Royalties by heget

Tacholdir brought the slip of embossed parchment over to his lover in shaking hands, his face caught between the warring emotions of elation and disbelief. “Taltyo, read this for me.”

“It is the publisher’s notice about the book’s profits, isn’t it? I already checked in with the store when I went to buy bread. The last copy sold yesterday, and the scribes are panicking about the demand.”

“I didn’t think that anyone would care,” Tacholdir whispered, “it’s just a word list of Taliska, everything I knew and some input from the prince. And a few short anecdotes. Not even entertaining ones, just which mortal I heard the particular word from, or one of the visitors to the city. The longest story is about that one Bëorian lass’s horrible handwriting. Prince Finrod is writing a more comprehensive treatise, and he has the authority and name. I thought only my friends would buy it as a support gesture. There’s no analysis. Tal,” his fiancee wailed, ”they write that the Lambeñgolmor had purchased a copy and wish to commission a special edition. Rúmil himself has read and praised it. That cannot be so! Tal, what am I to do?”

Taltyo valiantly tried to control his mouth before he laughed in his fiancee’s face. “Hand me the missive, Tacholdir. I will read it myself and tell you that I see the same words that you do.”

“The lore-masters. Those lore-masters, Taltyo. You don’t know them- to care about a first-time author’s book from a nobody.”

“You are a hero and companion of the eldest son of the Noldor King. You are not nobody, Tacholdir,” Taltyo soothed.

 His fiancee, pacing now around the room, ignored him. “I can’t believe it! …those judgmental, prescriptivist nobles! That pack of snobs!”

“Ah yes,” Taltyo said, “I heard about this. These were the same lore-masters that demanded that there was only their way to speak a language. Purer because princes spoke it. Better because it was older, and then mocked the shepherds because of their Quendya, which if ever one heard the King’s Mother speak, her words are shaped like the poor farmers and shepherds and not the wealthy of Valmar or Tirion. You doubt because you think they would discount you as merely Tancildo the pin-maker’s son, someone of no importance. Your readers do not care. They want to know about the Second-born. You write truth, and even your tiny stories, the ones you think so boring about the mortal commoners, they are rare gems. Your audience has never met these People of Bëor. The man who describes his sheep with that funny word because its wool was so coarse? My cousins see themselves in this Second-born whom they shall never encounter. The girl who tells you the name of all the fruits that they grew. Their words for animals and dance? Words for tools I do not recognize. Your audience hungers for these, Tachildor. And have you not noticed how popular the ballads and tales of the mortal heroes are?”

“But those are the great deeds,” Tachildor pressed. “This is but a small glossary of no great scholarship.”

“Only to you, my foolish love. Your humility is endearing, but cease your pacing. Now let us see the sum you have earned us….Tachildor. Tachildor? Is there a mistake on the brushstroke here?”

His fiancee squealed. “See! See!”

“Tachildor, what are we to do with all that money?”

“And they want a second order!”

Chapter End Notes

Lambeñgolmor - "Loremasters of Tongue" a school of lore-masters founded by Fëanor who attempt to "purify" and control the usage of Quenya. The term could expand to include all linguists and those lore-masters working with language like Rúmil, but was initially the political party dedicated to linguistic prescriptivism with all the classism that entails.

Quendya is the Vanyar as opposed to Noldor or Telerin dialect of Quenya.

Taliska is the native language of the People of Bëor.

“More have signed up for lessons in basic Taliska. Taltyo, I don’t understand. I thought my writing was clear, and it’s not as if they need coaching in the comprehension of new word meanings like the mortals did. Which, may Eru forgive me, I lost my temper with the sons and daughters of Bëor’s people in those early days, to my shame, because I did not comprehend that the mortals could not learn the tongues of others as we do, and thought them slow and stupid instead of the truth, that they were far more clever than I would have been.”

Tacholdir’s fiancee once more refrained from rolling his eyes in irritation at his fiancee’s proclivity for belittling himself and undervaluing his talent and accomplishments. And to think everyone in his gymnasium thought him the most impatient and unrestrained of his fellows. “More of my cousins? Or the lore-masters’ apprentices?”

Tacholdir gave Taltyo the list of signatures.

Inspecting the long list of names, and recognizing most of the Vanyar and none too few of the Noldor, by their patronymics if nothing else, Taltyo chuckled. “I understand what is occurring, my love. Describe the age and martial status of all your prospective new students, if you will.”

“Martial status? What does that have to do with aught?” Tacholdir sputtered.

His fiancee gave him a dry look.

“They know I am engaged to you! And our fortunes are not that great, or my fame. And I know I am not comely.”

At that last statement, Taltyo wrapped his fiancee in an embrace and kissed him. Tachildor sighed against Taltyo’s lips, dropping the paper from his hand and pressing against his fiancee’s chest, lifting his feet to stand on his toes because of the height difference between them. The tension ebbed. “I have been a great nervous fool these last few months,” Tacholdir whispered, curling against Taltyo’s chest as the other man rested his chin atop his head.”Usually I am not this way. Sensible and steady. Ask my superiors and they would commend me such.” 

“We are settling into our new lives,” Taltyo said. “Adjustments happen. You were my rock in the Gardens. Let me be your rock now.”

Tachildor smiled and leaned back up to place a series of seemingly chaste but playful kisses on Taltyo’s lips. “You can sit in during the lessons if you want, to warn off any would-be flirts. But wear your most unflattering shirt, lest they turn their attention to you. I won’t even ask you to participate in the pronunciation drills.”

“You Noldor and your inventing new sounds.”

“Those are all the mortals to blame. And the dwarves.”

“Watch out for Melimo. He is notorious for becoming infatuated with anyone with a halfway pleasant voice. If not you, than one of your soon-to-be students. And his poetry is atrocious. Both what he sends while attempting to court and afterwards while lamenting his broken heart.”

“Personal experience?” Tachildor teased.

“If he shows up for lessons, charge him triple.”

Chapter End Notes

Release from Bondage established that they met in the Gardens of Lorien. Taltyo wasn't reborn, but like Faron he did get grievously injured during the War of Wrath and needed recuperating.

At the beginning, Tacholdir is referring to how Finrod and other elves could quickly learn languages via the quasi-mind reading of oswarë.