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Chapter Text

When Celebrimbor arrived in Mandos, he did not realize it at first.

The pain had been gone before, and his... Sauron's illusions had even shown him both Nienna and Namo at one point.

The safety and respite had always been short-lived.
He would know the moment the question came.

Sooner or later, it always came.

But this time, it did not.

Celebrimbor waited and waited, huddled into a corner.
But the question never came.

It could have been days, or it could have been ages, but at one point, he began to hope.

He stood up and began to wander the halls, aimless at first, trying to think of nothing.

He paid the other fëar in the halls no mind, though he recognized some of them.

But most were caught up in their own minds, thoughts and experiences.

After a while, he simply started watching.

Celebrimbor could not have told when, but after a while, one spirit joined him in his vigil.

"It is sad, is it not?"

Celebrimbor recognized it then, once it had spoken.
His uncle Amrod. There were scars running over his face, translucent as the rest of him, but glowing as if they were open wounds.

He looked away again, and tried not to imagine what he must look like.

There had been a hole in his chest, that much he could remember.

But all else? Had the crushed fingers been an illusion or reality? Had the knife in the back been?

He looked down on himself.

There were scars bleeding light, but did that really tell him anything? Was an illusory wound less demaging to the spirit or more? Did it make a difference if you could watch your physical body slowly heal and scar over? Would it be more impactful to feel it in all it's agony and then simply find it gone?

He swallowed, and forced his mind outwards again.

"They all look bereaved. Disbelieving even."

Amrod turned towards his nephew with a confused look on his face.

"Of course they do. They all died. Violently. That is the nature of elves."

Sudden anger overcame Celebrimbor.

"Why?! Why must that be our nature?! To live, and live, and live, until we find ourselves mortally wounded by either a blade or grief!
What are our chances in truth? What are our chances that in all the endless milennia we never encounter the violence that will end us? Why can we not simply be allowed to go to sleep once we are done. There can never be an acceptance of death as a part of life if the only ways to die are harsh and painful."

Celebrimbor trailed off, angry tears on his cheeks, and whispered.

"I do not like violence. Why must we be doomed to it?"

Amrod wrapped a hand around his shoulder, and pity struck Celebrimbor.

His uncle had been so young when he died.

"I have never met a mortal, I imagine some would disagree with you."

Celebrimbor eyed him.

"They do. I have never understood it."

"I think I regret dying when I did. Do not interrupt me, I know matters went from bad to worse and then to catastrophic for us, and I would not have escaped that fate had I lived.
But I would have liked the chance. I would have liked the opportunity to shape my own future. To be a hero or a villain, to love and live on my own terms. I will never know if I could have made a difference, if my presence could have made matters in Beleriand better or worse, if I would have found a way back and seen mother again.

But you see, as long as you are alive, no matter what horrible crimes you have committed in the past, you can still become a better person. You can still atone for your deeds, and try healing the demage you have caused.
Once you are dead, your chance is over."

Celebrimbor wrapped his arms around his translucent body.

"But if you live eternally, there is just no chance you will never encounter the soul crushing betrayal, there is just no chance you will never slip and betray those you love, no matter how hard you try!"

He curled in on himself.

"I tried so hard..."

Amrod tightened his grip around him.

"Of course we fail. And we are failed in turn. But we have the chance to pick ourselves up and try again.
It is not easy, to struggle against both ourselves and the world every day. But you know what? Nothing worthwile ever is."

Chapter Text

The next one to seek Celebrimbor out was the other one of the twins.

He sighed fondly.

"I should have known. I do not think I noticed it back when I was still a child, but there is a pattern to twins."

Amras gave him a pained smile.

"You don't say."

Celebrimbor waved him off.

"Not like that. I have met another set of elven twins, and there is no way they could have been more similar and yet more different.
No, what I meant was a certain tendency to follow in each other's steps."

Amras grimaced.

"I must not be a very good twin then. I certainly did not follow Amrod when... Back then."

His nephew looked at him in surprise.

"Did you not?"

Amras' lips had thinned into a bitter line.

"Did I follow him when he wished to return to Valinor? No. Did I follow him into Mandos when he died? I wish I would have. I never wanted to become the person I turned into. I would much rather have died with him."

