Chapter summary: Tuilindien receives a gift, talks with her sisters and writes a letter.
Chapter A/N: It might be terribly clichéd that I gave Tuilindien several sisters as a counterbalance to Carnistir's six brothers, but it feels like Tolkien's cast of characters is such a testosterone storm that a few female OCs are like a drop in the ocean.
This chapter is basically the counterpart to the last one, but there is some plot (hah) development as well.
Chapter IV: Words whispered and written
Over a week passes before Tuilindien hears anything of Morifinwë except rumours. People repeat to her gossip about them that is dressed up as compliments.
'What an honour for you that you were singled out for attention by one of the hardest-to-please princes of our people', she is told by a beautiful Noldorin courtier with a smile as sharp as a predator's teeth.
'I must say I was surprised to hear that Morifinwë found one among the Vanyar that appealed to his tastes. You must have been particularly charming that night', says her own uncle, her mother's brother who has never approved of his second-eldest niece's decision to pursue a life of scholarship rather than courtly affairs. His compliments are always laced with poison, and people like him are certainly part of the reason she spends no more time in court than she has to.
Thankfully Tuilindien's mother, just as capable of being acerbic when she wants to, also has a gentler side. When she sees that her daughter is uncomfortable with this sort of talk, she does her best to shield her from it, skilfully enough that few spot her deflections.
Tuilindien does her best to avoid the gossips and to concentrate on her work. She tries to ignore the sadness that grows every day that she hears nothing from Carnistir, and to use the opportunities she has to hone and polish her commentary and forthcoming presentation. She meets with Rúmil and discusses her work with others as well, and offers her own opinions, shyly expressed but well received, to other scholars on their projects.
Still, even though her days are filled with interesting work that is all she had hoped for, she finds herself missing something. (This is why the rumours hurt her: she is getting scared that they are as unfounded as she claims them to be.) She finds herself a little vexed with this: her studies and work have been her only passion so far, and she had been looking forward to this visit for a long time. Yet now her work is… if not overshadowed, at least accompanied by a desire for more.
At the end of each day Tuilindien retires to the bedchamber she shares with her younger sister – there are so many Vanyarin visitors that not all young people have been given a room of their own – and sees to it that her little sister washes her face and says her prayers, and then she sits at her bedside and sings her a little song to help her sleep. At home, Cirincë had already declared herself far too old for good-night songs, but here in a strange place she is happy to listen to an old song that reminds her of home.
But as Tuilindien strokes her little sister's hair and sings her of Manwë's littlest birds frolicking in the air, her own thoughts are very far from the treelight-washed slopes of Taniquetil. They are with a dark-haired, dark-eyed Noldo who at this moment must be in some other room in this city and seems to have no thought of her, judging from his silence. She had expected him to have contacted her by now – surely she could not have misread all the strong emotions she had seen in his eyes?
She should perhaps take the first step herself, send him a letter or something like that. But she is a stranger here, not certain if the Noldor's customs are the same as her own people's, and he is of higher rank than she. And if she is quite honest with herself, she is scared.
Perhaps it would be best if she never saw him again and their hours in the garden faded to a pleasant memory, for to pursue anything with him would be complicated. Yet –
She comes to the end of her song; all the little birds have gone to rest on tree branches. 'Good night, my dear. May your dreams be blessed.'
Cirincë pushes strands of hair away from her face and looks up at her big sister. 'Is everything all right, Tuilë?' she asks with a yawn. She is perceptive for one so young.
'Everything is all right', Tuilindien reassures her gently. 'I was just thinking about something.'
'Don't think, go to sleep', Cirincë advises her sleepily.
Tuilindien chuckles and bends down to press a kiss on Cirincë's forehead. 'I will.'
She lies down on her own bed and watches, in the streams of silver light that come in between the curtains, as her little sister soon finds her way to Lórien, her face and form relaxing and her steady breathing the only sound in the room.
Cirincë is a little sweetheart and very dear to Tuilindien, and she is selfishly glad that Cirincë is allowing herself to be babied again here in Tirion. Showering someone with love feels good right now. I should like to be a mother, Tuilindien thinks, startling herself a little with the thought. She has been happy to care for her younger sisters so far, sparing little thought yet for any children she might have herself one day. But then she never before had a specific man to think about as her children's father…
No, she tells herself strictly. I will not allow my imagination to jump from admiration to love and from love to matrimony so fast; it is foolishness and will bring me no happiness. Not when I have not even seen him but once.
I should write to him tomorrow. What do I have to lose?
But when tomorrow comes, it brings with it a letter and a package. They are waiting for her at the breakfast table; she opens the letter but lays the package aside to be opened later, in private.
Very aware that many people are staring at her and that she must be looking quite flustered, she reads Morifinwë's letter – or rather a note, for it is very short. It is also very artless, and written in a bold hand so forcefully that it looks like the quill has almost gone through the parchment.
