#caranthir's wife

[essenceofarda]

Haleth and Caranthir's wife 👀

#Haleth #silm fanart #the silmarillion #silmarillion #caranthir's wife #lotr #lord of the rings #lotr fanart #tolkien fanart #my art #hehehehe 👀👀 #Caranthir off screen going 📸 haha #The moral dilemma of the Haleth/Caranthir ship with Caranthir having a wife isn't a moral #dilemma anymore if his wife gets in there too!! #throuple goals 😉😏

[sauroff]

✨ Feanorian's Wives ✨

I hate calling them that, but sadly I don't have the knowledge or patience to give them a name.

From left to right (or at least I hope so, because formating always gets messed up when posting from phone) :

- Tyelpë's Mother: Teleri, carpenter (more specifically, woodcarver). Killed during the first kinslaying, protecting her people. Re embodied, and waiting for her son to come back.

Not as soft as she looks. If Curufin was ever allowed to be re embodied, she would send him back to Mandos with her own hands.

- Maglor's wife: Vanya, poetess. Stayed in Valinor (even in a better context, she wouldn't have left) and remade her life. She isn't waiting for Maglor, but if he was ever allowed to come back, she would welcome him into her life again, as long as he could adapt to it. Despite being a vanya, she isn't very fond of the Valar and their rules, and her lifestyle might not fit with what other vanyar consider proper.

- Caranthir's wife: Noldo, glass artist. Went to ME with Caranthir. She learned khuzdul pretty fast, and acted as a diplomat with the dwarves (but what she actually liked was learning from them and their craftsmanship). She really liked Thargelion, and thought of it as her home.

Died during the Dagor Bragollach. Still in Mandos.

#feanorians #feanorians wives #maglor #caranthir #curufin #Caranthir's wife #maglor's wife #curufin's wife #silmarillion #my doodles #i kinda loved drawing Caranthir's wife clothes a lot

[polutrope]

And Love Grew: Chapter 4

Rating: T | Violence, Character Death Words: 5.3k (Chapter), 17k (WiP) Relationships: Elrond & Elros & Maglor, Caranthir's Wife & Maglor Characters: Maglor, Elrond, Elros, Caranthir's Wife, Original Characters Genre: Tragedy

As a host of survivors makes the journey from Sirion to Amon Ereb under Maglor’s leadership, old bonds unravel and loyalties crumble. But from the scraps and ruins, new and unlikely bonds take shape. A story of perseverance through suffering.

Chapter 4: The host pauses for rest on the eaves of Taur-im-Duinath. Dornil learns some disturbing truths about Maglor. Gwereth does her best to care for Elros and Elrond while struggling against her own grief and anger.

On AO3

Chapter excerpt:

Taur-im-Duinath was a strange forest. So dense with vegetation, pressing out to its very edges, as to seem untouched by any creature that fed upon things that grow. Indeed, besides small stream-dwellers and the occasional bird flitting in and out of the crowns of ancient trees, they had seen no animals. Strangest was that much of what lived here was unknown elsewhere in Beleriand. The forest, vast and deep and verdant, was a world unto its own. Silent, some called it, and by day it lay quiet indeed, its thick growth swallowing the chatter, the whinnying of horses, the scrape of the whetstone, the fall of water from wrung textile. The sounds, too, of children laughing. Glancing up from her work, Dornil noticed the berry-gatherers’ baskets had been forgotten in favour of a game of hiding and chasing through the understory. Dornil’s eyes rose to the darkening underbelly of the clouds. Dusk was coming on. At night, Taur-im-Duinath was not silent. At night, the forest threw back echoes of the day’s noises in strained, shrill tones. Noises that swirled and churned in the mind long after they had died, turning, turning until out of the confusion of sounds voices rose. Voices speaking, shouting, singing.

#maglor #elrond #elros #caranthir's wife #kidnap fam #my fic #*and love grew

[grey-gazania]

💖 💛 (Caranthir)

unusual headcanon ask game

💖 - Romantic relationships or ships. 💛 - Familial relationships.

