A letter inside an unmarked envelope once sealed with Landrem the Younger’s personal seal—the Tengwar letters ʟ⋅ɴᴅ⋅ʀ⋅ᴍ beneath a fish naiant. The author’s hand is crisp and elegant if small and understated, reminiscent of a careful scribe’s.
My most cherished friend,
Your hand was hard to read, and some words I cannot make out, but it is good as always to hear from you. I would rather, however, that you don’t spill too much wine next time. You know how hard I find it to go without old temptations. One finds adequate substitutes, but compares to an old favorite.
And I do hope you’re well. You need those wits of yours to get ahead in your world, and I wouldn’t want a woman of your caliber bested by mere wine. But to return to your words, I think your avarice not so strange or new; you always were greedy for other things than gold, for your taste was always for things finer and more substantial. We were always hungry when we first met. Perhaps old things resurface like fire from ashes can given the incitement of new fuel, heat, and air. I will try to offer you what I may as I always have, for I have always considered your fulfillment one of my most important concerns.
I have something to share with you too, Mae, and I pray you will understand: I have been unwell too, afflicted with this lasting ache in my bones that will not leave. Too there is always this chill—beyond that arising from my work—that I fear leaves me sluggish at work. No matter what I wrap around me or drink, I am always cold and lacking and hungry. But you were always clever, Maedis. I think if anyone could determine the cure, it would be you.
I will visit soon this very night bringing some of your favorite things with me. Be good till then. I never liked seeing you go hungry. Perhaps, given a little shared time, we can find a way to help each other.
Image made by Landrem's player with Måns Björkman's Parmaite font.
