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ask-a-goldsmith · 1 month

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In writing my last few posts, I have realized that there is quite a lot of basic(to me) knowledge required to understand most of this stuff. I've done my best to explain as I go, but I think this deserves its own post. So, here we go!

Junior Gemology 101

This post is mostly about diamonds! I am well aware it's called Junior Gemology, but 90% of what I deal with on a day-to-day basis is diamonds. Also, a lot of this applies to coloured stones too, so no need to repeat myself.

What is a diamond, actually?

Diamonds are carbon! That's all there is! Except for inclusions. And coloured diamonds. Those have little bits of other materials in them. And are also a topic for later. I digress. Like always.

Specifically, diamonds are carbon atoms bonded together covalently in a tetrahedral shape. Confusing enough yet? This means that each carbon atom is bonded to 4 other carbon atoms. It's ok if you don't get it, I spent about 3 hours trying to understand diamond structure before things started to make sense. This website has a 3D model of the tetrahedral structure seen in diamonds and is what I used to finally wrap my head around it. The important part is: diamonds are made of carbon atoms connected in a pattern. If the pattern was different, It wouldn't be a diamond! If the carbon was bonded in hexagonal rings, it would be graphite! Same atoms, veeeerrrryyy different result.

What makes diamonds so darn special?

I've told you what a diamond is - so why do people care about this very specific pattern of carbon? The answer is(mostly) that humanity LOVES shiny things, and diamonds are great at being shiny. Why have diamonds become THE shiny thing to have? A combination of some REALLY successful marketing campaigns and some of diamond's unique characteristics. These characteristics include things such as their hardness, brilliance, and fire. I went deeper into these characteristics and what they mean in terms of telling diamonds from other stones in this post, but I'll give you a quick run-down here.

Diamonds are very(and famously) hard. They're a 10 on the Mohs scale, and almost nothing is harder than them. This doesn't mean diamonds are impervious to damage - while they are very hard, diamonds can also be brittle, and a hard smack in the wrong place can chip, crack, or even shatter a diamond. Trust me, I know. I've broken a few by accident.

Brilliance and fire are what give diamonds their characteristic bling. Though they are classified as different things - brilliance being the bright white reflections of light and fire being the rainbow reflections - they're both caused by diamond's Refractive Index. Refractive index(RI) is the measurement of the speed at which light travels through different materials - for our purposes though, think of it as how much a ray of light bends when it moves from one material to another. Diamonds have an RI of 2.42, which causes high brilliance and a medium amount of fire. RI isn't super important for most people to know - it really only comes into the conversation when comparing diamonds to simulant materials.

What are the 4 Cs?

The 4 Cs are the meat and potatoes of diamond basics - Carat weight, Colour, Clarity, and Cut. These four terms are used to describe diamonds worldwide, each describing a different part of a diamond's look.

Carat weight is the weight of a diamond. Pretty self-explanatory. What's not clear is what a carat actually is - no, not a carrot. A carat. A carat is 0.2 grams. Therefore, a 5 carat diamond(good lord) would weigh 1 gram. With me? Why do we weigh diamonds in carats instead of grams like sane people? Because way back yonder, carob seeds were used as a counterweight to weigh diamonds, and language did what language does.

Image from loosegrowndiamond.com

Colour refers to - you guessed it - the colour of the diamond. There are two basic systems that GIA(The Gemological Institute Of America, and the accepted authority of these things in North America) use; the normal colour range and the coloured or fancy diamond range. The normal colour range is used for stones that are colourless, light yellow, or light brown. These are the most common colours of diamond, thus the "normal" colour range. These stones are graded alphabetically D-Z, with D being colourless and Z being quite noticeably yellow or brown. Normal range colour grades are sorted into 5 groups based on the general amount of colour; colourless(DEF), nearly colourless(GHIJ), Faint(KLM), Very Light(N-R), and light(S-Z).

Image from GIA article 4Cs Color

Stones that fall outside this range (stones that are too yellow or brown for the scale or show any colour other than yellow and brown) are graded using the fancy colour grades. Fancy colour grades are an entire thing, but generally pretty self-explanatory. The grade will include 1 or two colours(the more dominant of which goes last) and an intensity descriptor such as light, intense, fancy deep, etc. For example, a stone may be graded as a fancy greyish blue - this means that the stone has a middling amount of colour and is blue with a hint of grey. Easy peasy.

Clarity is how many inclusions are in a stone. Well, technically it's more complicated than that, accounting for placement and contrast and type of inclusion etc etc etc. Really, clarity is how many inclusions you see in a stone. Inclusions are things in the diamond that are not diamond, such as included crystals, or imperfections in the diamond itself, such as cracks(called feathers) or chips.

Clarity grades are, frankly, confusing as fuck. There are 11 grades, broken down into 6 grade groups. From highest to lowest, they are; Flawless, Internally Flawless, Very Very Slightly Included(VVS), Very Slightly Included(VS), Slightly Included(SI), and Included(I). VVS, VS, and SI are each broken into 2 grades - 1 and 2. I is broken down into 3 grades - 1, 2, and 3. The lower the number within a grade, the better the grade - a VS1 stone would be less visibly included than a VS2. You know what'll help? Visuals!!

Images from GIA D&DG Chapter 11. Credit to John Koivula/GIA

The diamond on the left is graded as a VVS2 - the red arrow points to the inclusion that gave it this grade. The diamond on the right is graded as an I2. No red arrows are required - this stone has many highly visible inclusions. If you want a little more info (and examples) of clarity grades, GIA has a lovely little tool that explains it quite well.

Cut refers to the shape of a diamond - specifically, the combination of shape(face-up outline) and cutting style(the arrangement of the facets). A classic round brilliant is what most people think of when they think of a diamond, but there are dozens of different cuts. When talking about cut grade, cut refers to how well executed the cut is. Are the proportions ideal? Is everything symmetrical? Is the polish well done? These determine the cut grade of the stone. Cut grades are as follows, best to worst; Excellent, Very Good, Good, Fair, and Poor.

What are the parts of a cut diamond?

Specifically, the parts of a round brilliant diamond. Round brilliant is the name of the most common cut of diamond. Think of a diamond. Is it round? That's almost definitely a round brilliant. Think I've said round brilliant enough? Round brilliant. Whew. Done with that now. This is best explained with diagrams.

The parts we're most interested in are the table, crown, girdle, and pavilion. The way those 3 parts are shaped and proportioned has a huge effect on the looks and value of a diamond.

Knowledge Check

Let's say you're looking at a 1.01 carat round brilliant diamond - it has a colour grade of F, a clarity grade of SI1, and an excellent cut grade. So, what does this mean to you?

Round brilliant is the cut of the diamond. It has a round outline and a brilliant cutting style. 1.01ct is a fairly large diamond - this one in particular is 6.42 mm in diameter (that's a quarter inch!). This stone is colourless - F is the lowest colour grade in the colourless range, but it is still classified as colourless. The diamond will either have one large or several small inclusions that are easy to see under 10x magnification, but hard or impossible to see while looking through the table of a stone with the naked eye(they may be visible through the pavilion with the naked eye). The diamond will be very well cut - the best cut grade possible, in fact! There will be no visible variation in the girdle outline, and all the facets will be well-placed and symmetrical.

It's up to you to decide if this stone matches your criteria - is SI1 a good enough cut grade for you? Is 1.01ct the right size? How "good" a stone is depends on what you want - there will always be bigger, clearer, more colourless diamonds on the market. What makes a stone "good" is if it's the right fit for you. Another stone may be better quality, but if it's out of your price range, then it's not a good stone for you.

In Conclusion

So, you made it this far! Congrats! Hopefully, I haven't bored you too much. We've really just scratched the surface - this was enough information to give you a good idea of what's going on and allow you to navigate the mysticisms of those strange numbers and letters you see associated with diamonds. All information was taken from the GIA Diamond Essentials 130 and Diamonds and Diamond Grading 230 courses and my 6ish years in the jewelry industry. If you have questions about specific pieces of information or want more resources, send me an ask! I will be delighted to answer.

#WOW this on is an absolute beast #final word count is 1674 #fun fact this is how i'm studying for my gemology final #long post #goldsmith answers

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incorrecttigerandbunny · 1 year

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Kotetsu: So, Bunny is late today. Anyone wanna bet why?

Ryan: I say he slipped through the subway grate and is having terrible sex with the mole man.

Lara: I don't know about that... I think either his alarm clock didn't go off, or he's in line at the bank.

Ivan: Take this more seriously! Barnaby was clearly taken in his sleep!

Nathan: I bet he tucked himself into the bed too tightly and got stuck.

Karina: Maybe he fell into another dimension where he's more interesting...?

*Barnaby arrives*

Barnaby: Sorry I'm late - there was a problem at the bank.

Lara, clapping her hands in excitement: HOT DAMN!

#barnaby brooks jr #kotetsu t. kaburagi #ryan goldsmith #karina lyle #ivan karelin #lara tchaikoskaya #tiger and bunny #incorrect tiger and bunny #tiger & bunny #source: brooklyn nine nine #i think i tagged everyone #also Lara is Holt here 1. because i think she's the only one who would give a reasonable answer #and 2. i wanted her to say hot damn

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anjaelle · 6 months

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I've seen sams work besides her films and is pretty mediocre tbh. I don't get how she got that famous. Most of her art is surrounded in "how men have feelings too" and now she is going to direct an amy whinehouse biopic clearly explotating and romantizacing amy's sufferment. I think that she's a big pickme judging by her work and i don't understand her feminism.

She went to Goldsmiths which is a very well-known University in London that has a lot of very prestigious alumni. She was (is?) apparently apart of this group called the Young British Artists who are a bunch of like artsy fartsy people that go on to become highly recognized academics and artists. So it’s definitely a who you know situation.

I haven’t seen her photography work in ages, so I was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. I can admit when someone is talented even if I’m not a fan. But her photography is just kind of…fine. I guess. Not extraordinary. Not terrible. Maybe it’s not for me to understand because I’m not a rich white person and I enjoy vibrancy and fun.

Not sure why she decided to pivot into Director work. But I guess, if you have the connections and the bankroll looks promising, who cares if things make sense?

#this made me briefly wonder if she’d get mad if ATJ ever worked with a female director and I feel like the answer would be yes 😒#in another universe Aaron is in another romantic period piece directed by a woman and he plays a charming rake #jaelle asks #fun fact about Jae: I almost applied to Goldsmiths for a luxury fashion masters degree #I’m still considering applying there tbh

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eleventhcircle-archive · 2 years

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36 for the ask meme!

Are they a competitive person, even for fun?

ven is definitely not a competitive person, it just isn't something that appeals to him. iri tends not to bother but can be goaded into competition by certain people (read: ihov'a). generally though, she's much more the type of person to take things at her own pace and not worry about being first or the best.

thank you for the ask, @mythandral :3

#they are just out here vibing #the closest iri might get to being competitive normally is with goldsmithing and the marketboard #though she prefers taking commissions directly rather than trying to undercut people shjdkfs #ask memes #answered #oc: a'ven ayden #oc: iri thivre

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perzysprumia · 3 months

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ASK MEMES. @tricursed

Hope said: ❛ i'm sorry i can't turn off my feelings as easily as you. ❜

The way his heart sinks tells Tendai that he's going to be remembering these words for a very long time. He wants to tell Hope everything he's feeling, from the good to the bad, the pretty and the ugly. But he also doesn't want to get their hopes up, ironically. She's a vampire now, and even though it's been a while since she turned there's still going to be unregulated heightened emotions. Ten knows all about it; it's what kept him so enraptured with Hope's father for so long. Some things still linger even after everything levels out.

"I do not turn off my feelings, Hope," he responds, with his voice as even as possible, even despite the way his heart feels like it's fallen into his feet. Ten's eyes look over them for a moment before averting away as he continues. "I always do what is best for you. I always have, and you know that. I don't want you to hide how you feel, but this--" He shakes his head a bit, and lets out a much longer sigh than anticipated. "It will get me killed."

Ten looks at her again, even if it pains him to do so. "I don't know how long you've felt this way, though. And I don't want to invalidate you. You're not the most forthcoming about your feelings, and I fear this situation might make that worse."

#tricursed #THREADS.#TENDAI GOLDSMITH: INTERACTIONS.#TENDAI GOLDSMITH: ANSWERED MEMES.#ANSWERED MEMES.

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napoleonic-sexyman-tournament · 2 months

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Adam Jerzy Czartoryski

(admin note: even if you don't vote for him, reading about his life is a wild ride)

Propaganda:

"Decided that the way to free Poland was by having a threesome with Alexander and his wife.”

Lefebvre:

Propaganda:

“Total DILF material, and the fiery passion in his eyes was matched only by his fiery personality! This contest may be based on looks (and Lefebvre is a strong candidate on this metric alone); but it's hard not to fall in love with his spicy takes and saucy language. He told Napoleon, "Let us throw the lawyers into the river” after agreeing to help overthrow the Directory (quoted in David G. Chandler, ed., Napoleon's Marshals), and from his English Wikipedia article: When a friend expressed envy of his estate, Lefebvre said, "Come down in the courtyard, and I'll have ten shots at you with a musket at 30 paces. If I miss, the whole estate is yours." After the friend declined this offer, Lefebvre added, "I had a thousand bullets shot at me from much closer range before I got all this." In response to a clueless young man demanding his identity at a social event, he answered, ''Je viens de la lune, où je n'ai jamais vu un Jean-Foutre de ton espèce: Je m'appelle le Général Lefebvre!” [“I come from the moon, where I’ve never seen such a #*$& as you. My name is General Lefevre!”] Quoted in The Secret History of the Cabinet of Bonaparte by Lewis Goldsmith, 1810, which is also hilarious because the author clearly hates Lefebvre, but makes him sound like a cool badass. He earns additional sexy points by sticking by his ex-washerwoman wife, who had a mouth of her own. (tbh Catherine Lefebvre, “Madame Sans-Gêne,” deserves her own Napoleonic Sexyman [gender neutral] nomination).”

#napoleonic sexyman tournament

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qqueenofhades · 2 years

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One of my favourite Sandman lore pieces I absorbed via tumblr is how, when Dream is having great sex, all the dreamers get to have glorious lustful dreams. Dream really is getting laid and making it everybody else's problem. Magnificent.

Dr. Robert Gadling is whistling an extremely cheery tune as he unlocks his office door -- which, if you had had the night he did, you would be whistling too, or possibly even clicking your heels like a demented leprechaun and wishing top o' the morning to everyone who passed. He's not doing that, but he's definitely feeling extremely good, and he sails inside, pulls up the blinds, boots up his computer, and prepares to answer some emails while he waits to see if anyone's actually going to come to office hours. It's always hit or miss, and then four days later they send a panicked question at midnight that they could have just, you know, asked. In person, in a timely fashion, when he definitely will not bite. He will never understand undergraduates.

Hob keeps the door propped open as usual, thus to project a warm and welcoming attitude, and after he's trudged through the first tranche of emails, he glances up to see one of his students loitering in the hall as if she's about to come in -- then, catching sight of him, turning scarlet and racing off at top speed. This is bewildering, since she's usually among the more talkative of the bunch, but Hob writes it off. At least until he sees several more students hovering in the hallway, who all vamoose the instant he sticks his head out to see if they need anything. This is decidedly peculiar, and he sighs deeply, grabs his mug, and heads down the hall to the faculty lounge, thus to raid it for a cup of coffee. Even more emails (and oh joy, expense reports) await, and he could use the fortification.

When he steps inside, his colleagues Bryan (Economics and Politics in Modern Germany) and Amita (Women, Caste, and Religious Practice in Precolonial India) both immediately turn bright red, clear their throats, and engage in a slightly too-loud conversation about the weather (which, given as this is London, is exactly what you think it is). Hob eyes them curiously, since while bizarre behavior is understandable from students, it is somewhat less so from lecturers. "Hey, guys," he says. "Anything up?"

"Er." Bryan is staring fixedly at the floor, while Amita has become unaccountably fascinated by the raindrops rolling down the window. "Nope. No. Everything normal, Rob. Entirely usual."

"Right," Hob says slowly, having the feeling of a man who has walked into a cave and found something large and furry that he should try not to disturb. "That's just me going, then. If I could sneak past you for the coffee pot, that'd be great -- "

He pours himself some coffee, departs in haste, and almost bowls over Philippa, Head of Department, in the hallway outside. They spring backward like a pair of opposing magnets, he manages to avoid dousing her in boiling hot coffee, and as he apologizes, notices that she is likewise determinedly not looking him in the eye and addressing a spot in midair over his head as she insists that it's fine. What the actual hell. Has everyone in Goldsmiths lost their bloody minds?

The insanely weird character of Hob's day, and the fact that even the clerk at Superdrug seems to cough unaccountably while ringing him up, remains a mystery until he gets home, finds an eager Dream Lord waiting for him already, and they get extremely distracted even before Hob can make dinner. Afterward, as they're lying half-clothed and decadent on the bed, Hob murmurs, "Well, glad you at least can stand to look at me, love. Had a very odd time of it today."

Dream's expression assumes a furtive, guilty quality. He rolls onto his back, head still pillowed luxuriantly on Hob's stomach, and stares up at the ceiling. "Ah," he says, after a very long pause. "About that."

(Two minutes of a deeply humiliating explanation later, Hob screeches, "YOU BLOODY DID WHAT?" Dream apologizes profusely and promises not to do it again. Hob does, of course, have classes and commitments for the rest of the semester, but hopefully it's not too late to change his name, once more fake his death, and move to Australia. Except, of course, they dreamed of him there too. Horrible.)

#anonymous #ask #dreamling #dreamling ff #i absolutely did see that post like 'nobody can look hob in the eye after he and dream first get it on'#so yes a+ bless

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poorshadowspaintedqueens · 8 months

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I saw some stuff about a woman to be known to be well educated in tudor times needed to know the classics. Got me trying to think. What would be the westrosi equivalent of ‘the classics? They don’t have their Ancient Rome and ancient Greeks The Odyssey or iliad. I think it would be safe to assume Latin would be Valyrian. No idea what Renaissance humanism would be in westros

I’ve actually been pondering this for fanfic reasons.

One of the areas of worldbuilding that GRRM hasn’t gone into--and this is no shade on him; he’s got enough going on--is what we’d term ‘high culture’. Literature, art, drama, material culture. We hear about songs, including a subset of them written and performed in High Valyrian, which certainly suggests that people in Westeros preserved and engaged with older cultures. I imagine there’s a heavy Rhoynish influence in Dorne as well, and that the Valyrian influence is much stronger in the Free Cities than in Westeros.

In stories I’ve written, I’ve offhandedly mentioned things like ‘Rhoynish romances’ or ‘Valyrian drama’, on the assumption that these things existed even if they’re not explicitly mentioned in canon. Ancient drama and poetry flourishes across cultures and geographical boundaries. Art has literally existed since humans existed. We don’t get descriptions of paintings or tapestries in the books, but we know they’re around. We know some families have tombs and vaults, which implies the existence of sculpture and decoration. In the case of the Starks, they’ve been making tomb effigies since...idk? Brandon the Builder? We know there are goldsmiths in Lannisport and that Myr is famous for a variety of crafts including glassmaking and lacemaking (similar to Venice) and that Tyrosh is known for dyes. We get tons of descriptions of outfits but very few of dressmakers or craftspeople.

One of the things I have appreciated about the shows (GoT in earlier seasons, HotD generally) is that they had to think about these things that were implicit in the text--what would people wear in certain climates? How would different castles be decorated differently to reflect their regional peculiarities? I loved that one of the ways that Alicent Hightower displayed her power in the later episodes of House of the Dragon was through interior decoration. It required minimal dialogue but it communicated so much.

I don’t suppose this answers your question exactly, but there’s definitely a sense of ‘Valyrian culture’, ‘Rhoynish culture’, ‘Andal culture’, and ‘First men culture’ that would have to manifest in art in some way, even if we don’t get details. How that translates into education is less clear given the stranglehold that the Citadel has on the way young nobles are being educated across Westeros.

#asoiaf #asoiaf culture #asoiaf meta #a song of ice and fire #i don't know how to tag this

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ask-a-goldsmith · 1 month

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Carat vs karat vs carrot - What's happening here??

We here on Tumblr love the English language - you can tell by how often we curse it for existing! Jewellers also love the English language, specifically when two very important words to our trade sound identical, have only one letter different, and refer to WILDLY different things.

So, what is a carat? Karat? Carrot? Whatever it is.

I'll admit, I just threw carrot in there for shits and giggles. Very few people actually get the other two confused with it.

A carat is a measurement of weight - specifically, a carat is 0.2g. Diamonds and other precious gemstones are measured in carats. A 1 carat diamond is 0.2g, a 0.5ct diamond is 0.1g, etc etc.

Karats are a measurement of purity - specifically, the purity of alloyed gold. Alloys are metals that are mixed with gold to decrease its purity and give it different properties. Alloying is how we make gold white! Karats are basically a fraction where everyone forgets to include the denominator - they're measured in parts per 24, and the numerator is the karat value. If a ring has gold where 14 parts out of 24 are pure gold and 10 parts out of 24 are alloy, that ring is 14 karat! For example, let's say you have a 24-gram piece of gold. It's not pure gold though - it's 18k. This means it contains 18 grams of pure gold and 6 grams of alloy. You've heard of 24k gold - this just means the gold is pure, containing no other metals.

Carrots are a root veg- sorry. Sorry. Couldn't help myself.

The easiest way to figure out which someone is talking about is to look at the subject. Are they talking about diamonds or other precious gems? Then it's carats and the numbers are weight. Are they talking about a ring or gold? Then it's karats, and the numbers are purity.

Hope this helps! if you have any questions, reblog this post or come shout at me in my ask box!

#FINALLY a post that's not unbelievably long T-T #I have a talent for tangents and carrying on too long #goldsmith answers

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pronglesart · 16 days

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This is a pretty random one, but how did you design the logo for Ingress?

Little did you know, I love to answer questions about ~design~.

The Ingress logo has gone through about 3 different official versions, but at least 50 different conceptual iterations. I'm a graphic designer by trade and profession, so I approached it any other way I would approach making a logo.

The first iteration of the logo I have less information on the development of, but I was looking at a lot of advertising from the late 1800s to early 1900s. For example, these advertisements have a lot flourishes on the text and warping letters, as was common in that era.

I took that concept and made the first iteration of the ingress logo at the comic's inception in 2017. My graphic design skills weren't as strong then, and I mostly just took a font I thought fit and slapped it around a little bit to try and get the look I wanted.

I wasn't particularly happy with how this one turned out, and it only ended up being used for a few months on the first version of the website and on a single printing of the first chapter of the comic, but I also didn't put a ton of time and energy into making this one. So, I went back to the drawing board soon after I made this first one.

The second iteration of the logo took a lot of inspiration from the same sources, but I first took a lot of time drawing out concepts in my sketchbook to try and get the right visual look for how the logo should be.

At first I played with the idea of including a little picture along with the logo. I thought maybe Toivo's glasses would be a good thing to try to include in the 'g' in Ingress, or that Rocky or Toivo's hat should appear in the logo. These were all discarded for cluttering up the logo, because the words themselves are all pretty long. Eventually, I started playing with the shape of the word itself, which very quickly lead to the last S becoming the signature swirl.

Next was iterating on this concept with fonts.

That lead to the second iteration of the logo, and the longest running version of it.

I chose a textured font to give it that "worn" feeling that was so popular in the design world in 2018. There were a ton of brands doing textured stuff to give their brand an edgy feel, but I did it to make it feel old and like it was from the late 1800s.

This would still be the logo today, but I ran into a problem: the font I used, Goldsmith Vintage, had a limitation on how long you could use their font for free and for printing. Fonts aren't particularly expensive, but if you want to use a font for publishing, you need a special license and those fees can rack up in price pretty quickly. It was unlikely that the people who made the font would come after me for using it, but I decided to not take that chance and instead refresh the logo one more time, this time putting more of my own hand in it.

This time, I took a different approach. I liked the old logo, but I was having a hard time finding a font that I really liked and would get the same feeling as the old logo... So instead, I decided to use calligraphy to draw it myself.

I rewrote the word Ingress Over and Over and Over, and specifically I rewrote the S's to try and get the perfect shape of it. Then, I picked out specific letters that I liked.

From those letters, I picked the ones I thought looked best, and smashed them together into one rough version of the logo that I liked.

And then from here, I made a digital version of the logo in Adobe Illustrator so I could get a nice crisp vector version. Also, I made rough versions of it, so I could keep doing the same 'old' look.

And... that's about it!

Ultimately, I think the new one is really fun, and I really like the fact that the latest one was made with my hand directly. Those aren't letters you can find in any font, they're my letters.

Maybe you can tell but, I have a lot of opinions on letter shapes.

Anyway, thanks for asking, and I hope this was as entertaining for you to read as it was for me to blather on about.

#graphic design #ingress adventuring company #my art #logo design #logo development #art design #art #asks

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tellthemeerkatsitsfine · 7 months

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Last week I wrote a post about the first episode of Taskmaster season 16. In it, I kept talking about something I’ve wondered for quite a while about Lucy Beaumont, which is how much of her schtick is a character. After posting that, I became a bit worried that might post might fall into a somewhat common, shitty trope where people are less likely to ascribe agency to a female comedian who seems strange than to a male one.

I first heard of this idea when I heard Rose Matafeo talk about it some time ago, because she has an emotional breakdown on stage at the end of her award-winning stand-up show Horndog, and she said that afterward, a lot of people asked if she was okay because they thought she had genuinely lost it, rather than written a show that ended with a breakdown. And not that that problem never happens to male comedians, but I think it happens less often, as people are more likely to trust that a male comedian is doing this on purpose, but might think a female comedian just doesn’t have control over her own act.

So I wondered, a bit, if I was falling into that by wondering whether or not Lucy Beaumont genuinely believes the ghost of a dog gets into bed with her at night and she doesn’t understand how road speed rules work differently from a television show. Especially because there is a male comedian making really daft comments for comedic effect right next to her, and I can use that as a contrast. When Sam Campbell tells a weird story about people who rescued divers, I know he’s aware that that’s a ludicrous idea to bring in, and is saying it because it’s funny. So why would I wonder whether Lucy Beaumont is saying her ridiculous things because “she’s just like that”.

To be clear, I don’t think she might be literally “just like that”. I mean, I know she knows she’s on TV and meant to be doing comedy. I know that when she says things, she says them because she thinks they’ll be funny. I guess my main question with her is whether we’re supposed to think she’s 100% in character, like the way someone like Nick Helm plays a character, or if she is just “playing herself” and “herself” happens to be someone who likes daft comedy. I think that’s what I was wondering. I know she has to be quite an intelligent person, because you can’t put a career together as successfully as Lucy Beaumont has if you’re not. You can’t be that funny if you don’t know what you’re doing. People being genuinely really daft is not as funny as smart people playing up daftness for comedy. I do know that.

And then I thought, maybe Sam Campbell isn’t the comparison I should be using. I have asked almost this exact same question before about Paul Chowdhry, and maybe that’s closer. I know that when Paul Chowdhry says something funny, he’s saying it because he’s aware that it will be funny. But also, it’s really hard for me to tell how much is a character and how much is him. I feel the same way about Lucy Beaumont, and I’m glad I’ve found an example of a male comedian I feel the same way about, suggesting that it’s not just something I ask about female comedians because I don’t want to give them credit for control over their own persona. I know she’s controlling it through intelligence and comedic skill. I just don’t know exactly how.

Last year, I listened to Paul Chowdhry’s episode of the Comedian’s Comedian podcast, in the hopes that it would answer some of those questions about him. I got very few answers, but it was a fascinating interview, and a bit amusing to hear Stuart Goldsmith so on the back foot, audibly very aware of the challenge in front of him, to try to get a sincere, out-of-character conversation out of the notoriously opaque Paul Chowdhry. Today, I listened to Lucy Beaumont’s (quite recent) episode of that podcast for the same reason, hoping for some insight into how her persona works.

I’ve just heard the following exchange, as they discuss how she writes her characters:

Lucy Beaumont: There’s no secret formula [for writing], it’s just really really hard, and you will get there. But with Paula [major character in Hullraisers, the TV sitcom that Lucy Beaumont’s written] – Paula definitely was a dead person coming through to me. I couldn’t shut her voice off, and her voice was so clear that it made me think it just was someone who was dead, and I was picking up on their energy. To Hull and Back [Lucy Beaumont’s Radio 4 sitcom] was written for me – a mother and a daughter came through, and I was keeping up with them. That was totally dead spirts who wrote that. If I’d have known their name I’d have credited them. Stuart Goldsmith: [laughs, sounding genuinely impressed with this figurative explanatory device] That’s incredible, that’s an incredible way of looking at it. To what extent are you using – just so I’m clear – to what extent are you using “dead people”, in inverted commas, as a metaphor for the creativity coming out of somewhere you don’t know where it’s from, and to what extent do you mean literally dead people? Lucy Beaumont: No, I literally, totally, one hundred percent believe that most writers, when you get characters that are fully formed – what they call “write themselves” – you have picked up on spirits. [pause that lasts half a second too long where despite the silence, you can hear him recalibrate his reaction to this now that he knows it’s meant literally] Stuart Goldsmith: That’s amazing, I’ve never heard anyone put it like that before. Lucy Beaumont: I’ve had a lot of conversations with a lot of writers and that, I’ve convinced them that that’s right.

The conversation goes on for a little while like this. To his credit, I think, Stuart Goldsmith strikes a good balance. He asks further questions to get her to expand on that point, and at some point, her insistence on how very literal she's being causes him to ask, "Lucy, are you pulling my leg?" To which the answer is no, and then you can hear him recalibrate again, giving up on his efforts to get her to see the potential in saying this is a good metaphorical device. To his credit I think he handles the ensuing conversation well - gently challenges the idea that writers can't just make shit up and it needs to come from spirits, but without being a dick about it and telling her that what she believes is wrong. And he does manage to dig into that far enough to find the scraps of her common ground with the people who, you know, don't believe in that shit, and pointing out the ways that her perspective could translate to really useful practical writing advice. He did pretty well, I thought.

But the point is that I no longer feel guilty for wondering whether Lucy Beaumont is entirely putting it on. I mean, she's putting some of it on, for comedic effect, intentionally intelligently as all comedians do. But also, when she says she believes a dog ghost climbs into bed with her at night, she's probably saying that not because she's in character, but because she believes a dog ghost climbs into bed with her at night.

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werenotacoupleyesyouare · 5 months

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wilbur’s the kind of guy to see bits onscreen and say “is anycreature gonna eat that” and not wait for an answer i guess dgisruszbcydfw

His name is Wilbur Wil William Soot Gold Goldsmith and his diet consists of non alcoholic wine and bits

#wine stream

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thetempleofthemasaigoddess · 9 months

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Meet me where the cliff greets the Sea (part 1)

Elendil x reader

Title inspired by a verse of Elan by Nightwish. This fic is dedicated to @lady-of-imladris.

*****

The market was a fascinating place when you were a little girl: so full of things to look at and of people to meet, and exotic goods brought from merchants ailing from far away lands; foods and fabrics you had never seen before, tools and other objects whose use you could not even guess, live animals sold for company or work whose calls blended in the air, whose masters sometimes allowed you to pet them and that every time you begged your mother to buy, even though you knew your house was too small to keep a sheep... or a horse... or a pig. And then smiths and potters and tailors and scribes who had set a stall away from their shops, and the fortune teller who claimed to be able to foresee a man's future from his hand and that you were at the same time eager and too scared to consult, even though she only accepted adults as clients, vendors and buyers haggling over the prices, women arguing over who had seen a precious silk first, so many scents and different languages blending in the air...

You loved it, even when you were too young to have coin of your own to spend, you loved the excitement in the air and to have so many things to see and discover, and when your mother had to go you always asked to accompany her, even though it meant helping her carrying her purchases back home; you liked to play ball with the other children in the city's squares, swimming at the small beach near your home and having an outdoor meal in the woods surrounding the city, but had someone asked about your favourite place in the city, your answer would have been rapid, and confident: the marketplace!

Now things are different; completely, dramatically so, even, and not just because you have coin to spend and are old enough to consult a soothsayer, should you desire, and the reason why your heart is pounding so hard your chest hurts is not joy, or excitement: is fear, a fear so overpowering you have to force yourself to think clearly, and the anguish of being too late, even though you promised a reward to the captain of the ship had he brought you to your destination in two days less than normal.

It cannot be too late. It simply cannot. Not after everything I have done, and everything we had promised each other. This is not the end, it is not, I do not accept it...

