Needst Thou Ice for that Burn? by AdmirableMonster  

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Needst Thou Ice for that Burn?

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Excerpt from “The Usual Roundup,” a short summary of new fictional works published weekly in The Andunië Times

One of the more notable pieces released this month—and I do mean released; it has created nearly as much of a furor as the lion that was accidentally loosed from the zoo last year—is a short novella by an up-and-coming author.  Or so we must assume: as far as this reporter knows, the mononym Anna has appeared on no other fictional works previously released, though given the subject matter of the story, I would not be surprised to learn that it is the choice of name is an intentionally obscuring one.  

Needst Thou a Hand with That? draws on the recent trend towards the shocking in written works which many critics have called a response to years of repression by Faithful dogmatists.  Clearly, some people feel that Anna has gone too far even for our modern and enlightened times; I will allow the studious reader to decide for himself (or perhaps I ought to say ‘herself’—ladies, you may find this one of interest as well.) The story focuses on Prince Findékano, son of the frigid lady Anairë, both Elves living in that most glorious and distant of paradises Valinor.  The prince has suffered a terrible accident and is bedridden with two broken arms.  Unfortunately, due to the ‘appetites’ of male Elves, he is suffering greatly from the loss of ability to obtain release of a particular sort—and who should rise to the task (of eliciting a certain rise from our virile prince) but his lady mother, concerned for the health of her eldest?

Disgraceful dreck or titillating social commentary? We have seen both opinions advanced in recent editorials. Perhaps, dear reader, your best chance is to decide for yourself.

Excerpt from Letters to Rundamirië, editorial column in The Andunië Post

Publishing houses will accept anything in this day and age.  I call upon the Faithful Ladies and Mothers of Númenor to take a stand.  We must go door to door if we have to.  We will force them to recall every instance of this vile smut.  I implore you, all of you, to rise up with me against the appalling ‘Needst Thou a Hand with That?’ which is a symbol of the degeneracy of our times, a smear against motherhood, and an obvious attempt to discredit the Faithful.  We who aspire to be as like the Elves as possible—those pious holy creatures who mate once, for life, who, indeed, lose their very lives if they should violate this covenant, whether intentionally or no—we cannot permit the looseness of morals represented by this execrable work.

We must protect the name of Anairë, mother of Findekáno, from slander.

Excerpt from a series of letters exchanged in a scholars’ circle in Armenelos

Finyo,

Trying to shock me again with your latest recommendation?  If so, you’ve failed.  It’s cleverly-written and certainly quite profane, but despite the subject matter, there’s a beautifully-written and rather poignant core to all of it.  I’d almost go so far as to say this is a piece that is fundamentally about the status of women in Númenor.  I don’t think this is really about the Elves at all—and the central mother/son conceit is mostly used to deflect and hide the author’s simpler thesis: the only power a woman can wield these days—save some of the luckiest among us—is through controlling the sexual desire of men.  

More than that, it’s maybe even a fantasy, but not a fantasy about fucking your child.  It’s a fantasy about being in control, being an object of desire only when you want to be.  And when you no longer have interest, you shut the bedroom door and all the useless man can do is cry and wail for you to take him back…

Caraitelen

 

Caraë,

If I wanted to shock you, I wouldn’t do it with pornography.  Contrary to what you sometimes seem to think, I value your opinion on literary matters.  I found this one puzzling.  Maybe the answer lies in the point you make about a fantasy of control.  The sex is honestly rather boring.  Well-written, of course, good enough to pleasure oneself to, but outside of the central conceit, it’s no different from a dozen other pieces of smut.  It seemed strange that someone would propose something so cartoonishly taboo and then approach it like a grocer setting out his wares.  But as a distraction from a more interesting thesis—yes, that makes sense.  Someone less intelligent wouldn’t even notice.

Finyarusco

 

Finyo,

As always, your modesty puts others to shame, and your approval of my ideas fills me with dread.  Calmo and I have been discussing it, and there is perhaps a scholars’ circle to be had on this one, though we’ll have to be cautious.  As stupid as it is, I can’t afford to have my connections aware of me reading and discussing this one.  I’ve already had to mouth shock to an inordinate number of silly women, none of whom have even read the damn thing.  I’m rather tempted to try to convince one or two of them to read it so they ‘know what to be on guard for.’ It might do them good, awaken them to the kinds of frankly absurd pressures we’re under.  At least I have no ability to bear a child.  I make an excellent woman but I would be a wretched mother.

Calmo points out that the mother/son relationship is presumably a reference to the story of Úrintal—who also, albeit unknowingly, bedded his mother.  Although the story is quite different, the fact of its being a queen and a prince, the queen’s repeated thoughts of her own experience (or lack of experience) with motherhood, and the similarities of the prince’s injuries to those inflicted on himself by Úrintal after discovering what he has done, all seem to me to be an intentional evocation.  Interesting, for a story that is far more triumph than tragedy, to reshape the bones of that old tale.

Caraitelen

Caraë,

Do not think I have not noticed you thumbing your nose at me on the matter of childbearing anatomy.  You know very well that I would be a far worse parent than you, but you, of course, have the damnable luck to be able to take no precautions with Calmo.  At least I am the superior bed partner.

Úrintal or not, what strikes me the most upon a careful reread is the interesting physical similarities between our heroine’s progeny and our kingdom’s most vaulted and legitimate monarch.  The golden beads braided into Findekáno’s hair, of course, are a common motif in writing and art describing that Noldorin prince, but gold-painted lips are a very Númenorean phenomenon.  Not just Númenorean, either, but a rather specific affectation, would you not say?  There are other points of physical resemblance, too.  I’m forced to wonder exactly what our author is trying, so innocently, to say.  As much as I personally object to the measure of a cock as the measure of a man, that crack about a small penis is masterful, particularly since it isn’t just the size but the whole presentation the author uses to gently emasculate ‘Prince Findekáno.’

Finyarusco

 

Excerpt from an encrypted note left by the Royal Physician of Númenor in the chamber of Tar-Míriel

I didn’t realize you’d turned to literary aspirations.  What a pathetic figure of him you’ve painted.  It was you, wasn’t it—that new story about incestuous adultery?  

Excerpt from an encrypted note left by a servant of the queen in the library of the Royal Physician

I must have some amusement of my rapist.  How else was I to call him a motherfucker? 

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Chapter End Notes

"Úrintal" is from chestnut_pod's incomparable namelist (https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/15eu60V2L9W514jL17btANyCxqY8CMBjtNLHIhwZqv3k/edit?gid=0#gid=0) and means "hot foot." It is a somewhat transparent reference to Oedipus ("swollen foot").

"Finyarusco (Finyo)," "Caraitelen (Caraë)," and "Oiacalma (Calmo)" also from chestnut_pod's name list and have appeared in other of my Steampunk Númenor fics.