Dior was forewarned. Unfortunately, forewarned doesn’t mean ready to listen…
For the SWG prompt from October 2005, “A young messenger from Himring arrives in Doriath, bearing word from the Sons of Fëanor that they will attack if Dior does not return to them the Silmaril.”
Telpeher/Celebrindor son of Celebrimbor is mine and Emma's OC, as Tolkien never said Celebrimbor had children. Then again, he never said Celebrimbor didn't, either. I got the name from one of my Atto Fiondil's ficlets, though the fates of his Celebrindor and ours are quite different.
1. Chapter 1 by Kaylee Arafinwiel
Telpeher took a step back, pressing against the wall of the King’s audience chamber and eyeing the Eluchil warily. The King’s grey eyes were stormy, though he didn’t seem to be angry with the youngster – rather, with his lords. Nevertheless, Telpeher let out a rather unseemly squeak. He barely noticed the tiny children playing in a corner of the room, but the noise had caught their attention.
“No, I said.” The King’s gaze softened only marginally, and he frowned. “I hear your message, but you will return to your lords forthwith, and tell them my answer. The Silmaril will never be theirs.”
Telpeher swallowed. “If…if that is your answer, Eluchil, then know my lords mean to…. take it by force.”
“We can defend ourselves, and will. I am the Aran Beleriand. I am the blood of Melian. I will not be cowed by Kinslayers.” Dior strode across the room and gathered his infant daughter up, his twin sons clinging to his legs as he turned to face the young Noldo again.
Telpeher wondered if the Eluchil saw the irony in those words, for a Kinslayer the Sinda would be if he spilled elven blood.
“Then by your leave, I will return to my—to my lords.”
“To your daeradar, and your uncles.” Dior stared into Telpeher’s frightened gaze. The youth, he knew, was in point of fact older than him, though it didn’t seem so. The light of majesty that shone from the Eluchil frightened the Elven lad.
“Yes,” Telpeher admitted.
“Then know this, Celebrindor son of Celebrimbor, grandson of Curufin Feanorion.” Dior said. “Your kin may claim the Silmaril all they like, but in the end, the Light belongs to Eru and none other, and I will fight to the end to see the holy light, and my people, defended.”
Celebrindor. Telpeher knew it was the Sindarin version of his name, but had not heard it commonly used. He would never admit it to the Eluchil, but he rather liked the sound of it.
“I understand, sire.”
“Then begone and…” The Eluchil’s eyes softened. “Eru grant that you, child, will stay well out of this.”
Celebrindor son of Celebrimbor dropped his gaze. “I will try.”
He bowed and departed swiftly, riding for Himring. His grandfather and great-uncles would be most wroth, and he hoped only that the target of their anger would not be himself – or the babes that had played at the Eluchil’s feet.
Unfortunately, he knew better, and squirmed in anticipation of his Uncle Caranthir’s…attentions. It would be a most uncomfortable homecoming.
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