I'm going to do these both at once, because the answers tie into each other.

Of his brothers, Caranthir is closest to Maedhros and least close to Curufin. He was already married and living with his wife in Tirion by the time Curufin was born, and thus really only saw Curufin when he went to visit his parents; he wasn't a particularly involved older brother. It wasn't until Fëanor was banished to Formenos that the two of them began living under the same roof, and Caranthir quickly came to the conclusion that Curufin was a little tit, with an ego that matched their father's but without the same level of achievement to back it up. But the thing that really solidified the wedge between them (or as Caranthir would put it, "I love my brother, but I often don't like him very much.") was Fëanor's treatment of their wives.

Curufin's wife, Nyellë, was pregnant with Celebrimbor when Fëanor was banished, and she went into exile with Curufin. Fëanor approves of this, and sees it as an act of loyalty not only to Curufin her husband, but also to him as the true heir to the Noldorin throne. He dotes on Nyellë as a loyal daughter-in-law and the mother of his only grandchild.

But Caranthir's wife, Parmacundë, did not accompany her husband to Formenos. Fëanor sees this as a deep betrayal, and he can't understand why Caranthir does not. But Caranthir didn't expect Parmë to come with him -- not because of any strife in their marriage, but because he knew she would be miserable in Formenos, away from her friends and her work and the city that she loves. I think Caranthir has the healthiest love life in his immediate family, and he wants Parmë to be happy more than anything. He knew he couldn't stay in Tirion, because that would be tantamount to declaring loyalty to Fingolfin, but he also didn't want his wife to give up her life for him. For Caranthir and Parmë, this is a temporary separation. They're doing this because it's the best way to meet both their needs. Neither of them holds any ill will towards the other over it, and the love between them remains as warm and deep as ever.

Fëanor, obviously, does not agree, and when Parmë makes her yearly visits to Formenos to see Caranthir, he treats Parmë very poorly. Curufin being Curufin, he follows his father's lead and also treats Parmë with disdain. This has led to some pretty explosive arguments between Caranthir and Fëanor that not even Finwë has been able to smooth over, with Curufin loudly taking Fëanor's side, Maglor quietly taking Caranthir's side, and Maedhros and the twins just trying to stay out of it.

#anon #dash games #caranthir #caranthir's wife #curufin #curufin's wife #feanor #nyellë #parmacundë

[grey-gazania-fic]

A Stitch in Time

Elrond, Caranthir's wife, and a Fëanorian heirloom. Rated G.

The quilt had been added to the twins' bed during their first winter at Amon Ereb, after two nights spent curled together for warmth. Clearly their captors — caretakers? Already the lines were blurring — had noticed, and had taken steps to remedy it. It smelled of cedar and gave their room some much-needed color. Large enough to cover the bed of a full-grown man, it was more than sufficient for two children, and could even be folded in half for extra warmth on particularly cold nights.

And it was utterly unlike the other quilts they had seen, with their neat, regular blocks and clear patterns. This one was a rich riot of reds, golds, and browns, with different fabrics cut into asymmetrical shapes and quilted in winding, stylized, visible stitches. It quickly became a comfort, something that could hold Elrond's attention when he was ill or injured and confined to his bed. There seemed to constantly be something new to discover — here a sliver of fabric soft as lamb's wool, there a quill picked out in neat, tiny stitches. Tiny brass bells hung at three of the corners; the forth was adorned with a slender gold ring sewn on in blunt stitches of crimson thread.

And yet, somehow it never occurred to either of them to ask about it, not until they were half-grown and fast becoming too large to comfortably share a bed. It was Elros who gathered up the nerve to speak, after he had helped Maglor move a second bed into the room and begun to take his share of the blankets.

"You can keep using the quilt," he said to Elrond. "I know how much you like it." And then, turning to Maglor, he said, "Who made it, anyway?"

"Our sister-in-law," Maglor said after a moment of silence. "Caranthir's wife." And then, before either of them could ask, he added, "She stayed in Aman."

