The Tempered Steel by Lyra

Part III, Chapter VII

In which Maedhros gets involved in heated arguments and matchmaking; and in which the title of this story is explained at last.

Findekáno need not have worried about the clumsiness of his letter; Maitimo read it with a smile. "There is no way to reply," he said, more to himself than to Failon or Varnacanyo, "for he will assume that I am trying to put his sorrows to rest even if I speak the truth."
"What truth?" asked the voice of Carnistir.
Maitimo's companions gave a start: They had not heard him come in. Maitimo, on the other hand, showed no sign of surprise; he merely half-turned and nodded to his brother. "Hello, Moryo. The truth that we are not going to starve."
"Unless the winter lasts longer than you expect," Carnistir pointed out.
"Yes, very well – unless that happens."
"That would not be 'very well' at all. What then would you do?" Carnistir said as he pulled up his chair and slumped down.
His brother gave a sigh and turned to the herald. "Thank you, Failon. I am glad that your mission was successful. Would you like to stay for dinner?"
"I'll take my leave, if you permit," the herald said. "I did not sleep well the last night..."
"Of course. Get some rest, then, and come dine some other time."

With Failon gone, Maitimo sat down in his chair, busying himself with the letter. He folded it back up, using the table in place of a second hand, then slipped it into his sleeve. When he looked back up, he found that Carnistir was watching him.
"You did not answer my question."
"I had not realised that you wanted an answer, Moryo," Maitimo said mildly.
"I do not speak just to hear myself think," Carnistir retorted. "What will you do when winter lasts longer?"
With a sigh, Maitimo said, "We've been through this. You will have observed, as I have done, that the hours of daylight have been getting longer over the past weeks. They are not as long yet as they used to be last fall, so it stands to reason that they will continue to grow longer yet. With more light, eventually there will be warmth – and new growth."
"You assume that the Valar will make no new mess of the seasons."
"I assume that they have handled enough change for the next couple of centuries." Maitimo half-smiled at his brother, who continued to frown.
"And what of Moringotto?" he asked, raising his head to give Maitimo a hard stare.

Maitimo hoped that he did not visibly flinch at the name. "Moringotto, I hope, will watch and wait for the time being - now that he has lost his prize hostage."
Carnistir snorted. "You expect him to be wiser than you are, then."
That took Maitimo aback. "I am not certain that I understand what you mean."
"You are certain that you do not understand what I mean," Moryo corrected him. "I mean this: If you might have an advantage, it is unwise to jeopardise it."
"What advantage have I jeopardised, Brother?" Maitimo frowned in confusion.
"Why, the advantage we had over Nolofinwë's folk! If you want to unite our people, you should have left them to starve a bit longer; then they might have been willing to support us if only we fed them. They won't serve you out of gratitude, if that's what you expect. Despair might have done the trick."
Maitimo's eyes widened. "Is that what you think?"
"It's not just I who thinks so; Tyelko and Curvo agree with me on this matter, and many of our people, too, although they wouldn't dare to tell you."
"I see," Maitimo said. "I disagree with you, and with Tyelko and Curvo and whoever else may judge our kinsfolk – and my intentions - so wrongly."
Now it was Carnistir's turn to be taken aback. "Explain," he said, drumming on the table.
"Oh, I shall," Maitimo said. "But I will wait until the others are present as well, so that they, too, may understand me better. Is that acceptable?"
Carnistir shrugged. "Yes. It will be no long wait."
"Indeed. And we can make it shorter by speaking of happier matters."
Carnistir tilted his head. "First I will need something to drink. Varnacanyo, you have been remiss."
The squire, who had been standing back so as not to disturb their counsel, sprang forward. He was biting his lip, and his eyes were wide – whether in apprehension, apology or surprise, Maitimo could not quite guess.
"I do beg your pardon, Lord Carnistir," Varnacanyo said smoothly; he did not sound particularly worried. "What can I bring you? Mulled wine, as usual?"
"It will be no usual evening. No, I will have tea."
"Very well; and you, my lord?"

