A Beleriand Treasury of Childish Tales by Clodia

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Teleporno

 

Teleporno

(empty your cups for Saki, greatest of cup-bearers)

 

 

"I don't wish to discuss the past," said Lord Celeborn to his visitors, "which is to say that I intend to talk about nothing else until dinner. 'What a remarkable wife you've got,' people said to me when we first moved here. As a matter of fact, she moved here considerably in advance of my own migration across the mountains; I was rather tied up with some business in Eregion at the time, as you know, or things might have turned out differently. You see, the locals have never been particularly impressed by Noldor, or at least not the sort of Noldor most commonly seen in these parts, for which I certainly can't blame them; but in any case, my wife was as diplomatic as she knows how to be, which is considerably, and somehow managed to produce in every one the distinct impression that she had been simply pining to visit Lórinand ever since the first rumours of Middle-earth reached her ears back in Valinor. Of course Amdír was king here then, so there wasn't any of this nonsense about civilising missions to be heard; he wouldn't have been pleased if he'd thought she was eyeing up his crown for size. Which she might have been, for all I know – I certainly wouldn't care to lay money against it. Anyway, by the time I arrived, the notion was well and truly fixed that we'd planned to settle in Lórinand since the day we met, and that our unaccountably lengthy sojourn in Doriath and Sirion and up round Lake Nenuial and in Eregion and so on was due to a complex sequence of perfectly unfathomable coincidences. Naturally I wasn't too happy about this, but since there didn't seem to be any particular need to expound on the facts of the matter at the time, I refrained from dispelling what appeared to be the generally accepted explanation for our residence in Lórinand."

"Facts are so rarely edifying," said Erestor, with the air of one who has long since parted ways with such dull travelling companions; "after all, the truth has only itself in its favour, whereas a good story may be both beautiful and immoral, as the Númenórean said to the Maia. Did I ever tell you the tale of the dragon and the white wine of Nienna?"

"You have told so many people that Celeborn must have been among them," said his wife. "My dear Celeborn, this is all very well, but a great many absurdities remain to be accounted for. I can't quite make out how the Silvans arrived at the notion that you ever lived in Aman, for example, or why any one would think that Galadriel sailed to Middle-earth. Hasn't all the world heard the excruciating details of the crossing of the Helcaraxë?"

"We have," said Celeborn gloomily; "the Silvans have been spared that pleasure. In any case, this was only the beginning. What with the small matter of the war, and the rather larger matter of Amroth's perpetually fascinating love life, no one was particularly concerned about Galadriel's antecedents until all that nasty business with Moria occurred, and we were invited back to Lórinand on a more permanent footing. Of course the Silvans had become accustomed to discussing the latest twists in the royal romance on a well-nigh daily basis, and to have their chief source of conversation so suddenly removed was a matter of great inconvenience to them; however, a solution to their plight presented itself in the obliging person of my wife. Rather than admiring the latest piece of deathless verse composed by Amroth in praise of Nimrodel's limpid eyes, they began to tell each other all about that terribly witty remark that Galadriel had once made to Queen Melian, and to share her various fascinating anecdotes of life in Valinor before the First Age. And somehow or other, no doubt without any one really intending such an outcome, the stories you have heard came to be circulated among the more excitable inhabitants of Lórinand. I might not find it so embarrassing – I daresay Galadriel is as deserving as anyone of such adulatory exculpation – but I do object to being renamed Teleporno without so much as a by-your-leave. I have become quite accustomed to being called Celeborn; it is the name my parents bestowed upon me, and I feel obliged to retain it in deference to their wishes. Moreover, I take definite exception to being transformed into a prince of the Teleri. I have nothing but admiration for the Teleri; indeed, I believe that I have any number of Telerin relations; but I do not wish to be a Teler, nor do I desire the distinction of hailing from Aman. Insofar as one's past may be held to add lustre to one's present, I am strongly of the opinion that a prince of Doriath may hold his head every bit as high as any exiled Telerin princeling. Unfortunately it has proven quite impossible to quash these peculiar stories by mere repetition of the true history, and I can't think how else to resolve the problem, try as I will."

"That merely shows the limitations of historical truth," commented Erestor. "Now, if every time you heard yourself referred to as Teleporno you removed all your clothes and attempted to drown Haldir in the Celebrant, or summoned every one in the city from their beds at midnight to hear you sing the Lay of Leithian, your academic scruples would receive a much more respectful hearing."

"Certainly from Haldir," said Melinna, "although I shudder to imagine the consequences for the Celebrant. But what does Galadriel think about all this? Surely a few words from her would put an end to all this nonsense."

"Galadriel thinks that the stories are quite harmless," said Celeborn; "at least, that is what she tells me. I am convinced that she takes a great deal of pleasure from them, though, for she never makes more than the slightest protest when the matter is raised in her presence. And when she is obliged to dismiss such fabrications, she does so in the vaguest sort of language, so that any one might imagine that her qualms arose from modesty, rather than the gross inaccuracy of the reported history."

