The Music of the Metals by Cirdan

The Music of the Metals

Read The Music of the Metals

            It was actually a rather amusing sight to see fair Volaurel pummeling Caranthir, especially since the latter wasn’t given to taking such punishment without becoming defensive and subsequently angry.  But Curufin’s wife was terrible to behold.  Her silver hair seemed alive like lightning, and her eyes flashed with equal might.  Volaurel’s mother had been born in the Hitherlands and so Volaurel was not as tall as the second generation of Elves that had been born in Aman, but despite being almost a whole head shorter than Caranthir, she beat him with her fists as if she were a hammer striking an anvil.  Rather than fight back, as was Caranthir’s wont, Feanor’s fourth son simply took the blows with a look of distress.

            “Henceforth, I will not even allow you to look after my garden plants if you beg me!” Volaurel raged.  She landed several more blows on Caranthir’s shoulder and upper arm, and Caranthir did his best to shrink away from the terrifying little woman.

            “What seems to be the problem, Daughter?” Feanor asked at last.  He couldn’t wholly abandon his son after all, regardless of the amusement factor in their altercation.

            “This,” a hit, “idiot,” another blow, “was supposed to be watching Celebrimbor!”  Volaurel pounded Caranthir once more before turning her attention more fully to Feanor.  “Only he didn’t.”  She opened her tight fist to show Feanor the pieces of three different necklaces.  “Instead, he let Celebrimbor run wild, and the boy tore apart my jewelry!”  She gritted her teeth and seethed.  “I was going to wear the Golden Rain to Maglor’s wedding!”

            “Hm.”  Feanor glanced at Caranthir, and by his expression, Caranthir apparently knew that he was entirely in the wrong.  “And where is Celebrimbor now?”

            “Hiding,” Carathir muttered.  “Can’t say I blame him.”

            Volaurel shot him a deadly glare.  “If you had been watching him as I’d asked, he wouldn’t have gotten himself into trouble in the first place.”  She turned back to her father-in-law and pouted.  “Children are supposed to be a joy in their early youth.  Why is Celebrimbor being so difficult?”

            “There, there, dear Daughter.”  Feanor put his arm around Volaurel’s shoulders.  “These works of the hand can be replaced, yea, even so fine a necklace as the Golden Rain.  Boys will be boys.”

            “My friends' boys aren’t like this!”  Yet her objection began to lose its strength even as Feanor held her.  “And it’s not right for a boy to hide like this rather than accept punishment for his wrong-doings.”

            Feanor held her tightly and kissed her on the forehead.  “Curufin and I will have your necklaces fixed or remade as necessary before Maglor’s marriage.  You need not fear.  And I think Caranthir’s thoroughly remorseful of his neglectful babysitting.”  Caranthir rubbed his shoulder in answer, and Feanor waved him away.  “Come, Daughter, you have more important things to do than worry about such things.”  He coaxed the broken jewelry from her hand.  “We will tend to this.  You should be concerning yourself with the preparations of your dress.”

            “Celebrimbor’s still out hiding though.”

            “I will find him and have a stern word with him.  Don’t worry your fair silver head about this.”  Feanor detached her from where she’d been so comfortably nestled against his chest.  “You should’ve asked me from the onset to babysit Celebrimbor.  You know I don’t mind.”

            “But did you not have other things to do today at the forge?” she asked.

            “I will tend to my work in time.  Let me take care of Celebrimbor.”  Her resolve to personally punish her son wavered.  “The dress for the wedding,” he reminded her.

            “Oh, very well.”  Volaurel straightened her hair, which had become disheveled during her abuse of Caranthir.  “You are certain you will be stern with Celebrimbor?  Too often, I think you spoil him.”

            “I won’t,” Feanor promised.

---

            Feanor knew exactly where to find Celebrimbor.  Perhaps it was the nature of boys to hide where they thought to be the last place someone would expect to find them.  Sure enough, Celebrimbor was hidden in the stand of holly trees in the garden forbidden to him.  Feanor silently prowled up to his prey and pounced.

            "Guess who!"

