Okay. Keep your heart rate down, Marillë. Yes, this is the Prince Curufinwe. Yes, he's the most genius Elf in all Aman. But he liked your paper, he asked you to be here. There's nothing to be nervous about.
She knocks on the door.
Okay. Keep your heart rate down, Marillë. Yes, this is the Prince Curufinwe. Yes, he's the most genius Elf in all Aman. But he liked your paper, he asked you to be here. There's nothing to be nervous about.
She knocks on the door.
She does not quite fail to give a damn what other people think of them enough to be unbraiding her hair like this in public, so yes.
That'd be a bit much, yes. And they went to all this effort to build a lovely house, they should probably use it for something.
Several weeks later, at the beginning of the summer festival, Vorondie, having been nudged to go in a certain direction by Marillë, "runs into" Prince Findekano, by "accident."
"Hello! Would you like to talk about glass some more, or about the fact that your best friend's courting mine, because I know which of these things I find more interesting."
"Well, true, but--most of the city doesn't know him as well as you do, I bet, or her as well as I do--and it's not that I have reason to doubt that they'd be good for each other, but..." she trails off. He certainly appears to be the most emotionally competent Feanorian, but he's still a Feanorian, and Marillë has--reminiscent failure modes--and that could either fail to be an issue or not that.
I don't know if concerning is the right word--he's far from perfect but I don't really anticipate that suddenly becoming more relevant, but--
Feanorians seem kind of bad at taking care of themselves.
Yeah, just sometimes I have to metaphorically shake her to get her to stop doing something unhealthy.