#Curufin ends up marrying a dwarf

[skyprowler]

If I had any talent (or patience) I would like to write a Silmarillion AU where Fëanor  does also end up stealing a boat but with the little difference that:

a. he is still a very teenage Fëanor  and

b. it is just one boat - which he has no idea how to steer

In a fit of rage he decides to run away, since no one wants him anyway, everyone prefers his brother, and a boat seems a good option because what have the so called blessed lands of the blessed Valar ever done for him! I mean, which child or teenager has never seriously considered running away? He would have probably reneged on his attempt (as most of us do) but by the time he was clear headed enough, he was already on a boat he had only theoretical knowledge of how to navigate with a brewing storm and a rapidly vanishing shoreline at his back - even if he would never acknowledge it publicly he knew at that point that he had fucked up. The only positive (maybe?) thing about the whole situation being that his fellow apprentice and daughter of his master Nerdanel ended up in said boat with him - trying to stop him of course. If it had been anyone else Fëanor  would have been quick to blame them for “distracting him with their arguing” and therefore being responsible for the boat coming off course but Nerdanel was the only person next to Mathan himself he would not dare to accuse of this. By some luck or divine providence (or divine spite? or Ulmo just not noticing?) they end up being washed all the way back to Middle Earth where they meet distant kin, new challenges, adventures and tragedies.  

Finwë is inconsolable of course and searches far and wide but he just cannot find his firstborn. Even the Valar do not give him a clear answer to where his son might be found (they themselves are frantic because their sight of Middle Earth is shadowed at this point in time, no one wants to tell Finwë that this, according to Ulmo, is most likely where his missing progeny ended up, and Mandos is frothing at the mouth and not responsive due to destiny currently being a mess of constantly rearranging parts in his brain).

While Fëanor ’s half-siblings do share in their father’s grief they are understandably not as destroyed by this event as their father. As time passes wounds both on this and the other side of the sea start to mend because they are not currently being kept open by proximity. And encountering other elves who know the grief of the death of a parent and seeing how they handle it even the haughty eldest son of  Finwë starts to both understand his own feelings and why his stance towards his father’s decision and siblings’ existence might have to be reconsidered (slightly! At most!), if only that he himself might find peace (his firstborn will still be  Nelyafinwë, reconsidering spite should never go too far). In the depths of my brain, where it will most likely stay, this tale would further include: survival and bickering in Middle Earth, a great deal of inventions (some the same as in the Silmarillion, some new due to circumstance),  Fëanor and Nerdanel slowly falling in love and deciding that being king or queen is vastly overrated, somehow still ending up with their own realm (probably the equivalent of a very very large and well defended university with more holdings) and Fëanor  gets to meet dwarves. More random would be our dearest pyromaniac being astonished how people DARE to call him an arrogant prick! Nerdanel delighting in her friend finally being utterly bad at something (he never ever learns to steer a ship) and Melian wondering if this was actually revenge for not telling her brethren where she went for a few hundred years. Finally, after Melkor’s release he spreads rumours that it was Indis’ faction who got rid of the crown prince and as a results her children vow to find their brother and proof him wrong. This starts a whole new set of issues (which thankfully include grudgingly lent but not stolen ships) but at the end stands a surprisingly successful family reunion. However, Fëanor and his family  refuse to return to Valinor thereby cementing the Noldorin presence in Middle Earth. (”The only happiness I ever found in Valinor, father, was your love and joy, my wife and my craft. My wife and craft have come with me to these shores and much more happiness then I had ever hoped for has sprung from the lands that others had proclaimed unworthy. Long ago I could not understand your decision to remarry, but now, after all this time I find my views much changed. As you once chose happiness, partnership and a future that seemed worth living, knowing that it would hurt one you love yet not diminishing that love, I, too, have now come to make the same decision. And as I now know and understand your choice, I hope you too will understand the decision I made to not return to Valinor, even though I love you and do not want to cause you grief” - yo, or something along those lines. I have no idea.). Would I ever get to it, it would be very very self-indulgent, with a happy (or at least bitter-sweet) ending for everyone and Beleriand not vanishing under tons of water. But, yeah. I have no patience or talent. So, this is probably all I will ever write down regarding this matter.

