What Brings Us Together by Aipilosse

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Aftermath

Back at Ondomar, the wedding guests try to make sense of the attack.

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The throbbing ache in his throat prodded Celebrimbor awake. The pain contrasted with the soft surface that supported him. These observations combined told him he was not in Mandos, where nothing hurt and softness was no where to be found. He blinked his eyes open. Celebrimbor thought it was still likely the night of the wedding. His throat hurt horribly, and there was a dull ache on the back of his head, but he didn’t seem to have other significant injuries.

He slowly sat up and set his feet on the ground. At that moment Coroniel hurried in, a basket of wet rags on her hip.

“What are you doing up? Lie back down.”

“I’m fine,” Celebrimbor said. Or rather, he tried to say, but what came out was more of a croak. He gingerly touched his neck and put his feet back on the bed in acquiescence of Coroniel’s order but stayed upright.

“Here.” Coroniel handed him a rag soaked in icy water. “Put that on your neck.”

The numbing relief of the cold spread through him. He nudged Coroniel with his foot.

“Fine,” she grumbled and opened her mind to him.

What happened? he asked.

Coroniel sat in silence for a moment as Celebrimbor’s anxiety grew. “Maglor is dead,” she finally said. She looked at the basket instead of at Celebrimbor. As he sent a swarm of questions her way, reeling with the shock, she continued, “And Merillë is seriously injured. Elrond sounded relatively confident she would heal when I saw him for a moment, but still.” She finally looked up to glare at Celebrimbor. “Your mind is so loud. One thing at a time. You know this is the reason only he would use osanwë with you.”

Sorry, Celebrimbor thought. He tried to order the chaos in his mind before reaching out to Coroniel again.

She continued, guessing where his questions would go. “Lumbë attacked them. He must have run into them while searching for… whatever his aim was.”

Preparing the way for Him. Celebrimbor sent the shared memory over and they both shuddered.

“I thought we were done with this. First Morgoth, then Sauron, then Ar-Pharazôn. That should have taught me that even in Aman we are not safe.” Coroniel’s voice broke and Celebrimbor reached out to her. She buried her head in his shoulder, not crying, but temporarily blocking out the world.

She shifted so that she sat next to him on the bed and held out a fresh cloth. “Anyway, I suppose you want to know what happened after you fell.”

Annatar? He knew that he should still be overwhelmed by grief for Maglor — the only one of his uncles who without the forceful hand of death had summoned the courage to admit wrong-doing. He should be afraid for Merillë, who had not even had five hundred years yet and who still might not recover. Instead, he kept checking his bond with Annatar. It had been open between them for less than a day, but it had already become a comfort, a place to turn to share a moment of emotion, a quick thought, or a wry observation. And now it was gone, and Celebrimbor was alone again.

Coroniel looked at his neck and sighed. “I was getting ready to see how effective a rock to the head would be to a Maia, when he suddenly lurched back and began screaming. I have never heard something so terrible in my life. I think he thought he killed you, and I thought the same. Lumbë began to move, so I turned to fight him instead, but then Ornéliel ran up with a length of chain and grabbed his arms, chaining them behind his back.”

My mother?

“Yes, I was just as surprised! As soon as the chains touched him, Lumbë seemed to wilt, just crouching on the ground.

“Then I saw Curufin, also bearing a length of chain. He ran up to Annatar and bound his arms. I took the opportunity to check on you and was most relieved to see you were alive, because if you had died I would have had to attempt death by grief, or maybe just cast myself off a cliff in order to lambast you for letting yourself get killed by him again.”

You would hate death.

“Yes, yes, so you say, but clearly a stay in Mandos was not enough to teach you to avoid hazardous Maiar.”

Celebrimbor did not point out that they would likely not encounter each other in Mandos, given its solitary nature, and instead urged her to continue.

Coroniel frowned at the mental nudge. “Hey! I’m getting there. So I realized you still lived, and I tried to call out to tell your parents, but then there was rolling thunder, and lightning, and the earth began to shake. I assumed for a moment that it was more enemies here to defend Lumbë, but no, a shining eagle descended from the sky, while at the same time the earth seemed to buckle and grow, until a giant stood before us. Then another giant ran up behind them.”

Coroniel frowned. “It is difficult to describe what happened next. It was hard to think in the presence of all that power. I saw Nerdanel approaching the earth giant, and realized it was Aulë. I couldn’t figure out what to do with myself. I thought I should kneel, but I was already on the ground. Then a silvery figure also approached, likely Mithrandir? But I’m not certain. The running giant — he was very pink and gold and kept laughing; I’m almost positive it was Tulkas — grabbed Annatar, who was still lying on the ground nearby. Curufin crawled up beside you; he was very upset — his lips were moving but I couldn’t hear him. There was more sound: thunder and bells and rocks smashing. Nerdanel seemed distraught, but not frightened of the Valar in the least, which is more than I can say of myself, and then they left, taking Annatar and Lumbë with them. I believe Mithrandir went with them as well, if he was actually the silver being.”

Celebrimbor lay back down. So that was it. After months spent trying to help Annatar regain his memories, weeks spent figuring out if anything worthwhile remained, finally, when he had decided to extend another chance, he had vanished as abruptly as he had appeared.

But what is going on? he finally asked Coroniel, the strangeness of it all manifesting. We have been attacked! And this is no city or center of power.

