A Walk down Memory Lane by Raiyana

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Circlet

What do Fëanor and Nerdanel think about their son's engagement?

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The Festival of Flowers was coming up; Makalaurë had talked her into – after a long hour of questioning her feelings for his younger brother that made her head spin – writing a short play for a new Tirion Drama Group to perform. He claimed it was part of being a member of Finwë’s house, being a patron of arts and craftsmen, but Telperína was well aware that he was – with a remarkable lack of subtlety – teasing her.

The play was simple, a tribute to Estë, who rarely received the accolades due her, Telperína thought, focusing on her gardens, the lake and the small isle where Estë found her own rest. The players were inexperienced, which might be another reason Makalaurë had foisted the task of their patronage onto her, but Telperína didn’t mind. A few of them had true potential; appearing at the Festival might open doors otherwise closed – particularly under the sponsorship of a Prince.

She did find some resentment for her friend due the fact that she had suddenly become too busy to spend all the time in Curvo’s company that she desired, wanting to learn the small things she had not known about him through years of friendship.

To that end, she had snuck away from rehearsals, making her way to the sprawling abode of Fëanáro; feeling little more than a sliver of guilt for abandoning the day’s work. Makalaurë had written the music, but wouldn’t be playing until the performance, so he hadn’t bothered to show up; she knew he was working on a flute and harp duet with a friend elsewhere.

Following the sound of hammers working in tandem, she reached the forges easily, amused for a moment when she remembered her first visit; she stood in just the same spot now, watching Curvo bent over a piece of leather destined to become part of a horse’s tack. The small mallet he used to tap on the handle end of the stamp made rhythmic sounds, but he noticed her presence blocking the light. Continuing to the end of the curve he was making, he looked up, the expression on his face changing in an instant from annoyance at being interrupted to joy at seeing her. Telperína smiled.

“Tyelpië!” Curufinwë exclaimed, putting down the tools and jumping to his feet. Further in the forge, the sound of a larger hammer against metal stopped for a moment but then picked up once more. Fëanáro was there, then, she knew, though he seemed to approve of her – for now – so long as she did not distract Curvo too long.

“Hello Curvo,” she smiled, the sound of her Telerin nickname in his Noldorin tongue still new and exciting. “I am playing truant, today,” she continued, stepping into the workroom.

Curvo chuckled. “Your play not going as well as you’d hoped?” he teased.

“The play is fine, even if the actors are slightly amateurish,” she shrugged, “I shall be far more frantic when we get close to the performances, but it’s in the hands of the director; there is less work for me to do now that the staging of the scenes has been planned out.”

“And so, you are running away to let them work on it without feeling that you are hovering?” he asked, giving her a small wink. Telperína laughed.

“See, I knew you’d understand,” she chuckled, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “Want to join me?”

“Perhaps,” he murmured, catching her round the waist when she stepped away and tugging her back towards him. Telperína followed willingly. “If you kiss me proper, my Tyelpië,” he added, giving her a cheeky smile.

Kissing him properly was no hardship, and Telperína set to her task thoroughly, wrapping her arms around his neck and tangling her fingers in the short curls at the nape of his neck.

“It is odd how much I have missed you of late,” she murmured, giving him another kiss for the way his bare arms went around her; warmth and gentle strength holding her close.

“I have missed you, too,” he replied, kissing the tip of her nose. She crinkled her nose slightly in response, but Curvo just chuckled, giving her another kiss before turning around to store the leather strapping away properly, returning his tools to the proper hooks and drawers. He was so very methodical that way, she mused, not for the first time slightly charmed by the old outlines painted on the walls – each tool had its proper home.

Wrapping one arm around her shoulders when he was done and tucking her into his side, Curvo led the way out of the workshop, the sounds of small birds warbling over head as he turned them towards the rose garden.

