Until the Stars are All Alight by Dagstjarna  

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Chapter 4- In Good Company

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 It rained all day and all night, and that meant mushrooms. Curufin was sitting on her blanket leaning against the trunk of a tall holy tree by the campfire. Her ankles were crossed, an arm behind her head. Celebrimbor’s grandmother, Feanor, was sitting on a blanket of her own, crisscross applesauce, flipping through a small journal she had been scribbling in since they set sail from Valinor.

       “Ta-da!” Sang Celebrimbor as she came back to camp, hoisting a basket of morels she had just foraged as she came striding out of the trees. Feanor craned to look into the basket.

        “Try not to poison us, will you,” Curufin said dryly. 

         “I will poison you if you keep saying that!” Celebrimbor retorted back. “I know it’s hard for you to imagine, Ammë, considering how you abandoned me and then died, but I have lived a long and full life in these lands for many thousands of years. Certainly I’ve survived outside of Aman far longer than you did, and I intend to continue that now.” 

         Celebrimbor knelt and added some wood to their campfire, ignoring the flush that crept into her mother’s cheeks. 

         “It’s also worth noting,” Feanor put in. “That Celebrimbor is technically the oldest of us now. I may be your grandmother, and Curufin may be your mother, but we both died long before we ever reached a thousand years old. You are nearly two thousand!” 

          Curufin looked at Celebrimbor unreadably for a moment, until she could catch Celebrimbor’s eye. 

         “I am sorry.” She said. “I forget that you are not a child anymore. I have not known you since you were far younger. I will get better with time.” 

        “I know,” Celebrimbor murmured, trying to hide the hurt in her face. Based on Curufin’s pained expression she had not quite succeeded. 

        “Are the mushrooms all there is to eat?” Feanor wondered innocently.

        “For breakfast, yes, because it’s morning now. If you wanted something more you should have foraged for it yourself yesterday!” 

        “What about the road?” 

        “Be useful and stir the pan. What road?” 

        Feanor scooted over to stir the mushrooms as the first batch began to sizzle. 

        “The road, the one we saw yesterday afternoon,’ Feanor said. “Surely it leads to a town, and I saw lights through the trees last night,” 

       “We could certainly afford to get our horses reshod,” Curufin pointed out. 

       “And some decent fare,” Feanor murmured. 

       “You don’t like my cooking?” Celebrimbor asked, pointing at Feanor with the knife she was using. 

       “Some variety wouldn’t be unwelcome,” Feanor grimaced. 

        “If you put the mushrooms on the pan in bunches like that they’ll all be cooked in different ways,” Curufin pointed out without opening her eyes. 

        “Why didn’t you say that before!” Celebrimbor wailed, taking the pan off the fire at once. 

      After breakfast they rolled up the blankets and washed the cooking gear and packed out. They walked Northeast for a while, wet leaf litter sticking to the horses legs, and water pitter-pattering off the trees. The trunks were dark and rain soaked, making the lichen look to glow, and the leaves of the trees floated above them like hanging fire. Celebrimbor inhaled deeply. It was Autumn in the world, and the wind was in the West. 

       Once the sun had sailed to the top of the sky, they reached the road. Its path was wide and smooth, and they could ride along it beside each other. They sang songs at first, but after awhile they fell silent, just listening to the rain, and each drifted into their own thoughts. 

Feanor had sworn her daughters to an impossible quest and then died, leaving them to fight the battles she had created. Curufin had disowned Celebrimbor for growing up and refusing to fight those battles- and then she had died, leaving Celebrimbor with an infamous legacy to rewrite all alone. Celebrimbor had made a rich and beautiful life for herself, taking the skill and knowledge and love her mother had given her in happier times, to remake their family legacy into something truly good. It had not lasted in the way she hoped. She supposed that maybe nothing did. Eregion had brought good into the world, and that good continued even if Eregion could not. She had made it to heal herself and her people, and though she had made mistakes, she had succeeded. The seeds of her family’s treachery and infamy were sown by Morgoth, but tended by Feanor and Curufin. Celebrimbor had healed, and so had her mother and grandmother, and all were now released from Mandos. 