“Well, all five of Finwë’s children were in one place,” Coroniel pointed out. “But it’s still frightening. Where did he come from?”

Where did Annatar come from? Celebrimbor countered. My guess would be the same place.

“And who’s He? Morgoth?”

Celebrimbor frowned; it couldn’t be Morgoth. That was who I thought at first, there are those bizarre prophecies after all, but Annatar told me that Morgoth is gone, as much as he can be, not sitting in the Void somewhere.

“None of this sits well with me. I don’t know what I feel about Annatar yet.” Coroniel tucked her knees beneath her chin. “He deserves… something. I will never forget that he was the one who destroyed my home. And that he killed so many of my friends: Reniadis, Rivaldir, you. That was hard. I thought that was the end — that we’d never meet again. But we have, and he— I don’t know, I liked him once. I may begin liking him again, especially after the apology.”

He apologized to you?

“Yes, you’re not the only one he wronged,” Coroniel said archly. Celebrimbor smacked her shoulder. “I know, I’m only joking. But yes, he did. I didn’t think he was capable of it. I’m not sure if he fully regrets everything, but he at least recognized that he unjustly destroyed much of what I loved.”

And Maglor is dead. Celebrimbor could feel the mourning in the house. So many people who had thought this sort of grief was over, plunged back into the loss that was never easy, not even in the Blessed Realm with the possibility of reincarnation. After he survived millennia in Middle-earth.

“I thought he was improving too. The music tonight! I know he never lost that skill, but still, I was in awe.”

I should speak with Haruni.

“Except you can’t even speak!” Coroniel exclaimed. “See if you can rest for a few hours before joining everyone else. Fëanor, Fingolfin, and the rest of them are all arguing somewhere. Nerdanel is distraught. I think Finrod and Amarië are ready to tear open the door to Merillë’s room, and no one will be able to put up with your inability to speak.”

Celebrimbor closed his eyes. Coroniel was probably right, as usual. He wouldn’t be able to help anyone right now, and his own strange emotions would just interfere with any attempt at mental communication. And he was so tired. Or maybe he was just sad. It was difficult to tell.

~

A very loud bird directly outside Celebrimbor’s window began shrieking its passion to the morning. He thought about opening his eyes. His throat hurt less already, thanks to the air of Valinor that seemed as healing as medicine.

The presence of someone else in his room made him start upright; his head insistently began throbbing in response to the abrupt movement.

“Good morning,” Curufin said. His dull voice and furrowed brow belied the ‘good’ in his greeting.

“What are you doing here, Atya?” Celebrimbor was pleased he could speak, although his voice was still rough and some words caught in his throat.

“You almost died,” Curufin replied. “Again.”

“You’re being melodramatic.”

“No, I am not.” Curufin crossed his arms.

Celebrimbor fell back against the pillows. He hated arguing with his father and was certainly in no mood to do so today.

Curufin drew in a breath. “I’m sorry. I thought I was going to have to watch what I was grateful to have missed in Mandos. How are you feeling?”

“Well enough, considering.” Physically, Celebrimbor suspected he would only have lingering soreness and some bruising in just a handful of days. Emotionally, he still didn’t know what he felt. There was faint annoyance, and a small measure of affection towards his father, but these feelings were like specks, drifting aimlessly in some empty cavernous place within him.

“Have you heard all of what happened?” Curufin asked.

“Enough. Cori was here a few hours ago and told me about the aftermath of the attack. And that Káno died.” Celebrimbor watched his father carefully. Curufin’s face was drawn — Maglor had perhaps been the brother he was least close to, but that likely just strengthened any guilt. “Is there any update on Merillë?”

“No.” Curufin glanced up, still pained, but now on someone else’s behalf. “Elrond is still with her. Ingoldo is distraught and will not be comforted.”

Celebrimbor nodded, his gaze unfocused as he tried again to process the past twelve hours. “And how are you and Amya?”

“As well as can be expected.” Curufin still held himself stiffly, the role of caretaker rusty from disuse.

Something in the bland answer reminded him of Coroniel’s account of the night. “Wait, what were those chains you and Amya had? How did you happen to have powerful objects of binding at a wedding? And how did you know they would work on Lumbë?”

Curufin raised an eyebrow. “Your mother is a very skilled craftswoman. I know you look down on your mother and I—” Celebrimbor opened his mouth to protest but decided against it at Curufin’s flat look. “I know you look down on us, but Ornéliel has had years and years of access to Aulë and his Maiar, and some of the most powerful artifacts ever created.

“So, when the one who I despised more than anyone else showed up, I spoke with Ornéliel, and lo! She shared my feelings. Imagine that.”

Celebrimbor flicked a hand at him to urge Curufin onward. They could discuss how much his parents hated Annatar, how justified that hate was, and how little Celebrimbor wanted to hear about it at a later time.

“We discussed various ways of handling our unwanted guest. We debated weapons, but ultimately discarded that idea. While we could disembody him, we did not think either of us could create something that could truly kill him, especially since his own creation seemed to have had the best chance at doing that and it failed. So, the next best solution would be to contain him in some way. Ornéliel had had a chance to examine Angainor and knew something of the craft that would be needed to constrain an Ainu. So, we embarked upon a project to create a chain that could bind Sauron, cutting him off from the Song of the world and strong enough that he could not break it through his magic.”

