“Have you any duties in the valley, my lady?”
Those words, spoken but interrupted weeks ago, still rang in Envandiel’s mind as she worked at her jeweler’s bench. Iarril napped nearby, curled up in a ray of sunlight from the window. On the bench lay a grey agate, ringed in varying shades of grey, and she deftly carved the edges to fit it into the quartz. Eyes for a statue, a new sort of project and one that piqued her creativity.
Yet as she worked, her mind kept drifting back to the chance encounter in Imlad Gelair, when she had visited to seek the craftsmen there and find these very gems. The ancient couple, older even than she as far as she could tell, Lord Aurandel and Lady Airingil, were there, resting, and she had decided to speak with them.
“Unlike the wandering company of Hîr Gildor, who make pilgrimages to the Elostirion Stone, the purpose of ours shall be to travel to all corners of Middle-earth to exchange wisdom with the Free Peoples, and Elves in especial. I fear the divide between the Eldar of Aman and the Avari has grown too wide to be allowed to endure.”
She had been surprised, yet deep in her heart she knew this was a path that might be able to finally end her hermitage, and her guilt. “That is a noble purpose. I should be honored to join and will gladly hear more. But I do not wish to take on any apprentice of my craft.” I could not bear to let another fill that role. Metime’s role.
He assured her that would not be expected, but then he turned to another who had come and joined the small gathering: Hir Silwë, the Feanorian and cousin of the cruel-worded one. “Would you be interested in joining our endeavours as well, lord?'”
"I would like that." He looked at her, then. "And I promise I am not a difficult traveling companion, unless stopping to look at rocks makes me so."
She forced herself to remember that he had been of more gracious words. That his daughter was kind and that was a testament to his character. That all his deeds were not evil, and that he was in some vein kin and not enemy. After a moment, she sighed, nodded.
“If you shall let the past remain past, I shall strive to do so also.” She let a small chuckle slip out. “And I shall not complain over looking at rocks, for I confess I shall likely be interested in such as well.”
“The past and the present are the same thing, on a long enough time scale, Lady. But my deeds of ages past are not those of the present.”
If you say such. I shall try to believe it. Yet you are also right, for the past yet shapes and designs the path of the present, and even ancient days may feel as near as yesteryear.
“The past has indeed left its scars on the present, but I shall let animosity rest as best I may, if you shall as well.”
Silwe smiled then, congenial and charming as ever. "As will I."
Aurandel and Airingil had seemed pleased indeed, though her own emotions still battled within her.
Envandiel sighed, returning her attention to her craft. With careful moves of her jeweler’s chisel, she carved the place for the agate in the quartz, then fitted it snugly in. An onyx plug for the center pupil, holding it snugly in place with a few gentle taps of the hammer, and it was finished.
She laid down her craft tools and stretched. Iarril, wakened by the noise, rose and padded over to rub against her leg. Envandiel picked up the kitty and began to pet her. Sunlight from the window glinted across the room as she moved, and her gaze was again caught by the model she had made once, from metal and gem, of her lost home of Gondolin.
She closed her eyes, burying her face in Iarril’s fur. But before the guilt and weariness that she had borne for so long could crash in, the word of Airingil filled her mind.
You have failed no one, and one should not feel guilt because of living. Naught about your oath is foolish, lady.
Ease your mind.
You will fulfill your oath soon enough.
She took a deep breath, opening her eyes to gaze out the window upon Imladris. Soon. I hope I shall be ready.
I must be ready.
And I do not have to face it alone!
