Silmarillion Writers' Guild Unprecedented by Lyra

An uncomfortable hush fell on the High Table. The bridegroom looked around at the mortified faces and very nearly cursed. He bit the words back at the last moment, telling himself that the only thing worse than this embarrassed silence at his wedding feast would be curses at his wedding feast.

It was his own fault, though in all honesty he could not have expected it. It was a perfectly innocent question after all! He had only meant to tease his brother's eldest son. There had been feasting, and there had been dancing; and then the musicians had taken a break, and the dancers had returned to their chairs. And Arafinwë had turned to Findekáno, who had with the awkwardly perfect manners of the young delivered the girl he had been dancing with back to her parents. "Well, Findo?" Arafinwë had said, smiling. "Who is your little friend? Will the next wedding be between you and her?"
And with the unabashedly loud voice of the young, Findekáno had declared, "Oh, I won't marry her. If I marry, it'll be cousin Russandol."

The table had fallen silent, and 'cousin Russandol' had almost choked on the sip of wine in his mouth, although Arafinwë found that he looked rather too amused and not nearly shocked enough.
"But my dear," Anairë said sternly, "you know you cannot marry Russandol." "Why not?" said Findekáno. "I love him far better than Tantiliel or Elwendë or any other of the girls."
Nolofinwë tried to make light of the situation. "Surely you will meet a maiden that you love better than any of them, when you grow up."
Findekáno pouted. "But I don't need to. I already know that I want to marry Russandol."

Maitimo really looked far too amused, Arafinwë thought. Aloud he said, "But Findo, Russandol is a boy like you. You can't marry a boy."
Findekáno frowned. "But I thought we should marry who we love!"
"Whom," Fëanáro pointed out. "Whom we love."
"Oh honestly, Fëanáro, that's a bit beside the point," Nolofinwë snapped.
"Is it, Half-brother?"
"Oh come now! You should rather help us to explain the situation to Findo. He's obviously rather confused."
"Is he? My impression is that he is not at all confused. Seems to me that he knows perfectly well what he wants."
Nolofinwë almost growled in frustration. "But that is not the way it works! This is not funny, Fëanáro! My son is not going to marry Russandol!"
Fëanáro leaned back in his chair – even in the straight-backed stairs at their father's palace, he managed to make himself comfortable, Arafinwë thought enviously – and gave a rather wry smile, eyes glinting dangerously. "Ah, you wound me. Is my son not good enough to marry into your house?"

Nolofinwë exploded, making Findekáno's lips quiver threateningly. "That – is not – the point! He is a man, for Eru's sake! Men do not marry men; it's..."
Fëanáro tilted his head. "Yes?"
"Against all our laws and customs!" Nolofinwë finished his sentence. "Unprecedented," their father added. "Unnatural," Indis supplied.
Fëanáro snorted. "There can be union only of one with one," he quoted. "Not one man with one woman, incidentally, but one with one. And yet my dear father has known two wives. Where was the public outcry then? Where the thoughts of 'nature'?" He shot a glance at Indis and her children, whose faces promptly took on an unbecoming hue of red.
Finwë frowned. "Now, now, Fëanáro, you know very well how—"
"I do indeed," Fëanáro said stiffly. "It was so decreed, and so you are all happy to believe that it is right and natural. Well, if Manwë's judgement can change our laws, then let him judge again, so you can all sit back and relax and stop pestering poor Findo over his choice of partner."

He stood up and put one hand on Findekáno's shoulder.
"Ignore those fools, Findo," he said. "My blessing you have."

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