Noldolantë by Grundy

Overture

For the Bollywood challenge prompt Pyaasa (Thirsty): the trials of an aspiring poet. (My mind went straight to young Maglor.)

Over the next few months, Lorelindë remained a source of happiness for him – and a sorely needed one.

Homesickness was in full force now, as he found himself missing the festival of Aulë. It wasn’t one of his favorites. Father made a fuss about it, of course. But aside from new musical instruments occasionally being exhibited, there wasn’t much to interest Makalaurë. But it was a major event in Tirion – yet barely celebrated in Alqualondë. The assurance that he would see far more merrymaking at the upcoming festival of Ulmo had been scant consolation. Worse still, his efforts with the Telerin tongue seemed to have stalled, to the point that he scarce wanted to drag himself out of his rooms.

The thought that Lindë would be waiting for him was one of the few things motivating him to stir outside the palace walls for anything but his music lessons – and even those weren’t going well at the moment. His instructors were sterner critics than any in Tirion, and he couldn’t quite shake the suspicion that his mentors in Tirion had been too soft on the king’s grandson.

Lindë, for her part, listened to his troubles (in his terrible Lindarin, or occasionally in Noldorin, giving her a chance to practice – and unlike him, she was coming on by leaps and bounds) and then generally got him to laugh at himself.

“These troubles that seem so impassible now will make you a better musician,” she told him.

“Impossible, not impassible,” he murmured.

“Impossible, impassible, not important – because your situation is neither. You learn, you grow, you improve!”

He had to concede the point. If nothing else, learning Lindarin would open up new possibilities. Some concepts or ways of looking at the sea, for instance, demanded Lindarin lyrics, not Noldorin. And he grudgingly admitted that Lindë was correct when she said he’d had such a good, comfortable life in Tirion that he didn’t know what adversity was. It was cheek to compose, or even sing, anything on the subject, when a simple critique could have him down in the dumps.

“The masters are not the Hunter, nor his creatures,” she pointed out, eyes dancing, after one particularly self-pitying litany from him.

“Just as well, to hear them talk, my composition would only serve to lead them straight to me,” he sighed.

“Next time you will do better.”

And he did.

But she was becoming as important to him as his studies.

He didn’t think anyone else had notice.

It was not that he took any particular care to keep his new friendship – that he was hoping might turn into more than mere friendship – a secret so much as he took for granted that he had freedom to come and go as he wished in Alqualondë where he could not have in Tirion. In Tirion, had he been spending so much time with a girl not already part of royal circles, it would have not only been the talk of the town, it would already have come to both Father and Grandfather’s notice.

Father would disapprove. Grandfather… Makalaurë dared hope he might be more understanding. He often sounded nostalgic for the days before Tirion, when he claimed things had been so much simpler. If simpler meant one could move around without the formality and etiquette of Noldorin high society, Makalaurë was all for it.

So it came as a surprise when Suyelirë casually suggested he should invite his friend to partner him at the dinner celebrating her son’s birthday.

“We’ve all been curious to see the two of you together.”

He wasn’t sure if he should be alarmed or not.

“And of course, I’m not sure if I should be telling Lorelindë’s parents that their plan to send her to Tirion has been a waste of time, or if I should warn them that she’ll likely be spending more time there than they reckoned on.”

Now he knew he should be alarmed. It sounded worryingly as if the queen had concluded matters were much further along than they were. He hadn’t even formally asked her parents’ permission to see her yet!

Suyelirë laughed, which could only mean his effort not to let the panic show had failed.

“Dear boy, you like her, and she likes you. It’s a good deal less complicated here – at least, it is so long as your father doesn’t get involved too soon. But I think we can manage to keep him in blissful ignorance a bit longer. Ask Lorelindë if she’d like to partner you for the evening – and mind your words when you do, or you may wind up engaged before you mean to be.”

The only thing he could possibly do was nod his agreement, and hope Lindë could carry this off with the same aplomb she did sailing in rough seas or dealing with his minor tribulations.