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Tweak says, "Driver picks the music"

Anairë | The Silmarillion (anaire) wrote in thefeanorians,
@ 2013-04-25 13:51:00

Entry tags:

anairë, fingolfin, yt: 1260

The wedding was over.

Anairë had been vaguely aware of the festival atmosphere that had absorbed the city for nearly two weeks, although she had spent a good deal of that time in bed, catching up on the weeks of sleep that she had missed making the dresses. She had been awake enough, though, to have heard many comments about how lovely the princess looked, and how beautiful her dress had been. That was enough to warm her heart, and give her hope that this wedding could be the life-changing experience she had hoped it to be.

Of course, there had not been any new orders yet. But it was soon, of course. But a month! Perhaps other weddings would not be planned until the excitement from Findis' wedding was over. Perhaps other couples wished theirs to be separate enough from the princess's that they would not marry right away. But they would come - they had to, yes? After all, who would not want their dress from the seamstress who had spent so much time making the perfect gowns for the Princess's spectacular wedding?

Still, as the days passed and she found herself with little work to do other than the typical mending jobs that she did for those in the neighborhood, she couldn't help but worry a little. She still, of course, had the payment from the wedding, and was putting it to good use making a few repairs around the house and replacing all the supplies she had depleted with the wedding dresses. The rest would be saved, but it would not last forever. And it would not change their lives as she had hoped. And if more orders did not come...

Well.

She must not give up hope, not yet. She had done everything she could, put her heart into Findis' dresses. And surely the Valar would not allow all her work to be in Vain. Surely they would allow her to change her life, as she had dreamed when she had been chosen by Findis so many months ago.

She put the mending down for a moment, taking a deep breath of fresh air as it blew gently through the open window before her. Laurelin was twinkling, and the golden light fell on her table, her hands, and her hair. She needed to get out of the house, to stop worrying about things that she could not change. It would be, or it would not be, and fretting over it would not change her fate.

She rose, brushing her hair so that it fell in thick waves down her back, and holding it back with an embroidered cloth headband. Now that she was not so tired as she had been, she was putting a great deal of time into her own appearance once again, not for anyone (as there was, in fact, nobody to impress), but simply because she liked to look pretty. For herself. It made the world seem a better place when she took the time to feel good about herself.

Then she set forth from her house, with a few coins in her pocket, headed towards the market. She could not overspend, but she could pick up some vegetables, and maybe look at the combs for her hair. She had her eye on one of the Fëanorian made ones, although it was so far out of her price range that simply looking for too long felt that it would bankrupt her. Still, she could look at it, and dream. It was surprising how much dreams could get you through!

She purchased some vegetables, and some mangoes (her personal favorite), some more thread and a few needles before making her way to the more expensive part of the market. This was where the crafts of the Ñoldor could truly be seen. Art, musical instruments, jewelry, works of smithcraft, woodwork and design that none but the Valar themselves could surpass. It made her proud of her heritage, all these beautiful things, even if she could not afford them.

She stopped at the table that sold hair accessories, fingering her favorite for a moment (although she could not possibly afford it) before turning to one of the less expensive ones and handing it to the vendor, digging into her purse for a piece of gold with which to pay for it. It was not as pretty as the one she liked best, but perhaps it belonged in a princess's hair, not hers.

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nolofinwe
2013-04-26 03:45 am UTC (link)

The wedding was over and Findis had retreated from the palace of the king to the home of her husband and his family. It had left the palace empty in new capacities and a lot quieter than it had ever been before. The quiet was a beautiful thing in and of itself and Findis was not gone long enough for the siblings to quite miss her yet. They were still coming off the edge of the celebratory phase and the city was slowly returning to normal. The people certainly returned to their normal day activities and the market had teemed with the arrival of new crafts as ever it did. Ñolofinwë spent the majority of his time since the wedding cavorting with the people, learning of their heart's work and of they themselves. He was their prince but even so did not hold himself to the lofty standards that his sister did.

He moved through the market with a familiar grace and ease, stopping with all the vendors to share words with them as he passed through. He wasn't discriminating by any means and did at least purchase things as he passed through, whether they be the most beautiful works or something smaller. Not every time, of course! That would be foolish, and not all on the same day else they think he did it out of obligation. As such, the palace was full of the wares from the craftsmen of Tirion and very few of them were made by hands in the family. The Fëanorian works they had were the things given to their father by his oldest son, or else trinkets bought by Ñolofinwë himself. He couldn't--nor would he ever--let his brother's irrational grudge force him away from the works of his brother's heart. They all knew he was good at his work, and Ñolofinwë sought to recognize it by paying the asking price for his things. He wouldn't submit to his pride on the matter, nor would he beg to be given any favors.

But all that aside, Ñolofinwë was in the market, otherwise what reason would he have to see or bother the lady seamstress now that she'd finished her good work? Luck would have it that they both wandered through around the same time and Ñolofinwë stood with his younger brother, a whole 30 Valian Years old, and ridiculously young as such as they talked to one of the vendors. Arafinwë spoke, at least, for Ñolofinwë's attention strayed when his eyes alighted upon a familiar face. And quite by surprise! He'd certainly never followed anyone around before and so hadn't expected to see the Lady Anairë.

"Pardon me," he said pleasantly, looking at both his little brother and the vendor whom they were engaging. He bowed politely and turned to follow the lady through the crowd, "Lady Anairë!" he called with his musical voice, taking an extra step to lengthen his stride as he weaved through the throng that was typically gathered - elves from the Sea, and from Taniquetil, and other elvish cities around Aman - all selling their wares or buying each others' work in the main city of Tirion. It was a beautiful sight to be surrounded by so many of the elf-kindreds.

"Are you enjoying the day out, my lady?" Ñolofinwë asked curiously as he fell into step beside the seamstress at last.

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anaire
2013-04-26 04:25 am UTC (link)

Anairë did so love the market. The bustle of people, the beautiful wares for sale, the vibrancy and color that made Tírion an even lovelier place than it already was - it was hard for her to go to the market and not feel a little better, no matter what hardships she was facing at the time. So there was a bit of a spring in her step as she walked from vendor to vendor, speaking to the ones she knew, asking about their families. On occasion she would buy something - a toy for one of her nieces or nephews, a hair piece she particularly liked, but mostly she came to socialize. These were her people, and this was her home, and she loved all of them with all the passion of the Ñoldor. It was almost easy to forget her disappointments and anxieties on this warm day, with the golden light of Laurelin warming her and illuminating the white city in its brilliance.

Then she heard her name.

She turned, and saw no one at first, and so kept walking towards the fountain, where she planned to sit and eat the lovely mango she had purchased before heading back home again. But again she stopped, and turned around again, curiously, and she couldn't help the smile that crossed her lips as she saw him. Lord Ñolofinwë. Findis' younger brother who had haunted her dreams since she had first spoken to him at Findis' tenth fitting. She blushed a little as she slowed her pace, allowing him to catch up, but her ears were perked and alert - betraying her pleasure at seeing him.

"My lord," she said, and curtsied as was polite, although not perhaps as subserviently as before. After all, she was no longer his servant, and while she was far from being his equal socially, she did not feel herself in any other way to be so far beneath him. Her face lit as she rose, and looked up at him, boldly meeting his eyes.

"Good day to you, sir! And how could I do otherwise? It is a lovely day, and I live in Tírion. It would be hard to be more blessed. I was just heading to the fountain to sit and have a snack. Would you care to join me?"

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