"I talked to Amrod, you know? And he said he would much rather have lived and stayed by your side."

"I am glad he does. It means he cannot even imagine how bad it became. It does not make mine the better fate, though."

Celebrimbor thought for a long time before answering hesitantly.

"I think there is no better or worse. There is just life. And then there is death. I do not regret my life, or at least not much of it. My death... well, I would have liked to keep my promises better than this, but I think I do not regret my death either. No, at that point it was the best I could hope for to depart with the last of my secrets still intact.
With my life I may have done good and evil alike, as is the nature of all creatures. But with my death I have given hope.

Your death, I think, would have only given pain. To yourself, to your brothers, and especially to Amrod.
He would have loved a chance to see where his path may lead, and in surviving, in keeping on, you have followed him more truly than if you had died yourself."

Amrod stood at his side, forlorn and wistful.

"But I did nothing with my chance. I caused pain and death, and destruction. The madness may have savaged our minds, but it was still our bodies, still our core that committed all those crimes. Nothing we did was ever enough."

"But you did try. And as much as I condemn your actions, it was not the only thing you did. You saved as many lives as you have taken, and while that will never be a reason or an excuse for raising your swords against innocents, it does not make you a wholly bad person.

I think I understand better now than I ever did before both the allure and the desperation crafting a magical item can cause. It is not it's power you want, but the knowledge what it could do in the hands of someone willing and able to exploit it fully, and the mad struggle to keep that from happening."

Amras blinked.

"I could not have cared less about the Silmarils. It was the oath and the memory of father's desperation that drove us."

Celebrimbor huffed.

"Then I suppose you lived and died for a better reason than me after all. I may have died to deny the enemy one more weapon.

But you lived and died for the love and piece of mind of your family."

Amras hesitated but nodded.

"I suppose there are worse things to live and die for."

Chapter Text

The next time he felt the presence of a spirit, Celebrimbor was prepared for it.

But then the fëa seemed to linger always just out of reach, never quite approaching.

Celebrimbor grew concerned over this phenomenon, and the feeling of being constantly watched everywhere he went brought up memories of... memories he would much rather keep buried.

But as his nervous restlessness grew, the spirit seemed to orbit closer and closer until he was finally able to recognize it.

A shudder of relief went through him when he turned around.

"Father?"

Curufin edged closer, still wary of approaching fully.

"Are you alright? You seemed tense, almost fearful."

Celebrimbor shook his head with a smile.

"Simply memories. What I fear cannot reach me here."

Curufin shuffled and glanced at him longingly.

"I wanted to- I am sorry."

Celebrimbor sighed, and gestured his father to come to his side.

"What are you sorry for?"

The older smith's eyes widened, and his eyes darted around as if looking for the right answer.

Celebrimbor shook his head with a fond and exasperated smile.

"There is no wrong answer father. It might not be a complete one, but you will not lose my favour if you answer incorrectly."

"Are you sure? I have waited for this opportunity for a long time. What if I make the wrong desicion?"

"Then I will tell you. I have lived many years, even more than you, I think. And I have learned that most times, it is wrong to assume the other person will just know.
Especially if the person in question has trouble recognizing those things in the first place. Even self awareness is something that needs to be learned and practiced.
So if I am burdened by something specific, I will tell you."

Curufin sighed and smiled crookedly.

"You must have your mother's wisdom and patience. You certainly did not get it from me."

At this, Celebrimbor stared at him flatly.

"Mother was worse than you. In absolutely every aspect."

That startled a barking laugh out of Curufin.

"A mystery then. You have certainly no shortage of hot-headed ancestors to choose from."

"To think we would have to go back as far as Mathan to find a single drop of common sense..."

He shook his head.

"But no matter. Do you want to try, father? What do you regret most?"

Curufin thought for a long moment, his form shifting strangely in and out of focus in the meantime.

"I would have said that I most regret that my actions have caused us to grow apart, but that is not everything. I regret having to watch Celegorm die in my arms. I regret that following me was the cause for your mother going out in a ball of flames. I regret becoming so numb to all suffering not my own that I..."

He swallowed thickly.

