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#1 | |
Blossom of Dwimordene
Join Date: Oct 2010
Location: The realm of forgotten words
Posts: 10,490
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Quote:
(I still find the idea of timed generations absurd. It belongs to the group of concepts that I choose to ignore when daydreaming Tolkien. But maybe the absurdity is what makes me keep thinking about it, trying to find a way to comprehend it.)
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You passed from under darkened dome, you enter now the secret land. - Take me to Finrod's fabled home!... ~ Finrod: The Rock Opera |
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#2 | |
Overshadowed Eagle
Join Date: Nov 2017
Location: The north-west of the Old World, east of the Sea
Posts: 3,957
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Quote:
Those 6 years translate to 2 "Growth-years", and Tolkien states that Elros had a 1:1 growth-year rate, so we can assume that a half-elven woman would want 2 years between pregnancies. Arwen was, indeed, "mortal" before she had any kids (specifically matching Aragorn's rate of aging, about 1:2), so she probably wanted a 2-year gap as well. Tolkien's first two children were born 3 years apart, which is 2 years + a pregnancy. ^_~ The same text gives Earendil's age at marriage in 525 as 23, which would make him born in 502, seven years before the Second Kinslaying. If Elwing is the same age, there's just about room for Nimloth to have a 6-year gap between Elwing's birth and the twins. (Tolkien may have been considering this when he said it was 'never less than 1 GY, more usually 2'.) So it does all hang together. Honestly, I think you're right about the whole concept being a social taboo more than anything. Tolkien talks repeatedly about the fact that elves put a lot more effort into their children than mortals do - hence Miriel's death - but given how happy he was to change the numbers around by factors of ten or more, it was probably just considered unsavory. ~~~ "You have how many siblings?" Barahir combined a shrug with an adjustment of his sodden cape. "Only the four," he said. "Did I muck up the pronunciation again? I can say it in Quenya if you need." "But that's-" Finrod held up a hand and stared at it, counting on his fingers. "Bregor your father had only ninety summers when he died!" "Eighty-nine," Barahir corrected. "Maybe you need to work on your pronunciation, Sire." "It was enunciation," Finrod said, giving the mortal a quelling look. "But whether it was eighty-nine or nine twelves, I cannot see how he found the time." Barahir blinked, and not from the rain. "There's a good three years between each of us," he pointed out. "I'd probably have a younger sister or two, had Mother not... well, you know." Finrod nodded, remembering the previous Lord of Dorthonion's sorrow, but refused to be diverted. "It still seems unreasonable," he said. "With so little time between them, how did your parents recover their energy?" Barahir raised one mud-smeared eyebrow. "If there's one problem Father never had, it was lack of energy." Finrod chuckled, the sound muffled by the falling rain. "Granted, granted. But even so..." He gestured with one hand, which happened to be his sword-hand. "I know you age swifter than we, but to devote only two years to raising one child before begetting the next..." Barahir coloured slightly at the king's indelicacy, but then rallied. "What I think you're asking, Sire, is 'why are mortals different from the Eldar?'." "That isn't-" Finrod hesitated. "It rather is, at that." Barahir nodded, and had to push his ragged hair away from his face yet again. "I happen to be acquainted with the foremost authority on that question; so perhaps next time you're in Nargothrond-" "All right, yes." "- you could look up one Finrod Felagund, who is of some renown in that place-" "I said all right, Bëor; you've made your point." Finrod sighed and swept his own hair back, mirroring his vassal's gesture. "I almost preferred being hunted by Orcs to debating philosophy with Men." Barahir grinned, his teeth white in his grubby face. "Better to be hunter than hunted, Sire." "On that, we agree." Finrod leant forward, peering around the mouldy bush at the party of Orc raiders pushing into the mires of Serech. "Shall we, my friend?" Barahir drew his dark iron sword and crawled forward to his king's side. "Gladly." (It was this, or Luthien quizzing Beren about his many uncles and aunts.) hS
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