4. Scene I.iii
The Lay of Leithian Dramatic Script Project
BELOVED FOOL! BEYOND THE WESTERN SEA
[Namo is sitting pensively by the palantir, fiddling with his teacup. Nienna is still on the floor in front of the Loom, watching with an odd, almost-pleased expression. An Elvish-looking individual (who could be played by Ewan MacGregor from the second Star Wars series) enters the hall and crosses quickly to where she is sitting. Ordinarily he seems like he'd be rather cheerful and self-possessed, but right now he's looking rather harassed and frayed, and it comes through when he addresses her:]
--Master, everything's in chaos, nobody knows what to do, everyone's asking me for advice, some people are continuing to complain about certain other people and refusing to countenance the possibility that their problems just might not be as serious as those who have just come in and demanding to see the Lady of the Halls at once, and they're all unhappy with me because I'm not you!
Apprentice mine, have you considered how much worse matters could be?
Er -- no, I haven't, m'lady.
Why don't you do that?
Was that a question question, or a suggestion question?
What do you think?
Let me know when you have an answer; I'll be interested in hearing it.
Certainly. But none of this helps with the fact that everything's in chaos and I really need Lady Vaire and she can't be everywhere at once!
I know. I don't really need the Lady of the Halls, I just need to keep reminding myself that I have been delegated the authority and I do have the intelligence to solve small problems on my own and the confidence to not be overwhelmed by the troublemakers along with it. --But there are just so bloody many of them!
You want me to come rescue you.
No. Well, yes. But not really. I want to be rescued, but I don't want the consequences of being rescued, to wit -- losing even more ground to the insufferable Feanorians and looking a total fool in front of everyone else and causing increased doubt and discord as a result. --I'm going back to work. Thank you.
[he starts to walk away]
When you said you had everything under control, I should have known that meant you were delegating.
Of course. Micromanagement is poor Melkor's besetting weakness.
[her brother closes his eyes and rubs his temples. Halfway to the door the Apprentice halts in mid-stride, pivots on his heel and hurries back over]
I almost forgot completely -- Sir, there's a young lady here who insists on seeing you personally and immediately. She says her mother used to work for your brother.
Namo: [looking blank]
So why does she want to see me instead of Irmo?
Er -- because she's here.
Oh. You mean she's discorporate. Why can't you just say so?
[the Apprentice winces a little]
Can you tell her I'm in the middle of about six different things and I will see her as soon as I can?
I've done that.
Can you explain that things are not going well and that while everyone's problems are important, not all of them are crises?
She really won't take no
for an answer. I keep giving it to her, and she keeps refusing it.
Can you tell her it isn't
fair to the others ahead of her?
She says it's a matter of justice, and she refuses to go until her case is heard.
Namo: [shaking his head]
Wait, wait, what do you mean -- "go" --? People don't just come and go from my Halls without leave.
Well, she apparently came on her own. It seems her consort was one of the recently admitted.
Did you tell her her case was hardly unique?
I did, Sir -- but I'm not entirely sure I was correct. She doesn't seem to have come in the normal way at all. There was some peculiar talk about Thorondor and "hitching a ride" -- a quaint turn of phrase which I believe, though I'd have to consult the Archives to be sure, derives from a mortal practice concerning a crude form of wheeled vessel known as, erm, a "cart." I confess that ordinarily I would simply dismiss it as the normal, ah, post-discorporation trauma, or possibly prior mental derangement -- but there's something about her that causes me to be uncertain of that diagnosis.
She really is very insistent, Sir.
You're intimidated by her.
[Nienna's student makes as though to deny it, with indignation -- and then sighs]
Frankly, my Lord, yes. In all honesty -- she reminds me of Feanor.
Namo: [shaking his head]
No. There cannot be two Eldar in the universe that obliviously self-centered and full of destructive energy. I refuse to believe it. Ea would disintegrate.
It's the obdurate refusal to be put off. --And the way she sounds totally believable saying the most insane things.
What are her names?
She only gave one -- "Nightingale." --She said it as though it should mean something, when I asked her who she was, and she told me her maternal parent was formerly in the employ of your sibling.
Nightingales, nightingales -- why do they sound familiar?
I could go check the Archive, if you'd like.
So you can skive out of dealing with the discorporate? Fat chance. No -- I think there's some connection that I should remember -- why don't you go ask Irmo if "nightingale" means anything to him. There's an errand you can run.
Er, you could use the remote there -- why not just ask him?
Because you're annoying me. Because I'm waiting to hear from security about that rogue, among other things.
[starts to leave, turns back again]
Sir, didn't Melian have nightingales? And aren't all these new patients from the place where she settled down? Dorl -- Dorith -- one of those Dor-- names?
[long pause. Namo frowns, then sets down his teacup with a bang]
All right. I'll talk to her.
[he turns his chair about to face into the room]
Apprentice: [raising an eyebrow]
--Actually, Sir, I think the word you want is --"listen."
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.