Into the West by elennalore

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Into the West

I'm happy that I got a chance to give Celebrimbor a trip to Númenor with this lovely postcard challenge! This is not meant to be a canon divergence AU - it's more like a missing scene type story. The year is 820 S.A (Aldarion returns to Númenor from his voyage with Palarran.)

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1. The Sea Voyage

 

It was, as most of his decisions, made on a whim. Celebrimbor had met Aldarion at Gil-galad’s party the night before, and they had found each other’s company enjoyable, discussing shipbuilding and forge work, both equally proud of their own craftsmanship. The following day, Celebrimbor decided to seek a private audience with the High King.

 

“I would like to see Númenor with my own eyes, Ereinion,” he began, feeling suddenly energised in a way he hadn’t felt for a long time. “Could you speak to Prince Aldarion? I heard he’s going to return to his homeland soon, and I wish he could let me sail with him – as your ambassador, perhaps?”

 

Gil-galad studied him for a long time with his piercing grey eyes, but then his face broke into a warm smile. “Perhaps that can be arranged. Indeed, I have hoped to get some inside information about the kingdom of the Dúnedain. But it would mean your absence from Middle-earth for some time – years, probably. Can you afford it? What about the building of Ost-in-Edhil that has taken much of your time lately?”

 

“Galadriel is more than capable of bringing forth the plans concerning Ost-in-Edhil. Ereinion, to tell you the truth, I need a change. I have been feeling down lately. I have helped Galadriel in building the Elven city she dreams of, but my heart is not in it. Let me go to Númenor; perhaps I’ll return with a refreshed heart.”

 

That discussion had brought him in the middle of the ocean, standing in the bow of a magnificent ship. Celebrimbor eyed the bough of oiolairë hanging from the prow, wondering if it was enough to save them from the wrath of Ossë. As far as he could see, there was only water around him, and he suddenly felt very small. The smell of the sea was in the air, and there was a taste of salt in his mouth. The rising and falling movements of the ship didn’t scare him anymore, but today the waves felt bigger and angrier than before, and the wind was getting up even though the Sun was shining from the clear sky. He feared that Ossë had found out that there were a couple of Fëanorians on board.

 

Aldarion appeared next to him, interrupting his musings. The crown prince of Númenor was shorter than Celebrimbor, although tall among the Númenóreans. His curly hair was golden and there was a merry twinkle in his eyes.

 

Celebrimbor greeted him warmly. They had dropped the formalities by now, which was a relief. He had hated it when Aldarion had called him “Lord of the Eldar” with reverence. His lineage was not made to rule, Celebrimbor explained, and the kingship was abdicated a long time ago, which was just.

 

“And I’d rather be a mariner,” Aldarion had answered him, “but I’m afraid I can’t avoid the duties of my other role when we reach Númenor. Still, no lord of the Eldar shall bow to me.” He had given a dry laugh, and henceforth they were on the first name basis.

 

“Is there going to be a storm?” Celebrimbor asked now, his robes flapping in the breeze.

 

“No, it’s a good wind, it will take us speedily home. Is this your first sea voyage?”

 

Aldarion’s manners were relaxed and confident; it was a soothing sign. He wouldn’t have time to chat with Celebrimbor if something was wrong.

 

“Not really,” Celebrimbor admitted. “But I was just a boy when we sailed from the West. I don’t remember much of it.”

 

It was a lie; the Elves didn’t easily forget. But he was reluctant to evoke those memories, especially now that he wasn’t standing firmly on dry land.

 

Aldarion must have sensed his unease, for he continued: “Don’t worry, Palarran is the greatest ship that has ever been built, and she will bring you steadily to the Land of Gift. We have Uinen’s blessing, and Ossë’s.”

 

You also have two Fëanorians on board, Celebrimbor thought but didn’t say aloud. It was not wise to say something like that; the Númenóreans were often superstitious. He tried to remind himself that the Doom of Mandos was lifted after the War of Wrath, and many Exiles had since sailed into the West. But Ossë had a long memory and little respect for rules; he might still seek vengeance against them.

 

“I should check on Erestor,” he said quickly.

