Yule Lights by Dawn Felagund

Oh, poor boy!

Except, of course, he has grown into an adult (and is now responsible for his actions against Galadriel). But still he hankers so much for that moment of peace remembered in dark times--and again he will find himself manipulated for purposes that he does not guess, first by his father, now by his so-called friend.

I loved the descriptions here.

Author's Response:

Thank you--for reading, commenting, and such an insightful comment! :D

I wrote this so fast--in two hours!--and the word count is scarily short for me, and I was worried that these things didn't come through, but what you said here is exactly what I intended. *whew*

"Celebrimbor’s gloves were heavy enough to at first shield the snowflake from the heat of his hand. It had lighted on his palm, gentle as a tamed dove. It was perfect. Eight lacy arms held proudly aloft; a little octagonal heart more precise than if drawn with ruler and protractor by the most meticulous of engineers. Celebrimbor held his breath as he drew it to his face to study."

Mmmm, that first line really does it, doesn't it?   It's interesting to see the weight of those impossible expectations and of that drive and desire for perfection and to see how much of a yearming for an acceptance that seems elusive remains.   Also, the House of Fëanor and light of all varieties!

Author's Response:

I'm glad it worked for you! I "wrote" a lot of this story while sitting in the car while my husband ran into first the grocery then feed store. It was snowing, the windy, driving kind where the flakes are mostly broken by the time they reach us here on Earth, but one landed on my window, huge (it would have covered most of a pencil eraser!) and beautiful and perfect. And over the next few minutes, I watched it gradually melt into ruin and decided I HAD to use the image in this story. By the time I got to actually writing, the image had decided to thread itself throughout the entire first scene.

I hadn't fully thought through the symbolism but of course I love and completely agree with your interpretation! And it makes me seem a much smarter writer than someone who watched a pretty snowflake melt in a feed store parking lot! :D

Thank you for reading and commenting!

I wrote this so fast--in two hours!

Well, that means there is no excuse for you not gracing us with more stories! That looks like a solid week of work for me!

I am just a total sucker and pushover for Celebrimbor. Tolkien was particularly cruel to him. The whole mistrust for science, technology and those who practice them is so misguided. I'll take antibiotics and electricity and try harder to figure out how to use science and technology for the greater good and not for profit. In light of that, I found this interpretation of Celebrimbor a kinder and gentle one than the mad scientist so easily seduced by Sauron.

I also like the fact that Annatar the Fair is extremely skilled at holding onto his image of beauty and benevolence. 

I am a little down in the dumps this weekend, so I am also reading so much pain uinto it. So sad! No matter how hard one tries to do the right thing, it is so easy for everything to turn to bad! I don't think I can blame my gloominess on either you or Tolkien. But Celebrimbor's is a sad story!

I agree with other comments on the psychological interpretations -- seeking perfection within oneself and also in one's work. And the imagery of Light and lights woven throughout the story.

I was totally transfixed this year by the placement of our tree and how the mirrors in the adjacent room reflected its lights. I spent a long time trying to capture that in a photo and never entirely succeeded.

Author's Response:

:D I keep swearing this will be the year I write more. Maybe after the website rebuild, right? I'm coming to accept that I just have a helium hand; I can't even blame work as much as I used to. It's things like how, this fall, I agreed to three fan studies projects in addition to working on my own survey for IRB approval. There aren't enough hours in the day. It's cliche, but there just aren't.

It's definitely not a cheerful holiday story! Fernstrike said no fluff, and I was happy to oblige. :D I wanted to write a story set at a winter holiday--even centered around it--but where there is a note of sadness that I think reflects what a lot of us experience at that time of the year. Part of why I get irritated with a lot of Christmas music: It is the musical equivalent of having powdered sugar sprinkled in my ears, and that's just not life--especially life in the winter!--for me. (However, I do love *religious* Christmas music with its beggars scrounging for food in the snow and "sorrowing, sighing, bleeding, dying" and dragons, dungeons, and swords.)

I know the photo doesn't do the reflection justice; I can never manage that either. But even in an imperfect photo, it is beautiful.

Thank you for reading and commenting, as always. I hope you are feeling better. <3

I admit I would never have imagined Sauron cutting christmas trees for children and that definitly got me smiling (who knew he would go that far too look like a good guy? Or perhaps he's just happy to cut trees?). In the end, if I didn't know Annatar was supposed to be a bad guy, I would never guess in this fic (he made shiny lights!).

"The stone glowed against his palm as he stretched as far as he could reach and let the mesh net catch on a twig, and there it was: a star fallen and snared, come just shy of the earth."

Very beautiful sentence <3

"Celebrimbor was in the midst of saying, “What a cute little apple!” when Annatar appeared;"

That's exactly the kind of sentence I would be very embarassed to say, poor Celebrimbor XD

Oh, I have missed this one!

Lovely opening, slightly out of step, out of kilter and a little grumpy Celebrimbor, beautifully written of course, contemplating a snowflake.

And then, just SO casually:

Annatar romped past, led by the hand by a small girl. There was nothing contrived about him; he flopped on the ground, impervious to the snow, to cut trees for the less rugged families; he hauled trees upon his shoulders until his hair was clotted with sap, always laughing as he went.

And then the wonderful Nargothrond scene, just carefully undermined by Curufin's plotting- so calculated and cynical.

Beautifully written as always.