katrina37973

[katrina37973]

If this pops up while you’re scrolling, I wish you unconditional love and massive success.

[katrina37973]

Very brief sketches of the (some) sons of Fëanor. Didn’t have the mental capacity to continue other works.

So in no particular order:

Caranthir angrily sewing (? Embroidering?) - might be flustered might be angry. Looking back he looks a little too close to Zuko’s but ah well.

Celegorm flipping somebody (the viewer) off with a crap-quality dog - can you tell I don’t draw animals?

Maedhros with Fingon braiding his hair, who’s also singing - I am no composer and randomly added dots to a bar.

Maglor crying/completely done over a missed note in his daily practice

Tiny Ambarussa in the corner!

[katrina37973]

Gorgeous art as always! Love his hair and the change to silver!

Thorin Oakenshield

Y´all don´t understand how close I was to just giving him a mullet and be done with it💀

Thoughts↓

I gave him a raven forehead tattoo because of Erebor, and of course, I´m always giving my dwarves greyish skin :)

Nabbing @peasant-player HC of Thorin chopping off his beard and only letting it regrow when he becomes king again, also it would be so symbolic of him being a Longbeard, who are known for having the longest beards, and only letting it regrow when he feels worthy again :´) - they also have a HC that most of his beads are given by his family over the years which is really wholesome - also also they drew young Thorin for me here!!

I also really liked @meluiloth HC that he wears silver over gold which is such a cool match for his silver streaking hair, so forgive me professor, but Thorin does not have any gold rings

[katrina37973]

maitimo my beloved 🤲✨ (it’s time to count how many arts of him i’ve already got)

[katrina37973]

Current Ambarussa portrait design WIP

still in the works! I dunno why but in the sketch they originally looked much more mischievous, and it’s currently lacking that :(

sketch under cut

[katrina37973]

Current Glorfindel design, WIP what are your thoughts? I think I need to change his robes, I like the idea of that petal shape, as a call back to being from the House of the Golden Flower however the execution might be better. I’m thinking make the petals larger and less thin but keep the floral motifs. Unsure what to do with the edges of the robe, originally I wanted gold trim but that was a little gaudy so a soft gradient works I think. This is meant to be a casual wear, most of the time he’s in his armor or if in meetings, probably fancier clothing.

I wasn’t sure on jewelry, originally I was thinking lots of gold jewellery but then it blended to much with his golden hair so I think, at least my head cannon is, that he doesn’t wear all that much jewelry, preferring to enhance his beauty/best features by wearing whatever flowers were in season (all the bright colors make his hair stand out more). I think he has Noldor and Vanyar heritage but I don’t know for certain?

Anyway, have a nice day or night!

[katrina37973]

HEY ARTISTS!

Do you design a lot of characters living in not-modern eras and you’re tired of combing through google for the perfect outfit references? Well I got good news for you kiddo, this website has you covered! Originally @modmad made a post about it, but her link stopped working and I managed to fix it, so here’s a new post. Basically, this is a costume rental website for plays and stage shows and what not, they have outfits for several different decades from medieval to the 1980s. LOOK AT THIS SELECTION:

OPEN ANY CATEGORY AND OH LORDY–

There’s a lot of really specific stuff in here, I design a lot of 1930s characters for my ask blog and with more chapters on the way for the game it belongs to I’m gonna be designing more, and this website is going to be an invaluable reference. I hope this can be useful to my other fellow artists as well! :)

[katrina37973]

Celebrimbor thinking in Ost-in-Edhil

[katrina37973]

Eönwë character design, hope you like it!

Here’s something that’s been sitting in my drafts for over two weeks now!

For those who’re curious about what birds inspired the design: saker falcon for the wings, peregrine falcon for the dress and head wings, and gyrfalcon as a general bird.

Headcannons:

He was close to Mairon AKA Sauron and the bracelet he wears was the last gift his friend/brother gave before turning to Morgoth.

The wing he wraps around him like a shawl is the same one he used to wrap around Mairon when they would sit and watch Laurelin and Telperion bloom and close (cause Mairon was one of Aule’s, he had a hotter/fiercer presence - take that as you will :) ).

