Silence

By Le Chat Noir

- Part Two

He was very careful not to make a sound, but somehow Father would always know. The Silence could always hear, he thought; no matter how quiet and still he willed himself to stay, like one of those pretty white statues he had seen when uncle Russandol had taken him to that place outside he had forgotten had a name, the Silence was always quieter than him, and its eyes that lurked everywhere could always see.

He tried to stifle the unwanted sobs in his pillow, however to no avail.

The room was entirely white. At the time, it was Laurelin that flooded in with her rays the colour of buttercups, and Celebrimbor thought when these touched the coldness of the marble floor they turned to pools of molten gold.

Maybe it was the Silence that told Father that he was crying, he could not tell. But he would rather that he did not know, because Father was always worried and always tired. However, the Silence kept him awake, and forbade him to let his spirit wander; at once, when he entered the Paths of Dreams, it would be back under the form of all his memories to pull him away from sleep.

Again, that time, he heard Father stir behind him and sit up in his bed, as was his wont. A pair of strong, though slender arms pulled him into a warm embrace and they both reclined on the bed and he felt lost to be so small lying in the middle of such a big bed. He clung to his father with a death-grip, dug his fingers into his arms, knowing that they were probably the only ones who were awake in the entire building, knowing of the emptiness of the corridors beyond their small secluded room. At times he was not afraid of the loneliness, but when the Silence whispered in his ears he could not care to whom it was he clung, as long as he could feel another's breath next to his, another's flesh against his own.

Curufin passed soothing fingers through his child's hair, and massaged the boy's back with his other hand, softly singing a lullaby he did not know where he remembered from. After a while, the child's silent sobs died away, and instead he felt the small, lithe frame moving against him.

Overly bright from tears, a pair of wide, dark eyes stared into his own.

"Ada, when I sleep, of what should I dream?"

A little perplexed by the strange question, Curufin thought for a while before settling for an answer.

"The Paths of Dreams are strewn with memories of one's past life. When you are older, dreams will be a way to remember the joyful events of your life, even when dwelling in hapless days; we do not forget, but sleep enables us to relive our times of delight and bliss, and therefore sustain our hopes when hope will be needed."

Celebrimbor shifted positions again, slightly unnerved that his father did not understand, or rather vaguely knowing that he could understand if thus was his wish, and tears threatened to roll out of his eyes once more, as he tightened his frantic grip on his father's arms.

"But they are all the same!"

Father opened his mouth, and closed it again, and Celebrimbor felt the Silence come between them, like a great shadow, and for a splinter of a second his fear was reflected in Father's pitch-black eyes. Then the elder elf's eyelids dropped, and for a minute he thought that Father had gone to sleep again. But it was not so.

After a while, Curufin's eyelids fluttered open, and he saw that the darkness was gone from them.

"Tell me what you'd like to dream of."

Celebrimbor thought. There were many things he would have liked to know, pleasant things that he would have kept as precious memories to dwell upon, but not too often, for fear of wearing them out with the number of times he relived them in his heart. There were some things he had seen in his life, rare things, images he held onto for the impression of beauty of serenity he had sensed veiled up in his heart when he saw them: the small birds that came on his windowsill,  the elegant statues which he remembered but could not tell from where anymore, his great-grandfather's eyes, uncle Russandol's hair, and the frenzied dances of the flames when a fire was lit in the great hearth of the Hall; however, none of them had been powerful enough for him to wield against the voice of the Silence, to forget the weight of those walls of steel, closing around him.

"I want of dream of a mother."

Father blinked, but did not show other signs of surprise. He smiled a little sorry smile, and looked away.

Celebrimbor noticed his cheeks colouring slightly, and dimly regretted his unreasonable demand.

"I fear, little one, that this I am not able to give you." And there was the seeking of forgiveness in Father's eyes, something that he so rarely saw that it was all he could do to throw himself at his neck. He had closed his eyes at first, but upon hearing the Silence laugh lightly near his ear they started open and he shuddered, tightening his arms even further around his father's body.

He smiled weakly. "Great-grandfather says that he does not have a mother either, and when I ask him why he says that he never did, and that the Elves in their awakening had called the Earth the Mother of them all, who gave them food in her fruits and shelter in her trees." He paused for a moment, and pretended to catch his breath, hesitating slightly before continuing to speak. "But Grandfather never knew his mother either," he hazarded.

Celebrimbor wondered if Father had a mother. But if Father had a mother then she would be uncle Russandol's mother too, and uncle Kano's, and Turco and Moryo and Ambarussa's also. Surely they could not all be motherless? Maybe they had not known her either, maybe she had departed as well and left them all alone, like the Lady Miriel had. However nobody ever spoke of her, and he did not know even her name.

He was pulled out of his reflections by his father's deep sigh, and thought that maybe he had said something wrong.

Curufin looked at his son, and idly played with a strand of his hair; though he was not exactly sure at the moment to whom it really belonged, as both their shares of dark locks were spread out on the bed sheets around their heads, and came to be mingled together as one.  The boy was five years old; his great dark eyes mirrors of his own, yet full of many questions that would not be answered. Already at that young age, sometimes the child's uncommonly intense gaze was unsettling to bear, and many had turned away from its unknowing depths. To him, it brought back images of earlier days, that he would rather have stifled before they smothered him. But the child was young, he considered. Chances were, that he would never even remember those early days in Formenos, save for fleeting sensations he would later wonder at for their origins.

