Manadhlaer

(( A reply to this letter. ))

Greetings Lady Manadhlaer,

I am glad to read that your portrait pleases you. In my mind I should actually apologize for how long it took to bring it to fruition. I do not only wish to capture the likeness of hröa (body), but fëa (soul), as well.

There are a few odd blotches here and there, as from tears.

My dearest Elloen,

I craved -- no, I coveted -- to be the subject of your brush. And now I have been. I never dreamed that the sketches you made of me would lead to such majesty. I am afraid I was so overwhelmed this evening that I could not find my words properly -- what would the scholars and scribes say, if they knew? Yet are there words for the kind of likeness you are capable of?

This message, tied to the leg of a raven, was clearly written in great haste. 

Dear Artewen,

I write in the utmost urgency, hoping you can help me as you once helped my friends in Dunland. 

Telpenaro is the one who gave me your name. He said to implore you to come to the home of the swans, but bring no horse crackers. 

Your reward shall be great indeed if you can assist us. 

Yours, clinging to hope,

Airesarë Celulinda “Manadhlaer”

14 June

My only love,

I have blinked, and five years have passed since I held your hröa in my arms, long after your fëa had sped to Mandos. 

It makes me happy to imagine that Lord Ulmo pulled the blue rose given me by hiril Gilinnen, mother of Elvealin, and which I set on top of the surf at Lindon, along the Straight Road until it came to the shores of the Blessed Lands, and to think that there it came to your hand. For you would know at once who sent it and what it meant.

I heard a knock on my door and when I opened it, my uncle Fëamíril was behind it since he had finally arrived from Lothlórien. We has down for a cup of tea and to talk about a thing or few. He asked me why I hadn’t painted for such a long time, but the reason it something that I’m not willing to openly admit yet. ”I need more pratise,” I answered. ”No artist is truly ever finished and perfect.” It was vague, but it was also true and something that I believed in, also for myself.

Manadhlaer, Lady of the Order of the Pillar and of the Houses of Healing, looked most unladylike as she crawled on all fours around her garden. Indeed, dirty as she was, she would have resembled a giant shrew at a distance, had she a tail. As she was not so endowed, she merely resembled a garden-variety gardener as she crawled around her yard, making sure that each precious athelas start got its grip in the rich Imladris soil. Someone drawing near would have heard her humming an unmistakably lovely tune they had not heard before.

Ah, my Diary!

Today was the begetting-day of Lady Norliriel. Of Norlië. Of the intimate name, referring to her inward fire, that is so secret I have only blurted it out -- can it be more than once? I now think it is only once -- in front of Lady Elvealin and my wandering, sometimes Houses-helper younger kinsman Meluilindelë. And it was then that I had cause to fear for her life, and I knew so.

It was a few of days after Vanimar’s meeting at the Pillar, a meeting that saw Lady Manadhlaer bestowed with the responsibility and office of Lady of the Pillar, an order no longer leadership. It had been heart-warming to see Manadhaler, humble and almost moved to tears, receive the insignia of her new office from the Lady Ambassador Tingruviel, acting upon Lord Anglachelm’s directive. Ealendil felt so proud and happy for her friend.