He prefers this form as it’s the right mix of elven and Maia. He finds if he is a full on elf, it falls under the uncanny effect which unnerves elves even more (he tried the ‘be not afraid’ speech, he got tired trying to reiterate it nearly every encounter). However if he shows a little of his Maia-ness so to speak, they’re more likely to relax/be less wary (it’s because the full on elven feels like he’s hiding something) .

The clawed hand is permanently like that when Eönwë takes a veiled form, due to the damage he suffered from when he fought and eventually overthrew Moringotto.

It helps that his wings are very pretty and people can look at it instead of his face when conversing.

He likes talons instead of feet because it’s easier to keep them like that then change every time he wants to land somewhere high such as a cliff or trees.

My current WIP under cut

I’m working on another work based on him, here’s a snippet, things still aren’t fully done yet and anatomy needs to be checked out (the face and neck look weird, I dunno why but I’m gonna fix it)

[katrina37973]

My first thought of Eironn (he's my fave character besides Byron, Gavus, Eugene, Thane and Bayden) is that I need to stop doing my current WIP of him as Sword of Misarte and draw this version of him.

My second was Thrandruil (LOTR). I mean, wood-land elf? With a crown of silver or something and light coloured hair? Not to mention that some-what wide spread headcannon that he's partially or fully blind?

I desperately want to draw him but I've like three different quizzes and two essays due soon. Why does my art block have to undone now of all times? 😭

Look I'm a sucker for long hair and the fact that only when he does that one move (I think its his ult?) that that small pretty braid is visible is a crime.

Also I love when uptight/morally ambiguous characters reveal their love for others though a tragic sacrifice in battle (Can you guess who my fav member out of the Fellowship is?)..

I've seen people say that Awakened Eironn reminded them of Neuvillette. But I thought of Elder Faerie Cookie

The fact that I don't play cookie run kingdom but my favorite character is this guy 😭

[katrina37973]

Maedhros - The Last Deed

Tell me, was it worth it in the end?

@thelien-art Thank you for hosting this!

Had a lot of fun doing this one! Covered the lack of hand/stump with the Silmaril and it’s light :D

[katrina37973]

I've reworked my previous work for Silvergifting week, Day 7. Post-canon. Here's the promised AO3 link.

@silvergiftingweek Apologies for the late tag!

Hope you enjoy the story!

So I've updated the chapter (my lord there were so many spelling mistakes) and the characters and interactions got out of my control so we have a part two with Maedhros' POV and an undefined number of future chapters planned.

Day 7: Post-canon

New beginning. Valinor. Reconciliation. Recovery. Remembering the past.

@silvergiftingweek

__________________

Non-betaed fic under cut, will edit post sometime later, probably will post to AO3 later as well.

Unfortunately due to uni I haven't been able to participate in this as much as I would have liked.

Hope you'll enjoy my work!

Warnings: Allusion to violence but mostly vague? Tell me if you think i ought to add another.

How odd it was, that he kept the scar across his sternum. 

It was an oblong starburst shape, pink skin puckered and occasionally white, other scars long and thin laid on top. It was the size of a hand, stretching and claiming. 

Celebrimbir had purposefully kept all his scars before Sauron’s betrayal, even the ones he gained during his reign as the lord of Ost-in-Edhil. All the burns from forge accidents, the fumbling of a knife or two, the accidental broken bones or burns or stray exploding metal from experiments gone wrong. 

It all held memory, memory of the bad, the good, of the naive and foolish or the learned and understanding. 

He couldn’t wear jewllery, at least, not the amount he once wore as proud lord of the golden city, teeming with promises of more. Certainly no rings, too many uncertain memories and broken promises and trust. Stone he wore proudly as if it was some great rare jewel to the bafflement of everyone outside of previous mebers of Ost-in-Edhil. Even his own family could not fully understand his care and dedication for the art of stones. 

It meant something to him that they didn’t question his choices. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly what the emotions were but it was somewhere in the range of appreciation and a weary understanding. 

They didn’t treat him as a child anymore, young and tagging along their adventures with short stubby legs, wide eyed and all innocence. They didn’t treat him as a young child or even a young adult, certain in his skills and voice. They never knew him as the lord of Ost-in-Edhil, beloved by all that dwelt within her once sturdy walls. The lord that hosted and welcomed all of any kind, elf, dwarf, human and other. 

The problem with that was they didn’t know how to treat him at all. 

