Chapter 7

Disclaimer: If I were Tolkien, or if I owned Middle Earth, Bagginshield and Kiliel would not be here. Draw your own conclusions.

That accursed Maia! Celebrimbor's dying thoughts earned him a reproving glance from the Maia who escorted him to Lord Namo. "Not you," he added quickly. The Maia smiled and nodded agreeably.

Lord Namo was not at all what Celebrimbor was expecting. He was expecting a great, dark, imposing, terrifying Doomsman who would condemn him for his crimes against all elves the world over. True, what he saw was a great, dark, imposing, terrifying Doomsman – or he would have been, if he were not holding Vaire in his lap and helping her untangle a skein of yarn that had been twisted around on itself by young elf's spirit. Celebrimbor could hardly tell whether he was expected to kneel in awe or smile at scene. He decided to do both.

Namo seemed to notice him for the first time. "Welcome to my Halls, Celebrimbor!" he said, his voice echoing around and bouncing off the rafters. Celebrimbor could have sworn he saw waves rippling through the air at the Vala's voice. It was quite as doom-laden as he had heard his uncles describe it, and it left Celebrimbor barely keeping himself from curling up into a wretched ball of guilt. Then the moment was ruined as Vaire gently smacked her husband over his black crown.

"Namo, dear, remember what Manwe said about the Noldor. When you speak to them like that, you scare them," she said reprovingly. "Especially this one's family. It brings up traumatic memories, and then it takes longer until you can send them packing to disturb the rest of Aman. Do you really want to have to nurse this one back to full mental health while his father and grandfather and Eru knows what other sad relations corrupt him again? Come with me, dear; I at least will take care of you." This last was addressed to Celebrimbor, who was again torn between expressions of awe and fear, and giggling madly.

They passed a few corridors that branched off the main hall on each side. "That is the room for the youngest elves, and their parents if they died as well," Vaire pointed out. "That on the left is the hall which some of the younger adults have taken over. I believe you will find two of your uncles in there, should you ever want to visit." As they passed by, a rowdy song erupted from within. Celebrimbor nodded, unfazed, as Vaire blushed at the lyrics.

"Definitely my uncles. That was one of their favorites," he said. "I will certainly have to stop by and visit sometime; I learned a new verse from some of the Edain, and I'm sure they would love it." Vaire nodded a little uncomfortably, and they hurried by with the echoes of the song still ringing in their ears.

Vaire rattled off a list of other halls as the passed them, but Celebrimbor was quickly losing interest. He tried to remain polite, but finally he broke in on the Weaver's litany, "My lady, where might I find my family?"

Vaire stopped, then smiled at him. "Of course, I completely forgot! Most paternal relatives are in the right third hall on the twelfth corridor from this hall. Then there's your half-great…oh dear…Fingolfin and his family, and a few of Finarfin's crowd. They're in the hall across the corridor from the other side of the family. I wouldn't go there unless you want to be involved in a continual battle," she added. "Your grandfather's family has declared war on the other two branches. Even Miriel and Indis have taken sides. Finwe is neutral; you might want to join him."

Celebrimbor had no intention of remaining neutral, thank you very much, but all he said was, "How do they fight?"

"Mainly verbally, except when they forget themselves and attack each other. And that happens rather often; Feanor is a master at riling the others up. When he stoops to engage himself in their arguments, he obliterates everyone except Fingolfin. In a physical battle, though, he can usually be taken down by two others together, as long as they watch their backs." Vaire was really quite interested in the goings-on of the House of Finwe, and secretly recorded each tussle. At the end of each week she and Namo pulled out the growing box of tapestries and leafed through their favorites.

Celebrimbor managed to keep his delight from showing. He managed a polite bow and a hasty, "I thank you, my lady," before diving down the corridor Vaire had mentioned. Due to Vaire's detailed instructions, Celebrimbor found the hall easily enough. Of course, the shouting match between Turgon and Caranthir, with the others shouting encouragements to their champions and deriding their opponents, might have had something to do with it as well.

"Kinslaying pig!" Turgon expressed himself forcefully.

"Two points off Turgon for a repeat!" Miriel called cheerfully. Apparently it was a competition as well as an argument. Fingon, who was keeping score for his team, sighed and rubbed out two chalk marks on Namo's beautiful obsidian walls.

"Better a boar than a little white grub hiding in the mountains," Caranthir replied coolly, once the disturbance over the score had died down.

A roar of agreement from Feanor's side of the corridor greeted this remark, and a smile or two could be seen even on Fingolfin's side. Maedhros grinned broadly and added another tally to their wall. Covered in neat white lines, their side made it abundantly clear who was winning.

Feanor suddenly noticed Celebrimbor standing in the doorway watching them. "End the round!" he shouted. "New family!"

Celebrimbor was suddenly overwhelmed by a rush of unwelcome relatives who came to greet him, congratulate him, console him, and offer him a good seat for the show. He managed to avoid most of them and made his way over to Fingolfin's side, where he hoped to find a warm welcome and a chance at challenging his father in a duel of words. Fingolfin gave him a strange look, then whispered something to Turgon. There followed a conversation which left Celebrimbor in shock.

"You did what?!" Celebrimbor had never felt so outraged in his life.

Turgon shifted slightly under Celebrimbor's hurt gaze. "I apologize, Celebrimbor, but they asked whether that was all right or not and we didn't think there was any reason to disagree. We, ah, we forgot that you might be coming," he ended lamely.

Celebrimbor could hardly believe it. He had endured the odd looks he got in Gondolin, he had dealt with the coolness he had always encountered, he had worked and learned like a normal elf with no mention of rank or privileges, only to find out that in the end he had been shunted off onto the family he despised? To make matters worse, it seemed that it was not a true slight; Turgon had merely forgotten about him. Now he was permanently trapped with his father and the others on Feanor's side of the corridor, merely because Feanor had casually suggested that the sides be formed by blood bonds alone, and Fingolfin's side had agreed! The injustice of it all was staggering. He was not even permitted to remain neutral; no, Feanor must carefully add that as an item to his rules.

The upshot of it all was that no matter how much Celebrimbor pleaded and argued, he was left on his grandfather's side of the room and there was no getting around it. So he came, grudgingly, and cheered, halfheartedly, and booed, enthusiastically, and groaned, meaning it every time.

Some time later, Gil-galad was induced to visit the area. To put it lightly, he was astonished.

"Noldorin backstabber! Jewel-hoarder!"

"Repeat! Repeat! Two points off!"

"If anything, I should say you were the backstabber. And if I hoard my work, at least I do not hoard my city."

"That hit him hard! What do you have to say to that, Turgon? Good move, Celebrimbor!"

For the second time, Gil-galad turned and ran. Really, who needs lunatics when you have family like his?

A/N: This chapter was written at the suggestion of the amazing writer and lovely reviewer KiyaJinnSkywalkerKenobi. If you liked it, it was her idea. If you didn't, I probably botched something along the way.

I had hard time getting Celebrimbor out; even now I'm afraid he's a little too OOC. Opinions? Suggestions? Flames?