 When Celebrimbor had first reembodied, she went to meet Elrond’s parents, not sure where else to go and longing for a sense of normalcy. She stayed on the coast with Elwing, and then went to Celebrian’s house. Not long after that, Curufin was reembodied. Curufin came at once to find Celebrimbor, still in the plain ghostly white shawl and tunic of mandos. For many years prior Celebrimmbor had been thinking of her mother with growing frequency, and had long suspected she might return soon. She had expected to feel all sorts of things when she first saw her- rage, fear, disgust, sadness, even pity. What she had not expected was for Curufin’s eyes to go wide with joy and anguish at the sight of her, for her mother to break into a run and dive right into her arms, for the two of them to land hard on the ground, clinging to each other for dear life, sobbing and crying and tangled together like shoestrings. Curufin had bared her heart then, and told Celebrimbor many sweet and loving things, things she should have said a long time ago and knew she should have. She apologized, and held Celebrimbor, and they talked a great deal for many days and nights, saying all there was to be said at the time. “I left Mandos because you did, because it is my place now to follow you, to be your mother before anything else, if you will have me.” Curufin had said. And Celebrimbor would. And when Celebrimbor decided to leave Aman to face the maia who betrayed, tormented, and slew her, who had ruined her kingdom and her people and sullied her good work there- well, Curufin would have died twice before she let Celebrimbor go alone. After the shock of their reconciliation, though, Curufin regressed slightly into her tendency to be flippant and emotionally opaque. It was something to know how she truly felt, and of course she would not have come if she didn’t feel the way she said she did, but her heart was always hidden from the outside to a degree that was sometimes rather maddening. 

Feanor, for her part, felt much the same toward Curufin as Curufin did for Celebrimbor, and had insisted on coming with them for the very same reason. And now the three of them were bound together on this quest, traveling together through the wide world. Unlike Curufin, however, Feanor could scarcely conceal a feeling if her life depended on it- her mind seemed to live in her face, and the thoughts passed across it as legibly as clear round handwriting, which Celebrimbor saw as she lit up and pointed, saying, 

“Look, a town!” 

The road was rolling right along to a small village of timber houses. A fine, misty rain with drops so small they could hardly be felt fell as they drew near, and before long they reached the town of men under a gold leaf sky. 

The town, visible from a distance on its green hill, was walled by a high wooden fence, and when they reached the gate they found it to be shut. After exchanging looks, Celebrimbor tapped her knuckles on the wood. Nothing happened, so she tapped again. 

“Hello?” She called. “Might there be some asker of riddles to stump us, or a feat to prove ourselves to enter? Or does this door need special words to open?” 

Before she finished talking, a rather old man peered over the top of the door to gape at their smiling faces. 

“An elf?” He cried. “Three elves! What brings you here to Bree?” 

“We are in need of fare to eat and our horses need some attention. Is there a place for us to eat and get our horses reshod?” 

“Why yes, certainly. Go to the inn of the Prancing Pony, they will fix you up proper.”

“Thank you, friend!” 

The gatekeeper opened the gates for them on groaning hinges, and they passed through and clippety-clopped down the street in single file. It was very muddy, with wooden boards put across the footpaths for those walking on foot. It was also not very crowded, and a little foggy. Eventually they spotted the swinging sign that marked the inn, and they entered under it into a courtyard where a halfling came to meet them before they could even hop down from their saddles. 

“Good evening!” He waved, as a few other inn workers came to take their horses. “My name is Nob.” 

“Hello Nob!” Said Celebrimbor. “I am Celebrimbor, and these are my mother and grandmother. We are in need of a little bread and better shoes for our horses, if you have any, or know who might.” 