 

Gil-galad had insisted that he shouldn’t travel alone. Not because of danger – there were no likely threats waiting for him in blessed Númenor – but because the High King was worried about his sometimes-dark mood. Celebrimbor’s reassurances that he was feeling just fine did not really help, and when Erestor announced that he was going to join him on the journey by the order of the High King, Celebrimbor was secretly relieved. Erestor had served his grandfather and later, his uncle, and he knew the troubles of being a Fëanorian in this new era.

 

“This Erestor,” said Aldarion with awe in his voice, “Didn’t he know Tar-Minyatur?”

 

A melancholic feeling filled Celebrimbor’s heart. How fleeting were the lives of the Secondborn! It was sometimes difficult to grasp how short time they spent in Arda before leaving it forever. For Aldarion, Elros Tar-Minyatur was an ancestor and a legend of the past. Celebrimbor remembered Elros as a bold young man from Lindon. Still, sometimes it felt like he remembered too much himself.

 

“Oh, yes,” he said at last. “Erestor was Elrond and Elros’ teacher when they were children.”

 

Elrond and Aldarion had briefly met in Lindon, but meeting his brother’s descendants was still almost too much for Elrond. The pain of losing his twin brother was still too acute in his heart, Celebrimbor knew.

 

“I would like to ask lord Erestor about those times,” Aldarion confessed. “If it’s not too much trouble. He must have some fascinating stories about young Tar-Minyatur! Did he know lord Eärendil and lady Elwing as well?”

 

Celebrimbor gave a sad little smile. “No, he came into their life only... later. I’ll let him know that you’d like to talk with him.”

 

“Perhaps he can join us at dinnertime?” Aldarion suggested, his still youthful face beaming.

 

Celebrimbor found Erestor below deck – the other Elf hardly ever left the simple bunk assigned to him. He looked even paler than usual.

 

“Are we going to arrive soon?” Erestor asked in a tired voice. He was probably having second thoughts about accompanying Celebrimbor on his voyage.

 

“Aldarion says that with fair winds, we can arrive in Rómenna in five days.” He gave an encouraging smile. “How are you feeling? You don’t look good.”

 

“All this heaving makes me woozy,” Erestor complained. “The Noldor are not meant to be a seafaring folk. I can’t help thinking that we’re on a wooden raft in the middle of the ocean, and only some planks of wood separate us from Ulmo’s realm.”

 

Celebrimbor gave a big grin at that. “This ‘wooden raft’ is the pride of the Númenórean navy: Palarran, the biggest ship that’s ever been built. It’s good that Aldarion isn’t here to hear that you compare his pride and joy to a raft.”

 

Erestor grunted. “You’re the diplomat of the two of us, not me.”

 

“And I’m doing my job and taking care of good diplomatic relations with Númenor. Speaking of relations, Aldarion wishes you to join him for dinner. I mentioned that you were Elros’ teacher, and now he wants to hear sweet anecdotes of young Tar-Minyatur.”

 

Erestor sighed deeply. “A dinner? I have no appetite.”

 

“I think you should go. For diplomatic relations. I will accompany you, of course; it’ll be fun. I think I haven’t heard half of your stories myself.”

 

Erestor shook his head in disbelief, but then his shoulders relaxed, and he flashed a big smile at him. “You really are a diplomat, Tyelpë. All right, I will join you and reminisce about the past – although I’m not sure that I can eat anything.”

 

Five days later, just as Aldarion had promised, they stood on the deck and watched the majestic towers of Rómenna slowly come closer as the ship sailed into the harbour. Erestor had a firm grip on the railing, but he looked happier than in ages as he stood beside Celebrimbor.

 

“A new world,” Erestor said, his dark eyes filled with wonder. “And what a beautiful world it is! I didn’t expect anything like this. Look at those ornaments and colourful tiles, and the height of those towers!”

 

Indeed, the city didn’t look like anything Celebrimbor had seen before. Too colourful and chaotic to be Elvish, more grandiose than any Edain house on the continent. It was magnificent in a way Khazad-dûm was, but this city was not carved inside stone, but bathed in daylight instead. This was Númenor.

 

 

2. Guild of Venturers

 

Celebrimbor’s mood lifted as soon as they arrived in Númenor. There was simply too much to see, too many new things to experience – the heavy feeling that had plagued him perhaps since the ruin of Beleriand felt more distant now, and he found himself laughing more and without feeling guilty about it.

