Celebrimbor, smith of Nargothrond, and Durin the Fatherless flee the ruins of the fortress of Finrod with the precious mithril coat that Idril has asked to be made for her son. Morgoth wreaks havoc about the lands that was once fair Taur-en-Faroth as the Dark Elf helps her friends to escape the net that Turin set for Orodreth.
Chapter Five, Refuge in Doriath
We set out along the tunneled ways toward Doriath as bet we could navigate. Durin refused to leave behind his tools, thought he readily abandoned his wealth of gems and materials. Only the few small precious ingots of mithril did he store, along with the shirt nearly finished and his hammer and axe. I dreaded the noise that such a burden would make, but he carried himself and his possessions lightly, and at need he could move as silent as the shadow of an owl.
Celebrimbor walked at first in a daze. When we came out of the carven stone corridors, he would cast oft over his shoulder toward the smoking hills. Already he seemed defeated.
No luxury of mourning had I, but went ahead with weapons drawn, for orcs and wolves were thick as crows on carrion. Many stray folk did we encounter, and those that did not flee begged for help; maidens with children, or menfolk burdened with wound or lamed companions. As Celebrimbor beheld these refugees from Nargothrond, his will became firm and resolute again and he took from Durin his great hammer to use as a weapon, and it was fell and deadly in his hands. With each elf we collected to our ragged band he became more confident, and they regarded him as a lord and paid him trust and obeisance.
We forded the Sirion and came to the wood of oaks. For a moment my heart was glad, to be among those mighty trees again and hear their song. Bounders who watch the skirts of Doriath found us and led us onward. This was a great boon, for many were weakened and wounded and overcome with the grief they had seen. Thus did we come to Menegroth against all chance, and I stood before Thingol Singollo again.
Despite the soot and stain of battle he recognizes me, and welcomes me heartily. I was humbled and gave a knee to the gracious king and his beautiful queen. Melian descended from her dais and took my face into her hands, her eyes looking inside me. A smile then grew about her features, and she brought me to sit at the foot of her chair. She said to me, "For you, Dark Elf, enough labour and toil this day. Sit and rest and let yourself heal. Your greatest effort is yet to be required." I had no words to say. It was as though my tongue had left me again.
Celebrimbor did at the time beg refuge for his folk, for he had become a leader to them. Thingol embraced him and showed honour and welcome. It was at this moment that Celebrimbor first set eyes upon Galadriel, sister of Finrod Felegund who walks now in Valinor. In his heart was woken great love for her, but she was wedded to Celeborn, kinsman of Thingol whom Celebrimbor respected. Silent he kept his adoration, but plain it was to see in his face whensoever his eyes did light upon her, and plain to be heard when he spoke; he voiced a desire for a strand of her fair hair, which he likened to a finely spun strand of mellow gold. She denied him, as she had all the others.
Welcome in Doriath also did Durin find, and the Dwarves who dwelled and crafted there were ever respectful to him. He demanded a workroom and fine materials and was given them freely. "And pearls! As many as you have got!" he demanded. His face was then full of joy, as if no disaster or death could dampen his delight in the making of a beautiful thing.
Fully did I expect a reprieve from my conscripted duties, but Durin saw otherwise and refused all assistants but me to aid in his task. Celebrimbor was occupied with Thingol and councils of war, so I was ensconced in a hot cave with the Dwarf, this time sorting through a heap of glowing pearls. I would select one and hand it to him. He would examine it minutely before scoffing and tossing it aside or exclaiming and bending to apply it to the garment, the beauty of which seemed to double again at the touch of each sea-gem.
When would I see my home again, and my golden-haired lord? How would I come there through a sea of foes and with a dragon abroad? Despair did close my heart then, and all things around me ceased to be fair, and my friends wondered at the loss of my speech and the length of my face. My gaze was ever north and west, and my eyes on the sky for the sign of a feathered promise.
Ah, the creation of one beautiful thing can lead to so much despair. When will we learn to take pleasure in the Nature of a thing; we must gather up all our skill and wring from Her bittersweet strands of sublime beauty, and forever after languish when they have passed. Woe that ever the Silmarils were wrought, but more woe if they had not!