Slight Air and Purging Fire by mainecoon

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Chapter 8

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The steps that led from the guest quarters down into the gardens needed fixing. They had been tampered with a few decades ago, apparently because the marble had splintered in several places. The result was aesthetically pleasing as far as elven tastes went, but had produced a slight imbalance that shifted the steps further towards the right. The resulting asymmetry was highly dissatisfying, at least for a dwarven artisan who was deprived of the means to work on it. But they remained the fastest way into the gardens, and so Narvi swallowed her frustration as she brushed an insubstantial finger over the railing.

From the balcony in Elrond's room she had glimpsed the entrance to a cave behind one of the larger waterfalls: it was challenging to access, but being a ghost had some advantages. At least it meant that this place was likely a retreat for one who sought to evade elvish company for once. The low humming of rock welcomed her, solid presence of stone beneath the light and fanciful buildings of Imladris. She minded those less than another dwarf would: for the love of an elf, she had grown attached to his world, if more reluctantly than Celebrimbor who had already been Durin's friend when they had met. Still, nothing soothed her mind and calmed her spirit like being underground.

Except that now another presence intermingled with the song of stone. It was not quite as ancient as the rock itself, fainter and darker and unstable as all animated things must be.

Good day to you, Master Elf, she said, and dropped down beside Maglor who sat cross-legged against the wall, watching the rush of water with half-closed eyes. I did not expect you here.

"Narvi?" Maglor's eyebrows rose, though he did not turn to look at her. "Why are you not with Tyelpë?"

Why should I be always? she retorted. He's doing fine without me right now.

"I see."

He's in the library with Erestor. Earlier they walked the gardens with another re-embodied elf named Glorfindel. He and Celebrimbor were stiff as statues around each other. Celebrimbor can't be polite if his life depends on it, he must have given poor Erestor a headache... Me too, if I could still get one.

A slight smile tugged at the corner of Maglor's mouth.

"It runs in the family, I'm afraid."

Ah, you'd know. She leaned back against the rock, waiting in vain for the reassuring touch of stone. What brings you here?

He gave no answer. This happened sometimes with Maglor, and was not to be taken as a sign of rudeness. For a while they sat in silence, both watching the steady flow of water. The bright midday sun made it sparkle like a thousand diamonds.

Celebrimbor thinks you might be angry with me, she said eventually, remembering their conversation in Elrond's rooms. Or that you might think I hate you.

Maglor's long fingers traced patterns onto the moist ground. They looked vaguely familiar, but lacked the balance and ingenuity of Celebrimbor's work.

"How am I to know?" he sighed. "I am not a very good person. People hate me for a variety of reasons."

Murder, was it? She regarded him thoughtfully. Kinslaying, he said. Never told me the full story. I just know that his father was involved as well.

"Oh, Curvo." Maglor's smile did not reach his eyes. "Yes, I am afraid so. He was proud and cunning, my brother Curufin, and he loved Father most of us all." He closed his eyes and leant his head against the wall. "My father was not evil. Not when it all began. But who is to say when bad things start to grow, before they end in senseless slaughter?"

Narvi shrugged. Surely you didn't go on a murder spree without reason! Else I could not see why Elrond loves you so. Celebrimbor too, though of course his judgment has not always been sound. But whatever you did, it sure cannot compare to the devilry of Annatar!

Maglor pondered that for a moment. "It seems wrong to weigh one evil against the other," he returned then. "Elrond! He should not love me. We burned his home to ashes. We killed all who stood in our way, even our own soldiers as they tried to stop us! They screamed and pleaded, but we showed no mercy, not after one of them slit Amrod's throat..." He fell silent, his eyes staring blankly into the abyss of his own memory. Narvi shivered. Horror wafted through the cave, clawing into her mind like physical agony. Briefly she saw the flash of a blood-stained blade, black smoke that filled her lungs, an elven warrior cradled in her arms, dying, sooty red hair mingling with her own - and there was Maglor, his face and armor splattered with blood, screaming -

A white glow at the throat of a dark-haired woman, a touch of salvation so close within their reach, but then it fell and all ended in despair.

Maglor smiled, hard and joyless. His eyes glittered with a strange light. "We are doomed, in such a way that even my innocent nephew paid for it in blood. Would that I could have taken his place! But I must wander the world to fade into a shadow of regret, as it was foretold."