 

“What do you want to do, then?” Curvo asked softly, picking one of the prolific mauve roses and using it as an excuse to run his fingers through the loose locks of Telperína’s hair, twisting the strands around the stem to keep the flower in place and missing her answer entirely thinking about what kind of hairpiece he could design to hold flowers. Maybe he could create a tiny vase of a sort to ensure the flower lasted as long as possible, hiding it as part of an elaborate filigree piece? Or perhaps he should simply make a bunch of tiny rose buds and attach them to some of the long needles the Vanyar used to pin strings of gems to their hairdos? He had seen Lady Indis wear such things; it didn’t look difficult. Cutting petals from glass or gemstones should be doable, too… and not just roses; Telperína liked those bluebells that grew near Alqualondë, but they never lasted the journey to Tirion – she would enjoy wearing a version of them, even here. He could make her a flowering circlet, to start, while he worked out how to add living flowers to the creation; how to create facsimiles of living flowers that looked real…

 

“Curvo?” Telperína asked, looking up at the distant expression on his face and recognising it as the look he got when he was considering a new project. His fingers were still tangled in her hair, but she quite liked feeling his arms so close around her, humming gently under her breath as she waited for his thoughts to come to a conclusion.

“New project?” Tyelkormo asked suddenly, making her jump and wince when the motion pulled on her trapped hair. Turning her head slightly, she glared at Curvo’s closest brother over his shoulder – he was still not entirely forgiven for the whole rope climbing exercise. Tyelkormo just grinned back at her.

“I assume so,” Telperína smiled; it was impossible to stay mad at Turko, his boyish grin lighting up his features as Huan jumped around them, nudging her hip with his nose.

“And you don’t… mind?” the pale-haired elf replied, frowning lightly.

Telperína shrugged. “Why?” she asked.

Curvo’s fingers suddenly tightened in her hair and his lips crashed down on hers in a kiss that left her breathless. “I’ve got it!” he crowed, untangling himself with exquisite if impatient care before bounding off back towards the workshop. Bemused, Telperína ran the tip of her finger over her lips, feeling an echo of that kiss turn her cheeks warm.

“That,” Tyelkormo said, nodding in the direction of Curvo disappearing through the door. “I assume you had plans for coming here today that did not involve my brother abandoning you in the Rose Garden.”

Scratching behind one of Huan’s ears, Telperína smiled at the ner she had realised was the most protective brother of her future husband, even if Tyelkormo had not given her a full-fledged interrogation like Makalaurë.

“This is who he is,” she pointed out, “and I love him. The way he loses himself in his craft… I find it endearing.” Tyelkormo nodded, gesturing further into the garden – an unspoken invitation – or command – to join him. Huan licked her hand once before bounding back to his Master’s side, barking at a passing bumblebee. “Curvo is…” Telperína began slowly, blushing at the first word that popped into her head. Mine. “Creative,” she settled on at last, “and I would not wish to curb his imagination; how could I claim to love him if I wished to change such an intrinsic part of who he is?” she shrugged. “So what if it was not my plan to spend my day in your company?”

Tyelkormo hummed. “And you do love him,” he mumbled softly.

Telperína nodded. “I do.” Not to mention watching him work was… delicious. But she’d keep that thought to herself and sneak back to the workroom later – maybe she could bring a pen and some ink for sketching…

“Good,” a new voice replied, making both of them stiffen. Huan barked happily, watching as Tyelkormo whirled around. Telperína’s cheeks coloured brightly, curtseying hastily. “That is good,” he continued, which did not set her at ease whatsoever. Fëanáro might approve of her engagement, but she was not quite convinced he actually liked her. “Turko… go.” Fëanáro’s voice was not unkind, but his tone brooked no disagreement and Turko vanished with alacrity, a sharp whistle making Huan follow on his heels, licking Telperína’s hand again in passing. It was somehow comforting, as she straightened under the gaze of those eyes, so similar to Curvo’s and yet so strange to her; missing the softness she loved so dearly.

“Haryon Fëanáro,” she greeted.

“Perhaps just Fëanáro, now,” he replied, gesturing towards the garden of rose-entangled statues to make her continue moving, “Telperína.”

