Wherefrom Tempered by Gwanath Dagnir

Chapter 1

64 S.A.

Read Chapter 1

Under a heavy moon, the clear night lit the terraces that crested the capitol of Mithlond like seafoam.
Celebrimbor trailed his hand along the smooth railing, prideful to recall the bargain he brokered for this very stone with local dwarves eager to abandon the Blue Mountains as Lindon was being settled. “We can’t take it with us and have no use for it where we go,” they had said of this inventory, already quarried before their mines were abandoned with the sinking of Beleriand, “but we can appreciate elvish sustenance on our long road to Khazad-dûm.” It was more than a fair trade for the elves, and for Celebrimbor, equal in value to the material was gaining Gil-galad’s high praise for his successful negotiations.

Inside, he heard Galadriel’s laughter rise above the music and the talking. A pang of regret struck him to miss any amount of her fair company while she visited from Harlindon, but he moved forward, dedicated to his task. He had left the dining hall after noting Elrond’s absence among the crowd lingering in discussion there, hoping to find him alone or at least less surrounded than usual. The Half-elven had been nigh inseparable from the King’s confidants -if not from Gil-galad himself- since arriving weeks ago. The court still buzzed with excitement over the newest addition to Gil-galad’s collection of high-born affiliates, Elrond being rarest of them all: of mixed blood foremost, but also son of Eärendil who most in Lindon held in saviour-like esteem. The glory was not undue, Celebrimbor admitted to himself, even as Eärendil’s star shining brightest seemed to guide his way.

As Celebrimbor rounded the curving wall, indeed there stood Elrond alone, his hands spread upon the railing and an ocean breeze upon his face. He looked immensely content in his solitude and Celebrimbor fought an urge to retreat, suddenly beset with as much dread as relief to face this moment finally come. Wagering another opportunity might not present itself for some time -and that prolonged waiting would punish him more in the end- he quickened his steps and spoke loud enough that any other elf scouting with this same intention would overhear.

“Lord Elrond,” he said. “How fortuitous to find you here by chance. We have not yet been able to speak alone together since you arrived. I hope to amend that tonight if you are willing!”

Elrond looked at him curiously, his head tilted. “I am not a Lord,” he said.

Celebrimbor laughed, a symptom of his discomfort. “Maybe not, but my, you certainly dress like one these days. I seem to recognize this, in fact.” He tugged playfully at the lapel of Elrond’s tunic before thinking better of acting so informal. Many had remarked upon how quickly this newcomer came into the King’s favour; he reminded himself that their own familiarity was not a foregone conclusion.

“Ah, yes, I suppose you would have seen it before. This belongs to Ereinion.” Elrond’s lowered gaze returned to the Sea. The highest point of his cheeks might have flushed under the pale light. “You have dwelled with Gil-galad since the fall of the Falas in old Beleriand, is that so? Well – our good King was underwhelmed with how I presented upon my arrival. He kindly lent me a few things to wear while his tailor designs a wardrobe suitable for his court.”

“Oh yes I remember, you were full of surprises that day!” Celebrimbor laughed once more despite swearing not to. His thoughts raced to find another way to broach what troubled him instead of this silly subject of clothing. “Erm, the color does suit you, perhaps your skin takes a dark tone even better than Gil-galad if I may say – and how fortunate that you two are similarly sized, although there is less of him here.” Again, he acted against his own self-regulation and drew his finger in a line across Elrond’s chest. The Half-elven turned to face him full on, not confrontational, but unflinching and astute. Celebrimbor was stunned to notice for the first time a reflection of the light of the Two Trees in his eyes, and quickly pieced together how that could be – this one was beget and born before the light of a Silmaril. If Elros his twin had the same gaze, Celebrimbor never looked this closely.

“You wanted to speak with me,” said Elrond, his meaning clear.