When the brothers had their tea, Maitimo pressed on. "I was glad to see you dancing, at the feast. If I recall correctly, you did not use to like dancing."
"You recall wrongly. I never minded dancing."
That was news to Maitimo. "I seem to recall that you once said that dancing was a mating ritual and should not be done lightly."
Moryo pursed his lips; the rhythm that his fingers were drumming upon the table grew faster and faster. He did not reply.
His brother initially meant to let it pass, but then curiosity got the better of him. "You did not answer my question," he said with a slight smile.
"You asked none," said Carnistir. "You made a statement, not a question."
Maitimo managed not to roll his eyes. "Very well – I shall ask a question now. Does my memory deceive me, or have you changed your mind?"
Carnistir seemed to chew on something. At last he spat it out: "Neither."
Maitimo blinked a few times, trying to make sense of it. Then his eyes widened in amazement. "Moryo! Do you love that woman, then?"
Carnistir no longer looked merely grim: His eyes had now taken on a downright hostile gleam. "'That woman' is called Tamurillë. You should know her; she is your Tyelparma's tutor."
"I meant no slight to her," Maitimo said, trying to wrap his mind around the idea that Carnistir of all people might harbour romantic feelings. "I have heard her name before, of course; but unfortunately I have not met her in person yet. I will make amends as soon as I can." Then it burst out of him, uncontrollably, "Moryo, you are in love?!"
"What is love?" Carnistir retorted. "There seems to be no sensible definition for it."
"I do not think that love is all that sensible. But you feel strongly for her?"

Carnistir pondered the question with great earnestness. It took a whole cup of tea to fuel his thoughts, it seemed, for he only spoke when he had emptied the cup. "I enjoy her presence, and hate her absence. With her, I can be silent without discomfort. I do not see myself tire of her company, ever. I believe I would do anything, and I mean anything, be it in my power or no, to keep her happy. Is that love, Brother, or merely friendship?"
"There can be no love without friendship," Maitimo said, still struggling to mask his bafflement. "But only you can judge what it is."
"Is it what you feel for Findekáno, or more, or less, or what?"
Maitimo waved his hand with a frown. "This is not about me; it is about you – and Mistress Tamurillë, apparently. Does she share your feelings?"
"I do not know. I like to think so, of course. She does seek my company even though she does not have to. She laughs when I try to be funny. She holds my hand when we walk alone, and sits near me in the scriptorium, even when there is room enough elsewhere. Again, is that love?"
"Well, it clearly isn't hate."
"That isn't helpful."
"Moryo, how can I know her mind if you don't even know your own?"
Carnistir let his head sink – so fast and so low that it hit the table with a loud thunk. Maitimo grimaced in sympathy, but Moryo did not seem to care about the pain; he raised his head again, looked past Maitimo, and exclaimed, "Oh Father, what can I do?"

Blinking, Maitimo turned. He had not truly expected their father to be there, but somehow he was still disappointed when all he saw was the empty suit of armour in front of the white wall.
When he turned back to look at his brother, he found that Moryo was again staring at him.
"I cannot speak for Father," Maitimo began, and was cut short.
"Of course you can; that is your place now."
Maitimo shook his head. "I am only Nelyafinwë. But I can speak for myself; and to me, it certainly looks like you love her. So what I think you should do is find out whether she loves you, too; and if she does, the common course would be to ask for her hand in marriage..."
"I cannot!"
"Why not? If you love her and she loves you, and you both would like to spend your lives together, there is no reason why you could not marry."
Carnistir slid down in his chair until Maitimo could hardly see his face without rising.
"I will do it the wrong way," Carnistir mumbled into the tablecloth. "I am not subtle; I'll put it in a way that gives offense, and then she will hate me, whatever her feelings previously were."
Maitimo privately thought that if she indeed loved Moryo, she would not mind his lack of subtlety, which would hardly be news to her. There was, at any rate, no more doubt in his mind that Carnistir was indeed in love; his outbreak and near-despair were clear indicators. Although the thought was strange, the evidence was undeniable.
"Would you like me to ask?" Maitimo said, quickly adding, "I will not do it if you do not want me to. But if you do not dare although you would like to, and think that I can help, I will do the best that I can."
Carnistir gave him another dark-eyed stare. "Do you approve, then?"
"Why should I not approve?"
There was a click as the door opened, and Varnacanyo gave a warning cough. Tyelkormo and Ambarussa came striding in.
Carnistir sat up straight in a hurry. "Don't tell them," he said very quietly, so that Maitimo had to strain his ears to understand him. "But do try."

