Story [The Silmarillion] "This Taste of Shadow", Ficlets and Drabbles, updated 7/02!

Jade_eyes: Aww, thank-you.

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Author's Notes: For this week, we have a grab-bag of semi-unrelated drabbles. The new faces here are . . .

http://lotr.wikia.com/wiki/Daeron]Daeron[/url]: A loremaster of Doriath, who loved Lúthien, and acted as an impetus to her and Beren's relationship. Tolkien names him as the greatest minstrel to ever live, stating specifically that he even surpassed Maglor in talent.

http://lotr.wikia.com/wiki/Celeborn]Celeborn[/url]: Husband of Galadriel, a Sindarin prince of Doriath and kinsman of Elu Thingol. His and Galadriel's marriage was one of the binding ties between the Sindar and the Noldor – though, at times, I can only imagine that their differing backgrounds made life interesting.

http://lotr.wikia.com/wiki/Celebrian]Celebrían[/url]: Daughter of Celeborn and Galadriel, wife of Elrond and mother of Arwen. Although she and Elrond met in the year 1700 of the Second Age (approximately, according to The Tale of Galadriel and Celeborn), and fell for each other there, they were not married until after Sauron's defeat at the dawn of the Third Age – a gap of over 1,800 years.

Gandalf and Sauron: They knowing each other here is completely my own theory – but it is a part of my headcanon, and I cannot shake it. The first drabble is set in http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Almaren]Almaren[/url] – the home of the Valar before Melkor destroyed the http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Two_Lamps]Two[/url] Lamps and Almaren with them – thanks to his insider information from Sauron and those like him. Afterwards, the Ainur relocated to Valinor. The last drabble of this set ignores what Peter Jackson said in The Hobbit movie (which so disappointed me in that manner! ). The White Council knew exactly who and what was living in Dol Goldur for centuries – thanks to Gandalf and his snooping around.

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Week IX: “whose hands tear at stones”​

XLI. Enemy

“ . . . and then,” with a wave of his hand, the rocket flew upwards to explode in the shape of a firebird, painting the sky of Almaren red and gold in the waning Lamp-light.

“But why do you seek to teach me?” Olórin laughed in awe. “The flames answer best to you – remember Tulkas' wedding, when you left me in charge of the entertainment?”

“And yet, I may not always be here for the Valar's amusement,” Mairon muttered, his golden eyes dimming.

Concerned, Olórin touched his arm. “Mairon?” he questioned.

A heartbeat. “It is nothing,” the Aulëndil said, shaking off whatever had troubled him. “Now, this rocket . . .”



XLII. Attack

Their oldest arguments always came back to the Valar and Galadriel's defense of them - nevermind that she herself had once rebelled openly against their decrees. Although centuries of marriage warned him that thrice cursed Noldori was not his best choice of words, he said so anyway, and was rewarded by Galadriel's cool anger in return.

Unenlightened Sinda, indeed, Celeborn repeated her words as he tried to smash the couch pillow into a more comfortable shape underneath his head. In his mind, Galadriel's presence was fiercely satisfied.

Feeling her parent's fëar clash, Celebrían merely rolled her eyes and muttered children under her breath, bemused.



XLIII. Negotiate

“But Naneth said that Daeron of Doriath was the greatest minstrel to ever live.”

Maglor plucked a false note on his harp. “Everyone is allowed their opinion,” he responded diplomatically.

Elros crinkled his nose. “But even Melian the Maia said so, and -”

“Unless writing about Lúthien's fair face, Daeron could not spot a decent melody if it wrote itself -” Maglor finally interrupted indignantly, and -

Before him, Elros giggled delightedly, and Maglor narrowed his eyes, realizing that the child had caught him. Maedhros laughed at his scowl. “Be careful,” he warned, “Arguing with him is like trapping a fox. You don't stand a chance, Kano.”



XLIV. Truce

Imladris prepared for war.

Away from the chaos of the gathering armies, Celebrían took her last moments with Elrond. “You will marry me when you return,” she informed him simply. War loomed, but no longer would she let it's threat force him to silence. Seventeen centuries, she thought, her heart clenching. Seventeen . . .

“When I return,” he started gently -

“ - yes, when,” she interrupted, not letting him escape so easily. When, not 'if' . . .

“When I return, then,” he surendered. “If you would still have me.”

Her smile stretched, pained. “You will not be rid of me so easily, Peredhel,” still she vowed to wait.




XLV. Friend

The battlements of Dol Galdur were cloaked in an unnatural mist. The forest whispered of a wrathful presence – a fell wraith, greater than even the Witch-king of the Úlairi. Gandalf stopped when a spirit of old filled the shadows - its power smoldering, even when compared to its previous might.

So it was true . . . Gandalf bowed his head, wondering how they ever could have thought otherwise. But oh, how he wished that his suspicions had not been correct . . .

“This once, Olórin,” the shadows breathed. “ . . . and only this once, I shall let you go unscathed.”

“The same to you, Mairon,” Gandalf whispered. “ . . . the same to you.”



~MJ

 

Jade_eyes: Thank-you! I can't even comprehend living that long and seeing so much - I mean, we have characters here who are older than the sun and the moon, and they are still living on to see even more. The sheer scope of time in the Silmarillion is one of my favourite things. And yep, the couch is present in every universe. It's an absolute. As always, thank-you for reading!

laurethiel1138: Aww, thank-you! Your words made my day - and I hope you continue to enjoy the rest of these as they go up.

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Author's Note: Because I have been waiting for a set of words to match these two, and this week was it! Here we are, with Celeborn and Galadriel in full force.

This era of Galadriel's life fascinated me when I first read it - here, while she is still wise and powerful, she is also young and full of fire and ambition - wanting her own lands to rule and willing to strike out into the unknown to get them. She was the 'only woman to walk tall in those days', when so much was chaos and bloodshed.

Originally, Galadriel's father-name was Artanis (which means noblemaiden), while her mother-name was Nerwen (which means man-maiden, for her strength and height). It was Celeborn who gave her the name Galadriel - which means maiden crowned with a bright radiance, referring to the beauty of her golden hair - which was said to have inspired Fëanor into creating his Silmarils.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Finrod_Felagund]Finrod[/url] here is Galadriel's eldest brother. He was a great friend of men, and died helping Beren in his quest for the Silmaril. Tolkien specifically states that he was returned to life again - and 'now dwells with Amarië' in Aman. Amarië of the Vanyar was his fiancée, who refused to make the march to Middle-earth, foreseeing only heartache there.

And now, that said, here we go . . .

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Week X: “by any other name”​

XLVI. Sky

Artanis first met the Queen Melian in a glade filled with twilight. The Maia was as the Ainur of Valinor, and yet . . . there was something different about Melian. There was an earthiness about her, bellying the celestial might of her spirit - all of which was tied to the King at her side, he with his steel colored hair and his gaze so much like Olwë's that it hurt as she remembered the Swan Havens and their red, red quays.

Transfixed, Artanis wondered, but could not understand how such a might as the sky could ever have lowered itself to love the earth.



XLVII. Sun

Celeborn had seen the sun rise for the first time, outshining even the stars. Now, the maiden they called Artanis brought with her a second sunrise – crowned as she was with such a golden light, her eyes like the sky which the sun so brightened. She wore the day as Melian wore the twilight, and for the first Celeborn understood Doriath's founding tale – of magic and love and lust and time standing still as whole centuries passed the Maia and her stolen King by, caught as he now was in that same spell.

Galadriel, he named her, and to him, Galadriel she remained.



XLVIII. Moon

"You, dear sister, are quite smitten."

"Speak not when it makes you sound foolish, Finrod."

"You have been ignoring Thingol's kinsman since the feast began," he ignored her. "Instead, poor Sírnoth thinks that you grant him quite the honor tonight with your attention."
Sírnoth's hair was not silver, Artanis thought, but did not say.

