Of Elwing's obsession, of Celegorm's hair by liruinielfeanoriel

Hair of a Feanorion, white and pure

Elwing befriended a white haired stranger and was gifted a strand of white hair; Celegorm met a certain Princess of Doriath and reluctantly surrendered a lock of his hair.

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First Age, 506

Doriath,

Elwing knew what ‘red and ‘rin (who were six) said was not true. How could they call girls weak? Nana said it’s fine, because boys will be boys and probably don’t mean what they said. But Elwing did not feel fine and above all, wanted to prove ‘red and ‘rin wrong. And so when the twins dared her on a nighttime adventure and take Ada’s shiny rock as treasure, Elwing jumped at the chance.

So on she went on her grand adventure under the faint glow of Itil she was excited and jumping with joy. Until her plans failed and a tall, white haired elf stepped in front of her.

“Did you run from your minders, Princess?” Asked the tall elf, two rows of gleamingly white teeth appearing from an strange smile. By his side was a long, pointy knife cousin Celeborn often wore around. But the elf was smiling and tall, and thus Elwing raised her hands and cried, “Up!” like she does to every smiling, tall elf.

The tall elf blinked, smile flattering for a moment, and Elwing, growing impatient (Why isn’t this strange elf carrying her? She is the Princess!), repeated, “Up!”

Sighing, the strange guard leant down to scoop her up (like everyone does).

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Celegorm did not know what in Orome’s name had he been thinking, only that the elfling looked as though a true descendent of Luthien and was asking to be carried. (That the little princess reminded him of Tyelperinquar… well… is another matter.)

But here was the daughter of Dior, all wide eyes and innocent smiles, rambling about some dare to steal the Silmaril from the King’s throne room- until her wandering hands found his unbound hair and would not let go.

Perhaps it was the nature of children, Celegorm thought, this fearlessness.

As though touching his hair was not bad enough, the damned child had the audacity to call his hair white and continuously tugged at it, oblivious to Celegorm’s glares which would terrify even the peskiest of his brothers and send them squealing in fear in a time long gone, when they were all young, carefree and without the doom hanging over their heads.

“Princess,” he soothed, trying for a softer approach. But the elfling would not listen – when would she let go? – and instead gave him a petulant frown.

Celegorm sighed, the little princess’ minder will come soon, he knew, and perhaps he would have the misfortune to encounter a pair of palace guards. His brothers were waiting by the borders of what would’ve been the Girdle, and time was of the essence if they were to have the element of surprise.

With one final sigh, Celegorm made a decision which would change the course of history.

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The strange, tall elf had sighed and braided a strand of white hair. And then, to Elwing’s surprise, he cut it off and gave it to her.

“For me?” she asked, giddy and excited.

He nodded, returning her to the hard floors of Doriath’s halls and disappeared to the night, leaving Elwing to stare at the lock of white hair, as bright as the moonbeam and as white as the layers of snow outside Doriath.

“There you are, Princess!” Nostariel’s voice echoed down the hallway, a warm, friendly smile on her face.

Elwing turned to her minder, hand holding the braided hair.

She did not resist when her minder scooped her up and carried back to the royal wing, to her soft bed and finally, with Nostariel’s sweet voice lulling her to rest, Elwing clung tight to her new treasure with a smile on her content face. Come tomorrow she would show ‘red and ‘rin her newfound treasure and tell Ada and Nana all about the strange elf and his strange hair.

Hair of a Feanorion, gold and shining

Elwing who saw the stranger again, of the Kinslaying of Doriath and the aftermath where Elwing seeks comfort from the most unlikely place.

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First Age, 506

Doriath

Morning came, but Elwing never got the chance to show the twins her new treasure.

Instead, Nostariel and the guards rushed in, shushing her questions with frowns instead of their usual smiles.

Then they were in the throne room and Elwing didn’t know what happened- because Nostariel screamed and some shiny metal covered her eyes.

What was happening? Had the orcs came to get them? But they were all of them elves and none of them orcs (whom Elwing had never seen but was told of their ugliness) or dwarves (Elwing had never seen them either but was told they were short).

There was Ada, and Nana and some guards, and the tall, white haired elf – only that his hair was not white but a glittering golden under the glow of Anor, and Elwing wondered if he would give her a strand of his golden hair.

Afterall, gold is better than white and Elwing had never met an elf whose hair colour would change.

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Elwing did not remember what exactly had happened after, only that cousin Celeborn carried her down the dark tunnels Ada and Nana warned her against.

Then cousin Celeborn’s face darkened when Elwing told him so and his grip tightened. For the first time, Elwing felt her chest grow tight and something clench around her insides. She wanted Nostariel, she wanted Nana, she wanted the strange elf with his strange hair.

