“But atya,” Said the Elf child, creasing his brow in concentration “What exactly was it like to see the stars for the first time? The lake? Can you not try to describe it in more detail, please? The exact first moment” He sat on a neatly stacked pile of carefully rolled fabric, legs crossed in front of him and holding onto his ankles with his hands. His father, working on stitching a delicate floral pattern into blue flowing silk-like fabric, gave Istyamermo an amused glance. “I have described what I remember to you many times already and shared what I could not relay with words through Osanwe. Yet you seem to still be seeking for something. What exactly is it you are seeking, my son?”
Istyamermo sighed, frustrated. If he only knew! It just did not feel like he could picture it perfectly in his own mind, it seemed hazy, more of a feeling than a clear image “I simply cannot understand it completely!” He said at last, shrugging helplessly. And then, voicing his concern, he added “It must have been a truly magnificent moment! And now it is past and cannot be relived. I do not want it to be forgotten. What then about moments of less importance?” Seeing that his son seemed to be really distressed by the thought of such an important moment being lost or becoming hazy, Þerindo stuck the needle carefully inside a part of the stitching he had already completed and then neatly placed it on the table. Picking up his son, who comfortably nestled into his arm, leaning his head against his father’s shoulder, he stepped outside onto the balcony of their home.
In front of them lay a part of the city of Tirion. It was the hour in which the light of the trees mingled, painting everything, from the golden, curved railing in front of which they were standing, to the great sea in the distance in a soft light, making the world seem dream like in front of their eyes. “What do you see, yonya?” asked Þerindo after a moment of silence. The boy lifted his head and focused hard, playing with a strand of the black hair in which he had buried his little hands, without noticing. Why did his father ask him? It must be a test! A calming thought from his father reached him and he stilled. Maybe it was a game! He liked games.
Letting go of his father’s hair, he grabbed the railing and excitedly started recounting everything he saw, until after a long while “...and there is a seagull! Its white wings like silver in the light – oh another one! Now the first one is gone!”. Leaning his head against the railing with a frustrated sigh he exclaimed: “I do not like this game! I wish everything would stop until I have seen it completely!”
His father’s hand and a gentle wave of understanding and empathy calmed him down enough to lift his head and look into his father’s eyes. Having kneeled down next to him, his grey eyes shining with a mixture of sorrow and joy, he cradled his son’s face in both his hands. Indeed, life keeps changing. Yet here in the Blessed Realm we are safe from evil. We can just be. You have all the time of the world to find a way to gain the knowledge you are seeking. And yet, this exact moment is gone and will not come exactly like this again. It is a sorrow to see things pass and a joy to know they are making space for something new. Do not be afraid, my dear child. If there is a place to find peace and to enjoy beauty that lasts, it is here in Aman. Pondering his father’s thoughts for a moment, and thinking to himself that even in Aman the seagulls were moving and changing, Istyamermo finally replied But I want to keep it, atya. I want everyone to be able to share this knowledge. I do not want it to get lost! What if I want someone to experience this moment with you on the balcony, many years in the future and I fail to relay it adequately?
“You will find a way to convey it through words.” Said his mother when he dutifully helped her spin the fine thread his parents needed for their craft. “I named you Istyamermo and I know in my heart that your need to seek and preserve knowledge is a great gift to our people. You will find a way, yonya.”
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This is set a long time in the past, when Ningaear was about 10 years old.
Atya: “dad” (Q.)
yonya: “my son” (Q.)
Istyamermo : “desirer of knowledge” (Q.) Ningaear's mother name.