"Fëanor himself would have given all his treasures for three strands of your hair," Finrod continued brightly. "Over every mooning suitor in hallowed Aman, the granddaughter of Finwë instead finds her match in a Moriquendi - a son of the trees?"

"My match?" Artanis repeated dumbly, and Finrod only smiled.



XLIX. Stars

They walked the forests on the moonless nights that Celeborn so adored. And yet, even drunk on the stars and their unveiled splendor, she refused to tell him how she could not tell where the silver light ended and he began. She refused to tell him that when the starlight shone through the trees, dappling his skin just so, she found it hard to breathe.

Artanis, what do you fear?

She thought of Indis then. Of Nerdanel after Fëanor's heresy. And even of Finrod's own Amarië - all strong woman made weak by love.

I fear nothing, she swore, and kept her silence.



L. Lightning

"In the end, it comes down to trust," Melian said from her scyring bowl. Afterwards, she carried on as if nothing was amiss, while Artanis blinked - seeing, for the first, her mentor trapped by her raiment of flesh and bone, but not diminished . . .

. . . instead, she was the stronger for it.

Later, Thingol called her by name, and she was Artanis no more.

"Galadriel," she corrected. Next to her, Finrod nearly choked on his wine. "Galadriel, I have been named by your prince," she continued, feeling the rightness of the name strike her like storm-light. "And I would keep it as my own."



~MJ

 

Jade_eyes: As always, your words make me never want to stop writing! You are too kind. This pairing has a special place in my heart - just beautiful in so many ways.

Daena: Thanks for the recap! I enjoyed all of your comments.

I'm not sure I get it, but what I do understand from these two? Awesome. That he can't HEAL the damage, because he's fallen so far, that Melkor did something, and now his hands are injured. And the tone underscoring it all... wow.

You are grasping it excellently! Especially seeing as how I was trying to squeeze a ridiculous amount of plot into a couple hundred words.

So . . . Melkor stole the Silmarils and destroyed the Two Trees with the help of Ungoliant (the original giant spider, who makes Shelob looks like an ant). When Melkor held the Silmarils, he burned his hands past repair - for only holy hands could touch the jewels. When he refused to give the Silmarils to Ungoliant for her to eat, she started to devour his soul - she had grown so powerful from absorbing the Trees and all of that dark matter over the years, that she was strong enough to take on a Vala. Melkor was rescued by his Balrogs - and Ungoliant slunk off to start her own race of evil spiders. Although Melkor was still alive, his hands never healed, and the damage done to his body meant that he could never shape-shift again. Between this, and the disbursement of his power over the land, he never again recovered to his full strength. Melkor was not always the brightest Dark Lord - but that's why he had Sauron.

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Author's Notes: This week is another grab-bag, and the new faces are . . .

http://lotr.wikia.com/wiki/Huan]Huan[/url]: A wolfhound, gifted to Fëanor's son Celegorm by the Vala Oromë. Later, Huan would be instrumental to Lúthien and her quest - forsaking his master for her side when Celegorm and Curufin dealt less than honorably with Lúthien and Beren. So great was Huan that he even defeated Sauron in battle when the latter took the form of a monstrous wolf.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aredhel]Aredhel[/url]: Daughter of Fingolfin, sister of Turgon, who had a rather . . . interesting and not altogether healthy marriage wit Eöl the Dark Elf (he lured and enchanted her into marriage, but she was not 'altogether unwilling'). Her son was http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maeglin]Maeglin[/url], who would grow up to be the betrayer of Gondolin.

http://lotr.wikia.com/wiki/Ecthelion_of_the_Fountain]Ecthelion[/url] and http://lotr.wikia.com/wiki/Glorfindel]Glorfindel[/url]: Both were Lords of Gondolin, and dear friends. They each died while slaying their respective Balrogs during Gondolin's destruction. Although seven years old at the time of the attack, Eärendil remembered Ecthelion and cried for him - remembering the whistles he would carve for him, and his flute playing. Upon returning to life in Aman, Glorfindel chose to return to Middle-earth to aid the line of his king - Earendil's son Elrond, and his family. In Peter Jackson's Fellowship of the Ring, Arwen took Glorfindel's place saving Frodo, so that she and Aragorn could have more eye-contact.


And now, that said . . .

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Week XI: “you and your own”​

LI. Fun

He had not intended to lose track of time, but trifling things - like Arafinwë's begetting day celebration - were easy to forgot when his craft consumed him, hard as it was for him to tell where he ended and the flames began.

. . . and yet, when Nerdanel returned from Tirion – and pointedly shut the door in his face when he tried to follow her inside – Fëanáro knew that he had erred . . . again.

Against his mind, her voice hissed, If you value your trinkets more than your family – all of your family, she added when he protested Arafinwë's kinship, then with them you shall stay!



LII. Play

“Doghouse,” he heard little Curufinwë snicker before his eldest silenced the child, and Fëanáro glared at the door, defeated.

Scowling, he turned and fetched the blanket that he kept in his workshop for just those occasions, and tried his best to settle in for the night.

Huan, of course, was delighted at his unexpected company. Fëanáro felt his mouth quirk up in amusement when the wolfhound dropped a bone at his side – as if playing the gracious host. “What are you in for?” he asked ruefully.

Huan wagged his tail, and pushed the bone closer.

Fëanáro sighed. “Me too, Huan . . . me too.”



LIII. Laugh

As a child, her son was a curious, flickering thing. She knew him more often than not by the white of his eyes as he peered under furniture and peeked into corners – all the while asking about anything and everything he could. Nan Elmoth was shadowed, but it could not keep her smile from ghosting when he asked her what the light was made out of.

He touched her smile then, curious and seeking. “And what is this called, Naneth?”

“It is called joy,” Aredhel answered, and Maeglin tilted his head as if that too was a mystery to be uncovered.



LIV. Games

“Ecthelion! A word.”

Idril's voice was shaped in Officialness. It was not dear Idril-their-friend approaching them, but rather, Idril-Princess-of-Gondolin.

Ecthelion bowed. “Milady -”

“ - You have been carving my son whistles.”

He blinked. “Well, Eärendil is too young for the flute,” he started reasonably -

“ - but there has been nothing but whistling all throughout the night! Please,” Idril pleaded, “when encouraging my son's musical talents with such games, do so at your residence.”

She turned, leaving Ecthelion bewildered. “The drums shall have to be put aside, then?” he turned to his companion.

Glorfindel patted his shoulder sadly. “I'm afraid so.”



LV. Vacation

After three summers, the twin boys were fountains of energy – exhausting their parents in a way that battlefields and court politics had failed for centuries to. Hiding her smile – and making sure Celeborn did the same – Galadriel volunteered to take Elladan and Elrohir for the day, glad for the chance to bond with her grandchildren.

At the day's end, she found that Celebrían and Elrond had not even made it past the common room before falling asleep on the couch – one twined about the other. Fondly, Galadriel looked on, and decided that she would take the boys again upon the morrow.



~MJ

 

Jade_eyes: You picked my favourites too. It was fun to put characters who are so etheral at times in a more domestic setting. The mental image of Galadriel and Celeborn as the doting grandparents was just too good to pass up - and Elrond and Celebrían deserve the break after dealing with twins, that's for sure.

As always, thank-you for reading!

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Author's Notes: We have another grab bag for this week. And, for those interested . . .

Finwë/Míriel: Very technically, I believe that they were married after reaching Valinor, but I liked the idea of them marrying earlier and facing the http://lotr.wikia.com/wiki/Great_Journey]Great[/url] Journey together. This drabble would be set right after Finwë, Ingwë and Elwë returned from the Blessed Realm with Oromë.

Elwë and Olwë: Elwë is the original name of Elu Thingol - a name which would later be given to him by Melian after their 'enchantment' in Nan Elmoth. http://lotr.wikia.com/wiki/Olw%C3%AB]Olwë[/url], his brother, lingered in Middle-earth to find Elwë - who was ensorcelled with Melian - before finally finishing the journey west with the Teleri elves. He would later rule out of Alqualondë, and through his daughter Eärwen, he would become grandfather of Galadriel.

http://lotr.wikia.com/wiki/Beren_Erchamion]Beren/Lúthien[/url]: They have been mentioned many times so far, but here they are actually featured in a drabble. (And one of these sets will be just about them - it's inevitable. ) Their tale is Tolkien's ultimate love story, and one of the great examples of 'love conquers all' - made all the more beautiful since Tolkien wrote Lúthien's character based off of his wife, Edith. The names Lúthien and Beren are even enscribed on their gravestones.

Elwing's Name: Her name means 'star spray'.



Alrighty then, here we go . . .

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Week XII: “a hunger in the breath”​

LVI. See

“ . . . Imagine, if you can, a land lit by what seemed to be stars on the limbs of two trees – leaving no room for darkness. Aman was a land free from children stolen and returned as orc-kind - a land free from constantly fighting fell beasts in every shadow . . .”

A land fit to raise a family in, the thought was intoxicating as it passed from Finwë's mind to hers. A land where our children can grow in the light, unburdened by the hardships we face . . . At last, Míriel smiled – lost on the wave of her husband's joy. “Truly, I can imagine nothing better.”



LVII. Hear

The starlit woods of Nan Elmoth sang a haunting tune. They called to Elwë, beckoning . . . teasing . . .

“You wandered off again,” came Olwë's voice from down the path. "We've been looking for you."

Elwë held up a hand, silencing him. “Do you hear that?”

Olwë raised a brow. “ . . . birdsong?”

“Nightingales,” Elwë corrected, staring above. “They follow us.”

Olwë smiled good-naturedly. “Really, brother, you are too fey for your own good,” he teased, and yet, Elwë hesitated - sure that somewhere in the trees, a whispered voice called to him. For a moment, he yearned . . .

Aye, fey indeed, he thought wryly, before turning away.



LVIII. Touch

Time had touched her.

Sitting before her looking glass, Lúthien curiously examined where her skin had begun to wrinkle, where her hair had grown grey at the temples.

“And still as beautiful as when first we met,” Beren's assured.

“After both decades of mortality, and a child?” Lúthien teased. “I resemble not the woman you wed.”

Beren smiled, touching the grey in her hair. This close, she could see where Time had claimed him too. “Your face is the wife I have come to love even more dearly than the woman I married. There could be no greater beauty than that.”



LVIX. Sense

Nimloth bore her daughter on a moonless night, with only the stars above as witnesses. “Elwing,” she named the babe when Galadriel placed the girl in her arms - looking for her aunt's approval. “Is it silly, to give a child of the trees a name of the sea?”

Galadriel's smile was wry in answer. “A mother's foresight is greater than any Sight I possess,” she gave - for when she touched the child's brow, she could see ocean waves rising like the wings of a bird, with the light of such a star shining above . . .

Yes, Nimloth had chosen wisely indeed.



LX. Smell

The sea was a salty, clean scent, chasing away her memories of ash and flame. At her side, Tuor stared - transfixed by the waves, his eyes flickering in time with the tide. “It appears that my husband has a first love,” she teased.

“Aye, but she is a fickle mistress,” Tuor replied playfully. “See how easily she shares her affections?” He gestured to where Eärendil had carefully stepped into the surf, his eyes huge upon the horizon.

Premonition crept upon her, but Idril ignored the call – for her family was alive and together now, and the future could come another day.



~MJ

 

Jade_eyes: You know what, I bet he did! Beren and Luke share quite a few qualities, that's for sure. As always, thank-you for reading, my friend!

Daena: Can I just take a moment to say I love the orienting details you're giving us? Because I totally do.

I am so glad to hear that! I have worried over getting wordy a time or two, so that's good to know.

Is he longing to follow his base instincts and dance while the birds sing?

Ha haa - a little bit of both. In Nan Elmoth, Melian met Elwë/Thingol and was so fascinated by him that she snared him in a spell – where they lingered together for centuries in an enchanted dream-state. When she finally ended her enchantment and freed him, she took a body of flesh and lived with him as his wife. The nightingales were a bird Melian taught how to sing – so it's no wonder Thingol thought he was being stalked . . . he was. He didn't mind so much in the end, though.

A love for the ocean, or a want to go to Valinor? (I'm confused, but I loved this drabble.)

Ah! Here is the thing (and feel free to skip this backstory entirely if I get ranty ), Tuor was a mortal-man, but he was beloved by Ulmo (the Vala who created water, the patron 'god' of the oceans). Tuor even spoke to Ulmo one-on-one, and he found Gondolin, 'the hidden city', under the Vala's direction, where he met his wife-to-be. Tuor passed on his sea-love to his son Eärendil, who would grow to be the greatest mariner of all time – a tradition that would be carried on by his son Elros when he created the mighty ship faring nation of Númenor (which was Tolkien's version of Atlantis, complete with sinking by the gods). When Tuor grew old, he and Idril set out to sea for one last time, never to be seen again, although the Elves believe that he made it to Valinor and was given immortality for his heroic deeds.

Now, at that time in the First Age, there was a ban in place for those who wished to return West because of the rebellion of the Noldor. That ban would only be lifted – and the Valar intervene in the fight against Melkor - if one of 'two kindreds' came and asked for their aid. Eärendil was that man – he found the Straight Path into the West (it helped that he had the Silmaril with him, courtesy of his wife. When Elwing threw herself into the sea to prevent the sons of Fëanor from getting the jewel, Ulmo raised her from the waves in the form of a white bird, and she flew out to meet Eärendil). Once Eärendil's task was complete, he was not allowed to return to Middle-earth – so Varda anointed his ship so that he could sail the stars every night with the Silmaril upon his brow, looking over the land he left behind but never touching it. The Silmaril is so bright that he is seen as a 'star' in the night sky - that is why he is known as Gil-estel in LoTR, the star of high hope. Bilbo has a long and lovely poem about Eärendil when you read The Fellowship of the Ring.

As always, thank-you for reading.

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Author's Notes: And here we are with Week Thirteen. My, but how these weeks have been flying by! Our new faces this week are:

http://lotr.wikia.com/wiki/Huor]Huor[/url]: Huor was the father of Tuor. When he and his brother Húrin were waylaid by Orcs, Ulmo called up a mist to conceal them, and had Eagles fly them to Gondolin - where they became dear to King Turgon. In time, they wished to return to their families, so Eagles took them from the city by the way they came in order to preserve the hidden location of the city. Maeglin didn't like Huor from the beginning - 'feeling foreboding' whenever he looked upon him, for Huor's son Tuor would later find Gondolin and marry Idril - Maeglin's cousin, whom he loved, even though he was too closely related to wed her. Later, Maeglin would, under torture, betray the location of Gondolin to Melkor in exchange for her the promise of her hand and lordship of his uncle's kingdom in fiefdom to Melkor.

http://lotr.wikia.com/wiki/Celebrimbor]Celebrimbor[/url]: The only grandson of Fëanor through his son Curufin. He repudiated his father's deeds and refused to swear to his Oath. During the Second Age he headed a group of jewelsmiths in Eregion, and when Annatar (Sauron) came in disguise as a fair emissary of the Valar, he believed his lies and foolishly helped him forge the Rings of Power, hoping to erase the stain of his family's names by creating something beautiful and useful for all of the races. While the sixteen rings for Men and Dwarves he forged with Sauron, he forged the three Elven Rings without Sauron - and refused to give up their location, even under torture when Sauron returned for the lesser rings. Celebrimbor took that secret to his grave - no doubt to protect Galadriel, whom he loved, but never told of his feelings.

Now, without further ado . . .

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Week XIII: “to see the unseen”​

LXI. Past

Sometimes, she was certain that her husband burned on so fiercely for fear of burning out completely.

The old queen had faded before her time, but Nerdanel could feel Míriel's shadow hanging over her childless body - where her husband's fear kept her barren, even when a babe was a desire of his heart as much as hers. She would be no Míriel, she thought fiercely. She would not dwindle to ashes from the heat of him, she would not.

So.

“Seven children,” she breathed her challenge into his ear – swearing her oath, promising to live. “I want seven . . .”



LXII. Present

At times, Maeglin had trouble keeping his mind on the here and now.

Huor stood before him, bidding first Turgon farewell, and then his daughter. But as Huor spoke to Idril, Maeglin could see a shadow follow him – like Huor, but not, filling him with discontent.

“My lady, I shall never forget your kindness,” Huor breathed, kissing her hand where the specter whispered in her ear, touched her cheek. Huor turned, but the specter lingered, unwilling to be parted -

Overhead, an Eagle called, distracting him. When he looked up, Huor was Huor once more, the second figure nowhere to be seen.



LXIII. Future

Nimloth would find no better husband than Dior, son of Lúthien. And yet . . .

“Do you not approve?” Galadriel asked - for with Galathil's death, Nimloth's hand was his to give.

“I do not . . . disapprove,” Celeborn answered, perplexed. “And yet . . .” he faltered as he sorted through his feelings. “When we have a child of our own, I would be grateful for a son - better to leave this grief to another father when the time comes.”

“I shall do my best, husband,” Galadriel kissed the corner of his mouth to hide her smile – and Celeborn sighed, realizing that fate had already been wound against him.



LXIV. Memories

The healer's tent was awash with the scent of charred flesh, leaving Glorfindel unsteady on his feet as he remembered his first life - snow and flames and endings as Gondolin burned -

“My friend, you do not need to be here,” Elrond's gentle voice came from where he was seeing to the wounded – giving of his own fëa in order to rekindle the faltering Song of those he tended.

Glorfindel sucked in a shaky breath before kneeling down before the nearest blackened figure. He was no healer, and yet . . . Breathing deeply, he thought of light rather than flames, and started to sing.



LXV. Expectation

The ring spun on the table before him – useful only for its flaws, teaching its creator where he had erred in it's design. So rapt was Celebrimbor's attention that he missed what the Lady was saying until the end.

“Those who do not remember the past are doomed to repeat it,” Galadriel carefully said, her eyes questioning just how far he would go to absolve the deeds of his family . . . the stains of his blood. “What do you expect that this . . . Annatar's aid will give to you?”

“I expect nothing, cousin,” Celebrimbor answered, slapping the ring down. “Instead, I hope.”



~MJ

 

Jade_eyes: Aww, thank-you so much.

Daena: I'll remember that when I re-read it... this time without reading the cave sequence by flashlight. And just when I thought the written word couldn't get more creepy than a motion picture...

Now THAT sounds like the way to read it.

I'm not sure I understood, exactly, but... interesting that he'd see the shadow and then it vanished when he was distracted.

There are lots of interesting things about Maeglin, that's for sure. The last thing he needed on his plate was seeing the future overlap with the present there, but I am mean to my characters.

I can see how he'd be unsteadied by the reminders...

Glorfindel is one of those characters whom I always want to hug. I have so much love for him.

...am off to watch The Hobbit, now.

SQUEE!! That movie was such a gem! (Between the swords of Gondolin, and the mentions of Ungoliant and the Istari, there are a couple of Silmarillion terms in the film when you pay attention. )



Rew: My, but thank-you for the fantastic review!!

Tolkien is an old love of mine and perhaps my first real foray into reading and fandoms (before I even discovered Star Wars).

Same for me. I picked up these books when I was thirteen, and I never looked back. They have such a special place in my heart.

I love Lord of the Rings as much as the next person, but for me The Silmarillion is at least as good as LotR. It's been so long since I've read either, especially The Sil. Finding these drabbles has really rekindled my love for Arda and might make me go back to the books themselves!

I agree with that! There are some aspects I even love better - a pity we couldn't have had the tale fleshed out with Tolkien's words before his death. If the Silmarillion was written like LoTR, it would be my favourite hands down.

And yes! Reeeead! These books get better every time they are re-read.

This is some seriously inspired stuff. My favorites are your insights into the Valar and Maiar. (As a former theological student, the Ainur were always the most interesting to me.

Why thank-you! I LOVE the Ainur. The whole theme of Eru fascinated me from the first, and Melkor in particular - I agree, he is one of the best villians ever, and he and Sauron's relationship just fascinates me. The book left so much room to play with, so I've had fun filling in the holes. (I have a long fic fleshing out the whole Sauron/Melkor/Varda/Manwe interaction that I really should finish one of these days. )

Fun fact: I live right outside the town of Irmo, South Carolina. (Not named after the Vala--a complete coincidence.) But imagine how floored I was I found out our humble, tiny little suburb shares a name with one of Tolkien's Valar!

How AWESOME! Talk about your perfect name for a town.

Thanks again for reading! I am so glad that you've enjoyed these so far.

---

Author's Notes: So, these last two weeks, I have had 'overfill drabbles', and rather than letting them fall forgotten to the depths of my harddrive, I've cleaned them up and figured I would post them here again. We have tribbles this time – triple drabbles, three-hundred words a piece.

The first set focuses on the Valar, and the eternal debate of just how much do they care? Some fun facts for these ficlets . . .

Aulë: He is the Vala who created the earth itself. He is skilled in crafts over all of his kin – which is why he is known as the Blacksmith. For his characterization in this drabble, I am focusing on just how father-like he is. He created the Dwarves sorely out of his desire to have 'children' to nurture and pass on his knowledge and love of the earth to. When the Elves came to Valinor, he took the Noldor under his wing and taught them everything he knew – taking in Fëanor almost like a son. It's interesting that both Sauron and Saruman were Maiar of his fold, and that Melkor was 'most alike Aulë, with his desire to create.'

Yavanna: Wife of Aulë, she is 'Mother Earth', who created all plant-life in the world. She created the Ents specifically to keep her husband's Dwarves from chopping down firewood for their forges.

Námo: More commonly known as Mandos (for the name of his halls). He is the Vala who presides over the souls of the dead. Although he is described as being 'without pity' and 'absolute in his judgments', he was so touched by Lúthien's plight that he returned both her and Beren back to life – and not only did he give them life, but he gave her a mortal life so that she could grow old with Beren and follow him to a mortal afterlife, as well. Secretly, I think he is the softest of his brethren – but you will never get him to admit that.

Vairë: Wife of Námo, who weaves the story of the world.

Then, for the second set . . .

Concerning Maedhros: The story here Elrond refers to happened in the fifth year of the First Age. Shortly after arriving in Middle-earth, Maedhros was taken captive by Melkor. After years of torture, Melkor hung him by the hand on the cliffs of Thangorodrim. When Fingon arrived in Middle-earth, he charged Melkor's fortress alone to save Maedhros - whom he loved with an 'ancient friendship'. He rescued Maedhros with help of the Eagles, but had to cut off his hand in order to free him from his bonds. Centuries later, Maglor and Maedhros finally succeed in recovering the Silmarils, but their hands had done evil deeds, and the hallowed jewels burned them. In his grief, Maedhros cast his Silmaril into a fiery chasm in the ground, and threw himself in as well. Maglor cast his Silmaril into the sea, and wandered the seashore singing laments of those their Oath had wronged – a penance he paid until the end of time.