Caranthir, Elrond knew, was the brother who had built the keep, and one of the three who had fallen in the attack on Doriath. He wondered, sometimes, about those brothers. What had they been like? Did they have Maglor's gentleness or Maedhros' wry humor? Were they as tired-eyed and worn as Fëanor's remaining sons, at the end? But the topic was clearly closed, as Maglor folded down the last blanket, clapped Elros on the shoulder, and left the room.

And so the quilt stayed on Elrond's bed, always there to greet him when they returned to Amon Ereb each winter. And when Maedhros and Maglor informed them that they were being taken to King Gil-galad, after their protests had broken like thrown dishes against the wall of Maedhros' will, when they had given in and begun packing, Maglor had folded the quilt up and placed it in Elrond's bag, just on top of Maedhros' herbal. The corner with the ring rested face-up, and he traced it with his long, strong fingers.

"It's his wedding ring, isn't it," Elrond said. It wasn't really a question; he'd guessed as much years ago.

Maglor nodded. "It feels like I'm sending a piece of my brother away with you," he said with unusual candor.

"You are," Elrond said. "And I won't forget them. Or you."

The Sons of Fëanor were not good men, but neither were they wholly evil. Someone needed to remember that. Maedhros was grim and deadly and cooly logical, but he was also a patient teacher, prone to unexpected dry wit but never mocking his students. Maglor was equally deadly, but he had soothed their nightmares with his gentle voice and taught them all the lore he knew.

And the others…he'd learned about them, slowly. Celegorm, who had spent half his childhood sneaking his dog into his bedroom or running wild in the woods. Caranthir, who had liked numbers better than he liked most people but who had spent nearly every waking hour at Maedhros' bedside while he recovered from his torment on Thangorodrim. Curufin, whose own son had denounced him but who had spent a full day designing Himring with one hand tied behind his back, making certain that his brother could live there without hinderance. Amras, who had dragged his twin into trouble at every opportunity. And Amrod, who felt such kinship with the Green-Elves of Ossiriand that he had nearly abandoned Quenya entirely for Sindarin.

Someone needed to remember those things, after Maedhros and Maglor were gone.

"You know that we knew Gil-galad's father well," Maglor said, dragging Elrond's attention back to the present. "If they're anything alike… You'll be in good hands."

Elrond didn't answer, but wrapped his arms around Maglor in a last, unspoken goodbye.

continue reading on AO3

#elrond #sons of fëanor #sons of feanor #caranthir's wife #parmacundë #my ocs #quilting #grief #the silmarillion #silmarillion fanfiction #silm fic #silmarillion writers' guild #silmfic #tolkien fanfic #tolkien #silmarillion

[curufinrod]

Ladies who married into the Line of Finwë

#Nerdanel #Anaire #Earwen #Maglor's Wife #Curufin's Wife #Caranthir's Wife #Elenwe #Eldalote #Elwing #mine: gifs #mine: edits #House of Finwe #House of Feanor #House of Fingolfin #House of Finarfin #Gondolin #Nargothrond #Valinor #lotredit #silmedit #tolkienedit #The Lord of the Rings #The Silmarillion #Tolkien Legendarium #userwanyin #oneringnet #JRR Tolkien

[tilions]

Calarië Súretal · Caranthir's Wife

maglor's wife · curufin's wife

#tuserosie #userindomiel #userlyndeth #my oc #caranthir's wife #oc calarie #calarie #tolkien #silmarillion #feanorians #caranthir #noldor #my edit #I'll do all three of them because idk i have feelings? #i should be studying #but I'm always prone to procrastination

[yourlocalnetizen]

Okay so I’ve seen Headcanons before where people suggested certain elves having political marriages and I just godda say NO…

Marriage is quite literally forever when it comes to elves, I don’t think any parent would want their child to marry someone they potentially didn’t like because you can never go back.

I don’t think even Feanor would do this to his sons.

Also when we look at his sons who are married, none of them remotely have the vibe of someone that would marry someone they don’t love.

