Drawing Past The Point of No Return

[Tyelkormo the Fair]

Illustration of my one-shot, The Phantom of Himring: You can read it here.



He found him right where he was supposed to. He had relived himself, thank whichever Valar listening, and was heading back to his tent to sleep off the alcohol.



The lamps were still on. None of his friends had returned.



Celegorm creeped on and followed him inside.



There were three cots inside. Mattresses dragged from the infirmary. The sheets which used to be white as snow where no yellowed and dirty beyond salvation.



The man was still pretty drunk, for he didn't seem like he had noticed his presence. He fell upon the mattress closest to the beam of the tent, and closed his eyes.

He was asleep in a matter of seconds.



Celegorm got to work.



He pulled the knife from his boot and began carving the silence charm on the beam.



He remembered well the day his father, tired and sleep deprived and just sick of Maglor’s late night inspirations, had miraculously woven words together and from then on, nights were peaceful again.



And there Celegorm was, tainting yet another of his creations.



Maybe this was the reason for his anger. For everyone misusing all that was his for their own amusement and wellness.



Or maybe, if he could explain it to him, he would understand his reasonings. For didn't he do all that ruined him in the name of revenge?



The symbol was completed in minutes, for he knew it by heart.



He looked around, ears sharp and listening in case of an interruption.



Nothing was heard. The night was yet young, after all. He was lucky his target had taken it too far too fast, and he was too old.

He let the illusion fade away. He wanted him to know. He wanted him to see who he was. What he was. He wanted him to feel even a part of the fear Aerel had felt.



He looked at his ugly face again, and the cold anger resurfaced. He did not feel an ounce of guilt for interrupting his peaceful slumber. It was the kindest thing he had planned for him.



The kick was enough to wake him up, but not sober his addled mind.



He blink owlishly at his face and broke into a laughter so hateful, Celegorm had to clench his fist around the dagger in order to not stab him to death then and there. It was too soon. It would be too easy.



“You're…you're even prettier than the …the other one! And you came to me all on your own! What's your name, hm?”

He cooed at him, reaching with a hand to touch a stray lock of his hair escaping his hood.



He regretted it before he could breathe again.

(To anyone who wants to read it, please mind the tags and warnings.)