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The Hopeful Bachelors' Wedding Bands Shop

Summary:

For centuries after his reincarnation, Celebrimbor lives alone, thinking he’s found relative peace in Valinor. In comes a newly reincarnated Maeglin, who’s not nearly as content with his situation. Both of their lives are about to take a turn to the unexpected, with a bittersweet journey of mending broken things and discovering the meaning of love.

Notes:

Some words and interchangable names:

nér - adult male elf
nis - adult female elf
Eldar, Quendi - elves
Valinor / Aman / Eldamar

Celebrimbor - Tyelpe, Tyelperinquar
Maeglin - Lómion
Turgon - Turukáno
Aredhel - Írissë
Idril - Celebrindal

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The brass bell of the front door announced the entrance of a visitor, and Tyelpe hurried to put down the piece of steel he had been forging. 

He walked out of the workshop area of his cottage, taking off the thick leather gloves, which he wore for work and wiping the palms of his hands into his apron. As he soundlessly hopped up a small flight of stairs, he tidied his appearance as best as he could. Clients were not such a rarity, but given his location in the middle of the forested hills of Eldamar, the smith didn't expect them every day, and most of the time barely bothered to look presentable.

The entrance of his home was made to serve the purpose of a shop, and as Celebrimbor turned the last corner to the counter, he smoothed down the stray locks of dark hair, which had fallen out of his messily tied ponytail, took a deep breath and prepared his best smile.

Once he stepped out, he saw a dark-haired willowy nér looking around the displays. The elf had his back turned to Tyelpe and was examining some forged door ornaments. Celebrimbor didn’t have to see his face or know his name to guess that he was a Noldo. His clothes and bearing gave away that he came from Tirion and additionally, the ellon had the darkest shade of hair, which Tyelperinquar had ever seen, such that could only belong to one of the Deep Elves.

Tearring his curious eyes away, Tyelpe took his place behind the shop counter.

“Greetings!” The smith said, hoping not to startle the stranger. “What can I do to help you?”

When the nér turned around, Tyelpe’s smile froze. The elf was handsome and strikingly so, but in a forbidding kind of way. His skin was pale, almost white, as if he had never seen the sun or avoided it studiously. His eyes were sharp, very dark and they made his glare so striking that a lesser elf might have been thoroughly unnerved by his presence. However, as one who had defied the eyes of Sauron himself, Tyelpe wasn't easily intimidated.

The moment dragged as the newcomer remained perfectly still, his eyes the only animated thing about him as they darted over the smith, scrutinising him in return. When he finally spoke, it was in a low, measured tone, which carefully enunciated each syllable.

“Are you Tyelperinquar,” The stranger asked, “of the line of Fëanor, otherwise known as Celebrimbor, Lord of Eregion?”

“Yes.” The craftsman nodded slightly. He could no longer summon a smile at the uncanny customer. Such solemn questions about his identity never boded well, not in his past life, not even in blissful Valinor. “You have come to the right place.”

If the other elf noticed the way Celebrimbor took half a step to the left and angled his body so that he could quickly reach for the sword, which hanged as a display on the wall, he didn’t comment.

“I have come to speak to you.” The dark-eyed nér's statement caught Tyelperinquar off-guard.

“My name is Lómion.” The newcomer continued. “Son of Aredhel, called Maeglin… of Gondolin. You might have heard of me.”

Lómion. Maeglin. Tyelperinquar had heard of him, and suddenly his particular manner began to make sense. Tyelpe hadn’t missed the catch in his voice before Lómion named the city, which he had betrayed.

Traitor.

The word hung in the air between them, as loud as a scream, even if it hadn’t been said by either of them. Celebrimbor could see the other nér's guilt written all over his face. It was an easy emotion for him to spot. He knew it intimately.

“Yes.” Tyelpe said slowly, carefully. “I know of you.”

Maeglin visibly stiffened. By all means he looked as if he expected Celebrimbor to draw out that sword.

“Well,” The smith allowed his stance to relax, slowly letting out the breath he had unwittingly held. “I’m making a very poor host. You said you wanted to speak with me, and I haven’t even invited you inside. Please, this way - I will put the kettle on...”

He was already moving towards the small living area of his cottage, when Lómion made his first movement in a while.

“No!” Maeglin reached out his hand and took a wide step, a gesture quickly aborted as he instantly retreated his long limbs back to himself. The smith stilled and turned around to regard his visitor questioningly. The dark-eyed elf was looking at him firmly and impatiently. Thinking it a rejection, Celebrimbor quickly deflated. It was a familiar kind of hurt, and it didn't bother him that much, but then, to his surprise, the nér continued:

“You don’t have to offer me tea. I know that I'm not welcomed here or anywhere. I only have a few questions and I’ll be out of your hair in no time. I promise.”