Narvi tapped a finger against her ghostly boot, considering what she had seen. My folk knows the punishment of expulsion, she said slowly , though I have always found it a useless way to pay for a crime. It does not fix anything! But to make a person suffer for sins they had no part in? Any dwarf would find that barbaric.

"Elrond has opinions about it too." The faint lines around Maglor's eyes softened, which immediately made him look less weary. "And not only because of Celebrimbor. But I doubt the Valar would listen to either of you."

The only Vala I know is Mahal. He loves his children. He would not doom anyone he loves.

"In this case we are less fortunate than you. It only grieves me for the those who did not deserve their fate when Beleriand drowned." He held out his right hand. Spread across his palm and fingers was a ragged web of scars, long faded remnants of a horrible wound. "This is what the Valar think of me."

Narvi stared at it for a moment. Unconsciously she reached out, almost touching the twisted tissue, before she remembered that she could not. But it is healed, she said then. It does not impair you any longer.

"It is a reminder."

Narvi shook her head. Elvish thinking is so awfully fatalistic. Celebrimbor always rebelled against that... which I would be all in favour of, only now he believes that Sauron's wrongs are his own. A shovel load of bat droppings, if you ask me.

That earned her a broken chuckle. Maglor wiped his hand at his trousers and inspected his splintered fingernails.

"On the House of Fëanor the wrath of the Valar lieth from the West unto the uttermost East," he said softly. "Among all the things I have forgotten, the words of Mandos burn hot inside my mind; that, and the memory of our cursed Oath. Thousands of years in grief and regret have done little to ease the pain. But Tyelperinquar was innocent. It was unspeakably cruel not to spare him."

Sauron is cruel, Narvi said curtly. He murdered Celebrimbor and ravaged Eriador, not you, nor the Valar. And he wasn't destroyed! That means this entire world is built above a mine of faulty structure. The question is not if it is likely to collapse, but when. It will not be upheld by guilt and self-pity.

Maglor gave her a searching look. It revealed without doubt that he could see her shadowy form.

"I only sought to spare the word my presence," he said, "though I found that I did not deserve to leave it fully. But for some crimes there is no repentance."

That is not my place to judge. Unless - Narvi hesitated, beset by uncomfortable thoughts of Tumunzahar - any of it went against my own people? Surely Celebrimbor would have told me.

No, he probably would not.

The troubled lines on Maglor's face relaxed. "I think not," he conceded, "which is a small mercy. I bear no grudge against your folk. Little did I know of them in those early ages, but my brothers had good dealings with them. Especially Carnistir! Once, I recall, he brought me a strange instrument from Belegost...", and he launched into a tale that involved dwarven musicians, a primitive saxophone, and a younger brother who clearly had no sense for the fine arts. Narvi did not ask what had become of him.

Long they sat like this, taking comfort in each other's company. Eventually even the shadow around Maglor became less grim, and its ancient grief, for a while, softened into gentle melancholia.

The passage of time seemed to be altered in Imladris. It was a refuge, a place to halt and catch one's breath while the days flowed around it like water in a pebbled riverbed. It must be ten days, or maybe fourteen, that Narvi and her elven companions dwelled undisturbed in this summer garden filled with bird song and music and poetry. Celebrimbor met several acquaintances from Eregion, and found to his surprise that they revered him as a hero. Long he stood before a statue that held on a platter the shards of a broken sword, and his face was wet when he turned away; then he told Narvi of Elendil and the One Ring, and that night he found no rest. Maglor wandered the house almost as silently as Narvi herself, shunning all company except for Elrond and Celebrimbor. Narvi saw the ungracious looks he received from many sides, heard the whispers behind his back - monster, child-stealer, demon from the ancient days - and wondered a little about them. But Elrond was fiercely protective of him, and Elrond's daughter and sons treated him with kindness and concern.

Their rest was interrupted on the same day Celebrimbor first brought himself to explain Vilya's power to Narvi.

"I made it for Eregion," he said. "All Three have the power to protect and to heal, but Vilya is the strongest. When I forged it, I had a hunch that we would need it... and we did, but by the time he came, he had found a way to control it." Celebrimbor shuddered and turned a little on his couch to face Narvi. A warm breeze brushed over their secluded little balcony, rustling in the potted orange trees and moving gently through Celebrimbor's hair. Narvi reached out to run a hand over it, pretending to touch, recalling vividly its texture and the way it had slid through her fingers. In Eregion, he had often tamed it in beads and clasps, pretty little baubles that had been a delight for him to make. Now he mostly wore it loose, or pulled it into a simple braid when he needed it out of his face.