            “Aaaa!”  Celebrimbor shrieked as Feanor grabbed him.  But his scream quickly became the musical laughter of a ringing silver triangle as Feanor tickled him mercilessly.  Celebrimbor fell to the ground, his peals of laughter still ringing through the garden.  “Grandfather!” he managed at last.  Feanor stopped but stayed looming over the little boy.

            “You’ve been bad, I hear.”  Just as Celebrimbor began to assume his most artful expression of innocence, Feanor took from his pouch the broken links and short sections of the necklaces and sprinkled them over the boy.  “No use denying it,” Feanor said.  "You could've been a bit neater about disassembling your mother's necklaces."

            Celebrimbor bit the bottom of his lip, and his eyes were luminous.  "Was she really mad?"

            "That’s a good guess."  Feanor sat up and put his grandson in his lap.  "Yes, she's mad, but she has good reason to be.  You shouldn't play with her things. What you did wasn't very nice.  Good children shouldn't break things."

            "But she never wears those necklaces," Celebrimbor objected.  "That's why I chose them.  Well, that and because they're pretty."

            "Must you destroy what is beautiful?" Feanor asked gently.  "She doesn't wear them often because they're too precious to her.  She doesn't want anything to happen to them, so she keeps them safe in her jewelry box most of the time."

            "Oh."  Celebrimbor looked away sheepishly.  "I thought it was because she didn't like them.  I did think it odd because they were so pretty, of my father's handiwork if I'm not mistaken."

            "You are certainly not mistaken."  Feanor poked his grandson.  "Tearing apart your father's gifts to your mother is a horrible thing to do.  Whatever were you thinking?  Did you think your mother would love you more than him without such reminders?"

            "It's not that."  Celebrimbor squirmed in Feanor's lap.  "Second Uncle's wedding is coming up, and I wanted to practice being the Ringbearer, so I took two rings from Mother's jewelry.  Then it occurred to me to make her something to wear for the special occasion, the way you do or Father does.  I chose three necklaces that she didn't wear too often and made this."  Celebrimbor drew forth a wondrous necklace from his pouch.

            Feanor took the necklace from Celebrimbor's little hand and examined it closely.  The boy had reconnected the small chain links from the three different necklaces to make one of an entirely different design.  Surprisingly enough, each link remained beautifully formed and unmarred.  Feanor would've expected the links to be warped in the rearrangement, perhaps from the pliers gripping the gold too tightly or the imperfect alignment of the ends of the links.  The necklace suggested that Celebrimbor had become more steady-handed of late.

            "This is very fine craftsmanship," Feanor said to his grandson.

            "Well, of course.  It's Father's work," Celebrimbor said proudly.  He made a face.  "I'm not allowed to work in the forge yet."

            "Nay, I do not speak of the forging of the links.  Your handiwork in the reattachment of the links is superb."

            Celebrimbor shrugged.  "The golden links felt right arranged so.  That's not the hard part."

            "But nor is it easy.  You couldn't have done this even two months ago.  Your hand wouldn’t have been steady enough."  Feanor looked with great liking at his grandson.  "You have grown, Celebrimbor."  He gathered up the broken links that he'd showered down upon Celebrimbor like rain and slipped them back into his pouch.

            "Yet I'm still not old enough to play in the forge," Celebrimbor said glumly.  "If I could have made my own links, none of this would have happened, and Mother would not have been angered."

            "We will make it up to her."  Feanor stood and picked up Celebrimbor with one arm.  "Perhaps you are not too young to work in a forge.  Certainly you can't wield a great hammer, but there are smaller tools that can be used.  Small projects often require small tools, and I can make new tools for you if necessary."

            "You're going to take me to the forge?" Celebrimbor's eyes were bright, and he clapped happily.  He loved the projects that he shared with his grandfather.

            "Not only that, but today I will teach you how to work with molten metal.  We need to reassemble your mother's three necklaces, but we'll forge new links and recreate the necklace that you so carefully put together."

            "You’re going to teach me to forge?  I love you, Grandfather!"  Celebrimbor hugged Feanor around the neck.  "I have long dreamt of this day."

            "As have I," Feanor said, "but I did not know it would come so soon."

