#Ossë my guy you aren't exactly in the position to be judgemental about someone having been associated with Melkor

[eri-pl]

Silm Advent calendar 14: Fire

Some headcanons strongly assumed in this one.

Mithrandir rotated the ring on his finger. The moonlight reflected in the ruby, making it seem like a flame. Fire…

There was a Light he remembered but could not remember, it was incompatible with how he was now, like awakening and dream. Too large to fit in his mind. No, it's always been too great. But now even the memory of the experience…

Melian had warned him that being bound to a body would be difficult, but he hadn't expected to be so lost. And now Círdan had made it even more difficult.

The moon reflecting on the sea was silver, but Mithrandir’s thoughts — contrary to the name he had taken — were filled with red.

There was a flame he could, unfortunately, remember with more clarity, now it felt even more natural, and this worried him greatly. He turned away from it long ago, longer than time itself was long, and yet, the memory kept coming back.

Why, of all the things, did he always have to deal with fire?

There were fires he remembered from the War — so far changed from the gold-white brilliance they'd once been — hopefully all gone now, except for one beautiful flame that now rested, to rise in the next morning. Arien. One of the closest, and yet one of the first to leave. Where would he be now if it wasn't for her?

Somewhere less difficult maybe, but not in a good way.

Still, why did it always come back to fire?

Círdan stood in the door of his home. Mithrandir sighed and gestured at the bench, moving to the side.

“I left Glorfindel with some books,” said the shipwright.

“He's quite enthusiastic, isn't he? So full of light…”

Círdan smiled slightly. “Like a haystack, not like a hearth.”

They sat in silence for a while, as Tilion moved through the sky and waves roared. After a while, Mithrandir spoke again.

“You don't know how hot a hearth can get.”

“I know when I see someone who knows restraint. And you do have more experience than Glorfindel. Both with hearths and with hearts.”

“You don't know the nature of my experience!” Mithrandir turned to Círdan, facing him straight. His heart pounded.

“Really?” The elf was unfazed, even smiling slightly. “I'm just a simple elf, but I'm not blind. You came here, having put upon yourself more limitations than your colleagues, and yet embodiment comes to you so naturally that I'd never guess who you are had I not seen you arrive. Also, you feel more like a Man than like one of us. Can't sit straight, can't find a place for yourself. Full of fire. And now, instead of reading, or sleeping, or talking so much about animals that even Glorfindel looks quiet in the comparison, you brood alone in the night. Indeed, I do wonder what your experience could possibly be.”

Mithrandir sat deeper in the bench. After all this time… “I— didn't mean to brood. I'm sorry.”

Círdan patted him on the arm. “It's fine. Most elves brood too when they come here. It's the perspective of sailing. I'm accustomed to dealing with the mood of others. And I have to admit that I have deceived you a little.”

“About?”

“I don't think I would have noticed those signs, or understand what they mean, without some hints.”

Mithrandir closed his eyes. “Seaside dreams, I guess? But why—”

“Just some friendly gossip.” There was laughter in Cirdan’s voice, and a distant echo of a storm, but his face was serious.

“And yet you gave it to me.”

“Whom else?’

“Curunir. Glorfindel—experience can be learned. Anyone.”

The shipwright studied him carefully. “I have to admit, I did not know for certain where you came from when I made the decision.”

“Now you know. You can imagine what I could do with hearts if— You can imagine.”

“And yet, if the past allegiance had always been a good predictor of the present, the world would be much brighter and you would not need to be here now.”

Mithrandir pulled Narya off his finger. “And this would not exist. Tell me, how can two results of a wrong make a right?” He gave the ring back to Círdan.

“Are you certain?”

He nodded. The worst thing that could happen was another one falling into shadow. “Give it to someone worthy.”

The elf took it and nodded. “Thank you. I will feel better knowing that I gave it to you knowing the whole context.” He offered it back to Mithrandir. “As for how to make right out of wrong — you tell me. Not now. But I trust you will.”

“With who I am? Círdan, I begged not to have to come here!”

“And yet you came. You asked me to give it to someone worthy, but the worthy ones sometimes end up…” He winced. “I'd rather give it to someone who will use it to do good. Will you?”

Mithrandir bowed his head. “I'll do my best.” Slowly he took Narya back.

Círdan stood up. “Go get some sleep. You need it now.”

He did, and he dreamed of fire.