A Walk down Memory Lane by Raiyana

The Loom

Loom

“You can’t wear that, Curvo,” Moryo said, sighing heavily.

“Wha?!” Curvo replied, whirling, almost tripping himself with the sash he’d been trying to tie around his waist. “Car-! What are you doing here?” Moryo simply raised an eyebrow at him, his grey eyes gliding down Curvo’s attempts at formal dress with agonizing slowness.

“Saving you, onórincë,” his older brother sighed, pushing a lock of dark hair out of Curvo’s face. “Yellow-and-green is not your colour, trust me.”

“It’s not?” Curvo asked, looking down at the trailing gold-thread tassels dragging across the floor. “But Atto-”

“Atto is the High Prince, Curvo,” Moryo chuckled, “he could wear anything and no one would dare tell him it didn’t look good with his skin or eyes – you, however, I’m not going to let get away with it.”

“But I like yellow!” Curvo tried to protest, though he let Moryo pull his tunic off, his brother tutting at the small scorchmarks on the hip. Curvo scowled at him on principle, but Moyo didn’t seem to notice – or care.

“Not this shade, you don’t,” Moryo replied, pursing his lips and tossing the garment to the floor. “You’ll need something in red, for grandfather’s house, of course,” he muttered to himself. Whirling towards Curvo’s wardrobe – he’d only jut finished the red mahogany piece this afternoon and he’d been in the process of transferring his clothes when Ammë knocked to tell him to get ready – Moryo tutted again. Curvo flushed slightly – Moryo always had a way of making him feel like a child – but obediently pulled on the clothes his brother handed at him. Soft tunic in a dark grey beneath a deep red robe edged in golden yellow embroidery that Curvo was quite certain he’d never seen before.

“Can I still wear my new cloak-pin?” Curvo asked, pouting just so Moryo wouldn’t think he was giving in.

“Yes,” his brother agreed distractedly, “fine work with the gems – it will look very good with the cloak I’ve brought you.” Jerking his head towards the parcel Curvo hadn’t noticed him drop on the bed, Moryo turned his attention to the display of jewellery that littered the surface of his desk, poking at a few pieces that were only just about to be finished and humming thoughtfully.

Undoing the string that held the fabric wrapping together, Curvo found a garment that was certainly worthy of any prince. He smiled, pressing his face against the fine cloth.

The cloak was made of soft wool, dyed a fine burgundy and the Star of Fëanáro embroidered in Moryo’s own careful hand on the back. Fine fur lined the trims and the inside had been made from a golden silk he had seen Moryo make on the loom he’d helped Atto make a few weeks ago.

“You’re getting quite good at faceting, Curvo,” Moryo smiled, picking up the clasp and helping him fasten the cloak at his throat. “Now, let’s go make Maitimo proud of us by not picking a fight with anyone.”

“Isn’t that mostly you and Tyelko?” Curvo asked, pulling on his boots and following Moryo out the door. His brother huffed a laugh under his breath.

“Aye, well, I help you, you help me, yes?” he replied, winking at Curvo and setting his own cloak around his shoulders. Curvo shot it a look.

“Alright,” he agreed, amused at the idea that he should be able to keep his elder brothers out of trouble – Maitimo was the one who did that, while Maglor created diversions, but he promised himself he’d stay near Moryo during the ball – and, perhaps, Moryo’s deterrent effect on courtiers would let him plan out the clasp he’d make for his cloak.

Smiling, his mind already full of design ideas, Curvo joined his family, for once looking forward to one of grandfather’s soirees.