12: Basket Weaving and Other Princely Pursuits

The fine art of basket weaving became a metaphor for my life. Here were all these separate pieces that needed to be woven in such a way as to create something useful, even beautiful in its own way. The intricacies of patterns, the choice of materials — reed or oak or willow; dyed or not — and even the ultimate shape of the basket all went into the process of creating one. Even as I learned the proper method of weaving around the spokes, thus ensuring that the entire thing would not fall apart , I came to realize that I had to do something similar to my memories, weaving the past into the present to create a whole (and wholesome) life. A basket is meant to hold many things; it is up to the owner of the basket to decide what should go in it. The same was true for memories....

****

"You need to keep the weaver as close to the base edge as possible, Prince Findaráto," Lótessë said, pointing to where part of a strip of rattan he was weaving was not snug against the spokes.

"Just Findaráto," the Elf murmured distractedly as he made the proper adjustments. He was working on his third basket in as many weeks. The first two sorry efforts (to his mind) sat on a table against the side of the pavilion. Like the one he was attempting to make now, they were both small square baskets, but the first sat crookedly, gaps between rows of weavers indicating that the base had not been packed correctly. The second basket wasn’t much better. He had woven the corners too loosely and the spokes were not as upright as they should have been. Lótessë had refrained from correcting him and he had been ready to tear both baskets to shreds out of frustration, but she had stopped him.

"Use them as a guide," she said softly. "Even our mistakes can be used as models so we can see what we need to do correctly. That is as true for weaving baskets as for anything in life."

So the two failures sat there for any to see and Finrod began to hate the idea of weaving baskets for no real reason other than the fact that he was given no choice in the matter. Eärnur was no help. Finrod recalled their conversation after the first week had gone by and he had complained to the Teler about it....

****

"You’re not giving yourself a chance, my friend," the Lóriennildo apprentice said with a smile. "Did you know how to defend yourself with a sword the first time you picked one up?"

"At least I knew the reason for picking up a sword," Finrod retorted with a scowl. "What am I doing making baskets? I’m a prince of Eldamar, so everyone keeps insisting on telling me. Why should a prince be doing something so... so menial?"

Eärnur’s eyes flashed at Finrod’s petulance. "Creating anything useful is not menial," he said shortly. "I do not hear you complain about your work at the smithy. Is not the making of horseshoes just as menial in your eyes?"

"At least when I finish with my work in the smithy, I will be permitted to ride again," Finrod exclaimed heatedly. "That’s the only reason why I put up with it. I see no purpose in weaving baskets. What do I get out of it in return?"

Eärnur gave him a cold look. "Perhaps the satisfaction of having learned a new skill, one that you never had the leisure to learn before, since you were too busy killing orcs and Elves...."

"I am not a kinslayer!" Finrod fairly screamed and before Eärnur could react, the Noldo was on him, beating him with his fists, all the while screaming, "Take it back! Take it back!" while tears flowed heedlessly down his cheeks. Eärnur, for his part, did not even try to retaliate, merely crouching into a ball to protect himself. It was only when the beating stopped, though Finrod’s screams did not, that he looked up to see Ingil holding the Noldo by the back of his tunic, giving him a slight shake.

"Are you all right, child?" the Maia asked him solicitously.

"I... I’m not sure," Eärnur said faintly, grimacing with pain, futilely wiping at the blood pouring from his nose.

Almost at once Lord Irmo and Lady Estë were there, their expressions unreadable. Finrod had stopped screaming, but the tears continued to flow. Estë bent down to ascertain the extent of Eärnur’s injuries, repairing the damage enough so that there was no longer any pain and the bleeding was stopped. She then helped the ellon to his feet. All the while, Irmo stared at Finrod still in Ingil’s grip, saying nothing until his spouse was finished ministering to Eärnur.

