With a wary squint at the rather vocal and rude bird, Lindethiel snatched up the note and shut her window quickly. Last thing she needed was bird shit all over her room.
She read over the note twice, brow furrowing, and drummed her fingers against it as she glanced toward her door. Elrond may have such a map, but the most likely person to have such information would be Lord Cirdan. Which felt more wrong than shuffling through the maps in the library here, so hopefully there would be something sufficient in Imladris.
If not, he’d have to make do without it.
Noticing the little angry bird still at her window, she grabbed up a plate with half a slice of bread from her dinner and carefully slid the glass up just enough to push out the peace offering.
Of course I would welcome the chance for parley between our two equally legitimate sovereign kingdoms, as one monarch to another. I’m sure we would both benefit from improved relations between the east and west lands of Men.
Indeed, why do we not meet in person? My summer palace at Umbar is lovely this time of year.
~Ar-Anaškad, King of Kings, Lord of Mordor and Greater Harad”
Why don’t we leave the subject of legitimacy for another time. And I would request we meet on the closest thing to neutral ground that can be found.
I simply wish to try and understand you better, though I may live to regret it; one can only try.
“Neutrality is a rare quality these days! His majesty could just as well have suggested we meet upon the top of a cloud. But perhaps somewhere long uninhabited would suffice for our purposes.
Far north of the Blue Mountains, well nigh the icy bay of Forochel, there is a lonely little island that sits frozen and forgotten by time: ‘Himling’* they call it. You may recognize something of its original inhabitants, if anything survives of them. I mislike traveling over water, but for you I will make this small exception; ice is a friendlier element to me and mine than the open sea, after all.
~Ar-Anaškad, etc.etc.
(*A truly charming bit of linguistic assimilation, if I may say so; almost as charming as the colloquial use of “Brandywine” for the Branduin River. One can map a great deal of history through the shifts in language. I coined a pidgin tongue for the Orcs in my service, and their vernacular changes almost by the week– it fascinates me as much as it frustrates. There– already you know me better than you did.)”
Of course I would welcome the chance for parley between our two equally legitimate sovereign kingdoms, as one monarch to another. I’m sure we would both benefit from improved relations between the east and west lands of Men.
Indeed, why do we not meet in person? My summer palace at Umbar is lovely this time of year.
~Ar-Anaškad, King of Kings, Lord of Mordor and Greater Harad”
That is entirely relative. Who is being forgiven, and by whom?
When forgiveness is offered by one I love, I treasure the opportunity to earn it.
When it is offered conditionally in exchange for my eternal humility and repentance for deeds I do not regret in the slightest, I consider it a farce.
Forgiveness can only be offered from a position of power, otherwise what meaning does it have? Those who have power over one who has wronged them are seen as benevolent and wise when they give pardon rather than punishment. It indicates the security of a ruler to be able to forgive.
To forgive, therefore, is my pleasure. When I can afford it.
I’ve heard that amongst humans there is a superstition that if you spill rice or lentils or such like before a devil, he will be irresistibly compelled to count them all, unable to stop until he’s finished.
I am aware that I’ve gained a reputation for cruelty during my time in Middle Earth, but I assure you we have tales of our own about him. Were he not on the winning side of history, or were my Master’s folk deemed worthy of even an ounce of pity by the Eldar, I would not be the only Maia to have earned the moniker “Gorthaur”.
She startles, completely off-guard in the safety of Imladris. Swiveling to give a bewildered look at the bird taking a rest in the tree behind her, she pauses to also make a slow check of her surroundings. Nobody is around, though, and while there are plenty of open windows in the House, she doesn’t see any silhouettes lingering as though awaiting a response to something.
Confused and curious, then, she twists and snaps open the capsule, shaking out the note within to read. She tenses immediately, breath catching. You fucking nosy– how the hell did you even-? Reading through the note and chewing on the inside of her cheek, she exhales noisily. Fine.
Glancing up at the magpie uncertainly, she tucks the note and capsule away, hiding them in the water-pouch-turned-alcohol-pouch at her hip. A waste of perfectly decent wine, but it is the only place she can think to hide the evidence until she gets back to her quarters.
Pausing as she turns to wander down a path further from the waterfall, she looks up and whistles a short little melody at the magpie. “I’ll sing for you when I have a reply,” she whispers to it, then quickly makes her way among the trees.
The vast majority of people who talk to themselves on balconies do not receive a reply. However on this night, perhaps because there was a warm easterly wind blowing, or perhaps again because there was a red star rising in the south, peering over the mountains like a furtive spy, there came a sort of answer in the form of fluttering wings and a clever little hooded face alighting on a branch adjacent the occupied balcony. Just a magpie, nothing more sinister; late though it was for a magpie to be out.
The bird flicked its long tail, beetle-black eyes fixed on the elf with more comprehension than was comforting, and let out a shrill avian laugh– each long cry lilting upward like a taunting question.
It is true that powerful men frequently have the urge to cede the semblance of dominance; “lead me on a chain, make me your servant, do what you will with me, tell me I am lowly”, they’ll beg, but will take up the reigns and whip again should your “dominance” not align with their desires. They do not know what it is to serve, or truly submit one’s self; they recognize no master but their own ego.
This is what makes them easy to manipulate; you have only to convince them that an idea is theirs, and they will follow it without question. Powerful men are ever ready to believe they are the origin of all their designs and fortunes.
I can say for certain that for a time it was entertaining to keep him as a servant, though he did not recognize himself as such. Our farce continued for nearly a century before his demise, and by then it had long since ceased to amuse me. At the end he was old, frightened and quivering in the face of his own mortality. He obeyed my every word without question, reliant on my decisions out of habit. I needed no ring to keep him a slave to my will, no more than a nursemaid would to keep an invalid dependent on her care.
I hardly need such a servant for all eternity… Though if our fates had been reversed all those years ago, it might have been a different story. A brazen young conqueror at my disposal, at the height of his powers, in control of that glittering sea of an army… such a hand would indeed have made a proud seat for one of the nine.
“I think that sounds like business as usual. Isn’t that what throne rooms are for? What’s the point of being Lord of Arda if you can’t throw frenzied, orgiastic parties in your own living room on a daily basis? What is this, Taniquetil? Who do you think I am??”
“I’m not blind. And one does notice the indulgences of others when his own bed is cold.”
Hm yes, my condolences as to the loveless state of your marriage…
If it were not for the tenuous legitimacy of his majesty’s claim to the throne, one might be so bold as to suggest a divorce, on the grounds of wanting an heir– Alas, the laws of succession were firmly in favor of your wife.
Have you considered exile? Exile is a wonderfully expedient option for inconvenient spouses, so I’m told. Think how calm the waters of the capital would become if her ladyship were to be sent abroad…. and I mean far abroad, where she could not become more of a rallying point for the Faithful than she already is.
Ooh! And what if you could pin Amandil with an adjacent crime (say, one of infidelity and treason) and dispose of him similarly? Two irritating, Valar-praising birds felled with one stone–
*clears throat*
…Forgive me, I let myself be carried away by speculations unfit for my station.
There are more immediate remedies for a cold bed, if his majesty wishes to consult me privately… for medical and astrological advice, of course.
Ah, perhaps in body, yes, but in spirit, very few! My heart, as you know, is entirely devoted to the ~lofty, spiritual~ pursuit of the Giver of Freedom.
I’m shocked his majesty deigns to lower his attention to the base matter of his servant’s indulgences. Surely my habits are not SO in excess of average that they merit the notice of a king? Either it has been a very slow season at court, or I’ve broken a personal record…
MisbehavingMaiar: Tumblr Archive 