A Different Kind Of Peace by Tyelca

Message from Menegroth

Celebrimbor hears about his father's death.

Together with the survivors, the news of the massacre in Doriath’s capital trickled in. A second Kinslaying, they either whispered or shouted, and Telpërinquar tried to ignore the suspicious looks that were still thrown his way. There was no denying his heritage, and Telpërinquear cursed his his father and uncles, wished them gone with all the fervor Fëanáro’s spirit had passed down to him. Nowadays he often introduced himself as Celebrimbor, the Sindarin version of his name, to prevent people from making the connection; there were but a few who knew his true self here. He did not like to lie about his identity but had gotten used to it, and the freedom the anonymity offered was liberating.

He could not hide his eyes, bright as they were from the Light of the Trees, but people rarely looked at them. They naturally skirted around him, and Telpërinquar did the same. Information and rumors were galore on the central square where the refugees inexplicably all passed by when they first entered the city and today was no different. Telpërinquar was forced to slow down his pace when he neared the square, as horses, carts and armies passed by. There were shouts and bumps and the general nastiness of an overpopulated city, but for the first time since the refugees arrived the weary and defeated atmosphere was lifted and some kind of excitement hung in the air.

Curious, but not wanting to draw attention to himself, Telpërinquar moved closer to the center, where an Elf on a raised platform was speaking to the masses. His hair was brown and he wore the bloodied garb of Menegroth, a soldier of Thingol. The crowd cheered at his words and there were even some market vendors giving away their wares for free in a spontaneous act of celebration, which certainly in these troubled times was something most could not afford.

Finally he was able to make out the words the soldier spoke above the shouting.

“-re dead! Three of them gone! Now peace can return to these lands!” Another roar went up and Telpërinquar missed the names of the departed, but judging the crowd they had to be of the purest evil. A smile played upon his lips. Every slain servant of Bauglir was indeed reason to celebrate, when there was so little else that warranted it.

Telpërinquar wanted to turn around and leave the square now that his curiosity was sated, for he held no desire to participate in the crowd. There was always the fear of being recognized and ostracized, and Telpërinquar was tired of being accused of things he had no part in.

He held almost reached the street that led away from the square when the soldier shouted his message again, and perhaps the wind had turned or the shouting had lessened, but this time his words carried on to Telpërinquar’s ears.

At first he thought he must’ve misheard. The thought was simply ludicrous; despite his treacherous deeds, uncle Tyelco had always seemed so indestructible, able to withstand anything the world threw at him and emerge with a laugh on his face. There was simply no way that he was dead. And uncle Moryo, who used to tell him the most fantastic stories when Telpërinquar was still small enough to fit in his lap, manipulating the fire of the hearth into moving pictures, would never allow Mandos to claim him. Telpërinquar simply could not believe the words, even as the Eldar around him screamed in vengeful joy.

The soldier on the stand shouted a third name, and this one hit Telpërinquar still worse than the previous two. He stumbled back, and were it not for the Eldar who caught him, he would’ve fallen to the ground. A worried face greeted him; “Are you alright?” the Sindar asked. And Telpërinquar grabbed his hand, steadied himself, and responded, “Yes, I do not know what came over me. Thank you.” His words were accompanied by a smile that lifted his cheeks but not his spirit.

The Sindar let go of his hand and glanced back to the speaker. “It is unbelievable,” he said, “that they who came to slaughter us were themselves destroyed. I have heard tales saying their cursed House is unable to die, that Mandos has forsworn them. They said even dead could not stop them; even as corpses they continue.” He paused to take a breath. “Nobody survives Angband,” he added in a whisper.

As if from a large distance did Telpërinquar hear the words, and they sounded too much like the whispers in Nargothrond, and the shouting of the people around them sounded too much like the screams of Alqualondë, and Telpërinquar wanted nothing more than to leave the square and find somewhere private where he could shut everything out. But he controlled himself and nodded to the Sindar, and as he looked into the smiling face he understood for the first time how easy it would be to draw his sword and slit the other Elf’s throat.

Telpërinquar knew where such thoughts could lead; but for a moment he let his fantasy run wild and wondered how different Eldarin blood was from the thick dark liquid that ran through the veins of Orcs when it coated his blade. It was only for moment; but nonetheless Telpërinquar was shocked how easily and how vivid his imagination could sketch such a scene.

He took a few steps back, away from the face that in his mind was covered in red, away from the Sindar, away from his imagination, but most of all away from the truth.

His father could not be dead. He had always been one of the unshakable pillars of his life, a fact around which he had built his entire world. Denouncing him had, for Telpërinquar, not meant he was allowed to die; he needed his father to rebel against. In that moment he did not care about the countless dead in Nargothrond, about his anger and disgust at being the sole heir to another Kinslaying. He only felt anger towards those who dared to kill his father and he viciously hoped they had paid for their crime.

But the intense emotions soon faded away, and the emptiness they left was even worse. He did not shed any tears; but should his father miraculously reappear and invite him to slaughter the entire city of survivors, Telpërinquar would have accepted gladly.