*Insert Obligatory Disclaimer Statement Here*
This is a gender bender. If that's not your cup of tea, don't drink it.
"The Fair" they called her, and with good reason.
Celegorm was the very image of her grandmother Míriel - or at least, that's what people said. In her childhood, she'd stared at many a portrait and tapestry of the late Queen, looking for that connection people always said was there. Certainly, there was great resemblance...
But the similarities seemed to end there.
Celegorm was of the Noldor, as her grandmother had been, true.
Yet her craft and calling always took her out exploring, rather than shut up indoors with thread and loom. She was always driven to look for more. She listened to birds and ran with deer and hunted with the pack of Oromë. (She'd once flirted with Tilion before he'd gone and became a celestial object, but that was a different story.)
Her blood sang with the draw of her bow and the scent of trees.
She was the only daughter of Feanor, the greatest of the Noldor, and of his children, she bore the greatest resemblance to his deceased mother. One would think that this would make Feanor jealously protective of her, trying to lock her up and tuck her away, all nice and safe.
Yet, when she'd been born, he'd proclaimed her Turkamírë, his strong jewel. He'd doted on her and took her out into the woods and down to the lake and all over on his own long explorations of Aman. It was one of the two things they had bonded over. (The other was languages, which came as easy as breathing to Turkamírë. She and her father would go on camping trips, just the two of them, the only time she ever had his undivided attention, and they'd sit around the fire and pull apart Quenya and all its dialects and she'd try to explain to her father the languages of birds and beasts.)
He'd never put a shuttle in her hand and demanded she learn to weave. He'd not permitted anyone to do anything to her she did not want to, simply because she was a girl.
She'd asked why him once. Why did he not pressure her to be more like the woman he so clearly and dearly missed?
He'd smiled at her and ruffled her hair, which she'd cut short only a few days earlier, just because. (Her mother had pitched a fit, but her father had merely smiled and said, "Good idea!" before cutting his own.) He wore a sad smile as he'd said, "I know what it's like to have the shadow of Míriel cast upon me. It's a heavy burden to bear. What kind of father would I be if I forced such a burden upon you?"
She'd tried weaving exactly once after that, driven by love of her father and a desire to maybe lessen his burden by sharing it.
The results were terrible. She swore never to touch a loom again. Her father had seen the result of her work and looked like he actually might cry. Afterward, he'd adamantly refused to let her throw it away. He proudly displayed it in their private dining hall. (Which she didn't understand, if it was so terrible as to put tears into this eyes, surely it should be burned rather than put into a place of honor.)
She missed that man, the man her father had been, before Melkor and the Silmarils and the Oath.
Before he'd lost his mind and went and got himself killed.
That was what felt an age ago now.
She was older, had seen much more, let her hair grow long again, cut it short, and let it grow out once more. She'd occupied Himlad until they'd been forced to become refugees at the mercy of their cousin. But something that never changed was her restless need to keep moving, exploring, hunting, though for what, she never quite knew.
Not in an existential way, at any rate.
As of right now, she was tracking a lone elf through the woods near Nargothrond. He moved not like the Noldor nor did he dress as one of them. Sindar, then.
The closer she came to her quarry, the more clearly she could hear an enchanting voice singing. Like to a bubbling brook, it was. Comforting, hypnotic, built to draw one in.
It transported her to a time when she was small and her eldest brother, Maitimo, had taken her out with some of his friends to a small forest not far outside Tirion. He was supposed to have been watching her while their parents were both working on one project or another. She'd been old enough to wander off but young enough not to realize that wandering off meant that if she got herself caught on thorns (which she did) that Maitimo might not be able to see and hear and know she was in distress. (Which he didn't.)
He'd found her eventually, of course, looking pale and frantic as he'd detangled her from the bush and had held her while she finished sobbing.
But that was the feeling this song gave her.
She was lost and alone and desperately wanted her older sibling to come and save her and make it better.
Celegorm blinked, dispelling the haze of a Song of Power from her mind and vision.
The elf continued singing his pitiful song.
Celegorm picked up her pace.
And there she found him, a silver-haired sinda, singing to himself as he stumbled and picked his way through the woods. One of his arms was at an odd angle, disjointed, probably. True to the strands of fiber she'd picked up along the trail, he wore no Noldorin fabrics. In fact... was that a Doriathrim style? Since when do the Doriathrim leave their precious girdle?
He didn't seem to be aware of her.
She sighed and heavily stepped on some leaves.
He didn't react.
She stomped on them harder - three times for good measure.