 

Erestor looked better, too. He seemed to have forgotten the discomforts of the sea voyage, and when they got to Armenelos and were formally introduced to the King, Erestor suddenly found a place where his expertise was needed. In the royal library there was a vast collection of books and scrolls about the First Age, but they were disordered and there were clearly some major gaps in the knowledge of the Númenóreans. After Tar-Meneldur had voiced a plea for help, Erestor hardly ever left the royal library, more than happy to teach the King about the history of his ancestors and the lost Beleriand.

 

Celebrimbor was free to come and go as he wanted, but he found himself increasingly often in Aldarion’s company. For outsiders, it could look like they had little in common: one was a great mariner and the future king of Númenor, the other an honoured jewel-smith and an heir of a discredited family. Aldarion was a youthful man of 120 years of the Sun, while Celebrimbor had been born before the Sun itself. But they both were equally enthusiastic about their own craft, and both tried not to think about their roots too much. Moreover, they had a similar sense of humour. Celebrimbor soon declared that Aldarion was very likeable, but more than anything else, he enjoyed the company of the Guild of Venturers.

 

In those days, Celebrimbor stayed most often on the great ship Eämbar which was anchored in the harbour of Tol Uinen, in the bay of Rómenna. Whenever they met with Erestor, his old friend teased him about his sudden interest in seafaring, joking that as he must have become one of the Teleri now, he should report to Círdan for duty when they returned.

 

“For surely there are still unpaid debts between us and them,” Erestor continued dryly, and they laughed like only those who had once fallen under the doom of Mandos can.

 

One thing Erestor had misunderstood, however. Celebrimbor’s interest was not in seafaring but in the Guild.

 

“I wish we had something like this in Middle-earth,” Celebrimbor said to Aldarion one day, waving his hand in the air. They were talking over a drink on board Eämbar, accompanied by some of Aldarion’s closest guild members.

 

“Ships?” Aldarion looked at him, slightly amused. “Are you secretly becoming a mariner? Besides, I would say Círdan is an excellent ship-builder.”

 

Celebrimbor took a gulp of golden ale, grinning. “I’m not talking about ships. Not everyone is as obsessed with ships as you, my dear friend. I’m talking about what you have here.” His hand made an arc. “This. The Guild. I must admit that I envy you. Your great spirit and unity of purpose inevitably leads to greater creativity. You have vision, and you support each other to fulfil your potential. You’re lucky to have your Guild. You could not have built Palarran alone, Aldarion!”

 

His words brought loud applause and cheering from the guild members sitting around them. Aldarion was beaming.

 

“Thank you, thank you on behalf of the whole Guild of Venturers! But there’s no need to become envious! I’m sure Círdan could establish a shipbuilders’ guild of his own. You should talk to him when you get back.”

 

“He said that it’s nothing to do with ships, Aldarion,” shouted one of the Guild members, Telda, and gave a knowledgeable wink at Celebrimbor. He had met her during his stay on Eämbar, and they had already become good friends.

 

“Telda is right,” Celebrimbor confirmed, and she raised her hat to him, a wide smile appearing on her face. “I’m talking about the Guild itself. I would like to start a guild of my own and invite all masters of my craft to join there. A guild of smiths – yes, jewel-smiths! It would be a hub of creativity. We could achieve great things together! Our mission would be to make beauty in an imperfect world!”

 

He was rewarded with a loud cheer. Aldarion gave him an encouraging nod, Telda grinned at him.

 

“Our Elf friend is a true idealist,” Telda said, turning to speak to Aldarion. “Just like you.”

 

Her slightly teasing tone didn’t bother Celebrimbor. A sense of purpose had quite unexpectedly kindled within him. For the first time in ages, he felt optimistic. The future didn’t need to be bleak; the future could be wonderful.

 

“When I return to Middle-earth, I will form a guild of my own,” he announced and sipped his ale. “A guild of the jewel-smiths.”

 

“I wish you all the luck,” Aldarion answered cheerily. “Although I have heard that there are less Elves than before, and they live scattered in their own lands. Will you be able to find enough jewel-smiths who want to join your guild and work with you?”

 

“I would hope so,” Celebrimbor mused, his heart filled with happy anticipation already. “It will be a place where every one of them wants to come. They will be building a new era. But I’m not thinking of just Elves. Everyone is invited.”

 

“Everyone?” Telda asked, and there was a glimmer of hope in her eyes as she studied him.

 

“Yes, everyone,” Celebrimbor confirmed. “I will not turn anyone away.”

 

 

3. Westward

 

When Aldarion invited Celebrimbor to join him on a short trip to Eldalondë, he eagerly accepted the invitation. He had heard tales of the unreal beauty of the place; tales that had evoked memories of his childhood home. Eldalondë was in West Númenor, and Elves of Tol Eressëa sometimes visited the city, making it a special place. Celebrimbor was suddenly thrilled by the possibility of meeting them and hearing news from the West, as was Erestor when they discussed Aldarion’s proposal.

 

The original idea had been to sail around the island to Eldalondë, but Celebrimbor requested a change of plan. Erestor wanted to join them on the journey, but ships still made him uncomfortable.

 

“Why should we sail when we can simply ride there?” Erestor questioned him. “I’ve seen enough maps in the royal library; there are excellent roads from Armenelos to Eldalondë. Besides, the route would take us close to Meneltarma, very conveniently – surely, we can’t leave Númenor behind without visiting the Holy Mountain, can we?”

 

It was reason enough for Aldarion to abandon the idea of another sea voyage, albeit reluctantly. So it happened that on a pleasant day of late summer, they mounted their horses and began their westward journey. There were four of them: Aldarion, Celebrimbor, his new friend Telda, and Erestor. Aldarion, who preferred a simple life, wanted to travel without his royal servants. No guards accompanied them, either, for the island roads were completely safe – the thought took some getting used to. Weapons weren’t needed on the journey, Aldarion had told him; the only knives they had were for eating. Celebrimbor carried his old dagger with him because it felt strange to go without, but he never showed it to anyone.

 

They travelled at leisure, stopping to see sights and to visit local villages on the way. They easily found farms where they were welcomed to stay overnight, food was plenty, and everyone was in a good mood. Many hardships of Middle-earth felt suddenly very far away.

 

“I could become used to living like this,” Celebrimbor guiltily admitted to Erestor. “But how strange it feels: no fear of ambush, and no walled cities either!”

 

“This is just how it was in Aman,” Erestor said. He seemed to be in a subdued mood. “Have you forgotten?”

 

Celebrimbor had not. The previous day they had walked the spiralling road that led up to the summit of Meneltarma, and the walk in total silence had made his thoughts turn inward. Meneltarma had become Taniquetil in his mind, and he had felt closer to Aman than ever since the exile. He remembered how tight the hug of his mother had been before she had let him go. She had smelled of forge.

 

“Middle-earth is my home now,” he said sharply, even though he had visited Aman in his sleep the previous night. But he saw that Erestor had been touched by sea-longing, and he felt conflicted himself, briefly wondering if it was a mistake to visit Eldalondë in such a mood.

 

It rained when they arrived in Eldalondë, but it was a refreshing rain that filled the air with the delicate fragrance of foreign flowers. They had ridden along country roads and seen many forests and meadows on their way, but here the greenery felt almost overwhelming, like the city had been built in an enchanted forest. The trees and flowers were nothing like Celebrimbor had seen in Middle-earth. He wasn’t sure if he had even seen them in Aman.

 

“It is so... dreamy here.” He was at a loss of words.

 

“I never expected to find this kind of beauty here,” whispered Erestor in awe.

 

“This really is the Blessed Isle,” Celebrimbor continued, his neck arching as he looked at the magnificent trees above them.

 

Aldarion smiled at them. “This is the greatest homage – to see even Elves admire our land. I have thought of giving some nuts of these Malinornë trees to Gil-galad for planting, and now I know that I couldn’t find a better present.”

 

They rode in a light rain along a slowly ascending cobblestone street until they found themselves above the roofs of the city. There they halted and dismounted, and Aldarion took them to a paved terrace with a view over the city. Numerous white houses were surrounded by green terraces, and below them lay a horseshoe-shaped harbour, sheltered from the surf. Celebrimbor’s eyes spotted a white ship anchored in the bay that looked different from others. Elves of Tol Eressëa were visiting the city.

 

They stayed in a royal guesthouse, a magnificent villa with a large garden and patio. A welcome feast was announced to happen on the following day. The sky had cleared by then, and the sunset on that day was spectacular. Celebrimbor had been watching it from a high terrace with Erestor, and they were more hushed than usual as they returned to the guesthouse. Tables and chairs had been carried outside to the patio where the feast would be held. The Star of Eärendil was already visible in the reddish Western sky. It was going to be a beautiful, star-lit night, and Celebrimbor’s mind was at ease.

 

Celebrimbor and Erestor noticed the Elves from Tol Eressëa at once. The two foreign Elves strolled down the limestone path that led to the garden, speaking in low voices. They were both male, dark and tall, but the fashion of their clothes marked them as Falmari. A silvery shimmer surrounded them. Celebrimbor froze; Erestor on his side stopped as well. The Elves, engaged in a conversation of their own, had not spotted them yet. Celebrimbor briefly wondered if they even knew about them.

 

“I guess it’s time for introductions,” he whispered to Erestor and stepped bravely forward, closing the distance between them and the Tol Eressëa Elves before he could change his mind. Erestor followed him after a moment’s hesitation.

 

As they slowly approached, the two Elves did a double-check, as if not believing their eyes at first. A moment later their faces broke into a welcoming smile, though, and they turned to meet them with outstretched arms.

 

“What a nice surprise!” exclaimed one of them in Telerin. “I didn’t realize that there were other Eldar visiting Númenórë right now!”

 

Their gaze became a scrutinizing look as the Eressëan Elves tried to make sense of them. Celebrimbor saw them looking at their many jewels and flowing silk robes they wore, and their braided and jewel-decorated black hair. He refused to be embarrassed. It was the night of the welcome feast, of course they were wearing some extra! He knew they looked like the prototype of the Noldor, and he could see the surprise on the Elves’ faces as it suddenly dawned on them who they might be.

 

It was Celebrimbor who broke the silence. “I am Tyelperinquar Curufinwion of Eregion, although you might not be familiar with that place.” He spoke softly, in his childhood Quenya, for he couldn’t really speak Telerin even though he understood it well enough. “And this is my friend Erestor, in the service of Ereinion Gil-galad, the High King of the Noldor.”

 

The Eressëan Elves exchanged glances and perhaps some unspoken words, too.

 

“But it is Arafinwë who is the King of the Noldor,” said one of them, frowning slightly. His voice was calm, but Celebrimbor feared that his words were about to induce a diplomatic conflict of some kind.

 

“High King of the Noldor in Middle-earth,” he quickly added with a suitably apologetic look. “As you may see, we come from Middle-earth. Our Edain friends have graciously invited us to visit the Land of the Gift.”

 

The Eressëan Elves stared at them with ill-concealed curiosity.

 

“Oh, of course. You are of the exiled Noldor! But you must have been in Aman, I see it in your tree-lit eyes.”

 

This they confirmed, but Celebrimbor said no more about his family. He suspected that the other Elves had recognized the name Curufinwë, but they seemed too polite to mention it. They introduced themselves, but the names they gave didn’t feel familiar to Celebrimbor. Perhaps it was better that way.

 

It could have easily developed into an awkward situation, but thankfully Aldarion saved them. He approached jovially, looking very pleased with this chance meeting of Eldar in his backyard.

 

“Ah, you have found each other already! It’s too seldom that Elves pay us a visit, but just now we have not one, but two delegates – this is certainly a reason for celebration!”

 

Their beaming, golden-haired host suddenly reminded Celebrimbor strongly of Finrod Felagund, and the thought made him smile. Aldarion was a great host. He guided them to their places at the long table where Telda and some other guests were already sitting. As Celebrimbor had guessed, they were seated on both sides of Aldarion who sat at the end of the table. He felt more relaxed now that Aldarion was there to lead the discussion and Erestor and Telda sat on both sides of him.

 

Food and drink were brought to the table, and a flutist began to play in the garden. They were served no less than nine delicious dishes from Númenórean cuisine. Seafood was plenty and Erestor savoured oysters especially, but Celebrimbor’s favourites were tiny, honeyed cakes served with a cup of hot drink. The refreshing drink was made from coffee beans imported from Umbar, he explained to Telda who seemed to like the taste of it.

