Lapidary Love by Elrond's Library  

Maeglin had found the little shell high in the mountains. His lover had warned him of the dangers of the Pelóri, but Maeglin was undaunted. Perhaps they had been sharp and dangerous in the time of the Trees, when Celebrimbor had been young, but millennia of erosion had softened the peaks.

They felt like home. Home, in a way that the Echoriad never had.

The little shell was encased in stone, only a hint of its true shape visible. He descended, playing with it as he walked back to the estate he called home.

It was Celebrimbor’s, technically. It had been Fëanor’s, and then Nerdanel’s, but now it was Celebrimbor’s. Isolated, far from Tirion and Turgon’s new project-city and far, far away from where the Doriathrim had made their home. Maeglin hated crowds, wasn’t trusted in cities anyway.

He was still trying to figure out what the little fossil wanted to be when he arrived, late in the evening. Celebrimbor, sweaty and soot-streaked, was shirtless in the yard, drawing water from their well. Maeglin licked his lips – his lover gleamed in the light of the setting sun, back muscles rippling with the effort of hauling on the rope.

Maeglin dropped his bag by the edge of the well, watching with eager eyes. Celebrimbor, finally noticing him, huffed a laugh. “You’re not going to help?” he grunted.

“Enjoying the view,” Maeglin shrugged, pointedly staring at Celebrimbor’s arms. Celebrimbor rolled his eyes, but did not object to the attention. Vain, Maeglin knew his lover was.

Celebrimbor scrubbed himself clean, asking how Maeglin’s trip went and complaining that the iron he had gotten was of poorer quality than he had paid for and how much trouble it had been to work with.

Cleaner, he bent to kiss Maeglin. Maeglin rose on his toes to meet him, holding his face between his hands. He caressed Celebrimbor’s ears the way he liked, bare of any adornment, and it was then that he knew what he’d make with the shell in his pocket.

In the days following, he worked. Tiny chisels freed the shell from its stone casing, revealing the tightly bound shell’s outer walls in a bright, happy tan. Too small to hold steady, he mixed up plaster to build it out, give himself something to grip. And then, with a saw encrusted in diamond dust, he cut. The shell became two, mirrored halves revealing hundreds of shades of brown, deep chocolates to bright golds and every shade between. He chipped away at the plaster then, freeing it, then got to work polishing. And polishing. And polishing. And polishing. Finally, he attached posts to the backs, giving the little shell their purpose.

Maeglin gave them to Celebrimbor with little fanfare, as was his wont. He quietly left them on top of one of Celebrimbor’s jewelry boxes, which contained everything but rings.

Celebrimbor, used to the way Maeglin showed his affections, wore them without comment to breakfast the next morning. Maeglin was satisfied, running his fingers down the length of Celebrimbor’s ears now adorned with his work as they kissed.

Perhaps he would look for more, the next time he went into the mountains.

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