Chapter 4: Cousins and Friends

"So," Elrond says mildly, "What do you think?"

Celebrimbor glances at his cousin, and back towards the long green slope of Túna turning golden with the light of the setting sun, and Tirion shining at its peak.

"We could ride in as though we'd just returned from a hunting trip," Celebrimbor says, running a hand thoughtfully through the mane of his horse.

"If so, it was an utter failure of one," Elrond comments, glancing back at his saddlebags. "We aren't even carrying any pelts."

"Damn," Celebrimbor mutters. "We should have thought of this three days ago. There's ample hunting at the old hunting grounds around Formenos, and I could do with more smoked partridge."

"You could have simply decided to spend two weeks by the sea, with accommodations graciously provided by me," Elrond points out.

Celebrimbor barks a laugh. "Your foster fathers would see through that charade in moments. Not to mention my father. Did you ever know me to like Mithond?"

"I thought that was because you disliked Gil-Galad," Elrond says, brow rising.

"Well, yes, but that's beside the point," Celebrimbor says, flapping a hand in dismissal.

A moment, where they both stare contemplatively up at the city.

"Visiting friends?" Elrond suggests.

"Don't have any outside Tirion," Celebrimbor says. "Aside from you, of course. Goodness. That sounds wretched."

"You could simply say you were visiting me."

"Two weeks staying with you within walking distance of Galadriel's house in Avallónë and never paying her a polite visit? She would take offense at the insult, even if she does dislike speaking with me." Celebrimbor pauses. "She never quite forgave me for our argument over Eregion, you know."

"Hmm." Elrond tilts his head. "Foraging for crafting materials."

"Same problem as hunting. We have no materials."

"Urgent business in Valimar."

"For two weeks?"

Elrond smile widens. "Seeking inspiration from the wild lands of Aman."

"No, that would be–" Celebrimbor narrows his eyes. "You're teasing."

"Perhaps," Elrond says, eyes dancing with mirth. "I must remind you I am perfectly free to ride into Tirion in whatever manner I wish. Atar and Atarinya would be overjoyed to see me, not to mention Elladan and Elrohir. I see them less often than I would like, apprenticed here as they are. And the hour is not so different as if I were to have travelled from Avallónë at dawn. It's riding in with you that might raise questions."

Celebrimbor frowns, and turns away to hide his disappointment.

But Elrond only laughs, a musical sound like birds in summer. "Oh, I am jesting. I'm not going to leave you alone now, after all that! You remind me of Elros at times. He was far too easy to tease."

"I'm the elder of Fëanor's grandsons." Celebrimbor reminds Elrond, trying not to sound too aggrieved. "There was a time you respected me as such."

"Hmm, elder? Not by very much now," Elrond says blithely.

Despite himself, Celebrimbor laughs. Not for the first time, he is grateful that there is another grandson of Fëanor. It had been very difficult to be the only one all those years.

"Anyhow, I think we might be better off hiding the horses until the late watches of the night then leading them in on foot," he says, still smiling. "I have wine squirreled away where we will not have to bother my attendants to find. There are any number of elegantly furnished spare rooms which all see little use. You will have your pick."

"Well, cousin," Elrond says, smiling in return. "It had better be good wine. And do all your spare rooms see so little use? You must invite your friends more often–"

"I am not accepting ridicule on this matter from one who has run a Homely House for millennia, Elrond."

Elrond laughs, and Celebrimbor with him.

"Elrond," Celebrimbor says, sobering, "Thank you."

Elrond inclines his head.

They clasp wrists in a warrior's acknowledgement as the sun touches the horizon behind them.

(:~:)

In Celebrimbor's defense, the plan would have worked perfectly if they had not encountered the plainly drunk trio of Maedhros, Fingon, and Finrod halfway to Celebrimbor's house.

"Finni," Maedhros says, gesturing at an appalled Elrond with the bottle in his hand. "Does that look like my son to you?"

"Why yes, it does," Fingon says. The gold ribbons in his hair glimmer in the half-light of the flameless street-lanterns as he wobbles dangerously on his feet. "What's he doing with Tyelpë at this time of night?"

"We were out hunting," Celebrimbor says, and Elrond fights a sigh.

"You were gone two weeks," Finrod says, looking alarmingly more sober the more he speaks. "And Elrond would have stopped to see 'Laurë and Maitimo first."

"Tyelpë was hunting alone, and I happened upon him as I rode up from Alqualondë," Elrond supplies. "I thought I would join him. Hence my delayed arrival." He steps forward to embrace Maedhros. "It is good to see you, Atarinya."

Maedhros stiffens under his embrace as he looks over Elrond's shoulder. Elrond notes with alarm that all three of Finwë's grandchildren are staring at Celebrimbor.

"Hunting alone?" Fingon says, confusion furrowing his brow. "That doesn't sound like you, Tyelpë."

Maedhros blinks, and the fog of liquor clears from his gaze a little. "Bravery and stupidity," he murmurs. "Three weeks ago you asked me if bravery could also be stupidity."

Finrod's head snaps towards Maedhros. "He said he was considering doing something brave but stupid?" There is a slow, horrified recognition in his voice.

"Cousin," Celebrimbor says placatingly, but the next moment Finrod has leapt forward and grasped him by the shoulders.

"You visited him?" Finrod hisses. "You visited Sauron in his imprisonment?"

A horrified pause.

Celebrimbor winces, which all three grandsons of Finwë present take as confirmation.

"Tyelpë!"

"You did what?"

"Alone?"

Elrond shoulders his way into the fray. "He didn't go alone. I was with him."

Maedhros turns to him in horror. "No," he exclaims. "You most certainly did not."

"I did," Elrond says, standing his ground. That is the same tone of voice his foster father used to lecture him with in childhood, and Elrond is no longer a child. "Please. May we not speak within? I for one could use a drink."

Maedhros's exhale is like a gust of wind. "And here I thought I had drunk my fill tonight, pityo."

"I have wine," Celebrimbor offers.

"I need wine," Finrod mutters. "Why did I waste four bottles of that horribly expensive vintage convincing you not to go, Tyelpë?"

Fingon snorts a laugh.

"One moment," Maehdros says, holding himself upright by Elrond's shoulder. "I need to find 'Laurë."

"I will go find Atar," Elrond says exasperatedly. "Celebrimbor, I apologise for leaving you with these three. I will return as soon as I can."

"Do hurry," Celebrimbor says, though he is smiling.

Elrond pushes Maedhros in Fingon's direction, and sets off at a fast trot towards Maglor's house.

(:~:)

The breakfast table the next morning at Celebrimbor's house is rather more full than usual.

"Not a word to my father," Maedhros says, chewing mechanically on a piece of rye bread and wincing in the morning sunlight. "Are we agreed?"

"Agreed," a chorus of voices declare around the table.

"Nor to mine," Fingon says, blinking at his butter knife.

"Nor mine," Finrod adds, splashing Telerin brandy into his tea.

"Does that help?" Celebrimbor says, raising an eyebrow.

"You'd be surprised," Finrod says as he sips from his teacup.

"Let him be, Tyelpë," Maglor says. His smile has a note of satisfaction to it – after all, he is the only grandson of Finwë present who can speak without wincing. "Though I am relieved it all ended so well, as much as I dislike Elrond's involvement."

"It must say, it was quite satisfying," Elrond says as he stirs honey into his tea.

"I imagine it was," Finrod says, with a glint in his eye.

Celebrimbor looks down at the silver coils of steam rising from the surface of his tea – tea from the wide farmlands west of Tirion, scented with flowers and tasting of spring.

He is quite at ease.

"It was," he says, and smiles. "I must tell my father. Though I must be prepared for him not to let me out of his sight for the next fifty years."

Laughter erupts around the table as the sun climbs higher beyond the window and lines fair Tirion in silver and white.

END

A/N: And our Celebrimbor finally allows himself to no longer be alone.

Thanks for reading, everyone, and thanks to everyone who commented! I've already posted the first chapter of the next fic (entitled The Last Ember) in this series, detailing Fëanor and Nerdanel's reconciliation after his return in the events of The Ransom of the House of Fëanor. Have a look if you're interested!

There are more stories to follow in this series, so follow me here or the series over on AO3 at eirianerisdar if you'd like to see more!