Bloody silmarils, book I by Dilly

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Chapter 15: As rich as Egalmoth

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The folk of the Heavenly Arch were rich, very rich. They were so rich that the splendour of their clothes and their homes evoked the lost magnificence of Tirion. The tower of their house was covered with a mosaic of semi-precious stones; and if the members of the House of the Fountain, by a choice that was both aesthetic and moral, preferred silver and diamonds, all types of gemstones and metals were favoured by those of the Heavenly Arch.

Simple merchants, knights, goldsmiths or drapers, the elves of that house were all rich. But the richest of them all was their lord, Egalmoth the Fortunate, who wore two rings on each finger, a blue velvet mantle with opal-encrusted edges and a bell made of a single diamond so large that it created iridescent reflections all around him.

His tunics were made of scarlet cloth, his boots of the best leather in the country. He wrote with a peacock's feather. He drank from golden cups. He put carnelians in his bathtub together with bath balls. And his bath balls contained perfume essence, and the inside of his bathtub was made of mother-of-pearl.

His wealth was so great that it had become proverbial. When the Noldor of Beleriand wanted to say of someone that he was rich, they used to say he was "as rich as Egalmoth".

Moreover, he had never been poor, being from a noble family of Tirion. But it was in Vinyamar and then Gondolin that he had developed his fortune and his businesses, for the talent of his House lay in machine construction. The Irisian Elves had started in Nevrast, with looms. Then they began to design war machines : catapults, trebuchets, ballista... Naturally, in Gondolin, they found themselves in charge of the construction and management of these machines posted on the walls. Soon, they also began to build musical instruments playing by themselves, and all sorts of automatons, especially for children.

"We even sold a mechanical hand to Maedhros... So he can sweep the broom!"

That day, Egalmoth was having his portrait painted by Cenedril, Gondolin's master artist.

"Ah, Maedhros..." said the painter, while remaining concentrated on his work. "I painted him when he lived in Tirion. He was the most handsome young man in the city, and the most desired bachelor in the whole continent... I saw him recently. He looked like a magnificent palace... fallen into ruins, or ransacked by savages. Still beautiful, but faded, with cracks, missing parts..."

"That's it", said Egalmoth.

He hardly resembled this red-haired prince. His eyes were not grey but green as jade, with pieces of amber in the iris. His wavy dark hair, divided on the left side, rested on the top of his rainbow stitch, embroidered with gold and gems. A curved sword hung from his belt, for he was also a skilled swordsman, although he was even more skilled with the bow.

"Such a waste..." murmured Cenedril.

"Did you choose a mythological or historical subject?"

"No... I just painted him naked... well, with a vine leaf. Be careful, don't move..."

"Uh, you're leaving me my clothes, huh? I don't want to find myself in Tata's outfit, with a pine cone on the nuts! This painting is for hanging in my dining room. And I am a father."

"No, don't be afraid, my lord. I had painted Maedhros naked because his body was a real gift for an artist."

"And mine isn't?"

"Not really," replied Cenedril. "Well, it is... correct. But Maedhros, how can I put it... He was another level. Besides, you had to see the state he put women in..."

"And not only women! ...How much longer is this going to last?"

"I think you should come back for an hour everyday until the end of the week. Then, I'll take care of the finishing touches and I won't need you anymore."

Half an hour later, Egalmoth left the studio of the painter. As the artist lived in the northern district, the merchant had to pass through an alleyway populated by Nandor, the Wood Elves, and when he reached the gate of his mansion, two opals were missing from the edge of his mantle.

"Bloody hell! They chored two stones from me... Those foresters are really scum... Next time, I'll go back home in a sedan chair!"

In the hall, two of his five daughters came to welcome him with a cup of drink.

"Good evening, Father. Did you have a good day?"

"Did you make a profit?"

"Lots of profits, my loves. And you, you earn profits in beauty."

"Thank you Father."

The girls bowed their heads. These ones were not yet married, and there was also the little one, who was probably in her arithmetic class.

"We've had your afternoon snack prepared for you. It is waiting for you in the blue lounge."

The rich merchant climbed the steps of a staircase in pink marble. In the blue living room, on a table made of noble wood with gold leaf embellishments, the servants had placed a silver plate containing pheasant appetizers. On another tray, there was also his mail.

Egalmoth let himself fall into his padded armchair with a yawn of self-satisfaction. It was a day as he loved them. None of those silly meetings at the Palace, no military obligations... Just business.

He nibbled a bite and then began to open his mail. The first was a letter from his wife, who was now on a trip to one of their counters in Eglarest. She gave him a number of professional details and then explained how much she missed him in the evening, which made his blood boil a little. The second letter, however, brought down this rise in his libido in one fell swoop. It came from the administration, and more precisely from the treasury department, managed by Penlodh. Egalmoth didn't understand when he read the name of the sender. He had already paid his income tax, as well as the various taxes related to Real Estate, State, and even State statements. What could it be about? So it was with frowned eyebrows that he unsealed the letter, to discover words that he had never seen put together before:

 

Solidarity tax on wealth

 

A flow of rage coloured his rich man's face. What, a new tax? Reserved for the richest?!

"Too much is too much, Penlodh," he said. "This time it's war."

 

* * *

 

 

A few centuries earlier, in Valinor.

 

"Fëanor", said Fingolfin in a mood, "were you obliged to hang a half-naked painting of your son in the middle of our father's palace?

"Does it bother you, brother?" replied Fëanor bitterly. "It seemed natural to me that everyone should be able to enjoy this marvel."

"But this is indecent!" exclaimed Fingolfin.

"You find it indecent because you are jealous," replied the other with a smile of pleasure.

"Jealous? But of what?"

"Jealous that my eldest son is more handsome than yours."

"My son is still only a child, I remind you."

"But that doesn't matter... There is nothing special about his look. At the same age, my son had already given his name to a hair colour : Russandol red. All that is said about yours, for the moment, is that he likes to climb up sideboards and wear dresses!"

"It's very difficult to climb up a sideboard while wearing a dress! My son is a brave little boy!"