Somehow that Elrond saw through his clumsy discretion helped settle his nerves. Celebrimbor said, “I am an accomplished smith of all things except words, it seems. But I was saying, because you are broader in the chest than he who this was tailored for, the sleeves do pull up a little, particularly when you are seated with arms outreached – I watched how you measured your movements during supper, cautious of it.” Elrond’s silence further inspired Celebrimbor’s new resolve – still he tried to be tactful. “Also, I stood beside Gil-galad that day you first arrived in his assembly hall, and no armour you wore, save for gauntlets. I thought it peculiar at the time, but it is clear why, now that I have seen that which you wish to keep hidden.”

“I am not hiding anything,” came Elrond’s response, faster than someone with nothing to hide.

Celebrimbor swallowed, his stomach twisting to finally say it, “Then I would be so bold as to inquire regarding these marks upon you.” Elrond barely shifted and afraid he would withdraw, Celebrimbor continued his habit of unseemly impulse and reached out, grasping him by one of the wrists. Circled under his caressing thumb were slightly raised scars – the thing that had been haunting Celebrimbor, compelling him to uncover this loathsome truth. “Do you understand why I am asking, why it concerns me, why it infuriates me? They were my own uncles who kept you hostage, Elrond. You must understand.”

“It is not what you think.”

Because Elrond looked away, Celebrimbor thought he recognized shame all too well. “You need not mince words protecting them – not here, not with me. Whatever you endured, just tell me plain and simple, please. Were they cruel to you? Were they as mad as it is said?”

“They slaughtered my kin,” came Elrond’s voice with passion unexpected. He took a step forward, and though Celebrimbor stood shorter than the Half-elven by a hand’s width, he stood firm nonetheless. Despite such tense regard, he kept his touch unchanged – a labourer’s callouses over a poet’s care. It seemed to abate Elrond, who continued, “Yet after that… after that terrible day at Sirion, no – they never raised a hand nor hardly a voice toward my brother and I, never harming so much as a hair from our heads.”

Celebrimbor shook his head, taking these charitable words as a prisoner’s learned temperance in fear of retribution. “But they bound you-”

“You do not listen!” With a frustrated noise, Elrond pulled his hand away and looked skyward, sighing with the heat of a forge. “Always it goes the same with people such as you, by which I mean people who were not there. You purport to ask but really you think you know, and only wish that I would sign the contract authored by a fiction of your imagining. You do not want to be informed; you want to be right. Would it appease you to learn that your uncles were both, Celebrimbor? Both cruel and mad whilst loving and remorseful? Would you go mad yourself to envision half-living in those opposed worlds, the accursed and the blessed – would you too feel cruel to condemn those already condemned by their own sad fate, whose suffering worsened every single day years after their victims’ pain had ended?”

“…I do not know.”

“You do not know, because you were not there. I was there, and I tell you: there is nothing plain or simple about this. It is both terrible and pitiable, they were villains and victims, we were seized and saved and free but trapped, and these scars...” Elrond spun on his heel and took three long paces away, then stopped, just breathing. “Forgive me,” he said, like an overacting child so instructed – or a guest of someone else’s house remembering his place. “Your questioning brought such dire stirrings to mind- I was not expecting this, and I am weary.”

“No, not at all,” Celebrimbor reached out his hand in offering of peace though the gesture went unseen. “The offense is mine to have pressed you so, and I apologize. My relationship with my family is fraught with conflict and unhappiness, and no small amount of shame on my part. In Aman, I knew my uncles and I loved them -I thought I did- and knowing now this propensity for such evil resided within them, indeed within my own father, while never were I the wiser… it fills me with dread. Could I be so easily beguiled again? Is this weakness a poison in our own very blood? I wish to understand them that I might never become them, Elrond, that I might better discern the same predisposition in another. And of you I would beg forgiveness on their behalf, if you allow me, on behalf of the honour and goodness that once resided in Fëanor’s folk, before the Darkness laid its taint. But- never mind…” In all that time, Elrond did not move. Celebrimbor let his hand fall. “Perhaps these are none of your concerns. You hail from a gallery of heroes celebrated for their great deeds, while I am best known for eschewing the depravity that besmirches my kin – to date.”