“As you wish.” Nodding respectfully, she turned back towards the garden, hyper-aware of his silent presence beside her.

“My wife’s garden,” Fëanáro announced, and suddenly that light that had been missing appeared in his eyes. Telperína felt warm, certain that her cheeks were growing pinker and cursing her fair skin in silence. “My Nerdanel.”

“Yes?” Nerdanel replied, her curly red hair appearing from behind an unpainted statue – it looked to be Yavannah, the ever-present roses twining around the statues cunningly worked into the design of Her garments. Telperína began to feel somewhat ambushed, even if neither of Curvo’s parents could have known she would stop by today. Carrying a loosely woven basket with a few cut-off roses and a small pair of scissors, Nerdanel closed in, pecking Fëanáro’s cheek in greeting. “Hello, my love,” she nodded, returning his smile with a radiant one of her own. “What brings you out here today?”  

“We agreed to speak with Telperína, my love, remember?” Fëanáro said, still wearing that incongruously soft smile that made her think of Curvo; in her mind, Fëanáro was a stern character, which made Curvo resemble him less in passing, but this version of the aloof High Prince was altogether different. Telperína felt oddly honoured to be allowed to intrude on the two of them, to be allowed to see them so differently to the people she had met as an acquaintance of the house, or seen at official feasts.

“Oh… so we did,” Nerdanel nodded slowly, giving Telperína a gentle smile. “About the engagement.”

 “Yes,” Fëanáro added, gesturing towards one of the benches – an oddly fluid and formless statue seemed to loom over it, stretching its wings out like a roof above it – nestled among the rosebushes. “About this engagement.”

“What about the engagement?” Telperína asked, instantly defensive. Were they going to object now they’d had time to discuss it?

“We want to make sure you’ve thought it through, is all,” Nerdanel said softly, putting the basket down on the ground and taking Fëanáro’s hand as though looking for comfort.

“You’re quite young – just turned 80, I believe? – and Curvo is only 90 yéni himself…” Fëanáro added, lifting Nerdanel’s hand and kissing her knuckles gently.

Telperína crossed her arms over her chest, suddenly angry. Was it not enough that she had to listen to tongues wagging about the news in the street, claiming she was looking to elevate her position? That she had had to justify her feelings to her parents, and even to her best friend?

“You were younger still when you wed,” she replied frostily. “And I feel no uncertainty in my heart about this path; I have s…” Her mouth fel shut, cutting off the sentence as she remembered a brilliant spring afternoon in a forest glade and a feeling of home in the arms of a dance that had not happened… yet.

Valar help me that was 20 yéni ago!

“You mistake our meaning, Telperína,” Nerdanel said, reaching out to take her hand and squeezing it gently. “We do not object; if you can make each other as happy as we have been, then we could ask for no better for our son… we simply want to be sure that you understand that there will be talk – by right, Maitimo ought to have been the first to marry in his generation, and many will be… unkind, and not only because of your youth, but also…”

“What my wife means to say,” Fëanáro interrupted, “is that we heard much of what we believe they will say of you when we wed – and you should pay them no heed.” Wrapping his arm around Nerdanel’s shoulders, he kissed her temple. “I had no doubt – and I was lucky Nerdanel believed me – that I had chosen right for me. As long as you hold to your heart, you will do well in this.”

“Why are you only telling me this?” Telperína asked softly.

“Because the rumours calling you rather unflattering things – claiming that a son of mine could be hoodwinked in such a manner,” Nerdanel scoffed angrily, “has already begun to flourish and we want you to know…”

“It is not unlike what they said of my Nerdanel,” Fëanáro muttered, sparks of anger darkening his eyes, “thinking I should have married better – as though anyone else might have been a better wife to me!”

“We are on your side,” Nerdanel finished, putting her hand on Fëanáro’s thigh, “yours and Curvo’s.”

“I… thank you.” Telperína felt overwhelmed.

