For Ar-Gimilzôr the twenty-second king was the greatest enemy of the Faithful. In his day the White Tree was untended and began to decline; and he forbade utterly the use of the Elven-tongues, and punished those that welcomed the ships of Eressëa, that still came secretly to the west-shores of the land.
“Are you sure that’s a wise thing, Mestië?”
“Ar-Gimilzôr may have prohibited the speaking of Eldarin, but he hasn’t forbidden the Elves from coming.”
“Yet,” she said, sitting back on her heels and looking up at me. “Take the dress off. Still, Alagos--”
“Has been a dear friend since I was a gangly teenager. I don’t see the problem.” I hopped off the stool, ignoring the soft smile on Mother’s face, slid off my wedding dress, and then pulled my everyday dress on over my shift. I turned to face her and smiled. “I’ll be fine, Mother. The fabric shop will be a wonderful distraction from Táratecil’s shipping voyages. Olostë and I will be here for each other, so don’t you worry about us after you and Father move to Lond Daer.”
“With the king acting as he is, I cannot help but fear.” She stood up and kissed my forehead. “If necessary, leave Númenor and move near us. It’s safer there.”
I nodded and Mother left the room, carrying the dress over her left arm. I looked around the room, trying to imagine my husband living with me in the apartment my sister Olostë and I had been raised in, and then followed Mother downstairs to manage the shop while she hemmed. I began sorting our latest fabrics, letting my mind wander to my wedding that was only two weeks away. Maybe I could convince Táratecil to say our vows in Sindarin once we were alone? He hated the new law just as much as I did.
