[piosenniel]

Mithalwen's Post

Losrian passed her mentor's son as she left the workshops; she had given a swift smile in acknowledgment but although they were almost the same age (indeed Losrian was the elder by a few months), Artamir had the confidence of his rank that made her feel a lot younger, even though he always treated his mother's apprentice with the greatest courtesy.

She did not go directly back home, she had her bow with her and there was just enough light to go to the buttes for a while first. Nearly five years into her apprenticeship she was still a beginner as Elves rate such things, and with conflict threatening her skill, such as it was has been directed into the consumables of wars. However she was not downcast by her task - she knew that it would be long before she had the skill for sword smithing, and her interest in archery, and a knowledge of wood learnt from her father and brother meant that making arrowheads had a certain fascination. Her trip to the archery practice grounds was to test different designs.

She fitted an arrow and drew it back to anchor point, grey eyes focussed on the target though it was the flight of the arrow that interested her as she released the string.

"That bow is too short for you now, Lossie" said a familiar voice. Losrian did not need to turn in order to know her brother, Ferin, stood behind her. It would have been risking the next arrow through the throat for anyone else to address her thus...

"Indeed, but in current times, I doubt it will be the bowyer's priority to make a bow to fit the stature of a humble apprentice - and if you come to rebuke me, I will be home to scub floors or whatever in a few minutes". Their last private conversation had involved a thinly veiled "suggestion" that Losrian should shoulder more of the household duties to spare her pregnant sister-in-law, Laswen.

"That was not my purpose", he sighed, "I saw you by chance and thought we might walk home together- though we will all have to do more and make sacrifices unless things turn for the better unexpectedly. Those who dwell in the out lands will seek refuge in the city.... You should have stayed in Lindon, you would have been safer there".

"I do not regret my choice, for I have learned more in five years here than I would have learnt in fifty anywhere else - but here, fifty years would not be enough to learn all they might teach me ....."

"Enough, enough.... how anyone can prefer shaping metal to wood is beyond the understanding of a mere carpenter - and I do not want it explained! Let us get home and eat - and find you a floor to scrub since you seem to have your heart set on the task."

As it happened she was spared it, for once they had eaten, she had exchanged a task she hated for one she did not mind. While Laswen took over stitching the dress she was to wear at the feast to mark her fiftieth birthday shortly (her uncommon winter birthday was as much a reason for her name as her pale colouring), Losrian kneaded the bread, singing softly as she did so. She soon finished her task and offered half heartedly to take back the stitching since in Laswen's expert hands more progress had been made in an hour than had been made in many weeks, and it now looked like something that would in time become a dress rather than a random bundle of fabric, ..."unless, there is something else I can do while you sew ? " Losrian added hopefully.

"All is done for today, but I am happy to sew ..." said Laswen, and the pile of tiny garments already awaiting the birth of her child in the spring were a testament to this .."however it would give me joy if you were to fetch your lute and play while I did so since, I fear there will be little enough to sing about in the days to come.

Privately, Losrian agreed with her, and doubted that any would be in the mood for celebration when her birthday arrived. While she would be pleased by the result, hating as she did to be the focus of attention, the cause scared her as much as anyone, and so she did as she was bid and fetched her lute - a parting gift from her parents - and returned to play the simple songs she had learnt as a child, ignoring for that time the many that told of sorrow and war.