His song cut off. He quickly turned around.
He was absolutely covered in dirt and scratches.
"You seem to be lost, my Lord. May I be of assistance?"
He seemed at a loss for words. He looked her over. Once. Twice. Three times. He swallowed. "No. I'm fine."
"You're fine." She drawled, making a point to look him up and down. "Of course. Excuse me for thinking otherwise."
He stiffened. "I've no need for help from one of your kind."
"My kind?" Celegorm blinked innocently. "What do you mean? Female?"
"Golodh. Kinslayers, all of you."
Celegorm raised a brow. "Right. Is that how you greet Lady Artanis when she passes you in the hall?"
He flushed.
"And besides, my Lord, don't you think name calling a supposed kinslayer alone in the woods is a poor idea?" She smiled, all sharp teeth and nothing like those old portraits of Míriel.
And now he paled.
Huh. Look at that. She wondered how long she could keep getting him to change colors.
"My offer to help stands nonetheless, my Lord. I am an elleth of great skill, not the least of which is a functioning sense of direction." Celegorm flourished a sweeping and heavily sarcastic curtsy, made only more ridiculously by her hunting leathers instead of a proper dress. "I am Celegorm. At your service. And you are?"
He was silent a moment before giving up and slumping against a nearby tree. "I'm Daeron of Doriath."
Daeron... where had she heard that name? Ah, yes.
"You were at the Feast of Reuniting, were you not, my Lord? A lauded musician, if I remember correctly."
He looked down. "Yes. I... apologize if I don't recall meeting you there."
Well, now, wasn't that a change of tune? Actual politeness.
She shrugged. "I wasn't there. My brother requested that I not go."
Actually she hadn't wanted to go anyway, but it was one of the few times both her goals and Maedhros' had aligned in recent history. (Fulfillment of the Oath was another thing they agreed on, but that went unspoken.)
"Oh." Daeron shifted awkwardly.
"Let me look at your arm."
He flinched when she took his arm. Without pausing, she twisted and snapped it back into place. He gasped in pain.
Celegorm drew back and folded her arms. "What did you get yourself into?"
Daeron flexed his jaw. "I fell."
"You fell."
"I did!" He snapped defensively. "I was trying to follow - follow my sister. She ran away. I was running and trying to - it doesn't matter. I wasn't looking where I was going. But I fell. Into a ravine. Happens to everyone."
"Right. Everyone." Celegorm let her arms drop. "Why don't we get you to civilization, huh?"
Celegorm, unfortunately, was not stupid.
Unfortunate because while stupid people would never be able to understand or do the things she did, stupid people also tended to be happier. Probably because they just could not comprehend the mess that was Beleriand politics and know to be upset about it.
People liked to pretend she was stupid, though. She was the airheaded, uncouth, brawny Fëanoriel.
So when she arrived at the gates of Nargothrond, stranger in tow, the posted guards gave her long suffering expressions as they let her through. When they thought she couldn't hear, one of them muttered to the other about, "Do you think she understands the concept of a secret city?"
Daeron must have also heard this comment, because he asked, "Secret city? Like Nargothrond? Do you think you could direct me to where to find the king?"
Seeking Arafinwean aid, were we? What hypocrites the Doriathrim were. All Noldor were kinslayers and not worth even the scum between their toes (did they have scum between their toes?) EXCEPT for the children of Earwen, who would have been perfectly happy to use the boats that had been bought with blood shed by others.
Arafinweans were hypocrites too. (Hey, was that what Caranthir hated about them? Had he seen that the whole time?) Maybe it was just a Telerin trait, whether the Teleri in question were Falmari or Sindar.
"Perhaps I could. However, he is a busy man. You can't just demand to be taken to him without an urgent reason. Most without a noble house or a high rank in the military cannot see him unless it is a Court Day."
Daeron set his jaw. "I have a noble house. He will know me. We are kinsmen."
"Kinsmen? So are all the Eldar, you'll have to be more specific than that." Celegorm shook her head in a 'for shame' motion.
"I am of the house of Elu Thingol, King of Beleriand and of the Sindar."
Celegorm choked on a laugh. "A true king wouldn't hide behind his wife's girdle while leaving the rest of his people and domain to suffer and die under the advance of Morgoth."
Daeron flushed. "Well, your king went and got himself killed! And he was what, your fourth?"
"High King Fingolfin wasn't a selfish, prejudiced isolationist." Celegorm snorted. Not a very ladylike sound. She didn't particularly care. "I'm surprised you even heard about the Battle of the Sudden Flame, given how many refugees died because of your closed borders."