When his brothers were all present and dinner was on the table, Maitimo decided that it was time to spoil everyone's appetite.
"It has come to my attention that some of you doubt my sense, concerning the decision to feed our uncle's people. Is that so?"
He saw Curufinwë and Tyelkormo exchange glances; he could see that Macalaurë swiftly raised his hand to his mouth to hide his expression, and that Ambarussa busied himself with his spoon and knife. Carnistir stopped pushing the food on his plate around with his knife, and leaned back with his arms folded; he, too, glanced at Curufinwë, tilting his head as if to ask Will you speak?
Curufinwë laid his spoon aside with exaggerated care, and folded his hands on the table. "Indeed. We did not intend to question your counsel, but since you raise the topic: Yes, we believe that your decision was exceedingly unwise."
Maitimo again looked at each of his brothers in their turn. "Who are these 'we' that you speak for? Is it what you all think?"
Macalaurë shook his head, as Maitimo had expected, and so, to his surprise, did Tyelperinquar. Ambarussa also said, "Not me! I will support your every decision."
"We must all support Maitimo's every decision, once it is made," Curufinwë pointed out tersely. "Even if he were not our king, he would still be the head of our house. That is not the point. The point is that I question the wisdom of that decision – and so do Tyelko and Moryo, since you asked."

Maitimo felt his eyes widen before he regained control over himself. "Yes, Carnistir implied as much," he said, pressing on. "He suggested that I blindly surrendered an advantage we had over Nolofinwë; that if I wanted to reunite the Noldor, I should simply have left them to starve, until despair would have driven them to beg us for food. Is that what you think?" His brothers might have noticed that his hand was gripping his chair very tightly, either to support himself against their opposition or to keep himself from rising.
"Yes indeed," Tyelkormo now spoke up. "It is ugly, I'll grant you that, but that's the only way you'll get them to follow you. You could have demanded any terms – nothing too harsh, mind you, but their allegiance – once you'd got them cornered. Now you've opened the corral and let them escape. Don't look at me like that! Am I not right?"
Maitimo continued to look Tyelkormo in the eye, with a glint in them that made his brother quail. When he spoke, he sounded calm and composed; but from his hard stare, Tyelkormo knew that he was barely controlling his anger.
"I do not even know where to begin listing how wrong you are. All I know is that I must question your sense if you truly believe what you just said."
"What is there--" Curufinwë began in Tyelkormo's defense, but Maitimo slammed his stump on the table, silencing him. Macalaurë grimaced and pulled his wine-glass close, bringing it out of immediate danger.

"Let me make one thing very clear," Maitimo said, his voice a deadly whisper. "I will not, under no circumstances, put Nolofinwë's people under duress, either by my actions or by inactions. If they hunger, we will feed them. If they want weapons, we will arm them. If they are attacked, we will defend them. If they are homeless, we will build them houses. We will do this without waiting for them to come begging – which they will not do – and without expecting gratitude – which they do not owe us. We are greatly obligated to them, and we will honour that obligation. If indeed the only way to re-unite the Noldor is by risking harm to them, the Noldor will not be re-united in my lifetime. Do you understand me?"
"I do understand that you owe Findekáno a great--" Curufinwë spoke up peaceably, and was again cut short.
"This is not about me, Curufinwë Atarincë, this is about us: About you, about the House of Fëanor, about all our followers. We owe Nolofinwë's people a great debt, for we took those ships, and everything that they had left on them, too. Whence the horses? Whence the sheep? Whence the grain, the fruit, the silk? We have all that because others thought to bring provisions and lifestock! Father and you were swift to discard Nolofinwë's people as needless baggage, but you happily took their baggage." Maitimo's anger threatened to boil over; he took a couple of breaths to steady himself. "You--" another deep breath -- "we left them in despair. And now we come to the point where your fine plan burns and crumbles, even if it were a plan that I could ever consider. For we have learned what Nolofinwë's people do not do when they are desolate: They do not beg. Father thought that they would crawl back to the Valar and beg forgiveness, but they did not. They braved every hardship - they crossed the Helcaraxë, have you forgotten that? - they suffered cold, and starvation, and death itself, until they reached these shores. And you honestly believe that a little hunger, a brief winter will make them offer me allegiance?" He laughed, harsh and bitter. "You must have taken leave of all reason."