“Even my heredity is not without its follies – you are generous to ignore them, and hard on yourself.” Elrond turned, stepping back to come as close as they were before. Celebrimbor was struck in that instant by the comeliness of Elrond – elvish but not Elven, manly lines drawn in an ethereal shape. He seemed as a living statue carved to portray the fantasy of its maker, something impossible to exist.
Though Celebrimbor dared not expect a brotherly embrace such as the king would elicit without even trying, at least Elrond’s bearing had softened, and he spoke without the ire arisen before, “I am a newcomer here, and a stranger to you, so my opinion should bear little weight. But I see you are esteemed in the company of many Wise whose discernment should not be doubted, and if they trust you wholeheartedly as I know they do, then I judge the Darkness you fear cannot beset you, not now especially after the Curse has been lifted. As for the rest…” He held out one arm between them and pulled back the sleeve. At first Celebrimbor despaired, thinking Elrond would confirm his worst assumptions of his uncles’ harsh treatment. “Look closely, see for yourself so you do not doubt my words,” said Elrond, raising the wrist higher.

Celebrimbor did not have a healers’ knowledge, but he had fought in many battles and seen many wounds from various causes. The scars were faint, pale, a fingers’ width, overlapping and banded. About every inch, a differently shaped scar like a jagged starburst interrupted the line – Celebrimbor had not noticed this feature before in the quick glances he stole beside Elrond at Gil-galad’s table.

Elrond lowered his hand and pulled down the sleeve as far as it would reach. “The Eldar at the pinnacle of desperation, even inundated by unconquerable evil, might be moved to betray or to slay their kin – but no madness, no wickedness, no wrath, neither inherent nor imbued nor deserved, can compel the first children of Ilúvatar to torture. The will for that, and the making and the use of its devices, belong solely to Morgoth and those he created in turn or who serve him gladly. Rest assured that barbed and foul Orcish bondage left these scars on me, Celebrimbor – no more of that matter will I say this night, save that your uncles would have despaired to learn it, no less than yourself.”

Celebrimbor looked with new eyes upon this stranger become less strange. Through the veil of what might translate as aloofness, he saw the unique isolation that comes from seeing too much too soon over years so fast-moving that only your own survival keeps pace. Did Gil-galad -wise beyond his own years- see this too, and perhaps a glimmer of his own reflection therein; is that why he opened his home and his heart so readily to this kindred spirit?
“That is good enough, say no more. My mind is eased though it came at a price, for I sense you shared more than suits you in order to console me, and I am grateful. May I hope that we part on friendly terms, nonetheless? I will speak no more of this, any of it, if that is your wish.”

“Very well.” Elrond backed away to bow. “I take my leave of you respectfully.” The call of a Seagull caught his attention and held it a while. Speaking maybe to himself, he said, “We only come from our past – come out of it, like billets from the forge. It is not a thing that leads us or binds us any more than it is a thing we can change.”

“Nor escape,” said Celebrimbor. “For the billet and the forge are inextricably linked, as are we to our past that formed us.” He saw Elrond draw breath to speak and took his place, “You wish I could be freed of the guilt and the pain that my heredity burdens me with, and it is a kind thought from a young and well-meaning heart. But it cannot be so, as you will grow to learn. For better or worse, I am of the Fëanorians, even when I stood opposed to them. I know what I am.”

Elrond had reached out one hand to rest on the railing, idly stroking Celebrimbor’s proud accomplishment whether he knew it or not. “Then pray you do good work, lord. For the sake of us all.”

~fin~

---

Chapter End Notes

The exact timing of Elrond's transition from residing with the sons of Feanor in Beleriand to residing with Gil-galad in Lindon is canonically unstated. It is this author's interpretation that he participated in the War of Wrath (Elrond describes seeing it in the first person during his council in LoRT) and came afterwards to join the High King.