My first memory of my brother Tyelkormo was on the begetting day he received his horse, Alcarë. I was three years old, but as soon as I set eyes on Alcarë, tall and golden as Laurelin, I fell in love with him. Tyelko took Alcarë for a ride, with me trailing wide-eyed behind, upon his grudgingly telling Ammë he would watch me. We went beyond Tirion to the wide fields and woods where the Noldor hunted. Tyelko's favorite spot was a circular clearing between the forest and a cliff which fell into the sea below.

I watched breathlessly as Tyelko tightened the girth and swung into the gilt saddle. He grinned down at me, holding the reins in one hand. I ran up to him and tugged on his trousers. "Let me ride with you, Tyelko!" I begged.

The grin disappeared and he glared. "Stay back. I'm not going to let a baby ruin my first ride." He pushed me with his boot and I sat down hard in the grass.

"I'm not a baby!"

Tyelkormo ignored me and signaled Alcarë into a gallop. He pounded around and around the clearing, flashing me a superior grin. I stuck out my tongue at him and crossing my arms in a show of displeasure, stomped away to the edge of the cliff. From faraway, I heard Tyelko's voice: "Moryo, stop!"

I turned and glared at him. He was galloping toward me, a strange look on his face. As he came closer, I jumped aside, about to yell at him, when the ground slipped from beneath my feet and I fell over the cliff.

"Moryo!"

I screamed. The cliff spun away from me, and there was Tyelko leaning over, arms outstretched, becoming smaller and smaller. The wind fell past me, tearing at my ugly skin, ripping through my curly hair. The prospect of death has never frightened me, but no one spoke of death in those days, so I did not know what would come after this terrifying fall. The unknown was worse.

Perhaps if I had been my cousin Findaráto, someone everyone loved and wept over and who became a heroic name renowned in ages afterwards, one of the Great Eagles or a swan or Manwë himself would have come to my rescue, to ensure that one so beautiful and noble would live to perform deeds worthy of honor. But I was not Findaráto, and many would have preferred that I died that day, never to become the cause of so much grief later on. In a cruel, ironic way, I did survive, though the only rescue I received was my brother Tyelkormo coming down to the water by another way and braving the waves to pull my bleeding, unconscious form to land.


I awoke, two days later they told me, in the infirmary in Tirion with two broken legs, three broken ribs, and a severe head wound. Ammë was there, but Atar could not leave his work for his ugly fourth son. "Ammë," I mumbled when I saw her leaning over me, tears in her eyes.

"You're fine, love," she whispered, kissing my forehead. "I won't leave you."

I slipped my small hand into hers and clutched it so tightly, she had to gently loosen my grip with her other hand.

My brothers visited later that day. Tyelkormo came as well, but I think they made him. He would not look me in the eyes, stupid three-year-old that I was. He shuffled toward the bed, head lowered. "Are you okay, Moryo?"

Everything hurt, my vision was blurry, and talking felt like chewing on Atar's scrap metal, but in that moment a shred of strength returned to me. I sat up, grinned at Tyelko, and jammed my fist into his face. He reeled away from the bed, screaming, and Ammë grabbed my shoulders, forcing me back into the pillow. "Carnistir!" From behind her, I saw Maitimo shake his head, and Makalaurë fled from the room.

"Why'd you do that?" Tyelko shrieked.

"You made me fall!"

"I did not! I was trying to keep you from being too close to edge, and you jumped off!"

"You bumped me!"

"Boys!" Ammë interjected. Turning on me, she said, "Carnistir, apologize to your brother!"

"Sorry, Tyelko," I mumbled, still glaring at him.

He made a face at me, and Maitimo took him from the room.

Only later, reflecting on the incident, did I realize that perhaps it wasn't Tyelkormo's fault, but at the time, it felt like it.

I left the infirmary whole and well, except for my eyesight, which became blurry accompanied by dizziness when I read and wrote or when I was too active. I tried to play as I used to with my brothers and little friends, but this often ended with me collapsing from the dizziness or, several times, passing out. I could not read or write or work with small items. I could hardly stay on the little red pony Atar gave me on my fifth begetting day. Nervous, angry, bitter energy built up inside of me, and I let it out in the only way I knew then: screaming.

How many dinner parties dissolved into embarrassing ordeals for both my family and guests when we would be placidly eating a meal and I would suddenly open my mouth and start screaming for what appeared to be no reason at all? Ammë or Maitimo or a servant would carry me away to my room, disgracing the whole family. Atar would whip me afterwards for my behavior, but eventually, I was banned from attending these gatherings and forced to eat my meal alone in my room. There, I would throw food at the walls and grind it into the floor, yelling the worst things I could think of about everyone before throwing myself on the bed I shared with Tyelko, weeping until I fell asleep. Atar would punish me again, and then Ammë would come after him and sing to me before Tyelko came in. Every night, I listened to her sweet, soothing voice, and felt my anger dissolve until the next day when it would return, gnawing at my heart.


Quenya/Sindarin Names:

Tyelkormo (Tyelko) - Celegorm

Findaráto - Finrod

Maitimo - Maedhros

Makalaurë (Maka) - Maglor

Last edited: 5/17/18