Maglor just has a romantic aura around him. Probably because he’s a musician but yeah, I can easily see him falling in love.

Caranthir is just that b*tch(affectionate not derogatory). He would refuse something he doesn’t want.

Curufin seems to idolize his father, he seems like the type to recreate what his parents made and that includes a great love story.

#tolkien #lotr #middle earth #feanor #feanorians #maglor #caranthir #curufin #maglor’s wife #caranthir's wife #curufin’s wife #finweans #the silmarillion #sons of feanor

[swanmaids]

the lay of the three wives of the sons of fëanor

written for @finweanladiesweek day 6 “original characters”

words: 810

summary: a recently uncovered second age poem reveals some previously unknown truths about the three women who wedded a son of fëanor. 

Introduction to “The Lay of the Three Wives of the Sons of Fëanor”

Destruction of records during the various battles and sackings that characterised First Age Beleriand, combined with the arguably precarious social position of women during that time and the fact that all of Fëanor’s sons are yet to come forth from Mandos means that little is known of the three women who were, at least for a time, married to a son of Fëanor. For this reason, this short poem, purportedly written by Maechenebeth Malfindiel - a jewelsmith of the Gwaith-í-Mirdain and amateur storyteller- in around S.A. 1300 is a significant historical document. 

The Lay has been criticised for being overly sympathetic to its subjects- it makes no mention, for example, of the rather uncomfortable fact that Maglor’s wife Malrín would certainly have been aware that she was marrying a kinslayer and ship-thief when she wed him, making her later abandonment of him over the Second Kinslaying seem less like the troubled conscience that Maechenabeth portrays, and more like escaping a situation that would have been politically disastrous to remain in. It also seems to portray the fates of double mass-murderer Morndis (referred to here by her Quenya epessë Meletyë) and Tindawen and Malrín who by all available accounts including this one killed no kin, as equally tragic. Nevertheless, as one of few surviving lays that focuses on these under-studied figures as opposed to their infamous husbands, it is a worthwhile read for anyone looking to gain perspective on the wives of Maglor, Caranthir, and Curufin. 

The Lay of the Three Wives of the Sons of Fëanor 

Young Fëanor wedded Nerdanel,

Of their love many lays do tell.

To Fëanor seven sons she gave,

And each was famed from crib to grave. 

Yet lesser known are each three wives

That three sons took within their lives.

The Dark, the Minstrel, and the Smith-

Their women passed on into myth.

Though few remember still their names,

Their faces, stories and their fames,

They need not fade into the night,

In song they may be brought to light.

Caranthir’s bride was bright as dawn,

When he saw her one glinting morn, 

In Alqualondë she did dwell,

Sweet Tindawen of sail and shell. 

Though Tindawen was mild and kind,  

And Caranthir a diff’rent mind, 

In early days he loved her well,

Until upon them darkness fell.

For then he swore his evil oath

And forsook she who loved him most.

He left her there upon the shore,

And to her kin bought blood and war,

And though she loved him still, she raged,

And from his book she tore a page.

She threw her ring, she cursed his name,

And then from him she ran in shame. 

Too late he realised what he’d done,

While brothers cheered for ships they’d won,

He wept regret and sorrow then,

For he had lost his Tindawen.

Thereafter Maglor found a wife,

In what was his great hour of strife, 

His brother gone, his role to lead

The Noldor in their time of need. 

Her cloak was grey, her hair was gold,

A chieftain’s daughter, brave and bold, 

Malrín her name was, Golden Crown,

They wed as Arien looked down. 

They married fast, to make a queen,

Yet soon true feeling grew between

The two of them, and so although

He lost the crown, she did not go. 

Through sudden flame and tears she stayed,

Although upon him doom was laid, 

But when his thoughts turned to the jewel

In Menegroth, she knew him cruel. 

She begged that he not do this deed,

He did not hear her, and indeed,

Her heart was sore, she knew she’d failed,

And when the Herald came, she sailed. 