It is wishful thinking, nothing more, since the danger the person you are looking for is in is a reality your hopes and prayers cannot change or improve, but even so, you force yourself to remain lucid and vigilant; you have been searching for him for more than six months, your hopes fading like a dream at dawn every time you felt close to your goal, but your determination has been strengthened, rather than abated, the longer and the more desperate your search became. Your every interest, every thought or feeling in your heart, everything you cared about, has disappeared, replaced by a single, fierce desire, a need, in the face of which everything else, including yourself, loses meaning. You have to find him, free him, and bring him back home; and you are ready to kill, and to die, for it.

This is why you barely pay attention to your surroundings as you move among the narrow streets and alleys of the marketplace, in a city you have reached only a few hours ago, the heart of Draiwen, a kingdom Númenor has long been at war with. A few vendors you have just passed catch your attention for a moment, especially the beautiful fabrics a seller is showing a potential client and that would be perfect for a dress you had in mind to have made for your daughter, but you quickly put that thought away, as well as the interest the stall of a goldsmith -you had a pair of earrings exactly like those!- arouses for a moment in your heart, and the brief, instinctual desire to stop to inspect the wares of an animal seller, a bearded man surrounded by a symphony of chirping, barking and bleating. The marketplace of the city has nothing to envy that of Armenelos, and you suspect some goods on sale here have never been seen in Númenor, but your interest does not lie on weapons, earthenware or a new pair of boots; there is only one good you aim to buy, and you are ready to burn the city down to achieve your goal.

Six months after the end of the war, the worst, and least safe, thing you might do is presenting yourself as hailing from the kingdom that has inflicted a crushing defeat on Draiwen's army and naval force; this is why you are doing your utmost to speak without an accent, have exchanged your coin with the local currency, and made sure your clothes do not betray your origins. Even so, you are still anxious, and look discretely around you to make sure no one is paying attention to you, as you walk, easily blending into the multi-colored, ever-shifting crowd.

"You said it was close." you state in the end, turning to the two men who the captain has lent ti you as your bodyguards and porters, and who have silently followed you. They do not know who you are and what you are searching for, and they probably do not care, only aiming to earn a few coins to spend on ale and dices before they need to set sail, but still, you do not trust them, like you do not trust their captain -you paid him for his services, but your kingdoms have been at odds with each other since before the two of you were born, is it so absurd to fear he wishes you harm?- or anyone who might have served in the army that has threatened to invade your home and forced your husband to fight in a war that has taken him away from you "Are you sure you can find this merchant? I feel like we have been walking for hours."

The men simply answer you will reach your destination soon, and so it is; a couple minutes later, as you pass the stall of a fruit vendor who is defending the quality of his persimmons against the protests of an unsatisfied client, a new scent reaches your nose: it is acrid, almost sour, and it needs no words to speak of fear, and desperation, and hopelessness.

It is the scent of slavery.

The merchants of flesh occupy an area of the market just like any other seller, their work stations close to make it easier for potential buyers to compare the various items, without any formal separation from the colleagues who deal in farming tools, bread or candles. The sections reserved to each vendor is delimited by lines drawn on the pavement, club and dagger-armed guards patrolling the area and occasionally striking a slave who seems ready to rebel or even just does not appear appropriately subservient. There are men and women, some barely out of their childhood and others old enough to barely stand; there are also -and the mere sight is so painful you have to divert your eyes- a few children, held in their parents' arms or sitting on the ground. Many carry the signs of the abuse they received; it is easy to see, since most slaves are barely clothed, men and women wearing only a loincloth to allow the new master to inspect their purchase, and a young man is ordered to disrobe to show exactly what the potential buyer, an older woman accompanied by a few giggling friends, is paying for. Some slaves are sold as labourers, to toil in the fields or in a mine; some women are destined to clean and cook for their masters; some, especially the younger ones, might end up sold to a brothel or becoming their masters' bedslaves, and the children born of those unions would be slaves as well, their life and death in the hands of their masters, their bodies someone else's property, their very fëa forced in chains, exploited until life itself became a burden...

The law of Númenor has declared every form of slavery illegal centuries before your birth, and while you were aware the practice still existed elsewhere, it is the first time you see it with your eyes. Suddenly you feel unable to breathe, pity and instinctive fear and a guilt you know you have no reason to feel but that still makes you unable to meet the eyes of any of these poor souls, burning in your heart. If the Valar assist you, you will find your husband and bring him away from here, but what will become of the others, only Eru knows...

Most of the slaves keep a neutral expression, stony, and whether it comes from defiance in the face of a fate some might judge worse than death, or hopelessness due to that same state of things, who can say; the eyes of some of them follow you as you pass, and -the most pitiful thing- a couple smile shyly, as if they were trying to attract your attention and have you buy them. Do they think a woman would be a kinder master? Doubtful, since there are at least a dozen others of your sex examining the slaves, their demeanour as avid and impassible as that of their male counterparts. Or there is something in you that inspires trust, hope, in those who have not an ounce left?

As always when you are sad or upset, your hand moves to touch the necklace you wear, the same you have never taken off ever since you received it. It was your husband who gave it to you, when you first started courting; a single, large and perfect pearl hanging from a simple silver chain. You were still so young back then, and since you were not married yet it would have been improper for him to gift you one of the jewels belonging to his family's fortune, but tradition was not the only reason: he paid the chain with the coin of his wage, and found the pearl himself, swimming near a secluded gulf where according to a fishmonger friend of his, the largest oysters might be found. He knew how little you cared for his family's reputation and wealth, and he wanted to express he would always take care of you, with the very strength of his body if need be, and that just like silver is one of the few metal that are not corroded, nothing would ever tarnish the love the two of you share. In the years that followed you received many precious gifts from your husband, not to mention the ones that formally become yours on the day of your wedding, since your mother-in-law had passed away years before, but nothing is more precious for you than the simple pendant that you wear every day, hidden under your dress of tunic if necessary, as a sign of the commitment you and him shared, and the love nothing, not even the will of the Valar or death itself, can break...

As always, touching the silver chain is enough to make you feel stronger, and more in control of yourself; you avert your eyes from those of the slaves, promising yourself that, if the coin you brought will be enough once you have ransomed your husband, you will buy and then set free as many of them as you can, and keep walking, finally reaching the man -in a broad sense; heartless scum would be a more exact definition- you were looking for.

He is roughly your age, comfortably sitting next to a small tent raised to shield him from the heat, with a scroll in his hands. There are only three slaves in his enclosure, neither of whom look remotely like your husband, and your heart sinks -were you given inexact information, for the umpteenth time since the beginning of your search? Or has he been sold already, which might make it infinitely harder for you to buy him back?- before you realize that, like a potter would keep some of his best vases and jars on a shelf behind the counter, those three probably represent a sample of the merchant's wares, selected for lack of space.

You already hate him, just like you despise every man or woman who earns their living selling their own race, but you force yourself to hide your disgust, and politely greet him.

"Good day to you, mistress. How may I serve you?"

"I am in need of one or two slaves for my farm, to work the fields. Do you have someo... something that might interest me?"

"I am sure I do. If you need laborers, perhaps someone like him would do."

The merchant points to one of the three slaves chained a few steps from him, each of them with a wooden tablet hanging from the neck, which illustrates the price and a few key characteristics. The older man at the centre is the most expensive, since he -apparently- is a physician who served both in peace and in war, particularly capable in assisting during childbirth; then there is a woman, an expert home-maker who appears to be at least five years older than what she is supposed to, maybe to make her more palatable as a bedslave. The third is a man of your sons' age, tall and robust, the wounds on his skin betraying a past as a soldier. Unlike the other two he looks straight at you, eyes vacant but for a flicker of resentment he seems unable to hide and that fills you with shame, even though you know you do not deserve it.

The slave receives a nod from his master, and silently steps forward, as much as the chains around his naked ankles allow him; his wrists are also enchained.

"Well? Is this man what you are looking for, mistress?" the merchant asks, now walking next to you; he is polite and attentive, as it is expected from a vendor in the company of a potential client, and there is nothing unpleasant or... unnatural in him, something that expresses the cruelty and the disdain he must feel - how could he not, given his trade? He is simply a man, a foreigner but beyond this not so different from so many other men you know, not so different from you, and this is maybe the scariest, most terrible thing you have ever had to come to terms with. "He is young, as you see, and docile; you may have someone instruct him and he will learn."

You admit he is the type of slave you are interested in purchasing, but that does not mean you will buy the first man you are shown. "Do you have anyone else like him?" you inquire, turning to face the merchant; you are acting, in a sense, playing a part not unlike the performers who entertain a crowd in a square or in a theatre, and unfortunately this is not something you have ever done before, not even as a young girl who pretended to be a warrior or a wizard as she played with her friends. Moreover, according to your parents, you have always been a terrible liar, and while you doubt the merchant will care about what you intend to do with the slaves, as long as you pay for them, what if he realizes he is important for you, more important than any other person on Arda excluding the children he gave you, and raises the price? What if he asks more than you can afford? The amount of coin you have brought with you is considerable, more than you have ever carried and way more than you feel comfortable having on your person, even though the bag is hidden by your cape, but...

You cannot lose him, especially not because you cannot simply go home and take more gold to give him and reach the requested price. After all, no one will ever be willing to pay for your husband more than you; the deal is in the interest of the merchant as much as in yours. It will be all right, you comfort yourself; you just need to remain lucid, and in a few hours, you will be together once more, and will have left this horrible place behind you.

"I was thinking about an older man, actually." you add, in your most casual tone.

"Older, mistress? But you told me you mean to have him work as a labourer." the merchant expectedly objects. You tell him that the slave you look for is of course healthy and vigorous enough to toil in the fields and take care of other manual tasks, but you have found mature men to be more serviceable, faster in learning and more docile when they receive orders; the only slaves that ever tried to rebel or refused to obey in your house were stubborn youths.

"I see." the merchant answers with a smile; he is probably wondering why a father or a husband have sent a woman to purchase the slaves, but he remains gracious and considerate in his desire to help you "I do believe I have what you need, if you are so kind as to come with me."

You simply nod, and your two bodyguards silently follow you and the merchant as he, having ordered his guards to keep an eye on the slaves while he is away, leads the three of you away from the marketplace.

"Where do you hail from, mistress?" he asks, the casual tone of someone who simply wants to converse as you walk, to pass the time, and maybe this is exactly what he means to do, and maybe not.

You answer mentioning a kingdom Númenor does not have a close relationship with, and famous for its agricultural production: you are supposed to manage a farm, after all.

"Ah, a lovely place! I have been there once, many years ago. Is this your first visit to Draiwen?"

"It is. I am... visiting a friend." you explain, since your purported homeland is ten days ride away and it would make no sense to make such a long journey only to buy a single slave "And my husband asked me to procure one or two new labourers for our farms, since Draiwen's slave market is larger than ours."

"I see. Well, here is my lot. I am sure you will be satisfied."

If you thought until now that the scent of the slaves' fear and desperation was unpleasant, it is nothing compared to the horrible stench that hits you, as violent as a slap in the face, as you near what is essentially the open warehouse of the flesh merchants. The area in front of you is larger than Armenelos' plaza, but even so, it struggles to contain the multitude of slaves waiting to be needed. Here as in the marketplace, each group is separated from the others by wooden fences not unlike those raised to keep the sheeps from wandering; here as in the marketplace, armed men patrol the area of their masters, making sure the slaves do not cause trouble. Here as in the marketplace, men and women of every age, from those who have barely learnt to walk to those who can no longer do it unassisted, wait to be inspected and sold.

The day is warm and sunny, even too warm for a cape had you not decided to wear one anyway to hide the purse with your gold and another object hanging from your belt, but the stench is not simply due to perspiration, dirt, or even urine given that you doubt the masters would allow the slaves to walk away to relieve themselves behind a tree. It is something different, putrid, difficult to describe but so intense and nasty it makes your eyes water... the smell of desperation.

There must be thousands of slaves, but the merchant moves unhesitatingly guiding you and the two men behind you to his post, where a couple of guards have just finished using their clubs on a man.

"What happened?"

"He meant to escape, sir. He had a rock in his hand and was trying to break the chain at his feet."

The poor soul is laying on the ground, almost too weak and pained to moan, bruises already forming on his belly and legs; your heart stops beating for a moment as you catch a glimpse of brown hair and large shoulders, but the slave does not have your husband's prodigious height, nor, you realize when the guards rudely get him back on his feet, his luminous blue eyes. It is not him, you realize, and the relief filling your heart is so intense your knees go weak... which does not mean, on the other hand, that your husband is still unscathed after six months of captivity. What have they done to him, what abuse or torture was he subjected to in order to break his spirit...?

Meanwhile, the merchant is chiding his guards for what they have done to the would-be fugitive... only a few days before the crown prince himself has sent word he would visit the marketplace to choose a few new slaves for his household; the slave is one of the master's finest, literate and a capable warrior, and could be sold for a large sum: in the state he is now, who would buy him? Incidents like those have their use, since the slaves need to be reminded what occurs to those who try to escape, but if they had to pummel one of them, the guards should have chosen one of the least expensive.

"Now, mistress." he adds, turning to you -one instant too slow to notice the horror and the hate on your face; you do not even know the name of this man, and still you would not shed a tear seeing him choke on his own blood- and smiling once more "Allow me to show you my wares."

A brief order is given, and the slaves quickly assemble in a line, shuffling among the clangor of their chains to march in front of you, slowly enough to allow you to examine them, and their master to present you the merits of each: this one was a farmer, so you would not have to teach him the job; another is particularly strong, which makes him suitable for the most strenuous tasks; the next can read and write, which would make him useful should you need a bookkeeper or a clerk...

As expected from a capable merchant, he seems to know all of them by heart, even though there are not less than eighty men slowly being presented to you. Or maybe he is making the whole thing up, you reflect as you pretend to listen and feel as if the world had started working backwards; usually you are the one who slowly strolls among the stalls looking at the various goods on sale, while now it is the items themselves parading in front of you.

A few of the slaves try to attract your attention, showing their muscles or bowing their head in a show of submission; you feel unworthy of being in their presence, but you force yourself to remain as stoic as you can and glance at the men slowly approaching, hoping, begging to see a familiar face...

And finally, when there are only a handful of slaves left and your hopes are reduced to the flame of a candle, it happens.

"Hey, you; keep walking." one of the guards orders one of the slaves, who had suddenly stopped, forcing the ones behind him to do the same; the man obeys, barely noticing what he is doing, because his eyes -those eyes as blue and deep as the Sea, more luminous than the star of Eärendil his ancestor, those eyes that can read your mind and your heart as easily as the best-written scroll in the Hall of Lore, those eyes you have fallen in love with- are firmly fixed on you, just like yours cannot leave his form.

Elendil! Such is the intensity with which your beloved's name explodes in your mind, for a moment you are almost certain you have actually shouted it, revealing you know him and potentially ruining any chance you had to bring him home. Thank Eru you did not, and no one has noticed the brief glance you have shared; you briefly smile at him, hoping to reassure him, and then force yourself to move your eyes to the men being presented before him; finally, when the slave immediately preceding your husband is in front of you "Stop now." you ask, and the man obeys "What can you tell me about this one?"

The merchant, who had grown both concerned and annoyed as he saw you pass over his best slaves without a word, sighs with relief and rushes to exalt the talents of the man, describing his strenght, his obedient spirit, and the many ways you could put him to work in. You pretend to listen, while actually you are still looking at Elendil out of the corner of your eye.

He is alive, strong and healthy enough to walk on his legs, but captivity has not been kind to him, as it almost never is: you can see how tired and weak he appears, even though there is still determination, even defiance, in his eyes and in the head held high despite the orders and the repeated abuse, and there are bruises and wounds, some months old and some fresh, on his chest and arms and face.

Oh, my love; oh, my lord husband! What have they done to you? How dared they? I will kill them, each and everyone of...

"You are welcome to inspect him yourself, mistress, if that pleases you." the merchants offers, unaware that you would gladly stab him in the heart -an extremely small target, no doubt- once for each of the men he is keeping captive. You do not answer, but step forward to examine the man, feigning interest in his musculature and hands and even his teeth, that he obediently shows you. You then pass to look at the slave before him, pretending to consider a double purchase and asking a few questions regarding his age and abilities that the merchant promptly answers... and then finally, almost distractedly, walk to Elendil.

"And about him, what can you tell me?"

"I am not sure he is what you need, mistress; he is still vigorous for his age, but he was a soldier and a mariner in his homeland, he has no experience in farming. You would have to teach him the job."

"Oh, I can teach him what I need him to do, no doubt." you answer, your practical tone hiding a more personal meaning that only the man in front of you can catch. Turning your back to the merchant and his guards, and still aware of how dangerous it is, you touch Elendil's face pretending to examine his face for bruises or defects; your thumb brushes against his lower lip, and you feel him quiver under your touch. "Where do you hail from, man?"

"He..."

"My homeland is in Númenor, mistress." your husband quickly cuts his master off; he speaks with the humbleness befitting a slave, but a brief smile on his lips betrays his understanding of how that last word, pronounced in that tone, makes you feel. Two can play this game, my wife, he is telling you, as usual between you without the need for words. His blue eyes follow your every move, the intensity of his gaze a mixture of shock, relief, and fear. What are you doing here? How did you find me? You should not have come, it is dangerous...

"Númenor. A land of great mariners, is it not?"

"It is, mistress."

"And are you one of them?"

"I am, mistress. If you own a ship or desire to buy one, I am your man."

Those last words are brazen, even dangerous given the situation you are both in, but you cannot help smiling. Of course you are, you wish you could tell him, and you will, as soon as you have fed him, bathed him, and kissed him long enough to leave both of you senseless, you have always been, ever since our eyes met on the harbour that day, even before we knew each other's name, you are my man and I am your woman, and Eru Himself could do nothing to separate us...

"Interesting."

You need to stop, now. The longer you keep talking to him, the longer you even just pay attention to him, the more you risk the merchant realizes you have a particular interest in this man and raises the price above what you can afford. You should have barely looked at him, and proposed to buy him simply because no one else had caught your attention, but you cannot help it. Having Elendil in front of you, wounded but alive and close enough you can touch him and hear his voice, is like a cup of cold water after a week spent wandering in the desert. For six months you have feared for his safety and for his very life, crying until you had no more tears to spill and sleep had eluded you for many nights in a row; you had feared you would never see him again, doomed to spend the rest of your life alone after so many years of joy and bliss by his side...

But the Valar have listened to your prayers, and your husband is here in front of you; you know how easy it is to fail when the success is within sight and one is prone to lower their guard and abandon caution, and the last thing you want is to have Elendil snatched from you a moment before you are finally together.

This is why you step back, and ask the merchant to show you the last slaves, and the sad parade of chained men resumes shuffling in front of you. Elendil has lowered his gaze, and you wonder why, whether he is forcing yourself not to look at you fearing he could betray himself, or if, like you, he is trying to hide his tear-filled eyes.

Once all the slaves are back in line, the men of your escort accompany you as you inspect some of them, as if you were now ready to choose after examining the whole lot. You linger in front of a few of them, hoping to make the merchant forget the particular interest you have shown Elendil, asking about one slave's health and another's talents as a labourer.

"Are you satisfied, mistress?" the merchant asks in the end; the heat is making him pant under his heavy robes, and he has started fanning himself with his hand, but he has remained friendly and helpful, the image of a good vendor willing to serve a client in any way he can, patiently answering your many, specious questions. There is nothing unpleasant about him, you reflect once more, nothing that betrays the cruelty and the ruthlessness you know dwell in his heart; that does not make you hate him any less, but for some reason you wished it were easier...

"I am. I think I have made my choice." you are quick to answer; he is not the only one suffering because of the heat -you even wore a cape!- but that is not the only reason you cannot wait to seal the deal and leave... in sweet company, preferably "Is there somewhere we can discuss privately?"

You force yourself not to turn to glance one last time at your husband, and at the other poor souls you wish you could all free, and let the merchant accompany you back to the marketplace, your guards following you in turn. Elendil is hidden in the back of the small host of slaves, but you could swear you feel his blue eyes on you, following your every movement, begging you not to abandon him...

I am not; I promise. I will buy you, whatever the price, even if I had to sell the clothes on my back, even if I had to sell myself. Resist, my love, soon we will be together again...

Even with the anxiety clutching at your heart, you cannot help sighing with relief when the pleasant shade of the merchant's tent welcomes you, the temperature more bearable now that you are hidden from the sun. The merchant smile as he removes his outer tunic, and you are not surprised to see a dagger hanging from his belt, the blade longer than the one you are hiding.

The space under the tent is in large part empty, except for a crate, a pair of straw chairs and a small round table with a pitcher and a few cups.

"Are you sure you do not want to remove your cape, mistress?"

"Thank you, but no; I am not staying long, I have to set sail tonight. I will take two of your slaves; the one with the scar on his left cheek, and the one you told me you bought last week." you announce, as you accept the cup of water the man is offering you; you have chosen two slaves who had already worked as farmhands, hoping this will make your cover more believable "How much would you ask for them?"

"You have chosen well; and also, two of my best men. A hundred gold pieces each."

He smiles, waiting. You politely smile back, well aware of what it is expected in a place and a moment like this and determined to give him nothing more than what you strictly have to; the mere thought of this man indulging in his vices -or even worse, buying more slaves to resell- with your family's gold fills you with rage. "I will give give you one hundred and fifty for both."

"They are both strong and hale, good workers who will serve you for many years. One hundred and ninety."

"The one with the scar has the signs of the pox; there is no guarantee he is actually as healthy as you claim. One hundred and sixty."

"Eighty. You are good, but it is my last offer."

"Sixty-five. We both know it is more than enough. Or..."

"Or?"

You have drunk the entire content of the cup in a single gulp, so thirsty you were, and yet you still feel parched, as if the anxiety had taken every drop of water in your body. This is the moment, you think; if you do not play your cards well, it will all be for nothing, and Elendil will be lost forever.

"I might give you the two hundreds you requested, if you add a third man to the deal." you offer, hoping to sound less desperate than you feel, and the merchant's smile turns into a grin: the whole bargain is amusing for him, as well as an art he is surely a master of, but that does not mean he intends to favour you.

"A third man?" he repeats, feigning outrage "But mistress, that would mean gifting him to you."

"Two hundred and fifty, then. What about... one of the two twins?"

"They are worthy three hundred pieces each!"

"Well, then, who would you be willing to give me?"

The merchant mentions four different slaves, who obviously you refuse. "Please, mistress, be reasonable; your request simply makes no sense." he protests as he opens his arms in a gesture of impotence "Nothing would delight me more than sell my slaves to you; I am sure you would be pleased. But you understand, surely, that I have to make a profit out of your purchase, not a loss."

You pretend to think about it, walking aimlessly around the tent and feeling your heart beating so hard it hurts. Brave heart. Soon it will all be worth it. "There was a man among your slaves who had experience as a mariner, was there not?" you finally ask, as an afterthought.

"There was; the man from Númenor. But I do not think he is what you are looking for."

"Not as a farmhand, perhaps, but he might prove himself useful to me in other ways. My... brother is a sea captain, and recently he had to dismiss many of his crewmembers because of a reversal of fortune. I might buy the slave for him, and he would not have to pay him."

It is a good story -a reasonable, believable story- even though you had no more than a few seconds to devise it, but still, you are holding your breath while the merchant considers your proposal, and finally...

"You would take a weight out of my hands, mistress, but in confidence, I do not recommend him; in four months since I have brought him, that man has already attempted to escape three times, sent two guards to the healers' tent after they had tried to discipline him, and my men have found out he was inciting the other slaves to riot. Are you sure you want to burden your brother with a man of his temperament?"

"My brother is more than capable to keep his men in line; and at least, I will not have to worry about what to buy for his next name-day." you answer; victory is so close you can almost taste it "So are we in agreement? The captain, and the other two, for twohundred gold pieces?"

"We are."

You shake hands, and as the merchant retrieves quill, ink and parchment from the chest to write a brief contract, you take your purse from under your cape and start counting the coin to give him, ordering your hands to stop shaking.

"How did you know he was a captain?"

The bag falls from your hands.

"What?"

"I said, how did you know that man is a sea captain? You called him as such, only a minute ago."

You are facing each other by now, the man in front of you still all smiles and solicitude, but every semblance of actual friendliness abandoned. "Well, mistress?"

"You... you told me that. While we were..."