They loved him, Celebrimbor had no doubt, but the years had gone by, stretching their already tenuous bonds. But it hurt him to see the heistance in their hugs, their kisses and affection. Even grandmother Nerdanel hesitated in hugging him, helping him braid his hair, and even the simple clap on the back or shoulder. 

Of all the things he missed of Sauron it was the easy touch and affection that flowed between them. 

Valinor, for all the paradise it was with no danger and plenty of things to do, people to talk with, crafts to learn and create, was stifling. It was like the whole world walked on eggshells when he entered, even old acquaintances were overly gentle and eager to please. Or rather they were the ones most akward. Very few of Ost-in-Edhil’s people could meet him eye to eye and talk as they once had. Even those within his venerated Gwaith-i-mirdain had doubts. Only Ithril, Kazforza and Fingrithil treated him normally. 

Everyone else talked in circles, making leaps and jumps to avoid talking about Ost-in-Edhil, his death and everything in the Second Age to his face. 

It was infuriating. 

It was hurtful and condescending and he deeply, deeply missed Annatar and the conversations they would have, taboo and casual, anything and everything, no thought filtered and halting.

He loved his family he did. Even with the awful deeds they had done, they sought a path forward to atonement, dragging themselves from the sea of blood that bathed them all cleaning themselves with the forgiveness of thise they wrobed and accpeting those who could not. Celebrimbor was proud of them beyond words found in any language, maybe save the one spoken by the Valar. 

“Tyelpe?” His eldest uncle’s voice called softly from the entrance to his bedroom. “Can I come in?”

“I’m alright,” Celebrimbor hastily said, rising to his feet. It took an immense effort to tear his eyes from the mirror, or more accurately the reflection of the scar on his sternum. It was not the largest scar he had kept, not by far really. He wasn’t sure why he kept some of the scars himself, marks from whips and burns from balrogs and that one that came from a furious and heartbroken elf who heated up his sword with the symbol of his house etched onto the pommel and burned it where his heart laid under skin, flesh and bone.

“A silmaril for your thoughts?” Maedhros’ voice was light but concern tinged it. 

“Come in, come in,” Celebrimbor ushered him in, realising he hadn’t actually answered Maedhros. “Nothing important, just thinking of the past.”

That earned him one of Maedhros' very unnerving stares. The one that felt like it looked into one’s feä and judged it. A little like how Manwë and Namo’s gaze had felt. But his uncle judged that Celebrimbor was alright, not lying and not about to have any sort of panic attack or flashback. It had happened a few times. 

With Celebrimbor and pretty much all of their family, save Nerdanel whose worst mood would be an oppressive sort of worry. 

She had not participated nor started the whole kinslaying afterall. 

“You’ve been off for the last couple of days,” Maedhros quietly remarked, looking out of the window, gazing at the setting sun and the garden that they all had built and grown together. It had been healing for his father and uncles, knowing that their hands were not restricted to the mastery of the blade. Feanor merely grumbled about dirt under fingernails which amused them as his work in the forge arguably dirtied them more. 

“You did not flinch nor mourn at Sauron’s defeat, nor did you hesitate in greeting the little Hobbits that have taken residence amongst us,” he continued, “your behaviour after the aforementioned events were predictable, nightmares and regrets dredged up but not wholly destructive to your healing.” 

Celebrimbor kept silent, hands frozen on the back of a chair. Maedhros stood, still gazing out the window. It was the stance he took as a soldier, a general, standing at attention all wound up. Now too, for Ages of habits drove him to. 

“And yet,” his uncle sighed, turning to face him, “here we after all of this, the Fourth Age of Men starting strong and continuing, all of us free and healing, Sauron finally defeated-” His remaining hand came to rest on his stump - “yet still there us something troubling you, something new.”

He turned to face Celebrimbor.

“What is wrong?” Maedhros asked.

Celebrimbor knew the last few days, nay, weeks had him behaving oddly, something making him restless and jumpy despite being perfectly at peace for more than half an Age.

“I-” he started saying before narrowing his eyes. “Wait, are you here by yourself or with the others?”

Maedhros shrugged. 

Sighing, Celebrimbor sprawled across his bed, mussing up the cleaned linen. 

Of course they all elected Maedhros to be the one to ask him. Of course they did.

Silence filled his room.