None of the brothers dared to speak up, whatever they thought of Maitimo's impassioned speech. Only Macalaurë moved; his hand inched over towards Maitimo's knee, to soothe or strengthen him. But Maitimo slapped it away. "No, Macalaurë, not today," he said sharply, unmoved by the way in which his brother cradled his stinging hand, by the hurt look in Macalaurë's gentle brown eyes. "You, too, threw your torch – and you, too, kept those provisions, even when Nolofinwë's people arrived here with nothing but their pain and their strength."
Macalaurë bowed his head. "I did this, yes, my brother. I beg your pardon."
"It is not my pardon you need," Maitimo said, the heat in his voice souring into cold ashes, "but theirs."
"We did leave our camp to them," Tyelkormo dared to say.
"At Cáno's behest," Ambarussa muttered.
Maitimo snorted. "Crumbs off the rich man's table! How generous of you!"
"It was a start," Macalaurë said softly.
"A start," Maitimo repeated, shaking his head in disbelief. "Well, I will finish what you started."
"Wait," Tyelkormo protested. "Does that mean that you'll return to them everything we have from them – even the horses?"
"I cannot give them what you've already eaten, damaged or thrown away in the past thirteen years. But yes: I will give them the horses, and the lifestock, and everything else that we owe them – everything that is not covered by our Oath, everything that is not rightfully ours, I will give it to them. Does that answer your question?"
Tyelkormo opened his mouth, and shut it again.
Maitimo fell back into his chair, glaring at his brothers. "Good. Anything else?"
Heads were shaken, eyes were occupied with an intense study of the food that was going cold on their plates. Maitimo gave another derisive snort, and turned back to his meal.
Curufinwë cleared his throat.
"Yes?" Maitimo said, his spoon stopping half-way to his mouth. "Is there anything else?"
"There is no point in further discussing this," Curufinwë said, sounding rather petulant. "As I said, we must support your decisions. But we may disagree, I hope."
"Not on this matter. On everything else, you are free to believe whatever you will."

Curufinwë sighed, and put his napkin down: He clearly could not stomach any more. "It is impossible to argue with you," he said. "You used to be more accepting of other opinions, in the old days. Now you have grown hard."
"Oh, have I?" Maitimo asked, tilting his head. "Have I grown hard?"
"Well, Curvo is right in a way," Macalaurë said in his most diplomatic tone, trying to douse the embers of Maitimo's wrath. "You have always been a rock; but where you used to be sandstone, you are now granite."
"Iron ore," Tyelperinquar corrected: the first word he had uttered since the beginning of their discussion.
That elicited a laugh from Maitimo - a harsh, feral laugh. "Hah! I am no raw ore, Tyelperinquar. I have not merely been torn from my native mountain; I have been forged and tempered – I am a blade of steel."
With a snort, Curufinwë said, "Leave the forge-talk to me, Brother – you would not want to be a blade. For that purpose, the steel must be heated and bent and twisted, beaten and quenched, burned and bent again..."
"This will come as a surprise to you, Curufinwë Atarincë," said Maitimo, and Macalaurë took his glass of wine into the safety of his lap again, "but my father did some smithying in his day, you know – and I assure you that I am perfectly aware of what you do to the poor steel in your forge. I also assure you that the analogy is perfectly accurate." He bared his teeth in a terrible smile, and now the light in his eyes was indeed like the hot gleam of steel freshly out of the furnace: Even Curufinwë, who saw glowing metal every day, and who flinched from no heat, had to turn his head away. The others had lowered their gaze even faster. Only Macalaurë managed to meet Maitimo's eyes. In the sudden silence, a gust of wind howled around the house, making the flames in the fireplace dance wildly. The cold air reached the high table, too, carrying with it a smell of ashes and scorched wood; it did nothing to ease the tension.

"I suppose you are right," Maitimo said at last, neither showing satisfaction at his victory nor acknowledging his brothers' discomfort. "I have grown harder. I have no more patience for egotism or apologetics, and I will no longer speak kindly when I disagree with a passion. That may be a fault. But then, I could have broken upon that anvil. Would you have preferred that, Curufinwë?"
He did not truly expect a reply; and indeed, he got none.
Maitimo nodded, picked up the morsel of food that had long since escaped from his spoon, and ate it. "So let me be the tempered steel," he said after he had swallowed. "All things considered, it is the best that I can be."

