“Not nervous, are you?” Mahtan bent down to kiss his daughter on the top of the head. It seemed like yesterday she was running to him with skinned knees and frogs caught from the pond behind the smithy. Now she sat before her mirror, dressed in dazzling white, a perfectly poised beautiful bride.
“Not really,” replied Nerdanel, putting her hand over the one her father had placed on her shoulder.
He put his other large hand atop her delicate one. “Something is bothering you.”
She smiled. “You know me so well, father.”
“Since the day you were born.”
“Feanor said yesterday he cannot wait to have a large family.” Nerdanel looked concerned.
“Oh, he probably means he wants three children instead of one or two.”
Author's Chapter Notes:
Nerdanel; Mahtan