PART SEVEN: Because
Isoldis’ return to Imladris was unmarked and Mittanyaro’s condition unchanged. He was laid to rest in Lord Elrond’s house where immediate remedy upon his wounds could begin. Isoldis could do no more than explain, watch and wait at her protector’s bedside, choosing to remain the slight shadow in the twilight for the most part lest she walk into the judgement of Lord Elrond himself, or anyone else’s for that matter. It was bad enough that she had to incur the scolding remarks from the healers and as she stood for long hours at the open window, the sound of the surrounding waterfalls bringing no calm to her spirit, her piercing grey eyes fixed upon Mittanyaro as though in anticipation of his awakening. Dressed in fine raiment and lying as still as death in folds of pale white bedding as if entombed in softly folded stone, Isoldis could only wonder if she had a friend in the whole world.
Of course Lord Mittanyaro had been her friend, but would he remain one in his recovery, if he ever awoke again; and the ladies Mirineth and Isilmewen who had laboured long to negotiate with Lord Anglachelm on her behalf...would they still be sympathetic when they learnt the sorry ending to this tale of ridiculous vanishings? Introspectively, Isoldis felt a great weight of shame for her mismanagement of the situation almost entirely embroiled in her wild imagination. Not only had she discovered Lord Mittanyaro to be very much corporal moments before that dreadful creature surfaced inside the cave, but since being housed inside Imladris, Isoldis had been sent word that her gardener Nedhlam was very much in evidence as well, and the two had been reunited in an almost wordless yet poignant meeting: Nedhlam remaining mute whilst Isoldis wished she was!
Oh, the foolery she had spun over her missing lute when in retrospect and the cold light of day, Isoldis could realise some truths about herself that she mentally added to the long list already in existence: things I don’t like about me. Hastily, she put the mental list away, since some moments were not about her but others and as she glanced sideways at the sleeping Lord, she had an urgent need to take some air.
The sun was at its height of contrast upon the porch, marking harsh shadows into the stone floor as black as spilt ink, and Isoldis squinted in its glare and immediately hurried to be submerged into the inky embrace of the gazebo’s silhouette, bumping straight into a Lord whose face and name she knew, yet had never spoken to before. As such, he stood in an imaginary anteroom in the lady’s life, yet to experience her absolute honesty and as the pattern was proving, yet to feel utterly insulted by the reckonings of her mind wielded recklessly upon her lips. Isoldis, being in no doubt that she was the kind of maiden that was either loved entirely or loathed completely, and many more to the latter these days, she deemed it no impudence to assist the Lord swiftly in his choosing. Rushing forth with a contemptuous expression that would surely encourage contemptuous words to follow, yet one glance at Lord Earinlin erased every effort. His calm deportment somehow overrode her fierce emotion like paper wrapped round a rock. Like water to the flame, Isoldis found herself not only being quenched, but engaging in pleasant conversation.
Of course Earinlin was eager to ask after Lord Mittanyaro’s condition and the question rattled her pride and vexed her gut with churning and yet, he was also impossible to get angry with, slipping into Isoldis’ mind and rendering her almost speechless. Her jaw ached to get going, yet she stumbled over simple sentences as if the Lord was negating all words and opinions that held any passion upon the lady’s lips, and she imagined a thick wedge of paper carved with intricate patterns that opened up like latticework, so that her string of impetuous remarks became a paper-chain so peppered with holes that only convivial conversation remained. Some method the Lord worked upon her Isoldis mused, or was it simply that she was desperate to have at least one friend? She needed one at that moment and as Lord Earinlin dug a little deeper in his vein of enquiry, Isoldis was retelling the story of her hurried departure from Imladris, her lonely wandering, her unexpected meeting with Mittanyaro inside the cave, and everything thereafter.