He spoke feelingly; his transference by fictional genealogy to what he held to be a junior branch of the Sindarin royal family, and the willingness of certain Silvans to believe in it, had dealt a definite dent to his pride.

"That complicates matters," said Melinna reflectively; "she is very popular among the Silvans, and unless she can be brought to condemn the tale outright, you will never be rid of Teleporno. All the same, I can't think of a way to convince her to do so. It is such a terribly flattering story, after all."

"It is only flattering conceived as the broadest of outlines," said Erestor. "Set the whole tale down on paper, in thorough and unrelenting detail, and have it 'discovered' somewhere in Lindórinand, and no one will be more eager to disown it than Galadriel."

"Really? Are you sure of that?" said Celeborn.

"Very," said Erestor, "especially if one were to contrast the fictional history with a true version of events. It need not be a particularly lengthy account; the important thing is that it should be written down. A story that passes from mouth to mouth may change its shape a thousand times, and usually does; but once it has been written down, it becomes very difficult to alter the principal features. The written word carries a degree of authority that even the Valar must envy."

"I believe you are right," said Celeborn; "at any rate, it's worth a try. But who would write such a thing? I don't have the time, and it should be most improper for me to take a hand in any case."

His tone conveyed a certain expectation on the part of his visitors; his visitors, for their part, appeared disinclined to return the expected response. "There," said Melinna, "is the nub of the matter. Galadriel is bound to be furiously angry."

"I don't see why that should deter you," said Celeborn; "she will be obliged to accept it as genuine, after all."

"Melinna still harbours the fond hope that Galadriel will one day share all her weaver's secrets," explained Erestor, "and I should be sorry to be banished from these golden woods by your wife's displeasure."

"Nonsense," said Celeborn impatiently; "it is not as though the forest is girdled, as Doriath was, and you may always be sure of your welcome while I am lord here. In any case, these scruples seem distinctly out of place in the compilers of the Nargothrond Dossier. I have a letter somewhere from my son-in-law, discussing the Dossier at some length and bewailing your precipitate departure –"

"Quite probably," said Melinna, "in fact, I expect that we brought it. What has the Dossier to do with the matter?"

"Very little, except that Elrond appears to have made it his current object of study," said Celeborn. "It was most inconsiderate of you, he said, to leave Imladris precisely when your advice would have been so useful to him. He intends to write a monograph on cultural interactions between the Sindar of Doriath and the Noldor of Nargothrond in the First Age, I believe."

"That was certainly his intention when we left Imladris," said Erestor reminiscently. "Having pronounced himself dissatisfied with our assessment of the letters concerning Fëanor, on the grounds that he could identify no stylistic features in common with the literature of Aman from this period, nor indeed any sign that the letters had even been composed by a Noldo, he determined that the letters must be a contemporary Sindarin forgery. The pressing issue then became how to explain the presence of the letters in Nargothrond, of all places – hence his present preoccupation. Whereupon we departed; there are several residents of Imladris who can claim a glancing acquaintance with the First Age, after all, and our involvement might have invited awkward questions. Sometimes satire is more trouble than it's worth."

"I have a great deal of respect for my son-in-law," said Celeborn, discarding his attempts at cajolery and resorting to intimations of blackmail, "but there are occasions when his intellectual keenness impedes his common sense. A word in his ear –"

"That would be cruel," said Melinna; "he is enjoying himself so much."

"It would save everyone a great deal of time," pursued Celeborn, "not to mention paper. I shall have to read this monograph, after all. Celebrían is sure to ask for my opinion, you know, even if Elrond does not."

His visitors glanced ruefully at each other.

"Even Galadriel's wrath can't last forever," said Erestor optimistically. "Might I borrow a pen?"

 

 

 

Four weeks later, Lady Galadriel of Lindórinand burst into her husband's study, brandishing a slim manuscript. "Have you seen this?" she stormed. "It is the most insulting, offensive, ridiculous – what have you got there?"

"A document purporting to be an account of your journey to Middle-earth," said Celeborn. "Erestor and Melinna discovered it recently, you know, and thought I should be interested. It is really quite bizarre. We have decided to make it more widely available; it would be rather good of you to help with compiling the explanatory notes. Elrond and Thranduil have already requested copies of the edited version. What were you saying?"

Decades may pass before the Lady Galadriel will exchange civil words with Erestor or Melinna; but Master Elrond of Imladris has completed yet another acclaimed monograph, and Lord Celeborn of Lindórinand is no longer troubled by the unwelcome spectre of one Teleporno, prince of the Teleri.

Chapter End Notes

This draws on the glorious short stories of Saki, otherwise known as Hector Hugh Munro. I am not going to single out any specific stories as particularly worthy of mention, since doing so would probably double my wordcount; a selection may be found here, however: www[.]readbookonline[.]net/stories/Saki/77.

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