After that argument, Maitimo needed a couple of days before he trusted himself to speak to Tamurillë on Carnistir's behalf. When his temper had cooled, he first tried to find out whether Tyelparma knew anything about his tutor's feelings, romantic or otherwise. But if Tyelparma knew anything, he kept it to himself. More likely, he truly was ignorant of his tutor's private life – or he simply did not know where the questions were going. Either way, Maitimo did not wish to ask too much or too directly; and so he merely concluded their conversation by asking Tyelparma to pass on a message to Tamurillë, to pay him a visit whenever it suited her.
Tamurillë duly came a day later; Varnacanyo showed her into Maitimo's room as he was working his way through Carnistir's ledgers, trying to write up an inventory of goods that rightly belonged to the Nolofinwëans. She gave a polite bow without unnecessary flourishes. Maitimo immediately found her company reassuring: She seemd to exude an air of quiet efficiency and competence, which distantly reminded him of his mother, even though Tamurillë bore no physical similarity to Nerdanel, being taller and narrower in the shoulders, with high cheekbones and dark hair.

"Is this about Tyelparma?" Tamurillë asked after they had exchanged words of greeting, and after Maitimo had apologised for not sooner meeting such an eminent scholar. "If he is getting on your nerves, you must send him away. He can be a bit over-eager, although he means well. I would long since have told him to return to his studies and stop pestering you, if I had not been under the impression that you encouraged his visits."
"Your impression is correct, Mistress Tamurillë," Maitimo said, invitingly gesturing at the window-seat opposite him. The loremaster nodded and sat down. Maitimo smiled. "As you say, Tyelparma means well – and you have taught him well. He is, if I may say so, a delightful mixture of education and innocence. I quite enjoy his company; it reminds me of my youth. No, truth be told, I wished to speak to you on behalf of my brother – of Carnistir."
There was no mistaking the sudden change in Tamurillë's face: the softening of her probing gaze, a tiny quirk of her lip – a secret smile. Maitimo felt the corners of his mouth twitch in response.
"He has spoken to you, then?" she asked, and the tone of her voice could only be described as hopeful. "Has he asked for your blessing?"
This, Maitimo thought, was going faster than he had expected. "Do you need my blessing, Mistress Tamurillë?" he asked, feigning ignorance.
"Well-" she stopped herself short, seemed to sort her thoughts, and decided to take a step back. "In theory, if we were – I mean, if he wished..." She interrupted herself again and shook her head again, speaking more confidently. "I apologise, my lord. I am selling myself short – I assure you that I am more eloquent than that, normally. Help me out, please: On which behalf of the Lord Carnistir did you invite me?"
They were interrupted briefly as Varnacanyo brought them tea. When they both had their cups, and waited for the tea to reach drinking temperature, Maitimo spoke up, "No need to apologise, Mistress Tamurillë; some things will turn all of us into fools. I was under the impression that your... hm... friendship had not quite reached the point of blessings yet. But I may have been misinformed?"
She took a sip of her tea. "I should ask who was your informant, but I suspect I may not want to know. Your impression is not incorrect; we have not, in fact, discussed anything that would require blessings. I know not what he is waiting for; I admit that I had hoped it was only your approval. But I appear to be mistaken?"

Maitimo smiled in what he hoped was a friendly way. "I think what he is waiting for is that his feelings reveal themselves in a more rationally understandable manner. But he did ask whether I approved, although I am somewhat confused why my approval is at all relevant."
Tamurillë raised an eyebrow, and somehow Maitimo suddenly felt like a student – as if he had asked a question that he really should have been able to answer himself.
"My lord, it would be unwise to marry against your wishes – you are my king, and the head of his house."
"I am that, yes," Maitimo conceded with a sigh. "But if I disapproved, would you truly let that stop you?"
"No, my lord; but I would have to convince you that I am a good match for your brother."
"A fine answer," said Maitimo, smiling. "You love my brother, then?"
"I do," Tamurillë replied. "Do you find that strange?"
"Yes, to be honest."
"And why is that? Do you think that he is not loveable?"
Again, Maitimo felt as though being examined; the loremaster had clearly found her footing again. Maitimo could well imagine how Tyelparma and her other students would tremble under the inquiring gaze of her hazel eyes.

