Her red box of memories

2 Víressë: Letter from Leoba to Bardhwyn

with one comment

Pelargir, 2 Víressë

Dearest B

You can have no idea quite how much your letter has heartened me, to know that I have one friend in this world who doesn’t simply think me an utter fool for loving him.   As you must imagine, I have worn myself ragged over the past weeks, pouring over Dirk’s letter until it has become dog-eared, trying as you say to understand what his thinking is. I am truthfully no closer than I was before.  Yet you are right: there is much good in him. The boy with whom I first fell in love has never been entirely submerged.

I have started and stopped writing so many replies to Dirk, because there is nothing that I can craft with pen and ink that could possibly make him change his mind.  If I saw him I know that he would melt and, believe me, I have been sorely tempted to saddle up my horse and set off for the north, if I thought I had a hope of finding him and being allowed to see him.   But even if I begged and used all my wiles to drag him back south with me (and I truly believe I could do it) I know that in time he would come to resent me for it. He is not one to be tied down.*

Yet I am holding fast to the knowledge that nowhere does Dirk deny our love.  For some probably stupid and unfathomable reason he feels he ought to, but when it comes down to it he cannot actually say as much.  On that glimmer of his love I hang all my hopes. His Mithril Knights can all be dammed to Mordor and back for all I care, so long as there is still a slim chance that I will see him again.  I could not go on without that hope and so cling to it I must.

Thank you for the news of my brother Culanir.  I am sorry that your accommodation in the City is so appalling.  I myself have never had experience of warm rooms there in winter either but as Culanir has always been the one to find me lodgings I have always laid the blame firmly at his door. I think you probably get what you pay for.

I hope that you won’t entirely write off the south on the basis of what the Gondorian military has to offer.  Maybe when you have your pardon (and I have every faith that it will happen) you will be free to make a visit here and maybe I will be in a better situation to host you by then.  I can promise you trees; not the lush oak, ash and beech forests of the north, but we have plentiful olives, figs, laurel and pines and in the centre of the city, an elegant park which provides delicious shade in the heat of mid-summer (which isn’t so very far around the corner now).  It is different but nonetheless beautiful.

Ah, family.. I am blessed to have them, truly I am, but 6 months is a long time to spend with one’s relatives!  My brother Carandil is forever complaining that the winter chills make the stump of his missing arm ache; if he had ever experienced the true cold of the north I think he would harp on about it less. As for Serindë, she is such a sweetheart and a willing listening ear in so far as I am prepared to share intimate details with her, but she thinks I should count myself well rid of Dirk and find myself a husband here and now, which has made me feel very alone.  As you might imagine, I find myself walking something of a tightrope as a result: to offend her would make my living here untenable but to prove faithless to Dirk is unthinkable.

At least the children are keeping me sane although the noise and the chaos here has to be experienced to be believed.  I am pleased that the thought of them cheers you as well.  Last week, Míriel, (Serindë and Carandil’s 7 year old – I don’t expect anyone outside the family to keep the names and ages of their brood straight) set a mouse loose in the house.  She had lured it into a cage in the garden in the name of scientific experiment and then brought it into the girls’ bedroom to prod it and poke it, whereupon it escaped.  Cook found it in the larder, perched brazenly on the cheese shelf, washing its little whiskers.  She screamed the house down. When we found her, she was a gibbering wreck stood on top of a stool, with her skirts held high, flashing fleshy white ankles that hadn’t seen the sun in the best part of forty five years.  Poor Carandil didn’t know where to look, and he’s not a squeamish man.  The mouse of course was long gone by that point and cook has since found droppings by the door.  We are still waiting for one of the cats to earn their keep and catch the thing.

It’s never dull here and I am always kept busy.  I honestly think that at the moment that’s the best thing for me.

[*OOC: Gentle Reader, please accept my apologies for sharing that image!]


Written by leobavorima

January 22, 2013 at 9:06 pm

One Response

Subscribe to comments with RSS.

  1. Dirk, tied down… yes, I can see why you would apologize!


    January 22, 2013 at 9:27 pm

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: