#yes mahtan got saruman's workbench

[eri-pl]

Silm Advent calendar 4: Beard*

Warnings: sort of a small panic attack in PoV. Implications of… well, we are seeing Celebrimbor post-reembodiment. So you can estimate. But only implications.

"I wish I could see them again," said Celebrimbor. "The Dwarves, I mean." It was still somewhat strange to speak with words.

Mahtan smiled. "I wish I could see one of them too."

Right. Great-grandfather hadn't ever met any of the Khazad, obviously. Because he had enough common sense to not leave. Obviously. Celebrimbor looked at him. "I'm sorry."

Mahtan laughed and continued leading him down the stony corridors of Lord Aulë's mansion.

Assuming that he could continue the conversation, Celebrimbor said "I've always wondered, and Narvi too—how it is with beards? Are they something Lord Aulë invented, or...?" He trailed off. It seemed a stupid question.

And yet, his great-grandfather was not offended. He stroked his own—meticulously braided— beard, and spoke. "I've always assumed it was his thing, as I had not grown mine before I became his apprentice. But now of course they say the Men have those too— they do, right? It's not another thing Pengolodh made up?"

"Oh yes, they do have beards. Some quite impressive."

They went down another set of stairs, the corridor was windowless and illuminated with lamps. It felt like home, but safer.

"Mhm. See, Tyelpe, we're somewhat secluded here. Nor Tuor, nor of course Earendil had one, so... Anyway, I'm sure you'll grow it eventually."

"I don't— I mean, the fact that I could work with— Despite everything— It's just so much more than I could ever deserve."

Mahtan laughed again—a deep, rolling laughter that felt in place in those stone halls. "You will need to get accustomed to working with people who aren't— nasty."

The forge noises became louder, discouraging further dialogue. Not long after, they reached an arched gate, leading to a huge workshop, where Maiar and Elves worked, and of course, in the center, the Smith himself.

All the hammers stopped and the room went silent. Celebrimbor bowed deeply, barely daring to look at the Vala.

Lord Aulë smiled. "Come, you two. Mahtan, my friend, we've moved your things already. Tyelperinquar, I'm so glad to see you. I— I still don't understand your kind well, but Mahtan said you won't be offended— it is the best workplace after all." As the two Elves came closer, he spoke more quietly. "As an apology."

In the centre of the forge, next to Lord Aulë's huge, carved stone workbench with mithril top, stood two others, smaller, but even more ornate. One, to which Mahtan walked and began checking the tools, was made of bright white stone carved in intricate geometric patterns, parts of which seemed moveable. The other one — apparently meant for Celebrimbor — was a gold square design of perfect four-fold symmetry, with the tools sorted by size and type. While not dusted—nothing in Aman was—it was long unused, judging from types of the tools. There was a peculiar beauty to it, like—

His head went light and he grasped the edge of the golden table— than let it go immediately— if that was to be his apology, he'd have to bear it— he was better now, after years in Mandos—and yet, the very memory—

Mahtan held him like he used to do when Tyelpe was a small boy visiting his forge with the same fascination as his father and grandfather before.

"Shhh. It's all right. It is all right—" he repeated louder. "He will get over it, just give us a moment." He turned his face back to Celebrimbor, whispering: "It's all right. You don't have to, if you don't want to."

"But…. My apology—"

Great-grandfather held him tighter. "Not your apology, Tyelpe. Lord Aulë meant it as his apology to you. He felt like he owed it, especially as there's nobody else to apologize to you now, I think. But let's not get there. It is— we both thought that it would be a kind of justice to give it to you. I'm sorry. You don't have to."

The tightnes in Celebrimbor's chest slowly dissipated. "No, I— I appreciate it, and it would make him so angry and that's good, just— could I maybe reorder it a little. Not much, just…."

He spoke softly, unsure if it was worse to ask Lord Aulë if he could change the designs of his Maia (well, back then), or to talk in private when he was nearby. but apparently it was not soft enough, as the Vala replied him.

"Of course. You can change anything you like. It's yours."

A few days of work later, when Aulë again returned to his forge, he looked at Celebrimbor's workbench—now not as perfectly symmetrical, and carved in rows of Dwarven runes.

He smiled. "It looks alive. I missed it."