Celebrimbor lifted his eyes from where they had fallen to the floor, regarding Maeglin’s drawn features and the slight seize in his eyebrows. Desperation was another emotion he recognised and it gave him the courage to offer again:

“I cannot remember the last time someone came just to have a conversation.” He confessed, watching the reactions on the other elf's stern face. “I’d be happy to share your company, if you would have mine in return. I am sure you know who I am, if you have went through the trouble of journeying for days to seek me out. I wouldn’t fault you if you’d rather refuse, but just don’t do it because you think that I’m asking you out of obligation.”

Lómion seemed to realise something as well, but he didn’t speak, he merely nodded in that sharp, bird-like way he moved. Once he had made up his mind, he took a few long strides towards the place where Tyelpe was heading, before pausing and waiting for his host to lead the way.

Celebrimbor took him down a short staircase to a lower floor of the house where he had set up a sort of small kitchen and living area for himself. On one side there was a long wooden table, covered in pots, jars, ingredients, herbs and all sorts of kitchenware. The smith busied himself with the preparation of herbal tea, almost dancing around the table as he plucked the ingredients he needed with the ease of someone who knew where everything was.

Meanwhile, Maeglin watched him from across the room, standing with his hands crossed in front of his chest and keeping as much distance as possible. There was distrust in his eyes as he observed the ritual of familiar movements. Tyelpe noticed the looks he was receiving, but didn’t comment.

“I was right to come to you.” Lómion spoke suddenly. 

“What do you mean?” Tyelperinquar stopped grinding the dried herbs to turn his attention on the other elf.

“You are alone.” Maeglin said. “So much so that you’d have tea with one such as me.”

“Look who’s talking.” Celebrimbor challenged. “You are the one who travelled through hills and woods to seek me out.”

Lómion glanced away, his pride wounded or ashamed, Celebrimbor couldn’t tell, but when he looked up, there was a sharp light in his eyes.

“Is it true?” He asked. “What they say about you?”

Tyelpe shot him a dangerous glare but proceeded to put the herbs inside the kettle as if the question hadn’t been asked. He made his way to a small square dining table, which had only one chair and pulled an empty crate to it.

“About me and Sauron, you mean?” He asked casually, sitting on the crate and motioning for Lómion to the unoccupied chair.

Maeglin hesitated, eyeing the table and the little space between the two seats, but in the end he traversed the room and guardedly sat on the chair opposite Celebrimbor.

The smith turned his body slightly away, resisting the urge to examine his guest from up close.

“Yes.” Lómion said, his voice quieter now that they were sitting close.

“Not all of it is true. People make up long tales about it.” Tyelpe said with a resigned sigh. He looked out the window on the other side of the room, watching the cheerful morning light filtering through the canvas curtains. “The truth is that we were lovers and that we made the rings of power together. The rest of the stories about me being corrupted and doing it for power or influence are made up.”

He paused, expecting to see his guest choking in disgust, but Maeglin just watched him with his piercing black eyes, holding up remarkably well considering the topic.

“And what about you?” Celebrimbor narrowed his eyes. “Are the things they say about you true?”

“That I betrayed Gondolin? That it fell because I exposed its location to the enemy? That I was… in love with my cousin?” Maeglin’s voice suddenly turned bitter and something in his eyes was wild and brittle, making the feanorian tense.

“Yes, it’s true. All of it.” Maeglin’s face took a stony quality, once again as still as frozen, and in that moment Celebrimbor realised what Lómion reminded him of - a cornered beast, stuck between the instincts of fight and flight - ready to strike or retreat at any moment, as if he expected Tyelperinquar to attack him or at least attempt to hurt him in some way.

The kettle chose that moment to scream and Celebrimbor got up to pour them each a cup of tea. He set the ceramic mugs in front of their seats and sat back down across from his visitor.

“You’ve been released from the Halls of Waiting.” The smith said. “You’ve earned your chance to be amongst the living again. Mandos has judged you. I’m not going to do it as well.”

Lómion looked up at him, emotions a turmoil in his dark eyes.

“If that is so, why am I still rejected? Still shunned? Everyone is afraid of me, as if I could somehow bring fire and death to Valinor just by existing here!

“Mothers hide their children in my presence. Elves refuse to speak to me, pretend that they don’t see me. Some even want to fight me - looking for vengeance either for themselves or others, whom my actions have hurt.” Lómion continued bitterly. “If I have been judged and I have been released by the Valar, why do I still feel like a traitor!?”

Tyelpe remained silent through his outburst. When he said nothing, Lómion continued:

“All I wanted to ask… The reason why I am here…” Maeglin spoke, and there was little pretence left in him. His sentences were breaking and tears were welling up in his eyes. “Does it ever get better? Will it ever get easier?”

Celebrimbor thought that Lómion already had his answer, but it appeared like he wanted a different one.

Tyelpe had encountered similar treatment in Tirion and all the other settlements of the Eldar. The Valar might have decreed him redeemed and his spirit fit to walk amongst the living, but Elves were a lot less forgiving and way less inclined to listen or understand.

Privately, the smith wondered if Maeglin had only recently been let out from Mandos and what kind of reception the betrayer of the most beloved city of the Noldor in Middle Earth had received upon his release. Possibly an even worse one than Tyelperinquar, whom at the end of the day had died withholding secrets from the enemy, which in some eyes redeemed him.

“It does get better... “ He said slowly. “If you find a place where you can exist without disturbing those who would rather blame you for your past’s mistakes, and if you find yourself something to do-” He gestured to the cottage around them. “This place might not look like much, but it is my home. I can create here, I can sell my works and live comfortably. Of course I don’t need a lot, but whatever I need, I can afford. To me, this is happiness.”

Maeglin’s piercing eyes locked on him and Celebimbor had the distinct impression that the other nér wasn’t convinced by his words.

“If your situation is similar to mine, and I believe it is, then you should look for what makes you content and just stick to it.” Tyelperinquar continued. “Did you have anyone to go to… when you left the Halls?”

Maeglin released him from his scrutiny, shields sliding back into place.

“Yes. I did.” The twilight elf explained. “My mother was waiting for me and it turned out that Turgon had forgiven me. He welcomed me back into his home and I was allowed to stay with my kin in Tirion.”

Celebrimbor was surprised to hear that. He had assumed that no one had taken Lómion in - otherwise why had he bothered to travel for days through woods to find the smith's remote cottage and then nearly cried about his treatment?

“Couldn’t you stay there?” He asked.

“I… I couldn’t.” Maegling said and when his eyes rose up to Tyelperinquar's, there was something imploring in them, but the Feanorian had no idea what they were asking of him. “You know that part of my story - I was in love with Celebrindal.”

Understanding suddenly dawned on Celebrimbor. He recalled distantly that Idril and a mortal, whom had been granted the gift of the Eldar, resided in Tirion. He almost kicked himself for not putting two and two together sooner and nodded his understanding before looking away to give the dark-eyed elf some privacy.

“Anyway,” Maeglin spoke again after a long pause, sitting back and looking around the cottage. “Do people buy your work, despite everything?”

His manner was hopeful all of a sudden, and Tyelpe was glad for the change of subject.

“You’d be surprised.” He smirked. “People gladly buy beautiful things, even if the hands that made them are bloody. That’s what my father taught me, back in Nargothrond and to this day his words prove true. How do you think I survived in Middle Earth once I renounced my heritage and titles?”

“If that is so, may I look at the work that is so beautiful that Elves are willing to forgive its maker?” Lómion smiled in return. Their cups were still full and steaming, neither of them having touched the tea.

“As you wish.” Tyelpe beamed as genuine pleasure passed through him at the chance to show his work. It was one of the biggest joys in his life. He stood up and Lómion followed promptly.

“I hope it won’t disappoint.” The craftsman added and lead the way to the shop section of his home.

Once he had shown his guest around the displays and Maeglin had responded with awed praises, Celebrimbor couldn’t resist inviting him into the forge to show him the work, which was not for sale, either because it was too personal or too cherished.

“So people actually buy from you regularly!” Lómion exclaimed when he saw the amount of jewelry commissions Tyelpe was working on at the time. “I can see why, too.”

He lifted a perfectly cast simple silver band with the thinnest, most delicate tengwar writing he had ever seen, inscribed across it.

“It’s a wedding band.” Celebrimbor said. “It has a small Song in it, which will make the writing light up and emit a soft golden glow if the lady says ‘Yes’ to her suitor.”

He picked up an identical ring.

“This one will glow in silver and when the couple puts their hands together during the ceremony, their lights will mingle together like Telperion and Laurelin.”

Maeglin frowned slightly, but when he looked up at Tyelperinquar, who dropped the second ring into his opened palm, he smirked sheepishly.

“That is awfully romantic, has anyone told you?” He said, his voice holding a tinge of bitterness. “I didn’t take you for the type.”

Celebrimbor chuckled ruefully.

“I don’t know what to say in my defence.” He shrugged. “I have no idea where those ideas come from.”

