Fanfic A Door to the Past

[Tyelkormo the Fair]

Chapter 1: The Ring of Gold




It was almost a month since the battle. A month since the number of his brothers had reduced significantly to just two. It was a month since he had not seen that annoyingly smug smirk of his.




A month was long enough in his eldest brother's book, apparently, because he had ordered them to sort through their brothers' stuff, give away the belongings others could get a use from and get rid of the stuff no one needed.




We're going to leave. How do you plan for us to carry all of these with us?




He had told him, not unkindly, unshed tears swimming in his own silver eyes. And they made sense.

But just because Maedhros' words made sense, it didn't mean Maglor looked forward to it.




They could have been here, and rid themselves of anything they didn't need. Maglor shouldn't have been the one doing it. He shouldn't have been, but there he was, rummaging through Curufin's books and scrolls, not knowing what he would find from the private library of his most mysterious brother.




Secret techniques about smithing and whatever his brother had been up to all these years, written down in a coded language he could never decipher, either belonging to the brilliant mind of their father and Curufin himself, he was not sure.




His heart clenched in his chest when he thought of throwing the hard work of centuries away. But Maedhros would disagree.




What use will anyone have of these when no one can even read them?




He would say, and it would make sense because Maedhros, damn him, always did.




If Celebrimbor was here, they could have given away all his father's belongings to him. Perhaps he could have made sense of what Curufin had tried to hide in these books and scrolls. Or perhaps he couldn't. Perhaps this was one of the reasons father and son had drifted apart. Perhaps this was why he didn't know where in this damned hell his nephew was.




"Why did you have to be so paranoid, brother? Well…I have to throw these away. I don't care if you're going to curse me. I can't be any more cursed than I am now."




He said rather loudly. He didn't know why. Curufin couldn't hear him. Curufin was gone, and he could never hear him.




The rest of his work there passed by in a blur. None of them had much, if you really thought about it. Curufin's clothes would be given away to those of their followers who needed it. He didn't possess anything else of great value, except his weapons from Valinor and…




A flash of gold, and something tumbled out of a book he took out of the top shelf. It rolled for a while before clattering against the stone floor, shining innocently. He picked it up and cleaned off the dust.




Curufin had not worn the thing for so long, he had almost forgotten his brother still had it.




Curufin's wedding band Tancaquárë had made with her own hands. The same ring his brother had worn when he had returned home after a long stay in Aulë's halls, holding a baby and a pair of dainty yet forge-worn hands looped around his arm.




He had presented Fëanor's first and only grandchild to him then, as if everything made sense. As if he had nothing to explain.




Just as he had started to wear it with little to no explanation, he had stopped doing it without one. But this time, it made sense. Maglor himself understood it better than anyone, although he wasn't brave enough to do it himself. To pull this loose tooth, it required him to believe he and Liltarë could never be.




He was not Curufin. He wasn't brave. He didn't want to be brave. He wanted Liltarë to take him into her arms like she always did, telling him everything was going to be alright. He wanted to see Curufin and Tanqacuarë share one of their secret smiles and little Celebrimbor ran around playing with Celegorm's puppies, bothering Caranthir who pretended to be annoyed only to give in to the little boy like everyone else did. He wanted his Atar and his Ammë and he wanted to be home. He-




Tears came unbidden as he fell to his knees, holding the little golden thing in his palm, his breathing coming out in rough gasps.




The book he was holding caught his attention next. The exterior looked innocent enough. One could have looked at it and expected it be another one of his notebooks, filled with his brother's neat handwriting.




The ring hidden inside it was enough to tell him that was not the case. And he was right.




Bright colors greeted him as he opened the first page. The two Trees drawn with childish dimpled hands and what appeared to be a meadow, with three figures standing upon it, all dark haired and one smaller than the rest and the other two, Maglor noted with the first genuine smile he had in the longest time, weren't that far apart in height.




Celebrimbor's skills improved with every turn of page, although one could tell he never was a genius when it came to drawing.




Huan with Celegorm, himself riding Huan, his grandparents, uncles and parents all drawn in a family portrait, and Maglor could help but notice the abundance of scenes in which his parents where drawn together upon the heights of the north.




Formenos.




With that, the artworks of the elfling began taking on a darker turn in Maglor's mind.




It had hurt him greatly when his mother had left their house for Mahtan's for the first time, and Maglor was married already and lived with his own wife in his own house. For your parents to be forced to leave each other and for you to want to choose between them at such a young age, Maglor could never imagine how it must have been like.