Father looked away, and sat up on the bed.

"Come," he said, already engaged in the process of divesting himself of his nightshirt and pulling on a practical tunic.

Celebrimbor sat up too, startled at the sudden absence of warmth at his side, but didn't move further, observing Father's actions with a little wariness. The latter, by now completely dressed, stood in front of the great wardrobe, the panes of which he had thrown wide open, with a contemplative look on his face. He threw his son a glance.

"You don't have any travelling clothes."

The child shook his head, incredulity in his eyes. Of course, Curufin thought, those should never have been necessary.

"Don't make so much noise, Father," he said, worried though he did not know why.

"Here, wear these," Curufin offered, taking a set of rather more common garments from the pile, and handed them over to Celebrimbor.

He sat there unmoving, blankly staring at the clothes in his lap. Father, maybe a little worried, looked out the window, and a slight crease barred his forehead.

"The time of the Mingling is nigh. Make haste!" Father did not seem inclined to leaving him alone in the bare and silent room, and for that he felt grateful, so he made haste indeed; lest Father should change his mind.

He was glad, because Father had for a moment made the fear and the silence go away; but reflected that it was strange, for Fëanor's fifth son had not seemed so moved about something for a long time.

~ 

He knocked on the door of iron several times, anxious to be heard only by the occupier of the room. Everyone slept still in the great fortress of steel, and every sound he made, from soft footfalls to shy intakes of breath, sounded to him as if echoed a thousand times louder on the thick grey walls. If Russandol did not hear him, he would have to leave without telling his brothers of his destination, and they might truly worry; he knew that if his father might not think of the right place to go look for him, busy as he would be at raging at his sons and tuning down fits of silent anguish, surely one of his brothers would, and he would be found out.

He lifted his hand to gently rap on the door again, but before his knuckles could touch the cold iron it was pulled open, and the face of a not-nearly-awake Maedhros appeared in the opening.

"What?"

Then the red-headed elf seemed to register the full-clothedness of his brother, and the strange spark in his eyes.

"Where are you going?" he hissed, immediately wide awake and aghast at Pityanarë's boldness. "Father will have our heads for this!"

Curufin ignored his protests.

"I am simply going to give Tyelpe a mother."

Maedhros rolled his eyes, but the expression on his face softened. "That is good, but let me repeat myself: Father will have our heads for this!"

"No he won't. Father will understand, of all people."

A staring contest ensued, but when Maedhros had made sure that his younger brother was determined to carry his project out, he sighed, and shook his head.

"Do you need anything I can do for you?"

Curufin smiled. "No, I took care of everything. Just tell our brothers, so that they do not worry too much. I know Kano just will."

He paused, and turned as if to walk away, but stayed his feet.

"You don't need to tell Father that you know I have left," he finally added. "I'll deal with him when I come back."

And then he was gone.

Maedhros shrugged, and closed the door behind him.

Strange.

For a moment, it had almost seemed like his little brother was happy again, as he had been before Father had… well, before.

~

They had ridden for a long time, and Celebrimbor, tired out, had fallen asleep where he sat in front of his father, secured by the latter's arms.

When they had finally arrived, Curufin had wondered for a while if he should wake the child up, but had decided against it, knowing that it had been long since Tyelpe had slept without being troubled by ill-dreams. Instead, they were both now seated on the grass, his back resting against a tree trunk, the boy's head in his lap. From where they were, they could not be seen from the house that stood some distance away, and neither could he see it. It was, he thought, more sensible.

When Celebrimbor woke, they moved a little way down the path, and Father, kneeling down beside him, gestured to the house they could now see.

"This is the house in which you were born," he said.

Celebrimbor felt in awe the fresh grass under his feet, the light caress of the breeze on his skin, the fragrant scent of the flowers in his nostrils, and hoped to engrave the moment forever in his memory.

"Is my mother in there?"

"Her name is Vyriel," was the answer he received. [1]

Still hesitant and sceptic, he stared at Father's eyes long and hard to fathom if he was really telling the truth.

"Can I…"

Father smiled slightly, and gave him a slight push forwards.

Steadily, he walked on, being sure to feel the ground under his feet to ascertain that it was not a nightmare in disguise.

Curufin stood up. Well, he thought, I do hope she's in at least.

He didn't know how long it would take the child to forget these settings, his mother's face and voice, this visit even. But no one remembered a person whom they had met only once at the age of five, and he wondered how little his son would succeed in keeping of that day in the end. [2] At least the impression of happiness the boy would experience would be enough to last, he hoped.

A smirk touched his lips. Ah well, if after all that Formenos is still not left to sleep in peace…

~

1 – Vyriel is the name of Curufin's wife from the Silmfics ML's RoundRobin, Quenta Nàrion, which can be found on this site. I have forgotten whom exactly to thank for that name.

2 – In my little world where these characters live, the only thing Celebrimbor remembers of his mother is 'her voice, and he doesn't know if it is even really hers.' It has been mentioned in one of my previous stories, I think.