How I met your mother by

How I met your mother

This introduces Celebrilmal, daughter of Salgant, an original character that belongs to XirinofArvada, who's letting me play with her, and Barhador, a member of the House of the Hammer of Wrath and, you'd never guessed it considering which universe this is, another OC.

I'll proofread this properly once I'm done with the presentation for my Bachelor thesis, at which point in time I will hopefully also have time to sit down and rework some of it. But for now, this is what you get. Hope you enjoy!

Read How I met your mother

“Would you believe me if I told you I didn’t mean to do it?” Celebrilmal asked as she sat on a chair in her uncle’s kitchen, cradling her bleeding hand in her lap.

Beside her Barhador coughed. “Sure, you didn’t.”

Celebrilmal glared at him. “Just because you are a genius in the kitchen, doesn’t mean—Ugh. I only wanted to help! Ada’s been feeling off again and I wanted to cheer him up a bit!”

“You have inherited your mother’s clumsiness, I’m afraid, and that rarely mixes well with blades. Do not take it to heart, she was a terrible baker, no matter how hard Ammë or aunt Calairë tried to teach her.”

Rog set down the basket with healing supplies on the floor next to her and knelt to inspect the injury.

“Hm, not as bad as I feared it to be. You should be alright once I have wrapped it.”

Her uncle’s hands were gentle as he carefully dealt with her injury. They always were. Celebrilmal had never understood why his name filled so many people with fear. He was one of the kindest elves she knew.

Rog looked up at his niece in all but blood as he tied off the bandage with a strip of cloth. “And of course, you are well aware of how to take care of your injury afterwards?”

Celebrilmal rolled her eyes. “Yes, yes. Don’t get the wound dirty, change the wrapping, I know, I know.”

Rog laughed and patted her knee. “You are all good to go then. Do stay away from any more knives, though, perhaps? I do not wish to be the one to explain to your father how you were injured.”

As he rose to his feet, Celebrilmal gave him a half-hearted smile, her mind distracted.

 

“Was she really?” she called after her uncle as he made to leave the room.

He looked over his shoulder, eyebrows raised in a silent question.

“My mother. Was she really a terrible baker?”

Her father did not talk often about her mother, and even Rog and his spouse, Taminalma, who had known her mother for nearly as long as her father had, only rarely told stories of Before. So Celebrilmal clung to every scrap of information she could find.

Rog smiled. “Oh yes, she was. Our kitchen in Alqualondë never quite recovered from the one time she tried to make us breakfast.”

He glanced out of the window, where dusk had fallen and spread its hazy twilight.

“Why don’t you join me in the kitchen while I prepare dinner and I will tell you more? You can take a portion home for you and Kanto later”, he offered, and Celebrilmal nodded enthusiastically.

“Yes, please? Uncle Glorfindel only ever talks about her as if she was this goddess whose greatest mistake in life was marrying Ada. It scares me sometimes how perfect he makes her out to be.”

There was a deep sigh. “Your father and your uncle have never gotten along, and it colours his memories, I fear. Your mother was one of my dearest friends, but she was far from perfect. And I loved her for it.”

He fell silent again as he moved to the kitchen, absentmindedly moving pots and pans around to cook dinner.

Barhador slipped in next to him, a long familiar dance that still left delighted tingles in his chest. The first time Rog had invited him to help with dinner after finding him remained one of Barhador’s most treasured memories and even now that he had his own home and Rog was his lord, they still cooked together regularly.

The House of the Hammer of Wrath did not stand on formality, its members dropping in and out of their leaders’ home as they pleased, leaving touches of their presence all over the place.

Celebrilmal had taken a seat at the small kitchen table, the one that was only in use when Rog and Taminalma had a rare day to themselves, and Barhador noticed she was fiddling with a carefully crocheted doily, worrying the threads between her fingers.

Probably one of Erferil’s many works. Her creations were scattered across tables and windowsills, bookshelves and cabinets, improvement marked by smoothed-out stitches and more complicated patterns.

 

Rog’s voice was distant as he finally began to speak, but still Celebrilmal leaned forward in her seat, eager to finally learn more about her mother.

“I fear I cannot tell you how your parents met, as I was not present for their introduction and reports of the events have been… conflicting shall we say?” He grinned wryly. Laurendil and Salgant had always been utterly unable to agree on the details whenever they told the story, and he had heard a different version from Lady Anairë altogether. As far as he could tell, the king’s mother had not even been present at King Ingwë’s court at the time, but Rog knew better than to enquire how she had come about the tale.

“I can tell you, however, of the first time, myself and Alma met your mother. We had been apprenticed to two jewel smiths in Alqualondë for quite some time and when Laurie came to be King Olwë’s guest for a time, your father seized the opportunity to finally introduce us. Your mother was a nervous wreck when she arrived on our doorstep.”

“Truly?! Why?”

Rog hummed.

“You know, little one, I am not sure. We were by far not the most intimidating people she was introduced to during that visit, nor were we of any particular importance. And she was a princess. I do not believe Alma and I ever worried as much about our silverware and dishes as we did that day. Kanto always sounded so happy when she came up in our conversations, and we were quite excited to finally meet the cause of such joy, so we did not wish to send her running for the hills immediately because our dishware was not up to her standards. You never know what a noble might take offense at.”

“But you are a noble, too”, Barhador pointed out, emptying a bowl of diced carrots into a sizzling pan.

“Now, perhaps, but back then I was but an apprentice-smith and my family’s only connection to nobility was my cousin who had married into the royal house of Tirion. I met Salgant in a cave on the beach and if I had known he was the son of a prince, I do not know if I would have dared to talk to him. As it stands, his parents were not particularly happy about our friendship when they discovered it, but at that point in time it was far too late. We would not let anyone break us apart, and we were old enough to write our own letters, too, so even preventing us from speaking in person did not help”, Rog replied, stirring the carrots until they caramelised.

 

The smell was divine and Celebrilmal suddenly noticed how hungry she was. Still, it looked like dinner would take a few more moments, so hopefully she would hear the rest of the tale.

“But what happened next?” she prompted, looking up at her uncle with pleading eyes.

He grinned fondly and reached out to ruffle her hair as he passed to grab another pot from the cupboard.

“Oh, don’t give me that look, young lady. You’ll hear the rest of the tale, just you wait. Why don’t you set the table while you listen? Dinner won’t be too much longer, and Alma should be home soon, too.”

 

It did not take long to gather everything she needed and as she neatly laid out the plates, cutlery carefully placed next to each plate, Rog finally continued his story.

“So, we invited your parents inside, as was proper, and we had made a few snacks, because Kanto was usually hungry whenever he came to visit, and to this day I do not know how it happened, but your mother’s dress must have caught on the tablecloth as she walked past, and she managed to pull it down. Luckily the only thing on it had been a candlestick holder, and even though the noise it made as it fell on the floor scared us all terribly, there also could not have been a better way to break the ice. After we all recovered from the shock we got along splendidly! Ah, hello love! How was your day?”

Taminalma walked in just as Rog finished speaking, pressing a kiss to their husband’s cheek, and sniffing the sauce he had been working on experimentally.

“Smells delicious. I hope I didn’t interrupt anything?”

“You didn’t, don’t worry!” Celebrilmal replied as she squeezed past them to help Barhador bring the food to the dining table. “He was just telling me how the two of you first met Nana!”

Taminalma smiled widely. “Oh, did he? Did he also tell you how she almost set our kitchen on fire once? It was one of the craziest mornings I can remember. He hasn’t? Oh well, I will have to tell you then. So it all began when…”