Celebrimbor absently rubbed his throat, by turns impressed and annoyed at his parents’ ingenuity. Of course in their hatred of Annatar they were united.

“So, you created a chain that could bind one of the Maiar. That explains much of what you’ve been doing these past weeks, but not why you had two such chains. Was one the prototype?”

Curufin sat up indignantly. “We would not have risked approaching either of them with a prototype! No, one was for his hands, the other for his feet.”

“Ah. You know he was trying to protect us.”

“He tried to kill you!” Curufin hissed. “How can you be so blind? If you go back to him, he will hurt you again. Do you know what it’s like to have someone you love choose their own destruction again and again?”

Celebrimbor raised his eyebrows, feeling anger boil up.

“Perhaps you have some taste of it.” Curufin sat back and pursed his lips. “If I could ask you to do but one thing, it would be this: forget him. Some things are never meant to be. The Valar will judge as they see fit and any judgment rendered will likely mean he will never interact with the Children again. This is a blessing. You can truly be free.”

“You know nothing of freedom,” Celebrimbor said, his voice rough. “You were born behind a fence, chained yourself to an oath, and now are fenced in again. I chose what I would for many years, and I don’t regret a single one of my choices. Now, please leave my room.”

“Tyelpë—”“ Curufin started. He pulled a hand down his face. Celebrimbor crossed his arms in resolute silence.

Curufin slowly stood up and looked around himself. “I meant to ask, do you need anything?”

“No. Please leave.”

With a last strained look, Curufin left.

Celebrimbor lay without moving for at least an hour after that. His father thought that Annatar’s death or imprisonment would free him, but he felt anything but free. His body felt like it was made of stone, paralyzed and heavy. It was the opposite of the buoyancy of the past day, when a door had opened that showed a sliver of a future with Annatar.

But the potential vanished as quickly as Annatar had, and now Celebrimbor felt trapped. I cannot stay here. I must find him. But then he remembered the fell light in Annatar’s eyes and the pure rage towards Celebrimbor that had almost overwhelmed him. What if he went to Valmar and that was who he found, a bitter husk who only desired vengeance? Coroniel had said she thought Annatar had been horrified at the thought of him dead, but it also sounded like the night had descended into pure chaos right at that point.

I cannot stay here. There are too many memories. Coroniel had spoken of going to Avalloné, but even that seemed like a claustrophobic choice. Maybe he would go north, towards Formenos. But Ornéliel’s family lived there, and many other people he knew, and the lands had likely been filled by many settlements in the millennia since he had been there.

He forced himself to sit up, bracing himself to face the family.

Downstairs, the air crackled with tension. Most people were in one of the larger common rooms. Some wore the traditional grey mourning clothes, the color long associated with grieving among the Amanyar who had never left Valinor. Those who had been exiles or had been born in Middle-earth wore black.

Celebrimbor looked around for his mother; finding her absent from the common room, he ducked out to look elsewhere. He slowed when he heard Finarfin’s voice coming from a nearby room.

“I will return to Tirion in less than an hour. I regret not being able to stay and mourn my nephew, but it seems a new peril has arisen, and I need to resume my place as king. I also cannot overlook that I may have drawn the Umaia to us — perhaps he thought to slay me unawares and away from the palace guard.”

“I will return with you as well,” Fingolfin said. “We should look to the defense of the city. It seems we may have a need for our swords again.”

“I feel uneasy remaining here,” Fëanor said. “It was likely my presence that drew him.”

“Your presence?” Lalwen asked with a raised eyebrow. “Yours and not the High King’s, or all of us here together, or most likely of all, Sauron?”

“Yes, mine,” Fëanor snapped. “It was my son he killed after all, my arrival that was most unlooked for. I fear I drew evil to this place.”

“You certainly cannot come to Tirion,” said Finarfin. “There is much groundwork to be laid. And you will need to make a formal apology—”

“Who in Tirion did I wrong?” Fëanor interrupted.

“You cannot be serious,” Fingolfin said.

Findis looked at Finarfin. “We absolutely cannot have him return to Tirion.” She addressed them all, “Besides, I agree with Lalwen, I believe it was Sauron’s presence that drew him.”

“Then who drew Sauron?” Fëanor asked.

“Well that wasn’t you either,” Fingolfin retorted. “According to Nerdanel he’d been here for years.”

Celebrimbor left the arguing siblings. He shared the opinion that Lumbë had not been drawn to Ondomar because of Annatar. He also hadn’t been drawn by Fëanor, or at least not only by Fëanor. There are many kings I could slay just up the path, portents to paint that I will take down with my fall. But portents of what?

Míriel stood at the front door, speaking with Frodo and Sam. To Celebrimbor’s relief, the hobbits looked fine — sad but not frightened. As Frodo spoke, Miriel nodded gravely. Then the hobbits both bowed and left, heading up the stairs.

Celebrimbor crossed the entrance hall. “Let me get that for you,” he said, reaching for her pack, which Míriel had set down while speaking with the hobbits.

“Thank you, Indyo,” Míriel held the door open for him and Celebrimbor followed her out.

“Should you be leaving here alone?” he asked. “We were just attacked; who knows what is out there.”