"Put him down, Ingil," the Lord of Lórien said quietly and the Maia complied, though he still kept a hand on the ellon’s tunic. Irmo gave Finrod a hard stare, one that the Noldo had difficulty maintaining. "Would you like to explain yourself, Arafinwion?" the Vala asked quietly.

"H-he called me a... a kinslayer," Finrod yelled, then burst into tears again. "I’m not... I’m not."

Irmo glanced at Eärnur, who was now looking abashed himself. "Is this true?"

"I... I might have mentioned something about killing Elves," Eärnur replied reluctantly.

"I see," Irmo said, shaking his head. "And why would you accuse Findaráto of such a crime?"

Eärnur shrugged. "He went with Fëanáro, did he not?" the Teler exclaimed. "They killed...."

"Were you there?" Finrod snarled and Ingil had to tighten his grip on the ellon to prevent him from going after Eärnur again.

The other ellon shook his head. "I wasn’t even born yet, as well you know, but I heard...."

"Not all the Noldor are guilty of kinslaying," Irmo interjected calmly, "nor is there anything like guilt by association, not where we Valar are concerned." He paused, staring mildly at the two ellyn and then glancing at Estë, who had been surreptitiously stroking Finrod’s hair in an attempt to calm him. She smiled at him and whatever thoughts passed between them remained unknown to the others. Then Irmo sighed and gave Eärnur a hard glance. "I may have been mistaken in assigning you to Findaráto," he said. "You have shown great compassion in your dealings with the Reborn, though I admit that until now most of your work has been with the Teleri who have since been released from Mandos. Perhaps it was too soon to give you a task generally left to journeymen and masters."

Eärnur paled and kept his eyes on the ground. "I’m sorry," he whispered. "I fear I let my own frustrations at Findaráto’s intransigence get the better of me."

"Intransigence?" Irmo asked, lifting an eyebrow.

"I’m not intransigent," Finrod exclaimed almost at the same time, giving Eärnur a glare. "Can I help it if I hate basket weaving and making horseshoes?"

"So far, you’ve hated everything we’ve asked you to do," Irmo said with a thin smile. "What is it you would like to do instead?"

Finrod sighed, looking suddenly weary. "I want to go home," he whispered.

"To Tirion?" Eärnur asked in surprise. "But you’ll be going there soon...."

"No!" Finrod replied hotly. "I want to go home." He stressed the last word and while Eärnur still looked puzzled, the two Valar and Ingil nodded, their eyes bright with sympathetic understanding.

Estë bent down to gaze into Finrod’s eyes, her expression loving and gentle. "Even if you could go back, Beleriand now lies under the ocean," she explained quietly. "Your home no longer exists."

Finrod started weeping again, his expression forlorn. "Then where am I to go?"

The heartbreaking words pierced them all and even Eärnur’s expression softened to one of deep compassion for this confused Reborn. "Perhaps, we can figure that out together, you and I," he offered.

Finrod sniffed back his tears and gave Eärnur a puzzled look. "You still want to be m-my friend?" he asked tremulously.

"If you still want to be mine," Eärnur replied. "I’m sorry for what I said. It was thoughtless and cruel and you did not deserve it."

Finrod nodded. "And I’m sorry I hurt you," he said. "I... I’m not a kinslayer...."

"No, you are not," Irmo said firmly. "Now, dry your tears, child. I think we’ve all learned something from this, haven’t we?" He gave both ellyn a knowing look and they nodded. "Then I see no reason to change things for now. Continue as you have been, both of you. Findaráto, I understand your reluctance to do the things we ask of you. You are certainly not the first nor the last Reborn to be so reluctant, but remember what I told you earlier. I’ve been at this much longer than you have, and I think you should trust me and my People, including the Lóriennildi, just a bit more. We only have your best interest at heart."

Finrod nodded. "I’ll try."

"That is all we ever ask, that you at least try," Estë said with a warm smile. Then she gave Finrod a final caress. "May I have one of your baskets?" she asked.