[youareunbearable]

Headcannon that Celebrimbor and Thranduil were childhood Frenemies because I don't like how the Mirkwood Elves were left out of everything that happened so pls enjoy this fliclet

---

Once the Feanorians touched down in Hithlum, Thingol sent his younger brother's brother in law Oropher to be his ambassador. Oropher, of course, brings his son Thranduil along because this is a great chance for diplomatic training

Maedhros, this is during the time Morgoth is sending his own persistent ambassadors, thinks it would also be a great time to start Celebrimbor on diplomatic training, because before this he was just in the forge with Curufin and Feanor. And it doesn't look like the rest of the Sons of Feanor are going to have kids so he'll be inheriting the crown one day.

So Celebrimbor and Thranduil are pushed together on children "play dates"

They hate it, they always fight with each other and have competitions and as soon as they see each other they will throw down and scream new insults they learned since the last time they met. Sometimes they spent entire visits only speaking to each other in their own native tounges and mock the other for not properly understanding what they are saying. This particular game didn't last long, but Tyelpe did become the first of the Noldor to speak Sindarin fluently with no accent and Thranduil enjoys the annoyed tick in Galadriel's typical serene expression when she hears him speak flawless Quenya with a Feanorian lisp

Oropher is concerned, being the youngest of 4 he never had an antagonistic relationship with any of them. But Maglor (the new depressed Noldor High King) just gives a small smile and shrugs. He grew up with 6 brothers and even more half cousins. Little Tyelpe and Thrandy are just playing like boys and future best friends do

And they keep up this frenenimes relationship even after Curufin moves them to Himland. When it gets sacked during Dagor Bragollach and Curufin, Celegorm, and Celebrimbor all flee south to their cousins home, Thranduil sends them some relief supplies. When Celebrimbor disown his father, Thranduil comes to visit and generally be annoying until Celebrimbor can stop feeling like shit

When Thranduil, his parents, and their people leave eastward after Thingol's death but before the second Kinslaying (for Oropher is older then the Sun and Moon, he is not about to be led by a boy not even in his 30th year, Maiar blood or not, and many Sindar agree with him) Celebrimbor travels with them and secures them safe passage through the Blue Mountains.

They both grieve when they hear of the Second Kinslaying, then the Third, and then when the East sinks under the waves. Not many in Lindon support Celebrimbor wearing the eight pointed star again, but Thranduil just rolls his eyes and tells him red looks dreadful with his complexion

During the Second Age when Thranduil gets married, Celebrimbor is invited to the wedding and vis versa when Celebrimbor marries Narvi

(Both marriages involve lots of teasing over their partners of choice. Thranduil laughs over the fact that of course a Noldor would marry a Dwarf, they are basically the same, what with their love of rocks and metal work. Celebrimbor rolls his eyes and snorts that he's surprised Thranduil didn't end up marrying an Ent, what with his love of trees, but he supposes that marrying a lady named "tree maid" is close enough. What next? Will he name his children "sapling" or "twig" or "leaf"? Thranduil shoves him off his chair, spilling wine all over the table and floor and growls that at least his children will have original names, and not share a name with two of his forefathers like Men)

They visit each other a lot during the second age, and Thranduil tries to help him as best he can during the fallout of Narvi's death, and when Celebrimbor is designing his rings of Power with that suspicious Maiar of his (who Celebrimbor SWEARS is helping him craft to work through the grief he has no other intentions) he had Thranduil (or Oropher) in mind when he created Vilya

When Thranduil heard about what happened to his friend and his land during the War of Elves and Sauron he grieved deeply. The only thing he had to remember his friend by was some forgotten blueprints of unfinished jewelry, an Age worth of letters (mostly written in Quenya, he of course had replied in proper Sindarin), a clumsy eight pointed star he laughingly embroidered onto the breast of Thranduil's favourite robe, a set of Sindarin long knives overly embellished with Noldorian swirls, and a box of white gems Celebrimbor hand crafted and left with a promise to come back once he finished his rings and use them to make a matching crown set for Thranduil and his wife to wear whenever he inherited the crown