“You need not fear for my safety. I, even more than Nerdanel, have a Vala’s protection upon me. Besides, I live on the threshold of death already and have no fear of it.”

“Is that where you’re going? To Mandos?”

“First to Vairë’s Halls.” Míriel nodded at an elf by the stables who left to fetch her horse. “She will want me near if the strings of fate are being plucked again. But yes, I will ask to see Káno when I speak with the Weaver.”

“What will you say to her?” Celebrimbor asked.

“I will tell my version of events, and my own observations. Some have also asked me to relay their own thoughts, and I will do so if it seems my lady desires to know more of that night.” Míriel kissed him on the cheek after he settled her pack on the back of the horse. She looked at him closely. “Is there aught you would have me say?”

Celebrimbor searched for words, but nothing came. Finally he said, “Only that I bear him no ill will. And I still don’t regret knowing him.” There was more than that; some emotion simmered within him — maybe anger, maybe desperation lurked below the fog of numbness, but he couldn’t access it no matter how hard he tried.

Celebrimbor helped his great-grandmother mount and watched as she left, the bright morning light shining off her silver hair.

~

Celebrimbor spent the rest of the day and night drifting from room to room, providing comfort when he could, but mostly trapped in the haze of endlessly remembering the events of the previous day.

Finarfin and Eärwen left with no fanfare. They apologized profusely, but everyone understood the importance of the High King returning to Tirion as quickly as possible. Several of Nerdanel and Írissë’s household who were trained in arms went with them — many thought that Finarfin was likely the true target of the attack.

The following day, Celebrimbor was pulled into conversations about what they would do with Maglor's body. Why anyone thought his opinion should be taken into consideration baffled him, but he found himself listing off all the challenges with cremating the body nonetheless. A handful of people wondered if they should not rather bring the body to Lórien; it had been a long time since they had dealt with a death, and the whole situation felt surreal and impermanent among so many of the returned.

Celegorm put a stop to the talk as soon as he heard it. “Preserve the body? With the crushed ribs, the mangled organs, and lest we forget, the perpetually unhealed wound on his hand? When his appearance had aged beyond his own mother’s? What kindness do you think you are doing him?”

Caranthir was even more practical. “And we know not if and when he will return. We were in Mandos for millennia, and who knows how long a minstrel must be silent before the Valar are appeased.”

Nerdanel held up a hand, quieting her family gathered around the table. “I’m not sending my son’s corpse off to Lórien,” she said. “And Carnistir is right, though it could have been said a bit better: we know not when he will return from Mandos. Please, let me properly grieve.”

On the third day after the attack, they held Maglor’s funeral. They agreed on a pyre, according to the traditions that evolved among the Feänorians in the first age. Maedhros spoke of his bravery and of his ferocious skill he had displayed in battle after battle during the First Age. Sam spoke of his persistence and his hidden kindness. Last, Elrond spoke of his teaching, and began a song of mourning upon a silver harp. The song was picked up by the crowd and seemed for a moment to take on a defiant tinge. As the song of mourning died out, and the flames grew, Celebrimbor was reminded how much he hated the custom of cremation. The acrid smoke stank despite the sweet herbs and fragrant boughs they had chosen to burn with the body, and between the flames and logs, the slow horror of burning contorted the corpse into impossible shapes. That, and the reminder of endless grief and the slow defeat of the First Age made the whole funeral just another black mark in the interminably long days since the wedding. More of the family left after that, and the house began to feel empty.

The following day, Elrond admitted visitors beyond her parents and sister to Merillë’s sick bed. Celebrimbor entered the adjoining room, wanting to visit Merillë, but fearing she had already been overwhelmed with visitors.

Finrod and Galadriel looked up at him; from their drawn faces it looked like they had been arguing.

“Is Merillë still seeing visitors?” Celebrimbor asked.

“Yes, go on in,” Finrod said, waving his hand at the door.

“Are you sure? I can wait if she is tired. I imagine she has spoken with many people today.” And if she played any part in the disagreement between you two, I imagine she is exhausted.

“She would enjoy the company — I do not think she wishes to be alone,” Galadriel said, with the same distracted air Finrod had. “Just, do not inquire about the attack. I just finished asking her those details; I don’t think she wishes to dwell on them any longer.”

Celebrimbor eyed Galadriel for a moment more, and, when it became clear that whatever discussion the siblings were having had moved from the auditory realm to solely between their minds, started towards Merillë’s room. He could leave soon enough if Galadriel’s assessment had been incorrect.

Merillë was awake and sitting up. Her slim body looked frail against the voluminous pillows as she stared out the window.

“How are you feeling?” Celebrimbor asked as he took a seat next to the bed.

Merillë slowly looked up. “Fine.” Her eyes held a weariness that he had never seen before on her.

“I can leave and let you rest if you’d like,” he offered. He examined her critically. The bandages wound round her face and shoulders looked clean — if she bled still it was slow enough that it hadn’t yet seeped through. Celebrimbor could not tell how badly she had been hurt though, and what scars would remain afterwards. He had heard that Lumbë’s poisonous excretions had burned her, and she had also suffered broken bones and internal damage from the ensuing battle.

“No. I have rested enough,” she said. She glanced at the door. “Are my father and aunt still talking?”

“Yes.”

“Could you tell what direction they were leaning towards?”

