The Line of Kings by Michiru

Winter Remembrances

A winter spent in Himlad. Angaráto and Curufinwë Atarinkë renew their friendship, consider their wives and embarrass their children.

First Age Year 60

They were supposed to have been discussing the long-term progression of Artaher’s study of lithology and petrology, but it was easy, between old friends, to be dragged off topic, and the arrival of the boys had caused the meeting to lose any sense of purpose. They had at last conceded defeat, and Atarinkë had pulled out one of the coveted bottles of wine from Aman, the vintage older than either of them, and their conversation had somehow drifted from happy reminiscing of their youth to the rather bleak topic of their wives and troubled marriages.

“I have a child I will never meet.” The words were on his tongue, ready to be spat in the face of Atarinkë’s confident assertion that his long engagement to Eldalôtë had ensured that they were well suited to each other, as Atarinkë and his wife had not been. Only the sight of the blond and black hair entwined of Artaher and Tyelperinquar—sprawled deep in conference over miniature figurines placed on a map of Beleriand at their feet—prevented them from breaking free. Or perhaps he was flattering himself, and the truth was he couldn’t bear to reveal that shame to another, didn’t want to explain the shadow in his eyes that Atarinkë had noticed but carefully ignored. Instead, he silently lifted his left hand, held it before Atarinkë so he could see that the bright sapphire of his marriage band, which had once shone with the light of his wife’s love, had fallen dark.

Atarinkë’s answering smile was sympathetic; but then, Angaráto could not recall seeing his cousin wear his own ring since shortly after Tyelperinquar’s birth.

From Atarinkë’s doorstep, he could see the sense in the proclamation: his cousin had married quickly, as he did everything, eager to follow in his father’s footsteps. In the end, he and his wife had separated before even Fëanáro and Nerdanel had at last become estranged. But, just as Atarinkë had not remarked on the shame Angaráto could not hide from those who recognized it, so did Angaráto not tell his cousin that he erred in his reasoning. Atarinkë and his wife had not married wrongly, in their haste, and love had burned fiercely between them in the beginning, little though his cousin seemed to remember it. Their estrangement, more bitter even than the separation of Finwë and Míriel, had the same cause, though the end was quite a bit different. Angaráto, his thoughts drifting to Tyelperinquar’s not quite forgotten amilessi, shivered, and did not continue the conversation.

Instead, he turned his eyes to the figurines, some of which Artaher was considering thoughtfully, head cast back to keep his bangs from his eyes in a manner so reminiscent of his mother that Angaráto could have wept. “These are very good, Tyelpë,” he murmured, slipping back into his Vanyarin dialect because it was easier to mask his emotions behind the rising and falling lilt. The boy ducked his head under the praise, accidentally cracking his forehead with Artaher’s, who winced but gave no further notice.

“He’s progressing rather well in his studies, though his manners are not yet up to par,” Atarinkë said, a strange blend of love and exasperation in his voice.

“Thank you, Uncle Artanga,” Tyelperinquar mumbled at his father’s prompting, the ancient epessë bringing a smile to Angaráto’s lips. Then, with a sideways glance up at his father, he added, “Arto knows more about geography than me, though.”

“I,” Artaher corrected under his breath, at what he obviously thought was too soft a volume for the adults to hear, and Tyelperinquar rushed to repeat the correction; Angaráto and Atarinkë exchanged a look over their sons’ heads, and burst into laughter.

“Trust the linguist’s son,” Atarinkë snickered.

“His manners are fine; it’s his grammar that should concern you,” Angaráto teased. Artaher cried a protest in Tyelperinquar’s defense, and Tyelperinquar, in the face of their renewed laughter, stood and haughtily proclaimed his appreciation of Artaher’s support. The two swept from the study in disgust when neither he nor Atarinkë could reign in their humor, Tyelperinquar exasperatedly announcing that they were taking their leave.

Atarinkë, already bent double with mirth, slumped bonelessly over into Angaráto’s lap, pealing uncontrollably, his whole body convulsing merrily. “What a pair!” he gasped, choking as he sucked desperately for air and inhaled a strand of hair that had escaped its confinement. “What a fine pair.”

Sitting on a couch in Himlad, his neck resting over its back, his cousin’s weight numbing his feet and laughter making his body ache, Angaráto could almost forget the shadow gathered like a shroud over his fëa.

Chapter End Notes

1. The correct way to spell Celebrimbor’s Quenya name is Telperinquar. Long ago I got confused by the y in tyelpë, one of the elements of the name, and combined it with Telperinquar to get Tyelperinquar. I later realized this was a mistake on my part, but I have gotten so attached to Tyelperinquar that I refuse to change it. I like the twang of “tyel” versus “tel”.

2. This becomes a point in a later piece, but Angaráto and Artaher (and Aikanáro) are in Himlad for the winter because the settlement in Dorthonion has not been completed.

3. The Tolkien Gateway asserts that Telperinquar is Celebrimbor’s father-name, not his mother-name, which is odd, because you’d think Curvo of all people would hold to the –finwë theme when naming his children. As I can’t find any reference within the texts of the Histories of Middle-earth to support this assertion, I am forced to conclude that the Gateway is only assuming Telperinquar to be the father-name. However, I ran with that assertion and stamped it firmly within the Michy-verse, as it fleshed out quite a lot of Curvo’s character and his history in Aman, which is not a happy one.

He and his wife had trouble conceiving a child, and Celebrimbor’s birth was hard on his mother, to the point that she named him Serkefinwë, “blood-finwë,” as a reminder of the pain he caused her coming into the world. Despite the inauspicious nature of the name, Curvo let it slide, respecting that the birth had been hard for her, and also of the almost post-partum depression she seemed to be suffering. He therefore gave his son the more hopeful name “Telperinquar,” and that might have been the end of it. However, his wife’s apathy towards the new baby deepened into outright distaste, and she began to resent both Telperinquar and Curufinwë, and eventually Curvo caught her calling their son Saurafinwë, “abhorrent-finwë,” and he would not let that pass. When he confronted her over it, she declared that she had no love left in her heart for either of them and accused him of attempting to drive her to a Míriel-esque suicide so that he could dissolve their union and remarry a woman who would give him the children he desperately desired. She then left to return to her parents, and Curvo returned with Telperinquar to live with his father, bitter and volatile—a precursor to the “fey madness” that would overtake Fëanáro towards the end of his life—with his dreams of giving his parents the daughter they never had themselves shattered beyond repair. In retaliation, he ordered his son’s mother-name to never be spoken again, and so it fell out of memory.

Saurafinwë might actually be prophetic, as the “abhorrent” element, saura-, is that found in Sauron, who plays a rather large role in Celebrimbor’s life.

4. The “same cause” referred to here is the Marred state of Arda brought up in Morgoth’s Ring (I believe) when the Valar try to work out between themselves what to do about Finwë and Míriel. The above note should make it clear that Celebrimbor’s mother did not die giving birth to him, so “same cause” is not meant to imply that, or that Curvo was not content to allow her to recover from his birth.

5. “Artanga” is the Noldorin form of Angaráto, which is actually formed in the Telerin style of Quenya. According to Peoples of Middle-earth.

6. After much searching, I finally was able to track down a sentence diagram of a sentence comparable to Tyelperinquar’s (here, under the Elliptical Clauses section: http://www.english-grammar-revolution.com/diagramming-clauses.html), so I can definitively state that the correct for of the sentence actually is, “He knows more than I (know).” In case there are any grammar sticklers (or lay people like me) out there wondering.