Catch the Waves by Zdenka

Chapter 1

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When the people here speak of the murderous, merciless sons of Fëanor, sometimes they add hastily, ‘We don’t mean you, Celebrimbor. We know you’re not like them.’

He smiles thinly and says, ‘We are not so different.’ He wants to protest loyally that they are not different at all, that he is a Kinslayer too. But he dares not press the point too far, lest Cirdan and young Gil-galad decide it is not safe having a descendant of Fëanor so near a Silmaril. His own fate is one thing, but there are his people to think about: his father’s and his uncle’s people, those who survived, who followed him from Nargothrond. They have settled here, on the Isle of Balar and the Havens of Sirion, and they should not be exiled again because of him.

And yet, the Silmaril is here. Sooner or later, the sons of Fëanor will be here. Inevitable, like a looming wave on the horizon. He cannot stop them. (He cannot save them.)

He tries to remember the last words he exchanged with his uncles and finds he cannot. It was probably something ordinary and commonplace. ‘Have a safe journey.’ ‘Stay warm.’ It was before the Dagor Bragollach, and none of them knew it would be the last time. He remembers too well the last words he spoke to his father.

Sometimes he thinks he could go in search of them, his longed-for family. But would they not ask him ‘Where is the Silmaril kept?’ and ‘How many soldiers are in the town?’ and ‘What are its defenses?’ And he likes the people who live here, Noldor and Sindar and Edain.

Making axe-heads and repairing navigational instruments is not very interesting, but it is a relief to have something in his hands that he can mend.