Work Text:
April 29, 1845
Dear Celegorm,
I write to accept your apology, which was delivered with yesterday’s post. It was almost discarded because of a smeared envelope. Although I shall miss the chessboard you snapped in half and thrust into the fireplace, I do not wish to retain feelings of bitterness against you forever.
Also, Maitimo has offered to procure me a new one. Perhaps he will make it himself. Lest you wonder, he told me last year I may call him Maitimo with the rest of you.
Since my mother desires my letter to you to be long and cordial, I must fill the rest of this page. Let me suggest, then, as one a little older than you, that losing a game should be no cause for anger. Even the most skilled players will sometimes be forgetful or have ill luck—and skill, I'm sure we can agree, is a long way off for both of us.
In forgiveness, your cousin,
Fingon
(undated)
Dear Turgon,
You will not unlock your door, so I must slip this beneath in hopes that you read it. I told Mother that it was I who goaded you into climbing the china cupboard.
I am being sent to bed without supper, but you are free.
Fingon
(illegible date) 1850
Dear Dr. Olorin,
I beg leave to be absent a week from our work. My grandfather's death came as such a shock, and I think there are some in my family who need healing almost as much as our patients. If you will grant me this week, I shall work double hours for a month. Forgive the boldness of such a request.
Fingon Finwean
July 9, 1849
Maitimo,
Of course I am angry, but it can never be at you—at least not for very long. Aredhel told me she had written to you, and I scolded her, for I can manage my own affairs. Yet in the end, I was grateful for her meddling, since it brought your letter to me not two days later.
Now that I have your letter in my hand, proof that I need not be worried, I can admit the worst. I suppose I was rather afraid that you and your brothers might have been bidden not to speak to us. I would not feel Celegorm's loss particularly—but no, I cannot even jest. I would miss all of your family, and you most.
I thank you for your apology. Beneath the eloquence, though, I sense such pain—we would both pretend not to notice it if we stood face to face, but I am braver with pen and ink. Maitimo, I, too, grieve over our father's quarrel. Do not carry it all alone. In truth, I do not know which is worse—to fear that a father will die, or that a father will kill. Therefore, you also have my sympathy.
Will we take each other's sympathy, cousin? Will we be better brothers than sons?
In friendship,
Fingon