A Gift Like No Other by Raiyana

Chapter 1

Read Chapter 1

It was Orodreth who found him, because of course it was.

Who else but the King of Nargothrond would dare walk through the firmly – not quite impenetrable, but definitely determined to stay shut with the words he’d spoken – closed door of his chambers?

No one.

Well, possibly Cilintamo, but he was a special case, and Celebrimbor appreciated his quiet support more than the reminder of his Tirion childhood stung.

“You missed dinner.” Orodreth did not add ‘Is that a belated act of rebellion?’ nor the ‘I worried you had decided to follow them’ that is left unspoken in the air between them. Celebrimbor heard both; he might not enjoy political games, but his mind was more than keen enough to understand that his presence was an unknown factor to many after the banishment of the Sons of Fëanor from Nargothrond.

There had always been people expecting to see Curufinwë the Third when they looked at him.

Some were determined to do so.

Probably always would, no matter how many times he spoke against the actions of his father and uncles.

But Orodreth knew better than that, at least, and there was some comfort in that thought.

“I wasn’t hungry,” Celebrimbor replied, still staring at the piece of paper that had been delivered to him at midday, accompanying a cloth-wrapped parcel he had not yet found the courage to open. The wax seal that held the string closed around it bore a mark he had half-expected never to see again.

The Star of Fëanor.

Of Curufin the Crafty, at least, that version.

The letter, however, he’d opened first, and perhaps that was his first mistake – and yet, consigning it to the fire that had almost died in its grate while he contemplated the words penned on it felt like a worse crime by far.

“I… worried you had gone with them,” Orodreth sighed, dropping into the chair he had so often occupied before, sharing a glass of wine, or a game of hounds and geese.

“No.” Celebrimbor knew that, with certainty, even if the letter lying before him seemed to shake certain ground from underneath his feet. “I would not follow my… Curufin.” Father… Atyaro… Atto?

Part of him felt young again, felt no more than the child he had been stumbling from Cilintamo’s arms after the ship had docked, wished for the safety and comfort he’d felt when his father had snapped him up in the next moment, his fëa soothing but never truly mending the void left behind by the one who should have been there…

Suddenly he knew what lay behind the cloth – he’d seen it before, carried it from one new encampment to the next; Curufin’s dearest possession.

“Ammë…” he whispered, tearing the fabric away, feeling tears roll slowly down his cheeks.

Ammë…

“A picture?” Orodreth asked, before recollection made sense of it. “I’d forgotten about your mother…”

Sometimes I wonder if I have, too… Celebrimbor thought, though he’d never admit that fear aloud.  But he never did.

“Fa-Curufin never would have left her behind…” Celebrimbor sighed. “Never… unless he knew he…” The words faltered. Every brush-stroke had been placed so carefully, so neatly, that the picture almost felt like a moment frozen in time, and Celebrimbor wondered who had originally painted her; Curufin might have great skills in crafting, but his talents did not run to the arts and never had.

The boy he had been, frightened by the sudden darkness of a Tree-less life, remembered the look on Curufin’s face when he ad seen the painting the first time, remembered the way he refused to let go of Telperína all that night, remembered falling asleep half on her lap, half in his arms.

“Much I could fault Curufin Fëanorion for… but never his love for his wife.” Orodreth’s hand was warm where it lay on his shoulder, steadying him when he swayed with the sudden surge of knowledge.

“My father believes he will die soon,” Celebrimbor breathed, staring at the soft smile of his mother, trying to recall the exact sound of her voice and fearing that he never would.

Orodreth squeezed gently, but did not speak.

Celebrimbor appreciated that; comfort from the ellon who had banished his father upon the imminent loss of same would have rung a little hollow.

“That’s why he left her here. For me.”

So I would remember…

Leaning back against Orodreth’s sturdy frame, obeying the pressure of his hand on his shoulder, Celebrimbor drew in a shaky breath.

From her frame, Telperína smiled softly, playing with one of the bluebell flowers he distantly remembered picking for her when they visited her family.

“The letter disturbed you more,” Orodreth said softly.

“My… Curufin… he knows me too well – at times better than I know myself, I feel,” Celebrimbor sighed, shaking off the hand and getting to his feet, pacing across the room and back a few times. “I cannot… there is his truth, and mine, and I… I don’t know which is real!”

Falling into his own chair, he accepted the full glass of wine Orodreth handed him with a scowl aimed at the sheet of creamy paper. Only his own name – his full name – was visible, but the words that would appear if he unfolded it resounded in his head, turning upside down what he’d believed even yesterday to be written in stone.

“Perhaps they’re both real,” Orodreth offered gently. “Perhaps the truth lies somewhere in between – we know Curufin has the gift of speaking to the hearts of people; as you do, in truth.”

Celebrimbor scoffed, downing his glass.

“I would never seek to usurp your throne,” he grimaced.

“No… but these halls should be far emptier were it not for your words stilling the feet of those who would have followed them into exile.”

“I had to say something.” Or did I? Was that simply part of your plan, Father? Are you now expecting me to… to what, exactly? Tugging at the Dwarven Smith’s Braid in his hair, Celebrimbor growled in frustration, finding his eyes drawn to the green eyes of Telperína in her painting and wishing he could ask for guidance from the one person aside from his uncle Celegorm who knew Curufin best.

Why did you have to die… I need you, Ammë.

He could almost hear the answer, the voice he thought was hers washing over him like a light caress of soft hands.

Because I had to save you, my son.

The words of the letter seemed to echo in his mind, his father’s voice changing to hers and back again with every beat of his heart.

Remember that I love you.

You are the greatest thing I shall ever do.

“Do you want me to read it?” Orodreth wondered.

Celebrimbor shook his head, picking up the piece of paper and stowing it carefully in his letterbox.

“Perhaps one day,” he allowed, though he wasn’t sure anyone but him would ever be allowed to read the last words his father left him. “Tonight… I simply wish to be alone in company, if you fancy indulging me.”

“Lend me that book on bridges you promised me, and I might,” Orodreth said, a small smile playing around his mouth as he accepted the proffered tome.

Celebrimbor sank back into his chair, picking up a Dwarven treatise, translated and delivered by Master Audri’s eldest son, on a new metal found in the mines beneath the Hithaeglir.

Silence, comfortable and familiar, fell between them, as though it were any other night in Nargothrond.

“You know…” Orodreth said quietly, when the flames had nearly died down in the grate again. “I am glad you stayed… my friend.”

“As am I,” Celebrimbor replied, looking up from the angular Cirth, “my friend.”