Some Wounds Never Heal

The city of the Noldor in Valinor, ruled by Finwё, is located in the valley of Calacirya, the only pass through the mountains of the Pelori.

Some Wounds Never Heal

Joined: 09 Jun 2014, 00:33

29 Jul 2014, 23:54 #1

There was something between a cold rage and a heavy ball of nausea that tangled inside of Nessavendë's stomach moments after Carnistir had tramped his way through her garden and then clambered over her wall. It had stayed with her for the remainder of the day and into the night, and even lingered the next day when she went about her duties with her mother. The cold rage spawned from the fact that he had purposefully trampled over the lemonbalm she had transplanted the day prior in his attempts to flee, successfully destroying the plant before it could properly take root and thrive. She had the longest struggle finding something that would grow well in that precise area: it received shade more than sunshine and many plants refused to survive in that plot of soil. The lemonbalm held promise...until a certain ill-tempered Noldo trampled through it all and ruined that. The cold rage was being quelled by another feeling, though, one that was harder to combat.

The nausea that settled in the pit of her stomach spawned from fear that Fëanáro would come barging into their home, demanding recompense from her parents because of her momentary loss of willpower. While Carnistir's temper had been tame the moment she had broken his nose and in his departure (even if he had so rudely shoved her down in the process), she knew his father's would not be so tamed. Manissë could not quite pinpoint what troubled her daughter, but she saw a quick change that came over in her--she worked more readily on her lessons in healing, applying every moment of time possible into perfecting and learning her art. When the young Noldo was not working on her healing, she was always in her garden, pittering about and tending to the plants.

Most days she was rarely seen by either of her parents, and at night she was too weary to speak over-long with them. For a time, it worried both Carnion and Manissë. What bothered there child so much that she would withdraw even more?

She could not confess, nor would she. But the nausea and worry slowly dissipated with each passing day and absence of Fëanáro's thundering presence. The fear still lingered, to be sure, but it did not grip her as tightly when each day passed and there was no arrival of the Prince to demand punishment. She wondered if Carnistir had told anyone of their incident, or if he merely played off his injury as part of his earlier scuffle. Whichever the case, she thanked the Valar for the ner's stubborn pride (which she had no doubt grievously injured when she broke his nose) and soon found herself settling into her old routines, although she continued to work endlessly on her lessons for healing, determined to complete each stage and perfect the art. After all, that was the major flaw in the prior scuffle: she had been unable to detain him and rectify the situation she had put both of them in. Perhaps, if she had been able, she could have soothed the anger and fixed his broken nose. If the shock of being shoved and yelled at had worn off quick enough.

With the passing of each month, and her artful avoidance of Carnistir and every member of his immediate family--which was a task to do since there were so many in Fëanáro's brood--she became that much more complacent that no one knew. It was not until she had come face-to-face with Maitimo that her complacency had been shattered. No matter how happy she was to blissfully believe none of his family knew, that was not the case. The eldest prince had brought up the debacle the night of the feast, and while she was certain he was the only one who knew, it still worried her. While she had no siblings, she knew that brotherly bonds kept some things secret, and so her fear that their Atar knew steadily abated.

The time spent in Maitimo's presence had been pleasant. Much more so than her time with Carnistir.

After bumping into the eldest at the festival, she had once more successfully avoided any other member of his family, including the errant prince. Because of her hectic schedule, she was seen even less in social settings, and refused outright numerous invitations to join her mother's friends for tea. She had to finish her lessons, she had explained politely, and putting them off would do her no good.

And so the young healer was in her garden now, looking at the new lemonbalm she had taken from her grandmother's garden. She also eyed the spikes near at hand, wondering if it would be wise to put them into the ground alongside the plant. It would keep trespassers away, that was for certain. Shaking her head, knowing that would be considered malicious, she picked them up and decided to return them to her father in his forges. Considering she was currently dressed in a dress deemed suitable to be seen outside the walls of their home, she figure it would be wise to go now. Slipping on her shoes and bundling the metal into the cloth that had stored them away with her other gardening tools, she moved out of the garden through one of the openings in the garden's wall. Nessavendë tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, the fiery locks loose, and moved off to where the forge her father worked in was. She hoped--and prayed--that she ran into no one. All she wanted was a quick, easy journey and then to return to the peace of her gardens.

