Postcards from Arda by Elleth

Diplomacy

Thanks to GG and the Lizards!

The act of kindness or hospitability usually comes from a generous heart. Write a story or poem, or create a piece of art where your character displays this virtue.

For B2MeM 2011, Day Eighteen: Diplomacy: Fingon seeks to negotiate a reconciliation with the Fëanorians at Lake Mithrim.

"I told you, King Makalaurë is indisposed. He will see no one, not even me. It is no personal insult, Prince Findekáno."

The words did little to assuage the sting. Makalaurë's persistent if unknown conditions had caused him to hide away for a season and conveniently seemed to arise whenever a meeting had been decided. Since our arrival in the beginning of the first sun year, his wife - one of the Lindar of Mithrim - had been the driving force behind any contact from their side, and she at the very least had been courageous enough to try and heal a rift that was not of her doing. Her Quenya was passable, I had to admit, sometimes liltingly accented and stumbling with peculiar idiosyncrasies that I suspected were remnants of her native tongue. She was far younger than anybody had expected when the news came, but as the Queen of a people alien to her land and culture, she was doing well enough. Noldóranis, they called her sometimes, likely as a sign of respect, not truth, though I had heard both Carnistir and Tyelkormo address her by her real name, Lasbaneth.

She was watching me now from across the table, with lively eyes that, although dark and lacking any spark of the treelight marking ours, showed determination and eagerness despite the shadows beneath them. Those hinted at some sorrow and gave her claim some credibility.

Her guardian - assigned by an overattentive father who had risen to the opportunity and offered her to the Fëanárions when they came his way - was staring at me, unblinking, as though I might do her harm. That was not my intention; I merely needed time to sort the facts again. The unlikely alliance, I had learned, nearly shattered before it even was formed: Lasbaneth's father had only reluctantly consented to her marriage to Makalaurë instead of Maitimo as the first-born (who would, I imagined, have had none of it, being stupidly and irrevocably in love with me despite the distance then). But as threads of fate went, this one had been kind, and her and Makalaurë's love was said to be deep and mututal, even though her words sometimes made me doubt it.

Looking around brought a partial explanation for her sorrow, at least. I silently counted the array of nine empty bottles on the shelf behind Lasbaneth, knowing that this was Makalaurë's study. The bottle designs, used in Valinor to hold liqueurs, wines and spirits, explained why he would see no one. It also explained the sour smell that sometimes hung in this room beneath the incense that they burned when my visit had been announced. I would have to ride around the lake unannounced more often, and perhaps discover more evidence to support my idea before they cleaned it away, but even this oversight on their part was better than nothing.

"Well," I said, and tried to keep my voice neutral, even jovial, despite the fact, and although the bleak despair in my stomach that had settled there ever since the news of Maitimo's loss had come, made it ring false even to my untrained ear. She was a minstrel like her husband. "He would not have had to hide from me this time, as I came with thanks and good tidings. We settled well in the lands you left to us, and the fields bear grain and fruit. As the main negotiator in leaving us your former camp, and with your husband granting the permission, we would like to invite you to our harvest celebration."

"Thank you," she said, and if she was surprised was able to hide it well, and took time to formulate an answer. "But it was not from the generosity of our hearts that we left you the settlement. It was the only atonement that we could grant to your need and losses. It is not necessary you repay duty with kindness."

"No," I said, and resolved to take a swig of the wine they had offered, but with my eyes lighting on the bottles again, set it down still untasted. "I suppose not, in this situation. Take it as a token of goodwill, then."

"I would rather your token of goodwill were to keep from pressing gifts on us that you cannot afford to give," she said softly, and nearly sounded sad. She knew, then, perhaps from mistress Estelindë, who continued to ride to us every few weeks to assist our own healers, that we were not nearly as recovered as we claimed, and that many still harboured no small resentment toward the House of Fëanáro. "I will see that a shipment - is that the word you use?" she looked at me until I nodded, " - a shipment of grain is made ready and delivered to you in time for the festival as a sign of our appreciation of your invitiation. It would not be wise to come in person."

"No," I said again, if this time in agreement. "And I would we could agree to no longer ask the acceptance of alms from one another." We were all exiled, and they were doing better only because they thrived on the goods they had brought on the ships, if never as much as they could have. Had they not burned them before all things had been unloaded, I might have reconsidered. Of this malicious squandering of blessings, too, I knew from Estelindë. Compared to our dire need, it also rankled.

There was silence from Lasbaneth for long enough to think that I had offended her, although her face remained unreadable. "Very well," she agreed at last. "If we can also agree to turn to one another in our need."

I reached across the table to clasp the proffered hand, and banished the misgivings that wanted out. "Let that be our kindness to one another, then."

Chapter End Notes

If you'd like, this can be read as a continuation of the arc started in 'The Office and the Instrument'. Lasbaneth has appeared a few times by now, she shouldn't need any further introduction.

Noldóranis is my own coinage based on the canonically attested Noldóran (King of the Noldor) and nís (woman) and patterned after aranel (princess; with -el possibly being a feminine suffix).