Concerning Elrond and Galadriel: I am not sure how strong Elrond's foresight is, so most of this is my own spin on the story. Galadriel taking him on as an apprentice is also my own theory. Much of her and Celeborn's history is fuzzy, at best, but it stands to reason that they would have followed the survivors of Doriath to Sirion, and then stayed close to Nimloth's surviving family throughout the years. Galadriel most likely did spend time in Gil-galad's court until the War of Wrath – afterwards, in the Second Age, she moved east to Eregion, where the Rings of Power were forged. Seeing as how Melian (Elrond's great-great-grandmother) taught Galadriel, I liked the idea of that chain carrying on.

Alrighty, now then . . .

---

“who touches the pupil of my eye”​

See

Earlier, the halls of Aulë had been chaos – accusations and flames and laughter filling the air as secrets were overturned and loyalties were revealed. Curunír alone had had to fight to conceal the satisfaction he had felt at Mairon's betrayal – confident that with Aulë's admirable one gone to the fallen, all would see him, loyal and powerful at his Master's side, as he always had been . . . That night, when his fellow Maiar had departed, he returned to the forges, wishing to see the head place of the workshop – his place, now that the other was no more.

His thoughts faltered when he turned the corner to see Aulë himself sitting still and unblinking before Mairon's place. The Vala's great shoulders were hunched and his strong face was etched with grief as he rested a hand upon the anvil, as if he were a tangible father of flesh and bone mourning the loss of a child. Curunír had never questioned his worth in his Master's eyes before. Maiar were tools – the same as a steady chisel or a strong hammer, and he had never . . .

But Aulë lingered, tears unfalling from a body that had not the ability to weep - and Curunír stood, transfixed. He watched until the Lady Yavanna herself entered the forge – a place she normally loathed – to comfort her husband. Her touch (that had made great forests reach for the heavens, that had coaxed the first harvest from the land) was soft on the stone of her husband's brow. The great antlers atop her head were bowed with her grief, shared as it was from her husband's soul. Not a word was said where none were needed - until, finally, Curunír stepped back into the shadows, his victory hollow in the shadow that Mairon left behind.



Hear

At first, Námo had not understood his purpose in his father's scheme of things. What need was there for a guardian of souls in a young world, a deathless world? But then Melkor had sewn his discord, and Eru had breathed his will, and Námo understood.

Though the years had hardened him – had turned his judgments absolute and his pity to iron - he could still hear those first souls who passed through his halls when he closed his eyes. The first deaths in Arda had been of the Firstborn – both of the Elves whom Melkor had deformed so grotesquely, and those they had slain at their master's command. Those days had been dark – Manwë numb at the enormity of his brother's betrayal, and the battles over the skies of Middle-earth fierce as the Valar sought to chain their wayward kinsman before he could do more harm to the world he had poured his very essence into.

The first soul to grace his halls had been a mother who had refused to give birth to an orc-child. Her flesh was mutilated by the black fire that Melkor had used to change the song of her soul - of her child's soul - but her eyes were bright and defiant as she stood before the Lord of the Dead, unwilling to seek penance for her crime.

Námo closed her eyes and gave her spirit the rest she deserved, there to stay until the day he could give both of them life again. Afterward, he had hunched over as dry retches wracked his form, spirit though it was. Vairë alone had seen him weep that time – and that time only. Bitterly, he had asked Eru if this had been his will in creating the world, if this was truly the grand crescendo of his song . . . only to hear silence in reply.



Touch

Eglador was alive with songs of rejoicing for the return of their King. Still unused to her physical body, Melian walked carefully on the arm of her husband - curiously taking in the beat of her heart, the dance of her lungs underneath the fragile parchment of her skin. Beneath her hand, she could feel her husband – warm and solid and alive in a way foreign to the spirit bodies of the Ainur . . .

All around them was the sound of laughter - joy and revelry and light for a people who lived in the darkness of Arda marred. At that too, Melian knew awe.

As they walked, a little girl cut before their path. The smiling creature curtseyed, giving her new Queen a flower before darting off again - trailing giggles in her wake. Curiously, Melian watched her go, the flower cradled in her hand as if it were a bloom of Yavanna.

“What is she?” Melian asked her husband, entranced. “She is so small . . .”

“She is a child,” Thingol answered, bemused by how new the world was to her. “Were you ever one?” he asked curiously.

“We . . . my siblings and I were created, fully formed from the thoughts of the Valar – much as the Unbegotten awakened at Cuiviénen,” Melian answered him. “I have those I could call my parents, in your way of things. But we . . . I, never watched families grow. We brought life into being, but this . . .”

She felt tears pricking at her eyes, and suddenly she understood just why her years in Lórien's gardens had been filled with discontentment – an ache of spirit she had not understood. She understood why even her centuries of enchantment with Elu had not been enough, always yearning for more as she had . . .

. . . for this was life before her, full to the touch and hers for the taking.



Sense

Lúthien, daughter of Melian, came proud before his throne.

Instead of her soul finding peace at her passing, she instead begged to see he who was sundered from her – Beren fighting his own fight on the shores of mortal death. She cried of her pains, her hardships, her love; pleading until her song became at last wordless - a cry of spirit so great that Námo had never heard its like before, and doubted he would ever hear again.

And it was not just Mandos whom Lúthien pleaded her case before. Námo opened his mind to all of his kindred - to Varda and Manwë, who cared deeply about Melian's blood; and Nienna, who wept for the unprecedented nature of their love. Ulmo whispered of the sorrows of Middle-earth - the plight of those toiling in Arda marred . . . Even lower than Melian does Lúthien set her sights. It is unnatural, Tulkas grunted, but there was a softness to the hard line of his spirit. He was not as unaffected as he professed.

“Valinor can heal the wounds of your soul, child,” Námo gently said. “You shall forget Beren, son of Barahir, and know peace. You shall be content.”

“But why would I ever want to forget Beren?” Lúthien cried. “For I would live one life with him, over all of the ages of the world alone, and count myself as blessed . . .”

And an idea rose in the mind of Death. An idea, and a price . . .

“Please,” she breathed.

A whisper rose from Manwë, reflecting the mind of Eru – approving the decision he made. And Námo turned his will on the spark of the One that made up Lúthien's soul.

Since the dawn of time, the will of Eru had taken much from so many. But, this once, Death would give something back in return . . .



Smell

She remembered what she had felt when her husband died – how she had felt the part of her mind that was his burn as he had burned. Now, all she could smell was blood and smoke and flame as three tiny lights were extinguished inside of her . . . her sons . . . taken by their Oath.

Nerdanel shrieked in frustrated rage, and with a violent gesture, she swept the project she had been working on to the ground. Satisfaction filled her as the marble shattered, broken pieces scattering everywhere.

When she opened her her eyes, Aulë himself was standing before her – pity in the great cast of his eyes. “My child,” he breathed, his voice like the rumble of the forge, “How my heart grieves for you.”

“How can you . . .” Nerdanel forced the words out past her lips. She was still hunched over, unable to stand. But her eyes were dry - she would not let herself cry, she would not. “ . . . how can you possibly understand how I feel?”

“Do you think that we do not feel as you feel?” the Vala chided gently. “I may not know the pain of losing a mate, but I do know the pain of losing a child . . .”

He had loved Fëanáro as she had loved her sons, Nerdanel remembered brokenly. And how Fëanáro had squandered that love, more fey in the end than the husband she had loved so dearly . . . She squeezed her eyes shut, but could hold back her tears no more – and when the Vala knelt to embrace her, she clung to him, letting the smell of earth and hewn stone chase away the scent of blood . . . the scent of flames . . .

For a moment, her grief was shared, and when he released her, she felt that she could breathe with it.

---

“to see a horizon away”​

Past

“So . . . was it bitten off – like Beren's?”

“No.”

“Was it crushed?”

“No.”

