his mother's warning left a knot of uncertainty in his chest.

"I'll keep it in mind," he said finally, bowing his head slightly to Galadriel.

She sighed, brushing a hand over his hair. "I only want what's best for you, my son."

Anórien clapped him on the back with a grin. "Best for him, Galadriel? Let the boy live a little. He'll figure it out."

Arinyanénar shook his head, suppressing a small smile. "I'm not a boy, Father."

"Then start acting like one and go do something useful," Anórien teased, ruffling his hair.

As his parents walked away, their voices fading into the distance, Arinyanénar lingered in the courtyard for a while longer, his thoughts filled with Aistalë's laugh, her voice, and the way the sunlight had caught her copper-red hair.