Celebrimbor shook his head. “I could not even tell you what they discussed.”

“Ah.” Merillë sagged down farther into the bed with a wince and closed her eyes. “I think they disagree about what course of action they should take.”

“I could tell that much from the tension when I walked into the room.”

“I told Atanésa everything about the attack. I told my parents everything I could recall as well. It— Well— I don’t think I have any real answers. Not really. But I don’t think Lumbë knew about Miau— Sauron.”

“Really?” Celebrimbor resisted the urge to interrogate her about the night of the wedding. “That’s interesting, but not, I think, something you must worry about.”

Merillë frowned. “They’re thinking about politics.”

“I suppose that’s only natural.” That the High King’s son, who spent as much time ruling as his father did, should be thinking about political ramifications was no surprise. Galadriel had avoided politics since her return to Aman, but that did not mean she was unaware of them.

“I wish it wasn’t. You have managed to not get sucked into that world.”

Celebrimbor let out a mirthless chuckle. “Yes, but I am from the famously dispossessed side of the family, and furthermore, have the benefit of being rumored to have been seduced by one of the greatest evils our people have ever faced, so—” He shrugged.

“I don’t think that’s fair.”

“What? That some should not trust me? Or that I can side step any conversations about the duty of rulership?”

“Both.” Merillë’s unbandaged hand balled up the sheets into her clenched fist. “I still trust you.”

“That’s good to hear.” Celebrimbor riffled through topics that might draw Merillë out of her gloom. He noticed Merillë was still looking at him as if she expected more of a response. “I also trust you?” he tried.

Merillë bit her lip. “What do you think should happen to him? Miaul— Annatar.”

Celebrimbor sighed. “I really don’t think I’m the right person to ask.”

“You’re the only person I’d want to ask.”

“I’m not a neutral party.”

“Father said he tried to kill you again.” Merillë looked close to tears.

Celebrimbor touched his neck where he knew chartreuse bruises still mottled his skin. “Yes. You could say that.”

“If he would even try to kill you—”

“Even? He’s the reason I died the first time.”

“Yes, I know!” Merillë shouted. She dropped her head back with a wince. “But it seemed that things were better this time?”

“They weren’t better.” He remembered Annatar laughing in his ear as they danced. “No, they were better.” Annatar, frowning ferociously over some instructions from Írissë drifted through his mind. “ I don’t know. But I could tell—” Celebrimbor paused as he searched for the words he needed. “I could tell his spirit was different, smaller. I also knew there was a part of him that still wanted the Ring back, and that part remembers me as one of the architects of his loss. We thought, well, I thought, we didn’t really get a chance to talk about this, that that part of himself could be permanently silenced, maybe even healed in a way if it could be convinced that the Ring was truly gone forever. But now I wonder if I completely misread what was going on. Maybe he felt smaller, less alien in a way, because the bulk of his self was at work suppressing the Ring-longing.”

“I just—” Merillë sighed. “I just want to make sure they know he was trying.” She glanced over at Celebrimbor. “He was trying so hard.”

“I’m sure the Valar know all.” At Merillë’s look he amended his statement. “I have no idea what they know, but what can we do about it?”

“Talk to my father and Galadriel.”

“And say what?”

“I don’t know.” Merillë sounded lost, but then a stubborn look crossed her face “I don’t know! But I’m worried they are putting the perception of our family above all else, and I think one of them should go to Valmar.”

“Mithrandir is there, is he not?”

“It would matter if one of the High King’s children spoke to what we’ve been doing.”

Celebrimbor sighed. “I’m not sure why you think they’ll listen to me.”

“Please?” Merillë gave him a pleading look. Her hazel eyes shining between the bandages were very effective.

“Fine. I’ll see what I can do.”

As Celebrimbor slowly closed the bedroom door behind him, he cautiously surveyed Finrod and Galadriel. Finrod was emphatically gesturing, one arm periodically chopping downward, the other raised above his head. Galadriel stood straight, her face smooth, but her eyes flashing. They were completely silent.

Celebrimbor cleared his throat. They both abruptly turned to him. Two pairs of bright eyes, one a starlit grey and the other the color of the sea, stared at him. He could feel them trying to reach into his mind.

He made his mind opaque, smoothly repelling their mental inquiries with a reflexive skill.

“Merillë seems to be feeling better,” he said.

Finrod pressed a hand to his temple. “Tyelpë—” He stared at Celebrimbor for a long moment; a question seemed poised at his lips. He said nothing though, and with a sigh he left the room.

Galadriel watched her brother leave. “You would think a man who willingly went to his death because he understood the consequences of his actions would not oppose his sister doing likewise.”

“I haven’t the faintest idea of what you’re talking about. What danger are you facing?”

“Not danger, but consequences, rather. He doesn’t want me to go to Valmar,” she said, as if explaining the most obvious of facts.

“And? I imagine the situation there is quite delicate.” Belatedly, Celebrimbor remembered that he was supposed to be convincing Galadriel to go to Valmar.

“Do you think I am unequipped to handle a delicate situation?”

“No, not at—”

Galadriel didn’t let him finish. “I am quite resolved to go, so don’t try to dissuade me.”

“I was not planning on it. For one, I would have to know what you were planning to do in order to dissuade you from it.”

Galadriel pursed her lips. “I must see how what I started is resolved.”