("There may be even enough left over for a third crown. For your 'little leaf' to grow into whenever you two get around making one." Thranduil's wife laughed with Celebrimbor and sent her husband a leer that set his ears ablaze and Tyelpe's laughter began anew)

And enough regrets to haunt him for Ages. It seemed like bad things always came in three. Celebrimbor, his father, his new homeland. Thranduil led his people north, away from everything he had loved, and kept what remained close to his chest. After his wife was slain shortly after the birth of his son, he refused to lose anyone else. Greenwood the Great began to mirror his grief and became Mirkwood

It was almost another another Age before he decided to commission the Dwarves of Erebor to turn those precious white gems into the crowns Celebrimbor intended. Not for him and his now dead wife, but maybe for Legolas and his future partner. (His little leaf, he could hear Celebrimbor's laughter every time Legolas calls himself "Legolas Greenleaf" with that cheeky grin of his) And if Celebrimbor couldn't make them himself, he would be happy to let his Dwarven friends do the job for him

Thranduil almost burned down the mountain himself when they withheld those gems and one of the last pieces of his dear friend from him

Under the bone deep fear of watching a dragon from his nightmares sack the kingdom, he was a little pleased. Jewel thieves get their due

(He knows that Celebrimbor never swore his grandfather's Oath, but sometimes late at night he wonders if he still carried the curse of it. If that Oath and the Curse of Feanor are the reason his dearest friend died that awful way he did)

It was the beginning of a forth age when those sparking white gems were finally turned into the crowns they were destined to be. And Thranduil could almost hear Celebrimbor's delighted laughter as he watched his only son and heir, his little leaf, marry a dwarf.

When it came time to sail, Thranduil stayed with his people, he has coveted them for so long he now refused to leave unless he was forced too. Legolas, who had somehow made a small boat that could barely withhold the waves of the Western Sea, was greeted with a welcoming and joyful embrace by the Elf he only heard stories about

"Hail Celebrimbor, Lord of Eregion, Crafter of the Rings Of Power, Husband of Narvi son of Vilarvi of Durin's Folk, and most importantly, the dearest friend of my father!" Legolas greeted in flawless Quenya with a very noticeable Feanorian lisp. The gathered crowd twitched a little and Elrond (who was hoping of news of his sons) gave a sigh. "I have much to say, and so does my husband Gimli, but first I must give you my father's message!"

Legolas cleared his throat, and then with mock superior expression, one that made him look just like Thranduil, he said: "Celebrimbor you Spider Spawn of the Shadow, if you worked on my crown instead of those thrice damned Rings like you said, my son would never have married a Dwarf. Once I am reborn you better start running because I am going to burry you in my forest and chop down the tree you become with my anger alone!"

There was a startled gasp of silence on the shores of Valinor, before Celebrimbor burst into peels of joyful laughter. Legolas smiled at his honorary uncle and laughed with him

"As you can see, father missed you very much"

[warrioreowynofrohan]

The Silmarillion as a TV/Netflix Show (Part 5)

Season 5 centres on Túrin, Tuor, and Dior - and, later, Elwing and Eärendil. The last two seasons have looked hopeful for a while but ended on tragic notes (the Bragollach and the Nirnaeth); this season is going to flip things by being almost unremittingly tragic but ending on a hopeful note.

There are a few key things to do here:

1) Draw out parallels and common threads between our main characters. At first I wanted to shift the timeline a little and have key events in Túrin and Tuor’s lives happening at the same time: Túrin as outlaw, Tuor as thrall and then outlaw; Túrin in Nargothrond, Tuor in Gondolin; Túrin and Finduilas, Tuor and Idril. But it felt like there were too many big events happening simultaneously, and it was hard to fit them all in. Still, the parallels between the cousins are present.

Dior needs more characterization in order to be able to hold his own, narratively speaking; we have very little on him in canon.