---

            Feanor did indeed have serious work to do that day, but he didn't think of Celebrimbor as a nuisance or hindrance to his plans.  They traveled together to the Halls of Aule and went straight away to the forge set aside for the Eldar.  They were the only ones there, which was for the better; Feanor had no desire to explain to Mahtan or Nerdanel why he was allowing a four-year-old into such a "dangerous" place.

            Celebrimbor did have greater mastery of his body than before, and he enthusiastically learned as Feanor taught him how to make fine golden links in the likeness of the ones he'd torn from Volaurel's necklaces.  Once Feanor was confident that Celebrimbor was doing well on his own and knew how to avoid imperfections in the pouring and cooling of the molten gold, Feanor let his grandson repeat the process over and over again until he had all the links he needed to recreate his necklace.  And obviously he already knew how to assemble the links, as evidenced by the incident that had begun this entire affair.

            Feanor turned his attention to his own works but kept an eye on Celebrimbor.  The boy didn't cause any trouble.  He delighted in crafting with his own hands, not just acting as a very peripheral assistant to his grandfather.  Celebrimbor's face beamed with every small link that he added to the growing necklace, and though there were only three different styles of links, his joy was not diminished in the small variety to his work.  Though there were only the two of them present, the forge sang with the music of their joyous labors.

            When Celebrimbor finished, he waited patiently until Feanor completed his work and then came to examine Celebrimbor's.  The necklace was a perfect replica of the original, and Celebrimbor had reassembled the three necklaces that he'd originally used for spare parts.  Even the Golden Rain, with all its complexities of design, was as it had been.  Feanor was very pleased with his grandson and praised his work.

            After that, Celebrimbor contented himself with watching Feanor work as they chatted and planned what other wonderful skills of the forge Celebrimbor could acquire.  They'd have to do this all in secret, of course.  Neither Curufin nor Volaurel would approve of their toddler son playing with fire, but Feanor understood Celebrimbor's eagerness.  Once, Feanor had felt it himself, but no one had allowed him to show his talent, encouraging him to instead "play" and "enjoy his youth."  Feanor had instead turned to other matters, like making multiplication tables.  Two plus two plus two always equaled six; why hadn't anyone realized it before?  Multiplication hadn't been readily accepted, especially since Feanor hadn't even turned 10 at that time, but the usefulness of the concept had eventually become apparent so that the adults could no longer entirely dismiss him.  But even as he'd memorized multiplication tables up to the twelve times twelve and realized the repetition intrinsic in multiplication after the double digits, starting with ten, his heart had yearned ever to play with the bounty of the earth.

            Lost between idle talk with his grandson and memories of his childhood, Feanor didn't hear Aule's approach until the Lord of the Smith was upon them.  "Feanor, you should not allow one so young into the forge," Aule scolded.

            Feanor started and bowed low to the Vala.  "Lord Aule.  I did not realize that you'd chosen to grace our forge with your presence."  Celebrimbor wordlessly bowed to the Lord of the Smith as well.

            "I am pleased to see the two of you in such high spirits, but you should not disregard the rules of the forge, certainly not in my forges nor in your own," said Aule.

            Celebrimbor looked downcast and prepared to apologize, but Feanor instead defended them both, saying: "Nay, Celebrimbor is an exception, and the rules should not apply to one so skilled.  The Music of the Metals moves through him, Lord Aule!  It speaks to him even as it did to me.  Long before I entered into apprenticeship under Mahtan, I was ready to mold the metals with my hands, to shape the stones into great buildings, to forge gems as brilliant as those found in the earth.  I myself had not fully realized until today that my grandson and I are kindred spirits in our love for the substances of the earth and the Songs of the Stones."

            Aule looked thoughtfully at Celebrimbor.  He took from Celebrimbor’s hand the new necklace, and no words needed to explain whose small hands had shaped the gold into that fair design.  Then Aule looked to Feanor and said, "Do you truly think that the Music of the Metals is within him?"

            At that question, Feanor's heart began to race.  There could be only one reason for Aule asking such a thing.  Among the Eldar, there were some who resonated with the Music of the Metals, and they were said to rival even the Maiar of the Smith in skill and power.  Six had been found and named Lovers of the Smith, and Aule had long ago said that he would admit only one other.