The next page almost made him drop the notebook.




Fiery whips cracking in the air and a humane yet inhumane looking creature. A red-headed Elda, swarmed from all sides by creatures of the dark lord.




What scared him the most was the hopeless look on the ellon's face as he stared ahead, looking at something Maglor could not exactly name. A brother coming to his rescue?




Well, he would be disappointed.




The claws of the old guilt gripped at his heart before he shut the book.




At times, all of them would forget there was an elfling lurking around their camp. They would forget to mind their voices.




He remembered hearing Celegorm telling their brother to leave the child with his mother. Curufin never listened to anyone once he had set his mind on something, though.




And now, the child had left them for Eru knew where, and Maglor could not find it in his heart to feel bitter about his decision.




Curufin had pretended all these years that Celebrimbor's disownment had not hurt him. None of them had bought the act, of course, even though it was a good one.

But Maglor had not expected to find his little archive of his young son's childish drawings either.




Had he shed his own tears, going through this again and again? Or had he never looked at it once?




"Why had you kept it then, you fool? You pretended like you couldn't care less. Which one should I believe?"




He ran a hand across the leather cover.




"Should I throw it out then? That's probably what you would want."




Who was he trying to taunt? Curufin wasn't there to answer him. And he knew damn well he would never throw this away even if Maedhros were to order him to.




He got up, and put the ring back in the place Curufin had carved for it. Holding it close, he left the room, wiping his face clean of the tears he had shed. Maedhros would not be happy if he saw him crying.

Although he would not mention it as he didn't mention his always red rimmed eyes. It was better left this way.




He didn't know where he would keep this, but he knew it was not something he was going to leave behind for orcs and greedy men to get their hands on.

 

[Tyelkormo the Fair]

Chapter 2: Chest of Secrets






Amras didn't know where to start.




Unlike Celegorm and Curufin who had been practically thrown out of their realms twice, naked, Caranthir had taken his sweet time, gathering all his useless junk and had been hoarding them in his stronghold since forever.




Had been, until he had charged ahead and gotten himself killed.




That damned idiot.




He kicked aimlessly at a sack of Eru knew what, cursing his elder brother again as he winced. Were those stones?




The room was a mess. How Caranthir had been sleeping there for so many years and never felt suffocated, Amras could never know.




His brother was weird. He had always been. Amras had figured this out since he was a baby, watching his gloomy elder brother shut himself up in the library on the nicest days with Laurëlin shining brilliantly, doing math. Math.




Caranthir was weird, and it only got worse when they got there. Although Amras wasn't quite aware of it, neither did he care much. Because a weird Caranthir was a happy one, and anyone who knew Caranthir also knew that for the sake of your own peace of mind, you wouldn't want to make him unhappy.




Perhaps that was why when Amras saw him and an unruly Adan share secret kisses in the privacy of Caranthir's bedroom the one time he had come visiting him in Thargelion and not the other way around, he didn't tell on him to their brothers.




Caranthir was weirder now that he had an after-comer as his lover. He wasn't just happy. He glowed like he had never before, and it did not look as out of place on his ruddy face as Amras might have imagined once upon a time.




But it had been fleeting as the Adan's life was.




The happiness was gone. Haleth was gone.




Caranthir was gone.




Would he find her, where he had gone?




Where had he gone, though? Where is an everlasting darkness? Amras both wanted and didn't want to know.




He kicked at another abandoned pillow, more out of frustration than anything else, and almost screamed as his foot hit something that very much was not a pillow.




...What in the name of Eru?




"What have you put in these, Moryo?"

That damned weirdo!




He limped towards the bed and sat on it, holding his bare and throbbing toes in the hope of calming down the pain, even if a little.




His eyes did not leave the supposed pillow all the while, his scrutinizing gaze looking for anything suspicious, but found none.




It looked like any other feather pillow.




Amras unsheathed his belt knife and tore into the fabric, tearing it apart.




Pure white feathers flew around, and the mystery revealed itself.




A wooden chest, simple and without locks or any other ornaments laid among the feathers.




Amras exhaled.

Now this was odd, even by Caranthir's standards.

Why did their brother need to hide anything from them?




And the more important question was, what?




"Forgive me Moryo, but I have to open it. Nelyo's orders."




He didn't know what he expected to find there, but it wasn't this.




Jewels, coins or even sewing tools, not letters.

Especially not letters addressed to himself, of all people.




His first question should have been why he had never received those, but his curiosity and dread both overpowered any sense left in him.