Lady Ingolmiel,
I hope that you will not mind me contacting you. I would have done it sooner but I wanted to finish these first. I hope you like them.
Morifinwë Carnistir
Burning with curiosity and filled with a sense of elation that makes her smile and also makes her very bad breakfast company, for she replies distractedly and too late to everything that is said to her, Tuilindien leaves the table as soon as she can and in the privacy of her own chamber opens the package.
Inside, wrapped in a piece of white silk, is a pair of lovely hair combs made of shining silver and adorned by small glittering gemstones. The gems are very beautiful, and they are… the colour of her eyes. The shade is so exactly the same that it cannot be an accident.
It is the silliest thing, but the lovely objects make her want to cry. He has himself made these for her, a beautiful gift full of meaning. In the garden, her old hair comb had broken in his hand and he had been so apologetic for it, though it was hardly his fault, and he had remembered the colour of her eyes…
The Noldor are well known for their skill in all manner of crafts, but surely even they do not give gifts like this without important reason. Tuilindien feels that her fears must have been in vain; surely this meaningful gift is all the sentiment in his eyes given tangible form.
She sits on the edge of her bed for a moment longer, just looking at the combs and basking in their loveliness and the happiness it brings. Then she gets up, hurries to the mirror and starts arranging her hair into a hairstyle that displays the combs to their advantage. In her hurry and excitement she soon messes up the complicated arrangement she is attempting to create and has to unravel it.
As she extricates the combs from her tangled tresses, grimacing from the pull on her scalp, Cirincë returns from breakfast. She slips into the room and announces that their mother had told her to change into more practical clothes, since she will be spending the day studying under her father's tutelage.
As the younger girl goes to pull out another dress from the chest next to the dressing-table and mirror she notices her sister's new ornaments.
'Where did those come from?'
'They were a gift', Tuilindien says and brushes her hair out to start over.
'Were they in the package you got at breakfast? Who are they from?' Cirincë looks at Tuilindien with her head tilted to one side and her eyes bright as the little bird's she was named after.
'They're from… someone I met at the big party when we first came here.'
Cirincë takes one of the combs carefully in her hand and studies it. 'They are very pretty, I don't have anything this pretty. Why did the person send them to you?'
What to say to that, especially to her little sister? 'He thought I might like them.'
'Hmm.' Cirincë looks at her big sister who is now again trying to style her hair elegantly and failing once more, and offers, 'I could put them in your hair in that simple way you taught me.'
Tuilindien hesitates for only a moment. She does not seem to be managing herself, and even if Cirincë's handiwork is clumsy, Tuilindien will be spending most of her day in the library where few will notice if her simple hairstyle is a little inexpertly done. 'Thank you, I would be grateful.'
Tuilindien had thought that the day would pass very slowly, but instead the hours she spends at the library are gone much sooner than she expects. When she returns to her bedchamber late in the afternoon, she has not yet found the words she will respond to Morifinwë's letter with, though the thought of his gift has been hovering at the edges of her consciousness all day.
She is deep in thought when she opens the door to the chamber she shares with Cirincë. Hearing a delighted little shriek, she looks up and instead of one sister she sees all three in the room. Cirincë is perched on the wide windowsill, scribbling on a piece of parchment and looking out the window into the courtyard below, and Lirulinë, the eldest, is sitting in an armchair and bouncing grinning baby Cantiel on her lap.
Tuilindien greets them and asks, as politely as her desire to be left alone and in peace to write her letter to Morifinwë allows, why they are all here.
'I am looking after the little ones while mother attends a council', says Lirulinë and walks to Tuilindien with the baby. Cantiel reaches out her small fists and gurgles joyfully at her second-eldest sister, and Tuilindien takes her from Lirulinë, answering her baby sister's happy smile with one of her own.
As the baby begins playing with Tuilindien's hair, Lirulinë's gaze is drawn to the combs holding her sister's curls in place.
'Cirincë mentioned that you received a gift this morning.' Lirulinë does not bother to conceal the curiosity in her voice, and it would indeed be in vain, for Tuilindien knows her inquisitive nature.
Tuilindien extricates a strand of hair from Cantiel's slightly sticky grasp and waits for the questions that she knows will be forthcoming.
'They are very beautiful', Lirulinë says, nodding at the combs. 'Are they from prince Morifinwë? I heard that he does not have his father's talent for craft –'
'No one does; Fëanáro's talent is famously unparalleled. But Morifinwë is still very skilled in many crafts.'
As Tuilindien leaps quickly to Morifinwë's defence, Lirulinë's eyes shine with glee and triumph as they tend to do when she uncovers something she had wanted to know, but Tuilindien does not mind. Though her sister does not have the wisdom their mother is famous for, not yet at least, Tuilindien knows that she will give good advice once her curiosity has been sated.
And now that it seems that her hopes were not in vain, Tuilindien is happy to tell her older sister that prince Morifinwë had indeed sent her the combs, along with a note that she has not yet responded to.