"They called him the boy king. I do not think I truly realized what that meant until he grew still in death. I was relieved, then. For the wound he had given me."

Celebrimbor looked at him neutrally.

"Do you think that makes it better? That he managed to slay you in turn?"

Curufin visibly wavered.

"I think so, if just a small bit. I still murdered a half grown elfling in his own home, but at least he was not helpless."

Celebrimbor sighed and stretched out a hand to him.

"I suppose it is a start. And I want you to know that I do love you. I never stopped loving you. I just stopped liking who you had become."

Curufin winced, but tentatively took the hand offered to him.

"I love you too. With all my heart. I never intended to become that person. But I have slowly come to realize that sometimes, intent means nothing when you are willing to sacrifice your soul for it."

This time, Celebrimbor felt the blow and he winced.

"Actually, there is something I would like to ask your opinion on. It has already proven spectecularly dangerous and was instrumental in causing my death. But there are some points I would like to talk through with you and implications I would like to double check."

His father leaned in, a concentrated and intrugued expression on his face, and for the next bit of eternity, there was just the two of them.

Chapter Text

The next fëa, Celebrimbor sought out on purpose.

His mind had returned fondly to his time in Lindon, when most of the Noldor and Sindar elves had been living in each other's pockets.

It had been a desaster waiting to happen, and it was only thanks to the careful machinations of Gil-galad, Elrond and Oropher that it had ended without bloodshed.

He himself had been fairly useless in that regard, as his political acumen could have easily fit into a thimble and still would not have filled it up.

Combined with his heritage, he had been a powder keg usually shuffled into Galadriel's direction, where she could menace anyone seeking to take advantage of this volatile combination.

But he did remember the wary and cantancerous crowd surrounding Elrond. Most of them had turned their noses up at him for his 'disloyalty', but Erestor had always been a snarky, sarcastic delight.

And if his suspicions proved correct, he had not been the first one in the family to set their eyes on the fast but brilliantly burning flame of a mortal.

He found Caranthir in a surprisingly airy corner of Mandos looking out over what appeared to be a large, circular hall.

"Uncle?"

Caranthir slowly shook himself out of his thoughts, and turned to him slowly.

"Celebrimbor? Is that you?"

"Hello, uncle Caranthir. Can I join you for a while?"

"Might as well. Get over here."

Celebrimbor joined him at the edge and looked out.

They could see the spirits milling and ambling through the hall, some fading in and out, some wandering directionlessly.

Then realization hit Celebrimbor and he turned to Caranthir excitedly.

"Those are mortals! This is where the mortal spirits transition through! How did you find this?"

His uncle turned towards him fully and eyed him with pity and understanding.

"Tyelpe. I know how I found it. The real question is, how did you find it."

Celebrimbor blinked.

"I just looked for you. I did not know you were here."

Caranthir sighed and laid an arm around his nephew's shoulders.

"Only those with a special connetion to this place can find it at all. Only those who are drawn here by the immortal bond deep in their soul will be able to stumble upon the halls where their fëar can go no further.

Tyelpe, did you marry a mortal?"

Suddenly feeling as if struck, Celebrimbor wrapped his shadowy arms around his body.

"... Her name was Narvi."

"I am sorry."

"Are you? Sorry about the mortal you married?"

Caranthir grinned wryly.

"Ah, I see your point. No, of course not. I am sorry that I will have to wait until the breaking of the world for a chance to see her again, but in a way, that only makes me appreciate the memories we do have more.

I do not think we can truly understand passion, the elation of urgency until we have experienced the life of a loved one changing in front of our eyes and time running through our fingers.
The desperation to cling to every stolen moment that drives us to untold highs and lows. To have and hold, but never to keep.

I think I understand now why the passion among our race tapers off and changes into deep affection instead. How could you sustain all this emotion, this turmoil inside yourself indefinitely? Everything that burns this bright must eventually burn out."

Celebrimbor tilted his head in thought.

"You seem very calm about this now. After Narvi passed away... I was in a bad place for a long time. I can understand why elves fade if they lose their partner now. Did losing her affect you like this too? I think I was so wrapped up in my own and father's problems back then that I hardly noticed."

Caranthir nodded once.

