Summary: There is something very practical about Arwen’s ancient and much-powerful grandmother (for an Elf, anyway) that Arwen admires, for she herself has sometimes found it difficult to achieve practicality. Estel, Man though he is, appreciates her fancies very much. He and his poet’s soul. She has spent the last twenty years sharing them with him in her letters, and every response (growing fewer and fewer until these last six months they stopped entirely) has him writing back like one offered water in the desert.
Arwen does not mind; it is not as though she herself has much more sense, climbing into bed with him as she does.
huge shoutout to @firstelevens for reading thru this and telling me it didn't suck despite not really going here. also, a secondary shoutout to @btwxsixesandsevens for gong here even less but inadvertently inspiring the "lover from a story" bit with their (as always) brilliant fic writing. would never have spent 3 weeks agonizing over this otherwise!!!
3rd October, 2952
Mellon,
I’m late writing you for entirely explainable reasons. You will say, not so unusual for you – that is not true, and you are only very over-eager writing me, which should not be as pleasant a revelation as it is – but anyhow, here it is. We’ve had many visitors of late, and my skill was needed in the healing den. Of course, I thought of you (in all Ada’s training I have not read nearly so much about the virtues of athelas as I did skimming your last letter) but I urge you not to worry, as we are all well here and there is no contagious illness. Your presence would have been appreciated though. If not by Ada (he sits in the study sometimes and looks yearningly out the window; I know he is missing you, though he won’t admit to it) than by the poor Dwarf whose stomach could not settle. You were always very good at getting a smile out of even the most stubborn of silly souls.
On that point, how has it been on the frontier of friend-finding? I know you must not be in the Wilds any longer. Given how swiftly we understood each other, I am sure you will have no trouble at all on that front. Send updates soon,
AE
6th February, 2953
Estel,
Is the Angle so very cold as all that? Do not despair at the stiffness of your welcome (or in your bones!). You are still their kindred and that is manifest even in the curve of the characters you write: you love them already, do you not? Do not deny it.
I am very intrigued by your observations on the rouge-wearing practices of your people and cannot help but wonder if it is an exclusively Mannish preference. I certainly do not wear it, but I have seen portraits and I do believe Uncle Elros did. I cannot determine the colour, however, as the portrait is old. Thoughts?
You will see I have many questions today. Your insistence that every Dunedain woman you meet feels akin to a cousin or aunt is terribly amusing (I am almost convinced you are making a joke — are you?). I am sure at least one of them does not reciprocate that sentiment. Are they still wary of you, or very forward now? What is the food like? How many teeth have you broken upon the infamous bread you described? Have you met your grandfather yet? (I remember you were worried about that).
Do not let the cold seep in too much. You must wear warm socks and eat foods that keep the blood warm. I may be an Elf, but my healing arts extend to many races, so you are thus obliged to listen to me.
As for the rest – your people will love you soon as you do them, for such a love as the one you give is easy to return. You are certainly very likeable, at any rate, and I will argue with anyone who disagrees.
Have hope, and be well. All will be as it should.
14th March, 2953
Do not say you listen to me on all fronts, as I have it in writing by your own hand that you have not eaten in three days. In the cold! Foolish man.
25th January, 2956
Elves do not experience such monthly pains, as you well know Estel. Or perhaps you do not, in which case I must chide Ada for thus limiting your training in the healing arts. Childbirth and bearing is a region most important, as I have learned (I can already imagine your blush) from your own mother, with whom I’ve spoken three times since your last letter. I have decided we must become fast friends, and her efforts at formality are altogether poor anyway; her face is as open as yours often is, and it warms me to know whence that quality came.
Anyhow. The blood in your vest. There is clay that runs beneath the bark of some trees that will remove stains made by bodily fluid. Also vinegar, if you are near a homestead.