The last wife married Curufin,

From her eyes tree-light shone within,

A Noldo of some small import,

In Tirion they two did court. 

Their love was fierce, their souls the same,

She stole his heart, he changed her name.

He named her Mighty, Meletyë, 

For her man’s heart, and gaze steel-grey. 

With him she raised her sword and slew,

And stole and burned to lands anew. 

In those lands she bore him a child, 

His hands were strong, yet temper mild.

Like the wolf-mother loves her brood,

They loved him with a fearsome mood, 

But their son could not bear their crimes,

In Narog he left them behind. 

Still wife and husband stayed as one,

“I’ll stay until our lives are done”, 

She said, and yea, she did not lie, 

For in Doriath both did die. 

And now we come to end our tale,

Of steel sword, gold crown, and white sail.

We know their names, their deeds, their doings,

Their loves that would become their ruins. 

Alas for three most tragic brides,

Swept from history like the tides

Of the Swanhaven in Aman ,

Back where the Noldor’s end began.

#finweanladiesweek #tuserosie #userlyndeth #curufin's wife #caranthir's wife #maglor's wife #my post #my fic #my ocs #ruindis #tindawen #malrin #the silm

[maglors-anion-gap]

Gates of Summer 2022

Easing the Leaving [AO3 Link]

for @cuarthol for the @gatesofsummerexchange

Warnings: none apply

Rating: G

Relationships: Caranthir's Wife & Nerdanel, Caranthir/Caranthir's Wife (<- caranthir is not present but the fic is about these three)

Wordcount: 1800k

Summary:

The door did not open immediately.  At this time of night, and in these circumstances, Nerdanel had no reason to expect friendly company.  There was not even a window through which Nerdanel might see her.  The scrape of the bolt sliding back did come. Sornafelmë was reminded of Fëanáro then, and how he'd set a peephole into the door of his workshop - as he put it, for determining if his guests merited his attention.  But while Nerdanel's door opened slowly, it did open.  

[This is set after the estrangement between Nerdanel and Feanor, and after the death of Finwe, and at the time when the Noldor begin to ready themselves for departure.  The premise here is that Caranthir will not change his mind about going, in an argument with his wife that parallels the one Nerdanel and Feanor would have had recently about the twins remaining with her, and caranthir's wife has gone to see Nerdanel because she knows Caranthir best.]

#gos2022 #caranthir #nerdanel #caranthir's wife #feanorians #fic #tol-himling

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Inspired by @sorisooyaa and our discussion.

Y/N to Caranthir : If you keep making that face, it will get stuck like that.

Maglor: Too late. His face has literally been like this for years.

Maedhros : He was born like that.

Curufin : Yeah, he's always had that face.

Y/N : How would you know? You were not even born.

Curufin gesturing at a painting of baby Moryo

Caranthir : 😒 😒 😒

#incorrect quote #one and only you'll get from me #lol #Caranthir #Caranthir's wife #dude needs to smile #shalini is the best

[youareunbearable]

Tonight is a great night to think fondly on Haleth and Caranthir. I think they would make such a funny couple.

Imagine??? The Big Tall Broody Scowling Kinslayer Who Is Also The One Reason The Economy Is Functioning At All Between The Different Races/Elvish Factions Who Probably Is Dying To Tell King Thingol/His Cousins To Fuck Off At Any Given Moment and hes looming over this short human lady??

This short human lady that Can, Will, and Already Has told him to pull the stick out of his ass and bullies him into doing normal townsfolk chores??? Lord Carathir, Master Economist and a Weaver with the skill to rival his grandmother, sitting there and darning socks cause his tiny mortal wife told him too. His reward will be a kiss on the cheek but she'll scold him while he does it because he said a mean thing about his Cousin Finrod in his last letter to her while he KNEW Finrod was visiting her.