"You meant to send these to me, right? I can read them."




He wasn't going to get an answer, so he didn't wait for one either.




"Dear Telvo,




I am writing to you to beg for your silence about what you saw during your visit. It was…not something I meant for any of you to find out, because I know you would not understand.




Yes, I love an Atan, and I'm not ashamed of that and I never will be.

Yes, I know my time with her is but a passing summer of my life, yet I can't find in myself to care. What happiness I have in these short years will be enough for me to brave through the coming barren winters of the rest of my life.




All I ask of you as your brother is to not say a word to anyone, even Nelyo or Kano. Let me enjoy my time with her in peace, for you know neither am I Aegnor to back down simply because my elder brother told me to, nor Haleth is Andreth to heed the advice of those wiser than the pair of us.




With love, your brother, Morifinwë Carnistir."




So orderly and precise, getting to the point without dragging it behind like a carcass. So superior, even when he was begging.




"You know I would have taken it to the grave if you asked me to, idiot. You didn't have to beg."

His voice wavered a little before he composed himself and opened the next one.




"Dear Telvo, I hope this letter finds you well.




All is well in here, as I wish it is with you. If not so, I'll gladly offer my assistance in any way possible to help you, little brother.




Further, the reason I am sending you this letter is also regarding a joyous occasion.

Haleth and I are getting married in less than a month. It is a small ceremony, with only trusted friends and family in attendance.

I didn't want to trouble you, but Haleth insisted for you to be present as well, as you already know about us anyway, and stand next to me on our wedding day.




I'd not be hurt if you choose not to come, but know that you are always welcome to do so.




Yours, Morifinwë Carnistir."




"Oh Moryo…"

What had they done to him, for him to prefer to be alone on his wedding day rather than have them by his side?

Had he…had he thought Amras would give away his secrets? Had he gone all the way and written him a letter, only to regret it last second?

Had he trusted them so little?




Tears swam in his eyes but he refused to let them fall. He didn't deserve to cry for a brother he had lost centuries ago. He didn't deserve to mourn him.




Against his better judgement, he opened the third.




"My dear Telvo, how fare you?




Well, I am (for once) far too excited to keep up with the pleasantries, so I am going to get to the point right away.




Haleth and I are expecting! I know not yet if it is to be a boy or a girl, and I do not care much, as long as it is healthy.

Haleth wishes for a girl, and I only hope for her to grow to be as strong as her mother, if that is the will of Ilúvatar.




The manners of the Atani's births are different from the Quendi, so I can't positively give an exact day on which the child shall arrive. But when it does, you will be the first one to know, and then the others.




Now that we are with child, I doubt even Curufinwë will be thoughtless enough to try and separate us, and I want them to know there is a new heir who can inherit the might of the House of Fëanor one day.




I'm ready to come clean, but it will have to wait until the child is here.

I know I keep calling it 'a child', but the news had me too excited to think of a name yet. Maybe Nelyo can help me once the baby is born. We will have to wait and see what the baby's gender is yet.




Your 'soon to be father' elder brother, Morifinwë Carnistir."







And Amras sobbed.




There were no more letters left in the chest.




His fingers caressed the fabric of the woolen cloth in which the letters were kept in. A burgundy baby coat, with little golden stars adorning it all over.

He recognized the elegant work of his brother's hand, and his heart broke all over imagining the small smile on Caranthir's lips as he knitted this and other things for his little traveler, laying next to his wife at nights as they imagined their little one's future together.

The future of one who would never come.




He held the letters and the small coat to his chest as he wept, not unlike when he had held close Amrod's message for him on that fateful night, telling him he would be returning to their mother.




Not unlike how Caranthir himself had done so, when he found out he would never be a father.




I'm sorry Moryo…I'm sorry you had to suffer so much silently…I'm sorry I wasn't enough…




He would have said, if he could see his brother one last time.




His hand clenched and fisted, holding onto the coat his niece or nephew should have grown up to wear someday for dear life, a righteous anger burning in his soul as he cursed Mandos much like he had done so himself. For being cruel enough to take away Caranthir's babe while letting the spawn of Lúthien live to murder his brothers and taint their father's creation.




For the little life to go away so quietly, and not being mourned like it deserved to be.




He got up, and returned the content of the chest to it, albeit reluctantly.




He didn't care what Caranthir would think, their brothers deserved to know.




He and his wife roamed these lands no more to be separated from each other now.