Celegorm's own people were some of those refugees. Her own law-sister, the wife of Curufin, was among those who perished because they hadn't been able to make it to Nargothrond.
Daeron, not sensing her hidden wrath, said, "Perhaps your people shouldn't have slain our kin across the sea! We were not wrong to keep out openly hostile forces known for killing their own kin to get what they want! If you wanted better relations with my - my king, you had over four hundred years to work for it!"
"Perhaps he should not have sent all our messengers away! Perhaps you should not speak of things you have little understanding of!"
"And what is there to not understand, Lady Celegorm?"
She stopped in the corridor to face him, brow raised in an expression she was certain probably emulated Maedhros. He came to a stop next to her, hands curled in defiant fists. He was tall for one of the moriquendi. They were of a height. Celegorm usually towered over the various Sindar she'd met. Not so with Daeron.
No matter, Celegorm made up for it in presence.
"You could never understand the insanity of the Darkening of Valinor unless you were there. Imagine living beneath the light of the Two Trees all your life and then experiencing the total and suffocating darkness of Ungoliant. Imagine the utter confusion, the chaos. Imagine the sudden news that the High King is dead, slain by Morgoth, and the Valar do nothing. No one can see anything. Torchlight doesn't go as far as it should. People can't find their families. There is screaming and yelling all around, near and distant. And then all the royal family is leading an evacuation of Valinor. We go to negotiate for boats. It is the easiest and safest way across the sea... And then the killing begins. No one knows who starts it. By the time it's begun it's too late to ask that anyway. In the end, we just try to survive."
He was silent a moment. Then, "And the stealing of the ships?"
"You do not understand desperation if you do not understand what drove us to take them."
Daeron huffed and folded his arms. "Very well, then. I'm a naive and presumptuous Sinda. Happy?"
"Admitting you have a problem is the first step in trying to solve it." Celegorm patted his shoulder and continued on her way.
Daeron kept pace with her easily. "You're not going to apologize, then?"
"Wasn't all that taken care of at the Mereth Aderthad?"
"No!"
Ugh, politics. Celegorm would never understand them.
After a short silence, Daeron spoke up again. "You're wrong, though."
"Excuse me?"
"My people do know insanity and desperation and fear. Forget not that while your kin was safe in Valinor mine remained here, in the shadow of Angband. We fought battles of our own, and we have faced horrific losses - losses which forced us to retreat behind the girdle of - of Queen Melian."
Celegorm noted that slight stumble in his words, now the second one he had made in their discourse, both in relation to the ruling couple of Doriath, but said nothing of it. She had a feeling she already knew (or at least could guess) what he'd almost said, anyway.
He cleared his throat. "May I arrange a meeting with your King, now?"
"He's no king of mine."
"Excuse me?"
"I helped change his diapers at least once. There's no going back after that."
"Fine, then. He's not your King. Can I still go meet with him? Who do I speak to in order to arrange a meeting? I promise, I won't be wasting Finrod's time."
Celegorm's steps did not falter, though her fëa did. (It was a good thing she kept that thing shielded all the time. It wouldn't do to have her... her... guilt... exposed.)
"Finrod, you say? He is not in the city. In fact, he is likely to be dead. Or, if not, he soon will be."
"He's... where is he? What happened?" This poor minstrel seemed to genuinely concerned for her cousin. She didn't quite know what to make of it.
"One of the Atani happened. Beren, his name was. He lured Finrod out on a fool's quest using an oath." Celegorm was careful not to mention more. It was wise to tread carefully around her own Oath.
Daeron's eyes widened. "Beren, you say? Of the First House of the Edain? Son of Barahir?"
"That's the one. You know him?"
Daeron took a shaky breath. "Unfortunately. He's... He wants to marry my sister."
Celegorm stopped. He halted next to her once again.
"Beren claimed he wished to marry the Princess Lúthien of Doriath."
"Yes. I'm sure he did."
"Why are you really here?"
"I told you. I'm looking for my sister." Daeron said.
"Your sister. Lúthien?"
He rolled his eyes. "No. My other sister, the one we never talk about and pretend doesn't exist. Yes, Lúthien!"
Celegorm held up her hands. "No need to get all snippy, my Lord. Fine. This makes you Elu's son, does it not?"
"Yes."
"Hmm." She started walking again, now more swiftly.
He followed after her at a near jog. "What, that's it? That's your reaction?"
"What, do you want me to be impressed?"
