Five things Celegorm fixed for Celebrimbor and the one thing he couldn't. by Urloth

Chapter 1

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I.

It started when Celebrimbor was too young to remember.

“Curinkë you look like shit.” Tyelkormo stared at his younger brother who has bruises beneath his eyes. His wife Ilvanindil, who had the hardy blood of Formenosean Miners in her, as well as the training for sleepless nights due to her Healers position…looked just as bad.

“It is the baby,” Curufinwë yawned, exhausted.

“He’s a little colicky,” Ilvanindil agreed tiredly.

Tyelkormo blinked.

“Let me look after him,” he suggested.

They would not have usually taken him up on the offer but… they were so damn tired. And Tyelkormo had offered. No one else was lining up to let them have a uninterrupted reverie.

They let Tyelkormo look after Tyelperinquar.

“Causing your parents some grief hmm,” Tyelkormo handled the baby like he was made of glass… because apparently babies were, according to the dire list of care instructions that Ilvanindil had left him.

Tyelperinquar, fourth generation of the House of Finwë, whined at him.

“Oh shush,” he kissed a wrinkling forehead and settled him against his shoulder like Ilvanindil said he should. Then he rocked and he hummed and he stroked a small back. He put up with Tyelperinquar burping right in his ear, then spitting up milk right after.

He paced the room and rocked the baby. Shh’d in his ear and swaddled him carefully so he felt secure. Unswaddled him and held him in the other position Ilvanindil said worked, facing down and hanging over Tyelkormo’s arms, his hand on a tiny belly and that tiny head tucked against his elbow.

It was fucking terrifying.

And finally the light’s mingling gave way to golden Laurelin, and Curufinwë’s household rumbled back into life.

Tyelperinquar had finally fallen asleep and Tyelkormo was sprawled sideways across a chaise to maintain the angle the baby had liked best.

He’d not fixed the colic, that went away on its own eventually, but Curufinwë and his wife were better for the uninterrupted rest.

“Thought about getting a nurse?” Tyelkormo asked, yawning and thoroughly respectful of what new parents went through every night.

“Let someone other than family handle my child?” Curufinwë asked in disgust. Tyelkormo realised right then, that he’d probably need to offer to look after Tyelperinquar in the future.

Before Ilvanindil strung his brother up by his ankles.

-

II.

“Broken.”

Tyelkormo stared down at Tyelperinquar who was holding up some sort of wooden toy. He could see different holes of different shapes and sizes. There were blocks on the floor that looked to fit, as well as a little hammer to knock them through.

“What’s broken?” He took the toy and turned it over. Oh, the end had come away. Looked like the glue had failed.

“Hey it is alright,” he reassured the child whose eyes had gone sheened with tears and whose lip was wobbling in a dangerous manner. He picked Tyelperinquar up and placed him on his hip, tucking the toy under his other arm.

“Even dumb uncle Tyelkormo can fix this,” he promised. It was a simple matter of applying new glue and sticking the slots back in place.

He made his way into Curufinwë’s workshop and got down a pot labelled as wood glue. Then he put it back and stuck his head back out the door, balancing Tyelperinquar on his hip.

“CURINKË!” He roared down the corridor.

Curufinwë’s head popped out of the door of another workroom.

“Yes?”

“Is the wood glue in the blue rimmed pot safe around children? Tyelpe’s toy has had a mishap.”

Curufinwë shook his head, “no but the green pot is though. Thank you. Actually could you look after Tyelperinquar for a few hours? I was but one of the apprentices –”

“I understand,” Tyelkormo waved a hand, “it’s no problem for me.”

“Thank you Tyelo,” Curufinwë disappeared back into the workshop.

Tyelkormo went back into the workshop and reached for the green rimmed pot of wood glue, hitching Tyelperinquar up on his hip. His nephew had started unpicking the end of Tyelkormo’s braid gleefully, shoving his sticky fingers through the freshly cleaned silver hair.

There was jam, probably from breakfast, now causing bright pink streaks which showed up really nicely in all that pale.

“TYELO!”

With a sigh Tyelkormo popped his head out the door.

“Yes?”

 “The glue is a lot like that solvent you like to use for your metal etching; a little goes a long way.”

“Ah, I see, thank you.”