Only three things in the world keep Caranthir in check: His Eldest Brother, The Lord Himring, The Current Head of the Feanorian Faction of Noldor, and Former High King; the idea that if he didn't complete his brothers' tax paperwork and run the Trade Routes then the Nolofinweans and Arafinweans would become more economincally important And We Cant Have That; and his 4'11 wife he met bloodied and wrathful on a battlefield screaming at an orc over the corpse of her brother-- it was love at first sight

#caranthir #haleth #halenthir #silmarillion #amber rambles #I honestly just love them they would be such a power couple like i can see them at banquets looking untouchable #but theyre just bitching about the other guests over wine #In my mind they are the country/goth couple of the year #Cara is used to things like this cause he grew up with Feanor and Nerdanel and they don't believe in servants #and also spent a lot of time camping while he was growing up so Cara is used to roughing it he just Doesnt Like To #but here is his tiny mortal wife like Oh My Poor Spoiled Richling Of A Husband lets get u doing some Real Work #he doesn't correct her cause he thinks its funny when she does it in front of other Noldor #cause everyone knows the Feanorians are by all accounts the least spoiled and down to earth out of all the Finweans #Cause everyone knew what Crown Prince Feanor was like

[whiteladyofithilien]

I think my main reason for shipping Caranthir and Haleth is because we need at least one inter-race Tolkien couple where the human is a woman. Like all three canon human-elven pairings it's always the fabulous fae elven beauty and the heroic dude and I'm like... What about a mighty elf-lord and his badass human lady? Hmm? I need this to be a thing and Haleth/Caranthir is the only ship I know of that has that dynamic going for it plus of the middle three sons of Feanor Caranthir is the only one NOT part of the attacks on Luthien... therefore he's the best of those 3

#also i really like to imagine Caranthirs brothers visiting bitching about their failed plot to force Luthien to marry Celegorm #and his lady Haleth absolutely kicking their ass for being such douches #like these two elf-lords FLEE from her fury #meanwhile Caranthir is almost on the floor crying with laughter #like he just watched his bad boy brothers absolutely book it in terror from his human wife #like the capes trailing after them as they run tripping over each other to escape #haleth #caranthir #halanthir #caranleth #i think halanthir sounds better #human elf #jrr tolkien #tolkien #lotr #lord of the rings #silm fandom #silm ships #silmarillion #haleth of the haladin #haledin #halethrim #haldad #middle Earth power couple

[irithyllians]

môrglienna, lómënalir, haleth.

tolkien left all those canon, unnamed fëanorian wives out in the open, of course I had to give them faces and names.

#we all know haleth is caranthir’s wife ok we aren’t cowards about the truth in this house #tolkien #the silmarillion #haleth of the haladin #oc: môrglienna #oc: lómënalir #and the tiniest tyelpe ;; #my art #twitter went crazy over this one for some reason?? #scary women? scary women

[essenceofarda]

Haleth, sparring with Caranthir

#haleth #caranthir #silmarillion #the silmarillion #silm fanart #lotr #lord of the rings #lotr fanart #tolkien fanart #she wins by putting him in a chokehold between her thighs #his preferred method of defeat/death LMAO #jk jk jk jk jk jk jk #(i know he's technically married in canon but let's just say I have the headcanon his wifey and haleth were uhhhhhh ✌️👅 #they were the original polycule imo 🤔😅 #might draw how I imagine Caranthir's wife sometime 🤔 #and uh... Haleth much more NICELY also putting HER into a thigh 'chokehold' ahem 👀

[grey-gazania-fic]

Unconscious Arithmetic

Caranthir meets his future wife. Rated G

I wake just before the mingling, as usual. It's one of the few times the house is quiet, the only sounds being Ammë's soft tread in the kitchen and Makalaurë's snores; he'll be dead to the world till noon. After dressing and tugging my hair into a braid, I check my pockets for loose change. I can buy a roll on my way in and lunch in the square; I don't want to vex Ammë further by getting underfoot. She's still cross with me. I can feel it itching under my skin, too deep for a proper scratch.

I didn't mean to black Angarato's eye – or at least didn't mean to until my fist was already in motion, which is close enough. But his thoughts tumble down like stones and thump my sore places, and some days I will do anything to shut him up.

