Mortals: A Case Study (Observations on Coming of Age)
Torech Besruth, Falathlorn, Lindon
12 Quellë in the Reckoning of Imladris (compiled from notes written in Bree-town much earlier)
Keeping a set schedule to compose my thoughts and set them to parchment is proving to be a greater challenge than I first thought. My first goal of this case study was merely to document my thoughts regarding this Mortal involvement, in the hopes that I might use these pages as a baseline for further research; after all, I have not troubled myself to delve further into the study of the Firimar since my conclusions were founded ages past. However, recent events, principally my traffic among the Dwarves, has shown that a revisiting of those conclusions might be warranted. Little did I realize, though, that further involvement with Mortals might require a complete revision.
On the day that I admitted to Cutch that his feelings toward me might be mutual, I had no way of realizing until later just how that revelation might affect my thinking. I began thinking and acting in the most un-scholarly ways; absolutely beyond the pale of thought and deed I had so prized in myself. I was almost giddy, saying and doing things that are more expected and appropriate for an Elf-maid of not fourscore summers!
I found it necessary, desperately so, to reorder the scattering butterflies that my thoughts were rapidly devolving into. After my confession to Cutch, after which we pledged to meet again the next morning for what the Halflings call 'elevenses', I retreated (that word again) to my chamber at Scholar's Walk. Once there, with the door locked and by guttering lamplight, I began making notes of the day's events and my reflections of same. After a brief resting time where I dozed off for a few hours, I awoke and reviewed my notes - only to find I had drawn doodles in the margins of the page, especially a sunflower with a face that sported the aquiline nose of Cutch!
The idea of my acting like this, reverting to being a child not yet come of age, is repugnant to me - for I do not wish to revisit or endure any 'second childhood'; once was bad enough, and I have no desire to repeat it, years of terror and flight, death and treachery. An ever-mounting count of years of loveless bitterness. And yet...
Here is a strange thread of thought, which I must set down for reference later. After more than threescore of what Mortals call "centuries", having lived through tumultuous times marked by despair followed by hope, by fear then by victory, could it not be possible that I might rediscover the innocence of what youth was supposed to be like? Seasons of joy and contentment, times of quiet and solitude, but separated in due measure by times of companionship? Even time spent with a beau?
Can I even think to allow myself to experience what Coming of Age was supposed to be about?
Not the Coming of Age that was denied me by war and terror and flight, of suddenly being an orphan and fostered by a family who knew nothing and cared less...
Until I met the House of Anorwë on the Isle of Balar, after the fall of the Falas. They it were who showed me compassion and caring, and attempted in the goodness of their hearts to mark my Coming of Age with as much joy as could be found. I shall always fondly remember Gilalaith, the closest thing I ever knew to a mother, after what happened...
I very nearly burned out these last few passages, for they are mere ramblings of a bitter heart. But it is meet to write them, letting the ink flow from my quill like venom out of a wound, a very deep wound. I wonder if dear Cutch can staunch those wounds, the way he soothed my hurts before...
('Dear Cutch', did I just write that!?)
I shall retire to rest once again, and let the coming day bring what it might. I shall meet Cutch again in the next few hours, and mark and observe what is said and done, and force myself to look at what I'm beginning to feel.
Next Entry: An Hypothesis