2) The Fëanorians will be very important in the last few episodes of the season, so they need to be worked into the storyline of at least some of the earlier episodes to keep them in view. I’m going to go with them being based on Amon Ereb for this period; it fits some of Tolkien’s versions, and having them in Ossiriand at the same time as Beren and Lúthien and Dior would feel like a massive Chekhov’s Gun that is never fired.

So, with that in mind:

Episode 1: Túrin is going to take centre stage here, with the episode covering everything from his departure from Hithlum up to the death of Saeros and Túrin’s departure from Doriath. (And the episode will start with the Words of Húrin and Morgoth.) There will also be a few scenes from Tuor’s and Dior’s childhoods, which were comparatively more stable. Since Beren and Lúthien had such a large part in the last season it will be nice to see their experiences of parenthood. Lúthien, never having met mortal children, will be shocked at how fast Dior grows up. (He definitely ages on a Mannish scale - he’s married at 22, a king at 27, and dead at 30.)

Near the beginning, the episode will also include a scene where the Fëanorians attempt to invade Doriath and are turned back by the Girdle of Melian. It doesn’t function as a direct, physical barrier; it causes confusion and disorientation and strange visions and a loss of sense of direction, and you look around and find you’ve ended up outside Doriath again. This eerie, hallucinatory quality fits Melian’s background as a Maia of Lórien, Master of Dreams. (And hey, if you can work some subtle prophetic/ominous foreshadowing into the visions, all the better!) The purpose of the scene is to show that the Fëanorian’s aren’t idle; they do want pursue the Silmaril, but for the moment it is beyond their reach. The brothers will have varying levels of enthusiasm about the plan, with Celegorm and Curufin being the ringleaders.

Episode 2: Heavily focuses on Túrin’s time as an outlaw, from his first meeting with the bandits through to Dor-Cúarthol, the fall of Amon Rudh, and the death of Beleg. This is a lot of material - joining the bandits, becoming their leader, the first meeting with Beleg, finding Mîm and Amon Rudh, Dór-Cuarthol, and the fall of Amon Rudh and the death of Beleg. There may be a need to streamline it, with Beleg only finding the outlaws once they are at Amon Rudh, and staying with them then.

There’s a lot of good characters here, and a lot of good personality confllicts - it’s practically a short movie in itself. Particular care needs to be taken with Mîm, who cannot be allowed to become a caricature.

This episode introduces Anglachel, so it would be good to have a short Gondolin scene with Maeglin (bearer of Anguirel) to establish the symmetry. And also to keep Gondolin in the viewers’ minds. A short scene in Nargothrond showing their reaction to Dór-Cúarthol (positive: it is or was their realm, and he’s doing more to defend it that they are) will set up later events,

Episode 3: The focus splits between Túrin in Nargothrond - particularly his relationships with Gwindor and Finduilas, and his growing prominence, with him becoming de-facto in charge at the end of the episode - and Tuor as a thrall and later outlaw. Tuor’s personality really comes to the fore here: he’s patient, and steady, and kind. He puts up with considerable abuse an a thrall, escapes when there’s an opportune moment, and can’t be effectively pursued because he’s made friends with all of his captor’s hounds. (I especially like that last fact.) The episode ends with him leaving Dor-lómin by the Gate of the Noldor.

This is also a good time to build up the romance between Dior and Nimloth. Nimloth must be Laiquendi, as those are the only other people Beren and Lúthien would meet in Ossiriand; I rather like the idea of them being childhood friends, to offset some of the more love-at-first-sight romances. Dior is now in his late teens and - this is important - very, very good-looking, even by elf standards. He’s also very interested in his Doriathrin heritage, and asking his parents a lot of questions about his grandparents; that sets up his determination to be Eluchíl later on.

Episode 4: Tuor’s meeting with Ulmo and his coming to Gondolin, the Fall of Nargothond, and Túrin in Dórlomin. The fall of Nargothrond and deaths of Gwindor and Finduilas form a nice counterpoint/contrast with Tuor’s meetings with Voronwë and Idril and his arrival at Gondolin. Túrin’s impulsive actions in Dor-lómin contrast with Tuor’s approach in the prior episode as well.

