A Story of Seven by NelyafinweFeanorion

Chapter 3

 Fëanorion Week Day 3 Celegorm

Today has been a crazy day so sorry this is being posted so late. Poor Caranthir must be fuming because I've neglected doing anything for his day tomorrow since I've been absorbed with Celegorm today. 

I've deviated from canon on Irisse here and I've patterned the Hunters of the followers of Artemis from Greek mythology. The parallels made sense to me.

Celegorm:

Lust

They had chanced upon her in the woods, not far from the Guarded Plain. Huan became aware of Lúthien first and he brought her to Celegorm, shrouded in her shadowy cloak. He gazed upon her in that hidden form and at her request told her his name, his lineage and his eternal hatred for Morgoth, as his brother Curufin stood beside him.

She cast off her cloak at his words and her beauty shone forth unrestrained. Celegorm felt his chest constrict at the sight of her. None could surpass the beauty of his lost cousin Aredhel, but as he gazed upon Luthien a fire grew in his heart, as scorching as what he had felt so long ago in Tirion and had denied himself for so many centuries.

He collected himself and spoke fair words in answer to Lúthien's plea for assistance, assuring her that he and Curufin would bring her safely to Nargothrond and aid her in her time of need. He noted the sidelong looks his brother gave him, that secret smile that Curufin wore making Celegorm uneasy. He shook off the sensation, his focus inexorably returning to Lúthien.

He lifted her to his horse and settled himself behind her, arms loosely clasped around her waist to keep her steady on the mount, or so he told himself. He avoided meeting his brother's gaze. With Lúthien in front of him, Curufin and Huan at his sides, he found the path to take them back to the caves of Nargothrond.

The scent of her hair drifted over him as he rode, and he fought the distraction of it, striving to keep his attention on the path ahead. It was to no avail; tendrils of it came free of her braids and gently caressed his face, his skin on fire wherever it touched him.

She leaned back against him now, as the horse's pace increased and the physical contact stirred sensations buried for so long. The rhythmic undulation of the stallion beneath him brought them into even closer proximity with every step. There was a friction from that contact-each stride only increased his arousal.

When had he last felt this way? A memory of Aredhel, in the days of their youth in Tirion, came to him. He pushed it away. She was gone. She was gone from him-and now his accursed Oath would keep them apart forever-she in Mandos' Halls already and he doomed to the Everlasting Dark, if the Oath was not fulfilled.

His face darkened as he thought on the one seated before him. What chance was there that Beren and Finrod's quest would succeed? Would they lay claim to a Silmaril and give it as a bride gift to her father? There had been no word since they had set out. She sought them and craved Celegorm and Curufin's aid to do so. It did not bode well for the mortal or Nargothrond's golden King.

But what if he kept her to himself? What if he laid claim to her? What would her father give to get her back? Would he give them that which Celegorm desired even more than her?

His arms tightened around her waist, bringing her just a little closer, holding her just a little more securely to him. The sensation of her body against his inflamed him, the friction at his groin almost painful now.

He glanced at Curufin but he seemed focused on the path and did not spare him a look. It was better that way. He did not need to see that knowing smirk on his brother's face. This was his plan, his desire. He need not share his thoughts yet.

His faithful Huan ran alongside him. Was it his imagination or did Huan regard him with a censorious look? It was not usual for his companion to do so; they were linked in heart and mind for so many centuries now. He frowned at Huan and grew ill at ease as the hound's displeasure did not change but only deepened. Celegorm shook his head. He would not be gainsaid by him.

As they neared the gates of Nargothrond Lúthien raised her voice in song and he was lost. His skin grew hot, each point of contact with her body increasing the fire within him. His clothes felt rough, too constricting, stifling him. He wanted her. He wanted her skin on his, to bury his face in that hair, to have her completely.

Desire, lust, call it by any name. He wanted nothing more at this moment than to make her his.

Chastity

Even in his earliest memories Tyelkormo remembered the woods calling to him. He would reach out from his crib to the birds that sang on his windowsill, trying in vain to mimic their song. When he first learned to walk his favorite spot was his mother's garden; it teemed with life and he could hear an echo of a song as he walked among the plants. Later, when the confines of the house overwhelmed him, he would take to the trees to find his peace.

The woods were always his escape. The forge stifled him, confined him as a bird in a cage. His mother's studio was no better; the stone too cold and still, no spark of life in it. He felt his true self in the forest. He could hear notes from the Song of Creation in the cascading streams, the rustling tree leaves, the sounds of the wildlife that let him approach them so closely.

It was hard to be the one after Nelyo and Káno. Their perfection was unattainable, their interests so much more pleasing to his parents. Tyelkormo was grace and stillness on the hunt but crude and clumsy with the tools of their choice.

His mother would find him in the trees after his inevitable clashes with his father, when he was unable to adequately explain to Fëanaro why the forge work was unfinished, why he could not make the metal do his bidding. His arrows flew straight and true, no beast escaped his traps, the food he caught and foraged feeding them all, but those were skills of little merit in his family.

The only one who understood and shared this passion for the wilderness was his cousin Irisse. Together they would roam the forests, learning from each other and from the living world around them. They soon discovered that they shared a passion for more than simply the woods they loved so well. It was something that they always kept secret, both aware of how their fathers would react if they knew the truth.

He would lay by the river, side by side with Irisse, and they would dream of what their hearts desired, knowing it was only words. That reality would never be for them. It made him feel that much lonelier when she was not with him, knowing their time together was only transient and not the lifetime he wished for. It was unfair to keep her tethered to him this way, as he told her time and time again. They had no future with each other, none that their family or convention would allow them.

He met the Vala Oromë after a particularly vehement argument with his father. He had stormed away from the house, pausing only to tell his mother he would be gone for a few days and to beg her not to send his brothers after him this time. He traveled to a clearing that he knew well and made his solitary camp. He knew the Hunter roamed these woods but had not chanced upon him before. Until this time, when Oromë found him.

Among Oromë and his Hunters Tyelkormo wasn't awkward or ungainly. He was acknowledged for his skills, young though he was. He spent more time away from Tirion, away from his family; learning from Oromë the ways of the wood, the voices of the trees, the languages of the animals. It felt more like home than anywhere he had ever been.

The Hunters of Oromë were not like the acolytes of the other Valar. Aulë took apprentices, mentored them but then they left him to follow their own path. But the Hunters took a vow that bound them to Oromë and to each other in a far deeper way.

He was humbled when the summons came, with the Vala's offer for him to join his Hunters. He desired it with all his heart but still he wrestled with the decision, late at night alone in his room.

It would require sacrifice. It would require loyalty. It would require him to make a choice. A choice that would affect not only him. The Hunters of Oromë pledged their lives to the Valar, their loyalty to Oromë, but also their chastity. They took no husbands, took no wives. Their love was given to the world around them, their bond with nature not with another. If he joined the Hunters he must willingly give up Irisse, forever.

There was little he had wanted more than to join the Hunters but the thought of Irisse gave him pause and made him doubt himself. If they were free to join together he would gladly decline Oromë's summons he realized. But they were not free and with his hesitation he was holding her back from a future that was far better than the one he offered her. She deserved more than forest trysts and a forever hidden love.

He could not love another, that he knew. He could not have Irisse, not the way they wanted to be together. His chastity was a small price to pay for the chance to give her the life she deserved, with someone who could love her openly, give her freely what he could not.

He made his decision. It was better for them both this way.

He bowed before the Vala and spoke the words of the Vow. His blood sizzled in the flames as it dripped from the cut along his palm. He bound himself to Oromë, to the Hunters, to Huan. This was where he belonged, who he belonged with, the place where he felt most himself.