"I told you he was a mariner; to call him captain is a completely different matter, even though I would not be surprised, since the other slaves have quickly come to look at him for leadership, after I acquired him; he is clearly a man used to command. But how could you know? Either you can read minds... or you knew that man beforehand, and you came here expressely to ransom him."

Silence has fallen in the tent, the sounds and voices of the marketplace attenuated, as if reaching you from many miles away, or if you were underwater. You cannot speak, you cannot move, not even to pick up the gold coins scattered on the ground around your feet, you cannot even think, but one thing is certain: you have been discovered. This man knows what game you are playing, which means that you are alone, or at least vastly outnumbered, in a kingdom that in the last century has spent more time at war with yours than not; he could order his men to seize you and make a slave out of you as well, and then what would become of you? You would never see Elendil, and your children, again... or he might let you go, and simply refuse to let you buy your husband, out of spite for a woman of his kingdom's worst enemy.

In your heart, you could not say which hypothesis would hurt you more.

"Who is he, then? For you, I mean, what makes him so important? Have you been sent from his family to ransom him, or from Númenor's own Queen? Is he a nobleman, a person of importance? Or did you come out of your own free will, mistress? I do not believe he is your kin, you look nothing alike. Is he a friend of yours? No... there is somethting more, is there not? He must be your lover; or maybe the two of you are already wed? If so, he is a fortunate man, to be loved so much that his wife undergoes such a long journey to find him... and since there is so little love in Draiwen for the people of the Land of the Star."

Apparently he is the one with the ability to read minds, or maybe your feelings and thoughts are so evident on your face, even someone who does not know you can guess them. You are lost, you think, and worse even, you have lost Elendil, and being owned by the same master does not mean you would not be separated, and your children will lose you as well as him...

Any moment now the merchant will call for his guards and have you brought to the enclosure, or maybe somewhere else, where he keeps his female slaves or those he still needs to train. Still, any attempt you do not make today is one you will regret tomorrow.

"I always thought the sake of business went above and beyond reasons of patriotism." you state, head held high and voice steady "I have no quarrel with Draiwen, or its people; I did not come into this kingdom to hurt anyone, and I will leave as soon as I can."

"I believe you; but why should I let you go? I await for a visit of the crown prince himself, the day after tomorrow; what prevents me from seizing you and hand you over to him, a daughter of his worst enemy arrived on Draiwen in disguise? He would probably reward me handsomely."

"Probably." you repeat "While I could reward you right now; it would be easy, and no one else would need to know. Name your price, I will take a rebellious slave out of your hands, and in twenty minutes you will be free to forget ever meeting us."

The merchant appears to reflect on your offer as you pick the coins up from the ground; he looks at the bag in your hands, as if assessing the exact sum it contains. "Would you pay me three hundred gold pieces for your friend, if I promised to let both of you go?"

"I would."

"Fourhundred?"

"Yes."

"Fivehundred."

It is almost everything you have. "Yes."

"What if I took it, and you, and kept him?"

"Then I would kill you." you simply answer; he does not know you are armed, and in his eyes you must look the most harmless creature, a simple woman, alone -you are not, but you doubt your bodyguards would actually fight to defend you, and even if they did, they would be two against ten- untrained to war or fight; but he must see something in your eyes, the desperation and the awareness that if you lost Elendil you will have nothing left to live for, or to lose, because he does not laugh, but

"What else do you have to give me in exchange for him?" he asks.

"You can have all of it if you want; it is little more than fivehundred gold pieces."

"You are very generous, mistress. But I was not talking about that; coin is not the only valuable thing that can pay a debt, other types of arrangements also exist - now, do not look at me like that, that is not what I mean; you are a very attractive woman, but I like to keep pleasure and business separated."

"Then what do you mean, exactly?" you ask, confused, and worried, a strange foreboding making you fear you will soon regret he did not order you to take your clothes off. There is nothing, literally nothing in the world you would not do to free Elendil, but... "I have nothing else to offer. I am not a person of importance in Númenor, I am wealthy enough to pay an high price for him but I have no influence or power; what else can I give you? Do you want my earrings? My cape? My shoes? My own hair?"

He is still looking at you. "What is that?" he suddenly asks, pointing at your neck... or rather, to the simple silver chain peeking out from under your shirt.

"It... it is a necklace."

"Show me, please."

"It is worth very little; it is little more than a trinket I received when I was a girl..."

"Show me." he orders you, extending his hand; there is still a smile on his face, and steel in his eyes "Please."

The moment of hesitation before taking off the necklace and handing it to him seals your doom, for good and ill. The merchant delicately takes your most precious possession and examines it carefully.

"Ah! Very pretty. The chain is simple silver, but I had never seen such a large pearl." he says "Is it a childhood gift? Or was it your friend who gave it to you?"

"Fivehundred gold pieces for him." you reply; your self restraint is running out and you know "This necklace is worth next to nothing compared to that. Take my coin and let me leave."

"What if I took only what your friend is actually worth, let us say eighty gold pieces, and the necklace instead?"

"Then you would be a very stupid man, taking only one sixth of what you could."

The merchant admits you are not wrong; and renouncing to a large profit on a whim would be foolish. On the other hand, he is wealthy and successful in what he does enough to indulge in some harmless pleasure, and he has sensed the necklace is much more precious for you than its actual price would suggest.

"So what? You expect me to ransom that as well? Are you actually after my money, and in the meantime you are playing with me?"

"I am not. You see..." He hesitates for a moment, as if explaining his reasoning and his motives to you were important, as if he really wanted you to understand "I am a merchant; I care for gold, whoever pays it, whatever the good purchased, does not matter. At the same time, though... Sometimes, when you are in my trade, you learn that the value of some things does not necessarily depend on the coin that might be exchanged for it. I know that I would not earn much from your necklace, even if I sold the pearl and the chain separatedly. On the other hand, I only need to look at you to see it is precious for you, precious enough you wish you could cut the hand that took it from yours. And this is why I want it, even if it means earning a lower price for my slave."

Silence.

"Do you understand what I am saying, mistress?" he asks, clearly convinced this is the case; and you do understand, and while you thought you could not despise this man any more than you already did, you are forced to reconsider.

"If you want it, you have to give me the other two slaves as well." you reply; it may be petty, other than probably hopeless, but you are determined not to let him have the last word.

The merchant bursts out laughing; he seems sincerely amused. "Not even if all the Gods came down to order me to do it, mistress. Not a chance."

"Two slaves of your choice, then; and I will pay a hundred gold pieces for each of them." you insist; those men mean nothing for you, but spending your coin to ransom as many of them as you can seems the most natural choice, as well as one you know your husband will not reproach you for "Those no buyer will ever want; you will make a profit in any case, will you not?"

The merchant is still smiling; there is sincere merriment in his eyes, and complete and utter lack of mercy. "Sparring with you is amusing, mistress; but we had our fun, and now we have to discuss serious matters."

"I am being extremely serious."

"You are also being extremely naive, and blind to the good fortune you are having and that might run out soon. I will sell you the captain for eighty gold pieces and this pretty trinket; I will also have him bathed and clothed, as a personal favour for you... And I will tell no one, not even to one of the many guards who patrol the marketplace, many of which fought in the war against Númenor, who you are. If I can offer you a word of advice, the sooner you leave this tent, and Draiwen, the better it will be for the two of you."

He is still smiling, but appealing to his good heart and his mercy would be as useless as trying to reason with a famished lion. Wordlessly, you take the agreed sum off your bag and leave the coins on the table, next to your necklace; you brush your fingers against the pearl, the one Elendil had spent a whole day searching because none of the many he had found, and that he had gifted to his fishmonger friend, were large enough, and sufficiently beautiful, for his gift you, and you fell ashamed, even though you could have not done otherwise, and sad, as if you were saying farewell to a person you love.

A few minutes later the merchant offers you a slip of parchment with the proof of your purchase, that you will have to keep until you are safe back in Númenor.

"I need to leave as soon as possible; give him clothes, but there is no time for a bath." you state brusquely; you have your husband back, safe and sound, but then why does it not feel like a victory, rather the opposite? "I will be waiting outside."

"As you wish, mistress. It was a pleasure doing business with you." the merchant answers; you avert his eyes, because you know he is still smiling.

You do not answer, but turn and leave the tent, ordering yourself to walk instead of running.