“No problem. I don’t want you getting it everywhere.”

“Right. Wait. How long does it take to set?”

“Four hours.”

“Right.”

Tyelkormo went back into the workshop, got down the pot of glue and set Tyelperinquar down on the bench.

“Time to fix your toy.” He promised and levered open the tin with a handy looking piece of metal. Mindful of Curufinwë’s words, he used a little glue and it did indeed go a long way. Then he found a clamp and managed to fix it so the relevant pieces were pressed together.

“Four hours till its fixed,” he promised his squirming nephew who reached for the toy.

Tyelperinquar’s nose wrinkled.

“Just four hours, promise,” he picked the child up and put him on his hip again, readjusting Tyelperinquar’s clinging arms so he wasn’t being strangled by his nephew.

“Want to go find Huan and play catch? And I think grandmother Nerdanel is in the pottery workshop today, let’s go see if she’ll teach us how to make vases.”

-

III.

“OW!”

Tyelkormo looked up from grooming Huan. The hound, dismayed at the cessation of brushstrokes, whined loudly.

“Hold on,” he tapped a questing dark nose and peered around and saw… his nephew picking himself up and clutching his head.

“Did you fall over little prince?” he asked, returning to his brushing.

Tyelperinquar was silent for a moment…and then he let out the world’s loudest howl of discomfort.

“Aulë’s bollocks,” Tyelkormo muttered and got up. There was a scrapped red patch on Tyelperinquar’s forehead and on his hands.

“Ouch,” Tyelkormo said, “those look painful.”

This was not the reaction Tyelperinquar had been expecting. He paused and gave his uncle a unsatisfied look.

“And me here not a healer like your mother is,” Tyelkormo sighed, “what does she usually do when you fall over?” He picked up the tiny body and set it on his lap, taking a heavy seat on the flagstones.

“Kisses,” sniffed Tyelperinquar wetly. There was a great big dribble of snot making its way out of his left nostril and rolling down his lip.

Eru Children were the messiest creatures in creation… it was wonderful. Tyelkormo would hold onto the memory of wee Artanis sicking up on their Aunt Irrimë’s wedding dress forever.

“Kisses,” Tyelkormo contemplated. Hmmm. He remembered his parents working such witchcraft on his scrapes and cuts as a child. Might as well try.

“Well I’m not your mother, might as well give it a try though,” he kissed Tyelperinquar’s forehead carefully at the edge of the scrape, and then both the duly presented hands.

“Better?” he asked.

“Still hurts a little,” the child grumbled.

“Well maybe Uncles aren’t as powerful as Mothers,” Tyelkormo decided, “better try again.”

So he did.

“Better?”

“Sorta,” Tyelperinquar sighed and leaned into him, wiping his nose on the front of Tyelkormo’s shirt.

“What does Huan do?” Tyelperinquar asked.

“When he gets scrapes?”

“Yes,” the child nodded emphatically.

“He licks them, doesn’t he Huan?”

Huan looked up at them, and then looked pointedly at the discarded grooming brush.

“Yeah Huan licks his scrapes,” Tyelkormo ignored the message.

Tyelperinquar looked thoughtfully down at his hands.

“My tongue is too small,” the child declared, “and I cannot lick my forehead.”

“Good point, how about I lick your forehead and one hand and you do the other,” Tyelkormo suggested without actually checking to hear what the fuck came out of his mouth.

“Okay.”

And so Tyelkormo found himself licking a bruised, scrapped palm.

“Tyelkormo, what the fuck are you doing to my son?” Curufinwë asked in his resigned I-am-the-only-sane-brother voice.

“He is helping me lick my scrapes,” Tyelperinquar pointed at Huan, “like Huan does.”

Huan, at that moment, chose to lick parts of himself considered unmentionable by decent society, one leg pointed up in the air as daintily as any dancer.

“Oh ERU Huan!” Tyelkormo heard himself yelling, “You’re a royal hound! Try and show some class!”

-

IV.

“What are you doing?”

Uncle Tyelkormo made way for Tyelperinquar to clamber into his lap without looking up from his writing desk. Tyelperinquar liked that. He never had to ask to sit on his Uncle’s knee.

“Hello Tyelpe. I’m helping Cousin Irissë,” his uncle replied, distracted. Tyelperinquar peered at the letter.