Episode 5: Focus is on Túrin’s story. Journey of Morwen and Nienor to Nargothrond and its consequences, and Túrin in Brethil, through to his slaying of Glaurung and his and Nienor’s deaths.

For extra bonus irony points, parallel the wedding of Túrin and Níniel with the weddings of Idril and Tuor and of Dior and Nimloth.

Episode 6: Wanderings of Húrin through to the Sack of Doriath and Beren and Dior’s fight with the dwarf-army. (Dior isn’t mentioned as being part of this fight in the Silm, but it’s an excellent moment to include him here.) The Fëanorians reenter the scene, attempting to intercept the dwarf army carrying the Silmaril, but arriving too late. This is the best chance they’ve had st recovering a Silmaril yet - they’re not going to ignore it.

The line “while Lúthien held the Silmaril no elf would dare assail her” is typically read as it just being something no one would consider on a moral level - and that’s a valid reading - but I like the idea that the Fëanorians aren’t going after her because they’re freaking terrified of her. This is the woman who defeated Morgoth single-handedly! Holding one of the most powerful artifacts ever created! Who knows what she could do! (The Fëanorians absolutely make concessions to practicality when it comes to the Oath - otherwise they would have attacked Angband sometime in the 400 years of the Siege, or after the Nirnaeth as a way to die pursuing their oath in a decent way rather than slaughtering kin. It’s only the final attack by Maedhros and Maglor after the War of Wrath that they attempt in the face of impossibility, and by that time I think suicide-by-Valarin-army makes up a solid portion of their motivation.)

Episode 7: The refounding of Doriath, the Second Kinslaying, and the capture and treachery of Maeglin. Broad theme of the episode being Bad Elvish Behaviour all round, with elves doing Morgoth’s work either directly (Maeglin) or on their own initiative (the Fëanorians).

My idea on the refounding of Doriath, and on Dior’s title of Eluchíl (Thingol’s Heir) is that this quickly and breifly becomes the core of Elvendom in Beleriand. Dior, as Lúthuen’s son and Melian’s grandson, likely has some degree of ‘magical’ power beyond what is usual for elves. Not enough to reestablish the Girdle of Melian, but enough to provide some general deterrance against evil forces. Doriath is also, for the first time, open to all the other free peoples of Beleriand, and is the only true realm remaining aside from secret and mysterious Gondolin. Not only do the Doriathrin Sindar and some of the Laiquendi and the northern grey-elves unite around Doriath, various Noldor, remants of lost realms and destroyed armies, join them. Dior is becoming in truth what Thingol claimed to be: King of Beleriand. All the more so when the Silmaril comes to him and Doriath blossoms like a memory of Valinor in the Ages of the Trees.

And this would fit with why the Fëanorians would regard Dior as ‘proud’, this would offend them more than anything, because what he’s achieving is exactly Fëanor once boasted that he would achieve, long ago in Tirion. This would fit with the sheer visciousness of the Second Kinslaying, with the abandonment of Dior’s young sons in the forest. Celegorm’s people aren’t even thinking in terms of hostages; they just want to destroy Dior’s entire family line, because his existence, his kingship, what he’s achieved are such an affront.

But Elwing escapes, and the Silmaril is still out of their hands.

(The attack is at Yule, whuch sets up a strong and deliberate parallel - Morgoth’s earlier attacks on the Lamps and the Trees were also at times of festival/celebration, so the Fëanorians’ actions are being deliberately equated with his.)

Episode 8: The Fall of Gondolin. This is your absolutely epic big battle scene. Balrogs! Dragons! Eagles! Maeglin acting like a cackling B-movie villain! (I have not read The Fall of Gondolin, but I’ve hear that Idril swordfights Maeglin in it, and this absolutely needs to happen.) Ecthelion kills a Gothmog! Glorfindel kills a balrog! It’s tragic, but it’s also extremely exciting television (unlike the kinslaying the previous week, which was mostly just really depressing and horrific.)