"Yes! Er, no! Why are we walking so fast?!"
"We're finding the nearest unguarded exit, Lordling."
"What? Why? I just got here, I need to speak with whoever's in charge, see if they know where Lúthien went -"
"She was here. Now she is gone."
"Gone! Gone where?!"
"Tol-in-Gaurhoth. She took my dog with her. She will find no better protection than he in a place such as that."
When she glanced at him this time, he appeared a little green. That made it the third color she'd been able to make him turn since she'd first met him earlier today.
"You let her go to the Isle of Werewolves. Alone. With a dog?"
"First of all, he's a Hound of Valinor and he's a very good boy." Celegorm shot him a look. "Second of all, you say that like I have any form of control over your sister, which, I don't think anyone does, save herself."
"That's... true enough. I suppose."
Celegorm added, "Of course, I did lend her Huan - my dog - on her way out of here. That was to aid her escape."
Curufin was still under the impression that Huan had acted alone. Celegorm intended to keep it that way, at least for the time being.
"... Escape?" Daeron was regarding her warily now.
"Yes. We were keeping her locked in a room."
"What?!" He shrieked.
"Keep your voice down. She isn't here now, as you already know, but I'd rather not chance Curufin or any other Lord of the city finding out you're here. I'd also prefer you didn't tell Thingol you saw me. Especially if you plan on following your sister and somehow live to make it back to him."
Daeron slowed. Celegorm forced herself to accommodate him.
"You were keeping Lúthien hostage. And now you're not. And you claim to have helped her escape. Why?" The tilt of his head and the piercing weight of his stare sharply reminded her that he was a half-maia.
She took a deep breath, filling her lungs. She let it out slowly.
The truth was that when Celegorm had first seen Lúthien, she'd seen herself as she could have been, were her father anyone else. Sheltered. Isolated.
Taking her to Nargothrond had been the easy, logical thing to do. She'd been cooperative the entire way. Understandable, knowing that going to Nargothrond had been her original intention all along.
It was Curufin who had suggested locking her away after her intention to follow Beren had been made clear. He'd reasoned that Elu Thingol hated them enough as is, did they really need to add to it by allowing his daughter to wander off to her doom? He would surely, inevitably, blame them if she suffered any harm, let alone if she died. The best they could do was keep her safe.
Safe. Yes.
But Celegorm, a wild creature at her core, knew that safety was often used as a cage.
Cages were things she strongly resented. (Her father had placed her in a cage twice. Both times only after he'd gone mad. The cage he'd used to entrap her was called the Oath of Fëanor. She despised its constant pull.)
(Before that, her mother had tried to cage her in dresses and femininity and societal expectations. It had never ended well. She very much doubted the Oath would end any better.)
"I did not like keeping her here," she admitted. "Birds do not belong in cages. Not even song birds."
His stare did not lift from her. "You are a elleth of quality, then, Lady Celegorm."
"No. I am not." She jerked her head. "Come. The hidden exit tunnel is this way."
Celegorm had spoken with Luthien many times during her captivity. She knew well the Princess of Doriath's purpose.
And Celegorm, though never having been in love before, knew what it was to love someone so wildly and deeply that you would leave behind all you knew for them. (Even allow yourself to be twice chained to an oath for them.)
She thought Princess Lúthien a fool.
But then, she thought herself a fool, too.
Love wasn't always reasonable, but it was devoted.
Many minutes passed before reaching the crevice at the end of the tunnel. It was obscured by rocks and vegetation, but these were easily set aside obstacles when one had the nimbleness of an elf.
She stopped here. "There is a nearby settlement of the atani. Simply follow the flow of the Narog. You can find rest there, especially if you say you are kin to Nóm. From there you may choose to go home or to follow Lúthien. I cannot escort you any further. My absence would be missed."
"Thank you." He bowed low at the waist. He looked out the crevice as he straightened. "I don't think I can go back without Lúthien. But I don't want to face the evil at Tol-in-Gaurhoth. I am not brave."
"Well, then, perhaps you will accept the advice of a kinslaying golodh, as someone frequently caught by duty and bound to family - perhaps you should seek an identity outside of those things."
Daeron seemed to consider this. "Perhaps I should. I've always wanted to explore, maybe find the shores of Cuivienen one day."
"An admirable and enviable goal."
"Thank you, Lady Celegorm."
Celegorm did not give a response.
Instead, she motioned for him to go on and watched as he disappeared from view.
The only interpretation of Daeron I'm comfortable with is "nosy little brother".
Editing done by me. Thank you for reading!