Bloody silmarils, book I by Dilly

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Chapter 5 : Marriage

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"Master architects," announced Turgon, "I have called this meeting to address a very serious imminent situation. We have been at peace for ten years now. And it is precisely now that you must undertake your greatest challenge yet. In the coming fifty years, it is of the utmost importance that you build, build, and build some more. Houses, nurseries, schools. Lots of nurseries."

"Excuse me, Majesty, but what's the occasion?"

"Do you remember Valinor ? That period of bliss where the Noldor reproduced like rabbits ? History is about to repeat itself. Elven biology dictates that we do not have children in times of war or in dangerous conditions - our bodies' carnal urges naturally diminish. We have been in such a state for over a century. The populations of Nevrast and Gondolin have barely increased, the small number of births have not been enough to compensate for those lost in the war against Morgoth. But the threat has receded, the siege of Angband was concluded, and we prosper anew. Meanwhile, all the built up energy from the times of hardship hasn't disappeared. It's there, just under the surface. We are sitting on a veritable volcano of Elven libido. Soon enough, the honest artisan, the ethereal minstrel, they'll all transform before our horrified eyes into the likes of Fëanor, with the fire to sire seven children on their wives."

"By Varda! Seven children?"

"We must plan for the worst."

 

Six months later.

 

 

"A message from your father, Majesty," announced Penlodh.

"Don't tell me he's going to go and bang on the gates of Angband again? Morgoth will think he's gone truly senile." 

"No, my King. He only writes to inform you that your brother is now engaged."

Turgon spat out the wine he'd been about to swallow.

 

"That joke wasn't funny at all. For a moment I actually believed it."

"Your aunt Lalwen has always been known to have a sense of humor," Penlodh thought to explain.

For a moment, Turgon also wondered if Penlodh meant to imply a lack of humor on his part. Then he looked at his adviser, with his dignified mein, his oval face stoic and framed with neat chestnut hair that fell midway down his crisp, buttoned tunic, and any suspicion of hinted reproach left his mind.

"Penlodh, do you think I am a joyful person?" he finally asked.

"Joyful, Majesty?"

"Yes, gay... amusing... witty... funny, what have you."

"Well, to be honest, "joyful" isn't really the term I would use to describe your Majesty."

"What terms would you use, in that case?"

"Hmm... Imposing, far-seeing, audacious. Personable, analytically minded. With a dark sense of humor and macabre that most Elves don't possess."

The King's face was crestfallen and he suddenly seemed very depressed.

 

 

 

Related or not to his conversation with the architects, all the inhabitants of the valley were invited to a grand festival organized by the king to celebrate the completion of the construction in the northern quarter of the city. Everyone was there, simple farmers, butchers, whatever their race. Large tables were set up in the tower and around the city. Many jugglers and musicians gave performances. The festivities lasted several days, and the royal warehouses were emptied.

"Glorfindel, I've never seen your wife..." Turgon commented to the Elf sitting next to him after two glasses of wine, "did you leave her in Valinor, like some of the others ?"

"Oh no, Majesty," replied the blond warrior with a slight blush, "I have not found the lucky lady."

"Bah ! Getting married these days can't be too difficult. Anyway, your wife has every chance of dying a violent death, or one day deciding that you and your children aren't worth the pain of abiding in Middle Earth with such danger and laying down to die. It's the quicker way to get back to Valinor, since Fëanor took all thoses Telerin boats."

"But that's horrible!" Exclaimed Glorfindel, the hairs on his arms standing straight.

"It was a joke. Idril, don't tell me you didn't find that funny?"

"No, father!"

"And you, Penlodh, are you married?"

The minister replied with a long tirade, in which Turgon was able to make out the phrases "to best serve your Majesty," and "to focus completely on matters of State." 

"Ah!  You are like my brother.  Well, besides hunting and climbing and braiding your hair by a campfire... Him and my sister, the day they get married will be the day Maedhros' right hand grows back." 

Glorfindel started laughing.

"Why are you laughing?" asked Turgon with raised brow, "did I say something funny?"

 

 

At the same time, several rows back, Eudes and Robert, the sons of Eric the Miller, found themselves on the terrace with Elven beers in their hands.  

"S'takes you right uptown," explained Robert. "And by the all-father, do they never stop eatin'?! I swears I saw the King eat an entire deer by hisself!" 

"You see what!  That little lady can eat whatever she wants and she don't weigh a thing! And she done told me herself that they don't need to eat much jus' for stayin' alive ! She eats just for the pleasure of it!" 

"You think she does any other things just for the pleasure of it?"

"I dunno any of that, God! But for the rest of 'em, I seen 'em always singing sappy love songs or kissing, but never actually doin' the deed proper!" 

"But if these fairies never do it, how do they get their little 'uns?"

They were silent for a moment, contemplating the sheer rock face looking over the great plain and the green valley, with the farms all lit up for the festivities.

"Maybe the she-Elves be layin' eggs," Eudes guessed.

 

 

"Say, Glorfindel, my daughter as your wife... what do you think?" the King asked discreetly when everyone had left the table for the dancefloor.  

"Majesty, you would never permit me."

"What? But, look, yes, yes I would permit you ! You're of a noble family with Vanyarin blood ! The best Knight of the realm ! And then you're both blond, and they say like attracts like."

"But, Majesty..."

"What, you don't think my daughter is good enough for you? Okay, it's true she isn't very refined, but otherwise, she's a masterpiece!"

"The Princess Idril is very beautiful, but I don't love her, Majesty..."

"Well there we are. She cannot win your heart. You're not the Golden Flower, but the Blue! Go on, admit it, it's because of her feet, isn't it?"

Glorfindel didn't dare agree.