A Walk down Memory Lane by Raiyana

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Rocking the Cradle

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“Perhaps our children will not feud so,” Telperína sighed, taking a seat next to Turukáno’s equally pregnant wife with a small moan of relief. Voices drifted towards them, but Telperína did not care to follow the topic, turning her face West to enjoy the golden light bathing her skin after the cooler temperatures inside. As much as she loved her son, his growth was becoming a strain on the bladder he liked to press against. Stroking her distended middle, Telperína shared her joy in the warm light with her son who moved drowsily.

“With those two as fathers?” Lady Elenwë chuckled, patting her own belly gently, humming to its little inhabitant. “Only if we make them friends from the beginning.”

The two nissi smiled at each other; an unspoken pact to continue their friendship in the next generation.

“Somehow, I think Turukáno is the one of his cousins that Curvo enjoys the most,” Telperína replied, nodding at the two ner who were currently locked in a hot debate that she had given up on following some time ago. One-upping each other in the crafting of some thing or other, usually. “Turukáno and Irissë – neither are afraid to stand up to him.”

“He hides it well,” Elenwë remarked drily, a smile lingering on her lips, “but I believe you are right… they are quite similar, really, aren’t they?” Studying the two, she nodded to herself. It was not just the family resemblance, there was a similarity of fëa to Turukáno and Curufinwë Atarinkë.

“Too similar, perhaps, betimes,” Telperína smirked, just as both neri raised their heads to look at them. Elenwë’s clear laughter filled the room, sparking the amusement in Telperína until she too felt overcome with a need to laugh at the increasingly bewildered expressions on the two craftsmen’s faces.

 

 

“Turukáno and his wife will be visiting our home tomorrow,” Curufinwë said, gently pulling pins from Telperína’s silver hair and letting the locks glide through his fingers.

“You did not have enough arguing this evening?” Telperína teased in return, shivering at the feel of his lips on her neck for a brief kiss before he returned to the task at hand.

“My workshop is superior,” he told her, “and Turukáno is labouring under the wrongful impression that his idea of a cradle is better than my intended modifications on the model that Atto made for us. I cannot let him linger in such ignorance.”

“Obviously,” she chuckled. “I like Elenwë – perhaps she will enjoy the rose garden…” Leaning back against Curvo’s chest, she smiled, turning her head to kiss him when his arms came around her, his fingers playing over the bump of her stomach. The babe kicked against the touch, making her giggle. “I guess the little one agrees.”

Curvo’s rich laughter filled her with joy, while inside her their child seemed to dance along.

 

 

Morning brought rain, drumming cosily on the roof of Telperína’s glass-walled garden, filled with lush greenery and the scent of orange blossoms.

Moryo, deploring her skill at producing baby-sized clothing with familiar teasing as he tried to teach her to knit, was uncharacteristically silly, making her laugh by telling old stories of Curvo as a baby. Telperína laughed brightly.

“Somehow, I can believe Fëanáro said that,” Elenwë offered quietly when she walked in, “I fear you will have your work cut out for you if the little one takes after his Atar.”

“Ah, but, as Nerdanel tells me, there is great joy in the sight of one’s husband chasing after one’s son while trying not to find him as hilariously adorable as he really is,” Telperína smiled, getting to her feet slowly to embrace her friend in welcome. “You have met Carnistir, yes?” she introduced.

Moryo rose, too, offering Elenwë a courtly bow.

“I shall leave you to your guest, Sister,” he said, gone before Telperína could protest.

Sighing, she returned to her seat, looking at the mess of yarn in her lap with some relief when she tucked it out of sight beneath the rolled-up balls of yarn in her basket.

“I married into a family of the greatest crafters our peoples have known,” she chuckled, “yet I know I shall never learn to enjoy this one.”

“I find the clacking quite soothing – but Turukáno is far better at it than I am,” Elenwë laughed. “He has gone to join Curufinwë in the workshop, I believe – something about cradles?”

“Curvo believes his redesign of Fëanáro’s cradle to be superior to Turukáno’s,” Telperína sighed, exchanging a long-suffering look with Elenwë that had them both giggling like young girls, “trust those two to find an excuse for competition even in the births of their children.”

Laughter won, and the talk turned to more interesting topics as the day warmed until the glass room became too warm for comfort and the ladies retreated to Telperína’s favourite bench in the rose garden.

 

 

“Well, obviously, it needs to move!” Curvo exclaimed, gesturing broadly towards the cradle, decorated with all of Ataryo’s skill and since inlaid with the names of each of its occupants. He had already decided exactly where to put the name of his son, chased in silver for his ammë’s – it filled him with warmth to imagine Telperína an ammë – hair and set with rubies. “The question is how it should move.”

Turukáno had brought his own cradle – an obviously inferior design, even if those metal corner caps had been done beautifully – currently studying it thoughtfully. “Side to side,” he finally said, “like a Telerin ship on the sea.”

“Hmm,” Curvo grunted, knowing that Telperína would love that idea, reminded of her own childhood in Alqualondë. “You’re thinking springs?”

“Maybe rope suspension?” Turukáno offered, reaching for a draft pen and a clean wax slate, scratching an idea into the soft material.

He had barely finished before Curvo snatched the tablet and another pen, his lines adding to and modifying the design before Turno grabbed for it once more, all the lines coming together to form a new whole.

 

 

“Look Tyelpië!” Curvo called, swooping down for a kiss before Telperína had even realised he’d arrived, skidding some contraption or other on the gravel path before picking her up with enviable ease – moving had become far more cumbersome these days – and kissing her properly. She smiled against his lips, feeling his joy wash over her fëa, the fire that always accompanied success in his workshop lighting embers in her blood.

“What am I looking at?” Telperína asked, giving Turukáno a small smile and a nod.

“It’s our cradle!” Curvo exclaimed, gesturing grandly. “Well… theirs,” he added, running a hand down the curve of her belly, laughing when their son kicked against the touch. “But look – it moves!”

The cradle seemed to have sprouted a metal frame – curlicues looking like waves, as though it sailed – and wheels.

“It’s beautiful,” she told him honestly, kissing him once for the effort and thrice more for the way he smiled at her praise.

“It moves,” Turukáno smiled, pressing on the wide handle attached to the metal frame.

The wheels creaked a little – Curvo frowned at that – but the contraption rolled over the ground, the cradle in its frame rocking gently, suspended with ropes and springs.

Elenwë grinned proudly, bending to press a kiss against his cheek. “So clever!”

“We shall make another, of course,” Curvo told her, and Telperína tried not to groan at the thought of the kind of modifications that model would get in an effort to out-do whatever Turukáno would do to his.

Catching Elenwë’s eyes, she saw her own wry amusement reflected in the taller nissë.

They both laughed.

Curufinwë and Turukáno both looked nonplussed, staring at the two of them, then glancing at each other. Curufinwë’s eyebrow travelled partly up his forehead, but Turukáno just shrugged helplessly, staring at his giggling wife.

“I already love it, melmenya,” Telperína promised, hiccupping with mirth as she tried to still her laughter. “Surely our children will, too.”