"When it finally happened, I was devastated. We were not even properly wed in the eyes of her people, but the love I held for her was so deep and desperate that I could barely carry on. But you see, that is the point of loving a mortal, is it not? To feel so deep and all-encompassing, and yet still carry on at the end of the day. I felt that just lying down and letting myself fade would have been the worst dishonor I could have done her."

Celebrimbor winced at that and rubbed his shin throbbing in phantom pain.

"Oh, dear. Just thinking of giving up may summon Narvis spirit to give me a good, solid kick. I can imagine Haleth might have done even worse from what I have heard of her."

Caranthir blinked in surprise.

"I have not told anyone her name. How did you know?"

"Erestor was a... friend, I suppose. He is very similar to you."

This brought a small smile to his uncle's face.

"Poor sod. Should have taken after his mother. Is he happy?"

"He is. And very vocally complaining about it."

They lapsed into silence after this, both feeling the weight of grief carried alone slowly lifting.

Chapter Text

Having met with his father and three of his uncles now, Celebrimbor set his mind to finding the rest of them.

The tragedies of the first age had shaped him into the person he had become, but it had taken many centuries to be able to look back at those times more neutrally.

He sometimes wondered what would have happened if he had stayed.
If he had become more than a tag-along and had attempted to earn his family's respect as well as their love.
Would his voice have made a difference?
The one point where they had truly changed from defenders to monsters had been the attack on Doriath, and that desicion had been a close one, he had later heard.

He shook himself.

He was coming no closer to finding answers like this.

The concept of time was strange in the halls, so it could have been months or even centuries before he gave up wandering aimlessly and sought out help.

Celebrimbor was wary of Namo himself. He had been young and scared when he had pronounced the Doom of the Noldor, and the nightmares of the featureless hood staring into his soul had never quite abated.

So he sought out Nienna.

The lady of grief was walking the halls of Mandos regularly, stopping for everyone who would share their sadness, and she wept for those who could not express their despair themselves.

"You have need of me?"

Celebrimbor quirked a wry smile.

"Always, these days. Or at least so it seems to me. But I have been feeling better for making peace with parts of my family at least. Do you know where I might find the rest of them?"

Nienna tilted her head, translucent veil shifting over her hair.

"You will not find those that do not wish to be found. Maedhros and Maglor Fëanorion prefer the solitude, and have contacted none. But I might ask them if they are willing to seek you out, if that is your wish."

Celebrimbor nodded gratefully.

"But what about Celegorm? I could not find him during all my wanderings, and I would dearly like to talk to him."

"That one I can show you. His absence has different causes."

And so she led him up and up, and into a section he had never seen before.

"Where are we? I have never noticed these stairs before."

Nienna turned to him with sad eyes.

"You were able to find the room of passage for mortal souls, but you have no special connetion to what lies behind these doors.

I would hesitate to let anyone cross over where they do not truly belong, but the good you have done both for yourself and those you have spoken to has not gone unnoticed. Perhaps you will succeed where all else has failed."

With that, the large oaken door behind Nienna cracked open, and she vanished.

Celebrimbor stepped through, and found himself in a ghostly meadow.

The pale spirits of animals were ambling around, grazing, drinking, climbing or simply resting.

Celebrimbor stared around in wonder, for he had never thought of what happened to all other creatures after they passed.

At the edge of a cusp of trees, Celegorm sat, hands cradled protectively around something.

He came closer and wrinkled his forehead in surprise.

"Bees?"

Celegorm looked up with a wan smile.

"They are always so lost until their queen arrives. Sometimes they will try to beg their way into another hive, but many will wait for their own sisters.
Most animals are fine alone or with just a companion or two, but hive insects need the community of their whole clan. I can at least explain to them what is happening, and help them look for suitable places to nest."

He wriggled his fingers carefully, and the handful of bees flew off.

"Are you alright, Tyelpe? What do you need? Just try not to shout, though, please."

Celebrimbor stared for a moment, and tears welled up in his eyes. It had been such a long time since he had seen this side of his uncle that he had almost forgotten it. History had been especially brutal to Celegorm the cruel, even though he had objectively less blood on his hands than most of them.