“I know - it was a sword accident!” Elros chirped brightly. “That is why Naneth said we couldn't have swords yet, and -”

“ - no,” Maedhros' patience gave. “It was not dragon, orc, nor warg. It was - ”

“ - frostbite?” Elros supplied.

“Maglor!” Maedhros finally snapped. “Please, take the children away before I show Eärendil's son what truly happened to my hand.”

Elros, far from being cowed by his anger, giggled. Maedhros bristled.

Maglor raised a brow (at him, Maedhros realized indignantly), while Elrond shook his head at his brother's antics. Elros flushed sheepishly at his twin's look. “What? Aren't you curious?” he defended underneath his breath.

Elrond did not answer for a moment. His eyes were pale and far away as they flickered from his brother to Maedhros, (and it was not concern Maedhros felt at the look, it was not).

“His hand was cut off,” Elrond finally revealed, his voice echoing oddly. “ . . . one dear to him did so . . . desperate to preserve his soul alive, no matter the cost to his body.”

Startled, Maglor glanced at him, looking for his reaction. Maedhros blinked, blindsided as he remembered Fingon with his sword raised high, as he remembered begging for death at the hands of a friend rather than by Morgoth himself . . . How Thangorodrim had stank of ashes and flames and malice then . . .

“And now it burns,” Elrond concluded softly, his eyes resting on the hand he had left. Maedhros made a fist, eerily reminded of Artanis in her girlhood, how her Sight would take her in uncontrollable fits before she learned mastery over her visions . . .

“It does not burn,” Maedhros whispered. His voice was uncertain in his mouth.

Sadly, Elrond smiled. “Not yet,” he shook his head. “Not yet.”



Present

Elros was pulled awake by a jolt of awareness from his twin. Startled, he searched for a threat, only to find Elrond staring pensively up at the stars.

“What is it?” Elros asked, joining the other by the window. The restless spin of his brother's spirit pulled at his own, like the moon tugging on the tide.

“Our parents. . .” Elrond started, the words coming from his mouth in awkward syllables. “ . . . they made it West. They stand before the Valar now.”

The words settled between his ribs like a knife. “How do you know?” Elros whispered, pained.

Elrond looked away from him. “I just . . . know,” he finished lamely. A dream it was then, Elros diagnosed distantly, his thoughts far away.

“Then . . . they are not coming back for us . . . are they?” Elros asked, the words fumbling from his tongue. He hated how small he sounded in that moment, his eyes burning and his throat tight.

“I do not know,” Elrond whispered, but Elros heard his hesitation. Ever playing the healer, are we? he chided through their bond. You cannot protect me from what pains you as well.

A moment passed, and Elrond's answer ghosted across his mind, unable as he was to form the words. They are not coming back for us.

Elros set his jaw as tears threatened. Stubbornly he told himself that he did not care if Eärendil and Elwing ever returned. He did not.

Responding to his distress, he felt the touch of Elrond's fëa against his own – his soul just as pained as his. In reply, he reached over to take his brother's hand, needing the tangibility of touch even more than the comfort of spirits. All I need is you, Elros breathed, his heart sore within his chest.

A heartbeat, and then Elrond squeezed his hand in return. And I you.



Future

“He speaks nonsense, that is all,” Maedhros paced angrily before his brother. “Sinking islands and the rage of the Valar? It is the stuff of dreams.”

“I think it is more than that,” Maglor insisted. “It is prophetic, surely you can see. And we . . . we cannot teach him here.”

“So you would have us hand them over, just like that?” Maedhros scorned. “I know! We can march up to Gil-galad and say: here are your cousins back. Now, if you would be so kind as to give us a head start before you carry out a fourth kinslaying -”

“ - be not a fool,” Maglor retorted, interrupting. “I can teach them lore in the high-tongue and you can teach to them the sword. But . . . I know too few song's of the healer's art, and we know nothing of ship's craft -”

“- except for how to burn them,” Maedhros scathed.

Maglor's look was withering. “Elros is touched by Ulmo himself, as Eärendil and Tuor both were before him. And the Sight - ”

“ - Artanis has managed well enough with her visions,” Maedhros insisted stubbornly.

“With Indis' help in her girlhood, and then Melian herself as a teacher later on,” Maglor retorted. “You've seen . . . you've seen what visions can do to the untrained. And when there is the blood of Men to also consider . . .”

Finally, Maedhros was drawn short, true concern flickering across his eyes as he thought of the few seers known amongst Mankind – their minds torn apart by the things not meant for them to see . . .

“I cannot,” Maedhros finally said, his voice weary. “They are our key should Eärendil return, and I cannot . . .”

Maglor sighed, disappointment dimming his eyes. “Brother . . . how many more need fall before a few words of tongue are satisfied?”

When Maedhros spoke, his voice was cutting – and final. “As many as need be,” he swore, and another chain wound about an Oath unbreakable.



Memories

“You worry too much,” Elros informed him. Where his brother was pacing anxiously outside of Gil-galad's council chambers, he was sitting on a bench, slouched in an appallingly informal way. “Look at you, you are as tight as a bow string. How very . . . Man-ish of you.”

Elrond threw him a sharp glance. “It is a good thing that Gil-galad sent for the Lady,” Elros pushed on, ignoring him. “You can finally get a hold of these visions, and we can all sleep better at night.”

“What did you see?” Elros finally asked when his twin refused to rise to his teasing – his voice pitched low as he addressed the unspoken. “Something has disturbed you – you cannot shake it.”

Elrond shook his head, not bothering to dodge his brother's insight. “It was something small, something unremarkable.” Not islands sinking before the wrath of gods. Not mountains of fire screaming at the land underneath a demon's throne. “It should mean nothing to me . . .”

He opened his mind, and let Elros see what he had seen . . . A woman with silver hair lying unblinking in Lórien's gardens as Irmo and his wife healed her sickness of spirit – a sickness to match the long white scars that criss-crossed over what he could see of her body. Her eyes were a hazy blue, clearing only upon seeing him. Showing the first signs of life he had seen of her yet, she reached out her hand, and everything in him wanted to reach out and touch her . . .

. . . only to have the vision fade like mist, leaving such a sorrow hanging about him, as if her pain was his pain, as if her scars were his scars. His eyes stung at the mere memory, leaving a stone in his chest.

“It was nothing,” he finally whispered as Elros looked on in concern. “Nothing.”



Expectations

After a candlemark's time, Elros pulled him down the corridor to one of the rooms adjacent to the council chambers. “I tire of waiting,” he explained. “And you are about to wear a hole in the floor.”

Pushing aside one of the tapestries that covered a hidden alcove, Elros revealed a peep-hole that had been cleverly worked into the wall. “Here,” Elros pushed him forward. “What do they say?”

Elrond looked, and though he could clearly see both Galadriel and Gil-galad, he could hear not of what they said. And yet, he opened his mind, and listened . . .

He sees much for one so young, Galadriel spoke directly into Gil-galad's thoughts. More than I would have thought possible for one of Two Kindreds.

Then you can help him? The High-king asked.

Galadriel paused. Elrond felt a chill pass through his spine at just how enormous the pull of the Lady's spirit was. His gift will not mature until he makes the Choice – for the full mantle of mortality would take this from him, she finally answered. But yes, I can give him the guidance he needs.

Beyond them, Galadriel tilted her head, as if searching – right before turning to look straight at them. Startled, he scrambled back from the alcove – Elros right behind him as Galadriel's presence filled his mind. Fear me not, child, she soothed, her voice golden and warm. For it is a gift you bear, and I shall see that it burdens you no more. Though he could see her not, he knew she was smiling.

“So . . .” Elros started hesitantly. “We were caught?”

Elrond nodded as Galadriel's presence withdrew from his thoughts. In her place he could feel Gil-galad's amusement and annoyance both. We shall have a talk later, he said to them both, about privacy and closed doors.

And Elros sighed. “Not again.”