~Uncle, thank you for your kind words. It will be no burden to me, in fact I would be honoured to present Irissë at the Autumn Court. Many of the women in my House would be glad to host and chaperone your daughter for the Autumn season…~ He read carefully.

“Irissë’s leaving her home?” Tyelperinquar asked in shock. No body left their home! Not unless they got married.

“Irissë has been arguing with her father lately. She wants to go riding and hunting, but he does not want her to.” His uncle explained, carding his fingers through Tyelperinquar’s hair and fishing out the leaves and twigs that had become tangled in it.

“So she is coming to stay in your House?” Uncle Tyelkormo’s house was full of women. His father called them a pack of wild women. His mother called them amazons. Neither explained further.

“Yes because there are so many women. Her father does not mind if she goes hunting and riding with women.”

“But why not with boys or by herself?” Tyelperinquar asked.

“Because the world is stupid. I can’t fix that. But I can let Irissë stay with one of my vassal’s families, perhaps Lávarrísë, so she can go hunting and riding as much as she wants.”

Tyelperinquar was a little scared of Lávarrísë. She was big, and had lots of muscles, and she was a Lord! But she also had a really nice smile, and she lived with nice Mistress Moicalócë who was his Uncle’s accountant, whatever that was.

Moicalócë always had boiled sweets in a jar on her desk so she could suck them while she did maths all day. Cousin Irissë liked sweet things.

“So you fix it a little bit,” Tyelperinquar declared, quite pleased as his uncle’s ingenuity.

“I suppose so, Tyelpe” Uncle Tyelkormo rested his head on Tyelperinquar’s, “I suppose so.” Tyelpe twined a strand of the silver hair that fell over his face around his finger and tugged on it. His uncle’s hair smelled like roses… to be precise, the bar of rose hair soap that Tyelperinquar had gotten him for his last begetting day.

Tyelperinquar curled his toes up in his shoes happily at the thought that his uncle had found his present useful.

“Do you have to be able to ride to hunt?” he asked his uncle, feeling worry like a bunch of butterflies in his stomach.

“Not all the time. Why?”

“Because I can’t ride,” Tyelperinquar said and then looked down, embarrassed. He was such a baby.

“What?! Surely not? How do you travel then?”

“I usually sit in front of Amil or Atto, or I walk,” Tyelperinquar felt his cheeks go hot and red.

“Well that is certainly not right. Riding is so useful, especially when you reach the age where you start hating your parents simply for existing. Hold on Tyelpe, I’ll fix this.” His uncle muttered then pulled out a new sheet of paper, picked up his quill and began writing flourishing tengwar across the paper.

~ Prince Curufinwë Atarinkë Fëanárion.

Brother. A most grievous injustice has been brought to my attention of late…~

Later that night, when he had given the letter Uncle Tyelkormo had written to his father over, he heard his mother laughing in a highly amused manner. His father’s laughter, reluctantly, began to join hers.

“Well he has a point,” his father’s voice floated up the stairs, “don’t see why he could not have told me to my face though instead of writing a court missive.”

“He wanted to make you laugh,” his mother replied softly, and there was a sound of them kissing. Tyelperinquar wrinkled his nose and snuck back to his bedroom.

The next morning after breakfast he walked with his father to grandfather Finwë’s stables and found Uncle Tyelkormo there beside a sturdy looking pony.

-

V.

“Tell me again what you were doing?”

Tyelperinquar looked at the fetid pond of water and swallowed. “Well I was playing with Hrávando…”

“What were you playing?” his uncle poked at the pond with a long stick. The water almost…clung.

It also stank. Tyelperinquar stank just as much, having spent the past hour frantically digging around in the mucky water for what he had lost.

“At being Manwë and Ingwë.”

Uncle Tyelkormo laughed suddenly and loudly.

“What?” Tyeperinquar asked, affronted by this.

“Ah Tyelpe… when you are older, playing Manwë and Ingwë is going to mean something completely different to you,” his uncle giggled, “but go on.”

“Well I borrowed Amil’s tiara…”

“The one with the sapphires?’

“Yes,” Tyelperinquar winced.

“And it wound up in this pond?”