“How can you possibly have started any of this? Unless you’ve been summoning Umaiar between projects?”

Galadriel looked at him seriously. “Without me, Sauron would never have appeared. Would never have known who he was, would never have tried to access his latent power, and would never have drawn more of Morgoth’s minions to this place.”

“I think you have made several inaccurate assumptions. Starting with taking any credit — because you do not sound like you are talking about blame — for Sauron’s presence here.”

“Credit, yes, exactly, because he would never have appeared in his current form without my lens. I must attest to my invention and its results, and make sure the effects are fully accounted for.”

Celebrimbor opened his mouth to argue, before remembering again that Merillë had asked him to persuade Galadriel to do exactly what she seemed to be planning on doing. “I agree. You should go to Valmar.”

“I should,” Galadriel said, her tone still argumentative. She stopped abruptly when she realized that they were in agreement. “Aren’t you worried about what I’m going to say?”

“No, I think you may be the best person to give an account of all that has happened.”

“I am.” She hesitated, looking at Celebrimbor with consideration. “You know there are few people who can boast such an extended enmity with Sauron.”

“No, that very reason is why you should speak.” Celebrimbor sighed. “I know you will be truthful and fair.”

“I don’t think they should cast him out forever. I don’t,” Galadriel repeated with more certainty. “Although neither do I want him running free in the same land as my daughter. And that is why I should leave with all haste.”

“What’s the urgency?”

“The ways of the Valar are still inscrutable to the Children in many ways. Sometimes they take years to do what we would do in a day; other times a course is irreversibly set in mere moments. They may be about to make a permanent decision, and I mean to be heard before that happens.”

An icy feeling ran down Celebrimbor’s spine. “So quickly?”

“Yes.” Galadriel began to walk towards the door. Celebrimbor followed. “But don’t worry, I’ll let Haruni Indis know I am coming, and wish to speak.” Galadriel caught the door frame and turned towards Celebrimbor. “But I don’t think my word alone will persuade them of anything.”

“No, I wouldn’t think so.” Celebrimbor crossed his arms. He noted that his hands were freezing. “Farewell, Galadriel.”

“Farewell, Celebrimbor.” Galadriel gave him a last inscrutable look before hurrying to her rooms to prepare to leave.

~

The next day, Celebrimbor traveled to Áremar in an attempt to escape the air of mourning that had sunk into Ondomar. He knew he should feel sadness over his uncle’s death, but instead only emptiness filled him. This same numbness had struck at the end of the First Age when he had heard of Maedhros’ death and had assumed Maglor would follow shortly thereafter, but that had been after years of loss after loss, when even their victory held devastation. Now he had no such excuse, and in the face of his family’s genuine grief, it was becoming difficult to continue the motions.

He arrived and approached the golden doors of Áremar. The bare yard, all of its usual decor taken down with the wedding decorations, looked bleak.

He hesitated before entering. The residents of Áremar would also be focused on their loss, and had had to clean up from the disrupted wedding on top of everything else. He went in anyway.

Írissë stood in the center of the main hall talking with one of her household. Formal braids still contained the mass of her hair but quite a bit of it had escaped and formed a halo of frizz around her head. She was dressed in black; he could tell the outfit that had been cobbled together from pieces meant to be worn separately. Írissë usually dressed vibrantly and no longer opted for a monochrome palette.

Her face lit up in a genuine but tired smile when she saw him. “Brim! You finally made it. Fingon is on the back porch.”

He walked over and wrapped her in a half hug. “And who says I am here to see Fingon? I thought all of you could use some company.”

“Well, he’s been expecting you, so don’t tell him that!”

Celebrimbor frowned at her, puzzled. He had neither sent a message ahead nor spoken to Fingon since the night of the wedding. “I’ll go see him then.”

Twang. Thwack! Celebrimbor heard Fingon before he saw him — not an uncommon occurrence, but usually his voice was what carried. He watched as Fingon hit the small target square in the center with an arrow.

“Practicing for a hunt?” Celebrimbor asked.

“I do not think we will have a merry hunt for quite some time,” Fingon replied. He set down the bow and looked Celebrimbor over. “How are you doing?”

“The real question is, how are you? Your brother-in-law is dead, your wedding ruined in the most spectacular fashion I can recall — really I think this is worse than the first wedding Turgon officiated, the one with the bears.”

Fingon smiled ruefully. “I thought the days of fate and war preventing my expressions of love were over.”

“War? Do you think that’s what this heralds?”

“I do not know, but it certainly feels like we are being targeted by a malevolent force. Hopefully it’s not to a scale that indicates war, but it rather reminds me of how other wars began.”

“I don’t know,” Celebrimbor said. “Much had been planted before Morgoth came to Formenos.”

“And we only realized that later, when deeds that could not be undone were complete.”

“True enough. I hope there is no mastermind working in secret against us, but it’s far from impossible.”

“Yes, we’ve had more than enough bloodshed.” Fingon gazed off into the woods, troubled, before turning on Celebrimbor with narrowed eyes. “But you are avoiding talking about yourself, as usual! Tell me, how are you?”

Celebrimbor shook his head, moving to lean against the railing. “I don’t know. I didn’t want it to end this way.”

“End?”

“Yes, I knew this strange little interlude couldn’t last forever, but I wanted what happened next to be my choice. And his.”