Life was never quick and easy though, was it?
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Joined: 04 Jun 2014, 00:11

01 Dec 2014, 09:53 #2

Of all the terrible things Iaser had talked him into, apologizing to that red-haired witch must be the most appalling. It had taken quite some time, months even, but finally, Carnistir gave in to his far more level-headed friend’s pleadings to ‘make things right.’ What was right? Apologizing to the nis who broke his nose was certainly not right, but here he was…heading towards her home to make some very belated show of shame for his actions. Moryo initially denied knowing where she lived – unfortunately that trick hadn’t worked – because he did indeed know exactly where she lived, at times even purposefully passing by it for reasons he could not quite understand. Iaser knew him too well, spent too much time with the young prince, and was by far too observant.

It was also Iaser’s advice that Moryo actually dress the part of prince, rather than brawling hooligan. That part wasn’t so miserable as Moryo did care about his appearance. With his hair intricately braided, crafted by his own careful hand, and clad in a tunic of deep red, trimmed with golden embroidery, he cut a striking figure for only being just short of fifty. There was still an air of youth to his features, but there was a shadow of the ner he’d grow into in the next few decades. Freckles stretched across his face, across the nose that had healed straight no thanks to Ness. Who breaks someone’s nose over a nickname? Someone with rage issues, that’s who. And they called him hot tempered.

While lost in thought over the ridiculousness of this venture, Moryo nearly walked into someone purposefully striding ahead of him as if in a hurry. His own stride was an unnaturally long gait due to chasing after impossibly tall brothers. Fortunately, a quick side step and half sashay kept him from out right running into the…red head. He knew that red hair and those freckles – revealed as he spun around to face her fully. Moryo frowned at the sudden discovery. Just excellent. His plan to make a formal apology utterly ruined by her unexpected appearance.

“You.” He grumbled unhappily, glancing between her and the newly sprouted potted herb in his hands. A peace offering, some sort of healing herb that was apparently hard to come by and special for some reason or another. Also Iaser’s idea and from his garden (or rather the garden he shared with his healer parent’s of some notable position among the upper society). “This is for you. Even though you broke my nose over being called a nickname.” Moryo held out the plant to her, keeping a safe distance lest she take offense to the gift and break something else.


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Joined: 09 Jun 2014, 00:33

07 Dec 2014, 16:40 #3

Months. The healer had avoided the hot-headed son of Fëanor for months, and she had done a good job in being subtle about avoiding him. She was thankful that her lessons in healing had not been finished, for they had given her partial reason to avoid most events and social gatherings, and her mother had been more than pleased to see her put so much effort into finishing up her lessons and perfecting her skills (even if it was disconcerting that she was putting off a social life to do such). And once she had completed her lessons, she had devoted more of her time to her garden and making up an excess supply of various balms and tinctures that her both her mother and she used in their healing practice, thankful for help from her grandmother with some of the more stubborn plants she intended to grow. It had been so easy, avoiding him, and such a blessing. She had thought the Valar were being kind to her, letting her life go on without a hitch and without Carnistir there to disturb or anger her anymore.

She was wrong.

Someone had been walking toward her, someone with a long gait, and she had easily moved as they did without looking or thinking about it, only muttering a soft pardon as she did. Then a voice spoke up, clearly unhappy and like nails on stone. Were the Valar feeling particularly cruel? Did they feel like having a laugh at her expense? Nessavendë wondered this as the voice rang out near at hand, addressing her in the most impolite way. She had done so well avoiding him! Of course there had been that momentary run-in with Maitimo, that sudden fear of retribution for what she had done, but that had not ended in disaster like she had expected it to. Thankfully. She stopped in her tracks rather suddenly, slowly turning to face him then with a blank expression. She would not let him see how much this bothered her. Her eyes darted down to the herb, brows narrowing then as she looked it over to make sure it was not poisonous, perhaps an attempt at payback for her accidentally breaking his nose (because by the Valar it WAS an accident!). She held the bundled spikes close, refusing to reach out and take the plant still.

If he was attempting an apology, he was starting off on the wrong foot."You had no right to call me that." She reminded him. Nickname or not, they were not friends, not even acquaintances, and now they were standing on the fine line of enemies. "I do not call you Moryo, or whatever your brothers call you." She had other ideas about what to call him: cranky pants was one of those. Picking another fight now would not be wise, though, and so she settled on the path of (hopefully) least resistance. "I am sorry for hurting you, though, whatever that is worth." Probably nothing but no one could say she did not apologize for her own actions.
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