“We have both, and more besides,” Nob supplied. “You’ll find bread and butter and vittles of all sorts inside. Let me stable your horses and go put a word in about shoes to the smith. Go on in and Butterbur will take care of you!” 

Curufin and Feanor bowed. Celebrimbor knew not to, but still did anyway because it seemed rude not to now that they had. Nob laughed. 

“When was the last time fair folk came under our roof?” She heard one of the inn workers say as they led the horses away.

They had to duck a little to fit in the door, which they found had a few well worn stone steps leading down into a roomy space. It was very crowded and rumbling with chatter, warm and dark and smoky compared to the outside. Accustomed to many weeks of peaceful, quiet forests and fields, Celebrimbor felt rather stunned by the sudden commotion, and when she looked back she saw the same feeling reflected in Curufin and Feanor’s faces. 

“Greeting and well met!” Said a man suddenly appearing in front of them. This was an innkeeper if ever she saw one. He shook her hand vigorously. “Are you elves? I’ve never had an elf as a guest here in my life, though my grandad used to say he had, though he was a teller of tall tales, if you take my meaning. You look like you need something hot to drink! I’ll fetch you something. Just go ahead and sit wherever you like, I’ll find you, don’t worry about anything! Welcome to the pony!” He said before he was called away. 

Celebrimbor blinked. She felt a small tap on her shoulder, and Curufin pointed to a table tucked in the far corner of the room that was both empty and set aside. They shouldered and shuffled and excused themselves across the crowd to it, sinking onto the stools and removing their damp cloaks. 

“I like this language,” Feanor said, after spending a moment listening and watching people talk. “It sounds like it’s made of jams and jelly. It’s sweet like berries.” 

Feanor was always saying things like that, whether or not anyone knew what she meant. Curufin nodded, knowing more than anyone what Feanor meant: she could taste sounds and see the shapes of them in the same way, though hers were different. 

“To me its like it is carved out of wood. Listen- branda…neg…” She said, listening for words that people were saying. “It’s soft and brown like bear fur.” 

“I can see that,” Feanor agreed. 

“Branda means border,” Said Celebrimbor. “And neg means end. People are sharing news, and most of it is troubling.”

Curufin nodded knowingly. She glanced around at faces, reading their expressions, which were serious for the most part. 

“Who are the short people, do you know?” Wondered Curufin. 

“They are halflings,” Said Feanor before Celebrimbor could. “Hobbits, in their own speech, and kuduk in Westron.” 

“They are about the same height as dwarves, if not shorter. It is a shame there aren’t any dwarves here. You will love them, Amme,” Curufin added to Feanor. 

Then Nob, rather than Butterbur and with his hair full of beads of raindrops like he had just come inside, came to their table. He was bearing a heaping tray, and set it on their table. It had several steaming clay pots, a plate of hot buttered rolls, a fruit and nut cake, and meat pies. 

“You have treated us to a feast! Thank you, master Nob, a prince among kuduk!” Feanor cried in Noldorin, and Celebrimbor translated. 

“Certainly,” Nob bowed. “I spoke with the smith and she said she’ll not have time to shoe them until tomorrow morning, if you are willing to wait. We have rooms you might lodge in, if you like,” 

“Thank you for all your help. We have no need of lodgings, but we will wait until morning. You are all very generous.” 

One of the clay pots had an infusion of several things they guessed included chamomile, apple, and honey. The second clay pot had mulled wine, and the third a thick hot soup. They polished off the fruit cake and the roast with no trouble at all, and dipped their rolls in the soup. 

“This is glorious,” Feanor groaned. 

“Alright, enough,” Celebrimbor protested. “I made you plenty of decent food for weeks! Didn’t I?” 

“Oh yes,” Feanor said earnestly, trying to sound reassuring. 

 

It wasn’t long before curiosity brought strangers over to say hello. The mulled wine was making them very lighthearted, and in no time at all the men were teaching them steps to a dance. Everyone sang and stomped for rhythm, and they laughed and clapped the elves on their backs when they proved to be quick learners. 