 

They had been engaged in light discussion throughout the dinner, not touching difficult topics like Alqualondë or the details of their exile. Finally, Celebrimbor dared to inquire about the news of their loved ones in Aman. The Falmari Elves were polite, but the affairs of the Noldor didn’t interest them much. Besides king Arafinwë, they hardly knew any Noldor by name, and even though they had heard about a re-embodied Noldo who had recently returned from Mandos after dying in Middle-earth, they couldn’t tell his name. No Elf named Curufinwë had returned – to their knowledge at least. The discussion then turned to ships, a topic where Celebrimbor and Erestor didn’t have anything useful to say.

 

Meanwhile, Celebrimbor and Erestor were discussing in hushed tones, for the mention of someone returning from Mandos had caught their attention.

 

“So, it is possible then,” Erestor said solemnly, “to walk again in Aman after death.” He fought to control his emotions, but he couldn’t hide the pain in his eyes, and Celebrimbor assumed that Erestor was thinking of those whom he had pledged allegiance to in the First Age: Fëanor and Maedhros.

 

“I’m not sure if it’s possible for them,” Celebrimbor whispered back. He didn’t want to raise any false hopes. Still, he couldn’t help wondering who the returned Noldo was. “I don’t think it’s my father either,” he confessed. “Returning feels like a gift, and I don’t think Námo Mandos has reserved these gifts for Fëanorians, not first, anyway.”

 

“I wish it wouldn’t be so,” Erestor muttered.

 

Just then, Celebrimbor heard someone say his name in a Telerin accent. Straightening his back, he turned to the Eressëan Elf who had spoken and forced a smile on his lips. He suspected that the Elf had asked him a question a moment before.

 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t follow. Can you please say that again?”

 

The other Elf returned his smile gracefully. “We were talking about sailing back to the West. We’re going to leave soon, and I asked if the two of you would like to sail with us.”

 

Celebrimbor’s heart skipped a beat. “To the West?”

 

“Yes. To Avallóne. A lot of your people live on the island of Tol Eressëa nowadays. The ban is lifted, as you probably know. You can return home now, and we’re happy to help you.”

 

Celebrimbor looked at Erestor who just stared at the Elves, eyes widened. The proposal had managed to surprise both of them. Celebrimbor almost said no, but a strange, conflicted feeling filled him, and he stayed silent.

 

“We must think about it,” Erestor said as he failed to reply. “Let’s talk more about this tomorrow.”

 

Before they had time to talk about it, however, Telda sought Celebrimbor out. He had spent a sleepless night in the soft bed of the guesthouse, his thoughts occupied by both memories of Aman and hopes and dreams of the future that had felt almost impossible to achieve before, but not anymore. If the offer to take him to the West had come a little earlier, he might have accepted it without hesitation. But the trip to Númenor had kindled something in him – now he felt he had still something to do in Middle-earth, something to give. But still – would it be folly to choose Arda Marred when offered a paradise?

 

Telda knocked on his door, quite impatiently, pulling him out of his circulating thoughts.

 

“I’m sorry that I disturb you like this, lord Celebrimbor” she uttered, looking flushed as if she had run there. There were shadows under her eyes; she probably hadn’t slept much either. “I heard that the Elves offered you a place on their ship. But I wanted you to know... before you leave... before you make your decision...”

 

Celebrimbor sensed her deep distress. He stood up from the desk he had been sitting at, doodling a piece of paper. “What is it, Telda? Please, tell me.”

 

She took a deep breath. Suddenly, she looked very young although she had already lived longer than the Men of Middle-earth.

 

“I wanted to ask you... if you could have taken me to Middle-earth with you. You spoke about the guild you are going to form... the guild of the jewel-smiths... and I thought that maybe I could be part of it... but is it going to happen in the end? Or are you leaving for the West? I must know, lord, for I thought it might have been something extraordinary, your guild, I mean.”

 

Celebrimbor stared at her for a long moment, dumbfounded.

 

“I didn’t know you were a jewel-smith,” he said; it was the first thing that crossed his mind.

