Niphredil by Dawn Felagund, Grundy, , Idrils Scribe, , Nienna

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Narvi

Written by Grundy. Illumination by Dawn Felagund.

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arvi straightened the fresh sheet of paper on her desk.

 

It wasn’t actually necessary; her desk was tidy and all that she needed for sketching, note-taking, or drafting stowed neatly in their places, always ready for a fresh idea. First her parents and then the master she’d apprenticed with had drilled it into her that housekeeping was necessary for a craftsperson with aspirations to any degree of success, and that applied both in the workshop as well as in the office. In the workshop it was a matter of safety; in the office, it was a matter of efficiency.

 

The rustle of paper caught Celebrimbor’s attention, and he looked up quizzically from the doodle he was absorbed in – from the looks of it, decorations for their project. When they’d first started working together, she’d found it annoying that he was as likely to start thinking on the little filigrees at the conclusion as at the beginning, but she’d since learned enough to not interrupt the workings of his mind. However he arrived at it, the end product would be well worth it.

 

“What’s bothering you?” he asked.

 

“It’s not bothering me,” she sniffed. “It’s just…disappointing. After all that fuss you made about preparing me for talking to your little cousin, all she wants is some combs with flowers on them for her uncle – and white flowers at that. I was expecting something more challenging.”

 

“I would have thought you’d consider anything for Finrod a challenge,” Celebrimbor said in mild puzzlement.

 

“Finrod…”

 

It took her a moment to recognize the Sindarin name.

 

“You mean to tell me she’s commissioned these boring white flowers for Felakgundu?” Narvi demanded, aghast.

 

The Cavehewer was held in high regard by her people, and to send him such a simple thing when he’d lived in one of the finest examples of joint dwarven-elven craftsmanship of the old days, before the eastern lands had sunk, and worn one of the others… Unthinkable! She’d be the shame of Khazad-dum.

 

No, strike that. She’d be the shame of Durin’s Folk in general, the tale told to warn young dwarves of not holding themselves to high enough standards.

 

“As I recall, he was fond of niphredil,” Celebrimbor shrugged. “Besides, surely a master craftsman can elevate even such a simple request as ‘boring white flowers’?”

 

Narvi glared at him.

 

“Easy for you to say. I notice she didn’t ask you.”

 

“I’m not a dwarf,” Celebrimbor chuckled. “I suspect she saw it being your work as important as it being the flowers she thought he would like. Besides, flowers are the creation of Yavanna, your Maker’s mate – surely you can’t rightly call anything of hers boring.”

 

“Arguing all the sides at once as usual,” Narvi sniffed. “No wonder Men have that curious saying about you.”

 

She grinned at the unusual sight of an adult elf blushing, as well he might.

 

She had every hope that the bon mot of the Man from the ships after Celebrimbor had carefully gone through all possible approaches to a particular problem – “go not to the Elves for counsel, for they will say both no and yes!” – would pass into proverb and be around for him to blush at long after she had returned to stone.

 

“I was considering all angles,” he sniffed. “He probably forgot it once he had his solution. That new winch can take twice the weight the old one did.”

 

“As you say,” Narvi replied with a grin. “I think you made quite the impression.”

 

The tale had been widely circulated in the waterfront pubs, that much she knew, and it had gotten a laugh from every one of the Men who heard it. It rated only a small chuckle from her people, who were already well versed in the foibles of elves in general and this one in particular.

 

“And what kind of impression do you mean to make?” Celebrimbor asked. “Though be careful – raise the level too much and you’ll find yourself inundated with commissions the next time a ship arrives bearing word from the West. The elves of Aman love new things, and the Noldor have a keen eye for craftsmanship.”

 

“That’s fine, if they’re willing to trade some of those exotic metals in return,” Narvi shrugged. “Interest in new things and fine craftsmanship is found on this side of the Sea as well.”

 

“Either way, I’m sure Finrod will appreciate your take on niphredil. And no doubt Amarië will as well.”

 

Narvi looked at him quizzically.

 

“His mate,” Celebrimbor elaborated.

