With field of Heaven’s blue

Luckily for them both a nose against his knee wasn’t made into an additional topic of conversation in the very near future. He hushed her twice over as his hands worked free a stray petal from the girl’s hair, “What is it?” Before he could ask if she’d fallen the cause of her tears was made known and all he could find in himself to do was smile.

His reassurance was heard, but Côhithiel also felt sadness for the petals in her hands, and those he was drawing from her hair. What happened to them?

Pinks lips slightly curled inwards trembling. Argon had scared her, but she did not want to get him into trouble for doing so; she had abandoned him and their playdate, after all, and she felt sorry for that as well.

"I'll have those little ones," he offered,  though he didn't care much whether she surrendered the flowers or not. They'd probably have to find something to do with them for a while to appease her. It was a thought he tucked into the back of his mind for the moment; they could talk about the flowers later on. For the time being? Ñolofinwë gathered up his daughter and set her on a hip, starting down the hall rather than heading back into the room in hopes of keeping her from feeling cornered. 

Of course Ñolofinwë might not have been waiting for anyone. He could simply have been brooding.

Fëanárë wasn’t taking a chance, not when she felt like propping her eyelids up with her fingers to see.

I could see all the way up to his ilium, the rabid voice of nonsensical exhaustion chittered at the back of her mind. You know what that means don’t you?

Fëanárë scrubbed at her face wearily, picking up the pace of her footsteps in the hope of finding her father, delivering her report, and getting home before her unbundled and scattered thoughts could complete the loop they were on.

However outrunning the proof you should not have stayed up four nights consecutively was impossible.

He’s not wearing any unders. The rabid voice cheerfully plucked the unconscious observation out of her centre brain and waved it around like a red flag.

It was not the observation of a genius.

It had been obvious though.

Oh dear. 

The Vanya’s lips curled faintly in a smile, a slender finger lightly pulling the corner of her bottom lip; while she supposed she really ought to feel apologetic for what surely must have been an unwanted encounter (or at the very least an undesired sight), all that came to her was that smile. 

Oops.

She spoke not a word, though, rather gliding onward to seek her husband and tease him, instead. Fëanárë no doubt had already had her fair share of dealing with nonsense; there was no reason for Anairë to add further to it. 

She hadn't heard when he called out to her, although quiet and confused the start of her name had been spoken.

Ñolofinwë turned the rest of the way to give chase - he wasn't sure if she had merely wandered into the room in passing or if there had been a reason to her presence. It was Anairë’s sudden appearance that stopped him from running down the hall after the other and he looked at his wife in that confusion which had become visible with the way she were smiling to herself.

He took a moment to look between the two girls, from his sibling and back - and he could tell exactly how tired the older of them was just by the somewhat idle drifting in that hurried escape. Ñolofinwë fell back a step in partial twist and looked from Anairë to Fëanárë one last time before abandoning the questions he had to retreat back into the room.

Only briefly did Ñolofinwë regard his older sibling, easily allowing her the required time to come in too close to him. It wasn’t often Curufinwë approached him so forwardly yet her silence told him she wasn’t interested in his presence at all, as she usually wasn’t, and chose to continue on with the issue at hand.

Rather, he had every intention to return to what he previously had been doing had his breath not been forced from him. The sound he made was startled than anything – what did he do? There was very little difference in the gender of Elves, and for the little they were broad the females tended to be equally thus. Still, a woman’s weight settled lower and when it came to lifting she would always have the advantage. Instead of quickly ending up top-heavy the weight first would need to come to balance.

That said, Ñolofinwë doubled pretty easily if only from the force she had shoved against him with, and fell forward when she gathered him. Before he could manage to pose any sort of question he found his feet off the ground, and when he moved to stretch down she was faster, restraining one of his legs. “What are you doing?” He managed, pushing aside the confusion. “Where are you taking me?” Easily could he struggle or toss one of those long legs, or pull opposite, but he worried he’d hit her unintentionally. Thus Nolofinwe remained prone a moment longer before planting a hand in the centre of her back, pushing to prop himself up some. “Curufinwë, set me down.”

"If you had let me be long enough I could have spoken to them; there's no need for this," he paused as she began to speak again, then tried to cut in with a mildly confused 'how' concerning being blamed, but the last bit silenced him almost completely. With a dark fluster spreading across his face Ñolofinwë let himself drape over his sibling's back, already knotted hair spilling the rest the way over his neck as he took fistfuls of it from just above his ears into his hands to hide his face. There was a quite whine of "Anairë, how could you," purely out of embarrassment, otherwise allowing Fëanárë to do with him as she pleased for the moment.

A short moment, that is; if it were possible for his face to get any redder he'd swear it'd boil off. "Can you not simply set me down, please?" It'd been meant as a dodge when she picked at his choice in clothing. He truly did want down, though; he wasn't small enough for her to be carrying him around like this. No, he definitely was not in a great deal of comfort; her shoulder was wedged in the soft spot beneath his rib cage - he was tall and long-limbed, the weight of his legs pulled him down enough that it was very hard to breathe in his current placement. 

...And if he hadn't already hid against Fëanárë's back the closer sound likely wouldn't have been as startling. As it was, on top of being mostly unable to sate the impulse to get out of the way, he jerked and curled in tighter. He wasn't sure what caused it, or what the sound that followed may have been beyond knowing it was glass.

Damn it all.

He'd been sure this could be prevented. There had to have been a way to stop the argument. How did it even come to violence - and why had she and father come to except something like this when it shouldn't have been happening in the first place? It made no sense.

The fighting made no sense.

Was that an explosion? That couldn't have been an exp--what were they doing back there? He twisted in an attempt to look up at his half-sister as she explained, even if the off-handed remark was merely her thinking out loud to herself, and scowled. 

Fantastic. 

Luckily for them both a nose against his knee wasn't made into an additional topic of conversation in the very near future. He hushed her twice over as his hands worked free a stray petal from the girl's hair, "What is it?" Before he could ask if she'd fallen the cause of her tears was made known and all he could find in himself to do was smile.

Since he wouldn't need to make an appearance until quite later on Anairë hadn't thus far gotten hold of his hair – the prince was rather tidy until it came to that. He'd comb and comb, but for all he tried he couldn't, for the life of him, manage a proper up-do. There were always bulges or loops, and somehow or another he always worked loose a section, maybe two. A worry for later! He always had great help. For now, however, as they lay there together he had busied himself with the ties of her bliaut for little other than to have something for his hands to occupy themselves with. He rested beneath his wife's chin with her arms around his neck, bright eyes closed in warm content.

A peace that wouldn’t last.