Ryheric received a letter after a difficult day and with some heaviness and finality in his heart. He opened it once delivered by the runner.
He was slow at reading it, but reading was a skill recently learned he was grateful for. It was often difficult to believe he could do such an amazing thing. He enjoyed reading immensely despite his slowness.
Once finished reading, he kept the note held out stupidly for a few extra moments, an unbidden, lopsided smile finding his face, before he quickly looked around to make sure no one saw that, and surreptitiously re-folded the note.
He kept it on him the rest of the day to raise his spirits. Later that day, it was that spirit that brought him some courage and impulse. He changed his mind about declining an offer from Greengrove. An offer he knew now was right to take. Greengrove was surprised by his sudden turn-around. But the strange forester showed no hesitation, no doubts. The acceptance, while small, would change the man's life, as several lessons fell into place at once about love, identity, and self-worth.
The sender of the letter would likely never learn of her butterfly effect in this event, as Ryheric received his tenth lute. But it was always the little acts of kindness in Middle Earth that yielded the most powerful changes.
...
By midnight next evening, he was around Nen Harn. Picking violets in the moonlight with Silverstream, a woman he was half sure didn't exist. He had two lutes, right now. Everything felt surreal. Imbalanced, but full of momentum. Like a thrilling dive into deep water.
"Look at that beautiful lake over there." she said to him. He looked, quietly.
"Its waters are calm and unruffled. Some people wish to lead just such a life. It is safe, it's true. This is not a bad path. But sometimes, with such stagnation, the lake becomes overgrown, becomes muddy. Therefore, it is good that from time to time the clear rapids of the river flow into it. Not every lake dreams to be an ocean, you see. That's why you remind me of a stream. The stream doesn't stop anywhere for long. Shall I tell you a secret?"
"Aye, only if ye want to darlin'." He watched her sidelong, listening to her metaphor.
"The stream rushes steadily forward, but where it flows, flowers bloom. Everything around it comes to life. Carry your pure waters to where your heart directs you, Ryheric. Even if you don't find peace there yourself, everything around you flourishes. Maybe in this you will find solace?"
"Tha' sounds wonderful to me. But I think you're givin' me way too much credit, lady Silvy. 'm jus' me. Ain't much pure 'n often' sayin' everythin' wrong. Do y'know 'bout flowers? Can ye help me? I need mauve flowers."
"Ah... flowers have a language of their own. Every sentiment is expressed in one form or another by these fragile blooms."
"Aye? But the colour is importan'."
It was not long after she took him with her to find the violets. They were the most perfect shade of mauve, smooth and dark. The delicate blooms flourished beneath a large oak tree, by the stream. He decided this was his favourite place in all of Breeland.
"Violets can symbolise innocent love, affection, modesty, faith, nobility, intuition and dignity. The sweet-scented violet flower symbolizes loyalty." she told him.
He nodded. These would do nicely.
