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Tyelperinquar was born in Formenos, after Málintë daughter of Þindekalo left with her husband. His father named him Curufinwë, after himself and his father, and his mother named him Tyelperinquar, partially after herself.
People will wonder if Tyelperinquar got his kindness from his mother. He did not.
Tyelperinquar got his kindness from his father. For all they sing of Curufinwë Atarinkë’s cruelty, they sing little of his kindness. Before the Oath twisted him, Curufinwë had been the second in kindness - the first was Makalaurë.
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Itarillë was born in the Helcaraxë, conceived just before the Darkening, to Elenwë and Turukáno. Írissë Araquendë her aunt delivered her, and the cold seeped into Itarillë’s bones.
See, this is what they get wrong about Itarillë: she had all of her father’s follied righteousness and all of her mother’s boldness. Her mother is spoken as soft.
(It is forgotten that Tyelperindal is an epessë. Elenwë named her daughter Lossiel.)
But Itarillë was born in the Helcaraxë, and the cold became much more familiar than the warmth. For Ondolindë was always a little too warm.
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Finduilas was born in Minas Tirith - the first one - and although it could not be spoken, Findetuilassë her Quenyan name was whispered.
She had no mothername, for her mother bore the curse of Míriel, which shaped her life. Except unlike Míriel, Finduilas’s mother felt nothing but spite towards her child, and died wishing Finduilas never existed.
Her father Orodreth did too, or so Finduilas believed; why else would he send her to faraway Nargothrond?
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Maeglin Lómion was born on a starry night in Nan Elmoth, when his parents still loved each other.
Eöl laughed and said he looked like his mother. He did. Aredhel smiled and agreed, kissing her husband.
Of course, neither of them forsaw that Maeglin would be so like his mother as to cause ruin. Neither of them forsaw how he would turn their relationship bitter.
Perhaps if they did, Aredhel would have left him for the wolves.
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Here is the truth of it: Gil-Galad is the great-grandchild of Finwë. Whose, no one knows.
Perhaps it was Findekáno, who died not knowing one of his lovers was pregnant. Perhaps it was Makalaurë, who sent his wife away before either of them knew she was pregnant. Perhaps it was Artaresto, lonely after his wife died with only a woman who ran as a lover. Perhaps it was Findaráto, with a string of affairs. Perhaps it was Carniþtir, with the adaneth he so loved. Perhaps it was Aikanáro, likewise. Perhaps it was Curufinwë, and Málintë, however uncharacteristically, kept their second son a secret after what happened to Tyelperinquar.
Perhaps it was Maitimo, or Tyelkormo, or Írissë, or Arakáno, impossibly.
All that I know is that Gil-Galad was the great-grandson of Finwë. His parents shaped him, and he was a good king.
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Celebrían was born after the War of the Wraith, kept secret for many years thereafter.
Silver was her hair and strong was her spirit, but she was more her father than ever her mother. She lived, but she was a healer, not a warrior.
Those who remembered commented that she was like Indis. It was supposed to be a compliment, but if they knew, they would have compared her to Míriel.
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It is ironic; kindness from Curufinwë, follied righteousness from Turukáno. Death from Artaresto, yearning from Aredhel. Nobility from the unnamed, and life from Galadriel.
And perhaps it is what children are doomed for: the forgotten of their parents becomes the trait of the children.
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Tyelperinquar rejected his father but was followed not by his mother; she was, perhaps, worse and better than Curufinwë. Less kind, but much less to fall. But it is forgotten of Curufinwë that he got his kindness from his father, before good turned to ill.
Tyelperinquar took the name Ereinion, which was thereafter taken by those who wanted naught to do with their Finwëan parents.
(Perhaps this means Gil-Galad was son of Curufinwë. Perhaps this means he was a Fëanorion. There is no use in guessing.
But let it be known that Finduilas followed him. Finduilas Ereinion, she became, in place of a patronymic.)
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Itarillë disliked her cousin from the moment she met him. She was not dissimilar to her father in that way.