“Perhaps there is someone you wish to gift such a ring to?” Lómion raised a teasing eyebrow.

“Unfortunately, no.” Tyelpe shook his head and stepped away, all humour seeping out of him. “I’m afraid, I have zero prospects at this time.”

Lómion's smile died in turn.

“Maybe in the future.” The craftsman added to lighten the mood. “I hope.”

“I hope so too, for your sake.” Maeglin said quietly. “I…”

He faltered and Tyelperinquar didn’t expect him to continue, but then the pale-skinned elf made up his mind and said:

“I wish one day I’d be here commissioning you a ring like this for someone as well.” He looked up at Celebrimbor and there was a slight blush of embarrassment on his cheeks, but whatever he saw in the other dark-haired elf evidently put him at ease enough that he smiled warily and added: “It gets tiring to love where love cannot be returned. Even if that’s all I have ever known.

“In truth, I wouldn’t be here, if Nienna hadn’t spoken for me.” He said. “I spent thousands of years in the Halls and still, I could not forget Idril. I could not stop loving her. Nienna became a regular visitor. She tried to help me, but not even her tears could wash away the poisoned love that has sunk its claws so deeply into my heart.

“In the end, she decided that only the love of another might heal me, and she convinced Mandos to release me before it was time, but only on the condition that I would relinquish my love for Idril.

“I thought I could do it.” Maeglin added and his eyes were turning glassy. “But it’s not so easy now that I’ve seen her again.”

Celebrimbor swallowed thickly. He couldn’t begin to imagine what it might have felt like for Lómion to see the one whom he had loved, but who did not answer his feelings, again after his rebirth. Tyelperinquar counted himself lucky that he never had to see Annatar again. He wasn’t certain that he could survive it without breaking into a million pieces with no hope of ever being whole again.

“She is the sum of everything I value, everything that I believe is holy, and everything that I crave. And she despises me. Still.” Maeglin finished his confession and turned his face away.

Tyelpe bit his lip, trying to find something to say.

“If you don’t want to go back, you can stay here.” He found himself uttering in the end.

Maeglin inhaled sharply and raised his head, turning back to look at him.

“You are not as bad as they say, and if you think the same about me, then I don’t see why we shouldn’t keep each other company.” Tyelpe shrugged, trying to sound casual. “It seems like a waste for both of us to be alone, don't you think?”

Lómion was looking at him silently and Tyelpe assumed that he needed more coaxing to stay or more explanation why anyone would want him around, so he continued:

“It’s been centuries since I had a real conversation with anyone. Being alone for extended periods of time can be bad for an elf. It will get bad for you too, after a while. So, if you have nowhere else to go, you can stay here with me.”

Maeglin’s expression was solemn, but his expressive eyes betrayed bewilderment, uncertainty and suspicion as Celebrimbor’s speech finally died down in the face of the other elf’s intense scrutiny.

Finally Maeglin’s mask crumbled to a mixture of grief and reluctant relief, and he spoke:

“Are you sure? Would you really allow me to stay?” He asked and his voice was brittle, so close to breaking. “I don’t want your pity or your charity.”

“It would be neither.” Celebrimbor reassured him, resisting the urge to take a step forward. “I could use the company and a helping hand. And besides, I’ve heard that you had a gift for finding and refining metals. I could really use someone with your skills. It would save me time that I could otherwise spend creating.”

“Are you offering me a job?” Maeglin suddenly laughed.

“Why not?” Tyelpe answered with a small smile. “I can provide room and board for it, as well as a modest payment.”

Lómion took a look around the forge, apparently contemplating his options. There was a certain kind of appreciation and gladness as he took in Celebrimbor’s workspace with all it’s scattered work, tools and materials and then turned to the small window through which rays of sun shined and the song of forest birds could be heard.

“Well, your place absolutely needs some organising.” Lómion said. “Thankfully, I’m a specialist in that as well. By the time I’m done here, everything will be indexed and booked and put into its rightful place. Not to mention, I will find you something a lot better than -”

Lómion picked up the steel sheet, which Celebrimbor had been working prior to the surprise visit.

“- than whatever piece of orc-filth this is.” The twilight elf finished with distaste.

“Hey,” Tyelperinquar plucked the metal from his grasp protectively. “Don’t get carried away - I have my own system and I’d rather it stays the way it is. You’d have plenty of your own work to do.”

“Let’s see whose organisation is more efficient and time-saving!” Maeglin challenged with a teasing smile that Celebrimbor couldn’t help but return.

“You’re on!” He said, clasping their forearms over it.

And thus Maeglin ended up staying with Celebrimbor for a time.