After a while Celebrimbor, dizzy and out of breath, sat down at one of the tables for a rest from the dancing. Nearby sat a hobbit, his walking stick leaning against the table, chatting with Nob as he brought him some supper. 

“Why, it’s mister Baggins!” Said Butterbur as he passed by. “What matter brings you to Bree, old friend?” 

“The matter of my leaving the shire, of course!” Said the hobbit Mr Baggins.

“Leaving?” Butterbur raised an eyebrow. 

“Leaving-leaving!”

“Leaving-leaving!” Butterbur gasped. “What on earth for and where on earth too?” 

“I am going on a permanent vacation, sir! Where on earth it will be is my business, except that it’s down the East-West road that passes through here, and that’s what brought me to Bee.” 

“I see, I see, keep your business yours, that’s what I’ll say. It will be strange to never see you again!” 

“Never say never, Butterbur. Who knows where chance will bring us.” Mr Baggins sipped his beer sagely.

“That’s true enough! I’ve seen more than a few curious things in my days. Let’s have a toast!” He cried suddenly, shouting over the din. Someone tapped a spoon on a cup and the place fell, if not silent, quieter. 

“A toast!” Butterbur said. “To our Bilbo Baggins of the Shire, who is going on a permanent vacation! BAGGINS!” He cried. 

“BAGGINS!” Everyone cheered. 

“Is he dying?” Someone nearby asked someone else, who shrugged and replied, “I don’t know, I’ve never even heard of him.” 

Mr Baggins, drinking deeply of his beer, cast his eyes about and did a double take at the sight of Celebrimbor, who smiled at him. 

“Are-are you an elf, of all things?” Mr Baggins asked, half choking on his drink. 

“So it seems!”

“My my! Why in heaven are you drinking watery wine at the Prancing Pony?” 

“Do not call my wine the W-word, Bilbo!” Butterbur hissed as he passed by again. “Men get turned into mice for far lighter offenses around these parts!” 

Celebrimbor laughed. 

“I couldn’t cook mushrooms well enough to satisfy my companions,”  She explained. “so we sought the refuge of a meal under this smoky roof!” For the innkeeper’s sake, she added, “I could not have asked for richer drink in the very mountain halls of the last age!” To which Butterbur guffawed. 

Bilbo laughed heartily, and replied, in Quenya “It is always a pleasure to meet Good People on the road. I am bound for Imladris, to live with Elrond in her house until the end of my days. I will not be returning.” 

Celebrimbor, who had actually choked on her own wine when Bilbo began rattling off in Quenya, ogled at her as she spoke. 

“You’re going to Imladris? Why, that’s where we are going!” 

“What a great coincidence! Perhaps we can travel together,” Mr Baggins suggested. 

“I think that is a splendid idea!” Celebrimbor agreed. 

Curufin and Feanor, more than a few beers put away and growing a little pink cheeked, were now singing songs from the noontide of Valinor about a frog stealing flies from a spider web. Maglor had written it, and the thought of Maglor made Celebrimbor’s heart ache. No one there knew a word of Noldorin, but they listened carefully to the beat and clapped to it, and then returned the song with one of their own which Curufin and Feanor stomped and clapped to with uncomprehending glee. Feanor was soon dancing with Mr Baggins, and the two went spinning about together, trying to teach each other dance steps with only laughter and pointing. 

That night, after Celebrimbor had introduced Feanor and Curufin to their new traveling companion, they retired to the forest outside of town. In the morning they went back through the gate, and met up with Nob, who brought them to the smith. They had found honey in the forest, and brought it to her as payment. She sighed when she took it, but smiled. 

“Honey is always nice. I would have preferred a silver coin or two, but elves are elves.” 

