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

The Kinslaying of Sirion

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.

Air whipped past her, stinging her eyes.

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