But they were none of them there and sometimes wishes do not come true, and thus Elwing closed her eyes and clutched her lock of braided white all the more tighter.

First Age, 507

Havens of Sirion

The Havens of Sirion were nice, and when Elwing asked when Ada and Nana, and even ‘red and ‘rin would join them, cousin Celeborn frowned and cousin Oropher frowned.

Her new minder, Ruivien was stricter and would not sing Elwing lullabies as Nostariel once did – where has Nostariel gone? – In an unfamiliar place with people who always frowned and rarely smiled, Elwing missed Doriath.

She wanted to go home, and home certainly was not in the Havens of Sirion.

And so she found comfort from that little piece of hair, holding it tight as she cried herself to sleep each night.

Elwing missed Ada, she missed Nana, and she even missed ‘red and ‘rin, even though they often laughed at her and said she wasn’t brave.

 

 

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Chapter End Notes

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The many conflicting hair colours of Celegorm

The truth of Celegorm's hair colour, Elwing who had issues and the curious disappearance of Celegorm's hair.

Alternatively:

Of Lore that was not entirely accurate, of the seeds of insanity (and of a certain Peredhil who sneaked into his mother's chambers and stole some shiny hair).

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First Age, 525

Havens of Sirion

Years later, Elwing found that elves’ hair colour do not change – and the identity of the strange elf she met so many moons ago.

Why had the kinslayer not killed her then? Dior’s tales spoke of a monster in the night (Celegorm the cruel, Celegorm the heartless…) who preyed on children and maidens alike.

The truth of Celegorm the Fair did not matter anymore, not to Elwing. Monster or not, she could not bring herself to destroy that piece of hair. It was a piece of her, a piece of a childhood long gone and of lonely nights with none but a lock of the enemy’s hair as solace.

Lore often spoke of the fey eyed Feanorion. “Golden was his long hair”, so lore masters claimed. Lore… was wrong.

Celegorm’s hair was golden, yes, but only in the brightness of Anor; it was white under the serene gaze of Itil, white was fiery fire, white as Elbereth’s glittering stars.

But in truth, his hair was silver. A silver so pale it might be called white and Elwing wondered if she was graced to see what the elves of Cuivienen had seen upon their awakening. Perhaps Celegorm bore the Broidress’ legacy – the purity, the hidden treasure.

When cousin Oropher entrusted to Elwing the Silmaril in its little chest and key to her safekeeping, Elwing coveted the Silmaril, for its ethereal beauty was as Celegorm’s braided strand of silver. Glorious, beauty beyond words. Hallowed treasure.

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First Age, 537

Havens of Sirion

The day started as it did every day as she laid Celegorm’s gift on her vanity, pale hair glinting gold in the sunlight.

Earendil was gone then, off abroad his ship to seek aid from the Valar and so she has to bear the burden of both their duties and safeguard the Silmaril.

And yet, when she returned, the lock of hair was absent from its usual perch. Elwing blinked. Misplaced? No, impossible.

Stolen.

Her throat closed, gut-wrenching fury emerging as Elwing spun to her handmaiden.

“Where?” she rasped. “Where did you take it?”

Elwing could not see straight, there was only blind, white-hot anger. There was only loss and pain.

The elf shook her head, terrified out of her wits.

Then, as quickly as the anger came, it was gone.

Deep within her, a bleak hole opened. Elwing felt so very tired and she longed so much for hair that shone silver and white and gold… Hair as precious as the Silmaril – The Silmaril!

She must not let it out of her sight, must not.

The plait of silver hair might be gone, but the Silmaril was not. And the Silmaril… she must have.

 

 

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Chapter End Notes

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The Kinslaying of Sirion

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First Age, 538

Havens of Sirion

There was nowhere to go. In front of Elwing were two Princes of the Noldor, behind her was the window – and the sea. Surely when they built the house they had little thought of a quick escape.

“Nana! Nana!” Two young voices screamed at her, struggling under the bard’s unforgiving grip. Distantly, Elwing recalled a dark-haired elfling, tugging at a lock of silver atop a head that shone white in the moonlight. Then, the Feanorion Prince had sighed, resigned and gifted her a lock of braided silver.

“Off on your way, little one,” Celegorm the Fair had said, not unkindly, and left her unharmed. But what of his cruel servants? They had left her brothers to rot in the woods.

“Give us the silmaril,” Maedhros the Tall was saying. “We will return to you your sons.”

Elwing clung tighter to the Jewel. It shone gold in the bright gaze of the Daystar, like the lock of hair did.

Gold in the sunlight, white in the moonlight.

She had lost that treasured lock of silver.

Elwing would not lose the jewel too.

She could not.

As she turned towards the window, someone cried louder, and someone roared a warning.

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Air whipped past her, stinging her eyes.

Elwing clung to her treasure and braced herself for the suffocating touch of water that never came.