“Perhaps you should leave me to get better acquainted with my soon-to-be-daughter, Fëanáro,” Nerdanel murmured, patting his knee and pressing a kiss to his cheek. Fëanáro nodded, returning the kiss and disappearing with a small bow in Telperína’s direction, his shoulders taut with lingering anger as he strode off.

For a moment, both nissi followed him with their eyes, and then the silence of the rose gardens fell once more, only the sound of the birds chirping to break the calm of the day.

“Should we have waited?” Telperína asked, turning to look at Nerdanel who was leaning back against the bench, the golden light playing over the stars in her skin.

“I think there would be little point,” she murmured, her eyes closed, “we have long watched him look at you when he thought no one was looking; Curvo truly is much like his Atto – he would not have asked you lightly.”

“He didn’t really mean to,” Telperína admitted, glad that Nerdanel’s eyes remained closed as her cheeks burned. “I think I rather made him.”

“I doubt you could make Curvo do such a thing against his will,” Nerdanel chuckled. “He’s always been headstrong like his Atto – he even came out legs first when he was born, just to be contrary.” Laughing, she reached out to squeeze Telperína’s hand again. “Do not worry, my dear, as far as I am aware, my son had been working tirelessly to come up with a way of ascertaining your feelings for quite some time now… I reckoned you had given him incontrovertible proof that you desired him, too, when I heard he’d locked himself in his forge.”

“I…” Telperína flushed again. “I told him goodnight in ósanwë,” she murmured. Nerdanel smiled gently.

“Curvo is not good at speaking mind to mind…” she replied, “but he is very good at picking up emotions in things sent to him – Tyelkormo would speak to him like that when he was little more than a babe in arms.”

“Thank you for… believing in us,” Telperína said quietly.

“You’re welcome,” Nerdanel smiled, getting to her feet. “But I did not mean to keep you from your original purpose in coming here – if you are anything like me, there’s a very enticing sight waiting for you back in the workroom.” Winking, she turned away, letting Telperína hide her suddenly flaming cheeks in her hands.

Getting to her feet, the younger nissë began making her way through the garden of statues, almost at the hedge marking the entrance when Nerdanel spoke again.

“I realise you may wish your ammë make your wedding dress…” Nerdanel called. Telperína froze. “But Moryo would love to work on it, too, even if he’d never ask you. Think about it.”

“I… I will, my lady,” Telperína called back. Carnistir rather intimidated her.

“Do call me Nerdanel… daughter.”

Smiling brightly, Telperína fled the cool green of the rose bushes, the scent of them lingering around her as she moved back towards the workrooms.

 

“Tyelpië!” Curvo exclaimed, running towards her with something thin and metal in his hands. “Look! I had a great idea for a hair-piece of sorts – of course, this is just a prototype – and I’ll make it with proper pearls and gems, but it might still fit – and, no, I couldn’t make you wear such half-finished work – and-”

Pressing her fingers against his lips to still the excited babble, Telperína laughed happily, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down for a kiss.

“If you made it for me, I’m sure I’ll love it,” she promised, feeling him relax into the kiss as his fingers once again tangled in her hair. I love you. Filling the thought with all the joy she was feeling, she pushed it gently towards him, feeling his arms tighten around her in response, swallowing his light groan in return.

“I love you, too,” he whispered, kissing her slowly. Then he pulled back, those golden-brown eyes soft like toffee when he smiled at her, tugging on her hand. “Come on, I think I have a mirror somewhere.” Glancing back at her to make sure she followed, a pleased look on his face like satisfaction, Curvo booted the door open, nearly tripping himself in his excitement.

“Oh,” Telperína whispered, looking at herself in the small mirror he held up for her, reaching up to touch the circlet of silver-wrought roses with her fingertips, “it’s beautiful, Curvo.”

Wrapping his arms around her waist from behind, Curufinwë leaned in to press his lips against the point of her ear. “Not so beautiful as you,” he whispered, making her tremble lightly and turn her head to kiss him properly, losing herself in the meeting of mouths and feeling the shape of his fëa glowing warmly as it brushed against her own.