Category: Tolkien-Universe
Rating: M
Couples: -
Warnings: AU, blood, mentions of torture, character death, Loss of bodily autonomy (no Non-con)
Chapter: 5
Copyright: Characters & places © By Tolkien Estate, Plot & OC´s © by me
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His father had taken him East, far away from the Pass of the Sirion. Celebrimbor could only suspect that it was because of the precarious nature of it. Curufin was going to return to his own holdings in a few days, but would leave his son.
Well, he always wanted to visit the dwarves again, and here, in Caranthir's fortress at Lake Helevorn, he'd have the perfect opportunity.
Still, that was all in the future, as first he'd have to finish this... His hammer sang right along aside himself, the Song sinking deep into the iron he was shaping.
It was hot in the forge, and he was so focused on his work, he missed all the warning-signs until it was to late.
Lifting his hammer, it did not come down again. A hand had caught it, and he was unable to free it.
Wheeling around, he came face to face with what could be generously called an angry flame. Celebrimbor, young in the manner of the elves, and still somewhat sheltered by his father and uncles, was not capable of standing against Gorthaur in his wrath. And wrath it was he was faced with; eyes dripping with magma, hair liquid fires darkening the room around them by sheer contrast. It was perhaps the closest the Maia had come to his true, innate form of naked flame since the Children of Eru had awoken.
He would have screamed for guards, but the burn of a flaming hand cut him off, heat sinking into his face, just barely cool enough that he could endure for a while until it caused him harm
"The youngest of Finwë... the youngest of Fëanáro..." Their grapple was pathetically one-sided, and the entire thing over in moments if not for one hidden ace he had up his sleeve... a parent-bond with a parent just a sprint away. He send his panic to his father, struggling against all hope to free himself alone. "You just bring it out in me, don't you?"
If he could just get leverage. It hurt, when he managed to ram his knee under his attackers ribs, and it didn't do much on the whole, considering Ainur don't need to breathe as such, but it gave him some space.
Gorthaur recoiled fully when he had to dodge a smith's hammer aimed at his head, allowing Celebrimbor to collapse on the ground, gasping for breath and faintly wondering if his face had survived unscathed.
"Get more guards!" His uncle Caranthir had been with his father, and had come along. The oldest Fëanorian in residence pulled him to his feet, shoving him in the direction of the door roughly. The Lord of Thargelion was in full formal robes, heavy velvet protecting him from the flames like his nephew's leather had only barely when the Maia tried to lunch past Curufin for Celebrimbor. He took the lunge, grappling the flame before it turned on him.
In pain, and utterly disheveled, the youngest Scion of the House of Fëanor scrambled for the open door under the cover of his uncle and father. Something heavy and wooden hit the wall just behind him, shattering into dozens of pieces on impact.
He heard one of the two Sons of Fëanor call out, but couldn't tell whether it was his father or uncle.
Guards had been hearing the commotion, and perhaps seen the two Lords pass by, running up to him. Two took him by the arms, helping him get away. From the sound of their voices, his face had gotten burned after all. He wasn't quite sure of the the words, most of his focus on his parentbond now.
Behind him, just as guards had to be reaching the private workshop, the building seemed to implode. A wave of dust spread out as the stone walls fell inward. His parent-bond was briefly awash with pain, and the faintest hint of panic... before it grew silent with distance almost instantly.
He hung from the guard on his left, as both had folded him between their armored bodies to shelter him from any free-flying debris.