“I understand that,” Fingon said. “So, have you spoken to your mother about the chains?”

“What? No — we’ve been rather focused on mourning at Ondomar; we haven’t spoken on any matters of craft.”

Fingon titled his head and raised an eyebrow. “Then how are you planning on unlocking the chains? When encountering magical restraints, knowing how to undo them is very important!”

“What chains? Did my parents leave something magically chained here that you need moved?” It seemed most unlike his father to leave something undone for days, even in the face of grief.

“Some people say you are the most intelligent person they’ve ever met.” Fingon shook his head. “Come now — Annatar’s chains. Hopefully everything can be above board, but we should be prepared for alternate methods.” At Celebrimbor's bewildered expression, Fingon continued, “Why else would you come to speak to me? The only person who has successfully freed someone from a Vala?”

The proposal slowly dawned on Celebrimbor. “I just wanted to see how you were doing! How you all were doing.”

“You weren’t planning on trying to attend the trial?” Fingon looked horrified.

“I—”

“After dithering for weeks, and finally extending a second chance to him, you were going to just let whatever happens happen?”

“Well, I’m certainly not planning to stage a coup against the Valar!” Celebrimbor crossed his arms and tried to ignore the guilty feeling creeping over him.

“Now, I never said coup—”

“Who’s planning a coup?” Maedhros stepped out onto the porch and glared at Celebrimbor.

“”No one is planning a coup,” Celebrimbor said.

Fingon raised a hand in denial. “Coup is entirely the wrong term.”

“I said going to Valmar was fine, not staging a coup.” Maedhros admonished.

“Who’s all going to Valmar?” Celebrimbor asked.

“No one is until you talk to your mother about the chains,” Fingon said.

“Yes, Celebrimbor, that’s an important step.” Maedhros went back to glaring at him.

“What have you two been planning?” Celebrimbor demanded. “Haven’t you been occupied enough with wedding clean up and mourning?”

“I’m planning nothing and want no involvement,” Maedhros said. “You and I agreed that there were some things we would never talk about, ever.” The air of sternness around him abruptly vanished. “But surely, you can’t turn down Fingon’s help? There is no one more suited to the task!”

“Fingon has not even offered any help!” Celebrimbor protested.

“Right.” Fingon nodded decisively. “Celebrimbor, please accept my aid in traveling to Valmar, discovering where your unfortunate husband has been stashed, and then either petitioning the Valar, who still hold me in favor, for leniency — or solving the matter in a more immediate fashion.”

Celebrimbor scrubbed his hands over his face. “You are mad.”

“You would be mad to turn down this assistance,” Maedhros insisted. “Fingon’s political influence, his strength in arms, and his natural canniness make him uniquely suited for his endeavor.”

“Thank you, love.” Fingon looked at Maedhros with affection.

“You are truly extraordinary.” Maedhros had now completely softened, and he was beaming in a way that Celebrimbor still found unsettling.

Celebrimbor walked to the other end of the porch. He wrapped his arms around himself for a moment and looked out at the pines. Maybe he had known that in coming to Áremar, he would speak to Fingon, who would of course encourage him to do more than mourn. Fingon could ignore his own festering personal problems with no difficulty, but he could usually spot a solution to someone else’s issue, and the solution almost always involved some action. His vocabulary didn’t contain ‘Wait and see.’ The offer to perform what most would consider at least a minor act of treason was a bit surprising, but only due to Fingon’s keen sense of justice.

Celebrimbor himself also felt best when he was doing something — one of the many reasons he liked Fingon. Few things rankled more than sitting and waiting when he could be taking action. Despite that, sometimes his own mind ensnared him, especially when a solution could not be logically derived. Something you’ve been trying to overcome this time around, he reminded himself. And there is your answer.

He walked back over to Maedhros and Fingon who seemed to speaking mind to mind. “This feels ridiculous.”

“It is a bit!” Fingon said. “But if there is a time to be ridiculous, this is it. The Valar can choose to do any number of actions that are rather permanent. You should at least attempt to get a word in edgewise.”

“And what word would I say?”

“You can figure that out on the trip there — it’ll take two days of hard riding, plenty of time to decide on what the right words are.”

~

Celebrimbor’s certainty grew as he traveled back to Ondomar. Of course he must go to Valmar; if he did not, he would wonder what could have happened if he had for the rest of his life. Fingon’s more dramatic plans of a jailbreak were a terrible idea, but he was still glad to have company for the ride.

At Ondomar, he wandered through the common rooms looking for Ornéliel. He had been mulling over how to broach the subject while walking back. He thought it would be best to just outright ask her, and hope she would acquiesce — it was entirely in character that he would be curious about her craft.

Ornéliel was not in any of the rooms he checked. She had been spending much of her time with Nerdanel, providing what comfort she could to her friend, devoted to the public show of mourning. Celebrimbor headed towards Nerdanel’s studio, the next likely location for them. He stopped short when he noticed Ornéliel sitting at one of the kitchen tables, listlessly picking at a plate of food. Her grey garb was a mismatch of pieces like everyone else’s — they had all thought their days of grieving were over.

“Amya.” Celebrimbor sat down next to her and leaned an elbow on the table.

Ornéliel raised an eyebrow. “You seem unusually energetic.”

