Both Alike In Dignity by Grundy

Chapter 1

The ornaments in question are modelled on the ones seen in this Tumblr post.

Celebrimbor blinked.

He had known that his current favorite collaborator was working on something, but he hadn’t realized they were thinking along such similar lines.

Glancing around, he could see the other elven craftsmen scowling, while the dwarrows seemed to be taking bets on how he would react to being upstaged.

They had both produced flowered hair ornaments to present to Galadriel, whose return to Eregion was imminent after a prolonged visit to King Gil-galad with her young daughter.

Celebrimbor’s handiwork was a cluster of blue blossoms, with colors reminiscent of the sea. He’d thought it appropriate for a granddaughter of Olwë. The forms weren’t terribly complicated, but they looked positively understated next to the brilliant redbird flowers of the other piece. (He wouldn’t have dared give Galadriel anything in red. Even now, he felt it unwise to stir up old grievances or bring memories of the quarrels back into everyone’s minds.)

He’d wager they’d used different materials, of course – he had adapted what he remembered of the techniques he’d learned as a child for creating jewels so that rather than producing gems, they had yielded sheets of gem so thin one could see through them. He’d used electrum and the merest sprinkling of gold accents to frame the petals, and added tiny diamond droplets to a few of them, suggesting morning dew.

He suspected his partner had used actual stone, but expertly sliced to such a thinness that light could pass through. There was no bare metal that he could see, unless – of course, the little bugger had figured out some way to produce jewelwright’s wire in red. It blended seamlessly into the edges of the translucent stone. He’ll ask about it – later.

Narvi’s peal of laughter dispelled the tension in the room more effectively than a brawl (which, in all honesty, was the other realistic option when a bunch of irritated elves and overly proud dwarrows were put in the same room.)

“It’s not a competition, Master Elf,” she burbled.

“No? Do you mean to tell me you won’t be bragging for the next few decades if Galadriel prefers your work to mine?” Celebrimbor snorted. “Pull the other one, it’s got bells on.”

“You elves do wear the oddest things, bells would be of a piece,” she shrugged. Then she switched to Khuzdul. “Anyway, I don’t see why your lot are looking so snippy. Just because many flowers don’t grow underground doesn’t mean we don’t appreciate them.”

“True enough,” Celebrimbor replied, “but they’ve learned to expect more… practical things from your workshop.”

Narvi gave him one of her looks.

“Having seen the lady’s hair, I can think of nothing more practical than something to help her keep it out of her face,” she said, returning to Sindarin with a dismissive sniff.

“She can’t wear both at once,” Celebrimbor mused. “Perhaps the blue one for Galadriel, and the red one for little Celebrian?”

Narvi nodded.

“A good compromise, so long as red suits the wee lass,” she agreed.

“I think it will,” Celebrimbor said thoughtfully.

Celebrian had both her hair and her features from her father, with only the eyes to show she was Galadriel’s daughter. The red would be set off by her silver curls very nicely.

More to the point, he suspected his young cousin would be charmed by the idea of flowers she could wear in her hair all winter long.

And it couldn’t hurt to soften up Celeborn by giving his daughter a gift as well as the expected gift for his wife. He never said it aloud, but Celebrimbor has seen the Sinda prince’s eyes linger on the dwarrows just a fraction of a second longer than a casual glance warranted more than once. It’s a small mercy that Oropher – and with him, his brash son – had already relocated east. He can’t imagine them being as reticent as Celeborn.

But the two hair ornaments only prove what Celebrimbor has thought for some time now: both peoples would profit from working together, sharing their knowledge and raising their crafts to new heights (or depths, in the case of the miners.) They were more alike than many of them cared to acknowledge.