On one hand, he had no desire to talk today, let alone about the odd presence that perplexed him. On the other, he knew his uncle well; an unending well of patience and a keenness that rivalled Manwë’s eagles. His uncle would wait until Celebrimbor was comfortable to talk, no matter how long it took. A day, a week, maybe even a yen if he needed to. 

He sighed again. 

“There’s… something.” Celebrimbor at last admitted. Frustrated by his inability to give forth direct answers, he gestured angrily at the ceiling. “ I mean, what I meant was-”

He tried to organise his thoughts, to explain the taste lingering in the air, the presence that occasionally brushed past, soft and light like how a cat moves around a person. To explain the smell of ash and regret. To explain it wasn’t a bad smell but relieving in a way. To explain whenever he entered the forge it felt  like home, then a warning, then a deep set regret, then a gentle but hesitant nudge forward, a sort of controlled eagerness. A penance, an acknowledgement. 

To explain the utter soul crushing relief that he was back. 

Back and diminished and suddenly it all made sense.

“Oh,” Celebrimbor exhaled. “Oh.”

He could see in his minds eye how his uncle inclined his head out of confusion, the rustle of clothing as Maedhros adjusted his position and waited for an explanation.

What could Celebrimbor say?

Should he say anything?

The Valar should know. Or maybe they already did? No. No, the presence would be like a grain of sand on the sea shore. Diminshed as such to be on par or even less than a mere elf’s.

He distantly registered his uncle walking out from his room, closing the door with a soft click. Like all the doors in the house, the lock had been refitted so that it could only be locked from the inside and not out. 

Celebrimbor stayed there as Arien fell, and Teleprion replaced her golden light with a silver one. 

The presence never approached him within his room, he realised with a start. Nor when he was together with his family, any one of them. He sat there calcuating and recalcuating the effects of taking ones own soul and using it as a material to be harnessed. 

Theoretically some of the power would be lost in the process of the making. Even more would be at its unmaking, an explosion of sorts but how could you measure whats lost with a material that never had been used as a one in the first place? 

Wpuld it be categorised as a death? Could Ainur die? Or would it be a restructuring rather than a death? However to restructure something, does it not mean a part or whole of the previous would have to ‘die’ in some way? To make space for the changed. 

That led to the Ages debated question of the Ships and Celebrimbor could admit, although rather reluctantly, that he was not suited for those lines of thinking. It usually resulted in a headache.

Whatever reason the remnants of Sauron had in seeking Celebrimbor out, and staying, could only be found with the Dark Lord himself. Or ex-dark lord? The maia certainly hadn’t done anything yet but be arguably helpful and encouraging. He also didn’t think Sauron had any remaining power left, not if he bypassed all of Valinor unnoticed to come to Formenos. 

It was surprisingly easy enough of a decision, to escape from his bedroom through the open window and into the darkened forge; his grandfather had gone to bed after countless hours of needling by his grandmother, his father was away with Celegorm and Ambarussa on a hunting trip recently departed and not due to return in another week or so. Maglor and Caranthir were in Torion, hosted by Elrond and Celebrian for the next few days too, and Maedhros no doubt had gone to bed once he thought that Celebrimbor would stay in bed for the rest of the day and night. He might have rivalled Sauron in cleverness and strategy but with his family, his guard was unconsciously lowered enough.

Celebrimbor didn’t quite like the nagging notion that his father and uncles had decided their presence would hinder his healing and understanding. 

His bare feet were silent as he slipped into the forge, lighting only a single candle and placed in the corner where no light could be seen from outside and no smell of smoke or incense could be detected form inside the house. 

He waited.

First he waited standing, leaning against the wall and looking at the flickering candlelight, watching the shadows dance and twirl in faint light amongst the darkness of the forge. Then he slid down to kneel and meditate, closing his eyes but not his ears. 

After a few minutes and countless breaths, he registered the faintest brush against his feä. He kept steady, keeping his own feä from responding and reaching. Much like a cat, he thought in wry amusement though he allowed none to show on his fana. 

Soon it grew stronger, the barest brushes becoming more persistent and more present. It reminded him of how cats demanded attention, how they took to warm sunlight, fires or presences. He wondered how conscientious the action was on Annatar’s behalf. Sauron’s that is. 

Celebrimbor. 