Celebrimbor reflected that his hope that she would not suspect his motives was perhaps misplaced. “I’ve been getting a lot of sleep.”

“What do you want?”

“What if I just want to enjoy a meal with my mother?”

“You’re not eating,” she pointed out.

Celebrimbor drummed his fingers on the table and looked sideways at Ornéliel. Finally, he asked, “How did you make the chains that you used to bind Sauron and Lumbë?”

“Do you think I can simply distill to you in a sentence deep works of craft learned at Aulë’s side?”

“Perhaps that is too much to ask. Can we go to the workshop then?”

Ornéliel gave him a flat look. “What do you really want to know?”

“I want to know how you crafted a thing that contained the power of the Ainur in an instant!” Celebrimbor insisted. “You cannot have thought you would get away without explaining their workings to me.”

Ornéliel returned her gaze to her plate and began to tear a piece of bread into smaller and smaller pieces. “No. I expected that after an appropriate amount of time had passed I would go to you in your misplaced grief and tempt you out with fresh knowledge. And you would be sad, but you would slouch after me to the workshop, and I would show you the knowledge and skills I had learned from ages of study in Valinor — secrets of the smallest particles, smaller than erma, and how they can be used to bind creatures who are more spirit than flesh, and how to imbue metals with fields that are invisible but teeming with power. And you would stare off in the distance at first, but then you would be reluctantly drawn into learning, until your curiosity was ignited, and your mind would leap forward, and you would further my study beyond anything I had imagined, and together we would craft something like I had dreamed when you were small and could see the promise of skill so strong within you. And at last you would truly forgive my harsh words when you left Valinor.”

“Oh, Amya.” Celebrimbor closed his eyes. He had made his peace long ago that he and his mother would never get along without some friction. They were too alike in some ways — competitive, stubborn, and very opinionated in certain arenas. But Ornéliel would never fully understand him; she had never seen Middle-earth and would never know the greater part of what shaped him. “I did forgive you. And I am asking you now, how do the chains work?”

Ornéliel stared at him unhappily for a moment. “You're going after him, aren’t you?”

Celebrimbor took a deep breath. “I’m going to Valmar, yes.”

“I’m sure Aulë can remove the chains if it’s judged that he is safe to release.”

“I’m sure he can. I’m really not planning to do more than talk with him, and talk with what Valar will listen to me, but...”

“But, once a rebel, always a rebel?”

“But I thought it best to be prepared for anything.”

Ornéliel picked up a knife and began dividing a grape into smaller and smaller sections. When it lay in 32 neat, tiny cuts she looked up. “All you need to know is how to unlock the chain.” She drew out a necklace that had been lying below her dress. She fiddled with a ring on her finger and pulled out a small rod from the starburst of various metals that made up the crown of the ring. She dangled the charm on the necklace’s chain in front of Celebrimbor. Seven bars of various lengths all made of different metals were suspended inside a hexagonal trapezohedron. “You are, of course, familiar with tonal mechanisms?”

“Of course,” said Celebrimbor. “You can’t have made the unlocking that simple, though.”

“Almost,” said Ornéliel with a wry smile. “This is the key. It has the seven notes of a Nessan scale.” She fit the bar from her ring inside the necklace charm and struck each bar with minuscule movements, playing the scale.

“To unlock, is it just the scale?”

“Patience, child! I am not a complete simpleton.” Ornéliel glared at him. Celebrimbor folded his hands on the table and did his best to look attentive. Satisfied that he was finished second guessing her work, Ornéliel continued, “I cannot tell you the key to the chain.”

Celebrimbor pressed his lips together and resisted demanding his mother get to the point.

“The chain is modeled after Angainor, and while not of the same strength, it is still physically impossible for all but one of the Valar to break, and has the additional benefit of completely closing off the one who is bound by it from any currents of power. But also, being of the design of Aulë, it has a certain amount of” — Ornéliel circled her hands in the air, searching for the right word — “sentience.

“It cannot truly speak,” Oréliel hastily said in response to Celebrimbor’s raised eyebrows. “But it has enough understanding to communicate in a way.”

“With all your lecturing, I’d think you’d know the inherent danger of giving too much awareness to your creations.”

“With all my experience, I had the skill enough to handle it,” Ornéliel shot back.

“So I must ask the chain what melody will unlock it?” Celebrimbor guessed.

“Yes, exactly.” Ornéliel grimaced, and, after a moment’s hesitation, handed Celebrimbor the necklace and her ring, the bar fit back into the starburst.

Celebrimbor examined the jewelry, trying to think through the potential obstacles. “Does it have a name, this chain?”

“I hadn’t named it yet.”

“Probably for the best.” He sighed. “Thank you for telling me.”

Ornéliel’s hands gripped the edge of the table. “Please. Please don’t do anything foolish. He’s not worth it. He isn’t worth anything. I understand why you want to be there, but that doesn’t mean you need to speak on his behalf.”

“I don’t know what I will do, but I have to know. To be there for what happens next.” He reached out and pressed his mother’s hand. “Thank you again.” With a last squeeze, he left to pack the few things he would need for the journey.

---

Chapter End Notes

Haruni - Grandmother

Indyo - Descendent, grandchild

Erma - Prime matter

Atya - Dad

Amya - Mom

Atanésa - Aunt (made up by me)