 

[Tyelkormo the Fair]

Chapter 3: Curse of Dreams



Maedhros stared ahead, gaze roaming the almost empty room of Celegorm.

Except for a few wooden animal figurines, his bed and a desk bare of any paperworks or other ornaments, it appeared as if none had lived there in a long time.

A month might not be considered long, but in the hell Maedhros lived where your every second stretched to thousands, you could feel it to the bone.

The first few days, Maedhros spent waiting for Celegorm to open his damn eyes and give him one of his cheeky grins, and tell him all this was an elaborate prank.

It was only after they burned their bodies when he stopped his stupid delusions. Surely, even Celegorm could not survive burning.

He was gone, truly. Maedhros knew his fate was to follow them soon, but even this wasn't enough to fill the hollowness of his heart.

It didn't change the fact that every second until then, he had to live with the knowledge that he sent his baby brothers to death by his foolish strategies and plans.

Like he did with Fingon. Like he did with all those who had followed him.

He closed his eyes and exhaled a sorrowful sigh, swallowing down the tears.

He should stop, if he wanted to finish his work here by the evening.

He didn't know why he decided to take Celegorm's room as his own part of the duty.
Or maybe, he did.
Unlike the other two, Celegorm's life and therefore, all his belongings consisted of what he wore, and what he hunted with.

Clothes and cloaks he could give away to the rest of their people who needed them, and the collection of many knives and weapons other hunters and soldiers could get a use from.

“Let's get this over with.”
He whispered with a sigh, and walked towards the closet next to the bed.

His hand freezed on the door handle, his bewildered gaze boring at what was inside. Or, what wasn't.

The closet was empty.

Maedhros’ confusion just increased after every drawer he pulled out and found them to be barren as well.

What was the meaning of this?
He looked around the room, and for the first time since stepping foot in the room, he realized.

It was clean and orderly, and anyone who knew Celegorm also knew that he could never be described thusly.

No discarded daggers, arrows and clothes.
He glanced backwards. Even his bed was made.

Servants, perhaps?
He frowned darkly. His brother's servants dug their own grave the night his brother died. Others did not care enough for Celegorm to want to do something like this for him.

What then? Had Celegorm been bored enough to do something like cleaning his room towards his end?
Whatever was the reason, it still did not explain the missing clothes and empty wardrobe.

He shook his head and took a few steps backwards to sit on the bed.

He gave a loud yelp as he almost fell down, holding himself from colliding with the ground with his one functional hand and put his right elbow on the mattress, lifting himself up.

What was it this time?

His hand felt moist, and it did not take him long to recognize the scent.

He grimaced. Thanks a lot, Tyelko, he wanted to say. He'd have a hard time cleaning this pair of pants and getting the smell out of them.

Why did he have lamp oil all over his floor?

No…, why was he hiding lamp oil under his bed?
Because that was where it was coming from. A quick scan across the room made him sure that the rest of the room was clear and the larger spot near his bed frame just confirmed his suspicion.

So much for less work.

He pulled himself upwards, trying to keep his balance and avoiding the leakage of oil all the while.

Pulling the mattress aside, he was hit with more of the awful smell. His face scrunched up before he pulled the mattress all the way, throwing it on the floor.

Whatever he was expecting to find, it was not these.
His frown of confusion deepened, his hand reaching down to pick up one of the many notebooks surrounded by bottles of oil.

Nothing was making sense. What were these? And why had Celegorm left them here, and like this?

He looked over the leather covered journals still on the ground and the one in his hand.
The were still dry, if only a little smelly, meaning Celegorm did not intend for them to get ruined.

So why? Why would he leave them there?

A part of him felt guilty as opened the journal, but the curious and concerned part of him won over. He needed to know.

The childish handwriting of his brother greeted him on the first page, and he couldn't quite control the unconscious smile grazing his lips, nor the tears blurring his vision.

Celegorm had a decent enough handwriting for somebody who barely wrote anything but the occasional reports someone forced him to write, but it was not always this way. And it was not all thanks to his own hard work. Maedhros still remembered his father's bloodshot gaze of rage and the haughty look on his thirty years old brother’s face as he messed up tengwar letters on purpose.

The letters joined in together to form words as Maedhros' mind refocused back to the present and began to read.

“Ammë says dreams have meaning sometimes. That they are sent by Lord Irmo to us for a reason.
I'm not sure why Lord Irmo wanted to show me a black haired baby who looked like Atar coming out of my Ammë. It was a lot like watching pups and foals being born, but even more gross. At least foals and pups are cute. My new little brother looked like a bloody wrinkled handkerchief.

