Chapter Six - 189th Cycle of the Trees, 1273


Business Agenda for this morning's meeting: Various correspondence.
Attending: Father, Arafinwë, myself.
Proceedings: Incoming correspondence distributed among us for answering.
Meeting adjourned after half an hour.

Part of this morning's correspondence was a letter from Maitimo (which didn't require an answer). A very formal one, stating that he had received our letter of apology, and that he considered the matter as laid to rest. I guessed - and told the others that I did - that he sent that letter with a copy to his father. And that it was written more with him in mind than with us, in an effort to lay the matter to rest.

Father reluctantly agreed that this seemed to be a good outcome of the incident, although he still expressed some doubt that Fëanáro would be completely satisfied with the solution.

Fëanáro will never be satisfied while I remain.

And I will never give him the satisfaction of seeing me disappear.

I guess he could live with Arafinwë in my position - say, if Arafinwë had been mother's eldest son and I had been the younger. Arafinwë never answers back, he only walks away. And I think he would have been less assertive of his position than I am. But why shouldn't we be assertive of our positions? We're the sons of one King and the grandsons of another! Our lineage is no more base than Fëanáro's. Míriel was no princess.

My healer, my healer, where are you when I need you? Just thinking of these matters makes me upset. I need to relax.

Out in the city later in the day, though, who other should I meet than Maitimo himself! He confirmed that Fëanáro had been sent a copy of the letter, but he wouldn't discuss his reasons for sending it. He's very loyal to his father. Things easily become awkward between us whenever I mention Fëanáro.

We loosened up when we got to talking about the Ball itself, though. I asked him whether he had danced with Findis at all, and he smiled and said that he had in fact managed to get two dances with her. He agrees that she's a good dancer. I think he enjoyed himself more than I did that night. He doesn't seem to mind so much being on display.

At least there won't be another Ball for quite a while. And I hope to be out of the next one anyway - it should be Arafinwë's turn to suffer it on his own next time. Findis' birthday party is just a small private family affair, and wouldn't have been anything to worry about, if it hadn't been for Fëanáro. He may send Maitimo again, I hope.

Did I mention that I need the soothing presence of my healer?

I must look for a present for Findis tomorrow. I'll go to the market again, I think, and see whether they've still got any of those things my attendant suggested last week. If only we don't meet Fëanáro first.

And Fëanáro again.

With all the maidens thronging around me at the balls, I know at least that it won't last forever. When I choose a wife some day, I won't be in demand in the same way any more. I'll be a representative of the host, and I think that after a while I'll enjoy the balls again.

I don't know what I could do to change Fëanáro's opinion of me, though.

My healer, my friend, I need you! I need the presence of a friendly fëa who doesn't make any demands on me. Who accepts me with all my pride and all my inability to stay out of quarrels. Who is willing to be friends, even when it means taking my side against Fëanáro. Someone to relax with.

And you could be such a friend - if only I could find you ...


Sometimes I dearly wish that it were as easy to heal myself as it is to heal others! I am terribly weary, and my back aches from hours today bent over my clay, working, and painting, and glazing, and getting everything prepared for the market tomorrow. If I were someone else, I could use the wisdom my grandmother has taught me to knead out the tension in my back and relax the protesting muscles. But it is terribly difficult to massage a back you cannot even reach!

Nonetheless, I have a good collection of pieces that should fetch me a fair price at the market. Another collection of statues of the Valar, several different designs of cups, and bowls, and vases, and something new that I have never done before: statues of a representative member of each of the three Kindreds of the Eldar. I have a small statue of a Telerin girl on one of their white swan ships, with her mouth open in song. One of a Vanyar sage sitting crossed-legged, looking up into the face of Manwë with respect, and one of a Noldor craftsman, hard at work. I meant for the Noldo to look something like Prince Fëanáro, as with his great skill in lore and in craft he is the epitome of our people. But alas! the statue bears instead the features of Prince Nolofinwë. One would think as I have only seen Prince Nolofinwë but a few times in my life, and have never been close enough to speak to him, that putting his features in clay would be exceedingly difficult. Much to my suprise, it was not. My fingers formed his face, his eyes, his mouth as if they had always known them. I do hope that nobody will notice the likeness.

It is strange that someone I have never officially met could have become so quickly such an important part of my life. But alas! Eru works in mysterious ways, and who am I to question this?

I find myself wondering what his voice sounds like. I am certain that it is strong and commanding, but perhaps there is gentleness in it as well. And wisdom, perhaps, although likely this may be softened with passion and temper. And yet my heart desires not to find wisdom there, but yearns for the passion! And his eyes - what colour are they? What is his favourite food, his favourite colour, his favourite song? I find that I know so little about him, and so much of it I shall never know. Yet I know his fëa, and even now I feel the touch of it. I fear that he is sad, that he is alone, that he is troubled. That he carries the weight of Arda on his shoulders. If only I could place my hands on those strong, broad shoulders and work away the tension!

But such things are not possible.

I may send love and healing to him, for I know, if the fëa is open, that a connection may be made without words, over any distance. But will he be open to me? Will he receive my good will? Or will he continue to suffer in solitude, never knowing how much I wish to soothe his hurts?

Nonetheless, I will try. I will send my love to him every night as I have since our fëar met, and I hope that in it he will find shelter from his griefs and troubles.

It is the least I can do for he that I love.

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