Perhaps if she had tried harder - although she would acknowledge it not - Ondolindë would have been saved.
But Itarillë was so convinced of her righteousness and so convinced of Maeglin’s wrongness that she did not even try.
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Finduilas was not flighty. She thought her betrothed dead, can we really fault her for wanting happiness thereafter?
Gwindor did not; the history books condemn her.
(That is the fate of the women of the House of Finwë. From Míriel to Indis to Lalwendë to Málintë to Elenwë to Írissë to Itarillë to Finduilas, the women of the House of Finwë have always been more of symbols than people. Quiet Míriel to heroic Itarillë to flighty Finduilas, none is them are remembered for who they are.)
Finduilas is faulted for loving twice, Finwë is exhonerated. I would say it is a surprise, but this double standard never is.
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Here is what people forget: Írissë Araquendë called Aredhel ran from one cage to another, yearning for freedom, but at least she had that in her youth.
Here is what people forget: Maeglin was the same, except he was never free.
And so he was not sad to see Ondolindë burn. But he was sad to see the people within it burn.
It is a kinder lie, or so Pengolodh thought - Maeglin Lómion was the son of Aredhel, and so he did not betray Ondolindë willingly.
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Gil-Galad lived. Perhaps that is all we can say. He lived. A good king, but that is the problem of history: every king is good, every hero perfect, every princess beautiful.
There were no kings after Gil-Galad. Was that because there were not enough Ñoldor, or was that because none wanted another?
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Celebrían - Tyelpetári - silver queen - was as kind as summer. Last and least of the three of silver, if you listen to the history books. Defeated and tortured, some say.
But Celebrían was the daughter of Galadriel.
Silver-haired women of the House of Finwë were not lucky, as it seemed. Míriel and Celebrían, weavers and known more as mothers and wives than as people.
But that is the curse of the women of the House of Finwë.
(Perhaps, to complete the set, Írissë should have silver hair, too.)
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Perhaps we assign to much meaning to the parents. Perhaps Tyelperinquar’s kindness did not come from Curufinwë. Perhaps Itarillë’s follied righteousness did not come from Turukáno. Perhaps Finduilas’s flightiness did not come from her mother. Perhaps Maeglin’s yearning for freedom did not come from Írissë. Perhaps Gil-Galad’s goodness did not come from his parent. Perhaps Celebrían’s strength did not come from Galadriel.
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Tyelperinquar died for being too kind. Perhaps Curufinwë would not have died that way.
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It is said that Itarillë is still lost. Perhaps she never should have Sailed with her husband, a mortal not of the Undying Lands.
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Finduilas did not deserve her end, but others treat her life as a warning, a prophecy (they do not do the same to Finwë).
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Maeglin died as he lived: trapped, in a cage, the shadow of his parents arching impossibly over him.
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Gil-Galad perished for his people, or perhaps he perished from them.
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Celebrían did not die, but she went to a place where nothing bad was supposed to happen; how was she received, she who was nothing but a product of Marring?
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And we arrive at the final question: who to blame? Do we blame Fëanáro, for his sin of nothing but born wrong? Do we blame Indis, for marrying Finwë? Do we blame Ñolofinwë, for attempting to usurp his brother? Do we blame Moringotto, for spreading darkness? Do we blame Finwë, for loving twice and yet not loving enough?
Here is the truth of it, as far as I know: we cannot truly blame anyone. Finwë was blind, yes, but Indis did not try. Fëanáro was angry, yes, but Ñolofinwë coveted what he had. Moringotto spread darkness, yes, but he would have had nothing if the family was not already fractured.
Perhaps we shall blame the Valar, for calling something Marred that never truly was. Even in a perfect world, Míriel still would have died.
(Perhaps, then, we should blame Míriel. But that is the curse of the women of the House of Finwë.)
There is no easy answer. Why did Galadriel get to live? Why did Makalaurë barely cling onto life, never to come home? Why did Fëanáro die too soon?
I would ask Varda Elentári and Manwë Sulimo, but all they would say is that it is part of Eru’s plan, and there is little comfort in that.