At last, Celebrimbor thought. He smiled and responded sweetly, Sauron.

A pause and he could feel the other presence debate on what might have been called a tactical retreat. Or, since Celebrimbor was feeling rather ruthless as of now, cowardly flee.

He reached out to the maia and offered up a memory. A recollection of tangled feelings, of grief and mourning for a friend and foe, for longing of the presence of someone who finally, finally he felt harmony with. Who destroyed him as much as brought him to life. 

Sauron shrank from the echoes that stretched between them. A quiet but no less powerful, I’m sorry came forth from the unhoused spirit.

Celebrimbor wandered how many times Sauron had said that before and had genuinely meant it. He wandered how often he himself had longed to hear those words, to hear the acknowledgement that he, the all powerful maia supposedly better than all Elder, was wrong.

Victory tasted like bloodied dirt in his mouth, dry, coopery. Inescapable. 

I love you, Celebrimbor thought.

You loved me, Annatar corrected. 

Eru damned fool, Celebrimbor was going to find a way to give this formless spirit a void-damned fana if it meant he could punch him. 

And now he was wandering about the mechanics that allowed a fana to be operated. He sighed. Of course he would have the strangest and appealingly challenging ideas due to Sauron. 

I do not say things lightly; my choice of tenses was purposeful. Celebrimbor admonished. 

For a long moment he was sure Sauron had fled. 

Then the hint of utter confusion, horror and an unwanted relief touched his feä and he felt deeply, deeply satisfied.

Maybe it might have bordered on smug but he quite rightly deserved to.

Why?

Why not? He countered just to be contrary. 

Sauron snapped back, roiling tension and anger and something that seemed like so much hope it hurt. Tyelperinquar! I ripped and ground our home into the earth, I burnt our people, I tortured you-

Sauron shuddered, regret clear in his tone and feä, alongside a deep, deep longing that matched Celebrimbor’s own. 

Nothing can repair what hurt you have dealt, Celebrimbor remarked sharply, to you or ours. To the countless thralls and orcs that still suffer now. To my family and our friends. He softened. But that does not render what we once had and now could have moot. 

But why would you choose-

“Is it a choice?” Celebrimbor whispered out loud, disturbing the silence that had descended softly onto the forge and house. He opened his eyes and tilted his head to see the candleflame had petered out, the wick still slightly smoldering. 

He sighed, not feeling Sauron’s presence anymore. His back ached and he was cold.

Brilliant red hair caught Arien’s early rays. 

“That wasn’t directed at me, was it.” His eldest uncle remarked sitting crossed legged on the anvil.  

Celebrimbor yelped. 

[katrina37973]

Are fedoras really that bad?

YES YES THEY ARE

[katrina37973]

My version of the Three Rings!

Do I have any idea what I’m doing? Possibly.

Am I gonna hate it tomorrow? Most likely.

Was it fun? Oh 100%. I’ve never tried doing realistic gems before and it’s surprisingly fun.

Might change Nenya’s design, something about the darker spaces to the right and left sides of the gem makes it feel empty, but I like the overall design.

I have a personal beef with Vilya being sapphire and gold, mainly because I associated it with air and thus silver and diamond. I had to change the hues because I made Vilya silver first before searching tolkeingateway. So yeah that’s why the colorings a bit funny on that one.

Anyway, have a nice day/night everyone!

[katrina37973]

My version of the Three Rings: Narya, Vilya, Nenya.

Still a work in progress, hope that I can learn how to draw those super realistic gems and metal jewelry!

[katrina37973]

Day 7: Post-canon

New beginning. Valinor. Reconciliation. Recovery. Remembering the past.

@silvergiftingweek

__________________

Non-betaed fic under cut, will edit post sometime later, probably will post to AO3 later as well.

Unfortunately due to uni I haven't been able to participate in this as much as I would have liked.

Hope you'll enjoy my work!

Warnings: Allusion to violence but mostly vague? Tell me if you think i ought to add another.

How odd it was, that he kept the scar across his sternum. 

It was an oblong starburst shape, pink skin puckered and occasionally white, other scars long and thin laid on top. It was the size of a hand, stretching and claiming. 

Celebrimbir had purposefully kept all his scars before Sauron’s betrayal, even the ones he gained during his reign as the lord of Ost-in-Edhil. All the burns from forge accidents, the fumbling of a knife or two, the accidental broken bones or burns or stray exploding metal from experiments gone wrong. 

