Story Downloaded from Open Scrolls Archive (https://www.openscrolls.net)
Title: Seasons (#3471)
Author: RobinKa
Chapters: 4
Archive: Tolkien
Category: The Silmarillion
Description: A take on the meeting of Celegorm and Lúthien, composed as a set of four tripple drabbles.
Written for my friend Rhapsody.
*** 2007 MEFA nominee ***
Published: 05 Jun 2007
Updated: 05 Jun 2007
Warnings: Angst; character death
Type: Drama
Characters: Celegorm; Lúthien; Curufin; Beren; Huan
Chapter 1 - Spring
Author's note/Disclaimer: I don't own them. They belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. Many thanks to Neume for her beta work.
~*~
For Rhapsody
~*~
Twigs rustled.
“Where is she?” Celegorm breathed. His eyes had caught an elusive vision only a moment before his words trailed off in a thick, humid air, but now he could see nothing, as if all he had spotted was only an illusion. Celegorm was beginning to think it had been one, indeed.
The grass soughed.
“There.” Curufin’s head tilted to the right in the direction of the thicket blooming with every kind of green he could imagine possible. “Be silent.”
Celegorm shot him a rebuking glare, but curiosity was eating him alive. Who was the mysterious figure that his brother had told him about with such emotion? Curufin moved aside, and his gloved hand pushed the thickness of leaves away. The clearing before them was filled with sunshine, but quiet, if one discounted birds chirping high in the branches. Quickly, Celegorm came to stand behind his brother while his gaze scanned the surrounding greenness.
“Nothing. Still.”
“Be patient, brother.”
“Look who said that,” Celegorm quipped leaning to his brother’s ear. “The most self-collected Fëanorion ever.”
“Cel…” Curufin started, but his left hand rose as though of its own will when his eyes fell on the creature they were waiting for. Celegorm stopped breathing.
On the opposite side of the clearing, he caught the brisk motion of a shapely shoulder wrapped in a mist of white fabric, which contrasted with a strand of dark hair that fluttered for a moment.
Her voice…
The vision started to sing, softly, and her voice was as pliant as a cat, Celegorm thought cocking his ears as he concentrated on the song. Though he heard words, he could not understand them, as if the mystery with the shoulder like alabaster was singing in an ancient language, and the Fëanorion found himself in silent awe.
Chapter 2 - Summer
“You should not have fear, Princess, for we are your allies, always faithful and willing to assist you,” Celegorm announced ceremoniously, while his eyes swept approvingly along the slender figure of the elleth that stood unmoving. Without a single word, he praised her beauty with a charming smile. Having given his steed a slight nudge, Celegorm directed the horse to stop only a few feet in front of her. “Lúthien the fairest,” he whispered. “Be our most welcome guest.”
Lightly, she smiled, but the smile might have as well been only a brief glimmer of sunlight that graced her face, as if kissing her lips of the color of cherries. What would he give up to be that ray of sunshine now? He mused as he inclined his head in a deep bow, and then extended his arm welcomingly, but Lúthien stood still.
She did not believe his sweetened speech, that much was clear to him.
No one said it would be easy, he thought, yet his expression did not show his true feelings, for in this moment Celegorm wished his heart had not been beating so loud. He desperately wanted it to slow down and grow quiet, because it only proved his intentions. Clearly.
“Lúthien,” he exclaimed in a loud voice. “Accept our helping hand, for we are the ones willing to aid you. Please.”
Her eyes remained wary.
To his happiness, her fingers slipped into his palm as she approached his horse and let him lift her body to place her behind him.
“I cannot offer you and your brother much in return,” she replied in the most musical voice he had ever heard. “Truth be told, nothing but my everlasting thanks.”
“My Lady,” Celegorm murmured softly, “you have already given me more than I might have expected.”
Chapter 3 - Autumn
“So, we meet again!” Celegorm snarled, trying, unsuccessfully, to outvoice Huan’s growl full of menace. “Be silent! You unthankful beast! You and I shall return to our unfinished business later!” he threatened addressing the hound. “But you, Princess... I cannot believe...”
“Stay where you are, Celegorm!”
“I will not take order from you, mortal!” Celegorm hissed in answer as he attempted to urge his horse forward, yet the steed disobeyed again, bracing its hooves in the ground and whinnying as it tossed its head vehemently. Celegorm cursed and stuck his heels into the horse’s sides, hard, but his efforts gained no result. Huan’s hateful growl resounded in the forest, silencing all other sounds, as if nature crouched from fear and did not want to draw attention. Celegorm aimed his spear at Beren wishing his gaze possessed the ability to kill, because any other weapon seemed useless now.
After another forceful kick of Celegorm’s heels, the horse danced wildly, but did not listen to his clear order. Huan bared his deadly fangs in response.
“Celegorm!” Curufin rasped. “Back off!”
“No!”
“Brother!”
And then Lúthien appeared in front of him. Celegorm lowered his weapon as he saw her calm face, but her eyes bore a firm request. No, it was not the request. It was a demand.
“Release Curufin!” she issued quietly.
Behind her back, Beren loosened his grip around Curufin’s throat, but he had no intention of letting the Fëanorion stand up.
“Leave us be,” Lúthien said slowly. “For you cannot change our path.”
Celegorm’s wrath boiled.
“You, Princess, beware. The day may come when you regret your stupidity and you come to me on your knees,” he called out proudly. “Know that I will show you and your kin no mercy. For no one can claim what belongs to me!”
Chapter 4 - Winter
The fierceness of the battle diminished. In the faint light of a rapidly waning day, one could see the dead lying on the stone floor and the pools of blood absorbing the fading sunlight. Celegorm managed to lift his head and look around, though his eyes were misting, his life leaving him, gasp by gasp. He tore his gaze away from his bloodied hand that still gripped the hilt of his sword. No one seemed to be victorious, with the exception of death.
“Caranthir...? Curufin...?” he uttered a whisper. No one answered.
“Brothers?” Celegorm tried again, but no familiar voice responded.
He raised his stiffening body, even though a flash of pain ripped through him. Yet Celegorm disregarded the surge and concentrated on the dead lying next to him. In that instant, he recognized the figure.
“Lúthien...” his mind hinted.
“Lúthien...” his heart wept.
“Lúthien!” his parched lips whispered.
The lifeless form of Dior seemed to sleep soundly, heedless to Celegorm’s voice, with serenity mirrored in his calm expression.
Was it the right moment to beg for forgiveness, now when he had no chance to atone for what he had done? Now when failure seemed to have the taste of blood? Yes, he thought as he dropped his head heavily, only to raise it again with effort. Yes, he repeated soundlessly. And yet, as Celegorm gazed past Lúthien’s son’s still body, trying to shrug off the chill creeping up his spine, his eyes fell on Curufin’s pale face.
Never had he felt lonelier, with only uselessness and rage as his sole companions. Even vengeance was, ironically, of no use, because his tormented spirit tried to break free from his weakening body.
And with the last sigh, Celegorm realized that Dior’s strong resemblance to Lúthien would be haunting his fëa forever.
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