 

“He married?” Narvi spluttered. “Recently? Is this by way of a wedding present?”

 

It was pressure enough to be asked to make something for the Cavehewer and his wife, but a wedding present would have to be something extraordinary even by dwarven standards. She’d need to equal the famous necklace at the least!

 

“No, not recent. I believe he married almost immediately on his return to life,” Celebrimbor replied. “My uncle and aunt told us of it during the War.”

 

Narvi let out a hearty sigh of relief.

 

She contemplated the problem. She needed to do well, not just because it was going to Felakgundu, but because it would be scrutinized by elves who had never seen or met a dwarf. She felt the responsibility of being the example of her people keenly.

 

“The comb itself will be of true-silver, of course. Nothing less will do. And I’ll wager that even your Noldor in Aman won’t have learned to work it as we have.”

 

“No bet,” Celebrimbor said. “I’ve never seen or heard of anything mithril brought from Aman, so if they’re working mithril, it’s only since the War. What about the flowers?”

 

“That needs some thought,” Narvi replied.

 

Unlike him, she’d think it through quietly, not aloud.

 

There were many types of rock or gem she could use for the flowers. The technique she had used for the combs Celebrían had seen before was easily adapted to suit the characteristics of each particular type. Very few were too fragile or too brittle.

 

She shuffled through her mental inventory of stone and gems, ticking off pros and cons for the various options as she did. She wanted the perfect color, but it would also need to catch the light just right, to capture the sparkle of sunlight on living petals. And she would have to be able to lay her hands on enough of it…

 

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It was nearly a year later before what Celebrimbor couldn’t help laughingly calling her ‘boring flower commission’ was finished and ready to lay before Celebrían.

 

It had grown slightly in the making. Rather than the simple combs with a few flowers that Celebrían and her mother wore, this was a matched set of pieces somewhere between a comb and a circlet. Not just one or two flowers, each one was a spray of niphredil starting just above the temples and trailing over the ears and down to the base of the skull, curling around to not quite meet in the back. That left some space for a clever band of metal that could be used to adjust the sizing to fit the wearer’s head properly.

 

She’d done her best on the size, of course, even going so far as to request an interview with the formidable Lady Galadriel and enduring the glare of the woman’s mate to come up with the best estimate she could for both the Cavehewer and his Amarië. In Felakgundu’s case, it was all but certain the fit would be correct – for his sister had gifted him both hats and circlets in their youth, and was able to convert from the measurements of Tirion quite accurately. His mate was more of a question, but Narvi was confident in her work – even a child should be able to adjust it to fit comfortably.

 

And the flowers were worthy of their intended recipient.

 

Delicate petals of the whitest opal, shot through with just the right hint of colors to evoke a spring morning were set off by jade stems and leaves, and peridot accents for the green splashes on the inner petals. A few carefully placed and exquisitely shaped diamonds here and there served as morning dew. The flowers looked so vibrant and real that it was only when you touched them the difference became apparent – and Narvi had gone out to find a patch of the real thing for comparison.

 

She had wanted to be sure she was not sending shoddy or inferior work. If this was the only thing the Deathless Ones would ever see to remember her by, it would be nothing less than her very best. 

 

She had been exultant when Celebrimbor pronounced himself unable to distinguish between the real and the artificial using his eyes alone. That was well enough – she knew his people had other senses, but without those to work with, she couldn’t be expected to improve beyond sight.  Had this been a collaboration between them, she might have asked Celebrimbor if he could, but the Lady Celebrían had been quite specific on that point. She wanted dwarven craft, not elven. So that was what she would have.

 

Her only regret as she packed them was that she would not get to see the Cavehewer and his mate wearing them, or their reactions. She could only hope her work would rate a mention whenever Felakgundu next wrote to Lady Celebrían - and that the letter might arrive while she lived.

 

Narvi wrapped both pieces carefully in cloth of mithril before boxing them for Celebrimbor to carry to his cousin. She didn’t doubt Celebrían or her mother would add more practical wrapping to protect the small bundle on its long journey West, but this too was made by dwarves, and perhaps it would tickle Felakgundu to see as well.