Story: Beautiful Things

[toastedcheese]

Hi! I'm new here. I've been a huge Silmarillion fan for ages, and started dabbling in Silmfic last year. I thought I'd share my newest story with you guys.

Title: Beautiful Things
Author: toastedcheese
Rating: Teens
Warnings: A bit of slash.
Word Count: 4377
Summary: Celebrimbor reminisces about the last "peaceful" Finwëan get-together, an occasion of humor and sadness.


Beautiful Things

I still remember the last time we were all together, the cousins of the House of Finwë.

Together in peace, I mean-I do not speak of that torch-lit hour in Tirion when the descendants of Finwë gathered in darkness. The things that were said and done then have been memorialized by other hands. I try not to dwell on them.

No, the occasion of which I speak is quite a different one. It was the wedding of the second son of Arafinwë. The wedding itself does not stand out in my memory. Angaráto was a mild individual, to say the least; he had never been of much interest to us Fëanárions. On the whole, we attended the wedding because it was expected of us, not out of any affection for the parties involved.

It was a very large wedding party. In addition to the House of Finwë, there were Angaráto's numerous Telerin relations, a handful of Lady Indis's people, and, of course, the bride's own family (thankfully of a more modest size than our own.) This was sixty heads at least, and did not include close friends, distinguished guests, and servants. There were only two places that could comfortably accommodate us all-King Finwë's mansions in Tirion and Arafinwë's lodgings near Alqualondë. Angaráto did not care for the city, and so the princes of the Noldor found themselves congregated in a house on a Telerin beach, awaiting the celebration of a marriage that a good portion of us did not particularly care about.

I did not count myself among the apathetic, you understand. I was still very young-I had just turned forty-and I'd had little opportunity to spend time with the grandchildren of Indis without the casual contempt that Fëanáro had instilled in his sons coloring the experience. Not that we were constantly at each others' throats; this was before the time of rumors and swords. Maitimo got on well with everyone, and all the Fëanárions, my father included, treated Irissë like an adopted sister. Yet these were ever the exceptions that proved the rule, and what we lacked in outward hostility, we made up for with whispered comments, hasty judgments, and cold compliments. Like many young people who grow up in an environment of social hostility without witnessing its origins, I had always been frustrated by these signs of discord within my family, and I was eager to be better acquainted with those from whom we were estranged. Angaráto's wedding was just such an opportunity.

My motives ran a little deeper than this, I will admit. Two years before, Findaráto had invited me to go hunting with him and his siblings. It was the first time I'd spent any appreciable time in their company, and I enjoyed the experience considerably. "Hunting" for the children of Arafinwë was a sort of leisurely week-long horseback ride through the countryside, punctuated by long rests in scenic locations. We talked for much longer than we tracked, and until the last day, when Ambaráto felled a beauty of a stag, I was not sure we were going to kill anything at all.

It was at this time that I fell rather desperately in love with Artanis.

By "desperately" I do not mean that I was particularly heartsick, or that I even fancied myself a lover. I merely wish to convey the totality of the admiration I had for her. She was the most wonderful woman I had even known-beautiful, wise, eloquent, noble, kind, yet fierce and proud as any Fëanárion. I loved talking with her; she had the most interesting things to say and never dismissed me because of my youth. On the eve of her brother's wedding, I was extremely eager to see her again.

I was also very afraid, for I had a gift for her. I'd been learning to make jewelry, and I'd wanted to give her something golden. After worrying over designs for far longer than I'd have cared to admit, I'd made her a pendant, circular and of flattened gold, with tracings on it and a green stone-precious serpentine-in the center. It was simple, and I was very apprehensive about its reception; jewelry was such a banal gift, after all. But I think I should have made the necklace regardless of whether I had planned to give it to her. Everything beautiful in my world had become related to her beauty.

My parents and I arrived late in the day on the eve of the wedding. I was immediately taken by Arafinwë's house, which I had never seen before. It stood on a green hill overlooking the sea, a great wooden rambling thing hedged by wild gardens, white eaves shining silver in starlight. All the doors were flung open, and most of the upstairs rooms let out onto balconies. It was even better inside-everything was carved wood; dolphins swam on the walls and vines of seaweed crept up door posts. The rooms were large and open; painted panels could be moved to separate them into smaller spaces. There was very little furniture. My father hated it; he said the simplicity revealed a lack of imagination.

We were showed to our sleeping quarters by Arafinwë's household steward, who informed us that we were the among the last of the party to arrive-not counting the bride and groom and their parents, who would arrive tomorrow so that they would not have to spend the night in a crowded house amid the confusion of the wedding preparations. And it would be a confusion. Nothing very elaborate was happening-there would only be a banquet and some music-but we were, of course, the House of Finwë, and nothing was ever simple with us.

