Royalties by heget

Chapter 1

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.