'I must say that I am happy the rumours I heard of you being seen in the garden with a young man were true, for it would have been a pity for you to have spent the evening all alone after spurning the perfectly pleasant dance partners I had chosen for you', Lirulinë teases her now.
'I wonder that you have kept your curiosity about it in check this far', Tuilindien says wryly.
'Only because mother told me to. What did the prince's note say, then?'
'Very little.' Tuilindien hesitates for a moment, then hands the baby back to Lirulinë to take Morifinwë's note out of the pocket of her skirt.
She shows it to Lirulinë, nervous and hopeful that her sister will have some ideas on how to reply to Morifinwë.
'He seems a man of few words', says Lirulinë after a moment, but her eyes flicker again to the combs in her sister's hair.
Tuilindien pulls them out very carefully, holds them in her hands and looks down at them, enjoying the sheen of silver and the glitter of gems. Face half-hidden by the golden curtain of her hair that fell forward when she removed the combs, she mutters, 'I am not certain what to say in my letter of reply to him, besides thank you.'
Lirulinë hums a little tune, whether to the baby or to Tuilindien, Tuilindien is not sure. 'Do you have any advice for me?' Tuilindien prompts her sister.
'No', says Lirulinë simply and goes to gather her shawl from the armchair where she had left it.
Tuilindien says, confused, 'For the last few years you have always had advice about men for me, even though it was mostly unwanted, yet now when I ask you will say nothing?'
'It is not for me to speak for your heart', Lirulinë says, and they both smile at how much she sounds like their mother. 'In truth, you must decide for yourself how you want to go on. I will only say: do be careful, sister. You are young, and he is not of our people, and I have heard things about him that are a little unsettling.'
'About his temper, you mean?' Tuilindien has heard a few murmurs too.
Lirulinë nods, her shapely brows drawing into a little frown. 'They say he can be rather… harsh.' Her gaze returns once more to the hair combs. 'But then I think your heart has already decided for you. For you wore his gift immediately, did you not?'
And instead of waiting for an answer, Lirulinë calls to Cirincë who hops down from the windowsill and shows her drawing of the fountain in the courtyard to her older sisters. They give her many compliments and a few suggestions for improvement, and then Lirulinë takes Cirincë and Cantiel elsewhere to let Tuilindien write her letter in peace.
Tuilindien sits down at the unpractical desk that has been provided in the guest bedrooms, pulls up a sheet of parchment and dips the quill in ink. For some reason her hand is unsteady and a big drop of ink falls on the parchment.
As she watches the drop turn into a blossoming shape, she looks for the right words.
He asked for nothing in return for his beautiful, expensive gift; it might have been easier if he had, for then she would have something to respond to.
Perhaps she will just put down one word at a time until she finds the right thing to say; that is sometimes the only way when inspiration does not arrive.
In any case, the first two lines are easy enough.
Prince Morifinwë,
I have received your beautiful gift.
'Beautiful gift' can still be considered ordinary politeness, but if she compliments the combs more, in detail, he will know that she appreciates them more than politeness demands.
The combs are among the most lovely things I have ever owned.
It is true, though part of their charm is what a wonderful surprise they were after many days of silence, how meaningful a gift they seem, and the short, clumsy and heartfelt letter that had arrived with them.
Tuilindien is studying to be a loremistress, an expert on words, but finding the right words now feels nigh impossible.
I was delighted to hear from you, and to receive such a beautiful gift was a lovely surprise.
No. She crosses the sentence over. It is too much and too little at the same time, and she has already used the words 'beautiful gift'. And 'lovely'.
Perhaps she can praise the combs a little more.
The little gems glitter brighter than starlight, and though I have so far had no chance to wear the combs except amongst family, I have received many compliments on them. You were far too modest about your own skills when we spoke.
That is better. But what now? Not much more, since his note had been so very short, but a sentence or two to end the letter gracefully.
I am honoured to have made your acquaintance. Words fit to be said to a prince, she thinks, the courtier's daughter that she is. But words which can also be read to mean 'I am glad to have met you', which is indeed what she means, the wordsmith in her forging double meanings.
How bold can she be? Can she express a wish to see him again? He had after all sent her such a wonderful gift that it had to be more than mere politeness on his part. So she should be bold too, a little at least, for she has given up on the idea that it would be better to just try to forget him. After the intense burst of happiness and joy that his note and gift brought her, never seeing him again does not feel like an option anymore.
I will be in Tirion for six weeks longer, she writes. Perhaps we shall see each other again. There, that is perfectly decorous.
But then she adds, because she cannot stop her treacherous fingers from dipping the quill in ink again and going back to the parchment as if of their own volition, I hope we will.
She has to rewrite the letter because she changed some sentences and words on the first try and the result is very messy, and when she does she leaves that last little sentence in.
A/N: As always, OC names were crafted with the help of the wonderful realelvish dot net. (I really like elf babies, they keep sneaking into my stories.)
In the next chapter: elven dating, which can be just as terribly awkward as real-world dating.