~MJ

 

Jade_eyes: As always, your words humble me! You know my love of any and all northern folklore - Tolkien has so many paralelles with Norse myths to make my geek's heart happy, that's for sure!.

---

Mwaha! I got these finished just in time to start working on the new prompts.

As always, before we begin, the new faces this week are . . .

http://lotr.wikia.com/wiki/Amrod]Amrod[/url] & http://lotr.wikia.com/wiki/Amras]Amras[/url]: Twin brothers, the youngest of Fëanor's seven sons. Here I used the shortened version of their Quenya names – Telvo and Pitya. They died at the Third Kinslaying at Sirion, leaving Maedhros and Maglor as the last of their brethren.

http://lotr.wikia.com/wiki/Elur%C3%A9d]Elurín[/url] & Eluréd: The twin sons of Dior and Nimloth. (Yes, twins are a thing in the Silmarilion. ) When Doriath was attacked in the Second Kinslaying, the servants of Celegorm left the children in the winter-time woods to die - as an act of revenge, or as a way to get Dior to surrender the Silmaril, we don't know. Celegorm had a personal hatred for Lúthien and her line since she chose Beren - a mortal man - over him. When Maedhros found out what happened to the children, he searched for them, but never found them. The elves like to believe that the twins were rescued by animals, and guard the forests even still.

And then . . .

Maitimo: Maedhros' name in Quenya.

Macalaurë: Maglor's name in Quenya.

Now, that said . . .

---

Week XIV: “this part of me”​

LXVI. Castle

In his earliest years, brother had always meant cold stares and the fire in his father's eyes glaring as an inferno. Maitimo was not thrilled to ascend to that position himself; seeing only his childhood's castle of dreams disappear as Nerdanel's stomach grew round with child.

But when Macalaurë was placed into his arms, he marveled at the strength in the babe's tiny hand as he latched onto his finger. Suddenly, he felt so very small when compared to the love that filled him.

“My name is Maitimo,” he introduced himself, letting a new set of dreams set its foundation. “And I'm your brother.”



LXVII. House

The wrath of the heavens seemed to shake the house to its very foundations. Maitimo laid awake, waiting for the sound of little feet as the storms raged.

Sure enough, twin faces peered into his room only moments later, and he waved the youngest of his siblings in.

“You don't mind?” Pitya asked in a small voice. His little heart hammered in time with the thunder beyond, matching Telvo's beat for beat.

“Are you kidding?” Maitimo tucked the two close to his body, running a soothing hand through their hair. “The storm scares me, and your presence makes me brave.”



LXVIII. Hut

The woods surrounding Lanthir Lamath seemed to go on forever without sight of her brothers. When Elwing finally found them, she swept down to gather them in her arms – even as they protested that they were much too old for such affections.

“Don't scare me like that,” she scolded breathlessly. “Ada would have sent me to live with the Edian in their huts if I came home without you.”

“But you found us,” Elurín pointed out, wiping her kiss from his cheek.

“We were not lost then,” Eluréd reasoned.

“Aye,” Elwing ruffled his hair, “and I always will find you.”



LXIX. Tent

She couldn't sleep that first night after Doriath's destruction, stunned and heart-sore for her loss. In her hands, the Silmaril burned, setting the walls of the tent aflame.

“I was supposed to protect them,” Elwing whispered numbly, remembering the cries of her brothers as the Fëanorians bore them away. “Adar had the whole kingdom to safeguard, but they were mine to protect . . .”

“Child, not a life lost today was through fault of yours,” Celeborn whispered, his eyes mirrors of her grief. When her tears fell, he held her, the Silmaril between them bright enough to challenge even the stars beyond.



LXX. Cave

Storms tore at the coast, keeping Maedhros awake with memories. As an echo of times gone by, two identical faces sought him out, pale in the storm-light.

“Please?” Elros' whisper trembled.

“The storm is loud,” Elrond started to explain before Maedhros waved his hand, allowing the children to come nearer. They hesitated before joining him, settling in awkward angles against his side.

Two tiny heartbeats thundered against his skin, a ghost of sensation. Stubbornly, he told himself that he did not care before letting the lie cave in his mind - useless. He exhaled, and held the children tighter as the storm raged on.



~MJ

 

Jade_eyes: Aww, thanks for the kind words. Once again! 'Cave' was my absolute favourite to write. That whole situation just gives me feelings of the highest order.

---

Author's Notes: Soooo, surprise of all surprises, I do not have any notes to go with these ones. We're dealing with some familiar faces here, and I hope you enjoy.

---

Week XV: “along with the breath”​

LXXI. Wife

In his effort to keep Lúthien as daughter only, rather than wife, he unwittingly drove her into the heart of Angband and then on to Mandos himself. Now, Lúthien was Beren's bride – dying with every breath she took, her husband's mortality made her own.

For a moment, Thingol could not breathe with the pain rising in his lungs at the thought. He exhaled, trying instead to focus on the love in Lúthien's eyes, lighting her soul from within . . .

“I do not deserve her love, or her sacrifice,” Beren said gently, his gaze bold. “But I know that I am blessed to have them, nonetheless.”



LXXII. Mother

Thingol was silent, watching from afar as Melian tenderly touched her daughter's face. “Lúthien would not be the first to live diminished . . . to alter her entire being out of love for one less,” he finally said.

Beren's brow dipped – wondering for insult - before catching the way Melian smiled sadly over at her husband. The Maia made Queen was flesh and feeling in that moment, her grief and joy for her daughter plain for all to see.

“Cherish her,” Thingol inclined his head, passing Beren to attend to his wife. “Perhaps, in time, that alone can atone for the grievances my fear has wrought.”



LXXIII. Daughter

Around them, the sounds of marching feet crackled upon the ice. At the mouth of the Helcaraxë, Arafinwë stood, bidding his sons a bitter goodbye. Desperately, he held each, knowing that all would be returned to him through death and Mandos' grace. In his chest, his father's heart ached for his premonitions.

Artanis embraced him last, but Arafinwë held her the longest. While he would soon see his sons again, he would not see his daughter until the long ages of the world had passed them by . . . Already, the pain of those years was like a blade to the lungs.



LXXIV. Sister

“Remind me again of the wisdom of courting a maiden with four brothers?” Celeborn leaned close to whisper in her ear – aggravating their chaperones on the forest path.

Galadriel curved into him, enjoying the game. “Because you were so enchanted that you could scarce do otherwise?”

“There is that,” Celeborn didn't bother countering her. “Perhaps I should simply be thankful that Finarfin reigns in hallowed Aman, and I only have your brothers to impress?”

“Thankful indeed,” Galadriel didn't bother allaying his fears, and Celeborn's laughter only grew as their shadows tried to figure out what precisely had the couple so amused.



LXXV. Aunt

“C'born pretty!”

The delighted cry greeted her as Galadriel entered to the sight of her husband sitting dutifully before Elwing's careful hands – where the child had taken great care in plaiting his silver hair with ribbons of every color.

Celeborn raised a brow, daring her.

“Pretty indeed, young one,” Galadriel praised gravely.

Celeborn's smile was dangerous. “Aye, Elwing – and your aunt would like nothing better than to have braids to match, wouldn't she?”

Elwing's wide eyes turned hopeful. “Could I?” she breathed in awe.

Galadriel's glare was withering as she sat before the child – unable to refuse. “I would like nothing better.”



~MJ

 

I know, it has been too long. Thank-you DRL - take your bow and be gone with you.

Now . . .

laurethiel1138:

Why thank-you! As always, your thoughts make my day.

Though, perhaps, my favourite quote of them all was this: "Celeborn's smile was dangerous." Celeborn the prankster? Now, that's a thought...

Well, one has to make thousands of years of life - and marriage, at that - interesting. I didn't realize that was part of my head!canon until it was.


