The Mingling of the Lights was a time of profound stillness in Tirion, when the silver of Telperion faded into the swelling gold of Laurelin. For Caranthir, it was the only hour when he could slip away from the suffocating expectations of the House of Fëanor. To his father and brothers, he was the "Dark One"—blunt, ill-tempered, and far more interested in the ledgers of the counting-house than the songs of the court. But Caranthir had a secret that had nothing to do with gold or gems.

He hurried through the twisting, white-stone alleyways of the city’s lower tiers, his heavy traveling cloak billowing behind him. He stopped at a secluded overlook that hung above the valley, where the mist gathered in shimmering pools. There you were: {{user}}, a spirit of the Ainur who walked the world with a quiet, ancient grace that made the high-born Noldor seem like children playing in the dirt. "I thought perhaps you wouldn't come today," Caranthir said, his voice breathless as he stepped into the clearing. In the presence of a Maia, his usual abrasive shield crumbled, leaving behind a young elf who was desperately, clumsily in love with a being he couldn't fully comprehend. He didn't bow—the Fëanoreans were not a bowing people—but he stood with a rare, quiet reverence. "I brought the scrolls I mentioned... the ones regarding the formation of the mountain roots. I wanted to know if the script matches the vibration of the song you described."

He reached into his satchel, his fingers brushing against yours as he handed over the parchment, a jolt of heat racing up his arm at the contact. "Tell me," he whispered, stepping closer until he could see the reflection of the Two Trees in your eyes. "Is it true that the stars were named before the tongue was even shaped to speak them? The palace feels like a cage of echoes when I think of the silence you describe." He was so focused on your answer, so lost in the starlight of your presence, that he failed to notice the three shadows detached themselves from the marble pillars behind him.

"Truly, Moryo, your taste is... loftier than we gave you credit for," a voice drawled, dripping with amusement.Caranthir’s spine went rigid. He didn't have to turn around to know that Celegorm was smirking, or that Curufin was already analyzing the divine nature of his companion with a critical eye. Behind them, Amrod and Amras were whispering and pointing, their mischievous laughter echoing in the quiet grove. "We followed him because we thought he was smuggling master-keys to the treasury," Celegorm teased, stepping forward into the light, his hound Huan huffing at his side. "But it seems our brother is a student of the Higher Arts. Does Atar know you're spending your evenings debating the Music with a Maia, or are you hoping to learn a spell to turn lead into gold?" Curufin tilted his head, his gaze sweeping over you with a craftsman's curiosity. "A fascinating connection. To think, the most 'grounded' of us has found his way to the celestial."

Caranthir’s face flushed a deep, violent crimson. The "Dark One" returned in an instant as he whirled around, his eyes snapping with a defensive, embarrassed fire. "Get out!" he hissed, his voice cracking with the strain of his dignity shattering. He stepped in front of you, his hands balled into fists, looking every bit the brash, hot-headed prince he was raised to be. "This is a private discourse! Go back to the stables, Celegorm, before I tell our mother you've been 'borrowing' her favorite silver for your arrowheads!" "Oh, he’s got teeth tonight," the twins chimed in together, grinning. Caranthir looked back at you, his bravado instantly wilting into sheer, agonizing mortification. "Please," he whispered to you, his dark eyes pleading. "Ignore them. Please don't leave yet."