The episode ends with the survivors of Gondolin making their way to Sirion, where the survivors of Doriath have already settled. I think that the survivors of Nargothrond should also be there, to keep things simple and allow for some extra drama.

Episode 9: This one starts with a timeskip, so we can have adult Eärendil and Elwing. The episode is a quieter one, mainky setup for later events: the departure of Tuor and Idril, the marriage of Eärendil and Elwing, the birth of the twins, and Eärendil’s departure to seek the aid of the Valar. The voyage of Eärendil is dramatic and can take up some of the episode.

Episode 10: The Third Kinslaying, the destruction of the Fëanorian base on Amon Ereb, the voyage of Eärendil and Elwing to Valinor, and the Valar’s decision to go to war. The nain reason I wanted the Nargothrondim in Sirion is so that we can get Celebrimbor fighting against the Fëanorian forces here, because that just increases the level of emotional drama. The whole thing’s a traumatic mess. Fëanoruan solidiers throwing down their swords and surrendering. Fëanorian soldiers switching sides to defend the people of Sirion. It’s hard to overstate how teagic this is - here is almost the last remnant of elves in Beleriand, and they are being destroyed not by Morgoth (from whom they would be protected by Ulmo’s waters), but by their own people.

But at the end of the episode, Valinor is marshalling for war, and things are finally. finally, looking like they could get better.

[calendille]

The joys of courtship in Darkening Tirion

The narrator is Glorfindel of the Golden Flower, Elenwë’s cousin.

Turgon was the first of Finwë's grandsons to marry. The King organized extravagant festivities, including a ball. My mother dreamt of me winning the hand of a noble princess. For that purpose I had donned the clothes of a prince: brocade of red and white and gold, embroidered with flowers and birds, my hair woven with ribbons. I danced with so many girls that their faces started to dissolve into the vanyarin wine. At some point late into the evening, I retreated to the gardens to wait for the drunkenness to evaporate.

And here was Caranthir; I cannot recall how he came to me. In my memories I am alone until he is here, standing in front of me and my cold stone bench, his hands outstretched toward me, a small package wrapped with red fabric clutched into them.

“Is this for Elenwë?” I asked, thinking that perhaps, he forgot to give his gift to the bride, my cousin, during the feast.

“No. This is for you.”

“Why?” I laughed then, too drunk and surprised to answer with anything else than a question. “It’s not my wedding.”

“Because I want to.”

“Why?”

My Moryo was a shy young elf. His height helped to forget that he was hardly more than a teenager. He looked pointedly at the tip of his boots and didn’t answer. The package ended up in my hands and Caranthir gone from my side. I unwrapped the fabric to find a gorgeous headdress of white gold and amber. The style was fëanorian, and yet clearly not from Fëanor. I wondered how Caranthir could afford this and why he would give it to a boy he never talked to before.

I didn’t wear the headdress for months afterwards. I pretended my mother wouldn’t approve of me wearing something from a concurrent trend, but deep down I was troubled. Caranthir had passed his examination to become a master craftsman mere days before Elenwë’s wedding with the piece that now slept in one of my jewel boxes. I couldn’t understand why he would part from it. He acted as if nothing happened; as his priceless chef d’oeuvre wasn’t in my possession.

Curufin’s betrothal to Aicahendë of the Silver Tree was hastily announced by Fëanor, mere weeks after Turgon’s wedding, launching a furious campaign of whispers about how the High Prince sook to eclipse his half-brother by rushing his son’s wedding. Aicahendë wasn’t a girl of the court, though her mother was the highly connected daughter of Finwë’s Gardian of the Seal. She was a glass-blower, fëanorian to the bone, daughter of a silver-smith from Alqualondë that had lived by Fëanor’s side for so long that they could have been brothers.

The match, my mother whispered, was the proof that the High Prince was slowly loosing his grip over the court.

“Aicahendë brings no useful alliance. Telperimpar and Capindë are loyalists: their efforts were already all for him. Fëanaro is turning toward his followers because the whole world sees him as he is. Finally! An angry, egoistical, petty child.”