Finrod gave her a surprised look and then nodded. "The first one that I do right is yours, lady."

"Good," the Valië said. "Don’t try to make it perfect, just do your very best and I will be most pleased by it."

With that the two Valar faded from view and Ingil went with them, leaving the two ellyn to themselves. For a moment neither spoke, then Finrod swallowed a little nervously. "Would you like to see my newest horseshoe?" he asked. "I think I’m finally getting the knack of it. Curumo says that I’m getting quite good and maybe he’ll teach me how to make nails next."

"I’d like that, thank you," Eärnur said and together they went off to the smithy, both of them careful with their words to one another....

****

That had been some time ago, Finrod reflected as he followed Lótessë’s instructions. Things were still a bit rocky between him and Eärnur and they were being careful with one another, but Finrod felt that they were at least making an attempt to repair their friendship and he had hopes that eventually things would be well between them. It still rankled that he would be accused of kinslaying, but he tried to keep in mind that Eärnur, as a Teler, would have good cause to view any Noldo in that light even though he himself had not been born at that time.

"That’s much better," Lótessë said, breaking in on his reverie, "now do another row and you’ll be ready to foot the basket. Keep your right index finger holding the weaver and remember not to pull too tightly on the corners. Try to keep the spokes as upright and parallel as possible. It will make the weaving easier. Very good. Very good. Now when you’re done with that you may start packing the base. Then we’ll work on the top."

Finrod followed the Maia’s directions, being careful to take his time and not rush (one of the reasons for the second failure), as he continued weaving and then packing each row. Slowly the basket began to take shape, its bottom nicely arched, the spokes straight. He began to grow excited at the thought that perhaps this time the basket would come out right and he would be able to present it to Lady Estë, though he wasn’t sure what she would want a basket for, especially one that was rather small and plain looking.

"Lady Estë will be very pleased with your basket, Findaráto," Lótessë said suddenly, as if she’d been reading his thoughts.

Finrod scowled slightly, stopping to look at the Maia. "I don’t know why. It’s not even pretty. We didn’t dye any of the weavers."

"That comes next," Lótessë explained, "as well as working with other kinds of materials. Perhaps you will like to make a basket from willow or hickory. And nothing says you cannot give Lady Estë more than one basket."

With that Finrod had to be satisfied. He turned back to his work and over the course of the next hour or so the Maia showed him how to properly tuck the spokes and then attach the rim, ending with gluing a handle. The ellon sat back to give his work a critical eye. He set it in front of him and grinned when the basket sat firmly on the table.

"Well done, my prince," Lótessë said with a smile. "The next basket should prove much easier for you, now that you’ve done one correctly."

Finrod nodded but said nothing at first, running a finger along the side of the basket, thinking. Finally, he looked up at the Maia, his expression pensive. "Eärnur was right," he said and when Lótessë gave him an enquiring look he explained further. "Maybe the only real reason for learning to make baskets is the joy of learning a new skill, one I never had the leisure to learn before, too busy killing orcs and running a kingdom."

The Maia nodded. "That is one of the purposes of these classes," she said, "even though many of the Reborn do not like them. So many of them were, as you say, too busy killing orcs to learn any other skill. Now, they have the opportunity to do so. Even those who were not warriors benefit from relearning their own crafts and more besides."

Finrod nodded. "So I am beginning to understand." He paused and stared at the basket again for another moment before standing up, taking it in his hands, careful not to touch the handle while the glue was still drying. He gave Lótessë a warm smile. "I will go find Lady Estë now and give her the basket."

Lótessë smiled back. "I think if you head in that direction, you will find her." She pointed further along the lakeshore and Finrod nodded.

"Thank you," he said, "for everything."

"You are most welcome, child," the Maia replied. "We’ll start a new basket tomorrow." Then she was gone and Finrod walked along the lakeshore in search of the Lady of Lórien, already mentally planning his next project.