But not now , she prompted when he made no effort to continue.

"Not without the One. Here, it serves the purpose I always meant it for. Imladris receives its enchantments from both Elrond's powers and those of mine that are channeled in Vilya. Obviously, it is a beneficial combination."

Sometimes I forget how powerful you are, Narvi mused. Or how ancient. It is a good thing that you are so inherently decent.

Celebrimbor's smile looked like a grimace. "Oh, I know," he said. "Together, he and I would have been unstoppable. He told me that, repeatedly, while he was still relying on verbal means to convince me... mostly verbal, anyway." The grey in his eyes had faded into an odd translucent colour. They still shone with the light of Valinor, which now made him appear like a wraith, while his fingers clenched und unclenched in the luxurious silk of his blanket. With sudden, sick clarity Narvi remembered that his corpse had not been left with fingers. Both his beautiful, strong, dexterous hands had been chopped off above the wrists.

"But he might find those powers inconvenient when they are turned against him," he now continued darkly. "I did not know how to use them then. But I am still the grandson of Fëanor!"

He was only a tale to Narvi, Fëanor of the eight-rayed star that adorned Durin's Gate. As a master craftsman he was known among the Khazad, and often his unspoken presence had loomed invisible over Celebrimbor's shoulder while his grandson attempted to surpass his skill in the forge. He had been one of the ancient kings who led the elves across the sea in days of old - including the elf-lord she had allowed into her heart and her bed. Also it was told that the Jewel of Doom was designed by his hand, the one that was later stained with the blood of the Khazad of Tumunzahar; but Narvi had learned no more from Celebrimbor, and, in respect for his privacy, had not consulted with the lore-masters of her house.

Maglor had spoken of senseless slaughter. Perhaps she should have been more inquisitive.

You have never claimed that as a boon, except in the forge, she observed.

He blinked, and a confused expression flitted over his face. Then he reached out so that his hand passed through the shadow of hers and rested inside it, the only means of hand-holding that was left to them.

"Do not be cross with me, Narvi," he begged. "With you, I am the person I wish to be. The Khazad, and you most of all, give me the joy and purpose I have always craved. I told you that when I asked you to marry me... both times, I believe."

You were persistent enough. Narvi gave him a shrewd look. But you're changing the subject. I married Celebrimbor the jewel smith. I am not sure what to make of Celebrimbor the grandson of Fëanor.

"And yet you wedded both," he said, his dark brows drawn together in thought. "My grandfather -" He broke off when quick steps crossed the room behind them. Erestor appeared in the open doorway and leaned against the frame with a wide grin.

"We have guests," he announced. "A company of dwarves. I thought you'd like to know."

Just because Celebrimbor and Maglor were not invited to the feast, Narvi decided, it did not mean that she was excluded herself. It would be rude not to allow her the company of her kin. Since Elrond was unaware of her existence, this oversight was to only be expected. In fact, only Elrond himself and a few personal attendants were invited to join, likely because the Lord of Imladris feared a diplomatic incident.

Upon inspection, Narvi decided that the precaution was a testament to Elrond's wisdom.

They sure know how to enjoy themselves, she reported to Celebrimbor who sulked outside, sitting on the rim of a marble fountain and splashing his feet in the water. And how to hold a tune! But Elrond's people aren't used to our ways. You should have seen Lindir's face - remember that time Gil-Galad accompanied you to the Midwinter feast in Khazad-Dûm?

"Yet he may attend, and I must wait outside," Celebrimbor complained. "Tell me more about them! I saw some from afar - don't look at me like that, I happened to pass by when they were shown to their quarters - but all I can tell is that these are not traders. An unusual bunch, and not all of the same clan..."

Broadbeams and Longbeards, thirteen of them. Their leader is clearly a descendant of Durin! I wouldn't be surprised if he's related to Dís, they look very much alike. And there is a creature I have never seen before. Looks like a small man.

"Ah, but I must speak to them! Though perhaps not in front of outsiders, when it comes to Durin's Ring. Still, I wonder why Elrond did not want me there. I am the foremost expert on dwarves he will find in this house." Celebrimbor began to toss small white pebbles into the fountain. His indignation might have been amusing, had the answer to his question not been so awkward. Narvi carefully weighed the options and decided on brutal honesty.

They have a wizard, she said.

Celebrimbor froze. A pebble slipped from his hand and dropped into the water with a soft splash.