Daena:

They gave us singing Dwarves and the trolls turning to stone!!!!

And it was epic and awesome on so many levels! I agree.

Touch: ...and all that life entails. Interesting perspective she has, having been created, but not born of flesh.

I love writing Melian for just that point. They just give me so much to consider and write about.

Sense: And there will be reason for Aragorn to sing of them, and a Hobbit to listen...

Exactly!

Expectations: Yep... Elrond wouldn't have been amused by Merry and Pippin and Sam eaves dropping like that on the council meeting if he'd not done it at one time or another himself...

You know what, I didn't even think about it that way until you pointed it out! Too true.

Tent: Does it burn her because she thought she'd done something wrong, or because she actually did? Am confused now.

Now that is the ultimate question . . . we don't know the conditions under which Elwing escaped with the Silmaril in Doriath. But the fact remains that many, many people died because the Silmaril was not given back to Fëanor's sons. I'm of the mind that they lost any right to the jewel once that first drop of blood was spilled at Alqualondë in the First Kinslaying, but still - many died over a silly gem. If Elwing did not make the decision to hand over the jewel when she was young, she did, however, chose to save the jewel over her people and her sons years later in Sirion. As both a mother and a leader, you can judge those decisions and end up with an endless debate on your hands.

Mother: Oh. Love the interlacing here, with Melian's choice reflecting her daughter's. And sometimes the hardest thing a father can do is give his baby girl to her husband...

Especially here, knowing that you are allowing her death. I can't even begin to imagine making that choice. But still - I loved weaving together how alike Lúthien and Melian are in their stories.

Sister: Now there's something my father could relate to, as my mother also had four brothers to impress...

Oh, your father is a brave man!

Aunt: I totally needed that giggle... hee!!!!

I think we all did at the end. I loved writing that one.

Again, thank-you so much for reading!

---

Author's Notes: This week is a double week, putting both weeks sixteen and seventeen together in order to tell the tale of the formation of the Rings of Power in Eregion. These are actually taken from a much larger fic that I was writing to explore how the Rings were created and how they effect each race differently - especially the Dwarves, and the line of Durin in particular, in order to tie in with The Hobbit. Someday I will finish writing that story, and it will be awesome.

For now . . .

---

Week XVI & XVII: “all that glimmers”​

LXXVI. Assume

“I am not coming with you.”

The words were soft, but firmly spoken. Curufin paused from where he was throwing items haphazardly into a traveling bag, his burning eyes finding those of his son. But Celebrimbor stood tall in the face of his anger, his arms crossed and defiant. “I will not follow you; in this deed or any other.”

And Curufin laughed – a raw and bitter sound. “And you think, just because you say so, our curse will pass you by? You are Noldo – and, my Oath sworn or not, everything you touch will amount to naught but ash and dust.”



LXXVII. Misunderstand

“I am sure that the misunderstanding was unintentional. Gil-galad has the well being of the whole realm to consider, and a serpent’s cautiousness has served him well before.”

“As I can imagine,” Annatar smiled benignly. “And yet, you yourself bear no such reservations?”

Celebrimbor leaned forward – almost eagerly. “I believe that you are touched by Aulë himself, and I would learn all that you would teach.”

“Indeed, I served a great master,” Annatar's eyes flickered, gold taking on an edge of flame as he looked to the west. “And, perhaps, in time, we will see what wonders we can create together.”



LXXVIII. Confuse

The summer festivals to Aulë drew Celebrimbor from his workshop, Annatar following close behind. Galadriel watched Annatar closely, unable to explain the disquiet she felt as the other bowed – low and charming - in response to her scrutiny. Her mind continued to puzzle as she watched him mingle with the crowd . . .

. . . and seek out her daughter.

The feral urge she felt to bare her teethas Annatar bowed before Celebrían caught her by surprise – instinctive as it was. The Aulëndil asked for a dance, brushing a kiss across the back of her hand, and Galadriel felt her fingers curve as if she had talons -



LXXIX. Deny

“She is old enough to form her own opinions,” Celeborn placed a gentle hand on her arm. “Let her be.”

His words were calm, but his eyes held no such tranquilityas Annatar captured their gazes over Celebrían's shoulder, lingering close and intimate as the music spun.

“I have never seen a fairer figure,” Celebrían came to them after. “And yet . . . his spirit was heavy. He held a threat, though his words were golden . . . Was I wrong to think so?” she met Galadriel's gaze nervously.

“You saw his heart, my daughter,” Galadriel fought to contain her pride. “Only rarely are such insights wrong.”



LXXX. Admit

His blood burned after yet another day of humbling himself before those lesserin order to see his work through to its completion. Warding the door with a flick of his hand, he let the flare of his spirit shine through the disguise of flesh he wore. Annatar faded and Sauron shone through, an inferno same as molten rock bursting through the crust of the world . . .

His hands fisted as he imagined melting away the naïvete from Celebrimbor's puppet face. His breathing quickened as he imagined Galadriel's haughty condescension turn to terror as she was forced to bow, admitting what power truly was . . .



LXXXI. Weapon

But the tangible twist of metal upon his finger stopped him. He frowned, letting the fire of his spirit hide under Annatar's fair face once again. His time with Celebrimbor had been useful – and yet, their achievements were but shadows to the plans in his mind.

You give of your own soul into the Ring, and thus touch the soul of the wearer, Celebrimbor had been dubious at first. Is it not a weapon then?

In the wrong hands, he had agreed, and Celebrimbor had smiled, uneasy . . .

But, in the right hands . . .

“Soon, my lord,” he prayed to his master unheard. “Soon . . .”



LXXXII. Helmet

She dreamed of war; of swords clashing and soldiers crying out . . . only to awaken, uncomfortable within her skin as her visions lingered behind her eyes. It was not yet dawn, but the bed beside her was empty and long cold. She felt at the bond in her mind, and knew that she was not the only one to dream that night.

When she found her husband, Celeborn was kneeling before the case that held his armor. His head was bowed, his brow touching the helmet he had not worn since Morgoth's final defeat. His hand was heavy upon the metal, but resigned . . .



LXXXIII. Shield

“Annatar left by the east road,” Celeborn said in greeting. “He departs, and yet . . .”

“ . . . you feel as if events have only just been set into motion?” Galadriel finished, her voice grave.

“Time will tell the wisdom of our decisions,” Celeborn finally whispered, weary as he placed the helm aside. “Until then . . .” He did not beckon her close, but she came even still, folding herself into his embrace with an ease born of long years. Foreboding still ate at her heart, but for a moment she let her husband shield away the worst of her fears.

Together, they waited for the dawn.



LXXXIV. Cloak

He could feel the exact moment when the One Ring was first worn upon Annatar's hand.

The veil fell from his eyes as the malice of Annatar's spirit was worn uncloaked for all to see. The world around Celebrimbor turned molten as a black speech muttered in his mind - commanding, searching . . .

Desperately, Celebrimbor forced the Ring of Adamant off of his finger. His mind still reeled from the strength of Annatar – Sauron's – call as he let the Ring fall from his numb hand, stunned by the unfathomable enormity of his error . . .

. . . by the Valar, but what had he done?



LXXXV. Message

“I have sent messengers to Gil-galad,” Galadriel announced. “And yet, his aid may come too late.”

Celebrimbor nodded numbly, his eyes unblinking upon the way the Rings gleamed before him, answering the call of their lord . . .

“Shall you flee?” Galadriel's words were softly spoken.

“Nay,” Celebrimbor answered. “Tis I he seeks, and no other will bleed for my sake. I shall stand before Sauron the Deceiver and take my secrets to Mandos himself.”

“Greatest of Fëanor's fire,” she finally whispered, “is he who burns, but for others instead. May your road bring you peace, Telperinquar.”

She touched his cheek, and left.



~MJ