 

“I’m not! But I know how to make lenses, and perhaps you might find a use for that skill. I have studied optics with our best philosophers,” she said in a proud voice. “I have served Aldarion for a long time, but I crave for a chance. And when you claimed that the guild wouldn’t be for Elves only, I thought –”

 

“So I claimed,” Celebrimbor agreed after a pregnant pause. “And I meant it.” As he spoke, he realized that he had already made his decision. A feeling of relief went through him. “I still mean it. I’m not going to sail to the West. I still have work to do in Middle-earth.”

 

Telda’s eyes brightened. “The guild?”

 

“Indeed, the guild. And you’re welcome to join if you want. I’m curious to learn all you have to teach me about optics.” He gave a relieved laugh, already thinking about possibilities. “One could say that efforts to capture light are a kind of family tradition.”

 

He found Erestor in the garden among the rose bushes. The garden looked somehow empty; the tables and chairs had been carried away. It was a serene day, full of sunshine. Celebrimbor could hear the sound of the sea and cries of seagulls from there, but now that he had made up his mind, the sounds didn’t make him restless like before.

 

“Have you already decided?” he asked Erestor who looked quite calm, studying a pink rose in his hand.

 

“As a matter of fact, I have. And you?”

 

Celebrimbor gulped. “I will return to Middle-earth. I want to accomplish something significant, and Aldarion has given me some new ideas. I will go back to Eregion and see how it goes.”

 

A slight smile flickered across Erestor’s face. “This is what I hoped. It would have been lonely to make the return trip alone. I will come back to Middle-earth with you.”

 

A wave of happiness swept over Celebrimbor. “That’s good to hear.”

 

“I can’t leave everything behind yet. I took an oath, you know,” Erestor said in a low voice, leaning closer.

 

That was the last thing Celebrimbor had expected to hear from a Fëanorian. “What are you talking about? What part of no oaths you didn’t understand?”

 

Erestor chuckled. “Maedhros said almost the same words to me. He didn’t let me officially swear it, but I consider it a valid oath anyway. I promised him to protect Elrond and Elros at all times. That was before they sent the twins to Gil-galad. As you know, I went with them.”

 

Celebrimbor gave a nod of understanding. Erestor seldom spoke about those gloomy days, and never without grief, but it was almost as if something was different now. He sensed a new hope stirring in Erestor’s voice and knew that something similar was ignited in his own heart.

 

“Elros is gone, of course, but Elrond is still there. I cannot leave Elrond behind; my place is with him. I will only sail with him, or when he’s no more.”

 

Erestor fell silent. After a moment’s hesitation, Celebrimbor opened his arms and embraced him. It didn’t feel awkward. They stayed in an embrace for a long time, silent; only birds were singing in the garden.

 

“We must tell our decision to the Eressëan Elves,” Celebrimbor said, wiping a tear from his eye. He hoped that Erestor had not noticed.

 

“Yes, better do it today. They said they can be found in the harbour; they wanted to leave soon. It’s strange to think that we’re so close to Aman, and yet –.”

 

Erestor’s words brought a flash of inspiration. “I got an idea!” he exclaimed, already running towards the villa. “I’ll come to the harbour shortly, don’t let them leave before I’m back!

 

Back in his room, Celebrimbor swept his doodles into a wastebasket and took a new paper from the pile provided for the guests. He was not going to return to Aman just yet, but he could write a letter. A letter to his mother. And if the Falmari didn’t know who Alcarië was, someone in Tirion would know. Someone would know Nerdanel, at least, and she would know where to find Alcarië.

 

He sat at his desk for a while, thinking of the many long yéni and the great sea separating them. What could he write? Should he tell her about the past and the death of their loved ones, or should he concentrate on the days to come, and on his newfound hope? There was no right answer, and the quill in his hand wavered. Then he remembered Telda’s joy when he had invited her to join Gwaith-i-Mírdain, as he had decided to call his guild. Telda reminded him a little of his mother.

 

A smile appeared on his face, lightening his mood. He began his letter:

 

I am glad that I came to the Land of the Gift, even if only for a short time.

 

---

Chapter End Notes

The last sentence is the text of my postcard prompt.

Telda is a Númenórean OC of mine. She is nonbinary character who uses she/they pronouns.

Alcarië is my OC for Celebrimbor's mother.