It all held memory, memory of the bad, the good, of the naive and foolish or the learned and understanding. 

He couldn’t wear jewllery, at least, not the amount he once wore as proud lord of the golden city, teeming with promises of more. Certainly no rings, too many uncertain memories and broken promises and trust. Stone he wore proudly as if it was some great rare jewel to the bafflement of everyone outside of previous mebers of Ost-in-Edhil. Even his own family could not fully understand his care and dedication for the art of stones. 

It meant something to him that they didn’t question his choices. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly what the emotions were but it was somewhere in the range of appreciation and a weary understanding. 

They didn’t treat him as a child anymore, young and tagging along their adventures with short stubby legs, wide eyed and all innocence. They didn’t treat him as a young child or even a young adult, certain in his skills and voice. They never knew him as the lord of Ost-in-Edhil, beloved by all that dwelt within her once sturdy walls. The lord that hosted and welcomed all of any kind, elf, dwarf, human and other. 

The problem with that was they didn’t know how to treat him at all. 

They loved him, Celebrimbor had no doubt, but the years had gone by, stretching their already tenuous bonds. But it hurt him to see the heistance in their hugs, their kisses and affection. Even grandmother Nerdanel hesitated in hugging him, helping him braid his hair, and even the simple clap on the back or shoulder. 

Of all the things he missed of Sauron it was the easy touch and affection that flowed between them. 

Valinor, for all the paradise it was with no danger and plenty of things to do, people to talk with, crafts to learn and create, was stifling. It was like the whole world walked on eggshells when he entered, even old acquaintances were overly gentle and eager to please. Or rather they were the ones most akward. Very few of Ost-in-Edhil’s people could meet him eye to eye and talk as they once had. Even those within his venerated Gwaith-i-mirdain had doubts. Only Ithril, Kazforza and Fingrithil treated him normally. 

Everyone else talked in circles, making leaps and jumps to avoid talking about Ost-in-Edhil, his death and everything in the Second Age to his face. 

It was infuriating. 

It was hurtful and condescending and he deeply, deeply missed Annatar and the conversations they would have, taboo and casual, anything and everything, no thought filtered and halting.

He loved his family he did. Even with the awful deeds they had done, they sought a path forward to atonement, dragging themselves from the sea of blood that bathed them all cleaning themselves with the forgiveness of thise they wrobed and accpeting those who could not. Celebrimbor was proud of them beyond words found in any language, maybe save the one spoken by the Valar. 

“Tyelpe?” His eldest uncle’s voice called softly from the entrance to his bedroom. “Can I come in?”

“I’m alright,” Celebrimbor hastily said, rising to his feet. It took an immense effort to tear his eyes from the mirror, or more accurately the reflection of the scar on his sternum. It was not the largest scar he had kept, not by far really. He wasn’t sure why he kept some of the scars himself, marks from whips and burns from balrogs and that one that came from a furious and heartbroken elf who heated up his sword with the symbol of his house etched onto the pommel and burned it where his heart laid under skin, flesh and bone.

“A silmaril for your thoughts?” Maedhros’ voice was light but concern tinged it. 

“Come in, come in,” Celebrimbor ushered him in, realising he hadn’t actually answered Maedhros. “Nothing important, just thinking of the past.”

That earned him one of Maedhros' very unnerving stares. The one that felt like it looked into one’s feä and judged it. A little like how Manwë and Namo’s gaze had felt. But his uncle judged that Celebrimbor was alright, not lying and not about to have any sort of panic attack or flashback. It had happened a few times. 

With Celebrimbor and pretty much all of their family, save Nerdanel whose worst mood would be an oppressive sort of worry. 

She had not participated nor started the whole kinslaying afterall. 

“You’ve been off for the last couple of days,” Maedhros quietly remarked, looking out of the window, gazing at the setting sun and the garden that they all had built and grown together. It had been healing for his father and uncles, knowing that their hands were not restricted to the mastery of the blade. Feanor merely grumbled about dirt under fingernails which amused them as his work in the forge arguably dirtied them more. 

“You did not flinch nor mourn at Sauron’s defeat, nor did you hesitate in greeting the little Hobbits that have taken residence amongst us,” he continued, “your behaviour after the aforementioned events were predictable, nightmares and regrets dredged up but not wholly destructive to your healing.” 