I examine myself in the mirror as I clean my teeth, but luckily the bruises he gave me in turn are well-hidden under my shirt, so there will be no teasing from my coworkers. (Not my friends; I don't have friends.) Ammë is kneading dough, the steady thud muffled through the walls, so I hurry to the door and pull on my shoes. If I'm quick, she'll be too busy to notice me.

It's still pleasantly cool out, and I'm early enough that I don't need to rush. I enjoy the walk; Tirion is quiet at this hour, only just beginning to stir. The office is empty when I arrive, save Aicórë, who's likely been there all night. She takes a sip from a steaming mug of tea and snaps her fingers at me. "Carnistir. I need you to go to the archive and copy out these records. No mistakes, mind," she says, passing me a sheet of paper. "Now go fetch."

"Woof," I say, giving a half-hearted glower. But it's just for appearances' sake, and we both know I don't mean it. I actually like Aicórë; she can be funny, and she's nowhere near as nosy as the other two head accountants. And it is my happy task as apprentice to make the copies. But the archive means more itching; they think I'm difficult, always needing the original of this and the copy from such-and-such year of that. Too bad for them. That's how audits work.

It's early, but there's a girl behind the counter when I get there. Her hair is tucked neatly under a scarf like most of the other workers, but she's unfamiliar. Another apprentice, likely; she looks younger than me – the top of the counter is nearly level with her bust, she's so short – and the prickle in my stomach says she's nervous.

She flushes and clears her throat before asking, "May I help you?"

"I need to copy these files." Bracing myself, I slide the paper to her, but when she reads it no irritation comes – just a shy smile and something cool and soothing flowing over me like water. It's not even five minutes before she's back and passing a neat stack over to me.

"This one's written with the sarati," she says, indicating the top paper. "Do you need it transcribed into the tengwar?"

I shake my head. "It's fine. I'll bring them back up when I finish."

It's probably the most boring part of the work, copies – nothing interesting or challenging, just double- and triple-checking that what you've written out is accurate. But I work steadily and carefully until near lunchtime, those hours when Laurelin is hottest and we all retreat to fountains or the shade. I tap my quill absently on the table as I give the pages a final read. Tap. Tap. Tap-tap. Tap-tap tap. Tap-tap tap-tap tap.

There's an answering click on the counter behind me, eight taps, and when I turn around and see the same girl, I can't hide a smile. She blushes and ducks her head before disappearing into the stacks, and when I return the files the desk is staffed by one of the familiar itchy harridans.

But after I've handed the work to Aicórë, when I'm settled with my meal on the edge of one of the fountains in the square, I see the little archivist again, and I surprise myself when I shift and say, "Here, sit; there's room. What's your name?"

"Maryacúnë," she says, sitting and sliding off her sandals to dip her toes in the water. "What's yours?"

"Carnistir. I work across the square." Being the mediocre child sometimes has benefits; she doesn't show so much as a flicker of recognition. "You're new, aren't you?" I continue. "I never saw you before this week."

She nods and flushes, radiating a warm tingle of happiness. "They only just took me as an apprentice this month, but I already love it. What are you studying?"

"Accounting. Something to do until I make my earth-shaking mathematical breakthrough. You know, unless someone else gets there first." Atar, most likely. Not that he'll mean it maliciously, but after he sat down to ponder Telerin determiners and stood up with the solution to Formatar's formerly-unsolvable theorem, I stopped pretending I could predict him.

She pulls off her scarf, revealing dark hair braided and pinned, and shakes off the dust before folding it and tucking it away. "A zoologist, an engineer, and a mathematician are having lunch," she says. "Across the street, they see two people walk into a house. After a few minutes, three people leave the house. So the zoologist says, 'They must have reproduced.' The engineer says, 'Our initial count must have been incorrect.' And the mathematician says, 'Now, if one person walks back inside, the house will be completely empty!'"

I can't help it; I nearly choke laughing, and she joins in with more than a little mischief.

I don't have friends. But maybe, just maybe, I could.

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