"Tyelpe? Are you crying? Do you want me to kill someone for you?"

And that would be the reason why, Celebrimbor thought drily.

"Exactly what part of our previous interactions made you think I would want you to kill anyone, ever? I am crying because I have missed you!"

Celegorm wrapped his arms around his nephew with a sigh.

"You do remember that it was you who walked out on us, not the other way around, right?"

The smith was about to hiss at him sharply and remind him of the circumstances, when the doubts that had plagued him resurfaced.

"Do you think I should have stayed? I could have become a warrior alongside you. If only I could have earned myself a voice in the war effort, maybe I could have tipped the scales! Perhaps I could have helped prevent the atrocities of Menegroth and Sirion."

Celegorm reared back in shock, eyes wide and nostrils flaring.

"No! Never! Do you not see?! Your innocence, your integrity, the fact that you distanced yourself from us is what caused the division in the first place! The very fact that you remained pure and untouched even in the turmoils of Beleriand was what gave us the strength to hold out for as long as we did. The knowledge that you were ashamed of our actions caused us to hesitate, and sometimes even stay our blades, even though the oath demanded blood.
There is nothing worse you could have done than to stain your own hands with blood."

Celebrimbor blinked, stunned by the fervent declaration, and slowly, slowly some of the guilt he carried simply vanished into the air.

"...Oh."

Celegorm sighed, and slowly pushed aside the collar of his tunic.
There was a large scar on his chest, as if a large beast had savaged him and ripped out his heart.

"Do you see? It is not the wound I died from. I know that much. There was never even an imprint where the arrows had pierced my body. We were numb to our physical bodies by then, like they were shells that barely fit us anymore. As if we were only using them out of habit by then. There were few things that could still impact our souls, and dying was not one of them."

A horrible thought crossed Celebrimbor and he swallowed.

"Huan's betrayal ripped the heart out of your chest. Through murder and kinslaying, through fire and water he stood by your side, and then he betrayed you."

Celegorm let his tunic slip close again and nodded.

"It took me a long time to realize why. I did not actually rape her, you know? It seemed like a solid plan, but I did not. And I do not think Huan would have objected if I had. It is the way of nature, after all.
But I did not just take her, or kill her. I put her in a cage. I took something wild and free and unfettered, and locked it up.
That is what I am sure was unvorgivable to him, to the Hunt. And without it, I am truly nothing but a feral dog."

Celebrimbor grimaced, but pressed his forehead against his uncle's anyway.

"The loss of Huan may have crushed your heart. But I do still love you. I can be your nagging conscience once again. Just please no more killing, raping, or cages."

Celegorm sighed and let himself sink onto his nephew's shoulder.

"What is the wound that stayed with you even after death? I saw you reach for your heart when I showed you."

Celebrimbor smiled bitterly.

"A stab to the heart, and a knife in the back."

Chapter Text

With all but the two oldest of the Fëanorions found, Celebrimbor settled in to wait.
He still regularly conversed with his uncles and father, but even in them a feeling of expectation seemed to have settled.

Always had they followed Maedhros's lead, and more often than not had Maglor been his voice.

And so it came as no surprise when it was Maglor who approached Celebrimbor first, on one of the occassions he was alone.

He looked drawn and haggard, streched and thinned by time and grief in ways that should be impossible for immortal creatures.

There were no obvious wounds visible, even though his clothing was as see-through and threadbare as his soul.
It looked instead as if small pieces of his fëa had been chipped off again and again and again. It seemed distorted and warped, only vaguely resembling the gloriously beautiful noldorin prince he had once been.

"The lady told me you wished for my presence. Little is still within my power, but for you, I will try."

Celebrimbor closed his eyes against the grief that tried to overwhelm him, and patted the offered hand gently between his large ones.

"Thank you for coming, uncle. Many things have happened in ages long past that haunt us still, but I have found no little closure in talking about them."

The spirit in front of him seemed to waver, torn between two directions, tangibleness and flight.
But in the end it seemed to fill out and direct all attention to Celebrimbor.

"Of course. What is it that you wish to know?"

Here Celebrimbor bit his lip, suddenly unsure. He did not think he was looking for anything specific, just that he would know when he found it.