As soon as my parents and I established ourselves in our quarters, we went in pursuit of dinner. Everyone was eating as they pleased, and we found ourselves sitting at a long table with grandfather Fëanáro and grandmother Nerdanel, uncle Tyelkormo, Irissë, Ambaráto, and a couple of silver-haired people who turned out to be Ambaráto's aunt and uncle on his mother's side.

Things might have been all right, and they were, at first. My father spoke with his brother and Irissë, I talked a little with Ambaráto and his relations, and my grandfather spoke to no one. He was in one of his brilliant moods, which meant that other living creatures were only of interest to him if he could use them as intellectual sounding boards. In the case of his present work, that meant none of us. Occasionally he jotted down notes in charcoal on his napkin. My grandmother watched him rather hopelessly. She and my mother made light conversation about art.

Halfway through the meal, my grandfather came out of his stupor.

"Aha!" he said, scribbling something down on the bottom of the napkin. "Yes, that will do very nicely."

"What is it?" the Telerin uncle asked politely.

"I think I have just revolutionized the field of optics," said my grandfather.

"Ah," said the Telerin uncle, and returned to his legumes.

My grandfather's optical epiphany was ill-timed. With his work at an end, he came out of his distracted state and began to talk with my father. Naturally they started to criticize the house. They both agreed that Tirion would have been a more suitable place for the wedding, that the house was "charming" but failed to please on any meaningful aesthetic level, and that Arafinwë had never possessed the same level of creative sophistication as the rest of the family. All this in front of his youngest son. That was the problem with my father and grandfather; they were so much alike that when they were together any tact and good sense they had between them simply evaporated. Their wives tried to change the subject, but to no avail.

Still, things might have been salvaged if my grandfather had not declared at the end of it:

"It is a good thing, really, that he married outside of the Noldor. What would seem poverty to our women is to others rather an abundance."

Now it was the Telerin relations' turn to be offended. They didn't say anything, merely looked affronted, but Ambaráto went to their defense at once.

"What," he cried, "are only the Noldor able to appreciate beauty? You may make much of buildings and works of the hands, but may not the Lindar, who weave beauty with naught but their voices, gauge a man's abilities without censure?"

"Certainly he may try," Tyelkormo cut in, his booming voice adding to the atmosphere of dispute. "But different peoples gauge differently. You have said it yourself-you are songsters. If you overvalue a pretty house, it is no fault of your own."

"I am a Noldo," said Ambaráto.

"Mmm," said Tyelkormo.

"Be careful of yourself, Tyelkormo!" Nerdanel said lightly. "If you continue to spend all your time in the woods rather than attending to your family, you may become nothing but a wandering songster yourself!"

Tyelkormo looked properly embarrassed, and my mother took the opportunity to turn the conversation in another direction. Meanwhile, Ambaráto and his cousins took the opportunity to leave the table.

They had, however, gotten no further than the door when one of my grandfather's pages rushed into the room. He went up to Fëanáro and whispered a lengthy message. Fëanáro frowned. When the page had finished, he stood and made to follow him out of the hall.

"What is it?" Nerdanel asked.

"Experiment," Fëanáro said distractedly, tucking his scrawled-on napkin into his pocket and smudging the writing in the process. "Something went wrong." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "I may be late tomorrow."

"You may do nothing of the sort!" Nerdanel was on her feet. "The experiment can wait!"

"It is very important," said Fëanáro.

They argued all the way out the door, passing a scandalized-looking Ambaráto and relations on the way.

They didn't return.

"Your father is very brilliant, and he can be very commanding when he wants to be," said my mother to my father, "but he doesn't make it easy to like him, does he?"

"None of us does," said my father.

News of Fëanáro's sudden departure on the eve of his own nephew's wedding spread fast, leaving dissension in its wake. On my way through the house after dinner, I passed Anairë and Elenwë deep in a discussion of my grandfather's flaws, the Ambarussas in the midst of a spirited shouting match with Turukáno, and Indis herself defending Fëanáro (whom she had always held in higher regard than he her) from the attacks of Angaráto's fiancée's brother.

I wasn't particularly surprised, but I did find it puzzling that the most powerful and talented family of the Noldor couldn't manage a simple thing like civility for the sake of a wedding. And it wasn't just Fëanáro's fault-while he certainly hadn't brought up his sons to respect their uncles and cousins, the beleaguered cousins were as spirited as the rest of us and didn't let abuse go easily. I was inclined to applaud Arafinwë myself for marrying a Telerin; it seemed the only way to escape our collective madness.

