Celebrimbor: 30-Day Character Study by cloudyhymns

Day 9: Weak Points, Part One

Three shortcomings and one short story.

Content Warnings: Dead pony! Blood, injury, and mental health and self esteem issues as well.

Three shortcomings that come to mind are:

a. Ambition
- Celebrimbor’s collection of names destine him for greatness—or do they? Surely “Curufinwë” and “Tyelperinquar” are both big shoes to fill.
- In my eyes, he’s ambitious for himself, sure, but also ambitious so that his family line be remembered even beyond his death. He is the last Fëanorian, after all!

b. Empathy
- I know! I said it! But isn’t empathy good? It is good, when one knows where to draw the line. I feel Celebrimbor doesn’t.
- Whether out of a sense of atonement or simply of his own morals, I see Celebrimbor as a bleeding heart, and that’s why Annatar can get so close to him in every verse. Because he welcomes others with open arms, while Fëanor was famous for kicking them out.

c. Focus
- At least the way I write him, Celebrimbor’s primary focus is his interests (Art, primarily), potentially to the neglect of other things. Him becoming the ruler of Eregion was more something that came from his work (and from him wanting to help people), rather than any particular desire to lead. In particular, he falls short on taking time to reflect and see not only what’s going on with this Maia he’s let in, but what part he’s playing in their game. He listens to others well, but I don’t think he listens to himself well, too busy iterating and moving on with his life to notice the changing of his world.

[A/N: I’m sorry, Mr. Pony! And I’m also sorry for any formatting inconsistencies, I’m posting from mobile.]

“I promised I would save him,” Celebrimbor says, Celebrimbor sobs, and it’s all Mairon can do to hold him before he blows apart. “I promised it!”

“You did,” Mairon agrees, distant like the family sheltering inside, hiding their son’s eyes from the viciousness of the world.

“Stupid, stupid,” Celebrimbor curses, clambering out of Mairon’s reach to tear down the lines. “A few more weights and we would’ve had him flipped in time.” He bleeds freely on the ice, uncaring of the metal that bites into him, and he does not scream. Mairon shrinks back before the metallic sounds of his anger as he dismantles the pulley, but Celebrimbor does not strike. He never does.

He never truly yells, either, albeit sometimes when frustration rests its claws at his throat and threatens him, he will threaten himself. Are those your words?  Or were they taught by someone else? Mairon always wishes to ask, yet it seems he can never find the time—some sort of morbid curiousity and fascination with what makes his mind tick, what demons lick at his feet.

“It was a pony, Celebrimbor,” he says, cutting through the winter cold, and looks up to see Celebrimbor’s hands smearing across his face. “That’s all.”

“And what of it! It was a pony, a child’s pony!” Celebrimbor wipes his hands clean on his robes, but his grip slips on his knife when he tries to cut the tail free.

“You’re in no state to speak to him,” Mairon says, as if discussing the weather; Celebrimbor sets down the knife a touch too gently.

And Celebrimbor’s eyes are grey, storm-grey today. “I’ll speak to him myself, thank you very much, and I’ll make him his jewelry.”

There are many things that Mairon could say, but in the end, what comes out is this: “Rest, tonight. With me.”

“So that I won’t make another mistake?” Celebrimbor scoffs, and Mairon’s pride stings, but there is something wild to him and the intensity of what he has to gain that make such disturbances slip under the water.

So Mairon hums, and lets Celebrimbor be the one to come to him and pull him close. “You’re right, Annatar. I’m useless when I cannot see straight.”

There is nothing left to say, save for the rush of frozen grass around them and the gentleness of Celebrimbor’s tears.

Chapter End Notes

Ourgh. I’m sorry if you need therapy c’: