Tending the Lady's Garden by Raiyana

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Perhaps the small joy of the flower would last if she brought it with her, Findis thought one morning, turning back to her suite of rooms and picking the bloom from its delicate vase, choosing a different hair clip from her box than she had at first picked. Curufinwë’s clever mind might not have been exactly like Náro’s, but his works was just as exact and his marriage to the sweet Telperína had given him cause to invent far more fripperies and baubles than Náro’s love for his wife. Findis smiled to look at the small piece of gold, momentarily saddened by the final fate of the hands that had made it. It had been crafted to conceal the damp pieces of fluffy cotton that kept blooms from dying yet display their colours and vibrancy perfectly framed by her favourite metal. Against her dark hair, the effect had always been lovely, Findis thought, and if she chose to adorn her hair with a small flower none would question that right.

Perhaps even Ammë’s spirit might be lifted by the sight of such a thing, just for a moment.

Smiling to herself, Findis set off once more, her feet making no sound as she walked to familiar hallways, her thin silk slippers ghosting across the cool stone.

She nearly ran into someone hiding behind a large vat of greenery, peapods in danger of tumbling down at the first movement.

“Alálamë,” she breathed softly, unable to stop her smile from growing too fond at the startled way the gardener’s face popped out from behind the peas, a small squeak of surprise escaping her before she hastily ducked away towards the kitchen. “Alálamë!” Findis repeated, a little louder, bending to pick up the few pods that had fallen to the floor.

Her enchanting gardener had disappeared entirely by the time she straightened, holding the small green pods in offering.

Findis sighed.

Opening one, she enjoyed the burst of flavour when she popped a pea into her mouth, continuing towards Indis’ rooms and wondering if the taste of such freshness might not stir her ammë to move from her bed for the first time in nearly a moon’s turning.

The next morning, her small vase held two helini, and Findis’ song was brighter than usual as she twisted the hairpiece into her long locks, the leftover helin brightening her room and her heart until its replacement arrived.

Alálamë didn’t spend much time in the house – and Findis was shrewd enough to realise that she feels less than comfortable in the corridors where Findis might stumble upon her – and so she had ventured into the garden again in search of that fluttery feeling in her stomach that Alálamë’s rare bright smiles gave her.

She found her near some large vegetable plants, bright yellow-orange flowers over large green leaves that she’s lifting to check on… squash, that’s what they’re called, even if the ones growing on the plant were smaller than those Findis had seen on her plate.

“They are coming along nicely, Alálamë,” she said, mostly for the pleasure of saying her name. As expected, her interest sparked a flurry of  words about the vegetable, those green eyes lit up when their owner dared to catch her own in ways that made Findis’ heart beat faster. She smiled, nodding in places, and enjoyed Alálamë’s voice – the topic may not be her greatest interest but Alálamë had a way of talking about her plant projects that made Findis wish she had green fingers herself.

The next day, she found her around midday by a pond full of indili – the same kind that Írimë had always loved, enough so that Náro had made her a small garden pond for one of her begetting days once – and Findis couldn’t help but chuckle as she told the story of her sister pushing a too-ardent suitor into the pond. She wondered if Irimë ever told her husband in Endorë that tale, or whether it died with her, her smile dying with the thought of her sister’s final fate: dying with the sword Náro – or perhaps Curufinwë, if it had been replaced later? – had made for her in the final days of his arming. Findis had not understood then why Írimë wished to follow their brother into the unknown, had not felt that same trapped sense of being stifled in her home that Írimë had hidden so well, but she had always believed that Írimë, at least, would return to her. Instead, Arafinwë had come back, twice, the second time bringing her word of all they had truly lost to the fire for which Fëanáro had been named.

If Alálamë noticed her sudden despair, she did not mention it, drawing Findis away from her dark thoughts with a silly story of her own brother falling from a cordof tree that managed to return a small glimmer of joy to her heavy heart.

Findis returned to the house when she felt she had imposed enough – she wanted to stay, watch Alálamë work or talk, or sketch her in an unguarded moment – returning to her self-imposed exile and the mother who barely registered her presence.

Findis thought she might finally understand Írimë’s choice.

She did not go looking for Alálamë every day, aware that she must keep a distance of propriety between them, but when she did, Findis found herself sharing memories she had not considered in years, found herself focusing on happier times than seemed possible to recall when she sat with Indis.

In the garden, with Alálamë, she could breathe again.

Alálamë reminded her that life moved on, her mere presence a balm to a wound Findis had lived with so long she had forgotten its existence.

And Findis loved her.