My mother, by then, hated Fëanor with all the love she felt for Indis and her children, with all the pain brought by the fëanorians’ open disdain for her vanyarin identity. Olotië felt dragged in the mud and was determined to bring them down with her. But this was a fëanorian wedding and I decided to wear Caranthir’s headdress.

Aicahendë and Curufin looked happy enough to wed each other. She was a noldo in full despite her father being a Teler by blood: tall, with ink black hair and piercing eyes, a wide mouth with wild smiles and hands slightly burnt from her craft. The High Princess Nerdanel did not look so happy to stand by Fëanor; they weren’t separated yet, but her husband’s radical religious stances did not fit well with her family. They were still a couple, ableit one that struggled not to clash on the political scene. Fëanor himself was friendlier with Curufin’s father-in-law than with his own wife.

All of this I saw from my chair, quite far away from the whole affair, seated by my mother. Olotië looked bored. I, as always, spied every toilette and new hairstyle, until the groom and his bride walked the alley, Aicahendë’s small family following her, dwarfed by Curufin’s cortege of brothers. I admit that I cannot recall how Curufin dressed for his wedding, nor the details of Aicahendë’s dress, but I do recall very clearly Caranthir’s clothes. He hadn’t been allowed to wear black for his brother’s union and so came in a deep red that clashed rather unfavorably with his red cheeks. He was nervous, almost overwhelmed by the amounts of people watching his family for every misstep.

Then he saw me, and his headdress in my hair, and he smiled.

Extract from Souls of Cinders for @feanorianweek , Day n°4: Caranthir. Prompt : Marriage, appearance

[joyfullynervouscreator]

Song of Souls (eight)

[One] [Two] [Three] [Four] [Five] [Six]  [Seven]  [Eight]

“I want to bury him.” Narví’s voice was steady, but Celebrimbor could hear the strained notes.

“Bury an Elf?” Durin replied, his voice less familiar and fainter as it whispered across the nothingness that surrounded him. “Hardly…”

“You just married two Elves, brother, are you going to tell me I cannot bury my… my friend?” Narví interrupted, her voice cracking slightly near the end. Celebrimbor felt like the words were liquid sunlight poured into his soul. Narví’s voice was clear, clearer than it had been since he left her in the Council Chamber, and the thought that she would defy millennia of her people’s customs for his sake… Celebrimbor wanted to laugh with joy, ruthlessly banishing the small voice that wondered if she would have done that if he had been brave enough to ask her openly. Durin’s laugh – another familiar sound, though the King of Khazad-dûm sounded slightly weary – rang out into the void.

“Aye, that was a sight. Thought Erestor’s eyes were going to hop right out of his skull,” he guffawed, and Celebrimbor wondered if he understood their conversation; surely, the King of Dwarrow had not married two Elves, one of them being his own Erestor – had Erestor ever shown inclination towards anyone? – Celebrimbor’s mind boggled.

“I want to bury him out here,” Narví whispered, standing beside Durin as she stared across the small lake where they had stood so recently, staring down towards the spires of Ost-in-Edhil from the promontory outlook. “Khalebrimbur does not belong in stone; I will return him to the plants he loved as much as he loved metal,” she added, pointing towards the single holly growing by the lake. Durin nodded. “It has always been his tree, nadad,” she murmured, silently grateful for the silent support of Durin’s warm fingers squeezing her tight forearm.

“Should we call for the Cantor, nen’ar?” Durin asked quietly, but Narví shook her head.

“No,” she sighed. “Khalebrimbur was no Dwarf… I will bury him, and if there is to be singing, I shall do it, and hope my voice might reach him in the Halls of Mandos.” Durin knocked his forehead gently against her temple, kindly forgoing mentioning the tears sliding down her cheeks as she stared at the blurring holly.

“As you wish,” he acquiesced, turning to walk back towards the mountain. Narví sighed, but did not follow. Today, she had no wish to command, had no need to do… anything, really, feeling so horribly sad at what had befallen her Elf that she could barely muster a smile for the flushed cheeks of Erestor’s happiness when she saw him earlier. She was pleased that Glorfindel made him so happy, she was, but she also felt envious to her core.