Celebrimbor kept silent, hands frozen on the back of a chair. Maedhros stood, still gazing out the window. It was the stance he took as a soldier, a general, standing at attention all wound up. Now too, for Ages of habits drove him to. 

“And yet,” his uncle sighed, turning to face him, “here we after all of this, the Fourth Age of Men starting strong and continuing, all of us free and healing, Sauron finally defeated-” His remaining hand came to rest on his stump - “yet still there us something troubling you, something new.”

He turned to face Celebrimbor.

“What is wrong?” Maedhros asked.

Celebrimbor knew the last few days, nay, weeks had him behaving oddly, something making him restless and jumpy despite being perfectly at peace for more than half an Age.

“I-” he started saying before narrowing his eyes. “Wait, are you here by yourself or with the others?”

Maedhros shrugged. 

Sighing, Celebrimbor sprawled across his bed, mussing up the cleaned linen. 

Of course they all elected Maedhros to be the one to ask him. Of course they did.

Silence filled his room.

On one hand, he had no desire to talk today, let alone about the odd presence that perplexed him. On the other, he knew his uncle well; an unending well of patience and a keenness that rivalled Manwë’s eagles. His uncle would wait until Celebrimbor was comfortable to talk, no matter how long it took. A day, a week, maybe even a yen if he needed to. 

He sighed again. 

“There’s… something.” Celebrimbor at last admitted. Frustrated by his inability to give forth direct answers, he gestured angrily at the ceiling. “ I mean, what I meant was-”

He tried to organise his thoughts, to explain the taste lingering in the air, the presence that occasionally brushed past, soft and light like how a cat moves around a person. To explain the smell of ash and regret. To explain it wasn’t a bad smell but relieving in a way. To explain whenever he entered the forge it felt  like home, then a warning, then a deep set regret, then a gentle but hesitant nudge forward, a sort of controlled eagerness. A penance, an acknowledgement. 

To explain the utter soul crushing relief that he was back. 

Back and diminished and suddenly it all made sense.

“Oh,” Celebrimbor exhaled. “Oh.”

He could see in his minds eye how his uncle inclined his head out of confusion, the rustle of clothing as Maedhros adjusted his position and waited for an explanation.

What could Celebrimbor say?

Should he say anything?

The Valar should know. Or maybe they already did? No. No, the presence would be like a grain of sand on the sea shore. Diminshed as such to be on par or even less than a mere elf’s.

He distantly registered his uncle walking out from his room, closing the door with a soft click. Like all the doors in the house, the lock had been refitted so that it could only be locked from the inside and not out. 

Celebrimbor stayed there as Arien fell, and Teleprion replaced her golden light with a silver one. 

The presence never approached him within his room, he realised with a start. Nor when he was together with his family, any one of them. He sat there calcuating and recalcuating the effects of taking ones own soul and using it as a material to be harnessed. 

Theoretically some of the power would be lost in the process of the making. Even more would be at its unmaking, an explosion of sorts but how could you measure whats lost with a material that never had been used as a one in the first place? 

Wpuld it be categorised as a death? Could Ainur die? Or would it be a restructuring rather than a death? However to restructure something, does it not mean a part or whole of the previous would have to ‘die’ in some way? To make space for the changed. 

That led to the Ages debated question of the Ships and Celebrimbor could admit, although rather reluctantly, that he was not suited for those lines of thinking. It usually resulted in a headache.

Whatever reason the remnants of Sauron had in seeking Celebrimbor out, and staying, could only be found with the Dark Lord himself. Or ex-dark lord? The maia certainly hadn’t done anything yet but be arguably helpful and encouraging. He also didn’t think Sauron had any remaining power left, not if he bypassed all of Valinor unnoticed to come to Formenos. 

It was surprisingly easy enough of a decision, to escape from his bedroom through the open window and into the darkened forge; his grandfather had gone to bed after countless hours of needling by his grandmother, his father was away with Celegorm and Ambarussa on a hunting trip recently departed and not due to return in another week or so. Maglor and Caranthir were in Torion, hosted by Elrond and Celebrian for the next few days too, and Maedhros no doubt had gone to bed once he thought that Celebrimbor would stay in bed for the rest of the day and night. He might have rivalled Sauron in cleverness and strategy but with his family, his guard was unconsciously lowered enough.

Celebrimbor didn’t quite like the nagging notion that his father and uncles had decided their presence would hinder his healing and understanding. 

His bare feet were silent as he slipped into the forge, lighting only a single candle and placed in the corner where no light could be seen from outside and no smell of smoke or incense could be detected form inside the house. 

He waited.

First he waited standing, leaning against the wall and looking at the flickering candlelight, watching the shadows dance and twirl in faint light amongst the darkness of the forge. Then he slid down to kneel and meditate, closing his eyes but not his ears. 

After a few minutes and countless breaths, he registered the faintest brush against his feä. He kept steady, keeping his own feä from responding and reaching. Much like a cat, he thought in wry amusement though he allowed none to show on his fana. 

Soon it grew stronger, the barest brushes becoming more persistent and more present. It reminded him of how cats demanded attention, how they took to warm sunlight, fires or presences. He wondered how conscientious the action was on Annatar’s behalf. Sauron’s that is. 

Celebrimbor. 

At last, Celebrimbor thought. He smiled and responded sweetly, Sauron.

A pause and he could feel the other presence debate on what might have been called a tactical retreat. Or, since Celebrimbor was feeling rather ruthless as of now, cowardly flee.

He reached out to the maia and offered up a memory. A recollection of tangled feelings, of grief and mourning for a friend and foe, for longing of the presence of someone who finally, finally he felt harmony with. Who destroyed him as much as brought him to life. 

Sauron shrank from the echoes that stretched between them. A quiet but no less powerful, I’m sorry came forth from the unhoused spirit.

Celebrimbor wandered how many times Sauron had said that before and had genuinely meant it. He wandered how often he himself had longed to hear those words, to hear the acknowledgement that he, the all powerful maia supposedly better than all Elder, was wrong.

Victory tasted like bloodied dirt in his mouth, dry, coopery. Inescapable. 

I love you, Celebrimbor thought.

You loved me, Annatar corrected. 

Eru damned fool, Celebrimbor was going to find a way to give this formless spirit a void-damned fana if it meant he could punch him. 

And now he was wandering about the mechanics that allowed a fana to be operated. He sighed. Of course he would have the strangest and appealingly challenging ideas due to Sauron. 

I do not say things lightly; my choice of tenses was purposeful. Celebrimbor admonished. 

For a long moment he was sure Sauron had fled. 

Then the hint of utter confusion, horror and an unwanted relief touched his feä and he felt deeply, deeply satisfied.

Maybe it might have bordered on smug but he quite rightly deserved to.

Why?

Why not? He countered just to be contrary. 

Sauron snapped back, roiling tension and anger and something that seemed like so much hope it hurt. Tyelperinquar! I ripped and ground our home into the earth, I burnt our people, I tortured you-

Sauron shuddered, regret clear in his tone and feä, alongside a deep, deep longing that matched Celebrimbor’s own. 

Nothing can repair what hurt you have dealt, Celebrimbor remarked sharply, to you or ours. To the countless thralls and orcs that still suffer now. To my family and our friends. He softened. But that does not render what we once had and now could have moot. 

But why would you choose-

“Is it a choice?” Celebrimbor whispered out loud, disturbing the silence that had descended softly onto the forge and house. He opened his eyes and tilted his head to see the candleflame had petered out, the wick still slightly smoldering. 

He sighed, not feeling Sauron’s presence anymore. His back ached and he was cold.

Brilliant red hair caught Arien’s early rays. 

“That wasn’t directed at me, was it.” His eldest uncle remarked sitting crossed legged on the anvil.  

Celebrimbor yelped. 

[katrina37973]

Seeing all the re-drawings of character in the Hades art style is giving me whiplash! All of them are so pretty, its unfair. Reblogging my old work cause I can't believe how early I was on this trend.

I'm gonna have a lot of time on my hands soon so if any of you have any suggestions on characters to draw from the Hades game, please give me your suggestions! I want to get back into digital art (while also studying different art styles).

IMPORTANT: Repost of my art, originally on Reddit.

PS. New to Tumblr. Though I made this account ages ago, I never actually used it, and I'm trying to share my art more, so if there's any advice you want to give, feel free to!