The Song Continues by StraightOuttaHimring

The Song Continues

Tyelpe and his ghosts. 

Characters do not belong to me, obviously. They are Tolkien's work, and if you didn't know that already how on earth did you find yourself here?

Unbeta'd, all mistakes are mine. Hope you enjoy!

“Uncle, don’t go,” pleaded Celebrimbor desperately. In the Great Hall, when his father and uncle sought to sow fear and misgivings, he had stood aside in silent disgust. Now in the familiar comfort of Finrod’s study he felt able to speak his mind. “For a promise to a dead man you, too, shall meet your doom, and to what end?”

“There are more important things in life,” Finrod replied softly.

“Like what?” asked Celebrimbor incredulously, “what in life is more important than living?”

His uncle stopped rummaging in his desk and turned to face him. “Bigger picture, Brim. In the great music, my verse is ending but the song continues. Love, freedom, hope for a brighter tomorrow, that's whats more important."

Celebrimbor was not convinced. “What about any good you would do if you were to live. You are giving that up.”

Finrod shrugged. “That is a risk I have to take.”

“It seems pointless.”

“Was Fingolfin’s duel against Morgoth pointless?”

“Yes! Yes it was,” exclaimed an exasperated Celebrimbor. “He died, and what does he have to show for it? Nothing.”

“No,” replied his uncle firmly. “After the Sudden Flame, we thought we were witnessing the end of Beleriand, for what forces could stand up to that power? Fingolfin showed us that Morgoth feared us just as much as we feared him, and that he was not as untouchable as we had come to assume. Yes, he died, but in exchange for his life he gave us hope.”

Finrod finished warming the wax and sealed several envelopes, leaving them in a tray on his desk. He half-heartedly tidied up the space before coming to stand in front of Celebrimbor.

“Brim, promise me something,” he pleaded softly, reaching up to cup Celebrimbor’s cheek. “Promise me you will never stop believing there is good in this world. Promise me you will never lose hope in a brighter tomorrow.”

Celebrimbor didn’t reply but drew his uncle into a tight embrace, clinging to him for several moments before Finrod finally detangled himself. He placed kiss on Celebrimbor’s forehead and then he was gone.

—————

Wind whistled through the empty streets joined by a far-off crescendo of thunder, forming a forlorn melody only he could hear. In this distance many iron-clad feet added an urgent tempo that his heart was all to happy to keep pace with. Celebrimbor tried to take a deep, steadying breath but ash caught in his throat and his body shook in protest. All around him the air was filled with the heavy resin of burnt rubble as fire consumed the Ost-In-Edhil.

He closed his eyes. This was not what he had wanted. His dream was to protect Middle Earth, to heal the hurts of the First Age and start anew. Unbidden, images began to flash before him.

Círdan, who hadn’t hesitated to take in a lone Feanorian from the rubble of Nargothrond and held no ill-will against him, who had already experienced more loss than most and would now be forced to face darkness again.

Gil-Galad, so bright and full of life, but still in possession of his father’s gentle spirit under that fiery surface. In toying with the gods had Celebrimbor brought about his cousin’s demise as well as his own?

Finally Galadriel, her laugh more pure than a clear spring day, silver and gold hair fluttering in the wind and she walked through the glades of holly. “Here?” her quirked eyebrow and gentle smile seemed to say. “Here is where you want to build a kingdom?”

And he did. He had built it for her. He had built it for his people, so that the Noldor could once more strive toward greater wisdom and bring beauty into the world through the works of their own hands. He had built it for himself, so he could once again believe that goodness could come from the House of Fëanor. After all, if he, himself, was Feanorian and not wholly corrupted, could it mean that there was hope still for those he had lost?

Celebrimbor’s eyes snapped open. He could feel a shift in atmospheric pressure as He drew nearer, as if even the air was weighed down by His mere presence. With burning intensity, Celebrimbor strode through the hall. Planting himself firmly in front of the gates, he drew his swords and prepared to face the coming storm.

He might not be a match for the powers confronting him, but he would stand and fight. He would protect what he could with his dying breath. He would rest knowing that through his creations, he left the people of Middle Earth with hope.

Softly the Song of Arda continued on and Celebrimbor knew that no matter what darkness befell him that day, the sun would rise again on the morrow for the Free Peoples of Middle Earth.

Chapter End Notes

Eventually I want to write a longer (and more light-hearted) series based on Celebrimbor's time in Nargothrond, but I haven't written in so long that I figured I should start with some smaller pieces and then build from there! Feedback is (very, very) welcome!