It was in this low mood that I set out to find Artanis. No one seemed to know where she was, and everyone was too distracted to help me find her. Someone said they'd seen her talking with her uncle Nolofinwë a few hours before, but I had seen Nolofinwë myself earlier, sitting alone in a mighty temper, and as the grandson of Fëanáro didn't think it wise to interrupt him.

It was not until I found Findaráto that I got any information. He was sitting in an otherwise empty room with a pretty Vanyarin girl who was related by marriage somehow to Indis, both apparently oblivious to the discord around them.

"Oh, hello, Tyelpo," he said cheerfully. "Ambaráto said you'd come. And look at you! You'll be tall as your uncle Maitimo soon."

My spirits lifted a little. "I should hope not," I said. I have many aspirations, but being a giant is not one of them. I should always be looking down upon people, and never able to blend into a crowd."

"You are the grandson of Fëanáro," said Findaráto with a smile. "I doubt you will ever blend into a crowd."

I was sure he meant this as a compliment, but under the circumstances it was hard to take it as such.

"Congratulations to your brother," I said in an effort to change the subject.

Findaráto beamed. "Thank you. Though it is all very strange. If my little brother is old enough to marry, that means that I am old enough to marry."

The Vanyarin girl grinned involuntarily.

"I wanted to give my congratulations to Artanis as well," I said. "Do you know where she is?"

Findaráto thought for a moment. "I think she is down on the strand with our cousins. Our mother's kin," he clarified. "I am sure she will be very happy to see you."

I thanked him and left. As I walked, I wondered if I ought not to wait until tomorrow-but no, it wouldn't be proper to give gifts to anyone but the bride and groom on the day of the feast. Still, my fear of the Telerin cousins, coupled with a shyness at the very thought of approaching Artanis on my own, made me hesitate. But it was now or never, I told myself, and I should feel foolish if I returned home again with an ungifted necklace.

I got the box containing the necklace out of my luggage and left the house, passing through the long grass down to the glittering beach. Soon I was on the sand, the black sea ahead of me mirroring a star-bright sky. Everything smelled of the sea.

I spotted a little gathering of people to my left and set out toward them. The sand shifted beneath my feet, giving me an ungainly walk. I tried hard to think positively.

Soon I was near enough to make out the individuals sitting on the beach. There was about a dozen of them, most of them with long, long silver or white-pale hair. They were speaking very rapidly in Telerin, and the sounds of their voices blended with the music of the waves.

Artanis saw me before I could pick her out. She rose and raised a hand in greeting. She was lovely as ever, clad in blue, barefoot, her silver-gold hair arranged in a crown of braids at the back of her head.

"Tyelpinquar!" she said. "You are well met. How are you?"

"I am well enough," I said. "My congratulations to your brother."

The Telerin cousins had hardly glanced at me; they were talking among themselves again. Artanis did not introduce them to me.

"Thank you," she said. "Come, let us walk."

We started down the beach, I still walking clumsily, Artanis hardly leaving prints in the sand. "It's easier to walk without shoes," she told me, and so I knelt, put down the box, and pulled off my shoes and socks.

"What is that?" Artanis asked, pointing to the box.

"Oh!" I said, looking up at her and feeling my face go hot. "It's something for you. Nothing at all, really. Just a trinket."

Artanis smiled broadly. "That's very thoughtful of you," she said, quite unaffectedly. "May I open it now?"

"Yes, of course," I said, picking up my footwear in one hand and the box in another and handing it to her.

Artanis opened the box and took out the necklace. She looked at it for a long time. I could not read her expression-I thought she was pleased, but there was something else there, too. I waited in apprehension.

"You made this?" she asked.

"Yes. It's nothing very complicated."

"It's beautiful," she said, meeting my eyes. "It is very fine work. You have great talent. Here, I shall wear it now." She unclasped it and put it around her neck, so that it hung at her throat. "That looks well, don't you think?"

I thought it looked much better than well, but all I could manage was a nod.

"I'm glad you like it," I said breathily. "It was my pleasure to make it."

"Have you studied at all with your grandfather?" Artanis asked, walking again.

"No, only with my father," I said. "And with my great-grandfather Mahtan a little. My grandfather says he no longer has patience for young apprentices. He won't let anyone younger than fifty into his workshop. I'm not sure I regret it. I think I should be too frightened to get any work done."

"Yet you might profit from it."

"Perhaps," I said. I was thinking again of what had happened at dinner. I wondered if she had heard of it. I did not much like the idea of being the first to tell her that my grandfather might not be attending her brother's wedding.

But Artanis seemed to apprehend the direction of my thoughts.

"It is not always easy to like our kin," she said.

"I don't know," I said. "If I had your family as close kin, I do not know what I should fault them with, save for an overabundance of kindness. And I like my uncles well enough, even when they are proud and quarrelsome. But my grandfather-he turns everything that is trivial into an argument, and every matter of importance, it seems, he dismisses as trivial. And yet he is on the whole liked by everyone, because he is brilliant and eloquent. Everyone except his own kin."

Artanis didn't say anything, but her smile softened.

"I almost pity Angaráto's bride," I said, trying to be light again. "With such fair in-laws, she is getting such a lot of foul ones as well."

"I do not think she is to be pitied," said Artanis seriously. "You know I have never been Fëanáro's friend, but you will not hear me regret our kinship."

"I shouldn't regret it either," I said, "but for all the unhappiness he has put between our families. Some of us get along, but for the most part we cannot be cordial with one another even for a wedding." I sighed. "I'm sorry. I know being gloomy won't do any good. I suppose it is best to just ignore it."

"I myself have never found a better solution," said Artanis. "Are things very bad in the house, then?"

"Yes, it is all arguments and serious discussions."

"Better they argue now than tomorrow. Perhaps when I retire inside, I shall try to persuade Makalaurë to sing. That will silence them pretty quickly."

"I wish you luck," I said. "I suppose I shall go find my parents again." I did not want to keep her too long from her cousins.

"Give them my greeting. I shall see you again tonight, I am sure. Thank you so much for the necklace."

"Goodbye," I said, and, a little giddy with my success, ran back up to the house, barefoot all the way. I'm sure the Telerin cousins thought me an absolute idiot, but at the time I couldn't have cared less.

Inside, I found my parents engaged with Makalaurë's wife in some sort of boring political dispute. I took this as a good sign; in those days political discussion only sprang up when there was nothing more interesting to argue about. I decided to wander through the house some more, since I'd seen no more than a handful of the rooms.

The place was a labyrinth. There hardly any hallways, just rooms opening up on rooms, and it was hard to tell if most of them had any specific purpose. Still, the woodcarvings were pretty enough, as were a series of tapestries that filled the second floor. During my wanderings I found a music room, a small but very beautiful library, a conservatory, and a room full of stained glass. The glass recalled to me my grandfather's optics work, which reminded me in turn that there was supposed to be a telescope up on the fourth floor. I had never been allowed to use my grandfather's telescope and was eager to have a look through one.

The fourth floor appeared to be empty; there was nothing but sitting rooms and bedrooms in view from the top of the stairs. I went to my right and found a dead end. The rooms to the left seemed more promising; there were a lot of them, and I remembered seeing a great many windows on that side of the house.

I passed through two bedrooms and a disused nursery when I saw a flicker of movement to my left. I turned and froze.

Through a series of doorways, I could see two figures in an embrace. They were kissing. I recognized them at once-it was Findekáno and my uncle Maitimo.

I was torn between fascination and a desire to flee. They were touching entirely. Their eyes were closed; they were oblivious to everything beyond their selves. I had never seen anyone kiss like that in my life.

A moment passed, and I remembered myself. Quietly as I could, I rushed back to the stairs. I didn't stop running until I could hear voices again.

I stopped in a doorway, my blood hammering within me. What had I just seen? Did anyone else know? Surely not-everyone knew that my uncle and Findekáno were friends, but if this kissing business had gotten out, the family feud that would follow would have topped them all. It was bizarre, whatever it was. It was also one of the most passionate things I had ever seen. I tried to imagine kissing Artanis like that and couldn't. She would laugh at me if I tried.

I began to walk again. The arguments had died down; tonight was not the House of Finwë's night to fall apart. Yet the calm seemed a false one. This wasn't all there was. Upstairs two people occupied a floor of empty rooms as if it were a universe. Our family had produced something bright and strange, and no one could ever know about it.

Somewhere Makalaurë began to sing. Everyone went silent. Artanis was here somewhere, I thought, wearing my necklace. I closed my eyes and listened. And I began to know the truth-we Fëanárions can make beautiful things, but none of them will ever make a bit of difference.

***

Unnecessary Author's Note!
Inspired extremely tangentially by a Sherwood Anderson short story. I don't normally write short stories of this length (or even read them), so this is a bit of an experiment for me.

Notes on Quenya Names
I'm won't list the Sindarin equivalents of the names that usually get used in fic. However:

Ambaráto - Aegnor's father-name; Celebrimbor is on fairly formal terms with him.

Tyelpinquar - Celebrimbor. There are all sorts of weird variations on this on the Internet, but this is the only Quenya name that Tolkien gives him, AFAIK. I made up the nickname Tyelpo on the model of the nicknames of the Fëanorions.

Fëanárion - Hopefully an adequate Quenya equivalent for Fëanorion. Celebrimbor uses it to refer to himself as well, despite the fact that he is technically a grandson of Fëanáro. He is a Noldo and, like Humpty Dumpty, can use words to mean whatever he likes.