Today, Ammë and Atar told us about our new brother who Ammë was raising in her belly for the time being, like she did with Moryo and I and Timo and Laurë. I don't think she knew I was already aware of his existence, because I tried to look as surprised as Moryo.

Moryo isn't happy because he won't be the baby of the family anymore, Timo is excited and Laurë just grumbles about having another baby in the house so soon and the loud noises disturbing his music.

I love being a big brother, so I guess I'm excited too. Him, Moryo and I are going to be the best of friends, because we're close in age like Timo and Laurë are. At least, if Moryo decided to forget about his silly grudges against the baby and stop looking up ways to get rid of infants in the library. I'm not too worried though, as Moryo can't read half of the books he picks yet.”

Even as his tears fell, his heart clenching painfully as he recalled the bittersweet memories of the past, he did not miss the little details written amidst the sweet monologue of his baby brother.

Why had he never heard of this…dreams, whatever they were?

Their mother's prophetic abilities was not a secret to any, Maedhros recalled with bitterness the death of their fateful brother, but to think it was Celegorm to have inherited even a smidge of that power was not something Maedhros expected to find out when he stepped foot in his room.
Nor had he thought he'd ever be kept in the dark about them, and he found himself hurt by this knowledge.

A halfhearted flip through the book journal left him with nothing he didn't already know. No other dreams of this kind were mentioned again; just Celegorm's fond writings of little Caranthir's shenanigans, and finally, the birth of Curufin.

Maedhros picked up another, discarding the one he was holding on the ground with an unusual tenderness.

The handwriting had finally improved enough to compliment the sight. His brother had grown with this.

“I dreamed of a woman last night, which is not unusual. I often dream about kissing the beautiful Luine, Laurë’s flutist friend, but this time was different.”

Maedhros rolled his eyes. Celegorm's infatuation with Maglor's best friend hadn't been a secret to anyone, and much to Maglor's annoyance, she didn't seem like she had hated the attention either. Perhaps Maedhros was going to find out why Celegorm had stopped following her around like a lost puppy.

“She wasn't terribly tall, as I didn't have to crane my neck to look up at her. Her hip length brown hair fell in beautiful curls down her back, and she wore a pale blue green tunic, and the gears of a hunter.
She was a huntress, but not someone I knew.

I found myself calling her name, but I was woken up by an over excited Satarion before I could see her face.

Even though I did not get to see her, I somehow know that Ranissë suits her.”

Ranissë? Who was Ranissë?

There was nothing more written about either Luine or the mysterious elleth of Celegorm's dream. Not until the ending pages of the journal, anyways.

“I finally met her! I know I have never seen her face, but I'm sure this Lindiel is the Ranissë of my dreams.

I'm not sure who she is supposed to be for me. A friend, or perhaps something more?

I have to tread carefully, I know, else I somehow offend her and King Olwë and make problems for my father, but I can't help but be excited.
Even Findaráto can't boast about meeting his Amarië in his dreams!”

Maedhros chuckled through tears, shutting the book.
He knew Lindiel of the Teleri, having met her as a child, and seen her from afar on balls and celebrations. A fair lady with a kind heart her people called her, and Maedhros did not know more of her.

Had Celegorm's dream come true? Had he gotten his Ranissë, only to lose her through exile and tragedies?

Would she mourn him, if she became aware of his fate? Or was her heart too bitter to spare him any affections?

He put down the notebook, deciding he had violated his brother's privacy enough.
Was this why his brother had them surrounded with oils? So no one could read his secret diaries, if he was not there anymore to stop them?

He shook his head with a sad smile. Well, he would respect his wishes.

He went to put the other two back in their place, when his eyes fell on one with a more worn out leather cover, hidden under the rest.

His hand reached out to it without much control from his side. He would not read it, he told himself. He would just take a look, and return it to its place.

Until his eyes fell on the blood spatters on the cover. The binding was falling out of its place, as it had been read far more frequently than the rest.

But why?

The first page appeared in front of his eyes before he knew it, and Maedhros began reading.

“I…I'm not sure if I should write this down or not, but I just can't keep it to myself anymore. I can't tell anyone else, not even Curvo and Moryo.

I don't know what else to do.

I dreamed of Formenos last night when I was hunting in the woods.