"I love all my brothers, most of the time, including Carnistir: So I know that he is loveable. But as a brother, I find it hard to see him through the eyes of a lover. And to be honest - I must admit that if I had been asked who among my brothers would never win a lover's heart... I would have named Carnistir."
"I am aware of Moryo's shortcomings," Tamurillë said. Maitimo was fascinated to notice that her eyes had now taken on an indulgent, even affectionate softness. "But I assure you that I find them endearing; they make him all the more precious to me."
"How long have you been seeing each other?" Maitimo could not help asking, fascinated by their exchange.
Tamurillë tilted her head. "Oh, when did it begin? Shortly after you -- after King Fëanáro's death. He came to me looking for lore about Angamando, and how one might breach it. I could not help him – our records of Angamando are woefully inadequate..." She raised her eyebrows at him. "You could educate us there, of course."
"I doubt I have much useful knowledge of Angamando," Maitimo retorted, feeling his fist clench.
She did not argue the point. "Be that as it may, it showed me that two popular truths about Moryo were, in fact, falsehoods. The Lord Carnistir is incapable of caring for any person but himself, it is said, yet he clearly cared about you, for why would he have wanted to research Angamando if not to try and free you? They also say that he has no brain for planning, but since he was evidently making plans rather than simply running off – and some would have followed him, had he done that - so that also could not be true. My curiosity was piqued. So I continued to collaborate with him; I wanted to know more. It began as a scholarly endeavour, but soon turned into affection, and affection..." she waved her hands instead of finishing her sentence. "Eventually, I realised that I was terrified of the day on which I had no more pretext to spend time in his company. Yes, my lord, I behaved like a raw schoolgirl, making up excuses just to be allowed in his presence! I was ashamed of myself, and I mustered enough courage to confess that my reasons to work with him were a subterfuge. I asked whether he minded my company. He said, 'On the contrary.' And that was that, I suppose."

Maitimo had chuckled at her tale; now he sobered. "If you have been friends for such a long time, why is it that nobody appears to have noticed a thing?"
Another dismissive wave of her hands. "Very easily. Rational, prudent Tamurillë is not expected to do anything as absurd as fall in love. As for your brother... you know his reputation. Nobody expects him to be a romantic creature. But he is that – that is another truth that I learned about him. Not in the conventional way, maybe, but in a way that suits me perfectly well!"
"You do not have to explain yourself, Mistress Tamurillë," Maitimo said. "You are both grown-up; if you both believe that you will add to each other's happiness, that is good enough for me. You have my approval, if indeed you require it; and I will give my blessing also, when the time comes."
"If that time comes," Tamurillë said, and for the first time there was a note of doubt in her voice.
"I probably should not tell you this, but I believe he is not trusting himself to find the right words," Maitimo said to assuage her doubt. "I can try to encourage him. Or you may want to address the question – he will not take it amiss, I think, if you spare him from working out a subtle way to ask you."
Tamurillë smiled in a way that made her look much younger, almost mischievous. "I may do that, if he takes too long. Well, my lord, I thank you – and I hope that I may call you Brother before long?"
"I should like to have a sister," Maitimo replied. "A good evening to you, Mistress Tamurillë, and the best of luck."
Indeed, he thought as Tamurillë bowed and disappeared into the corridor, it was far easier to imagine her as his sister-in-law than it was to picture Carnistir as a husband.

"Odd, isn't it?" Varnacanyo observed, evidently thinking the same. "I daresay she could find a more presentable husband, and one more kind – and yet she wants Lord Carnistir."
"I pray you, do not tell anybody about this conversation – or about the two of them. If you and I find it hard to comprehend, you can imagine how Curvo would react."
"He will find out eventually, my lord."
"Yes – but not before the betrothal; not before the wedding, perhaps."
"It is kind of you to help Carnistir in this matter," Varnacanyo said, "considering how he spoke of your cousin's people."
Maitimo gave a lopsided smile. "Our recent differences notwithstanding, I do want my brothers to be happy. I would not have thought that Moryo of all people --" he stopped himself. "Well, I rejoice that he has found his match. And Mistress Tamurillë is smart and observant; she clearly knows what she is getting into, and if she has no objection, neither have I."
"Of course not, my lord. But still, it is a strange thought."
"It is that." Maitimo conceded. "But then, stranger things have happened."
Varnacanyo nodded earnestly. "That is true. Stranger things have happened indeed."