Celebrimbor: 30-Day Character Study by cloudyhymns

Day 3: Strong Points, Part One

Three strengths and a short scene.

The strengths that immediately come to mind are:

a. Curiosity

- about Arda
- towards others (bridging cultures, establishing connections, and getting to know others)
- ever towards improvement

b. Care

- towards his people
- towards the peoples of Middle-Earth as a whole (focus on preservation and healing?)

c. Craft

- self-explanatory. He's a famous craftsman LOL

[A/N 8:28PM CST 01/21/25: I'll probably update this over time. I'm taking a break for now because I am VV tired but will have more to say in the future. Or I'll work it into another day :P]

[A/N to the A/N: I'm not entire sure how I feel about this scene, but I've sat on it all day, so perhaps it's time to just release it into the world? I feel like it might not be him "really [shining]" at something, like the prompt says? But in a way, that's what drew me to it in the first place--that his real excellence isn't in the works of art that he made, but all the little things he must have woven together over time, thread by thread, to make them and their healing possible. Also, it's hard not to write about black powder without describing how it smells or feels, since those are so distinctive! That was a new challenge, but letting myself do so is for later :3c]

Celebrimbor's boots leave the barest imprint atop the snow, treads biting in familiar patterns. Before him, the people of Eregion, Elven and mortal alike, bustle through the cold in final preparations for the winter.

"Annatar?"

"Here," he says, half a step behind as he always is in public, "my lord."

"Good. The saltpeter, sulfur, and charcoal--repeat the tally, please."

"A thousand kilos of saltpeter, my lord, and nine hundred kilos of charcoal set aside for artillery. Sulfur is lower--three hundred."

Celebrimbor clicks his tongue. A dog scampers by. Several of the Gwaith-i-Mírdan pass in front of them, heading to the public entrance to the forges, and Celebrimbor catches one of them by the sleeve.

"Hair up!"

The apprentice is scrambling for her ties before the second word is spoken. "Yes, my lord!"

Annatar bites down a snicker. "Enjoying yourself?"

"Far from it," Celebrimbor grouses, stretching out cold fingers within his gloves. "Blessed be the day I can return to my craft, instead of herding cats inside! Yet half of being a master of a craft is ensuring it lives on."

Fires flicker on high in the hills. Both squint and stare. "Annatar," Celebrimbor says, his name far from a question. "Put aside one-fifth of our blasting powder stock for the Gonnhirrim." The wind picks up; like a squirrel taking stock before the winter, Celebrimbor turns for home. "They may yet have need of it."