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

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).

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.

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.

Chapter End Notes

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