“We saved them, Khalebrimbur, do you know? In your Halls, can they tell you?” she whispered the words into the air, expecting no answer and receiving none. “Your people, Izgilê, they are well. They are sad, and angry, but they are alive, I promise.” For a long time, Narví was silent, but then a quiet whisper passed her lips. “I miss you.”

He heard her clearly now, and he wanted to weep with gratitude. He could imagine her there, as she had stood so often with him, teasing him about the tiny tree he had stubbornly hauled up from his home and made to grow in the mountain’s sparse soil through sheer will-power. He liked the thought of his bones resting there, as a nod to both his heritage and their friendship. In his mind’s eye, it was early morning, and the first rays of the day played across Narví’s hair, the fantasy so vivid he almost thought it was true, wanted to reach for one of the loose curls that fell down her back. Lost in his own imagination, he didn’t hear anything else until the deep sound of a drum shocked him out of it.

She had dug the hole herself, refusing anyone’s help. Then she had wrapped his battered body in a large shroud hastily embroidered with the runes that spelled his name that she had stitched by candlelight, cursing her lack of experience with the needle. There was no doubt in her mind that she would have been better served by making a statue of him – she remembered every plane of his face, his body, and she was more than capable of rendering them in stone – but she also knew that she would not. She thought it would hurt too much, having his face to look at like that, turning her longing too bitter with absence and grief. Instead, there would be the tree, and she would keep her memories in her heart, keep him alive there until she was returned to the stone herself and woke in Itdendûm. For a while, she indulged herself imagining what she would say to Mahal, how she would argue to be allowed to see him again before the Remaking, just… but her mental argument stopped there, knowing that she would never be satisfied with whatever came after the plaintive ‘just…’ and saying goodbye to him once more… Narví thought that would break her.

The Cantor did not come, as Narví had decided, though Durin did bring out one of the ceremonial drums that were used to play a heartbeat tattoo during the Dwarven funeral ceremonies. The young Dwarf whose hands played the instrument, tolling out deep sounds that echoed across the mountainside, did not seem to understand why he was out there playing, but Narví paid him no mind. She ignored the faint sounds of battle coming from the direction of the Stair Falls Gate too, all her focus on the wrapped body she held.

“Here lies Celebrimbor, who was son of Curufin, who was named Rathukhbatshûn and a Friend of Dwarrow, whose hands created beauty. May he find rest here, until the World is Remade.” Narví kept her voice steady as she spoke, but she could not bear to add a personal farewell before an audience, even an audience consisting of two Elves she was quite certain had guessed how she felt about the dead Elf. The beating heart of the drum stilled.

Glorfindel and Erestor stood behind her in silence when she lay the body down beneath the roots of the tree, curled up like a sleeping child. His wounds still stood out starkly against the pale skin, but Narví’s wrappings hid the most gruesome cuts from their sight. None of them spoke for a long time.

“Namarië,” Erestor whispered at last, “Tyelperinquar Celebrimbor.” Glorfindel repeated the words solemnly, but then the two Elves left her alone. The young drummer followed in solemn silence.

Narví wept.

Every sob tore at his heart, made him want to hold her until she stopped crying, cursing whomever decided what sounds came to him through the grey nothingness. They seemed to go on forever.

When Narví finally got to her feet, she was not surprised to see Durin standing by the Doors, alone. Stumbling into his arms, she sighed deeply, breathing in the comfort he exuded, even when he was wearing armour.

“Come on, Narví,” he murmured, stroking her hair. “Let’s get home.” Narví nodded silently.

When Durin stood by the Doors that bore their names, he paused to cast one look back towards the sole tree by the lake. With a final nod at the memory of an Elf, the King of Khazad-dûm stepped back into his Realm and shut the heavy door behind him.

@mainecoon76 @life-is-righteous @pandepirateprincess @sassytyphoondetective @rose-of-the-bright-sea