I dreamed of Haru Finwë. Of his death.
There was blood everywhere, and a suffocating darkness weighing down on all of us. Laurë wept. Timo wept. Moryo was punching the walls and screaming. The twins were huddled in Curvo's arms, and I was…I was holding grandfather in my arms. What remained of his, at least.

I could feel his blood soaking my clothes, and his unseeing, terror filled eyes did not leave, and neither did I look away.

I wanted to scream, but my body did not cooperate. I could only sit there, and watch my family break down.

Atar was nowhere to be found.

Melkor is on the run, and everyone in Formenos is on high alert by grandfather's orders in case he ever shows his face again.

My dream could be caused by my own anxiety, if it wasn't for the blood.

When I woke up this morning, I was covered in blood, like I was in my dream. I had not found a single creature to hunt that night, and had gone to sleep hungry.

I'm terrified, but I know I can't say anything to anyone. I can't tell Atar. He would think me a liar, or ensnared by the sorcery of the Valar. He would make me leave, away from my brothers.

He would not trust me. He doesn't trust me.

Eru, please let it all be a dream. Protect grandfather. Protect us.”


Maedhros felt faint. If not for the fierce grip of his hand on the notebook, it would have fallen from his hands. The journal was the only thing grounding him through the turbulence of emotions.

Anger, sadness, shock, and a heart wrenching grief tore his heart to pieces, and he trembled like a leaf.

He found himself collapsing on the mattress, eyes not leaving the cursed words written with the shaky hands of his stupid little brother's bloody hands.

Their grandfather's blood, he realized as a sick feel growing in his stomach and clawing up in his throat.

Why had Celegorm remained silent? Why had he not said anything?

Because he, like Atar, couldn't trust anyone.

Many things had happened since the unrest in Tirion, but Maedhros, for some reason, could not forget the feeling of ever present paranoia of those days.

It had led to the fall of everything, after all.

He remembered his own suddenly clipped tongue in the presence of his own best friend, and Aredhel’s sudden disdain towards Celegorm and their family, even before Fëanor could even think of raising his sword against his brother.

Celegorm's lack of trust in him hurt, but Maedhros could not say he didn't understand.
Would he have believed him for a second, if his brother had come to him to share his fears?

Even Celegorm himself did not believe what he had seen with his own eyes. Who could have faulted any of them for their lack of faith in something there was no proof for?

He opened the next page.

“Atar is dead. He is gone, and it's all my fault. Why…why did I ignore the warnings again? Why can't I just do something right?

Why would you curse me with this, Eru, if you knew me to be this blind?

Is it the answer to my crimes, to be tormented with the vision of my loved ones' deaths and being unable to do anything?”

“You could have never saved Atar, Tyelko. No one could. Not even himself.”

Maedhros whispered, his thumb stroking the blood fingerprints, hoping his words could offer some comfort to his deceased brother.
Let him hear me, he said, let him have peace.

And so it went on. One after the other, Maedhros witnessed his brother suffer through every death and tragedy which fell upon the house of Finwë.

Celegorm froze to death with Elenwë, bore witness to Argon’s lonely fate, watched Angrod's chest get pierced through with the foul blades of the enemy , watched Aegnor burn alive by the breath of the dragon, was torn to pieces by the wolves alongside Finrod, was the only who beheld Fingon whole for the last time, and lived the last agonizing days of Aredhel's life with her.


And yet, there was one page left. Maedhros wasn't sure if he wanted to know.

Who could it be for?
He looked at the date it was recorded.
Girithron 20th. Two days before their attack on Doriath. Two days before he died.

“My time has come, and I would have cried in joy, but my only tears were of pain. Blood has clogged my throat, where Lúthien’s whelp will slice through with his blade.

But it will be over, this torment. I will be free of all of my curses, even if the price of it is an everlasting darkness.
I know not if my brothers will get the Silmaril back, but if my death is the price for it, I'd pay it gladly.

My spirit craves to be freed of my body, and the only thing I can tell myself is to wait a bit more. Just two days, and it will be over.

Two days.”

Two days. Celegorm knew for two days that he would not survive the battle. Two days, and he did not utter a word.
Two days, and he decided to leave them behind, and his folly took Curufin and Caranthir from them.

Maedhros screamed. The journal was thrown. The figurine of the hound fell, and shattered to pieces.

He would follow his brothers and father soon, he knew, and when he did, he'd make Celegorm pay. Pay for all the tears he willingly had them all to shed. For all the sleepless nights when the image of his headless body haunted them all.

He'd pay for it, and it would be far worse than any visions Irmo could conjure for him.