“Hrávando tripped and it was too big and it went flying off,” Tyelperinquar defended.

“I see.” His uncle sighed.

Tyelperinquar took a good long look at him and winced again. His uncle was looking about as pristine as he’d ever looked. Uncle Tyelkormo’s under-robe showed through a crisp white, and he was wearing a robe of dove grey with dark gold embroidery heavily adorning the sleeves with a repeating geometric pattern of eight pointed stars. His breeches, what could be seen because the robes were the formal court kind that almost brushed the floor, were doeskin, and white, tucked into a pair of embroidered court shoes

Tyelkormo’s hair was brushed out and not braided for once save the royal braids, almost glowing in the gloom of the small-woods as it tumbled down his back. There was a thin circlet of old gold set with opals around his forehead.

“I’m sorry,” he said miserably. He knew vaguely something important was happening today, because his father had come dancing into the breakfast room this morning, and swung his mother around in an impromptu waltz, chanting “I got out of it! I got out of it! I don’t have to go!”

“It is alright Tyelpe, I don’t particularly want to celebrate Indis’ begetting day, so I don’t mind showing up late.”

His uncle began shucking his clothes, braided back his hair and then instructed Tyelperinquar to go to his uncle’s house and tell the servants to start running a bath.

Then with a great mou of disgust, his uncle got into the pond and began to dig around with his arms for the tiara.

-

I.

Celebrimbor stumbled, feeling drunk, if one could become drunk on despair and confusion. He staggered into Celegorm’s rooms and found his uncle hunched over in a chair, face hidden in his hands.

Huan whined softly at Celebrimbor’s entrance but did not lift his head from his master’s lap.

Celebrimbor’s head was spinning with names and words, Beren, Barahir, Ring, Abdication, Traitorous Kinsmen, and the ringing of a silver crown where it had struck the floor. (It had dented, but Celebrimbor could easily fix that!)

“Uncle,” he said. Celegorm looked up. He looked miserable. His eyes were shadowed and bruised, his hair was in disarray. His entire being seemed to radiate grief and disbelief.

“Uncle wh-what happened,” Celebrimbor asked, “I don’t understand. Why is he leaving? Why… why did you… and father… why – and Finrod is gone!”

Celegorm dropped his head back into his hands. Celebrimbor thought he heard a sob.

“UNCLE!” Celebrimbor cried, and stared into Celegorm’s shattered face when his uncle finally turned back to look at him again. There was no hope in his uncle’s eyes, instead pain and confusion reminiscent of someone who has been struck for no reason.

“He is gone!” Celebrimbor felt like a child again, screaming ‘Fix it! Fix it! Fix it!” whenever a toy broke.

But this was not his toy, this was cousin Finrod; their cousin who had given them a new home after Himlad’s fall with a warm smile and kind words for shattered, charred survivors.

“I know Tyelpe,” Celegorm’s voice cracked.

“Fix it,” the words clawed their way out of Celebrimbor’s throat without his permission, scrambling across his tongue like bile.

“Tye –”

“FIX IT! I KNOW YOU CAN FIX IT! I KNOW THIS IS FATHER’S FAULT!” Celebrimbor roared, “IT IS ALWAYS HIS FAULT! YOU ONLY FOLLOW HIM! YOU DID NOT DO THIS! YOU CAN FIX IT!”

“I –” Celegorm’s voice broke.

“Uncle!” Celebrimbor hated how his voice dwindled down into a child’s pleading whine, “Uncle please fix this.”

“I can’t,” Celegorm whispered, voice crackled and hoarse, “And its my fault as well. I can’t Tyelpe. I’m sorry.”

The words plunged through him like arrows, each seeking out his heart. He stared at his uncle for a few long moments and then spun and left, slamming the door on Celegorm’s frantic “No Tyelpe please! I’m sorry! Tyelpe no! Don’t go I –”

 

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Chapter End Notes

I have to acknowledge Spiced Wine for the part where Celegorm looks like someone who has been hit for no reason. It utterly suits the situation whether you like your Nargothrond era with Slash, Gen or Het. Beren must have come as a surprise for the Feanorions after ten years of relative peace and safety. And their Cousin who knew all about the Oath still choosing a Mortal over them whilst the aforementioned peace is wrecked by the reemergence of said Oath.