            Feanor bowed low to Lord Aule.  "I know it in my heart, and I would gladly have him take the test."

            Celebrimbor looked confused and a little afraid but did not speak or ask what was happening as Aule brought forth several balls of metal.  Most were silverish in color, but some were golden or reddish.

            "Which of these are pure?" Lord Aule asked.  Celebrimbor's small hand trembled slightly as he rolled several balls to his left, others to his right.

            "These are pure, Lord Smith," Celebrimbor said simply and gestured to those at his right.

            Aule nodded.  "Correct.  Organize them."

            Feanor tensed.  The nature of a child was to sort according to color.  Would Celebrimbor listen to his heart?  Would he sort according to the Music of the Metal?  Feanor had not been nearly so young when he'd taken the test.  Could I have successfully done this as a four-year-old? Feanor wondered, but he had no answer for himself.  Slowly, hesitantly, Celebrimbor rolled the ball of platinum apart from the others.  His hand rested on the ball of silver, and he rolled it beside the ball of platinum.  Feanor winced inwardly but gave no outward signs.  This test belonged to Celebrimbor.

            The boy cocked his head to the side as he looked at the ball of silver to the right of the ball of platinum.  Then, though he himself obviously did not know why, he rolled it up slightly so that it was diagonal from the ball of platinum.  He rolled the ball of copper above that of the ball of silver.  Then he rolled the ball of gold under the ball of silver, next to the ball of platinum.  Celebrimbor paused at this and stared at the small formation of four balls.  His hands touched, from top to bottom, the balls of copper, silver, and gold.  Rarely had he seen these metals in their pure state.  Even in jewelry, gold was often hardened with another metal.  Celebrimbor’s eyes lit like stars as he felt his own life’s fire traveling through these balls.

            Feanor rejoiced and felt his heart bursting with pride.  There was no doubt anymore.  The key three metals were in place, and Celebrimbor could hear their song!  He was one of the chosen ones among the Eldar!  As if he'd also become aware of that special music within himself, Celebrimbor now became more certain of his movements.  Iron he set far to the left of copper; aluminum he set above and apart from the others; and tin he set as far to the right of silver as copper was from iron.

            Celebrimbor stopped and looked at his work.  The pattern of the seven balls might have seemed odd to others: a central column of three with two seemingly scattered to the left and two to the right.  But these seven balls of metal were meant to be organized so, just as the seven stars of the Sickle of the Valar were arranged in their right order.

            "I'm done," Celebrimbor said.  Feanor would've hugged Celebrimbor then and there had he not been at the end of the most important test of his life.  Feanor restrained himself and let Aule judge the test.

            Aule nodded and said, "The Order of the Metals is correct.  You have proven that you hear the Music of the Metals.  If you accept, I will make you an Aulendil, a Lover of the Smith."

            Celebrimbor looked to Feanor, who nodded and said, "It is your privilege, and it is an honor."  Feanor pulled the neck of his shirt down and turned so that Celebrimbor could see the mark of the hammer and anvil upon his right shoulder.  "I, too, am an Aulendil.  It is the greatest honor to be bestowed upon a smith."

            "Then gladly do I accept, though I am not yet a smith."  Celebrimbor bowed before Lord Aule.  He pulled his shirt open just as Feanor had so that his right shoulder was bare.  Aule smiled, and Feanor perceived that the Lord of the Smith was no less pleased than Feanor at this unexpected turn of events.  Aule leaned down and kissed the exposed shoulder, and from that kiss, the Mark of the Lord of the Smith appeared:  a small hammer and anvil upon the translucent skin of the young boy.

            Aule looked from Celebrimbor to Feanor and then at last to the balls of metal.  "The Music of the Metals in the Eldar is completed.  Thus will Fate be fully achieved."

---

Chapter End Notes

Notes:  The seven balls of metal are placed according to their place in the periodic table of elements.  Again, the Lovers of the Smith don't know why they are arranged the way they're arranged, but it's the right order of things.  Volaurel is my own creation and not canonically Curufin’s wife.  I chose to use their names as they’ll appear in Middle-earth, but they should be using Quenya since this story takes place in the Blessed Realm.