You knew that one of them is Elrond's friend. Surely this is not a social visit, but he didn't say what he wants... Ghivasha, you must not be rash. You're right to be wary, but what if he truly is on our side?

Celebrimbor leant his face into his hands. For a long moment he remained like this, his expression shrouded by a curtain of black hair, shoulders shaking with the effort to breathe. Narvi waited. Eventually the rigid lines of his back relaxed, and his hands fell into his lap.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice slightly rougher than usual. "Perhaps he is. I wish I could tell."

A roar of laughter sounded from the dining hall, then a raunchy, musical voice launched into another tavern song, this one a lot dirtier than the occasion allowed. Narvi grinned despite herself.

Listen to that, she prodded. The singer is a fine dwarrow. Good-looking too! He reminds me of my brother.

He smiled a little blandly, but his eyes when he gazed far off into the valley remained solemn.

She still considered the most promising route of distraction when footsteps sounded on the stairs behind them. Celebrimbor drew a sharp breath even before he turned around.

"I prefer to speak aloud," he said curtly.

"As you wish." The wizard smiled as he walked up to them, and bowed deeply. "Elrond told me I would likely find you here. I have been looking forward to this meeting ever since I was informed of your return, Celebrimbor of Eregion - and Narvi the Stonewright, I believe?"

At your service , she answered, surprised. Celebrimbor's eyes narrowed. "I have been at the service of the Ainur already," he said. "And at their mercy. It is not an experience I wish to repeat."

"You have seen the worst of us," the wizard nodded. "I know, and cannot fault you for mistrusting us. But your enemy is also mine. I have been given many names, though most know me as Gandalf: the elves call me Mithrandir, and the Khazad Tharkûn. My Lord Manwë sent me to aid Middle Earth."

"Since when are the Valar interested in the lands beyond Tol Eressëa?" Celebrimbor retorted with a venom Narvi had never heard from him before. "Honestly, I am surprised they do not simply let us all drown, as it happened with Beleriand and Numenor! It is their usual way of dealing with their rotten kin, without mercy for all living things that perish in the floods."

The wizard sighed and settled beside him on the rim of the basin. He fumbled in one of his many pouches, and after a moment produced a long-stemmed pipe. "I don't suppose I may offer you a pinch of tobacco? Old Toby from the Shire is my favourite nowadays, but I would be happy to share my supplies."

"No," Celebrimbor returned stiffly.

Tharkûn made an elaborate effort to lighten his pipe. "I regret not being able to extend the offer to you, Master Dwarrow. I hope you don't think me unkind if I indulge."

Out of the many things I care about..., Narvi scoffed. I reserve my judgment. It is my husband who has grievance against your kin.

"Mistakes were made," the wizard said kindly, "and acknowledged as such. They happened in desperate times; and yet, perhaps they could have been avoided. We shall never know." His eyes under the bushy white brows were of an unusual light blue, and now they turned towards Celebrimbor in a look that was both knowing and sorrowful. "I wept for Beleriand, and for Numenor," he said, "and I came to Middle Earth for the love of the land and its creatures."

Celebrimbor actually bared his teeth. " He told me that, too," he snarled. "He claimed that the Valar had not forgotten us, and would help us build our world anew. Fool that I was, I believed him! But they did not help us. They threw us to the wolves and watched them rip us apart! My family was doomed for less!" His face twisted into an expression so filled with fury and loathing that Narvi longed for a physical body to restrain him, but the wizard watched him, unmoved. "And now," the elf seethed, "you show up here with same sordid tale and you carry one of my rings !"

"Ah." Tharkûn lowered his pipe, suddenly looking even more serious. "I do. Círdan gave it to me."

"What possessed him?"

"Celebrimbor, you have been grievously wronged," Tharkûn said quietly, "and badly hurt, and you have every reason to be angry with us. But I am not your enemy. We're fighting the same war."

Celebrimbor pressed his lips together. Fury and pain and terror were radiating from him in waves.

"I received the ring as a weapon against him," the wizard continued. "And that is its purpose now, as it should be! I do not ask you to believe me; but please, give me the benefit of doubt."

"Excuse me," Celebrimbor muttered. He rose abruptly and hurried up the stairs towards his quarters, taking two steps at a time. Narvi hesitated long enough to meet the wizard's eyes.

"I suppose this was to be expected," Tharkûn admitted. "I meant to ask if the two of you would accompany us on our quest. But we will speak of it another time. I apologize for causing him distress."

I reserve my judgment, she repeated, and followed Celebrimbor back into the building.