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.

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).

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.

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.