#he loyal

Pippo the loyal Doggo™

He's been by our side in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health.

I will love him and honour him all the days of my life.

Amen.

He understood the frustration. He understood it so deeply, so truly, that he kept his lips locked, unable to even scold his son for his sarcastic boldness. Besides, Tyelperinquar’s spontaneous assertion was not deprived of hints which inevitably brought back painful reminiscences. Painful because still fresh and renewed each time he looked upon his own work, painful because he wished not for his son to suffer the same agonizing comparison. And yet it was ineluctable. The heirloom would not spare Tyelperinquar, and its weight threatened to dig a hole into his will as it had done so many times to Curufinwë. He had once hoped that his son would be protected from it, that he, his father, would be able to shield him from the pervasive and harmful clamours of this legacy…

…Those clamours which made you look above, at the figures of greatness that lived before. You respect them. They inspire you. You want to live through their bequest. Until you acknowledge their inimitable superiority.

Curufinwë had not been able to protect his son from it, and in spite of his lingering pride, he dreaded to become one of these figures. Comparing to Fëanáro, he had no legitimacy to become one, and the usurpation would be disgraceful, especially if it implied the addition of a new burden on Tyelperinquar’s shoulders.

That was why he insisted, why he pushed his son to go even further, to surpass himself, to work and reach the level of perfection which would allow the young Ñoldor to discard his doubts and the cumbersome threat of disappointment. One day, Curufinwë was certain, his son would be free from them, and this freedom could only come through the perfect achievement of his crafts. Hence his insistence, this critical eye of his which never spared any defect, as small and inconsistent as it might be. He did not wish to be harsh. He did not want to be oppressive, but he had to be rigorous if he wanted Tyelperinquar to conquer the greatness which he, Curufinwë, had never even touched.

…Bright Tyelperinquar, no less illustrious than his grandfather, and free from the threat of dissatisfaction…

Curufinwë’s teaching was supposed to wrap about Tyelperinquar the brightest, strongest plates which would eventually keep his son safe from failure. He would help him seize this sheltered state of fulfillment which he had never reached, which he dreamed about and which had left his heart and fëa sore.

He did believe in him, in his talent, in his skills, and it was precisely this belief which made him so uncompromising.

It did not take long before Curufinwë noticed the faint cloud of embarrassment in his son’s eyes, and yet, he did not miss the spark of determination which flickered behind them. This very spark was all needed to feel comforted, and the question which followed smoothed the severity of his face. He could barely prevent a smile.

“I have always been inflexible with myself, and so was your grandfather. Yet, I daresay it was harder for me than it is for you…” He began, and his voice turned into a warming whisper before the end of his sentence. “…for I did not possess the creativity you have displayed since your childhood.” He had put one hand on Tyelperinquar’s shoulder, and the other was already grabbing the pliers when he acknowledged the importance of this confession. “You see, technical skills alone are useless. One must learn to use the flame which burns in one’s fëa. And you, my child, instinctively knew it. Now, all you have to do is to sharpen your instinct and increase your skills.” With another comforting smile, he handed the tool out to his son. “Shall you let me help you?”

So, this is how it was for him too?

The thought of a younger Curufinwë struggling in the very same manner (if not more so, as he so claims) fills him with pride. Tyelperinquar truly does take after his father in many ways, and it is his deepest desire to continue down this path and be every bit as worthwhile to their House as those who came before him. 

As the very youngest in this line of Princes and Kings, each so brilliant in their own ways, he has undoubtedly big boots to fill... But perhaps it is not as impossible as it first seems, and he is relieved by his father’s reassurance.

         “I do not shoulder your legacy lightly, Atar; I shall never let you down.”

A smile lights his features at last, and he turns to his father with renewed confidence as a hand sits atop his shoulder, his own coming to rest upon the pliers as they are offered to him...

         “Never shall I refuse your help. So long as you still have things to teach,           I shall always listen.”

And Tyelpe closes his eyes and sighs, so content with this moment in spite of his own worries -- because he would never have this any other way. Just him and his father, whom he loves so very deeply, collaborating together on the craft that he lives and breathes for.

He hopes it will never end.