"Would you..." He looked around helplessly, but there was only one thing he could think of asking.

"Did you know I was in Gondolin? At least for a while. I knew most of those who survived. After it's fall, there were really only two places I could have been when you attacked Sirion. Did you KNOW which one it was?"

Maglor hid his face in his hands.

"I am sorry. I am so, so sorry."

Celebrimbor sighed and pulled him into an embrace.
But Maglor stiffened and started to tremble, so he let him go again and only kept a light touch on his arm.

"You did know I was with Gil-galad."

It was not a question this time, but certainty, and his uncle just nodded.

Pity flooded him for this wretched creature, who had, by all accounts, genuinely tried again and again to escape or delay the oath, but had never had the strength to succeed.

So he pulled him down to the ground and sat next to him. He started humming a quiet work song, and started untangling the long and untidy mass of his uncle's hair.

They whiled away like this for an uncertain amount of time, but slowly Maglor began to relax.

"I can still see them. I thought my death would perhaps help atone for my sins, but in the end it too was meaningless.
I can still see their eyes, disbelieving until the very last that one of their own could turn into a monster like me."

Celebrimbor hesitated and bit his lip. But he thought of Elrond, and Oropher. One who had loved, and one who had hated the one in front of him. And both with good cause.

"Perhaps punishing yourself is not the way then? If it does not work, if even the ultimate punishment will give you no peace, perhaps it is time to try something different?"

Maglor turned around with uncomprehending eyes.

"But do you not see? It is working! I am miserable, and that is the whole point of punishment!"

Celebrimbor narrowed his eyes at this. Even Oropher would disapprove of this approach.

"And what use is wallowing in your misery to those you have wronged?

Who does it help? Will it alleviate the suffering of those in need? Will it quieten the grief of those left behind?"

Maglor narrowed his eyes and hissed.

"The people I have wronged deserve to know I am being punished! They deserve my suffering in recompense for my actions, the thought that at least some justice is being dealt!"

Celebrimbor flinched, and thought of a warm smile and cold metal. Of trinkets that had been distributed without much care, and other, more powerful ones, that had destroyed so many lives.
But even in the end, there had always been something he could do.

"I think you are doing a disservice to those you have hurt. Would you want them to think of someone else's suffering as a comfort?
That is a cold, dark place to be. I think they deserve better. I think they deserve for you to strive for peace through forgiveness. Try not to put a price on a life, for there is none. Show them instead that there is a way forward even out of the darkest of all places, so thst they may gain strength and hope by your example.

And if you cannot gain forgiveness from those you have wronged, you can still forgive yourself.
Strife not in all actions for repentence. Let it go, and if you feel need to serve, and help others in need, do it not because you feel you must, but because you want to. This will be more meaningful than any amount of self flagellation you could ever do."

And as the words washed over them, for the first time in ages, a small spark returned to the old bard's eyes.
And Celebrimbor felt it echo within himself.

Chapter Text

Finally, there was only one left.

Celebrimbor waited and waited, and even though he could see his family around himself slowly heal, they all knew they could not achieve closure without the greatest of them.

But Maedhros would not come.

And seeing his father and uncles disheartened by this, Celebrimbor gathered his courage and asked for an audience with lord Namo.

He could feel the echo of his heart hammering when he approached the hooded figure, and rubbed his palms nervously.

"My lord, I have a request. If you were willing to-"

"YOU WISH FOR ME TO SUMMON MAEDHROS FËANORION, EVEN AGAINST HIS WILL. IT IS NOT SOMETHING I DO LIGHTLY."

Celebrimbor swallowed nervously, but straightened his back.

"I have no ill wishes towards him. And I do not want him to set the wellbeing of others above his own even in death. But I genuinely think talking would benefit him too."

Namo remained immobile, only his cloak shifting slightly.

"I WOULD ASK A FAVOUR IN RETURN."

Celebrimbor stiffened, and his voice turned icy.

"I should think I have learned my lesson in granting favours to the powers."

"I SUSPECT YOU WILL NOT MIND THIS ONE."

The Doomsman shifted closer and told him.

Celebrimbor relaxed, and nodded once.

When he looked up, Namo had vanished and Maedhros stood in his place.

