Nethril, who for many a yén had gone by no other name, had come again to the Markets of Imladris with bolt upon bolt of cloth in many a colour, and Manadhlaer had to touch them all; rub some between thumb and finger to make sure the dye was fast even though it always was; and even sniff some to make sure of the fiber's provenance. Even her new stallion was bored -- resting his head on her shoulder, at last. He might have slobbered down the front of the dress she was already wearing, had she not shoved his heavy head away with an exclamation.
"Curudal! You absolute ninny. Go and play in the woods, then." Unoffended, the beast wandered off, allowing Manadhlaer to return her attention to Nethril and her wares.
"I had thought perhaps linen, for the journey itself," Nethril suggested.
"I, also. It stretches little, but keeps off the heat." Manadhlaer knew well the unbending nature of the fiber could be worked with, if she cut the garment correctly.
"And did you not want some more burgundy?"
"I did not. It is too heavy for summer -- oppressive, almost, and it inclines one to strange dreams. Show me..." She paused. "Show me your greens."
There followed a long conversation, uninterrupted by horse or Elf, about the virtues of various shades of Yavanna's colour, and silk, satin, and other fabrics added themselves to Manadhlaer's pile as if by legerdemain -- although it was, in fact, simple trade. Manadhlaer could almost hear young Frimsi proclaiming some aphorism of the Dwarrow -- Healthy commerce makes a healthy life, perhaps.
Instead, Nethril said, "Nature's first green is gold," suggestively displaying the next green next to a gold that was less spring-like than like the leaf of a birch in autumn.
Manadhlaer nodded. "Her hardest hue to hold," she said, finishing the nursery-rhyme. She held up the second shade, pondering. "I like this -- the first harvest will be coming in soon. I do like these together." If her stallion had an opinion on adding more fabric to his burden, it went unregistered by either elleth. "And show me, perhaps, some white to turn away the heat of Anor."
"Gold for elanor, and white for niphredil? A bold choice! Has her Ladyship seen them bloom together in Laurelimbórenan?" Nethril used the old name, apparently out of some type of deference rather than her own habit.
"Stop calling me -- no, actually. Never yet have I been so far to the east, but I should like to go ere we all sail. Show me white satin."
"For your knights?"
"Goodness, no," Manadhlaer said happily. "For me."
When at great length all of the fabrics had been chosen, Manadhlaer whistled the notes of a wood-thrush and Curudal came ambling back. He had not gone far -- apparently just around the other side of the building to hear old Nimorn play his peculiar harp. The two ellyth loaded him down with all of the cloth before Manadhlaer mounted, and he twitched his ears at the rustling of it but bore the process patiently. She clicked her tongue and the stallion broke into a trot, then as if feeling the heat of a sudden, slowed his pace. He stopped altogether at the forking of two ways, turning his proud head for guidance.
"This road, Curudal. You and I will take this road." She patted his neck on the proper side, and without further gesture or hesitance, the young stallion continued. As his pace sounded on the pathway, Manadhlaer began to improvise a song to herself in a high, clear voice:
I will take this road much further
Though I know not where it takes me
I have water for my journey
I have bread and I have wine
No longer will I be hungry
For the bread of life is mine
Quoted in this piece:
"Nothing Gold Can Stay" by Robert Frost, pub. 1923
"I Do Not Want What I Haven't Got" by Sinéad Marie Bernadette O'Connor (1966-2023)
