“She said what!? About me?!?” Seregrían cries.
“As I told you already,” Gilalaith explains, “Mistress Gwathnim extended her regrets that she could not attend your First Year Feast, and she was as reasonable about it as you are not. You are aware the demands on her time are formidable?”
“And her reasons were perfectly sound, daughter,” Carcírion joins. “That academically you are a fine fit for the Gwaith-en-Gelydh, so she tells us; but emotionally, you are not ready yet.”
“And just what is that supposed to mean?” Seregrían says. “That I am to be treated like a child, even though I am now of age?”
“Judging by your actions of the moment, I’d agree with that,” Carcírion says wryly.
Seregrían paces back and forth, her fists balled and her jaw set grimly. “And how is it supposed to be, would the Lore-masters admit one based on how giddy and happy they appear, instead of how studious and serious you are about your craft? Have I not bested each and every one of my schoolmates, my assignments near perfection, my presentations the envy of my colleagues and the admiration of my lessons-masters?”
“All those things are true,” Gilalaith says, “but is it not as I told you, your temper shall be your undoing? Look at yourself, stomping about like a caged beast, and growling as one. What are people to think? How can you master your studies, when you cannot be master of yourself?” Seregrían, with an effort, unclenches her fists and puffs out a shuddering breath.
Carcírion holds out his hand, and Seregrían takes it. “Go now to your chamber, little blood” he says, calling Seregrían by his pet name for her. “Not as punishment, just as a moment to catch yourself. We shall call you to supper, and we shall speak again.” Seregrían bows her head and leaves. After she is out of hearing, Carcírion puffs out a breath of his own.
“Just as I was, as a yearling mariner,” he says. “I wanted it all at once, without the patience. You have done so much and so well in my absence, my love, but I fear as you do: our daughter’s anger may never truly abate.”
“I was hoping as she does, that she would be accepted into the Gelydh,” Gilalaith says sadly, “but I also hoped that she might learn to master that rage of hers.”
Seregrían, however, does not go to her chamber as she was bid. She instead slips out of the house and makes her way through the neighborhood to the house of the Lore-masters. An elf stands as door ward, barring her way and asking her business.
“My business is with Mistress Gwathnim, can you tell me if she is within?” she says.
“The Mistress is on the grounds, indeed,” the door ward replies, “ but she is not receiving visitors at this hour. I can relate word to her, or one of her assistants if need be. Whom shall I say is calling?”
“Tell her it is Seregrían of the House of Anorwë who comes to call – and craves audience with Mistress of the Gelydh.” The door ward opens his mouth to speak, but for a moment his eyes glaze over as if listening to something distant. He merely replies, “Enter and use the door to your right.”
Seregrían passes the threshold and enters an ornate foyer. She finds the right-hand door leads to a circular chamber off the entrance, and she stands in what appears to be a gallery of artifacts, arranged around the walls of the room. In the center of the room is a table strewn with books and scrolls. Seated at the table is an Elf-woman, deeply engrossed in a page. Seregrían manages a polite cough, and the woman looks up at her, fixing her with a stare of frosty examination.
“Your pardon, my lady,” Seregrían says, “I was told by the door ward I might find Mistress Gwathnim within?”
“She is within,” the woman replies with a voice as frosty as her gaze. “Few are they who might disturb her without purpose, and I am one of those. And who is it who asks of her?”
“I am Seregrían of the House of Anorwë. I wished to have words with her, concerning an interview that might not take place. Since she cannot come to me, I must go to her.”
“Sensible, as far as that goes. The Mistress is elsewhere, but I might find her should the need be great. I shall inquire, and I invite you to remain here and pass the time.” The woman rises and exits the room, leaving Seregrían to examine the artifacts around the hall. After a few minutes of glancing at the titles of the many books, she crosses to a large wooden plaque, seeing upon closer look that it is a mirror, turned toward the wall. She is looking curiously at the piece when she hears the woman return.
“That piece holds your fascination, why?” she asks.
“I do not understand why a mirror would be facing the wall,” Seregrían says.
“It is a tool, a part of a lesson. Can you venture a guess as to the purpose?”
“If the mirror is turned away, one cannot use it as intended, therefore the purpose is other than its normal use. It is on display in this room with other artifacts and not discarded, therefore its new purpose has intrinsic value.” A pause, then, “If the mirror faces the wall, one cannot see their image, therefore a different mirror must be used.”
“An adequate deduction, for one so young as I see you to be. But what if the purpose is not to use a mirror at all? How might one examine oneself?”
A beat, then, “One might use their reflection in the window pane?”
“True enough. But what might one see in the window? A view beyond, whether looking outside or gazing inward?”
“That would distract from the goal of viewing oneself.”
“Or enhance that view – or perhaps, seeing others through the window? And would not others, gazing though the window at you in turn, see you as the glass might? Look at the glass once more and think.”
Seregrían does so, lost in thought for a longer moment then, “But the purpose is to examine one’s appearance, so the glass facing the wall is not meant to be used; one is forced to use the window, but that is not sensible, using things for other than they are intended.”
“Then you fail to grasp the sense, child. If you use the glass to view yourself, you see only yourself, through your own eyes, and only that perspective is available to you. But looking through the window allows you to see what is beyond, and with a different perspective. And if others see you through the window, they too have a different perspective of you, one that you do not.”
“Then the purpose… wait, the purpose is to look outside – looking outside yourself, with new eyes? Seeing yourself in the glass or seeing yourself in the window!”
“You achieved the result of the lesson with some prompting, but the path of your reasoning was sound, and steady. How promising. I would bid you return tomorrow, at this same hour; and perhaps as you wait, another lesson might hold your interest further. I bid you good evening, Seregrían of the House of Anorwë.” As the woman crossed to the door, Seregrían saw for the first time she was truly a tall and regal elleth, her every movement a glide and a dance.
“Oh, my lady, stay a moment. You know me, but by what name do I ask for you tomorrow?” The regal elleth smiled slightly, lifting one eyebrow before closing the door behind her.
“I am Gwathnim.”
Next Chapter: "Fountain of Lessons"
