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A Faerie Slashy Advent Calendar by Naledi Mature
A round-robin advent calendar. Elrohir is pursued by orcs to the eaves of Mirkwood. What happens next is anyone's guess.
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Child of Dying Embers by arafinwean Mature
"We are not the same, child of Melian, you were born of love and trust and I? I was born of hate and envy."She is not supposed...
Change by arafinwean Mature
Fingon takes Maedhros from Thangorodrim, but the journey isn't pleasant, nor is all forgiven.Maedhros is released from Thangorodrim...
Even the Birds Are Chained to the Sky by cheekybeak Teen
The story of Legolas, Elrohir and Maewen in Valinor. A Silvan child runs free and safe in Valinor but how free is he? A mother...
Ossė's Gift by elfscribe Mature
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Shoutbox

NelyafinweFeanorion
12/14/17 01:06 am
I'm going to be working hard on my chapter for tomorrow with all these amazing plot twists you all left me!
ziggy
12/14/17 12:46 am
Don't mind Narya- Saturday is fine if you want Friday- probably easier for me to be honest.
Narya
12/12/17 11:12 pm
Oh, ziggy, btw, are you happy with Friday or is Saturday easier for you? I can do either.
Narya
12/12/17 03:27 pm
Great pair of chapters, ziggy and cheeky! I'm so excited to see what happens next.
NelyafinweFeanorion
12/12/17 02:12 pm
Ok Ziggy Thursday it is for me!
cheekybeak
12/12/17 10:28 am
I managed it :-) and even got the next chapter up early! Not my best, but it was a busy day. That's my excuse.
ziggy
12/12/17 07:26 am
@Cheekybeak- Haha! Serves you right for the last curved ball:D Nelya- yes, fine. You do Thursday, I'll find it easier doing Friday anyway.
NelyafinweFeanorion
12/12/17 01:14 am
Ziggy do you have Thursday too? If not I can do Thursday instead of Friday if someone else wants to pick up Friday? Let me know!
cheekybeak
12/12/17 01:05 am
Oh, seriously, Ziggy?? What are you doing to me?! How do I follow that???
cheekybeak
12/12/17 12:58 am
Me!
Shout Archive


The Downside of Paradise by arafinwean

[Reviews - 3]   Printer
Table of Contents

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I.
Broken is a strange word, made of ribbons and pieced together with rusted metal and savage words. It rings through holy places with an air of pity about it that Celebrimbor laughs when he hears it spoken upon his return.

After all the Exiled Noldor never broke, and that, perhaps, is why they are dangerous.

II.

His mother is a flurry of motion in blues and greens. Pacing back and forth as she waits for him.

It only takes her a moment to see and before he can think of what to say to her (‘I’m sorry,’) she has him wrapped in a bone crushing embrace.

“My son,” she says, and it feels like coming home.

III.

There are those who would see him return to the smithy, and, by a stroke of bad luck, Aulė is among them.

“Why?” Celebrimbor says, voice laced with distaste for the Ainu in front of him, “So I may join you at your forge once again? So that I can create wonders and follow in my grandfather’s footsteps once more?” He laughs then, a bright, wild thing that would have frightened a lesser being.

“It’s too late for that it seems. Now be gone Aulė, friend of my father and grandfather, we’ve nothing more to speak of.”

IV.

There is little that escapes his notice these days. Whether it is simply the quirk of an eyebrow or the ornate decorations on the pillar he passes while on his way to the market. He notices everything and the whispers about him do not pass him by. They resound of pity or hate and set his teeth on edge as he walks between the stall lines clutching a piece of paper in his hand.

He does not need pity, though he might deserve their hate.

V.

Once, in rage and pain and hate, he thought that his fathers’ family never returning to Arda would be a blessing.

Now he just misses them.

VI.
The sound of a hammer hitting metal fills the air next to his mothers’ home. So intent is he on his work, he doesn’t notice the way she calls for him or the grin that threatens to spilt her face when she finds him in the forge that once belonged to his father.

She brings him a meal later and shakes him out of his stupor with the smell of spiced wine and chicken.

“Your favourite,” she says, and stifles a laugh as he blinks owlishly in confusion, “Come now, you’ve been here all day, surely you haven’t lost track of the time?” It’s a rhetorical question he knows, his own father often lost days while hidden away in the forge, the fact his son seems to have inherited this trait doesn’t seem to bother her.

He wonders if she’s heard of his working habits in Eregion. She must have, he thinks, he was dead for several millennia after all.

“I was busy,” is all he says, taking a long draught of the wine his mother brought. She laughs then, shaking her head and putting the tray in her hands onto an empty work bench.

“I can see,” she muses, eyeing the eight unfinished brooches next to him, “Are those for your fathers family?”

“Yes,” he says after a long pause, “They are.”
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