He looked stiff and stern, hands crossed behind his back and glowing scars over his face as if something had attempted to claw it off.
They had not been there in life.

"Celebrimbor."

"Uncle Maedhros."

He heitated, but continued.

"I am happy to see you. I hope not to have inconvenienced you too badly."

Maedhros just nodded and continued to stare at him.

"Could we talk? Just you and me? Without the warlord looming over us?"

His uncle blinked in confusion.

"It is what I am. There is nothing else left."

Celebrimbor's heart sank, and the scars over the face suddenly gained a more sinister meaning.

"There is much more to you than that. You are so much more. Do you not remember when you used to carry me around when I was little? Father got so mad whenever you took me out without telling him first."

"There is no use for that person anymore. All weaknesses are exploited sooner or later. I cannot afford to have them."

Celebrimbor felt his heart break.

"Uncle, it is over. We have won. There will always be war and strife, but our part is done.
Morgoth is defeated. We can stop now."

Maedhros shook his head in denial.

"It is never over. The moment we let down our guard and think we might have a chance, he will take everything we have left.
It never stops."

"But it is not your responsibility anymore. There are others now, better suited than us."

"I am good at war. Very, very good."

"But being good at one thing does not always make you suited for it. And when I think back on the person you were before, I think it did not suit you at all."

"But it does. I do enjoy the thrill of battle, the satisfaction of a plan unraveling, the scrambling when it goes askew."

"But do you enjoy the kill?"

And finally, the stiff posture loosened.

"... I do not."

Celebrimbor breathed a sigh of relief.

"It is time to let others take over. At least for a while."

"But what am I without it? War was the first thing I was ever good at."

"Ah, but the same principle holds true in the opposite direction. One does not have to be particularly talented to be suited for something. Who needs perfection, when they can have joy? Who needs talent when they can have genuine interest and affection?

Grandfather's shadow is large, but there is no need to outshine him in anything to be happy. Endless competition will only lead to frustration."

He watched, as slowly, his uncle slumped and his posture softened with uncertainity.

"We are done?"

"We are done."

Chapter Text

Celebrimbor stepped up to the Doomsman with a determined expression.

"It is time."

"ARE YOU CERTAIN? IT CAN WAIT."

Celebrimbor nodded.

"We all have come far in healing ourselves and each other. But we cannot go further without the last piece of the puzzle. I would like to complete our bargin today."

Namo mustered him for a long moment, then pointed a skeletal finger down a corridor.

"GOOD. YOU WILL FIND HIM THERE."

The first thing Celebrimbor noticed was the unusual cold.
The timeless halls were many things, but there had never been a feeling of temperature to them.

And it was especially surprising considering whom he was looking for.

When he turned the next corner, he froze. The wounds on this soul looked different, artificial in a way. Like someone had taken a knife to it, and now pieces of it were simply... missing.

Celebrimbor swallowed.

"Hello, grandfather."

Fëanor turned around with a scowl, but it softened when he saw Celebrimbor.

"Good, it is you. You would not believe the nerve of some people. Come here, you can help me with this. Focus on this patch, we will try recalling it together."

Celebrimbor's eyes widened as Fëanor gestured to one of the missing soul pieces, and he suddenly realized their number.

Three.

Three pieces of his grandfather's soul were missing.

He swallowed thickly. He had never been sure whether it had been mere drama when Fëanor proclaimed that destroying the Silmarils would kill him, but now he was fairly certain it was even worse than that.

The forging of the three had cost him, and in his desperation he had poured all of his magic into it in a way that would have left him unable to craft with it for decades, possibly even centuries.
But even then he had not touched the very essence if his fëa.

"Grandfather... they are gone. Please let them go. Your wounds will not heal if you keep reopening them."

Fëanor snorted impatiently, but let go of his soul.

"There is no need for it to heal. It needs to be complete again. What good could something new do me if the old was perfect?"

"Make you whole, perhaps? Come now, you are a peerless genius, what happens when a tree limb is broken off?"

His grandfather frowned.

"Another, lesser takes it's place and flourishes. What is your point?"

"My point is that the broken limb makes way for new life, revitalizing the whole tree and keeping it from choking itself off from light and air."

"Or kills it from infection."

Celebrimbor side-eyed him with a dry expression.

"That is a very apt metaphor, yes."

Fëanor snorted with amusement.

"You have your grandmother's sharp tongue."

"Do you miss her? Or being alive?"

Fëanor looked to the side.

"I do miss it. Miss her. I want my forge."

He dropped his gaze to the wounds gaping in his fëa.

"My boys."

"Would it not be worth it? To let the wounds scab over. To let the missing parts be replaced by new ones, even if the result might not be perfect? Would it be worth to let it go, if you could have all this back again?"

"I will never create anything like the Silmarils again. "

"And you never had a child just like Maedhros again. Does it make the ones that came after less?"

"Of course not. But I would never think to replace Maedhros with them either."

"But the Silmarils are not truly gone. Just out of your reach."

Celebrimbor felt his hopes sink when his grandfather's face darkened.

"I will not turn tail and let those bastards that think they own the world and everything in it just walk all over me."

A hot rage overcame the younger smith then, and he practically hissed at Fëanor.

"Just like you walked all over the Teleri? Would you want your sons to pay for that too for the rest of eternity? It is one thing to drive yourself against the same wall repeatedly, but no, you had to take everyone who loved you with you! Is your pride truly more important than your family?!"

"Is it pride to stand up against injustice?! Is it wrong to fight against oppression and imprisonment?"

"It became wrong the moment you were willing to take lives for it!"

Silence rang through the walls after this, and the two greatest smiths the Noldor had ever produced glared at each other in defiance.

Celebrimbor deflated first, sad and angry.

"The eldar now call one of your gems their most beloved star. The star of hope. Is that truly such a bad outcome? You could start anew, even take us with you. We love you. Why are you hurting us?"

The last part came out almost inaudible, and Celebrimbor wrapped his arms around himself, thinking of the only other person he had ever said those words to. But he had ever been quick to open his heart, while Fëanaro had kept his firmly shut.
He was resolved to walk away, and tell the Doomsman that he had tried, and failed, when two arms wrapped themselves around him.

He looked up in surprise, and could see the dismay in his grandfather's face.

The words were stuck in his throat, and Fëanor rasped out quietly:

"I am sorry. I am so, so sorry. I never intended for this quest to cost all of your lives. All of your souls. I did not mean to go that far. I just never seem to know when to stop."

"Then listen to us. Stop now. Gather the peaces of your life that still remain and just walk away. Does your life truly need to be grand if it will only bring you and yours misery?"

Fëanor sighed and pulled him closer still.

"You called me peerless. But I think you were wrong. I would be honored to be your equal.
Do you think you could forgive my hubris in time?"

Celebrimbor wiped his stinging eyes and smiled.

"Let us go."

Fëanor nodded, and hand in hand they gathered the others and walked into the light.

Chapter Text

The wind was howling, and the nine Fëanorians were looking out over the mountains stretching before them.

Their white cloaks were thick and woolen, but the weather was promising to make them quite uncomfortable in time.

Their bodies felt heavy, cumbersome even after having gone such a long time without.

They smiled at each other then, not the brittle ones they had become accustomed to, but small smiles full of small hopes.

They stood close together, and let the morning sun wash over their faces.

They had expected their time in Mandos to fade from memory, and perhaps, in a way, it was. Or rather, it was being compressed, existing in a certain timeframe now, where it had simply been an endless thing before.

The silence was ponderous, and no one was ready yet to make any desicion.

Slowly, tense muscles loosened, and Celegorm leaned over to whisper into Caranthir's ear.

"Three, two, one- "

Maedhros straightened and narrowed his eyes.

"Where is Fingon?"

As one, his brothers groaned.

Only Fëanor looked at them in confusion.

"What?"

"You missed that, father? Seriously?"

"If you do not know, you will be better off not asking."

"Oh, come on, Nelyo. You can survive a little while without- uh, wait. Bad choice of words."

"Do we even have any idea where we are?"

"We should probably start walking if we want to find out."

Celebrimbor sighed, and a fond smile tugged at his lips.

They were not whole, and might never be whole again. But for the first time in so long, they had a chance.