Earinlin listened intently, and the more his ears absorbed, the more Isoldis let out until she was stepping into the present day and relaying her deepest thoughts and fears. Had she chosen Earinlin to be her confessor purposefully? She could hardly believe she was exposing herself so openly to one she could not second guess. “I have reflected a great deal since my return...yet, I battle to do what is expected of me, or what is true in my heart the two are not close in likeness.” She was entirely at his mercy, “...the truth of the matter is simple: whilst I grieve for the condition of Lord Mittanyaro...I wrestle with blaming him for his own suffering...or more so, blaming your Tûr, who did order him to stay at my side even though I had asked him not to.”
Looking to Earinlin, she straightened her spine with pride, awaiting the knife to her belly, but none came. No cutting remarks arrived, not judgement of her selfish acts, no measure of her lack in virtues, only a request to walk beside the waterfalls to which Isoldis cautiously agrees. They linger at a clearing where the song of water is more the shout, yet the air is fresh to the skin and refreshing to the soul, Earinlin tells her. Isoldis consumes the moment greedily. “I don't believe my soul could ever find true rest. I am impetuous to say the least.”
Earinlin peers at her then, with a seriousness etched into his soft features that speak of untapped wisdoms.
“Some things may seem beyond your grasp...but many lifetimes are ahead... finding peace is a matter of patience and time.” He pauses momentarily albeit his remarkable impression upon the lady does not cease. “It is whether you are truly willing to seek it...”
“I seek....” Isoldis struggles to find clarity of thought and Earinlin encourages her gently. “So many emotions are at the front of my mind, ready to leap out at the slightest provocation. Always I feel correct in my opinion... I know my tongue is sour. I know that I command much more than my simple deeds or lowly station should...and I also know that I don't fit in.” Earinlin nods calmly and continues to listen. “How I envy your betrothed...not for her beauty that is surely obvious and to which I could never compare, but for her self-belief. She has such abundant grace...and an easy divinity, and in her eyes there is real warmth.” Isoldis enthuses upon the last words of that sentence, looking to Earinlin who is smiling with overwhelming pride.
Isoldis is glad for the Lord’s happiness, and frowns upon her mustered complaint, as though it spoils the tranquillity brought forth by mention of the Lady Amorith.“I am as bitter as the snow drifts upon barren mountains.”
Earinlin smiles then as though Isoldis’ woes are simple creases in a veil, easily straightened.
“Now then... listen carefully:” He begins to straighten.”Self belief is not a trait folk have...it is a decision of the mind and the will. My lovely Lady Amorith is naturally warm to one and all, but her self confidence comes from her making a simple choice to be so.” Earinlin takes a breath for thought. “You say you are bitter...has someone grieved you in the past?”
Isoldis flushes. “I--I have always been this way...since I was young.”
“One is not born bitter...” Earinlin gently nudges the lady’s conscience and Isoldis makes a tortured expression from her features as though swallowing some bitter tasting pill; notions of this conversation stirring confessional thoughts within, as though she were talking with her father.
Earinlin glances at Isoldis with searching eyes, adding softly spoken words to ease her discomfort before swiftly lancing the purulent wound. “Know this truth Lady Isoldis...bitterness and resentment usually come from a lack of forgiveness...I do not believe you to wish this state for your life...” Earinlin straightens his posture “Nevertheless, in order to seek the peace you wish... You must release all past grievances. And forgive.” A long pause interjects Earinlin’s sentences as though he spoon feeds her measured mouthfuls and allows time for full digestion. “Holding onto anger...And the like... will serve only to destroy the person you really are. I do not think you to be a bitter person, in the light of truth you are hurting deeply...but that is not a wound a healer can mend.”
Isoldis feels like a small child in the company of Earinlin, small in the Lord’s elegant shadow, and a child in compare to his amply grace and wisdom. She lowers her head and remembers her youngling years, those that carve the foundations of her haphazard future.
“I-I cannot determine the reasons so clearly...I was an unhappy child. Always I sought the love of my father... He is Noldo and gone west...but when we lived in the Golden woods where I was conceived, pride was bestowed upon my older sister more than ever was upon me. I resent her not for it, she was like the sun...and I was the moon. It is only natural that our parents would bask in my sister’s effortless radiance. Always, I accepted this as the natural condition of things. I never made complaint...believe it or not.” Isoldis huffs at the irony.
Earinlin leans forward, “Would it be...fair to say, you feel rejected...by your parents... ignored...or perhaps deemed...unworthy?”
“Lord!” Isoldis barks with momentary sharpness. “That cuts to the bone.” Her eyes fall downward along with her head as though weights are suddenly attached to her lids.
“Indeed it would if it were true...please answer me.”
Isoldis gulps hard and a single tear is loosed from her eye to glisten her cheek. She peers upwards, finding Earinlin’s gaze in meek response. Her confession is to the affirmative and Earinlin sighs heavily with compassion.
“Please heed what I say...” The Lord conveys enormous sensitively, but Isoldis feels awkwardness bearing down upon her and galvanises herself in self protection.
“Spare me your mockery Lord...I know not what incantation you have used upon my person this day, but I would ask you not to use it against me...”
“Lady Isoldis...Yes, a Lady and of worth and value to many. You were brought into this world... and this life...and by that alone as an Eldar you have significant value.”
Isoldis bites her bottom lip, suddenly halting upon her renunciation of this conversation, and the Lord continues in a tone of voice more velvet than the nightingale. “It is true to say that the task of a parent is no easy one...but I will be bold enough to tell you that you were failed by your parents. They may have fed you and kept you safe...but the role of a parent is more...much more...than physical sustenance and...you were left in the cold...”
“I-I love my parents Lord Earinlin...there were reasons for their behaviour towards me...that I only recently discovered. I was the daily reminder to them of a painful past. My looks, my bearing, my natural talents...I was too much the Noldo! I was the very manifestation of bitter memories they wished to forget. My parents only spoke about the happy parts of their love, their faces alight with sunlit memories of how they met and all the special moments...that is why my sister, who was so much in likeness to my Nandorin mother was so revered. She had a naturally happy soul...and I a woeful one. I am deserving of my life for it is carved by the Noldo blood in my veins...” Isoldis is suddenly silenced as Earinlin steps inward and places a hand upon her shoulder.
“Look at me please.” He asks and Isoldis can do nothing but comply. “...and listen carefully. You are NOT the sum total of rejection from Eldar of the past.. you are Lady Isoldis.. a Lady of Worth.. a Noldo...who through no fault of her own has carried a burden few others could carry a day, let alone for centuries. Hear me when I say... their cruel words and actions have no hold on your life from this day forth... you are who you wish to be... here and now. Leave the past where it belongs...cast your burden aside where it belongs. Hold your head high and count yourself as your own. You are who you wish to be...and to those around you that know you...you are valued...you are loved.”
Isoldis’ eyes are pale as ice against her gelid skin tone, in sharp contrast to the shades of night captured in her hair. She stands frozen in thoughts, spellbound by the Lord Earinlin whose soft utterances and gentle wisdoms have reached right inside her soul and unlocked the cage. She had no idea why she would confess her deepest weaknesses to a mere acquaintance, or why he knew her answers before he even asked all the right questions. He had judged her not, presumed nothing and exposed her to such a degree of openness that at that moment, one jibe would have been her easy end. Yet, he did none of the things she negotiated on a daily basis, robbing her of all her well prepared retorts, sharp replies and defensive manoeuvres as though to disarm her in the blink of an eye, but then, he sought not her utter humiliation, nor sought to wound her and to pile more hurt upon what already existed. He simply gave her a gift...of trust.
“I must return...to Lord Mittanyaro..I-I have been too long...” Isoldis returned to reality with a sudden reawakening of her duties. Earinlin nodded in accordance, yet offered one last piece of advice before the lady left.
“One final thing... What you have cast aside today, shall seek to climb back into your life. It will be a daily decision for you to move forward.” He nods encouragingly. “The past can never leave us...but we can walk away from it.”