They returned to the inn for breakfast where they found Bilbo dressed, packed, and eating. After sharing the meal with him, they were ready to take up the road. They made their way out of Bree, going slower than they had yesterday, for the streets were crowded that morning, and more than a few townsfolk pointed and stared at them. They left through the gates, and followed the windy road as it passed into the forest. Mist was floating around the ground, snaring on the thickets like locks of wool. Celebrimbor felt that the forest was strangely watchful, though not unwholesome. She noticed Feanor was sitting straight up in the saddle, looking about. 

“Who are the spirits who live in this forest?” Feanor asked Bilbo. “Aside from the trees and rocks, I mean?” 

“Breefolk. The wood is where they dwell when they die, at least for a time. That’s what they say. I’ve never seen anything, except once I heard a voice on the wind.” 

Bilbo knew a great deal about everything, and they spent most of their time together listening to him, except to ask questions. Bilbo returned the questions, especially in the evenings around the campfire. 

It was a treat to have a hobbit in the group who was good at cooking. He had brought his own butter and cheeses and seasonings, as well as teas of many flavors. Celebrimbor liked chamomile the best. 

After several days of good conversation and good eating, they came to a deep valley where the Bruinen came into sight. They could hear it for a long time before they saw it, as you do with rivers, and they found it foamy and lined with autumn willows. That day they forded the river at a wide shallow place, full of noisy stones with slippery banks. Rust colored algae swayed in the currents as the water swirled around the horses legs. When they climbed the bank, they could see the Misty Mountains with their grim heads wreathed in strips of clouds. The path forward was marked with stacks of white stones covered in heather and moss and lichens. They ascended for a long time. The trees grew older and shorter and fewer, until they were shorter than Bilbo though hundreds of years old, spaced between meadows of heather and grouse until they were replaced entirely. Then the horses came to the edge of a sudden cliff. A valley went out below their feet, filled again with the voice of the river. The updraft smelled of pine, and hawks circled on rising thermals far below their feet. Down below, on the South side of the river, many buildings sprawled connected by gardens and bridges and paths.

“What is this place?” Feanor asked. 

“The valley of Imladris.” Bilbo exhaled. He was smiling. “In the common tongue it is known as Rivendell, the last homely house East of the sea.” He said this slowly, as if remembering something. “Here lives Elrond Halfelven.” 

Celebrimbor felt his heart soar. 

As they made their way down a winding road so narrow it verged on treacherous, the pine trees were replaced by beech and oak. 

“Do the trees say anything?” Bilbo asked, clearly accustomed to the company of elves. 

Feanor tipped her head a little. 

“They say that they love this valley and the elves who live here. There is a great kindness here, but also a deep magic, and power.” 

“That’s Elrond for you,” Bilbo laughed. “Though he isn’t quite as intimidating in person as that makes them sound. Not that you are easily intimidated, Feanor.” 

Celebrimbor looked over her shoulder at her mother, who was bringing up the rear. She had a peculiar expression, serious and a little sad. She caught Celebrimbor looking at her and forced a smile. 

The road leveled as it came to the floor of the valley. The morning was wearing on, and the Sun was pulling mist off the river as they dismounted to lead their horses across a bridge over it. 

They came on foot into a stone courtyard, almost overgrown with flowering vines. The music of water and birds was everywhere about them in the cool of the morning, the light fair and silver, the breeze ruffling their hair. 

Then a voice, rough with joy and surprise, cried out. 

“CELEBRIMBOR!” 

Celebrimbor looked up to the sight of a figure leaning over a balcony above them. She cupped her hands around her mouth, yelling, 

“ELROND!” 

Elrond disappeared for a moment, and then reappeared very quickly at the nearest door outside, running down the stairs as Celebrimbor ran up them, and they crashed into each other. Celebrimbor buried his face in Elrond’s neck and Elrond held onto Celebrimbor’s cloak in fists. 

“I’ve been waiting for you,” Elrond said, muffled by cloth and tears. 

“I’ve missed you so much,” Celebrimbor sobbed.